His Christmas Fantasy

Sam closed the gap between them and slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders and squeezed. His enveloping scent and touch set off an altogether different kind of trembling inside her. “No problem,” he said. His warm breath stirred her hair against her temple, and the thought flitted through her mind that she’d be content to stay there forever. “It shook me up and I wasn’t the one driving at the time.” For one mesmerizing moment she thought he dipped his head, that his eyes flickered with an intent to kiss her, and then it was gone. He withdrew his arm and she immediately missed his touch, his warmth. “You slide over. I’ll go around.” He had his door open before he finished the sentence.

He got out once again and Giselle sat statue-still, momentarily frozen with disappointment over a kiss that didn’t come from a man she had no business wanting it from anyway. Pulling herself together, she clambered on unsteady legs over the console and gearshift to the passenger seat. She settled back in the seat, the upholstery still warm from his body heat. The thought danced through her head that it was a bit like having him hug her from behind. Her hands shook slightly as she clicked her seat belt into place.

Sam adjusted the seat and mirrors, U-turned and they were once again on their way.

“Tell me about Barry.”

His directive caught her unawares. “What?” She shook her head to clear it. “I must be more rattled than I thought. I could swear you just asked me about my exhusband.”

He smiled without looking at her, his attention firmly fixed on the highway. Some people smiled and it was a mere quirk of their lips. Sam’s smile engaged his entire face, plowing lines in his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I did.”

“But—”

“We could’ve both just died and I wouldn’t have known a thing about your ex-husband.” In profile, his nose was Romanesque. It suited his strong chin and the rest of his lived-in face.

“But why would you even care?You’d have died not knowing a whole lot of things.” She would have departed this material world never knowing the taste of his mouth or the feel of his touch, other than a platonic hug or the measure of comfort he’d just doled out. She’d yearned for both even though he was forbidden territory.

“I only met him at your wedding. I’m curious as to what kind of guy you married. Indulge me.” Indulge me. Erotically evocative. He glanced at her. “Please.”

Indulge me. Please. Just how dangerous would he be if he knew how difficult it was for her to turn down any request for anything when he uttered those three words?

She shifted to look out the window away from him. She should tell him to mind his own business, but in the big scheme of things what did it matter? And nearly being killed on a highway had a way of prioritizing things. “What do you want to know?”

“How’d you meet?”

“His accounting firm was auditing one of the companies in my building. We kept bumping into one another in the ground floor coffee shop in the mornings. He always ordered a plain black and I always ordered the flavor of the week.” She laughed somewhat self-consciously at having been so stupid not to see how wrong they were for one another from the beginning. “That should have told me something right away, shouldn’t it?” A squat block building sat atop a brown knoll off the highway, Chuckwagon Barbecue lettered across the front in tired red paint.

“I can’t imagine why it didn’t send you running and screaming in the other direction,” he said, coaxing a laugh from her with his droll sense of humor.

“So, there you have it. That’s Barry. No cream. No sugar. No spice. End of story. End of marriage.”

“I can see you’re going to make me work for this.” He sighed, pretending exasperation.

Okay, she was pathetically flattered he was interested in what kind of man she’d been married to.

“Basically a nice guy with a good job and a black coffee habit,” he guessed.

“Essentially.” She realized now that she’d thought she could distract herself with and hide behind her marriage to Barry. In short and in retrospect, she’d thought Barry would cure her of Sam-itis. It hadn’t happened.

“You fell in love and got married…” he prompted.

She’d had myriad reasons. None of them the right one.

Why not just say it? She never had before. Ever. Not to her mother, Helene, her friend Margee, whom she occasionally met for dinner and drinks when their schedules allowed, or even Darren. In the distance, a hawk glided on outspread wings, diligently searching for its next meal.

“It wasn’t so much love,” she said slowly, letting the words find their own pace. Buried truth didn’t always rush to the forefront. “He was the first guy I ever took home to meet the family who wasn’t instantly panting after Helene. He didn’t settle for me because he knew he didn’t stand a chance with her. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t playing second fiddle.”

She leaned her head back against the seat. God, it felt good to say that. The accident must’ve left her more shaken than she’d realized to spew that out to Sam, of all people.

“Ah, a breath of refreshing honesty. At the heart of the matter, no pun intended, is the reality that people so seldom marry truly for love.”

Did that mean he hadn’t loved Helene? She wasn’t so sure she wanted the answer and the window of opportunity to find out closed as he pressed on.

“You’ve obviously known some stupid bastards in your life, but Barry was a novelty and you married him.” His voice lowered, softened to a verbal caress. “You were breathtakingly beautiful that day.”

Breathtakingly beautiful? Her heart beat against her chest like a caged bird seeking release. No one had ever referred to her, plain-Jane Giselle, as beautiful, breathtaking or otherwise. “Are you sure you’ve got the right wedding and the right bride?” she said with a slightly breathless laugh.

“You were the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” There was no underscore of amusement, no self-assured grin. Instead he drove, his hands gripping the wheel, stripped of banality. “Bar none.”

Blood rushed to her head. Her heartbeat seemed to echo in her ears. They both knew exactly what he’d just said. He’d been married to Helene at the time. She’d been his bride just four short months before Giselle’s wedding. Guilt threatened to stem the sweet joy inside her that Sam McKendrick thought her the most beautiful bride. She pushed aside the guilt. Was it so wrong to embrace this one thing just this once? And what was she really taking from Helene if her sister never knew about Sam’s comment?

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, watching the road.

She’d never repeat it. Ever. She didn’t need to. She’d forever know, and that sweet, illicit knowledge was enough.

“It was a nice wedding,” he added.

The wedding was nice. However, every other thing about marrying Barry had been a mistake. “The wedding turned out to be the only thing we agreed on. We ultimately divorced over the dry cleaning.” She offered a rueful laugh. “I considered dropping off and picking up his laundry as a courtesy on my part. He saw it as my domestic duty.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Dry cleaning’s a bitch. It’ll kill a marriage every time.”

He was so…Sam. She had the craziest notion that he understood in a way no one else had. Her parents hadn’t understood at all. There’d been an unspoken censure at her decision to leave Barry, culminating in her mother’s suggestion she try harder to work things out. Granted, Helene had dealt with infidelity in the dissolution of her marriage, but it really wouldn’t have mattered if it had been something else.

Giselle knew her parents loved both of them, but as the oldest, Giselle had always been held to a higher standard. As the baby of the family, Helene was indulged, protected, and allowed to slide by so many things that earned Giselle the “you should’ve known better” reprimand.