A Christmas to Believe In (14 page)

He flopped onto his back and groaned. Damage done, he

couldn't turn back now. She ran so fierce in his blood, he'd be

a fool to try and deny it. Not that he'd been doing a hell of a

lot of denying in the first place. He just hadn't imagined she

could make him lose control so easily.

Sitting up, he tugged his shirt over his head and lobbed it

in the corner. Next came his jeans, a one-handed throw

landing them just a few inches away. He glanced at the pile,

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debating whether to get up and put them inside the hamper.

But with a shrug, he kicked back the covers and stretched out

in bed.

To hell with it. To hell with everything. His life was on a

one-way course to disaster, he might as well enjoy what he

could.

Including Jesse.

A smile drifted across his face as her pretty face rose

behind his closed eyelids. All that dark hair framing eyes that,

when he looked into them for too long, made him feel like

he'd drunk too much wine.

He could feel the weighty fullness of her breast against his

palm, and he curled his fingers against the taunting

sensation. If only it were summer—he'd have rid her of that

sweater and rolled her hardened nipple beneath his tongue.

He'd have done other things too, if the chilly winter air hadn't

prevented helping her out of her clothes. Other things like

loosen her jeans. Slip his fingers down to caress her feminine

flesh. Drop to his knees to explore with his mouth.

Flopping to his side, Clint opened his eyes to look out at

the stars. He exhaled on a hiss, chastising himself for allowing

his thoughts to go so far.

Jesse kicked the covers off with a frustrated mutter. The

soft cotton chafed her raw nerves, tormented far more than

the cool air that came with turning down the heat. Only one

thing would cure the ache between her thighs. While she

might find temporary relief by taking matters into her own

hands, Clint alone could quench the deeper burn.

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She sat up and let out a heavy sigh. So much for sleep.

Two hours of tossing and turning wasn't getting her close to

the elusive state. If anything, reliving the feel of Clint's hands

on her body made it worse. She'd be lucky if she got a few

hours of rest at this rate.

Grumbling, she slid out of bed and donned her robe, intent

on a glass of water. Halfway across the room, the sound of

video games filtered under her door. She cocked her head,

her brows furrowed. What was Ethan doing up still? His room

had been dark when she'd dragged herself to bed.

Curious, she went to the door, crossed the hall, and

rapped on his partly open door.

"Yeah?"

She edged the door open further and let herself in. The low

glow of the television illuminated his room. He sat on the foot

of his bed, controller in hand, leaning side-to-side as he

navigated an Indy car around an asphalt track.

"What are you doing up?"

He leaned to the left, then quickly jerked to the right,

guiding his red and yellow car around another contender.

"Couldn't sleep. Why are you up?"

"Me neither."

Jesse sat down on the edge of his bed and tucked her robe

around her legs. "Malibu or Brickyard?"

"Malibu." He zoomed through the checkered flag and hit

the pause button. The game chimed. "Want in on it?"

At her nod, he passed her the other controller. She

scrolled through her accumulated cars, choosing her favorite,

modified, purple and white. On her selection, the game

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flashed with color, bold white numbers counting down to the

starting gunshot.

She sped ahead of Ethan, and the screen split, allowing

them to navigate their individual course. With one eye on the

tiny box in the left hand corner that showed his position, she

gunned her car ahead.

"Who's this Stephanie?"

He passed a computer-generated version of Arie Luyendyk,

almost clipping the Porsche car in the process. The game

issued an angry,
Watch it, buddy!
"A girl."

"Uh huh. I gathered that. You like her?"

Leaning hard to his right to make a sharp turn, he

shrugged. "I guess."

Jesse bit down on her lower lip as her car skidded over an

oil spill. She slid into the grass, losing precious seconds.

Ethan zipped past her while she spun her tires on the

shoulder. When she had herself righted, and hit the

accelerator to cruise down the straightaway, she glanced

Ethan's way. "Does she like you?"

"She calls all the time."

"Don't you have a winter dance coming up when school

starts again?"

Ethan wrinkled his nose. "I'm not going to no dance."

Risking collision with an approaching yellow competitor,

Jesse leaned left to pass and jabbed Ethan in the ribs with her

elbow. "Don't be a spoilsport. Dances are fun. If she likes

you, she'll expect you to ask."

"You didn't go to dances," he countered.

"What gave you that idea? I most certainly did."

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Ethan blinked at her. In the half-second of time it took him

to look back to the video game, his car ran headlong into a

brick wall. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the sound of

crunching metal made Jesse cringe. Bits of vehicle exploded

across his portion of the screen, and Ethan dropped his

controller in his lap. "You're distracting me, Mom."

"It's the only way I can win." She grinned.

"You always said you were a tomboy. That you'd rather

work on cars than do something like cheerlead."

She nodded, steered around the last turn and crossed the

finish line. Setting her controller on his quilt, she gave him a

smile. "That's true. But I went to dances. I doubled with Clint

or his brothers most of the time."

"Oh."

With a punch of a button, Ethan restarted the game.

"Brickyard now."

"Easy."

"So I should ask her?"

"Yep."

The distinctive sound of a displeased mutter blended with

the cheering fans as the green flags signaled the beginning of

the race. Jesse resisted the urge to laugh, and waited for the

gunshot. When it ricocheted through the speakers, she

gunned the car, but Ethan beat her off the line.

"You'd like him, Ethan. He was a lot of fun when we were

younger."

Noncommittal, he answered in a flat tone. "Uh huh."

Jesse lapsed into silence, sensing she walked a thin line.

Still, she couldn't let the subject rest. There had to be a way

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to convince Ethan that Clint wasn't a threat to his stability.

Until she achieved that, she couldn't just let go and let him

harbor hate. Clint didn't deserve it. Cautiously, she ventured,

"Horses could be a lot of fun."

Ethan snorted.

"You might give it a try. Something new and different. It

can't hurt, at any rate. If you don't like Angel, well, then

you've at least given it a shot."

He tossed his controller in front of him, his interest in the

game lost. She braced herself for the inevitable, knowing full

well whatever came out of his mouth next, would hurt.

"Give it up, would you? I don't want to know him. I don't

have to like your friends."

"But Ethan—"

He scooted away like she'd cracked a whip in his face.

"Enough! Don't you get it? I don't give a fuck about him."

"Ethan Scott!"

"What? Too crude for you, Jesse?"

She flinched, drew in a deep breath and held it.
Jesse
. He

hadn't called her by her first name for over a year. Exhaling

slowly, she set her controller down and slid off his bed.

Though she knew in her heart, too many years of pain drove

his emotions, the barb stung. On the same hand, she'd

pushed. Ethan couldn't tolerate pushing. He had to come to

things on his own time.

Foregoing the lecture, she crossed to the door.

"Goodnight, Ethan."

He said nothing. Merely picked up his controller and set

the options back to one-player.

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On a heavy sigh, Jesse left his room.

Inside hers, she clicked on the lamp by her bedside and

reclined against her pillows. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She

closed them to keep the salty flow at bay and curled her

fingers into the sheets. In a thousand years, she never would

have imagined that the only man she'd ever truly wanted

would be Clint. In his arms, she felt safe. Protected.

Undefeatable. He lit her up in ways she had only begun to

comprehend, and it seemed as if fate determined to work

against her.

If she weren't careful, she'd lose Ethan. Every agonizing

step she'd made would crumble under the weight of his fears.

He'd close up, inevitably turn back to the life he'd known

before he entered hers, and she couldn't stomach the thought

of where that would lead him. Jail, if he were lucky. Dead, if

he wasn't.

Yet, shouldn't she be allowed some personal happiness as

well? There were so many unwritten rules to parenthood—

sacrifice for the children, put all personal goals aside, give up

everything to see to their happiness. She'd exchange her life

for Ethan's in a heartbeat, but Clint offered something no

child could. Even if it was only temporary, and this giddy

feeling that brimmed in her soul would end when he left, he

promised fulfillment of a need that ran so deep she couldn't

name it.

A tear slipped between her eyelashes and trickled down

her cheek. She sniffled to hold the rest in check. She never

should have let him kiss her a second time tonight. The first

had been catastrophic enough. The second...

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She wouldn't be satisfied with anything but all of him after

that second kiss. Instinct demanded she leap at what lay in

front of her. Hang on to it until it burned itself out with his

inevitable departure. Logic, on the other hand, warned her if

she did, she'd lose the one thing that mattered most—her

son.

Jesse clicked off the lamp and scooted down into her bed.

She needed time. More time than Clint could offer. With it,

she could ease Clint into Ethan's life. Without it, they'd only

run into the concrete wall Ethan erected whenever his deep-

rooted fears surfaced.

Sighing, she acknowledged what she didn't want to

confront. She had to let Clint go. Now, before it became too

much and she couldn't walk away. Not only to protect herself,

but to prove to Ethan, once and for all, he was safe. That he

could depend on her until she took her last breath.

Clint would leave. He'd never had a problem with women,

and he'd find someone else in Kentucky. This little Christmas

affair wouldn't make a difference a few weeks into the New

Year. Besides, with his horses, he had greater things to worry

about; none of this would make a difference to him. Before it

impacted her permanently, she had to stop this nonsense.

They were friends. That's all they could ever be.

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A chorus of voices pulled Clint from his light slumber. He

opened his eyes to the pale lavender light of dawn and

scowled. Just as he'd finally found sleep, the entire household

decided to deny him.

He lay there a long while, listening to the muffled sound of

male and female laughter. The clatter of dishes blended with

the strong aroma of bacon, nagging him to crawl out of bed

and join what appeared to be a family breakfast. He should.

Responsible sons would. His father would never linger in bed

while the rest of his family gathered in the kitchen.

Muttering, Clint tossed the covers back and sat up. Self-

indulgence time had come to an end. If he didn't get up, his

mother wouldn't let it go easily. She'd find some way to use it

against him, and with her current mindset, her choice of

revenge would relate to the upcoming wedding.

A wedding that Clint had more and more trouble

supporting. Two seconds around Sydney, and he'd known that

woman couldn't possibly make Alex happy. What his brother

saw in her, Clint couldn't begin to fathom. He surely couldn't

be blind to her materialistic nature and her obsessive need to

maintain appearances.

Yet, as eldest, he'd agreed to be best man. Duty

demanded he welcome Sydney into the family, regardless of

personal taste. The same way he had to embrace his new

half-sister, Keeley.

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He shrugged on a pair of workout pants and a loose T-shirt