Claustrophobic Christmas (11 page)

After the tail lights disappeared, Darcy said in a low voice, “I’m going back to my car.”

“It’ll take them a while to get us moving.” He didn’t want to leave things between them so unsettled and intense.

“I don’t care.”

“So you’re just going to go?”

When she didn’t answer, James’s stomach knotted up like brambles. He wanted easy, but this wasn’t easy. This was hard as shit. He’d had this fantasy of Darcy, why she was perfect for him. She’d understand he had to travel and—key factor—she’d go with him sometimes. He wouldn’t be so alone, spinning his wheels as the road passed beneath his tires. He wanted a partnership like that, two people with common interests and compatible lifestyles.

He couldn’t have that with her. She wasn’t going with him to the Bahamas, she wasn’t going skiing in February… Hell, she wasn’t even going to Arizona. Most of the women he’d dated were willing to travel once or twice a year when they had vacation days, but they didn’t want to be with him if he was going to travel all the time. They wanted him home, in the nest, and that would drive him insane. Darcy would be the exact same way as those women, whether she wanted to be or not.

Neither of them could be happy in that kind of relationship, and still he couldn’t let her go. They were not through here. Not by a long shot.

“Stay until the traffic breaks,” he said. “We need to talk about this.”

“What’s to discuss? You think I’m a liar, and I think I’ve been here long enough.”

He didn’t know if she meant in the enclosed space of his truck or with him. “If you insist on going, I’ll walk with you.”

“No thank you.” She started rustling around, locating the jelly bean box, which she shoved under her arm. “Sorry about the candy all over your truck.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He made her put on his knit cap, tucking her hair under it even though she batted at his hands.

When he started zipping her jacket, she grabbed his forearm and shook him. “I’m not an invalid. Cut it out.”

“I know.” But it was really cold out there. The snow had let up and he could see stars. Temperatures would drop without cloud cover. He didn’t want her to get chilled, get sick, ruin her holidays. “Take my gloves.”

She lowered her chin, her eyes flashing in the shadowy cab. “Fine, but that’s it. Quit fussing over me.”

After she slid out the passenger door and slammed it, James rolled up the window she’d kept cracked and switched off his truck. By the time he locked up, she was two cars away.

He caught up and stayed right beside her, alert for any hint she might slip and fall. She was stomping in the ice and snow pretty hard, after all. She was upset and frustrated. They both had a right to be, he supposed, but he sure as hell felt like his right was bigger than hers.

Wasn’t it?

In response to the police going past, most of the cars had turned on their headlights as drivers readied themselves to navigate the treacherous roads. James could see Darcy’s pretty face, her cold, pink cheeks, her pout—and the suspicious glitter in her big, dark eyes.

Damn, was she crying? He wanted to hold her and tell her it would be all right. She’d find somebody else. Somebody who liked to stay home with his family and visit Galveston once a year. Whoever it was, James kind of wanted to kill him, but Darcy had so much to offer. She didn’t deserve to be alone.

He watched her tug his hat further over her ears and remembered how soft her hair had been when he’d buried his hands in it. She’d loved that, loved his body inside hers, loved—had she loved
him
?

Did
he
love
her
?

It wasn’t that she was a rotten person. She said she’d talked to a lawyer about it and she clearly satisfied her customers because her business was thriving. Her lack of actual travel experience didn’t seem to matter there.

Her revelation made her no less sexy, no less funny, no less Darcy, but they could never have the relationship he’d built in his head. The relationship he needed.

He was done with flings and disappointment. He was done hurting women’s feelings when they realized he wouldn’t change. He wanted one woman who understood him, one woman to talk to, one woman to share his life. So where did this leave him and Darcy?

Chapter Nine

How could she have let this happen? Darcy twitched away from James again when he caught her before she could bust her butt on the icy interstate. She’d rather land on her ass in the snow than admit she needed his help.

Even filled with insufferable self-righteousness, he was considerate and protective. Too bad he hadn’t thought about protecting her from his damned obtuse self.

By the time they reached her car, Darcy couldn’t feel her feet. Her sneakers were solidly refrozen, as well as the ankles of her sweatpants. At least the snow had stopped spitting into her face and glasses.

“I can take it from here,” she told James over the rumble and purr of motors all around them. Car horns tooted in the distance, presumably as the wagon train from snowy hell got underway at the bridge.

“I’ll stay with you until the traffic breaks.” He started around to the passenger door.

She seized the sleeve of his parka, her hands clumsy but warm in his giant gloves. “No, you won’t. You’re going.”

“Darcy, I’m not leaving you until I know you’ll be okay.” He waved at the front of the car. “Make sure your engine starts.”

A shiver raced through her at the thought that it might not, that she might be stuck on the side of the road. But she wouldn’t be. James would take care of her—poor, invalid, pathological liar that he thought she was.

She’d never set out to betray him or anyone. Why was he acting as if her life choices were some personal affront to him? There was no law stating travel agents were required to jet set, and she’d told him about the claustrophobia before she’d slept with him. Not that it was any of his business. She’d been reticent about it for so long, finding workarounds and ways to avoid inconveniencing others, that her privacy was second nature.

After fumbling with the keychain and the thick gloves, Darcy unlocked the door and slipped into the seat, her feet and legs outside the car. She brushed off some snow and ice before she swung the rest of herself into the cold interior. She’d been gone long enough that her windows were caked with snow. She took off a glove so she could handle the key. The car turned over unsuccessfully a few times, causing Darcy’s heart to stutter, but finally caught.

James had moved into the vee between the open door and the car. She stared up at him. “See? My car runs like a top. You can go now.”

He didn’t go. “This isn’t finished.”

“You made it pretty clear that it was.” She’d have to hire another photographer or return to stock photos, but whatever. Things happened. She blinked fast and sniffed hard so the tears that threatened would dry up.

“No, I made it clear I was…surprised by what you told me tonight.”

She couldn’t see his features, but she didn’t have to see them to read him like a glossy brochure. His voice projected his regret for the direction their relationship had taken. Hell, maybe he regretted ever knowing her.

“Surprised?” She cranked the defrost, though it wouldn’t impact the ice crust until the car warmed up. Right now it felt like it was five degrees. Her head—in James’s hat—was the only part of her that was warm, but she was getting personally affronted enough to keep from shivering. “It’s not like I’m a crook or a murderer. What the hell kind of person did you think I was? Somebody with no flaws? Sorry to be human, James.”

“I didn’t think you were perfect.” He blew on his hands. “We need to talk through this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Darcy popped open the glove box and found the ice scraper. “You think I’m horrible, I think you’re a prick, end of story.”

He froze, probably literally. It was too cold for man or beast, which covered both his personalities. “A prick?”

“That’s right. A prick.” She jumped out of the car, her feet like lead, and slammed the door so the interior could heat up. James stood awkwardly beside her rear view mirror, like he couldn’t believe she didn’t want him to handle her iced-over windshield. Like he couldn’t believe she could possibly be mad at or disappointed in him.

“But, Darcy…” he began.

With her gloved hand, Darcy attacked the windshield with all the dismay and frustration she was feeling right now. The blade snagged on a large, solid clump and popped out of her grip.

James reached for it at the same time she did, but she got it first and slapped it at him like a weapon. “I don’t need a man to scrape my windshield.”

“I know you don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and swiveled her to face him. She doubted the ice scraper, propelled by her puny strength, could cut through his parka, so she didn’t bother stabbing him in the heart. “But I could do it faster and easier. For one, I’ve got longer arms.”

“So what? I’ll manage. I’m not feeble, I just don’t like small spaces.”

“But I want to help you, Darcy. I want to do something for you.”

Darcy closed her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood for his guilt or his paternalism or whatever the hell this was. This was his decision. She’d been willing to date him when his initial response to her confession convinced her he’d be accepting.

She’d been willing to fall the rest of the way in love with him and let herself believe she’d finally found the right person.

“If you want to do something for me,” she told him, opening her eyes to see his reaction, “how about understanding?”

“Understanding?” he said, clearly failing to.

“Understand that I’m different from you. Understand that I’ve made the choices I have for good reasons and that I haven’t set out to deceive anyone. I didn’t tell you before because I don’t tell anyone if I can help it. If it doesn’t affect somebody, it’s none of their business; that’s the way I see it. But I don’t start relationships without telling my partner.” Her voice fractured, and she hated how broken she sounded. How crushed she was that he couldn’t accept her and had, moreover, condemned her. “I never led you on.”

“I know.”

“And I told you. I told you everything. I hoped we could—” Her throat closed. She couldn’t tell him how much she wanted him.

“I hoped we could too, but I can’t be the man you need.”

“How can you say that when you haven’t even tried?”

“I can’t fall in love with a woman who wants to stay in one place.” He kissed her softly, his lips as cold as his heart, and stepped back. “It’s a road to disaster.”

“It’s not that I want to stay in one place,” she said. “I have to.”

“Do you have to?” he asked. “Have you even
tried
?”

That cinched it. James was as ignorant as every other boyfriend she’d ever had. Luis had come close, but in the end, she’d had one panic attack too many for his comfort. All those bastards thought she’d been too much trouble, too eccentric, too hard. Every time, she wanted to shout, “Come on, idiots! I’m claustrophobic, I’m not a damn serial killer!” but she didn’t. She just said good riddance.

She didn’t want to get rid of James, but she’d been right about him. She should have listened to her own common sense—it couldn’t work between an inveterate traveler and a stay-at-home dreamer. She shouldn’t have let her libido and his sweet, lazy smile convince her otherwise.

In a spurt of rage, Darcy threw the gloves at James as hard as she could. He flinched when one bounced off his face.

“Fuck you, James Jones. Claustrophobia’s not some passing ailment I can shrug off because I meet somebody who makes me want to…want to…”

“Want to what?”

“I don’t know.” What she wanted was somebody to love, who loved her the way she was. “I want to see everything. It’s why I’m a travel agent. Since I can’t go, this is the next best thing. And I write about it so it’s more real to me and hopefully real to my subscribers. But you make me—”

He shoved his hands into his gloves, his movements jerky. “I don’t make you do anything.”

“Yes, you do. You make me wish I wasn’t myself.”

They stared at each other for a long, painful moment, the cold icing her breath.

“But I am,” she decided. “I am this person, and I won’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” His jaw worked. “I hope you find the right guy. He’s one lucky bastard.”

“While you’re just a bastard. Goodbye, James.” With frozen fingers, she scrabbled at the latch, got in the car, and slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Ten

“What am I supposed to do with the sweater I bought Darcy?” James’s mother complained on Christmas morning. “When you told me you were going to fetch her in Texas, I ran right out to make sure she’d have a gift under the tree. I paid fifty bucks for it over at the mall and nobody else is small enough to fit it.”

“Especially not my wife.” Sal’s husband Tod laughed and elbowed James where they sat together on the couch. “I think she’s gonna have twins this time. I am the man.”

“I’m not that big yet.” Sal glanced up from the floor where she sat with her son, pushing wooden trains around the track Santa had left. “I can still wear my normal clothes.”

“Do you want to take the gift to her?” Mother asked James. “I’m sure if you take this nice sweater with an apology, she’ll change her mind. You must have done something to her.”

Oh, he’d done something to Darcy, all right, and he hadn’t been able to quit thinking about it for two days. James closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and wished all the nieces and nephews would leave the room so he could utter a few choice curse words.

That wasn’t about to happen. The kids were neck deep in new toys and candy, racing around the great room like monkeys on speed. In fact, Nita’s four-year-old daughter Constance was currently sitting on his feet and rocking into his shins. She liked to bump. She’d knocked the back off one of Nita’s armchairs from thumping it so much.

“Going over there is not a good idea,” James said. Darcy’s brothers were small but scrappy. If they had any inkling what he’d done to their sister, he’d be mincemeat, and not the tasty holiday pie kind of mincemeat.