Cole's Christmas Wish (19 page)

The instant Haley left them alone, Cole quit playing around.
This was serious. This was his chance, and no way in hell was he going to screw
it up again.

For the second time that day, he walked over to Rachel and
cradled her face in his hands, tipped her head so that their gazes met. “I
shouldn’t have pretended to love another woman, sweetheart. But if doing so
brought you here tonight, then I would do it again. Without hesitation or so
much as a second thought.”

“Is that so?” she asked in an almost breathless voice.

“Yes, that’s so. And I hope you’ve already figured out that
what I said about Mary, about not being able to move on with her, wasn’t true. I
didn’t know you knew,” he said with a grimace. “I’m sorry if I hurt you with
those words.”

Relief swept into her gaze, her expression. “So, what you’re
saying is that you can move on with...Mary?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Though I really do prefer the name Cupcake.”
He paused then, to add weight to these next vital words. This was it. Everything
he’d wanted, right here. “I love you, Rachel Merriday. I have loved you for so
long, that I don’t recall when I didn’t.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she said after a beat. She smiled,
paused for second. Two. Three. Hell, he needed to hear the words. Needed her to
say she loved him, too. Then, with a bat of her eyelashes, said, “Thank you, so
very much.”

He blinked once. Twice. Three times. “Thank...you?”

“My mother taught me to give gratitude when someone says
something nice.” Rachel looked at him with the straightest darn face he’d ever
seen. With the slightest of shrugs, she said, “You said something nice.
So...thank you, Cole. From the bottom of my heart.”

Well, hell. What was a man supposed to do with that? “Uh.
You’re welcome?”

“I.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips on his
neck. “Love.” Then across his jaw. “You.” To his ear. “Too.” And then, finally
and blessedly, to his mouth. “But I can do one better than you, mister. I’ll
love you forever, I will never stop. And that...well, that’s simply a fact.”

Their lips met. Her mouth opened and the tiniest of moans
slipped from her throat. Need and desire roared to life in his blood, in his
body, in every cell, and in every nerve. Only for Rachel had he ever felt like
this. Only for Rachel would he ever feel like this.

He feathered his fingers into her hair and pushed her head
closer, kissing her fully, reveling in the passion that existed between them. It
was, at once, hungry and satiating, longing and fulfilling, unique
and...familiar. This was Rachel, the woman he loved.

The woman who loved him. His Cupcake.

Epilogue

S
nuggling up to Cole’s warm, sleeping body,
Rachel sighed in absolute, to her toes, blissful contentment. Had she ever been
this happy? She didn’t have to consider the question for long to find the
answer. No, she had not ever, in her entire life, been this happy.

Or satisfied, for that matter.

Friday night, after they’d finally put the past to rest, they’d
returned to Rachel’s house. When Cole had seen the bare tree lying at the side
of the curb, he’d insisted on hauling it back in. If no other reason existed,
that little action right there would have stolen Rachel’s heart.

Cole had popped popcorn and made hot chocolate, stating that
those were the official snack foods for the Christmas tree decorating season,
and then together, they’d restrung the lights and rehung the ornaments, laughing
and teasing and kissing as they did.

The evening had been filled with Christmas magic. The rest of
the night had been filled with an altogether different type of magic, one of a
much steamier variety.

Oh, yes, Rachel considered herself a very happy and satisfied
woman.

She stroked her hand down Cole’s bare hip, rose up on her other
elbow so she could see the clock. Fifteen more minutes until Christmas. Fifteen
more excruciating minutes.

Darn if she didn’t feel as if she were a six-year-old little
girl, waiting impatiently for Santa to arrive. This year, though, she wasn’t
interested in dolls or games—definitely no games, please—or storybooks. This
year, she had her heart set on one very particular, very glittery gift.

She fidgeted again, rolled over to peek at the clock again, saw
that an entire sixty seconds had passed since she’d last checked and groaned
loudly. Watched Cole to see if he budged. That would be a no. Hmm. She was sure,
with some minor creativity, she could wake him up.

But then, they wouldn’t get to the presents until well after
midnight.

“You are the most impatient woman I have ever met,” Cole said,
his voice thick with sleep and humor. “I believe the rule was no presents until
eight in the morning.”

“Um. You were serious about that?” She’d thought he was teasing
her. “Because if so, Cole Foster, that is entirely unfair. Why, Christmas is
official in—” she propped herself up again to look “—twelve minutes.”

“We’ll wait until morning,” he said stubbornly. “That’s the
Foster rule.”

“I am not a Foster,” she said. Yet. Or so she hoped.

He lazily moved his hand to her breast and trailed his finger
around her nipple. Delicious heat rippled through her abdomen. He laughed a
slow, lazy chuckle, saying, “You already know what all of your gifts are, so why
are you in such a rush?”

She sniffed, donned a faux-sarcastic voice and said, “Well, I
didn’t know they were for me when we bought them, did I? Or half of them,
anyway.”

“You just want those tattoos, admit it.”

And the poodle. Oh, and she couldn’t wait to find out why he
deemed a flashlight romantic. The stubborn man had refused to give her an
explanation, stating she needed at least one surprise for Christmas morning. She
was hoping for two.

“I’m more excited about the T-shirt,” she teased.

Rolling onto his side, he faced her. His other hand flattened
on her stomach, eliciting another delicious curl of heat. “You aren’t really
going to make me get up and open gifts at midnight, are you? That’s
just...cruel.”

“Yes, I think I am.” There was just enough light in the room
for her to make out the strong features of his face. She wondered, briefly, who
their someday children would take after in looks. She hoped for a brood of tough
little boys with coal-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes. “I love you,” she
whispered. “So very much.”

“I love you, too.” Gripping her hips, he dragged her closer to
him and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the
world, darlin’.”

She grinned. “Thank you.”

He growled and kissed her again. Harder this time. Demanding
and hot, searching and hungry. She moaned and ran her hands down his bare,
muscular back, enjoying the feel of his warm skin, savoring the sensations of
their bodies touching.

He moved his mouth to her neck, down to her shoulder blade and
then to her breast, where his tongue swirled, creating more heat, more desire,
more everything to tumble through Rachel’s body. “I want you,” he groaned.
“Again. Now.”

His words, his tenor, the heat in his voice made her tremble,
shiver, with her own want, her own very real need for this man. Her man. “That
is a very good idea. And,” she said, glancing at the clock, “we still have eight
minutes.”

“Eight minutes, huh?” His eyes locked with hers, and even in
the dim glow, she could easily read his amusement mixed in with his hunger.
“Now, darlin’, I’m not quite sure—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she demanded. “The clock is
ticking.”

His mouth returned to hers and she melted into the kiss, into
him. Rachel forgot all about Christmas and the gifts waiting downstairs. Simply
speaking, the world ceased to exist for a very long time. Considerably more than
eight minutes.

It was, in fact, dawn by the time they made it downstairs.

Now, they were sitting in front of the newly decorated
Christmas tree. A pile of presents—ten of them to be exact—were heaped next to
Rachel’s feet. Cole had already opened the solitary present Rachel had given
him—the midnight-blue nightgown she’d modeled with such delight in the dressing
room—and from the look in his eyes, he was ready to drag her back upstairs. She
was good with that. Really, really, really good.

But not until she opened her presents.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more gifts for you,” she said, somewhat
embarrassed. Her first romantic Christmas with Cole, and she’d been so wrapped
up in the glory of him—of them—that yes, she’d totally spaced off shopping.
She’d make it up to him next Christmas.

And every day in between now and then.

“I believe I have everything I’ve ever wished for this
Christmas, Rach.” He paused, reached over and ran his thumb over her lips. “You.
You’re the only gift I wanted this year.”

She blinked as emotion welled within. Yes. Every day between
now and next Christmas...and beyond. “Well, maybe later, I’ll put that on—” she
directed her gaze toward the box with the nightgown “—along with some
strategically placed Christmas bows, and see to it that a few more of
your...wishes come true.”

“Open your gifts,” he said in that growling way of his. “Before
I take you up on that.”

Staring at him, at Cole, for one more minute, she allowed the
warmth and contentment to swell within her. Important elements of a
relationship, yes. But also, with Cole, was this absolute surety that he was
exactly the right man for her. And yes, that she was exactly the right woman for
him. What a joyous gift to have, to be.

She was a very fortunate woman. On both accounts.

“Come on, Rach,” Cole said, waking her from her thoughts. “Open
your gifts.”

Nodding, she focused on the presents. She could tell by their
sizes and shapes which was which, and yes, there were precisely ten. For the
moment, she wouldn’t let that concern her. Cole might have slid the ring into
any one of these other gifts, or he might be saving it for last.

She decided to start with the silly gifts, the ones they’d
chosen after she’d discovered the charade. None of those needed an explanation,
after all. The tattoos were first, then the shirt, then the chocolates—she would
never eat all of those chocolates—and then the toy poodle.

Holding it up, she pressed the poodle’s stomach and a “Yip,
yip, yip” erupted. “This,” Rachel said to Cole, “is Cupcake. So, if you refer to
‘Cupcake’ in any way, shape or form, I will assume you want this.” She grinned
and tossed the stuffed animal at him.

He caught it and made the thing yip again. “Actually, no. You
are my Cupcake. This is...um...we’ll go with Cocoa. Yeah, I like that.”

“Brat,” she said, before reaching for and opening the red
negligee.

“And when you wear that,” Cole added with a wicked gleam in his
eyes, “I’ll call you Jezebel...or maybe Bambi. Both would work, don’t you
think?”

She wrinkled her nose and threw the flimsy piece of silk at
him, as well, before appraising the remaining gifts. Probably, the photo
album—if Cole had, indeed, filled it with pictures of them—would make her cry.
The flashlight, depending on his reason for purchasing it, might also pack an
emotional punch. She’d save those for last.

After opening the small bottle of perfume, Rachel spritzed it
on her wrists and behind her ears. “This one really ticked me off, by the way,”
she said. “The thought of you loving some other woman was bad enough. The
thought of her wearing my scent around you?”

“Didn’t like that, huh?”

“Uh. That would be a no.” Moving on, Rachel selected the snow
globe next, and she and Cole spent a few minutes reminiscing about the day
they’d met.

It was, she decided, very fortuitous that her gaze had landed
on Cole and his brothers before any of the other groups of children. One look at
them whizzing snowballs at each other had resulted in the desperate longing to
join them.

Yes, very fortuitous.

The camera required zero discussion, so she set the gift aside
with the idea she’d snap pictures of Cole and his family later that day. Hmm.
Photo album or flashlight?

She had to go for the flashlight. The big, honking flashlight
that would easily light up an entire room. “Okay. I have to know,” she said,
holding the flashlight by its handle and waving it in front of her. Ha. It was
heavy enough so that she could use it to exercise with. “Why is this
romantic?”

“That’s easy,” Cole said, leaning toward her and removing the
flashlight from her grasp. “I don’t like the idea of you driving alone at night.
This flashlight offers the practical use it’s intended for, but also...well, if
you were to run into trouble, it’s heavy, so you can use it to bash some guy
over his head, giving you long enough to run away and call for help.”

Rachel blinked, taking this in. Yeah, that was romantic. Her
heart softened and swelled. He wanted to protect her, even when she wasn’t with
him. She shook her head, laughing, loving the way his brain worked. “Practical
and romantic. I see it now. Thank you.”

His voice turned gruff when he said, “Welcome. I always want
you to be safe.”

And with him, she was sure she would be. He’d see to it.

The last gift, the one that Rachel was certain would bring
tears flowing from her eyes, remained. Reaching for the wrapped package, she
picked it up and peeled off the tape slowly, and then the paper, trying to
prepare herself for whatever photos Cole had included as part of “their journey
so far.” An incredible journey, fraught with ups and downs.

When the last bit of paper was removed, she stared at the
closed album for a few seconds, and then slowly opened the first page. “Oh,” she
said, smiling. There they were, a young Cole and a younger Rachel, sitting on
his parents’ front porch. “I remember that day. Your mom made us shovel the
driveway because we were driving her batty in the house.”

“Yup. Keep looking, Rach,” Cole said, his voice warm, holding a
nuance of anticipation.

One by one, she flipped the pages, seeing herself and Cole grow
up before her eyes. Boating in the summer. Sledding in the winter. Grouped in
front of the Fosters’ Christmas tree with Cole’s brothers and sister. Building
snowmen and snow forts.

Year by year, picture by picture, her entire relationship with
Cole was represented. It was, Rachel reflected, the sweetest, most thoughtful,
most romantic gift she’d ever received.

The last page that held pictures—he’d left several pages open
for them to fill with new photos—was from the prior Christmas. One of them, a
photo Rachel hadn’t seen before, was of the two of them sitting next to each
other at a table at Foster’s. She remembered this moment, as well. Vividly, in
fact.

Cole’s mother had taken the photo. Rachel was leaning against
Cole, his arm was wrapped over her shoulders, and they were looking at each
other, rather than at the camera.

She’d been leaving that day, Rachel remembered, disappointed
that the visit hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. Hell.
Disappointed
wasn’t the right word. She’d been devastated. And now,
she knew he’d been the feeling the same.

“We lost so much time,” she whispered. “So much time we could
have spent together.”

“I know,” Cole said, his voice heavy with every emotion Rachel
was experiencing. “But sweetheart, those days make up our past. They’re part of
who we are now. And I don’t know about you, but it’s because of that
past...because of the time lost, that I know I will count my blessings every
single day from here on out. No more lost time. Not for us.”

With those very intelligent words, Rachel let go of her regret.
She closed the photo album and leaned her head against Cole’s shoulder. “You’re
right,” she said. “No more lost time. I like the sound of that. Very, very
much.”

They kissed, deeply and passionately. Then, Cole whispered in
her ear, “We have a few hours before going to my parents. Feel like modeling
that gown for me again? Upstairs?”

Okay, so there wouldn’t be a ring. There wouldn’t be a
proposal. Rachel put away her disappointment. What was important, what mattered,
was that she and Cole were together. She loved him. He loved her. Maybe next
Christmas. Or the one after. Or, the one after that. Whenever he was ready to
ask, she was ready to say yes.

Until then, she’d enjoy...well, them.

“Yes, please,” she said. “First, though, let me go find those
Christmas bows.”

* * *

The Foster house was packed with more people than Rachel
had ever seen within its walls. In addition to the six Fosters she knew and
loved, there were an additional ten in residence. Paul Foster’s brother’s family
and their families were here from Portland, Oregon, celebrating the
holidays.