Jackie Braun - Christmas with Him

They reached the Tahoe and she redirected the conversation. “So, what did you want to be when you were growing up?”

Dawson opened the driver’s door for her before heading around to the passenger side. Once seated, he replied, “Do you mean before I figured out that I didn’t look so good in long hair and spandex, or after I accepted the fact that the National Football League wasn’t going to come recruiting?”

Her lips twitched as she started the ignition. “Either-or. Surprise me.”

He scrubbed a hand over his chin, thinking. “Well, I pretty much always knew I’d go into the family business. It suited my personal interests, not to mention my academic strengths. I didn’t feel pressured to do it or anything.” Dawson leaned back in his seat, relaxing a little as he recalled the advice his father had given him just before he’d gone off to college. Do what makes you happy, son. Not what you think will make me happy . “My dad would have understood if I had chosen a different career. My grandfather would have been livid, but Dad … he would have understood.”

He smiled after saying it, feeling warm even though the Tahoe had yet to heat up.

“The two of you seem really close,” Eve noted.

“We are. Yes.” He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed to have been lost in nostalgia. Memories had been his nemesis for the past few years, proving so hurtful that he’d blocked out the good along with the bad.

Ahead, a traffic light turned red. After stopping, Eve turned to face him. “I know this is none of my business, but I’m going to ask anyway. If the two of you are so close, why are you estranged?”

The question left Dawson staggered. “We’re not estranged,” he said.

Eve’s gaze remained steady as she said, “Then why are you spending the holidays in Cabo rather than with your family here?”

I don’t have a family, he thought. Sheila, Isabelle, they were gone and he was alone. But he knew they weren’t the family to which Eve was referring. “It’s … complicated.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she replied. “Life tends to get that way from time to time for everyone. That’s especially true after a tragedy. But it sure seems like you’re punishing them.”

“You’re wrong. Way, way off base.” He shook his head vehemently as his throat seemed to close. Eve was mistaken in her assessment. If he was punishing anyone, it wasn’t his parents and sister. He was punishing himself.

“That’s the way it seems.”

“That’s because you don’t understand,” he said.

Nobody did. They hadn’t been trapped inside that crumpled-up car while emergency workers tried unsuccessfully to revive his wife. They hadn’t been the ones pleading with firefighters to hurry as they finally managed to free his daughter from her safety restraint in the mangled backseat.

In the Tahoe’s dimly lit interior her expression radiated sincerity when she invited, “Then help me understand, Dawson. Better yet, help them understand.”

“I …” But the words remained stubbornly lodged in his throat. The only ones to finally make it free were, “The traffic light is green.”

Eve parked the Tahoe in the circular drive in front of Dawson’s home. The rest of the ride from the theater had been accomplished in strained silence. She accepted the blame for that. She shouldn’t have pushed him so hard.

She wasn’t sure exactly why she’d done it, except that she’d hoped by talking about the accident he would finally see that it was just that—an accident. She wanted him to accept what everyone else knew. Dawson was as much a victim, a casualty, as his late wife and little daughter.

“Here we are,” she said. “I know I’ve already thanked you for the tickets, but I want to do so again. I had a nice time tonight, Dawson.”

“You’re welcome. I did, too.”

“I’m glad you’re still able to say that. I’m sorry about …” She waved a hand, opting not to plow that rocky ground a second time.

He caught her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Let’s forget about that, okay?”

Eve didn’t think forgetting was wise. Indeed, it was at the crux of his problem. But for the moment she agreed. No more pushing tonight. She smiled. “All right.”

Dawson had yet to release her hand. Though they both wore gloves, she swore she could feel the heat from his skin warming hers through two layers of lined leather.

His thumb began to rub the palm of her hand. She’d never considered her palm or any other place on her hand to be an erogenous zone. It turned out she was wrong. Way wrong.

Eve swallowed a moan and stammered, “S-so, should I walk you to your front door? I promised to be a gentleman, after all.”

“No need for that.”

The palm caress continued. “Mmm-kay,” she managed to say.

“If you walk me to my door, I’d only feel obligated to walk you back to your car afterward.” One side of his mouth lifted. “Can’t let you be the only gentleman.”

“Well, I guess I’d better stay here then. Otherwise it sounds like we could pass the entire night walking back and forth between my Tahoe and your front porch.”

“That would make for a long night.”

“Very long,” she agreed.

“And it’s cold outside.”

“Below freezing.” She shivered, though the reaction had less to do with Denver’s current temperature than the ministrations of his thumb.

“We’d have to move fast to stay warm,” he said. In contrast the smile he offered was slow, seductive.

“If we jogged, I suppose it could be considered aerobic exercise.”

“Exercise, hmm?” His thumb stopped moving and Dawson released her hand. Gaze steady, expression serious, he removed his gloves, tugging one finger free at a time. Anticipation hummed until he reached for her across the vehicle’s console. Big, warm hands framed her face, drew her forward.

“I can think of more interesting methods of increasing my heart rate while in the company of a beautiful woman,” he murmured just before kissing her.

Soft . That was Eve’s first thought. Though so much of the man was hard and uncompromising, his lips were soft, their pressure gentle. She thought he might end things as quickly as he had the night of the ball, leaving her to wonder and to want. He didn’t.

“Eve.” Dawson whispered her name as he changed the angle of their mouths.

His hands were in her hair now, fingers weaving through it. Slow? Soft? Nothing about the man’s demeanor fit these descriptions now. Urgent was the word that came to mind as he fumbled with the fat buttons of her wool coat. She shifted in her seat to improve his access, her elbow catching on the steering wheel. The horn blasted loudly, blowing a hole right through the intimacy of the moment. Romance took a backseat to reality.

Eve sucked in a breath as Dawson pulled away. Her body was sizzling, snapping like an exposed electrical wire. Had she ever been this turned on? A glance in Dawson’s direction had her swallowing the suggestive remark she’d been about to make. He was slumped back in his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Regrets.

She could see them as clearly as if they had been tattooed on his forehead, hear them even though he had yet to say a word. Eve closed her eyes, mentally kicked herself. To think for a moment she’d thought the only thing that had come between them during that passionate exchange had been the vehicle’s console and their layers of clothing.

“You’re not ready for … this. Are you?”

His laughter was brittle, bitter. “That’s not exactly the issue at the moment.”

“I’m not talking physically, Dawson.”

“No.” He swore, stared straight ahead and admitted, “I don’t know.”