Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [37]
Standing on her toes, she slipped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Thank you for the most wonderful day.”
“Thank you.” His lips found hers then, and it was sweet and sensual all at once.
He brought her full against him as their mouths met again and again, one unhurried kiss following another. Emily’s senses spun out of control but she pulled back, fearful of what might happen if they allowed this to continue.
Ray exhaled shakily. “I’m not sure that was a good idea, but I’m not sorry. Not at all…”
Emily kissed the side of his jaw. “Me, neither,” she whispered.
She felt his smile. “Don’t worry, Ray, I promise not to ravish you,” she teased.
“Damn.”
“Well…” Emily laughed softly. “I could reconsider.”
It was Ray’s turn to be amused. “You ready for the lights?”
“I suppose.”
When Ray touched the switch, the room instantly went from dark to bright. But he didn’t immediately release her.
When they separated and moved farther into the room, Emily noticed the flashing message light on the phone. Ray noticed it, too. Emily’s hopes soared—could it be Heather?—but then she remembered that her daughter didn’t know where she was staying.
Ray pushed the caller ID button and groaned. “Four calls,” he muttered, “and they’re all from my mother.”
SIXTEEN
Southern Florida in December was paradise. There was no other word for it. The beach was flawless, the water blue and clear and warm, the sunshine constant. It was as close to heaven as anyone who’d spent a winter in Boston could imagine.
What Heather didn’t know was why she felt so miserable in such a perfect setting. She had every reason in the world to be happy, but she wasn’t. To make matters worse, Elijah was growing irritated with her moods.
“Get me a beer,” her hero called from where he was stretched out beneath a palm tree on the beach, one of his stalwart companions beside him.
Heather got up from the beach towel where she was sun-bathing and walked back into their motel room. She opened the small refrigerator and brought out a cold beer. Without a word she delivered it to Elijah. He looked at his friend, nodded, and the other man stood up and left.
“Let’s talk,” Elijah said, patting the sand next to him.
“About what?” Heather crossed her arms stubbornly.
“Sit down,” he ordered. He pointed at the empty space his friend had just vacated.
Reluctantly Heather joined him.
“All right,” he muttered after opening the beer. He took a long swig and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You haven’t been yourself since we left Boston.”
Heather didn’t say anything. He knew she felt terrible about leaving her mother behind. If he couldn’t figure it out, then she wasn’t going to tell him.
“I thought you’d like Florida.” Elijah made it sound like an accusation, as if he’d done everything humanly possible to provide for her happiness.
“What’s not to like?”
Elijah nodded. “Exactly—so what’s the problem?”
“You’re right. I’m not happy.”
He wrapped his arm around her neck, the cold beer bottle dangling between two fingers. “What is it, babe?”
Heather cringed at his use of the word babe, but she’d given up trying to convince Elijah to call her anything else. What particularly irritated her was that she suspected it was the term he used with all his girlfriends.
“If you must know, I’m worried about my mother.”
Elijah tightened his grip around her neck by taking another healthy swig of beer. “I thought we already talked that out.”
“We talked.” He seemed to think it was a closed subject. Heather wished it was, but none of this was turning out the way she’d hoped. The motel was a dump, she was sick of fast food, the other women didn’t like her, and…
“What is it now?”
She shook her head, letting her long hair swing. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that,” he said again. “You’ve been in a piss-poor mood from the get-go.” He spread his arms and looked out at the rolling waves of