A Family for Christmas (7 page)

But
it was demanding a lot more from her than she’d ever expected.

Lydia didn’t sleep very
well that night, and she was wide awake at 4:50 the following morning, stewing
about her marriage and how weird and awkward things seemed to be with Gabe. So
finally she just got up and headed outside for a run.

She
would have preferred to swim, but the indoor pool she used wouldn’t open for
three more hours, so running would have to do.

She
alternated running, jogging, and walking for an hour and a half, and she was
feeling absolutely exhausted but better when she came back to the house.

Things
were fine. This weirdness wouldn’t last forever. Soon they’d be in India and
she could focus on her work. She needed to try not to be impatient or
frustrated with the way things were now. No sense in arguing with Gabe—about
anything really. They needed to think practically and not with their emotions.
Things would be a lot simpler than way.

In
the scheme of things, her relationship with Gabe didn’t matter all that much.
It was merely a means to an end. So she could make the effort to get along with
him, even if the dynamics weren’t exactly what she thought was best.

So
she felt reenergized as she limped into the kitchen for water, breathing
heavily and flushed from the exercise. It was kind of chilly outside, so she
wasn’t soaked in sweat, but she felt hot in the house so she took off the
long-sleeved shirt she wore over a fitted t-shirt.

She
jerked to a stop when she saw Gabe was in the kitchen, standing in front of the
coffee pot.

He
wore a pair of pajama pants and nothing else.

And
nothing
else.

His
back was to her, and she stared at the broad, strong lines of his back tapering
down to his waist and hips.

He
was only semi-regular about working out, so every inch of his body wasn’t
perfectly toned. But he was built big and masculine, and even the slight
imperfections—the slight love handles just above his waistband—made him seem
realer, more human, more touchable.

Damn,
did she want to touch him.

She
was hit with the desire after about ten seconds of staring at him, in the space
of time it took for him to register her presence and turn around.

“Good
morning,” she said, trying to sound natural. Instead, she sounded stiff, and
her voice cracked slightly. She was still breathing heavily from her run, but
now her blood was pulsing with something else.

His
blue eyes ran up and down the length of her. “Good morning.”

She
walked farther into the kitchen, since there was something here she was
supposed to be getting—although she couldn’t remember what it was at the
moment. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Gabe—his sleep-tousled hair, his
bristly jaw, his bare chest. The pulsing in her body only intensified as she
got closer to him.

On
her run, she’d just reminded herself that this marriage—this man—wasn’t what
was most important in her life.

But
suddenly he felt very important. Like he was consuming her body and mind.

“You’re
up early,” he said, taking the mug from beneath the one-cup brewer and taking a
sip of black coffee. He looked kind of tired, but maybe it was just because he
hadn’t fully woken up yet.

“Yeah.”
She made herself turn away from him because she was so overwhelmed with
visceral hunger. It was ridiculous. She was a mature, reasonable woman who was
perfectly capable of controlling any stray lust she happened to feel.

She
stared at the refrigerator blankly until she remembered she’d come in here to
get water. So she opened the door and stared inside until her mind registered
where the bottles of water were.

Get
it together. Get it together. It’s just a guy without a shirt.

“Are
you still pouting?” Gabe asked from behind her, his voice slightly skeptical.

Her
mind snapped back into focus, and she whirled around, forgetting all of her
self-lectures about being reasonable. “Pouting? I’m not
pouting
. I was
never
pouting
.”

He
reacted to her sharp tone immediately, his shoulders stiffening visibly. “Fine,
whatever you want to call it. Are you still pissed?”

“I
wasn’t pissed until you used that offensive, condescending word.”

He
sucked in an indignant breath. “It was just a question.”

“It
wasn’t just a question. You chose to use the word ‘pout,’ as if I am a child
and my concerns are trivial and petty.” She was so irrationally annoyed with
him that she was practically shaking with it.

For
a moment, she saw herself as if from a distance, and she could see how absurd
it was to react this way. But she couldn’t seem to help it.

Gabe
was just making her mad.

She
evidently made him mad too—even though he was normally so laidback. He stepped
closer to her, seeming to absorb in his body all the heat and tension in the
room. “You’re imagining things,” he gritted out. “If you’re going to
over-analyze every word I say, we’re never going to be able to have a rational
conversation.”

“So
now you’re saying I’m irrational?”

Shit.
She was doing nothing but making it worse. She needed to just shut up.

He
bit off a frustrated groan. “I’m not saying you’re irrational. I’m not saying
you’re a child. I won’t say anything at all if you don’t want me to.”

She
consciously tempered her tone, although she was still bristling with annoyance.
“Don’t act like this is all my fault. I’m sorry if I’m being overly sensitive.
I’m not usually this way, but this is new to me and maybe I’m not feeling
entirely secure. But the problem here is not just on me. You’ve got to try to
think about me too.”

“I
do think about you.” His voice was still gruff, but it was lower now. He was
still very close to her. So close she could reach out and touch him.

“Do
you?” She took a ragged breath and tightened her hands into fists at her sides
so she wouldn’t lift them to his chest.

She’d
never known it was possible to want to both stroke and shake someone at the
exact same time.

“Of
course.” He lifted one hand and planted it on the refrigerator behind her in a
strangely possessive gesture that trapped her with his body. “What exactly do
you want from me?”

She
was panting audibly, visibly, but she couldn’t possibly control it. Her body
hummed with feeling even as her heart and mind throbbed with an emotional
turmoil she just wasn’t used to. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.”

That
wasn’t true. It wasn’t even close to true.

He
leaned in even closer, so intense that she could hardly believe this was the
same man she’d married. “I said I was sorry about last night.”

“Did
you?” She honestly couldn’t remember if he’d said the words, but he sure hadn’t
acted sorry last night. Without thinking, she put one hand on his chest, unable
to stop herself from touching the warm substance of his body. “It didn’t really
seem like you understood what I was trying to say.”

He
let out a rough breath. “I didn’t. Not last night. But I thought about it all
night, and I
am
sorry. You’re right that I was just assuming you’d be
there when I needed you—like you were some kind of convenience to me. I was
going to apologize this morning, but things kind of went…awry.”

She
let out a huff of amusement, relaxing as she met his eyes again. “Yeah. I was
going to apologize too. I think it’s just…” She trailed off, suddenly conscious
that she wasn’t just touching him. She was rubbing her hand just slightly,
feeling the firm flesh, the coarse hair, the…

“Just
what?” he asked thickly. His body radiated a kind of tension that seemed to
match the tension in her own body.

“Just…”
She had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. “Hard.”

He
was hard. Deliciously hard beneath her hand. Her breathing accelerated as she
stared at her fingers against his chest.

He
was breathing faster too. He looked down at how she was touching him.

“Being
married, I mean,” she managed to explain, so he wouldn’t think she’d been
talking about anything else.

“Yeah.”
His voice was slightly abrupt, and so was his touch as he removed her hand from
his body. “No one said marriage was easy.” He turned his back on her to pick up
his mug of coffee. It must be lukewarm by now.

She
blinked at his back, since it had felt like they were about to make a
connection—come to a real understanding—and he’d suddenly pulled away from it.
“I know it’s not easy,” she began. “I think we can make it work if we both try.
I’m sorry that I—”

“It’s
fine,” he said gruffly, still not looking at her. “I’ve got to go get dressed.”

He
started to leave the kitchen as she stared at his retreating back. “But, Gabe,”
she said, feeling ludicrously disappointed. “I think we need to talk about—”

“We
will. Later.”

Then
he was gone, heading up the stairs. Quickly.

And
she was left in the kitchen by herself, with a lot of things she wanted to say
about how they could work on their marriage.

And
a lot of things she wanted to do—with him—that she wasn’t able to do.

***

Lydia felt weird and
awkward for the rest of the day. She went to shower—taking a longer one than
normal—and came down to breakfast with the resolve to be particularly nice and
patient.

She
couldn’t control how Gabe acted, but she could control how she acted, and she
was going to try to make this marriage work.

They
had breakfast with Ellie, who looked at both of them suspiciously and finally
asked if they were fighting—which both of them vehemently denied.

Then
Lydia was purposefully cheerful about their plans for the day—which included
Gabe working, Ellie reading and writing in his office with him, and Lydia going
to help her parents clean out their basement.

Gabe
seemed basically normal after that morning, but it still felt like they hadn’t
quite worked things out.

It
grated on her. That he’d pulled away when they could have come to a better understanding.
She was still thinking about it after she took a bath that evening and got into
bed.

She
was sure she could control the lust—that was a physical response and was
probably heightened because she’d never been in such close quarters with a man
before. But they had to work out how they would function together if they were
going to make this marriage work.

Finally,
she couldn’t relax until she took a proactive step, so she got out of bed and
headed to his room. She could see the light was still on from the crack at the
bottom of the door, so she assumed he was still awake.

She
knocked on the door.

She
gave a little gasp when it swung open in about thirty seconds and Gabe stood in
the doorway, dressed only in a pair of boxers.

She
gulped—afraid it was audible but unable to stop herself. She was hit once again
with that wave of visceral attraction, the likes of which she’d never
experienced before.

“Sorry,”
she managed to say. “I didn’t think…I mean, I thought you weren’t in bed yet.
The light was on.”

“I
was about to get in bed.” His eyes slid down her body, taking in her soft
pajama pants and tank top and lingering on where one of the straps was slipping
down her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.
I just wanted to…I felt like we didn’t quite finish our conversation this
morning. About getting along, I mean. And it was bugging me. I really want this
marriage to work.”

“I
do too.” Something had tightened in his body, in his expression. “And we can
talk about it. But not now.”

She
frowned. “Why not now?”

His
voice was deliciously thick as he said, “Because you’re not wearing many
clothes right now, and it’s very distracting.”

She
glanced down at herself in faint surprise and then up at him. She suddenly
realized that the tension she sensed in him was arousal.

Arousal
.
He was aroused. By her.

A
thrill of excitement, pleasure, and satisfaction washed over her with this
knowledge.

It
was a relief. And felt right. That he was attracted to her too.

“Oh,”
she said, realizing he was waiting for her to reply. “Sorry. I didn’t….”

“I
know you didn’t realize it. I’m sorry we can’t talk now. But I want to respect
your wishes about not having sex, and that means I have to walk away when I’m
getting too…” He cleared his throat and glanced away from her. “Turned on.”

“Oh.”
She sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly swept with the same kind of hunger she’d
felt that morning. He was wearing almost nothing. And he was big and warm and
masculine and strong. And
Gabe
. “Well maybe…” She trailed off again,
although she’d always considered herself quite articulate in the past.