Dare (4 page)

He could look. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. He was a man now, a man who had calm and ease around women. That’s how he’d operated for years, dating, not getting emotions involved beyond friendship and basic attraction. Why not with Ariella?

Because she was different. She was his ideal—beautiful, smart, strong, kind, exciting, herself.

He grimaced and followed Grandpop back to the living room.

“We need to get these presents out,” Grandpop said. He opened a box and took out dolls and doll clothes.

“Right.” Where had Grandpop gotten all this stuff? At least he wouldn’t have to break into a toy store tonight.

“Come on, Joe, I need your help.”

He was the one who needed help—and a cold shower. “Sure.”

“Ai, ‘sure.’” Grandpop snorted an irritated breath. “Christmas magic, Joseph, right here.” He swept his hands wide. “Long overdue.” He stopped and looked at the tree. “If only Teresa and Angela were here.”

Joey placed a hand on Grandpop’s shoulder. If only… He knew about those words.

Grandpop patted his hand. “You’re a good boy—a good man.”

Joe moved his hand. Grandpop strode to the fireplace, where he set some of the toys, as if Santa had put them there. Joey tried to be a good man. But with Ariella here… He pushed out a breath. This angst business wasn’t his thing. He was good-natured, steady. Ariella was proving, once again, to be the exception to his conceptions.

Chapter Four

A light knock sounded on the door. Ariella padded to it and opened it, irrationally hoping Joe had come back. She’d sent him away. Her legs ached, but not as much as her heart. Or as much as the tingling heat, her body awakening from Joe’s touch, his kiss, had frightened her.

Grandpop stood outside the door. “Just wanted to check on you both.”

“Thanks, Grandpop, we’re well,” Ariella said, opening the door further. Exhaustion dragged her down; she leaned into the doorjamb. Layla already slept in the king-sized bed.

“Of course. I look forward to introducing you both around tomorrow.”

She kissed his cheek. “I want to repay you.”

“No. I did it for you,
famiglia
, eh? If you have the money, put it in an account for her.” He motioned his chin toward Layla’s sleeping form.

Ariella nodded. If she spoke, tears would spill.

“We’ll see you in the morning. Santa will come for Layla, so you rest.” Grandpop raised his hand and walked down the hall.

Ariella shut the door. She went to the chair by the cold fireplace and slid into its cushioned depths, hugging her knees to her chest. The money—she didn’t have it—but she could pay it back, slowly. She closed her eyes, remembering that moment in Grandpop’s office when he’d given her the money, enough to get her started at a community college, and more. All in cash. She’d never seen that much money before. Grandpop waved away her refusals and insisted she take it, since she was insistent on leaving town, starting over, all alone. His jaw had been set in anger, but his words had been gentle, understanding. She pressed her hands into her eyes. Joey was right: She didn’t like accepting help. She didn’t feel she deserved help. Her old therapist would have had a lot to say about that.

Burying her head in her arms, she let thoughts of Joey in. Her skin tingled even at the memory of their night together, the way he’d made love to her, gently but with strength and heat, like nothing she’d experienced with Brent, her only other lover before Joe. She ran her hands through her hair. Joe had too, that night, after they’d rested and she’d straddled him, aching for him, taking him deep, her body alive in his fiery, caring gaze. She leaned back into the chair, curling up.

Now his eyes held pain and wariness. He seemed to want answers, to questions she didn’t want to hear. But she wanted to move forward. She wasn’t that person anymore, who would choose a Brent Scofield or a Luis Morales over Joe D’Angelo. The woman she was now wanted Joe, wanted a chance at her dreams, of a real family, of a happy marriage for herself and a home for Layla. She closed her eyes. Joe might not want those things. And all she knew in this moment was that her body had awakened, alive again after being in Joe’s presence. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that intimacy. But what a Christmas gift that could be.

She raised her head and blinked open her eyes. The shiny ornaments decorating the mantle twinkled at her. Maybe, like she had as a girl, she’d experience the magic of the season, the magic of new life, joy.

She willed herself to remember the happy times and the shining pictures of her dream life. A life where she was a neighborhood lawyer, with a loving husband and big family, everyone supporting each other, through disagreements and triumphs. Warmth teased at her tired muscles. She rose, got out the stocking for Layla, placed it by the fireplace, and finished getting ready for bed.

***

“Mommy!” Layla tugged Ariella’s arm.

Ariella peered at her daughter, groggy. She hadn’t experienced such a deep sleep in years. Safety was a powerful sedative.

“Please, Mommy, hurry! Let’s get downstairs.” Layla kept her small, warm hand on her arm.

“Okay. Merry Christmas,
mi niña
.” The familiar catch in her throat hushed her endearment, the same one Mamá had used.

“Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad!” Layla started singing and jumped from bed. She saw the little stocking. “Oh! Santa did find me.” She ran to the stocking and glanced at Ariella, who nodded. Layla pulled out the candies, the puppy stuffed animal, and the box of crayons and tiny coloring book. “A puppy to protect my baby doll!” Layla hugged it and rushed to the bed, where she had her doll tucked in on the pillow. She placed the puppy beside her. “She doesn’t really need him here, to protect her. Joey will protect us. But maybe, when we move again.”

She let out a shaky breath and caressed Layla’s hair. Layla was so much like Maria, down to her assessment of Joe. “She’s safe, and so are we. I promise. Why don’t you get out your clothes. Then we’ll brush our teeth.”

Layla nodded. Ariella glanced at her phone. Already after eight in the morning, so everyone should be up. Definitely Grandpop, who, she recalled, always woke early in the morning and began his day. What he did, she’d never quite figured, though rumors of his shady business dealings had been rife. Papa hadn’t been too pleased about that, but he didn’t object to the D’Angelo’s. Just a lot else, like Ariella dating, or wearing anything but the most conservative clothes, or getting less than perfect grades, or associating with people who Papa didn’t approve of.

But it wasn’t the DeGrazias, but Lorenzo’s father whose corruption she’d experienced first-hand. She sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes, and her mind, to the month of her shame. She coughed. Water, she needed a quick sip.

Rising, she went to the dresser, where a glass carafe stood. She poured herself a glass and drank slowly. The cool liquid quelled the bitterness in her throat.

Soon, she and Layla were cleaned up and dressed. Layla twirled in her best dress, a dark green that matched the flecks in her eyes. The lace edges reminded Ariella of her mother’s penchant for the delicate work. She fingered one of Mamá’s lace-edged handkerchiefs that she always carried in a pocket or purse. She tucked it back in the pocket of her long, sleek black skirt and then fiddled with the cowl neck on her red sweater. She would’ve preferred to wear something more festive, but she didn’t have a big wardrobe. She was lucky she even had something that fit the occasion at all.

“Can we go down now?” Layla asked, stressing the last word in an almost whining tone.

Ariella took her hand and they walked out and downstairs, Layla practically pulling her to the living room, where the tree was.

“Maybe we should check the kitchen first. You need some breakfast.” Her own stomach rumbled, as she’d poked at her food last night, not really eating. Layla ignored her, intent on her destination.

The doors to the connected dining room and living room at the end of the long hall were open, and sunlight, a more mellow hue than the stark desert light of Arizona, streamed in from the huge windows.

They entered the living room, all light green and grey brocades and rich tones of mahogany, lovingly preserving how Teresa, Grandpop’s late wife, had decorated the room. A floor-to-ceiling tree graced the bay window, its clear lights twinkling among glass ornaments and be-ribboned branches.

“Good morning,” Grandpop said, standing.

Joey stood from in front of the fireplace, where he must have been stoking the now-blazing fire. A kindred flame rose in her, watching him stride toward them, his strong features and muscular frame showing an ease that had been absent last night.

“Santa found me!” Layla said. “He brought me a stocking with a puppy for Dolly, candy, and crayons.”

“That’s not all,” Grandpop said with a wink. He waved his hand toward the tree, which was studded with gifts underneath.

Ariella’s stomach sank. They couldn’t have gotten anything for them, despite what Grandpop had said about Santa coming, and her own offering for Layla, and those she’d picked up for Grandpop and the family, were so small. Not that Layla ever complained.

“And Santa left you more over here, too,” Joey said, grinning at Layla. When he turned his smile on Ariella, the sourness in her stomach evaporated, replaced by a warm fizziness that made its way uncomfortably, but not unpleasantly, to her pelvis. He kept his gaze on her too long, his blue-green eyes the colors of the lake near where she’d grown up. She glanced away, to watch Layla, who ran to the tree.

“Do you see all the presents, Mommy! We should bring ours down.”

“Yes, we will.”

Layla went to Grandpop, took his hand with solemn grace, and walked him to the fireplace. Ariella stepped closer, near where Joey stood.

“Oh,” Layla sighed with wonder. She looked up at Grandpop, who knelt near her. “Is it really for me, from Santa?”

“Yes, of course. Who else leaves presents by the fireplace?”

Layla nodded. “Mommy,” she called.

Ariella walked over, blinking back tears. Layla fingered a jump rope, a Hispanic American Girl doll with a toy scooter, wardrobe, and book, and a matching scooter and outfit in Layla’s size. There were several other toys—stuffed animals, coloring books, books, and games—dotting the outside of the hearth.

Layla sat and lovingly handled the doll. How had Grandpop known exactly what Layla wanted, much less that they’d be here? Unless he and her best friend and mentor in Tucson, Jorge Ruiz, had been talking more than Jorge had let on. She’d recently found out they knew each other, which had been a surprise. She glanced at Grandpop, but he was watching Layla, clearly satisfied. Layla was silenced with awe, as well she would be. They’d had to leave everything behind when Ariella left Luis one day while he was at work. They’d had to move from town to town, staying in shelters or rentals—two years—until the divorce went through and Ariella could get a steady job and re-enroll in law school. And Luis’s murder, and his mother suing for custody… Only in the last year had things begun to settle in their life. Layla had been so brave through it all, things she couldn’t understand, ugly things no child should have to experience. She gripped her hands together.

“Want me to read you the book, Layla?” Joey asked from the sofa.

Layla nodded and hopped onto his lap. Layla leaned into him like she’d known him forever. Ariella let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Joey began reading, sometimes in funny voices, making Layla giggle. Joey finished the book, staying still, letting Layla lead the interaction.

“Mommy, come sit with us.” Layla held out her hand.

Ariella sat next to them, her thigh almost touching Joe’s. Heat mellowed her legs and arms. Layla leaned into Joe’s chest again and held Ariella’s hand, joining the three of them. Ariella glanced at Joe from under lowered lashes as Layla chattered, facing toward Grandpop, who sat in the chair near the sofa. Joe’s expression was still a mixture of pain and wariness. She closed her eyes briefly, focusing on steadying her breathing, calming the erratic feeling in her chest. She breathed in Joe’s scent, now a mixture of spicy and woodsy, like the crackling fire he’d stoked. Opening her eyes, she caught him looking at her. The pain and wariness were joined by desire and caring.

“Will we read the story, Mommy, like you said Pop-pop used to?” Layla had taken to calling the grandfather she never knew “Pop-pop.” How he would have loved his granddaughter.

“Yes,
mí niña
.” She smoothed Layla’s hair. “She likes me to read the bible story of the nativity, just like my father read to us every Christmas,” she said in explanation to Joe and Grandpop.

“We always read that too,” Grandpop said. “After breakfast, if you can wait.”

Layla nodded and snuggled into Joe. “Santa gave me a toy puppy to protect my dolly, but I told Mommy we don’t need him, not while you’re here.” Layla touched Joe’s hand.

“You’re right. But Santa knows sometimes I have to go protect other people too. But Grandpop and Becca are here right now, besides your mom.” He really listened to people, he cared.

She shifted, her leg touching Joe’s. She grasped Layla’s hand, resting hers on Joe’s thigh for a moment. The heat in her sparked from mellow to fiery. She moved her hand and Joe edged his leg away. Her cheeks warmed. What was wrong with her? Here he was just being kind and she was trying to touch him, and with Layla right here. She ducked her head.

The door opened. Grandpop rose. “Ah, Marcella,
perfecto
.”

Ariella turned her head. She smiled at Marcella, Grandpop’s cook and head housekeeper. Marcella hadn’t changed. Probably her husband, Rudy, hadn’t either, both of them that hardy Italian of indeterminate age, small, sturdy, and full of quiet energy. Marcella smiled back and set down a tray brimming with breakfast goodies: S-shaped cookies, biscotti, powdered-sugar covered rounds, mini spinach frittatas, and a fruit plate.