Книга - Hot Christmas Kisses

Hot Christmas Kisses
Joss Wood


“You’re just a temporary indulgence.”On and off again, Matt Edwards and DJ Winston share hot sex, hotel rooms—and nothing else.But now Matt is suddenly in DJ’s real life, where she’s not sentimental about anything. Can Christmas turn their fantasy into forever?







“You’re my escape. Just a temporary indulgence.”

But Christmas has a way of changing things...

On and then off again, Matt Edwards and DJ Winston share hot sex, hotel rooms—and nothing else. But now Matt is suddenly in DJ’s real life, where she’s not sentimental about anything—not her lovers or the holidays. Just one hot kiss has them back in bed... Will Christmas magic turn their fantasy into forever?


JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.


Also by Joss Wood (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)

Convenient Cinderella BrideThe Nanny ProposalHis Ex’s Well-Kept SecretOne Night to ForeverThe CEO’s Nanny AffairLittle Secrets: Unexpectedly PregnantFriendship on Fire

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Hot Christmas Kisses

Joss Wood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07683-8

HOT CHRISTMAS KISSES

© 2018 Joss Wood

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

Cover (#u8b59dd57-b121-586a-9570-aaaf6d67a126)

Back Cover Text (#ua460635b-de95-5e4f-a81e-1e342681cc42)

About the Author (#ue8788847-f9e2-53ad-aa13-0dacef208502)

Booklist (#u31a0a31e-bab7-54e6-8cfd-50b2b5bb3d4f)

Title Page (#u270fd9a1-ba5b-569f-a340-1556976ab343)

Copyright (#ua7b57824-405f-5cb6-aa09-a1ef973faa1b)

Prologue (#ulink_5ec11bc9-300d-5828-859c-26ea700c48fa)

One (#ulink_b2bc2f93-289f-541b-925f-4935ef2ca7f7)

Two (#ulink_b3c4452e-c8c1-5709-a04d-a2ab32dd1624)

Three (#ulink_2d71e656-a590-50e2-a8c4-790f47b8482f)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)

Christmas, the year before

In a rural part of Devon, three thousand miles from her home in Boston, Massachusetts, DJ Winston smoothed her hands over the maroon-and-silver dress and turned to face her computer screen.

Her two best friends, twins Darby and Jules Brogan, lounged on Jules’s couch in her office back in Massachusetts, coffee cups on the table in front of them. As was their custom, they’d shortly be closing their business for the Christmas break, ending the year by treating their staff to lunch.

“Send everybody my love and tell them I hope they have a lovely minivacation.”

DJ ignored Darby rolling her eyes at DJ’s inability to wish anyone a merry Christmas. She tried, she really did, but the words always got stuck in her throat. Merry Christmas! Happy holidays! Ho, ho, ho...nope, she couldn’t do it. She could talk interest rates and contract terms, equity and cash flow, but she stuttered and stammered her way through December. The festive—hah!—season made her feel like she was eight again, alone, frightened and wondering why neither of her parents loved her.

DJ knew the twins would like to discuss her antipathy toward Christmas, but it was, like so many other subjects, off-limits.

DJ adored the twins, but she believed in keeping some distance between her and the people she loved. Distance was her safety net, her belay rope, her life vest. Distance was how she’d always protected herself. And since it had worked for her as a child and as a teen, what was the point of changing her strategy now?

Darby cocked her head to one side. “That dress looks fantastic with your dark hair and eyes, DJ.”

Jules nodded her agreement. “Vibrant colors suit you. But with your height and build, anything looks good on you, you know that.”

She didn’t, though.

While the twins saw her as attractive, she still saw herself as the gangly, dark-haired teenager who embarrassed her blond, blue-eyed mother. DJ was smart enough, Fenella reluctantly admitted, but she was too tall, too lanky, with not enough charm. So Fenella said when she was in a good mood.

DJ tried not to remember the words Fenella let fly when she was angry.

“What shoes are you wearing?” Darby asked.

“My Jimmy Choos, the ones you made me buy last week.” DJ nodded to the sexy silver shoes on the bed.

“So...” Darby drawled. “When is Matt arriving?”

DJ released an irritated sigh. “He’s not.”

“He stood you up? Nice Christmas present.” Jules was sarcasm personified.

DJ sighed. Darby and Jules didn’t understand that her and Matt Edwards’s ad hoc arrangement worked for them, as it had for the past six years. Depending on their schedules, she and Matt met for a night or a weekend. That was when DJ stepped out of her life, pushing aside numbers and profit margins, cash-flow issues and cost projections. When she was with Matt, she allowed herself the freedom to be another version of herself—fun-loving, exuberant and sensuous.

Neither she nor Matt had any expectations, and DJ was very conscious of the fact that, despite making this unusual situation last for many years, their arrangement was a temporary thing.

They had no ties to each other, nothing to bind them except for the expectation of good sex, a few laughs and a relaxing time spent in undemanding company. She didn’t need more. A partner, boyfriend or permanent lover wasn’t something she wanted for herself; after being abandoned by her father and rejected by Fenella, DJ wasn’t prepared to hand over her battered heart to another human to kick around. She was keeping possession of that fragile organ.

Spontaneous weekends spent with Matt worked well for her, but yesterday he’d blown her off, saying that he, despite it being Christmas, needed to stay in the Netherlands, to consult with a client who was in a world of hurt. Because Matt was a fantastically successful human-rights lawyer, hurt could mean his client was a political refugee ducking prison time, or a tribe of aboriginal people who’d been kicked off their ancestral land and were facing the imminent loss of their culture and way of life.

The fact that his on-and-off lover needed to escape Christmas and was horny as hell didn’t nudge the needle of his what-international-laws-did-this-violate? scale.

DJ had considered missing her friend’s wedding but that meant doing Christmas in Boston. Ugh. Attending this Christmas Eve wedding was the lesser of two evils.

Her friends on the screen were still waiting for her response. Right, they’d been discussing Matt’s nonarrival. “We have an understanding that work always comes first. He’s tied up doing something terribly important.”

What he wasn’t doing was her.

DJ pulled a face, glanced at the corner clock on her laptop screen and sighed. “I’d better slap on some makeup or else I’m going to be late for the church service.”

Darby frowned and waved at DJ’s dress. “Take that off first. You do not want to get makeup on that dress.”

Good point. Friends since kindergarten, she was superbly comfortable disrobing in front of them. Allowing them to see her messed-up inner world was what she found difficult. DJ gently pulled the dress over her head and laid it on the bed.

Jules whistled. “Push-up bra, tiny thong, heels. Edwards has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

“I agree.”

That voice.

DJ whipped her head up and looked toward the doorway. Her heart, stupid thing, did cartwheels in her chest.

Matt, a shoulder pressed to the doorframe, looked as effortlessly sexy as he always did. A tall blond with deep green eyes and a surfer’s tan, he had the face and body to advertise sun, sea and sex. He didn’t look like what he was: a brilliant international lawyer with a steel-trap mind.

The moisture in DJ’s mouth disappeared and it took all her willpower not to run to him and start removing his clothes. She desperately wanted to slide the cream linen jacket down his arms and rip apart his navy button-down shirt. The leather belt would be next, and she’d soon have the buttons of his designer jeans undone. In her hand he’d be hot and hard...

It had always been this way. Matt just had to look at her with those incredibly green eyes and she went from cool and collected to crazy in ten seconds flat. She didn’t love him—hell, she barely knew him—but, damn, she craved his mouth, his hands on all her long neglected and secret places.

Okay, try to hold it together. For God’s sake, be cool.

“I thought you couldn’t make it,” DJ said, wincing at the happy note in her voice. Yeah, opposite of cool, Winston.

She glanced at her dress lying on the bed, considered slipping it on and then shrugged. Why bother? Matt had seen everything she had, more than once.

Matt stepped into the room, walking with a grace not many big men possessed. “My client was delayed.”

Matt crossed the room to her and his hand lifted to cradle her face, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. He looked down, and she felt the heat of his gaze on the tiny triangle low on her hips and her equally frivolous bra. She was, in turn, both entranced and brutally turned on by the passion flaring in his eyes. Being wanted by this sexy man always shot a ray of enhanced sunshine through her veins.

“Nice outfit, Dylan-Jane,” Matt said when their eyes locked again, his voice extra growly.

He was the only person, apart from her mother, who’d ever called her by her full name, and on Matt’s lips it was a caress rather than a curse.

“Hi.”

The single-syllable greeting was all her tangled tongue could manage.

“Hi back.” Matt lowered his mouth to hers and as their lips touched they both hesitated, as they always did. DJ had no idea why Matt waited but she enjoyed stretching out the moment, ramping up the anticipation. Yes, she was desperate for his touch, but she also wanted to make the moment last. The first kiss, after so long apart, was always exceptional.

Finally, Matt’s clever mouth touched hers and it was, as always, sweet and sexy—a little rediscovery and a whole bunch of familiarity. The kisses they’d exchange later would be out of control, like a wildfire, but this one was tender and, in its way, as soul-deep sexy as what would come later.

Talking about later...

It took everything DJ had to pull her mouth off his, to drop her hands from that wide, warm chest. “If we don’t get dressed we’re going to be late for the wedding.”

“Yeah, you have about fifteen minutes to get out of that room to beat the bride to the church.”

DJ yelped at Darby’s dry voice. DJ took a step to the side to look past Matt’s arm to the computer screen. Her friends were still there, both looking worried. DJ was thankful that they’d only had a view of Matt’s broad back and truly excellent butt during that kiss.

“Hey, Matt,” Darby said.

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head and rolled his eyes at DJ. With a rueful smile he turned around and looked at the screen. “Ladies.”

“Well done for arriving in the nick of time,” Jules said, her voice tart.

Matt just raised one sandy, arrogant eyebrow. Then he stepped up to the desk, looked down at the screen and smiled. “’Bye, ladies.” He closed the lid to the laptop and turned back to face DJ.

“I’ve missed you.”

DJ tipped back her head to look into his eyes, her cynical side wondering if he said that as a way to talk her into bed. But the look on his face was sincere, his eyes radiating honesty. Besides, Matt didn’t use coercion. She was either fully on board or he backed off; Matt did not whine or beg or force.

Besides, they both knew she was going to slide into bed with him the moment she saw him standing in the doorway. She was putty in his hands.

“You, half-naked in sexy lingerie, is my early Christmas present.” Matt lifted a curl off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. His mouth curled up into a deprecating half smile. “But I’m embarrassed to tell you that I hightailed it out of my office to make my flight and I’ve been rushing ever since. I didn’t want to be late, so I didn’t stop to buy condoms. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

DJ shook her head. Well, crap. Matt never, ever made love to her without one.

“So, damn. No condoms. Maybe we should go to the church and pick this up later.”

Oh, hell, no.

“Or we could just carry on...” DJ ran her finger down his hard erection before fumbling with the snap on his pants.

Matt groaned. “Dylan-Jane, oral isn’t enough. I need to be inside you. I’ll go pick up some condoms and come back. We’ll miss the service, but we could still make the reception.”

Hearing his rough, growly, frustrated voice, DJ melted. “I’m on the pill, Matt. I’m clean, there hasn’t been anyone since we last hooked up, and if you can tell me you are...”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He kissed her lips before pulling back again. “Can I trust you with this, Dylan-Jane? There won’t be any unexpected surprises?”

If he knew her better, he wouldn’t have to ask. Sure, the time they spent together was a fantasy, hot and wild, but that wasn’t the person she was in real life. In Boston, she didn’t do the unexpected and she hated surprises. Her life was planned, regulated, controlled.

And a baby was Darby’s dream, not DJ’s.

“I’ve got this, Matt.” DJ pushed his pants and boxers down his hips, wound her arms around his strong neck and lowered her mouth onto his, whispering her words against his lips. “Come inside me, Matt, it’s been too damn long.”

Matt didn’t hesitate, quickly pushing her panties to the side. He slid inside her, held her there and then lowered her to the bed. Gathering her to him, DJ knew that he’d try to be a gentleman—he always tried to make their first encounter together slow and reverential. She didn’t need either—she needed hot and hard and fast.

“Matt, I need to burn,” DJ told him in a tortured whisper.

Matt pushed himself up and slowly rolled his hips. When she released a low moan, he smiled.

He had a repertoire of smiles, from distracted to dozy, but this one was her favorite: part pirate, part choirboy, all wicked.

“Well, then, let’s light a match, Dylan-Jane.”

Matt slid his hands under her hips, lifted her up, slammed into her and catapulted her into that white-hot, delicious fire she’d longed for.

She was almost, but not quite, tempted to murmur “Merry Christmas to me.”


One (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)

Nearly a year later...

In the public area at Logan International Airport, Matt Edwards ignored the crowds and maneuvered his way around the flower bearers and card holders. He’d mastered the art of walking and working his smartphone: there were ten messages from his office and a few text messages. None, dammit, were from Dylan-Jane.

Despite reaching out over a week ago, she’d yet to give him a definitive answer about them getting together in Boston.

Maybe she was making him wait because he’d been out of touch for so long. But he’d been busy and it just happened that they’d had less contact this year than usual. A lot less. But he was here now, and he was hopeful they could recapture some of their old magic.

“Matt!”

Matt turned, saw the tall frame of his old friend Noah Lockwood striding toward him and smiled. Well, this was a pleasant surprise.

Matt pushed his phone into the inside pocket of his black jacket before shaking Noah’s hand. “It’s great to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Noah fell into step beside him. “I’ve just dropped Jules off. She’s flying to New York to meet a client. I knew you were coming in today, saw the flight times and thought I’d buy you a beer.”

An excellent plan. It had been months, maybe even more than a year, since he and Noah had exchanged anything other than a brief phone call or a catch-up email. At college, they’d been tight, and despite their busy lives, he still considered Noah a friend.

Noah had also introduced Matt to DJ, and for that he’d always be grateful.

“I’d love a beer.”

They walked to the nearest bar and Matt headed to two empty seats at the far end of the joint, tucking his suitcase between him and the wall before he slid onto the barstool. Within minutes he had a glass of an expensive microbrew in front of him.

Noah raised his glass and an enquiring eyebrow. “What brings you back to Boston?”

How to answer? Matt ignored the ache in that triangle where his ribs met. This visit, unlike those quick visits to see his grandfather, was going to be...difficult.

Emotional. Draining. Challenging.

All the things he most tried to avoid.

“I’m moving my grandfather into an assisted-living facility.” Stock answer.

Noah looked surprised. “The judge is moving out of his home? Why?”

Matt took a sip of his beer before rubbing his eyes. “He’s showing signs of dementia and Alzheimer’s. He can’t live on his own anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. “How long are you going to be in town for?”

Matt tapped his finger against his glass. “I’m not sure, but since I don’t have any court appearances scheduled until the New Year, probably until after Christmas. So, for the next three weeks at least.”

Noah’s eyes were steady on his face and Matt felt the vague urge to tell his friend the other reason he was in Boston. But talking wasn’t something he found easy to do.

Noah didn’t push, but changed the subject by asking another question. “So, are you going to contact DJ while you’re in town?”

Matt sent Noah a sour look. “Who’s asking, you or your fiancée?”

Noah grinned. “Jules’s last words to me weren’t ‘I love you, you’re such a stud,’ but ‘get Matt to tell you why he and DJ haven’t spoken for nearly a year.’”

Matt shook his head. “You are so whipped, man.”

Noah just grinned.

“I thought Jules and Darby would be happy to hear that DJ and I drifted apart. They aren’t my biggest fans.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m in the middle here. I introduced you to DJ but I never expected your no-strings affair to last for years. I’ve told the twins to leave you two alone. You are adults and you both know what you are doing.

“But they love her and they are worried about her,” Noah added.

Matt’s head shot up. “Why are they worried about her?”

Noah released a soft curse. “You’ve got to know how much I love Jules, because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t ever consider broaching this subject.”

Yep, whipped. If Matt wasn’t the subject of the conversation, he’d find Noah’s dilemma amusing. “The twins are worried because she hasn’t been the same this past year. She’s been quieter, more reserved, less...happy,” Noah told him.

Matt filled in the blanks. “And they are blaming me for that?”

“Not so much blaming as looking for an explanation. DJ isn’t talking, so my fiancée, damn her, asked me to ask you. Man, I sound like a teenager.”

“So you didn’t just accost me to have a beer?”

“The beer was an added incentive,” Noah said, obviously uncomfortable. “Look, forget it, Matt. It’s not my or Jules’s business and I feel like a dick raising the subject.”

Matt wanted to be annoyed but he wasn’t. He’d always envied the friendship Dylan-Jane and the twins shared. They were a tight unit and would go to war for each other. He’d been self-sufficient for as long as he could remember, and his busy career didn’t allow time for close friendships. It certainly didn’t allow time for a relationship.

Matt carefully picked his words. “DJ and I have an understanding. Neither of us are looking for something permanent. I’m sorry if she’s had a tough year but I don’t think it’s related to me. We were very clear about our expectations and we agreed there would be no hard feelings if life, or other people, got in the way of us seeing each other.”

“Other people? Are you seeing someone else?”

Was Noah kidding? It had been a hell of a year and he hadn’t needed the added aggravation of dating someone new. He’d had a slew of tough cases and he’d been sideswiped by explosive news and saddened by an ex’s untimely death. And he was now required to make life-changing decisions for his once brilliant grandfather.

Starting something new with someone new when he was feeling emotionally battered wasn’t the solution to anything. As a teenager he’d learned the hard lesson that emotion and need were a dangerous combination.

He’d fallen in love at sixteen and he’d walked around drunk on emotion. His ex, Gemma, and he had made their plans: they’d graduate, go to college, get married, have kids...and they’d feel like this forever. She was the one, his everything...

At seventeen she’d informed him she was pregnant. A part of him had been ecstatic at the news of them having a baby—this would be the family he’d never really had, his to protect, his to love. His. All his...

After ten days of secret planning, and heart-to-heart discussions, Gemma flipped on him, telling him she’d miscarried and was moving across town and changing schools.

She didn’t love him, she never really had...

He’d vowed then that love was a myth, that it was a manipulative tactic, that it didn’t really exist. His parents, his grandparents, Gemma—they all proved his point. At seventeen, he’d dismissed love and forever as a fabrication and nothing since had changed his mind.

He now believed in sex, and having lots of it safely, but love? Not a chance.

And sex, in his mind, meant DJ.

DJ didn’t want anything permanent, either. Just like him, she was allergic to commitment. They spent just enough time together to enjoy each other but not enough to become close. It was the perfect setup...

Or it had been.

He was back in Boston, in her city, and he saw no reason not to meet. It had been too long since he’d held her, since he’d tasted her skin, inhaled her fruity scent, heard her laugh. DJ, fun-loving, exuberant and sensuous, was exactly the medicine he needed. She’d be a distraction from thinking about how to handle the bombshell news he still hadn’t wrapped his head around.

Matt looked at Noah. “I really don’t know what’s going on in DJ’s life, but I doubt it has anything to do with me.”

Noah drained his beer. “Are you going to see her while you’re in Boston?”

Of course he was. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ve been told to tell you that if you hurt her, they’ll stab you with a broken beer bottle.”

Matt rolled his eyes. DJ’s friends were fierce. “Understood. But, as I said, we have a solid understanding.”

Noah lifted his hands. “Just the messenger here.” He pulled some cash out of his wallet and ignored Matt’s offer to contribute. “If you don’t want to spend the next month or so in a hotel, you’re welcome to use the carriage house at Lockwood House. When we are home, Jules and I live in the main house.”

Noah’s property was, if Matt remembered correctly, the cornerstone of a very upmarket, expensive golfing community north of Boston. It was a generous offer and Matt appreciated it. “Thank you. That would be great.”

“It was Jules’s idea. That way she can keep an eye on you.” Noah smiled. “And you do know that our house is directly opposite where Darby, DJ and Levi Brogan live? The same Levi Brogan who is superprotective and has no idea that you’ve been sleeping with the woman he loves like a sister for the last five-plus years?”

Oh, crap.

“It’s going to be fun watching you tap-dance around him,” Noah said before he clapped Matt on the shoulder and walked out of the bar.

Matt looked down at his phone and automatically stabbed his finger on the gallery icon. He flicked through the images of Dylan-Jane, memories sliding over him, and stopped when he came to a topless photo he’d snapped of her lying on the sand on a private beach in St. Barts. She was facing the sea but had turned her head back to look at him and the camera, her sable hair skimming the sand. She was all golden gorgeousness—flashing dark eyes, flushed cheeks, rosy nipples on her perky, tanned breasts.

Unable to resist her, he’d picked her up and carried her to the water, where they’d had amazing sea sex.

He had lots of great memories of DJ but, hell, making love to her in the sea and later on the sand was one of his favorites.

He desperately wanted to make more memories...

Shaking his head, Matt pulled up his last chat with DJ and quickly skimmed over the words they’d exchanged over the past week. He’d told her that he’d be in Boston the following week and asked if they could meet. DJ had sent him a surprised-face emoji as a reply...

Matt frowned. A surprised face wasn’t a yes...

Neither was it a no...

What it was, was a strange way for DJ to respond.

She’d always been up-front and honest about telling him her plans, whether she could meet him or not. They didn’t play games, didn’t lie. They either wanted to be together, for a day or three or four, or they didn’t. They could either make time for each other, or they couldn’t. This year they hadn’t managed to meet and that was just the way life went. He presumed she was busy managing her rapidly expanding design firm and he’d had his all-consuming work and the additional personal dramas to deal with...

But could she be dating someone else?

Matt’s stomach tightened and he told himself to get a grip. He had no right to be jealous. They’d both agreed they couldn’t expect to be monogamous when they were so far apart. He had been for the past year but that was more through circumstances than choice. They’d agreed to be honest with each other, to tell each other if someone else was on the scene. He hadn’t had a text or phone call or email from DJ saying that. In fact, since late March, she hadn’t reached out to him once. Previously, he’d received the odd email from her, funny memes that made him laugh, silly selfies she took.

Matt frowned, remembering that her friends were worried about her, that they thought something was wrong. Was she sick? Busy? Annoyed?

Or, worse, done with him, with what they had?

His phone beeped again and this time it was a text message. The distinct tone told him who it was from.

Hi. I’m not ready. Can I take some more time?

Sure, he replied. No pressure. I’m in town until after Christmas, unless something urgent comes up.

Right, he had no choice now but to wait until the daughter Gemma had never told him about decided to contact him again. And he wasn’t visiting his grandfather until tomorrow.

So, what could he do with the rest of his day?

Mmm, maybe he could drop in to see Dylan-Jane. See whether there was a chance of them taking up where they’d last left off...

And, he admitted, he could see for himself whether she was happy or not.

* * *

In the coffee shop on the Lockwood Estate, Mason James delivered an espresso to the student sitting at the table in the corner and glanced at the complex math equation the kid was solving.

Because math had once been his thing, Mason scanned the guy’s rough notes and immediately saw where he’d gone wrong. Mason opened his mouth to point out the mistake before pulling back.

Three years ago, complex situations and equations, troubleshooting and problem-solving, was what he’d done for a living and he’d made a stupid amount of money from it. The responsibility of the problems he’d been given to solve—some of them with life-and-death outcomes—had generated enough stress to elevate his blood pressure to dangerous levels and burn a hole in his stomach. It had also ended his marriage and threatened his relationships with his sons.

So Mason got out of the think-tank business, buying a chic coffee shop to keep himself busy. He attended his boys’ ice hockey and baseball games, played video games with them and helped them with their homework. He delivered coffee, muffins and pastries and told himself it was good to be bored.

Boredom didn’t place a strain on his heart, or burn that hole deeper into his stomach.

Mason turned away and then heard the low curse. He looked around to see the student putting his head in his hands, tugging his hair in obvious frustration. It was, for him, simple math. What harm could it do to help?

Mason turned back, scanned the equation and tapped a line. “Rework this line.”

Blue eyes flew up to meet his and Mason saw the doubt.

“With respect, I’m in the doctorate program at MIT...”

Mason shrugged and waited him out. He didn’t bother to tell the guy that he’d been through that program and many more. He just tapped the line again until the kid finally turned his attention back to the equation. His brow furrowed and then he released a long sigh. Yep, the light had dawned.

“Hey, thanks so much.”

Mason smiled briefly before retracing his steps back to his small kitchen. Before he reached his destination, he heard the muted ping that indicated he had a customer. He didn’t need to see who was pulling the door open—his heart was way ahead of his eyes and it was already picking up speed.

Mason leaned his shoulder onto the nearest wall and watched his current obsession walk into his coffee shop, followed by a brunette clutching a stack of bridal magazines. The older of Callie’s twin daughters, he remembered—Jules. Callie had her arm around Jules’s waist and love for her child on her face.

Callie Brogan was a beautiful mom.

Mason ran his hand over his face. The last thing he was looking for when he opened Coffee Connection was to be attracted to a stunning, ebullient, charming widow. Yeah, she was older than him but who the hell cared? He could date younger woman, had dated many of them, and none of them captured his interest like Callie Brogan did. It was unexplainable and not something he could wish away.

God knew he’d tried.

Callie’s head shot up and her eyes locked on his. Electricity arced between them and his pants, as they always did when she was in the room, tightened. Even though he was across the room, he could see her nipples respond—God, her breasts were fantastic. A flush appeared on her throat, down her chest. Despite her protests, Callie was as aware of him, as attracted to him, as he was to her...

Why hadn’t they ended up in bed already?

Oh, because she wasn’t ready and because she was still in love with her dead husband.

Mason looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. His was said to be one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, yet he was flummoxed by how to get this woman to sleep with him.

That’s all he wanted, some fantastic sex with an attractive, interesting woman. He wasn’t looking for love or forever—as a scientist, he didn’t believe in either. The human species simply wasn’t that evolved. But sex, a few hot nights? Yeah, he most certainly believed in man’s most primal urge.

Mason started toward her—he couldn’t stay away if he tried—but the infinitesimal shake of her head stopped him.

Right, he wasn’t wanted. He should go and count stock or take out the trash or do his taxes.

Simple, stress-free jobs he could do with his eyes closed. But so blah and boring. Looking through the huge windows of his shop, he wished he could go caveman on Callie. He’d toss her over his shoulder and put her behind him on his Ducati—in his fantasy it was spring or summer—and ride away. When he reached the first isolated area, he’d stop.

He had this fantasy of stripping her down, bending her over his bike and taking her from behind, his hands on her amazing breasts, his lips on her neck, sliding into her wet, warm...

“Sorry, sir? I’m stuck again. Could you help me?”

Mason rubbed his face before squinting at the messy calculations.

Since bike sex, or even warm weather, wasn’t in his immediate future, he could do math. And while he mathed, he could also keep an eye on Callie, which was his latest and greatest pleasure.


Two (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)

Matt walked into Brogan and Winston’s showroom on Charles Street and looked around.

A counter ran along an exposed brick wall and to the right of it was a waiting area with a striped green-and-white sofa and a white chair, both with perfectly placed orange cushions. Funky art hung on the walls and a vase brimming with fresh flowers sat on the coffee table. He liked what he saw, immediately understanding why Winston and Brogan had such an excellent reputation and were booked solid for months.

DJ, as the CFO, worked behind the scenes, but Matt knew how important her work was to the company’s overall success. He couldn’t do what he did without Greta, his office manager, who took care of the paperwork, the staff and the billing. Greta was as indispensable to him as DJ was to Winston and Brogan. Her name, after all, was on the door.

Matt heard footsteps on the iron staircase to the left and he turned to see a pair of knee-high boots and sexy knees coming down the stairs. He knew those legs, the shape of them. He’d tasted the backs of those knees, nibbled those pretty toes. The rest of DJ appeared: short skirt over black leggings, a white blouse, that gorgeous long neck. As she hit the bottom stair, he finally got to see her face for the first time in too many months and, as always, her beauty smacked him in the gut.

Her thick hair, as dark as a sable coat, was pulled back into a soft roll, tendrils falling down the sides of her face. Black-rimmed glasses covered her extraordinary brown-black eyes and her lips were covered in a soft pink gloss. She looked both beautiful and bossy, efficient and exciting.

Two steps and she could be in his arms—he’d duck his head and he’d be tasting her.

“Matt.”

No excitement, no throwing herself into his arms, God, he didn’t even rate a smile? What the hell had happened between last Christmas and now?

Matt took a closer look at her eyes and saw wariness, a healthy dose of I-don’t-need-this-today. Well, tough. He didn’t like unresolved situations. When he’d left DJ in the UK everything had been fine. Yeah, many months had passed but, unless she now had a boyfriend and had moved on, nothing should’ve changed. And if she had found someone—a thought that froze the blood in his veins—then why the hell hadn’t she just said so? That was their deal, dammit.

“Got someone else, Dylan-Jane?”

It took her a little time to make sense of his words, but when she did, her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. Yep, that was answer enough. So, no boyfriend. “Then what’s the problem?”

DJ glared at him, sent the young receptionist a cool smile and jerked her head toward the stairway. “Can we discuss this in private?”

Matt jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants as he followed DJ up the stairs and down a short passageway to a corner office. He stepped inside the brutally neat room and watched her stride toward her wide desk.

She wanted to put a physical barrier between them but he had no intention of letting that happen. One long step allowed him to capture her wrist. He swung her around and pulled her to him so that her breasts touched his chest and the top of her head brushed his chin. He looked down at her, his mouth quirking at her shocked expression. “So, no new guy, then?”

“No.”

Thank God. Matt dropped his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and after a couple of beats, looked her in the eyes again. She immediately understood what he wanted...and yeah, it was what she wanted, too. The attraction between them had always been a living, breathing thing. A year ago, he would’ve dived into the kiss and been sure of his welcome, but too much time and distance had created a barrier between them. It was hell to wait for her to make the first move, to wait for her to rise onto her toes and fit her mouth against his. It took a minute, maybe more, but then her lips were on his and the world suddenly made sense again.

Matt immediately took control of the kiss, covering her mouth with his, sliding his hands over her hips and bringing her flush against him. His pants immediately shrunk a size as he filled the empty places of his soul by kissing Dylan-Jane. Spice, sex, heat, heaven...

It took less than a heartbeat for Dylan-Jane to open her mouth up to his tongue, and a second later her arms were looped around his neck and her fingers were in his hair. Potent relief ran through him: she still, thank God, wanted him as much as he craved her.

Matt wound his tongue around hers, tasting her spiciness and sweetness, and sighed. Yeah, he’d missed this, missed her breathy moans and the purrs of appreciation she made in the back of her throat.

When DJ’s fingers pushed into his hair, when she held his head to keep his mouth on hers, he knew she was fully, completely in the moment with him.

Matt pushed aside his urge to strip her, telling himself that he wasn’t going to make love to her on her office couch in the middle of the day. But he could kiss her, let her fill up those hollow spaces in his soul. He needed nothing as much as he needed to hold her...

Soft, sweet and still sexy—Matt felt like he’d conquered the world when she quivered under his touch. He needed to taste more of her, kiss a place more intimate than her mouth, so he flipped open the top buttons of her designer silk shirt and pushed aside the fabric to reveal her lace-and-satin bra. Unable to wait, he pulled aside the cup and there she was, pretty and plump. Ducking his head, he touched his lips to her, swiping his tongue across her nipple, feeling the shudder run through her.

He loved that he could make her feel like this, that he could take her from mad and sad to pleasure, that he could put those purrs in her throat, make her arch her back in eagerness. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he blew air over her nipple and his name on her lips was both a plea and a demand for more.

He moved to her other breast, loving the taste and texture of her. His hand traveled down her hip. Matt slid his other hand over her ass, kneading her under the fabric of her skirt before inching the material up so his fingers brushed the back of her thighs. He wanted those legs around his hips, her breasts in his mouth. He needed to be inside her as soon as possible.

He wanted them naked; he needed her. Matt’s hand slid between her legs, wishing away the fabric barriers between her secret places and his fingers...

Then Matt was touching air and DJ was...gone.

Matt looked at the empty space between them and shook his head. One minute she was in his arms and the next she was halfway across the room, staring at him, her mouth wet from his kisses and her eyes blurry with desire. She wanted him, so why the hell was she six feet away and he was here? Matt took a step toward her and DJ held up her hands.

“This is my office, Edwards. I’m not about to get naked with you here.”

Fair point. How soon could they leave? It had been a hell of a long time since he’d seen her naked, kissed her senseless, heard her moan as she fell apart in his arms.

“I’m not about to get naked with you at all.”

Matt blinked. What?

There wasn’t anyone else. They’d just shared a kiss hot enough to melt glass. They’d been sleeping together for many years. He was going to be around for the foreseeable future and she was cutting him off?

What was happening here?

What was he missing?

DJ gestured to the sofa. “Take a seat, let’s talk.”

He’d rather be making love, but since that was out of the question Matt sat down, adjusting his still rock-hard erection and begging it to calm the hell down because it wasn’t needed at this precise moment.

“Coffee?” DJ asked.

Matt nodded, stretched out his legs and ordered himself to get a grip. He watched DJ with narrowed eyes as she popped a pod into her fancy machine, powered it up and, when the mug was full, added a dash of milk. Ignoring the sugar dispenser, she walked over, placing the mug on the coffee table in front of him. Then she took the seat opposite him and draped one slim leg over her bouncing knee.

DJ was nervous. Now, that was interesting.

“What are you doing back in Boston, Matt, and how long do you intend to stay?”

“I have some personal business that necessitates me sticking around for a few weeks. One part of that personal business is persuading my grandfather to move into an assisted-living facility.”

DJ’s eyes turned warm with sympathy and his heart stuttered. He loved her expressive eyes, the way emotions swam through them, the way they resembled luxurious chocolate.

“Is he sick?”

Matt shook his head. “Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m so sorry, Matt.” DJ tipped her head to the side, curiosity all over her face. “And your other personal business?”

He wasn’t ready to talk to her, or anyone, about his daughter, Emily.

Besides, he wasn’t here to talk. He wanted to feel. He wanted to touch the skin on the inside of DJ’s thighs, pull her tasty nipples into his mouth, nibble her toes. In her arms, while he loved her, he could forget about the complications of this past year.

Dylan-Jane was his escape, his fantasy woman, the perfect relationship because it was all surface. Because she didn’t demand anything more than he was prepared to give.

But instead of falling into him and losing herself in the pleasure he could give her, she was retreating. Hell, if she had “back off, buster” tattooed across her forehead, her message couldn’t be any clearer. DJ uncrossed her legs, leaned forward and rested her forearms on her bended knees. She stared at her hands for a long time before looking up at Matt. “Cards on the table, Matt?”

He didn’t expect a good hand but nodded anyway.

“Your being back in Boston, even on a short-term basis, doesn’t work for me.”

Well, hell. Not what he wanted to hear. In his mind, reality crashed into fantasy and he felt a little sick. And a lot disappointed. He’d been relying on having some time with DJ as a way to step out of his head and regroup.

“I have a life here and that life doesn’t have room for a hot lawyer who wants to share my bed.” DJ glanced at her desk and lifted her eyebrows. “But maybe we can go somewhere in the New Year, see if the magic is still there.”

Matt didn’t know if she was being serious, and not knowing where he stood pissed him off. And there was something in her tone...something he couldn’t put his finger on. Behind her tough-girl words, he could see vulnerability and...was that guilt?

“What aren’t you telling me, DJ?”

DJ arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Damn if that prissy voice didn’t make him harder than he already was, if that was possible. “Spill it, DJ.”

Irritation flashed in her eyes and she shook her head, looking weary. “Lawyers. If you weren’t so damn hot I wouldn’t have hooked up with you.” She sighed. “I don’t have space in my life for an affair with you, Matt. I work long hours, I like my space. Also, I tend to get cranky around this time of year, so I prefer to be alone.”

She didn’t like Christmas? Why not? There was a story there. Another one. And why was he suddenly so curious? For seven years, he’d managed not to ask her questions, not to dig deeper, but now his first reaction to new information was to find a spade and start shoveling?

Get a grip, Edwards!

“Apart from a weekend of great sex with you here and there, I like being alone. Seeing you a couple of times a year is enough for me.”

Matt leaned back, placed his ankle on his opposite knee and held DJ’s gaze. She was trying so hard to remain calm, to persuade him that she was a cold woman who didn’t feel anything, but she needed to become a lot better at lying before he bought into her BS. She wasn’t cold, or sophisticated, or tough. What she was, was bone-deep scared of having him in Boston.

Why? Why could she easily handle a few days with him but seeing him regularly scared the pants off her?

And why did he care?

And why wasn’t he saying to hell with this drama and walking out her door? He could leave, walk down the block and into a bar and, after a couple of cocktails and an hour or two of small talk, he was pretty sure he could score. But he didn’t want sex with some random stranger.

There was only one woman he wanted...

Matt leaned forward and swiped his thumb across DJ’s lower lip, his fingers lightly stroking her jaw. Desire burned in her eyes and under his fingers her skin heated. Glancing down, he noticed her nipples beading, pushing against the thin fabric of her silk shirt.

She’d never been able to hide her attraction to him, thank God. Because he saw her need for him, could feel her heat, could almost taste her...he pushed.

He kept his voice low, but his tone was resolute. “So here’s what’s going to happen, Dylan-Jane. I’m going to be living across the road from you and we’re going to run into each other often. Your friends are mine and our paths will cross. And even if they don’t, I’ll make damn sure they do. It’s been too damn long since I’ve had you and I want you under me as soon as possible. Yeah, this year has been unusual, I accept that. What I don’t accept is this barrier you’ve flung up between us. But know this, I will pull it down and I will find out why you put it up in the first place.”

“Matt—”

“Not done.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “We’ve always been honest with each other and you’re not being honest now. While I think part of what you said is true—you like being alone and Christmas sucks—that’s not the whole truth.”

“You haven’t told me the whole truth about why you are back in Boston,” DJ pointed out.

He hadn’t, he had to give her that. “But that has nothing to do with you, nothing at all, and I know, don’t ask me how, that your stay-away-from-me attitude is all about me, about us.”

He saw agreement flash in her eyes and sighed. God, what was going on with her? And why couldn’t she just spit it out? Matt closed his eyes and released a long breath.

“Jesus, DJ, just tell me already.”

DJ stood up, walked over to the window and folded her arms across her stomach. She bowed her head and he could see her shoulders shaking. God, he hoped she wasn’t crying. Tears were his Kryptonite. He stood up, went over to her and stood behind her, not touching her but silently offering his support. “You can tell me, Dylan-Jane.”

DJ remained silent for a long time and when she finally turned, he saw the capitulation in her eyes. Finally!

“We made love on Christmas Eve and I got pregnant.” Her words were a series of punches in his solar plexus. He battled to find air, to make sense of her words. Then DJ took another deep breath and spoke again. “I lost the baby in February.”

It took a minute, an hour—a decade—for his brain to restart, his mouth to work. He thought he was calm but when the words flew out of his mouth, they emerged as a roar. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? As soon as you knew?”

DJ’s face drained of color and she retreated a step so that her back was flush against the window.

“I tried—”

“Not that hard,” Matt shouted, unable to control the volume of his voice. “I had a right to know, dammit! How dare you take that away from me? You lied to me! You let me believe one thing when the exact opposite was true. Jesus, Gemma!”

Gemma? Had he really said that?

Matt stared at DJ, noting her dark eyes dominating her face. She was edging her way to the door, needing to walk away from him. He didn’t blame her. In his anger and shock, he’d overlapped Gemma’s and DJ’s actions and he wasn’t sure which situation he was reacting to. He needed to leave, to get his head on straight, to think about what she’d said, what had happened.

To find distance and control.

Matt whirled around, walked to the door and yanked it open. Stepping into the hallway, he saw Jules and Darby jogging down the hallway toward him with Amazonian warrior-woman expressions on their faces. They blocked his path, momma bears protecting their cub.

“What happened?” Jules demanded, her expression fierce.

“Did you hurt her?” Darby asked, equally ferocious. “If you hurt her, we will make her press charges.”

God, what did they take him for? “She’s fine. We just had an argument,” Matt wearily replied.

Air, he needed air.

“If she’s hurt, Edwards, I swear to God we’ll string you up,” Darby told him before she and Jules pushed past him and rushed down the hallway to their friend’s office.

Matt watched them rush away, his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest. He rubbed his hand over his breastbone, trying to ease the ache, a part of him still not believing DJ’s declaration. For the second time in his life, he’d heard that a woman had miscarried his baby. Unlike the last time he’d experienced this news, the baby he’d briefly given DJ would not, like Emily had earlier this year, write him a letter and tell him that he, or she, was his biological child and ask if they could meet.

He didn’t want a family, wasn’t cut out to be a dad, but, man, that thought made him feel profoundly sad.


Three (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)

So wow. That happened.

DJ stared at her office door, flabbergasted by Matt’s off-the-wall reaction. She’d spent hours imagining the conversation they’d just had, and she’d never once thought Matt—cool, calm, controlled Matt—would lose it.

And lose it loudly.

DJ dropped to the edge of her couch and placed her head in her hands. After trying to reach him a few times in March and failing to connect with him, she concluded that there was simply no point in telling Matt that she’d conceived and then miscarried. It had happened so quickly, he’d been so far away and, really, what impact would it have on his life? Zip. Zero.

If anything, she’d expected him to be thankful she wasn’t still pregnant because, hell, a part of her was grateful for that.

There were many reasons why she felt relieved about losing the baby—and even more reasons why she felt guilty for feeling relieved. Not having to tell her own mother that she was going to be a single mom was high on the list. DJ hadn’t had any contact with her father since she was a child, so telling him wasn’t a factor.

Her parents were, in fact, the reason she’d never wanted to have kids. She was terrified that she, like them, would turn out to be as horrible at raising a child as they were.

She lived with the memories of her father walking away—at Christmas, for the love of God!—to move in with another woman and her child, a girl he adopted as his own shortly after leaving. He’d left DJ with Fenella, who wielded her tongue like a scalpel. DJ’s goal in life had been to have an awesome career and enough money so she could be free from her mother’s checkbook and caustic tongue. No stranger, DJ knew, could hurt you as much as someone you loved.

DJ’s office door banged open and her best friends rushed inside. DJ stood, and Darby grabbed her biceps and gave her a tip-to-toe scan.

“We heard shouting. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“What? No!” DJ frowned at them. “Matt would never hurt me.”

Jules arched her eyebrows. “We heard him yelling.”

DJ wrinkled her nose. Fair point.

“You don’t fight, DJ, so what’s going on?” Jules asked.

And there it was.

While she didn’t volunteer information, she didn’t lie to her friends. As Darby stepped back, DJ gestured for them to sit on the sofa. She’d dropped one bombshell today, she might as well drop another.

A year was a long time to keep this secret and now that she’d shared it with Matt, she didn’t want to keep it to herself anymore. Darby and Jules were her friends, she should be able to tell them stuff. She wanted to tell them, even if it would be hard to say and, for Darby, hard to hear.

DJ looked at the twins, thinking that they couldn’t be more different if they tried. Jules was dark-haired and blue-eyed, Darby a silver-and-steel-eyed blonde. The only thing they had in common was their stylish dress sense and the worried expressions on their faces. They sat down on the couch and Darby gestured to the chair opposite, silently suggesting that DJ join them.

DJ wanted to stay exactly where she was.

“Sit down,” Jules suggested.

DJ touched her fingertips to her forehead, conscious of a monstrous headache. She sucked in some air, waited for her knees to lock and walked over to the empty chair, sending a wishful glance toward her coffee machine. Damn, she needed caffeine, preferably intravenously injected. And if it was laced with a stiff shot of whiskey, she wouldn’t complain.

“Talk to us, DJ,” Darby said, sounding worried.

DJ linked her fingers around her knees and tried to calm her racing heart. As a child, every time she’d tried to communicate with her mother, she’d been castigated, shamed or ridiculed. If she could avoid talking, she would. Because, when she tried to explain her thoughts and feelings, more often than not, she made a hash of things.

Look what a mess she’d made of talking to Matt. He’d stormed out, mad as hell.

Prior experience told her that this conversation wouldn’t go well, either. DJ fiddled with her hair and sent a longing look toward her computer. This was why she liked numbers and spreadsheets and data. They didn’t require her to form words.

“DJ, we’re worried about you,” Jules said.

“I’m f—”

“If you say you are fine, I swear I’m going to slap you!” Darby said, her words and expression fierce. “We know something is wrong, it has been for months and months!”

Hearing the fear and worry in her voice made DJ feel like a worm. And because she was already overly emotional, tears rolled out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

Jules dropped to her knees in front of DJ. “For God’s sake, just tell us already! Is your mom being a super bitch? Is it Matt? Did he do something to you?”

“No, that’s not it.” DJ ran her hand around the back of her neck and looked for her courage. Lifting her head, she looked past Jules to Darby. “This is so damn difficult for me, Darby, I don’t know how to tell you this—”

“Just say it, DJ.” Darby ground the words out.

“When Matt and I got together last Christmas, I got pregnant. I miscarried about six weeks later, in February. I never told Matt. I never told anybody.”

Jules gasped, but DJ was most concerned about Darby. Color leached from her face and her bright eyes looked like moonlight in her face. DJ saw her friend’s hands shaking. Just like she’d anticipated, Darby was taking the news badly.

DJ needed to apologize. “It was an accident. I didn’t plan it. I knew it would upset you, so I didn’t tell you. And I felt so damn guilty because I didn’t want to be pregnant when you want a child so badly. And then I felt—still feel—sad, and guilty, for losing that child.”

Darby rocketed up and slapped her hands on her hips. She shook her head and looked at Jules. “Can you believe this?”

Jules stood, too, and took a step closer to Darby, showing that they were a unit, a team of two, and that DJ was on the outside of their group.

“So, judging by his shouting, Matt is furious because you didn’t share this news with him, either?” When DJ didn’t answer, Jules threw up her hands. “We don’t blame him. He has a right to be as mad as all hell, Dylan-Jane.”

DJ bit her lip. Okay, their reaction was worse than she’d expected. She lifted her hands and quietly murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Tears turned Darby’s eyes a lighter shade of silver. “I’m sorry that you had so little faith in us that you couldn’t tell us sooner, DJ. I’m sorry that you think I am petty enough to only think about myself when you are faced with one of the most difficult situations of your life. I’m sorry that you think so little of our friendship, so little of yourself.” Darby’s soft words were loaded with sadness. They burned DJ like acid-coated hail.

“When are you going to realize that you can mess up, DJ, that you can be human?” Darby asked.

The hailstones turned into hot bullets that pushed through skin and bone to lodge in her heart.

“Dammit, DJ, for months we waited for you to talk to us, to ask us to share your burden. But you shut us out! Then you started looking and sounding better and you slowly started coming back to yourself, so we decided not to bug you, to let you be. But now we find out that you were pregnant and that you had a miscarriage and you chose to deal with all that alone?” Darby cried.

“Everyone was worried about you, DJ. Callie, Levi, the Lockwood boys,” Jules added. “When are you going to realize that you are as valuable, as much a part of this family, as the rest of us? When are you going to start leaning, start accepting that we are here for you?”

DJ should trust them. She wished she could. They’d never, not once, let her down. But she was terrified that someday they might.

At eight, she’d believed she was the center of her dad’s world, but he walked away without looking back. Her father had been the first, but Fenella continued the rejection. Every time she dismissed or denigrated DJ, played her mind games, DJ felt as alone, as abandoned, as she had the day her dad left.

It was easier to believe the people she loved would abandon her when she needed them most rather than face that kind of hurt again.

Darby rubbed her hands over her face. “Dammit, DJ, I am so sick of you trying to be perfect, of you standing alone and apart. I cannot believe I am saying this, but you have to make a decision. Either you are part of our lives in every way, prepared to lean on us, or you go your own way. Whatever you choose, we are never going through this again!”

This was the reason she didn’t talk, why she kept her own counsel. Once again, she’d cracked open her shell only to have a knife shoved into her exposed belly. She talked to Matt; he’d exploded. She opened up to the twins, and they issued her an ultimatum.

“We need you to talk to us!” Darby said, her expression now determined. “We want to know about the big and the little things, the good and bad. And stop trying to find every excuse you possibly can for avoiding Christmas family functions. Enjoy being with us over the next few weeks. For the first time in your life, properly embrace what being part of our family means. If you can’t do that, if you won’t do that, then I think it’s time we all move on. We love you too much to only have access to a facade. And frankly, we damn well deserve more!” Darby didn’t raise her voice, but DJ was left in no doubt that she meant every word.

DJ looked at Jules, hoping to find her as shocked at this ultimatum as DJ. But Jules just looked sad. “Let us know what you decide, Dylan-Jane.”

God.

Jules followed Darby to the door and when it closed behind them, DJ dropped to her chair and stared at the floor.

Yep, it was official. Having heart-to-heart conversations really wasn’t what she did best.

* * *

The following evening, Matt walked across the road to Levi Brogan’s house. Like most of the houses in the gated community, and like Lockwood House itself, it was Georgian-inspired with its portico and columns. But instead of redbrick, the cladding was painted a pale gray and the white-framed windows were free of shutters. Ivy climbed up the side of the three-story building and across the front of the three-car garage, on top of which was what looked to be a guest apartment.

Matt rested his hand on the gate and looked around. He liked this exclusive community, liked the amount of space between the houses, the big trees and the quiet streets. He was used to the bustle of city living in The Hague, but this golfing community held a serenity that appealed. He’d never visited here before.

This was Dylan-Jane’s world, her people.

For years they’d met on neutral territory, places where neither of them had friends or acquaintances. They could focus on each other with no distractions. Their trips to unfamiliar places subconsciously reminded them that their time together wasn’t real life.

But being in Boston, in her town, and living across the road changed that.

He couldn’t get on a plane and distance himself. His obligations to his grandfather and the meeting he hoped to have with Emily were happening side by side with his need for DJ.

He wanted her—of course he did. He didn’t think there would ever be a time when he didn’t want her. But here, in Boston, he’d started wondering about more than the attraction between them. Which house was her childhood home? Had she climbed that magnificent maple down the street? Had she been a tomboy or a girlie girl, naughty or nice?

Matt rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, trying to push away the curiosity. He was asking for trouble if he looked at DJ as anything other than a no-strings, uncomplicated affair.

He didn’t do complications. He avoided risk. For the past eighteen years, he’d forced himself not to think about having a family, reinforcing the belief that marriage and having kids wasn’t for him. He’d been at the mercy of unpredictable parents and then unyielding grandparents and neither set of parental figures gave him anything near what he needed. He didn’t want to perpetuate that dysfunctional cycle...

For eighteen years, he’d managed to stand apart, to not get involved, to be self-sufficient...but being in Boston made him think of family and those childish shattered dreams.

It had to stop. He was not an insecure kid anymore.

Enough of the past...

Matt jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked on his heels, still not walking through the gate. There could never be anything more between him and DJ, he knew that, but he was also certain that he owed her an apology. By losing his temper, he’d reacted badly. She’d shared a horrible experience with him and he’d seen the pain in her eyes, but he’d pushed her feelings aside to indulge in his life-wasn’t-fair moment. He should’ve listened, tried to understand before reacting.

Yeah, not his proudest moment.

Irritated and ashamed, Matt pushed through the gate and walked up the steps to the ornate wooden door. He knocked and when a female voice answered, “We’re in here,” he stepped into the hall.

Matt followed the sound of the voice to a large sitting room filled with sofas covered in a mishmash of fabrics and colors. It shouldn’t work, but it did. It was luxurious and comfortable and homey and chic all at the same time, and he immediately felt at home.

Glancing around, he saw Jules and Darby sitting on a flame-orange sofa, holding on to wineglasses like they were lifelines, tension radiating off both of them. Shoulders hunched, mouths tight, eyes bright. Matt frowned, looking for DJ. Where was she?

His big boots hitting the hardwood floor had them lifting their heads and he saw the misery in their eyes. Yeah, this wasn’t good.

“What’s happened? Where’s DJ?”

Darby exchanged a long look with Jules and she released the breath she was holding. “Matt. Perfect.”

A shed-load of sarcasm in two words. “Is DJ okay?”

“DJ is always fine, Matt, didn’t you know that?” Darby said, her words bitter. But beneath the sarcasm, Matt heard pain and worry.

“She’s in her apartment, Matt,” Jules finally answered. “Yesterday and today were tough for her. If you were planning to keep fighting with her, please don’t.”

So Jules still felt protective of her friend. Her statement lessened one of the many coils squeezing his heart.

“Are you still mad at her?” Jules demanded, obviously curious.

No, his anger now had a different target—himself.

Matt shrugged. He wasn’t in the habit of discussing his personal life, but these women were DJ’s best friends, the people who knew her best. He kept his explanation short. “I’ve been calling her since last night. Messaging her, emailing. She isn’t responding.”

Darby shook her head, disappointed. “Join the club. God, I could just strangle her right now!”

Okay, so he’d obviously walked into some additional drama. Maybe he should come back later, when they were all a little more even-keeled. He was an expert at reading body language, but he didn’t like dealing with drama anywhere other than in court, where he used it to get the result he wanted.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing a gentle note into his voice.

“I—She—DJ...grrr.”

Matt lifted his eyebrows at Darby’s actual growl. DJ had really managed to annoy the crap out of Darby.

Darby shoved a hand through her hair, looked from Jules to him and her chin wobbled. “Yesterday we gave her an ultimatum. It wasn’t pretty.” Darby threw up her hands and rapidly blinked. Yep, definitely tears. And damn, if she was in tears then DJ was more than likely crying, too.

Such fun. Matt sent a longing look to the door.

“I need to get out of here,” Darby muttered, pulling at the collar on her white polo-neck sweater. Since she made no effort to move, Matt figured she wasn’t going anywhere.

But leaving sounded damn good and Matt wished he was anywhere else. Someplace that didn’t have about-to-cry women, best friends fighting, a crap load of emotion. Nailing a bad guy using facts and words sounded like heaven right now.

“Maybe I should be the one to go.”

“Yeah, you don’t get to be that lucky,” Jules told him, standing up. “The easiest way to get to her apartment is to leave the house via the kitchen door, turn right and the stairs to her apartment are there. Tell her that she’s expected to join us ice-skating tomorrow evening. It’s the first of our get-into-the-spirit events.”

“Get into the spirit of what?”

A touch of amusement flickered in Jules eyes. “In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we all do fun things together. It’s a tradition my dad started, and we’ve kept it going. DJ always finds an excuse to avoid any of our Christmas get-togethers.”

“She does? I thought she loved hanging with you guys,” Matt replied, confused.

Jules started to speak then looked at Darby, who shrugged. Some sort of twin-communication thing happened and Jules continued, “DJ gives a lot more than she takes. Despite a quarter of a century in our lives, she still doesn’t talk to us. Maybe you being here can change that.”





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