Page 61 of The Forever Christmas Tree

“Ah, Wendy! Back at last!” He hugged her back, then held her away from him. “Whoa! Someone’s out to break a heart tonight.”

“What? You don’t like my outfit?”

“Are you kidding? Every male in the room must have stood at attention when you walked in.”

She laughed. “So, I hear you’re a lawyer now. Married? A family?”

“Yes, I’m a lawyer. Was married but divorced three years ago. No kids, thank God! How about you?”

“Well, you probably know I’m in the Navy and a lot more, thanks to Laura’s big mouth. I’ve never married or had any kids. Someday, maybe.”

“But no one ‘on deck’ at the moment?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “He’s never gotten over you.”

“Oh, Matt!” This was a subject she wasn’t prepared to discuss. “He got over me a long time ago. He married, has a child, a whole new satisfying life.”

“Yeah, right.” Matt took a glass of wine off the tray being passed around by a hired waiter. “Have you seen that damn tree lately?”

“What?” She was suddenly alarmed. Matt couldn’t be referring to . . . oh, no!

“Just go look someday, that’s all I’m saying.” He squeezed her arm, and anything further he might have been going to say was forestalled by Diane coming up to them. Apparently, Tony had been called away to his restaurant for some kitchen emergency.

“Matt, I’d like you to meet my friend, Diane Gomulka from Oregon. Her nickname is Grizz because she’s been known to shoot a bear or two. Diane, this is Matthew Holter, an old friend of mine. A lawyer.”

Matt’s eyes widened, taking in Diane’s trim figure in the figure-hugging black sheath with the killer black strappy stilettos, and Diane wasn’t unhappy with what she saw either.

As Wendy walked away, she heard Matt say, “The only bear I’ve ever come in contact with is a stuffed bear when I was a kid. Winnie the Pooh.”

“My favorite,” Diane cooed.

Wendy was feeling rather pleased with herself as she leaned back against the wall, alone for the moment, just staring around at all the familiar faces, and realized that she was enjoying herself. It really was good to be home. Peaceful.

But then Ethan walked up to her, leaned against the wall next to her and said, “Come home with me.”

Wendy turned her head, inch by inch, without moving her body, to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, not even looking at her, but she noticed a tenseness in his jaw. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. My grandmother is out of town until tomorrow, and Cassie is at a sleepover.”

Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest, she could swear there was an echo in her ears. But, no, that was the town clocks in the distance chiming the hour. Only ten o’clock.

Ethan turned then, and the blue, blue gaze stabbed her with its hunger. “I want to make love to you, Wendy. Come home with me.”

“But . . . oh, Ethan, that would be such a bad idea. We live coasts apart. The past needs to be buried, not dug up again. So many things—”

He put a fingertip to her mouth to halt her further words. “No words. No what ifs and why nots. No thinking about the past or the future. Now. This hour. This day. Tonight.” He moved his fingertip to trace the scar from her ear to the center of her collarbone and had to see the pulse jump in her neck.

“Come home with me,” he urged again.

She sighed and said, “Yes.”

Chapter 15

Memories are made of this . . .

Ethan was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. In fact, it was an indication of how tense he was that he would even think such a cliché. His biggest fear was that he would touch Wendy, or she would touch him, and he would uncoil with shocking speed, Slinky-style, resulting in his jumping her bones on the spot . . . inside his Lexus, against the passenger door, over the trunk, against the mailbox at the end of his lane, against the back door of the house, on the porch swing, straddling a kitchen chair, on the floor.