The Christmas Cookie Collection Read online

She closed her eyes, absorbed his words, lapped up the exquisiteness of what was happening. Then she felt his body stiffen and realized he was close.

  But so was she. The whirlpool started deep inside her and rose and swirled.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “I want to see inside you when you come.”

  She opened her eyes, bit down on her bottom lip as she looked up at him. His gaze was completely latched on hers. She felt herself falling, and she couldn’t get her breath. It was so beautiful.

  Amazing.

  Her body tensed just as his jerked. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him in as deeply inside her as he could go. In one brilliant squeeze, they came together. Rolling and tumbling and clutching each other.

  Mark collapsed against her chest, their bodies slick with lovemaking. Their hearts slamming together in perfect timpani. He buried his face in her hair.

  Carrie had never felt as vulnerable as she did in the moment of completion, but at the same time, she felt stronger than she’d ever felt in her life.

  This was beyond her. Beyond them. This wasn’t just lust. Not just chemistry. Not even just love. They were bonded. Meant to be. The sweetheart legend said so.

  They were indeed each other’s one true love.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mark lay beside Carrie, gently drawing circles on her back with a lazy index finger. Her face was buried in a pillow, her cute naked butt on display. He could look at her all day and never tire of the view. His heart floated in his chest, free and easy. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this young. This happy.

  Awesome. She was completely awesome.

  He cradled the back of his head in his palms, crossed his ankles and grinned up at the ceiling.

  “Got any more condoms?” she mumbled from the pillow.

  “You betcha.” He shot off the bed, scrambled for his pants, and in less than ten seconds had the condom on. “C’mon, cowgirl,” he said. “Your turn to ride.”

  He pulled her astraddle his waist. She ducked her head to kiss him, her auburn curls trailing over his face. He couldn’t believe how long he’d been without this. Without Carrie.

  She eased herself down on him.

  He hissed in his breath.

  Carrie giggled.

  “I love to hear you laugh,” he murmured and slid his hand down her spine to cup her shapely buttocks. “This is the only way to fly.”

  “Buckle your seatbelt, Hotshot.” She giggled again and he could feel the sound roll from her into him. Her joy was his joy. “I’m in control now.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He reached up a hand, ran his fingers over her smiling lips.

  “Yeah.” She moved upward.

  He grabbed her around the waist, held her in place, his erection swelling inside of her. “Sure about that?”

  “Hey, you’re depriving yourself as much as you’re depriving me by calling a halt to the pump action.”

  “Good point.” He chuckled and let go of her.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, an expression of pure feel-­good pleasure crossing her face. God he loved seeing her like this, sassy, willing, gleeful.

  She quickened the tempo of her movements, and soon enough they were rocketing to a whole new sphere of sensation.

  Hot and heavy, they flew through the storm of unquenchable desire and finally hit the clouds together. Slowly, they drifted down, arms and legs entwined.

  “We weren’t this good before,” she observed in a sleepy voice.

  “Nope.” His eyes were closed, and he was too tired to say much more. She’d wrung him out like the proverbial dishrag.

  “We were just kids. What did we know about sex? You were my first lover.”

  The tone in her voice had him tensing up. He opened one eye, turned his head, looked over at her. “I know,” he said softly. “You were my first too.”

  She was quiet a moment. “Really? You never told me that.”

  “I was embarrassed. Nineteen-­year-­old virgin. I thought I was expected to have all the moves.”

  “No wonder we were lousy at it.” She laughed.

  “We weren’t lousy. Just quick.”

  “But we’re better now.”

  “Much better,” he agreed. Then his mind crowded with thoughts of why they were better. Years apart. Years with other lovers. His head suddenly hurt. He reached up to massage his temple.

  “Maybe we should get together every eight years and do this again just to see how much more we improve with age,” she said.

  This jolted him. Was she seeing this as nothing more than a one-­time thing? Her tone was so lighthearted. Uncommitted.

  Did she honestly not have any idea that he was still in love with her? Even though he’d only recently realized it himself. Maybe she honestly thought this was just scratching a familiar itch. Oh God, what if she wasn’t feeling the same way he was?

  She didn’t say anything for the longest time, and he was starting to panic when she took a deep breath and said, “I sent you a Facebook friend request.”

  “You did? When?”

  “A ­couple of years ago. You ignored my request.”

  “Carrie, honey, I don’t run my Facebook page. I have an assistant that does my social media.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I thought you didn’t want to be friends.”

  It killed him that she thought that about him. Cut him right in two.

  Downstairs, the front door opened, then slammed shut, followed by the sound of four voices.

  “Crap!” Carrie exclaimed. “The twins and their girlfriends are back. You’ve got to get out of here.”

  “As if your brothers aren’t intent on getting their girlfriends in the sack?” he said, partly relieved that they came home before he had to explain how he’d turned his life over to assistants, agents, and managers. There was time enough for that later.

  She hopped out of bed. “I’m the responsible one in the family.”

  “Since when?” He laughed, delighting in watching her bend over naked and scoop up his clothes from the floor, her gorgeous tits bouncing as she moved.

  “Since you went away.”

  There it was. The accusation he’d been waiting for since he’d come back to Twilight. Their separation had been mutual. Or at least that’s what he’d told himself. It was the only way he could live with having left her. After all, she was the one who told him to go, the first one to voice doubts about their impulsive marriage.

  But only after she learned you got the scholarship.

  She stuffed his clothes into his hands. “Get dressed.”

  “Seriously? You’re throwing me out?” He tugged on his boxer briefs.

  She was getting dressed, too, pulling on her jeans, not bothering with underwear, zipping them up. She reached for a T-­shirt, tugged it over her head.

  He jammed his arms into his shirt, raked his hand through his hair. “Where’s my shoes?”

  The comforter had gotten tossed to the floor in their sexy adventures. She lifted it up, located his shoes. “A. Testoni. Wow, don’t these shoes cost like a thousand dollars or more?”

  “I’m surprised you know that,” he said, buttoning up his shirt.

  “What? Country hicks can’t read fashion magazines?”

  “I’m sorry, Carrie. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s that you’re so real, so grounded. Why would you care about stuff like that?”

  She didn’t acknowledge his apology. He had sounded like a spoiled rich twerp. Why had he said that?

  “Why do you care?” she asked.

  He looked her in the eyes. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Who needs a twelve-­hundred-­dollar pair of shoes?”

  “Apparently you do.” She padded to the window, opened it, and pushed out the screen. “Go out this way.”

  �
��Feels like old times,” he joked, trying to smooth things over.

  “Mark,” she said. “Nothing is the same. No sense living in the past. You are who you are. It’s okay.”

  He paused on the windowsill. One leg inside, one leg outside. That was when Mark realized there could be no spanning two worlds. He was either in or he was out.

  Mark owned shoes that cost over a thousand dollars, and he thought she was such a dumb country hick she wouldn’t recognize designer footwear when she saw it.

  Somehow, recognizing that he owned shoes that cost more than the monthly rent on the Yarn Barn brought Carrie’s silly little fantasy into perspective.

  After they’d made love she’d started letting herself think foolish thoughts she had no business thinking, that the sweetheart legend just might be true, that they could have their happily-­ever-­after ending. She’d known all along it was a fairytale. Why hadn’t she stuck to her guns? Why had she let her heart start to hope?

  He orbited a completely different solar system from her quiet existence here in Twilight. He had assistants that ran his Facebook page. Probably tweeted for him too. She might be a Christmas Scrooge, but ultimately, Carrie was happy here. She loved living in a small town. Loved being near her family. Loved running a yarn store. Loved entertaining the gossipy knitters. This was where she belonged. She had no need for shoes that cost a thousand dollars. Or a life in the Hollywood hills. Not that Mark had asked her to share his life.

  The shoes are just an excuse. You’re scared. The same way you were scared when Mark got the scholarship to Columbia and rocketed far away from you. He got what he wanted. So did you. You just want different things. It’s as simple as that.

  These same thoughts had been running through her head on a continuous loop since she’d thrown Mark out of her bedroom on Thanksgiving Day. She’d half hoped that he would call, but he hadn’t. Good, she told herself. Great. Perfect. That’s the way she wanted it.

  The whole rest of the miserable weekend, she’d groused and complained as her father and Barbara and her twin brothers and their girlfriends put up a tree and decorated the house. Carrie had refused to participate. Bah-­humbug. Believing in fantasies got you nothing but heartache.

  It was Sunday evening, and she was rushing to The Horny Toad Tavern for a meeting of the First Love Cookie Club. Most of the members of the Christmas cookie club, who also belonged to the Sweethearts Knitting Club, were meeting in the back room of the bar to plan the annual cookie-­swap party. Even though Carrie was not a member of the cookie club—­she was too grinchy for that—­Patsy had phoned and asked her to drop by.

  She drove past The Merry Cherub, and her heart gave an odd little hop, but she made herself stare straight ahead and not search the B&B for any sign of Mark.

  When she arrived at the Horny Toad, Christine Noble, the owner of the Twilight Bakery, was passing out cookie samples to the group.

  “Taste this,” Christine said and put a cookie in her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Just taste.”

  Carrie popped the cookie into her mouth. Creamy, sweet goodness flooded her mouth. She tasted walnuts, cranberries, and white chocolate. “Mmm.”

  “Is that not the best cookie ever?”

  “Pretty awesome.” She nodded. Everything Christine baked was awesome.

  “Have a seat.” Patsy sat at one end of the table and waved to the empty chair at the other end.

  Feeling a bit unsettled, Carrie scooted around the others and plopped down. “I can’t stay long.”

  “This is important, or we wouldn’t have bothered you,” said Emma Cheek. She was a diminutive, red-­haired actress, married to the local veterinarian. Her sleeping four-­month-­old daughter, Lauren, lay cradled in her arms. Emma had given up life in Hollywood to move back to Twilight and marry Sam, although she still acted in Texas-­based projects.

  Carrie’s sense of unease increased. “What’s this about?”

  “Raylene,” Marva supplied.

  That’s when Carrie realized that Raylene was not in the meeting.

  “Has something happened to her?” Carrie reached for another one of those delicious cranberry cookies. She might not like Christmas, but the cookies were divine. And snacking kept her mind off Mark. Sort of.

  “We’re afraid something is about to happen to her,” Emma said. “Considering that the director of Fact or Fantasy is going around town offering money to anyone who can refute the sweetheart legend.”

  “Any takers?” Carrie asked.

  She still wondered why Mark hadn’t told Iris Tobin about their love affair. He had the ability to bust the myth wide open with just one sentence to his boss. But he hadn’t spoken of it. Why not? Seems like it would make for great TV. That’s what he cared about, right? Money, ratings, success, expensive shoes. And yet, he’d obviously said nothing. Was it because he’d promised her he’d stay mum on the topic? Or was there another reason?

  Hope lifted Carrie’s heart.

  Stop it. No hoping. If you don’t get your hopes up you won’t get hurt.

  Except she already had gotten her hopes up. Had already gotten hurt, but to keep Mark from knowing, she’d hurt him first. Just as she had eight years ago.

  “Someone spilled the news about Raylene and Earl,” Belinda said quietly. “Iris came here looking for her, but luckily she and Dotty Mae went up to the Indian casino in Oklahoma to play bingo over the Thanksgiving weekend. They’re due home late tonight.”

  “So why call me?” Carrie asked.

  “We were hoping you could talk to Mark,” Patsy said. “Get him to call her off Raylene. She’s suffered so much over her breakup with Earl. Over her dark secret coming out. You wouldn’t think it by her sassy mouth, but Raylene really does have a soft heart.”

  Raylene’s husband had left her after he’d discovered that Raylene had kept quiet about a secret daughter for thirty-­five years. Her husband had felt totally betrayed by her lack of trust in him. They’d had a huge fight, and Earl had left Twilight the Christmas before and no one had seen or heard from him since.

  “I don’t have any pull with Mark.”

  The women around the table exchanged knowing glances. What? Had everyone in town found out about their Thanksgiving tryst?

  “If this gets on TV I don’t know what’s going to happen to Raylene.” Marva sighed.

  “Not to mention what it will mean for Twilight’s tourism business.” Terri shook her head. “Our myth busted on national television.”

  “It’ll kill Ray if she’s responsible for that.” Patsy clucked her tongue.

  Carrie inhaled audibly. If she intervened, it would mean seeing Mark again, but how could she not try to stop this? Not only for Raylene’s sake but also for Twilight. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Patsy looked relieved. She got up to place a grateful hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much we appreciate you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was almost ten o’clock when Carrie walked into the lobby of the Merry Cherub. Jenny and Dean would be locking the doors soon. Jenny was behind the reception desk when Carrie entered.

  “Merry Christmas,” Jenny greeted her.

  Carrie forced a smile and returned her greeting. “I’m here to see Iris Tobin.”

  “I’m not sure she’s in her room,” Jenny said. “Let me just—­”

  At that moment, Iris Tobin came out of the parlor. “What can I do for you, Ms. . . .” She trailed off. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Carrie MacGregor.”

  “Ah yes, the one who knocked over the wrenches in the motorcycle shop.”

  “That would be me. Small-­town klutz.”

  An awkward silence stretched between them. Jenny considerately disappeared into the back room behind the reception desk.

  “What was it
you wanted to see me about?” Iris asked.

  Carrie hauled in a deep breath. This was it. Her bid to save Raylene by throwing herself under the bus. She drew herself up tall. “I heard that you’ve been out digging up dirt on ­people in order to refute the sweetheart legend.”

  Iris spread her hands. “I didn’t want to stoop this low, but everyone in town was so adamant that the silly myth is true. And Mark was completely useless.” She shook her head. “He kept telling me the legend is true.”

  He had? Carrie knotted her fingers together.

  “But there is no such thing as true love. Out of all the high school sweethearts in town, statistically someone had to be divorced or broken up.”

  “You couldn’t find any Twilight high school sweethearts who weren’t happily married except Raylene Pringle, could you?”

  “This is the most closemouthed small town.” Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “Truly remarkable. Most small towns are hotbeds of gossip.”

  “Oh, we gossip plenty, but the reality is, many ­people in this town have found happiness with their high school sweethearts. Raylene and Earl included. They’ll get back together. They were meant to be.”

  Iris sniffed. “You’re seriously delusional. Raylene Pringle and her husband are not living happily ever after. The myth is busted.”

  Carrie touched her lip to the tip of her tongue. “What would it take for you to leave Raylene alone?”

  “There’s not much you could say to get me to drop that line of inquiry.” Iris was cold as a winter graveyard.

  “What if I told you I could give you plenty of information to disprove the sweetheart legend? A story featuring a young ­couple instead of a forty-­year-­old love affair that’s weathered a lot of ups and downs.”

  Iris cocked her head, looked intrigued. “I’m listening.”

  She was walking on hot coals here, but it was necessary. Not just to save Raylene, but to make sure Mark went back to where he belonged. He was Hollywood material. Things hadn’t changed between them. He lived a life that she could never be part of. It was no different from eight years ago, when she’d seen that scholarship letter from Columbia tucked under the Santa Claus saltshaker on his parents’ kitchen table. She couldn’t allow him to throw away everything he’d accomplished. Besides, Raylene had been through enough. Carrie was tough. She would survive this, and so would Twilight.