Clare pulled into the parking lot behind the funeral home. Only two other cars were parked in the lot, a red Toyota Camry, and a slick, black Mercedes. She looked out of the window at the clean neighbourhood, with its perfectly manicured gardens, in perfectly square lots. Each home, as good as the other.

The Hargrove Town centre resembled an entirely independent residential area, isolating itself from the influences of the city. Doctors, grocers, dentists, pharmacists, clothing, and entertainment facilities decorated the perfectly preserved town square. From birth to death, it caters for all, Clare thought sombrely, looking at the back door of the funeral home.

She turned the key and the soft humming of the engine stopped. She leaned back on the head rest anxiously. The interior of the car gradually cooled, and the radio hummed quietly. She looked around the snow strewn streets, littered with jittery town folks as they gathered around the town hall.

Clare glanced at her watch. It was already ten forty. She scanned the parking lot again, and peered at the building. No sign of Jack. She went back to staring at the mass gathering of the people from her parked car. It didn't feel right to sit in her small car on a deserted parking lot owned by a Funeral home. The place should be a repellent on such a festive day. Yet ironically, the day had nothing but misery staring back at her. Instead of a hearty laughter, the devilish laugh of the grim reaper beckoned her towards the funeral home.

Around her, the voice of a merry man blared out of the radio. "Morning to you all, and to all a jolly good day. This is Jim Jones, wishing you all a Merry Christmas".

Clare switched to another channel, wanting to keep eluded from being tempted to wish somebody a Merry Christmas.

Another voice broke out of the speakers. "As far as the eye can see, there is more snow forecasted over much of the..."

Clare switched to another channel. Michael Bublé's Sway floated out. Clare sank into her seat. Whenever she'd heard the song in the past, she would spring to her feet and waltz around. Today, the urge to sway felt like a sin. She hardly listened to the song. Her sight sat solid on the back door of the funeral home.

"Thank you so much. We don't know where to start," Ken, Jack's dad, was saying. His tall figure hovered over the wide desk, shaking hands with the funeral home director standing on the other side of the desk.

The director's hazel eyes looked at his clients seating before him. He couldn't fathom their loss, or the grief they were suffering. He couldn't close his doors in their time of need. He cleared his throat, "Carter, I can't possibly begin to imagine your grief, but" he said fixing his eyes on the couple. Sympathy showered through them.

"It is times like these we need our people to help us". He pulled his seat closer to the desk. "You don't worry about the service much. Take all the time you need to decide on the details. I'll be right here for any assistance". He grabbed few pamphlets out of the drawer and passed them over to Ken. "It is my duty to help a friend in need."

"George" Ken's voice seemed edgy. He sighed with exhaustion. "I really can't thank you enough."

George addressed them humbly, "Matt was like a son to me. I watched him grow. My daughter, Michelle, was a friend of his. I can't imagine how Jack is feeling but I know he must be devastated. Michelle can't believe it either". George's eyes began to water.

Jack could hear the conversation taking place between the adults through the slightly ajar office door. He didn't want to hear them plan Matt's funeral. So, he sat in the dimly lit corridor. To his left, was the gallery displaying all the caskets available for purchase. It was a sombre place, Hargrove Funeral Home, with its dark wood interior, antique furniture, and a glass dome decorating the gallery. The last time Jack had visited this place was for his grandmother's funeral.

Jack grabbed the armrest, hyperventilating. The walls were caving in, forming a coffin around him. His chest tightened, restricting his lungs from expanding enough for air. He frantically searched through his jacket's pockets. He was having an asthma attack out of sheer panic. To his dismay he couldn't find his puffer. Then he remembered, he had lost it in the mountain and hadn't yet replaced it.

Breathe damn it, breathe, he told himself, you can do this, just calm down. Air, you need air. He struggled to his feet and turned left knowing there was a back door down the gallery. I need air. His chest tightened around his gasping, burning lungs.

He burst out into the parking lot, gasping. He couldn't get himself to calm down. He was becoming dizzy, trying to hold on to the fading consciousness.

It took a moment before Clare recognized Jack dropping to his knees. Impulse coursed through her and she threw open the door, scrambling out of the car in a hurry. She screamed Jack's name, running to him across the parking lot. She could see he was fainting, and felt around her pocket for her phone. Terror struck as she remembered she didn't have her phone on her. She needed to get help, but she couldn't leave him either. It would be another episode of her leaving Brandon. She couldn't risk coming back to find Jack in the same state. She did the only thing she could think of. She screamed at the top of her lungs. "Help, someone, help!"

George was walking the Carters to the gallery when he heard a woman's shrill scream. He turned sharply towards the two following him. "Did you hear that?"

Standing in the corridor they heard the scream again, coming from the back parking lot behind the building. Without another word, George ran towards the source of the scream. Ken and Jill followed, crossing the corridor and the breadth of the gallery room in seconds.

Coming out into the open parking lot, they saw a young woman hovering over a man, screaming for help. Jill immediately recognized her son and ran towards the two in panic. Ken stared at George, terror flashing through his distraught eyes. Not again!

George took out his cell phone. "I'll call an ambulance", and watched Ken run to his son's side.

Clare followed the blaring ambulance through the departing traffic. Her back view mirror contained the faces of two parents whose ground had been pulled from underneath them yet again. Clare prayed as she beeped across the traffic. You can't do this, not to them. Not to them. Not now!

It took ages for her heart to resettle into its normal rhythm. These last two weeks had proved to be so emotionally straining. Standing in the lobby of the hospital she had left not so long ago, Clare was facing yet another emergency. The shock and panic now a dull ache somewhere deep within her chest.

She turned around to the Carters, fear plastered on their tired faces. She could tell they feared the loss of another son. Clare sat down next to Jill Carter, exhausted.

"Mrs. Carter," Clare struggled for the right words. "Jack's going to be fine. He's a fighter. I'm sure." The distraught mother's hands fiddled nervously, close to Clare's. She tried to smile, but her face twisted in anguish.

Silence established its mark around the three until a deep, croaky voice shattered it with its vibrations. "Mr. and Mrs. Carter, I'm happy to let you know your son is doing fine."

The shadow of despair disappeared from the couple's faces upon hearing the news. Ken stood up and extended his hand, "Thank you doctor."

"My pleasure" the doctor smiled awkwardly. There was something else he had to say, he cleared his throat, "however, there is one other thing".

Ken looked at his wife, fear beginning to creep back in, he turned to the doctor, "What is it?"

"That was not an asthma attack" he informed, and was met with confusion. "It was hyperventilation. Scary too, but it's not the same as asthma."

"But he fainted?" Jill looked up at the doctor, her grip tightened around her husband's hand.

"Yes" the doctor said looking at them. "It happens sometimes when an individual is highly stressed. This in itself is disturbing. It's telling me your son has suffered some psychological trauma."

"So what happened to him?" Ken asked.

"It's stress related reaction, they start breathing too quickly. I'm concerned about him. If he continues to suffer stressful conditions, then these episodes may repeat". The doctor looked at Ken, "Has this ever happened before today?"

"No" Jill chocked out, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

Ken drew his wife closer, holding her shoulders protectively. "We just lost our other son this week."

"I'm so sorry"

Ken continued, "Jack hasn't really been himself since. He doesn't talk to anyone much."

"I suggest you get him to a psychologist, Mr. Carter. It might help him by talking to someone who wasn't emotionally attached to his brother. He needs to be able to talk to someone". His pager beeped loudly, "Excuse me, I'm needed. But you can go see him now".

"How are you doing?" Ken asked hovering over Jack's bed.

"I'm all right dad. I'm all right" Jack answered warmly.

Jill slowly approached his side, tears hugging her eyes all over again.

"Mum!"

Jill took a hold of his arm, stroking it affectionately. "Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again. You hear me? Ever!"

"I'm sorry" Jack said hugging her tightly.

"I can't lose you too!" she whispered into his ears.

Jack noticed Clare with her head peering inside the room. "Clare" he exclaimed, letting go of his mother. He turned to his parents. "Dad. Mum. You've met Clare, haven't you?"

"Actually, I haven't been introduced yet" Clare grinned slightly.

Jack looked at his dad, "This is Clare" he said indicating towards her, "she was there with us. She's the one who found help."

Ken extended his hand. "Well, nice to meet you, Clare".

Immediately Jill interrupted, "Thank you dear, for everything you've done for us."

Jack smiled weakly at his mother, and turned to Clare. "Clare, these are my parents, Ken and Jill".

"Nice to meet you both" Clare said, entering further into the room.

Jill looked back and forth from Jack to Clare, confused.

"What is it mum?"

"Well, Clare was there at the funeral home" Jill said looking at Clare. "Were you meeting up with Jack?" she asked feeling slightly uneasy.

Clare looked at Jack, his eyes widening. "Well, I know it may seem odd but Jack needed to talk you to two about something. I was merely there to support him".

Jill quickly turned to her son, "What it is?"

Jack looked away from his mum. His eyes watering.

"It's about Matt" Clare stated sensing Jack dwindling. Jack looked up at her unable to utter a word. "Would you like me to tell them?

Jack nodded and suddenly, Clare felt the weight of the world on her own shoulders. She tried to think of an appropriate way to let the parents know about their deceased son's wish.

She cleared her throat and turned to them. "I don't know how to put this to you, but" she looked from Jill to Ken. "Matt once mentioned to Jack that he did not want an entirely black funeral".

In astonishment, Ken and Jill looked at each other, and then glanced over to Jack in utter disbelief.

Clare followed the Carter's Mercedes, through posh streets of the Hargrove suburb once more. She felt awkward to be following them home. She couldn't say no when they asked her to come along.

Ken and Jill disappeared into the grandeur of the house as Jack took Clare's coat and placed it into the closet next to the door. "They will talk about it" he said, looking to the door where his parents had entered. "Would you like some tea?" he asked quietly.

Clare's gentle blue eyes quivered on his pale face, and she nodded. They passed through the lounge room and into a corridor where several pairs of doors lined either side. The place looked gloomy as the afternoon sun shimmered in from the living area. The second door to their left swung open, and a woman stepped out carrying a cardboard box. Decorating tinsel overflowed the rim. Clare assumed they had once decorated a Christmas tree.

The woman weakly smiled at Clare and looked over to Jack. "Afternoon Master Jack". Jack stared at the box in her arms. She placed it outside the opposite door, "I'm just tidying up the room as I was asked".

Jack's inside churned and his throat felt the squeeze of emotion hurtling through him. "Carry on", and he disappeared through a door into the kitchen. By the time Clare followed through, Jack was already filling the kettle with water. "Would you prefer coffee, or is tea fine?"

"Tea is fine"

Maria quietly floated into the kitchen at the early sign of evening approaching. "Master Jack" her beautiful Latin accent calmly drifted their way.

Jack turned to see her putting on an apron. "I'm about to start dinner. Would your friend be joining us?"

Jack clutched his tea cup and looked at Clare, then back to Maria, and simply nodded.

The dinner was a quiet affair. They hardly touched the beautiful lasagne Maria had so religiously crafted. The upcoming funeral was on their mind. Only when Maria served a steaming bowl of rice pudding did Ken speak.

"What was it that Matt wanted?"

"Blue" Jack answered, staring at his pudding.

"It was his favourite" Jill whispered, tearing up.

Ken nodded and uneasily looked at his wife. In his calmest tone, he spoke. "Ring up the florist and ask her to include blue in the flower arrangement. I'll go and give George a call. See if he has anything appropriate".

Ken watched as they all continued pondering over their share of pudding. "As for the guests, it's too late to tell them to wear at least something blue. It will just have to be us". He turned to Jack. "I'm sorry, was there anything else we should consider?"

Jack shook his head, got up and quietly left the room. Clare looked at the Carters, and stood up to follow Jack. "I'll go check on him".

She found him, hunched on the floor in the lounge, facing the fireplace. She sat down quietly besides him. It had been a long day for everyone.

Brandon stared out the window. Lights were beginning to flick on around the buildings, and night was beginning to dazzle in lights. The snow was still falling and yet everything had been stripped away from this holiday season. He wanted to see Clare for himself before Matt's funeral. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk to her then. The TV perched up in the metal arm above the room quietly hissed out commercials after commercials. He turned and left the room, leaving the TV on.

He walked to the nurses' station in the lobby, his stomach twisting. He grabbed the piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. May I please borrow the phone?" he asked, smiling when the nurse looked up.

"Sure thing, honey" she smiled back, handing him the phone. "You want me to dial for you?" she asked winking at him.

Brandon shook his head and dialled Jack's number.

Jack lifted his head, startled by the phone's shrill ringing. He turned to the hallway table and saw Maria run to pick up the phone. She turned to Jack and called him over. Jack struggled to his feet and walked over, grabbing the phone off her hand. Clare sat down on the sofa, staring into the fireplace, trying not to eavesdrop. When Jack returned his face was placid.

"What is it? You okay?" Clare asked, concerned.

"That was Brandon" said Jack. "I should be going. I'm picking him up from the hospital".

"He's ok?" she asked immediately standing up. When Jack nodded, she dropped her gaze to the floor. "When did he come around?"

"Yesterday afternoon. Probably few hours after you left" Jack answered quietly.

Clare avoided eye contact, tears stinging her eyes. Why didn't he call? She breathed deep and patted Jack's chest. "I better get going too". She walked past him. "Say hi to him for me".

"Come along with me," Jack almost begged her.

"Henry is probably waiting for me. I told him I'd return before night fall. I'm already late". She stood on her tippy toes, and gave him a kiss on the cheeks. "You try and have a good night's sleep, okay?"

Jack walked her out to her car and watched her drive off. Then he got in his car and drove, into the opposite direction.

Clare drove a little bit away from Jack's house and pulled over. Turned off the engine, and cried in disbelief. She had assumed Brandon would think about her at least once. In fact, she had been wanting that so bad. It hurt her to think he had been awake for a full twenty four hours, and she'd only just found out. It dug at her. She had felt guilty, having been unable to find time to visit him in the hospital. Too much had happened. She pulled herself together and turned the engine on. Then pulled out onto the street and drove off to the manor, less than composed.

When Helga opened the door, she looked rather worried. "Ah!" she nearly screamed, her voice heavy. "Finally! Come, come", she pulled Clare inside and shut the door. Immediately took the coat from her hand, and flung it on the coat hanger next to the door.

Helga spoke without turning around. "Henry is still waiting! He was worried about you, you know?" She hurriedly made her way into the kitchen. "Here she is, in one piece" Helga called out to Henry seated at the breakfast table.

He looked utterly annoyed. "Where were you? I've been waiting since six", his unnervingly calm eyes bored down at her. "I had to tell Margaret I couldn't come home until I saw you. Daniel is probably thinking of firing me already". This was an old habit of Henry's, getting every bad thing off his chest before speaking again.

"I'm fine" Clare stated.

"Yes, well, I see that" he stepped towards her. His hand clutching at something away from Clare's eyes.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her eyes flicking to his hand.

"Yes, everything is as okay as it can possibly be considering things, however."

"However..." Clare urged him on, her eyes still glancing to his hand frequently.

"However," he repeated, "a young man's been trying to reach you since dawn. He's very keen on getting a hold of you". He handed her the cell phone. "He's been constantly ringing your phone" Henry looked at her face. "Said his name was Brandon McCoy. I didn't ask him as to the cause of his impatience. Told him you'd be in possession of your cell by this evening, but since you didn't show up in time, I've had to stall him yet again".

"Brandon called? Really" she asked, gob smacked.

Henry nodded. "I believe ten or more times, since five in the morning. His last attempt was about fifteen minutes ago".

Clare's eyes danced around the room and finally came back to Henry. "He's okay!"

"Yes, sounded quite okay to me".

"Did he say he'll call back again?" she asked impatiently.

Henry shook his head. "Honestly? I told him I had absolutely no idea when you were returning." When he saw the disappointment on her face, he cleared his throat, and grinned. "I suggested he try again at the earliest sign of dawn. It would do you good to wake up early once in a while". He laid a hand on her shoulder, "Well, I better be off now. If you need anything, you know what to do".

Clare nodded, clutching the phone tightly. Her anger at Brandon forgotten. She was feeling like a girl waiting for her first date. Brandon would call again. If not for another eight hours, but he would surely call. Ten times! She thought cheerfully walking Henry to the door.

Henry stopped outside the door and turned around, kissing her good night on the fore head. "The boy seems nice. I must meet him!" He smiled and left.

Jack stepped into the dark corridor of the apartment first, turned off the alarm, and flicked on the hallway lights. His hands instinctively knew the exact location of both these devices. "Sorry about the musky smell. The apartments been neglected for few weeks I guess".

"It's fine"

Jack led him through a well furnished living room, past the kitchen and a small dining area towards the back of the apartment. He stopped in front of one of the four doors in the continuing passageway. He opened the one to the left and flicked the lights on.

"You can take my room" he said peering into the room. "It's more spacious than Matt's".

Jack pointed to the door next to his room. "You'll find some fresh linen and some towels in there." He walked ahead a few paces towards the room that spelt the end of the corridor and swung the door open. "Toilet and bathroom's this one". Brandon nodded.

Jack turned around. "Kitchen's this way" he said walking off. "I wouldn't recommend any food in the fridge, if there is any. There is a money jar next to the phone, and the number for pizza on the fridge, when you get hungry". He thought for a moment as to anything he forgot to mention. "I haven't really had time to stock up or anything. If there is anything you need, let me know. I'll bring it over from the house".

Brandon glanced around the kitchen. "This is all great".

Jack silently glanced around the apartment. "Well, I better get back to the house." He turned on his heels and started out.

"Jack" Brandon called back.

"Yeah?" he turned around.

"Thanks, for all this."

"It was the least I could do". Jack pocketed his hands. "I'll talk to you tomorrow".

"Clare, are you okay?" Jack asked, concerned.

"Yes. Why?"

"You're calling very late."

"Did I wake you?" she asked, embarrassed.

"No. I was just thinking about tomorrow. What's bothering you?"

"I wanted to see Brandon, too."

"I asked"

"I know .... But I was right about Henry waiting".

"Clare!"

"The point is" there was a hint of hesitation in her voice. "Do you know where he's staying? I thought I'd give him a call. Say hi".

"At this hour?" Jack exclaimed, "He might be asleep".

"And, he might not. Can I get the address? I need to see him, you know. To really make sure he's alive", she gave a nervous laugh.

"Sure..."

Brandon was sitting by the fire when there was a knock on the door. Startled, he perked his ears and listened. Another soft knock sounded at the door. He glanced at his wrist watch, 11:30. Who can it be at this hour? He sighed and got up. Must be Jack.

Outside, Clare stood with an uncertain smile on her face. "Hi"

A little baffled, but pleased nonetheless, Brandon choked out a response. "Hi...please.... come in" he stammered, shutting the door behind her. "How did you know I was here?"

"Jack"

"Of 'course" Brandon nodded comprehension dawning on him. He stared at her, mesmerized. She was wearing a shin-length sway dress, and a long coat. Snow drizzled like some decorative element on her hair.

"You look good" he complimented. His eyes fixed on her face, half illuminated from the dim light filtering through the living room. Soft shadows danced on her gentle features.

She smiled and hugged him. "You look better than the last time I saw you". It felt awkward, but a kiss on the lips, she wasn't sure if it was wise to throw herself at him. After all, he could have forgotten about the past few days.

Brandon laughed nervously. "How rude of me" and led her to the living room, his hand gently resting on the small of her back. He led her to the roaring fire. "Please, sit by the fire. You must be freezing".

"Sorry, you had to call so many times. I was with Jack the whole day", she turned to face him.

"I noticed your note late afternoon," he helped her get out of her huge coat, "and, I was never alone long enough to call". He sat down on the rug and patted the patch next to him. She sat down beside him. "Saw Jack few hours ago. Looked terrible..."

"Yeah" Clare said quietly. "I didn't even know they were brothers".

This was fresh news to him. He looked utterly gob smacked. "That's... I...I don't know what to say". He looked up at her. "Anything I must know before the funeral?"

"Wear something blue at least" she said with an awkward smile on her face. "Apparently, it was his favourite colour".

Brandon nodded.

Clare cleared her throat. "I met your friend, the red head".

"Maggie?"

Clare stared at the seam of her dress. "She seemed nice".

"She's all right when she wants to be" he looked at her face, half hidden among her tresses. "It was a bit of a surprise, her coming all the way to the city for a visit."

"Is she the same Maggie?" she asked almost reservedly. It had taken Brandon ages to mention the ex. She wasn't sure he was comfortable talking about her. "The one you mentioned."

Brandon nodded.

"She must be either brave or tortured" Clare whispered to herself, a small grin crossed her cherry red lips.

Brandon looked at her arched form as she leaned on one knee, her other leg disappeared beneath the folds of her dress. He turned and rested his arm on the seat of the sofa, behind her. "Why do you say that?" he finally asked keeping a steady stare on the back of her head.

She shook her head, pushing off the floor high enough to turn around to directly face him. She folded her legs and tucked her dress around them to keep the chill out. Then took a deep breath and deliberately stared into his hazel eyes, which simmered in the light of the fire.

"You once told me she betrayed your trust?" she asked, her voice as light as a feather, falling teasingly upon his ears. He nodded, his eyes dancing on her face curiously. She opened her mouth again, "So why did she come to see you, after everything? She must be brave or tortured." Clare's hands instinctively stroked his leg.

Brandon didn't even ponder over Clare's speculation. "Why must everything someone does have a motive? Maybe she just wanted to see how I was doing? I mean, I was dying if you remember".

How can I forget? Clare thought. She looked up, her head nodding slightly. "Okay then, I give you that, but" she stared at him, trying to note his expression. "When was the last time she came to meet you?"

His eyes narrowed at the direction her question was taking. Then he sneered at himself. "Six, seven years" he finally answered.

"I rest my case!" Clare enthusiastically proclaimed. Her smile turned into a short giggle. Brandon's amused eyes hovered on her, and she became self-conscious, biting nervously on her lower lip.

Brandon's eyes shifted to her mouth. He reached his hand to her face and gently pulled her lip away from her teeth, leaning closer. He kissed her lightly, noticing the quiver in her soft lips.

When he pulled away Clare quickly glanced away and then back at him. "What did she want?" she whispered, convinced Maggie had some hidden agenda, crawling back into his life after so many years.

Brandon looked slightly unsettled by the question. He leaned away from her, his arm resting on the seat of the sofa once again. His eyes fixed on the fire as he answered. "She wanted me to go back home with her". His eyes flicked back in time to see the disappointment on her face. "My mum's sick," he informed in a regretful tone.

"When are you going?" she asked tearfully.

"I haven't decided yet" he answered, looking at her face, hidden away from him.

"So where is she?" Clare asked, leaving him in the eye. Expecting Maggie would walk into the room that very moment.

"She left this morning" he answered, watching Clare fidget with the seam of her dress. He gently tossed her hair away from her face. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, leaning against the sofa next to him. Her legs stretched out towards the fire. For a moment, they both remained silent. Clare tenderly took his arm from behind her on the sofa and brought it to wrap around her shoulder. She settled in closer to his body, wrapping herself in his arm.

"It's supposed to be Christmas" she whispered, resting her head on the plateau of his shoulder. She pulled his arm towards her abdomen and sat there holding it protectively.

Brandon looked at her head leaning on his shoulders. Her freshly washed hair whiffed up subtle floral smell. He rested his head on top of hers, tightening his arm around her waist, pressing her closer to his body. He watched the flames leaping up in the fire. His head fuzzy, having Clare so close to him again. He was falling in love with her. It hadn't been a hallucination. He was absolutely convinced he didn't have the heart to let her go. He kissed her head affectionately, returning to the breezy smell of her soft hair.

Clare stared at the space separating his legs from hers. She took a deep breath and stroked the top of his hand gently. "Can I be honest with you?" she asked, and felt his head nod on top of hers. She pondered over the thought for a moment longer then straightened up, turning her body to face him. Their faces inches from each other.

Clare felt her mouth dry up, her eyes slowly moved up to stare into his. She shook her head slightly, talking to herself. "I can't believe I'm about to do this".

Brandon focused on her face. When she looked up, his breath caught in his throat. It was something big. He could sense it in her eyes.

Her voice broke out so softly, and he felt as if he was reading her lip rather than hearing her voice.

"If I tell you, that I like you" her eyes glanced up at his. "Would that..." she held his gaze, "would that freak you out?"

His gaze quivered slightly, and a smile crept up on his face. His hand gently hugged the side of her face. "If I was to ask you the same, what would you say?"

Clare reached up for his hand and slowly peeled it away from her face. "I would say no".

"No" he whispered, pulling her in for a kiss. This time sure it was what she wanted. He could feel her smiling, felt her arms wrap around his neck and ruffle through his hair as she kissed him back. He found his own hands expertly running over her back. Occasionally sensing shivers run through her body.

He pulled her closer, tighter against his body. His hand eventually ducked for cover under her dress. It slid masterly over her soft skin, stroking her leg until they were jolted by the feel of her lingerie. He let it be, and pulled his hand out, wrapping it around her body.

Brandon found his shirt unbuttoned. He looked up, seeking an answer. Clare simply smiled and leaned in. "Merry Christmas Brandon!" she whispered. Her voice sent tingles down his spine.