He filled his hands with her, relearning the shapes and textures that had haunted his dreams. The subtle flare of hip. The strong arms. The column of that lovely throat. Tyler murmured his name, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping lightly down his back. Her breath hitched and released as he savored, urging her slowly higher with lips and hands. Everything he asked, she gave without reservation, until at long last she whispered, “Please, Brody. Please.”
He slipped inside her. Tyler arched up to take him, her eyes glazed with pleasure. And here was the homecoming he hadn’t expected, hadn’t even known he’d been yearning for, hadn’t dared to even think about for years. Brody waited for her eyes to clear, to fasten on his before he began to move. The fingers he laced with hers were an anchor as they climbed. His pulse, his breath quickened as they circled higher, narrowing his focus, until all he could see, all he could feel was her. Tyler wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him deep as she climaxed around him. Breathing her name, he let go and followed.
They lay tangled, skin damp and flushed from exertion. As soon as he had the muscle control to manage it, Brody rolled to the side, to keep from crushing her. He reached over to grab an edge of the comforter and rolled back, pulling her close. She snuggled into him, pressing her cheek to his chest and tangling their legs again. And for the first time since he’d left eight years ago, Brody felt completely at peace.
“Do you actually want to go to the party?” Tyler asked. “I mean, you’re probably missing a rousing rendition of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ with multi-part harmony.”
“I think we have adequately proved that I do not require multi-part harmony to be roused.”
She muffled a snort of laugher against his chest.
“Besides, that would involve actually moving from this spot, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then no.” He tightened his arm as she settled back against him and enjoyed the comfortable silence.
“Brody?” Tyler’s voice was muffled.
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Mmm?”
“Will you stay?”
He opened his eyes and stared at the wash of moonlight on the wall. Was she asking about tonight or for good? Either way he knew he couldn’t make himself let her go.
Stroking a hand down her back, he pressed another kiss to her temple. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”
3 Weeks 'Til Show
The magic is back, thought Brody. It showed, in every movement, every perfectly delivered line as he and Tyler immersed themselves into their characters. The spark of it was contagious, spreading among the cast like wildfire, until even those less than stellar members of the chorus were upping their game, putting their absolute best foot forward. In the week since they’d gotten access to the stage again, the cast had been working extra hard to make up for the lost rehearsal time, and it was paying off.
Brody knew he was grinning like an idiot as Tyler and Piper danced their way toward him and Myles from stage left in their WAC uniforms. His grinning had been fairly constant, not diminished in the least by the good-natured ribbing offered up by their friends and some of the other cast members. Their absence at the post-inspection celebration hadn’t gone unnoticed. But how could he care when Tyler was his again? He slipped his arms around her, absorbing her flirtatious smile and feeling fireworks booming in his blood. Pouring some of that energy into the performance, he danced and twirled his way through the rest of “I Wish I Was Back In The Army” with as much panache as he could muster until, arm-in-arm with Tyler and Piper, he tapped his way off stage right.
A single, enthusiastic clap sounded from the back of the auditorium. Not Nate. Stepping back out onstage, Brody shaded his eyes from the lights but couldn’t make out the newcomer as he approached.
“Well done,” the man called. “This is exactly the kind of performance that would’ve made my father proud.”
“Daniel,” said Nate, sliding into the aisle and striding to meet him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Decided to finally come by and take a gander at our efforts?”
The two men shook hands in greeting. The murmur of their voices wasn’t loud enough to carry clearly to the stage.
“Who is this guy?” muttered Brody.
“Daniel Stanton,” whispered Tyler. “Old Mr. Stanton’s son. He left Wishful back when we were in high school, I think. Lives up in Oxford now.”
So this was the stiff Norah sweet talked into letting them repair the theater. Brody studied him, taking in the lanky build, the receding hairline, and weak chin. His expression was affable enough, but something about the other man set off Brody’s bullshit detector. The reaction was borne out when Nate burst out, “You’re kidding me!” in a tone that suggested outrage rather than elation.
Daniel gave a what-can-I-do shrug and an apologetic smile Brody didn’t buy for a minute.
Nate waved toward the stage with an expansive gesture that screamed sarcasm. “It’s your news. You make the announcement.”
Tyler slipped her hand into Brody’s as Stanton headed for the stage. Brody could feel the tension thrumming through her, knew it was mirrored in the rest of their castmates, all of whom had spilled out from the wings to see what was going on.
“Y’all have put in so much work into putting on this show,” Daniel began. “I know my father would be incredibly touched by your efforts, most especially with the miracle you pulled off to repair the theater after the balcony collapsed. The end result is truly amazing.”
“We’re all waiting for the ‘but’, Mr. Stanton,” said Tyler.
“But,” he said, offering another of those apologetic smiles, “I’m afraid that White Christmas will be a farewell show instead of a fundraiser. The bank has decided to foreclose.”