Christmas Affair

by Ginny Frost

  Instead, he offered her a smirk. “Guests don’t do dishes, Jo. Go settle on the couch. I got this.” He kept his words light, hoping his Upstate charm might hypnotize her into doing as he asked.

  Her chin tucked to her chest. She didn’t meet his gaze as she wove around him out of the kitchen. Once she’d passed him, he pointed out where the living room sat, sunk down a few steps. She said nothing as she passed into the room.

  He swallowed hard, not sure what to make of that. Something transferred between them when their hands touched. But she’d been ordered around and pushed by her mom for so long.

  Oh crap.

  Did she think he did the dishes because he assumed she couldn’t? Damn, walking on eggshells was tough, especially with someone he hardly knew. He never should’ve slept with her. It made everything a ball of tension.

  He rounded up the dirty dishes and silverware. After a quick rinse, he tossed everything in the dishwasher. Tomorrow’s chore. No point in using hot water on two plates and mugs. It gave him pause.

  “You want more coffee or something?” he called into the living room.

  She peeked around the corner. “If there’s any left. It’s kinda cold down here.” As if to emphasize the point, she wrapped her arms around her chest and disappeared into the living room.

  Fuck.

  Did he touch the thermostat when they got home? He definitely hadn’t started the woodstove. In the winter, he hunkered down in his favorite chair with the stove roaring out a good solid eighty degrees of heat. Without it, that room was like an icebox. And now, he had a guest, a tiny slip of a woman with zero body fat, and he’d never turned up the heat.

  With a muttered curse, he reset the thermostat and headed into the living room. His brain already formed a thousand excuses for the lack of fire: she distracted him, they were hungry, he wasn’t cold. He paused at the top of the small set of steps. He’d flaked, no biggie. Her teeth weren’t chattering, and her skin had no bluish tint. All good.

  “Sorry. I forgot to stoke the stove. I, uh…” He didn’t want to throw an excuse, but regret twisted inside him.

  “Oh, no worries.” She smiled at him, wrapped in the quilt he left on the couch. Mom’s ancient blanket kept him warm many nights in the howling winters. Jo looked perfect tucked into the corner, her feet underneath. He could get used to the image.

  “I heat with…” He waved at the cast-iron stove in the fireplace. The incredible stupidity of the situation punched him in the gut. He focused on the firewood, kindling, and rolled paper instead of her. He should say something, talk about something. Do something. But the air hung with a strange energy, and he didn’t know what to do now.

  Once the fire hit a rolling pace, he closed the window door. Through the glass, a tiny fire flicked and danced, catching the larger pieces of wood. “Should warm up here pretty quick,” he said.

  He sat for a moment watching the flames, wondering if he should go set up the guest room for her. He’d have to clean the junk piled atop the bed. Or he could let her use his own bed. Also, the plow needed to be hooked up. Anxiety ate at his gut. If she weren’t here, he’d do his usual thing. She distracted him.

  He faced her, ready to decide—either take her upstairs or go outside to the truck.

  The snow gods decided for him. The power cut out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Worry fell over Jo in waves. More than just the snowstorm bothered her. She was alone with a handsome man, in the dark, in the cold. She’d slept with him, but she never dreamed she’d be on the run, in borrowed clothes. Now, she stood in the house of her rescuer. Did she owe him?

  She watched as he lit a candle and a gas lantern. The room glowed with amber warmth. Chewing her lip, she glanced at the he-man standing over her with his lamp. His expression said it all. She owed him nothing. She didn’t have to pay back the rescue, the meal, the place to stay with sex. A tingling sensation rushed over her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone treated her with respect like that.

  Why wait?

  He set the light down on the coffee table and rubbed his neck. “I should see if anyone needs a plow.” His gaze rose to meet hers. His expression said he thought the same thing but didn’t want to push. Such a gentleman. She opted to play the damsel in distress. It was a game she knew well.

  “You’re going to leave me alone in the dark?” She fluttered her eyelashes, awkwardness filling her gut. Did women still do that when seducing a man?

  “Something in your eye?” he asked, his hand still scrubbing the back of his neck.

  She stopped trying to flirt and spoke directly as she did at the hotel. “Brett, do you have to go out now? I mean, it might snow for hours, and then you’d have to plow again.” She shrugged. How did she ask him to “plow” her? The idea made her giggle, and she ducked her face into the blanket.

  “Uh,” Brett hedged, perhaps reading her mind. “I, uh, don’t have to, uh, now if…”

  She stood, letting the quilt drop to the floor. “How about a tour of your house?”

  Brett scratched his head. “In the dark?”

  “Sure. Let’s start with the bedroom.” Amazed at her own brazenness, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the kitchen.

  Scooping up the lamp, he let her lead.

  ***

  Brett grinned as he showed Jo the upstairs. He played tour guide, but he wanted to toss her into his king-sized bed and play mountain man. She was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. He kept expecting her to be shy and reserved, even scared. But damn if she wasn’t bold. Maybe it came from a life of entitlement, always getting what she wanted with a snap of her fingers. Well, anything but a life outside her mother’s house.

  The stupid wedding.

  It was why she wasn’t afraid to drag him upstairs. Or a way to get back at her mother. But Brett, the “love ’em and leave ’em king,” sensed no malice from Jo. She wanted sex, so she asked for it. And sex with a guy of her choosing sounded more on the mark than revenge on her mom.

  “And this is my room.” He resisted throwing the door open in a huge fanfare. They both knew where they were headed.

  Jo lingered in the doorway. “Wow, kinda masculine.” She wasn’t wrong. He’d gone with a navy-blue theme with oak wood, but seeing as he was over thirty and single, he could decorate as he damn well pleased.

  She stepped into the room, seeming to hesitate, rethinking her bold move. Brett let her lead, though the idea of throwing her over his shoulder buzzed in his head.

  “Pretty clean for a single guy.” She’d stepped past him and glanced over her shoulder, mischief in her gaze. “I expected… well, I thought…” She blushed.

  Actually blushed.

  “Thought I was some kinda slob? Sometimes I am, but I hate to come home to a messy house.” He strolled past her, moving Knight to Queen 6, the bed. He tossed back the comforter and patted the mattress. “Even has clean sheets on there for a good night’s sleep when I got home.”

  With an eyebrow raised, Jo cocked her head. “A bed big enough for two with clean bedding. I wanna see that.” She walked over, imitating his stroll.

  He suppressed a laugh. She was odd, but fun.

  She spun around in front of him, sitting on the bed in a smooth rolling motion. Locked in her sickbed her entire life? The girl still had impressive dance moves. She leaned back, running her hands over the sheets. “Nice, but not the satin I expected from such a lady’s man.”

  Brett chuckled, sitting next to her. “You ever tried to ‘sleep’ on satin? You slide everywhere.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It was. Maybe tomorrow night.” He leaned down and caught her in a kiss. She melted into him as he laid her back against the bed.

  After a few long, wet kisses, she pulled back. “Tomorrow night?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yeah, we’re snowed in.”

  ***

  Jo basked in the post-coital bliss. Brett was a monster in the sack, a gifted, generous mo
nster. Any regrets about hopping into his bed faded fast after the first mind-bending orgasm. She curled against his side, her muscles loose, her brain fuzzed. Her eyelids slowly levered shut as a happy moan escaped her lips.

  Brett shifted but didn’t move away. She put a steadying hand on his stomach, not wanting to lose his heat or the bliss of his skin.

  A low chuckle emanated from him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “Just adjusting.” He shifted again, and a warm blanket settled over the two of them. “That’s better. Nice and toasty.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he snuggled in against her. Brett was a cuddler. Who knew?

  Her eyes slid shut again. As sleep crept over her, a random thought popped in her head. She gasped, startled, accidentally squeezing Brett. “Oh, shit.”

  In an instant, he rose to a sitting position, hovering over her, his expression full of concern. “You okay? What’s wrong?” He ran a finger along her jawline. God, how did women not fall in love with him every second of every day?

  She shook her head, the burn of a hard blush on her cheeks. “It’s nothing. I realized I’ve never slept over at a man’s house before.”

  He leaned back, a wry smile on his lips. “Never?” The word held a level of “I smell bullshit” in it.

  Sitting up to face him, she placed a hand on his arm. “Not really. No.”

  His eyebrows raised, he asked, “You weren’t a… um… because you’ve got exceptional skills and…” He cut the sentence off and rifled his fingers through his hair.

  Stifling a giggle, she ran her fingers up and down his bicep. “No, not a virgin. But it’s kinda sad at my age that it’s my first ‘sleepover.’ I’m so pathetic.” She pulled her hand away, as a silly stupid emotion wrenched her gut.

  Grown-ups don’t do sleepovers and don’t admit when they lack sexual skills to a man they’d slept with repeatedly within a short time frame. God, she felt like a hussy, a glutton, but who could resist him?

  Guilt ate at her, and the desire to run and lock herself in the bathroom stole over her. But Brett could handle any locked door. Her head low, she blinked hard to bite back tears.

  “Whoa,” Brett whispered, grasping her hand before she escaped. “What’s going on here? If you don’t want to sleep here, I can…”

  She cut him off, hating she might’ve hurt him. “No, it’s… I feel… Ugh, my entire life is an open field now, and I’m a little terrified. And questioning my decisions. Like coming here with you.”

  “Oh.” He withdrew his hand and slid back on the bed. “I can drive you to another hotel, or um…”

  Guilt and trepidation washed over Jo. She stuck her foot in it, insulted the man she'd just made love to, spurned his feelings, and his bed. She lunged for his retreating figure, grasping his hand.

  “No.” Her voice held no demand but no whine either. “It’s not you or this. It’s great. You’re great.”

  Dammit, gush much? She dialed back.

  “I guess I never thought about sleeping in someone else’s bed. I never went to a sleepover as a kid and never stayed the night with a man. It’s my first time. So embarrassing.” She hid her face.

  “Huh,” he said, rolling into the bed, coming closer, folding her outstretched arm against his body. “A virgin after all.” He crushed her into a kiss, and the bliss bloomed again. How could she doubt anything around Brett?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jo woke to a loud trill. She sat up in bed, blinking hard. A pitch-black room surrounded her. Attempting to catch her shaky breath, she grasped for something to cover her naked body. A man’s voice sounded off in the distance, and everything sunk home in her tired brain.

  Brett’s house.

  Brett’s room.

  Brett’s naked body.

  With a grin, she popped a toe out of bed, ready to search for him.

  The blistering cold of his hardwood floor stopped her. With a hiss, she drew her foot under the cover and buried herself. The old woodstove wasn’t sending up much heat. She shivered.

  Footsteps sounded where she assumed the door was. Damn, it was dark. With no moon and no lights…

  Brett called out. “Hey, it’s me. It’s the landline phone. I’m old-fashioned.” He chuckled. “Your mom found us, and she wants to speak to you. Care to come over to my ancient phone and talk to her?”

  Jo snuggled deeper into the covers. “Can’t you bring me a handset?” She put a ton of pout in her tone.

  “No. No power, so it doesn’t work.” He paused. “I think you need to talk her down.” His words were soft, filled with kindness. Most men wouldn’t have been so sweet when a date’s crazy mother called their house. Never mind, the two of them were well over the legal age of consent.

  With a sigh, she pulled off the covers and shivered. “Got a robe or something?”

  “Oh, yeah. Don’t move.” The creak of his tread on the hardwood slid to the left and back to the bed. Her eyes adjusted enough to see his outline as he closed in on her. She took the offered robe, sadly noticing he wore a t-shirt and sweats.

  So much for Naked Brett.

  The robe on her shoulders, she padded after him, her bare feet sounding too loud in the quiet house. In the kitchen, the kerosene lantern burned brightly, blinding her. Brett noticed and turned the light down a bit. He pointed to the wall between the hall and dining room.

  In the center of the small wall sat a red rotary phone. Unable to help herself, she laughed aloud, pointing at the ancient thing. “What the hell is that?”

  Brett smirked. “Funny story. It came with the house. The old guy I bought the place from rented it from AT&T for decades. I called ’em and bought that baby outright. She’s all mine now.” He stepped over and grabbed the receiver, lying upside-down on top of the base. “Your mother.” He wandered to the table and sat down.

  Tentatively, she picked up the handset. “Hello?”

  “It’s about time.” Her mother’s voice sounded shrill and angry. “How long does it take to answer a phone? You didn’t answer your cell, nor did that Kramer man. What is going on, Josephine?”

  The phone to her chest, Jo pulled in a long breath, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She could do this. Besides, Mom tried to screw her over with a wedding. Time to take something back.

  “You see, Mom.” She kept the sarcasm to a minimum, but some leaked through. “There’s a snowstorm, and the power is out. My phone is dead. I’m only speaking with you because Brett has an actual landline phone. What do you want?”

  She slapped her forehead. Wrong question, and an invitation for Mom to drone on about her needs, Jo’s disappointing behavior, and the embarrassment the whole thing caused. Jo waited, but no response came.

  “Mom?”

  “Are you safe?” she asked, her voice low and tense. “We figured out you ran off with that brute, and I worried for your safety. You shouldn’t be…”

  Jo cut her off. “I’m fine, Mom. Brett is a gentleman.”

  “Well, he didn’t seem like one when I found him in your room sans clothing. Really, Josephine…”

  After years of her mother’s overprotective bullshit, Jo cut to the chase. “I’m fine. Do you want to talk about the elephant in the room?”

  “What do you mean? The man practically kidnapped you, and I was worried beyond belief. I didn’t know if you were safe, and with this snow…”

  “Mom.” Cutting her off was becoming a habit. “It’s fine.” Jo’s teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. She wanted to have it out with the woman, but over the phone wouldn’t be satisfying enough. Jo needed to see her mother's face when she received the dressing down. “Is that all?”

  Mom pulled in a sharp breath, her signal for dissatisfaction. She never raised her voice, but she ripped people apart with a sharp words spoken in a mellow tone.

  “No, it’s not all, young lady. Come back and apologize to these people for the chaos you caused. You walked out without a word to our guests. Rude on an unbelievable level, Josephine.”

  Dra
wing in a breath through her nose, Jo stood tall. Her jaw tight, she said, “You tried to marry me off, Mom. You said a Christmas party, not a sham wedding. I owe you and those guests nothing.”

  Silence fell on the other side of the line. Jo waited almost a minute before her mother spoke again. “I don’t like your tone. We’ll discuss it when you arrive.” Mom hurried on before Jo broke in again. “The hotel requires that Brett return now. The power is out, and the snow is bad. We only just found this the number to reach him. Put him on the phone.”

  Jo shook her head. “You’re in charge of building maintenance?”

  Mom sighed. “Of course not, Josephine.” Man, she threw Jo’s full name around tonight. “The manager wishes to speak with him.”

  She held the receiver out to Brett. “Stanley wants a word with you. There are issues at the hotel.”

  Brett rolled his eyes but took the phone. He pressed a hand over the mouthpiece. “You’re aware they hired me as a carpenter for renovations, right?” He winked.

  “Apparently, they aren’t.” She shrugged and whirled into a chair at the table, lamenting the lack of power meant no coffee.

  ***

  “Yeah?” he asked into the receiver.

  “Save my ass,” Stanley said on the other end of the line.

  With a chuckle, Brett delivered a mock whisper. “Well, big-boy, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “Shit, Brett.” Stanley’s voice held some anguish. “I have a hotel full of pissed-off people, the power is wonky, and a bunch want to leave. I don’t have the staff to clear the entrance or the parking lot.”

  Brett quirked his eyebrows. The place should have a system for snow, being in Upstate and close to a dozen ski places. He sat at the table near Jo, grasping her knee, giving it a little caress. “No one should drive in this mess. Much less those snooty Downstaters. Do they know how to navigate in the snow?”

  Stanley cleared his throat. “Look, you gotta fix the power.” His voice became muffled, as if he were hiding his words from Jo’s mother. “Your girl’s ma is out of control. She’s made the crazy even crazier. Come back, repair the generators, and clear the lot. I’ll pay big time.”