The Christmas Set-Up

by Jill Shalvis

  She went still, the zinger surprisingly hitting a bull’s-eye.

  When she didn’t immediately rally with a reply, he opened his eyes. “Hey, you’re supposed to hit back. It’s what we do.”

  She forced herself to breathe. “I can win.”

  He stared at her. “Well, yeah. Of course you can. Zoe…I was just being a jerk because usually we—” He broke off at the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor, walking up to the bathroom door.

  The woman who appeared in the doorway was either directly from Santa’s workshop or heading to a Maxim photo shoot. She was in her early twenties; a tiny, curvy little blonde with a bright white smile and a skimpy red sweater, emphasis on the skimpy.

  “Who are you?” Zoe asked.

  “Santa’s Helper. From the deli.” The woman’s eyes were on Jason. “No one answered the front door, but there were two cars so I walked around. The back door was unlocked. You should be more careful about that, you’re going to get bears.” Her eyes were locked on Jason’s gorgeous anatomy. “Oh, my…”

  Jason reached out for the washcloth hanging off the soap rack and dropped it over his lap. “I didn’t answer for a good reason.”

  The woman went into a full pout, quite the feat with her thick frosted gloss. “I brought your groceries. And some eggnog. I sorta thought we might—”

  “Sorry, you got the wrong idea,” Jason said. He closed his eyes, jaw bunching. “Thanks for the groceries but I’m not fit for company.”

  “Hmph.” She slid Zoe a hard look. “Who’s she?”

  Zoe opened her mouth to say “none of your business,” but Jason answered before she could. “Homecare nurse.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes as the woman took in Zoe’s navy business suit—modestly cut, since Zoe hated when men at work didn’t meet her eyes because they were too busy looking about eight inches south.

  “Whatever. Your loss, dude,” the woman finally said, and tossed her hair. She gave Jason’s washcloth one more slow appraisal and sighed in disappointment. “Is someone going to tip me, or what?”

  Zoe saw Jason’s helpless grimace and with a sigh, she reached into her purse and grabbed a five, slapping it into the woman’s hand. Five seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind her.

  “Three things,” Zoe said to Jason. “One, you’re a pig. And two, you owe me five bucks.”

  Jason’s eyes were closed again. He looked like the epitome of a Hollywood actor sprawled out on a movie set—except for the gray pallor of his complexion.

  “What’s the third thing?” he asked.

  “Your washcloth isn’t big enough.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE HAD TO HELP HIM OUT of the tub. Jason was sure those minutes were burned into his memory, having Zoe’s hands all over his naked, wet body.

  And her washcloth comment hadn’t helped any, either.

  The moment he was standing on the tile floor, she tossed him a towel and ran out of the bathroom as if there was a fire on her ass.

  He moved slowly, cautiously, but the hot water and her massage had helped considerably. He wrapped the towel around his hips and followed her, dripping water.

  She was ahead of him, moving through the living room straight into the small kitchen, looking around.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She whirled to face him. “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “The memory stick!” She had her hands on her hips now. “Give it to me and I’ll be out of here, and we never have to discuss this evening ever again.”

  She was still dressed as she’d been at work, in her usual business suit that he was certain she thought said: power. But what it really said was that she’d bought the suit off the rack a size too big to hide her smoking-hot bod so that the guys in the office wouldn’t stare at her.

  They still stared, they just did it behind her back. No one could help it. She was tall and her body had curves, real curves, the kind a man dreamed about when alone in his bed at night. When she took her blazer off at work, every man in the vicinity lost brain cells.

  But even with that rocking body, it was her eyes that held Jason. They slayed him every single time she directed them on him. Right now those sharp green eyes were saying “bring it, bitch,” and he couldn’t help it, he smiled.

  She didn’t return it. Her hair was aflame beneath the kitchen lights, held out of her face by a clip, though there were a few stubborn strands that had found their freedom and lay along her temples and jawline. He started to drop his head a little and stop staring at her, but at the movement, pain slashed through him, making him hiss in a breath.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no,” she said. “That isn’t going to work.” She poked him in the bare chest with her finger. “I’m not going to feel sorry for you.” With a sound of annoyance, she was on the move again, this time toward the front door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “You’re not going to admit what you did, fine. I’m out. I still have a two-hour drive ahead of me to meet up with my family at their Quincy cabin.”

  Quincy was at least a two-hour drive, up a narrow two-lane highway that wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially at night.

  Not your problem… But he followed her to the door, oddly reluctant to let her go. “What if my neck goes into spasm again? I might drown in the tub.”

  “Be sure to leave me the memory stick in your will.”

  She was already at the door and he felt a surge of adrenaline hit him as he tried to figure out a way to get her to stay. Which meant that he was crazy.

  In the end he went with the only way he knew how to get her attention—by goading her. “Know what I think?” he asked her stiff spine. “I think you don’t really believe I stole your file. That’s just your excuse to see me.”

  She whipped around. “Listen, pal. I saw way more of you than I planned on.”

  “A bonus.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You cost me away time with my family.”

  “Your sisters,” he said, pulling out that little tidbit from conversations he’d overheard at some point or another. “Three of them, right? That’s a lot of estrogen in one place.”

  “Yeah,” she admitted with what might have been a very tiny smile on her mouth. “So much so that my dad chops the wood with an ax instead of the brand-new logger he purchased because it takes about ten times as long.”

  “Then you should be thanking me. Like you said, you killed some time here.”

  She rolled her eyes and once again turned to the door, and he felt his gut sink to his very cold toes. “Wait.” Moving carefully, he spun her around to face him.

  She took in his bare chest and his towel, and swallowed hard.

  Just that little involuntary movement made him forget being hurt and cold. In fact, it made him something else entirely, not a great thing while wearing only a towel.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Why don’t we work together on this thing. We—”

  Suddenly she frowned, her eyes focusing behind him.

  “What?” Moving like a turtle, hoping to God that whatever she was seeing wasn’t a bear, he looked behind him.

  “There’s no Christmas decorations,” she said.

  He blinked. “It’s a rental cabin.”

  “Yes, but you’re staying here alone? Through Christmas?”

  “Yes…”

  “Without a single holiday decoration?”

  Turning, he headed straight to the small bar between the kitchen area and living room. It was past time for a drink of something, preferably something hard that would make him forget why he wanted her to stay. Halfway there, his towel began to slip and in the name of any modesty he might have left, he grabbed it at the last second, receiving another stab of pain for his effort. He stifled his reaction and poured a healthy shot of scotch.

  “Thought your neck hurt,” she said, and he could tell by her voice that she’d moved somewhere between the door and where he stood
.

  “Kills,” he said without even attempting to face her. He did however manage to very slightly tilt his head and toss back the whole shot. And then a second one. Oh, look at that, he was over her already.

  “You’re supposed to ask your guest if she wants any.”

  “You’re driving. And you’re not my guest. You let yourself in to yell at me and got a peep show in the process.” The hell with this. “Look, either stay and join forces with me on this project or go. Your choice.”

  She stared at him, and he couldn’t blame her. Working together was not only a rash idea, it was a stupid one. And given the way she was gaping at him, she knew it.

  Whatever. She could let herself out, he didn’t care. He needed some clothes and food and sleep, and he’d take them in any order he could get. Setting the shot glass down, he left her alone to figure her shit out and headed toward the bedroom for his duffel bag, holding on to the towel with one hand and using the other to rub at the back of his aching neck and shoulder. It was starting to seize again, and he paused in the hallway, undecided as to whether to get back into the tub or just pass out on the bed and hope he woke up feeling better.

  Pass out, he decided, and very carefully sprawled out on the bed facedown, head carefully turned to the one side that didn’t hurt. He was cold, but to get under the covers meant moving. And he was done moving, so he closed his eyes.

  * * *

  WORK TOGETHER? WAS HE insane?

  Dammit, Zoe thought, watching him walk out of the living room. Not crazy. He was moving with such careful purpose that she knew he wasn’t faking the pain.

  She couldn’t leave him like that, not without making sure he was going to be okay. And then there was the little matter of the flash drive. Not to mention the fact that she wouldn’t mind getting a peek at his design.

  The bathroom was lit but empty. She pulled the plug on the drain but drew the line at picking up his clothes. Then she peered into the bedroom. The bathroom light slanted in, revealing one big and still very naked man on the bed. His shoulders were wide, his back sleek and delineated with strength. The towel was low enough on his hips that she could see the line where his tan faded to pale skin. His butt was…bitable.

  The only sound in the room was her own accelerated breathing and…a rumbling stomach.

  Not hers. “Jason?”

  “Either shoot me or go away.” His stomach rumbled again, and the sound created the oddest reaction in her—tenderness. Now she was the crazy one. “You’re hungry.”

  That he didn’t respond was answer enough. She walked into the room and tried to dislodge the blanket beneath him. No go. He was a solid, unmovable log. And when her hand brushed his shoulder, his skin was icy cold. A solid, unmovable frozen log. She tried again to get at the blanket beneath him, except this time the only thing that happened was that his towel loosened.

  “You’re determined to see my bare ass again, aren’t you?” he muttered, but didn’t budge an inch.

  “Shut up.” Turning, she spied a throw blanket over a chair in the corner and tossed that over him. “Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Do you have anything for the pain?”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “Jason.”

  “No, I don’t have anything. I’m fine.”

  She nodded even though he couldn’t see her, and headed to the door, taking one last look back. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

  “Perfect,” he repeated, still not moving.

  Once again, he was full of shit. She really needed to get the hell out, but she couldn’t get past one thing. He was going to be here, alone on Christmas, without even a single bough of holly.

  Or an ounce of Christmas spirit.

  Shaking her head, she returned to the kitchen. He was hungry, and clearly unable to get up and about. She’d just bring him something to eat and be gone.

  The refrigerator was empty, and so was the freezer. Then she remembered “Santa’s Helper.” She found the two bags of groceries still on the floor in the entry-way. Chips, cheese, crackers, deli meat, containers of potato salad, chickens wings, apples, a loaf of French bread and beer, along with several candy bars and the local newspaper. Leaving Jason the wings and salad for tomorrow, she sliced up some of the bread and made a sandwich with the cheese and meat. She cut up an apple and completed the meal with a side of the chips. Then she rifled through her purse for aspirin, but found only extra-strength Midol. She brought the plate into the bedroom. “Jason?”

  “Are you wearing the Santa’s Helper costume?”

  “No.”

  “Could you wear the Santa’s Helper costume?”

  “Only in your dreams.” She set the sandwich down on the nightstand. “I brought food.”

  There was surprise in the ensuing silence and then, with a groan, Jason started for the lamp and groaned again.

  Zoe leaned over him and turned it on.

  With the slow precision of the inebriated or someone in great pain, he rolled over.

  His hair, dampened by his bath, was a rumpled, tousled mess. If she’d let hers dry like that she’d look ridiculous, but on Jason it gave him a dark edge and was disturbingly sexy.

  She helped prop him up with some pillows. He let out a sigh of relief when she’d finished, but Zoe wasn’t relieved in the slightest. Sitting at his hip on his bed while he lay naked beneath nothing but a thin blanket and towel was…well, she wasn’t sure exactly.

  Liar, an inner voice said. Your nipples are hard. You know exactly what you are—aroused. “Here.” She handed him the two Midol.

  “What are they?”

  She hesitated. “Feel-happy pills?”

  “You carry Vicodin?”

  “They’re not quite that happy. They’re Midol.”

  He gave her a you-have-got-to-be-kidding look and retracted his hand as if she’d asked him to touch a spitting cobra. “No.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s all I have. Take them, it’ll help.”

  “How do I know you’re not just going to blackmail me later and threaten to tell the guys you got me to take Midol.”

  “Trust me, no one is going to hear of this little adventure.”

  He took the pills. “So am I going to get all bitchy and start whining now that I’m swallowing chick pills?”

  She actually laughed. “No, it’s going to take away your bitchiness and whininess. At least if there’s a God.”

  A very small smile curved his lips. “Nice spread,” he said, gesturing to the plate with the perfectly made sandwich, carefully cut down the center, the sliced apple and chips, neatly segregated. “I had no idea you had it in you.”

  “You don’t know a lot about me.”

  “True,” he said. “You hide from me at work.”

  “We’re competitors.”

  “We’re coworkers. There’s a difference, not that you’ve ever noticed.” He handed her half the sandwich.

  “I can’t,” she said. “It’s for you. And I have to go.”

  “Eat first. You’ve got a long drive.” At her surprise, he lifted his good shoulder. “Quincy, you said, right? To your family thing.”

  “You actually do listen, I had no idea.”

  “You don’t know a lot about me,” he said, mirroring her own words at him. “Eat.”

  It was a command, however softly uttered, and she hated commands. She’d grown up with them, dealt with them at work, tolerated them from her older sisters and…everyone. But then he added the coup de grâce, a softly uttered “please,” which sounded more genuine and sincere than anything she’d ever heard from him, and she caved like a cheap suitcase. She took the sandwhich and she ate.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY SHARED THE SANDWICH and the apple but Zoe flatly refused the chips. “They’re barbecue,” she told Jason, as if this explained it all.

  It didn’t. “You don’t like barbecue?” he asked.

  “Love them.” But she was staring down the chips
as if they were her mortal enemy.

  “I’d shake my head in utter confusion,” he said. “If I could move my neck.”

  “They’re fattening.”

  He stared at her for a beat. “There’s maybe twenty chips on this plate. How many calories could your half possibly be?”

  “A million. And you wouldn’t understand,” she said, still staring down at the chips, naked longing on her face.

  “Why not?”

  “Because look at you.” She waved a hand toward his torso. “You’re perfect.”

  He laughed, but she wasn’t laughing along with him. He swallowed the last of his half of the sandwich and ran a finger along her temple, then along her earlobe, enjoying that it made her shiver. “You’re pretty damn perfect yourself, Zoe.”

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t.” Then she belied that statement by leaning into him.

  His fingers slid into her hair, drawing her closer, then closer still so that she was leaning over him, hands braced on the bed on either side of his hips. “You are,” he breathed against her lips.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “At the office—”

  “We’re not at the office.”

  “No kidding,” she whispered. Their lips brushed together, and she let out a shaky breath, her eyes soft as her chest settled against his. Her body heat was seeping into him, warming the core of him. She was a strong woman, one of the strongest he’d ever met, and having her melt all over him was the most rewarding thing he’d ever felt.

  “Jason?”

  He tightened his hold on her, frustrated that he couldn’t move when what he wanted to do was roll her beneath him and feel her body wrap around his. “Yeah?”

  “I still don’t like you.”

  Somehow, though he was both in pain and aroused as hell, he still had room to laugh.

  “But you smell like chips,” she said, close enough that their lips were still nearly touching. “And I like chips. A lot. Goddammit, you’re going to taste good.” She was breathless, and so was he.

  Her voice was low and sexy, but somehow surprised and curious. Then her tongue outlined his lower lip and he was the surprised one. “Christ, Zoe.”