12 Stocking Stuffers
Page 115
His place was stunning, both masculine and beautiful, decorated with bold slashes of color, reds, browns and black against white, and set off with silver.
“I love your place. It’s very modern but not cold.”
“I like it, too. I got a bargain. I would never have paid the prices that decorators charge firsthand.”
I noticed he didn’t say he couldn’t afford it.
“Who decorated?” I asked.
“A friend. Want to take a look around?”
When we got to his bedroom, with a stunning platform bed, the tension between us gathered, thick and palpable as steam. I wanted him to kiss me. I craved his touch.
“Maybe we should go look at the kitchen and see what there is to cook,” he said, his voice husky.
“Maybe we should do that.”
“Yeah. I think I have some eggs.”
“I like eggs.”
“They’re especially good with cheese,” he said right before his lips covered mine.
It was as if the room filled with music. We moved against each other in our own special slow dance. Nick had a fluid grace, and I matched him move for move.
His sex rose and thickened, musk-hot, pounding and throbbing, out of control as he kissed me, his mouth demanding, our tongues hungry, wanting needing more.
He cupped his hands around my buttocks and pulled me close against him. I buried my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, musk and fire. Arousal hardened my nipples as I moved against his body.
Butter-silk smooth, I ground my pelvis against him, I didn’t want control anymore. I wanted him. As I abandoned care and fear, all there was left was Nick and this feeling. Our mouths met again, our tongues dancing in time to an inner beat.
Overwhelming and urgent need for this man overcame me, and I gasped against his lips with the desire to have him buried inside me, his hands on my naked body.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, his mouth reclaiming and exploring my own.
I stepped away, my desire clear in my mind. Once I decided to do something, I liked to do it right. My mood was playful and happy, abandoned and free. No control, no regrets.
A small smile crossed my face. I wanted him to see me.
He tried to follow but I held up a finger. No, no. I pulled off my shirt, one motion over my head. My bra was red, my favorite, lacy and almost see-through.
He drew in a breath, his eyes narrowed.
I kicked off one shoe, then the other. I held out a foot for him to take off the sock, teasing him. “Now the other foot.” His hands trembled.
“Slow down. Take your time,” I said.
He looked up then, a sardonic smile on his face. “I always do,” he said.
Oh, my.
I wasn’t myself, but I didn’t care. I’d decided to cross the line and I was going to go all the way. I dropped my belt to the floor, and my jeans followed right after. He made a convulsive movement toward me.
“No, not yet. I’m not done.”
“Oh, God,” he said.
I took off my bra. His tongue moistened his lips, his pupils huge in his light eyes. I stepped out of my panties.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” I said.
He grabbed me, lifted me in the air and swung me around and gave a whoop. “I have died and gone to heaven. You’re as crazy as I am! I knew it!”
I laughed with him. For a second, at least. He soon silenced me.
He trailed tiny kisses down my throat, circled his warm tongue around my nipple and sucked, pulling deep desire up from between my legs. Then the other nipple.
My hips churned, needing more, needing him.
He parted the curls between my legs and slid clever fingers around my most sensitive part. Then his tongue followed. He slid two fingers within me, in and out, at the same time.
Was it me making all that noise as I spun into freefall, spiraling out of control, clutching his hair, crashing and splintering to a million pieces?
I came back together slowly, gasping hard. Dang. For that alone, he was a keeper.
He moved up me and looked into my eyes. His light eyes were dark, stormy. “You want me?”
“You know I do.”
He quickly put a condom on and slid inside me, moving slowly. He filled me up, so big. I loved it, every inch. He worked it hard and slow, stoking that fire within me again while he whispered words of adoration in my ear.
Wildfire. I burned. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I felt his deep thrusts filling up every inch of me, working and rotating round my slickness.
“Again. I want to feel you quake against me again.” He burned me slow and easy, his fire moving inch by inch, unstoppable.
Then, like the thrust of a knife, sharp and hard, I cried out in surprise and ecstasy as I convulsed against him. He shouted as he met me in that place where we seemed to belong together.
I had to pull myself out of Nick’s arms before midnight as if I were a fairy-tale figure. We’d had a magical day, making love, talking, laughing and being silly. Nick simply felt right, a real good fit.
I’d jumped into bed with him too soon, and the striptease was silly, but I didn’t care because I’d made the decision to trust Nick Cohen.
Did he know the leap of faith it took me to hand him my heart along with my body? I’d whispered it in his ear, and he’d kissed me, reassuring me he was worthy.
It’s not that I’m such a poor judge of men. I never trusted Patrick to this extent, not really. Patrick was never as transparent as Nick, though. His eyes had always been veiled, never showing outright longing for me. Lust, maybe, but never longing.
I’d never again trust a man who wasn’t transparent, who was too quick with the easy put-down and too careful about his ego and persona to be fun. Nick was fun. He didn’t give a damn about being cool.
I eyed the flickering screen of the computer on my desk. I wondered if GH0ST was on, for me to let him know about Nick. GH0ST was a decent guy. I should be trustworthy, too.
I sat down at the laptop and signed on. I’d almost decided to click off when he appeared.
CHICCHERIE: Hi GH0ST.
GH0ST30: Hi.
CHICCHERIE: I’m sorry I missed you at the party, but it’s cool. I was preoccupied. I met this guy.
GH0ST30: Okay.
CHICCHERIE: I want to tell you about him. We said we’d be honest with each other. He’s the guy I’m going to be seeing from now on.
GH0ST30: That’s all right.
If I was a lesser woman, my ego would be a little crumpled at G’s cool reaction, but it was all good.
CHICCHERIE: I’m happy you’re fine with it. Sometimes you meet someone and you just know.
GH0ST30: Yes.
I was bubbling over to talk about my new squeeze, but GHOST was a guy!
CHICCHERIE: I can tell you, but you have to take it like a girlfriend.
GH0ST30: How’s that?
CHICCHERIE: The job of a girlfriend is to listen and make appropriate sounds at intervals. You can handle the gig?
GH0ST30: I can’t resist being a fly on the wall for this one.
CHICCHERIE: He’s fantastic. I met him at your party. We danced. He’s not the greatest dancer, but—
GH0ST30: Not the greatest dancer! What do you mean by that?
CHICCHERIE: It’s not important. It’s how he made me feel. We shot live sparks off each other. It was almost spooky how he turned me on. Then, after the party, we went out to eat.
GH0ST30: Live sparks, huh?
CHICCHERIE: Yep. I think you have the girlfriend thing down pat. And today…today he, uh, kissed me. Squeeee!
GH0ST30: Squeeee? Dare I ask, is that good or bad?
CHICCHERIE: I haven’t actually said squeeee since the eighth grade. But that’s how it felt. I shouldn’t be telling you this.
GH0ST30: Please do go on. You were referring to the way he made you feel. Feel free to use all the descriptive adjectives you like.
CHICCHERIE: Have you ever gone o
ff the deep end like this?
GH0ST30: More than you know.
CHICCHERIE: I invited him and his father to our house for the holidays. He’s coming over for Christmas Eve dinner.
GH0ST30: It sounds like you want this guy in your life.
CHICCHERIE: I think so. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for, too.
GH0ST30: You know what? I think I’ve gotten lucky, too.
CHICCHERIE: GH0ST! Really?
GH0ST30: Really.
The pause was so long I wondered if he’d left.
CHICCHERIE: You still there?
GH0ST30: Yeah. But I better sign off. I’m tired.
CHICCHERIE: Good luck with your somebody. Take care.
He had to know I was saying goodbye.
GH0ST30: You, too.
Guys aren’t that sentimental, I guess. I signed off and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of chamomile tea. I’d better get some sleep. I needed to be at the airport early tomorrow morning to pick up my brother and his family.
His Eighth
“I was going to go over to Maury’s on Christmas Eve,” Dad said. “We were going to double date and play some cards. You know how he always gets depressed this time of year.”
“I really want you to come and meet her family,” I said. “Her mother’s about your age. You’d be crazy about her.”
I was glad that Dad had long since lost the capacity to beat my ass, because he’d certainly deem the whopper I’d just told him as deserving a beating after he met Mrs. Silvers.
“Usually you go out with one of your women on Christmas Eve, and so do I. Why the sudden change of plan? I got things to do and people to see, Nick.”
“How many times have I asked you to meet one of my girlfriends’ parents, Dad?”
“It’s serious?”
“It could be.”
“I guess it’s about time you settled down…again.”
“Yeah, but we just started dating. Don’t embarrass me by bringing that topic up.”
“Is this one of those fancy, rich, goyish affairs where I’m going to have to wear an uncomfortable suit?”
“No. Very down-home, small family probably wearing jeans. They’ll have good food, too.”
“Good food, huh? Your girlfriend’s got a good-looking mother, too? It might not be too bad.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll pick you up Tuesday around five-thirty.”
He was going to kill me once he laid eyes on Betty Silvers, since fetching wasn’t a word I’d used to describe her. But she wasn’t ugly, and I’d bet she was a looker in her day, so it wasn’t a complete lie.
But, man, was Dad going to be surprised! But I didn’t feel like telling him all about the Silverses up front. I didn’t want him to back out and I had to go buy Christmas presents.
The next day I was at Neiman Marcus enduring the hell of frenzied-eyed women stampeding down the sale aisles. I decided to get everybody a sweater. A one-size-fits-all unisex sweater. They had a good selection of outrageously expensive cashmere sweaters—kids, women’s and men’s, so that’s what everybody was going to get. I’d given the salesperson a list and he began fetching and wrapping. I’d hidden from the hordes of shoppers in the men’s department and was playing games on my cell phone when it rang.
“Hey, Nick,” Sharyn’s sweet voice said.
“Hey, darlin’. What’s up?”
“I’m still cooking. What are you doing?”
“Finishing up my Christmas shopping.”
“I’m finishing up the Christmas feast, but I’ve retreated to the bathroom so I won’t choke my sister-in-law.”
That sounded interesting.
“Tell me the tale,” I said.
“They’re strict vegans. They want tofu instead of meat for Christmas!”
“That sounds rather grim.”
“I told her I was cooking duck and turkey. She tells me that I’m not and goes out and buys a tofurkey!”
“A what?”
“A tofurkey, a tofu turkey. It doesn’t look like food, Nick.”
“Don’t you always spend the holidays together? What do you folks usually eat?”
“We do spend the holidays together, but we usually go to her place, so I deal with whatever she serves. I respect other people’s kitchens. If they want to pass off soy by-products as food in their own damn house that’s fine, but—”
“You cooked the duck, didn’t you?”
“Three ducks, a turkey and a ham.” Sharyn sniffed. “I dealt with all the other culinary weirdness she was laying on me. I thought, live and let live and she’d do the same, right?”
“But, no, she didn’t,” I said. I was getting the hang of this girlfriend thing. It was rather fun.
“That’s right. She said her kids’ Christmas would be ruined if they had to look at dead animals sitting on the table. She said it wasn’t sanitary to have dead animals where people intended to eat.”
“Dead animals?”
“She looked at my glazed ducks, ham and turkey breast and said they looked like rotting, maggot-infested roadkill, Nick. She insisted on serving the horrid Tommy Tofu tofurkey instead. I lost it. I can’t believe I cussed my sister-in-law out the day before Christmas Eve.”
“It’s going to be all right. Tell her you won’t put the meat on the table. But it’s going to smell so good people will be sneaking into the kitchen to get it. Your food will disappear and her tofurkey will sit there abandoned.”
“For real. That thing doesn’t look edible. What if I sneak some real stock into the dressing to get her back?”
“C’mon, be nice. Use vegetarian broth and let them sneak their meat-laced foods knowingly.”
“I know you’re right, but I’d still like to hold that heifer down and ram a hamburger down her throat.”
I grinned at the vision. “Any chance of you getting away today?”
“Nope, not until dinner tomorrow. It’s the usual before-Christmas preparation. We’re simply overflowing with holiday cheer. Want to come by?”
“Uh, I can wait till tomorrow.”
“Coward. But it’s probably for the best. This place is a madhouse. I hope your father has a good sense of humor. I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting you over to experience the full force of my family this early in our relationship.”
“I’m thinking you’re wonderful. Dad has a great sense of humor. He’ll be entertained way before he’s offended. And I met your mother, remember? If that’s not full force, what is?”
She laughed. “Five bad kids, a militant vegan sister-in-law and a space-alien minister.”
I wanted to tell her about my crazy family, but I think I’d revealed it as GH0ST, and now wasn’t the time to break the uncomfortable revelation. “Dad and I can handle it,” I said.
“I feel better, thanks. I’m ready to go back to the kitchen.”
“Tell your sister-in-law if she doesn’t zip it, the blood in the kitchen will be hers.”
Sharyn gave a delighted peal of laughter.
I have a sense of humor, too, and I knew Dad’s reaction to the Silvers family was going to be priceless. I couldn’t wait.
At six o’clock sharp on Christmas Eve my father and I stood on the Silverses’ porch and rang the doorbell. A pleasant-looking plump blonde dressed in silky flowing blue robes answered the door. “Welcome, and sweet winter solstice,” she said.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Dad said, handing her his coat. “Is she the one?”
“No, Dad.” To the blonde I said, “I’m Nick, Sharyn’s friend. And this is my father, Saul Cohen.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m Sharyn’s sister-in-law, Carole Silvers. Let me take your coat, too.”
Shrieks of children greeted us. A bunch of kids raced toward us, circled, and one ran straight into Dad’s stomach.
“Oof,” he said, doubling over. He straightened and adjusted his clothes. “What’s with these little brats? Don’t they know how to behave?”
<
br /> “Those are my children,” Carole said, looking none too pleased.
“Hello, Nick.” Sharyn exited the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Dad’s brows shot up. Yep, he was surprised.
“Is she the one?” he asked me.
“Yes, she’s the one.”
“Dad, this is Sharyn Silvers. Sharyn, my father, Saul Cohen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cohen.” Sharyn had a glint in her eye and she shook hands with my father. “You remind me a bit of my mother.”
“I agree,” Carole said, her voice faint. “I better go and see what’s going on with my children.” We followed her to the living room.
“Mama, we don’t handle them that way,” a tall, slim black man said to Mrs. Silvers, who brandished her gait belt over her head. “We put them in time-out. Jared, Jeremy, go to those two corners right now.”
“No!” the two boys shouted.
The little boys took off in different directions. I looked around. Sharyn’s usually neat house looked as if a giant had picked it up and shaken it.
Mrs. Silvers gave the belt a decisive shake. “Time-out? What’s wrong with you, boy? No wonder you got such badass kids.”