by Nalini Singh
Damn. She’d thought she had more sex appeal than that.
At any rate, she lay there stewing and frustrated until, finally, sleep had claimed her. And it seemed that sleep had its own ideas about what the two of them would and would not be doing in the comfort of the sofa bed.
Because when she opened her eyes, and she saw him opening his, they were lying, face to face. Close enough to kiss. They were tangled together. Her arms were around his neck. His were around her waist. Her leg was over his, his upper one was in between hers.
And before she could move, he was kissing her. Eyes falling closed, mouth moving to capture hers, arms curling tighter, pulling her closer.
“You don’t have to…” she whispered when his lips slid from hers to her neck. And once he started kissing her neck, it was all over. That was her weak spot, right there. She thought wildly that she even liked his morning breath. It wasn’t bad. Just real. Raw.
“I have to,” he muttered against her skin. “Trust me, I have to.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She arched her hips toward his, and he pushed back, then pressed her onto her back and slid his hand down the front of her pajama bottoms. She scrambled out of them to give him better access. Then she tugged at his clothes as they kissed some more, wrestling his T-shirt over his head. He pulled her pajama top free of its buttons, pushed it off her shoulders. And then his mouth was moving from hers, down her neck to her chest. She shivered when he found her breasts, mouthed them, suckled them.
Pleasure shot through her like fire through a dry forest. Heat so intense she thought she might go up in flames. He touched her, then his hand slid between her legs, not hesitantly, not timidly, but eagerly. And he groaned at the heat and wetness he felt there.
She arched against his hand, silently pleading for more, and he didn’t make her wait. He rolled on top of her, slid inside her, and she quivered and sighed as he filled her. The sensation grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. She tipped her hips up to his and took all of him, until he drove the very breath from her lungs. And then again and again. He kept on kissing her the entire time they twisted and writhed and pressed into each other. Straining, reaching, taking, and giving. And all the while his mouth took hers. He kissed her as if he loved kissing her. As if he didn’t want to stop. No man had ever done that before—kissed her all the way through sex. Open-mouthed, hungry, wet kisses. As if he wanted to devour her. As if he couldn’t get enough.
It made her feel more wanted than she had ever felt in her life. And she wondered where he’d been hiding all this passion, all this fire. Thank God he wasn’t hiding it now.
His hands slid underneath her backside, to hold her to him, tilt her up to take him, and he drove even deeper, and faster, and his kisses became more desperate. He was pushing her toward climax, and she reached for it, ached for it. And then, suddenly, he pulled back just slightly, tried to slow his pace.
“No,” she whispered. “No, Matthew, don’t stop.”
“But I’m—”
“So am I.”
She clutched his hips and rode him, moving against him as the wave crested, and crashed to the shore. Her entire body shuddered in sweet anguished ecstasy. She clung and she cried out, and then he was doing the same as he drove deep and held there, throbbing inside her.
They clung that way for a long time, and he kissed her again and again as her body sank into the most relaxed state of bliss she had ever felt. He withdrew after a time, rolling onto his side, pulling her close into his arms. She snuggled against him, content and sated.
Moments ticked past. Long moments as her body just hummed.
“We’re very different people, you and I,” he said eventually.
She stayed where she was, warm and cozy in his arms. “We have a lot in common, too, though. Not that I’m saying we have to, or—”
“I know.” He sighed. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, his breath in her hair. Maybe she wasn’t entirely sated just yet, she thought with a secret smile. “We had similar tragedies, centered around the holidays, when we were kids. But we reacted in entirely different ways.”
“Will you tell me now? About that first Christmas without your dad?”
He was silent for a long moment. So long she began to think he wasn’t going to answer her at all. And then he said, “Dad had this hat. This old felt hat he wore everywhere.”
“Not a fedora,” she whispered.
“Yeah. A black felt fedora. He always told me he’d give it to me one day. Like it was some kind of an heirloom or something. It was an inside joke between us.”
“That’s incredibly special.”
“My mother sold it, along with all his things, to a secondhand shop so she could use the money to buy us kids Christmas presents.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah. It was just a stupid hat. But it meant something to me. I don’t even remember what she bought me that year. Just that the hat was gone, and we couldn’t get it back. And it got to me. I guess I resented Christmas over that, as much as anything else.”
“I don’t blame you. It must have been like losing that one last little piece of him.”
She felt him nod. “That’s exactly what it was like.” He hugged her a little tighter. “Maybe it would have been easier if I believed…like you do. If he’d—I don’t know—talked to me or showed up in a dream or sent me some kind of unmistakable sign, you know? But to me, it was like he was just gone. Just…gone.”
“But he’s not.”
“See, that’s where we’re different. I don’t really believe that.”
“You’re the kind of man who has to see things, touch them, to believe them,” she said. “But I know your dad’s not gone. I’ve been there, don’t forget. And I’ll bet he has sent you signs—you’re just not seeing them. Because you’re not looking for them. And you’re not looking for them because you don’t believe they exist. You think seeing is believing. But I know you have to believe first. Then you start to see.”
He lifted his head and looked down at her. She met his eyes and smiled softly. He said, “I like you, Holly. In spite of myself, I think. But um…this—”
“Isn’t going anywhere,” she finished for him. “Because it’s impossible. Because you have to go back to your life in Detroit, and I have to go back to my aunt in Binghamton. And because of a thousand other reasons. We don’t have to go there tonight, though, do we? Let’s just enjoy this for what it is, and not worry about what it isn’t. That’s what we both said we would do, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“So can I tell you something before we go to sleep?”
“Sure.”
“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
His smile was instant and full, and she thought, pretty damn self-satisfied. But he didn’t return the compliment. He was probably afraid to, afraid she’d read too much into it if he did. But she wasn’t going to put up with that. She jabbed him in the ribs a little. “You’re supposed to say it was good for you, too, you know.”
He snuggled down beside her. “It—”
His words were interrupted by the roar of a motor, and then a horrible crash and the sound of crunching metal. They both sat up in bed, stunned into immobility for just a second. Then they were scrambling for their clothes, lighting lamps. She ran to the window and looked out to see headlights, and the outline of a flatbed truck at a cockeyed angle off the side of the road, its nose crushed against a tree. The back of it was loaded with something, and covered in a white tarp.
“Oh, no.”
Matthew was pulling on his boots, then his coat. “I’ll see if the driver’s okay.”
“I’ll grab the first aid kit and be right out,” she told him, rushing for her own boots as he headed out the door. “God, who would try to drive in this?”
MATTHEW WAS WORRIED, AND TO BE HONEST, DAMN GLAD of the distraction, as he tromped through a good two feet of snow toward the wreck. Maybe the driver would be unharmed and would shack up with the two of t
hem for the remainder of the storm. Maybe having a third party there would keep him from making any more asinine blunders like the one he’d made tonight.
Sure, Holly said it didn’t have to mean anything. But he’d never met a woman yet who could have sex and not want it to mean something. And yeah, she was different from any woman he’d ever met before. But at the core, women were women.
And she had some kind of effect on him. Because damn, he had never had sex that good. And he never ever talked about that stupid hat. At least he never had, until tonight.
He hoped the driver was okay. And he hoped the guy would stay for a while.
As he neared the truck, the driver’s door opened, and a man clambered out.
“Hey, are you okay?” Matthew called.
“Yeah, fine, fine.” The man walked toward him, shaking his head. “I really thought I could make it through. Should have known better, but hell, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
As he spoke, he zipped up his parka, pulled up the hood, turned to look in the direction he’d been driving. “Well, it’s only another half mile. My place is just around the next bend in the road. Guess I’m hoofing it from here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Damn straight I’m serious. I’ve got a wife and kids waiting on me.”
“Look, at least wait until daylight. It can’t be more than an hour away,” Matthew said. “If another vehicle comes along, you could end up dead.”
“Matthew’s right,” Holly called. Matt turned to see her hurrying closer, all bundled up from head to toe, her first aid kit in one hand. “Come into the house. We’ve got a warm fire. I’ll make you some hot cocoa, and when it gets light, you can be on your way.”
He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I was due in hours ago. She’s gonna be worried.”
“Can you call? We have cell phones,” Holly said.
“I have one, too. Home phones are out, I imagine. I couldn’t get through.” He shook his head. “Nope, I’ve got to go. Like I said, it’s not far now. Too bad about the load, but it’s pretty late to sell ’em now anyway. Still, one of ’em will go to good use.”
He walked around to the back of the truck, untied the canvas, and flipped it back. Matthew smelled pine. And when the driver pulled a Christmas tree, all neatly bundled for travel, off the truck’s bed, he just shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Well, I got a deal on ’em, you see. There’s only a dozen. Lots of folks wait till Christmas Eve to get their trees, so I figured I could turn ’em around for a few dollars’ profit.” He eyed the nose of his truck. “Looks like they ended up costing me more than I thought.” He loosened a string from the tree’s bundled wrappings, used it to make a tow line with which to drag the tree home. A half mile through a blizzard.
“Hey, you folks have a tree yet?”
Holly smiled. “I think we do now,” she said.
“Help yourself. Merry Christmas.” The man turned and walked away, pulling the tree behind him.
Matthew watched him go. Then he heard Holly mutter, “Thanks, Mom.”
He turned to look at her, and then at the truck full of trees, and then at her again. Her smile was as wide and bright as…hell, as a kid’s on Christmas morning. “I told you. First, you have to believe.” She ran through the snow, toward the truck, calling, “Come on, Matthew. Let’s pick the best tree of the bunch!”
Sheila hadn’t wanted to take the hat from Bernie, but sensed it was important to him, to his sense of pride. And besides, it was just exactly what Holly needed. She’d only just reenrolled in school, and landed a role in the holiday play. She was playing a hobo, and this hat was the one missing piece her costume still needed.
So Sheila gave the hat to Holly. And Holly fell in love with it. Maybe, somehow, she felt its magic. At any rate, she never went away from home without it. She even took it with her on that fateful trip back to her childhood home, twelve years later.
Ten
BY THE TIME THE SUN CAME UP, THE TREE WAS STANDING IN the living room in a makeshift tree stand Matthew had constructed from an old pail he’d found in the basement, and was held in place by a few yards of twine.
“Now what?” he asked, surveying his work.
“Now, breakfast. I believe it’s your turn to cook.”
He studied her with his eyebrows raised, then, seeing that she wasn’t kidding, he nodded. “Okay, breakfast it is.”
“There’s a pile of food in the big cooler in the kitchen. I never bothered with the fridge.”
“Is there—dare I hope—coffee?”
“Of course there’s coffee. And luckily, I brought the stovetop percolator.”
“I’m not sure I know how to use it.”
“Then I’ll brew while you cook. Let’s get cracking, we’ve got a ton to do today.”
“We do?” He looked around the place as if in search of all the busywork she had lined up. “Like what?”
“Decorate the tree. Make Christmas dinner. And build a snowman.”
“I was thinking more in terms of shoveling the driveway and cleaning off our cars.”
She stuck out her lower lip. “You’re in that much of a hurry to leave?”
He studied her face, sensing a lapse in her happy-go-lucky, Holly-Golightly mood. “We’re going to have to eventually, Holly. It’s stopped snowing. They’ll probably clear the roads before the day is out.”
She lowered her head, licked her lips, then nodded once. “Well, let’s get on with breakfast then. If we’re going to decorate the tree, make the dinner, build a snowman, clear the driveway, and clean off the cars, we’d better get a move on.”
But the sadness remained in her eyes, despite her bright smile, as she hurried into the kitchen. Dammit, he thought. He knew it. He knew she was going to get all emotional on him, and want more than just a casual encounter. He hated hurting her. It was like kicking a puppy to hurt a bubbly little thing like Holly. But he couldn’t help it.
God, he couldn’t even imagine what else there could be between them. They were completely opposite in every way. Living with that cheerful, positive, upbeat, silver lining kind of attitude in his life would…
He was going to say it would be horrible. But he couldn’t quite tell that big a lie, even to himself.
It just wasn’t what he had planned. That’s all.
BY NOON, THE DETERMINED, STUBBORN, FRIGHTENED MAN had shoveled the driveway to within an inch of its life. Yes, frightened, Holly thought. He was scared to death of her, she knew it. And not just of her, but of what she represented—belief. Faith. Reaching for the impossible with every expectation that it would be. He didn’t want to believe in anything, because his past was full of pain. He was just avoiding more of that. Or he thought he was.
But he wasn’t really living.
He wanted to get away from her so bad, she thought if they’d been stranded on a desert island, he would try to swim for it. If they were in a prison cell, he’d have gnawed through the bars. As it was, all he had to do was shovel some snow and wait for the plows.
He was cleaning off the cars now. Hers as well as his own. And he’d be done soon. Her time was running out.
She bundled up and headed outside. “Enough work for one day,” she announced, snatching the snow brush from him. “It’s time for some fun.”
“You’ve got the tree all decked already?”
“What, you thought I was going to do it alone? No way. You, Ebenezer, are going to help me trim that tree. I’ve strung the popcorn and cranberries, though, and dinner’s in the oven.”
“Won’t it be done awfully early?”
“Mmm. I figured that way you could eat with me before you take off. It hasn’t snowed all day, and the plows have got to be out and making their way to us.” She eyed the driveway, the cars. “And it looks like you’ve accomplished your chosen goals for the day. So all that’s left…”
“Oh, not the snowman.”
“Yes! The snowman.” And with
that she set the snowbrush beside the car, and ran into the snow. She started forming a snowball with the heavy, damp snow. “It’s perfect for snowman building. And what a day. I mean, look at it, Matthew.”
He did, she watched him. He looked up at the bluest sky imaginable, with the sun streaming down. It was, she suspected, about forty degrees. Pleasant and beautiful. While he was still staring up at the sky, she lifted her arm and pegged him square in the chest with the snowball.
“Hey!” He brushed the snow off, but even as he did, she bent to form another.
“Defend yourself, or suffer the consequences!” She fired again, but he ducked behind the car—her car, not his, she noticed. When he sprang up again, he was firing right back at her, and she took one to the side of the head before she found cover behind a drift. When she peeked up again, he was right on the other side, ready to nail her, so she pushed him hard, hands flat to his chest. He grabbed her wrists to keep from falling and wound up pulling her down in the snow on top of him.
They were both laughing, and then they both stopped. She held his eyes, licked her lips, prayed he would kiss her. And then he answered her prayer and did.
He kissed her, softly, then more deeply, and then his tongue swept into her mouth and she moaned around it. His hips arched against hers. She arched right back. They twined and tangled and fed from each other.
And then a roar made her lift her head. And she felt her heart break a little as the snowplow rumbled past, blasting snow out of the road like some kind of monster.
It felt like a monster to her just then.
There would be no snowman. No Christmas dinner with him. No trimming the tree. No more lovemaking. He was leaving; she could see it in his eyes when she lifted her face enough to stare down into them.
“I…can still make my flight,” he said.
And why did it hurt so much when she’d only known him for such a short time?
She got up and turned toward the house, because her eyes were burning and she didn’t want him to see that.
But he caught her shoulders, turned her around, and looked at her tears. “I’m really sorry, Holly. I never meant to hurt you.”