All I Want for Christmas

by Nora Roberts

  Nell jolted, tensed, then laughed at herself when she saw Mac step away from the shadow of a tree in his sister's yard. "Lord, you gave me a start. I nearly went into my repel-the-mugger stance."

  "Taylor's Grove's a little sparse when it comes to mug­gers. Are you going to see Mira?"

  "No, actually, I was just out walking. Too much en­ergy to stay in." The smile lit her face. "You've heard the good news?"

  "Congratulations."

  "It's not me—"

  "Yeah, it is. A lot of it." It was the only way he knew to tell her how proud he was of what she'd done. He glanced back toward the house, where lights gleamed. "Mira and Kim are in there crying."

  "Crying? But—"

  "Not that kind of crying." Female tears always em­barrassed him. He shrugged. "You know, the other kind."

  "Oh." In response, Nell felt her own eyes sting. "That's nice."

  "Dave's going around with a big fat grin on his face. He was talking to his parents when I ducked out. Mira's already called ours, as well as every other friend and rel­ative in the country."

  "Well, it's a big deal."

  "I know it is." His teeth flashed. "I've made a few calls myself. You must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself."

  "You bet I am. Seeing the kids today when I made the announcement...well, it was the best. And it's a hell of a kickoff for our fund-raiser." She shivered as the wind shuddered through the trees.

  "You're getting cold. I'll drive you home."

  "That'd be nice. I keep waiting for snow."

  In the way of every countryman since Adam, he sniffed the air, checked out the sky. "You won't have to wait much longer." He opened the truck door for her. "The kids have already gotten their sleds out."

  "I might buy one for myself." She settled back, relaxed. "Where are the boys?"

  "There's a sleepover at one of their friends'." He ges­tured toward the house across the street from Mira's. "I just dropped them off."

  "They must be thinking a lot about Christmas now, with snow in the air."

  "It's funny. Usually right after Halloween they start barraging me with lists and pictures of toys from cata­logs, stuff they see on TV." He turned the truck and headed for the square. "This year they told me Santa's taking care of it. I know they want bikes." His brow creased. "That's all I've heard. They've been whispering together about something else, but they clam up when I come around."

  "That's Christmas," Nell said easily. "It's the best time for whispers and secrets. What about you?" She turned to smile at him. "What do you want for Christmas?"

  "More than the two hours sleep I usually get."

  "You can do better than that."

  "When the kids come downstairs in the morning, and their faces light up, I've got all I want." He stopped in front of her apartment. "Are you going back to New York for the holiday?"

  "No, there's nothing there."

  "Your family?"

  "I'm an only child. My parents usually spend the hol­iday in the Caribbean. Do you want to come in, have some coffee?"

  It was a much more appealing idea than going home to an empty house. "Yeah, thanks." When they started up the stairs, he tried to swing tactfully back to the hol­idays and her family. "Is that where you spent Christmas as a kid? In the Caribbean?"

  "No. We had a fairly traditional setting in Philadel­phia. Then I went to school in New York, and they moved to Florida." She opened the door and took off her coat. "We aren't very close, really. They weren't terribly happy with my decision to study music."

  "Oh." He tossed his jacket over hers while she moved into the kitchen to put on the coffee. "I guess that's why you got so steamed about Junior."

  "Maybe. They didn't really disapprove so much as they were baffled. We get along much better long-distance." She glanced over her shoulder. "I think that's why I ad­mire you."

  He stopped studying the rosewood music box on a ta­ble and stared at her. "Me?"

  "Your interest and involvement with your children, your whole family. It's so solid, so natural." Tossing back her hair, she reached into the cookie jar and began to spread cookies on a plate. "Not everyone is as willing, or as able, to put in so much time and attention. Not everyone loves as well, or as thoroughly." She smiled. "Now I've embarrassed you."

  "No. Yes," he admitted, and took one of the cookies. "You haven't asked about their mother." When she said nothing, Mac found himself talking. "I was just out of college when I met her. She was a secretary in my father's real estate office. She was beautiful. I mean eye-popping beautiful, the kind that bowls you over. We went out a couple of times, we went to bed, she got pregnant."

  The flat-voiced recitation had Nell looking up. Mac bit into the cookie, tasting bitterness. "I know that sounds like she did it on her own. I was young, but I was old enough to know what I was doing, old enough to be responsible."

  He had always taken his responsibilities seriously, Nell thought, and he always would. You only had to look at him to see the dependability.

  "You didn't say anything about love."

  "No, I didn't." It was something he didn't take lightly. "I was attracted, so was she. Or I thought she was. What I didn't know was that she'd lied about using birth con­trol. It wasn't until after I'd married her that I found out she'd set out to 'snag the boss's son.' Her words," he added. "Angie saw an opportunity to improve her stan­dard of living."

  It surprised him that even now, after all this time, it hurt both pride and heart to know he'd been so carelessly used.

  "To make a long story short," he continued, in that same expressionless tone, "she hadn't counted on twins, or the hassle of motherhood. So, about a month after the boys were born, she cleaned out my bank account and split."

  "I'm so sorry, Mac," Nell murmured. She wished she knew the words, the gesture, that would erase that cool dispassion from his eyes. "It must have been horrible for you."

  "It could have been worse." His eyes met Nell's briefly before he shrugged it off. "I could have loved her. She contacted me once, telling me she wanted me to foot the bill for the divorce. In exchange for that, I could have the kids free and clear. Free and clear," he repeated. "As if they were stocks and bonds instead of children. I took her up on it. End of story."

  "Is it?" Nell moved to him, took his hands in hers. "Even if you didn't love her, she hurt you."

  She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, to soothe, to comfort. She saw the change in his eyes—and, yes, the hurt in them. It explained a great deal, she thought, to hear him tell the story. To see his face as he did. He'd been disillusioned, devastated. Instead of giving in to it, or leaning on his parents for help with the burden, he'd taken his sons and started a life with them. A life for them.

  "She didn't deserve you, or the boys."

  "It wasn't a hardship." He couldn't take his eyes off hers now. It wasn't the sympathy so much as the simple, unquestioning understanding that pulled at him. "They're the best part of me. I didn't mean it to sound like it was a sacrifice."

  "You didn't. You don't." Her heart melted as she slid her arms around him. She'd meant that, too, as a com­fort. But something more, something deeper, was stirring inside her. "You made it sound as if you love them. It's very appealing to hear a man say that he thinks of his children as a gift. And to know he means it."

  He was holding her, and he wasn't quite sure how it had happened. It seemed so easy, so natural, to have her settled in his arms. "When you're given a gift, an impor­tant one, you have to be careful with it." His voice thick­ened with a mix of emotions. His children. Her. Some­thing about the way she was looking up at him, the way her lips curved. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, lin­gered over it a moment before he remembered to back away. "I should go."

  "Stay." It was so easy, she discovered, to ask him. So easy, after all, to need him. "You know I want you to stay. You know I want you."

  He couldn't take his eyes off her face, and the need was so much bigger, so much sweeter, than he'd ev
er imagined. "It could complicate things, Nell. I've got a lot of baggage. Most of it's in storage, but—"

  "I don't care." Her breath trembled out. "I don't even have any pride at the moment. Make love with me, Mac." On a sigh, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. "Just love me tonight."

  He couldn't resist. It was a fantasy that had begun to wind through him, body and mind, the moment he first met her. She was all softness, all warmth. He'd done without both of those miraculous female gifts for so long.

  Now, with her mouth on his and her arms twined around him, she was all he could want.

  He'd never considered himself romantic. He wondered if a woman like Nell would prefer candlelight, soft music, perfumed air. But the scene was already set. He could do nothing more than lift her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom.

  He turned on a lamp, surprised at how suddenly his nerves vanished when he saw hers reflected in her eyes.

  "I've thought about this a long time," he told her. "I want to see you, every minute I'm touching you. I want to see you."

  "Good." She looked up at him and his smile soothed away some of her tension. "I want to see you."

  He carried her to the bed and lay down beside her, stroking a hand through her hair, over her shoulders. Then he dipped his head to kiss her.

  It was so easy, as if they had shared nights and inti­macy for years. It was so thrilling, as if each of them had come to the bed as innocent as a babe.

  A touch, a taste, patient and lingering. A murmur, a sigh, soft and quiet. His hands never rushed, only plea­sured, stroking over her, unfastening buttons, pausing to explore.

  Her skin quivered under his caress even as it heated. A hundred pulse points thrummed, speeding at the brush of a fingertip, the flick of a tongue. Her own hands trem­bled, pulling a laughing groan from her that ended on a broken whimper when she at last found flesh.

  Making love. The phrase had never been truer to her. For here was an exquisite tenderness mixed with a lustful curiosity that overpowered the senses, tangled in the sys­tem like silken knots. Each time his mouth returned to hers, it went deeper, wider, higher, so that he was all that existed for her. All that needed to.

  She gave with a depthless generosity that staggered him. She fit, body to body, with him, with a perfection that thrilled. Each time he thought his control would slip, he found himself sliding easily back into the rhythm they set.

  Slow, subtle, savoring.

  She was small, delicately built. The fragility he sensed made his hands all the more tender. Even as she arched and cried out the first time, he didn't hurry. It was glo­riously arousing for him simply to watch her face, that incredibly expressive face, as every emotion played over it.

  He fought back the need to bury himself inside her, clung to control long enough to protect them both. Their eyes locked when at last he slipped into her. Her breath caught and released, and then her lips curved.

  Outside, the wind played against the windows, making a music like sleigh bells. And the first snow of the season began to fall as quietly as a wish.