December Dance

by Verity Norton

  “Did he succeed?”

  “He might have had a chance if he’d even made an effort to convince me that it’s because he misses me, cares about me, wants to see me.”

  “But?”

  “He needs me at numerous functions to make the family look good. He did his usual guilt trip on me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Shelly reached over and patted his arm.

  “Don’t be. It was my own damned fault for talking to him in the first place. It’s not as if I didn’t know what to expect. Are you sure you want to go up there for Christmas? Subject yourself and Sara to all that bullshit?” He cringed, remembering his conversation with Sara and her need to feel like part of a big family.

  Shelly shook her head. She wasn’t sure at all. But they were the only family she had. If only Max’s family had stuck around and stayed in California. She’d have preferred taking Sara to spend time with them, but they weren’t here, and flying to the Midwest right now was out of the question. They’d promised to come out in the early spring. That would give them something to look forward to. But until then, she wanted Sara to know she had a family, one that consisted of more than a mother and an uncle.

  “Sorry.” Chris recognized the distress on his sister’s face. “I do understand. You want her to feel that she’s part of a family. I just wish it were a different family.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Shelly admitted. “But who knows, maybe this time will be better.”

  “Yeah, maybe Mother will be sober, and Father and the rest of the Newell men will have given up their extracurricular women-chasing activities, and maybe—” Chris bit his tongue. He’d already said too much. This wasn’t helping. But he knew it wouldn’t be any better. It never was. She’d get her hopes up only to be disappointed once more. She’d come home depressed and sad and swearing she’d never set foot in their house again. Until the next time. Time did that. For better or worse, it made you forget.

  Chris parked his SUV in the driveway beneath the stairs and went to get his bicycle out of the back. He debated whether to chain it to the railing or to take it upstairs with him. It wasn’t cheap. He had indulged himself when he’d bought it. It had been living in the storage compartment in front of Shelly’s carport for too long. He needed it with him. He needed exercise. He needed something to help diffuse the torment Anne was determined to subject him to. Cycling was definitely better than cold showers.

  “Upstairs,” he said aloud as he closed the rear door of the Highlander. He lifted it onto the third step and pushed it up the stairs.

  When he reached the top, he dug inside his pocket for his keys, then remembered he hadn’t locked the door. He never locked the door. This was Canden Valley. It had taken him a week to get out of the habit of locking everything up tight, but now that he was out of it, he liked it.

  He turned the knob and opened the door, pushing his bike ahead of him. When the scent of lilac assaulted his senses, he knew he wasn’t alone. He rested the bike against the wall and shut the door behind him.

  “You got a key from your uncle after all? You’re not even the slightest bit worried about a lawsuit?”

  Enough moonlight shone through the window for him to see her smile. And to make him realize that she wasn’t perched on the window seat waiting for him. She was in his bed.

  “Didn’t need to,” she said softly. “You left the door unlocked.”

  “Never again,” he murmured, knowing it was a lie. There was nothing he could imagine that could compare to coming home to find her in his bed.

  “Come here,” she whispered.

  “No way.” He shrugged out of his corduroy jacket and went to hang it in his closet, not because he was particularly neat but because he needed something to do with his hands.

  “You have to leave.” He heard his own voice but it was so quiet he doubted that she heard him.

  If she did, she ignored him, pulling back the covers and patting the bed for him to join her.

  Instead he edged closer to the window, seeking refuge. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.” Her voice was soft and seductive. “You know you want to.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you told me. And I also know what I want and what you want.”

  “I don’t think you do know.”

  “You want me.”

  “I want you, but not just in my bed.”

  “Don’t you think this is a good place to start?”

  He sat down on the window seat finding sanctuary in the hard, cool wood of the bench. He reached across the desk beside him and flicked on the light, glancing down at his desk, grateful that he’d spent the day before filing the photographs he’d taken of her. Only a few had been left sitting out and those had been taken since they’d met.

  While he found relief there, he found anything but relief when he looked across the room at her lying in his bed, her long brown hair spread across his pillow, her deep blue eyes as blue as the ocean, smoldering with desire. Damn. She was wearing another one of those teddy things only this one was a soft blue. She edged the covers further off of her, exposing her legs now, those long gorgeous legs that he had imagined wrapped around him way too many times.

  “You really have to leave, Anne. If you don’t, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Vixen.”

  “What if I promise I won’t try to seduce you?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I think we’re way beyond that.”

  “What if I told you I just want to know what it feels like to lie in your arms, to curl up in your bed beside you, to be held by you?”

  The woman knew how to get to him. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  “What if I promise?”

  “I wouldn’t trust you.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time you did.”

  “Well maybe it’s time you proved you’re trustworthy.”

  She smiled, and he could see her struggling not to look seductive but it wasn’t easy for her. “How about giving me a test?”

  “What kind of test?”

  “Come here and find out.”

  “I don’t trust you, remember?”

  “Just give me five minutes and see for yourself that I can be responsible, dependable, and honorable, a genuine girl scout.” She raised herself up to rest on one elbow and smirked at him. “I can control myself. You’re not all that, you know.”

  Chris chuckled and walked over to the bed. “Move over.”

  “Aren’t you going to take off your—?”

  “My clothes stay on.”

  “Your boots.”

  “Good idea.” He yanked them off and tossed them across the room. Then he lay down beside her, fully clothed. “No touching.”

  “Just a hug?” She wriggled into his arms, and he couldn’t resist wrapping them around her.

  “You do realize this is bound to be incredibly frustrating and possibly embarrassing for me.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Imp.”

  “First devil woman, then temptress, then vixen and now imp. All this name calling. Can I kiss you?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  “I knew your willpower was a flaw.”

  “Your opinion. For me it’s my savior.”

  “Just a little kiss? No tongue?”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  He leaned closer to find her lips and knew instantly that it was a mistake. She didn’t need her tongue to turn him on. Hell, she didn’t even need to touch him.

  Her lips were soft and pliant and welcoming as they pressed into his. No, she definitely didn’t need her tongue. He felt as if they were making love with just the touch of their lips. But then everything about her oozed sensuality. She tasted of peppermint tea and honey and smelled of lilac, and he felt overwhelmed, overpowered. He wanted to inhale her and devour her. And love her.

&n
bsp; It was his tongue that slipped between her lips as if it had a will of its own. She pulled back and pressed her hands against his chest. “Are you testing me?”

  He considered lying but didn’t. “I forgot.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Sure I did,” he said, his voice raspy.

  When she stared into his chocolate brown eyes, she realized that he was telling the truth. He was not a person who lied easily.

  She snuggled even closer to him, feeling his erection hard and bold against her. She wanted him so much, to touch him, to stroke him, to feel him inside of her. She borrowed some of his willpower and stopped her hands from roaming where they wanted to go. But she pressed her body hard against him and allowed her mouth to do the same. He didn’t protest. He indulged himself, allowing his hands to envelop her hips and pull her even more tightly against him.

  When he moaned, she knew he was as lost as she was. And he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. Once his hands had loosened their grip, she eased away from him, sitting up and swinging her leg across him to straddle his center. She eased back and forth gently, stroking him with her body. He might not allow himself to take her completely, but maybe he could indulge them both this much.

  Before Chris knew what was happening, she had reached for his hands and had placed one on each of her breasts. “What are you doing?” came out in a raspy voice that he hardly recognized.

  “I want to feel your hands on me.” She moved his hands from her breasts, easing them up and down her body, her head lolling backwards as she savored the sensation of his touch, all the while rubbing against him, driving him crazy.

  He was lost in the feel of her, the touch of her, and the knowledge of how much she wanted him. But miraculously sanity prevailed and he eased himself into a sitting position, lifting her away from him.

  He swung his legs off the bed and struggled to regain consciousness.

  “Where are you going?” she whispered, her voice reflecting the pout he was certain was on her lips.

  “To take a cold shower.”

  “Do you do that often?” He heard the mocking tone in her voice.

  “Oh, yeah.” Just about any time he was around her. “And no, you can’t join me, and yes, there is a lock on the bathroom door.” Or was there? He didn’t remember seeing one. Maybe he was safer here. Shit, he wasn’t safe anywhere, not only because he didn’t seem to have the strength or wit to get her out of his bed, but because he wasn’t able to get her out of his head . . . and definitely not his heart.

  Chapter 18

  Skye set the cup of tea and a root beer on the table and sat down to join her best friend. “Okay, what’s got you so riled, cuz?”

  Anne glared at her. “Don’t you cuz me. And how do you know I’m riled?”

  “Stomping into the pub, angry glare, rigid posture, practically digging a hole in the floor when you pulled back your chair?” She pushed the cup of tea closer—chamomile. “Here, drink this. It’ll calm you down.”

  “I don’t want to calm down. I want to get angry.”

  “You already are. At whom?”

  “You!”

  “Me?” Skye leaned back in her chair as if that would protect her from her cousin’s wrath. “What did I do?”

  “You knew it was him. You knew he moved in upstairs!”

  “Huh?” Skye tried her best to feign innocence.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Skye McCullough. You knew Chris was living upstairs all this time and you didn’t tell me.”

  “Chris?”

  Anne furrowed her eyebrows and deepened her glare.

  Skye acted as if a light bulb had just gone off in her brain. “Oh! He’s the guy you’ve been talking about. The photographer!”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “You give me way too much credit. I’m not nearly as devious as you think I am.”

  “Skye McCullough, soon-to-be Callen, you are a terrible liar!”

  Busted. “Well, not for lack of trying,” she grumbled. Now, what excuse was she going to use?

  “Spill.” Anne set down her cup and snatched Skye’s bottle of root beer so she couldn’t use it to hide behind. “Tell me what you’re up to and why you kept this minor detail from me.”

  “I don’t know everything that happens in Canden Valley, you know,” she tried again.

  Anne rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about the family pub where you tend bar. We’re talking about the apartment above it.”

  “Oh, yeah, so I guess I knew that some hunky-looking guy had rented it.”

  “And that he’s a photographer?”

  “That too.”

  “And that his name is Christopher Newell?”

  Skye shrugged.

  “So, you’ve met him.”

  She shrugged again. “He comes in sometimes, talks to Nick.”

  “Yeah?” Suddenly Anne’s objective shifted from lashing out at her best friend to gleaning information about the subject of their conversation. “What does Nick know about him? What does he think about him? What do you think about him?”

  Skye stifled her laugh and said, “They’re both from the Bay Area. Although from very different backgrounds, they have a lot in common with their work. Nick’s actually seen some of his photographs on display, and he’s read some of Nick’s articles.” She left out the part about their both being smitten with McCullough cousins, although Anne had probably detected that by now.

  “What else? Does he like him?”

  “He said he seems like a really good guy.”

  “And you?” Anne knew Skye was a much harsher judge of people and therefore more likely to be a better judge of character than Nick was.

  “I agree. He seems like a good guy.”

  “Not the kind who will try to scoop me into his net and keep me barefoot and in the kitchen?”

  Skye cringed at her words being thrown back at her. “Not likely.”

  Anne leaned forward to confront her. “Tell me something, Skye McCullough. Had you met him before we went to the tea room with Arielle?”

  Skye felt her face flushing but refused to confess. “I may have met him, but that doesn’t mean I knew he was the photographer you were talking about.”

  Anne leaned back, and Skye took that as her accepting her at her word, dishonest though it may be. Still, she waited, knowing her cousin well enough to know this conversation was not over.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you keep it from me? Why didn’t you tell me he’d moved in upstairs and that you’d met him?”

  Skye was cornered. There was no point in even attempting to lie. “Because I know you, Anne McCullough Jameson. Arielle is right. You have a serious case of commitmentitis and you know it.” She put up a hand to stop her objection. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there too, remember? And it’s so much better on the other side. I just want to see you happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m talking about being happy with someone you love and who loves you.”

  “It’s not that simple, Skye. I like him. And I definitely want to be with him.”

  “With him? In what way?”

  “Not that way. You know it would never work. No matter what he says, he’ll resent how little I can give him. So, don’t push me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Trying to have an affair with the man.” Because she knew damned well that until she did, she didn’t have a prayer of getting over him.

  * * *

  She was standing across the room staring at him. He could feel her there. He didn’t know what she was doing or why she was watching him so intently, but he knew she was. Fifteen minutes into rehearsal, he left his backstage post and walked over to her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The lights are too bright.”

  “If you fill in for me, I’ll run up to the lighting booth and see what I can do.”<
br />
  “You do lights too?”

  “I’m a photographer, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “But I wasn’t asking what was going on with the rehearsal. I was asking what’s going on with you. This is our first rehearsal in the theater and instead of paying attention to what’s happening on stage, you’ve been staring at me.”

  She nodded. No quick retort. No put down. No humor. Something was definitely up. She was not herself. He knew she’d confronted Skye, and that Skye had confronted her right back with the truth about her and her fear of commitment. What he didn’t know was how that had left her in such a quiet, pensive state.

  “You kicked me out of your bed,” she whispered.

  “Not because I wanted to.”

  “But you did—”

  “Yes, I did.” It was the only way he could survive the night.

  “I want to make love with you,” she whispered.

  “I know that.”

  “I mean, I want to be . . . with you.”

  Was she saying what he thought she was saying? “You mean really be with me? You mean you have feelings for me and want a relationship with me?”

  She stood frozen. Paralyzed. And terrified. No words came out. He would not be getting his hopes up.

  He grabbed her arms and held her motionless, staring into her deep blue eyes. “Do you mean that you want me to stay? To wait for you while you’re away on your next tour?”

  “I—I don’t know. I just know I want to be with you.” Not very convincing. “More than I’ve wanted to be with any other man.”

  More convincing. Better than nothing. Still—his heart was on the line here.

  Anne tilted her head to the side. She was trying. But she couldn’t lie. “So, do you think we could—?” She glanced up at the stage and realized that this dance ended in about thirty seconds and one of them had to be backstage. “You know?”

  “Make love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not yet.”

  She frowned and looked down at her hands that were clenched in front of her. Definitely a different Anne. But when she smiled that impish smile of hers and said, “Well then, will you go to the winter ball with me?” the Anne he knew and loved was back.