“You sound defensive. When was the last time you tried them out . . . what I mean is . . . how do you know?” Mo asked craftily.
“I know! Are you planning on taking advantage of me? I might allow it. Then again, I might not.”
“You’re drunk,” Mo said.
“Yep, and it’s all your fault. You’re drunk, too.”
“What’d you expect? You keep filling my glass. You know what, I don’t care. Do you care, Marcus?”
“Nope. So, what are you going to do about that jerk who’s waiting by your Christmas tree? Christmas is almost over. D’ya think he’s still waiting?”
Mo started to cry. Murphy wiggled around and licked at her tears. She shook her head.
“Don’t cry. That jerk isn’t worth your little finger. Murphy wouldn’t like him. Dogs are keen judges of character.”
“Keith doesn’t like dogs.”
Marcus threw his hands in the air. “There you go! I rest my case.” His voice sounded so dramatic, Mo started to giggle.
It wasn’t much in the way of a kiss because she was giggling, Murphy was in the way, and Marcus’s position and clumsy hands couldn’t seem to coordinate with her. “That was sweet,” Mo said.
“Sweet! Sweet!” Marcus bellowed in mock outrage.
“Nice?”
“Nice is better than sweet. No one ever said that to me before.”
“How many were there . . . before?”
“None of your business.”
“That’s true, it isn’t any of my business. Let’s sing. ‘Jingle Bells.’ We’re both too snookered to know the words to anything else. How many hours till Christmas is over?”
Marcus peered at his watch. “A few.” He kissed her again, his hands less clumsy. Murphy cooperated by wiggling off both their laps.
“I liked that!”
“And well you should. You’re very pretty, Mo. That’s an awful name for a girl. I like Morgan, though. I’ll call you Morgan.”
“My father wanted a boy. He got me. It’s sad. Do you know how many times I used that phrase in the past few hours? A lot.” Her head bobbed up and down for no good reason. “Jingle Bells . . .” Marcus joined in, his voice as off-key as hers. They collapsed against each other, laughing like lunatics.
“Tell me about you. Do you have any more wine?”
Marcus pointed to the wine rack in the kitchen. Mo struggled to her feet, tottered to the kitchen, uncorked the bottle, and carried it back to the living room. “I didn’t see any munchies in the kitchen so I brought us each a turkey leg.”
“I like a woman who thinks ahead.” He gnawed on the leg, his eyes assessing the girl next to him. He wasn’t the least bit drunk, but he was pretending he was. Why? She was pretty, and she was nice. So what if she had a few hangups. She liked him, too, he could tell. The chair didn’t intimidate her the way it did other women. She was feisty, with a mind of her own. She’d been willing to share her private agonies with him, a stranger. Murphy liked her. He liked her, too. Hell, he’d given up his room to her. Now, she was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk about himself. What to tell her? What to gloss over? Why couldn’t he be as open as she was?
“I’m thirty-five. I own and manage the family engineering firm. I have good job security and a great pension plan. I own this little house outright. No mortgages. I love dogs and horses. I even like cats. I’ve almost grown accustomed to this chair. I am self-sufficient. I treat my elders with respect. I was a hell of a Boy Scout, got lots of medals to prove it. I used to ski. I go to church, not a lot, but I do go. I believe in God. I don’t have any . . . sisters or brothers. I try not to think too far ahead and I do my best not to look back. That’s not to say I don’t think and plan for the future, but in my position, I take it one day at a time. That pretty much sums it up as far as my life goes.”
“It sounds like a good life. I think you’ll manage just fine. We all have to make concessions . . . the chair . . . it’s not the end of the world. I can tell you don’t like talking about it, so, let’s talk about something else.”
“How would you feel if you went home this Christmas Eve and there in your living room was Keith in a wheelchair? What if he told you the reason he hadn’t been in touch was because he didn’t want to see pity in your eyes. How would you feel if he told you he wasn’t going to walk again? What if he said you might eventually be the sole support?” He waited for her to digest the questions, aware that her intoxicated state might interfere with her answers.
“You shouldn’t ask me something like that in my . . . condition. I’m not thinking real clear. I want to sing some more. I didn’t sing last year because I was too sad. Are you asking about this year or last year?”
“What difference does it make?” Marcus asked coolly.
“It makes a difference. Last year I would have . . . would have . . . said it didn’t matter because I loved him . . . Do all his parts . . . work?”
“I don’t know. This is hypothetical.” Marcus turned to hide his smile.
“I wouldn’t pity him. Maybe I would at first. Keith is very active. I could handle it, but Keith couldn’t. He’d get depressed and give up. What was that other part?”
“Supporting him.”
“Oh, yeah. I could do that. I have a profession, good health insurance. I might start up my own business. I’ll probably make more money than he ever did. Knowing Keith, I think he would resent me after awhile. Maybe he wouldn’t. I’d try harder and harder to make it all work because that’s the way I am. I’m not a quitter. I never was. Why do you want to know all this?”
Marcus shrugged. “Insight, maybe. In case I ever find myself attracted to a woman, it would be good to know how she’d react. You surprised me—you didn’t react to the chair.”
“I’m not in love with you,” Mo said sourly.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m not that drunk that I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m in love with someone else. I don’t care about that chair. That chair wouldn’t bother me at all if I loved you. You said your parts work. Or, was that a lie? I like sex. Sex is wonderful when two people . . . you know . . . I like it!”
“Guess what? I do, too.”
“You see, it’s not a problem at all,” Mo said happily. “Maybe I should just lie down on the couch and go to sleep.”
“You didn’t answer the second part of my question.”
“Which was?”
“What if you had made it home this Christmas and the same scenario happened. After two long years. What would be your feeling?”
“I don’t know. Keith whines. Did I tell you that? It’s not manly at all.”
“Really.”
“Yep. I have to go to the bathroom. Do you want me to get you anything on my way back? I’ll be on my feet. I take these feet for granted. They get me places. I love shoes. Well, what’s your answer? Remember, you don’t have any munchies. Why is that?”
“I have Orville Redenbacher popcorn. The colored kind. Very festive.”
“No! You’re turning into a barrel of fun, Marcus Bishop. You were a bossy, domineering person when I arrived through your doggie door. Look at you now! You’re skunked, you ate a turkey leg, and now you tell me you have colored popcorn. I’ll be right back unless I get sick. Maybe we should have coffee with our popcorn. God, I can’t wait for this day to be over.”
“Follow her, Murph. If she gets sick, come and get me,” Marcus said. “You know,” he said, making a gagging sound. The retriever sprinted down the hall.
A few minutes later, Mo was back in the living room. She dusted her hands together as she swayed back and forth. “Let’s do the popcorn in the fireplace! I’ll bring your coffeepot in here and plug it in. That way we won’t have to get up and down.”
“Commendable idea. It’s ten-thirty.”
“An hour and a half to go. I’m going to kiss you at twelve o’clock. Well, maybe one minute afterward. Your socks will c
ome right off when I get done kissing you! So there!”
“I don’t like to be used.”
“Me either. I’ll be kissing you because I want to kiss you. So there yourself!”
“What will Keith think?”
“Keith who?” Mo laughed so hard she slapped her thighs before she toppled over onto the couch. Murphy howled. Marcus laughed outright.
On her feet again, Mo said, “I like you, you’re nice. You have a nice laugh. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Life is such a serious business. Sometimes you need to stand back and get . . . what’s that word . . . perspective? I like amusement parks. I like acting like a kid sometimes. There’s this water park I like to go to and I love Great Adventure. Keith would never go so I went with my friends. It wasn’t the same as sharing it with your lover. Would you like to go and . . . and . . . watch the other people? I’d take you if you would.”
“Maybe.”
“I hate that word. Keith always said that. That’s just another way of saying no. You men are all alike.”
“You’re wrong, Morgan. No two people are alike. If you judge other men by Keith you’re going to miss out on a lot. I told you, he’s a jerk.”
“Okayyyy. Popcorn and coffee, right?”
“Right.”
Marcus fondled Murphy’s ears as he listened to his guest bang pots and pans in his neat kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and shut, then opened and shut again. More pots and pans rattled. He smelled coffee and wondered if she’d spilled it. He looked at his watch. In a few short hours she’d be leaving him. How was it possible to feel so close to someone he’d just met? He didn’t want her to leave. He hated, with a passion, the faceless Keith.
“I think you need to swing around so we can watch the popcorn pop. I thought everyone in the world had a popcorn popper. I’m improvising with this pot. It’s going to turn black, but I’ll clean it in the morning. You might have to throw it out. I like strong black coffee. How about you?”
“Bootblack for me.”
“Oh, me, too. Really gives you a kick in the morning.”
“I don’t think that’s the right lid for that pot,” Marcus said.
“It’ll do—I told you I had to improvise.”
“Tell me how you’re going to improvise this!” Marcus said as the popping corn blew the lid off the pot. Popcorn flew in every direction. Murphy leaped up to catch the kernels, nailing the fallen ones with his paws. Marcus rolled on the floor as Mo wailed her dismay. The corn continued to pop and sail about the room. “I’m not cleaning this up.”
“Don’t worry, Murphy will eat it all. He loves popcorn. How much did you put in the pot?” Marcus gasped. “Coffee’s done.”
“A cup full. Too much, huh? I thought it would pop colored. I’m disappointed. There were a lot of fluffies—you know, the ones that pop first.”
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am,” Marcus said, his expression solemn.
Mo poured the coffee into two mugs.
“It looks kind of . . . syrupy.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Drink up! What’ya think?”
“I can truthfully say I’ve never had coffee like this,” Marcus responded.
Mo settled herself next to Marcus. “What time is it?”
“It’s late. I’m sure by tomorrow the roads will be cleared. The phones will be working and you can call home. I’ll try and find someone to drive you. I have a good mechanic I’ll call to work on your Jeep. How long were you planning on staying with your parents?”
“It was . . . vague . . . depending . . . I don’t know. What will you do?”
“Work. The office has a lot of projects going on. I’m going to be pretty busy.”
“Me, too. I like the way you smell,” Mo blurted. “Where’d you get that shampoo in the black bottle?”
“Someone gave it to me in a set for my birthday.”
“When’s your birthday?” Mo asked.
“April tenth. When’s yours?”
“April ninth. How about that? We’re both Aries.”
“Imagine that,” Marcus said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“This is nice,” Mo sighed. “I’m a home and hearth person. I like things cozy and warm with lots and lots of green plants. I have little treasures I’ve picked up over the years that I try to put in just the right place. It tells anyone who comes into my apartment who I am. I guess that’s why I like this cottage. It’s cozy, warm, and comfortable. A big house can be like that, too, but a big house needs kids, dogs, gerbils, rabbits, and lots of junk.”
He should tell her now about the big house on the hill being his. He should tell her about Marcey and about his upcoming operation. He bit down on his lip. Not now—he didn’t want to spoil the moment. He liked what they were doing. He liked sitting here with her, liked the feel of her. He risked a glance at his watch. A quarter to twelve. He felt like his eyeballs were standing at attention from the coffee he’d just finished. He announced the time in a quiet voice.
“Do you think he showed up, Marcus?”
He didn’t think any such thing, but he couldn’t say that. “He’s a fool if he didn’t.”
“His mother told my mother he wasn’t coming home for the holidays.”
“Ah. Well, maybe he was going to surprise her. Maybe his plans changed. Anything is possible, Morgan.”
“No, it isn’t. You’re playing devil’s advocate. It’s all right. Really it is. I’ll just switch to Plan B and get on with my life.”
He wanted that life to include him. He almost said so, but she interrupted him by poking his arm and pointing to his watch.
“Get ready. Remember, I said I was going to kiss you and blow your socks off.”
“You did say that. I’m ready.”
“That’s it, you’re ready. It would be nice if you showed some enthusiasm.”
“I don’t want my blood pressure to go up,” Marcus grinned. “What if . . .”
“There is no what if. It’s a kiss.”
“There are kisses and then there are kisses. Sometimes . . .”
“Not this time. I know all about kisses. Jackie Bristol told me about kissing when I was six years old. He was ten and he knew everything. He liked to play doctor. He learned all that stuff by watching his older sister and her boyfriend.”
She was that close to him. She could see a faint freckle on the bridge of his nose. She just knew he thought she was all talk and no action. Well, she’d show him and Keith, too. A kiss was . . . it was . . . what it was was . . .
It wasn’t one of those warm, fuzzy kisses and it wasn’t one of those feathery light kind, either. This kiss was reckless and passionate. Her senses reeled and her body tingled from head to toe. Maybe it was all the wine she’d consumed. She decided she didn’t care what the reason was as she pressed not only her lips, but her body, against his. He responded, his tongue spearing into her mouth. She tasted the wine on his tongue and lips, wondered if she tasted the same way to him. A slow moan began in her belly and rose up to her throat. It escaped the moment she pulled away. His name was on her lips, her eyes sleepy and yet restless. She wanted more. So much more.
This was where she was supposed to say, Okay, I kept my promise, I kissed you like I said. Now she should get up and go to bed. But she didn’t want to go to bed. Ever. She wanted. . . needed . . .
“I’m still wearing my socks,” Marcus said. “Maybe you need to try again. Or, how about I try blowing your socks off?”
“Go for it,” Mo said as she ran her tongue over her bruised and swollen lips.
He did all the things she’d done, and more. She felt his hands all over her body—soft, searching. Finding. Her own hands started a search of their own. She felt as warm and damp as he felt to her probing fingers. She continued to tingle with anticipation. The heavy robe was suddenly open, the band of the underwear down around her waist, exposing her breasts. He was stroking one with the tip of his tongue. When the hard pink bud was in his mouth she t
hought she’d never felt such exquisite pleasure.
One minute she had clothes on and the next she was as naked as he was. She had a vague sense of ripping at his clothes as he did the same with hers. They were by the fire now, warm and sweaty.
She was on top of him with no memory of getting there. She slid over him, gasped at his hardness. Her dark hair fanned out like a waterfall. She bent her head and kissed him again. A sound of exquisite pleasure escaped her lips when he cupped both her breasts in his hands.
“Ride me,” he said hoarsely. He bucked against her as she rode him, this wild stallion inside her. She milked his body, gave a mighty heave, and fell against him. It was a long time before either of them moved, and when they did, it was together. She wanted to look at him, wanted to say something. Instead, she nuzzled into the crook of his arm. The oversized robe covered them in a steamy warmth. Her hair felt as damp as his. She waited for him to say something, but he lay quietly, his hand caressing her shoulder beneath the robe. Why wasn’t he saying something?
Her active imagination took over. One-night stand. Girl lost in snowstorm. Man gives her shelter and food. Was this her payback? Would he respect her in the morning? Damn, it was already morning. What in the world possessed her to make love to this man? She was in love with Keith. Was. Was in love. At this precise moment she couldn’t remember what Keith looked like. She’d cheated on Keith. But, had she really? No, her mind shrieked. She felt like crying, felt her shoulders start to shake. They calmed immediately as Marcus drew her closer.
“I . . . I never had a one-night stand. I would hate . . . I don’t want you to think . . . I don’t hop in and out of bed . . . this was the first time in two years . . . I . . .”
“Shhh, it’s okay. It was what it was—warm, wonderful, and meaningful. Neither one of us owes anything to the other. Sleep, Morgan,” he whispered.
“You’ll stay here, won’t you?” she said sleepily. “I think I’d like to wake up next to you.”
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