Love for the Holidays (five book Christmas bundle)

by Noelle Adams

  She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but her answer was the same to any question. “Yeah. Just hungry.” The cocktail nibbles at the party had been tasty but not nearly enough.

  “Then let’s get some dinner.” Matt stepped over to open the back door to the car the waiting driver had just pulled up to the curb.

  Carrie had no objection to such a plan, and she didn’t even ask herself why he’d suggested it. They’d never gone out for dinner before, but it seemed a natural thing to do tonight.

  And she wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end.

  Matt took her to an out-of-the-way restaurant—quiet and candle-lit. The food was delicious, and the ambience romantic and continental. The room was far too warm, and Carrie drank too much wine. Matt told clever, funny stories about places he’d traveled and asked her about her childhood. So, by the time they were brought the most delicious crème brûlée she’d ever tasted, Carrie was giddy, red-cheeked, and a little bit buzzed.

  Two and a half hours after they’d been seated, they got up to leave.

  Carrie swayed on her feet, a rush of dizziness overtaking her. She laughed sheepishly as Matt gave her his arm for support and felt strangely protected as they walked outside together.

  The evening was mild and beautiful, and the city was festively lit with holiday lights. “Let’s walk a little,” she suggested, twirling a circle without thinking as she gazed up at the city around her. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Matt’s voice was natural, but the tone held a warm resonance she almost recognized.

  When the familiar note sank into her slightly befuddled brain, she blinked up at him suspiciously. Her suspicions were confirmed by the slight tilt of his lips.

  She gasped. “You’re laughing at me!”

  He laughed out loud. “Never.”

  “You are too. I’m not drunk,” she pronounced. “Just a little buzzed.”

  “A fine state of intoxication,” Matt agreed, nodding supportively and reaching around her waist to give her a fond half-hug.

  She gave him dirty looks, still dubious over the humor on his face but not able to think clearly enough to pin down any direct affront.

  They walked toward one of the city parks and stopped to hear a group of carolers singing Christmas songs. Despite the overly warm temperature, it conjured up a whiff of holiday spirit in Carrie, which was intensified by the festive lights adorning the trees and light posts in the park.

  She applauded enthusiastically at the end of the fourth carol, and Matt left a surprisingly large bill in the tip jar earmarked for charity.

  When they started to stroll again, Carrie heard someone humming “Carol of the Bells.” It took her a minute to figure out it was her.

  She didn’t know many of the words, but she made appropriate noises and sometimes hit the right key. Then a pleasant baritone joined her, and she gazed up at delight at Matt, who was singing what were obviously the correct words. She tried to sing with him as they walked, and they even tried some parts at the end. It wasn’t a very successful attempt, but Carrie was pleased nonetheless.

  As they finished, she clapped her hands and impulsively gave Matt a hug.

  He hugged her back, holding her tighter and harder than she expected. But he felt wonderful—firm and strong and substantial against her—and she didn’t see any reason to end the embrace.

  They’d kissed a lot over the last three months. They’d caressed each other. Explored each other intimately. And they’d screwed. A lot.

  But they hadn’t hugged very much.

  When she finally pulled away, her buzz was starting to wear off, but a soft languor still remained. Grinning, she said in an ironic voice she hoped would cut the odd mood, “Who would have thought that Matthew Lynch and his hard edge would like to sing Christmas carols?”

  “I bet there’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” His words were bland, but his eyes lingered with a strange intensity on her face, reminding her of the first night they’d met.

  Carrie looked away, a little flustered. “That’s probably true.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes until Matt finally asked, “Are you ready to go home?”

  She wasn’t really ready. She didn’t want to leave Matt. They never went home with each other. If she went home, she would do so alone.

  ***

  Matt said nothing about spending the night during the drive home, so Carrie felt uncomfortable asking.

  She wasn’t worried that he would laugh or reject the suggestion to spend the night with her. Rather, she was embarrassed about admitting to herself that she wanted him to.

  After so many months of being convinced—absolutely, utterly convinced—that she would never feel for anyone this way after Henry, here she was feeling this way for Matt.

  When Matt had never said a word about wanting her for anything but sex.

  So she was wrapped up in her thoughts for most of the drive, and she jerked in surprise when the driver pulled the car in front of a building she’d never seen before. “Where are we?” she asked, peering out the window. It was an older neighborhood, and there was a little park across the street, so it was obvious these apartments were way beyond her budget.

  “This is my place.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, trying to figure out what was going on and wishing she hadn’t drunk so much, since her head was still a little fuzzy.

  “I wasn’t paying attention, but I can tell him to take us back to your place, if you’d rather.”

  “You want me to come up?” Her heart fluttered wildly, and she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or excitement.

  “You can, if you want.”

  “Are you…are you sure?” They’d always spent nights in hotels. Her coming to his place felt like a gigantic leap beyond their boundaries.

  His eyes were sharp with scrutiny as they scanned her face, as if he were seeking an answer for her stuttering bewilderment. Then his expression relaxed, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Have I ever shown myself reluctant to spend the night with you?”

  His implication was true, without question. But this was his bed, his apartment.

  Evidently reading her mind, Matt added, more gently, “We can find a hotel room if you’d prefer. Or I can just take you home.”

  Carrie didn’t prefer. She wanted to go upstairs with him. It just made her incredibly nervous. “No,” she murmured, slanting him a smile she hoped was flirtatious rather than terrified. “Here’s good.”

  They went up to his apartment without speaking. Inside, Matt offered her a drink, and she gratefully accepted a bottle of water.

  His apartment had high ceilings, historical detail, huge windows, and wide-plank hardwood floors. There was an eclectic mix of art on the walls, but none of the paintings were his own work.

  Carrie looked around in silence.

  “Well?” Matt demanded, after a minute.

  She released a breath of laughter. “I like it. It looks like you.”

  “How does it look like me?”

  “It’s gorgeous and creative and sexy and…I don’t know…really smart.”

  He appeared surprised and pleased with her conclusion, but he covered it with familiar irony. “How exactly can an apartment be smart?”

  “It just is.” She chugged down some of the water, wiping away a little that dribbled onto her chin.

  He was watching her with that look of intense scrutiny, like he was reading too many of her thoughts and feelings. “Then my apartment looks like you too.”

  “What? I’m not as smart as you.”

  He shook his head. “You’re smarter than me.”

  “I am not—”

  “I can do one thing really well, but you’re smarter than me in almost every way. I never did well in school.”

  She thought about what he said—partly pleased by the way he’d affirmed her and partly upset about how he might be putting himself down. “That must be because you didn’t
try very hard. Anyone who uses words as well as you is obviously really smart.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged, as if his own intelligence didn’t really matter to him. “But you’re smarter. Which is why you should really go back to college.”

  She jerked, surprised by the turn of conversation. “Don’t start that again. You can’t make a conversation about your apartment turn into a lecture about—”

  “Not a lecture. Just a comment.”

  “Fine. When you start painting again, then I’ll go back to college.” She thought she’d found an exceptionally good way to shut him up, since he hadn’t painted in two years.

  He had another strange expression—one she had no way to decipher. “Deal,” was all he said. He slid both hands around her ribcage and pulled her closer to him, leaning down to kiss her softly.

  Feeling close to him, despite the odd conversation, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re just as sexy as your apartment,” she said between kisses.

  He laughed against her lips. “That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

  “Maybe we should check out the bedroom, just to make sure it’s as sexy as the rest of the place.” She pulled away, keeping only her hand in his, and turned to peer at the doors leading off the main room. “Is that one the bedroom?”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have to head straight there.”

  She looked back at him, surprised at his hesitation, since sex was what they normally did. Then she figured out an explanation and slid her free hand down his chest until it found his hardening groin. “I guess doing it in the dressing room of the store raised the bar for creative sex locations. What were you thinking? The kitchen? The balcony?” She massaged his groin, loving how his breath hitched in response.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, pulling her hand away with obvious reluctance. “I just meant we don’t have to jump right into bed. It’s not all about sex.”

  Her frown deepened as she looked at his slightly frustrated expression. “Okay.” She really shouldn’t have drunk so much. She was completely disoriented, had no idea what was going on. They’d always headed right for the bed before.

  She finished off her water, hoping the hydration would help. Then she said, “I want to look at the rest of the place anyway.”

  She wandered through the living area, poked her head into the bathroom, looked out onto the balcony, and tried not to be jealous of such a great apartment.

  There was one more door that she assumed was a closet. She was reaching for the knob when Matt came up behind her and slid a hand around her waist. “You don’t need to look in there.”

  “Why not? Is it a closet stuffed full of junk? Because I have one of those too, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  He smiled, but he kept holding her back when she tried to move toward the door again. “It’s not a closet.”

  “Then what’s in there?”

  “Nothing interesting.”

  “You know me, right? You must know that now I’m not going to want to do anything but open that door. You might as well let me in now.”

  “I’m sure you can restrain your nosiness out of basic courtesy.”

  She snorted and relaxed, letting him pull her against his hard chest. As soon as she felt him relax too, she took a quick step away and reached for the door.

  “Damn it, Carrie,” he objected. “I told you—”

  He broke off because she was standing frozen in the open doorway, staring into the room. It was supposed to be a second bedroom, but there was no bed or dresser or chest or armoire. The room had a skylight and was set up as an art studio.

  She took in the half-finished paintings scattered throughout the room, paint supplies on a worktable, and a huge canvas on an easel that he’d obviously just started to work on. There was no way this stuff had been sitting around like this for two years.

  He’d started painting again.

  She turned toward him, her lips parting as she tried to process it all.

  His eyes darted between the floor and her face, uncharacteristically self-conscious.

  “You’re painting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For how long?”

  He gave a half-shrug. “A couple of months.”

  “You didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Why not?” Part of her was thrilled by this revelation, this return to the person Matt really was and all the deep gifts he possessed.

  But part of her felt a little betrayed, as irrational as the feeling was—that he hadn’t shared something so important with her.

  He shook his head and looked away.

  “Matt, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. He cleared his throat and met her eyes again. “I wasn’t sure I could do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Start over again. Start living again. Be…be real again. Believe it or not, I’m not really full of pomposity. The truth is I wasn’t sure I could do any of this. And I didn’t want you to know…if I failed. So I kept it to myself, until I knew.”

  Her initial hurt feelings faded as she understood what he was admitting, how authentically he was opening himself to her. “Do you know now?” she asked, her voice wobbling slightly. “Can you…can you do this?”

  “Yeah.” He was gazing at her now in a way that made her stomach clench. “I can. I want to.”

  “I’m glad.” Her breath was fast and uneven, and she wasn’t even sure why.

  “You know what this means, right?”

  “What?”

  He smiled, warm and affectionate. “You have to go back to college now.”

  She gasped at the realization. “That doesn’t count! You already knew you were painting again when you made the deal.”

  “That doesn’t change anything. A deal is a deal.” He reached out and pulled her against him. “Right?”

  She grumbled under her breath and slipped out of his grip. “I’ll think about it.” She walked over to one of the half-finished paintings. It was a street scene in startling slashes of color. Studying it, she forgot about what they’d just been talking about. “This is really different for you.”

  “Yeah. That’s another reason I didn’t say anything. I’m not even sure if what I’m doing now is any good.”

  She gazed at it for a long time, seeing emotion more than the details of the figures. The painting felt like Matt—in all his fierce fire, brilliance, and pain. When she finally glanced back, she saw he was watching her, obviously waiting for her verdict. “It is good,” she said softly. “Everything you do is amazing.”

  His face softened, and he looked so adorably real and vulnerable that she couldn’t restrain the urge to touch him.

  She reached out and pulled him into a kiss. He responded, his mouth opening immediately and his tongue darting out to meet hers. He let her push him until he was backed up against the work table, using it for support as he fit her body against his.

  She rubbed against him, her palms skimming over the texture of his hair, the texture of his jaw, the texture of his firm shoulders beneath his jacket. Soon, the kiss had deepened to such an extent that she writhed against him, so aroused she couldn’t hold still.

  She clumsily pushed his jacket off over his shoulders and moaned against his mouth as he cupped her bottom and eased her pelvis against his.

  They fumbled for a minute until she’d managed to get his jacket off and his shirt untucked. Then she freed his erection from his pants as he pushed her skirt up over her hips.

  “Matt,” she breathed against his lips.

  He made a sound of response in his throat as he slipped his hand between her thighs.

  “Oh, Matt, I want you so much.”

  “You have me,” he murmured, so low she barely heard.

  And that terrified her again, made her feel far too much to be safe. So she grasped for something light and familiar with a teasing tone. “I told yo
u that the dressing room raised the bar for creative spots for sex.”

  He choked on a laugh, his body shaking against hers. His laughter just intensified her desire, and she gasped in pleasure when he turned them around abruptly and lifted her so she was perched on the edge of the table.

  Then he was nudging her with the tip of his erection. Then he was maneuvering himself inside. Then he was lifting her thighs and wrapping her legs around his hips.

  “Everything about you is incredible,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “You blow me away. Carrie, baby, you’re so incredible.”

  “You’re…not bad yourself.” She arched her back against the sensations and the feelings, tightening her thighs around him.

  He was smiling as he started to rock into her, their eyes meeting unexpectedly. She couldn’t look away. His expression was so deep, so rich, so much of what she wanted. The pleasure in her chest mingled with the pleasure in the rest of her body.

  They moved together with increasing urgency, until they were both panting with effort. And their shared gaze never broke, shaping a different kind of feeling, pleasure, meaning to the motion of their bodies.

  She finally had to drop her head back and close her eyes as an orgasm broke. She shuddered through the sensations and felt him coming too, shaking and releasing a long, thick groan.

  She clung to him desperately afterwards, strangely self-conscious by how emotional she felt and terrified anew about what it might mean.

  He held her tightly, uncharacteristically silent. Occasionally, he pressed a kiss into her hair, her neck, her shoulder.

  “Can we go to bed now?” she asked at last, searching futilely for familiar irony.

  “A little anti-climactic, at this point.”

  “True. But lying down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  He smiled, pulling away from her and fastening his trousers again. Her knees buckled as she straightened her legs and tried to stand up.

  He wrapped an arm around her as they walked to the bedroom, and his support was strong, solid, everything she needed.

  ***

  Several hours later, she woke up to a dark room.

  After a minute of orienting herself, she realized Matt was asleep beside her. She could hear his deep, even breathing.