by Noelle Adams
She liked that he was sound asleep. She liked how it felt to lie here beside him.
She liked it so much that her warning sensors were triggered, and she carefully rolled out of bed. After feeling around for the dress shirt Matt had worn that evening, she pulled it on and silently slipped out of the room.
With Henry, she had always felt comfortable and tender, safe and at home.
With Matt, she had always felt wild and intense and free. But now she was also feeling tender and safe and at home.
She simply couldn’t understand how she could feel all of those things at once.
She made her way without thinking to his studio, turning on the light and looking around at the paintings.
There were dozens of them, in various stages of completion. His earlier work had been very abstract. His new stuff was closer to representational, although not completely so.
He had changed, though. Of course, his art would change too.
She’d made her way through most of the studio, studying everything she saw, when she found a canvas leaning against a wall in the far corner, covered by a drop cloth. She pulled it away and gasped when she saw what was on the canvas.
It was her.
It wasn’t a realistic portrait—the lines were fuzzy and the strokes were bold rather than careful. But it was definitely her. Standing behind the counter of the coffee shop. Looking much prettier than she was in real life and, at the same time, strangely distant.
The painting was full of emotion, but it wasn’t hers. The feeling was poignant, aching, almost yearning.
A sound behind her made her whirl around.
Matt stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but his underwear, his bare body lean, strong, scarred, and compelling. Deeply human.
He didn’t look angry at her invading his privacy. Just a little uncertain.
“It hurts me,” she whispered, nodding at the painting and putting a hand on her aching chest. “It hurts me here.”
“It hurt when I painted it.”
She turned back to look and tried to understand what he’d been feeling when he painted this image. “Does it hurt you to be with me?”
“Sometimes.”
And that felt inevitable. All of it felt inevitable. They’d come together in pain, attracted by the magnetic power of their wounded souls. She’d always known they would drift apart eventually, when their hearts finally started to heal. “I guess we…we can’t just have sex and nothing else forever.”
“I know we can’t.”
She didn’t understand his tone. She didn’t understand her own heart. She didn’t understand how she’d ended up here, when she’d spent all year pulling away from anything that might hurt her.
Matt had the power to hurt her more than anyone ever had, and only tonight was she realizing it.
“You’ll let me know when you want out?” he asked, a new, wistful note in his voice.
It was somehow comforting to know that he wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, that he wasn’t eager for this to end either. “Yeah.”
They fell silent for a minute, both lost in their own thoughts, staring at the painting that seemed to be full of far more depth than Carrie believed she possessed.
Then Matt, in an obvious attempt to return to more casual conversation, asked, “So when are you leaving on that ski trip?”
Carrie had decided to go with Jenn, figuring it was better to spend Christmas with family than to hang around here, wishing for something that wasn’t going to happen. “The 22rd. Then we’ll head to our parents’ for the holiday, and I’ll come back here on the 26th or 27th.”
Matt nodded absently.
Ridiculously, Carrie felt a little upset that Matt didn’t looked disappointed.
She looked away from his eyes, down at his body. The lean, strong lines of his legs and arms and the pleasing contours of his chest and abdomen always roused her appreciation. And the faint scars all over his body drew an ache in her chest, like always.
But she felt something else as well—something that was just wrong.
Something like ownership.
It couldn’t be that, of course.
Matt lowered his brows, noticing her preoccupation “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Carrie lied, giving him a little smile.
No way was she going to admit that it felt like he was hers.
“It’s nothing. You’re just hot.”
Five
Carrie was hot.
She’d been skiing for hours today—much longer than she’d planned or even wanted. But she was with a group of Jenn’s friends, all of whom were much more enthusiastic skiers than she was, and it hadn’t been easy to extricate herself in order to go back to the lodge early. So she’d stuck it out until everyone else got tired too.
Her cheeks were blazing now, chapped and raw from the wind. She was exhausted and a little sore and—after returning to the stifling warmth of the ski lodge—she felt like she might suffocate on the hot air.
She walked across to throw open a window, leaning out to hang her head into the evening. She sucked in a few breaths, the cold air stinging her throat. After the unnatural heat of the last few weeks in the city, the winter temperature of the mountains felt cleansing and refreshing.
Carrie would have liked to spend the whole evening in her room, preferring some alone time after socializing with mostly strangers for a day and a half. But Jenn would worry if she didn’t come down for dinner, so Carrie shut the window and sternly told herself to get ready.
She took a quick shower and pulled her flyaway hair back with some vintage snowflake clips. Then she put on dark jeans and a clingy, mulberry-colored sweater. Her cheeks were still pink, and her eyes looked almost sparkling in the artificial light. It was nice to look pretty.
For most of the year, she hadn’t even thought about looking pretty. She did now. Even if there was no one here she wanted to look pretty for.
To Jenn’s disappointment, there were no hunky ski instructors available for the taking. Carrie wouldn’t have wanted one anyway.
She missed Matt.
She’d known it had been a mistake to have that long, romantic evening with him over weekend. It had felt like a date, not a sleazy night in a cheap motel. Almost like they were in a real relationship and not a secret affair.
She hadn’t heard from him since, and she was starting to wonder if it was over.
She was here by herself now, and it was probably for the best. At least she seemed to have healed enough to entertain romantic fantasies again. That was definitely progress. So Carrie squared her shoulders and went downstairs to try to enjoy the evening.
She waved at a couple of Jenn’s friends across the room, but noticed that her sister hadn’t come down yet. So—instead of going over to make more small talk—Carrie sank down into a deep sofa near the roaring blaze in the stone fireplace. It was a little too warm, but the ambiance was nice.
The main lobby of the lodge was cheery and festive, with garland, bows, and twinkling lights hung around the room and a huge Christmas tree in the corner. There was even a Santa Claus wandering about, handing out wrapped trinkets to children and posing for pictures.
Carrie absently noticed it must be a different Santa than the one from yesterday evening. This one seemed taller and was doing a better job of making the children laugh.
She watched for a few minutes and then stared back into the fire. Wondered what Matt was doing right now.
She was worried that he was all alone. Maybe he was lonely. Of course, he couldn’t have been as lonely as she was, or he would have made an effort to spend at least part of the holiday with her.
She let out a long sigh. She was being stupid, but she still kind of hoped he would give her a call. She’d felt so close to him only a few nights ago.
A mug of steaming cider materialized in front of her, and Carrie reached to take it automatically.
She looked up to see Santa Claus blinking down on her. His
red and white suit was well-padded, and his face almost entirely covered by a thick white beard, big Santa glasses, and a drooping red hat.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Someone needs some Christmas cheer,” Santa said in the gruff voice he must use to go with his character.
Carrie gave him a half-hearted smile. “Thanks,” she said again, mustering up a little enthusiasm. “I appreciate it.”
“You can do better than that,” Santa insisted, hefting his bag of trinkets down off his shoulder.
Out of general civility, Carrie tried to hide her impatience, but she really wished Santa would bless someone else in the room with his genial attention. She just wanted to be left alone to have a nice mope before Jenn came down.
But she managed a wider smile to appease the pushy Santa.
“Better,” Santa said, nodding his bushy head approvingly. “So have you been naughty or nice?”
Without conscious thought, her mind flashed to images of hot, passionate nights spent with Matt over the last few months.
She’d definitely been naughty this year.
“Definitely naughty,” Santa said, a new note entering his gruff voice.
Carrie gasped, both at his having read her mind and the incongruously provocative lilt to Santa’s tone.
Just her luck, being hit on by a raunchy Santa Claus.
“Don’t you have any kids to ho-ho-ho to?” she asked tartly, taking a sip of her cider. She almost choked as she swallowed.
This cider had been spiked with something very strong.
She took another sip.
Santa leaned over closer, his long beard brushing against her shoulder. “I’d rather ho-ho-ho with you.”
Carrie’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the lewd implication of what should have been innocuous words.
She took a gulp of the cider and felt the warmth of the alcohol flow through her body.
So maybe Matt didn’t care enough about her to get in touch over Christmas. Maybe he hadn’t bought her a single Christmas present, unless she counted the dress. Maybe he hadn’t even called her after that intense evening they’d spent together.
Maybe Matt didn’t want her, but Carrie wasn’t completely neglected.
She’d clearly attracted this blue-eyed perv of a Santa Claus without even trying.
She finished off her cider as Santa moved away from her couch. She felt warm and drowsy thanks to the alcohol and the blaze of the fireplace.
She also felt mildly amused. Despite the incongruity, it was always nice to have affirmation that you were attractive—even if it was just to a random Santa Claus.
Carrie watched as Santa paused when a little girl with pink earmuffs ran up to him, demanding a present. Santa reached into his sack and leaned down to say something to the girl.
He slanted an ironic look back at Carrie as he presented the girl with one of his trinkets.
Something about the slanted look made Carrie’s spine stiffen suddenly. She stared hard.
Even through the big glasses, the thick white beard, the wig and hat, there was something she knew—she knew—about that look.
Matt was Santa Claus.
It was so unbelievable, so impossible, so contrary to everything she’d understood about him and the world, that she couldn’t believe her recognition at first. But the eyes were his—she realized that now. And the amused irony evident in his expression was screaming Matthew Lynch.
Now that she saw it, she couldn’t see anything else. Couldn’t believe she’d failed to see it immediately.
What the hell was he doing here? And why was he dressed up like Santa?
The only answer that came to her—like the embodiment of her most ridiculous, romantic fantasies—made her want to squeal. Or faint. Or cry.
But she didn’t do any of those things. Not until she knew what was happening here. She stood up and was surprised to find herself swaying a bit on her feet.
Evidently, she’d drunk too much spiked cider too quickly.
When she was sure of her feet, she stepped over toward where Santa-Matt was leaning against a wall and talking to a newlywed couple.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him, but she had to say something.
Before Carrie reached him, Jenn entered the room with a couple of her friends. After greeting her sister with an enthusiastic wave, Jenn saw Santa and—in characteristically high spirits—demanded a picture with him.
Carrie smothered a smile when Jenn decided she would pose on Santa’s lap. With her new recognition of Santa’s identity, Carrie could now read Matt’s expression beneath the beard as Jenn snuggled up on his lap and wrapped her arms around him for the picture.
Carrie had to turn away to hide her laughter when Matt tried to stand up when the picture was done—only to be returned to his seat rather abruptly when another young woman took Jenn’s place.
When Jenn called Carrie over to join in a group picture, Carrie happily squeezed herself into a shot, and she managed to maneuver her hand into place to surreptitiously pinch Santa’s ass.
Matt huffed in surprise—his reaction causing her to nearly lose control of her amusement.
She was aware enough to realize her near-hysteria wasn’t just humor. It was barely leashed joy.
She was trying to control her expression, but not nearly well enough to deceive Matt. His eyes landed on her face, and he knew. She knew he knew.
Carrie still didn’t know how Matt had gotten himself into such a crazy situation, but she was planning to enjoy it while she could. Such a delightful turnaround wasn’t likely to happen again anytime soon—not with a man as utterly cool as Matt.
He had to be here for her.
The realization made Carrie want to melt, and the heat of the room—the heat from the cider—only intensified this feeling. She managed to restrain her giggles as the picture-posing continued for a few more shots.
Only when Santa-Matt finally got to his feet, nearly dislodging a brunette friend of Jenn’s in the process, did Carrie start to feel a twinge of nervousness.
No reason for it, of course. But they were going to talk now. And she had no idea if she was ready for what this talk would reveal. About him. And her.
“Santa needs a break,” Matt said gruffly, still doing the bare minimum to sustain his genial persona. He managed to extricate himself from the group of young women and clomped his way toward the back door of the lobby in his thick black boots.
He slanted Carrie a look over his shoulder. It wasn’t a happy look.
Covering her mouth to hide the giggles, she managed to slip away from Jenn without being noticed.
She caught up to Matt in the back hall.
“Santa?”
Matt frowned beneath his beard. “You seem to be having an ungraciously good time with this.”
His slightly peeved tone sent Carrie into an unrestrained fit of laughter. “Matt, Matt, what the hell…” She gasped, trying to catch her breath and finish the sentence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Damn it, Carrie. I had a whole plan worked out here, and you ruined it.”
Carrie was laughing so hard now she had to lean against him and bury her face against the fuzzy red suit to smother the sound.
Matt cleared his throat. “Whenever you’d like to control yourself enough to have an actual conversation.”
“Only you,” she gasped, straightening up. “Only you can sound so full of pomposity when wearing that big red hat!”
He just glared at her—one of his best cold glares. But the beard and glasses spoiled the effect.
“How did I ruin your plan?” she asked, managing to basically compose herself and genuinely wanting to know the answers to her questions.
“You weren’t supposed to know I was here until later.”
“Then why did you come over to talk to me? Surely you didn’t think I was so incredibly clueless as not to recognize you.”
“You didn’t recognize me. Not at
first. You thought I was some dirty old man.” Matt sounded less peeved—as if he were pleased by deceiving her at least temporarily.
“But I wouldn’t have even noticed you if you hadn’t come to talk to me. It’s your own fault if your crazy plan fell apart.”
Matt sighed. “I know. It was stupid. But you looked so…so…”
Irrationally, Carrie’s shoulders stiffened defensively. “So what?” She could just imagine how she’d looked, moping on the couch by herself. Pitiful. Childish.
“Sad.”
She reached over to pull down the white beard so she could see his face better. His expression wasn’t condescending or pitying. In fact, he looked almost tender.
A warm rush of feeling swelled up inside her, but she managed to keep an appropriately wry lilt to her voice. “So you ruined your big plans to come over to cheer me up?”
Matt smiled and took off his Santa-glasses. “Aren’t you glad I did?”
She was glad he had. And even more glad that he’d evidently cared enough about her feelings to spoil his plans in order to win her out of her lonely, wistful mood.
“So what was your plan?” she asked, feeling the sudden urge to touch him. She ran a hand up his chest and was uncomfortably aware that the Santa suit was padded. It wasn’t his smooth, hard chest she was feeling. It was something soft and cushy.
Not exactly the kind of touch to match her slightly provocative tone.
Matt reached over and cupped her face in one hand. His eyes were so soft she lost her breath. But instead of sweet words, he said, “I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
Carrie gasped. “That’s not fair!”
“Hey, I’m the one wearing this Santa suit.”
Amusement vied with annoyance—and curiosity trumped them both. “So what are you doing here? And why are you in that ridiculous outfit?”
Matt gave a half-shrug. “I needed some holiday weather. It’s seventy degrees and humid in the city.”
“Don’t be evasive. Why are you here?”
“Carrie,” he said softly, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Trapped by the expression in his eyes, Carrie leaned toward him unconsciously. “Well, I guess it’s because I’m here.”