by Jule McBride
She shook her head. “She’s a sound sleeper and my door locks.”
“Condoms?” he asked softly.
“I have some.”
Bad sign, he thought. Who was she keeping them for? After a long moment, she licked her lower lip and swallowed. “I just don’t want any serious involvements,” she whispered in a quick rush. “I really don’t.”
He tried to tell himself that he just wanted to know whether or not he was Amanda’s father. But right now he didn’t care. He tried to remember that moment, four years ago, when she’d deserted him, but couldn’t. He was ready to take her on any terms she offered. Shadows wavered across her skin, just as her resolve seemed to waver. “But you want me?” he said.
She nodded. “For just—just one night.”
Why doesn’t she want something more? Is it because I’m Amanda’s bodyguard? Because I’m living in the apartment with her? Because I remind her of Jake Jackson? His warring emotions were tugging him apart. He reached out and touched her cheek. “No strings attached,” he assured softly, wondering if he meant it.
Even in the dim light, he could see the flush that was beginning to stain her cheeks. She had the embarrassed look of a woman who wished that things would quickly be decided, one way or the other.
“Yeah—” She smiled quickly, clearly trying to banter but failing. “No tomorrows and all that.”
His chest closed around his heart like a vise. “And no yesterdays,” he said gruffly. Beneath his fingers, the skin of her cheek felt as soft as silk. His gaze never leaving hers, he dropped his fingertips lightly to her chest, just inches above her breasts.
“Heaven knows,” she whispered, her voice catching. “There are a few yesterdays I’d like to forget.”
He caught her hand and rose lithely from the sofa, pulling her with him. “Maybe this will help,” he said, claiming her lips.
* * *
SANTA LOCKED THE DOOR and turned around. Hints of lamplight shone through her window into the intimate darkness. Cyn was standing by the window. One of her long arms hung rigidly at her side; the other lifted a corner of the curtain. Ah, Cyn, he thought, wanting to tell her that he liked her just the way she was. This new you is just a disguise. I can see that you’re as soft and sweet as you ever were.
She’d warmed to his kisses in the living room, but now, in her bedroom, she seemed tense. He crossed the room and approached her from behind. His arms circled her waist and his hands rubbed slow circles on her abdomen. When he hugged her tightly, and she felt how aroused he was, her back stiffened and then slowly relaxed. Together, they stared through the window. He could hear her swallow. “It’s cold out there,” she finally said.
Her hand was trembling and the curtain fluttered. “That’s why I’m in here tonight,” he said. “With you.”
She turned in his arms, letting the curtain fall. “To keep me warm?” She gazed into his eyes, her voice tremulous.
He drew her closer, pressing her against the length of his body, and kissed her, slowly probing her lips. “Ah, Cyn,” he chided softly as he leaned back, “don’t tell me you’re scared.”
He smiled, feeling glad it was dark, knowing there was less chance he’d be discovered this way. “Brassy Cyn,” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek against hers. He began to let down her hair. His other hand roved over her back. When her hair cascaded around her shoulders, he raked his fingers through it, caught it in fistfuls then let it fall again.
“It’s been a long time,” she said breathlessly.
For an instant, his hand froze on her back. “How long?” Four years?
“Too long.” Her hands cupped his chin. “How’d you get that scar?” she asked huskily.
He was surprised to find that the question didn’t even anger him. He smiled. “Knife fight.”
Her chuckle caught in her throat. “Somehow I doubt it,” she whispered as her hands dropped to his chest. As she began to unknot his tie, his lips settled on hers again.
He tried to remind himself that he was supposed to make love to her quickly and without foreplay. But as he kissed her, his hands dropped gently from her hips, to her thighs. He lifted the hemline of her dress with nothing more than his fingertips, until skin met skin and he was touching the bare silken inches that lay above her stockings. As he loosened her garters one by one, she drew in a quick breath against his mouth.
He was more adept than she was. Slower, too. Within moments she was rising on her tiptoes and arching against the most intimate part of him. And yet, in her fury to undress him, while he kissed her, she suddenly seemed to forget her own pleasure. She fumbled with his buttons, tugged at his shirt without managing to remove it, and nearly ripped the cuff links from his wrists. Santa let her. Until she reached for his zipper.
“Cyn,” he said softly, “we have all night.”
“Sorry.” She leaned back in his arms.
“Don’t ever be sorry,” he whispered, “but you’re coming at me like this is something you want to get over and done with.”
“I’ll admit that ever since I first saw you, that’s pretty much how I’ve felt.” The sheer frustration in her soft voice made him smile. She slid open the ends of his shirt, ran her nails through the curling hairs on his chest, then pressed her face against him. She smiled against his skin. “You’re the most controlled person I ever met,” she murmured.
His eyes had adjusted and he could just make out her features. He wondered if making love to her might get her out of his system for good. She was so incredibly beautiful that he somehow doubted it. Still, he did mean for this time to last him the rest of his life. That’s what I want, isn’t it? That, he thought, and to push any other men she may have had from her mind forever.
Will she know who I am?
“Santa?” she whispered throatily, sounding a little bereft.
“I’m right here.” A soft sigh escaped her, just as his mouth captured hers again. He lifted her and carried her to the bed.
“I want you,” she whispered against his cheek, as his hands deftly removed her remaining clothes, then his own. When her hands glided over his back, he swallowed a moan and drove his tongue deep between her lips.
He shut his eyes, and while his tongue dueled with the wet, warm spear of hers, he fought for control over the depth of passion this woman could arouse in him. As his hands rose and fell over the contours of her flesh, he told himself he wouldn’t relinquish his whole self. Some part would remain distanced and detached. Untouchable.
But then her thighs parted. In the darkness, they looked like silver, glistening fish in deep, mysterious waters. As his palms roved slowly over them, toward the most feminine, intimate part of her, he felt as if he were drowning. She moaned when he began to touch her, and he felt his control slipping away.
But she’ll know...she’ll know.
“Santa...” she murmured. Her silken thighs relaxed, parting more for him. All he could think was that she was so open and that he was touching her. Her sighs suddenly caught on the air. She whimpered. “Anton...” And then she cried it out. “Oh, Anton.”
His heart nearly broke. He’d never heard her say his real name. And to hear it spoken with such need... “Say my name again,” he whispered.
She grasped his shoulders, arching to both meet his touch and to kiss him. “Anton...”
“Oh, Cyn.” His own voice was nothing more than a ragged sigh. She captured it with her lips as she rocked against him. He found a condom, then rolled fully on top of her. For a long moment, he merely hovered above her.
How can you not know who I am?
As he slowly sank into her, he almost wished that she would discover him. If she didn’t, he might tell her. What if—driven by desire—he confessed the truth?
“Anton...” This time, his name came in a short, quick gasp, as she caught his rhythm.
He drove into her steadily, repeatedly, kissing her neck, her cheeks, her breasts...until her skin turned damp and warm and until he felt her losing his r
hythm and straining with all her might for her own. Against his mouth, her breath came in fits and starts. She held it, then let it go in shudders that urged him deeper inside her.
Damn you, Cyn. Tell me you know who I am.
Her legs wrapped around his back like a vise. He was a controlled man, but now, caught in the tangle of her arms and legs, crazy images started flashing through his mind. He could no longer damn her, but only kiss her, over and over again.
For an instant, he was almost sure they were lying in a warm field of dew-damp grass and yellow spring flowers. A thousand white butterflies took flight. They hovered just above the flowers, like angels. When the tiny palpitations of Cyn’s body closed around him, her flesh fluttered as gently and as urgently as those wings.
When she rocked against him, uttering one long soft whimper, the last vestiges of his control gave away. He was with the one woman on earth who could make everything vanish—past, present and future. The one woman who could take all the parts of him—heart, body and soul. And with one final kiss that seemed to go on forever, Santa completely lost control.
* * *
“WHERE’D YOU GET the scar on your leg? Another knife fight?” Cyn murmured.
“Yeah,” Santa said softly.
She glanced dreamily at her digital clock through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s after two in the morning,” she whispered huskily, stretching her long legs against the length of his, and nuzzling her face against him.
“Hmm.”
She smiled, hearing that hum rumble deep within his chest. When he nodded, she didn’t see but only sensed it. She rolled to her back, luxuriating in how she felt. Her limbs were limp and languid, her whole body warm. Hours had passed, but time seemed to stand still. No man had ever loved her the way this one had. Certainly not Harry, her one love before Jake Jackson. And not even Jake Jackson himself.
Thinking that, she realized she wanted no secrets to come between her and Santa. “Santa?”
“Hmm?”
“You know when I told you about Jake Jackson? I mean, about going out with him?”
This time Santa didn’t hum. Had he fallen asleep? Heaven knew, she was about to. She reached across a scant space between them, then grazed her fingertips from his thigh to his chest. Tiny muscles leapt to life beneath her touch, assuring her that he was still awake. She folded her hands beneath her breasts, then blew out a long, satisfied sigh.
“You were saying?” he finally murmured.
“I didn’t tell you the whole story.”
He rolled toward her slowly, scooting so that they barely touched. She could feel his breath on her shoulder. “What happened?” he asked, now sounding almost fully conscious.
“I—” She started to admit that she’d loved Jackson, but then decided that wasn’t exactly wise, given the circumstances. “He’s Amanda’s father.”
“Really?” Santa’s voice lowered. “I thought Harry Stevens was her father.”
She sighed. “Harry was just an old friend. And, after all the publicity of the trial, we thought it would be better if another father was somehow named.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“We?”
“Daddy, mostly. Mom thought it was horrible to lie, and it was. It is. But I didn’t want Amanda to know her father was a criminal. I thought it would really hurt her. And Dad didn’t want my name raked any further through the mud. Amanda knows anyway,” she said unhappily. “She has ears.”
“Amanda knows Jake Jackson is her father?”
Was it her imagination, or did Santa sound mad? She hoped he wasn’t. Even if he was, she meant to say her piece. She was determined to ensure that this relationship begin in a completely honest way. And it was the beginning of something Cyn now knew she wanted to last. He raised slightly on his elbow. She nodded. “Amanda threatens to tell people all the time,” she finally said softly. “When she doesn’t get her way.”
When Santa didn’t respond, she continued. “After Harry Stevens agreed to give Amanda a name, he wanted to marry me—for real. I mean, we did marry, but he wanted for us to live as a couple. I didn’t love him, though. It could never have worked. For Amanda’s sake, I wish it could have. Harry’s change in attitude caused a rift between us, so my father declared him dead. That way, people would think I was a widow and there wouldn’t be questions.” Cyn sighed in relief. “Jake was really bad news,” she admitted. “I should have known it all along. He told small lies. He’d be late to meet me and arrive with explanations I shouldn’t have believed.”
Cyn glanced at Santa. In the darkness it was hard to make out his expression. “I’m glad that part of my life is over,” she continued. Looking at Santa, she knew it was. Jake Jackson was the furthest thing from her mind.
Santa rose stealthily from the bed. “The switch is on the right wall,” she said sleepily, thinking he was headed for her bathroom.
He wasn’t. She heard him rummaging around on the floor, gathering his clothes. By the time she realized he was actually dressing and flicked on her bedside lamp, he’d already pulled on his slacks and shirt. She squinted against the light. “Where are you going?”
His expression was unreadable. “To sleep.”
“You can sleep here for a while,” she murmured, wishing a pleading tone hadn’t crept into her voice.
His fingers slid deftly from shirt button to shirt button. In a fluid movement he tucked in his shirttails and zipped his trousers. He folded his suit jacket almost mechanically. Then, instead of resting it over his arm, he dangled it from the hook of his finger and swung it over his shoulder, making her wonder why he’d folded it in the first place.
She gulped and sat up. “Did I say something wrong?” He merely stared at her, and her heart began to thud. When her hand flew to her chest to cover her heart, she realized she was sitting there, stark naked. Moments ago it wouldn’t have mattered. Now she knew it did. She grabbed the sheet and pulled it up, clutching it against her breasts.
“You knew I had had a past lover when you slept with me,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. Is that what’s wrong? Why did I bring up Jake? “You think I’m dishonest,” she tried, starting to feel angry. “But you don’t know what it was like. I was an overprotected kid, and I was pregnant by a man I simply couldn’t have in my life. A criminal...” I’m losing him. I’m going to lose Santa. “Can’t you understand that?” she asked, trying with all her might not to wail.
Why is he staring at me like that?
Was this really the same man who’d loved her body so completely? She’d been so amazed she could almost believe their lovemaking hadn’t happened. The self-consciousness she’d felt in the past—the tiny worries about how she looked and sounded, about her scent and the dampness of her skin—had all been forgotten. He’d touched her thoroughly, matter-of-factly, with complete, loving acceptance.
But now, there was nothing more than cold judgment in his eyes. Or was she imagining that? “You just don’t understand...” she repeated.
He pivoted gracefully on his heel and strolled toward her door. His soft drawl floated over his shoulder. “Maybe I understand more than you think I do.”
Chapter Seven
Monday, December 19, 1994
Cyn was waiting for him in the predawn hour, which was when the fool man got up. Outside it was still pitch-dark, and the light in the kitchen had taken on a yellowish cast. She’d barely slept and her eyes felt itchy. Not his, apparently. At precisely 5:30 a.m., Santa breezed into the kitchen. He looked so relaxed, she felt sure she’d conjured their night together in her dreams.
But I didn’t. He made my knees weak and my head spin and my heart beat out of control. He touched me in the way only Jake could...so much like Jake that I just can’t believe it. Except Santa’s in a whole other league. I’ve been with him and now I’ll never stop wanting him.
He nodded, headed straight for the cabinets and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. He was showered, shaved and wearing a fresh deep amber wool suit
. His sparkling white shirt looked so crisp Cyn was sure she could snap it like a cracker. He turned, watching her as he munched. “Unusual to see you up at this hour,” he finally remarked, between bites.
She’d spent the past few hours stewing, mentally rehearsing sweet apologies and speeches that were downright mean. Now she was so unnerved by his control that she couldn’t remember them. “You’re a pretty up-front guy, right?” she asked, keeping her voice level. She drew her chilly bare feet beneath her in the kitchen chair, and wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. “I mean, you always call things pretty much as you see them?”
He crunched his cereal and nodded. She realized his gaze wasn’t anywhere near as ambivalent as she’d previously thought. Those eyes of his smoldered beneath his heavy eyelids. “Are you really going to pretend that last night didn’t happen?” she finally snapped, wishing that each movement of his hands and hips and lips didn’t remind her of it.
He leaned and placed his bowl in the sink behind him, without breaking their gaze. “You don’t want serious involvements,” he said softly. “Remember?”
She exhaled huffily. “Maybe I changed my mind.” She sounded haughtier than she’d intended, as if determining the course of their relationship was entirely up to her.
“You should have thought of that before you laid down your ground rules,” he returned gruffly.
Play it cool, Cyn. Don’t let him get the best of you. Once he does, you’re a goner. As angry as she was, her gaze roved over the broad shoulders she’d clung to during the night, then dropped to the chest she’d nuzzled against. “You’re not mad about all the family secrets I told you, are you? I mean, a man in your line of work has undoubtedly heard worse.”
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. Her eyes followed the movement inadvertently, and alighted on the space where the fabric tightened across his hips. He shrugged. “Yeah—” He caught her gaze when she raised it. “I’ve heard it all.”