He backed her toward the oak dressing table, lifting her up, cold butt to cold wood. He started to remove the wool socks from her feet, and Rebecca stopped him before he could go further. “You’re not big on kissing. I’m not big on sock removal.”
His face was curious, but he shrugged. “Not a problem.”
Then he began to undress, shedding boots, sweater, jeans. Each new divestiture exposed something new. A scar on his hip, a tattoo on his arm, a dusting of black hair on his chest. But two things were no mystery. The hard look in his eye, and the straining erection that seemed indestructible.
He came over, stood before her.
“Change your mind?” he asked, like he thought she would.
Stubbornly she shook her head, then watched as he sheathed himself with a condom. A condom. The universal symbol of actual penetration. Cory Bell was going to have sex with her. Sex. With. Her.
There was that single moment of panic. That time when she felt her blood chill, but then it was over.
This was Cory Bell.
The dark eyes watched her carefully, obviously waiting for panic, waiting for the vestal virgin to emerge. However, Rebecca was ready. She’d been waiting days, months, decades for this.
Rebecca Neumann and Cory Bell.
He pulled her legs around lean hips and then slid inside her.
Rebecca gasped, not quite ready.
“Problem?” he asked casually, as if she’d broken a heel or dropped her change down the sewer. But no, he wanted to know if she had a problem with his cock being inside her. Thick, heavy, lively cock. This was what women threw their lives over for. This feeling. This fullness. This…joining.
“No problems here,” she said, as if she had casual sex every day.
He studied her face, those experienced eyes looking into her, through her, but she lifted her chin. One corner of his mouth twisted, and then he shifted her legs a few inches higher. As he began to move, his gaze was as mechanical as his movements. He was detached about his lovemaking, his body going through all the right motions, but there was no emotion involved. This was down-and-dirty sex. Torrid, anonymous, tawdry sex.
Fate had decreed this, but Rebecca didn’t like this new plan. His vacant eyes bothered her, ticked at her insides, and she opened her mouth to say something. But his thrusts were more potent, and the tingles in her breasts and thighs started to come alive, and her mouth fell shut as the pleasure center in her brain took over.
He made no move to kiss her, no move to touch her, other than the hot hands that lifted her hips. She moaned, low in her throat. His eyes narrowed at the sound, and a bead of sweat formed on the side of his face. Friction built between her legs as he increased the speed, almost painfully fast. She concentrated on that one drop of liquid, watched it slide down over his cheek. His chest was pumping now, so strong she could see the veins underneath his skin. There was life there, buried deep.
She cried out, a guttural sound that embarrassed her, but her body had moved past the point of no return. It was loose and lax, and she arched her back, her hips echoing his rhythm. It wasn’t romantic, no hearts and flowers, nothing but backroom sex. The satisfaction of a biological drive.
Rebecca wasn’t used to sex for pleasure alone, and she gasped as he hit a marvelously decadent spot.
Her body responded, her mind floating free from its objections.
She groaned, a protest basked in pleasure. A climax was building inside her and she wanted to catch it, but he didn’t slow down, kept pumping again and again and again.
She arched even further, feeling him deep, deeper inside her, pushing, thrusting, tearing her apart.
Her hands clutched at the hard wood, clawing at nothing. Cory kept on, relentless, unceasing. She tried to speak, but there were no words. She needed to come. Now.
He ignored her, mindlessly thrusting. Her head moved from side to side, and she wanted to scream, but knew she couldn’t.
There.
There.
There. The orgasm crashed over her, and he froze, his head listing low. A moan broke from his lips, then his body jerked. Rebecca’s legs went slack, her body reeling from the completion.
The room was spinning in a three-mojito manner, but there was no pain, nothing but golden rays bursting behind her eyelids. Man, if she had guessed this about Cory Bell before, she would have ditched high school Lawrence in a heartbeat.
This was…
This was…
Wow. She’d never known that sex could be so—naughty.
“Wow,” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling, watching the wooden beams rotating in front of her eyes.
She felt him pull out of her, and rose on her elbows, watching with dreamy eyes as he cleaned up. Efficiently, he began to dress, not even glancing in her direction. Rebecca might not have been completely back on planet earth, but she knew enough to realize there was more than one thing wrong with this picture.
As he tugged on his sweater, her conversational skills returned. “You’re leaving?”
He still didn’t look at her, instead focusing on his socks and boots.
“You’re leaving?” she repeated, in a slightly less wobbly tone.
“The snow’s letting up. I should hit the road.”
Rebecca sat up straight, slid off the dresser, pissed and bare-assed naked.
Oh, no. Not. Now.
She tried to walk, her knees dipping before she locked them to stay upright.
“You’re leaving?”
He stopped in mid-zip. “Look, you got what you wanted. Go back downstairs. I won’t tell, he’ll never know and you’ll have the quiet, romantic weekend you’re aching for.”
“I don’t want him.”
“Don’t lie. He’s exactly what women like you want.”
Rebecca took in a lung’s worth of air, adding a full two inches to her height. She didn’t care that she was naked, didn’t care that her own juices were trickling down her leg. All she knew was that this man was not going to do that to her and then run away. She didn’t care about Alec Trevayne. She only cared about this man, about how he could make her giddy with tingles. No way was he leaving like this.
This weekend was her Christmas, her only Christmas, and he wouldn’t steal it from her.
She stalked over to the window, stared at the last remnants of the day, the snowflakes still falling fast and furious.
“You cannot drive in this weather.”
“Rebecca, don’t.”
“Don’t? Don’t what? Don’t yell, don’t be angry?”
“No,” he answered quietly.
“I will not be used,” she said, blinking back tears.
“You used me.”
“I did…not,” she finished.
Cory didn’t try to correct her, simply continued dressing. She watched him, arms folded over her chest.
Eventually he straightened, his gaze drifting over her body. Rebecca didn’t move, her jaw locked in place.
“Do you want me to build a fire before I go? You’ll get cold.”
She was already cold, ice-cold, all the fire inside her spent. Rebecca shook her head. “Leave if you want.”
He paused, then went to the fireplace, pulling some kindling from an old-style iron log basket. The second he lit the match, a knock sounded on the door.
“Rebecca? Rebecca Neumann?”
Cory looked up at Rebecca.
Rebecca looked at the door.
A slow, tight smile covered her face. She sauntered over, naked as the day she was born (except for the requisite socks), and threw open the door.
“Alec Trevayne? Hello, I’m Rebecca Neumann.”
Chapter 5
Why couldn’t she cooperate? This was a simple thing. He was leaving, she was staying, and she needed to get with the program. Cory rubbed at his eyes. “I should explain something to you,” Rebecca said to the Brit. “We’re both victims of a setup gone horribly bad. As you can see I’m pleased with my current lover.”
S
omehow Alec Trevayne managed an impeccable politeness, but how? Rebecca had the primest ass on the North American continent, but the Brit kept his eyes glued to her face.
Cory swore, grabbed the blanket from the bed and dropped it around her shoulders. He hovered nearby in case she decided to toss it off. Considering the hard line of her jaw, that seemed a possibility.
And, yes, Rebecca wasn’t done. “I was given a travel package by Santa Claus. Yes, you heard right, Santa. When I got here, I discovered a man from my past, and we’ve spent the last few hours rekindling an old flame.”
“There was no flame,” Cory corrected, still hoping that Alec would be the stand-up guy he was supposed to be, while Cory could get the hell out of Dodge.
Alec looked at Rebecca, looked at Cory, then laughed nervously. “I should leave you two.”
Rebecca nodded graciously, doing a great Queen of England impersonation. Damn, the two of them belonged together. “I’m sorry about the mix-up,” she was telling him. “I’m sure we’ll see each other in the city and have one of those awkward moments, and you seem so nice, and I hate to think that we can’t be mature and laugh about this. Hahaha. I had no idea that Natalie invited you up here. We could’ve solved so many problems if Natalie had simply explained things to me.”
“Things. Yes.”
“Sometimes passion burns at the most inopportune times.”
“Passion was not burning,” announced Cory, his fingers curling into his palms. She was building a trap around him. A neat, skin-colored trap with tiny, white hands, soft, ripe breasts and the tightest—
“Don’t mind Cory. He’s shy.”
At that, Cory knew he had to take a more active role in this situation. “Don’t judge me by your standards. I don’t greet strangers in the nude, no. But it doesn’t mean I’m shy,” he corrected, noticing the corner of the blanket starting to slip.
He turned to Alec, but the stand-up Brit was gone. Fled. Damn it. Cory slammed the door.
“Why the hell did you do that?” His watch said it was nearly seven o’clock. He’d missed a day and he needed to leave. He felt it, the panic, the anger, the need to run. She didn’t understand. He had to leave.
“It’s not any fun when you don’t have a voice in the matter, is it?”
And now she wanted to play the victim? “Oh, come on, Rebecca. And fix the blanket.”
Noticing her blanket-slippage was a tactical mistake on his part—he saw the beady gleam in her eyes.
“You liar,” she said.
“I never lied.”
“You said one night.”
Do not argue semantics with a schoolteacher. So, he had lied. He had lied for her own good, for his own sanity. Cory moved to the window. “The moon is high. Technically it’s now night.”
She scoffed at his logic, the blanket slipping another inch, exposing the fine arch of her breast. Cory swallowed.
“You’re a coward.”
Yes, he was, and better that she recognized it now. “The last thing you need is a one-night stand.”
“Since we haven’t been together for one night, I’m in no position to know that, am I? I’m demanding my one-night stand. You know you want it, too.”
One inch of taut, rose-colored nipple emerged. He’d been so careful not to touch her more than he had to. He deserved a medal for not touching her when he was inside her, but did she appreciate the sacrifice?
She cast the blanket aside, and Cory felt all the blood drain from his face. “Put on the blanket,” he pleaded.
“It was easy earlier, Cory. This didn’t bother you. You were all Mr. Hop-On-Rebecca. What’s changed?”
Earlier, Cory had known the Brit was eagerly waiting downstairs for Rebecca—it made the situation bearable. Now there was nobody downstairs. Well, there was probably somebody downstairs, but they weren’t eagerly awaiting Rebecca. Now the only person eagerly awaiting Rebecca was Cory.
“Put on the blanket,” he repeated, hearing the weakness in his voice.
She lifted it up from the ground, slipping it over one shoulder toga-style, no help at all. “You can’t drive in this weather. No way. I’ll get dressed if you’ll agree to stay.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s only blackmail if it works.”
Cory hated the look in her eyes. Hope and excitement were shining there, blinding him. He stayed far away from women with those eyes, but most women with those eyes didn’t lounge in front of him, smooth curves of peaches-and-cream flesh, and woollen plaid socks that honestly turned him on.
He was only a man.
Her smile grew wider, a victory smile, and Cory didn’t have the heart or the willpower to disappoint her. All he had to do was be himself. She’d figure out the problem soon enough. He’d leave at first light, he promised himself. His fingers lifted, flexed, wanting to trace the line of her—
“We’ve got a deal,” she stated, not even bothering to wait for his reply. She turned and quickly, efficiently put on her clothes. “We can order up dinner. Maybe a bottle of wine.”
Wine. She wanted wine. Cory’s throat was parched for whiskey, his hard-on was parched for something else entirely, and she was looking at him, ready for an evening full of chitchat.
The sounds of Christmas carols drifted in from outside.
It was going to be one holy hell of a night.
* * *
Dinner consisted of buffalo wings, nachos, spinach dip, French fries, buffalo burgers and chicken fingers. Junk food heaven. Rebecca sat cross-legged on the bed and sighed in glorious satisfaction as she surveyed the food trays in front of them.
“Not a gourmet, are you?” Cory asked. He hadn’t said very much while they ate and she wondered if she’d made a mistake by making him stay against his will. He looked comfortable leaning back against the pillows and eating nachos, but he was quiet. Too quiet. However, she’d just had Cory Bell take care of her life’s one and only regret—she wasn’t about to develop a new one.
“No. You?”
“I try to eat healthy when I can.”
Instantly she was shamed. “I didn’t get to eat much junk food when I was a kid. Everybody needs a vice.” She slathered a fry in ketchup. “You have one?”
“Pretty much all seven,” he said.
And she almost believed him. “Nah. I can spot greed.”
“Your parents have money?”
“My students.” Rebecca blew out a breath, as she remembered what she’d left behind. Maybe she already had a new regret.
“Why don’t you quit if it bothers you?”
He sounded as if he was actually interested.
Could she tell him she’d been fired a mere two days ago? And if she did, would she look worse in his eyes? You betcha. It was a black mark, a flaw, a big splotch on her permanent record. So she chose to fudge the whole sordid jobless situation.
“I’m almost adjusted to it, and that only took me eight years. Some times of the year are harder than others. When the kids talk about skiing in the Alps at Christmas, or the annual ‘I went around the world for my summer vacation’ report, yeah, I get a bit envious, but hey, it’s a living. You build buildings?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject. “Why?”
“Pays the bills.”
“Very practical,” she said, eyeing him with appreciation. “I always imagined you’d be out doing the Easy Rider thing, cruising across America, drifting whichever way the wind blows.”
“Had enough of that early on. It gets old eventually.”
“So why do you still dress the part?”
“Building isn’t a desk job, Rebecca. It’s dirty, grimy, and leather and boots are very practical.”
* * *
“Sure, if you say so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cory asked, not liking the analytical tone she was using, nor the professor look in her eyes, either. He wanted the cheerleader back, the one who smiled pretty and didn’t ask a lot of questions. Now she was a teacher. Cory had neve
r liked teachers. They wanted to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.
“You have a very stationary job. You cook for yourself, don’t you?”
“Yeah, so?”
“You’re settled, but you’re trying to be all James Dean.”
“Maybe ‘James Dean’ is what I want,” he answered, jamming a nacho into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to talk.
“Maybe ‘James Dean’ is what you want to want, but ‘settled’ is what you really want.”
He glared and she picked up the hint. “Fine,” she continued, “spoil my fun. I don’t get to analyze adults very often, except for Natalie of course, and she’s completely boring.”
“Natalie’s the one who set you up in the Honeymoon Suite?”
“I think so, but I won’t know for sure until she answers her stupid cell phone.”
“I gotta tell you, I don’t think she’s your friend, Rebecca. This lodge is a trip to honeymoon hell. You’re alone in a couples place.”
“Not really,” she said, with a pointed glance at him.
“Still a trip to hell,” he insisted.
“The sex wasn’t that awful,” she answered, holding a French fry in the air, watching it limp to one side.
He gave her a hard look. “It wasn’t awful at all.”
“If you’re into the whole furniture-banging thing,” she said, biting the fry in two.
“Not your thing, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“So why didn’t you stick with the Brit?” It seemed to Cory that the Brit could give Rebecca everything she wanted, in spades.
“Alec?”
“You know more?”
“No, he’s the only one.”
A Blazing Little Christmas Page 19