Red-Hot Santa

by Tori Carrington

  Just like that, the world disappeared and all that existed was her, this kiss, her body. Her love.

  He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his nose against hers.

  “I can’t do this,” he said.

  He ordered himself to release her, to let go, but everything refused to obey.

  “I don’t want this,” he continued.

  She began to pull away, but he refused to let her go.

  “But, damn it, I need it…”

  19

  MAX WAS HOPELESSLY caught somewhere between bliss and grief. She felt raw, exposed and so very vulnerable. The last of her defenses were down and she had no clue how to put them back up against this one man who threatened to destroy her entirely.

  He wanted this.

  Sex? Was he talking strictly sex?

  He’d remained so impassively silent during her explanation, she didn’t know what to think.

  And right this minute, given the way he was kissing her, his hands roaming over her body, she was finding it impossible to think of anything else at all.

  His mouth demanded compliance and she gave it.

  His hands caressed her breasts and she shivered.

  His eyes looked into hers and her lungs refused air. Her heart threatened to break clean in two.

  Somewhere she drew the strength to push him away. “Please, don’t.”

  His expression was dark as she wiped her damp lips with the back of her hand.

  “What’s the matter, Max? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  He took her hand and pressed it against his hard erection.

  She left it there for a long moment, imagining she could feel his pulse in the long, solid length of him.

  Finally, she jerked back.

  “No. That’s not what I wanted, Jackson.”

  “Then what do you want? Because right now I’m having a hell of a time figuring it out.”

  “Honesty,” she whispered. “I want honesty.”

  She wanted her best friend back.

  “Well, baby, this is as honest as it gets with me.”

  He drew her to him and kissed her hard.

  Need and fear twisted and turned within her. Not fear of him, but fear of herself. She wanted, needed, him in a way she’d never needed another. But he’d just told her he didn’t want anything beyond this, this moment. The passion.

  While she wanted the whole nine yards.

  She tried to pull away, or thought she did…?. Instead, she discovered she was hungrily returning his attentions, er mouth wildly kissing his, her hands boldly grasping and clutching…?.

  Pure physical need saturated her every cell.

  Jackson shoved his hand up her shirt, cupping her breast through her bra, fastening his mouth to her nipple through the fabric before sliding his thumb under the bottom and lifting until his tongue met with the ultra sensitive bit.

  Max reached for his jeans, unable to unfasten them quick enough as he did the same with hers. Then he was lifting her to the table. She began to wrap her legs around him but instead he laid her back. She moved to object…until she felt his tongue on her inner thigh.

  The air rushed from her lungs.

  Oh…

  The word wound around her mind in one long, unbroken strand as fire licked along her skin along with flicks of his tongue. His fingers lightly probed her then opened her damp flesh to the cool air, causing delicious shivers to trickle over her body. But they were nothing compared to the tidal wave of sensation she experienced when he ran his tongue again her clit.

  She gasped, her back arching off the table.

  Jackson splayed his hand against her trembling stomach, holding her still as he fastened his lips around her and suckled.

  She came instantly in a series of intense, womb wracking shudders he drew out by continuing his attentions.

  Then before the last one subsided, he was sheathed and sliding into her.

  Yes…?.

  JACKSON’S DESIRE TO please Max knew no bounds. Even in his heightened sense of awareness—not only of her sexually, but of his own need to keep himself emotionally distant—he wanted to bring her a pleasure she hadn’t known before. Wanted to watch her mouth bow open, her eyes go dark. He wanted to listen to her moan low in the back of her throat as if trying to contain it but failing.

  But when it came to emotional distance, all bets were off the instant he dipped into her hot heat. Sex and emotion seemed to fuse with each other until he swore his heart was about to burst with…

  Love?

  Without a familiar compass to help guide him, he had no idea he was so close to coming. All he could do was grasp her hips and slide into her again, giving himself over to the incredible sensation that joined him with her.

  What seemed like long minutes later, he cracked open his eyes to see her waching him.

  Dear Lord, what had he gotten himself into…?

  HOURS LATER, MAX LAY on her side in Jackson’s bed, his hot body curved against hers. She’d drifted off for a few minutes and suspected he was fully asleep now if his deep, even breathing was any indication. She really needed to get home, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Not because she was content, but because she was afraid if she left the bed, she might find her way back to it.

  There were moments over the past couple of hours when she swore Jackson had opened up to her, when she’d felt a connection to him unlike any before. Then he’d get that shuttered look again and her heart would break.

  She had no idea what was going through his mind. She couldn’t draw a bead on him, no matter how hard she tried.

  And now she was strangely physically sated, not to mention mentally exhausted, from the efforts.

  As well as an emotional mess.

  How could he speak so eloquently to her with his body, his touch? Yet keep her blocked from the rest?

  Movement.

  Her heart skipped a beat as his hand budged on her hip. Despite the cold temperature outside, inside it was warm, so all they’d needed was a top sheet, and even that was bunched around their waists. She caught her breath as he moved his hand from the sheet to slide under it, dipping over her hip and not coming to a stop until it rested between her thighs. Against her better judgment, she opened to him.

  Judgment? Hadn’t she proven she had none when it came to Jackson Savage?

  She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath through her mouth. Was he still sleeping, his movement something automatic? He stroked her, sending sensation swirling. Um, no. He was definitely awake.

  Max spread her thighs farther, allowing him freer access even as she arched toward him. She shivered at the feel of his erection pressing against her.

  When they’d made love before (and she was certain they had made love), she had let herself go, given herself over to the sweet bliss of their connection.

  With her back to him, she decided she’d do that again now, just allow herself to feel her own emotions, forget his, forget this would be their last time together…?.

  That mere thought wound the ball of sadness tighter in her chest. She swallowed the tears and took a deep breath, reaching between her own thighs to touch his hand where he stroked her, then beyond, wrapping her fingers around his hard length.

  His breath hissed into her ear, feeding her boldness. She guided him to rest between her damp folds, shivering in anticipation as she held him there, stroking him even as she rocked her hips, covering him with her need.

  Jackson moved, reached behind him to grab a condom, moving back just enough to put it on as she better positioned herself. A moment later, the tip rested against her slick entrance and paused there. She held her breath in anticipation before forcing admission, sliding back until he was in to the hilt.

  She sighed in sweet surrender, shimmering light filling her to overflowing.

  Yes…

  Jackson withdrew then sank in again, heightening her need. She reached back, grasping his bottom even as she tilted her hips to take him deeper still.
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br />   Every part of him surrounded her, saturated her until she no longer recognized herself as an individual but as a hungry entity only he could feed.

  He nuzzled her shoulder, then her neck, causing ribbons of sensation to unfurl down her body, teasing her nipples, tickling her stomach. She arched back, seeking his lips, finding them, kissing him deeply, welcoming his tongue in her mouth.

  Oh, how very much she loved him.

  He cupped her face so very gently, his strokes matching those of his fingers as they moved down to her breasts, rolling her aching nipples between his fingers before continuing down her trembling belly, claiming her from the front as well as from behind.

  Max moaned into his mouth, unsure if she could possibly withstand the pleasure possessing every part of her. She was sure she would combust at any moment, fearing it while at the same time welcoming it.

  Though they had known each other for years, it seemed everything was fresh, new. And she so yearned to explore everything about him, them, together.

  He slid his hands to grasp her hips, halting her restless grinding as he thrust deeply inside her.

  Max broke their kiss and moaned.

  She slid her hand between her legs to where they were joined, stroking his dripping hardness as he drove into her again.

  Yes.

  She entwined her hands in the sheets, holding on, trying to stay grounded even as she catapulted to a place somewhere high above them, floating, flying.

  “I love you,” she said, somewhere between a whisper and a moan, knowing as she did so, truer words had never been uttered.

  But at the same time understanding she would never say them to him again.

  Darkness mingled with light as his thrusts became harder, faster. It was as if he, too, shared that same understanding, trying to punish her for giving him something he was incapable of returning.

  20

  Christmas Eve

  THE SETTING WAS RIGHT: fat, fluffy snowflakes floated on the cold air, carols played on the stereo; the scent of ginger from earlier baking and of a ham now roasting teased the senses, presents were under the tree beckoning to be unwrapped.

  Yet, somehow, Max was unable to summon up the spirit needed to enjoy any of it, including her French vanilla roast coffee.

  It was nine p.m. and she stood in front of the living room window staring outside in the direction of the Savage farm, her mind far away from what was happening in the room behind her. She kept replaying what had happened earlier after she had uttered those three words…

  The joy, the sorrow, the chaos…?.

  Sweaty and sated, she had curved against Jackson, feeling his physical nearness, mourning his emotional distance…?.

  Then he’d rolled away from her abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Jax…” She had lifted to a sitting position, self-conscious despite the intimacy they’d shared as she gathered the sheet around her. “I…”

  She what?

  He’d barely spared her a glance as he pulled on his jeans.

  “Look at me. Please.”

  He appeared prepared to ignore her request.

  And she almost wished he would have when she received his stony gaze.

  It was all too easy to believe, in that one moment, that he had never felt anything for her ever.

  That they had never been friends.

  She’d bitten her bottom lip, feeling more vulnerable than a single leaf clinging to a tree branch: one stiff wind and she’d be lost forever.

  “I just wanted to say you’re not alone. Whatever you’re going through?” she’d said softly. “I’m here. For an ear. Advice. Or just quiet companionship.”

  He pulled on socks, a T-shirt and his flannel shirt.

  “You’re not responsible for Africa,” she’d whispered.

  He hadn’t said anything for a long moment, then he repeated, “I’ve got to go.”

  And she’d let him.

  She stayed put few minutes longer, listening as the apartment door closed behind him. Then heartache had pushed her from his bed, propelling her home where she’d stood under the shower spray until the water grew cold, feeling numb to the core long before it had.

  She knew he loved her. She could feel it.

  Why, then, was he denying it?

  “Maxi?” her mother said behind her.

  She swallowed hard and turned to face Cindy, smiling.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, incapable of words just then.

  She was not going to cry on her mom’s shoulder. Not again.

  “The ham’s just about done. You hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  Cindy considered her for a long moment. “Okay. Maybe just a cookie for now? Come on. Come sit with me next to the fire.”

  She hesitated.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask any question you’re not ready to answer. I just want to share a story with you.”

  A story.

  She looked around. “Where’s Aunt Theresa?”

  “In the kitchen. Come on.”

  Cindy led the way toward the two comfortable wing chairs in front of the fireplace. Max reluctantly followed and sat opposite her mother, her gaze seeking out and getting lost in the lick of the flames around the logs. She was aware of Cindy putting a plate of cookies on the table between them, but she didn’t acknowledge them.

  At least, until her mom put a gingerbread man in her right hand.

  “I remember these were always your favorite. Ever since you were little and got into a plate of them when I wasn’t looking.” She smiled sweetly. “You ate the whole dozen. I was afraid you were going to burst.” A quiet laugh. “Of course, you probably had more on you than in you, but still…?.”

  Max had heard the story before. Every Christmas, in fact. But somehow she never tired of it. It was a tradition of sorts, sharing these memories.

  Of course, it wasn’t usually this quiet on Christmas Eve. Traditionally, Theresa’s family stayed the night and the house was filled with the creak of someone on the stairs, water running, laughter and glasses and silverware clinking.

  Not this year, though. This year it was just the three of them.

  And Max was grateful for it, even if a part of her was a little sad that things were changing, and not always for the better.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your dad…?.”

  Without realizing it, Max had taken a bite of her cookie. It instantly turned to the texture of sawdust in her mouth.

  She put the remainder down and coughed, using her coffee to wash down the mouthful.

  “Yes, I know,” her mother said. “It’s not normally a topic open for discussion, is it?”

  Discussion? Her father was rarely brought up. Understandably so.

  Which made her doubly curious why Cindy wanted to talk about him now.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” her mom said. “It’s just that…” She stared into the fire, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I’m watching you struggle… No, I’ve watched you struggle for so many years now. But more so recently, I think, right?”

  Cindy searched her face with a smile.

  Max stared into the depths of her coffee cup.

  “I first met Claude at a harvest dance when I was fifteen.”

  Max raised her brows. The only time she had ever heard her father mentioned was in negative terms. To listen to her mom speak of him now, and in such a fond tone of voice, inspired mixed feelings. She wanted to encourage her to say more, and yet hold up her hand to stop her.

  Instead, she remained silent.

  “He was three years older than me and my friends. It means nothing now, but back then…” She sighed. “He seemed so…worldly.”

  Her father? Worldly?

  “And handsome?” She made a humming sound that surprised her. “I thought my heart was going to burn a hole through the soles of my feet every time he looked at me.”

  Max’s stomach felt lined with lead. All she co
uld remember is watching her father raise his fist to her mother. Often.

  She winced at the memory.

  “You’re thinking about the bad times, aren’t you?” Cindy asked. She glanced down into her mug of eggnog. “I’m so sorry about that, Maxi. Sorry you ever had to see the bad.”

  “I’m sorry you had to live it.”

  Their gazes met. Max realized neither of them had said words similar to those in all these years.

  “I don’t want you to ever blame yourself,” Cindy said.

  “But if it wasn’t for me, you would never have stayed.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  She nodded.

  “Honey, if it weren’t for you, I would have missed out on the greatest love of my life.”

  Tears poked her eyes.

  “What I’m trying to say here is, things weren’t always bad between your dad and I. Things were actually quite beautiful in the beginning.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

  “I’m sure you need to.”

  “Please, Mom…?.”

  Silence fell between them.

  Somewhere in the kitchen a pot banged. Her aunt was probably setting the kitchen table for midnight dinner, a longtime tradition Theresa insisted on even though there were only three of them this year, compared to the houseful they usually had. Although judging by the amount of food the two women had cooked, all of Colorado Springs could have been coming for dinner. The only concession to the smaller gathering was the setting of the kitchen table instead of the large dining room one, where absences would be too obvious.

  “I’m so very sorry,” her mother said.

  “Mom.”

  “No, Maxi, please. I need to say this.”

  She bit her bottom lip to keep from objecting more.

  “I’ve been watching you lately. Something’s changed in you. Something that’s allowed me to see you in a new light, perhaps help put things into perspective…?.”

  She tightened her hands around her cup, the contents of which had long grown cold.

  “I know you don’t view your aunt and me favorably. I know you think we’re nothing but a couple of old fools.”

  “No, I…”

  Her mother’s raised brow stopped her from uttering an untruth.