I'll Be Yours for Christmas

by Samantha Hunter

  She laughed. “That’s changed?”

  “Mostly. I rarely date in season. I can’t afford the distraction, not that there aren’t plenty of offers.”

  “You’re modest, too,” she teased.

  “Hey, it’s true. Groupies follow racing just like any sport, and some of the guys take advantage, but it’s never been my thing.”

  “So you don’t date?”

  “Not in season, not really,” he said, and she considered that, leaving the subject alone for a while. She hadn’t intended to turn her questions into a fishing expedition about his love life.

  So he wasn’t saying he didn’t see women, he just didn’t see them while he was driving. She guessed that made sense. She never assumed he was a saint.

  “How about you?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You date much?”

  “Now and then, nothing serious. I’ve been so busy with the business since Mom and Dad left. It takes up all of my time, really.”

  “Lucky for me,” he said, almost under his breath, and Abby blinked and shot him a look, unsure she had actually heard that. She decided not to ask for clarification, and they stopped talking for a while, making their way back up the far end of the trail, and across the fields to the barns.

  “I’ll get the door,” she said, dismounting easily and making her way over to pull the doors open.

  It was darker by the time they returned, and in the soft, golden light that spilled out of the barn, he looked even more handsome, she thought. He smiled, but there was something tight about it. He didn’t dismount, and Abby wondered what the problem was.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, unsure what to make of his sudden silence. Beau shifted and snorted, dancing under Reece, eager to be brushed and fed now that he’d worked off some energy.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Reece almost growled between clenched teeth, and in the next second, he swung his leg over to the ground. Abby was horrified to see that as he landed, his leg gave way and his other foot never quite made it out of the stirrup, making Beau jump sideways nervously.

  “Reece, oh, no,” she breathed, steadying Beau and making her way over to help him up so that he could get his foot out of the stirrup to regain his balance.

  “Are you okay?” she said, looking down and stepping carefully. There was no ice.

  Reece was on his feet now, his expression reflecting stifled pain, and he walked forward, taking Beau’s reins as he limped into the barn without a word.

  Abby frowned, following. “Reece? Are you okay?”

  He paused, his posture stiff. “I’m fine, Abby. My leg just fell asleep.”

  “Oh. I thought it might be the injury from your accident,” she said, knowing that now she was fishing. He knew it, too.

  He rested his forehead on his hand, where it lay on Beau’s back, as if he was looking for patience, or a way to escape.

  Finally, he straightened and looked at her again. “It is. It’s not serious. I kept my leg in the same position for too long and it went numb. No big deal.”

  “It could have been a big deal if you couldn’t get back up or if Beau had taken off in a panic or trampled you,” she said. “Does this happen often?”

  “I don’t need the third degree, Abby. I just should have been more careful dismounting. Can we leave it? Okay?”

  “I’m concerned,” she said, refusing to feel guilty. If that had happened when he was alone, he could have been badly hurt.

  “I know,” he said, sounding tired. “But it’s fine.”

  She didn’t think so, but she bit back any more comments. The easy mood they’d had all evening was now replaced with tension, and she nodded, grabbing a brush and getting Buttercup set for the night.

  Reece didn’t say anything more, and he was still limping, if a little less severely, as he put Beau away and left, walking back to the house without another word. She would have offered to drive him, since she had to take her car back anyway, but somehow she didn’t think that would help.

  Obviously falling from the horse hadn’t only reminded him of his injuries, it had probably dented his ego to fall in front of her. Silly, but she knew men were like that sometimes.

  “I guess I stepped in it,” she said to Buttercup, petting the mare’s sleek coat. The horses looked at her with calm patience, and Beau snorted again.

  Abby smirked at him. “Oh, sure, take his side,” she said affectionately to the animal, locking the barn and making her way back to the house, as well.

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, ABBY had done little more than run back and forth to Ithaca and Syracuse, dealing with insurance issues and setting up contractors. Today, she’d caught up on more personal needs, purchasing a stash of clothing to replace some basics that were ruined in the fire, taking what she could salvage to the cleaners and loading up some food for Reece’s kitchen.

  He hadn’t really stocked the kitchen, probably because he didn’t think he’d be there long, and he would probably eat out, she figured. But Abby liked to cook and she liked to eat, so food was a necessity. She also needed supplies for tastings—crackers, chocolates and cheeses. She wanted to make up for her snafu the evening before, when Reece fell. She couldn’t blame him for being embarrassed, and she had been too nosy.

  She planned to make him a nice dinner—it was the least she could do, given his generosity. Visiting markets in the city to find the ingredients she needed had been the first fun she’d had in days.

  She’d also taken time to walk around a bit, enjoying the atmosphere and having a moment to herself. Ithaca was such a lovely little city, a neat combination of funky college town with an active arts community and working-class neighborhoods.

  Set at the southern edge of Cayuga Lake, Ithaca hosted two colleges, including the famous Cornell University, her alma mater. The city also had more eateries per capita than New York City. It was surrounded by beautiful hillsides, vineyards, gorges and waterfalls, and the town had a wonderful underground mall by the Commons, the famous Moosewood restaurant and the farmer’s market, where she shopped every week. She loved what every season had to offer, and the place was as woven into who she was as much as anything else in her life.

  How could Reece have wanted to leave so badly? She had everything she needed here, and though everyone enjoyed a vacation away, Abby always liked coming home.

  Her worries about staying at his home had been groundless—she’d been gone so much, usually working, and apparently he was busy doing things, too, so they’d barely seen each other long enough to say good morning since the horse-riding incident.

  She had to walk past his room, trying not to notice the light on under the door, and continue down the hall to a large guest bedroom that looked out over the lake. The guest room was twice the size of her own bedroom in her house, and she loved the view of the lake, facing the opposite direction of her burnt buildings. She appreciated Reece being so thoughtful as to spare her the reminder.

  Still, even with the beautiful view and the big bed, she hadn’t slept great since the fire. It was hard to not think about everything looming over her, and she hadn’t been able to contact her parents yet, which was weighing on her. Then there was the itching desire for Reece, the need to touch him, to be close to him, that she couldn’t quite stop fantasizing about.

  She finally finished putting everything away and left out only what she needed for dinner—a lovely pork roast, vegetables and potatoes, the perfect comfort meal for a winter evening.

  She planned to make some appetizers as well, and of course, open some wine.

  She paused as she started the roast—would Reece take this the wrong way? She merely wanted to do her part, to thank him for his help and to feel at home as much as she could. As much as she was tempted to give in to her fantasies, doing so would only make everything so much more complicated, and right now the last thing she needed was more complication in her life.

  On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t open any wine.

  Th
e phone on the wall next to her rang, and without thinking she picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Um, hello?” a heavily accented woman’s voice responded, obviously confused. “I am looking for Reece?”

  “He’s not home. May I take a message?” Abby asked, reaching for a pen.

  A heavy sigh met her request. “And who is this?” the woman asked, her “this” sounding more like “theese.”

  None of your bees-niss, Abby felt like saying, feeling annoyed. “I’m a friend of Reece’s. May I take a message?”

  “A friend, eh? You may tell him Danielle called,” she said, a bit huffily, Abby thought. Maybe it was the accent. “Danielle…last name?”

  “He will know,” she said with an aggravatingly sexy laugh.

  “Sure.”

  “Be sure he receives the message, please.”

  “Of course,” Abby said. “Goodbye.”

  She set the phone down, wondering why she felt so peevish. It was obviously just a friend of Reece’s from Europe calling. Abby sighed, shaking it off.

  She bet that Reece had lots of friends with sexy accents back in France. Plopping the roast into the Dutch oven a little more forcefully than she planned, she splashed stock on her shirt and shook her head.

  Ridiculous to be this put out by the idea of Reece with other women. Sexier, more sophisticated, French women.

  Well, she couldn’t compete and didn’t want to, she decided, tying on an apron to avoid further damage. Putting the woman and her snooty accent out of her mind, she turned on the radio and focused on cutting vegetables and making her appetizers.

  She quickly worked her way out of her snit and was shimmying across the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs to Mariah Carey’s version of “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” She was on her way to put the tray of cheese and fruit in the refrigerator, but nearly dropped it all when she met Reece’s amused expression as he stood, propped in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Reece!” she said, fumbling and blushing to the roots of her hair. “How long have you been standing there?”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Mmm…about from the first chorus,” he said lightly, still smiling.

  “Oh, God,” she said, covering her face, shaking with embarrassed laughter.

  “I have to admit, the apron adds a certain panache to your performance,” he teased.

  She looked down at the sexy apron she wore, a Cheetah print with red ruffles and a bow at the neckline. Hannah had bought it for her birthday as a funny gift, and it had never been worn, especially since an embroidered patch on the pocket read Hot Stuff.

  As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough.

  It was one of the few items from the kitchen pantry that didn’t get ruined. She hadn’t thought twice when she’d donned it, unused to an audience while cooking.

  “It was a gag gift,” she explained. “From Hannah.”

  Reece scanned her up and down appreciatively and walked over to where she stood.

  “What smells so good?”

  “I thought I would make us dinner, as a thank-you…and also because I like to cook. It destressed me,” she said, trying to keep her voice level as he ran a finger over the edge of the bow, the tip of his finger brushing against her skin at the edge of her shirt.

  “That’s nice of you. I haven’t had a home-cooked dinner in a while,” he said sincerely, but there was a glint in his eye.

  “This is every man’s fantasy, you know,” he said, tugging at the bow to pull her forward against him. “A sexy woman in the kitchen making him dinner after a long day.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Puh-leese. I can’t imagine you ever having a fantasy that mundane,” she said, and then shook her head.

  Why was she still standing here, so close to him?

  He lowered his head and nibbled at her earlobe, making her yelp.

  “Reece! What are you doing?”

  He chuckled against her skin. “Just having a taste,” he said, nibbling again. “I think you splashed something on your neck. Let me get it,” he offered.

  It was news to her that the nerves in her earlobes were connected directly to her knees, which seemed to turn to water. She planted her hands against his chest and tried to push. The man was rock-solid.

  “I have appetizers,” she said breathlessly.

  “Not what I’m hungry for,” he said against her neck, nipping at her speeding pulse.

  “Reece,” she said as calmly as she could. “We agreed we had to keep things only business.”

  “You said that, but I only agreed out of politeness,” he whispered, his breath against her lips. “I said I’d do whatever you want,” he added, brushing a thumb over a very hard nipple, making her gasp, his eyes meeting hers. “You want?”

  Oh, did she ever.

  “It’s not a good idea,” she said lamely, still unable to force her feet to move. He just felt too damned good.

  “Abby,” he said, laughing softly, “it’s just me.”

  That was like saying, “It’s just dynamite,” to her mind.

  He proceeded to cover her lips with light, soft, teasing kisses that made her grab on to him, curling her fingers into his jacket as she sought more. He didn’t accommodate her until she groaned and worked her hands up to his neck, holding him still as she kissed him, taking what she needed.

  She was weak, but she just couldn’t work up the energy to care.

  “I guess you’re not angry at me anymore for the other night?” she asked, breathless.

  His brow wrinkled, as if he was surprised. “I never was angry with you. Just frustrated, and a little embarassed. I’m sorry if I let you think otherwise,” he said. “Let me apologize properly.”

  Reece walked her backward as they kissed hungrily, lifting her almost without her noticing until she sat on the kitchen counter. He settled in between her thighs, deepening the kiss until breathing was unheard of and—as far as Abby was concerned—completely unnecessary.

  “Nothing mundane about this fantasy from where I’m standing,” he said when he broke the kiss, her face framed in his hands, his eyes devouring her.

  He’d tugged the tie of the apron loose and continued to trail kisses down her throat. Slowly his hand moved down to cover her breast before pushing up the edge of her blouse, and Abby was beyond arguing. She wanted the frustrating barrier of their clothes gone and to know his touch on her bare skin.

  The sheer idea made her dizzy.

  He had her shirt off in a split second. She reached behind to unclasp her bra, his hands covering her, spilling over with the fullness of her bare breasts.

  “Damn, babe, where were you hiding these in high school?” he said appreciatively, bending to nuzzle her intimately, her hand slipping into his hair to press him close. She wanted his mouth on her in the worst way.

  “I’ve lost a little weight since then,” she said with a chuckle, “and I guess I filled out in other areas. Late bloomer,” she finished on a sigh. He’d taken her aching nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, then laving with his tongue until she was writhing on the counter.

  “You’re so sweet,” he said, working his lips over her stomach and taking her hand, placing it to her own breast as he watched. His eyes darkened intensely as she touched herself, tweaking and pulling as he slowly unzipped her jeans while he watched and kissed.

  She stopped, and put her hand on his.

  “You first. You have far too many clothes on,” she said provocatively.

  He nodded and stepped back, not breaking the gaze between them as he took his jacket off and threw it on the island behind him, then made quick work of his sweater.

  She gasped.

  He was gorgeous. Lean and muscled, his tanned skin proved he’d spent the majority of his winters in sunnier places, and she loved how his shoulders and biceps flexed as he tore the garment off.

  Then she realized he’d stilled, looking at her strangely, more tensely.

  “I’m sorry. I di
dn’t think to warn you,” he said, glancing down, and only then did she even notice some of the scars, remnants of a burn by his shoulder, and what looked like thin lines from surgery a little lower.

  “That wasn’t what I was staring at,” she said, wanting nothing more than to touch him, thinking only of that. “But it doesn’t bother me at all. Come here,” she commanded softly.

  He walked over to her and pushed his hands into her hair, pulling her up hard against him. Her breasts crushed delightfully against his hard skin, his mouth plundering hers.

  She managed to retain enough focus to move her hands to the front of his jeans, undoing the buttons, and sliding her hand down inside.

  Now it was his turn to gasp, breaking the kiss. He leaned his forehead on her shoulder as he trembled beneath her touch. He was hard, thick and hot in her hand. She stroked him, loving the friction of his skin against hers.

  His breathing was labored as he ground out, “No, stop.” His teasing tone gone.

  She froze. Had she hurt him? Done something wrong?

  “What?” she asked

  “I’ll come,” he said tensely. “It’s been months, since before the accident, and this feels too good,” he explained, pushing away a stray hair that had landed in her eyes.

  Abby couldn’t think of a single thing he could have said that would have turned her on more.

  She smiled, feeling feminine, powerful.

  “Seems like you’re well overdue then,” she said, closing in for a kiss. She continued stroking him, rubbing her thumb over the slippery head of his cock and mimicking the rubbing motion with her tongue against his.

  In mere seconds he exploded, thrusting into her hand, groaning deeply into her mouth as he came. When he broke the kiss, his beautiful chest heaved with hard breaths, his cheeks flushed and his eyes were still hot as he looked at her.

  “I don’t think anything in my life will ever feel better than that did,” he said, still catching his breath.

  She smiled again. “Maybe we should go upstairs and find out.”

  She was more than ready to take him to bed, and she didn’t want to wait. To hell with complications. Complications could feel damned good, from where she was sitting.