Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” With a single heady movement, Reno captured her in his arms, kissed her into blind needfulness, then made her forget her complaint altogether. He gazed deeply, soulfully into her eyes. “It feels as if I’ve waited a very long time for you.”

  “Lucky for you, that wait is about to be over.”

  “You think so?” Reno rasped, sliding his fingers toward her thong. For several long minutes, all conversation stopped. Blissfully. “Are you sure about that? This might take awhile.”

  The only reply she could manage was a lingering shudder as a stealthy, mind-boggling climax shook her.

  “Whoops.” Reno’s hoarse chuckle washed over her, filled with satisfaction. “You’re finished. I guess we’ll have to do that two or three times more…just so you can really enjoy it.”

  Panting, Rachel stared up at him in disbelief. She still wasn’t sure how he’d done that. There should have been more foreplay necessary, more mechanical gyrations involved…more something besides a soul-deep connection and an avid interest.

  “I’ll give you four seconds to get those boxer briefs off,” she said. “Otherwise I can’t be held responsible for damage.”

  Eagerly, Reno complied.

  “Ooh!” At her first glimpse of him—all of him—Rachel couldn’t help but smile more widely, despite the fact that she was pretty sure her ears were still ringing. “You’ve got just what I wanted. It looks as if Christmas came early this year.”

  “Season’s greetings,” Reno said with a grin.

  Then, for the space of at least four or five classic Best of Bing Crosby albums, he made Rachel feel very, very merry indeed.

  Right up until the phone rang.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Reno hung up the phone, his body still thrumming with the aftereffects of being with Rachel. After spending this morning with her, he felt sated and giddy in equal measure, an un-macho admission he’d never make public in a million years.

  He didn’t know if this was love—especially the kind of love to be shouted about from tabletops, a memory that still got to him—but he did know he felt powerless against it.

  He rolled over to face her again, his most apologetic expression in full view. “That was Mrs. Bender. She needs help digging her car out of a snowbank downtown. It sounds as though the tires are ground in pretty deeply, so it might take awhile.”

  “Bummer. So where were we?” Smiling, Rachel ran her hand down his chest, then trailed a suggestive path over his abs, making him clench. “Oh, I remember. We were right about here.”

  Her fist closed over him, skillfully stroking. Awash in pleasure, Reno gritted his teeth. This was how he’d gotten in trouble in the first place. Well, this…and that dare of hers.

  Of all the reasons to crack, to betray his promise to a friend, buckling under to a dare had to be the most ridiculous and inexcusable. Reno had done his best not to think about it, but now—as he tried to withstand Rachel’s touch without begging for more—the truth smacked him in the face.

  Because of his stupid jock ego, he hadn’t been able to resist a wild romp in the sheets with his best friend’s dream girl. Even if it was just sex—and they’d both assured each other that’s all it was—he ought to be ashamed of himself. Was ashamed of himself. Really. Almost ashamed enough to…mmm. Ah.

  Yes. God yes. Just like that. Never stop, never ever—

  Where was he again? Oh yeah. With Rachel.

  Murmuring something sexy and riveting about what she’d like to do to him next, Rachel stroked him again. Up. Down. More.

  Yes. Ah. Reno shuddered and faced reality at last. He was a bad, bad man. He was going straight to hell for this.

  “Mmmm.” He grabbed the sheets, helplessly arching upward. “Oh God. Don’t stop doing that. Whatever you do, don’t stop—”

  The phone trilled, breaking into his low, panted moans.

  Reno stilled. No. Not now not now not now. He groaned, then closed his eyes in disappointment and reached for the phone.

  “Yeah?” he barked into the receiver.

  “Reno? Don’t forget a shovel. And rock salt!”

  “I won’t, Mrs. Bender. Hang tight. Keep warm.”

  He hung up, then lifted his gaze to meet Rachel’s disbelieving expression. “I’m really sorry, Rachel, but—”

  “You’re going?”

  To his regret, he was already disentangling himself from her. He sighed, then swiveled uncomfortably to sit upright in bed. What first? Clothes? A shovel? Truck keys?

  Desperately needing to move some blood from his groin to his brain, Reno raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe that would make him look a little less as though he’d just had his brains screwed out by the most incredible woman he’d ever met in an airport.

  Who was he kidding? The most incredible woman he’d ever met. Period. Rachel was funny, sexy, sweet…and surprisingly shy when it came to certain things. He liked that about her. He liked that he could astonish her, move her…love her?

  “That’s ridiculous.” Propping herself on her elbow, Rachel gawked at him. “You’re going to help your neighbor now?”

  He didn’t understand the question. Nevertheless, he did his best to answer it. “It’s what I do. I help people.”

  “But you’re busy! We’re right in the middle of—”

  “We can pick up where we left off later.”

  Her sigh—and a muffled expletive (he guessed his dad was right about her language)—reached all the way across the bed.

  “Is there nothing you won’t do? You know…except me?”

  “Very funny.” Frustrated, Reno scraped around with his fingertips, looking for a shirt and some pants. He found the pants first and pulled them on commando-style. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise. After all, it’s just sex, right?”

  Inexplicable silence met his question. Reno glanced over his shoulder to see Rachel wearing an unexpectedly wounded expression…and nothing else. Amazingly nothing else.

  But it wasn’t her nudity that gripped him so fiercely. It was her forlorn expression. It tugged at him in ways he hadn’t counted on and couldn’t explain.

  “Hey…” He touched her chin. “What’s the matter?”

  “Not a thing.” She jerked away, her hair skimming over his wrist with the motion. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “Seen what coming?” Determined not to get sucked back into that bed (where he really wanted to be), he made himself grab a shirt and pull it on. Socks next. One. Two. Boots…

  “You’re overcompensating, that’s all.” Rachel spoke in an airy tone, her gaze following him around the bedroom. “I see it all the time with the celebrity clients I work with. They achieve sudden success in whatever field they’re in, then spend the rest of their professional lives trying to make up for it.”

  Reno scoffed. “I’m not one of your hard-luck head cases from the land of sunshine and surfing.” He moved away from the bed to search for a sweater. He might be outside for a while. He needed to stay warm. “Save the fashion therapy for someone who needs it.” He stopped. “Where the hell is my sweater?”

  Rachel threw it, smacking him full in the face with it.

  Reno plucked it off his head. “Hey. What’s that for?”

  “For denigrating my professional expertise.”

  “Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em.”

  “So do I.” Rachel tossed aside the covers and got out of bed, a series of movements that bared a few of her best assets and made him regret his neighbor-saving mission with twice as much ferocity. “And what I see is a man who feels a little guilty about being superlative at what he does.”

  “Running a sports equipment store?”

  “And fixing things. And cutting down Christmas trees. And being an exceptional athlete. I might not be a football fan, Reno, but even I know how competitive it is in the NFL. If it weren’t super hard to succeed, they wouldn’t pay players those outrageous signing bonuses. Everyone’s lo
oking to start a buzz and grab a big opening day. It’s just like Hollywood.”

  Reno made a face. “The day the NFL is like Hollywood is the day quarterbacks do blocking drills in training camp.”

  “Whatever. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Just tell me one thing: Have you ever bought a loved one an expensive gift?”

  He didn’t have time for this. “Define expensive.”

  “New car. Vacation. Fishing boat.” Rachel paused. “House. Hummer. Yacht.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Jewelry—”

  Damn it. She had him there. He’d bought his parents their retirement condo, Nate a fishing boat, Angela a new car, Kayla just about every pink sparkly thing Toys “R” Us had to offer. And he’d taken several buddies on vacation to Hawaii a few years ago. But was that so wrong? The fishing was really good there!

  “It’s not a crime to be generous,” Reno said.

  Her knowing gaze followed him as he strapped on his watch, then stuffed his pockets full of his wallet, change, and keys.

  “Have you ever downplayed your accomplishments?”

  “I don’t know.” Reno gave her a sarcastic look, irked that she thought she knew him so well. “I’m terrible at remembering things. You’re probably much better at total recall than I am.”

  “Har-har.” Doggedly, Rachel continued as she wiggled into her red thong underwear, nearly giving him heart palpitations that had nothing to do with the interrogation currently underway. “Do you think you have to do everything yourself, or it won’t be done right?”

  “That’s just common sense.”

  “Have you ever refused to accept help? With anything?”

  In his mind’s eye, Reno saw Nate stringing Christmas lights at The Wright Stuff—and himself giving his friend painstaking step-by-step instructions the whole time. Every damn year. Regularly enough that Nate always threatened not to come back and put up with Reno’s “Nazi Christmas commando routine.”

  That didn’t prove anything though, Reno assured himself. Nate sucked at doing unpaid work. The fact that Reno was forced to supervise didn’t mean he had a problem with accepting help from people. Only an idiot would have relied on Nate Kelly to see a project through to the end. And Reno wasn’t an idiot.

  But then he saw his dad volunteering to assist with his big holiday lights display—and himself turning down the offer. He saw the eager-to-please face of Derek Detweiler, the Multicorp franchising rep whose deal had sounded pretty good (except for the idea of giving up control of The Wright Stuff)—and himself giving the man the boot not once but three times.

  He wasn’t an idiot, but maybe he was a little stubborn.

  He grunted. “A real man gives help. He doesn’t take it.”

  “Riiight.” Now Rachel had slipped back into her sexy red dress. It appeared a little wrinkly and worse for the wear, but she still looked totally hot in it. “Have you ever lost at something on purpose, just to make someone else feel better?”

  Finally she was wrong.

  Triumphantly, Reno said, “Hell, no. Screw that.”

  “Then you’re a healthy adult male.” Wearing an irritatingly shrewd expression, Rachel ducked into the bathroom, still talking as she brushed her long dark hair. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve got to get over feeling that you owe the world something because of the good fortune you’ve had.”

  Reno scoffed. “I like being generous. End of story.” He gave a curt wave. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  A pause. “No, there isn’t,” Rachel said softly, watching him from the bathroom doorway. “But there is something wrong with feeling that you have to be generous twenty-four-seven.”

  “I don’t.” He swore, feeling antsy and out of place. He’d liked it better when they’d both been naked. “Look, we had a good time together. I’ll be the first to admit that. But that doesn’t mean you know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Rachel swished, spit, hung up his toothbrush, then gave him a playful look. “I know a little about you by now.”

  Damn it. Where had he heard that annoying phrase before?

  Oh yeah. From himself. And he’d meant the hell out of it, too. He did know about her. Good and bad. He liked all of it.

  Could it be possible Rachel felt the same way about him?

  Stricken, Reno put down his head and focused on getting his cell phone, a flashlight, and all the things he’d need to dig out poor Mrs. Bender. Despite that fact, Rachel came to him.

  “I know a little about you,” she said again, “by now.”

  She put both hands on his 11-A.M. stubble-shadowed face and made him look at her. Grudgingly, Reno did.

  What he saw there scared the bejeezus out of him.

  Rachel could see right into his soul. She could see his guilt, his pride, his knowledge that nothing but a freak spin of the wheel had separated him and Nate—who’d enjoyed all the same practice and training that Reno had—and had made Reno excel in the NFL while his best friend washed out in week three. She could see how self-conscious he felt to have a ridiculously fat bank account while people he’d grown up with and cared about struggled to get by. She could see that he felt he did—and didn’t—deserve all of it, both at the same time.

  He didn’t know why Rachel was able to understand him so easily, especially when no one else in town could. Maybe she had special insight because of her job. Or maybe there was some other reason. Either way, it was sappy and embarrassing, and Reno didn’t want anyone else to find out about it. Or to find out how his resistance to his best friend’s dream girl had eroded, bit by sexy bit, with every day he spent with her.

  The plain truth was, Rachel could see him, Reno realized, in a way those giggly, bra-flashing fangirls never had and never would. Somehow, Rachel knew him, inside and out. And instead of scaring her away or making her think he was weak or unfairly blessed or selfish, that knowledge made her want to stick around. With him. Not so he could rescue her—because she sure as hell didn’t need that—but so he could love her.

  “You know I’m right,” Rachel said, sure and strong.

  Barely realizing he was doing it, Reno nodded.

  “I was good. The best,” he admitted. “But I was just one man. I didn’t deserve to be so much luckier than everyone else.”

  “Lucky is in the eye of the beholder. Don’t you know that?”

  He made an incredulous sound. “Most people can behold a multimillion-dollar contract or a spot on the starting lineup, season after season. Those things set the world straight pretty quickly about who’s on top and who’s not.”

  “Depends on who’s keeping track.” Smiling to herself, Rachel stepped away to put on her shoes. “Maybe no one is.”

  Impossible. Reno’s football fame had made him a legend in Kismet—known along the shores of Lake Michigan and in several of the towns and cities between the Great Lakes. He was a hometown boy who’d made good. No one was likely to forget that.

  Especially him.

  “People around here respect you. Anyone can see that.” Rachel wrapped a scarf around her neck, twining it in some artsy L.A. style. “All I’m saying is, you don’t have to keep earning that respect over and over again. You don’t have to be the go-to guy for everyone all the time. Give yourself a break.”

  A break. Ha. As if he could ever do that.

  “Is that what you’re doing here? Taking a break?”

  She looked surprised. “Maybe. I guess.”

  To Reno’s matching surprise, the idea felt tempting. He liked helping people. But already he’d opened his house to his dad, his weekends to his sister for babysitting duties, his wallet to his friends and neighbors, his Santa-suited self to his niece for her Christmas pageant, his expertise to his customers at The Wright Stuff, his brawn to Mrs. Kowalczyk and Mrs. Bender for shoveling their driveways, and his supposed matchmaking services to his best friend.

  If he stepped back, he might have time to relax. To go on a few more dates. To finish the damn book he�
��d been reading for weeks. To really go all out with his holiday lights extravaganza, wow everyone, and win the competition.

  To find out if he ever could know what love felt like.

  Nah. Taking a break was sissy stuff. He could do it all.

  “Mrs. Bender is waiting for me. I’ve got to go.”

  Rachel emerged from the bathroom for a final time, looking fresh faced and pretty. “Okay. Let me grab my purse.”

  “You’re going with me?” Frowning, he watched Rachel hustle to the bureau, where he’d stashed her handbag last night.

  “Unless you think you can simultaneously entertain Mrs. Bender with some sparkling conversation and dig out her car.”

  She gazed at him expectantly. Flummoxed, Reno stared back.

  He hadn’t expected this. Usually he helped people on his own. Having Rachel along for the ride might be…kind of fun. At least for today, he could be part of a team again. A team of two. That was something he missed about football. Teamwork.

  Letting Rachel tag along was tantamount to surrendering, to admitting that maybe he didn’t want to do everything himself anymore. All the same, Reno shrugged. “You have a point.”

  “I have several, and don’t you forget it.” Smiling more broadly now, a minty-smelling Rachel raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him. She gave him a fond look. “So…How’s it feel to be completely transparent to someone?”

  “Hell, I wouldn’t know,” Reno lied, feeling weirdly relieved. He grabbed Rachel’s backside and squeezed, holding her close enough to inhale the fragrance of her skin. For an instant, he indulged in sentimental memories of this morning in a shameless way that probably lowered his testosterone levels on the spot. “But you ought to. Because you’re completely transparent to me.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He paused, then scrutinized her. He grabbed a Scorpions sweatshirt from his bureau and tossed it to her. “You’re going to have to wear more than that. Try this.”

  Too late, Reno remembered Rachel’s reaction the last time he’d tried to offer her something warmer to wear. She’d acted as though licensed NFL gear would give her monkey pox.