Anthology - The Night Before Christmas

by Foster, Mccarthy, Shalvis, Love, Garbera, Adams

He'd just bet Lily could heat things up… No. Hell no. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

  "I insist." She traipsed out, giving one flirtatious smile over her shoulder as if she hadn't just manipulated him. "It's the least I can do since you played White Knight for me again."

  Damn. Parker shut the door behind her. Now what? Hands on his hips, he looked around at his apartment, seeing the newspapers everywhere, the layers of dust, the dishes in the sink. His neck stiffened.

  So what? He worked so damn many hours this time of year, he didn't have time for fussing around the apartment.

  Stalking into his bedroom, mumbling under his breath, Parker rummaged around in his dresser until he found clean clothes. In the bathroom, he stripped down to his skin and stepped under the steamy, relaxing spray. Tension eased, and his thoughts drifted—to Lily being only twenty-four, young and ripe, and so sexy.

  To Lily smiling at him, touching him. Understanding him, admiring him.

  To Lily naked, stretched out over his kitchen table while he—

  With a groan, Parker stuck his head under the water and tried to clear his brain, but the past ten months flashed by with highlights of Lily. He saw her in her shorts, her shapely legs lightly tanned. He saw her speckled in yellow paint when she'd redecorated her kitchen. He saw her fussing over him when he got stitches in his head from a car chase that went bad, and laughing at him when he came home covered in mud for the same reason.

  When with her, he felt younger and happier—and that made him vulnerable.

  Dealing with the dregs of society had taught him that good didn't always prevail over evil. Right didn't overcome might. Crimes went unpunished, while good people sometimes paid with their lives.

  But Lily gave balance to the futility of his job. Her enthusiasm for life made him less pessimistic. Time and time again, she told him what a difference he made—and when she said it, he almost believed it.

  Almost.

  His trained ears detected the sound of his door opening. He straightened abruptly, straining to hear Lily, his heart suddenly galloping a wild beat. If he didn't greet her, would she join him in the shower?

  Liking that thought far too much, Parker washed with a vengeance, rinsed, and turned off the water.

  He could hear Lily singing … to Christmas music.

  Damn. Dredging up his bad attitude, his disgust with the holiday, he scowled toward his closed bathroom door.

  He didn't have any Christmas music. None. Was it on the radio? Probably. Lately, that's all they played. She had a nice voice. He groaned.

  Parker quickly dried and dressed in loose sweatpants and a T-shirt. He finger-combed his wet hair, peered in the mirror, saw the dark whiskers on his face, the circles of exhaustion under his red-rimmed eyes, and disgusted, left the bathroom.

  Before he saw Lily, he noticed the portable CD player, blaring Elvis's holiday tunes. Then he noticed the red, cinnamon-scented candle, its smell potent enough to assault his nose. He saw that the dishes, placed just so on his beat-up table, were all red and green.

  And he saw Lily, standing at his counter, pouring a big glass of milk. She sang along with Elvis while rocking her hips to the beat of the music. An air of happiness surrounded her, and Parker simply stood there, watching her, his heart thumping and his mind in turmoil.

  She must have felt the intensity of his gaze, because she glanced over her shoulder and gave him a quick once over, her expression warming. "I figured you must like milk, since you have a gallon of it. I couldn't see beer with dinner, and there's nothing else." She turned to face him. "Unless you want me to run back to my place and grab some eggnog?"

  The thought of eggnog nearly made him gag. "Milk is fine." He gestured at the table presentation. "What the hell is all this?"

  She laughed. Of course. Lily was forever laughing, because Lily was always happy.

  "You sound like the Grinch, Parker."

  "Who?"

  "You remember. That green nasty guy who wanted to do away with Christmas in Whoville."

  He grunted, thinking the similarity apt. All but the green part.

  "Don't be like that. It's the holiday season. A time for good cheer." She pulled out a chair and waited for him to sit.

  Determined to get the festive meal over with, Parker strode forward and took the chair. "Ladies don't hold chairs for men."

  "Now you sound like a sexist grinch."

  To his surprise, she pulled out a chair for herself and joined him at the table. When Parker just looked at her, she grinned. "Go on. Dig in. I want to see if you like it."

  "I haven't eaten since … well, I forget what time it was, but somewhere around six in the A.M." And then he'd only had a hardened biscuit with a congealed hunk of sausage and cold egg. "Believe me, I'll like it."

  He forked up a big bite of ham … and wanted to moan in sublime pleasure. Honey and brown sugar and some vague spices exploded on his tongue in a taste mamba. His eyes closed. He swallowed. Heavenly.

  "Good, huh?" Delight sounded in her voice. "I love these caterers. They always do a fabulous job."

  Parker gathered himself and opened his eyes back up. "Caterers?" That made sense. He glanced at Lily's heavy breasts beneath the soft sweater and called himself a fool. A woman like her had no use for cooking skills. Still, he asked, "Why does a single woman need a caterer?"

  Her head tilted in that familiar but curious way. "To help feed the homeless. Why else?"

  Chapter Two

  Parker choked on his food. "Homeless?" he rasped, and started wheezing.

  Leaving her seat, Lily approached him and pounded on his back until he caught his breath. "You okay now?"

  Jesus, he was in bad shape if getting a fist between his shoulder blades turned him on. But it was Lily's fist, and she stood close, and he could smell her. More than enough reasons for arousal.

  He nodded, took a large drink of milk, and managed an almost normal breath. "Thanks."

  Smiling, trailing one finger across the table, Lily headed back to her seat. Parker stared at her ass in the snug jeans, knew he stared, but couldn't seem to pull his gaze away.

  After reseating herself, Lily put her right elbow on the table and propped her head on a palm. The position left her breasts resting on the edge of the table. His table. Right in front of him.

  "Parker…" She fidgeted with her hair. "May I ask you something?"

  Mesmerized, he watched her delicate fingers as she teased that long, loose curl hanging over her shoulder, twining it around and around. He asked, "What?" and was appalled at how hoarse he sounded.

  "It's kind of personal."

  His gaze shot back to her face. She looked far too serious, and alarm bells went off in his beleaguered brain. "This might not be the best time…"

  "Why don't you like me?"

  Damn it. Her blurted words hung in the air. She looked anxious and young, and Parker wanted to reassure her—then ravage her for about a day and a half.

  "Don't be ridiculous." Unable to meet her gaze, he stared down at his plate of food. "Of course I like you."

  "But you've never asked me out."

  Trying to appear blasé instead of edgy, Parker forked up another big bite of ham. "We're neighbors, Lily. Friends."

  She folded both arms on the table and leaned toward him, giving him a clear shot of her cleavage. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Lust churned in his belly. Heat rose.

  "I'd like us to be more."

  A man didn't get to be his age without meeting plenty of women. He'd liked some, he'd lusted after others. A few he'd really cared about.

  But none of them had ever looked at him the way Lily did. None of them had ever sent a jolt to his system that obliterated all thought. More times than he cared to admit, he'd gone to sleep thinking of her and had awakened in the middle of an explicit dream.

  "I've tried," she pointed out, as if he might not have noticed all the ways she deliberately provoked him. "But you don't even see me as a woman."

&n
bsp; Parker did a double take, and sputtered. "That's just plain stupid."

  "Is it?"

  Gaze dipping to her breasts, then darting away, Parker snorted. "Trust me, Lily. Your … femaleness is not something I'd miss."

  "Then you must find me unattractive."

  He rolled his eyes. She deliberately put him on the spot, but Parker couldn't stop himself from reassuring her. "You have mirrors. You know what you look like." When she remained quiet, just waiting, he huffed out a long breath. "You're beautiful. Okay?"

  Pleasure brought color to her cheeks. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "So if you like me and find me attractive, why haven't you asked me out?"

  A full frontal attack. And at a time when his defenses were down. Stalling for time, he took another bite of ham. Hell, he was too hungry not to eat. He swallowed, then eyed her with cynicism. "What's this all about?"

  Lily pushed out of her seat and began to pace.

  Parker again noted her bare feet. She really did have cute, sexy toes.

  Turning to face him, she folded her arms under her breasts and drew a deep breath. "I want you."

  His heart did a somersault. Every muscle in his body clenched. His neck already had more kinks than a porn star, and now he winced.

  Easing back in his seat, his watchful gaze locked on her, Parker rubbed at his neck. He decided being straight with her would be his best strategy. "Look, Lily, you're a little sexpot, okay? Very sweet on the eyes. No one can deny that."

  Her arms dropped and she gaped at him. "A … a sexpot?"

  Did she have to sound so startled? Parker rolled one shoulder, trying to ease the rising tension. "That's right. But the thing is—"

  An odd, unidentifiable look came over her face, alarming Parker for a heartbeat. Jesus, he hated it when women turned to tears. He opened his mouth, more than ready to apologize, to do whatever necessary to fend off the excess of emotional upset—and she threw back her head, roaring with hilarity.

  He went rigid. "What's so damn funny?"

  "Oh God, Parker." For several moments, she laughed too hard to answer. Her blonde curls bounced—and so did her boobs. Tears of mirth filled her eyes. She pressed a hand to her belly.

  Finally, wiping her eyes and still grinning big enough to blind him with her pearly whites, Lily said, "I know you're older than me. But using a word like that makes you sound like a grandpa."

  Grandpa his ass! Never mind that he'd always considered her too damn young. Now he felt challenged. "I'm thirty-eight."

  Lily bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter. "Ah. I see."

  Parker's teeth ground together. He'd sounded frigging defensive even to his own ears.

  "Come on, Parker. It's not like forty is old."

  "I am not forty." Shit. More defensiveness. Just shut the hell up, Parker.

  "Right. My apologies," she teased. "Thirty-eight. A gorgeous, sexy, mature, kind, and protective thirty-eight."

  Was she poking fun at him? Or indulging more of that asinine hero worship?

  Or was she just plain admiring?

  Her lips curled. "So, by sexpot, did you mean I'm sexy, or was that an aspersion on my character?"

  Another kink formed in his neck. Christ, he hated these types of confrontations. "Both." There. Let her deal with that.

  But her gaze focused on his hands and on how he rubbed at his neck, and before he knew it, Lily stood behind him, pushing his hands away and touching the naked skin of his neck and shoulders, soothing, caressing.

  Parker stiffened. So did the old John Henry.

  "All right, Parker. Time for us to clear the air." She leaned down to the side of his face, saw his stock-still shock, and frowned. "I mean it, Parker. Pay attention."

  "Trust me." He swallowed hard. Gentle breath brushed his jaw. Slender fingers dug into tense muscles, forcing them to relax. Feminine heat, scented by Lily's curvy body, drifted around him. "You have my undivided attention."

  He drank in her light womanly perfume and turned his head just enough so that his jaw brushed one plump breast.

  Lily straightened. A sigh shuddered out and, voice shaking, she said, "You've got it all wrong, you know."

  Did he? Her fingers slid into his hair, rubbing at his scalp, his temples, then smoothing down his neck and into his shoulders. Oh God, it felt good. Better than good. Close to orgasmic.

  Real men didn't melt from a woman's touch—but he wanted to. He wanted to strip those skinny jeans right off her and pull her onto his lap.

  He wanted to come and then to sleep for about a week.

  "I'm independently wealthy."

  Jerking hard, Parker rekinked everything she'd just relaxed. "Ow, shit." Twisting to face her, Parker demanded, "What did you say?"

  "Hold still." She pressed at his shoulders until he gave up and sank back into his seat.

  It was as much mind-numbing shock as anything else that had Parker staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. His brain struggled to make sense of her ridiculous statement. "You say you're independently…"

  "Wealthy."

  "I see." He didn't see a damn thing, except maybe that expanding divide between his world and hers. He'd always known she was naive about life, blind to the ugliness in it. How else could she stay so damn happy all the time? "That explains everything."

  "You don't have to be sarcastic."

  He was horny, not sarcastic. Okay, maybe a little sarcastic. And real disbelieving.

  "My grandmother doted on me. I was her only grandchild." Her warm fingertips moved to his temples. "When she passed away, I became financially set. I was nineteen when that happened. I tried to find a job, but you know, I'm just too spoiled to want to work for anyone else."

  He'd never considered her spoiled. Pampered, maybe. Innocent. But also generous and kind. Definitely not spoiled.

  "I donate."

  Head swimming, Parker looked at her over his shoulder. "Donate what?"

  Her hands rested on his shoulders. They stared at each other. Neither of them moved.

  "My time. My money." Her lashes lowered. "My optimism and good nature and happiness."

  How the hell did you donate happiness?

  "You know, that's why you've seen so many guys hanging around my place. Like Clive, they're looking to get rich the easy way."

  Aha. Finally something he could sink his teeth into. "Reality check, Lily. If you're really rich—" Which he doubted. "—then money might be a perk, but it wouldn't be the first thing on a guy's mind."

  He could tell she didn't believe him, and for some reason, that annoyed him. "When men come sniffing around you, they're looking to get laid, not rich."

  His crude words brought a curl to her mouth and put a twinkle in her eyes. "How come you aren't sniffing a little?"

  Sniff? He all but hyperventilated around her. "A lot of reasons—but it sure as hell isn't because of the way you look."

  "Enlighten me."

  "All right, fine." Parker turned to face her. "You're young, and you have a very skewed outlook on life."

  Her brows lifted in surprise. "What's wrong with my outlook?"

  "You run around in rose-colored glasses, seeing what you want to see." Especially where he was concerned. "And this crazy fascination you have with Christmas…" He shook his head. "There's nothing like the festive season to force you to face facts."

  "What facts?"

  "That life isn't always as joyful and triumphant as we're led to believe."

  While appearing to digest his comments, Lily went back to caressing his shoulders. "I can't do anything about my age, Parker. Not that twenty-four is too young, anyway."

  "It's a fourteen-year difference."

  She shrugged. "So?"

  What could he say to that? At the moment, her age didn't bother him a bit. "I can't say as I approve of your career choices, either."

  "Why? What do you have against philanthropists?"

  Being a detective came to Parker's aid. He caught L
ily's wrists and lifted those small, teasing hands away from his flesh. Holding her captive, he eased her around to the side of him, turning at the same time so that they faced each other.

  "I'm not buying it, Lily."

  She didn't try to pull away. A little breathless, she whispered, "Why not?"

  "For starters, look at where you live."

  "You live here, too."

  "Because I make a cop's salary. If you're as loaded as you say…"

  Lily inched closer, edging her knees between his open legs, and Parker went mute. He still clasped both her wrists in his much bigger hands, and now he caged her in, damn near embracing her.

  She didn't seem to mind at all.

  Focus, Parker, focus. He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the stab of sexual awareness. "Why the hell would you live here if you could afford something better?"

  Her gaze softened, and she gave him a very sultry look. "Because you do."

  Parker shoved back his chair and managed to stand without touching her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Do you remember the first day I met you?" Her breasts lifted against the soft material of her sweater in a deep sigh. "I do."

  Of course, he remembered. "Some yahoo was arguing with you at your door. You told him to get lost, but he didn't want to."

  Lily nodded. "Another fortune hunter. I've dealt with them since my inheritance. You were all sweaty, and you had a black eye. You didn't explain, you just moved up behind him, gave him this certain look that sent chills all over me, and said in a deep, I'm-in-command-voice, Is there a problem? And just like that, conflict solved." She pressed her clasped hands to her heart. "You were so powerful and gallant."

  Her admiration threatened his resolve. Day in and day out, he worked his ass off trying to help people, trying to serve the public. More often than not, he got disappointment and complaints instead of gratitude.

  But with Lily, she appreciated every damn thing he did for her. In her eyes, he was a hero. He was the man he'd always wanted to be.

  Parker retreated, which annoyed the hell out of him. He didn't retreat from anyone. Anyone except Lily.

  She strolled after him.

  He stepped back again—and butted up against a wall. Shit. Trapped. "I'm a cop," he said fast. "It's second nature to interfere."