The next thing she knew, he had her in borrowed gear and on skis from the demo shop. And then out on the slopes.
Having a ball.
Truthfully, much of her fun came from just watching Matt. The man was sheer poetry in motion, all clean lines and easy aggression, with a wild abandon that aroused her just looking at him. Who'd have thought such a sharp-witted, politically driven man could move like that?
After last night, she should have known.
She wondered what he thought of last night, but they didn't talk about it. They just took the slopes with an easy camaraderie and laughter and … fun, and by the time the lifts closed two hours later, she felt chilled to the bone but exhilarated. For a few hours, she'd been like the people she'd seen in town, not alone … happy.
"Thanks," she said when she'd turned her equipment back in and he'd put his board in his locker. "I really needed that."
Standing in the lodge, he stroked a strand of hair off her face and smiled. "You're cold. I have a cure for that, too."
"I think you've cured me enough."
"Come on, Cami. What's the worst that could happen?"
That he would offer to warm her up, maybe in his bed, and she might be just weak enough to let him. And then she might not want to ever leave.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
She stared into his eyes. She'd seen them stormy and furious; she'd seen them soft and heated. They were somewhere in between now, filled with an honesty and affection that took her breath. Did she trust him? She knew she didn't want to. "I wouldn't follow you off a cliff, but at work … maybe I trust you there."
He laughed. "A start, I suppose. What about personally? Do you trust me outside of work?"
Back to that jumping-off-a-cliff thing. "That's more complicated."
"Ah." He nodded agreeably, then shook his head. "Why, exactly?"
"Well … you like women."
"I believe that's worked to your benefit."
She blushed. "You like lots of women."
"Yeah." His smile faded. "I suppose that's the rumor mill you're referring to. You know, a lot of that is exaggerated."
"How much of it?"
"What?"
"What percentage of all the women I've seen drooling over you is exaggerated?"
He paused. Considered carefully. Rein his tongue over his teeth.
"Thought so." She searched her purse for her keys.
He reached for her hands to still them. "Should I judge you for your past?"
"No, but I haven't slept with every single man in the free world."
"Neither have I," he said, and tried a grin. When she didn't return it, he sighed. Rubbed his jaw. "Okay, listen. I've had a good time with life so far. I'll admit that much. But I'm not afraid of commitment. Can you say the same?"
"Yes." Maybe.
Probably.
Fine. Commitment made her nervous, a fact that was undoubtedly tied to her need to control every little issue. But she'd like to think she wouldn't let that stand in the way of a real relationship.
"I really don't see the problem here," he said softly.
He wouldn't. "We're so fundamentally different."
"You mean you being uptight, anal, and overly organized?"
She crossed her arms. "I would think people would love that about me."
"Maybe I'll love you in spite of it."
She went utterly still. "What?"
"Not here," he decided. "We're not doing this here. Come on."
He led her back through the lodge, across the icy parking lot, to the far side of the property where a couple of cabins faced the mountain vista. There was a driveway between them, and in it sat a truck and Matt's Blazer.
"My brother's," he said, pointing to one cabin. "And mine," he added, pointing to the other, opening the door, revealing a small but lovely living room accented all in wood. One wall was all windows, overlooking a white-capped peak, and another was filled with a stone fireplace. He had a Christmas tree in the corner, tall and beautifully simple, with white lights and red bows, but somehow it held more holiday spirit than anything she'd seen.
His couch looked like an old favorite, overstuffed and well used. A football lay on the floor, along with a pair of battered running shoes, a stack of newspapers toppled over, and a very neglected fern. Leaning against the far wall were several pairs of skis, two snowboards, and two pairs of boots. Warm and homey but definitely lived-in. Her fingers still itched to at least straighten the newspapers. Or jump Matt.
"I'll start a fire," he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her in close to his big, warm body. "Come get comfortable."
She couldn't. Shouldn't.
"I promise not to bite." He rubbed his jaw to hers. "Unless you want me to."
"You've lost your mind." But she looked into his eyes and melted a little.
A lot.
It was official. He hadn't lost his mind—she'd lost hers.
Chapter Seven
"I shouldn't come in," Cami said in a last-ditch effort to save herself. "You don't want casual company tonight. It's Christmas Eve." She stood in his foyer, uncertain, and desperately trying to hide it from him. "I'm sure you have better things to do."
He just looked at her with amusement and something more, seeming tall and sure and so damn sexy. "Tomorrow my brother and I are going to watch college football and exchange fond insults, but until then, I'm all yours."
Until then? She swallowed hard. She was attracted to him, so so so attracted, but deep inside she knew she might not be able to control that attraction if she let him touch her again.
"You're thinking waaaaay too hard," he said lightly, taking her hand as if to make sure she couldn't run off.
"Bad habit, thinking too hard."
She took a deep breath and stepped into the living room. "I still want to go back to work and search the rest of the computers…"
"I know." He moved to the fireplace and lit the already laid-out fire. "Come closer to the heat."
She did so slowly, hugging herself tightly, throwing him a smile that she hoped seemed confident, not shaky.
He went into the kitchen. She heard him moving around, and her heart went into her throat. He was planning her seduction. Probably lighting candles, finding music, hunting up condoms.
Her thighs tightened.
Bad body. No more sex. She'd had her fling. She'd had her fun. Time to hunker down now—
He came back into the living room with cheese and salami and cut-up apples on a plate. She stared first at the food, and then at his face. "You're … feeding me?"
"It's dinnertime. I figured if I took the time to make something, you'd vanish on me. But we're going to need fuel if we're going back to the offices—"
"It's just that I—" She cleared her throat. "I thought you were going to try to seduce me."
"Oh, I plan to," he said easily. "Just not until after we work, or you won't relax. And I want you relaxed, Cami. Really relaxed."
She stared at him. "You actually understand me. I mean really understand me."
"I'm trying."
"Matt?"
"Yeah?"
The hell with it. She tugged him close and kissed him.
"Mmm," he said in surprised pleasure, but after a minute, he pulled back and pushed the food in front of her. "Eat. Then the office. And then, Cami, then this. I'm going to take you to bed. Mine."
His. God. How bad off was she that she thrilled to that idea?
The offices were dark and chilled, but Cami turned determinedly toward the department they hadn't yet gone through—her own.
The first three computers were clean, including hers. One office left. She stood in the doorway and looked at Ned's desk.
"We're committing equal opportunity privacy invasion," Matt said quietly. "We have to look."
"Despite the Belinda fiasco, he wouldn't hurt anyone, not this way."
"Let's just be absolutely positive."
"Okay."
To Ca
mi's utter shock, they found several e-mails addressed to the newspaper, in Ned's sent file, one of which suggested the fire chief of Blue Eagle might be an arsonist. "Oh, my God," she whispered, looking up into Matt's grim face. "It's him, too." She couldn't believe it, didn't know what to think.
"You all right?"
It just made no sense. But she was all right. What Ned did didn't reflect on her, didn't mean anything except that Ned was an ass. She was okay. She was really okay, and it'd all started with that New Year's resolution to go for it, to deviate from the plan once in a while. To live life to its fullest…
And Matt was it. He was her "go for it," her "step off the path."
He was the way to live life to its fullest. And not just a one-time deal. "Matt?"
At her soft, extremely serious tone, he stroked a strand of hair from her face. "What is it?"
"Maybe you should sit down," she said a little shakily. "This is going to be a doozy—"
The office door creaked open behind them, and someone stopped in surprise at the sight of them.
"Hey," Matt said, but the figure standing there whirled to run.
"Shit." Matt surged up, just barely snagging the person by the back of the jacket.
Cami leaped for the light switch, then gasped in shock when the fluorescent bulbs sputtered to life and she found a gun in her face.
"Belinda," Cami gasped.
Belinda tore free of Matt's grip. Tall and willowy, with her long blonde hair piled on top of her head, she was wearing black, studious-looking glasses and a tight red suit, none of which hid her beach-babe figure. "You two scared me to death," she said. "What are you doing in here?"
"How about we talk about the gun first?" Matt asked, gesturing carefully to the weapon still in Belinda's hand.
Belinda looked at it, flushed, but didn't lower it. "You scared me. I thought you were a burglar. I was just protecting myself."
"Well, it's just us," Matt said. "So you can put it down."
The gun wavered slightly, but remained cocked and aimed, now at Matt's face. "Why are you snooping in Ned's computer?"
Matt didn't so much as look at Cami as he slowly turned toward the computer in question. Belinda's aim followed.
"We were looking through everyone's e-mail files," Matt said.
Belinda didn't look happy as she followed him to the computer. "Why?"
"We were looking for the person leaking those vicious rumors."
"They aren't rumors if they're true," Belinda said, leaning in to read the screen. "And it was all true, no matter what anyone says."
"Really?" Matt's fingers flew over the keyboard as he turned his body completely away from Cami now.
So did Belinda.
He was turning Belinda away from Cami. Trying to keep her safe. Oh, my God.
"How do you know it was all true?" Matt asked Belinda.
Belinda stared at him.
He stared right back, calm and cool, despite the gun only inches from his face.
"You already know," Belinda guessed softly. "Don't you."
"What, that you were the one who did the e-mailing from all those different computers?" Matt nodded. "Yeah. Just figured that out. So now what, Belinda? Because up until right now, you haven't committed a crime that would land you some serious jail time. The gun changes that."
Belinda looked at the gun.
"Don't be stupid," Matt said softly.
Cami felt frantic. The foolish man was baiting her! Heart in her throat, she took a step toward the wall, where Ned had plans of his latest pet project, a bike trail along the river. They were rolled up in a canister and weighed a good ten pounds. Hoisting them up, she took a slow step toward Belinda's back.
"What were you trying to do?" Matt asked Belinda. "You got your own father kicked out of here."
"He deserved it! He was cheating on my mom. With a guy." Belinda shuddered. "And everyone here acted so self-righteous about it."
"So you hurt them, too?"
"Yes! And maybe you were next."
Matt shook his head. "You couldn't have gotten me, Belinda."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm smarter than you are."
Cami couldn't believe it! Didn't he see the gun right in his face? She could scarcely breathe for fear it'd go off by accident.
Belinda's hand wavered, probably with rage. Jesus. Cami took another step and raised the tube of plans. Matt looked up, and so did Belinda, at the same time lifting the gun, just as Cami closed her eyes and brought the plans down on Belinda's forearm, hard.
The gun flew into the air, then hit the floor, and with a frustrated, rage-filled howl, Belinda whipped around to face Cami.
"I figure I just saved you a long prison visit," Cami said. "You can thank me later."
Belinda let out an enraged scream and took a step toward her, but instead of strangling her, as Cami half-braced for, Belinda ran out of the office.
Matt strode to Cami and hauled her against him. Tense with fear and fury, he ran his searing eyes over her. "Are you all right?"
He was looking at her as if she was his entire world. She loved that. She loved him. "Of course I'm all right. You were the one with the gun in your face, you stupid, stupid man!" She tugged his face down and kissed him. "Hell of a time to realize I love you. We have to go after her."
He gripped her arms, lifted her up to her toes. "What?"
"I said we have to go after her—"
"The other thing."
"Later." She was shaking. "We have to—"
"Say it," he demanded.
"I love you."
He leaned in and kissed her, one hard, warm connection. "I love you, too. So damn much."
The words filled her, warmed her. She was in shock. And she was in love. Heady combination.
"I wanted to be your hero," he said. "But you saved yourself."
She ran her hands up his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her fingers. It steadied her. He steadied her. "It's okay. It's all part of that New Year's resolution. I'm going for it, remember? At all times."
"But you always go for it."
"At work, yes. But I'm expanding to other areas. Like my personal life."
His eyes shined with emotion. "You going for me, Cami?"
"Yeah, I guess I am. How does that feel, Mr. Mayor?"
He glanced at his watch. Two minutes past midnight. "Like the best Christmas present I've ever had." And he pulled her close.
For Perry Como, Sting, David Hyde Pierce, and Kate Duffy. (Betcha never thought you'd see that group of names together, did ya Kate?)
Chapter One
"Christmas sucks," Rob Marsten muttered as he pulled the sleek silver Palm Pilot out of the side pocket of his leather briefcase. He plucked the stylus from the holder along the top and punched the small machine to life. A few more rapid taps, and he was looking at his whole life for the remainder of 2005.
According to his schedule, he should have landed in Portland, Maine, at six thirty-five P.M. He glanced at his Rolex.
Seven fifty-two P.M.
Well, that wasn't going to happen.
He picked up his carry-on bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and joined the throng of harried and irritated travelers surrounding the help desk.
"Okay," called the airport employee from behind the tall counter. "All flights out of Boston have been canceled this evening."
The crowd muttered and groaned, swarming the agent.
Hence, the reason for the height of the counter, Rob noted. So passengers couldn't easily crawl over it in revolt.
"I'm sorry," the attendant said automatically, with no real sorrow in her voice. "The nor'easter was expected to go out to sea by early evening, but it has settled over the tip of New England instead, and it isn't forecasted to leave until early tomorrow morning."
More grumbles.
"Some Christmas," a man beside Rob complained.
Rob nodded his agreement. But this served him right for even considering this
trip. He didn't have the time to take away from work, not now with his promotion almost clinched. But his sister had worn him down.
"He's your very first nephew. And it's his very first Christmas," she'd said.
"Mo, you know how busy I am."
"No, I don't. I don't see you or talk to you enough to know what you're doing. You haven't even seen Stewie yet. Do I need to remind you he was born in April?"
"I remember. But please tell me you aren't going to call that child Stewie his whole life."
"What's wrong with 'Stewie'?"
"Nothing—if you're looking for an adjective for something that is or has the qualities of stew."
"Whatever. Just come home. Mom and Dad miss you. I miss you."
Rob had finally agreed. He hadn't been home in a couple of years, but he simply didn't have time. A man didn't get ahead in life being forever on holiday. But he knew he should see his nephew, if only to make sure the poor kid got a better nickname.
He checked his Palm Pilot again. Assuming he got the first flight to Portland in the morning, he'd have about forty-one hours to spend with his family. And that was if the storm cleared when predicted.
He left the angry mob and looked out the terminal window. The snow was definitely falling, but he noticed the airport vehicles were getting around in the several inches with no difficulty.
A woman in the blue-and-white uniform of the airport staff rushed by him.
"Excuse me," he said.
The woman stopped, her expression irritated as she turned. Her eyes quickly roamed from his face to the perfect cut of his clothing to his face again. The strained expression immediately disappeared.
"Can I help you, sir?"
He forced a pleasant smile. Women always responded to one thing. Money.
"Yes, you can. I was wondering which way to the car rentals?"
Her eyes drifted back down to his tailored suit. Kenneth Cole. A limited edition. Very expensive. From the glimmer in her blue eyes, she could tell.
Being able to impress with his clothing and his expensive accessories had once pleased him, but lately he found himself annoyed with people's shallowness.
Anthology - The Night Before Christmas Page 13