He redoubled his efforts.
“Julie, honey,” he drawled, “I been up all night. I’ve got to eat or hit the sheets, one or the other.” A raindrop rolled down her cheek. He thumbed it off, couldn’t resist adding, “You’re welcome to join me for either.”
She rolled her eyes. “Does that line really work?”
“You tell me.”
She flapped her coat again.
He kept his eyes on hers. Rubbed his jaw so the stubble rasped.
She looked away. Fought the demon again. Finally threw up her hands. “There’s a pub around the corner. But no dawdling. I’m giving up my afternoon off for this.”
“Now I feel guilty,” he said as they trotted up the steps to the sidewalk. He pulled off his jacket, held it over their heads. Rain streamed off the edges, washed down their backs. At least Julie had her coat. He was immediately soaked to the skin. “Let’s call it off. Head up to my room for a hot shower.”
She snorted. “I thought you were sick of the hotel and desperate to find a condo? Poor Betsy in the kennel and all that.”
“Betsy’s living large at my brother’s ranch,” he said, tucking her against his side. “And I’m thinking I can put up with the hotel a little longer.”
Hell, if it got Julie out of her wet clothes, he’d put up with it a lot longer. He’d plant a fucking flag and call it Texas.
Chapter Four
* * *
JULIE HAD BEEN propositioned before. It wasn’t all that unusual.
What was unusual was her overheated reaction to Cody’s invitation.
She’d kept a grip on herself enough to compromise with lunch instead of bed, but as she looped an arm around his waist for the sprint to the pub, she wondered if there was such a thing as compromise with Cody, or if he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy.
They ducked inside, two drowned rats dripping on the floor. The hostess station was deserted. Julie hung Cody’s jacket and her own drenched coat on hooks. Turned around in time to see him wring out his T-shirt, then flap it a few times. She got a glimpse of his abs, and goose bumps rippled up her arms. She told herself she was chilly.
Then he shook his head like a dog, spattering water off his hair.
She leapt back. “Hey!”
He laughed. Came closer. Opened his arms.
She backed up a step. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I’m thinking.”
“I’m serious, Cody.”
“Me too, Julie.” He grinned an evil grin that raised goose bumps again. “I’m gonna get you wet.”
She caught his double meaning. “Don’t,” she said, but her voice snagged on the word.
He took another step. His eyes had gone hot. “Beg me,” he said, his voice gruff now, and deep.
Another step. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her heaving breasts bumped his chest.
“Beg me,” he whispered, locked on her eyes.
Her tongue touched her lips. They were dry.
She was wet.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to her ear. “Julie,” his warm breath fanned her skin, “I’m counting to three. One.” He licked a raindrop from the lobe of her ear. “Two.” He bit down, tugging ever so lightly. “Three.” His arms came around her, crushing her to his sopping chest.
It should have felt awful. Cold and slimy. Instead it felt hot and sweaty and totally awesome. His chest was a wall, his arms iron bands.
And his crotch, well that was just ridiculous. She hadn’t pressed against a hard-on in way too long, but she remembered how it felt, and this was in its own class.
“Cody,” she got out, a feeble protest that sounded more like a give-it-to-me moan.
“Julie,” he growled, buried in her hair. “You smell so fucking good. I could eat you up.”
It hit her veins like straight whiskey. She wriggled and squirmed, not fighting him, but trying to get closer. Every cell, every sinew, even her bones and her breath, all of her strained toward him, begging him, begging him.
He answered with a moan, cupped her ass in his hand. She rose up on her toes, raked her nails down his back.
Then a throat cleared loudly. “Would you like lunch?” an amused female voice asked. “Or would you rather get a room?”
Shocked back to her senses, Julie shoved against Cody’s chest. He let her go in his own sweet time. Asked her the same question with his eyes.
“Lunch,” she answered both of them. She smoothed her skirt. “By the fire, if it’s going.”
In the cozy bar, the hostess waved a hand toward a loveseat by the hearth. In the brick fireplace, flames crackled invitingly. “Silent Night” played through the speakers over the bar, the Irish Rovers giving it a Celtic twist. The red-haired waitress swung by, and Julie asked for hot tea and a scone. Cody ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches, a double salad, and banana cream pie.
“And bring me a hot coffee with that,” he added, smiling all over the poor girl. When she tottered away glassy-eyed, Julie made a face.
“What?” Cody said. “What’d I do?”
“Oh please. Like you don’t know.”
“Seriously, enlighten me.”
“You smiled at her.”
“Well hell, lock me up.”
“You should be locked up. Better still, you should have to go through one day without being able to smile, just to see how the rest of the world lives.”
“Admit it, honey. You’d miss it more than I would.”
She rolled her eyes, then made a point of ignoring him as she unzipped her leaky boots, went to toast her butt by the fire.
He came up beside her, held his hands out to the flames. He was even taller now that she was flat-footed. She fought the urge to look up at him, but she could feel his smile heating up the whole left side of her body.
“You can forget it,” she said. “I’m not gonna look.”
His laugh rumbled up from his incredible chest. “You sure it’s the smile? Maybe you’re just into me.”
She sniffed, derisively. “I’m not into you. You jumped me.”
“Well, what do you expect, showing off your bra like that?”
She gasped and looked down. Slapped a hand to her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She slewed a glance around the bar. Nobody was looking, but she felt half-naked.
“It’s all right,” Cody said. “I wouldn’t let anybody else ogle you.”
“But it’s okay for you to ogle me?”
He shrugged. “Figured you were trying to seduce me. A man can hope.”
Now why did that make the blood rush in her veins?
The waitress showed up with their drinks. Cody made a point of smiling at her. Julie ignored him.
Back on the loveseat, she stirred sugar into her tea, kept one hand on her chest. Fought the urge to lean into his big warm body. Why was she so attracted to him when all she wanted was to hate him?
Oblivious to her inner battle, he gazed into the flames, sipping his coffee, his palms curled around the oversized mug. She shifted in her seat, remembering those big palms squeezing her ass, tugging her up against his—
“Seems funny,” he said out of the blue, “the couples thing. How’d you decide on that?”
She dragged her mind out of the gutter, did a casual shrug. “It’s a marketing thing.”
He caught her eye. “Bullshit.”
That surprised her. “Why would I make it up?”
“I don’t know. Why would you?”
She wasn’t going there, not with him.
She let her gaze stray to the mantle, decked with pine boughs and red felt stockings, names written in glitter on the snowy white trim.
She used to love Christmas and all of its trappings. But that was something else that died with David—her Christmas spirit. Now the holidays reminded her of hospitals. Hospitals and doctors. And death.
“Why’d you decide to be a doctor?” She couldn’t keep the tension from her voice. Doctors should be objects of contempt, not lust.
“Not for the money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“God complex?” She’d met more than a few who thought they were omnipotent.
“I wanted to save lives,” he said without getting defensive. “Never saw myself in the ER, though. Always figured I was more cut out for research than blood and guts.”
She rolled her shoulders, dialed back her resentment to a manageable level. Tried to remember that he wasn’t one of the white coats who’d made David’s last months hell.
“Okay. Then how’d you end up in the ER?”
“Just about the time I was deciding on my residency, a drunk driver wiped out my brother’s wife. The ER docs kept her alive, but in the end, she didn’t make it.” He rolled his cup between his palms. “After that, it seemed like the way to go. Maybe save somebody else’s wife. Or kid.”
This conversation wasn’t going where it was supposed to go. She should be hating him, not hating herself for not hating him.
She didn’t trust her voice, so she kept still. Made a project out of her first sip of tea.
After a few moments of silence, he circled back to his original question. “So how come you only work with couples?”
She hesitated. Why not tell him? He’d shared something of himself with her. And it wasn’t like she’d see him again after today. Jan had been angling to do a closing. She could handle his.
“I’ve got a knack for it,” she said, “matching couples with their dream houses. Basically, they tell me what they’re looking for, what’s important to them, and I can just . . . see the house.”
She raised a hand, palm out, expecting derision. “I know it sounds hokey. Believe me, I don’t tell many people that it’s like a psychic thing. Next thing you know they’d want me to find their lost cat. But there it is.”
She waited for the smirk. Even David had teased her. Gently, because he didn’t know any other way. But his doubts were apparent, and she’d often wished she hadn’t told him.
But Cody didn’t laugh. His sandwiches arrived. He ate the first one in four bites. Then he wiped his lips with his napkin and turned his warm eyes on hers.
“My Gramps was Apache,” he said. “A shaman.”
“Is that a psychic?”
“More like a mystic. He believed in a spirit world. Said he had visions of things before they happened.” Cody shrugged. “Why not dream houses?”
“So . . . you’re not freaked out? Most people look at me like I have two heads. They think I’m either lying or scary.”
“I’m not scared.” He chomped a fry. “And as far as I can tell, the only lie you told me was to deny your gift.”
She sat back. Studied him. Was he pulling her leg? Suckering her into more embarrassing revelations?
“So the house you closed on today,” he said, “that was a dream house?” He seemed genuinely curious.
She decided to trust him. “A 1920s colonial, partially restored. Brick fireplace in the living room. Sugar maples out front, overgrown grape arbor in back.”
Cody eyed her. “Must feel good.”
“Terrific. They’ll be cutting their first Christmas tree by now, deciding which window to put it in.” She tried to keep the wistfulness from her voice.
“Ever have visions about other things?”
Cody-in-a-towel popped into her head. “Um, not reliable ones.” She crossed her fingers.
If he heard doubt in her voice, he let it go, switched gears. “How was your blind date?”
“No comment.”
“That bad?”
She blew on her tea.
“What happened? He make a pass at you?”
She leveled a look at him. “By pass, do you mean did he grab my ass in the foyer of the restaurant?”
“That would definitely be a pass.”
“Then no, he didn’t.”
His pickle snapped when he bit it. “So what was the problem? Too tall? Too short? Too bald?”
She snorted. “Women aren’t as shallow as men, you know.” Well, not as shallow.
“Is that so? Because sometimes it seems like they only care about one thing.”
“Sex?” She smirked. “No, wait. That would be men.”
“Money.”
She cocked her head. “Are women stalking you for your millions?”
He poked his salad. “What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“A rich one?”
“Probably.”
His head came up, eyes narrowed, studying her face. “But you’re not interested?”
“I walked out and left him in the restaurant. Does that answer your question?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.” He sounded pleased, which stupidly made her glad she’d told him.
Then he forked a cherry tomato into his mouth. Bit into it, and damn it, she could almost feel the squirt.
Why in the world is that so sexy? Why do I want to lick the juice off his tongue?
She locked her jaw, made herself look anywhere but at his lips. And she decided that Leo Payne had been right about one thing.
Cherry tomatoes were the most dangerous vegetable.
Chapter Five
* * *
CODY DROPPED A hundred on the table. “Where we headed first?”
Julie blinked liked she’d forgotten why they were there. Then she dug out her phone. Tapped and scrolled, all business.
“I’ve got two places in Beacon Hill, another in the North End. All walking distance to Mass General. Close to bars and restaurants. Nice routes to run along the waterfront or the Charles.”
“Sounds good.” He stood up, looked meaningfully down at his still-splotchy jeans.
She bit her lip. “I suppose you’ll want to change.”
“Uh-huh. Come up with me?”
“Not happening.”
“I promise not to seduce you.” He crossed his fingers behind his back. “I’m just afraid you’ll disappear again.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve invested too much time in you. I want a sale.” She pulled her boots on. The zipping noise went straight to his cock. Christ, even soaking wet she made him hard. He turned away. “Don’t you want your change?” she called after him.
“It’s Christmas,” he said over his shoulder.
She caught up to him at the door. He held her coat for her, got another whiff of her hair, a citrusy scent that ramped up his arousal. He turned away to fiddle with his own jacket, pretended the zipper was stuck so he could keep his back to her for a minute. Christ, he was like a high schooler with a boner in front of the class.
When he had himself together, he found her checking her email.
“Done primping?” she smirked.
“Just bracing for your Boston weather.” He pushed open the door. The rain had morphed to snow. Half an inch already coated the parked cars. The pewter sky had turned so dark the streetlights were on, though it wasn’t yet three o’clock.
“Back in Texas we see snow once in a blue moon,” he went on, “and it doesn’t last.” He turned up his collar, reminded himself to buy some damn gloves. “But I’m betting on a white Christmas here.”
“That would be nice,” she said, but without much enthusiasm.
Back at the Plaza, he tried once more to lure her upstairs. She gave him the fish-eye, plunked down in one of the ornate lobby chairs, and pulled out her phone instead.
In his room, he didn’t pause for a shower, though he was chilled to the bone. Sure, she’d promised to stay put, but she was unpredictable. Pistol hot one minute, glacier cold the next. Hard then soft, stern then sexy. Hell, she was all over the map, and he was damned if he could figure what made her shoot off in which direction and why.
But he wanted to figure it out. An hour over lunch had convinced him of that. The blind dates, the psychic dream-house thing. All of it.
And he wanted her in bed too.
He added a hoodie under his jacket and was downstairs in ten minutes. Breathed
a sigh of relief that she was still where he left her, phone to her ear, eyes rolled to the ceiling, her pained expression all about forbearance for whatever she was hearing.
Crossing the lobby toward her, his chest got tight, and he almost laughed out loud at his own perversity. Typically, he went for the big-titted blondes most guys panted for, but Julie appealed to him on another plane entirely. She was pretty, all right, but she was more than that. She seemed . . . wholesome.
Wholesome. Now that was a word he ordinarily would’ve swallowed like medicine. But on her, it looked good. Go figure.
The chandeliers sparked off the red in her hair. Her crossed leg swung like a black leather metronome. Strolling up to her, he stopped a little too close to her chair. Call him a caveman, but he liked it when she looked up at him.
She said a quick goodbye and shut off her phone.
“Trouble?” he asked.
She stood up, swinging her purse so it slapped him in the nuts. A brush-back, not an accident.
“Just my nosy, interfering sister grilling me about my date.” She headed for the door at the same half run she’d used to get out of the weather. It occurred to him that it was her customary speed.
He lagged behind. After twelve straight in the ER, he wasn’t moving at anybody’s pace but his own.
“She the one who set you up?” he said.
She stopped to wait for him, just aggravated enough to talk about it. “Why does she care if I have a date for her wedding? She’s the only one who needs a date!”
She started for the door again. He lagged behind. She stopped, in a huff. “Are you injured or something? Did you sprain an ankle running in those boots?”
He pulled up alongside her. “I didn’t know we were in a race. But remember, the tortoise beats the hare.”
She rolled her eyes, shoved open the door. “I was planning to take the T to Park Street and then walk, but at this rate, we need a cab.”
The doorman signaled for one, and they slid into the backseat. Cody made sure to spread his legs wide so his knee rubbed against hers. She scooted closer to the door.
“Beacon Hill,” she told the driver. To Cody, “We might as well write off the North End. We’ll never make it before dark.” She shot him a speaking look.
The Wedding Date: A Christmas Novella Page 3