THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

by Vicky Lewis Thompson

  A woman like you. She planted her feet as panic set in.

  He paused and lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.

  "Listen, your instincts were right when you turned down my request," she said. "I'm not what you think. I'm not some sex kitten hiding under her proper business attire. I'm dull and boring, and I have absolutely no imagination when it comes to … to something like this."

  His fingers tightened a fraction. "What makes you say that?"

  Humiliating experience, she thought, but she wasn't about to describe the times Jared had stomped out in disgust because she hadn't had the courage to try some erotic bedroom game. Jared was the most recent example of a man who'd grown tired of her conservative ways, but she'd had two serious relationships before Jared, and both men had told her in no uncertain terms that she needed to loosen up.

  This would be the same story, and she was foolish to think it wouldn't be. "I've given you the wrong impression by coming down here tonight," she said. "You probably think that means I'm really hot stuff, and I'm not at all."

  His gaze gentled. "You're afraid you won't please me?"

  The tenderness in his voice caressed her frayed nerves and gave her the strength to be honest with him. "Yes."

  He didn't come back with some platitude about how she couldn't possibly disappoint him, and for that she was grateful. He seemed to give the matter serious thought as he studied her. "Then before we go through that door, let's take all the pressure off. Neither of us will have any expectations. As far as we're concerned, the next hour or so could turn out to be the most miserable of our lives."

  "The next hour?"

  The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. "You thought we'd be in there longer than that?"

  "No, shorter! Much shorter! The gym has partially crippled me, and besides, I barely know you!"

  He chuckled. "Then maybe we should start with a quickie and see how that goes. Like when you go to the ice-cream store and get a taste on one of those little pink spoons. Then you can decide if you want one scoop, two scoops or no scoops at all."

  She managed a weak smile in response, but inside she was a churning mass of insecurities. "See, that's exactly what I mean. I was never any good at quickies, either. For one thing, it always sounds so athletic, and as we've established, I'm not athletic. I know men like the idea of grabbing some sex on the run, but I can't seem to—" She paused when he shook his head. "What?"

  "I don't."

  "Don't what?"

  "Like the idea of grabbing some sex on the run." His tone was light, but his eyes blazed with steady heat.

  "Oh." She gazed into those wonderful eyes and began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this man would be different. "White Christmas" drifted from the CD player.

  "That wasn't what I meant by a quickie," he added.

  The look in his eyes held her as surely as his fingers twined through hers, and she was barely aware that she'd begun moving again, moving through that door into his darkened bedroom, coaxed there by an urge stronger than fear.

  Her chest tightened and her breath grew shallow. "What did you mean?"

  "That you'd have to make do with only one orgasm this time."

  Fear brought her to a halt again. "I thought … I thought we were going to have no expectations."

  He went completely still. "Are you saying you haven't ever—"

  "No, no, I'm not saying that." Her face grew hot and she blessed the dim light so he wouldn't know. Nervousness lodged in her throat. "I have, but I can't always manage … manage that."

  Oh God, she'd never talked about such things with a man before. She could fake it, of course, as she'd done a few times before. But in this case it seemed pointless to pretend. Greg wasn't a potential mate she had to impress with her ability to enjoy sex.

  "And then there's the matter of me being stiff from the gym," she added.

  "Want me to start with a massage?"

  "No!" Too intimate, her mind screamed, although that sounded silly, considering why she'd come down here tonight.

  He stroked her palm with his thumb. "Then we'll take it easy and see how it goes."

  That lazy touch and the knowledge that she was inches from his bed was beginning to make her feel aroused already. Maybe she could make love to him all night and climax a dozen times, and yet she knew how easily she could freeze up if a man pushed her too fast. "It's just that I think you're expecting a certain response from me, and I don't want you to be disappointed."

  He let out a breath and murmured something she couldn't quite hear over the rich tones of the Christmas carol. It sounded like damn idiots, but she couldn't imagine what he meant by that.

  "Don't worry about disappointing me," he said. "You couldn't."

  Her panic eased a little more. No man had ever said those words to her. Maybe Greg didn't mean what he said, and he'd only spoken to soothe her in this nerve-racking moment before they became lovers. But she soaked up those words all the same.

  The semidarkness made believing easier. His face was in shadow, so she couldn't see nuances of expression. Just as well, perhaps.

  In the gloom she made out the vague outlines of the double bed. The mattress sat high on the antique iron bedstead decorated with scrollwork, and a small lamp table sat beside the bed. The room was tiny, with barely enough space for the furniture. A door on the far wall opened into what appeared to be an equally tiny bath.

  He reached for the table lamp.

  "Don't."

  He drew back again. "No light?"

  "I'd rather you didn't turn it on." She thought of her one-piece outfit with nothing on underneath. "You won't need it." She braced herself for the usual argument—in her experience men were visual creatures who always needed light, and even mirrors if possible. She preferred the mystery of the darkness.

  "Okay," he said. "We'll operate by feel."

  At the husky note in his voice, excitement zinged through her. More and more she believed that this wasn't a charity move on his part. It might have started out that way, but he was into the moment now.

  "But I need you to close the door, so that Matilda doesn't disturb us," he said. "And then it will be very dark in here."

  "I don't mind." Her breathing quickened. The darker the better, as far as she was concerned. Maybe then she could pretend she was someone else, someone who wasn't so timid.

  Reaching out, she took hold of the handle. As she pushed the door shut, the room changed from twilight to velvet blackness, and the Christmas music became muted background.

  "Shut it tight," Greg said. "Matilda knows how to push open a door if it's not completely closed."

  Suzanne pushed until she heard the latch click into place. "What would happen if she came in?" Perhaps he'd had a bad experience with one of his other lovers.

  "I'm not sure" His voice drew closer as he released her hand. "She might think we were playing." He cupped her face in both hands. "Of course she would be right."

  Suzanne's heart hammered as she felt the warmth of his breath on her face. "Playing?"

  "I think playing is a good word for it," he murmured. "Don't you?"

  Her breath caught. This was it—she was about to take the biggest sexual risk of her life, but at least she'd be doing it in pitch darkness. From beyond the door came her favorite, "Carol of the Bells." She took it as a sign. "Yes," she murmured. "Teach me to play."

  * * *

  Greg wanted desperately to see Suzanne's eyes. This was the moment he'd fantasized, the moment when he turned her face to his before their first kiss. He wondered if her eyes would be the warm blue that he'd imagined, but in the inky darkness he would never be able to tell. He might as well be blind for all the good his vision would do him tonight.

  As he'd told her, they'd have to go by feel. And scent. His nostrils flared as he breathed in roses and the delicate musk of feminine arousal. If she needed darkness to give herself to him, then darkness it would be. Maybe another time … no, he couldn't think ahead, not eve
n hours ahead. Loving Suzanne would be all about the present.

  Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingers. He caressed her like a sculptor smoothing clay—molding her cheekbones with the heels of his hands and tracing the arch of her eyebrows with his thumbs. Although he'd love to see her, not being able to do that sharpened his other senses. He heard her breathing change when he slid his thumbs over her cheeks and nestled them in the corners of her mouth.

  He felt the slight tension bracketing her mouth, felt the flutter of her eyelashes. He wanted her to relax, but even the protective covering of darkness hadn't accomplished that. Remembering Matilda's reluctance to let him pet her, he decided to try the same thing that had worked with his cat. That was his goal, come to think of it, to be allowed to pet Suzanne until she purred, to pet her until she arched against his hand and came back for more.

  He began to talk to her as he cradled her face, spreading his fingers and massaging slowly. "This lovemaking session comes with narration."

  "It does?" Her response was breathy.

  He heard fear in her voice, but excitement, too, as if she rode in the lead car climbing to the top of a roller coaster. "That way I won't startle you by doing something you don't expect."

  "Oh."

  "I'm going to explore your face before I kiss you."

  "W-why?"

  "Because I like stroking you there, and once I kiss you I'll probably get more … intense … and want to stroke you … in other places."

  Her little gasp of reaction pleased him. Gradually the tension under his fingers began to dissolve.

  "I love your hair." He pushed his fingers through it, massaging her scalp as he went. "I love the way it slides through my hands and the way it smells." He used the same calm tone that had worked so well with Matilda, although achieving it wasn't easy. His heart beat wildly at the prospect of what was to come, and pressure built in his groin.

  Luck must be with him, because he had condoms in the bedside-table drawer, even though he'd never made love to a woman in this room. He'd put them there one optimistic day, just in case, and now he blessed that impulse. If he'd had to go fumbling through a cabinet in the bathroom, he'd ruin the mood he was trying so desperately to create. One wrong move and she'd startle like a wild animal and bolt. He couldn't let that happen.

  "Close your eyes," he murmured. "Close your eyes and let all that bad tension drain away. Leave room for the good tension, the kind that makes you ache to be touched … to be fondled … to be caressed. There. Like that." Once he felt the weight of her head settling into his hands, he knew she was nearly ready for his kiss.

  "Wet your lips for me." Holding the back of her head with one hand, he leaned closer, hovering over that wide, sweet mouth. He didn't know how much she wanted this kiss, but he craved it more than air. "I'm going to kiss you, Suzanne." He said her name with deliberation, stroking it with his voice as he cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb over her moist lower lip. "Open for me."

  He hesitated a moment more, and she whimpered. The sound set him on fire. She wanted this kiss, too. Closing his eyes, he kept his thumb against her lower lip, holding his place until he could find her mouth. At the last moment he drew his thumb away and settled against the ripe fullness of her parted lips.

  His groan hadn't been an intended part of the narration. He hadn't been able to help himself. After months of fantasizing this moment, he was kissing Suzanne, and she was all he'd imagined—warm, velvety, succulent and eager. So very eager.

  He'd meant to take the kiss slow, but when she cupped the back of his head and slackened her jaw to allow him greater access, he thrust boldly with his tongue. She answered with another whimper of need.

  Fighting the urge to reach for the oversize zipper of her jumpsuit, he buried his fingers in her glorious hair and tried to maintain his sanity. Maybe the total darkness made this kiss seem like the center of the universe to him, or maybe his months of longing had added sensual impact. Whatever the reason, he'd never experienced anything like it.

  Joy bubbled within him, seeking an outlet, and he knew how that joy would ultimately be expressed. Eventually his needs would propel him until he was deep within her, seeking a connection that had eluded him until now. He wasn't sure of many things, but this kiss told him with absolute certainty that making love to Suzanne would be the ultimate celebration of life.

  Yet that kind of powerful response might scare her. The potential for magnificence would be his secret to be revealed a little at a time, until he thought she might be able to handle the ecstasy that they could create together. He wondered if she had any idea what they had started.

  Now, before he lost control, he had to slow the pace. It might have been at this point that other men had failed her. He didn't want to be another in the line of insensitive duds who'd taken a kiss this potent as license to manhandle her. He withdrew from the kiss by small degrees, lightening the pressure gradually, adding little nibbles and flicks of his tongue as he struggled for breath and restraint

  She wanted more. Her hands clutching his head urged him back to her.

  Easy, easy, he told himself. She couldn't know he was close to the breaking point, close to the moment when he would forget finesse as blinding lust took hold. Other men might forget themselves in the heat of passion, but he knew from listening to what women told him that heedless lust caused damage, especially the very first time.

  Later, when he and Suzanne knew each other better, he might be able to let go and revel in the passion she inspired, but … and there he was again, planning for a future that might never happen. Probably wouldn't ever happen. Now was all he was guaranteed. Right now. And he would make the most of it.

  He took a shaky breath and caressed her scalp with the pads of his fingers. "That … was for starters."

  She gulped for air. "Some start."

  "Yeah." He began to tremble as he contemplated the next step.

  "Can we … can we try that again?"

  "In a little while." Kissing her on the mouth too closely mimicked his ultimate goal, and he didn't dare do it again right away. "After I kiss you here." He pressed his lips against her chin. "And here." He moved to her throat as he cautiously reached for the zipper there. "I'm going to pull this down."

  "Yes." Her voice had a dreamy quality to it.

  The zipper made a purring sound as he opened it slightly. "So I can touch you here." He placed a row of kisses along her collarbone. "You taste like honey. Sweet, sweet honey, as if you would melt on my tongue." He breathed in her scent and felt her tremble as he pulled the zipper lower.

  With one hand at her nape, he subtly coaxed her to turn toward the bed as he kissed the smooth skin just above the swell of her breasts. "Can you imagine how much I want you?"

  "I…" Her sigh sounded like the music of surrender. "No," she murmured. "Tell me."

  "I want you so much that I'm shaking." He eased to a sitting position on the bed. "I'm going crazy thinking of cupping your breasts in my hands." The zipper yielded another few precious inches. "I want your nipples thrusting against my palm." He took the zipper down to her waist. "And the fullness of your breast in my mouth."

  She moaned.

  "In the dark, my touch has to take the place of my sight." He slipped his hands slowly inside the jumpsuit and bracketed her waist.

  Just putting his hands on her warm, silky skin nearly drove him out of his mind. Then he guided her in between his outstretched thighs so that her knees could rest against the mattress. If she felt as shaky as he did, she'd need the support.

  "I want to touch all of you," he murmured, sliding his hands up higher.

  "I want you to." Her voice quivered.

  "I'm going to take my time so that I don't miss any part of you." At last he encountered the bottom curve of her breast and allowed his fingers to nestle in the shallow crevice underneath. He paused, letting the privilege of touching her this way register fully in his brain. He felt the vibration of her racing heart as he leaned forwar
d and brushed a kiss over each nipple.

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  "That's only the beginning." Cupping his hands, he cradled her breasts at last and closed his eyes in gratitude. If tonight was all he would ever have, he'd burn these sensations into his mind. He never wanted to forget the wonder of loving Suzanne.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  When Greg cupped her breasts in his calloused hands, Suzanne nearly swooned with pleasure. In the romantic novels she loved, the heroine was often caressed to ecstasy by the hero's "work-roughened hands." At last she knew what that meant—to be reverently touched by that most masculine of creatures, a man who earned his living by the sweat of his brow.

  The texture of his skin against hers underscored the contrast between them. Because he was so decidedly male, she felt more feminine than ever before.

  Holding the back of his head, she urged him toward her quivering breasts. "Now," she demanded in a voice made thick by desire.

  His low laugh rippled up her spine and weakened her knees. It contained pure male triumph. His fingers flexed, kneading, stroking. "As my lady wishes."

  She gasped as his teeth scraped gently over her aching nipple and sensations shot down to her womb. "More." She could hardly believe the command came from her. It sounded like an order from the sex kitten she'd sworn she could never be. But the darkness made her bold. This secret rendezvous made her bolder still.

  "Oh, yes," he murmured in a voice rich with anticipation. "Most definitely more."

  The smooth, wet slide of his tongue cooled her heated areola and lapped her nipple, flipping back and forth in a deliberate rhythm. An answering throb between her thighs grew more insistent with each flick of his tongue.

  His breath whispered against her damp skin. "I crave you," he said. "Crave this." Then he drew her breast slowly into his mouth. The pressure was exquisite—not too much, not too little, exactly enough to drive her stark raving mad with desire.

  She clutched his broad shoulders and moaned. Beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt, his muscles rolled easily as he splayed a hand over her bottom and pulled her closer, taking the caress deeper. She cradled his face, needing to feel the contraction each time his cheeks hollowed, needing to touch the slight bristle of his beard and the firm line of his jaw.