Zee smiled a little. “Oddly enough, me, too. But then, it’s my first Christmas, so I suppose that doesn’t count.”
Nick chuckled. The sound was startling. He hadn’t heard himself laugh in almost a decade. Of course, he had been living under a weight for that time that had squeezed the happiness out of him— who laughed when it was all they could do to breathe?
“I wish we had music,” he said suddenly. “It would be nice to dance.”
Zee’s smile was bright enough to light The Strip in old Las Vegas.
“I would like that, too. I’ve never danced. With someone else, I mean. I’ve watched other people do it, though. It looks fun.”
“You’ve never danced?” Nick looked over at the children; they were curled up together and deeply asleep. They wouldn’t witness anything silly that he and Zee did. Giving in to the alcohol, or to his reborn Christmas spirit, he said impulsively: “Let’s try. Help me move this.”
Zee stood up eagerly. She drank down her eggnog, then both of them took an edge and moved the warped, groaning table to the side of the room, clearing a small space. Nick and Zee stood looking at one another without the table between them.
“How do we begin?” she asked.
“Well, to begin with, we need to be closer,” he said, taking a step toward her. Zee also stepped in, bringing them face to face. Nick hesitated a moment, wondering if he would start to feel ridiculous.
When embarrassment failed to arise in either of them, he went on. “Now, I put my hand on your waist. And you put yours on my shoulder. The easiest dance is the foxtrot, so we’ll start with that.”
“Foxtrot?” The dimple made a fleeting reappearance. “We needn’t get on all fours?”
“It looks better than it sounds,” Nick assured her. “Now, when I step forward with this foot, you step back with—yes. That’s it! Now this foot . . . to the side . . . and, yes!”
“But we need music,” Zee said, dutifully following his lead.
“Right.” Going momentarily blank, all Nick could think of was the song he had learned to foxtrot to in a college dance class to which his girlfriend had dragged him. He started humming Eddie Rabbit’s “I Love a Rainy Night.”
“Does it have words?” Zee asked, drawing a little closer. She tucked her head into the curve of his neck as if they had been dancing together for years. Nick hoped she wouldn’t notice his pounding pulse; his systolic and diastolic pressure had both taken a jump. Good thing he had a lot of eggnog in him; the alcohol would help decrease his blood pressure, and maybe his heart wouldn’t burst.
You’re such a romantic, the ghost in his head thought dryly. Nick ignored him.
“Words? Yes, a few.” Clearing his throat, and mindful of the children, he began to sing quietly.
Moving slowly around their tiny dance floor, Nick felt very young—and he wasn’t certain if his mixture of youthful desire and longing was wonderful or dreadful. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he was feeling this way. He was drawn to this stranger for some reason. The obvious explanation was that she was different, so beautiful and peaceful and otherworldly. But it was more than that. And whatever it was, it was making him feel goofy, like his head was full of helium and he would simply float away to someplace wonderful.
Should he stop? He really didn’t want to embarrass himself. Or her. Or both of them. Were her legs bare under that denim skirt? Surely not! It was winter, after all. She probably had on long johns.
“I like this song,” Zee said. “I like all your songs. Sing another,” she begged, cuddling even closer.
Nick made up some spontaneous prayers about controlling himself and his contracting muscles, which were about to announce in the most unsubtle of ways that he really, really liked her. He hoped that thinking of songs would be a bit like thinking of baseball—or did he mean England? Baseball was to make things last longer, wasn’t it? Stop thinking about it! he told himself.
Desperate for distraction, he started singing a favorite song from college, “Put the Yule Log Down, Uncle John” by P.D.Q. Bach. His effort at singing all four parts of the madrigal simultaneously was not entirely successful, but it managed to do what baseball had not.
Zee giggled and lifted her head.
“I don’t know what it is about you, Nick,” she said, her eyes shining, “but I like you very much. I would think you are my Christmas present—but the elf didn’t bring you to me. Unless he caused the storm . . . ? ”
Nick swallowed and stopped dancing. Looking into her eyes made his knees feel shaky.
“I’m almost sure that it’s the other way around,” he answered. “And sometimes fate works in mysterious ways. Maybe Santa did cause the storm.”
“I like mystery. And I like . . .” Zee stood on her toes, bringing her mouth closer to his. Her eyes asked if this was what he wanted.
“Oh, yeah,” he whispered, lowering his face to hers, letting their lips meet, waiting, waiting . . .
As the kiss began, Nick knew that he had his arms about her, and hers were twined around him. Their bodies were close, pressed even closer. But he couldn’t feel any of it. His world had narrowed to his lips and hers, and to the wild, blinding sweetness that passed between them.
It was the best kiss ever. He felt like it was his first, and he knew he was a goner.
Told you so, the voice said, intruding suddenly.
“Oh, no,” Nick whispered. Please leave!
“No?” Zee pulled back slightly, her eyes fluttering open.
“I mean, yes,” he corrected hastily, and decided to try a second kiss. After all, an experiment wasn’t valid unless it was repeatable.
It worked like a charm. All symptoms of love returned: sweaty hands, pounding heart, ragged breath, a drastic drop in mental acuity, a passionate wish for the moment to never end.
This wasn’t bad, was it? People prayed for this— spent their lives looking for it. There was no reason that he should be worried about anything.
Well, answered the annoying voice in his head; it sounded apologetic. There is just one thing to worry about—maybe. The girl comes from a strange family, not your usual WASP-type home at all. But one thing at a time, right?
Oh, and you might want to ask a few more details about that bad man at the mall later. When you have a chance.
You’re worse than a cold shower. I’m begging you—go away, Nick thought.
Right! Sorry. Catch you later.
Nick’s brain snapped back to the present as Zee reached for her sweater. She undid it without a fuss. Nick was certain that he should object, that this was too fast, but he was too fascinated by the sight of her delicate hands sliding the bone-colored buttons through the buttonholes.
“The children,” he whispered, while he still could.
“They will not waken,” Zee assured him. She removed the plain white cotton bra she wore under the sweater.
Nick nodded, his mouth dry. Her skin from the neck down was exquisite, flawless, golden as sunrise. Her shoulders were soft and sloping. Her breasts were small but perfect, and her waist was tapered. The only flaw he saw was a pair of small curved marks on each of her sides—possibly scars. Or maybe they were tattoos. Right under her arms, they were down about eight inches.
“Nick,” she said softly, reaching for him.
As if awakening from a trance, Nick nodded and pulled off his own sweater. He took more care with his pants, kicking off his shoes and cautiously unzipping. Pushing down his slacks, he found he already had a painfully hard erection, which had hardly been contained by the fabric. How had he not noticed?
Zee stepped closer.
Nick reached out and slowly touched her cheek. Zee shivered. The small trembles traveled up his own arms. The sensation was exquisite; he’d never felt anything like it.
Nick explored her slowly and gently, letting his hands travel at will. Zee’s throat was long and sleek, and it led to the lovely expanse of skin above her exquisite breasts, that path only broken by the delicate
necklace and charm that she wore. His hands were neither rough nor tanned, but they looked harsh against her flesh, so fine was its texture. The sight of his dark fingers on her golden skin fascinated him.
So did her sigh—especially when her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back, pulling the line of her throat taut and bringing her collarbones into sharp relief. The faint smell of hot chocolate and musk was in the air.
He cupped her breasts gently and she shivered again, and once more small shockwaves of pleasure traveled up his arms, tightening Nick’s chest. A part of him looked on in disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that Zee was real and standing there, naked, in his arms. The experience was dreamlike and yet more real and urgent than any he had ever faced. He had desires beyond physical longing— but he could not say for what.
His eyes traveled downward. Her pubic hair was a perfect golden triangle, a shy arrow that both pointed out and sheltered the delicate mystery he wanted to explore more than he wanted his next breath.
Nick knelt. He nuzzled her for a moment, feeling the muscles of her belly flex beneath his cheek. Guided by an instinct that said to be slow and gentle, he put his hand out and coaxed her to open. He petted and stroked, all the while feeling her trembling as if it were his own. In no hurry now—this was inevitable, their lovemaking was going to happen—he eased a finger inside her. The heat and slickness made him moan aloud. His arousal was killing him, making him shake and forget to breathe so that he was growing dizzy, yet he did not want to hasten what was the most beautiful moment he had ever known.
Nick stood slowly. He reached for the last blanket on the table and laid it upon the floor. When he looked up, Zee’s eyes had opened. It had to be a trick of the fire, but her irises blazed as radiant as the moon.
He reached out a hand and helped her to kneel. He followed her onto the rude bed. He felt a moment of regret that their first joining should be in a place so rough and bare, but then Zee smiled at him and he forgot everything but the need to be with her; he settled atop her. He could feel her softness, her wetness, and he was almost driven insane.
But as he began to ease inside Zee, her instinctive stiffening was enough to penetrate the fog of desire and alcohol that surrounded him. Nick was certain that she had never made love before. The knowledge humbled him. He hesitated.
“Zee, do you really . . . ? ”
“Yes,” she whispered, even as she blushed. “I want this.”
He wanted it, too. More than anything. More than he wanted his next breath. And how could he refuse the gift she was offering? To do so would be cruel.
And stupid, said a voice that did not belong to the ghost, and yet did not seem to belong to Nick either. Take the offering. Accept the power of this gift.
“Please,” Zee whispered, and reached out a delicate hand to wrap it around his shaft.
Her touch was electric, but it was her gaze that was Nick’s undoing. Who could refuse it?
He knew his first thrust hurt her, but she still responded; her back arched and a small cry broke from her lips as he joined and then withdrew from her body. She climaxed immediately, and as had every other shiver of her body, this one also seized him. He thrust into her a second time and then convulsed, filling her with his seed.
His seed? The thought touched Nick’s numbed brain. He hadn’t worn a condom! The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. It was barely crossing it now. He must have had a lot more to drink than he had thought. Fortunately he was healthy, and Zee was a virgin. That simply left the danger of pregnancy.
Well, there was time enough to worry about it tomorrow. Right now, what was more important was kissing Zee’s lovely mouth, and looking into her beautiful dark eyes; reassuring her that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake in giving herself to him in this moment of madness. Because she hadn’t. Nick swore this on his soul. She would not regret this night of magical madness.
Chapter Seven
Nick was fairly certain that Zee was sleeping, finally, but he gave it another slow five-minute count on his watch before slipping out from under the scratchy wool blanket, pulling on his clothes and heading for the door. Fortunately the storm had stopped completely, and he was able to open the cabin door with no more interruption than a small gust of cold air swirling into the room and disturbing the dwindling fire.
Though the urge to hurry was upon him, Nick walked carefully, crunching through the odd snow that was a slippery mix of powder and hail, and smelled oddly of ozone. What he didn’t need for Christmas was another soaking or a broken hip.
The dome light turned on as he opened the passenger door and climbed in, leaving the door ajar. He hadn’t looked too closely at the Christmas-in-a-basket he’d won at the mall, just stuffed it away with the other packages. He had hoped that maybe some Christmas stockings had been included— after all, what kind of Christmas was it without stockings? But there didn’t seem to be any. No wrapping paper, either. Well, he’d just have to use his own socks. They were rather dull, being made of sensible gray and black wool, but he could take some tinsel off the basket and tie the sock tops shut. And he had a couple of department store bags that his family’s gifts were collected in; he could cannibalize them for paper. He even had a pocket knife and some duct tape. What more did a resourceful man need?
Fortunately, the basket packers had been on top of other practical concerns, and had included batteries for the remote-control car. Nick wasn’t up on teddy bear couture, but it seemed to him that Miss Bear has plenty of accessories to go with her many outfits. And best of all, there really was a small jewelry box. Nick was getting cold and his nose was running, but he took the time to open the box and have a look at the necklace inside. It was a simple pendant, something more appropriate for a Sweet Sixteen birthday. But the diamonds were lovely, even in the dim light of dawn. And the green velvet box would look very festive with a bit more of the tinsel wrapped around it.
Nick sneezed and realized that he was losing feeling in his feet. He would have preferred to prepare his gifts outside, but he needed to get back indoors before he became a Popsicle. Poets said that love would keep you warm, but he personally doubted the veracity of their claim. At least, it didn’t seem to work when one was alone.
Don’t forget the dried apricots, the ghostly image in the side mirror reminded him. “I won’t,” Nick muttered. “Now go away, you Peeping Tom. I can take it from here.”
Zee wasn’t sleeping; she hadn’t been able to sleep for the past two nights. Every time she dozed off she dreamed that she was buried deep underground and in the presence of something terrible, some being who was aware of her and who was slowly suffocating her thoughts of freedom, eating up her dreams and draining her of life. Sleep was important. It was where she refreshed herself, strengthened from the inside, healed. But not anymore. The monster had penetrated her dreams and isolated her thoughts. He had replaced them with fear, and her dreams were no longer healing.
Tonight, with Nick, was the first time she’d thought that maybe she could sleep without dreaming. She had allowed herself to relax, to anticipate. But then he had gotten up. She had felt him slip away, taking all heat and peace with him. Zee had tried not to acknowledge the swift sinking of her heart, her secret worry that he would leave her now that they had lain together.
She scolded herself. Possibly he’d felt the call of nature; that might be why he was going outside.
Her heart dropped another painful inch when she heard the car door open, but it arrested itself when several moments passed and the engine didn’t start. Finally, she heard the car door shut again. There was the sound of the trunk being opened, and then Nick returned, laden with parcels and a large basket. He closed the cabin door with his hip and then tiptoed across the floor, being careful not to make any unnecessary noise.
Through slitted eyes, a relieved Zee watched him work, first opening his duffel and pulling out socks, then stuffing them with some unidentifiable things that were likely food, judging by the sweet smells flo
ating on the air. She was a little baffled by his actions but wondered whether this might not be more of Christmas. He had promised that the elf or an emissary would come for her and the children. Had someone actually left something in Nick’s car? She was fairly certain that she would have heard anyone prowling outside, but she and Nick had been rather preoccupied.
She hoped that whoever it was would come back, because she needed to ask specific directions to Cadalach, the fey stronghold where Jack Frost lived. It wasn’t that she wanted to go to the fey—she was almost as frightened as the children about seeing her people’s old foe—but she was part human, too. And someone had to be told about that creature at the mall who was doing something to the children, and her own family hadn’t believed her.
Would Nick believe her, if she told him?
Zee wasn’t sure. It would be asking an awful lot.
Nick was yawning prodigiously by the time he finished tying up his socks with shiny, bristling ribbon, and when he was done folding the various boxes inside the paper squares he had torn from some large bags, he was almost asleep on his feet.
Cold and a bit clammy, he snuggled back under the blanket he and Zee were sharing, but the chill didn’t seem to interfere with his need to sleep. He draped an arm around his living treasure and closed his eyes. His last thought was that at last he had found a way to loosen some of the emotional logjam inside. For so many years, he had dreaded Christmas—and the effects of that dread had been cumulative. This year, he would have a happy memory, one he didn’t need to bury.
Nick smiled and began snoring softly.
It was Zee’s turn to sneak away. Wriggling slowly out from under Nick’s arm, she stepped into her shoes and smoothed her clothing into place. She had wanted to do something special for Nick anyway, but after seeing his efforts to bring Christmas to the children, it suddenly felt vitally important. It was like working a good-luck spell or something—only fine things could come of it. And he had sounded so wistful when talking about Christmas trees. That would be her gift to him. Fortunately, in a forest, trees were easy to find.
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