by DJ Hunnam
Anger replaced the guilt coursing through my veins. Jake's brother and his parents had never accepted what they viewed as a lifestyle choice.
"We're his only family. I'll be on the next flight out. Will you stay with him until I get back?"
"Of course," Lila said. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks. And whatever you do, Lila, stay away from Brent."
The only thing worse than spending Christmas Eve alone was spending it holed up in Damian's spare bedroom. A pipe had ruptured in the apartment above mine the day before. That was the problem with historic buildings. They were full of charm and old piping.
Not that shacking up at Damian's could qualify as a hardship. His penthouse boasted three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of Seattle, a chef's kitchen, and a state-of-the-art gym. But his stellar views also highlighted how alone I was. Watching families and friends scurry around, bundled up against the harsh winter weather, with packages and smiles to spare, was a constant reminder of my solitary state.
Janice and Damian had left town, as had Allister. While my mom would have welcomed a visit, Thanksgiving had been a disaster. After consuming enough alcohol to sedate a large mammal, my mom had passed out at the dinner table before my brothers and I had even had a chance to try her pecan pie.
Erica was with her parents in Vermont, a fact I knew only because Damian had mentioned it. Erica had ignored every one of the texts I had sent over the last month. I should have been relieved, but I wasn't. In spite of her tentative agreement to try a friendship, distance had apparently made her rethink that decision.
I couldn't blame her. The sex had been incredible. The best I'd ever had, which said a lot, since I'd fucked women willing to do just about anything. Friendship was like settling for a burger when steak and lobster were on the menu.
Thinking that I would be able to tuck our weekend into the same box as all the other sexual conquests from my past had been a colossal mistake on my part. I had relived each and every time at least a hundred times. Finding another woman to dull the memories had been an exercise in futility. My hand and dick had never been so well acquainted, at least not since puberty.
Barring her virginity, I still couldn't pinpoint what had made it so good.
Because you love her.
The thought crept in without warning and I pushed it aside. That couldn't be the reason. It had to be Erica's near physical perfection. Her luscious tits, tiny waist, long legs, and hair so vibrant a sunset would be jealous.
But it was the small scar on her left knee from her biking accident at Lake Champlain, the mottled birthmark on the back of her neck she hid with her hair and the way her top lip curled disproportionately to the right when she was happy that I recalled with startling frequency.
I was lying to myself and knew it. All of those things were superfluous to the way she made me feel. She got me. When I was with Erica, I could bench the football superstar that always had to be "on" and just be myself.
The artificial light from the television bounced off the walls of the darkened bedroom. I hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights after the sun had set. When I heard something rustling in the other room, I turned down the television and crept off the bed.
Peeking around the corner, I tensed with surprise when I spied a person in jeans and a dark hoodie rifling through the mail on the table in Damian's entryway. The door to his penthouse was ajar, and light streamed in from the hallway. Had I forgotten to lock the door? And how the hell had the person got past the doorman on the ground floor?
I looked over my shoulder and scanned the bedroom for my cell phone, but realized with a crushing weight that I had left it on the kitchen counter next to the to-go containers. The only landline was in Damian's office, several rooms away.
Swallowing down my fear, I perused the thief, who was unaware of my presence. He was lean and at least six inches shorter than me. With the element of surprise, and assuming he didn't have a weapon, I might be able to contain him.
I crept barefoot across the concrete floors until I was within a few feet. Whatever the thief wanted, he was sorely disappointed, because I heard a grumbled curse fly from his mouth, just as he realized there was someone behind him. When he spun around, my football training kicked in and I took three strides forward, tackling him to the floor with a bone-jarring thud.
I leveraged my weight over the squirming mass and pinned his arms to the floor. The hoodie fell off and shoulder-length, black hair spilled out at the same time as an angry, feminine curse.
"What the hell, Dante?"
"Erica? What are you doing here?" I sat up with chest pounding. Without thinking, I reached forward and rubbed a strand of her shredded, dark locks. "And what the fuck did you do to your hair?"
"Get off of me," she said with an indignant huff as she swatted my hand away from her hair. She tried to dislodge me with a sharp, upward thrust of her hips that made me groan.
She stiffened when she realized the effect she was having on me. I couldn't help it. Having her supple body wriggling underneath mine was too much after weeks of no sex. I saw the flash of desire in her eyes and leaned down until my mouth was within inches of hers.
"What if I don't want to get off? What if I like having you under me?" I swiveled my growing erection against her. She dragged in a stuttered breath.
"I thought you already had your fill," she sneered.
"I lied," I said, nuzzling her neck.
"Please don't toy with me. Not right now." The anguish in her voice and lurking in the depths of her eyes was like a bucket of cold water.
"What's going on?"
"Get off of me, Dante."
"Not until you tell me what's wrong."
"Fuck you. Get off," Erica screamed, pounding my chest and abdomen with her tiny fists. She bucked under me, squirming and hissing like a crazed animal.
"Erica, calm down." I forced her hands above her head, pinning her with my weight. A tear slipped down her cheek and before I could stop myself, I used my tongue to follow its trail from her jawline up her cheek to the edge of her eye. I felt a shudder run through her body and she stilled under me.
But then the anguish in her eyes shifted to something more determined. "Don't tell me to calm down. And I told you to get off of me." Before I knew what was happening, she hooked one foot behind my ankle and flipped me onto my back. She straddled me with a triumphant grin, breathing heavy from her little coup de grâce.
"Holy shit, where did you learn how to do that?" I asked, equally impressed and turned on. I knew I could gain the advantage again, but I liked having her perched on top of me.
"I've been taking Krav Maga classes for the last year."
"Good for you," I murmured. Even in a big city like New York, why did she feel it necessary to take self-defense classes? She had lost weight in the last few weeks. Coupled with the change in her signature hairstyle, I knew something was seriously wrong.
Her smile faltered when she noticed my dick growing hard against her ass. Just as I was about to reach for her, she scrambled off my lap and hurried to the couch. I laid there for a few seconds using the hard floor to ground me, while I dragged in several calming breaths.
I stood up and locked the front door, before going to the living room. The muted light from the table lamp couldn't hide the dark bags under her eyes or the uneven tips of her black hair.
I sat down on the coffee table across from her. "What's going on, Erica? I thought you were spending the holiday with your parents."
"That was a lie I told Damian so he wouldn't worry about me. I was hoping to spend the next few days here. By myself."
I smiled in spite of her surly tone. "Sorry to disappoint you. A pipe burst in the unit above mine. Looks like you're stuck with me."
"I'll just book a hotel room," she said, pushing up to stand.
"Sit down. You're not going anywhere."
"You can't tell me what to do." She slumped back down in spite of her words.
"You're right. I can't.
But I won't have you staying in a hotel when Damian has beds to spare. I can stay on the futon in his office. Or if you really don't want me here, I'll go stay at Allister's."
"No. It's okay. All I plan to do is sleep." Based on the weary slump of her shoulders, I didn't doubt her.
"Did something happen in New York? Why did you cut your hair?"
Toying with the tips of her hair, she shrugged. "It was time for a change. I'm sorry you don't like it."
"I didn't say I didn't like it. It's just different."
"It's ugly. I know."
"Babe, you could shave your head and you'd still be beautiful."
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Now you're just lying." She looked out the windows and stared at the twinkling lights of Seattle, before glancing back my direction. "Can we do this tomorrow? I've been traveling all day. I'm exhausted."
Even though I wanted to shake loose each and every one of her secrets, I nodded. Coaxing the truth out of her was likely to be more successful than forcing it out of her. I would let her tiptoe around the inevitable for a bit longer, but eventually, she was going to tell me what the hell had her running scared.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon. Rubbing away the sleep in my eyes, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and was shocked to see that I had slept until almost noon. I forced myself out of bed and stumbled to the en-suite bathroom.
The night before, I had been too tired to do anything but stagger to bed. The large jetted tub called to me. My body was surprisingly sore from Dante's takedown.
After soaking in scalding water for twenty minutes, I hopped out and swiped my hand across the steamy mirror. The reflection peering back taunted me. My pitch-black hair matched the dark bags under my eyes and blemishes marred my normally translucent skin.
I looked like shit.
Jake had been in the hospital for weeks before being discharged to a short-term rehabilitation center. He still didn't remember what happened that night, which was probably a good thing. The attack had left him with a cracked skull, several broken ribs, and a fractured collarbone.
With no witnesses, the police had been unable to connect Brent or anyone else to the attack. While I had considered going to the police with the threatening texts and the thumb drive, shame and fear had stopped me. When I found my apartment ransacked, a few weeks later, all hope I'd had that Brent hadn't been involved disappeared out the broken window.
In a fit of despair, I had cut and dyed my hair. The next day, in my apartment lobby, I'd spied Brent coming through the spinning glass doors. Like Popo'alea, I had cowered in front of the lobby's wall fountain, hoping Brent wouldn't recognize me. Luckily, he'd stomped past me and jumped on the elevator. I had run with nothing more than the clothes on my back, giving my life in NYC the proverbial middle finger.
When the fire alarm in my brother's condo started to blare, I threw on my jeans and t-shirt from the day before. With his back to me, a shirtless and cursing Dante swung a broom at the alarm above the stove. I rushed to the window above the sink and dragged it open, doing my best to ignore the sweet unfurling of desire that occurred at the sight of Dante's bare skin.
"Merry Christmas," he yelled over the shrieking alarm.
I shoved the sizzling pan to the back burner. The shriveled pieces of bacon were charred black and wisps of smoke wafted out the open window. Within seconds the alarm stopped, and Dante dropped the broom to the ground with a relieved sigh.
"Shit, I'm so sorry I woke you."
"Don't worry about it," I replied with a giggle.
We stared at each other, goofy smiles lighting up our faces. It took all of my self-restraint not to step closer. Instead, I leaned against the counter. A small tied Christmas tree sat perched against the wall near the burning fireplace. "You got a tree?" I asked, padding barefoot across the floors to draw in the fresh pine scent.
"Yeah, the lot down the street was practically giving them away. I thought we could decorate it." Dante gestured to a few bags on the coffee table brimming with ornaments and lights.
"Really? No matter how much we begged, my mom never allowed us to have a real Christmas tree. Too messy." I reached out and fondled the soft, green needles, watching as a few fell to the floor. Several brightly wrapped packages were stacked next to the brick fireplace.
"What are those?"
"Presents."
"For me?"
"Yeah."
"You have been very busy," I murmured. Warmth radiated out from my heart to the tips of my toes, and it had nothing to do with the raging fire a few feet away.
"It's not a big deal. After you passed out last night, I ran a few errands."
It was a big deal, but I couldn't manage a response, because Dante was staring at me like he wanted to eat me for breakfast. His dark pajama bottoms fell dangerously low and memories of licking that light dusting of hair below his belly button had my nipples peaking to attention through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. I glanced up and saw that my body's response had not gone unnoticed.
"Janice probably has some clothes you could borrow," Dante choked out, gesturing to my chest with his chin. "Or you can open these." He stepped closer and for half a second I thought he might kiss me, but then he just leaned down and grabbed two big boxes from beside the fireplace. "Here."
"What are these?"
"I saw that you were traveling light and thought you might need some clothes to get you through the next few days. You can return them if they don't fit."
"You bought me clothes?"
"Uh, yeah. The salesgirl seemed to know what you might like. We had to guess on some of the sizes."
I placed the boxes on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch, overwhelmed by Dante's thoughtfulness. He shuffled from side to side as I peeled away the white tissue paper. My jaw dropped open. There were two pairs of Marc Jacobs jeans and a beautiful cashmere sweater so soft I ran my fingers over it twice. A black fitted blouse was tucked next to silver Armani leggings.
"Dante, this is too much."
"There's more," he said motioning to the other box.
Stunned speechless, I cracked open the second box and found a caramel-colored sequin dress with matching gold sandals. As I dug deeper, I spied lace and silk. Several bras and pantie sets wrapped in pink tissue paper lay in the bottom.
I lifted out a sheer coral bodysuit that would expose more than it would cover and gave Dante a wry grin. "The salesgirl picked this out?"
"I might have picked that one out," he said with a chuckle.
My blush was likely as pink as the lingerie. "This was really sweet, but I can't accept these."
"You can and you will," Dante said in a no-nonsense tone. "Besides, I can't have you running around without a bra for the next twenty-four hours or my dick is likely to implode."
I stood up and wrapped my arms around his waist, planning on a quick, friendly hug. "Thanks." As I started to pull away, Dante yanked me closer, wrapping his arms around my lower back so I couldn't escape.
"You're welcome." The vibration of his gruff voice rumbled through me, setting off currents of lust. Several emotions crossed his face as he stared down at me. Satisfaction, uncertainty, and the one currently coursing through me.
Desire.
I couldn't allow myself to indulge in this fantasy, because the cost came at a premium my heart couldn't afford. I pushed out of Dante's arms and gestured to the boxes. "I'm going to go change."
"Right. I'll finish breakfast."
After dressing in a black lace bra and pantie set that fit me perfectly, I settled on a pair of jeans and the sweater.
"What are you making?" I asked Dante when I rejoined him in the kitchen.
He pulled a pan out of the oven, full of something that bubbled with browned nuts. "Baked French toast."
My stomach rumbled its appreciation. "It looks amazing."
We sat at the kitchen island and indulged in Dante's masterpiece, sipping Bai
leys-spiked coffee and watching the snow fall outside. After stuffing myself to the point of pain, I started cleaning the kitchen while Dante set up the small tree. With the Christmas music playing in the background and Dante cursing the tangled string of lights, the scene was entirely too domestic.
And comforting. I wanted this kind of contented lifestyle all the time. More than that, I wanted someone to share it with. Not just anyone, but the man who had managed to capture my heart over and over since I was a kid.
I was still a fool.
We spent the rest of the day decorating, drinking spiked cider, and watching all of the holiday greats on TV. I couldn't remember the last Christmas that I had enjoyed more. Dante had single-handedly resurrected a holiday that was typically filled with family drama.
After the sun had set and we had finished eating dinner, Dante and I curled up on the couch. The fire burned bright with the Christmas tree as company. I giggled out of sheer contentedness. My inhibitions were loose from the two bottles of wine we had shared over dinner.
"You okay?" Dante asked.
"Better than okay. Thank you for today. This was exactly what I needed."
"You're welcome." He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but instead, he stood up and went to the fireplace. He grabbed the last package and laid it on my lap before taking a seat beside me.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
The package was heavy, and I ripped the paper off, giggling like a kid. First-edition copies of Tolkien's The History of Middle-Earth lay inside. I ran my fingers along the weathered book spines with reverence and drank in the earthy scent. "Oh, my God, Dante. Where did you get these?" I asked.
"I came across them in an antique bookstore and thought of you."
"On Christmas Eve?"
"No. I picked them up years ago," Dante replied. I blinked several times, letting his words wash over me.
"You bought these years ago? For me?"
"Yeah. You used to love Tolkien so much, it drove your mom crazy. Something about it not being proper reading material for a teenage girl."
