A Match Made at Christmas

by Patty Blount

  He only shrugged, piercing straight through her with another of those intense looks, then got busy, so she sat at a stool and watched him move around the space—easy, competent. He had great hands and as she watched him break a huge slab of dark chocolate into small chunks, couldn’t help but imagine those hands on her.

  All over her.

  And when he held up one of those hands to lick chocolate off his fingers, she couldn’t help but imagine his tongue, too.

  She bit her lip and fanned her face. He poured milk into the pan, added brown sugar and stirred, the muscles across his back and shoulders rippling under his Henley shirt adding more fuel to her hyperactive imagination. Her mouth watered—whether it was from the way those muscles flexed or the delicious scent filling his kitchen, she couldn’t be sure. He moved to another cabinet, took out a tiny bottle of vanilla, and stirred a spoonful into the sweet milk. From the stainless steel refrigerator, he removed a plastic container, pried off the lid, stuck a finger in it and slid it into his mouth.

  Whipped cream. Sweet Lord, he made his own whipped cream?

  “Come here,” he said in that same deep voice that curled her toes. On autopilot, she joined him at the stove and he put a whisk in her hand. “Stir the milk for me. Just like this.” He stood behind her, put his hand over hers, guiding her motion and she was hot, much too hot to drink hot cocoa. While she stirred, he slowly added the chocolate chunks and a pinch of salt. “Don’t stop.”

  Stop? She wouldn’t dream of it.

  Her eyes tracked him. He moved to a cupboard over the sink, pulled out mugs and put them beside the stove, leaned over and inhaled deeply. “Smells good, right?”

  Elena couldn’t talk, she couldn’t possibly make a sound that would be anything but a moan right now, so she only nodded. He cut the heat, carefully poured the thick sweet chocolate into the mugs and then spooned on a heap of cream. She took one cup and lifted it to her lips but he stopped her.

  “Wait. Garnish.” With a grin, he sprinkled some of the chocolate dust still on the cutting board over the cloud of cream. “Now it’s ready.”

  She kept her eyes pinned to his, blew softly across the top, and sipped. Yes. Yes, oh yes, he was right, it was the best cup of world-famous, widely admired, damn good cup of cocoa she’d ever had. This wasn’t a drink, this was an experience.

  Lucas grabbed the second mug, sipped and nodded in approval. “It’s good.”

  Good? It was nirvana. He watched her over the cup’s rim, watched her watching him. When he licked a tiny bit of cream from his lips, she put out a hand to steady herself and he grinned.

  He put his cup on the counter, took hers and did the same. He skimmed a finger along her jaw, heard her swallow hard and stepped closer. He stared into her eyes for a long moment. “If you changed your mind or just don’t want to, I—”

  She shook her head, hooked one finger through his belt loop and tugged him toward her, touched her mouth to his and heaven help her, she nearly exploded. Mouths fused, they fell against the refrigerator, then another counter. Lucas boosted her up, stepped between her legs, and pulled back to study her with hooded eyes. Slowly, he moved closer, pressed his lips to her throat, his hands skimming over her breasts.

  “Elena. You feel so good.”

  No, oh, no, no, no, he had that entirely backwards. He felt good. His hands on her body felt good, his lips on her skin felt good. She moaned—a long breathless sound – and felt him smile against her mouth. For a moment, a precious moment she wished she could preserve forever like a flower pressed in a book, she felt the hole in her heart close up—the place where the guilt had roots. She felt no anxiety, no worry, no fear, no grief—only him and the warmth he brought her.

  His mouth came back for more and she knew he could taste the chocolate and cream on her tongue, lapping at it like a cat. His hands moved under her sweater to cup her breasts, tease more groans out of her. She melted into him, her hand pressed to his heart. He smelled like sugar and chocolate and her body coiled, tightening in anticipation while his body vibrated under her hands.

  “Lucas,” she murmured, running her hands up his arms and into his hair. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

  * * *

  Lucas kissed her once, twice, tried to calm his galloping heart. Words danced on his tongue—words he wanted to shout from the top of a skyscraper, words it was way too soon to say. He smiled and shook his head. “You. You’re killing me.” He leaned in, kissed along the curve of her neck.

  Elena’s hands settled on his chest, pushed gently. She looked up at him, confusion and disappointment in her eyes. “Do you not want to—”

  “No! Hell, no.” He stepped closer. “I mean yes. Hell, Elena, I want you so badly, I can’t talk straight.”

  “I want you, too.”

  Do you? he wondered for a moment as the panic clogged his throat. She was his. At least for today, she was his and if he couldn’t yet tell her what she meant to him, he’d spend all day and all night showing her. “Come to bed with me, pretty lady.” He held out his hand, smiling when she took it.

  He led her to the stairs and halted. “Hang on.” In the jacket he’d flung to the living room chair, he found the bag her friend Cass had given him, then all but dragged Elena upstairs to his bedroom. He up-ended the contents of the bag onto the bed.

  Condoms in every possible variety rained down and Elena gasped. “I’m going to kill her.”

  “Later. You have plans now.” Lucas leaned down, bit her ear and she groaned for him. “Close your eyes and pick one.”

  With a laugh that was mostly a sigh, Elena did.

  “Ribbed. Excellent choice.” Luke peeled off his shirt and Elena’s mouth fell open. He figured that was a good sign. Slowly, she traced his pecs, followed the line of hair that dipped below his belt, and made his stomach quiver with her bold fingers. He slid his hands to her waist, peeled her sweater up, up, up and over her head. His breath caught at the sight of her. He dipped his head, pressed his lips against her heart, happy to feel it thundering, determined to make it his.

  “From the first second I saw you, I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured, kissing his way down her rib cage. He popped the clasp on her bra, drew it slowly down her arms, then the fly on her jeans, and tugged the pants off her hips. He dropped to his knees, took off her shoes one at a time, pressing kisses along her belly as he slowly tugged down her panties. When he stood, he lifted her right out of the pants that pooled at her feet. She gasped, and her eyes went wide. Still holding her, he captured her mouth, kissed her fast and hard.

  He kissed her like she was his first drink of water after crossing a desert. He sat on the edge of the bed, cradled her in his arms and kissed her over and over again—slowly. Deeply. Elena was naked in his arms and he tried to slow down, to keep a tight rein on his control. He fisted a hand in her hair, pulled her head back so he could see her face with her eyes closed, her mouth swollen. His other hand cupped her breast, teased the nipple, made her breath hitch. The sound inflamed him and he had to taste. He bent his head, took her into his mouth and when her back arched and her nails dug into his flesh, he half-feared the top of his head might launch into orbit if he waited any longer.

  He shifted, laid her on his bed and stripped off jeans and underwear in one smooth motion. Panting, enjoying the way her eyes raked over him, he was sure his skin blistered from the heat of that look. He tore open the packet of the condom she’d picked, rolled it on and met her on the bed, pressing his center to hers.

  “Tell me again, Elena.” He took her hands, raised them over her head, threaded their fingers together. “Tell me.”

  “I want you, Lucas.”

  With a prayer of gratitude, he sank inside her and groaned. “Elena.” He held himself still, wanting—no, craving the feel of her body tightening and moving around him. She lifted her legs, slid them along the back of his calves and wrapped them around his waist, her hips rising up, urging him on. He moved and her moan made his eyes roll bac
k. Instinct took over—he forgot his routine, forgot his damn name. She was all that mattered, all that there was. He let go of her hands, used his to cruise up and down her body, some primal part of his brain categorizing her responses—the spot behind her knee, the crease of her thigh, and oh, there. Right there.

  His pulse pounded. He wanted all of her, all there was, so he gave, gave all he was until she tightened around him, exploding with a scream. He kept moving, kept up until she stilled and sighed out his name.

  Only then did he follow.

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  Elena stretched and sighed, a long low sound of satisfaction, and then wrapped her arms around Lucas, burying her fingers in all that thick hair—currently splayed on her chest. Still connected, they lay catching their breath, Lucas rubbing his thumb along the curve of her breast. She was—was—wow. There were simply no words, she decided.

  “Elena,” he whispered, his voice a breath in her ear. That was all he said. Only her name, but it made her heart do a slow somersault. Her body still quivered from what he’d just done to it. After a few minutes, he lifted his head and kissed her, a sweet touch of lips that opened a new wound in her heart, one that made her wonder if leaving New York—leaving him—was really such a good idea after all.

  She reminded herself she couldn’t keep him. But damn it, she wanted to pretend she could, even if only for tonight, so she tightened her hold.

  He kissed her again, then shifted to leave the bed, striding to a door that led to his bathroom. While he was gone, she tried to put her feet back down on solid ground, but it wasn’t possible. The earth was still moving. She shifted to her side, burrowed deeper into his bed, tried in vain to shove away the guilt.

  “You’re thinking.”

  Her eyes snapped open. Lucas stood in the bathroom doorway, comfortably naked, watching her. The sight of him made her mouth water and her body want—and the guilt grow. Elena shifted again, this time, to find her clothes.

  “No. Don’t do that.” He moved quickly, pulled the shirt from her hand, turned her to face him. “We’ve still got a bag of condoms to work our way through.”

  She managed to laugh though her eyes stung. “Okay if I use your shower?”

  Lucas cursed and lifted her off her feet, tossed her back to the bed. When she moved, he climbed in with her, pinned her.

  “Lucas, let me go.”

  “Uh uh. Talk to me.”

  Elena rolled her eyes. “Is that what I’m here for? To talk?”

  He stared down at the sarcasm on her face, swallowed his retort when he saw the misery beneath it. He rolled off the bed, dragged on his jeans and left the bedroom. He headed downstairs, hoping that a few minutes alone would help her settle. In the kitchen, he put the hot cocoa mugs in the microwave, gave them a zap and sat at a stool to sip his.

  He was completely adrift here. No program, no flowchart to step him through this. He was in love with a woman who had one foot on a plane.

  A few minutes later, she joined him. She’d pulled on his shirt and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life. “Oooo.” She smiled brightly and grabbed the hot mug. “Thanks.”

  Frowning, he angled his head and stared.

  “What?”

  “That’s my question.” He spread his hands, waited for her to say something. Anything. “What the hell is going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, come off it, Elena!” He shoved back from the stool, prowled the kitchen. “We should still be upstairs, enjoying round two and pillow talk, not standing in my kitchen, about to have our first argument.”

  Her smile froze, then faded. She whipped around, stalked to the stairs.

  “Where the hell are you going?” He followed.

  “Away from here. From you.”

  Like hell she was. “Yeah, that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? You don’t want me.”

  “I just had you.” She whipped back around to face him. “I called you, remember?”

  With all the force of a two-by-four to the face, the reason why Elena was freaking out struck Lucas. “Yeah.” He moved in front of her, blocked her path. “I remember. It was nice.”

  Okay, it was a cheap shot. Desperate times.

  Her face went red and for minute, he thought his understatement would keep her fighting, keep her here. But she edged past him. Faster now, he kept talking. “Being with you today cemented something I’ve known since the day I met you but figured you don’t want to hear.” Her movements were jerky, rushed, and he knew he had seconds before she was gone so he blurted it out, the timing be damned. “I love you. Damn it, Elena, I love you!” He shouted the words, frustration shredding what restraint he had left.

  She spun around, the steel in her brown eyes wavering. Her jaw fell open, and with a violent shake of her head, she stepped back—stepped away from him. “Well, stop.”

  He almost laughed. He stepped toward her until he was a breath away. “I’m so damn in love with you, it hurts. And you know it. In fact, I think you feel exactly the same way and that’s why you’re picking a fight. You can’t allow yourself to love me because it takes courage for that—courage you don’t have.” Her eyes blurred and he kicked himself for making her cry. When her hand crept up to rub that spot on her chest, he lost what little hold on his temper he’d had left and let out a stream of curses. “I’m begging you, Elena, please talk to me!”

  For one full minute, she glared at him, chest heaving, and then her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, a sob shattering the echo of his demand. “I can’t stay! Don’t you understand that? I cannot stay here.”

  He forced himself to stay exactly where he stood. “Why? Tell me why, damn it.”

  “Because!” She buried her face in her hands and folded over while the grief finally—blessedly—escaped. “I thought I could do this but I can’t. I don’t want to think about it. And being here forces me to—Oh, I can’t!” She pressed both hands to her chest and rubbed and his heart cracked in two. Slowly, he crouched beside her, pulled her into his arms.

  “Baby, I know it hurts.” He put his hand over hers, rubbed gently. Her hands came up to clutch his. “But it wasn’t your fault. Why do you feel so guilty?”

  She shook her head. “It was my fault.”

  He shifted her weight, stood up with her in his arms and sat on the sofa, cradling her against his chest. “Tell me.”

  “I was such a brat, Lucas.” She whispered into his shoulder. “My mom—she was great but I never appreciated her. Ever. We fought all the time. She picked on everything—and boy, did I give her a lot to pick on. I wore nothing but black, my hair was a nest, I had a bratty attitude to pretty much everybody and my grades were pitiful. Whatever we did—shopping trips, dinners out, holidays—they typically ended with us fighting and Kara saying, ‘You ruin everything, Laney.’” Her voice cracked.

  Understanding dawned. “She said that when we watched that movie. That’s why you fled to the kitchen. But she was kidding, wasn’t she?”

  Elena nodded. “Yes, but the words, Luke. They’re like a scar, you know?”

  “Go on. Finish it.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I finally found a boy I liked. I cut class to be with him so we could—Well, Mom found out. She told my dad. She grounded me and I—damn it, Lucas.” She covered her face as heavy sobs broke free. “I told her I hated her guts. I told her I hated her guts and wished she’d drop dead.” Her words were almost impossible to understand through her sobs. “That was the last thing I got to say to her. And she died, she died believing I—”

  She couldn’t get the rest of the words out. She sobbed out a dozen years of guilt onto his bare chest and the weight of it stabbed straight through him. He held her, rocked her, until she emptied—dimly aware of the tears falling from his own eyes, of the guilt carved into his own heart.

  When her sobs quieted, he started to shed it. “You think I don’t understand, but I do. The night before…my mom and
I also had a big argument. She kept saying how lazy I was. How I took no pride in anything I did, no interest. I said something disrespectful—and she slapped me.”

  He didn’t even notice his hand come up to touch his cheek.

  “That morning, I was in school when we found out about the attack. I ran all the way home. She left us a message. She told us she loved us. And she would love us for always.” His voice thickened but he pushed the words out. “I never told anybody this—not even my family.” He glanced at his hand, surprised to see it was already rubbing his cheek and managed a small smile. “She touched me. I felt her—right there, in math class, when the principal announced that the towers fell. A hand cupped my cheek and rubbed it and I swear to you, it was her. I stood up, ran home, and found a message she left on the machine.” His smile bloomed. “She loved us, Elena. Even me. They were her last words—not our stupid fight, not how mad at me or how disappointed in me I knew she was. She forgave me because—” He had to stop, swallow hard. Swallow again. “Because she was my mother and she knew she was going to die and—” His voice broke but he shoved through it. “And that’s what moms do.”

  Elena only stared at him and his smile faded.

  “But I didn’t believe that. Didn’t trust it—any of it. I convinced myself I dreamed it. Made it all up and then did something so despicable, it makes me sick.” He buried his face in his hands and groaned.

  He heard her take a breath to say something but before she could speak, he cut her off with a joyless laugh. “Just listen. I’m not exaggerating.” He pulled in a deep breath for courage. “After she died, the rage—I swear, Elena, it was so huge, it had its own heartbeat. I spent about a year walking around like a—like a lit fuse, pissed off and ready to brawl with anybody who looked twice at me—and some who only looked once.”

  Her hands, still clutching his, squeezed gently—a show of support that gave him a glimmer of hope.