by Susan Gable
She reached up, caressed his cheek. “I think it’s pretty neat you want to be with me that much.”
“Neat, huh?” He murmured right next to her ear, causing her to squirm. She was sensitive to certain tones, an interesting fact he’d discovered last week. A low-pitched hum had her laughing in earnest.
“Stop! Stop! Ack! No fair!” She shoved at him.
He backed away to watch her. As she settled down, she looked up at him, her pleasure in him shining clear.
“You should come with a warning label,” he said. “But any man with half a brain would ignore it, anyway.” Leaning over, he brushed his lips over hers. “Breathe with me.” He sealed his mouth over hers, captured her exhale as though he could inhale her spark, her very essence. Then he returned it to her.
Damn. Unlike a lot of men, he’d never been very good at doing the casual sex thing—one of the reasons he hadn’t had sex in so long. And he was already in serious trouble with Jenna. Lighten up.
“Eat dessert first,” he whispered.
She nodded. “Right.”
He yanked the blue satin sheet from her naked body. “The question is, where to start?” He let his gaze travel the length of her, lingering on all the erogenous zones. By the time he returned his attention to her face, it was pink, and she shifted minutely.
Jenna tried to hold still beneath his frank appraisal, but when he licked his lips, she couldn’t stop the low moan that rumbled deep in her throat. She arched her back just a bit, an invitation she hoped he wouldn’t ignore.
“Maybe I should start here.” He lifted her hand, turned it over, kissed her palm.
“You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”
A slow grin curved his mouth, which he then pressed to her wrist in response.
Delightfully agonizing minutes passed before he worked his way to her shoulder, then down around her breasts. He teased the sides of them, licked the center of her chest, but never touched the now-peaked nipples that screamed for his attention. With an evil wink, he continued kissing down her belly, pausing over the sapphire-colored stone nestled in her navel. “This—” he flicked it with his tongue “—this is so damn sexy on you.”
Then he continued onward, nipping at her hip, spending an eternity on her thighs. She moaned her disappointment when he moved lower and kissed her bony kneecap. And the man was heartless enough to ask, “Something you needed?”
She nodded as he trailed his tongue down her calf.
“What?”
“You missed all the good spots.” A playful pout twisted her lips.
“I was saving those for later. Trying to get you good and primed.” He slid a finger up the bottom of her foot, and she squealed, drawing it back. Then he straddled her ankles and crept up her body, caressing her with the skin of his chest.
She gasped when he brushed over the juncture of her thighs. Moving a little higher, he paused, staring at her breasts, his hot breath tantalizing. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. Shifting his weight onto his palms, he used his knee to spread her legs, then dragged his body higher, settling his erection in just the right spot. “So, are you good and primed?”
“Oh, yeah,” she whispered.
When he took her breast into his mouth, she grabbed the sheets. He sucked and pulled, and she bucked beneath him. “Sloan, please.”
“Such pretty manners, sugar.” Just the tip of him eased into her.
She groaned, shifting beneath him, desperate for more. “Sloan!”
“Yes?” With a slow stroke she thought he’d never complete, he moved forward, burying himself in her bit by bit.
“Mmm.” She raised her hips to meet him, sinking him to the hilt. “Better. Much better.”
So he pulled back. And no matter how much she moved beneath him, no matter how she begged and pleaded, he refused to be hurried, setting a pace so languid, loving her so long she thought she’d lose every last scrap of her sanity. And when he finally brought her to the top, the orgasm made her shake and sob, calling his name.
Only then did he let go of the control he prized so much, quickening his pace. When he stiffened above her, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, murmuring, “Jenna, Jenna.”
Spent, he relaxed, and his weight pressed on her. As if he realized it, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him, cradling her in his arms. “Amazing,” he whispered, eyes still closed. “Completely amazing.”
She stroked his face. “Still think it’s wrong?”
His lashes fluttered open. “Without a doubt, sugar. It’s wrong. I have guilt over lying to my kid and ditching work early. On the other hand, it’s so damn right I don’t know if you’re an addiction I’m going to be able to break anytime soon.”
“Why would you want to?” As long as he kept her as an addiction, they were both safe. Sex as an addiction between them was light. Nothing serious. Not a relationship.
They were friends. And incredible lovers. Nothing wrong with that, despite his guilt. Despite his kids.
“Why indeed?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHRISTMAS CHAOS REIGNED in Sloan’s house. Molly and Ashley were in the living room near the tree, playing holiday music too loudly on the small boombox Ashley had gotten from Brook, so she’d “leave my stereo alone.”
Jamey, clad in a black-and-red velvet suit with a tiny bow tie Sloan had given Rae hell over—poor kid—sat on the floor, tossing the crumpled gift wrap around while the expensive, batteries-not-included push toy his grandfather had bought lingered nearby, currently untouched and unappreciated.
Rachel and James were snuggled up on the couch, watching their son with bemused expressions. The old man was in the kitchen, whipping up another batch of his special eggnog. And though Brook hadn’t eaten much and had scrammed back upstairs at the earliest possible moment—and, claiming illness, had stayed there, despite his and Rae’s numerous attempts to bring her back into the festivities—all in all, it had been a wonderful Christmas.
In fact, it was the best one he could remember in a long time. No holiday madness at an airport in order to be with his family, no being home alone with just the girls.
So why did he have the distinct impression that something was missing?
The bottom stair creaked as he eased his weight onto it.
“Hey. Where are you going?” Rachel called.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. Dad’s eggnog will be ready soon, and you wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“Definitely not.” Upstairs in his room, he pulled back the curtain, peered across the way. Her car sat in the parking lot, the three inches of fresh snow that had fallen for Christmas disguising the color she called Fusion Orange, and he called ugly. Damn it. She hadn’t left her place at all today. Which meant she’d spent the holiday alone despite his invitation to join his family. He grabbed the phone, hit four on the speed dial.
It rang until the answering machine clicked on. He waited for the tone. “Jenna? I know you’re there. Pick up.” When she didn’t, he hung up and dialed again.
And again.
On the third try, she answered, voice nasally. “I’ll give you one thing, Tex, you’re persistent. What can I do for you?”
“You can get your cute little butt over here and have some of my dad’s special eggnog.”
“That’s sweet, Sloan, really, but I told you last night I wasn’t up for Christmas with anyone.”
“You know, I never would have guessed you were a Grinch. In fact, most of the time you’re the farthest thing from it. So what gives?”
A long silence followed. Then she said, “I’m just not up for holiday cheer, Sloan. And I’m not up to facing your family right now. We don’t have that kind of a relationship, remember? Dessert only.”
“You had pumpkin pie at Rachel’s on Thanksgiving. That was dessert, a holiday, and my family.”
“Because I was on my way home from my parents’ house and had to go right past her house. No, Sloan. I’m
sorry.” The phone clicked as the line disconnected, leaving him staring out the window at her place, listening to nothing.
He replaced the handset in the cradle. On his way back downstairs, he paused at Brook’s room. The door was open just a crack and he peered in. Wrapped in a fleece blanket, she slept. He crept in, laid his palm on her forehead. No fever. She stirred, and he pulled back his hand. The distance between them had widened again, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. Some days being a father made neurosurgery look easy by comparison.
On the first floor, he passed through the noisy living room without a word to anyone. In the kitchen, he gathered a few items from the cabinet, then ducked into the dining room. He ladled some eggnog from the punch bowl into a sports bottle. Then he bagged a few chocolate-chip cookies and a couple of the green-iced trees Ashley had dusted with red sprinkles. For good measure he grabbed some of the Snickerdoodles he’d baked for Brook, even though the edges were a little on the over-brown side.
There. That covered the dessert angle.
“I have to go out,” he announced to his family.
“Did something happen at the station, Daddy?” Ashley looked up from the board game she and Molly were now playing.
“No, Peach, nothing like that. I just need to go spread a little holiday cheer to someone who doesn’t seem to have any. I won’t be too long.”
Rachel jumped from the sofa and followed him to the foyer. “You wouldn’t happen to be going next door, would you? To see Jenna?”
“So what if I am, squirt?”
“Just asking. She seemed like a happy-go-lucky person when we met at Thanksgiving. Not the kind I figure to be lacking in holiday cheer. So maybe that’s just a smokescreen for what you’re really up to?” She waggled her eyebrows.
“I wish it were.” He pulled on his boots. “Hold down the fort for me, okay?”
“Sure thing. Have fun.” Rae gave him a smile and a wink.
Grumbling to himself about nosy kid sisters who never outgrew their butt-in-ski-ness, he trudged down the cleared sidewalk. The snowblower he’d bought himself for Christmas all the way back in November had proved to be the perfect gift—a necessity for life in Erie.
It took a little cajoling to get Jenna to let him in, but the cookies he promised did the trick. Princess met him at the door as usual, and he rumpled the dog’s floppy ears. “How come you don’t come to greet me like this?” he teased, shedding his wet boots and outer garments.
“Because you never scratch me behind my ears?” she answered from the couch.
“You don’t like it when I mess with your ears.”
“I don’t like it when you hum in my ears,” she corrected. “I don’t mind some of the other things you do with them.”
“Oh yeah? What things?” He poked through the kitchen cupboards, retrieving two round glasses. The eggnog just filled both of them. Clutching the bag of cookies under one glass, a few napkins under the other, he carried his offering to the coffee table in time to notice her shrug her shoulders.
“That’s the best you can do?” A quick detour to the entertainment center let him flick on her stereo, tuning in a station playing Christmas music all day long.
She groaned. “Turn it off.”
“Nope.” He nudged her away from the corner of the sofa, claiming the spot she vacated. Then he pulled her into his arms, letting her settle with her back against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Now, isn’t this nice?”
“Mmm. I suppose.”
“Such enthusiasm. I think you’ve damaged my ego.”
“Sorry.”
“And now you’re giving me lip service, and not the kind I really enjoy.” His concern level kicked higher when she didn’t laugh or come back with a smart remark. “Jenna, what’s wrong? Of all people, I expected you to be on the love-Christmas team, the kind that goes crazy with decorations and gifts and shopping.” A small tree stood on top of her kitchen island, the cord for the lights dangling off the edge, unplugged. That was the only decoration in an apartment he’d watched change from floral summer decor to Halloween and Thanksgiving stuff all over the place.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He just held her, waiting, knowing that most women couldn’t resist talking about “it”—whatever “it” might be—eventually.
But he wasn’t prepared when Elvis’s version of “Blue Christmas” came on and she went board stiff in his arms, then yelled, “Turn it off! Off!” She clamped her hands over the sides of her head as he grabbed the stereo remote from the end table and stopped the music.
He lifted her onto his lap, cradling her against his shoulder until her trembling eased. “O-kay, now that really freaked me out. What in the hell is going on with you?
“It’s not the same this year,” she whispered.
“Why not? Because your parents decided to go on that cruise? Is that why you’re having a blue Christmas?” For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what possessed her parents to leave their only child alone at Christmas.
She shook her head against his chest. “Because of why they decided to go on that cruise.”
“Why?”
A soft sniffle came from her. “It’s not the same without Gram.”
“Aw, sugar. Your grandma?” He tightened his arms around her. “Is this the first Christmas without her?”
Jenna nodded, lifting her head and wiping the sleeve of her sweater across her nose. “Last year was so different. The usual holiday fun with her. You never quite knew what she’d do next.”
“Reminds me of someone I know.”
She wanted to smile at that, but the tears swimming in her eyes wouldn’t let her. “Yeah, I guess I take after her. No wonder, with all the time we spent together.”
“The firsts after losing someone are always the hardest. First holidays, birthday, first anniversary of them passing. It gets a bit easier with time.”
Jenna caught the inflection of experience in his voice. “I hope so. ’Cause this stinks.”
“What happened?”
She clenched her teeth, trying not to melt into a mess of tears. “Christmas last year was fantastic. The day after, Gram and I hit the mall. She loved the crush of the crowd, the thrill of the bargain at the sales. We were there when the stores opened at the crack of dawn. By noon, our feet were killing us, and we were dragging an armful of bags.” She paused, able to see Gram’s animated face so clearly, every wisp of white-and-black hair, every wrinkle, each smile line.
She forced the lump in her throat aside, ignored the fact that her nose was clogging up again. “We went to her favorite restaurant for lunch. Gram had made a couple of comments about not feeling that great, but we’d both brushed it off. When the meal came, she praised it to the waiter, but didn’t seem very hungry. She pushed it aside, ordered a hot-fudge sundae instead. We were talking about something— I don’t even remember what—when her eyes got real big. She looked surprised.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. That image would be one she’d never forget. The moment she’d learned to eat dessert first.
“Then what?” Sloan prompted, giving her a light squeeze.
“She—she keeled over. Boom. Just like that. Somebody did CPR on her, and when the paramedics got there, she had a pulse. But she’d had a massive heart attack. She coded twice in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and was pronounced dead on arrival.” Princess nuzzled Jenna’s knee, and she leaned over, scooping up the spaniel. The little dog turned around, licked the moisture off Jenna’s face. “Gram was gone.”
Sloan stroked her hair. “She must have been a special lady, and very important to you.”
“She was. She—she always believed in me, no matter what crazy thing I wanted to try next, Gram always believed that I could do what I wanted to.” Her shoulders began to shake with sobs she tried to mute, and her nose started to run again.
Sloan leaned sideways, taking her—and the dog—with him. His long arm reached over to the coff
ee table and yanked a napkin from beneath the cookie bag. He offered it to her.
“Thanks.” She pushed Princess from her lap, then wiped her nose. When she tried to move away from Sloan, he just tightened his arms around her and shifted.
Before she knew it, they were snuggled on the couch, her head cradled on his chest.
After a few minutes, she relaxed into him, enjoying his warmth as he toyed with her hair. When his fingers drifted behind her ear and began to lightly scratch, one corner of her mouth twitched. She thumped her foot against his calf like a dog with a tickle spot.
His deep chuckle vibrated through her. “That’s better.”
“Definitely better.” He’d already made her feel more normal, after she’d spent the whole day feeling like nothing would ever be right again. She caressed his stomach through the soft fabric of his brushed-cotton shirt. “I can think of something else that could help, too.”
She raised her head, leaning in to kiss him.
“Mmm-hmm,” he sputtered against her lips. He gently moved her away. “Easy, sugar.” His fingertips skimmed over her cheek. “Not like that. Like this.”
The tenderness he kissed her with made her heart go to pieces all over again. Though their sex life had always been incredible, she knew this time would be different. It was the way he looked at her, touched her. As if she was a precious thing, almost fragile. She’d never had a man treat her like that. He carried her to the bed, then made love to her.
And for the first time, she fully understood the difference.
A dessert-only relationship with him suddenly didn’t hold the same appeal.
Fear followed fast on the heels of that discovery. Damn it. She was falling for him.
