A Christmas Together

by Tara Quan

  He leaned down. “I’ll take however far are you’re willing to go.”

  He waited until she parted her lips. Using his free hand, he nudged her glasses up until they rested on top of her head. As he brought his hands to her shoulders, he brushed the bridge of her nose with the tip of his. She blinked a few times, her eyes shifting as if she were struggling to focus. Her lower lip trembled, her expression turning vulnerable. It took a moment to realize she couldn’t see him clearly.

  Capitalizing on the advantage, he followed the shape of her mouth with his tongue. Tremors reverberated under his palms as she lifted her hands and rested them on his upper arms. When he pushed her lips apart, a soft moan escaped her throat.

  Their tongues tangled. Her fingers slid over his shoulders to interlace behind his neck. She arched her back. Her breasts flattened against his chest. He could feel her nipples harden through the thin barrier of their T-shirts. Emboldened by the physical cue, he claimed more.

  Once he’d nibbled and sucked her lower lip, she reciprocated, mirroring his advances with a restrained precision that hinted at inexperience. Reaching for control, he released her shoulders to press his palms against the cold wall, using the lowered temperature to pull out of the lust-filled haze. When he broke the kiss, he found her lips ruby red, her chest rising and falling with each shallow pant. Clinging to the collar of his shirt, she rested her forehead between his pecs, her hot breath branding him through the cotton.

  If he didn’t leave soon, he wouldn’t go at all. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

  Lifting her chin, she slid her glasses back on. “I always keep Sundays free.”

  “Good. I’ll come by at seven.”

  “Seven?” she squeaked. “As in a.m.?”

  Nodding, he grabbed the doorknob. He needed time to clear his head—to make sure he was ready for where this might lead. “Wear workout clothes. We’re going for a run.”

  Her wispy hair whipped back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t run. I don’t even own sneakers. I’m more of a Pilates type of girl.”

  Caressing her cheek, he leapt into the carpeted hallway. “You’ll figure something out. See you tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  “Stop…I can’t…I need a break…”

  Surprised her pounding heart hadn’t yet exploded, Brennan placed her hands on her knees and doubled over. The barely functioning part of her brain reminded her to stand straight and take deep breaths. Exhaustion won out. Gasping, she gulped small mouthfuls of air and closed her eyes. If she lifted her head right this instant, she might throw up.

  Karl jogged in and out of her peripheral vision. He’d literally been running circles around her for the past ten minutes, and the dratted man hadn’t even broken a sweat. His much longer stride meant it took considerable effort to keep up with his slow jog. She’d never had any hope of matching his unrelenting pace. Words couldn’t describe how much the disparity in their physical fitness aggravated her.

  “Perk up, sugar.” His taunting voice snaked through her consciousness, the effect approximating the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard. “We haven’t even done a mile.”

  No way could that be accurate—not with her lungs on fire and her calves threatening to cramp. Pressing the pedometer setting on her wristwatch, she read the digital readout and growled, “We’ve covered 3.6 miles, asshat.”

  He cupped the back of her head, his strong fingers massaging her nape. Then he gripped her shirt collar and yanked. Not giving her time to protest, he spanned her lower back with his free hand and pushed. Since complying demanded less energy than fighting, she managed to crest the hill.

  Groaning with relief as they stopped under a shaded patch of pavement, her back met the wall of his chest. She closed her eyes and leaned back, using his body as leverage to remain upright. His hands closed over the sides of her neck, his callused palms heating her clammy skin as his thumbs dug into her shoulder blades. With a purr of pure bliss, she sank into his hold. Her muscles relaxed, her limbs threatening to soften into a jelly-like consistency.

  Then she made the mistake of tilting her head back and lifting her lids. Recognizing the possessive gleam in his jasper eyes, her nerve endings tingled with awareness. Trapped within a warm masculine cocoon, her lungs filled with the salty scent of sweat muted by a hint of mint. Memories of last night’s kiss exploded over her exhausted haze. She remembered those lips devouring her mouth, those hardened hands tensing against her body. Arousal curled in the pit of her stomach, making her inner muscles clench with an insatiable hunger.

  It served her right for going years without bothering to have sex. Straightening, she stepped forward and faced him. “Umm…I’m okay now. Thanks.”

  A smug smile on his face, he captured her chin with two fingers. “I’m not.”

  It didn’t seem possible, but she’d somehow forgotten how to swallow. “I…We ran more than a mile.”

  He grabbed her wrist, turning her arm so he could glance at the digital readout. “These things overestimate.” Instead of letting her go, he adjusted his grip and laced his fingers with hers. “For someone who never runs, you sure own a lot of gadgets.”

  Needing to occupy her free hand with some sort of task, she adjusted the sweatband that had long since failed to keep hair out of her face. “I use it to count how far I walk. It also tells me how many extra calories I’m allowed.”

  Starting to jog once more, he dragged her with him. “Think about all the things you can eat after we get to Georgetown.”

  She almost tripped. “I refuse to run to a different state.”

  Ignoring her protest, he continued to pull until her stride kept pace with his. “Don’t be a baby. It’s across the bridge, but we’ll run along the Potomac first and cross over near the monuments. By the time we loop back to M street, the shops should be open.”

  Huffing and puffing, she put one foot in front of the other. The man might be certifiable, but she refused to wimp out. Complaining, however, gave her something to focus on. “If don’t die by the time we’re there, remind me to murder you. My feet are killing me.”

  He glanced down at her Vibram Fivefinger shoes. “I remember telling you not to wear those.”

  “It was either these or sandals.” She gritted out through clenched teeth. “I don’t own sneakers, remember?”

  “I thought you were kidding.” He slowed down by the barest fraction. “I never understood the point of ugly overpriced socks with plastic soles.”

  Needing to conserve her breath, she didn’t bother expounding the virtues of barefoot exercise.

  “Looks like you have some pep back in your step. You’re in better shape than you look.”

  Taking his statement as a compliment, she focused on expanding and contracting her diaphragm. Then a realization hit—she might make it to the other side of the river, but no way would she survive the return trip. Skidding to a stop, she admitted defeat. “Unless you brought money for a cab-ride home, we need to turn around. All I’ve got on me are my house keys.”

  Turning, he quirked a brow at her. “Throwing in the towel already?”

  Pride and common sense warred. As always, the latter won. “Unlike you, I plan ahead. Any farther, and I won’t make it back to my apartment.”

  “I could always give you a piggy-back ride. You’re what—one-fifteen sopping wet?”

  Though the thought of being plastered against his back held a certain appeal, she shook her head. “I like to get places on my own two feet.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “Okay. But no stopping until we’re there—deal?”

  Several dozen curse words in multiple languages echoing in her brain, she focused on getting her thigh and calf muscles to cooperate. She managed to stay in control of her sweat-drenched body until they cornered the side road leading to her building. When they came to a stop at the entrance, she bent at the waist, leveling her head with her knees.

  A hard slap on her back came close to
toppling her. “Isn’t that more fun, not to mention useful, than doing a bunch of crunches? You should try this at least three times a week, and increase your distance each time.”

  Bracing her weight on her thighs, she managed to unbend by a few degrees. “You love giving unsolicited advice, don’t you?”

  As if to confirm her statement, he reached down and squeezed her upper arm. “Would this be a bad time to mention you need more muscle definition?”

  Good for the ego, this man was not. She squinted at his crotch. “If you find me so unattractive, why do you have a boner?”

  He shifted his weight to one leg. “Damn. I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

  With her eyes level with his groin, how could she not? “You’ve had one since you saw me wearing contact lenses.”

  Grabbing her shoulders, he hefted her into a standing position. “Breathe slowly in and out. It’s not the lack of glasses, by the way. You’re damn cute in them. But these yoga pants fit you a lot better than yesterday’s jeans.”

  “In other words—you’ve been eyeing my butt.”

  He gave her bottom a light smack. “I sorta dig the whole package. For someone short and skinny, you’ve got a decent booty.”

  Sometime during the course of yesterday’s never-ending date, she decided the man didn’t go out of his way to be an ass. Though he took bluntness to an extreme, lacked a filter, and seemed oblivious to most social niceties, it didn’t seem as if his intent was ever to insult. “Considering what’s been on your mind, why on earth did you drag me out for a run?”

  “I needed to make sure horniness isn’t clouding my judgment. Exercise helps clear the head.”

  She was beginning to understand why he’d remained single. “It also decreases your chances of success.” Leveling one hand with her temple, she clarified, “The Brennan-battery has a limited charge. If you use it up on a run, there’s not much left for anything else.”

  He rubbed his chin. “You know…Even if you were a dude, I’d still like you.”

  As far as backhanded compliments went, that one was a vast improvement. Keeping a straight face, she deadpanned, “If you were a chick, I’d totally paint your nails.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She patted his forearm. “The very best.”

  He looked down at her hand. “But you don’t paint your own nails.”

  “It’s kind of a group activity, and my friends are out of town.” Looking up at him through lowered lashes, she asked, “Want to come up for some coffee?”

  As come-ons went, that one couldn’t have been more blatant.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I should tell you…My orders came in last night. I’m flying out tomorrow. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Thank God.” She sagged with relief.

  His mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  With a grunt, she grabbed his hand and dragged him into her building. This whole song and dance had gotten old. The time had come to put everyone’s cards on the table. “Saves us a lot of awkwardness, don’t you think? Despite your bad attempts at the whole dating thing, you’re basically sniffing around me for some purely physical post-deployment stress relief. I’m cool with it, so you can stop pretending. No-strings sex is more my style than relationships anyway.” She pressed the elevator call button.

  “How many of those have you had?”

  She frowned. “Of what?

  “Sex, with or without strings.”

  Very few, but it was none of his business. It’s not her fault each experiment turned out to have disappointingly boring results. “Enough to spot your type when I see one,” she remarked as they stepped inside. “As I said. Don’t worry, I’m not the clingy type.”

  For some reason, he didn’t seem too happy about her statement. “How can you even be sure I want to jump into bed with you?”

  She glanced at his visible erection before batting her eyelashes. Did men seriously think they weren’t transparent when it came to this stuff? “You kissed me last night, and you dumped an overnight bag in my hallway this morning. Pretty sure you plan on staying until you fly out.”

  The electronic bell chimed, signaling their arrival on her floor. As they stepped out, he scratched his head. “For some reason, I thought you’d be more…traditional.”

  She shrugged. “People mix up nerd with prude—no idea why. You want sex, I want sex. We’re healthy responsible adults who like each other. Trust me, it’s rare for all these factors to exist in the same place at the same time. I’m smart enough to take the next logical step.”

  Reaching her door, she jammed her key into the deadbolt. As she turned the knob and swung the thick wood panel open, he muttered, “What if I’m the clingy one?”

  The unexpected question rooted her to the spot. “Huh?”

  Nudging her inside, he shut them in. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I…umm…want strings. It wouldn’t be fair to jump you without telling you first.”

  Her brain chose this moment to shut down. Heaving a sigh, she slid out of her shoes and focused on the mundane. “I’m too tired to deal with this.” She stepped away from him before turning to sniff his shirt. “And we both need to shower. Feel free to use the guest bathroom.”

  Chapter 3

  “How can you own a French press and a burr grinder but not have any coffee?”

  Her hair wet, Brennan padded barefoot across the carpeted room. Her apartment had an open floor plan. An island containing the sink and dishwasher separated the kitchen from the living area. A few barstools flanked it from the carpeted side.

  The smell of fresh-ground beans permeated her apartment, along with the delicious scent of heated butter. Taking the whistling kettle off the stove, Karl pivoted to face her as she climbed onto the closest seat. He poured boiling water into the glass beaker he’d placed in the sink. Once done, he deposited the kettle back in its initial spot, fastened the metal filter over the press, and lifted it onto the island’s granite countertop.

  How was she supposed to kick him out when he’d cooked and made her coffee?

  Too tired to even contemplate going outside again today, she’d opted for shorts and a fitted tank. Goosebumps prickled her arm as his gaze traced the lacy neckline and lingered in the vicinity of her non-existent cleavage. The top left her shoulders bare but for two thin straps, and the shorts cut off several inches above the knee. Even as logic insisted she end this flirtation here and now, her subconscious seemed to have other plans. Why else would her clothing trend favor showing increasing amounts of skin?

  Peering around his broad shoulders to do a quick sweep of the tiled kitchen area, she lifted her brows in surprise. She’d expected to see a disaster zone, but all the surfaces appeared cleaner than they did this morning. Glancing downward, she noticed and approved of his uncovered feet. She’d placed a shoe rack in the entry way for a reason. “I use the press to make tea and the grinder for spices. Did I smell something frying, or was I so hungry I imagined things?”

  “Unlike a certain someone,” he placed two plates laden with scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, and hash browns on the counter, “I clean up while I cook. This way, when I’m done with the meal, all I have to do is put my plate in the dishwasher.”

  She bent down and sniffed the food. Butter made most edibles smell divine and did fiendish things to the back of her arms. “Nothing here came out of my fridge.”

  He plunked a bottle of organic ketchup in front of her. “This did, which means it won’t taste right. I don’t know how women can spend close to an hour in the shower, but it gave me plenty of time to swing by the supermarket and make breakfast. What do you do in there by the way?”

  Pinching her fingers, she drew a line in front of her mouth. “I’m sworn to secrecy.” Eyeing her plate, she calculated the calories. “Eating all this would mean all that running was for nothing.” And even though it didn’t make a lick of sense, she’d glut herself on the delicious treat anyway.

  He p
atted his belly. Since he’d paired a lightweight T-shirt with dark jeans, she could almost see his stomach’s flat muscled lines. “Protein is good for you. Look how I turned out.”

  Humility definitely didn’t number among his personality traits. “You’re blessed by genetics, and you’ll pay for it when your metabolism slows down.”

  He filled two mugs and slid them over. “A lot of men get in the best shape of their lives after turning thirty. Since we’re on the subject, are you at least over the drinking age? Judging from your files, you skipped a few grades growing up.”

  “My files would have included my birth date, so you know very well I’m a whole year over twenty-one.” She positioned the steaming beverages by their plates before accepting the proffered utensils. The all-purpose island was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with this apartment. It simplified the process of cooking and eating. “Are you trying to guilt yourself into leaving or something? Your ‘robbing the cradle’ logic doesn’t work. You might be a decade older, but my IQ puts me at twice your brain age.”

  He walked around the island and slid onto the stool perpendicular to hers. “By the way, really smart people don’t show off. Not everyone likes a know-it-all.”

  “Do you?” She ate a forkful of perfectly cooked eggs and felt her eyes roll back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had butter.

  His low chuckle jangled her nerves. “Just this particular one—it’s the blonde hair, I think. Dig in, we’ll burn off the calories soon enough.”

  She had a good idea how he meant to go about doing so. “Please tell me you’ve changed your mind and decided not to be a chick about this.”

  He choked, coughed, and downed a mouthful of coffee. “Jesus, woman. Has anyone ever told you your mouth is going to get you in trouble?”

  She tapped her temple. “It’s my brain, actually. I figure things out a lot quicker than most people. I’ve been told it’s annoying.”

  He replied with a solemn nod.

  Shrugging off the not so subtle criticism, she forged on. “Whether or not you’re relationship material is irrelevant. Unless you’re planning a career change, you’ll be out of the country most days of the year. Where the government sends your types, emails and phone calls won’t be easy. Why start something that’ll crash and burn?”