Her Favorite Holiday Gift

by Lynda Sandoval

  “And yours doesn’t?”

  She cast him a droll glance. “Mine feels like a pricey, stark, Gold Coast penthouse.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. A lot of people would kill to live that lifestyle.”

  “I know. It suits me. But this place, the whole neighborhood, it’s different. In a good way.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. Care for some wine?”

  “I’d love some.”

  “Follow me.”

  They entered a chef’s dream of a kitchen, with a six-burner gas range, massive island and a butler’s pantry the size of her college dorm room. “Wow. This room is totally wasted on you, take-out boy.”

  “You should talk.”

  “True. But still, wow.”

  He laughed, bending down to open a state-of-the-art wine chiller and extract a bottle. “You know, it came with the house.” He shrugged, grabbing the opener from a nearby drawer. “I couldn’t very well restore the rest of the house and leave the flecked maroon velvet wallpaper up in here.”

  “Flecked maroon velvet? In the kitchen? Tell me you have photos.”

  “I have an entire photo book of the restoration. I’ll show it to you.”

  “Well, you did a great job in here.” She peeked inside the oven. “No owner’s manual or warranty card.”

  “Yeah, that was a joke, really. Occasionally my mom goes on a bend about me eating out all the time and comes over to cook for me, stocks the freezer.”

  “That’s nice.” She soaked it all in as he pulled the cork from the bottle. “A kitchen this fantastic might even inspire me to cook.”

  “Right,” he said, punctuating it with a scoff.

  She smirked. “I said, it might. Theoretically.”

  Wine poured, fire crackling in the living-room fireplace, lamps glowing, they settled in on opposite sides of the sumptuous sofa facing each other. She’d flipped through his photo chronology of the restoration—an amazing, and daunting, transformation—and then the intimate ambience started to freak her out. “You know,” she said, setting the photo album aside, “maybe we could go over Esther’s case.”

  His brows lifted. “You want to work?”

  “It’s not really work,” she fibbed. “It’s helping out some really deserving people. We might as well.”

  “Good point. I’m in.” He swung his stocking feet down to the floor and retrieved the folders she’d brought him at the Lincoln Park Conservatory what seemed like years ago. “Let’s start with you, since this is your work.” He handed them over, then grabbed the stack of files Esther had left with him.

  Through two additional glasses of wine each, Colleen pored over her research and discussed parts of them with Eric. They passed files back and forth, made notes, and somehow, of their own volition, their feet sort of tangled up together on the couch they shared.

  It felt so good.

  So good, so intimate, so right.

  The wine had mellowed her edge enough that she felt comfortable leaving her feet where they were, playing toesies with his. In fact, she snuggled down a bit farther into the cushions and entangled herself even closer as she concentrated on a file. It was the transcript of an interview she’d done with the contractor, and she quickly became engrossed in her reading. One comment he’d let slip jumped out at her, leaving her heart pounding. She’d asked him how the construction project had gone, and he’d said “without a hitch.” Exact words. Granted, they were buried in a monologue about why he was the injured party in this situation, but “without a hitch” didn’t equate to triple the bill. Why hadn’t she keyed on to that before? Probably worrying too much about the partners’ disapproval of the pro bono case in the first place. She glanced up to find Eric studying her, the play of firelight gilding one side of his face, shadows highlighting the angles of the other.

  What was he thinking?

  Was the intimacy of the evening getting to him, too?

  Her throat tightened. “You should read this.”

  “So bring it here,” he drawled.

  A challenge.

  Feeling bold, the sensual tension pulling low and tight in her belly, she eased her legs underneath her, then scooted across the long sofa, file in hand. Close enough to smell Eric’s spicy cologne, she held the file out. “Look at question fifteen. It’s the part about—”

  He grabbed the file and tossed it aside, leveraging her gently closer with a well-placed thigh between her legs until they were chest to chest. “We’re not in law school anymore, Colleen.”

  She swallowed. “Indeed, no. We aren’t.”

  “We’re older now,” he said, tracing the shape of her face with his gaze. “We know what we want out of life.”

  “Do we?”

  “I do.”

  Unable to help herself, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “And what is it you want?”

  “At the moment?” Without answering, he slid her body up his until their lips were a breath apart. Her skin tingled, key parts of her anatomy throbbed.

  “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “Dangerous territory.”

  “True enough.”

  “Probably not professional.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Then, what are you waiting for?”

  Eric closed the distance between them and kissed her. Not gently. Hungrily, with passion and history and the raw need for more. A deep groan in his throat rumbled through her lips as if it had come from her own body.

  He wanted her.

  There was no hiding that.

  She pulled her mouth away and pressed herself against him, loving the way his eyes drifted closed with desire. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re rekindling an old friendship.”

  “Is that what you’d call it?”

  “It’s one spin we could use,” he said, moving beneath her in a way that stole her breath. “And I’m also thinking of replaying the best night of my life.”

  She blinked. “You mean—”

  “Yeah. I mean.” He leaned forward and nibbled on her bottom lip. “I want to take you upstairs, Colleen. I want you in my bed. In my arms.”

  “Is it the wine?”

  “To hell with the wine, sweetheart.” He smoothed his hand down the length of her back, cupped her rear and pulled her closer to him. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “That’s all you. It’s always been you.”

  She buried her face in his neck and slid a hand down between their bodies to caress his hardness. What could it hurt? She could handle some no-strings sex. “Now that you mention it, I didn’t get a very close look at the rooms up there. I mean, there are so many.”

  Pushing up, he kept hold of her until they were both standing. “Six bedrooms to choose from, honey. Not to mention the bathrooms, the kitchen counters, the dining-room table. Lady’s choice.”

  She slid her hand into his as they walked toward the stairs, and shot him an uncharacteristically shy glance. “How about that front bedroom, with the window that frames the streetlight?”

  Colleen watched his face change, his expression smolder and soften all at once. “You remember the streetlight, too?” He pressed her against the wall with his body, nibbling on the side of her neck.

  She let her head fall to one side. “Mmm, hmm. One side of your face was in shadow, the other glowed iridescent from that streetlight,” she whispered. She smoothed her hands down the tapered muscles of his back to his waist, then tugged his shirt from his waistband and pushed it up his body. He broke away from her long enough to toss the shirt over his head, then went back to kissing her neck, her throat, nibbling on her earlobe, capturing her mouth.

  “I remember it, too,” he murmured against her lips, his words a vibration that radiated down her body and left her weak.

  “It was one night, Eric. How could one night be so…?”

  “Because it was you.” He kissed her forehead. “And
me.” A kiss to each cheekbone. “It was right.” He took her mouth once again, kissed her breathless.

  Overwhelmed, Colleen pulled back for air and buried her face in his neck. “You smell the same.”

  “And you taste the same.” Eric rested his forehead against hers. “I’m going to take you upstairs, Colleen, and make love to you until you beg me to stop. If that’s not what you want, you need to tell me now.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for several moments, then Colleen slid her hand into his and led him silently up the stairs. She turned into the first bedroom toward the front of the house, smiled when she saw the glow of the streetlight shimmering on the bed like liquid silver. Turning to face Eric, she walked slowly backward toward the window.

  Eric took a step forward.

  “No,” she said. “Wait.”

  His eyes burned with the kind of desire she hadn’t experienced in years as she slowly removed her clothing, one piece at a time. She let each garment dangle from her fingertips for a moment before dropping it in a heap beside her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Her gaze never left his. The white heat of this moment, of watching him want her so badly, shook her to the core. Finally naked, she stood before him, shoulders back, head held high. She reached up and cupped her own breasts. “Do you want me as much as your eyes are saying?”

  “More,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve always wanted you,” he said, un-buttoning his pants with the same deliberate care she’d used. She watched him with raw need pulsating through her veins, her stomach tightening at the sight of him aroused.

  She lifted her gaze to his eyes.

  Neither moved.

  “Meet you halfway?” he suggested gently.

  So sweet, so considerate. So…Eric.

  He’d always made her feel like halfway wasn’t nearly enough, and that was the problem. But she didn’t want to succumb to fear this time. She went to him, coiled her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. He lifted her off her feet and she wrapped her legs around his hips. The hot, wet warmth of her body cradled the urgent need of his. He groaned.

  She moved against him, gulping.

  “Coll, you feel—”

  “Like I want you?”

  He nodded, carrying her toward the bed. “Yes.”

  “I do.” Her heart pounded, but the darkness emboldened her. “You know what I want?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I want you inside me, Eric. Deep. Hard.” She watched his breathing quicken. “I don’t want gentle, okay? Not the first time, at least.”

  “The first time, huh?” Lamplight glistened off his smile as he cradled her back onto the bed, following her down to cover her with his warm body. The muscles of his chest made her breasts tingle and ache. She rubbed them against him.

  He reached up to smooth his fingers down the side of her face as his body teased her below. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I can’t take it, Eric. Please. I just want to feel you—” She gasped and bucked as he thrust deeply within her. Her body clenched around him, tight and slick.

  “Like that?” He pulled out and slid in again, harder, deeper.

  “Yes.” Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and tears stung her eyes. Eric had been the only man who’d ever broken through her tough shell to touch that vulnerable, protected place inside her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, meeting his thrusts with equal fervency.

  “Don’t worry.” He reached beneath her to cup her bottom and lift her body higher, angling to plunge deeper.

  The tension in her body crested and eased, crested and eased until she reached a peak that allowed no escape except plunging over. “Eric,” she gasped, her legs shaking around him. “I…I—”

  “Look at me,” he said. “Look into my eyes, Coll.”

  She did, through tears of pure pleasure, awash in a sense of home and happiness that had been missing from her life for so very long. “Eric,” she moaned, letting go as they spiraled off that cliff together. Colleen wrapped herself as tightly as possible around him and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of him pulsating inside her, squeezing him with her own body to capture every bit of him as she rode the waves of her own climax. As they lay in a limp, tangled pile, she realized her memory hadn’t played tricks on her all these years. Making love with Eric was every bit as magical as she’d remembered.

  She nudged his face up until his lips met hers, kissed him long and gently. “You feel okay?”

  “I feel amazing,” he said.

  “Yes. You do.” She smiled at him in the angled silver wash of the streetlamp, shutting out the rest of the world. “But we’d better confirm that.” She ran a finger slowly down his chest. “There are all those other rooms.”

  “Ah…big house. You might kill me.”

  “You can handle it,” she teased, kissing his nose. “And, you know, you do have a gorgeous, neglected kitchen,” she said, feeling his body react to the mere suggestion. “If you aren’t going to actually cook in the place…”

  “That’s your choice?” he said, pulling away from her and offering her a hand to stand.

  “For now,” she said. “The night’s young.” Colleen felt awash in gratitude that Eric had bought such a big old house with so many rooms. By daybreak, she’d chosen them all…one after the other. Talk about a housewarming.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d slept with Eric Nelson.

  Repeatedly.

  More to the point, she’d slept with opposing counsel.

  And, really, slept was a misnomer.

  It should feel like a life disaster, but it didn’t. She didn’t seem to care. She felt too good, too satiated, too infatuated.

  Eric…

  Facedown on the massage table with her best friend working the knots from her upper back and neck, Colleen felt safe enough to spill her guts. Through the little open face rest on the massage table, she could only see the carpeted floor. Occasionally she’d glimpse Megan’s bare feet, perfectly pedicured, as Megs curled her toes under and rolled one foot and ankle, then the other, stretching them out like a dancer.

  Colleen envied Megan the fact that she was fully present in her own body at all times, even in the midst of concentration on the deep-tissue massage of Colleen’s.

  “I think I realized something recently,” Colleen said, her voice distorted from the pressure of the cushions on her cheeks.

  “What’s that, hon?”

  “My life sucks.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Or pathetic. Either way, I’m constantly fighting to succeed, hunting for that one achievement that will complete me, but I’m dissatisfied.”

  “So stop fighting,” Megan said simply. “Stop hunting. Just be.”

  “What does that even mean?” Colleen didn’t even speak Megan’s language half the time.

  “It depends. What do you want?”

  Colleen considered that for a few moments, and her mind inevitably drifted to Eric. “I want to belong. I want to be approachable. I want…” Why was it so hard to say it? “I might want a family, Megs. Which proves McTierney and the bunch right, I guess.”

  “Don’t internalize their negative energy. A woman can work a high-powered career and still have a family, Coll. This is the twenty-first century.”

  “I know. Probably not at my firm, though.”

  “Aren’t the men married?”

  “Well, yes. That’s different. To them, at least. Their ‘little women’ stay at home.”

  For a few moments, Megan was silent, as she worked along Colleen’s spine with her elbows. “What’s bringing about all this yearning for change in my best friend?”

  Colleen sighed, squeezed her eyes shut. The only vision in her mind was the man she’d loved so thoroughly last night. “It’s Eric,” she said.

  “Ah.”

  “You knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Sneaking suspicion.�
�

  “He’s…just so amazing, Megs. He always was, but now…it’s different from law school.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s all man. Grown up and secure. We’re not trying to out-do each other like we did back then.”

  “Didn’t you graduate ahead of him?”

  “A hair, yes. But now I’m thinking, what did it matter? I alienated the only man who ever made me feel happy because of my mother’s life. It didn’t have anything to do with my life, really. And I don’t think Eric would never want me to change who I am. He’s like the male version of you.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  “It’s true. You’re both so centered and calm, which pisses me off.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “And he cares about me even though I’m a mess.”

  “You’re not a mess. You’re just you. Those of us who know you accept and love you for exactly who you are. Sounds like this Eric is one of the lucky few.”

  Colleen hoped Megan couldn’t hear the plink-plunk of her tears on the carpeting below the massage table. “I slept with him, Megs.”

  Surprisingly, Megan’s hands faltered, but only for a moment. “Do you mean, that night in law school?”

  “No. I mean last night.”

  “Really?”

  “Repeatedly,” Colleen admitted.

  “Sweetie, that’s great. I’ve always thought of him as the one who got away for you. And you’ve needed a good tumble for a long time now.”

  “Megs!”

  “Just speaking the truth. Sex is healthy for the body and the mind.”

  “Yes. But he and I have agreed to be just friends.”

  “Yet, you love him.”

  A beat passed. “You can tell that from the knots in my back?”

  Megan laughed softly. “No, I feel it from your energy. From the tone of your voice.”

  Colleen groaned. “What am I supposed to do? He’s opposing counsel on the biggest case of my career. I can’t love him, even if I do.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s where it gets all jumbled up. I’ve worked so hard to make partner…”

  “Indeed.”

  “But I hate my firm.”