CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN

by Susan Mallery

  Mark took the wine bottle from her. She glanced down and saw she hadn't poured any of the pale liquid. He set his glass on the table, next to the bottle, all the while keeping his gaze firmly locked with hers.

  "We can't do this," he said.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. "Do what?"

  He swore. She realized she was still bent over him. Like an idiot, she thought, starting to straighten. But then his hand was on her arm, tugging her closer. She didn't know which way to move. Her center of balance shifted and suddenly she was falling.

  Before she could stop herself, she landed on his lap – exactly where she'd imagined herself not thirty seconds before. His arms came around her, drawing her closer.

  "You're not the only one who's been thinking about it," he said quietly, right before his mouth settled over hers.

  For several seconds Darcy couldn't re- spond. She was afraid she was imagining all this. That the wine had gone to her head – so much so that on another plane of reality, she and Mark were actually having a rational conversation while her imagination created this romantic scenario.

  Yet he felt very real as he pulled her against him. She wasn't sure her fantasizing could have created such an amazing combination of heat and desire.

  As she'd thought, Mark Kincaid kissed like a dream. Soft yet firm, warm and tempting. He didn't take, didn't hold back, didn't give her time to think, which was all exactly how she wanted it. His lips brushed against hers in a sensual greeting that made her toes curl. His scent, the feel of his body against hers, the way his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him were all delightfully unfamiliar, but oh, so welcome.

  He kept the kiss light, yet despite the delicate pressure, she found herself overwhelmed by need. Heat poured through her with an intensity she'd never experienced. She knew however unexpected the turn of events, they were very real.

  Every cell in her body cried out for her to have her way with this man. She tried to tell herself that she had to he careful not to scare him off, that she needed to be the tiniest bit sensible and that it had been at least five years since she'd been with a man and she'd probably forgotten how to do it. None of that mattered. Not when his mouth moved over hers, back and forth, slowly, so slowly.

  He tilted his head to improve the angle of their contact. Instinctively she parted for him, wanting him to kiss her deeply, needing that intimacy more than she'd ever needed anything. But he made her wait. First he nibbled on her lower lip, the pull of his teeth nearly making her cry out with pleasure. Her breasts swelled and began to ache. Without meaning to, she found herself moving her hands up his shoulders to his neck, then burying her fingers in his hair.

  Finally, amazingly, he swept his tongue against the inside of her lower lip. Desire shot through her, making her cling to him. Something hard and masculine bumped up against her hip. The proof of his arousal made her brush her tongue against his, taking rather than waiting.

  It was as if she'd set fire to dynamite. Passion exploded through her. Through Mark, as well, if his actions told the truth. Even as they leaned into each other, trying to kiss more deeply, to explore every aspect of their sensual connection, their hands reached for each other.

  He grabbed her hips, lifting her. She shifted around until she straddled him. Instantly her hot, ready feminine center pressed against his hardness. The perfect pleasure of the contact nearly made her scream. She couldn't stop the pulsating movement of her hips, or the catch in her breath when she found a rhythm that nearly sent her over the edge. Mark only made it worse – and better – by urging her on. The hands holding her hips eased her back and forth until they both moaned.

  He pulled away enough to kiss her cheeks, her chin, then to nibble along her throat. He moved his hands from her hips to her waist, then around to her ribs. From there it was a short journey to her breasts.

  She was too stunned to protest … at least that's what she tried telling herself in the tiny part of her brain that was still coherent. This wasn't her fault. Except she'd wanted it to happen, had imagined what it would be like. Instead of stopping him, she arched her back, pushing her full curves into his hands. He squeezed gently, then explored her. When his fingers brushed against her nipples, she cried out, exhaling his name.

  When he tugged on the hem of her sweater, she helped him pull off the garment. He unfastened her bra without a single fumble, leaving her bare to the waist. Before she could even think about being embarrassed or stopping him, he straightened and leaned forward, then took her right nipple in his mouth.

  The sensation was nearly more than she could stand. As his lips closed around her and his tongue flicked against her taut peak, he used his fingers to tease her other breast. She clutched at him, feeling the silk of his hair. Powerful muscles bunched as he shuddered.

  The voice whispering this had to stop began to fade as desire pulsed in time with her rapid heartbeat. Tears burned in her eyes – brought on by skin long deprived of human touch. Every brush of his fingers was exquisite. When he stood her on her feet and reached for the button at her waistband, she didn't have the will to stop him. Especially when his fingers trembled slightly. She looked at his face. The raw need in his green eyes reassured her more than words.

  He unfastened her slacks. Before tugging them down, he paused to shrug out of his shirt. She had a brief impression of strong muscles and a still-red scar, but then he urged her out of her shoes and she couldn't think about anything except him pulling off the rest of her clothes.

  He settled back on the sofa, then ran his hands up and down her legs, pausing at the top of her thighs. The pulsing desire had only increased and when he swept close to the blond hair protecting her most private place, she began to quiver. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down next to him on the cushion. They kissed. A deep, stirring sharing of souls that made her shake even more.

  Long fingers rested on her thigh. She parted slightly, so ready she knew that it wouldn't take but a touch to bring her to climax.

  "Mark, I—"

  He touched her there. Through the slick folds of skin, the dampness, he found the one spot designed to bring her to her knees. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could- n't do anything but silently beg him to never stop.

  He read her mind.

  With agonizing slowness, he circled the sensitive place, then returned to brush over the swollen nerve center. Twice more he repeated the process and, on the third lap, she lost herself.

  Her climax shuddered through her with the intensity of a volcano. He deepened the kiss, swallowing her cries as pleasure rippled through her, making her shake and cling to him. He touched her lightly until the last tremor faded.

  He drew back slightly and stroked her cheek. When she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes, she found him smiling at her. The slow, easy, masculine smile of a man who has just pleased a woman.

  "Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "It's been some time since I've, ah…"

  "I hadn't noticed."

  "Liar."

  His smile widened. "All right. Maybe I noticed a little. It happened so quickly, it was hard to tell."

  She swatted at his arm, but without any great force. He slipped off the sofa, then turned her so she was half sitting, half lying against the back. She tried not to think about the fact that she was completely naked and that they were in her living room. Not to mention that she barely knew the man. But when she would have protested, he bent down and nibbled the skin at the inside of her knee.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked breathlessly because she already had a good idea of where he was heading.

  "If it's been a long time, you probably need a little more excitement in your life. If you don't like this, just tell me to stop."

  Yeah right, she thought hazily as the nibbling moved up higher. She parted her legs to make things easier for him and closed her eyes when he reached the inside of her thighs. So much for her not thinking sex was all that special. Obviously, until now, she
'd been doing it wrong.

  At the exact moment he gave her the most intimate kiss possible, he pressed his hand against her breast. The combination of sensations nearly made her scream. He teased her nipple in perfect counterpart to the movements of his tongue between her legs. All those needs returned, as if she hadn't just found her release. Pressure built with a speed that left her breathless.

  More. She needed more. She brought her feet up to the sofa, parting her legs even wider. He licked her most sensitive place, tasting all of her. He removed his hand from her breast, but before she could pro- test, a single finger entered her. He slipped in and out slowly, then faster and faster, all the while kissing and licking and nibbling until she thought she might die from the glory of it all.

  She clutched at the sofa cushions. Perspiration broke out on her body. Pressure built then released in an unexpected shudder that left her unable to hold back her cry of delight. It was more than she'd ever experienced, and seemed to go on forever. He touched her gently, drawing every possible shiver of wonder from her starving body.

  When she was finally back on earth, she sighed with contentment. Then something thick and hard pressed against her. She shifted so that she could wrap her legs around him, drawing him in.

  "Yes," she breathed, opening her eyes.

  Passion tightened Mark's features. He pushed inside her, filling her until she gasped.

  "I want you," he growled.

  "Please."

  Mark told himself this was a mistake, but it was a little late now. As he pushed into Darcy's tight body, he groaned. She felt too good – hot, slick, ready. If only she hadn't looked at him as if she'd never before seen a man she wanted. If only he hadn't noticed the swell of her breasts earlier that afternoon. If only she hadn't responded like a starving person enjoying her first meal in weeks.

  Remember what happened last time, he told himself, as he continued to push inside her. But this was different, he argued silently. No, she was a woman with secrets. He knew better.

  Damn. She pulled him close and kissed him. As their tongues circled and danced, he felt himself losing control. She kissed better than anyone he'd ever been with. It's just sex, he told himself as he slipped toward the edge.

  "Mark," she breathed, then gasped.

  He felt the shudder of her release. It was more than he could resist. With a gasp of his own, he went over the cliff and began his journey to paradise.

  Chapter Four

  Darcy didn't have the luxury of waiting until the morning after to feel like an idiot. No, she got to feel stupid the second Mark straightened, pulling out of her body. There she was, naked as the day she was born, half sitting, half lying on her sofa while a strange man pulled up his trousers and zipped them. He hadn't even taken off his clothes.

  Color flooded her face. She wanted to run and hide, but there was no easy way to extricate herself from the sofa. Plus there was the whole naked thing.

  Frantically she looked around for something with which to cover herself. The sofa didn't offer many ideas. Mark must have noticed her distress, because he picked up his shirt and draped it over her, then rose to his feet. Something very like chagrin darkened his green eyes.

  "Darcy, I—" He broke off and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't do this sort of thing enough to know what to say."

  "Me, either," she said, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it. She assumed they were discussing the suddenness of the encounter, and not the fact that they'd made love. Somehow Mark didn't strike her as sexually inexperienced. Could the situation be more awkward?

  "I don't usually … that is I've never—" She pressed her lips together and wished she could simply fade into the fabric of the sofa.

  He crouched in front of her and brushed the hair from her eyes. "I know. This isn't your style. Mine either. I guess we were both caught up in the moment." One corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Must have been all the tofu in the potatoes."

  "Must have been."

  He dropped his hand to his side. "Are you okay?"

  No!

  She held in the word. "I'm not upset, well, not that much. It's just, I don't know. Too weird, I guess. I barely know you. We're not even dating." She swallowed and wanted to die. "Not that I'm hinting we should date, it's just…"

  She looked away, hating what he must think of her. That she was cheap and easy. She wasn't – she'd never been that way. If she tried to explain about her life, he might start to ask questions and what was she supposed to say about Dirk? Talking about her brother was hardly post-lovemaking material.

  He stood, then bent over and grabbed her clothes.

  Darcy took them gratefully. She pulled on her panties, then rose and quickly pulled on her slacks. There was a really awkward moment when she had to hand him back his shirt, then slip on her bra and sweater all while trying to keep from thinking about him watching her. Which was crazy. The mm had just touched about every significant body part she owned. Modesty was coming a little late to help.

  When she was dressed, she forced herself to look at him. He stood with his hands shoved into his slacks pockets. Tension filled his body – a body that she had touched, that had entered hers. The memory of what they'd done to each other made her study the carpet again.

  "I don't know what to say," she admitted.

  "Do you want me to apologize?"

  She stared at him and wished she knew what he was thinking. "Are you sorry?"

  "No."

  "Then don't apologize."

  "Fair enough." He shifted his weight. "I'm guessing it's probably time for me to go."

  She winced. "Of course." She headed for the door. He followed her, then surprised her by bending down and kissing her cheek. "Thank you. That was an amazing experience."

  "Um, yes well, for me, too." Despite her embarrassment and lingering horror at her impulsiveness, she couldn't complain about the physical aspects of their lovemaking. Mark had been amazing.

  "I'll call you," he said.

  "Don't say that." She forced herself to smile at him. "It's kind of a button for me. You don't have to call."

  "What if I want to?"

  "Then just do it, but don't tell me you're going to. If yon do, I'll obsess about it and when you don't call, I'll try to figure out what I did wrong. Two weeks later I'll finally remember that it's not my problem, it's yours. But I don't need the emotional down time."

  "There's nothing wrong with you," he said earnestly. "You're an incredibly attractive, sexy woman."

  "As true as that may be, your gender can be stupid. So don't tell me you're going to call. Okay?"

  "Deal."

  He stared at her. She gazed into his green eyes, trying to memorize everything about him. Because she didn't have a doubt in her mind that except for incredibly stilted conversations at the diner, she wasn't going to see him again.

  "Bye, Darcy. Thanks for the dinner."

  She opened the door and he stepped into the night. She gave a quick wave as he hurried toward his own apartment. She got the door closed and was halfway to the kitchen when reality slammed into her with all the subtlety of a runaway dish tray hitting the floor.

  She and Mark had just had sex. Unprotected sex.

  Darcy leaned against the dining room wall. No. That couldn't have happened. She wasn't that stupid, was she? After five years of trying to get it right, she couldn't possibly have blown it. And for what? Thirty minutes of hot, wild, incredible sex? If she had a craving, couldn't she just stick to chocolate?

  Still calling herself fifteen different kinds of moron, she crossed to the calendar and counted days. Okay, the pregnancy issue didn't seem to be a problem, but there were other considerations. For one thing, where exactly had Mark Kincaid been putting his handsome self? For another, even if her body got through this unscathed, what about her emotional well-being? One-night stands went against everything she believed in. She prided herself on being a thoughtful, intelligent, organized woman who made informed choices. She hadn't gotten
through all the hell of the past few years by jumping into bed with every pretty face who asked.

  Why had she allowed a juvenile crush on her good-looking neighbor to overwhelm her good sense? And what was she supposed to say to him the next time she saw him?

  *

  Darcy turned off the alarm two minutes before it was scheduled to go off. She stared at the time. Four fifty-eight. She figured she'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep the whole night. Worry and self-recrimination had kept her awake most of the time. When she had finally dozed off, she'd found herself dreaming about her close encounter with her sexy neighbor. The sensation of him kissing his way up her thighs had been enough to jerk her into consciousness.

  Her eyes burned, her eyelids felt swollen and even her hair hurt. She groaned as she forced herself into a sitting position. It was going to be a long day.

  Cold water on her face and a vigorous teeth-brushing didn't make her feel any better. Normally she waited until she was at the Hip Hop to have coffee, but this morning she needed an emergency infusion. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would jump-start her body. She pulled on her ratty terry-cloth robe and stumbled into the kitchen.

  After flipping on lights and hunting up the coffee-maker, she dug out a filter and coffee, then set about making magic. She'd just turned on the machine when there was a soft tap at her back door.

  Darcy froze. She knew she hadn't imagined the sound. She also had a really good idea of who would come calling at five in the morning, although she couldn't figure out why. Then she pictured herself – her hair sticking out at odd angles, her skin pale as chalk, her shabby blue robe that would have disappeared instantly into the throw- out pile should she ever try to give it to charity.

  Perfect. This was so exactly how she wan- ted to start her day.

  Trying – and failing – to find humor in the situation, she walked to the back door and cautiously peeked outside. Sure enough Detective Mark Kincaid stood there, his handsome self dressed in sweats that should have looked horrible but instead made her mouth water. She opened the door.

  "Did you have an appointment?" she asked before she could stop herself.