CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN

by Susan Mallery

  He smiled. Instantly her heart jumped into her throat and her ability to form whole sentences dove for her toes. It was not a pleasant sensation.

  "I've been watching your house, waiting for you to wake up," he said, sliding past her and entering the kitchen. "I figured you'd have to get up early."

  She closed the door and pulled her robe more tightly around herself. "Okay. I'm up and you're here. Why?"

  Instead of answering, he pulled her against him. She had absolutely no warning and no way to stop his mouth from settling against hers. She told herself to protest, or at the very least, not to melt. Her body didn't listen. Instead of pushing him away, her arms wrapped around him and held on as tightly as his. Instead of yelling out a complaint, her mouth simply softened, then parted to admit him. She went from numb to alive in .8 seconds. He was better than a double latte.

  He tasted of mint and coffee, a surprisingly pleasant combination. The fingers of one hand tangled in her messy hair while his other hand rested on her rear. She felt herself both heating and readying, as if they were going to make love this morning. Right here in her kitchen. Was that more or less tacky than the sofa?

  "Wait one darn minute!"

  She managed to gather a few threads of common sense and shove him away. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on his face, knowing that if she looked down she would see visual proof of what she'd just felt against her stomach.

  He swore softly. "Darcy, I'm sorry. That's not why I'm here." He half turned from her. "I really wanted to talk about last night."

  "There's nothing to say."

  "Sure there is."

  He looked at her and she noticed that while he'd shaved, he hadn't showered. He looked rumpled and too sexy for words. At that moment, she would have sold her soul to be with him. Fortunately, no one ap- peared with a contract and she was able to at least act disinterested.

  He stared into her eyes. "About two this morning I realized I'd been completely irresponsible."

  Oh. That. "I know." She folded her arms over her chest. "We're both old enough to know better. I can't believe I had unprotected sex."

  "I'm sorry. It was my fault."

  She wished that were true. If only she could blame all of this on him. "No. I was a party to what went on. I didn't think about it, either."

  He took a step toward her. "I'm okay. You won't catch anything from me. But there's another consideration."

  For a second she thought he was politely asking about her health status. "I haven't been with anyone in—" She paused before she actually said "years" then continued. "There's no medical condition."

  "What about you getting pregnant?"

  "It's unlikely. Our timing was fairly safe."

  His green eyes seemed to see through her. "Fairly safe isn't a sure thing. You'll let me know if…"

  "You'll be the second to know."

  "Are you sorry?"

  He towered over her – a strong, powerful man. She supposed she should have been afraid, but after last night she knew he was tender and caring. He'd made love to her as if her pleasure had mattered more than his own. It had been an enlightening experience. Now, this morning, she found herself wanting to do it all again, only more slowly.

  "No," she said quietly. "I'm a little shocked by our behavior, but I don't regret it."

  "I agree."

  She wanted to know more. She wanted him to tell her that he found her sexy and irresistible, that he liked her as much as he wanted her. She also wanted to win a couple million dollars in the next two weeks.

  "Where do we go from here?" he asked.

  The question surprised her. For a single heartbeat, she thought about blurting out the truth. That she was lonely and desperately wanted someone in her life. Someone who would care about her and maybe even grow to love her. Someone who wouldn't mind about Dirk. Someone … but not Mark. Her luck wasn't that good.

  "I have to take a shower," she said. "I'm due at work in less than an hour. Maybe we could table this discussion until later?"

  "Okay." He made no move to leave. "I could help."

  "With what?"

  He moved closer, then cupped her face and slowly kissed her. The tender touch of his mouth on hers made her legs buckle. She had to grab on to him to stay standing. Heat from his body seemed to surround her own, drawing her in, weaving a spell she couldn't resist.

  "With your shower," he murmured. "You know, scrub your back."

  "It's just about sex," she said, talking more to herself than him.

  "Is that bad?" He reached into his sweats pocket and pulled out a small packet. "I remembered protection this time."

  She tried to be outraged that he had arrived at her house with the intention of having sex with her. But before she could muster the words, he was backing her toward her bedroom. Somehow her robe had opened and he was touching her breasts. The feel of his hands on her curves dissolved her fragile indignation, not to mention short-circuiting her self-control. Darn the man. She would give him a piece of her mind, just as soon as they finished making love.

  Light spilled from the bathroom, allowing her to see him as he paused in the doorway of her bedroom. He tugged off her robe. She tossed it away. He pulled off his sweatshirt, then kicked off his athletic shoes before stepping out of his sweats. He was naked underneath.

  She saw the muscles rippling in his broad chest, the scar on his left side. As much as she wanted to explore the angry, red marks, she was more interested in his jutting arousal. When she started kissing him, she slipped her hand down his side, then around in front until she could touch him.

  He pulsed against her questing fingers. So hard and ready. She felt a clenching deep inside herself at the thought of him filling her.

  "Shower," he said against her mouth, kissing her and guiding her backward at the same time.

  He drew her nightgown over her head and tossed it to the ground. Her panties quickly followed. She heard the rush of water but barely paid attention because now he was slipping his fingers between her legs and touching her in that special way of his. By the time they stepped under the steamy stray, she was nearly ready to climax.

  He lathered her all over, paying particular attention to her breasts. He teased her nipples until she was panting. She responded by grabbing the soap and rubbing him all over. When she slipped her hands between his legs, he groaned. They washed each other's hair, letting the soapy water pour off them as they kissed.

  Mark reached for the condom he'd left on the vanity, then slipped it on. Darcy glanced doubtfully around at the tub.

  "How exactly did you plan on us…"

  He smiled. "Trust me."

  He turned her so that her back was to him. She didn't mind because he nibbled down her neck and reached around to play with her breasts. When she was trembling and desperate, he urged to her raise one leg so her foot rested on the rim of the tub. Something hard probed at her from behind.

  Instinctively she bent forward. As he entered her, filling her and making her gasp, he slipped one hand around and began to rub against her most sensitive place. His fingers matched the pace of his thrusting, robbing her of will. She braced her hands against the wall of the tub. The cold tile contrasted with the heat they generated between them.

  Faster and faster, everything so incredibly perfect until she had no choice but to surrender to the climax. As her body began to shudder, she felt him stiffen. He breathed her name as they both spent themselves in the glory of their joining.

  *

  "At least the cleanup was easy," Darcy muttered to herself as she drove to the Hip Hop Café twenty minutes later.

  She avoided glancing at the clock in the dash – she already knew that she was late. She couldn't believe it. After five years of near-perfect behavior, she'd lost control twice in less than twenty-four hours – and with the same man. Although she supposed that was better than losing control with a different man. Apparently all she had to do was avoid Mark and she could return to her previously calm, if lonely, exi
stence.

  She couldn't believe they'd done it again. She also couldn't believe how good it had been. In her past, lovemaking had been something the man wanted. She had en- joyed herself on rare occasions but she'd never felt the earth move. Nor had she ever done it in the shower, or in that particular position. It had been – she shivered – de- lightful.

  She pulled into the back parking lot of the Hip Hop. There were three other employee cars there, along with four belonging to customers. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least it was the morning after Thanksgiving and most people were going to still be too stuffed with turkey to bother with breakfast out. Trying not to notice it was six thirty-five, she grabbed her purse and dove out of the car.

  "I know, I know," she said as she entered the alcove with the lockers and quickly put away her things. She looked at Janie and sighed. "I'm twenty minutes late. I'm really sorry."

  Janie shrugged off her apology. "Darcy, this is the first time in what – six months? We're not even busy. I think I can cut you some slack."

  "Thanks. It won't happen again."

  At least she didn't think it would. She couldn't imagine Mark showing up at her door to make love with her every morning. Although the thought of that made her heat up in the best way possible.

  "How was your Thanksgiving?" her boss asked.

  Darcy tied on her apron and tried not to blush. "Great," she said, hurrying toward the front of the café. Janie followed. "I'd planned on having several people over. Mostly ones with nowhere to go on the holiday. But everyone canceled on me so Mark Kincaid was my only guest."

  She grabbed a pot of coffee and quickly made a swing through the restaurant. There were only three occupied tables, along with a single man at the counter. Everyone al- ready had food, except for one couple ready to order. She wrote their requests onto her pad, then delivered the information to the kitchen.

  Janie was waiting for her back by the coffeemaker. Her long blond ponytail swished like a horse's tail as she shook her head. "Excuse me, but did you say Mark Kincaid?"

  Darcy smiled and prayed that she didn't look guilty. "Uh-huh. He lives next door to me and he's a regular here. I don't see him with a lot of people so I thought he might be alone for the holiday. This time of year can be tough on people who don't have family locally."

  Janie stared at her as if she were crazy. "So you just invited him over?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "And he just accepted?"

  Darcy tried to act casual. "Sure. Why wouldn't he?"

  "I don't know. Since he moved back to Whitehorn, Mark hasn't exactly been social." Janie's expression turned speculative. "Anything interesting to report?"

  "Gee, he's really nice."

  "And?"

  Darcy held her gaze and shrugged. "And what? Like I said, he's a nice guy. Kind of quiet. Hates vegetables."

  Janie laughed. "I'm not surprised. He al- ways refuses a salad when he comes in for lunch or dinner. I didn't know you knew him." Her humor faded. "I'm glad he joined you for Thanksgiving. If you hadn't invited him over, I suspect he would have been alone."

  Darcy glanced around to make sure her customers didn't need her, then lowered her voice. "I know he doesn't have family in town. I get the impression he doesn't have much family anywhere."

  "Just his sister, Maddie. His parents died when he was in college." Janie paused, as if trying to remember. "There was another relative. A great-aunt, I think. Mark took care of Maddie until he graduated from college, then his aunt took over so he could go to New York."

  Darcy tried not to read too much into the information. So Mark had taken care of his sister. They had that in common, but little else. "Where is Maddie now?"

  "On the road somewhere. She's a barrel racer and travels around to the different rodeos. She doesn't get back here much."

  The door to the café opened and two couples entered. Darcy seated them, then took their orders. By then she had food to deliver, coffee to refill and more customers to serve. It might not be as busy as a regular workday, but she was the only waitress on duty.

  She was nearly an hour into her shift when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was in the process of buttering toast and the bread nearly slipped from her fingers. Even knowing what she was going to see, she couldn't help turning around.

  Sure enough, Mark Kincaid had just walked into the Hip Hop Café. Across the worn linoleum and a half dozen or so people, they stared at each other. There was something in his eyes – a connection built by remembered passion – that made her insides go up in flames.

  Don't go there, she warned herself. Men like him were heartbreak city. But while her head was very willing to listen to the excellent advice, the rest of her body wasn't willing to be so cooperative.

  Chapter Five

  Mark slid into his usual booth. Except for the slight twinkle in his eye and the faint smile teasing the corners of his mouth, he looked completely normal. Darcy was envious. If only she felt that way. Her stomach had taken up permanent residence in her toes and her hands actually shook as she grabbed the coffeepot and made her way to his table.

  "Good morning," she mumbled, not able to meet his gaze. She poured coffee, careful not to spill. "Have you decided, or do you need a few minutes?"

  "Good morning, Darcy."

  She finished pouring and forced herself to look at him. His smile broadened.

  "How are you this morning?" he asked.

  Under other circumstances it could be considered a reasonable question, but this situation was anything but normal. After all, less than two hours before, they'd been making passionate love in her shower. Last night…

  She swallowed, not wanting to think about last night and all the things they'd done.

  "I'm, um, what was the question?"

  His smile took on a very self-satisfied quality that made her want to smack him. He looked like what he was – a smug male who had just recently sexually pleased a woman.

  "About your order?" She grabbed her pad and pencil from her apron.

  "The usual. Western omelette, side of bacon. You've already brought me the coffee."

  Her protest was automatic. "Mark, you can't keep eating like this. It's so unhealthy. Aren't you worried about dying young or getting heart disease?"

  He leaned close. Instinctively she did the same, shifting so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

  "I appreciate the concern," he murmured. "However, in the past day or so, I've had a lot of extra exercise and I really need to keep up my strength."

  She glared at him, unable to believe what he'd just said. At the same time, heat flared in her cheeks and she knew that she was blushing. The man could be really annoying … in the most charming way possible.

  She turned to leave. He stopped her with a light touch on her arm.

  "Why don't you bring me some pumpkin bread, too. I enjoyed it the last time I had some. Even if it is made with vegetables."

  She hated that he complimented her cooking, mostly because it made her go all soft and mushy inside.

  "You're not playing fair," she protested.

  "I know."

  She walked off without saying anything else. There were more customers who needed her attention and she really had to get away from Mark before she said or did something stupid.

  It had been a lot of years since she'd had to deal with the awkwardness of "the morning after." She remembered the time as being fraught with peril. Apparently her time out of the dating game hadn't changed that particular fact.

  Darcy took orders from new customers, delivered hot food and avoided Mark right up until his breakfast was ready. Then she had no choice but to return to his table. She set down the plate with the omelette, along with two smaller dishes containing the bacon and pumpkin bread.

  "Thanks," he said. "Everything looks great."

  "I'll pass along the compliment."

  "Especially you."

  Her heart did a quick double beat. "Mark, don't."


  "Why not? It's true." He leaned toward her. "How about tonight?"

  Her insides quivered. Did she want this? Him in her house … in her? Heat poured through her at the thought. Impulses weren't a part of her current life, so why was she so quick to give in now? She wanted to tell herself that she was crazy. She felt crazy. But she also felt excited about something other than finding Dirk a good school for the first time in years. Was that so bad?

  "Darcy?"

  "I'm thinking."

  "I didn't imagine the question would be so hard."

  "Well, it is."

  "Why?"

  Because he represented temptation, she thought. The question was how would she pay for giving in? Darcy knew any relationship with Mark, even one primarily located in the bedroom, was going to cost her a lot.

  Did she mind that? The problem was she'd been so lonely for so long. Mark made her remember that she was still alive and very much a woman. Shouldn't she be allowed to have a temporary diversion in her life?

  A sound at the door interrupted her musings. She looked up and saw Homer Gilmore wander into the café. He glanced around fearfully, as if expecting someone to pounce. Darcy turned to Janie, who looked as concerned and undecided as she, Darcy, felt.

  Homer was the town eccentric. Well into his seventies and losing his faculties, he often wandered around town, talking to himself. He was usually harmless, but with his long gray hair, slippers and bathrobe, he was just enough outside of normal to be scary.

  Darcy squared her shoulders and ap- proached the old man. "Morning, Mr. Gilmore," she said cheerfully. "Can I get you something?"

  Homer glared at her, muttering something she couldn't understand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janie heading for the phone, no doubt to call Homer's nurse to come and get him.

  "I'll take care of this."

  The familiar voice caught her by surprise. Darcy turned as Mark approached. He gently took Homer by the arm.

  "Come on, Mr. Gilmore. I'm with the sheriff's office. Mark Kincaid. Why don't I see you home?"

  Homer glared at him, then his wild eyes cleared slightly and he nodded.