A Blazing Little Christmas

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

“You’re too short.”

  “It’s not nice to pick on a person’s shortcomings.”

  “You said it, honey, not me.” He got up, walked around the room, pacing. A man who didn’t like being confined. No white-collar worker here.

  “Nervous?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, still pacing. “I’m not used to sitting. Don’t like all the holiday stuff.” As he walked in circles, the room grew smaller. She was about to ask him to stop, but then another couple strolled into the room. The woman was pretty enough, but the man was wearing a cashmere sweater, Burberry, four-ply, and would have rated an A-on the Eligibility Scale if he wasn’t wearing a redhead on his arm, too.

  Crap. She’d been hoping for the Alaska Gold Rush, and instead she was stuck on the Love Boat.

  Rebecca closed her eyes because this wasn’t the way Christmas was supposed to be. You weren’t supposed to lose your job. You weren’t supposed to be alone. When she opened them again, she didn’t bother to be polite. “I’m sorry. This mistletoe is taken. Find a room of your own.”

  The woman stared, slack-jawed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” Then Rebecca turned to the stranger, and kissed him.

  It was graceless, classless and screamed of desperation. And wasn’t that the truth? But as she kissed him under the mistletoe, the sounds of the lodge fell away, the scents taking over. The smell of burning wood, spiced cider, fresh pine and man. Rough, heady man. Rebecca knew Play-Doh, wax crayons and hand sanitizers, but this new and tantalizing aroma made her mind spin in circles, faster and faster. It carried her away, far away from the places she knew. This wasn’t Ivy League, white-collar man. This was someone more seductive. More earthy. More basic.

  It was exactly what she needed.

  Eagerly she kissed him with everything she had, her mouth open and slack, inviting him to explore. She heard a groan, felt a hand at her waist, pressing her away, but then, glory be, he pulled her closer.

  Her hand crept to his chest, finding a heartbeat under her palm. Strong and fast, even under the heavy wool. This time she moved into him, so that she could feel more than his heart. She wanted it all. The breadth of the shoulders, the safety of his chest, the heat of his hips. She’d never known what spontaneous sex felt like, had never felt the tingles in her spine, the ache between her legs.

  Passion. This was passion. She could feel it in him as well. In the thrust of his tongue, in the urgent press of his mouth. Such a lovely mouth. She was going to have that mouth. She was going to have that man. She would ask him to her room. For a few hours. For a night. A decadent moan escaped from her lips, and it didn’t matter what he rated on her scale. It didn’t matter if he was stealing her away from her search for Mr. Right. Honestly, she didn’t care.

  He was the best Christmas present ever. Not a foot spa, not a hand-crayoned picture of Santa. This was better. This was a man.

  A hot, hunky man.

  Her way, her terms.

  A noise disturbed her thoughts, and he lifted his head. The black pitch of his eyes gave nothing away, but under her hand, she felt the ragged breathing, felt the speeding heart.

  There, under the shadow of the mistletoe, Rebecca smiled at him, a lurid invitation waiting on her tongue. She opened her mouth, but the voice behind her interrupted.

  “Rebecca?”

  No one knew her name except for Mrs. Krause. The deep voice wasn’t old, wasn’t feeble, wasn’t even female.

  Rebecca closed her mouth, and turned.

  Alec Trevayne.

  Chapter 4

  “Rebecca Neumann?” Cory wiped his mouth and sized up the gent who had so inconveniently interrupted. Cold, hard cash. The guy reeked of it, from the cashmere coat to the tailored trousers, to the Italian wingtips. Cory took a step farther away from the woman, the name echoing in his mind. So familiar…

  Not that it mattered. He knew what money could do. He knew how this situation would play out.

  However, the woman surprised him. She stared at the dandy, then stared back at Cory, her light gray eyes wide with confusion. Cory wasn’t used to playing the gentleman, but it was obvious the dandy wasn’t as welcome as Cory had assumed, so he took a step closer to Rebecca, and reached out to her—like a boyfriend would. Before he could touch her, she flew out of the room like—well, hell, like a neurotic woman.

  God. “That was Rebecca Neumann, wasn’t it?” asked City Boy, in a voice that dripped of fancy-ass England. Blimey.

  “Who’s Rebecca Neumann?” Cory asked, dodging the question with a question. Rebecca Neumann?

  “I was expecting to meet her here.”

  “And you don’t know what she looks like?” Cory folded his arms across his chest. London Boy might be broader in the pecs, but Cory didn’t fight fair. Never had.

  “It was supposed to be a surprise,” the man finished lamely.

  “Maybe she’s not here yet. You know, the weather’s really nasty. Got stuck myself.”

  The man didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue, either. Not that Cory blamed him. Meeting a woman for the weekend, not knowing who she was, didn’t say much for the guy. Unless this Rebecca was a hooker?

  Cory shook his head. Nope. She was a kindergarten teacher, cheerleader, princess. No hooker blood there.

  Cheerleader. That’s where he recognized the name. The same girl? That same tight ass? Definitely. Would she remember him? Hopefully not.

  Cory smiled and stuck out his hand. “Cory Bell. And you’re?”

  “Alec Trevayne. I’m sorry. This is quite embarrassing.”

  “Yeah, glad I’m not you.”

  “Was that your lady friend I walked in on? Sorry.”

  Cory coughed. “Mistletoe always gets to me. You know?” It was a vague answer, and enough to swing either way, depending on why Rebecca was running away from this guy.

  The old woman who owned the place hurried into the room, getting Cory off the hook. “Mr. Trevayne? Is that you? We had a leak in the laundry room, so I’m afraid everything is upside down today. Did you find Miss Neumann?”

  “Not yet,” answered Alec, and Cory began to feel really sorry for the guy. Maybe he should tell him, ease some of the embarrassment. Nope. Cory knew how to keep his mouth shut and he had almost no sympathy for the human condition. Let him suffer.

  Besides, his loyalty lay with Rebecca at the moment, mainly because she kissed him like it was her last day on earth. It’s not that he had planned on getting laid today, but damn…he hadn’t expected to find her tongue in his mouth, either. Cory wasn’t a big believer in kissing, mouth to mouth was too personal for his sex life, but a woman’s tongue, well, he wasn’t stupid, either.

  “I’ll keep my eyes open for you. Good luck with the hunt,” offered Cory, then he left the room. He should get out of this place. Snow or no snow. Leave Rebecca Neumann alone. But what if she needed him? protested his cock. What if she was avoiding the Brit for a good reason? Cory studied the snow falling steadily outside and swore. Then he and his cock took off, heading up the stairs to Rebecca’s room.

  Time to get some answers. But nothing else. Absolutely, positively, nothing else.

  * * *

  The room was everything Mrs. Krause had promised, but Rebecca was too wound-up to notice. She had called Natalie four times on her cell, and each time all she got was voice mail. Natalie wasn’t a big fan of the cell phone, but hopefully she would pick up soon.

  Alec Trevayne? Here?

  It reeked of Natalie’s handiwork, which was normally a good thing, but now Rebecca wasn’t so sure.

  “Alec Trevayne.” She said his name aloud, testing to see if the lip shivers would go away with rational thought.

  Nah. Still there.

  Her lips tingled, her heart was pounding and her lower nethers were tingling and pounding, all at the same time.

  Alec Trevayne. Lust from afar. Bently-laden, Oxford-educated Alec Trevayne. For three months it had been her goal to have Natalie arrange a meet, an
d now, apparently, she had. He still looked good, and he had a great car, but the old thrill at the idea was no longer, chased away by other, more carnal ideas.

  Think, think, think.

  She was a schoolteacher. A former schoolteacher with a strong Teutonic streak of practicality, which did nothing to explain why she quietly shrieked when a knock sounded on the door. Rebecca got up from the bed, praying it was Mrs. Krause.

  “Who is it?”

  “Rebecca, it’s the guy from the mistletoe. Open up.”

  Downstairs Alec Trevayne was waiting, perhaps confused, but nonetheless waiting.

  For her. Upstairs, right outside this door, was a veritable stranger. If it wasn’t for those eyes…Dark, wounded and, yes, sexy as hell.

  Was Rebecca willing to trade a lifetime (possibly) of pedicures and luxury automobiles for one night (possibly) with a man of questionable morals who could kiss a woman to paradise and back?

  Yes, yes, yes. After Rebecca opened the door, he strode inside and she was conscious of the clothes strewn all over the bed, the iPod, the portable exfoliator, the hair dryer, the curling iron, the four charging devices and the portable back massager that vaguely looked like something else, but really wasn’t, although in times of crisis, a woman used whatever was on hand. Rebecca sidled in front of the bed, cocking a hand on her hip. “Yes?”

  “Who’s the guy that’s looking for you? You ran out of there like you were scared of him. Are you?”

  She considered lying, creating a fantastic cover story, but—no. Slowly Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not scared of him,” she admitted.

  “Why did you run?” he asked, a perfectly reasonable question.

  She licked her lips, opting to hide behind the truth. “Because you were kissing me, and I was temporarily confused.”

  He looked at her, frustration evident. Then he looked up at the ceiling in that counting-to-ten posture she had often used herself. “So you’re not afraid of him? I can leave here, and you’ll be fine with him. Right?”

  If this had been another man, Rebecca would have assumed a coy demeanor and subtly flirted until she got her way. But he was different from the men in her universe. And he could kiss.

  That kiss. That life-altering, mind-shattering, lip-tingling, take-me-to-bed-now kiss. Subtle flirtation was completely unnecessary. She should be crawling under the covers, waiting for him to kiss her into gleeful submission.

  Unless she was the only one whose world was rocked?

  No way, Mr. Jose.

  Rebecca corrected her posture and tilted her head back until she could look him square in the eye. When the dark gaze speared her, she almost caved, but quickly recovered.

  “I want you to stay,” she said, fighting the urge to stare at the floor.

  The edge of his mouth curled up, and not in a pretty way. “You want to make the other guy jealous? Sorry. Find another schmuck.”

  Obviously her lurid propositioning skills were getting rusty because her lurid proposition had completely flown over his head.

  “You don’t understand. A friend of mine set me up with him—”

  “And you don’t want to be set up with him?”

  “No, I did,” she replied honestly. “But now I don’t.”

  “What happened?” he asked, not quick to read between the lines.

  “I want you to stay,” she repeated.

  “Because of one kiss?” he asked, and she wished he didn’t sound so—startled.

  “Yes.”

  “One kiss?” he asked again.

  Oh, come on. What was he? Fishing for compliments here? Rebecca squared her jaw and looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. One kiss. Okay, I’m impulsive. I’m adventurous. I liked the way you kissed, and I wanted to sleep with you. Have sex. Make love. Do me. Screw me. Do the wild monkey, whatever euphemism is easiest for you to understand, that’s good with me.”

  Her stomach cramped in two. This was worse than her bad-perm incident, worse than her first job interview, worse than the day the podiatrist told her it was orthopedics forever. This man couldn’t reject her. Rebecca needed this weekend, this runaway weekend to forget about money, job security and food. This was about living for the moment. Alec was a life goal. This guy was a single moment of time. Right now, she only wanted the latter.

  He just looked at her, blinked slowly, then frowned.

  “And what about Alec? You’ll keep dodging him?”

  At least it wasn’t no. “I didn’t ask for Alec to meet me up here. This wasn’t a date.”

  “I think he thinks it was a date.”

  “He’s entitled to think whatever he wants, but as the other party cluelessly involved in this setup, I’m not responsible for his preconceived expectations. Only my expectations. I have my own expectations. I mean, I had expectations. Well, they weren’t really expectations, more ideas, and Alec Trevayne isn’t involved. At least not anymore.”

  “You have this much trouble with communication in the classroom?”

  “No,” she answered. She usually didn’t have nervous neck sweat, either.

  He stared at her skeptically.

  “I don’t want to think about work. I want to think about nonwork…and if you were interested in nonwork—with me.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” But while his mouth said no, his eyes weren’t so sure. She could see it.

  “Fine,” Rebecca stated, calling his bluff because reverse psychology was on the books for a reason. “Go on. Leave.” She even opened the door.

  His feet didn’t move.

  “Not leaving?”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “I’d prefer not to hit menopause before you decide.”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. “Okay. We have sex. Make love. Do you. Screw you. Not doing the wild monkey sex, though. That’s a little weird. But I’m only stuck at the lodge for a few hours, maybe a night at the most.”

  Brutal honesty. Brutal, stick-in-your-eye honesty.

  Rebecca hated that. “I don’t remember mentioning anything more.”

  “I just thought you’d like to spend a by-the-numbers, romantic weekend with a guy who seemed like a good guy—once you get past the whole Brit thing.”

  “Can we leave Alec out of the room?”

  The man shrugged. “Your decision to make.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” she said, satisfied with her decision. And his decision, too. A good, safe two feet separated her from him, but the silence grew until it became a living, breathing elephant smack in the middle of the room. They were going to have sex. She was going to have sex with a stranger. She kept the panic carefully concealed from her face—another kindergarten-teaching survival skill.

  Rebecca moved her head to one side, pseudoflirtatiously, and held out her hand. “I’m Rebecca Neumann.”

  * * *

  Cory looked at the outstretched hand. Perfectly silky white skin, polished nails that looked embarrassingly clean. He saw the nervous blink in her eyes, and saw a couple of hours of great sex flying out the window. Now was the time for sanity to return and he’d be stuck driving all the way to Canada with a hard-on because of some damned cheerleader fantasy.

  “Cory,” he said, taking her hand.

  Her eyes blinked again.

  “Cory?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cory Bell?” she asked, her voice rising a couple of octaves.

  This time he blinked.

  “Yeah.”

  “From P.S. 35?”

  “You went there?” he asked, like he didn’t know.

  “Yes,” she said, launching into full social-secretary persona. “Rebecca Neumann. You had a locker down the hall from me. Back against Mr. Espy’s science lab.” She shook his hand harder. “What a small world.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her hand stopped shaking his. “So what have you been up to since P.S. 35? Ha.”

  He racked his brains. Was he supposed to answer that?

  Her eyes scrunc
hed up, and he noticed that Rebecca Neumann wasn’t eighteen anymore. There were lines around her eyes, the corners of her mouth. Laugh lines. Oddly enough, it made her sexier. Much more approachable. Much more touchable.

  “Imagine seeing you again. After all these years. Like fate. Or kismet. Or serendipity.”

  He didn’t know where this was headed, but Rebecca was still holding his hand. Okay. “No, just caught by the snow.”

  That seemed to make her happy, which was good, because he had already figured out that her buttoned-up sweater concealed a blouse, and possibly an undershirt, but he was up to the challenge, and his cock was starting to throb.

  “Well…” she said, and there they were. Back to square one.

  “Yeah,” he said, and took a step closer, his free hand flexing. Buttons weren’t really a problem.

  Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, a move that would have been sexy if they were already having sex. Then the gray eyes turned dreamy. “Could you kiss me again?”

  Kissing. Hell.

  He’d known this was a bad idea—even if it was Rebecca. “I’m not big on kissing.”

  “But downstairs…”

  Cory wasn’t about to explain the reasons why he didn’t like kissing. The sex, he was completely on board with, but impersonal and anonymous sex. Kissing? Nu-uh. She’d have to find another Prince Charming. And the road to Canada would be long, hard and painful. Cory shook his head, and dropped her hand. “I’ll go.”

  That made her move. “No.”

  “Yes,” he said in a firm voice because Cory didn’t make exceptions, and he wanted to make sure she understood.

  * * *

  Rebecca looked up at him, and drew in a deep breath. A one-night stand wasn’t quite what she had always fantasized about. This was different, but maybe different was right.

  Fate was a powerful thing, opening doors, closing doors, and Rebecca was a big believer in the whole open-door theory. She didn’t hesitate because she liked the banked desire in his eyes. Anything but the emptiness of before. She smiled, confident in her decision, and said yes.

  Then he moved, reaching for the buttons on her cardigan and began to undo them one by one. She stood still, cold air biting bare flesh. First the sweater, next the blue cotton blouse. It slid easily from her shoulders. He smiled at the undershirt, and she wondered, but the silence was a magical thing, more evidence of great things to come. He reached behind her to unhook her Victoria’s Secret bra. Efficiently he disposed of that, warm hands moving to the zipper of her slacks. In two seconds, the pants were gone and he was sliding the last layer of silk down her legs. She felt a strong urge to lock her arms across her chest, but vestal virgin wasn’t the part she was playing. There wasn’t a wedding ring on the line, only the chance to do something she’d never done before.