Baby It's Cold Outside

by Heidi Rice

  He parked in the street as close to her place as he could. It looked as if it was one of the traditional Philadelphia row houses: three stories, with a flat roof and a bay window on the ground floor.

  “I guess this is home, then,” he said.

  “Yes. Well, my godmother’s.” She looked out of the window. “The snow’s getting worse. I didn’t see a snowplow all the way here, and I don’t like to think of you driving in this. Why don’t you come in for a while and wait it out? It’ll give the snowplows time to come and sort out the roads and make them safer for you to drive on later.”

  What she said made perfect common sense—but it also gave Mitch an odd feeling. He wasn’t used to anyone being concerned about him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “My family’s all in London and my godmother’s in hospital. I don’t have any plans other than visiting her tomorrow, so you’re no inconvenience to me.”

  She wrinkled her nose. It was incredibly cute, and it made Mitch want to lean over and kiss her.

  He stopped himself.

  Just.

  “Though I guess you need to get in touch with your family to let them know where you are and that you’re okay,” she said. “They’ll be worrying about you.”

  No, they wouldn’t. He’d been gone too long. He shook his head. “There’s nobody to worry about me.”

  “Nobody? But—won’t you be seeing your family or friends for Christmas?”

  “Not everyone celebrates Christmas.”

  She flushed deeply, looking mortified. “Oh, no. What with you being Santa, I made the wrong assumption. I’m sorry. Obviously you’re Jewish.”

  “No, I’m not Jewish. I just don’t celebrate Christmas.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just call me Ebenezer,” he said lightly.

  “Ebenezer Scrooge wouldn’t help out at a kids’ party and donate the gifts,” she pointed out, frowning.

  He couldn’t take credit that definitely wasn’t due. “I helped out because my boss asked me to, and he’s the one who paid for the gifts.”

  “Even so. Scrooge still would’ve said no.”

  “I just don’t like Christmas. I don’t have particularly good memories of it when I was growing up.” The words came out before could stop them.

  Unbelievable.

  She was practically a stranger and here he was, spilling his guts to her.

  Big mistake. He needed to get going. Like now.

  And yet there was no pity in her face when she looked at him. Just warmth and understanding. “I apologize for being pushy and nosy. Come in and have some coffee and warm up.”

  He should say no. Make an excuse. Drive away as fast as the snow would let him.

  But there was something about her he couldn’t resist, and he found himself saying thank you, locking his car, and following her into the house.

  She ushered him through to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and started preheating the oven. Then she rummaged in the fridge, took out a roll of gingerbread dough, and in a flash she’d cut a few slices off and put them on a tray and they were baking in the oven.

  “Given that you’re a pastry chef, I’m not going to be rude and suggest that’s store-bought dough you keep in there,” Mitch said lightly.

  “No, I made it this morning. That’s part of the batch I’m planning to cook tomorrow before I visit Aunt Betty—something for the nurses on duty.” She shook coffee grounds into a French press and made two mugs of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Neither, thanks.”

  She added a lot of milk to one mug, and handed him the other. “Would you excuse me for a moment while I change out of the elf costume?”

  “Sure.”

  “Take a seat in the living room. I’ll bring the gingerbread through when I’m dressed.”

  Mitch wandered into the hallway and sipped his coffee while Ellie headed up the stairs. A mistletoe ball hung from the ceiling on a red ribbon, and he was tempted to linger there, so the Chief Elf might take the hint and kiss Santa underneath the mistletoe.

  He smiled wryly. That would be pushing her too far. And hadn’t she suggested that he wait for her in the living room? He went through the doorway to the living room and discovered that it faced onto the street. The huge Christmas tree in one corner was a real one rather than artificial, and the decorations on the branches were perfectly arranged. Mitch was pretty sure they were homemade rather than store-bought, just as he was sure that either Ellie or Betty had made the evergreen garland draped along the mantelpiece. There were dozens of cards on display, too.

  How different from his own flat. He never bothered with Christmas trimmings, and he left the cards in a bowl on the sideboard.

  The contrast made him feel odd, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

  A few minutes later, Ellie came in wearing faded jeans and a thin sweater. Santa’s Chief Elf definitely had curves, he thought.

  She put the plate of gingerbread on the coffee table. “Help yourself,” she said.

  Funny how he suddenly felt nervous.

  At least eating gingerbread meant that he wouldn’t have to talk. “Thanks,” he said, and took one. It was still warm from the oven, and as he took a bite he discovered that he hadn’t eaten anything this good in a long while.

  “These are seriously good,” he said, taking a second.

  “Thanks. So did you enjoy the party in the end?” she asked.

  No. It had brought some uncomfortable truths home. Not that he wanted to tell her that. “It brings home how lucky we are.”

  “But you didn’t enjoy being Santa.”

  She obviously wasn’t fooled. “No. But I agreed to do it and I wasn’t going to let C.J. down.”

  “Is he your friend as well as your boss?”

  He didn’t really have friends. Acquaintances, yes, but he didn’t let people get that close to him. “I guess,” he said, as neutrally as he could.

  She went over to the window and looked outside. “The snow’s slowing.”

  He joined her. True, the blizzard appeared to be on its way out—but in the few minutes since they’d left his car, the snow was much deeper. And, more to the point, there was no sign of a snowplow having passed.

  She clearly saw it, too, because she said, “No way can you drive in that. You’d better stay overnight.”

  “I can’t impose on you like that.”

  “You’re not imposing. You’re stuck. And that’s my fault for suggesting you wait it out.” She shrugged. “Though we hardly ever get snow like this in London, and when we do the city is always out clearing the roads pretty quickly.”

  “We don’t often get it like this in Philly,” he admitted. “If we don’t get a thaw, you’re not going to get to see your godmother tomorrow.”

  “And you’re going to end up having Christmas dinner here.” She bit her lip. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have a turkey in the fridge. I wasn’t expecting to cook tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to cook for me, Ellie.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re my guest. Plus it’s my fault you’re in this mess.”

  “It was my decision to accept your invitation for coffee,” he pointed out. “I’m just sorry I’m inconveniencing you.”

  “You’re not.” She looked wistfully out at the snow. “I’ve not seen snow this deep in years. I always wanted to make a snow angel when I was a kid, but I never managed to get it to work.”

  “Let’s do one now.” Mitch shocked himself when the words came out of his mouth—this so wasn’t the kind of thing his workaholic self did—but something about her made him want to do this. To have fun. “Let’s make a snow angel.”

  She surveyed him and shook her head. “You can’t make a snow angel in that suit, and I think Aunt Betty gave all of Uncle Donald’s clothes to charity after he died—so I’ve got no clothes to fit you.”

  “Who says I can’t make a snow angel in this suit?” he asked.

  “Because it’s expensive and
you’ll ruin it.”

  “It’s only a little snow—and it’s been years since I made a snow angel.” The same year that he’d learned Santa didn’t exist. Though he wasn’t that scared little boy anymore. He was a man, and he could do anything he chose.

  “Are you serious? You’d really make a snow angel with me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He was rewarded with another of those smiles that lit up the room. And he almost—almost—gave in to the temptation to pull her into his arms in the hallway and kiss her underneath the mistletoe. But he followed her out to the kitchen; she unlocked the back door, and they went into the garden.

  She stood there with her arms outstretched. “On the count of three?”

  He nodded, and adopted the same pose. “One, two, three…” He let himself fall backward, then moved his arms up and down and his legs akimbo and back again, making a snow angel. He glanced to one side and she was doing the same, looking as thrilled as the younger children had looked when they’d seen him in his Santa suit.

  He stood up. “Done?”

  “Done.”

  He stretched out a hand to pull her up. Funny how the touch of her skin made his palm tingle.

  She looked down at the snow. “That’s fabulous. A real snow angel. I have to take a picture of this.” She disappeared inside briefly and returned with her cell phone. “My brother’s going to be so jealous when I send him this.”

  “I’ll take one of you beside your angel, if you like,” he offered.

  “Thanks.”

  Oh, that smile. It was as dangerous as hell, systematically breaking down every barrier he’d ever put around himself.

  But he duly took the picture for her. And another, when she was halfway through making her second snow angel.

  “Do you want me to put your phone back in the kitchen?” he asked.

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  Except when he went back out into the garden, she’d stopped making snow angels. She’d made a pile of snowballs.

  Luckily for him, her aim was atrocious.

  His wasn’t.

  In the end, she simply scooped up an armful of snow, marched over to him, and dumped it on top of him.

  “That’s cheating!” he protested.

  She just laughed.

  Then she blew on her hands and winced.

  He was still wearing his suit jacket, and she was only wearing a thin sweater. A thin sweater that was wet from the snow. She must be freezing.

  He took her hands between his to warm them. And he’d honestly intended just to be nice—but he couldn’t resist dipping his head to kiss the tips of her fingers.

  She let out a breathy little sigh. He looked at her. She was all wide-eyed and gamine—but there was nothing fragile about her. Ellie Brown was a strong woman who had no hesitation in bossing people around when she had to. She was a total English schoolmarm.

  And she was totally, totally gorgeous.

  When her mouth parted slightly, what could he do but brush his mouth against hers?

  Her mouth was soft, sweet, and responsive, and it sent him into a tailspin.

  And then he was really kissing her as the snow fell down around them. Her mouth opened beneath his and she kissed him back, her arms wrapped as tightly around him as his were around her.

  He could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. Lush. And he really, really needed to touch her. He stroked one hand over the curve of her bottom and settled the other against the flat of her spine.

  Though it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

  He broke the kiss. “Ellie.”

  “Mitch.” Her voice was husky, deeper than he remembered. Sexy as hell. And it made him want her even more.

  “I want you,” he whispered.

  “I want you, too.”

  This shouldn’t be happening. He didn’t get carried away like this. He was known for being focused, for keeping a cool head, for…

  He gave up, scooped her into his arms, and carried her into the house.

  Chapter Four

  Mitch was actually carrying her up the stairs. Like a caveman.

  This so wasn’t her, Ellie thought. She didn’t have sex with perfect strangers. Well, okay, with near-strangers. But what did she know about Mitch, other than that he was single and he worked for the guy who usually ran the hospice party with Betty?

  Nothing.

  She ought to stop this, right now.

  But it had been so long since she’d been kissed. So long since she’d felt like this. So long since her blood had fizzed through her veins.

  What had happened with Jeff had made her feel undesirable. Unlovable. Why else would he have looked elsewhere and found someone else?

  But Mitch—Mitch made her feel the opposite. He made her feel desirable. Wanted. Beautiful.

  “Which is your room?” he asked. His voice sounded husky with need.

  “Top of the stairs, second left.”

  He carried her there, then set her down on her feet and let her slide down his body so she knew just how much he wanted her.

  He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

  “Shouldn’t you hang—?” she began.

  “I don’t care.” He kissed her—hard, hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough of her—and she stopped thinking.

  He peeled off her wet sweater and gave her a slow, sexy smile. “Now that’s nice.” He traced the lacy edge of her bra with a fingertip, making her shiver; she desperately wanted to feel more of his skin against hers.

  “My turn.” She unbuttoned his shirt and splayed her fingers against his chest. His pecs were hard and there was a sprinkle of dark hair, the friction against her fingers just enough to be sexy. “That’s nice, too.” She couldn’t help licking her lower lip. “Would I be right in thinking that you work out?”

  “Every morning,” he admitted.

  Her jeans were next, difficult to remove since they were soaked from the snow. His hands skimmed along her legs and Ellie could feel herself growing wet; she wanted him to touch her much more intimately.

  His trousers were as soaked as her jeans; she peeled them down, noting how hard and muscular his thighs were. Delectable.

  He undid her bra and cupped her breasts in both hands. “You’re lush,” he said softly. “Really lush.” He dropped to his knees before her and took one nipple into his mouth. She could feel a pulse beating hard between her legs. This man was incredibly sexy, and the fact that he seemed to know exactly how and where she liked being touched…

  She slid her hands into his hair, sighing.

  He kissed the underside of her breasts, then moved lower, nuzzling her midriff and making her tip her head back and push her pelvis toward him.

  He stroked her thighs and she widened her stance, giving a sigh of pleasure as he cupped his palm over her sex. Then a shiver of pure need slid down her spine as he pushed the material of her panties aside and slid one finger along her sex. Her clitoris throbbed as he touched her, his fingertip skating lightly across her skin, teasing her and making her want more.

  Ellie closed her eyes, concentrating on the way he was making her feel.

  “Mitch, please,” she whispered, her words almost a hiss of pure pleasure.

  He pushed one finger inside her and kept the base of his thumb against her clitoris, the pressure of his touch echoing the pressure building inside her.

  She was quivering with tension and need. If he didn’t make love with her right this very second, she’d implode.

  As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he lifted her up, pushed the duvet aside, and lay her down against the pillows. He kept his gaze fixed on hers as he encouraged her to lift her hips so he could peel down her knickers; those gorgeous slate-blue eyes had gone dark with desire, and she felt suddenly shy.

  She was almost naked. In front of an almost-stranger.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

  “I’m…” She gestured to he
r nakedness. “And you’re…”

  He gave her another one of those slow, sexy smiles. “That’s easy to fix.” He stripped off his last items, then knelt between her thighs.

  She shivered. She wanted this, and yet at the same time it scared her stupid.

  As if her doubts were written all over her face, he said softly, “We can stop if you’re not comfortable.”

  “No. I want to. I just… haven’t done this in a while,” she admitted.

  “Uh-huh. And we hardly know each other. If it wasn’t for the snow, we wouldn’t be here together.”

  She was relieved that he understood. “Exactly.”

  He reached over to touch her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re easy—I think you’re gorgeous. And I want you very, very much.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “That goes for me, too.”

  “So let’s take this slowly. Tell me if you like what I do. Tell me when to stop, when to give you more.”

  Ellie felt as if the breath had all been knocked out of her. The man who’d been snippy with her earlier for being bossy was actually putting her in charge.

  “Bossy English schoolmarm?” she asked, not wanting him to know quite how much he’d just affected her.

  “No. Just you and me, finding out what each other likes.” He lifted her leg and kissed her instep. “How’s that?”

  “Good.”

  He kissed the hollow of her ankle. “That?”

  “Better.” Anticipation rippled down her spine.

  His mouth brushed all the way down her calf to the back of her knee, and she couldn’t help letting out a breathy, needy little moan.

  He gave her another one of those smiles that made her ache. “You like that?”

  “More.” She dragged in a breath. “Please.”

  “You asked very nicely. And nice manners get results.” He took it really, really slowly as he kissed his way up her thigh.

  Her hands were fisted in her pillow. Was he going to…?

  As she felt the long, slow stroke of his tongue along her sex, she sighed with pleasure. Yes. He was.

  He teased her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, swirling and flicking the tender little bud until she couldn’t think straight. And then he pushed one finger inside her.