Baby It's Cold Outside

by Heidi Rice

  “Sound like a plan?” he asked.

  She drew out from under his arm, trying to quash the stupid compulsion to go with him wherever he wanted to lead her. He smiled at her, that super-sexy smile that she now knew made him a very dangerous man. And tried to concentrate on the specifics. Instead of the giddy thrill that was migrating all over her body. “We can’t do any of that, I didn’t bring my purse with me.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t have any cash, unless you do?” she said, not liking the silly spurt of hope. She didn’t want to spend the night having an inappropriate adventure with this man. Because that would be…well, inappropriate.

  “Why would we need cash?” he asked.

  “Because the tills aren’t working, so we can’t use plastic.”

  “And this is relevant how exactly?”

  It occurred to her what he was suggesting. “We can’t just take the stuff,” she said, trying to push the prickle of alarm front and center so it drowned out the inappropriate thrill. “That would be shoplifting.” She tried to think, not easy when he was looking at her as if she’d accused him of cannibalism. “Although I suppose we could leave an IOU.”

  “No way,” he said, the flirtatious smile replaced by a stubborn frown.

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is an opportunity I’ve been waiting for my whole life, and you are not going to screw it up for me.”

  “Are you joking?” she said cautiously, and wondered if this had something to do with his apparent dislike of his father.

  “No, I’m not. Didn’t you ever have that dream as a kid where you’re in the candy store after hours, and you can take whatever you want? As many Hershey bars and Baby Ruths and Reese’s Pieces as you can stuff into your mouth?”

  “I doubt it, not if it was after hours—it might have been dark,” she said.

  He gave a rough chuckle, the frown disappearing—and it occurred to her that she’d actually made a joke of sorts about her phobia…um, paranoid fear.

  “Katherine, then you’ve been missing the best dream there is. And we’re now living the adult version of it. We’re stuck here all night. We can take what we want and do what we need to do to survive.”

  “We’re not going to starve to death in one night,” she pointed out, deciding to ignore the thrum of anticipation at the thought of “doing what they needed to do.” What exactly was that going to entail?

  “And there’s no one here to stop us,” he continued, riding roughshod over her objection. “And don’t forget I’m one of the fat useless directors, so I get to make the rules.”

  “I never said you were fat,” she pointed out, relieved that they seemed to have gotten over the pointless argument.

  But as he led her up the stairs, she couldn’t deny that she was seriously tempted for the first time in her life to do something reckless, and irresponsible and inappropriate. As a child and then as an adult she’d always been so careful to follow every single rule down to the letter, to read the small print, to be productive and scrupulous and sensible and most of all cautious, partly because her mother had never been any of those things and it had always made her feel hopelessly insecure.

  Those characteristics had gotten her a job she loved, in a city she had come to adore—and she’d still have those things tomorrow. But it had also left her getting dumped via e-mail and feeling lost and alone and worthless on Christmas Day.

  Would it really be so terrible to be led into temptation by Ryder Sinclair—just for one night?

  “You ever heard the expression ‘What happens in Vegas’?” Ryder asked conversationally.

  “Yes, I think so,” she said, knowing she should definitely be objecting to this line of reasoning. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” she quoted. “But we’re not in Vegas.”

  “True enough, but as it happens there is another, less-well-known statement that begins, ‘What happens in a snowbound department store on Fifth.’” His voice trailed off, the implication clear as he released her hand to place one warm palm on her hip.

  She stood stock-still, not able to move, as the fingers of his other hand curled around her neck and threaded into the hair at her nape. “We’ve got all night, Katherine.” His lips touched hers, the kiss tender and yet hot enough to make her gasp. “We’re here alone, with everything Sinclair’s has to offer at our fingertips. And I don’t know about you.” His fingers roamed into her hair, massaging her scalp as he nibbled kisses along her jaw. “But I’m suddenly thinking this could be a Christmas gift—instead of a Christmas nightmare.”

  Her head dropped back, letting his lips find the pulse point in her throat, and the hot, hard spike of desire that she hadn’t felt in such a long time rushed into her sex.

  This was stupid, and insane, and very, very bad… But when he shifted closer and the solid length of him prodded her belly, she somehow convinced herself that, after everything they’d already been through tonight, maybe bad wasn’t completely unforgivable any more.

  She lifted her arms, letting her fingers curl around his neck.

  “But won’t this put us on Santa’s naughty list?” she said, surprising herself with the flirtatious comment.

  He snorted out a laugh and hauled her closer. “Katherine, I’m counting on it.”

  He slanted his lips across hers, and she opened her mouth instinctively, not caring anymore about all the things she didn’t know about him and instead concentrating on the things she did. Maybe he was reckless, irresponsible, impulsive, and a practiced seducer, but he was also compassionate and considerate—and a really amazing kisser.

  She was still exploring that stellar aspect of his character when her stomach rumbled loudly.

  He stepped back. “Was that you or me?”

  “Me, I think,” she mumbled. Why couldn’t she even kiss the guy without making an idiot of herself?

  He grinned. “Okay, we’re going to have to take a rain check before we pass out from hunger.” He took her arm and began leading her up the stairs, two at a time. “Food first, fornication later.”

  She laughed, a little breathless as she raced to keep up with him.

  “I happen to know,” he added, “it takes stamina to do Santa’s naughty list justice.”

  Chapter Seven

  During the next hour, Kate discovered that Ryder Sinclair hadn’t been kidding: he was an expert at getting onto Santa’s naughty list.

  Originally, she’d been keeping track of everything they took so she could inform the relevant department heads tomorrow. But by the time they’d cut a swath through the electronics department—to get two high-beam flashlights—and had a pitched battle in lingerie over the negligees, before she’d redirected them to women’s sleepwear where she’d picked out some fleecy pajamas she was actually prepared to wear, she’d gotten a headache trying to keep all their booty straight.

  The trip to the store’s food hall had been equally productive—or criminal, depending on how you looked at it. With all the fresh food locked overnight in the cold storage facility, Ryder had insisted on pilfering the most expensive Christmas hamper on display and a bottle of top-priced Californian merlot—only being persuaded to forgo the vintage champagne because it wasn’t sufficiently chilled. And then of course they’d had to stop by home furnishings to pick up cutlery and paper plates and a corkscrew and… By then Kate had given up trying to do the right and proper thing—and decided she’d have to opt for the expedient thing: namely falling on general manager Gerry Garcia’s mercy tomorrow and hope he didn’t have her and Ryder hauled off to jail.

  Consequently, once they reached the fifth floor and bedroom furnishings, with all their loot in tow, Kate had conceded that while she might not be as adept at petty crime as Ryder, she wasn’t as adverse to it as she had always assumed.

  The thrill of doing something forbidden in the soft glow of the store’s emergency lights hadn’t just been exhilarating and fun, it had also been surprisingly seductive.

  Ryd
er had flirted mercilessly with her throughout—especially while doing battle over the negligees—and she’d discovered a knack she didn’t know she had for flirting right back. To the point where she was now almost as exhausted from trying to keep up with all the verbal foreplay as she was from the zap of hormones whizzing through her system every time he brushed his fingers down her hair, or placed a quick kiss on her nose, or let his palm stray to her backside—which he seemed to be doing with alarming regularity.

  The bedroom displays looked more than a little eerie, cast in the red glow from the emergency lights, but once they’d demolished a feast of Scottish oatcakes and venison pâté, ginger cookies and cold Christmas pudding, all washed down with the fruity merlot, Kate felt relaxed and surprisingly festive. She surveyed the wreckage of their picnic, as Ryder sat cross-legged with his back propped up against the base of a deluxe king-size bed made up with 800-thread count Egyptian cotton.

  The low hum of arousal that hadn’t been far away since he’d kissed her so thoroughly in the stairwell pulsed harder as she studied him. With his eyes closed and his hand laid casually across his belly, he looked both peaceful and dangerous. Day-old stubble shadowed the cleft in his chin and highlighted dramatic cheekbones and dark brows. He really was an astonishingly good-looking man. No wonder all the women who worked at Sinclair’s had noticed him on the rare occasions he actually put in an appearance at the store.

  And tonight he was all hers. The thought made her feel decadent and desirable. But under the hum of arousal was the sharp twist of guilt. He had a girlfriend. Didn’t he?

  She’d always had a strong moral code, maybe too strong in some respects—or she would never have ended up with a killjoy like Benedict—but while she’d discovered this evening that she could bend it more than a little, she couldn’t break it altogether.

  The only problem was she didn’t quite know how to ask Ryder what she had to ask, without seeming like a prude—or worse, an idiot.

  Just as she was puzzling over how best to go about it, his eyes flickered open and that penetrating sapphire gaze fixed firmly on her face.

  “Damn,” he said sleepily, “I almost nodded off there before the main event.” He held out his hand, beckoning her over with his fingers.

  She shuffled her bum until she was sitting next to him and laid her hand in his to let him draw her closer. But when he went to slide his arm around her waist, she stiffened.

  His brow lifted. “You look kind of serious. Is something wrong?”

  It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, but she still had to battle the wave of uncertainty. If he said what she thought he was going to say, they wouldn’t be able to make love, and after flirting with him all evening that was going to be the biggest disappointment of her life. But she couldn’t live with herself not knowing one way or the other, so what choice did she really have?

  “Yes, I think maybe there is,” she stammered, trying to find the right words.

  He straightened, his brow flattening into a frown of curiosity, but the lazy smile stayed in place. “Then I guess you better spill it…”

  “Okay.” She sucked in a deep breath, heaved it out. “I know this is only casual. That we got stuck here together, and we’re both attracted and I do really want to…” She paused.

  The sexy smile curled upward and became a little smug. “So far, so good.”

  God, what on earth are you wittering on about? Just say it.

  “But I don’t feel I can sleep with you, even in a completely casual sense,” she qualified, the words rushing out. “Knowing you have a girlfriend.”

  His eyebrows launched up his forehead—and the smile flatlined. “What makes you think I’ve got a girlfriend?”

  He sounded genuinely stunned. She suppressed the spurt of hope, knowing she had to clarify, to be completely clear.

  “The special lady?” she prompted, but he just stared at her. “The special lady who collects dolls—the one you were buying a gift for? Exactly how special is she?”

  His eyes widened and then to her utter shock, a gruff chuckle came out, followed by another, and another.

  “What’s so funny? It’s a valid question,” Kate stated, annoyed. It had taken all the willpower she had to ask the bloody question. He could at least take it seriously.

  The laughter finally died down to be replaced by intermittent chuckles. “Katherine, you slay me,” he said at last.

  “I can see that,” she replied, tartly. “Perhaps you could let me in on the joke now.”

  He grasped her hand. “Come here.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her onto his lap.

  Warmth spread at the cozy, possessive gesture and the feel of thighs roped with muscle cradling her bottom.

  “First off,” he began, drawing the curtain of hair back behind her ear, the brush of his fingertip sending a shiver of sensation down her neck. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not the kind of guy who sleeps with one woman while dating another—no matter how casual the hookup. Okay?”

  The twist of guilt released so fast all she could manage was a nod.

  “And second of all, in answer to your question, the special lady is very special. In fact, she’s the most special person in my life.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, her relief quelled by gut-wrenching disappointment. Which was insane. So he had another woman in his life who meant a lot to him? So what? They’d already established that this was strictly a casual hookup. “But you’re not currently dating her?” she asked.

  The smile was slow and sexy and burned right down to her toes.

  “No, we’re not dating, because she’s eight,” he said, his voice still light with humor. “And she’s my daughter.”

  The warmth spread up her chest, making her pulse pound. “Ah, I see,” she said and laughed, suddenly getting the joke—and deciding it had the best punch line ever.

  Not just because she now had confirmation that he was unattached, but because there was something rather wonderful about discovering that this dangerously sexy man had a little girl whom he obviously adored.

  “What’s her name?” she asked, fascinated.

  “Her name’s Juliana, but everyone calls her Gully,” he said, dropping his head to concentrate on undoing the buttons of her pajama top. “She lives with her mother and stepdad in Ithaca,” he continued, calmly working his way through the task. “She was the result of one night of craziness at a sorority party when I was twenty-two and busy flunking my MBA.” He released the last of the buttons, watching intently as her top fell open to reveal the pink lace of her bra. “She loves her new puppy, Tyler, and drawing her own comic strips, and has a serious addiction to the Disney Channel and the marshmallows in Lucky Charms cereal.”

  Her breath caught as he flattened one rough palm on her stomach and lifted his gaze to hers, the pupils dark and dilated.

  “And as special as she is to me…,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the underside of her breasts, “that’s more than enough about her.”

  Her nipples hardened into rigid, aching peaks, the heat pounding so strongly in her sex she felt faint with anticipation as his mouth captured hers in a mind-numbing kiss.

  She threaded her fingers into the short hair above his ears and kissed him back, tasting rich red wine and heady seduction.

  The moments stretched into minutes as they feasted on each other the way they’d feasted on the food. Breathing heavily, he lifted her onto the ready-made bed, his face harsh with arousal as he tugged his T-shirt over his head.

  His pectoral muscles bulged and flexed, gilded by the pearly glow of the dim lights as he released the hook on her bra and discarded the lacy impediment.

  Her fingers found the firm velvet skin of his back as he dropped his head and took one straining nipple into his mouth. The hot suction nearly launched her off the bed. He chuckled and held her down, torturing one breast, then the other, as she moaned, writhed, bucked beneath him.

  Desire coiled in her belly, and she
knew she couldn’t wait any longer. As she lurched up and reached blindly for the buckle on his trousers, she realized she’d never wanted any man as much as she wanted this one right now.

  They wrestled their remaining clothes off, settling into the array of throw pillows gloriously naked. She explored his body: the hard abs, the vee of muscle that defined narrow hips, the tantalizing happy trail that arrowed down to a magnificent erection. And wondered at the tan lines on his arm and neck where he’d obviously sunbathed with his T-shirt on.

  She touched her finger to the tip of the straining erection, her swollen sex pulsing with need at his guttural groan as the flesh leaped, seeking her touch.

  He swore suddenly and scrambled off the bed. Finding his chinos he tugged out a pack of condoms and began tearing off the wrapping.

  She laughed, astonished to realize she hadn’t even given a thought to birth control. And hopelessly pleased that he had. “Where did you get those?”

  He smiled, sheathing himself. “I palmed them in the pharmacy while you were getting batteries for the flashlights.”

  “My hero,” she purred and flopped back on the bed. She stretched her arms above her head, feeling gorgeous and adored and completely free for the first time in her life. He gripped her thighs in firm hands, the fierce passion on his face making her heart stutter.

  He found the bundle of nerves with his thumb, making her plead and beg as he caressed in agonizingly slow circles, then touched the slick nub at last. The orgasm crested, and she arched off the bed, already breaking apart in a glittering shower of sensation as he plunged.

  The heavy thrusts hurled her up again, demanding more, and the waves continued to break over her in shattering succession. She clasped broad shoulders, hooking her legs around his waist, their sweat-slicked bodies moving together as they raced toward oblivion. She cried out as the pleasure crashed through that final barrier and heard his hoarse shout of completion as he followed her over the edge.