Sleigh Bells in the Snow

by Sarah Morgan

  “No.” Her fingers bit into the warmth of his shoulder. “Are you going to kiss me again or am I going to have to force you?”

  His smile was slow and sure. “Just taking my time.”

  “How much time?” She could hardly breathe. “I need to know whether to take control or not.”

  “You’re in a hurry?” His voice was rough and deliciously male. “Is there someplace you need to be?”

  “No—” Her breathing hitched as she felt his hand on the base of her spine. “I’m just a person who likes to get things done.”

  “I never would have guessed that about you. You always seem so laid-back and calm.” His hand was inside her robe and she felt the warmth of his palm on her bare skin, felt his hand linger on the dip of her waist and then lower to the curve of her hip. And his touch drove her crazy because she wanted this so badly—wanted to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her—and he was making her wait until she thought the waiting might drive her out of her mind.

  She ached as she’d never ached before, and when his fingers closed on her thigh, she slid her leg around him, locking them together. She could feel him, thick and hard, his erection contained by the fabric of his jeans.

  “You’re wearing too much—” Her fingers searched for the snap of his jeans and she heard him suck in breath. Seconds later he was as naked as she was. Her hand closed around the pulsing thickness of his shaft and she heard the rhythm of his breathing change.

  “Jesus Christ—”

  The tension was incredible. All the more so because it had been slowly building since their first meeting.

  She rose on her toes, her mouth a breath away from his. “You want to wait? Because if you do that’s fine by—”

  Their mouths clashed, sensation shot through her and after that there was no holding back. There was no slow. No steady. No careful. One word came into her head.

  Wild.

  He took her mouth with raw hunger, and she was the same—demanding, desperate as she felt the possessive bite of his fingers in her hair.

  Without lifting his mouth from hers, he pushed the robe from her shoulders, leaving her naked. Cool air swept across her skin, but she was pressed against the heat of him. Flesh against flesh. Female against male. Fire against flame. It licked at her, driving her higher until she felt nothing like herself, nothing like she’d ever felt before. He held her locked there, trapped against the powerful ridge of his erection while they kissed, taking his time with her until the heat was so intense she thought she’d explode. She arched against him, pressing into that hardness, and finally he lifted his mouth, but only to explore another part of her—her cheek, her jaw, the base of her throat. She felt the scrape of stubble against the sensitive flesh of her breast and then gasped as he sucked her nipple into the warmth of his mouth.

  “Jackson—” A gasp became a moan as he toyed with her, building arousal with every skilled, leisurely flick of his tongue. Heat pooled in her pelvis. She squirmed against him, feeling male hardness press against the most sensitive part of her, and just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he scooped her up and the next minute she was lying on the soft rug in front of the log fire, pinned down by the weight of his powerful body.

  He grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. The only light in the cabin came from the fire and the silvery glow of moonlight reflecting off snow.

  Looking into those blue eyes, her tummy flipped and tumbled. She saw heat. Intent. And something else she didn’t recognize. Nerves fluttered low in her belly along with other sensations more intense than anything she’d felt before. They danced across her skin and melted into her, pouring through her veins and weakening her limbs until she was relieved to be lying down.

  Should she warn him again that she was no good at this?

  What exactly were his expectations?

  But he made his expectations perfectly clear as he eased away from her and kissed his way down her body, his tongue tracing a sensual line that made her shiver in delicious anticipation. He slid his hand under one of her thighs, bending her knee and giving himself access. Her naked body was warmed by firelight and lit by moonlight, but she had no time to think about being self-conscious because already he was parting her, his mouth on her slick heat, his tongue tracing sensitive flesh with knowing skill.

  Kayla moaned and tried to move, but he held her fast, one strong hand locked on her hip to prevent the restless shift of her body, the other filling her with delicious pressure as he took what he wanted. And what he wanted was her and he used his warm clever mouth until she felt the first flickers of response. So did he because he withdrew immediately, eyes glittering as he eased away from her.

  “Jackson—”

  “I want to be inside you. When you come, I want to feel it. All of it. All of you.”

  The intensity of it, the desperation, was alien to her. Dimly, through the haze of almost-painful arousal, she felt a flicker of panic.

  “This is just sex, Jackson.” She struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Tell me you know it’s just sex.”

  “Stop talking—” He cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, the skilled slide of his tongue an erotic prelude of things to come. And she kissed him back, felt her thoughts fade to the edges of her mind but held herself together long enough to plant her hand firmly on his chest. He paused, eased his mouth away from hers with obvious difficulty.

  “Are you— Is that no?”

  “No.” Her voice was as husky as his. “I mean—it’s not no.” She could see he was fighting for control. The muscles in his shoulders were pumped up and hard, his jaw tense as they struggled to have a lucid conversation when all both of them wanted to do was finish what they’d started.

  “Kayla—”

  “I may not believe in Santa, but I believe in safe sex.”

  Silence pressed between them.

  His gaze held hers for a moment and then he cursed softly under his breath. “Yeah— I—” Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled away from her and reached for the clothes he’d discarded.

  The sense of loss shocked her.

  She felt a sick thud of disappointment, followed by a desperate desire to drag him back to her. And then she realized he wasn’t getting dressed. Instead he was digging something out of the pocket of his jeans.

  Seeing the condom in his hand, Kayla gave a laugh that was a mixture of nerves and relief. “Did that come with the pizza?”

  “It came with me.”

  “You—why?”

  “I thought if you got fed up eating pizza and talking about work, we could cement Anglo-U.S. relations.” His mouth was back on her neck, his tongue on her skin, tasting. “How do you think we’re doing?”

  She didn’t know whether to be shocked or laugh with relief. “I think this is going to be a hell of an alliance.”

  “I agree.” He came down on top of her, all sleek male muscle and coiled strength. She dug her fingers in his shoulders, felt the hard thrust of him against her and wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer. She should have been cold, naked in the middle of this wintery scene, but she was hot, hotter than she’d ever been in her life as she lay in front of the warmth of the fire pressed against the heat of his skin. The need simmered inside her, strong, powerful and right, and she raised her hips as he surged into her, matching his low growl with a soft cry of pleasure as each hard, velvet thrust took him deeper. Her body tightened around him and for a moment it felt like too much—the pressure, the intimacy—and she wondered if he guessed because he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her, slowly and deeply, until she felt nothing except the need for this, for him.

  Perhaps he’d intended it to be slow, but it didn’t end up that way. They were both too desperate, the hunger too ferocious. His hand was locked in her hair, his mouth on hers as they moved together in a rhythm that was both wild and primitive. She felt flushed, feverish, bathed in a heat that had nothing to do with the flickering flames
of the log fire, and with each thrust of his body she climbed higher and higher until everything inside her tightened and she balanced on that dangerous edge, held there by his skill and her own desperate need not to lose control. But she did, of course, because he drove her right over that edge, and she fell, tumbling, the contractions of her body gripping the length of his shaft, taking him with her. He groaned deep in his throat, a thickened sound, and then he was kissing her again, and he kept kissing her right through it so that they didn’t just feel it, they breathed it and tasted it.

  And as the storm faded, reality seeped back into her brain.

  Her surroundings, which had faded from her consciousness, came back into view, and for the first time she registered that they were both naked and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass.

  But outside there was nothing but the white silence of the watching forest, the trees the only witness to their uncontrolled passion. It was like lying in a glade on the forest floor, bathed in wintery silvery light with just the red glow of the flickering fire to warm them.

  It was the most perfect moment of her life and she remembered Elizabeth’s words.

  It sweeps you away and robs you of breath, and you know that no matter what happens in the future, this is a moment you’re going to remember forever. It’s always going to be there, living inside you, and no one can take it away.

  She knew this was one of those moments. But she also knew, better than anyone, that perfect moments didn’t last. And the more perfect the moment, the harder it was to deal with the emptiness that came after.

  Remembering that, she tried to ease away from him, but he rolled onto his back and covered them both with the soft throw from the sofa, his arm locked around her in a possessive grip.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes—” But inside she was cold, because she wasn’t used to feeling this.

  They lay in silence, watching flakes of snow float lazily past the windows, coating the trees in a luminous cloak of dazzling white.

  “Have you always hated Christmas?”

  She could have lied. She could have just kept their relationship physical, but she knew they were already past that, and it terrified her because if there was ever a man who was completely wrong for her it was Jackson. Jackson with his big, loving family and his unshakable strength and values. He was a man who deserved the truth. She couldn’t give him anything else, but she could give him that.

  “No. Once, I loved Christmas. It was my favorite time of year.” She spoke softly, as if her voice might somehow disturb the wonderful peace of the forest. “My dad traveled a lot with his job, but he always made sure he was home for the holidays. I looked forward to it. Like most families, we had our rituals.”

  His arms tightened. “Such as?”

  “We went to the forest to choose a tree, then we decorated it together....” She remembered the family earlier. Remembering their delight and excitement brought back memories both sharp and sad. “My dad would hold the box of decorations and I would hang them and he would do the branches at the top that I couldn’t reach.”

  She lay tense, unable to relax. “On Christmas Eve I hung out my stocking. I was always too excited to sleep. Not because of the presents, although I always loved those, too, but because we were together. No work calls. No business travel. Family time. That was our Christmas every year until I was thirteen.” Pulling away from him, she sat up and looped her arms around her knees, staring at the fire.

  “What happened?”

  “It seemed like a typical Christmas. There was no suggestion it would be anything different. I came downstairs that morning and found my parents at the breakfast table drinking coffee. Nothing odd about that. They told me to open my stocking. Bright voices, no clues. Open your stocking, Kayla. See what Santa has brought you. Not that I believed in Santa, of course, but it was another of our rituals. We used to leave a carrot for his reindeer. My dad even put teeth marks in it. When I was four I believed it, and as I grew older it became one of our family jokes.” Her breathing was shallow, and she heard him curse softly and then felt the warmth of the throw on her bare skin as he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her back down into his arms. He held her like that, tight and close, until her heart rate slowed and his warmth became hers. It was a whole new kind of intimacy.

  Outside, it had started to snow heavily, the flakes falling thickly, drifting past the glass as if the sky was crying in sympathy. The memories gnawed at her insides and chafed against her skin.

  “They waited until the last present was opened. Until I was surrounded by wrapping paper and Christmas happiness and then—” she paused, breathed “—then Dad told me we weren’t going to live together anymore. That we weren’t going to be a family. And he stood up and left. He had another woman and he wanted to spend Christmas Day with her.”

  There was silence.

  Jackson didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, but his hold on her tightened.

  “My mother knew about it. In the mess that followed she spilled the fact that they’d married because she was pregnant, and both sets of parents had insisted on it. They’d struggled through until he met someone else and couldn’t play the game anymore.” Her head was on his chest, her cheek pressed against warm flesh and hard male muscle. “I’ve heard people talk about how it was when their parents divorced. How there were rows and broken china. One girl I worked with actually said she breathed a sigh of relief when her parents separated, because it was like living in a war zone. For me it was nothing like that. My parents never argued. I thought it was because we were happy, but in reality it was because they were seeing other people. They’d made a deal to stay together because of me. One moment things seemed perfect and the next it was all gone. No rows. No broken china. The only thing broken was me.”

  He stirred and moved his hand down her back, gentle and protective. “You’re not broken, sweetheart. You’re strong and whole.”

  “You’re thinking that this stuff happens all the time. That it is another sad tale of a marriage that didn’t last. But he didn’t just have another woman.” She spoke softly. “He had a family. Twin daughters. His ‘travels’ weren’t travels. He was living with her for most of the week. He went to them that day, as soon as I’d opened my stocking. It was surreal. There was the tree and the stack of presents. From the outside it looked like a normal Christmas. But my dad was gone.”

  “He had another family?” His tone hardened. “What sort of a coward does that?”

  “I ran away that night. Pathetic, I know, but I felt as if they didn’t care so what did it matter. I suppose I was hoping they’d come after me, realize how upset I was and get back together. I was thirteen and desperate. That was when I realized happy endings didn’t happen.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I sat in Trafalgar Square. I’d forgotten my coat and had no money. Luckily a policeman saw me and took me to the station. Gave me hot chocolate and a blanket and held me while I cried. Then phoned my parents. My dad had already gone, of course, so it was my mum who came to pick me up. She was furious with me.” She slid her fingers over his chest. “After that, I went off the rails a bit. She couldn’t handle me so they sent me off to boarding school. To begin with I went home for the holidays, but Dad’s new wife didn’t want a teenager around. The way she saw it, she’d shared my dad for too long already. Dad felt guilty when he looked at me and my mother was dating again and doing all the things she’d apparently missed out on when she gave up her life to have me. Christmas became a time of guilt and duty on their part and agonizing discomfort on mine. My stepmother had waited years to have Dad all to herself. She wanted a dreamy Christmas with her new family and the legacy of my father’s mistake didn’t fit into that. I was the outsider.”

  Still holding her, Jackson swore softly. “Walter used that word the other evening. That’s why you were upset.”

  “It was part of it. That word presses a button for me. And he was right—I am the
outsider. It’s my specialty.”

  “Kayla—”

  “I actually prefer it that way. I run my own life. I’m happy. I’m proud of who I am and I like what I have. The only time I find it hard is at Christmas. At Christmas it’s like standing outside a party you’re not invited to, knowing that everyone else is inside having fun.” She eased away from him and lay on her back, staring up at the soaring ceiling. “There’s something about this time of year that makes your emotions sharper. You feel as if everyone else has someone, even though you know that isn’t true.”

  “You never see your mother?”

  “She moved to New Zealand.”

  “You don’t visit?”

  “I went once, a few years ago. Hard to say which one of us found the experience most painful. I’m just a reminder of a part of her life she’d rather forget. And my father just sees me and feels guilt.” She turned her head to look at him and gave a crooked smile. “I know how to kill a romantic atmosphere, don’t I?”

  “We’re naked in front of a fire and it’s snowing outside.” His voice rough, he hauled her back against him, holding her tightly. “You can’t kill that.”

  She was silent for a moment, knowing what she’d told him had changed things.

  There was the intimacy of sharing their bodies and then there was the intimacy of sharing inner secrets. That one was new to her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  “Should we check on Maple?”

  “She’s asleep. She uses so much energy during the day she crashes out at night. She won’t wake until morning.”

  “But she’s in the bedroom.”

  His fingers were in her hair. “There’s another bed.”

  He was planning on staying the night?

  She never spent the whole night with a man, but he was already on his feet and tugging her upright.

  Kayla felt a flutter of panic. “What are you doing?”

  He cupped her face and kissed her. “It’s time someone gave you some new Christmas memories.”