by Zoe York
“Yep.”
“We’re almost done,” his buddy promised.
It wasn’t just the usual need to decompress. It was also the awareness that Coronado was a small community, and he could bump into his ex-girlfriend, or his ex-roommate, although neither of them had ever shown any interest in the farmer’s market.
From the other end of the aisle, a flash of shiny dark hair caught his eye. As the woman turned, her pink lips pursed in deep thought, a heady pulse of recognition thumped in his chest.
Chelsea.
For the second day in a row, she was literally in his path, although this time he saw her coming. Who was this woman? Other than an artist, and possibly a fan of a Navy SEAL TV show, although he hadn’t heard any more of that through the wall since that first night and early morning.
He’d been thrown last night when he realized she was the person next door, but he woke up dreaming of her lips—a sure sign he’d gone six long months without a friendly bed partner.
Dreaming of an absolute stranger.
Dreaming of her painting him, when he didn’t even know if she painted. And he still didn’t know how he felt about people drawing his body over and over again. He was doing it for the money—and the distraction.
Chelsea was proving a distraction all right.
He shifted so he could see her better.
Unlike their previous encounters, this time she wasn’t aware of him—and he wasn’t naked. It gave him a situational advantage, and he took it. He stepped closer to the stall beside him, obscuring himself from her direct line of sight.
She was dressed much the same as she did for the art class, in jeans and a cotton peasant blouse, but today she had on red framed sunglasses, too, and a matching red sweater.
A very pretty, touchable Christmas elf.
“I think that’s everything on our list,” Mel said, stepping in between him and the vision at the other end of the market. “We can go.”
But now he didn’t want to leave. Except what would he say? Nice leeks, neighbor. Hey, do you want to grab coffee before you see me strip down tonight?
And if she said no, his afternoon plans to sit on real furniture would be scuttled.
Maybe the universe would put her in his path again tomorrow morning. If it didn’t, well…he knew where she lived.
The farmer’s market had been a zoo, but Chelsea loved every second of it. There was some extra magic in the air there today, and she returned home feeling very much in the holiday spirit. She put on her favorite Christmas movie—Die Hard—and listened to that as she put away her groceries.
Later, when she arrived at the studio, Ben was already there, talking to the instructor.
He flashed her a quick, professional smile—something between hey, neighbor and hello, artist—then went back to the discussion.
As she set up her donkey, he disappeared into the anteroom to disrobe. When he returned, he wasn’t wearing the robe. He’d opted instead for a small white towel around his hips. One of his big hands clutched the two ends of it together just below the ultra-defined V-shaped muscle inside his iliac crest.
She had resisted the urge to draw that part of him for two whole sessions.
She would resist again tonight.
Hannah’s texts kept popping into her head, creating a wild, nervous kind of hope inside her that was entirely unfounded and unrealistic.
And yet, fostering that little fantasy, that her crush on the model might actually turn into a Christmas romance, was a gift in and of itself. There was no way it was actually happening—Ben was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny—but a girl could dream, and for that dream to remain a PG-13 Hallmark romance fantasy, she wouldn’t be drawing the sex lines on his lower abdomen. Or any other part of his lower anything.
She clipped two photographs she’d taken of her previous days’ drawings to the side of her board for reference. They looked pretty good in miniature, but she’d fucked up the shoulder joint, so today her goal was to get that right first before getting into all the glorious muscle details.
So intent was her goal to stick to the art that she didn’t realize until the class was almost over that Ben was avoiding looking at her.
Some models made more eye contact than others, but Ben didn’t seem to have any problem looking at anyone else, responding to directions or requests.
Not that she had any instructions for him, but when his gaze had to drop or lift to the ceiling to make it past her station, she couldn’t tell herself that he wasn’t looking at her just because.
She must have made him feel uncomfortable the day before. Had it been her pose request? She searched her memory for some explanation and came up empty.
This is why they had those waivers. It was a vulnerable thing, being a life drawing model.
Chelsea would have to do better.
And then just when she was convinced she had to find him and apologize, the class was over. He grabbed his towel, and then searched the room, stopping when he caught her gaze.
His smile didn’t a hold any trace of concern. It was warm and friendly, if brief, and left her heart racing—surely an overreaction in the other direction.
Before she could pack up, one of her classmates came over to chat about charcoal. When they finished talking, Ben was long gone.
But he hadn’t actually traveled far.
He was waiting outside the coffee shop on the next block. When she caught sight of him and slowed down, he pushed away from the wall and walked toward her.
Chelsea’s heart fluttered, and then took a nervous jolt when it processed that in fact he had been waiting, and for her.
“Hi,” she said softly when they met in the middle of the block.
“I wanted to walk you home.”
“Oh!”
“Surprised?”
“A little.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “I thought you might be…” Uncomfortable with me, she was going to say. “I thought you might be trying to keep things ultra professional between us since it turns out we share a wall. It seemed like you were avoiding eye contact.”
A faint darkness colored the tops of his cheekbones, and he gestured to the street. “Shall we? If you’re heading home?”
She fell into step beside him. “I am.”
He didn’t say anything until they were half a block away from the busy buzz of Orange Ave, then he ducked his head in her direction. “I was avoiding eye contact,” he murmured. “I have to confess that.”
And now he was walking her home? She didn’t understand. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t—”
“What?” He stopped and looped his hand around her upper arm. As she twisted to look at him, her art portfolio slipped off her other shoulder, and he reached for it, catching it before it hit the ground.
Somehow she’d ended up in a circle of his arms. And her bag was now on his shoulder. He rubbed his hands against her upper arms. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was avoiding eye contact in order to remain, as you said, ultra professional.”
If he hadn’t then glanced down between their bodies, dragging her gaze to the crotch of his jeans, she might have remained stupid about what he meant for way too long.
Oh. Oh. “You mean…” She couldn’t say it.
She could picture it, though. Naked Ben, making eye contact and then having to shift in place because a certain part of his anatomy was being reactive.
She caught a fleeting grin as she yanked her gaze back to his face. And he had zero problem saying it explicitly. “The last thing I wanted was a hard-on in front of everyone.”
A little confirmation wouldn’t hurt anyone. “And making eye contact with me would cause…”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“No!” She jerked back, tripping over her feet. He looked alarmed as she raised her hands. “This is inappropriate of me, I’m sorry.”
“I brought it up.”
Yes, he had. But she needed
to shut it down. “Did you sign a waiver saying you wouldn’t hit on the model?”
His mouth dropped open. “You…had to sign something that said that?”
“Uh huh.”
After blinking at her for a second, he turned and resumed their walk home. He still had her bag on his outside shoulder, and his inside arm brushed against hers every few steps.
The conversation wasn’t over, though. He grinned. “But if you hadn’t signed that waiver, would you hit on me?”
She laughed. A little too loud, and little too forcefully, and somehow it came out sounding mean. A hurt expression flashed across his face for a second, and she felt awful. Regret laced her words, or at least she hoped it did. “Ben, there is not a scenario in the world I could imagine where somehow I would be in a position to hit on you, but let’s assume there is—and it’s not this one, because I take legal documents very seriously—yes, of course I would hit on you. Look at yourself. You’re…very pretty. And kind.”
“I’m pretty.” The smile was back again, a lopsided and pleased grin that made him look suddenly boyish and young.
“Very.”
“Oh, I caught the very. And I appreciated it almost as much as when you said I’m kind.” He paused a beat. “You don’t know me, though.”
“That’s true. You might be a monster.” She made sure to say it lightly enough so as not to be hurtful this time. “You aren’t, right?”
He shook his head. “Try very hard not to be. And I trust the same is true for you?”
“Depends who you ask. I’m a high school teacher. Come exam time, some students might say…”
“A cruel governess? I like it. What do you teach?”
“Math.”
“Very cruel indeed.” He pointed at a helicopter flying overhead. “I’m in the military.”
“Ah. So, yeah, maybe the same reactions from different people.”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
And yet she knew he was kind, with a bone-deep surety she rarely felt about anything. “Do you ever get a gut feeling about someone?”
Ben made a face. “Professionally? Yes. Personally? Not as often as I’d like.” He slid her a sideways glance. His gaze was warm, lingering, and very interested. “Which doesn’t mean I don’t want to believe that someone is as nice as they seem.”
six
Ben knew he was pushing the envelope a bit with Chelsea, but it had been a long, lonely, bitter six months, and flirting with her felt a hundred times better than laying down on the floor of his still-empty apartment.
There was no way this could be wrong, waiver be damned.
What about the whole avoiding women thing?
That could be damned, too.
She swayed toward him, soft, naked want in her eyes. “Listen, there is a fine line to walk here with regard to the fact that…you are…the model…”
“And you are the artist,” he acknowledged, but it came off as a deadpan joke.
She gave him the most earnest look. “I’m being serious.”
He got that. She was a teacher, a rule-following good girl. He wanted to corrupt her something fierce. “And I’m listening. Intently.”
“Too intently. You’re making me feel all…”
“Nervous?”
“Fluttery.”
Hell, yes. He jammed his tongue into his cheek to keep from crowing. His Christmas Elf felt fluttery around him? “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She gave a quarter turn, barely. An eighth of a turn, really, toward her door, muttered something about a loophole, then pivoted back to him. “Ben?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?”
He had no problem deciphering that code. He gave her a wicked grin and stepped in close. Real close. “I’d love that.”
“We can talk better inside,” she whispered.
“Good idea.”
She unlocked, then pushed the door open. Her apartment was tidy and cozy, and full of comfortable looking furniture.
Moving into the living room, she flicked on a couple of lamps, then stood halfway between the couch and the kitchen. “Should we talk first?”
He pointed to the couch. “May I?”
“Please.”
He sprawled out, then nudged his head toward the other end. “Join me.”
She curled up there, facing him, her knees almost touching his. “I’m not really great at this.”
“What is this, exactly?”
“Explaining my awkward attraction to a person.”
“Nothing about your attraction to me feels awkward on my end.”
“No?”
He shook his head slowly, heat building inside him now. “Nope.”
“And, uh…are you any better at this?” She ducked her head, and he shifted closer.
“Chels.”
She jerked her head up.
“Does anyone ever call you Chels?”
“No.”
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
He slid his arm along the back of the couch. “I feel plenty awkward about a lot of things. By some small miracle, you are not one of them. I know we’ve just met, but my last relationship ended badly—six months ago—and I’ve been licking my wounds ever since. Meeting you and feeling this instant connection has been the Christmas gift I couldn’t bring myself to hope for.”
She tipped her head to the side, brushing her temples against his fingertips. A sizzle ran up his arm.
He wanted more of that physical spark.
“My sister thought there was something between us when she arrived at the restaurant and I told her she was letting her imagination get carried away.”
Ben shifted again, trailing his fingers down to her jaw. “I don’t think she was wrong.”
Chelsea blinked slowly. “Maybe not. That’s kind of wild.”
“Mmm.” He stilled his touch just short of her mouth. “I have wanted to kiss you for three days. Since the first moment I saw you intently drawing my naked butt.”
She opened her mouth to protest, he was pretty sure, but nothing came out.
He moved right in, not kissing her, but just a hair short of that. “Chels?”
“Mmm?”
“I can keep a secret if you can.”
She moaned, a husky, needy sound that went straight to his core, and brushed her lips against his.
Chelsea may have initiated the kiss, but Ben took over as soon as she closed the final gap between them. His lips were soft but sure, and he wrapped his whole body around her as their first kiss lingered, stretching on and on and then—just when she might have broken it off, not wanting to spoil such a lovely thing—he quested a little deeper, parting his mouth enough to welcome the tip of her tongue.
Never in her life had a kiss felt so suddenly, headily erotic. Her first taste of his mouth was sweet, clean and a little minty, like he’d popped a TicTac while waiting for her.
Like he’d wanted this kiss.
She softened her lips against his, pressing and pulling, welcoming his tongue against hers. Oh. Each confident lick made her head spin a little faster, her heart thump a little harder.
When he rubbed his hand down the back of her neck then squeezed, she shuddered against him.
It was a magical first kiss on every level.
Ben made it even more so by pressing his forehead against hers and uttering a shocked, single word reaction. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“What was that?” Had he felt it, too? Something beyond a kiss?
She grabbed onto words that might ground them back to reality. “That was really nice.”
Ben would not be grounded. “I want more.”
As her breathy gasps turned to heady moans, he just got more worked up.
“I want a lot more,” he growled after they broke apart again. He pulled her on top of him like she was a rag doll, and she giggled unt
il he kissed her again. Oh, that felt so good. No more time to laugh, she was going to combust from the heat between them.
But when his hand slid up under her shirt—blazing a truly dangerous and delicious path—she had to put a stop to the making out.
A temporary stop, but a stop nonetheless. “Ben.”
“Mmm.”
“We shouldn’t go any further…”
“Remind me again why that is?”
“I signed a waiver.”
“Right.” He slid his hand back outside of her clothes, although it landed on her hip, his fingers curving around the bottom of her…bottom…and that didn’t feel like stopping. “I could quit.”
“But then we wouldn’t have a model for tomorrow.” She pushed up a little and gave him a soft, encouraging look. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your naked body is a gift to everyone in that room, one I want to share with them for one more day.”
“One more day.”
She nodded. “Twenty-four hours.”
He groaned, and pulled her tight against his body. Every inch of him was taut, and more than a few inches in between them was extra-hard. Many inches, by the feel of it. His cock twitched against her belly, making it very difficult for her to climb off.
Too difficult.
She wasn’t moving.
“Chels…”
“I just need a minute,” she whispered, her heart scampering at double-time through her torso. That make-out session had been a ride and a half. “You smell really good.”
He shook with laughter. “Thanks.”
Then it was her turn to groan, and slide bonelessly to the floor. When her butt hit the carpet, she kept going and stretched out flat on her back.
Above her, Ben rolled onto his side on the couch and peered over the edge. “Hey there.”
She smiled up at him. “Hi.”
“You’re beautiful.”
A different kind of heat, this one delicate and sweet, flooded her body. “Thank you.”
“Since I apparently smell good, and you are a beautiful, lovely vision…” He reached down and stroked her cheek. “How about we actually have that cup of coffee? Maybe go out in public to avoid a repeat of the Couch Incident?”
