A Very Merry Christmas

by Lori Foster, Gemma Bruce

  He wanted to go after her, to explain. But his feet were rooted to the linoleum. And explain what? He didn’t have a clue. If she would just stay and eat, things would blow over and they could get back to doing what they did best with each other.

  He’d missed his chance. He heard the bedroom door open and shut—shutting him out. All because he’d blurted out that stupid marriage proposal.

  Okay, so it wasn’t the most romantic way of doing the thing, but it wasn’t like he’d planned to say it. He ran his hand through his hair, realized he was clutching the mustard jar to him like it was his salvation. He quickly put it on the table and hurried after Allison.

  He took the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door was locked. Perfect. What else could go wrong this week. This year. This lifetime.

  He knocked softly on the door. “Ally?”

  “Go away.”

  Lee sighed, counted to ten. “Al, what’s going on?”

  “You tell me.”

  “If you’ll let me in, I will.” No, he wouldn’t. Jesus. He didn’t know what was going on. They couldn’t get married. They’d kill each other on their honeymoon. No, they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t have time to take a honeymoon. He’d have some urgent assignment, she’d have a major deal to broker. He must have been out of his mind. And yet…

  The door opened, and Lee’s nerves began knocking around with gale-force intensity. He stepped inside. Ally stepped back, then crossed the room to look out the window. Her arms crossed in front of her. Her back to him. About as off-putting as she could make it. And it hit home.

  He cautioned himself to keep his temper. After all, they were going to be stuck together for God knew how long. And, besides, said a niggling voice that he hated, You started it. Either finish it, or finish this relationship for good.

  Lee sighed. He thought he had finished this relationship. A year ago. Christmas, to the day. His head began to ache. The two of them were on a fucking treadmill. It was time to make a change. For better or worse.

  He walked across the carpet, silently, but he could feel her shoulders tense as he came up behind her. He slipped his arms around her. No response. Okay. She was going to punish him for a while before she let him have it. He knew the drill.

  But damn it. He didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve it, either. And Lee realized, for the first time, that he never thought about how she felt. Because he was always reacting to her. Maybe it was time they both learned to be more understanding and less demanding.

  He tightened his arms around her, rubbed his cheek along her hair. “I meant it,” he said. “Before. What I said. Why don’t we get married?”

  He felt a tremor go through her. Repulsed? Laughing? He took a long breath. Stop second-guessing. Go with it. “Look at me.” He tried to turn her around, but she wouldn’t budge. He slipped in front of her. Not the brightest move, since she could easily push him through the glass. He took her by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

  Slowly she lifted her head. But just enough so that she could see him beneath lowered lids.

  “Look at me, damn it.” He pushed up her chin and immediately drew back when he saw the look in her eyes. She was hurt, not angry.

  Why couldn’t she just have a normal reaction to a proposal? Just say I do, or I don’t. It didn’t take a rocket scientist.

  Stop it, he warned himself again. They had to break this habit of fighting, if there was going to be any future between them.

  He bent his head and kissed her lips. Lightly, gently, meaning to make the kiss an opening to some dispassionate, not argumentative, discussion. But, as always, it quickly ran out of his control. She kissed him back. Her lips and tongue shooting sparks through his bloodstream. His mind started on its own journey, not the one he’d planned.

  Allison was responsive and he wanted her. Needed her. Now. He walked her backwards until they were standing at the bed.

  His lips moved to her neck. “I meant it. What I said at the Revels.” He kissed her jaw, trailed his tongue up to her earlobe. Followed the curve of her ear. She shuddered and pressed against him.

  “I know,” she said so softly that he almost missed it. She nudged his face away and licked across his mouth.

  “Then what are we going to do about it?”

  “This.” And she pushed him down on the bed.

  Allison knew he meant it. Knew he loved her. Knew she loved him. And knew it would never work. It seemed the two of them were good only at making love, not committing to it.

  “And this,” she said, slipping her hands beneath his sweatshirt to rub her palms along his stomach.

  And who could blame them. Love was ephemeral. You couldn’t bank it. You couldn’t sign it. You could go to contract, but it was a contract more easily broken than the most insignificant business deal.

  Lee leaned back and she explored him. She was looking for something. Wanted something. Oh, how she wanted something, and she didn’t think it was just his body.

  Lee pulled her up beside him and threw his leg over hers. “I—”

  Allison curled into him and covered his mouth with hers. The sentence died in an umph, and segued into a groan when Allison slipped her tongue past his teeth. Lee pushed her to her back, rolled on top of her and kissed her. She felt hot and ready and reprieved.

  Lee’s weight was heavy on her, his cheek covered her nose as he deepened the kiss. She would have to come up for air before much longer, but she was afraid to stop kissing him because he might start talking again. And even though she knew he meant all the things he was going to say, she also remembered that good old quote by John Dryden. It had stuck with her through graduate school and internships and business negotiations. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  And she didn’t intend to…She sighed as Lee pulled his mouth from hers. Straddled her and spread his fingers over her shoulders. Then, deliberately he dragged them down her front, over her breasts, the rough skin of his fingers catching on the fine wool of her sweater.

  She gripped his thighs. He squeezed them tighter around her. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. His eyes turned smoky with desire and he looked like everything she had ever wanted, but couldn’t have.

  His fingers gripped her sweater and turtleneck and pulled them up her body. Pulled them over her shoulders and head, cutting off her view of him.

  And when she could see him again, he wasn’t looking at her but at her breasts.

  “Take off your clothes. I’ll be right back.” He swung a leg to the floor and pushed off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” Allison asked bemusedly. Her mind was befuddled by desire and her thought processes had gone the way of foreplay.

  “To the bathroom. And not for a cold shower.” He grinned in that way he had when nothing was bothering him. Which she saw only during sex and wondered if he ever showed it to someone else, when she wasn’t around.

  Better not to know. She unsnapped her jeans and pulled them off. She tossed them on a nearby chair. Sent first one sock and then the other after them. Slid her underwear down her legs, rolled it into a ball, then threw it across the room.

  It was floating to the carpet when Lee returned, wearing nothing but a pulsing hard-on and carrying two bottles of body oil. He stepped over her thong and placed the bottles on the bedside table.

  He shrugged. “Might as well make use of these, since Marcie and Greg went to the trouble of buying them.”

  “Wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings,” said Allison.

  He reached for the one labeled Aphrodite’s Desire. There was a splash of red across the white plastic and a curl of smoky blue that wrapped itself around the bottle.

  “If you say ‘good packaging,’ you’re toast.” Lee yanked the comforter off the bed and straddled her, holding the bottle open above her.

  “Great packaging,” she answered, letting her gaze settle on his erection.

  “Thank you,” he said, and squeezed a pinkish oil into his palm. “Turn over.
”

  “This isn’t going to be a mutual slide fest?” she asked, but turned over onto her stomach. She heard Lee chafing his hands together to warm the oil. Then felt his hands on her back. Sliding down her spine. And she let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure.

  He picked up the bottle again, ran his hands back up the way they’d come, then said, “Oh, hell.” He picked up the bottle for the third time and Allison felt the trickle of oil at the base of her neck.

  It was cold at first, but as he poured it down the ridge of her spine it grew warmer. And when it reached her butt, and Lee let a steady stream run between her cheeks and into her crotch, it burst into heat.

  The air was permeated with the aroma of cinnamon and sex. Allison breathed it in but didn’t move, just enjoyed the feeling of the oil flowing over her and mixing with her own pooling heat. Then she wiggled her hips against the sheet, letting the oil farther into her crease.

  She teased herself until she was close to the edge. “Oh, God.”

  “Yes?” Lee dripped oil onto the back of her thighs. He shifted down her legs, poured oil onto her calves. Then he spread her legs and settled on his knees between them.

  A frison of anticipation rushed through her. She lifted her butt to accommodate him.

  He took her feet in his hands and began to massage them.

  Allison groaned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Just lie there and relax. Did you know that massaging feet lets off a huge amount of tension?”

  “I’m not tense,” she said through gritted teeth. It felt incredible but instead of relaxing her, his foot massage was sending a message right to her crotch and it was getting tense as all hell.

  “I think you better check your source,” grunted Allison as he hit a particularly sensitive spot on the sole of her foot.

  “Honey,” said Lee, moving on to her calves, “you’re going to be loose as a goose when this is over.”

  He poured more oil onto her thighs. It ran down the sides and tickled the inner flesh. Lee followed it with his fingers. She spread more for him.

  But he flattened his palms on her cheeks and began kneading her glutes. “You’ve got a great butt,” he said hoarsely.

  He was driving her crazy. Another two seconds of this and she’d be writhing around like a woman possessed. “You should see what’s waiting for you underneath.”

  “I could come just looking at your butt.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He took the bottle from the table again. He moaned. “Oh, yeah, this is—”

  Her eyes jerked open and she twisted her head so she could see what he was doing. He poured oil down his chest, catching it with his palm and rubbing it against his pecs, stopping only long enough to squeeze his nipples, and start again. His cock twitched at every touch. Slowly, he rubbed down his midsection, stuck his finger in his naval and gave her a lascivious smile.

  Allison licked dry lips as his hands traveled lower. He spread the oil on his cock, over his groin, between his legs. He hissed through his teeth when his fingers cradled his balls. And all the time he was smiling at her.

  “Okay, that’s it,” said Allison. “Don’t think you’re going there without me.”

  She tried to turn over, but he pushed her back down with his free hand. He held her butt with one hand, while he slid the other up and down his erection. The bed rocked beneath them.

  Then his hand slipped between her cheeks, past her sacrum. And, finally, tortuously slow, slid home.

  Allison cried out. Lee was panting behind her. “Okay, now, baby. Hold onto the headboard. I want you deep. Really deep.”

  She shifted to her knees, pulled herself up until she was braced on the wooden bedframe. Lee spread her knees, took a searing lick up her butt before kneeling between her legs. He leaned against her, biting her neck, her ear, her shoulder, all the while sliding his cock along her inner folds. The oil, the cinnamon and their combined arousal drove them tighter and tighter.

  Then, in one quick movement he guided his dick into her. He lay against her back, not moving. One arm around her waist, the other cupping her crotch. He released and thrust. His cock impaled her. His chest slid against her back while his finger circled her front.

  And Allison held onto the bed for all she was worth.

  The rhythm quickened, each thrust lifting her off her knees and driving her closer to the headboard. Then he stopped moving; the hand at her waist moved to her breast. Each time he circled her nipple with one hand, he pressed the fingers of his other hand between her legs.

  She was holding her breath, trying to prolong the build-up. But she was being twisted, higher and tighter. She could feel Lee trembling with the effort of not coming.

  And then her head fell back against his shoulder in a silent cry. And they came undone, spiraling into darkness, out of control, crying out in guttural moans, pumping, and thrusting and shuddering until they collapsed in a heap together against the headboard.

  They huddled there, spooned together. Allison still impaled on his penis. Not talking, not moving, not even pulling the sheet over them when their oil-coated bodies began to cool.

  “Better than Christmas garland,” whispered Lee, sounding like he might nod off any second.

  “Hmmm.” For once, Allison was hungry. For food, for a glass of wine and for more of this man who would be gone again before she could say Buffalo Burger.

  “Baby, you can hang yourself on my tree anytime.”

  Taken off guard, Allison snorted. Lee’s cock slipped out of her and with it a rush of warmth. The room had grown cool, something she hadn’t noticed. She scooched down and reached for the sheet. She pulled it over both of them and they stretched out, their arms wrapped around each other, while Allison wondered why they could never stay happy.

  He turned back to her and pushed a lock of hair from her face. He kissed her, leisurely this time, and it was all the more powerful for its ease. It was something they didn’t find often. Ease. Leisure.

  Illusion, she reminded herself. She sat up. “I need dinner.”

  “Do you want to cook or build the fire?”

  She gave him a look. She could cook. What self-respecting ad executive couldn’t. “I guess you failed to notice when you returned from snow surfing last night, that the fire was still going.”

  “I did notice and I’m impressed.” He grinned at her. “You can build the fire.”

  She grinned back at him. “I’ll cook.”

  Six

  The pantry and fridge were stocked and Allison picked out mushrooms, onions, peppers and tomatoes. She chopped them into symmetrical shapes, each the same size, concentrating on each slice of the knife, so she wouldn’t think that this could be their last meal together. She sautéed them into a ragout. She boiled water and cooked pasta. Made a salad and a vinaigrette from scratch.

  Lee finished building the fire and wandered in to see what she was doing. She just kept chopping. He opened a bottle of pinot noir and set it on the counter to breathe. Then he left again.

  She could hear him rummaging in his camera bag and thought with a sinking heart that he was already somewhere else. In the jungle. Or wherever. It didn’t really matter. It would always be somewhere and it wouldn’t be with her.

  She pulled down plates and wineglasses, poured out the wine and took a healthy gulp to get started.

  “Hey,” said Lee from the hallway. “Wait for me.”

  Story of her life, thought Allison, but not with bitterness. She was too sad to be bitter. And it had never been about bitterness. It had been about fear.

  She loved him. She tried not to. Didn’t want to give her heart to someone who traveled all over the world, risking life and limb, in search of the ultimate photograph. She couldn’t take it. Every time Lee left for another assignment, she wondered if it would be his last. If she would ever see him again.

  And while she worried and wrestled with overwhelming terror, her work suffered. And when he did return and her fear finally
released its grip, she had to work twice as hard to catch up. It made her brittle and unapproachable. It also gave her the edge to win. But it took its toll in other ways.

  And now he was here again. Tempting her to risk everything for something she couldn’t control. She reached for the second wineglass and handed it to him with trembling fingers.

  He saw. Frowned and cocked his head at her. “Ally?”

  She shook her head and turned back to the stove. Lifted the top off the pasta pot and burned her fingers. She dropped the top and Lee was by her side. Pulling her to the sink and holding her hand under cold water.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “The pasta is going to be overcooked.”

  “You’re not all right.”

  No, she wasn’t. She never would be as long as she let him turn her world upside down. She couldn’t live with him and she couldn’t stand to live without him. Her life was a cliché. And it was tearing her apart. She had to deal with it once and for all. And she dreaded it. How she wanted to say I do. To live happily ever after with Lee. And she could kick herself for even thinking like that. There were no happily ever afters. Life was a constant struggle, and life with Lee would be, well, it would be life with Lee when and if he was around. It was too much stress. “I can’t do this.”

  She heard his sigh. Could feel his disappointment in her. Could feel the anger welling up inside him. She could feel his feelings like they were her own.

  He pushed her away from the sink. Grabbed two potholders and poured the pasta out into the colander. Slammed the pot back onto the burner so hard that it rattled. Then he turned on her.

  “I don’t get you. I love you. You love me. I ask you to marry me. And you pretend like it never happened. Being around you is hell.” He began dishing the pasta onto the plates. Spooned the ragout over them and placed them on the table. “Why can’t you commit? Is it me? Is that it? Is there something about me that just doesn’t make it for you?”