Guarding Christmas

by Jenny Schwartz

  “Your mom invited me to Christmas dinner.”

  Her eyes widened, but she kept them fixed on the road. Car brake lights flashed and reflected on the snow. Her hands fisted, but Gray wouldn’t know, she assured herself. Her hands were hidden in her pockets. “Then this isn’t a flying visit?”

  “Nope. I’ve bought a house.” He braked smoothly for a red light and looked at her. “It’s near the university. Used to be a group house, so it needs some TLC, but I got it for a good price.”

  “You’re settling down, here? But I thought…your parents…”

  “Mom’s in Shanghai with Doug and the kids. His corporation posted him there. Dad’s in Alaska. I like Vermont.”

  “Oh.” Full stop.

  “You’ll have to see the house. Give me your opinion on it. It’s one of the bungalows from the 1920s.”

  She loved the Jazz Age. The architecture had a wonderful blend of elegance and exuberance. The houses were gracious and welcoming. She’d always dreamed of living in one.

  “There’s a full yard, completely overgrown. I’ll have to cut back the bushes, then reseed the lawn in spring. What? Why are you staring?”

  “I’m picturing you as a homeowner.”

  The traffic started moving again.

  “And how do I look?” he challenged softly.

  “Happy. Determined. Like a man who knows what he wants.” She put out a hand, pointed. “You need to turn right, just up ahead.” And when he did so. “Take the next left and then the second apartment block on your right.”

  He followed her directions—well, the spoken ones. He completely frustrated her unspoken hopes by parking and switching off the engine.

  Still, she tried. One hand on the door handle, she said. “Thanks for the lift. I guess I’ll see you at Christmas.”

  “I’ll walk you in.”

  “There’s no need.” She tried again as he stepped out of the warm cab and closed the door, quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t waste your shopping time, not this close to Christmas. Hey!” A courier exiting the foyer caught her attention. He was carrying an awfully big box and she’d been waiting on a late delivery. “Is that for me?”

  The guy looked at her over the edge of the huge box. “If you’re Yvonne Harrison, it might be.”

  “That’s me. I’ve got some ID somewhere.” She started to rummage through her bag.

  “Forget about it. I’m late as it is. Just sign.” He pushed the box at Gray and unhooked the electronic signature gizmo from his belt.

  Yvie signed.

  The courier grunted something that might have been “thanks”.

  “Happy Christmas,” she called after him.

  A hand flapped in acknowledgement and dismissal.

  She turned back to Gray and held out her arms. “I’ll take that.”

  “Not likely. It’s huge. I’ll carry it in.”

  “It’s not very heavy.”

  But he wouldn’t release the box.

  She sighed and led the way in, to catch the elevator to the third floor. Mentally she psyched herself up. It would be a bit rude, but she’d take the box from Gray at her door. No matter what he said, she wouldn’t let him in. Christmas was only three days away. After its festivities were safely behind them, then she could let her family know her plans.

  The problem was, she really hated confrontations.

  “Am I allowed to ask what’s in the box?”

  She blinked. “Luke’s present.” Luke was the youngest of her brothers, the closest in age to her. “When he was a kid, his worst insult was to call someone a dodo-head. You know, so dumb they went extinct?”

  “I get it.”

  The elevator arrived and they stepped in. The doors closed with their usual glacial speed.

  “Luke used the insult so often, the boys started calling him Dodo. They quit about when he left high school, but when I saw a giant toy dodo bird online, I had to buy it.”

  Gray stared down at the huge box he held. “It’s a unique gift.”

  She grinned. “It’ll be interesting how he explains it to his current girlfriend.”

  The doors rattled open. She squared her shoulders and set off down the hallway. At her door, she stopped.

  Gray stopped, too. He looked at her quizzically. “Keys?”

  She held them up. “Just pop the box down. I’ll carry it in.”

  He made no move to obey. “You got a dead body in there?” He jerked his head at her door.

  “Funny.”

  Abruptly, the humor fled from his eyes and the flat, hard “warrior” look claimed his face. “Are you scared to be alone with me?”

  “No.” She reached out instinctively, touching his arm. That would be the worst of insults to a man dedicated to protecting the innocent.

  “If a creep has hurt you…”

  “Nothing like that. Oh fudge.” She fumbled with her keys and finally got the door unlocked. So much for keeping Gray out. She should have known better than to try. She pushed the door wide and indicated for him to precede her. “Just don’t tell my parents.”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re moving.” Gray looked around Yvie’s small apartment. The cheerful yellow walls looked achingly bare without pictures hanging on them and the low book cases that lined them were similarly empty. Only the packing boxes littering the living area were full.

  “Yes, I’m moving.” She dropped her keys on a packing box and set her bag down beside it. “Put the box down anywhere.” She shrugged off her coat and hung it over a hook.

  Gray set the box down and took off his own coat. He hung it beside hers, a silent message that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He hadn’t expected this. Sure, he’d picked up her reluctance to have him drive her home and she’d definitely tried to prevent him entering the apartment, but he’d put it down to variously discomfort from his behavior four years ago, the teeth-gritting thought that she had a man waiting for her and finally, agonizingly, that a guy had attacked her and made her wary of being alone with a man.

  That she was moving had simply never entered his head.

  “Do your folks know?” He indicated the boxes.

  “Not yet.” She eyed him with exasperation and a hint of humor. “You’re not leaving without an explanation, are you? Sit down.”

  He waited till she’d sat, then settled on the sofa, beside her. It wasn’t a big sofa and he was a big man. There were ten inches between them.

  “Paul told you I’d left the university. Did he tell you I’ve won a couple of awards for my photography?”

  “He might have bragged on it a bit.”

  She smiled, but it was a brief effort and her shoulders stayed tense. “A publisher got in touch with me, someone who knew my thesis advisor. Apparently there’s a market for high-class coffee table books, the kind that combine photos with academic standard research and writing. We kicked around some ideas, based on my thesis, and came up with a focus on small town New England museums, the kind that occupy old houses, and how their exhibits reveal the lives of women in history.”

  “It sounds perfect for you.” It did. And her family would be proud of her—and relieved she’d be using her academic qualifications. “So why keep it secret? Are you going to surprise your family at Christmas?”

  “I hope not,” she said fervently.

  He hooked his knee up, angling around to study her.

  “Part of my publishing contract included a small advance.” She stared at her hands, then took a deep breath and looked directly at him. “I’ve given up the lease on this apartment, from New Year’s Day. And I sold my car because I intend to buy a small motorhome. I’m going to travel around, investigating small museums and taking photos. There ought to be journal articles as well as a book or two in that.”

  “You’re going to drive around by yourself? Camping alone?”

  She nodded.

  “No.”

  She jumped up and paced the length of the room, winding a path around the
packing boxes. “And that’s why I haven’t told my family.”

  “Because they’d talk some sense into you?”

  “Because this is my life and my decision, but I don’t want to spoil Christmas for everyone by arguing with them.”

  He swore under his breath.

  She scowled at him. “I’m not crazy. I’d choose popular camping grounds and I’d even carry a gun. I’d be safe. I can look after myself.”

  “There’s looking after yourself—and stupidly courting danger. Couldn’t you…I don’t know…maybe stay in hotels, bed and breakfasts? Hell, I’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go.”

  “Gray, this is my adventure. A motorhome makes sense. I can keep all my gear in it, cook for myself, work in my own space.”

  Her voice told him how important this was to her, but he couldn’t get beyond his own outrage. She had no right running off just when he came home—which was a totally irrational, selfish response, but so what? The bottom line was it simply wasn’t safe for Yvie to go gallivanting around the countryside. Anything could happen to her.

  “I bought a house near the university.”

  “So you said.” So what? her tone implied. To her it was a non sequitur.

  “I bought the house for you.”

  She sat down on a packing box. “Pardon?”

  “I didn’t mean to say that.” He cursed his own lack of control. “I…oh hell.”

  “Why would you buy a house for me?”

  “Don’t be dumb. I bought it for you and me. For us.”

  “Gray.” She looked freaked. “There is no ‘you and me’. No ‘us’.”

  “There should be.” From this position, there was nowhere left for him to go but forward, via a detour to the past. “Four years ago I was an idiot.”

  Yvie folded her arms in a self-protective gesture.

  “At Sam’s wedding, you were gorgeous. Sexy where you’d always been…comfortable before.”

  She pulled a face. “Comfortable.”

  “Normal, ordinary…a friend. But in your bridesmaid’s dress, with your hair loose, dancing in the shadows. You seduced me, Yvie.”

  “You’re the one who tugged me off the dance floor, into that alcove. You kissed me.”

  “And you kissed me back,” he retorted. “You kissed me back, hot and sweet and eager.”

  She blushed.

  “You lit a forest fire, sweetheart, and you didn’t even know it.”

  “I knew.”

  He shook his head. “I could have taken you against the wall, with your family in the next room. When I realized how out of control I was—”

  “You pushed me away. You stared at me like I was Medusa, yanked my dress back into place and hustled me back into the reception room. I had to go hide in the ladies room till I could face people again.”

  “And I went out and drank myself into a stupor.”

  “You did?”

  “Oh yeah. I’d just found myself making out with my best friend’s baby sister.”

  “I was twenty one years old, Gray. Hardly a baby.”

  “I spent three years trying to pretend it hadn’t happened.”

  “Why? What was so wrong with me?” It was a cry from the heart.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her down onto the sofa beside him. “Nothing was wrong with you.” She tried to wriggle away, but he kept an arm around her. “That was the problem. You weren’t just Paul’s sister, you’ve always been the sort of girl who deserves forever—or at the least, a serious commitment. Four years ago, I couldn’t give you that.”

  “So you decided I was too good for a casual relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I didn’t get a vote?”

  There wasn’t a good answer to that question. Instead, he tightened his arm. “A year ago I realized I’d never forgotten you. Not just the kiss, but our conversations. I’ve missed them. I don’t like the cool politeness we’ve had between us. I guess I grew up. I realized I could be the guy you deserve. I just had to get my act together.”

  “Buy a house, get a steady job, stop wandering into warzones.” Her tone mocked his intentions.

  “All of that.”

  “Well, you’re too late.”

  “What?”

  “You’re too late,” she repeated herself with obvious pleasure.

  “If you think you’re in love with another guy, it won’t stop me.” The way he felt, he’d cheerfully rip the loser apart. He’d never dreamed this first meeting with Yvie could go so wrong.

  “It’s me, Gray. I’ve changed. You’ve made yourself into Mr. Boring to match my Ms. Comfortable, but that’s not me anymore. I want adventure.”

  “You can have your adventures with me.” Heroically he refrained from challenging her on that “Mr. Boring”.

  “No, I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I wouldn’t want to prevent you from finding your Ms. Comfortable.”

  “Honey, snarky doesn’t suit you.”

  “Gray, you can’t march back into my life and say ‘this is how things are going to be’.”

  He groaned. “I didn’t plan to. You rattled me with your packing boxes and your attitude. Believe it or not, I wanted to woo you. I intend to woo you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He picked her up and dumped her in his lap. Before she could formulate a protest, he kissed her open mouth, sealing in the words.

  Hunger roared through him. This was what he remembered. Yvie’s heat and taste and the sheer rightness of it. One hand dug into the softness of her hip, the other held her head immobile. He deepened the kiss, demanding a response from her.

  She wriggled, fighting his hold, but not trying to hurt him.

  With four protective older brothers, she had to know how to escape if she truly wanted to.

  He released her mouth and kissed a path along her jaw, finding the sensitive skin behind her ear.

  A shiver stopped her mid-wriggle. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

  Oh yes. Still kissing her ear, he lifted her to straddle him.

  She sighed as she settled astride, turning her head to find his mouth with hers. The kiss was magic as their tongues dueled. She ran her hands down his chest.

  He took the hint and found her breasts, shaping them through the uniform shirt she wore. Not enough. He unbuttoned the shirt, stopped and groaned. “Black lace.”

  “No one was meant to see.”

  He pushed the shirt open, cupping her beautiful breasts and rubbing his thumbs over the tight nipples. “I like looking.” He glanced up and saw the shy arousal in her face, the pride and excitement. “I like looking at you very much.” Using his thumbs, he eased the lace down to reveal her nipples. “Very, very much.”

  She jerked as he touched her bare nipples.

  It felt so good to have the heat of her riding over him. Given her response, she had to be wet down there.

  He kissed her fiercely, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as desire hardened him further. She caught his tongue and sucked it. It was his turn to jerk, to buck beneath her.

  “Witch,” he said thickly. He caught her arms and hauled her up. Kneeling, her breasts were near his mouth. He spread his hands against her shoulder blades, supporting her as he closed his mouth over one breast. He sucked and teased first one breast, then the other.

  Why had he thought Yvie would be a silent lover?

  “So wet. Hot. Harder. Ye-es. Gray, Gray.” Urgently, as he switched breasts. He flicked the waiting, taut nipple. “Your tongue. Like a whip. Lash me, Gray.”

  The last command was too much for him. He used his teeth and she convulsed in his arms.

  He breathed heavily as he held her against him. His heart was thundering and his jeans threatened to emasculate him.

  “See, Gray. I’m not the Ms. Comfortable you’re looking for.”

  He caught the whispered challenge.

  “I think I can handle the excitement,” he said.r />
  Slowly, naturally sensuous, Yvie unraveled herself from him and curled up in her corner of the sofa. She watched him with huge eyes. “You ran once. Why should I trust you again?”

  Chapter Four

  Utilizing all the discipline of over a decade in the army, Gray got himself out of Yvie’s apartment without responding to that last question. He could have shown her why she should trust him. Their chemistry was explosive. But trust was about more than sex.

  He held his coat in front of him to hide his arousal, hoping the cold air outside would cool him down.

  Sex with Yvie would be amazing, but they needed more than that.

  He shook his head, grinning slightly as he threw his coat into the pick-up and climbed in after it. Man, he was getting old if he could deny himself sex for the greater good…although delaying the pleasure might be like that yoga thing. No, not yoga. What was it? Tantric sex. Yeah, he could do that.

  He started the engine, slung an arm over the back of the seat and reversed out of the parking bay. Any sort of sex would be good with Yvie, but he wanted to be having it tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

  Upstairs at her window, Yvie watched Gray pull out of the car park.

  So much for cool, independent, disinterested. She’d orgasmed in his arms while still mostly dressed. He hadn’t undone anything of his.

  She rested her forehead against the cool glass.

  He had to think she was a pushover for him.

  Well, wasn’t she? She had been four years ago.

  But if he was confident of her, why hadn’t he answered her last challenge? “Why should I trust you again?”

  Trust. Taking that step beyond fear into the unknown.

  She’d read once that the female orgasm was a sign of trust. According to that expert, it was a letting go, an expression or celebration of confidence in your partner. The pleasure of her orgasm remained with her, like hot syrup melting through her veins.

  Gray could have taken her to bed. He could have had her on the sofa, small though it was. Why hadn’t he? She’d felt his arousal, though she’d been too caught up in her own blazing response to steady her hands and unzip his fly and touch him.