“We’d better eat before the soup gets too cold,” she said, and moved the boxes of lights to the end of the table.
They ate in silence, a nervous silence filled with awareness, it seemed to Casey. She was conscious of every move of his hands, every time his gaze brushed her. And of the uncertainty nagging at her heart. She did manage to eat, though she remembered none of it.
Somehow it felt safer in the living room, where the sense of the spirits was still strong. She thought of telling Mike about them, but knew that would break the mood. And though she wasn’t sure she wanted to act upon it, she knew she didn’t want to send it packing, either. Instead, she studied the big tree before her, from the broad bottom to the tip almost touching the ten-foot ceiling, and let its peace and serenity touch her.
Just a few lights were on in the living room. Enough to see what you needed to—the old furniture, the colors in the oriental rug covering the floor, the cove molding on the high ceiling—but not enough to see the fading paint and random cracks. The whole thing created an atmosphere where one could feel both the spirit and the spirits of Christmas. Casey took a deep breath and let her worries go.
“Isn’t this room beautiful?” she murmured. “The tree adds so much to the house. A holiday spirit. Contentment. Joyous memories.”
“Ten different Christmas carols playing at once would add even more Christmas spirit,” he said.
She just laughed, completing her escape from concerns. Why was she suddenly so wimpy and worried? There was nothing here to fear.
Together she and Mike put the lights on the tree, changing it from an ordinary tree to one that had been kissed by the stars. It was wonderful, glittering as if diamonds had been sprinkled all over it. Best of all, Mike just left them as lights. No blinking by color or position. No Christmas carols.
“It looks beautiful,” she exclaimed.
He slipped his arms around her. “It looks like a big tree with lights on it.”
“You and that ghost that lives here,” Casey said. “You’re both members of the Christmas grouch clan.”
“No way, lady.” Mike’s grasp tightened around her. “First of all there ain’t no such thing as ghosts. And if there were, we’d have nothing in common. He’s dead and I’m not.” He bent down slightly to brush his lips against her neck. “And I can prove it if you want.”
Did she? Maybe. “I think we’ve got more work to do on the tree.”
She slid out of his embrace and sat on the floor, slowly unpacking the ornaments. There were boxes and boxes of wonderful old ones. Fragile little vases and trumpets and drums. Globes with indented sides and ones with flowers painted on them. Little shepherds and kings and camels. Whose were these? she wondered, and wished she knew more about ornaments. Had some belonged to Simon? Or to the nephew who lived in the house after him?
“Thought you might like a sip,” Mike said, and put a glass of wine on the low table next to her.
“Thanks.” She looked up from her spot on the rug and took a sip, then another. “Very nice.”
He sat down next to her and picked up a box from the floor. “Where’d this one come from?” he asked.
“It was upstairs.”
“In the attic?”
His voice sounded different, strained, and she frowned up at him. “No, it was in the bedroom I’m using. Why? Shouldn’t I have brought it down?”
“No,” he said slowly. “It’s all right. They’re just ornaments. Might as well use them.”
Obviously they weren’t just ornaments. “Whose were they?”
“My parents,” he said. “So I guess they’re mine now.”
“We don’t have to hang them,” she said, and sipped again at her wine. “We have enough.”
He stared down at the box in his hands for what seemed like two eternities, then gave a shrug. “Hey, they were made for hanging on a tree, right? Seems sort of wrong to leave them in a box all the time.”
“Probably makes them question their self-worth,” she said.
He just looked at her.
“You know, then they’ll have to go into therapy, to a support group for unhung ornaments. They’ll all gather around and talk about how you deprived them of the chance to reach their full potential as ornaments.” She shook her head. “Not a burden I’d want to carry around my whole life.”
A smile started to form on his lips. “This is really serious,” he said. “I had no idea the trouble I was causing.”
“Perhaps there’s still time to save them.”
“We can always hope,” he said, and opened the box as he walked over to the tree.
The first one he hung up was a tiny spaceman, then a little sailboat made of wood shavings. “We went sailing on our vacation one year,” he said. “Boy, was my dad seasick. He vowed he was never having anything to do with sailing again, and I was so upset because I had loved it. He got me this ornament to say he was sorry.”
“That’s such a sweet story,” Casey said, and touched the ornament gently as he hung another. A tiny teddy bear. “What’s the story behind this one?”
“That one was my very first ornament,” he said quietly. “My mother bought it for me.”
“The first of many, eh?”
“No.” He shook his head. “My mom bought me other ornaments. My mother bought me just that one. She sent it through the agency for my first Christmas.”
“Oh.” Casey suddenly realized that when he talked of his biological parents it was always mother and father; his adoptive parents were mom and dad. “That was nice of her. It must be comforting to know she was still thinking of you even after you were gone from her life.”
“I guess.” He took another ornament from the box. “I never thought about it that way.”
No, why would he? Did he have any reason to doubt that he had been surrounded by love from the very moment he’d been born?
But tonight was not a night for gloom and sad thoughts, so Casey just ignored any depression that might come close. She pulled out a little holly ornament.
“So tell me about this holly,” she said. “Do we find some ivy to hang near it and then sing ‘The Holly and the Ivy’?”
He shook his head. ‘That’s mistletoe,” he said. “Not holly.”
“Oh.” She looked at it more closely and saw that he was right. A daring thought came over her then, a wildness that she knew was part an attempt to distract her silly heart and part boldness from the wine. She held the mistletoe over her head. “Maybe I should wear it in my hair then.”
“I’m not sure you should,” he said, his voice carefully controlled.
“Why not?” she said. This wasn’t what she wanted, some philosophical discussion. She wanted to laugh and play and forget. “Are you going to buck tradition?”
“I was hoping to hang some ornaments.”
“And you can. Once you satisfy the mistletoe gods.”
“The mistletoe gods?”
“Sure. They’re easily satisfied, but get really nasty if you don’t.”
He made a face, one that said he was sorely put upon. “Far be it from me to rile the gods,” he said, and leaned over.
She knew he was going to brush her cheek with his lips. It would be a quick kiss, not unlike the one you’d give a maiden aunt or your mother when the guys were around. So she turned her head at the last second and his lips met hers.
It was as if a bolt of lightning had come down to earth and shot through her. Her lips, her tongue, her whole self seemed to quiver and tremble as a strange, strong yearning took hold. Mike’s lips were so gentle, yet so demanding. His mouth was pulling all sorts of secrets from her soul and she was admitting to them all.
She wanted to feel his hands all over her, to touch him in hidden, magic places that would start a fire in him to match her own. She wanted to know all his fears and shoot them down one by one. She wanted to sing and dance and spin out of control in his arms while he kept her safe and secure.
As earth-shattering as their
other kisses had been, this one outranked them on the Richter scale by ten to one. Her heart, her soul, her mind shuddered and stood dumbfounded as the potent power of his lips was made known. She could scarcely breathe and certainly couldn’t think. And when Mike slowly pulled away, she found her knees ridiculously wobbly.
“So did that satisfy those mistletoe gods?” he asked in a voice that was as rough as sandpaper.
“Yeah,” she gasped, surprised she could talk at all. “Now maybe we’d better work on the Christmas-tree gods.”
“And what do they want?”
“Just that we hang our ornaments,” she said. “Just that we hang our ornaments.”
So they hung ornaments and sipped at their wine, but all the while Casey was ever so conscious of Mike’s hands, of his nearness, of the way his breath would tickle the back of her neck when he leaned close to her. She really tried to concentrate on the ornaments, but he was hanging his on the very same tree. How could she not notice him?
She reached over to hang a candy cane on an empty branch and found he was hanging a little Santa on it also. Their hands brushed and their eyes met. Suddenly both Santa and the candy cane were forgotten as she moved into his arms once again.
His lips spoke of hungers that their souls echoed. It was all the magic of Christmas and all the sparkle of the Fourth of July. She’d felt such promises in the air, in his touch, in the steel strength of his body pressed against hers. She moved against him, hearing a distant melody that sang to her soul.
Then suddenly they pulled apart, both gasping for breath, both trembling with a fever that had only one cure. She took a deep breath and tried to laugh. It came out shaky.
“You take that side of the tree and I’ll take this side,” she said. “And no fair coming on my half.”
“You drawing a line in the sand?”
“I just want the tree done,” she told him.
She was much more sensible than this, she told herself as she worked on hanging ornaments. She was never swept away. Every time she had made love in the past, and there hadn’t been many, it was in a long-standing relationship. One where she’d known her lover for a long time before he became her lover. One where she thought there would be a future—until that future got too close and too scary.
Nothing could happen here between her and Mike. They didn’t have all the prerequisites she insisted on. They hadn’t known each other long. They weren’t in a relationship that had developed slowly over the years, and it sure wasn’t one with a future.
This was all just some fluke. It was the phase of the moon or the position of the stars or Simon’s weird sense of humor. Her common sense helped her finish hanging her share of the ornaments, then while Mike hung gold tinsel garlands, she sat back on the sofa to admire the tree.
“Very nice,” she said, finishing her wine. “We should do this professionally.”
But then he came to sit next to her, in the only spot left by her cats and Gus, and he was very, very close once more. Her lips were dry, but licking them only seemed to increase the fever that was causing the problem. And her well-thought-out excuses were fading as fast as dew in the summer sun.
“I think it’s getting late,” she said, gathering the last bit of sanity she had left.
“It’s been a long day.”
They got up slowly, moving as if it was necessary to stay as far apart as possible. Mike turned off the lights as Casey started up the stairs. He was right behind her, but she stopped to stare through the darkness at their tree. All sorts of other feelings seemed to hover in the air, making the tree seem miles away.
Love and longing and belonging. Hurts. Disappointments. Love lost and found again in unexpected places. Tender touches. Little moments of joy. The house had a history of love, no matter what the stories, and that love was still in the air here. It was all around them, pulsating, throbbing, beating with the memory of all the Christmases that had ever been celebrated here.
Casey turned and slowly climbed the rest of the stairs. “You know,” she said to Mike, “there wasn’t a pickle ornament.”
“I think the festival’s a recent thing.”
“But there should have been one,” she said.
“Why? Those ornaments looked to be forty, fifty, sixty years old and more. Maybe they didn’t make pickle ornaments back then. Or maybe Simon hated pickles.”
She slowly shook her head, unable to explain it as she stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall next to Mike’s door. “There was a pickle ornament. I know there was, but it’s not there.”
“Guess I won’t get my most favorite wish then,” he said with a laugh.
“And what would that be?”
“Suppose you found it,” he said, answering her question with one of his own. “What would your wish be?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and found herself moving into his arms again. “For everyone to be happy.”
“Why not just you?” He brushed the top of her hair with his lips; she could feel the gentle touch.
“Because I couldn’t be happy unless everyone else was, too.”
“Maybe you’re too generous.” His lips moved to lightly touch her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips.
Raising up slightly on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips harder to his and let the feelings of the evening blossom again. She felt safe and secure, at home in his arms. But oh so very much more. As if in this one place only, happiness could be found. As if in his arms was home.
His arms pulled her closer, steely bonds that held her tight and tighter still as she moved against him, crushing her breasts into his chest. She could feel his heart racing, or was it her own? It was suddenly impossible to tell. Her arms tightened her hold on him as her hands played across the solid muscles of his back. Then they pulled apart slightly, enough to breathe.
“This is not a good place to be playing with fire,” he whispered into her hair.
His words teased at her; his breath tickled. She lay against him, her eyes closed and her heart racing. She needed him with all sorts of yearnings that she’d never felt before, never dreamed of feeling. She tried to think, tried to be rational, but it was impossible. How had this yearning sneaked up on her?
Ever so slowly, her hand crept up to his shirt and unbuttoned a button so that her fingers could slip inside. His chest was warm and slightly damp under the thin matting of hair. She wondered…
His hand closed over hers, stopping her movement. “Casey,” he moaned.
She freed her hand and undid another button. There was enough room for her fingers to slide in. She’d never felt so driven, so possessed by a need to touch and feel and explore another’s body.
“Is this what you really want?” he groaned, pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel his hardness.
“Yes,” she breathed into his lips, into the night and into the thousand explosions of light that hid behind her closed eyes.
She felt him move then, and he swung her up into his arms, carrying her into his room. After placing her on his bed, he lay down beside her. The room was lit only by the pale lights of night coming through the window, but she could see the fire in his eyes, feel his desire in his touch.
She wrapped her arms lightly around him, running her fingers through his short hair, then reaching up to place tiny kisses around his mouth. He groaned in deep, wrenching hunger and caught her lips with his. His passion was untamed, wild and raw and more needful than her heart could take.
His lips brought her fire higher, hotter, and then his hands were under her sweater, hot and demanding against her skin. They unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts for his trembling touch. Every caress, every brush of skin on skin drove her higher into the stars, craving him with an urgency that defied understanding.
She needed to touch him, to feel with her fingertips the fever overtaking them both. She slipped her hands under his shirt, ran them over his chest and felt his heartbeat echoing her own. A tightness re
igned in her stomach, a delicious twisting that begged for release.
He helped her pull her sweater over her head, then she helped him get his shirt off. Then it was jeans and underwear amid the touching and holding and tasting. She was hot and hungry and ravenous in her desires. For these few moments she was everything to him and he to her. They needed no other, nothing else.
“Uh, wait a minute,” he said, and pulled away to fumble in his nightstand.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
She heard the rustle of paper, though, and knew he was getting a condom. She hadn’t even thought about it! Then he moved, coming back to enter her gently, slowly, as if she was fragile. She was too needy to be patient, however, and moved to take him in. Her body surrounded him, clasped him completely.
For a glorious moment in time, they moved as one. Were as one. Their breath, their pulse, their very beings were in total unison. Then, wrapped in each other’s arms, they felt their love explode. They raced upward into the heavens, then with slow meandering, came gently back to earth. Casey just sighed, and smiling a tiny smile, cuddled into Mike’s arms to fall asleep.
Chapter Nine
Mike moved softly through the mists between sleep and waking, feeling the soft warmth of Casey stretched out beside him. It felt so right and good that he just snuggled deeper into his covers and pushed against her, against her soft, strong body.
Then Gus barked—fierce, angry sounds coming from downstairs that said something was wrong. Somebody was after Casey!
Gus’s barking came again—loud rapid-fire yelps that drew Mike into the real world as abruptly as if he’d stepped into a puddle of ice water.
In the pale light of the room, Mike could see Casey stir slightly in her sleep, and he vowed she would be safe. Nothing was going to disturb her or those cats cuddled around her on his bed.
He hurried out from under the covers, grabbing up a pair of jeans as he glanced at the clock—five-thirty—but almost fell over when he tried to shove his foot into them. “Oh, hell,” he muttered as he threw the jeans across the dark room. They weren’t his.
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