Confused, Lily pushed back to peek up at him. "What?"
With the utmost care, he cradled her face in his hand and smiled. "The way my heart just grew ten times its size?"
Lily twisted in his lap to face him. "What are you talking about?"
He smiled gently, wiped away her tears. "Don't you remember the Grinch, when the true meaning of Christmas finally hit him, and his heart all but exploded in his chest?"
Lily started breathing too fast. "I remember."
"Well, that's what it feels like to me right now. Like my heart is so full, my ribs just might break." He kissed the end of her nose. "Damn, Lily, I've been an ass."
"You have not!"
"I love you."
She stared, stunned silly, speechless.
"Hell, I've loved you for a long time but didn't want to admit it." Parker shook his head and smiled at her. "I thought you were too young, too fanciful, and way too damn happy to suit me. All that optimism scared me, I guess because it emphasized how damn pessimistic I've become."
"You're not a pessimist. You're a hero."
He grinned at her, shook his head. "I wanted to be, but I could never tell if I made a difference."
"And now?"
"Now I'm so glad, so grateful, that you're here. That you're in my life. I make a difference to you, and that has to count for something, right?"
"You make a difference to everyone, Parker." Hope burgeoning, she bit her lip. "You really love me?"
"Yeah, I really do. It took me long enough to realize it, but I figure it has to be love. Nothing else could make me feel like this."
"And…" She hated to push him, but she couldn't stop herself. "You believe in the Christmas spirit?"
"You're here with me, in my bed, sharing your life. Sharing you. How could I not believe? You're my own special Christmas miracle."
Happiness bubbled inside her.
"You should be in that memory book too, because, Lily, you saved me." He turned on the bed, positioning her beneath him and getting comfortable. "It's so damn easy to get jaded, to focus on the disappointments instead of the triumphs. It's so easy to lose sight of the important things."
"Like love?"
"Like you. And sharing the holidays with friends and family."
She touched the corner of his mouth. "Speaking of friends and family…"
He laughed. "Maybe we should divide Christmas between my folks and yours. It'll probably send my poor mother into a faint, but I'm in a mood for her Christmas dinner. And I want to meet this remarkable mother of yours. And—"
Squealing in delight, Lily threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. "Your heart really did grow, didn't it?"
"Enough to help you at the shelter." He kissed her. "Enough to start enjoying my job again." Another kiss, this one longer. "And enough to accept that I love you—now, tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives."
Contentment settled over her. "I love you, too."
"Let's go shopping."
Given their current position—in a bed, with her under him—Lily laughed. "You want to shop now?"
"Yeah. For the first time in ages, I'm in the mood to buy gifts." His gaze warmed. "For you."
"Oh, Parker." Lily turned to mush. "I have you, and that's surely the best Christmas gift ever."
Chapter One
Claire Robbins was walking down Michigan Avenue
trying to figure out what to buy her mother for Christmas when it hit her.
A gigantic arc of snow, that is.
Head to toe it landed, like someone had tossed a big old bucket of slushies at her. Claire gasped at the ice-cold impact as it doused her hair, slapped her cheek, slid under her cashmere scarf, and bounced off her chest. She blinked hard, wet snow falling off her eyelashes, as she turned toward the sound her brain was quickly processing.
The snowplow.
Going thirty miles an hour, its shovel aimed right at the sidewalk, shooting massive amounts of new and old snow onto every fire hydrant, every street sign, and every person stupid enough not to dodge it.
"Jerk!" she screamed after him. "Reject!" She was guessing there were notches on the side of his truck for each person he had nailed with the wet cold stuff, and she'd probably just given him number three hundred and twelve. She could imagine him cackling as he watched her in his rearview mirror.
Claire grabbed a clump of snow off her scarf and flung it toward the street at his yellow flashing lights, but he was thirty feet away already.
"Evil. Just evil." Claire set down her shopping bags and stomped a little, trying to knock some of the snow off her body. A clump fell off her knee onto her foot.
She brushed futilely at her hair and spat some snow off her lip. "Scheisse." Needing to swear, she did it in German, just in case a little kid was within earshot. "This stuff is cold!"
Twelve blocks from her apartment, she was going to have hypothermia by the time she got home. And she'd been in such a good mood, too, checking off everyone on her shopping list except for her mom, all while singing along off-key to the piped-in Jessica Simpson Christmas CD at Williams-Sonoma.
Claire sucked in her breath as she started trudging toward home, her feet making an ominous crunching sound. She had stupidly worn ballet flats instead of boots, and the tops of her feet were wearing a veil of snow sludge. Tapping her toes on the concrete to try and shake some off, she readjusted her bags in her hands.
Not enough cash on her for a cab, since she'd blown her last three dollars on a Godiva truffle, she pondered finding a cash machine or calling a friend to come and get her. But by then, she figured, she could have walked home.
At least she'd found her brother Derek a gift—a gorgeous pair of cuff links—and a bread maker for Derek's wife, Reese. Which reminded her…
"Duh, Claire!" she said out loud, mentally smacking herself. "You are half a block from Derek's apartment."
Okay, this made everything seem a lot better. She could be there in five. Derek and Reese were in New York, visiting Reese's family for Christmas, so they wouldn't be home. But Claire had a key, and she got along well enough with Reese that she could borrow some dry clothes. They wouldn't mind if she had a little hot shower either, and made herself some coffee.
Derek liked pie, and Reese frequently baked for him. Maybe Claire could even score a piece of chocolate pie.
Claire walked carefully, crunching and waddling like a blonde penguin.
Maybe she could salvage the evening, and if anyone deserved pie tonight, it was her.
By the time she got herself into her brother's apartment, after four tries shoving the key in the lock with numb, beet-red fingers, she was shaking and thinking only of warm, soft things. Bunnies. Teddy bears. Fleece. Warm Caribbean sand.
Her hair was crystallized. It was possible her earlobes had dropped onto Michigan Avenue
, because she couldn't feel them. Her scarf was like a bag of frozen vegetables, crunchy and stiff. Her teeth were chattering, and her feet had turned a sickly eggplant color.
Frozen body and numb brain cells might account for the fact that she didn't scream when she stepped into the apartment and saw a man sitting on the couch, watching TV.
"D-D-D-Derek?" she stuttered, even as logic slowly told her that wasn't her brother. This was a light-brown head of hair, and her brother's was darker.
Which meant this was a stranger, and she was going to die a human Frosty because somehow she couldn't seem to make her brain command her frozen feet to turn and run.
The head turned and she decided it was worse than death. It was her brother's former coworker and her youthful crush, Justin Fairbanks. Staring at her with wide eyes.
Jumping up he said, "Claire? Is that you? What the hell happened? You look like you got run over by the Zamboni at the ice rink."
Oh, God, just take her out back and shoot her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, deciding that she was lying to herself. Justin was her youthful crush and her twenty-five-year-old crush.
He was gorgeous, her every fantasy sprung to life, with a rangy lean frame, well-defined muscles, and a crooked little smile that just screamed sex. Well, that's what it screamed to her anyway.
Of course, he had always treated her like an annoying little sister. But now that she was no longer eighteen, maybe, just maybe, he might see her as the adult that she was. Or, more likely, he would forever see her as the blonde teenage cheerleader she had been.
"Did you fall down in a snowdrift?" Justin asked in disbelief as he walked toward her.
Oh, yeah. He still had her in the not-so-bright-blonde category.
"No!" She had an MBA, a position in marketing at an advertising agency, her own apartment, and expensive shoes. Yet all he saw was a child.
Maybe this was her chance to show Justin once and for all that she was definitely a woman, and then some. This could be a golden opportunity. To see if her fantasies about Justin and his penis size had any merit.
To have some rocking Christmas sex.
Time to take lemons and make some lemonade.
Frozen lemonade. But hopefully lemonade nonetheless.
"S-s-s-snowplow," she said.
Now if she could just stop her teeth from chattering, the attempted seduction of Justin could begin.
Chapter Two
Justin came around the couch, more than a little startled to see Derek's little sister looking like she'd been dipped in water, then strung upside down in a meat locker. Her hair was a solid three inches straight up in the air.
"The snowplow did this? Jesus." Reaching out, he peeled off her scarf, wincing when it made a sound like duct tape coming off the roll.
Normally he wouldn't have come within three feet of Claire, and touching her would have been out of the question, given that she inspired thoughts in him that could only be considered perverted. She was ten years younger than him, and just a kid.
Well, not so much a kid anymore, he had to admit, as removing the scarf revealed some killer cleavage. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look up. Into her eyes. Away from her hot, round, beckoning…
Damn. So Claire wasn't a teenager anymore—big friggin' deal. She was still off-limits, and he'd rather bump a beehive wearing nothing but honey than have to endure the temptation of her half-dressed, but she was in pretty bad shape at the moment.
She needed to get out of her wet clothes pronto, and to help her like a decent person would, he needed to suppress his lust. His very large, growing lust.
"Let me get your bags." He took them and set them on the floor. Unzipped her coat. Jerked it off of her by the sleeves, careful not to touch anything but the wool. Certainly not any of what was under it. Like her skin. Or her breasts.
He was a sick human being. Just absolutely nasty. It had been bad enough that he'd felt a disturbing attraction to Claire when he'd first met her six years ago, but then, he'd dismissed it as lack of sex. FBI training had cut into his social life and he hadn't been getting any.
But there was no excuse for this. He'd had sex just the week before.
Claire just stood there, arms still hovering out away from her body. "Why are you here?" she asked again.
"Oh, uh, Derek knows I'm here. I'm in town visiting my parents, but I didn't want to stay at their house, if you know what I mean. Just a little too crowded with all my nieces and nephews, so Derek offered me his apartment for a few days since he's out of town."
"How fortuitous," she said.
Forta-what? He could barely see straight, let alone process words with more than one syllable. Justin took her hands between his and rubbed gently to warm them up. They were so small, so cold. He looked her over and saw pink cheeks, watery eyes, and soaking wet jeans from the mid-thigh down. He was surely going to regret saying this, but…
"You should take a warm shower. Not hot, or your skin will itch from the temperature change, but warm." He let go of her hands, inspected them for signs of frostbite. They were bright red, which was a good sign. "I don't think you have frostbite, but you need to get warmed up."
"Good idea," she said, flexing her fingers before bending over to pull off her shoes.
"So, how you been, Claire? Before today, I mean. I haven't seen you since Derek got married. Man, it's been almost a year now since his wedding."
During which he'd spent the entire day dodging Claire, telling himself he would not look at the way her silky straight bridesmaid dress clung to her nipples.
He watched her struggle with the slip-on shoes, trying over and over to tug them off, while balancing on one foot, shivers passing through her.
Christ. Rolling his eyes and praying for strength, Justin took Claire's arm. "Sit down. I'll help you."
"Thank you," she said, breathlessly, dropping down onto the couch. She stuck her foot out in front of her. "I've been great, actually. I got my Masters degree a year and a half ago, and I've been working with the Morton-Media Advertising Agency. It's a fabulous position and I'm learning a lot."
"Sounds good." Justin squatted down, braced himself, and gently pulled her shoe off from heel to toe. "You still living with your mom and dad?" He really hoped she was. It would make her seem all that much more out of reach. Remind him that with Claire he'd be cradle-robbing.
"Of course not," she said, sounding offended. "I moved out years ago. In my early twenties."
Justin was suddenly aware of how close he was to her. He was eye level with those very breasts he was trying to pretend didn't exist. He ripped the other shoe off with less precision and stood up. "Go ahead and get in the shower, Claire."
"Okay." She winced as she stood, her movements awkward. "But I seriously don't think I can get these wet jeans off." Heading toward the bathroom, she lifted her hand and wiggled it. "I can't feel my fingers. Can you help me take my pants off?"
She did not just say that.
"Uh … sure."
He did not just say that.
Justin moved behind the couch and plucked up a throw pillow so she wouldn't see his massive erection.
This really made no sense at all. Here he was, thirty-five years old, too old for spontaneous hard-ons, and pretty damn sexually active, thank you very much. He had a female friend, Karen, who was very happy to have an entirely commitment-free sexual relationship with him. They saw each other a couple of times a month when the urge struck either of them. Dinner, maybe a movie, then a nice piece of ass, and they were done for a while.
Worked for him.
Except that didn't explain why he was about to go off in his Levis at the thought of peeling Claire's wet clothes off.
She smiled at him, the first one since she'd walked in the door. "Don't worry, I won't get embarrassed or anything. I'm not shy."
Wonderful. Just what he'd been worried about. Her modesty. Ha.
Justin dumped the pillow back on the couch and pictured Derek reconfiguring his face if he touched Claire.
"So, what have you been up to, Justin?" she called over her shoulder as she headed for the bedroom. "Still living in Dallas? Working? Girlfriend? Vacations to exotic locales?"
"Yes, yes, no, and no." He walked very, very slowly.
Maybe by the time he got there she would be stripped all on her own.
Wait a minute. That didn't sound like a good thing for him to discover either. He stopped so fast he had to grab the wall for balance.
Her head popped around the corner of the door frame. "What do you do for fun then?"
"I go to the firing range."
She laughed. "No, seriously."
He was thirty-five years old. What did she think he did in his downtime? "I have a boat. I work out I cut the grass in my backyard. I go to the movies with scads of beautiful women."
"All at once?" she asked. Then she winked.
She fucking winked at him. What the hell was that? And emerged from the bedroom with a bundle of clothes in her arms, which didn't hide the fact that she had peeled off her sweater.
He could see bare arms and hot pink satin peeking around at him
. With those little shiny stones trimming it, the things that sparkled and reminded him of Vegas showgirls and Victoria's Secret ads. The name of the stones wasn't coming to mind, maybe because his mind was on coming and nothing else.
"I'm a man of many talents," he told her.
"Oohhh, sounds promising." Claire brushed past him and dropped the clothes on the floor in the bathroom. "Let's see if your talents extend to taking off wet jeans. Damp denim has a super-glue quality to it."
She reached into the shower and turned it on, stretching and arching and showing him all that pink satin thrust forward straight at him.
It was a very, very small bathroom.
Knight and his wife weren't particularly neat either. Their toiletries burst out of the medicine cabinet and covered every spare inch of counter space. No place to lean there. The burgeoning hamper was filled beyond the brim with towels and what looked like the legs of jeans. No way he could sit on that.
The only place to be was exactly where he was—a foot in front of Claire.
She made a futile attempt to undo her jeans. She managed the button and half the zipper, and pink popped out at him. He broke out into a sweat. That damn shower was heating the room, steam swirling all around them, and he could see her pink panties. See how satin was hugging what was right behind it.
"That steam feels so good." She rolled her neck, loosening her shoulders. "I've never been so cold in my whole life."
Justin understood the concept. He was freaking frozen to the floor.
Another attempt at her jeans and she only got them an inch down. "Help," she said with a laugh.
Yeah. Real funny. He was just cracking up here.
Alright. He pushed on his fist and popped all his knuckles. He was going in.
Her skin was cold and clammy, and she shivered when he made contact right above the waistband of the jeans. Justin jerked back. "Sorry, are my hands cold?"
He blew on them, bent over, and gripped the front pockets of her jeans.
"No." Her voice had grown a little husky, and Justin panicked. He knew that sound. That was a sex sound.
Which shouldn't be coming from little Claire's mouth, especially not when his mouth was half a millimeter away from her navel and his hands were jerking down her pants.
Anthology - The Night Before Christmas Page 5
