She started to turn, started to ask him to do that. But before she could fully face him, he scooped her up in his arms and plodded through the drifts back to the car. Bracing her against his hard chest, he managed to get the door open and slide her onto the seat. He followed her in, reaching across her to find her coat. Tenderly, he tucked the suede and faux fur over her.
Donny and Alex still peered over the seats like stunned owls.
Rob watched Erica for a moment, his eyes dark and filled with worry.
She started to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she closed her eyes, her body feeling weary, her outburst having exhausted her.
"Will the car start again?" Rob asked Donny.
Erica heard the vinyl creak as Donny turned back to the steering wheel. He twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled and growled, but after several attempts refused to turn over.
"It's dead," Donny finally pronounced.
"Shit," Rob muttered. "We'll freeze if we stay here."
Erica shivered. Even though she knew she had to be cold, that her clothing must be damp from the melting snow, she didn't really feel cold. It was the numbness inside her that caused her to shiver again.
"What is that up ahead?" Alex pointed to a light barely visible through the blowing snow.
Rob opened his door and stepped out with one foot to see better. He stuck his head back inside. "It looks like it might be a hotel."
"Could we be that lucky?" Donny said in disbelief.
"Well, it's definitely something. Let's go," Rob stated.
Erica slid across the seat, tugging on her coat and scooping up her purse as she went. Rob held out his hand to help her. She hesitated, then accepted it, placing her icy fingers in his warm ones. He squeezed them, and even after they were outside, he held them fast.
She didn't fight him. It was too late to fight. Even after all the memories and the pain, even after her furious outburst, her attraction still survived.
Chapter Five
Rob gripped Erica's fingers, feeling as though it was his only, his last, connection with her. Since their fight, she'd remained silent as the foursome trudged through the deep snow. She didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge him. So he held her fingers. As long as he had those, she couldn't pull away completely.
The wind whipped, slashing biting snow against their faces. He tried to shield Erica as much as he could, but it was impossible. Like it was impossible to ignore the truth in her angry words. He had been the one to walk away from her. Or rather, to let her walk away.
Bang.
The door. He pretended to keep reading his book, but the words blurred. What had he done?
He tossed aside his book and crossed to the window. Erica was walking down the sidewalk as fast as the snow and her cumbersome boots would allow her.
She wasn't gone yet. He could call her back. Apologize. Try to explain to her that he needed to be a success. He needed to do better than his parents, who struggled every day to make ends meet.
No, she should realize that. She should see that his success was important. That money was important. She could go to her artsy little college, and paint and sculpt, and not worry about the future. He couldn't.
Erica disappeared around the corner, and the street was empty.
He still couldn't stop looking out the frost-covered glass, couldn't stop staring at her boot prints notching the snow. But he finally did look away, and returned to the couch. He picked up his book and determinedly began to read. He was right. Success was the most important thing. Far more important than silly love.
Silly love.
He glanced at Erica, her shoulders hunched forward against the cold. Ironic that once again, she was trekking through the snow, hating him.
Hate. She should hate him, but God, he hoped she didn't. He didn't want that. But he was afraid of what he did want
"It is a hotel," Alex cried out, pointing ahead. A white building with two levels and an orange neon vacancy sign rose out of the snow, welcoming them.
Rob squeezed Erica's cold fingers again. "Looks like we're going to make it."
She peeked up at him. Snow clung to her long amber lashes. Underneath, her hazel eyes were dark and hurt, but she smiled. "Yep."
He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. To kiss her. She was offering a truce. That was the Erica he knew—and loved. He'd take it and make sure he never hurt her again.
"I have good news, and I have bad news," Rob said, approaching Erica where she sat clutching a Styrofoam coffee cup in her reddened hands.
"Good first," she said, taking another sip of the coffee, then grimacing at the taste.
Damn, she looked cute, her small nose crinkled, her cheeks rosy, and her hair tangled.
Focus. "They have rooms."
"And?"
They only have two."
"Oh."
From that one word, Rob couldn't tell how she felt about the prospect of sharing a room. He didn't imagine she was too thrilled.
"But each room has two beds, so I can bunk up with Donny and Alex for the night." Not his first choice, to say the very least.
Erica smiled, amusement dancing in her eyes. "For a guy who travels in a business suit, you're pretty open-minded."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned, trying to look offended. "Are you saying I look uptight?"
She shook her head, but she still grinned. "I didn't say that."
"You do think I'm uptight."
"No, I don't."
"What's wrong with traveling in a suit?"
"Not a thing," Erica assured him, but there was a hint of a smile still on her lips.
"This is an expensive suit."
"I'm sure it is."
Rob studied her for a moment. She still smiled at him, her eyes never going to his clothes. His Kenneth Cole, limited edition. Because it didn't matter to her.
He could be wearing bargain bin castoffs, and she wouldn't care. Money didn't impress her. It never had. "You can room with me."
At first, because he was caught in his own thoughts, he believed he misheard her. But when he realized he hadn't, his heart skittered around in circles like an excited dog.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. He had a few more hours to be with her.
"Well, I don't think you'd get a lot of rest with them." She gestured to Donny and Alex with a jerk of her head.
The couple stood on the other side of the lobby, bickering in hushed tones.
"You are with me because I look like Sting, aren't you?"
Alex rolled his eyes. "You don't look like Sting." Donny huffed, that comment not making him happy either.
"If I had to pick out anyone you look like, it would be Niles from Frasier."
Donny gasped, then headed toward the stairs.
"Niles is cute," Alex insisted, following him.
"You think everyone is cute." Both men disappeared up to the second level.
"I don't think your Sting comment soothed things over as well as you'd hoped it would," Rob said, very happy that it hadn't. Not because he wanted Donny and Alex to spend their Christmas Eve fighting, but because he wanted to spend his with Erica.
"Well, now that Alex said it, he does look a bit like that guy from Frasier." She chuckled.
"So you're okay about us sharing a room?"
Her smile faded, but she nodded without hesitation. "There are two beds?"
"Yes."
She rose, and a violent shiver shook her. "Fine. Besides, all I can think about is getting out of these wet clothes and into a warm bed."
Rob's body reacted immediately. Erica naked, in the bed right next to his. Shit, he was going to die of a heart attack.
Erica could feel Rob behind her, following her up the stairs to their room. Their room. A room where they both would spend the night.
With each step, another memory of making love with Rob flashed through her mind. The perfection of their embraces. The satisfaction and contentment she'd never been able
to duplicate since. She did want that again, with him, even if for one last time.
Erica waited at the door of their room. Rob slid the key card into the slot, then pulled it back out rapidly. In again, and out. The light on the door handle turned green, and the lock clicked.
As far as erotic symbolism went, that definitely wasn't the best, but it didn't take much to get her hot and bothered at the moment.
But still, she skirted far around him as she entered the generic room with its standard two double beds, chair and table in the corner, and armoire. She went toward the bed closest to the door and tossed her purse down. Then she wandered over to examine the print on the wall, the usual unexciting artwork that hotels usually contained. The commonness of her surroundings only made her more aware of the one thing in the room that was so beyond ordinary.
"Not exactly a Toulouse-Lautrec, is it?"
She swung around, surprised he still remembered one of her favorite artists.
He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, looking intensely masculine and … delicious.
"No," she murmured, unable to stop admiring him. The broadness of his shoulders, the leanness of his hips.
"Are you still painting?"
She nodded, wishing she had her paints right now. She would paint him. The way the single lamp in the room created shadows across his face, showing the cut of his jawline, the straightness of his nose, and emphasized the compelling darkness of his eyes.
She swallowed. "Yes, as much as I can. I'm showing in a few galleries now. And I'm very busy at the museum."
"Museum?"
"I work at the Art Institute of Chicago."
His eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately assumed that he hadn't expected her to use her art history degree to get a "real" job. After all, she did just slap paint on a canvas.
So she was confused when he said, "You live in Chicago?"
"Yes. I have for almost five years."
He laughed. "That's amazing. I just moved to Chicago about four months ago. I work at an investment firm near Grant Park."
Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Wow, we're practically neighbors."
He grinned, but she couldn't quite return the gesture. She knew tonight was going to be torture—but she thought short-lived torture. Now, how was she going to live in the same city, knowing he was so nearby?
His smiled faded, the dimple sinking back into hiding. "You've got to be freezing. Why don't you take a hot shower?"
"Right. Right. That's a good idea." She started back toward where he stood, his shoulder still resting on the wall. The bathroom door waited just on the other side of his tall, hard body.
She hesitated, then twisted sideways to squeeze past him, afraid if she rubbed against him, she wouldn't be able to stop. But even as careful as she was being, his big body took up too much of the hallway, and her shoulder grazed his arm.
"Sorr—" She didn't get the chance to finish her apology, as she found herself pulled against his chest, his hands splayed across her back.
She squeaked, startled at his abrupt movement and her immediate roaring need.
"Erica, I didn't intend to turn your life upside down." His voice sounded gruff; the rough resonance rasped over her skin, adding excruciatingly to her hunger. "I…"
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes dark, nearly black. "I saw you, and you were so beautiful, more beautiful now than I remembered. And I couldn't think of anything other than touching you. I shouldn't have kissed you, but I couldn't stop myself."
She stared back at him, her whole body crying out for him to do it again. She wanted the hands that he held motionless on her back to move, to slip under her wet sweater to caress the chilled skin underneath, heating her inside and out. Then she wanted those same hands to flick open her damp jeans to stroke the flesh between her thighs, which she knew was equally damp, but not from melted snow.
She trembled, pure need bursting through her like shivery shards of electric energy.
"You're frozen," he said, misinterpreting the tremor. He released her. "Go get that hot shower."
She nodded absently and stumbled into the small bathroom. She glanced back at him. Rob watched her, his eyes smoldering, his lips set in a grim line.
He nodded at her and pushed off the wall, wandering into the room, his broad back to her.
She closed the door gently. The click of the latch echoed off the tile walls and grated in her ears. A loud reality that she was on one side and Rob was on the other.
Leaning on the sink counter, she breathed in deeply, but the rush of oxygen only fed the heat in her veins. God, she wanted him.
Finally, she did manage to calm herself enough to leave the support of the counter and turn on the water. Steam filled the room as she stripped off her clothes, each article clinging to her as if it knew she shouldn't even be thinking about sleeping with Rob. But she was. She was considering that idea very seriously.
She gasped as she stepped under the warm water, the droplets streaming over her sensitive skin, beading on her swollen nipples.
"Rob," she murmured, the sound ragged, desperate.
"Yes?"
She jumped, then clutched the shower curtain to peek out at him. He stood in the doorway, a blue blanket gripped in his hand.
He held it up. "I was just sneaking in to leave this for you. I figured your clothes would be too wet to put back on."
"Oh." Ask him to join you. Order him to.
"I'll leave it right here." He pointed to the counter, then placed the blanket there, his gaze never leaving her.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
"Okay. I'll let you enjoy your shower." His dark eyes burned as they glanced at the spot where she grasped the shower curtain, then snapped back up to her face.
"Okay," he repeated. Then he nodded and backed out of the steam-filled room.
Stop him! Say something!
The door clicked shut, again jarring and discordant. She dropped the curtain back into place, turned the nozzle, letting the water pelt her.
"You coward," she muttered to herself.
Chapter Six
Rob paced the small room, listening to the muffled splash of the water from the other side of the wall. He could visualize Erica standing nude under the cascade, rubbing soap over her silky, wet skin. The way the bubbles would slide down over her rounded breasts. Then slip lower, down across the slight curve of her belly, lower still into the curls below.
"Shit," he growled, and ran a frustrated hand over his face. Control. Focus.
His cock pulsed in his pants, mocking his chant, telling him there was no way in hell he'd be able to focus on anything but Erica and his arousal.
Irritated with his wayward body, he shrugged off his suit coat, then unbuttoned his shirt. Once he was stripped down to his cotton boxers, he sat on the bed. He glanced down at his crotch. His cock bulged against the thin fabric, threatening to escape the slit along the front.
He threw back the covers on the bed and slipped under. The sheet and comforter were an insubstantial armor to put between himself and Erica, but it would have to do.
She'd made it clear in their fight that she'd forgotten him. That she'd moved on, and she wanted to keep it that way. He wouldn't do anything to upset her again. She deserved that. And he should go back to the life he'd so single-mindedly built. His new job, his penthouse apartment, his… His career was enough.
He reached for the radio alarm clock on the night-stand between the two beds. He flicked the dial on and fiddled with the stations until he found Christmas music.
Surely thoughts of a fat man dressed in red, and reindeer with glowing noses, and talking snowmen—not to mention the birth of Christ—would be enough to take the edge off his carnal thoughts.
As he flopped back onto the pillow, the sound, of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" filled the room. The memory of Erica singing in the car popped into his mind.
Fortunately, the song ended quickly, only to g
o into one of the many versions of "This Christmas," in which the singer declares that he is going to know her better—this Christmas.
He groaned, tempted to cover his ears with the pillow. Even Christmas music seemed determined to drive his libido and imagination into overdrive.
As he leaned over to flip the radio off, the shower stopped.
He sat up and stared toward the bathroom. Now, the real torture was going to start.
Several minutes later, the door creaked open. Erica stepped out, shrouded from her neck to the tops of her narrow feet in fuzzy blue blanket.
But he knew what she had on under that thick material. Absolutely nothing. Again, he almost groaned.
Erica stayed by the bathroom, her hand still on the door as if she were debating whether to dart back in and lock the door behind her.
Rob didn't doubt for one minute that he was watching her like he was ready to pounce. He settled back against the pillow, trying to show her he would behave. Well, some parts of him would behave. Another part prodded the covers—pushing for the pounce.
"You look—comfortable," she said, her voice sounding a little unsteady as she shuffled into the room.
Not really, he thought, casting a look down at his crotch, making sure the comforter wasn't pitched like a tent. When he looked back at Erica, she was struggling with the covers on her bed, trying to spread them back while keeping her makeshift muumuu in place. He caught a glimpse of a smooth, curved shoulder and one of her long, shapely leg from her ankle up to her silky thigh, before she finally managed to crawl under the comforter.
She fluffed her pillow, punching the defenseless thing with great vigor. Suddenly she stopped and turned her gaze to him.
"I—I have a suggestion. And if you think it's inappropriate, you can certainly tell me. But—here it is." She took a deep breath, bracing those lovely shoulders under the fuzzy blue. "You—you said that back at the airport, you couldn't help but touch me. Well, to be honest, I've wanted to touch you, too." Her eyes dropped to his bare chest, and she bit her lower lip. He imagined nipping her lip in just the same fashion. Nibbling their fullness. Tasting their ripe softness. But he forced his eyes to meet hers as she continued.
Anthology - The Night Before Christmas Page 16
