Emilie's Christmas Love

by James Lavene

  Emilie shrugged uneasily. Why had she brought him here? Every orgiastic painting was exquisitely done, each depicting a sensual pose between a man and a woman. "This is the only room Aunt Joda is interested in cleaning."

  Nick looked at the statues that stood around him. Each piece was a couple enjoying their intricate pairing. Their bodies were twined around one another, faces mirroring ecstasy. "I can see why."

  "I told you Jacque was very liberal when it came to his ideas on intimacy. This was the room that he used for entertaining."

  The only piece of furniture in the room that looked old was a strangely shaped wood chair. "What's this?" He sat down in one side of the double-backed seat.

  "It was a contraption of Jacque's. I guess he wasn't always successful at getting his romantic ideas across to his friend's wives. He called it his ‘lover's arm chair’."

  "How does it work?" Nick looked at the legs and the sides of the chair.

  Emilie took a seat next to Nick on the other half of the chair. "There's a lever that releases a spring." She reached to the side of the chair and pulled the lever. The powerful spring pushed the two halves of the chair together, locking in place.

  "Tell me that's not the lever that releases it as well," Nick pleaded when she lifted her hand and the wooden lever came up with it.

  "I'm afraid it is." She moved a little uncomfortably in her side of the chair.

  They were sitting facing one another, Nick's knee wedged between Emilie's legs while her knee was in the same precarious position with his. Her dark skirt had ridden up with the pressure of his legs so that it hung around her thighs, the rough cotton of his jeans tickling the outside of her leg.

  Uncomfortably aware of her bare leg in his crotch and the effect it was having on his body, Nick looked at the spring that held the two seats together.

  "I think we can get out of this. I can see the spring device."

  "Really?" She tried to see the spring as well. She pushed her knee more intimately between Nick's legs.

  "You'll have to trust me," he said quickly on a sharp intake of breath. "It's there."

  Emilie saw his predicament as well as her own. That steady pressure between her legs combined with his nearness was playing havoc with her senses. She was all but sitting on his knee, held in place by the chair. She swallowed hard as she realized the heat his body was generating against her leg. Her knee felt the sure sign that he was aware of her as well.

  "I think the chair must work using our weight against us," Nick explained, tension in his voice. She was so close that he could hear her breathing and see the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the silk top.

  She looked up at him quickly. Her gaze had been focused where her knee was wedged. She ran her tongue across her lips.

  "What should we do?" Her voice was husky.

  "You're the lightest," he schemed. "You put your hands on my legs and push up. I'll lift you. Maybe if we redistribute the weight, the chair might release itself."

  "A-all right," she agreed, not having a better plan. She put her hands carefully on his thighs.

  Nick put his hands around her waist, his touch gliding across the rose-colored silk. "Ready?"

  She felt a little lightheaded, wondering if there was a problem with circulation in the room. "Ready."

  He lifted her quickly, pulling her toward him and out of her half of the chair. Emilie pushed hard, straining upward. The chair snapped out from under her, going back to its original position.

  In the meantime, she had been left riding Nick's leg between her own, resting against his broad chest, her arms caught between them.

  "It worked," she said in a muffled tone. She tried to get her feet under her and couldn't, floundering against him, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

  "It did." His hands loosely resting where they had been pushed against her rounded backside. "Jacque was a wily devil, wasn't he?"

  "He was," she acknowledged. "Now you know why they almost hanged him."

  "I don't think I'd like to find my wife with him like this.” He pushed a loose strand of hair from her face, drawing her closer with one arm while bringing her legs up with the other.

  It wasn't less embarrassing, but it was more comfortable, Emilie had to admit. She was cradled in his arms, her legs across his lap, her skirt still hiked above her knees.

  She reached out to balance herself and ended up with her arm around his neck, pillowing the softness of her breasts against the hard muscle of his chest.

  "This chair has earned its museum quality status," she told him breathlessly. "As soon as I can take it away, that's where it's going."

  Nick’s hand slid up her back to lodge in her silken tresses. The knot that had held it in place on her head came loose, allowing it to fall.

  She tried to laugh, embarrassed, but the sound had a strangled quality. "My hair is so fine—"

  "It's like touching strands of silk," he murmured.

  "It's ordinary hair," she mocked him.

  His hand came to rest on the back of her head. "Emilie—"

  In the dark recesses of his eyes she saw hunger and need. His gaze lock on her mouth and her pulses raced.

  He kissed her lightly at the corners of her soft mouth. It was a question and an invitation that he waited for her to answer.

  She stared at him as she had that first day they'd met. Her lips parted gently on a sigh. She didn't know how to tell him how much she wanted him, couldn't find the words to explain.

  He brought her closer to him slowly, searching her eyes, and the worried lines of her face.

  "You-you don't have to do this.”

  "Too late," he repeated the words that had entered his brain.

  He kissed her deeply, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth and finding the honey that resided within her. There was no soothing, questing gentleness as there had been that night in the car. His mouth slanted across hers, and he drank her in as if she was a well and he was a parched man.

  Emilie brought her free hand around his neck to join the other in the thick hair at the base of his head. She opened to him, moaning when his hand slid up her thigh, losing herself in the heat that was building between them.

  It was madness, she reasoned. She should thank him for the embrace then walk out of the room and finish the house tour. There couldn't be anything between them. Not after David. Not after—

  He held her away from him, his hand on the back of her head supporting her weight so that she felt like a doll in his grasp.

  He looked at her, the dazed green eyes and kiss-reddened lips. He touched his mouth to her throat. "You are so beautiful," he whispered against her warm white skin.

  "I'm not beautiful," she argued softly, in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

  "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

  "I see myself." She gasped as he bit her neck a little then licked it with his tongue. All her thoughts fled. Whatever he wanted, she wanted it too.

  Nick gathered her closer and stood with her in his arms. She composed herself, telling herself that it was better for them to stop. She waited for the excitement to fade.

  It sizzled instead of fading. He crossed the room to one of the red velvet sofas and sat down with her on top of him. He laid her head back against one of the arms then nuzzled her throat while he opened the first two buttons on her shirt.

  He kissed her again and again. She lost track of where his hands were or how many times his lips parted hers, savoring her then moving on to another spot. One of his hands slid up her thigh beneath her skirt to trace the outline of her panties, molding and shaping her with his fingers, searching for and finding that secret place where the fire burned between her thighs.

  She was lost, drugged. Her eyelids were too heavy to open, her body too languorous to move. When she felt the cool air on her warm skin, she moaned and reached for him. He was there, covering her in soft kisses.

  Nick looked at her pink and white skin covered only
by midnight-blue lace. His pulses ignited. Sweet pink buds peeked through the eyelets of the lace and he licked them with his tongue. He put his mouth on her breast when her back arched, inviting him for more.

  "God, Emilie," he whispered, burning. "You're like sweet cream on my tongue."

  They both groaned when his hand found that moist heat that opened for him where she rested lightly on his lap.

  He wanted her. The rightness of it, the questions inevitably involving a relationship, was forgotten. The questions were lost in the heat, and the desire to have her beneath him, straining towards that unity that was the only way to quench that fire.

  "So, here you are!"

  Emilie sat up, reaching for her skirt and her blouse at once, looking at her aunt with passion glazed eyes that refused to focus.

  "Easy," Nick softly advised, helping her pull her skirt up then button her blouse. "We aren't kids, Emilie."

  "I know," she whispered, putting a hand to her hair.

  Joda looked on in unashamed delight. She refused to turn her head or blush or even say excuse me and politely back out of the room. She grinned at Nick as he scowled at her.

  "What is it?" Emilie wondered wildly. "Is it the children?"

  "No, the petites are fine," Joda answered, obviously relishing the moment.

  "And?" Nick asked impatiently, disappointment keening through his passion-filled senses.

  "There's a man at the front door," she explained. "Says he's here for you. His name is Randy."

  "He works for me," Nick explained briefly. "Which way to the door?" He looked between the two women, one smiling knowingly, and the other trying frantically to make herself presentable.

  "This way." Emilie glared at Joda. "I'll show you."

  They walked quickly and silently down long, twisting corridors to reach the front foyer. Nick didn't think he could find that path again.

  Emilie glanced back to find that they had lost her aunt somewhere along the way. She looked up at Nick before she opened the front door.

  "I-uh . . ."

  "It's okay," Nick assured her calmly. Much more calmly than he felt. His insides were churning and he wasn't sure, but he thought his hands might be shaking. Emilie's face was red, her green eyes still soft with the emotions he'd raised in her. He looked at her hands, clenched before her. Were they shaking?

  "Don't worry about the children." She found a safe, neutral ground. "I'll take care of them."

  He wanted to say something about what had happened between them, but there wasn't time, and he didn't know what it would be anyway. "Thanks. I'll be back as soon as I can.

  The cold air slapped him in the face, restoring his sense of order and understanding. If Joda hadn't come along, he didn't know if he could’ve stopped. Emilie was a beautiful, passionate woman. He had nothing to offer her in return for the gift that she had seemed willing to give him.

  It won’t happen again. He climbed into the tow truck beside Randy.

  "Wreck out on the Interstate," Randy mumbled through a mouthful of tobacco. "Tried to call."

  "That's okay," Nick replied, looking at the lights from the big house. The wreck may not have been good luck for the people involved, but it had been for him. It had stopped him from making a terrible mistake.

  Emilie waited until she saw the lights of the truck fade down the dark road. She sighed and closed her eyes, resting her head against the door.

  "What are you thinking, petite?" Joda asked, pinching her ear. "What were you doing in there, hmm? Trying to bribe him for the children?"

  "No!" Emilie denied hotly. "I was . . . we were . . . we got caught in the lover's arm chair and one thing led to another. It wasn't planned."

  "Of course not!" Joda agreed in a sarcastic tone. "You love him and want to marry him. Like you did David, eh?"

  "No!" Emilie denied as easily. "We just got carried away, Aunt Joda. It won't happen again."

  "Good thing, petite. Both of you could get hurt and that would hurt the children. If you don't love him, don't let him crawl into your pants!"

  "I won't," Emilie told her aunt. "I'm going to bed. Alone."

  "Sorry that I stopped him from being there with you, petite?" Joda called out as she walked away.

  "No. That would’ve been a mistake," Emilie said quickly.

  There was silence following her words. She looked around. Her aunt was gone. She switched all but one of the downstairs lights off and went wearily up the stairs to her room.

  She undressed slowly, thoughtfully, taking off her skirt. The silk top was buttoned in the wrong holes. She put them both in the hamper and looked at herself in the mirror.

  What had he said to her? He'd said that she was beautiful. Like cream on his tongue. She’d watched his dark eyes coming closer to hers, felt that warmth in his hands. Despite everything, she’d succumbed, even though her actions might cause her to lose the children. She hadn’t cared.

  For a few minutes, she’d forgotten that she was a cripple and that she was alone. She had forgotten everything but that she was beautiful to him and that she wanted him.

  She pulled on her nightgown, running a brush through her tangled hair, and climbed into bed.

  The long black shadows of the trees reached around the house and sighed with the wind that blew down from the mountain.

  She'd forgotten why she invited Nick there. Would that affect her chances to prove that she could be a good single parent? She wasn't sure. Would a good single mother have been in that room, letting a man she hardly knew undress her? What if the children had been there, instead of Aunt Joda?

  Would Nick think of those things when he understood what she wanted from him?

  She didn't know. Worse, at that moment in the parlor, she hadn't cared. She would happy just to be in his arms—as she had been with David.

  She'd sworn it wouldn't happen again after her marriage was over. She'd never let the thought of marriage cross her mind because she knew that she wasn't able to hold back her emotions. That was what had driven David away.

  Ten years before, fresh from her first year of college, Emilie had met David Carriker. It had been a dream from the beginning. He'd been polite, eager to please her, and on their third date, he'd declared that he loved her.

  Her parents had been dead for only a year and she was still trying to cope with their sudden death. Aunt Joda had wisely warned her that it was happening too quickly. All Emilie knew was that someone wonderful loved her. She wanted to be with him forever.

  She had watched him wince when he'd first seen her leg. After that, she was careful to hide it from him. She showered him with expensive gifts and said yes when he'd asked her to marry him.

  They were married in a simple ceremony. David had said he preferred it that way. Emilie's family was gone. She’d given herself to him with enthusiasm and all the love in her heart.

  They were only married two weeks before he told her that she was smothering him and that he had to get out. Emilie found him packing one evening. When he wasn't looking, she saw her best diamond bracelet in his bag.

  She'd grown up considerably at that moment. She vowed she would never allow herself to be hurt that way again.

  Their lovemaking had been stilted, at best. What should have been a joyous union was a farce. Months later, she found out that he had known who she was and had done what he'd needed to do to get enough money for college and his other necessities. She’d filed for divorce. He’d given it gladly.

  David had written to her months later and asked for money. She'd written him a check for a large sum, telling him, in turn, that if he ever wrote to her again, that she would turn it over to her lawyer. He'd never written again.

  Aunt Joda had cursed him and told Emilie not to give him anything more. Emilie went back to school in the fall, more wary than ever of any man smiling at her, cold inside where she had once been warm.

  What was there about Nick that had made her let her guard down? She stared up at the ceiling.

  From the
moment she'd met him, she'd felt that pull. Worse, when he’d touched her, she realized that she was in trouble. Tonight had confirmed that fear. She had forgotten everything, including her well-conceived scheme to adopt Amber.

  The answer had to be to steel herself against him. She couldn't let herself get into situations where they were alone. He couldn’t touch her that way again. She was weak where he was concerned. She didn't know why she’d been made that way. It was some cruel trick, wanting desperately to be loved, and to love in return.

  A small sound, like a patient sigh, caught her attention and she glanced around to see Adam standing next to her bed, looking at her.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  "Amber had a bad dream," he told her. "I couldn't find Uncle Nick."

  Emilie got up quickly and took his hand. It curled trustingly in hers and he rubbed his eyes. "Let's see what we can do for her."

  They walked into Amber's room. The little girl was standing in the big crib. She cried and held out her arms to Emilie when she saw her. Emilie's heart knew no defense against that plea. She gathered her up quickly against her.

  "Did you have a bad dream, petite?" She adopted her aunt's term of endearment without thinking. She kissed the girl's warm forehead and took Adam's hand again as she started walking toward the bathroom.

  "She woke me up when I heard her cry," Adam complained.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't hear her." Emilie apologized. "It's too bad she can't tell us what she dreamed. We could help her sort through it."

  "How would we do that?" Adam sat on the edge of the marble tub while Emilie put Amber down on the gilded make up chair in front of the vanity.

  Amber whined a little at the loss of Emilie's nearness, but Emilie shushed her and wet a cloth, smoothing back the dark curls with the cool water.

  "We would talk to her about her dream," Emilie explained. "She’d tell us what she dreamed and we’d try to think about why she'd dreamed something that scared her. My parents used to tell me that when you understand your dreams, they aren't as scary. They were always right."