“Rebecca, don’t.”
“Don’t? Don’t what? Don’t yell, don’t be angry?”
“No,” he answered quietly.
“I will not be used,” she said, blinking back tears.
“You used me.”
“I did…not,” she finished.
Cory didn’t try to correct her, simply continued dressing. She watched him, arms folded over her chest.
Eventually he straightened, his gaze drifting over her body. Rebecca didn’t move, her jaw locked in place.
“Do you want me to build a fire before I go? You’ll get cold.”
She was already cold, ice-cold, all the fire inside her spent. Rebecca shook her head. “Leave if you want.”
He paused, then went to the fireplace, pulling some kindling from an old-style iron log basket. The second he lit the match, a knock sounded on the door.
“Rebecca? Rebecca Neumann?”
Cory looked up at Rebecca.
Rebecca looked at the door.
A slow, tight smile covered her face. She sauntered over, naked as the day she was born (except for the requisite socks), and threw open the door.
“Alec Trevayne? Hello, I’m Rebecca Neumann.”
Chapter 5
Why couldn’t she cooperate? This was a simple thing. He was leaving, she was staying, and she needed to get with the program. Cory rubbed at his eyes. “I should explain something to you,” Rebecca said to the Brit. “We’re both victims of a setup gone horribly bad. As you can see I’m pleased with my current lover.”
Somehow Alec Trevayne managed an impeccable politeness, but how? Rebecca had the primest ass on the North American continent, but the Brit kept his eyes glued to her face.
Cory swore, grabbed the blanket from the bed and dropped it around her shoulders. He hovered nearby in case she decided to toss it off. Considering the hard line of her jaw, that seemed a possibility.
And, yes, Rebecca wasn’t done. “I was given a travel package by Santa Claus. Yes, you heard right, Santa. When I got here, I discovered a man from my past, and we’ve spent the last few hours rekindling an old flame.”
“There was no flame,” Cory corrected, still hoping that Alec would be the stand-up guy he was supposed to be, while Cory could get the hell out of Dodge.
Alec looked at Rebecca, looked at Cory, then laughed nervously. “I should leave you two.”
Rebecca nodded graciously, doing a great Queen of England impersonation. Damn, the two of them belonged together. “I’m sorry about the mix-up,” she was telling him. “I’m sure we’ll see each other in the city and have one of those awkward moments, and you seem so nice, and I hate to think that we can’t be mature and laugh about this. Hahaha. I had no idea that Natalie invited you up here. We could’ve solved so many problems if Natalie had simply explained things to me.”
“Things. Yes.”
“Sometimes passion burns at the most inopportune times.”
“Passion was not burning,” announced Cory, his fingers curling into his palms. She was building a trap around him. A neat, skin-colored trap with tiny, white hands, soft, ripe breasts and the tightest—
“Don’t mind Cory. He’s shy.”
At that, Cory knew he had to take a more active role in this situation. “Don’t judge me by your standards. I don’t greet strangers in the nude, no. But it doesn’t mean I’m shy,” he corrected, noticing the corner of the blanket starting to slip.
He turned to Alec, but the stand-up Brit was gone. Fled. Damn it. Cory slammed the door.
“Why the hell did you do that?” His watch said it was nearly seven o’clock. He’d missed a day and he needed to leave. He felt it, the panic, the anger, the need to run. She didn’t understand. He had to leave.
“It’s not any fun when you don’t have a voice in the matter, is it?”
And now she wanted to play the victim? “Oh, come on, Rebecca. And fix the blanket.”
Noticing her blanket-slippage was a tactical mistake on his part—he saw the beady gleam in her eyes.
“You liar,” she said.
“I never lied.”
“You said one night.”
Do not argue semantics with a schoolteacher. So, he had lied. He had lied for her own good, for his own sanity. Cory moved to the window. “The moon is high. Technically it’s now night.”
She scoffed at his logic, the blanket slipping another inch, exposing the fine arch of her breast. Cory swallowed.
“You’re a coward.”
Yes, he was, and better that she recognized it now. “The last thing you need is a one-night stand.”
“Since we haven’t been together for one night, I’m in no position to know that, am I? I’m demanding my one-night stand. You know you want it, too.”
One inch of taut, rose-colored nipple emerged. He’d been so careful not to touch her more than he had to. He deserved a medal for not touching her when he was inside her, but did she appreciate the sacrifice?
She cast the blanket aside, and Cory felt all the blood drain from his face. “Put on the blanket,” he pleaded.
“It was easy earlier, Cory. This didn’t bother you. You were all Mr. Hop-On-Rebecca. What’s changed?”
Earlier, Cory had known the Brit was eagerly waiting downstairs for Rebecca—it made the situation bearable. Now there was nobody downstairs. Well, there was probably somebody downstairs, but they weren’t eagerly awaiting Rebecca. Now the only person eagerly awaiting Rebecca was Cory.
“Put on the blanket,” he repeated, hearing the weakness in his voice.
She lifted it up from the ground, slipping it over one shoulder toga-style, no help at all. “You can’t drive in this weather. No way. I’ll get dressed if you’ll agree to stay.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s only blackmail if it works.”
Cory hated the look in her eyes. Hope and excitement were shining there, blinding him. He stayed far away from women with those eyes, but most women with those eyes didn’t lounge in front of him, smooth curves of peaches-and-cream flesh, and woollen plaid socks that honestly turned him on.
He was only a man.
Her smile grew wider, a victory smile, and Cory didn’t have the heart or the willpower to disappoint her. All he had to do was be himself. She’d figure out the problem soon enough. He’d leave at first light, he promised himself. His fingers lifted, flexed, wanting to trace the line of her—
“We’ve got a deal,” she stated, not even bothering to wait for his reply. She turned and quickly, efficiently put on her clothes. “We can order up dinner. Maybe a bottle of wine.”
Wine. She wanted wine. Cory’s throat was parched for whiskey, his hard-on was parched for something else entirely, and she was looking at him, ready for an evening full of chitchat.
The sounds of Christmas carols drifted in from outside.
It was going to be one holy hell of a night.
* * *
Dinner consisted of buffalo wings, nachos, spinach dip, French fries, buffalo burgers and chicken fingers. Junk food heaven. Rebecca sat cross-legged on the bed and sighed in glorious satisfaction as she surveyed the food trays in front of them.
“Not a gourmet, are you?” Cory asked. He hadn’t said very much while they ate and she wondered if she’d made a mistake by making him stay against his will. He looked comfortable leaning back against the pillows and eating nachos, but he was quiet. Too quiet. However, she’d just had Cory Bell take care of her life’s one and only regret—she wasn’t about to develop a new one.
“No. You?”
“I try to eat healthy when I can.”
Instantly she was shamed. “I didn’t get to eat much junk food when I was a kid. Everybody needs a vice.” She slathered a fry in ketchup. “You have one?”
“Pretty much all seven,” he said.
And she almost believed him. “Nah. I can spot greed.”
“Your parents have money?”
“My students.” Rebecca blew ou
t a breath, as she remembered what she’d left behind. Maybe she already had a new regret.
“Why don’t you quit if it bothers you?”
He sounded as if he was actually interested.
Could she tell him she’d been fired a mere two days ago? And if she did, would she look worse in his eyes? You betcha. It was a black mark, a flaw, a big splotch on her permanent record. So she chose to fudge the whole sordid jobless situation.
“I’m almost adjusted to it, and that only took me eight years. Some times of the year are harder than others. When the kids talk about skiing in the Alps at Christmas, or the annual ‘I went around the world for my summer vacation’ report, yeah, I get a bit envious, but hey, it’s a living. You build buildings?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject. “Why?”
“Pays the bills.”
“Very practical,” she said, eyeing him with appreciation. “I always imagined you’d be out doing the Easy Rider thing, cruising across America, drifting whichever way the wind blows.”
“Had enough of that early on. It gets old eventually.”
“So why do you still dress the part?”
“Building isn’t a desk job, Rebecca. It’s dirty, grimy, and leather and boots are very practical.”
* * *
“Sure, if you say so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cory asked, not liking the analytical tone she was using, nor the professor look in her eyes, either. He wanted the cheerleader back, the one who smiled pretty and didn’t ask a lot of questions. Now she was a teacher. Cory had never liked teachers. They wanted to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.
“You have a very stationary job. You cook for yourself, don’t you?”
“Yeah, so?”
“You’re settled, but you’re trying to be all James Dean.”
“Maybe ‘James Dean’ is what I want,” he answered, jamming a nacho into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to talk.
“Maybe ‘James Dean’ is what you want to want, but ‘settled’ is what you really want.”
He glared and she picked up the hint. “Fine,” she continued, “spoil my fun. I don’t get to analyze adults very often, except for Natalie of course, and she’s completely boring.”
“Natalie’s the one who set you up in the Honeymoon Suite?”
“I think so, but I won’t know for sure until she answers her stupid cell phone.”
“I gotta tell you, I don’t think she’s your friend, Rebecca. This lodge is a trip to honeymoon hell. You’re alone in a couples place.”
“Not really,” she said, with a pointed glance at him.
“Still a trip to hell,” he insisted.
“The sex wasn’t that awful,” she answered, holding a French fry in the air, watching it limp to one side.
He gave her a hard look. “It wasn’t awful at all.”
“If you’re into the whole furniture-banging thing,” she said, biting the fry in two.
“Not your thing, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“So why didn’t you stick with the Brit?” It seemed to Cory that the Brit could give Rebecca everything she wanted, in spades.
“Alec?”
“You know more?”
“No, he’s the only one.”
“So why didn’t you stick with him when you had the chance? Seems like he’s the right guy for you.”
Rebecca sounded like any number of confused women who wanted security, happiness and a man who she could count on—both in her bed and out. The Brit had driven through a blizzard to get to her. Had to give the guy credit for that. Cory wasn’t the kind of guy to drive through blizzards for any woman.
“He’s not the right guy,” she announced.
“At least he doesn’t make you nervous.”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?”
“You get an eye-twitch sometimes. Relax, Rebecca. We don’t have to do anything. After all, you’re not into that whole furniture-banging thing,” he said, not meaning to bring it up, but a man’s pride was a sensitive thing.
“Maybe I like furniture-banging,” she said, just to spite him.
“Never mind.”
“Don’t tell me never mind. Maybe I want to do some furniture-banging right now.”
Cory held up a hand in peace. “Maybe you want to want furniture-banging, but you really want a wedding ring. I’ve seen your type looking through bridal magazines, not trolling the bars looking to pick up men for a one-night stand. Why are you so afraid to admit it?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Maybe I want to try it on. See if it looks good on me. I’m almost thirty, Cory. I don’t know if I want to be me for the rest of my life. What if I’m missing something? Don’t you ever feel that way?”
“You’re not thirty yet?” he asked. She was on a personal life quest, and he was still doing math.
“Fine. I’m thirty-one,” she admitted, and she didn’t seem happy about it. “You’re not Mr. Adventure, either, you know.”
Cory looked at her, shocked. “I am.”
“Please. You eat healthy. It’s impossible.”
“You make my life sound boring.”
“Your life is everything you make it.”
Once again she was leading the conversation into shark-infested waters, where the jaws of emotional trappings were snapping all around him. “Let’s watch TV.”
“Chicken-shit.”
“Bwak, bwak, bwak,” he answered, not meeting her eyes, and then powered on the TV. Television was much safer.
* * *
Problem was, Cory spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to watch the movie, but he wasn’t interested. He’d replayed their sex video over and over in his head, and although he’d had one of the best orgasms in his life, she wasn’t happy. It pricked at every bit of male pride he possessed.
Ha. She’d had a great time, but she didn’t want to admit it because it didn’t fit into her neat dollhouse existence.
He leaned over and began to unbutton her blouse. This was what she wanted, so damn it, he’d give it to her.
She looked at him, eyes wide and twitching. “Now?”
“Why not?” he asked because this was supposed to be a one-night stand. She was willing, he was ready. All he had to do was prove it to her. In fact—he took a handful of cotton and ripped—he wasn’t close to boring.
Buttons flew across the room, and he saw the spark of adventure in her eyes.
He freed one breast from the pointless bra she wore and fastened his mouth around it.
She smelled like apple cider and something flowery and sweet, but her skin tasted like spice. Lush, potent, spice. His mouth sucked harder and he heard a low, feminine moan.
Success.
Cory lowered her back on the bed, slowly drawing down her pants. She shouldn’t have dressed. He shouldn’t have dressed, not when there was all this—
His hand reached down.
Moist heat.
Rebecca bucked when he touched her, but he hadn’t even started. Not really. Determinedly his hand skimmed back and forth, and he watched her face. She had no idea what she kept bottled inside her. The eyes were a sensible gray until she got turned on. And then the devils came there, banking the silver with low fires. Her hair fell in a straight line, until her head listed to one side, the pale silk falling in her eyes like a wanton. And the mouth. No disguising the plump mouth and its intended uses. But they’d save that for later.
Later. Cory cursed himself, drawing down her panties more roughly than he intended, but Rebecca didn’t seem to mind. Her fingers were kneading at his shoulder like a kitten.
This time he drew her legs apart, watching as the sharpened, silvery eyes shifted to his mouth. He knew what she wanted. A kiss. A bond of more than bodies.
His fingers moved higher inside her, deeper, and she gasped. Her gaze moved off his mouth.
He bent his head, his mouth feasted on her other breast, pulling and laving.
Her back arched into him
, her hips tilting in invitation. Her pelvis rubbing against the fly of his jeans. Rebecca was a fast learner, fast learning which things would drive him out of his mind. The jeans were gone, and then his cock was inside her.
Maybe it was nothing but furniture-banging, but it’d be the best furniture-banging she’d ever get. When he felt that slick glove surround him he felt a thousand devils burn within.
He had meant to screw her hard and fast. To show the perky tight-ass cheerleader that she wasn’t the perfect angel she wanted to be. But that face…
It was as if it was yesterday, and he was back in high school. He felt that same pull. That same desire to make those angel’s eyes look at him. See him.
Cory thrust inside her slow, smooth. She noticed the change, and watched him warily. Again he went inside her, deeper this time. Dark lashes fell against her cheeks, her eyes hidden. He sank into her again, willing her to look at him.
She did.
The wanton, cloudy gaze hit on his mouth, plump lips open, waiting, inviting. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.
There was a sick throbbing in his gut as he lowered his mouth, feeling her warm breath on his skin. He didn’t listen to the voice inside him, instead he lunged into the kiss like a drowning man. There were many things that Cory feared, and this was one. Losing himself inside someone else.
He kissed her again and again, tasting the sweetness in her, plundering her mouth, drawing her light into his darkness.
It didn’t work—the darkness was still there, but God, he kept trying. He pounded her. He wanted to own her. Wanted to…wanted to do so many things. But in the end, he knew he couldn’t. The heat in his blood cooled, reminding him that when you trusted people, they could turn on you, pull you into the shadows and do despicable things that no person should endure. He wasn’t going back there. Ever again.
He wanted to pull away from her, but she felt too good. Instead he thrust even deeper. Telling himself that he was only fucking her. And that if he said it enough, he’d believe it.
Over and over he moved inside her, feeling her move with him. Feeling her muscles, feeling her blood, feeling her.
It felt so pure.
Then her muscles stiffened around him, and he saw her eyes glaze over. When he watched her come, the punch in his gut was a thousand times worse than he’d ever expected. Instinctively his body reacted, tightened and he spilled himself inside her.
Dear Santa (A Blazing Little Christmas) Page 5
