THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

by Vicky Lewis Thompson

  He began to wonder if he should explain why he had that one, in case she'd read it and was offended by its chauvinistic tone. "The original's kind of sexist, I admit, but I wanted to take a look, anyway. Back when it was written, women had no power. I've found updated versions that are probably better, in terms of making women equal partners in the lovemaking."

  "I, urn, haven't read any versions." She swallowed. "But I have read this." She stroked the spine of Lady Chatterley's Lover.

  He thought about the premise of that book, the lady of the manor having an affair with the gardener. It struck a little too close to home.

  Suzanne continued to wander the length of the bookshelves looking at his collection of psychology and history texts, and again at his books on economics. "I read some of these in college," she murmured almost to herself.

  He watched her, hoping this really wasn't the beginning of the end, yet fearing that it could be. Although other women in the building had urged him to go back to college and better himself, they'd only been operating on a hunch that he had something on the ball and might be hiding his intelligence. He'd turned aside their suggestions easily enough.

  They'd never seen his book collection, and he'd never admitted to anyone except his family that he'd virtually educated himself.

  Suzanne probably wouldn't be able to resist trying to rescue a diamond in the rough. As much as he wanted to make love to her, he didn't want to endure a lecture about wasting his talents as a handyman in the process. This was his decision, and he needed her to respect it.

  Finally she reached the end of the bookshelves and turned to him. "Is there any subject you haven't studied?"

  "Astronomy," he admitted, "but I was thinking after the new year I might get into that."

  Slowly she walked back to where he stood holding the second strand of Christmas lights. "When I gave you that little book ornament, I had no idea. I thought you might have inherited these from tenants who left them, and that maybe you'd started dipping into them for the heck of it. But it's obvious that you've gone about this very deliberately."

  He waited for her to ask why. Why would a handyman want to know so many things? And with all that knowledge, why wouldn't he work toward a more prestigious job?

  She gazed at him for a long time, but she didn't ask any questions at all. Instead, she held out her hand for a strand of lights. "Ready to start trimming the tree?"

  "Sure." Maybe she'd wait until later, he thought. But he could almost guarantee that at some point she'd want to know why a man with a library of books and the equivalent of a university education was living in a basement apartment and fixing rusty pipes and broken electrical switches for a living.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  Greg was full of surprises. As Suzanne went back to stringing lights on the tree, she kept thinking of Terri's question tonight at the gym. What would you talk about after the sex?

  From the looks of Greg's bookshelf, Suzanne would run out of things to talk about long before Greg. Terri couldn't know about those books. Suzanne wondered if anybody in the building did.

  She was dying to ask Greg if any of the other women had ever been down here, but discussing his previous affairs seemed tacky. Terri had said he was the soul of discretion, and Suzanne respected that. If the grapevine operated the way Terri had implied, then word about Greg's self-education project would have spread by now if even one of his lovers had seen these bookshelves and asked a question or two.

  Suzanne began to believe she'd stumbled onto a secret. In that case, she would keep that secret without being asked.

  As they finished the lights and started on the garland, Suzanne asked about the rest of Greg's family and discovered he had two younger brothers and a younger sister. Greg seemed in a hurry to get the trimming done and not inclined toward lengthy conversation about his mother and siblings, but he answered her questions, at least.

  His impatience to finish the tree had become funny. She knew exactly why he was pushing to complete it, but she wasn't about to abandon the chance to find out more about this intriguing man. Besides that, she wasn't capable of doing a slipshod job.

  "I think that's a little too close to the other red ball." She unhooked an ornament that Greg had hung and repositioned it. "There. Much better. So, how old is your sister?"

  He sounded as if he'd come to the end of his rope. "Twenty-three, and I'm so glad I didn't buy any more ornaments. This is taking waaay too long."

  "You can't hurry something like decorating a tree," she said with an inward smile. She stooped down to hang another ball in a bare spot and her muscles protested. Apparently they were starting to tighten up from her session at the gym.

  By tomorrow she would really feel the effects of her workout. She could have used another herbal soak in her tub, but she hadn't wanted to take the time. Not tonight.

  "Muscles still a little sore?" he asked nonchalantly.

  She realized he must be watching her very closely. Her body warmed at the thought. "A little."

  "Then I think we should quit I could help you work out some of that stiffness if we—"

  "We haven't put on everything you bought." She glanced down at the open boxes of ornaments. "Barely half."

  "I can see I bought too much."

  "Not really. You want it to look nice, don't you?"

  "I want it to look done. Which it does."

  "Okay, there." She hung one more ornament and stepped back to admire their work. The lights were well spaced and the garland circled the tree in even scallops of silver. No two ornaments of the same color hung beside each other. "Now, didn't I see a package of icicles somewhere?"

  "No."

  "I did so." She turned just as he shoved something behind his back. "Come on, Greg. Unless you're worried about Matilda getting them?"

  "She won't if they're up high enough. It's me. I hate icicles."

  She walked toward him. "Then why did you buy some?"

  He backed up a step. "Habit. Let's skip them."

  "The tree won't look right without icicles." She moved closer, hand outstretched. "Give them to me and I'll do it if you don't want to."

  "Nope." He backed up some more. "I would bet a million dollars that you put them on one at a time."

  She regarded him in horror. "Don't tell me you throw it by the handful?"

  "I would tonight." He kept retreating. "Tonight I'd throw it on with a pitchfork."

  She could see where he was heading. Another step and he'd be inside his bedroom. "Greg, the tree's not finished without the icicles." She was a little impatient with herself for letting that bother her, but it was part of her personality to tie up all the loose ends before she left any project. Apparently even the promise of hot sex couldn't totally erase that tendency.

  Very hot sex. Oh God, soon she was going to let him touch her again, kiss her again. Now that she knew more about him, those touches and kisses would take on a whole new meaning. He'd read the Kama Sutra—several versions—and Lady Chatterley's Lover, and so many books on human sexuality that she'd lost count as she'd browsed his bookshelves. For some reason, this fascinating man wanted to make love to her tonight, and she would certainly be happy for him to do that. In the process, though, she wasn't supposed to fall for him. Under no circumstances was she supposed to do that.

  "Here's an idea." He backed through the doorway into shadow. "We can finish the tree tomorrow night."

  Tomorrow night. Her heartbeat quickened. She hadn't thought that far ahead. When it came to temporary love affairs, she didn't know what the normal duration was. She'd never had a temporary love affair.

  "Here's the deal, Suzanne. If you want these icicles, you'll have to come and get them. They'll be here, in the middle of the bed." He turned and walked into the bedroom. A soft plop announced that the icicles had landed.

  When she realized the irony, she couldn't help laughing. Any woman who would walk into his bedroom, pick up a package of icicles from his
bed and carry them back out so that she could finish decorating a Christmas tree would have to be an icicle, herself.

  Jared had called her an anal-retentive ice queen, and she was here in Greg's apartment tonight to prove that she was nothing of the kind. So the tree would remain unfinished. She could live with that. Besides, he said they'd work on it tomorrow night. That not only satisfied her need to complete a project, it allowed for all sorts of other possibilities.

  Heart pounding with anticipation, she started toward the bedroom. "Okay, you win," she said. "We can forget about the icicles for now." The room was still dark, and a delicious shiver ran up her spine. He would let her decide about the lights this time, too, apparently.

  She was ready for a little bit of light—soft, delicate light. She hoped his lamp had a low setting. But whether it did or not, she vowed she wouldn't be the same timid woman who had demanded total darkness the night before. She didn't feel like that same woman, either. Spending an hour decorating a tree with an obviously aroused, impatient man had helped.

  Even so, walking into the dark room and knowing he was there waiting for her made her knees weaken. Maybe this was why husbands carried brides over the threshold, because their legs turned to rubber as they contemplated what awaited them beyond that doorway.

  As she stepped into the room, strong arms reached for her. He pulled her close and nudged the door closed with his foot, surrounding them in darkness once again. Oh, yes. She was ready for this. With a moan she wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered to his kiss.

  * * *

  At last. Greg's kiss was filled with gratitude that she'd finally decided to give in and let him love her. Sure, he'd wanted to spend a little time in conversation so he could learn more about her, a little time in an activity like trimming the tree, but enough was enough. As for loving this woman, he might never get enough.

  She tasted like heaven, but he'd waited too long to be able to pause and savor the lush territory of her mouth. Seconds into the kiss, he reached for the single pearl button of her cardigan. In no time he'd peeled the soft garment away and started on the button of her skirt.

  He hadn't forgotten about the panty hose that he suspected she wore under that skirt, and he wanted to get rid of them early in the game. If he waited until desire had built to a fever pitch and his patience had deserted him completely, her panty hose might end up in tatters.

  She'd pulled his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans and slipped warm hands up his bare back, which he found tremendously encouraging. That and the mistletoe she'd brought made him think she wanted an active part in this adventure, after all. And yet she'd pulled away from his kiss earlier.

  He needed to remember that Even now, as her touch fed the ache in his groin, he needed to remember that and be careful. It didn't take much imagination to think of those hands stroking other parts of him in a caress he'd denied himself the night before. He wouldn't deny himself this time, but always, always, he had to be careful. Letting down his guard completely would be a mistake.

  Unzipping the skirt, he pushed the supple suede over her hips and let the skirt fall to the floor as he cupped her bottom with eager hands. That's when he discovered that he'd been wrong. Instead of panty hose, she'd worn a lacy garter belt and stockings. His breath caught He had a special weakness for a woman in a garter belt and stockings.

  He'd told himself to expect that she'd want darkness again tonight. He'd decided that he might have to make love to her several times before he could hope to tap into the instinct that had urged her to place a red pillow on her white sofa and a red devil in the middle of her bed. Perhaps, although he hated to think of it, he never would find that inner sex kitten.

  But a garter belt and stockings on a woman with legs like Suzanne's … now that was something that demanded visual appreciation. Slowly he lifted his mouth from hers. His voice rasped in the darkness. "What color?"

  Her breath came quick and fast, like his. "Black." A pause. "Do you want to see?"

  "Yes. Lord, yes. Can I?" He waited.

  "Is your lamp … very bright?"

  Thank God he'd prepared for this. "I have something better than the lamp. Wait right here." He stepped over to the bedside table and fumbled with the matches he'd put there earlier. It took him several tries before he managed to light the match because he was shaking so much.

  A garter belt and stockings. Hot damn. And he would be able to see her tonight while they made love. He'd been going crazy frying to imagine her naked body, and now he wouldn't have to imagine anymore. He would know.

  He heard rustling noises behind him as he worked to light the candles. "Don't take your garter belt off," he said.

  "I—"

  "Don't worry. I won't."

  Something in her voice was different, and as he touched a quivering flame to the candle's wick, he figured out what it was. Her voice sounded sultry. He thought he'd never get the second candle lit with the way he was trembling. So he wouldn't have to wait so long after all. Her hidden sensual streak was showing already.

  He finally managed to get the candles burning. He turned, the match flame still wavering in his hand. The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart in midbeat. She'd taken off her boots and her sweater. That considerate move would have been enough to drive him thoroughly crazy, considering that her black garter belt matched a black bra that gave her enough cleavage to inspire his dreams for weeks.

  But that wasn't all. She'd stretched out on the bed in that fantasy outfit, propping her head on her hand. She'd also opened the box of icicles and sprinkled them all over her. Candlelight sparkled on the silvery strands, and he thought of how much fun he was going to have taking them off … one at a time.

  He yelped as the match burned his finger. Shaking it out, he dropped the spent match in a small dish he'd left on the night table for exactly that purpose. Burning his finger while staring at Suzanne hadn't made him look very cool and collected. He'd completely forgotten he was holding a match

  "Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?" she asked in that sultry voice that fried every circuit in his brain.

  "With an offer like that, I might have to set a few more body parts on fire." He felt as if parts of him were about to spontaneously combust, anyway.

  "Let me see that poor burned finger." Lying back on the pillow, she held her hand out to him.

  He played along, even though the flame had barely nipped him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed his hand in both of hers.

  Holding his gaze, she brought his finger up to her mouth. "Poor baby." She kissed the tip with her full lips. Then, as he'd suspected she would, she began to suck his finger, curling her tongue around it and watching his expression as she imitated the very maneuver she'd offered him the night before.

  His jeans became a tourniquet that resisted the natural expansion going on under the denim. Oh, man, he had to undress, and he needed two hands. He hated to put an end to her erotic demonstration, but if he didn't get his clothes off soon he'd be seriously dented.

  "Hold that thought," he murmured as he eased his finger from her hot mouth. He stood and reached for the back of his T-shirt to pull it over his head. Then he remembered the mistletoe in his pocket. Pausing, he took it out and laid it on the nightstand near the candles.

  Her gaze followed.

  "I have some ideas for that mistletoe." He pulled off his T-shirt.

  "So do I."

  Oh, Lord. He'd pictured her turning sexy and seductive, but he'd never imagined that her voice would become as smooth as fine whiskey. They'd spent way too much time on that tree, he thought as he pulled off his shoes and socks.

  Or maybe not. Maybe she'd enjoyed making him wait. Maybe she was beginning to understand the extent of her power, awakening her inner temptress. Whatever the reason, he loved what was happening.

  He looked into her eyes as he unfastened his jeans and shoved them down. "Now you can see what you do to me," he said.

  Her eyes
sparkled with obvious triumph as she took in his state of arousal. Then she glanced away and casually rearranged some of the icicles, letting them shiver down the inside of her black-stockinged thighs. "I've heard garter belts have that effect."

  She was teasing him. He could hardly believe his good fortune as he watched the icicles catch the candlelight. Those lying against her thighs would be so much fun to lift away. "You had that effect long before I knew about the garter belt." He peeled off his briefs.

  Her breath caught.

  What a sweet, sweet sound. A sound to bolster a man's ego, if ever he'd heard one. He put a knee on the mattress and gazed at her. "Will I do, then?" he asked softly.

  She met his gaze, and even in the pale light from the candles, he could see that her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Her lips were parted and her breasts rose in response to her rapid breathing. "You'll do," she said in that smoky voice. Then her lips curved. "Me."

  His heart raced as he returned her saucy smile. The little red devil in her had come out to play. "I sure will, sweetheart. I sure as heck will. I'm only trying to decide where to start. You seem to be covered in icicles."

  "You wouldn't let me put them on the tree, so—"

  "I like them much better here." He captured several strands lying across the swell of her breasts and drew them back and forth over her bare skin. "Does that tickle?"

  "Yes."

  "Good." He swept the icicles aside and leaned down to run his tongue along the lace-trimmed edge of her bra.

  "That … tickles … too."

  "Even better." He drew back and surveyed his next target. A few icicles clung to her bra, and he pulled them away, making sure that he stroked her thoroughly in the process. From the sound of her breathing, he knew his touch was having the desired effect.

  "And look." He gazed at the smooth, inviting skin of her belly. "More icicles." He removed them one by one, taking his time, trailing kisses over each area that he cleared of the silvery strands.

  In response, her skin grew warm and flushed, and she began to quiver beneath him. "The icicles were a little joke," she said breathlessly. "I didn't realize that it would feel like … this … when you took them off."