A Knight Before Christmas

by Alicia Dean

  older than Clint."

  "Dear God, when did your mother find out? Have you met

  her? Where's the 'other woman' now?" Nicolette flushed.

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  "Sorry. Didn't mean to fire so many questions at you. I'm just

  shocked, I mean, your dad? Who would have thought it?"

  "Tell me about it."

  She listened as he told the story of how he'd learned he

  had a sister, how he hadn't met her yet and didn't want to.

  When he was done, she said, "It's not her fault, you know.

  She's a victim, too."

  He snorted a humorless laugh. "You sound just like my

  mother." He lifted their hands and studied them in the near-

  darkness. "I just can't stand the thought of what my father

  did. Seeing the woman, the result of his infidelity, would

  make it so...I don't know. So real."

  His thumb rubbed over the skin on the back of her hand,

  sending tingles along her spine.

  "I know," Nicolette whispered. "I'm sure it's hard on you."

  "It's hard on all of us, but I seem to be the one acting like

  the biggest jackass over it."

  She squeezed his hand. "You're as far from a jackass as

  anyone I know."

  Heath's eyes found hers in the gloom, and he placed a kiss

  on the back of her hand. "Truth is, you know another reason

  it bothers me? Another reason I don't want to meet my

  sister?"

  "Why's that?" Nicolette asked, trying to ignore the warm

  spot where his lips had touched her skin.

  "Because, it makes me wonder...makes me realize that I

  could be just like him."

  "Like your father?"

  She barely saw the nod.

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  "Disloyal. To Rudy."

  "In what way?" she asked, but she thought she knew, and

  her heart seemed to beat loud enough for him to hear in the

  silence of the elevator. She waited breathlessly for his

  answer.

  He sighed heavily. "In the way I want you. In the way I

  wanted you even while you were married to my best friend."

  In spite of the guilt she heard in his voice, there was also

  longing. She turned her head just slightly. She wasn't sure

  exactly how it happened, but in the next moment, his lips

  found hers. He tangled his hand in her hair and pressed her

  more closely to him as his mouth moved urgently over hers.

  She moaned in the back of her throat, and he answered it

  with a growl.

  Dear God. She was kissing Heath King. Those were his lips

  on hers. They felt as good as she'd always dreamed they

  would. Firm and skilled, his tongue warm and seeking. Her

  heart lurched, and for a moment, all the angst of the past

  year flew away. This was it. This was what it felt like to be

  kissed by Heath King.

  They parted long enough for him to run his lips over her

  neck and down to the V above her top button. She ached to

  feel him loosen those buttons, for his lips to travel downward.

  Her nipples tingled with the need, and she almost reached up

  and undid the buttons herself.

  Before she could consider the advisability of doing just

  that, a low roar sounded and lights blared on, as if

  spotlighting their shame. They froze, still touching, but then

  pulled guiltily apart. Heath stood and reached a hand down to

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  her, helping her to her feet. He was breathing heavily, just as

  she was. He shoved a hand through his hair and looked

  dazedly around the elevator as it slowly began to descend.

  "God. I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  She blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. "It wasn't your

  fault."

  "Yes, it was." He reached out and took her hand again. "I

  don't know what I was thinking, but the last thing you need is

  for me to add to your emotional turmoil. For that, I'm truly

  sorry."

  It was all she could do not to curse in frustration. Despite

  her earlier hysteria, she now wished they could stay stranded

  forever. Just the two of them, locked away in their dark

  cocoon, away from the real world of blackmailers and

  suspicious detectives and drug addicts needing her help and

  people who would shun her for loving Heath.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Dear God. It was true. She

  loved him. Maybe she always had. The sad, hard truth was

  that it didn't matter. She could love him all she wanted, but

  she could never have him. It was that thought, that daunting

  realization that made her pull away from Heath's touch and

  say, "It was both our faults, but it was nothing to worry

  about. Let's just forget it ever happened," in the coldest tone

  she could manage.

  In spite of the words she'd tossed at Heath, there was no

  way Nicolette could forget what happened. No way she could

  forget how it felt to finally lose herself in Heath's arms. That

  kiss. Wow. She'd never felt anything like it in her life. And,

  God help her, she wanted more.

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  She paced back and forth, going into the bathroom to

  brush her teeth. There was no way there could be anything

  between her and Heath. They were friends. People would

  think they were screwing around on Rudy the whole time.

  Sure, some day she wanted to find another man to love,

  although she couldn't imagine having what she had with

  Rudy, but the man couldn't be Heath. No one would ever

  believe she and Heath had been true to Rudy until nearly a

  year after his death.

  But, really, had they? What about when they'd almost

  kissed while Rudy had been in a coma? She sighed as she

  thought back over it, something that had turned out not to be

  a big deal, but had stuck with her all these months.

  They hadn't actually kissed. But the emotions were there;

  the urge was there. And if he hadn't pulled away, she wasn't

  sure she could have.

  Then, she'd have known what it felt like to have Heath's

  lips on hers, to have passion explode between them. Would

  she have gone further? Would she actually have made love to

  her husband's best friend while he lay dying in the next

  room?

  She'd like to think that she wouldn't, but if the way her

  body felt now was any indication, she couldn't be absolutely

  positive. But, Rudy wasn't dying in the next room now. He

  was gone. Forever. She was alone and had been for nearly a

  year. Heath King was the only other man she'd ever wanted

  like she wanted Rudy. Actually, she could finally admit,

  maybe she'd wanted him more than Rudy. In the past, Heath

  had only ever shown her friendship. But tonight had been

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  different. He'd shown that he desired her, maybe as much as

  she desired him. Rudy was gone. Heath was steps away,

  nothing but sheet rock sep
arating them.

  It was true, they couldn't have a future together, not with

  the way people would shun them. Maybe Heath wouldn't even

  want a relationship, but they could have one night. They

  could find comfort in one another's arms, ease the sexual

  need. She jumped in the shower and quickly shaved her legs.

  She'd been alone for a very long time and in the winter

  seldom wore dresses, so shaving wasn't a task she performed

  daily. But, if she planned to seduce Heath, she definitely

  didn't want to be stubbly.

  She rinsed the shaving cream and squeezed a dollop of

  scented body cream onto a sponge and liberally soaped her

  body. Shutting off the water, she grabbed a large, fluffy towel

  and dried her skin, the words to "We've Got Tonight" by Rod

  Stewart playing in her head. Tonight may be all she and

  Heath had, but if it were up to her, it would be a night to

  remember.

  Heath shifted restlessly on the sheets, cursing, wondering

  how their softness against his skin could feel so irritating.

  Might have something to do with the boner that had come

  and gone, returning each time he thought about that kiss with

  Nicolette.

  Finally, finally, after all these years of dreaming about it,

  he'd felt her soft lips yielding beneath his. Oh God, it had felt

  better than he could have imagined. He'd wanted to take her,

  right there on the nasty floor of the elevator. Strip her down

  and plunge into her softness, take from her what he'd been

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  wanting since he laid eyes on her fifteen years ago. If the

  lights hadn't come on right then, he might have done just

  that.

  What would she have done?

  She'd certainly seemed into the kiss. The little noises she

  made in her throat didn't indicate she was feeling discomfort.

  Nope, she may have been all for fulfilling his little fantasy, the

  two of them stripped naked, tongues and hands roaming and

  tangling, flesh slapping flesh as he drove—

  Shit.

  Those images were not helping. He rethought his habit of

  sleeping in the nude. Certainly wasn't conducive to not

  thinking about Nicolette, to not needing relief for his recurring

  hard-on. Maybe he should just take care of it himself.

  Yeah? And what about the next one, and the next, and the

  multitude of unfulfilled hard-ons to come? Because, truth

  was, no matter that Nicolette had been caught up in the

  moment. No matter that, even though they were supposed to

  only be friends, she seemed to desire him, too...he could

  never have her. Never ever. So, bucko, just fucking get over

  it already.

  "Fuck," he growled into the pillow, punching it with his fist

  as he once more shifted and tried to get comfortable.

  He closed his eyes, but his body was wound tight. He

  doubted he'd sleep at all.

  He flung the sheet off and climbed out of bed. Maybe

  warm milk or some other bullshit might help. A little voice

  told him nothing would, other than relief from this hot

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  burning need for Nicolette that had simmered for fifteen years

  and was now a raging inferno.

  He was at the bedroom door when he heard a soft knock

  on the door adjoining Nic's duplex. He halted. Surely he was

  imagining things, but it came again. A little firmer this time.

  He moved quickly to the door, but didn't open it.

  "Nicolette? Is something wrong?"

  "No. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

  "Hold on."

  He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs off the chair and pulled

  them on. Looking down, he decided that was not nearly

  enough clothing and grabbed the jeans he'd worn that day

  and slipped them on, too.

  Opening the door, he gasped when he saw Nicolette. Her

  hair was damp and tangled around her shoulders. She wore a

  short, white button down sleep shirt that gaped open just

  enough for him to see the tops of her breasts. She moved

  past him into the room, giving him a shot of her clean, citrusy

  sent. He nearly groaned aloud. Jesus. This was not going to

  help his boner one bit.

  When she was inside his bedroom, he shut the door.

  She looked at him, her eyes raking over his bare chest,

  and he suddenly wished he'd also grabbed a shirt. She

  brushed a hank of hair back from her face. "I can't sleep. I

  can't stop thinking about what happened in the elevator."

  You and me both. Heath sighed and shook his head. "I

  know. I'm sorry. I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn't

  have kissed you."

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  He reached for the shirt that had lain with the jeans and

  started to shrug it on. Nicolette moved a few steps toward

  him, and took it from his hands, then tossed it back on the

  chair. He stared down at her, frowning.

  She reached up and put two fingers against his lips. "I'm

  not sorry we kissed. I'm sorry we stopped."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Heath's heart rate shot up. As close as Nicolette was,

  surely she could hear it beating. He stared down into her

  eyes. They looked like deep green emeralds in the near dark

  of his bedroom.

  "What? Do you know what you're saying?" His voice was

  hoarse, and he tried to clear it, but he could barely breathe.

  "I know what I want. I know what I need. It's been so

  long. I've been so lonely. You make me feel safe, make me

  feel warm. I can't love you, but please..." Her voice broke,

  and a tiny sob escaped. "Please make love to me."

  As if a dam burst inside him, feeling surged through his

  veins. Fifteen years, and he had never dreamed she'd say

  those words to him. Even if she couldn't love him, he could no

  more begin to tell her no than he could cut off his own hands.

  He'd waited too long. Dreamed too often.

  He groaned and took her by the shoulders, yanking her

  against his body. As he stared down at her soft features, he

  memorized the mesmerizing play of light in her eyes. Light

  that filled him up, and made him feel like a drowned man

  begging for air. Drawn to the call of her parted mouth, he

  dipped his head and claimed her soft, full lips. Mint and citrus

  met the stroke of his tongue, and he drank deeply. God

  above, she tasted like heaven. Warm. Sweet. Intoxicating.

  Her quiet moan vibrated against his mouth. Her fingers

  demanded more as they delved into his hair and scraped

  against his scalp. Drawing his body away, he reached

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  between them, shaking fingers fumbling at the top button of

  her nightshirt. Good grief, this was insane. He could hardly

  function. He felt like a damn school kid all over again,


  fumbling in the dark with all the fineness of an elephant.

  He sucked in a short breath and ordered his body to be

  patient. His fingers got the message, stilling enough that he

  could twist the remaining buttons free. The white cotton fell

  loose, and his knuckles brushed against satiny skin. He'd

  known her skin would be soft, but in all his fantasies, he'd

  never imagined one touch could set his gut to quivering.

  Her nipples tightened, silently begging for his touch. He

  obliged. Cupping her breast, he rolled one hard bud beneath

  the pad of his thumb. Weighty fullness filled his palm

  perfectly, as it had a hundred times or more in his mind. His.

  She was finally his.

  Dear God. This was real.

  "Heath," she whispered against his mouth. Breaking the

  kiss, she held his gaze as her hands went to the button of his

  jeans. Unable to move, he stood still, his breath catching as

  he watched her work him loose. She slid the zipper down.

  Slender fingers slipped past denim to stroke his swollen

  erection beneath the cotton of his briefs. The warmth of her

  touch taunted. The confident squeeze tormented. His hips

  jerked forward in search of more.

  On a hiss, he ground his teeth together, closed his eyes,

  and threw back his head, begging his body for control. He

  concentrated on touching her, teasing her nipple, massaging

  her breast. Yet when she slipped her hand inside, and those

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  damning fingers closed around him, sensation rocketed

  through him. He went utterly still and gulped down air.

  "If you don't stop," he whispered, "I'll be finished way too

  soon."

  She giggled and stroked her hand along the length of him

  once more before releasing her hold.

  Freed from her delightful touch and the urgency it brought,

  he bent forward and ran a tongue over the top of her breasts.

  Her breaths came faster as she clasped the back of his head

  and maneuvered his mouth down to her nipple. He flicked out

  his tongue, wetting the nipple, then blew a breath on it. She

  let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream and

  pressed against his head until he opened his mouth and took

  her nipple inside, working his tongue along the hardened bud,

  around, laving it over and over.