Blame It On Christmas (Southern Secrets Series Book 1)

by Janice Maynard

  “Please don’t ruin my fantasy,” she said. “It’s all I’ve got at the moment.” She wrinkled her nose. “We don’t even have a chair.”

  J.B. felt the walls move inward. He dragged in a lungful of air, but it was strangely devoid of oxygen. “Fine,” he stuttered. “Feel free to haunt me.”

  Three

  For the first time, Mazie noticed that J.B. seemed decidedly tense.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, moving closer and putting a hand on his forehead.

  She almost expected to find him burning up with fever, but he was cool as the proverbial cucumber. To her alarm, he didn’t move away from her touch or offer even a token protest, and he didn’t make some smart-ass remark.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “You’re definitely not fine.”

  She got in front of him and put both hands on his face. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”

  His entire body was rigid.

  He swallowed, the muscles in his throat rippling visibly. “I’m a tad claustrophobic. I might need you to hold me.”

  Fat chance. Her heart stumbled at his teasing. And then she remembered. When J.B. was eight years old, he’d been playing in a junkyard with some friends and had accidentally gotten closed up in an old refrigerator during a game of hide-and-seek. He had nearly died.

  The incident traumatized him, understandably so. His parents had hired a therapist who came weekly to their house for over a year, but some deep wounds were hard to shake.

  She stroked his hair, telling herself she was being kind and not reveling in the chance to touch him. “We’re going to be okay. And I’m here, J.B. Take off your jacket. Let’s sit down.”

  At first she wasn’t sure he even processed what she was saying. But after a moment, he nodded, removed his sport coat, and slid down the wall until he sat on his butt with his legs outstretched. He sighed deeply. “I’m not going to flake out on you,” he muttered.

  “I never thought you would.” She joined him, but it was far less graceful. Her skirt was unforgiving. She shimmied it up her thighs and managed to sit down without exposing too much.

  For an eternity, it seemed, they said nothing. J.B.’s hands rested on his thighs, fists clenched. He was breathing too fast.

  Mazie was no shrink. But even she knew he needed to get his mind on something else besides their predicament. “How are your parents?” she asked.

  J.B. snorted and shot her a sideways glance. “Really, Mazie? I’m having an embarrassingly public meltdown, and that’s the best you can do?”

  “You’re not having a meltdown,” she said. “You’re fine.”

  Maybe if she said it convincingly enough, he would believe her. They were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip with less than twelve inches separating them. It was the closest she had been to J.B. in forever. Close enough for her to catch an intoxicating whiff of his aftershave mixed with the entirely ordinary and yet exhilarating man smell of him.

  He was big and strong and darkly masculine. Her stomach quivered. This was exactly why she normally kept her distance.

  J.B. was dangerous.

  When she glanced toward the ceiling, she saw tiny air vents up above. They were in no danger of suffocating. Even so, J.B.’s response was understandable. Her skin crawled, too, at the thought of being stuck here for hours.

  J.B. was expending every ounce of concentration on not surrendering to the phobia. So any chitchat or small talk would have to be initiated by her. The trouble was, she knew J.B. too well, and not well enough.

  Charleston wasn’t that big a place. Anytime there was a charity gala or a gallery showing or a theater opening, Charleston’s elite gathered. Over the years, Mazie had seen J.B. in formal wear on dozens of occasions, usually with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Not ever the same woman, but still...

  Because he and Jonathan were best buds, she had also seen J.B. half-naked on the deck of a sailboat and at the basketball court and by the beach. If she really applied herself to the task, she could probably come up with a million and one times she had been in the same vicinity as J.B. and yet never exchanged two words with him.

  That was her choice. And probably his. He had been inexplicably cruel to her at a vulnerable point in her life, and she had hated him ever since.

  Now here they were. Stuck. Indefinitely.

  The tile floor underneath her butt was cold and hard. She drew her knees up to her chest and circled them with her arms. J.B. was right beside her. It wasn’t like he was going to look up her skirt.

  She sighed. “You doin’ okay, stud?” His shallow breathing was audible.

  “Peachy.”

  The growled word, laden with surly testosterone, made her grin. “Why have you never married again?”

  The words flew from her lips like starlings disturbed by a chimney sweep. They swirled outward and upward and hung in the air. Oh, crap.

  Her muscles were paralyzed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw J.B.’s head come up. He went perfectly still. Not looking at her. Gazing straight ahead. The seconds ticked by. A minute passed. Maybe two.

  “My parents are well,” he said.

  It took half a second for the subtext to process, and then she burst into laughter. “Very funny. Message received. The oh-so-mysterious J.B. Vaughan doesn’t talk about his private life.”

  “Maybe I don’t have a private life,” he said. “Maybe I’m a workaholic who spends every waking hour trying to coax beautiful jewelry merchants into selling their property to me.”

  With one carefully placed adjective, the dynamic in the room changed. J.B. added flirtation to the mix. Did he do it on purpose? Or was he so accustomed to schmoozing women that the word beautiful slipped out?

  She pretended not to hear. “If you’re a workaholic at this age, you’ll be dead before you’re fifty. Why do you work so hard, J.B.? Didn’t you ever want to stop and smell the roses?”

  “I tried it once. Roses have thorns.” He sucked in a breath of air. “Are you going to give me your property or not?”

  “Did you lock me in here on purpose to make me say yes?”

  “God, no. Even I’m not that desperate. Try your phone,” he said. “You use a different carrier. Maybe it makes a difference.”

  She glanced at her cell. “Nope. Nada.”

  J.B. groaned. “How long have we been in here?”

  Mazie peered at her watch. “Twenty-two minutes.”

  “Maybe your watch stopped.”

  She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Think about something else. Do you have all your Christmas shopping done? What do your sisters want?” J.B.’s two siblings were both younger and female. That’s probably why he spent so much time hanging around the Tarleton house when he was growing up.

  “They’re great,” he said. “Do we have to do this?”

  “You’re the one who didn’t want to talk about anything serious.”

  “Are those my only two choices?”

  She hesitated half a beat. “We could talk about why you were such an ass to me when we were teenagers.”

  J.B. cursed beneath his breath and leaped to his feet. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all.”

  For the next five minutes, he paced the small space like a tiger in a cage. Mazie stayed where she was. His body language shouted louder than words that he was unraveling.

  At last, he paused in front of the impregnable door and slammed it with his fist. He bowed his head, his shoulders taut.

  “I can’t breathe,” he whispered.

  The agony in those three words twisted her heart. J.B. was a proud, arrogant man. Having her witness his weakness would make his frustration and anger and helplessness worse.

  Without overthinking it, she scooted to her feet and went to him. “Listen to me.” Fluorescent lighting was the most unflattering ligh
ting in the world. It made both of them look like hell. His skin was sallow, cheekbones sharply etched. She took his face in her hands again. “Look at me. I want you to kiss me, J.B. Like you mean it. If you can’t breathe, I might as well join you. Do it, big guy. Make me breathless. I dare you.”

  He was shaking, fine tremors that racked his body. But gradually, her words penetrated. “You want me to kiss you?”

  “I do,” she said. “More than anything.” She touched her lips. “Right here. I haven’t been kissed in ages. Show me how J.B. Vaughan woos a woman.”

  He blinked and frowned, as if sensing danger. “You’re not serious.”

  She went up on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his. “Oh, yes I am. I’m so damn serious it ought to be against the law.” She slid her fingers into his silky hair, cupping his skull, massaging his neck. “Kiss me, J.B.”

  If this worked, she was going to write a book about curing claustrophobia.

  His hands landed on her shoulders, but she wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing. There was still a glassy-eyed element to his gaze.

  “Mazie?” The way he said her name made the hair on her nape stand up. She knew exactly the moment his arousal broke through the grip of the visceral fear.

  This time, the shudder that racked him was entirely hedonistic.

  She didn’t have to ask again for a kiss.

  J.B. took control as if he had been kissing her always. His mouth settled over hers with a drugging sensuality that took the starch out of her knees and left her panting and helpless in his embrace.

  Her arms linked around his neck. “This is nice.”

  “Screw nice...”

  His rough laugh curled her toes. No wonder she had kept her distance all these years. At some level she had always known this could happen. She wanted to kick off her shoes and drag him to the floor, but everything was dusty and cold and hard. Not a soft surface in sight.

  Once upon a time she had fantasized often about kissing J.B. Vaughan. The reality far outstripped her imaginings.

  He was confident and coaxing and sexy and sweet, and she wanted to give him everything he asked for without words.

  Thank God there wasn’t a bed in sight. Otherwise, she might have done something really stupid.

  His tongue stroked hers lazily. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t even care. I should have kissed you years ago.”

  “You did,” she reminded him.

  “That didn’t count. We were kids.”

  “Felt pretty grown-up to me.” In fact, the adult J.B. was reacting much as the teenage J.B. had. His erection pressed against her belly, making her feel hot and dizzy and very confused.

  This wasn’t real. All she was doing was taking his mind off their incarceration.

  He tugged her shirt loose and slid his hand up her back, unfastening her bra with one practiced flick of his fingers. Stroking her spine, he destroyed her bit by bit. “I always knew it would be like this,” he groaned.

  “Like what?” The two words were a whisper, barely audible over the loud pounding of her heart.

  “Wild. Spectacular. Incredibly good.” He put just enough space between them to let him cup her breasts in his hands. “Ah, Mazie.”

  His hands were warm. When he thumbed her nipples, the rough caress sent fire streaking throughout her body.

  “Wait,” she said. “My turn.” She tugged at his soft shirt and sighed when she uncovered his muscled rib cage and taut abdomen. He was smooth and hard and had just enough silky hair to be interesting. She stopped short of his belt buckle.

  J.B. nibbled the side of her neck. “Have you ever had sex standing up?”

  “Um, no.” Her brain was screaming at her to slow things down, but other parts of her body were having so much fun that sensible Mazie didn’t stand a chance. “Have you?”

  “No. I think it’s one of those movie things that might not be so great in real life.” He paused, his chest heaving. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”

  This was insane. They had gone from Mazie trying to distract J.B. from his claustrophobia to jumping each other’s bones at warp speed. Though she knew it was suicidal, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “Kiss me again,” she begged. Anything to keep his mind off doing something they both would surely regret.

  He granted her wish and then some. First it was her breasts. He bent and tasted each one with murmurs of approval that did great things for her self-esteem. Then he moved up to her neck and her earlobes, and finally, her lips.

  Oh, wow, the man knew how to kiss. She didn’t even care how many women he had practiced on. The result was mesmerizing.

  There were really only so many ways a man and a woman could put their lips together. Yet somehow, J.B. managed to make each ragged breath and groaning caress new and desperate.

  He tasted her, and shuddered when she slipped her tongue between his lips and returned the favor. Need—hot and heavy—poured through her limbs and pulsed in her sex. It had been an eternity since she had experienced this level of arousal. Suddenly, she knew she would die if she couldn’t have him right here, right now.

  Trembling and weak, she clung to his broad shoulders. “I’m not on the Pill,” she said. “I don’t have any protection.”

  He bit her bottom lip, tugging it, turning her legs to spaghetti.

  “Condom,” he moaned. “Wallet.”

  “Yes.” One part of her stood as an onlooker, marveling at her reckless behavior.

  Really, Mazie? J.B. Vaughan? After he shot you down all those years ago and ignored you ever since?

  Do you really want to do this?

  She did. She really did. Maybe she always had.

  J.B. removed her top and bra and draped them carefully over the door handle of the safe. Then he turned and stared at her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to pretend sophistication. There had been two men in her life. Not a big number.

  He ran his hand from her bare shoulder down her arm, manacling her wrist and reeling her in. “You’re exquisite, Mazie.”

  The recollection of a teenage J.B. had always messed with her head. The popular boy with the raw sexuality and the wicked grin had rejected her and made her feel less than feminine, less than desirable.

  It was difficult to reconcile that memory with the present.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  His slight frown told her he recognized her equivocation. He kissed her temple.

  “I love your hair.” He ran his hands through it. “It bounces with life and passion. Like you, Mazie.”

  The sudden segue from frantic hunger to tenderness unsettled her. It was one thing to get caught up in the moment. She didn’t trust J.B.’s quiet gentleness. A man could use sex to get what he wanted. Maybe in the midst of their madness, J.B. had recognized her vulnerability where he was concerned. Maybe he hoped to use it to his advantage.

  “Kiss me again,” she begged. Boldly, she cupped the length of his sex through his pants. He was hard and ready, so ready that the evidence made her want to swoon like some fainthearted Victorian maiden.

  Mazie had been abstinent by choice for the past two years. No man had tempted her, not even a little. Now here was J.B. All wrong for her in every way. But at the moment, oh so right.

  When she touched him intimately, he shuddered. This time, she knew the tremors that racked his big frame had nothing to do with a fear of enclosed spaces. J.B. wanted her. Badly. The realization was exhilarating.

  They were still mostly clothed, though her bare breasts nestled delightfully against his warm, hard chest. It should have felt weird and odd to be standing here like this. Instead, it was the most wonderfully terrifying thing in the world. In his embrace, she felt torn in a dozen dizzying directions.

  She hated this man. Didn’t she? Or wa
s this a delightful dream?

  The illusion was worth any price. She had waited a decade and more for J.B. to admit that he wanted her. Surely the fates would grant her one outrageous walk on the wild side.

  She could call it off. The end would be ugly and awkward and far more scarring than what had happened when she was sixteen. But J.B. would never force himself on a woman, even if Mazie had been the one to initiate the encounter.

  “I want you, darlin’ Mazie.” When he whispered her name and touched her thigh beneath her skirt, she knew the moment was at hand.

  It was no contest. “I want you, too, J.B.”

  What happened next was sheer madness. He scooped her up and backed her against the wall. Her hands tangled in his hair. They were both panting as if they had run a marathon.

  He cupped her bottom, grinding his lower half against hers until she wanted to scream with frustration.

  He slid his hands beneath her skirt and found bare skin. “Put your legs around my waist.”

  “The condom,” she said. “Don’t forget the condom.”

  “In a minute.” He kissed her wildly, his teeth bruising her lips. She pulled his hair, fighting to get closer. Her bikini panties were damp. Her entire body wept with the need to have him inside her.

  She crossed her ankles behind his back, ripping at his shirt. “Take this off,” she pleaded.

  He managed it without breaking the kiss. Now she could run her hands over acres of warm male skin. His body was toned and tanned and sleekly muscled. For a man who supposedly spent a lot of time with spreadsheets and architectural plans, he had the build of an athlete.

  “Hang on tight,” he demanded. With a muffled groan, he ripped her underpants and held the scraps aloft. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Those were new,” she protested.

  J.B.’s grin was feral. “I’ll buy you more.”

  Now he could go where no man had gone in a very long time. He caressed her intimately, inserting one finger...feeling the embarrassingly welcome state of her sex.

  “Oh, wow...” She dropped her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes.