A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba (21 page)

He threw the bedding to one side and scooped her into his lap, nuzzling the top of her head. “You’re rumpled,” he corrected. “It’s a good look on you.”

He tipped her backward over his arm and found her mouth. She tasted like coffee and cream and sweet, warm woman. He explored her mouth with his tongue, sliding one hand beneath her to trace her spine. His cock stiffened immediately, and he knew the exact moment she realized it.

She froze, panting slightly, her eyes cloudy. “You’re hard,” she muttered.

He nodded ruefully. “You seem to have that effect on me.” She wiggled her bottom and he groaned. “Easy, baby.”

She nipped his bottom lip. “Can I touch you?” she asked, her voice and face entirely serious.

“What about breakfast?” he asked weakly, struggling to survive.

She was already wriggling around to gain access to his now-constricting jeans. “It’s overrated.”

She lowered his zipper and every ounce of blood in his body rushed to his groin. Her small, talented hands slid past his boxers with startling ease. When her fingers closed around his aching cock, he shivered. She stroked him gently, murmuring words he was too far gone to understand.

When he managed once to open his eyes, he saw her staring raptly at his genitals, her eyes big and her lips wet where she had licked them. Such unabashed admiration did wonders for a man’s ego.

He groaned, barely remembering his resolve. “Enough, little witch. It’s time to eat.”

She scraped a fingernail down his shaft. “I’m ready if you are.”

He jerked her hand out of his pants. “I’m going to the kitchen,” he said through clenched teeth. “I expect you to join me there in three minutes or less.”

Maddy sighed as she made a trip down the hall to the bathroom. Just her luck. She finally decided to spice up her sex life, and she picked a man bent on protecting her from herself. It was just too depressing. But as she glanced in the mirror, she couldn’t help smiling at her reflection.

Look at her. Out of control hair, no makeup, pale skin, negligible curves…and Grant Monroe wanted her. True, he hadn’t done anything about it yet, but a man’s body didn’t lie. That impressive erection was because of her.

She washed up rapidly, pausing long enough to use a little of her lip gloss. Some war paint never hurt. When she entered the kitchen, Grant was at the stove, his posture unnaturally rigid.

Guilt pinched her. She really needed to back off. She didn’t mind making the first move with a guy, but she had invaded Grant’s home, and they were both trapped for the duration. He might even have a significant other tucked away somewhere. That thought made her stomach churn.

She had to know. “Do you have a girlfriend?” She blurted it out with an appalling lack of finesse.

He turned around, holding a plate of pancakes and eggs. His brows were drawn together in a frown. “No, of course not. Did you really think I’d be fooling around with you if I were otherwise committed?”

She shrugged. “Men do.”

“Well, not this man.” He set down the plate with a thunk and returned for the bacon. “If that’s the kind of men you’ve been going out with, it’s no wonder you’re a little cynical about love.”

“You said yourself that you’ve never been in love.”

His face got a funny look. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t been with women I respected and admired.”

“Oh.” She fell silent, suddenly envisioning a stream of beautiful, sexy women entertaining Grant Monroe. They probably all had big boobs…like the one in the picture. Her confidence slipped a notch.

He joined her at the table and they ate mostly in silence. At one point she leaned down to give Van Gogh a chunk of pancake, and she groaned as her muscles protested from the abuse she’d given them the day before.

Grant’s eyes sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sore, that’s all.”

“There’s ibuprofen in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought you might offer to give me a massage. Strictly medicinal, of course.”

He carried their dishes to the sink. “I’m not falling for that. My mother warned me about women like you.”

She grinned, enjoying his dry humor. “Your loss.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was out and the snow was so bright it hurt to look at it. “I need to chop some wood. Can you entertain yourself for awhile?”

“I think I can manage. I might alphabetize your spices.”

“Won’t take long. I think it’s pretty much salt, cinnamon and pepper.”

“Spoken like a typical bachelor.”

When Grant started chopping wood, he realized he was smiling. Maddy’s sass and wit made him laugh. She had bounced back incredibly quickly from a bad experience. Her sexuality was an innate part of her personality, and he admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be able to resist her for long, nor did he want to. Any man of his acquaintance would jump at the chance to have a few days of uncomplicated sex with a fascinating woman.

But he found himself wanting to prove to her that love did exist. Which was really pretty damn funny since he had no personal knowledge of such emotion. Maddy was the kind of woman who deserved to be loved. She was smart and strong and full of life. If she hadn’t found love, it wasn’t her fault. The men in her orbit must be idiots, or at the very least blind.

The back door opened and his heartbeat jumped, but it was only Van Gogh lumbering out to see him. Maddy must have taken pity on the dog’s whining. Van Gogh loved to be outside. But the deep snow was giving her problems.

Grant used his arm to clear the drifts off the top of the picnic table and gently lifted the dog so she could bask in the sun. The temperature was in the midtwenties, but there was no wind, and the sun felt remarkably warm.

He returned to splitting logs, relishing the strain on his muscles and the sheer physical labor. In forty-five minutes he had more than enough wood, but he kept working. He was sweating now, so he shrugged out of his heavy coat. His plan was to make himself tired enough to forget how horny he was.

He and Maddy might end up in bed, but he wanted to make sure she was recovered, both physically and emotionally, from her frightening experience…And in all fairness, he needed time to explain his own situation. He had a few secrets of his own to confess.

When he returned to the house, everything was quiet. He found Maddy in the living room, but she never even looked up when he entered. She was sitting cross-legged in one of the big armchairs, working on her laptop. He made a fair amount of noise, carrying in wood and adding logs to the fire, but her eyes remained glued to the small computer screen.

She had a pencil tucked behind her ear, and a couple of notebooks lay scattered on the coffee table. He sat down across from her and glanced at his watch. It was exactly thirty-two minutes before she stopped typing and realized he was there.

He grinned as she visibly shook off whatever world she had been in and returned to the here and now. He cocked his head. “I take it things are going well?”

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I worked out the whole murder scenario while I was walking yesterday. I found a steep part of the trail over a deep ravine where I could conceivably shove a body off and have it disappear. I had already researched how and where to give a fatal knife wound between the ribs. So it’s all coming together.”

“How many books have you published?”

“Three so far. This will be my fourth.”

His eyes widened. “Wow. You’re pretty young to have done so well.”

Her lips quirked. “How old do you think I am?”

He shrugged uneasily. Discussing a woman’s age was never a smart thing to do. “I don’t know…twenty-four…twenty-five?”

She laughed. “I’m thirty-one, but thanks.”

He studied her face carefully. No way would anyone believe that. Although now that he thought about it, she did have a certain confidence about her that came only with experience. He sighed theatrically. “I’m relieved. At least now when we make love, I won’t have to worry about cradle robbing.”

She flushed bright red, her expression rattled.

He grinned devilishly. “What? It’s okay for you to proposition me, but I can’t make my intentions known?”

She licked her lips. “You surprised me, that’s all.” She shut down the computer. “We need to talk.”

Uh-oh…Those four words never preceded anything good. He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Okay. What about?”

She pinned him with a don’t-give-me-any-crap stare. “Who’s the woman in the picture?”

Shit. He’d hoped to work up to this gradually. He smiled weakly. “My ex-wife, Jillian.”

To say Maddy was shocked was like saying George Clooney was kind of cute. She finally found her voice. “You’ve been married?”

“A long time ago.”

“And you keep her picture over your mantel?” Her voice ended on a squeak, and she tried to regain her composure. Sick disappointment filled her stomach. If he cared enough to look at that gorgeous woman every day, then Maddy was out of luck. She could never hope to compete with the voluptuous beauty.

Grant was frowning. “I keep the
picture,”
he said with careful emphasis. “The subject is merely incidental.”

She glared at him. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

His lips firmed, but he didn’t respond to her snide comment. “Look at it up close, Maddy.”

She stood and crossed to the fireplace. The picture was breathtaking from any angle, the colors and strokes filled with energy and emotion. She glanced at the signature in the bottom right-hand corner: G. Monroe.

She spun around to find him watching her carefully, a rueful smile on his face. She looked at the painting again.
“You
painted this?”

He nodded slowly.

“But it’s brilliant…museum quality.”

A hint of red tinged his cheekbones and she realized she had embarrassed him. She lifted her hand to touch the rough wooden frame, its simplicity a perfect foil for the setting. “I don’t know what to say, Grant.”

He joined her at the mantel. “I’m glad you like it. But I want you to know that Jillian is nothing more than a slightly nostalgic memory from my past.” He touched her cheek. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but it will be a lot more pleasant with you in my lap.” He tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the sofa.

Maddy allowed herself to be persuaded, eager to hear what he had to say, yet uneasy as well. When she was snuggled in his embrace, he began kissing her…first her lips, then her throat and then sliding down her collarbone. She arched her neck, feeling her need for conversation wither and die. She shoved a hand against his chest. “Talk,” she whispered, her breathing constricted. “You promised.”

He cupped her breast, making her whimper. “Are you sure?”

His gentle tug on her nipple nearly made her cave. She ached to feel his hands on her bare skin. “I’m sure,” she said, trembling and hot. Lord help her when he finally decided to make love to her in earnest.

He eased back, allowing her to sit up. She tried to shift away, but he pulled her close. “No distance,” he muttered.

They sat, twined in each other’s arms while their breathing steadied. Maddy probed, unsure if he would volunteer anything on his own. “Tell me about your marriage.”

He sighed. “I’m thirty-five years old. It all seems like so long ago.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” she said softly.

“She was my girlfriend in college. Right before we graduated she told me she was pregnant. I did the honorable thing and married her.”

“But she wasn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Did she lie on purpose?”

“Yeah. She admitted it later. I was angry and she was remorseful. We tried to put it behind us. We had been friends for a long time, and we did have physical attraction going for us.”

“But you didn’t love her.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Not really.”

“So when did you divorce?”

“I ended up working as an investment broker. Turns out I was pretty good at it. I made other people and myself a pile of money. But one day it started to bore me. The thrill of winning was gone, and I told Jillian I wanted to see if I could paint.”

“Did you have any artistic background?”

“I took art classes in high school…wanted to major in it at college, but my dad was pretty skewed in his thinking. He thought all artists were flaming homosexuals. So I played football and baseball, and I went to college with his money and I majored in business.”

“Then what happened?”

“When I quit the firm, Jillian and I split. She hadn’t signed on to be the wife of a reclusive artist. She liked the trappings of my job and the endless flow of money. She was angry. That was when it ended, eight years ago. I have three galleries in Virginia and one in D.C. I’ve done okay.”

“Has it been everything you thought it would be?”