A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba (22 page)

“Yes and no. I’ve been unsettled lately, wondering if I should go back to my old job part time—not for the money, but for the challenge. Apparently I have this whole left brain/right brain split, and I’m needing to feed the other side for awhile. Or maybe I’m just getting stale.”

“Was that why you came up here? To think?”

“Yep.” He squeezed her. “And look what I got instead.”

She choked out a laugh when he hit a ticklish spot between her ribs. “I resent the implication that you can’t think with me around,” she said primly.

“Oh, you make me think,” he said, sliding his hand between her thighs. “But it’s mostly with my cock and not with my brain.”

The pressure of his finger on the center seam of her jeans made her crazy. “Is this foreplay or torture?” she asked, panting slightly as she twisted to get a better angle. He seemed to be getting way too much enjoyment out of making her beg.

His teeth raked the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “I was thinking of it as foreplay, but torture could be fun, too.”

She had a sudden flash of being tied up and at his mercy, and she groaned.

He shifted their bodies until she was flat on her back and he was half on top of her. The heavy ridge of his erection pressed her hip. He found her mouth, no teasing this time. His tongue thrust deep, mimicking the ultimate goal.

She felt herself melting in a million different ways. Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing ever would.

He nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his breath hot, his whisper unsteady. “There’s only one thing I want almost as much as I want to make love to you,” he said, his large body trembling.

“What?” she cried softly. “What?”

He pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet, hers cloudy and unfocused, his hot and determined. “I want to paint you…in the nude.”

Her face blanched, and her involuntary glance at the painting over the mantel was telling. She squinched up her nose. “I don’t know, Grant. I’m not really model material.”

His chest was tight with a feeling that was as unfamiliar as it was scary. He cupped her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Maddy.” He saw in her eyes that she wasn’t convinced.

Her fists were clenched, and he realized suddenly that he had upset her. His heart squeezed. “Sweetheart, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re a knockout, honest to God.”

Her scowl was underlaid with an entirely unexpected vulnerability. “You haven’t even seen me with all my clothes off.”

He chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot…and I’ve groped the rest.”

Her lips twitched. “Does that smooth, romantic banter get you hordes of women?”

“I’m devoted to my work,” he said piously, pressing his hand to his heart, happy to play the fool if it would bring back her smile.

She sighed deeply, her chest rising and falling in an entirely distracting way. “Are you serious? Really?”

He kissed her eyelids, her nose, her perfect lips. “I’d consider it an honor,” he said huskily.

Her eyes softened, and he saw arousal begin to build again. His own had never waned. He wrestled with his libido and won, but it was a close call. Good things come to those who wait, he reminded himself ruefully. And the snow wasn’t going anywhere. At least not yet.

He stood up, his cock crying out in protest. “Let’s see about rustling up some lunch,” he said, his voice tight, his balls aching. Being a hero was a hell of a thankless job.

Maddy learned a lot about Grant that afternoon. Not so much the facts of his checkered past, but the essence of him as a man. His competitive nature rivaled hers. Over a cut-throat game of Scrabble, they squabbled happily.

Grant groused about having only one-point letters and finally put down l-i-t. “Three points,” he grumbled.

Maddy looked at her tiles and grinned. It was early in the game, and the board was wide open. She picked up five of her pieces and arranged them carefully in front of and behind his word.

He blinked and stared. His voice sounded strangled. “Clitoris?” he asked, outrage building in every syllable.

She gave him her most serious expression. “It’s a body part,” she explained slowly. “The source of feminine pleasure.”

“I know what it is,” he snapped. “I wasn’t aware we were allowed to use pornographic vocabulary.”

“It’s entirely legal.” She drew five replacement letters.

Grant played. P-e-n. “Five points,” he said, his jaw tight.

She looked at her letters and widened her eyes dramatically. “Wow. What are the chances I’d draw another
I
and an
S
?” She placed them carefully. “Penis. That’s a male…”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with something entirely dangerous. “You seem to have sex on the brain, Ms. Tierney,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Not at all. I merely minored in anatomy in college. Although, being an artist and all, you probably should know this stuff. Particularly if you’re going to paint naked people.”

“They’re called nudes,” he snarled.

It got nasty after that…

He played “oat.” She made it throat. He played “it.” She made it “tit.” Finally her luck ran out. He played “church” on a double word. Nobody could make a sex word out of church. Plus, it got him a whole lot of points. She sighed and laid down the entirely ordinary “duck.”

Grant studied her last play, his expression shuttered. He leaned forward and casually flipped her
D
to the floor, replacing it with an
F.
Then he sat back and smiled.

She ignored his blatant disrespect for the rules and pointed out the obvious. “That’s slang,” she said. “Take it back.”

He rolled up his sleeves, baring muscular forearms. “And yet you played ‘tit,’” he reminded her mildly.

“That’s not slang.”

“It sure as hell is,” he stuttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you challenging me? The dictionary is right there on the shelf.”

He stared at her intently for long seconds, daring her to back down. She just smiled.

Muttering under his breath, he retrieved the oversized dictionary and started flipping pages.

She got up and leaned over his shoulder. “It should be the third one down,” she said helpfully.

He made it to the
TI
s and started running his finger down the page, his brow creased in concentration. She wondered if he even noticed that her breast was pressing his shoulder.

He made a little sound and she grinned to herself. “Why don’t you read it out loud, Grant?” She licked his ear.

He jerked and cursed, nearly dropping the dictionary. He read the words slowly, incredulity in his voice. “A small worn-out horse, a nag.”

She bit his earlobe. “Never play Scrabble with a writer,” she whispered. “I’m sure you have many other talents.”

He moved so fast, she didn’t have time to react. He got to his feet, backing her toward the wall. It was a blatant attempt to use his physical size to intimidate her, and she should have been indignant. Instead, she felt a burgeoning excitement. His face was calm, but his eyes twinkled.

She swallowed. “You can’t bully me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I’m doing?”

One more step, and her shoulder blades met resistance. She flattened her spine against the wall, her breathing jerky. “Sore losers are pathetic.”

He cupped her butt and lifted her off the ground. Instinctively, her hands grabbed for his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Their groans mingled as their bodies strained toward each other.

He leaned his forehead against hers, his hands kneading her ass. “I think you cheated. I demand a rematch.”

She wiggled, close to begging. His erection tormented her even through layers of cloth. And judging by the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe, Grant was interested in playing a much more intimate game than Scrabble.

“I don’t like waiting,” she whispered, her voice agitated. In her books the characters always did exactly what she told them. At least most of the time. Grant’s obstinacy, especially in the face of his undeniable arousal, frustrated her. And she
hated
being frustrated.

He heaved a sigh and released her, letting her legs slide to the ground. “Have you ever had sex with a man you’ve known less than twenty-four hours?”

His blunt question made her wince. It was hard to
carpe diem
when the man in question was determined to be reasonable. “No,” she muttered.

His smile was strained. “I am absolutely committed to being the man you spend Christmas with, but I don’t want to be the guy you regret the morning after.”

She could see the struggle on his face, the determination to make sure she knew her own mind…And in that instant, she fell a little bit in love with him.

They went their separate ways after lunch, Maddy to her writing, and Grant to try and dig out his Jeep. He breathed in the bitter cold air, and wished the weather had the power to affect his dick. He wondered how long a man could have an erection before his cock exploded.

Maddy was an almost irresistible temptation, but he meant what he said to her. She might not realize it yet, but he had every intention of exploring a relationship with her beyond this cabin. Previously nebulous thoughts and dreams were beginning to solidify. Family. Permanence. Home.

He looked at Maddy and saw a world of possibilities.

He used his hands and a small piece of plywood to scrape the thick snow from the vehicle. The cabin boasted neither a garage nor a carport, an omission he was rethinking. Of course, since he mostly used the cabin in the summertime, the issue had never really been critical.

He started the engine and let it run for a few minutes. What if Maddy had required real medical attention? What if he had needed to get her down the mountain? The narrow gravel road he had negotiated with ease two days ago was invisible, no sign of its boundaries remaining. Even if he could have forced the Jeep through the deep snow, he would likely have run off the road and gotten stuck. Thank God it hadn’t come to that.

When he was satisfied that the battery and gas line were operational, he turned the engine off, and wondered what he could do next—other than returning to the house. That wasn’t an option.

If he had to stay outside until his balls froze, he would do it. He picked up an ax and headed into the woods.

Maddy held the curtains aside, peering anxiously across the unbroken expanse of snow. The sight that caught her eye made her laugh. A snowman? Grant had made a snowman? And not just any snowman. This particular example was a work of art. Impulsively, she slipped on her dry tennis shoes and put on her coat. Standing on the porch, she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Facing west, the setting rays were blinding as they reflected off the snow.

She went back inside and retrieved a small disposable camera from her bag. When her world returned to normal, she wanted to have a few memories to hold on to. As she snapped a couple of pictures, Grant startled her, appearing unannounced from behind the cabin carrying a burlap sack.

“You shouldn’t be out here in this cold.”

She turned to greet him, unable to suppress a smile of happiness. “I love your version of Frosty. Do you have a scarf and a hat we can use?”

He grinned. “Probably. I would have asked for your help, but I don’t want to risk you getting sick.”

“I’m healthy as a horse.” Nonchalantly, she scooped a handful of snow from the porch rail and pressed it into a snowball. When he wasn’t looking, she fired it at him, hitting the back of his head with gratifying precision. “Intramural champ. Softball. UVA, junior year,” she called out.

A shiver snaked down her spine when he turned around, fire in his eyes. He scraped the wet glob from the back of his neck, cursing when part of her projectile slid beneath his collar. Her nervous giggle was entirely involuntary.

He cupped his hands in the snow, rising with an impressive icy orb in his hand. “Baseball captain. Virginia Tech. Three years running.” He caught her off guard, lobbing the ammunition while he was still speaking. When she turned to get away, it splatted on the side of her head, stinging her cheekbone.

His face changed in an instant, remorse sending him empty-handed toward where she stood. It was the perfect opportunity. She fired twice in rapid succession. “Back off, Monroe. This is war.”

Both of her shots hit the mark. He retreated rapidly, covered in snow. “You’ll pay for that,” he warned, beginning to build an arsenal.

“I’m so scared,” she whimpered, hitting the front of his coat over his heart. “The big bad man might hurt me.”

They fought in earnest, neither giving any quarter. Her best and most entertaining shot hit directly between his legs. His face went slack with surprise, before he winced in discomfort. He grinned up at her, rubbing his crotch. “You might keep in mind that damaging the equipment could impact your plans for the weekend.”

She laughed and pelted him again, prudently avoiding the zone below the belt. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Unfortunately, her battle position was inherently flawed. While Grant had the entire expanse of snow-covered ground to mine for ammunition, Maddy had quickly cleared the porch, steps and rail. Her base was wiped clean and her opponent was just getting started.

She backed toward the door. Grant made chicken noises. She stopped, her pride at stake. “I’m out of snow,” she pointed out.

He hit her shoulder with a
thwack.
“Should have thought of that earlier.” Then he fired with both hands at once.

Snow coated her hair and dripped into her eyes. She glared at him. “This is entirely outside the Geneva Convention.”

He shrugged. “Never been to Switzerland, myself.”

The next snowball hit between her breasts. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She peeled off her coat, her sweater and her bra in quick succession. Her skin was hot and damp from exertion. The cold air slammed into her chest, stealing her breath and furling her nipples into tightly peaked buds.

But any momentary discomfort was well worth it. Her attacker stood frozen, seemingly stunned, his mouth opened but mute, his eyes glazed. She walked down the four steps into the yard, sinking in snow up to her knees. She lifted her chin. “Open your coat.”

He seemed befuddled, but he cooperated, dropping the snowballs he still held. When he had unzipped his heavy parka, she waved a hand, scarcely noticing the cold. “Unbutton your shirt.”

He complied, more rapidly this time, revealing the golden brown skin of his chest. Her breath hitched in her throat. “Lie down on your back.”