A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba (3 page)

“Virginity is overrated.”

“Then, what?”

He pulled his hand away and scooped both hands under her behind to lift her. “Hold onto me.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He lifted her, and something big and hard pressed against her. “Osbourne?”

“Hmmm?”

“Your gun is in the way. It’s prodding at me.”

“That’s not my gun, sweets.” With a wicked grin, he turned them both away from the wall.

Not his…Well, what then?

He started toward her bedroom, and her thoughts scattered. Uh-oh. “Osbourne?”

“Yeah, babe?”

His long legs quickly traversed the limited space of her apartment. “We’re going to make love now?”

“You betcha.”

She bit her lip, then offered, “The couch might work better.”

“No way.” He kissed her hard and fast, his eyes glittering. “I need plenty of room for what I want to do to you.”

Wow, that sounded…
enticing.
She glanced at her closed bedroom door. “But…”

“Don’t pull back on me now, Marci. I need you.”

Her heart expanded. He
needed
her. She cupped a hand to his jaw and smiled. “Okay.”

“Thank God.” He reached for her bedroom door.

Marci rushed to say, “If you insist on the bed, though, we’ll need to do one thing first.”

“Yeah?” He opened the door. “What’s that?”

He no sooner asked the question than the donkey rushed him, screaming,
“Aw-ee, aw-ee, aw-ee.”

Shocked, Osbourne stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and they both went down in a tangle. “What the hell!”

The donkey loomed over them.

Full of apology, Marci winced. “You’ll need to help me get the donkey back to his rightful owners.”

Slowly, his gaze ripe with accusation, Osbourne turned to stare at her. Never before had Marci seen anyone so red-faced, so enraged, or so disappointed.

“You had to take the damned donkey, didn’t you?”

Because Osbourne lay over her, pinning down her legs, she had to stretch to reach the donkey. She patted his soft nose and said, “He doesn’t mean it, honey. You’re not damned.”

“Oh, God.” Groaning as if in horrible pain, Osbourne collapsed back against the wall. Still tangled with her, he scrubbed both hands over his face, then scrubbed again, this time growling like a wild beast. “I’m going to kill Lucius. It doesn’t matter that he’s the team leader. He got me into this—”

“Did you see the donkey’s flank?”

Through his fingers, Osbourne peeked at her. Just that one eye, but it looked pretty incredulous.

“His flank?”

“Yes, you see…” But it was difficult to talk in that particular position. “Osbourne, could you please let me up?”

He didn’t look like he wanted to. That one eye glared at her, and finally he dropped his hands and started to rise.

Her robe gaped open—all the way to her navel—and he went deaf and dumb, but apparently not blind. His gaze burned her, leaving her scorched.

He closed his mouth. Swallowed. Licked his lips.

“Stop that, Osbourne.”

“All right.”

But he didn’t. As hot as flames, his midnight eyes examined every inch of her until Marci flushed hot with embarrassment and shoved at his shoulder.
“Osbourne.
You’re pinning down me
and
my housecoat. I can’t make myself decent until you move so I can rearrange things.”

“Okay.” He nudged aside a mere inch.

Painfully aware of her exposed nudity, Marci groaned. “Snap out of it, Osbourne.” And to help him, she covered herself with both hands, but that just made him suck in a breath and lean closer again—until the donkey took exception and began its brassy, raspy braying.

“Good God.” That got Osbourne moving, and quickly, too.

He stumbled to his feet, which put his crotch at eye level for her.

She stared. No, that couldn’t be, but…

He grabbed her arms and hauled her upward. “Shut that donkey up before the whole apartment complex knows he’s here.”

Distracted, Marci readjusted her robe and then stroked the donkey’s long ears until it quieted. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get you back where you belong.”

Like a man bent on murder, Osbourne growled, “To the Nativity scene.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “No, to Kentucky.”

“Marci,” he warned.

“Osbourne,” she said right back. “Let me show you. Do you see this marking here on his flank? Well, it’s a discriminating mark, so I’m sure when he was stolen, it was included in his description to help identify him.”

Osbourne frowned. “I see it.”

“When he was a baby, he got caught in a fence and cut himself. The wound left a scar. If you’ll just go check”—she shooed him toward the living room—“with whoever lists stolen donkeys, I’m sure you’ll find out who his real family is, and then we can return him.”

Nodding, Osbourne went to the living room but then, realizing what he’d done, he stopped. Marci almost ran into his broad back.

He turned to glare at her. “There is no damn ‘stolen donkey’ list.”

Ignoring that, she smiled. “The phone’s right over there.” Again, she shooed him.

He pushed her hands back down. “Stop doing that.”

“Osbourne, be reasonable. I can’t keep a donkey here. It’s not like he’s housebroken. We need to return him.”

Teeth locked, Osbourne leaned down and said, “To the Nativity—”

Marci kissed him.

He jerked back so fast he almost fell.

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t hold back her long, dreamy sigh. They’d been moments away from making love, and her body still sizzled with need, and she just knew when they did finally get around to being intimate, it’d be too wonderful for words. “When you’re that close, I just can’t help myself.”

“Oh, no.” He covered his ears and fled to the other side of the room. “No, you don’t. Not again.” And then, finger pointing and voice harsh with accusation, he growled, “You used me!”

Confused, Marci shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“You were going to have sex with me—”

“Oh, yes I was.” She nodded. “Because you’re irresistible.”

“For the love of—”

“And, yes, if you had agreed to the couch instead of insisting on the bedroom, you’d have been used. For sex. For satisfaction. My satisfaction.” She shrugged in apology. “Again, I’m sorry, but it’s been a very long time for me, and you’re a terrible temptation.”

His eyes crossed. “Be quiet. I mean it, Marci. You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“Making me hard.”

Scoffing, she felt compelled to point out the obvious. “You were hard about two seconds after you got here.”

He covered his face again and dropped onto her sofa with a deep groan. “No,” he said without looking at her. “I was semihard. There’s a difference.”

“Semihard?” Intrigued by that idea, she inched toward him.

But he must have heard her approach because he snarled, “Stay. Away.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t be trusted. Hell, I can’t be trusted. You’re like a damned lodestone. You get close and my hands are all over you.”

“But I like that.”

“Not. Another. Word.”

She sighed. “Will you quit hiding long enough to call whoever keeps track of stolen donkeys?”

His hands fell to his sides. “Surely, even you can’t really think there is such a list?”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“So…Donkeys are just listed with the thefts of material things? But that’s terrible. He’s a living, breathing, sensitive creature. Why, just look at him.”

In disgust, Osbourne peered at the donkey.

Lowering his ears, his big brown eyes going soulful, the donkey peered back, and then he brayed again.

“Shhh.” Marci patted him while frowning at Osbourne. “You need to reassure him.”

He stared at her, blank-faced, then, very forlorn, he muttered, “If only you weren’t so hot.”

Joy blossomed inside her. “Why, thank you.” Marci beamed at him. “You’re hot, too. And, I agree, it would be so much easier if you weren’t.”

His blank look continued.

In explanation, Marci said, “I don’t particularly care for wanting a man who thinks I’m daft.”

“I never said—”

“Oh, please. You look at me like I need to be committed.” She rolled her eyes. “See, you’re doing it right now.”

He tried to wipe all expression from his face, but it only made him look ridiculous.

“Osbourne, would you please just call whoever you need to call, check to find out about a stolen donkey with a scar on his flank and collar buttons, and that’ll prove his ownership.”

“Collar buttons?”

Marci stroked the donkey’s throatlatch. “Yes, these small dark spots right here. They’re called collar buttons.”

For a moment there, Marci thought Osbourne would refuse, and she didn’t know what she would do without his help. It was difficult enough stealing the donkey from the Nativity scene. Getting him back to his home would be nearly impossible on her own.

Osbourne’s eyes sort of glazed over, then he shook his head as if to clear it. “Fine. I’ll call and check on it. But while I do that, will you go put on some clothes?”

“If you want.”

“I don’t. Not really. I’d much rather you strip down to your birthday suit and that we…Well, forget that. If I don’t find any information on a stolen donkey, I’ll have to return him to the Nativity scene. You do understand that, right?”

She licked her lips, thinking it through. What if he couldn’t find what he needed to be convinced? That didn’t mean the donkey was wrong about his situation, only that Osbourne hadn’t uncovered the proper information.

The donkey trusted her, and she supposed she’d have to trust Osbourne. What else could she do?

“If you’re sincere, and you actually do all you can, follow every lead to find out if he’s been stolen, then yes, I suppose we can take him back there.”

“All right, then.” He chewed his upper lip and, with blatant regret, dragged his gaze off her. He went to her phone.

Marci patted the donkey. “Wait here, darling. I’ll be right back.”

Ozzie gripped the phone a little tighter. “Come again?” Surely he hadn’t heard Sanderson right.

“It was reported a few weeks ago. Actually, the owners have hired people to find him. He was a beloved family pet or something.” Sanderson added, voice low, “If you’ve got him, there’s a reward of five grand.”

Five
thousand
dollars? “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Yeah, but that’s what the bulletin says.”

From behind him, Marci replied, “Told you so.”

He whirled around, and though she had covered herself from neck to toes in a pair of skinny faded jeans, thick white socks, and an oversized hooded white sweatshirt, she still turned his crank in the most sizzling way.

Remembering the taste and texture of her nipples caused his jaw to tighten. He thought of her smooth belly, and his heart thundered. He recalled her gasp as he’d pushed his finger into her, and his palms went damp.

He had to have her, no matter what. Just once. Maybe. Or twice. But not enough to get involved. Not enough to make her think she had claims. He never, ever wanted to deal with another irrational broad bent on revenge.

First, though, before anything else, he had to deal with a pilfered donkey.

Oblivious to his suffering, Marci smiled brightly. “Your truck is full of SWAT gear, I know, but I still have the truck I rented to steal him from those unscrupulous donkey thieves.”

Lord help him. Giving Marci his back, Ozzie said into the phone, “What’s the address? I’ll take him back to the owners right now.”

After reciting the directions, Sanderson asked, “You want me to run this through the legal channels?”

“Not yet.” If it turned out to be the wrong donkey, he didn’t want Marci arrested for stealing the beast. He’d rather just return it quietly, and hope no one would be the wiser. “Keep this to yourself for now, will ya?”

“You got it, Oz. No problem. But I’m curious now, so let me know how it turns out.”

“Will do.”

After hanging up, Ozzie turned and found Marci seated on the couch, snow boots on her feet, with her coat, mittens, and scarf beside her. “Are you ready?”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Do not—“What made you think he was stolen and that he lived in Kentucky?”

“He told me.”

Eyes closing, Ozzie cursed himself. He knew better, damn it. But oh, no, he had to go and quiz her.

“I’m not bonkers, you know.” Marci tipped her head, sending that long, baby-fine brown hair tumbling over her shoulder and curling around a breast. “It’s just, well…I’m a pet psychic.”

No. He’d just keep looking at her chest, the way it filled out the front of that thick sweatshirt, and he’d pretend she hadn’t just said that.

“Did you hear me, Osbourne?” She stood and started toward him and Ozzie wanted to jump her, to drag her to the ground and pick up where they’d left off. Although maybe he’d be smarter to get the hell out of Dodge. But if he made a run for it, would Lucius find out and tell everyone else on the team that a slip of a woman had chased him off? Would the other guys volunteer to finish what he’d started, would—

The donkey nibbled on his butt.

“What the hell!” Leaping a foot, Ozzie jerked around. The donkey was right
there,
not two inches from him, his ears laid back and his big brown eyes soulful.

How had the damned thing moved so silently?

“He’s just being friendly.” Marci shared that special smile that felt like a caress. “He likes you.”

Appalled, Ozzie said, “He likes my ass.” And he backed out of the donkey’s reach.

“I do, too.”

No, no,
no
. He wasn’t about to touch that one. “It’d help if you’d just be quiet, Marci.”

Unaffected by his dark mood, she laughed. “Lighten up, Osbourne. It’s not my fault, or the donkey’s, that you have such an irresistible bod.”

“Can we talk about something else, damn it?”

“Okay.” Her lips curled. “What would you like to talk about?”

Ozzie shook his head. With her again so close, he noticed that she was just the right height to tuck in close. And built just right to align all her female parts with his male parts, if he bent his knees the tiniest bit. And she smelled good enough to eat.
Whoa.
Totally bad image to get in his head. Bad. Bad.