Claustrophobic Christmas (6 page)

“I don’t usually read love stories, but I got a kick out of the one last month about Miriam and Alex,” he said. “That’s going to be ongoing, right?”

Miriam and Alex’s tale had been sexier than her usual stories. She knew exactly what had inspired it and hoped James didn’t.

“I thought about a series,” she said. “People like a romance in their fiction.”

“Those two crazy kids definitely need to visit the Bahamas for the next installment.”

“They—”

She snapped her mouth shut when his fingers brushed the parka’s shoulder. She was so sensitized to him she could feel his touch through layers of down.

“If you and I went to the Bahamas together, we could get really creative,” he said in a lower voice.

Darcy swallowed. “Creative?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Either he was going there or her libido was going all by itself. What would she give to get creative with James in the Bahamas. In Dallas. In her car, right now. She had to silence her inner hedonist. Damned hedonists generally liked to visit exotic climes.

“James, I don’t think so. There’s so much going on at the office. Telecommuting is okay, but it’s simpler when I stick close to home.”

“You’re a busy woman,” he agreed. “There’s something to be said for taking care of things yourself.” He responded so dispassionately to a conversation that had threatened to turn nuclear, she must have imagined his double entendres.

It was time to redirect the topic away from travel, though it was one of her favorite things to discuss…all the places in the world she longed to see but never would.

“So what kind of dinner are you missing in the Jones household tonight?” she asked him. “We have vegetable soup the day before Christmas Eve.”

“Turkey,” James said. “Ham tomorrow and pizza for Christmas.”

“Really? We do pizza on Christmas Day too,” Darcy said, surprised. “Nobody wants to cook after staying up so late the night before.”

He laughed. “Small world, huh? I bet Papa Pat’s does more business on Christmas than Super Bowl Sunday.”

Darcy frowned. She opened her mouth to say,
don’t remind me how small things are
, but she was trying to distract herself from that. Unfortunately, she didn’t distract herself quickly enough. Thinking of missing dinners and small worlds reminded her how long she’d been in the traffic jam. In the car. The windows had steamed up like someone was taking a shower in here. She couldn’t see out.

Whoa. Not good
. How long had they been talking? Sitting here? In this tiny vehicle?

Darcy’s nerves jolted. She needed a taste of freedom, bad. She twisted the key in the ignition. The chime of the seatbelt alert filled the car as she rolled her window down.

She shoved off the parka hood. Cold air bit her scalp through her hair, but the coat protected the rest of her. She turned the key off to silence the chime.

James rubbed his arms. “You wanna roll up that window?”

She stuck her hand into the night, her link to the wide open spaces. Ice and snow spattered her painfully. Better. “I’d rather not.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “Then how about we find your coat? I don’t think we can share the parka.”

But it was so warm. If she climbed over the console into James’s seat and… Darcy!

“It’s on the floorboard.” She dove between the seats at the same time he did. Their heads conked together like a bat and a ball. Stars burst behind her eyelids. Her glasses slid down her nose. She and James fell back into their respective seats with groans and curses.

“Sorry, Darce. You okay over there?” He laughed. “Shit, you got a hard head.”

“You’re one to talk.” His skull had left a throbbing bruise in the center of her forehead. She blinked away a sheen of pain-response tears. “Stay put, mister. I’ll get the jacket.”

Darcy shed the parka and thrust it at him before scrabbling through packages in the back. The jelly bean in her bra, which she’d forgotten, took this opportunity to drop under the right cup.

Darcy hunched her shoulders but couldn’t dislodge the bean, so she grabbed the jacket. Her “winter” coat had a waterproof outside, fleece lining and the Weather Channel logo on the chest. It had been a gift from her father two years ago.

She wriggled into it and settled in her seat, wriggling extra in hopes the jelly bean would fall out. It didn’t. She stopped before James asked if she had ants in her pants.

“This isn’t the first time someone’s told me I have a hard head,” she informed him.

“Me neither. Aren’t we a pair?” He reached beneath him and held up another jelly bean. “This makes, what, four? How big was that box of candy?”

“Thirty-five assorted gourmet flavors. I spare no expense when I trash my car.” She zipped her coat, thinking. The jelly bean was an annoying blip of discomfort. She could slip a hand up her sweatshirt and snake the damned thing out of her bra. He’d never notice.

“Reckon this one is…” He put it in his mouth and chewed. “Green apple. Hoo. That is sour.”

“You ate that?”

“Yeah, why not? It was my butt on it. What flavor’s your favorite?”

She recalled his behind with great fondness. “I like the hot butt.”

“The what?”

“Hot buttered popcorn,” she managed. She quit trying to retrieve the jelly bean and started laughing.

“Is there an iced tea flavor?” he asked. “I don’t know how much longer I can go without a drink of something.”

She propped her arm on the open window, inhaling the frigid air. The frames of her glasses chilled against her skin. She hoped the outlet would be enough, but she still felt a little hair-trigger after her close call. “You sure about that? We’re not very close to Memphis.”

“Yeah, but I’m a guy.”

“Brag, brag, brag. There are sodas in the cooler at your feet.” If he drank one in front of her, that would be cruel. She hadn’t seen any ladies approach the roadside, but it was dark and the windows were fogged up. “Seriously, how much longer do you think we’ll be here?”

“One time I got stuck for twelve hours going over some mountains.”

“Twelve hours!” She’d never survive twelve hours with this snow squeezing in on her like the trash compactor in the Death Star. “What did people do? Did they run out of gas?”

Or air? Breathing in and out and in and out in a tight space for a long time—oxygen wasn’t self-replicating.

Oh, no
. Darcy’s body started to jitter in a too-familiar way and she closed her eyes.
No, no, no. Go away!

“A few did. The police came along and helped everybody eventually.”

“What if somebody…”
Suffocated?
“Went into labor?”

“Hopefully there was a doctor stuck there too,” he joked, reclining his seat. Getting comfortable.

Her pulse sped up to match her breathing. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“James, I can’t sit here for twelve hours.”

“Might only be four or five hours. They’ll rig up some industrial heaters or salt or something to thaw the ice on the bridge, if that’s what the problem is.”

“Five hours?” She didn’t like to go more than an hour in the car without a break. It had been close to two. Three. God, she’d lost count. Her skin crawled and she lost control of her breathing. He was going to notice. “That’s too much.”

“We’ll manage,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve been sitting here, what, thirty minutes already? Seems shorter, but there’s the clock.”

“Thirty minutes!” She inhaled deeply, unable to get her lungs full. Was it stuffy in here? Airless?

“Time flies when you’ve got somebody to talk to. Hey, in my truck I’ve got a deck of—”

“I can’t do this.” Darcy smacked the door handle, shoved it open, and fell to the ground.

She sank into several inches of snow, her hands aching, her sweatpants dampening, her breath wheezing. Her glasses dangled from one ear. The interior light shone around her in a yellow square that invited everyone to gaze upon the crazy lady in the Grandma sedan. No, the crazy lady jumping out of the Grandma sedan.

The passenger door slammed and she felt hands on her shoulders, urging her out of the snow. “Darcy, honey, are you sick? Is it your stomach?”

“No.” She wasn’t going to lie to him. She wasn’t a liar, she just let people believe things that weren’t true.

He helped her stand and slid her glasses onto her face. She inhaled long and slow, holding it in until she was dizzy. The wind blew the precipitation sideways, zinging them with flakes and pellets. Her hair whisked out of the bun and half-covered her face.

She let it. It was fuzzy and warm.

James peered at her with a frown. “Did I do something?”

“No. I’m…”
Neurotic.

He brushed snow off her sleeves. When she did nothing besides breathe and tremble, he knelt in front of her and dusted her pants. She was too cold to feel it.

The dog and the doggie daddy were watching them, but the kids were sacked out in the back of the SUV.

“I’ve got issues,” she whispered. She closed her door, shutting off the light.

“What did you say?” He stood, close, almost touching, his body blocking the wind.

She had to tell him or send him away. Claustrophobia wasn’t bizarre, wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but it had far-reaching consequences. Like a travel agent who didn’t travel. “I don’t want to get back in the car.”

“Okay.” He brushed her hair out of her eyes. His hood was off; his gloves were off. His hands were cold too. “Are you going to tell me why, or is it none of my business?”

Icy wind whipped their exposed skin in a painful blast of liberty. Better. Much better. Darcy didn’t even mind him sharing her space. His big, parka-clad body was so solid it seemed like nothing could knock him over, faze him, or catch him unaware.

During the past six months, she’d learned a lot about James’s likes and dislikes. He was laid back and accepting. He wouldn’t hate her. He wasn’t a hateful person. Maybe if he knew, it could enhance their working relationship. Besides, who else was he going to talk to for the next twelve hours? Doggy daddy?

“I have a confession,” she whispered.

He leaned close enough that she could see him wink. “You farted in there?”

Darcy kind of laughed. If only. “James, seriously. This is a big deal.”

“I’m listening.” When she only swallowed, he caressed her hair, trapping it against her head. “You can tell me anything, Darcy. You know that, right?”

Here goes.

“I’m claustrophobic. Small spaces, you know. All that mess.” She stared at the snow. It buried her feet, and she could feel it soaking her sneakers. “I need air sometimes.”

He released her hair. “And here I am crowding you.”

“Don’t go.” She grabbed his coat and pulled before he could get away.

His body bumped her into the car and she held him fast. He obliged her. She couldn’t tell if he was reluctant, but he did what she wanted.

Darcy shivered. Everything out here was grey and white and black, bleached out by the storm and the night. Her front was protected, but oh bananas, was every other part of her cold! Her face and feet seemed to be getting the worst of it. They burned with chill, which was strange, in an oxymoronic way. Snow coated her hair and his hair. It coated their shoulders and their shoes up to the ankles.

“How much air do you need?” James asked.

“I don’t know.” The wind picked up, showering them with ice. Her hair thrashed like an unpruned bush. He tried smoothing it back but was unequal to the task. So he protected her face, his hands cupping her cheeks.

A black strand of the monster flew into his mouth and he laughed. “You have more hair than anybody I’ve ever met.”

“And a hard head,” she reminded him. She closed her eyes and concentrated on what it sounded like to be out of doors. The whistle of wind, the gurgle of motors, and in between that, the delicate rain of snow and ice. She heard voices, the crackle of a radio. Car doors. A baby crying.

Her skin felt different out here, without the pressure of walls.

Her body felt different with James pressing her instead of walls. Different good.

“I’m about to do something forward,” James told her.

Her eyes flew open and she stared at his shadowy face. There wasn’t enough light to read his expression. “Forward in what way?”

He unzipped his coat and raised his hands to her neck. His knuckles brushed her jaw. “I’ll stop if you’re ready to get in the car.”

Darcy’s pulse, which had slowed, thumped back to life. His face was right above hers. Once again she imagined him naked, a good sign her claustrophobic fit had passed.

“I’m happy right here,” she said, and she meant it.

“If we’re exposed to the elements, we need to be warmer.” He unzipped her jacket and molded himself against her, without fleece and fiberfill between them. Her head reached his shoulder. They touched from her face to her knees. Certain parts of them weren’t on a level, but she wasn’t complaining. That wasn’t why they were doing this.

Not at all. Not even a little.

Well, maybe he wasn’t.

Of course, he’d been the one who’d suggested they get personal yesterday. He had to be thinking some of the same things she was.

He adjusted his parka, encasing them both. One arm slipped around her, his hand splayed against her back. “Better?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. She cuddled against him, her frozen hands on his chest. What would he do if she stuck them under his shirt? “You’re hot.”

“Thank you. So are you.”

“I meant warm.”

“I meant hot.”

Darcy smiled. He smelled like soap and cedar and green apple jelly bean. His other hand slid beneath their outerwear at the small of her back and cinched her tight against him.

His jaw pressed her temple. His body pressed her body. When he spoke, she could feel his lips move against her skin. “The problem is, I can’t stay here much longer.”

She felt like she could stand with him for two days, easy, soaking him in like a sponge. “Why not?”

He bent lower, and his lips tickled her ear. “I mentioned I was a guy, right?”

“You bragged,” she said. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

His hand dropped to an area on her backside that was more suggestive. “No. Do you?”