Hers for the Holidays (7 page)

“We’d better stop talking about this and heat up dinner, or we’ll starve to death,” she said, loving how the sheer power of sex had warmed her, made her blood pound and her spirit feel lighter. “But you know, there are a lot of windows in this house,” she said provocatively. “We could test them all out.”

He laughed and she joined in.

This had definitely been a good decision, and she wanted more. After dinner.

* * *

E
LY
HEATED
UP
the dinner he’d brought home—the closest he ever came to cooking. Domestic duties weren’t his strong point, but he could manage a microwave. Lydia uncorked some red wine she found in the cupboard. Ely watched her for a second, replaying in his mind what had happened between them less than an hour ago. It still seemed surreal.

She was dressed in thin yoga pants and an oversize sweater that made her look even smaller than she actually was, and he knew she didn’t have anything on underneath. That thought made him want to go abandon dinner and strip off those clothes for a repeat performance.

Definitely later.

He wasn’t sure what had changed; she didn’t seem interested in talking about it—typical Lydia—but when he’d seen her in the window, he hadn’t been about to decline the invitation.

Still, it nagged at him. Why the quick switch in her thinking?

They settled on her living room floor in front of a huge hearth where he had started a fire before dealing with the food. Lydia dragged several large pillows and blankets down to the floor, pushing boxes and piles of things she had been sorting through out of the way.

Eating on plates in their laps, they clinked their wineglasses together and focused on their dinner, enjoying the quiet and the fire. Ely had to say something, finally, since it was clear that she wasn’t going to.

“So what changed your mind?” he asked, keeping his tone light as he stole some pad Thai from her plate, popping the succulent noodles into his mouth.

She shrugged. “I had time to think, and I was also tired of thinking. I’ve been so muddled lately, with the house, my mother, and everything going on. I needed to get out of my head, feel more like myself, I guess.”

Ely absorbed that, unsure how he felt about her explanation. So he was her distraction? Though he could understand why she might need that, and why she might need to feel something “normal,” he wasn’t sure if she had needed him or just someone. If he hadn’t been here, would anyone else have done? Kyle? Someone from the bar downtown?

“You said it was fine, that you weren’t looking for anything serious, right?” she asked, and he could hear the tinge of apprehension in her voice, as if she were reading his thoughts.

He had said that, and he meant it. Still, describing what had happened between them as “no big deal” bothered him, too.

“I did. I guess I’d like to think it was something of a big deal, at least right now,” he said, meeting her eyes, “that you wanted me.”

He felt kind of stupid telling her, but so be it.

She smiled a little. “I forget, the male ego is such a fragile thing. Of course it was because I wanted you, and it was very nice.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Nice? It was
nice?
”

“I said
very
nice,” she corrected, stealing some food from his plate, as well.

“I think it was way better than nice,” he countered.

“I’m glad.”

He knew she was teasing him, but called her on her bluff, having fun. He liked her when she was playful, which seemed to be far too rare.

“You think you could do better?”

She smiled, and her eyes shone in a way that made her light up inside. He loved it when she smiled like that.

“Are you daring me to make it even better?” she asked mischievously. “Hotter? More satisfying?”

Ely’s nerve endings—especially the ones south of the border—were very interested in her dare.

“You couldn’t possibly,” he said calmly, licking some sauce from his fingers.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” she purred, setting her plate aside and stripping off her top and throwing it to the floor.

Ely set his plate down, too, admiring how the firelight kissed her skin. Her hair fell down, hiding part of her face behind the silk curtain, turning her into an exotic creature focused only on his pleasure.

“What’s this symbol here, at the center of the rose?” he asked, letting his fingers trail down her sternum to land on the spot above her navel.

She looked down to where his finger lay against her skin.

“It’s a medicine wheel. A Native American friend did that one for me, after we took a drive out into the desert for a week. He said it represented my personal journey, my strengths, and it’s also a protective symbol. He told me some other things, too, but it was years ago, and I forget now,” she said, touching the mark fondly.

Ely’s first instinct was to question. Her friend—was he the kind of friend who also knew her intimately? Intimately enough to put a mark on her that would never be removed? That she still ran her fingers over with a lover’s touch?

Down boy,
he reminded himself. Lydia was not his—one of the reasons he was so attracted to her was because she was so completely her own person.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He looked up at her as she knelt gracefully before him, looking down. Her breasts were shadowed, her back to the fire, only her womanly shape silhouetted by the light coming from the hearth. He was already rock hard and decided not to worry about where her tats had come from. Maybe it was better if he didn’t know.

“Just looking at you and taking it all in,” he said, reaching up to brush his hand over the taut peak of her breast and loving how she responded so easily, her lips parting to take a breath as her head bent forward. She watched him for a few seconds as he touched her, and then fell forward, pushing him back to the pillows.

“I’m in charge this time, since I have a challenge to answer,” she said, her voice smoky.

Then she was kissing him again, her hands unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it away before sliding down over the burgeoning at the front of his jeans. He arched up into her touch, his jaw tense.

“So hard,” she said, undoing his jeans.

Lydia took her time touching him, exploring him everywhere. His body was one solid mass of muscle, his cock hot and hard in her hands.

“I would love to create a maze, right here,” she said, leaning down to touch her tongue lightly to his solar plexus, making him draw in a sharp breath. “It would wind all the way down,” she continued, her tongue tracing the path, “and only I would know where it leads,” she finished.

He swallowed hard as her mouth finally landed on the tip of his erection, her light touch reaching down to his root and pulling out a groan of pleasure. She ran her thumb over his shaft, as if exploring him, dragging her nails lightly down the inside of his thighs, to his knees, the back up to stroke him from tip to base. That had him arching from the floor, and as he did so, she took him suddenly and completely into her mouth.

Unable to hold back, he drove himself deeper. She moaned her approval and curled her hands around his backside, holding him there as her mouth worked him.

“Geez, Lydia,” he panted. “That’s all you got?”

He tried to laugh at his challenge, and was answered as she hummed against him, slipping her hands down in between his thighs to cup his balls, stroking the tender skin underneath with the intention of making him lose control as fast as possible; it was Ely’s personal goal in life, the very reason for his existence in that moment, to make this last as long as possible.

“Oh, that’s good,” he said on a long groan.

Drawing back, she let her tongue toy with the broad crown of his shaft until he was straining against her. He put his hands lightly on her head, not wanting to push, but to guide her just so.

She turned her head to look at him for a second, and the overwhelming heat of her gaze punched the breath from him. Her lips were ripe from kissing him, her eyes molten, hair mussed. She was every man’s wildest fantasy, there, poised over him in the most intimate way he could imagine.

“Just let go, Ely. Do whatever you want,” she said with a wicked smile as she lowered over him again.

He sighed, given her permission, and wrapped his fingers tightly into her hair as he pressed her down again, her lips meeting the root of his cock. He held her there, and then urged her back up until she knew the rhythm he wanted.

That excited her, too, by the sound of her groan against him. He removed one hand from her hair to caress her cheek, the back of her neck, her nipples, as she brought him closer.

Whimpering against him as she sucked, she shifted her body around, parting her legs so that he knew immediately what she wanted. He wanted it, too.

Lifting her legs up and over him, he put his mouth to her sex, sucking her as hard as she was him. She was salty and hot, slick from his mouth and from her own arousal. It drove him out of his mind. As she went deep on him again, her hands grabbing his backside to keep him there she did...something...that shot him off like a rocket.

He broke contact with her sex, drawing in air as his body buckled, pleasure so intense that he thought he might black out. He might have cursed, cried her name, something—he wasn’t sure—he couldn’t focus on anything but the orgasm that took over his body, and seemed to last longer than he could remember ever happening in his life.

When it started to fade, he was breathing as if he had just finished a marathon, his bones turned weak. When he reached to touch her again, his hands were shaking.

Hot damn.

She started to move away, but he stopped her.

“Not done yet,” he managed to say and pulled her back to him, sliding down underneath her.

“Ely,” she breathed, lifting up to her knees again so that she was poised above him. He parted her with his fingers and found her unerringly. Like she had done for him, he let her set the pace, her hands planted on his stomach as she rocked back and forth. It didn’t take long, and then she was crying out his name as she rode it out, finally falling forward over him.

Sliding her hands up his thighs, she levered herself gracefully back down beside him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, and he drew her closer, too.

“That was incredible. Amazing. Heart-stopping. Absolutely better than nice,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Thank you.”

She shook with gentle laughter at his side, and nodded. “I think we can do even better...later,” she whispered and Ely knew that if he died right now, it would be as a very happy man.

7

L
YDIA
WOKE
UP
ON
her living room floor as a slant of sun made its way through the window on the wall across from her. She turned over, too comfortable and satisfied to move any farther, her naked body wrapped in the thick blanket and pillows that surrounded her. She and Ely had put some of the big pillows to exquisitely creative use the night before, she remembered with a smile.

She’d slept better last night than she could remember doing in ages. Thanks to Ely, she thought with a smile, stretching long, working the kinks out of her muscles. She smelled like him—like them—causing her body to warm and soften even more, wanting his again. Satisfaction was momentary when it came to Ely—she always wanted more.

Where was he? In the shower? Maybe she could go join him...but listening closely, she heard nothing from upstairs. The house was silent.
Not even a mouse,
she thought with a chuckle.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep—but she did remember what had happened before she passed out while snuggled against Ely’s warm body. Lydia didn’t often actually sleep with her lovers, but it had seemed right this time. They were staying here in the same house, after all. It would have been ridiculous to ask him to go to his own room. There was no need to read any more into it than that.

Startled by the sound of her doorbell ringing, a glance at the clock showed it was after twelve, and she shot up, looking for her clothes on the floor, but only finding her pants. The bell rang again. Pulling them on, Lydia grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around her and pushing a hand through her hair as she called to whoever it was—probably one of the guys—to hold on. She pulled the door open and was shocked to see two women who looked just as surprised as she did.

“Who are you?” Lydia asked, not feeling too congenial as a bitterly cold wind blew up inside the blanket and some snow landed on her bare toes.

“I’m Faith Manning,” one of them said, eyeing her curiously.

“And I’m Geri Baxter,” the other said matter-of-factly. “You must be Lydia, Faye’s daughter?”

Lydia nodded. “I am. Can I help you? Ideally, before I turn into an ice cube?”

“Inviting us in would prevent that,” Geri said, not put off by Lydia’s directness. She sighed, stepping back and letting them in.

Lydia shivered again. Why was the house so cold? She’d just had the fuel tank filled when she’d arrived.

“So how can I help you two ladies?” They were probably selling something, or whatever. It wouldn’t take long to send them on their way.

“We left several messages on your home number and sent a letter in the mail. We didn’t have your cell phone,” Faith said nervously. The woman looked like she was on her last nerve, pale and tired, with heavy shadows under her otherwise pretty eyes. Lydia wondered if she was ill, and took a step back, her head starting to ache from lack of caffeine and a long night.

She saw both women look past her, taking in the room—the containers of Thai food were littered around, along with the bottle of wine and the blankets all over the floor. The fire in the hearth had long since burned out, and Lydia followed their gazes to Ely’s shirt, which was still thrown over the back of the sofa.

It looked like what it was, and Lydia shrugged. She wasn’t in the habit of making apologies to strangers for her personal life, and headed toward the kitchen.

“I forget to check the machine. I’m not used to having a landline. Come on in, I need to make some coffee,” she said, stopping to put on a pair of her slippers she’d left in the hallway the day before.

The women followed her, and as Lydia attended to the coffee, Faith spoke.

“We were hoping your mother had told you about us, but we weren’t sure. We’re so sorry to have lost her. This must be a terrible time for you,” the younger woman said sympathetically.

“Thank you. Told me what?” Lydia said as the coffee started to brew and she turned to face the two women.

“We’re the Winter Festival organizers. Most of the planning is done, but we thought it would be canceled when Faye passed away, and didn’t leave any provisions. But I guess she did, since you’re here. If you’ll allow it, we have to start setting up and solidify the schedule.”

Lydia blinked, having no idea what they were talking about.

“Okay. Wait. What does that have to do with me?”

The women looked at each other, clearly tense.

“The town has held the festival here at the ranch for the last few years. It was planned to be held here this year, as well.”

Lydia wasn’t sure she heard correctly. “That can’t be right. The festival was always held in the field at the edge of town.”

“Oh, that was stopped years ago. That field was used to build a new child-care center now—didn’t you notice?”

Lydia shook her head. She hadn’t, actually.

“Your mom always said she was happy to support the town in any way that she could. She enjoyed all the festivity, having people around for that weekend. She really got into it, before she was sick, of course. She would help us plan, bake, decorate, and she became a big part of the festival itself. She even played Mrs. Claus one year.”

Lydia was silent, turning to pour some coffee. She asked her two visitors if they would like some, and then poured two more cups.

“See, here are some pictures of your mom at last year’s festival. We thought you might like to have them. She said it was hard for you to make it back too often, owning your own business and everything,” Geri added, pulling some pictures from her purse. “But we’re hoping you’re okay with it. It’s too late to reschedule anywhere else. If your mom hadn’t offered the use of her land, the festival would have been over with years ago. It’s hard to find anyone who was willing to host.”

Lydia sipped her coffee, but didn’t notice the women’s curious, subverted glances as they saw some of the ink revealed where the blanket slipped. Lydia stepped up to the table and looked down at the pictures, a hard lump forming in her throat as she saw her mom smiling back from the images on the table. Her mother was with a group of kids building snowmen in one picture, handing out cookies and hot chocolate in another, standing on a tall ladder with several other people helping to hang lights around the barns.

Winter Festival? Here?

There was an older one, and her eyes fell on it. She was standing with her mother, with a huge tray of cookies they had baked for the festival.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, picking it up.

“Your mom used it for one of the posters one year—we thought you might like it back. You were so cute then,” Faith said, and then turned red, her eyes widening. “I mean, not that you’re not gorgeous now, or anything, just there, you were so—”

“I need to put some clothes on,” Lydia said abruptly, putting her coffee down so hard that it sloshed over the edges.

She made her way upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind her, leaning back against it, her breath coming as hard as if she had been running.

How was she supposed to do this? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t host a party for the whole town. She wasn’t her mother. She had to tell them no. This was too much.

But as she closed her eyes, she saw her mother’s face in the pictures. She’d been so happy. Her mom had always loved Clear River, and the Winter Festival had always been one of her favorite events. Of course she would have wanted to host it if it were threatened with ending.

And she’d be disappointed if Lydia was the reason they had to cancel this year.

Lydia grabbed her jeans, heavy socks and pulled a wool sweater over a thermal shirt, though she was still cold from head to toe as she made her way back to the kitchen.

Faith and Geri looked at her with clear apprehension.

“I’m so sorry, Lydia. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Faith said, standing and crossing the kitchen to put a hand on her arm.

Lydia looked down at her hand, and Faith pulled it back. Great, now she was scaring the locals.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t take it that way. I just have so much going on,” Lydia said, trying to sound more reasonable. “I have to clean out the house, get it ready to sell. I need to get back to my business in Philly, and this place needs repairs as well as all the daily upkeep. How can I do all of that with the festival, too?” she said, sounding a little more desperate than she meant to.

The women looked at each other and then back a Lydia. “We can help. We have a whole team of people who volunteer to help set up. What if we volunteered to help you get the house cleared out, too?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lydia said, not having expected that and feeling cornered and unsure about having strangers help her with such a personal task.

“Listen, I know this is hard for you, but we can help each other,” Geri added practically. “Your mother would have wanted it this way. She told us you might have a hard time coming back here, for a lot of reasons.” The older woman paused, giving Lydia a knowing look. “But we were her friends, and so we’re yours, too. That’s how she would have wanted it.”

Lydia nodded, unsure how to feel about the fact that her mother had apparently shared some of her private issues with these women, and had trusted them enough to do so. And here they were offering to help. She wanted to say no, to decline gracefully, but there was no way she could do all of this by herself. And her mother would have wanted her to help the town. She relented, her shoulders sinking.

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

Geri nodded in approval. “We can go over a schedule with you, and plan in some extra time to help you with the house, to start with.”

Faith placed a warm hand on Lydia’s cold one. “We loved your mother, and she always spoke so highly of you. I know how hard it can be—I lost my father last year. It can be hard, but it’s easier with friends around.”

Lydia blew out a breath, unable to argue anymore. She seemed to have friends popping up left and right, whether she wanted them or not.

“Okay, well, let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, just as the back door opened, another swoosh of cold air blasting into the kitchen.

Ely appeared in the doorway that led from the mudroom to the kitchen, his gaze landing on the two women at the kitchen table, and then on Lydia.

Heat arced between them, and suddenly her fingers started to warm up, among other things. He looked rugged and incredibly handsome in her father’s wool camp coat, brushing snow from his front with hands that had driven her to madness the night before.

“Lydia,” he said. “Ladies,” to Faith and Geri.

“Morning, Ely,” she said, and then realized again that it was actually well past lunchtime. “Faith, Geri, this is Ely Berringer, a friend from back east. He’s helping out here, too, for a little while,” Lydia said.

Ely stomped the snow off of his boots and kicked them off, walking into the kitchen. Lydia smiled to herself as she watched the women’s appreciative glances take in his tall, muscular frame, revealed as he draped his coat over the door. Crisp, dark hair held melting flecks of snow, falling against his forehead and accenting warm hazel eyes and a straight nose. Her heart flipped a little as her eyes landed on his mouth. She wanted to kiss him hello, and struggled to control the urge. He seemed to know as his eyes met hers, the memories of the night before swimming between them. Somehow, she managed to find her voice again.

“Ely, this is Faith Manning and Geri Baxter.”

Faith stood, smiling as she linked her arm through Lydia’s. She looked tired, still, but happier.

“We’re the Winter Festival planners this year. Nice to meet you, Ely,” she said.

They shook hands, and Ely’s gaze fell on Lydia again.

“We?”
Ely said in surprise.

“Apparently my mom offered up the place as the site for the festival. It’s too late to reschedule to have it anywhere else,” she said, offering a brief explanation.

He smiled. “That sounds fun. Let me know of anything I can do to help,” Ely said.

“I’m sure we can think of lots of things for a strong, young guy like you to do,” Geri said with a wide grin.

Lydia felt a stirring of something green, her eyes moving to the wedding rings Geri wore. Faith didn’t wear any, however.

Ely frowned. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Yeah, it’s been that way all morning,” Lydia said, her voice sounding a little more breathless than she liked. Her cheeks warmed as she noted the women watching her, then Ely, with knowing glances.

Now they knew whose shirt was thrown over the sofa in the other room, of course.

“That’s actually what I came up to talk to you about. Cold in the bunkhouses, too.”

Lydia frowned. “I just had the tanks filled two weeks ago.” At significant cost, she added to herself. Fuel oil wasn’t cheap. “Something must be wrong with the burners.”

Ely’s expression turned serious. “I’ll kick on the generators and we can start the woodstoves and the fireplace until we can get someone out here to see what happened,” he said, grabbing his coat and stepping back into his boots.

“Thanks,” Lydia said.

“Wow,” Geri said, fanning herself as Ely went back out the door. “If that’s how they grow them back in Philly, I think I should have gone to college back east like Mom said,” she added.

Faith laughed. “Aw, you know you wouldn’t trade Alex for anyone, but I have to second that wow. He’s yours?” she asked Lydia frankly. “I can see why you want to sell and go back home. Though he sure fits in here very nicely.”

Lydia stammered, unsure how to respond. How to say Ely had only been hers for a night—maybe for as long as they decided this would last—and there wasn’t anything else going on?

“We’re just friends,” she managed, turning to get another cup of coffee.

“I wish I had a friend like that,” Faith said with a grin.

Lydia couldn’t help but smile. Faith had a way, particularly, of making it impossible not to.

“He’s a good guy. But we’re not involved,” she said, unsure how convincing she was being.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I invited him for coffee? You know, welcomed him to town?” Faith asked innocently.