Once Upon a Christmas (40 page)

Her best friend in the whole world.

Maybe now he’d realize how perfect they were for each other.
She’d spent three years living next door to him—three companionable, let’s-be-pals,
excruciatingly platonic years. Last night everything had changed.

Oh, boy, how it had changed. Feeling giddy, Chloe snuggled
closer to Nick’s warmth and fought the urge to wake him up just to tell him how
happy she was. That wouldn’t be fair, not after the late night they’d spent
together. He deserved at least another ten minutes’ sleep.

Maybe five.

Nick snuffled and turned over. His arm whipped from her
waist and sailed toward her head like a sleepy stealth missile. Chloe ducked
just as it smacked into her pillow. Whew. She never knew sleeping with a guy
could be so dangerous.

Too excited to sleep anymore, she used his movement for
cover and slipped out of bed to go freshen up. Maybe she’d even put together a
little breakfast
à deux
. After last night, they could both do with a
recharge.

Her feet hit the floor. Behind her the covers rustled, and
Nick gave a soft muffled moan before going back to sleep. Chloe’s heart skipped
a little higher. Nick was in her bed!

Nick was with her.

Oh, sure. She and Nick had never shared more than a hug
before last night. And yeah, he did just happen to be slightly on the rebound
from what’shername, the mean, commitment-hungry brunette he’d been dating until
yesterday. But, Chloe told herself as she emerged from the bathroom and
pattered down the hall, that was all in the past. From now on, things would be
different. Way different. Last night he’d seen another side to her, and things
could never go back to the way they were before.

Never go back
. In the kitchen, the thought of losing
all the closeness she and Nick had shared over the years made her pause. Could
their friendship survive becoming lovers? What if they’d ruined everything?
What if they broke up?

What if she was jumping to conclusions?
We can do this
,
she told herself.
We’ll be a match made in heaven
. So what if they were
sort of an unlikely combination? So were her clothes most of the time, and they
still managed to work okay.

Chloe glanced down at herself, taking in the purple
polka-dotted boxer shorts she usually slept in, the bright orange bra she’d
substituted for her T-shirt in the name of maximum sexiness, and the way her
fingers were shaking, and tried to gather her courage. It was just Nick, for
Pete’s sake.
Her Nick
. There was nothing to worry about.

Right. Before she could angst any further, she got busy
putting together breakfast—a pot of coffee, a box of chocolate donuts, and a
bowl of dried banana chips. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly health food, but it
would have to do for now. Juggling the wicker basket she’d put everything in,
Chloe stopped at the threshold of her bedroom and warily looked in.

Sunlight rushed between the slats of her bedroom’s white
window shutters and brightened the midnight blue walls, streaking glimmers of
gold across plants and pictures and the man sprawled across her bed. Discarded
clothes—his and hers—trailed across the carpet, making a path to the arched
foot of her big wooden sleigh bed. Chloe tiptoed to it and set the breakfast
basket on the bureau beside it, unable to wait any longer. It was time for Nick
to wake up…and she was just the woman to make sure he did so in the nicest
possible way.

A plaintive meow came from beside the bed. Moe, her fat
orange tabby, arched against the footboard and meowed louder, the sound filled
with feline reproach at not being first as usual on Chloe’s morning agenda.

“Shhh,” she told the cat, giving him a fond rub
between the ears. “Just give me this one morning, and it’s Fancy Feast for
a week. I swear.”

Praying for cooperation, Chloe lifted the bed covers and
slid beneath them. Warmth surrounded her. Geez, Nick’s body heat could power a
whole city if they could find a way to harness it. She ought to ask him about
that for his next invention. Smiling in the dark, Chloe took her own turn at inventiveness,
sliding her palm over his hairy shin, his knee, his hard, muscular thigh…a
game of blind man’s bluff for grownups. He stirred and moaned, encouraging her
without words to roam higher. She did.

Nick’s fingers wandered to the nape of her neck, stroking
and teasing. The feel of his hand against her skin called forth a million
memories from last night. With a sigh, Chloe crawled higher. Morning breath be
damned. She wanted to kiss the man she loved.

She raised the covers and poked her head out. Nick’s
linebacker-size shoulders, tousled honey-streaked hair, and adorably rumpled
face filled her vision. Groggily, he opened his eyes and blinked his baby blues
in her direction.

Her heart softened. Some part of her was obviously a sucker
for the little-boy-lost look. If possible, she felt even more in love with him
than before. Nick blinked again, and Chloe realized it wasn’t tenderness that
made him look that way—it was poor eyesight. His natty wire rims still lay on
the bedside table where he’d left them last night.

“Nick?” she whispered, smoothing her hand across
his chest. “Good morning.”

His mouth opened. He blinked harder. “Chloe?”

The raspy, intimate sound of his voice thrilled her. “Mmmm
hmmm, it’s Chloe.” She twirled her fingertips in a heated whorl of his
chest hair and smiled in a way she hoped looked worldly and sophisticated. “Good
morning…darling.”

“Aaack!” Nick shot upward, his eyes widening. His
head cracked into her sleigh bed.

“Oh!” She reached for him, crooning whatever
comforting things came to mind as she tried to examine him for
headboard-induced injuries. Yanking his head out of reach, grimacing at the
movement, he scrambled higher on the pillows. Obviously, Nick wasn’t an early
riser.

Or at least his
whole
body wasn’t.

“Are you all right?” How could she have known he’d
wake up so grumpy?
She’d
never slept with him before.

Frowning, he pushed himself up on his elbows. Her gaze
drifted to his bare chest and stomach. Grumpy or not, Nick did keep a
surprisingly attention-getting body hidden beneath that stupid white lab coat
he was always wearing. Who’d have guessed?

He saw her ogling and jerked the sheets higher. What was the
matter with him? Why, a person would think he hadn’t…that they hadn’t….

Oh, God.

His expression matched her thoughts.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nick blinked
harder. His mouth straightened, then gaped open again as Chloe crawled all the
way out of the covers and sat up. His gaze went straight to her sheer orange
bra. “You—you—you’re not even dressed!” He glanced around, looking
increasingly incredulous. “Is this your bedroom?”

Chloe handed him his eyeglasses.

“It
is
your bedroom!”

She wouldn’t have thought things could get worse—until they
did. Shock made her nipples perk tight against her wispy bra, drawing his
attention in the only way she had absolutely no control over. Feeling her face
heat, Chloe drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

Nick’s gaze dropped to her snug purple-dotted silk boxers.
Something akin to pain flashed across his face. “Aww, hell.”

This time she recognized that gruffness in his tone for what
it was—the remnants of a massive hangover from the Kahlúa, coffee, and sympathy
she’d served him last night.

“Tell me this isn’t what it looks like, Chloe.”

Hurt stole her breath. His pleading glance finished her off.
He didn’t remember
.

“Tell me I didn’t take advantage of you last night.”

Nick fisted his hand in the sheets. She imagined him
caressing her cheek instead, pretended he’d smile and tell her he’d been
kidding. Just a little morning-after humor, ha ha.

“I—” Her voice cracked and faltered. She frowned
briefly and tried again. “Well, I, uhh—”

He must have sensed something was wrong, because he stopped
her with a touch and curled his fingers beneath her chin. He tilted her face
upward, looking at her carefully with that analytical scientist’s expression of
his. It wasn’t a cheek caress, but it was near enough to tenderness that Chloe
closed her eyes to savor it.

“I couldn’t stand it if I thought I’d hurt you,”
Nick said. “I know how it feels to be used, remember?”

She remembered, all right. He meant what’shername. The one
who’d decided her ticking biological clock couldn’t handle Nick Steadman
standard time any longer. The one who’d broken his heart and sent him straight
to Chloe’s door for solace.

“Chloe?”

There was nothing else to do. She loved him too much to tell
him a truth he so obviously didn’t want to hear. So she opened her eyes and
gave him a choked little laugh.

“Who, me? And you?” She rolled her eyes at the
notion. “Nah, don’t flatter yourself, genius. Nothing happened here last
night except too much Kahlúa, too much talking, and way too much sympathy.”
She put her hand to his forehead and tried out a wobbly feeling smile. “I
think it’s gone to your head.”

“But—”

“Your virtue’s safe with me.” Chloe levered
herself off the mattress and inadvertently treated him to a full-on cleavage
shot. Geez. Maybe he’d think she always dressed this way to sleep. “Your
virtue’s safe, but your body,” she added to distract him, “well…that’s
another story.”

She bounced off the bed and shrugged into the lab coat he’d
left on her bedroom doorknob last night, giving herself double bonus points for
hiding the tears in her eyes and getting herself covered up all at the same
time.

“My body?”

“Yeah—your hangover. Sorry about that.”

The bed creaked. Chloe, busy swabbing surreptitiously at her
burning eyelids, didn’t dare look to see what Nick was doing.

“It’s not your fault.” His voice sounded muted,
hoarse with hangover mouth and leftover sleepiness. “I brought it all on
myself. I knew me and—”

“What’shername?”

“—weren’t headed in the same direction. I wanted hot
sex—”

“I’m not listening,” she sang out, putting her
hands over her ears.

“Yes, you are. I see your pinkies lifting. And anyway,
you must have heard worse last night.”

“You don’t remember?” Her voice sounded as hoarse
as his—but for different reasons. Funny that grief and Kahlúa would have the
same disastrous side effects.

“After the fourth cup of your demon Kahlúa and coffee,
it’s all kind of a blur,” Nick confessed.

The admission made her heart twist. The most life-changing
night of her life, and he couldn’t remember a minute of it.

She heard the sheets rustle and pretended to button the lab
jacket she had on as an excuse not to face him. Why torture herself with ogling
what she couldn’t have?

He mumbled something about missing underwear. Then, “What
was I saying?”

“Hot sex.”

“Oh, yeah.” The bed creaked again. “I wanted
hot sex, and she wanted two-point-four kids and a dog. It just wasn’t meant to
be.”

Not that he seemed too broken-up over it this morning. Chloe
guessed the worst had passed.

Maybe he was getting used to it. Eventually, every
relationship Nick had smashed to smithereens over the same issues: setting
down, getting married, having kids. With him, his inventions and the work that
subsidized them came first. To his credit, he was always perfectly upfront
about it.

Unfortunately, most women he dated didn’t believe him. They
took one look at that smile, those shoulders, and the wit behind those baby
blues…and decided they’d be the one to reform him.

Ha.

“Good thing I have you to pick up the pieces of my
mangled love life, Chloe.”

“What are friends for?” she choked out, giving him
an offhanded wave.

“Drinking beer, watching football, and cruising for
chicks.”

The mattress groaned. The bedcovers rustled. Then came the
sound of denim being dragged across the carpet. She pictured Nick naked,
stepping into his jeans and snugging them up over his…

“Not necessarily in that order,” he finished one
zip later.

“Ha, ha. Chicks, huh?” How could he banter with
her like this? If she didn’t get away from him soon, she’d be a bawling mess of
tears and confessions. “That’s really evolved of you, Nick.”

The familiar, beloved sound of his laughter made Chloe feel
warm all over. No one could turn her to mush faster than Nick could. No one
could…
stop it
! She took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. If he
didn’t want what had happened to have happened, then she’d be the last person
to break the news. Nick might be a straight shooter at heart, but this was one
little white lie she felt sure he’d forgive.

Besides, it hurt no one but herself. That she could deal
with.

“Thanks for being there last night.” He put his
hand to her shoulder, turning her to face him. “You’re a pal, Chloe.”

He tousled her hair and grinned. Next thing she knew, he’d
slug her on the arm and complete their resemblance to Wally and the Beaver.
Chloe felt more miserable than ever.

 “I’m the pal who gave you the hangover from hell,
remember? You need my patented hangover cure.” She pointed to the coffee
and donuts, then edged to the doorway. “I’ll just, umm, go grab the, uh,
newspaper.”

She escaped the bedroom on legs too wobbly to carry her all
the way to the kitchen, then flattened against the striped wallpapered hallway.
Clutching the ends of Nick’s lab coat with trembling fingers—it was too big on
her, but comforting all the same—Chloe peered toward her bedroom. She half
expected Nick to follow her. He didn’t.

Darn it.

It looked as if she’d pulled it off. She’d convinced him
their platonic-ness remained intact as ever. He wouldn’t suspect she loved him,
wouldn’t bolt with terror at the thought she might want his kids, his ring, his
undying love and a white picket fence to match. Wouldn’t consign her to the
ex-girlfriend pile a month from now. Wouldn’t think of her as anything more
than his old pal Chloe, keeper of Kahlúa and bolsterer of bruised hearts.