Once Upon a Christmas Eve (15 page)

Her throat burned.

Over the heavy beat of rain on her windows, she heard Max bump the coffee table and the rustling of his movements at the other chair as he put the manila envelope inside his jacket. Coming up beside her, he held out her copy of what had now been signed, dated and, literally, delivered.

With her head still down as if she was looking at the agreement, she took it along with another determined breath and blinked. Hard. But instead of clearing her vision,
all she succeeded in doing was squeezing out one of the tears she'd tried to hold back.

That single drop landed near the bottom of the page.

The soft plop was met with Max's quiet, “Hey.”

Forcing a little laugh, she looked up.

“Ignore me,” she insisted, wiping at another tear trailing down her cheek. “This is just hormones.” And fatigue. But she didn't dare think about how tired she really was. Tired of uncertainty, of guilt, of worry. If she did, she wouldn't stop crying until morning. “They've been messing with me for months.”

She tried to smile. With the embarrassing tears still coming, she ducked her head again. “Thank you, Max. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” She sniffed. Tried to laugh. “I can obviously handle you better when you're being impossible.”

He hadn't been sure how she'd react to what he'd done. What he definitely hadn't expected were the tears that had him feeling a little unnerved. They weren't angry or accusatory. She wasn't using them to make him feel bad, or get her way or otherwise maneuver or manipulate. Those he could have handled. He'd become immune to that sort of weeping along about the time he'd realized some women could turn the waterworks on and off at will. But hers were there because he had helped her.

“And I can handle you better when you don't look the way you do right now.

“Don't,” he insisted, catching her by the shoulders when she started to turn away.

She'd misunderstood. There had been times when she'd looked seriously in need of being held. With her unguarded brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, her dark lashes spiky from those that had escaped, she'd never looked more in need of that than she did now.

“I didn't mean that in a bad way.” Conscious of how easily she seemed to accept his touch, wondering if she had any idea how that affected a man, he left his hands to rest where they were. What he'd meant was that there were times when she could make him forget he should only be thinking about business with her.

Like now. Now, all he wanted was for the tears he'd so inadvertently caused to go away.

For a moment, he wasn't at all sure what he should do. Since he was going on his gut with her, he decided that was all he could do now.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Beneath his hands, he felt her shoulders rise with the shuddery breath she drew. That was her only hesitation before she moved into his arms. As trusting as a child, she curled her fists between them and rested her forehead against his chest.

He heard her breath shudder out, felt her sink closer.

“Will you tell me something?” she asked, her throat sounding tight.

The feel of her curvy little body leaning into his had his own voice going a little rough. “Sure.”

“How do you not get tired of handling your life on your own? I'm usually pretty good at it,” she said, a catch in her muffled tones. “But I could use some hints.”

Rain beat on the windows behind the drawn drapes. The only other sound in the room was of the wind driving the rain in sheets.

“I've never thought about it.”

Her shaky voice went quieter. “Well, when you do, will you let me know? I think I want to be more like you.”

Her conclusion disturbed him. He just didn't bother to go below the surface of what she'd wanted him to reveal.
His only thought was that the last thing she needed was him for a role model.

“You're just tired,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“I can't rest. I need to do my books.”

He cupped his hand over the back of her head, then skimmed it down the dark length of her hair with a quiet “Shh.”

He did it once more, slowly, letting his fingers drift to where its softness ended between her shoulder blades before starting all over again. As he did, he couldn't help notice how delicate the bones of her spine felt, how small and fragile she really was.

Small and fragile and badly in need of feeling in control.

He knew how important control was to her. As important as it was to him, the need had been easy to recognize. What didn't seem so familiar were the responses she stirred as he breathed in the fresh scent of her hair and let the long strands slide beneath his fingers.

Her physical effect on him he didn't question. He couldn't be in the same room with her without wanting to touch her the way he was now. Without wanting far more. She'd invaded his mind and his sleep and the concern he felt for her had him acting without question. With her body so close, still wondering at how instinctively she'd come to him, there wasn't a fiber of his being that wasn't aware of her effect on him now. It was how she made him feel deeper inside that felt so alien.

It was good to know he could make the partnership a little easier on her, and give her more peace of mind about her situation. After all, making sure she could take care of her bistro and her baby was what she'd been after all along. In the back of his mind lurked the knowledge that Scott might fight him over what he'd done with the agreement,
out of ego and annoyance more than anything else. But the thought disappeared as he listened to her shuddery breaths and tried to ignore the effect of her scent and her softness on certain parts of his body.

Feeling good about something he'd done seemed rarer all the time. And what he'd done felt right.

So did holding her.

He'd never offered comfort to a woman before. He wasn't at all sure how a man went about it. But his unpracticed motions seemed to soothe her, so he continued until her deep breaths gave way to a stillness that had him nudging up her chin to see how she was doing.

She lifted her hands from his chest. Refusing to look up, she swiped at her cheek.

“I'm sorry, Max.”

Slipping his fingers beneath her jaw, he tipped her face to his.

Silent tears glistened in her eyes, continued to streak toward her chin.

He caught one with his thumb, drew it toward the lush fullness of her lower lip. Another slid into its place.

Without thinking, he cradled her face between his hands, and caught it with his lips at the corner of her mouth. She'd looked as helpless as she'd sounded.

“Stop,” he begged, the salt of her tears mingling with the sweetness of her skin.

Her breath trembled out. “I'm trying.”

Brushing his lips across hers, he caught a tear on the other side.

“Try harder.”

His gentle command vibrated against her mouth. He held her with such tenderness, as if she were something delicate, breakable. That was how Tommi felt as he kissed away what felt like months of stress.

The calm she'd craved in his touch had come the moment he'd pulled her into his arms. In the space of a sigh, she'd felt the tension drain from her muscles like air from a falling soufflé. Yet, that relieving calm hadn't stopped the tears. It had just allowed them to flow more freely. Much like the almost unbearable gentleness of his lips when his mouth settled over hers and he eased her back against his big body.

He tasted of warmth and butter mint as he opened her to him, touched his tongue to hers. That warmth stole through her, melting her, testing the steadiness of her legs. Beneath her hand she felt the hard beat of his heart.

This was exactly where she wanted to be. Where she needed to be. With him holding her, kissing her, she could almost feel the insecurities plaguing her lessen their relentless grasp.

The gratitude she'd felt before compounded itself. He was doing the very thing she needed the most just then. He was letting her lean on him while he helped her cope with the tears that would have felt so awful had she been dealing with them alone. He was taking care of her. He'd done that in little ways before. It was what he'd been doing when he'd said he wanted to give her a little more security. She could only imagine how little of that he'd had in his own life from the moment of his birth—until he'd created that security for himself.

It was that kind of strength she sought from him as he robbed what little stability remained in her knees and she locked her hands around his neck to stay upright. She needed so badly what she felt in him; what she felt with him.

Stretched the length of his long, hard body, she heard him groan. Or maybe the small moan had been hers.

Max swallowed that achy little sound as he slipped his
hand behind her head, drinking more deeply of the sweet, intoxicating taste of her.

He'd felt her against him before, but not like this. Not with every inch of her seeking every inch of him. The impressions that had remained after he'd caught her to his chest when she'd fainted had been burned into his brain. Too easily he'd been taunted by the memory of the enticing curve of her hip, the tempting fullness of her breasts. Too often he'd found himself pumping a little more iron or running an extra mile to exhaust the physical ache the memory would bring.

That ache was there now as he shaped that curve and absorbed the sensual feel of that fullness straining against him. With her mouth so soft and willing beneath his, her body fitted so perfectly to him, he drew his hand down the long line of her back, pressed in at the base of her spine.

He hissed in a breath. At the feel of her against his arousal, he went still. He thought for sure she would pull back, create a little distance from what threatened to become something more than she was looking for. He had the feeling she was searching for comfort more than anything physical. But there could be no doubt in her mind that he wanted her. Letting her go would be easier than denying himself oxygen. He would, though. If that was what she wanted.

She'd gone a little still herself. Yet, within a heartbeat, he felt her arms tighten around him and their lips met again.

She was like a drug in his blood. The very essence of her seemed to steal through his veins, threatening to destroy reason, demanding more.

That demand increased by slow degrees.

He definitely wanted her. He wanted the feel of her. All of her.

Her bedroom was right behind him. He'd noticed it through its open door in a small hall when he walked in.

He was no saint. While he cared about her in ways he had no intention of exploring, he could only deny himself so much. With his heart hammering, he slipped his hands up her arms. Circling her wrists, he drew her hands to his chest.

“I can't do this,” he said, his voice a low rasp. He needed distraction. He needed to let her go. “Your books.” He released one of her hands, skimmed his fingers over the curve of her tear-stained cheek. “You said you needed to do them. I'll help.”

Confusion swept her face. He could feel the faint trembling of her pulse with this thumbs as she looked up at him, her eyes luminous, her lips swollen and damp from her tears and his kisses.

“My books?”

“If we don't do something else, I'm going to kiss you again. If I do that,” he warned her, “I won't want to stop there.”

He was giving her fair notice. Yet, she remained motionless, looking totally susceptible to him in the moments before she drew another ragged breath.

“I don't want to do them now.”

With the back of his knuckles, he traced the delicate line of her jaw. He'd never seen her look so vulnerable.

“Then, what do you want?”

“I don't want to have to think.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed at his touch. “I just want…”

“What?” he prodded, when her voice trailed off.

“What you make me feel.”

Moments ago, he'd thought she was only looking for
comfort. At her quiet admission, he realized now that she might well be looking for escape.

It occurred to him vaguely that there was something dangerous about going on nothing but instinct with her. Already craving her, drawn by the silent plea in her eyes, he just couldn't remember what that something was.

Curving his fingers around the back of her neck, he tipped her mouth to his.

“I can arrange that.”

“Please.”

He had barely lowered his head to capture her faint appeal when Tommi slipped her arms back around his neck.

She didn't think she'd have been able to bear it if he'd let her go. Not when, for the first time in months, she was only thinking of the moment. And not when she'd just realized it was more than his strength that she needed, and infinitely far more than gratitude that she felt.

She was falling in love with him. She knew that to the very core of her being. The realization should have stunned her, she supposed, as his hands slowly worked beneath her sweater. Instead, what settled over her in the long, debilitating moments before he turned her toward her bedroom was unquestioning acceptance. Loving him seemed as if it was simply supposed to be.

She'd told him she just wanted what he made her feel. She just hadn't realized how much more there could be as their mouths mated and he backed her through the doorway. His hands were on the bare skin of her waist, greedy for the feel of her. Hers slid under the shirt beneath his pullover, just wanting to be closer.

The first time he'd touched her, she'd experienced something with him she'd never felt with anyone before. But what she'd thought of as his calming effect on her, she now
realized had been an instinctive sort of trust. It was as if, at that very moment, she had known she would be safe with him.

That must have been the moment he had claimed her heart.

Claiming her was what he seemed to be doing now as he pulled off her sweater, withdrawing his touch only long enough to grip the back of his own and pull it over his head. The chill in the dim and cozy room barely registered before he drew her against the corrugated muscles of his abdomen and his hard, honed chest. His heat flowed into her, warming her skin and her blood while he unfastened her bra and tumbled them onto her unmade bed with his mouth seeking hers.