Red-Hot Santa (17 page)

She had no idea what was going through his mind. She couldn’t draw a bead on him, no matter how hard she tried.

And now she was strangely physically sated, not to mention mentally exhausted, from the efforts.

As well as an emotional mess.

How could he speak so eloquently to her with his body, his touch? Yet keep her blocked from the rest?

Movement.

Her heart skipped a beat as his hand budged on her hip. Despite the cold temperature outside, inside it was warm, so all they’d needed was a top sheet, and even that was bunched around their waists. She caught her breath as he moved his hand from the sheet to slide under it, dipping over her hip and not coming to a stop until it rested between her thighs. Against her better judgment, she opened to him.

Judgment? Hadn’t she proven she had none when it came to Jackson Savage?

She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath through her mouth. Was he still sleeping, his movement something automatic? He stroked her, sending sensation swirling. Um, no. He was definitely awake.

Max spread her thighs farther, allowing him freer access even as she arched toward him. She shivered at the feel of his erection pressing against her.

When they’d made love before (and she was certain they had made love), she had let herself go, given herself over to the sweet bliss of their connection.

With her back to him, she decided she’d do that again now, just allow herself to feel her own emotions, forget his, forget this would be their last time together…?.

That mere thought wound the ball of sadness tighter in her chest. She swallowed the tears and took a deep breath, reaching between her own thighs to touch his hand where he stroked her, then beyond, wrapping her fingers around his hard length.

His breath hissed into her ear, feeding her boldness. She guided him to rest between her damp folds, shivering in anticipation as she held him there, stroking him even as she rocked her hips, covering him with her need.

Jackson moved, reached behind him to grab a condom, moving back just enough to put it on as she better positioned herself. A moment later, the tip rested against her slick entrance and paused there. She held her breath in anticipation before forcing admission, sliding back until he was in to the hilt.

She sighed in sweet surrender, shimmering light filling her to overflowing.

Yes…

Jackson withdrew then sank in again, heightening her need. She reached back, grasping his bottom even as she tilted her hips to take him deeper still.

Every part of him surrounded her, saturated her until she no longer recognized herself as an individual but as a hungry entity only he could feed.

He nuzzled her shoulder, then her neck, causing ribbons of sensation to unfurl down her body, teasing her nipples, tickling her stomach. She arched back, seeking his lips, finding them, kissing him deeply, welcoming his tongue in her mouth.

Oh, how very much she loved him.

He cupped her face so very gently, his strokes matching those of his fingers as they moved down to her breasts, rolling her aching nipples between his fingers before continuing down her trembling belly, claiming her from the front as well as from behind.

Max moaned into his mouth, unsure if she could possibly withstand the pleasure possessing every part of her. She was sure she would combust at any moment, fearing it while at the same time welcoming it.

Though they had known each other for years, it seemed everything was fresh, new. And she so yearned to explore everything about him, them, together.

He slid his hands to grasp her hips, halting her restless grinding as he thrust deeply inside her.

Max broke their kiss and moaned.

She slid her hand between her legs to where they were joined, stroking his dripping hardness as he drove into her again.

Yes.

She entwined her hands in the sheets, holding on, trying to stay grounded even as she catapulted to a place somewhere high above them, floating, flying.

“I love you,” she said, somewhere between a whisper and a moan, knowing as she did so, truer words had never been uttered.

But at the same time understanding she would never say them to him again.

Darkness mingled with light as his thrusts became harder, faster. It was as if he, too, shared that same understanding, trying to punish her for giving him something he was incapable of returning.

20

Christmas Eve

THE SETTING WAS RIGHT: fat, fluffy snowflakes floated on the cold air, carols played on the stereo; the scent of ginger from earlier baking and of a ham now roasting teased the senses, presents were under the tree beckoning to be unwrapped.

Yet, somehow, Max was unable to summon up the spirit needed to enjoy any of it, including her French vanilla roast coffee.

It was nine p.m. and she stood in front of the living room window staring outside in the direction of the Savage farm, her mind far away from what was happening in the room behind her. She kept replaying what had happened earlier after she had uttered those three words…

The joy, the sorrow, the chaos…?.

Sweaty and sated, she had curved against Jackson, feeling his physical nearness, mourning his emotional distance…?.

Then he’d rolled away from her abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”

“Jax…” She had lifted to a sitting position, self-conscious despite the intimacy they’d shared as she gathered the sheet around her. “I…”

She what?

He’d barely spared her a glance as he pulled on his jeans.

“Look at me. Please.”

He appeared prepared to ignore her request.

And she almost wished he would have when she received his stony gaze.

It was all too easy to believe, in that one moment, that he had never felt anything for her ever.

That they had never been friends.

She’d bitten her bottom lip, feeling more vulnerable than a single leaf clinging to a tree branch: one stiff wind and she’d be lost forever.

“I just wanted to say you’re not alone. Whatever you’re going through?” she’d said softly. “I’m here. For an ear. Advice. Or just quiet companionship.”

He pulled on socks, a T-shirt and his flannel shirt.

“You’re not responsible for Africa,” she’d whispered.

He hadn’t said anything for a long moment, then he repeated, “I’ve got to go.”

And she’d let him.

She stayed put few minutes longer, listening as the apartment door closed behind him. Then heartache had pushed her from his bed, propelling her home where she’d stood under the shower spray until the water grew cold, feeling numb to the core long before it had.

She knew he loved her. She could feel it.

Why, then, was he denying it?

“Maxi?” her mother said behind her.

She swallowed hard and turned to face Cindy, smiling.

“You okay?”

She nodded, incapable of words just then.

She was not going to cry on her mom’s shoulder. Not again.

“The ham’s just about done. You hungry?”

She shook her head.

Cindy considered her for a long moment. “Okay. Maybe just a cookie for now? Come on. Come sit with me next to the fire.”

She hesitated.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask any question you’re not ready to answer. I just want to share a story with you.”

A story.

She looked around. “Where’s Aunt Theresa?”

“In the kitchen. Come on.”

Cindy led the way toward the two comfortable wing chairs in front of the fireplace. Max reluctantly followed and sat opposite her mother, her gaze seeking out and getting lost in the lick of the flames around the logs. She was aware of Cindy putting a plate of cookies on the table between them, but she didn’t acknowledge them.

At least, until her mom put a gingerbread man in her right hand.

“I remember these were always your favorite. Ever since you were little and got into a plate of them when I wasn’t looking.” She smiled sweetly. “You ate the whole dozen. I was afraid you were going to burst.” A quiet laugh. “Of course, you probably had more on you than in you, but still…?.”

Max had heard the story before. Every Christmas, in fact. But somehow she never tired of it. It was a tradition of sorts, sharing these memories.

Of course, it wasn’t usually this quiet on Christmas Eve. Traditionally, Theresa’s family stayed the night and the house was filled with the creak of someone on the stairs, water running, laughter and glasses and silverware clinking.

Not this year, though. This year it was just the three of them.

And Max was grateful for it, even if a part of her was a little sad that things were changing, and not always for the better.

“I wanted to talk to you about your dad…?.”

Without realizing it, Max had taken a bite of her cookie. It instantly turned to the texture of sawdust in her mouth.

She put the remainder down and coughed, using her coffee to wash down the mouthful.

“Yes, I know,” her mother said. “It’s not normally a topic open for discussion, is it?”

Discussion? Her father was rarely brought up. Understandably so.

Which made her doubly curious why Cindy wanted to talk about him now.

“You don’t have to say anything,” her mom said. “It’s just that…” She stared into the fire, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I’m watching you struggle… No, I’ve watched you struggle for so many years now. But more so recently, I think, right?”

Cindy searched her face with a smile.

Max stared into the depths of her coffee cup.

“I first met Claude at a harvest dance when I was fifteen.”

Max raised her brows. The only time she had ever heard her father mentioned was in negative terms. To listen to her mom speak of him now, and in such a fond tone of voice, inspired mixed feelings. She wanted to encourage her to say more, and yet hold up her hand to stop her.

Instead, she remained silent.

“He was three years older than me and my friends. It means nothing now, but back then…” She sighed. “He seemed so…worldly.”

Her father? Worldly?

“And handsome?” She made a humming sound that surprised her. “I thought my heart was going to burn a hole through the soles of my feet every time he looked at me.”

Max’s stomach felt lined with lead. All she could remember is watching her father raise his fist to her mother. Often.

She winced at the memory.

“You’re thinking about the bad times, aren’t you?” Cindy asked. She glanced down into her mug of eggnog. “I’m so sorry about that, Maxi. Sorry you ever had to see the bad.”

“I’m sorry you had to live it.”

Their gazes met. Max realized neither of them had said words similar to those in all these years.

“I don’t want you to ever blame yourself,” Cindy said.

“But if it wasn’t for me, you would never have stayed.”

“Is that what you think?”

She nodded.

“Honey, if it weren’t for you, I would have missed out on the greatest love of my life.”

Tears poked her eyes.

“What I’m trying to say here is, things weren’t always bad between your dad and I. Things were actually quite beautiful in the beginning.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

“I’m sure you need to.”

“Please, Mom…?.”

Silence fell between them.

Somewhere in the kitchen a pot banged. Her aunt was probably setting the kitchen table for midnight dinner, a longtime tradition Theresa insisted on even though there were only three of them this year, compared to the houseful they usually had. Although judging by the amount of food the two women had cooked, all of Colorado Springs could have been coming for dinner. The only concession to the smaller gathering was the setting of the kitchen table instead of the large dining room one, where absences would be too obvious.

“I’m so very sorry,” her mother said.

“Mom.”

“No, Maxi, please. I need to say this.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from objecting more.

“I’ve been watching you lately. Something’s changed in you. Something that’s allowed me to see you in a new light, perhaps help put things into perspective…?.”

She tightened her hands around her cup, the contents of which had long grown cold.

“I know you don’t view your aunt and me favorably. I know you think we’re nothing but a couple of old fools.”

“No, I…”

Her mother’s raised brow stopped her from uttering an untruth.

“Okay.” She softened her words with a small smile. “Maybe I do think your rose-tinted glasses are too thick, just a little.”

Cindy laughed. “A little? You’ve compared them to aquarium glass in the past.”

“Yeah, I have, haven’t I?” She took a sip. “Sorry.”