Jingle Bell: Rock Part 21

"Wow. I don't believe it. Thomas Miller admitting he can't get everything he wants living the good life in September." She backed across the width of the narrow kitchen and leaned against the counter opposite from Blue.

He refused to rise to her bait "What gives, Jess? What's the story?"

She set her coffee aside and, hands on the counter's edge at her hips, boosted herself up on top. Leaning forward, she swung legs crossed at the ankles and stared at the floor beneath dangling feet. "The station is doing a Christmas promo. It's a Home for the Holidays contest. Several listeners will win airfare and lodging and rental car packages enabling them to visit family they don't have the funds to see."

"I don't get it. You don't have any family here," Blue said softly.

"I know. I wouldn't be here if I did." She wondered if the citizens of September knew where her father had gone. Or what he'd done to deserve the sentence that would keep him locked up for good.

She blinked and shuddered the thought away. "Anyway, I work for the station. I'm not eligible to win. But the promo got me to thinking about September. About you."

And about how the man she'd been dating left her cold when Blue had left her breathless. He was the only one who ever had.

"Can't be too popular a promo," he scoffed. "Sending people places they never wanted to see again."

She refused to let his sarcasm faze her. "I didn't want to see September. I wanted to see you. I wanted this Christmas to be one we would both remember."

She could've said more. She could've started taking off her clothes. But she didn't. She waited. And waited. Watching tendrils of steam curl upward from the mug he held at chest level.

He stood with his work boots crossed at the ankle, one palm heel-down on the countertop, fingers curled over the edge. The sleeves of his blue-and-green-plaid flannel were rolled back, those of his cream-colored thermal unders.h.i.+rt pushed up.

His forearms were thick and muscled, covered with hair a shade or two lighter than the dark brown strands caught up in the back by his s.h.i.+rt collar. She'd never known him to wear his hair long, and her fingers itched to feel the texture, to unb.u.t.ton his s.h.i.+rt and pull the tails free from his worn denim jeans. To bare his skin slowly.

She wanted to taste his throat. To nuzzle the pit of his arm, his navel, the thatch of hair that cus.h.i.+oned his s.e.x. She wanted to remind him how good they'd once been. And she wanted, needed, to prove that once was the operative word, that she'd inflated their connection beyond the simple s.e.xual compatibility that it was. That Blue couldn't offer her anything more.

That she didn't love him anymore.

"Coffee's getting cold," he finally said.

She didn't even look down at her cup. "Can I get a refill?"

He shook his head. "Not part of the deal, Jess. Sorry."

The kitchen clock tick-tick-ticked through several long seconds before she sighed and picked up her mug. She wasn't ready to give up, not yet. Not when she hadn't accomplished what she'd come here to do. She had to know what was truth and what was fiction. She needed answers so she would know what to do with the rest of her life.

When Blue suddenly pushed away from the counter and walked out of the kitchen, she set down her mug without drinking. He returned seconds later carrying an antique oak bar stool with a curved spindle-back. He set it directly in front of her and sat, lifting both of her feet to his lap.

She took a deep breath and waited.

Chapter Four.

He couldn't help himself. He was going to take her to bed. He was tired and hungry. He needed to work; he needed to sleep. But the only thing that mattered was taking care of his basest needs. The teeth of the zipper closing his fly were rapidly reaching their limits. He could get back to hating the both of them later.

Besides, he'd be seven kinds of stupid to waste a good hard-on when he had Jessie Buchanan sitting in his kitchen with her legs spread. Jessie, the girl who'd said yes to every single thing he'd asked her to do when she'd been naked and he'd been brick-busting hard. Her curiosity, her willingness, her uninhibited nature had never ceased to amaze him.

"Blue?"

"Hmm?"

"What're you doing?"

What he was doing was unlacing the strings to the funkiest pair of shoes he'd ever seen. That, and hoping when he stood up again his c.o.c.k didn't break off at the root. G.o.dd.a.m.n, but he was hard. "The way you're drinking, you're going to be a while finis.h.i.+ng that cup."

"I see. So... you're playing the gracious host and seeing to your guest's comfort. Is that it?" She lifted her coffee with both hands, spreading her fingers to hold the mug's deep bowl, taking her time settling the rim at her mouth before she sipped.

Blue's hands stilled on her feet. He remembered too well the strength in her slender fingers, the pressure of her fingertips as she'd played between his legs, teasing the head of his c.o.c.k, stroking the shaft, fondling his b.a.l.l.s before reaching behind into territory no woman since had cared to explore.

He remembered, too, the temptation of her mouth, the way she held her lips slightly parted, the way she'd never been able to keep her tongue from flicking out for missed drops of whatever it was she'd been drinking. Her mouth was the mouth of his fantasies. And nothing about that had changed.

He turned his attention back to her feet, looking for the equilibrium he'd lost now that he'd given himself permission to indulge. She didn't make it easy on a man.

"No, Jess. That's not it. I'm actually seeing to my comfort," he said, wanting to add to h.e.l.l with yours but knowing s.e.x between them wasn't worth the effort if she wasn't having fun. Her enthusiasm was the bar by which he'd judged all others. And the reason he'd let his insistent c.o.c.k win tonight. He hadn't had a good f.u.c.k in months.

"Oh," she finally said as she lowered her mug, slowly looking up and into his eyes as her tongue flicked at a drop of coffee on her mouth. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she sat up as straight as her spine allowed and poured the rest of the liquid into the sink. "What can I do to help?"

He finished unlacing and removing both of her shoes. And then he sat back, hands wrapped around her ankles holding her bare feet in place on his thighs. She looked like pleasing him right now was the only thing that mattered in her life. And he wondered how in the h.e.l.l he was supposed to respond.

His heels hooked on the barstool's rung, he spread his legs; hers spread with the movement. He s.h.i.+fted his thighs farther apart, opening hers even wider. He wished she was wearing a skirt without panties. Or, better yet, nothing but a garter holding thigh-high stockings in place.

He wanted to sit here with her naked p.u.s.s.y at eye-level, the dark hair, the pink lips, the glistening juices he knew tasted of citrus and salt. The longer he watched, the wetter she'd get. Already he imagined her scent, imagined pus.h.i.+ng her back on her elbows, pulling her bottom forward into his mouth.

His first impulse was to take his time, but he saw no need to wait, no need to hold back, no need to make nice and pretty pillow talk when he wasn't feeling the least bit nice and didn't plan to bother with a pillow. He wanted to be d.a.m.n sure she knew where they stood. This was nothing but the s.e.x she'd come here looking for.

He gave a slight nod. "You can take off your s.h.i.+rt and show me those fantastic t.i.ts you've been teasing me with."

He hadn't expected her to refuse; after all, she'd claimed she was here for this very reason. What he hadn't expected, however, was the triumphant gleam that came into her eyes or the calculated way that she stripped.

She took her sweet time reaching for her s.h.i.+rt hem, lifting it up to bare the bottom curves of her beautifully full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He couldn't look away, as she obviously knew because she was d.a.m.n sure putting on a show. He waited and waited, sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat as he continued to wait and to watch.

Higher and higher went the hem of her s.h.i.+rt, lifting the t.i.ts he so wanted to see until, suddenly, her s.h.i.+rt was over her head and off, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing, her hair whipping around her shoulders. Her coloring came straight from an artist's palette: inky black hair with blue highlights, china-doll porcelain skin, nipples as dark red as Merlot.

She moved her hands to her legs then, running her palms and spread fingers down her inner thighs. The movement of her arms pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s together; he knew exactly how sweet and how tight the fit between would be. Her nipples pebbled, begging him to drop his pants and thrust into the soft valley she'd made. It was all he could do not to come where he sat.

When she slid her feet up his legs until they met in a V on either side of his crotch, when she pushed down with her heels against his inner thighs in the exact spot she knew to apply pressure, he closed his eyes and groaned.

None of the things he wanted to do with her were going to happen if he didn't get up and get some air. Spending the rest of the night taking advantage of her offer had seemed like a good idea at the time. But things were moving too fast. At this rate, he'd go off in thirty seconds.

He wanted to blame his rapid response on the fact that he'd been celibate for too long. But the truth was he'd always been this way with Jessie. He pushed up from the barstool, dislodging her feet. She crossed her legs up beneath her, limber even in jeans. Yeah, he was about to be in big trouble.

Especially when Jessie's gaze lifted slowly to his from where she'd been staring at the bulge behind his fly. Her eyes widened and sparkled and spoke of a hunger he'd never known another woman to feel. A hunger he knew would consume them both in the sort of s.e.xual feast he'd been starving for.

Take a break, Miller. Get some air. Easy for you to say, he grumbled to his pious inner voice. It was his outer self calling these shots. But even his c.o.c.k knew when distance was called for.

"I want you to do something for me, Jess."

"What?" she asked, though she might as well have said, "Anything," because that's what his body heard.

"Take off your jeans, but leave on your panties. And"-he gestured toward the floor-"put your shoes back on. Then meet me on the back porch."

She unfolded herself from the countertop and slid to the floor as if she'd been waiting all this time for him to tell her what to do. Blue couldn't help it. He took two steps and backed her into the counter, pressing his erection into the soft give of her belly and covering her weighty b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his hands.

Her nipples pressed into his palms like gumdrops and she tossed back her head. Eyes closed, she gave a long, throaty sigh of what sounded like joyful relief. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.

He dropped his hands as if he'd been burned, turned and left the kitchen, walking into the attached washroom and then pus.h.i.+ng open the screen door leading to the back porch. He didn't want to witness her feeling anything resembling joy, or relief, or emotion of any kind.

It was hard enough seeing the way she wanted him.

With the cool, damp fog swirling round, he jerked his s.h.i.+rttails from his jeans, wincing as he unzipped his fly and reached into his tight cotton boxers for the source of his pleasure and pain.

And then he spit into his palm and began to stroke, getting rid of the intense initial rush of arousal so he could take the time he was going to need with Jessie.

Chapter Five.

When Blue demanded she strip to her panties, Jessie never considered telling him no. It wasn't until he told her to add the shoes that she'd suffered a stirring of doubt. High heels and a thong were so not her thing.

Now, however, with her sandals laced and her thong covering only a little bit more than nothing, what she suffered wasn't doubt but a sharp antic.i.p.ation, a biting sense of heightened nerves and need.

For the first time in her life, she got it-that thing she'd never before understood about the way a man saw a woman when she wore nothing but heels and lingerie.

It was a basic response, a primal reaction, the male of the species tempted by his female's posture, drawn to mate by the lift of her a.s.s, the length of her legs, the thrust of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the arch of her back.

Standing in Blue's kitchen, in nothing but a black satin thong and three-inch heels of black velvet, Jessie had never been more aware of her body. And yet what she felt was truly unique to this moment, this man. Her man... who was waiting to see her with her feathers flaunted and spread.

Her imagination went wild, dreaming of Blue at her back, his erection pressed between the cheeks of her bottom, his hands cupping the heft of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rubbing down over her belly to the barely there strip of hair beneath the edge of her thong, his skin rough and callused on hers so pampered and soft.

She s.h.i.+vered at her body's response, the tightening of her nipples, the moisture that dampened her thighs... the beat of her heart, like hummingbird wings fluttering inside her ribs... the pulse of energy buzzing along the surface of her skin, raising the hair on her arms, tightening the coil of desire holding her belly taut.

Nothing in her life before this had ever seemed so right, so meant to be. No, she wasn't one-hundred percent comfortable with the idea of walking outside wearing nothing but a tiny sc.r.a.p of fabric. At least he had no neighbors for miles. But she wanted Blue badly enough that she knew she'd comply.

Especially now that she was here, now that she'd seen him, been touched by him. Now that she was forced to accept that she needn't go any further for the answer to her question. The truth was she responded to Blue like no other man.

Understanding why would not change that reality. Accepting it, however, meant she had choices to make about any relations.h.i.+ps in her future. Right now, however, she chose to give in to the mystery and the needs of both her body and Blue's.

She found him leaning both hands on the thigh-high porch railing. Fog swirled low on the ground, eclipsing the fields beyond the clearing. A touch of light spilled through the windows, and the security spotlight on the highest eave of the house cast a surreal halo over the whole of the landscape.

Jessie s.h.i.+vered because she was cold and because desire drove a powerful bargain. Her nipples pebbled into painful knots and she hugged herself tightly, running her hands up and down her goosefleshed arms for what warmth the friction provided.

Her heels clicked on the porch; Blue didn't so much as turn his head. She had no idea what was going on in his mind and decided she'd be better off not knowing. There was no need to involve heart and soul when all she wanted to do was prove nothing but the s.e.x remained between them.

"Before we go any further, I need you to do something for me." She'd do it herself but, well, she wasn't exactly dressed for the hike to her car parked beneath the yard's security spotlight. "There's a bag in my front seat and a box of condoms in the bag. The car's unlocked."

She knew he'd heard her join him, but he didn't even look around when she made her request. All he did was blow out a snort and ask, "Covering all your bases?"

Actually, she was, though he sounded more put out than thrilled with the concept. What had he expected? That she announce her intentions to all of September? "I thought it best to come prepared. Buying condoms at Blossom Drugs never did remain a private affair."

To that, Blue had no comeback. He just walked off the back steps and headed for her car.

She listened, waiting for the crunch of his boots on the crushed-sh.e.l.l drive, the sound of her car door slamming shut. And then she listened for his return, for any sort of sound, his breathing, the sc.r.a.pe of denim against denim as he walked, even the winter-dead gra.s.s crushed beneath his feet as he pa.s.sed. Standing in the shelter of the doorway onto the covered porch, she heard nothing beyond the beat of her heart.

When he rounded the corner, he kept walking, signaling for her to follow him out into the yard. She hesitated briefly, not exactly thrilled by the idea of walking naked into the yard but realizing she had no need to worry. She trusted Blue not to put her in an untenable situation. He might dislike her for the way she'd left him, but he was not a cruel man. No matter how the years had changed him, malice was beyond his nature.

Pulling in a steadying breath, she made her way carefully across the mat of brown gra.s.s carpeting the clearing behind the house. Blue waited at the cedar plank door to a structure he'd built since her last visit here. His gaze devoured her body as she drew closer to the dark corner of the yard.

She wanted him to look into her eyes and see her intention to meet boldly any challenge he issued. She was no violet, shrinking away to wither and wilt. Neither would she creep back in the direction she'd come, tail tucked between her legs because he'd widened his eyes and said, "Boo."

Facing him now was nothing compared to the day ten years ago when she'd gathered up what guts she'd managed to salvage and left him, setting out to rebuild her spirit crushed by her father's abuse and reclaim her right to live her own life fearlessly before involving herself in another's.

But instead of meeting her defiant gaze, he studied the shoes on her feet, shaking his head as she walked, his eyes moving upward the closer she came. His gaze took in her legs, lingered at her silky black thong, slid over her belly, stopped at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She stopped as well, standing inches away beneath his outstretched arm that held open the door to what she realized was an outdoor sauna housing a shower and hot tub. The idea of having Blue wet and naked and warm, with the sky above clearing and the stars beginning to s.h.i.+ne...

Her pulse doubled its already frantic pace. She stepped up onto the concrete floor and turned into the enclosure to find a light fixture matching the one from the porch, a cedar plank bench and a long row of clothes hooks. Thank goodness, because these shoes had cost an Yves St. Laurent fortune.

Blue followed her inside. The door shut behind him and he shoved the deadbolt home. She perched gingerly on the edge of the bench, crossed one leg over the other and leaned down to unlace her shoes. Her fingertips had barely grazed the laces before he ordered her to stop.

Slowly, she got back to her feet, feeling strangely lightheaded by how small the s.p.a.ce seemed now that he'd locked them inside, feeling equally off balance by the hovering presence of the man for whom she'd shed both clothes and inhibitions. He loomed larger than her memories painted him as she looked up into his eyes. "These will ruin if they get wet."

"They won't get wet." Jaw clenched tight, Blue's hands went to the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt. "I'll take them off."

Nodding was all she was able to do while she watched him shrug out of his flannel. He tossed it over a hook, then sat to remove his boots.

She wasn't sure what to do, but she was desperate to touch him, to run her hands across his shoulders, to slide her palms down his chest, to spread her fingers over his stomach, to stroke his p.e.n.i.s, to cup his b.a.l.l.s, to take him into her mouth- "Dammit, Jessie," he said, shoving his boots up beneath the bench. He whipped his unders.h.i.+rt over his head and off, then looked at her and glared. "Don't look at me like that and expect me not to give you what you're asking for."

s.h.i.+vers threatened to take her apart. He sat there half-naked, so beautiful in his anger and arousal, his muscles flexed, his jaw rigid, his pulse ticking in the vein at his temple. She had never wanted to feel him inside of her more than she did right now.

She moved directly in front of him and placed one heel gently onto the edge of the bench between his spread thighs. "All I'm asking is for you to take off my shoes."

His hands hovered over the laces at her ankle, but his gaze burned straight ahead. She felt the heat between her legs where the sc.r.a.p of her thong revealed more than it covered now that she stood with her knee bent and leg raised.

Swearing under his breath, Blue tore his gaze away, deftly unlacing the wickedly expensive shoe, pulling it from her foot and tucking it safely into the far corner of the bench. When she made a move to step back and switch feet, he stopped her with a strong hand circling her ankle and held her there, saying nothing as his breathing grew ragged and rough.

She waited, expecting him to touch her intimately, wanting, aching, antic.i.p.ating the slide of his finger into her s.e.x. His hand began to move upward, over her calf to her knee and she trembled so violently she thought she would fall. Blue never said a word; he only continued his agonizingly slow upward progress.