Wicked Christmas Nights
It Happened One Christmas
Leslie Kelly
Sex, Lies and Mistletoe
Tawny Weber
Sexy Silent Nights
Cara Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

It Happened One Christmas

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Sex, Lies and Mistletoe

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Sexy Silent Nights

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Copyright

It Happened One Christmas

LESLIE KELLY has written dozens of novels for Mills & Boon. Known for her sparkling dialogue and humour, Leslie has been honoured with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ choice Award. In 2010, she received the Lifetime Achievement Award in Series Romance from RT Book Reviews. Leslie lives in Maryland with her husband and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.

This one’s dedicated to the Blaze Babes.

It’s such a pleasure being one of you.

Merry Christmas!

1

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

WHEN LUCY FLEMING had been asked to photograph a corporate Christmas event, she’d envisioned tipsy assistants perched on the knees of grabby executives. Too much eggnog, naked backsides hitting the glass-topped copier, somebody throwing up in a desk drawer, hanky-panky in the janitor’s closet—in short, a typical high-end work party where people forgot they were professionals and played teenager-at-the-frat-party, building memories and reputations that would take an entire year to live down.

She’d been wrong. Completely wrong.

Elite Construction, who’d hired her a few days ago when their previous photographer had bailed on them, had chosen to go a different, and much more wholesome, route. They were hosting an afternoon event, a family party for all of their employees as well as important clients, and whoever they cared to bring along—including small children. Catered food, from caviar to corn dogs, appealed to every palate. There were presents beneath a huge tree, pretty decorations, music filled with jingling bells and lots of smiles. It was almost enough to give a non-Christmas person like herself a little holiday tingle.

Oh. Except for the fact that she was working with a very cranky Kris Kringle.

“If they think I’m staying late, they can bite me. I got paid for three hours, not a minute more.”

“We’re almost done,” she told the costumed man, whose bowl-full-of-jelly middle appeared homemade.

If only his nature were as true-to-character as his appearance. Though, she had to admit, right at this particular moment, his foul mood was understandable. He’d had to go dry his pants under a hand-dryer in the men’s room after one boy had gotten so excited he’d peed himself. And Santa.

To be fair, Santa wasn’t the only fraud around here this afternoon. Her own costume didn’t exactly suit her personality, either. She felt like an idiot in the old elf getup, a leftover from her college days. But the kids loved it. And a happy, relaxed kid made for an easy-to-shoot kid…and great pictures.

All in all, she’d have to say this event had been a great success. Both for Elite Construction—whose employees had to be among the happiest in the city today—and for herself. Since moving back to Chicago from New York ten months ago, she’d been trying to build her business up to the level of success she’d had back east. Things were getting better—much—but a quick infusion of cash for an easy afternoon’s work definitely helped.

Finally, after the last child in line had been seen to, Lucy eyed the chubby man in red. “I think that’s about it.” She glanced at a clock on the wall. “Five minutes to spare.”

“Damn good thing,” he said. “God, I hate kids.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open; she couldn’t help gawking. “Then why on earth do you do this?”

He pointed toward himself—his white hair, full beard, big belly. “What else am I gonna do, play the Easter bunny?”

Not unless he wanted to terrify every child on earth into swearing off candy. “Bet you can land a part in the stage version of The Nightmare Before Christmas,” she mumbled. He sure looked like the Oogie Boogie man. And was about as friendly.

Lucy turned to the children lingering around the edges of the area that had been set up as “Santa’s Workshop”—complete with fluffy fake snow, a throne and stuffed reindeer. Whoever had decorated for this party had really done a fantastic job. These kids had already had their turn on the big guy’s lap, but were still crowded around the crotchety St. Nick. “It’s time for Santa to get back to his workshop so he can finish getting ready for his big sleigh ride tomorrow night,” she announced. “Santa, do you want to say anything before you leave?”

Father Friggin’ Christmas grimaced and brushed cookie crumbs off his lap as he rose. “Be good or you won’t get nothin’,” he told them, adding a belly laugh to try to take the sting out of the words. His feigned heartiness fooled everyone under the age of ten, but certainly none of the adults. Waddling through the crowd toward the elevator, he didn’t stop to pat one youngster on the head, or tickle a single chin.

Jerk.

For her part, Lucy found the little ones in their party clothes and patent leather shoes irresistible. Sweet, happy, so filled with life and laughter and excitement. There was one boy who was so photogenic he ought to be on the cover of a magazine, and she was dying to talk to his parents about a formal sitting.

You’ve come a long way, baby.

A very long way. To think she’d once vowed to never take a Santa photo, equating kid portraiture with one of Dante’s circles of hell.

When she’d first set her sites on photography for her future, she’d argued with her brother over leaving Chicago to go to NYU to study. Then they’d argued when she’d decided to go from there to Europe, insisting she didn’t want to take baby’s-first-haircut pictures, dreaming instead of high fashion. Models and travel and exotic locations and French Vogue magazine covers.

She’d done all of that. Well, except for the magazine cover, though one of her shots had landed in a fashion week edition.

Yet, when all was said and done, she’d ended up finding her niche, her innermost talent and her satisfaction, back in the good old U.S. of A., working with children. It was, in this business, her claim to fame. Frankly, she was damn good at it. She’d made a name for herself in New York, her signature being the use of one color image in black and white shots. A toy, a piece of candy, a shirt or bandanna…something bright and sassy that demanded attention. Just like her photographs did.

Now she needed to drum up the same level of business in Chicago—which, despite her having been gone for so many years, was still her hometown. No, she’d never imagined moving back here, but when her brother, Sam, had gone through a messy divorce and seemed so lonely, she’d decided family came before anything else. She was all he had, and vice versa. So she’d returned.

Talk about changing your plans. Who’d have imagined it? Certainly not Lucy. And not her best friend from college, Kate, who still laughed about both her change in career path and in residence. Kate remembered Lucy’s home-and-kids-are-boring stance in the old days.

Kate. She needed to give the other woman a call. Lucy hadn’t seen her friend since she’d moved, though she and Kate kept in touch with frequent calls. Kate’s two children were the ones who’d really opened her mind to the wondrous possibilities of tiny faces and hands and smiles, and she wanted to make sure their Christmas presents had arrived in time.

Those gifts—and working this party in the ridiculous getup—were about the sum total of her Christmas activities this year. Her brother had to work the whole weekend, cops not getting every holiday off the way civilians did. And though she was now back near the Chicago suburb where she’d grown up, she no longer had any close friends here who might have invited her over.

Not that she would have gone. Lucy avoided Christmas like the plague, and had for years. She’d just as soon pretend the holiday wasn’t happening.

Most people would probably think that pathetic; Lucy found it a relief. Especially since the weatherman was saying a storm to rival the one at the start of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was on the way. It was supposed to roll in tonight and shut down the city with a couple of feet of the white stuff by Christmas morning. Sounded like an excellent time to be locked in her warm apartment with her Kindle and a bunch of chocolate and wine. Or chocolate wine—her new addiction.

Eyeing the gray sky through the expansive wall of windows, she began to pack up her gear. The party was winding down, only a dozen or so people remaining on this floor, which had been transformed from cubicles and meeting rooms to a holiday funland. She smiled at those nearest to her, then, seeing the glances at her silly hat, reached up to tug it off her head.

Before she could do it, however, she heard a voice. A deep, male voice—smooth and sexy, and so not Santa’s.

“I hear that you did a terrific job.”

Lucy didn’t respond, letting her brain process what she was hearing. Her whole body had stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her skin tightening into tiny goose bumps. Because that voice sounded familiar. Impossibly familiar.

It can’t be.

“It sounds like the kids had a great time.”

Unable to stop herself, she began to turn around, wondering if her ears—and all her other senses—were deceiving her. After all, six years was a long time, the mind could play tricks. What were the odds that she’d bump into him here? And today of all days. December 23. Six years exactly. Was that really possible?

One look—and the accompanying frantic thudding of her heart—and she knew her ears and brain were working just fine. Because it was him. Ross Marshall.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shocked, frozen, staring as intently as she was. “Lucy?”

She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him, wondering why the years had made him even more attractive than ever. It didn’t seem fair, or just. Not when she’d spent the past six years thinking he must have started losing that thick, golden-brown hair, or added a spare tire to that trim, muscular form or lost some of the sparkle from those green eyes.

Huh-uh.

The man was gorgeous. Truly, without-a-doubt, mouth-wateringly handsome, and every bit as hot as he’d been the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But he wasn’t that young, lean, hungry-looking guy anymore. Now he was all fully realized, powerful, strong—and devastatingly attractive—man.

She’d been twenty-two when they met, he two years older. And during the brief time they’d spent together, Ross had blown away all her preconceived notions of who she was, what she wanted and what she would do when the right guy came along.

He’d been her first lover.

They’d shared an amazing holiday season. But after that one Christmas, they had never seen each other again. Until now.

Well, doesn’t this just suck?

“Hello, Ross,” she murmured, wondering when her life had become a comedy movie. Because wasn’t this always the way those things opened? The plucky, unlucky-in-love heroine coming face-to-face with the one guy she’d never been able to forget while dressed in a ridiculous costume? It was right out of central casting 101—what else could she be wearing other than a short green dress with bells and holly on the collar, red-and-white striped hose, pointy-toed shoes and the dippy green hat with the droopy feather? The only thing that could make the scene more perfect was if she’d been draped across the grouchy Santa’s lap, trying to evade his gropey hands, when the handsome hero came up to rescue her.

He did rescue you once. Big time.

Her heart twisted, as it always did when she thought about that…The way Ross had been there for her in what could have been a horrible moment. Whatever had happened later—however much she resented him now—she would never forget that he’d been there to keep her from getting hurt.

But that had been a long time ago. She was no longer that girl and she no longer needed any man’s rescue.

“It’s really you,” he murmured.

“In the flesh.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“That makes two of us,” she admitted.

Her brain scrambled to find more words, to form thoughts or sentences. But she just couldn’t. If she’d woken up this morning to find her bed had floated up into the sky on a giant helium balloon, she couldn’t have been more surprised than she was right now.

Or more disturbed.

Because she wasn’t supposed to see him again. Wasn’t supposed to care again. Wasn’t supposed to even think of getting hurt by him again.

She’d played this scene once, and at exactly this time of year. No way was she ready for a repeat.

She knew all that, knew it down to her soul. So why, oh why, was her heart singing? Crazy expression that, but it was true. There was music in her head and brightness in her eyes and a smile fought to emerge on her lips.

Because it was Ross. The guy she’d met exactly six years ago today. The man she’d fallen crazy in love with.

At Christmastime.

2

Then

New York, December 23, 2005

HMM. DECISIONS, decisions.

Lucy honestly wasn’t sure what would be the best tool for the job. After all, it wasn’t every day she was faced with a project of this magnitude. As a photography student at NYU, she usually spent more time worrying about creating things rather than hacking them up.

Big knife? No, she might not get the right angle and could end up cutting herself.

Scissors? Probably not strong enough to cut through that.

Razor? She doubted her Venus was up to the task, and had no idea how to get one of those old-fashioned straightedged ones short of robbing a barber.

A chainsaw or a hatchet?

Probably overkill. And killing wasn’t the objective.

After all, she didn’t really want to kill Jude Zacharias. She just wanted to separate him from his favorite part of his cheating anatomy. AKA: the part he’d cheated with.

Lucy didn’t even realize she’d been mumbling aloud. Not until her best friend, Kate, who sat across from her in this trendy Manhattan coffee-and-book shop interjected, “You’re not going to cut off his dick, so stop fantasizing about it.”

Nobody immediately gasped at Kate’s words, so obviously they hadn’t been overheard. Not surprising—they were tucked in a back corner of the café. Plus, Beans & Books was crowded with shoppers frenzied by the realization that they only had one and a half shopping days left before Christmas. Each was listening only to the holiday countdown clock in his or her head.

“Have you stopped fantasizing about having sex with Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal at the same time?” she countered.

“Hey, that could actually happen,” Kate said with a smirk. “It’s at least possible. Unlike the chance that you, Miss Congeniality, would actually go all Bobbitt on a guy’s ass, even if he does totally deserve it.”

It wasn’t Jude’s ass she wanted to…Bobbit. She knew, however, that Kate was right. Lucy wasn’t the violent type, except in her fantasies. She might have fun playing a mental game of why-I-oughta but she knew nothing would come of it.

“Can’t I at least wallow and scheme for an hour?”

“Sure. But we should’ve done it over beer or tequila in a dive bar. Coffee in a crowded shop just doesn’t lend itself to wallowing and scheming.”

True. Especially now that this place was no longer the same quiet, cozy hangout she’d loved since coming to New York three and a half years ago. It had once been her favorite place to meet up with friends, do some homework, or just enjoy the silence amid the scent of freshly ground arabica beans.

Since a recent renovation, though, it had turned from a cute, off-the-beaten-track coffee bar into a crazed, credit-card magnet, filled with overpriced gift books, calendars and stationery. Driven city dwellers who excelled at multitasking were flocking to the place to kill two birds with one stone. They could buy a last minute gift for Great-Aunt Susie—a ridiculously overpriced coffee table book titled The Private Lives of Garden Gnomes, perhaps—while they waited for their Lite Pomegranate Vanilla Oolang Tea Lattes with whip.

Christmas had been reduced to expedience, kitsch and trendy drinks. Fortunately for her, she’d dropped out of the holiday a few years ago and had no intention of dropping back in.

“Face it, girlfriend, revenge just ain’t your style. You’re as violent as a Smurf.” Kate grinned. “Or one of Santa’s elves.”

“Not funny,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. “So not funny.”

Her friend knew how much she disliked the silly costume she had to wear for her “internship” with a local photographer. Intern? Ha. She was a ridiculously dressed unpaid Christmas elf wiping the drool off kids’ chins as they sat on Santa’s lap. What could be more sad to someone who dreamed of being a serious photographer? Someone who was leaving to study abroad in Paris next month, and hoped to go back there to live after graduation? Someone who planned to spend the next several years shooting her way across Europe, one still image at a time?

That girl shouldn’t care about Jude. That girl didn’t care about Jude.

But at this moment, Lucy didn’t feel like that girl. For all the violent fantasies, what this girl felt right now was hurt.

“You know, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out why I ever went out with him in the first place.” She swallowed, hard. “I should have known better.”

Kate’s smirk faded and she reached over to squeeze Lucy’s hand. Kate had been witness to what had been Lucy’s most humiliating moment ever. Said moment being when Lucy had let herself in to her boyfriend Jude’s apartment, to set up his big surprise birthday party that was scheduled for tonight.

Surprise! Your boyfriend is a lying, cheating asshat!

Jude had already gotten started on his birthday celebration. Contrary to his claim that he was going to “pop in” on his family for the day, Jude had apparently decided to stay in town and pop in on his neighbor’s vagina.

At least, that’s who Lucy thought had been kneeling in front of the sofa with Jude’s johnson in her mouth when she and Kate had walked into the apartment. She couldn’t be certain. They only saw the back of the bare-ass naked woman’s head—oh, plus her bare ass and, uh, the rest of her nether regions. Ew, ew, ew. She was still fighting the urge to thrust two coffee stirrers into her eyes to gouge out the image burned onto her retinas. If she’d ever had any doubt she was strictly hetero, her response to that sight would have removed it.

“Maybe I should ask Teddy to beat him up.”

Teddy, Kate’s boyfriend, was as broad as a table, and could snap Jude like a twig. There was just one problem. “He’s more of a pacifist than I am,” Lucy said with a smile, knowing Kate had intended to make her laugh. Teddy was the sweetest guy on the planet. “Besides, we both know Jude’s not worth the trouble.”

“No, he’s not.” Then Kate grinned. “I am glad you got off a couple of good zingers, though. I still can’t believe you asked him if the store was out of birthday candles and that’s why he’d found something else that needed to be blown.”

That, she had to admit, had been a pretty good line. It was a rare occurrence; the kind of one-liner she usually would have thought of hours later, when reliving the awful experience in her mind. Though, in this instance, since she was now feeling more sad than anything else, she might have been picturing herself asking him why he’d felt the need to be so deceitful.

If he’d told her it wasn’t working out and he wanted to see other people, would she have been devastated?

No. A little disappointed, probably, but not crushed.

But to be cheated on—and to walk in on it? That rankled.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to speak. I’da been busy ripping the extensions outta that ho’s head,” Kate added.

“She didn’t cheat on me, Jude did.” Then, curious, she asked, “How do you know they were extensions?”

“Honey, that carpet so didn’t match those drapes.”

Though a peal of laughter emerged from her mouth, Lucy also groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, wishing for a bleach eye-wash. “Don’t remind me!”

Funny that she could actually manage to laugh. Maybe that said a lot about where her feelings for Jude had really been. This girlfriend-gripe session wasn’t so much about Lucy’s broken heart as it was her disappointed expectations.

She’d really wanted Jude to be a nice guy. A good guy.

Face it, you just wanted someone in your life.

Maybe that was true. Seeing the former man-eater Kate so happy was inspiring. But her brother Sam’s recent engagement had also really affected her. Their tiny family unit—made even tinier when they’d been left alone in the world after the deaths of their parents—was going to change. Sam had found someone, he was forming a new family, one she’d always be welcome in but wasn’t actually a major part of.

She’d wanted something like that, too. Or at least the possibility of something like that, someday. Heck, maybe deep down she also just hadn’t wanted to haul her virginity along with her to Europe, and had been hoping she’d finally found the guy who would truly inspire her to shuck it.

Yes, that was probably why she’d let down her guard and gotten involved with Jude when she’d known he wasn’t the right one in the long run. Being totally honest, she knew she was more sad at the idea of losing the boyfriend than at losing the actual guy. Not to mention continuing to carry the virgin mantle around her neck.

“Well, at least you didn’t sleep with him!” said Kate, who’d had more lovers than Lucy had had birthdays.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, sipping her coffee, meaning it. Because being stuck with a hymen was better than having let somebody so rotten remove it.

Something inside her must have recognized that about him, and held her back. Deep down she’d known there was something wrong about the relationship, even though he’d gone out of his way to make it seem so very right.

Maybe Lucy really was the oldest living virgin in New York—kept that way throughout high school by her badass older brother’s reputation, and throughout college out of her own deep-rooted romantic streak. Whatever the reason, she’d waited this long. So, as much as she wanted to know what all the fuss was about, she hadn’t been about to leap into bed with Jude just because he’d said he liked her photography and opened the door for her when they went out, unlike most other college-aged dudes she knew.

Good thing. Because it had all been an act. The nice, patient, tender guy didn’t exist. Jude had put on that persona the way somebody else might don a Halloween costume, sliding into it to be the man she wanted, then taking it off—along with the rest of his clothes—when she wasn’t around. He shouldn’t be studying to be an attorney, an actor would be much more appropriate. God, could she have been any more gullible?

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she really had no business living on her own in New York or, worse, going off to Europe. Perhaps she was a lamb in the midst of wolves. She should’ve just stayed in the Chicago suburb where they’d grown up, gone to community college, done first-communion portraits at Sears, married a nice local guy and gotten to work on producing cousins for Sam’s future kids. At least then she wouldn’t be sitting here all sad at being cheated on by someone she’d hoped was Prince Charming.

“More like King Creeper,” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about Jude.”

Kate nodded, frowned and muttered, “Why are most men jerks? Other than Teddy, of course.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“There have to be other decent men out there, right?”

“Sam’s one,” Lucy admitted. “And my Dad sure was.”

“Mine is, too.” Kate frowned in thought. “Your father managed a car dealership, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And your brother, Sam, is a cop. My dad’s in sales, and Teddy’s a trucker. Hmm.”

“Your point being?”

Kate tapped the tip of her finger on her mouth. “Most of the guys you’ve dated have been like Jude. Rich, future attorneys, politicians, doctors…and dickheads, one and all.”

Lucy nodded, conceding the point.

“And that’s the type I dated, before I met Teddy.”

She started to get the picture. “Ahh.”

“So maybe you need to look for an everyday guy, who works hard for a living, hasn’t had everything handed to him.”

That sounded ideal. Unfortunately Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone like that. They sure didn’t seem to be on the campus of NYU.

“A guy who’s so hot he makes you stick to your chair when you watch his muscles bunch under his sweaty T-shirt as he works,” Kate said, sounding lost in thought. She was staring past Lucy, as if visualizing this blue collar studmuffin. “Who knows what to do with his hands, and has enough self-confidence that he doesn’t have to show off in front of a woman.”

Not used to Kate being so descriptive—but definitely liking the description—Lucy could only nod.

“Somebody like him.”

This time, Kate’s stare was pointed and her gaze speculative. Surprised, Lucy quickly turned to look over her shoulder, toward the front corner of the shop, and saw the him in question.

And oh, wow, what a him.

He was young—in his early twenties, probably, like her. But he didn’t look much like the guys she interacted with on a daily basis at school. He had on a pair of faded, worn jeans, that hung low on his very lean hips. They were tugged down even further by the work belt he wore over them, which was weighted with various tools. Powerful hammers, long screwdrivers, steely drills. All hard. Strong. Stiff.

Get your mind out of his toolbelt.

She did, shaking her head quickly to get her attention going in another direction. Of course, there wasn’t any other direction to go…he was hot any way you looked at it.

So she looked at it. Er, him.

Lucy lifted her gaze, taking in the whole tall, lean, powerful package. Though he wore the tools of the trade, he was not built like a brawny construction-worker type. Strong, yes, but with a youthful leanness—Hugh Jackman as Leopold, not as Wolverine.

Yum.

His entire body told tales of hard work An impressive set of abs rippled visibly beneath the sweat-tinged T-shirt. His broad chest and thickly muscled arms moved with almost poetic precision as he finished installing a new bookcase in the back corner of the shop.

He lifted one arm and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, which just emphasized the handsomeness of his face, seen only in profile. He had a strong, square jaw, a straight nose. High cheekbones emphasized the lightly stubbled hollows below, lending his lean face an air of youth and power.

His light brown hair was longish, a little shaggy, and he swept it back from his brow with an impatient hand. Seeing the strong hands in motion made Lucy let out a long, slow breath, and when he turned around and she beheld him from the back, she had to suck in another one. Oh, my, did the man know how to fill out a pair of jeans.

Apparently she wasn’t the only woman who’d noticed. What she’d taken for shopper’s distraction earlier she now realized had been female appreciation for the beautiful display of raw, powerful male in the corner. Every other woman in the place was either sneaking peeks or outright gaping.

She was a gaper. No peeking about it.

Finally realizing she was literally turned in her seat to stare, and probably had drool dripping down her chin, she swung back around to face Kate. Her friend wore a similar expression. “Wow,” she admitted.

“Double wow. If I didn’t love Teddy, I’d be over there offering to take care of his tool for him.”

Lucy couldn’t help being wicked when she was around Kate. “I bet it could use some lubrication.”

“Atta girl!”

“But I think you’d have to stand in line.”

“With you?” Kate asked, her eyes sparkling.

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Cheated on and heartbroken an hour ago, remember?”

“Well, cheated on, anyway,” said Kate, perceptive as always.

“Touché,” Lucy admitted, not terribly surprised to realize she was already feeling better. What had felt like heartbreak ninety minutes ago had segued into a heart cramp. Now it was barely a heart twinge.

Kate glanced at her empty cup, and at Lucy’s. “One more?”

“Sure.”

“I got it,” the other woman said, grabbing her bag. She stood up and walked toward the counter near the front of the shop.

Lucy sighed deeply, then forced herself to put Jude out of her mind. Time to forget about him. He hadn’t been her lover, merely a boyfriend who’d gotten a hand down her pants just once in three months. Absolutely forgettable.

Besides which, she had other things to think about. Like Christmas, now just two days away. And the fact that she was spending it alone.

Your own fault. She’d made the choice. Kate was going away with Teddy tonight so the apartment would be empty. But Sam had begged her to come back to Chicago to celebrate Christmas with his fiancée’s family. Lucy had refused, claiming she had too much work to do over the holidays.

Truth was, she couldn’t handle a big family Christmas. The last traditional holiday season she’d experienced had been a week before her parents had been swept from her life by a stupid asshole who’d decided to celebrate a promotion by having a few bourbons, then getting behind the wheel of a car.

It had been just her and Sam for five years now, and each Christmas had been more nontraditional than the last. One year ago, they’d been in Mexico, lying on a beach, ignoring the merriment around them in favor of rum drinks and steel drums.

Though Sam was ready to dive back into the holiday spirit with his new fiancée, somehow, Lucy just couldn’t face it yet. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to again. Christmas had once been her favorite holiday; it seemed almost sacrilege to enjoy it without the two people who had made it so special for the first seventeen years of her life.

Now she had another thing to add to her why-I-should-skip Christmas list: she’d been cheated on—right before the holiday. The angel on the top of Jude’s tree had borne witness to the extension-wearing ho who went around sucking on dicks that belonged to other girls. Er, other girls’ boyfriends.

“The whole holiday is just overrated,” she told herself. “Better off just forgetting about it.”

Not to mention a few other things. Like love. Romance.

And men.

“EXCUSE ME, SIR, can I ask you a favor?”

Ross Marshall heard a young woman speaking, but since he knew she wasn’t talking to him, he didn’t bother turning around. He instead remained focused on putting the finishing touches on the custom-made bookcase he’d been asked to install today. Thankfully, despite his concerns about the off-kilter walls in this old New York building, every shelving unit he’d built for Beans & Books had fit beautifully. Including this last one.

“Sir?”

Though curious, since the voice sounded a little insistent, again he ignored her. He tried to avoid the customers and usually didn’t work until later in the evening when the shop was closed. The owner really wanted the final unit installed today, however—gotta have more shelf space to grab those crazy day-before-Christmas-Eve shoppers who’d be filling the aisles tonight. So he’d agreed to come in right after the frenetic lunch hour but before the five o’clock rush.

He’d still arrived just in time to listen to modern-day robber barons having power coffees while making let’s-take-over-the-world deals via Bluetooth. Oh, and their trophy wives stopping by between Junior League meetings and museum openings to grab a Fat-Free Cappuccino with Soy milk and carob drizzle.

Manhattan was like a different planet. He preferred Chicago, which he’d called home for the first twenty-three of his twenty-four years. It was almost as big and half as pretentious.

“Hellooooo?”

Finally realizing the woman might actually be speaking to him, which he hadn’t imagined since in New York nobody called hammer jockeys “sir,” he turned around. The young woman had been addressing him—she was staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed and her mouth tugged down into a frown.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” He offered her a smile. “I’m not used to being called sir.”

The blonde relaxed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Hey, listen, could I ask you a big favor?”

He stiffened the tiniest bit. He might not be used to being called sir around here, but he’d received a lot of suggestive invitations lately. It seemed men with calluses were, for some reason, catnip to the rich Manhattan types. “Yes?”

“See my friend over there at the table in the far corner?”

Ross glanced over, seeing the back of a woman seated in the shadowy rear corner of the place. Then he looked again, interested despite himself in the stunning, thick brown hair that fell in loose, curly waves halfway down her back. She stood out from every other female in the place—most of whom sported a more typical, reserved, New York professional-woman’s blow-out or bun. Ross’s hands started to tingle, as if anticipating what it might be like to sink his fingers into those silky strands.

He shoved them into his pockets. “What about her?”

“She’s my best friend—we’re both students. Anyway, she needs some help for this project she’s working on. We’ve been sitting over there talking about it and trying to figure out what tool would be best.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “But we’re both pretty clueless about that kind of stuff. Do you think you could go over and offer her your expertise?”

It sounded screwy to him, and the young woman looked like she was about to break into a grin. But something—that hair—made him curious to see more of the girl with the tool problem.

He looked again. This time, the brunette had turned a little, as if looking around for her friend, and he caught a glimpse of her face. Creamy-skin. Cute nose. Long lashes. Full mouth.

His heart-rate kicked up a notch; he was interested in spite of himself. “What kind of job is it?” he asked as he began to pack up his portable toolbox.

“Well, uh…it might be best if she explains that herself.” As if sensing he was skeptical, she added, “She’s a photography student, you see, and I’m in journalism. Between the two of us, we barely know the difference between a hammer and a chainsaw.”

He shouldn’t. Really. Even though he was finished here, he had some things to do for another project scheduled to start the day after Christmas. He needed to phone in a few orders, go to the lumberyard, go over the design he’d sketched out.

Of course, all that would have to come after he risked life and limb at the most miserable place on earth to be today: the nearest shipping store. He had to get his family’s Christmas gifts sent off, via overnight delivery, obviously. Seemed in the past week he had gone from busy self-employed carpenter to forgetful procrastinating shopper. Bad enough that he wasn’t going home for Christmas; if he didn’t get a gift in front of his youngest sister, he’d never hear the end of it.

Yet even with all that, he was tempted to take ten minutes to see if the brunette was really as attractive as she looked from here. Not to mention seeing what this mystery project was.

“Please? I’m sure it won’t take long. Besides, helping someone else will put you in the holiday spirit,” the girl said, managing to sound pious, despite the mischief in her expression.

He chuckled at her noble tone. Her smile and the twinkle in her eyes told him something else was going on. She was probably playing some kind of matchmaking game. Hell, for all he knew, the brunette had put her up to this, wanting to meet him but not wanting to come on too strong.

That was okay. Because he suddenly wanted to meet her, too.

And if the blonde was on the up-and-up, and the woman did need some help, well, that was okay, too. Maybe doing something nice for someone—someone super hot with soft-looking hair he wanted to rub all over his bare skin—was just what he needed. Certainly nothing else was putting him in the holiday spirit. he was too busy working—trying to prove to himself and to everyone else that he could make it on his own and didn’t need to go to work in the family business—to care much about celebrating.

His mom suspected that was why he wasn’t coming home for Christmas, because he didn’t want to get another guilt trip or have another argument with his dad. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Okay,” he said, seeing the shop owner smiling broadly at him from behind the counter, obviously thrilled that even more expensive holiday junk could be shoveled in front of potential customers within the hour. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The freckled blonde turned and headed not for her friend in the back corner, but toward the door of the shop. Like she was making herself scarce so her friend could make her move. He grinned, wondering why girls went through these motions. He would probably have been even more interested if the brunette had just come up to him herself and said hello.

Finishing up with a customer, the owner came out from around the counter. He offered Ross his exuberant thanks for having squeezed in this job so quickly. Ross accepted the check for final payment—which, he noted, included a nice holiday bonus—then shook the man’s hand and picked up his tools. Then it was decision time. Head for the exit and get busy doing what he needed to do? Or take a few minutes out of his day to possibly be hit-on by a very pretty girl who’d gotten her friend to play matchmaker?

Hell. He might be hungry, might need work to pay his bills. But he was twenty-four, human and male. Pretty girl trumped food any day of the week.

Heading toward her table, he brushed some sawdust off his arms, nodding politely at the several women who smiled and murmured holiday greetings. The brunette hadn’t moved from her seat, though he did see her look from side to side, as if she wanted to turn around to see if he was coming over, but didn’t wish to be too obvious about it.

She so set this up.

Frankly, Ross couldn’t bring himself to care.

He walked up behind her, about to clear his throat and introduce himself, when he heard her say something. She was alone, obviously, and had to be talking to herself. And what she said pierced a hole in the ego that had been telling him she’d sent a friend over to get his attention.

“You know you’d have been scared to even pick up a chainsaw,” she muttered. “Or even an electric knife!”

Damn. She really was talking about tools? Some project that she needed to do?

Ross had to laugh at himself. Wouldn’t his youngest sister—always his biggest critic—be laughing her ass off right now? He’d been all cocky and sure this sexy coed was about to come on to him…and she really was interested only in his toolbelt.

“Forget the electric knife,” he said, intruding on her musings, the carpenter in him shuddering at the thought. “They’re not made for cutting anything other than meat.”

The girl swung her head up to look at him, her eyes rounding in shock and her mouth dropping open.

Big brown eyes. Full, pink-lipped mouth.

Then there was the perfect, heart-shaped face. And oh, that hair. Thick and shining, with soft brown waves that framed her face, and curls that tumbled well down her back. There wasn’t a guy alive who wouldn’t imagine all that hair being the only thing wrapped around her naked body; well, except for his own naked body.

He stared, unable to do anything else. She’d been pretty from across the room. Up close, she was beautiful enough to make his heart forget it was supposed to beat.

“Excuse me?” she said, shaking her head lightly as if she couldn’t figure out what was happening. “What did you say?”

He cleared his throat. “I said, you need to use the right tool for the job. Electric knives are for cutting meat. Now what is it you were thinking about cutting through?”

“Meat,” she replied, then quickly clamped her lips shut.

He laughed, admiring her quick wit. “Beef or pork?”

“I’d say pork loin,” she replied, her mouth twisting a bit. “But I was joking. I definitely don’t need to cut any meat.”

“I figured,” he said. Without waiting for an invitation, he walked around the table and sat in the vacant chair, facing her. He told himself it was because he’d promised her friend he’d offer her some construction advice. In truth, he just wanted to look at her a little more. Hear her voice. See whether she had a personality to go with the looks.

Most guys his age probably wouldn’t care. Ross, though, did.

He might be young, but he wasn’t inexperienced. And he’d learned very early on that a pretty face and smoking-hot body were enough before hitting the sheets. But after that, if there wasn’t a great sense of humor, big heart and a brain to go along with the sexiness, he just couldn’t stay interested. Some of his old college buddies used to joke about being happy with tits-on-a-stick. Ross preferred a real woman, from top to bottom.

She seemed like she had a brain. Right now, though, he was wondering about that whole personality thing. Because she just kept staring at him, her face turning pink, as if she didn’t know what to say.

Or she was embarrassed.

Hmm. So maybe this wasn’t about some mystery project. Because the way she was blushing made him suspect she’d had something wicked on her mind.

More interesting by the minute.

“So, what is this big project?”

“Project?”

“Yeah. Your friend came over, told me you needed some advice on tools for a project you’re doing.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes for a second, then whispered, “I’m going to kill her.”

“Maybe that’s why she left—she needed a running start.”

“She left?”

“Yep. Right after she came to ask me to help you.”

Groaning, she shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“So, she was trying to set us up?”

“I think so.”

“What kind of friend does that?” he asked. “She doesn’t know me—what if I’m some kind of serial killer or panty thief?”

Her brow went up. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Either of those things?”

He grinned. “No on the first. I’ll take the fifth on the second until we get to know each other.” Certain he wanted that—to get to know her—he stuck out his hand. “I’m Ross.”

She eyed it, then reached out and shook. Her hand was small, soft. Fragile against his own. Having worked only with his hands for months, he knew he had calluses on top of blisters, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she was the one who held on for a moment, as if not wanting to let go.

Finally, though, she pulled away, murmuring, “Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You, too. Especially now that I know you’re not a serial killer.” She flashed a grin. “As for the other, remind me not to walk into Victoria’s Secret with you…wouldn’t want to get arrested as an accomplice.”

“What fun would there be in stealing brand-new panties?” Then, seeing her brow shoot up, he held up a hand. “Kidding. Believe me, stealing underwear isn’t my thing.”

“Helping mystery girls with mysterious projects is?”

“Uh-huh. Now, mysterious girl, back to the mysterious project.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Your friend made it up?”

She shifted her gaze, those long lashes lowering. “Not exactly. I was, um, wondering which tool to use to, uh, remove something. And she obviously thought it would be fun to bring you into my fantasies.” She gasped, staring him in the eye. “I mean, I wasn’t…it’s not that I was fantasizing about you!”

“Aww, I’m crushed.”

“If you knew the fantasy, you wouldn’t be,” she said, her tone droll.

“So why don’t you tell me?” he asked, only half-teasing. What did a beautiful young woman fantasize about? More importantly, who?

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, trust me on this, I definitely do.”

She studied him for a moment, eyeing him intently as if to see if he was serious. Then, apparently realizing he was, she came right out and told him.

3

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

JUST BECAUSE ROSS Marshall hadn’t seen Lucy Fleming for six years did not mean he didn’t instantly recognize her. It did, however, mean his heart literally thudded in his chest and his brain seemed to flatline. The huge, open reception area of his office—decorated with lights and greenery—seemed to darken. It also appeared to shrink, squeezing in tight, crushing his ribs, making his head throb, sending him off-kilter. He couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

Well, maybe one. You cut your hair? He had the presence of mind to notice that the long, riotous curls that had once fallen well down her back had been tamed and shortened. Then everything just went blank.

She couldn’t be here, right? Could not possibly be here. This had to be a dream—he was still sleeping and she was visiting his nighttime fantasies, as she so often had over the years.

He couldn’t resist, needing to grab the moment before he woke up. He lifted a hand, put it on her shoulder, felt the solid, real person beneath the elf costume. She didn’t immediately pull away, and he leaned a little bit closer, breathing deeply, recognizing the scent that was uniquely Lucy. Not a perfume or a lotion or her shampoo. Just something distinctive and evocative that called to his memories, reminding him that she had been the one.

And he’d let her get away.

“You’re not dreaming,” she told him, her tone dry.

He dropped his hand and stepped back, needing to get his head back in the game. “Guess that means you’re not, either.”

“That thought did cross my mind,” she said, her big brown eyes inquisitive. “I certainly never expected to run into you, today of all days.”

He knew the day. Knew it well. Which just made the meeting all the more surreal. “Same here,” he mumbled.

They both fell silent. Lucy appeared as stunned as he was.

Well, why wouldn’t she be? They hadn’t laid eyes on each other in years. Despite what had happened between them, what they’d shared over that one amazing holiday season, not one word had been exchanged between them since mid-January, nearly six years ago. Not a card, not a phone call. No chance of bumping into each other since, the last he’d known, she had been bound for Europe.

But here she was. Not just in Chicago, but in his office.

His freaking office!

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his brain not catching up yet. It should be obvious. Lucy had been studying photography when they’d met. Besides which, she was carrying a camera bag. And was dressed as an elf.

A smile tried to tug at his lips. He remembered that elf costume. Remembered it so well.

Suddenly he was remembering everything so well.

Some things too well.

“I’m working,” she said, her head going up, that pretty mouth tightening. “Did you happen to notice the picture-with-Santa session that’s been going on for the past couple of hours?”

He’d barely noticed anything that was going on, being too busy working to socialize. The employee Christmas party had been a long-standing tradition with Elite Construction, the company his grandfather had founded, and he now ran. That didn’t mean the boss ever had much time to participate in it. He’d made the rounds, thanked his employees, greeted their kids and wives, then retreated back into his office for the last two hours, only coming out to say goodbye now that things were winding down.

“I noticed,” he finally replied.

“Well, that was me behind the camera.”

“I know that, I heard you did a great job and was coming over to meet you,” he said, still knocked off-kilter by her mere presence.

“Sorry, Santa’s gone. No more pictures. Though, if you want to sit on the chair, I guess I could snap a shot of you holding a candy cane and a teddy bear.”

Still sassy. God, he’d always liked that about her.

“I meant, I was coming to thank you for agreeing to do the party on such short notice.”

“You didn’t know I was the elf until just now?” she asked, sounding slightly suspicious. As if wondering if he’d set up this little reunion.

Huh. If he’d known she was nearby, he might have considered doing just that—even though Lucy probably wouldn’t have been thrilled about it, judging by the look on her face.

“I swear, I had no idea.” He was suddenly very interested in talking to his assistant, wondering how she’d found Lucy. He also wondered if the motherly, slightly nosy woman had been doing a little matchmaking. He wouldn’t put it past her. She was nothing if not a closet romantic.

“My real question was,” he continued, “what are you doing here in Chicago? You swore you’d never live here. Hell, I figured you’d be in Europe.”

That had been her dream, living overseas, being a world-traveling photographer. So what had happened? She had seemed utterly determined that she would never stay near home and take…Santa pictures of little kids.

He glanced at the velvet-covered chair, the fluffy fake snow, the tripod, and her, back in that elf suit.

How on earth had her life gotten so derailed?

“I was for a while, did my semester abroad and went back right after graduation,” she said.

Just as she’d planned. Which was one reason he’d stayed out of touch, knowing an entire ocean was going to separate them, so why bother trying to make something work when geography said it couldn’t?

“And?”

“And I wasn’t happy, so I ended up back in New York a few years ago.”

Years. She’d been on the same continent for years. A short plane ride away. The thought made him slightly sick to his stomach, especially considering the number of times he’d thought about her during that same time span. The curiosity about whether she’d kept the same cell phone number and whether it would work in Paris.

Maybe not. But it probably would have in New York. Damn.

“How did Chicago enter the equation?”

“You remember, I grew up in this area?”

He remembered, but she’d seemed adamant about never coming back here, associating it with her tragic loss. “I remember.”

“Well, I moved back here ten months ago to be closer my brother.”

Even as another wave of shocked pleasure washed over him—she’d moved here, to the very same city—the brother’s name immediately popped into his mind. “Sam?”

“Right. He went through a pretty bad divorce and I thought he could use some family nearby.”

“That’s a shame…about the divorce, I mean.”

“Yes, it is. I really thought they’d make it.”

“Does anybody anymore?” he mumbled before he could think better of it.

Her whole body stiffened, and he mentally kicked himself for going there. Because he and Lucy sure hadn’t.

Then again, had they expected to? Hell, what had happened between them had been so sudden, so unexpected. Neither of them had been in the right place for any kind of relationship—mentally, emotionally, financially, or in any other way.

Except physically. Oh, yeah. There they’d been absolutely perfect together.

It had been so good during the incredibly brief time it lasted. Honestly, looking back, he could say it was the best Christmas Eve he’d ever had in his life.

Followed by the worst Christmas Day.

“How do you like being back in Chicago?” he asked, sensing she was trying to gracefully exit stage left.

“It’s cold,” she said with a shrug, not giving an inch, not softening up a bit. Hell, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“You look like you’ve done well for yourself,” she said, an almost grudging tone to her voice. She looked him over, head-to-toe, as if wondering where the jeans, T-shirt and tool belt had gone.

Some days—many days—he longed for them. Wearing a suit—even if he usually lost the tie and rolled-up his sleeves at some point every day—just didn’t excite him the way working with his hands always had. “I guess. And you?”

She nodded. “I have my own studio.”

“Still boycott Christmas?”

She glanced down at her costume. “As much as I possibly can, which isn’t easy in my line of work. You still a sappy kid about it?”

He nodded, unashamed. “Absolutely.” Even if, for the past five holiday seasons, he’d spent a lot more time wondering about Lucy—where she’d gone, if she’d stayed in Europe, become a famous photographer—than he had worrying about what present to get for which sister, niece or nephew.

As if they’d both run out of small talk for the moment, they returned to staring. Ross couldn’t deny it, the years had been good to her; Lucy was beautiful. No perky little elf hat complete with feather could take away from that. Nor could the short dress, striped tights—oh, God, those tights, did they ever bring back memories—and pointytipped shoes.

She should look cute and adorable. Instead she looked hot and sexy, bringing wild, intense memories to his mind of the last time he’d seen her wearing that very same outfit.

He was suddenly—forcibly—reminded of how long it had been since he’d had sex.

Good sex? Even longer.

Fabulous, never-forget-it, once-in-a-lifetime sex?

Six years. No doubt about it.

He swallowed as memories flooded over him, having to shift a little. Lucy had always affected him physically. Damned if he wanted anyone to notice that now, though. The CEO wasn’t supposed to sport wood at the corporate holiday party.

“I’m impressed that you can still fit into that,” he admitted against his own better judgment. “But not too surprised. You haven’t changed a bit.”

She flushed. “Maybe not physically. But I’m not the same sweet, wide-eyed kid anymore.”

He barked a laugh. “Sweet kid? Aren’t you the same person who was planning to dismember her ex-boyfriend when we met?”

“I didn’t actually do it.”

No, she hadn’t. As he recalled, Ross had enjoyed the pleasure of taking her ex apart. And it had felt damn good, too.

“That’s good—I’d hate to think you’ve spent the last six years in jail.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t stopped calling, you’d know where I spent the last six years,” she replied, ever-so-sweetly.

Direct hit. He winced. “Look, Lucy…”

She waved a hand, obviously angry at herself for having said anything. “Forget it. Water under the bridge.”

“You know what I was going through—why I left New York.” Of course she knew, she’d been there when he’d gotten the call that brought him back home.

“I know,” she said. “I understood…I understand.”

Maybe. But that not-staying-in-touch thing obviously still rankled.

He’d probably asked himself a dozen times over the years why he hadn’t at least tried to get back in touch with her once his life had returned to something resembling normal. Maybe a hundred times. It always came back to the same thing: he was stuck. His life was here. Hers was…anywhere she wanted it to be. And she’d wanted it to be in another country, and a completely different reality from his, which was filled with contracts and workers-comp issues and the cost of lumber.

She’d been off to capture the world one still image at a time. He’d been boxed in, chained to the past, owing too much to other people to just go and live his life the way he had wanted to.

Not that it had turned out badly. He actually loved running the business and had done a damn fine job of it. He was glad to live in Chicago. He liked the vibe of this city, the people and the culture. So no, he didn’t regret coming back here. He had only one regret. Her.

“And now here you are,” he murmured, though he hadn’t intended to say it out loud.

“Don’t make a big thing of it,” she insisted. “I had no idea you worked here.”

“And if you had known? Would you have taken the job today, risked bumping into me?”

She didn’t reply. Which was answer enough.

Lucy really was mad at him. Well, that made two of them; he was mad at himself. Plenty of room for regrets, with six years of what-ifs under his belt. But at the time it had seemed like he was doing the right thing—the best thing—for both of them.

Of course, he’d questioned that just about every day since.

“Excuse me, Ross?”

He glanced away from Lucy, seeing Stella, his administrative assistant, who he’d inherited from his father. Who’d inherited her from his father. Older than dirt didn’t describe her. She had dirt beat—you’d have to go back to the rocks that had been worn down into the dirt to describe her.

You wouldn’t know it to look at her. From the bottled black dye job to the floral-print dress, she could pass for fifty. But Ross knew she’d passed that milestone at least two decades ago. He dreaded the day she was no longer around to keep him organized.

Or to matchmake? He was going to have to have a talk with Stella about that. He knew his assistant thought he was stressed and lonely and spent too much time in the office. Plus, Stella knew about Lucy—she was one of the few people who did, having gotten Ross to reveal the story after one long, stressful day. But would she have gone to that much trouble—tracking Lucy down and getting her here? It seemed crazy.

If it was true, he would have to decide whether to give her hell for meddling in his private affairs…or thank her.

The way Lucy wasn’t bothering to hide her dislike made him suspect the former.

The thought that he might be able to get her to change her mind? Definitely the latter.

He didn’t deny he was still interested. Still attracted. Judging by the absence of a ring on her left hand, he suspected she was available—at least technically. So maybe it was time to take his shot. See if he could make up for six wasted years. See if there was any way she could forgive him for walking—no, running—away before they ever really had a chance to get started.

“Ross?” Stella prompted again. “Mr. Whitaker is about to leave, and he’d like to see you before he goes.”

Whitaker—a client who’d sent a lot of work their way over the past several years. He wasn’t somebody Ross could ignore.

“Okay,” he said, before turning his attention back to Lucy. “Wait for me.” It wasn’t a request.

“No, I really have to go. It was nice to see you.”

Said like she’d say it was nice to see an elementary school bully she’d loathed for decades. Damn. He’d screwed this up so badly. Six years ago, and today.

“Lucy, please…”

“Uh, Miss Fleming? If you’d step into the office, I can get you your payment right away,” Stella interjected. “I’m sure you’d prefer not to have to wait until after the holidays.”

Her lush bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Lucy looked torn. Ross glanced at Stella, wondering if she was intentionally using some stalling tactics to keep Lucy around. Then again, if she’d been trying to set them up, she probably wouldn’t have interrupted about Whitaker, no matter how important a client he was. So maybe this whole thing had just been luck. Good luck. Incredibly good luck.

And maybe it meant he was going to have another chance with the woman he’d so foolishly let slip away.

HMM. MONEY OR DIGNITY? Go with the bossy assistant, or run like hell? Decisions, decisions.

Normally Lucy would have been heading toward the door the second Ross’s back was turned. She had work to do, editing, photoshopping, cropping…plus all the stuff a small business owner was responsible for, but which often slipped through the cracks when the customers kept walking steadily through the door.

They wouldn’t be walking through the door on Christmas weekend, though, so she should be able to catch up. And one thing she needed to catch up on was ordering. She had some equipment to buy, and paying for it by December 31 would make her tax bill a lot lighter come spring.

Which meant she should really stick around for the money. They’d offered her a lot, both for her time, and for the portrait packages the company had preordered for every family. It might even be enough money to get the new laptop and the new lens she needed.

Ross stared at her, not pleading, not ordering. Just asking her to wait, give them a chance to talk. To catch up on old times? Seriously, what was there to say except, Hey, remember that time we had crazy wild sex in a pile of fluff in Santa’s workshop?

Good times.

Times that would never be repeated.

“I really should go,” she said.

The administrator, who had a brusque manner that said she didn’t like to take no for an answer, didn’t take no for an answer. “Don’t be silly, it won’t take five minutes. It will save our accountants some trouble.”

She eyed the woman doubtfully, suspecting this place did not keep their receipts and canceled checks in empty Amazon.com boxes the way she did.

“After the party, the offices shut down until New Year’s. So I’d really like to get this taken care of today, clear the party off the books, if you will.”

Huh. Sounded like every business had to deal with that pesky little IRS thing, even businesses as big as this one. Which, judging by the size of this brand-new six-story office building, and the fact that Elite Construction took up every floor of it, was very big, indeed. She wondered again what Ross did here. Obviously he no longer swung a hammer—he was dressed like a corporate guy.

She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to his dream of someday buying a piece of property and building a house on it, every stone, every shutter, every plank of wood put there with his own hands. Had Ross given up his dreams? Or had they merely changed, like hers had?

As if realizing his presence was making her reluctant, Ross said, “I should go. It was great seeing you again, Lucy.”

“You, too.”

She forced a tight smile, wishing she could hit Rewind and go back a half hour to think of something else to say to this man. Something breezy and casual, something that wouldn’t have revealed how she felt about not hearing from him after that one magical holiday. Something other than, “Well, if you’d called, you’d know where I’d been for the past six years.”

Weak, girl. So weak. She could almost hear Kate’s voice scolding her for making that snotty, hurt-sounding comment. Even though, now, there would be echoes of a baby and a toddler crying in the background as they had the conversation. Kate had married Teddy and started repopulating the planet.

Lucy, meanwhile, had managed only sexual affairs after Ross. But she hadn’t come anywhere close to falling in love. Not after the one-two punch she’d taken at twenty-two. First Jude, then Ross—the latter being the one who’d truly taught her about love and loss. Her poor heart had formed an exoskeleton thicker than an insect’s. Since then, she’d made love ’em and leave ’em a way of life, only substituting the love with do.

Even Kate had been impressed.

She watched him walk away, noting that he didn’t look back. His departure should have made it easier to stick around for a few minutes to get paid. Instead it just pissed her off. Ross was always the one who got to walk away. One of these days she wanted to be the one to make the grand exit.

But grand exits didn’t buy lenses and laptops. Money did. She’d spent a lot moving her studio from New York to Chicago. Yes, she was building a reputation and business was good. This one check, though, could do some nice things for her bottom line.

If she deposited the check tonight, then by this weekend, she could be happily shopping for laptops online while everybody else in the world unwrapped ugly sweaters and ate rock-hard fruitcake. She had bookings lined up all next week—a few of them big ones that could lead to some serious money. Plus, she was hoping to hear from a children’s magazine in New York, to whom she’d submitted some work. She wanted to be ready if they called and said they wanted more.

“Okay, if you can pay me now, I’d really appreciate it,” she finally told the administrator, who’d been waiting patiently, watching Lucy watch Ross.

“Excellent, come along.”

Lucy put down her camera and lens bags, and followed the woman, who’d introduced herself as Stella when she’d called a week ago to hire her. They left the party behind, heading down a long corridor toward the executive offices. Lucy couldn’t help noticing the opulence of this area, the thick carpet sinking beneath her feet, the beautiful artwork lining the walls. Somebody had spent a lot of time decorating this place and she suspected their clients ranked among Chicago’s most wealthy.

At the back end of the executive wing was an enclosed suite, into which Stella led her. A broad receptionist’s desk stood in the middle of a waiting area, blocking access to an imposing set of double doors. Stella breezed through them, into what looked like the head honcho’s office. It was huge, a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls. The building wasn’t terribly high, but the location right on the water on the very outskirts of town meant nothing interrupted the beautiful view. The desk was as big as the kitchen in her tiny apartment, and in a partially blocked-off alcove, she saw an area for relaxation, complete with a refrigerator, TV and a fold-out couch…folded out. “Wow, is your boss a slave-driver? Do you have to be on call 24/7?”

The woman glanced around, then realized what Lucy was talking about. “That’s just for him. Our CEO is only hard on himself.”

“Does he live here or something?”

“It sometimes seems that way,” Stella said. “When we moved into this new building, he was spending so many hours here, I ordered the couch and make it up for him when I suspect he’ll pull an all-nighter.”

“That’s dedication.” On Stella’s part, and on her boss’s.

“It’s paid off. Elite is thriving when new construction is down nationwide.”

“I could tell by the party,” she admitted, knowing it must have set the company back a pretty penny. Few corporations bothered these days, and she suspected the happy atmosphere contributed to the company’s success.

Stella stepped behind the desk and picked up a pile of sealed envelopes, shuffling through a half-dozen of them before she said, “Ah, here we are!”

Lucy accepted it, tucking the very welcome check into her purse. “Thanks very much.”

“Thank you. Your photos were the hit of the party. I am actually glad the other company canceled. We’ve used them in the past and they’ve never had the response you did today. You’re wonderful with children.”

Lucy smiled, appreciating the praise. It was funny—six years ago, she probably would have been horrified at it.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure herself how it had happened. She just knew that, after two years in Paris, photographing cold-faced fashion models had lost all appeal. Same with old, lifeless buildings and stagnant landscapes.

Then Kate had started having kids. Lucy had visited for summers and holidays, becoming a devoted godmother and falling head-over-heels for those babies. She had delighted in taking their portraits, finding in children’s faces an energy and spontaneity she seldom found anywhere else.

So she’d gone back to New York. She’d set up a studio and begun exploring the amazingly creative world of little people. One thing had led to another, and then another. And soon she’d been getting calls from wealthy parents in other states, and had sold several shots to children’s catalogs and magazines.

Who’d’ve ever thought it?

Not her, that’s for sure. Nor would she ever have imagined that she’d really love what she was doing. But she did.

Life, it seemed, took some strange turns, led you in directions you’d never have imagined. It had taken her from the windy city, to the Big Apple, then to another continent. And now right back to where she’d started, in Chicago.

And back into Ross Marshall’s life.

No, don’t even go there, she reminded herself. She wasn’t back in his life. She was in the same building with him for another five minutes, max. Then she could go back to forgetting about the guy. Forgetting how good he still looked to her. How his sexy voice thrilled her senses. How his touch had sent her out of her mind.

How he’d once seemed like the guy she could love forever.

4

Then

New York, December 23, 2005

LUCY HAD TO give this very handsome stranger—Ross—credit. He didn’t stand up and walk out of the coffee shop when she admitted she’d been fantasizing about separating an ex-boyfriend from part of his anatomy. He didn’t yelp, cringe, or reflexively drop a protective hand on his lap. None of the above. Instead he simply stared for a second, then let a loud burst of laughter erupt from his mouth.

She smiled, too, especially because she hadn’t really been fantasizing about maiming Jude when this guy had walked up behind her. In fact, she’d been laughing at herself for having thought about it earlier. Somehow, her whole mood had shifted from the time she’d walked into the coffee shop until the moment this incredibly handsome man had approached her.

Incredibly. Handsome.

Around them, others in the café glanced over. Lucy wasn’t blind to the stares that lingered on him. Heaven knew, any woman with a broken-in vagina would stare. Heck, hers wasn’t broken-in and she could barely take her eyes off the guy!

He’d been super-hot from across the room. Up close, now that she could see the tiny flecks in his stunning green eyes, the dazzling white smile, the slight stubble on his cheeks, well, he went from hot and sexy to smoking and irresistible. She’d actually shivered when their hands had met, unable to think a single thought except to wonder how those strong, rough fingers would feel sliding across her skin.

Gorgeous, sexy, strong. And a sense of humor.

Why couldn’t she have met this guy on a day when she didn’t loathe every creature with a penis?

You don’t. Not every guy.

Truthfully? Not even one. She didn’t loathe Jude. She would have had to care about him to hate him, and, honestly, having really thought about it, she knew she hadn’t cared much at all.

“You’re serious?” he asked once his laughter had died down.

“Not about doing it.”

“But thinking it?”

“My turn to take the fifth.”

“Why?”

“Probably because it’s not very nice to admit you fantasize about dismembering someone.”

“No, I meant why do you want to, um…dismember him?”

“I didn’t, I was just indulging in a little mind-revenge. He wasn’t the most faithful guy.”

“I hate cheaters,” he said, his voice both sympathetic and disgusted.

“Speaking from personal experience?”

“Well, not exactly,” he admitted.

Yeah. Because any woman who cheated on him would have to have been recently lobotomized.

“Though, I did kinda get cheated on once…by a guy.”

She didn’t take the bait, knowing that there was no way Ross was gay. There wasn’t one nonheterosexual gene in his body; you could practically smell the masculine pheromones that surrounded him like a cloud, attracting every woman in the place.

“Let me guess…your best buddy in first grade decided he wanted to play dodgeball instead of tag and left you alone in the playground?”

“Almost,” he said, his eyes gleaming with approval that she hadn’t gone where most would have. “It was in high school. I wanted my best friend to stick with the wrestling team, he wanted to do the school musical.” He shook his head sadly. “I just couldn’t understand what he was thinking. It wasn’t until junior year that he finally told me the truth, and then I was so furious I didn’t speak to him for a week.”

Somehow disappointed in him, she stiffened slightly. “You were mad that he was gay?”

“Hell, no, he wasn’t gay! He told me he left wrestling and went to drama because, let me see if I remember this exactly, ‘Why would I want to roll around on the floor with a bunch of sweaty dudes, when I could be one of only a handful of guys surrounded by some of the prettiest girls in the school?’ Man, some of those theater chicks were cute…and he never told me, he kept them all for himself!”

She laughed out loud, liking both the story, and that he had told it. He was obviously trying to distract her, to amuse her. It was a nice thing to do for a guy so young and good-looking.

“So, your first bro-mance ended up in a bad breakup.”

“Yup. Now, back to yours… .”

“Not a bro-mance, obviously. But also unpleasant. I only wish it were something as simple as him preferring The Sound of Music to pinning and undercupping.”

His eyes widened. “Hey, you know wrestling!”

“Older brother.”

“So is he going to kick this cheating dude’s ass?”

“Sam? No. He doesn’t live here, and even if he did, there’s absolutely no way I would tell him about this.”

“How come?”

“Because he’s a cop. And he’s extremely overprotective.” Though she didn’t usually discuss it, for some reason, she found this guy very easy to talk to, so she added, “He sort of became my father when our parents died.”

Ross leaned forward in his chair, dropping his elbows onto the table. His fingers brushed against her hand, in a move that was as fleeting as it was sweet. A faint brush of I’m Sorry and How Sad and Hey, I Understand. All unsaid. All understood.

All appreciated.

She cleared her throat, feeling the lump start to rise, the way it always did when this particular subject came up. “Anyway, I don’t need Sam to fight my battles. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ross said.

“Don’t worry, I’m really not the violent type. This guy didn’t crush my spirit, he merely dinged my ego.”

He held her stare, as if assessing the truth of her words. Lucy stared right back, a tiny smile on her lips, relieved that she meant exactly what she’d said, hoping he realized that, too.

“I’m glad,” he finally admitted, seeing the truth in her face.

“So am I.”

“Still, if you change your mind and decide to get all saw-crazy on this boyfriend, remind me not to go with you. I wouldn’t want to be arrested as an accomplice.”

She chuckled as he turned her earlier words back on her, then clarified, “Ex-boyfriend.” Shaking her head, she added, “Believe me, nothing could induce me to go back there.” Then something occurred to her. “Oh, no!” Lucy put a hand over her forehead as she remembered something. Because she was going to have to make a liar of herself. “I’m so stupid!”

“What?”

“My brother’s Christmas present to me. It came in the mail today—he sent it to Jude’s place because he knows mail sometimes gets stolen from the building where I live and Jude’s has a doorman.” She felt moisture in her eyes, furious at herself for forgetting the gift, but also worried about what Jude would do with it. “He’s probably already thrown it down the trash chute.”

“Jude?” he said doubtfully. “Lemme guess—spoiled, rich punk?”

It might have taken a little while for the blinders to come off, but Lucy had to admit, that pretty well described her ex. “How’d you know?”

“Having a doorman in NYC is a pretty big tip-off. So’s having a name like Jude. Plus, he must’ve done something pretty bad if you’re fantasizing about chopping the head off his trouser snake, yet he’d still throw out a Christmas gift from your brother…meaning he’s an immature, petulant brat.” He spread his hands. “Or a spoiled, rich asshole.”

“All of the above would cover it.”

“And you’re with this guy…why?”

“I’m not with him.”

“But you were as of…”

She sighed deeply. “About two hours ago.”

He whistled, leaning back in his chair, extending his long legs, crossed at the ankle. “Was it serious? I mean, were you guys exclusive?”

“Not according to him, apparently.”

His jaw tightened a tiny bit. “And according to you?”

“Well, I thought so, but maybe I just saw things differently than he did. We’d been dating three months, but we hadn’t even…you know. So maybe he cheated since he’d never gotten anywhere with me.”

Ross coughed into his fist, apparently surprised she’d admitted that. Maybe he was turned-off; some guys would be at the thought that a girl would wait three months before getting down to business. If so, better to find out now if he was one of them.

Why that should be, she didn’t know. After all, she might never even speak to this guy again once she left this shop. Somehow, the thought made her heart twist a lot harder than it had earlier when she’d thought about not seeing Jude anymore.

“Good for you,” he said.

Okay, so he wasn’t one of those guys, apparently. The realization warmed her a little on this very chilly day.

“Let him eat his heart out, wondering what he’s thrown away.”

She liked that idea. “I hope twenty years from now he’s still wondering if he missed out on the best sex of his life.”

Their stares locked as the heated words hung there between them. They were having a very intimate conversation for two strangers, and now, she suspected, they were both thinking a little too much about certain parts of that conversation

Like sex. Great sex. She might not have had it—great, or otherwise—but that didn’t mean she was immune to desire. Looking at the man sitting across from her, feeling the heat sluice through her veins to settle with quiet, throbbing insistence between her thighs, she knew full well she had a basic understanding of want.

Or more than basic. Because it wasn’t just her sex that was responding here. Every inch of her skin tingled as she thought of him touching her, pressing his mouth to all the more interesting parts of her body. Places that responded to the warm look in his eyes and how he opened his mouth to draw in a slow breath in a way they’d never responded to any guy’s most passionate embrace.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and his voice was thick as he finally replied, “I almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

She didn’t. And she definitely didn’t feel sorry for herself any longer. Not when, with one twenty-minute conversation, this complete stranger was introducing her to sensations her ex hadn’t elicited in months of dating.

They remained silent for one more moment. Then, as if they both realized they were falling into something neither had anticipated—at the speed of light, no less—they shifted in their chairs and broke the stare.

Lucy forced a light laugh, trying to pretend she wasn’t completely enraptured by the thought of pressing her mouth to the cord of muscle in his neck. “I’m not going to spare him any sympathy until I get my present back and make sure he didn’t destroy it.”

His gleaming eyes narrowed. “You really think he would?”

She considered it, remembered some of Jude’s more spiteful moods. Not to mention his ridiculously misplaced indignation that she’d walked in on him today—as if it were all her fault because she’d caught him, not his that he’d cheated. “It’s possible.”

Ross’s jaw clenched, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “Why don’t you let me take care of this?”

“Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough to know you shouldn’t have to beg somebody who betrayed you to give you back something that’s yours.”

She heard the note of protectiveness in his voice, and found it strange. And very nice. Ross had just met her, yet he’d already been more thoughtful and considerate of her feelings than Jude had in the past three months.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she insisted, not wanting to drag somebody else into her troubles.

“It’s from your only family member, Luce,” he replied, shaking his head. “So of course it’s a big deal. I want to make sure you get it back.”

Lucy’s breath caught. The soft way he’d said the nickname, Luce, seemed so tender. And the way he’d immediately understood why the gift from Sam was important to her, without her having to explain it…

Who are you? she couldn’t help wondering. Can you really be this nice a guy?

“Do you think he’d really destroy your Christmas present?”

She didn’t like to think so, but it was possible. “He was pretty mad when I left, mainly because I wouldn’t stick around to listen to his explanation.”

“Could there have been one?”

She snickered. “Sure.” She tapped her finger on her cheek, as if thinking it over. “Hmm, okay, I have an idea how it could have, uh…gone down.”

A half smile lifted one corner of his oh-so-sexy mouth, as if he understood the reason for her inflection.

“So, his skanky neighbor was taking a bath, and she forgot she had no shampoo,” Lucy explained. “Wrapped only in a towel, she came to his door to borrow some.”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “I bet I know what happened next. It just so happens, he was about to take a shower, too, so he was also only wearing a towel.”

She giggled, wondering why she could already find this funny when it had brought tears to her eyes earlier today. More proof that her heart hadn’t ever been involved in her relationship with Jude, she supposed.

“And then…hmm. Oh, I’ve got it,” she said. “A pack of wild dogs somehow got into the building, rode up the elevator, burst into the apartment and ripped off both their towels. And in the ensuing struggle, slutty neighbor chick tripped and fell mouth first onto his sad, strange-looking little penis.”

Ross winced. “Ouch.”

“Ouch for her, or for him?”

“Well, mainly for you,” he said, that gentle tone back in his voice. “For having to witness that.” That sexy grin flashed. “But also ouch to him for having a sad, strange-looking little penis.”

“Considering it was the first—and last—time I ever saw it, I can only say I’m glad I made the decision not to sleep with him.”

“Me, too,” he admitted, sounding as though he meant it. Which was odd, considering she didn’t even know him and neither of them had any idea if they would ever share anything more than this one conversation at this one particular moment.

She hoped they would. It was fast, and utterly surprising and the timing was pretty bad. But she already had the feeling this sexy, hardworking guy was someone special. And even if the timing was all wrong, she might be the one with lifelong regrets if she didn’t at least give this more time to play out.

“So, do you always go around telling strangers about your sex life?” he asked.

She played with her coffee cup, tracing her fingers on its rim, not meeting his eyes. “You’re the first,” she admitted. Hoping she wouldn’t reveal too much, she shrugged and added, “You just don’t seem like a stranger.”

He didn’t. She felt like she was already starting to know him, or at least know the essence of him. The physical attraction had been instant. But there was so much more. Earlier, when she’d mentioned her parents, there’d been that warmth, the smile, the tender looks, that ever-so-gentle brush of his fingers against her hand. Then there was his reaction to her having been cheated on. His indignance over her lost Christmas present.

All those things told a story. A nice one. A good one.

A story she wanted to explore a little more. Or a lot more.

“Okay then, if we’re not strangers, I guess that means we’re friends,” he told her with a tender smile. Then, without explanation, he pushed the chair back and stood up. She wasn’t sure what he intended—to leave, to ask her out?—until he extended a hand to her.

“So, come on, friend. Let’s go reclaim your Christmas present.”

CONSIDERING HOW beautiful Lucy was, Ross didn’t expect her ex to be a total dog, even if he was a total dick. There had to have been something she’d found attractive about the guy. And even though he hadn’t known her long, he already felt pretty sure it hadn’t been the money. She just didn’t seem the type. There wasn’t a fake thing about her…and he should know. He’d looked. Hard.

Hell, it had been impossible not to look, not to try to get to know everything about her. Sitting across from each other at that coffee shop, they’d fallen into an easy, laid-back conversation that it had taken him a half-dozen meetings to achieve with other girls. Then things had gone from warm and friendly to hot and expectant.

He shouldn’t have started thinking about Lucy’s sex life, much less talking about it. Because it was damned hard to get it out of his mind—or to stop wondering about that look she’d had in her eye during the long silence they’d shared.

Walking outside to drop off his tools in his truck, then to the subway so they could ride up to her dopey ex’s neighborhood, he found himself more surprised by her with every move she made.

She never stopped talking, but didn’t jabber about stupid, inane stuff. He didn’t once hear the word shoes. Or makeup. Or shopping.

She talked about the city—how much she loved the energy of it, the pace, the excitement.

She stopped to take pictures—things that would never occur to him to be interesting, like a pile of trash bags or an old rusty bike against a fence.

She talked about her plans to go to Europe after she graduated, to photograph anything that moved and lots of things that didn’t.

She bought one of those disgusting hot dogs off a cart, and actually ate the thing.

She passed a five dollar bill to a homeless guy. She also dropped another five into a bell-ringer’s bucket, even as she admitted she didn’t really like Christmas, claiming her favorite response to anyone’s “Merry Christmas,” was “Bah, humbug!”

He had a hard time buying that one. She was too cute and sweet and generous to be a Scrooge. But he did see the shadow in her expression whenever she talked about the holiday and suspected she was serious about disliking it.

Other than that, though, she laughed a lot. She smiled at strangers. She turned her face up to meet the softly falling snow and licked its moisture off her lips. Sweet laugh, beautiful smile, sexy lips.

All in all, aside from totally attracting him, she charmed him. It was an old-fashioned description, but it fit. Lucy was, quite simply, charming. Plus adorable. And hot as hell. Every minute he spent with her made him like her even more…and made him more determined to ensure her cheating ex didn’t get the chance to hurt her again.

She was, in short, fantastic. So, no, he definitely didn’t see her hooking up with someone who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. This Jude guy, who lived in a high-rise building with apartments that probably cost five times the rent in his own tiny place, had to have something to attract someone like Lucy.

Then he met the loser, face-to-face, and understood.

Jude Zacharias was spoiled, handsome and smooth—one of those old-money types whose family name probably hadn’t been tainted by the stench of real work for a few generations. But the main thing about him, the thing that would suck in any girl, was the earnest charm.

He laid it on thick from the minute he answered the door and saw Lucy. He even managed to work up a couple of tears in his eyes as he told her how sorry he was that he’d let some skank trick him into doing something bad—ha—how much he wished he could take it back and how glad he was that she’d returned.

Then he spotted Ross, who’d been hovering just out of sight, near the hallway wall.

“Who the fuck is he?”

Stepping forward, Ross said, “He the fuck is Lucy’s friend, Ross. We’re here to pick up the package she left behind. Now, would you get it, please? We’re in a hurry.”

Yeah. Not because he had errands to run, but because he was in a rush to get Lucy away from this prick who’d hurt her, even if it had been her pride, not her heart that had been dinged. Honestly, he’d wanted to rip the guy’s hand off when he’d actually reached out and tried to touch her. Fortunately, Lucy had stepped aside, out of reach.

The guy’s jaw hit his chest. He gaped, then sputtered, finally saying, “Who are you?”

Ross looked at Lucy and shrugged. “Is he brain damaged or something? Like I said, I’m Ross. I’m here to make sure you give Lucy her package, and that you don’t try anything.”

“Lucy, are you serious? Did you bring this guy to throw in my face, make me jealous or something?” He reached for her hand. “Babe, you don’t have to do that, you know I’ll take you back.”

“Dude, get over it. You’ve been dumped,” Ross said.

Jude’s glare would have fried an egg. “Mind your own damn business. Why the hell are you here anyway?”

Lucy stepped between them. “Ross is a friend.”

“Yeah, sure, right. How long has he been your…friend?”

She tapped a finger on her lips, as if thinking about it, then cast a quick, mischievous glance toward Ross. “Oh, about an hour now.”

Jude sputtered. Lucy ignored him.

“He just wanted to come along in case you decided to be a jerk about my package.”

The guy sneered. “Oh, yeah? And what’s he gonna do if I say you can’t have it?”

Ross’s fingers curled into fists and his jaw tightened. He took a step toward the door. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt this anxious to punch someone but he didn’t think so. Something about hearing the way this little asshole talked to Lucy brought out the overprotective he-man in him.

She put up a hand, stopping him. “It’s okay. Jude, please don’t be a pain about this. Can I just have my package?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a key ring. “And here, you should have this back.”

He snatched the key out of her hand, cast one more glare at Ross, then stepped back into the apartment. He returned a few seconds later, shoving a small, paper-wrapped carton toward her. It was mashed, dirty, slightly torn.

Lucy stared at it, her bottom lip trembling, then took it. A small shake elicited a tinkling sound from inside. The paper in which it was wrapped was damp.

Whatever had been inside had contained some kind of liquid. And it was broken.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, her voice thick. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

Jude shrugged. “Hey, just figured it must not have been important if you left it here, so I was gonna pitch it.”

It looked as though the bastard already had. Against a wall.

Furious, Ross took another step toward him. “You petty little douchebag.” This time, Lucy was too distracted by the ruined gift in her hands to stop him.

Good. That left Ross free to grab a fistful of her ex-boyfriend’s top and shove him back into his apartment. The guy tripped over a table, stumbling backward a few steps before falling on his arrogant ass.

“Take another step and I’ll call the cops!” he shrieked. Obviously pretty boy wasn’t used to anybody threatening his perfect, spoiled little self.

“I could knock out your teeth before they get here,” Ross growled.

The other guy scrambled backward as Ross stalked him, step by step.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “Lucy, come on, you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. It was an accident.”

“Accident my ass,” Ross said as he leaned down and hauled the guy up by the collar of his J. Crew sweater.

His right hand curled into a fist but before he could let it fly, Lucy grabbed his arm. “Let him go. Please, Ross, let’s just get out of here.” She cast her ex a withering look. “Hey, he did me a favor. If there was any doubt in my mind that he’s a disgusting, hateful person, this eliminated it.”

“Babe…”

“Bite me, Jude,” she snapped.

Ross grinned, then, for good measure, pushed the dude backward until he hit the couch, sprawling out on it.

Ross glanced at Lucy, seeing she’d hugged the package to her chest, apparently not caring that it was wet. It was like seeing someone who’d lost their most prized possession. Nobody deserved to be cheated on, humiliated and then, to top it all off, have something important to them shattered. Remembering what she’d said about it being just the two of them after their parents had died, he felt his heart twist in his chest, knowing how much her brother’s gift must have meant to her.

His own family drove him crazy sometimes—especially his overly controlling father—but he couldn’t imagine life without them. She was so young to bear that kind of sadness. One thing he knew, Lucy Fleming had to be one hell of a strong young woman. And a forgiving one, if she was determined to stop him from kicking her ex’s ass.

“Please, can we just go?” she asked.

Yeah. She seemed pretty determined. That was lucky for the ex, even though it didn’t make Ross too happy.

“Fine,” he told her.

He took her arm and led her to the door, glancing back over his shoulder before they walked through it. The ex still sat there on the couch, a sneer curling his lips. As if he were the injured party in this whole rotten mess.

The boiling well of anger inside him had rolled back to a slow simmer, and Ross knew he had to get out of here before it boiled back up. Mr. J. Crew dickhead had finally realized the merits of shutting the hell up, but that look on his face was seriously pissing Ross off. If he opened his mouth again, or if one single tear fell out of Lucy’s eyes, he was gonna go postal on the squirmy punk.

Her hand tightened on his arm, as if she knew what he was thinking. So he wouldn’t do it. But something wouldn’t let him leave without one more parting shot. “Hey, dude, don’t worry, I wouldn’ta hit you. Wouldn’t risk damaging that pretty face of yours, ’cause it sounds to me like you really need it.”

“What do you mean?” the other man snapped, starting to rise from his seat. Emboldened, perhaps, by the thought that Ross was admitting he wouldn’t have hit him?

Just give me a reason, punk.

Ross shrugged as Lucy stepped into the hallway ahead of him. “I mean, it sounds like you need whatever help you can get. From what I hear, you not only have a scrawny neck, you have a scrawny dick as well.” Tsking, he shook his head. “Even worse, a sad, strange-looking one.”

The other guy’s face erupted in scarlet, and he sputtered, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Which, in Ross’s mind, confirmed what Lucy had said about him. A guy with an ounce of self-confidence would have laughed, or sneered. Jude just looked like he wanted to call Mommy and make the new kid stop saying mean things to him.

“Oh, by the way,” he added. “Happy birthday.”

Ross slammed the door, not waiting for Jude to come up with a crushing reply. Not that he could, really, because, man, any guy who couldn’t defend himself against small-cock accusations didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

It wasn’t until they were alone in the elevator, heading toward the bottom floor, that he looked down and saw Lucy’s shoulders shaking. It was as if she’d held herself together, keeping her emotions in check until she got out of sight of her ex, but now that they were alone, her sadness over the day’s events had come crashing down on her.

He turned her toward him. Ross fully intended to take her into his arms, awkwardly pat her back or whatever guys Did to console crying women. But before he could do it, he realized he’d made a big mistake.

“Oh…my…God…” she said between gasps, which weren’t caused by tears, but rather, by laughter. She looked up at him, her lips shaking, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “Did you see his face?”

“I saw,” he said, smiling down at her, so pleased she wasn’t brokenhearted over creepy Jude that he wanted to pick her up and swing her around in his arms.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You were my knight in shining armor.”

He grinned and gestured toward his bomber jacket. “Carpenter in tarnished leather, at best.”

Her pretty mouth widened in a smile. “Either way…my hero.” Then, still looking playful, happy, appreciative, she rose on her tiptoes and reached up to brush her delicate fingers against his cheek. He had about a second to process what she was about to do before she pressed her soft lips against his.

It was a thank-you kiss, he had no doubt about that.

Sweet. Tender. Simple.

Incredibly good.

It should have been nothing but a three-second brush of skin on skin, an expression of gratitude between two people who didn’t really know each other yet but definitely wanted to.

But damned if Ross was willing to let it go down that way. Once he felt Lucy’s mouth, shared her sweet breath, impulse took over. He lifted both hands, cupping one around her cheek. The other he tangled in her long, thick hair, taking pure pleasure in the softness of it, letting it glide through his fingers like water.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue out to tease hers. Lucy groaned slightly, taking what he offered and upping the ante even more by tilting her head and widening her mouth. Thank you and you’re welcome turned into I-want-you and where’s the nearest bed in about ten seconds flat. Sweetness faded and heat erupted as their tongues thrust and twined.

“Ahem.”

It took a second for the voice to intrude. But another throat-clearing and a titter finally invaded his Lucy-in-fused consciousness. It appeared they’d arrived at the bottom floor. The door had slid open and they were providing quite a show for the people waiting in the lobby.

Filled with regret, he pulled away, looking down into her pretty, flushed face, seeing the way her long lashes rested on her high cheekbones. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, swaying a little toward him. But the box pressed against her chest prevented her from melting into his body.

And their sudden, unwelcome audience prevented him from moving the box.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

Her eyes flew open. Seeing the strangers watching them—two young men with their arms around each other’s waists, both grinning widely, and an older, white-haired woman whose grin was, if possible, even wider—Lucy stammered an apology.

“No need to apologize,” one of the men said, waving his hand as Lucy and Ross exited the elevator.

The other nodded in agreement. “Tell me this means you ditched 6C.”

Lucy’s jaw fell open. “Wha…?”

“He’s a bad egg,” the woman said, jumping into the conversation as if they had all known each other for years. In truth, Ross suspected they were complete strangers to Lucy. “A total fart-weasel.”

Ross coughed into his fist at the description, but the two men were already nodding in agreement. “He sure is.”

“Have we met?” Lucy asked, shaking her head in confusion, confirming Ross’s suspicion.

“No,” said the darker-haired man. “But we all live on six, too. And honey, 6C is just nasty. So not your type!”

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking even more embarrassed than before. Considering complete strangers were dissecting her love life, he could see why.

The light-haired man eyed Ross. “Did you beat him up?”

“No.”

Ms. Elderly Busybody sighed heavily. “That’s too bad. I’ve been hoping somebody would. That boy could benefit from an ass-whupping.”

“Well, given what I know of him so far, I have no doubt that someday your prayers will be answered,” Ross said.

He and Lucy murmured goodbyes to their three new friends, then headed for the door. As they approached him, the doorman offered Lucy a conspiratorial wink, as if he agreed with the other residents’ opinion of her ex. Which was nice, but probably had to be making Lucy feel even worse about ever having dated the fart-weasel in 6C.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

She sucked in a surprised breath, and stopped halfway across the lobby. Looking up at him, she appeared shocked that he’d been able to figure out what she’d been thinking.

“He’s a con artist, Luce,” Ross said with a simple shrug. “He became what you wanted him to be.”

“Yes, he did,” she murmured. “But how did you know?”

“Guys do it all the time, especially with girls who won’t, uh… .” He didn’t want to be crass enough to say put out, though that was what he meant.

“Gotcha,” she said. “And thanks for not telling me I was a complete idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

“You did see it,” he told her, not liking that self-recrimination in her voice. “Which is probably why you wouldn’t, uh…”

This time, during the pregnant pause while they both mentally filled in the blank, Lucy actually laughed. “You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

“I have a few ex-girlfriends who would disagree, but my parents like to think so.”

“I think I’ll have to side with your folks on that one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that,” he said with a grin.

She grinned back, then, without another word, slipped her hand into his and turned again toward the exit.

As her soft fingers entwined with his, Ross’s heart jolted. He’d kissed her, touched her…but this was a little bit more. It wasn’t just a simple touch. That clasped hand was so easy and relaxed, like she already trusted him, as if they’d known each other for weeks rather than hours.

He honestly wasn’t sure what was going to happen when they walked out of this building. He’d done what he’d set out to do—escorted her to her ex’s place to retrieve her present. But now what? They’d made no other plans. It was the day before Christmas Eve, the streets were a madhouse, he had a million things to do. But as they walked into the bracing December day, alive with the thrum of city life, laughter, and energy, all he could think was that the very last thing he wanted was to say goodbye to her.

5

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

THOUGH HE KNEW Stella had the checks for the subcontractors ready, Ross was hoping it would take a while for her to find Lucy’s. While there were still people in the building, it would be far too easy for her to slip away. The longer it took, the better the chances were that she wouldn’t be able to avoid him on her way out.

Yet somehow, she nearly pulled it off. He didn’t even realize she was leaving until he spotted a thick head of dark hair—topped by a merry green, feathered elf cap—getting onto the elevator. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“What?”

Seeing the surprised expression on the face of one of his project managers, who’d stopped to chat after Mr. Whitaker departed, Ross mumbled, “I’m sorry, I just remembered something I forgot to take care of.”

Like getting Lucy’s address, phone number and her promise to get together very soon so they could talk. Exactly what they’d talk about, he didn’t know. Six years seemed like a long time for a how’ve-you-been type of conversation. So maybe they’d skip how’ve-you-beens in favor of what-happens-now?

Then he remembered that Stella had hired Lucy. She had to know how to get in touch with her. Plus, Lucy had mentioned she lived here, worked here—it shouldn’t be hard to find her online.

So, yes, he could be reasonable and mature and patient about this. Could wait until after the holidays, then call her sometime in January to say hello and see if she’d like to meet.

But something—maybe the look in her eyes when she’d said he would know what she’d been up to if he’d called during the past six years—wouldn’t let him wait. He couldn’t have said it in front of anyone at the party; wasn’t sure he’d have found the words even if they’d been left alone. Still, Lucy deserved an explanation from him. Even if she thought it a lame one and decided to keep hating him, he’d feel better if he offered it.

Then he’d get to work on making her not hate him anymore.

“Thanks for the party, Mr. Marshall,” his employee said. “The kids really loved it.”

“I’m glad. Hey, you and your family have a great holiday,” Ross replied, already stepping toward the enclosed stairs that were intended for emergencies.

This was one. The elevator could have made a few stops on the way to the lobby—there were still employees on other floors, closing down for the holiday break. If he hustled, he might beat her to the bottom.

He might not be slinging a hammer and doing hard physical labor ten hours a day anymore, but Ross did keep himself busy in his off hours. So the dash down six flights of stairs didn’t really wind him. By the time he burst through the doors into the tiled lobby of the building—surprising Chip, the elderly security guard—the elevator door was just sliding open, and several people exited, some carrying boxes, bags of gifts, plates of food, files to work on at home.

One carried nothing, but wore a silly hat.

Lucy saw him and her mouth dropped. “How did you…?”

“Staircase,” he told her. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Did you really stalk me down six flights of stairs?”

He rolled his eyes. “Stalking? That’s a little dramatic.”

“You’re breathing hard and sweating,” she accused him, stepping close and frowning. “Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t run every step of the way.”

He couldn’t contain a small grin. “Busted.”

“The question is, why?”

“Here’s a better one. Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”

“We said our goodbyes a long time ago,” she retorted.

He whistled.

“What?”

“You’re still really mad at me.”

Those slim shoulders straightened and her chin went up. “That’s ridiculous.”

Lucy was obviously trying for a withering look, but with that silly hat and the droopy feather hanging by her cheek, she only managed freaking adorable. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand and nudging the feather back into place, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

She flinched as if touched with a hot iron. “Don’t.”

“Jesus, Lucy, do you hate me?” he whispered, realizing for the first time that this might not be mere bravado. Was it possible that over the past six years, while he’d been feeling miserable even as he congratulated himself on doing the right—the mature—thing, she’d been hating his guts?

“Of course I don’t hate you,” she said, sounding huffy. As if she was telling the truth, but wasn’t exactly happy about that fact.

So she wanted to hate him?

“Can we please go sit down somewhere and have a cup of coffee?”

A wistful expression crossed her face, as if she, too, were remembering their first meeting in that New York coffee shop.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I need to get to the bank before it closes, and before the snow starts.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m driving.”

“I’ll ride with you.”

She huffed. “You’re still persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when it’s important.”

“And when did I become important to you?”

The day we met. He didn’t say the words, but he suspected she saw them in his face.

“Look, Ross, I swear, I am not holding a grudge,” she said. “So you don’t have to go out of your way to try to make up with me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I just…I’ve missed you. A lot.”

“How can you miss someone you knew for only a weekend, years ago?”

“Are you telling me you don’t feel the same way?”

If she said she didn’t, he’d make himself believe her. He’d let her go. Chalk this up to one of those life lessons where a memory of a time you’d considered perfect turned out to be something less than that to the one you’d shared it with.

Lucy didn’t respond at first. Not wanting her to breeze over this, to reply without thought, Ross lifted a hand. A few strands of her silky, dark hair had fallen against her face. He slid his fingers through it, sending heat all the way up his arm. Her eyes drifted closed, the long lashes stark against her pale skin. And he’d swear she curled her face into his hand for an instant.

Ross groaned, as helpless to resist her now as he’d been that first day, in the elevator. Ignoring the surprised stare of the guard, who was the only other person in the lobby, he bent to Lucy and brushed his lips against hers, softly, demanding nothing more than a chance.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, then melted against him. This time there was no crumpled box separating their bodies; he was thrilled to discover she still fit against him as perfectly as ever. Her soft curves welcomed his harder angles, her feet parting a little as she brushed her legs against his and arched into him.

Sweetness flared into desire, just like it had the first time they’d kissed. Ross dropped his hands to her hips and held her close. Sweeping his tongue into her mouth, he dared her to go further. She, of course, took the dare, accepting what he offered and upping the ante by lifting her arms to encircle his neck. Their tongues thrust together, hot and languorous and deep, leaving Ross to wonder how he’d ever even imagined kissing any other woman had been as good as kissing this one. Everything about her was as intoxicating to him as it had been then. Maybe more so—because Lucy was no longer the sweet-faced co-ed. She was now every inch a woman. And he’d had the intense privilege of making her that woman.

Maybe that’s what made this kiss different from their first one. Then, there’d been curiosity and wonder, riding on a wave of pure attraction.

Now they knew what they could be to each other. Knew the pleasure they were capable of creating together. Knew what it was like to be naked and hot and joined together as sanity retreated and hunger took over every waking thought. And many sleeping ones.

She lifted her leg slightly, twining it around his, and Ross echoed the tiny groan she made when she arched harder against him. There was no way she couldn’t feel his rock-hard erection, any more than he could miss the heat between the thighs that instinctively cradled him.

Six years fell away, along with time, place and any concerns about an audience. There was just this, just the two of them, exploring something that had been missing from their lives for far too long.

Though he felt lost to everything else in the world except Lucy, Ross did finally become aware of a throat-clearing—Chip?—followed by a dinging sound that indicated the arrival of the elevator. A swoosh of the door was followed by a dull roar of laughing voices; the last few partiers…i.e., his employers, were about to make their way home.

He and Lucy quickly ended the kiss and stepped apart. “Déjà vu all over again,” he muttered. Only this time, they’d been caught on the outside of the elevator.

She actually laughed a little, that sweet, warm laugh that was so distinctly hers. Over the past several years, he’d listened for that sound, always expecting to somehow hear it again, even though he’d never really let himself believe he would.

“Hopefully we’re not going to hear some old lady say the guy on six is a fart-weasel.”

“Hey, my office is on six,” he said with a chuckle, pleased to realize Lucy remembered as much about that day as he did.

A group exited the elevator. “Have a happy holiday!” said one of his workers, who walked with his pregnant wife.

Ross nodded at the couple, and at the three others who’d come down with them. “Same to you. Be careful out there—it’s supposed to be a bad one.”

Murmuring their goodbyes, the group headed for the exit. They were escorted by Chip, who turned a key to operate the intricate, electronic locks that turned this place into a fortress. With the offices closed to the public today, Chip had been kept on his toes playing doorman, letting employees in for the party, and, now that it was over, back out.

Fortunately the guard never complained. Not even about the fact that he had to work all night, during an impending blizzard, right before Christmas Eve. They might not have state secrets to be stolen, but some of their competitors would risk a lot for the chance to get at prebid documents. With millions of dollars in high-end construction projects at stake, corporate espionage had never been more of a danger. Plus, Elite had invested a hell of a lot of money in computers and equipment. Keeping security on-site 24/7 was one place where Ross had stood firm against his penny-pinching father, who loved to keep a hand in the business even though he was technically retired.

“Wait, I’m leaving, too,” Lucy said as Chip began to relock the doors.

“Lucy…”

She held up a hand and brushed past him. “Please, Ross, I really need to go.”

Hell, she sounded more determined to leave than she had before he’d kissed her. Not that he regretted it. Not one bit.

Chip glanced toward Ross, as if asking what Ross wanted him to do. He nodded once. He couldn’t keep Lucy here against her will. Nothing had changed; he’d taken his shot, and he’d lost.

But just for now.

Definitely. They’d been caught off guard, taken completely by surprise when they’d bumped into one another today. Now, though, he knew Lucy was living in Chicago. There was no longer any geographic reason for him to bow out. Nor was he young enough—angry and resentful enough—to let outside situations and demands make him walk away from her for a second time.

It was as if she’d been delivered back into his life, like the best kind of Christmas gift. The one you never expected, didn’t realize you needed, but, when you tore off the paper, suddenly understood that it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

No, he wasn’t about to let her get away again, but he knew the old saying about picking your battles. Lucy had her guard up, she was uncomfortable here on his turf and hadn’t had a moment to evaluate what all this meant to her. So he’d give her a few days to figure things out, then try again. And the next time he asked her to hear him out, he would not take no for an answer.

“Goodbye, Ross,” she said, not even turning around to face him. Her voice was soft, low, and he suspected she was trying desperately not to reveal her emotions.

He had to let her go. Had to trust that was the right thing to do in order to get her back.

“Goodbye,” he replied. “And Lucy?”

She hesitated, then glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“Merry Christmas.”

A brief hesitation, then a tiny smile widened her perfect lips. “Bah humbug.”

And then she disappeared out into the gray twilight.

IT USUALLY TOOK twenty minutes to get to the nearest branch of her bank. But today, Lucy was dealing with Friday evening, holiday weekend, impending-blizzard traffic. So she didn’t reach the drive-thru until right before they closed at seven.

Thick flecks of white started to appear on the windshield of her Jeep as she waited in the long line of cars. New York got the white stuff by the foot, but here, the Snow Miser seemed to delight in sending wicked, bone-chilling winds along with his icy droppings. The flakes weren’t the sweet, delicate ones that gently kissed your bare face. These were big, sloppy and wet, landing like punches, instead.

Once she’d made her deposit, Lucy headed right home. Luckily she had believed the weatherman’s warnings and gone shopping yesterday. Having stocked up on chocolate, Diet Coke, and DVDs, she looked forward to a weekend inside, chomping on junk food, watching disaster movies, and shopping online.

Her trip home was difficult, even though the Jeep had 4-wheel drive. Her main concern was seeing through the swirling blanket of white in front of the windshield. Chicago was usually a bright city, even at night; yet this kind of snowstorm didn’t reflect the light the way some did. It instead sucked it in, making streetlights hard to see.

It took almost two hours. By the time she arrived at her apartment building, she was not only cold and tired, she was actually jumpy from having been so on-alert.

Once inside her place, she wrenched off her coat and headed for the bathroom. A hot bath sounded like the perfect way to de-stress. She promised herself that, once in that bath, she would not spend one minute thinking about Ross. Or about that kiss.

Why did you have to go and kiss him back?

Probably because she’d been curious, wondering if her memories had been faulty. Could their brief relationship really have been as intense as she’d told herself it was? Had every other man she’d been with really paled in comparison, or was it wishful imaginings of the one that got away?

That kiss had answered all her questions: she hadn’t imagined a damn thing.

“Stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself as she got into the tub. the hot water stung her skin at first, but she welcomed the sensation, welcomed anything that would take her mind off the man she’d been kissing just a couple of hours ago.

It didn’t work. Ross became more prominent in her thoughts. Not just the Ross of today, but the one she’d known before. The guy with whom she’d been so incredibly intimate.

The warmth, the fragrance of the bubble bath, the darkness of the room, lit only with candlelight—all seduced her. The sensation of water hitting every inch of her—between her thighs, caressing the tips of her breasts—made all her nerve endings leap up to attention.

But when it came to really turning her on, her brain did the heavy lifting. It was too easy to remember the magical feel of his hands on her body, the sweet, sexy way he kissed, the groans of pleasure he made when he came.

Her hand slid down, scraping across her slick skin, teasing the puckered tip of one breast. The contact sent warmth spiraling downward, until her sex throbbed. Her eyes closed, her head back, it was easy to think his hands were on her, his fingers delicately stroking her clit until she began to sigh.

She gave herself over to desire, and let her mind float free. Memories gave way to imagination and her body, starved of physical connection for many months—since she’d left New York—reacted appropriately. Before too long, a slow, warm orgasm slid through her. She sighed a little, quivering and savoring it. But the deliciousness went away far too quickly.

It just couldn’t compare to the real thing. To Lucy, getting off had never been the point; it had been sharing the experience that she loved. And she couldn’t deny it, even after all these years, after the silence and the regret, she wanted to share that experience with him.

She quickly finished her bath, replaying the day’s events as she washed her hair. As she thought everything over, including the way she’d tried to skulk out of the building when his back was turned, something started to nag at the back of her brain. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, just feeling like there was something she had forgotten. Something important.

It wasn’t until she was dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats, with her hair wrapped in a towel, that she realized what it was. “Oh, no!” she yelped.

Lucy ran to the living room of her apartment, seeing her purse on the table. Alone. “You idiot!”

Because, though she hoped and prayed she’d just forgotten to bring it in from her Jeep, she seriously feared she’d left her most precious possessions at the Elite Construction office: her camera bag and her very expensive specialty lenses.

She perched on a chair, trying to picture every moment. She remembered putting her equipment down on Santa’s seat before leaving with Stella. When she’d returned, she’d seen Ross. Desperate to get away without being seen, she’d hurried onto the elevator. Without stopping to grab her camera bag and lens case.

“Damn it,” she snapped, trying to decide if this was just bad or catastrophic. She had some big jobs lined up next week. Monday’s was with a very wealthy family, who wanted to sit for a holiday portrait at their home. They were the kind of people who could really give her a leg up with the Magnificent Mile set.

Unfortunately Lucy remembered what Stella had said about the Elite office: after tonight, they’d be shutting down until January.

She glanced at the clock—almost ten. Then out the window. The snow still fell steadily, but it appeared the wind had died down some. She could actually see down to the parking lot, could make out cars slowly driving by on the main street, which had been plowed, though the lot itself hadn’t been.

If the office was downtown, or as far away as the bank, she probably wouldn’t risk it. But it was close, maybe two miles. And the security guard could still be working. There was no guarantee that would be the case on Monday, especially if the whole city was snowed in until then.

Of course, if that happened, her own portrait appointment could be canceled as well. But if it weren’t—if the weatherman had overestimated this time, and everything was fine Monday—did she really want to risk not having the equipment she needed to do the job?

Convinced, Lucy raced to her room and changed into jeans and a thick sweater. Adding boots and her warmest coat, she headed outside. The snow on her car was heavy and wet, and every minute she spent clearing it reminded her she was crazy to go chasing after a camera at the start of a blizzard.

Fortunately, as soon as she exited the parking lot and got onto the slushy road, she could tell things were better than when she’d come home an hour ago. The snow was heavier, yes, but she didn’t have to crane forward and press her nose against the windshield to see out. It appeared old man winter was giving her a break—a short, wind-free window. She only hoped it didn’t slam shut until after she got back home.

The drive that had taken her a few minutes this morning took her fifteen tonight. But when she reached the parking lot for Elite Construction and saw the security vehicle parked there, plus the warm, welcoming lights on the first floor, she was glad she’d taken the chance.

Parking, she hurried to the entrance and pounded on the door. The man inside was so startled, he nearly fell off his stool. He came closer, calling, “We’re closed!”

“I know,” she said, then pulled her hood back so he could see her face. Hopefully he’d remember her, if for no other reason than that she’d been making out with one of his coworkers a few hours ago. “Remember me? I was here earlier.”

He nodded and smiled. Pulling out a large key ring, he unlocked the door, and ushered her in. “Goodness, miss, what are you doing out on a night like this?”

“I wouldn’t be if I weren’t desperate.” She stomped her feet on a large mat. “I need to get upstairs to where the party was held. I forgot something and I have to get it tonight.”

“Must be pretty important,” he said, his gray eyebrows coming together. “It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast.”

She chuckled, recognizing the quote from a show she’d loved as a kid. “Do you think you could let me go look for my things?”

“I’ll take you up. Gotta make my rounds, anyway.”

He escorted her to the bank of elevators, and punched in a number on a keypad by the nearest one. The light above it came on, and the door slid open. Pretty high-tech stuff. Of course, she’d noticed earlier today that the new building had all the latest bells and whistles.

Arriving on the sixth floor, Lucy hurried to the area where the photo booth had been set up. It had been dismantled. Santa’s chair was gone, and so were her bag and case. “Oh, hell.”

“Some stuff was left in the break room,” he told her. “If it’s valuable, it’s possible somebody locked it up for you.”

“Could be. Stella saw me leave my camera and lenses here.”

“Let’s check her office first, then,” he said, leading her down the hallway to the executive suite. He preceded her inside, but before she even had a chance to follow, she heard him exclaim, “Oh, no, watch it, mister!”

Following his stare, she looked out the window to the street below, and saw a car spinning out of control. It skidded off the street, hydroplaning across the parking lot where the Elite Construction security truck was parked. She winced, doubting the driver could regain control.

He didn’t.

“Dang it all,” said the guard. He cast her a quick look. “Do you mind looking by yourself? I should run down and make sure that driver’s all right. If your stuff’s not here, check the break room, back down the hall, fourth door on the left.”

“Of course,” she said, then watched the elderly man hurry away. She quickly scanned the office area. No luck. She wasn’t going to go snooping through Stella’s desk drawers or file cabinet, even if they weren’t locked. Her things wouldn’t fit, anyway.

She next spent several minutes searching the break room. It was piled with boxes of decorations, and containers of unopened food. Lucy looked through every bag and box, to be sure nobody had tucked her things in there for safekeeping.

Growing frustrated—and worrying somebody might have picked up the camera and lenses and given themselves an early Christmas present—she opened a free-standing cabinet and at last, struck pay dirt. “Yes!” she exclaimed, spying the familiar bag and case.

So relieved she felt like crying, she scooped them up, hurried toward the elevator and pushed the call button. She waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing.

Apparently the guard needed to again enter the code on the keypad so she could get down. Wondering if he could still be outside after all this time, she went to the front window and looked down toward the parking lot.

What she saw surprised her. An ambulance, its lights flashing, was parked beside the two vehicles involved in the fender-bender. She hadn’t realized the crash had been so serious, but apparently the driver had been hurt. They were putting him on a gurney and wheeling him over to the ambulance.

Suddenly that gurney was pushed under a streetlight, and she had a better view of the person on it. Even through the snow and the darkness she could make out the grizzled gray hair, not to mention the uniform.

It wasn’t the driver of the other car. It was the guard.

“Oh, God!” she muttered, wondering what had happened.

He’d gone out to help the accident victim—had he slipped and fallen? Or, maybe he’d been trying to help dig the vehicle out of a snowbank. Considering his age, and knowing even the healthiest of men could be affected when they tried to shovel too-heavy snow, she prayed he hadn’t had a heart attack.

Then she began to wonder something else.

What if she was trapped in this building?

Her heart started thudding as she replayed everything in her mind. The conscientious way the man had carefully locked the door this afternoon, even though people were still leaving. And the way he’d obviously kept the elevator turned off tonight, despite knowing she was up here.

Would he really…“No,” she muttered, certain he wouldn’t have locked her in when he went to help the other driver.

There was only one way to be sure. Remembering how Ross had beat her to the lobby today, she found a door marked Stairs and headed through it. Six flights down was not fun, but it was better than sitting in somebody’s office all night.

Reaching the entrance, she held her breath and pushed the nearest door. It didn’t budge. Neither did the one beside it, or the next. She really was locked in here.

“Every building has an emergency exit,” she reminded herself. She just had to find it. How difficult could that be?

Not difficult at all.

At least, she didn’t think so…until the power went out.

6

Then

New York, December 23, 2005

AS THEY WALKED the busy streets of the city, Ross glanced at his watch and saw it was almost four o’clock. He began to do some mental calculations. What time did the shipping place close? How many people were lined up there already? How long would it take to get back to his place and pick up the wrapped presents?

Eventually he just started to wonder how much money he had in his checking account. He needZed to know that, since he suspected he wasn’t going to make it to the mailing store today to send off gifts to his family. He had lost track of time with Lucy; plus, he hadn’t even picked up something for his nephew yet. So it looked like he’d be paying a king’s ransom to send it tomorrow and arrange for a Christmas Day delivery. If there was such a thing.

For some reason, though, that didn’t bother him as much as he’d have expected. It seemed worth the price since it had let him spend more time with Lucy Fleming. After the unpleasant scene with her ex, followed by that amazing kiss in the elevator, he hadn’t been about to say nice meeting you and walk away. Errands could wait. Plus, if worse came to worst, he could always send the family e-gift cards tomorrow. Having twenty-five bucks to spend at Amazon would make even his bratty youngest sister squeal; she was really into those teen romance books.

With a fallback plan in place, he let himself forget about everything else—missing the holidays with his family for the first time in his life. The job he was starting next week. The tense phone call he’d had with his father last week. It was sure to be repeated on Christmas Day, when talk would shift from turkey and Mom’s great stuffing to the same-old question: When are you going to give up that vagabond lifestyle and come back home to work for the company where you belong?

Gee. He could hardly wait. Not.

So an afternoon spent with a beautiful young woman whose gold-tinted brown eyes actually sparkled as she looked in delight at the softly falling snow sounded like a great idea to him. The best one he’d had in ages—the last being when, after graduating from Illinois State, he’d decided to come to New York for a while rather than going home to work for Elite Construction. He didn’t regret that decision. Especially today. Today, he was very happy to be right where he was.

“Do you want me to carry that?” he asked as they snaked up the street, weaving around street vendors and harried shoppers.

Lucy glanced down at the rumpled box containing her broken gift from her brother. She was still clutching it against her chest. Every once in a while, a distinctive tinkle of broken glass came from within. Each one made her wince.

His hands reflexively curled every time he saw her pain. He so should’ve laid-out her jerk of an ex. “Are you okay?” he asked, stopping in the middle of a sidewalk, earning glares from a dozen people who streamed past them.

She nodded. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather hold onto this for a while.”

She’d probably like to find a quiet place where she could open her gift, but that wasn’t going to happen here.

Taking her arm as they were nearly barreled into by a power broker yammering into his cell phone, he led her down Broadway. Manhattan at Christmastime was a world of mad colors, sounds, and crowds, and this area felt like the pulsing center of everything. It might not have all the high-end shop windows up on Park or Fifth, with their fancy displays that dripped jewels and overpriced designer clothes. But it had a million little electronics stores with huge Sale signs in their windows, kitschy tourist shops, street performers, barkers, camera crews and vendors selling everything from scarves to hot dogs.

It also had so much life. Walking one block up Broadway brought words from a half-dozen languages to his ears. While the city often got a bad rap for being unfriendly, Ross had never heard so many Merry Christmases. Even Lucy, who’d sworn she was a Scrooge about the holidays, seemed caught up in it.

“This is the worst place in the world to be today, you do realize that, right?” she said, laughing as they wove through a crowd of Japanese tourists loaded for bear with shopping bags.

They’d just headed down into a subway station, Ross having suddenly realized exactly where he wanted to go. “Nah. Maybe the second worst. Just wait till we get to our destination—that’s number one.”

“Uh-oh. Dare I ask?”

Grinning, he remained silent as they crammed into the subway car. Despite her pleas for clues, he didn’t say anything, not until they were actually across the street from the store he most wanted to visit. Then he pointed. “We’re here.”

Her jaw unhinged. “You’ve got to be kidding! You seriously want to go into the biggest toy store in the universe today?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She took a step back. “It’ll be insane. There will be a gazillion kids in there.”

“Nah. Just their frenzied parents.”

“Who are worse than the kids!”

“You’ll like this, I promise. Come on, Miss Cranky Ass.”

She gaped.

“Look, I need to get a present for my nephew. I know he’d love this walking, roaring dinosaur toy I’ve seen commercials for. My sister told me he’s spent the last month with his arms hidden inside his shirt, waving his little hands and roaring at all his preschool classmates.”

“Velociraptor?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, at least he’s got good taste in dinosaurs. They’re my favorite, too.”

“I always preferred the T-rex, myself.”

“Not bad,” she said with a shrug. “So I guess that means we’re a couple of carnivores.”

He nodded, liking the banter, especially liking that the bad mood her ex had caused appeared to have completely disappeared. “I guess so. Though, I don’t suspect it would take a whole pack of you to bring me to my knees.” No, he suspected Lucy would be quite capable of that all on her own.

He didn’t elaborate, letting her figure out what he meant. When she lowered her lashes and looked away, he figured she had.

What could he say? He was affected by her, had been at first sight. The feelings had grown every minute they’d spent together. Not that she was probably ready to hear that from a guy she’d met a few hours ago. Nor, honestly, was he ready to say it. Knowing she was amazing, fantastic—and that he wanted her, badly—was one thing. Admitting it this soon was another.

So he went back to safer ground. “Anyway, that store’s probably the only place I’m going to find the dino-toy I’m looking for today. It walks, it roars, he’ll love it!”

“Preschool-age appropriate?” she asked, sounding dubious.

“Hell, no.” He grinned. “But that’s for his parents to deal with. I’m just the cool uncle who buys it.”

Considering the present might be late, he wanted to make it a good one. No internet gift card could ever satisfy a four-year-old, and since Ross was the boy’s godfather, and his only uncle, he had to do right by him.

“So, what do you say?”

“I dunno…”

“We’re talking about going into FAO Schwarz, not Mount Doom and the fires of Mordor.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least there are no screaming little ones on Mount Doom, unless you count the Hobbits.”

He liked that she got the reference. He wasn’t a total geek but couldn’t deny being a LOTR fan. “None in there, either. They’re all home being extra-good, hoping Santa will notice.”

“How about I wait outside?” she offered, looking horrified by the idea of going in, but also a bit saddened by it.

Lucy was obviously serious about that not-liking-Christmas thing. Though, he wondered if it was the holiday she didn’t like, or the memories that were attached to it. Given the few things she’d said about her parents, and the happy childhood she’d had before she’d lost them, he suspected that might be it.

Well, bad memories never truly went away, but they could certainly be smacked into the background by good ones.

“Your call,” he replied, tsking. “But remember, you don’t have to shop. Don’t you think you’d have fun watching the crazed parents fighting over the last Suzy Pees Herself doll, or the My Kid Ain’t Gonna Be Gay Monster Truck playset?”

Lucy laughed out loud, as he’d hoped she would. “When you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?”

“You can’t. Anyone with an ounce of schadenfreude in their soul—which I suspect you have, at least when it comes to Christmas and oddly-penised exes—would race me to the door.”

Mischief danced on her face and a dimple appeared in her cheek as she offered a self-deprecating grin. She didn’t deny it. That was something else he liked about her. Most other women he knew kept up that I-love-puppies-and-kitties-and-everyone front, at least at the beginning of a relationship. Lucy hadn’t bothered. Hell, she freely admitted she hated Christmas, and had been fantasizing about cutting off a guy’s dick when they’d met. Talk about not putting on some kind of nice-girl act. Was it any wonder he already liked her so much?

“Okay, Mount Doom, here we come,” she said, taking his hand.

It was cold out—very cold—yet neither of them wore gloves. His were tucked in his pocket, and he knew she had some, too, since she’d worn them when they’d first left the coffee shop. But neither of them had put them on once they’d left her ex’s place…once she’d taken his hand. Her fingers were icy cold, and he suspected his were too. But it was worth it.

Slowly making their way through the crowds outside, they ventured into the hell that was called a toy store the day before Christmas Eve. The moment they entered, they were assaulted with heat and noise and color. Any kid would have thought they’d entered wonderland—the whole place was set up to inspire thoughts of childhood fantasy. Well, if your fantasy included being pressed jaw-to-jaw with strangers. Oh, and getting into the spirit of the season by elbowing each other to get closer to the front of the long lines at the cashier stations.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said when she realized it was worse than she’d predicted. Not a square foot of floor space seemed to be unoccupied. The merriment from outside hadn’t worked its way in here. These people were shopping like they were on a mission: Nobody gets between me and my Bratz dolls.

“I think we’ve just entered shark-infested waters,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music and the general thrum of too many people packed in too small a space.

“Stick close to me, minnow.”

“Gotcha, big white. But please tell me this dinosaur you’re looking for isn’t the hottest toy of the season.”

“Nah, that’s the Suzy Pees Herself and Drives a Monster Truck doll.”

“My kind of girl. Uh, other than the peeing herself part.”

“Whew!”

Finally, after one too many stomps on her foot, Lucy reminded him she wasn’t the one shopping. She ducked into a corner and waved him off. Every time he caught sight of her, watching the hysteria that surrounded her, he noted the expression on her face—amusement, yes. But also, he suspected, relief that she didn’t have to actually be a part of this.

Maybe one day she’d want to. One day when she didn’t have just her brother, and a single broken gift to look forward to for the upcoming holiday weekend.

And me.

Ross was reaching around a glowering man—who was arguing with a sharp-tongued woman over what was apparently the last Barbie doll in Manhattan—when that realization struck him. He was here, alone, with plans to do nothing more than eat Chinese food and watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation this weekend. And Lucy was going to be here alone, too.

His mind didn’t go where it might have gone a year or two ago, when he’d been more focused on what happened at the end of a date with a girl than during it. He didn’t immediately picture the two of them naked under the mistletoe.

Well, it wasn’t the only thing he pictured when he thought about spending Christmas with her. But mainly, he thought about seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, touching her soft skin and that amazing hair. Even if they spent the weekend pretending Christmas didn’t exist, he really wanted to spend it with her.

After some hunting, Ross found the Robo-Raptor toy he’d been seeking. The thing was expensive, but, considering it would likely be late, he wasn’t going to quibble over the cost.

Grabbing it, he made his way back to Lucy, finding her not too far from where he’d left her. She stood by herself, having found another quiet corner, and was gazing at a display in the games area. A huge Candyland display, with nearly life-size gingerbread men game pieces and tons of pink fluff that looked like cotton candy.

Lucy’s expression was definitely wistful. As he watched from several feet away, she reached out and touched a large fairy-type doll—he couldn’t remember the name, it had been a long time since his board game days. Her hand shook slightly, but the touch on the pale blue hair was tender. Sweet. As if she were reaching out and stroking the gossamer wings of a beautiful memory that flitted in her subconscious. Having noticed the hint of moisture in her eyes, he suspected she was.

As he approached, he noticed her reach up and swipe at her face with her fingertips, confirming that moisture had begun to drip. Ross dropped a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded. Her voice low, she explained, “This is so pretty. I loved this game as a kid.”

“I was more of a Chutes and Ladders fan, myself.”

She barely smiled, and he regretted making light of it when something was on her mind.

As if knowing he was curious, she admitted, “I used to beg my mother to play with me all the time. She ran the business with my Dad, and had more time at home than a lot of moms, so I assumed that meant she was mine 24/7.”

“I think every kid feels that about their mom.”

“Well, I was pretty relentless, and eventually we had to start negotiating. ‘Just let me finish this paperwork, and I promise we’ll play one game of Candyland.’”

“Kinda like how my parents negotiated with me—eat one more green bean and you can have ice cream after dinner.”

She nodded. “Exactly. I outgrew the game, of course, but one day when I was older, it occurred to me that every time we had played, I would always get the Queen Frostine card within the first couple of hands. So I always won.”

He glanced at the board on display, seeing how close that particular character was to the winning space, and smiled slightly. “Quickly.”

She laughed. “Exactly. I was a world champion Candy-lander. My mom was a world champion cheater for fixing the deck so I’d get that card and win the game super-fast every time.”

“Did you confront her about it?”

“Uh-huh. When I was eleven or twelve.” Her laughter deepened. “She totally confessed, saying she’d never break a promise to me, and always played when she said she would. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t speed up the process a little.”

Her eyes, which had been sparkling with tears a few minutes ago, now gleamed with amusement. The warmth of the good memory had washed away, at least temporarily, whatever sadness she’d been feeling.

“I miss her a lot,” she admitted simply. “My dad, too. It’ll be five years Tuesday.”

He sucked in a surprised breath. She’d lost both parents, together, which could only mean some kind of tragedy. And just two days after Christmas…No wonder she’d just rather skip over the whole holiday season. Talk about mixing up happy thoughts with sad ones. “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

“Me, too.” She glanced around the crowded store. “I guess you’ve figured out that’s why I’m not a big fan of the season.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why my brother and I have unconventional holidays.”

But this year, she’d already told him, she wouldn’t be seeing her brother. And her roommate was going away. She would be entirely alone, surrounded by a merry world while she sunk deeper into memories of the past.

Not if he could help it. She wanted unconventional? Fine. One good way to start—how about Christmas with a near-stranger?

He lifted a hand to her face and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. “Well then, how about we make a deal? I promise not to sing any carols or serve you any eggnog…if you promise to spend this holiday weekend with me.”

A FEW HOURS later, after having shopped a little more and laughed a lot more, they grabbed some dinner, then headed back toward Lucy’s place. The tiny apartment she shared with Kate wasn’t too far away from Beans & Books, where Ross had left his truck. She told herself he was just escorting her home and would then leave. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering just how much of the weekend he’d meant when he talked about them spending this holiday together.

And how much she wanted him to mean.

It was crazy, considering she’d dated Jude for three months and had barely let him onto second base, with one unsatisfying attempt to steal third. But she already knew she wanted Ross to hit the grand slam. What she felt when she was with him—savoring the warmth of his hand in hers, quivering when his arm accidentally brushed against her body, thrilling to the sound of his voice—was undiluted want. She’d heard it described, but now, for the first time, she felt it.

She knew she should slow it down. But something—not just the instant physical attraction, but also his warm sense of humor, his generosity, the sexy laugh—made him someone she didn’t want to let get away. So, when they got back to her building, she intended to invite him up for a drink. And then see what happened. Or make something happen.

She and Kate shared a small efficiency, whose rent was probably as much as a mortgage payment for places outside the city. Right now, the apartment was empty. Kate had left for the holidays—she’d called two hours ago, right before Teddy was picking her up. So the place was all Lucy’s for the weekend.

Hmm. Was it possible she was within hours of getting it at last? she didn’t mean getting laid, she meant finally understanding. Finally grasping what it was like to be so overcome by pleasure that you lost track of the rest of the world.

Her steps quickened. She was so anxious to get home, to start finding out if the weekend included nights or only daytime hours, she didn’t notice when Ross stopped walking. She finally realized it and looked over her shoulder, seeing him a half-dozen steps back. He stood in the middle of a crowded Sixth Avenue sidewalk, and was gazing up toward the sky.

No. Not the sky. Those twinkling lights weren’t stars. Instead, thousands of tiny bulbs set the night aglow, their gleam picked up by a sea of sparkling ornaments gently held in the arms of an enormous evergreen.

“Can you believe this is the first time I’ve seen it?” Ross asked, staring raptly at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “It’s my first Christmas in the Big Apple, and I haven’t happened to be over this way for the past few weeks.”

Lucy might be Ebenezer’s long-lost twin sister, but she couldn’t be a scrooge when it came to seeing Ross with that delighted expression on his face. He looked like a kid. A big, muscular, incredibly handsome, sexy-as-sin kid.

She returned to his side, looking up at the tree. It was beautiful against the night sky, ablaze with light and color. Even her hardened-to-Christmas heart softened at the sight.

Saying nothing, Ross led her toward an empty bench ahead. It was night and the crowds had thinned to near-reasonable levels.

She sat beside him on the bench, giving him time to stare at the decor. But to her surprise, he instead looked at her. “Since this is probably as close to a tree as you’re going to get this year, do you want to open your present now?”

She glanced at the tattered box, which she’d lugged around all day. She could wait and open it when she got home, but somehow, this moment seemed right. “I already know what it is.”

“Really?”

“Well, not specifically.” She began plucking the still-damp packaging paper from the box. “Sam and I have this tradition.”

“I suspect it’s a nontraditional one.”

“You could say that.” She actually smiled as she tore off the last of the paper and lifted the lid. Jude might have broken her gift, but it was the joy of seeing what Sam had found that delighted her. No broken glass could take that away from her.

“Oh, my God,” Ross said, staring into the mound of tissue paper inside the box. “That is…is…”

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lucy said. She lifted her hand to her mouth, giggling. Jude’s petty destruction hadn’t done much to make this thing less appealing, because it had already been pretty damned hideous. “Isn’t it perfect?”

His jaw dropped open and he stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a nod. Then she lifted the broken snow globe, now missing glass, water and snow, and eyed the pièce de résistance that had once been the center of it. Sitting on a throne was the ugliest Santa Claus in existence. His eyes were wide and spacey, his face misshapen, his coloring off. His supposedly red suit was more 1970’s disco-era orange, and was trimmed with tiny peace signs. Beside him stood two terrifyingly emaciated, grayish children who looked like they’d risen from their graves and were about to zombiefy old St. Nick.

Hideous. Awful.

She loved it.

“Oh, this is so much better than what I got him—a dumb outhouse Santa complete with gassy sound effects.”

“Do you always give each other terrible presents?”

“Just for Christmas. He gives me snow globes, I give him some obnoxious Santa, often one that makes obscene noises.”

He chuckled. “My sisters would kill me if I did that.”

“It started as a joke—a distraction so we wouldn’t have to think too much about the way it used to be. And it stuck.”

She couldn’t be more pleased with her gift—unless, of course, it weren’t broken. But she wouldn’t let Sam know about that part. The center scene was the key.

Smiling, Lucy tucked the base of the globe back in the box, trying to avoid any bits of glass. But when she felt a sharp stab on her index finger, she knew she hadn’t been successful. “Ow,” she muttered, popping her fingertip into her mouth.

“Let me see,” he ordered.

She let him take her hand, seeing a bright drop of red blood oozing on her skin.

“We should go get something to clean this.”

“It’s okay, we’re not too far from my place…as long as you’re ready to leave?”

He rose, reaching for the now-open box, and extending his other hand to her. She gave him her noninjured one, and once she was standing beside him, he dropped an arm across her shoulders. Ross took one last look at the famous tree. Then, without a word, he turned to face her.

“I know this is cheesy and right out of a holiday movie,” he said, “but I’m going to do it anyway.”

She wasn’t sure what the it was, but suddenly understood when he bent to kiss her. People continued to walk all around them, street musicians played in the background, skaters called from the icy rink below. But all that seemed to disappear as Lucy opened her mouth to him, tasting his tongue in slow, lazy thrusts that soon deepened. It got hotter, hungrier. Both of them seemed to have lost any hint of the restraint that had kept them from getting this intense during their previous kiss.

Ross dropped his arm until his hand brushed her hip, his fingertips resting right above her rear, and Lucy quivered, wanting more. A whole lot more.

“Get a room!” someone yelled.

The jeer and accompanying laughter intruded on the moment. Sighing against each other’s lips, they slowly drew apart.

“Thank you,” he said after a long moment, during which he kept his hand on her hip. “I can check that off my bucket list.”

“Kissing in front of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree?”

“No. Kissing you in front of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as they began walking the several blocks to her apartment building. Ross carried not only the bag with his robotic dinosaur, but also her snow globe. He had insisted on wrapping a crumpled napkin around her fingertip, but she didn’t even feel the sting of the cut anymore. Because the closer they got to home, the more she wondered what was going to happen when they arrived. That kiss had been so good, but also frustrating since she wanted more.

Much more.

Unfortunately once they reached her building, and she looked up and saw what looked like every light in her apartment blazing, she realized she wasn’t going to get it. Damn. “I guess Kate didn’t leave, after all,” she said, wondering why her friend had stuck around. It was nearly 10:00 p.m.; Kate and Teddy were supposed to get on the road hours ago.

“Your roommate’s still here?”

“Sure looks like it. No way would she leave all the lights on—she’s a total nag about our electric bill.”

Ross nodded, though he averted his gaze. She wondered if it was so he could disguise his own disappointment.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t had dates up to her place before; Jude had been over numerous times. It was just, she’d wanted to be alone with Ross. Really alone. And there was no privacy to be had in her apartment. She slept in one corner on a Murphy bed, with just a clothesline curtain for a wall, and Kate used the daybed that doubled as a couch the rest of the time.

Being with him in a confined space, under the amused, knowing eyes of her roommate, would be beyond torturous.

He seemed to agree. “What time should I come tomorrow?”

She raised a brow.

“You promised me the holiday weekend, remember?”

“You really meant that?”

He lifted both hands and cupped her face, tilting it up so she met his stare. “I absolutely meant that.”

Then he bent down and kissed her again. He kept this one light, sweet, soft. Still, Lucy moaned with pleasure, turning her head, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Once again, the damned box was between them, and now, a dinosaur was, too. But maybe that was for the best. Kissing him—feeling the warm stroke of his tongue in her mouth—was too exciting. If his hot, hard body were pressed against her, she’d be tempted to drag him up the stairs and see just how much privacy a clothesline curtain offered.

Ross ended the kiss and stepped back. “Good night, Lucy Fleming. I’m really glad I met you.”

“Ditto,” she whispered.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Then, knowing she needed to get away now, while she had a brain cell in her head, she edged up the outside steps. She offered him one last smile before jabbing her finger on the keypad to unlock the exterior door, then slipped inside.

Her heart light as she almost skipped up the stairs, she felt like whistling a holiday tune. For the first time in several years, Lucy was actually looking forward to Christmas Eve. Because she had someone so special to share it with.

As she opened the apartment door, she looked around the tiny space for her roommate. “I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she called.

Kate didn’t respond. Lucy walked across the living room to the galley kitchen, peering around the corner, seeing no one. Then she noticed the thin curtain that shielded her bed from the rest of the apartment shimmy. Strange. “Katie?”

The curtain moved again, this time fully drawning back. Lucy’s mouth fell open as she saw not her pretty roommate but someone she’d truly hoped to never see again. “Jude?”

“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“What do you think you’re doing here? How did you get in?”

“Had a key made a couple of weeks ago.” He smiled thinly, stepping closer, a slight wobble in his steps. Drunk. “It’s my birthday. You never gave me my present. I’ve been waiting for it a long time and expected to get it tonight.”

He stepped again. This time, Lucy saw a gleam in his eye that she didn’t like. Jude suddenly didn’t look like a drunk boy. More like a determined, vengeful man. One who might like her to think he was a little more intoxicated than he truly was.

She edged backward.

“Where you going? C’mon, you’re not really mad, are you? You know I don’t care anything about that skank. I was just frustrated, waiting for you. Guys have needs, you know.” He stepped again, moving slightly sideways, and she suddenly realized he was trying to edge between her and the door.

This was serious. Kate was gone, her next door neighbor was practically deaf and few people were out on the street in this area this late. And Jude knew all of those things.

“I still can’t believe you got some dude to come with you to my apartment,” he said, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting. “That was wrong, to bring some stranger into this.”

Ross. Oh, God, did she wish she’d invited him up!

Lucy’s thoughts churned and she went over her options, none of which included intervention by a knight in shining armor, or a carpenter in brown leather. Her brother had drilled college rape statistics into her head before she’d ever left home. He’d also taught her a few defensive moves. But better than trying to physically fight Jude would be to get him to leave.

She began thinking, mentally assessing everything in the apartment, knowing the knives in the kitchen were none too sharp. He now stood between her and the door. Her cell phone was in her purse and they didn’t have a land line—not that anybody she called, including the police, would get here for a good ten or fifteen minutes. In that time, he could do a lot. And, she suspected, that’s exactly what he intended to do.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, a sly smile widening that petulant mouth. “Don’t you want to give me something for my birthday? After making me wait all this time, you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she snapped, curling her hands into fists, deciding to go for the Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, bitch, you do,” he snarled, the mask coming off, the pretense cast aside. Any hint of the sloppy drunk disappeared as he rushed her, the rage in his expression telling her he was fully aware and cognizant of what he was doing.

But so was Lucy. She sidestepped him, kicking at his kneecaps with the thick heels of her hard leather boots. He stumbled, fell against the daybed and knocked over a lamp.

Not wasting a second, she headed for the door, hearing his roar of rage as he lunged after her. His fingers tangled in her hair and she was jerked backward. Ignoring the pain, she spun around and slashed at his face with her nails.

“Little cock-tease,” he yelled.

Then there was another roar of rage. Only this one didn’t come from Jude. It came from behind her, from the door to the apartment, which she’d neglected to lock when she came in.

Ross. He was here. Against all odds, for who knew what reason, he’d come up and gotten here just in time.

Stunned, Lucy watched as he thundered past her, tackling Jude around the waist and taking him down. A handful of her hair went with them, but she was so relieved, she barely noticed.

“You slimy sack of shit!”

The two guys rolled across the floor, knocking over furniture. Jude squirmed away and tried to stagger to his feet. Ross leaped up faster, his fists curled, and let one fly at Jude’s face. There was a satisfying crunching sound, then blood spurted from that perfect, surgically enhanced nose.

Jude staggered back. “Dude, you broke my nose!”

Ross ignored him, striking again, this time landing a powerful fist on her would-be rapist’s stomach. Jude doubled over, then collapsed onto the day bed, wailing.

Ross gave him a disgusted sneer before turning his attention to Lucy. “Are you all right? Did he…”

“No, I’m okay,” she said, shaking as it sunk in just how bad this could have been. “Thank you.”

“I was a block away, when I realized I was still holding your present from your brother.” He gestured toward the floor, where the package lay. “I heard yelling from outside. Fortunately I remembered the numbers you hit on the keypad.”

Thank God.

“I’m gonna have you arrested for assault!” Jude raged as he staggered back to his feet.

“Okay, sure. We’ll share the back of the police car as you’re hauled in for attempted rape,” Ross replied, fury sparking off him as he took a threatening step toward Jude.

The other man dropped his shaking hand, eyeing Lucy, his mouth quivering. “Wait, I didn’t mean…I wouldn’t have…”

“Yes, you would have,” she replied, knowing it was true. “And I am pressing charges.”

“Don’t—my parents…I could lose my internship! I’m sorry, I guess I just went a little crazy.”

She didn’t feel any sympathy for him. But she was worried about Ross. He was a carpenter, a flat-broke out-of-towner, and Jude was the only son of a rich corporate shark. Lucy only had her word to convince anyone that Jude had attacked her.

Well, that and a probable bald spot.

She needed to think about this. “Just go,” she said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“Thank you!”

“I’m not promising you anything. At the very least, I’m reporting you to campus security and to the dean’s office.”

Jude’s bottom lip pushed out in an angry pout. But Ross cut him off before he could say a word. “Get the fuck out, before I hurt you some more.”

Shutting his mouth, Jude beelined for the door, giving Ross a wide berth, as if not trusting him not to lash out. Probably a good call, considering Ross was visibly shaking with anger.

Just before he left, Jude cast Lucy one more pleading glance. She ignored him, focused only on Ross. Her knight in shining armor, whether he saw it that way or not.

Lucy had never been the kind of girl who wanted to be rescued. Nor had she ever thought she’d need to be. But tonight, that Galahad riding in on the proverbial white horse thing had come in incredibly handy.

Once they were alone, Ross strode to the door, flipping the lock. When he returned, he didn’t hesitate, walking right to her with open arms. Lucy melted against his hard body, letting go of the anxiety of the past ten minutes and just holding on, soaking up his warmth and his concern. He kept stroking her, running his fingers through her hair, tenderly rubbing tiny circles on the small of her back. Murmuring soft words into her ear.

It was, quite honestly, the most protected and cherished she’d felt in years.

“It’s okay, Luce, he’s gone. He’s gone.”

Finally, after several long moments, he pulled back a few inches and looked down at her. “You shouldn’t stay here alone.”

No, she probably shouldn’t. “He said he made a key…”

“You’re definitely not staying then.” He mumbled a curse and stiffened, and she knew he was mad at himself for not getting the key back before Jude had left.

“I guess I could go to a hotel…”

“Screw that,” he muttered, looking at her with an incredulous expression, as if she’d said something absolutely ridiculous. “Pack a bag, you’re coming home with me.”

7

Now

Chicago, December 24, 2011

ROSS WAS AT his parents’ house outside of the city when the call came in about Chip being taken to the hospital. The caller told him the elderly man had gone outside to deal with an accident, and the exertion of helping to push a car out of the snow had apparently caused a heart attack.

The police officer who called didn’t have any more information, but that was enough to send Ross back into town. He didn’t have the phone numbers of the other guards with him, nor could he be sure they’d be able to go in to the office. He had no idea whether Chip had even locked the main doors when he’d gone out to help the driver, so somebody had to get in there. And the buck always stopped at the boss’s desk.

The drive would be bad, and he already knew he’d have to spend the night at the office. Fortunately Stella had made up the fold-out sofa in his office. Besides, while everyone was disappointed—especially his older sister, who’d just arrived with her family for the holidays—he couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind getting away from all the holiday cheer. He hadn’t been able to take his mind off Lucy, and the longer he stayed, the more likely it was somebody would notice. He just didn’t feel like explaining his mood to a nosy sibling or parent.

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. by the time he arrived—the trip had taken three exhausting, stress-filled hours. The plows were barely managing to keep up with the thick snow—he’d earned a few scolding stares from their drivers as he followed them down newly plowed stretches of highway.

The private parking lot wasn’t plowed, of course, and he was glad he drove a monster SUV that could clear the already foot-high drift. Parking, he bundled up, then stepped outside, his body immediately battered by the wild wind. It howled eerily in the night and the snow seemed to be moving in all directions—up, down, sideways. Not that he could see much of it in front of his face, and he suddenly realized why.

There were no lights on. Not anywhere.

Blackout. Wonderful.

Fortunately the building was well-insulated and plenty warm. He had a couple of extra blankets for the fold-out; he’d be fine overnight, and hopefully the power would be back on in the morning.

Hunching against the wind that tried to knock him back with every step, he made his way through the wet snow to the entrance, finding the doors locked. He had a master key, and used it to get in. Emergency reflective lights cast a little illumination in the lobby, and he cautiously made his way to the security desk, knowing a few industrial-strength flashlights were stored back there. Grabbing one, he headed for the stairs, trudging back up six flights, mere hours after he’d raced down them. Going up definitely took longer.

By the time he got to his floor, he was ready for sleep. It looked like he might be snowed in for a couple of days, so he’d have plenty of time to work. Right now, he was weary—physically and emotionally—and just wanted to call it a night.

Once inside his office, in familiar territory, he turned off the flashlight. Hopefully the power would be on tomorrow, but if not, he wanted to conserve the battery. Stretching, he stripped off his wet coat and kicked off his shoes, then walked across the office to the small, private sitting area.

Ross moved cautiously; it was even darker in this corner, since there were no windows. He still managed to bump into the edge of the fold-out, and muttered a curse. Then, glad the day was over, and that it couldn’t get any crazier, he lifted the covers and climbed into the bed.

A noise split the silence. A low sigh.

What the hell?

The sound surprised him into utter wakefulness. Carefully reaching out, he patted the other side of the bed…and felt a body under the covers.

“Ross?” asked a soft, sleep-filled woman’s voice.

A familiar woman’s voice.

“Lucy?” he whispered, shocked.

Could it really be her? He knew that voice, and could now smell the sweet cinnamon-tinged scent she always wore.

She mumbled something and shifted, scooting closer as if drawn to his warmth. His eyes had adjusted a little, and he was able to make out her beautiful face. The creamy skin, the strand of dark hair lying across her cheek, the perfect mouth drawn into a tiny frown.

And she’d said his name in her sleep.

His heart pounded as he realized it was real. Lucy Fleming was asleep in his bed, in his office, in a building that was supposed to be deserted. It made absolutely no sense, was probably the last thing he’d ever have expected to happen. Considering how determined she’d been to get away without even talking to him earlier, climbing into this bed and finding the real live Santa Claus seemed more likely.

He frantically thought of the scenarios that might have landed her here. She had to have come back sometime after the building closed—when he’d left at seven-thirty, everybody had been gone except the guard. Why she’d returned, he had no idea. Maybe she’d forgotten something? Whatever the reason, Chip had to have let her in, probably recognizing her from this afternoon.

Beyond that…what? Had she offered to stay in the building when he was taken away by ambulance? That sounded incredibly far-fetched, and the officer who’d called hadn’t mentioned it.

The doors. Shit. When the locking mechanism was engaged, they couldn’t be opened, even from the inside, without a key. If Chip had gone out to help the motorist, he must have locked up behind him.

“You got locked in,” he murmured, suddenly understanding.

And she had no way to call for help. The building was notorious for its poor cell phone reception even in the best weather, and the phone system fed off the power, so regular phones wouldn’t have worked. The internet would be out, of course, plus all the computers in the building were password protected.

He could almost picture Lucy banging on the doors, trying to get someone’s attention. But with the dark night, the swirling snow and the lack of people venturing out, it must have seemed like a hopeless proposition. She’d have known she was stuck here until at least morning.

So, like Goldilocks, she’d found a bed and crawled into it.

He was glad he hadn’t followed his first instinct, leaped to his feet and bellowed, “Who’s that sleeping in my bed?”

Lucy Fleming is who’s sleeping in my bed.

A smile tugged at his mouth. What were the odds? Six years ago tonight she’d slept in his bed, too.

Remembering everything about that night—seeing the parallels—he had to laugh softly. If he were a more new age kind of guy, he might see fate having a hand in this. But being a realist, he knew the fault lay with a blizzard, a blackout and a strong security system.

That didn’t, however, mean he wasn’t thankful as hell for it, as long as Chip was going to be okay. Because, trapped as she was with him in this building, it wasn’t going to be easy for Lucy to walk out of his life again.

He could hardly wait until morning to see just how much snow had fallen. How long they were going to be stuck here.

And what Lucy would have to say about it.

LUCY WAS HAVING the nicest dream. In that state between asleep and awake, she somehow knew it was a dream, but didn’t want to give it up.

She was lying on a beach, cradled by soft, sugar-white sand. The turquoise waters of the Caribbean lapped in gentle waves, caressing her bare feet, the crash of the surf steady and hypnotic. Above, the sun shone bright in a robin’s egg blue sky. Occasionally a puffy white cloud would drift across it, providing a hint of shade, but mostly she just felt warm and content.

Except her nose. That was really cold.

Actually, so were her cheeks. She lifted a hand, pressing her fingers against her face, wondering how her skin could be so cold when she was lying in such deliciously warm sunshine.

Beside her, a man groaned, as if he, too, was loving the feel of the sun, and the island breeze blowing across his skin. The sound was intriguing, and she moved closer. He was hot against her, big and powerful, with sweat-slickened muscles that she traced with her fingertips. She kept her eyes closed, not needing to see his face, somehow sensing she already knew who it was.

Or, maybe a little afraid she wouldn’t see the face she wanted to see.

“Mmm,” she moaned as she pressed her cheek against his chest. Languorous heat slid over her; she was lulled by his rhythmic exhalations, and by the sound of his steadily thudding heart.

Wait. Too scratchy. He should be bare-chested.

She waited for the dream to change, waited for the feel of slick, male skin against her face. Instead her cheeks just got colder, and the texture against her jaw scratchier. Not smooth, slick skin. Something like…wool?

Though she desperately wanted to grab the dream and sink into it again, she’d passed the tipping point into consciousness and knew it was no use. The dream was over. She was awake. Her face was cold because she was trapped in a building with no power and no heat. It was scratchy because…because… .

She opened her eyes. Waited to let them adjust to the darkness. Saw a shape. A body. A scratchy sweater on which her cheek had been resting. A neck. A face. Oh. My. God. Ross. Ross?

She froze, unable to move a muscle as she tried to understand. She’d gone to sleep alone, worried, angry, wondering what would happen tomorrow if nobody came to check the building.

And had woken up in bed with Ross Marshall.

It was him, no doubt about it. The guy who’d broken her heart, the one she’d sworn would never get close enough to hurt her again, was sleeping beside her in the fold-out bed! Not just beside her, but practically underneath her. Apparently, in her sleep, she had curled up against him, raising one leg and sliding it over his groin, her arm draped across his flat stomach, her face nestled in the crook of his neck.

She was practically humping the guy.

And he was sound asleep.

Lucy’s first instinct was to leap up and run. Her second, to grab a pillow and beat him over the head with it, demanding to know what the hell he was up to.

But then her brain took over.

Because, as far as she could tell, Ross hadn’t been up to anything except sleeping. She’d been the one getting all creepy-crawly, sucking up his warmth while she’d dreamed of exotic beaches and blazing sunshine. Probably not too surprising, considering Ross was still just about the hottest man she had ever laid eyes on. Even in the nearly pitch-black room, it was impossible to miss the sensual fullness of his mouth, the slashing cheekbones, that angular, masculine face. His lashes were sinfully long for a guy, hiding those jewel-green eyes.

All the coldness she’d been feeling, at least on those parts, which weren’t covered by Ross, dissipated. There was only warmth now. In fact, certain places of her anatomy throbbed with it.

She was suddenly very aware of the position of her arm across his waist, how it dipped low on his hip. Her leg had slipped so comfortably between his, she was almost afraid to move, lest she wake him. But staying like this was torturous.

Because it was simply impossible to have her legs wrapped around him, to feel him pressed against her, without remembering the past; all the ways he’d delighted her, pleasured her, thrilled her. The man had taught her things about her body she hadn’t even known were possible.

While one day ago she would have sworn she was not the least bit susceptible to him anymore, the woman who’d had to get herself off in the bathtub a few hours ago would say otherwise. As would the one who now felt totally at the mercy of her girl parts.

Her nipples were tight and incredibly sensitive against his chest. The barest movement sent the fabric of her soft sweater sliding across them, and since she’d been in a hurry and hadn’t grabbed a bra, the sensation was definitely noticeable.

That wasn’t all. Her thighs were quivering, and between them, her sex was damp and swollen. The urge to thrust her hips nearly overwhelmed her, and she had to forcibly remind herself it was not polite to rub up against a sleeping man just to get a little satisfaction.

Though, to be totally honest, she suspected—no she knew—he could give her a lot of satisfaction.

She closed her eyes, took a deep steadying breath, willed her body into standby, then tried to extricate herself. Bad enough to have to wake him up and ask him what the hell he was doing here—or explain the silly story about why she was. But to do it when he knew she’d been using him as both a heating blanket and a potential sex toy was more than she could stand right now.

Holding her breath, she lifted her bent leg, drawing it back off his groin. Slowly, oh, so carefully. But when she shifted a little too low, and her jean-clad thigh brushed against the money-spot on the front of his trousers, she stopped with a gasp. Because those trousers were not flat anymore. Definitely not.

He was hard, erect, aroused.

And, she greatly feared, awake.

He confirmed it by dropping a big hand onto her arm, holding her right where she was—right against him.

“Stop.”

“Uh…how long have you been awake?”

Please don’t say long enough to know I’ve been climbing all over you in your sleep. Though, judging by the ridge in his pants—the big, mouthwatering ridge—that seemed pretty certain.

“I just woke up a few seconds ago,” he claimed.

He could have been telling the truth, the gravelly note in his voice hinted at sleep. So maybe his body had just been doing its nocturnal thing. Perhaps the fact that her thighs were spread and practically begging to be parted further didn’t factor into the big erection pressing against the seam of his pants.

Stop thinking about his pants. And what’s in them.

Yeah, fat chance of that. Every cell she had was on high alert, and her blood roared through her veins. She might have told herself a thousand times that she never wanted to see Ross again. But being here, in his arms, knowing his body was reacting to her even if his mind didn’t know it, was the most exciting thing she’d experienced in ages.

There was no sense denying it, at least to herself. She wanted him. Against all reason and all common sense.

Or maybe not. What if it was reasonable? Maybe it made perfect sense to take this unexpected moment and wring whatever she could from it.

She and Ross had been a perfect sexual match once. Lucy had spent six years learning that was a pretty rare thing. Other men had given her orgasms…nobody else had made the earth shake. Plus, she was no longer the inexperienced twenty-two year old who confused sex with love. She and Ross didn’t need to love each other to experience pure, undiluted pleasure in each other’s arms.

At least…as long as he wanted to. His body apparently did, but his mind had to be engaged in the decision-making process. Ross had walked away without a backward glance once before, so maybe this tension she was feeling didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her. If not, she needed to know that before deciding whether to slide onto him and kiss his lips off, or roll over, get out of the bed and demand that he let her out of the building. Facing a blizzard sounded more appealing than admitting she wanted him and finding out he didn’t really feel the same.

“You could have woken me up when you realized I was here. Why didn’t you?”

“Maybe because I just wanted to sleep with you one more time,” he admitted.

Nice.

Then, with a sigh, he added, “Plus I knew if I woke you up you’d put all those defenses back into place and insist on leaving in the middle of a blizzard.”

She ignored the comment, since she’d pretty much just decided to do exactly that.

“So you just crawled in and curled up next to me?”

“As I recall, you were the one doing the curling,” he said, his tone lazy and amused. Which confirmed he’d been awake a little longer than he’d let on. Hell.

“So,” he continued, “what’d you forget?”

“Excuse me?”

“I think I put everything together—you must have forgotten something this afternoon, come back to retrieve it, then gotten stuck in the building when Chip went outside and had a heart attack.”

“Oh, no! Is he okay?”

“The cop who called me said he thought he would be.”

“I hope so. He was very nice, letting me come back in because, yes, I did forget something.” Embarrassed to admit it, since every photographer considered their camera an extension of their own body, she explained, “I left my camera bag and my specialty lens case.”

He chuckled softly, obviously reading between the lines, knowing he’d flustered her enough to make her forget her equipment. The man had always been a little too perceptive. Damn it.

This conversation wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. She’d broached the topic, hoping to hear him say he’d climbed into bed with her because he wanted her so desperately.

Now they were talking about cameras and cops. Ugh.

The wind howled, and though the temperature hadn’t fallen too much inside, she instinctively curled closer to Ross. They both fell silent, as if totally comfortable with the fact that they’d ended up in bed together by accident—which she still wanted to discuss, by the way.

But later. Not now. Not when he was so warm and strong, when his breath teased her hair, and his hard thigh fit so nicely between hers. Not when she was trying to breathe ever deeper, intoxicated by the warm, spicy scent of his skin.

Not when she needed to know if he really wanted her—Lucy Fleming—and not just the female body that happened to be beside him in the bed.

If he did, Lucy intended to let herself have him. Ross would be the ultimate Christmas present. Just this once, just for tonight.

As if he knew she had no intention of putting some distance between them, Ross lowered his hand to her wrist, lazily tracing circles on the pulse point. Like he had every right to touch her. Lucy sighed, shocked at how evocative that touch felt. Her already moist sex grew hotter, wetter, as she remembered how those strong but gentle fingers used to slide across her clit, making her come with a few deliberate strokes.

Stretching, he shifted a little, and she felt the flex of the powerful muscles in his shoulder. She’d noted earlier that his body had changed—he was bigger, broader across the chest and shoulders, though his lean hips would still be easily encircled by her thighs.

It was far too easy to visualize that. To visualize everything. In fact, she was having difficulty focusing on anything else.

Without warning, Ross moved his hand, dropping it to her hip, tugging her more tightly against his body. For warmth? For old time’s sake? Because he had nothing better to do?

Oh, God, he was driving her crazy!

He continued with that steady, even breathing, remaining silent, and didn’t reveal by word or deed whether he was just killing time or trying to start something.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, she sat straight up in the bed and glared down at him. “Well, are you going to do something about this?”

She was asking a lot more than that. Are you interested? Do you feel this? Do you want me?

He didn’t respond for a second, didn’t reply with a confused, Like what? But then, just when Lucy was about to launch herself out of the bed and call him an idiot, he moved, quickly and deliberately.

Between one breath and the next, Ross sat up, pushed her onto her back and slid over her, his powerful body pressed hard against hers. His face lowered toward her, and Lucy’s heart thudded with excitement as she saw the hunger in his expression.

Then he said two words…the only two she wanted to hear.

“Hell, yes.”

After that, no words were needed. Her heart flying, all thoughts disappearing, she rose to meet his lips with her own. Their tongues plunged together, frantic, hungry for a connection.

There was nothing slow and quiet about it. Only driving need and demand. Their hands raced to touch each other, and Lucy hissed when he moved his mouth to her neck and sucked her nape. He nipped lightly and she quivered, wanting that mouth, that tongue, those nibbling teeth, on every inch of her body.

The Ross she’d made love with all those years ago had been slow, tender and deliberate. This Ross was wild. Desperate. She felt his driving need, and answered it with her own. Emotion had been chased away by lust, and she realized, suddenly, that she’d been waiting for this since long before the moments they’d just spent in his bed.

She’d longed for years to feel like this, through other affairs and other men. She’d wanted to experience the intense, nearly animalistic passion she felt right now. Deep down, Lucy knew she’d been waiting for him. Ross. Waiting until they met again—as if knowing someday they would—to truly let go of every inhibition, every doubt, every question about her own desirability. To know she was someone’s sexual obsession, if only for one night, one moment in time.

And she was. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. His desperate touch proclaimed it and her own body was already screaming a silent Yes to every little thing he might ask of her.

They separated only far enough to remove their clothes. His sweater came off, revealing the golden-skinned chest beneath, and she had to reach out and run the tips of her fingers across his impressive abs. He was built perfectly—broad chest, lean at the waist and hips. Like he’d been the model used to create the prime example of man.

When his hands touched her waist and began yanking her sweater up, Lucy arched toward him. She heard his low groan when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, and even in the near-darkness, could see the look of pure appreciation as he visually devoured her.

Lucy had been built a little differently six years ago. She’d been more girlish, more lean. Now she was curvier, carrying an extra ten pounds in all the right places…places he obviously liked. A lot.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered. Then he bent to her breast, no warning, no hint, his mouth landing on her nipple and sucking hard. As if he couldn’t help himself, had to quench his ravenous thirst with the taste of her.

“Oh, yes, please,” she groaned.

She sunk her fingers into his hair, pressing him even harder, needing to feel it, deep down. And with every deep pull of his mouth, she did feel it. All the way down to the throbbing center of sensation between her thighs.

He leaned over to give her other breast the same attention. Plumping it with his hand, he rolled her nipple between his fingertips before he blew lightly, then suckled her. Lucy cried out at how good it felt. Savoring his attention, she kissed his neck, his shoulder, raking her nails down his bare back, wondering how he could possibly be so strong when He appeared to now be a suit-and-tie kind of guy.

She wanted to cry when he moved his mouth away again. But she got with the program when he kissed his way down her midriff to the waistband of her jeans, which he quickly unfastened. He backed away, kneeling on the edge of the bed and straightening her legs. Lucy lifted her hips, arching up toward him, helping as he tugged the denim away.

Thank God she’d been in too much of a hurry to put on long johns or something equally as hideous before she’d left home. Her pink panties weren’t Frederick’s of Hollywood worthy, but they were cute and sexy. And Ross seemed to like them. A lot.

Or maybe not. Because without a word, he ripped them off her, tearing the fabric. She didn’t give a damn. The hunger in his every movement excited her beyond anything.

“Gotta taste you, Luce.”

She had a second to prepare, then his mouth was on her, licking at her core. She actually shrieked, shocked by the raw intimacy. He didn’t carefully sample her, he dove deep, thrusting his tongue into her opening, then up to her clit, then back again. She was whimpering, her hips bucking freely, helpless to do anything but take what he wanted to give. Her first orgasm smashed into her like an earthquake, making her whole body quiver. He didn’t stop, merely holding her hips in his big hands, continuing to lick at her as if he couldn’t get enough.

Then came the aftershocks—the tsunami—wave after wave of hot, electric delight, popping in little explosions that made her head spin. Colors, instruments, spinning lights—a whole freaking carnival seemed to be taking place all around her, all calliope music and the thrill of spinning and riding until you were breathless and just couldn’t take anymore.

She couldn’t take anymore.

“Stop,” she ordered dazedly, knowing she’d reached that point. Pleasure overload. She could barely breathe, her heart was pounding hard enough to burst out of her chest, and she was almost hyperventilating from all the gasping.

Mostly she was stunned. Shocked.

Awakened.

They hadn’t had a lot of time together six years ago, and oral sex was one intimacy they hadn’t shared. She’d been young, a virgin, and he’d been tender and incredibly patient. She suspected that if Ross had ever used his mouth on her like that, she would have stalked him to Chicago.

Now, she wanted him to feel that same unadulterated freedom. Wanted to give him what she’d never given him before. Not just to please him, but also to make him as absolutely crazy as he had made her.

More, though, she wanted that intimacy for her own sake. She’d never viewed oral sex as anything more than foreplay, a tit for tat return on a guy’s earlier tongue investment. This time, though, she wanted to take that thick ridge of male heat into her mouth and explore the flavors of his body. Wanted to taste him, explore him, suck his cock until his willpower gave out, or his legs did.

She scooted away, grabbing his hair and pushing him up. He eyed her from between her legs, his eyes glittering, his mouth moist. “You taste good,” he growled.

Licking her lips, she murmured, “I bet you do, too.”

Sitting up, she became the aggressor, stalking him to the end of the bed, until he hopped off it. Eyeing her hungrily, he said nothing as she scooted to the edge, parting her thighs around his legs.

She was eye level with that wonderful, thick ridge straining against his zipper. Though she felt just as desperate to tear his clothes away, she hesitated, holding her breath. For that moment, she felt like she was about to open a Christmas present—just one, on Christmas Eve, the way she always had as a kid. The excitement of choosing the right one, and the certainty that there would be so many more good things to come all washed over her.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she unbuttoned his jeans, then eased the zipper down. He hissed as her hands brushed against the cotton of his boxer-briefs. Burying his hands in her hair, he held her tightly, not painfully, yet more forceful than she’d ever expect from him. It felt possessive. Demanding. Unlike the tender Ross she’d known, but perfect for the hungry man who’d eaten her like he’d been served his last meal.

Pushing the jeans and briefs down, she took a second to admire his cock—strong, erect and powerful. Lucy moistened her lips, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of it, hearing him groan as skin met skin.

That groan egged her on. She parted her lips, taking him into her mouth, swirling her tongue over and over. She swallowed the hint of moisture his body released, liking the salty taste, wanting a mouthful of it. She didn’t worry that taking him to the edge would cut into what she wanted from him later. Ross was young and vital, and right now he looked like he could easily do her all night long, take a coffee break, then get right back in there and bang her brains out another half-dozen times.

Her thighs clenched, moisture dripping from her sex, still swollen, maybe even a little sore, from the thorough attention of his mouth.

She gave him the same attention, sucking hard. He swayed a little, which she took as a good sign. So she took more of him, deeper into her mouth, until she could take no more. Reaching between his legs, she carefully cupped the taut sacs, timing each stroke of her hand with one of her mouth, pulling away, then sucking him deep, over and over.

His groans deepened. The pace quickened. She knew by the tenseness of those powerful muscles that he was close.

He stopped. “Uh-uh. I’ve waited six years. No way am I coming in your mouth.”

Pulling back, he reached into his pocket and grabbed a condom. As he hurriedly donned it, she considered telling him she had the birth control covered. But she figured they should err on the safe side when they were being so impulsive, so crazy.

Ross shoved his pants completely off, then reached for her. Lucy let him lift her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He held her easily, her bottom cupped in his hands, then backed her against the wall, bracing her between it and his chest.

She sunk her fingers into his hair, tugging his mouth to hers for a deep kiss. He plunged his tongue deep…then did the same thing with his cock.

Oh, yes.

He didn’t move at first, just stood holding her there, impaled on him. She felt her body soften and adjust, taking him completely. Savoring the fullness, she rocked against him, signaling him that he didn’t need to go slow.

She didn’t want him to go slow.

“Next time,” he promised.

“Whatever,” she panted

Then there were no words. Just hard thrusts of his body into hers. Deeper and deeper, he reached heights no one ever had before. Or maybe she was reaching those heights. It certainly felt like she was flying, almost out-of-body with sensation.

Moisture fell on her cheeks. Lucy realized she was crying. But not sad tears, God-it-feels-so-good-and-I’ve-waited-so-long tears.

She closed her eyes, dropped her head back and just took and took and took. The rocking of his groin against hers brought just the right friction and she felt all that familiar pressure boiling up again. Her clit throbbed and swelled. Then the dam burst and she came again.

“Oh, yes, God, yes.”

Her words? His? Both?

She didn’t know. She just knew they were both crying out, both sweating and twisting and thrusting. And finally, both coming.

He groaned, suddenly growing very still. Lucy kissed him. She could feel his pulse thundering, both against her chest, and where he was inside her, and she found herself wishing she had told him not to bother with the condom. She wanted all that heat bursting into her.

Fortunately, however, they were just getting started.

They had time. Plenty of it. Because, judging by the wind battering the building, and the dark snow swirling around the windows, they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

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