Holly Lane (Destiny, Ohio) Read online

  He didn’t tell her that, though—instead he just let the stark silence of a snow-filled night settle around them. Even the fire in the hearth stayed quiet—until finally a pop and a hiss from that direction broke the moment. “I’ll go get my stuff from the truck,” he said. “Give you a minute to . . . do anything you want to do.” Like maybe find some more flannel to cover yourself with. But then, if the afghan wasn’t working, what did it matter?

  Well, please just keep that blanket around you and maybe eventually I’ll quit seeing your breasts in my mind.

  “You want to be on top or bottom?” Adam asked.

  Sue Ann turned to look at him from where she sat by the fire. “Huh?”

  “The bunks,” he said, standing next to them with a duffel bag in hand.

  “Oh. Um, I’ll go with bottom.” And I’m feeling pretty relieved that you’re not talking about sex. Not that she knew why she’d expect Adam to be talking about sex—they’d never talked about it before. She was probably just still a little embarrassed about him seeing her in such a revealing top, which hadn’t even occurred to her given all the other general unrest of the evening—until he’d so pointedly called it to her attention. She pulled the afghan closed a bit tighter in front, though it was sort of itchy on her shoulders.

  Or maybe it was because she’d been right upon first seeing him—he somehow looked more handsome to her tonight than usual, a little more . . . rugged or something. He’d always possessed classic good looks, but tonight his usually tidy dark hair was slightly mussed around the edges and maybe he needed a trim. Looked like he’d forgotten to shave today, too.

  Not that she could really think of Adam in a sexual way. He’d been her friend for too long and she wasn’t wired to make that sort of switch. Even back when he’d been the quarterback of the Destiny Bulldogs and every girl in school had had the hots for him, she never had—because he’d been Jeff’s best friend and Jenny’s boyfriend, her first love. They’d double-dated to the prom, for heaven’s sake.

  Or hell—maybe it was just more pleasant to think about something like sex than the very new, very real problems that had just been dropped in her lap. Maybe she was in denial, happy to think about anything else besides financial stability and keeping custody of her child.

  “You want a turkey sandwich?” she asked. Another distraction from ugly subjects. “I was about to make one for myself.” Besides, it was high time she ate something to soak up all the wine she’d been drinking. And—oh, maybe that was it. Maybe the wine had her feeling sort of . . . amorous or something. After all, she’d parted from Jeff six months ago and hadn’t actually had sex for at least a month or two before that, so . . . well, her body was probably just letting her know it missed sex.

  Oh, good. I needed something else to add to my list of troubles.

  “Okay, sure,” Adam said behind her, still sounding mildly belligerent but at least as if he was making an effort. “I brought some stuff, too. I’ll head back out to the truck to get it.”

  A few minutes later they sat in front of the fire feasting on turkey sandwiches, cranberry relish, cold stuffing, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin pie—a mishmash from both their coolers and bags. Adam drank the beer he’d brought and Sue Ann kept working on the wine.

  “Fire’s dying,” Adam said, then set his plate aside to grab up a couple of logs from the nearby pile—and Sue Ann watched as he bent to place them strategically onto the low burning blaze. Hmm. I’ve never noticed what a nice butt he has.

  Only then she caught herself. The wine—it’s just the wine. And you’re looking for any distraction from your troubles. But for God’s sake, stop thinking of Adam like that.

  “You still seem kind of . . . growly,” she observed. He was usually more talkative than this, and now, when he did talk, he remained brusque and kept things short.

  In response, he flashed yet one more un-Adam-like expression in her direction. “That’s because I’m still in a shitty mood.”

  She gave a superior sort of shrug and pointed out, “Me, too. But I’m trying not to take it out on you. If we’re stuck here together, I’m trying to be as pleasant as possible.”

  “Don’t feel obligated,” he told her.

  Sheesh. “I don’t—it’s just the kind of person I am. No matter how crappy I feel, I still try to be civil. I always thought you were that type of person, too, but I’m seeing a whole new side of you tonight.”

  He gave her an especially cutting look. “Don’t ya think, Sue Ann, that maybe just once in my life I’m entitled to be in a cruddy mood? I tried to do it privately,” he groused, “but turns out you’re in my cabin.”

  “Okay, fine—be in your cruddy mood. But the issue of this cabin being yours is still debatable. If you ask me, you’re lucky I’m being nice enough to share.”

  “I’ve had the place reserved for a year,” he said. “So if we’re gonna debate ownership, I win.”

  “But I got here first.”

  At this, he went quiet, simply casting her a solemn, steely sort of glare—and when he finally spoke, his voice came out at once quiet yet acerbic. “Sue Ann, do you really want to keep arguing over something stupid when we both have bigger things to be upset about?”

  Wow. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You forced my hand,” he snipped. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna just sit here and look at the fire.”

  “Fine,” she said, back to feeling a little snippy herself. But also suddenly wondering what the deal was—what was the bigger thing he had to be upset about? Yeah, he was going to be alone for Christmas, but that didn’t seem like enough to make Adam this distraught.

  And she almost considered asking, but another glance at him from within the afghan that still draped her shoulders warned her not to. He stared into the flames before them, now crackling hotly and adding light to the room, his expression troubled and even a little bitter. What the heck is really wrong with you tonight, Adam Becker?

  Finally, she stood up, now wearing the afghan sort of like a shawl, her empty plate in one hand, and reached down to take his with the other, saying, “Done?”

  “No,” he answered, closing a fist snug around her wrist—since she’d actually grabbed for his plate before asking. “Still working on my pie.”

  That’s when he turned his head toward her and peered . . . right into her chest, given the way she was leaning over him. And, with her hands full, the afghan had fallen open. “Oh.” She pulled back, upright, maybe a little too quickly—because his touch had felt a little too . . . warm. “Sorry.”

  And that’s when she stumbled slightly backward, bumping into the chair behind her before regaining her balance—and Adam shot to his feet, abandoning his plate swiftly on the coffee table before catching her in his arms. Even though by that time she didn’t really need to be caught. And then he kind of . . . held on. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” she managed, nodding and still holding tight to her own plate, intensely aware that both his hands now molded to her hips. And that they felt strong, and capable. And something in her panties fluttered, just a bit. Oh God.

  “Okay,” he said. But he was still holding on.

  “Just stood up too fast,” she told him. “Plus I’ve had some wine, so I’m probably a little wobbly.”

  “Wobbly,” he repeated, those warm hands still supporting her.

  “Like a little drunk.” And she was pretty sure she was right about that part, since it was the only way she could account for her next move—she lifted her free hand to the navy tee Adam wore under an open flannel shirt. She rested her fingertips on his chest, as if it were about keeping her balance, but in reality, she was fairly certain she was actually just testing it out, seeing how it felt to touch him.

  They both stayed quiet, still, and she kind of liked the chest-touching. Even with only the tips of her fingers pressed there, she sensed the firm muscle underneath. It made her heart beat faster, harder. And a surreptitious glance down revealed that her
nipples were front and center on display—which could be because it was cold outside . . . but it was rather warm in here at the moment, convincing her the weather had nothing to do with it.

  But wait.

  God.

  This is Adam.

  “What, um, are we doing?” she whispered in the still air.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered back, sounding earnest and yet . . . maybe a little needful.

  And then she lifted her gaze to his and their eyes met and she had the feeling she was looking at him like she wanted him to kiss her.

  And she must have been right about that, too, because that was when he leaned slowly, tentatively forward and brushed his lips ever-so-gently across hers. She let out a little gasp as the pleasure it delivered cascaded through her deprived body. Oh boy. Oh wow. Oh Lord.

  When their eyes met again, she noticed how blue his sparkled in the firelight and that her chest now heaved a little. And she said, dumbly, “I have a plate in my hand.” Because it seemed like it was going to be hard to kiss him that way.

  But he never acted like it was dumb at all—instead he just rushed to take the plate and set it on the coffee table with his—and then he took her back into his arms, pulled her close enough that there was no mistaking the hard bulge in his pants, and lowered his mouth to hers in the most powerful kiss she’d ever received.

  Whoa.

  She wasn’t usually thankful for blizzards, but suddenly, all she could think was—let it snow!

  Three

  The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy!

  Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

  If that last kiss had been filled with power, the ones that followed were stunningly . . . smooth, controlled, and skilled. Wow. Adam definitely knew how to kiss a woman. As his hands skimmed her curves—one roaming her back, the other drifting seductively up her side toward her breast—it all left her breathless, the pleasures at once simple yet profound. The lack of urgency in his kisses combined with the confident way he delivered them gave the impression that he wasn’t racing toward some better end—but that he was completely and wholly satisfied by the moment, that he was enjoying the passion passing between them just as much as she was.

  She found herself shocked by how easy it was to stand there and kiss him, how her body seemed to take over, instantly comfortable moving against his. Since that’s what was happening now, very naturally—her breasts shifted sensually against his chest, her fingers twined in his thick, mussed hair. His hands had eased onto her ass now, which, of course, meant that in front she was grinding against him where he was hard and thick—and wow, talk about being breathless.

  This should be more awkward. But instead, it was just . . . pleasure, plain and simple.

  Was it the wine? Was the wine responsible for all of this?

  Maybe, but she didn’t think so anymore.

  “How drunk are you?” he asked then, as if reading her mind.

  The pause in kissing left their faces but an inch apart as she looked into his eyes, then lifted one hand, holding her thumb and index finger close together. “Just a little.” She could smell the manly, musky scent of him and wanted to get back to the kissing.

  “Promise?” he asked.

  She nodded profusely.

  “Okay, good.”

  But . . . “Why?”

  He sounded a little breathless now, too, when he said, “That means I can keep kissing you without feeling like a jerk.”

  Oh, okay. Kissing, more kissing—good. That was all she wanted in the world right now, to keep kissing and being kissed. And once he resumed kissing her, she pretty much ceased thinking, letting good old-fashioned feeling take over. And even if she was a little drunk, it wasn’t in the not-capable-of-good-judgment way; it was more in the maybe-I’m-finally-relaxing, finally-letting-go way. It was the first time in six long months that she hadn’t been letting herself worry about something, that she was just living in this moment, soaking up every sexy second of it.

  So when Adam pulled back without warning, it jarred her—until she saw that he was only stopping to push the coffee table out of the way, leaving the big braided rug in front of the fireplace vacant. Then he took her hand and silently pulled her down until they were both on their knees, kissing some more as the fire roared next to them, warming their faces—and maybe making her warm in other places, too.

  Soon, he lay her down on the rug until both of them had stretched out fully there—and as his hands roamed her body once more, she began to experiment with that, too, with more touching. She glided her palms over his chest, slid them around to explore the sinews of his back, shoulders. And at some point she’d stopped thinking about this being Adam, because that part was weird and it was much easier to just focus on the rest: that a strong, handsome man who knew how to use his mouth and hands was indeed using them—on her. She could scarcely remember a time since high school when kissing and touching had felt so new, when she’d found herself so swept up in a passion so pure and fresh and easy.

  He never stopped kissing her even as the back of his hand grazed her breast, making her let out a little gasp against his mouth and igniting fresh heat between her thighs. And then he was cupping the curved side, sensually kneading the flesh—just before he stroked his thumb over the taut peak. She sucked in her breath once more and Adam pulled back slightly—but he didn’t look alarmed, just maybe a little more passionate. His gaze fell on her mouth, and even as he continued caressing her breast in one hand, he lifted the other to run his fingertip over her bottom lip, studying it, as if getting to know that simple part of her in a whole new way.

  Kissing her again, this time he pressed his tongue into her mouth for the first time, and it felt like being entered by him, gently taken, so much that the burst of pleasure in her panties echoed through her whole body. Such simple things—touches, kisses—she’d enjoyed them thousands of times before. But they were suddenly more intense than she remembered, and that made it so utterly easy to sink into them and forget about everything else. Maybe because this was someone new? When she least expected it? Or did it have anything to do with the sudden and amazing chemistry she felt with a guy she’d known all her life?

  When he lifted up, glanced down to her stomach, and reached for the hem of her top, she pulled in her breath, watching, too. He rolled the cami slowly upward, upward, finally pushing the fabric past her breasts to put them on display. Only one guy had ever seen them before—until now—and that knowledge left her feeling both nervous and . . . wildly alive. And—oh God, they ached beneath his scrutiny. Ached for more. She bit her lip. Did he think they were pretty? He didn’t say, but his eyes went a bit glassy, lustful, and his jaw slack.

  Framing them with his hands, he leaned down, licking his way around one hardened nipple before pulling it skillfully into his mouth. She didn’t try to suppress her moan—she couldn’t have anyway. The pleasure stretched through her as taut as a rubber band connecting all her sensitive spots, and the more he kissed and suckled her breasts, the more connected it all felt, like her body was becoming simply one big sensual tool for his pleasure—and for hers.

  When he began to ease his flannel shirt off, she helped him, then watched patiently as he removed his dark T-shirt over his head. She’d seen him shirtless plenty of times in her life—swimming, putting up hay with Jeff at her ex-in-laws’ farm—but seeing him shirtless and hovering above her was a bit more powerful, and made it more difficult not to notice his muscular stomach and biceps, or the dark smattering of hair on his chest.

  “Lift up,” he whispered then, his hands back at her top—he wanted it off of her. She held her arms over her head so he could remove it.

  Then he reached for the drawstring on her snowflake pants. And that move threw her off a little, forcing her back from feeling to thinking. Because it meant—oh wow, this wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t stopping. And she wasn’t stopping. Were they actually going to . . . ?

  For a lot of women, maybe it wouldn’t be a b
ig deal to have casual sex at this moment, but for her . . . she’d only ever slept with one man, her ex-husband. So it felt sort of like . . . being a virgin all over again in a way. She didn’t know anymore what other people did in bed; she’d never known, in fact. She’d fallen into patterns, habits, the kind that are built over years between two people. And God knew she’d never thought anything would break those patterns—she’d thought she knew exactly what her sexual future held.

  So realizing what was about to happen here suddenly made her . . . crazily nervous. She felt wildly inexperienced. And suddenly sorry she’d wasted so many precious years on one person who was only going to throw her away in the end.

  Then quit thinking about it. Quit thinking about it and just do this. Feel this.

  Okay, I can do that. I’m strong, I’m capable, and everything will be fine. I can lift up and let Adam pull my pants down like it’s a completely normal thing to be happening between us.

  And that’s exactly what she did, the move leaving her in only a pair of bikini panties with a smiling gingerbread man below her belly button—which she might have rethought when she’d gotten dressed if she’d known anyone else would be seeing them. She caught the glint of amusement in Adam’s eye just before he said, “Cute.”

  “ ’Tis the season,” she whispered.

  “Thought you were hating the holidays this year.”

  “I am. But I’m trying to make myself snap out of it.”

  “Maybe this’ll snap you out of it,” he said—just before he smoothly parted her legs, bent down, and delivered a passionate open-mouthed kiss just below the gingerbread man.

  “Ohhhh,” she moaned—the sound echoing through the room. Talk about catching her off guard—yowsa.

  And without quite planning it, the second he rose up above her again, she found herself reaching for the waistband of his jeans. And then going for his belt, starting to undo it. It wasn’t a decision—just an instinct. Okay, looked like she was back from thinking to feeling again. And she liked feeling much better.