Any Given Christmas (8 page)

“You don’t need to worry about taking me home. I can get a ride with my friends.”

“Your friends are gone.”

Her head whipped around toward the now-empty table. “Oh.” A sigh lifted her shoulders as she looked back up and tried to put some space between them. He was smart enough not to let that happen and tucked her deeper into his arms. The sweet cushion of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hand felt small in his. And the top of her head barely came to his chin. But he liked the way she fit. “How tall are you anyway?”

“Five-three. Why?”

“You’re short.”

“I am not. You’re just used to those supermodels with all those legs and no brains.”

“Now why would you want to go stereotyping like that? The last woman I dated had a BA.”

“I’m guessing that’s the same as T & A?”

“Great song, isn’t it?” He sidestepped the remark and guided her through the dance. God, she was soft. In a very good way. No offense to the women he dated, but they were all hard-bodied. They worked out, ate little, and worked out some more. Not an ounce of their flesh would conform to the contour of his hand. Emma was soft and rounded. With her breasts pressed against his chest and his arms holding her close, she felt the way he always believed a woman should feel.

What they were doing on that dance floor could hardly be called dancing. Swaying in place was more like it. The two-stepping couples who shared the space had to dodge and maneuver around them.

“So, how long have you been here tonight?” she asked.

“Long enough to watch you make a face when you downed the Jell-O shooter.”

“Uck.” She shivered. “Why do people think those taste so good?”

“They don’t. They just want a fast way to get trashed. Which usually translates into an excuse for Bohemian-like behavior they will regret the next day.”

“Something you know from experience?” Her body moved against his and made it hard to think.

“There are a lot of college weekends I can’t seem to remember.” He chuckled. “In fact, I did a lot of crazy shit in college I’d be better off
not
remembering. How about you?”

“I was too busy hitting the books.”

“Don’t tell me you were one of those who missed all the keggers in exchange for good grades.”

“I went to one. Didn’t ever see a need to go back.”

“No?”

She shook her head and her silky hair slid across the back of his hand.

“Think of all the fun you missed.”

Something briefly clouded her eyes before she said, “Not really my kind of fun.”

The song ended and she stepped away from his embrace. “I guess you can take me home now.”

“You sure? I can buy you another drink.”

“Nope. I’m done.” She slipped her hand from his and while her tight blue jeans sauntered away from him, he couldn’t help but wonder when the playful banter had turned to something… more.

With a shake of his head he followed her and helped her on with her seen-better-days parka. The same parka she’d worn the night he’d almost mowed her down on his way to Kate’s house. Then he escorted her through the crowded bar and outside into the icy night air.

For the first time in days, the sky was a clear, velvety black. The Milky Way lit up the dark like a path across the heavens as he led her through the parked cars toward his mother’s bomber.

“You know.” Emma tucked her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat. “I really don’t live that far. I can just walk.”

“Oh, I see. You’re embarrassed to ride in my mother’s hot rod.”

She slid a quick glance across the parking lot to the rusted beast. “No, I’m not. I just—”

“Good. Because my mother loved that car. And I know she’d be happy for it to see you safely home.”

“I’ve seen the way you drive. My safe arrival home is doubtful.”

He laughed. “Regardless. I couldn’t live with myself if I let you walk and something happened to you.”

“This is Deer Lick. What could happen?”

“You could get taken out by a four-point buck.”

“Fine.” She relented with a smile. “You can drive me home.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

While they drove through town, Emma silently stared out her window. The few times he tried to engage her in conversation had been met with an “Uh-huh” or “Hmmm.” Which left Dean to wonder what might be going on in that obviously intelligent mind of hers.

As he pulled the car into her driveway she broke her silence and surprised him with her concern.

“How are you doing with your shoulder?”

He turned off the car and looked over at her. “Better.”

“I imagine you’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Funny you should say that. Everyone else has doubts I’ll ever be able to throw a long bomb into the end zone again.”

She turned her head toward him and even through the darkness he could see the tiny furrows between her brows. “Well, that’s stupid.”

He fought a smile at her stubborn tone. “Why’s that?”

“Because you won’t let anything stop you from what you want. You’re an NFL quarterback. It’s what you’ve worked for your entire life. Doesn’t matter what any doctor says, you won’t back down from what you want.”

She was defending him? A strange tickle fluttered through his chest. And then she smiled and his heart melted like a snow cone on a summer day. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She gathered up her purse and reached for the door handle. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wait there,” he told her. “I’ll get that.” Oddly enough she stayed put. He went around and opened her door. She slid out of the car, furry snow boots first. While she stood in front of him, a long moment passed. He looked down into her eyes and his heart danced a funny step.

Her straight blond hair smelled of honeysuckle. Her skin was smooth and flawless. Her lips, full and pink. If he wanted to see eye to eye with her, he’d need to lift her by the front of her coat.

Emma Hart was the type of woman who took care of sick relatives or baked cookies for fundraisers. The type of woman who needed a ring on her finger. She wasn’t
his
type. At all. Still, she intrigued him. Maybe because she made him laugh. Or because she wouldn’t take any crap from him. Or maybe because even though she held some kind of grudge against him, she’d just shown him the one generosity few others had managed in recent days.

Faith.

“Thanks for the ride, superstar.” She gave him a little pat on his chest and turned toward her front porch.

Dean caught her hand and spun her back toward him. She ended up against him with both palms planted on his chest. He cupped her face and looked down into the confusion that clouded her eyes. Then without further thought or argument he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips were cool but just as soft as he’d imagined. Softer. It was just a brief touch of their mouths as he held her face between his hands as if she were breakable. But even as his heart pounded and his body lusted, he’d never been a forceful man. He’d never taken what hadn’t been offered, even when every law of nature had tribal drums beating through his blood.

Her small hands pushed against his chest and she drew her head back. Everything inside him stilled. The man inside him wanted more. Craved more. Needed more. His hands slipped to her small waist.

She looked up, brows pulled together, and studied his face. “I don’t like you,” she whispered.

“I know.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “But please kiss me anyway.”

She searched his eyes for what seemed like forever. When he expected her to push him further away, she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck.

Then she did exactly as he asked.

The initial kiss was a mere press of her lips, and she was gone before he even got started. She leaned her head back, looked up at him again, then came back for more. This time the kiss was slow and eased through him like a drug, warming him and igniting his every nerve like a row of stadium lights popping on at dusk. Lust rolled over him in breath-stealing waves as she fed him a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like pineapples and maraschino cherries and desire. Their tongues touched, mated, and fought for dominance.

In that battle he didn’t give a damn who won.

He slid his arm around her back and brought her up onto her toes, brought her body against him. Her fingers combed through his hair and she pressed herself even closer. The tingles in his scalp moved all the way down through his heart. Then she moaned a sound of frustration and excitement and want and need. He cupped her bottom and pushed his erection against her. The heat of her body made him forget they stood in the middle of her driveway. She made him forget he dated long-legged models and not short, sassy schoolteachers. She made him forget everything in his life that had been lost.

God, he wanted her. So bad.

He wanted to take her in that house, lay her down on a bed, and make love to her until she
did
like him. And then he’d make love to her some more. Just to be sure.

Too soon, she broke away. His heart pounded as she tilted her head back and swept her tongue across her bottom lip. Then without a word she slipped from his arms and headed toward her front door.

When she reached the top step, sanity roared back. “Hey,” he said softly.

She turned slowly to look at him. The moisture of their kiss still glistened on her lips.

Damn.

“Why are you always running away from me, Emma? What are you afraid of?”

Her hesitation made his heart pound a little harder.

“I don’t know what you think you want from me,” she said. “But I don’t play games. And I don’t want any part of any of yours.”

She disappeared into the house. After her front door shut him out, Dean stood in the middle of her driveway, his back pressed against his mother’s car. Arms empty. Body aching. Heart hammering.

Who knew his little schoolteacher contained so much passion?

And who knew he’d be such a willing student?

He considered himself a man of the world, primed with experience and knowledge.

But that kiss?

That kiss had rocked him right off the axis of his perfectly planned universe.

A
t two in the afternoon the following day, Emma sat at a long table just inside the bookstore in Bozeman, surrounded by rolls of holiday gift wrap, bags of bows, and leftover crafting odds and ends that would put a personal spin on the packages she would wrap to benefit the Alzheimer’s Association. The previous year she’d been able to collect enough tips and hand over five hundred dollars. She hoped to add at least another hundred to her jar by day’s end. Anything that could add to the research coffers to find a cure for the disease that was slowly stealing her Memaw away would be great.

As she finished up wrapping an entire detective series a woman was gifting to her private investigator husband, an elderly couple strolled up to her table. The man had his hand placed at the woman’s back. Though he looked to be about seventy years old and had a belt cinched in tight to hold up his high-water pants, he had that
This is my woman, isn’t she beautiful?
look in his eye. They were so cute Emma immediately wanted to adopt them. At the same time a pang tangled around her heart. She wished her Memaw had found that kind of love again after her grandfather had died in a farming accident. Yet over and over her grandmother had insisted that there would only be one man for her. Emma wondered if she still remembered the fierceness of the love she’d had for Leroy Hart. Emma wondered if her Memaw remembered him at all.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The woman set a pile of books down on the table, looked up, and grinned. “Can you wrap all these individually? I promise to tip good. Lost my sister to Alzheimer’s three years ago. Count my blessings every day.”

Emma felt a sting in her eyes. Before she turned into a blubbering fool she picked up the stack of books and smiled. “Wow. Somebody likes romance.”

“Oh, you bet,” the husband answered. “Bertie here joined a reader group that just devours these books.”

Bertie chuckled. “Stanley won’t admit it, but he’s part of the group.”

Intrigued, Emma asked, “Are you the only gentleman?”

“So far. But I don’t expect that will last long, once the guys figure out where the women in our town disappear to every Thursday night. Plus, it just gives me more time to spend with Bertie.”

Okay, how cute was that?

“Well good for you.” Emma picked up the rolls of paper. “Do any of these gift wraps speak to you?”

“Hmmm.” Bertie studied the rolls, tapping her chin. “How about you surprise me. I may be old but I don’t mind getting caught off guard once in a while. Makes life more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Emma agreed before she realized she’d somehow removed the element of surprise in her life and replaced it with safe and sane.

“Here’s a list of names to put on the tags.” Bertie held out a scrap of paper. “Doesn’t matter which one goes to who. They’ll get passed around anyway.”