Holiday Heat (5 page)

She headed off
to the cashier and had to wait in line a frustrating length of time. When she
finally completed her purchases, she found Matt absorbed in another book.

This one wasn’t
filled with sexy pictures. It was a large, glossy book of Rembrandt paintings.

Matt returned
the book to the shelf without comment when he became aware of her presence, but
Carrie wasn’t likely to miss what he’d been looking at.

 “Now where?”
he asked. “I suppose I couldn’t be fortunate enough for us to be done yet.”

“You’re the one
who wanted to join me. And, no, we’re not done yet. But I’m famished now. We’d
better find something to eat.”

***

They ended up at a sandwich
shop, where they got soup and panini. As Carrie was finishing up her meal, she
studied Matt covertly. He looked relaxed and attractive in his black shirt and
worn jeans. He’d finished eating before her and was now sipping his coffee and
looking around the restaurant, a smile lingering on his lips.

She wondered
what he was thinking. What he was doing here with her. He appeared to be
enjoying the afternoon, despite his occasional complaints. Then she suddenly
asked herself how long it might have been since Matt had done something as
simple as go shopping with someone else.

He used to be
the hit of the art scene—surrounded by friends, women, and lackeys. But she
wondered how many of those friends and girlfriends had really been close.

“Are you
lonely?” she asked, the question spilling out without thought or volition.

Matt cut his
eyes back over to her sharply. “Excuse me?”

Carrie flushed
slightly, wishing she’d never asked such a stupid thing. But, trapped in her
voiced inquiry, she repeated, “Sorry. I was just wondering if maybe you were
lonely.”

“Why would you
say that?” His words and expression were wary, careful.

She shrugged.
“I don’t know. You’ve pulled back from everyone. I know why and that it was
your choice, but I thought maybe you might feel all alone…sometimes.” She ended
weakly, knowing that Matt tended to bristle if his pretense at self-sufficiency
and invulnerability was questioned.

He gave her a
teasing smile. “Ah, but I’m involved in a sleazy affair that keeps me well occupied.”

She snorted at
the clever way he’d used her own words against her. But she persisted, “Yes,
there’s that. But still. That’s only a couple nights a week.”

Matt’s
expression sobered, and he stared off at an empty spot in the air. “I do all
right on my own.”

Carrie knew
this was the end of the conversation. If she pushed it, he would close down
completely. But she wondered if his words were true. He always seemed poised,
confident, and satisfied during the times they were together. But she wondered
how he felt during all the hours they spent apart.

She wondered if
he felt lonely and in-between, now that the sharpest of the grief had dulled.
Like she did.

She ate her
last few spoonfuls of butternut squash soup. Then she asked, before she lost
the courage, “Do you ever think about painting again?” She kept her tone casual
so he wouldn’t think she was digging too deeply into his soul.

He gave a half
shrug and put down his coffee mug. It took him nearly a minute to answer. “All
the time.”

He didn’t say
anything else, and he didn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t read his expression.

But it was
enough. She understood. And she didn’t pursue the questioning. She just
murmured, “Well, you should. Not just for the world—not just for what we’re
missing out on. But for
you
.”

Matt got up to
clear their plates, and when he returned things had shifted back to normal
between them. He gave her a faint sneer and asked, “So just how much more
shopping do we have?”

She grinned.
“You’re in luck, I think. I’ve got all the presents. All I need now is to find
a dress for my aunt’s Christmas party next weekend.”

Matt’s brows
drew together. “What party is that?”

“My aunt lives
here, and she always throws a big, fancy Christmas party. I have to go.”

“Why do you
have to go? Don’t you want to?”

“Not really.
But she always tries to be nice and include me, so I’ll feel like an ass if I
don’t. Plus, my parents will find out I didn’t go and will worry even more. I
just hate going to that kind of party by myself.”

“Ah,” Matt
breathed, as if he were enlightened. “Can’t you wrangle yourself a date?”

She shot him a
suspicious look. “Well, I could. But I’m presently involved in a sleazy affair
with a rather unreasonable guy who gets in the way of my social life. Like
calling me the minute I got home from my innocent double date last night and
demanding a full account of the proceedings.”

Matt laughed
softly, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. “Hmm. Sounds like a wise
man. And a very boring double-date. So you need a dress for the party? That’s
it?”

“That’s it.”
Carrie slid out of her seat and studied his face. “You don’t have to come with
me. I’ll probably have to try on a ton of dresses. I’m sure it won’t be very
exciting for you.”

Matt’s eyes
grew suddenly hot. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

They went first to a store that
Carrie knew carried a good selection of dresses. They picked out several for
her to try on. Matt waited outside the dressing room, and Carrie stepped out to
show him each possibility.

A few of them
were all right, but none of them were worth the money.

So they went to
another store. This time, one dress in particular caught Carrie’s eye. It was
cocktail length with an uneven, retro hemline. It was black, which she thought
would be quite versatile, and it seemed to suit her style.

She grabbed one
in her size and turned to Matt, but he had strolled to another rack of dresses.

“I found it,”
she declared. “No need to look any further.”

Matt glanced
over at the dress she held and shook his head. “No. This one will be better.”

He showed her a
deep red dress.

She frowned.
“Are you kidding? I’m not going to buy a dress that so Christmas-y.”

“Why not?”

“Because I
could only wear it at Christmas.”

“You can wear
red at other times.”

“It’s too
Christmas-y.”

“Try it on,” he
insisted. “You’ll see.”

She huffed but
didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the effort, since she knew the black dress would
be perfect. She took both dresses into the otherwise empty dressing room.

When Matt acted
like he was going to walk into the stall with her, she closed the door on his
face.

She couldn’t
help but giggle at his startled grunt.

She pulled off
her jeans and top and pulled on the red dress first. It was a gorgeous color,
but there was no way it wasn’t going to look Christmas-y.

As soon as the
skirt slid down over her legs, she started to rethink her first impression. The
fit was clingy, almost slinky, and it caressed her curves provocatively. And
the red was perfect against her skin and dark hair and eyes.

But the stupid
thing was supposed to look vintage and had buttons in the back. She growled as
she reached behind to do them up. After a minute, she gritted out, “Matt.”

“Buttons?”

She opened the
door with a narrowed-eyed glare, which made him chuckle as he came in and shut
the door behind him.

“Told you,” he
murmured, as his eyes skimmed over her figure.

“It’s
impossible to tell whether or not the dress will look good,” she lied, “until I
get these damned buttons done.”

“Well, I can
take care of that.”

He buttoned
them, his fingers grazing her skin with what she thought was unnecessary
frequency.

He was smiling
when he finished. When Carrie stared at herself in the mirror, she knew why.

The dress was
absolutely perfect. She’d never looked more beautiful in any dress in her life.

She swallowed,
hating to admit Matt was right when he was already so smug about it. “Not bad,”
she said blandly. “Unbutton me so I can try on the black one.”

Still looking
amused, Matt started on the buttons. The activity took far longer than it
should have. This time, it was obvious that his fingers lingered, and then he
started to press kisses against the bare skin on her back as he parted the
fabric.

“Matt,” she
gasped, as one of his hands slid forward to cup her breast. “What are you
doing?”

“This,” he
murmured thickly, fondling the nipple that had tightened visibly beneath the
fabric, “is a very good dress.”

Desire washed
over her so intensely that her knees felt weak, and she turned around, grabbing
fistfuls of Matt’s shirt to support herself.

Matt brushed a
light kiss against her lips. “Admit it. You want this dress.”

His challenge
renewed Carrie’s willpower, and she pulled away. “I haven’t even tried on the
other one yet.”

“Right.” He
leaned against the wall with a superior smile and watched with interest as she
carefully slipped out of the dress, stripping down to her bra and panties, and
then pulled the second dress over her head.

The black dress
had a zipper, and Carrie had no trouble fastening it. The dress was
good—flattering and kind of quirky, which she liked.

But it wasn’t
as good as the red dress.

“I don’t know,”
she said, brazenly pretending to be torn about the decision. “They’re both
good.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt
murmured skeptically, turning her around and taking the zipper between his
finger and thumb. “Shall I help you off with this one too?”

“Why not?” She
tried to sound blasé but was almost shaking with excitement. Her body pulsed
with heat, and an erotic pressure had built between her legs.

Matt slowly
edged down the zipper, giving her sensual ministrations as he undressed her.
Before the dress was halfway down, Carrie had flattened both of her hands
against the wall, bending slightly at the waist to brace herself. She wasn’t
sure her legs could hold out against the desire overwhelming her.

Matt’s lips
were mouthing the back of her neck. One of his hands was fondling her breast,
and the other had dipped under her skirt to explore between her legs.

Finally, when
she felt an orgasm start to form, Carrie realized they’d better stop while they
could. “Matt,” she gasped. “I’ll buy the dress and then we can go somewhere—”
Her words were cut off as Matt started to massage her through the fabric of her
panties.

“Damn it,” she
choked, unconsciously grinding her groin against his hand. “How dare you get me
all hot and bothered in a dressing room, when there’s nothing we can do about
it?”

“What do you
mean?” he murmured. “Why shouldn’t we?”

She gasped,
from both surprise and pleasure. “What?
What
?”

“Turn around,
Carrie.” The words were low, irresistible.

She turned
around, flattening her back against the wall. Matt was so close she could feel
the heat of his body pulsing between them. He kissed her hard and deep, and
then he slid his hands down over the black dress, following the descent of his
hands with the rest of his body as he knelt down onto the floor.

She gaped at
him. “What?”

He gave her a
predatory smile and ran his hands up her bare legs, pushing her skirt up as he
did. She clutched at the fabric automatically when it was bunched up at her
waist. And she widened her stance at Matt’s urging. He slid down her panties.

“Are you
really—?” A sharp inhalation broke off her question.

Matt had just
tongued her.

As she stared
down at him, he nuzzled, opening her more so he could better please her.

Carrie pressed
back against the wall hard as the stimulation sent waves of pleasure through
her body. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Someone will hear.”

“There’s no one
in here but us,” Matt murmured, the vibrations from his voice intensifying the
sensations.

He worked her
over with his mouth, sucking with his lips, twirling and thrusting with his
tongue, and grazing with his teeth until she was shaking uncontrollably and
mumbling out pleas for release.

She clutched at
his head with one hand and the skirt of the dress with the other. She used the
wall for balance as she writhed against his mouth.

A faint sound
of a shopper from outside the dressing room drove home the reality of their
public location. She gave a little sob and dug her fingernails into the back of
Matt’s neck.

She could see
them in the full-length mirror across from her. She was flushed, disheveled and
half-dressed—with Matt kneeling on the floor with his head between her thighs.

It was such a
shamelessly provocative image that Carrie bit her lip over a helpless sound.

She resisted
her impending climax, self-conscious about losing control so completely in such
a location. But Matt’s mouth was too skillful, and he knew her body too well.
She stuffed her fist into her mouth to muffle the sound of her climax as her
hips jerked hard against Matt’s mouth.

When he finally
pulled away, she nearly slid to the floor.

He stood up,
using his body to brace hers against the wall. “How was that?” he asked. His
mouth was wet with her moisture, and his body was so tight it nearly shook.

“Not bad,” she
managed to say, her knees buckling again as occasional tremors from her climax
ran through her.

Matt kissed her
urgently. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, and it made her
whimper.

He was
obviously aroused, his hard arousal pressing insistently into her middle. She
tore her mouth away, gasping for air and feeling beads of perspiration run in
rivulets down her back and between her breasts.

“For once, you
didn’t think ahead,” she said unevenly. “Now you’re all turned on with no means
of satisfaction.” She pressed her hand against the bulge in his jeans for good
measure.