Holiday Heat (8 page)

Then Matt, in
an obvious attempt to return to more casual conversation, asked, “So when are
you leaving on that ski trip?”

Carrie had
decided to go with Jenn, figuring it was better to spend Christmas with family
than to hang around here, wishing for something that wasn’t going to happen.
“The 22rd. Then we’ll head to our parents’ for the holiday, and I’ll come back
here on the 26th or 27th.”

Matt nodded
absently.

Ridiculously,
Carrie felt a little upset that Matt didn’t looked disappointed.

She looked away
from his eyes, down at his body. The lean, strong lines of his legs and arms
and the pleasing contours of his chest and abdomen always roused her
appreciation. And the faint scars all over his body drew an ache in her chest,
like always.

But she felt
something else as well—something that was just wrong.

Something like
ownership.

It couldn’t be
that, of course.

Matt lowered
his brows, noticing her preoccupation “What is it?”

“Nothing,”
Carrie lied, giving him a little smile.

No way was she
going to admit that it felt like he was hers.

“It’s nothing.
You’re just hot.”

Carrie was hot.

She’d been
skiing for hours today—much longer than she’d planned or even wanted. But she
was with a group of Jenn’s friends, all of whom were much more enthusiastic
skiers than she was, and it hadn’t been easy to extricate herself in order to
go back to the lodge early. So she'd stuck it out until everyone else got tired
too.

Her cheeks were
blazing now, chapped and raw from the wind. She was exhausted and a little sore
and—after returning to the stifling warmth of the ski lodge—she felt like she
might suffocate on the hot air.

She walked
across to throw open a window, leaning out to hang her head into the evening.
She sucked in a few breaths, the cold air stinging her throat. After the
unnatural heat of the last few weeks in the city, the winter temperature of the
mountains felt cleansing and refreshing.

Carrie would
have liked to spend the whole evening in her room, preferring some alone time
after socializing with mostly strangers for a day and a half. But Jenn would
worry if she didn’t come down for dinner, so Carrie shut the window and sternly
told herself to get ready.

She took a
quick shower and pulled her flyaway hair back with some vintage snowflake
clips. Then she put on dark jeans and a clingy, mulberry-colored sweater. Her
cheeks were still pink, and her eyes looked almost sparkling in the artificial
light. It was nice to look pretty.

For most of the
year, she hadn’t even thought about looking pretty. She did now. Even if there
was no one here she wanted to look pretty for.

To Jenn’s
disappointment, there were no hunky ski instructors available for the taking.
Carrie wouldn’t have wanted one anyway.

She missed
Matt.

She’d known it
had been a mistake to have that long, romantic evening with him over weekend.
It had felt like a date, not a sleazy night in a cheap motel. Almost like they
were in a real relationship and not a secret affair.

She hadn’t
heard from him since, and she was starting to wonder if it was over.

She was here by
herself now, and it was probably for the best. At least she seemed to have
healed enough to entertain romantic fantasies again. That was definitely
progress. So Carrie squared her shoulders and went downstairs to try to enjoy
the evening.

She waved at a
couple of Jenn’s friends across the room, but noticed that her sister hadn’t
come down yet. So—instead of going over to make more small talk—Carrie sank
down into a deep sofa near the roaring blaze in the stone fireplace. It was a
little too warm, but the ambiance was nice.

The main lobby
of the lodge was cheery and festive, with garland, bows, and twinkling lights
hung around the room and a huge Christmas tree in the corner. There was even a
Santa Claus wandering about, handing out wrapped trinkets to children and
posing for pictures.

Carrie absently
noticed it must be a different Santa than the one from yesterday evening. This
one seemed taller and was doing a better job of making the children laugh.

She watched for
a few minutes and then stared back into the fire. Wondered what Matt was doing
right now.

She was worried
that he was all alone. Maybe he was lonely. Of course, he couldn’t have been as
lonely as she was, or he would have made an effort to spend at least part of
the holiday with her.

She let out a
long sigh. She was being stupid, but she still kind of hoped he would give her
a call. She’d felt so close to him only a few nights ago.

A mug of
steaming cider materialized in front of her, and Carrie reached to take it
automatically.

She looked up
to see Santa Claus blinking down on her. His red and white suit was
well-padded, and his face almost entirely covered by a thick white beard, big
Santa glasses, and a drooping red hat.

“Thanks,” she
mumbled.

“Someone needs
some Christmas cheer,” Santa said in the gruff voice he must use to go with his
character.

Carrie gave him
a half-hearted smile. “Thanks,” she said again, mustering up a little
enthusiasm. “I appreciate it.”

“You can do
better than that,” Santa insisted, hefting his bag of trinkets down off his
shoulder.

Out of general
civility, Carrie tried to hide her impatience, but she really wished Santa
would bless someone else in the room with his genial attention. She just wanted
to be left alone to have a nice mope before Jenn came down.

But she managed
a wider smile to appease the pushy Santa.

“Better,” Santa
said, nodding his bushy head approvingly. “So have you been naughty or nice?”

Without
conscious thought, her mind flashed to images of hot, passionate nights spent
with Matt over the last few months.

She’d
definitely been naughty this year.

“Definitely
naughty,” Santa said, a new note entering his gruff voice.

Carrie gasped,
both at his having read her mind and the incongruously provocative lilt to
Santa’s tone.

Just her luck,
being hit on by a raunchy Santa Claus.

“Don’t you have
any kids to ho-ho-ho to?” she asked tartly, taking a sip of her cider. She
almost choked as she swallowed.

This cider had
been spiked with something very strong.

She took another
sip.

Santa leaned
over closer, his long beard brushing against her shoulder. “I’d rather ho-ho-ho
with you.”

Carrie’s eyes
nearly popped out of her head at the lewd implication of what should have been
innocuous words.

She took a gulp
of the cider and felt the warmth of the alcohol flow through her body.

So maybe Matt
didn’t care enough about her to get in touch over Christmas. Maybe he hadn’t
bought her a single Christmas present, unless she counted the dress. Maybe he
hadn’t even called her after that intense evening they’d spent together.

Maybe Matt
didn’t want her, but Carrie wasn’t completely neglected.

She’d clearly
attracted this blue-eyed perv of a Santa Claus without even trying.

She finished
off her cider as Santa moved away from her couch. She felt warm and drowsy
thanks to the alcohol and the blaze of the fireplace.

She also felt
mildly amused. Despite the incongruity, it was always nice to have affirmation
that you were attractive—even if it was just to a random Santa Claus.

Carrie watched
as Santa paused when a little girl with pink earmuffs ran up to him, demanding
a present. Santa reached into his sack and leaned down to say something to the
girl.

He slanted an
ironic look back at Carrie as he presented the girl with one of his trinkets.

Something about
the slanted look made Carrie’s spine stiffen suddenly. She stared hard.

Even through
the big glasses, the thick white beard, the wig and hat, there was something
she knew—she
knew
—about that look.

Matt was Santa
Claus.

It was so
unbelievable, so impossible, so contrary to everything she’d understood about
him and the world, that she couldn’t believe her recognition at first. But the
eyes were his—she realized that now. And the amused irony evident in his
expression was screaming Matthew Lynch.

Now that she
saw it, she couldn’t see anything else. Couldn’t believe she’d failed to see it
immediately.

What the hell
was he doing here? And why was he dressed up like Santa?

The only answer
that came to her—like the embodiment of her most ridiculous, romantic
fantasies—made her want to squeal. Or faint. Or cry.

But she didn’t
do any of those things. Not until she knew what was happening here. She stood
up and was surprised to find herself swaying a bit on her feet.

Evidently,
she’d drunk too much spiked cider too quickly.

When she was
sure of her feet, she stepped over toward where Santa-Matt was leaning against
a wall and talking to a newlywed couple.

She wasn't sure
what she was going to say to him, but she had to say something.

Before Carrie
reached him, Jenn entered the room with a couple of her friends. After greeting
her sister with an enthusiastic wave, Jenn saw Santa and—in characteristically
high spirits—demanded a picture with him.

Carrie
smothered a smile when Jenn decided she would pose on Santa’s lap. With her new
recognition of Santa’s identity, Carrie could now read Matt’s expression
beneath the beard as Jenn snuggled up on his lap and wrapped her arms around
him for the picture.

Carrie had to
turn away to hide her laughter when Matt tried to stand up when the picture was
done—only to be returned to his seat rather abruptly when another young woman
took Jenn’s place.

When Jenn
called Carrie over to join in a group picture, Carrie happily squeezed herself
into a shot, and she managed to maneuver her hand into place to surreptitiously
pinch Santa’s ass.

Matt huffed in
surprise—his reaction causing her to nearly lose control of her amusement.

She was aware
enough to realize her near-hysteria wasn’t just humor. It was barely leashed
joy.

She was trying
to control her expression, but not nearly well enough to deceive Matt. His eyes
landed on her face, and he knew. She knew he knew.

Carrie still
didn’t know how Matt had gotten himself into such a crazy situation, but she
was planning to enjoy it while she could. Such a delightful turnaround wasn’t
likely to happen again anytime soon—not with a man as utterly cool as Matt.

He had to be
here for her.

The realization
made Carrie want to melt, and the heat of the room—the heat from the cider—only
intensified this feeling. She managed to restrain her giggles as the
picture-posing continued for a few more shots.

Only when
Santa-Matt finally got to his feet, nearly dislodging a brunette friend of
Jenn’s in the process, did Carrie start to feel a twinge of nervousness.

No reason for
it, of course. But they were going to talk now. And she had no idea if she was
ready for what this talk would reveal. About him. And her.

“Santa needs a
break,” Matt said gruffly, still doing the bare minimum to sustain his genial
persona. He managed to extricate himself from the group of young women and
clomped his way toward the back door of the lobby in his thick black boots.

He slanted
Carrie a look over his shoulder. It wasn’t a happy look.

Covering her
mouth to hide the giggles, she managed to slip away from Jenn without being
noticed.

She caught up
to Matt in the back hall.

“Santa?”

Matt frowned
beneath his beard. “You seem to be having an ungraciously good time with this.”

His slightly
peeved tone sent Carrie into an unrestrained fit of laughter. “Matt, Matt, what
the hell…” She gasped, trying to catch her breath and finish the sentence.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Damn it,
Carrie. I had a whole plan worked out here, and you ruined it.”

Carrie was
laughing so hard now she had to lean against him and bury her face against the
fuzzy red suit to smother the sound.

Matt cleared
his throat. “Whenever you’d like to control yourself enough to have an actual
conversation.”

“Only you,” she
gasped, straightening up. “Only
you
can sound so full of pomposity when
wearing that big red hat!”

He just glared
at her—one of his best cold glares. But the beard and glasses spoiled the
effect.

“How did I ruin
your plan?” she asked, managing to basically compose herself and genuinely
wanting to know the answers to her questions.

“You weren’t
supposed to know I was here until later.”

“Then why did
you come over to talk to me? Surely you didn’t think I was so incredibly
clueless as not to recognize you.”

“You didn’t
recognize me. Not at first. You thought I was some dirty old man.” Matt sounded
less peeved—as if he were pleased by deceiving her at least temporarily.

“But I wouldn’t
have even noticed you if you hadn’t come to talk to me. It’s your own fault if
your crazy plan fell apart.”

Matt sighed. “I
know. It was stupid. But you looked so…so…”

Irrationally,
Carrie’s shoulders stiffened defensively. “So
what
?” She could just
imagine how she’d looked, moping on the couch by herself. Pitiful. Childish.

“Sad.”

She reached
over to pull down the white beard so she could see his face better. His
expression wasn’t condescending or pitying. In fact, he looked almost tender.

A warm rush of
feeling swelled up inside her, but she managed to keep an appropriately wry
lilt to her voice. “So you ruined your big plans to come over to cheer me up?”

Matt smiled and
took off his Santa-glasses. “Aren’t you glad I did?”

She
was
glad he had. And even more glad that he’d evidently cared enough about her
feelings to spoil his plans in order to win her out of her lonely, wistful
mood.

“So what was
your plan?” she asked, feeling the sudden urge to touch him. She ran a hand up
his chest and was uncomfortably aware that the Santa suit was padded. It wasn’t
his smooth, hard chest she was feeling. It was something soft and cushy.

Not exactly the
kind of touch to match her slightly provocative tone.

Matt reached
over and cupped her face in one hand. His eyes were so soft she lost her
breath. But instead of sweet words, he said, “I don’t think I’ll tell you.”

Carrie gasped.
“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, I’m the
one wearing this Santa suit.”

Amusement vied
with annoyance—and curiosity trumped them both. “So what are you doing here?
And why are you in that ridiculous outfit?”

Matt gave a
half-shrug. “I needed some holiday weather. It’s seventy degrees and humid in
the city.”

“Don’t be
evasive. Why are you here?”