I'll Be Yours for Christmas (7 page)

A heavy sigh met her request. “And who is this?” the woman asked, her “this” sounding more like “theese.”

None of your bees-niss,
Abby felt like saying, feeling annoyed. “I'm a friend of Reece's. May I take a message?”

“A friend, eh? You may tell him Danielle called,” she said, a bit huffily, Abby thought. Maybe it was the accent. “Danielle…last name?”

“He will know,” she said with an aggravatingly sexy laugh.

“Sure.”

“Be sure he receives the message, please.”

“Of course,” Abby said. “Goodbye.”

She set the phone down, wondering why she felt so peevish. It was obviously just a friend of Reece's from Europe calling. Abby sighed, shaking it off.

She bet that Reece had
lots
of friends with sexy accents back in France. Plopping the roast into the Dutch oven a little more forcefully than she planned, she splashed stock on her shirt and shook her head.

Ridiculous to be this put out by the idea of Reece with other women. Sexier, more sophisticated, French women.

Well, she couldn't compete and didn't want to, she decided, tying on an apron to avoid further damage. Putting the woman and her snooty accent out of her mind, she turned on the radio and focused on cutting vegetables and making her appetizers.

She quickly worked her way out of her snit and was shimmying across the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs to Mariah Carey's version of “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” She was on her way to put the tray of cheese and fruit in the refrigerator, but nearly dropped it all when she met Reece's amused expression as he stood, propped in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

“Reece!” she said, fumbling and blushing to the roots of her hair. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Mmm…about from the first chorus,” he said lightly, still smiling.

“Oh, God,” she said, covering her face, shaking with embarrassed laughter.

“I have to admit, the apron adds a certain panache to your performance,” he teased.

She looked down at the sexy apron she wore, a
Cheetah print with red ruffles and a bow at the neckline. Hannah had bought it for her birthday as a funny gift, and it had never been worn, especially since an embroidered patch on the pocket read Hot Stuff.

As if this wasn't embarrassing enough.

It was one of the few items from the kitchen pantry that didn't get ruined. She hadn't thought twice when she'd donned it, unused to an audience while cooking.

“It was a gag gift,” she explained. “From Hannah.”

Reece scanned her up and down appreciatively and walked over to where she stood.

“What smells so good?”

“I thought I would make us dinner, as a thank-you…and also because I like to cook. It destressed me,” she said, trying to keep her voice level as he ran a finger over the edge of the bow, the tip of his finger brushing against her skin at the edge of her shirt.

“That's nice of you. I haven't had a home-cooked dinner in a while,” he said sincerely, but there was a glint in his eye.

“This is every man's fantasy, you know,” he said, tugging at the bow to pull her forward against him. “A sexy woman in the kitchen making him dinner after a long day.”

She rolled her eyes. “Puh-leese. I can't imagine you ever having a fantasy that mundane,” she said, and then shook her head.

Why was she still standing here, so close to him?

He lowered his head and nibbled at her earlobe, making her yelp.

“Reece! What are you doing?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just having a taste,”
he said, nibbling again. “I think you splashed something on your neck. Let me get it,” he offered.

It was news to her that the nerves in her earlobes were connected directly to her knees, which seemed to turn to water. She planted her hands against his chest and tried to push. The man was rock-solid.

“I have appetizers,” she said breathlessly.

“Not what I'm hungry for,” he said against her neck, nipping at her speeding pulse.

“Reece,” she said as calmly as she could. “We agreed we had to keep things only business.”

“You said that, but I only agreed out of politeness,” he whispered, his breath against her lips. “I said I'd do whatever you want,” he added, brushing a thumb over a very hard nipple, making her gasp, his eyes meeting hers. “You want?”

Oh, did she ever.

“It's not a good idea,” she said lamely, still unable to force her feet to move. He just felt too damned good.

“Abby,” he said, laughing softly, “it's just me.”

That was like saying, “It's just dynamite,” to her mind.

He proceeded to cover her lips with light, soft, teasing kisses that made her grab on to him, curling her fingers into his jacket as she sought more. He didn't accommodate her until she groaned and worked her hands up to his neck, holding him still as she kissed him, taking what she needed.

She was weak, but she just couldn't work up the energy to care.

“I guess you're not angry at me anymore for the other night?” she asked, breathless.

His brow wrinkled, as if he was surprised. “I never was angry with you. Just frustrated, and a little embarassed. I'm sorry if I let you think otherwise,” he said. “Let me apologize properly.”

Reece walked her backward as they kissed hungrily, lifting her almost without her noticing until she sat on the kitchen counter. He settled in between her thighs, deepening the kiss until breathing was unheard of and—as far as Abby was concerned—completely unnecessary.

“Nothing mundane about this fantasy from where I'm standing,” he said when he broke the kiss, her face framed in his hands, his eyes devouring her.

He'd tugged the tie of the apron loose and continued to trail kisses down her throat. Slowly his hand moved down to cover her breast before pushing up the edge of her blouse, and Abby was beyond arguing. She wanted the frustrating barrier of their clothes gone and to know his touch on her bare skin.

The sheer idea made her dizzy.

He had her shirt off in a split second. She reached behind to unclasp her bra, his hands covering her, spilling over with the fullness of her bare breasts.

“Damn, babe, where were you hiding these in high school?” he said appreciatively, bending to nuzzle her intimately, her hand slipping into his hair to press him close. She wanted his mouth on her in the worst way.

“I've lost a little weight since then,” she said with a chuckle, “and I guess I filled out in other areas. Late bloomer,” she finished on a sigh. He'd taken her aching nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, then laving with his tongue until she was writhing on the counter.

“You're so sweet,” he said, working his lips over
her stomach and taking her hand, placing it to her own breast as he watched. His eyes darkened intensely as she touched herself, tweaking and pulling as he slowly unzipped her jeans while he watched and kissed.

She stopped, and put her hand on his.

“You first. You have far too many clothes on,” she said provocatively.

He nodded and stepped back, not breaking the gaze between them as he took his jacket off and threw it on the island behind him, then made quick work of his sweater.

She gasped.

He was gorgeous. Lean and muscled, his tanned skin proved he'd spent the majority of his winters in sunnier places, and she loved how his shoulders and biceps flexed as he tore the garment off.

Then she realized he'd stilled, looking at her strangely, more tensely.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think to warn you,” he said, glancing down, and only then did she even notice some of the scars, remnants of a burn by his shoulder, and what looked like thin lines from surgery a little lower.

“That wasn't what I was staring at,” she said, wanting nothing more than to touch him, thinking only of that. “But it doesn't bother me at all. Come here,” she commanded softly.

He walked over to her and pushed his hands into her hair, pulling her up hard against him. Her breasts crushed delightfully against his hard skin, his mouth plundering hers.

She managed to retain enough focus to move her
hands to the front of his jeans, undoing the buttons, and sliding her hand down inside.

Now it was his turn to gasp, breaking the kiss. He leaned his forehead on her shoulder as he trembled beneath her touch. He was hard, thick and hot in her hand. She stroked him, loving the friction of his skin against hers.

His breathing was labored as he ground out, “No, stop.” His teasing tone gone.

She froze. Had she hurt him? Done something wrong?

“What?” she asked

“I'll come,” he said tensely. “It's been months, since before the accident, and this feels too good,” he explained, pushing away a stray hair that had landed in her eyes.

Abby couldn't think of a single thing he could have said that would have turned her on more.

She smiled, feeling feminine, powerful.

“Seems like you're well overdue then,” she said, closing in for a kiss. She continued stroking him, rubbing her thumb over the slippery head of his cock and mimicking the rubbing motion with her tongue against his.

In mere seconds he exploded, thrusting into her hand, groaning deeply into her mouth as he came. When he broke the kiss, his beautiful chest heaved with hard breaths, his cheeks flushed and his eyes were still hot as he looked at her.

“I don't think anything in my life will ever feel better than that did,” he said, still catching his breath.

She smiled again. “Maybe we should go upstairs and find out.”

She was more than ready to take him to bed, and she didn't want to wait. To hell with complications. Complications could feel damned good, from where she was sitting.

“What about dinner?”

“That roast has a couple hours yet. It can just simmer,” she said, the last word coming out more sexually than she intended.

She would take the memory of the way he looked at her—a gaze rich with lust, gratitude and anticipation—to her grave.

The loud sound of an engine and the hissing of air brakes made her jump, and they stared at each other in confusion before she looked at the clock and realized.

“You're expecting someone?” Reece asked.

“Yes! I completely forgot—it's the trees,” she said, scrambling to get her bra on and trying to find her blouse before the nursery delivery guy came to the door. “Trees?”

“Christmas trees. I completely forgot he was bringing them today,” she explained.

Reece looked bemused, but followed her lead and grabbed his shirt, buttoning up his jeans.

“You mean, tree, singular?”

“No, sixteen of them,” she said, and washed her hands quickly, grabbing a coat from the hook where she had left it earlier.

“Sixteen?”
he echoed.

She grinned, her lusty thoughts fading to the background. “Three for the tasting rooms, a dozen for the decorating contest and one for the house. C'mon, you can help me with them.”

As they walked out into the crisp air where two men unloaded a flatbed truck loaded with trees, Abby couldn't help but feel that their arrival might just have saved her from herself. As much as she wanted Reece, and wanted to give in, it would make her life an even greater mess. Right now, that was something she didn't need. As they spent the next few hours setting up Christmas trees, she tried to convince herself she was okay with that.

R
EECE FROWNED AT THE
jungle of boxes and bins that crowded the main room of his house. Even more so since there was a huge tree in the corner, by the two front windows, and then more bags of new ornaments Abby had purchased. He looked at the tree again. It had to be eight feet tall. It had taken two hours to get the trees off the truck and in place. Two hours when he could have been making love to Abby, but while he had been helping with setting up trees, she had been hauling out decorations, apparently having forgotten their moment in the kitchen.

Now he knew how much work it had been for his dad, who always brought the trees home and spent hours struggling to erect them, to get the “right side” showing—a tree quality that only his mother seemed able to assess.

“You really didn't have to get a tree for in here,” he said, trying to be tactful. He would have skipped it, personally.

“It's your last Christmas in this house. There should
be a tree,” she said, as if that was the most logical thing in the world.

Luckily, most of Abby's family ornaments and decorations had been salvageable, contained neatly in plastic bins in her basement where the water from the fire hoses hadn't damaged them.

He'd had to call his mother, but found several boxes of their own, including several that he remembered from childhood. After a fantastic dinner of succulent pork that was one of the best things he had eaten in a long time, they had opened up the boxes and pulled everything out, which created what appeared to be utter chaos to Reece's eyes.

But Abby apparently had that special, female, Christmas sense that told her what ornaments should go where, and why.

Did it really make a difference?

He could tell from the intense concentration on Abby's face and the way she bit her lip—which was sexy, as well as completely endearing—that if she had lost these bins in the fire, it would have been a terrible thing. They were clearly meaningful to her.

It wasn't that he disliked Christmas, but he'd managed to tactfully avoid it this year by staying here, alone, and now it looked like it had found him anyway. Normally he would spend most of his holiday—when he didn't come home—working, and just have dinner with friends on the day, call his family, relax. But it had been his idea to have Abby here, and so he sucked it up.

A few hours later, having strung all the lights, they were now picking through the decorations, deciding what should go where.

“The silver and white should go in the back room, for the wedding reception, and the grapes will go on the tree in the tasting room, of course,” she said, pulling several boxes aside.

“Grapes? You have grape ornaments?”

“There's a little store down on the Commons, the one that sells Christmas stuff all year round—you know the one?” she said, looking at him askance.

“I don't think I was ever in there,” he admitted. When he was a student, he spent more time partying than shopping, and in the years since, even when he came home, spent most of his time with his family and never went into town too much.

“Oh, they have the most unusual ornaments. All kinds of characters, food items, just…whatever. And every year we would go down to see if they had some different grape ornaments, or ones that maybe looked like tiny wine bottles—we have fewer of those. Eventually the owner just called us when he got new things in, and he would trade us ornaments for bottles of wine. We had enough to decorate one tree with them.”

Reece smiled, enjoying her enthusiasm about such a simple thing. “It sounds great—I can't wait to see it.”

“Well, we can do that one first then.”

“Tonight?” he said, surprised.

“Yes—I don't know that we can get all four done, but I'd like to try. There aren't any tastings until Friday, thank God, but I have dozens of other things to do.”

Reece hadn't been aware he was going to spend the entire evening decorating Christmas trees—he had planned on much more interesting activities, like getting Abby in his bed. But she seemed genuinely excited
about the trees, and all things considered, he decided, why not?

“Okay, I'm in.”

His agreement was worth the smile it elicited.

So, after all of the ornaments were separated, they hauled the boxes over to the tasting room, which in the case of Winston wineries, was completely separate from the house and a much more modern construction, with shining oak beams and plate glass windows around their sales area.

Large leather chairs were strewn around the actual tasting area, inviting guests to enjoy the view and the wine. There was a fireplace near the bar, behind which the bottles of wine were arranged. Hidden track lighting put a soft golden glow over the room, rather than anything harsh or too bright. There were double French doors at the back that led to a reception area and an outdoor deck that overlooked the lake.

“It's so pretty and spacious here. I feel like our little tasting room was about the size of your closet,” Abby said with a laugh, setting down her box of ornaments with a sigh. “I hope I have enough business to justify you letting us use all this space. I'll need to run through a tour with you, too, if you don't mind, so that I can train Hannah and Carl, and we need to set up the wine displays still, and—”

Reece put both hands on her shoulders. “Abby. Stop. Right now, focus on the tree, just this tree. One thing. Tomorrow there will be time to think about the rest.”

“I know, but there's so much—”

“I know there is. But we can't do it tonight, and anyway, it's been a while since I've decorated a tree, let
alone four of them,” he said with a grin. He leaned in to brush a kiss over her mouth when she seemed ready to argue again. “Let's enjoy it.”

Taking a deep breath, her cheeks pink from the kiss—something he planned to repeat as often as possible—she nodded, smiling, too.

“Sorry. Once my mind gets rolling, I can't stop sometimes,” she admitted.

“I know the feeling. I used to be like that before a race. The day before, the night before, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking of everything, double- and triple-checking every detail. But I had to learn to trust my team, and also, I needed to sleep. A tired driver isn't a good driver. By trying to do everything, I wasn't doing my job as well as I needed to.”

“I know. It was easier before, when Mom and Dad were here, and Sarah, but then it seemed like it all just landed in my lap, and I got so used to thinking about it all, all the time.” She cast a glance over her shoulder, back toward her burned winery, though she couldn't see it in the dark. “Now I don't know what to think.”

“It will all work out,” Reece said steadily. “Speaking of your mom and dad, have you talked to them yet?” He guessed that, depending on where her parents were exactly in earthquake-torn Haiti, communication could be a real challenge.

He was sorry he asked, as her face crumpled with distress. “No, I don't want to worry them with vague emails, so I certainly don't want to deliver the news to them that way. I have left messages, and I'm just waiting for them to call me back,” she said, wringing her fingers
together. “I'm dreading it. I hate that I let this happen. They'll be so upset,” she said.

“I'm sure all that they'll care about is that you are okay. Everything else can be rebuilt. But it might be another sign you are overworked—you start trying to handle too many things, you miss important details, and that's when bad things happen.”

“Like you were just saying, about racing. I know you don't like to talk about it,” she said quickly, looking away as she pulled some ornaments from a box and turned toward the tree, motioning him to do the same. “But is that what happened with your accident? You were trying to do too much?”

He swallowed hard. In the middle of seducing Abby in the kitchen, Christmas tree chaos and having their wonderful dinner, he realized he hadn't thought about his accident once in several hours, maybe for the first time in a long time. He hated bringing it back up again, but he supposed it was only fair to at least answer her question.

“No, not this time. This was just one of those crazy, unfortunate things…. I actually can't remember the crash.”

“You have amnesia?” she said with some surprise.

He nodded shortly. “They say it's normal in traumatic situations, like car crashes, and I had pretty serious head injuries. You probably know I was in a coma for a while,” he said.

She nodded, and as they put ornaments on the tree, it was easier to share the things he didn't normally talk with anyone about, except for his doctors.

“I watched the video footage for the first time a month
ago. I blew out a tire and the roads were wet, but I don't know why I lost control so completely, and I guess I might never know. I've had tires go before and controlled it. This time…” he said, trailing off, shaking his head. “I just don't know.”

Her hand was on his arm then, squeezing in a way meant to comfort, but he felt his pulse jump. Any touch from Abby seemed to make that happen.

“My dad always says the only control we have in life is self-control. We can control how we react, what we do, and that's it. You were—” she paused, catching her slip “—
are
a fantastic driver. Even if you can't remember, I'm sure you did everything you could. Like you said, sometimes things just happen.”

“Your dad always was a smart guy. How would you know what kind of driver I am?” he asked, hanging his last ornament on the tree.

“Uh, um, well…” She took her hand from his arm and reached into the box for more decorations. “It stands to reason, right? You're one of the major players. They said you could be the next Clark or Stewart.”

His eyes widened. “You follow racing?”

She paused, leaning into the box, and he realized she'd let on more than she meant to. It warmed him in a whole different way that she had followed his career. He never would have guessed.

“I just caught things on the news. Hometown boy makes it big in Europe, you know, and you came back and drove at the Glen that one time,” she said, gathering an armful of ornaments and returning to the tree.

“Did you come to that race?” he asked. It had only
been an exhibition run, a charity event, but he'd had no idea she was there.

“Some friends wanted to go, so I tagged along.”

“I see.”

“You see what?”

He shrugged, unable to resist the temptation to egg her on a little. “You followed my racing, you came to my exhibition…clearly you never quite got over your crush on me,” he said with a grin.

Abby's jaw dropped and she huffed something about his “intolerable ego” until she saw the barely restrained glee in his eyes.

Then her gorgeous lips quirked at the edges, too. “You really enjoy getting me worked up, don't you?”

Reece took that as his cue, and stepped around the tree to pull her up close. “You have no idea,” he said, serious now as he dipped in for another kiss.

“You're wicked,” she said against his mouth, a little breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and Reece couldn't seem to get enough of taking her in.

“I know,” he admitted. He seemed to be having especially wicked thoughts at the moment.

“I kind of like it,” she said with a grin that made his heart flip inside his chest. “But I…I've never done this,” she said, looking nervous.

His eyebrows flew up. He was pretty certain that…but was he wrong? “You mean you've never, uh—”

“Oh, no! I've had sex, sure. But never when I knew it was going to end before it started. Never without at least the vague promise of something more that could happen,” she said, and then broke away, looking embarrassed.

“We have a relationship, Abby. We have history, even. We're friends. That won't change.”

She smiled a little. “It's already changed. We were barely friends in high school, and we've barely started a friendship now. We're leaping right into being lovers.”

He knew she was right, but didn't say a word.

“I want you,” she admitted. “But I don't know if I can get into this knowing you're going to sell this place and leave. I know it's stupid, and unsophisticated, but I…um, I—”

Don't want to get hurt,
he finished for her in his head.

“I know, Abby. I understand,” he said, though he didn't want to. He wanted Abby more than he wanted just about anything except getting back in a car, but he didn't want to hurt her, either.

She wasn't like the women he took to bed and found gone in the morning. She wasn't just using him for a thrill or some notoriety. Abby was the kind of woman you took to bed and then woke up with in the morning—every morning—for a long time.

And he wasn't that guy. Maybe someday, but not now.

“It's sweet, actually,” he said, closing the gap between them and pulling her into the circle of his arms. “I can't make any promises about anything, Abby, I can only be as upfront as possible. I want you, too, a lot. But it's your choice, okay?”

She nodded against his chest, her small hands moving over his back, making him crazy, but he reined in his desire.

“Thanks, Reece. I wish I could—”

“It's okay, really. How about we finish these trees?” he said cheerfully, planting a kiss on her hair and wondering if that was the last time he'd ever have Abby in his arms.