Baby, It's Cold Outside Read online

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, ordering herself simply to turn away altogether, before she flung herself at a total stranger and begged him to take her right here on the platform. Snow, strangers, and all.

  She knew she shouldn’t have packed her vibrator in with all of her other household goods; wondered idly if her mom had ever fixed the head of the hand-held shower massager.

  Jesus, she hated Christmas. Had for ten years. Damn you, Jace Morgan, she swore silently, then damned herself. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

  And then the crowds parted, as if by some greater will. And he was standing there. Right there. Every tall, rangy, muscled inch of him. Jace Morgan, in the flesh, not five yards in front of her. No other man had those dark, tousled bed-head curls, laser blue eyes that pierced her right down to her soul . . . and that mouth, a mouth made for seduction, a mouth that had seduced her on more occasions than she could count. With words, with deeds. And oh dear God, the deeds those lips had driven her to perform, to allow him to perform on her . . .

  No, there was only one man who had that mouth.

  Her lips trembled; her heart stumbled. And maybe her thighs quivered, just a little. Okay, a lot. “Jace? Is it really you?”

  He didn’t say anything for the longest time. An eternity of time. Long past the time when they could have skipped the awkward part, laughed like old friends, embraced in a warm reunion, told each other how much they’d changed or how much they hadn’t. She could have found some way to douse the firestorm of want and need just seeing him had ignited, a firestorm of need that raged to life so quickly she knew it had never entirely gone out, but had merely been banked. For a long, long time. If only he’d said something, anything, surely she’d have found some way to smile and embrace whatever he was willing to give her, be it a chilly smile or a friendly hug without wanting to claw his clothes off and back him to the nearest wall, demanding he drive himself deep into her . . . and drive out those damn ghosts of Christmas past.

  Of course, she should have known if this day ever came that it wouldn’t be easy, or smooth, or even worse, anticlimactic. Well, it was definitely none of those things. The word apocalyptic came to mind.

  And she wanted badly to take the first step; she knew it was her responsibility, given how things had ended. But her feet were suddenly weighted down like blocks of cement. She wanted desperately to say something that would make it all okay, or at the very least, get the conversation started. But her throat was dry as sand, and her lips wouldn’t move.

  Why was he here? To pick up one of his brothers? If she could have made herself look away from him, she would turn around and very likely spot Austin, Tag or Burke standing right behind her. Because surely he hadn’t been pushing through the crowd to see her. Of course not, what had she been thinking? He had no way of knowing she was coming home. Nor would he care if he had. Certainly he wouldn’t have come out in this awful snowstorm just to pick her up from the station—

  She broke off in midthought. Oh no. No, her mother wouldn’t do this to her. Or Jace. She couldn’t have. Even though Suzanna never spoke of him, or any of the Morgans for that matter, her mother had to know Jace wouldn’t have been thrilled with this particular little chore. Because of course he would say yes. Despite his father’s raging temper, or maybe because of it, Jace had always been so polite, so well mannered, mindful of his elders. The respectable Morgan.

  Only, of course, she had known differently.

  She had known there was another side to Jace. The side that could only keep things pent up for so long before he needed to find an outlet. And pounding a ball up and down a court could only do so much. Only she saw that part of him that others only saw on a basketball court. Driven, committed, hungry.

  She did tear her gaze away then, unable to face him one second longer, shame flooding her anew for how callously she’d treated him all those years ago, the one man who had never been anything but driven, committed, and hungry for her. And for her alone. The man who’d been willing to set her free, asking only that she be faithful to their friendship, to that special bond that went beyond hot sex, beyond infatuation. Beyond even love.

  But rather than look behind her, to see who he was really here for, she looked past him, searching in vain for the face of her mother or someone, any familiar face. Someone, she was even more ashamed to admit, who would rescue her, because she couldn’t seem to rescue herself. But Frances York did not materialize in the crowd. Nor did anyone else she recognized from the Hollow. No way would her mother have risked driving in this storm. She knew that. In fact, the closer she’d gotten to Porterville and the heavier the snow had begun to fall, she’d pretty much known she’d be staying at a hotel tonight.

  As it was, she wasn’t sure how Jace planned on making it back tonight either. Which bounced her thoughts back to that hotel . . . and her gaze back to Jace.

  Her throat constricted as the silence continued to spin out, their gazes irrevocably locked. So closed off, she thought, and so damn still. That was how he’d learned to escape the wrath of Taggart Morgan. Become invisible. She’d once been the person who saw past that stillness, past the quiet intensity of his even blue-eyed gaze. She’d once been the person, the only person, who ignited the hunger behind it, drove him to be anything but still.

  Her thighs locked against each other as memory upon memory pounded through her body. Unwanted, unheeded, but unavoidable. She wanted badly to cling to the thought that it had been a teenage fantasy. Perfection idealized from what could only have been immature lust. Staring at him now, she wanted desperately to believe it hadn’t really been perfection, hadn’t been as wonderful and satisfying as she remembered. They’d been hardly more than kids. Fumbling, pawing, panting—

  Only they hadn’t fumbled. They hadn’t pawed. Panting they’d done plenty of. Heated gasps, long moans of ecstasy.

  It was no dream. It had been real. She could see every second of it right now in his eyes. He’d taken all of her, possessed her, driven her beyond any point of return. And then had taken her further. It was as if her body had been created exclusively for him, to frolic and cavort with in total abandon, his own personal playground of delights. And he’d reveled in it, in her, all but drowned himself in her. How, in God’s name had she ever, even for one split second, thought she could replace the boy he’d been then, with any man, at any other time?

  And how, in God’s name, did she think she was ever going to be able to explain, to the man he was now, why she’d done what she’d done? Why would he even want her to?

  Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because his expression faltered, only for a moment, but long enough to give her a brief glimpse of—

  Dear God, she murmured beneath her breath. Surely she was mistaken. She trembled, clenched her thighs almost convulsively tighter together, which only served to jack her up even higher. But surely he couldn’t want—couldn’t think that they would—that she would—after all this time—No, she couldn’t even let herself think that. He couldn’t harbor those same fantasies, about the two of them together . . . like they had been before. Could he? She lifted a shaky hand to her lips as he slowly closed the distance between them, his gaze locked firmly on hers.

  The closer he got, the harder she trembled. And the more painful the ache grew between her legs. And damn if she could do anything to stop it, no matter how foolish she knew it was to think, even for a second, that he wanted what she wanted. For all she knew he was going to shake her, wring her neck, or worse, push right past her and keep on walking without looking back. She knew she deserved any or all of that.

  And yet every quivering part of her cried out for him to just grab her, take her, make it all go away. All the years, the pain, the shame and regret, the questions left unanswered for far too long.

  She saw the fury, even the hollow edges of pain, in the tight brackets of his mouth, the pinched corners of his eyes, the tic in his clenched jaw. But it wasn’t until he was right up in her
personal space that she saw what else was there. The hunger, raw and palpable. The heat, as raging as her own. The desire that had pushed him to the edges of his control, just as it had hers.

  And she let herself believe, no matter that she knew she had no right, that for now, for this moment, it was okay to give in to all those things she found roiling up inside him, inside herself. To believe that the girl who had once ignited the need deep inside a lonely boy just might be the woman who, even for a moment or two, could unleash that hunger once again in the man. Only this time she vowed she wouldn’t screw it up.

  Her fingers, shaking badly, left her lips and lifted, seemingly of their own volition, toward his. Wanting to prove for certain that he wasn’t a ghost of Christmas Past. Before she finished making a fool of herself by grabbing him . . . and begging him to be her Christmas Present.

  Chapter Three

  Sweet Jesus, he burned to simply take her. It was like time stood still, only it was a man’s hunger he felt now. And she looked more than woman enough to handle it. Of course, throwing her down on the snow-covered platform and ramming every achingly hard inch of himself deep inside of her was probably not the best way to say hello after ten years.

  But it didn’t keep him from imagining it, just the same.

  He managed to stop just shy of grabbing her and hauling her up against him, not entirely sure if he touched her in any way that he’d be able to let her go again until they were both naked, sweaty and very satisfied. He didn’t dare let her touch him either.

  He curled his fingers inward as he forced himself to take a step back, jerk his gaze from hers and nod at the bag at her feet. “Is that all the luggage you have?” The question sounded raw, forced, but his throat had dried up and it was the best he could manage. Given the surprised look on her face, it had probably come out a bit more gruffly than he’d planned, too. Well, too damn bad. She was looking at him like he was a four-course meal and she hadn’t eaten in a month. And he was thinking that being her personal buffet was a damn fine idea.

  So it was a testament to his well-schooled control that he wasn’t tossing her over his shoulder and storming off across the snow-covered parking lot. He was doing the best he could just to maintain here. A thousand questions matched the thousand feelings rampaging through him, and she wasn’t exactly helping matters any.

  She jerked back from him, fumbled somewhat nervously with her bag and finally managed to click the handle up. “I—I can manage.”

  God, just hearing her voice all but leveled him. How many times had he heard that throaty voice in his dreams? Hundreds, thousands, he’d lost count. And right at the moment it was like pouring lighter fluid on an already lit fire.

  She straightened, putting the bag between them, like some kind of a shield. He could have told her she’d need to do a damn sight better than that if she planned on him keeping his hands to himself. But then she was forcing a smile, through lips that trembled just slightly. That lower one was all but begging him to tug at it with his teeth, just enough so he could open her mouth, dip his tongue inside, tangle with hers and—

  “I take it my mother rooked you into this little chore?” she managed.

  He could have told her it was no chore. Keeping his hands off her, his mouth off her, his body from wanting to drive as deeply inside of her as it could possibly bury itself... now that was a chore. “She was worried about you.”

  Suzanna looked up at him, as if wondering if he’d been worried about her, too. Now or at any time over the past ten years. If he’d even thought about her at all. He waited a second, wondering if she’d finally ask him. Anything. Because he’d be damned if he was going to be the one to breach the giant dark hole that was the past ten years of life between them. It was hers to explain away. Not his to beg questions of.

  She didn’t.

  And he wasn’t sure if he were angry . . . or relieved. Because now that she was standing here, and he still wanted her so badly his teeth all but ached with it, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, there were some answers he might not want to hear.

  “We’d better get on the road if you want to get back to the Hollow tonight,” he said. “Snow’s not supposed to let up until sometime late tomorrow.” He thought about the long drive ahead of them. Just the two of them, stuck in Taggart’s old truck, alone save for the sound of the windshield wipers and the whistle in the heater fan. And wondered how in the hell he was going to make it back without hearing some of those answers or finding some other way to occupy her mouth.

  He reached for the handle of her bag, which brought him close enough to smell the scent she wore. Something spicy. And it hit him right in the solar plexus. That scent, it was so Zanna. No flowers or fruity scents for her. No, she always went for the exotic, the darker scents. Apparently that hadn’t changed. He tried not to pause, not to inhale so much as another whiff. Much less turn and bury his nose in all that long, thick hair of hers. Jesus, he really needed to get a damn grip here. And not on her. “I’ll take this,” he said, all but grunting the words. He looked at her shoes, wondering why in the hell she hadn’t worn boots, or anything with more traction than the low heels she had on. He gritted his back teeth, and danced close to the edge of his control. “It’s slippery; take hold of my elbow.”

  She didn’t fight him for the bag, but she wasn’t quick to take his offered arm, either. “Still the gentleman, even when you’re obviously furious about all this.”

  That stopped him. He felt a fury all right, a fury of need, a fury of desire. A fury of confusion about everything she was making him feel. But he didn’t think that’s what she meant. She thought he was angry. At her, at this errand he’d been forced to run. “I didn’t mind coming,” he said, choosing his words with care. “I just want to get back.” He tugged her bag to his side, but instead of moving out of her personal space and keeping his mouth shut, he stayed right where he was, and asked, “What makes you think I’m mad at you?”

  She looked up at him then, into his eyes. And hers were so familiar, staring out at him from a face he’d once known better than his own. Every freckle, every quirk, every expression. How was it, right at that moment, he felt like she’d never even been gone?

  “I don’t blame you,” she said quietly. “As much as I’d like to, I know we can’t just pretend everything is okay.” She broke off, looked down for a moment, then let out a long sigh before looking back into his eyes. “It’s been a long, long time, Jace, I know that, too. And for all I know you forgot about me a blink after I stopped writing you—”

  “Are you married?” he cut in abruptly. “Significantly involved with anyone?”

  She blinked. “What? No, no I’m not. Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to piss anyone off when I do this.” He dropped her bag and yanked her tightly into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers. He had to taste her, had to somehow get past this driving need he had to just have her. Possess her. Surely if he just got a taste of her, then he’d be able to look at her and think straight.

  She stiffened, but only for the briefest moment. Then a long, soft moan vibrated somewhere deep inside her, and it was like a hot injection of pure need shot inside of him. She dove her fingers into his hair and pulled him even more tightly against her, even as he wrapped her more deeply into his arms.

  It was ten years of longing, frustration, questions and, yes, maybe more than a little fury, all wrapped up in one primal, soul-searing kiss. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, took her, all but ravaged her, and then took some more. She accepted him, almost greedily. And for a moment he forgot where they were, forgot what had happened between them, forgot everything but how badly he’d missed her, how badly he’d wanted her back. And by damn he wasn’t letting her go again until he’d had his fill.

  Considering how long it had been, a week or two straight might begin to take the edge off. And then he could settle in and really feed his hunger. And, from the way she was devouring him as rampantly as he was devouring
her . . . feed her hunger as well.

  It was the need for air that had him finally breaking free. His chest was heaving, as was hers. Her mouth was puffy and red and damn if he didn’t want to do all sorts of carnal things to it right then and there. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t expected—hell, he didn’t even know what he had expected. He hadn’t exactly planned on doing that, not like that, not before they talked. He’d just—dammit. He still couldn’t think straight. Hell, he was even more jumbled up now than he was before.

  She lifted her fingers to those softly puffy lips and he groaned. His cock, so rigidly hard and aching, twitched hard as she looked at him, her doe eyes big and full of questions. He pushed one of her fingers, then another, between her lips, twitching again as her pupils drowned her irises. He tugged them back out, then slipped them deeply into his own mouth, sucked on them as he drew his lips slowly all the way down to her fingertips before freeing them. She swallowed hard, then gasped when he abruptly set her back from him, knowing if he didn’t he wouldn’t be held responsible for what else he plunged into between those lips.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “I just needed you to know. I didn’t forget, Zan. Not ever.” Then he grabbed her bag, and what little he had left of his control, and turned away. He’d gone two steps when she called out.

  “Wait!” She tugged on the sleeve of his coat a second later, pulling harder to stay upright when he stopped and she slid into him.

  He tightened against the feel of her body pressed up against his again, clamped down hard on that control as he steadied her with his free hand. “We’ve got to get on the road,” he said between gritted teeth. “Hold on to my coat.” He started moving again.