A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba (11 page)

“No. Don’t.”

He hesitated, his foot poised on the step. He glanced back at her and for an instant she thought she saw an expression of hope flit across his face. But then it was gone, leaving only the hard, cold eyes and the stubborn set of the jaw that she knew so well.

“I mean—I’ll leave. You were here first.”

“Forget it.” He turned and took the stairs two at a time.

He was desperate to get away from her and she could hardly blame him. She felt awful about what had happened between them and hated herself for taking the responsibility. After all, he was the one who refused to compromise. Refused to give up any of his peripatetic life to share life with her. And, of course, being Lee, he blamed her.

Anger washed over her. A reaction so tied up in their relationship—check that, their ex-relationship—that she fell into it without having to try.

She stomped after him. Because she had to tell him that she hadn’t planned this. Not that he would believe her. But she went anyway. Knowing that only accusations and recriminations would follow. But, damn it, for once he wouldn’t get the last word.

When she reached the bedroom, he was throwing things into a duffel bag. His camera gear was packed and stacked in a corner.

“Where are you off to this time?” She knew she sounded bitter. Well, she was, so sue her.

She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. How many times had they played this scene, her expecting to spend time with him and him running off somewhere to shoot the next Pulitzer prize–winning photograph.

“Columbia…the country, not the university,” he added as if she were some dimwit.

“I didn’t think you would stoop to doing campus news,” she snapped, and then bit her tongue. This was stupid. She told herself just to back out of the room and sit somewhere out of sight until he had gone. She’d planned to be alone this week, and she’d be damned before she let Lee send her into a fit of depression or see her disappointment.

She was a fool for thinking even for a moment that he had planned this. Lee would never have stooped to tricking her into spending Christmas week with him, not in a snow-covered Alpine village, where the streets were probably lit with Christmas lights and people served hot cider and sang carols…

He zipped up the duffel and walked past her to the door.

She stepped aside, her throat clogging with lost hope of what might have been. She knew it would never work. Hadn’t they proved that a thousand times? She had really thought it was over after he stood her up the last time. All because she was two days late. It was all right for his work to come first but not for hers.

It was finished. It had taken nearly a year, but she had gotten over him. And she was sure he had gotten over her.

So why did she feel so awful?

She knew why. They were soulmates. From their very first meeting, they had shared a complete connection and an unbridled passion. It should have been perfect—It was anything but.

She heard him run down the stairs and back up again, while she stood in the doorway, immobile. He brushed against her as he came back into the room. Awareness invaded her mind and body. She held her ground. Willed away the desire to fling herself at him. To ask him to let them try once more.

He slung a camera case and tripod carrier over his shoulder, picked up the last bag and walked past her, letting the case bang into her as he did.

She followed him out to the landing. Just as he reached the front door, she called out, “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

He turned slowly and looked up at her. And she was hit by déjà vu of so many partings. Almost all acrimonious.

“You don’t think
I
did?”

She shook her head, suddenly unable to speak.

He grabbed his coat off the peg and picked up his gear. “We were set up. Don’t worry about it. I was only staying a night anyway. I have a flight to catch. Enjoy yourself.”

As if she could after this. And she was going to kill Marcie for having interfered, and then she’d go after Greg.

Lee opened the door. A blast of cold air and snow burst into the room. With the snow swirling around him, he looked like an arctic explorer.

“I don’t think you’ll get far in this weather.”

“I can try.”

“Go ahead. Be stubborn. It’s what you do best. But if you slide off the side of a cliff, don’t blame me.”

He gave her a long, hard look, then he stepped outside and disappeared into a wall of white. The door slammed behind him.

“Good to see you, too,” she called. “And Merry Christmas.” Her whole body was thrumming with adrenaline. With anger. And now she was stuck in this godforsaken town, having just been left by the man she loved—had loved, she reminded herself. But she was smarter now.

She gritted her teeth and growled, though it sounded awfully close to a moan. Disgusted, she grasped the banister and cautiously climbed downstairs on shaky legs. She needed something to eat and some coffee. She ducked behind the stairs to the kitchen and flipped on the light switch, praying that the last occupants had left a tin of coffee, or even a tea bag.

She opened a cabinet. There was an unopened tin of coffee. There was also a bottle of Courvoisier and several bottles of wine lying on their sides. She opened another cabinet. Cans of soup and condiments. A loaf of bread, boxes of gourmet crackers.

The fridge was stocked, too. The milk carton had a sell date a week away. Cheese, fruit, vegetables, eggs. There was enough food here for a house party.

And then she saw the bottle of champagne.

That hurt most of all. He’d lied to her. It was obvious he’d planned to stay more than one night, and it looked like he was planning to spend it with someone else. What if she showed up, only to find him gone and Allison playing happy hostess? How embarrassing would that be?

She nixed the coffee and poured out a glass of brandy instead. Then she piled cheese and crackers onto a plate and carried them back to the living room.

The fire was smoldering. She didn’t know shit about fires. And there wasn’t a Duraflame in sight, only a stack of real wood in a basket off to one side and a metal box stuffed with kindling.

Big deal. How hard could it be. She started sticking pieces of kindling in what she thought might be strategic places and was surprised when flames jumped to life. She added one of the split logs, trying not to think about Lee driving the mountain road, probably too fast, like he always drove. Fishtailing around a turn and sliding out into the air. The moment of freefall before the car crashed to the bottom and ignited into a conflagration of flames.

Shit, she shouldn’t have let him go. What if he got killed? She shoved another piece of wood on the fire and stood up.

Not her fault, not her fault.
She sank down onto the soft cushions of the couch. She tucked her feet up and stared into the fire. Tried to feel comfortable and cozy. She reached for her brandy, slid a piece of cheese onto a cracker and shoved the whole thing into her mouth.

He’d be fine. He always was. The man had survived more scrapes than a cat. And this was just a measly mountain road, a little snow. A piece of cake.

Lee waded toward his SUV. It had snowed another six inches since he’d arrived two hours before. Damn Greg and Marcie for meddling in something they didn’t understand. Hell, he didn’t understand it and he was living it. He stopped in dismay as he took in the white mountain that had been his Range Rover.

Cursing under his breath, he knocked snow away from the handle and wrenched open the back door. A wall of wet, heavy powder fell on his feet. He cursed out loud. He threw his gear in the back and shrugged into his jacket. He opened the driver’s door. This time he had the sense to jump back as the snow cascaded to the ground.

He turned the key, jacked up the heater and flipped on the wipers. Nothing happened. Then slowly they began to scrape in a plodding arc across the windshield. As soon as a crescent appeared in front of him, he shifted the car into reverse. The wheels spun, caught and the SUV jerked back. Snow from the roof dropped over the windshield, cutting off the outside world. The wipers stopped, trapped by the weight of the snow.

Lee shoved the car into park and got out. Used his arm to clear away the latest deluge and climbed back inside. His jacket was coated with snow, his toes were numb inside his boots, his fingers were stiff, and he was pissed. Pissed at Allison, at Greg and Marcie, but mostly pissed at himself for reacting like an ass. He could be sitting in a warm chalet, drinking champagne with Allison beside him. They could be making love in front of the fireplace right now.

But instead, he was uncomfortable, rapidly becoming drenched as the snow melted and seeped into his clothes, and he had an arduous drive down the mountain ahead of him.

He started to back out. Had to rock the SUV back and forth, before it jumped over the drifts and slid into the street. He shoved the gears into drive and the car shot forward—for two seconds. Then it fishtailed wildly before straightening out again.

Water began to trickle off his hair. It caught on his eyelashes, rolled down his temples, pooled at the back of his neck. He drove down the darkened street, calling himself ten kinds of fool.

At the edge of town, the road made a sharp turn and began to serpentine down the mountain. He shifted into second gear, cut the headlights to dim. Hunkered over the steering wheel, trying to distinguish the road from the rest of the snow. But all he could see was the look on Allison’s face as she stood at the top of the stairs. Her dark eyes flashing with anger where he wanted to see acceptance. Her hair wild, curling black around her face like Medusa, like a siren, like the woman he loved. He’d wanted to drop his gear and throw her to the floor, make love to her before she had a chance to say no. But she wouldn’t say no. And it would be wonderful…

The road curved back on itself, the SUV slid sideways. Lee could feel the rear tires sinking into the soft shoulder. He held the steering wheel with both hands, struggling to keep the tires straight, fighting the urge to wipe away the moisture dripping into his eyes. The rear end of the SUV continued to sink. Lee eased his foot down on the accelerator, the rear tires caught, and the SUV wobbled onto firmer ground. As soon as he was sure he was on the road, he quickly passed a soggy sleeve across his face.

He didn’t see the tree until it rose suddenly out of nowhere. The car slammed into it with a crunch of crumpling metal. Lee was propelled forward. He hit the steering wheel as the white cloud of air bag surrounded him and the world went black.

Allison paced between the fireplace and the couch. She was wearing her new plush bathrobe and was on her second brandy. She’d showered in the European-style bathroom upstairs. Which, she had not failed to notice, was stocked with an array of body oils and lotions with provocative names like Strawberry Kisses and Aphrodite’s Desire. She snorted. Some little elves had been busy for their arrival. Some little elves that were going to be mincemeat before the holidays were over.

The fire was blazing merrily, the room was toasty enough to walk nude if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. She wanted to be out of here. She wanted to call Marcie and ream her into the New Year, but she’d tried using her cell, to no avail. And the house phone was deader than Marley’s Ghost.

With a groan, she threw herself on the couch. Tossed back the rest of the brandy and heard the front door open, then bang against the wall. He’d come back. Relief rushed through her, he was safe. She jumped up, turned to the door and screamed.

Whatever was in the doorway, it wasn’t Lee. Tall as a man, but four times as wide, deformed and lumpy, encrusted in snow and ice. A monster. A yeti. Big Foot. She was going to be a holiday statistic.

The lumps fell to the floor, spraying slush out in all directions and revealing a duffel bag and…camera equipment. Allison’s mind switched into gear, just as he toppled forward.

She rushed toward him, sliding over the last few feet of wet tiles. He’d pushed up to his hands and knees, and she came to a stop between his arms.

“Got me where you want me,” he said shakily and keeled over to his side.

She dropped to her knees and turned him onto his back. His eyelashes fluttered. She loved those lashes, dark and long. She brushed his hair off his forehead, uncovering a gash that was dripping a mixture of blood and water.

“Lee, my God. You’re hurt.”

He groaned and tried to get up. “No shit.”

“Don’t move.”

He kept struggling. “A little late. I just walked the length of Colorado to get here.”

She grabbed his elbow and hauled him to his feet. He fell against her and leaned heavily onto her. She staggered into the kitchen and dumped him into a straight-backed chair. Raced over to the sink and pulled several paper towels off the holder.

Blood was running into his eyes and she gently wiped it away before dabbing at the cut itself.

“Ouch,” he said through chattering teeth.

She dropped the paper towel and began unbuttoning his jacket. He managed to lean forward while she wrestled it down his arms and threw it onto the counter. He was just as wet underneath.

“Christ. Did you swim back?”

“Har,” he said and began shaking.

Allison looked frantically around, at a loss about what to do first. She grabbed the discarded towel and stuck it on his forehead. He yelped.

“Hold that right there,” she said and ran back to the entryway. She returned seconds later with an armful of dry clothes. He was smiling at her. She narrowed her eyes. His face fell to neutral.

She pushed back any suspicion that he was faking it. After all, his forehead was cut open. He might be concussed. He might even have broken bones. Internal injuries. He might be in shock. And she couldn’t even call the EMTs. She dumped his clothes on the table and reached for the waist of his sweater.

He grabbed her wrists and a totally inappropriate response rocketed through her. Shit. She was doing triage here and her body was on the prowl.

She yanked at the sweater.

He held on. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of these wet clothes.”

The sweater came off over his head.

“Ouch.”

She started on the buttons of his shirt. His chest lifted and stayed there while he held his breath. She leaned into him, her fingers arrested at his throat. She swallowed and unbuttoned the next one.

He exhaled. “I can do it.”

She frowned at him. He frowned at her. And they seemed to get stuck there. Just looking at each other. Her fingers on his chest. His fingers wrapped around her wrists. And she wanted to kiss him. Wanted to slip her hands inside his shirt and feel the strength of his chest, the warmth of his skin.

That brought her back. His skin wasn’t warm. It felt more like the skin of a raw turkey.

She broke free of his eyes. He stood up so quickly that she had to take a step backwards to get out of the way.

He swayed. “I’ll do it.” He grabbed the pile of clothes off the table.

She wrestled them away and put them back on the table. “You’re getting them all wet.”

They both looked at the clothes. Allison drew her tongue over dry lips.

Then Lee reached for the T-shirt that was lying on top. “Turn your back.”

Allison’s eyes flew to his. “What?”

“Turn around so I can get dressed.” He was chewing on his bottom lip, a sure sign that he was disturbed. He was clutching the T-shirt in front of him, like he was deciding whether to put it on or throw it at her.

Allison rolled her eyes. “A little late for modesty, don’t you think?” But she turned away.

Lee finished unbuttoning his shirt, keeping one eye on Allison’s back as she reached into the cabinet and took out a tin of coffee. He quickly replaced the shirt with the tee and sweatshirt. He turned toward the table and watching her over his shoulder, he shucked out of his jeans and underwear, grinding his teeth when he realized he’d forgotten to take off his boots. He sat down in the chair and threw the sweatpants over his lap. They didn’t quite camouflage the reaction that he didn’t want Allison to see. But it was the best he could do. He leaned over to untie his boots; the laces were wet and he couldn’t get them loose.

Fuck. What was he going to do? If he asked her to bring him a knife to cut them free, she would see how hard he was. She’d love that. Wouldn’t she just be smug as hell, to know that even after their relationship was over, after a whole year of not seeing each other, she still made his cock leap to attention.

He reached over to the table and snagged the pair of socks and boxers. He placed them strategically over the sweatpants on his lap. “Can you hand me a knife? I can’t get my laces untied.”

“Hmmm?”

She looked over at him, took in his shoes and the jeans down around his ankles, and started to smile. She caught it before it became a real smile, but he saw it just the same. She reached in a drawer and handed him a huge carving knife. She stretched over and held it out at arm’s length. He saw her eyes flick to his lap and away. She didn’t smile this time. He took the knife and she jumped back.

Funny. Did she really think he’d use it on her? Even if she was so damn provoking, he’d rather have her lying on the rug out by the fireplace beneath his naked body. Rubbing his throbbing—he leaned over and viciously attacked the laces.

Lee was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, when Allison brought in two cups of coffee and the bottle of brandy. She handed him a cup and poured brandy into her empty glass.

He held out his free hand.

“Not a chance,” she said, moving the brandy bottle out of reach. “Alcohol is a depressant.”

“I’m too cold to be depressed.”

“That’s not what—oh, here.” She shoved the bottle toward him. If he was recovered enough to bandy words, he could drink himself into a coma and she wouldn’t be responsible.

He reached around the bottle and took her glass. The blanket fell from his shoulders as he leaned forward, cradling the glass in his hands.

She caught herself staring at his fingers, the memory of his touch creeping past her defenses. This was going to be a nightmare. Hell. It was already a nightmare.

They were a two-car crash test, a couple of dummies, stuck in a snowstorm in a bad commercial. Life just didn’t get much better than this.

But she was already tired of fending off feelings she’d been wrestling with for years. Suddenly weary, she slid down the couch cushions until she was sitting on the floor.

The carpet was plush, just the kind of carpet for making love in front of the fire. Yeah, and probably harbored all sorts of germs and icky stuff from previous couples. She sighed. Felt Lee lean back on the arm of the couch. Caught the movement of his legs as they stretched out along the cushions.

Could swear she felt the heat of his legs only inches behind her head. She sipped coffee, stared at the fire, concentrated on the ad campaign she’d planned to work on while she was here.

She should be working on it now. All she had to do was go over to the desk and flip open her laptop. Better still, she could carry it upstairs to the bedroom and shut the door.

Something tickled her neck. She shivered. Lee’s toes were playing with the strands of hair that waved around her shoulders.

She should move away. He was just toying with her.

Then his toes traced a line down her neck. Worked their way under the edge of her robe.

She remembered the champagne in the fridge and the fully stocked pantry.

“Aren’t you expecting someone?”

Silence.

Her heart sank.

“Who would I be expecting?”

She turned so that he couldn’t see her face and put her cup down on the floor beside her. “Someone you were planning to drink champagne with.”

“I didn’t bring champagne. I didn’t bring any of that stuff.”

“Greg and Marcie,” she said.

“Had to be.” He’d managed to pull back the collar of her robe and his toes slid inside. The arch of his foot rested on her shoulder, heating the skin there. His toes began to walk across her bared collarbone. And what toes they were. They were so close that if she just turned her head a fraction, she could suck one of them into her mouth.