I’ll Be Home Before Christmas

from “The Night Before Christmas Anthology”

By

Kathy Love

For Perry Como, Sting, David Hyde Pierce, and Kate Duffy.

(Betcha never thought you'd see that group of names together, did ya Kate?)

Chapter One

"Christmas sucks," Rob Marsten muttered as he pulled the sleek silver Palm Pilot out of the side pocket of his leather briefcase. He plucked the stylus from the holder along the top and punched the small machine to life. A few more rapid taps, and he was looking at his whole life for the remainder of 2005.

According to his schedule, he should have landed in Portland, Maine, at six thirty-five P.M. He glanced at his Rolex.

Seven fifty-two P.M.

Well, that wasn't going to happen.

He picked up his carry-on bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and joined the throng of harried and irritated travelers surrounding the help desk.

"Okay," called the airport employee from behind the tall counter. "All flights out of Boston have been canceled this evening."

The crowd muttered and groaned, swarming the agent.

Hence, the reason for the height of the counter, Rob noted. So passengers couldn't easily crawl over it in revolt.

"I'm sorry," the attendant said automatically, with no real sorrow in her voice. "The nor'easter was expected to go out to sea by early evening, but it has settled over the tip of New England instead, and it isn't forecasted to leave until early tomorrow morning."

More grumbles.

"Some Christmas," a man beside Rob complained.

Rob nodded his agreement. But this served him right for even considering this trip. He didn't have the time to take away from work, not now with his promotion almost clinched. But his sister had worn him down.

"He's your very first nephew. And it's his very first Christmas," she'd said.

"Mo, you know how busy I am."

"No, I don't. I don't see you or talk to you enough to know what you're doing. You haven't even seen Stewie yet. Do I need to remind you he was born in April?"

"I remember. But please tell me you aren't going to call that child Stewie his whole life."

"What's wrong with 'Stewie'?"

"Nothing—if you're looking for an adjective for something that is or has the qualities of stew."

"Whatever. Just come home. Mom and Dad miss you. I miss you."

Rob had finally agreed. He hadn't been home in a couple of years, but he simply didn't have time. A man didn't get ahead in life being forever on holiday. But he knew he should see his nephew, if only to make sure the poor kid got a better nickname.

He checked his Palm Pilot again. Assuming he got the first flight to Portland in the morning, he'd have about forty-one hours to spend with his family. And that was if the storm cleared when predicted.

He left the angry mob and looked out the terminal window. The snow was definitely falling, but he noticed the airport vehicles were getting around in the several inches with no difficulty.

A woman in the blue-and-white uniform of the airport staff rushed by him.

"Excuse me," he said.

The woman stopped, her expression irritated as she turned. Her eyes quickly roamed from his face to the perfect cut of his clothing to his face again. The strained expression immediately disappeared.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He forced a pleasant smile. Women always responded to one thing. Money.

"Yes, you can. I was wondering which way to the car rentals?"

Her eyes drifted back down to his tailored suit. Kenneth Cole. A limited edition. Very expensive. From the glimmer in her blue eyes, she could tell.

Being able to impress with his clothing and his expensive accessories had once pleased him, but lately he found himself annoyed with people's shallowness.

"They're on the lower level. Follow the signs for baggage claim, and you'll find them. Although I'm not sure there will be many cars available. A lot of travelers have opted to drive tonight rather than wait out the storm. Not a fun way to spend Christmas Eve."

"No," he agreed. But then again, he never enjoyed Christmas Eve. Not for years anyway.

"Thanks for your help." He nodded to the woman, then started out to the main concourse, following the signs.

When he got to the lower level, he was surprised to see it was relatively deserted. Strange, given how many people were stranded tonight. He couldn't be the only one willing to risk driving in the storm.

Then he realized several of the rental agencies were closed. He approached the desks, which held signs that said they were closed because they had no more rentals available.

He walked farther down the hallway, noticing a man standing at a counter. As he approached, he saw it was a rental agency, and they were actually open.

Hire a Heap.

He grimaced. That didn't sound too promising, but at this point he couldn't be choosy, could he?

"There you go," the clerk behind the counter said to the man, handing him a set of keys. "The last car. Good timing."

"Thank you. And Merry Christ—"

"You don't have any more cars?" Rob strode up to the counter, ignoring the fact that the other customer was still talking.

The clerk, a young guy with a bad haircut and grease under his fingernails, shrugged. "That was the last one. Sorry."

Great. Rob immediately turned to the other customer, who regarded him with a distinct look of annoyance. "I'll give you a hundred dollars for the car."

The man, in his thirties with short-cropped blond hair and small, wire-rimmed glasses, immediately shook his head. "I have a wedding tomorrow in Portland. We have to get to Maine tonight."

Rob frowned at the guy. Who the hell got married on Christmas Day? He started to ask as much when a voice behind him stopped his words cold.

"Good, you didn't leave without me." The voice was light. He could tell the speaker was smiling even without seeing her.

Rob remained still. He didn't move to look at her. He didn't need to. He knew that voice. That lilting voice was as familiar to him as the first notes of a favorite Christmas carol.

But the man in front of him did look at the speaker and smiled broadly. "Of course we didn't leave you."

"Thank goodness! Or I'd be spending my Christmas Eve sleeping on one of these airport benches." She laughed, the sound just as Rob remembered, brilliant and rich.

His heart seized in his chest, and he struggled to take in a breath. Slowly, he managed to turn.

She'd stopped at one of the benches nearby and was rooting around in her large satchel purse. Her face was in profile, but he could see the slight upturn of her small nose and the wide, lush set of her mouth.

Damn, he'd loved that mouth. The way it turned up at the corners when she laughed. The way just one side quirked down when she was concentrating. The way it had felt against his, soft and velvety and warm.

He forced his gaze away, trying to cast aside the memory of those lips pressed against his. Pressed to his skin. But try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

Her golden curls were pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, several tendrils escaping, caressing her cheeks and the neck of the red turtleneck sweater she was wearing. Her profile as beautiful as a delicately carved cameo.

It was Erica. His Erica.

Suddenly he was seeing her profile, not now, but from a night years earlier.

The doorbell rang.

He'd been pacing the worn braided rug in his parents' living-room, hoping, praying she wouldn't change her mind. That she would come like they had decided.

He opened the door, and she stood on his front stoop, her profile illuminated by Christmas lights glittering off the falling snow.

"You're here." He could hear the relief in his voice, but there was no reason to hide it. Erica knew how desperate he was for this night. He'd dreamed of this night. He burned for it.

"Yes." She'd turned her hazel eyes on him and smiled. The red of her sweater brought out the pinkness in her cheeks and her mouth, making her more stunning, more beautiful.

They had planned this night, knowing that their parents would both be attending the Cochrane's annual Christmas Eve party. Knowing that they would be alone all evening.

Rob stepped closer to her, nervous and unsure. Unsure of everything except the fact that he loved Erica and he had to touch her.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

She nodded. He could see the certainty in her eyes. That certainty made him feel more confident. He pulled her against him, her breasts pressed tightly to his chest. The rapid beat of their hearts answered one another.

There on his front doorstep, under the falling snow and the pristine quiet of Christmas Eve, he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her before, many times, but tonight was different. Tonight, their kiss felt perfect. It felt earth-shattering. Tonight, they were going to make love.

Rob squeezed his eyes shut, both to block out the memory and the woman before him. When he opened them again, he half-expected Erica to be gone, like some apparition sent to torment him and then vanish.

But Erica still stood before him, still rifling through her purse. Still unaware that he was there, his body wanting her as much as it had that Christmas Eve when they were both just seventeen.

"It's here somewhere," she muttered.

"Don't worry," said the man beside him, the man Rob had actually forgotten was there. "We can sort it out later."

Erica started to lift her head, a smile on her lush lips intended for the man beside Rob. But at the last minute, several of the items that had been threatening to fall out of her purse did. She squatted down to pick the objects up.

Rob turned his eyes to the man beside him. A nice looking guy. A guy who was on the receiving end of Erica's smiles. And a guy who was getting married tomorrow.

Rob's gut clenched. Was this guy marrying Erica? Was he marrying the woman that Rob once thought he'd marry?

"Donny, I don't want you to…"

Rob stopped gaping at the man and turned back to Erica as he heard her sentence come to a sudden halt.

She gaped at him, the items she'd dropped held forgotten in her hand. She blinked, perhaps thinking she was seeing a ghost, too.

Finally, she managed to breathe. "Rob? Is that really you?"

Chapter Two

Erica knew she was gaping at him like an idiot, but she simply couldn't believe it. Rob. This was really Rob.

"What are you doing here?" Then she immediately laughed at the silliness of her question. "Well, you're obviously getting a car. But are you heading to Maine?"

"Trying," he said with a slight, wry smile. The small movement of his lips hinted at the dimple in his left cheek.

The dimple. He'd been able to wrap her around his little finger by flashing that baby. She forced her gaze up to meet his. She'd forgotten how dark his eyes were, like strong, hot coffee.

She took a few steps toward him, her first inclination to hug him. To touch him. To make sure he was real. Only his cool demeanor stopped her. But it didn't stop her eyes from eating up the sight of him. He looked more gorgeous than she remembered, than she could have imagined. Of course, she hadn't factored in the haircut that made his unruly waves look fashionably messy, or the stylish suit that fit his broad shoulders to a tee, or the fact that his eyes seemed even darker and more smoldering.

Her gaze dropped to his sculpted lips. Did they taste the same? Had that changed? Her lips tingled at the thought of sampling his. She immediately forced her eyes back up to his unreadable gaze.

"Erica, you know him?" Donny asked.

"Yes, this is Rob." And she'd once known him better than anyone on the earth. But now, now he was little more than a distant acquaintance. In fact, she'd stopped really knowing him long before they'd actually broken up. And they hadn't seen each other since.

That had been … seven years ago. Seven years ago this very night.

"Come back to Rhode Island with me." Erica reached over and pulled the book from Rob's hand. "Your classes don't start until a week after mine."

He blinked up at her as though he barely recalled she was there. She ignored his indifferent attitude, snuggling against him on his parents' age-softened tweed sofa.

"I already told you, I can't. I have to get ready for my classes. I have a heavy class load this semester."

He had a heavy class load every semester. And he rarely came to see her at her school anymore, even though they were only an hour away from each other.

"Couldn't you come for just a couple days? I miss you." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I miss having you all to myself."

She glanced around to make sure his parents weren't nearby. Then she pressed an opened-mouth kiss to his neck and slipped a hand up under his shirt to stroke the hardness of his belly.

He closed his eyes, his breath coming faster as her fingers teased over his skin, the tip of her finger dipping into his shallow belly button.

"I can't, Erica." He caught her hand and removed it from under his shirt. "I need to stay focused. I need to keep my grades up."

His rejection hurt and confused her. Although, over the past year, his brush-offs were becoming the norm. Just like his obsession with school.

But she didn't tell him that, instead pointing out, "You always get all A's. You did in high school, and you do in college." She laughed, but the sound was filled with pride. She touched his cheek. "You're a genius."

"No, I need to study," he insisted. "Some of us don't go to a school where they do arts and crafts all day."

Erica shifted away from him, shock and hurt clenching her chest. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. I need to work. I need to study. I can't slap some paint on a canvas and get an A."

"Is that really what you think of my art? Of what I do?"

Rob hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his book back from where she'd placed it on the coffee table. "You just need to understand that I have commitments. I have goals and dreams."

"So do I. And those commitments and dreams and goals include you as well as my art."

He grunted, stating very eloquently what he thought of her aspirations. He flipped open his book and started to read.

She sat there for a moment, staring at him, seeing his familiar features. His dark, wayward locks, which she knew would curl around her fingers if she touched them. His face, which she knew as well as her own.

But she didn't know Rob anymore. She didn't understand him.

"Robby, you've changed," she finally said, hoping if the words were said out loud, he'd maybe recognize the truth and see the difference in himself.

He looked up from his book. "You're right. I'm growing up."

She knew that was another dig. "You are letting go of everything that was you. That made you alive and fun. Everything that made you smile and laugh. Everything you enjoyed and loved. All because you think only success matters."

His eyes locked with hers, and for just the briefest moment, she thought she'd reached him.

"You don't understand," he finally stated, his voice flat. "But if I am letting go of everything I loved, then I suppose it would make sense to let you go, too."

His words shocked her to the core. "Are you?"

He glanced down at his book, then back at her. "It might be for the best."

Numbly, she rose from the sofa. She went to the front door, pulled on her boots and her parka. She looked back at Rob, but he wasn't looking at her. His brows were drawn together, his attention returned to the book in his hands. The Christmas tree lights colored the foil words on the cover. Investment Banking.

She walked out of the Marstens' house, the heavy storm door slamming behind her.

The memory of that sound and Donny's voice startled her out of her recollections.

"So, are you going to Portland, too?"

Rob stopped gazing at her and turned to Donny. "Yes, actually, I am."

"You could catch a ride with us."

Erica immediately stepped forward. "Is that such a good idea? I—I mean, the car is going to be pretty crowded with all our luggage and everything."

Not to mention, she didn't know if she could handle being in the closed confines of a car with Rob for several hours. Her head might remember how he'd broken her heart all those years ago, but her body had no recollection of it whatsoever.

Rob raised an eyebrow as if he knew exactly what her excuse had really been about.

"There aren't any more cars available," Donny told her. "I think we can all crowd in."

"Oh," Erica said, distressed—and a little excited at the same time.

Donny cast a look around the lower level. "Alex should be back with those coffees. Let me go see if I can help. I'll be right back."

Erica watched almost desperately as Donny disappeared up the escalator to find his friend.

When she looked back, Rob was standing right next to her. So close she could feel the heat of his large body even through her sweater.

"Surely, it isn't a big deal to give an old friend a ride home," he said, his deep voice like crushed velvet, brushing over her skin.

"No. I—it's just… It's fine."

"I won't tell him we were lovers."

Erica frowned. Why would he tell Donny? She'd just met Donny and his significant other, Alex, today herself. They had been chatting while their plane was delayed, realized they were going to neighboring towns in Maine, and decided to travel together.

"Okay," she finally said, having no idea how else to reply.

"But maybe you should. After all, it's only fair to the guy to let him know you did intend to get married once before."

"I don't really think he'd much care." She gave Rob a bewildered look. "But I suppose I could."

Rob regarded her with those smoldering eyes. "He isn't the jealous type?"

She started to reply that she didn't have any idea when he reached out and brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. His fingers grazed her cheek, just a faint whisper against her skin, but she felt the caress throughout her entire body, sizzling over her skin, bringing her blood to a sudden boil.

A small gasp escaped her, and she gazed up at him, her eyes wide, startled, both by the fact that he'd touched her and by how she'd reacted to him.

"Would he be jealous if he saw me touching you like this?" His voice was low and a little gruff as he cupped her cheek, his thumb making a slow, breath-stealing sweep over her lower lip. "Would he be angry if I kissed you?"

Before she realized his intent, before she even deciphered his words, his mouth came over hers, moving over her lips, strong, coaxing.

At first she didn't respond—couldn't. Shock held her frozen. Then his tongue teased the seam of her closed lips, hot and hungry, demanding a response. And she helplessly gave it to him, opening her mouth. His tongue darted in, mingling with hers.

He tasted just as she remembered—like melted dark chocolate, sweet and sinful on her tongue. She moaned, deep in her throat, and opened her mouth wider to him.

Lord, no one on earth kissed like Rob Marsten. No one made her feel like she was about to explode right there in his arms with nothing but his lips seducing her.

She whimpered, overcome by the ache in her breasts, between her thighs. She had missed this, and she wanted more.

Then suddenly, those lips and arms were gone.

She gazed up at him with confusion. Her eyelids felt heavy, her vision unfocused. Her chest rose and fell in harsh pants.

Gradually reality returned. And so had that cool, inscrutable expression Rob had worn when she first saw him. Aside from his breathing being a little uneven, Rob looked totally unaffected. The scorching heat that crackled over her nerve endings and in her veins iced over, leaving her cold and solitary.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, which no longer tingled. Now they only felt swollen and far too sensitive.

Finally she whispered, "Why?"

Why had he done this? She'd worked so hard to forget this man. All the attraction. All the need. And all the ache, both in her body and in her heart.

And with one kiss, he'd brought it all back.

Chapter Three

Rob couldn't answer her. He didn't understand all the strong emotions churning within him. He prided himself on being a composed guy. A person who didn't raise his voice. Didn't lose his cool. He'd learned long ago that success required him to be focused and circumspect. He couldn't afford strong emotions distracting him from his goals.

Yet from the moment his lips had touched hers, he wanted nothing more than to throw her on the floor and make love to her right there.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to calm the overwhelming need that was still chanting for him to go for it. Make love to her. Strip away her layers of clothes and touch the perfect golden skin that he knew lay beneath.

No. He didn't lose control. He didn't. Not to mention the fact he was not the type of guy who touched, much less kissed, another man's woman. And Erica was now someone else's. His Erica was someone else's.

A wave of possessiveness swirled through him, turning the blaze in his veins into an inferno.

He was being crazy. It had been years since they'd broken up. It was ridiculous to think that a woman like Erica hadn't found another man.

His eyes locked on Erica's face, her flushed cheeks, her reddened lips. She looked that way because of him, because of his touch. And damn him, the other man didn't matter. Only one goal, one dream, existed, and that was Erica.

Then he met her eyes, and her wounded, confused expression was like a sucker punch straight to his gut. What the hell was he doing?

He rubbed a hand over his face in a lame attempt to squelch all this burning desire, to banish his possessive thoughts. His fingers shook as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Finally, still not feeling the least bit calmer, he met her eyes again. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

The words sounded unruffled, but inside, his libido still raged, shouting over and over that he absolutely should have done it, and he should do it again.

She pressed her lips together, then nodded. "It's okay. But it can't happen again."

He nodded, too. She was right, of course. Although one part of his anatomy wasn't listening, didn't care, and was quite merrily throbbing in his pants.

"Here we are," Donny called from the down escalator.

Both Rob and Erica jumped and took a step away from each other.

Donny approached them with a paper coffee cup in each hand. Beside him was a tall, muscular blond man with two cups in his hands as well.

"Rob," Donny said with an affable smile. "This is Alex. Alex, this is Rob."

Alex smiled at Rob with blindingly white teeth. "Donny says you're joining us on our blizzard adventure."

Rob nodded. "If that's okay?"

Alex eyed him up and down, then smiled again. "Sure. Here." He offered Rob one of the cups. "We picked you up a latte. Although you look more like a double espresso kind of guy to me."

"Thanks," Rob said, not exactly sure what that meant. He accepted the cup and added, "I really do appreciate the lift."

"Not a problem," Alex said adamantly.

Donny rolled his eyes, and Rob wondered if maybe Donny had somehow sensed that he and Erica had a past. Rob certainly sensed it—the air crackled with awareness.

"Well," Erica said, her voice a little higher than normal, which Rob knew happened when she was nervous. "Let's get this show on the road."

They stood around the rusty, dented, almost white sedan, all four pairs of eyes sporting the same skeptical look. To call the car a "heap" was being generous.

"Well, I guess we can't be choosy. It was the last one," Donny said with a shrug and unlocked the trunk. He tossed his bags in. Alex followed suit. Rob watched as Donny got in the driver's seat and left Erica struggling with a large army-style duffel bag.

What a guy, Rob thought disgustedly.

Rob reached around Erica and took the bag from her, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume, light and citrusy, which drifted around him over the smell of the exhaust-filled parking garage. With more force than necessary, he tossed the bag on top of his Armani suitcase.

"Thanks," she murmured, slipping around him to the back door on the passenger's side.

She was sitting in the back? With him? Then he noticed that Alex was already riding shotgun. Donny and his pal really were quite the gentlemen.

"The door is stuck," Erica told him over the roof, tugging on the handle to demonstrate. "I'll have to slide across."

Rob watched as she pitched in her coat and her huge purse on his side. Then, rather than sit down on the seat and scoot over, she crawled. The faded denim of her jeans shaped the rounded curve of her hips and her ass, and the seam, slightly darker, ran straight between her thighs like an arrow pointing the way to the place he most wanted to touch.

He fought down a frustrated groan and the urge to grab her hips and thrust himself against her. But he couldn't fight down the erection that had calmed but now strained against the confines of his pants.

"Are you coming?" she asked once she was situated on her side of the backseat.

His cock pulsed eagerly at that question. But he just nodded and bowed his tall frame into the small quarters, wincing. In the best of situations, the crowded backseat would have been uncomfortable. At the moment, it was like trying to curl into a ball with a giant metal pole in his trousers.

He groaned, but managed to get himself inside and slam the door.

"Are you okay?" Erica asked.

"Yes," he muttered, his voice tense.

She peered at him a moment longer, then fell back against the seat.

Donny started the car's engine, which rattled to life with a sick cough. "Into the tundra we go."

Once they got outside of Boston and onto Interstate 95, it became very clear why all flights had been cancelled. Snow covered the highway with no lanes visible, just a flat swath of white ahead of them. The road signs were caked over with flying snow, and they had to creep along, the old car creaking with every gust of wind.

But the blizzard raging outside was nothing to the desire tearing through Rob. The backseat was little more than a sensual torture chamber. Every time Erica moved, he felt it. The accidental bump of her knee. The brush of her arm. The nudge of her shoulder. Even the rhythm of her breathing seemed to circle around his body, over his skin. Around and around.

"Come on. Get in."

Erica bit her lip and regarded him dubiously. "There isn't enough room. Your legs will be cramped."

He shifted himself back in the small car shaped like a rocket, demonstrating all the room. "You can fit in front of me."

She hesitated a moment longer, then with a laugh crawled in, sliding down in front of him. He laughed, too, as she wiggled around trying to find the right fit.

Once she was settled, her narrow back against his chest, her bottom tight against his groin, he reached forward and secured the worn black seat belt around the two of them.

"See, perfect," he declared, wrapping his arms around her midriff, pulling her still tighter against him.

She nodded, laughing again. Her blonde curls tickled his chin. He sank his nose into her hair, breathing deeply the fresh scent of her shampoo.

The bell sounded, and the tiny rocket began to orbit, rising up in the air, high above the fairgrounds, through the brisk autumn night.

Rob moved his hands then, once they were above the whole world, catapulting through the air. He slipped them under her jean jacket, under her sweatshirt, until he found her warm, soft skin. Up over her belly, spanning the delicate ridges of her rib cage, until he cupped her small, perfect breasts. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her back arching up to press his hands firmer against her.

He circled her pointed nipples, which prodded hungrily against the satin of her bra. Squeezed them with gentle twists, until she moaned. He groaned, too, at the pressure of her pressed against him. A need that pounded through him.

And even though he desperately wanted to have her completely, to lose himself in her tight heat, it was just as thrilling to touch her, to please her. And to know that she was his and that she loved him.

Slowly, they descended back to earth, and the small car shook to a halt.

Erica didn't move, even as his hands slipped out from under her clothes and back to her waist. Even as the other passengers exited the ride. She remained against him, her eyes closed, a small, knowing smile curling her lips.

"So that was your plan all along?" she finally murmured.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed with no remorse. He nuzzled her neck.

"You're bad."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed again.

"Let's go again," she sighed.

He laughed and squeezed her. This was what life was about. This was all that mattered. Erica.

"Who sings this song?" Donny asked, snapping Rob out of his memory.

Erica leaned forward, the length of her leg pressed against his. "I can't hear it. I don't think the speakers back here work."

Alex turned it up, and a Christmas tune filled the small car.

Erica tilted her head slightly as she thought. Golden curls clung to her cheeks.

Rob stared at those curls, longing to touch them. To smell them like he'd once done whenever he wanted. Wishing… Wishing he had the right. That he'd never given up the right.

"Oh, that's… It's on the tip of my tongue."

"It's Sting."

Alex glanced over his shoulder at Rob. "That's it. How could I not remember that? I love, love, love Sting."

"We know," Donny muttered.

Rob frowned at the two men's exchange. Then Erica shifted back beside him, and all he could think about was her leg pressed against the length of his leg. And if that wasn't distracting enough, her hand brushed his where it rested on his knee.

"Sorry," she said, snatching her hand away.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She finally settled back, keeping her hands and her legs to herself. But she began singing along with the Christmas music. A soft, sweet sound drifting over him—making him crazy. Good lord, even the sound of her voice was enough to make him horny as hell.

"Do you have to do that?" he suddenly barked.

She straightened, her eyes wide. "Do what?"

"Sing!"

Chapter Four

Erica frowned at Rob. She'd only been singing to get her mind off the fact that she was practically being forced to sit on the man's lap. A fact that was slowly driving her overexcited body insane, and was conjuring lots of very vivid images of doing more than sitting on him.

But she was trying her best to be polite, so he certainly could try to do the same.

Instead of telling him so, she said, "Yes, I can stop singing."

"I think you have a nice voice," Donny told her.

"It was good," Alex agreed.

"Thank you." She appreciated her new friends' support.

"Perhaps not as good as Sting," Donny added pointedly.

"Did I say that?" Alex snapped.

Erica, ever the peacemaker, promptly shifted forward on the seat to stop the two men's bickering. "I think you sort of look like Sting, Donny."

"I do?" The man seemed pleased.

She nodded, scooting further up on the seat. Suddenly, Rob's large hands gripped her hips, his fingers holding her still.

"Stop," he hissed, his mouth right next to her ear.

She could feel his hard body close behind her, and despite the earlier rudeness and the irritation she now heard in his voice, her body reacted. Her nipples hardened, an excruciating rasp against the lace of her bra.

Annoyance rose in her, both at his demand and at her reaction to his touch. "Stop doing what?" she hissed back, not keeping her voice quite as low.

"Stop wiggling."

She could hardly wiggle with her hips braced between his huge, strong hands.

"My, what big hands you haw." Erica giggled as she squirmed away from Rob.

He caught her ankle and dragged her back across the sheets toward him. She continued to giggle until the hand that had clasped her ankle slid slowly up over her calf, over her knee, up her inner thigh, until it reached the triangle of curls at the apex of her legs.

He shaped his palm to her mound and murmured in a deliriously evil voice, "Better to touch you with."

She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as Rob's fingers parted her, stroking her damp, sensitive flesh. With slow caresses, he teased her clitoris, each sweep and swirl of his fingertip exquisite torture.

When he pushed the length of his finger deep inside her, she fell back on the mattress, writhing against him. "Rob!"

He smiled at her, the curl of his wide mouth and the deepening of his dimple sinfully sexy.

"Come for me, Erica."

She moaned, as his hand worked magic, plunging her toward release. Colors whirled behind her closed eyelids. Shades of red and pink. The colors of her passion.

Then his thumb increased its speed against her clitoris, and his finger bent inside her, stroking the spot only he knew how to find. Instantly, the reds and pinks exploded into bursts of brilliant orange. She cried out as wave after wave of release crashed over her.

She barely registered Rob's hands leaving her until she felt his thick penis sliding into her, filling her to her womb. The orange intensified, the waves pounded.

But he didn't move inside her, once she was full of his hard flesh. Her muscles pulsed around his erection, gripping him, hungry to stroke him. But still he didn't move.

She opened her eyes to find him levered over her, his weight braced on his arms, the muscles of his shoulders and biceps bulging.

He smiled down at her, a strained half-smile. She smiled back, bobbing her hips, stroking his penis as much as his pinning position would allow.

His smile faded, and he groaned deep in his throat.

She did it again, searing, wet flesh fondling hot, rigid flesh.

This time he groaned loudly.

She flexed again. "My," she said, her own renewing arousal making her voice breathy, "what a big penis you have."

He grinned then, his dimple deep and so very sexy. "The better to do this with."

He pulled his erection almost completely from her body, then thrust it back in.

She moaned, arching up against him, feeling him throughout her whole body. Yes! Definitely better. The best. The very best.

Erica whimpered as the memory and his hands holding her now made her nipples throb and her loins ache. She couldn't handle this.

She tried to wriggle out of his grip. How dare he hold her like this and boss her around like some caveman. And how dare she find it arousing. This was madness.

"I'm not kidding, Erica," he said, his voice low, his hot breath on her ear. "If you keep moving, I swear…"

"You swear what?" She managed to keep her voice steady and to not lean back against his muscled chest like her body was urging her to.

"I swear, I'll pull you right onto my lap and kiss you senseless." The hands on her hips tightened, shooting aching need straight to the pit of her belly and lower. "And I don't give a damn if your fiancé is in the car to see it."

"Fiancé?" the two men in the front seat cried out in unison. The car slowed sharply, then fishtailed. Then the Hire a Heap spun, revolving in a large, almost graceful circle in the center of the empty highway, before sliding to a jarring halt in a snowbank.

Erica slammed against Rob with an oof. His arms came around her, pulling her against that solid, muscular chest that she'd been trying to avoid. Shockwaves that had nothing to do with the accident vibrated through her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice sharp, but this time with something that sounded distinctly like concern.

She pushed away from him, even though the car was tipped at a slight angle, which made sliding up the slippery vinyl seat difficult.

"I'm fine." Her voice held all the irritation his had lost.

"Are you two all right?" he asked the men in the front.

"Yes," they both breathed. Then the car fell silent as if no one knew how to react to the chain of events.

"Listen," Rob finally said, his voice quiet and full of remorse. "Donny, I had no right to say what I did. Erica and I have a past, and seeing her again brought back a lot of emotions. But I—I wish the two of you every happiness. You have yourself a wonderful woman."

"Rob," Donny started, twisting in his seat to peer over the headrest.

But Erica interrupted. "Let me out!"

She needed air. She needed to get away from this situation. It was ludicrous, but it was also—infuriating!

When no one moved, she said it again, her angry voice deafening in the now-quiet car. "Let me out! Now!"

Rob obeyed, opening the door and holding it open against the gusting wind so she could slide out

The cold air and clinging, icy snow felt good on her flushed skin. She stepped past Rob and leaned against the snowbound car, pulling in deep breaths, trying to calm her anger, her hurt, and her desire.

"Erica, I never meant—"

She spun toward him.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" she shouted, the wind stealing away some of the volume.

"I know," he said.

She laughed bitterly. "You don't have a clue."

"No!" She didn't want to hear his words, his hollow words. Words apologizing for something that hadn't actually happened. Words that completely ignored what had.

She marched toward him, her heeled boots slipping in the snow. "You come back into my life and, within minutes, turn it completely upside down. Do you know how long it took to forget you? To push you into a dark, faraway corner of my mind where I could no longer see your face or hear your voice?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him.

"But I did it. I moved on," she said, her voice breaking. She blinked, but the tears froze in her eyes. She forced her voice to remain even as she continued. "I've made a new life for myself, and you have the nerve to think you can waltz back in and destroy that?"

"I hope you—and Donny can forgive me," he said, the wind tearing at the low words. But she heard him, and her fury rose again.

"He's gay, Rob," she shouted. "Gay. Alex is his partner."

Rob's eyes widened, then he glanced through the open car door. Both Donny and Alex peeked over the seat backs.

Donny smiled lamely.

Alex nodded sheepishly.

"Then you're not getting married?" Rob said.

Erica stared at him for a minute, and although she was not a violent person, she shoved him. He stumbled, catching himself on the door frame of the car before he fell.

"No, I'm not getting married! But that doesn't matter! You can't toy with my life and then walk away again. You don't get to be the one who says, 'Sorry, I have goals and dreams, babe.' Not again!"

She spun and began walking. She had no idea where she was going. She just needed to leave. To get away from the only man who'd ever made her feel—both love and hate.

She high-stepped through the snow. Her boots, sturdy but more fashionable than functional, slipped several times. But not even that tempered her determination to get away from Rob.

She made it a few feet before strong arms captured her from behind, lifting her bodily.

"Let me go," she screamed, flailing with her elbows and her feet. "Just let me go."

He held her fast, taking her hits, but not loosening his grip. Finally, exhausted, she fell limp in his arms.

"Erica, I'm sorry." He nuzzled her neck, his lips brushing the cool skin of her neck. "I'm so sorry."

She heard him, but she didn't respond. She had no idea what to say. Part of her just wanted to go back, back to the airport, back to before she saw him again. Back to when she could believe she'd gotten over him.

Another part wanted to turn in his arms and kiss the breath out of him. Wanted to have him make love to her right there in the raging snowstorm. She wanted to feel like she had once. Feel the way only Rob could make her feel.

She started to turn, started to ask him to do that. But before she could fully face him, he scooped her up in his arms and plodded through the drifts back to the car. Bracing her against his hard chest, he managed to get the door open and slide her onto the seat. He followed her in, reaching across her to find her coat. Tenderly, he tucked the suede and faux fur over her.

Donny and Alex still peered over the seats like stunned owls.

Rob watched Erica for a moment, his eyes dark and filled with worry.

She started to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she closed her eyes, her body feeling weary, her outburst having exhausted her.

"Will the car start again?" Rob asked Donny.

Erica heard the vinyl creak as Donny turned back to the steering wheel. He twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled and growled, but after several attempts refused to turn over.

"It's dead," Donny finally pronounced.

"Shit," Rob muttered. "We'll freeze if we stay here."

Erica shivered. Even though she knew she had to be cold, that her clothing must be damp from the melting snow, she didn't really feel cold. It was the numbness inside her that caused her to shiver again.

"What is that up ahead?" Alex pointed to a light barely visible through the blowing snow.

Rob opened his door and stepped out with one foot to see better. He stuck his head back inside. "It looks like it might be a hotel."

"Could we be that lucky?" Donny said in disbelief.

"Well, it's definitely something. Let's go," Rob stated.

Erica slid across the seat, tugging on her coat and scooping up her purse as she went. Rob held out his hand to help her. She hesitated, then accepted it, placing her icy fingers in his warm ones. He squeezed them, and even after they were outside, he held them fast.

She didn't fight him. It was too late to fight. Even after all the memories and the pain, even after her furious outburst, her attraction still survived.

Chapter Five

Rob gripped Erica's fingers, feeling as though it was his only, his last, connection with her. Since their fight, she'd remained silent as the foursome trudged through the deep snow. She didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge him. So he held her fingers. As long as he had those, she couldn't pull away completely.

The wind whipped, slashing biting snow against their faces. He tried to shield Erica as much as he could, but it was impossible. Like it was impossible to ignore the truth in her angry words. He had been the one to walk away from her. Or rather, to let her walk away.

Bang.

The door. He pretended to keep reading his book, but the words blurred. What had he done?

He tossed aside his book and crossed to the window. Erica was walking down the sidewalk as fast as the snow and her cumbersome boots would allow her.

She wasn't gone yet. He could call her back. Apologize. Try to explain to her that he needed to be a success. He needed to do better than his parents, who struggled every day to make ends meet.

No, she should realize that. She should see that his success was important. That money was important. She could go to her artsy little college, and paint and sculpt, and not worry about the future. He couldn't.

Erica disappeared around the corner, and the street was empty.

He still couldn't stop looking out the frost-covered glass, couldn't stop staring at her boot prints notching the snow. But he finally did look away, and returned to the couch. He picked up his book and determinedly began to read. He was right. Success was the most important thing. Far more important than silly love.

Silly love.

He glanced at Erica, her shoulders hunched forward against the cold. Ironic that once again, she was trekking through the snow, hating him.

Hate. She should hate him, but God, he hoped she didn't. He didn't want that. But he was afraid of what he did want

"It is a hotel," Alex cried out, pointing ahead. A white building with two levels and an orange neon vacancy sign rose out of the snow, welcoming them.

Rob squeezed Erica's cold fingers again. "Looks like we're going to make it."

She peeked up at him. Snow clung to her long amber lashes. Underneath, her hazel eyes were dark and hurt, but she smiled. "Yep."

He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. To kiss her. She was offering a truce. That was the Erica he knew—and loved. He'd take it and make sure he never hurt her again.

"I have good news, and I have bad news," Rob said, approaching Erica where she sat clutching a Styrofoam coffee cup in her reddened hands.

"Good first," she said, taking another sip of the coffee, then grimacing at the taste.

Damn, she looked cute, her small nose crinkled, her cheeks rosy, and her hair tangled.

Focus. "They have rooms."

"And?"

They only have two."

"Oh."

From that one word, Rob couldn't tell how she felt about the prospect of sharing a room. He didn't imagine she was too thrilled.

"But each room has two beds, so I can bunk up with Donny and Alex for the night." Not his first choice, to say the very least.

Erica smiled, amusement dancing in her eyes. "For a guy who travels in a business suit, you're pretty open-minded."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned, trying to look offended. "Are you saying I look uptight?"

She shook her head, but she still grinned. "I didn't say that."

"You do think I'm uptight."

"No, I don't."

"What's wrong with traveling in a suit?"

"Not a thing," Erica assured him, but there was a hint of a smile still on her lips.

"This is an expensive suit."

"I'm sure it is."

Rob studied her for a moment. She still smiled at him, her eyes never going to his clothes. His Kenneth Cole, limited edition. Because it didn't matter to her.

He could be wearing bargain bin castoffs, and she wouldn't care. Money didn't impress her. It never had. "You can room with me."

At first, because he was caught in his own thoughts, he believed he misheard her. But when he realized he hadn't, his heart skittered around in circles like an excited dog.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. He had a few more hours to be with her.

"Well, I don't think you'd get a lot of rest with them." She gestured to Donny and Alex with a jerk of her head.

The couple stood on the other side of the lobby, bickering in hushed tones.

"You are with me because I look like Sting, aren't you?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You don't look like Sting." Donny huffed, that comment not making him happy either.

"If I had to pick out anyone you look like, it would be Niles from Frasier."

Donny gasped, then headed toward the stairs.

"Niles is cute," Alex insisted, following him.

"You think everyone is cute." Both men disappeared up to the second level.

"I don't think your Sting comment soothed things over as well as you'd hoped it would," Rob said, very happy that it hadn't. Not because he wanted Donny and Alex to spend their Christmas Eve fighting, but because he wanted to spend his with Erica.

"Well, now that Alex said it, he does look a bit like that guy from Frasier." She chuckled.

"So you're okay about us sharing a room?"

Her smile faded, but she nodded without hesitation. "There are two beds?"

"Yes."

She rose, and a violent shiver shook her. "Fine. Besides, all I can think about is getting out of these wet clothes and into a warm bed."

Rob's body reacted immediately. Erica naked, in the bed right next to his. Shit, he was going to die of a heart attack.

Erica could feel Rob behind her, following her up the stairs to their room. Their room. A room where they both would spend the night.

With each step, another memory of making love with Rob flashed through her mind. The perfection of their embraces. The satisfaction and contentment she'd never been able to duplicate since. She did want that again, with him, even if for one last time.

Erica waited at the door of their room. Rob slid the key card into the slot, then pulled it back out rapidly. In again, and out. The light on the door handle turned green, and the lock clicked.

As far as erotic symbolism went, that definitely wasn't the best, but it didn't take much to get her hot and bothered at the moment.

But still, she skirted far around him as she entered the generic room with its standard two double beds, chair and table in the corner, and armoire. She went toward the bed closest to the door and tossed her purse down. Then she wandered over to examine the print on the wall, the usual unexciting artwork that hotels usually contained. The commonness of her surroundings only made her more aware of the one thing in the room that was so beyond ordinary.

"Not exactly a Toulouse-Lautrec, is it?"

She swung around, surprised he still remembered one of her favorite artists.

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, looking intensely masculine and … delicious.

"No," she murmured, unable to stop admiring him. The broadness of his shoulders, the leanness of his hips.

"Are you still painting?"

She nodded, wishing she had her paints right now. She would paint him. The way the single lamp in the room created shadows across his face, showing the cut of his jawline, the straightness of his nose, and emphasized the compelling darkness of his eyes.

She swallowed. "Yes, as much as I can. I'm showing in a few galleries now. And I'm very busy at the museum."

"Museum?"

"I work at the Art Institute of Chicago."

His eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately assumed that he hadn't expected her to use her art history degree to get a "real" job. After all, she did just slap paint on a canvas.

So she was confused when he said, "You live in Chicago?"

"Yes. I have for almost five years."

He laughed. "That's amazing. I just moved to Chicago about four months ago. I work at an investment firm near Grant Park."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Wow, we're practically neighbors."

He grinned, but she couldn't quite return the gesture. She knew tonight was going to be torture—but she thought short-lived torture. Now, how was she going to live in the same city, knowing he was so nearby?

His smiled faded, the dimple sinking back into hiding. "You've got to be freezing. Why don't you take a hot shower?"

"Right. Right. That's a good idea." She started back toward where he stood, his shoulder still resting on the wall. The bathroom door waited just on the other side of his tall, hard body.

She hesitated, then twisted sideways to squeeze past him, afraid if she rubbed against him, she wouldn't be able to stop. But even as careful as she was being, his big body took up too much of the hallway, and her shoulder grazed his arm.

"Sorr—" She didn't get the chance to finish her apology, as she found herself pulled against his chest, his hands splayed across her back.

She squeaked, startled at his abrupt movement and her immediate roaring need.

"Erica, I didn't intend to turn your life upside down." His voice sounded gruff; the rough resonance rasped over her skin, adding excruciatingly to her hunger. "I…"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes dark, nearly black. "I saw you, and you were so beautiful, more beautiful now than I remembered. And I couldn't think of anything other than touching you. I shouldn't have kissed you, but I couldn't stop myself."

She stared back at him, her whole body crying out for him to do it again. She wanted the hands that he held motionless on her back to move, to slip under her wet sweater to caress the chilled skin underneath, heating her inside and out. Then she wanted those same hands to flick open her damp jeans to stroke the flesh between her thighs, which she knew was equally damp, but not from melted snow.

She trembled, pure need bursting through her like shivery shards of electric energy.

"You're frozen," he said, misinterpreting the tremor. He released her. "Go get that hot shower."

She nodded absently and stumbled into the small bathroom. She glanced back at him. Rob watched her, his eyes smoldering, his lips set in a grim line.

He nodded at her and pushed off the wall, wandering into the room, his broad back to her.

She closed the door gently. The click of the latch echoed off the tile walls and grated in her ears. A loud reality that she was on one side and Rob was on the other.

Leaning on the sink counter, she breathed in deeply, but the rush of oxygen only fed the heat in her veins. God, she wanted him.

Finally, she did manage to calm herself enough to leave the support of the counter and turn on the water. Steam filled the room as she stripped off her clothes, each article clinging to her as if it knew she shouldn't even be thinking about sleeping with Rob. But she was. She was considering that idea very seriously.

She gasped as she stepped under the warm water, the droplets streaming over her sensitive skin, beading on her swollen nipples.

"Rob," she murmured, the sound ragged, desperate.

"Yes?"

She jumped, then clutched the shower curtain to peek out at him. He stood in the doorway, a blue blanket gripped in his hand.

He held it up. "I was just sneaking in to leave this for you. I figured your clothes would be too wet to put back on."

"Oh." Ask him to join you. Order him to.

"I'll leave it right here." He pointed to the counter, then placed the blanket there, his gaze never leaving her.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Okay. I'll let you enjoy your shower." His dark eyes burned as they glanced at the spot where she grasped the shower curtain, then snapped back up to her face.

"Okay," he repeated. Then he nodded and backed out of the steam-filled room.

Stop him! Say something!

The door clicked shut, again jarring and discordant. She dropped the curtain back into place, turned the nozzle, letting the water pelt her.

"You coward," she muttered to herself.

Chapter Six

Rob paced the small room, listening to the muffled splash of the water from the other side of the wall. He could visualize Erica standing nude under the cascade, rubbing soap over her silky, wet skin. The way the bubbles would slide down over her rounded breasts. Then slip lower, down across the slight curve of her belly, lower still into the curls below.

"Shit," he growled, and ran a frustrated hand over his face. Control. Focus.

His cock pulsed in his pants, mocking his chant, telling him there was no way in hell he'd be able to focus on anything but Erica and his arousal.

Irritated with his wayward body, he shrugged off his suit coat, then unbuttoned his shirt. Once he was stripped down to his cotton boxers, he sat on the bed. He glanced down at his crotch. His cock bulged against the thin fabric, threatening to escape the slit along the front.

He threw back the covers on the bed and slipped under. The sheet and comforter were an insubstantial armor to put between himself and Erica, but it would have to do.

She'd made it clear in their fight that she'd forgotten him. That she'd moved on, and she wanted to keep it that way. He wouldn't do anything to upset her again. She deserved that. And he should go back to the life he'd so single-mindedly built. His new job, his penthouse apartment, his… His career was enough.

He reached for the radio alarm clock on the night-stand between the two beds. He flicked the dial on and fiddled with the stations until he found Christmas music.

Surely thoughts of a fat man dressed in red, and reindeer with glowing noses, and talking snowmen—not to mention the birth of Christ—would be enough to take the edge off his carnal thoughts.

As he flopped back onto the pillow, the sound, of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" filled the room. The memory of Erica singing in the car popped into his mind.

Fortunately, the song ended quickly, only to go into one of the many versions of "This Christmas," in which the singer declares that he is going to know her better—this Christmas.

He groaned, tempted to cover his ears with the pillow. Even Christmas music seemed determined to drive his libido and imagination into overdrive.

As he leaned over to flip the radio off, the shower stopped.

He sat up and stared toward the bathroom. Now, the real torture was going to start.

Several minutes later, the door creaked open. Erica stepped out, shrouded from her neck to the tops of her narrow feet in fuzzy blue blanket.

But he knew what she had on under that thick material. Absolutely nothing. Again, he almost groaned.

Erica stayed by the bathroom, her hand still on the door as if she were debating whether to dart back in and lock the door behind her.

Rob didn't doubt for one minute that he was watching her like he was ready to pounce. He settled back against the pillow, trying to show her he would behave. Well, some parts of him would behave. Another part prodded the covers—pushing for the pounce.

"You look—comfortable," she said, her voice sounding a little unsteady as she shuffled into the room.

Not really, he thought, casting a look down at his crotch, making sure the comforter wasn't pitched like a tent. When he looked back at Erica, she was struggling with the covers on her bed, trying to spread them back while keeping her makeshift muumuu in place. He caught a glimpse of a smooth, curved shoulder and one of her long, shapely leg from her ankle up to her silky thigh, before she finally managed to crawl under the comforter.

She fluffed her pillow, punching the defenseless thing with great vigor. Suddenly she stopped and turned her gaze to him.

"I—I have a suggestion. And if you think it's inappropriate, you can certainly tell me. But—here it is." She took a deep breath, bracing those lovely shoulders under the fuzzy blue. "You—you said that back at the airport, you couldn't help but touch me. Well, to be honest, I've wanted to touch you, too." Her eyes dropped to his bare chest, and she bit her lower lip. He imagined nipping her lip in just the same fashion. Nibbling their fullness. Tasting their ripe softness. But he forced his eyes to meet hers as she continued.

"Rob, I want it very much."

She stared at him, her eyes wide as if she couldn't believe she'd actually told him of her desire. He couldn't quite believe it either. Had he fallen asleep while she was in the shower, and this was just a dream? Had he died and gone to heaven?

"I shouldn't have said that," she said quickly, not looking at him, instead plucking at her blanket. "It's just that this night has been so—emotional. And seeing you has brought back so many memories. I—I don't want things to be awkward. And I don't want you to think that I—"

As Erica rambled on, Rob threw back the covers and rose, striding the short distance to her bed.

She lifted her head, her mouth snapping shut when she saw him, towering over her, wearing nothing but some now very ill-fitting boxers and a smile.

"I'm not thinking anything," he said, "other than that I want you, and if you want me, too—well, we should do something about that."

He reached for the covers, tossing them back. Then he tugged at the blanket that enveloped her. The edges peeled away like she was his very own Christmas gift. Carefully, he spread the blanket open until she lay bare before him, all shower-fresh skin and breathtaking curves.

"Rob," she whispered as he gazed at her.

"You are so beautiful." He couldn't remember anyone looking as beautiful as this woman. The gentle swell of her breasts topped with nipples the color of sugarplums. The flare of her hips. The curve of her stomach, indented by a small belly button. The dark golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. Hell, even the tiny dimples in her knees. She was flawless.

Then his eyes rose to her face, and it was the expression in her eyes that truly stole his ability to breathe. Their golden green depths were bright with hunger—hunger for him.

He crawled onto the mattress and pressed a kiss to her dimpled knee. Then he worked his way up to her soft belly, sampling her golden skin as he went. He lingered at her sweet breasts, licking those sugary nipples, toying with their delicious hardness.

Erica whimpered, her body squirming under his, her soft skin a silken friction against his. Her hands kneaded the muscles of his shoulders and back. Her legs tangled with his, sliding up and down their length.

His cock, still confined in his boxers, throbbed in response to the repeated strokes of skin against skin.

He ignored it, ignored his need. He was more desperate to hear Erica's moans of satisfaction. To rediscover all the places on her luscious body that made her scream.

But first, he had to taste her mouth again. To kiss the only woman who could make him vibrate with just the pressure of her mouth and the flick of her tongue.

He captured her lips, tasting her heat. She responded with a pleased moan and sank her fingers into his hair, clutching him, pulling him closer. They tasted each other, the need building in them both, their embrace becoming more needy, more fierce. Her hips rocked against him, her legs bending to cradle his hips, to invite him in.

He pulled away, trying to slow the pace, to make this last.

"Let's see what I remember," he said, then kissed her neck. At a point near her earlobe, he licked her. The tip of his tongue teasing the small spot.

She rewarded him with a gasp and a shiver.

He smiled against her neck, then slid down her body.

And wasn't here? He nipped the sort, fragile skin at the side of her stomach, just above her hipbone.

She cried out, her hands knotting into his hair, her hips lifting off the bed.

"Rob, you're killing me!"

"Really?" He nibbled her again. She jumped again, gasping.

He grinned, then slid lower. He stopped between her thighs, resting his chin lightly on the springy curls there.

"And as I recall, I used to do something down here that really made you scream."

She stared down the length of her body to him, her eyes heavy-lidded with passion, her lips parted, rosy and damp.

"You are evil, do you know that?" There was anticipation rather than reproach in her breathy voice.

He beamed, then shifted to nudge her legs wider apart. He pressed his mouth to the curls and the moist heat hidden just beyond them. His tongue delved, slipping deeper, lapping over the hot, silky flesh, finding the tiny seed of her clitoris.

She gasped as he stroked it, using the tip of his tongue to flick over her again and again. He spread her even wider, then his lips joined his tongue, suckling her.

Her hips writhed against him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her legs locked around his torso. She groaned, the sound so deep within her, he swore he could feel the vibration against his tongue.

He groaned, too, her response agonizingly arousing. It was a heady experience, that he could make her feel this way. That he could bring this gorgeous woman to the brink of her sanity.

He drew on her clitoris again, then he grazed the swollen nub, just a fleeting scrape, with the edge of his teeth. And just like that, she screamed and bucked under him, her orgasm shuddering through her in repeated waves. He continued to taste her until her shudders diminished.

He skimmed back up her body.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. Was that the right spot?"

She cuffed his arm and then laughed, the sound still shaky from her release. "Yes, you conceited oaf, you. That was definitely the right spot."

He grinned and tenderly caressed her wild curls from her cheeks. God, had he ever enjoyed anyone or anything more than this woman?

"But before you get too sure of yourself," she said with a devilish grin of her own. "You did forget one spot. One very, very important spot."

"I did?"

She nodded, and she pushed at his shoulders so he would rise a little, and she snaked her hand down between their bodies. She pushed at the waistband of his boxers.

"But I think you'll need to lose these to get there."

He rolled off her so she could work the clothing down his hips.

When the boxers were cast away, he started to move back on top of her.

"Oh, no," she said. "You got to look at me, so I get to look at you."

She pushed him back on the mattress, and her eyes and her hands began to explore his body. Laying her full palms on his burning skin, she brushed down over his chest. Over his stomach, fanning out to shape the hard muscle of his thighs.

"I seem to recall you had a few favorite spots, too," she murmured, her fingertips grazing the thick curls around his arousal.

"When you touch me, everywhere is a favorite spot," he assured her raggedly.

She laughed, then pressed open-mouthed kisses over his chest, teasing his nipples, before traveling lower. His stomach tightened, need contracting his muscles as taut as a bow, as she dipped her tongue into his navel, then licked a hot path down toward his erection.

She raised her head then, but her hands circled him, holding his cock in a firm, wonderfully torturous grip. Her mouth lowered, her lips pressing to the tip in a heart-stopping kiss. Then he watched as one of her hands released him, only to be replaced by the slow glide of her mouth over him.

"Oh, God. Erica!" he breathed, his head falling back on the pillow as her hot, wet mouth moved up and down him. Her tongue licking him like he was her own personal candy cane.

With each steamy stroke, she urged him closer to the edge. Toward a chasm of glorious release. But he didn't want that. Not this time. Not for the first, and maybe the last, time that he would ever make love to her again.

Quickly, he reached forward and captured her, lifting her bodily so she was fully on top of him, face-to-face.

Shock made her eyes impossibly big. "Did I do something wrong?"

He laughed at that. If she only had a clue. "No, you did it too right."

He rolled and pinned her under him.

"I have to be inside you," he muttered roughly. "I have to feel you tight and hot around me."

Her eyes still wide, she nodded. "Yes."

He positioned himself to enter her, the head of his penis nuzzled by the curls of her sex, when somehow, a moment of reality seeped into his passion-frenzied mind.

"Contraceptives?"

She blinked up at him as if he was a lunatic. "What?"

"Do you have any condoms?"

She immediately shook her head. "No."

"Me neither. Are you on the pill?"

She gave him a pained look, then shook her head again.

He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. This was absolute torture.

Then he raised his head. "Donny and Alex. Maybe they have some condoms."

"You would go ask them?"

"To make love with you? I'd start knocking on doors one by one all the way down the hallway until I found some."

Her eyes filled with amused dismay. "Go ask Donny and Alex first."

He leaped off the bed, tugged on his cold, wet trousers, and rushed out of the room.

It took him only a few moments to locate Donny and Alex's room and to pound on their door.

After a few moments more, the lock clicked and the door opened. A sleepy Donny stood there, annoyance on his face until he recognized who it was.

"Hi," Rob greeted. "You wouldn't happen to have a couple of condoms, would you?"

Donny stared at him, then grinned. "Well, well, someone is having a Merry Christmas."

Yes," he agreed wholeheartedly. The best Christmas he'd had in years.

"Wait a minute." Donny let the door swing shut.

Rob waited, tapping his bare foot on the hallway carpet.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened again. "You're in luck." He held up a strip of three condoms.

Rob immediately grabbed them. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

Donny sighed. "Well, at least someone is having a nice Christmas. Have fun."

Rob practically sprinted back to his room. He planned to have more than fun.

When he entered the room, Erica still waited on the bed. Her bare skin glowed in the lamplight, her hair a golden halo against the pillow.

She levered herself up on her elbow as he walked toward the bed. "That was quick."

"Not quick enough," he said, unfastening his trousers, letting them fall to the floor.

"Did you get one?"

"No," he said. "I got three."

She grinned as he held them up. "I knew I liked those guys."

"They are definitely growing on me, too," he agreed. Then he crawled up her body, done thinking about his new gay pals. Done thinking about anything but Erica.

His lips found hers, pressing her back against the pillows, showing her with his tongue how he longed to enter her body.

She groaned, her arms coming around his neck, then roaming down his back to his buttocks.

Despite the slight delay, his body was still ready. And every touch made him feel like he would combust if he didn't get inside her—soon.

As if she'd read his mind, she spread her legs, cradling him. "Rob, please. I need you now."

She ripped open one of the condom wrappers, and they rolled the latex down his erection, her fingers holding it, his hands guiding her.

Positioning himself over her again, he entered her with a slow, steady glide of his hips.

"Rob," she gasped, arching her back. "Oh, my God!"

Then they began to move, their motions synchronized. Each instinctively knowing what the other needed. Rob thrust over and over, her body clasping him in a precise fit. His hardness filling her completely.

As if they had been made for each other. Only each other.

"Rob," she moaned, her breath coming in pants. "Now! Now!"

She spasmed around him. Contracting muscles, searing heat. His body answered her, his orgasm ripping through him, violent and overwhelming. And nothing short of heaven.

Erica curled against Rob, her hand stroking up and down his belly, the fine hair bisecting his stomach soft against her fingertips, the muscles underneath hard. He felt wonderful.

She felt wonderful. More satisfied, more content than she had since—the last time she'd made love with him.

As if he were reading her mind, he suddenly asked, "Have you dated much—I mean over the years?"

She rested her chin on his chest to look at him. He looked sinfully tousled, his dark hair curling over his forehead, his eyes dark and intent. She forced herself to stop admiring him and to focus on his question.

"A bit. I had two relationships that were pretty steady. But nothing that ever got too serious." She'd never let them. She'd always held herself back. Until this moment, she'd have said her hesitation to commit was because she was being choosy, making sure everything was perfect. Now, she realized, it was because she just couldn't give her heart. Rob had it—even when she believed he was forgotten.

"What about you? Any close calls?"

He smiled at her wording. "No. I was too busy with my work to get serious. Just casual dating."

"And casual sex?" The question was out of her mouth before she thought better of it. "You don't have to answer that."

He lifted his head, his expression serious. "No. That's a valid question. I haven't been a monk over the years, but I tended to date women who knew where I stood, and who were fine with that arrangement."

Erica nodded, then turned her face away from his, pressing her cheek to his chest. She wished she'd never asked. She didn't want to think about Rob with other women. And she didn't like that she had just joined the ranks of those ladies. A woman who knew the score—who knew that she could never have his heart the way his career and his success did.

His hands caught her under the arms, and she found herself pulled up fully onto his chest, her face aligned with his.

"I need to kiss you," he stated, lifting his head off the pillow so he could capture her mouth. He moved his hands from her arms to the sides of her head, pulling her harder to him, deepening the kiss. His mouth devouring hers. A possessive kiss, a demanding kiss.

When he finally released her, her heart was racing, her blood pounding. And all the places he'd just finished lavishing great attention on throbbed for more of his undivided attention.

"I could spend the rest of my life right here with you," he murmured, stealing smother kiss.

His words aroused her to the point of pain. How she wished he truly meant those words. But she nestled her head under his chin and allowed herself to bask in his words all the same. "Me, too."

The radio broadcaster announced that Santa had been sighted over the area, and that all the local boys and girls would be getting the presents on their Christmas lists.

Erica felt like she'd almost gotten hers. She'd gotten Rob, not for forever, like she wanted, but she wasn't going to dwell on that now. She still had the rest of the night to enjoy her gift.

"It's our song," Rob said, drawing her back from her thoughts.

She listened. "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays" by Perry Como. She laughed, picking up her head to grin at him. "We had to be the only teenagers in the eighties who lost our virginity to Perry Como."

He grinned, too, his dimple deep and so adorable. "Even now, this song makes me horny." To demonstrate, he rubbed his pelvis against her. His very erect penis nudged the juncture of her thighs.

She moaned, wriggling down just a bit to better position herself against him.

"I need to make love to you again," he murmured against her ear, the vibration of his voice exciting every nerve ending in her body. "I need to be inside you."

She whimpered, but didn't waste any time and reached for another condom. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his narrow hips. Rising up, she rolled the latex down his girth, then positioned him so the head of his penis spread her labia.

She hovered there, giving him just a hint of the wet heat that soon would surround him, and in turn, teasing herself with a sample of the heavy, hard thickness that would soon fill her. Perfect and right.

"Erica," he murmured, watching her perched above him. His eyes roamed over her face, her breasts, and her belly, down to where they made contact but didn't quite join. "God, you are gorgeous." He smoothed his hands up the fronts of her thighs.

His words made her heart swell, her vagina constrict. She lowered herself a fraction of an inch. The head entered her, stretching her.

He groaned, jerking his hips slightly to slide deeper.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked with feigned sternness, although the effect was not what she hoped, as her breathing was uneven with want.

"Nothing," he said contritely, dropping his hips back against the mattress.

"Good boy. Santa will be pleased that you're such a good boy."

"Oh, Santa is definitely pleased with me." His hands massaged the tops of her thighs. "Very pleased."

She smiled and slipped down a little more. "Good."

He closed his eyes, a ragged, needy moan escaping his parted lips.

Another fraction of an inch, but still she didn't accept his full length. Then a bit more.

Rob growled, his eyes dark and ravenous. She grinned down at him, feeling powerful that she could drive him so mad.

Then the hands on her thighs left, one sliding up to her breast, the other slipping between her thighs. He found her pebbled clitoris, pressing a fingertip against the nub. Need shot through her.

Then his other hand began to pluck at her distended nipple, in repeated gentle, rolling squeezes. Her need rocketed.

"Two can play at this game," he warned, his eyes dark with hunger.

He twirled and tweaked and swirled and stroked until her breath came in loud gasps. Her need soared, building quickly, intensely. She couldn't stop herself, couldn't tease any longer. She needed him in her, hard and deep.

She impaled herself on his rigid length, screaming at the devastatingly incredible feel of him buried within her. Rocking up and down, she squeezed him, stroked him, like he had her.

It was Rob's turn to shout out, his hands gripping her hips, directing her in a rapid, relentless motion.

Their movements became more frenzied, more desperate, until it was simply too much, too intense. She splintered, shards of ecstasy ripping through her. She didn't know if she screamed; she didn't know if she called Rob's name. She was aware only of Rob and the fierce orgasm shaking her.

When she finally regained her senses, she was lying on Rob's sweaty chest, her limbs boneless, her body exhausted.

Their fast breathing harmonized, then gradually slowed, until it was even and low and barely audible under the soft Christmas music.

She felt Rob kiss the top of her head, the gesture sweet. She smiled and kissed his chest in response. Then she fell into a sound sleep.

Sometime during the night, Rob had rolled them onto their sides, facing each other. She woke to find him watching her. Without saying a word, he reached for the final condom.

Then he pulled her leg to hook over his hip, and he angled his body so he could slowly slide into her.

This coupling wasn't frantic, but unhurried and tender. A leisurely adoration of each other's bodies. A slow, steady build toward release. No less thrilling, but somehow more awe-inspiring.

As their orgasms engulfed them in long, rolling waves, they maintained eye contact, seeing the satisfaction on each other's faces. And the love.

At least Erica knew the emotion was clear on her face.

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Rob and Erica didn't get much chance to talk. Donny called their room early to say he'd contacted the car rental company and had arranged for a new car.

A tow truck pulled the old car out of the snowbank and swung by the hotel so they could retrieve their luggage.

Once all the logistics were worked out, they all piled into the new rental, which was a tad nicer than the old one. Christmas Day had arrived sunny and brisk, and the driving was much smoother.

Rob and Erica once again rode in the small backseat. But this time, she curled against him, dozing.

Several times, he noticed Donny and Alex glancing back at them, curious about the state of their relationship.

He wished he knew. Even though they lived in the same city and they could continue to see each other, Erica had made no suggestion in that direction. She hadn't even hinted at continuing their relationship.

And he couldn't bring himself to propose the idea. He didn't want her to feel pressured. She had said she'd moved on. He had said horrible things to her that Christmas Eve all those years ago. Maybe they were things she couldn't really forgive. And maybe last night was about closure.

So when Donny stopped the car in front of her folks' house, Rob simply went to the trunk and pulled her luggage out. He waited while Erica thanked Donny and Alex.

"I hope your sister forgives you for being late for her wedding," she said.

Donny shrugged. "Well, it is her third one."

"You know what they say: Third time's the charm."

"Lord, I hope," Donny said dramatically.

"Bye." Erica waved.

Rob walked her to her front door like he had a hundred times before. "Have a Merry Christmas."

"You, too." Her smile seemed bittersweet, but he just couldn't tell if it was because she didn't really want to say good-bye or because this good-bye was for good.

"I'm glad I got to see you again." His words were so inadequate, and they didn't even begin to describe how he felt about last night. But he added nothing else.

"Me, too." She nodded. "Good-bye, Rob."

"Good-bye."

She entered her house, the door banging closed behind her, just as it had once before.

He stood there for just a moment, then returned to the car.

"Are you okay?" Donny asked. Apparently, Rob's misery was clear on his face.

He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Just remember, anything worth having is worth fighting for," Alex told him, then he reached out to caress Donny's shoulder.

Rob nodded again. But he didn't know if he should really listen to two men who spent their Christmas Eve fighting over who they did and didn't look like.

When Rob arrived at his parents' house, he was greeted at the door by his folks, Mo, Neil, and the baby. He was quickly enveloped in chatter and laughter.

Later, they sat in his parents' living room, on the furniture they'd had since he and Mo were in grade school, and they exchanged gifts.

Dad oohed and ahhed over a tie that Mom got him—even though she gave him a tie every Christmas. Mo and Neil tried to get Stewie interested in a toy they'd gotten him, but the baby was much happier gumming away on the crumpled wrapping paper.

Rob's mother unwrapped the gift he had bought her—an expensive ruby-and-diamond pendant.

"Robby," she said when she saw it. "This is lovely." She hooked the necklace around her neck, then announced she needed to check the turkey.

When she walked past him, she leaned down and hugged him. "I love my gift," she said softly. "But don't you know that having you home is the best gift of all? The only gift I needed." She kissed his cheek. She disappeared into the turkey-scented kitchen.

Rob looked around him, no longer seeing the shabby furniture and faded wallpaper. Instead, he noticed only the people. His dad, who talked in a silly voice to Stewie. Mo and Neil, who gazed at each other, love so clear in their eyes. His mother, who sang "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" in the kitchen.

And suddenly, the truth hit him. Erica had been absolutely right all those years ago. Success isn't measured by money or promotions. Success is measured by the people who love you.

Ambition is fine, but it doesn't keep a person warm at night. And it isn't important without someone to share it with. And he knew with whom he wanted to share his success and his life and his love.

He stood. "I have to go."

His mother came back into the room. Everyone, even Stewie, stared at him.

"I have to go tell Erica Fetzer that I love her."

If his family thought his sudden announcement was odd, they didn't say so.

The doorbell rang.

Erica sat on her parents' couch watching It's a Wonderful Life and feeling very bad for herself, but she yelled that she'd answer the door.

"Rob," she murmured, shocked to see him there on her parents' front porch. His hair was windblown, his cheeks reddened, and he breathed heavy, as if he'd run to get there.

"Hi."

"Hi." She peered at him, puzzled. Why was he here? Her heart leaped with hope, but she ignored it. He wasn't here to proclaim his love. If he loved her, he could have told her last night, or earlier today in the car.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" she asked politely, not sure what else to say, and he didn't act as though he planned to speak.

"The best," he said.

"And your family wasn't too disappointed that you weren't home on Christmas Eve?"

"I was home for Christmas Eve," he stated.

She frowned at him, starting to think maybe he'd somehow gone mad between last night and now. Or, at the very least, had drunk a bit too much eggnog.

"I was home because I was with you."

He had gone mad. But his certain insanity still didn't stop her heart from pirouetting in her chest.

"Rob—"

He held up a hand. "Erica, I want you to know that you were right. The Christmas Eve when we broke up, you told me that I'd changed. That all I cared about was success. That was true, but I now know that success is nothing if you're alone."

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm sorry, Erica. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for saying those awful things about your college and your studies and your art. I'm sorry that I was so blind and thoughtless and selfish."

He stared at her for a moment as if he expected her to say more.

What could she say? "I appreciate your apology."

"Erica." He stepped closer, capturing her warm hands in his cold ones, stroking his thumbs back and forth across the backs. Even that small touch prickled awareness over her skin. "I don't want you to move on. I don't want you to forget me. I want you to share my successes. I want to share yours. I want to know all your dreams. I want to tell you mine. But most of all, I want us to spend the rest of our lives together."

She stared at him for a moment. This is what she'd dreamed of, yet now that her dream had happened, she didn't quite dare to believe it.

He stared back, and she could see the sincerity and the nervousness in his coffee-colored eyes.

He was serious. He wanted them to be a couple. Her heart clattered painfully against her ribs. She couldn't pull in a breath.

"Erica," his voice sounded anxious, uncertain. "You're killing me here. Please tell me I can have another chance. I love you, and I can't lose you again."

Before he could even finish, she flung her arms around him.

"Yes," she said against his mouth. "Yes."

Then they were kissing.

"I love you, Erica. So, so much."

"And I love you. I always have."

"And you forgive me for being the world's biggest idiot? For all the years we lost?"

"Oh, I plan to make you pay," she warned.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. Every night."

He grinned, his eyes smoldering, that dimple she loved deepening. "Yes, I definitely do need to pay—with interest. I know these things—I'm a banker."

She laughed and kissed him again, tasting the love on his lips.

Finally, he lifted his head. "Now, take me inside. I want your parents to meet the man you're going to marry."

She linked her fingers with his, tugging him into the house, and the door gently closed behind them both.