Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas

“Fine,” he told her.

He took her arm and led her to the door, glancing back over his shoulder before they walked through it. The ex still sat there on the couch, a sneer curling his lips. As if he were the injured party in this whole rotten mess.

The boiling well of anger inside him had rolled back to a slow simmer, and Ross knew he had to get out of here before it boiled back up. Mr. J. Crew dickhead had finally realized the merits of shutting the hell up, but that look on his face was seriously pissing Ross off. If he opened his mouth again, or if one single tear fell out of Lucy’s eyes, he was gonna go postal on the squirmy punk.

Her hand tightened on his arm, as if she knew what he was thinking. So he wouldn’t do it. But something wouldn’t let him leave without one more parting shot. “Hey, dude, don’t worry, I wouldn’ta hit you. Wouldn’t risk damaging that pretty face of yours, ’cause it sounds to me like you really need it.”

“What do you mean?” the other man snapped, starting to rise from his seat. Emboldened, perhaps, by the thought that Ross was admitting he wouldn’t have hit him?

Just give me a reason, punk.

Ross shrugged as Lucy stepped into the hallway ahead of him. “I mean, it sounds like you need whatever help you can get. From what I hear, you not only have a scrawny neck, you have a scrawny dick as well.” Tsking, he shook his head. “Even worse, a sad, strange-looking one.”

The other guy’s face erupted in scarlet, and he sputtered, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Which, in Ross’s mind, confirmed what Lucy had said about him. A guy with an ounce of self-confidence would have laughed, or sneered. Jude just looked like he wanted to call Mommy and make the new kid stop saying mean things to him.

“Oh, by the way,” he added. “Happy birthday.”

Ross slammed the door, not waiting for Jude to come up with a crushing reply. Not that he could, really, because, man, any guy who couldn’t defend himself against small-cock accusations didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

It wasn’t until they were alone in the elevator, heading toward the bottom floor, that he looked down and saw Lucy’s shoulders shaking. It was as if she’d held herself together, keeping her emotions in check until she got out of sight of her ex, but now that they were alone, her sadness over the day’s events had come crashing down on her.

He turned her toward him. Ross fully intended to take her into his arms, awkwardly pat her back or whatever guys Did to console crying women. But before he could do it, he realized he’d made a big mistake.

“Oh…my…God…” she said between gasps, which weren’t caused by tears, but rather, by laughter. She looked up at him, her lips shaking, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “Did you see his face?”

“I saw,” he said, smiling down at her, so pleased she wasn’t brokenhearted over creepy Jude that he wanted to pick her up and swing her around in his arms.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You were my knight in shining armor.”

He grinned and gestured toward his bomber jacket. “Carpenter in tarnished leather, at best.”

Her pretty mouth widened in a smile. “Either way…my hero.” Then, still looking playful, happy, appreciative, she rose on her tiptoes and reached up to brush her delicate fingers against his cheek. He had about a second to process what she was about to do before she pressed her soft lips against his.

It was a thank-you kiss, he had no doubt about that.

Sweet. Tender. Simple.

Incredibly good.

It should have been nothing but a three-second brush of skin on skin, an expression of gratitude between two people who didn’t really know each other yet but definitely wanted to.

But damned if Ross was willing to let it go down that way. Once he felt Lucy’s mouth, shared her sweet breath, impulse took over. He lifted both hands, cupping one around her cheek. The other he tangled in her long, thick hair, taking pure pleasure in the softness of it, letting it glide through his fingers like water.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue out to tease hers. Lucy groaned slightly, taking what he offered and upping the ante even more by tilting her head and widening her mouth. Thank you and you’re welcome turned into I-want-you and where’s the nearest bed in about ten seconds flat. Sweetness faded and heat erupted as their tongues thrust and twined.

“Ahem.”

It took a second for the voice to intrude. But another throat-clearing and a titter finally invaded his Lucy-in-fused consciousness. It appeared they’d arrived at the bottom floor. The door had slid open and they were providing quite a show for the people waiting in the lobby.

Filled with regret, he pulled away, looking down into her pretty, flushed face, seeing the way her long lashes rested on her high cheekbones. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, swaying a little toward him. But the box pressed against her chest prevented her from melting into his body.

And their sudden, unwelcome audience prevented him from moving the box.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

Her eyes flew open. Seeing the strangers watching them—two young men with their arms around each other’s waists, both grinning widely, and an older, white-haired woman whose grin was, if possible, even wider—Lucy stammered an apology.

“No need to apologize,” one of the men said, waving his hand as Lucy and Ross exited the elevator.

The other nodded in agreement. “Tell me this means you ditched 6C.”

Lucy’s jaw fell open. “Wha…?”

“He’s a bad egg,” the woman said, jumping into the conversation as if they had all known each other for years. In truth, Ross suspected they were complete strangers to Lucy. “A total fart-weasel.”

Ross coughed into his fist at the description, but the two men were already nodding in agreement. “He sure is.”

“Have we met?” Lucy asked, shaking her head in confusion, confirming Ross’s suspicion.

“No,” said the darker-haired man. “But we all live on six, too. And honey, 6C is just nasty. So not your type!”

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking even more embarrassed than before. Considering complete strangers were dissecting her love life, he could see why.

The light-haired man eyed Ross. “Did you beat him up?”

“No.”

Ms. Elderly Busybody sighed heavily. “That’s too bad. I’ve been hoping somebody would. That boy could benefit from an ass-whupping.”

“Well, given what I know of him so far, I have no doubt that someday your prayers will be answered,” Ross said.

He and Lucy murmured goodbyes to their three new friends, then headed for the door. As they approached him, the doorman offered Lucy a conspiratorial wink, as if he agreed with the other residents’ opinion of her ex. Which was nice, but probably had to be making Lucy feel even worse about ever having dated the fart-weasel in 6C.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

She sucked in a surprised breath, and stopped halfway across the lobby. Looking up at him, she appeared shocked that he’d been able to figure out what she’d been thinking.

“He’s a con artist, Luce,” Ross said with a simple shrug. “He became what you wanted him to be.”

“Yes, he did,” she murmured. “But how did you know?”

“Guys do it all the time, especially with girls who won’t, uh… .” He didn’t want to be crass enough to say put out, though that was what he meant.

“Gotcha,” she said. “And thanks for not telling me I was a complete idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

“You did see it,” he told her, not liking that self-recrimination in her voice. “Which is probably why you wouldn’t, uh…”

This time, during the pregnant pause while they both mentally filled in the blank, Lucy actually laughed. “You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”