Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas

One pretty brow went up. “Oh? Not a basket of muffins?”

“Let’s just say my neighbor’s of the cat persuasion.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“The cougar variety.” Frankly whenever his neighbor came over, he felt like putting on another layer of clothes.

“Never mind,” he said, waving his hand. “So, why don’t you help yourself while I go get cleaned up.”

“You look clean to me.”

“Under these clothes is a layer of sawdust—I’m itchy all over. I need to take a shower.”

“Help yourself,” she said, waving a hand as she headed to the kitchen, already making herself at home. “Want me to make you something?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Filet mignon it is.”

He snorted. “Hungry Man Salisbury steak frozen dinner, if you’re lucky.”

Still smiling, glad her good mood had returned and thoughts of her vicious ex—who still had a lot of bad stuff coming to him—were gone, he headed for his room. The bed was unmade, clothes draped across it, the dresser drawers open. It looked like a single guy’s room. Considering he intended to offer Lucy the bed, and take the couch for himself, he took a few minutes to straighten up.

As he did so, he couldn’t help thinking about how much different his life seemed now than when he’d left this morning. He’d figured he’d be coming home to a quiet house, a solitary holiday, maybe a turkey sub from Subway. And he’d been okay with that. Not happy, but okay.

But he had to admit, in recent days, as the holiday season zoomed in like a rocket ship, he had really begun to think about his family back in Chicago. He had a few friends here, but not the type you’d share Christmas with. Being from a big family—which got bigger with every sister’s marriage and the births of new nieces and nephews—he began to realize there were times living alone wasn’t so great. As December marched on, he’d resigned himself to a lonely, kinda pathetic holiday weekend.

Wow, did things ever change on a dime.

Still thinking about those changes, he headed into the bathroom—spent another few minutes cleaning it—then got in the shower. He hadn’t been kidding about that sawdust; the stuff had filtered into his clothes as he’d maneuvered the custom-made bookcase into place at Beans & Books.

Finally, his hair damp from a quick towel-dry, he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt and headed back out to the living room. Smelling something—popcorn?—his gaze immediately went to the kitchen, but didn’t see Lucy there.

After a second, he spotted her in the one place he had not expected her to be, doing something he had never expected her to do. “Lucy?”

She looked up and smiled at him, a little self-conscious. “I couldn’t take it anymore, it was just sad.”

Ross could only stare. It appeared she had gone all Linus on his Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and had decided to give it a little love—how appropriate for a Lucy. What had been just sticks, needles, picture-hangers and beer can tabs an hour ago now at least resembled a bedecked evergreen.

“Where did you…”

“I just used stuff that was lying around. Hope you don’t mind, but I cut up a couple of mac-and-cheese boxes…the packets are still in the cupboard. I assume you’ve made it often enough that you didn’t need the directions?”

“Not a problem,” he mumbled, still a little shocked at how much she’d done, how quickly she’d done it, and how good it looked.

“I’m glad you’re the healthy type and your microwave popcorn wasn’t buttered. That would have been sticky,” she said as she plucked another piece out of a bowl and stuck it on the edge of a needle. A whole thread full of them dangled on her lap. “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind me digging through your kitchen drawers. I was pleasantly surprised to find that sewing kit.”

“Old tenant,” he murmured, still a little stunned.

“Well, thanks to the former tenant then. Unfortunately he didn’t happen to leave any twinkle lights or pretty red bows behind. But luckily, I hadn’t cleaned out my camera bag,” she added. “I had picked up some construction paper, glitter and glue to make decorations for the studio where I’m interning.”

She’d used all those things to full advantage. Right now, glittery snowmen and Santa shapes dangled from several branches, apparently with directions for making mac-and-cheese on the other side. She had also managed a long strand of construction paper garland, like the kind he’d made as a kid. Red, green and white loops encircled each other, making a colorful chain that draped around the tree.

But that wasn’t all. His pot-pie pan-topper had actually been cut into a star shape. And there was some kind of red-and-white fabric tucked around the bucket, creating a tree skirt. Having no clue where she could have gotten that, he quirked a questioning brow.

She chuckled. “My elf tights. I had two pair in my bag.”

Good God. Tight, shimmery fabric, usually used to encase what he suspected were a pair of beautiful legs, was now hugging a dirty bucket at the base of an old, dead tree?

“I didn’t have any lights, obviously, but I think this’ll work. Hold on.”

He watched as she crawled around the baseboard and fiddled with something on the floor. Suddenly the tree was bathed in a soft, reddish light from below. “Glad I had the red gel on me!”

Not knowing what she meant, he bent to peer at the light, which he realized was a camera flash with a sheet of red plastic over it.

“Voilà!”

He reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet and together they stared at her masterpiece. She’d taken a pretty pathetic stick, added a bunch of random objects and Mac-Gyvered the whole thing into a work of art.

“Wow,” he whispered, genuinely impressed. “It’s amazing.”

She shrugged. “But it’s still not exactly traditional.”

He heard the tremor in her voice and knew where her thoughts had gone—to that dirty word, traditional. For four years, she’d tried hard to distance herself from happy holiday traditions, keeping those sweet memories at bay for fear they’d be accompanied by sad ones. Yet now, she’d stepped out of her comfort zone, doing things she probably remembered doing with the parents she’d lost, even though it was painful for her.

And she’d done it for him.

He turned to her, dropping his hands to her waist, pulling her close to him. Lucy looked up at him, her eyes bright, shining in the holiday light, and he’d swear he had never seen a more beautiful face in his life.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Then he punctuated the thanks by dropping his mouth to hers, kissing her softly.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her soft body against him. He’d kissed her earlier, but they’d both been wearing coats, and layers of clothes. Now, with just his T-shirt and her blouse, he was able to feel the fullness of her breasts against his chest. she moaned lightly, moving one leg so their thighs tangled.

As if needing to feel his skin, Lucy moved her hands under the bottom of his shirt, stroking his stomach. He pulled away enough for her to push it up and over his head, liking the way her eyes widened in appreciation as she began to explore his chest. She scraped the back of her finger over his nipple, and Ross hissed in response. This time, when he pulled her close to kiss her again, he could feel the rigid tips of her breasts, separated from his bare skin by only by that silky blouse.

Saying nothing, Lucy began to pull him with her, toward the couch. Rather than follow, he bent and picked her up. Cradling her in his arms, he crossed the room and sat down, keeping her on his lap. They never broke the kiss. It just went on and on, slow and deep and wet.

Unable to resist, Ross reached for her stomach, trailing his fingertips over the blouse, hearing her purr in response. She arched up to meet his touch, telling him she wanted more. He tugged the material free of her pants, almost shaking in anticipation, knowing he’d been dying to touch her since they’d met.

As he’d expected, Lucy’s body was silkier than her clothes. He took pure, visceral pleasure in the sensation, delighting in the textures against his callused hand.

“Oh, yes, more,” she whispered against his mouth.

Glad for the invitation, he began to slide the buttons open, exposing more of Her warm, supple skin. Lucy shifted a little, helping him tug the blouse free of her pants, so that by the time he unfastened the last button, the shirt fell open completely.

Ross stopped kissing her long enough to look at her, soaking in the breathtaking sight. Her breasts were high and round, every inch of her creamy smooth. Her lacy bra did nothing to conceal the tight, puckered nipples. And the way she arched up toward him told him what she needed.

He happily complied, covering one taut peak with his mouth, before tasting her with his tongue through the fabric.