Hers for the Holidays

Letting him close in this way, if not any other.

He’d take it. Her arms were tight around his neck as he plunged deeper, tasted more.

Lydia dug her nails into his shoulders, moaning against him, and Ely didn’t know anything else, only that it felt damned good.

* * *

APPARENTLY, ELY didn’t care for her brush-off. When he’d crowded her up against the counter, Lydia tried to push him back, but the minute her hands landed on his chest, her traitorous fingers had curled into the material of his damp shirt. He’d looked at her so strangely before he’d kissed her, his expression a mix of emotions she couldn’t identify as she wrestled with her own. He hadn’t liked her saying that she didn’t need him. Frustration, certainly. Stubbornness, and maybe even a slight hint of hurt.

He parted her lips wide with his own, giving her little choice in the matter as his tongue sliding over hers, tempting—no, daring—her to come out and play. Lydia reacted from sheer need and adrenaline, all of the desperate wanting she’d ignored for two months surging into the kiss as she dug her fingers into his hair, giving as good as she got. She might not need him, but she needed this—this blinding passion, the heat that erased everything but the kiss. Mouths mating violently, the intensity burned a clean path through her heart, leaving only Ely and her desire for him in its wake.

Desire, she could deal with. Desire was easy and uncomplicated.

He pulled back, only to bury his face at her throat, proceeding to drive her crazy with his tongue and teeth on her skin, his hands traveling under her shirt, closing over her breasts with a moan. She pressed into his touch, urging him on.

His arms slid to her back, banding around her as she tugged on his hair to bring his mouth back to her lips. They didn’t need air for quite some time as the kiss went on and on. This made more sense than any of their words did.

Hard against her hip, he ground into the soft, hot apex of her thighs, pushing her close to the edge. He was close, too. When she reached down, closing her hand over the steely ridge at the front of his jeans, he shuddered from head to toe.

She could take him upstairs. Sate herself and forget everything that was complicating her life for another night. It sounded like the best idea she’d had in days.

“Too many clothes,” she whispered, her voice shaking with need. He had her so close to coming, all it would take was a sweet bit of pressure in just the right spot and it would be all over.

Taking in his darkened eyes and ragged breathing, she knew that he was in the same shape. But Lydia had too much experience to mistake lust for anything more.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to do that,” he said, walking away from her to the other side of the kitchen, pushing his hands through his hair. He turned to meet her gaze with his own, still smoldering with banked desire.

Lydia blew out a breath, wondering what she had been thinking. Well, she hadn’t been. That had been a close call. Ely wasn’t the kind of guy who got involved casually, and that was all Lydia did. This would have been another mistake.

“You’re right. No apology needed.”

She had a feeling that he never meant for her to find out he was here. He’d been watching her and reporting back. The fact that they were here in her kitchen together was an accident that was never supposed to happen. She couldn’t let herself be fooled. No doubt he wanted to help; helping was his job.

And she had made a fool out of herself, almost taking him to bed, again.

He backed away as sanity returned in small bits to both of them. The distance was both a relief and...not.

“I don’t know what got into me, but you just...” He shook his head, and she wondered what he was about to say.

“I know. Me, too. It’s just been a crazy night, that’s all. Listen, why don’t we get some sleep, and then I can make you breakfast and the guys can help you get the truck out so you can be on your way. I’m okay here on my own, Ely. Seriously.”

“Make me breakfast? You cook?” he said lightly, teasingly, trying to lighten the mood between them.

“I like to cook, actually,” she said, trying to meet him halfway. To sound normal, as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t almost swallowed each other whole right here in the kitchen where she used to bake Christmas cookies as a girl.

“Yeah?”

“My mother taught me. We always had a garden, fresh foods. Beef and dairy, of course. I sometimes cook dinner at my place, invite all of my friends over.”

“Really?” he said softly, looking at her, the heat burning off, but still evident in his face and in the way he held his body. “And here I thought I was one of your friends.”

That set her back. Ely, a friend?

“Why would you think that?” she asked baldly, and saw the surprise register in his face. She wasn’t known for her subtlety, but that had been rude, even for her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, that one night aside, we really don’t know each other well. And it wasn’t like you hung around for long after the wedding.”

She sighed, looking outside where the snow whipped against the windows even harder than it had been before, and she shook her head. Her luck he couldn’t just leave now.

“You’re right. But maybe we could fix all that. Let me help, Lydia.”

“Don’t do this, Ely.”

“What?”

“Charm me. Seduce me. Wheedle your way through my defenses. Try to get what you want by working your way into my life somehow. Protect me. Whatever else you have in mind,” she said, turning to the sink to wash her hands. “You can stay tonight, and then you need to go home.”

“That sounds familiar,” he said, a little edge to his voice. “I just want to help with whatever trouble you’re having now. Be a friend. Is that so bad?”

She turned to face him, and he met her eyes.

“Really? That’s all?”

“I won’t lie. I’ve thought about that night a lot since it happened. You...that night we had, it inspired me to really think about my life and what I want out of it.”

She frowned. “How?”

“Well, for one, I think I dodged a bullet with Chloe, though I didn’t know it at the time. And meeting you, seeing how freely you enjoy life, how spontaneous and unfettered you are, it made me wonder why I’m so anxious to always tie myself down. I’ve been tied to something for my entire life—my family, the Marines, Berringer’s. Those things are important to me, but I need some...freedom, I guess. You showed me that.”

She was speechless. Stunned.

“I don’t understand. I thought that you were ashamed of being with me,” she blurted.

He looked clearly taken aback. “Whoa. Hold on a second there. I wasn’t ashamed of anything. Why would you think that?”

“You avoided me like the plague. You barely spoke to me, danced with everyone at Tessa and Jonas’s wedding but me,” she said hotly, then slapped a hand over her mouth, hating that she had let that hurtful bit slip.

Dammit. She was tired, and stretched to her last nerve, otherwise she never would have said that. Too late now.

“Hell, Lydia. I thought that was how you wanted it, for no one to know. I didn’t mean to hurt you. That wasn’t my intention. I guess I overdid it, trying to act like nothing had happened. I was pretty screwed up to start with, and afterward, I felt like a jerk for using Tessa’s best friend to forget my troubles for a night. You deserve better than that. So I kept my distance.”

Lydia pushed a hand through her hair. She’d never made an effort or tried to talk to him about it, either. They’d both made a mess of it.

“It shouldn’t matter—it doesn’t matter—but I just thought you didn’t want anyone to know that the big, brave Marine had gotten down and dirty with the Goth girl. I guess that got to me a little.”

He swore. “I didn’t mean it that way. I never thought that for a moment. I’m so sorry.”

Lydia wasn’t sure how to feel about his confession, but they’d aired it out and now she wanted to move past it.

“So now you’re a free agent? Not looking for the white picket fences anymore?” she asked.