Читать книгу The Complete Christmas Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 64

The door swung back and Lucy flew at him, calling his name. “Dami!”

He opened his arms and she threw herself at him, jumping up, landing against him with a happy laugh, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She smelled of vanilla and apples and something else, something he’d missed way too much, something that was simply her. “Luce.” Her name escaped him in a strange rumble, surprising him with its rawness, sounding like hunger. Like not-so-carefully controlled desire.

Lucy was Lucy, all gushing, gleeful chatter. “Dami, Dami, Dami. I can’t believe you’re here. I wished and wished you might come. And poof, like a dream. Here you are. It’s snowing and it’s Christmas. And you came.”

“Luce.” Heat coiled in his belly, flared across his skin. He was all too aware of the press of her soft breasts to his chest, of those slim legs gripping around him....

And not only that. So much more. He drank in the sight of her, that glowing smile, the sparkle in her soft brown eyes.

Alive, that was it. Lucy was fully engaged, completely alive. Full of light, like her name. She pushed back every shadow, wiped out all cynicism. She made it impossible to be disinterested or disillusioned. She made everything fresh and new.

He should be ashamed, and he knew it, to have agreed to relieve her of her innocence in the first place. And then to have gone ahead and done just that.

And now to be showing up on her doorstep in the burning hope that maybe she would allow him to do it again.

And again.

She tipped her mouth up to him. “Dami...” Breathless. Hopeful. So damned sweet.

He couldn’t resist—and who was he fooling? No one. He had no intention of resisting.

He cradled the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her shining silky hair. “Luce.” He took her mouth.

She made a soft, yearning little sound as his tongue invaded the warmth and wetness beyond her lips. And then she tightened her arms and legs around him and kissed him back, with no coyness and no hesitation, with complete abandon.

He kissed her harder, deeper, needing the taste of her, needing to fill himself up with the sweetness of her.

And they couldn’t go on like this here on the landing. Anyone might wander by.

The door was open behind her. He continued to plunder her mouth as he crossed the threshold with her all wrapped around him, her hands sifting in his hair, her thighs pressing him tight, her kiss as open and eager as her sweet face, her willing heart.

He swung the door shut with his heel. Laughing a little against his mouth, she instructed, “Wait. Back up.” He did, and she reached out behind him and engaged the lock. “That way.” She kissed the words onto his mouth and pointed over her shoulder down a windowless hallway.

He took her to the bedroom at the front of the apartment. Outside the arched windows that faced the street, snow was falling, thick and steady, reflecting light, filling the room with a silvery glow. The space was crowded with furniture—sewing machines, a wide table, adjustable dressmaker forms. Weaving his way to the bed took some doing, and she didn’t help a lot—she was kissing him so hard and deep, moving against him, arousing him, making soft hungry sounds that thoroughly distracted him.

A good thing he was determined. He skirted the second dressmaker form and he was at the bed at last. Easing his fingers under her thighs, he peeled her away from him and gently laid her down.

She stared up at him, softly smiling, eyes wide and so bright, as he undressed her with the ease and swiftness born of years of undressing women. She wore black leggings, a big green sweater that went halfway down her slim thighs and thick socks. He had all that off of her in no time. Underneath, her bra was red lace and her little satin panties were pink. He rolled her over and unhooked the bra and whipped it away.

“Dami...” She rolled onto her back again, laughing a little. Incomparable. Everything about her—the complete lack of pretense or artifice, the small slanted white scars on her rib cage and the longer one, pale as milk, that ran straight down between her breasts. She had no shyness about those scars, no embarrassment. She made them beautiful by her complete acceptance of them.

He bent close, kissed the long one that bisected her above her heart. “You are like no one else I’ve ever known.”

She wrapped her arms around his head, pulled him closer. The scent of her claimed him. “I hope that’s good,” she whispered.

“It is very good,” he replied against her skin.

“Dami.” She held him closer. “I have missed you so....”

He clasped her arms and gently peeled them away so that he could straighten and get out of his own clothes. That took even less time than getting rid of hers.

She reached for him again. “Please. Come down to me. Let me hold you.”

He grabbed the condoms he’d stuck in a pocket and set them on the nightstand. Then he joined her on the bed.

She wrapped herself around him again. It felt so good, her flesh to his, the scent of her gone musky now, sweeter even than before.

He kissed her some more—starting with her mouth and then moving on, tracing the shape of her jaw with his tongue, trailing his lips down her throat into the warm dip where her collarbones met.

And lower.

He lavished attention on her breasts and her belly, then settled in between her thighs, easing her legs over his shoulders, guiding her knees wider to claim better access. She clutched his head and moaned broken encouragements as he kissed her long and slow and deep. He caressed her with his fingers at the same time, enjoying the feel of her as well as the taste, his mind a hot whirl of excitement and lust for her. At the same time, he remembered to be careful with her, to gauge her readiness. Her body was still new to this, inexperienced, in need of gentle handling.

New but so eager. She was a natural to loving.

It didn’t take her long to reach the peak. He felt the quick, hot flutter of her climax against his tongue and she held him tightly to her, crying out, then whispering his name. Her body lifted, bowing up. He stayed with her, kept on kissing her, pressing his tongue at her core, his hands beneath her, cradling her, lifting her closer to his eager mouth.

She shuddered, cried out again and then, with a sigh, went loose. For a little while, he rested his head on her belly and she gently stroked his hair.

In time he rose above her again. Gathering her close to him, he settled her head against his shoulder.

She sighed and whispered, “I want you, Dami....”

“Shh.” He kissed her temple.

But she pushed up on an elbow and met his eyes. “I want all of you.” Her upper lip was damp with sweat.

He took her face between his hands, pulled her closer and kissed her. “Soon,” he said against her mouth. “Shh...” He stroked the short wisps of chestnut hair back from her damp forehead.

“Now,” she argued, catching his lower lip between her pretty teeth, biting down a little so that the fine ache of wanting her intensified and he groaned. And then, more firmly, she commanded, “Now.”

Who was he to refuse her? Whatever she wanted, he would make sure that she had.

She watched him, her hair a wild tousle of short curls, her eyes low and lazy, looking equally satisfied and determined, as he took one of the condoms from the table by the bed. He had it out of its wrapper and on him in a quick well-practiced series of actions—and carefully, too, so as not to rupture or tear it.

She put her hand to his cheek then, urging him down to her until his mouth settled on hers and they shared another long, sweet kiss.

And what a kiss. She did learn fast. Kissing her now, it was hard to remember how very innocent she had been such a short time ago. This kiss was a woman’s kiss, a kiss she took, a kiss she owned. And while she kissed him, she was moving under him, her hands all over him, urging him to cover her.

He gave her what she wanted, burning to have her, impatient as any green kid by then. She made him so hot and needy. She stole his jaded, world-weary nature, gave him back all this urgency, this greed, this heated, hungry tenderness.

He settled above her and she opened to accept him. He tried to go slow, to be careful, be mindful.

But there was no mindfulness for him with her. There was only the welcoming wet heat of her, only her soft hands all over him, pulling him down to her.

Into her.

She took him, she owned him, she moved beneath him and he was the one following, giving back what she gave to him, taking her cues and answering in kind without conscious thought, without calculation. His mind was a whirl of impressions and images. And all of them were of her.

Lucy, too thin, too pale the first time he saw her, running down the steps at her brother’s house, her smile blooming in greeting for him, a stranger. Lucy in his arms for a dance that same night, the tip of the scar between her breasts fresher, deep pink. Lucy in her workroom at the house in California, her head bent over a sewing machine, feeding bright fabric under the humming, swift needle....

And Lucy now, beneath him, flushed, sure, powerful.

He gave himself up to her. She took him and she opened him and she turned him inside out.

* * *

A little while later he made a quick trip to the loo to dispose of the condom. He returned to her and gathered her close and they lay on the bed in the silvery light from the big window, naked, together, watching the snow come down. Her fat orange cat jumped up in the window and watched the snow with them.

He felt content in a way he hadn’t for a single day since she left him alone in Montedoro. She was so easy to be with. It had always been that way between them: comfortable. Right. He’d feared that having sex with her would ruin the easiness.

So far it hadn’t. Maybe he’d get lucky after all. This new hunger they had for each other would run its course and they would still have their friendship.

God. He hoped so.

He stroked her hair and ran a finger up and down her arm.

She sighed. “That was so good. Oh, Dami, about sex? Seriously, I had no idea what I was missing. And I’m so glad I decided to learn from the best.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “No regrets, then?”

“None. And it’s not only the sex, Dami. It’s...this. You and me, alone, just being together. This is so good.”

He pressed a kiss against her hair, breathing in the womanly scent of her. “Better than good.”

She lifted up enough to look down at him and meet his eyes. “So tell me. I have to know. How long are you here for? Are you staying upstairs? You weren’t wearing a coat, which I’m guessing means you went up to your apartment first.... And what are you here for? Business? Where’s your bodyguard? When did you get here? Oh, Dami, how I have missed you.”

He chuckled. “I missed you, too.” Far too much. “And do you really expect me to remember all those questions?”

She kissed his shoulder. “Try.”

That made him smile. “Fair enough, then. I’ll be here through the first part of next week, at least. Yes, I’m staying upstairs. I have some meetings, a project in the works.”

“What—?”

He stopped her next question with a finger to her mouth. “Wait until I answer the ones you already asked.” She pressed her lips together and nodded in a promise of silence—one he knew she couldn’t keep. He said, “Quentin, my bodyguard, is now in his room off my apartment. He’s not happy that I refused to let him come down here with me so he could check your rooms for threats.”

“Oh, right. I could be planning to kidnap you and hold you for ransom.”

“Exactly. You could be a very dangerous woman.”

“I could chain you to my bed and never let you go.”

He lifted his head long enough to kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s an intriguing idea, one we should discuss in depth later.”

She put on a shocked expression. “Oh, now I get it. You’re the one who’s dangerous.”

“Didn’t I warn you about that?”

“You did. I didn’t listen—and I’m so glad I didn’t.”

He caught her chin. “Kiss me.” She lowered those soft, warm lips to his in a brushing kiss that ended too soon. He stared up at her and stroked her velvety cheek. “You are dangerous,” he whispered.

And she giggled. “I guess you needed Quentin here after all.”

“No, I didn’t. He’d have gone around opening your cabinets and peering in your closets. I didn’t want that for our reunion.”

She kissed his shoulder. “Our reunion. I like it.”

Damien did, too. Far too much. “Where was I? Ah. I arrived here only a little while before I knocked on your door. I went to my apartment, had my driver drop my bags in the foyer and took off my coat while Quentin went up and down the stairs checking for potential threats. Then I sent him to his room and came to find you. Next question?”

“What is the project you’re here about?”

“Prepare to be fascinated,” he said wryly. “Mass-transit apps.”

“Like HopStop? GPS for a subway or bus system, showing you where to get on and get off and change buses to get where you’re going?”

“Exactly. We want that for Montedoro. Rule was dealing with it and he had meetings set up here in New York for Monday and Tuesday of next week. But he had a scheduling conflict. I stepped up and volunteered to fill in for him.” It sounded perfectly reasonable. But it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d wanted to see her again, couldn’t stop thinking about her. The transit-app project? Just an excuse.

She kissed him, her hand at his cheek, caressing. “How long will you be here?”

“Until the middle of next week, Wednesday or Thursday....”

“Will you have meetings every day?” She actually blushed. “And yes, I am working you totally, trying to find out how much of your time I can expect to monopolize.”

Good. She wanted what he wanted. More of this, the two of them. More time together. More sex. More...everything.

He answered her easily, in a casual tone. “The meetings are scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. I’m hoping to keep them to the mornings both days, but they could go longer....”

“You’re free for the weekend, then, and in the evenings?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yay!” She kissed him again, a brush of her lips along his jaw. “Four or five days, you and me. Together.” But then she grew tentative. “I mean, if that’s good for you. If it’s, you know, what you had in mind?”

He clasped her bare shoulder. “It’s exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh!” Her smile lit up her face again. “Wonderful.”

“What about you? Will you be busy?”

“Well, I did volunteer to make costumes for a children’s Christmas show and wrap presents for kids in need. But I can put most of that off until after you leave, so while you’re here, I can spend every spare minute with you.”

“Excellent.” He pulled her closer and never wanted to let go—which of course was ridiculous. He always let go in the end. The heat and hunger never lasted, and when it went, his interest went with it. Some men weren’t made for forever and he accepted that he was one of those. “We have a plan, then.”

“Oh, yeah, we do. A Christmas love affair, the two of us. To go with our Thanksgiving love affair. I could really get used to having love affairs with you.”

He stroked her hair and heard himself asking in a casual tone that belied the extent of his interest, “What about that Brandon fellow? Still hoping to make something happen with him?”

“Brandon.” She groaned. “Oh, I don’t think so. He’s not all that after all— Plus, he’s in L.A. and likely to stay there. And he’s met someone special, he said.”

Good. The guy with the butterscotch eyes was out of the picture. Dami smiled against her hair and baldly lied, “Too bad.”

“It’s okay. Believe me. It’s not meant to be with Brandon and I’m totally good with that.”

He tipped up her chin, rubbed his mouth across hers, savored her tiny sigh. “About our Christmas love affair?”

She grinned against his lips. “Now you’re talkin’.”

“Five days is too short.” He spoke the bald truth without stopping to think if the bald truth was wise.

She made a happy little sound and tucked her head down on his chest again. “Maybe you’ll stay longer, like until New Year’s. After all, a Christmas love affair would logically last until New Year’s Day, wouldn’t it?”

The idea of staying longer held far too much appeal. “Love affairs and logic. I’m not so sure the two go together.”

Her lips brushed the side of his throat and her breath flowed across his skin. “I suppose they don’t. And I’m sure you have important things you need to be doing in Montedoro, so I’m going to be happy with what I can get. The rest of today and four more days. Maybe five. Too short, but so very sweet.”

* * *

A little while later they made love again.

And then she cuddled in close to him and chattered away about all she’d been doing since she left him in Montedoro. She talked about her new friend, Tabby, whose family owned the diner across the street. And about the widow in the three-bedroom across the landing. She said that Viviana Nichols made the best cookies in the world.

“I love Viv,” she told him. “Her door’s always open and she’s easy to talk to. It’s already beginning to feel like I have a family here, you know? People I really like, good people I want to spend time with.”

He wasn’t surprised that she made friends so easily. She looked for the good in others and almost always seemed to find it.

Eventually, they shared a quick shower. He would have lingered to make love with her again, but he wanted to take her up to his place. So they put on their clothes and went up to the sixth floor.

“Wow,” Lucy said when he ushered her in the door. “I’d forgotten how big it is.” He’d brought her up to the apartment briefly when he’d first moved her to New York in October. “All these great windows. An open living space. A real, true New York loft apartment.”

“I’m so pleased you approve.”

She made a face. “It’s just too white, though.”

He said what the designer had told him. “Adds to the open effect.”

She shook her head, her green sweater drooping off one shoulder, making him want to reach out and slide it down even more—or better yet, to take it off her again. “It needs color. But I do like the art.” Large canvases, mostly modern abstracts in the vivid hues she so admired, covered the half walls that marked off the spaces: living, dining, kitchen, all large areas, each one flowing into the next. There were two bedroom suites on that floor—the master suite and a slightly smaller suite. Above, there was another bath, an office and a studio, along with two smaller bedrooms, one for his man, Edgar, when Edgar accompanied him, and one for his bodyguard.

Damien was about to take her up the wide steel staircase and show her the other floor when someone tapped on the door. He checked the peephole. “It’s Quentin and the food.” He let in the bodyguard and the man with the grocery cart full of meat, staples and produce from a nearby gourmet-food store.

Lucy smiled at the bodyguard, who gave her a respectful nod and then stood to the side so the deliveryman could carry the bags in from the cart and line them up on the kitchen peninsula. Once that was done, Dami signed the bill.

Quentin said, “I’ll show you out.” He ushered the deliveryman through the door and Dami shut it behind him.

Lucy began pulling things out of the bags. “Yum. Looks good. Is the chef coming soon?”

He came up behind her, drawn as though magnetized to her flesh, to her bright, joyous spirit. Just being near her made him feel electric with energy and heat. He clasped her hips and drew her back against him, lowering his mouth to the sweet-scented curve where her neck met her shoulder. “I am the chef.”

She turned in his arms and put her hands on his chest. “You can cook, too? I knew it.”

“Edgar cooks when I want him to, and brilliantly. But I left him in Montedoro this trip, so I’m on my own.”

She stepped out of his hold, scooped up a carton of milk and carried it to the refrigerator. “Come on, Your Highness. Let’s put the perishables away.”

He watched her move, so light and quick. Desire, stirred by simply touching her, flared higher. He thought what he shouldn’t be thinking: ways to keep her with him, to keep her close. Ways to have her for as long as he wanted her. Because he’d always been a junkie for sensation and she gave that to him—sensation. Pleasure. Excitement. The burning, false promise of continued delight. In recent years, there hadn’t been all that much that gave him the thrill he craved.

But Lucy did. Lucy, of all people. She gave it to him. She made him burn again, made him care. Made the world brim with color and happy laughter, with hunger and fire.

He kept reminding himself that she was his friend and he owed it to her to help her get whatever she needed—and what she needed wasn’t him. She had shining dreams and ambitious goals. He would only make her forget her dreams, distract her from her goals and leave her wiser in a bad way, hurt and disappointed.

“Dami. The groceries?” She sent him a glowing smile over her shoulder—and he was captured. Enchanted. Completely ensnared.

It was wonderful to feel this way.

His negative thoughts blew away. He decided to stop giving himself a hard time for taking her innocence, for not letting her go when she left him in Montedoro.

She wanted to be with him and he wanted to be right here with her. For now. He was making way too much of this, acting like Alex, his grim, thoughtful twin. He needed to stop that. Introspection, after all, had never been his strong suit.

There was no reason not to take this fine thing between them and go with it. At the moment, it was working for both of them. And who said it had to end badly? Of course he wouldn’t hurt her. He would never hurt her.

He reached into the nearest bag and pulled out a crusty loaf of bread and a tub of unsalted butter. As he put them away, he reminded himself that she understood the situation. She had no illusions about him. He’d made it clear that this was no more than a mutually satisfying holiday interlude, that this visit would be a short one.

He only wanted to be with her a little longer. Only four days. Maybe five....

* * *

Lucy went down to her apartment later to feed Boris. And then she went back up to Dami’s and spent the night in his bed. They made love for hours and it was beautiful. Making love with Dami was about as good as it got. She was so glad she’d chosen him to teach her about sex.

In the morning, she stopped in to check on Boris again and then took Dami over to the diner for breakfast. She introduced him to Tabby, who fanned herself and pretended she might faint when his back was turned. Quentin, the bodyguard, who was lean and sandy haired and mostly expressionless, came with them. He stood near the door, in front of the almost-life-size Virgin Mary and Jesus in the manger, where he could see the entire restaurant and keep Dami in view.

When they left, Lucy hugged Tabby and whispered, “Have a great time with that special guy tonight.”

Tabby whispered back, “I will. You, too....”

It was cold outside but clear, with piles of snow left against the curbs from yesterday. Dami suggested they do the usual Christmas-in-New-York things.

And they did. They went window-shopping on Fifth Avenue and ice-skated at the Rockefeller Center rink. Then his driver took them to Central Park, where they rode on the carousel and strolled the snow-covered paths. It was lovely. And nobody bothered them the whole day. Apparently, the paparazzi didn’t know yet that he was in New York. They even stood on the most romantic bridge ever, the cast-iron Bow Bridge over the lake, as the snow started falling again.

Dami kissed her right there on the bridge. His lips were cold at first. But they quickly grew warm. When he lifted his head, the snow caught on his thick black eyelashes.

“Merry Christmas, Dami.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Merry Christmas, Luce.”

She thought that right then she was as perfectly happy as she’d ever been. She knew it couldn’t last and she didn’t expect it to. Life wasn’t that way. Now and then there was great sweetness and if you were smart, you cherished the sweetness. You held it close and tasted it fully.

But nothing could stay sweet forever. The struggles came. They made you stronger. Even if they never were a whole lot of fun. You cherished the happy times, held them close to your heart to warm you and keep you focused on finding the joy again when things got tough.

That night he took her to a private party at a West Village hotel. They danced and they sat together on a white sofa and drank expensive champagne. He introduced her to the host and to a few other people he did business with in New York. It was all very glamorous and upscale and trendy. A great party, really.

But she had only a few days with Dami. She would have preferred to have been somewhere they could talk without shouting at each other. And then she spotted the photographer taking pictures of them.

Dami saw him, too. He leaned close. “Let’s go.”

“Great idea.”

Quentin appeared with her coat and bag. They were working their way through the crush toward the elevators when she heard a woman’s voice behind them. “Damien!”

The woman, tall and gorgeous with platinum hair, emerged from the crowd. She threw her arms around Dami and planted a big one right on his lips.

Dami laughed, a slightly weary sound. “Hello, Susie.”

Susie wrapped an arm around his neck. “How long are you in town?”

“A few days. And we were just—”

She shook a French-nailed finger at him. “You know it’s been much too long. Let’s go somewhere private and talk—or not talk. I can think of any number of interesting ways to pass the time.”

“As I was saying, we were just leaving.” Dami was no longer smiling. “Let me go.”

Susie gripped him tighter. She went further, reaching out her other arm and hooking it around Lucy so she had hold of both of them. “Who’s this?”

He repeated flatly, “Let go.”

Susie batted her eyelashes Lucy’s way. She smelled of expensive perfume and too many drinks. “Aren’t you a sweet little thing?”

Lucy gazed back at her patiently. She’d met a few women like Susie. Noah used to date women like her in the years before he found Alice. Beautiful, sexy women who liked to party. A lot.

“Oh, you are just too cute!” Susie hauled Lucy closer and cooed in her ear, “We could have a lot of fun, all three of us.”

At which point Dami had had enough.

He reached around Susie and snared Lucy’s hand as Quentin moved in behind the blonde, took her shoulders and lifted her neatly out of the way. Dami herded Lucy toward the elevators and Quentin took up the rear, leaving Susie behind.

* * *

Dami didn’t say a word during the ride back to the apartment building. Lucy kept quiet, too. He seemed pretty upset about the encounter with Susie and she wanted to give him a little time to cool down before trying to talk to him about it.

The driver let them off in front of the building. Dami took her arm then. Her heart lifted a little just to feel his touch. Quentin led the way up the steps and opened the door.

On the elevator, Dami pushed the button for the third floor. Apparently, they were staying at her place tonight. That surprised her a little. His was larger and not chockablock with sewing equipment. But then again, it didn’t matter to her where they stayed.

As long as they stayed together.

The elevator stopped. The doors slid wide.

“Hold it,” Dami said curtly to Quentin. His brusque tone surprised her. He was never curt, especially not with servants and the people who watched over him. Lucy sent him a questioning glance, but he stared straight ahead as he led her out of the elevator and over to her door.

He turned her to face him then, there in front of her door. His eyes were distant, not really connecting with hers. He brushed a cool hand along the side of her cheek.

Behind him the elevator doors stood open. Quentin waited within, shoulders back, legs wide, expression carefully blank.

“Dami, what—?”

He didn’t let her finish. “Good night, Luce.”

And then he turned and walked away from her, leaving her standing there staring after him in disbelief.