What She Wants for Christmas. Janice Kay Johnson
young even to learn how to stay in line, never mind how to pirouette.”
“I remember those days.” Oh, boy, did she. “Ragged rows of little girls—and an occasional boy whose friends hadn’t yet persuaded him it was unmanly to dance. Usually there’d be a couple who had some vague idea what to do, and one or two sucking their thumbs, frozen in terror. The rest would just kind of wander around.”
“One of my nieces was a thumb sucker. We have it captured for all time on videotape.”
“You sound like a fond uncle.”
His big shoulders moved uneasily, as though he didn’t know how to take compliments. “Yeah, I guess so. Tell you the truth, I’ve tried to stand in for Rebecca’s first husband and Jess’s ex. Neither of them was any great shakes as a parent. Alan especially—Rebecca’s boy—needed a man around sometimes. Before Rebecca remarried of course. I, uh, didn’t mind.”
Okay, so he hadn’t been bored; he liked kids. Definitely husband material. Except that he couldn’t be as good as he looked. Otherwise, why wasn’t he married? Teresa didn’t believe in that “waiting for the right woman” stuff. Just like animals, humans reached an age when they were ready to mate. Occasionally that urge got sidetracked—it often happened to vet students, because they were too busy and too tired for the dating rounds. But Joe must be in his mid-thirties at least. So what had he been doing, instead of marrying?
“How old are you?” she asked.
He looked startled, but answered willingly enough. “Thirty-six. You?”
“Thirty-five. And yes, before you count back, I had Nicole before I started veterinary school. I must have been nuts. Fortunately, while Tom may have had his flaws, he was a great father. We did wait to have Mark until I was done with my schooling, though.”
“Does Mark even remember his father?”
“Yes, but his memories are fading,” she said with sharp regret. “He was in his second day of kindergarten when I had to meet him at the bus with the news that his dad was dead. It’s natural that he’ll forget him. I mean, all you have to do is think back. If you’re like me, you can hardly remember your kindergarten days.”
“I remember them.” Before she could begin to speculate about what his flat tone meant, he added, “That must mean you just passed the anniversary of your husband’s death. Does it still hit you hard?”
“It has before, but not so much this year.” She made a face. “I was so damned mad at a farmer who decided he didn’t really need a vet when he saw me get out of the car, it carried me through the day.”
His mouth had an odd twist. “Anger is a useful emotion.”
“Mmm.” All she had to do was remember the days after Tom’s death. “Very.”
Joe glanced at his watch. “Still in the mood for a movie?”
“You bet. I even looked at the listings in the paper. I don’t suppose you like sword and sorcery?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Swordplay usually leads to some blood and gore. Don’t I remember that being forbidden?”
“It’s different from a contemporary shoot ’em up,” she tried to explain. “Less realistic. In a fantasy, the blood doesn’t count.”
He loomed above her as he helped her out of her chair. More of that sense of being fragile and feminine that she usually hated. “I think you’re splitting hairs,” he said in amusement.
“Swirling capes and galloping horses are romantic.”
“The truth comes out! All women want is romance.”
She had to ask. “Is there something wrong with romance?”
Their eyes met, held. Her skin tingled. “No,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with romance.”
The other patrons and the hovering waitress blurred; for a heartbeat, only the two of them existed. Then she blinked, or he did, and the moment passed. He was laying some bills on the table, thanking the waitress, holding out Teresa’s sweater for her. Slipping her arms into it, Teresa gave her head a small shake. Had she imagined the intensity of that look?
Then Joe’s eyes met hers again, and she thought, No. I didn’t imagine it. Why else was he so wary now?
Her dates in recent years had taken her to French restaurants and the symphony and the opera. When half an hour later she settled into the plush seat at the movie theater, her upper arm just brushing Joe’s, Teresa decided this was more romantic, no matter what movie was projected onto the big screen.
The lights were already dimming; she was very conscious of the man so close beside her. She felt his every breath, knew when he glanced at her, even though she pretended to watch the previews. Would he put his arm around her? She would have liked to lay her hand on his thigh. Her eyes and the nearly forgotten recesses of her memory told her it would be solid, bulky. The muscles might ripple under her touch.
She swallowed hard, disconcerted by the strength of her longing. What was wrong with her?
Joe reached out and took her hand. She jumped, and he whispered, “Sorry,” and started to let her go.
She grabbed his hand and held on. His went still for a surprised moment, then relaxed and returned her clasp. He exhaled what might have been a chuckle.
Then he lifted their clasped hands and laid them on his thigh. Oh God, had he read her mind? He shifted in his seat, and the muscles under the fabric of his pants bunched. Teresa sat motionless, taking in every sensation. Heaven.
It wasn’t Joe in particular, she told herself in panic; it couldn’t be, not so quickly. He must just represent something to her—solidity, masculinity, a calm reassuring presence. A sexy body, honesty made her add; a sensual mouth, hands that knew how to touch a woman. In other words, a man. She’d turned into that pathetic creature, a sex-starved widow who’d take whatever she could get.
Well, no. She’d had other chances to take, and turned them down. This was the first time she’d been tempted to grab and hold on. Literally and figuratively. So maybe it was Joe. Maybe him in particular, or because he represented whatever she’d been looking for when she bought into the White Horse Animal Hospital and practice.
It might be fun to find out.
Eventually Joe let her hand go, and she made a tiny noise of disappointment she prayed he hadn’t heard. But apparently he’d only released her so that he could put his arm around her shoulders. Now he tugged her closer to his warmth. Of course, the arm of the theater seat dug into her rib cage, but who was noticing? The feel of his mouth against her hair was far too tantalizing.
After a while, he murmured, “Ever necked in a movie theater?”
She sneaked a glance around to make sure no one had sat near them. Only a few others were scattered throughout the theater. The movie had been out for weeks and was probably about ready to disappear from Everett. Nobody was nearby at all.
“Not since I was young enough for a curfew.”
“Me, neither. Want to pretend we’re too young and horny to wait until we can find a deserted side road?”
Pretend. Oh, sure. She could do that. “Why not?” she whispered, and turned her head to meet his mouth. Pure excitement shot through her. It added eagerness and urgency to their kiss from the moment his lips claimed hers.
They kept it discreet. Nobody moaned or whimpered. Joe didn’t rip her clothes off or throw her down onto the sloping aisle. Not, as far as she was concerned, for lack of wanting. After the first few seconds, pretty much anything would have been fine with her. Which was, when she thought about it for a fleeting moment, alarming. What was happening to her?
Whatever it was, it felt good. His hand brushed her breast, cupped it. His teeth grazed her neck. She nipped the lobe of his ear. She tasted the skin at the base of his