Wicked Christmas Nights. Leslie Kelly
him to do. He nodded once. He couldn’t keep Lucy here against her will. Nothing had changed; he’d taken his shot, and he’d lost.
But just for now.
Definitely. They’d been caught off guard, taken completely by surprise when they’d bumped into one another today. Now, though, he knew Lucy was living in Chicago. There was no longer any geographic reason for him to bow out. Nor was he young enough—angry and resentful enough—to let outside situations and demands make him walk away from her for a second time.
It was as if she’d been delivered back into his life, like the best kind of Christmas gift. The one you never expected, didn’t realize you needed, but, when you tore off the paper, suddenly understood that it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.
No, he wasn’t about to let her get away again, but he knew the old saying about picking your battles. Lucy had her guard up, she was uncomfortable here on his turf and hadn’t had a moment to evaluate what all this meant to her. So he’d give her a few days to figure things out, then try again. And the next time he asked her to hear him out, he would not take no for an answer.
“Goodbye, Ross,” she said, not even turning around to face him. Her voice was soft, low, and he suspected she was trying desperately not to reveal her emotions.
He had to let her go. Had to trust that was the right thing to do in order to get her back.
“Goodbye,” he replied. “And Lucy?”
She hesitated, then glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“Merry Christmas.”
A brief hesitation, then a tiny smile widened her perfect lips. “Bah humbug.”
And then she disappeared out into the gray twilight.
IT USUALLY TOOK twenty minutes to get to the nearest branch of her bank. But today, Lucy was dealing with Friday evening, holiday weekend, impending-blizzard traffic. So she didn’t reach the drive-thru until right before they closed at seven.
Thick flecks of white started to appear on the windshield of her Jeep as she waited in the long line of cars. New York got the white stuff by the foot, but here, the Snow Miser seemed to delight in sending wicked, bone-chilling winds along with his icy droppings. The flakes weren’t the sweet, delicate ones that gently kissed your bare face. These were big, sloppy and wet, landing like punches, instead.
Once she’d made her deposit, Lucy headed right home. Luckily she had believed the weatherman’s warnings and gone shopping yesterday. Having stocked up on chocolate, Diet Coke, and DVDs, she looked forward to a weekend inside, chomping on junk food, watching disaster movies, and shopping online.
Her trip home was difficult, even though the Jeep had 4-wheel drive. Her main concern was seeing through the swirling blanket of white in front of the windshield. Chicago was usually a bright city, even at night; yet this kind of snowstorm didn’t reflect the light the way some did. It instead sucked it in, making streetlights hard to see.
It took almost two hours. By the time she arrived at her apartment building, she was not only cold and tired, she was actually jumpy from having been so on-alert.
Once inside her place, she wrenched off her coat and headed for the bathroom. A hot bath sounded like the perfect way to de-stress. She promised herself that, once in that bath, she would not spend one minute thinking about Ross. Or about that kiss.
Why did you have to go and kiss him back?
Probably because she’d been curious, wondering if her memories had been faulty. Could their brief relationship really have been as intense as she’d told herself it was? Had every other man she’d been with really paled in comparison, or was it wishful imaginings of the one that got away?
That kiss had answered all her questions: she hadn’t imagined a damn thing.
“Stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself as she got into the tub. the hot water stung her skin at first, but she welcomed the sensation, welcomed anything that would take her mind off the man she’d been kissing just a couple of hours ago.
It didn’t work. Ross became more prominent in her thoughts. Not just the Ross of today, but the one she’d known before. The guy with whom she’d been so incredibly intimate.
The warmth, the fragrance of the bubble bath, the darkness of the room, lit only with candlelight—all seduced her. The sensation of water hitting every inch of her—between her thighs, caressing the tips of her breasts—made all her nerve endings leap up to attention.
But when it came to really turning her on, her brain did the heavy lifting. It was too easy to remember the magical feel of his hands on her body, the sweet, sexy way he kissed, the groans of pleasure he made when he came.
Her hand slid down, scraping across her slick skin, teasing the puckered tip of one breast. The contact sent warmth spiraling downward, until her sex throbbed. Her eyes closed, her head back, it was easy to think his hands were on her, his fingers delicately stroking her clit until she began to sigh.
She gave herself over to desire, and let her mind float free. Memories gave way to imagination and her body, starved of physical connection for many months—since she’d left New York—reacted appropriately. Before too long, a slow, warm orgasm slid through her. She sighed a little, quivering and savoring it. But the deliciousness went away far too quickly.
It just couldn’t compare to the real thing. To Lucy, getting off had never been the point; it had been sharing the experience that she loved. And she couldn’t deny it, even after all these years, after the silence and the regret, she wanted to share that experience with him.
She quickly finished her bath, replaying the day’s events as she washed her hair. As she thought everything over, including the way she’d tried to skulk out of the building when his back was turned, something started to nag at the back of her brain. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, just feeling like there was something she had forgotten. Something important.
It wasn’t until she was dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats, with her hair wrapped in a towel, that she realized what it was. “Oh, no!” she yelped.
Lucy ran to the living room of her apartment, seeing her purse on the table. Alone. “You idiot!”
Because, though she hoped and prayed she’d just forgotten to bring it in from her Jeep, she seriously feared she’d left her most precious possessions at the Elite Construction office: her camera bag and her very expensive specialty lenses.
She perched on a chair, trying to picture every moment. She remembered putting her equipment down on Santa’s seat before leaving with Stella. When she’d returned, she’d seen Ross. Desperate to get away without being seen, she’d hurried onto the elevator. Without stopping to grab her camera bag and lens case.
“Damn it,” she snapped, trying to decide if this was just bad or catastrophic. She had some big jobs lined up next week. Monday’s was with a very wealthy family, who wanted to sit for a holiday portrait at their home. They were the kind of people who could really give her a leg up with the Magnificent Mile set.
Unfortunately Lucy remembered what Stella had said about the Elite office: after tonight, they’d be shutting down until January.
She glanced at the clock—almost ten. Then out the window. The snow still fell steadily, but it appeared the wind had died down some. She could actually see down to the parking lot, could make out cars slowly driving by on the main street, which had been plowed, though the lot itself hadn’t been.
If the office was downtown, or as far away as the bank, she probably wouldn’t risk it. But it was close, maybe two miles. And the security guard could still be working. There was no guarantee that would be the case on Monday, especially if the whole city was snowed in until then.
Of course, if that happened, her own portrait appointment could be canceled as well. But if it weren’t—if the weatherman had overestimated this time, and everything