Nickolai's Noel (6 page)

“No. You’re right.”

He smoothed her hair back and cupped her cheek. “I can drive on that icy interstate. I can drive on any ice. But the man on the news said it is closed and against the law. I don’t like to break the law.”

“Oh, my, no,” Noel said. “We can’t have that. But where
will
you go?” She dropped her eyelashes.

He tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “We’re going to make love. You know that, don’t you?” He lowered his face until their noses met.

“I suspected.” And she took his hand and led him through the warren of rooms that made up her shop, each warmer and homier than the last.

But if he’d thought the shop rooms felt homey, when they ascended the stairs and entered Noel’s apartment, he felt like he’d
come
home.

And he’d never been home before.

• • •

Noel had never done such a thing, and it was unlikely that she ever would again, but there wasn’t an army ever mustered that could have stopped her from sleeping with this man. The way she saw it, they were in a magical Christmas snow globe where any fantasy was possible. By tomorrow, the ice would be melted and magic with it; they’d go back to their real lives—she’d be quilting and selling thread, and he’d be scoring goals and living his rich, famous life.

But for now, the world was quiet on this Christmas morning, and she was going to let herself have the best Christmas gift she’d ever had.

In her fantasy, he would have picked her up, taken her to the bed, and ravished her without further ado, but clearly Nickolai was a patient man—though there was no doubt he wanted her. Even as he paused to take in her little living room, smiling as he ran his hands over the books on the built-in shelves and pictures on the mantle, he looked at her like no man ever had. If a look could be X-rated, his was.

“I like your room. Very cozy.” After looking at the tiny pine tree she’d decorated with the quilted ornaments she’d made as a teenager, he moved to stand over the rose chintz club chair where she sat to read and sew. It was the only place in the apartment that she hadn’t tidied before leaving. A mess of thread and notions spilled out of the basket on the ottoman, and the little lap quilt she used for warmth was thrown haphazardly over the chair back. There was even a half-empty cup of cold tea on the side table. He held out an arm. “Come to me.”

And she did. He pulled her back against his front and blatantly pressed his erection against her bottom. “You feel my desire for you?” he kissed her neck.

“Mmm.” And, scarcely believing her daring, she rolled against him. After all, this was her Christmas present.

“And soon I will feel your desire for me.”

No doubt. It was there in full force, wet and trembling, ready for discovery. Noel would have turned in his arms then, but he tightened his backwards embrace. “You were sewing something here in this pretty chair?” Even those words sounded sensuous against her ear.

“Yes. Tiny project.” Unlike his “project”—the one that still seemed to be growing against her. “It’s a little wall hanging for Emory’s wedding.”

“She will like it.” He stroked the soft wool of her skirt and then began to pleat it upward until the hem reached mid-thigh, and he slipped his hand underneath. She cursed herself for putting on tights. But it didn’t seem to matter. He was mostly interested in her hip right now anyway, resting his large hand there for a few long seconds before slowly beginning to circle. He kissed the back of her neck and then let his face rest in the curve of her shoulder. “Emory has a diamond ring the size of an ice cube.”

Merciful heavens. There was something maddeningly wonderful about his seductive, slow touches mixed with conversation that could take place between a preacher and his grandmother. Maybe she would try that herself. She reached up and stroked his neck before responding to his comment.

“Close to, I guess. As soon as they reconciled in New York, Jackson rushed her right over to Tiffany and bought it.”

He ran his tongue over her ear and sucked the lobe. “Do all American women hope for a ring such as that?”

“No. Emory least of all. I think, as you say, it nourished Jackson’s spirit to give to her.”

“Maybe.” He finally turned her in his arms, working her skirt up as he went, and pressed his erection against the crotch of her tights. “You listened to what I said and remembered. That makes me want you even more.” With his increasing passion, his accent became more pronounced. “And I want you quite a lot. You want me as well, Noel?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

He explored her mouth with a long, lazy plunder.

“Where do you want me?” He began to sprinkle kisses up and down her jaw, neck, and cheeks. “Here on this sofa? Maybe on the kitchen table? Or in the Jacuzzi tub? Or on your bed?”

All of that sounded good. “Well, I don’t have a Jacuzzi, but I
do
have a bed.”

And he lifted her in his arms. He must have had a bed-locating sixth sense because he took the door to the bedroom when he could have easily chosen the one to her office/sewing room.

He laid her on top of the wedding ring quilt that she used as a coverlet and stroked her calves as he looked around.

“A perfect room for my Noel. Happy colors and soft, pretty things everywhere—a room that holds its arms out to lovers, no?” He slipped his hands up to her inner thighs, where he stroked for a full minute. When she shifted to urge his hands higher, he said, “No. Impatience for more will rob you of the pleasure of this.” And he slid his hands to her hips and back down to her thighs again and again and again until she savored that and only that.

She embraced the feeling and let herself bask in each stroke until she felt Nickolai’s weight on the bed.

“Come,
lyubimaya
—sweetheart.
Come sit with me this way.” And he pulled her to straddle his lap. “Now, I will undress you a little.” He pulled her red cashmere sweater over her head and buried his nose in it. “It smells like you. Apples and cookies?”

“Apple vanilla. I buy my soap from Fleur at Natural Beauty.”

“You are a natural beauty.” He stroked her cheek. “Not so much makeup.” He smiled and pulled her cotton turtleneck out of the waistband of her skirt. “I didn’t know when I took your sweater that there would be more of you to unwrap.”

Noel raised her arms and, before he had her shirt completely off, he gasped with surprise and thrust his groin against her. She lowered her arms and smiled at him with satisfaction. Noel had decided long ago that even though she was only an A-cup, her bras were always going to be beautiful and sexy—even if she was the only one to see them. She was particularly proud of the red, translucent, La Perla bra she wore today.

“My Noel is full of surprises, under her clothes and in these sheets.”

He took his time, visually feasting on the sight before him, and his eyes grew heavy with passion. Noel had felt foolish for spending so much on such a little wisp of lace and silk. No more. He licked his bottom lip, and his mouth settled into a sultry smile.

“You are a little fire devil, I think. If I were less of a man, the sight of that would have ended things quickly. But lucky for us, I have great control—on ice and off. Now, I touch.”

And he laid her back on the pillow and did exactly that, caressing the underside and the tops before settling a large hand on each breast to stroke and squeeze.

“Ochen krasivaya.
Very pretty,” he muttered, and she got the idea he wasn’t talking about the bra this time. “I thought to take your bra off now, but I have to ask. Is there something matching on the bottom?”

Noel looked up at him and dropped her eyelids. “Might be.”

He laughed. “Then I change the plan.”

“Maybe it’s time for something else to come off, though.” Noel sat up and pulled his Henley over his head—and was met with a surprise of her own. “You’re hurt!” She tentatively touched the saucer size bruise on his chest.

“Meh.” He looked down. “Not so much. And I know what heals.” He pulled her toward him until her nipples barely touched his chest. “This was a good idea.” And he began to move, caressing her nipples with the warmth of his chest.

The sensation was incredible almost to the point of paralyzation—but only almost. She grew bold—and why not? This was a one-time occurrence—and began to move her hands up and down his powerful torso and across his back.

“You are good for me.” He moved to his knees and ran his tongue slowly along the band of her bra and back again. Then he trailed down her stomach, licking and nipping as he went. For someone who had been intent on going slow and savoring, he divested Noel of her skirt and tights in quick order.

Then he rocked back on his heels. “Turn on your side. Let me look at you.”

Concentrating on showing off her pretty, ruffled bikini briefs with the crystal embroidered lace, and trying to forget that her less than voluptuous body was on display for this Greek god of a man, Noel did as he asked. In a comical little move, she put a hand on her hip, thrust one leg forward, and gave him an exaggerated come-hither look.

He laughed and stroked the little ruffle on her bottom. “I expected a thong, but this is so much better—so Noel.”

“
Joyeux Noel
?”

“
Très Joyeux
.”
He gave her a little, evil smile.
“There’s not much chance you’d let me take your picture with my phone, is there?”

“No!” She burst out laughing.

He shrugged. “I thought not. I had to ask.” He drew her to him, very, very close this time. “Then you’ll have to show this to me in person, long and often. Can you do that for me, sweet Noel?”

“I can.” But she knew it would never happen. Magic like this only happened in a snow globe, and snow globes didn’t last forever. Already missing him, she pressed against his body even closer and tightened her arms around him.

Nickolai trembled, moaned, and something changed, the lightness turning to intensity. He stood, reached into his pocket, and threw a foil packet on the nightstand. Then he removed his jeans and stood there, a solid column of glory and power.

She sighed at the beauty of him and held out her arms. In one liquid moment, he scooped her up, threw back the covers, and landed on the mattress with her on top. “These have been a delight, but they have served their purpose.” And he peeled off her underclothes, licking, sucking, and caressing as he went. “Now, we will be naked together.”

And they were. Nickolai might play a fast-moving sport on ice, but in bed, he was slow, thorough, and very, very proficient. For what must have been close to an hour, they moved together, discovering each other’s bodies—and Noel learned quite a bit about her own. Without reserve, he rolled his throbbing penis against every part of her body, all the while thrilling her with his hands and mouth, whispering how much he wanted her. In turn, she grew bolder with her hands and mouth, and he showed her how to please him. She was rewarded as he moaned and praised her skill, sometimes lapsing into breathless Russian with a bit of French thrown in. She didn’t have to understand the words to know what he meant.

Noel might have reached her peak at a dozen or more times, but he always sensed it, pulled back, and brought her down again—only to take her back. She was desperate with need and shocked to learn that such need existed.

“Please,” she whispered against his ear as he suckled her rock-hard nipples, and she stroked his engorged penis. “I can’t stand any more.”

“You ache?” His fingers danced between her legs, and she shuddered. “I ache, too. It’s sweet pain, but yes. Is time.”

He reached for the packet on the nightstand and turned her on her back. “One last taste.” He brought his mouth to her most private place—again. This time, she thought she would come, but he pulled back just in time.

Then he slowly entered her, and she felt complete.

“Tight. Hot. Good.” And he began to move, sometimes almost withdrawing completely, sometimes driving farther in and urging her to move harder and faster.

Every stroke was a surprise and a journey of perfect pleasure.

Finally, he looked into her eyes and partially withdrew. “Lift yourself to me, Noel!” he commanded.

And when she did, they both peaked and collapsed, calling each other’s names.

They lay together for a minute before Nickolai scattered her jaw with kisses, muttering something that might have been English, Russian, French, or some kind of devil’s cant.

Then he withdrew and smiled, looking for all the world like a little boy hoping for a cookie. “Was good?”

“Was good,” she confirmed.
“Très
good.”

“Mmm.” He closed his eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

What had she done?

After staring at Nickolai’s perfect sleeping form for a full fifteen minutes, Noel smoothed his messy black curls away from his face. She had made a mistake—one she could never come back from. This was no gift to herself; this was begging for a lifetime burden. There could never be anything like this again with anyone else. Who could have guessed that this one thing that was supposed to be only physical pleasure could have taken her to a place where she cared too much?

And she knew no matter how sweet his words, they were only that. Saying them didn’t make him bad or a liar; they just made him a flirt, and she’d known that going in. But there would be no jersey forthcoming, no “long and often” viewing of her underclothes, and no chance that she would ever recover from this.

Nickolai woke to the smell of bacon frying and a feeling of perfect contentment. That was a first—the contentment, that is. He smelled bacon at Cracker Barrel all the time. He sat up and looked around. This bedroom was smaller than his, but it was also better. The only thing wrong with it was that Noel wasn’t there anymore. But that was okay because she was cooking bacon, and not just any bacon—bacon for him. He couldn’t remember anybody ever cooking bacon for him unless they were being paid to do it.

Maybe he shouldn’t, but he felt very comfortable in this room with its lace curtains, fancy pillows, and blue-flowery wallpaper covered in blurry little pictures and mirrors.