The Spy Who Saved Christmas (12 page)

Reid lay on the bed, fully clothed. “I already washed. That’s clean water for you,” he said, and turned to the wall.

As if that made her feel more comfortable. She stared at his wide back for a second. To take off her clothes or not, that was the question. His presence was impossible to ignore. The awareness of him in the room sent tingles across her skin.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
They had some leftover chemistry, they made a good temporary team, but what they had was nothing special. He’d all but spelled that out for her. Anger that was becoming familiar filled her little by little. Good. At least that was a safe emotion when she was around him.

She took off her coat. Pulled off her bulky sweater. Hesitated on the long-sleeved T-shirt. Then realized she hadn’t had a shower in two days. She yanked the T-shirt off, then her bra, washed as quickly as she could before she dressed again with lightning speed. Then she put the basin on the floor, stripped below the waist and washed the rest of her body, careful not to soak her bandages on her ankles and wrists.

When she was done, she took the water outside, almost dumped it right in front of the door, but realized that it would freeze by morning, so she took it over to the side where nobody would slip on it. When she went back in, she locked the door behind her.

Reid had turned off the generator earlier, but the fire lit the place sufficiently, so she didn’t miss the overhead lights. He still lay with his back to her.

She took a tentative step closer. “Where do I sleep?”

He shifted closer to the wall, leaving a foot-wide space on the bed.

She glanced at the floor. Cold and hard. Then thought of the fold-up beds in the shed. They were freezing cold. And probably the winter residence of all the spiders who’d gone into hiding from the cold weather.

“We’ll rest a couple of hours, then get on the road around eleven. That should get us to the bridge in time,” he said without turning.

She sat on the side of the bed. The mattress was still warm from his body. She ignored the yearning that unfurled low in her belly. “What if we oversleep?”

“I don’t oversleep.”

“Would you set an alarm anyway?”

He pulled out his cell phone and did. “Just so you can rest. Stop worrying.”

Good advice. If only she could take it. She lay down with her back to him, her feet still on the floor. When she felt comfortable with that, she pulled her feet up. They stayed like that, quiet in the darkness, listening to each other breathing. Then she could feel the mattress shift as he turned onto his back behind her.

“Do you realize that we have two kids together and this is the first time we ever shared the same bed?”

That so did
not
help her relax. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said drily.

He gave a low chuckle. “It wasn’t my hopes that you used to get up, back in the old days.”

She flushed crimson. She was the mother of two. She was a cleaver-wielding, tough-chick butcher, for heaven’s sake. She resented the whole pink-cheeked business. Thank God, he couldn’t see her face.

“I lusted after you pretty much from the get-go,” he admitted with a manly sigh.

And, although her face was still burning, she didn’t stop him from saying more.

“I walked over to see who was next door. You had your back to the door, using that industrial meat grinder, wearing that little red apron of yours, cinched around a narrow waist…plenty of curves above and below. Damn.” He clicked his tongue. “It was like walking into a fantasy. A centerfold operating heavy machinery.”

“Well, if you’re going to mock me—”

“You had your hair up, the sun coming in the window, hitting the sweet curve of your neck where a man would give anything to be able to press his lips against. Hell, I was ready to vault over the counter.”

“You didn’t.”

“You turned.”

“And I was a disappointment?” She braced for hurt feelings.

“Yes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. What did she care what he’d thought of her anyway?

“Way too young. I told myself I couldn’t come anywhere near you.” He gave a pained laugh. “We both know how long that lasted. I’m sorry, Lara.” He put a warm hand on her arm, just below her shoulder.

“What part did you regret the most, exactly?” she asked, annoyed, because she hadn’t regretted any of it.

To give him credit, he actually thought before he gave his answer. “Hard to say. Not the making love part, for sure. And the leaving part couldn’t be helped.” Then he added in a low voice, “I regret that I wasn’t someone else, the kind of guy who could have stayed and deserved you.”

That about melted her heart. She had to work hard to get to her anger. “Zak and Nate are not mistakes.”

“No.” His lips connected with the sensitive skin at her nape as he grazed her skin. “This is where that sunlight danced when I first saw you,” he whispered, then dragged his lips over the spot again.

She felt that touch all the way down to her toes. And had to realize that, as much as she’d matured and grown up over the last two years, she was still hopelessly out of her depth with this man, even if he didn’t mean anything by what he was doing. At best, he was only trying to comfort her.

“You cut your hair,” he said, his warm breath fanning her skin.

Electric currents ran down her spine. “It beats having to pull it up all the time or wearing hairnets.”

“I always thought you looked hot in a hairnet.”

“You were probably distracted by all that machinery I was operating.” A reluctant smile split her lips. “Hairnets don’t go with anything.”

“Then again, in a sexy hairnet, who needs other clothing?” His voice dropped some, its low tone making her want to melt back into his arms.

Her breath stopped as she caught herself.

Nothing good could come of something like this. Her first instinct was to run. But she had nowhere to go. She had to face him. She turned around slowly, reaching for her anger again, worried that it was becoming more and more difficult to find. “Are you kidding me? We’re flirting now? You’re coming on to me? Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Apparently not.” He drew a slow breath that made his wide chest rise in a most distracting way. Then he gathered her closer and kissed her lips.

She was so going to fight him this time.
Tooth and nail.

She fell into the kiss, into his heat and the comfort his body offered. She submerged herself in the oblivion of it all.

She was going to fight it…soon. Any minute now.

But the kissing went on for a good, long time before she slowly gathered herself. “No way.” She pushed him away at last. “This is not going to happen.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” She raised an indignant eyebrow and hoped he wouldn’t realize that she was faking all the bluster, that another touch, a single finger caressing her heated skin would likely do her in.

“I liked it better when you were all shy and innocent.”

“Is that how you remember me?”

“Yeah.” The flames from the stove reflected in his eyes, which looked dark-chocolate in this light. “But mostly, I just remember how hot you were and how hot and bothered you got me. Thank God for that baker’s apron. It hid a lot of embarrassing moments, if you know what I mean.” He gave a wicked grin.

Her cheeks flared again. At least her face was in the shadows. She needed a second to gather herself.
Don’t think tented aprons. Think something responsible. Think family.
“I was never shy. I take after Granny Jordan. I do what I have to. That was her motto.”

“The more I hear about her, the more I like her.”

That warmed her heart, since Granny Jordan had meant more to her than just about any other person in her family. “I don’t know what she would have made of you,” she admitted.

“Probably not much.” His face clouded over as he looked beyond her toward the fire. “Having done the things I’ve done. Sometimes you’re on a path, and you don’t realize how steep it is. Before you know it, you’ve rolled so damned far, you can no longer even see any other roads you could have taken. There’s such a thing as having gone too far for a turnaround.”

Something in his voice squeezed her heart and made her want to reach out to him. She didn’t. Silence stretched between them.

“You’re not what I remembered either,” she said at last.

He drew a slow breath and seemed to shake off the moment of melancholy, his lips tugging into a grin. “More handsome and wider in the shoulders?”

She ignored that, biting back a smile. “I had this gentle-giant thing going in my head. Great body, great tattoos, great bike, but a pastry chef at heart.”

He gave a deep chuckle. “I wish.”

“I never saw you wielding anything more dangerous than a wire whisk.” Might as well go for the full, embarrassing truth. “I always thought that had you lived, we would have fallen in love and gotten married, raised the twins together. In my fantasies, you were a doting father.”

“You fantasized about me?” Interest gleamed in his eyes.

“No. Just the father part, I mean.” She pressed her lips together and cast her gaze down. The dreams she used to have about him… She wouldn’t admit to those under torture.

“Uh-huh.”

“You know, it’s a miracle you, your ego and I can all fit on this bed.” She turned her back to him before he could read too much in her face.

He pulled her against him, back to front, and left his arm around her waist. “I fantasized a lot about you,” he said into her ear, in that bad-boy voice of his that used to drive her crazy.

Heat gathered instantly at the vee of her thighs. His hand dipped to her waist. Banked heat flared into flames. He nibbled her neck below her ear. And suddenly it was as if the past two years had never happened.

Warning. Warning. Proceed immediately to the nearest emergency exit,
an insistent voice said deep inside, but the rest of her failed to heed the alarm. In her mind, they were back in the bakery again. His scent was the same, the feel of his lips, the way he could unleash a fire storm inside her with a touch. When he gently turned her in his arms, she didn’t resist.

“We should be resting,” he mumbled against her lips, each word a caress.

“I’m too wired to sleep.”

“I could relax you.”

He was a cad. Totally incorrigible. But she didn’t seem to be able to hate him for that. Where was all that anger when she needed it? When had that seeped away? She felt naked and defenseless without it, even as her body cheered for the possibility of
naked.

He took her lips, gently but thoroughly, their bodies pressed tightly together. His arousal was unmistakable.

How many times had she dreamed dreams like this? A hundred, two? Only to awaken frustrated in the morning. Frustrated first, then heartbroken because memories of the call from the fire department would come next. The call that had informed her with regret that the two stores had burned. That one body had been found at the bakery.

But she knew now that it hadn’t been him. He was alive—really, really alive—in her arms. And while on a certain level she still felt hurt and resentment over the lies he’d told her, on another level there was nothing but pure relief. Then there was the level of lust. Sheesh, suddenly she had more levels than one of those underground parking garages in the city. And if she were smart, she would listen to that faint voice of sanity in her head and start circling right now for the exit.

Instead, she pressed even closer to him and lost herself in his kiss.

T
HE SMALL SOUND
of capitulation she made in the back of her throat nearly made him lose all control. He was blind with lust and need. But not so far gone that he wouldn’t remember who was in his arms and what losing all control could do to her.

Clearly, what he was doing was wrong—no matter how good it felt, no matter what a fantastic memory it would make, just the thing to pull out on a cold, lonely winter night. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to stop this,” he mumbled against her soft lips. “In a minute.”

Another kiss couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t all just for him. She had to get her mind off their troubles. She needed to relax a little.

Right. A humanitarian mission.
His conscience prickled. But the roar of need in his body drowned out every other voice in his brain.

Her long-sleeved cotton shirt sailed over her head before he knew what he was doing. She wore a plain cotton bra, with the barest of lace trim. Whoever had come up with the phrase
plain cotton
obviously hadn’t seen this little number.

So much blood was rushing south in his body that he was beginning to feel light-headed. He pressed his face into the soft valley of her breasts, hoping to catch his breath. Except that when he turned his head, through the thin material his lips grazed a nipple accidentally—at least, he thought accidentally—and he lost the ability to breathe altogether.

Then without any planning at all on his part, the nipple was in his mouth, and it was just as sweet as he remembered. Never had he wanted another woman as he wanted Lara Jordan. Not two years ago and not now. And going any further was a bad idea now, just as it had been back then.

Worse.

So he was going to stop. This very second.

His right hand, which went for her other breast, seemed to have missed that briefing.

Okay. Cut to the parting kiss. He moved his head up and claimed her lips. Then she moaned into his mouth, and he forgot that parting kisses were best kept short and sweet.

Who made that rule anyway? If a kiss was all he was going to get, he was going to get his money’s worth, a very insistent part of him—not his brain—reasoned. Then, while his lips were busy, his hands used the distraction to get into the action. Next thing he knew, her bra was AWOL. The little tease and his shirt must have run away as a team, because her hard nipples seemed to be pressing against his bare chest in a most enticing way.

He took a split second to look down. Yep. Amazing breasts. Skin to skin.

“Isn’t this a really bad idea?” she asked, looking sweetly dazed.