Hunk for the Holidays (15 page)

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

“If you weren’t such an arrogant control freak, you wouldn’t be staggering around with all the bags.” She took a red scarf off a rack.

“Control freak?” He laughed. “Look who’s calling the kettle black. Just what would you call your personality? Reserved? Easygoing? Since the moment I met you, you’ve done nothing but give me orders.”

She turned on him. “And you haven’t listened once. I wanted to drive; you drove. I wanted to wear my hair up; you took my hairclip. I wanted to eat brats for lunch, and I ended up at a place that served dry fish tacos. I wanted to pay for those tacos, and you convinced the cashier not to take my money.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Now I ask you, who’s the worse control freak?”

He grinned, liking the way her eyes sparkled when she got angry. “You might have a point.” He reached out and smoothed a soft strand of hair back behind her shell-shaped ear. “But your hair’s too beautiful to hide in that clippie thing. And you just got finished telling me your father had triple-bypass surgery, so you should eat healthier. And you can’t blame me for the dinner tabs and driving. My mother drilled proper etiquette into my head from day one.”

“Let me guess, your mother is one of those perfect ladies who doesn’t burp, cuss, or open her own doors.” She flipped the scarf back and sorted through the other ones.

“Actually, she used to have burping contests with me and my friends and always won. I think it had something to do with her Diet Coke. And she cussed a blue streak when something set her off, but that wasn’t very often.”
He paused as a familiar pressure built in his chest. “As for doors… she had a husband who worked a lot and a son who didn’t think of his mother as a woman. So she had to open doors for herself.”

Once the words were out, he wanted them back. He didn’t like to talk about his mother. A therapist he had dated once told him that he suffered from repressed emotions. But repressed emotions were better than released pain, so he planned to continue to repress them for as long as he could.

Hopefully forever.

“So?” He tried to change the subject in hopes that Cassandra hadn’t caught his use of past tense. “What are you going to get your Aunt Wheezie? A case of whiskey?”

Unfortunately, nothing got past Cassandra McPherson. She turned away from the rack of scarves, her eyes concerned. “Is your mother still alive?”

“No.” Not wanting to look in her perceptive eyes, he studied the scarves. If he weren’t so weighted down with bags, he might’ve even tried one on. Anything to get on a different topic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I—I…” She fell silent.

“It doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago.” Except it didn’t feel like a long time ago. It felt like only yesterday. The loss. The pain. Especially with Cassandra standing so close.

“How old were you?” She reached out and touched his sleeve. The heat that sizzled through his body was immediate and reminded him it had been hours since he’d touched her. Early that morning, to be exact. It was all part of his plan to get her back to bed. Charm her first.
Tell her who he was. Then touch the hell out of her. The plan had been working well until he had put a damper on things by bringing up his mother.

“I had just started high school,” he said.

“So that explains it.”

Thinking she was still on the subject of etiquette, he nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right. Maybe most of my door opening and package toting has to do with trying to make up for all those doors I never opened for my mom.”

“True, but I was referring to your choice of careers.” She walked up to the sales counter and handed the red scarf to the clerk. While she rang it up, Cassandra turned back to him. “My friend Amy read this magazine article that said that men who lose their mothers early can be so traumatized that they hate women or, the opposite, end up dating a lot of them. It makes sense that your desire to be an escort stems from wanting to replace your mother.”

Cassandra had just handed him the perfect opportunity to set things straight. Unfortunately, the timing was all wrong. He didn’t want to tell her the truth in the middle of a department store with Burl Ives singing “A Holly Jolly Christmas” over the grumblings of frustrated shoppers. He wanted to tell her in a quiet restaurant after five or six drinks—and after all the eating utensils had been removed from the table. He wanted to tell her when her green eyes weren’t misted with understanding and compassion for a motherless escort.

Of course, now he didn’t have a choice. If he kept lying, he would really be an asshole.

“Actually.” He fidgeted with the handles of the bags as she handed the clerk her credit card. He waited for the woman to walk back over to the cash register before he continued. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not trying to replace my mother with women. You see… I’m really—”

“Oh. My. God.” Cassandra’s eyes widened. “You’re gay.”

The saleswoman stopped in midstride on her way back to the counter, confirming the fact that James had heard what he thought he’d heard.

“Gay?” A shopping bag slipped off his arm and hit the floor with a thud. By the time he bent to pick it up, Cassandra was already heading for the door.

“She forgot her scarf.” The salesclerk held the small bag out to him as she sent him a sympathetic look. “My brother-in-law is gay. Do you want his number?”

Ignoring the question, James grabbed the bag and chased after Cassandra. Once outside, he stepped around the Salvation Army Santa and his kettle and looked up and down the street. Cassandra was a good half a block away, heading for her condo instead of the parking garage where he’d parked his SUV. Obviously, she’d rather walk than be stuck in a car with her gay lover.

He turned and headed for the garage.

Gay? Where in the hell had she gotten gay? Had he fingered the scarves too much? Crossed his legs at lunch? Put on too much cologne? Shown too much enthusiasm over the black stilettos she’d stopped to look at? Of course, he had only himself to blame. If he’d been truthful from the beginning, she wouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusion.

It was something he needed to remedy as soon as possible.

After jogging to the parking garage, he beat her back to the condo. He parked the Land Rover in the lot in back and met her as she walked around the corner of the building.

“We need to clear some things up.” He stepped in front of her.

“I don’t want to talk right now.” She skirted around him.

“Stop, Cassandra.” He reached for her arm, but then thought better of it. “Please.”

The word “please” worked. She froze, then slowly turned back around. “It’s all right. Really, it is. I mean, you can’t help who you are. And you certainly couldn’t help what happened last night.” She blushed and looked away. “I mean, I practically—” Her hand fell limply to her side. “I just wish you’d told me sooner. And I really wish I would stop attracting guys who like my underwear better than I do.”

“Your underwear?”

“I realize I’m kind of a tomboy.” She tipped her head back and stared up at the cloudy sky. “But for God’s sake, can’t I, for once, attract an alpha man?”

“Would you listen to me, Cassandra? I’m not gay.” But it appeared she was no longer in any mood to listen. Since words weren’t working, he decided on action.

Slipping his hands around her waist, he pushed her up against the first garage door and lowered his mouth to hers. It was something he’d wanted to do for the last five hours. Kissing Cassandra was like diving headfirst into heaven. Or a place much warmer. Her lips were hot and
wet and devilishly delicious. Her tongue brushed against his, all slick and tempting. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the kiss. Allowed the heat of her mouth and the warmth of her fingers in his hair to stoke his desire before he pulled her closer. Close enough to feel the aching hardness beneath the fly of his jeans. Close enough to demonstrate his sexual preference.

At the feel of his hard evidence, she pulled back and looked up at him, all dazed and cute. “You’re not gay.”

“Nope.” He nipped at her bottom lip.

The garage door rumbled, and James quickly moved Cassandra out of the way as the door rolled up. Matthew stood on the other side in a pair of holey jeans and a Colorado State sweatshirt.

“What’s up?” he asked, although, by the smirk on his face, James figured he knew exactly what was up. And exactly what he had interrupted. But it was hard to be annoyed with Matthew when he was so friendly. “Hey, James. I’m glad to see you’re still around. I was just headed over to Patrick’s to shoot some pool. Why don’t you join us? Patrick’s ordering pizza.”

Any other time, James would’ve accepted the offer. He liked pool and pizza and enjoyed hanging out with the McPherson brothers. But tonight he had different plans. Plans that included only one other person—the woman who was still tucked beneath his arm, looking at him as if he were a big slice of pepperoni.

“Thanks, Matt,” he said, “but I’ve got other plans.”

But for all his boyish charm, Matthew turned out to be just as hardheaded and manipulative as the rest of the McPhersons.

“Suit yourself.” Matthew shrugged. “I’ll just tell Patrick that you’d rather have sex in the parking lot with our sister.”

“Matthew McPherson!” Cassandra finally snapped out of her daze. “Don’t you dare!”

Matthew looked over at James and innocently cocked his head. “So you want pepperoni or sausage?”

Four slices of pizza and what felt like fifteen games of pool later, James finally had Cassandra alone. Not exactly as alone as he’d like, but being in a park in the middle of downtown Denver was better than being in a small condo with her two brothers.

“You had better think twice before you throw that,” he warned, as he stood calf-deep in the snow.

The dark-haired beauty in the green parka didn’t blink as she pulled back her arm and launched a snowball straight at his head. He ducked, but not fast enough to completely escape. The ball smacked him on the forehead, dusting him with icy powder. He shook his head and growled a warning before he charged after the giggling woman who had decided escape was the better part of valor.

James caught Cassandra beneath a large evergreen and easily pulled her down. The striped knit hat she wore had slipped down to her nose. She pushed it back and looked up at him with laughing eyes that melted everything inside of him. Including any thought of revenge.

“Did you realize we keep ending up in the snow?” He brushed the icy chunks off her cheeks.

“And I seem to always be on the bottom.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why is that?”

He rolled with her until she was smiling down at him, framing them both in miles of thick black hair. “Better?”

“Much.” She leaned down and kissed him. Not a quick peck like the one he’d given her the first time they’d ended up in the snow, but a long, deep kiss that ended with heavy breathing and two very aroused bodies.

“I’m beginning to believe that you have a thing about being on top,” James rasped.

“Maybe.” She ran her tongue over his bottom lip and nibbled on it. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“God, no,” he groaned. “But the people walking by may have a problem with it. Especially if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” she teased, her gaze giving him the exact come-and-fuck-me look he was talking about.

His plan of holding off on sex until he could tell her who he was didn’t seem like such a good one anymore. He should’ve told the truth when he’d had the chance. But the entire gay thing had screwed him up and then her brother had shown up—shit, who was he fooling? The truth was that he was too scared to tell her. Scared that when she found out he’d been lying to her she would send him packing and he would never get to see her naked again.

Or even clothed.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” He rolled her back over, then got to his feet and pulled her up. “I’m freezing. Let’s go find something hot to drink.”

“I have coffee and hot chocolate at my place.” She tugged on his jacket until her lips were inches from his. “Let’s go back there.”

“How about Starbucks?” he suggested, thinking a
public place would be much better for springing the truth on her. If she was going to react the way he thought she would, he might need witnesses.

“Are you afraid I’ll take advantage of you if we’re alone?”

He closed his eyes for a second, reliving exactly how well she took advantage. Unfortunately, there was the little problem of the truth that needed to be brought up before anyone took advantage of anyone.

He took her hand and led her down the path toward the street. “I think Starbucks is better.”

“My place.” She leaned in to him and dropped her head to his shoulder. The soft yarn of the hat tickled his chin. The woman knew how to get her way.

“Okay, your place.”

They walked without talking, which was another thing James liked about her. Unlike most women he knew, Cassandra didn’t have a problem with silence. If she didn’t have anything important or pertinent to say, she didn’t say anything.

The night was cold but clear. The sidewalks had been shoveled, but were still slick in spots. James knew the area. He had dined at the restaurants, had gone to a Colorado Rockies game, and had been to the Performing Arts Center with some woman whose name he couldn’t remember. But tonight trumped all those other nights. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he was in the right place at the right time.

As they came around the corner of Cassandra’s condo, two drunk college-age men stumbled down the side street, singing a raunchy rendition of the “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

“Eight maids were doing what?” James asked.

“Never you mind.” Cassandra punched in the security code to her garage, then took his hand and pulled him under the opening garage door. “The only maid you need to worry about is me.”

They had barely reached the top of the stairs when her phone began to ring. She ignored it and turned to kiss him. James had just slipped a hand over her breast when the answering machine clicked on.