Hunk for the Holidays (27 page)

He got up, walked into the den, and sat down on the couch. His mind wandered back to the bar and Steve Mitchell, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that would be him in twenty years. A middle-aged, single guy stuck in a bar on Christmas Eve, trying to get in some lonely
woman’s pants. A guy who had nothing to look forward to over the holidays except a raunchy weekend in Vegas.

It was a pathetic thought.

The doorbell chimed, pulling him from his depressed musings. He stared in the direction of the front door for a few seconds, his mind tired and sluggish. On the second chime, he finally got up. He flipped on the entryway and porch lights, wondering who would be ringing his doorbell—he glanced at his watch—at ten thirty on Christmas Eve.

James threw open the door, expecting to find his nosy neighbor and her cats. Instead the sight that greeted him made his heart jump up to his throat.

Chapter Twenty-three

Cassie stared into James’s surprised eyes and felt like throwing up. This was a very bad idea. Especially when the warm surprise melted from his eyes and was replaced with hard, cold anger.

“Hi,” she said, and was really annoyed by how wimpy her voice sounded, especially when he continued to look at her as if she were a glob of dog poop on the bottom of his shoe.

She cleared her throat and tried to think of a good conversation opener. “Your luminarias look pretty. Mom and Dad usually just put up lights.” Figuring it probably wasn’t such a smart thing to bring up her father, she moved to another topic.

“I’m sorry I stopped by so late. It took me a while to find it.” She looked down at the Christmas tree she’d dragged up onto his porch and then back at James. His
dark expression hadn’t changed one iota, which caused her to ramble even more. “I know it’s not much, but it was the only one I could find. You were right.” She adjusted her grip around the trunk of the tree. “All the lots
were
closed down. Luckily, this one was left behind.”

He finally spoke. “What’s your point, Cassandra?”

Point? Darn, she had hoped she wouldn’t have to make a point. She’d hoped he would take one look at the tree and get what she was trying to say. It was a ridiculous fantasy. Why would James remember something she had said about a Christmas tree? A tree was a tree to him, certainly not a symbol of wanting to share your life with someone.

Which meant she would have to just come out and say it. Except Cassie had never been good at expressing her emotions. She could give orders and articulate her physical needs, but emotions were something else entirely.

She took a deep breath and released a fog of moisture into the frigid air. “So that thing I said about the one-night stand.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t really mean it.”

He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what did you mean?”

The tree might have been half-dead, but it was really heavy. She dropped the trunk and then set down the bag of decorations she’d gotten at the twenty-four-hour Walgreens. A gray cat lay in one corner of the porch with a leg hiked over its head, grooming a part of its anatomy that had Cassie taking a second look. She glanced back at James, who didn’t look the least bit more welcoming than he had a few seconds ago.

“What I’m trying to say is that I enjoyed the time I spent with you,” she blurted out. “I mean, it was fun.”

“Fun?” His arms dropped to his sides, which she took as a good sign.

“Actually”—she smiled—“it was more than just fun. It was… uh… well, it was…” She struggled to find the right words, but they just weren’t there. Instead of bringing a stupid tree, she should’ve brought an interpreter who understood incoherent idiots.

“Sorry,” James said. “But I don’t have time for this.” He nodded at the sheepskin jacket she wore. “So if you’ll just give me my coat.”

Cassie hadn’t planned on taking off the jacket until she’d had a chance to clear things up. But she couldn’t seem to get her feelings out verbally, so taking it off seemed like the next best thing. She glanced around, hoping no little children were peeking out their windows in hopes of seeing Santa before she flicked open the two buttons on the jacket. She pushed it off her shoulders and let it drop to the porch.

If she’d thought it was drafty before, it was nothing compared to how she felt when wearing nothing but her UGGs. The frigid air felt like a thousand tiny needles. Fortunately, it got the reaction she had wanted.

“Jesus!” James reached out and jerked her inside, slamming the door behind them. “Have you lost your mind? This is a family neighborhood.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, to hell with it!” She launched herself at him, pushing him back against the door.

James opened his mouth to protest, and she took the
opportunity to kiss him for all she was worth. She thought he was going to continue to fight her, but instead his hands closed around her waist and he jerked her closer as his lips molded to hers.

It seemed like a lifetime since she’d kissed him instead of only hours. But even hours was too long to wait for something as wonderful as kissing James. He kissed like it wasn’t a prelude to sex. He kissed like kissing was the beginning and the end. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he pulled back. But she didn’t give him time to change his mind. She grabbed his sweater and pulled it over his head.

James had the nicest chest. Not too muscular and not too skinny. She ran her hands over his rib cage and up to his pecs. They flexed against her palms, and she squeezed them as she pushed him more firmly against the door. She kissed him again, but this time he allowed it more than participated. Thinking he was ready to move on to other things, she undid the top button of his jeans and slid down his zipper, then reached under the band of his boxer briefs and encased him in her tight fist.

“Shit,” he breathed against her lips. “Your hand is cold.”

“Maybe I can warm it up,” she said as she stroked up and down his shaft.

He groaned and switched positions, pushing her up against the door. He didn’t waste any time getting to the heart of the matter. His hand moved down between her legs, and he stroked her a few times before slipping a finger deep inside. Then he jerked down his jeans and briefs
and hiked one of her legs around his hips. In one smooth thrust, he was deep inside her.

“Is this what you were after?” he panted against her ear as he pumped out his desire. “Is this the fun you were talking about?”

“Yes,” she breathed and tipped her head back. “Yes.”

It must’ve been the wrong answer. Because suddenly he wasn’t inside her anymore. Suddenly he was standing a few feet away, looking at her as if she were something that had just crawled out from under a rock.

“Get out.”

She blinked. “What? But I thought—”

“You thought you could come here and show a little skin and all would be forgiven.” He pulled up his jeans and struggled to zip them over his erect penis. “Well, you thought wrong, Ms. McPherson. But you seem to be doing that a lot lately. Like thinking that I’d be willing to sell a business I built from the ground up. And standing me up so you could run over to Steve Mitchell’s and take care of a little business. I think that pretty much defines our relationship. Business before pleasure.”

“But I—”

He tugged her away from the door and jerked it open. “Save it for someone who cares.” None too gently, he shoved her outside and slammed the door in her face.

Cassie stood there staring at it for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. The lock on the door clicked and so did Cassie’s mind.

He’d thrown her out? After she had spent the last three hours running all over town looking for a tree lot that was
open and had to Dumpster dive to get the tree she’d gotten, he’d thrown her out?

Ughhh!

She leaned down, jerked up the coat and put it on. Try naked! Aunt Wheezie should be shot. And so should she for listening to a ninety-year-old woman who probably hadn’t had sex since Reagan was in office. All naked had gotten Cassie was frostbite on some very private areas, splinters in her butt, and humiliation at the hands of an arrogant asshole.

She glared at the door and thought about beating on it until the asshole opened up so she could scream out her frustrations. How dare he reject her apology? Just who did he think he was? She turned and headed down the steps. Up and down the street, luminarias flickered. Normally, she would’ve enjoyed the beautiful sight. But now she wasn’t so sure that she didn’t hate Christmas.

All the mistletoe and eggnog and flickering lights could turn a perfectly normal woman into a crazy lovesick idiot. And she refused to suffer through a second more of it. She didn’t care if her father got angry with her; she didn’t want to go to midnight mass tonight or her parents’ house tomorrow. She was going home. Home to her lonely little condo with no Christmas tree. Hopefully, in another week, all this craziness would be behind her and her life would get back to normal.

She headed down the sidewalk to the spot where she’d parked her truck. She had just stepped off the curb when a deep voice had her almost jumping out of her UGGs.

“You know he’s Jewish, right?”

Cassie turned to the man who stood on the sidewalk in
flannel pajamas and a huge parka. A little white poodle sniffed around the man’s boots, almost disappearing in the snow.

“You scared me.” Cassie held a hand to her chest and, when she felt nothing but bare skin, jerked the lapels of the jacket closer together.

“Sorry,” the man said. “Just walking the dog.” He glanced down at the poodle. “I wanted a Rottweiler, but the wife was worried about it eating the kids.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I just didn’t want you to be too mad at the guy.” He glanced at James’s house. “He’s probably pretty sick of us trying to shove our holiday down his throat. Ms. Ellis insisted on the luminarias, and now you brought a tree.”

“James is Jewish?” What kind of person didn’t mention something like that? Especially when she’d gone on and on about getting a tree? Obviously, she didn’t know James Sutton at all.

The poodle lifted its leg on a luminaria, dousing the candle inside. The man tugged him away in midstream. “Maybe if you tried again without the tree, he wouldn’t slam—” He stopped and looked up, and even in the darkness, Cassie knew he blushed.

Great. If she wasn’t humiliated enough, she had now stripped for the neighbor. A neighbor who was stupid if he thought Cassie was going to try again. James had made it perfectly clear how he felt. She had apologized for the entire one-night-stand thing—or close enough—and if James wanted to hold a grudge for something her father did then she didn’t want him anyway.

“I like trees, though,” the man said. When Cassie’s gaze narrowed on him, he stammered. “I—I mean, if I
wasn’t… married with a family, I’d like trees. Because I used to like them… a lot.”

Somehow Cassie didn’t think they were talking about Christmas trees.

“Les?” A woman appeared around the hedge of tall juniper bushes. She wore flannel pajamas that matched her husband’s and a pink down jacket. “What’s an Allen wrench?” She waved a piece of paper. “And I think we’re missing some instructions—” She stopped and her gaze drifted over to Cassie, then down to her bare knees. Which set Les to jabbering and supported Cassie’s theory that he’d been thinking about something other than trees.

“This is a friend of Mr. Sutton’s, honey. She just stopped by to bring him a tree. But I guess he wasn’t at home.” Obviously, Les wasn’t willing to go into details about what he’d seen. “Well, it was nice talking with you.” He steered his wife down the sidewalk.

“But I thought Mr. Sutton was Jewish,” his wife said.

“Merry Christmas,” Les said as he tugged the poodle behind him.

“Merry Christmas,” Cassie called back, even though she wasn’t going to have one.

She reached for the handle of the truck and then stopped. Wait a minute. Why shouldn’t she have a Merry Christmas? Why should she let the actions of one jerk ruin her holiday? And why did she think that only couples and families could have a tree?

She had a tree. A little Charlie Brown tree that deserved a home.

Cassie whirled around and stomped back to the porch.
The gray cat was still sitting there grooming, this time its front paw. When she reached for the bag of decorations, it stopped and stared at her with one very spooky green eye.
Poor animal. What kind of a pet owner leaves their cat out in the bitter cold?

Tucking the bag under her arm, she picked up the trunk of the tree. It seemed to have gotten even heavier, which was strange considering she’d left behind half the needles when she dragged it down the steps. Taking a shortcut across the lawn, she headed for her truck.

She didn’t know what alerted her. The crinkle of a paper luminaria bag. Or the hiss of a flame as it caught fire. All she knew was that when she turned around, it was too late. No wonder Christmas trees were fire hazards. The little six-foot Scotch pine went up like a torch.

With a good foot of snow on the ground, everything might’ve been okay if not for the low-hanging branch of the maple tree. Did green wood burn? Her question was answered only seconds later when the branch caught fire. She watched a trail of flames zip up one branch to another.