All I Want for Christmas Read online

  "Is that right?" He leaned on the truck, measuring her. Her smile was entirely too friendly, he decided. Entirely too attractive. "Is it part of your job description to make house calls with sheet music?"

  "It's part of the fun." Her hair ruffled in the light breeze. She scooped it back. "No job's worth the effort or the headaches if you don't have some fun." She looked back at the house. "You have fun, don't you? Taking something and making it yours?"

  He started to say something snide, then realized she'd put her finger right on the heart of it. "Yeah. It doesn't always seem like fun when you're tearing out ceilings and having insulation raining down on your head." He smiled a little. "But it is."

  "Are you going to let me see?" She tilted her head. "Or are you like a temperamental artist, not willing to show his work until the final brush stroke?"

  "There's not much to see." Then he shrugged. "Sure, you can come in if you want."

  "Thanks." She started up the walk, glanced over her shoulder when he stayed by the truck. "Aren't you going to give me a tour?"

  He moved his shoulders again, and joined her.

  "Did you do the trim on my apartment?"

  "Yeah."

  "It's beautiful work. Looks like cherry."

  He frowned, surprised. "It is cherry."

  "I like the rounded edges. They soften everything. Do you get a decorator in for the colors or pick them out yourself?"

  "I pick them." He opened the door for her. "Is there a problem?"

  "No. I really love the color scheme in the kitchen, the slate blue counters, the mauve floor. Oh, what fabulous stairs." She hurried across the unfinished living area to the staircase.

  Mac had worked hard and long on it, tearing out the old and replacing it with dark chestnut, curving and wid­ening the landing at the bottom so that it flowed out into the living space.

  It was, undeniably, his current pride and joy.

  "Did you build these?" she murmured, running a hand over the curve of the railing.

  "The old ones were broken, dry-rotted. Had to go."

  "I have to try them." She dashed up, turning back at the top to grin at him. "No creaks. Good workmanship, but not very sentimental."

  "Sentimental?"

  "You know, the way you look back on home, how you snuck downstairs as a kid and knew just which steps to avoid because they'd creak and wake up Mom."

  All at once he was having trouble with his breathing.

  "They're chestnut," he said, because he could think of nothing else.

  "Whatever, they're beautiful. Whoever lives here has to have kids."

  His mouth was dry, unbearably. "Why?"

  "Because." On impulse, she planted her butt on the railing and pushed off. Mac's arms came out of their own volition to catch her as she flew off the end. "It was made for sliding," she said breathlessly. She was laughing as she tilted her head up to his.

  Something clicked inside her when their eyes met. And the fluttering, not so pleasant this time, came again. Dis­concerted, she cleared her throat and searched for some­thing to say.

  "You keep popping up," Mac muttered. He had yet to release her, couldn't seem to make his hands obey his head.

  "It's a small town."

  He only shook his head. His hands were at her waist now, and they seemed determined to slide around and stroke up her back. He thought he felt her tremble—but it might have been him.

  "I don't have time for women," he told her, trying to convince himself.

  "Well." She tried to swallow, but there was something hard and hot lodged in her throat. "I'm pretty busy my­self." She let out a slow breath. Those hands stroking up and down her back were making her weak. "And I'm not really interested. I had a really bad year, as far as rela­tionships go. I think..."

  It was very hard to think. His eyes were such a beau­tiful shade of blue, and so intensely focused on hers. She wasn't sure what he saw, or what he was looking for, but she knew her knees were about to give out.

  "I think," she began again, "we'd both be better off if you decide fairly quickly if you're going to kiss me or not. I can't handle this much longer."

  Neither could he. Still, he took his time. He was, in all things, a thorough and thoughtful man. His eyes were open and on hers as he lowered his head, as his mouth hovered a breath from hers, as a small, whimpering moan sounded in her throat.

  Her vision dimmed as his lips brushed hers. His were soft, firm, terrifyingly patient. The whisper of contact slammed a punch into her stomach. He lingered over her like a gourmet sampling delicacies, deepening the kiss de­gree by staggering degree until she was clinging to him.

  No one had ever kissed her like this. She hadn't known anyone could. Slow and deep and dreamy. The floor seemed to tilt under her feet as he gently sucked her lower lip into his mouth.

  She shuddered, groaned, and let herself drown.

  She was very potent. The scent and feel and taste of her was overwhelming. He knew he could lose himself here, for a moment, for a lifetime. Her small, tight body was all but plastered to his. Her hands clutched his hair. In contrast to that aggressive gesture, her head fell limply back in a kind of sighing surrender that had his blood bubbling.

  He wanted to touch her. His hands were aching with the need to peel off layer after layer and find the pale, smooth skin beneath. To test himself, and her, he slipped his fingers under her sweater, along the soft, hot flesh of her back, while his mouth continued its long, lazy assault on hers.

  He imagined laying her down on the floor, on a tarp, on the grass. He imagined watching her face as he plea­sured them both, of feeling her arch toward him, open, accepting.

  It had been too long, he told himself as his muscles began to coil and his lungs to labor. It had just been too long.

  But he didn't believe it. And it frightened him.

  Unsteady, he lifted his head, drew back. Even as he began the retreat, she leaned against him, letting her head fall onto his chest. Unable to resist, he combed his fingers through her hair and cradled her there.

  "My head's spinning," she murmured. "What was that?"

  "It was a kiss, that's all." He needed to believe that. It would help to ease the tightness around his heart and his loins.

  "I think I saw stars." Still staggered, she shifted so that she could look up at him. Her lips curved, but her eyes didn't echo the smile. "That's a first for me."

  If he didn't do something fast, he was going to kiss her again. He set her firmly on her feet. "It doesn't change anything."

  "Was there something to change?"

  The light was nearly gone now. It helped that he couldn't see her clearly in the gloom. "I don't have time for women. And I'm just not interested in starting any­thing."

  "Oh." Where had that pain come from? she wondered, and had to fight to keep from rubbing a hand over her heart. "That was quite a kiss, for a disinterested man." Reaching down, she scooped up the briefcase she'd dropped before she'd run up the stairs. "I'll get out of your way. I wouldn't want to waste any more of your valuable time."

  "You don't have to get huffy about it."

  "Huffy." Her teeth snapped together. She jabbed a fin­ger into his chest. "I'm well beyond huffy, pal, and work­ing my way past steamed. You've got some ego, Mac. What, do you think I came around here to seduce you?"

  "I don't know why you came around."

  "Well, I won't be around again." She settled her brief­case on her shoulder, jerked her chin up. "Nobody twisted your arm."

  He was dealing with an uncomfortable combination of desire and guilt. "Yours, either."

  "I'm not the one making excuses. You know, I can't figure out how such an insensitive clod could raise two charming and adorable kids."

  "Leave my boys out of this."

  The edge to the order had her eyes narrowing to slits. "Oh, so I have designs on them now, too? You idiot!" She stormed for the door, whirling at the last moment for a parting shot. "I hope they don't inherit your warped view of the
female species!"

  She slammed the door hard enough to have the bad-tempered sound echoing through the house. Mac scowled and jammed his hands in his pockets. He didn't have a warped view, damn it. And his kids were his business.

  Chapter 4

  Nell stood center stage and lifted her hands. She waited until she was sure every student's eyes were on her, then let it rip.

  There was very little that delighted her more than the sound of young voices raised in song. She let the sound fill her, keeping her ears and eyes sharp as she moved around the stage directing. She couldn't hold back the grin. The kids were into this one. Doing Bruce Spring­steen and the E Street Band's version of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" was a departure from the standard carols and hymns their former choral director had ar­ranged year after year.

  She could see their eyes light up as they got into the rhythm. Now punch it, she thought, pulling more from the bass section as they hit the chorus. Have fun with it. Now the soprano section, high and bright... And the al­tos... Tenors... Bass...

  She flashed a smile to signal her approval as the chorus flowered again.

  "Good job," she announced. "Tenors, a little more next time. You guys don't want the bass section drown­ing you out. Holly, you're dropping your chin again. Now we have time for one more run-through of 'I'll Be Home for Christmas.' Kim?"

  Kim tried to ignore the little flutter around her heart and the elbow nudge from Holly. She stepped down from her position in the second row and stood in front of the solo mike as though she were facing a firing squad.

  "It's okay to smile, you know," Nell told her gently. "And remember your breathing. Sing to the last row, and don't forget to feel the words. Tracy." She held out a finger toward the pianist she'd dragooned from her sec­ond-period music class.

  The intro started quietly. Using her hands, her face, her eyes, Nell signaled the beginning of the soft, harmonious, background humming. Then Kim began to sing. Too ten­tatively at first. Nell knew they would have to work on those initial nerves.

  But the girl had talent, and emotion. Three bars in, Kim was too caught up in the song to be nervous. She was pacing it well, Nell thought, pleased. Kim had learned quite a bit in the past few weeks about style. The sentimental song suited her, her range, her looks.

  Nell brought the chorus in, holding them back. They were background now for Kim's rich, romantic voice. Feeling her own eyes stinging, Nell thought that if they did it this well on the night of the concert, there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house.