Jingle Bell: Rock Part 10

His eyes met hers for an instant, and she saw a flash of kindness in them-concern even-before he began a slow examination of the living room. She watched him scan over the comfortable Art Deco couch in muted green that she loved so much, the Christmas tree twinkling with tiny white lights, and the fireplace, hung with cheerful stockings.

He whipped his head around. "How about I start a fire for you, Ms. Matthews? Keep you toasty warm while I work?"

Toasty was good, she thought.

Then he set the toolbox and clipboard on the floor near an armchair, and walked across the room. The man took up a lot of s.p.a.ce, Valerie noticed. He was nearly as tall as the tree, with wide shoulders and... oh, my.

This Earl person unzipped his repairman jacket and tossed it on the floor near the hearth. She watched as he squatted in front of the fireplace, his navy blue d.i.c.kies stretched taut across his b.u.t.t and thighs. He attempted to open the metal fireplace screen but, as usual, the chain stuck.

He glanced over his shoulder, one stray curl cupping a perfect earlobe. "A little lubrication should fix her right up."

Valerie felt the sudden need to sit down. She groped around with both hands for the arm of the couch and collapsed onto the cus.h.i.+ons, studying him. She watched as Earl built the cutest little teepee in the fireplace grate, crumpled newspaper at the bottom, sticks of kindling balanced over that, big logs at the top.

She watched his arms-well-formed and solid. His hands were broad but surprisingly smooth and clean for a workman. His pale blue denim s.h.i.+rt was pressed and tucked in at a trim waist. He moved with grace. Like an athlete. He was a joy to observe.

She sighed, leaned her elbows on her knees, and propped her chin on a fist. She didn't realize that she'd started humming "Joy to the World," until Earl swiveled his head around again and flashed her that smile.

"How did you know that's my favorite Christinas carol?"

Valerie jumped from the couch.

He stood up as well.

And as Valerie and Earl looked into each other's eyes, something fierce and electric pa.s.sed between them in the silence of the cold living room.

Then Earl said, "Got a match?"

Chapter Two.

Earl knew this woman-this hot, raven-haired, creamy-skinned woman poured into a red velvet dress. He'd first seen her at a company c.o.c.ktail party a few years back. She'd been the caterer. He'd never forgotten her.

And here she was-all alone on Christmas Eve-looking up at him with huge green peepers. There were some things in the universe so outrageous that they defied explanation. There were some things that made him just want to pump his fist in the air and shout, "h.e.l.l, yes!"

Being alone with Valerie Matthews was definitely one of them.

She stood not five inches away from the front of his work s.h.i.+rt, licking her full lips in nervousness.

This was just too d.a.m.n good to be true.

"A match?" She blinked. He could see her luscious b.r.e.a.s.t.s move up and down in that low-cut dress as she took shallow, rapid breaths. He could see her blood pound just beneath the silken skin of her throat.

"To start the fire, Ms. Matthews."

"Sure. Of course."

He watched her spin away on a pair of pretty shoes. He listened to the click-click of her high heels as she walked away across hardwood floors into the kitchen, the wispy fringe of shawl skimming a delectably round red-velvet a.s.s.

She was all gift wrapped. And for some inexplicable reason, there was no man here to do the unwrapping.

He smiled to himself. Fortunately, he was used to taking charge in situations like this. He was the type of guy you could count on to handle the pressure. He was accustomed to stepping up to the mound in the ninth, three men on base, with no choice but to make the clutch play.

And as Ms. Matthews walked back to him, tentatively holding out a little square box of kitchen matches, he thought of several things he'd like to clutch-those hips, that waist, that face. He knew instinctively what her pleasing flesh would feel like in his hands. She would be round, soft, and all woman. She would feel as if she were made for him, body and soul.

"This is all I have," she said.

Her words cut through him. She looked so vulnerable standing there, so sweet, so alone. She looked like the kind of woman who needed a man to keep her warm... all night long.

He let his fingers brush over her delicate little hand as he took the box of matches. She jumped at the contact. "What you have is perfect, Ms. Matthews."

"Please call me Valerie."

Oh, that made him smile. He planned on calling her Valerie. When they'd gotten to know each other a little better. When the time was right. And he wanted to hear her call him Earl.

All in good time.

With a private smile, Earl returned to the fireplace and struck the match. It gave him great pleasure to see the spark catch at a crisp corner of newsprint. He watched it evolve into a single red flame that spread, went orange and yellow as it grew, licking along the surface of split hardwood.

Valerie was suddenly at his side, staring down at the blaze.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The sound of her voice was like the slide of skin on skin.

"It's kind of silly, I know, but I didn't even think of making a fire." She looked up at him sheepishly. "I'm usually a very resourceful woman. I think I was preoccupied."

He watched her rub her upper arms, the silk shawl brus.h.i.+ng over her flesh. She shook her head slowly, then stared into the flames. "I really can't remember the last Christmas Eve I spent alone."

Earl nodded slowly, looked into the growing fire, then moved his gaze to her face once more. This woman clearly needed some cheering up. And though technically he was just there to fix her furnace, he'd never minded a challenge.

"I've had a few of those myself," Earl said. "I remember one year, I got stuck in a snowstorm at Logan Airport. Spent Christmas Eve sitting on the floor by my gate."

Her eyes went wide.

"Good hot dogs, though. I must have had seven of 'em."

She smiled at him.

Such a beautiful smile. Such a s.e.xy red mouth. Such lovely, long legs and bright eyes. And those dark curls just skimming those pale shoulders...

Without thinking, Earl reached for her, pulling her shawl up over her collarbones. Then he spun her around to face him and tugged the silk tight across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She gasped, bringing her hands to cover his.

"You might want to keep this on for a little longer." He removed his hands from under her soft palms. "Until it warms up."

Ms. Matthews gripped the shawl so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She stared at him. Blinking.

"How about you take me where I need to go?"

"Of course," she said, shaking her head. "Follow me."

Earl extended his hand and she walked in front of him. He picked up his jacket, toolbox and clipboard on the way, never taking his eyes off that moving red velvet package, following like the dawg on a leash he was, through the kitchen, down the hall, down the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, into the doorway that led to the furnace room.

She flicked the switch, and the room went bright with fluorescent light Her hair gleamed. Her skin looked soft and translucent. Her eyes sea-green.

"Over here, Earl," she said.

It was a newer oil burner under service contract with Ferguson's for three years. Nothing but regular maintenance and cleaning, according to the computer printout on his clipboard.

Valerie dragged a tall work stool from against the wall. "Would you like to use this?"

He smiled at her. This sweet little holiday babe looked so out of place surrounded by stacked paint cans, power tools and pegboard. "I prefer to do it standing up," he said.

He noticed the flicker in her eyes. She was interested, all right, but too much of a lady to let him know it right away. It made him smile. "But feel free to have a seat and keep me company."

"You don't mind?" Her voice was squeaky.

"Not at all. I'd be honored." He turned his back to her, grinning to himself. Man, this was wild. She was already half gone for him-he could tell.

As he opened the toolbox, he thought about all the possible scenarios that might have led to Ms. Matthews being alone on Christmas Eve. Had she just dumped a boyfriend? Had she expected someone to join her, only to be stood up at the last minute? Had she been hurt so badly that she preferred being with no one over being with the wrong one?

He glanced quickly back at the woman in question before he opened the service panel. She lowered her eyes, bit her bottom lip, then raised her lashes and flashed him a look of longing.

Oh, Mama! Earl pretended he didn't understand the message relayed in that green gaze, but it was now clear to him that Ms. Matthews had been lonely too long.

And he had what she needed... exactly what she needed.

He chuckled softly to himself and shook his head. He was many things, but he wasn't a jerk. And as appealing as this woman was, he wasn't sure he could live with himself if he thought he'd taken advantage of a vulnerable female.

Once the panel was removed, it took him two seconds to figure out why the furnace wasn't working. He suppressed his laugh. There could be a couple explanations for this, but they all boiled down to the fact that the furnace wasn't producing heat because somebody had cut the power. The main power switch was set to off.

Not that he was going to come right out and tell his customer that.

He feigned a grave expression and looked over his shoulder. "Could be awhile, Ms. Matthews," he said.

"Valerie, remember?"

Then she shot him a wide smile that said: Let's be real close friends. She crossed those shapely legs, and from his bent position he could see that she wore thigh-high stockings with stretchy black lace trim, held in place as if by magic.

In that instant, Earl sensed a sudden and forceful s.h.i.+ft in the balance of power, and had to wonder just who the vulnerable party was here.

Because, as any man knew, a woman in thigh-highs meant business. A woman in thigh-highs had plans. And Earl decided he'd give his left nut to make sure her plans included him.

He licked his suddenly parched lips and stood up straight.

"Can I get you something to drink, Earl? You probably can't have wine on duty, but I have a great bottle of Australian s.h.i.+raz that's going to waste. Can I tempt you?"

Now that was a loaded question. And the answer was Please do.

"This is my last call for the night, Ms. Matthews." He wiped his hands on a rag, studying the way she leaned back on an outstretched palm, perched just on the edge of the stool. Her sheer black legs were crossed seductively. Her high-heeled foot was swinging.

He swallowed hard. "And I'd love that gla.s.s of wine."

Chapter Three.

Valerie's hands shook as she penetrated the cork with the sharp edge of the corkscrew and turned, turned, seeing the s.h.i.+ny metal bury itself into the yielding, red-stained pulp.

This was ridiculous. She needed to get a grip on herself. She could hardly remember the last time she'd been this turned on, and the idea that she would even consider falling for an anonymous furnace repairman would have made her laugh if she wasn't so aroused.

It was moments like this that made her wonder about herself, wonder just where her s.e.xual limits might be. What exactly it would take for her to pull back and declare, "Stop right there. This is the end of the road."

All she knew was that she was thirty-three, and though she'd had her share of lovers, she'd never arrived at that place.

Valerie pulled out the cork with a satisfying pop! and sighed. She knew full well that having a hardworking man come to her rescue had always been the meat and potatoes of her s.e.xual fantasy life, and apparently, the fantasy extended all the way to appliance repairmen.

At least one particular repairman.

She poured two goblets. Yes, she should have let the wine breathe, but she didn't want to wait. She wanted to go back downstairs with Earl. She wanted to watch him use his tools and look back at her over his nicely sculpted shoulder and talk about lubrication.

She was on her way to the bas.e.m.e.nt door when she stopped. What if-no she couldn't! Oh, yes she could! She was going to take off her underwear! She was going to be a bad, bad girl...

Valerie placed the winegla.s.ses on the chopping block and giggled. Just knowing that she wasn't wearing anything beneath her dress would make things hotter and wilder and more adventurous, wouldn't it? And if she got the courage, maybe she'd find a way to share her secret with Earl.

She laughed outright and pulled her dress up to her waist. She had to admit she was stunned by her level of daring tonight. She'd never really considered herself a complete wild woman. She'd always tried to make smart decisions about men. She'd almost always kept her head.

Valerie hooked her fingers into the stretchy, smooth fabric of the red thong and s.h.i.+mmied it down her hips, feeling the luxurious satin tickle the whole way down her legs.

But tonight? Tonight was apparently different. Maybe it was Earl. He was new and exciting. And handsome-G.o.d, yes he was handsome. But he seemed approachable. Familiar even. Like maybe she'd seen him somewhere before.

Or maybe it was just that it was Christmas Eve, a night set aside for gift-giving. And maybe-just maybe-she wanted to give her gifts to Earl.

Was that so bad?