Jingle Bell: Rock Part 24

"Is that a proposal?"

"I know we have a lot to work out, and we might not be able to, anyway."

"Yes."

He frowned. "Yes, we have a lot to work out? Or yes we might not be able to? Or-"

"Yes. I want to try again. And, yes. I know it won't be easy and will mean a lot of work. But I really do like working on you, Blue Miller."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yeah." And she got busy showing him exactly how much, shoving his jacket back off his shoulders and tackling his s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons as he shrugged out of the thick Shearling and suede.

She went after his belt buckle next, feeling his erection rise beneath her fingers that weren't quite as nimble as she wished. Her body opened in response, s.h.i.+fting and swelling in sharp antic.i.p.ation. A reaction that was solely connected to what she shared with Blue.

She remained in his lap, forced to catch her balance on the sofa arm when he raised his lower body and tugged jeans and drawers down his hips only far enough to free the goods tucked inside. She took hold of his thick shaft and lightly squeezed, her knuckles rubbing into the hair on his flat belly.

He scrunched up his abs behind her hand and s.h.i.+vered, releasing a bead of clear fluid from the tip of his plump ripe head. Jessie licked her lips. And Blue groaned like a dying man.

She caught the tip of her tongue with the edges of her teeth and raised her gaze to his, smearing his release in a circular motion over the flat of his c.o.c.k's swollen head. "Blue?"

"Jess?" he ground out, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng, his fingers unb.u.t.toning her pajama top. Cool air brushed her bare skin and she trembled.

"Are we safe?" She closed her eyes, breathed, tried again. "I'm on the pill. I've had blood tests done annually for the last three years, since the last time I was intimate with a man." The admission hurt; she didn't want him to know anything in her past. But she was not a stupid woman. "I want to make love with you desperately, but I don't have single condom in the house."

Blood surged through his veins; his c.o.c.k pulsed in her hand. "You haven't had s.e.x for three years?"

She shook her head. "And until last weekend? I hadn't made love in ten."

"Lift up," he ordered, holding her balanced on one knee while she pulled the other leg free from her pants. And then he settled her back to straddle his lap, cupped her mound with one shaking hand.

"I'm safe, Jess. I've been tested. And I've never been without a condom. I have a pocketful of them now. We only used half of what you brought." Heat rose from her collarbone to infuse her face, deepening further when he cleared his throat and added, "I want to love you, to come inside you with nothing in the way. No latex. No secrets. No doubts."

When she raised up onto her knees, Blue pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s together and buried his face between. She rubbed the head of his c.o.c.k the length of her slit, teasing the both of them mercilessly with their shared heat. And then she guided him to her opening and slid down, burying him to the hilt.

She sat there in his lap, unmoving, his c.o.c.k so deep inside of her she felt as if they were one. And they were. One flesh. One heart. Exactly as they'd always been.

Blue threaded his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head, his gaze red and watery as he pulled her to his kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Jessie Buchanan," he whispered against her lips. "I love you."

"Oh, Blue. I love you, too," she said, thinking Elvis didn't know a d.a.m.n thing about the meaning of a Blue Christmas.

The Nutcracker Sweet.

Nancy Warren.

Chapter One.

"Ms. Ellison, since it is the season of goodwill and giving, could you please give me a break?" Daniel Jarvis almost shouted the words, looming across her desk, invading her personal s.p.a.ce.

Tara Ellison shot him her coldest look, and she prided herself on them. "Mister Jarvis. As I've told you countless times, the miscellaneous column in your expense account should be used sparingly if at all." In fact, it was Tara's personal mission to do away with the pesky thing. If people-traveling sales managers, in particular-couldn't keep track of their receipts, they should lose the privilege of being reimbursed for them. Besides, she liked to scrutinize every one of Daniel Jarvis's expense items to be certain he wasn't charging the company for his out-of-town play girls. She was certain they littered the country; his reputation with women was legendary.

He glared at her. "Unlike you, we don't all count beans for fun and profit."

She glared right back. "Company policy clearly outlines that miscellaneous expenses without receipts are only allowable when the charge is less than twenty-five dollars. I will not authorize them for one penny more."

"But there's more than a thousand bucks there!" He pointed to his current expense report, the first he'd managed to complete in three months.

"Then I suggest you find those receipts and record them properly."

Frustration was etched in every line of his face. His deep blue eyes were hot with it, his jaw rigid. "I don't have time for this. I have to go sell more corporate jets to keep you in pencil sharpeners."

He stomped off and Tara allowed herself a moment to stare at his rapidly retreating back. His trouble was, he was too d.a.m.n good looking, too accustomed to women falling at his feet when he turned on his charm.

She was proud to be built of sterner stuff; still, a girl could look, couldn't she?

As always after one of their encounters, Tara's blood pumped hot and fierce. How could he make her so angry and so... attracted at the same time?

And what was she going to do about it?

Since he hadn't bothered to pick up his unacceptably sloppy expense report, she decided to return it to him herself. In the last ten seconds she'd come up with a couple of annihilating insults she wished she'd thought of earlier. She rose and grabbed the report. She hadn't nearly finished arguing with him. It made her feel alive like nothing else.

She got to his office in time to hear him on the phone, his back to her while he tossed a Nerf ball into a basketball hoop. "Sorry. Had a run in with the Ballbuster." He laughed softly. "You got it buddy. Tara Ellison's problem is she needs to get laid."

Her strangled gasp of outrage had him spinning around, his eyes widening when he saw her. "I'll call you back," he said and slammed down the phone. He half-rose, then sank back into the chair.

Daniel knew trouble when he saw it, and wished he could think of something to say to wipe the utterly shocked expression off Tara's face. "Look, I-"

"Are you up for the job?"

"Pardon?" He expected rage, tears, a written complaint about him, not that coolly delivered question.

"You said I need to get laid." She propped a shoulder against his doorjamb and stared down her nose at him. "I'm asking if you're up for the job?"

"I... um... I'm..."

"Speechless. I like that in a man. See you at the party." And she turned on her heel and left.

Party ? What party ? Daniel couldn't get his brain to function properly, and watched a pair of slim hips twitch the skirt of a Christmas-red business suit as Tara strode away. Party? Oh, right. The secret Santa lunch thing was today. He smacked his forehead. If he'd thought his day had just hit rock bottom, he was wrong. In a sick twist of fate, he'd drawn Tara's name for the secret Santa gift exchange.

After this latest encounter, he wished he wasn't tied up with a sales meeting for the rest of the morning, or he'd run out and buy her a different present. He hadn't been able to resist the nutcracker, knowing it would give all the other men in the office untold amus.e.m.e.nt. But, since she'd walked in on him and overheard private guy talk, she already had his nuts in a vise, and it wasn't all that amusing.

And yet her challenge intrigued him. Could it be she was making a joke? Tara? A joke? About s.e.x? He rubbed his chin as she disappeared from view. What if she wasn't joking?

She made him crazy with frustration, yet she was s.e.xy in a bossy, pedantic way. But did he want to have s.e.x with her? He thought about it for a second. Giving her mouth something better to do than berate him was definitely appealing. In fact, her mouth was luscious, along with the rest of her.

His musing came to an abrupt end as the obvious truth struck him. h.e.l.l, yes, he wanted to have s.e.x with her.

Cheery holiday music wafted from the boardroom as Daniel strolled in for the annual staff lunch and secret Santa gift exchange.

The executive committee had decorated the boardroom and were doing the serving. As a sales manager, Daniel was neither upper echelon nor peon, and that suited him fine. He was top sales manager, which also suited him fine. He loved selling. He liked wooing the customer, putting the deal together, closing. It was kind of like seducing a woman. And he prided himself on his skill at both.

They were close enough to year-end that he knew he was tops in sales again this year, which carried a hefty bonus, and that put him in a particularly celebratory mood. The only cloud on his sunny horizon was already primly seated, her red suit jacket open to display a silk blouse.

He a.s.sumed Tara was wearing red because it was Christmas, but maybe she was literally waving a red flag in front of a bull. Himself being the poor wounded bull in this scenario. But the suit was s.e.xy-woman red, and that made him pause. Her head was turned; she was talking to Gary from the mailroom. Poor kid was blus.h.i.+ng so deeply you could hang him from the tree and call him an ornament.

From this angle, Daniel noticed the elegant curve of Tara's neck beneath the s.h.i.+ny dark brown cap of her hair. For some d.a.m.n reason, his gaze followed that line to the V of her blouse.

When he realized he was trying to look down her s.h.i.+rt, he yanked his gaze back up, appalled at himself. He might not be a feminist, but he wasn't an office pervert, either.

At that precise moment she turned her head, as though she'd felt his stare. Their gazes connected and he blinked at the impact. How had he missed the obvious? His ballbuster was a babe.

He didn't know what to do. Usually animosity crackled between them. Every meeting was a confrontation. And d.a.m.n it, he looked forward to every one. For the first time, he noticed the s.e.xual hum that sizzled just beneath the hostility. Interesting.

"Come in and have a seat, Daniel," boomed Giles Monroe. The company president was resplendent in a bright red barbecue ap.r.o.n patterned with Santas in chef hats, which he wore over his usual three-piece banker's suit minus the jacket.

Of course, the lunch was catered, but Giles did make the eggnog himself. Since Daniel had discovered there were raw eggs in the recipe, he chose a beer. He liked Giles fine, but not enough to give himself salmonella.

There were forty or fifty people already in the room, and the fake tree in the corner was surrounded by gifts.

Daniel made his way over, placed his silver-wrapped present under the tree and found a seat across from Tara. If she was going to eviscerate him when she opened his gift, he wanted to make sure he was close to the door-so he could make a run for it.

The staff Christmas lunch followed the same pattern it had last year, but this one felt different. He was keenly aware of the subtle current of something new between him and Tara. Of course she was p.i.s.sed at him; she had every right to be.

He still couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to leave his office door open so she could overhear his comments. He felt a tiny twinge of remorse for making them in the first place, but they were guy comments, never meant to be shared with a woman.

He'd have felt a lot more comfortable if she'd done something predictable, such as stick her nose in the air and point out his behavior was rude and boorish and childish, blah, blah, blah. But for some inscrutable reason, she'd departed from the obvious script, and that left him unsettled.

Besides, what he felt sizzling in the air wasn't just anger, and his ability to read unspoken feelings was probably his greatest a.s.set as a salesman. No, she was sending him vibes that in any other woman would be attraction. Strangest part of all was that he was pretty sure he was sending them straight back at her.

Odd.

When they'd finished the a.s.sorted sandwiches, the rum b.a.l.l.s and Christmas cake, the music changed to "Here Comes Santa Claus" and the chiming of Salvation Army-type handheld bells could be heard in the corridor. Giles, who'd swapped the ap.r.o.n for a Santa suit, soon appeared and the gift giving was underway.

As soon as his gift was deposited in front of Tara, Daniel wished he could call it back. She glanced up at him as soon as it landed in front of her and he knew she'd seen it in his hand when he'd walked in. She'd nailed him like a missing dime in the quarterly financials.

"And here's one for Daniel." Santa, who'd obviously had a gla.s.s or two of his own eggnog plopped a flat red-wrapped gift in front of him. Looked like some kind of book.

When everyone had their gifts, Santa counted to three and wrapping started to rip.

There were groans at the gag gifts, laughter and cries of glee. The thing with the secret Santa was how easy it often was to figure out who your gift was from.

His was a perfect example. It was a book all right. A personal accounts ledger. A yellow sticky note was pasted to the front. For keeping track of all those pesky receipts, it said, in the neat and even handwriting he saw in his nightmares.

Tara.

Of course, since it was an open secret that he was more of a creative accounting type, and regularly sent suits with their pockets crammed with receipts to the dry cleaners, there was a big laugh when he displayed his gift. He opened the cover, and there was a pocket on one side-to hold receipts, he supposed.

There was something in the pocket. A folder from a downtown hotel. A small folder, the kind that holds a key card. Another yellow sticky note displayed a different message.

P.M. tonight. Do you dare?

He shut the book with a thud before anyone else could see what was inside and glanced up, his blood already pounding, to find Tara's gaze on him, taunting.

In her hand was his present to her.

A silver nutcracker.

In spite of the fact he'd figured the joke would go over her head, it hadn't. There'd been some m.u.f.fled chuckles when she opened it, and, with a cool smile in his direction, she said, "Exactly what I needed."

She leaned across to the middle of the boardroom table where a centerpiece of poinsettia, pine boughs and holly sat. Dotted amongst the branches were un-sh.e.l.led nuts. He recognized filberts, brazils and a few almonds, but her long-fingered hands, tipped with red to match her suit, reached for a walnut. The biggest of the bunch.

She put the walnut inside the nutcracker's jaw, put her hand to the mechanism and then, very deliberately, raised her gaze to his.

He crossed his legs instinctively as she twisted the handle and crushed the nut.

She shook the pieces into her palm then tossed them into her mouth and chewed. "Delicious," she announced.

Chapter Two.

What did a man take to a s.e.xual tryst with a woman with whom he'd never exchanged a civil word?

Daniel had no idea of the protocol; he frankly doubted there was one. This bizarre meeting had to be breaking new ground, if Tara had even been serious. For all he knew, he'd get to the hotel room and find all the women of the firm gathered together ready to have a good laugh at his gullibility.

His BMW cruised through the quiet December streets, throwing up slush in his wake as he rounded a corner a little fast.

Of course, the snow wouldn't last until Christmas. It never did in Seattle. Simply teased residents into enjoying a few days of the white stuff before the next good rain washed it all away.

He'd managed to get away from work with enough time for a quick shower, shave and change of clothes. She'd chosen the Westin downtown for their-whatever the h.e.l.l it was. Rendezvous? Get together? Boinkathon? Hen party to make fun of the politically incorrect doofus?