All I Want for Christmas...: Christmas KissesBaring It AllA Hot December Night Read online

  Then she spied it.

  The bouquet of roses, fresh and fragile, propped against the cold slate headstone. She minced closer, left the narrow cement walkway, the heels of her shoes sinking into the damp earth. She stood swaying in the wind, reading the headstone.

  Helen Jayne Briscoe

  November 1, 1962 to December 25 1992

  Beloved mother of Noah

  Alana blinked as the truth hit her. Noah’s mother had died on Christmas Day when he was around ten or eleven years old. Immediately empathy seized her. Emotion clogged her throat. Poor kid. Poor guy. No wonder he hated Christmas.

  She tried to imagine what that was like, but she had no idea. She’d never lost anyone close to her. She was blessed and she knew it. How could she hope to relate to Noah and what he’d suffered?

  Alana straightened, glanced around for Noah, but he was gone.

  Resolve rose inside her, sharp and urgent. Dammit, she was not going to let him be alone this Christmas. Not on the twentieth anniversary of his mother’s death.

  Whether Noah wanted it or not, she was determined to bring the spirit of Christmas into his life. He might not be able to admit it, but he needed her.

  * * *

  NOAH STEPPED OUT of the shower. Toweled himself dry. Turned an irritating question over in his head.

  Why had Alana been trailing him through the cemetery?

  He’d known she was behind him. He was a cop after all, and she was not particularly adept at surveillance. Then again, she was a lawyer. Why would she be? Her skills lay in other areas. So he’d quickly left the flowers on his mother’s grave and slipped out the side gate. Hurried to his SUV.

  Another question. Why had he left the flowers behind when he knew Alana would find them and put two and two together?

  Every answer he could think of was a rationalization except the one he wished he could deny. He’d wanted her to know what he could not bring himself to tell her face-to-face. And that bothered him most of all.

  The doorbell rang.

  Deftly, he cinched the towel at his waist, padded to the front door. He put an eye to the peephole. There, on his front stoop, stood Alana holding a cardboard box and wearing a headband with reindeer antlers affixed to it.

  Seriously?

  Don’t answer the door. Right. Except his car was parked right out front. She knew he was home. He cursed under his breath.

  The doorbell rang again.

  He could take another tack. Go on the offensive. Chase her off. Open the door wearing nothing but a towel and see how long it took her to turn tail and run. He was guessing less than ten seconds.

  Cocking a devilish grin, he yanked the door open, his fingers still pinching the towel closed around his waist.

  At the same time he opened the door, she raised her fist, preparing to knock. Momentum had hold of her and she ended up rapping her knuckles against his chest.

  He jumped back.

  So did she.

  Her eyes widened, but Alana was smooth and sophisticated and she quickly schooled her expression. “Oh,” she said. “Were you in the shower?”

  He bit back a smart retort and instead stabbed his free hand through his wet hair, sending droplets of water spattering around him.

  She hesitated.

  He counted off the seconds. Three...two...one.

  But instead of leaving, she squared her shoulders, tossed her head back and sailed past him into his apartment. His mistake, standing so that there was space between his body and the door.

  He followed her, shutting the door behind him. His gaze licked over her rocking-hot body. She wore a short red plaid-wool skirt that showed off dynamite legs encased in black tights, giving her a sexy grown-up schoolgirl look. Snowmen earrings danced at her earlobes whenever she moved her head.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Spreading Christmas cheer.” She beamed, depositing her box on his coffee table.

  “Excuse me?”

  You asked for this. You left the flowers on your mother’s grave instead of confronting her in the cemetery. Now she thinks she’s on a mission to make the Grinch feel loved.

  “No wonder you’re such a grump at Christmas. No decorations. Nothing to cheer you up.” She waved a hand at his apartment decorated in what could best be described as bare essentials. Couch, coffee table, lamp, TV. All of the characterless variety.

  Once he’d been absorbed into the foster care system, he’d grown up without having anything that was truly his own. That lack of attachment might make some people crave individuality or develop an excessive need to possess things But for Noah, it meant he really didn’t give a damn about ownership. The more you had, the more there was to lose.

  Alana’s gaze grazed over him and her cheeks were bright pink, but she was undeterred by his near nakedness. He stepped closer.

  She backed up. Her muscles tensed. Her lips quivered the tiniest bit. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling underneath that red-and-green sweater that hugged her breasts.

  Ah, she wasn’t as self-possessed as she wanted him to believe. But hell, neither was he. His mouth was dry and his—

  Damn it!

  “I’m gonna go put on some clothes,” he mumbled, surprised to hear his voice come out thick and raspy.

  “Good idea.” She nodded.

  As he hurried to the safety of his bedroom, it occurred to Noah that he’d been the one to turn tail and run.

  4

  WHAT WAS SHE doing here?

  Alana swallowed, raised a hand to her mouth as Noah disappeared down the hallway. She couldn’t resist watching him walk away. She sighed. What a beautiful butt.

  Yes, but don’t get caught up in the physical. You’re here to chisel through his wall. Let him know he’s not alone. Let him know you care. Show him that Christmas is, indeed, special.

  Right.

  She blew out her breath through puffed cheeks, the vision of Noah’s butt barely cloaked by that thin cotton towel burned into her brain.

  Focus.

  Resolutely, she turned to the box she’d brought with her and started taking out decorations, including a small artificial tree. Multi-colored indoor twinkle lights. Scented holiday candles (cinnamon, gingerbread and pine.) An eight-inch Santa figurine that lit up. Red-and-white striped candy canes. Artificial snow in an aerosol can. A cluster of fresh mistletoe she’d clipped from the tree in her backyard and tied with a festive red ribbon.

  She set the tree up. She’d wanted to bring a big tree, complete with lights, but baby steps. This would be invasion enough for a dyed-in-the-wool holiday hater. In fact, she half expected him to toss her out on her ear.

  “Okay, O’Hara,” Noah said.

  Alana jumped, spun around. She hadn’t heard him come back into the room. Her pulse raced. The man could seriously have a career as a cat burglar.

  He wore khaki pants and a black turtleneck sweater. On some men a turtleneck looked dorky, but on Noah the garment further served to illustrate the cat burglar image—stealthy, secretive, intriguing. Alana flicked out her tongue to moisten her lips.

  “What’s this?” He gestured toward the Christmas ornaments she’d strewn over his couch as she’d started sorting them out.

  “I wanted to thank you for going the extra mile on the Clausen case. The DA told me that you’d found evidence that cleared him.”

  “The arson investigator was able to narrow down the time the blaze was set to a thirty-minute window. Clausen was caught on the surveillance camera at a twenty-four-hour grocery store on the other side of town during that time frame.”

  “I’m happy for him,” she said. “And I appreciate what you did.”

  Noah sauntered toward her, coming closer and closer until he was within touching distance. Alana gulped, but stood her ground. She’d been around enough cops to know that invading someone’s personal space was a show of dominance. Well, she wasn’t about to be dominated.

  “Is that all this is about? Gratitu
de?”

  She nodded, unable to find her voice.

  “No attempt at all to make me feel all warm and fuzzy about Christmas?”

  “Everyone should feel warm and fuzzy about Christmas,” she said.

  “No trying to turn Scrooge into a nice man?”

  “Who, me?”

  “In spite of being an attorney, you haven’t really learned a lot of the dark side of life, huh, O’Hara?”

  Alana raised her chin. “Only since I’ve known you, Briscoe.”

  “Touché.” A wry smile tipped his lips as he took another step toward her.

  Her gaze latched onto his. She refused to look away, but the heat! It was like a sauna in here. Sweat pooled between her breasts, slid down the back of her neck.

  “I could just throw you and your Merry Christmas attitude out of my apartment.”

  “You could, but then you’d drown in bitterness and bah humbug.”

  “And what’s so bad about that?”

  “You’re too young to be the grumpy old man who yells at kids for cutting across your lawn.”

  “I don’t have a lawn.”

  “Metaphorically speaking.”

  “So.” He canted his head, drilled his stare straight into her. It was all she could do not to blink. “You’re here to save me from myself.”

  “I’m here to save you from Scrooge’s vision of Christmas Future.”

  “Aren’t you considerate.”

  “Sarcasm is a symptom, not an antidote.”

  “What does that mean?” He cocked an eyebrow, sent her a sardonic smile.

  “It’s okay to have fun.”

  “With all the ills in the world?”

  “Because of all the ills in the world. I’m here to shine a little light.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one?” One sardonic eyebrow went up on his forehead.

  “Yes, lucky that I care.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, Alana wished she could snatch them back.

  “You care about me, huh?” His voice lowered.

  She shrugged. “Well, you know, as a person.”

  “That’s it?” He took another step. If she didn’t back up, soon he was going to be standing on top of her.

  She gulped. “I care about a lot of people.”

  “And yet...” His voice dropped, lower, deeper. “Here you are, decorating my place.”

  “You’re the only one I know who hasn’t decorated.”

  “You’re not a very good liar,” he observed. “Must make being a defense attorney quite a chore.”

  “Who says I’m lying?”

  “You’ve got a tell.”

  She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. He smelled like spearmint. “A tell?”

  “The tops of your ears turn pink when you lie. FYI. When you’re lying, cover your ears.”

  She reached up. The reindeer antler headband pulled her hair back from her ears, exposing everything. She yanked off the headband, tossed it over her shoulder. Tousled her hair to camouflage her ears. “Sayonara, human lie detector.”

  Another step closer and there he was. The toes of his shoes butted up against hers. Her pulse sprinted, bounding against her wrist.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Spreading some holiday cheer.” He echoed what she’d told him when she’d arrived. He bent down, brushing her shoulder in the process, and retrieved the cluster of mistletoe.

  An instant tingle shot down her nerve endings and her chest tightened.

  Reaching up, Noah looped the mistletoe’s red ribbon around the overhead lamp. Now they were standing directly under it.

  He snaked one arm around her waist, his grip strong and certain.

  “Oh,” Alana exclaimed, her head spinning with the swiftness of it all. The heat was back, more blistering than ever, and her knees, well, they were wimps. Giving out on her.

  His eyes sparkled in the light. A long, tense moment passed between them. Alana couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. It felt so good here in his arms.

  “You really came over here for this,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Didn’t you?”

  She put both hands up to cover her ears. “No.”

  He smiled. Wickedly. “You really should become a prosecutor. Lying doesn’t suit you. Or maybe you’re just in denial.”

  “Of what?” She was starting to get irritated.

  He dipped his head. She leaned back against his arm. Their lips were almost touching. A second passed. Then two. Then three. “Your feelings.”

  “For you?” She tried a derisive hoot, but it came out as shaky as her legs. “You’re the one in denial, Briscoe.”

  “I wasn’t the one who pulled the plug on us. Remember?”

  Yes, she’d been the one to pull the plug on their budding relationship when he wouldn’t open up to her. Refused to talk about his feelings. He’d been Mister-Keep-Things-Light, when she’d known he possessed the power to burn down her life if she let him get too close. So why was she here?

  “Tell me that I don’t haunt your dreams the way you haunt mine,” he murmured.

  He dreamed of her? She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her pulse, which had been skipping red-hot through her veins, iced up.

  “No,” she whispered.

  His fingertips brushed back her hair, revealing an ear. “Ah.” He chuckled. “Ah-hah.”

  Noah tightened his grip on her waist and Alana gulped against the surge of sexual electricity snapping between them. His other hand eased to the nape of her neck, fingers plowing through her hair, his mouth seeking hers in exquisite slow motion.

  He was going to kiss her and, damn her, Alana was going to let him.

  His mouth closed over hers and...bliss!

  She’d missed his kiss much more than she’d realized. Everywhere he touched her, sparks flew. Her skin sizzled. Her stomach hummed. Her muscles twitched.

  He made a triumphant noise in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, darting his tongue past her teeth, exploring her fully. His invasion sent desire spiraling through her.

  A sweet sound of need, that she had not meant to express, slipped from her lips. She grabbed his shoulders between her hands, intent on pushing him away, but instead she pulled him closer. Egged him on.

  He stole her breath, robbed her reason, made it impossible to think of anything but him.

  Finally, when her head was mush and her legs were jelly, he slowly moved his lips from hers. “Alana.” He breathed. “You haunt me.”

  Her brain fought through the hormone-induced fog, struggling to make sense of what had just happened. She’d allowed him to kiss her again. Rekindled something she believed they’d put to rest.

  He dropped his arms and she felt suddenly naked without the protection of his embrace. He stepped away, turned his back to her. Moved to the window. Parted the blinds. Stared out.

  Withdrawing.

  Just like he always did when things got too intense between them. The man sent mixed messages and she refused to be his yo-yo.

  Why not? There’s nothing wrong with being a yo-yo. It’s a fun toy.

  Toy. Precisely. She cared about Noah too much to simply be his plaything.

  But he was the picture of loneliness, standing at the window, the winter sunlight bathing him in silhouette. Looking at him hurt her heart. He put up a tough front, but she saw the chinks in his armor. Resolutely, she pasted on a smile, started humming “Jingle Bell Rock” and went back to her decorating as if nothing had happened.

  * * *

  NOAH STUDIED THE people on the sidewalk below. Couples holding hands. Shoppers bustling by with brightly colored packages. Parents corralling kids. He balled his hands into fists, his mind scrambling with a mosaic of longing, lust and recrimination.

  He hadn’t spoken another word to Alana since he’d kissed her. He’d assume she would just leave. But she hadn’t left. She was moving around behind him, singing Christmas songs. His lips still tingled fro
m the kiss. His arousal still stiff. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of what to say. Why hadn’t she left or at least said something?

  What the hell had he thought he was doing? Why had he kissed her? They’d already been down this road, and decided it was a dead end. He’d lost control and losing control disturbed him.

  He had to see her on a regular basis. He had to learn how to deal with this attraction without acting on it. Yes, she’d come to his place, but he should have been able to rein in his impulses. The fact that he hadn’t been able to do so ate at him.

  Her scent was all around him. She smelled of oranges, nutmeg and hope. Damn that hope. Her taste lingered in his mouth—fresh and clean and womanly. He narrowed his eyes at the passersby, willed himself to think of something else, anything else besides Alana.

  But how could he blot her out when she was jingling bells and lighting cinnamon candles and filling his apartment with her sweet voice. He had nothing to offer her. Couldn’t she see that? Didn’t she understand he’d lost his ability to completely trust others? Wasn’t that what he’d really been hoping she would learn when he left the flowers on his mother’s grave where he knew she would see them? He didn’t want her sympathy. Rather, he’d wanted her understanding.

  So just tell her that.

  Noah shook his head. He didn’t know how.

  Finally, he turned, preparing an excuse for why he had to leave. Why she had to leave. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. In just a few short minutes, she’d transformed his dour living room into a welcoming holiday tableau.

  A miniature Christmas tree sat in the corner. Mary, Joseph and the whole nativity crew adorned his coffee table. A Santa figurine waved at him from beside the tree. Candles flickered. Colored lights twinkled gaily.

  “Well,” she said, hands clasped behind her back. “What do you think?”

  Noah made a tactical error. He met her eager gaze.

  Brilliant blue eyes widened, taking him in. Pink lips, still swollen from his kiss, parted into a sweet circle. Her hair was sexily mussed. Her sweater revealed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. One slim hand rested on her hip, her back arched slightly. The gesture caused the hem of her skirt to rise up, showing off even more of those long, lean legs.