Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas

The boiling well of anger inside him had rolled back to a slow simmer, and Ross knew he had to get out of here before it boiled back up. Mr. J. Crew dickhead had finally realized the merits of shutting the hell up, but that look on his face was seriously pissing Ross off. If he opened his mouth again, or if one single tear fell out of Lucy’s eyes, he was gonna go postal on the squirmy punk.

Her hand tightened on his arm, as if she knew what he was thinking. So he wouldn’t do it. But something wouldn’t let him leave without one more parting shot. “Hey, dude, don’t worry, I wouldn’ta hit you. Wouldn’t risk damaging that pretty face of yours, ’cause it sounds to me like you really need it.”

“What do you mean?” the other man snapped, starting to rise from his seat. Emboldened, perhaps, by the thought that Ross was admitting he wouldn’t have hit him?

Just give me a reason, punk.

Ross shrugged as Lucy stepped into the hallway ahead of him. “I mean, it sounds like you need whatever help you can get. From what I hear, you not only have a scrawny neck, you have a scrawny dick as well.” Tsking, he shook his head. “Even worse, a sad, strange-looking one.”

The other guy’s face erupted in scarlet, and he sputtered, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Which, in Ross’s mind, confirmed what Lucy had said about him. A guy with an ounce of self-confidence would have laughed, or sneered. Jude just looked like he wanted to call Mommy and make the new kid stop saying mean things to him.

“Oh, by the way,” he added. “Happy birthday.”

Ross slammed the door, not waiting for Jude to come up with a crushing reply. Not that he could, really, because, man, any guy who couldn’t defend himself against small-cock accusations didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

It wasn’t until they were alone in the elevator, heading toward the bottom floor, that he looked down and saw Lucy’s shoulders shaking. It was as if she’d held herself together, keeping her emotions in check until she got out of sight of her ex, but now that they were alone, her sadness over the day’s events had come crashing down on her.

He turned her toward him. Ross fully intended to take her into his arms, awkwardly pat her back or whatever guys Did to console crying women. But before he could do it, he realized he’d made a big mistake.

“Oh…my…God…” she said between gasps, which weren’t caused by tears, but rather, by laughter. She looked up at him, her lips shaking, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “Did you see his face?”

“I saw,” he said, smiling down at her, so pleased she wasn’t brokenhearted over creepy Jude that he wanted to pick her up and swing her around in his arms.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You were my knight in shining armor.”

He grinned and gestured toward his bomber jacket. “Carpenter in tarnished leather, at best.”

Her pretty mouth widened in a smile. “Either way…my hero.” Then, still looking playful, happy, appreciative, she rose on her tiptoes and reached up to brush her delicate fingers against his cheek. He had about a second to process what she was about to do before she pressed her soft lips against his.

It was a thank-you kiss, he had no doubt about that.

Sweet. Tender. Simple.

Incredibly good.

It should have been nothing but a three-second brush of skin on skin, an expression of gratitude between two people who didn’t really know each other yet but definitely wanted to.

But damned if Ross was willing to let it go down that way. Once he felt Lucy’s mouth, shared her sweet breath, impulse took over. He lifted both hands, cupping one around her cheek. The other he tangled in her long, thick hair, taking pure pleasure in the softness of it, letting it glide through his fingers like water.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue out to tease hers. Lucy groaned slightly, taking what he offered and upping the ante even more by tilting her head and widening her mouth. Thank you and you’re welcome turned into I-want-you and where’s the nearest bed in about ten seconds flat. Sweetness faded and heat erupted as their tongues thrust and twined.

“Ahem.”

It took a second for the voice to intrude. But another throat-clearing and a titter finally invaded his Lucy-in-fused consciousness. It appeared they’d arrived at the bottom floor. The door had slid open and they were providing quite a show for the people waiting in the lobby.

Filled with regret, he pulled away, looking down into her pretty, flushed face, seeing the way her long lashes rested on her high cheekbones. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, swaying a little toward him. But the box pressed against her chest prevented her from melting into his body.

And their sudden, unwelcome audience prevented him from moving the box.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

Her eyes flew open. Seeing the strangers watching them—two young men with their arms around each other’s waists, both grinning widely, and an older, white-haired woman whose grin was, if possible, even wider—Lucy stammered an apology.

“No need to apologize,” one of the men said, waving his hand as Lucy and Ross exited the elevator.

The other nodded in agreement. “Tell me this means you ditched 6C.”

Lucy’s jaw fell open. “Wha…?”

“He’s a bad egg,” the woman said, jumping into the conversation as if they had all known each other for years. In truth, Ross suspected they were complete strangers to Lucy. “A total fart-weasel.”

Ross coughed into his fist at the description, but the two men were already nodding in agreement. “He sure is.”

“Have we met?” Lucy asked, shaking her head in confusion, confirming Ross’s suspicion.

“No,” said the darker-haired man. “But we all live on six, too. And honey, 6C is just nasty. So not your type!”

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking even more embarrassed than before. Considering complete strangers were dissecting her love life, he could see why.

The light-haired man eyed Ross. “Did you beat him up?”

“No.”

Ms. Elderly Busybody sighed heavily. “That’s too bad. I’ve been hoping somebody would. That boy could benefit from an ass-whupping.”

“Well, given what I know of him so far, I have no doubt that someday your prayers will be answered,” Ross said.

He and Lucy murmured goodbyes to their three new friends, then headed for the door. As they approached him, the doorman offered Lucy a conspiratorial wink, as if he agreed with the other residents’ opinion of her ex. Which was nice, but probably had to be making Lucy feel even worse about ever having dated the fart-weasel in 6C.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

She sucked in a surprised breath, and stopped halfway across the lobby. Looking up at him, she appeared shocked that he’d been able to figure out what she’d been thinking.

“He’s a con artist, Luce,” Ross said with a simple shrug. “He became what you wanted him to be.”

“Yes, he did,” she murmured. “But how did you know?”

“Guys do it all the time, especially with girls who won’t, uh… .” He didn’t want to be crass enough to say put out, though that was what he meant.

“Gotcha,” she said. “And thanks for not telling me I was a complete idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

“You did see it,” he told her, not liking that self-recrimination in her voice. “Which is probably why you wouldn’t, uh…”

This time, during the pregnant pause while they both mentally filled in the blank, Lucy actually laughed. “You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

“I have a few ex-girlfriends who would disagree, but my parents like to think so.”

“I think I’ll have to side with your folks on that one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that,” he said with a grin.

She grinned back, then, without another word, slipped her hand into his and turned again toward the exit.

As her soft fingers entwined with his, Ross’s heart jolted. He’d kissed her, touched her…but this was a little bit more. It wasn’t just a simple touch. That clasped hand was so easy and relaxed, like she already trusted him, as if they’d known each other for weeks rather than hours.

He honestly wasn’t sure what was going to happen when they walked out of this building. He’d done what he’d set out to do—escorted her to her ex’s place to retrieve her present. But now what? They’d made no other plans. It was the day before Christmas Eve, the streets were a madhouse, he had a million things to do. But as they walked into the bracing December day, alive with the thrum of city life, laughter, and energy, all he could think was that the very last thing he wanted was to say goodbye to her.

5

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

THOUGH HE KNEW Stella had the checks for the subcontractors ready, Ross was hoping it would take a while for her to find Lucy’s. While there were still people in the building, it would be far too easy for her to slip away. The longer it took, the better the chances were that she wouldn’t be able to avoid him on her way out.

Yet somehow, she nearly pulled it off. He didn’t even realize she was leaving until he spotted a thick head of dark hair—topped by a merry green, feathered elf cap—getting onto the elevator. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“What?”

Seeing the surprised expression on the face of one of his project managers, who’d stopped to chat after Mr. Whitaker departed, Ross mumbled, “I’m sorry, I just remembered something I forgot to take care of.”

Like getting Lucy’s address, phone number and her promise to get together very soon so they could talk. Exactly what they’d talk about, he didn’t know. Six years seemed like a long time for a how’ve-you-been type of conversation. So maybe they’d skip how’ve-you-beens in favor of what-happens-now?

Then he remembered that Stella had hired Lucy. She had to know how to get in touch with her. Plus, Lucy had mentioned she lived here, worked here—it shouldn’t be hard to find her online.

So, yes, he could be reasonable and mature and patient about this. Could wait until after the holidays, then call her sometime in January to say hello and see if she’d like to meet.

But something—maybe the look in her eyes when she’d said he would know what she’d been up to if he’d called during the past six years—wouldn’t let him wait. He couldn’t have said it in front of anyone at the party; wasn’t sure he’d have found the words even if they’d been left alone. Still, Lucy deserved an explanation from him. Even if she thought it a lame one and decided to keep hating him, he’d feel better if he offered it.

Then he’d get to work on making her not hate him anymore.

“Thanks for the party, Mr. Marshall,” his employee said. “The kids really loved it.”

“I’m glad. Hey, you and your family have a great holiday,” Ross replied, already stepping toward the enclosed stairs that were intended for emergencies.

This was one. The elevator could have made a few stops on the way to the lobby—there were still employees on other floors, closing down for the holiday break. If he hustled, he might beat her to the bottom.

He might not be slinging a hammer and doing hard physical labor ten hours a day anymore, but Ross did keep himself busy in his off hours. So the dash down six flights of stairs didn’t really wind him. By the time he burst through the doors into the tiled lobby of the building—surprising Chip, the elderly security guard—the elevator door was just sliding open, and several people exited, some carrying boxes, bags of gifts, plates of food, files to work on at home.

One carried nothing, but wore a silly hat.

Lucy saw him and her mouth dropped. “How did you…?”

“Staircase,” he told her. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Did you really stalk me down six flights of stairs?”

He rolled his eyes. “Stalking? That’s a little dramatic.”

“You’re breathing hard and sweating,” she accused him, stepping close and frowning. “Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t run every step of the way.”

He couldn’t contain a small grin. “Busted.”

“The question is, why?”

“Here’s a better one. Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”

“We said our goodbyes a long time ago,” she retorted.

He whistled.

“What?”

“You’re still really mad at me.”

Those slim shoulders straightened and her chin went up. “That’s ridiculous.”

Lucy was obviously trying for a withering look, but with that silly hat and the droopy feather hanging by her cheek, she only managed freaking adorable. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand and nudging the feather back into place, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

She flinched as if touched with a hot iron. “Don’t.”

“Jesus, Lucy, do you hate me?” he whispered, realizing for the first time that this might not be mere bravado. Was it possible that over the past six years, while he’d been feeling miserable even as he congratulated himself on doing the right—the mature—thing, she’d been hating his guts?

“Of course I don’t hate you,” she said, sounding huffy. As if she was telling the truth, but wasn’t exactly happy about that fact.

So she wanted to hate him?

“Can we please go sit down somewhere and have a cup of coffee?”

A wistful expression crossed her face, as if she, too, were remembering their first meeting in that New York coffee shop.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I need to get to the bank before it closes, and before the snow starts.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m driving.”

“I’ll ride with you.”

She huffed. “You’re still persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when it’s important.”

“And when did I become important to you?”

The day we met. He didn’t say the words, but he suspected she saw them in his face.

“Look, Ross, I swear, I am not holding a grudge,” she said. “So you don’t have to go out of your way to try to make up with me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I just…I’ve missed you. A lot.”

“How can you miss someone you knew for only a weekend, years ago?”

“Are you telling me you don’t feel the same way?”

If she said she didn’t, he’d make himself believe her. He’d let her go. Chalk this up to one of those life lessons where a memory of a time you’d considered perfect turned out to be something less than that to the one you’d shared it with.

Lucy didn’t respond at first. Not wanting her to breeze over this, to reply without thought, Ross lifted a hand. A few strands of her silky, dark hair had fallen against her face. He slid his fingers through it, sending heat all the way up his arm. Her eyes drifted closed, the long lashes stark against her pale skin. And he’d swear she curled her face into his hand for an instant.

Ross groaned, as helpless to resist her now as he’d been that first day, in the elevator. Ignoring the surprised stare of the guard, who was the only other person in the lobby, he bent to Lucy and brushed his lips against hers, softly, demanding nothing more than a chance.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, then melted against him. This time there was no crumpled box separating their bodies; he was thrilled to discover she still fit against him as perfectly as ever. Her soft curves welcomed his harder angles, her feet parting a little as she brushed her legs against his and arched into him.

Sweetness flared into desire, just like it had the first time they’d kissed. Ross dropped his hands to her hips and held her close. Sweeping his tongue into her mouth, he dared her to go further. She, of course, took the dare, accepting what he offered and upping the ante by lifting her arms to encircle his neck. Their tongues thrust together, hot and languorous and deep, leaving Ross to wonder how he’d ever even imagined kissing any other woman had been as good as kissing this one. Everything about her was as intoxicating to him as it had been then. Maybe more so—because Lucy was no longer the sweet-faced co-ed. She was now every inch a woman. And he’d had the intense privilege of making her that woman.

Maybe that’s what made this kiss different from their first one. Then, there’d been curiosity and wonder, riding on a wave of pure attraction.

Now they knew what they could be to each other. Knew the pleasure they were capable of creating together. Knew what it was like to be naked and hot and joined together as sanity retreated and hunger took over every waking thought. And many sleeping ones.

She lifted her leg slightly, twining it around his, and Ross echoed the tiny groan she made when she arched harder against him. There was no way she couldn’t feel his rock-hard erection, any more than he could miss the heat between the thighs that instinctively cradled him.

Six years fell away, along with time, place and any concerns about an audience. There was just this, just the two of them, exploring something that had been missing from their lives for far too long.

Though he felt lost to everything else in the world except Lucy, Ross did finally become aware of a throat-clearing—Chip?—followed by a dinging sound that indicated the arrival of the elevator. A swoosh of the door was followed by a dull roar of laughing voices; the last few partiers…i.e., his employers, were about to make their way home.

He and Lucy quickly ended the kiss and stepped apart. “Déjà vu all over again,” he muttered. Only this time, they’d been caught on the outside of the elevator.

She actually laughed a little, that sweet, warm laugh that was so distinctly hers. Over the past several years, he’d listened for that sound, always expecting to somehow hear it again, even though he’d never really let himself believe he would.

“Hopefully we’re not going to hear some old lady say the guy on six is a fart-weasel.”

“Hey, my office is on six,” he said with a chuckle, pleased to realize Lucy remembered as much about that day as he did.

A group exited the elevator. “Have a happy holiday!” said one of his workers, who walked with his pregnant wife.

Ross nodded at the couple, and at the three others who’d come down with them. “Same to you. Be careful out there—it’s supposed to be a bad one.”

Murmuring their goodbyes, the group headed for the exit. They were escorted by Chip, who turned a key to operate the intricate, electronic locks that turned this place into a fortress. With the offices closed to the public today, Chip had been kept on his toes playing doorman, letting employees in for the party, and, now that it was over, back out.

Fortunately the guard never complained. Not even about the fact that he had to work all night, during an impending blizzard, right before Christmas Eve. They might not have state secrets to be stolen, but some of their competitors would risk a lot for the chance to get at prebid documents. With millions of dollars in high-end construction projects at stake, corporate espionage had never been more of a danger. Plus, Elite had invested a hell of a lot of money in computers and equipment. Keeping security on-site 24/7 was one place where Ross had stood firm against his penny-pinching father, who loved to keep a hand in the business even though he was technically retired.

“Wait, I’m leaving, too,” Lucy said as Chip began to relock the doors.

“Lucy…”

She held up a hand and brushed past him. “Please, Ross, I really need to go.”

Hell, she sounded more determined to leave than she had before he’d kissed her. Not that he regretted it. Not one bit.

Chip glanced toward Ross, as if asking what Ross wanted him to do. He nodded once. He couldn’t keep Lucy here against her will. Nothing had changed; he’d taken his shot, and he’d lost.

But just for now.

Definitely. They’d been caught off guard, taken completely by surprise when they’d bumped into one another today. Now, though, he knew Lucy was living in Chicago. There was no longer any geographic reason for him to bow out. Nor was he young enough—angry and resentful enough—to let outside situations and demands make him walk away from her for a second time.

It was as if she’d been delivered back into his life, like the best kind of Christmas gift. The one you never expected, didn’t realize you needed, but, when you tore off the paper, suddenly understood that it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

No, he wasn’t about to let her get away again, but he knew the old saying about picking your battles. Lucy had her guard up, she was uncomfortable here on his turf and hadn’t had a moment to evaluate what all this meant to her. So he’d give her a few days to figure things out, then try again. And the next time he asked her to hear him out, he would not take no for an answer.

“Goodbye, Ross,” she said, not even turning around to face him. Her voice was soft, low, and he suspected she was trying desperately not to reveal her emotions.

He had to let her go. Had to trust that was the right thing to do in order to get her back.

“Goodbye,” he replied. “And Lucy?”

She hesitated, then glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“Merry Christmas.”

A brief hesitation, then a tiny smile widened her perfect lips. “Bah humbug.”

And then she disappeared out into the gray twilight.

IT USUALLY TOOK twenty minutes to get to the nearest branch of her bank. But today, Lucy was dealing with Friday evening, holiday weekend, impending-blizzard traffic. So she didn’t reach the drive-thru until right before they closed at seven.

Thick flecks of white started to appear on the windshield of her Jeep as she waited in the long line of cars. New York got the white stuff by the foot, but here, the Snow Miser seemed to delight in sending wicked, bone-chilling winds along with his icy droppings. The flakes weren’t the sweet, delicate ones that gently kissed your bare face. These were big, sloppy and wet, landing like punches, instead.

Once she’d made her deposit, Lucy headed right home. Luckily she had believed the weatherman’s warnings and gone shopping yesterday. Having stocked up on chocolate, Diet Coke, and DVDs, she looked forward to a weekend inside, chomping on junk food, watching disaster movies, and shopping online.

Her trip home was difficult, even though the Jeep had 4-wheel drive. Her main concern was seeing through the swirling blanket of white in front of the windshield. Chicago was usually a bright city, even at night; yet this kind of snowstorm didn’t reflect the light the way some did. It instead sucked it in, making streetlights hard to see.

It took almost two hours. By the time she arrived at her apartment building, she was not only cold and tired, she was actually jumpy from having been so on-alert.

Once inside her place, she wrenched off her coat and headed for the bathroom. A hot bath sounded like the perfect way to de-stress. She promised herself that, once in that bath, she would not spend one minute thinking about Ross. Or about that kiss.

Why did you have to go and kiss him back?

Probably because she’d been curious, wondering if her memories had been faulty. Could their brief relationship really have been as intense as she’d told herself it was? Had every other man she’d been with really paled in comparison, or was it wishful imaginings of the one that got away?

That kiss had answered all her questions: she hadn’t imagined a damn thing.

“Stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself as she got into the tub. the hot water stung her skin at first, but she welcomed the sensation, welcomed anything that would take her mind off the man she’d been kissing just a couple of hours ago.

It didn’t work. Ross became more prominent in her thoughts. Not just the Ross of today, but the one she’d known before. The guy with whom she’d been so incredibly intimate.