The Nights Before Christmas

Greg had suggested she didn’t have enough experience to know what did and didn’t turn men on. He was right. And there was no better place to get that experience than with him.

The thought made her stomach tumble with anxiety, but unless she allowed Greg to come to her rescue and teach her a few things about herself and her relationship with men, she could very well be facing a future in a penthouse with twenty-nine cats. My God, the man even came highly recommended. If he were a stock he’d be rated triple A.

When she thought about it that way, she realized Greg was a heck of a lot less risky than some man she might meet at the gym or at a party. Maybe she didn’t know him all that well, would never know him all that well, but Terri wouldn’t steer her wrong.

She’d learned to respect Terri’s advice. Terri had helped her through several sticky situations at work, and she’d also recommended this apartment building. The gym would be a good thing, too, once Suzanne’s muscles adjusted. No doubt about it, Terri usually knew what she was talking about.

Suzanne’s hands began to shake as she realized that she was actually contemplating having an affair with the handyman. But asking him to come back to her apartment and using her sink as an excuse was too lame. Been there, done that. No, if she planned to embark on this course, she’d have to be brave for a change. She’d have to initiate the action.

She tried to remember a time she’d done that with a man, and couldn’t think of a single instance. Like Sleeping Beauty, she’d waited passively for a prince to come to her. That strategy had netted her men like Jared. If she wanted to do the choosing for a change, to find someone more suited to her personality, she needed practice in making the first move. She could practice on Greg.

She put the mugs down on the counter when she began quivering so much she was afraid she’d drop them. Then she wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to stop shaking long enough to make a decision. When a woman has a great body, he’d said. The compliment had been tucked into his outrageous statement about ripping off her clothes, but she hadn’t missed it. He wanted her, and that knowledge braced her for taking the big step.

After all, Greg was something that a woman didn’t come across very often—guaranteed to please, and certified not to become a bother later on. He was exactly what she needed for this radical change in her behavior. He was a sure thing.

“YOU’RE SPOILED ROTTEN, Matilda.” Greg gave the tortoise-shell cat another piece of chicken from the sandwich he’d fixed himself after getting back from Suzanne’s apartment. “And we know who’s to blame for that.”

The same guy would have been to blame if things had gotten out of hand in Suzanne’s apartment a little while ago. Her attitude about herself, encouraged no doubt by that idiot Jared, had ticked him off and led him to say more than he should have. A lot more than he should have. He’d never been so aggressive with any woman in this apartment complex.

Thank God she’d jumped the way she had when he’d made his speech about the lure of tidy little business suits, or there was no telling what he might have done to prove his point. He’d been so close to grabbing her and kissing the daylights out of her that the slightest invitation on her part would have set him off.

But she hadn’t issued an invitation. Instead she’d acted frightened, which had brought him to his senses.

He sighed. All the women he’d counseled in this building had suffered from the same basic problem. They’d hooked up with a guy who’d boosted his own ego at the expense of theirs. By the time the jerk got tired of the game and dumped them, they were convinced they had nothing to offer any man. More than once Greg had wanted to hunt the ex-boyfriends down and beat the tar out of them for the wreckage they’d left behind.

Picturing Suzanne glancing down at herself and announcing that nothing about her was sexy, he’d been ready to strangle Jared. Greg had been blessed with the ability to appreciate any woman whether she happened to be thin or plump, plain or attractive. After he’d concentrated a little while on them, they began to take on a glow that made each of them beautiful.

But Suzanne took no effort on his part to shine like a newly minted penny. Her beauty had dazzled him from the beginning, and he couldn’t believe that she didn’t know how gorgeous she was. Her lack of confidence made him impatient to jump in there and do something about it.

Unfortunately, he was likely to jump in a little too deep this time. Much as he might want to help Suzanne, he had to think about himself—both his job, which he might lose if he wasn’t careful, and his heart. The job could be replaced, but if he allowed another woman to stomp all over his heart the way Amelia had, he might not recover.

While he cleaned up his supper dishes, Matilda paced the tiny apartment waiting for him to finish. He took a moment to add water to the metal stand holding his Christmas tree, a slightly larger one than Suzanne’s. His wasn’t decorated yet for the simple reason that he had no decorations. He’d bought the tree on a whim because he loved the smell of evergreen. One of these days he’d pick up some ornaments and lights, but for now he had a nice foresty scent in his little basement apartment.

Come to think of it, he was in the mood for some Christmas music. He picked out three holiday CDs from his collection and loaded them into his stereo before falling into his overstuffed reading chair. With a little prrt of pleasure, Matilda jumped to his lap and curled up, purring happily.

He scratched under her chin, using the exact motion she loved. With his free hand, he picked up the book he’d left on the table beside the chair. For the past couple of weeks he’d been on a Dickens kick.

Reading was very nearly his favorite occupation, but because he was a healthy thirty-one-year-old male, making love to a special woman still ranked first. Tonight, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on the trials of Oliver Twist, he kept thinking of how great it would be to snuggle with Suzanne.

Finally he gave up, put down the book and leaned back, closing his eyes and stroking Matilda while he thought about Suzanne. The top of her head came to his chin, which made her about five-seven, a height he happened to favor. With his eyes shut he could imagine standing close enough to catch the scent of her rose-scented shampoo. How he’d love to bury his nose in those wild curls of hers before eventually hooking a finger under her chin and tilting her face to his for a kiss—an under-the-mistletoe kiss.

She had a wide, generous mouth, and he liked that in a woman. Or maybe he just liked Suzanne’s mouth, especially when she smiled. In his fantasy she would be smiling, waiting eagerly for that first meeting of lips. Her eyes, which could crackle with blue fire, would be soft and dreamy in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

Taking his time, he’d lower his head, watching how her lips parted as he drew near. Because this was his fantasy, he imagined her wanting this kiss more than any she’d ever had. Her heart would be beating as fast as his, and her hand would steal around his neck, her fingers warm, her touch reminding him that this kiss was only the beginning….

When his doorbell buzzed, Matilda jumped from his lap and loped into the bedroom. He didn’t have many visitors, and she wasn’t crazy about socializing with those he did have. He wasn’t wild about the interruption, himself. His fantasy of kissing Suzanne had come to the good part.

He wondered what emergency had brought a tenant to his door. Nearly everybody used the telephone to summon him upstairs for whatever repair was needed, an arrangement that was fine with him. This basement apartment was his refuge, and besides, he wasn’t supposed to have a pet. The fewer people who knew about Matilda, the better.

Whatever had happened upstairs, he hoped it could wait until morning. Having a handyman on the premises meant that, technically, people could call him twenty-four hours a day, but he still considered the hours between eight at night and six in the morning as his, unless someone had a major flood or wires shooting sparks across the room.

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