Wicked Christmas Nights. Leslie Kelly

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      “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.

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