A Proposal for Christmas. Lindsay McKenna

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      While Toby consumed soup and a sandwich, his appetite made sharp by a morning of fresh air and exercise, Holly exchanged her Saturday jeans for a pair of fitted gray slacks, her T-shirt and poncho for a classic navy blue blouse with a tie at the throat and a charcoal velvet blazer. She brushed her hair carefully and put on makeup, too, telling herself all the while that she wasn’t trying to be attractive for David, not at all. It was just that as something of a local celebrity, she had an image to maintain.

      Why she hadn’t been concerned with that image earlier in the day, when she’d gone to a public park in her oldest clothes, wearing no makeup, was a question she didn’t bother to examine.

      When she returned from dropping Toby off at the Coliseum, David was waiting in front of her house. And he was driving a different car.

      Holly parked her own Toyota in the driveway, locked it and went toward him, taking in the sleek lines of the red Camaro sitting at the curb. David got out, looking devastatingly handsome in jeans and a cream-colored bulky-knit sweater, and came around to open the car door for her.

      “What happened to the rented one?” she asked. “The brown sedan?”

      David shook his head, but he went back around the car and got in on his own side before answering. “I told you my car was being fixed, Holly. This is it.”

      Again, Holly was unsettled. This car looked and smelled so new, how could anything have been wrong with it?

      “Don’t weigh everything I say, Holly,” David said watching her. “I’m a man, not a mystery to solve.”

      Holly said nothing. She couldn’t deny that he was a man, but the part about his not being a mystery was certainly open to debate.

      Lunch, eaten in a plant-filled restaurant overlooking Riverfront Park, the site of a world’s fair and Spokane’s coveted antique carousel, was a stilted affair.

      Holly was as annoyed as she was self-conscious. Hadn’t David said he wanted to talk to her? No, in fact, he’d said he needed to talk to her. So why didn’t he?

      His glass of white wine seemed to fascinate him; he turned it in one strong, sun-browned hand, watching the ebb and flow. The silence lengthened.

      “I thought you said we were going to talk!” Holly blurted out impatiently. What was it about this man that undid her so? She felt sure that it was more than her rising attraction to him, more even than her doubts about his motives for spending time with her.

      He chuckled and the sound was hollow and humorless. “You’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t you, Holly? Or, I should say, someone very close to you is. Why won’t you let me help you?”

      Holly bit her lower lip. She wasn’t about to make any admissions about Craig and her involvement in his many troubles, but she wanted to. She wanted to let everything pour out. “I don’t need any help and I’m not in trouble,” she said stubbornly when David’s indigo eyes impaled her with an unspoken challenge. “What gave you that idea?”

      He made an exasperated sound. “I’m not an idiot, Holly. I was there when this person called, whoever they are.”

      If Holly felt alarm, she also felt a paradoxical sort of comfort. Could it be that, for all her imaginings, David really didn’t know that her caller was Craig? “I think we should leave,” she said stiffly.

      “Fine,” David replied, setting his wineglass down with a jarring thump and rising from his chair to draw back Holly’s.

      The flesh on the back of her neck tingled as it was brushed briefly by the hard wall of his midsection. Even that small contact stirred the melting warmth deep in Holly’s middle and made her heart beat at a faster pace.

      She was still shivering when they reached his car.

      “Take me home, please,” she said, struggling not to fling herself into his arms like some helpless bit of fluff and sob out all the things that were tormenting her.

      “Don’t worry,” he replied in a terse whisper.

      But, at the house, he lingered. Against her better judgment, Holly invited him inside for coffee. Just passing through the living room, where they had so nearly made love the night Craig called and ruined everything, made Holly’s face burn.

      She was grateful to reach the cookbook-cluttered, sensible kitchen. What could happen here?

      Too late, Holly remembered the first soul-jarring kiss. That was what could happen here.

      She busied herself with the coffeemaker, filling the decanter with cold water, putting a new filter and fresh grounds into the basket. She was so very much on guard that her shoulders ached.

      “Holly.”

      She stiffened as she felt David approach, but could not bring herself to turn around and face him. His hands closed over her shoulders and began gently working the taut muscles there.

      “Scary, isn’t it?” he asked in a low voice, his breath brushing Holly’s ear and part of her cheek.

      “Wh-what?” Holly hedged. She knew she should break out of David’s hold, but she didn’t have the spirit to do that. Besides, the massage he was giving her felt so good.

      “The way we need each other.”

      Holly lifted her chin, barely able to keep from letting her head roll as the muscles in her shoulders were forced to relax. “I don’t want to need anybody,” she managed to say.

      “Neither do I,” came the prompt, gruff reply. “But there it is.”

      He was close, the length of his body comfortingly hard and strong against Holly. Suddenly his hands stopped working her shoulders to cup her breasts with a bold gentleness that caused her to draw in a swift, audible breath.

      “D-David—”

      His thumbs were stroking her nipples through the thin fabric of her blouse and the gossamer bra beneath. “Let me make love to you, Holly,” he said hoarsely, his lips now touching the outer rim of her ear and making every part of her leap with a stinging desire. “If we don’t, I’m going to go crazy.”

      Holly trembled, her head falling backward to press into David’s broad shoulder, her eyes closed. “At least you’re still sane,” she admitted, breathless. “I’m already over the edge. I must be, to do this...”

      The delicious torment of her breasts stopped; he turned her swiftly to face him. And new torments, even sweeter than those that had gone before, took over as he kissed her. Holly’s knees quivered, threatening to give out, and David supported her by pressing closer, fairly pinning her to the counter’s edge.

      When he drew back, he searched her face with that same broken, needing look in his eyes. “Holly?”

      Flushed, Holly nodded, and that was answer enough for David. He lifted her up into his arms and, at her direction, mumbled into his neck, carried her upstairs and into the bedroom. There, he dropped her summarily onto the rumpled covers, and she had cause to be embarrassed again because she had forgotten to make the bed.

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