One Christmas Eve Page 7

  “Christmas Charades?” His mouth quirked up in one corner as he took a step closer. “Is there also Christmas Twister?”

  The mental image of their arms and legs tangled together was in no way diminished by the thought of a cheap plastic mat with colored dots. “No Twister, sadly.”

  “How about Spin the Bottle?” He was slowly moving toward her and she didn’t back up. “Truth or Dare? Or that other game...what’s its name? The one where I get to make out with you in a coat closet?”

  If she didn’t think too much about what Abe might have stowed in his coat closet, Zoe might have been on board with that party game. But she didn’t want to encourage Preston in his obvious state of intoxication, so she didn’t tell him that. “Sounds like you know how to show a girl a fun time.”

  “I want to have a fun time with you.”

  Even though he was drunk, the words thrilled her. “Yeah, you’ve definitely had enough to drink, and I know you drove since I saw your car out the window. Since you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’ll happily crash on Abe’s floor, how are you planning to get home?”

  “I should grab an Uber.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “Good luck with that, city boy. Give me your keys and I’ll drive you home.”

  “You said my car is boring,” he said, frowning, even as he dug his keys out of his pocket.

  She grinned and snagged the fob out of his hand. “Not with me driving it.”

  Once they had their coats, she stood by Preston’s side as he thanked their host for inviting him. Abe, who’d probably been sampling his own punch all day, had no idea who Preston was, but hugged him hard and thanked him for showing up, promising to see him soon.

  A few people waved to Zoe as she and Preston left—including Carly, of course—and she waved back without stopping. People were definitely going to talk, but she didn’t care.

  “Wait,” Preston said as she pulled onto the main road. “I don’t know where I live. I mean, I know where I live. I don’t remember my address.”

  “I know where you live. And put your seatbelt on.”

  He did as he was told, and then he leaned close. “You know where I live? Do you follow me around?”

  She laughed, enjoying drunk Preston a lot more than she would have imagined. “Yes, I follow you around. Or, my grandfather owns the house you’re renting and Carly lived there before you did.”

  It didn’t take long to get to his house, but she was surprised he wasn’t snoring by the time she pulled in the drive.

  Instead he was frowning. “If you go home, I won’t have my car tomorrow.”

  “You really do like to plan ahead when it comes to problems, don’t you?” When he gave her a questioning look, she shook her head. “Never mind. Maybe I’ll have to crash at your place so you’ll have your car and you can buy me breakfast before you drive me home.”

  That must have worked for him, since he got out of the car. It looked like he was going to walk around and open her door for her, but he wasn’t moving very quickly and she was already out and hitting the key fob to lock up the car when he reached her.

  They walked into the house together, and it didn’t look much different than when Carly lived there, except the furniture was expensive leather and he didn’t have anything in the way of knickknacks. Or anything hung on the walls, which she was pleasantly surprised to see he had yet to paint gray.

  “Dammit, I don’t have any mistletoe.”

  He looked so disappointed in himself, she had to laugh. “Do you still have that tie?”

  “I can go get it,” he said, turning so abruptly she stopped so he wouldn’t run into her.

  “Let’s save it for another night,” she said, knowing there was only a fifty-fifty chance he’d remember this tomorrow.

  “Good lord, I want you, Zoe.” Okay, maybe seventy-thirty. “I need to know what’s so disgusting any sane man wouldn’t want to do it to you.”

  Heat flamed across her face and chest before spreading throughout her entire body. She’d almost managed to forget he heard her say that when they were at the Dock. Almost. Her lips curved into a smile as she tilted her head. “You need to know?”

  “Yes. Need. Trying to imagine what it could be is cutting into my working time. And my sleeping time. Pretty much all of my awake time. My productivity is suffering, Zoe.”

  Did those imaginings also include him in the role of costar? “What kind of things have you been imagining?”

  He didn’t answer, but her skin prickled in reaction to the way his mouth curved into a naughty grin and his gaze bored into hers.

  She wanted that. She didn’t even know what he was picturing doing to her, but if it made him look at her like that, she wanted it.

  “Actually, tell me what he wouldn’t do later,” he said in a husky voice. “Because I want to kiss you right now and you can’t talk while I’m kissing you.”

  “If you kiss me, I’m not going to want you to stop.”

  “Then I won’t stop.”

  “But here’s the thing. You’re very drunk.”

  “I’m not that drunk. Trust me.”

  “I’m not talking about whiskey dick,” she said, and then she had to pause while he laughed at the phrase. “I want you to want me when you’re sober.”

  “I want you all the time.”

  “Yeah, but when you’re sober, something holds you back and maybe whatever that is doesn’t matter right this minute, but it might tomorrow and I don’t want you to wake up with regrets. Remember that whole pen and ink sketch versus abstract color blobs discussion?”

  “That was stupid. I say stupid things all the time and you should definitely ignore me.”

  She laughed, and he leaned closer. “Just one kiss, Zoe. I really need to kiss you.”

  She really needed to kiss him, too. “One kiss and then you go to bed. Alone.”

  He struggled to make an almost straight face and raised his hand as if to swear an oath. “I promise.”

  “That’s your left hand.”

  The way the corners of his mouth twitched made her suspect it had been deliberate, but he switched hands. “One kiss and then bed.”

  He moved closer, but she laughed and stopped his forward motion with her palm against his chest. “Oh no you don’t, lawyer guy. No loopholes. Say it right.”

  Holding up his hand again, he cleared his throat. “I, Preston Phillip Wheeler, do solemnly swear that I will give you one kiss—and only one kiss—and then I will go to bed by myself and sleep alone.”

  One kiss couldn’t hurt, she told herself. Just one kiss. Even if he had regrets when he sobered up, a single kiss was pretty easy to put behind you. “Okay. One kiss.”

  Before she could move closer, or maybe stand up on her tiptoes so he could kiss her and go, he had one hand on her hip and one behind her neck. But he didn’t haul her in. Instead he backed her up against the wall and, excruciatingly slowly, lowered his mouth to hers.

  She expected him to grind his lips against hers for a few seconds and then stagger off to bed, but his tongue traced her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth. She relaxed against his body as he kissed her, his mouth never totally losing contact with hers.

  When his hand slid up her neck until his fingers were buried in her hair, she moaned and rocked her hips against his. She wasn’t sure, since he was kissing her very thoroughly, but it felt as if he smiled.

  His hand slid up her side and then cupped her breast, making her jump when his thumb brushed over her taut nipple. She didn’t think this was in the rules, but he was such a very good kisser and the way his fingers tightened in her hair felt so good she wasn’t sure she had the strength to break off the kiss.

  One kiss.

  Technically, it still was. His tongue danced over hers, and then the fingers that had been teasing her nipple started
heading south. She would have held her breath, but Preston’s kiss was deepening—growing more demanding—and she needed all the oxygen she could get.

  When his leg slid between hers and his knee pressed up hard between her thighs, she heard herself whimper against his mouth. She could make him stop—she knew he would—but it had been so long since a man had touched her like this and she didn’t want him to stop.

  His hand had paused, but she relaxed and maybe even ground herself against the hardness of his knee, though she’d probably deny that later. Encouraged, he kissed her harder and reached down to stroke her through her jeans.

  She moaned and would have rested her head back against the wall, but his hand was fisted in her hair and he held her in place as he nipped not-so-gently at her lower lip before soothing it with the light touch of his tongue.

  Still just one long, delicious kiss.

  The pressure against her clit through her jeans was driving her mad and she squirmed against his hand. She wanted more. But she couldn’t tell him that—couldn’t demand what she wanted—because to talk, she’d have to break off the kiss and then it would be over. Preston was going to follow the rule she’d set for him.

  His knee replaced the pressure and a few seconds later, he had undone the button of her jeans and worked the zipper down. Of all the damn days not to have worn leggings, she thought.

  Finally, he worked his hand under her jeans, keeping the flimsy fabric of her panties between his fingers and her flesh. His other hand tugged at her hair and his mouth stifled her rough groan.

  It didn’t take long. The hard tip of his middle finger stroked her clit, pressing and circling, while his mouth plundered hers and hand tugged at her hair with just the right amount of pressure.

  He didn’t stop as the orgasm wracked her body, holding her and tugging at her lip between his teeth. She wanted to slide down the wall—and take him with her—but he held her until the tremors passed.

  Then, after one final nip at her lip, he withdrew his hand from her jeans and held her close.

  “I’m not sure, but I think you cheated,” she said in a hoarse voice when she’d caught her breath.

  “I most certainly did not cheat. That was one kiss, and now I’m going to bed.” He sighed dramatically and stepped back. “Alone.”

  Right now she wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed beside him and see what other tricks Mr. Not-So-Uptight had up his sleeves, but she shook her head as if that could clear the post-orgasm fog.

  “Can you give me a T-shirt and basketball shorts or something to sleep in?”

  “Do I strike you as the kind of man who owns basketball shorts?”

  “Good point.”

  “I can find you something. Hold on a second.”

  When he walked into the bedroom, Zoe took the opportunity to rest her head against the wall and gather her thoughts. Or try to. They were refusing to be gathered at the moment, and all she could think about was how much she had not expected that from Preston.

  Just when she decided he might have forgotten her and passed out on his bed, he returned with a set of thermals that were soft from laundering. They’d be perfect pajamas in a pinch, and tonight definitely qualified as a pinch.

  “Thank you,” she said, and when his hands lingered on hers as she took the thermals, she chuckled. “Go to bed now, Preston.”

  “You should sleep on the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. Because I’m a gentleman. Mostly.”

  “You’re a tall gentleman, and you’ve also had enough to drink so you might wake up on the couch confused and then stagger to your bed and then all this willpower I’ve burned through tonight will be for nothing.”

  “One more kiss?”

  Oh hell, yes please. She braced her hand against his chest. “No. Goodnight, Preston.”

  But she’d be lying if, once she was curled up in Preston’s cotton thermals and a fleece throw on his couch, she said she didn’t have regrets.

  * * *

  Preston groaned and pulled the quilt over his head to block out the morning sun. Not so much because of a hangover, though his head throbbed enough to ensure he’d be giving Abe’s holiday punch a wide berth from now on.

  Because, unless she’d taken off in his car while he was still asleep, Zoe was out there. Maybe asleep on the couch. Maybe drinking coffee at his table. But she was—hopefully—on the other side of the bedroom door and he wasn’t quite ready to face her yet.

  He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that alcohol hadn’t obliterated his memory of their kiss last night. That one long, delicious kiss that had done nothing to alleviate his ache for her.

  He wondered what she’d do if he got dressed and walked out into the living room wearing the mistletoe tie.

  Imagining the possible outcomes of that scenario—his favorite being her pushing him down on the couch and kneeling on a throw pillow in front of him—didn’t do much for the morning wood situation, so he threw back the quilt and sat on the edge of the bed to scrub his face with his hands.

  One of the things he’d liked about this house was that, despite being a one-bedroom, it had a master bath in addition to a half bath off the entryway, so he was able to take the world’s fastest shower and get dressed before facing Zoe.

  As soon as he opened his bedroom door, he smelled coffee. Coffee and the ibuprofen he’d just taken would hopefully knock out the headache that, considering his condition last night, wasn’t as bad as he’d feared it would be when he first opened his eyes.

  Zoe was sitting at his small kitchen table with the fleece throw over her shoulders and her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and she looked so beautiful that his head wasn’t the only thing that ached.

  Waking up to Zoe could only have been better if she was actually in his bed with him.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I helped myself to your Keurig since I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep.”

  He popped a fresh pod into the brewer and set a mug on the tray. “Thank you for driving me home last night. I honestly didn’t intend to drink like that.”

  “Somebody should have warned you about Abe’s punch. And you’re welcome for driving you home. I got an orgasm out of it, so it wasn’t a bad deal for me.”

  It’s a good thing his coffee was still brewing because if it had been done, he probably would have choked on it. Or spit it all over his kitchen. “I...just so you know, I wouldn’t have tipped an Uber driver that well.”

  She laughed hard enough so the fleece slipped off her shoulders, revealing the way her curves stretched and filled out his cotton thermals, which were his favorite now. “Good to know, although that would be one way to get ride-sharing off the ground in this town.”

  His coffee finished brewing, so after adding some cream and sugar, he sat at the table across from her and raised the mug to his lips. Closing his eyes, he savored that first hot sip, hoping the caffeine would help kick the ibuprofen into gear.

  “How come you have no holiday decorations?”

  The question took him off guard, and he looked around the house. “I do. Not many, but I have a box of decorations in the back of the coat closet. I just haven’t gotten around to putting them up. And don’t give me that look. Thanksgiving was just last week, so I have plenty of time.”

  “Here’s what I think we should do.”

  He gave an exaggerated groan, but internally, he was anticipating her telling him they needed to get that box and unleash Christmas on his house. While it wasn’t a very big box, he’d move slowly and that way they’d spend the day here. Together.

  “Carly lived here for years,” she said, “so I’m familiar with the coat closet and if you have a box in the back of it, it’s not a very big box.”

  “Guilty. But I keep it pretty simple when it comes to Christmas decorations.”
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  “Please tell me you’re not one of those people who do everything in white.”

  He snorted. “No, I am not. And you still haven’t told me what you think we should do.”

  “Oh, right. I think you should take me home—”

  “That’s not a fun plan,” he interrupted.

  She laughed. “And then, after I take a quick shower and grab a few things, I’ll meet you at the Café for breakfast. After we eat, I’ll follow you back here and we can spend the day decorating your place.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “Unless you drive too slow, in which case I’ll pass you and you can just show up eventually to help.”

  “That’ll probably be a lot funnier after I finish this coffee.” He smiled at her over his mug. “You’re right about my car being a lot less boring with you driving it, though.”

  “Everything’s less boring with me in it,” she said, and it was so true, he didn’t even laugh.

  She stood and, to his dismay, wrapped the fleece around herself again. “I’m going to go put last night’s clothes back on. And I’m starving, so don’t take all day drinking that coffee.”

  “No pity at all for the guy with a hangover who did not have an orgasm last night?”

  She was still laughing when the bathroom door closed behind her, and Preston smiled against the rim of his coffee mug. He could get used to this.

  Chapter Eight

  Zoe knew walking into the Cedar Street Café and sitting down next to Preston would be adding a whole heap of fertilizer to the gossip grapevine after leaving Abe’s party with him last night. But she didn’t care. She was hungry and Preston wasn’t any better at grocery shopping than he was at decorating for Christmas.

  And of course he’d gotten them a table for two. Sitting side by side at the counter would have attracted less attention. She wasn’t really sure why it mattered, other than having all the people who cared about her in town thinking she and Preston were a couple didn’t sit well. She wasn’t sure they were a couple or ever would be.