“You heard me.” Then Rebecca turned to the stranger, and kissed him.
It was graceless, classless and screamed of desperation. And wasn’t that the truth? But as she kissed him under the mistletoe, the sounds of the lodge fell away, the scents taking over. The smell of burning wood, spiced cider, fresh pine and man. Rough, heady man. Rebecca knew Play-Doh, wax crayons and hand sanitizers, but this new and tantalizing aroma made her mind spin in circles, faster and faster. It carried her away, far away from the places she knew. This wasn’t Ivy League, white-collar man. This was someone more seductive. More earthy. More basic.
It was exactly what she needed.
Eagerly she kissed him with everything she had, her mouth open and slack, inviting him to explore. She heard a groan, felt a hand at her waist, pressing her away, but then, glory be, he pulled her closer.
Her hand crept to his chest, finding a heartbeat under her palm. Strong and fast, even under the heavy wool. This time she moved into him, so that she could feel more than his heart. She wanted it all. The breadth of the shoulders, the safety of his chest, the heat of his hips. She’d never known what spontaneous sex felt like, had never felt the tingles in her spine, the ache between her legs.
Passion. This was passion. She could feel it in him as well. In the thrust of his tongue, in the urgent press of his mouth. Such a lovely mouth. She was going to have that mouth. She was going to have that man. She would ask him to her room. For a few hours. For a night. A decadent moan escaped from her lips, and it didn’t matter what he rated on her scale. It didn’t matter if he was stealing her away from her search for Mr. Right. Honestly, she didn’t care.
He was the best Christmas present ever. Not a foot spa, not a hand-crayoned picture of Santa. This was better. This was a man.
A hot, hunky man.
Her way, her terms.
A noise disturbed her thoughts, and he lifted his head. The black pitch of his eyes gave nothing away, but under her hand, she felt the ragged breathing, felt the speeding heart.
There, under the shadow of the mistletoe, Rebecca smiled at him, a lurid invitation waiting on her tongue. She opened her mouth, but the voice behind her interrupted.
“Rebecca?”
No one knew her name except for Mrs. Krause. The deep voice wasn’t old, wasn’t feeble, wasn’t even female.
Rebecca closed her mouth, and turned.
Alec Trevayne.
Chapter 4
“Rebecca Neumann?” Cory wiped his mouth and sized up the gent who had so inconveniently interrupted. Cold, hard cash. The guy reeked of it, from the cashmere coat to the tailored trousers, to the Italian wingtips. Cory took a step farther away from the woman, the name echoing in his mind. So familiar…
Not that it mattered. He knew what money could do. He knew how this situation would play out.
However, the woman surprised him. She stared at the dandy, then stared back at Cory, her light gray eyes wide with confusion. Cory wasn’t used to playing the gentleman, but it was obvious the dandy wasn’t as welcome as Cory had assumed, so he took a step closer to Rebecca, and reached out to her—like a boyfriend would. Before he could touch her, she flew out of the room like—well, hell, like a neurotic woman.
God. “That was Rebecca Neumann, wasn’t it?” asked City Boy, in a voice that dripped of fancy-ass England. Blimey.
“Who’s Rebecca Neumann?” Cory asked, dodging the question with a question. Rebecca Neumann?
“I was expecting to meet her here.”
“And you don’t know what she looks like?” Cory folded his arms across his chest. London Boy might be broader in the pecs, but Cory didn’t fight fair. Never had.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” the man finished lamely.
“Maybe she’s not here yet. You know, the weather’s really nasty. Got stuck myself.”
The man didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue, either. Not that Cory blamed him. Meeting a woman for the weekend, not knowing who she was, didn’t say much for the guy. Unless this Rebecca was a hooker?
Cory shook his head. Nope. She was a kindergarten teacher, cheerleader, princess. No hooker blood there.
Cheerleader. That’s where he recognized the name. The same girl? That same tight ass? Definitely. Would she remember him? Hopefully not.
Cory smiled and stuck out his hand. “Cory Bell. And you’re?”
“Alec Trevayne. I’m sorry. This is quite embarrassing.”
“Yeah, glad I’m not you.”
“Was that your lady friend I walked in on? Sorry.”
Cory coughed. “Mistletoe always gets to me. You know?” It was a vague answer, and enough to swing either way, depending on why Rebecca was running away from this guy.