A Blazing Little Christmas(73)

“You’re a coward.”

Yes, he was, and better that she recognized it now. “The last thing you need is a one-night stand.”

“Since we haven’t been together for one night, I’m in no position to know that, am I? I’m demanding my one-night stand. You know you want it, too.”

One inch of taut, rose-colored nipple emerged. He’d been so careful not to touch her more than he had to. He deserved a medal for not touching her when he was inside her, but did she appreciate the sacrifice?

She cast the blanket aside, and Cory felt all the blood drain from his face. “Put on the blanket,” he pleaded.

“It was easy earlier, Cory. This didn’t bother you. You were all Mr. Hop-On-Rebecca. What’s changed?”

Earlier, Cory had known the Brit was eagerly waiting downstairs for Rebecca—it made the situation bearable. Now there was nobody downstairs. Well, there was probably somebody downstairs, but they weren’t eagerly awaiting Rebecca. Now the only person eagerly awaiting Rebecca was Cory.

“Put on the blanket,” he repeated, hearing the weakness in his voice.

She lifted it up from the ground, slipping it over one shoulder toga-style, no help at all. “You can’t drive in this weather. No way. I’ll get dressed if you’ll agree to stay.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“It’s only blackmail if it works.”

Cory hated the look in her eyes. Hope and excitement were shining there, blinding him. He stayed far away from women with those eyes, but most women with those eyes didn’t lounge in front of him, smooth curves of peaches-and-cream flesh, and woollen plaid socks that honestly turned him on.

He was only a man.

Her smile grew wider, a victory smile, and Cory didn’t have the heart or the willpower to disappoint her. All he had to do was be himself. She’d figure out the problem soon enough. He’d leave at first light, he promised himself. His fingers lifted, flexed, wanting to trace the line of her—

“We’ve got a deal,” she stated, not even bothering to wait for his reply. She turned and quickly, efficiently put on her clothes. “We can order up dinner. Maybe a bottle of wine.”

Wine. She wanted wine. Cory’s throat was parched for whiskey, his hard-on was parched for something else entirely, and she was looking at him, ready for an evening full of chitchat.

The sounds of Christmas carols drifted in from outside.

It was going to be one holy hell of a night.

* * *

Dinner consisted of buffalo wings, nachos, spinach dip, French fries, buffalo burgers and chicken fingers. Junk food heaven. Rebecca sat cross-legged on the bed and sighed in glorious satisfaction as she surveyed the food trays in front of them.

“Not a gourmet, are you?” Cory asked. He hadn’t said very much while they ate and she wondered if she’d made a mistake by making him stay against his will. He looked comfortable leaning back against the pillows and eating nachos, but he was quiet. Too quiet. However, she’d just had Cory Bell take care of her life’s one and only regret—she wasn’t about to develop a new one.

“No. You?”

“I try to eat healthy when I can.”

Instantly she was shamed. “I didn’t get to eat much junk food when I was a kid. Everybody needs a vice.” She slathered a fry in ketchup. “You have one?”

“Pretty much all seven,” he said.

And she almost believed him. “Nah. I can spot greed.”

“Your parents have money?”

“My students.” Rebecca blew out a breath, as she remembered what she’d left behind. Maybe she already had a new regret.

“Why don’t you quit if it bothers you?”

He sounded as if he was actually interested.

Could she tell him she’d been fired a mere two days ago? And if she did, would she look worse in his eyes? You betcha. It was a black mark, a flaw, a big splotch on her permanent record. So she chose to fudge the whole sordid jobless situation.

“I’m almost adjusted to it, and that only took me eight years. Some times of the year are harder than others. When the kids talk about skiing in the Alps at Christmas, or the annual ‘I went around the world for my summer vacation’ report, yeah, I get a bit envious, but hey, it’s a living. You build buildings?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject. “Why?”

“Pays the bills.”

“Very practical,” she said, eyeing him with appreciation. “I always imagined you’d be out doing the Easy Rider thing, cruising across America, drifting whichever way the wind blows.”

“Had enough of that early on. It gets old eventually.”

“So why do you still dress the part?”