much to drink,” she scolded. “Let me open your window.”
With a scoot, she was free of the steering wheel and able to lean across him. Too late she remembered the T- bird had power windows.
Too late because Finn pulled her over him and onto his lap, bringing them face-to-face. She was kneeling on either side of his thighs, held there by his hands at her waist.
Her wiggles didn’t get her free of his grip. “What are you doing?”
“I’m dizzy.” He nuzzled her throat. “You and all this pretty bare skin makes me dizzy. Pretty Bailey. Pretty, bare Bailey.”
She put her hands on his head, to push him away. “You’re drunk.”
“Mmm-hmm.” It was an agreeable sound he hummed against her neck, then he licked the notch of her collarbone.
Goose bumps rushed like holiday shoppers across her skin. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and the strap of his eye patch pressed into her right palm. “Finn…”
His lips were hot as they roamed higher. They found the angle of her jaw as it curved toward her ear, and he bit down. Those holiday shoppers were in a frenzy now. Sizzling nerve endings were racing them to the bargain tables. Her hands curled into fists and her head fell back.
“This is such a bad idea,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Agreeable again as his hands cupped her head and tilted it forward. His mouth found hers.
Hot. Then it was wet.
She opened her lips to him and he made it wild.
His tongue plunged deep, sliding along hers with a velvet thrust. Then a second time. She held her moan back but couldn’t help herself from falling against him as he thrust again.
His chest was hot against hers. His erection hard against the juncture of her thighs. He kept kissing her, tasting every surface of her mouth as his hands slid down her shoulders, her arms. Then he was pressing his palms hard against her thighs and pushing his hips up into the cradle of her body.
The delicious pleasure made her squirm, but he held her firm, the heavy placket of his jeans and the heaviness of his body beneath them nudging her right where it felt just fine.
But nudging wasn’t enough.
As it had been dozens of times before, as it had always been with Finn, she was wet and ready and pulsing so fast. So needy, it was embarrassing. Undignified.
Beyond her control.
Her body tried to circle, move, get the rhythm and the pressure she couldn’t stop herself from craving, but Finn-as he always had-played her, toyed with her, strung her along.
She could beg, but she’d always tried to keep some decorum when it came to sex. When it came to Finn.
With one forearm across her thighs, holding her steady, he angled his head to take her mouth even more deeply. His other hand brushed the spaghetti straps of her over-camisole off her shoulders. As they fell to her elbows, he broke from her mouth to trail kisses over her chin, down her neck, along the neckline of the second, clingy camisole and up one of its thin straps.
He caught it between his teeth to lower the Lycra fabric. Hot shivers rolled over her skin as quarter inch by quarter inch, one breast was revealed. Her breath backed up in her lungs, and she trembled as the stretchy fabric caught on her nipple. She gasped as it popped free.
Groaning, Finn caught the other spaghetti strap with a hand and yanked the clothing beneath both breasts. Then he dipped his head, his mouth latching on to her flesh. His tongue washed her nipple, then he sucked, strong.
Hard enough to hurt so good.
Pleasure paralyzed her. Her muscles clenched, everywhere, inside, outside, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
Rubbing his nose along her flesh, breathing deeply as he moved across her cleavage, he found her other nipple. He flattened his tongue against the hard nub, pushing the point into the yielding flesh surrounding it. Her hands jerked to his head, buried in his hair. He opened his mouth around the nipple and she shuddered, pressing her cheek against the silky coolness of his hair.
It took everything she had not to cry out.
As if he knew, as if he wanted her to give in, he used the edge of his teeth. Delicate, then harder. The stinging heat arrowed from her breast to her womb. His hand went to the snap riding low on her belly.
Her skin jittered as two fingertips tucked beneath the waistband to the first knuckle. Paused. For permission? Or anticipation?
Bailey’s blood boiled hot. It was always like this with Finn. Had only been like this with Finn. She opened her mouth to tell him, then remembered.
Four words.
Nothing flocked can stay.
Four simple words that acted like an icy snowball to cool the heat of her desire.
She threw herself off Finn’s lap and onto the seat beside him. Breathing hard, she dug her nails into her palms.
“Finn.” She had to clear her throat, start again. “We need to slow down…or think…or something. Give me a minute here.”
“Yeah.” His voice was harsh. “Fuck. Okay.”
Christmas Central was dark and quiet-it was nearing two A.M.-and she wished she could feel so peaceful inside. What was going on? How could she have fallen so quickly back into his arms?
How come she wanted to be back there so very badly right now?
Stress.
Old memories.
Hormones.
Take your pick. She hadn’t dated in months. Hadn’t bedded in much longer than that. She hadn’t wanted anyone.
Now she wanted Finn. Again.
A reckless, crazy thought popped into her brain. Well, why not? Sex didn’t have to be sloppy or emotional. Or even pretend to be permanent.
Maybe a release was her reward. Good girl comes back to save the farm and gets to take the neighboring rancher for a ride.
Okay, fine, it was silliness talking-and desire-but God help her, she found herself willing to listen. It was the gift-giving season, and this interlude with Finn could be her gift to herself. When was the last time she’d gotten herself such a very nice present?
Her heart was still racing, her breasts were still bare, her nipples still wet from his mouth.
“Finn.” Surrendering to impulse, she whipped toward him. “Call me nuts, but okay, let’s-”
The rest died in her mouth. Her almost offer evaporated in the air that felt suddenly chilly. Lonely.
He was asleep. Make that passed out. Slumped down on his grandmother’s tucked-and-rolled leather upholstery, Finn was dead to the sober world.
She probably should be relieved, but instead she was pissed at him all over again. Here she was, ready, willing, hot for his body, and he’d gone beyond disinterested.
It took her only a second to find her purse, lying alongside his stupid Santa hat on the floor of the T-bird. She started to toss it into his lap, but then hesitated, staring down at the fleece.
After a moment, she propped it on top of his head. Then she wrote a note, and used a safety pin to fasten her message to his flannel shirt. Finally she grabbed the keys and eased out the car.
Tiptoeing toward the mailbox on his grandmother’s front porch, she tripped over a large box. The top flew off and she stared at the contents. Three dozen-count ’em-long-stemmed roses. Dipped in gold.
Real gold?
Thinking of the over-the-top Nativity scene and the Bunyan-sized chocolate fountain, Bailey would bet the
