Yours for the Night (37 page)

“You have to open this first. I have to see if you like it. Then we’ll go from there.”

Jack’s hands trembled as he took the box and ripped through the wrapping paper, thinking only that he knew he would love whatever it was—a watch, a tie,
socks,
for God’s sake—anything—he didn’t care as long as when he was done he could go play with Raine under the tree.

His body was aching for hers—it had been so long. He lifted the top and wrinkled his forehead as he found the box empty except for a small piece of red stationery in the bottom. He reached down, lifting the paper and unfolding it. He read it to himself, and found emotions clogging in his throat. For moments on end, all he could do was stare at the paper.

This gift entitles the recipient to all the love I have to give. There’s more than I could fit in this box, as there is more than I could ever fit in my heart. I love you, Jack.

Merry Christmas,

Raine

Raine thought she would die a thousand more deaths if he didn’t say something soon: he was still, staring at the note, and she felt as if she would pass out if he didn’t just say
something.
Then he looked up, and her breath caught. His eyes glowed with raw emotion, and he set the box and the note carefully aside.

Getting up on his knees, bringing them face-to-face, he drew her into a long, deep, drugging kiss. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, and felt his world fall into place.

“Rainey—I love you.... This is the best gift I have ever had, the best I will ever have. Tell me, though, I want to hear you say it.”

She wasn’t embarrassed when her eyes swam with tears, and she hugged him tightly to her, telling him over and over and over, until they were both laughing with sheer joy. She drew back, her face glowing with happiness as she looked into his.

“But that isn’t all of it.”

His eyes went opaque with desire, and he looked at her hungrily.

“I was hoping not.”

“Let’s get you out of these.”

Enjoying her new sense of confidence and control, he let her undress him, only helping minimally, until he sat completely nude and aroused before her. Her breath was shallow, and he raised his hand to cover her breast and pinch her distended nipple through the lace, tugging her down next to him when she moaned.

Love made need multiply exponentially, and Raine gasped when she heard the lace rip. His hands raced hungrily over her skin, touching her everywhere, his mouth capturing hers, kissing her deeply, plundering her while his fingers did the same. She came suddenly in helpless waves as she wrenched against him, moaning into his mouth. She was his, and she gave herself freely. Her hand stroked his cock as she recovered, and he gently pushed her back to the blanket, beginning to position himself over her, when she planted a hand on his chest.

“Let me love you, Jack. Let me take you.”

Jack sat back, praying to the universe for control beyond what a mortal man could possibly be expected to have. He laid back on the blanket, and watched her, smiling, her eyes hot and confident, her lush body flushed with the pleasure he had just given her. And wanted to again.

He heard himself curse hotly, not quite believing his own eyes as he watched her standing over him, her legs parted. She dipped a finger into the shadowy crevice between her legs and then trailed it up the firm flatness of her stomach, massaging the wetness from her sex on one nipple, then repeating the process on the other. He licked his lips, his body hard as a rock and frozen still, his fists digging into the blanket.

She looked down at him, wearing only the satin hat, drunk on power and pleasure, her sultry voice every man’s erotic fantasy.

“Santa thinks Jack has been a very good boy.”

He could barely talk, but tried, his breath heaving. “I have been very good, Santa. I can be even better if you come down here.”

She laughed, and the husky sound nearly drove him over the edge. She lowered slowly to one knee, and then to the other, leaning over him, letting her breasts fall forward, swaying in front of his mouth. She trembled with sensation as she ran her wet, hot sex along his erection, teasing them both.

Her own vision blurred when he moved up and drew one breast, salty and delicious with her own taste, into his mouth. He suckled one, then the other as she slid over him, until he lost track of where she started and he ended.

Needing him more than she had ever needed anything, anyone, she took him deep inside of her, glorying in the guttural cry that broke from him with the contact. She smiled, and almost lost herself again when he arched upward, driving himself into her. But she held on, no—not yet. Her breath came out in pants, and she smiled at him, pushing him back, moving her hips slowly. Taking charge.

She watched him, his skin taut, his head arched back, mouth moving in gasps of shock every time she ground against him. She knew what she wanted, what she wanted to give him most of all, and she knew it was within reach, recognizing the hot pleasure building in her.

She gave him everything—all of her passion, all of her trust, all of her love. She looked down into his eyes, and saw that he was offering her the same, and her heart burst as she lost control, loving him with all that she had.

He brought his hands up, grabbed her hips tightly and moved wildly under her. With him supporting her, she met his rhythm and rode him hard, arching her back as her orgasm consumed her. As the waves of it traveled through her, she declared her love for him when she felt him shudder underneath her, the heat of his climax shooting inside of her. Their voices blended, faded to murmurs; their bodies continued mating, until she fell against him, their hearts pounding, exhausted.

She lifted her head and kissed him tenderly.

“I do love you, Jack. I haven’t ever loved anyone, haven’t ever been loved. But I want to discover what it all means with you.”

He slipped his arms around her, holding her close, cherishing her words.

“I want to share it all with you, too, Rainey, but I have to say, I think we have one problem.”

She frowned against his shoulder. “What?”

He laughed softly, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent, and feeling—incredibly—his passion stirring again.

“This is only our first Christmas together, and I am not sure you can ever top this gift, sweetheart.”

She laughed, too, feeling happiness deep down into her bones.

“Well, I’ll just have to keep on trying.” She wiggled against him in a way that made his blood catch fire. “But I don’t think we are quite done here yet.”

“Me, neither. And by the way, don’t ever,
ever
lose that hat.”

Laughing and loving, Raine lowered her lips to his, and made that promise to him. And many more.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Just One
Night
by Nancy Warren

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1

“S
ICK
LEAVE
?”
Rob Klassen yelled, unable to believe what he was
hearing from the editor of
World Week,
the
international current affairs magazine he'd worked for as a photojournalist for
twelve years. “I'm not sick!”

Gary Wallanger pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto his
desktop cluttered with Rob's proof sheets documenting a skirmish in a small town
near the Ras Ajdir border between Tunisia and Libya. “What do you suggest I call
it? Shot-in-the-ass leave? You damned near got yourself killed. Again.”

Gary didn't like his people getting too close to the action
they were reporting on and his glare was fierce.

Rob put all his weight on his good leg, but even so, the
throbbing in his left thigh was hard to ignore. “I was running away as fast as I
could.”

“I saw the hospital report. You were running toward the
shooter. Bad luck for you. They can tell those things from the entry and exit
wounds.” In the uncomfortable silence that followed Rob heard the roar of
traffic, honking cabs and sirens on the Manhattan streets far below. He hadn't
counted on Gary finding out the details he'd have rather kept to himself.

“You want to be a war hero,” his editor snapped, “join the
forces. We report news. We don't make it.”

Another beat ticked by.

“There were bullets flying everywhere. I got disoriented.”

“Bull. You were playing hero again, weren't you?”

Rob could still picture the toddler cowering behind an oil
drum. Yeah, his boss would have been happier if he'd left her scared and crying
in the line of gunfire. But he was the one who had to wake up every morning and
look himself in the mirror. Truth was he hadn't thought at all. He'd merely
dashed over to the girl and hauled her to safety. Getting shot hadn't been in
his plan.

Would he have acted any differently if he'd known what the
outcome would be? He sure as hell hoped not.

He knew better than to tell Gary any of that. “You don't win
Pulitzers with a telephoto lens. I needed to get close enough to capture the
real story.”

“Close enough to take a bullet in the leg.”

“That was unfortunate,” Rob admitted. “I can still handle a
camera though. I can still walk.” He made a big show of stalking across the
carpeted office, scooting around the obstacle course of stacked back issues,
piled newspapers and a leaning tower of reference books. If he concentrated he
could manage to stride without a limp or a wince though he could feel sweat
begin to break out from the effort.

“No.” The single word stopped him in his tracks.

He turned. “I'm the best you've got. You
have
to send me back out on assignment.”

“I will. As soon as you can run a mile in six.”

“A mile in six minutes? Why so fast?”

Gary's voice was as dry as the North African desert. “So the
next time you have to run for your life you can make it.”

Rob paused for breath and grabbed a chair back for support. He
and Gary had been friends for a long time and he knew the guy was making the
right decision even if it did piss him off. “It was pure bad luck. If I'd dodged
right instead of left...”

“You know most people would be pretty happy to be alive if they
were you. And they'd be thrilled to get a paid vacation.” Gary picked up his
glasses and settled himself behind his desk.

“They patched me up at the closest military hospital. It was
nothing but a flesh wound.”

“The bullet nicked your femur. I do know how to read a hospital
report.”

Damn.

“Go home. Rest up. The world will continue to be full of
trouble when you get back.” Rob knew Gary was still aggravated by the fact that
he didn't compliment him on his photos, which they both knew to be superb.
Instead of getting the praise he deserved, he was being sent home like a kid
who'd screwed up.

He scowled.

Home.

He'd been on the road so much in the past few years that home
was usually wherever he stashed his backpack.

If he'd ever had a home, it was in Fremont, Washington, a
suburb of Seattle that prided itself on celebrating counterculture, considering
itself the center of the universe and officially endorsing the right to be
peculiar. Fremont seemed a fitting destination for him right now that he was
feeling both self-centered and peculiar. Besides, it was the only place he could
think of to go even though everything that had made the place home was now
gone.

“All right. But I heal fast. I'll be running six-minute miles
in a couple weeks. Tops.”

“You'll be under a doctor's care and I'll be needing the
physician's report before I can reinstate you for any assignments in the
field.”

“Oh, come on, Gary. Give me a freakin' break.”

Once more the glasses came off and he was regarded by tired
hazel eyes. “I
am
giving you a break. I could assign
you to a desk right here in New York. That's your other option.”

He shook his head. No way he was being trapped in a small
space. He didn't like feeling trapped. Not ever. “See you in a couple of
weeks.”

Once he was out of Gary's office and in the hallway Rob gave up
the manly act and tried to put as little weight on his injured leg as
possible.

“Rob, you should be on crutches,” a female voice called
out.

He turned, recognizing the voice and mustering a
happy-to-see-you smile. “Romona, hi.”

A print business reporter making the transition to television,
Romona had the looks of a South American runway model and the brains of Hillary
Clinton. They got together whenever they were both in New York. Neither had any
interest in commitment but enjoyed each other's company and bodies. “I heard you
were hurt. How are you doing?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Even though they'd never do anything as obvious as hug in
public, the glance she sent him from tilted green eyes steamed around the edges.
She dropped her voice. “Why don't you come over later and I'll kiss you all
better?”

“I'm filthy. Haven't shaved in days, had a haircut in weeks,
my—”

“I like you scruffy. You look like a sunburned pirate.”

He knew he'd hit rock bottom when he realized he had no desire
to spend the night with a passionate woman. His leg was burning, he had a
vicious case of jet lag and he'd been pulled out of the field. He felt too
worn-out tired even to get laid. All he wanted to do was hide out for a while
and heal.

He shook his head attempting to appear more disappointed than
he was. “Sorry. I have a plane to catch.”

She knew as well as he did that plane tickets could be changed
and it was a measure of his exhaustion that this was the best excuse he could
come up with.

She didn't call him on it though, merely patted his arm and
said, “Maybe next time.”

That was the great thing about Romona. She was a lot like him.
He'd enjoyed any number of women over the years, loved sex, but had no interest
in settling down. Career came first. Maybe it was shallow, and maybe there was a
part of him that longed for a woman to comfort him, to listen to his stories,
share his pain. The only woman who'd ever been like that, though, had been his
grandmother. Ruefully, he suspected she'd been the love of his life.

And now she was gone.

He had so many frequent flyer miles that upgrading was no
problem when he got to LaGuardia. He even scored an aisle seat so he could
stretch his bad leg out a little.

Once airborne, he recalled that the family attorney had tried
to talk to him about the Fremont house. What with getting shot and all, he
hadn't got around to calling back. He'd call him as soon as he got into
Seattle.

It was something to do with Bellamy House, the old family place
where he'd spent so much time with his grandmother.

He couldn't imagine the place without her. As a stab of pain
hit, he took out the paperback he'd brought and forced himself to read.

* * *

H
AILEY
F
LEMING
WAS
a woman with an agenda. Two in
fact. The electronic one that she relied on so heavily that she'd recently
started keeping a backup paper day planner because the thought of somehow losing
her electronic schedule made her feel too close to losing her mind for
comfort.

She was nothing if not organized.

And both agendas told her that she was exactly on time for the
best appointment of the day. An after-work glass of wine with a colleague who'd
become a close friend, Julia Atkinson.

As she made her way into the bistro off North Phinney Avenue, a
former record store turned trendy bar, she scanned the tables and was not
surprised to find she was the first to arrive. She was always early.

And Julia was always late.

She settled at a table and ordered a glass of white wine then
spent ten minutes going through tomorrow's appointments and writing some notes
on improvements she wanted to make on her website.

“Am I late?” a breezy, breathless voice said as Julia swished
into her chair, a loose black garment that resembled a combination sweater,
poncho and cloak settling in around her.

“Of course you are. You're always late.”

Julia's red hair was newly cut into a curly bob and her full
lips curved in a smile. “I was at the opening of a new furniture gallery which
has brought in several fantastic new lines from Milan. I got chatting, and there
were these delicious cookies. I left after three. It was the only way I could
stop myself. I don't feel guilty. I bet you did a day's work while you
waited.”

“Half a day's anyway.”

A waiter arrived and Julia ordered a vodka tonic. Which meant
she was on another of her diets. Which meant...

“I think I've met someone.” She sounded so excited that Hailey
leaned forward.

“Tell me everything.”

Julia unbuttoned the cloak thing and draped it over the back of
her chair, revealing a black-and-red dress enlivened by one of the hundreds of
chunky, glitzy vintage necklaces she owned.

“He's an engineer who lives downtown. He was married, but his
wife left him and broke his heart.”

“Wow. That was fast. I just saw you last week. Where did you
meet him?”

Julia's drink came and she took a quick sip. “I haven't
actually met him yet.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged, and the slight movement made all the rhinestones
in her jewelry glitter under the bar's chandeliers. “I met him on
LoveMatch.com.”

“Oh. Online dating.”

“I'd never tried it before, but lots of women meet great guys
online. So I figured, why not? It's not like you meet men if you're a home
stager.” She thought for a second. “At least not straight men.”

“How do you already know so much about him?”

“We've been talking on the phone. He's away on business in the
Philippines, but I'll be meeting him next Tuesday.” Her eyes were bright with
excitement. “Do you want to see a picture?”

“Of course.”

Julia hauled her computer tablet out of her bag and within a
few moments passed over the electronic device complete with a grinning blond
guy. Not Hailey's type at all. Too pretty for her tastes, but Julia liked her
men pretty. “Wow.”

“My big fear is that he's too good-looking for me. Oh, and he
has the cutest accent. He was born in Manchester, but he's lived all over the
world. An army brat like you.”

Hailey regarded the electronic image once more. He was wearing
shorts and a loose cotton shirt. Despite the square jaw, he seemed somehow
lacking in character. She'd never say so to her friend. Besides, even she knew
that her own taste was notoriously picky.

“He's not too good-looking for you. You are beautiful.”

“Do you think I can lose ten pounds by Tuesday?”

“Stop it,” Hailey said, trying not to laugh. “He's seen your
photo, right? He obviously liked what he saw.”

Julia nibbled her lower lip. “I used one from after I took that
fitness boot camp last year. When I was thinner.”

For a smart, self-confident woman, Julia had body-image issues
and Hailey knew there was no point arguing. Instead she went with a reassuring
“It will be fine.”

“I guess. I just have such terrible luck with men.” Julia took
a last, longing glance at the picture and then put the tablet away. “How are
you?”

Hailey let the excitement she'd been feeling all day bubble
out. “I have news, too.”

Julia's eyes bugged out. “You met a guy?”

“No. I don't have time for men. I'm building a business. Once I
feel more successful, then maybe in a couple of years...”

“I know. You and your agendas.”

“Lists keep me on track.” She sometimes thought she'd had so
much chaos in her life that relying on lists gave her a sense of control and
stability that she'd never had growing up. Moving twelve times in thirteen years
when she was a kid had given her a need for order. Her poor mother had quit even
trying to decorate their homes. What was the point? So home had always been
temporary and she'd grown to hate the sight of a moving box.

She didn't need psychoanalysis to understand why she'd chosen a
career in real estate. She loved helping clients buy permanent homes. The kinds
of places where you could plant a sapling and know you'd be around to enjoy the
shade of the tree.

“Don't you miss having a man in your life?” Julia lowered her
voice. “Don't you miss sex?”