Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance (8 page)

“Hey,
It’s a Wonderful Life!”
she exclaimed through a mouthful of ice cream.

“I’m beginning to think it might be.” Nick smiled, his gaze lingering on her mouth where she licked a bit of chocolate off her lower lip.

“Don’t you love this movie?” She felt his gaze on her like a heat and turned her attention to the screen instead. Her skin tingled, as if his gaze had touched her flesh. “I haven’t seen it in years. When I was little, somehow it never felt like Christmas unless I saw it at least once.”

“It’s a classic,” he agreed. “My mom and I used to watch it every year.”

“Mine, too.” Ginny sucked thoughtfully on her spoon as the opening credits began to run.

“Well, then, let’s you and me do the holidays right for a change,” he said, standing up with conviction. “Who wants popcorn?”

“With butter?” Ginny’s eyes brightened.

“At least a stick,” he replied with a grin. “Cholesterol and triglycerides be damned!”

He was in the kitchen before she could say a word. In spite of her reservations and the strange, even surreal, unfolding events of the night, she found herself more comfortable here than she had been in a long time—perhaps ever.

The movie was just starting, the familiar music opening a floodgate. It brought back instant memories of Christmases when she and Maggie, as very young girls, had snuggled together against their mother as they watched the old angel try to get his wings. It was one of her earliest memories.

That was before Brody.

She was lost in her memories, drifting, her eyes even closing a little as she listened to the lull of popcorn popping in the kitchen. It was the smell of it wafting into the room that made her lift her head to see Nick coming back with a huge bowl. He set it between them on the couch. Ginny let her fingers slip into the fluffy, buttery fluff, bringing some to her mouth. Nick watched her, looking pleased.

“Thank you,” she murmured after a moment, glancing over at him.

“Popcorn’s easy,” he replied with a shrug, his hand brushing hers in the bowl.

“No... not the popcorn.” Ginny nudged him with her elbow.

“You’re welcome. Now, eat! My mother would turn over in her grave if I didn’t live up to my heritage some day by using that phrase. Am I right?”

She laughed, curling her feet under her and digging into the bowl. The movie was long and they didn’t talk much, but their hands brushed every now and then, when they reached for more buttery goodness. Ginny found herself drifting again, lost in her memories of childhood Christmases.

“She’s happy with so little,” Nick murmured, startling her out of her reverie.

“Who?” She looked thoughtfully at Donna Reed welcoming Jimmy Stewart “home” to a broken-down old house on their wedding night.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I guess I’m just so used to dating women who want the big house and the expensive car and everything else that goes with it. It’s not who a guy is, anymore—it’s what he does, and more importantly, how much money he makes doing it.”

“No,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “All of that... it’s just stuff. Sure, it’s nice, but it’s really not what matters.”

He leaned his head back on the couch, eyes searching her face. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She shrugged. “I’m nothing special.”

“No, you’re wrong.” His voice changed, growing firmer. “And I wish more people in your life had told you so.”

“I’ve got enough people in my life telling me I’m wrong, thank you very much.”

He smiled, reaching out to touch her bruised cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb. “You know what I mean.”

She glanced from him to the screen. His eyes were soft when they met hers, questioning even. They made her feel warm all over. He turned slightly toward her, and the light of the television glinted off his badge. Her eyes lingered there, then moved up to his face again. With her associations, it was hard for her to reconcile the two. Yet here he was, wearing the same uniform and yet so very different from Brody. So different from his own father.

“The thing about her is...” Ginny’s gaze flicked from him to the television. “She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

“You think so?” His thumb moved over her jaw.

“Yes,” she insisted, although her eyes were on him now, not on the couple on the screen. “There aren’t many men who would offer a girl the moon.”

Nick surprised her by doing a Jimmy Stewart impression, stutter and all. “What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

“I’ll take it,” Ginny quoted, smiling at him.

“I wish I could give it to you.”

She held her breath as he leaned forward, brushing the hair away from her face so his lips could touch her forehead. Everything inside of her went silent.

“You’re very sweet.” She wasn’t surprised to hear her voice trembling and slightly hoarse.

“Are you done with this?” he asked, breaking the mood and nodding at the popcorn bowl. He set it aside when she didn’t reply. Putting his arm across the back of the couch behind her, he settled back again to watch the movie.

By the time George Bailey was delivering his own line about moons and lassos, Nick’s arm was around her shoulder, and Ginny’s head was resting against his chest. It seemed natural and easy.

She didn’t know if it was the amount of food her body wasn’t used to digesting, or just the overwhelming weariness, but she found herself relaxed enough to even start drifting off to sleep in his arms.

“Come on,” he said, nudging her.

“But Clarence hasn’t gotten his wings yet...” She protested, blinking at the screen.

“I’m sorry, but you aren’t going to make it, angel.” He smiled.

Her body knew he was right and she followed him, already anticipating the extravagant comfort of a bed for the first time in weeks. It was a full-sized bed, nothing fancy, plain white sheets and a plaid comforter—a man’s decorating taste.

He pulled the covers down for her. “You know where the bathroom is right? My room is past the bathroom at the end of the hall if you need anything. Okay?”

She nodded, her body slipping between the sheets, and she sighed and moaned at the luxurious pleasure of it. Her eyes closed of their own volition, and she whispered, “Thank you, oh, thank you,” as he turned off the light.

He stepped out and started to close the door, but the impending darkness made her open her eyes again.

“Nick?” she called, voice plaintive.

“Yes?” He peeked back in.

She couldn’t form the words but she wanted to.

Instead, she just whispered, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, angel.”

In spite of her hesitation, she drifted off to sleep before the door clicked closed.

“Ginny?” Nick, whispering. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered back, head coming up off the pillow, disoriented.

“You were crying. Are you sure?”

“I was?” She put her hands to her cheeks. They were damp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay...”

“I guess.” She drew a shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah... I’m okay.”

“Well... goodnight then.” Nick went to close the door.

“Wait.” She found the light spilling in from the hallway inviting and his presence comforting. He stood, waiting.

“Would you...?” She took a deep breath. “Could you sit with me... until I fall asleep?

“Sure.”

He moved back into the room, pulling a soft chair from the corner up next to the bed as she settled back down under the covers. The sound of his breathing was comforting and she noticed how his bulk filled the chair, how he filled out his uniform, so unlike Brody’s wiry frame. Thinking about Brody and the events of the night made her restless again.

“Nick,” she whispered, looking to see if he was asleep.

“Hm?”

“I should tell you something.” She didn’t know why she said it but there it was. He didn’t respond, just waited, his breathing deep and even in the darkness. “I have something that Brody wants.”

“What’s that?” Nick asked when she didn’t continue.

“It’s an SD memory card. It has a video on it.” Her hand instinctively reached for the bag next to the bed that was never more than an arm’s reach away. She felt his silence, waiting for her to go on.

“I was doing a project,” she explained. She wouldn’t tell him everything. Not everything. She wouldn’t tell him that his father was on the tape too. “It was this multimedia thing for art class. I borrowed a video camera from my teacher and I was going to do this whole... never mind, that part doesn’t matter...” She took a deep breath, remembering her own discovery that night. “Brody and a bunch of his friends showed up and kicked me out. I just left the tape running. He... he gets mad when I don’t do what he wants, like, right away...”

“What did you see when you looked at the tape?” Nick exhaled slowly in the darkness.

“One of the guys was a dealer,” she whispered, closing her eyes, the darkness giving her more courage to tell him.

“Go on.”

“They argued. There was a fight.” The silence stretched and she knew she had to tell him now. “And... Brody killed him.”

“You have that on tape?” Nick asked, the soft tone of his voice never changing.

“There was a knife... in Brody’s hand... and the blood... so much blood...” She shivered at the memory. That wasn’t everything, though. That wasn’t all the camera had captured.

“He knows you have it?”

“I told him,” she admitted, face burning at the memory. “The day I left, I told him if he came after me, I’d take it to some news station...”

“Jesus. I’m surprised he didn’t kill you, too.” Nick let out a low whistle.

“I ran.” She curled up under the covers.

“I’m glad he didn’t catch you.”

“Me, too,” she sighed. “Anyway, I just thought you should know...”

“Thank you for telling me.”

It grew quiet again and she tossed and turned on the bed, wondering what he was thinking.

“Ginny, I need you to give me that SD memory card.”

“No!” Her eyes grew wide at the thought.

“I understand you’re scared,” he went on. “But what Brody did...”

“You don’t understand,” she insisted, sitting and pulling the covers up to her chin. “You can’t give that tape to the cops! Brody
is
a cop!”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft, soothing. “But not all cops are like him. You can trust me, Ginny. I won’t give it to the wrong people. I’ll give it to someone who will use it to punish him to the fullest extent of the law. I promise you. Will you trust me?”

“No!” She drew a shaky breath, burrowing back under the covers again. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

In spite of her fear of handing over the SD card, she felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Telling Nick had been a huge relief, even if she only told him some of the truth.

She remembered opening her eyes a few times, seeing him sitting there in the semi-darkness, hearing his breathing become deeper. She wondered if he was falling asleep too. Finally, she sank deep enough her whole body relaxed in ways she could barely remember.

* * * *

She was cold. Shivering. He had found her hiding place and she was running from him, barefoot in the snow. She gasped herself awake in the semi-darkness, not remembering where she was. When she saw his uniformed figure standing over her, she pedaled backwards on the bed, clutching the headboard as if she could escape from him behind it. He was coming for her, and she knew only how to scream.

“Shhhhhh, Ginny, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Nick. You’re dreaming,” he murmured, trying to unclench her hands, attempting to hold her.

She struck out, twisting in his arms, panicked and kicking.

“Hey! Hey!” His voice was firm and he shook her at the shoulders.

Her glassy eyes could only see the silver glint of his badge in the darkness. She tore at him, saying the useless words, “No, no, no!” He was much bigger than she was, much stronger, and as always, there was nothing she could do. He pinned her, for both their sakes, pressing her hands above her head and holding them at the wrists.

“Ginny! It’s me. It’s Nick!”

She saw him then and sobbed. “The uniform. Nick, take it off!”

He pulled back, quizzical, then she saw the dawning compassion in his eyes. He sat back on the bed, unbuttoning his uniform shirt and tossing it over a chair, badge and all.

“Better?”

She nodded, her lower lip still trembling.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, holding his arms out. “Do you want to come here?”

Hesitating, she looked at him, then over at the uniform resting on the chair. Just like Brody’s, and yet... she knew this wasn’t the same man.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, as if sensing her conflict. “I just want to hold you. Comfort you.”

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, feeling tears welling again. She
was
tired—tired of running, tired of Brody winning. Mostly, she was tired of being so afraid all the time. Nick touched her hair, brushing it out of her face, his touch soft and gentle.

“You can rest,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Never had a man, especially one wearing that uniform, made her feel safe, but she realized he did. She could trust him, and if she let her own intuition guide her, instead of her fear, she knew it was true. Denying that was just like letting Brody win again and she was determined not to let that happen anymore.

“Hold me.” She found her way to him across the bed, curling into his lap and shivering there.

He did, close, closer, trying to enfold her as she trembled against him.

“Take this off,” she insisted, tugging at his belt. He looked startled for a moment, but complied, letting his uniform pants join his shirt on the chair.

She burrowed against him as if desperate for warmth, desperate for something, and he sat on the bed, holding her in his lap.

“Don’t let go.” Her cheek pressed against his shoulder and she straddled him, wrapping herself around him as much as she could.

“No.” He made a small noise in his throat when she squeezed her legs around him.

Her tears made fast, salty trails down her cheeks, stinging her split and swollen lip. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed down the wet pathway to the corner of her mouth, and she sensed him watching for a response from her. She felt something give inside of her at his gentle urgency, a heart-rending rift along an undiscovered fault line. She half-moaned, half-sobbed, turning her mouth fully into his, tasting her own tears and blood, feeling ripped open and raw.

And she kissed him back. Her body gave her no choice.

His hand went behind her neck, his fist in her hair pulling her head sideways, slanting her mouth across his at a delicious angle as his other hand slid up her thigh, over her hip, and around her bottom, pressing her more exactly against his crotch. She gasped, feeling the throbbing hardness there, separated from her heat by only a pair of boxers and the tail ends of the shirt she wore. She couldn’t help rocking against him, her mouth leaving and finding his again with every movement, forward and back, her eyes closed tight. His large hands cupped her bottom now, moving her, guiding her slow grinding hips. His tongue was trailing down her neck, making her gasp and sigh. She tilted to give him better access.

He slowed a little and she opened her eyes to meet his in the dimness, seeing a question there. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her hand against his lips, murmuring the words, “Yes, yes,” as she feathered kisses over his jaw and neck.

He groaned, rolling her onto her back on the bed, his hands seeking her soft, warm places under the long shirt she was wearing. She was greedy, squirming underneath him as he fumbled with her shirt, tugging at his boxers and, frustrated by the elastic, she simply slipped in through the front, finding him hard and throbbing.

He growled, her tiny hand and jerky movements under the material making him thrust against her. He tore at the front of her shirt, not hesitating to pop the last three buttons in his haste. She took the weight of him, wrapping her legs around him.

She clung to him as if she couldn’t get enough, as if there would never be enough, and he let her. He left wet trails with his mouth and tongue over the swell of her breasts, grazing her hardening pink nipples with his teeth, making her shudder beneath him. His mouth moved down her belly while his hands kneaded her breasts, rolling the nipples in his fingers as he eased lower between her legs. She whimpered, his breath warm on her thighs.

“Wet!” He sounded delighted. Nick slipped a finger between her lips, then spread her open with his thumb and forefinger to expose her soft, pink folds.

She moaned as his mouth covered her flesh, his tongue flat and moving slowly back and forth. It was like flying, her body was gliding and she could only go along for the ride, his tongue moving in ways that shifted the currents, guiding her in higher, tighter spirals. She was dizzy with the sensation, and she raked her nails over his shoulders and through his hair. He groaned against her clit when she did, and that sent an immediate jolt straight up her spine.

“Nick, please,” she begged, sliding her nails down his biceps, over his forearms. “I want you. Please. I want you.” Her hands were urgent, tugging, pulling at him. His face was wet with her as he kissed her thighs, her belly.

“Hungry little thing.” He gave in to her desperation, sliding one knee between hers, seeking her mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue.

“Yes.” She tugged at the last vestige of fabric between them. “Starving.” He helped her slide his boxers down his hips and thighs. “I want you to fill me.”

“I will,” he promised, sliding his hand back down to her mound, grinding his palm there, his fingers playing hide and seek just at the opening of her wet little hole.

She moaned, thrusting upwards, aching for more. He slid his cock against her, rubbing it through wet folds and she moaned, opening her thighs wider and looking up at him with a hopeful expression on her face. He seemed to be re-thinking things, and he moved onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She kissed him, eager and warm and full of craving, reaching behind her to grasp his shaft, already wet from the brief but slippery run through her slit.

Her hand moved on him, and her nipples grazed his chest as she rocked. Her eyes locked with his and seemed to push his desire toward her own ravenousness. He put his hands behind his head, looking up at her, his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s all yours, Ginny. Take it.”

Her eyes widened, and she cocked her head to one side for a moment, hesitant. He closed his eyes and waited. She straddled him, in a full squat, watching the pulse and throb of him between her legs.

“Ohhh... oh, oh,” she cried out as she rubbed the tip of him against her clit.

His eyes were still closed, but his breath was coming a little faster, his eyelids fluttering. She sank to her knees, and then slid him, slowly, past her swollen lips and into her flesh, feeling the length of him filling her, until the tip of his cock seemed to pulse at the very center of her. He let out a slow breath, his eyes half opening to see her sitting up proudly on him, and he smiled.

Her movements were hesitant at first, and then they became a slow and easy exploration of sensation, moving first right, then left, forward, back, feeling the shift of him inside her depths. He didn’t touch her, just watched her moving on him, his eyes studying her face as she discovered her own rhythm. She soon began rocking keenly, her appetite deepening, her yearning growing fierce and wild as she rode him. His hands found her then, one on her hip to steady her, the other sliding a thumb between her lips to strum her clit, making her moan and throw her head back in complete abandon.