Yule Be Mine (17 page)

Lakeisha got near enough to sit by Ozzie. She kept her head low, her ears down, but the more he petted her, the closer she got.

“She likes you, Osbourne. Isn't that wonderful?”

“Yeah.” He rested his right hand on Lakeisha's neck, and gave Grimshaw a few pats with his left. “How'd she get here?”

“When I called the owner of the shelter to say we'd take her, he offered to drop her off. He's a friend and I think he was afraid we'd change our minds.”

Ozzie acknowledged that with a nod. “What is it you want to tell me?”

She pokered up and stared at him. “You said you hadn't been there long.”

“I wasn't. Just long enough to hear you tell the dogs that you'd talk to me about something. I'm starving and that soup smells awesome, but I want to hear what you have to say first.”

It wasn't easy for Ozzie, because she sat beside him cross-legged, smelling of warm woman and wearing very little. But he sensed this was important and, like her, he didn't want to blow things.

“Your grandmother always decorated for the holidays.”

Of all the things she might have said, he hadn't expected that. “Yeah, so?”

“Grimshaw misses it. He wants to see the decorated tree and the lights, and he wants to hear the music. Did you know your grandmother always had a real tree and Grimshaw had a terrible time resisting the urge to mark it?”

Ozzie stared at her. “How do you know that?”

Her expression went blank.

“Did you see photos of the house during the holidays?” He didn't know of any photos left lying around, but he wanted to be sure.

“No.”

Lakeisha rolled to her back, and Ozzie absently scratched her belly. “So, tell me, Marci. How did you know?”

Staring down at her twined hands, she whispered, “Grimshaw has those memories.”

“And you're a pet psychic.”

Her shoulders sank. “I won't apologize for who I am.”

“Of course not.”

She frowned at him. “I know you don't believe me, but it's true. Grimshaw knew your grandmother as well as you did. He knows that she was very proud of you, and that she made special cookies for you at Christmas.”

“She always sent a batch home with me.”

“He has memories of playing in the snow with you. You've always been good to him and—”

Ozzie bent and took her mouth in a gentle kiss that sufficiently hushed her. “I like who you are, Marci Churchill.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Rather than belabor that point, he added, “And you're sexy as hell when you're sweaty.”

“Sweaty?” Her brows pinched together, then shot upward. “Oh, I forgot!” She jumped to her feet and plucked the damp shirt away from her breasts. Fidgeting, she said, “I think I'll go shower while you eat.”

He pushed to his feet, too, then stared down at her. “Tomorrow we can put up the lights. Maybe not all of them, since it's so close to Christmas already, but enough to make Grimshaw happy. And we can go find a tree. Granny always took one from the property. Not the best, you know. But a scraggly one that looked like it wouldn't have made it anyway. With the right decorations, even a half-dead tree looks nice.”

Her smile lit up the room. “I'd love that.”

“I'll clean up Lakeisha's mess. Go get your shower.”

“You don't mind?”

“She's my dog now, right? I know she needs time to adjust. It's not a big deal.”

She looked at him with naked adoration, then touched her fingers to his chest. Shyly, she asked, “What about you? Do you want to shower?”

An invitation? “Will the soup keep for another hour or so?”

Her eyes darkened. “I'll turn it on low.”

 

Marci knew she should feel a little timid. After all, her sexual experiences were limited, and she'd never been with a man like Osbourne. But all she felt at that moment was anticipation. She wanted them both naked, now. She wanted his body against hers, she wanted to taste him—she wanted to feel him inside her.

He wore only snug boxers, and she loved looking at his broad chest, his strong shoulders. And his abdomen. The man had an impressive six-pack that begged to be stroked.

Locking her fingers together, Marci cautioned herself not to rush him. Earlier, when they'd made love, she'd been such a twit. First, his size had startled her, but Lord have mercy, she'd known only average men, and there was nothing average about Osbourne.

Then, within minutes of him touching her, she'd forgotten her worries and had been ready to climax. She'd tried to hold back, without much success. Luckily, he'd been just as aroused, and in his own release he hadn't even realized how uncontrolled she'd become.

She wasn't a wild woman. Sex for her had been pleasant, but not overwhelming. With Osbourne it was…explosive. Mind-blowing. So very, very special.

“You're okay?” Osbourne asked.

She nodded, cleared her throat, and said the first thing that came to her mind. “That tub doesn't look big enough for both of us.”

He smiled. “We'll have to stay close, won't we?” He bent to turn on the shower, and the small room began to fill with steam.

Old-fashioned black and pink ceramic tiles surrounded the narrow tub. Osbourne parted the clear shower curtain, and when he straightened and faced her, his expression was hard and dark with desire. A quick glimpse down proved he was already hard, and it was all she could do not to reach for him.

He stood within inches of her. She'd pinned up her hair to keep it from getting wet, and Osbourne smoothed back a wayward curl. “The dogs are outside playing, so we shouldn't be interrupted.”

Marci cleared her throat. “Do you have a condom in here?”

He shook his head. “We'll start here, but finish up in the bedroom. I'm not going to be rushed this time.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You're not still nervous?”

“Nervous?” She wanted to jump him.

“You know, most women who comment on my…proportions, do so with excitement. I wasn't expecting it to worry you.”

Marci licked her lips and gave him a dose of honesty. “I was startled, that's all.”

His big hand cupped her face. “But now you like it?”

Her smile came easily. “Don't be silly. I want
you
, Osbourne Decker. It doesn't matter if you're big or small, or somewhere in between. You're still you.”

For the longest time, Osbourne just stared at her. He had an odd, arrested look on his face. Then he gave a wry smile. “Well, I prefer big, but thank you for the sentiment.”

Without her realizing it, he'd caught the hem of her T-shirt, and before she could think to say anything he whisked it off over her head. For only a moment, he admired her breasts, saying, “You are so beautiful.” Then he bent to tug down her panties.

While on his knees, he cuddled her bare behind, drew her forward for a sizzling kiss to her navel and a slow lick down…

“Osbourne.”
Stumbling, Marci stepped out of reach and climbed into the shower. The warm water trickled down her body, doing little to help compose her. From the inside out, she trembled.

Wearing a sexy half-smile, Osbourne stood again. “Shy?”

She shook her head. “Sweaty. From my workout. Perhaps we should shower first—”

He laughed. “You taste good, Marci.” After shoving down his boxers, he joined her in the shower. “But I want a better taste.”

She'd never survive this. “Okay.” Marci put her arms around him and kissed his mouth. But Osbourne allowed that for only so long. The man seemed intent on devastating her.

Using the fragrant bar of soap, he lathered his hands and washed her all over, taking his time on her breasts, her belly, her behind. The soap made his fingers slippery, adding to the sensations.

This time when he knelt, Marci braced her back against the cool tile wall and planted her feet apart. Anticipation built, but Osbourne only looked at her, stroked her belly with the backs of his knuckles, trailed his fingertips through her pubic hair.

Her heart threatened to punch through her ribs. She couldn't take much more of this. She was about to encourage him to hurry things along when, after gently parting her, he leaned forward and closed his mouth over her.

“Oh, God.”

There was no prelude, no easing into things. His hot tongue moved over her, in her, and his teeth nibbled on her most delicate flesh. Marci squeezed her eyes shut and moaned.

To keep her close and still, Osbourne opened one hand over her backside. With the other, he touched her and teased her. It was enough. It was too much.

Slowly, with infinite care, Osbourne concentrated his efforts on her clitoris while working his fingers deep inside her.

Somehow, he kept her upright through the orgasm, even though her legs felt useless and her bones were like noodles. When the sensations began to fade, Osbourne stood with her and cradled her close.

Marci had no idea what to say. “Thank you” didn't seem appropriate. “Wow” would be an understatement. “Your turn” was a given.

“Let's dry off and head to the bed.”

Marci nodded, but she couldn't quite stand on her own.

Chuckling, Osbourne reached for the towel and did all the work for her. By the time he finished, she'd recovered enough to walk to the bedroom under her own steam. As they went down the hall, they heard the dogs back in the kitchen, and it sounded like they were playing.

Marci felt good. Really good. Things were coming together nicely.

And when Osbourne put on his condom and stretched out over her, it was even better. Now, she thought, if only it lasts.

I
t was nearing midnight, and Ozzie couldn't keep his thoughts—or his hands—off her. Marci curled into his side, her naked thigh over his, her head in the crook of his shoulder. Cuddling with her left him with a deep sense of inner peace, and a physical sense of desperate need.

She was quiet, but she wasn't asleep, not with her hot breath brushing his skin and her inquisitive fingers busy on his chest.

He kissed the top of her head and said, “I feel like a horny high school kid.”

With a purr, Marci trailed her hands down to his abdomen, perilously close to his groin. “You feel like a very sexy man to me.”

After making love, they'd eaten soup, talked quietly, and then played with the dogs for a while before getting them settled in the hallway.

Ozzie should have been sated, but already he wanted her again.

Given the way she toyed with him, she felt the same.

His second effort at making love to her had been an improvement, but it hadn't abated the urgency he felt. He was starting to worry that he'd always feel that way with Marci—on edge, anxious, soft and hard at the same time.

She left him so confused, he didn't know what he wanted, or for how long, or when. Sex, definitely. Time with her, sure. A future? He'd never thought so, not with lessons learned from Ainsley.

But were there any real similarities between the two women? It nettled him to think he'd allowed Ainsley's machinations to affect him so deeply. So she'd lied, and tormented, and—

Marci slid atop him and put her mouth to his chin in a gentle kiss, then his brow, each cheekbone—and Ozzie was a goner. Her touch obliterated all thoughts of other women. Concerns drifted away, replaced by arousal.

He cupped her face, kissed her hungrily, and Marci kept pace with him every step of the way.

 

Very early the next morning, bright sunshine, reflecting off the snow-covered landscape, flowed in through the windows and stirred Ozzie awake. Automatically, he reached for Marci but found her side of the bed empty. He opened one eye. Huh. He'd need to talk to her about sneaking out on him, and he knew she had sneaked, because he was a light sleeper. She should have awakened him.

He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Still early enough to put in a full day. He stretched, and grinned.

Today they would put up lights and a tree…things he hadn't considered doing because the loss of his grandmother had taken him out of the holiday mood.

Marci had gotten him right back into it, in a big way.

He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make Grimshaw and Lakeisha happy.

And he knew that pleasing them would have pleased his grandmother also. She had no patience for melancholy and she'd loved him enough that she never wanted to see him in a funk.

He couldn't wait to go pick out a few gifts for Marci, and maybe a few things for the dogs. Because he often took walks with Grimshaw around the property, he already knew the perfect tree to cut. He could envision the house lit up with twinkle lights after he cleared the walkways and porch. This Christmas would be a special one, a tribute to his grandmother, and a chance to get closer to Marci.

Sudden, furious barking brought him out of his revelry and upright in the bed. Grimshaw sounded outraged. The dog was so friendly that Ozzie wasn't accustomed to hearing that particular sound.

Seconds later, as he was leaving the bed and searching for his jeans, Grimshaw's paws hit the closed door and he demanded immediate entrance. Forgoing the jeans, Ozzie opened the door and Grimshaw, overly anxious, immediately turned to go back downstairs.

Ozzie didn't need to be a pet psychic to know that Grimshaw wanted him to follow. Something was wrong.

Buck-naked, Ozzie raced down the steps. He could hear Lakeisha snarling and his heart shot into his throat. He rounded the corner of the kitchen—and came to a stunned stop.

Marci had her hands full holding Lakeisha back. Lakeisha fought her, but with good reason.

That damned annoying reporter, Vaughn Wayland, had wedged himself in the doggy door, apparently trying to break in. From all appearances, he was stuck. Grimshaw joined Lakeisha with a lot of threatening bluster and a growl that sounded feral and deadly.

Vaughn whimpered and choked in fear.

Marci spoke to the dogs, saying, “It's okay, guys. He's an idiot, but we don't want him to be a mangled idiot. Now, please calm down. Osbourne will take care of him. You don't have to do a thing.”

Neither dog appeared to be listening to her.

Ozzie shouted,
“Just what the hell is going on here?”

Silence dropped like a lead weight.

Everyone turned to look at him—Vaughn and Grimshaw with relief, Lakeisha with uncertainty, and Marci with wide-eyed shock.

“Osbourne!” Her face went red-hot. “You're
naked
.”

He slashed a hand in the air over that. “How long has he been there?”

“Not long,” she choked, then she ran to get a dishcloth to try to cover him. He took it from her and tossed it aside. The dogs sat back to watch.

“Vaughn, you've got some explaining to do.”

The idiot started whimpering again. He had his head, right shoulder, and arm through the opening. But the rest of him remained in the mudroom.

Ozzie took two steps to stand over him.

Marci covered her eyes, but Vaughn stared up at him in fear.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ozzie said, “You know I'm going to have your sorry ass arrested, don't you?”

In a pathetic whine, Vaughn cried, “I just needed an interview, that's all.”

“There'll be an interview, all right. With the authorities. You can explain to them why you broke into my house.”

Vaughn turned pleading eyes on Marci. “Just a few confirmations, that's all I need.”

She joined Ozzie's side. “You're lucky I didn't turn the dogs loose on you. Lakeisha really doesn't like you at all, and that makes Grimshaw, who's usually such a friendly fellow, despise you as well.”

Vaughn's head dropped and nearly hit the floor. “I'll do the article anyway.”

Shaking her head, Marci said, “Go ahead. It won't be the first time. But people will call you a fool. Trust me, Mr. Wayland, no one will believe you.”

His head lifted again. “But it's true, isn't it?”

Marci sniffed. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

“Where are you going?” Ozzie asked.

Over her shoulder, she called back, “To get you some pants. If you're going to call your police friends, I don't want them to see you like this.”

He grinned—until he looked back at Vaughn Wayland. The bastard looked utterly defeated. How must Marci feel? She'd said it wasn't the first time someone had done an article on her. She also said no one ever believed in her ability.

Yet that didn't stop her from helping animals. Her heart was too big for her to stop.

Damn it, he was falling in love with her.

To the dogs, he said, “Watch him while I go make a call.”

Grimshaw perked up his ears and plopped down right in front of Vaughn. His lips rolled back to show sharp teeth and a growl poured out of his throat.

Looking love struck, Lakeisha sat behind Grimshaw.

As Ozzie strode over to the phone, he thought,
What a way to start the day
.

Then a pair of jeans hit him in the stomach and he looked up to see Marci eyeing him. Or, more precisely, she eyed a certain part of his anatomy.

“Does my nakedness bother you, Marci?” he teased.

She muttered, “You're shameless,” but her gaze remained below his navel.

He couldn't help it—he smiled. Marci Churchill was in his house. She eyed him with lust.

It really was a hell of a way to start any day.

He was beginning to think it'd be a good way to start most of his days, from now until the end of eternity.

 

Now that he didn't have to worry about the reporter bothering them, Ozzie looked forward to Christmas morning with a lot of anticipation.

Since Marci had come to stay with him, everything had changed. For the better. In too many ways to count, she enhanced his life. The dogs loved her, and he loved the dogs.

Dining with her was always a unique experience, because Marci never indulged in ordinary conversation. She could still make him nuts on occasion, but now he was starting to like it.

She kissed him good-bye and welcomed him home with a hug, but she didn't smother him. She was independent, but not prickly about it. She had her own interests, and he was one of them.

Making love with her was the stuff of fantasies, but sleeping with her, listening to her even breathing, holding her close, was pretty damn sweet, too. Because of his third-shift job, though, he didn't get to sleep with her as often as he'd have liked.

When it came to his house, Marci had wonderful ideas about how to remodel. When their ideas clashed, she didn't push the issue. Unlike other women he'd known, she didn't insist that her view was the right or better one. For that reason more than any other, he found himself agreeing with her more often than not.

Little by little, Marci taught him how to read various signals from the dogs. A certain look or gesture, a sudden show of excitement. When he paid attention, it wasn't so hard to figure out what the dogs felt and why.

They knew when he started to get ready for work, and they reacted to it. Lakeisha would get antsy and Grimshaw would mope. Now that Ozzie was keyed in to their moods, he took the time to reassure them each and every night, and he felt better about leaving them with Marci there to keep them happy.

He couldn't decipher their thoughts the way she did, and when it came to other animals, he was hopeless. She loved to chat with the birds and squirrels that came each day for the seed she put out. She even conversed with white-tailed deer and the occasional fox. It amused Ozzie, but he no longer felt so clueless about her talent.

He no longer doubted her.

After the holidays, she'd probably need to return to her aerobics job. That thought didn't set well with him. He'd gotten used to having her around. The dogs needed her. They all meshed.

He considered cementing their relationship in some way, but he was still cautious enough that he held back. Marci's uniqueness made her special, but it also made her unpredictable. When he used his brain, instead of his gonads, he knew it'd be wise not to rush things.

For that reason, he refrained from any and all declarations and just tried to enjoy his time with her.

 

The night before Christmas Eve, while Ozzie was at the station working, another storm dumped seven inches of snow, topping it with sleet. He imagined the house would look beautiful all frosted in white, glowing with the lights they'd strung up from every window and door, every bush and tree.

In another hour, his shift would end. Marci would be up waiting for him. She and the dogs would greet him at the door. After breakfast, he'd take the dogs out to play, then he and Marci would indulge in some alone time. A wonderful routine.

He could hardly wait.

Ozzie had just pulled out of the parking lot when his pager went off. A rape-and-kidnapping suspect had barricaded himself in a woman's home. Neighbors said they heard the woman's screams.

With everything he'd need for a call out already on his person or in his truck, Ozzie turned around and headed to the location. He figured it'd take him less than fifteen minutes to get there, but fifteen minutes could mean life or death to a hostage.

As SWAT, he was used to being on call and didn't even think to resent the intrusion. It was his job, and he was damn good at it. Marci faded from his mind and he went into SWAT mode.

As soon as Ozzie and the other team members arrived, a detective filled them in. Ozzie learned that the suspect had a violent past and an extensive criminal history.

“Everything I've got right now is really vague,” the detective explained. “I know that we've got an adult female being held against her will. Her mouth and hands are duct taped.”

Ozzie nodded as, by rote, he prepared himself.

“We believe the victim is an old girlfriend of his, but we haven't been able to confirm that yet.”

In rapid order, the SWAT team evacuated all the neighbors. Some joined a television crew outside a blockade down the street, while others made use of an enclosed unit brought in to offer a place of warmth for the residents. Even though uniformed officers kept the reporters and camera crews too far away to interfere, Ozzie detested having them around during a time of crisis. He could do nothing about it, so he ignored them.

The SWAT team concentrated on establishing contact with the suspect. The man was antagonistic, desperate, and probably pumped up on drugs. After a couple of hours, when he still refused to come out peacefully, the team formulated a new plan.