The Christmas Set-Up Page 5

  She’d told herself she’d done it only for her own enjoyment, so she wouldn’t get sad about not getting to Quincy. But when she was finished and standing in the center of the living room, enjoying the ambience, she realized she hadn’t done it for herself at all.

  She’d done it for Jason.

  So who was the liar now?

  God. She scrubbed a hand over her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but it wouldn’t clear. Instead, it was stuck replaying those few moments hours ago, when she’d been in Jason’s arms. She was staring into the flickering flames, but all she could see was the look on his face as he’d emptied himself into her, his head thrown back, the muscles corded in his throat, groaning her name.

  Confused and aroused and angry at herself all over again, she got her bag and pulled out her laptop. She plugged in Jason’s memory stick, brought up her design program and went to work. And for the first time in two weeks, her brain kicked into gear. Probably because the alternative activity—climbing into bed with Jason—was an even more terrifying prospect than not having a design for the Weller project.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JASON WOKE AT SOME POINT just past dawn and lay perfectly still, taking stock of his situation. The bedroom was warm, which was strange since he’d never gotten around to starting a fire. His neck and shoulder weren’t sending a stab of pain through him with each heartbeat, which he took as a good sign. He tested himself by carefully shifting.

  An ache answered. And a twinge. But compared to the stabbing pain of the night before, he was ready to go. Maybe not mountain biking, but he could probably put on his own socks today, so that was a bonus.

  The hot bath the night before had helped.

  So had Zoe’s massage.

  And the orgasm…that had been a very unexpected bonus. The image of Zoe riding him to her own pleasure was one he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. In fact, just thinking about it made him wish she was still here.

  And not just for sex, although he wouldn’t turn it down. The truth was, he’d enjoyed her company.

  A lot.

  Who’d have thought that the woman who’d been dogging his tail at the firm, chasing his dream, even beating him at his own game was not just a challenge but someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know better.

  Groggy as hell, he staggered into the bathroom and took a shower. Not a morning person, he used all the hot water in the hopes it’d wake him up, but it didn’t happen. The only thing that could possibly save him was coffee. He’d give his left nut for coffee.

  Which he’d forgotten to bring or buy.

  Still in the bathroom, he pulled up the protective shades on the small window. “Holy shit,” he said, stunned to find that a foot of snow had fallen overnight. His car was covered.

  As was a second car, next to his. What the hell? He left the bathroom and entered the living room, stopping in shock in the doorway.

  There were lights. Lots of lights, blinking in bright colors. And were those…balls hanging from the rafters? Yes. Yes, those were indeed balls, in red and gold. And the tinsel. Christ, the tinsel would take him hours, if not days, to get rid of.

  His gaze slid to the couch and the woman slowly sitting up.

  “Hi,” Zoe said, voice morning thick. She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she attempted to pat down her hair.

  It’d broken free of its clip and appeared to have rioted, floating around her face and shoulders like a fiery red cloud. He could have told her not to bother trying to control it. He happened to like the way it caught the lights and glimmered under them, but knew if she glimpsed herself in the mirror, she wasn’t going to feel the same way.

  But none of her crazy and utterly unintentional sexiness could take away from the fact that she’d decorated.

  “Do you ever wear clothes?” she asked.

  He looked down at himself. Once again he was wearing only a towel. “Wait right there.” He vanished into the bedroom, where he rifled through his duffel bag and came up with a pair of Levi’s and a long-sleeved Henley. His feet were still bare, but his neck was giving him twinges again and he wasn’t going to move more than necessary. He left the bedroom and went straight to the couch, which was now empty of one Zoe Anders.

  Turning in a circle, he saw she’d gone into the bathroom. He could hear the shower running, and went to warn her that he’d just used all the hot water. He lifted his hand to knock, but suddenly there was a feminine screech of shock and outrage.

  With a grin, he let his hand fall to his side. Served her right, Ms. Decorating Queen. He was still staring at the living room, the sparkling, twinkling living room, when she came out of the bathroom.

  She was wearing a bright red hoodie, trimmed in white with two tassels that bumped against her gorgeous breasts, and a zipper that went right between. His first thought was to take the tab of the zipper between his teeth and tug down. But that might have been his early-morning erection doing his thinking for him. Her black leggings were nice, too, emphasizing those mile-long legs that he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around him again. But the fantasy was hard to put together with all the blinking lights.

  “I didn’t get far on the road,” she said. “It was snowing really hard and my tires—”

  He tore his eyes away from the lights. “Are you okay? Did you spin out?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She grimaced. “Okay, that was a lie. I slipped once or twice, got scared and came back.” She grimaced again. “Okay, that was another lie. I came back because I wanted to.” She nibbled on her lower lip as her gaze took him in from head to toe and then back again, lingering at the bulge just behind his button fly. When her tongue darted out and ran over her bitten lower lip, that bulge twitched. “But then when I got here, I didn’t think waking you up was wise,” she murmured.

  Truer words had never been spoken. “But decorating was?”

  “You like it?” she asked, eyeing the place with unmistakable pride. “No one should celebrate the season without a little cheer, so…um, happy cheer.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her how he felt about the over-the-top, gaudy decorations and the stupid holiday, but she was smiling. A real smile, too, not her work smile or her I-think-you’re-such-a-schmuck smile. It was a genuine show of humor and warmth, directed at him. He actually got dizzy from it. There she stood, looking sweet and adorable and unintentionally sexy as hell. He forced a smile. “It’s…bright.” He angled away to give himself a moment, and that’s when he saw it. She’d turned the plant in the corner into a Christmas tree.

  A Charlie Brown Christmas tree…

  She came up at his side, still smiling. “Isn’t it cute? And look.” She pointed to the fireplace, which had been burdened with both flickering lights and tinsel. “There’s no doubt it’s Christmas morning now, right?”

  Something in his chest tightened. It was Christmas morning and she’d planned to be with her family, celebrating. Instead, she was here with him, stuck. It wasn’t his fault, at least not directly, but he felt like the Grinch who’d stolen her Christmas. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry you’re stuck here.”

  She turned to him. Unlike most of the women he’d had in his life, she came up past his shoulder. If he bent only the slightest bit, he could kiss her.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “I’ll get to Quincy soon enough. Do you like the decorations, Jason?”

  Quandary. Did he lie his ass off, or go with honesty? Either was tricky, but if he knew one thing, it was that women didn’t usually really want the truth. “They’re…great.”

  She stared at him for a beat. “You don’t like them.”

  “No, I—”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  He let out a breath. “I came up here to be alone and not celebrate Christmas.”

  She was silent for a single heartbeat, then headed around the couch, scooping up an empty bag. She then moved to the kitchen and began shoving the holly lining the counter back into the bag.

  Jason le
t out a breath. “Wait. Zoe…”

  She turned to face him. Her face was devoid of makeup, which made her look impossibly young and fresh and…good. Far too good for the likes of him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong to intrude.” She went back to undecorating, her actions uncharacteristically jerky. She was embarrassed, which he hated.

  “Zoe, stop. Just leave it.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around for a diversion. His gaze landed on her opened laptop on the coffee table, and the drawing pad next to it. The pad held the bare-bones sketch of a complex that he knew instantly was her version of the Weller courthouse and library. He hit a key on the laptop and brought it back to life, and yeah, as he’d figured, her drawing program was up, mirroring what she’d sketched. The lines were clean, bold and somehow both modern and classic at the same time. She was good, really good.

  “I was working,” she said. “Last night, before I fell asleep. I’m stuck, to be honest. I can’t figure the rest out.”

  He shook his head and hunted up his laptop, bringing up the design that had been driving him insane for two weeks now. He had the family center—also bare bones—but the library had been eluding him.

  She stared at it, then him. “Do you see what we did?” she whispered.

  “You mean that we each designed the parts of the complex that the other is missing? And that they complement each other in a very spooky way? Yeah.” He shook his head. “Imagine what would happen if we combined forces instead of competing with each other,” he said softly, thinking that at least if they worked together, he wouldn’t get shut out of the promotion.

  She just stared at him. Apparently the idea hadn’t become any more palatable since he’d last brought it up.

  Fine. This was his deal and he could nab it on his own, even if he was beginning to question whether his need for the promotion was any greater than hers. “I need caffeine,” he said, his only defense.

  “I have coffee beans in my bag. There’s a coffee-maker on the counter. Do you want—”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. She moved to the kitchen and within a few minutes the scent of the brewing coffee was filtering through his brain and chasing away some of the morning fog.

  Combine forces.

  They’d certainly combined forces pretty damn fine last night. But to do so in bed was one thing. Work was another entirely.

  Wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JASON FOUND TWO MUGS in the cabinet. Zoe poured. He took a big gulp and sighed as the caffeine hit his system and began to fuel his brain.

  They moved back into the living room and sat by the big picture window, watching as the morning chased away the dawn.

  It was still just lightly snowing, but it was gathering speed now.

  Zoe stared at the lump of white that was her car. “It’s probably not a good idea to go driving in that.”

  It wasn’t really a question, but rather a genuine statement of fact. She didn’t let much show in her voice, but when he looked at her, took in her profile as she gazed outside, he could feel her sadness. That stubborn strand of hair was in her eyes again and he found himself sweeping it aside, stroking her temple, tucking the hair behind her ear and then lingering. “You wanted to be with your family.”

  “It’s Christmas,” she said as if that explained it all. “Don’t you and Mike celebrate with your family?”

  “Mike’s celebrating with his girlfriend this year.”

  “So he said. Won’t you miss him?”

  “We live together and work together. We see each other every day.”

  “I don’t see my family much, just a couple of times a year,” she said. “They’re all so busy.”

  There was a wistful tone to her voice that he fully understood. If he could have his parents back, he’d sure as hell want to spend time with them. “Are you close?”

  “If by close you mean constantly competing and trying to be the best and one-up each other, then yes.” She lifted a shoulder. “We gather in Quincy every year, away from everyone’s jobs and responsibilities. My dad makes eggnog. My mom cooks a feast. My sisters regress to teenagers in spite of having their own families, spending the holiday arguing and trading clothes and hair products. Oh, and we decorate. And we always fight over whose turn it is to put the star on the tree. Somehow it’s never my turn, which is really annoying. That’s what happens when your sisters are a brain surgeon, a rocket scientist and a district attorney, respectively.”

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s a lot to live up to.”

  “You’re an architect,” he pointed out. “What’s that, chopped liver?”

  “Well, becoming one didn’t require a Ph.D or being elected, did it?”

  “You try to prove yourself to them.”

  She sighed. “It’s stupid, really. I don’t know why I try, but the promotion at work…I want it so bad. I want to be someone in their eyes, you know?”

  “I meant what I said before,” he said quietly. “About doing the design together.”

  “You’d really share the credit.” Her voice was doubtful. Not that he could blame her, he wasn’t exactly known for wanting to share anything. “Yeah. I think we’d make a hell of a team.”

  She looked at him for a long time. “This isn’t like you. You want that promotion, too.”

  He did. And it would fix everything for him. The extra money would help him get out of debt, keep his brother out of trouble—and keep his parents’ house out of the hands of the bank. And yet…

  His parents’ house had only been a home because of the love they’d filled it with. What was the point of keeping it if he spent all his time at work? And if it came at the expense of Zoe’s happiness, would it be worth it?

  “What would Steele think?” she asked. “You know he’s all about pitting us against each other to keep the sense of competition ramped up.”

  “Maybe it’s time to shake up his expectations,” he said.

  She frowned and sipped her coffee. “I used to try to live up to expectations. Now I’m just trying to own who and what I am.”

  He smiled. “And who and what are you?”

  “A sister, a daughter, a friend.” She smiled back. “A really great architect, and…”

  “And?”

  She turned then and met his gaze, her own green eyes unusually soft and revealing. “Last night, for a little while at least, I was a lover.”

  “Yeah,” he said, voice going low at the memory. “And trust me when I say this, Zoe. You’re amazing at everything you do. And I mean everything.”

  “Except decorating.”

  He grimaced, and set down first his coffee and then hers. “It’s not you,” he said.

  “Oh, God. Okay, wait,” she said. “Let me brace myself for the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech.” She shifted a bit and then nodded. “Okay, ready. Let me have it.”

  “It really isn’t you. I haven’t celebrated the holidays since my parents died the week before Christmas ten years ago.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT JASON’S WORDS, ZOE’S heart caught in her throat. “Jason, God. I…I had no idea they were gone. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s been a long time.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “They died in a car accident when a drunk driver hit them head-on.”

  Zoe’s breath left her in a whoosh at the shock. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how he and Mike had suffered. “How old were you?”

  “Twenty. Mike was fifteen.” He shrugged as if his young age had been of no consequence. Devastation was devastation. “Ever since then, I’ve done my best to be gone or too busy to bother with Christmas. Mike does the opposite. He goes overboard. Crazy overboard.”

  Zoe winced and eyed the decorations. “Like putting up all sorts of festive stuff?”

  “Last year he rented a snow machine and blasted the entire front yard of our house. Six inches. We had every kid for miles out there having snowb
all fights.”

  Her gut squeezed. “And you hated it?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his eyes back on the view out the window, as if he was seeing another time, another place. “I just missed having my parents there. It’s always been easier to just not celebrate.”

  There was a lump in her throat that she couldn’t swallow. “You have no other family?”

  “No. It’s just me and Mike.” He shrugged. “And actually, living with Mike is like living with an entire frat house, so it’s not as if we’ve been alone.”

  “You’re alone this weekend,” she said softly.

  “Not anymore.”

  “No.” She put her hand over his. It was the first time since last night that she’d touched him. She wasn’t sure how he would take it. He could be difficult to read, especially when he had his game face on. But right now his eyes were warm and open, and he entwined his fingers in hers. His other hand slid to the nape of her neck and drew her closer, then closer still, so that they were sharing air. “So are we going to do this?” he asked. “Cocreate the design?”

  She waited for the nerves to hit but they didn’t. The only thing that did hit her was a certainty that she could trust him, and that combining forces was a great idea. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  His smile was slow and sexy. Everything he did was slow and sexy, including, she discovered, watching him work.

  They did just that for several hours, stopping to eat, then getting back to it, working until their two separate ideas had become one project. One really great project.

  “What now?” she asked as the light of the day was waning. “Shovel my car out? Undecorate the rest of the cabin? Scrounge for food?”

  “None of the above. There’s something else I’ve been wanting to do all day,” he said, his lips ghosting hers with each word. And then there were no more words because he was pulling her into his lap and kissing her, hot and deep. She would have happily stayed there, snuggled up against him, except her cell phone began buzzing from the depths of her purse.