He just didn’t want to be forced to work there under his father’s watchful eye now. Having spent every summer and school holiday building things for Elite Construction, and knowing he’d end up doing that for much of his life, he just wanted some time to himself. To be free, to go somewhere new, to be totally on his own. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  Well, it was according to his father.

  “Ross?”

  Realizing he’d fallen into a morose silence, he shook his head, hard. “Hold on a sec,” he told her, going to the back of his covered truck to retrieve the robotic dinosaur and the bags of presents he’d been supposed to mail today. He’d told Lucy about them on the way home, and she’d promised to help him package them up tonight, then find a UPS store tomorrow.

  Once inside, he flipped on the lights, and zoned-in on the thermostat. No, this wasn’t a Chicago winter, but it was still pretty damn cold. Plus the house was old and drafty.

  He jacked up the heat, then turned back to Lucy, who looked a lot less shell-shocked than she had when they’d left the city. He didn’t try to hide his relief, glad for that strong, resilient streak he’d sensed in her from the moment they’d met.

  Right now, she acted as though she didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, she was wandering around, comfortable enough to be nosy and check out the house. “Oh, my God, is that really a lava lamp?”

  “Like the grill, also left by a former tenant. As was the couch and the ugly kitchen table.”

  Lucky for him. After laying out cash for a security deposit, plus first and last month’s rent, he hadn’t had much money for furnishings.

  Kinda funny, really, how he was living now. He’d been raised in a house with ten bedrooms on twenty acres. His sisters had each had a horse in the stable, and he’d had his choice of car when he’d turned sixteen. He hadn’t necessarily been born with a solid silver spoon in his mouth, but it would have to be called silver-plated.

  And now he lived in a drafty, tiny old house with hand-me-down furniture and an old analog TV that got only one station, and that only if there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He drove a five-year-old truck whose payments were still enough to make him wince once a month. Ate boxed mac-and-cheese and Ramen noodles, the way a lot of the scholarship kids in college had.

  Most shocking of all? He liked it.

  You do this and you’re on your own, totally cut off! Don’t expect a penny from me!

  His father’s angry voice echoed in his head. But so did an answering whisper: But I did it anyway, didn’t I? And I’m doing just fine.

  “What about the bean bag chair?” Lucy asked, interrupting his thoughts of the angry scene last summer, right after graduation, when he’d decided not to move back home.

  He admitted, “What can I say? I bought that one. It seemed to go with the decor.”

  “Lemme guess…thrift store shopping spree?”

  “Bingo.” Shrugging, he added, “I was on a budget.”

  “I think my groovy, peace-sign Santa would fit in very well here.”

  “Don’t even think about pawning that thing off on me. Even if it weren’t broken, I wouldn’t let that drugged-out St. Nick and those zombie-kids anywhere near my Christmas tree. It might lose all its needles in pure fear.”

  She finally noticed the small tree, standing in the front corner near the window. Her smile faded a little, as if she’d suddenly remembered it was Christmas Eve, albeit very early on Christmas Eve—only about 1:00 a.m.

  It was a sad-looking thing. He’d bought it on impulse—it had been the last one on a lot up the block, scrawny and short, with half its needles already gone. It had reminded him of Charlie Brown’s tree…in need of a home. So he’d shelled out the ten bucks and brought it here, sticking it in a bucket since he didn’t have a tree stand.

  Nor had he had any real ornaments to put on it. Right now, an empty aluminum pot-pie tin served as a star on the top, and a bunch of picture hangers and odds-and-ends hung from the few branches.

  As she stared at the pathetic thing, Lucy’s sadness appeared to fade. She shook her head, a slow, reluctant smile widening her pretty mouth. “Are those beer can tabs?”

  “Just a few,” he admitted. “I was experimenting. I’m not a big drinker, so I only had a few cans in the fridge. I finally raided my toolbox.”

  Putting a hand on her hip and tilting her head, she said, “And you had the nerve to criticize my Christmas decorations?”

  “Hey, mine’s pathetic, not terrifying.”

  “My snow globe from last year wasn’t terrifying.”

  “Oh, no? Let me guess. A tiny female elf wearing pasties and a G-string?”

  Her eyes rounded. “Ooh, that sounds fabulous! But, no, it was just a North Pole scene.”

  He crossed his arms, waiting.

  “With a clown that popped out of Santa’s chimney like a Jack-in-the-Box.”

  Shuddering, he said, “Clowns are terrifying. What’s wrong with Jack?”

  “Why would a Jack-in-the-Box be in Santa’s chimney?”

  “Why would a clown?”

  “Well, that’s the point,” she said, laughing at the ridiculous conversation. “None of it makes any sense!”

  “Which makes it perfect to you and your brother. Merry Christmas to the Scrooge siblings.”

  “Exactly!”

  Liking that her good mood was back, he asked, “Hey, are you hungry? I’ve got frozen pizza, frozen bagels, frozen burgers….”

  “Typical single guy menu, huh?”

  “Yep. Oh, if you want some wine, I think I have a box in the back of the fridge.”

  She snickered.

  “It was a housewarming gift from a neighbor.”

  One pretty brow went up. “Oh? Not a basket of muffins?”

  “Let’s just say my neighbor’s of the cat persuasion.”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “The cougar variety.” Frankly whenever his neighbor came over, he felt like putting on another layer of clothes.

  “Never mind,” he said, waving his hand. “So, why don’t you help yourself while I go get cleaned up.”

  “You look clean to me.”

  “Under these clothes is a layer of sawdust—I’m itchy all over. I need to take a shower.”

  “Help yourself,” she said, waving a hand as she headed to the kitchen, already making herself at home. “Want me to make you something?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Filet mignon it is.”

  He snorted. “Hungry Man Salisbury steak frozen dinner, if you’re lucky.”

  Still smiling, glad her good mood had returned and thoughts of her vicious ex—who still had a lot of bad stuff coming to him—were gone, he headed for his room. The bed was unmade, clothes draped across it, the dresser drawers open. It looked like a single guy’s room. Considering he intended to offer Lucy the bed, and take the couch for himself, he took a few minutes to straighten up.

  As he did so, he couldn’t help thinking about how much different his life seemed now than when he’d left this morning. He’d figured he’d be coming home to a quiet house, a solitary holiday, maybe a turkey sub from Subway. And he’d been okay with that. Not happy, but okay.

  But he had to admit, in recent days, as the holiday season zoomed in like a rocket ship, he had really begun to think about his family back in Chicago. He had a few friends here, but not the type you’d share Christmas with. Being from a big family—which got bigger with every sister’s marriage and the births of new nieces and nephews—he began to realize there were times living alone wasn’t so great. As December marched on, he’d resigned himself to a lonely, kinda pathetic holiday weekend.

  Wow, did things ever change on a dime.

  Still thinking about those changes, he headed into the bathroom—spent another few minutes cleaning it—then got in the shower. He hadn’t been kidding about that sawdust; the stuff had filtered into his clothes as he’d maneuvered the custom-made bookcase into place at Beans & Books.

  Finally, his hair damp from a quick towel-dry, he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt and headed back out to the living room. Smelling something—popcorn?—his gaze immediately went to the kitchen, but didn’t see Lucy there.

  After a second, he spotted her in the one place he had not expected her to be, doing something he had never expected her to do. “Lucy?”

  She looked up and smiled at him, a little self-conscious. “I couldn’t take it anymore, it was just sad.”

  Ross could only stare. It appeared she had gone all Linus on his Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and had decided to give it a little love—how appropriate for a Lucy. What had been just sticks, needles, picture-hangers and beer can tabs an hour ago now at least resembled a bedecked evergreen.

  “Where did you…”

  “I just used stuff that was lying around. Hope you don’t mind, but I cut up a couple of mac-and-cheese boxes…the packets are still in the cupboard. I assume you’ve made it often enough that you didn’t need the directions?”

  “Not a problem,” he mumbled, still a little shocked at how much she’d done, how quickly she’d done it, and how good it looked.

  “I’m glad you’re the healthy type and your microwave popcorn wasn’t buttered. That would have been sticky,” she said as she plucked another piece out of a bowl and stuck it on the edge of a needle. A whole thread full of them dangled on her lap. “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind me digging through your kitchen drawers. I was pleasantly surprised to find that sewing kit.”

  “Old tenant,” he murmured, still a little stunned.

  “Well, thanks to the former tenant then. Unfortunately he didn’t happen to leave any twinkle lights or pretty red bows behind. But luckily, I hadn’t cleaned out my camera bag,” she added. “I had picked up some construction paper, glitter and glue to make decorations for the studio where I’m interning.”

  She’d used all those things to full advantage. Right now, glittery snowmen and Santa shapes dangled from several branches, apparently with directions for making mac-and-cheese on the other side. She had also managed a long strand of construction paper garland, like the kind he’d made as a kid. Red, green and white loops encircled each other, making a colorful chain that draped around the tree.

  But that wasn’t all. His pot-pie pan-topper had actually been cut into a star shape. And there was some kind of red-and-white fabric tucked around the bucket, creating a tree skirt. Having no clue where she could have gotten that, he quirked a questioning brow.

  She chuckled. “My elf tights. I had two pair in my bag.”

  Good God. Tight, shimmery fabric, usually used to encase what he suspected were a pair of beautiful legs, was now hugging a dirty bucket at the base of an old, dead tree?

  “I didn’t have any lights, obviously, but I think this’ll work. Hold on.”

  He watched as she crawled around the baseboard and fiddled with something on the floor. Suddenly the tree was bathed in a soft, reddish light from below. “Glad I had the red gel on me!”

  Not knowing what she meant, he bent to peer at the light, which he realized was a camera flash with a sheet of red plastic over it. “Voilà!”

  He reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet and together they stared at her masterpiece. She’d taken a pretty pathetic stick, added a bunch of random objects and MacGyvered the whole thing into a work of art.

  “Wow,” he whispered, genuinely impressed. “It’s amazing.”

  She shrugged. “But it’s still not exactly traditional.”

  He heard the tremor in her voice and knew where her thoughts had gone—to that dirty word, traditional. For four years, she’d tried hard to distance herself from happy holiday traditions, keeping those sweet memories at bay for fear they’d be accompanied by sad ones. Yet now, she’d stepped out of her comfort zone, doing things she probably remembered doing with the parents she’d lost, even though it was painful for her.

  And she’d done it for him.

  He turned to her, dropping his hands to her waist, pulling her close to him. Lucy looked up at him, her eyes bright, shining in the holiday light, and he’d swear he had never seen a more beautiful face in his life.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he punctuated the thanks by dropping his mouth to hers, kissing her softly.

  She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her soft body against him. He’d kissed her earlier, but they’d both been wearing coats, and layers of clothes. Now, with just his T-shirt and her blouse, he was able to feel the fullness of her breasts against his chest. She moaned lightly, moving one leg so their thighs tangled.

  As if needing to feel his skin, Lucy moved her hands under the bottom of his shirt, stroking his stomach. He pulled away enough for her to push it up and over his head, liking the way her eyes widened in appreciation as she began to explore his chest. She scraped the back of her finger over his nipple, and Ross hissed in response. This time, when he pulled her close to kiss her again, he could feel the rigid tips of her breasts, separated from his bare skin by only by that silky blouse.

  Saying nothing, Lucy began to pull him with her, toward the couch. Rather than follow, he bent and picked her up. Cradling her in his arms, he crossed the room and sat down, keeping her on his lap. They never broke the kiss. It just went on and on, slow and deep and wet.

  Unable to resist, Ross reached for her stomach, trailing his fingertips over the blouse, hearing her purr in response. She arched up to meet his touch, telling him she wanted more. He tugged the material free of her pants, almost shaking in anticipation, knowing he’d been dying to touch her since they’d met.

  As he’d expected, Lucy’s body was silkier than her clothes. He took pure, visceral pleasure in the sensation, delighting in the textures against his callused hand.

  “Oh, yes, more,” she whispered against his mouth.

  Glad for the invitation, he began to slide the buttons open, exposing more of her warm, supple skin. Lucy shifted a little, helping him tug the blouse free of her pants, so that by the time he unfastened the last button, the shirt fell open completely.

  Ross stopped kissing her long enough to look at her, soaking in the breathtaking sight. Her breasts were high and round, every inch of her creamy smooth. Her lacy bra did nothing to conceal the tight, puckered nipples. And the way she arched up toward him told him what she needed.

  He happily complied, covering one taut peak with his mouth, before tasting her with his tongue through the fabric.

  She jerked, tangling her hands in his hair, pressing his head harder to her breast. Ross heard her tiny, raspy breaths, the little whimpers she couldn’t contain, and knew she was loving every bit of this.

  So was he.

  With care, he lowered one of her bra-straps, releasing her breast and catching it in his hand. Her tight nipples demanded more attention, and he licked and kissed her there, sucking deep until she was squirming on his lap.

  That squirming drove him a little crazy. His cock was rock-hard beneath her sexy butt, and the way she slid up and down on him told him she knew it. It also told him she wanted to keep going.

  Needing to feel her heat, to see if she was as tight and wet as he suspected she was, he unsnapped her pants and slid the zipper down. He was careful in his movements, intentionally scraping his hand against the skimpy yellow panties she wore beneath. Satin over silk.

  She didn’t pull away, instead pushing against his hand, practically demanding that he touch her more thoroughly. As though he needed to be asked?

  His mouth still on her breast, he could feel the raging beat of her heart and knew she was almost out of her mind with excitement. Breathing deeply to inhale that musky, feminine scent that practically drugged him into incoherence, he tugged the elastic away and moved his hand to the curls covering her sex. She whimpered, digging her nails lightly into his bare back. She was begging for more, though she didn’t say a word.

  Needing more, too, he slipped his finger between the warm, soft lips of her sex, almost groaning at how slick and wet she was.

  “Oh, God,” she cried, her eyes flying open. “Please, don’t stop.”

  As if.

  “Okay, time for the clothes to go,” he growled.

  He helped her push the pants all the way down and off, and once she was naked in his lap, he had to just pause and visually drink her in. She was perfect, from head to foot, laid out in front of him like a feast. He didn’t know where to start, he just knew he already didn’t want it to end.

  He reached down to the front of his jeans, unfastening them, wanting to get naked and pull her leg across his lap to straddle him. Sitting there, looking up at her while she rode him sounded like the perfect way to start this night.

  “Ross?” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “Um…there’s something you probably should know.”

  “Unless the house is on fire, there’s nothing I really need to hear right now,” he said as he unzipped and pushed the jeans down his hips. His body was already on fire, and as he pushed his shorts away, too, and his cock came into contact with her bare hip, he groaned.

  She gasped. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “Give me another five minutes and it will be both yours, and good,” he told her as he stopped to kiss her breast, and stroke that sweet, quivering spot between her thighs.

  “Ross, uh, really, I need to tell you something.”

  Hearing the quaver in her voice, and feeling the slight stiffness of her body, he finally shook off the haze of lust in his head. He lifted his mouth from her perfect breast and slid his hand into safer territory down on her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

  She lowered her head, eyeing him through a long strand of hair. Lucy’s cheeks were pink, like she was embarrassed. Well, hell, they’d known each other less than a day and now she was lying naked on his lap. But she wouldn’t be embarrassed for long, not once he showed her how much he wanted her.

  “Um…I just wanted to say…”

  She bit her lip, shook her head slightly. Which was when a thought—a shocking, crazy one—burst into his head. His whole body went stiff and he leaned back into the couch.