“Pancetta.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t want to burn the fancy bacon.”

  He shook his head and came down into the living room with a large bin that showed off those nice forearms. “I dug these out while I was upstairs.”

  Curiosity pushed me forward. What kind of decorations would a man like Clay have?

  He set the bin on the floor, then gathered the everyday living things off the coffee table—a Kindle, a mug, and the NY Times. He dumped most of them in a basket, keeping the mug. “I thought you could pull out the ornaments while I cooked.”

  I knelt beside the bin and flipped the top off. Everything inside was ruthlessly organized. String lights tightly wound around a flat board were tucked along the side, along with layers of ornaments stacked in sectioned trays. “No Griswold lights here.”

  “If there’s not enough, we can get more tomorrow.” He set the mug on the end table, rubbed his hands together, then moved to the fireplace. He crouched in front of it and set smaller sticks along the grate. No gas flame for this fireplace, apparently. The shirt rode up his back, showing off smooth, tanned skin.

  “We can, huh?” Carefully, I set one layer of ornaments on the couch. Something jingled within the tissue paper-wrapped goodies. “Somehow I don’t see you walking around a Target to get lights.”

  “Right, because I’d go to a hardware store.” He used a stack of old newspapers tucked in a metal bin to feed the kindling, and soon, the soothing sound of snapping wood and a warm glow filled the room.

  “Smarty.” Finally, I got to the lights. And yeah, I was pretty sure we didn’t have enough for a nine foot tall tree, but maybe we could get a good start. “Go cook. I’m starving.”

  “Did you leave any of the tart?”

  “Yes.” Kind of. “But we still have brownies.”

  “With chocolate chips.”

  “Is there any other kind?” I sat back on my stocking feet.

  “Definitely not.” He gave me a quick grin before he snagged the mug and headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the scent of the pancetta was reignited. Soft music seemed to come from the walls, a mix of coffee house and mid-tempo classic rock adding to the companionable atmosphere.

  I found sweet handmade snowflakes, a few angels that looked very old, and twelve vintage ceramic bells. The top tray was filled with popsicle stick art dusted in glitter and Christmas balls from various countries with dates in delicate scrawls—all far too fragile to actually take out of the wrapping just yet. I set them back into the bin so my cat didn’t destroy them.

  Speaking of, where had my snoopy feline disappeared to?

  I twisted around and scanned the room. “Have you seen Gary?”

  “He’s sleeping on my bed. Found the biggest pillow and plopped himself there.”

  “Typical.”

  I carefully set the ornaments I’d selected to go on the tree on the coffee table then went for my box. I dragged it into the living room, but before I could dig in, he waved to me.

  “Dinner first.”

  My stomach rumbled at the idea of food. I grabbed my wine and quickly climbed the two stairs to the eating nook that was carved out of the bank of windows. A slim table sat in front of a cushioned bench in homey red plaid.

  He’d set the table with sturdy white dishes and a large bowl of pasta. He was grating fresh cheese on top of the creamy spaghetti.

  “It smells amazing.”

  “Carbonara.” He nodded to the bench and I scooted over to my place setting. “One of the few things I can make really well. I’m a passable cook at best.” He took my glass and refilled it from the bottle on the table before he pulled out a chair across from me.

  “I’m a one pot girl. I can make a mean soup or stew.” I leaned in to take a sniff of the food. “Did I mention this smells amazing?”

  “A time or two.” He grinned at me. “Dig in.”

  Didn’t have to tell me twice. He’d twisted the spaghetti into little piles and garnished them beautifully enough to be on a magazine cover. I took two because I’d worked up an appetite in more than one way this evening.

  “So, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to have enough lights for that big tree.”

  “I was afraid of that. The last tree I’d put up was one of our first of the season—and that was a few years ago.”

  “Charlie Brown?” I twirled the pasta on my fork.

  “We don’t have those kinds of trees.”

  “Oh, I like Charlie Brown trees.” I watched him do a pro spin of pasta on his spoon and tried a little harder to make my ball tighter. “There’s something hopeful about prettying them up. Even the most pathetic of trees looks beautiful with a little love and string lights.” I resisted the urge to moan as I chewed. He could definitely cook, but he also didn’t need any more of a swelled head. “Besides, not every tree can be perfect in your stash.”

  “No. We send the ones that aren’t sellable to a goat farm. They love them.”

  I sat up, dropping my fork on my plate. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Grinning, he sat back with his wine glass. “I’ve been busting my ass to get these hybrids ready for the season, and you want me to sell homely little trees?”

  “Fine. I’ll sell them.” I lifted my fork. Just because he was a jerk didn’t mean I would waste the food. “I’ll sell them all.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “While I appreciate that you feed the sweet little goats—”

  He snorted. “You clearly haven’t met goats.”

  I sneered at him. “Funny. Anyway, I think we can do something with the Charlie Browns.”

  “Like you need more to do.” He set his glass down and lifted his fork and spoon, idly twirling. The tendons in his forearms did this flexing thing that made me pick up my wine glass again for a long swallow.

  I pointed at him with the glass. “Some people can’t afford a fifty or a one-hundred-and-fifty dollar specialty tree, you know.”

  “Fair.”

  “And some people have a tiny place.”

  “Like your shoebox?”

  “Shut up. It’s perfectly sized for one person.”

  “If you say so.” He tucked a coil of pasta into his mouth, licking his lips to catch the stray bit of sauce.

  Focus, Rach. “You’ll see.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  He finished chewing and lifted his napkin to his lips before speaking. “What’s the bet?”

  “Bet?”

  “Yeah. You said you can sell every single one, right?”

  I swallowed thickly. Me and my big freaking mouth. “Right.”

  “So…bet?”

  I returned my gaze to my plate, which surprisingly was almost empty. “What? Like twenty bucks?”

  “Boring.”

  I was tempted to get another helping, but I loved brownies. Instead, I refilled my glass. The pasta was filling enough that I had a mellow glow instead of a buzz. “Are we talking sexual favors or you dressing up in an elf costume to hand out cups of cocoa?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Because I’m not going to lose.”

  He laughed as he stood up and gathered our dishes. “And if you don’t sell them all?”

  I slid along the bench and picked up the few things he’d missed, then followed him into the kitchen with my wine. “Me in an elf costume?”

  “Striped thigh-highs and strategically placed bells?”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh. I should have been offended and disappointed that he was such a male, but I must’ve had too much wine. “I’m not shopping for those, buddy.”

  “Oh, I’ll find them.” He caged me into the counter.

  I sipped my wine, undeterred by his closeness.

  He took my glass then lowered his mouth until it was barely a breath away from mine. I simply stared at him, our mouths close, the mood simple and easy.

  I’d known what I was doing when I’d come to his house with an overnight bag. And if I wanted to sleep in a guest room, I could guarantee that he wouldn’t give me grief about it.

  But I wanted this.

  I smoothed my hands up his chest. The shirt was soft and almost threadbare from age, perfectly created for his body at this point. I could feel the crinkle of his hair underneath the shirt, but the necklace was missing.

  He smelled of soap and fabric softener and was impossibly warm. Something told me that closing my eyes and falling into his kiss would be different this time.

  No strings was the deal. We both knew this was as finite as the Christmas tree season. Too bad my body had other plans. I just had to hope that my heart continued to know the score.

  I linked my hands at the base of his neck, dragging him down to me. I flattened myself against him, then his mouth was on mine. Soft and supple, his lips searched mine as if he had no worries about time. As if we hadn’t been in a holding pattern for the last hour with this inevitable outcome.

  He lifted me up and set my butt on the counter, opening my legs so he could get closer. I lightly scored my nails over his neck down to his chest, then lower to the hem of his shirt. I teased the smooth sides of his belly. His muscles rippled under my fingertips as I slipped my way up his furred belly to his chest. I traced my thumbnail around his nipple, gratified by his quick hiss of breath before I continued around to his back.

  All while he spun the kiss out until no corner of my mouth was untouched. He searched for what I liked, adjusting and ratcheting up the focus until I was doing little more than holding on for dear life. He was always so attentive. I’d never been with a man who was so attuned to me. It overwhelmed me almost as much as it excited me.

  I lifted my knees to gather him closer. As much as I appreciated being the center of attention, I was tired of being the passive participant. My teeth scraped over his bristled chin to his neck as he tipped it back to give me access. He was so deliciously hard against my center.

  My stupid leggings were in the way, but I didn’t mind using friction. I’d been a step away from humming ever since I’d gotten my mouth on him earlier. Watching a man unravel was a heady experience, but then to have one who was more concerned about taking care of me was dangerous.

  I understood sex.

  It was as simple as we wanted to make it. Too bad this man was anything but simple.

  I scraped my nails down his back and he returned to my mouth, the heat between us growing in an instant.

  I didn’t want softness. Not now. I slid my tongue across his as the kiss went straight to firestorm. He gripped my hair, slanting my head the way he wanted it. I gripped him with my thighs, my muscles clenching deep inside of me.

  I drifted into the heady waves of his kiss, the way he rocked against me, and said my name against my lips. Suddenly, he lifted me off the counter and stalked out of the kitchen.

  “Clay.” I gripped his shoulders, talking between kisses. “Couch is covered in ornaments.”

  “Fuck.” He shifted me higher and took a left instead.

  I looked over my shoulder and laughed. “You’re not carrying me up those stairs.”

  “The hell I’m not.” His dark eyes were near black with want.

  “Put me down.” Instead, he lifted me higher and I went up over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” I yelped and kicked out. “It’s faster if I walk.”

  He slapped my ass. “Careful. I don’t want to drop you.”

  I was outraged—at least I should’ve been. Again, with the shoulds. This man never did anything I expected, but then again, I didn’t either.

  He held onto my thighs with one arm as the stairs came into my bumpy view. I reached down and slapped his ass just as he’d done to me.

  With a grunt, he kept moving. Instead of stopping at the top, he took another left to another set of stairs. Third floor.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m going to lose my pasta and wine.”

  “Quit your complaining.” The last floor was only a few stairs. He slid me back down, but he didn’t set me on my feet. He cradled me in his arms and I couldn’t stop the gasp. His entire back wall was slanted glass. No frame to it, just an unobstructed view of the endless night sky.

  The light from the stairs allowed me to see that the rest of the room had a more rustic vibe. Two walls were slats of reclaimed wood, with one in a deep green.

  The one with his bed.

  His lake-sized bed. Gary was indeed sleeping on one of the pillows, but he scooted off like a shot when Clay knelt on the edge. He set me on the cloud-like duvet and caught one heel then the other, peeling off my socks to throw them to the floor.

  I inched my way up the bed on my elbows, but it felt like it never ended. He watched me in the low light, crawling after me. He reached behind his head and dragged off his shirt, tossing it aside.

  My fingers lifted to the buttons of the plaid shirt I’d stolen, but he shook his head. I let my arms fall back to the mattress, and I dragged in a shuddering breath as his large hands slid up to the tops of my thighs. He traced the line of where my leg met my torso, leaving a shiver in his wake.

  He pressed his thumbs deeper where I was wet for him. I’d been wet for him all night. I’d been able to push away my need for awhile, but there was no compartmentalizing this.

  I leaned back into the pillows as he rubbed lightly until my hips lifted of their own accord. Slowly, he trailed his fingers to the waistband of my leggings and removed them. Each inch was followed by his lips.

  A nip here, a swirl of tongue there, a wash of hot breath along my belly and then his tongue tunneled under my panties to find me. He looked up at me, but I couldn’t see much in the shadows.

  Part of me wanted to turn on the lights, but the other part of me liked the dark. He couldn’t see just how much he affected me, and it was the same for me.

  I preferred getting lost in the star-strewn cocoon of dark.

  He crawled back up, dragging up the shirt to latch his mouth onto my lace-covered breast. He groaned and tongued my nipple through the lace, pulling on one then the other as he pushed at the shirt to access more. Finally, he settled between my legs, pressing his shaft along my cleft. He hadn’t removed my panties yet, nor his pants.

  But the thin material left nothing to the imagination—at least by feel. I lifted my hips against him, my soft sigh echoing his groan. The shirt was big enough that he slipped it right over my head. He didn’t settle me back along the blankets.

  No, he rolled me and kissed every inch of my back. The darkness made every touch feel bigger, more intense. My shoulders, down the intricate straps of the lacy bra, until he followed my spine to the wide band of my panties. I arched up to look over my shoulder as he dragged his bristly chin down over the fullness of my cheek to the sensitive skin at the tops of my thighs.

  The shaft of light didn’t give me much. Tight arms bulging with effort as he held himself off me to taste everywhere. The crest of his cheekbones, then a flash of his dark eyes before he disappeared lower.

  He widened my legs and slid his hand under me from behind. He pushed my panties aside to get to me, growling against my lower back as he slipped two fingers into me. “So fucking wet for me.”

  I pushed back against his hand, rolling my hips to get him where I wanted him, but he wasn’t interested in getting this done any time soon.

  He teased, and sampled my hip, then the curve of my ass as he slipped his fingers in and out of me without giving me any relief. He moved higher, rubbing his cock along the seam of my ass as he covered me, kissing my neck as he opened me wider.

  “I want you like this. Under me, spread out for me. Taking every inch of me. Every part of you will remember what it’s like to have me inside you.”

  I pressed my forehead into the mattress, pushing the pillows aside for oxygen. I reached up for the headboard, but it was just smooth leather—nothing to hold onto.

  I gripped the edge of the mattress as he rocked against me lightly, but his fingers never stopped. Two, then three as the sounds of my wetness filled my head. Finally, he leaned back, but it was only to get rid of my panties.

  I heard rustling, but my brain was empty. Every single cell in my body was restless and tight, and the sensation only magnified as the crisp roughness of his hair tickled the inside of my thighs.

  Making me ache for more.

  But instead of spreading me out again, he straddled my legs, shoving them together until my hips arched up higher. I felt the tip of him along my ass. He slipped between my legs then finally angled down to my pussy.

  Unexpectedly, he drove into me and I cried out. He pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of me then changed his mind, gripping my hips and slamming into me again.

  I spread out my arms to hold onto the bed. To hold onto something.

  God, he was deep.

  I cried out, my body shooting from sleepy, warm pleasure into a wild, vising release. He kept hitting something deep inside me that unfurled and tightened like a pulse.

  Rubbing myself back against him, I reached under me to touch my nipples. I pulled and pinched, but there was nothing but the dark chasm of the edge looming close.

  It was like being stretched until the breaking point and never going over it.

  Then he covered me with his whole body and rolled me to the side so I rested against him, splayed out as he drove into me like a man possessed. He dragged my thigh up and tucked an arm under my knee to hold me wider right where he needed me.

  I was rasping out his name as the sudden flash of cool air crashed into my tightly strung body and I shuddered and shook with endless echoes of release. One after the other, they reverberated and clashed. Pleasure fighting for ecstasy and leaving me a hollowed-out shell.

  He pounded into me again and again, his teeth dragging over my shoulder and neck as he groaned out his own finish.

  We went from the epicenter of an earthquake to the slow rocking of a quiet end.

  Our skin was drenched with sweat and he was behind me, his arm around my middle when I finally realigned with my brain. I shivered, my body still in an aftershock of orgasm and exhaustion.

  He rolled off the bed, lifting me to tuck me inside the heavenly sheets. I must have drifted off because suddenly, the bed dipped and a warm washcloth made me groan. He cleaned me up and slipped in behind me.