You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(48)

John turned and leaned in to kiss her, and while it wasn’t as intense as their last kiss, it was just as pleasurable. This kiss didn’t scream one and done. This kiss said they had all the time in the world.

“Where do you want to go next, Kate?” John asked, barely releasing her lips.

“Where do you want to take me?” she asked boldly. Even though she held her breath after she said it.

“To bed. I want to take you to bed.”

“Then I guess that’s where I’m going.”

He smiled and brought his cold hand to rest against her cheek. “Where did you come from?”

“Your phone,” she reminded him.

“I really love my phone,” he said even as he kissed her again. Then as if a timer had gone off in his head, like they had to be somewhere fast, he stood and pulled her off the bench and settled her on the back of his bike.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, giving him a gentle squeeze, and he looked over his shoulder.

“Kate.”

“Yes, John?”

“You’re going to need to hold on tight for the ride.”

Somehow she didn’t think he was talking about their ride back to his place.

“Oh my.”





Chapter Seven





They made their way easily and smoothly out of the park and back into the heart of the city. The recently rejuvenated area of Northern Liberties, with its many bars and restaurants, seemed to wink and sparkle as they drove by. John however wasn’t distracted enough to look. He had one objective in mind, and that was getting the woman seated behind him into bed and underneath him as quickly as possible.

He pulled into the parking garage that was the first floor of his apartment building. It was an older building that had recently gotten a facelift. Lucky for him, he’d signed his rental agreement back before it became chic to live in this section of the city, so his rent was nowhere close to what the apartments were getting now. Which was important considering he lived somewhere else three months out of the year and ended up having to pay double in those months.

Kate handed him his extra helmet back and he led her upstairs to the second floor. Every once in a while checking to see she was still behind him. Her cheeks were as red as her hair, and he wondered if that was because she was thinking about what lay ahead or just a reaction to the cold air on her face.

He was going to need to warm her up to find out.

Opening the door, he stepped back to let her inside. He wasn’t too worried about what she might think. While the furniture was secondhand, it was all clean and neat. His one indulgence was the forty-inch flat screen TV, but other than that it wasn’t like he had a lot of pictures on the walls or knickknacks lying about.

All that stuff was back in his summer home down at the Jersey Shore, the one he’d made with Becky. He’d felt no urge to have that stuff follow him here, so looking at it from someone else’s eyes his place might seem rather Spartan.

If she was doing any kind of assessment, it didn’t show on her face. In fact if he had to categorize what she looked like now, it would be nervous.

He’d rushed this. He should have taken her out again. Let the tension build between them until she was certain she was ready. It’s just when he asked her where she wanted to go, he thought her answer sounded a lot like bed.

She had to know how much he wanted her. She had to know that’s what he’d been thinking.

“Kate, if you’re not ready…”

“I’m ready,” she said even as she was taking off her coat and tossing it on the couch behind her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready.”

She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the purse she had slung over her shoulder, and that too got tossed on the couch. He took her in from top to bottom and again was struck by how different she was from any woman he’d ever been with. Becky had been as simple and basic as a woman could be. Never cared about clothes or makeup. Never changed her hairstyle or color, and he’d never cared.

When he hooked up with a woman, the first time after Becky had died, he’d told himself to find the opposite. Something that wouldn’t have him thinking about his dead wife the whole time. That woman—hell, he didn’t even remember her name—had been over-the-top done up. Short skirt, lots of cleavage, big hair. They had gone to a hotel and for the first time he’d felt fake tits. It had been off-putting, actually.

John had no worries about that with Kate. There was nothing fake about her. Not the diamonds in her ears or on her fingers. Not the faint hint of lilac which he thought must be her shampoo. She was the real deal in every way.

She stepped closer to him, and when he looked down he saw her hands.

“You’re shaking.”

“Cold,” she replied.

Except when he took them in his own hands, they weren’t even a little cold. Of course they wouldn’t be, because her gloves would be of the finest quality. He lifted them to his lips and blew on them again.

“Then let’s see about getting you warm.”

He tugged her along behind him and made his way to the single bedroom. Again he wasn’t concerned about what she would find. He kept his dirty clothes in a hamper in the closet. He kept his bath towels hung neatly in the bathroom on towel racks. There was a book and some reading glasses on his nightstand, his addiction to reading having stayed with him after he was released from prison.