A Dixie Christmas

  A low, masculine chuckle emerged from said lips. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, Annie-love,” he said in a husky undertone, “I’ll show you what I want.”

  Annie-love? Mercy! “I don’t know what you mean,” she said huffily and backed away before he could tell her exactly how she’d been ogling him and what he would show her.

  “You know what I mean, Annie,” he commented to her back. “You know.”

  She didn’t know, for sure, but her imagination kicked in big-time. It was the fever, of course—that strange malady that seemed to affect only the two of them when they were in the same room. Hadn’t they complained of the heat all night? And they both knew it had nothing to do with the roaring fire in the fireplace. It was a fire of another kind entirely.

  After that, in the midst of their decorating efforts, Clay helped Hank with his calculus homework. No one was surprised that a man with his financial background could actually perform the complicated equations. Then Jerry Lee expressed a curiosity about Clay’s electronic planner gadget. He showed him its various gee-whiz functions and answered questions about the stock market. Annie never realized that Jerry Lee was even interested in the investment world.

  Throughout the evening, Aunt Liza coddled them all by bringing out trays of hot chocolate and her latest batch of Christmas sugar cookies. “Have another,” she kept urging Clay who swore his jeans were going to unsnap.

  Now that was a picture Annie tried to avoid.

  Finally, the tree decorating was complete.

  “Turn off the lamps and flick on the tree lights,” Aunt Liza advised on cue. The darkened room looked beautiful under the sheen of the multi-colored lights. There was a communal sigh of appreciation from everyone in the room, even Clay.

  “Is everyone ready?” Johnny asked, reaching over to turn up the volume on the old-fashioned stereo record player. It had been pumping out Elvis Christmas songs all night.

  Her family began singing “Blue Christmas” along with Elvis . . . a less than harmonic but poignant custom that always brought tears to her eyes. It reminded her of her parents, now gone, and the yuletide rituals they’d started that would be carried on by Fallons forevermore. In some ways, it was as if their parents were still with them at times like this.

  Annie glanced over to Clay to see how he was reacting to what he must consider a sappy custom. By the glow of the tree lights and the burning logs in the fireplace, she noticed no condescending smirk on his face. He seemed stunned.

  Moving to the front of the sofa and leaning forward, she inquired, “What do you think of your first Christmas tree?”

  Before Annie could blink, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down to the sofa at his side. One of her brother’s chuckled mid-stanza, but Annie couldn’t bother about that. Clay had tucked her close with an arm locked around her shoulders and his hip pressed tight against hers. Only then did he answer . . . a husky whisper breathed against her ear.

  “This is a Christmas I will never forget, Annie-love.”

  She wasn’t the Virgin Mary, but…

  They were alone at last.

  And Clay had plans.

  Big plans.

  Aunt Liza had gone to her bedroom on the first floor off the kitchen after wishing everyone “Merry Christmas” and giving each a goodnight kiss on the cheek, including Clay, who felt a tightening in his throat at being included in her family. Hank had put another log on the fire for them, winked, then hit the telephone for a long chat with his latest girlfriend. Roy and Jerry Lee had gone out to the barn for a final check of the farm animals. Chet was upstairs giving his baby a last night-time bottle. Johnny was probably asleep already, being among those who’d gotten up by four a.m. today to do farm chores before going into Memphis. Even Elvis had shut down for the night.

  Clay turned to Annie. He relaxed the arm that had been wrapped around her shoulders, holding her immobile, and his hand crept under her silky hair to clasp the bare nape of her neck. His other hand briefly traced the line of her jaw and her full, parted lips before tunneling into her hair, grasping her scalp.

  She moaned. But she didn’t pull away. She, too, must sense the inevitable . . . the impending kiss, and so much more.

  “Oh, Annie, I’ve been waiting to do this for hours.”

  “I’ve been waiting, too,” she confessed, turning slightly so he could see her better. “For a long, long time.”

  He wasn’t sure if she referred to a kiss or this bigger thing looming between them. By the expression of fear on her face, it was probably the latter. Hell, he was scared, too.

  At first, he just settled his lips over hers, testing. With barely any pressure at all, he shifted from side to side till they fit perfectly. Then, deepening the kiss, he persuaded her to open for him. The first tentative thrust of his tongue inside her mouth brought stars behind his closed lids and another moan from Annie. He pulled out and whispered against her moist lips, “You taste like candy canes.”

  She smiled against his lips and whispered back, “You taste like popcorn. All buttery and salty and movie balcony naughty.”

  Chuckling, he cut her off, kissing her in earnest now. Long, drugging kisses that went on and on. He couldn’t get enough. She seemed the same.

  “Annie-love,” he cautioned after what appeared an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. “Your brothers are back.” The clomp of heavy boots could be heard on the back porch by the kitchen.

  They both sat up straighter, their clasped hands the only body contact.

  “G’night,” Roy and Jerry Lee said as they passed through the living room on their way to the stairs. There was a snicker of amusement in Roy’s tone, but thankfully he said nothing more.

  “Were they kissin’?” he heard Jerry Lee ask in an undertone once they were in the upper hall.

  “Do pigs grunt?” Roy answered.

  “Annie? Our Annie? Yeech!”

  “What? You didn’t think she knew how to kiss?”

  “Sure . . . I mean, I guess so. It’s just . . . I never saw her lookin’ so pink and flustery. And Clay, he looks guilty as sin.”

  “Better not be too guilty, or too sinful,” Roy growled. Their muted voices faded to nothing.

  Annie put her face in her hands and groaned. “Pink and flustery! I’ll never hear the end of this. Never. By tomorrow morning, my brothers will be making pink jokes. What’s pink and goes squawk-squawk? A flustered Annie chicken. Ha, ha, ha.”

  Clay barely suppressed a smile. Her embarrassment was endearing. “Annie, that’s not a joke. It’s not even funny.”

  She raised her head. “Since when do my brothers’ jokes have to be funny? And don’t think you’re going to escape their teasing either. Uh-uh. You are in for it, big-time. How about, `What’s got a scratchy jaw and googley eyes?’“

  “An-nie,” he warned.

  “A Princeton hog in rut.” At his gaping mouth, she nodded her head vigorously. “See. That’s what you can expect.”

  Is she saying I have googley eyes . . . whatever the hell googley eyes are? Clay shuttered his lashes half-mast and pulled Annie into his embrace again, fitting her face into the curve of his neck. He kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “Oh, Annie. It doesn’t matter what they say when this feels so right.”

  She sighed, which he took for a nonverbal sign of agreement, and nestled closer. “I suppose you want to sleep with me.”

  Whoa! That got his attention. “Where did that come from? We were just kissing, Annie.” Not that other parts of my body weren’t headed in that direction. But talk about getting right to the point!

  Annie put her hands on his chest and shoved away slightly so she could look at him directly. “Are you saying you don’t want to make love with me?”

  “Hell, no. Of course I want you…that way.”

  He reached for her, but she squirmed back, keeping her distance.

  “Me, too.”

  Me, too? What does that mean? Oh, my God! Did she just say she wants
to make love with me? “Annie, this is going a bit fast, don’t you think? I mean, I’m not sure it’s a good idea making love on your living room couch where anyone could barge in at any moment.” Me, too? Son of a bitch! I do like a woman who can make up her mind. No games with my Annie. No, sirree.

  She made a snorting sound of disgust, waving a hand in the air. “That’s not what I meant, you dolt.”

  His spirits immediately deflated. She didn’t mean what he’d thought she meant. Damn!

  “I’m just trying to tell you that . . . uh . . . um . . .”

  “What?” he prodded. This was the most disarming, confusing conversation he’d ever had with a woman, and if it got any hotter in this room he was going to explode.

  As if mirroring his thoughts, Annie wiped her forehead with the back of one hand and began to unbutton her flannel shirt, revealing a tight white tee shirt underneath.

  He refused to look there.

  He was not going to look.

  He was looking.

  Man, oh, man!

  That had been her bra in the bathroom, all right. Her breasts pushed against the thin material, full and uptilted, the nipples puckered into hard peaks. It wasn’t that she was big-busted but because she was so thin, it appeared that way. Good thing she didn’t look like that in her Blessed Mother outfit or she’d have men propositioning her right there in the Nativity scene. Or else she’d get some super tips.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” he choked out.

  “Like you’re . . . like you’re . . .”

  “ . . . interested?” He couldn’t stop the grin that twitched at his lips.

  “Stop smirking. I’m trying to tell you something.”

  “Oh?” he said, trying his damnedest not to look at her chest and not to grin with pure, unadulterated anticipation. As a final measure, he clenched his fists at his side to keep from grabbing for her.

  “I’m a virgin.”

  That was the last thing Clay had expected to hear.

  “A virgin?” he squeaked out. A twenty-eight-year-old virgin?

  “Yeah, isn’t that the biggest joke of all?”

  She was actually embarrassed by her virginity. Well, it did put a new light on their making love. Not that he didn’t still want her, but it sure as hell wouldn’t take place on a sofa with broken springs in a houseful of gun-toting brothers and an aunt who wielded a wicked spoon. “Annie, why tell me this now?”

  “You have a right to know . . . if I’m reading that glimmer in your eye the right way.”

  You are. Clay lowered his lashes and tried his best to curb that “glimmer” in his eye.

  “You probably think I’m repressed or gay or ultra-religious. But it’s just that I haven’t had time for dating since my parents died. And Prince Charming doesn’t come riding his charger down the lane to a dairy farm real often.”

  “So, I’m the first prince to come your way?” he asked with a laugh.

  She slanted him a “Behave Yourself” glare and went on, “Now that you know, I suppose you don’t want me anymore.” She glanced at him shyly and looked away.

  He took her chin in his hand and turned her face back to him. Kissing her lips lightly, he murmured, “I still want you.”

  A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. “Stand up, then,” she ordered.

  Huh? With his brow furrowing in confusion, he got up cautiously, bracing himself on one crutch. At the same time, the stereo suddenly came on with Elvis wailing, “It’s Now Or Never.” He jerked back at the unexpected noise and Annie laughed.

  “The stereo does that sometimes. There’s a short in its electric circuit, I guess.”

  He thought about telling her that was a safety hazard, but decided he had more important things on his mind right now. Like why she’d wanted him to stand, and why she was staring at him, arms folded across her chest, with that odd expression on her face. She was probably afraid, being a virgin and all. It was sweet of her, actually.

  “Don’t be afraid, Annie. I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

  She laughed, a joyous, rippling sound mingling with Elvis’s husky Now-or-Never warning.

  That was probably nervous laughter, Clay concluded. Still, he tilted his head to the side, questioning. “Annie?”

  “Take off your shirt, Clay. Please.”

  Her softly spoken words ambushed him. With a quick intake of breath, he almost swallowed his tongue.

  “Reeeaal slow.”

  Chapter Four

  What the lady wants, the lady gets . . .

  Annie could see that she’d shocked Clay, but she didn’t care. This was her big chance.

  Just because she was a virgin didn’t mean she was a dried-up old spinster with no needs. Like she’d told him before, there weren’t many princes who ambled on down their farm lane. And when one not-so-perfect specimen accidentally rode in, well, heck, she’d be a fool not to drag him down off his horse and have her way with him.

  “I have needs,” she told him matter-of-factly.

  “Needs?” he choked out. Geez, the man looked as if he was choking on his own tongue. Where was the suave, cool-as-a-hybrid-cucumber man who could cut a person off at the knees with a single icy stare?

  Okay, sometimes Annie forgot that city people didn’t understand the plain speaking of farm folks who lived with the facts of life on a daily basis. Those who worked with the land and animals tended to be more earthy, more accepting of the forces of nature. Sex was just another of the physical urges God gave all animals, nothing to be embarrassed about. At least, that’s what she told herself. If she didn’t justify her behavior in that way, she’d have to admit she was a lust-driven hussy with a compulsion to jump the poor prince’s royal bones.

  “Yep. Needs,” she answered with more bravado than she really had. If he rejected her, she was going to crawl in a hole and never come out. “So shuck that shirt, honey. I’ve been having indecent thoughts ever since I saw you in the emergency room in those cute little boxer shorts.”

  Stains of scarlet bloomed on his face at her mention of his boxers. Or was it her needs turning up his internal thermometer?

  “This is a joke, right?” Clay said, backing up a bit till his back hit the wall. He probably needed it to support his sore foot, or maybe his suddenly weak knees.

  Oh, swell! I’m scaring him. Slow down, Annie. Play it cool. Pretend he’s just hairy old Frankie Wilks.

  Hah!

  “No joke, Clay. You have a chest that would cause a cloistered nun to melt, and I already have a fever to begin with. So take off the darn shirt, for crying out loud.” Her voice had turned shrill at the end.

  “All right, all right,” he said, raising a palm in surrender. “Let’s backtrack to step one. You want me to take off my shirt because you like my chest?”

  “Yes.” She stood and walked slowly toward him.

  He smiled then, one of those glorious deals that bared his even white teeth and caused those irresistible dimples to play peek-a-boo with her heart. “What if someone walks in . . . like your aunt?”

  She pooh-poohed that idea. “Do you think Aunt Liza hasn’t seen a male chest before? In a house with five males?”

  “But Annie,” Clay explained with exaggerated patience. “If you want me to take off my shirt, I’m pretty sure I’ll be wanting you to take off your shirt.” He flashed her a “So there!” grin.

  “Oh.” Delicious images swam in Annie’s head at that suggestion. She stood several feet away from him, but she could feel his heat. “Well, I guess I forgot to mention that Aunt Liza is dead to the world once her head hits the pillow. Her alarm clock, set religiously at 4 a.m., is the only thing that will awaken her now.”

  “Yes, you did forget to mention that fact.” His grin didn’t waver at all. “And your brothers?”

  “The same. Besides, there’s an unwritten rule in the Fallon house. Nobody walks in unannounced on a courting couple . . . not that you and I are courting, mind you.
Don’t get your feathers all ruffled in that regard. I’m not out to trap you.”

  “My feathers aren’t ruffled,” he protested indignantly. Then, understanding that they wouldn’t be interrupted, he immediately pulled off the flannel shirt and raised the tee shirt over his head. Superman couldn’t have done it faster. After that, standing still, he waited for her to make the next move. He wasn’t smiling now.

  He was so beautiful. Wide shoulders. Narrow waist and hips. A thin frame, but not too thin. Muscles delineating his upper arms and forearms and the planes of his chest and abdomen—not muscle builder, puffed-up flesh, just healthy, fit male muscle. Dark silky hairs peppered his chest, leading down in a vee to the low-riding jeans.