“Erik, no. I don’t like this. I feel expos—oh . . . oh!”
Finally, he was attending to her nipples, drizzling the warm oil around the aureoles, then over the pebbled points themselves. She let out a soft cry as the area turned immediately hot and pulsing.
“Shhh, babe. Just a little longer,” he crooned, leaning forward to take her right breast deep in his mouth, suckling rhythmically, while the palm of his left hand drew wide, pressing circles on her other breast.
She tried to rear up off the bed.
He wouldn’t let her.
She tried to buck him away with her hips.
He wouldn’t budge.
Then he reversed the positions of his mouth and hand.
And she became a keening mass of quivering arousal. Her skin and nerve endings heightened to the point of ecstatic meltdown. She had no control over her flailing hands and trembling thighs.
In that condition, she was scarcely aware that he’d pulled back and was streaming the erotic oil between her legs.
“Oh, no! No, no, no,” she protested as she felt the waves of an overpowering climax began to ripple from her womb, down through that hot channel that he was lubricating with the oil on two fingers. When he lowered his head, still with his fingers inside her, and took the nub in his lips, sucking softly, she gave up the fight.
Tears were streaming down her face.
Erik noticed and stopped, sitting back on his haunches. His lips and fingers were slick from the oil, and her.
“Are those happy tears or sad tears?” he asked with concern.
“Happy tears, you brute.”
“Good,” he growled, standing, and looped his hands under her thighs, lifting her tush off the bed. Then he bent his knees, entering her with a slow, slow, slow upward stroke.
Before he’d fully penetrated, she climaxed around him with violent spasms of pure, shattering pleasure.
When she finally emerged from her delirium of satisfaction, she lifted her lashes slowly to see Erik still poised above her. Perspiration beaded his upper lip and forehead. A muscle twitched at the side of his compressed lips.
“Kiss me, Erik.” She strained her face upward.
With a grunt of sheer male surrender, he lunged into her and brought his mouth down on hers, hard and openmouthed. Then, in a frenzy of movement, he tossed the pillows aside, lifted her hips, and slid her to the middle of the bed.
Jessica tried to caress his shoulders and back, to return his rapacious kisses, but Erik was too out-of-control. His hands and mouth were everywhere, caressing, plucking, sucking, biting, kissing, pressing, pinching, licking.
And her body, which should have been confused by all these conflicting messages, filled with the sweetest burn in the world, overflowing with liquid pleasure which moved closer and closer to the boiling point.
Abruptly, he stopped.
Panting for breath, he rolled them on to their sides, and lifted her topmost leg onto his hip. Unbelievably, he filled her even more completely.
“Jessie,” he gasped out, waiting till her lashes fluttered open. When he had her full attention, he whispered, “Can you feel my love flowing? From here”—he pressed a palm against his chest—“down to here?”—he touched the place where they were joined, and Jessica almost exploded with utter ecstasy. “And up inside you”—he moved out and then in for emphasis—“to here?”—he breathed, resting his fingertips against her heart.
“Oh, Erik, don’t spoil this by speaking of love. I don’t need the words. Really.” She tried to kiss him into silence.
He tore his mouth away angrily. “It’s love, Jessie. Even if you won’t admit it.”
Then, with an efficient movement, he rolled over, and she was on top of him, straddling his hips.
“If you can’t say the words, show me, Jessie,” he coaxed. “Love me with your body.”
And she did. Oh, how she did!
Jessica hadn’t known she had the expertise to make a grown man cry for mercy.
She did.
Jessica hadn’t known a woman could climax, over and over, and still want more.
She did.
Jessica hadn’t known there were so many erotic points on a man’s or a woman’s body.
She did now.
Jessica hadn’t known a man could control his impending orgasm so stoically.
Oh, boy, did she know now.
Despite her protests, Erik kept repeating, “I love you. I love you. I love you . . . ”
She never said the words, but her body did. And, for Erik, that seemed to be enough for now.
Love comes harder for some . . .
Later, but not so much later, they lay under Aunt Clara’s handmade quilt, caressing each other softly. Erik gazed down at Jessica and considered himself the luckiest man alive. How had this magic landed in his lap? What miraculous power had put him in the same place as Jessie last night?
He clutched her tighter, overcome with emotion, and whispered soft words of endearment. Jessie whispered back. Nice words. Complimentary words, though not the ones Erik wanted to hear.
His heart tightened painfully, but he forced himself not to become grim. He knew she loved him, and he understood his Little Orphan Jessie a whole lot better now. Her insecurities. Her fears. Her Christmas Curse, he thought with a silent laugh.
He could wait.
A woman like her would need proof of a man’s staying power—and he didn’t mean that in the sexual sense. He was staying, for good, no matter what she thought.
For now, he had other things on his mind.
Putting a forefinger under her chin, he tilted her face upward. Immediately, he saw the wariness in her honey eyes. She thought he was going to pressure her on the love and marriage issues.
“So how do you feel about peppermint sticks?” he asked.
“What?” she asked with suspicion.
“Peppermint sticks. Do you like to . . . lick them?”
“Sure, but I don’t understand—”
He kicked the quilt off, looking pointedly at his upraised “stick,” then over to the bedside table where the bottle of peppermint warming oil stood in waiting.
They both laughed then.
But not for long.
Kids say the darnedest things . . .
“Why do you and Uncle Erik smell like candy canes?” Willie asked Jessie the next morning, peering up for the first time in an hour from his Ninja turtle tape. Scraps of Christmas wrapping paper surrounded him and were scattered across the living room.
“Who has candy canes? I want a candy cane,” Kajeeta whined as she pirouetted across the room in her new flame-red tights.
Even from across the room, Erik saw a rush of pink stain Jessie cheeks. And her eyes—her soulful eyes—met his reluctantly, then darted away in embarrassment.
Was she embarrassed by Willie’s impudent question, or about the incredible things they’d done to each other last night?
He’d left Jessie’s bed near dawn, not wanting her to be caught in a compromising situation by any unexpected visitors. She’d been asleep when he slipped out, and he hadn’t talked to her in private since then. Surely she didn’t take his considerate departure as a mark of abandonment.
He felt hurt by the distance she was putting between them. Last night was special. To them both. He wanted to shout his love aloud . . . to the kids, to Aunt Clara, to Jessie. He wanted to hold hands. To kiss under the mistletoe. To hug. And make plans.
But she was as skittish now as a cat in a room full of pit bulls.
“Candy canes! Oh, you dweeb!” Julio snorted to Willie, pulling Erik back to the present. Julio was sitting on an easy chair with his feet propped on a hassock, basking in the glow of his benevolent charity, albeit at Jessie’s expense. “It’s probably skin warming oil, like they sell in porno shops,” Julio explained.
“Porno shops?” Willie inquired.
Everyone turned to look in question, first at Jessie, then him. Luckily, Aunt Clara was in the kitchen
having a cup of tea.
Before he and Jessie had a chance to turn crimson with telling humiliation, Darlene piped in, “Julio, you are such a jerk. You think you’re so hot. You think you know everything. You think—”
“Hah! I know a slut when I see one.”
“Eff off!”
Julio flicked a middle finger at her.
“That’s enough!” Erik roared. Really, someone needed to lay down the law with these kids. They all looked chastened as he continued to glare at them, hands on hips. Eventually they grumbled and went back to examining the Christmas gifts that Julio-Santa had brought them.
At least attention had been diverted away from him and Jessie.
That is, until Willie peered up from his tape once again and asked Erik, “Do you wear a jock strap when you practice karate?”
Erik couldn’t speak. Only a gurgling sound came out.
“Gawd!” Henry said and left the room.
“I know what a jock strap is,” Kajeeta exclaimed with glee in the middle of an amazing pirouette.
Even Darlene blushed.
“A blush from you, Dar-lene-ey,” Julio teased. “Well, wonders never cease.”
It was obvious to Erik, if not to anyone else, that Julio had a crush on Darlene. This continual baiting was his juvenile way of showing it.
Darlene was sputtering unintelligible words about cutting out Julio’s tongue and sticking it someplace unmentionable.
Jessie fled to the kitchen, muttering something about helping Aunt Clara with the breakfast dishes. The coward! They’d eaten fruitcake and leftover cheese steaks on paper plates.
Well, she wasn’t going to escape from him this time. Perhaps he needed a little help, though.
“Oh, Wil-lie,” Erik said in a sugary, coaxing voice. “How’d you like to do me a big favor.”
There are mousetraps, and then there are mousetraps . . .
Early that afternoon, the house had settled down to a peaceful hum, and Jessica retreated to the kitchen where she was singing “Silent Night” under her breath while puttering around with preparations for Christmas dinner. Julio, God bless him, had purchased an already prepared roasted turkey dinner for ten from a supermarket. It had cost him . . . her . . . a hundred bucks.
Jessica planned to take every dollar out of his hide, but not today.
A wonderful peacefulness enveloped Jessica. A feeling of family. Darlene was sitting under the tree playing some of her new CD’s on a disc player “Santa” had brought. Henry was teaching Willie how to play a computer game. Kajeeta was watching A Christmas Carol on TV with Erik. Aunt Clara was upstairs taking a nap.
If only things could stay this way.
“Aunt Jessie,” Willie said, padding into the kitchen barefooted, wearing his new white karate outfit. “Can I ask you something . . . um . . . personal?”
Uh-oh. Jessica looked at the red-haired imp and groaned inwardly. There was a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.
“Do girls like guys who do karate? I mean, does it turn them on?”
“Wh-what?” she stammered, backing away from him and looking around blindly for a quick exit or somewhere to hide.
“I know that girls like football players. And wrestlers. But what about karate guys?”
Oh, God! “Willie, why don’t you go ask Julio, or Uncle Erik?” She made a couple of crablike sidesteps, hoping she could make it to the hallway leading to the front door before having to answer.
“Julio’s the one that told me to start doing karate. Either that or get a tattoo.”
“A . . . a tattoo?”
Willie shuffled around, inadvertently blocking her route to the hall. “And I asked Uncle Erik about this girls and karate and sex stuff, but he told me to come ask you.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
“Yep. How’s a guy supposed to know what turns a girl’s crank? I mean, really, Aunt Jessie, guys like just about anything, but girls are different. Aren’t they? Huh? Aren’t they?” He was pressing closer, gazing up at her with wide-eyed innocence. Still, there was that suspicious twinkle in his eyes, too.
How could she answer such questions? “Uh, I’m busy right now, Willie. Come back later. I’ll tell you then,” she promised. And, gutless wimp that she was, she dashed into the pantry.
To her shock, she heard the door close behind her and the lock click from the other side, followed by the sound of Willie’s snickering. That shock was followed immediately by another as she realized that the “rat” who’d planted the cheese—Willie—in her path, had diverted her toward this very spot.
Erik stood leaning against the window on the far wall of the narrow pantry. If this was intended to be a joke, he wasn’t laughing.
“So, tell me, Jessie, what does turn a girl’s crank?”
Chapter Seven
It’s all in who you know . . .
“What’s going on?” she said shrilly, twisting the knob unsuccessfully.
“You tell me, Jessie. What the hell’s going on?”
“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant. She’d been dodging him all morning, ever since she’d awakened, alone, in her bed.
Oh, she didn’t blame him for leaving. He’d probably been concerned about her reputation with the kids and Aunt Clara. Still, his leaving had reminded her that he would leave eventually, and she couldn’t allow herself to get too attached.
Last night had been wonderful. End of story.
Stepping away from the window, Erik moved closer to her. Bright sunlight reflected off his blond hair, giving it dazzling highlights. He wore a crisp, pure white T-shirt of Julio’s tucked into faded jeans.
And already she felt warm and tingly. It was probably the aftereffects of the warming oil.
“You know, Jessie, when you look at me, your eyes give you away.”
She lowered her lashes.
He laughed mirthlessly and tickled her under the chin.
Her head jerked up. How had he discovered that that tiny section of skin was a particularly sensitive spot on her body? Hah! He knows that and a whole lot more about my body.
He braced his arms on either side of her head. There was a touch of anger in his clenched jaw, as well as hurt in his blue eyes, which glittered more gray than blue today. Stormy.
“What gives, Jessie?” he gritted out. “Tell me what’s going through that quirky mind of yours.”
“Erik, let me go. Let’s go outside. Then we’ll talk.” The pantry was very small, no bigger than a walk-in closet. Too intimate. She could smell a hint of coffee on his breath. She could feel the heat of his body. She could imagine a whole lot more.
“Why can’t we talk here?” He cocked his head, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No, but . . . but I should keep an eye on the kids while Aunt Clara’s sleeping.”
“Liar.”
She groaned in resignation. He wasn’t going to let her escape until they’d cleared the air. “What do you want, Erik?”
“You.”
She whimpered.
“Why are you fighting this? Is loving me such a bad thing?”
“Love is never a bad thing,” she declared vehemently, angry herself now, “but it’s just not in the cards for me.”
“You’re not going to mention that damn Christmas Curse again.”
“No, I’m pretty sure the Christmas Curse is over. Last night just about wiped it out, I would think.”
“Damn straight!”
“Oh, Erik, last night was wonderful, for both of us, but I don’t want you to make it into something more than what it was.”
“Which was?” he asked icily.
“People have a way of getting caught up in the magic of the Christmas season, but the glow rarely lasts beyond the tinsel and mistletoe. It’s sort of like vacation romances where lovers forget each other once they go home.”
“Bull!”
She winced at his harsh scorn.
“I love
you, Jessie.”
“You think you do,” she corrected.
“Don’t tell me what I think. I love you, and you love me, dammit. Deny it. Go ahead. Tell me you don’t love me.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to tell him she didn’t love him. The words stuck in her throat.
“Jessie, honey, have you ever told anyone you loved them?”
She shook her head mutely.
“Because they always left first, right?”
She nodded.
“Ah, sweetheart, don’t you know . . . can’t you trust that I’m not leaving?”
She shook her head again, but a soft sob escaped.
He bent his knees so he was at eye level with her and pressed his lips lightly against hers, shifting from side to side, as if trying to show her his sincerity. “I’m in this for the long haul, babe,” he said in a choked voice. “I’ve waited too long to find love again. I’ll prove to you that my love is for real. I will.”
He was lowering his mouth for another kiss when footsteps clamored loudly on the other side of the door, followed by a rattling of the door knob.
“Uncle Erik, your phone is ringing like crazy, and there’s a car coming up the driveway . . . a stretch limo.”
Jessica canted her head at Erik in question. Giving her a quick peck, he looped an arm around her shoulder, firm notice that he wasn’t going to let her bolt again.
Henry was speaking on Erik’s cell phone in the hallway when they emerged. His eyes seemed watery with unshed tears, and his glasses were all fogged up.
Jessica’s maternal instincts kicked in. “Henry, what’s wrong? Is it bad news?” Henry was an orphan, but there might be some distant relative she didn’t know about.
He ignored her with a wave of his hand. “Yes, sir. I will, sir. I promise,” Henry said into the mouthpiece, a tone of awe in his voice. “A summer school for computer whiz kids? No, I never heard about that. A what? Oh, Gawd! A college scholarship, maybe, sometime down the road?” Tears streamed unrestrained down Henry’s face now. “But, Mr. Gates, how did you hear about me? Oh. Yes, Erik Thorsson is still here.” Henry gave Erik a sideways glance of adoration.