Tidings of Love Page 5

  Merciful heavens. There was something maddeningly wonderful about his seductive, slow touches mixed with conversation that could take place between a preacher and his grandmother. Maybe she would try that herself. She reached up and stroked his neck before responding to his comment.

  “Close to, I guess. As soon as they reconciled in New York, Jackson rushed her right over to Tiffany and bought it.”

  He ran his tongue over her ear and sucked the lobe. “Do all American women hope for a ring such as that?”

  “No. Emory least of all. I think, as you say, it nourished Jackson’s spirit to give to her.”

  “Maybe.” He finally turned her in his arms, working her skirt up as he went, and pressed his erection against the crotch of her tights. “You listened to what I said and remembered. That makes me want you even more.” With his increasing passion, his accent became more pronounced. “And I want you quite a lot. You want me as well, Noel?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  He explored her mouth with a long, lazy plunder.

  “Where do you want me?” He began to sprinkle kisses up and down her jaw, neck, and cheeks. “Here on this sofa? Maybe on the kitchen table? Or in the Jacuzzi tub? Or on your bed?”

  All of that sounded good. “Well, I don’t have a Jacuzzi, but I do have a bed.”

  And he lifted her in his arms. He must have had a bed-locating sixth sense because he took the door to the bedroom when he could have easily chosen the one to her office/sewing room.

  He laid her on top of the wedding ring quilt that she used as a coverlet and stroked her calves as he looked around.

  “A perfect room for my Noel. Happy colors and soft, pretty things everywhere—a room that holds its arms out to lovers, no?” He slipped his hands up to her inner thighs, where he stroked for a full minute. When she shifted to urge his hands higher, he said, “No. Impatience for more will rob you of the pleasure of this.” And he slid his hands to her hips and back down to her thighs again and again and again until she savored that and only that.

  She embraced the feeling and let herself bask in each stroke until she felt Nickolai’s weight on the bed.

  “Come, lyubimaya—sweetheart. Come sit with me this way.” And he pulled her to straddle his lap. “Now, I will undress you a little.” He pulled her red cashmere sweater over her head and buried his nose in it. “It smells like you. Apples and cookies?”

  “Apple vanilla. I buy my soap from Fleur at Natural Beauty.”

  “You are a natural beauty.” He stroked her cheek. “Not so much makeup.” He smiled and pulled her cotton turtleneck out of the waistband of her skirt. “I didn’t know when I took your sweater that there would be more of you to unwrap.”

  Noel raised her arms and, before he had her shirt completely off, he gasped with surprise and thrust his groin against her. She lowered her arms and smiled at him with satisfaction. Noel had decided long ago that even though she was only an A-cup, her bras were always going to be beautiful and sexy—even if she was the only one to see them. She was particularly proud of the red, translucent, La Perla bra she wore today.

  “My Noel is full of surprises, under her clothes and in these sheets.”

  He took his time, visually feasting on the sight before him, and his eyes grew heavy with passion. Noel had felt foolish for spending so much on such a little wisp of lace and silk. No more. He licked his bottom lip, and his mouth settled into a sultry smile.

  “You are a little fire devil, I think. If I were less of a man, the sight of that would have ended things quickly. But lucky for us, I have great control—on ice and off. Now, I touch.”

  And he laid her back on the pillow and did exactly that, caressing the underside and the tops before settling a large hand on each breast to stroke and squeeze.

  “Ochen krasivaya. Very pretty,” he muttered, and she got the idea he wasn’t talking about the bra this time. “I thought to take your bra off now, but I have to ask. Is there something matching on the bottom?”

  Noel looked up at him and dropped her eyelids. “Might be.”

  He laughed. “Then I change the plan.”

  “Maybe it’s time for something else to come off, though.” Noel sat up and pulled his Henley over his head—and was met with a surprise of her own. “You’re hurt!” She tentatively touched the saucer size bruise on his chest.

  “Meh.” He looked down. “Not so much. And I know what heals.” He pulled her toward him until her nipples barely touched his chest. “This was a good idea.” And he began to move, caressing her nipples with the warmth of his chest.

  The sensation was incredible almost to the point of paralyzation—but only almost. She grew bold—and why not? This was a one-time occurrence—and began to move her hands up and down his powerful torso and across his back.

  “You are good for me.” He moved to his knees and ran his tongue slowly along the band of her bra and back again. Then he trailed down her stomach, licking and nipping as he went. For someone who had been intent on going slow and savoring, he divested Noel of her skirt and tights in quick order.

  Then he rocked back on his heels. “Turn on your side. Let me look at you.”

  Concentrating on showing off her pretty, ruffled bikini briefs with the crystal embroidered lace, and trying to forget that her less than voluptuous body was on display for this Greek god of a man, Noel did as he asked. In a comical little move, she put a hand on her hip, thrust one leg forward, and gave him an exaggerated come-hither look.

  He laughed and stroked the little ruffle on her bottom. “I expected a thong, but this is so much better—so Noel.”

  “Joyeux Noel?”

  “Très Joyeux.” He gave her a little, evil smile. “There’s not much chance you’d let me take your picture with my phone, is there?”

  “No!” She burst out laughing.

  He shrugged. “I thought not. I had to ask.” He drew her to him, very, very close this time. “Then you’ll have to show this to me in person, long and often. Can you do that for me, sweet Noel?”

  “I can.” But she knew it would never happen. Magic like this only happened in a snow globe, and snow globes didn’t last forever. Already missing him, she pressed against his body even closer and tightened her arms around him.

  Nickolai trembled, moaned, and something changed, the lightness turning to intensity. He stood, reached into his pocket, and threw a foil packet on the nightstand. Then he removed his jeans and stood there, a solid column of glory and power.

  She sighed at the beauty of him and held out her arms. In one liquid moment, he scooped her up, threw back the covers, and landed on the mattress with her on top. “These have been a delight, but they have served their purpose.” And he peeled off her underclothes, licking, sucking, and caressing as he went. “Now, we will be naked together.”

  And they were. Nickolai might play a fast-moving sport on ice, but in bed, he was slow, thorough, and very, very proficient. For what must have been close to an hour, they moved together, discovering each other’s bodies—and Noel learned quite a bit about her own. Without reserve, he rolled his throbbing penis against every part of her body, all the while thrilling her with his hands and mouth, whispering how much he wanted her. In turn, she grew bolder with her hands and mouth, and he showed her how to please him. She was rewarded as he moaned and praised her skill, sometimes lapsing into breathless Russian with a bit of French thrown in. She didn’t have to understand the words to know what he meant.

  Noel might have reached her peak at a dozen or more times, but he always sensed it, pulled back, and brought her down again—only to take her back. She was desperate with need and shocked to learn that such need existed.

  “Please,” she whispered against his ear as he suckled her rock-hard nipples, and she stroked his engorged penis. “I can’t stand any more.”

  “You ache?” His fingers danced between her legs, and she shuddered. “I ache, too. It’s sweet pain, but yes. Is time.”

  He reached for th
e packet on the nightstand and turned her on her back. “One last taste.” He brought his mouth to her most private place—again. This time, she thought she would come, but he pulled back just in time.

  Then he slowly entered her, and she felt complete.

  “Tight. Hot. Good.” And he began to move, sometimes almost withdrawing completely, sometimes driving farther in and urging her to move harder and faster.

  Every stroke was a surprise and a journey of perfect pleasure.

  Finally, he looked into her eyes and partially withdrew. “Lift yourself to me, Noel!” he commanded.

  And when she did, they both peaked and collapsed, calling each other’s names.

  They lay together for a minute before Nickolai scattered her jaw with kisses, muttering something that might have been English, Russian, French, or some kind of devil’s cant.

  Then he withdrew and smiled, looking for all the world like a little boy hoping for a cookie. “Was good?”

  “Was good,” she confirmed. “Très good.”

  “Mmm.” He closed his eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  What had she done?

  After staring at Nickolai’s perfect sleeping form for a full fifteen minutes, Noel smoothed his messy black curls away from his face. She had made a mistake—one she could never come back from. This was no gift to herself; this was begging for a lifetime burden. There could never be anything like this again with anyone else. Who could have guessed that this one thing that was supposed to be only physical pleasure could have taken her to a place where she cared too much?

  And she knew no matter how sweet his words, they were only that. Saying them didn’t make him bad or a liar; they just made him a flirt, and she’d known that going in. But there would be no jersey forthcoming, no “long and often” viewing of her underclothes, and no chance that she would ever recover from this.

  Chapter Six

  Nickolai woke to the smell of bacon frying and a feeling of perfect contentment. That was a first—the contentment, that is. He smelled bacon at Cracker Barrel all the time. He sat up and looked around. This bedroom was smaller than his, but it was also better. The only thing wrong with it was that Noel wasn’t there anymore. But that was okay because she was cooking bacon, and not just any bacon—bacon for him. He couldn’t remember anybody ever cooking bacon for him unless they were being paid to do it.

  Maybe he shouldn’t, but he felt very comfortable in this room with its lace curtains, fancy pillows, and blue-flowery wallpaper covered in blurry little pictures and mirrors.

  He took a second look at the mirrors. He should have looked in them while he was making love to Noel. Maybe next time.

  Next time. Though he could hardly believe it, he smiled at the thought. And he couldn’t imagine a time when there wouldn’t be a next time with this woman. But why was he sitting here naked in her soft, warm bed with its good-smelling sheets when she was down the hall? He could be with her—as soon as he found his clothes and cleaned up.

  He looked up at the sparkly little light fixture. What were the odds that Noel might want a big mirror on her ceiling—and where did you buy such a thing?

  • • •

  Noel added the grated cheese and a little heavy cream to the grits and gave them a stir. Since she had expected to be in Louisville, she hadn’t done much to decorate the apartment, but she’d salvaged a few things from the shop to try to make a pretty table. After all, it was Christmas, Nickolai was a guest, and she had promised him breakfast. She’d spread the table with the length of red and green plaid she’d cut from a bolt downstairs. Then she’d thrown some cedar, pinecones, and berry-studded holly into a copper bowl and mixed in the antique glass ornaments she’d pulled off the tree. There had been no time to hem the makeshift tablecloth, but she’d clipped the edges with pinking shears. With her plain white dishes and hunter green linen napkins on the plates, it was good enough. At the last minute, she placed candy canes—also stolen from the shop tree—on top of the napkins.

  Not great, but not bad, considering. If she’d known about this, she would have driven out to Sassy Cow Farm and bought some smoked white cheddar for the grits. Of course, if she had known about this, maybe she would have thought it through and not done it.

  But this was just busy work and busy worrying; no perfect centerpiece and no amount of artisanal cheese could make things different. Facts were facts. Nickolai was a handsome, rich, wildly successful hockey player accustomed to sophisticated, glamorous women who had more skill with a mascara wand than a needle. Noel might be good for a little homespun holiday fun, but there was no way she could compete with that in the light of day. And, frankly, unless it was a quilt contest, she wasn’t interesting in competing.

  Ah, from the sound of things, he was awake and had found his way to the shower—to wash the smell of her off him. She shook her head and laughed a little at her drama queen thoughts. After all, she’d taken a shower, too. There was hardly any choice after that marathon workout. But she hadn’t dressed up. Far from it. The black leggings and matching tunic might not be her best look, but on an icy-cold day at home, anything better would have been ridiculous and sad.

  She put the biscuits in the oven and was removing the eggs from the refrigerator when Nickolai padded into the kitchen in his sock feet, all damp curls and shining eyes. He stretched his arms high over his head and yawned, with his mouth settling into a big smile.

  “Still sleepy?” she asked.

  He tossed his head back and forth. “I can sleep when I’m dead—or not with Noel.” He crossed the room with open arms and a mouth setting up for a kiss.

  If she were smart, she’d head for the hills before she got in deeper. But on the other hand, why run? It wasn’t possible to be in deeper. There were things that were absolutes—like pregnancy and death. Likewise, longing for Nickolai wasn’t going to come in degrees. Once he was gone, it wouldn’t matter if she had kissed him again or not, because another kiss couldn’t make her want him more.

  He gathered her to him with one arm, cupped her bottom with his other hand, and hugged her long and hard before settling his mouth against hers. He tasted like mint toothpaste and smelled like her apple vanilla soap and shampoo.

  Her naughty bits sat up and begged for attention.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” she scolded them.

  “No!” they screamed. “There’s no such thing as enough!”

  “Get used to it.”

  “Boo, hiss! You’re no fun!”

  She pulled out of his arms, went to the refrigerator, and retrieved the pitcher of sparkling orange juice she’d made earlier.

  “I found the toothbrush you left for me. Do you always think of everything?”

  Yes, Nickolai, I do. I am a master of thinking of everything, except I didn’t think of how to guard my heart against you.

  She shrugged and filled a waiting Champagne flute and handed it to him. “For all that the other women in my family aren’t much good at the practicalities of life, they’re impeccable hostesses. I’ve picked up few things.”

  He took the juice from her, sipped, and then laughed. “Bubbly!”

  “It’s a fake mimosa made with ginger ale. I would have made real ones, but I don’t have any Champagne.”

  “I like this.” He sipped again. “The pretty towels you left for me? With the ruffles and the letters of your name? I didn’t want to muss them, so I looked in the closet and found another towel.”

  “If you aren’t good enough for my best things, then who?” Noel said almost as if by rote. Her grandmother always said that when someone remarked that she shouldn’t have gone to the trouble to bring out the silver tea service or the linen cocktail napkins. It was a phrase Noel had used many times, but, this time, she realized she really meant it.

  And the words won her a sweet smile. He cocked his head to the side. “The towel I used—it had the symbol of the University of Tennessee, the college team of Gabe Beauford. Are you fond of Gabe Beauford? I
s that why you have his towel?”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s not Gabe’s towel. It’s a beach towel, and I have it because I’m a UT football fan. And no, I’m not fond of Gabe. That is, it’s not that I’m not fond of him. I barely know him.”

  He nodded, it seemed, with satisfaction. “I’ve never been to the beach.”

  “Never?”

  “No.” He smiled and shook his head. “Maybe we will go to the beach this summer? You and me?”

  “Sure.” Another flirty, empty promise, just a game they were playing—she as much as he. What else could she expect after sleeping with the man the second time she’d laid eyes on him?

  “I wonder if there are Nashville Sound beach towels. I’ll ask Chris in the office. She knows everything. I probably can get some for free. She once gave me a little water bottle that keeps the water cold for a long time. You might need one of those for our beach trip.”

  “I might.” She opened the egg carton. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Hmm.” He sat down at the table and rubbed his chin, considering. “At Cracker Barrel I get them soft-boiled if I am feeling fat, scrambled if I’m not, and fried with a runny center if I don’t care.”

  Did he have to be so charming about every damned thing, even how he wanted his eggs?

  “Do you care today?”

  “I care,” he said. “A fat hockey player is a slow hockey player and, very soon, an out-of-work hockey player. But is Christmas and I had a big workout.” He leered at her. “So fried, I think. Is that okay?”

  “Coming up.” She cracked the eggs in the skillet. “Do you often eat breakfast at Cracker Barrel?”