Holiday Sparks

He set the dials to a lukewarm spray and opened the door for her. “You look like the type that’s going to hog the water.”

She grinned up at him. She could keep this light. “Yep.”

He leaned against the tiled wall and watched her under hooded eyes.

“You are not going to just stand there and watch me, are you?”

“Yep.”

“Here, have some water.” She moved aside to give him room.

He shook his head. “Suds and freckles are going to be my new favorite attractions in this shower.”

She averted her gaze. He was talking as though he wanted it to be more than one night, but that was just silly. They lived on opposite schedules and had nothing in common. She quickly sudsed up a washcloth and tried not to think about how well they worked together or fit together.

“You’re a million miles away.”

Instead of answering, she put her face under the spray and scooped the hair out of her face. She jumped as his hands slid around her waist.

“We’ll go slow.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Nothing about this—” She closed her eyes because it felt too good when he touched her and swallowed back all the emotions she just couldn’t deal with. All of them were too new, too much, and too mixed up with sex to comprehend yet. “Nothing about us has been slow.”

He tucked his chin into her shoulder and held her tight. He seemed to know that now wasn’t the time to talk about them. Instead he took her washcloth and soaped up her back and then her front, his hands achingly tender on her sore breasts and a little more firm on her shrieking back muscles.

How did he know her body so completely after just a few hours?

He crouched in front of her and she backed up. No, that was too intimate. She took the washcloth back from him. He brushed his nose along her belly. “I love that you smell like me.”

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Gosh, everything about him was earthy and sexual and lacking in pretense. He gently nudged her legs apart and took the washcloth back. He washed her, tracing his thumb around the sensitive knot of muscles inside her.

“Ben.”

“Shh.” He washed the soap away and leaned into her and sipped.

Her hand slapped against the tile as he soothed her with his tongue and lips. Her release was so soft and sweet that she couldn’t do anything but push his hair out of his eyes. His face was heavy with scruff and dotted with water, and his lips glossy with her. He stood, but before he could sluice the water and her release off, she pulled him down and tasted herself on his tongue.

He drew her back, his eyes already fired up. And again, she wanted to suffuse herself in all the energy that was Ben, but her body simply wasn’t willing. She swayed a little and he kissed her forehead before drawing her under the spray again. They finished up, quietly drying off before they slipped back into his bed. Without words he settled her against him until his smooth chest was her pillow.

She’d never comfortably slept with a man before. She liked her space. But she slid her thigh over his and dropped off without another thought in her head.

Chapter Eight

Ben watched the sun creep up his midnight-blue comforter. He’d forgotten to pull his blackout curtains before taking Darcy to his bed. Not that it would have mattered anyway. He’d been staring at the ceiling for the last hour.

Another day with four hours of sleep under his belt. He didn’t care. Not when Darcy was curled so trustingly into his side. He slid his thumb over her shoulder and smoothed back down her arm.

He was used to sex being fun. He liked the feel of a woman in his arms. He was one of the few of his friends who actually didn’t dread the morning after. All the other mornings were okay because it didn’t matter if the woman was clingy or cranky or even indifferent. He could usually coax them into a good mood and they would leave with a smile, relationship or not.

But nothing about Darcy could be relegated into something so safe. The moment he’d touched her in the store he knew it was going to be different and still he’d wanted her in his bed.

His instincts never steered him wrong. From adjusting his major in college to leaving the safety of his job in Boston to start his own business with Cesar, and now the Christmas venture—all of it fit him.

But Darcy terrified him.

He’d known that opening himself up to her would be a gamble. And it still was. Hell, he only had half the cards in his hand and he was tempted to scoop up his chips and run. Except he wasn’t going to run. He’d figure out some way to get to know her a little better. He really didn’t want the cool Darcy back with morning-after weirdness.

The winter sun curled its fingers around her arm and teased the edges of her chin. Her lemon-blonde hair tangled across his chest. And she felt so good in his arms he was fairly sure sleep would be nonexistent without her.