Yes. No. “Damn it, Brodie, stop. This isn’t fair.” I shoved the half-eaten cake on the table and thrust my hands into my pockets so he couldn’t see they were suddenly shaking.
Because it wasn’t fear. It was the need to reach out and touch him, caress him, love him. Just like we used to. Just like I dreamed of on so many of those long nights I’d spent alone.
He placed his plate back down then rose. Only the coffee table separated us. Only the coffee table stopped me from stepping into the sweet strength of his arms.
“I know it’s not fair,” he said softly. “But I never intended it to be.”
“But why?”
The question was practically torn out of me, and he grimaced. “Because for the last month I’ve been trying to talk to you, and you’ve barely given me the time of day.”
“And that surprises you?”
“No. It’s highly frustrating, though.”
“Damn it, Brodie, this has to stop. I can’t . . .” My voice broke a little. I stopped and took a deep, quivering breath. “I can’t go through another Christmas waiting for you to call but knowing you never will.”
He raised a hand and gently brushed my cheek with his fingertips. His fingers were so warm and felt so good against my skin that desire surged, making me tremble. And it was tempting, so tempting, to press into his touch. To ask for more than just that light caress.
But that way lay heartache.
I went to step back, away from him, but he must have sensed the motion. He caught the end of the robe belt and held it lightly. If I stepped back, the loose knot would undo.
Part of me wanted to step back. Wanted to give in to the heat and power of what still lay between us. But the part of me that was still desperately clinging to sanity and reason made me hold still.
“What if I promise never to make you wait by a phone again?” he said softly.
My gaze searched his, saw the sincerity and the compassion and the hunger in the bright depths. I wanted to trust it—trust him—I really did. But I just couldn’t.
“I don’t believe in promises anymore. I don’t believe in you.”
The words hurt him, as I knew they would. But the flash of pain in his eyes, and the lingering, aching regret in his expression gave me no sense of satisfaction at all. Because in truth, I didn’t want to hurt him, and I didn’t want retribution for all that he’d put me through. Part of me wanted to know why, but mostly I just wanted to get on with my life.
A life that didn’t involve him. Didn’t involve the hurt or the pain that he’d brought into my life.
“I’ve never promised you anything that I haven’t delivered,” he said eventually.
Maybe not out loud, but in deed and action you promised me the world. And then you ran away. “You promised to call me the minute you got back from Chicago, Brodie. But you never did.”
He blew out a breath and had the grace to look guilty. “There were reasons—”
“It’s too late for reasons,” I cut in. Too late for us.
“I refuse to believe that,” he said, leaving me wondering whether he was answering the spoken or unspoken comment.
Then he stepped around the table, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, and dragged me forward, into his arms. And kissed me.
This time, it wasn’t a fleeting thing, but rather a long and erotic exploration that had my blood screaming through my veins and my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.
And oh, it was good, so good, to be kissed like that again. Like this moment and I were the only things that mattered to him, the only things that would ever matter to him.
It was a lie, of course, but one I was so ready to believe, even if only for this moment. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed myself against his long, lean length, until I could feel his every intake of breath. Feel the rigid hardness of his erection pressing against my stomach. Lord, he felt good.
His free hand brushed my side, sliding teasingly past my breast. Something akin to electricity flashed through every nerve ending, and a low-down ache leapt into focus. Tiny beads of perspiration skated across my skin—moisture raised by the sheer heat of his body, and my own crazy longing.
I knew I should step away, should retreat from the kiss and from all the tangled, unsettled emotions that it raised. But I couldn’t. Call me weak, call me a fool, but the reality of this kiss was so much better than the dreams that I could only stand there and enjoy.
It was just as well his cell phone chose that moment to ring, because we both knew where that kiss would have led otherwise.
Brodie growled low down in his throat, a sound that seemed to echo through my lips and body, then pulled away, his breathing harsh as he dragged the phone from his pocket.
“What?”
To say he sounded annoyed would be an understatement. It was probably the closest thing I’d heard to a growl from him when he was still in human form.
His expression got darker as he continued to listen, and I knew without doubt it was work. I took a deep breath to regroup my thoughts and steady my riotous heart rate, then, rather determinately, tied a double knot on the dressing gown. It wouldn’t stop him or me, but it was the action that mattered. It was a way of reminding my scattered self-control and exuberant hormones that I did have a choice, and that I could do what was best for me.
Although after that kiss, I wasn’t so sure what, exactly, that was right now.
I picked up my coffee and moved back to the fire. I wasn’t cold—far from it—but it was the farthest point away from him without getting too obvious about retreating.
He hung up and made another low, growly sound.
“Work?” I said, trying not to sound relieved and failing miserably.
He gave me a dark look. “Yeah, there’s been another murder.”
My stomach sank. “But it’s after midnight.”
“I noticed. He obviously didn’t.”
“Why can’t they send someone else? Why us?”
But I knew the answer. The squad was a small one, and this was our case. And there was no such thing as standard hours or being off duty when it came to the Para-investigations squad.
He simply said, “You want to get dressed?”
“I really don’t want to wear that elf costume—”
“Well, Mom’s clothes won’t fit, because she’s much bigger than you. So unless you want to wear the robe, we’re stuck.”
I swore under my breath and stomped out of the room. “We wouldn’t have been stuck if you’d just taken me back home like I asked.”
“But I wouldn’t have had the chance to kiss you if I’d done that, now, would I?”
“Not a snowflake’s chance in hell,” I muttered. I closed the laundry room door, then quickly pulled the clothes out of the dryer and got dressed. There was a thick pair of woolen socks sitting on top of some clean washing, so I took those and put them on before dragging on my wet shoes.
He was waiting in the kitchen when I opened the door, and his gaze drifted down my length, heating me as quickly as any caress or kiss. “The white socks spoil the look. And they’re my brother’s.”
“Well, your brother just donated them to my cold feet. Where are we going?”
“The cemetery.”
“So he didn’t attack a collector this time?”
“Nope. Gravedigger.”
“They’re digging graves at this hour of the night?”
“Death doesn’t stop just because it’s almost Christmas, you know.”
He placed his hand against my back and guided me out of the house. My feet jingled merrily as I clomped down the steps, suggesting a mood I couldn’t reach and annoying the hell out of me. So I bent and ripped the stupid bells off.