Santa's Kiss [Book Three in the Ladies of Legend Christmas Anthology] Page 4

  He followed her into the hall bathroom, painfully pink from its rose-colored tile floor to its cherry, floral wallpaper. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he had a moment of self-doubt. What did she see in him? He was unpolished, a good old boy, nothing like the sophisticated men in Dawn's daily life.

  He took a deep breath and shoved aside his nagging uncertainty. It was now or never.

  Dawn opened a drawer in the vanity. “Will one of these do?"

  Inside were condoms of every shape, size and color. Heat rose to his cheeks. “Aunt Harriet certainly is well-prepared."

  "That's an understatement."

  They laughed, the ice broken over a shared joke that connected them as nothing else. He touched her hair again, tucking a silky strand behind her ear.

  Desire flared fast, pumping shots of testosterone through his body. Clint swallowed hard, reached into the drawer and selected a foil wrapped prophylactic.

  The humor died from Dawn's eyes. She touched his outstretched arm. “Give me a few minutes, will you?"

  "Sure."

  "I'm staying in the guest room."

  "Okay."

  He backed out, one step at a time, watching as she shut the door.

  Okay, buddy. You always wanted this.

  Clint turned and walked toward the room where the dog had fled.

  He flicked the light switch, throwing the dark room into glaring brightness. Quickly he surveyed the situation. It was neat and tidy, as if no one had used it in months. There was a dresser, bedside table, straight-back cane chair, and a queen-size bed covered with a multi-colored quilt. He heard the little dog crawl farther under the bed.

  "Good. You stay there, partner,” Clint said, frowning in the direction of the bed. He didn't need any competition tonight. He was already feeling anxious and horny and surprised by the turn of events.

  How long had it been since he'd had sex? He was much too well known to go sleeping around in Legend. Stuff like that spread through town fast. He never had time to go to bars in Knoxville or troll the tourist traps in Gatlinburg. Even if he did have time, he wouldn't. He learned a long time ago no woman ever measured up to Dawn, so there was no point in searching for a woman to take her place.

  Tonight he was going to get the real thing. Would he measure up to all of Dawn's others?

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. Taking his time, he removed his cell phone and wallet from his pocket and placed them on the bedside table. He hated the undressing part, the preliminaries of lovemaking. It was always so awkward. Stripping off his shirt, he folded it carefully, putting it on the chair. Next he unzipped his jeans, pulled them off, doubled them over and laid them on top of his shirt. Standing only in his wool socks and boxer briefs, he felt like a dork. He sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his socks.

  A white candle and a box of matches sat on the nightstand, almost as if they were meant for tonight. He struck the match. The sulfur scent was quickly masked by the aroma of the vanilla-scented flame. Ripping the foil package, Clint left the condom handy.

  Okay, he was set. He stood up and turned down the quilt, exposing flowery sheets. Next he flipped off the overhead light and glanced at the door. His heart thrummed so loud he was sure Dawn could hear it.

  She didn't make him wait long. The bathroom door opened. The light in the hall went out. In another heartbeat, Dawn stood in the doorway, her shadowy figure illuminated by the lone candle and the glow from a street lamp shinning through the flimsy curtains.

  She took his breath away. No more fuzzy slippers, warm pajamas and robe. She was barely clothed, dressed in a sensual see-through nightgown that covered nothing and just enough. The outline of her whole body was visible through its thin, white fabric—her creamy skin, darkened nipples and pale triangle of curls. When she took a step toward him, her long, shapely leg peaked from beneath the side slit of the gown. His heart slammed against his ribs.

  Dawn's unbound blond hair flowed in waves to her shoulders. She smiled shyly and stretched out her hand, palm up, offering herself to him.

  He released a groan. All doubts vanished, washing from him in a whoosh of anticipation and self-confidence he had only experienced on a football field.

  * * * *

  Thank heavens for small favors. Dawn had not planned this night, but strangely she had been prepared. When unpacking yesterday, she found one of her nightgowns in the bottom of her suitcase and hung it on a hook on the bathroom door.

  The sheer silk confection had spaghetti straps and a lace-cup bodice that exposed her cleavage. It made her feel feminine and sexy, giving her confidence a boost she so desperately needed. A splash of a soft floral musk fragrance containing freesia, peony and lily scents helped give her a lift as well. Tonight she hoped for a little old-school wooing.

  Going into the bedroom, she was unprepared to find Clint already undressed except for a comical pair of white boxer shorts with “ho, ho, ho!” written across the front in red lettering. Her throat tightened. My, gosh! That was Clint—tough on the outside, but underneath, comfortable enough with himself to wear a funky pair of Christmas boxers. He was totally charming and completely unaware of his appeal.

  She took another step into the room, smiling and extending her hand. The heat of his gaze made her feel completely naked. The silk fabric clung to the curves of her body like a glove. She felt wet and wanton, needing to be desired for herself, not because she was Dawn Smith, movie and soap star.

  Lust ignited in his dark eyes.

  Her mouth slightly parted.

  "You're beautiful.” His words were a breathless shudder.

  "You are too."

  "I can't believe this."

  Her pulse pounded. “Oh, Clint."

  He took two steps toward her and pulled her into his arms, against his already rock-hard body. At first, he just held her, as if soaking in her feel and scent. His heart beat against her breast. The slow skim of his fingers over the back of her neck sent goose bumps skittering up and down her arms. Her breath labored.

  Clint watched her through half-lowered eyelids. She caught his sizzling gaze, searching his face, longing to cover his mouth with kisses.

  She got her wish when he lowered his lips, greedily working his mouth over hers. She moaned against his onslaught, her pulse invading every fiber of her being.

  "What's it like kissing Santa?"

  "Marvelous,” she said, shivering with delight.

  Clint's lips fused with hers once more and her body melded to his—breast, stomach, thighs all hot and eager. In one fluid motion, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed laying her gently down. The sheets were cold, but soothed her aching, flushed body. Dawn stared up at him, his rigid erection obvious against the silly shorts.

  Clint showered her with his appraisal, devouring her with his eyes as he devoured her mouth moments earlier. The love she saw in his gaze shocked and satisfied her. A lump rose in her throat. Never had any man looked at her that way. It was mind-blowing. Her heart filled with something she did not dare explore.

  But she wanted to explore Clint. Her heart hammered with yearning. The longer he hesitated, the more she wanted him, the more her body throbbed, the damp heat of her core aching.

  Take me! Now!

  She couldn't speak. Her throat, closed over that lump, was incapable of making words. She had always been a quiet love-maker, preferring to talk with her body, sometimes playacting, but not now. The swirl of emotion Clint elicited was not make-believe. Dawn lifted her arms to him in a silent plea.

  Clint jerked off the funny boxers. Proudly he stood before her, all male muscle, olive skin and dark curly hair. She shamelessly ogled his arousal, proof of his desire, and reaching up, touched him with a tenderness she had never felt before.

  "Dawn."

  They collapsed on top of the bed, sinking onto the mattress, his weight welcomed and right, surrounding her with his musky warmth and scent. Then he positioned himself over her, holding his upper body weight off
her by bracing with his arms. She stroked the planes of his sturdy back, running her fingers lightly over his skin. He shuddered at her touch. Flicking aside one lace cup, he exposed her heavy breast, and lowered his mouth to kiss the tip of her nipple and then surround the areola with wet heat.

  Oh, it was so good. Perfect. She had not been with a man since Randy left her and even then their lovemaking had held little love in it. Not like the warmth she saw radiating in Clint's eyes. He worshiped her body with his tongue, pulling down her spaghetti straps, releasing her completely, driving her insane.

  Dawn dug her fingernails into his back, whimpering, her last shred of sanity evaporating. His breath came in hot, harsh gasps. His hands moved all over her, never stopping, never letting her rest, always tempting her, begging her to come, urging her to belong to him.

  With a reflexive movement, her body rushed up to meet him. He was hard against her pelvis. His erection throbbed and she throbbed too, longing for release, longing to be filled, crying out for the pure perfection.

  "Dawn, I want you."

  She could only nod and pluck ineffectually at his hard, muscled buttocks. He groaned again, lifted himself off for a quick minute to protect them, and then dropped down once more. The crazed light in his eyes turned her on. Heaven on earth! She was doing this to him and he was doing this to her. It was good and she was in awe of it—of Clint, of making love together.

  He eased himself into her and his eyes widened. Holding still, he bathed her with devotion, his gaze full of respect and love.

  "Ah, Dawn."

  He took her lips, once more bruising them with his frenzy. In a slow stroke, he moved, filling her, burning her deep within, pulsating. A sense of possessiveness merged with her sense of urgency. This was her man. He had always been there, in the back of her mind when she married another, in her heart when she had thought of home. In a wild swoosh of completion, she cried out his name, shuddering with an orgasm that rocked her to her very core.

  His voice rose to join hers, and then his arms buckled and he crumpled on top of her, breathing roughly in her ear, his head lolling beside her on the pillow.

  Dawn felt his breath upon her cheek. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Their lovemaking was poignant and special, laced with something intangible she found hard to describe and even harder to comprehend.

  * * * *

  He had waited for her for so long. Hands shaking, heart hammering, Clint rolled to the side, letting his head rest with hers on the pillow. A powerful wave of love washed over him and his throat ached. The tenderness he felt surprised him. He lifted his hand to caress Dawn's cheek with the back of his fingers.

  He hadn't counted on how crazy she would make him and how quickly he had come. Somehow, though, it seemed right. Wonderful. Almost as if their destinies were meant to unite.

  Better now than never.

  He propped himself up on an elbow and looking down at her, kissed her cheek.

  Dawn's eyes were shut. She smiled as if in a dream. Did she take pleasure in their time together? He was almost afraid to ask. Afraid that the glow of the love he felt would be tainted by her answer.

  "That was wonderful, Clint,” she said, almost as if she heard his unspoken question.

  "You think?” Why did his voice sound so gruff?

  She opened her eyes. “Yes, I think."

  Their gazes connected and she reached up to touch his beard-roughened jaw. Her fingers tickled like feathers and he savored her nearness, the smell of her perfume and the scent of sex that pervaded the bed. How long had he been alone, always yearning for this woman under him?

  Dawn lowered her eyelids, half shutting her eyes, but continuing to look at him, softly speculating. “I always wondered why you never married."

  "I never found the right woman."

  "I can't believe it.” She smiled again. “You're so gentle and caring."

  "Ah, you flatter me."

  "It's true. I've known my share of jerks and even married one. You're a sensitive guy, Clint Roberts. What I said wasn't meant to flatter."

  He didn't know how to react. He felt his face warm. “At least you've had a life outside of Legend,” he said, hoping to draw the attention away from him. “I've always envied that."

  Dawn shifted beneath him, glancing away. Clint sensed her reticence and he was suddenly sorry he changed the subject. Lying down on the pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and gave her space.

  "Yes, I got what I wanted.” She sounded wistful, almost regretful.

  He wondered about her reaction. “I knew you would make it. Everyone in Legend knew it. You're our hometown star."

  "Some star.” Dawn shifted again. Sitting up, she glowered into the dark. He watched her through his half-shuttered eyes, wishing he could pull her down on top of him and make love to her one more time before his fairytale ended.

  "Did you know I'm out of a job?” She glanced back at him, their gazes connecting a moment, and then she looked away. “Randy may be blackballing me. My agent can't find anything for me. Not even a damn walk-on in a sitcom."

  "I'm sorry,” he said.

  Her exposed breasts rose with indignation.

  "Sorry doesn't cut it. You can't be sorry in my line of work. Turn your back and a pretty ingénue takes your spot in a heartbeat. No one remembers last year's soap star, a woman dumped by her husband for another woman."

  "Is it that bad?” Clint wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. The urge to protect Dawn hit him hard. “Graham told me how the reporters hound you."

  "Hollywood is a cutthroat place. It's an unforgiving business."

  She leaned down and then stretched out along side him with her arms folded over his chest and her chin on the back of her hands. Her hip and thigh burned against his flesh.

  Speculation flared in her eyes and she smiled. “We still need to address the question about why a wonderful guy like you hasn't married. I find it hard to imagine that some lady in Legend hasn't snapped you up."

  Didn't she get it? Everyone in Legend knew what he didn't like to admit to himself. She had said so herself earlier. Clint smoothed a lock of blond hair away from her eyes as if that would help her see what was literally staring her in the face.

  "I never wanted to marry.” Another lame lie.

  "I can't believe it. We talked about it in high school. Everyone in Legend gets married and has children.” Her words sounded like they were caught in her throat, but she pushed for more. “Suzie Schol was single for a while. Why not her?” She chewed her lip as if thinking. “I remember. She found a guy from out of town. Martin McLean married a girl from the East, didn't he?” Her voice pitched high.

  The more she probed, the more anxious he became, her querying making his skin crawl like fingernails raking over a blackboard.

  "There were a couple of women interested in me once,” he said, stalling.

  "What happened?"

  "They didn't want to live in Legend.” A second lie. The truth was he had never asked either one of them. “You can understand that, can't you?"

  She averted her head. “Yes, I can understand not wanting to live here."

  Not liking the sound of regret, Clint reached for her. As much as he wanted her back in Legend, he wanted her happy. If being in movies did that, then he wanted it for her. “We talk too much. I would rather do this."

  Her breasts against his chest had tantalized him too long. It was more than a man could stand. Besides, he wasn't much for talking. Clint caught Dawn's face between his rough hands. A moan rose in her throat when he captured her lips with his, teasing her with his tongue.

  She met him with an answering need of her own and he glowed with adoration, wanting to make this woman his, if not forever, then for tonight.

  His cell phone jangled the Legend Dragon fight song. He ignored it, preferring the feel of Dawn hovering above him, hot against his bare chest and thighs.

  The damn dog moved under the bed, creeping along the wooden floor and making noise
. The cell phone stopped ringing. Somewhere in the house, Aunt Harriet's old fashioned telephone rang. The edge of the bed dipped, and a cold, wet nose poked him in the leg. A-roof.

  "This is a mood killer,” he said against her mouth.

  "Mm. Maybe."

  His cell phone jangled again. He had never hated the Legend High fight song as much as he did at that moment.

  "Jane!” Dawn pulled away and sat up. “I wonder if it could be Graham trying to reach me."

  Clint's arousal died a quick death. “I suppose.” He sat up too and flicked on the bedside lamp. Graham's name showed in “missed messages."

  He nodded at Dawn, pushed the button to return the call, and lifted the razor phone to his ear. “Hey, man, did you call me?” he asked when Graham answered.

  "Where are you? I need your help,” his friend's voice was full of panic.

  "Slow down, Graham. Take a breath."

  "Damn, Clint. Jane is in labor and we can't make it to Knoxville like we planned."

  "Why not?"

  "What are you doing? Have you looked outside lately?"

  "No.” Clint reached around Dawn and pushed back the frilly curtain. The winter sky was bright gray and filled with heavy snowflakes sparkling with ice.

  "It's bad out. Maybe six inches of snow already. They're talking blizzard."

  "Damn.” Clint let out a long breath. “Where are you all?"

  "We're at Legend Memorial Hospital. Old Doc Parker's going to deliver the baby. Thing is, he says Jane needs a C-section."

  "Damn,” Clint said again. Dawn grabbed his arm, her eyes troubled.

  "It's not going like we planned. Jane's worried sick, and that's not good. I thought it might help if Dawn was with her."

  Clint glanced at Dawn who mouthed “What?"

  He shook his head to keep her quiet. “I thought you said Jane didn't know her sister is in town."

  "She doesn't. I just thought it might help.” Graham sounded at his wit's end. “Can you drive over to Aunt Harriet's and pick up Dawn? Bring her to the hospital? It's not far, even in this bad weather."

  "I can pick her up,” Clint said.