LITMIR.BIZ

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pulling at the stretchy waistband. She shifted her weight so he could ease off her slacks and black panties. Then she straddled him where he sat on the edge of the bed, jeans shoved down his hips. That firm shaft rose between them, and she rubbed against it, her juices slicking the condom, the bumps teasing her clit.

      His hands wove through her hair and pulled her close; then his lips came across hers in a hot, demanding kiss that took her from aroused to on fire in seconds. Tongues thrusting, dueling, mating, they both gasped for breath but didn’t stop kissing. Knees on the bed, Jude raised herself, reaching between them to grip his erection and guide him to her opening.

      He took it from there, with one powerful thrust that drove him deep inside her.

      Delicious sensations filled her, making her whimper against his mouth. Her sex pulsed and throbbed, craving more, so she began to raise and lower herself around him. Oh, yeah, she could feel the studs. Unusual but good. No, make that great.

      Pressure and need were spiraling fast, and Nick’s thrusts told her he felt the same. Their kisses had gone to pecks and nibbles, grabbed between panting breaths and moans of pleasure.

      She knew him by now, knew he’d wait for her before he came. But whenever that happened, she was so stunned with sensation she didn’t fully register his climax. This time, she wanted to reverse things.

      She rose and fell faster and faster on his cock and slid a hand between them, found his balls, and squeezed gently.

      He gave a surprised groan. “Jesus, Jude.” Under her hand he tightened.

      “Come, Nick,” she panted. “Want you to come.”

      He lost control, his movements wild and erratic as he pumped into her and then let out a hoarse cry and erupted in jerky thrusts.

      Those last compulsive strokes did it for her, bringing her along with him in an explosive orgasm.

      Arms around each other, they slumped, chests heaving, gasping for breath.

      A minute or two later, he kissed the top of her head, stroked her back. “The studs are okay?”

      “Great.” Only one thing would be better: naked flesh with no layer of protection.

      Wait a minute. What was she thinking? The only time she’d had unprotected sex was when she’d been engaged. When there’d been intimacy, commitment, and trust—or so she’d thought at the time. She’d been such a fool to think a man would give her commitment, deserve her trust.

      “I figured we could try some different kinds,” Nick said. “Whatever you like, I’ll buy more of.”

      What was he talking about? Oh, right. Condoms. She refocused. “Good idea.” Yes, the two of them were about sex, and that was all. Great sex for as long as they both wanted. Good god, they hadn’t even talked about exclusivity. Not that she had any right—no, make that desire—to ask for it. Or did she?

      She shivered, edgy and off balance. “I’m getting chilly. Let’s get dressed and make dinner.”

      As she eased off his lap, he asked, “Are you okay?”

      “Of course.” She gathered up her clothes and went into the bathroom to clean up.

      When she came out, he was already dressed and in the kitchen. He’d found the salmon in the fridge and was squeezing lemon juice onto it.

      “You know your way around a kitchen,” she commented.

      “Find me a firefighter who doesn’t. Comes from our time as probies—probationers—when we’re in charge of groceries and meals.” He glanced up from chopping fresh dill. “Besides, Mom made sure Kris and I learned how to cook.”

      “Good for her.”

      “It was fun. Especially at Christmastime.” This time he didn’t look up from grating pepper over the fish. “Shortbread, gingerbread, Christmas cake, mince tarts.”

      Jude felt a pang. When she was a kid, her mama had made the same things and let Jude help. Jude didn’t want to think, much less talk, about Christmas, yet she found herself saying, “Karen and Kris are making a gingerbread house tonight.”

      He turned quickly, smiling. “Want to go join them?”

      “No! That’s not what I meant.” Why on earth had she mentioned it? “You know I don’t like holiday stuff.”

      “I do.” He cocked his head. “What’s that all about, Jude?”

      “Christmas is a ridiculous, hypocritical, crassly commercial institution.” The words popped out automatically, words she and her mom had repeated countless times over the years. Now she was back on safe ground.

      He frowned and opened his mouth to say something. Instead he turned away and went to the fridge. She got down wine-glasses while he opened a bottle of Cherry Point pinot gris.

      When he’d poured two glasses and handed her one, he said, “I’ll grab my coat and get the barbecue going.”

      Relieved that he’d abandoned the subject of Christmas, she said brightly, “Great. The rest will take only a few minutes.” She’d already cooked rice, which she planned to heat in the microwave for a couple of minutes, then serve with asparagus.

      As she bustled around the kitchen, she wondered why he’d backed off. Maybe he’d reminded himself that their different views on Christmas didn’t matter. She and Nick were about fun. Sex. Not about her sharing painful memories or him trying to convince her to opt into a stupid holiday she hadn’t celebrated in eighteen years.

      If he tried that, he’d be out on his ear, great sex or not.

      Outside, Nick welcomed the opportunity to have a few minutes alone even though the temperature was near freezing.

      He liked Jude a lot. She was smart and fun, as well as so damn beautiful and sexy. When she talked about her work as a headhunter, he saw that she cared about people and enjoyed helping them. But when it came to the subject of Christmas, she stopped being so smart and fun and caring.

      Sure, there was commercial shit happening, but at heart Christmas was about love. Jude had to know that. So what was going on?

      He flipped the salmon, thinking back to when she’d mentioned the gingerbread house. There’d been a shadow in her eyes. That shadow wasn’t about commercialism. It was some kind of hurt. A painful memory?

      The safest thing would be to leave the subject alone, the way she wanted. A firefighter knew better than to play with fire. If he pushed her, she might kick him out.

      Then he’d lose this great situation, the no-strings sex.

      He scowled down at the salmon. Yeah, okay, no-strings sex was what he’d wanted when he’d first met Jude. But now…

      He felt something different for her. Different than he’d ever felt before. He wanted to really know her, be part of her life. Help her if she was in pain.

      Karen kept saying he needed to grow up. Nick had never understood what she meant. Perhaps now he was beginning to.

      He flipped the fish onto a platter and went into the warm kitchen. “It’s cooked.”

      “Great.” She flashed him a bright smile. Too bright. Superficial. “I’ll bring in the asparagus. Everything else is on the table.”

      Her half of the house had a small dining room. Music drifted in from the living room, the upbeat rhythm of a Beyoncé song. Daffodil-yellow candles gave the only light in the room, and the sweet-smelling flowers on the table were yellow, too.

      As they ate, they talked about their days, and Jude seemed to relax. But Nick still felt unsettled. Easier to let things go—but he didn’t think he could.

      They took dessert—imported strawberries in Grand Marnier—into the living room. She filled a couple liqueur glasses with Inniskillin Riesling Icewine, saying, “The taste makes me think of summer. Or the

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