LITMIR.BIZ

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Whether it was coming out in her dreams or not, he glimpsed the passionate woman who lived beneath the uptight facade. For some reason, beyond his own denied libido, he wanted to bring her out.

      “Joy, maybe you need to loosen up. I know you take your work seriously, and you have a lot of stress, but do you ever have any fun?”

      She looked up, frowning. She hadn’t expected that, he could tell.

      “Of course I do. I have plenty of fun.”

      “Doing what?”

      “I like to read and watch TV, when I’m not working. Sometimes I go to a movie, or go out. Walk on the beach.”

      “Do you do those things often?”

      “When I can, like most people. Work takes up a lot of my time. You don’t get promotions by working forty hours a week.”

      “You sound like you’re good at your work, but sometimes people get too wrapped up in their work. I love being an EMT, but it’s my job, not my life. I think knowing that is what allowed me to be good at it. Do you love PR?”

      “You don’t have to love your work to be good at it. I love being good at it.”

      “Why would you do something that doesn’t make you happy?”

      Her eyes widened. “Uh, because we’re adults and we work, we pay bills, and do what’s expected of us. Keeping my house makes me happy.”

      He blinked—the way she’d said it sounded like someone else talking, not her. He wondered where someone got the concept of work that Joy obviously clung to so strongly.

      “Well, that’s true, but you can be happy in the meantime.”

      She shoved her fingers through her hair, and he found himself wondering how soft those strands were.

      She yawned. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. It’s been a tough day and I have to be up early. Not all of us are on vacation, able to stay up to all hours debating the nature of life and happiness,” she said sarcastically but without bite.

      “Listen, I have an idea,” he said, deciding to ignore the fact that she was withdrawing from him again.

      “Does it include walking toward the door?”

      He grinned, liking her smart-ass side, even if it was being directed at him at the moment.

      “Eventually. You know, if you go to bed now you’re only going to be screaming my name in an hour or so,” he said teasingly.

      “That’s not funny.”

      “No, it’s not, but I know a little something about sleep disorders, and maybe yours is caused by all this stress.”

      Her eyebrow quirked up in the sexiest way he’d ever observed. “Oh, and I suppose you’d like to help me relax?”

      He took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her soap and shampoo. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look away as he responded.

      “Yeah, actually. I’d like that. I have time, I like you. I think you like me, even if you won’t admit it. We could have some fun.”

      “Exactly what kind of fun are you talking about?”

      He didn’t bother hiding his attraction as he spoke. “Anything you’d be open to.”

      “So you did all this, tonight, just to come on to me,” she accused, but he shook his head.

      “No, I didn’t. I promise. I’m honest enough with myself to know that I’m attracted to you—how could I not be? Look at you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

      “Give me a break,” she huffed.

      “I’m serious—I haven’t been able to get your hair out of my mind since I saw you by the car with the groceries, how you had it all wrapped up tight. Even now, it’s pinned back, when you’re here alone, at home. Don’t you ever want to let it down?”

      He tugged a random strand and it fell forward across her ear. He rubbed it between his fingers, and he went hard again. Her gaze was fixed on his, and her lips parted.

      “I—I like my hair like this. It’s out of my face,” she said, her voice catching as she tucked the rogue strand back behind her ear.

      He smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him, and that gave him the signal to push a little harder. He wanted her. Maybe it was her dreams that stoked his imagination, but he wanted to loosen her up.

      “Joy,” he said softly, moving a little closer. “Just let go for a minute.”

      Before she could stop him, he had tugged off the band that held her hair back, and watched the silky sheet of auburn fall forward, sweeping across her cheek, then back to settle along the gentle curve of her chin. He was entranced with the motion, and touched her hair again.

      “Rafe.” Her tone held objection, but she didn’t step away.

      Instead, she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to watch as he slid the palm of his hand underneath the curtain of her hair and curled his fingers around the nape of her neck, pressing slightly before threading back out through her soft tresses. The strands felt like fine ribbons, and he swallowed hard, his hand trembling.

      “It’s like silk, or softer, actually,” he said.

      She hadn’t opened her eyes, and he took advantage of the moment. He leaned in, stealing a kiss. She startled, and he murmured something, sounds, reassuring her. He darted his tongue out to taste her closed lips, asking for passage beyond. When she opened her mouth, he misinterpreted and took the plunge, moving in for a deeper taste, groaning as he drew her closer, only to find her hands planted between them pushing him back.

      “Rafe, no … please.” She was breathless, flushed, and it took a minute for his pulse to settle, her words cutting through the fog of passion that had enveloped him so quickly he was amazed.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his hands but not stepping back. He looked deep into the blue depths of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

      The stiff mask she wore for the world slid back into place, and she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were cold.

      “I was trying to—I was going to say, you have to understand … this won’t work. It shouldn’t happen.”

      “Why not?”

      He followed her gaze outside the kitchen window toward where the lights strung on Bessie’s house blinked and twinkled merrily. The sight still seemed odd to him in the summerlike weather. Finally, Joy spoke, though she kept looking out the window, instead of at him.

      “Because I don’t like it.”

      “What? Kissing?”

      “No. That … the lights. The decorations, the music, the gifts. Christmas.”

      “You don’t like Christmas?”

      “No, I don’t.”

      He frowned. “Okay. Well, I don’t think you’re alone in that, but what does it have to do with us getting together?”

      She aimed a cool, direct gaze at him. “It has to do with us because I don’t feel any of it. I’m annoyed by all the clutter and the lights—all of it. As you observed, I hardly know my neighbors, and they don’t know me. I don’t like my job, particularly, but I like what it gets me. I don’t do presents or cookies or carols, and I’m not really into casual sex, either, or sex in general, so you’re barking up the wrong tree, okay? I’m not that type of woman.”

      She’d traveled a long distance in that little monologue, and while he didn’t quite get the bit about her not liking Christmas, or why that mattered, the latter comment caught his attention.

      “Why would you say you’re not the type of woman who enjoys

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