You for Christmas Page 7

  “Makes sense.”

  “It’s sci-fi,” he said, and raised a brow. “Interested?”

  Hanging out, watching television with someone other than herself? “Definitely.”

  He stood, smiling. “Then we’re about to enter a temporary state of vegetation.”

  “Want me to grab you a beer?”

  “That sounded rhetorical.” He picked up the remote and turned on the television.

  “And put popcorn in the microwave?”

  “Again with the rhetoric.”

  “Oh, and I found this weird chocolate that’s got jelly and crackles and all sorts of crazy stuff in it. I didn’t know whether you have a sweet tooth, so I bought us a block each.”

  He raised a single brow towards where she was collecting all the shopping bags. “You’d eat a whole block yourself?”

  She raised a shoulder. “If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat both.”

  He grinned. “Like I said—hardcore.”

  If someone had told Regan a month ago that she’d be enthralled by a programmer at work, she’d have glanced over her shoulder and asked who the hell they were talking to. Yeah, sure, she’d find it real hard to look away from a nerd staring at a screen.

  And yet, as she lay on Felix’s couch later that night, she was invariably spending more time watching him type than reading the book she’d selected from his bookshelf. He was in some intense coding zone and forty-five minutes since settling in, Regan was up to page three.

  It was something about his speed. His hands hadn’t stopped moving and he hadn’t once looked down. Gliding across the keyboard, those long fingers executed the commands of his mind, writing a program that was reflected in the simulation he’d created on-screen. Headphones straddled his ears, playing All I Want for Christmas Is You over and over again as he worked. Enduring auditory torture for her.

  “You’re staring at me,” Felix murmured. He didn’t turn around, but slipped one earphone back slightly.

  “So I am.”

  “Any reason?” His fingers moved swiftly, eyes stuck to the screen.

  “Because you’re pretty.” Her tone fell precisely halfway between sarcastic and sincere. Let him compute that.

  His brows bunched, even as he smiled. “Thanks. Admittedly, you’ve got my best angle.”

  “Your back?”

  “And a charming sliver of my face.”

  True enough, she was enjoying every aspect of that sliver.

  “You’re really fast,” she said. “How long should it take?”

  “This’d take an amateur programmer about three months. I should have it finished by this time tomorrow.”

  “Felix Nickson, are you boasting?”

  “It’s practice, not talent.” But there was pride in his voice. “I program at least twelve hours a day.”

  “At least?” His work-life balance was shot. “Workaholic or slave to the man?”

  “Slave to my competitive streak,” he said with a small shake of his head. “What’s worse is that I’m only competing against myself. It’s not healthy.”

  “But you’re good at what you do.”

  “Very good.” A fact. “And I love it. But I’ve got a reputation among my friends that I don’t sleep, I just work. I’ve pulled that many late nights. I’ve got to take a step back, but I don’t feel like I’ve achieved enough to do that yet.”

  She regarded him dryly. “I can see that this is quite the problem for you.”

  He continued typing, his silence questioning.

  “You’ve managed to incorporate coding into your holiday activity. Yay, it’s break time, now you can finally sit down at the keyboard.”

  After a hesitation, he murmured, “Damn it.”

  Regan ran her fingernails along the spine of the closed novel. “You don’t have time for girlfriends, then.”

  For the first time in almost an hour, his hands paused. He twisted to face her, gaze searching her face. “Not anymore.”

  She nodded, shifting, somehow uncomfortable.

  “Did trucking give you time for a boyfriend?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t want one.”

  He drew back the second headphone. His stare was steady. “Not into the having and holding thing?”

  That stung, welting between her ribs. She’d once dreamed of a forever love, but as it turned out, that wasn’t her lot. “As I’ve said, I don’t really get close to people. That rules out boyfriends.”

  Shame thickened her throat. She knew that if she got close enough, she might end up confessing what had happened all those years ago. And she couldn’t bear the possibility of being told it was her own fault.

  Regan curled her fingers into fists. “If the mood strikes me, I’m in and out and that’s that.” Not that it struck her very often.

  He nodded, not commenting.

  Self-conscious, she flicked the focus off herself. “Do you work so hard to spite your dad?”

  His brows fell below the frames of his glasses. For a few moments, he stared at her. “Huh. I’ve always thought it’s more to justify running away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need to feel that I did it for a reason.”

  Instantly outraged, she sat up. “He beat you, Felix. Not as discipline for doing the wrong thing, but for being the wrong kind of person. Even if you’d lost interest in programming—even if you’d become the man he’d wanted you to be—he was still worth running from.”

  “Yeah.” Doubt clouded his features. “But I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t run away, you wouldn’t have either. I put the idea in your head. I’m sure of it. And if neither of us had left, Stevie would’ve had an easier time. We all would have.”

  Not true.

  Regardless, disgust sucked at Regan’s self-respect. Even trying to put Stevie first, apparently she’d still managed to screw her over.

  Felix was watching her. “Do you ever try to justify running away?”

  Instinct almost made her tell him to shove it. It was too personal a question. But she didn’t have to give him dirty details, just a modicum of truth.

  “I’ve tried to justify leaving my sister behind,” she said quietly.

  “Have you succeeded?” he asked, although those clever eyes knew before she answered.

  Regan’s heart gorged on remorse, ballooning painfully. Could she excuse abandoning Stevie despite what she’d run from? Despite the cycle of fear her everyday life had become?

  “The guilt has eaten me whole.”

  Chapter Five

  Felix had the lights programmed by the following morning. He’d stayed up most of the night, chasing away sleep and the dreams he knew would come with it. He didn’t need Regan in his head. He sure as hell didn’t need to wake up feeling as if he’d spent the night in her body. In the end, going to bed would have been smarter, for she’d slept on the couch, curled up in tiny bed shorts, breathing through those healing cracked lips and driving him out of his mind.

  His fingers had flown, desperate to outpace the temptation to join her. Tuck in beside her and run his hands up her body, savoring every swell, every silky curve. Feel her awaken and relax into him, eyes falling closed again as he touched her lower, deeper.

  He awoke hot and aroused, and padded out of his room to find her asleep on the couch.

  She’d returned his shirt the night before, and instead tortured him with her new pajamas. A blue singlet and a pair of cream-and-blue spotted shorts. With her knees pulled to her chest, the shorts rode high up the backs of her thighs, exposing her smooth skin, and desire swirled in his blood as he remembered the feel of her body pressed firmly against his, a hug to end her years of loneliness.

  And they were definitely over, if he could help it.

  One of his books was splayed open beside her and the corner lamp glowed amber. Quietly, Felix switched the light off and moved the book to the coffee table. Thinking she might be cold, he covered her in a jacket. She made an unnervingly endearing little
noise—dare he call it a purr—and he backed off. Last thing he needed was to start nuzzling her neck.

  Morning sun filled the apartment, brightening the clean white walls and warming the kitchen tiles beneath his bare feet. The general noise of Melbourne city grew louder as he propped the balcony doors open and breathed in the summer air. Another stinking hot day in the making, with the sunlight already prickling his skin. He welcomed the strength of it after spending most of the year in the office. Nature deserved to bite him after such neglect.

  He moved about the kitchen, boiling the kettle as he ground coffee beans for the plunger. When he poked his head around the bookcase ten minutes later, a steaming mug and two pieces of vegemite toast in hand, the jacket was on the floor and Regan was still out to the world—and still calling to him. He leaned against the bookshelf, sipping the coffee and struggling to get his head around this unexpected attraction. Regan wasn’t his usual type, but he couldn’t deny the desire hooked low and fierce inside him, pulling him towards her. It was chemistry, pure and simple, an effervescent billow in his blood.

  Regan felt it, too. He’d caught her glances, big eyes wide with curiosity, heavy with lust.

  Mutual sexual chemistry was the universe’s way of playing cupid.

  But she was his best friend’s sister. Going there, especially when Stevie didn’t even know Regan was in town, would be a world of messy. The universe should’ve thought of that before letting arrows loose.

  Frustrated, he hauled himself back into the kitchen.

  He was sliding his empty mug into the dishwasher when he heard her strangled gasp. By her side in seconds, Felix took her hand in both of his as she sat up straight, eyes glazed and features panicked.

  “Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  Her inhale shuddered in her chest. She looked down at him, blinking, trying to focus.

  “Just a dream.” He ran his palm along her knuckles. “You’re safe.”

  “I’m safe,” she repeated, though her words were wooden.

  He nodded, smiling encouragingly. “Okay?”

  She stared back, dark eyes wide, breathing uneven. Her nod was unconvincing. With a pang in his chest, Felix shifted to sit on the couch beside her. “Was it the accident?”

  “It was...a feeling.” Her fingers curled around his, holding tight. “Do you get that? One minute there’s nothing, and the next you wake up feeling like you just drowned in your own heart?”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  She shook her head, running her free hand over her face.

  “Didn’t sleep well?” he asked, and noticed that despite the obvious answer, the skin beneath her eyes was lighter today.

  “I keep waking up.” Her hand dropped. “Can I smell coffee?”

  “Yes,” he said, and fought the universe by standing and heading into the kitchen.

  By the time he’d pulled a mug from the cupboard and filled it with the coffee left in the plunger, Regan had appeared behind him. She reached out, eyes on the mug, unaware of the cushion crease lines on her cheek.

  He smiled. “I need to nuke it first.”

  “Gimme.” Her fingers wiggled.

  “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Haste,” she answered.

  He passed it over.

  She stood in the middle of the kitchen, taking little sips without lowering the mug. Sleep lingered in her stance, the lowered angle of her chin, making her look fuzzy around the edges. He leaned against the bench, wondering if anyone had ever called her cute to her face and survived.

  “So,” she said, keeping the mug close. “Can we get a real Christmas tree?”

  If she really wanted one, then he wanted her to have it. “Sure.”

  “Like a real, real one. That we choose and they chop down.”

  Uh. “Of course. I don’t have any decorations, though. I’ve always stuck with lights.”

  Her blonde brow arched. “And lots of them.”

  “Don’t do things by halves.”

  “I’ll remember that. We’ll buy decorations.” She extended the mug, mouth twisting. “I’ve decided this needs reheating.”

  He gestured to the microwave. “It’s going to be a warm day. We should go soon.”

  “’Kay.” She clunked the mug down on the tray and set the timer. Yawning, she said, “I’m ready.”

  “Yeah?” Felix glanced deliberately at her pajamas. A thin singlet over a braless body resulted in a longer glance than he’d intended. He turned to the sink, hot all over, struggling to remember why their attraction was a bad idea. “What’s your definition of ready?”

  “Within five minutes of walking out the door.”

  “Five minutes,” he repeated, doubtful. “You haven’t eaten. You’re not dressed.”

  “I’ll make it.” She pulled the mug out, drawing it close. “Don’t you worry.”

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, he was driving outbound with the windows down, Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You blasting from the speakers and the lungs of the somewhat bedraggled woman beside him.

  Within an hour’s drive of Melbourne, the suburban sprawl thinned and the land grew longer, swelling with mountains and gum trees, paddocks and long brown grass. The Christmas tree farm spread out over a large hillside, sweeping down in a wave of pine green until it met the eucalypts lining the property’s border. Those long leaves hung blue and motionless in the still morning. The fresh tang of cut pine filled the air, an earthy scent that expanded in the warmth of the summer sun.

  Regan inhaled deeply, smelling home.

  The festive season had never seemed right, cold and coated in snow. She’d hardly recognized it, year after year. Now, as she entered the mass of trees, the sticky clog of sunscreen on her skin and relentless heat from above felt undeniably like Christmas.

  “Smells good,” she said, the dry earth crunching beneath her flip-flops. She’d thrown on a tight black singlet and loose blue skirt. It would be generous to say the skirt fell to mid-thigh, but in this weather, skimpy got a free pass.

  Felix ran his knuckles over his nose. “Yep.”

  They weaved in and out of the pines, some taller than Felix, others only reaching her chin. “What size should we get?”

  “Small enough to get up to my apartment. Hey,” he said, stopping and pointing. “How about this one?”

  The top of the tree halted at Regan’s hip. She stood beside it, hands on her waist, brows raised. “Seriously?”

  “It’s cute.”

  “We don’t want cute. We want impressive.”

  He adjusted his glasses and scanned around them. Pine trees as far as the eye could see. “The lights will be impressive. The tree is to tick a box.”

  “Oh.” Regan shifted her weight onto her back foot, looking down. “Okay.”

  Felix paused. Warily, he asked, “You want a big one, don’t you?”

  “It’s just, they look so wonderful. But it doesn’t matter.” She raised a shoulder. “I don’t care.”

  He ran a hand under his nose again, sniffing. “Okay,” he said, giving her a strange look. “A big one then. As long as it fits in my car.”

  Excitement burbled inside her and she grinned. “We can fold the back seats down,” she suggested, and the hunt began. She led the way through the bright green maze, deeming one potential tree too narrow, another too sparse, and another not nearly triangular enough. She yelped when the pine needles stabbed her bare skin, and laughed in outrage when she realized Felix had picked a small branch and had been poking her with it every time she turned her back.

  “Oh, that’s it, mister,” she said, rounding on him and losing a few heartbeats over his cheeky grin. “You’re in for it now.”

  He lifted a brow, stance widening. With his white teeth and t-shirt that read No I Will Not Fix Your Computer, he looked adorably nonthreatening. “Whatcha gonna do?”

  She stepped towards him. “Just how much can you see without your glasses?”

  “Ple
nty,” he said, betrayed by the hand that shot up to the frames.

  “Yeah?” She took another step, calculating, and sensed victory when he stepped back directly into a bushy pine. “So hypothetically, if I took them and disappeared, you’d be fine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool,” she said casually, and lunged at him. There was a quick struggle that involved misdirection, a hard and fast knuckle between Felix’s ribs, and then Regan was wrapping one leg around his waist, hitching herself up with a hand on his shoulder, and swiping his glasses. Time slowed when his arm locked around her middle, palm slipping beneath her singlet and spreading firmly across her waist. His touch was hot, secure, and desire speared her clean through. Their eyes caught, a clash of awareness, and she wondered how she could have been this close to men before and never been consumed by this lust-born ache. It grew rapidly, budding between her thighs and blooming right up into her chest. All of her wanted more. Felix’s body, bare and strong, beneath her own. His mouth on hers even as a smile lifted his lips. His gentle hands caressing her, skin to soul.

  A perilous fantasy and absolutely not the reason she had knocked on his door.

  Felix cleared his throat, fingers gripping tighter.

  Swallowing, Regan smirked. Then she was off, squirming out of his gasp, tugging down her skirt, and darting around a few trees before quietly circling back to watch.

  He stood, arms by his sides, looking around. “I feel doubly tricked somehow.”

  She ducked her head, desire still burning sweetly in her veins.

  “I know you’re watching me.”

  Smiling, she twirled his glasses.

  “It wouldn’t be as fun for you to run away,” he said.

  Didn’t she know it?

  “But the thing is,” he said, “didn’t you have a phone tucked into your waistband?”

  Regan patted her side, jaw dropping. The light-fingered little thief.

  “I see I’ve met my match,” she admitted, emerging behind him and watching as he turned to face her, gaze vague but smile large. She placed his glasses in his hand and plucked her phone from his fingers. “Okay,” she said, sliding it back under the elastic of her waistband. “It’s getting hotter. We need to decide.”