BELLA LEANED IN and lit one of the candles on the mantelpiece in the living room, then stepped back, surveying her handiwork.
The fire was burning and the candles she’d put on the mantel gave the room a warm glow, illuminating Grandma June’s collection of photos.
Everything was in place.
Pleased, she hurried across the hall to the kitchen, where her pot of mulled wine was cooking gently on the stove.
She’d unearthed a bottle of red wine from the cellar earlier that day and after a quick consult in one of Grandma June’s cookbooks, she’d found a recipe for mulled wine. The pantry had all the spices she needed so she’d gone ahead and started making a batch.
Now the kitchen was full of the rich, spicy scent and it made her feel good every time she inhaled.
It was Christmas Eve and she’d wanted it to be special for Noah. Because she hadn’t been able to get what he’d told her the day before out of her head.
He’d basically given up years of his life to look after his father, had missed out on things he should have had and clearly gotten no thanks and no appreciation for it.
That he’d been trying to help Hank, fix him even, was clear. And that he felt he’d failed was also clear.
No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it.
No wonder he was so angry; she’d seen it burning in his dark eyes.
Whatever, if he didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t going to force him. But she did want to do something for him, especially since he’d done so much for her. But she hadn’t known what to offer. She had no advice for him, no words of wisdom, and no money with which to buy him anything.
And then she’d had a brain wave. The gift idea wasn’t that great, but she thought he might appreciate the thought at least.
So when he’d gone back to his place earlier that day, she’d thrown herself into action, tidying up the farmhouse and making everything nice and welcoming. She put a chicken in the oven with some veggies, then texted him not to bring anything when he came back down.
Then she stood at the stove stirring the pot of mulled wine gently, her heart full and painful as she thought about why doing something for him was so important to her.
And it wasn’t because of everything he’d done around the house, or the interest he’d shown in her café project, although she appreciated that more than she could say.
It was important to her, because Noah was important. Because he’d had a crappy life and he deserved more than that.
Because he was a good man. A caring man. A protective man.
His father hadn’t appreciated him, but dammit, she did.
And she wanted to show him exactly how much.
Not long before six, she heard the front door open and she rushed into the hallway to greet him.
Sure enough, over six feet of hard, muscular cowboy stepped into the hall in a swirl of cold air. He was in jeans and his coat, one of his thermals underneath, and his arms were full of firewood, snow dusting the brim of his cowboy hat. “Brought some more wood for the living room,” he said as he went past her.
“Oh, thanks.” She followed him, watching as he dumped the wood in the log basket by the fire.
He straightened, dusting off his hands, and she went straight to him, putting her hands on his chest, rising to kiss him.
His lips were cold from the outside, but they warmed almost instantly, his muscles gathering tight the way they sometimes did when she touched him and they weren’t in bed.
She didn’t understand his tension. Maybe she’d ask later. After he’d opened his present.
She stepped back, smiling. “Give me your hat and coat and I’ll hang them up for you.”
His eyes glittered strangely and he didn’t return her smile. But slowly, he reached up and took off his hat, then shrugged out of his coat.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, handing them to her.
A note in his voice made a shiver of foreboding go through her.
Turning away so he wouldn’t see her sudden disquiet, Bella took his things into the hallway to hang them on the peg beside the door. “Oh? Can it wait? I have dinner in the oven and some mulled wine on the stove. Do you like mulled wine? I got it out of Grandma June’s cookbook.”
“Bella—”
“At least let me give you your present.” She plastered a smile on her face and turned, trying to ignore the frantic beat of her heart, because she had a feeling she knew already what he was going to say, but she didn’t want to hear it.
He stood in the living room doorway silently, the granite expression on his face making her heart shrivel up like a flower covered in frost.
“Let’s have Christmas.” She hoped the desperate note in her voice wasn’t too obvious. “Please, Noah. Let’s have it just once.”
A muscle flicked in the side of his jaw, then he glanced away without speaking.
She would take that as a yes.
Ignoring the cold shreds of doubt drifting through her, prickling like snowflakes landing on hot skin, Bella went into the kitchen. She poured some mulled wine into a couple of mugs and then carried them back into the living room.
Noah had gone to stand beside the fire, staring down at it. He glanced up as she came in, the combination of firelight and candlelight enhancing the handsome lines of his face. His hard jaw, strong nose and high forehead. His eyes were shadowed, a dense, compelling darkness that drew her in.
She caught her breath. “Wait. I’ve got something for you.”
“What?”
“A Christmas present.” She went out, dashing upstairs to grab one of Grandma June’s quilts. It was very Christmassy, all red and green. The perfect wrapping paper for the present she wanted to give Noah.
Her hands shook as she slipped out of her clothes and wrapped the blanket around herself. Then she went back downstairs and into the living room, shutting the door behind her to keep in the warmth.
Noah’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”
Bella’s heart thumped hard, trepidation curling in her stomach. “It’s your present.”
“What do you mean?”
She took an uncertain step toward him. She’d hoped to do this after a leisurely meal and a couple of glasses of mulled wine, not now, at the beginning of the evening. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe this was stupid.
Maybe he won’t want you.
But he did want her. He’d made that very clear.
“I mean, I’m your present.” She smiled tentatively “I wanted to give you something, but I didn’t know what and I don’t have any money. The only thing I have is me so...anything you want, Noah. It’s yours for the night.” She lifted her arms and dropped the blanket. “Including me.”
The air shimmered with tension, his black eyes boring into hers with sudden, fierce intensity. And her own hunger rose to meet it, her breath catching and her heart along with it.
But he didn’t move.
Her mouth was dry and her pulse was thundering, goose bumps rising on her skin as chill air whispered under the closed door.
He looked like a starving man with a feast before him that he couldn’t let himself eat.
“Noah?” Uncertainty made her voice shake. “It’s okay. You can—”
“It’s not okay.” His eyes were so dark they looked like black holes. “It’s a lovely gift, Bella. But I can’t take it.”
Her face got hot and she wanted to cover herself, but she ignored the feeling. “Why not? Do you not want me anymore?”
He murmured something vicious, his gaze wandering down her body, and this time there was no hiding the hunger in his expression. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I want you too much.” It looked as if he might go on, but then he shut his mouth tight.
Tension gathered in the air around him, an electrical charge of energy.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“No, and you won’t.” His gaze flickered away. “You should put some clothes on.”
But Bella didn’t move. “I know I’m not much, but I did mean it. I’m yours for the evening. You said that you were sick of giving to other people so I thought I’d give you something instead.”
“Bella.” He bit her name out tightly. “I can’t do this with you.”
“Can’t do what with me?”
“This.” He made a sharp gesture. “Coming here. Talking to you. Seeing you. Sleeping with you.” His posture was so rigid it looked like he might snap. “I can’t do it.”
She blinked, not expecting the bright burst of pain in her chest. “What do you mean you can’t do it?”
“It’s too much. You’re too much.” He looked away, a seething mass of energy gathering around him. “Dad was an alcoholic. And nothing I did made any difference to him. Nothing made him give up the bottle. He was a slave to it. He wouldn’t even admit he had a problem.” Noah glanced back at her, the darkness of his eyes pulling her in, sucking her under. “I can feel it sometimes, the same thing that made him pick up that damn bottle. It’s in me, too. A kind of...pull. And I feel it whenever I look at you.”
Shock rippled through her. “Me?”
“Yes.” Another bitten-out word. “I won’t turn into him, Bella. I won’t be a slave to any damn addiction—it doesn’t matter what the drug is.”
She stared at him, bewildered. “But... I’m not a drug.”
He laughed harshly. “You don’t think so? I’m here every day. I’m in your bed every night. I can’t stay damn well away.”
She was his drug? Homeless Bella Jacobson, whom everyone forgot about and whom nobody really wanted, not even her own mother? Her?
“But...why?”
Noah didn’t say anything at first. Then in an explosion of movement, he crossed the distance between them, his warm palms cupping her face. “Why do you think?” he said in a dark, gritty voice. “You’re beautiful and you’re kind. You’re generous. And you’re vulnerable, yet not afraid to show it. At least you’re not afraid to show it to me.” His thumbs stroked her cheekbones very gently. “You trust me, Bella, and I don’t know why. Because what you want, I’ll never be able to give to you.”
“I don’t want anything.” But as soon as she’d said it, she realized it wasn’t true. She did want something and she had a feeling that something was him.
You’ve always wanted him.
Noah shook his head. “You do. And what’s more, you deserve it. You deserve to have everything you want.”
“And you don’t? You’ve done nothing but look after me and help me since the moment I got here. Even when I was awful and rude to you. You’ve been patient and kind and amazing. So why don’t you let me do something for you?”
His jaw flexed, the intensity in his eyes almost too bright to look at. “But I can’t have it. I can never have it. I can’t let myself, Bella. Even a sip is dangerous, don’t you understand?”
She did. Perhaps in a way that no one else did because her mother had been an addict of a kind. Addicted to the attention men gave her, dropping one when she’d sucked another dry before taking up with yet another.
Bella felt that same need. The hunger that made her too like her mother for comfort.
It destroyed you, if you weren’t careful. And it destroyed others around you, too.
Yet right now, a little destruction didn’t seem like a bad thing. Keeping all that need inside her was exhausting and she didn’t want to have to do it. Not tonight.
“I do.” She gripped his wrists. “I do understand, believe me. But what would happen if we let ourselves have this? Just for now? Just for a night?” She stared into his dark gaze, letting her own need show. “A night where we don’t hold back and let ourselves have what we really want. It’s not going to hurt, Noah. I promise.”
His hold was gentle, but the look in his eyes was not. The door inside him had opened and she could see the fire burning at the core of him. A blaze of raw feeling so intense it took her breath away.
Maybe the Bella of a week ago would have found it too scary and would have run back into the cold. But the Bella standing naked in the living room in front of the man she’d wanted since forever didn’t run away.
She ran headlong into the fire instead.
“Noah,” she said softly.
He made a sound, half a groan, half a growl, then his mouth was on hers.
HE SHOULD HAVE RESISTED. But Bella was naked and vulnerable, and offering him something he was desperate to have and he couldn’t resist it.
He didn’t want to resist it.
One night, she’d said. What could it hurt?
Nothing. It would hurt nothing. And they’d both get what they wanted. She wanted to give herself to him and he wanted to take her without holding anything back. Wanted it so badly he could barely speak.
Without another thought, he lowered his head and captured her warm, hungry mouth with his. She tasted of spices and wine, hot and sweet, and he drank his fill, then some more again.
She shook, her small, naked body arching into his, and he couldn’t hold back the hunger that was flooding out of him.
So he didn’t.
He laid her down on the soft red rug in front of the fire, bathing her in candlelight and firelight, and the light from the Christmas tree.
And she watched him with luminous blue eyes as he clawed his clothes off, taking the condom packet he had in the back pocket of his jeans and ripping it open. Sheathing himself.
Then he was stretching over her, shuddering at the feel of her silky skin against his. She gripped tight to him as he positioned himself between her spread thighs, thrusting in deep.
“Oh, Noah,” she whispered, her hips lifting to meet his, the wet heat of her body clamping around him, holding him tight.
He should have kissed her, should have stroked her, given her at least a couple of orgasms before he took what he wanted. But he didn’t have the time. He didn’t have the strength.
He wanted to be inside her and now he was.
Something in him relaxed at the same time as it grew more desperate, and he slid his hands beneath her, gathering her closer, holding her tighter. Her arms wrapped around him, too, her legs winding tightly around his waist, her mouth finding his, kissing him hungrily.
He lost himself in her heat. In the hunger that burned inside him more fiercely than the fire in the grate. Than the woodstove in the kitchen. Than the stars in the winter sky above the house.
He moved faster, harder, gripping her tighter. Immersing himself in the pleasure that burned with the same ferocity as his hunger.
She stroked him, and he let himself have that, too. Let himself have her care and the way she gentled him. Let himself have this closeness. Because he wouldn’t have it again.
She was wrong.
It was going to hurt.
This night would break him in so many ways, but he would survive. He’d built his life around resistance and denial, subsuming himself in the ranch and using all the tasks required to keep it running as a focus, so he wouldn’t be tempted by anything else. It had helped him stay strong.
She was strong, too, but her heart was fragile.
This night might hurt him, but it would hurt her more. Yet he’d taken her, anyway. Because he was selfish. Because he couldn’t help himself. Because he was just as bad as his father, taking and taking and giving nothing back.
Noah thrust harder, looking down at the beautiful woman beneath him. Her gaze was dark, shining. Giving him everything. But then she always had.
Out there on the stairs, she’d given him her virginity and her hunger. Her need. She’d given him everything she was and if he wasn’t careful he would take it all, suck her dry and leave her with nothing.
He knew how it went. What it was like to live with someone like that. Someone who’d never give him what he wanted, no matter what he did.
But Bella would give him everything and she’d wreck herself doing so, because she wasn’t like her mother. She was generous and warm and giving. She was loving.
She was everything he’d ever wanted.
Everything he couldn’t let himself have.
He moved harder, deeper. He wanted her to remember this, to never to forget. She was his and even though she might find herself another man, he’d make sure she’d remember him always. Remember this night forever.
He drove her over the brink twice, holding her tight as she sobbed against his chest, then he pushed his hand between them and pushed her over a third time. And this time he went with her, turning his face into her neck, growling as the orgasm broke him into pieces.
He should have left it there, but he didn’t.
He indulged himself shamelessly, because if he was going to overdose he was going to do it properly.
Beneath the Christmas tree, he put her hands on his body and let her explore him, lavish her touch on him. He watched her ride him, the Christmas tree lights bathing her lovely face.
Showering them both in color as pleasure exploded yet again, brilliant as fireworks in a night sky.
Afterward, he snuggled her up in the quilt and they sat together beneath the tree, sipping mulled wine as she showed him the sketches she’d done of her café.
She was talented, with an eye for design, and when he made his admiration known, she blushed.
“I had a friend who thought it was too mainstream,” she said, looking down at the sketches of rustic tables and dressers full of old china. There was even an old woodstove. “He said I needed to be edgier. But I wanted it to feel homey and welcoming.” She flushed deeper. “Like Grandma June’s kitchen, actually.”
“I thought it looked familiar.” Because her drawings did and he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why until now. “And your friend is wrong. These are perfect. More people want homey and welcoming than they do hard and edgy.”
Her forehead creased. “You think?”
“I don’t think, I know.” He had to kiss her then, because she was smart and creative and beautiful. “If your café feels anything like the Christmas you’ve created for us both tonight, then you’re going to have people lining up in the streets to get a table.”
She blushed even harder at that, which made him do more than kiss her. Her sketches showed him the depth of her need for a connection, and since it was in his power to give her that connection, he did so, leaving their mulled wine to cool on the coffee table.
Much later, he finally let her sleep, wrapping her up in the quilt and putting her on the couch, before putting another log on the fire.
He got dressed, because he wouldn’t sleep and, anyway, it was Christmas morning and he had a present to give her when she woke up.
It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
He had to let her go, but she wouldn’t leave empty-handed.