Nicole

I wake up groggy, my mouth so dry I can't even move my tongue. At first, I have no idea where I am. The soft white blanket and cushy pillows are very different from the ones where I usually wake up. Then my eyes find the large window, the frost on all four sides framing the tall, snow covered pines in the distance. Home. It's been awhile, since I woke up in my childhood bedroom in Portland. My flight from New York got in late last night and my whole body is protesting, saying I should still be sleeping, but Christmas is tomorrow, and I haven't gotten any presents for my family yet.

I throw back the covers and start shivering immediately. But it's nothing a hot shower won't fix and that's exactly where I head.

Thirty minutes later I'm downstairs in the kitchen, trying to decide which heaping plate of my mom's Christmas goodies I should sample first. She'd shoo me away if she were here, but she's not, and I’m taking advantage of that.

My father clearing his throat behind me clashes with my content sigh as I bite into a fudgy, perfect brownie.

"Hi, Dad." I brush the crumbs off my lips and kiss his cheek. He blushes slightly and adjusts his glasses. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Nicole," he says hoarsely, ever the stoic, but I know he enjoys these little endearments.

He walks over to the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee. I go back to raiding the plate of brownies.

"I read your last column in the Wall Street Journal. It's very good, but I wouldn't be so quick to jump to some of the conclusions you made," Dad says.

I sigh and shake my head. Dad always has good points, and I talk out most of my article ideas with him before I finalize a piece. But I have to make a name for myself too, and these days you can't do that without going way out on a limb from time to time. Which is why I didn't run that last column by him before submitting it.

"I'm off over the holidays, Dad," I say and wipe my hands on a rag. "It's been a long year."

He smiles at me, running his thumb over the edge of the counter, a physical manifestation of his struggle to let his point go. "Yes, two awards and an honorable mention. And getting promoted to the permanent staff at the Wall Street Journal. That's no mean feat."

I'm holding my breath, waiting for the "But…" yet it doesn't come.

He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. "You deserve a rest. Mom and your sister are already in town. She ordered me to have you join them as soon as you were up and about."

I can just picture my petite, 5"1' mother staring up at my dad's face, almost a foot above hers, and making this demand. My dad and I share a knowing smile. Mom's always been the undisputed commanding general in this house, and the holidays bring that out in her tenfold.

"Can I borrow the jeep?" I ask.

He nods. "Sure, I have no plans to go out today. Someone has to hold down the fort, and be on the lookout for random Christmas visits."

My mom's orders too, I'm sure.

* * *

In town, it takes me forever to find a parking spot. Then the colossal, echoing sounds of the last minute shopping crowd at the mall nearly knocks me back out onto the street. I live in New York City, so I'm well used to noise, but after the near perfect silence of the drive over here, it's too much. And there's no way I'll be able to find my mom and Janice in this. My back collides with something firm yet pliant as I take a step back to make room for an exiting family.

"I'm sorry, excuse me," I mutter, turning to look into the deepest, most mesmerizing blue eyes I've ever seen.

"No worries," he says and lays his arms on mine, moves me out of the way, since I'm just standing there like a petrified woman. The electric jolt his touch gives me would be enough to awaken stone.

I meet a lot of men in my job, but none of them has ever taken my breath away like this. A lazy wave of soft brown hair is hanging over is forehead, framing his chiseled face. There's something tantalizingly familiar there, but I can't quite place it. Besides, if I ever met this god of a guy before, he would not be getting away from me.

"Running away already?" he asks and grins at me.

"The crowd, it's huge," I mutter, feeling very stupid the second it leaves my mouth. I'm not known for stumbling over my words around guys.

He chuckles, revealing perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. "Yes, it is."

Somehow, I think he's having the same intense reaction to our meeting as me. And I don't think he's talking just about the crowd. The blanket of desire that covers me as his eyes slide off my face and down my body is heavy, and permeates me right down to the core, actually makes me whimper a little. Guys usually have a predictably sexual reaction to my curvy body, but I've never felt it this strongly before. I swear, if this guy felt me up right now, I'd let him.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Nicole.

I clear my throat and finally break eye contact, regaining some of the composure that lets me—a curvy woman with lots of sex appeal—have a successful career in a male dominated profession. He's wearing a three-piece suit that looks like it cost thousands of dollars. His chest is wide, and there’s a hint of bulging muscles under the woolen fabric of his coat. I'd love to slide that coat off and make sure his arms are actually as defined as the outline suggest. Or unbutton his shirt to check if all parts of his six pack are accounted for. There I go again…

"Alas, I will have to brave the crowd," I say. "Christmas shopping waits for no one."

The grin's gone from his face, replaced by an intense, deep darkness I find even more enticing.

"Yeah," he says and takes a step away from me. "It was nice running into you, Nicole."

I gasp as he disappears into the crowd filing in and out of the store. How does he know my name?

His face is familiar, yet I can't quite place it.

"Wait!" I yell, but it's no use. The crowd's already swallowed him up.

* * *

After some coordinating on the phone, I finally meet up with my mom and sister on the first floor.

Mom wraps her arms around me as soon as she spots me, then kisses both my cheeks wetly. "Welcome home, Baby. Merry Christmas."

Her flowery perfume transports me back to my childhood, and does a lot to erase the lingering scent of that hot guy's cologne still etched on my brain. Who was he? Why didn't he stay?

I get pretty much the same welcome from my sister Janice. Her and my mom look almost exactly alike, both short, both with died blond hair, both full of smiles and wholesomeness. I'm more like Dad, tall, dark haired and reserved. Though I did inherit mom's curves.

"How was your flight?" Janice asks.

"Fine. Too long, though," I say, grinning widely at the vast number of shopping bags in their hands. "So, what'd you get me?"

I try to peer into one of the bags Mom's holding, but she slaps my hand away lightly. "It's a surprise. You'll just have to wait."

I make a disappointed sound, which makes them both laugh.

"How about we do a little more shopping, and then grab some lunch?" Mom suggests, and we both agree.

We spend the next hour or so wandering around, and I see a lot of stuff I would like, but still have no real gift ideas. I'm also pretending I already got them all presents, since my mom wouldn't like it if she knew the truth that I'd been too busy to shop.

Janice is trying on a dress, and we're standing by a display of cute Christmas-themed baby clothes by one of the windows, waiting for her to come out and show us how it fits.

Mom picks up a tiny sweater with the body, arms and legs of a Santa’s elf embroidered in shinny thread on the front. "This would go great with the elf hat," she says, and picks up that too.

I know what she's aiming at. But my last five relationships fizzled before they even got started, and there's nothing new on the horizon. Unless you count that hot guy in the lobby. Which I'm not, since I'm only here for a few days, and I still have no idea who he is.

I stare out the window to avoid Mom's searching gaze when I spot him again. He's climbing into a late model, black Porsche Cayenne—the car I've been lusting over for years, but will likely never be able to afford on my journalist salary. I strain my eyes to see if a girlfriend is already inside the car. But he's alone as he drives off, though a guy looking like him is sure to have a girlfriend, or wife waiting for him somewhere, so I'm not getting my hopes up. As though they weren't just dashed by him driving away anyway. I'd hoped to run into him again before I left the mall, but that's clearly not gonna happen now.

"So, what do you think, Nicole?" my sister asks pointedly.

I clear my throat and turn, nodding and smiling at the shimmery green dress she's wearing. "Love it. You must get it."

I'm not just saying it either. It hugs her curves perfectly, and she'll be the centerpiece of any party in it.

"You don't think it's too green?" she asks, looking down at it.

"Well, it is green," I say and chuckle. "But it looks great on you."

She takes my word for it this time, and after another twenty minutes in line so she can pay for it, we're finally sitting down for lunch. After that, I let them go home, saying I still need to get some stuff for the cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces coming to my mom's Christmas party tomorrow night. She throws one every year, and besides the family, she also invites the whole town. Most of them show up.

Mom's eyeing me skeptically as I reveal this plan, like she knows I don't actually have any presents in my suitcase at home, but thankfully she doesn't call me on it.

I try my hardest not to rack my brain trying to figure out who that guy was for the rest of the day, and most of the night, but only marginally succeed.

* * *

Snow's coming down in soft clumps when I wake up the next morning.

"Sleep well?" Mom asks as I enter the kitchen. The whole house smells like some five star restaurant kitchen, and both her and Janice are hard at work cooking for tonight's party.

"Sure did. I always sleep well at home," I say, and smile at her. "But why didn't you wake me? I'd love to help with the cooking."

Janice and Mom share a look that says it all. They'll do all they can to keep me away from the kitchen. And they're right in doing so. I still manage to burn toast on most mornings, and I can count the times I've tried to host a dinner party on two fingers. Ended up ordering takeout both times.

"Fine, fine," I relent, saving them the trouble of pointing this out. "But I'll learn to cook one of these days, and then you all better watch out."

They both laugh a little too long, and then blush at exactly the same time.

"Here," Mom huffs and starts piling some cookies and cakes onto a plate. "You can take this down to the cottage."

"Sure thing," I say and pour myself some coffee, snatching a cookie off the plate before she can wrap it. "How is Frank anyway?"

She hands me a saran wrap covered plate, her hands shaking so hard I'm afraid she'll drop it. Her and Janice share another look.

"What is it?" I ask, taking the plate.

"Oh, I didn't mention it?" Mom starts. "Frank, he passed away about two weeks ago."

"No. How sad. He wasn't even that old." He was my dad's age, I think, maybe a little older. But he did drink a lot.

"It was an accident. He went out and got caught in a blizzard," Mom explains, her hands still shaking. "A real tragedy."

I try not to picture it, since I've known Frank practically all my life. He was the groundskeeper on our estate, and the chief handyman in this town. Dad used to jokingly refer to him as the town's janitor.

I gaze out the window at the smoke rising from the cottage. "Then who's there now?"

"His son's come to clear out the place," Mom says and starts stirring something on the stove. "I thought you could also invite him to tonight's party while you're over there. I sent him a note, but he never replied."

"Mark's here?" I ask, my voice way too shrill. We didn't part on the best of terms when he left town twelve years ago, and we haven't spoken since. "Maybe Dad can go extend the invitation?"

Mom's squinting at me. "But you and Mark used to be best friends. I thought it should be you…"

I never told anyone about what happened between Mark and me, nor about how long it took me to get over him. But that's just it. I am over him, so I'm not about to go explaining about all that now.

"Sure, I'll go," I say and smile at her, which works to get rid of her squint.

I gulp down the rest of my coffee, since I want to get this unpleasantness over with sooner rather than later. I'll just knock, give him the plate, deliver the invitation and leave. I won't even go inside. And then I'll spend the rest of the day wrapping presents and watching TV. I haven't had a real holiday in ages, and that's exactly what I plan to have this Christmas. As for Mark, I haven't even thought of him in years.

* * *

I decide to walk over to the cottage, a choice I regret about halfway there. No one's shoveled or stomped out a way to it, and soon enough I'm panting. My legs are burning, and my feet feel like blocks of ice, since my UGGs soaked right through. If I hadn't kept up my gym visits I'd probably be laying passed out in the snow by now.

And on top of it, I have to face Mark with sweat dripping down my face. I could just eat the cookies and lie to my mom about inviting him. But I'm not known for backing down in the face of challenges. And Mark's not even that. He's merely a small annoyance.

I knock hard as soon as I reach the door, before I can change my mind some more. A large black car, another Porsche Cayenne, with California plates is parked out front.

I'm still staring longingly at the car when a wave of heat hits me as the door opens. "If you have a debt to collect talk to Attorney Harris in town. I can't do this one by one," a man's voice informs me, holding out a white business card. I feel my face grow even hotter, and now I'm likely as red as Santa’s hat.

"Oh, it's you," Mark says and opens the door all the way.

I can't make a single word come out of my mouth, though I'm trying, can feel my lips moving.

But it's not Mark, it can't be, because the guy from the mall yesterday is standing in front of me. But I do finally recognize him now, so there's no doubt that it's actually Mark. Even though he's about twice as wide as when I last saw him, and yes, he does have bulging biceps, and a very nicely defined, firm six pack, which I can see now because he's not wearing a shirt. His chest and arms are covered in tattoos, and I feel my mind getting sucked into a sort of funnel as I try to discern all the images. There's an eagle, a lotus flower, a koi fish, a wolf…

"You gonna come in, Nicole?" he asks. "I'm losing the heat here."

"Sure, OK," I finally manage and stumble across the threshold, still mesmerized by his body.

"You do like what you see." He laughs as he says it. "Could've recognized me yesterday though."

The biting arrogance in his voice reminds me why I'm mad at him. Because I am still actually livid at him.

I press the plate of cookies into his stomach. The muscles hardly give, and I'd love to try and do the same with my fingers. He takes the plate by laying his hand over mine on it, and a jolt of electricity once again passes straight through me. I'm growing wet, my whole body starting to vibrate in desire. But that's just because I haven't seen a shirtless guy in months, and even the ones I had seen weren’t as hot as Mark. Or maybe it's because his gaze is telling me he wants to see me shirtless too.

He finally takes the plate, and I clear my throat and unzip my jacket, shaking off some of the snow stuck to it. "My mother sends these, and she would like to invite you to the party tonight."

"She would?" he asks, grinning at me. "What about you?"

Still so cocky. Maybe if he said sorry, I'd tell him I want to kiss him. But do I? After all these years? The "Yes" that bubbles to the surface is actually a feeling deep in my stomach.

But he's not saying sorry, and he's already staring at me like he knows just how much I want him. This desire of mine, or his maybe, is so thick between us I can't see straight, let alone think.

"What do you care what I want?" I shriek. "That never concerned you before."

"Oh, it's like that," he says and walks over to the kitchen table, snatching a sweatshirt from the back of the sofa in the process.

"Like what?"

"You're still pissed at me," he says and puts the plate down on the table, then pulls the sweatshirt over his head. The urge to tell him not to get dressed is so strong I almost say it.

"Not even," I mutter instead.

"See that's what I thought too, seeing as you didn't even recognize me yesterday. But clearly—"

"I mingle with well dressed young business men all day long, I can't remember every face," I retort, not letting him finish his sentence and sounding obnoxious even to myself.

He grins again, then peels off the saran wrap and studies the cookies my mom sent.

"Alright, I'll play," he says. "Well, I see your picture several times a day. Excellent column, though I can't say I agree with your assessments all the time."

"You read my column?"

Last time I spoke to Mark he was being sent to a reform school for stealing a car. Neither of us really believed that trajectory would change. But the car outside, the expensive clothes…things clearly have changed.

"Yeah, and I read most of your other articles too," he says, shaking a mug at me. "Want some coffee?"

"I'm not staying," I blurt out, though that was my plan before. Now I'm not so sure anymore.

"I wish you would," he says and proceeds to make himself some coffee.

"You do? Why?" Though just his look is answering that question adequately. But maybe that's what I want to see. I was in love with him. He never loved me, or even wanted me.

"It's been a long time. We could catch up," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Right, because we used to be such good friends."

He chuckles, which just makes me angrier.

"Well maybe not at the end, but we were friends."

I'm growing hot, since I'm still wearing my thick parka, but if I take it off it means I'm staying, and I'm not doing that unless he apologizes. Which I don't think he's anywhere close to doing.

"You could've answered some of my letters," he adds, glaring at me now, the smile completely gone from his eyes.

"After what you said?" I can't believe this. He's the one acting hurt? What a typical guy thing to do. Or at least typical of every guy I've ever dated. Where do I unearth these idiots?

"What did I say? I said no to you, because it wasn't the right time."

"And then you called me fat and ugly, and that you wouldn't touch me with a stick." It sounds childish hanging between us now, but at the time it hurt very badly.

His face actually twists in confusion, and I don't think it's an act. "I never said that to you."

"Well, not to my face," I reply, yanking my hat off, since I'm starting to sweat again. "But I heard you talking to that friend of yours, Doug or whatever."

He cringes. "Oh, you heard that…"

But he knows I did, he saw me running away crying. It was just after I tried to kiss him and then told him how I felt about him. But he just brushed me off and walked away. Didn't actually tell me he didn't feel the same way, just ignored me.

"I didn't mean it," he adds.

"Sure you didn't," I say, putting my hat back on. I'm done tripping down this memory lane. As it is, I want to cry again. Which is so stupid. I'm over him. Have been for a long time.

"Look, it was just bad timing. I was about to get sent away and there you were finally telling me you loved me. I was really pissed at that whole situation, wasn't thinking straight at all," he says, but it's still far from an "I'm sorry."

He sweeps his arm over the tiny cottage. "Just like with my Dad. I was so pissed at him for so long, and now he's dead. I haven't spoken to him in years."

"Maybe you should've visited him more often. He was always right here," I spit out. And I think I mean me. I was always right here too.

"He never visited me at reform school, never cared what I did with my life after that," he says and sits down at the table, slamming his cup down. "But you're right, that's on me too, maybe. I was so angry at him, over my mom leaving, his drinking, him not caring what I did with my life."

"What did you do with your life?" I ask. Not because I care. I'm just curious how someone with no future could go to driving a Porsche. It's probably some shady stuff though, so maybe I shouldn't know.

"Won't you at least take your coat off?" he asks. "You look like you're getting cooked alive."

"I'm not staying."

"Yeah, heard you the first time…" he mutters and takes a sip of his coffee. "I joined the Army after I was released. Did two tours in Afghanistan. Then I came back and went to college, got a nice, well paying job with Morgan Stanley."

"Investment banking? Come on, at least tell me the truth." It just comes out, I have no real control over what I'm saying.

"I am," he says, glaring at me. "What? Frank never mentioned my successes?"

I shrug and shake my head at the same time, causing my neck to cramp up.

"Figures. He always wanted me to follow in his footsteps as the town janitor."

"He was well liked," I say.

"And well in debt too. I started getting calls from all those people who liked him so much almost immediately after the police informed me he'd died. Seems they paid him in advance for jobs he never delivered on. Now I'm stuck either paying them back, or getting someone to do the work." That at least explains the welcome I got.

"Yeah, well, Frank wasn't perfect," I mutter. He could be showing him more respect, but I don't say it. Criticism never went over well with Mark.

"Neither are you, from what I hear," he says glaring at me again.

"What?"

"I asked around after I started seeing your picture and reading your articles, thought I'd try to get back in touch," he says like him doing so would mean all my dreams came true. He could be an investment banker. He sure is arrogant enough. "But the consensus is that you're hotter than hell, but cold as ice."

Seriously? Leave it to the cocky bankers and stockbrokers to come up with a line that dumb!

"Yeah, well, I swim with the sharks, but I don't mate with them." There's a dumb line if ever I heard it.

"I told them you're just shy," he says, grinning at me.

I turn and storm out. I won't listen to this anymore, not when all I wanted to hear was an "I'm sorry", and then let him kiss me.

I'm on the verge of tears, shaking from trying to hold them in so hard. All I wanted was an apology, and then I'd take him, in any way, even if he were a criminal. Just like I would've taken him twelve years ago.

"Wait, Nicole!" he yells after me, his voice muffled by the snow. "I'm sorry!"

But I think I just wanted to hear that last part. I don't think he actually said it.

* * *

I hear the cottage door slam behind me, followed by a thud as snow crashes down off the roof. He's coming after me. I can't have that. Tears are already welling in my eyes, and I just want to go back to not caring about Mark at all.

My brother-in-law is driving down the road to the house, and I flag him down, watch Mark stop in his pursuit.

"Nicole, are you alright?" Janice's husband asks and I just nod, get in at the passenger side. Now that I'm no longer looking at Mark, the tears are retreating.

"I just went for a walk, but it's so cold outside," I manage. Yet the car windows are fogging up from all the heat I'm giving off. Thankfully, he doesn't comment on it.

I'm mostly calm by the time we reach the house, and try my hardest not to think of anything Mark related for the rest of the day.

The cousins, aunts and uncles start arriving soon after lunch, and with all the greetings, catching up and little kids running all over the house, it's hard to think about anything else anyway.

We sit down for a family dinner at four. It's a boisterous affair, with everyone talking right over each other as we pass around the dishes and catch up. By the time we’re done, I've eaten so much I can hardly breathe in the little black dress I'm wearing.

At seven thirty the guests start arriving. And each time the doorbell rings, my tension mounts. What if it's Mark?

But it never is, and I start to relax a bit by nine, after no one new comes to the door for almost half an hour. Though if I wanted to be completely honest with myself, I had hoped he'd come. It's why I wore this dress and heels. He may be a cocky bastard, but that's one of the things I liked about him. And I did ignore more than one letter and email from him over the years. So maybe I have some apologizing to do too.

* * *

"Why so pensive?" Dad asks. He's wearing a golden party hat with a holly wreathe stuck to it, and his cheeks are flushed from drinking too much eggnog.

I smile at him and adjust the holly on his hat. "Not pensive, just happy. It's so nice to be back home with family."

It's not a lie or an exaggeration, but I do wish I hadn't argued with Mark. It'd be nice to make up with him. He'd been my friend for many years, ever since we were toddlers. Between my ambitious studying and interning to get the job I now have, and then working long hours to keep it, I drifted apart with most of my friends. With the few and far between visits, it's a wonder my family still tolerates me. But they do, and I can't help but smile wider, as my uncle James salutes me with his drink, then blows a kiss my way. He was always this big teddy bear, just like my grandfather who I wish was still with us tonight. But at least I was here when he got sick, at least I got to say my last goodbye to him. And him to me.

"Glad to have you home, kid," Dad says and gives me a clumsy hug which I return in earnest.

I see Janice and her husband whispering to each other on the couch, then she gets up, tapping on her coke glass. It goes unnoticed until her husband hands her a fork off the table.

"I have an announcement to make," she says once the room finally quiets down. She blushes. "Well, we both do."

She pulls her husband to his feet and he lets her, beaming at everyone. Her hands are covering her belly, and I already know what her news is, as do the rest of the people in the room, I'm sure.

"We're expecting," she breathes, and the people erupt in congratulations. I join in the clapping, watch my mother fight the battle with tears as she takes turns hugging Janice and her husband. I am so happy for Janice, having a child is what she wanted forever, but I still feel like I've swallowed a gallon of ice. Because I'm twenty-six and if my past relationships are anything to go by, I'll never be making this kind of announcement.

I swallow the selfish thought, walk over and give Janice a hug that speaks only of my joy for her.

But after I'm bumped aside by the others congratulating her, the air in the room turns stiflingly hot. I grab my jacket from the hall and go outside onto the deck. The small pine tree growing a few feet from the patio is all lit up with tiny white lights and I wander to it, enjoying the cool air on my face. It burns some of my sadness away. I have what I worked for, and I'm young still, my time will come.

I hear footsteps approaching through the snow, but I don't turn yet, since I'm enjoying the serene calm, this feeling of being in the middle of everything, yet removed. It's how I lived most of my life, but it's by choice. I'm a natural born observer.

"Hello, Nicole," Mark says.

I do a near perfect pirouette, almost landing in the snow. "You…you came."

He's wearing a large black parka, but it does nothing to mask his chiseled bulk. The moonlight reflecting off his hair, casting shadows on his face makes him seem otherworldly. Like I'm only seeing him because I want him here.

"I thought I would," he says. He's standing so close the heat coming off his body is warming me.

"I'm sorry, Nicole," he continues. "It's what I should've said earlier. The only thing I should've said. I'm sorry for hurting you. I never meant to."

My heart just sort of melts in my chest, pulling my brain after it. I'm struck speechless, waiting for him to wrap his arms around me. It takes me a few moments to realize he's not doing it.

And why would he? I yelled at him, and ran from him, ignored his letters and emails. Of course he doesn't know, if he should.

"I was in love with you," I hear my voice say.

He steps closer still, until our bodies are nearly touching. Yet his arms are still hanging by his sides. His eyes are glowing in the moonlight, and I've never wanted to disappear in another person the way I want to disappear in him right now.

"I'm still in love with you," he breathes, and I lean against him, the pull too strong to fight. But it makes no sense. I drank too much, I'm imagining this whole scene.

"You're just saying that," I mutter and look up into his face.

He grins in his signature cocky way, his arms now resting gently on my lower back. "No, I swear. I fell in love with you when I was eight years old."

I press my body harder against his and bite on my lower lip. "Prove it."

It's all he needs to lean down, lace his fingers into my hair and kiss me. He tastes like wild fire, spring thaw, rivers rushing past, like nature and summer, and all that is right with this world. His tongue finds mine and plays with it, enters me like he belongs. And he does, always did. We just never quite got to this part before. But we're here now, and I'm not leaving.

I have to consciously fight the urge to rip his clothes off right here and now. But we'd freeze, and my family and the rest of the townsfolk would get quite a show.

Janice is looking at us through the living room window, and she smiles and waves when she sees me notice her. I smile back, feel myself blush.

"Wanna go back to the cottage?" Mark asks hoarsely and I just nod. If his strong arms weren't holding me up I'd melt right into the snow.

* * *

I'm wearing my high-heeled sandals, and there's no way I'll make it all the way to the cottage in them. When I mention it, suggest I go inside and change, he just shakes his head and scoops me up like I weigh nothing. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean against him, enjoying his smell, his strength, this feeling like I'm floating on moonlight.

The cottage is warm and smells of wood, cinnamon and chocolate, my three favorite smells. Mark sets me down inside the door, then pulls me into an embrace.

"I missed you a lot, Nicole."

I kiss his soft lips in response. They're still cold from the frosty air outside, but there is warmth coming from the center like a little flame thawing the ice.

He slides my jacket off my shoulders, then leads me to the sofa, leaves me there to put more wood on the fire.

"Would you like a drink?"

I shake my head and pat the spot next to me. "I'm fine for now. Won't you come back over here?"

If I drink any more, I might not remember this night. And I want to remember it, because I've waited so long for this, and it might be all I ever get. We live on different sides of the country. We have no easy future. No way back to the past we share. But we have tonight, and I plan on making the best of it. He needs no more encouragement than that, like he's thinking the same things.

His lips are on mine in a flash, hard and insistent, his tongue demanding entrance, promising more wild pleasure to come. I'm wet, the pleasant warmth of anticipation spreading from the pit of my belly all through my body.

My nipples are rock hard buds, aching to be touched. I find the edge of his sweater, glide my hands under it along his rock hard abs. My cold fingers against his hot skin make him shiver, sigh a little.

He pulls away from the kiss, and there's a dangerous, gleaming look in his eyes, reminding me of harsh sunlight reflecting off ice. He's strength personified, and he's all mine. At least for tonight.

He stands, pulls me to my feet too. His hands caress my back until he finds the zipper at the back of my dress, and pulls it down. The cloak of raw desire covering me as he slides the dress off my shoulders is almost too much to bear. I'm so glad I wore the nice lacy black underwear, complete with my sexy stockings. I can feel his desire intensifying as he takes it all in. I've never been wanted like this. And I've never desired a man to take me like I want Mark to possess me right now.

His hand glides along my stomach, up to my breasts, where he pinches my left nipple hard. I whimper, my knees buckling a little.

"You like that, don't you?" he asks.

"Yes," I breathe, not breaking eye contact.

His lips find my neck, kissing and licking it as his fingers work my nipple, pinching and pulling, rolling and squeezing. I could come from this alone.

He trails kisses down my neck, across the soft mounds of my breasts. Then he undoes the clasp, sets my breasts free, and I groan as his hot lips cover my aching nipple.

He's working my left nipple with his fingers, and biting down, sucking, licking my right one, and the pleasure is building at such a maddeningly slow, yet increasing pace I might lose my mind.

"Please, Mark," I whisper, not sure what I'm asking, but certain he's the only one who can give it to me.

He looks up and grins at me as he kneels, and begins sliding down my panties ever so slowly. I gasp as his breath hits the hot wetness between my thighs, whimper as his tongue finds my clit.

"You taste so good," he whispers and licks again, harder, more demanding this time, and a shiver runs like an avalanche all through me.

He pinches my clit with his thumb and forefinger, and the jolt of pain mixed with pleasure almost makes me lose my balance. He kisses it better, then repeats, and I'm breathing hard now, shuddering and whimpering with each lick and pinch. The only thing I'm certain of is my need to climax, to release this hard tension coiled inside me.

He's still fully clothed and I'm naked before him. The contrast turns me on even more, if that's even possible.

He keeps teasing my pussy, alternating between soft licks and nips, pinches and bites, until I'm shaking all over, needing only him inside me and nothing else.

He pushes two fingers into my pussy as though he can read my mind and I come right then and there, whimpering and shaking as he pumps them in and out in a skilled, practiced motion. I cry out as his fingers wake another, harder orgasm on top of the first one. I have to grab his shoulders to keep upright. He inserts a third finger and I lose it again, because I'm filled completely now, stretched all the way. But I love the fullness, the pleasure he's giving me, want it all the time.

He pulls his fingers out and stands up, wrapping me in his arms. A good thing too, because otherwise I'd probably fall down.

"Just wanted to get you good and ready," he whispers and chuckles. My heart starts racing as I grow aware of the hard outline of his cock jabbing me in the stomach. It feels like he's got a log in his pocket.

I run my hand gently along the outline, my pussy clenching at the thought of accommodating it.

"Wow. I'm not sure it'll fit," is all I manage which just makes him laugh again.

"But you'll try," he says, and it's not a question, it’s a command.

He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, my heels clicking in the silent house.

He pushes down on my shoulders as we reach the bed, and I go down on my knees willingly, my eyes fixed on his cock.

"Ready?" he asks.

I swallow hard and nod, which makes him chuckle again. I love the sound of his laugh, it washes over me like a silk robe.

He unbuckles his pants, and I help him pull them down. His cock springs up, slaps me on the cheek as he sets it free. It's so thick and massive, I might have a bruise tomorrow. But I'm not thinking of that. I'm thinking of how this huge cock will feel inside me.

I wrap my hand around the base, and my fingers don’t quite reach. My pussy clenching has nothing to do with fear anymore. I look up at him as I lick around the head, making him groan. My lips barely fit over the head as I suck on the velvety flesh. I know I'm doing it right, exactly how he wants it, because his breaths are getting shorter, more erratic. I want his sperm in my mouth, I want to swallow it, let it fill me.

He takes control, grabbing his cock and sliding the head across my wet lips, not letting me take it back in my mouth.

"Time to try," he says, and my pussy clenches again, warm wetness erupting in anticipation. I've never taken a guy this big. But I want to do it so bad I can taste it.

"Get on the bed," he orders, and I don't think twice, I just obey.

The sheets are cold, and I'm surprised not to hear a sizzle as my skin touches them.

He kicks off his pants, then pulls off his sweater and shirt in one motion. Then he's standing naked before me, this hunky muscled, tattooed god of a man, and I grow wetter just from looking at him. Desire is flowing off him like lava as his gleaming eyes devour me.

"Take me," I whisper in answer to his unspoken question.

Instead of climbing onto the bed with me, he pulls me to him by my thighs, lifts me up until only my shoulders and head are still on the bed, and my pussy is inches away from his cock.

He's holding my hips, and I whimper as he pulls me forward, the head of his cock gliding into me, meeting almost no resistance at this angle. In seconds, I'm filled and stretched like never before, and all I can do is try to catch my breath, a task I'm failing at.

He keeps going, opening me up more, and all I can do is let him. My fingers are creasing the sheets, and I'm sure those wrinkles will never come out. But I need to hold on to something, because I feel myself unraveling on his thick hard cock.

He stops the onslaught, pulls his cock out slowly, the emptiness he leaves behind vast. Then he pushes in again, pulls out, repeats. There's no part of my pussy where I don't feel his cock as I open up to accommodate him. He's breathing hard, and I can feel his tension as he tries to do this slowly. I'm sighing, whimpering, groaning louder each time he slides in, pulls back out. And I want it faster, I want all of it.

"Harder, Mark," I hear the words leave my mouth the instant I think them.

That's all he needs, it seems. He pulls my hips to him and thrusts forward at the same time, impaling me completely. His thrusts grow fiercer, and I'm just a rag doll in his arms as he manipulates my body to pleasure himself, pleasure me.

The room is spinning so hard I have to close my eyes. All I’m aware of is his cock inside me, sliding in and out at lightning speed, setting off sparks in every inch of my body and my mind. The friction of his thrusts lights a flame, which becomes a raging forest fire, burning all in its path. The orgasm racking through me is so strong, so searing I lose all awareness. Yet the fire keeps raging, waxing and waning before exploding again, and I'm screaming, I know I am, though I see nothing, hear nothing, my whole being just this intense ball of burning pleasure woken by his cock.

* * *

I'm still shivering when I open my eyes later. Mark's got his arms wrapped around me, and we're covered by a blanket. I feel so empty and light, I might not even be here at all.

"How was that?" he asks, grinning down at me.

I feel my face open in a wide smile as my eyes close again on their own. "Oh, only the best ever."

"Good," he says, sounding very pleased with himself. As well he should be.

"Too bad it can't last though," I murmur, not sure why I want to ruin this moment.

"Why can't it last?" he asks, the tone somewhere between harsh and hurt.

I open my eyes again, and nestle closer to him as I look up. "You know, since we live on opposite sides of the country."

He laughs. "Is that all? No husband or anything?"

"No, nothing like that," I murmur.

"But if there was?" he asks.

"There isn't. And if we didn't live so far apart, I would never let you go again," I add, since he needs to know that, it's important for me to tell him that. Though in the back of my mind, I'm already planning weekend trips to California.

He kisses my forehead, his lips searing a path right down to my aching pussy.

"That's not a problem," he says and leaves it at that.

"What do you mean?" I ask breathlessly.

"Well, I'm moving to New York in January, got a new job there."

I smile again, lift my head and kiss his lips. "For real? That's like the best Christmas present ever."

"Is it?" he's eyeing me skeptically, like I don't know what I'm saying. But I know perfectly well. I have also been in love with Mark since I was six years old and we first met.

"Yes it is, Mark. Even though I denied it even to myself, I've waited for you to come back all these years. I just wish I'd realized that sooner."

And then we're kissing again, his skilled fingers working my nipples and rekindling the flames. Dawn's breaking outside, and fat snowflakes are falling, just as it should be on Christmas day.

The fire in the living room has died down to mere embers, yet I feel no cold. My desire and Mark's warmth are enough to keep me hot for a long time still, possibly forever.