Blame It On Christmas. Janice Maynard

behavior.

       Really, Mazie? J.B. Vaughan? After he shot you down all those years ago and ignored you ever since?

       Do you really want to do this?

      She did. She really did. Maybe she always had.

      J.B. removed her top and bra and draped them carefully over the door handle of the safe. Then he turned and stared at her.

      She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to pretend sophistication. There had been two men in her life. Not a big number.

      He ran his hand from her bare shoulder down her arm, manacling her wrist and reeling her in. “You’re exquisite, Mazie.”

      The recollection of a teenage J.B. had always messed with her head. The popular boy with the raw sexuality and the wicked grin had rejected her and made her feel less than feminine, less than desirable.

      It was difficult to reconcile that memory with the present.

      “I’m glad you think so.”

      His slight frown told her he recognized her equivocation. He kissed her temple.

      “I love your hair.” He ran his hands through it. “It bounces with life and passion. Like you, Mazie.”

      The sudden segue from frantic hunger to tenderness unsettled her. It was one thing to get caught up in the moment. She didn’t trust J.B.’s quiet gentleness. A man could use sex to get what he wanted. Maybe in the midst of their madness, J.B. had recognized her vulnerability where he was concerned. Maybe he hoped to use it to his advantage.

      “Kiss me again,” she begged. Boldly, she cupped the length of his sex through his pants. He was hard and ready, so ready that the evidence made her want to swoon like some fainthearted Victorian maiden.

      Mazie had been abstinent by choice for the past two years. No man had tempted her, not even a little. Now here was J.B. All wrong for her in every way. But at the moment, oh so right.

      When she touched him intimately, he shuddered. This time, she knew the tremors that racked his big frame had nothing to do with a fear of enclosed spaces. J.B. wanted her. Badly. The realization was exhilarating.

      They were still mostly clothed, though her bare breasts nestled delightfully against his warm, hard chest. It should have felt weird and odd to be standing here like this. Instead, it was the most wonderfully terrifying thing in the world. In his embrace, she felt torn in a dozen dizzying directions.

      She hated this man. Didn’t she? Or was this a delightful dream?

      The illusion was worth any price. She had waited a decade and more for J.B. to admit that he wanted her. Surely the fates would grant her one outrageous walk on the wild side.

      She could call it off. The end would be ugly and awkward and far more scarring than what had happened when she was sixteen. But J.B. would never force himself on a woman, even if Mazie had been the one to initiate the encounter.

      “I want you, darlin’ Mazie.” When he whispered her name and touched her thigh beneath her skirt, she knew the moment was at hand.

      It was no contest. “I want you, too, J.B.”

      What happened next was sheer madness. He scooped her up and backed her against the wall. Her hands tangled in his hair. They were both panting as if they had run a marathon.

      He cupped her bottom, grinding his lower half against hers until she wanted to scream with frustration.

      He slid his hands beneath her skirt and found bare skin. “Put your legs around my waist.”

      “The condom,” she said. “Don’t forget the condom.”

      “In a minute.” He kissed her wildly, his teeth bruising her lips. She pulled his hair, fighting to get closer. Her bikini panties were damp. Her entire body wept with the need to have him inside her.

      She crossed her ankles behind his back, ripping at his shirt. “Take this off,” she pleaded.

      He managed it without breaking the kiss. Now she could run her hands over acres of warm male skin. His body was toned and tanned and sleekly muscled. For a man who supposedly spent a lot of time with spreadsheets and architectural plans, he had the build of an athlete.

      “Hang on tight,” he demanded. With a muffled groan, he ripped her underpants and held the scraps aloft. “Mission accomplished.”

      “Those were new,” she protested.

      J.B.’s grin was feral. “I’ll buy you more.”

      Now he could go where no man had gone in a very long time. He caressed her intimately, inserting one finger...feeling the embarrassingly welcome state of her sex.

      “Oh, wow...” She dropped her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes.

      J.B. chuckled. “If you like that, I’ve got lots more.”

      Without warning, a thunderous pounding on the huge door reverberated in the enclosed space. A muffled shout sounded. “Anybody in there?”

      “Holy damn. Lord have mercy.”

      J.B.’s incredulous response would have been hysterically funny if Mazie hadn’t been poised on the brink of a really spectacular orgasm. She groaned and buried her face in his neck.

      The voice came again. “Stand back. I’m going to open the door.”

      “Oh, my God.” She jerked out of J.B.’s arms and grabbed for her bra and shirt.

      J.B. stared at her, his gaze hot enough to melt all of her inhibitions. “Saved by the bell...”

      She should be glad—right? Glad that she hadn’t done something stupid and self-destructive?

      What was he thinking? His expression was grim.

      Her heart sank, incredulous at the way she had let herself fall into old patterns. Suddenly, the situation seemed a thousand times worse.

       Four

      J.B. cursed beneath his breath, stunned at his run of bad luck. Then again, maybe he should admit the truth. No matter his physical frustration, he had escaped certain catastrophe. He’d spent years avoiding Mazie Tarleton, and yet he’d come perilously close to doing the very thing he knew he couldn’t do.

      His beautiful enemy was barely decent when a loud scraping ensued, and the heavy door began to swing inward. At the last second, J.B. shoved her torn underwear into his pocket and slipped his shirt on again.

      The lights from outside the vault were so bright they both blinked. Their rescuer crossed his arms over his chest. Jonathan Tarleton. Mazie’s brother. With a smug smile on his face. “Well, look at you two.”

      J.B. took a step forward, shielding Mazie in case she had anything else she needed to tuck away. “What are you doing here?”

      Jonathan moved back, allowing them to exit. “I though maybe I could convince Mazie to give you a fair hearing. When I arrived, I saw both of your cars, but neither of you. So I put my CSI skills to work and found footprints leading to the vault. Fortunately for you, this hardwood floor is dusty as hell.”

      For J.B., the rush of cool air was blissful. He inhaled deeply, feeling the last tentacles of his brief ordeal slip away.

      Truth be told, Mazie had rescued him quite effectively. Her methods were almost beguiling enough to make him drag her back into the vault and shut the door again.

      Almost, but not quite.

      “Thanks for rescuing us,” he said. “If you hadn’t come by, we might have spent an uncomfortable few hours locked up in there.”

      “The mechanism was jammed on the outside. I had to hit it with my shoe to knock it loose.”

      Mazie