Christmas Secrets. Barbara Dunlop

me some more about you instead.”

      “Sure. What do you want to know?”

      She settled back into the chair. “Women.”

      The first volley of fireworks burst in the night sky, and Amber laughed.

      “Timing,” she said.

      “I wish my love life was that exciting.”

      “Give.”

      “Marcy Richards,” he said.

      “She is?”

      His memory was warm. “My high school sweetheart. Tall, lanky, long red hair, a few freckles. She was captain of the girls’ basketball team.”

      “What happened?”

      “Tragic story, really. Senior year, she met a guy from Skagway. He was in town for a tournament. He kissed her. I punched him. She cried. But then four months later they both went off to U of Alaska. They’re married now with two kids.”

      “Do you miss her?”

      “Not really. She’s my accountant, so I see her every week. She’s great. And so, it turns out, is her husband, Mike.”

      “You’re saying you’re over the heartbreak?”

      “I went off to flight school and had a series of short but satisfying relationships. Turns out, women can’t resist a pilot.”

      “How short?”

      “Hours, sometimes days.”

      “That’s appalling.”

      “I was recovering from heartbreak. I was young and vulnerable.”

      “Vulnerable isn’t the word I’d use.”

      He grinned. “You’d be right.”

      “And now?” she asked, brandishing her nearly empty mug.

      “A few dates here and there, nothing that’s ever turned into anything but a friendship. I’m pretty busy with Aviation 58, and Juneau’s population is not that huge. A lot of the women my age have moved on.”

      “You ever think about moving on?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “I love it there. And given how much Aviation 58 has grown, my roots are pretty deep.”

      “Maybe you can find a nice girl in Atlanta and take her home with you.” There was a glow in her blue eyes that seemed to reach right down to his soul.

      “Good idea. You doing anything for the next thirty or forty years?”

      She set down the empty mug. “I know you’re joking, but that’s a pretty good line.”

      He wished he was certain it was a line. He pointed to her mug. “You want another?”

      “I need to get home so Isabel can leave.”

       Six

      As Isabel left the penthouse, Amber made her way down the hall to where Cole had gone in search of Otis. The dog had apparently plunked himself down in Zachary’s open doorway and gone to sleep.

      She found Otis there, with Cole inside the bedroom, tucking a blanket over the sleeping Zachary. Cole rubbed a gentle hand across Zachary’s forehead before turning away from the crib. In the doorway, Amber stood to one side, her chest strangely warm.

      “Sound asleep,” Cole whispered as he stepped over Otis.

      The dog opened one eye but didn’t lift his head.

      “Isabel said he slept right through,” Amber whispered in return.

      “Good for him.” Cole stopped right in front of her.

      He was close, too close, but she didn’t want to move. Instead, she inhaled deeply, letting his fresh, masculine scent fill her lungs. It was a fight to keep from reaching out to touch him.

      “Hi,” he breathed.

      She lifted her chin to gaze up at him, wishing he would kiss her, but knowing any more intimacy was a very bad idea. Her life was complicated, and he was leaving, and she needed to keep her focus on the court case. But the temptation to lean into his arms and forget everything for just a little while was almost overwhelming.

      He brought his palm to her cheek, and the warmth of the contact seemed to flow through her entire body. Her breasts tingled and she parted her lips, subconsciously inching toward him.

      His free arm slipped around her waist, and he slowly dipped his head to meet hers. “Is this just a kiss good-night?”

      “I don’t know.” She grasped the sleeves of his shirt, anchoring herself.

      “Fair enough.” His soft lips captured hers.

      His kiss was everything she remembered and more. It was more than his lips, more than his tongue, more than his taste. Every pore on her body drank in his essence. Her heart rate increased. Her blood heated. She pressed herself against him, nipples beading against his hard chest, thighs molding to his, hands twining around his neck, into his hair then back again, tracing the planes and angles of his face.

      She wanted to memorize his skin. She wanted to touch him everywhere, imprint every contour onto her brain.

      Arousal swiftly pushed away reason.

      Needing to get closer still, she worked her hands between them, struggling in the tight space to release the buttons on his shirt. In answer, his hands slid down her back, across her waist, cupping her rear, pulling her tight against his body, letting her know how strongly he desired her.

      She stripped off her sweater. Her tank top followed. And she was before him in a white lacy bra.

      He drew back and his pupils dilated, his breathing labored. He swore under his breath, then stripped off his shirt and backed her tight against the cool wall. He lifted her there, bringing her legs around his waist.

      He flicked the catch on her bra, pulling it from between them, and they were skin to skin. She was in heaven.

      His voice was a rumble against her mouth. “Amber?”

      It was a struggle to speak. “Yes?”

      “This is more than just a good-night kiss.”

      “Yes,” she rasped. “Yes.”

      He worked his way down her neck, kissing the curve of her shoulder, then the swell of her breast. His lips fastened onto her nipple, and her body bucked, fingertips curling hard into his muscular shoulders. He switched sides, and her head tipped back, legs going tight around him.

      “Which way?” he asked.

      “Left,” she rasped. “My left. End of the hall.”

      He scooped her into his arms and paced to the bedroom door, pushing it open and crossing to the big bed.

      There he tossed back the covers and set her down. In a split second, he was with her, covering her body with his, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her skin.

      She went on an exploration of her own, following the hard definition of his shoulders and biceps, to his pecs and his washboard stomach. She unsnapped his jeans. He immediately did the same.

      Then he pulled back to look into her eyes.

      Without a word, he dragged down her zipper.

      She followed suit, the backs of her knuckles grazing him as she went.

      He sucked in a tight breath, eyes as dark as coal while they watched her.

      She tugged down his jeans, and he kicked them off.

      He