What She Wants for Christmas. Janice Kay Johnson

couple in back. She didn’t want to face a knowing smile or disapproving frown. Blast it, she was blushing again!

      Thank God, she thought suddenly, that Nicole hadn’t made any friends! What if one of them had seen her mother carry on this way? Nicole would have run away from home.

      Teresa wasn’t eager to meet Joe’s eyes, either. They passed through the lobby and out into the night. A mist scented the air and glistened off the pavement and car windshields under the yellow sodium lamps. Joe unlocked the passenger door first and held it open for her. Inside, she stared straight ahead while he circled the pickup and climbed in behind the wheel. He didn’t start the engine. She felt his gaze.

      “I don’t suppose you want to find that deserted road.”

      “I, uh, don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”

      “Are you embarrassed or mad?”

      She appreciated his bluntness. It made it easier to turn toward him. “Embarrassed,” she admitted.

      “I don’t usually act like a randy teenager.”

      “I didn’t do any better.”

      “I enjoyed it,” he confessed.

      “Me, too.”

      “Then?” He waited.

      “Oh, heck.” She fidgeted with the seat belt. “I just don’t want you to think—”

      “I don’t.”

      “Oh, well, since we’ve settled that…”

      He must have liked her sarcasm, because he laughed. “I’ll give you a chaste good-night kiss. On the cheek.”

      “Something to live for.”

      He laughed again, the sound less rusty than the first time she’d heard it. She had some use in life.

      The good-night kiss wasn’t all that chaste. But this time, there wasn’t any potential audience, either. Her legs felt a little shaky when Joe walked her to the front door. She didn’t want him to go tonight, either, which made her wonder with renewed panic where, and how quickly, this relationship was headed. How long would he—would she—be content with kisses? Was she really ready to have an affair with a man she hadn’t met three weeks ago?

      And in all honesty she had to admit she didn’t know him very well. They talked, they laughed, but he hadn’t let her see below the surface. Maybe he had no profound secrets, but everyone had a darker side. Every time she edged too close to a truly personal issue, his face went expressionless. Even kissing her, he hadn’t yet reached the edge of control. How could she make love with a man she’d never seen angry, despairing, laughing helplessly? She wanted to know that he went deeper than amusement, amiable charm, lazy sensuality.

      Maybe she was expecting too much after two dates—well, counting the lunch, two and a half. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything to goad him to anger or despair, or that she was all that funny.

      But then, she shouldn’t be thinking about making love with him, either. It was too soon.

      Oh, how she wished it wasn’t.