"Oh." Will peeked in a bag. A giant glittery tabletop snowman stared back at him. "Wow, that was nice of you, sweetheart. You shouldn't have." Really. She shouldn't have.
"I wanted to. You need to get in the spirit of things." She smiled at him, and he knew he'd let her outfit his entire place in candy canes and angels, right down to his toilet paper, if she wanted. He was that whipped, and manly enough to admit it. "There are a few more bags in the car," she added.
More? Either that was a sign of how pathetic she viewed his life, or she cared enough to spend a ridiculous amount of time and money foisting Frosties on him. He was hoping it was the latter. Charlotte was heading back to the door but he sprang into action, not wanting her rushing around in the snow on his account. Beside, he didn't know what the hell to do with any of that stuff in the bags she'd already brought in. Decorating wasn't something he'd picked up on in the police academy.
"I'll get them. You stay here and start unpacking. Put everything wherever you want." Will shoved his feet into boots sitting by the door on a mat and held his hand out for her keys.
When she put them in his hand, she gave him a strange look, head down, eyes peeking up at him from under her pale eyelashes. "Okay," she said, and her voice was a little husky, her fingers brushing across his skin.
Holy crap.
Something had just changed between them. Bam. Just like that. It was different. Every day for ten years it had been the same--they were best friends, they cared about each other--but all of a sudden it was off. She was different. A little nervous, hesitant. Sly.
Alright then. This was good. He thought.
Will turned to the door. "I'll be right back." Because he was going to run.
CHARLOTTE LET OUT THE BREATH SHE'D BEEN HOLDING when Will went out his front door, his boots loud and aggressive as he obviously jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. She wasn't sure she could do this. He'd given her a funny look when she'd handed him her keys. Like he knew she was up to something.
Which she was. She had a mistletoe sprig in one of those bags loaded up with lust symbols, and if she were smart, she'd toss it in the trash pronto before Will even came back. And she would not visualize his zipper going down ever again.
If he ever dropped his trousers in front of her it was going to be of his own free will.
Which would be never.
Argh. She was back to the beginning again.
Charlotte yanked a snowman votive out of a box and plunked it down on Will's coffee table. She was noticing a snowman theme in Bree's shopping. That was the third happy chunky snowman she'd pulled out in one form or another. No mistletoe in this bag. She turned and searched a different bag. Not in there, either. A quick search revealed it wasn't in any of the four bags she had hauled into the apartment.
Would it be a bad thing if Will was carrying the bag with the lust-loaded mistletoe? Did he actually have to touch it, or if it was just in his vicinity, would it affect him? Could he be walking up the stairs, suddenly overcome with random lust, encounter the twenty-something waitress in 2B taking out her trash, and think it was her he wanted? Dang, Charlotte should have asked Bree for better instructions. All her sister had told her was to hang it up anywhere. That's it. Nothing else to go on.
So the only thing she could really do was act normal.
Which wasn't achieved by her yelling, "Give me those!" and yanking the final three bags out of Will's hands the second he crossed the threshold.
"Uh...okay." His eyebrows shot up. "Did I bring the wrong bags or something? I can take this back down if there's something personal in them."
Like what? Condoms or sex toys? Her face went hot. She was a wreck. An absolute appalling mess of a woman who was so in love with her best friend she was capable of mentally undoing his clothes. "Your Christmas present is in one of these."
It was a decent save, pulled straight out of her behind. His face relaxed.
"You shopped for me already? You must really like me." He swiped his finger over the tip of her nose and gave her a grin.
"I can live with you," she said, because it was an auto-type response and she was trying desperately to act nonchalant, friendly, and totally nonsexual. Then she realized how exactly that sounded--like she wanted to live with him or something--and mentally kicked herself. Whirling around, she burrowed into a bag, ripping out a couple of red pot holders. Pot holders? Why the hell had Bree thought Will would want festive Christmas pot holders? Will was a guy. He probably used a dishtowel and cussed in pain when he lifted a lid.
"You'd love living with me," he said, shaking up a snow globe and watching the flakes settle. "You could toss all my boring bachelor furniture and do an extreme home makeover."
If he only knew how many times she had mentally decorated a house for the two of them, right down to a locker in the garage for his sports equipment and a drawer to lock his gun in. "You would be in for the shock of a lifetime if you let me into this place with the authority to decorate." And was that her testing the waters? Because she actually felt like she was asking permission, like if he was willing to let her decorate for him, then in some way that indicated an emotional depth greater than friendship. It was a massive leap in logic.
"Why? You have good taste. Classy." His eyes dropped down to her chest. Briefly. If she hadn't been hyperaware, she might not have even noticed it. But there was no denying he had looked at her breasts. "Nice sweater, by the way. It fits you really well."
The lusty green sweater. Holy crap. It was working, because in eight years Will had never once commented on how her clothes sat on her body. "Thanks. It's new."
"I know. You've never worn it before." He glanced down at her chest again, she was certain of it. "Green looks good on you."
"No, it doesn't. Not really. I look better in red or pastels. But thank you." Where the hell was that mistletoe? The whole situation was making her nervous as hell. She couldn't go through with it. She couldn't sleep with Will to satisfy her own curiosity if he was doing it under the influence of magic. She would be way too aware the entire time that what she was experiencing was false.
"I think you look good in everything, actually. Except for black. You're too...feminine for black."
Okay. Charlotte glanced over at the man she'd known for nearly a decade. The mistletoe must go. He was acting random and strange. And he was giving her a look that she knew. Couldn't misunderstand. She wasn't naive nor was she clueless. That was a look of lust. It was in his rich, brown eyes. It was in the way he was standing, legs slightly apart in his jeans, the T-shirt straining over his muscular chest. He'd gone out for the bags without bothering to put on a coat, despite the foot of snow outside, which she found highly sexy. He'd always had very short hair, and it went well with the chiseled cheekbones, stubborn jaw, and the ever-present five o'clock shadow. Will was rugged, the epitome of masculinity, and for the first time in her memory, he was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman when he wants to get in her pants and do bad boy things.
Which aroused, frightened, and confused her. So when in doubt, avoid. "Where would you like to put your Christmas tree?" she asked him, standing straight up and assessing his apartment. "And why haven't you bought more furniture?" He only had one sofa, a paltry end table, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. Half the room was empty. And he had always eaten his meals on the couch or at the breakfast bar because he had no table and chairs. "You've been here almost five years, and you said you were going to decorate about two years ago."
"I didn't say decorate." He tossed the snow globe up in the air and caught it. "I said I was going to get new furniture. Men don't decorate. They buy stuff and put it in their apartments."
"Whatever you want to call it, you still haven't done it." Charlotte picked up the remote for his iPod and turned it on, searching the menu for Christmas music. He didn't appear to have any. Big surprise.
"Maybe I've been waiting for a woman to help me pick it out."
What the hell was that supposed t
o mean? He wanted a girlfriend? He had a girlfriend in mind?
"Know anyone who could help me out?"
"What, decorators? Probably." Will was walking toward her, slow and steady, that look all over his face again. He was confusing her, and she didn't know what to think, so she backed up slightly.
"I can't afford to pay much. I was kind of hoping she'd do it out of the kindness of her heart, and so we can spend time together."
"Did you have someone in mind?" Charlotte wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans, suddenly clued in as to where this was going. Possibly. Maybe. She hoped. Or feared.
"Yep." He was right in front of her, and the only piece of furniture of any size was somehow right behind her, trapping her against the back of it.
She leaned away from him from the waist up, but he just slid in closer, his legs trapping both of hers.
"I want you."
Hello. How many times had she wished he would say something like that? Now he had, and he merely meant he wanted her decorating services. Something was really wrong with that. Though honestly, he didn't look like he had window treatments on his mind.
"I never claimed to be an interior designer."
"I bet you have plenty of ideas. And you know what I would like. You know me better than anyone." His hand slipped around her waist.
He was touching her. He was holding her. He was really, really close to her, so close she could hear his breathing and smell his aftershave. Feel the hard press of his thigh against hers. Yep, he was holding her up close and personal. And her heart was going to crawl up her throat and choke her. Crap, she just wanted to relax and enjoy it. But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. It was all those sex symbols she'd drawn and tucked inside the mistletoe. It wasn't real.
Yet she just couldn't bring herself to shove him away. After all, this wasn't his fault and she didn't want to make him feel bad, or embarrass him. It's not like anything really inappropriate was happening. They were just cozy up against each other. So he was brushing his finger down her cheek. Big deal. They were friends. They touched. It was normal. Friends hugged, too. They kissed occasionally. Hello. Good-bye. Good luck. Missed you.
But not like that. Holy moly macaroni, Will had closed that little sliver of a space between them and had brushed his lips over hers. The first time was soft, quick, gone before she had barely registered it had happened. But then he was back again, and this time he wasn't playing around. His mouth came down firm, intense, taking her mouth in a hot, confident kiss that had her automatically responding, kissing back, desire igniting in every inch of her body. His grip on her waist tightened. She was too stunned to do anything but close her eyes and enjoy the moment. He tasted better than she could have ever expected, and the man knew what to do with his tongue.
There was no thrusting or pushing or awkwardness, just smooth, coaxing strokes of his tongue over hers, his warm, big body enveloping her everywhere. It was a hot and glorious contact that she let drag on and on, even when his hands dropped down and cupped her backside lightly. It was all good. It made sense to her when her eyes were closed and her lips were so happy, doing a delicious dance with Will. Everything seemed perfectly natural for a minute or two while her mind was mush under the influence of lust and longing.
But then his fingers brushed lower, down between her legs, from the back no less, in a blatantly sexual intimacy that ripped a gasp from her mouth, and sent a warm rush from her inner thighs. He'd made her wet. With just a kiss and a little butt groping.
And it had taken a lust spell to get him to so much as lip lock with her.
Charlotte broke the kiss, the embrace, and whatever else you wanted to call the sensual cloud she'd been floating in, and ducked under Will's arm to get the hell away. She was cheap and easy and she was in love with him. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong, with a capital W to sleep with him.
Will wiped his bottom lip as he turned, giving her a slow, sexy smile. "Where you going, Charlotte?"
At least she was pretty sure it would be wrong to have sex with him.
"That was feeling really good to me, and I wasn't finished."
Maybe it wasn't wrong. If he liked it.
A quick glance at the front of his jeans showed he liked it very much, thank you.
Five
WILL WAS FEELING OPTIMISTIC. ALONG WITH TURNED ON, hot and bothered, and good old-fashioned horny. Charlotte had let him kiss her. She hadn't balked or pinched her lips together or wrinkled her nose. Not only had she let him kiss her, she'd done some mighty nice kissing back, including touching the tip of his tongue with her own. And she hadn't seemed to mind his hands on her ass, if the way she had been pressing up against him was any indication.
She'd run eventually, but he had expected that. That was workable, fine, something he could overcome. As long as she was attracted to him, interested in taking their friendship to the next level, Will could deal with a case of nerves. But the minute he had pulled her shopping bags out of the trunk of her car and seen the mistletoe lying on top, tied with a ribbon and ready for hanging, he had known that Bree was right. Charlotte did feel something for him more than friendship and the mistletoe he'd scrunched up and shoved into his front pocket was proof. Why else would she buy mistletoe to hang in his place if she didn't want him to kiss her?
He was feeling so pleased that he didn't even mind that she didn't answer him at all when he told her wasn't finished kissing her, just dove back into her shopping bags with gusto, clearly flustered.
"I think your tree should go in front of the living room window. We'll move your coffee table over there and set it on top. That way everyone driving by on the road can see it, too."
"Good thinking," he said, leaning against the couch, just wanting to watch her for a minute. Charlotte was such a beautiful woman. Her beauty was fresh and natural, and while she cared about her appearance and took care of herself, she didn't primp and fuss and overprocess. She was also an intriguing blend of confidence and modesty, ambition and shyness, and he appreciated, enjoyed that about her.
"I brought my iPod, too," she said, yanking it out of her purse and holding it up in front of her like a shield. Her cheeks were flushed pink. "Christmas music. I figured you wouldn't have any."
"Wonderful." Will started toward her, but she moved again, practically jogging to the speaker he had sitting on his end table. "Charlotte."
"Hmm?" Her back was to him as she switched his player for hers. "Jingle Bells" blared out into his living room. "Oh, too loud. Sorry."
She bent over a little to adjust the volume, and Will almost groaned. Charlotte's ass in a pair of jeans was a beautiful thing. His mouth went dry just looking at the way the denim hugged her curves, especially at the apex of her thighs. "Are you just going to ignore the fact that we kissed each other?"
The song switched to "The Happy Little Elf." Now that was sexy. Not. He moved right up behind her, needing to kill the distracting music.
Charlotte whirled around and held the remote against her chest. "Yes, I was actually totally going to ignore the fact that we...you know."
"Kissed?" He almost laughed. She looked so embarrassed, you'd think they had done something downright kinky instead of just swapped spit for a minute.
She just nodded.
Will eased the remote from her hand and pointed it over her shoulder, shutting the music off. "I don't want to ignore it. I want to kiss you again."
"Why?" Her breath was coming in little urgent gasps, her hands still across her breasts even without anything to hold, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.
"Because it feels good."
"We're supposed to be decorating your Christmas tree."
"We can do that, too." He reached out and touched her cheek.
She jerked and tried to move away from him, clearly panicked.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a halt, then wrapped his arms around her. Giving her a soft kiss, he said, "Hey, what's the matter? It's me. Talk to me."
Her eyes closed
briefly, then she opened them and met his gaze. Her blue eyes were troubled. "What are we doing here?" she asked.
"We're about to make love, Charlotte." There. He'd said it. No going back.
A strange little squeak came out of her mouth that he found incredibly cute. "We are?"
"Yep." Nothing he wanted more. Will lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, one by one. "Please say that I can."
Her skin was soft, her hand trembling a little. She smelled good, a soft fruity perfume scent, and he could feel the tension in her body. He wanted her to relax, so he stayed that way himself, nice and loose, and allowing a good foot of space between them. Lacing his fingers through hers, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. She had a creamy, even complexion, her fair skin the only thing she shared in common with her sisters physically. Will loved the softness of it, the unblemished perfection of her jawline, adored her tiny pink lips, and the perky upturn at the bottom of her nose. She was a truly beautiful woman, inside and out, and he was a lucky bastard to have her as a best friend.
He was also an ungrateful bastard, because he wanted more. Burying his free hand in her hair, he kissed her jaw, the corners of her mouth, her neck.
"Will..."
Maybe it was meant to be a protest, but since she didn't follow it up with any rejection, or any body language that indicated she wanted him to stop, he choose to take it as a pleasure thing. Especially since her hand pulled from his, but she grabbed on to his waist, hooking her fingers through his belt loops.
He dipped his tongue into her ear and she gave a startled moan. Music to his ears. Better sounding than the corny Christmas songs she was trying to shovel down his throat. Hands free, Will went back to holding her ass the way he had been earlier, though tighter this time, pulling her forward, bumping her jeans against his in a rhythmic little grind that made his erection downright hurt. Wanting her was the freakin' understatement of the century. He wanted to eat her, to get inside her, to own her body with his, and to show Charlotte everything she meant to him.
It was strange to know her so well, to know her mannerisms, her laugh, her facial expressions, and hand gestures, yet to not know this part of her, the sexual side. To realize that there was something so elemental and huge that they had never seen in each other. Her responses were surprising him. He had expected tentativeness on her part, assumed he would have to coax her to respond, because Charlotte was a thinker. She was successful for the very reason that she was never impulsive. Yet she wasn't showing the least sign of hesitation, despite her earlier words. She was now moving her hips of her own volition, and she had arched her neck to give him better access. Her hands had made their way around the back of his jeans and were firmly gripping right and left. Not just holding, she was actually copping quite a feel off him, and it was driving his desire even higher.