erry Christmas.” Clare wrapped her arms around Leo and gave him a big hug. She glanced over his shoulder at Sebastian standing a few feet behind his father, wearing black wool trousers and a deep caramel-colored sweater, which was about the exact color of his short hair. He also wore a hint of a smile as his gaze held hers, and she recalled with perfect clarity the previous night. She felt a flush spread across her chest and looked away.

“I loved the picture,” Leo said as Clare dropped her arms and stepped back. “Sebastian told me you helped him pick it out.”

She focused her attention on Leo and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m glad you like it.” Several months ago, she, Leo, and her mother had decided not to exchange gifts. Instead, they agreed to donate the money they would have spent to the Salvation Army.

“And he got me your book, but you know that.”

“Yes, and I know you’ll put it on your mantel with the others.” She held out her hand toward Sebastian, hiding behind the cool, collected facade she’d developed long ago. “Merry Christmas.”

He took her hand in his and his smile turned knowing. Last night and until late that morning he’d touched her all over with those big warm hands. After the first time on the couch, they’d taken a short break to eat a pizza before starting over in the bedroom and ending up around two-thirty in her shower, soaping their bodies and sliding their mouths across their clean wet skin. “Merry Christmas, Clare.” His thumb brushed hers and the tone of his voice suggested he was reading her mind.

Clare suppressed the urge to flip her hair or fiddle with the neckline of her black satin halter. She hadn’t dressed in anything new or different this year. She wore the ankle-length red velvet skirt and fringy belt she always wore on Christmas with knee-high black leather boots. Nothing special to attract extra attention. At least that’s what she told herself, but she didn’t bother believing it. She looked good and she knew it.

“What would you gentlemen like to drink?” Joyce asked. Sebastian dropped her hand and turned his attention to her mother. He and Leo had Glenlivet on the rocks, and while Joyce poured, she said she thought scotch sounded like such an excellent choice that she’d join them. Clare stuck with wine.

After a half hour’s discussions of the weather and the latest world events, they moved to the formal dining room. There, among the holly and tapered candles, they feasted on the Wingate traditional dinner of glazed ham, potatoes grandmere, candied sweet potatoes, and green beans with cashews and tarragon. In Clare’s great-great-grandmother’s individual crystal compotes, Roman punch was served next to each plate.

As the oldest male, Leo had been given the chair at the head of the table, with Sebastian to his right and Joyce on the left. Ever the etiquette stickler, Joyce had insisted that Clare sit next to Sebastian. It would not be right to have both females on the same side of the table. Normally it would not have been a problem and Clare would have exerted herself to engage the guests in conversation. But tonight she couldn’t think of anything to say to the man who’d given her three orgasms the night before, nor to Leo, who had always been a father figure to her. She felt sure she had a big neon Had Crazy Hot Sex Last Night sign above her head, and was afraid that if she did or said the wrong thing, everyone would notice.

She was so new at sex without commitment—or at least without a nice dinner and a movie date first. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed—or not as much as she probably should be, especially given the oral aspect of their shower—but just didn’t know what to say or do. She felt completely out of her element. Thank God no one seemed to notice.

Sebastian didn’t appear to labor under such uncertainty. He relaxed in the chair beside her, charming her mother with little stories about all the places he’d traveled and asking questions about her various clubs and charities. He was used to no-strings sex, and Clare had to admit that she was somewhat irritated by his composure. It seemed only right that he be as rattled as she was.

“I’ve been trying for years to convince Claresta that she needs to become involved in my Ladies of Le Bois club,” Joyce said as she tipped back her Glenlivet. “Through various benefits, we raised more than thirteen thousand dollars this year. We were especially excited to have Galvin Armstrong and his orchestra play for us at the Grove. I know Clare would enjoy herself if she’d just get involved.”

Galvin Armstrong was older than Laurence Welk, and Clare needed to change the subject before she suddenly found herself involved in next year’s benefit. “Sebastian ate a monkey.” Leo and Joyce abruptly turned their attention to Sebastian, who stared at her with the fork halfway to his mouth. “And a horse,” she added for good measure.

“Really, son?”

“Oh.” Joyce set her glass on the table. “I don’t think I could manage a horse. I had a pony as a child. Her name was Lady Clip Clop.”

Slowly, Sebastian turned his head and looked at Clare. “I’ve eaten a lot of different things. Some were good. Some not so good.” He smiled. “Some I wouldn’t mind trying again.”

The memory of him feathering her navel with warm kisses popped into her head. I think you’re going to like this, he’d said last night as he worked his way south. It’s a little something I learned from a French lady in Costa Rica. And she had liked it. A lot.

“But at the moment I’m hungry for Christmas ham.” Sebastian turned his gaze across the table as he placed his hand on Clare’s thigh. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Wingate.”

Clare glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly pulled up her skirt.

“Please call me Joyce.”

“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Joyce,” he said, the poster child of choirboy politeness as his fingers gathered her skirt.

Clare wasn’t wearing nylons, and she reached beneath the table before he could touch bare skin. She carefully grabbed his wrist and removed his hand.

“I received a Christmas card from your father’s sister,” Joyce announced, looking across the table at Clare.

“How is Eleanor?” Clare sank her spoon into her punch. As she placed the rum slush in her mouth, Sebastian flipped her skirt above her knees and replaced his hand on her now bare thigh. Startled by the warm contact, she jumped a little.

“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as if inquiring about the weather.

Clare pasted a strained smile on her face. “Fine.”

Oblivious, Joyce continued, “Apparently, Eleanor has discovered religion.”

“’Tis the season.” She placed her hand over Sebastian’s, but his grasp tightened. Short of wrestling his hand off her and drawing attention to what was taking place under the table, there was nothing she could do.

“Eleanor always was a trial,” her mother continued. “She was somewhat of an embarrassment, which is quite an accomplishment in that family.”

“How old is Eleanor?” Sebastian asked, his tone polite and curious as his hand crept higher. Skin on skin, heat spread warmth up Clare’s thigh, his touch calling forth physical memories of the night before. In her bed and shower, and of course on the antique sofa.

“I believe she is seventy-eight.” Joyce paused to spear her remaining green beans. “She’s been married and divorced eight times.”

“Once was enough for me,” Leo added with a shake of his head. “Some people never learn.”

“That’s the truth. My great-great-uncle Alton was wounded in a marital dispute,” Joyce confessed, uncharacteristically forthcoming regarding Wingate skeletons, thanks to her third glass of Glenlivet. “Unfortunately, he had a fondness for other men’s wives. Neglected his own, though. Typical.”

“Where was he wounded?” Sebastian slid his fingers to the front of Clare’s panties. Her gaze got a little fuzzy and she about melted off her chair.

“Bullet in the left buttock. He was running away with his pants down.”

Sebastian chuckled and his fingers brushed her through the spandex cotton blend. She squeezed her thighs and stifled a moan as the conversation continued without her. Leo made a comment about…something, and Joyce responded with…something, and Sebastian tugged at the elastic around the top of her leg and asked something….

“Isn’t that right, Clare?” Joyce asked.

Her eyes refocused on her mother. “Yes. Absolutely!” She shoved his hand from her crotch and stood, careful to make sure her skirt stayed down. “Dessert?”

“I don’t think so right now.” Her mother placed her linen napkin on the table.

“Leo?” Clare asked as she gathered her plate and flatware.

“None for me. Give me half an hour.”

“Can I take your plate, Sebastian?”

He stood. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s okay.” The last thing she needed was for him to follow and finish what he’d started. “You just sit and relax with my mother and Leo.”

“After a big meal, I need to walk around,” he insisted.

Joyce handed Clare her plate. “You should show Sebastian the house.”

“Oh, I don’t think he cares about—”

“I’d love to see it,” he interrupted her.

He followed her into the kitchen and they set the plates in the sink. He leaned a hip into the counter and ran the backs of his fingers up her arm. “Since I walked in the house tonight, I’ve been wondering if you had on some sort of bra under that thing. Guess not.”

She looked down at the two very distinct points in the front of her black satin halter. “I’m cold.”

“Uh-huh.” He brushed his knuckles across her left breast. Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath. “You’re turned on.”

She bit her top lip and shook her head, but they both knew she lied.

He sighed and dropped his hand. “Show me the damn house.”

She turned on the heels of her boots and left him to follow behind. Yes, the last thing she needed was for Sebastian to work his moves on her in her mother’s house. But there was another part of her, the new part that had just discovered the pleasure of meaningless sex, that wanted him to do that and more.

She showed him the parlor her mother used for an office, the main living room, and the library. He kept his hands to himself, which was almost as frustrating as when he’d touched her. “I used to spend a lot of time in here as a kid,” she said, pointing to the floor-to-ceiling rows of leather-bound books. The room was furnished with old leather chairs and several Tiffany lamps.

“I remember.” He walked along the built-in mahogany shelves. “Where are your books?”

“Oh. Well, my books are paperbacks.”

He looked across his shoulder at her. “And?”

“And my mother doesn’t think paperbacks belong with leather-bound books.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You’re a member of her family. Much more important than depressed Russian authors and dead poets. Your mother should be thrilled to put your books in here.”

Well, she’d always thought so, or at least thought she should be given equal shelf space in her own mother’s house. To hear Sebastian say it stirred unwanted feelings in her chest. “Thank you.”

“For what? Does your mother know how hard it is to get a book published?”

But this was Sebastian. She could not allow herself to feeling anything for him but a mild friendship and a raging physical attraction. “Probably not, but it wouldn’t matter if she did. Nothing I ever do will be good enough, or exactly right, or perfect. She’s never going to change, so I’ve had to. I don’t kill myself to please her nor purposely irritate her anymore.”

“No.” He laughed quietly. “You just deflect attention off yourself and onto me.”

She smiled. “That’s true, but you really should suffer a little for eating poor Mr. Bananas.” She nodded toward the doorway. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

He followed close behind as she moved up the curved staircase. She showed him three guest rooms, her mother’s bedroom, and finally the room she’d occupied growing up. It still held her queen bed with heavy wooden pineapples on the posts, the same armoire, dressers, and five-drawer vanity. The only thing that had changed was the bedding.

“I remember this room,” Sebastian said as he moved farther inside. “But everything was pink.”

“Yes.”

He turned to her and said, “Close the door, Clare.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want your mother to see what I’m going to do to her little girl.”

“We can’t do anything in here.”

“You almost sound like you mean that.” He walked across the room and shut the door himself. “Almost.” He walked back, ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and the back of her neck. He kissed her, and before she realized what he was about, his fingers were at the bow at the back of her neck and he lowered her halter to her waist.

She pulled back and covered her bare breasts with her hands. “What if someone walks in?”

“They won’t.” He grasped her wrist and placed her palms on his shoulders. “Your nipples are hard and your panties are wet, so I know you want this too.” He cupped her breasts and brushed the stiff tips with his thumbs. “I’ve been thinking about doing this since I walked into the house. All through your mother’s charity event stories, I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared beneath the table and kissed the insides of your thighs. I wondered if you were as turned on as I was. Then I felt your panties and I knew I was going to be inside you at some point tonight.” He kissed the side of her throat, and she slid her hands beneath his sweater and the T-shirt he wore beneath.

“I thought that after last night, you weren’t supposed to want to have sex anymore,” she said, and slipped one hand to the button on his trousers. “That it would be out of your system.”

“Yeah. I underestimated you. I predict it’s going to take at least one more time.”

He grasped the back of her thighs and lifted. Clare wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her crotch against his bulging penis as he carried her the short distance to the heavy oak vanity.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” He set her on the vanity and worked her skirt up around her waist.

“So bad I’m letting you undress me with my mother downstairs.”

He pushed her thighs apart and touched her through her panties. “Walking around this house, knowing you’re this wet, has about killed me.”

She unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside his boxer briefs. Within her palm she felt his pulse beating and squeezed. “You’re hard.”

“I’m going to make you come.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Instead of pulling her panties from her legs, he slid the thin strip of fabric to one side. Then he pushed into her, thick and enormous, and she wrapped her calves around his behind until he was buried deep inside. His flesh felt hot and she tightened her muscles around him. The kiss he gave her was soft and sweet as he began to move, withdrawing slightly and easing himself back inside. “You feel as good as I remember,” he whispered just above her lips. “So slick and tight.”

Clare’s head fell back against the mirror, and he kissed the side of her throat just below her ear. “I want you so much,” he said. “I want to kiss all the good parts like I did last night.” He ground his hips against her and groaned deep in his throat. He pulled out, then thrust hard. If there’d been anything in the drawers of the vanity, it would have made a lot of noise. Thankfully, it was empty, and the only sound in the room was that of heavy breathing.

Steadily he pumped into her, stroking the inside of Clare’s wet walls and massaging her g spot. It didn’t take long for the first wave of orgasm to crash into her and wash her body in intense white heat. It stole her breath and curled her toes inside her black boots. Just as it eased, it started all over again.

“Oh my God!” she gasped as a second orgasm grabbed hold. In the midst of her own amazing pleasure, she felt his powerful ejaculation inside. He groaned deep in his chest, his knees buckled a little, and his grasp on her thighs tightened to keep him from falling.

“Christ Almighty,” he managed through a rough, hoarse whisper.

When it was over and the last pulsation subsided, she dropped one leg from around his waist as he struggled to find breath. She’d never experienced anything like it in her life. When she could finally speak, she looked up into his green eyes and said, “That was amazing.”

“I thought so.”

She blinked several times. “I had a multiple orgasm.”

“I could tell.”

“I’ve never had one before.”

One corner of his mouth slid up. “Merry Christmas.”

A few days after Christmas, Clare met her friends for lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant. Over a huge combo platter they discussed books and brainstormed plots. Lucy was deep into deadline, as was Clare, and Adele had just finished a book. Maddie’s books didn’t come out as often as the three genre writers, and she was taking several months off to relax and get her head right after her last true crime novel. Well, as right as was possible with Maddie, Clare thought.

They chatted and laughed as they always did. Shared bits and pieces of their lives. Dwayne was still harassing Adele, leaving random stuff on her doorstep; Lucy was thinking about starting a family; and Maddie had just purchased a summer home in Truly, a small town a hundred miles north of Boise. The one thing that Clare did not share with her friends was her relationship with Sebastian. Primarily because there was no relationship, just sex, and she wasn’t the type of person to talk about her sex life. Not like Maddie—if she’d had one to talk about. Another reason was because it was still all so new that she didn’t know what to think about it herself.

Sebastian had left town the day after Christmas, but not before driving to her house and waking her up one last time. She’d never met a man who wanted sex as much as he did. No. Strike that. It had been a while since she’d been with a man who wanted sex as much as he did, but she’d never met a man who was as good at it as he was. A man who said, “This is what I’m going to do to you,” and then not only did it, but exceeded all expectations.

When she got home from lunch with her friends, there was a message on her answering machine from Sebastian.

“Hey there,” he began as she took off her coat, “I have a big New Year’s Eve party here in Seattle that I need to go to. I was thinking that if you didn’t have plans, you could be my date. Give me a call back and let me know.”

New Year’s Eve? In Seattle? Was he insane? She poured herself a Diet Coke and phoned him back to ask him that exact question.

“It’s an hour’s flight,” he said. “Do you have plans?”

If Sebastian were actually her boyfriend, she might play harder to get. Pretend she did have plans but was willing to break them just for him. “No.”

“I’ll pay for the ticket,” he said.

“That won’t be cheap.” She grabbed her Coke and walked upstairs to her office. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

“I get to spend time with a beautiful woman.”

Just a few days ago she’d been thrilled when he said she was beautiful. The little part of her that still resided down deep. The part that had followed him around as a child. Now, she wasn’t so sure how she felt about the compliment. Now, it seemed like something a man would say to his girlfriend, and Clare felt she could not afford to let the tiniest hint of a relationship past the wall she’d built to protect her heart. She dismissed it as meaningless. Something men always said to women. It meant nothing. “Don’t tell me there aren’t any women in Seattle you could ask.” She waited for the first jealousy pinch. The gnawing on her heart. When she felt nothing, she smiled. She liked him as a friend. A woman couldn’t be jealous of a boy friend who wasn’t a boyfriend. Especially when he lived in another state.

“A few, but they’re not as interesting as you. Not as much fun.”

“Meaning they won’t have sex with you?”

“Oh sure, they’ll have sex with me.” His laughter carried across her phone line. “But since you brought it up, bring something sexy because I think we need to make love a few more times to get it out of our system.”

Make love. What they did together was not making love. They had sex. Hot, wild, unbelievably good sex, but it was different from making love. It was purely physical. The earth did shake, and her heart didn’t feel as if it might burst. That was making love, and she knew the difference. “Ah. Like ipecac.”

“More like sex therapy. I think we could use the workout. I know I could.”

Which she had to admit sounded good. After feeling undesirable for several years, having a man want her as much as Sebastian did was addictive. And right now in her life, hot, wild, unbelievably good sex was better than love. In the future, she would once again look for a soul mate. Someone to spend her life with. She wanted a husband and a family. She wanted a “happily ever after” with a “happily ever after” man. It was in her DNA to want those things, but for now she just wanted to have fun with a “good time” guy like Sebastian. Who could never, ever be confused with “happily ever after” man.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But I have to shop for something to wear when I get there. Are you up for that?”

There was a long pause, and then, “I might need extra therapy to get over the trauma.”

She laughed and began to tick off the stores in her head. Beside the regular list of suspects like Nordstrom, Nieman’s, and Saks, she’d hit Club Monaco, BCBG, and Bebe.

Wow, a shopping and sex binge. Just a few months ago her life had sucked, but what a way to start the new year.