Emilie's Christmas Love by James Lavene, Joyce Lavene

and you care about people. I don’t understand what’s wrong with the people here. They don’t know you at all, do they?"
    “We are Ferriers,” she whispered. “When I was a child, my parents made it clear that we shouldn’t mingle with other people who weren’t of our stature.”
    “So you’re politely telling me to take a hike?”
    Emilie swallowed hard on her fear. “No. I don’t want you to take a hike, Nick. I wish—I wish you’d put your arms around me, like you did in the truck.”
    "God, Emilie." He let go of her hand and pulled her close to him. "You're a mess, but you’re all I can think about.”
    "I know."
    It felt so wonderful to be held. He was warm and smelled like soap. His heart was beating steadily against her ear. His arms were strong and certain around her.
    "Are you always like this?" he wondered out loud.
    "No." She sat up a little. "No. Actually, I'm a rock. Everyone depends on me. I can take care of any crisis. I don’t need anyone.”
    “Everyone needs someone.”
    Nick held her close. The effects of her body on his hadn’t been a one-time thing. He breathed in and the scent of her raced through him. He shifted his hip to one side and she followed, filling the space that had occurred between them.
    Her coat opened and her breasts pressed against his arm. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done not to move his hand the few inches it would have taken to hold that softness in his grasp.
    Emilie wasn't sure when she started to feel something more than comfort from his touch. Her hands were on his chest. She could feel his heart beating under her fingertips.
    She raised her head to look at him, the streetlight outside the car creating a dark mask that hid his eyes. It made him appear dangerous . . . and intriguing.
    "I should go." She realized her position. She was pressed against him from chest to hip, the curves of her body filled by his hard muscle.
    He smiled. She saw the movement of his lips in the dim light and was fascinated by it. She knew that she was staring at him. She couldn't make herself look away.
    His lips moved closer to hers, still not touching. “I want to kiss you, Emilie."
    His hand slid inside the neck of her coat, warm and caressing. He brought her mouth to his. His kiss was too short, and devastating.
    A tiny whimper escaped her throat when his lips left hers. He groaned and kissed her again. The pressure of his mouth changed, no longer hesitant or undecided. His mouth slanted across hers while his fingers moved up from her throat to cup her head.
    It was like drinking peach brandy. His touch sang through her veins until she could feel it in her toes. She was hot and fluid, answering him with her lips and tongue, drinking him in as though his kiss could quench that sudden fire in her.
    Nick kissed her again and again. His tongue played with hers as she hesitantly, gently, slid her tongue the length of his and back. Her touch was soft and careful as if she were afraid that she might hurt him.
    He could never get enough of her, he thought brokenly, wishing there were fewer clothes between them. He could get lost in her.
    It was that thought that sobered him and made him set her away from him with a firm hand.
    "I'm sorry, Emilie," he said flatly. "I-I can't do this. Not right now. I wasn’t expecting . . ."
    "Nick—" She barely recognized her voice.
    "Goodnight, Emilie." He slid from the car, closing the door behind him.
    "Goodnight," she said quietly to his retreating back as he entered the garage.
    She sat in the car with her hands on the steering wheel for a few minutes. She had to force her body and mind to cooperate. She didn't want to be sitting out there in her car when he came out again. That would be too far past the humiliation she was already feeling.
    Emilie drove home slowly, ignoring the Christmas decorations this time. She wasn't sure when exactly she'd become attracted to Nick, or how she'd crossed that line between being attracted and