Jessica Lemmon - Christmas Seduction

A pair of strong hands gripped her waist. Tate tugged her close, and when her breasts flattened against his chest all other thoughts flew from her head. The water clinging to his coat soaked through her sweater, causing her nipples to bead to tight peaks inside her bra.

Still, she kissed him.

She wasn’t done with this real-life fantasy. A brief thought of Claire Waterson crashed into her mind, and she shoved it out. They were broken up—he’d said so himself. Hayden had nothing to feel guilty about.

Besides, he needed her. Whenever she’d been lost or sad, she’d taken solace in her friends. That was what she offered to him now.

A safe space.

She pulled her lips from Tate’s to catch her breath, her mind buzzing and her limbs vibrating. His chest and shoulders rose and fell, the hectic rhythm set by the brief make-out session. An unsure smile tilted his mouth, and she returned it with one of her own.

“Better?” she asked.

His low laugh soaked into her like rum on spongecake. He pulled his hand over his mouth and then back through his hair, and her knees nearly gave way. It’d be so easy to lean in and taste him again, to offer her body as a place for him to lay his worries...

“I didn’t mean to take advantage of your hospitality. Honest.” His blue eyes shimmered in the candlelight.

“You didn’t. I always serve tea with French kisses. It’s a package deal.”

“The best deal in town,” he murmured. He stroked her jaw tenderly, those tempting lips offering the sincerest “thank you” she’d ever heard.

“Call a car,” she said, before she asked him to stay. “It’s pouring out there.”

“Actually—” he opened the door that led down to her studio “—I could use a cool, brisk walk after that kiss.”

She smiled, pleased. It wasn’t every day she could curl a hot guy’s toes. She considered this rare feat a victory.

“I’ll lock the studio door behind me. There are some real weirdos out there...”

She grinned, knowing he was referring to himself.

Before he pulled the door shut, he stuck his head through the crack. “You don’t really kiss everyone you offer tea, do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She was tempted to put another brief peck on his mouth, but he disappeared through the gap before she could. A fraction of a second later, she was looking at the wood panel instead of his handsome face and wondering if she’d hallucinated the entire thing.

“Hayden, Hayden,” she chastised gently as she engaged the lock and drew the chain. She turned and eyed the mugs of tea, Tate’s untouched and hers barely drunk. His lips hadn’t so much as grazed the edge of that mug.

But they were all over yours.

That spontaneous kiss had rocked her world.

She dashed to the window and peered out into the rain, hoping for one more glance at her nighttime visitor. A dark figure passed under a streetlamp, his shoulders under his ears, his hair wet all over again. Before he disappeared from sight, he turned to face her building and walked a few steps backward. She couldn’t see his face from that far away, but she liked to believe he was smiling.

She touched her lips.

So was she.

Three wet days later, the rain had downgraded from downpour to light drizzle. Even walking across the street to Summer’s Market yesterday for ingredients for blueberry muffins had left Hayden wet and cold. She’d returned home soaked to the bone, her hair smelling of rainwater.

Which, of course, reminded her of The Kiss from the other day. She hadn’t seen Tate since. Not that she’d expected him to stop by, but... Well, was hope the wrong word to use?

Over and over, she’d remembered the feel of Tate’s firm lips, his capable hands gripping her hips, the vulnerability in his smile. The ways his eyes shined with curiosity afterward.

Knowing she’d erased some of his sadness made her feel special. She was beginning to think she actually missed him . Odd, considering the concept of missing him was foreign until that kiss.

The chilly bite of the wind cut through her puffy, lightweight coat, and she tucked her chin behind the zipped collar as she crossed the street to the café.

Nothing better for walking off sexual frustration than a brisk November stroll.

She had an advanced yoga class in an hour and was tired just thinking about it. A hot cup of coffee would put some much-needed pep in her step.

She wasn’t the only resident of SWC taking advantage of the drier weather. Cold drizzles they were willing to brave. Drenching downpours, not so much. As a result, there was a buzz in the air, an audible din of chatter amongst the couples or single professionals lounging in the outdoor patio. It was closed off for the winter, the temporary walls and tall gas heaters making the space warm enough for the overflow of customers.

Inside, Hayden rubbed her hands together, delighted to find that the person in line ahead of her was finished ordering. The only thing better than a Sprightly Bean coffee at the start of a day was not waiting in line to get one. She ordered a large caramel latte and stepped to the side to wait. Not thirty seconds into her studying the glass case of doughnuts and other sinful baked goods, the low voice from her dreams spoke over her shoulder.

“I’ve seen regret before, and it looks a lot like the expression on your face, Ms. Green.”

Her smile crested her mouth before she turned. She thought she was prepared to come face-to-face with Tate until she did. His dark wool coat was draped over a charcoal-gray suit, his hair neatly styled against his head and slightly damp, she guessed from a recent shower. And wasn’t that a pleasant image? Him naked, water flowing over lean muscle, corded forearms, long, strong legs...

“Am I broadcasting regret?” she asked, her voice a flirty lilt.

He pointed at the bakery case. “Was it the éclair or the lemon–poppy seed muffin that caused it?”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “I could be regretting my impulsive behavior three days ago.”

His eyebrows rose like she’d stunned him. She wasn’t much of a wallflower, which he should know after she’d grabbed him up and kissed him.

He opened his mouth to reply when a thin blonde woman glided around the corner, tugging a glove onto her hand. Claire.

“I’m ready to go,” she announced without preamble. Or manners. Or delicacy.

As if her frosty entrance had chilled them both, Hayden’s smile vanished and Tate retreated.

He nodded at Claire Waterson, his frown appearing both on his mouth and forehead. “Hayden, this is Claire. Claire, this is Hayden Green. She owns the yoga studio down the road.”

“Charmed.” Claire nodded curtly as she tugged on her other glove. No offer of a handshake, but Hayden didn’t want to shake the other woman’s hand, anyway.

“See you around,” Tate told Hayden.

She watched them leave, her forehead scrunching when Tate touched Claire’s back on the walk out to a car. He hadn’t walked to the café today. Hayden would bet Priss in Boots hadn’t allowed it.

“Grande caramel latte.” The cheery barista handed over Hayden’s coffee, and she managed a genial smile before walking out the front door, her steps heavy. Tate, in the driver’s seat, pulled away from the curb on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t wave, but did manage a compressed half smile.

While Hayden didn’t have any claim on him, she’d admit she felt like an idiot for believing him. He’d sounded so sincere when he said his relationship with Claire was over. Or had he implied it was over? Either way, if she’d had any idea Tate and Claire would be sharing morning coffee a few days later, Hayden never would have kissed him. From the looks of it, he and Claire were very much together .