Brenda Novak - The Heart of Christmas

He’d have a long hike if he intended to make his way back to Whiskey Creek without catching a ride from her.

Or maybe he planned to call someone. He had a cell phone and, for the most part, there was service.

“You won’t answer?” she asked.

“What difference does my name make?” he finally responded.

That set off alarm bells, since one of the other things she couldn’t recall was whether they’d used any birth control. He wasn’t one of those weirdoes who went around purposely infecting people with HIV, was he?

“You don’t want me to know who you are?”

Having donned his boxers, he jammed one leg and then the other into a pair of well-worn jeans. “I don’t see any purpose in exchanging personal information.”

So he’d already decided he wasn’t going to see her again. She hadn’t been entirely sure she wanted to see him. He hadn’t been that friendly so far, but she felt a measure of disappointment all the same. She had enjoyed what she could remember of last night—and what she remembered more than anything else was the way he kissed. It was so good, so completely bone-melting, that she grew warm just thinking about it. A man who really knew how to kiss a woman seemed like a nice place to start a love affair.

“What if I need to reach you?” she asked. To tell him he’d given her herpes, for instance.

He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, but last night...I shouldn’t have let it go the way it did. I knew better and...I wasn’t going to, but...God, you can dance. ”

“So you do have one nice thing to say....”

“I told you not to take what we were doing seriously, but...I’m sure that’s all forgotten. So I’ll say it again. I’m not interested in a relationship.”

He couldn’t even take her to dinner before calling it quits?

Obviously her luck with men wasn’t improving—even when she opened herself up to a random encounter.

“Why?” she asked. “Are you married?” At this point, his rejection was so unequivocal she almost hoped he was. Then she wouldn’t have to credit it to some failing on her part.

“No.” He didn’t even look over when he responded.

“You have a girlfriend, then?” Jared. She was almost certain he’d said his name was Jared....

“No. I might be a lot of things, but I’ve never been a cheater.”

Great. She must’ve acted like a desperate idiot last night. Or maybe she wasn’t nearly as good at kissing—or other activities—as she was at dancing.

“Was it something I did?” Normally, she wouldn’t have asked. It was difficult to lower her pride. But if he was going to brush her off anyway, what could it hurt to learn the reason? Maybe that information would help her know why she couldn’t seem to find Mr. Right.

“No.”

That was it? That was all the feedback he was willing to give her? “You’re far too generous. Thanks for the reassurance.”

He glanced up at her sarcasm. “At least I meant what I said. It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”

But he still wasn’t interested. Why? “Just tell me we used some protection, Jared, ” she said. “Then you can take off.”

“Of course we used protection.” He scowled, but she couldn’t tell if that was in reaction to her remembering his name or the nature of her question. “I wouldn’t leave either of us vulnerable to what could happen without it.”

She clutched the sheet tighter. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Condom wrapper’s on the floor. I’ll leave it for you to throw away, if that makes you feel any more secure. And just to reassure you, I’m clean.”

Seeing the wrapper he’d mentioned peeking out from under her nightstand, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Not that you seem worried but...just in case, so am I.”

“What?” He was searching for the rest of his clothes.

“Clean. Well, to be totally honest I’ve never been tested. I wouldn’t even know where to go to get tested. But I’ve only been with three other guys, and one of them was clear back in high school, when we were both virgins.”

He got down to peer under the bed and came up with a missing sock. “Going by what you told me last night, they were all from around here.”

“What difference does that make?”

“This place doesn’t strike me as a hotbed for venereal disease.”

She watched as he sat down and pulled on his hiking-style boots. He stood without lacing them. “Don’t tell me I gave you my whole sexual history,” she said.

“Why? You don’t have much of one. It didn’t take long.”

“Sounds as if I was a bit of a blabbermouth.” That wasn’t appealing. She probably wasn’t experienced enough for him.

“You were trying to explain why you were so hungry for a man.”

There was no judgment or accusation in his tone. It sounded as though he was merely trying to jog her memory. But she didn’t want to be perceived as sexually aggressive. Most people didn’t consider that a positive trait, especially when it was associated with a woman. “I’m sorry if I was too...uninhibited or—or overeager.”

“You were honest about your needs, which is why I thought I could fulfill them. Our exchange was simple. Straightforward. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

He reached for his shirt. “You’re not?”

She knew he was referring to the many orgasms he’d given her and changed the subject. “Why are you here? In Whiskey Creek, I mean. What brought you to this area?”

“I wanted a change of pace. Heard it was pretty up this way.”

“So it’s not because of your job.”

“I’m taking some time off.”

She noticed another scar, this one on his back. “Were you in a car accident or something?”

He didn’t seem surprised by the question. She could only assume he heard it every time he bared his upper body. “No.”

“What happened?”

“Shark attack.”

What she saw didn’t look like a shark bite. It looked like he’d been cut by a knife, or maybe he’d been caught in barbed wire. “Really?”

“No.”

For whatever reason, he didn’t want her to know anything about him. “Are you like this with all women—or is it just me?”

He didn’t answer. After shrugging into his shirt, he buttoned it and then paused at the foot of the bed. “Last night was—” he seemed to be putting some effort into choosing the right words “—a welcome diversion. Thank you.”

“And thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of trash you tossed aside.” Those words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. She was offended that he wouldn’t even tell her his name, that she’d had to remember it without any help from him, but she could only blame herself for this situation. She was the one who’d extended the invitation. Actually, she’d done more than that. She’d enticed him. She’d never acted so wanton in her life.

She thought he’d walk out on her. But he didn’t. As he stood there, staring at her, a muscle moved in his cheek. “Do you ever have any thoughts that don’t come out of your mouth?”

She raised her chin to let him know she didn’t care if he approved of her or not. The fact that last night really hadn’t meant anything to him, not even enough that he’d want to have a cup of coffee together, stung and she’d reacted. She wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. “Not often. Why, does my frank approach wound your sensitive nature?”

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

The disappointment and anger he inspired bubbled to the surface again. “If I was as good at feeling nothing as you seem to be, I wouldn’t have any trouble divorcing my mouth from my heart. Maybe not caring is something you get better at with practice.”