Zack Baker
Rip It Open.
Tegan dressed without turning on any lights, pulling a pair of shorts and an oversize T-shirt. She moved around the room on tiptoe, easing the bathroom door shut and running only a small amount of water.
Not enough to wake him, she probably thought. But she had. Zack lay without moving. He wondered what she was doing, but decided to say nothing.
Without even glancing his direction, she sneaked from the room, the door shutting with a barely audible click.
His gut clenched.
Without wanting to, he thought of Gena, the way she’d behaved, telling him one thing, doing another, spending the night away from home without calling.
But Tegan wasn’t Gena.
He knew that, but that didn’t make her leaving him without a note or a word any easier to take.
Energy gnawing at him, he got up, showered and dressed. He’d killed half an hour, and she still wasn’t back.
He prowled the room, imagining the sound of her sighs, the scent of her, woman and temptation, topped by an innocently floral fragrance.
She was getting to him.
He cared about her, cared where he was and what she was doing. Damn it, he wanted her here, with him. He wanted to shower her with the affection he couldn’t admit to; he ached to hold her, feel her, explore her.
A key slid into the lock.
He forced himself to sit at the small table and look relaxed. Realizing he was drumming his fingers on the table, he cured his hand into a fist and held it steady.
Closing the door and juggling a package, she smiled. “Morning,” she said softly.
Fear, something he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling, evaporated.
“I wanted to do a little shopping,” she said.
“I’d have gone with you.”
“I know you would have, but I wanted to do this alone.”
“Oh.”
She sashayed across the carpet, holding her hand behind her back. “I got you seomthing,” she said, leaning down to feather her lips across his forehead.
“You’re all I want.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly.
“Yum,” she said. “Now wait, I want to give you this.” She wriggled from his lap and took a box from the bag.
It was wrapped in Christmas paper sporting reindeer and a sleigh, and even had red and green ribbons, accented with a gold bow.
It had been a lot of years since he’d received a Christmas present.
Frustrating him to New York and back, his hand shook as he slid a finger beneath the tape.
“Rip it open,” she encouraged.
Inside, he found a stuffed Santa Claus.
“Since they’re having Christmas in July, I was able to find this. Do you like him?”
“He’s…” How did he say thanks for something that meant more than words could express? How did he say he was sorry for doubting her? “Perfect…” he murmured.
“I got him because you said you stopped believing in Santa Claus. I figured…now that we’ll be having real Christmases maybe you could believe again.”
He exhaled a shaky breath. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“I was hoping maybe you’d show me?”
He could think of nothing he’d like better.
Not enough to wake him, she probably thought. But she had. Zack lay without moving. He wondered what she was doing, but decided to say nothing.
Without even glancing his direction, she sneaked from the room, the door shutting with a barely audible click.
His gut clenched.
Without wanting to, he thought of Gena, the way she’d behaved, telling him one thing, doing another, spending the night away from home without calling.
But Tegan wasn’t Gena.
He knew that, but that didn’t make her leaving him without a note or a word any easier to take.
Energy gnawing at him, he got up, showered and dressed. He’d killed half an hour, and she still wasn’t back.
He prowled the room, imagining the sound of her sighs, the scent of her, woman and temptation, topped by an innocently floral fragrance.
She was getting to him.
He cared about her, cared where he was and what she was doing. Damn it, he wanted her here, with him. He wanted to shower her with the affection he couldn’t admit to; he ached to hold her, feel her, explore her.
A key slid into the lock.
He forced himself to sit at the small table and look relaxed. Realizing he was drumming his fingers on the table, he cured his hand into a fist and held it steady.
Closing the door and juggling a package, she smiled. “Morning,” she said softly.
Fear, something he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling, evaporated.
“I wanted to do a little shopping,” she said.
“I’d have gone with you.”
“I know you would have, but I wanted to do this alone.”
“Oh.”
She sashayed across the carpet, holding her hand behind her back. “I got you seomthing,” she said, leaning down to feather her lips across his forehead.
“You’re all I want.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly.
“Yum,” she said. “Now wait, I want to give you this.” She wriggled from his lap and took a box from the bag.
It was wrapped in Christmas paper sporting reindeer and a sleigh, and even had red and green ribbons, accented with a gold bow.
It had been a lot of years since he’d received a Christmas present.
Frustrating him to New York and back, his hand shook as he slid a finger beneath the tape.
“Rip it open,” she encouraged.
Inside, he found a stuffed Santa Claus.
“Since they’re having Christmas in July, I was able to find this. Do you like him?”
“He’s…” How did he say thanks for something that meant more than words could express? How did he say he was sorry for doubting her? “Perfect…” he murmured.
“I got him because you said you stopped believing in Santa Claus. I figured…now that we’ll be having real Christmases maybe you could believe again.”
He exhaled a shaky breath. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“I was hoping maybe you’d show me?”
He could think of nothing he’d like better.