Page 38 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“As one does in that situation,” Simone echoed.

“She begged me to get her out of there so her family wouldn’t see her,” Hayden continued. “I took her to my place in hopes of sobering her up before she went back to the inn.”

Not his best idea.

“She was talking nonsense about not being good enough. About not being desirable. I simply meant to comfort her when I hugged her.” He groaned. “She got the wrong idea and started kissing me.”

For as long as he’d known Elle, he’d never looked at her in a romantic way. At least not consciously. Once her lips landed on his, however, he was a goner. Elle was no longer his “buddy” of twenty-something years, the person who knew all his secrets. She was a living breathing sensual woman who had the power to drive his body wild.

“Holy moly. And you kissed her back.” Xander sounded disappointed.

“Are you kidding? She was drunk. No way was I going to take advantage of her like that.”

He was a liar.

Given the situation, Hayden might have lingered a bit longer than was appropriate. He blamed the shock of the kiss for his hesitance to end it. His friends didn’t need to know that, though.

Simone breathed a sigh that sounded like relief. “On behalf of women everywhere, thank you.”

“But you liked the kiss, right?” Xander demanded.

Hell, yeah!

“That has no bearing on the situation,” he replied instead.

Simone snorted. “It does if you felt something for her. She’s your best friend, Hayden. And who knows? She might be more than that. Yet instead of resolving whatever this is between you guys, you avoided discussing it when she was sober. Dude, you dodged the subject for an entireyear.”

“You said it yourself,” he argued. “She’s my best friend. I didn’t want to jeopardize that.”

“I call bull. You are too chickenshit to talk with her about your feelings is more like it,” Simone muttured. “What happened after the kiss?”

“She cried herself to sleep at my place.”

He got up and walked over to the window. Seeming to detect his uneasiness, Beula jumped up on the sill and nudged her head beneath his hands. Hayden absently stroked the cat’s soft fur as the memories flooded back.

His months in rehab weren’t as torturous as that night had been. Getting her away from the reception so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of her family was his singular thought at the time. Taking her to his place was only natural. They hung out there whenever she was in town.

As soon as they arrived, he’d headed to the kitchen to get her some water and a packet of liquid IV. When he returned to the living room, Elle was shimmying out of her velvet bridesmaid dress, leaving her wearing only a push-up bra and thong panties. Simply recalling the vision of her miles and miles of flawless skin begging to be touched had him semi-aroused again.

Somehow, he managed to grab a T-shirt from his gym bag he’d left by the door and tossed it to her. She struggled to get it over her elaborate updo. Of course, she giggled before nearly toppling over. He reluctantly reached in to help her. They both froze when skin met skin.

Then the waterworks started again. Hayden had never wanted to physically hurt someone as badly as he wanted to punish Jeremy Keneally. The bastard made Elle feel less than, and Hayden hated him for it. Wrapping his arms around her to offer her comfort had been automatic. Brotherly almost.

That was until her lips found his.

Nothing was tentative or shy about the way she kissed him, either. She was demanding and needy, as if her life depended on their bodies being melded together. And Hayden, being a red-blooded male, was all in for it.

Her floral scent wafted over him, wrapping him in a sensuous fog. He allowed himself to savor her sweet taste. As ashamed as he was by his body’s immediate and intense reaction to her, he conceded that he’d be a fool not to spend a minute sampling what she was offering.

Until his conscience began to bellow at him. When he finally dug up the strength of will to tear his lips from hers, he forced himself to take a giant step back. And then another one.

Shit, he’d whispered.

It was the wrong thing to say. Her face contorted into a mask of pain. Then, she hightailed it into his bedroom and slammed the door.

He didn’t want to leave things like that. His body screamed at him to go beg her to forgive him. Only he knew where they’d end up if he did. Lucky for him, gallantry, steel will and common sense won out. He retreated to the lumpy sofa in his workshop, staring at the ceiling as he tried to sleep.

“The next day, she jetted back to New York without a word. As Xander has so astutely pointed out, we’ve barely spoken since.”

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