White Hot Christmas
a short story
by
LAUREN LAYNE
Disclaimer :: This is freebie story, given as a gift and written with love and
Christmasy vibes, but not professionally edited.
There are likely to be typos, which should absolutely not be taken as an
indicator of the professionalism of this author’s other books, all of which are
put through a vigorous editing process.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Chapter One
To Matt Dawson’s way of thinking, Christmas was a useful holiday for two groups of
people:
(1) Children under the age of ten who still believed that a fat man really could shimmy
down a chimney, eat a dozen cookies, then shimmy back up again.
(2) Retailers, especially the ones adept at convincing last minute shoppers that yes, their
brother-in-law really did want a year long subscription service to gourmet salami.
As at thirty-three year old attorney, Matt fit into neither category.
He didn’t hate Christmas. He wasn’t a modern day Scrooge or Grinch. But he was a
bachelor, and one without much family.
Christmas Day to Matt mostly meant that he got a very rare day off from work. An
opportunity to drink whisky and read a book without his phone ringing—much.
Christmas Eve though? Bah humbug.
At 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Matt was right where he usually was: in his office at Bryant
and Barnes Law Firm.
He didn’t mind, not really. The combination of the holiday and the doomsday weather
forecast meant he had the office to himself, which was a rarity at the fast-paced, high profile firm
where he worked.
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Still, he’d been in front of his computer too long, and a headache was looming. He
pushed back from his desk and stood, setting both hands atop dark hair as he turned to look out at
the night sky.
Matt blinked in surprise at the swirling snowflakes. Sure, the forecasters had been
rambling all week about the atypical convergence of this, that and the other weather system that
would be resulting in a supposedly epic snow storm.
But the weather guys got it wrong more often than not, and Seattle wasn’t exactly known
for having brutal winters, much less blizzards.
However, with the way the snow was whipping around, it looked like all the dire
warnings about road closures and power outages might not been off-base.
Matt sighed and dragged his hand over his face. Time to head out. Maybe he’d even get
to bed early and get the first decent night’s sleep in...weeks? Months?
Shit, years?
He blew out a slow breath. It’s not that he felt sorry for himself. As a rich lawyer, Matt
was living the dream. His dream.
An early addiction to courtroom drama had led Matt straight into law school. From there,
he’d made a list of his top five Seattle law firms, biding his time until his number-one offered
him a job.
They had.
He’d accepted.
Matt had only been at Bryant and Barnes for six years, which was barely a blink in a law
career, and yet his eyes had never left the prize: partner.
And he was close. It wasn’t imminent, necessarily, but his entrance into the firm had been
fortuitous as some of the Bryan and Barnes “legacy” partners were eying that elusive sunnyweather retirement home.
He may only be thirty-three, but he was more than ready for the next step in his career.
The only obstacle?
Avery Hart.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
He snarled at the thought, deciding that bed could wait, and the snow could suck it. He
needed to work twice as hard as Hart. Twice as long.
Matt turned his attention back to work and lost track of the time. By the time he finally
registered that his stomach was grumbling, it was half past eight. An early end-time by his usual
standards, but later than he’d intended given the weather.
He dropped the files of his two most high profile cases into his laptop bag, and turned off
the lights before heading towards the elevator lobby.
As expected, the office was dead quiet, the rest of his colleagues long gone to sip
champagne with spouses and stuff stockings for children.
But there was at least one coworker who didn’t have children, even though Matt knew
first hand that she wanted them some day.
She wasn’t married either. Although she had been at one time.
That colleague? Standing in the deserted elevator lobby, looking annoyingly hot in a slim
gray suit and killer blue heels.
Matt paused, tempted to back up and out of sight until she’d gotten on the elevator.
Normally he loved a good fight with Avery Hart. Craved it.
But for some reason engaging with her on Christmas Eve felt risky. Dangerous.
He was too late. Her brown eyes had already found his, locked on, and dared him to
approach. And he didn’t ever walk away from a dare. Not one that came from her.
He ambled closer, ignoring her scowl. “Slacking off a little early tonight, aren’t we,
Counselor?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and checked her watch. “Actually, I’d planned to work on the
O’Brien case a little longer, but I just … I kept catching whiffs of something foul. A bachelorman-whore scents seeping through the vents.”
Matt nodded as though he was considering this. “I can understand how that would make
it hard for you to concentrate, what with all the pheromones revving your engines.”
Not his best comeback, and her eye roll told him she knew it.
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She turned to face the elevator door, lifting a manicured hand to smooth her hair. A
pointless gesture. Avery always wore her dark brown hair in one of those cliche career-woman
knots at the nape of her neck.
Not a single strand had a chance of slipping free.
In fact, Matt was fairly certain that he was the only in their office who’d ever seen her
hair down around her shoulders. The only person to know that when loose, it swept more than
halfway down her back.
Or at least it had at one time. A lot could change in ten years.
“I hear you won the Daramore case. Congratulations,” Avery said, with a not-so-subtle
look at her watch.
Matt snorted. “You can drop the act. No partners around to give you brownie points for
playing nice.”
“Says the guy who made made a ridiculous production out of bringing in overpriced
liquor as Christmas gifts for the bosses, and then drank it with them. Could this place be any
more boys’ club?”
Matt would never admit it, but he felt a flicker of guilt. Not about the Christmas gifts—
whisky’d been a sure bet gift for colleagues for decades. But the boys’ club accusation hit home.
Avery was the only female attorney in the firm, and though he’d like to think all the men
stopped short of chauvinistic, it couldn’t be easing being her. It wasn’t that any of the senior
partners meant to exclude her, but things did tend to run old-school.
Then Avery opened her mouth, and all his sympathy fled
“Your attempt to whore yourself into making partner is disgusting,” she snapped.
His eyes narrowed. “Right. So you’re telling me you’re not wearing those skyscraper
heels because you know full well that Albert Bryant told everyone at the holiday party that you
gad phenomenal calves?”
“I like wearing these shoes,” she said primly, the faintest flush of pink on her cheeks
giving away the lie.
He leaned forward slightly. “Liar.”
They both knew that she got nasty cramps in the arch of her foot after wearing anything
higher than a couple inches.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Although she really did have great calves. Long. Toned. Slim. Perfect.
Knock it off, Dawson.
He needed to get the hell out of here.
“Hey, Hart,” he said, studying her too-familiar profile.
“What?” she hissed, her efforts at being civil all used up.She never did last very long with
the “play nice” routine. Not with him, anyway.
He tucked his tongue into his cheek in the I’m-amused-in-a-condescending-way that he
knew she hated. “I realize that you seem to be able to control every male in the office with your
sexy heels and oops-I-forgot-a-button shirts, but the elevator has no hormones. You actually have
to hit the physical button.”
Avery’s head spun around towards the elevator buttons. “I did hit the button. Maybe the
light’s not working. And there is nothing wrong with the way I wear my shirts, or my shoes, and
if you can’t handle having a woman around, maybe you should—“
He moved around her towards the elevator, ignoring her futile defense of her dignity. He
hadn’t meant it anyway. Avery would never use cleavage or sexy shoes to get her way.
Instead she used a single-mindedness that simply knocked down everything in her path.
And everyone.
Matt stabbed the elevator button with more force than necessary. Goading her was never
as satisfying as he expected it to be. The memories were even more toxic than the woman
herself.
It took him a second to realize that she was right. The elevator button wasn’t lighting up
like it should. Matt hit it again. Nothing.
“What the...”
Avery let out a little groan from behind him. “What day is it?”
He shot her a glance over his shoulder. “Well Counselor, I could be wrong, but I think
Christmas Eve is one of those holidays that falls on the same day every year...”
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Matt’s voice broke off when he saw her rubbing her fingers into her eye sockets. “What?
Is there some sort of elevator spirit that only comes out on Christmas Eve?”
“I don’t give a crap about Christmas,” she snapped. “Don’t you remember getting that
memo? The one that Libby sent out last week?”
Somehow Matt didn’t think now would be the best time that he rarely read Libby’s
emails. Their office manager was wonderfully competent, but she if there was a such thing about
over-communicative, Libby was the poster child.
“Refresh my memory,” he said.
Avery opened her eyes and lifted a hand in the direction of the elevator. “She marked the
email as high-importance. And sent out a reminder this morning. They repainted, or re-floored
the elevators or something, then took them out of commission at eight tonight. They probably
figured that a holiday would be as good a time as any with most people heading home early.”
Most people. But not them.
“Well, shit,” Matt said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I guess that does sound
kind of familiar. I think this is maybe the first time I’ve regretted that Bryant and Barnes’ offices
are on the fifty-fourth floor. But...but if we have to do stairs, better down than up, right?”
He was already heading towards the stairwell, mentally bracing himself for a long-ass
trek down to the underground parking garage when he realized Avery wasn’t following him.
“You can take your shoes off,” he said, gesturing at the high heels. “I won’t tell.”
She chewed her lip, still not moving.
Matt rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Let me guess. You want to space our our departure so
we don’t actually have to walk together.”
But Avery was already moving away from him, and not in the direction of the stairwell.
Then he saw it. Might have missed it if he wasn’t checking out her calves and her ass, but
…
Matt closed his eyes, prayed he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. Looked again.
Shit.
“You’re limping, Counselor Hart.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
She paused, turning her head just slightly. “I’ve been training for a half-marathon. I tried
to follow one of those planned schedules, but they take so damn long, so I sort of combined a
couple of runs.”
You little idiot. “You’re hurt.”
Avery lifted a shoulder. “Just my knee. No big deal.”
Maybe not a big deal under normal circumstances. But clearly her knee wasn’t up to
fifty-four flights of stairs. “So what’s your plan, you’re sleeping here?”
Avery kept walking. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Matt stood there for several seconds in the elevator lobby, debating his options.
Sanity demanded that he leave her right where she was. The building had heat, and there
was likely to be something in the fridge that she could have for dinner.
He took half a step towards the stairs. Turned back.
Get moving, Dawson, he commanded himself. She’ll be fine. Hell, she’d probably prefer
to be alone than with you.
Matt closed his eyes and counted to five before swearing and following Avery into the
office. He wasn’t leaving her alone. Not on Christmas Eve.
He didn’t hate anyone enough to do that.
Not even his ex-wife.
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Chapter Two
“Just our luck. Someone picked today to throw away any food without a date and
named.”
Avery let her eyes go wide. “You mean someone didn’t actually plan for us to get stuck
up here on Christmas night and need to eat somebody else’s moldy tuna?”
Matt set a Tupperware on her desk before dropping into the chair across from her. “What
kind of monster brings tuna into a community kitchen?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut when she remembered that going
down this path with Matt was like going down a freaking rabbit hole.
Were they seriously on the verge of arguing about the etiquette of tuna?
Not that she was surprised. They’d spent most of their adult lives figuring out ways to
argue with each other.
Avery pulled the Tupperware towards her. “Where’s your dinner?”
He held up two forks and pointed at the lone container on her desk.
She lifted an eyebrow before tapping her fingernail against the tidy label on the top. “I
knew this day would happen. The day where your head became so big with ego that you’d forget
how to read. Let me help. This label here says Avery Hart. My salad. My dinner.”
He stared at the label for another second before his grey-blue flicked to hers. “You know,
even after all this time, I still struggle to think of you as Avery Hart.”
Avery’s stomach flipped at the flash of intensity in his eyes, although his expression
quickly returned to bored. “You’re not still sulking because I took my own last name back?”
Matt lifted a shoulder and reached for her salad. “You have to admit, Avery Dawson had a
nice ring to it.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“Indeed,” she said, grabbing the salad back and pulling it towards her. “In fact I’d say the
name was the most pleasant part of the marriage.”
“Well at least one of us got something out of it,” he said, ignoring her outstretched hand
as she wiggled her fingers for a fork.
“Oh don’t be silly, Matty. You know you have me to thank for all those gray hairs and
your phobia of commitment.”
He reached out a hand towards a pile of case files on her desk and she pounced on them
before she remembered who she was dealing with. The second her hands left the salad container,
he grabbed it, wrestling the lid off and digging in with a fork.
Avery sighed and leaned over to grab the other fork from his hand and he inched the salad
towards her so they could share.
“I’m not completely commitment-phobic, you know,” he said, spearing a tomato.
“Oh yah? When’s the wedding. Can I be the flower girl?”
He didn’t say anything and she briefly stopped chewing the crunchy romaine. “Wait. No
way. You’re seeing someone?”
Matt didn’t meet her eyes, and although Avery had been starving just five seconds before,
she felt suddenly queasy.
Not that she cared if Matt was seeing someone. She didn’t even care if he was marrying
someone, although she’d have a few choice words of advice for the lucky lady. Namely, run.
And yet the thought of him smiling down at bride who wasn’t her, slipping a ring on
someone else’s finger …
She grabbed for her water bottle in an attempt to wash down the now rancid-tasting salad,
only to see him smirking at her.
“Gotcha,” he said, as he resumed eating, stabbing four of the croutons and ignoring all of
the cucumbers.
Embarrassment warred with loathing as she contemplated how much damage she could to
his perfect features with a plastic fork.
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“Whatever,” she muttered.
“You looked ready to hurl there for a minute,” he said waving his for in her face.
“What can I say, the thought of some poor woman having to endure what I went through
makes me physically ill.”
Matt’s smirky expression showed he saw right through her, but mercifully he let it drop.
Probably because he didn’t want to go there any more than she did.
“So I’ve got two questions for you,” he said, changing the subject and pushing the
container back towards her.
“Unfortunate, because I seem to be fresh out of answers for you.”
He ignored this. “First, this salad was clearly made this morning, and yet it’s completely
full tonight. No lunch?”
Avery gave him an oh-come-on look. “Please. Like you’ve never skipped lunch?”
She knew he skipped lunch all the time. And other meals too. They both did. Because at
this stage in a criminal attorney’s career, there was often quite literally not enough hours in the
day. Food took a back stage to putting in hours.
Everything put a back stage into getting ahead.
Including each other. But that was old news.
“You should eat, Counselor,” he said quietly.
Avery made a big show of holding up her fork and loading it up with veggies before
shoving it in her mouth. “Worried about me, Dawson?
She didn’t care that she was talking with her mouth full. It was just Matt.
“Not worried about your health so much, as what Judge Hampton would do with himself
if your ass gets less shapely and he has to actually listen to what you’re saying.”
Avery winced. She wasn’t particularly grateful for the reminder that one of the district’s
oldest and toughest judges was a sexist jerk, but it mollified her slightly to know that Matt at
least recognized this.
Avery’s case record was nearly pristine, but she always sweat a little when Judge
Hampton was assigned to one of her cases. The man was about one ass-tap away from calling her
little lady.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Meanwhile, the second the judge stopped ogling her breasts, he’d be badgering Matt to
play golf.
She tried not to care. She hated golf. But she did care. She had to. Because as much as
she’d like to think she and Matt were on a level playing field on their quest for partner, they
weren’t quite on the same playing field.
“You had a second question?” she asked, moving her water bottle out of his reach as he
tried to make a swipe for it.
“Ah yes, this bum knee of yours,” he said, leaning back in the chair and studying her.
Avery narrowed her eyes. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what.”
“Like you’re the big, bad lion who’s just identified the antelope with the limp.”
He gave her a slow smile, displaying a row of obnoxiously white, even teeth. “Sweetie,
you’ve always been easy prey for me, even without the bad knee. But back to my question...you
can’t possibly tell me that those killer shoes are helping your knee.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gosh, I never thought of that. I wish I had you around to help me
think these things through so I could have purchased a nice pair of garden clogs to match my
suit.”
“Calm down, nobody’s telling you to go all frumpy. I’m just suggesting more practical
shoes.”
“First you’re concerned about me not eating. Then it’s my knee and my shoes.” Avery
folded her hands in front of her, leaning forward slightly the way she did when she tried to put
clients as ease. “Counselor Dawson, would it be safe to say that you’re...worried about me?”
She was goading him, obviously. It was what they did. But for a second his eyes
shuttered slightly as though trying to keep her out. As though she’d struck a chord.
Which made no sense. Because Matt Dawson had lost the right to worry about her when
they were twenty-three and in the midst of a nasty divorce. Even their race to find the best
divorce lawyer had been a competition. Just like their entire marriage.
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And yet...he’s stayed with her tonight, knowing that he was in for a long, barely civil
evening of unpleasantries. Not only that, but he was in her office with her, when he could have
just as easily been camping out in his own and ignoring her.
They should be spending the night working. Alone.
And yet here they were. Together.
Which meant …
Matt was up to something.
And knew from experience that was nothing more dangerous than Matt Dawson with a
plan. Unless it was Matt Dawson fresh out of a shower, smelling all clean and manly and...
Do not go there, Avery. That door is shut. And locked.
But it was hard to ignore the fact that this was the first time they’d been alone together in
God knows how long.
Avery kept waiting for the rush of memories of them arguing. Of stilted, cold dinners
when she’d gone through the rare effort of cooking, only to have him show up two hours late. Of
chilly silences when he’d sent her flowers at her internship office only to have her forget all
about them and forget to say thank you.
There was one memory that was loud and clear though. A memory of a night when he’d
come home at four in the morning, looking wrinkled and smelling like someone else’s perfume.
The same night her best friend had called and seen that she’d spotted Matt at a restaurant
with a woman.
A woman that hadn’t been Avery.
And yet, though that memory was there—it was always there—it wasn’t the one at the
forefront right now.
The memories currently going through her head like a little slide show were lazy Sunday
mornings when they’d banned all law school materials and laptops from the bedroom, and spent
the day eating pop tarts in bed and watching crappy daytime movies.
It was the rare times when they’d both made it home before 9 p.m, and the worst
argument was about what kind of pizza to order.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
It was the look in his eyes when he’d asked her to marry him in a rush of twenty-two year
old enthusiasm, the way she’d felt when she’d said yes.
And just like that, the memories shifted. They shifted hard, and she was remembering the
look of her eyes when she told him she was walking away. For good.
“Okay, I confess,” he said quietly, yanking her away from memory-lane. “I was briefly
concerned about your health.”
Avery’s heart did a surprised little flip. “You were?”
“Definitely.”
This time it was him that leaned forward in lawyer mode, but this wasn’t placating the
client Matt, this was slay the opposing counsel Matt.
Avery braced for it.
“See, Hart … when I beat you to partner, I don’t want it to be because you were
malnourished or limping, or any other way incapacitated. I want you to know that I beat you,
straight out, when you were at your best. But that I was better.”
There was only the briefest flash of sadness before the old animosity set in.
Avery slipped on her unreadable courtroom face. “Big talk, Counselor, but I could be
half-starved and crippled, and I’ll still climb all the way to the top of this firm’s ladder while
you’re still trying to figure out which tramp’s bed you left your boxers in.”
“I wear briefs.”
She knew that, of course. Best to let him think she’d forgotten.
Their gazes caught and in mutual understanding for several moments, with only the
sound of the howling wind to break the tense silence.
Finally she looked away, gesturing grandly towards her office door. “If you’re done
eating my dinner, go back to your office. Neither of is going to get any closer to partner sitting
here arguing.”
He blinked, and for a second she thought he might have been hurt.
Instead he smiled, sharklike and sexy as he stood up. “Suit yourself.”
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The lights flickered.
Then flickered again.
The next time they went out, they stayed out.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Chapter Three
“Tell me again why we’re sitting in the conference room, when I could be in my own
office?” Avery asked.
Matt spun in one of the plush leather chairs of the main conference room to glance at
Avery’s shadowy profile. “Well counselor, if you’d prefer to go sit alone in the dark, by all
means.”
For a second, he thought she was going to take him up on it. That she actually figured
sitting in the dark by herself would be preferable to sitting in the dark with him.
Instead she let out a tiny sigh and wheeled her chair nearer the window. “You know how
many times I’ve been in this conference room wishing I had just five seconds to appreciate the
view? And the one time I actually have nothing to do but look at the view, I can’t see a single
thing.”
He scooted his own chair closer to hers until they were sitting side by side, looking out at
the storm. “Yeah, it’s weird that the blizzard storm didn’t predict that you’d train too hard and
ruin your knee and ignore the email that we were supposed to be out of here by a certain time
tonight.”
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“Hey, you didn’t pay attention to the email either!”
“Hence why I’m not whining about it,” he said with a shrug. “My own fault, and nothing
we can do about it now. Besides, if I had read the email, you’d be all alone, because I’m betting
Santa has no idea where to deliver your coal.”
She let out a tired sigh, leaning forward so her forehead was against the glass, and he felt
a little sting of regret that she seemed so unhappy with the way her evening had turned out.
Not that this was exactly how he’d pictured his Christmas Eve either, but he had the
strange sense that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“I’ve never seen the city so dark,” she murmured, looking out at the powerless city.
“Guess they weren’t kidding about the blizzard.”
“Silver lining,” he said, watching her profile. “At least you’re finally getting your White
Christmas.”
She sat up straight, turning towards him with a wide smile. “I didn’t even think of it that
way. You’re so right.”
“It happens.”
“Rarely,” she muttered. But she was smiling as she said it.
The softness on her face made his chest tighten. He cleared his throat. “Did you have
plans?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I told Shawna and Dane I’d try to stop by their Christmas Eve
party, but I was non-committal.”
He gave her a knowing look. “Meaning, Shawna was going to let you know whether or
not I showed up, so knew whether or not to stay away?”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Shawna and Dane were two of the few mutual friends they’d
both stayed in contact with, and they were both well trained in the art of avoiding the other.
“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t planning to go,” he said.
She met his eyes. “No? Other plans?”
He shook his head. “I’m not the Christmas nut, remember.”
This time her smile was wistful. “I’m not really one either. Not anymore. Not quite as fun
putting the tree up for one. Cooking for one. Stockings for one …”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Like him, Avery didn’t have much in the way of family. Was likely too busy with work to
maintain any close friendships.
He was in the same boat, but the thought of her being alone made him … sad.
Then again, the thought of her celebrating with someone else—a man—that was worse.
Much worse.
“What about you?” she asked. “Big plans for Christmas?”
Matt sighed and closed his eyes. “Does sleeping count? I so wanted to sleep.”
Avery burst out laughing. “Exactly what I asked Santa for.”
And then suddenly they were trading stories.
About friends’ birthdays forgotten, and missed calls to the limited family they did have.
The days when they didn’t have any clean underwear.
She told him about the book-club she’d had to drop out of, and he told her about the
season tickets he never used.
The plans they rarely made, and even more rarely kept.
And, damn but it it felt good to talk to her.
And not because it had been way too long since he’d had good conversation with a
woman.
It felt good because it was her.
They’d become better listeners over the years, he noticed.
They’d both loved loved to talk, but it had once been a war to see who could be right
first, or who could get the last word. There was an easier rhythm now. Which didn’t make sense
considering that they’d spent the last decade at each other’s throat.
Matt lost track of how long they sat there talking, but he was pretty sure it had to be some
sort of record for the longest time gone without a fight.
Avery’s stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard even over the crash of wind and
snow against the window pane, reminding both of them that they’d shared a salad that was
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CO
mostly lettuce. It hadn’t even had chunks of chicken. He never understood what it was with
women liking little chicken bites in their salad, and he didn’t really care. Tonight he wouldn’t
have minded some protein, because he was starving.
She gave him a sly look. “When you were raiding the fridge, did you happen to notice if
that plate of Christmas cookies was still on the counter?”
Matt pushed out of chair. “Say no more.”
“And a Diet Coke!” she called after him.
He rolled his eyes. Some things never changed. Her love of Diet Coke, apparently, was
one of them.
Matt grabbed the plate of cookies, two Diet Cokes, and a dry looking sandwich that had
someone else’s name on it, but he was beyond caring.
Armed with their less than nutritious dinner, Matt made his way back into the conference
room.
He paused in the doorway as he realized she was talking silently into her cell phone.
Matt felt a little pang that she had someone to call. Someone who might care that she
wouldn’t be coming home tonight.
He had...nobody.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I love you too.”
Matt felt the bottom of his stomach fall out at the painful memory. Of the memory of
what it had used to feel like when he’d been the one she said that to. White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Chapter Four
Avery nibbled on the corner of a Santa sugar cookie and skeptically eyed her ex-husband.
“You just made that up,” she accused.
He devoured a snickerdoodle with red and green sprinkles. “You’ve never heard the
stories about William Bryant having a heart-attack in the office at the age of eighty-two, because
he refused to fully retire?”
“William Bryant didn’t have the heart attack at the eight of eighty-two because he refused
to retire. He had a heart attack because he was eighty-two.”
Matt shrugged. “He still died. Right here in this room.”
She took a bigger bite of the cookie. “I know for a fact that the Bryant & Barnes firm
didn’t move to this office space until after poor William had kicked the bucket.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain all the creaky noises in here?”
“Well let’s see. We’re in the middle of an epic storm, in a high-rise building that is
designed to sway and rock, and probably creak a little with big winds?”
Matt sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him, scooting down in his chair so he
was facing the darkened nigh. “Fine then. Your turn for a scary story.”
“Why are we telling scary stories? We should be telling Christmas stories.”
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“I don’t know any good Christmas stories.”
“Well based on what I’ve heard, you don’t know any good scary ones either,” she said.
He sighed. “Oh Counselor. You have no imagination.”
Avery opened her mouth to argue, but shut it when she realized he was right. She didn’t
have much of an imagination. She’d always preferred math tests to writing, biographies to
poetry, and she didn’t even remotely believe in ghosts.
What she should be doing is trying to get some much needed sleep, since there was
nothing else that can be accomplished tonight. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would be the the
earliest she’d gone to bed in months. Perhaps she could even get more than five hours and at
least pretend to fight back against the purple bags that had taken up permanent residence under
her eyes.
But she didn’t move.
Because shock of all shocks, she was enjoying herself. With Matt. Her ex-husband who
she’d spent the past several years avoiding. And hating.
Except she’d never hated him. Not really.
And being here with him like this tonight reminded her of that. Reminded her that
beneath the snark and the competition and the too-easy charm, there was a man under there. A
man she’d once loved.
And who’d loved her back.
At least until he’d stopped.
Avery let out a deep breath through the pain. It shouldn’t hurt. Not after all this time. But
she couldn’t forget.
Didn’t want to forget. Because she needed to remember that this was a man who could
hurt her.
Even if he did make her heart beat too fast.
“Maybe we should try to turn in for the night,” she said quietly, suddenly too aware of the
two of them in a quiet, confined space. Sleeping would give her an excuse to go back to her own
office and try to ignore the fact that he’d be sleeping just down the hall.
“You’re tired?” he asked.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
No. “Not sure what else we’ll do to pass the time. My laptop’s not charged, so I can’t do
that. My phone battery’s almost dead--”
“And yet you took the time to make a phone call,” he interrupted.
Avery frowned. “What?”
“When I came back in with the cookies. You were finishing up a phone call.”
“I don’t remember having to report my phone conversations to you when we were
married. I certainly don’t have to do it now.”
Her words were tart, and she knew she should be annoyed the fact that he was
eavesdropping.
But there was something in his voice that gave a weird little thrill.
Jealousy.
Avery snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye, barely able to make out his
expression in the dark. His lips were pressed firmly together as he stared out the window, and she
nearly laughed.
Matt wanted to ask who she’d been talking to. Desperately. But he wouldn’t.
And even though she kind of wanted to torture him, the other part of her—the biggest
part of her—wanted him to know that there wasn’t another man.
That there hadn’t been anyone seriously since him. That even as she avoided him, hated
him, sparred with him, no one else even came close.
“It was Carrie,” she said softly.
“Ah. How is Carrie? Still meddling in everybody else’s business?”
His tone was light, and only a wife—or an ex-wife—would recognize the edge in his
voice. It was true. Her best friend was a meddler, but only because she cared.
Of course, Matt wouldn’t see it like that. He’d only see Carrie as the woman who ruined
his marriage. As the woman who’d spotted his philandering ways and ratted him out to his wife.
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He was watching her, his face tense as though there were things he wanted to say, but
instead he shifted in his chair and smiled. “So, counselor. You suck at story-telling. How about a
game?”
“What, like Scrabble?” she asked skeptically.
“Yeah, Scrabble, Avery. I thought I’d just go get the travel board I keep in my desk and
maybe we can play by the light of the birthday candles that Libby keeps in the kitchen.”
She gave him a deliberately bored look and checked her nails. “You know, my mother’s
always said that sarcasm is a symptom of an unoriginal thought process.”
“Your mother is a humorless shrew.”
Avery barely bit back the laugh. He had a point. Neither of her parents were known for
being easygoing. Or warm. They’d also resented mightily that their daughter had a rushed
courthouse wedding at age twenty-two. Not exactly the elaborate church-wedding that her
mother had in mind. A wedding that her parents had envisioned happening after law school.
Preferably even after thirty.
Avery marrying young hadn’t been on her parents agenda. Hell, it hadn’t been on Avery’s
agenda.
But she hadn’t planned on Matt Dawson. Hadn’t planned on a gorgeous, gray-eyed fellow
law student to be everything she’d never known she’d always wanted.
Just five months after their eyes had locked across a crowded class room, he’d put a ring
on her finger.
It had been the happiest moment of her life.
Fifteen months after that, she’d taken the ring off of her finger.
It had been the worst moment of her life.
Everything since then? It had been...good.
Fine.
Not as exhilarating as the good times with Matt. Not as heartbreaking as the bad times.
She shook her head. This dark solitude was getting under her skin. This was exactly why
she’d tried so hard to avoid him the past few years after leaning they’d accepted jobs at the same
firm.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Avery couldn't trust herself around him.
Especially not when he looked at her like that.
“What?” she snapped.
“So you in for a game, or not?”
Instinct and history told her that playing games with Matt was a risky past time. And
yet...
“What kind of game?”
He grinned, his teeth flashing in the dark. “Truth or dare.”
“Oh great, I was hoping to take a trip back to seventh grade tonight.”
“You in our out, Counselor?”
Avery chewed her lip. Truth or Dare? Seriously? She hadn’t been joking about the flash
back to middle school. She wasn’t sure anyone played that past the age of fourteen.
And this particular game with him wouldn’t just be risky. It would be downright
dangerous.
However...
Assuming they both played the game right...assuming they were both up for some
honesty, there were some “truths” she’d kill to know.
Like why he’d cheated on her.
“Okay, I’m in.”
He gave her another smile. Slower this time. Sexy.
On second thought, maybe it wasn’t the truths she should be worried about.
This guy could do a lot of damage with a couple well-placed dares.
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Chapter Five
“Okay, but I get to ask you first,” Avery said.
Matt quickly looked away so she wouldn’t see the flair of triumph, although she probably
knew anyway. God knew they’d spent most of their adult life trying to one-up the other.
And she didn’t know it yet, but she’d definitely been one-upped.
He took a sip of is soda, pretending to hesitate over her demand. “Okay fine. But keep it
clean, Hart.”
She snorted. “I’ll try to control myself. Shouldn’t be hard considering you have green
frosting on your chin.”
He idly wiped his chin while watching her steadily. Waiting.
Finally she sighed. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Truth or Dare?”
“Dare,” he said automatically. It was far too soon in the evening to start spilling his guts.
“Hmmm,” she said, doing a full spin in the conference chair as she considered. “I dare
you to go into Lisa’s office and switch some of her precious ferns around.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Matt fake-snored. “Damn, you must have been the most boring girl at the party when you
were a kid. First of all...that dare’s a snoozer. Second of all...even if it weren’t, Lisa keeps her
office door locked. Just like every other partner and associate in the firm.”
“Okaaaay then,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I dare you to get a mohawk
and wear it to your next client meeting.”
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re a disaster. Dares have to happen tonight.
The point is to pass the time, not develop a to-do list for the next month.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You sure know a lot about this game.”
“One of the risks of being a popular kid. Now you get one more shot.”
Avery pursed her her lips. “I dare you to to untuck your shirt. And leave it untucked for
the rest of the night.”
Matt’s hand faltered as he reached for another cookie. It was no big deal. As far as dares
went, it was tame. And yet...
“It’ll look sloppy.”
Avery gave him a wide grin. “It definitely will. So feel free to pass on the dare. Doesn’t
that mean I get a point or something.”
Matt gritted his teeth before very slowly leaning forward in his chair enough so that he
could pull his white button-down french cuffed shirt out from his trousers.
It wasn’t like he was disrobing or anything. This wasn’t strip poker. And there were a hell
of a lot of guys that would have jumped at the chance to get more comfortable. But Matt hated
looking messy.
And yes, he was aware that that made him a little..fastidious. But the way he saw it, there
were work clothes and casual clothes. There were suits and jeans. Tennis shoes and loafers.
Anything in between made him … grumpy.
Just like Avery knew it did. She’d teased him about his outfits—or manfits, as she’d
called them, constantly.
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And her certainly didn’t miss the way she wasn’t even trying to hide her smug grin as he
tried not to be aware of how slovenly he looked.
“You’re turn,” he said quietly, eager to reclaim the upper hand. “Truth or Dare?”
Her smile slipped the tiniest bit. Excellent. He wasn’t about to be the only one out of his
comfort zone.
“Truth,” she said, her chin going up in a stubborn gesture he remembered all to well. He
was a little surprised by the choice. Avery had always been gutsy, but never with her emotions.
Truth was a risky choice for her.
Then again, perhaps she had changed over the years. God knew he had.
“Truth ...” he said slowly, as though debating what his question would be. As though he
hadn’t had this very question burning into his mind for months. “You were involved with Paul
Baristone?”
Avery’s eyes went wide. “How did you--”
Matt’s chest tightened, although he kept his face blank. “Come on now, Counselor. You
know how small the legal world is. You didn’t think that you dating an associate from one of our
chief competitors would be like the motherlode of office gossip?”
“It was two dates! He showed up late the first time, and I had to leave early the second
time. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but it was hardly a grand romance.”
The tightness in his chest eased ever so slightly. “So how come you didn’t try a third
time?”
She held up a finger. “Uh uh. Even I know that’s not how this game works. Save it for the
next round. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
Was it his imagination or did she looks just the slightest bit disappointed by her response?
Perhaps he wasn’t the only one hoping this night could lead towards some answers.
The wind battered snow against the window for several moments as she considered. “I
dare you to e-mail Andy and tell him you want Friday off.”
Matt went very still. She wasn’t serious. She couldn’t be. “There’s the firm quarterly on
Friday.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“Yup.”
“He’ll freak out.”
She shrugged. “So?”
“You haven’t taken a day off in years,” he accused.
“Neither have you. Hence the dare. It’ll be good for you.”
It would not be good for him. It would be a disaster.
Not that Andy Parsons was unfair. The senior partner was a good enough guy, if a bit
stodgy. But he most definitely did not appreciate last minute vacation-day requests.
And he really didn’t like them on days when he expected all of his associates to be sitting
in this very conference room, listening to innate updates that could have been just as easily
delivered via email.
He couldn’t imagine the reaction on his boss’s face.
But he could imagine the smug look on Avery’s face if he passed on the dare.
No fucking way.
Wordlessly, Matt pulled his phone out of his back pocket and swiftly and purposefully
composed a brief, no-nonsense email to Andy. He was tempted to throw in a fake family
emergency or imply some sort of doomsday reasoning for his uncharacteristic day out of the
office, but instead he kept it short and direct. No excuses, just a brief apology for the late notice.
If his hands were a little sweaty, he ignored this. It was all worth it for the look of shock
on Avery’s face when she held out her hand for his phone and read the email in his sent mail.
“You actually did it.” Her voice was stunned.
He leaned back in his chair and locked behind his head. “Your turn, Counselor. Truth or
Dare?”
“Dare,” she snarled, all but throwing his phone back at him. She never did like surprises,
but he very much liked that he had surprised her.
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He considered her choice. Matt had been hoping for another truth so he could pry further
on her dating history. But dare had potential too.
“I dare you to let your hair down.”
Her hand immediately flew to the tidy no-nonsense knot. “But we’re in the office.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Yes, a dark, deserted office. Nobody will know.”
“You will.”
“I’ve seen your hair down before.” He hadn’t meant it to come out quite so intimately.
But there it was. And now all he could think about was the way her hair used to look spread out
in the pillow. His pillow.
The way he’d tangled his fingers in the soft silkiness as he’d—
Avery hissed out an irritated breath as she reached up and pulled out the pins holding her
hair in place.
Before he had a chance to prepare himself, her beautiful dark hair was framing her face,
spilling over her shoulders in soft waves, and he found himself wondering why the hell she
pulled it back all the time.
She ran her fingers over her scalp, giving a little sigh of pleasure, and he had the urge to
push her hands away and do it himself. To help her relax.
Their eyes met and held for several seconds, and although there was nothing overtly
sexual about his untucked shirt or her loose hair, it was more undone than anyone else ever saw
them. And they both knew it.
“Truth or Dare?” she asked quietly.
“Truth.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret what?” But he already knew. He’d been braced for it all evening. Been braced for
it for a hell of a lot longer than that.
Avery didn’t even bother with the requisite you know what glare. Instead she folded her
hands in her lap and continued to gaze evenly at him.
“Cheating on me. Do you regret it?”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
And just like that, everything changed.
© LAU R E N LAY N E • L L B O O K
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Chapter Six
Avery saw almost immediately that he wasn’t going to answer. Not yet anyway. His eyes
flashed stormy grey, before shuttering completely, blocking her out.
“Done with the game?” she asked sweetly.
She didn’t know why she was even going here with him. She knew exactly what
happened, didn’t need to hear him explain the why. She’d replayed it over and over in her minds
every day for years.
Less often now -- but often enough. Enough so that it still hurt.
It had all been so damn cliché. The late nights. The gorgeous study partner who was just
a friend.
Their constant fighting and blaming and yelling. And that had been when Matt had even
bothered to notice her, which had been less and less towards the end.
And even with all of that, she hadn’t been prepared. Hadn’t been prepared for that call
from her friend saying that she’d seen Matt. At their favorite restaurant.
With another woman.
Avery had wanted so badly to disbelieve. Heck, she’d refused to believe it.
But when Matt had come home hours later, smelling of Chanel No. 5, with mussed hair,
and lipstick on his lapel …
Yeah. Cliché.
And worst of all?
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
He’d never even bothered to deny it. Matt had listened to her rant and scream (although
not cry...never cry), his eyes completely blank, his face devoid of expression.
And then he’d turned and walked right back out the door.
She filed for divorce the next day. They’d signed a prenup, so there were no messy
entanglements. He’s signed the papers in record time.
And that was that. They’d gotten divorced as quietly as they’d gotten married.
The End.
Except it hadn’t been the end. Their joint insistence on communicating only through their
attorneys, rather than directly, had backfired. They’d had no warning that they’d both applied and
been accepted to the same firm.
They’d had no reason to prepare for the reality of a decade of working in too-close
proximity with the other person.
And so, here they were.
“Well,” she said, her smiling feeling brittle. “I take it we’re done with the game.”
She moved to stand up, but he moved first, his fingers reaching out and tugging her chair
towards his. Pulling her to him until her knees collided awkwardly with his.
Avery opened her mouth to protest the proximity, but her words never made it out. Not
when he slowly reached up a hand to her her face, his fingers hesitating for the briefest second as
though afraid she’d pull away.
His thumb brushed feather-light over the corner of her mouth, his touch careful but
purposeful.
Avery’s breath hitched at the heat in his gaze and for an insane moment, she wanted to
flick her tongue against the pad of his finger. To watch the way the muscles in his jaw would
tighten when he was aroused, to savor the moment when he leaned towards her …
Matt’s hand slid slowly away. He cleared his throat. “Cookie crumb.”
Avery’s hand flew to her mouth in embarrassment. How humiliating. She’d been thinking
about kissing him, and he’d been just trying to get freaking Christmas cookies off her face?
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But her embarrassment faded slightly when she realized that he hadn’t moved away.
And his gaze was still locked on her mouth.
Avery felt a rush of relief that she wasn’t the only one aroused, that she wasn’t the only
one who wanted …
Hold up.
Avery’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Very clever, Counselor. You did that to distract me.
So you wouldn’t have to answer my question.”
His eyes flicked back up to hers hers, the smoky heat replaced by twinkling amusement.
“Maybe.”
She jabbed a finger into his knee. “You have to answer, it’s your stupid game, and your
stupid rules, and you said truth, so you owe me the truth, and—“
Matt grabbed her hand as it stabbed at his leg, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. It
wasn’t the grip that made her go still though.
It was the look in his eyes.
He quietly watched her, waiting for her to calm. “You want the truth.”
Did she?
Avery slowly nodded.
His fingers tightened reflexively around her wrist, and she saw something like triumph
flare in his eyes. As though he’d been waiting for this moment.
Matt’s eyes dropped briefly to where he held her still before his gaze dragged up back to
hers.
“Yes,” he said, quietly. Decisively.
She felt her pulse jump beneath the pads of his fingers, and realized that between the hot
looks and lingering touches, she’d forgotten her original question.
“Yes, you regret cheating on me?”
“Yes,” he said again, his expression unreadable. “And no.”
Avery gasped in anger and hurt, trying to pull her hand away. “What does that mean?”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
His eyebrows lifted. “One question at a time, Counselor. Weren’t those your rules?”
“I am asking one question at a time,” she snapped. “But you had conflicting answers.
Which was it, you do regret cheating on me, or you don’t?”
Matt studied her, but instead of answering, he leaned down, slipping an arm beneath her
legs, and before she realized what has happening, both her calves were draped over his thighs,
her skirt riding up.
“Matt!”
He gently removed her shoes, setting the overpriced stilettos aside before looking back at
her. “Elevation is good for your bad knee. Heels are not.”
Avery opened her mouth to tell him thing good for any of her body parts was to get as far
away from him as possible.
But then he wrapped his warm hands around her foot, his fingers automatically finding
the the right spots, and instead of snapping at him, she let out a low moan.
He gave a slight smile, and she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to watch him gloat.
But she didn’t move way. She couldn’t. It felt too right. He felt too right.
“You know this is my weakness,” she said in a husky voice, relaxing back into her chair
and giving into the bliss.
Avery heard the smile in his voice. “You forget how well we once knew each other,
Counselor.”
True. “I used to love when you did this,” she murmured. “Back in those early days,
during my first internships and wasn’t used to wearing heels. I’d come home and we’d sit on the
couch with pasta and wine, and you’d rub my feet.”
“I remember.”
“Why’d you stop?” she asked quietly, opening her eyes and watching him.
His fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed. “Why’d I stop what?”
“The foot massages. Back then, I mean.”
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His gray eyes remained steady on hers. “I suspect it was right around the time you
stopped getting home before ten o’clock at night. About the time when you’d go straight from
the car to the office to review depositions. When dinner became nothing more than frozen food
eaten in front of your computer at midnight, and I became little more than the guy who distracted
you.”
Avery opened her mouth to argue that he’d been just as busy. That he’d been the one
who’d gotten consumed with work first, and she’d merely done the same out of self-protection
But she could no longer be sure.
Back then, she’d been crazy driven. Ambitious. Hungry.
Matt had been the same
Did it really matter which one of them started pulled away first?
All that had mattered in the end was that neither one of them had tried to pull the other
back.
Avery’s heart felt heavy with regret.
Sure, she’d staged a couple dinners there at the end of their marriage in an effort to show
him that she was invested.
But if she was really honest? Those carefully planned meals had been more about making
a point than they had been caring.
They’d been tests—a need to prove to herself that he wouldn’t show.
In hindsight, her “efforts” to save their marriage hadn’t really been more about saving her
pride. They’d been about being right.
Avery took a deep breath and deliberately pushed back the temptation to start listing
everything he’d done wrong as a childish defense of her own mistakes.
Instead she met his eyes and uttered one of the most difficult phrases in her vocabulary.
“You’re right.”
His hands faltered briefly in massaging the arch of her foot. “What was that?”
Avery wiggled her toes. “You heard me.”
“But surely not correctly. Avery Dawson never would have uttered those words. Ever.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“I’m not Avery Dawson any longer,” she said softly, gently reminding him that she no
longer went by his last name.
He flinched and looked away, looking down at her feet instead of her eyes, and Avery
could have sworn she saw the same unidentifiable expression she’d seen on his face earlier.
Pain? Regret?
Longing?
Or was that simply wishful thinking on her part? Which didn’t make sense. She had no
interest in becoming Avery Dawson again.
Did she?
No. Surely not.
And yet when he was looking at her like that, and she’d felt the most relaxed in years...
She wasn’t so sure.
“Truth or Dare?” he asked quietly.
Avery narrowed her eyes. “You never answered your last truth.”
“I did. You just didn’t like the answer.”
She nodded slowly, not quite ready to let it go, but knowing it was all she’d get out of
him. For now.
“Truth,” she said quietly.
“True or false: you miss me.”
The question was so blatant, so direct, that she nearly pulled back.
Then inspiration struck.
“True,” she said with a smile. “And false.”
He laughed at her deliberate mimic of his contradictory answer from earlier. “Fair
enough.”
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“Truth or dare,” she said shot back quickly, playfully. She felt a smile settle over her face,
as she gave herself permission to enjoy the game. To enjoy him.
“Dare,” he said, without hesitation.
“I dare you to turn your phone off for the rest of the night.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s … boring.”
“I’ve seen you check your email no less than six times.”
“As have you.”
She lifted a shoulder as though to say my dare, my rules.
“Christ,” he muttered, as he pulled out his phone and pushed the power button. “But if I
miss anything crucial...”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Matt. Surely the work can wait.”
He looked up sharply when she said his name, then looked away. “Work’s what I have.”
You have me.
She didn’t know where the thought came from. He didn’t have her. They barely spoke. Or
rather they did, it was just rarely anything civil.
Avery was suddenly far too aware of the intimacy of their current situation. Too aware of
the stab of longing.
Slowly she pulled her legs off of him, trying to make it look casual, as though it didn’t
affect her one way or the other whether or not they were touching.
Avery set her feet on the ground, went to wheel her chair back, but he reached out,
snagged the bottom of it before she could push away.
“Avery.” His thumb brushed the side of her knee.
“Yeah.” It was a whisper.
His eyes blazed with intensity, as though trying to make her understand something.
“Truth or Dare.”
Her heart beat faster. She knew that look.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
It meant Matt Dawson was going for broke, she just wasn’t sure what he was after. Not
this time.
Did she want to find out?”
Avery did a mental coin toss. “Dare.”
His smile was quick and victorious. It was the answer he wanted.
Matt’s thumb brushed her knee, slower this time, as he issued his dare. “Kiss me.”
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Chapter Seven
Matt didn’t move.
He’d dared her.
It was her move.
Much as he wanted to haul her into his lap and kiss her the way he wanted to— the way
he remembered—he remained still.
Waiting.
And waiting …
He saw the moment she was going to chicken out, felt a stab of panic.
Like hell, Counselor Hart.
“It’s okay if you want to back down,” he whispered, leaning forward slightly and bracing
his arms on his knees. “I’ll give you a free pass.”
Her eyes blazed with anger, and he resisted the urge to grin. Gotcha.
What Avery Hart seemed hell bent on forgetting was that he knew her. Knew her vices.
And being accused of being a chicken was one of them.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and he knew he had her.
“I suppose one kiss can’t hurt,” she said softly. “Kids have been kissing in party games
since forever, right?”
Except we’re not kids. And this is more than a game.
He merely lifted his eyebrows.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
She huffed out a little frustrated breath and scooted forward in her chair. “Come closer so
we can make this quick.”
Matt fanned his self. “All this seductive romance. I’m feeling faint.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This has nothing to do with seduction. Or romance. You’re trying to
get under my skin, and I’m trying to prove that kissing you is so blah that it’s not even worth
resisting.”
“Blah is not how I remember it,” he said, reaching out pulling her even closer so that
their knees were intertwined.
She pursed her lips and shook her head as though struggling to remember a foggy
memory. “No recollection one way or the other.
Matt smiled. Leaned forward. “Liar,” he whispered. “You remember every damn detail,
just like I do.”
She leaned forward too, her brown eyes lighting with the warrior glow he’d always
admired.“Counselor Dawson,” she said in a condescending tone. “Please. Allow me to show you
exactly what we’re not missing out on.”
Avery reached out, slender fingers wrapping around his tie, pulling his face to hers until
their lips were just inches apart.
Matt responded in kind, his hands finding her hips, dragging her even closer, her breath
sweet on his lips. “I dare you, Avery.”
She pressed her mouth to his, firmly and purposefully, the restful kiss of a teen stuck
stuck kissing their childhood nemesis under the mistletoe.
He nearly smiled. Chicken.
She started to pull back, but Matt lifted his hand to the back of her head to hold her close.
“Matt—“
He stopped her words with a kiss—a real kiss, demanding and hot—and even though he
thought he’d been prepared for it, the memories of what it had been like between them ripped
through him.
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Christ, he’d missed her.
Matt forced himself to gentle the kiss, giving her room to move away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
Avery’s arms wet around his neck, her tongue meeting his with a small moan.
Matt let out an answering groan, ten years of want leaving him hungry. For her.
He yanked forward until as they were as close as they could get given their awkward
seated position. Not nearly close enough, but he’d get to that. He’d get to all of it.
For now he just satisfied himself with learning her taste again.
Avery was hungry too. He could tell it in the desperate pull of her lips, the way her nails
dug into his neck with sweet urgency.
When she finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard, and he rested his forehead
against hers. “Nobody kisses like you, Avery. Nobody.”
She let out a small cry of frustrated dress, pushing hard against his chest.“You don’t get
to say things like that to me. Not anymore.”
He closed his hand over hers, pressed her palm flat against his chest, held it there. “Don’t
pretend there isn’t something here, Counselor. You know as well as I do that we didn’t end when
we signed those damn divorce papers you insisted on.”
“I insisted on them because you cheated, Matt. You cheated.”
“Says Carrie.”
Avery let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not actually denying it? After all this time,
you’re trying to make it seem like my friend was the culprit in the whole shit show that was our
marriage.”
“Not in the marriage,” he said, his own temper spiking. “Just in the sudden, throw-it-allaway-without-waiting-for-answers divorce!”
Avery’s laughter broke off abruptly, and her eyes went cool. “Truth or Dare, Matt?
He knew where this was going. Knew that the entire evening had been leading up to this.
Fine. He was ready. “Truth,” he ground out.
She looked surprised by his choice. And a little wary.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“Don’t back down now, Counselor,” he squeezed her hand, and she yanked it back,
settling in her chair and crossing her legs.
The perfect picture of an attorney in control.
Except for her eyes. Those were more stormy than the blizzard outside.
“Ask it, Avery.”
She lifted her chin. “Did you cheat on me?”
His eyes locked on hers. Held. This was it. His chance. “No.”
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Chapter Eight
It took a full minute before Avery realized that the deafening whir in her ears wasn’t
coming from the blizzard. It was coming from her brain. The same brain that didn’t seem to be
hearing things correctly.
She gave a nervous laugh, uncrossing her legs, and then crossing them again. “Did you
just try to tell me that you didn’t cheat on me?”
Matt’s face was grim. “I didn’t try to tell you. I did tell you.”
“But, that girl...your study partner...”
“...was a study partner,” he snapped. “Like I told you a million times.”
“And she was gorgeous,” Avery pressed on.
“Sure,” he said, throwing up his hands. “And you were my wife.”
The last word was gruff, and Avery’s mouth went dry.
“You were always late,” she whispered.
But that wasn’t fair. She knew the second the words were out of her mouth that it wasn’t.
He could have accused her of the same. Of never making it home when she said she
would. Could have thrown back at her that on the rare occurrence where their courses
overlapped, that they were so focused on their own grades, their own study groups, that they
barely noticed that the other was there.
But he didn’t strike back. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in fighting at all.
“I was late because I was studying or working,” he said, more calmly now. “Just like you
were.”
There it was again. No accusation. No vehement defense. Just a calm statement of fact.
Except it couldn’t be fact, because...
“Carrie saw you at that restaurant. With another someone else.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I was just … we’d just finished our
paper. Krista suggested we celebrate. I called you to see if it was okay, but you didn’t answer—“
Avery swallowed, pressing her finger tips against her eyes, willing the tears not to come.
“I’m sorry. I was busy, I was always busy, and I know that I wasn’t blameless, but how am I
supposed to believe—“
Matt reached out, pulled her hands from her face, cupped them between his palms and
waited until she met his eyes. “I know, Avery. I know how it looks, I know it was dumb. But I
swear to you, it was just dinner. A boring dinner at that. I never touched her. Never even thought
about it.”
She closed her eyes, unwilling—unable—to believe him. “Her perfume. Her lipstick.”
Matt shot from the chair and went to the window, both hands resting atop his head. She
could tell by the tense line of his shoulders that we was barely holding his temper together.
“Damn, but you’re stubborn. And blind. The perfume, I don’t fucking know. She always wore
too much, and then she drove me home, so yeah. Okay fine, I smelled like perfume.”
Matt turned. “But the lipstick. The lipstick was yours, Avery.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re a lawyer, and that’s the defense that you’re going
with?”
Matt came to her, knelt in front of her, grabbing both hands. “You know I never thought
to do dry cleaning back then. Neither of us did. I barely managed to have clean socks on a daily
basis, much less a shirt. You got lipstick on my shirt weeks before that night, and I just never
cleaned it, never cared. I don’t know.”
She scoffed, but he reached out and caught her chin. “That night. Both of our seminars
got canceled. Do you remember it.”
She went very still. Thought back. “You took, me dancing. We danced all night, drank too
much.” Her eyes closed. “I dressed up, I remembered. Wore more makeup. Lipstick.”
He nodded, just once in confirmation. “I noticed the lipstick smudge that night and meant
to put it in the dry cleaning pile and then, just .. didn’t.”
Her eyes watered. “Matt.”
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He dropped his head tiredly. “I swear to you, I never slept with her. Not even close.
She believed him She did.
But still still …
She reached out, gently touched her fingers to his cheek. “Even if I was wrong that night,
we both know it was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back. The climax in a year long
nightmare of not prioritizing the other person.”
He searched her face. “It wasn’t really the so-called affair that broke us, was it? That was
just your excuse.”
Her finger drifted over the slight roughness of his five o’clock shadow. Traced the dent in
the center of his chin that she’d always loved. “And you didn’t fight it.”
They looked at each other for a long minute then, the moment heavy with regret.
“True or false,” Matt whispered.
“Truth.”
“Do you miss me?”
So much. So damned much. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.
His eyes flashed. “Truth or dare,” he said again.
“Hey it’s my turn--”
“Avery—please. Just for once, just … give me this.”
“Dare,” she whispered, heart pounding.
Matt stood, pulling her to her feet with him. “Give me one night. Give us one night.”
There it was. It was the one thing she’d been braced for the entire evening. Because
somehow, after all these years, when the lights had gone out, she’d known it would come to this.
The ghost of Christmas past, or whatever.
“We can’t go back, Matt. Even if we tried, we haven’t changed. We’re still stubborn and
driven, and competitive. There there will still always be one of us waiting home alone while
another works late. Foot massages will be few and far between and--”
He laid two fingers over her lips, his eyes begging. “Call it my Christmas present. Give
me a night. This night.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Which they both knew meant he meant was, give me a chance.
She shouldn’t. For both their sakes. They’d destroy each other.
And yet...
“Okay. One night,” she said slowly.
Matt’s smile was white in the shadowy room, but she pressed a warning finger to the
center his chest. “But for old time’s sake only. To get each other out of our system. We can’t go
down that path again.”
“Okay.” And then dragged her close and kissed her.
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Chapter Nine
Oh, how she’d missed this.
Avery sighed in pleasure as Matt dragged his hands over her, his mouth moving over hers
with tender possession.
The kiss was rough and demanding at the same time, as though he was afraid she’d
change her mind at any time and was trying to give her everything she wanted all at once.
But Avery wasn’t changing her mind.
Not when his lips slid down the column of her neck. Not when his fingers deftly undid
the button of her blouse. Not when her own hands tore at his shirt open in frantic want.
“I’m not doing it on the carpet of our office,” she managed to gasp as his teeth raked
against the exposed skin above her bra.
“No problem,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to her butt and lifting her up.
Avery’s legs automatically wound around his waist, her skirt bunching around her hips,
and they both groaned as his erection rubbed against her.
Then she felt the cool wood beneath the backs of her thighs and let out a horrified laugh.
“The conference room table?”
His lips found the spot behind her ear. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
She laughed again, but didn’t resist when he nudged her backwards. “I haven’t!”
His hand moved between her legs, his fingertips brushing lightly against lace. “No?”
Suddenly it was really hard to remember where she was. And all the reasons why she
shouldn’t be having sex in a darkened office on Christmas.
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
With her ex-husband.
One finger slipped beneath the lace, and Avery’s arched into him.
Who was she kidding?
Her ex-husband was the only man she could imagine doing this with.
The realization was jarring.
Knowing this was a one-time thing, wanting to make it last, she propped up on her
elbows and gazed down her body at him.“Rushing to the good stuff, are we?”
She lifted a finger and traced it idly along the outer edge of her bra. Hungry gray eyes
traced the motion, before meeting hers. “It’s all the good stuff, Counselor.”
His hands slid under her skirt, fingers hooking into her underwear and removing them.
Avery pushed up so she could reach for his face, pull his mouth to hers. Their tongues tangled as
their hands played.
Matt’s lips moved down her body, fingers tugging down the cup of her bra, his hot mouth
closing around a nipple.
Avery gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as she watched him. He watched her right
back. Watched her pleasure as his tongue teased her.
It was just like before. Better.
They were older. Wiser. And more desperate for each other than ever.
His hands were on her outer thighs, pushing her slim skirt up inch by inch when she
grabbed both wrists, keeping the skirt covering her butt. “No way am I having my bare ass on
this conference table. People eat here.”
Matt rested his forehead on hers, his breath coming hot and hard. “You’re getting prudish
now?”
She scraped her nails down his back and captured his lower lip between her teeth. “How
about I get to be on top? In control.”
He growled. “Not a chance.”
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Max lifted her, walking her backwards until her back was to the wall. She clung to him,
nibbling his jaw as he wrangled his belt and buttons free.
“Against the wall, counselor? Really?” she said, pulling his bottom lip between there
teeth.
In response, he slipped two fingers into her, testing her readiness. She was ready.
“Matt.”
He watched her face as he pushed inside her, demanding that she not hold back.
It had always been good with Matt. More than good. But it had never been like this. It
had never been slow and intense and … perfect.
He thrust again and again, his strokes sure but unhurried. Avery’s palms found his face,
pulling him in for a kiss.
“More,” she whispered against his lips.
Matt groaned, hips moving faster, one strong arm anchoring her in place as the other slid
down, his thumb finding just the right spot to circle.
Their hips were frantic now, the pace feverish, and then she was exploding, her body
clenching around him.
The second she did, he let out a hoarse cry, his face against her neck as he emptied inside
her.
Avery could do little more than hold on until the aftershocks had cleared. She started to
relax her legs, meaning for him to put her down, but he held her closer.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice raspy.
“My office,” he said gruffly, making his way through the familiar dark hallways.
She giggled into his shoulder at the absurdity of the moment as he pushed open his office
door. “This is ridiculous. There aren’t security cameras anywhere on this floor, are there?”
He set her on her feet, smacked her butt playful. “If there are, they just got a hell of
Christmas present.”
“There aren’t any,” she decided. “There can’t be.”
“How do you figure?”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“Because if there are, I’ll die of mortification. I don’t have any intention of dying before I
make partner.”
His hands slid beneath her hair, fingers tangling in it and pulling her head back. “You will
make partner. I’m sure if it. Because if you don’t, this isn’t a firm I want to be a part of.”
Avery felt her eyes water.
Of all the things he could have said, of all the sweet, after-sex sentiments, that might have
been the most perfect thing he could have uttered.
“Yeah?” she asked, wanting to hear it again. Needing to hear him confirm that that the
choices she’d made along the way had been the right ones. That all the sacrifices had been worth
it. Even though Avery herself was no longer so sure.
“Yeah,” he said, heading to a cabinet in the corner, unhurriedly re-buckling his belt and
rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Although you should still have every intention of becoming partner
first.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, since they both knew that having joined at the same year
meant they’d likely be up for partner at the same time as well.
Avery blinked in surprise when she saw what he’d retrieved. “You keep a blanket and
pillow in your office?”
He grinned sheepishly. “My assistant got it for me as a joke when she learned I slept here
one night.”
“And here I thought I was the only one to do that.”
He spread the blanket on the ground before gesture gallantly for her to lay down. “They
say firm mattresses are good for your back.
“Yeah? What do they say about rock-hard office floors?” she asked, as she tentatively lay
down.
Although honestly? She didn’t care. Didn’t care that it was Christmas Eve and she was
lying on the office floor with her ex husband.
Because when he off the lights and joined her, pulling her against his chest, she realized
…
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There’s nowhere else she wanted to be. Nobody else she wanted to be with.
“I think the blizzard’s getting worse,” she whispered, hoping inane conversation might
make this moment feel less important than it was.
His hand slid over her side in a soothing stroke. “Let it get worse. We have everything we
need.”
Avery swallowed the rise of panic at his intimate tone. We can’t do this.
“Pretty crappy Christmas though,” she said, trying once more to prove to him—to herself
—that this was nothing.
Matt’s hand slowed. “Is it?”
No.
He pushed her gently onto her back so they were face to face.
“Your turn to ask Truth or Dare,” he asked softly.
Her heart skipped a beat at the intensity on his face, but she forced herself to be brave.
“Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” he whispered back.
Avery squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t ask. Could she?
Matt’s hand went gently to her face, his fingers tracing along her cheek, his thumb tilting
her chin up so she was forced to meet his eyes. “Ask me.”
She swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Avery,” he whispered, his voice pleading. “Ask.”
Her heart in her throat, she bunched the blanket in her fist and gathered her courage.
Prepared to ask the one thing she’d never dared to hope.
“Do you still love me?”
She whispered it, and for a second she wasn’t sure she’d said it out loud. Wasn’t sure she
could hear much of anything over the pounding of her own heart.
But he’d heard it. His gray eyes answered first.
And then with his voice. “Yes.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Her eyes filled with tears. “All this time?”
“Always,” he said, his voice raspy. “Always.”
She closed her eyes again, letting the tears spill over as she shook her head. “We can’t do
this, Matt. Our jobs, our ambition … our late nights. None of that’s changed. We’ll destroy each
other all over again.”
Instead of arguing, he rolled all the way on top of her, pushing his hands into her hair and
waiting until she opened her eyes.
“Truth or dare?” he asked softly.
She opened her mouth to say truth. To give him back what he’d given her. To tell him
how she felt, had always felt.
But the memories washed over her, sharp and vicious.
“Dare.” She blurted.
Matt’s head snapped back, his eyes registering surprise.
Then disappointment.
Then hurt.
She’d hurt him.
But before she could figure out how to undo it, before she could figure out how to be
brave, his gray eyes turned cold, his smile disappearing behind the mask of Lawyer-Matt.
“Understood,” he said in a crisp tone, rolling off her and sitting up.
He drew up his knees, looped both arms around them, and refused to look at her.
“I dare you to retrieve your thong and leave it on Andy’s office door knob.”
She sat up. “No!”
He shrugged a though he didn’t give a shit one way or the other. “That’s the dare.”
“Then pick a new one!”
“That’s all I’ve got, Counselor.”
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Her heart twisted. Back to counselor, were they?
She hated it.
She wanted to beg him to call her Avery again. She wanted the intimacy of a few minutes
ago back.
And then it hit her …
She wanted it all back.
Yes, there’d still be the fights and the bickering and the late nights. They were both too
driven to not push themselves, to push each other.
But there’d be other stuff too.
Laughter. Shared triumphs. The kisses and the sex.
Companionship, and someone to come home to. Pizza devoured on the couch, and foot
rubs, and someone who wouldn’t mind that she liked to review her case notes with her coffee in
the morning.
There’d be laughter, and God knew they’d never get bored.
And this time around there could be something else, too. There could be trust.
But above all … above everything, there would be love.
There’d always been love.
She reached out, grabbing his arm.
“Ask me again,” she demanded.
He turned his head, resting his chin on his shoulder as he gave her a bored look. “Aright.
Go put your panties on our senior partner’s door knob.”
“Not that,” she said, punching his shoulder. “Truth or dare, moron.”
“No do overs, Counselor.” But the guarded look had faded slightly from his face, and her
eyes went watery again at the flash of hope on his face.
“Ask me again,” she repeated.
He swallowed. “Truth or dare?”
This time there was no hesitation in her answer. “Truth.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
Matt searched her eyes, and she silently begged him to trust her.
“Do you love me?” His voice was hoarse.
She learned forward, brushing her lips over his, before moving her mouth to his ear and
giving him the answer that had been true since the very first day she’d met him.
“Always.”
He reached for her, pushing her back and rolling her beneath him once more as he sealed
her vow with a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Dawson.”
She pulled her mouth free. “Not my name. Not anymore.”
Matt pulled back and gave her a cocky grin. “You mean not yet.” © LAU R E N LAY N E • L L B O O K
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Epilogue
One year later....
“Why is our son dressed up like a leprechaun?” Matt whispered, pulling her against his
chest as she stood in the doorway to the nursery.
She pinched his arm. “He’s an elf,” she hissed. “A Christmas elf.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten him something more manly? Santa suit?”
Avery reached back, patted his cheek. “No. But I got one of those for you later.”
“Dare I hope it came with a Mrs. Clause companion?”
She turned and looked at him. “Don’t say it like that, you’re making it creepy.”
“Because it is creepy, Counselor. “But then he wiggled his eyebrows. “So that’s a yes?”
Avery rolled her eyes even as she leaned forward to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,
Counselor.”
He kissed her back. “Indeed. Now let’s go celebrate the right way, with a bottle of
champagne by the tree.”
“And here I thought the right way was hooking up in the office conference room,” she
said, letting him pull her away from their son’s nursery.
“Good point,” he murmured, pausing in the darkened hallway and slipping a hand under
her shirt. “How about we repeat, except in the bedroom.”
She grabbed his wrist. “You promised champagne!”
He sighed and let his fingers trail along the small of her back before removing his hand.
“Back in law school, you were satisfied with lukewarm beer.”
White Hot Christmas
a holiday short story
by
LAUREN
LAYNE
“Back in law school, you used to take other women to dinner instead of me,” she said,
jabbing a finger into his side.
“You’re tired,” he said in a mock-soothing tone. “Starting to lose touch with reality. Now
come along, Counselor, let’s get you your champagne.”
An hour hour later, they were curled up on the couch, watching the fire, when Avery sat
upright. “We never did a toast!”
“Alright,” he said, lifting both their glasses from the coffee table. “What was it Andy said
on his card? Cheers to the only married partners he knows?”
She grinned, because the reminder that they’d both made partner a few months earlier
had yet to get old.
And not just because it was her dream. Because it was Matt’s. And she was realizing that
nothing made her happier than seeing her husband of ten months achieving his dreams.
Especially when that dream had involved a baby boy, born precisely nine-months after
Christmas Eve.
Matt wound a strand of hair around his finger, stroking it idly his thumb. “You know,
Counselor, I just realized we’re forgetting one very important Christmas Eve tradition.”
“What’s that?”
“Truth or dare.”
Avery snorted. “No way.”
He pressed his lips to her ear. “Chicken.”
She pulled back with narrowed eyes. “Truth or Dare.”
“Dare.”
Perfect. Avery rested her forehead against his. “I dare you to make baby number two
tonight.”
His eyes flared with heat. “Dare accepted.”
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Later—much later—they were curled up in bed, wrapped around each other when she
tilted her head back to look at him “Think we were successful? On Baby Number Two?”
“I know it,” he said, brushing her hair back.
“How?”
Matt nodded to the window with his chin. “Because it’s snowing. And last year taught me
that I get what I want I want the most when it’s a White Christmas.”
“Sex?”
He tweaked her nose. “No, Counselor. A family.”