A Christmas Proposition (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 3)

by Jessica Lemmon

  His bride’s eyes twinkled like the white lights draped over every surface in the room, her beautiful form silhouetted against a white-and-gold Christmas tree. He itched to haul her over his shoulder and take her upstairs, wanting nothing more than to continue their kiss and see how far she’d let him take her.

  “I’ll pour the champagne!” Margaret announced, snapping him out of the fantasy.

  “Champagne?” Emmett asked Stef as the guests stood from their chairs.

  “For the toast.” She swiped his bottom lip with her thumb and explained, “Lipstick.”

  “I don’t want to have a toast. I want to go to bed.” His voice was gravel. His body taut with the desire that felt like a physical presence between them. He let that sentence hang long enough for her eyes to widen. They went wider when he added, “With you.”

  * * *

  So, yeah. She needed that champagne.

  Unfortunately, one glass of bubbly wasn’t going to be enough to erase the X-rated vision of Emmett naked. She didn’t know how much longer she could hang out at this party before hauling her husband upstairs and stripping his clothes off.

  Alarming, that thought. She’d known Emmett for years and had never once pictured him naked. Pictured him kissing her. Pictured him as her husband. And yet here they were. Kissing. Married. And about to be very naked.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Keaton.” Anna, a waifish blonde, was one of the guests at the B and B. She and her husband, Clay, had been married a little over a year ago and were here celebrating their first anniversary.

  “Thank you.”

  “The first year is challenging, but in a good way. Don’t believe anyone who tells you the honeymoon is over if they overhear you arguing.”

  “Ha. Well. Emmett and I argue a lot, so nothing new there.”

  “Even better. The makeup sex is worth it.” Anna giggled. Stefanie felt Emmett hovering nearby but wasn’t about to turn to find out if he’d overheard.

  Anna stepped away from the crowd a few feet and beckoned Stef to follow. In the foyer between the staircase and the living room, the other woman leaned close. “I know who you are,” she whispered with a smile. “It took me a while to place you and then I realized where I’d seen your photo. The Dallas Duchess.”

  “Oh?” Stefanie maintained a neutral expression and tone even as her heart ratcheted up a few notches. That damn blogger.

  “What made you decide against a massive wedding in the summer packed with famous guests? Also, I thought you’d be marrying Blake Eastwood. Does your family know you’re not?”

  Stefanie squirmed at Anna’s forwardness and rapid-fire questions.

  “I haven’t said anything to anyone, and I won’t,” Anna promised. “But if you don’t mind my asking, why are you in Harlington marrying Emmett when that Blake guy said you were his?”

  Stef had fielded rumors a million times, but never face-to-face to a nosy woman with zero tact.

  “Simple,” interrupted a deep, rumbling voice. “Blake’s a liar.”

  Anna started at Emmett’s arrival, her mouth gaping. Stef wanted to kiss him for his fantastic timing.

  “I need to borrow my bride.” He scooped Stefanie into his arms and the small crowd reacted with approving gasps.

  “We saved ourselves for the wedding night,” he announced. “We’re skipping the toast.”

  Twelve

  “Thank you for that,” Stefanie said as Emmett set her on her feet in their room. “I have never encountered... What are you doing?”

  “Taking off this neck noose.” He yanked his tie free and tossed it on the dresser. Then he stalked toward her, standing so close that her dress brushed against his pants. She glanced down and gulped. His tented pants. His hand slipped over her back, tickling her bare skin through the cutout in her dress.

  “Emmett.”

  “Tell me to stop. Tell me it doesn’t matter that we’re married, that you don’t want me to touch you.”

  His words were low and desperate, but his hands never stopped sampling her exposed skin. His fingers trickled up her spine, and his other hand tipped her chin, forcing her to meet his stormy eyes.

  “If I kiss your lips again—” he traced her collarbone with the tip of one finger “—then I’ll want to kiss you here next.” He clasped her waist with one wide hand. “Then I’ll want to kiss you here.”

  That same hand molded her hip and Stefanie’s breathing went shallow.

  “And then everywhere,” he growled. Only a breath separated them. She felt the barest brush of his lips on hers as her name exited his throat like a plea. “Stef.”

  She closed that minuscule gap and met his mouth with hers. All she’d wanted to do since he’d kissed her under the mistletoe this evening was touch him more. She melted into him, but where her strength faded, his tripled. His fists wound in the delicate material of her dress as he made good on his promise, moving those drugging kisses down her jawline, past her throat and over her collarbone.

  A moan sounded—hers. She hadn’t counted on shared attraction as part of this bargain, but it was there in spades. And if he thought she would hold up the stop sign now that they were in their shared room, he was crazy.

  Crazy for her, apparently.

  She couldn’t help smiling at the thought as he unzipped the back of her dress, only to swear when he found a second zipper lower on the skirt.

  “You find this funny?” Growly and sort of grumpy. Her scrooge.

  “I find you impatient.” She fingered the top button of his shirt and unfastened it. “What’s your hurry?”

  “I want to taste you slowly, but I want you naked now.”

  “I want you the same way, cowboy.” She flicked open another button, then one more.

  He slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders, the rough pads of his fingers causing goose bumps to crop up on her arms. She pushed his shirt open and reached for the undershirt tucked into his pants. The second his belly, and the line of dark hair pointing to his belt buckle, was revealed she flattened her hand over his abs.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest expanding impressively. She ran both hands up his torso and cupped his pectorals, the whorls of hair on his chest tickling her palms.

  “Damn,” she muttered, overcome by the sheer brawniness of him. “You’re so big.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He stole her breath with another deep kiss, slipping her dress past her hips and leaving her standing in her bra and panties. “What’s this?” A deep laugh transformed his face. He looped a finger in the white lace garter belt and snapped the elastic, lightly stinging her thigh.

  “Tradition,” she said on the end of a gasp.

  “Damn,” he concluded before kissing her again.

  Her fingers fumbled with his belt, her mind on the way he’d looked the first time she’d laid eyes on him in boxer briefs. Substantial. But rather than be intimidating, everything about his size only served to make her feel safe.

  “I won’t break,” she assured him when he loosened his hold on her.

  “I won’t let you.”

  He ran the flat of his palm between her breasts and pulled the cups away, freeing her. When he dipped his head to suck a nipple onto his tongue, she grabbed his head both to encourage him and to keep from slipping off the edge of the earth. He repeated the favor on the other breast and then her bra was gone, swept away while sparks shimmered over her sensitized skin.

  He dipped one thick finger past the edge of her lace panties and brushed her sex with his knuckle. She gasped, damp and ready for him, and they’d only just begun.

  “Merry Christmas to me,” he said before tucking both hands into the back of her panties and sliding them down her legs. On his knees in front of her, he took a long look at her. She admired the heat in his eyes, the open white shirt and exposed shoulders. His unbu
ckled belt.

  Him on his knees before her.

  “I like you here.” She raked her hand through his short hair.

  His mouth curved with a devilish tilt. “Worshipping you?”

  She nodded.

  “Bet you’re used to that.”

  “Hardly.” The men she’d shared a bed with in her past hadn’t been particularly...noteworthy. She liked sex and pleasure, and didn’t mind giving as well as receiving, but she’d never use the word worship to describe a past interaction. “I can’t say I’ve experienced that.”

  “A first. Then allow me to worship you.” He leaned closer, his warm breath coasting over the scant stripe of hair on her sex. “My queen.”

  Oh yes. That was working for her. Her face warmed, her thighs pressing together in anticipation of the delicious feel of his tongue on her.

  He didn’t make her wait, slicking her center so slowly her legs shook.

  He encouraged her to sit on the bed. Then he was on his feet, ripping off his shirts and dropping his pants. The bulge in his boxers was as impressive as the rest of him, the thick ridge a promise of the inches to come.

  He returned to his task, burying his face between her thighs, and delivering blow after blow of pleasure while she twisted on the comforter. He didn’t tell her to come, or command her in any way with his words. Ever the strong, silent type, Emmett let his actions speak for him as he laved her mercilessly.

  She let go on a cry that filled the room. The orgasm took its time washing over her and he kept his pace steady until her entire body was sex warmed and sated.

  He placed a kiss on each of her inner thighs and then drew a line of kisses up her body as he ascended. Over her, he was more hulking than usual, his turgid cock resting heavily on one of her thighs, his lips glistening, his eyes so lust filled they were almost black.

  “I have a condom,” she told him. “In my suitcase.”

  He didn’t hesitate to cross the room.

  “The zipper pocket.”

  He pulled out a condom, raised an eyebrow and dropped it back into the pocket. She propped up on her elbows to protest.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as he knelt in front of his duffel.

  “Too small,” was all he said. Then he stood and shucked his boxers and she got an eyeful of exactly why the condoms she’d purchased were “too small.”

  “Merry Christmas to me,” she murmured, reciting his words from earlier.

  He grinned, his chest puffing with male pride, and rolled on the protection from his bag. Then he came to her in fluid movements that should’ve belonged to a much slighter man.

  “You okay?”

  His face pinched like he was concerned about her answer. Like she should demurely ask if he was sure he would fit or maybe remind him not to hurt her. She’d do no such thing.

  She could handle every inch of her husband’s gorgeous member. Gladly.

  “I’m better than okay, Em.” She grasped his biceps and encouraged him forward. “Bring it.”

  There was something beautiful about him at the brink of making love to her. He was a sculpted specimen, perfectly hewed to pleasure a woman. The twinkle in his eye was merry, but determination set his powerful jaw.

  “You got it, honey.”

  He lowered his body between her legs, his hard abdomen lying against her softer belly. He notched the tip into her entrance and slid in slowly, watching her with an intensity that suggested he was in far more pain than she.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Then he slid in deeper and she was better than fine.

  She arched her neck and enjoyed the fullness of that first thrust, the feel of him seated deep while her body adjusted to his girth. Then she opened her eyes and met his, holding tight to his shoulders as he drew away inch by excruciating inch.

  He made love to her as he promised. Slowly. Seductively. Already sensitive from his earlier pampering, her next release didn’t take long to build.

  Emmett’s face was crimped in concentration as he unerringly sought and found the spot that would crumble her will to hold out. She wanted his release more than her own, having already taken advantage of his mouth.

  She wanted him to let go.

  She wanted to watch every second of him coming and record it in her memory.

  Because that was what this would be. A memory. As he tenderly slid in again, she reminded herself that they were pretending—that they might be swept up in each other tonight, but the end would soon come for both of them.

  “Gorgeous,” he praised. “Every inch of you. You feel incredible.”

  She palmed his cheek, the rough scrape of his scruff sending chills over her entire body. He was pretty damned incredible, too, but she wasn’t capable of forming words at the moment.

  “Close?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she breathed.

  He laughed, a low rumble she felt in her rib cage. “Not worried, Stef.”

  “I want you to come first.”

  “No deal.” His smile vanished, his eyes dark and his expression raw. He doubled his efforts, slowing the pace but increasing the intensity. He watched her like a bird of prey eyeing his next meal, not so much as blinking as he soaked in her every reaction.

  When he hit the spot he was looking for, her high cry gave her away. His grin cocksure and beautiful, he lowered to his elbows and cupped her face. Pistoning his hips, he plunged into her faster and deeper, holding her close as she came apart at the seams.

  This orgasm hit her harder than the first, the shuddering aftermath leading to a very disappointing realization.

  Emmett had come with her and she’d missed the entire thing!

  “Cheater,” she huffed. “I was trying to make you do that.”

  “You did.” He kissed the very tip of her nose.

  “My eyes were closed!”

  “I know. I watched.” He kissed her chin.

  It wasn’t fair that he was the one getting the best show. The next time they did this, she’d be sure not to let him take over.

  He slipped free of her warmth and she watched his ass as he padded into the attached bathroom. She considered what a dangerous thought it was to decide she’d have sex with her husband again, but she dismissed the concern just as quickly.

  She wouldn’t let him have the last word, no way. She was going to weaken his knees and melt his muscles at least once before they wrapped up this marriage.

  Thirteen

  It wasn’t Emmett’s first Christmas dinner with the Fergusons—far from it. They’d been taking him in as a stray since he’d become friends with Chase. It was almost humorous that he was as comfortable in Rider and Elle’s massive mansion as he was in his own apartment, but he supposed he owed most of the credit to the company.

  The Fergusons were billionaires—they made more money than Emmett could fathom even though he’d managed to accrue plenty of wealth for himself—but they were also down-to-earth and, at their core, a family.

  So when he walked in with Stefanie fresh off the drive home from Harlington, he knew that the unease he felt had nothing to do with Christmas day with her family and everything to do with the fact that he’d married Zach and Chase’s sister—Rider and Elle’s daughter—and none of them knew it yet.

  During the trip back, Stef had mentioned she wasn’t going to share wedding pictures online until she broke the news to her family in person, and Emmett had agreed.

  Sort of.

  He’d suggested she call her siblings and parents and break it to them one by one. Stef had made the astute observation that one of them could tell the others before she did and then she wouldn’t be in control of the spin.

  Fair enough.

  After a quick stop at her apartment to pack her family’s gifts, they’d arrived at the elder Fergusons’ estate
at six o’clock on the nose. He shut off the engine and eyed the front door.

  “We’re late.”

  “It’s your fault.” She slid him a foxy smile that caused him to shift in his seat.

  He remembered exactly why it was his fault. He’d been the one to wake her by dipping his head between her thighs. After exquisite morning sex, he’d gone downstairs and fetched breakfast, turned on the television and refused to leave bed until they’d had at least two cups of coffee and a stack of waffles apiece.

  He hadn’t wanted the morning to end for fear that reality would creep in like some reverse tale of Cinderella. As if, at the strike of noon, he’d be revealed as a servant rather than a prince.

  A fraud, unworthy of her hand.

  Stupid. But he’d lingered in that room nonetheless.

  “Besides, I sent a text to Chase letting him know we’d be late so if he didn’t pass that on, it’s his fault.” She bit her lip as Emmett shut off the car. “How angry with me do you think they’re going to be?”

  He couldn’t keep from touching her, his thumb stroking her chin with affection. “They’ll be pissed at me, not you.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’m the baby.”

  “Yes, but you’re not a baby. You’re a grown woman with an incredibly sharp mind and a generous heart. I’ll take the brunt of the blame.”

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, kissing him solidly. He was tempted to pull her into his lap and fog up the windshield before they went in.

  It was like the floodgates had opened since that first kiss. Every time he’d touched her since, he couldn’t get enough. It awed and amazed him how powerful her pull over him was; how he’d ignored—or maybe denied was a better word—that pull until now.

  She rested her top teeth on her bottom lip as she took in her parents’ house. “Here goes nothing.”

  They climbed from his SUV, piled his arms and hers with wrapped boxes and then went inside to face the Ferguson firing squad.

  * * *

  “How was she?” Chase pulled Emmett aside to ask.

  The presents had been stacked beneath the tree—well, around. There wasn’t any more room beneath the tree. Dinner had been postponed thirty minutes. As a result, Chase had a few inches of scotch in a glass and had taken it upon himself to check up on Stefanie with his right-hand guy.