The Naughty List

by Donna Kauffman

  The head of his cock pressed insistently against the soaking wet crotch of her thong, rubbing her clit. She pulsed, she throbbed, she needed more. Whimpering, she squirmed against him. “God, yes, keep doing that.”

  Instead, he pulled away. “I want to be inside you.”

  She groaned with frustration, then yanked off her thong as he reached into the drawer of the bedside table.

  In seconds he was sheathed and back between her legs. She lifted herself to him, body quivering. His cock brushed her damp, sensitive flesh, and she whimpered again. “Please.”

  He leaned forward, and his lips took hers. Panting with need, she answered impatiently, yet his lips, his tongue were so sensual and skilled, they seduced her into dancing with them.

  A second later she gasped as his cock probed her, blunt-headed and swollen. Big, hot, perfect. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, black curls tousled on his forehead, eyes dark with passion. Then, in one long, smooth glide, he thrust in and filled her.

  She gasped, moaned. Oh God, that felt so good.

  He stopped, lodged deep inside her, the two of them locked together. Every muscle in her body trembled. Deep inside her, she pulsed around him, tiny ripples like shallow breaths.

  “Charlie,” he said. One word. A declaration.

  She had no idea what he meant. All she knew was, it felt exquisite. The tension was almost unbearable, yet absolutely right.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid out inch by inch until he was almost gone, until she felt empty, craving his touch. Then he plunged back in, stroking her sensitive flesh with his rough heat, and she gasped at the shock, the pleasure.

  Again and again he stroked, and the pleasure mounted until all she could do was moan and thrash her head on the pillow, craving that one thing to finally release her.

  His hand came between their bodies, and the next time he thrust in, he caressed her clit and yes, that was it, exactly what she needed. She cried out as orgasm flooded her body in rich, pulsing waves of blissful release.

  He plunged into her again, hard and jerky, groaning with his own climax.

  Seconds, maybe minutes later, he collapsed on top of her. His chest heaved against hers as they both fought for breath. His head lay beside hers on the pillow, face turned toward her so his warm breath brushed her ear, her cheek, her neck.

  Mmm, very nice.

  “Wow,” he murmured. “You can’t imagine how many times I fantasized about that.”

  She smiled. “Having sex with a tattooed lady?”

  “Uh-uh. With Charlie Coltrane.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a girl. How did I measure up to the fantasies?” In fact, she did feel a bit insecure, but LJ was a considerate guy. He’d say the right thing. She could only hope he meant it.

  Because this was good. She could do a lot of this before she headed back to Toronto.

  6

  “The reality’s much better,” LJ said. He had trouble believing he’d actually made love with Charlie.

  Another guy might’ve been satisfied with living the fantasy just once. But his fantasy had never been only about sex.

  He eased off her slim body to deal with the condom, then studied her as she stretched with a cat’s grace. She was clean-lined, lovely, so sexy. The dragon, whose head she stroked, more like a habit than a conscious gesture, was fiery and passionate. The tattoo on her hip was sensual and utterly feminine. Naked but for her body art, black hair fanning out on the pale blue pillowcase, she was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. “You’re amazing.”

  “You say the sweetest things.” Her grin hinted at private thoughts.

  He wanted her again. Sex, yes, but much more. No other girl, no woman, had touched his heart the way Charlie had. He wanted to get to know the grown-up, to share himself with her, to find out what they might be to each other.

  When he’d brought her to the house tonight, he’d had a plan. She’d circumvented it, wanting sex in the turret room. He slid out of bed and extended a hand to her. “Come downstairs.”

  “I like it here,” she protested.

  “I’ve laid a real fire.” And he had a surprise, one he hoped she’d like.

  “A real fire? That does sound nice.” She put her hand in his and let him pull her out of bed.

  They dressed and, leaving Romeo sleeping by the gas fire, went down the winding staircase. LJ took her to the kitchen and flicked on the lights. Touching her bare shoulder above the low neckline of her purple sweater, he said, “Drink? Snack?”

  “A drink sounds good.”

  “Wine, beer, mixed drink? Or there’s eggnog, fruit juice, and soda in the fridge.”

  She dipped into the fridge and came out with a tin of club soda and a bottle of lime juice. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  He got down two glasses, and ice from the freezer. “Because of your parents?” Everyone had known they were alcoholics.

  She nodded.

  While she made her drink, he poured himself an eggnog, skipping the splash of rum he’d normally add. Some guys thought eggnog was a girlie drink, but he liked Christmas treats.

  “I don’t mind if you have booze.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker.” It was true; he could take it or leave it.

  They went into the living room, where he’d left a lamp burning. The room smelled fresh and outdoorsy, thanks to the eight-foot Douglas fir that stood in a pail of water in a corner, surrounded by his aunt and uncle’s tree stand, lights, and ornaments.

  Charlie halted abruptly when she saw it. “A tree?”

  “Picked it out this afternoon.” Then he’d hauled all the trappings up from the basement. He touched a match to the fire he’d laid. “Thought we could put it up.” It was one of his favorite activities.

  When he turned from the fireplace, she was shaking her head. “I don’t do Christmas.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because…Christmas sucks.”

  “Uh…” Then it dawned on him. Christmas was supposed to be a time of family and friends, of love and laughter. For her, growing up, it wouldn’t have been.

  But that was years ago. It was time she learned the season could be a joyous one. “It’s just a tree, Charlie.” He put on music, deciding not to push it by choosing carols. Instead he went with Diana Krall.

  Charlie was still rooted to the same spot, so he opened up the tree stand. He hefted the heavy fir to place the trunk in the stand. “Can you hold this straight while I screw it in?”

  “What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” she muttered, approaching the tree warily.

  “Struggled and cursed.” In fact he’d have waited until his sister got home from university and invited her and some friends over. Now he hoped Charlie would get in the mood.

  She moved closer and studied the tree skeptically.

  “Careful of your sweater. Don’t want to get pitch on it.”

  Cautiously, she buried her arms in the branches and gripped the trunk. Head averted so she didn’t get poked in the eye by needles, she said, “It smells good.”

  Her begrudging tone made him grin. Quickly he did up the screws and stood back to look. “Great. Now, what do you think about the lights?”

  She released the tree and stepped back. “Think about them?”

  Hoping to engage her creativity, he said, “My aunt’s gone through phases. We have big multicolored lights, small multicolored ones that twinkle on and off, white and gold lights, and clear twinkling lights. Which shall we use?”

  She tilted her head, studying the tree. “Colored and twinkling. Little lights, scattered all through the branches.”

  Hiding a satisfied grin, he said, “Sounds good. I’ll stand on a chair to do the top. You hand me the strings and tell me where to drape them.”

  An hour later, LJ said, “I’ll turn off the lights.”

  Despite her aversion to Christmas, Charlie felt a thrill of anticipation. She hadn’t had a t
ree in more than ten years, and when she’d been a kid it was a hit-and-miss thing. Some years there’d been a Charlie Brown tree, and she’d improvised decorations. Tonight, she’d enjoyed consulting over placement of ornaments, sharing touches and hugs.

  LJ flicked the switch and she gazed at the tree, spellbound. Yeah, it was hokey, with tinsel and a collection of ornaments that included elegant glass ones, tacky souvenirs, craftsy decorations, and the clumsy products of kids in the family. Yet, there was magic in the green scented boughs, the bright sparkles of light that reflected off the strands of silvery tinsel, and the ill-matched but well-loved ornaments.

  His arm came around her and she nestled into him, thinking how wonderful he felt, as he said, “It’s the best tree ever.”

  “I bet you say that every year,” she teased.

  “And every year it’s true.” He squeezed her waist. “But this year it’s especially true.”

  He put a glass into her hand and automatically she lifted it and drank. Creamy richness filled her mouth. “You gave me the wrong drink.”

  “Sorry.”

  She took another sip. She avoided eggnog because of its association with Christmas and because most people laced it with booze. It was actually pretty good, with that hint of nutmeg.

  “Did you celebrate Christmas when you were a kid?” he asked quietly.

  “Sort of. Not really.”

  He didn’t say anything, just kept that warm, supportive arm around her.

  “One year, Mom bought a frozen turkey and thawed it, then she got so drunk Christmas Eve she never woke up to cook it.” Though Charlie had friends, the only people she’d ever talked to about her childhood were Ginger and Jake, and then only after she’d known them for months.

  But LJ had lived in Whistler. He already knew the worst rumors, and there was something freeing about being honest. “There were a lot of fights. One year Mom heaved the turkey at Dad, and another year the neighbors called the cops. And there was the year he fell over the tree and broke his wrist and I had to drive him to emergency.”

  He hugged her closer. “Shit, Charlie. I knew it was bad, just didn’t know how bad.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well…My childhood sucked. Christmas was same old, same old.” Worse, because for everyone else it was special. She rested her head against LJ’s shoulder, gazing at the tree rather than him. “Guess you know they burned the place down during the holidays. Since then, I try to ignore the whole thing. Don’t need the bad memories.”

  He guided her to the couch, and they sat, his arm still around her. She curled her legs up and nestled into him, head on his shoulder. He smelled green and outdoorsy like the tree, with a spicy undernote of sweaty sex.

  “After they died, you dropped out and left Whistler,” he said.

  “And vowed never to come back,” she said ruefully.

  “Your aunt wouldn’t take you in?”

  She snorted. “Yeah, but she hated the idea. She didn’t want me. And the feeling was mutual.” Screw Patty, the narrow-minded social climber.

  “That’s rough.”

  The last thing she’d expected when she came back to Whistler was that she’d be sharing memories. But LJ was easy to talk to. LJ was Lester, the kid who’d respected rather than judged her. She wished she’d opened her eyes and seen him, back then. Maybe she’d have had a friend.

  “Mom and her sister were close, growing up. They were poor, and their dad was an alcoholic. They liked to party and hook up with what Mom called ‘bad boys.’ She got pregnant and married one. Not Patty. She found a respectable businessman, an older guy, and remade herself to fit into his world. Snotty bitch.”

  He dropped a kiss in her hair. “Patty didn’t say much about you, but I bet she was sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.” Then she admitted, “She called me this summer—I don’t know how she got my number—and said I should come back. I said no and hung up.”

  “Maybe she wanted to apologize.”

  “She could’ve done that on the phone.”

  Charlie remembered that the lawyer had said he had some things for her. She’d told him to donate Patty’s personal stuff to charity, but he’d said these were items Patty’d made him promise to hand over in person. Might there be a letter? An apology?

  Did she feel like going into the Village to his office? Nah. All she wanted from her aunt was the inheritance.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, LJ asked, “If you could have anything for Christmas, what would it be?”

  “To open my own tattoo parlor in Toronto. I’m calling it Coltrane.” She eased back in the curve of his arm so she could smile at him. “I’ve taken business courses.” For her, the dropout who’d never been great at school, that had been a major achievement. Not one an academic genius like him would be able to relate to. “I’ve been saving, planning, but it would’ve taken another couple years to realize that dream. Now, I can do it as soon as the B&B sells.”

  Of course, long term, she had more dreams. To do other kinds of art; to have her paintings in an exhibit. To find the same kind of love her friends had shared.

  “You deserve to get what you want, Charlie.” LJ’s face, lit by flickering firelight and multicolored twinkles, looked solemn.

  “How about you? What do you want for Christmas?”

  He gazed toward the tree as if pondering what he’d like to see wrapped up under it. “Guess I don’t know yet.”

  He probably had most everything he wanted. “What do you do for Christmas? Go to your parents’?”

  “Yeah. I go on Christmas Eve and sleep over. My sister will be home. It’s family tradition to hang stockings by the fire and go to midnight Mass even though we’re not religious. In the morning we open presents, and in the afternoon we get together with the rest of the family. We have a turkey dinner, watch some hokey Christmas movie. Nothing exciting, but it’s nice.”

  No doubt the turkey always got cooked, and never heaved at anyone. “Sounds nice.”

  “If you’re still here, you could come.” Then a flicker of unease crossed his face.

  Another memory surfaced. She shifted away from him. Oh no, Lester Jacoby would never have been her friend—nor would LJ. “Yeah, like your parents would invite me.”

  “Uh…what makes you say that?” His guilty expression told her he knew perfectly well.

  “That day your sister thanked me for helping Romeo? She said she didn’t care what her parents said, she and Romeo knew I was a good person.” The girl’s kind words had meant a lot.

  He winced. “Sorry. My parents can be judgmental.”

  “I didn’t give a damn what people thought.”

  “You do now.” He met her gaze steadily.

  “Do not.” She thrust herself off the couch.

  He stayed seated. “You stay in that B&B like it’s a cocoon. You’re scared to go out because someone might recognize you.”

  “Okay, fine. I do give a damn.” She glared down at him. “It hurts. It always did. Then, I had no choice but to live in Whistler, so I toughed it out and pretended no one could get to me.”

  “You didn’t even try to fit in. You dressed differently, blew off classes, let people think the worst of you rather than explain.”

  She jammed her fists on her hips. “Why the hell try to fit in when you know you’ll never be accepted? Better to live life your own way, and tell them all to screw off.”

  He stood slowly, and she took a step back, her breath quickening with anger.

  “Yeah, Charlie, I see that.”

  She searched his face warily. “Do you?”

  “I envied your ballsy attitude. I didn’t fit in either.” There was pain in his voice. “I was the butt of jokes. I wished I’d had the guts to tell those kids to screw off. But I was a wimp.”

  Softening, she pointed out, “You weren’t a wimp when it mattered.”

  “Any guy would’ve done the same when that dickhead came after you.”

  “No. Most would have thou
ght I had it coming.” She rested a hand on his chest and felt the quick thudding of his heart. “You defied your parents and brought your sister to thank me.”

  He raised a hand and enfolded hers. “Guess I had guts when it came to you.”

  Something about the way he said it, the softness in his eyes, made her feel all mushy inside. For a long moment, they just gazed at each other. A strange thought flitted into her mind. Could LJ be the special man she’d been longing for?

  A log in the fireplace popped, reminding her where she was. Whistler, the place she hated. The small town with a long memory. As for LJ, he wouldn’t invite her to his parents’. Probably, he wouldn’t even tell them about her.

  No, he’d never be her guy. In a week’s time, she’d be gone, and this time she absolutely wasn’t coming back.

  She freed her hand from his and stepped away, rubbing her dragon’s head. “That crush you had…That was a kid thing, right? I mean, I don’t want you to think…” He had to know, as she did, they had no future.

  He swallowed, and she saw the kid he’d been. Vulnerable, the way she’d been. “That we might care for each other?”

  She shook her head. “You’re great, but this is a fling. Just sex. You understand, right?”

  He squared his shoulders. “I understand how you feel.” He moved over to poke at the fire, then turned. “So, you want to go back? Or stay here?”

  Stay with him in that turret room with the gas fire and the dog sleeping on the hearth? Oh no. The evening had been wonderful—and confusing and scary. She needed to be alone. “I’ll go back, thanks.”

  She had too much pride to ask, but when he said, “Romeo’d probably like to go with you,” she didn’t point out that the dog wouldn’t appreciate being roused to go out into the cold night. “I’d be glad of his company.”

  “Lucky beast.”

  7

  Three days later, LJ had a quick shower after work, then drove to his parents’ house, with Romeo in the back-seat.

  His folks had returned from their Mexican Riviera cruise. His sister, finished with law school exams, had picked them up in Vancouver that morning, and they’d all driven up to Whistler.