A Bad Boy for Christmas

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Not cold, Cupcake.” He took a bite three times the size of the bite he gave her, then licked the fork and discarded the container. At her whimper, he grinned, yanked open the blanket, and positioned himself between her legs. “Second thought, I am cold,” he murmured against her mouth. She kissed him and he pushed his big body against her smaller one. He wasn’t the least bit cold, emitting heat like a furnace.

  Mmm, tonight had been so decadent. The overeating, the dessert. And she didn’t mean the pie. Yeah, the dessert she was thinking of was the naked kind. The kind where he’d treated himself to her breasts like they were parfaits and then slid into her body and rocked her world.

  As she was coming down from her sex high and sliding into her sugar high, she’d begun to consider he probably shouldn’t stay the night. They hadn’t talked about it, and he hadn’t offered, but she felt like that was an obvious upcoming discussion. Although a round two in her room was far from the worst thing she’d have to endure, him staying, being close…well. She had to draw the line somewhere.

  If independence was the ultimate goal, then Connor in her bed with her curled around him was in defiance of that goal. Snuggling seemed the invisible line he shouldn’t cross. Maybe because he’d crossed over a plethora of others. The more he was around, the more her boundaries blurred. She’d drawn those lines in the sand to protect herself. Protect herself from ever finding another fiancé in a clinch with a woman on the living room rug.

  Even as she thought it, she couldn’t imagine Connor betraying her. But she also wasn’t willing to erase every boundary between them. And she sure couldn’t go back to the way things were before. There had been no stopping what happened earlier…what was about to happen again if she had to guess by his roaming fingers.

  Those rough pads came around and brushed her nipples and she let her mind go hazy. Never had she known she was this sensitive to a man’s touch there. Before Connor, she’d been too consumed with worry over whether the man touching her there was judging her small breasts to really enjoy what he was doing. Not so with this man. He gingerly plucked and pulled while sipping her lips and dragging his tongue along hers.

  She kissed him back, hand ringing the tribal tattoo looped around his bicep, and threaded her other hand into his short hair. His mouth. She’d never be able to stop him once he kissed her. And the beauty of it was…

  She didn’t want to.

  * * *

  Papers fluttered to the floor as Connor backed Faith against her refrigerator and knocked magnets off its surface. The kissing on the counter had intensified, and after he’d disrobed her—or de-blanketed her, as it were—she’d attacked him. Hopped off the counter and pushed his back to the stove. Then into the opposite counter. He’d spun her and pressed her against the fridge.

  His hands covered her slim, delicate body. Never in his life had he felt skin so soft. Smooth. Like silk under his touch. She moved like water against him, undulating, bending, bowing as his hands raced to catch the next wave. Hand encircling her wrist, he pulled her away from his fly. She’d been stroking him pretty good, and he was hard as iron and primed and ready to be inside her.

  He’d planned ahead, pulling the condom from his pocket before dropping his unzipped jeans to the floor, not letting loose her wrist. Swiveling her to the wall, he pinned her hand over her head and watched as her dark blue eyes darkened further, those swollen pink lips being wet by a pink tongue he wanted to feel on every inch of his body.

  “Cupcake,” he growled, letting her go to roll on the condom. And the sentiment sounded almost humorous in his gravelly tone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do not lick your lips.”

  A foxy little smile graced her mouth. “Why not?” The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her lips and swept back into her mouth.

  Rather than answer, he gave her a torturous kiss, wanting her mouth, wanting her. Bending, he lifted her by the hips and pressed her against the wall, anchoring her there with his body, holding her there with his eyes.

  He lined up, slid inside, and in tandem, they both groaned long and low. She laughed, her breath warm against his lips as he repositioned her. She locked her legs around his lower back and pressed hers flat on the wall. “A move we both appreciate.”

  “Nothing feels this good.” It was the truth. And he didn’t just mean being inside a woman, he meant being buried inside Faith.

  “I’ve never been taken against a wall before.”

  “Lot of firsts for you tonight,” he managed between thrusts. So wet. So warm. So, so good.

  Her fingers traced his ear and gently, she leaned in and kissed him. It was so heartfelt, so sweet, it nearly halted him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  There was no talking after that, simply him moving the way she needed him to until she bowed her back and thrust her pert, petite breasts out. He bent and took one on his tongue, savoring the feel of her channel clamping on to him as she dragged another climax out of him, no less intense even though they’d finished not long ago. Face in her neck, he kissed her pulse, savoring the scent on her skin—God, what was that?

  “What are you wearing?” he asked into her neck.

  Another sugar-sweet laugh, then, “Nothing?”

  He extracted his face from her neck, her hair clinging to the stubble on his cheeks. She brushed it away, her delicate fingers moving over his skin like a breeze. So fucking soft. “Perfume or something.”

  “Oh, oh yeah. It’s jasmine. I think.”

  “Jasmine, you think,” he murmured, inhaling her again. Heaven’s what she smelled like. “Gonna let you down, Cupcake.” He drew back and her arms tightened around his neck.

  Watching her intently as he slid out of her body, they both sighed at the loss of contact, the sound coming up from deep in their bellies. He’d noticed that in her bedroom, too. They were in sync.

  Never. Never had it been like this. Seemed he’d experienced a first, too. Her.

  Once she gained her footing, she moved past him and down the hallway where he heard the bathroom door shut. He made do with disposing of the condom in the kitchen trash can, then pulled on his jeans.

  Snatching the comforter from the countertop, he took it into her bedroom and spread it over her sheets. Rumpled, twisted sheets. He smiled, remembering what they’d done to rumple and twist them. As the air collapsed out of the comforter, Faith stepped in behind him. She smiled over her shoulder as she opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a long gray nightshirt. Basic cotton and she still looked elegant.

  “So.” She looked suddenly modest propping one foot on the other and dragging the hem of her nightshirt down. “I’ll be at the mansion tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. He hadn’t thought past the here and now.

  “Yeah, me too.” He gestured at nothing. “Decorations or whatever.”

  She smiled, a big smile, then rolled those dark, stormy blue eyes toward the crappy plaster-stomped ceiling overhead. “Whatever. Just Christmas decorations.”

  Her tone had definitely changed. The air sizzling between them all night seemed as if it’d been sucked out of the room.

  “So tired.” She yawned. “I’ll sleep well.”

  Two rounds and done. He wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He’d been damned lucky as his night had gone. His henley was on the nightstand, half thrown over the lamp. He pulled it on at the same time he toed on his boots, not bothering to tie them. “Sure you can keep warm without me?”

  She crawled into bed, tugging the thick blanket up to her chin. Long, fair blond hair scattered across her pillow. The breath she took was deep as she sank into the bed. He could understand why. It was nearly two in the morning. It’d been a long day all around.

  “I’m not only warm, I’m completely relaxed.” He could see her eyes had grown heavy. “Thanks to you.”

  Leaning over the bed, he placed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I’ll lock up.”

  Eyes closed, she returned, “’kay.”

 
Okay. He set the alarm, pulled on his coat, and left.

  Halfway home, his sex-buzz had thoroughly faded into the cold rain pelting his windshield. The prospect of sleeping on his recliner, or even in bed at his white-walled, cardboard-box-filled apartment sounded not as good as turning around and crawling into bed with a warm, sleepy Faith.

  But she hadn’t asked him to stay. A thought that creased his forehead in frustration as he recalled their last conversation.

  In her own way, she’d asked him to leave.

  Damn.

  Another first for him. But this one, he didn’t like. Ridiculous as it was, it made him feel kind of…used.

  Inside his apartment, he glanced from the kitchen table piled with work orders and invoices, to the completely clean and gleaming surface of his countertops.

  He threw his Thanksgiving leftovers into the microwave and groused at the plate spinning inside. Yeah, he didn’t like the way this night had ended, even though he should have been beyond satisfied overall.

  CHAPTER 14

  Faux pine garland interspersed with real pinecones, red ribbon, and holly berries draped the wall behind the bar, along each long wall, and over the threshold of the double doors. With the sconces glowing—also adorned with pinecones and red ribbon—the ballroom was beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

  Faith pulled in a deep, appreciative breath, settled her hands on her narrow hips, and smiled at her handiwork. She loved this time of year. In spite of all her mother had done (or hadn’t done, as it were) to make it the least favorite time of year, Faith’s hope endured.

  There was something about the crisp, downright cold air, the first hint that the gray skies would bring snow, and the festive music pouring out of every speaker in every store in town that made her want to make a roaring fire, stir marshmallows into hot cocoa, and pull on her wooliest pair of thick socks.

  Resolutely, Connor banged a nail into the wall and hung another wreath. They were nearly done prepping the ballroom for the toy drive. They were expecting the rental company to fill the room with tables and chairs, but not until the day before. For now, she and Connor simply had to set the stage.

  “Not bad for a guy who hates Christmas,” she teased as he climbed down the ladder. His booted feet hit the carpet silently, and he let the hammer slide through his hand until the metal part rested in his palm.

  Who knew that move was sexy?

  “I don’t hate it.” He didn’t hesitate to cross the room and stand really close to her. And she didn’t hesitate to lean forward and accept the kiss she assumed he wanted to give her. After they parted, his eyes roamed her face. She wondered what he would say—had been wondering what to say herself since last night’s incredibly amazing sexual experience had sent her to La La Land with nary a care in this world.

  Maybe that’s why she’d skipped into the mansion this morning, donning now her gay apparel, and ready to deck the halls in red, green, silver, and gold.

  Silver and gold, silver and gold, her head automatically hummed.

  But last night’s not-all-that-spontaneous sex left her wondering what to do with today. What to do with every day following. Would he come to her place tonight? Should she invite him? He’d left last night without argument, which was good. Did him not staying over set the stage for their future encounters, or would they have to outline it next time? And the time after that…

  Oh, she hoped there’d be a next time followed by a time after that…

  She wasn’t exactly accustomed to sleeping with a guy she wasn’t seeing in any sort of formal capacity. Though, if Connor and she were technically “seeing” each other, their first date was a doozy—meeting the family on the second biggest holiday of the year followed by a few rounds of mind-blowing, toe-curling, thought-numbing—

  She didn’t realize she sighed aloud until Connor’s brow dented. “Cupcake, somethin’ on your mind?”

  To lie or not to lie, that was the question.

  “Yes.” Not lying, it was.

  “Tonight,” he guessed.

  She blinked. “Yes, actually.”

  “Your place. After I run an errand.” He was talking about Jonas, she now knew. The “errand” who had saved his life overseas. Her eyes wandered the expanse of his sure chest, currently not filled with shrapnel or bullets thanks to this mystery man.

  “Was that what you were wondering?” he asked.

  When she bit her lip, he leaned forward to kiss her again. She did, as unable to keep her attraction for him at bay as she was unable to resist a Devil Dog in its white, crinkly wrapper.

  “Tonight,” he murmured against her mouth, “and each night after. As long as you want me, I’m there.”

  Her heart ka-thumped against her rib cage in a combination of worry and excitement. As long as she wanted him.

  “And if I stop wanting you?” she ventured, half-teasing, half-serious.

  “Not gonna happen. I’ll see to it.” His grin was downright predatory.

  He tweaked her chin with his thumb and forefinger and strolled across the room to the toolbox he’d toted in here. Bent in half, he dropped the hammer with a clank and she watched his jeans mold around one of the finest male asses she’d ever seen in her life.

  As long as she wanted him.

  She could work with that.

  * * *

  “Food and sex go together, that’s why,” Faith was arguing. Again, she was perched on her countertop, wrapped in her comforter. Connor, dressed only in jeans, stood next to her, eating handfuls of cereal from the box.

  He crunched, then smiled and spoke around a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs. “Yeah, but for you, food is like foreplay.”

  “Well they’re kind of the same,” she said, digging into the box and coming out with a few puffs for herself. “Both fill you with this sense of ecstasy”—she popped the cereal into her mouth—“and after you’re through, you feel like sleeping.”

  He swallowed his bite before taking a guzzle of almond milk from the container. He eyed the carton again with a shake of his head. “I have to tell you, this shit’s pretty good.”

  “Thanks.” He offered her the carton and she followed his lead and guzzled a drink from the spout. When a trail of milk slid down the corner of her mouth, he caught it with his thumb.

  “Sex and sleep,” he said after he sucked the droplet of milk from his thumb, “now there are two things that go well together.”

  She laughed.

  “Two things that, as soon as I finish doing them, I want to do again right away.”

  Lifting an eyebrow was a talent she’d taught herself in the mirror, arduously, over days and days when she was twelve years old. She so wanted to be Vivien Leigh after she’d seen Gone with the Wind. She canted that brow now, hoping to look mischievous and take-charge.

  She didn’t know if she succeeded, but something about the expression worked because next, Connor pulled the blanket off her, baring her shoulders. He cupped her breasts in his large hands.

  “Can’t believe you don’t like these as much as I do,” he commented, kneading and pulling at her now erect nipples. “So perfect. Round and perky. Not too small, and the pale pink-peach color…Perfect.”

  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t beyond flattered that the most attractive man she’d ever seen—let alone had taken to bed—was complimenting her aforementioned least desired asset. But, her issue was her issue. He was turning her on, though, so it was through a veil of lust she muttered, “Well, when the boys tell you constantly your boobs are small, that kind of thing sticks.”

  “Because they knew you’d never go out with them,” he said, continuing his exploration. He met her eyes and stepped between her legs. She widened the space between them to accommodate him. Closer now, he lowered his voice. “They knew there was no way in hell you’d go out with them, so they lashed out.”

  She pulled the blanket up and over them both, closing it around his shoulders. “I went out with you.”

  “You’re sm
art.”

  “You’re cocky.”

  “True story.”

  She tipped her head back to laugh and when she did, his lips landed on her neck. He tongued and kissed her, his hands leaving her breasts to close over her back and pull her to him. Being in Connor’s arms, in the bubble they were in, made her feel so very safe. Or maybe it was simply him who made her feel safe.

  So she told him, “You make me feel protected. Not alone.”

  “That’s a good thing, Cupcake.” He kissed her jaw, leaned closer to her ear.

  “You can’t stay,” she blurted.

  His mouth froze at her lobe, then his head pulled back so he could look at her.

  “I’m sorry. I just feel like I should tell you. As long as we are sleeping together, I can’t have you sleeping over.”

  Now he was frowning. His hold loosening.

  “The sex is still on the table. Trust me. On the table, the countertop, the bedroom, the couch. The balcony if you want,” she sort of joked. “But the sleeping here, the closeness is too…”

  He’d drawn his head back farther to watch her, and now his lips were pursed and he definitely looked unhappy.

  “I know it’s no big deal to you, but I wanted to say it and, there. I’ve said it.” She tipped her head to the side. “You can continue kissing me now.” When he didn’t, she straightened her head and blew out a breath. “What? Talk to me.”

  “You want me to leave.”

  “No! I mean, yes, but you know…when we’re done.” Ugh. That sounded awful. Even to her. She thought of her mother and her man-friends. Maybe she should have asked Linda Shelby for pointers on how to have a meaningless fling. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Connor wasn’t meaningless. He was a good man, a good soldier, a good son and brother. He’d saved her, stood up for her, and he’d made love to her with a single-minded dedication the likes of which she’d never experienced.

  And that was the problem, quite frankly. He had the potential of becoming a permanent fixture, and she didn’t need anyone fixturing themselves in her life. Especially when the potential fallout was soul-consuming.