Scrooge dropped the items in my hand, watching me for a moment before turning around and walking away.
Disappointment drooped my shoulders as I shut the door. No, Alice, it was the right move. Clearly he’s the only one thinking rationally. Rationally… A laugh stumbled out of my mouth at the notion I placed Scrooge as the sensible one. This place was really starting to affect me.
In the pile was humongous men’s red drawstring cotton pants, most likely Nick’s. They hung off my frame, and I rolled and tightened them the best I could to keep them up. The white undershirt tank was so tight and short, hitting my midriff, I was convinced it used to belong to an elf.
“Be happy, it could have been the other way,” I muttered to myself, looking down, hoping the tank wasn’t obscenely see-through.
I was fed and clean, which was not to be taken for granted anymore. Honestly, I couldn’t remember a time I felt so good from cheap soap, freezing water, and bargain shampoo.
I stepped out into the hall, no sounds coming from the living area.
“My turn.” Scrooge met me in the hallway, my insides responding with a burst of adrenaline pumping through my veins. I had never been someone who got flustered and spacey around a guy. I was usually direct, but watching him saunter up, his gaze heavy on me, heat flushed my cheeks and dissolved words off my tongue.
Scrooge stepped up, his toes knocking into mine. “Everyone’s gone to bed.”
“Oh?” was all my brain could muster.
“Dum went to his sister in the guest room; Pen too. Hare went up into the loft, which leaves you and I.”
I swallowed, trying to even out my breaths. “Where does that leave us?”
“The living room,” he replied softly. “I left some blankets on the sofa for you.”
“Wh-Where will you sleep?” With me? Please?
“The rug is fine.”
“Oh.” The syllable stuck in my throat.
His gaze ran down my body, stopping at my breasts, the water from my hair dripping down the white tank, making it more translucent.
“Ms. Liddell?” He said my name so slow and deep I could feel it in my toes.
“Yes?” I croaked.
“You’re blocking my way.” He lifted one eyebrow.
“Oh. Sorry. Shit. Right.” I shook my head stepping out of the middle of the hallway. Humor sparkled in his eyes at my floundering. He stepped around me, his arm brushing mine as he headed to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut and a whoosh of air left my lungs, my face smacking into my palms.
“Yeah. I’d be embarrassed too. That was pretty sad.” Hare’s voice jerked my head up. He leaned at the start of the hallway where the stairs lead to the loft. He used an end of a shaved candy cane to pick at his teeth. “Seriously, I’ve never seen a person fumble like that.”
“Shut up,” I snarled at him.
“Hey.” He lifted his arms in surrender. “Just call it as I see it.”
“Aren’t you going to bed?”
Hare grinned. “Yeah. But remember I’m just above, so if you could keep the slap and tickle down to a low level, I’d appreciate it.” Hare winked before leaping up the steps. “Oh, and you’re welcome for dinner.”
I grumbled, my sentiment coming out begrudgingly. “Thank. You.” He really was an amazing chef.
Hare’s devious laugh traveled up the stairs.
I checked on Dee. She slept peacefully, a tinge of color back in her cheeks. I kissed her forehead and tucked a blanket around Dum, who slept at the end of her bed like a dedicated pet. Penguin snored from a spot on the floor on the other side of the bed. The little guy was stretched out over a blanket, his fins moving up and down, creating snow angels in his dreams.
Nick’s snoring echoed off the walls of his bedroom as I headed back into the living room. As Scrooge said, a blanket and pillow sat on the lumpy sofa for me. I grabbed them, but instead of lying down on the uncomfortable-looking thing, I moved to the cushy rug, right by the fire, stretching out on my stomach.
I was dozing when I felt his presence more than heard him. My lids bolted up, his energy crackling down my spine. Mistake.
“You didn’t want the couch?” His deep voice curved my head over my shoulder.
I pressed my lips together. He wore the same red drawstring pants as mine, but that was it. Thought I’d never complain when this man was shirtless. His body glistened with water, the pants hanging low on his hips, showing off his cut V-line. Drops slipped down his skin, disappearing underneath the tie of the pants. The tattoo over his heart and shoulder pulsed under his muscles. He’d been shirtless more than not, but I hadn’t taken real notice of its design. Running for your life can do that. A hazy memory of my fingers tracing it under a foggy, fevered brain itched at my fingers.
Hot-and-bothered rum. “No.” I coughed, turning back to the fire. “You can take it.”
Scrooge didn’t respond but walked into the kitchen, grabbed a half-filled bottle of the magical mead, and returned to the sofa. He slunk down onto the seat, taking a swig, his hand absently rubbing his tattoo on his pec, his gaze staring off.
“Nick doesn’t own a shirt?” I sat up, motioning to his chest.
Scrooge’s gaze slid slowly to mine. “Am I bothering you, Ms. Liddell?”
“No. I- just… no.” I stumbled and fell flat on any intelligence I had.
“I doubt I’d look as good in an elf shirt.” His gaze dipped down, and I tried to ignore the feel of my nipples reacting to his stare again. The need for his touch covered me like a stream of water.
Turning back to the fire, I leaned back against the sofa. I was so close to him his leg brushed against my arm. Not able to stop myself, I snuck a few glances up at him. This time I took more care investigating his tattoo, noticing outside the phrase, “It’s always teatime,” written in cursive was a teapot pouring into an upside-down top hat with a billowing scarf wrapped around it.
We stayed silent for a few moments. He stared at the fire, swallowing more gulps of liquor, lost in thought, his hand still stroking the ink marks.
“What does it mean?” The question swept over my tongue, my curiosity always jumping before reasoning.
His hand stopped as he realized he was touching it. His fists rolled up, his arm dropping away, ire dotting his brow. His mouth pinched and his lids narrowed, but his gaze never left the flames of the fire.
Clearly, I hit a very touchy, personal subject. “Never mind.” I shook my head. “Sorry, not my business.” Though I was even more intrigued about the story of his tattoo. About him.
“Not sure I’m drunk enough for this conversation, Ms. Liddell.” Scrooge huffed, ingesting a hearty gulp.
He stayed quiet so long, I was sure he wasn’t going to answer, when his low voice vibrated the back of my neck.
“It was my wife’s favorite saying.” He stared forward, taking a drink. “No matter what was going on, how mad, hopeless, or scared, she would pull out her kettle and start a pot, saying, ‘It’s always teatime.’ As though tea would solve everything.” He wagged his head, a pained chuckle huffing off his lips. “I think she did it thinking it would calm me down, but it only enraged me. Her and that damn teapot.” Scrooge’s hand ran through his hair, adjusting on the sofa. “Now I’d give anything to hear her say it to me again.”
Instantly, a knot tied in my throat, the mix of jealousy and grief for him burning my esophagus. Shame followed. It had been instant, the stomach dropping sensation. Hearing him talk about his wife, the fact he was still obviously in love with her. He’d wish me away in a moment if he could have her sitting here now instead. I know I should wish that for him too, but the possessive growl in my gut roared.
“My son loved to dress the same as me, wear my hats when they were far too big for him.” Scrooge’s Adam’s apple hitched, his thumb running over the neck of the bottle. “From birth, he was a sickly boy… always so small… so cold. One Christmas I got him a top hat matching mine and a thick red scarf. He never
took it them off. Wore them every day up until…” His sentence halted in this throat, his eyes glistening with liquid, forcing his lids to blink rapidly.
Up until he died. “Did you really kill him?” I practically whispered, my curiosity once again prevailing over propriety. It was still hard for me to think Scrooge killed his own son. Why? And how could you ever live with yourself after you did something like that? I had so many more questions bubbling inside, none of them making it out of my mouth.
The silence overflowed into the room, sucking out all the air, his muscles contracting like a coiled snake. He took a long drag from the bottle.
“I’m so sorry.” I rubbed at my head. The love he had for his son was obvious. Whatever had led to his son’s death must be so utterly painful and horrendous. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”
“No.” He voice strained with hostility. “You can’t.”
Every second ticked, twisting strain around us. The wind thumped against the windows and door, still trying to warn us. After what felt like days, I forced myself to speak, keeping my eyes on the blaze. “I am so sorry for your loss. For both of them.”
A few beats passed before a bottle came into my peripheral; my regard went back to Scrooge as he extended me the mead, flames flicking across his aloof expression. I took his offer, believing this was his way of declaring a truce. The sound of liquid swished as I guzzled a huge swig down my throat, my eyes not able to leave him.
Feeling my scrutiny on him, his jaw clenched, screaming to not address the topic again. I didn’t, but where my mind and mouth went next was just as bad.
“Was she the last person you were with?” What the fuck? Did I actually ask him that? And then I had to make it worse. “I mean, I don’t doubt you’ve been propositioned… a lot… I mean, look at you.” I motioned down his glorious torso. “You’ve probably had girls throw themselves at you… not that you slept with everyone who offered… I mean, you totally could have. Nothing wrong if you did.”
Shut. Up. Alice. I clamped my mouth together, frowning at the bottle in my hand. What was in this? But I knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol. Scrooge turned me into a bumbling idiot.
He tipped his head to the side, his gaze slowly moving over me, as if he were trying to figure out what I was. If I was the same species. “You really want to know, Ms. Liddell?” Husky and low, his response felt like fingers gliding over my skin.
“No.” Yes. “Yes.” No. My mind jumped around, curiosity wanting to know one answer, while my gut wanted the other.
“Which is it?” He lifted one dark eyebrow. “You want to know the countless women and men who have propositioned me?”
“No.” I waggled my head. “It’s none of my business. Please forget I asked.”
He smirked, his eyes so intense, it was like someone scooped the air from my lungs. “Good night, Ms. Liddell.”
“Night.” I took a few more slugs, before setting the bottle on the coffee table. Slipping onto the sheepskin, the last few days’ events settled into my bones. I could no longer fight the toasty fire or the plush rug pulling me even farther into its softness. Laying my head down, I curled into the rug, tucking my head on the pillow, staring at the flames, dazed by their power. Hare’s soft snores trickled down from the loft.
Tomorrow was a new day. Deal with what was ahead, but for now, we needed rest.
The wind rattled the windows, their hissing voices blending together into a howl. The sound of leather rustling came from behind me, and I figured Scrooge was settling down for a night’s sleep.
“Scoot over, Ms. Liddell.” A scratchy, deep voice uttered behind me, jolting my drowsy lids fully up.
“What?” I curved to see him slipping off the sofa behind me, the room making his eyes dark as night.
“You have the only pillow and blanket.” His gaze ran over me. Raw. Feral. Making my stomach bob and weave as though it was in a game of dodgeball. I sat up, my guard going up. “Plus, the sofa is extremely uncomfortable. Why I put you there.” The side of his mouth hooked up, his eyes blistering as they dug deeply into mine.
“Nice.” I tried to glare at him, but it came out more a twitch.
“Never been accused of that one before.”
“Wasn’t meant as a compliment.”
“I’ve always been on the bad list.” He smirked, ignoring my statement as more tingles rushing between my thighs.
My lips parted, watching him crawl under the blanket next to me, every muscle in his chest flexing, hurling desire and heat through my veins. “Wh-What are you doing?”
“Not like we haven’t slept next to each other before.” Every word oozed with sexuality, drying out my throat.
He laid his head down on the pillow, staring up at me.
“I wasn’t quite in my right mind then.” I breathed, feeling my chest compress.
“And are you now, Ms. Liddell?”
No. Not at all.
He quirked up an eyebrow, looking utterly sexy. He made me feel the same as an awkward teenager, which had no clue what to do with him. What was it about him that sent every nerve ending on fire, capsizing my stomach?
He patted the space on the floor, nodding for me to lie down. “You need sleep. I’m not going to touch you, if that’s what you are afraid of.”
The problem was that wasn’t what frightened me. It was more the idea he wouldn’t. Dammit, Alice. You cannot let him twist you up this way.
“No matter how much you beg me to. Again.” He winked, fueling embarrassment and lust through me.
“There is no worry of that, I can promise you.”
He tucked an arm under the pillow, cocky as hell. “Don’t promise something you can’t keep. Then your word is useless.” The truth of his assertion pinked my cheeks with humiliation.
“Get over yourself.” I scowled, turning away from him. I laid down, inching as far away as I could, tucking the sliver of the pillow under my head. Pulling the blanket up to my shoulder, I tried to ignore the feel of his warm body licking at my skin and the impression of him there next to me. His hip and thigh skimmed down my ass to my legs.
It was useless. Every fiber of my being was tuned in to him, reaching out, desperate and wanting, while my chest knotted with fear. If he touched me, if he breathed on me, he would see how fast I would crumble. A house of cards built on sand.
Several minutes passed as I pretended I could possibly go to sleep, when I sensed him roll over on his side, his legs brushing up against me. Every nerve screamed like an overzealous fangirl about to faint. My knuckles tightened around the pillow as I squeezed my lids shut painfully. My frame fossilized in a fetal position, air barely leaking from my lungs.
A hand skimmed over my hipbone. A gasp punched my gut, but didn’t make it past my stomach, sizzling like acid as it melted into the seams.
“Alice.” Barely audible, my name pulsated against the back of my neck, spreading goosebumps down my flesh.
His fingers slid up the curve of my hip, stopping at the bottom of the crop tank. Every time he touched me, electricity shot through my muscles. Fire and ice. Cinnamon and peppermint. Hot and cold. Spicy and refreshing. The sensation swirled pleasure deeply through my bones. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, holding back my groan.
“Alice,” he rumbled again, spiking my heartbeat. I didn’t move, nor did I pull away. I was afraid of my reaction. To let myself look back at him. Give in to what I wanted more than anything.
He gripped my hip firmer, pulling me onto my back. Propped on his elbow he gazed down on me, his blue eyes rolling with heat and desire, staring at me like he wanted to consume me. His hand skated from my side over my stomach, oxygen catching in my throat.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to touch me, even if I begged,” I breathed, staring up into his eyes. “What happened to your word meaning something?”
“I said your word. Everyone knows my word means shit.” He leaned over me, his chest pressing against mine. His nostrils fl
ared as my nipples hardened underneath him. He grasped my face. “There’s a reason I’m on the naughty list.”
His mouth crashed down on mine. Devouring. Violent. Demanding. It shattered any resolve I may have had left into dust. Sparks of heat shredded down my veins.
Finally.
The feel of his mouth on mine exploded every nerve, submerging me with overwhelming sensations. I responded with a savage need that frightened me. There was no sweetness or awkward moment of trying to learn each other, our mouths hungry and needy.
Raw. Desperate.
He moved over me, fitting himself between my legs, his hardness pressing into me, and rolling his hips, rubbing against me. A strangled groan escaped as my legs curled around him pulling him in tighter, my hands moving down his bare back, nudging under the pants, over his toned ass.
There was no slow buildup with us, our pent-up attraction had been roaring under the surface since the moment we met. At least for me. And that was why I was afraid of his touch. I knew as he did, I would not be satisfied until he had all of me.
He groaned, his tongue slipping deeper into my mouth. Exploring. One hand fisted my damp hair almost painfully against my skull, spurring on my adrenaline and need. The other hand skated down to the hem of my tank. He broke away for a moment, ripping the tank over my head, baring my naked breasts. My arms went over my head into the soft rug, my back arching as his fingers trailed down from my hair to my neck, then gliding between them.
He stopped, staring down at me with so much intensity I whimpered. Biting my lip, I lifted my hips, rolling against him. “Please, don’t stop.”
“Alice.” He shut his lids tightly, like he was fighting me, but his body responded. Pulsing and hard, his heat scalded me through the layers of fabric, his hips moving with mine, the friction making us both moan. When his lids lifted again, all I saw was the feral animal I observed underneath when I first met him.
If he planned on stopping or slowing this down, that idea was tossed over the snowy cliff.
His hand came to my breast as his mouth inhaled mine, his need wild and brutal. Nipping. Biting. Sucking. He kissed me so intensely, I could feel it in every cell, shutting off my brain to the world around us, drowning out the wind howling down the chimney.
DESCENDING INTO MADNESS Page 19
