He took her hand, then pressed his palm to the small of her back, drawing her into his embrace. And that buzz was back. The feeling he had the moment he’d laid eyes on her back at the hotel bar, which seemed like eons ago.
“I can handle being the guy,” he said, his voice taking on a gravelly edge as he pulled her in a fraction closer.
She rested her hand on his shoulder and gazed up at him as they swayed to the slow rhythm of Bing’s rich baritone.
“Do you have any moves?” she asked, rosy-cheeked with those dark chestnut tendrils framing her face.
He leaned in, allowing his lips to hover a breath away from her earlobe. “You know, I do.”
She blushed, and all that blood she had rushing to her cheeks, in his body, surged due south, straight to his cock.
“I mean on the dance floor,” she countered.
He suppressed a grin, then brought her flush against him as the hard planes of his chiseled body merged with her petite curves. He stared down at her petal-soft kissable lips and slid his hand down from the small of her back to allow his fingertips to graze the curve of her ass. Her eyes went wide, and just before she was about to protest, he spun her out of his arms only to catch her hand and reel her back in.
She gasped. “Holy moly! You can dance!” she replied, using the same stupidly adorable exclamation she’d used the night he’d brought her to his hotel suite. He’d known that she wasn’t a one-night stand kind of girl, and still, he’d pursued her.
Why? Why was he breaking all his rules?
He pushed the thought out of his mind.
“You can thank the Manhattan cotillion,” he answered, finally finding a use for the ridiculous dance and etiquette training he’d tolerated until he’d gone off to boarding school.
She scrunched her face in confusion. “I don’t know what that is. But if that’s fancy talk for dance lessons, then I’m all for it.”
He chuckled as she reached past him and snapped up a chocolate kiss from the table.
“Do you want one? My grandma used to always let me have one before the cookies were done baking.”
He glanced away. “I don’t do sweets.”
With Bing belting out “Silver Bells,” he was ready to change the lyrics to silver balls, or more like, blue balls.
He rubbed slow circles on the small of her back, his body aching for her as Bridget held the tiny bite of chocolate to her mouth. But she didn’t eat it right away. Instead, she drew the kiss across her bottom lip.
It was too much to bear, and Bridget Dasher was enemy number one. He should not kiss her—again.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Just eat it, Birdie.”
“Not yet, Scooter,” she purred.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I can only have one. It’s my grandma’s rule, and I want to make it last.”
With his hand on her back, he gripped her blouse, bunching the fabric in a feeble attempt to calm the hell down.
“If you don’t eat that damn piece of candy right now, I can’t be responsible for what I might do.”
She closed her eyes as the tip of her tongue brushed across the base of the kiss. “Too bad. I want to wait.”
A maddening spark snaked through his veins, prickling and taunting him. This woman made him, Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph, the manwhore of Manhattan, fucking crazy.
“I’m done waiting,” he hissed.
In the space of a breath, he plucked the chocolate from her grip. “Open your mouth.”
Surrounded by holiday music and driven damn near insane from the chocolate peanut butter scented air laced with this infuriating woman’s cinnamon vanilla scent, she held his gaze, and without a word in protest, complied.
He slid the kiss past her lips, and she closed her eyes, humming a deliciously sexy sound that went straight to his raging hard-on.
“Want more?” he pressed.
Brimming with confidence and just the right amount of mischief, her lips curled into her one-night vixen smile. “I told you, I’m only allowed to have one, or do you want me to be bad and indulge in two?”
Sweet Christ! He was ready to indulge, and it had nothing to do with chocolate.
He gripped her hips and lifted her onto the wooden table.
“If you thought that first chocolate kiss was good, you won’t know what hit you with the second.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Why do you say that?”
“Because your second kiss is coming from me,” he rasped, taking her face in his hands.
Their lips came together in a chocolate cinnamon explosion of desire. The spicy heat of the cinnamon and the lush richness of the chocolate lingered on her tongue. It was like kissing the X-rated version of Mrs. Claus. And not only did he want more, he wanted everything, all of her. She sighed into his mouth, and he pulled her forward, her ass teetering on the edge of the counter as their bodies came together. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around him as his hard length strained against the confines of his jeans and pressed between her thighs.
They were like horny teenagers, hands exploring, bodies rocking, hips thrusting. Each lick, each caress, every sensual slide of his lips across hers sent him spiraling out of control.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he bit out between heated kisses.
Yes, it was a cheesy as hell line, but he meant it. And he’d never said anything like this to a woman.
For him, sex was sex. He didn’t have the time or the desire to get to know a woman beyond how fast he could get her on her knees with his cock in her mouth. He should hate the one-night vixen currently wrapped in his embrace. He should be plotting his and Tom’s escape from this bumble-fuck nowhere mountain town. But when he kissed Bridget Dasher, he entered an alternate universe, and another Soren Rudolph emerged. A Soren who only wanted this one-night vixen’s kisses.
Bridget pulled back, and her mahogany gaze had grown darker and more resonant.
“And I’ve never—” she began, then stilled when a shrill beep cut through the kitchen’s Christmas cookie-scented make-out haze.
He stared at her, unable to look away from her wild mane of hair. In the throes of cookie-scented dry-humping, he must have released her makeshift bun. With her kiss-swollen lips and heaving chest, she was an angel and a vixen, all tied up into one irresistibly beautiful woman.
Irresistibly beautiful woman?
What was wrong with him! He didn’t think about shit like that!
He took a step back, coming to his senses.
This had to stop. He was a strong man—strong in body and mind. Bridget was an attractive woman. Who wouldn’t want her? But from this moment on, this kissy-face bullshit had to end.
Bridget pressed her fingertips to her lips, then shook her head with a woozy swivel before glancing from the oven to the pile of chocolate.
“I need more kisses.” She shook her head again. “I mean, the chocolate kisses, for the cookies. You should unwrap a few more.”
He nodded. Good, they were back on track. She was the maid of honor baking cookies, and he was the best man, helping while sporting a raging hard-on.
Dammit!
He blew out a tight breath. “Why don’t you get the cookies, and I’ll be ready with the kisses for your cookie. No, strike that! I’ll unwrap a few more chocolates, then put the damn things on the peanut butter balls.”
Christ! He was not a bumbling idiot—ever—except, it seemed, when it came to Bridget Dasher.
“They’re blossoms now. They’re not balls anymore,” she answered, remarkably straight-faced considering the relatively humorous nature of all this ball and blossom talk.
Cookies, kisses, and balls! This had to stop or else he’d have no choice but to bend her over the counter and take her hard and fast like he did the first time they’d made love.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as every cell in his brain seemed to be going haywire.
“Whatever they are, I’ll de-blossom them with
a kiss,” he answered.
She cocked her head to the side. “De-what?”
God help him!
“Get the cookies out of the oven. I understand what I have to do.”
She glanced around the kitchen as if she just realized she was in a kitchen.
She popped another gummy bear into her mouth. “I better get the cookies. I think that’s the timer.”
He watched her closely. “I literally just told you to do that.”
What was going on with her?
Luckily, the baking part of her brain kicked in, and she sprang into action. She removed the tray of cookies from the oven, then slid them onto a baking rack with one hand.
“Kiss time,” she called.
Without thinking, he pulled the strap of her apron and twirled her into his arms. A slick as hell move until the surprise on her face clued him in that she meant for him to put the chocolate kisses onto the peanut butter blossoms.
She stroked his cheek. “I like your scruff. It feels like kitty cat kisses.”
“Kitty cat kisses?” he repeated. This was getting weird.
“Yeah, but since you’re so cantankerous, we can call it kitty cat cantankerous kisses,” she replied, then giggled.
Was she losing her mind?
“I better get to the chocolate.”
She glanced at the pile. “Yes, they’re ready.”
He looked at the mound of Hershey’s kisses. “You dance for cookies and commune with chocolate?”
Her eyes went wide. “I’ve never talked to chocolate before today. This is something new.”
This was getting weirder by the second.
“Why don’t you find something to put the cookies in and then we should probably go.”
She nodded, then started opening and closing the cabinets as he plopped chocolate kisses on the center of a few dozen cookies.
“Got it!” she called, carrying over a large picnic basket.
“Really?” he asked.
“It’s a picnic basket. How fun, right?”
She found a clean dish towel, lined the bottom, then placed each cookie into the basket while humming “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
This gave him some time to observe his curious vixen. She looked like the same woman, but this behavior went well beyond injecting Christmas juju into baked goods.
“Are you okay?”
She held up the last cookie and gazed lovingly at it before placing it into the basket. “I am more than okay because the chocolate is happy. It’s happy to be united with the peanut butter blossom.”
“You take your baking seriously,” he remarked, trying to figure out this chick.
She closed the basket, then switched out her apron for her coat.
“I’m keeping these with me. They’re great to snack on,” she said, ignoring him and pocketing the baggie with considerably fewer cinnamon gummy bears left inside.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
She stared at him blankly. “Go where?”
“To Kringle Acres. The retirement community where we’re throwing a spaghetti dinner.”
She gasped. “That’s tonight?”
“Yeah, you made the schedule.”
Bridget glanced around wildly. “Well, then we have to go!”
Was she messing with him?
“Have you forgotten to take your meds or something?” he asked, not kidding in the least.
That perplexed crinkle returned to her forehead. “Like vitamins? I took my multi-vitamin this morning.”
He shook his head, giving up. If she wanted to play some bizarro game, he was not going to bite.
“Let’s go. You probably need a little air.”
They settled themselves inside the pickup truck. He had to get through this bullshit spaghetti thing, and then, he’d find a moment to talk with Tom and make his case.
He got the keys from the visor and started the car as Bridget bounced on the seat like a toddler in a bouncy house.
“It’s jiggly in here, like Jell-O,” she said with a wide grin.
“Can you try and focus? We need to figure out how to get to Kringle Acres,” he said as he shifted the vehicle into gear and headed down the snow-packed road.
She opened the glove box, then gasped.
“What?” he shot back. Terrified as to what she might have found. Who knows what crazy shit people living in the sticks kept in their cars!
And it wasn’t like he could get a good look. With hairpin twists and turns, the drive down Kringle Mountain was not for the faint of heart.
“It’s a map! A map will tell us where to go!” she exclaimed as if she’d stumbled upon the Holy Grail.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what a map is for, Bridget.”
She spread it across the dash and tapped her finger on the crinkled paper. “Okay, take Mountain House Drive to Mistletoe Avenue, then turn right.”
“That’s the name?” he asked. “Mistletoe Avenue?”
This place really did milk the Christmas themes.
“Yeah! And look! There’s even a reindeer crossing sign on the map!” she said, pointing to, yep, a bright yellow reindeer crossing sign.
“Why don’t you roll down the window and get some fresh air,” he suggested.
She clapped her hands. “Good idea! We can find out what the town smells like.”
He glanced at her again. As the sun hung low in the sky, Bridget tilted her head and pointed her nose out the window, smelling the town like a golden retriever.
She was a relatively normal person a few hours ago. Was she still screwing with his head? Was this her baking persona? This flighty, head-in-the-clouds attitude? She’d gone toe to toe with him in the snarky banter department. He’d say something asinine, and she’d throw it right back at him. But this Bridget was not so much the vixen or the type A maid of honor. No, this Bridget was—
He caught a movement in his peripheral vision. “What are you doing now?”
She had her hand stretched in front of her face with her nose pressed to her palm.
“Hands do so many things, Soren,” she answered.
“Yeah, they’re your hands. They’re supposed to do things.”
“But so, so many things,” she replied, then ate another bite-sized gummy bear as a grizzly bear-sized realization hit him.
Oh shit! This was not good!
He turned onto Mistletoe Avenue. With shops donning Christmas wreaths and candy cane decorations, the place looked like a holiday movie set.
“Are we in Santa’s Village in the North Pole? This is just how I’d imagined it! Do you think we’re going to see a real Christmas fairy here?” Bridget trilled.
“No, we’re still in Kringle, Colorado,” he answered, trying to figure out what the hell to do as the sign for the Kringle Acres Retirement Community came into view. But when he went to turn into the parking area, two men, each with a white beard, raised their hands and signaled for them to stop.
He rolled down the driver’s side window. “What’s going on?”
“We’re moving the cats around,” a Santa lookalike replied as Soren did a double take.
Did he know this Santa?
Bridget leaned over to get a better look. “Kitty cats?”
Jesus! Not kitty cats again!
He gave the somewhat familiar man another look.
Could they have met?
No, there was no way he’d be acquainted with anyone in this damned place.
The other bearded man chuckled. “No, snowcats. You know, what you use to groom all that snow for the skiers on Kringle Mountain. The retired residents here take care of grooming the slopes and doing basic maintenance on the snowcats, right here, in the parking lot. We’re moving Rudolph to the front. He’s the snowcat with the big red light on top.”
“Rudolph is a big cantankerous cat,” Bridget exclaimed, then ate yet another gummy bear.
Soren pointed to her bag of candy. “Can I see that?”
She handed it o
ver, and he leaned in and lowered his voice.
“I need you to act normal.”
“I am normal,” she whispered back, which, when whispered, sounded the exact opposite of normal.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the snowcat Santas. “Where should I park? We’re here with the cookies and to help with the spaghetti dinner.”
The man pointed down the road. “Over there, on the street! Just head inside. Tanner’s in the kitchen now. He can show you around. You’re the first volunteers to arrive.”
Deck the goddamn halls! Thank God! And this Tanner was going to have some explaining to do if his hunch about these freaking gummy bears was right.
He parked the truck, and Bridget bounced out the door with the basket of cookies.
“Hey! Wait for me!” he called.
She turned in circles as she walked, taking in the snowy, festive scenery.
“It’s magical here. It wasn’t like this when I was a kid. Look at all the decorations and lights. They’re everywhere!”
“It is Christmas,” he grumped.
“But this is like…” she trailed off, her words infused with wonder.
“Christmas on steroids?” he offered, taking in the town’s decked out Main Street.
She shook her head. “No, I was going to say it’s like Christmas on steroids.”
Shit! The more she talked, the more certain he became.
They entered Kringle Acres to find the main vestibule empty—a godsend because if his hunch was right, she’d only be getting loopier.
“Bridget, remember, you need to act normal,” he said, scanning the space.
“I told you, I am normal,” she whispered again, which didn’t make it sound any less not-normal.
“Hey, dude! Over here! I need to ask you something.”
Soren looked up to find Tanner waving to them from the other side of the room. He took Bridget’s hand and hurried toward the kid.
“I need to ask you something, too,” he replied sternly.
“Come on. Let’s get to the kitchen,” Tanner said with a nervous cringe as he led them down a hallway that opened up into the retirement community’s spacious kitchen.
The kid shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I was wondering if I left something in the mountain house kitchen. Something I was working on.”
Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 13
