She huffed an amused laugh. “I’m not qualified to work for you. I’m barely an assistant baker. My only credentials are my grandmother’s seal of baking approval and a few online courses.”
“I think you underestimate yourself,” he countered.
She stared at the ground. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you’ve dedicated your life to making sure that your sister had what she needed to succeed.”
“That was my grandma Dasher’s dying wish. Both Lori and I spoke to her alone before she passed.”
“What did she say to you?”
He wanted to know everything.
“She asked me to watch out for Lori. I was the oldest—still only eighteen, but the oldest. And we got by once it was just the two of us. I had to put college on hold. I got a job at a bakery, and Lori worked her butt off at school and earned a full-ride scholarship to Harvard. She would have made my parents and grandmother so proud.”
“What about you?” he asked, growing more in awe of this woman by the second.
She gave a sad little chuckle. “I’m not sure. Currently, I’m unemployed and recently dumped. Maybe it’s time to start looking for something more.”
He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, unable to stop himself from touching her.
“What’s that more look like for you?”
She rested her hands on his chest and pushed onto her tiptoes. His arms encircled her waist, and he drew her in.
“Tell me, Bridget?” he coaxed, completely enthralled and powerless to resist.
She gripped the fabric of his coat. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never let myself dream. I’ve never taken the leap and just gone for it.”
The leap. The letting go. Putting it all on the line and rolling the dice.
He’d never allowed himself that luxury either.
But none of that seemed to matter when she was locked in his embrace.
All the bullshit faded away, muting the grating pain that dwelled deep in his heart.
He inhaled her vanilla scent as their breaths mingled together. They inhabited this space, this place where time stood still. The anticipation grew palpable—the air buzzing with a delicious expectancy.
“Who are you, Bridget? The angel or the vixen?” he whispered.
She trembled in his arms. “I—” she breathed as the sharp ping of an incoming text sliced through the cabin, severing their connection.
She sank from her tiptoe position, then took a step back, and broke free of his embrace.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “It’s a text from Lori. Everyone’s wondering where we are.” She glanced up at him as the light from her smartphone illuminated her face. “I’ll tell her not to worry and that we’re on our way.”
He took a step back as well and ran his hands down his scruffy jaw. “Yeah, we should get going.”
They threw snow on the last of the dying embers, extinguishing the last glimmers of orange light, and he propped the door closed with a few logs. With the intimacy of their exchange interrupted, a heavy silence stretched between them.
Did she regret sharing her past with him?
Bridget held the flashlight as they followed their boot prints, passing evergreen after evergreen, neither uttering a word. His mind spun with not only the events of the evening but the events of the last four days.
Four days!
He’d known this woman for ninety-six hours, give or take, and he could not for the life of him remember who he was before he’d fallen victim to her infuriating charms.
They entered the mountain house to find the main gathering room empty. Lit only by the Christmas trees twinkling in the corners, he followed Bridget down the hallway toward their room. She reached for the doorknob when another door a few rooms down swung open, and Lori poked her head out into the darkened corridor.
“Are you guys okay?” she whispered.
He stared at her. This was the first time he’d seen Bridget’s sister since Tom dropped the pregnancy news, and all he felt was emptiness.
“We’re fine. Is Cole okay?” Bridget asked.
Tom joined Lori in the doorway. “Yeah, he’s fine. He was out like a light the minute Denise put him in bed, then everyone decided to call it a night.”
Bridget’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “I’m so glad he’s safe, but I’m sorry for ruining your evening. I should have kept a better eye on him.”
Tom wrapped his arm around Lori. “Don’t sweat it, Birdie. Everyone’s fine. That’s what matters, right, Scooter?”
He nodded in a daze. “Yeah.”
It was like living in some strange alternate universe. There was his best friend. They’d been inseparable for years, and now, they were on the cusp of the ultimate separation. Lori had replaced him, and a child would further widen the gulf.
“Is everything okay, Scooter?”
He blinked to find Lori staring at him.
“What do you mean?”
The woman cocked her head to the side. “You have a strange look on your face.”
He glanced away. “I’m tired. It’s been a long night—that’s all.”
Bridget turned the knob and opened the door to their room. “We should all get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day. We’ve got the rehearsal and then—”
“Then, I plan on eating as many of those little ball éclair thingies as I can. Lori says it’s one of your signature desserts,” Tom replied with a grin, and he barely recognized the man.
They’d summited Everest, went skydiving in New Zealand, and had picked up women all over the globe.
Now, the guy was jazzed about balls of dough.
“He can’t wait for the croquembouche!” Lori added, patting Tom’s cheek.
“Well, good night,” Bridget said, throwing a pointed glance his way.
Christ! What did he do now?
He closed the door behind them and turned on a lamp just as she spun on her heels to face him.
“You can’t even summon up a sliver of kindness toward my sister, can you?” she snapped, eyes flashing.
He took off his coat and slung it onto the sleeper bed. “What are you talking about?”
Color rose to her cheeks as she paced in front of him. “Just now! The contempt in your eyes! It makes me want to…”
“Makes you want to do what?” he asked, gripping her elbows and holding her in place.
Her eyes glittered with that damned determination that made him want to shut her up with a kiss that left them both breathless.
She lifted her chin. “It makes me want to hate you, but I can’t.”
“Why not? Why can’t you hate me? You can see that I don’t want Tom to marry your sister.”
There! Now, the gloves were off. But just as quickly as she’d switched into the take no prisoners vixen, her gaze softened.
“I don’t think my sister is the only issue you have with this wedding.”
“Issue?” he repeated, incredulity coating the word.
“Can’t we call a truce? Can’t you see what’s right in front of you?” Bridget pleaded.
Oh, he saw it. His friend might be playing the happy groom, but the man had been railroaded into marriage by the oldest trick in the book. And Bridget didn’t even know, which gave more credence to his conclusion.
Tom was trapped.
“I don’t want a truce, Bridget.”
She huffed an exasperated breath. “There’s nothing left to do. This wedding is happening.”
He tightened his hold on her. “You don’t think I know that. You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Then tell me why you’re so against Tom marrying my sister.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“Then tell me what’s happening between us,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Do you really want to know?”
She lifted her chin, challenging him. “Yes.”
He leaned in. “You make me
insane, Bridget Dasher. You’re in my damn head. And when I look into your eyes, I’m lost, and I’m found. And I can’t escape this idea that, with you, I could be different. I could be whole.”
“Then why won’t you agree to a truce?” she asked.
He stared into her eyes as he grew more and more bewitched by the second.
“Because I don’t want a truce. I want you.”
“You do?” she whispered.
Her goodness shined in her eyes, and in it, he saw the possibility of a better version of himself. A version that didn’t leave him alone and toiling in a pit of emptiness.
Maybe he could have her, and she could fill the emptiness in his heart?
He released a ragged breath. “You know, I do. From the moment I saw you, I wanted you all for myself.”
A hopeful glint sparked in her eyes. “I want you, too. But I need you to promise me something.”
At the mention of a promise, all he could think of was the wreckage of his childhood, littered with unkept promises.
I promise I’ll come to your baseball game.
I promise we’ll spend time together next week.
“Promise me that I don’t have to worry about you doing anything crazy with this wedding,” she said, cutting through his cluttered mind.
He stared at her—at this woman whose word meant everything. Brimming with integrity, she was the kind of person who’d move heaven and earth to help a stranger.
He’d observed her doing just that.
“How do you do it?” he rasped.
She was almost too good to be true.
Bridget cocked her head to the side. “Do what?”
“Always put others ahead of yourself?”
“I told you. If I make a promise, I keep it. Now, I need you to make one,” she replied gently.
He’d never promised anything to anyone. He’d never wanted to risk following in his parents’ footsteps. And he’d never actually had the inclination to give his word.
And as far as promises go, it wasn’t like many people had asked him to pledge his honor.
Tom never asked for promises. They were buds. Best friends. They hung out. They spent the holidays together. There was, at least, an unsaid code between them—but never a promise.
Was Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph even capable of such an oath?
But with his world tumbling out of control and his emotions calling the shots, he knew what had to be done.
“I do.”
She grinned up at him, and God help him, if having her meant he had to give his word, he was all in. Or perhaps, he’d been mesmerized. Whatever it was, her presence quieted the gnawing voices in his head. It dared him to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of someone like her.
Her sweet expression morphed into a naughty twist of her lips. “Now that we’ve got that business out of the way, I’ve got a proposal for you.”
He stared at her lips. “What’s that?”
“I propose you kiss me and don’t stop,” she answered through her lashes.
“There’s the vixen,” he replied, peeling off her coat as lust edged out the emotional turmoil that had rocked his body since he’d laid eyes on her.
She would be his salvation. He would take her kindness and her beautiful light and use it to ward off the darkness that consumed his soul. Cupping her face in his hands, their lips crashed together as a spark ignited between them. She hummed as he deepened the kiss, the sound going straight to his hard length.
He wanted to remember everything about this night—every kiss, every touch, every sweet moan.
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed, then gently set her down. He removed her boots, then worked his way up her body. Slowly, he trailed his hands under her flannel dress. Bridget inhaled sharply as he stripped off her tights and unbuttoned her shirt dress, revealing her creamy skin and lickable curves.
In a white lace bra and matching panties with the pendant twinkling in the dim light between her breasts, Bridget Dasher was the dirty angel he desired. He kicked off his boots, then whipped off his shirt and jeans. Her plump red lips parted as he slid her panties down her toned legs. Bathed in the glow of the lamp, he devoured her body with his gaze.
“You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he confessed.
She sat up, unhooked her bra, and dropped it onto the floor.
Her confidence was intoxicating. When she let the vixen out, there was no holding this woman back. Staring up at him, she held the angel pendant between her fingers, toying with it, just like she was toying with him.
And he fucking loved it.
She shook her hair out of her makeshift bun, and her dark chocolate locks fell around her shoulders.
“I like the way you look at me, Mr. Rudolph,” she purred.
He prowled up the length of her body.
“Then you’re going to love the way I make you come, Ms. Dasher,” he growled, carnal desire taking over.
His hard body met her soft, smooth curves as he kissed a line up her abdomen. Settling himself between her thighs, their mouths met in a scorching kiss. Their tongues clashed in a frenzy of need as she rocked her hips and ran her nails down his back, sending a fierce surge of lust rocketing through his body.
He’d never lost himself the way he did when he was with her. That veneer of control he’d worked so hard to construct crumbled with every sweet sigh that escaped her kiss-swollen lips. She trembled beneath him as he diverted his kisses from her lips to her neck before taking her earlobe between his teeth.
“Soren,” she gasped as he palmed her ass, needing more of her. All of her.
He was a man on the brink of starvation, who had found himself at a decadent feast.
And everything was his to devour.
Teasing her slick entrance, his cock wept with desire. He nudged forward, entering barely an inch. Near delirious with the need to feel her, fill her, and pump and thrust until they didn’t know the difference between up and down or night and day. Their mouths met in a desperate kiss, and her chest heaved as sweet anticipation lingered in the air, peppered with the slap and grind of their bodies finding a sensual rhythm.
“Soren,” she whispered between kisses.
“Yes,” he rasped, barely able to speak.
“Do you have protection?” she bit out between hot exhales.
And sweet Christ! He’d never forgotten to use protection.
“Hold on.”
He left the warmth of the bed, found his jeans, retrieved his wallet, then removed a condom.
The last condom.
He held it up. “I’ve got one left. My supply took a significant hit back in Denver.”
Bridget put out her hand, and he set the foil packet on her palm. “Then we’ll have to make it count,” she replied, ripping the condom open before coming onto her knees. And, like the vixen she was, she took him in her hand and rolled the condom down the length of his cock.
“Do you know how damned captivating you are?” he asked.
She stared at his cock, licked her lips, then flicked her glittering gaze to meet his eye. “I think you’re about to show me, but…”
“What?”
She glanced at the door. “We have to be quiet.”
He joined her on the bed, and she straddled him as he sat, looking him in the eye.
He bit back a grin. “We both know I can be quiet. You, on the other hand—”
But when he expected her to throw a zinger right back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead against his.
“Soren, did you mean what you said?” she asked, her voice quivering.
He stroked the back of her head. “About what?”
The breath caught in his throat. What was she asking? Was it about the promise?
Yes, he’d promised her he wouldn’t meddle with the wedding—well, he didn’t explicitly say the words I promise, but he’d implied it.
She pulled bac
k. “About me underestimating myself?”
Relief washed over him. This was a topic that gave him no pause.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and allowed his thumb to linger and caress her cheek.
“You’re extraordinary. I’ve never met anyone like you. And I don’t think there’s anything you couldn’t do. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Bridget Dasher. And you’re everything I never thought I deserved.”
She pulled back and captured him with her mahogany gaze. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved.”
Loved?
The word strung with divine, beautiful pain as if he’d been convicted and pardoned at the same time.
He’d never considered finding love.
Not until her.
His heart hammered in his chest. “How do you do it? How do you make it seem so easy?”
She stroked his cheek. “I told you back in Denver, I’m not your average vixen.”
“There is nothing average about you,” he whispered against her lips as he thrust inside her.
Bridget gasped and tightened her grip as she welcomed his hard length, and he kissed her with the burning intensity of a man on the brink of redemption. Their bodies came together in a torrent of need and desire. Thrusting and bucking, the friction between them awakened a need deep within—primal and raw. He flipped her onto her back, taking complete control, just as he was on the edge of losing total control.
“Open your eyes,” he bit out between long, deep thrusts.
She complied, and he gazed into the pools of deep mahogany. And a realization struck.
He’d never had a real home—never had a place where he truly belonged. But here, in her eyes, he could see forever.
“I see you, Soren,” she whispered, her words like grains of magical fairy dust floating in the air.
He worked her body, changing the angle of penetration to go deeper, to make her feel everything. And that’s when he lost himself. There was no telling where his pleasure started, and her pleasure ended. They were one body, one soul. He increased his pace, and she tightened around him. Meeting her release and writhing in ecstasy beneath him, she dug her nails into his back as he swallowed her wild cries and kissed away her lusty moans. And then, he couldn’t hold back. Suspended in a place where only he and this extraordinary woman existed, he surrendered to wanton oblivion, flying over the edge. The power of his release sent tremors through his body. Wave after wave, they rode the tumultuous sea of mutual satisfaction until, in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their bodies stilled.
Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 24
