“Marcus said he wanted to keep me and you said that I’m not a dog and not to get attached. I understand. We’ve only known each other for a few days. This isn’t one of those Hallmark Christmas stories. I’m not getting some sweet happy-ever-after. I know real life from make-believe. I shouldn’t stick around and outstay my welcome. Like I did with Davis.”
“Wait. Are you saying you overheard our conversation last night? While you were in the bathroom?” Fuck. Fuckity fuck. No wonder she’d snuck out this morning. He guessed that was his answer.
Sometimes, he really could be a giant dick.
“Yeah. That’s why I left early. Did I already tell you that?”
“No.”
“Davis said I had a habit of staying around too long. Like, we’d go to a friend’s house, and he’d want to leave and I would want to stay. Cause I hardly ever got out. And then on the way home, he’d tell me how I embarrassed him. I talked too loudly, laughed too much, I wasn’t svelte and tall and smart like all his friends’ wives.”
“He sounds like a real dick.”
“He had a really small one.”
“What?”
“Davis. His dick was really small. Show me your little finger.”
He held it up.
“Yeah, now make it go all limp and that was Davis’ dick. I mean, not that it matters. I wouldn’t have minded a small dick, but he’d never use anything else on me and I couldn’t come from just his dick alone.”
“What do you mean, he never used anything else?”
“He’d never go down on me or even finger me or anything. Now, that would have been a Christmas miracle, Davis eating me out.”
“So, he was your boyfriend?”
“My husband. I was with him for twelve years.”
“Were you just?” he asked. “Did you leave him after he threw out one of your gnomes?”
“Oh no, I just learned to hide my things better. The stuff that made him angry, you know?”
“No, baby, I don’t know. What sort of stuff?”
“The stuff he said wasn’t normal for an adult to like. I liked watching cartoons and soft toys and decorating. I would decorate for every holiday until Davis said what I did was too amateurish and childish, so he hired decorators. But I’d still decorate my bedroom. He didn’t like going in there. When he wanted sex, we did it in his room.”
“You had separate bedrooms?” he asked, shocked.
“Yeah, Davis didn’t like to sleep with me. He said I would kick him in my sleep. Maybe I did. I don’t know.”
“Total dick.”
“I love decorating, but everything had to look all flash for his friends and clients.”
What a fucking asshole. If she lived with him…wait. What was he thinking? He didn’t even allow a Christmas tree in his house. The only reason he exchanged gifts on Christmas morning was because of Marcus. Would he really let her decorate?
“Come here, Ivy.” He sat on the bed and patted his knees. “Come sit with me. You need some water and painkillers.”
“Where?”
“On my lap.”
“I can’t sit on your lap.” She gave him an appalled look.
“Why not? If you don’t want to touch me—”
She snorted. “Not want to touch you, yeah right, that’s the problem. You’re so funny.”
“I wasn’t aware I was being funny,” he told her. “Why is that funny?”
“Because you’re gorgeous. So sexy. I mean, you’re also bossy and kind of a downer about Christmas. But I guess everyone has faults.”
“I guess so.”
“And you’re a bit rude. Like when people call out hello, you don’t reply.”
“When did you call out hello and I didn’t reply?” he demanded.
“Not me. Other people.”
“Oh, well, I don’t care about them.
“That’s something else. You don’t care about anyone but Marcus.”
“That’s not true. I care about you.”
Her gaze met his and for the first time since he found her outside, he thought that the fever might not have a hold of her tongue.
“Why?”
“I…I don’t really know.”
A sad look crossed over her face. He rolled over and lay on his side facing her, but not touching her. He wondered if he should try to hug her again. It hadn’t worked out that great last time, but hey, he could try again.
“Why do you look so sad?”
She gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. You don’t need to make me feel better.”
“But I want to.”
“But you don’t know why.”
He sighed. “No. And I don’t know why that upsets you, me not knowing. You need to clue me in on this. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not exactly good with people.”
“Oh yeah, I kind of gots the memo on that.”
He grunted. “I care about you, and it confuses me because the only person who I ever really concern myself with is Marcus. I’m not friendly with any of my employees, including my housekeeper, who I see every day. I don’t have much interest in sports or any other hobbies. Work and Marcus. That’s all I have. Then along you came. With your black clothes, which I hate, by the way. Your obsession with all things Christmas, a holiday I detest. From your headbands to those gnomes, who I’m starting to think you believe are truly magical, and that sad look in your eyes which fucking infuriates me. Because I’m a problem solver. I want to fix whatever the fuck put that look in your eyes. I want to make it so you don’t feel any pain ever again and it frustrates me that I can’t. Just like it frustrates me that you have real estate in my head and I have no idea why. I didn’t even feel like this about my fiancée and I was going to marry her. I knew her for a year before I proposed. I’ve known you less than a week and I feel more for you than I ever did for her. And I don’t know why. That’s all.”
She blinked at him. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t like to talk when actions speak louder than words.”
“Your fiancée?”
“That’s a story for another day,” he told her firmly. “We need to get you into bed.”
“I thought you wanted me to sit on your lap?”
“You still didn’t tell me why you wouldn’t.”
“Cause I’m too heavy. Obviously.”
“Too heavy?” he asked.
“Yeah, I mean. I know you’re strong and stuff. The way you carried me around was kind of a miracle. But still, I’d get too heavy, then it would be embarrassing when you had to ask me to move. I might cry. You don’t seem like you’re good with tears.”
“I’m not,” he said gruffly. “You’re very cute. But you’re also in big trouble.” Reaching out, he brushed some hair off her face. There, that was a caring move, right? He wasn’t used to this coddling stuff. To touching women without, well, fucking them.
God, when had he become like this? He’d gotten to the point that he didn’t even know how to hug someone without making it awkward.
“Why am I in trouble? I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the one who was talking about me behind my back. That wasn’t very nice.”
“And eavesdropping isn’t proper behavior, baby,” he scolded.
“I like baby. Even better than Ivy or little girl. Even though I am not a baby.”
She could be. She could be his baby.
Fuck. No matter what he told himself about how he shouldn’t want her, it kept coming back to the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
“I don’t like how hot you feel. We might need to get the doctor. I wonder if there’s a thermometer in here.”
“Think there is one in the first aid kit in the bathroom,” she mumbled. “I don’t need the doctor.”
“I’m going to go find it. And if I decide you need to see a doctor, you will.”
“Always so darn bossy.”
He got off the bed, mind still reeling from everything. She’d been
married to some jerk called Davis. She had flare-ups. That obviously caused fevers? But carpal tunnel didn’t do that, did it?
He found the first aid kit and opened it, pulling out two types of thermometers. The sort that went in your ear and the one that went up your bottom.
Well, he knew the one he wanted to use on her. But instead, he grabbed the one that went in your ear.
Maybe one day.
Fuck. What was he thinking? Was he going there with her? Did he really want a relationship? She hadn’t suddenly changed. She was still a commitment kind of girl. And she obviously had issues from her marriage. But he couldn’t complain about those since he had plenty himself. That would make him a hypocrite.
But it seemed she was a Little. Sounded like this asshole, Davis had forced her to suppress that part of herself. Maybe to the point where she was either ashamed of it or had truly convinced herself that she was no longer a Little.
He walked back into the room. “Got the thermometer.”
“I’m fine, really. Should probably go back to my own apartment.”
“Not happening, baby,” he told her firmly. Sitting beside her, he put the thermometer in her ear until it beeped.
“A hundred and one.” Not as bad as he’d feared.
“That’s not so bad,” she mumbled as he helped her sit up.
“Open,” he demanded.
She immediately opened her mouth. He placed the pills in her mouth, then undid the water and held it to her mouth. She reached for it, but he shook his head. “I’m helping you.”
When he drew the bottle away, she slumped against him.
“We need to get you into bed.”
“Now, now, buster, I’ve only known you a few days. You at least have to buy me steak and a glass of wine.”
“I’ll do better than that once you feel better.”
Oh, he was fucked.
“Right now, I want you to get into bed. Only, you can’t wear pants and a shirt. I’m going to get you a T-shirt.”
“I stole the one I wore last night,” she said on a wail.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. Well, no, I’m not. But I should be because I don’t have any intentions of giving it back.”
He turned away from the dresser where he’d unpacked his T-shirts, turning to look at her. “You don’t?”
“No, I wanna keep it. Can I? Please?”
“What if I say no?”
“You’re saying no? That’s so mean.”
He sighed. “I’m not saying no, baby. You can keep the damn T-shirt.”
“Yay. I like it. It smells like you. All Christmassy.”
“I don’t smell Christmassy,” he countered.
“Uh-huh.”
“Nope.”
“Do too.”
Right. He needed to stop arguing with the sick person who probably wouldn’t even remember this tomorrow.
He moved over to her. “Here’s the T-shirt.”
“Thank you.” She stared down at it.
“Would you like some help?” he asked.
“I can’t get my bra off,” she told him with a sniff. “I haven’t been able to get it off since I put it on yesterday morning.”
“You slept with it on, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, baby. You should have said.”
“It’s embarrassing. And I didn’t want you to see my saggy boobs.”
“You don’t have saggy boobs.”
“I do. I should probably always wear a bra, but they’re so freaking uncomfortable. There’s nothing better than taking off your bra at the end of the day, ya know?”
“Not exactly.”
“Hmm, well, how do you feel after you take off a tight pair of boxers? Do the boys feel nice and free, swinging in the wind?”
“My boys don’t really swing in the wind,” he replied dryly.
“You should try it. They might like it.”
“I’ll take that under advisement. But for now, we could get you into the T-shirt and then undo your bra.”
“Okie-dokie-lemon-spokie.”
Right.
“Do you think you can stand on your own?”
“My legs are like cooked noodles.”
“Guessing that’s a no.” He glanced at the clock, shocked at the time. “Right, let’s do this, then I want you to stay here while I go get Marcus.”
“Can I come with you to get Marcus?”
“No, baby.”
“I need to move the gnomes.”
“I said I’d do that, remember?”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
He helped her lay on her back.
“Davis would never have taken care of me like this and he was my husband.”
“Davis was a dick.”
“Yeah, no offense, but you can be a dick sometimes.”
He froze with his hands on the top of her pants. Fuck. This was going to be so hard. A real test of his control. Touching her.
“But not to you.”
“You were kind of a dick when I met you.”
“But I didn’t know you.”
“You really should try to be nice to people.”
“Maybe I should. Maybe you can help me.”
He undid her pants while she was preoccupied. He tried not to look at her panties, he really did.
Okay, he didn’t try that hard. But his gaze didn’t linger for long as he drew her pants down, revealing her panties. There were two check boxes on her mound with the word nice written in front of one and the word naughty written next to the other box. The naughty box had been ticked.
Those were cute. Even if they were black as well.
He folded her pants, feeling something hard in one of the pockets. Reaching in, he drew out what looked like a pocket knife. He set that down on the bedside table.
Then he helped her sit and took off her shirt. Christ. He had no fucking idea why she was so down on herself about her body. She was lush with delicious curves and those breasts.
Holy. Shit.
What he wouldn’t give to kiss his way over them, to suckle on her nipples, to touch and pet and admire.
Sick. She’s sick.
Remember?
And he knew exactly why she was so down on herself.
Davis the dick.
That bastard was going to pay. If there was one thing Cullen did well, it was crushing people he didn’t like.
After he got his T-shirt over her head, he reached under it and searched for the clasp at her back for her bra.
“What’re you doing?” she asked curiously.
“Trying to take off your bra.”
“But the clasp is at the front. It’s easier for me to undo.”
“Right.” He reached in the front, fumbling. Christ, he hadn’t fumbled taking off a woman’s bra in years.
Kind of embarrassing. At least she wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.
Finally, he got it undone and drew it down her arms. Then he carefully inserted her hands into the sleeves of the T-shirt before pulling back the covers on the bed and lifting her in.
“Can I sit up?” she asked. “I wanna watch TV.”
“I’d rather you had a nap.”
“But I’m missing the Christmas movies.”
He grimaced. That was the last thing he wanted to watch.
“Please.” She looked up at him with huge, pleading eyes.
He was a sucker. A big old sucker. Damn, if she ever learned of the power she had over him…
“Fine,” he grumbled. “One movie. But you’re to stay in bed while I go get Marcus. And you’re to drink some water.”
“Yes, bossy boss.”
“And I still think we should get a doctor.”
“Nothing he can do. Told you, flare-up.”
“Why are you having a flare-up? A flare-up of what?”
“I have rheumatoid arthritis.”
He froze. “What?”
“Just in my
hands at the moment.”
“I thought you said you had carpal tunnel.”
“Well, technically you said that.”
“And you agreed, little girl,” he growled at her. “Don’t split hairs.”
“Such a funny saying. Who’d want split hairs? I had them once and Davis threw a fit. Said I wasn’t taking care of myself and why was he working so hard for me to stay home and sit on my ass if I wasn’t going to take care of myself? I was a really bad housewife. Well, no, I was actually a good housewife. I was a crap trophy wife. Too fat, too loud, too boring and childish.”
“Okay, you need to stop telling me about things Davis said to you,” he said in a low voice. “Because otherwise, I’m going to go track down this asshole and teach him a lesson.”
He was already thinking of ways to enact revenge.
“What does Davis do?” he asked.
“He’s a lawyer at this big firm. He was always trying to impress the partners, but they never offered him a partnership. Which was also my fault. I never understood that. How could it be my fault?”
“It wasn’t, baby. Davis is a dick, remember?”
“Oh yeah, Davis small dick.”
“How long have you had arthritis for?”
“Diagnosed eighteen months ago. I thought it was my carpal tunnel. I’ve had that in my right hand for years. But this was persistent. I’d wake up and my hands would be stiff. And then it would feel like burning. Plus, I was so tired all the time. I couldn’t keep up with anything and Davis was getting upset because his meal wasn’t on the table when he got home or the house was slightly dusty. I’d try my hardest, but I’d have to rest all the time and I was in so much pain.”
Oh, Davis had to die. There was no other option.
Unless he ruined him. That had definite possibilities. Take away everything he cared about.
“When the doctor told me that I had rheumatoid arthritis, Davis got really weird about it. Didn’t want to talk about it. He started spending more and more time away from me. Then he would come home smelling of perfume. He’d tell me he was having to wine and dine a client. I was too tired and in too much pain to work it out. Silly me. I was trying to do everything at home to please him and he was going elsewhere to see to his needs.”
“See to his needs?”
“That’s what he told me. That he was a man with needs. He had a stressful job. He supported me so when he came home, he wanted dinner on the table and for his woman to get down on her knees and suck his dick. What he didn’t need was to take care of me when I should be doing that for him. When he told me that he wanted a divorce, he said that I was boring, fat, and childish. And that if I couldn’t do my job, then he no longer wished to support me.”
A Cozy Little Christmas Page 8
