by Zuri Day
She’d been happy to oblige him as she mounted him and guided his erection to her awaiting valley. Sloshing back and forth in the tub, Lola closed her eyes and moaned as her husband filled her. Her walls tightened around him and he gripped her hips while nibbling on her full bottom lip. “Damn, baby, you feel so good, so good.”
Lola bounced up and down until she felt the rise of her orgasm creeping up her spin. “Oh, Jon!”
“Come for me, Lo. Because, damn, I’m coming, darling!”
The heat of his seed filled her and Lola closed her eyes, hopeful that Jon had given her the one thing that she wanted for Christmas.
Christmas Day
“Good morning,” she whispered in his ear. Jon’s eyes fluttered open and he tightened his arms around her waist.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Lola smiled and kissed her husband’s chin. “So, breakfast or do we exchange gifts?”
Jon glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Was it really seven-thirty in the morning? “How about we go back to sleep for a few hours?”
“Umm, no!” Lola hopped out of bed and opened the curtains. “Look, it snowed last night.”
Jon didn’t care about the sight of fresh snow when his woman was standing at the window naked. Wait. “I hope it’s only Bambi and his mom that can look in that window right now.”
Lola dropped the curtain and turned around. “No one saw me and there isn’t anybody out in the snow right now.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she crawled back into the bed. “I want to make snow angels and open presents.”
“Snow angels?”
“Or presents. Now you have a choice.”
Jon leaned over and opened the night stand drawer. “Merry Christmas,” he said, then handed her a box wrapped in silver paper.
“Pretty,” she said as she examined the box. “Did you wrap this?”
“Actually, I did not,” he said. “Come on, open it.”
Lola slowly opened the box. When she saw the bracelet, she beamed. “This is lovely.”
“There’s a story behind it,” he said as he took the bangle from her hands and slipped it on her arm. “So, at the Biltmore Estate, there was this hundred-year-old tree. Actually the first tree that had ever been decorated as a Christmas tree but a storm came through. That tree was destroyed and a local artist decided to use that wood to make jewelry.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she said as she touched the bangle. “Now Nona’s Biltmore Christmas tree will be with me all the time.”
Jon nodded and kissed her cheek. “When I saw it, I was immediately drawn to it, and then the shop owner told me the story of this bracelet and I knew you had to have it.”
“Thank you, Jon,” she said. “I love it. And I love you.” He kissed her with a heated passion that made her want to make love to him until New Year’s Day. Jon broke the kiss and held Lola’s face in his hands.
“I have another gift for you,” he said. She touched his growing erection.
“I feel it.”
“Well,” he said with a toothy grin, “that’s coming soon enough. But I’ve decided, no more long hours just to prove other people wrong. When we get back to Miami, we’re going on a cruise. When the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve, you and I will be kissing on a private beach in Jamaica. Clothing optional.”
“Jonathan Michael,” she intoned.
“I’m going to transfer responsibility for many of the things that I do to other people. I hired competent people, it’s time to let them work. For the next year, we’re doing any and everything you want to do.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. These last few days showed me that I’ve been missing out on the most important thing in my life, being with you.”
Tears of joy bubbled in her eyes as she reached underneath the bed and pulled out a red box and laid it on Jon’s chest.
“Really? Another red box? I’m not sure I want to open it.”
“Open it,” she said with a smile.
“The last red box you gave me . . .”
“Jonathan Michael! Open the box.”
He shook the box, then smiled. “Well, I don’t hear the sounds of divorce papers rattling.”
She poked her lip out. “Whatever. I see you got jokes and I’m glad you’re smart. Because you ain’t funny, darling.”
“That was mean, it’s Christmas, not dream-killing time.”
“Open your gift!” she said, then smacked him on the shoulder. Jon slowly peeled the wrapping paper away; then he opened the box and gasped. “Really?” He picked up the silver rattle.
“Is there something you haven’t told me?”
“It’s time for us to start a family. For you to have a real legacy.”
“Are you pregnant?” he asked. His eyes twinkled with hope and excitement.
“No, but I want you and me to start a family. It’s time for some little Jonathans to run around that big house in Miami.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. Jon couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to have babies with his wife.
Lola nodded and stroked Jon’s chest. “Never been more sure of anything else.”
“Then we need to stop talking and start the baby making,” he replied as he flipped Lola on her back.
“Wait,” she said as she placed her hand on his chest. “You do realize that we’re going to have to spend a lot of time in bed to make this happen.”
He nodded and moved her hips so that she was in the perfect position to make a baby—right on top of him. “And this Christmas will be a very special Christmas for me,” he said as their bodies became one.
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Award-winning biologist Randall Atwater walked toward the baggage claim area of Los Angeles International Airport envisioning green palm trees, blue skies, and fluffy white clouds. Instead, looking out the windows, he saw rain. Lots of it. Pouring out steadily and heavily from a dark gray sky.
I thought they said it never rained in California. Randall was sure he’d heard those words in a song. April showers were common in Virginia, where he lived, and unfortunately that’s where he’d left his umbrella. Sheesh. Looking down at the expensive outfit he’d just purchased for the trip, he lamented, So much for this brand-new, tailored designer suit.
He retrieved his bag, and using the USA Today he’d been given on the airplane for cover, made a dash for the taxi stand across from the passenger pick-up area. So focused was he on trying to stay dry and not getting hit, he didn’t recognize the long line until he’d arrived at his destination, where only two taxis waited.
First the rain and now no taxis? Randall had enthusiastically boarded the plane back home, excited about coming to one of his favorite cities to meet some of his most esteemed colleagues and to learn the latest discoveries and innovations in his chosen field. He was still happy to be here, but so far the visit hadn’t gotten off to a terrific start.
“Hey, excuse me,” he said to the young man standing in front of him, whose thumbs were flying all over his iPhone screen. “Do you know what’s going on, and why there are no taxis?”
“Accident,” the man answered without looking up. “Traffic is having a hard time getting through.”
“How long have you been standing here?”
“About thirty minutes.”
Randall looked at the twenty or so people in front of him and his scowl increased. He looked at his watch and the crease in his brow deepened. The conference didn’t start until the next morning, but he’d made plans to meet a talented colleague and good friend for drinks at six. It was now four thirty. Getting from the airport to downtown, where the conference was being held, could sometimes take forty-five minutes. Waiting a half hour for a taxi
wasn’t going to work for him. He turned and looked around, thinking of possible alternatives. And that’s when he saw her.
Jacqueline gripped her full-sized umbrella in one hand while pulling her carry-on with the other. Organized and prepared to the point of what some would consider obsessive, she’d known about the 70 percent chance of rain hovering over Los Angeles and the seasonably cooler weather and had dressed and packed accordingly. She placed one Bebe-pump-covered, French-manicured foot in front of the other, thankful that she’d tightened the belt on her Burberry raincoat and donned a matching hat. Jacqueline was more self-conscious than conceited, but she knew how to highlight her best assets, and right now the best parts of what she was working with—breasts, legs, classically pretty face—were on full display.
She strode to the taxi stand, coyly smiling at the unabashed appreciation on Randall’s face.
“Hello,” he said with emphasis as soon as she joined the line.
“Hello,” she replied. “Perfect California weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”
Randall smiled back. “I’m glad to be seeing a little sunshine now.” He looked at her umbrella and then down at her rainy-weather attire. “I see someone checked the Internet.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“I’ll remember that the next time I travel.” He stuck out his hand. “Randall Atwater.”
“A pleasure to meet you. Doctor Atwater, correct?”
Randall’s brow rose. “Forgive me if I’ve forgotten but . . . have we met?”
Jacqueline’s laugh was melodic. “No,” she said, holding out her hand. “Jacqueline Tate.” Their hands touched and something happened: a magnetic electricity unlike anything she’d ever felt before. The way his eyes darkened as he continued to gaze at her, Jacqueline was sure he felt it, too. And just as quickly as the absurd idea came to her head, she forced its exit and reclaimed her hand. “I’m a freelance writer with Science Today,” she explained, working to forget the undeniable jolt she’d just experienced. “I’m well aware of your research and groundbreaking work.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I take it you’re also here for the conference?”
“Yes, I’ll be conducting interviews and attending workshops. Along with your talk on progressive changes in the technology regarding stem-cell research, I’m looking forward to covering Dr. Dar-shana Chatterji and his rather unorthodox position on spiritual healing.” She looked at her watch. “In fact, I was hoping to get to the hotel quickly—get organized for the pre-conference breakfast happening in the morning.” Looking over his shoulder, she asked him, “Where are all the cabs?”
Randall relayed the information he’d been given. “I don’t want to wait for a taxi either, and was just thinking about trying to find a car service. If so, you’re welcome to ride as well.”
“Oh no, Dr. Atwater. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” She also didn’t want to be in quarters as close as a car, not with a magnet like him. In town less than an hour, and already she was battling with her vow to stay focused on business. If she rode with this doctor, she felt it was a battle she’d lose.
But he persisted. “Call me Randall.”
“Thank you, Randall, but I couldn’t impose.”
“Nonsense. We’re going to the same place, right? Are you staying at the conference site?”
“Yes. I’m at the Ritz.”
“Then it’s no trouble at all.” Randall placed a hand on her elbow. “Come on, let’s go inside. I believe I have a contact who can help us out quickly.”
“If you insist.” She relented, justifying it by deciding to use the opportunity to learn more about the scientist and gather information for an article.
“I do.”
Ten minutes later, Randall and Jacqueline were dry and comfortable, riding in the back of a cushy town car and chatting as if they’d known each other far longer than fifteen minutes. “The article on bone regeneration,” he said, nodding with recognition. “That’s where I’ve heard your name.”
“I’ve written dozens of articles, but I must admit . . . that one definitely made my name more recognizable.”
“Forgive me, but it also had some people thinking you were certifiable!”
“Ha! That’s not nice.”
“Well, when you tell the scientific community that it’s possible to regrow limbs and other body parts . . .”
“Hey, I did the research and stand behind that story.”
“If you say so,” Randall conceded with a shrug.
“I do, and at least a dozen of your noteworthy, award-winning cohorts agree with me.”
“A dozen? You sure?”
“I am. Four were named in the article. But I can recall the names of all twelve.”
“Right now? From memory?”
Jacqueline quickly recited the names of the scientists and doctors who’d backed the research.
“Impressive. You do like to be prepared.” Randall leaned back so he could take a good look at her. “You’re obviously as smart as you are beautiful. I like that.”
The conversation flowed much easier than LA’s rush-hour traffic. Their journey took almost an hour. By the time they reached the Ritz, however, they were chatting like old friends.
“Thanks for the ride,” Jacqueline said to Randall after the doorman had helped her out of the car. Reaching into her purse, she asked, “How much do I owe you?”
Randall dismissed her question with the wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. We were both coming to the same place.”
“Thanks again. I look forward to hearing more from you during this week.”
“Perhaps you can join me for dinner.”
His words stopped her cold. They weren’t at all what she’d expected. Given the self-talk she’d continued throughout the ride, she hadn’t expected anything. Not from someone like Dr. Randall Atwater. While not exactly star-struck, she was indeed impressed with not only what she’d read but what she’d seen. He was highly intelligent, totally engaging, and blessed the heck out of a tailored suit. Which is exactly why you shouldn’t dine with him. Totally professional, remember?
How could she forget? Totally professional and absolutely determined is how she’d conduct herself this week, she’d vowed. But she remembered something else. What Kaitlyn had said about finding Mr. Right, how Kaitlyn had known the man she met at a friend’s office party would become her husband. He felt right, and good, from the beginning. That’s how I knew it. And that’s how you’ll know it, too.
This man felt good, and right. Their conversation had been easy, had flowed like water. So after taking a deep breath and throwing caution to the wind, Jacqueline answered him. “I’d like that, too.”
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Kensington Publishing
“A Promise for the Holiday” copyright © 2014 by Donna Hill
“A Sexy Christmas Carol” copyright © 2014 by Zuri Day
“Christmas Surprise” copyright © 2014 by Cheris Hodges
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7514-1
ISBN-10: 0-7582-7514-5
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: October 2014
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-7524-0
eISBN-10: 0-7582-7524-2
First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2014
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