“Pat?”
“Yeah?”
“Get the condom.”
Shit. He wondered if the minister was still awake now. Patrick didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly donned a condom.
This time when he pushed into her body, he felt in control, ready to take on the world. They rocked together in time, neither of them in a rush to see the end. Sunday stroked his back, his ass cheeks, as Patrick kissed her, nuzzled his nose against her neck.
Patrick moved slowly, careful to make sure that this time, he didn’t come alone. When he felt Sunday reaching the precipice, he rubbed her clit. She jolted beneath him.
“Harder,” she pleaded.
Patrick paused a mere second before responding, taking her the way he’d only ever dreamed of possessing a woman. His motions sped up as he drove deeper. Sunday quivered and gasped—then she came.
He couldn’t resist the tight clench of her body. He didn’t fight it. Instead, he gave himself up to the bliss, the rapture.
It was several moments later before he realized he was lying on his back and Sunday wasn’t in the bed.
“Sunday?” he called.
“I’ll be back in two seconds. I just need to get something.”
He went to the bathroom to clean up then returned to the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Sunday move around the house. He wondered what she was doing.
“Pat?” she whispered.
He opened his eyes and wondered if he’d drifted off.
“Are you awake?”
He nodded and pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard. “What’s that?”
Sunday produced two shot glasses. “Jameson,” she announced as she handed him one, keeping the other for herself. “I felt the need to make a special toast.”
Patrick grinned. “Sounds like a fine idea.”
Sunday lifted her glass. “To you and me and forever.”
She tapped her glass to his, but Patrick grasped her wrist before she could drink. “I have a wee toast of my own, lass. To Conall Brannagh.”
Sunday laughed, but she raised her glass. Together, they drank.
Patrick watched the lights on the tree flicker. Every Christmas Eve of their marriage, he and Sunday had sat together in this room, watching the tree, listening to the excited whispers of their children—who pretended to be asleep—and sharing a drink of whiskey. Their toasts had never changed.
Patrick picked up the almost empty bottle of Jameson and poured out the last small shot. He lifted it.
“To you, Sunday. Merry Christmas, love.”
About the Author
Writing a book was number one on Mari Carr’s bucket list and on her thirty-fourth birthday, she set out to see that goal achieved. Too many years later, her computer is jammed full of stories — novels, novellas, short stories and dead-ends and she has nearly eighty published works.
Virginia native, Mari Carr is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller of contemporary erotic romance novels. With over one million copies of her books sold, Mari was the winner of the Romance Writers of America’s Passionate Plume award for her novella, Erotic Research.
Join her newsletter so you don't miss new releases and for exclusive subscriber-only content. Find Mari on the web at www.maricarr.com | Facebook | Twitter | Bookbub | Email: [email protected]
Other Titles by Mari Carr
Wild Irish:
Come Monday
Ruby Tuesday
Waiting for Wednesday
Sweet Thursday
Friday I’m in Love
Saturday Night Special
Any Given Sunday
Wild Irish Christmas
January Girl
Compass:
Northern Exposure
Southern Comfort
Eastern Ambitions
Western Ties
Winter’s Thaw
Hope Springs
Summer Fling
Falling Softly
Individual Titles:
Erotic Research
Tequila Truth
Rough Cut
Happy Hour
Power Play
Slam Dunk
One Daring Night
Assume the Positions
Seducing the Boss
Just Because:
Because of You
Because You Love Me
Because It’s True
Second Chances:
Fix You
Full Moon
Status Update
The Back-Up Plan
Never Been Kissed
Say Something
Trinity Masters:
Elemental Pleasure
Primal Passion
Scorching Desire
Forbidden Legacy
Hidden Devotion
Elegant Seduction
Secret Scandal
Big Easy:
Blank Canvas
Crash Point
Full Position
Rough Draft
Triple Beat
Winner Takes All
Going Too Fast
Sparks in Texas:
Sparks Fly
Waiting for You
Something Sparked
Off Limits
No Other Way
Whiskey Eyes
Lowell High:
Bound by the Past
Covert Affairs
Mad about Meg
June Girls:
No Recourse
No Regrets
Madison Girls:
Kiss Me, Kate
Three Reasons Why
Boys of Fall:
Free Agent
Red Zone
Wild Card
Foreign Affairs:
Princess
Cowboy
Master
Hands
A Christmas Caroline
Allison Gatta
1
If Eric Spade had to listen to "Simply Havin' a Wonderful Christmas Time" for one more second, he was going to call an emergency staff meeting.
Though, in truth, he probably should have gotten one together anyway.
The firm had only seven days before the biggest deal in the history of Marley & Marley Real Estate, and still all anyone could talk about was what they'd gotten their kids for Christmas, or which company sold the best eggnog.
It was enough to drive any man insane, let alone Eric, who thought he would have been spending a major breakthrough like this with his—now former—business partner. But no, nobody cared about the extra strain on him since Jake Marley had left the company, or the new direction Eric had been working tirelessly to promote since becoming CEO.
The moment after the Thanksgiving pie had cooled, all anyone could talk about was the freaking holidays.
Even for today, Christmas Eve, the non-stop holiday talk was beyond excessive.
How did they not realize that all this fuss was for one single day of the year? Did they truly think it was worth all the pomp and circumstance of this chatter and prep and cookie swapping? Couldn't they just move on and focus on what was important instead of this sham holiday to pacify the masses?
Eric sighed, flicked a random piece of paper on his desk, and then groaned as "Simply Havin' a Wonderful Christmas Time" morphed into "Little Saint Nick”.
He glanced toward the frosted glass door and glared at the silhouette of his secretary as she bounced along to the beat and fiddled with something he could only assume was the volume on her radio dial. Gritting his teeth, he held down the buzzer on the corner of his desk. "Bobbi, will you turn that off?"
"If we have to be here on Christmas Eve, don't you think we should at least get something out of it?"
"You get a paycheck out of it," he said. "Unless you'd rather not have one of those."
When Bobbi didn't answer, he released the little red speaker button, and sat back in his chair, just in time to see her move nearer. With the click of his doorknob, she shuffled inside, and then snapped t
he door closed behind her again.
"Mr. Spade, I think we need to talk." She didn’t quite meet his eyes when she spoke, and it was all he could do not to sigh and shoo her back out the door. Still, it was Christmas. Apparently that meant something to everyone here, if not to him.
He settled for saying, "I don't know what about."
"It's just...We're not going to be able to get this done." She chanced a glance at him, but apparently thought better of it and set her sights on the floor again as a lock of her dull brown hair fell over her shoulder.
He squared his jaw, waiting. A long moment of silence stretched between them, and when it was clear she wouldn't be talking again any time soon, he prompted, "What isn't going to work?"
"It's just...it's Christmas Eve. Nobody wants to be here." She let out a little sorry-sounding chuckle.
"I want to be here," he corrected.
She glanced around his office, and he followed her gaze. In truth, there wasn't much for her to focus on. There wasn't even a chair in front of his desk for her to sit in. There were no pictures on the wall, no diplomas. Only a single picture frame sat on his desk, just in front of his phone. He glanced at it for a fraction of a second, just long enough to remember why he was in the shit to begin with.
He and his best friend, smiling and laughing, only weeks before Mr. Marley Sr. had retired and promoted them to running the business.
So much for that dream.
"Be that as it may"—Bobbi’s timid voice brought him back to the present—"you're the boss. We're not all so—"
"Dedicated?" He nearly guffawed.
"That's not the word I would have chosen." She pushed the errant lock of hair behind her ear, and then ran her hands down her oversized sweatshirt. "We only have seven days to put together this deal with Future Real Estate. Between Christmas and New Year's Eve..." She tilted her lips to the side. "Don't you think Angelica Reed would understand if you postponed the deal until after the holidays? I'm sure her office doesn't want to—"
"Work?" he asked. Simple enough. That was the bottom of it, wasn’t it? These people weren’t used to anything being asked of them. They weren’t used to being held accountable.
She raised her hands in front of herself, defensive. "Please, just hear me out."
"No, you hear me out. I've allowed you to play music and celebrate inside this office. I've even turned a blind eye on the fact that you seem to have forgotten how to dress for the work day." He eyed her yoga pants as she pulled at the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Don't you think I've been lenient enough with you?"
"Please, Mr. Spade—"
"No. Go home. In fact, tell everyone to go home. If passing around spiked drinks and talking to relatives you never liked in the first place is more interesting to you all than the biggest break in the history of this company, you can all have it. I'll stay here and keep us afloat. As usual."
He didn't know what he'd expected her to do at the conclusion of his speech. Maybe click her heels together and run for the door to free the rest of her work-weary townspeople.
What she did, though, was she simply stood in front of him, probably wondering if he'd been serious, and continued staring around the blank landscape that was his office.
"Well?" he asked. "What are you waiting for? You wanted to go home? Go."
"You're going to stay here for Christmas?"
"What does it matter to you?" He didn't know why, but a pang shot through him at the words. It was almost like she pitied him.
But then, that was the problem, too. These people, his employees, they didn’t understand the big picture. They were like Jake—no ambition, no drive. Totally content with convention and sticking to the status quo.
Bobbi shuffled her feet, but apparently she was braver than he’d given her credit for. "It's just, don't you normally—?"
"I have to make sure this deal happens, no matter what I usually do on the holidays. This is the chance of a lifetime and this's the last time I'm discussing it."
"Right." Bobbi nodded and made her way for the door, but when she placed her hand on the knob, she turned toward him again. "Do you want your messages before I go?"
"If it's not too much to ask."
She nodded, and then she was gone again.
After the office had petered out and the Christmas music had finally been silenced for good, he managed to work his way through the tiny stack of messages Bobbi had taken. For the most part, they were from Angelica Reed. Questions, confirmations, and the like, all having to do with their meeting the following week.
If things went according to plan, Marley & Marley Real Estate would finally have a chunk of the New York Skyline and Angelica’s company, Future Real Estate, would glom on to his company’s tract of Connecticut Shoreline. Everyone got what they wanted. All it took was the tiniest bit of sacrifice.
Which, apparently, was impossible for anyone but he and Angelica to understand.
When he got to the bottom of the pile, yet another odd pang shot through him. Despite himself, he glanced at the photo in the corner of his desk. It'd been taken almost ten years before at a Christmas party after he'd joined the Marley’s Real Estate firm. He was in the center, grinning, with his arms around the people on either side of him.
To his right was Jake Marley, his former partner. He wouldn't think about that, though, or the bitter taste that rose in the back of this throat. He'd focus on the person to his left. The one who'd left the message. Jake's gorgeous sister, Caroline.
He glanced down at the note in his hands again. He should have expected this, really. Should have planned accordingly. But every time he'd thought about it...
He'd what?
He didn't know. He just...couldn't.
Still, it wouldn't do not to call her back, so he picked up the receiver and dialed the number he'd known for almost as long as he could remember.
As the phone rang, he tried to muster up words to explain himself, all the while picturing what Caroline might look like on the other end. She was undoubtedly as beautiful as ever. She’d be helping her mom in the kitchen, so she’d probably have burned part of her shirt or gotten pie filling in her hair.
Caroline was always good for things like that. Things that made everyone around her smile.
But none of that mattered because Caroline’s wasn't the voice on the end of the line.
In truth, it was far, far worse.
"Hello?" Jake's deep rumble sounded.
Eric paused, trying to find the words, but chose only a weak, "Hey."
"Eric." The surprise in his voice was obvious, but light. If Eric didn't know better, he might have even called it hopeful.
"Yup, it's me.” Eric cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
The only sound was the buzz on the line between them. Then, mercifully, Jake spoke again. "Why didn't you try my cell?"
"Actually, I hadn’t intended to call you. I didn’t think you’d be at your mom and dad’s house. I was returning a call. Caroline rang my office. I lost her cell number."
“Right, makes sense. Knowing Caroline, she's probably gotten a new one since then anyway." Jake let out a strained laugh, and Eric cringed. He knew that laugh. It was the one he'd always used with clients they hated dealing with.
Of course, back when he’d heard it nearly every day, he and Jake had always followed it up with a little trash talk after the client had left.
"Right, yeah." Eric nodded to himself. "So, is Caroline around?"
"Yeah, she's upstairs, but, hey, we should talk."
Eric speared a hand through his hair. "Jake, I don't know."
"Maybe tomorrow? After dinner or something?"
Eric sucked in a breath. Here it was. The truth. "I'm not going to be able to make it tomorrow."
For a second, he thought the line cut out. The silence was so sharp and so deep, that he opened his mouth to repeat himself, but was saved the trouble when Jake thundered through the speaker.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Yep, he definitely should have planned for this. "It couldn't be helped. I'll explain—"
"Couldn't be helped? Don't give me that shit. Suddenly after I leave the company, you have to miss Christmas for the first time in twenty years? You think I don’t know what's going on?"
"You don't know what's going on," Eric rumbled. This was typical Jake, exactly as it was when they’d worked together. He’d been the boss’ son, so if he didn’t want to do something, it didn’t have to get done.
Well, Eric had never had that luxury. He couldn’t just blow off this deal—Christmas or not.
To make matters worse, Jake stormed on, "Oh, come on. If you're going to be mad at me for leaving, be mad, but don't do this to my mom and dad. Don't do this to Caroline. You’re part of the family. They want to see you."
Eric knew that. He knew it better than Jake. And Jake could never know how it hurt him to go so long without seeing them all. But now that Jake had left the company, how could they all sit together and be the same again?
As if it wasn’t hard enough being in the same room with Caroline…
Jake couldn’t understand; that was the root of this. Maybe, though, Eric could at least get him to listen. He pressed on. "If you'd listen, I'd tell you—"
"I couldn't fucking do it, okay? I couldn’t live my life in that tiny little box of an office, shuffling papers and busting my ass every hour of the day. My dad did it, but I couldn’t, and one day you're going to realize you can't do it, either. You can't live your life on take out in your office and half-assed dates between meetings. I don't know what it'll take to get you to see it. Maybe three ghosts will have to show you the error of your ways or something."
"Don't be dramatic. Look, I'm not getting into this. The past is behind us. I only called to talk to Caroline, so could you please just go get her for me?"
"Whatever."
Silence reigned again and Eric raked a hand over his face. Well, that had not gone better than expected. Still, why should he give a shit about what Jake had to say? He'd made his intentions known when he left Eric high and fucking dry three months ago.
Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 12
