Mistletoe Over Missoula

by Ellen G Kelley

  Slowly, I moved to a standing position. Or at least, I was trying. If there is a graceful way to pick one’s self up off the floor with one good ankle while wearing a dress with a regrettably short hemline–I would love to know what it is. I just hoped that I didn’t flash Jolly Old Saint Nick my lady bits while doing it. I had almost pulled it off. Now standing on my good foot, I slowly attempted to put some weight on the ankle that Santa landed on.

  Bad idea.

  Pain shot through my ankle, and I doubled over with a hiss. While I loved these shoes earlier, I despised them now. The delivery-man saw my discomfort and moved to come to my aid. Before I could take the hand he offered me, Familiar arms swooped me up. Instantly, I felt better. Not just because the pressure in my ankle had eased, but because he had come for me. I shouldn’t want to be in his arms, but I can’t deny the comfort of being cradled close to his body.

  “You’re hurt, Baby. Is it your ankle? What happened?” I couldn’t tell if the last question was directed at me or Santa. I was too busy enjoying the smell of Harris’s cologne.

  “I apologize, sir. Your wife and I sort of ran into each other.” Fake Santa said with very real remorse.

  “I am not his wife.” The words flew out before I even had time to think.

  Embarrassed, Santa’s face turned an even brighter shade of red. “I’m sorry. Your girlfriend, rather.”

  “We’re not...”

  “We’re not big into titles.” Harris cut me off before I could denounce my girlfriend status.

  “Or honesty,” I mumbled.

  “What was that?” said a now mortified Santa. I was starting to feel kind of bad for the guy, so I quickly responded.

  “Nothing.” I turned to address the infuriating man who held me. “Would you be so kind as to put me down, Dear?” The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable. “Santa was about to give me a special delivery.”

  And now I was totally messing with him, I decided to take it one step farther. Addressing the dramatic delivery-man and doing my best to sound sultry, I said, “I’m ready for that package now, Santa.”

  Santa was so flustered with embarrassment that he couldn’t even respond. Harris, on the other hand, looked about ready to combust. Heaven knows why I felt so compelled to keep “poking the bear” as it were. Judging by the tension radiating from his body and pouring into mine, I knew one thing. I was going to pay for my remarks later.

  Harris adjusted me in his arms but made no attempt to put me down. Instead, he calmly addressed the Santa-clad delivery man. “Would you be so kind as to deposit the item in question at the front desk with instructions to have it delivered to my suite. The name is Harris Redmond.” Harris smiled appreciatively and it was returned in kind by the man dressed as Santa.

  “Sure thing. Again, sorry about before, Miss. Anyway…enjoy the rest of your night!” And just like that, Santa sprinted off like his fur-trimmed boots were engulfed in flames.

  Speaking of fire, Harris was staring at me again. The familiar heat crackling in those gorgeous eyes was wreaking havoc with my senses. And the feel of his hands on me only fanned the flames. If I didn’t put some distance between us, I might actually combust. Or worse. Give in to every sordid desire that has been at the front of my brain since his hand first landed on my back.

  With me still secured in his arms, Harris began striding over to the elevators. I didn’t comment. I didn’t need to ask where he was taking me or why. Even I knew that my attempts to avoid dealing with everything between us were feeble at best. Harris and I had a mountain of issues to sort out, and there was no way he was letting me put it off any longer.

  The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped inside. As the doors closed, I opened my mouth to break the silence settling in between us. However, before I could speak or pull away, his lips landed on mine. His ragged breath mingled with mine. It was as if he endeavored to imbue every ounce of himself into that one kiss. His kiss was equal parts promise and prayer. A promise that he was completely at my mercy, and a prayer that this wouldn’t be the last kiss.

  I couldn’t contain the soft moan that resonated from me as the hunger of his mouth worked in stark contrast to his gentle grasp. All I could smell was the intoxicating blend of Harris and Four Roses. Like bands of steel, his arms gently began grappling my body flush to his. Maneuvering for a better angle, he deepened the kiss by sliding his tongue past my lips. At first tentative, his tongue persisted until I was returning his intensity stroke for gloriously slow stroke. Our kiss was hungry but not hurried. It was the kiss of two people who had endured two years of heartbreak. Two mouths exploding into each other with one desire in a dimly lit elevator.

  Slowly–and almost as if the act pained him–Harris broke the seal of our lips. What was probably mere seconds, but felt like an eternity where neither he nor I uttered a word. Outside a winter storm raged. In the lounge, the R&R holiday party crushed on. But tucked inside Harris’s strong embrace in that gilded elevator, none of that existed. Our world had narrowed completely to the sound of heavy breathing and the deafening sound of racing hearts.

  I just had the single best kiss of my life. I can barely even feel my lips.

  Uh oh…he’s laughing again.

  “I forgot the ‘inner’ part of having an inner dialogue again didn’t I?” I huffed out.

  A small smile followed by a rumble of laughter preceded his response. “Yes, you did. But, I’m not complaining.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m still mad at you Mr. Redmond.”

  “I’m still mad at myself, Ms. Morris.” Still visibly nervous, he gave a tentative chuckle.

  “Well…good,” was the only response I could muster. I hated how good it felt to be close to him. To give in to him.

  This was not the plan. Not even a little bit.

  I was supposed to storm out of the resort in protest. I was going to steal my friend’s car and be halfway home at this point. Why was I intent on engaging in a war of words with a man who writes for a living and kisses like it’s his mission in life to make my toes curl? I have no idea why I had been trying to pick a fight with Harris all night. What I got was my stubborn ass handed to me.

  I needed to regain the high ground.

  I needed to NOT sleep with this man.

  Oh hell…I needed a drink.

  “I’m still waiting for you tell me what comes next,” he said as he lifted his forehead from mine. Looking into his eyes, I could see the early warning signs of his heart threatening to break in two. After learning of his deception, I had every right to walk away. Or–with my injured ankle quickly doubling in size–limp away. But, I also knew I could never live with myself if I walked away from this man.

  “Harris,” his name sounded breathy as I spoke. “You’ve had two years to come to terms with how you feel. I’ve had maybe two hours.” I exhaled in a tired huff and could see his posture slouch as if anticipating rejection. I couldn’t do that to him.

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Harris moved us between the doors to keep them from closing while he waited for my response.

  “What comes next is you fix me a drink as penance. Then we…talk. And I’m talking a top shelf liquid apology. Like Pappy Van Winkle’s 20-year type penance.”

  “I will buy you a case.”

  “Let’s start with a glass.”

  “So, you’ll stay then?” Harris’s face grew so filled with hope, he looked like a child on Christmas morning.

  “Like I said before. You play dirty. What with all your Nicholas Sparks, smooth talk.”

  “I will legally change my name to Nicholas Sparks if it means a second chance with you.”

  “No more name changes. I’m still getting used to your real one. One Drink.” I clarified.

  He nodded. “I will be on my best behavior.”

  Somehow, Mr. Redmond, I doubt that very much.

  Chapter 11

  After leaving the elevator, Harris carried me the short distance to his sui
te. Once reaching the door, he set me down and gave me a moment to steady myself on my good foot. He reached into his pocket for the room key, unlocked the door, and locked on to me with those startling baby blue-eyes.

  “What?” I asked growing nervous. Perhaps he had changed his mind?

  “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “Care to share?”

  “I was thinking that I just can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

  His response was shy and honest, and entirely too damn perfect. Any chance I had of resisting this man was being chipped away piece by piece. With every look, every touch, every word that tumbled out of that well-formed mouth, I could feel my defenses slipping. Every wall I spent the last two years carefully crafting was crumbling. And I knew I was dangerously close to a full-on structural failure. But I didn’t dare give word to such thoughts.

  My response to his flattery was a hot blush creeping up my cheeks. I couldn’t help the bashful smile that snuck across my face as I averted my eyes from his piercing gaze. With one hand on the door handle, Harris moved the other up under my chin and nudged my attention back to him.

  “You are Becca. Beautiful. Inside and out. Don’t ever doubt that.” Harris then opened the door and once again scooped my gimpy limbs up to carry me inside.

  From the security of his arms, I was able to soak in my surroundings. His suite was incredible. Soft leather furniture, heavy wooden beams as accents, one wall swallowed up almost entirely by windows. No doubt the view of the mountains was incredible by day. Even at night it was still pretty good. In the middle of the living room was a giant rock fireplace so big I could almost fit inside. Gathered around the fireplace was a cozy seating area adorned with throw pillows, some form of faux fur rug and a heavy mahogany coffee table.

  What really grabbed my attention though was the fact that the entire suite had been tastefully decorated for the holidays. To the right of the fireplace stood a large Christmas tree with all the trimmings and lit with tiny white lights. The hearth of the fireplace was adorned with pine boughs and gold ribbon. The coffee table held two glasses and a bottle of a bourbon that I was not familiar with. It looked incredibly rare, though. I spied a small box wrapped in red metallic paper, topped with a gold bow on the table. It was sitting atop a crisp white envelope.

  The space was so beautiful, it took my breath away. I wondered if all the suites looked this way or whether this was all done for me? As if reading my mind, Harris cut in.

  “I know it’s not Christmas yet. But tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I wanted to do this for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I know that the last two years have been hard for you. That you’ve avoided the holidays as much as you’ve avoided getting involved with anyone.” He moved through the room as he spoke. “I just wanted to give you the Christmas you deserve.” Harris gently set me on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. Grabbing a throw pillow and setting it on the coffee table, his expert hands positioned my injured ankle on top of it.

  “You did all this knowing I would end up here? In your room?” It sounded a bit more like an accusation than I wanted. He slipped off my shoes and leaned forward, pressing his palms into the seat cushion on either side of me.

  “I didn’t know anything. I had hope. After you found out about me. About my other life…I knew nothing was certain. I did all this hoping that if I was lucky enough to get a second chance it would start off right.”

  I held his gaze and I responded. “Second chance? We never even had a first.”

  “Then let’s consider this the beginning.” Harris closed the distance between us and planted a chaste kiss on my lips before sitting back on the solid coffee table. “Now, I promised you I would behave Ms. Morris.” His easy smile once again making its appearance. “I’m going to go get some ice. I suggest using my absence to free yourself from your stockings so the ice can do its work. And so I can resist the urge to help you out of them myself.”

  “There he is,” I said with a smile to match his. “I was wondering where that smooth talker went.”

  “Careful, Becca. Or you’ll find out just how smooth I can be.”

  Oh, I hope so. I thought to myself. At least, I think I thought it to myself.

  Leaving me on the couch, Harris snickered as he moved to the bar in the suite to fetch some ice. Now that he had moved to the other side of the room, I began to do as requested. I reached under the bedazzling dress and lifted up my bottom so I could slide the tights down my thighs. The movement required jarring my bad ankle which sent a shard of pain shooting up my leg. He must have heard the whimper I let out. He returned with the ice pack to find me slouched on the sofa with my stockings stuck around my knees.

  Well, this is humiliating.

  I grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and buried my face in it. Too mortified to look at him.

  He didn’t say a word. He didn’t crack a joke–though there were no doubt many to be made. That wasn’t the kind of man Harris was. Harris Scott Redmond’s the type of man who, upon seeing my embarrassment, washed it all away with a reassuring kiss placed on top of my head. He then knelt down and slid the constrictive nylon down. First freeing my good leg followed by the injured one. Pulling the pillow out from under my face, he reached up and stroked my cheek and gave me an adoring smile. He then turned his attention to my lame ankle, applying the ice pack to my swollen limb.

  “Oh…ahh! Oh. My. God. That’s cold.” I hissed both at the pressure and at the subzero sting.

  “It may not feel good right now. But, trust me. It will feel a lot worse if we don’t get the swelling down.”

  I plopped my head back on the couch. “I don’t know what hurts worse. My ankle or my pride.” This day had been kicking my butt from the moment I left the house. I was spent.

  While he went to work on my ankle I dug in my purse for my cell phone. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the night began its descent into chaos, but I had better let Drew know what was going on.

  “Do you mind if I check in with Drew real quick? We drove here together,” I asked. I knew Drew and her facial expressions well. The ear-to-ear grin she had given at the party meant she knew something was up and was expecting an update. Complete with every juicy detail.

  “Not at all. Though I spoke to her moments before I found you on the floor after your run-in with Santa. She told me to tell you she was heading home for the night.”

  “What?” My voice came out way louder than anticipated and a good two octaves higher than usual.

  “She told me she was heading home,” he said nonchalantly as he returned his attention to the makeshift ice pack. “Said she wanted to get out in front of the winter storm.”

  “I can’t believe she would leave me here,” I huffed out as I retrieved my phone from my purse. One missed call and two text messages. I was so distracted reading the messages I almost missed how thoughtfully Harris tended to my injured limb.

  “Drew said she sent you a text message. She asked if I would keep an eye on you. I told her it would be my pleasure.”

  “Ha. I bet you did.” This situation was awesomely ridiculous. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I glanced down at my phone, knowing the two text messages would be from Drew.

  DREW: A southern bird tells me that you have a holiday jones for a certain CEO. I expect details ASAP. But, not tonight. Have fun! 9:20PM

  DREW: Oh! And I put some condoms in your purse before I left. You’re welcome! 9:28PM

  I work with a bunch of sex-crazed smart-asses. I always suspected as much. But now I knew it was a fact. It was a good thing I worked from home because after tonight, I don’t think I could stand having to face my colleagues at the office on a regular basis. In the inside pocket of my purse, I spied two Magnum condoms.

  Someone was certainly optimistic.

  I tossed my phone back in my purse. Next to the condoms no less. “You were right,” I said. “Looks like I either need to call a cab or call the
lobby and book a room.”

  “Becca, it’s full-blown blizzard outside. Cabs aren’t driving in this. It’s also right before Christmas. Everything’s been booked for months in advance.” He lifted the ice pack from my ankle and resumed his examination of the inflamed joint. “You’re staying here.”

  “Harris…”

  “Becca, I’m not trying to pressure you in any way. But I won’t lie to you either. I want you here with me.” He retrieved the bourbon from behind him and dropped a few ice cubes from the bowl on the table into one of the glasses. “Besides,” he said as he poured two fingers of the amber liquid over the rocks, “I promised you a proper apology.”

  He raised the glass to his lips and took a pull, capturing a cube of ice in his mouth. As he knelt in front of me, his supple fingers found my good ankle and raised my leg to meet his mouth. Securing the ice cube between his lips, he pressed it against my ankle. The act played out in slow motion as the ice melted on his tongue, as he forged a lazy path up to my knee.

  Harris moved from the outside of my leg to the inside, putting himself squarely between my legs. He brought the bourbon to my lips and tipped it back for me to taste. Then he took another slow drink, and with another cube of ice, he pressed his mouth to the inside of my knee. The heat from his mouth and the chill of the ice was a dizzying combination. I was desperate for something to hold on to. He was close enough that my fingers wove their way into his hair completely of their own volition. I could barely register his moan over my own.

  Short of breath, he lifted his mouth and took another dose of the amber liquid. Then he set the glass down and moved up my body with a slow and steady precision. Now nestled between my legs, Harris cupped my face and brandished a bourbon-soaked kiss on my welcoming mouth. The liquid burned, and my insides clenched with need. It was sloppy, and it was sexy as hell.

  Gasping for air, I broke the seal of our lips. A trickle of the amber liquid slipped out of my mouth and ran down my chin. Harris kissed and licked up every last drop that had tried to escape before returning to my lips.