Snowed In with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 1)

by Sylvia Pierce

  The guy was in his early thirties, with wavy black hair that stuck up everywhere, and a strong, defined jaw covered with the perfect amount of I-don’t-give-a-damn scruff. He’d opened the door in bare feet, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans all undone, a thin hoodie, and a scowl that sent shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Just like his pants, the hoodie was unzipped, revealing a serious set of abs, the faint edges of tattoos peeking out along both sides.

  His muscular chest was slick with a light sheen of sweat.

  I must’ve interrupted his workout.

  Good lord, she wanted to lick him. Drop to her knees, press her face against his stomach, and run her tongue all over that perfectly sculpted body, find out just where those tattoos led…

  Someone smack me!

  Georgie had just survived a near death experience, she was missing the Taylor family Christmas celebration, and she was freezing her little snow globes off… yet that was where her brain went. Licking a total stranger’s sweaty abs. Honestly!

  Note to self: next time ask Dr. Bello to examine my head instead of my heart.

  “What can I do for you?” the sexy stranger asked, finally meeting her eyes. But once he pinned her with his steely gaze, all Georgie could do was gape. His body was a thing of beauty, but those eyes absolutely hypnotized her. They were the color of flint, and just as hard. The kind of eyes that hid a thousand secrets, the kind that broke a thousand hearts.

  For a moment Georgie and the mysterious stranger just stood there, not speaking, locked in the most intense stare. Obvious hotness aside, there was something so familiar about him, so… magnetic. When she opened her mouth to respond, the first words that popped into her head were, inexplicably, I missed you.

  He pulled the door shut behind him and stepped out onto the porch, and the moment between them passed.

  Georgie coughed.

  “Merry… Merry Christmas,” she finally managed, her hand pressed to her chest. Her heart was banging like a trapped animal, and she needed to slow it down with some deep breathing, but the icy air was making her lungs hurt. She felt dizzy and unsteady.

  Focus!

  “Can I… can I…” Georgie swallowed hard. A wave of dizziness slammed into her body, throwing her off balance. She closed her eyes to stop the spinning, but it was too late. The floor tipped sideways, her legs buckled beneath her, and then she was pitching forward, falling headlong into those sexy abs.

  The man had amazing instincts. He darted forward and grabbed her, steadying her against his bare chest before she hit the ground.

  She was safe and secure in his strong, muscular arms, but her head felt like a balloon on a string, her thoughts floating away on the breeze.

  “You’re really warm,” she said suddenly, giggling like an idiot. She was breathing hard; the lack of carbon dioxide in her blood was making her goofy. “Like, super warm.”

  She smiled up at him.

  And then the world went black.

  CHAPTER 3

  T here’s an elf on my shelf.

  Ronan blinked. Twice. He hadn’t even hit the bottle all that hard yet, and he was straight-up hallucinating.

  “Hey,” he said, looking down at the elf in his arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, her body going slack. Breath escaped her mouth in frantic white puffs, and even through her costume, Ronan could feel the heartbeat machine-gunning in her chest.

  No way. No fucking way. The last thing he needed was Santa’s little helper dying in his arms in the middle of a damn blizzard.

  He gave her a firm but gentle shake, careful not to let her head fall back. “Come on, now. Don’t do this to me.” He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek—she felt like a popsicle. “Wake up, baby. Wake up.”

  Her eyes opened again, then widened. She untangled her body from Ronan’s hold and righted herself again, but Ronan kept his hands on her arms, just in case.

  “You with me?” he asked.

  She was gaping at him with huge, blue eyes that stood out like sapphires in the snow, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold. Locks of red hair stuck out from beneath a sparkly white hat. And that outfit? Red-and-white striped stockings, a tight white ballerina dress that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, red scarf, and one of those useless little half-sweaters that did nothing to hide the diamond-hard nipples poking out against the fabric.

  She looked like a peppermint-candy cupcake, just begging for Ronan to sink his teeth right in. His cock stirred at the thought.

  Hey, remember me, asshole?

  Ronan released her and took a step back, zipping up his pants and adjusting himself before things got uncomfortable. That one-track mind was going to get him into serious trouble one of these days.

  “Thank… thank you.” The girl was panting, one pink-gloved hand pressed to her chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “You okay?” Ronan asked.

  “Fine,” she said. “Just… it’s probably the altitude. And your driveway isn’t exactly plowed.”

  “Wasn’t expecting company.”

  “But it’s Christmas Eve,” she said, as though that explained shit. After a beat, she narrowed her eyes at him, her nose wrinkling in the cutest fucking way imaginable. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not enough.” Any drunker, and he would’ve had zero judgment, zero inhibition, and zero reservations about pinning the girl to the floor and finding out exactly what was hidden underneath those candy-cane stockings.

  “Oooh-kay then.” Her breathing seemed to be normalizing, thank God—one less thing for him to deal with. “Sorry to bother you at an obviously bad time, but I kind of crashed my car into your driveway, and now it won’t start, and my phone has no service out here, and I really need to get to my parents’ cabin before dinner’s over or it’ll turn into this whole thing, because my mom is high maintenance and I didn’t even tell them I was coming, and I always mess up Christmas but this year I planned out this whole surprise, so I was hoping I could—”

  “Slow down, Cupcake.” Whether it was the booze or that hot little outfit, Ronan’s ability to concentrate was seriously compromised. He could barely follow her mile-a-minute ramble. “What do you mean, you ‘kind of’ crashed your car?”

  She lowered her eyes and shrugged, nibbling on her lower lip, and fuck, the sight of her teeth against that plump, rosy flesh made his cock twitch. All he could think about was what that lip would feel like between his teeth, what kind of sounds she’d make if he bit down on it and sucked…

  Get your shit together, you sick fuck.

  “I lost the road,” she said. “Or it lost me. I don’t know. It’s whiteout conditions, right? I’m driving along, trying to figure out where I took a wrong turn, and all of a sudden I can’t steer. Can’t stop. I’m just spinning and sliding down this hill, no control, hoping when it’s all over, I land somewhere soft.” She smiled innocently, finally meeting his eyes again. “And here I am.”

  Ronan grunted out a laugh. “Hate to break it to you, Cupcake, but I ain’t exactly somewhere soft.”

  She looked away again, a blush creeping up her neck.

  Damn, that looks good on her. Wonder what else makes her blush…

  “Can I maybe just use your phone?” she asked.

  He leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. Flustered was a good look on her, and Ronan liked being the one to put it there. “Nope. Sorry.”

  That got her attention.

  She stared him down, hands on her hips, red hair licking her shoulders like flames. She was the textbook definition of “adorable when you’re mad,” but Ronan wisely kept that to himself. The last time he’d thrown that phrase at a redhead, he damn near lost a testicle. He’d had to flee Spain under cover of darkness on a Greek merchant ship just to avoid the fallout.

  “What are you smirking at?” she demanded.

  “Nothing, Cupcake. Not a damn thing.”

  “Dude.” She yanked off her hat and scratched her head. H
er hair was wild with static electricity, and her eyes blazed with a fire Ronan did not see coming. “Seriously? Seriously. It’s deadly cold out here. I’m freezing my ass off in this slutty elf costume. My car crash-landed at the end of your driveway. I fainted in your arms. It’s Christmas Eve. Could you maybe just be, I don’t know, a little less of a dick?”

  “Can’t.” Ronan shrugged, stifling a laugh. Live entertainment was hard to come by around these parts—he’d take his amusement where he could get it. “Phone line’s been out for hours. Internet’s down, and my cell works for shit up here. Satellite TV’s still holding on, though. Up for a movie?”

  He turned the doorknob, and the instant he cracked open the door, Bella yelped and darted out past him. She nearly tackled the girl, sniffing her up and down, sticking her snout into places that made Ronan curse the day he was born a man instead of a dog.

  “Oh my God!” the girl squealed. “Who is this beautiful baby?” She dropped to her knees and scratched behind Bella’s ears with both hands, laughing wildly as Bella licked her face. “Hi, pretty girl! Aren’t you just the sweetest thing ever? What’s your name?”

  “Her name’s Traitor,” Ronan grumbled, reaching out to grab the hunk of fur at the back of Bella’s neck. “Also known as Sleeping Outside Tonight.”

  “Aww,” the girl said, still talking to Bella. She stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Somebody’s got a grumpy daddy. Huh, puppy?”

  “She ain’t a puppy. Get inside, Bella.” The dog nudged his hand, giving it a good licking. She knew Ronan would never make her sleep outside—she had him wrapped around her little paw, and she played that for all it was worth.

  Typical woman.

  He finally wedged her back into the cabin, pulling the door against his legs so she couldn’t escape again.

  “She’s beautiful.” The girl stood up and turned those big blue eyes back on Ronan. “I had a dog like that when I was a kid. I called him Turkey.”

  “You named your dog Turkey?”

  “He was born on Thanksgiving. But we had to give him away because I was allergic. But don’t worry, I’m not anymore. Not to animals. Only avocados, red dye number forty, certain kinds of seeds, and—”

  “Stop,” Ronan said. “Please stop talking.” Holy fuck. He didn’t know how a girl who’d crashed her car into a driveway looking like she’d just wandered off the set of Santa’s Naughty Little Helpers could talk so damn much. He’d only been standing here five minutes, and he was already exhausted. “You coming inside, or are you gonna chill out here?”

  She fucking cracked up. No warning, no pause, girl just busted out laughing like it was amateur night at the Improv and Ronan was the star of the show.

  A tiny sliver of ice broke off from the solid block around his heart.

  No woman, anywhere, ever, in any language, had ever appreciated his corny puns.

  God damn, I might have to keep this one.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I needed that.” She wiped her watery eyes with her gloves, then let out a not-so-happy sigh. “But I really need to get to my family. Maybe we can just push the car out of the snowbank? See if it starts up again?”

  Not fucking likely.

  “Whatever you say, Cupcake.” Ronan’s coat and work boots were just inside the door. He zipped up his hoodie and stuffed himself into his gear, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Oh, also? “ she said. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure I hit something on the way into your driveway, because there was a big thud, and after that, the car started making this weird grinding noise, like… grrrr-chunk, grrrr-chunk, grrrr—”

  “Chunk.” Ronan held up a hand. “Got it.”

  “You know, maybe it’s better if you just give me a ride.” She bounced on her toes, her eyes doing some kind of puppy dog thing that was hard as hell to resist. “The cabin is just on the other side of Route Seven, on Spruce?”

  “Route Seven?” Ronan shook his head. “That’s twenty miles from here.”

  “It’s not that far.”

  “You see anyone out there right now? You pass a single car on these roads on your way up?”

  “No.”

  “And why do you suppose that is?”

  “I know it’s icy,” she said, still bouncing. “But you probably drive a crazy souped-up Hummer or something. Please?”

  Those eyes had some kind of mojo that in any other circumstance might’ve had him on his knees by now, preferably with his tongue buried in her pussy, but Ronan held firm.

  “Negative. For one thing, your car is blocking my exit. For another, you see what’s happening out there?” Ronan jerked his head toward the expanse beyond his porch, a sea of white in all directions. You couldn’t even tell where the sky ended and the snowdrifts began. “Only an idiot would drive in this shit.”

  The bouncing stopped. Her eyes glazed with tears, and suddenly Ronan felt like the biggest asshole walking.

  “An idiot,” she said, her lip quivering. Aww, hell. Here we go. Three, two, one, and… “Or maybe just a person who loves her family, and hasn’t been able to spend Christmas with them in four years, and is looking forward more than anything in the world to holding her two-month-old nephew for the very first time, and surprising her twin four-year-old nieces with a visit from Santa’s helper. But it’s cool, I get it. You’re busy. You don’t do visitors. You’re the Grinch. I’m an idiot. Thanks for your time, Mr. I Hate Christmas, but I think I’ll take my chances with a different crazy mountain recluse.”

  She wiped her eyes with the edge of her hat and turned on her heel, stomping down the porch stairs and back out into the frigid snow, red hair blowing out behind her.

  Ronan sighed. He didn’t know jack about this girl, but somehow he knew—way down deep in the icy wasteland of his heart—he was done for. Absolutely, positively done for.

  Fucking gingers, man.

  He hopped off the porch and caught up with her in two strides, grabbing her arms in a tight grip. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Cupcake.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Douche bag. He was definitely a douche bag. But not a psychopath—an important distinction. Georgie could always tell about people. And anyway, he was kind of right. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, ice and snow blanketing the high country, she didn’t have much of an escape route.

  Didn’t mean she had to make it easy on him. Not after the way he’d treated her.

  She jerked away from his grip. “What do you want?”

  The guy shrugged out of his wool-lined flannel coat and held it out for her, but Georgie didn’t budge.

  “Humor me,” he said, tossing it at her as he stomped past.

  “Whatever.” Secretly grateful, she slipped her arms into the huge sleeves and zipped up. He’d only had it on a few minutes, but the heat lingered, wrapping her in a full-bodied hug.

  And holy hell, the scent of him. So. Freaking. Amazing. It was like evergreens and cinnamon and soap and the great outdoors and just… him. Male. Hot. Filling her senses and making her insides swirl.

  I wonder what he smells like up close, like in that spot where his jaw meets his ear…

  “You got a name, Cupcake?” the guy called out. He was already halfway down the driveway, and hadn’t even turned around to see if she was following.

  What a jerk!

  A super sexy, good-smelling jerk!

  “Georgeanne Taylor,” she said, scrambling to catch up. At least this time she could follow in his footsteps and avoid some of the snow. “Most people call me Georgie. Except my Mom, who insists on calling me Gigi, which she’s done since I was three and couldn’t pronounce my own name. Um… where are we going?”

  “To see what we can do about your piece of shit car blocking the end of my driveway.”

  “It’s not mine. It’s a rental. And why do you care about the driveway? I thought you weren’t expecting company?”

  He turned to shoot her a glare over his shoulder.

  “Right,” she mumbled. �
��Allergic to sarcasm. Got it.”

  At the end of the driveway, the snowdrifts were so high that they made a cozy alcove, blocking the wind. The blizzard was harsh, but the snow was beautiful—big, soft flakes piling up everywhere.

  “We should totally make a snowman,” she said, handing over the car keys. “This is the perfect snow for it.”

  “Knock yourself out.” He grabbed her sleeve and tugged her to the side, kicking chunks of ice and snow away from the car. Once he had enough room, he wedged open the door and crammed himself into the driver’s seat, banging his knees on the steering wheel in the process.

  “You might want to adjust the—”

  “Got it.” Cursing under his breath, he shoved the seat back and looked around the interior, surprised. “I didn’t know they rented manual transmission cars anymore.”

  “I had to book it special,” Georgie said. “And they gouged me on the price. But it’s the only way I’ll drive these mountain roads, even in the summer. I like the control.”

  He held her gaze a moment, and Georgie could’ve sworn she saw the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

  “Let’s see what she’s got.” He jammed the key into the ignition, stepped on the break and the clutch, and gave the engine a crank.

  The car sounded like it was dying a slow death.

  “That’s the grrr-chunky noise I told you about.”

  “So I gathered.” He tried to start it again in second gear, but the clutch just wouldn’t catch, and that noise was getting worse every time. He turned it off and gave her back the keys.

  “So what’s your name, tough guy?” she asked, stepping back as he climbed out. “Wait, don’t tell me. Blade. No, Gunner. You definitely look like a Gunner.”

  “I hospitalized a guy named Gunner once. That count?” He dropped down onto his hands and knees and stuck his head under the car.

  The thought of him in a fight should not have turned her on so much. Clearly, the altitude was messing with her head.