Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas)

by Maggie Robinson, Elyssa Patrick

  “You? Why?”

  “Because it took me all this time to see you. To finally admit my friendly feelings were actually not that friendly and more in the ‘I want to see him naked’ way. And to make you not even tell me that secret part about yourself—that you thought you had to hide that from me.” She shook her head, disappointment evident in her gaze.

  “It’s not something I’m particularly proud of.”

  “Why?” Another tiny step closer. He had to swallow, but his mouth was so dry that it was a miracle he could speak. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve never done anything with anyone. Does it matter to you that I have done things?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Can I ask you something else?” Felicity waited until he nodded. “Do you not want to do things because . . . well, maybe you’re waiting for someone, too. I mean, you said you wanted it to be special so—”

  “No.” He realized how that came across—so hastened— so he added, “I want to be with you. You’re special to me.”

  As in I love you special, but there were only so many secrets he was willing to share tonight. Anything more, and he would feel as if he was talking to a psychologist.

  “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. That’s all.” He pressed his mouth together. “It will probably be disappointing.”

  “Oh, Harry,” Felicity said, her voice soft and tender. “That’s why we have all weekend. We’ll sort all those things out. And it’ll be a lot of fun.”

  “More so for me than you, I fear.”

  “Pfft. Don’t you worry about that.” She smiled at him. “Can I kiss you now?”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I drew up a contract.”

  “A . . . a contract,” she repeated, looking at him steadily. “Is that what the legal pad has on it?”

  Now that she said it like that, he felt funny about the whole thing—like it was wrong to even mention it. “Yeah, I thought it would help things. You know, so if things didn’t work out between us . . . I wouldn’t lose you.”

  “Oh, Harry, you really try to plan for every foreseeable outcome, don’t you? I love that about you.” She closed the distance between them, putting her hands on his shoulders. Heat flooded his body, and he wanted more. “But, you see, none of that matters because I’m going to kiss you.”

  “Just don’t—”

  “Expect much, I know, I know. Stop worrying so much. This is kissing. Kissing is fun. You’re going to love it.”

  He didn’t say anything else—couldn’t think of how to respond when her breasts brushed against his chest oh so lightly. Yup, he wouldn’t last two seconds.

  Felicity leaned up on her heels and touched her lips to his.

  Just like that they were kissing.

  A touch of lips, a hello. An introduction. Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I kiss you some more? It was new, this sensation—feeling her soft, full mouth on his. How she did the impossible and tasted better than candy, better than apple pie with drizzled sea-salt caramel sauce. How suddenly he wasn’t afraid anymore of the unknown because this was Felicity—and kissing her was everything he had hoped for and more.

  And she was right. She was always right.

  Kissing was a lot of fun.

  Especially with her.

  FINALLY, SHE WAS kissing him. After months and months of wanting him, days and days of wondering . . . a year of yearning . . . her mouth was finally on his. Just that. Lips upon lips.

  But she wanted more.

  She took his bottom lip in hers, nipping it gently, and heard his indrawn breath. Such a delicious sound—the gasp he took, the way his body stilled in awareness, and how slowly Harry was letting himself fall into the kiss. Into her.

  See, her lips said, tugging on his. See, how good this is? And look here at what I’m doing? It’s about to get a whole lot better.

  She loved his mouth. His lips were absolute perfection. Lips she could eternally sip on. She wanted to get closer to him. Her hands slid from his shoulders up to his face. Ah, so good. So very good. His face was smooth, not even one stubble for her fingers to scrape against. His cheekbones jutted out, and his chin was a little on the pointy side. But how she always loved that point in his chin, the slight triangular shape of his face seemed so much better than her round one.

  His arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her even more flush against his body.

  And then he kissed her.

  Of all the kisses in the world, she hadn’t been expecting that type of kiss—especially not from Harry.

  His kiss was the kiss. And a kiss that she never wanted to end. It was the kind of kiss she could get stuck on. It was a kiss that awakened sleeping princesses and turned frogs and beasts into princes. It was a kiss to end all kisses.

  It didn’t say hello like hers had. No. Definitely not. It kissed its intent right on her mouth. Harry Walsh had a secret weapon: he sure as hell knew how to kiss. And she was pretty damn sure that if someone struck a match to them right now, they would burst into flames.

  It was the kiss to end all kisses.

  She broke away, panting, and gaped at him. “I—I didn’t know you c-could kiss like that. Virgins aren’t supposed to kiss like . . . like that!”

  “This one does.” He smiled at her in a way that had her melting where she stood.

  Yup, that did it. She was now Felicity flambé.

  She tugged on his bowtie, her red lipstick leaving prints of her mouth along his jaw line, down his neck, along the edge of his collar.

  Her lipstick stained his shirt, leaving an imprint of part of her mouth. The top of her mouth marked his neck, the bottom of the collar. Like she was leaving part of herself behind—fitting, as her heart had long since abandoned her for Harry.

  And then her lips moved to his bowtie. Such a cute thing. She put her mouth at the knot—she’d tie Harry up in so many ways he would have no chance at freeing himself—or wanting to. He swallowed when her mouth slid upward, landing on his Adam’s apple. His hands gripped her hips. Perhaps if she leaned up just a little more to scrape her teeth on his pointed chin, his grip would loosen enough that he’d touch her butt. She started to do reach up just as he moved toward her.

  His forehead clunked into hers, and she jumped back, her vision blurring from unshed tears.

  “Oh God,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

  She wiped her eyes, the stars fading, and slowly blinked at him. “You—you weren’t thinking?”

  “Not one single thought.”

  Warmth spread through her, and she smiled. “You really know how to kiss.”

  He blushed.

  God, those blushes were going to be the death of her. But they had to slow things down, right? They had the whole night. The whole weekend actually. Maybe . . . it would be good to hold back and build up the anticipation just a little bit more.

  Yeah. She could wait sixty minutes.

  Maybe.

  “Perhaps . . .” she said, looking at the table with food laid out. They hadn’t kissed that long—the stew would still be hot and not need any warming up on the stove. “We should eat dinner.”

  Before she did something crazy and dragged him by his bowtie to debauch him by the fireplace. Hmmm . . . That actually sounded like a great idea.

  Later, she promised herself.

  Harry nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Were those kisses the appetizer?”

  Kissing as appetizers. She liked that.

  “I guess so.” She gave him a winning smile. “I think you’ll like what happens after dinner. But first, let’s eat . . . and I want to see that contract.”

  Harry paled at the mention of contract.

  Ohhhh, this was going to be fun to read.

  She wouldn’t torture him.

  Much.

  DINNER, AS EXPECTED, was delicious. The table was cleared away for dessert and candy tasting. The legal pad was th
ere as well—a bright yellow reminder of his stupidity.

  Harry regretted writing the contract now. He was no lawyer, but an accountant by trade. He didn’t have a way with words, but give him numbers and he could numberize to his heart’s content.

  Felicity passed him a huge slice of apple pie a la mode, the vanilla ice cream sprinkled with her infamous tiny red candied X’s and O’s. He was just digging in when she smoothly moved the legal pad to her side of the table.

  She flipped through the pages, her Brooke Shields-like eyebrows arching up. “Sixteen pages? Single-spaced? I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

  “Go with impressed.” He wasn’t going to attempt to steal the legal pad back. Felicity fought dirty. “And maybe a little bit terrified. Remember, I had just been attacked by whipped creamed. I was under duress.”

  “So I should also think you were insane when you wrote this?”

  “A little crazy never hurt anyone.”

  “I didn’t say crazy. I said insane.” Felicity stopped flipping through the pages and went back to the front. She flicked her hand open, motioning it in a give me gesture. “Hand it over.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  She gave him a look. The look. The Felicity Anne Evans look. The one that said, You are bullshitting me right now and I don’t appreciate it.

  He would remain firm. Unyielding.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Oh shit. He was not going to mess with that look. The last time he had ignored that look, at age eight, his G.I. Joe had gone swimming with the fishes. Literally.

  “Fine, fine.” He reached into his shirt pocket. He thought he had hid it better this time. Sighing, he pulled out the pen, thin and on the small end of the scale. To use it, all you had to do was twist and turn.

  Without saying anything, Felicity took the pen and went back to the beginning of the contract. And then she started reading out loud.

  THE CONTRACT BETWEEN HARRISON BENEDICT WALSH AND FELICITY ANNE EVANS

  We, (insert name here), and (insert other parties’ name here), solemnly swear that we will be up to no good this weekend. As such, we also solemnly swear that this weekend will not impact our friendship or change the meaning of said relationship. There will be no weirdness between either party after any consummation. (Weirdness, as defined for these intents and purposes, means the silent act, asking if it was good too many times, and just not being how these parties normally interact with each other.) As to the consummation at hand, both parties will swear to the following:

  1. No talk of how their families will react if they find out.

  2. No talk of Sven. He’s blond and he has an accent—there’s no way Harry can compete with this.

  3. In the actual engaging of consummation, it might not be good for the female upon the first few times. Said female must understand said male is an idiotic virgin and not hold it too much against him.

  4. Said male promises to sleep on the damp part of the bed.

  5. Said male promises to use protection at all times. “No glove, no love,” is a motto that should be followed.

  6. Said male has read other contracts in romances. There will be no talk of exercise . . . unless it’s sexercise.

  7. Said female must make her fantasies known so said male can attempt them.

  8. There must be times for naked happenings. Said male prefers the dark, but said male is also open to other times and settings. Said female must not wear too many distracting clothes. Better yet, she should remain naked as often as possible.

  9. Said male would like said female to whipped cream herself again. This time, he’ll lick her clean without hesitation.

  10. Said female must always be honest in all things. No faked orgasms.

  11. Said male also promises to not talk of accounting things because he knows work is not sexy in the bedroom.

  12. Said female must promise to still be friends with said male after the sex happens.

  13. Seriously, said female must really promise this.

  It went on and on and on. By the time she was done reading, the candles were half-melted. Her eyes felt gritty as she stared at the signature lines.

  “You realize this would not hold up in any court of law, right?”

  “None of those romance contracts do,” Harry said. “It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Obviously I was wrong.”

  She backpedaled to what he’d just said and what had been in the contract. “You said ‘romance.’”

  His gaze went to his empty plate, where not even a crumb remained.

  “Harry,” she said, leaning forward, interested. “Have you . . . have you read romance novels?”

  “Y-yes.” He still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I had to study something, and then they were good, so I kept reading them.”

  She sat back in her chair, completely floored. “And all this time I thought you were reading Tom Clancy or Stephen King or Donna Tartt on your Kindle.”

  “I read those, too. Sometimes. I . . . I just like to read.”

  “So then you know romance contracts in a romance tend to be a major no no, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but . . . but . . .”

  “And that no matter what happens, we’ll still be friends. Best friends. But I can’t promise it won’t change things. I won’t promise that.”

  He finally looked at her. “So you’re not going to sign the contract?”

  “Harry, we don’t need a contract. It’s cute—adorable, even—that you wrote sixteen, single-spaced pages. It’ll be something we’ll tell our kids one day.”

  He pulled at the knot in his bowtie. “Our—our kids?”

  “Harry, don’t you get it? Don’t you see? I am completely, madly, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you.”

  FOUR

  SHE LOVED HIM.

  She loved him.

  Harry couldn’t help it. He stood, his hands braced on the table. He had to make sure. He had to make sure he had heard right. All this joy bottled in his body for so long was cracking free, making his blood sizzle, making his heart soar . . . God, he could dance right now.

  “You love me,” he repeated. She loved him? Him? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be everything he had dreamed of—everything he’d hoped for. Everything he ever wanted had centered on her. He breathed for her, never dared to hope that she would ever . . . that she would ever . . .

  Felicity remained seated, looking at him evenly, calmly. “I love you,” she repeated.

  He didn’t stop himself this time. It was like everything in him had been set free. Like the secret part of himself—the one he kept hidden and didn’t let out so he could remain safe and intact—had Shawshanked itself and wasn’t going to let it be captured again.

  And Harry did something he never thought he would do.

  He danced.

  He danced his way to her. Uncoordinated, his feet almost tripping over themselves in haste, in this sort of spinny type of waltz thing, while joyous laughter spilled out of Felicity. He didn’t even stop in front of her; he merely held out his hand to hers and pulled her up from her chair.

  He spun them wildly around the dinner table, around the room, not even in rhythm to the music playing. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered but this. Her in his arms. Her love. She loved him.

  There were so many things he had to say. So many. But he would start with the most important.

  “Felicity,” he said, as he dipped her, “I love you.”

  And then, as he bent to kiss her, he did something very Harry-like. Losing his balance, they fell to the floor, limbs tangled once again.

  “Oh crap,” he said. “I had that going much better in my head.”

  “It was perfect,” Felicity said, laughter in her voice. “You’re perfect.”

  That was sweet, but he knew better. He wasn’t perfect. Hardly, that. If he were, he would have acted long before now. He wouldn’t have been so nervous. He would have come clean and told her how long
he had loved her. Because he did.

  But first, he had to kiss her.

  He really, really did.

  So he did.

  And there was no doubt in his mind that she liked it.

  SHE COULDN’T GET enough of his kisses. Seriously, the man could kiss. But Harry had never done this before. She should make it special—something he wouldn’t forget. She sighed. She should’ve brought the rose petals with her. Sure, they might be a little clichéd, but Harry deserved some romancing.

  Maybe it was enough for it to be just her. She marveled at the idea of that. That he would be happy just to have her. That he loved her.

  Sure, it seemed a little too easy. The utterances of love. The implicit agreement that they would take things to the next level. The fact that it had only taken one meal to get here.

  Well, she was a very good cook.

  But Felicity couldn’t help but think, with how fast things were progressing—how simple it all seemed—that this, whatever this ended up being, was anything but. Perhaps she was thinking too much right now. Perhaps she should just enjoy this weekend. Enjoy him. And whatever came, came. But she knew love wasn’t so uncomplicated, and she still wasn’t sure what any of this meant.

  It wasn’t like her to worry like this. To even second-guess a relationship until the Hindsight 20/20 Effect was employed after the relationship crashed and burned. It just seemed too unbelievable to her—this whole weekend was like a fairy tale come true. Of course, she had planned it, so it wasn’t a complete surprise—but she was getting everything she ever wanted. Harry. And he wanted her in return.

  What was the problem, then?

  She didn’t know, but it felt . . . it felt like they were ignoring the elephant in the room.

  And she wasn’t referring to Harry’s virginity.

  Why had it taken this long to get to this point? What else wasn’t Harry telling her? And why was she obsessing? She should just be herself. Live in the moment. Seize the day. See what happened. Because the worst thing that could happen would be the weekend ending in disaster and their friendship being destroyed beyond repair due to miscommunication or a big miscalculation.