by Jianne Carlo
She crossed her fingers. He was so going to hate her when he found out she was Angel Dare, WCBN’s “Hostess with the Mostest.” Even she hated the ridiculous catch phrase.
“Fine by me. I wanted to catch the weather report, but I can check weather.com, or are you suggesting a total tech blackout?”
Her knees wobbled, she grabbed onto the counter, squeezed her eyes shut, and sent a fervent thank-you to God, Vishnu, Allah, and every deity she’d ever studied.
“I didn’t bring my laptop. Why not go all out and do the total tech-free thingy?” She gnawed on her lower lip and prayed he’d agree.
“It’s a deal. I’ll have to send out a text to my team first though and tell them to call the land line if they need me. Just in case there’s an emergency.”
Relief swamped through her. She relaxed and enjoyed the view. The man had a fine ass, and she admired his thighs and rear when he bent and pulled the oven door open.
He stuck the dish on a shelf, closed the door, and spun around to face her. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. What can I do to help?”
“Nada. The frittata will take forty-five minutes according to Destiny.” He placed a mug under the coffee spigot and stabbed a button. The machine whined. He picked up his cell from where it lay on the counter and his thumbs flew over the keypad. “There. All done. Our tech-free holiday has begun.”
He tossed the cell into an empty wicker basket that also contained various keys and shot her a quick glance. “Why don’t we do the open presents thing now?”
She wrinkled her nose. “The plural version of that word’s making me nervous. I only got you a small thing.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Angel. Let’s agree to enjoy the morning and not have guilt or embarrassment be any part of it. Okay?” He handed her the java-filled cup.
“I’ll try. Thanks.” She wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain, sniffed the tantalizing aroma, and sipped the heady brew. “That machine’s worth every penny. This is amazing coffee.”
“I know.” He had finished making his cup and linked their fingers together. “Come on. I put a Christmas carol playlist together.”
They ambled out of the kitchen and down the hallway in companionable silence while drinking their java. The double doors to the library were open and the lit Christmas tree sparkled and twinkled at them.
Angel craned her neck to focus on the star, and the sounds of O Tannenbaum echoed around the room. “Very apropos. Why is it that a decorated Christmas tree makes you pause and simply appreciate its beauty? I can’t look at a tree without feeling a bit cheerier. Know what I mean?”
She glanced at him only to find him staring at her. Her face warmed. “What? Do I have a smudge somewhere or what?”
He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles all the while trapping her gaze. “I can’t see the tree, but for the woman standing in front of it.”
“Now, you’re embarrassing me.” She shook her head and fixed her focus on the tree. Then she saw the huge pile of presents that extended well beyond the tree’s burgundy skirt. “Satan. That’s outrageous. There must be—I don’t know—at least three dozen gifts—”
“Six dozen actually. They’re gifts for my buddies and their families. Sinner, Destiny’s husband, has ten brothers and sisters and there’s a plethora of children of myriad ages.” He winked at her.
“Beast. You fully intended me to think they were all for me. Now I feel utterly selfish and completely chagrined. Ten brothers and sisters? In this day and age?” She finished her coffee.
“Sinner’s mom, Colleen Chapman, is a devout Catholic.”
He took the mug from her, set his and hers on the coffee table, and sat on the carpet, his back leaning against the couch. He spread his legs apart and patted the space in the middle. “Park your luscious butt right here, darlin’.”
She lowered her rear to the spot he’d indicated.
He bent one knee, wrapped his arm around her waist, and hugged her tight to his chest. “I put your gift bag for me over there.”
“Is that a hint you want to go first?” She snuck a peek at him to find he wore a serious, almost sad expression. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Ghosts of Christmases past. Don’t frown, Angel. Having you here on this day is erasing all those memories. Yep. I’ll go first.”
She stretched, nabbed the gift bag, shifted to face him, and sat on her haunches. He pried the ribbons and bow apart, scrimmaged in the tissue, and pulled out a magazine. “The New Yorker. Ah, the Christmas edition for the year I was born. Thank you, Angel. This is perfect.”
“Like I said, it’s just a small token—”
His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her with such tenderness, she melted into him wanting to never let him go. He broke their fused lip lock, framed her face, and she yearned to drown in his gaze. “I have the most precious present in the world sitting right here with me. There’s no gift I’d rather have than you.”
And in that instant, Angel knew without a morsel of doubt—she loved him.
Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and one lone drop rolled down her cheek.
“That wasn’t supposed to make you cry.” He swiped at her damp skin.
She lied. “Happy tears.”
“Time to change the mood.” He reached behind her and grabbed a tiny gift bag. “Here. The first of three. See, I didn’t go overboard.”
She sniffed, took the parcel from him, and undid the bow holding the handles together. The trademark robin’s egg blue box prompted a protest. “Tiffany? Really? Whatever it is, it’s way too expensive.”
“Open it on pain of a bare-bottom spanking.” His decidedly satanic grin and the sparkling gleam in his black-as-sin eyes proved contagious.
She smiled. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to make me accept this no matter what?”
“Because I am. Go on. Open the box.”
She popped the lid, and slowly eased a fine silver chain with a dangling crystal angel out of the box. “An angel. Oh, it’s beautiful. So delicate.”
“A tad cheesy, I know, but I couldn’t resist. And no, it didn’t cost a fortune. Turn around, lift your hair, and I’ll get the clasp.”
She did as he ordered, let her hair drop back into place once the crystal dangled on the flesh above her cleavage, pivoted, and arched her neck. “How’s it look?”
“Perfect. I almost envy the little darling. She gets to ride your tits all day long.” He chucked her chin.
“Satan,” she chided, and for good measure swatted his arm.
He waggled his brows and mugged a leer. “What can I say? I’m definitely a dirty old man.”
“And I love you for it.” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, Angel froze in sheer dread and horror. Oh shit. What to do? Hysteria shattered any further thought composition, and she babbled away, “What about all these other presents. When will you deliver them? We’re finished right? One each. Gift that is. No more—”
He hauled her into his lap and planted his mouth over hers. He stroked his tongue over the seam of her lips, the coarse caresses insistent, demanding, and greedy. An answering hunger swept through her, she opened for him, and desire surged under his slow, tortuous thrusts.
She wound her arms around his neck and straddled his groin. The thin fabric of the dress rubbed her over-sensitized bare pussy folds. She slid up and down the denim covering his erection. Frantic to have his cock driving into her aching sex, she fumbled with his belt while suckling on his tongue.
He yanked away from her.
Bereft, she tangled her fingers in his hair, and sought his lips.
He leaned his forehead on hers. “Easy. Easy.”
“Don’t want easy.” Frustration laced her grouched declaration.
His piercing inspection of her made her want to cringe and be swallowed up whole. If he dared mention her blunder that was it. She’d call a taxi and leave right away. Unable t
o meet his gaze, she studied the dark hairs coating his square chin.
“Angel, look at me.” He thumbed the line of her jaw.
She blew out a long sigh, lifted her eyelids, and met his stare. Waited for the bomb to explode.
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.
The adamant and insistent old-fashioned telephone ring confused her. “What’s that?”
“The landline.” He cupped her bottom, lurched to standing, slid her down to the carpet, and steadied her when she wobbled. “Okay?”
“Yes.” Too befuddled to say more or even move, she watched him jog around the couch and the tree, and snatch an onyx cordless phone from its matching wall jack. “Speak to me.”
Her brows rose at his clipped and unwelcoming greeting.
“Merry Christmas to you, too. What’s up?” He walked back to where she was standing never taking his focus off her. He mouthed, Devil.
The tension stiffening her spine eased. She whispered, “Want me to leave?”
He shook his head.
Angel spied the mugs on the table. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Want one too?”
He narrowed his eyes, but nodded.
Glad for the opportunity to escape for a few minutes, she grabbed the cups, and hurried out of the room.
This was madness. You had to know someone to love them. She couldn’t have fallen in love with him in a mere—what—forty-eight hours? Why persist in this insanity? She should leave right away. Before he questioned her about that stupid, stupid and-I-love-you-for-it mistake.
On autopilot she brewed two more mugs of java and trudged back to the library to find him replacing the phone in its cradle. He headed straight to her.
“Everything okay?” She offered him a mug.
“Yep. Devil wanted to find out what time I planned to go to the Chapman’s. I normally take the presents over around noon and stay for Christmas lunch. Timing okay with you?” He took the cup from her.
Her jaw sagged. Stunned, annoyed, and upset, she focused on the rich brown coffee swirling around the mug.
“Angel?” He knuckled her chin, but she refused to meet his gaze, and concentrated on a dangling candy-cane decoration hanging on the tree.
“That’s not part of our deal.” She tipped her head back and looked right at him. “You never, ever mentioned this lunch.”
“I forgot about it.”
“That’s a blatant lie. I may not have known you for long, but I know you’re not the kind of man who forgets a single damned detail. And I don’t appreciate the way you’ve sprung this on me. Quite frankly, I feel as if I’ve been tricked.” She gritted her molars.
He pried her fingers from the cup and dropped both his and hers onto the table.
She glared at him.
When he captured her wrists, tugged her close, and snagged her chin between his thumb and forefinger, she refused to meet his gaze.
“You’re being petty and sullen about a simple lunch. I don’t buy it for a second. You’re doing that Trini thing and ‘taking in front.’ Why’re you picking a fight with me?” Annoyance laced his growled question.
“You’re breaking your word. And I’m not picking a fight with you. We agreed to four days of monkey sex and fun. No strings attached. A casual hook-up that would go nowhere and end in four days. I don’t want to meet your friends and their family.” She risked a quick peek, glimpsed his knitted brows and fierce scowl, and hoped her internal cringe didn’t show.
He was pissed as all hell.
Chapter Fifteen
Satan tamped down his rising frustration. “You were going to go to the Chapman’s for Thanksgiving. You know Jess and Devil. You like them.”
“I’ve never met Devil. You’re right, I like Jess. She’s a friend and I’d like to keep it that way. When…when you and I are done, I don’t want any uneasiness between me and Jess.” She dipped her head and her hair flowed over his arms. Under the track lighting golden glints glimmered in the mass of auburn curls.
He clenched his back teeth, hunted for a win-win solution, and tipped her jaw up.
Their gazes collided. “If I’d known about this lunch tradition, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t want to interfere with your life. Go, have lunch with your friends and their families. I’ll pick one of your first editions and read.”
Satan knew exactly what would happen if he left her alone for a couple of hours. She’d head back to the city the minute he disappeared down the driveway. He needed to sidetrack her.
“It’s barely nine and you still have two gifts to open. The frittata will be ready any minute. Let’s finish up in here, have breakfast, and then decide what to do.” Delay, delay, delay—worked every time a lose-lose situation arose.
Angel worried her lower lip, but didn’t avert her eyes. He thumbed the pouty flesh from her teeth. “And I believe I still have one gift to unwrap.”
Her mouth curved a tad. “You have a way of charming me into doing exactly what you want. Okay. It’s a deal.”
He caught her hand in his and kissed the underside of her wrist. “That’s my Angel.”
Color washed over her face.
“I’m still amazed that you blush so easily.” He stooped, retrieved two gift bags, and knuckle-nudged the small of her back. “Let’s do this on the couch.”
“It’s horrible. I have no control over my blushing, and it drives me crazy.” She didn’t protest when he sat and arranged her sideways on his lap.
“Isn’t your coloring very unusual in Trinidad?”
“Oh yeah. There aren’t a ton of carrot-tops in a country where the population’s forty percent Indian and forty percent African. My father was of Irish descent. His great-great-great-grandfather actually migrated to Trinidad during the great famine. My mother’s Bostonian Scottish antecedents were all of the ‘poor nobility.’ You know, properly reared, or as we say in Trini-speak—they all have ‘brought-upsy,’ but without a penny to spare. Her people migrated to Boston around the same time as did my father’s.”
That surprised him. “Boston? How’d they end up meeting?”
“College.”
“Here. Open this one first.” He handed her a gift bag.
Satan had made the deliberate decision not to research Angel, save for his initial call to Jess, because he wanted their relationship to unfold in a natural manner. The more he learned about her, the harder it was to resist the temptation to spend an hour on the Internet, or call his buddy, Lucifer, and ask for a complete backgrounder.
She tore open the bag not bothering to untie the ribbons, dug into the tissue, and retrieved the sexy underwear he’d purchased earlier.
“You didn’t actually go into one of those lingerie stores? Shit. You must have.” She dangled the matching black sexy bra and pantie set from a finger. “It’s gorgeous and precisely my size. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. I know you’re not a B cup, and the D didn’t look right, so I opted for the C. If you don’t like it, you can return it, and get something else.” Not before she modeled the outfit for him. He hoped she’s brought a pair of CFM black shoes.
“Very dicey—buying lingerie for a woman you’ve just met, but I love it and I’m sure it’ll fit. Thank you.” She pecked him on the mouth.
“My pleasure and I mean those two words. It’s an entirely selfish present. All I could think of when I saw it was taking it off you with my teeth.” He waggled his brows.
She chuckled, cocked her head, and studied him for a moment. “You’re such a contrast to your looks. My first impression of you was this dark, brooding, intense warrior. But you have a wicked sense of humor. And an irresistible bad-boy grin.”
“Such flattery, missy. What’re you angling for?”
“Remember you promised I could get a turn with the being in charge? After breakfast, I’m claiming my turn.” She nuzzled his cheek. “I want to give you a blow job.”
Jesus H. Christ. He went from zero to tornado lust in half a second.
“After our heated discussion on this topic yesterday, I’m not going there. My lips are sealed.”
She fussed with his sweater’s collar. “In answer to your question from yesterday about ‘giving head’—I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
It took him a few moments to snatch his jaw from the floor. She’d never given head? He was going to be her first? Damn, if that didn’t ratchet his desire exponentially. Breakfast promised to be pure, sensual torture. The urge to fast-forward their screwing proved impossible to contain.
He did a fast Uzbek backward count, managed to gather what remained of his self-control, and handed her the last gift bag.
She tore apart the ribbons, fished in the tissue, and retrieved the blindfold and soft cuffs he’d purchased at a sex super store. A hot blush flashed across her throat and face. “Oh my. Another first.”
What? He raked her features.
“I don’t get it. How can you be so inexperienced? You’re passionate. You come like a house on fire. And at the drop of a hat. You’ve no inhibitions as far as I can tell… Sorry. You don’t have to answer that question.”
Her blush deepened. She glanced to the ceiling. “Catholic convent girls are notorious for their sexual curiosity and their expansive cursing vocabularies. I never picked up that habit, mostly because my nonna totally disapproved of swearing. I did, however, suffer from the rabid sex prurience thing. I abhor not knowing anything about a subject and sex was such a secret while I was a teenager that I decided to learn everything I could about the subject. I couldn’t wait to get rid of my virginity, but there was no ‘safe’ opportunities until I went to college. And I wasn’t ‘pretty’ until after my roommate transformed me. So, I picked a guy I liked and respected. Then I found out about that ‘chemistry’ thing—it was almost boring.”
He snorted. “Boring? You found sex boring.”
“With him, it was. I’d organize my to-do lists, plan my day. That sort of thing. I broke it off with him, had a couple other relationships, but never got around to an actual blow job. Then I discovered the Rabbit.” She twisted her lips. “TMI?”
“Fuck no. You and I and the Rabbit are going to become best friends.” His dick throbbed and his stones quivered in anticipation. “You didn’t bring it along by chance?”
