White Christmas - A 6 Book BWWM & BBW Holiday Romance Collection Of Billionaires, Alpha Males, SEALs, Tycoons & More!

by Cherry Kay

  WHITE

  CHRISTMAS

  THE COMPLETE

  HOLIDAY BWWM ROMANCE

  COLLECTION

  About This Collection

  Six Best Selling BWWM Romance Authors have collaborated to bring you an extra special Christmas gift. Here are 6 BWWM romances that are full of love, sex and romance.

  Lots to keep you entertained and warm during these cold days and nights! ;-)

  Table Of Contents

  #1 Her First White Christmas

  #2 Sex In The Snow

  #3 Her Little White Lie

  #4 Miracle In London

  #5 The Holiday Billionaire

  #6 Her Holiday Hope

  Book1

  HER FIRST

  WHITE CHRISTMAS

  SUSAN WESTWOOD

  About This Story

  Lorelle has been enjoying her relationship with Christopher for the past ten months. The fact that she is black and he is white has not been an issue for them at all. The sex has been good and the company even better!

  Now with Christmas fast approaching it is time to meet the parents. However, Christopher has not told his parents that Lorelle is black and he is not sure how his family will react.

  Could Lorelle's first White Christmas also be her last?

  1

  The blinds in Christopher's bedroom shut out the gray, dank winter morning. It was cold outside but it could not penetrate the warmth he and Lorelle had generated the night before since returning from their dinner date at Langton's in the Village.

  Lorelle rolled over, the burgundy sheet slipping to reveal her smooth, brown torso. Christopher balanced on an elbow, watching the movement of her eyes beneath the lids where traces of silver eye shadow remained. They had stumbled straight into bed after returning from the meal, tearing at each other's clothes, his tie, his shirt, her jacket, her hose, strewn across his apartment from the front door to the foot of the bed.

  Memories of last night came to him and he circled the dark pebbled surface of her nipples with his forefinger, causing them to fizzle and become erect. She sighed in her sleep and shifted her body closer to his. Slowly her eyes opened and she smiled up at him. He returned it with a large white, toothy smile and his creamy white cheeks reddened slightly as she caught him staring at her while she went back to sleep. He couldn't resist it, she looked so poised, and he was drawn to the calming aura she projected.

  “Good sleep?” he asked her.

  “The best. What time is it?”

  “We don't need to worry about that. This is our Sunday, no work, nothing in the diary – it's just you and me. We can stay in bed all day if we want to.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She yawned and stretched.

  He nestled his lips into her neck, noting that there were still traces of the expensive perfume he had bought for her birthday the month before. He let his tongue trail the smoothness of her chest until they reached her breasts. He kissed her stomach and pulled the sheets above his head as he sank his face between her legs, parting them gently and flicking his tongue into the soft, warm folds that moistened in anticipation.

  Suddenly, the phone beside his bed rang.

  “Don't you dare stop,” she sighed.

  The phone rang twice and went to answer-phone.

  “Christopher? Christopher, if you're there, pick up. Christopher! This is your mother.”

  Lorelle stiffened, her fine silky braids were fanned out on the pillow as she looked towards the phone. Christopher's head appeared from beneath the sheet. He looked up at Lorelle.

  “I'll ignore it,” he said, his mop of blond hair disappeared beneath the sheet again.

  “No, you better get it. We've got all day anyway and it's your mom.”

  “Hello? Christopher? You there? I know you must be, it's not as if you've gone to church or anything.”

  “Hello, Mother.” His cheeks were flushed as he sat up in bed beside Lorelle who pulled the sheets above her chest.

  “Christopher, darling, did I wake you?”

  “Kinda, how you doing, Mother?”

  “Surviving. But you know why I'm ringing.”

  “I do?”

  “Christopher! It's Christmas in ten days and this time you said you'd stay from the Tuesday for five days. Last year you promised so I'm just ringing to make sure you haven't forgotten. And what about New Years too? I’ve already started cooking, I've aired out your room, I've got your present – I do hope you haven't grown or it won't fit.”

  “Mother, I'm twenty-eight. I stopped growing when I was seventeen.” He looked over at Lorelle and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  Lorelle got out of bed and walked to the bathroom.. He followed her gentle movements across the floor, watching her full breasts and slim, nutmeg colored body slink into the all-white bathroom and disappear behind the door.

  “Now Christopher, don't be rude, you're not too big to be taken over my knee.”

  “Mother, you never took me over your knee. You spoiled me rotten and you know it.”

  “I know and I can't wait to do it again. It's a shame we see each other so rarely. It's not like I'm a million miles away. It's only Alpine, you know, and you're only in the city.”

  “Yes I know and don't worry, I'll be there. I don't think I'll stay until New Year, I think I've got a party.”

  The sound of the toilet flushing could be heard.

  “What was that? Is there someone there?”

  “No, no. It's nothing. I got to go now, Mother. I'll see you next week, all right?”

  “I can't wait, darling.”

  He hung up to see Lorelle at the door in his bathrobe with her arms crossed at her chest.

  “Your mom, right?” she said, eying Christopher sideways.

  “Yes, that was Mother, why?”

  “Well why did you tell her I was nothing? She heard me in the bathroom and you didn't want her to know I was here.”

  She came and sat on the end of the bed.

  “I thought you told her you had a girlfriend. She knows you're seeing me, right?”

  “Yes, right, of course she does. I told both my parents months ago we were going out.”

  “So why couldn't you let her know I was here?”

  “Oh, it can get so complicated with her. All those questions, I could do without them.” He leaned forwards and pulled her towards him by the lapels of her bathrobe. She lay beside him and he gently undid the tie, slipping his hand inside and caressing her body. He bent to kiss her.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, placing her delicate fingers onto his lips. “Weren't you and she discussing next week?”

  “Yes.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Yes, that's right, I always spend Christmas with my parents.”

  He pulled the bathrobe off her shoulders and began, delicately, kissing her neckline, his hands on her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his and sighed at the feel of his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. He pulled her on top of him and completely removed the bathrobe, letting it drop to the floor and then adjusting her body above him so that her breasts hovered tantalizingly near his mouth. He opened his mouth and waited. Instead she rolled off him and onto her back, when he mounted her she held her hand onto his chest.

  “What's wrong?” he said, breathless.

  “What's wrong? Can't you see what's wrong with this picture?” She placed a hand on each of his
thickset shoulders.

  “No, Lorelle, I can't. I don't get why you're angry.”

  “You just spent the last few minutes making Christmas arrangements with your mother and you haven't even discussed the holidays with me.”

  “I'm sorry. I just thought you spent them with your family.”

  “I never said I did that, you can't just assume. Christopher we've been together for almost ten months. Don't you think it might have been appropriate to talk about how we spent Christmas before making assumptions on my behalf? Didn't it once occur to you that I might want to spend it with you?”

  “Well no, I-”

  She pushed him aside and grabbed for the robe, pulling it on and stomping her way to the kitchen where she attempted to start the coffee by slamming all the equipment from one surface to the next.

  Christopher, who had pulled on a pair of pants, came into the kitchen and sat on a stool at the breakfast bar watching Lorelle purposefully shift the coffee items around and listening to the cups and percolator come crashing onto the solid wood surfaces.

  “Er – I might need to go out and buy a new coffee maker if we're going to actually have coffee this morning.” He grinned.

  “This isn't funny, Christopher.”

  “Well, would you mind telling me what you're so upset about? I'm just a man, remember, I can't move quickly enough through the moods to -”

  Lorelle stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room where she flopped down onto the sofa, glaring from the corner of her eyes at Christopher, who gingerly followed her. He sat on the coffee table, their knees gently touching as he looked down and traced his finger over the toweling pattern of the bathrobe over her thigh.

  “I'm sorry, Lorelle. I'm being insensitive. I don't know what I did that was wrong but I shouldn't have said that.”

  “Damn straight.” She looked across the room and out of the large window which ran from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall of the living room. It had brightened slightly, a summer sun that was deceivingly light but did nothing to raise the temperature. Somehow it always felt colder when the sun shone in winter. At least it did in New York. The next day it might snow and she would be in her thick boots, her arms around her body to ward off the cold, a woolen scarf around her neck and thoughts of this argument ringing in her ears. She took a deep breath.

  “Because you are just a man,” she said, looking at him now. “Let me break it down for you. It's just that I would have thought, that after all this time, I might come into your plans for the holidays. I certainly figured you in mine. You see I don't go to see my parents, I always stay in New York. It's a long complicated story but for the last couple of years that meant being on my own or being with friends. You never once mentioned me to your mother, like I don't count or something and then you pretend I'm not here. How am I supposed to feel?”

  “I get it, Lorelle. The only reason I didn't mention you is that she asks too many questions and I really don't share my life with her in that way anymore. I left home as soon as I could because the woman just smothers me. She does the same to my dad. My only compromise is to see her at Christmas but at any other time she knows to leave me alone. It's been like that for years and she knows if she asks too many questions I just clam up. I just didn't want to prolong the conversation because I wanted to be with you.”

  “So you're not ashamed of me?”

  “Ashamed? You're the best thing that's happened to me.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “So sure. Listen, if you're not too mad at me right now, would you ever consider coming to Alpine with me? We'll be together and I can get the whole Christmas thing over with for a year then we can spend New Year’s together, just us.”

  “Really? You've never really talked about your family or ever meeting them. You sure Christmas is the right time for this?”

  “I can't see why not, it’s the only time I go there so it means I don't have to take two trips.”

  “You really can't stand your mother can you?”

  “In small doses she's fine. I steel myself to put up with her for the holidays. You won't believe how perfect a son I can be. It's five days and then we're out of there. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “I'm ready to face the challenge. And this from a person who doesn't do the family thing, but I want to do it with you because you do.”

  She leaned forward, kissed him gently. He held open the front of the bathrobe and leaned in to her so that her back was against the sofa. Again he pulled open the ties and she positioned herself to lie the length of the sofa. He undid his pants and lay on top of her, their lips finding the other and their tongues searching the warm, the wet, the welcoming of a deep and passionate kiss. She sucked on his ear as he lowered himself into her now moistened opening, driving hard and hungrily inside her. She dug her fingers into his back and called his name, drawing him tighter, deeper until he could no longer resist coming, sucking in her name in a whisper between his teeth and exhaling into to the softness of her neck. She tightened her grip on him and relaxed her thighs as a long, liberating orgasm subsided and allowed her to sink into the yielding sofa.

  2

  “You're going where?”

  “To visit his parents.”

  “Jesus, Lorelle this is serious. I mean – the parents.”

  “I know, but it's five whole days. What if they hate me?

  Lorelle was at work on Monday morning and couldn't resist calling her best friend, Sondra to discuss her secret fear. She left Christopher’s apartment late on Sunday night, brimming with the idea of spending those few days with his family, but she'd sat in the taxi with her jaw dropped, in a state of shock, for the twenty minute journey back to her studio apartment..

  “They won't hate you,” Sondra said. “Why would they?”

  “Well they're both college professors, they might be a bit stuffy.”

  “But Lorelle, you're an educated woman, a Masters in Fine Art is nothing to be sniffed at, don't forget that. And a curator in a leading New York art gallery – come on, don't worry so much. Now, tell me, what will you be wearing? Is it time for some retail therapy?”

  “I think so. Anyway, Sondra, the office phone is ringing, I should go and we'll take this up later over drinks.”

  The last time Lorelle met anyone's parents it was after a long-term relationship with her first love, Ricardo. She was nineteen and he was twenty-seven and it became instantly clear that Ricardo's mother controlled him. From what he wore, to the job he had, his mother chose it all. Lorelle could not handle the pressure it put her under. She felt as though Ricardo's mother was passing on the baton and training her how best to look after her son. It was when his mother turned up at her student apartment with an enormous book full of the recipes her son loved best, and could Lorelle come by and practice them with her, that her fears were confirmed. Needless to say Lorelle broke up with Ricardo and took her time before getting serious with anyone again.

  Instead she focused on her career as an artist. She’d gathered a large portfolio and managed to sell several pieces of work, but like most artists she was struggling to pay her rent and applied for the job as a curator on a whim. The interviewer saw something in her and she had been in the job for almost two years before Christopher came into her life. At twenty-six this was a major achievement, Sondra was right, but butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach and she found it hard to concentrate at work.

  “What should I buy your mother as a present?” she asked Christopher.

  “You leave that to me, I'll get something from both of us,” he said over the phone. She was still anxious at work and called him at the plush office suite of Campbell Bernard, where he worked as an architect in a much sought-after firm of top architects. He dreamed of opening his own company one day but for now, there was still a lot to learn.

  “I'll meet you after work,” Christopher said. “I'll help you lay some of your worries to rest.”

  “It's okay, I'll get
over myself, besides I'm meeting Sondra and the girls for a drink tonight.”

  “Well, say 'Hi' for me. I thought we'd drive down next Tuesday, late morning, then it's just three days to Christmas and we come home on the Saturday.”

  “That's fine. I'm nervous but excited too. ”

  Thoughts of how she first met Christopher came to her. It was spring. She remembered starting the year off in a painting and exercise frenzy. She was determined to get her work into an exhibition at a trendy art center that was featuring up and coming artists. She worked hard at finishing some still life drawings and to make some special effects on her collection of photographs of New York City by night but had still not developed them. In some respects she was becoming disillusioned with her work and her agent encouraged her to just keep going, she was sure she would place Lorelle's work soon.

  The morning she met Christopher she had been staring off into space and imagining the day she would be considered good enough to have a display at her place of work, one of the most prestigious galleries in the whole country. So far it was just a dream. When she saw this tall, fair-haired guy outside the glass front of the gallery, aiming a camera inside, she became intrigued. She wondered if he was an artist or a tourist and popped outside to find out.

  “Can I help you?” she asked him. She wore a long fitted dress with a wrap front in dark green silk. Her hair was in a high ponytail that accentuated the fine chiseled lines of her cheekbones. Her beaded earrings swung down low and Christopher was struck by the elegance of her neck and the bright smile she had for him.