On Sale for Christmas

by Laurel Adams

  CONTENTS

  Product Description

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  DEAR READERS

  EXCERPT

  ABOUT LAUREL ADAMS

  ALSO BY LAUREL ADAMS

  On Sale for Christmas

  Home from college for the holidays, bad-girl Becca Vincent has a secret call-girl fantasy on her wish list. But she never expected her dark and delicious desires to be unwrapped by the boy next door…

  Becca has been avoiding Ben her whole life—in part because their moms keep trying to get them together. But Ben jumps at the chance to thaw her out by making her dirtiest fantasy come true.

  Becca might think her home town—and everything in it—is two sizes too small, but Ben's about to give her the holiday surprise of her life. Because some guys are naughty and nice…

  Reader Advisory: This is an erotic romance novella of approximately 20k words, involving all sorts of risky, taboo, forbidden sex. For adult readers only.

  ON SALE FOR CHRISTMAS

  Laurel Adams

  On Sale for Christmas

  Copyright © 2014 Laurel Adams

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Chapter One

  I blame it on the eggnog.

  Oh, the eggnog looked harmless enough. Not even a speck of adventurous nutmeg floating in my glass. Just cream, vanilla and sugar mixed with cheerfully frothy egg. All very wholesome. But if I learned anything that Christmas, it's that appearances can be deceiving…

  I'd somehow downed two cups of that eggnog before realizing that it was spiked. And with the warm rush of rum humming in my veins, I ladled myself another cupful because I'd just turned twenty-one and what the hell.

  Besides, alcohol was the only thing that was going to get me through yet another of my mom's Christmas Parties.

  Home from college for the winter break, I'd used up all the ammo in my social arsenal to get out of going. But my mom insisted that our garish holiday party—complete with automated reindeer and a giant snowman—was tradition. Eyeing my tight jeans and ironic black tee with disapproval, she'd said, "Put on something sparkly and help put these trays of cookies in the garage to cool off. They're your favorites, so don't be such a Grinch. This is going to be fun! Besides, Ben White just got back from his tour of duty. Won't it be nice to catch up with him?"

  Ugh. Ben was the boy next door. Literally, next door. All our lives we'd been foisted on one another by our matchmaking moms as if anyone couldn't tell at a glance that we had nothing in common. He was the clean-cut Boy Scout who joined the Army right out of high school, whereas I was the girl with a tramp stamp who got suspended for smoking in the back parking lot and left town right after graduation.

  For both our sakes, I'd always shut him down hard whenever his mother pressured him into flirting with me. And avoiding him at the Christmas party was exactly how I ended up camped out by the bowl of rum-laced eggnog, waving blandly to my mother's friends and listening to a pregnant former classmate who was very excited to talk about something called a onesie.

  Which made me want to puke.

  Or maybe it was just because I needed some food to soak up the alcohol. Either way, I headed to the garage to grab that tray of cookies—which really were my favorites.

  And that's when he cornered me.

  "Need some help?" Ben chirped as I balanced a tray of double-chocolate chips. I froze, like a reindeer-caught-in-the-headlights, to see him leaning lazily underneath an accursed sprig of mistletoe in the doorway to the garage, blocking my way back into the kitchen.

  "You're trapped." A wicked gleam lit his brown eyes, and he glanced up at the mistletoe suggestively. "Unless you want to pay the toll to get back in."

  "Dude." Did his mother tell him to try this gambit? "I'd rather go out the back door, tromp through the snow, and come around front."

  "Sure, play hard to get," he said, smirking, because hard to get wasn't really my reputation. "How have you been?"

  "Great!" I said, because that's what you always say to people from high school you haven't seen in a few years. And besides, other than the fact that my mom could still force me to go to holiday parties, things were pretty great. I loved my drama classes and I'd gotten a few really good roles—with more auditions to come in the next semester. "I love living the city. The hustle, the bustle, the culture. There's always something to do. How about you?"

  "Glad to be home," he said.

  "I bet." I hoped wearing camouflage pants was as close to the excitement as Ben got. He used to fix up cars in his dad's driveway, I assumed he did something mechanical for the military. Drove trucks or repaired tanks or something like that. I didn't really want to imagine anyone shooting at him. "How long are you home for?"

  "Not sure," he replied. "At least through New Year's Eve, so why don't you be my date."

  I laughed, because he first made that proposal when we were fifteen at the prompting of our meddling mothers. It'd been painfully embarrassing when he'd asked, and painfully awkward when I turned him down.

  After that, he kept asking every year, to make a joke of it. By now, it was as quaint a tradition, so I gave the standard reply. "Sorry. Washing my hair that night."

  Ben grinned, digging his hands down into the pockets of his jeans. "Oh, c'mon. Aren't you the creative sort? You've gotta come up with something more insulting than that. Sure you wouldn't rather clean out your closet or read some really long, boring, Russian novel?"

  I laughed. "Depends on the Russian novel."

  "You might enjoy War and Peace. But I think you've always been more of a Crime and Punishment sort of girl…"

  I laughed again. I couldn't help it. Both because I hadn't thought him capable of naming even one boring Russian novel, much less two, and it was surprisingly suggestive for a straight-arrow like Ben. "You're right—I'm definitely more of a Crime and Punishment kind of girl."

  He dimpled me a smile. "So why won't you spend New Year's Eve with me?"

  He wasn't actually asking, was he? To be fair, Ben was nice to look at. Under those sparkling brown eyes, the military hair cut and his white button down dress shirt, Ben was obviously well-built. But I liked my men scruffy. Rough around the edges. Sunny All-American beefcakes weren't my type. "Sorry, I'm seeing someone."

  He nodded, as if he weren't surprised. "Is it serious?"

  Not really. Not at all….

  In the last year I'd dated the front man of a rock band who cheated on me with a groupie. Then I'd hooked up with the director of a play who refused to cast me in anything unless I slept with him. Which I had. Not to get the part, but because he was brilliant and hot. So my sex life was fine. But my love life was a disaster. "Ok, so I'm not seeing anybody seriously."

  Ben grinned, leaning against the doorframe. "So if you're single, and I'm single, why can't we give it a shot?"

  Adjusting the cookie tray for a better grip, I shivered a little at the nip in the air, then ticked off the reasons. "Because I've known you since we were kids. Because I'm a city slicker and you're a country boy. I ha
ve tattoos and you have a buzz cut. You're a dog person, I'm a cat person. But most of all, because you can't handle me, Soldier."

  I said it with bravado and a little more flirtation than I had intended—damn that eggnog!

  He took it for a challenge. "That so?"

  "You're a nice guy, Ben. Trustworthy and always prepared. The kind of guy who doesn't jay walk and follows the speed limit. Whereas I'm a bad girl to the bone. It'd never work."

  "Huh." He said, rocking back a bit on his heels, then forward again before letting out a long breath that steamed into the air. "What if I told you that I like bad girls?"

  "Every guy thinks he like bad girls…until he actually finds one."

  "Huh," Ben said, again, eyes narrowing. "What if I promised to make your dirtiest bad girl fantasy come true?"

  I rolled my eyes. "My dirtiest fantasy would send you screaming into the night, Boyo."

  That really should've been the end of it.

  I thought he'd laugh it off and let me pass. Instead, he closed the door, shutting the noise of the party out behind us. Then he sat down on the wooden step with his big hands dangling off the edge of his knees like he meant for us to chat for a while. "Try me."

  I gave his foot a little kick with the toe of my stylish boot. "Like I'm going to tell you my secret fantasies."

  Ben grinned. "Who else are you gonna tell? Besides, didn't you just say that I was trustworthy?"

  It was tempting to tell him my fantasy just to wipe that insufferable grin off his face. But there were some things I'd never confessed to anyone. "No way. You'd never look at me the same way again."

  He was undeterred. "Well, something's gotta change between us, doesn't it? How many times can a guy keep getting shot down before he takes it personally?"

  "Sorry, but that's your mom's fault."

  "Nah," he said, looking up into my eyes. "I've been crushing on you since I was in braces and you were being grounded for sneaking out of the house with that stoner to attend a party three towns over."

  I scowled, not believing him for a moment. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who ratted me out."

  "Wasn't me," Ben said, making a lazy mock salute. "Scout's honor."

  I glanced at him sidelong. Had he really been crushing on me for years? If so, he'd found a strange time to tell me…

  "C'mon, Becca," he prompted. "Tell me your fantasy. I won't tell and I won't judge."

  "Everybody judges. Especially guys like you."

  He raised a brow. "Guys like me? And what kind of guy am I?"

  "You know," I said, waving my hand to encompass the dress-shirt, the clean-cut style and general blandness. Hell, his last name was White!

  "Now whose judging?" he asked.

  Busted. My smart-alec smirk fell away.

  I didn't think it was possible for his expression to get more serious, but it did. "Becca, there's absolutely nothing you could tell me that's gonna shock me."

  I snorted, leaning against my mom's car, which prompted Ben to take the cookie tray from me and set it down on the stairs next to him. "C'mon. What's your fantasy? Or are you going to make me guess?"

  "You can't guess," I said, hugging myself against the bite of winter air.

  Ben tilted his head. "You wanna be with a girl."

  "Pfft! Only in Geece Grove would girl-on-girl action shock anybody. You think I'd be afraid to tell you that?"

  His smile widened. "Oh, so you're afraid to tell me. This gets better all the time…"

  I felt weirdly vulnerable, and wanted my cookie tray back for armor. "It's just a weird kink, okay? Now, give me back my cookies and let me go inside."

  "A kink, huh?" Nudging the cookies out of my reach, he said, "So, you wanna be spanked. Ropes, blindfolds, whips and chains?"

  I shrugged. "Much dirtier than that."

  I made a grab for the cookies, but getting close to him was a mistake, because he caught me by the belt loop to my jeans, and corralled me between his knees. My breath caught at being tugged so close to him. At the warmth of his legs around mine. At the way he looked up at me so intensely.

  "Dirtier?" he asked. "Becca, you've gotta tell me now. Or else, I'll know you're all talk. C'mon. Shock me. I dare you."

  I swallowed, not sure how to respond to this new, more aggressively flirtatious Ben. I had no intention of telling him my fantasies, but I found that I didn't want to shove him away either…

  I could just make up a lie. That'd be easier than telling him. Heck, I'm not sure I'd ever really admitted the truth to myself. And now I felt slightly dizzied. Terrified, really. "Fine. You called my bluff, Ben. There's no dark fantasy."

  Both his eyebrows lifted. "You're a really bad liar for an actress. So you're going to make me guess. Ok, then I've gotta assume you want to be a pony girl."

  I nearly choked. "What?"

  "You don't know what a pony girl is?"

  "Yes, I know," I hissed. "But how do you know?"

  He grinned. "This may come as a shock to you, City Slicker. But I've had access to a thing called the internet. So is that your kink? You want to play a round of giddy-up?"

  He was teasing, but remained remarkably sober, as if steeling himself in case he'd actually guessed right. And something about his effort to keep a straight face, no matter what I might say, was unexpectedly endearing. "No. No pony girl fantasies…"

  "Then tell me," he said, his thumbs gently caressing my hips where his fingers still looped in my jeans. And I felt a spark of definite sexual heat pass between us. Could the boy next door have somehow become…sexy?

  I wanted to reach forward and muss up his hair. Yank open the tie he'd worn to the party. Bite his lower lip. Roll over him like a sexual hurricane, leaving him wrecked in my aftermath. Maybe it was because of his admission that he'd been crushing on me since we were in braces. Or maybe it was because I didn't want to admit to myself that there might be more to him than met the eye. But suddenly I wanted to shock him.

  "It's a call girl fantasy," I said, all bravado. "I want to get paid for it." Having said the words, I wasn't cold anymore. In fact, I was quite warm. Blushing all over. And the hottest parts of my body were the places that touched him.

  I waited for his wide-eyes. The uncomfortable laugh. Or even the lascivious veil that falls over a man's eyes when you become an object to him. And for a moment, I was sure Ben was going to do something awful, like pull out his wallet, and ask me how much I'd charge. Instead, his eyes narrowed with intensity. "So, what's the catch?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's got to be a catch," he said. "Because a call girl fantasy doesn't sound so weird. Pretty Woman. All those books about Billionaires and their Bought Brides. Sounds pretty normal to think about. Unless…you're looking for a career change?"

  "No, it's just a fantasy. I want to be a total whore."

  I used the word to shock him. To make him let me go. But instead, he asked, "Do you like that word?"

  My mouth went a little dry. "I—I don't know. It sounds really wrong. Humiliating. Degrading. But it also makes my pulse beat a little faster."

  "Yeah." His heated eyes never left mine.

  "Okay, so, now you know. Are we done here?"

  "Not even close," he said, thumbs pressing harder into my hip bones. "I can make your fantasy come true, you know."

  That was the wrong thing to say and I gave him a little shove. "I don't want you to. Besides, it can't be you that buys me. And I hope you're satisfied, because now I'm creeped out."

  "Whoa," he said, releasing the loops of my jeans all at once. "Did I read this situation wrong? I thought we were flirting, having a good time. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a creeper—"

  "Crap, no. I shouldn't have said that," I replied, cringing all the while. "I'm not creeped out, I swear. Just embarrassed, and a little turned on…" He smiled at that last bit, at least until I added, "And a lot awkward. So maybe we can just go back to the party, eat some cookies, and forget we ever had this conversation."

&nb
sp; "You don't want to go back to that party any more than I do. And I don't think either of us are going to forget this conversation."

  I bit my lower lip. "But I really can't look at you right now."

  "Then c'mere," he said, daring to draw me down into his lap, so that I didn't have to see his face. And for some reason, I let him. Though his surprisingly strong arms wrapped around me with warmth and comfort, I squeezed my eyes shut wondering if it was possible to be more humiliated.

  Now he was going to give me the nice guy speech now, about how he didn't judge me, how everybody had a right to their fantasies, about how he was sorry he let things get out of hand.

  Instead he asked, "It's gotta be a stranger, right?" I groaned, as if to fend off anything else he might say about my kinky call girl fantasy. But it didn't stop him. "Because if it was somebody you were dating, you could pretend it was only a game. If a guy like me gave you real cash to go to bed with him, it'd feel like monopoly money."

  I nodded before I could stop myself.

  "And you want it to be real," he said.

  Maybe it was because I was an actress that sexual fantasies didn't have the same kick unless they were more than just acted out. But somehow Ben had figured that out—pried open my mind and seen into its darkest corners. He knew my secret and now it was like he had some kind of magic power over me that made me keep telling him more. "Yes…just once…I want to do it for real."

  He nodded, still cradling me in his lap. "So some guy who just wants to buy you for the night?"

  "Or for the hour," I said, all pretense falling away.

  While I alternately died inside with shame and roared alive again with arousal, by-the-book Ben was still sorting out the specifics. "And what do you want to do for this stranger?"

  "Have sex with him. Go down on him. Whatever he wants to pay for…"