Christmas Comfort (Hot Holidays Series)

by Rachel Dunning

  She was too old to lose out on a month or two with family. You just don't know, at her age, if a short visit could be your last.

  This Mr. Mitchell fellow had looked at Jeff's résumé and seen the two-year hiatus and not batted an eyelid. He'd ignored the shroud surrounding Jeff's dismissal from his earlier company, ignored the politics of it all, and told Jeff he wasn't even going to bother calling about a reference. What for, if politics had been involved?

  He took him on. Said he'd watch how Jeff worked for three months and judge him with a clean slate. Every man deserves a second chance, he'd said.

  "Clean slate." "Second chance." Those had been the phrases Jeff had used when he'd told her in this very kitchen, how he'd just been hired; how he wouldn't have to leave after all, at least for a few months; how they'd stay together as a family a little longer and how she'd watch her grandson grow up for at least a little while more.

  And then, three months later, he was taken on permanently. Then came the promotion.

  And now? Partner!

  She was under no illusions that this Mitchell Langford was a saint. Goodness, if she'd seen a man who looked like him in her day... Oh my. She blushed briefly as she considered the sin of it...

  But she knew he was a man who could see the good and worth of people. And, as a result of his manner at the dinner table the night before—an unlikely manner for an American she might add; kind and gentle and polite, not arrogant or overbearing at all—she'd felt it her maternal duty to at least let her daughter have a go at it.

  If they didn't click, so be it. It wasn't Mrs. Conway's place to decide that. She trusted her daughter's head. Jacquie had fallen and picked herself up enough times to have come to appreciate which men were worth investing in and which weren't.

  But Mrs. Conway would be darned if she wasn't going to give her daughter a fair run of it at least. Give the kids a few days together, let them find their hearts by the end of it.

  Or not.

  And then, see what happens...

  Maybe three days would turn into three months...or to something a little more permanent.

  Maybe even partner.

  -11-

  Jacquie tried to squeeze her son with a hug for longer than a minute before she left for home again but he was antsy to get back to his PlayStation with his older cousin. She saw her arms linger in the air as the boy fled off, not giving her a second thought.

  Poetic, she thought.

  The family conversations had strayed clear of the obviously blooming romance between Mitchell and Jacquie, Mitchell had noticed, giving them both their space. Jeff hadn't said a word about it all day, but Mitchell had caught the glints of interest in his eyes as they'd sat and talked about niceties and—this being England and all—the weather.

  Jeff knew what kind of man Mitchell was. He knew that he was either with a woman or he wasn't. It was always cut and dry with him. Since Number Three, he'd not been "with" anyone at all. He'd slept with many, and bade them all farewell the next day. But he'd settled with none. That's what it meant for Mitch to be with someone.

  Mitch wouldn't admit of any mystical force bringing him and Jacquie together over this fortuitous Christmas mishap. Three failed marriages had long since disabused him of such ideas. But he was a businessman. He knew a deal worth fighting for when he saw one. He knew about return on investment.

  No, a woman was not a stock option to him! Far from it. But the idea of Love itself had indeed become so. For, what is love but the give and take of two people's emotions and lives? It's a ledger.

  Mitchell felt as though he'd given everything he had in the last ten years of his life to it.

  And it owed him. It owed him big.

  He needed something back now. Love itself was in the red in his books, and, damnit, he intended to collect! If there was one thing Mitchell Langford hated, it was an unsettled account.

  The door to Jacquie's parents' house closed and the both of them stood there rubbing their hands and looking into each other's eyes like this was some romantic Hallmark movie, each fully aware of the machinations being effected by her family to have them snuggle up to each other under the covers a little while longer.

  Jacquie laughed, because what else was she to do?

  So did Mitchell.

  "This is...a little embarrassing," she said.

  Mitchell shrugged. There was no embarrassment to it, he thought. They were both grown-ups. Both knew what they wanted. Both were unattached. And it seemed her family was giving her the room she needed.

  "I'd guess nothing's open tonight for a drink somewhere?" asked Mitchell.

  The snow had picked up and he felt the biting cold through the tension on his shoulders.

  "No, but I have a good enough collection at home that we could splurge on."

  Jacquie's skin had rouged in patches from the chill, the red on her cheeks contrasting stunningly with her eyes to make Mitchell consider her, in that moment, the most devastatingly attractive woman he'd ever seen.

  He shook his mind of the idiocy of it. The sheer mawkishness of the statement! He was no boy anymore.

  They turned on the path to walk out and Jacquie's hand reached down to touch his. She'd been lost for a moment, in a thought she couldn't quite remember. And when she realized what she'd done, when she felt her gloved fingers being tightened by his, she tugged away instantly.

  But he held tight, not letting her go.

  So she kept it there.

  Nothing was said about it.

  But Jacquie did feel the uninvited hands of fear wrap around her heart and give a tight squeeze. Maybe here was a man she didn't want to let get away...

  Screw a man, she could do. Put her lips around his manhood and glide over him fearlessly, she could do that as well.

  Holding hands was, somehow, different.

  So was kissing.

  At her MINI Cooper, she asked Mitchell, "Can you drive on the left-hand side of the road?"

  "I guess."

  "Uhm..." She looked up at the falling snow, then down at the rural road which was covered in it. There was more of it tonight, much more than last night. "It snows a lot where you're from, right?"

  "Yeah, but they normally salt the roads."

  "I see." She let go of his hand and started moving her key to the door.

  "I can drive if you want me to," he said.

  He reached for the key in her hand. The touch of her fingers to his was booze down his chest.

  He brought his lips to hers, enveloped her, turned her and pushed her back against the car and kissed her wildly. Her breasts pressed against his chest as her breathing deepened. Their kisses were hungry and greedy.

  He tried to take every part of her into him as his hands moved up her waist, her sides—

  "No, no," she said.

  He stepped back, a little shocked.

  She looked behind him at the house. "Not here."

  Ah, of course. "Sorry."

  "My son," she confirmed. "I can't—"

  "Of course. Of course."

  He eased away from her. The increased distance made her suddenly panic. She clutched his shirt while he looked down at her. His lips called to her. She wanted them.

  But she had to think of William.

  She had to think of William throughout all of this.

  Already, she knew, this was going to be difficult for her in the end, when it would be time to say goodbye to Mitchell Langford.

  They drove.

  When they were a mile or so away, she said, "Stop the car."

  "Sorry, what—?"

  "Stop the car."

  He did.

  She swooped in on him, grabbing his neck and pulling it down to her, and she kissed him. His hands moved up her sides, then caressed her breasts. What lovely hands, she mused, fondling and touching and pressing delicately against her. Making her feel all girly and female.

  She could feel her boobs swell even as he held them. She could feel her nipples press out against her
brazier and her dress. She could feel her legs needing to open, the pressure mounting.

  And she could feel, as well, how bloody cold it was inside this car!

  She began to shiver. Goose pimples broke out on her thighs and she wasn't sure if it was from the cold, or from the heat. She admitted it was probably from both.

  Mitchell said nothing. He turned the car on and slammed his foot down so that they were sliding and hurtling down the icy street to get to her apartment.

  Once there, they undressed each other on the way up the stairs. By the time they reached her door, his shirt was unbuttoned and her dress was at her thighs.

  The woman made him mad for her. His hands on her skin couldn't cover enough of her. He was delirious, fervently wanting her with every organ on his body but, fuck me, especially with one particular organ.

  It slammed at his pants now. Cried and howled for him to take it out and bury himself inside a woman that made his mind drift with a desire so strong that he felt, in that lustful moment, he'd give up everything just to have her.

  A desperate poker player going all in at the risk of losing everything.

  But...he would control himself.

  He had her against a wall.

  Their kisses couldn't happen fast enough. He wanted his tongue to touch every inch of her skin but found himself constantly drawn to her lips only, unable to pull away.

  She got his shirt fully off, trickled her fingers over his tattoo. She undid his pants and forced down his boxers.

  He pulled off her dress, went crazy at the sight of her breasts. Her hold-up stockings made his mouth water.

  He would keep those on.

  She wrapped her hand on his shaft and it almost sent him reeling. He felt her wanting to go down on him but he held her up by her armpits. He was too far over the edge already. One flick of her hot tongue on him and he wouldn't last.

  No, he would pleasure her first. He would take her over the threshold at least once before entering her. Then he'd take her over it again with him inside her. Together.

  He eased her panties down and almost crashed through the barrier when his cock spasmed once against her mound. He moved away, held her at arm's length by her shoulders and breathed deeply. Her lips hunted for his. Her hand found its way to his ball sac and he moaned at her mercy.

  "Jacqueline...please...you must wait a second," he begged.

  Jacquie liked hearing him plead, liked feeling his warmth under her fingers as she juggled him, liked seeing him squeeze his eyes in a desperate internal call to himself to remain firm.

  Most of all, she liked being called Jacqueline.

  "Call me that again," she whispered, ball sac now clamped tight in her fist.

  "Jacqueline."

  The name was like a key to the golden gates of water sluices in her internal plumbing.

  "Again."

  "Jacqueline."

  Mitchell felt her hand twitch inward slightly every time he said her full name. She had him, quite literally, by the balls.

  Figurative as well.

  Poetic indeed.

  His hands were by her ears as he leaned on the wall and steadied himself in front of her.

  It was all he could do to not explode all over her belly. Even the thought of it, of his semen trickling down the gentle craters of her stomach, made his hard-on almost lose it.

  "Again," she whispered in his ear.

  Her scent was opium to him.

  "Jacqu—uuuuuuurgh." He couldn't. He just couldn't anymore. All he wanted was release now. The boardroom had won, he'd been voted out. He was ready to step down and give in.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and stormed her to the bedroom, driven only by want now.

  She fell on the bed and spread her legs.

  That had been a bold move on his part, she thought. She'd liked it. She'd liked how he'd taken charge.

  He got on top of her. All he wanted now was to enter her, to fill her and squeeze everything he had into her. Her pussy was drenched and swollen and shining and calling him so loudly that his ears rang.

  He eased his mouth to hers and they kissed.

  The moistness of her folds below lubed up his shaft as it rubbed against her. It was almost his undoing.

  Almost.

  He took charge of himself again. Giving in with wild abandon to his desires is not what had made him the powerful man he was today.

  He forced himself to stay outside of her. He'd promised himself he'd pleasure her first and doggone it he was never one to break one of his own promises!

  She felt his shaft scrape once across her labia and her legs clenched. She was certain the orgasm would snap her in half the moment he entered her. And if not, then in the first few thrusts for sure.

  There was a pause. She wondered why he wasn't moving in. As his tip touched and fondled her she felt herself struggle to breath. It was so close, always there but never fully penetrating.

  Then something did enter her, but it wasn't his erection.

  It didn't matter, because she was there already, man. She rode his fingers and growled and cried his name, "Mitchell, Mitchell, Mitch...Oh, bloody fucking...Oh, Oh, OH FUCK!"

  It wasn't happening, damn it!

  His two fingers thrust and dug and—

  He pressed up, hit her G-spot.

  It was a bee sting at first, localized, just above his tips. She paused mid-gasp. For a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could hardly see anything her eyesight had gone so blurry.

  And then...it railed her.

  She was captive to it. The bomb exploded. Her legs imploded. Her back swung up in an arch to the heavens and—

  She cried out. She screamed. She wailed.

  She roared.

  Damn it was a fucking decadent dreamland the way this motherfucking orgasm was slicing her.

  It was so good that, in the end, she needed more. She did. She'd hardly finished and the tension began again.

  She moaned, rubbed her hands around her lover's forearms, and begged, by her throaty calls, for more...

  She swiveled her pelvis into his digits as he continued to finger her, his other hand now stroking her bosom, then her belly.

  Mitchell's mind was satisfied. Nothing pleased him mentally in the bedroom more than watching a woman detonate by his hand.

  Physically, however, he was now a wreck. The itch inside his cock was now so wild, so frenzied, so raw that he wasn't sure if one time was going to be enough for him.

  But he'd be damned if he let this thing control him!

  He eased his lips up to hers. Man he loved kissing her. He loved it more than sleeping with her, truth be told. Because, physical, protoplasmic, and hormonal needs aside, kissing Jacquie was the absolute zenith of sensual satisfaction for him with her.

  He knew what that meant...

  But the debt owed to him was Love's to pay, not hers. She shouldn't bear it on her shoulders if Love decided to use her as a means for Mitch to finally get his payback.

  No, he reminded himself, Love itself was in arrears. And Love is an account held by many. He wouldn't force her to hold signing powers for it.

  The debt was not hers to pay.

  That he'd collect a little of it back in the next few days, and feel a little less empty as a result of it, this was not in question for him anymore.

  The account had been opened. He couldn't deny this any further. It was not her fault, not his fault, not the fault of anyone. The flower was blooming, they were in the spring of it. It was these encounters that kept him going, kept him alive.

  He hadn't had one like this in...well... Maybe Number Zero had made him feel this way, he admitted. Maybe.

  He hadn't married Number Zero. She'd been a teenage love affair when things were simple and love had not yet hit its first winter with him.

  In his arms now, his and Jacquie's lips forever touching, he felt her body relax. He believed she enjoyed the kissing as much as he did. So be it. He would not impose on her. She had a child. She
had responsibilities. He would not play interloper and interfere in a life that was probably already more complicated than it should be.

  He held her around her shoulders. His kiss moved from her lips to her neck, to her ears. He scented the drug of her redolent aroma once more, just for another quick high before it all came crashing down after his impending plateau of pleasure.

  She rubbed his back, sensually, emotionally. Humanly.

  His hard-on pressed her nether lips gently, but all sensation was elsewhere for him now. It was the feeling of her taut nipples on his chest, her belly on his abs, her fleshly thighs around his.

  I could kiss her forever, he told himself.

  The moment of him entering her was not so much a conscious decision as it was a natural consequence of the closeness which they now felt for each other. But it was the kissing that continued to be the thing. Their mouths and eyes controlled the motion below. It was the reaching for her tongue that made him thrust harder into her each time. It was the observation of her eyes flickering back and forth that made him hold himself longer once inside her. It was the whimper at the back of her throat that made him pull himself almost all the way out, linger just a second there, and then sink deeply into her one more time.

  It was the low moan in her chest, the shiver of her body in his arms, the quiver of her lips as he rolled into her, which made him speed up.

  He raised himself, watched her glorious face from above as he held himself up by his arms. And he made love to her.

  His shaft stroked her nerves as it pushed and pulled and scraped her womanhood top to bottom. She pushed herself against him, increased that pressure for him, letting him go far into her and sense every part of her.

  They seesawed, rocked, pitched and rolled.

  His orgasm teased him. Tormented him.

  He felt it in the back of him, slamming at the damn walls to shatter them but not quite breaking through.

  It was because he'd stopped himself so much earlier.

  He'd give in to his desires now. It was time. There was only so much a man could take before nature took its course.