We Wish You A Naughty Christmas: A Christmas Collection

by Skye Warren

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  “Fuck, I wanna kiss you.” I put my glass down and step closer, drawing in her scent.

  “So kiss me.”

  “Not a good idea. You heard Mr. Asshole back at the bar. I get rough with girls.”

  “A bit of rough isn’t a bad thing.”

  My control snaps, then, and I push her into the wall, my mouth crashing down on hers, my hands grabbing the back of her head, my fingers sinking in her silky hair.

  Damn, she tastes as good as she smells, like strawberries and white chocolate and a hint of the brandy she’s been sipping. She gasps and I lick the inside of her mouth, wanting more. Wanting her to kiss me back.

  Until she does, moaning and sliding her arms around me, pressing our bodies together, and it’s so fucking hot, it’s about to blow my mind.

  Better than any girl I’ve kissed, or touched, or held.

  Then again, it’s been so long since I’ve done that, since my hook-ups have turned into quick fucks in bathroom stalls at the back of bars, that it’s possible I don’t remember.

  And she melts into me so sweetly, so perfectly, I want more. More than I’ve dared ask in a fucking good while, with the rumors hounding me, my friends not believing me.

  My brother not believing me. Everyone whispering behind my back, avoiding me.

  Could she be the one to make me trust again?

  Hailey

  He’s kissing me, his mouth hot and hard. Demanding. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like this, with such fierceness and need.

  His big, strong body pushes me into the wall, pressing every inch of himself into me. The wall of his chest is molded to my breasts, and I feel every breath he takes. His leg moves between mine and his hard-on is a hot brand against my stomach.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should stop him, tell him to go.

  But I want this. This is what I went out to do, and he’s right here, gorgeous and aroused and sexy as hell. He’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever met, and with his jaw-length hair, dark tattoos and the rumors about him, he feels dangerous.

  Too hot to handle.

  Can I handle what he asks of me, what he’ll try to take from me? What sort of weird sexual acts is he into?

  I’m crazy for throwing caution to the wind and getting down and dirty with him. Absolutely. One hundred percent.

  I still can’t stop kissing him. He tastes good, of sexy man and spice, and I want more.

  Even when he slides one hand down to the hem of my dress, pushes it up and slips his fingers into my panties. Especially then.

  Oh God. The feel of his rough, hard fingers pushing into my pussy has me moaning in his mouth and ready to come.

  This is crazy, and… so frigging hot. His eyes are half-closed, his hair brushing my cheek as he kisses me, as he fingers me—and I come apart with a huge shudder.

  His fingers withdraw and he drags his lips across my cheek to whisper in my ear, “Was it good?”

  I can’t speak, can’t draw enough air, still shaking from the pleasure, so I nod.

  “You’re hot,” he breathes, then reaches down to press on the bulge in his jeans, and seeing that wrings a moan from my throat. “I wanna undress you and fuck you against the wall.”

  A whimper escapes me. I swallow. “What do you expect from me, Kaden?”

  He stills, his hand still on top of his hard-on, his gaze lifting to lock on mine. “What?”

  “I…” I’m leaning on my wall, my dress shoved up around my hips, my panties soaked, the sexiest man ever in front of me, and I say, “You won’t ask me to do anything weird, will you?”

  His mouth opens. Something dark passes behind his pale eyes. A flash of pain.

  He steps back. “You believe what that fucking bastard told you at the bar? The one groping you and dragging you along with him? Really?”

  I frown. “He wasn’t the only one who told me that. Marcela—”

  “Marcela told you that the charges were true? Fuck.”

  I frown, trying to remember. She hadn’t said that exactly, had she? She’d said the charges didn’t stick.

  “Goddammit. Eva, the girl who filed the complaint? She lied.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “I’m not a fucking deviant. I’m no pervert. I don’t… fuck, I don’t fuck kids, or animals, or any of that shit, okay?”

  “Then what was that about?”

  “It was about me liking some stuff Eva decided was too fucking much for her.” He sighs, a frustrated, angry sound. “You know what? Forget it. Told you this was a bad idea from the start.”

  And just like that, he turns around and goes, slamming the door of the apartment behind him.

  He forgot his jacket.

  Sitting on the sofa, I hold it to my face and shamelessly inhale the scent of leather and man. It’s morning time—late morning—and the pale autumn light slants through my windows. Last night seems like a strange dream.

  But it was real.

  I was lucky. Hindsight is twenty/twenty. It could have ended pretty bad, both at the bar and here, with Kaden.

  He didn’t hurt me, though. If anything, he was the one who seemed hurt as he left. He knows what everyone says about him. And he says it isn’t true.

  Could I check the facts? Ask someone about this?

  Should I bother? I’ll probably never see him again. Ours was a chance meeting, and no matter how handsome he is, how gentle he was with me, how his electric touch made me come in a way that turned me inside out, it was a moment of madness. I wanted a wild night out, a turning point for my life, and I got it.

  Time to gather my pieces together, settle in and restart my life. I still need to unpack my suitcases, work on my photography website, see if I have clients in the area, and set up some advertising to find more. I have some money saved, but it won’t last me forever.

  So much to do.

  Then I glance down at my lap and his leather jacket.

  Crap. How do I return it to him? Should I do the stalky thing and search for his address online, then show up at his doorstep?

  Or wait to see if he comes back to claim it?

  Tempting, but I shouldn’t. No matter what he said, why should I believe the charges against him were false? Better close this episode of my life quickly and quietly.

  I grab my phone and google his name. When that fails, I try a few of the search engines for people that I know.

  And what do I know? Zilch. He’s not listed.

  I chew at a nail, trying to decide what to do. Forget it? Wait?

  Or I could go back to the bar and ask the bartender. He seemed to know Kaden. I could ask for Kaden’s address, or leave the jacket there, ask him to pass it on.

  Oh God, more craziness. I shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t head over, shouldn’t ask more questions about Kaden.

  That’s when I remember that my car is parked at the bar since last night. Well, what do you know?

  Smells like fate to me.

  The bartender does a double-take when he sees me. He drops the rag he was using to wipe down the bar and chuckles.

  “Well, well. Looks like you survived evil Kaden after all. What can I do you for?”

  I can feel the frown pulling my brows together. “You’re teasing. Are you friends with Kaden?”

  “I wouldn’t call us that.” He shrugs his massive shoulders. “But I’ve known him a long time.”

  “These rumors, the charges against him… Is there any truth in them?”

  “Truth. Such a relative thing.” He scratches at his beard. “He’s trouble, but he’s not a sicko.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The girl he was with was shocked by things he asked her to do in bed. She was a stupid little bitch. She came here, telling everyone about that, and that snake who chatted you up last night convinced her to go to the police.”

  “And what did the police say?”

  “They took her statement, asked what exactly was the deviation, and then told her to g
o home and that there was nothing illegal in what Kaden had asked of her.”

  I bite my lip. I’m dying to ask what he’d asked of her, but crap, it’s none of my business. There’s nothing between me and Kaden, except his jacket.

  Which I set on the bar. “He forgot this last night at my place. Can you give it back to him?”

  “No can do, lady. You’ll have to give it to him yourself.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll tell you where to find his shop. You can give it to him there. He’s a mechanic. Repairs cars and bikes.” He fishes a pen and a piece of paper from behind him and scribbles down a street and number. “There you go.”

  “I’m not sure I want to see him again.”

  “Ah.” He shakes his shaggy head and grabs again the rag. “Up to you, of course. Though I think you should.”

  “Why?”

  “You like him.” The bartender doesn’t look up, as if cleaning the bar is the most important task ever entrusted to him. “He could use a friendly face these days.”

  “Are the rumors so bad?”

  “They reached his family, who won’t talk to him anymore. His friends, who shun him. He’s…” The bartender finally looks up. “He’s all alone, and sometimes I am worried about him.”

  I don’t know what to reply to that. The Kaden I thought I’d met last night was a completely different Kaden today. Someone wronged. Someone who didn’t hurt anyone.

  “I’ll find him.” I gather up the jacket once more. “Thanks for the address.”

  Not sure what I’d say or do except return to Kaden what was his, but as I sit behind the wheel of my car and switch on the engine, I realize I don’t much care about anything else but seeing his face once again.

  The shop is small, tucked away in a backstreet. I ask for Kaden and a surly boy points me to the back.

  I find him leaning against a car with its engine uncovered, his cell phone in his hand. He’s not looking at it, instead staring right ahead, seemingly lost in thought, and I take a moment to take him in before he sees me.

  His hair is pulled back, bound at the nape. He has a dark smudge on his cheek, and his hands are grimy. The blue coveralls he’s wearing are worn and ripped, stained with what has to be motor oil and dirt, the white T-shirt he’s got on underneath stretched snugly across his broad chest. Those tattooed arms have my heart doing backflips.

  He’s breathtaking.

  “Hey,” I say when he turns toward me. “I found you.”

  His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Hailey? What are you doing here?”

  I lift the heavy jacket toward him. “You forgot this.”

  He straightens and reaches for it. “I know. Damn near froze my balls off on the way back home. Thanks for bringing it.”

  “That’s okay. Last night was… kinda weird.”

  “You mean you were drunk.”

  “I’m not regretting anything.” I hold his gaze. “I had a good time.”

  A slow grin spreads over his face. “Good but short.”

  “You left.”

  “You were scared of me.”

  “I didn’t know you. Didn’t know what to think.”

  “And now you do?”

  I fight a smile. “Let’s just say I have known you longer now.”

  He snorts.

  “What’s up with that?” I nod at the phone he’s still holding in his hand. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No.” His grin falls. “My brother won’t talk to me because of this bullshit. Can you believe it? He needs me and he won’t fucking talk to me because he thinks I’m a criminal. And now Christmas is coming up, and we’ve always spent it together… all our lives. This sucks.”

  “I’m sorry.” The pain in his eyes is plain to see. His brother is important to him.

  It shocks me to realize I would like to know more—about him, about his brother, about his life. I want to see him again, see him more. See more of him. See him in relaxed moments, see him working, and see him sleeping.

  See him naked.

  Okay, the latter is implied. He’s just so sexy, and to think I missed my chance to put my hands on that hot body last night…

  I would like to hear his side of the story, to understand what happened. To comfort him. To see if I can please him where that girlfriend ran away. Like a challenge.

  “Can we start over?” I ask.

  He shrugs his broad shoulders but one side of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. Whoa, pretty. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Come over for dinner. Tomorrow night.”

  Oh yeah, I truly am crazy. Must be the different air in this new city, free of the staleness of my past.

  “Are you sure?” His grin is still firmly in place, but it’s the uncertainty flashing through his eyes that tells me that maybe I’m not that crazy after all.

  It’s sweet how he hesitates. And sad. He’s not as cocksure as he appears on the outside, and it settles my racing pulse.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Come at eight. You know where I live.”

  I turn to go, his gaze an itch between my shoulder blades. “Thank you!” he calls out. “I’ll be there.”

  Kaden

  I’m nervous.

  Can’t remember the last time I’ve been so nervous over meeting a chick for dinner.

  Can’t remember the last time I met a chick for dinner, period. My life has been to reduced to work, stressing over my brother not returning my calls and quick, dirty fucks with nameless women.

  Why am I here, taking a chance on Hailey?

  I pull off my gloves and look up at her building, at the lit-up window of her apartment and my memory replays the way she tasted, the way she moaned in my mouth.

  The way she came on my fingers.

  Fuck. I have to reach down and adjust myself inside my jeans. There’s my answer, I guess. I want her too damn much to keep away. Her tight body, her dark eyes, her funny, sexy bob and wide smile…

  And I’m wandering into dangerous territory, because I also can’t remember the last time I was so drawn to a girl. If she doesn’t want me, that’s okay. But if she freaks out, if she breaks my trust, well… I may just lose it.

  My faith in myself. In what I need. May just start believing I’m a freak and ask to be put behind bars, or go live in the desert.

  Shaking my head at myself, I buzz her apartment and the door clicks open. I take the stairs two at a time, needing to use up some of the adrenaline pulsing in my veins, the bunch of flowers I bought her in my hand, and then I’m standing outside her door, my stomach knotting.

  I unzip my jacket, straighten my white shirt, tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. The flowers sag a little, withered from the ride on my motorbike. Is it too much?

  Nah. Chicks like flowers, right? And I want her to like them.

  To like me.

  To stop my mind from wandering deeper into the quicksand, I ring the bell and suck in a deep breath.

  Then let it out in a rush when she pulls the door open, barefoot, dressed in a long black dress, her hair slicked back.

  I’m staring and I can’t fucking help it.

  “Whoa,” I say. “Oh man.”

  She smiles at my loss of communication skills, a delighted, pretty smile. “Come on in.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I step inside, the flowers still clutched in my hand.

  She looks up at me. “Are they for me?”

  Shit. I thrust the bunch into her hands. “Yeah.”

  A snicker escapes her. “Thank you!”

  Yeah, that was really smooth. Way to go, Kaden. Bet you won the girl’s heart already.

  As if I care about winning her heart.

  Dammit, why did she invite me over? What does she want with me?

  She is new in town. She could have chosen anyone else to spend her time with rather than a guy who’s accused of sexual deviations.

  Chances are she’ll file charges against me the moment I let my guard drop and touch her,
take her to bed. Maybe she won’t even wait to hear what I like, what scared Eva away. That’s the power of rumors. Of expectations.

  She expects me to be a sort of monster when it comes to sex, so what am I doing here?

  She takes my hand, drags me further inside and closes the door with a nudge of her hip. It’s just dinner, I remind myself. The night before she’d been drunk. Don’t expect any more kissing, or touching or sex, for that matter.

  That’s why she invited you. Because she doesn’t know anyone else in town.

  Right?

  The table by the window is set for two with stylish black table mats and white plates. A candle in a silver holder is already lit, its flame reflecting on the glass. There’s a small Christmas tree in the corner, with twinkling lights and crystal balls.

  “Wine?” she asks, and I nod, although I’m more of a beer or Scotch kinda guy. “White okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Shrugging off my jacket, I drape it over a chair and smooth my hands over my shirt, feeling slightly out of place. She’s a classy girl, the other night notwithstanding, and I feel like a hick, with my cheap clothes, my biker boots, my tattoos and the dirt under my fingernails that just won’t go away no matter how hard I scrub.

  I’m a mechanic, and she’s an urban goddess, sleek and sophisticated, damn statuesque as she crosses the room toward the kitchen, the satiny dress hugging her curves like second skin, her hair glinting like gold.

  She returns with two fluted glasses and I grip mine with awkward fingers. “I can almost hear you thinking from where I’m standing.”

  “Almost? Then you’re not close enough,” I growl and reach for her. Gripping her wrist I haul her closer, and she laughs.

  God, I love her laughter. So light and bright and free of fear and pretense.

  “Why did you come here?” I want to kiss her so damn bad. Tonight will be a struggle. “Why were you in that seedy bar the other night, looking for a man to go home with?”

  She pulls slightly away, her laughter fading. “How do you know I was looking for a man?”