A Very Merry Christmas

by Lori Foster, Gemma Bruce

  “It’s not weird.”

  He smelled her approach. Like a starving man, he inhaled the scent of woman, of sex, of pure, ripe temptation.

  “It’s a gift.” Marci sat beside him, and the instant her hip brushed his, he bounded up as if she’d goosed him.

  From several safer feet away, Ozzie turned on her. “Do you have the stubborn ass or not?”

  Again, she seemed to ponder it. “What type of donkey are we talking about?”

  “What type?” He frowned at her. “What the hell does that—”

  Her eyes locked with his, she set aside her own coffee and rose from the sofa. As she stalked toward him, he went mute.

  Horny and mute.

  No one stalked like Marci Churchill, with that particular enticing gait.

  “Marci,” he warned, and he really, really meant it.

  “Is it a miniature Mediterranean, a standard, large standard, or—”

  “I have no friggin’ idea. There really are different types?” He shook his head. “Who cares?” She drew nearer, and he felt himself sinking deep. “The important thing is that the donkey is missing.”

  “Donkeys aren’t really stubborn, you know. They’re just more laid-back and self-preserving in nature than many animals.”

  Self-preserving? Why did she always say the most peculiar things? “What does that mean?”

  Her gaze drifted over his body, from his booted feet to his drawn eyebrows. “They prefer to do what is good for the donkey, which isn’t always what the human thinks is best, especially when it comes to getting wet feet.”

  Aha. Eyes narrowing, Ozzie asked, “Wet, as in standing in snow?” Is that why she stole the donkey? She thought it wanted dry feet? Er, hooves. Whatever.

  With a shrug, Marci touched his chest. “Stay awhile. Get comfortable.” And with that, she began unbuttoning his coat.

  Ozzie was so rigid with excitement that she’d undone the last button before he thought to move. But if she got the coat off him, she’d see he had a lethal hard-on and then she’d take advantage of his weakened state.

  Survival instincts kicking in, Ozzie caught her hands. But rather than remove them, he just held them still. Near his belt.

  Oh, God.

  Her voice lowered and she stared at his sternum. “Donkeys are friendly, Osbourne, did you know that?”

  He shook his head. Hell, at the moment, he didn’t even know his own name.

  “They’re excellent with children, too. And they make wonderful guard animals.”

  A guard donkey? The absurdity of that cut through the lust and he almost laughed. “You’re making that up.”

  She smiled and pulled her hands free to slip inside his coat. His breath caught. Okay, so he still wore a flannel shirt and a T-shirt, but he wished he didn’t. He wished her hot little hands were on his bare skin.

  “The right donkey will take care of an entire herd of cattle, sheep, or goats.” Her fingers spread out, and she pushed the coat off his shoulders. “Their natural aversion to predators inspires them to severely discourage any canine attacks on the herd. Dogs and donkeys don’t mix well, but a donkey can be trained to leave the house dog or farm dog alone.”

  Her hands were small and soft, and warm, and like any red-blooded male, he knew when to give up graciously. “Marci?”

  “Hmmm?” She started on the buttons of his shirt.

  He lowered his head and inhaled the sweetness of her silky hair. “I don’t think I care about the damned donkey anymore.”

  “Do you care about me?”

  Shit. What kind of tricky question was that? Somehow, he knew no matter what he said, she’d take it the wrong way and he’d end up—

  “I didn’t ask you an algebra problem, Osbourne. You don’t need to do equations in your head. Just tell me, yes or no.”

  He locked his jaw, and almost got lost in her beautiful eyes. “If I say no, are you going to make me leave?”

  She looked at his mouth, and her gaze warmed. “Do you want to stay?”

  Damn it, he hated getting a question answered with another question. “I want what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Sex?” She moved closer, until her breasts brushed his chest, her thighs nudged his.

  “Yeah.” Hell yeah. Hot, sweaty, no-holds-barred sex. Naked, gritty sex. Wet, slippery, prolonged—

  “Me, too.”

  Ozzie almost swallowed his tongue. He forgot the donkey. He also forgot Lucius’s instructions to merely watch over Marci, not enjoy her. He forgot her feather-brained relationships with animals and her propensity to make him nuts.

  Before he even knew what he was doing, he had her backed up to a wall, his mouth sealed over hers, his tongue past her teeth, tasting her deeply. And he didn’t want to stop this time, not until he was in her, not until she wrung him out, not until she screamed out a mind-blowing climax.

  Maybe not…ever.

  Marci clutched at him. Finally, finally he wanted her again. She’d never met a man who both infuriated her and made her frenzied with need. But Osbourne Decker did just that.

  Why him? she wondered, even as she struggled to get closer to him, as close as two people could be. She sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth and lifted one leg up to wrap around his hip.

  He ridiculed her psychic ability with animals.

  He made his desire for an emotion-free, no-ties relationship clear.

  He epitomized everything she disdained in a man: pigheadedness, macho control, an overflow of confidence.

  But he looked at her, and her stomach did flip-flops. He touched her and flash fires burned everywhere. He kissed her, and she wanted to be the most flagrant hoochie imaginable.

  Before Osbourne, she’d been circumspect and withdrawn, and maybe even inhibited. But with him, she wanted everything, including wild, unrestrained sex.

  Bracing one hand on the wall beside her head, Osbourne levered away enough to reach the front of her robe. His mouth continued to devour hers, and Marci loved every second of it—the musky taste of him, the rasp of his beard shadow on her face, the heat and strength of his big body against hers.

  If Osbourne wanted her naked, fine. Then maybe he’d get naked, too, and she could finally satisfy her hunger to touch and taste him everywhere.

  But he didn’t reach for her belt. Instead, his rough hand clasped the leg she had twined around his hip. His fingers slid around her bare knee, then up her thigh, and onto her bottom. He froze.

  “Holy Mother of God,” he breathed. “You’re naked under there.”

  Never had a man sounded so profoundly grateful. Smiling, Marci nodded. “Yes, I am. I told you I’d just gotten out of the shower.”

  “Bless your heart.” And then he was eating at her mouth again while his hand explored, touching every inch of her backside, squeezing, cuddling, before coming around to her belly.

  Muscles bulged on his body, making him seem even bigger, stronger. His hot breath fanned her face. His teeth and tongue played with her, feeding her hunger, and further inciting it at the same time.

  So many sensations overwhelmed her at once that she stalled.

  “Osbourne?” She could barely breathe and her limbs were starting to tremble. His fingers angled downward on the sensitive skin of her belly.

  He all but panted. “Yeah?”

  “It’s too much too fast.”

  Breathing hard, his fingertips just touching her pubic hair, he considered that. Slowly and deeply, he inhaled, then carefully withdrew his hand. He cupped her chin and turned her face up.

  She thought he had the most incredible eyes. Blue like hers, but darker, a midnight blue. His black lashes were thick and, on a lesser man, they would have seemed girlish. But with blatant lust showing in his gaze, Osbourne looked all male.

  And at the same time, very tender.

  After a gentle kiss to her lips, he slowly licked his way to her throat. Lazily, he sucked at her skin there, maybe marking her, but who cared? Marci didn’t.

  She tur
ned her head to make it easier for him. His mouth was so hot, his tongue so silky, and being this close to him let her familiarize herself again with his delicious scent. Osbourne always smelled so good. Not like cologne but like a man, earthy and a little warm and raw.

  As he continued to kiss her, he nudged aside the neckline of her robe.

  Against her skin, he growled low, “Better?”

  “Yes.” Her heartbeat thundered. “Please.” And Marci herself tugged the robe open so he could get to her breasts. She shuddered, waiting impatiently.

  He seemed content to look at her.

  “Osbourne?”

  He never wavered from his perusal of her breasts, his dark blue eyes burning and bright. “I feel like a kid in a candy store.” He bent his bracing arm to bring himself closer to her. So close that she could feel his breath on her nipple when he whispered again, “Beautiful.”

  Twining her fingers in his silky hair, Marci tried to urge him forward. But he was a muscled lug, especially thick through the shoulders and chest, and he didn’t budge an inch.

  He said, “Shhh,” and cupped her breast in his palm. With the side of his thumb, he taunted her nipple, gently rolling over it, around it.

  Months ago, they’d gone out and indulged in fevered petting, yet never consummated their attraction. But since then she had not even been kissed by another man. She couldn’t take it. She needed him, now. “Enough.”

  In reply, he closed his thumb and finger around her, holding her gently, tugging, applying just the right amount of pressure.

  Marci knotted her hands in his hair and forced him to her while arching her back. With a rough laugh, Osbourne obliged, and his mouth closed around her.

  Heaven.

  He began a wet, hot sucking, and she melted.

  The sensation was so acute, so wonderful, she squeezed her eyes shut and couldn’t stop moaning.

  After treating her other breast to the same teasing torment, he whispered, “Now?” and she again felt his hand under her robe, resting lightly on her belly.

  More than ready for him, she breathed, “Yes, please.” She needed his touch, was anxious for it.

  He wasn’t subtle. He cupped his hand over her mound, searched and, separating her labia, worked one thick finger into her.

  In sheer, shocking pleasure, Marci stiffened and pressed back, but Osbourne didn’t let up. He stroked his finger deep, until the heel of his hand pressed flush against her, giving her even more pleasure. Her muscles clamped down in reaction.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, “you’re nice and wet now. You won’t have any problem taking me, will you, honey?”

  Unsure of his meaning, Marci moved against him. “I’m not a virgin, Osbourne.”

  “Virginity is overrated.”

  “Then, what?”

  He pulled his hand away and scooped both hands under her behind to lift her. “Hold onto me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He lifted her, and something big and hard pressed against her. “Osbourne?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your gun is in the way. It’s prodding at me.”

  “That’s not my gun, sweets.” With a wicked grin, he turned them both away from the wall.

  Not his…Well, what then?

  He started toward her bedroom, and her thoughts scattered. Uh-oh. “Osbourne?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  His long legs quickly traversed the limited space of her apartment. “We’re going to make love now?”

  “You betcha.”

  She bit her lip, then offered, “The couch might work better.”

  “No way.” He kissed her hard and fast, his eyes glittering. “I need plenty of room for what I want to do to you.”

  Wow, that sounded…enticing. She glanced at her closed bedroom door. “But…”

  “Don’t pull back on me now, Marci. I need you.”

  Her heart expanded. He needed her. She cupped a hand to his jaw and smiled. “Okay.”

  “Thank God.” He reached for her bedroom door.

  Marci rushed to say, “If you insist on the bed, though, we’ll need to do one thing first.”

  “Yeah?” He opened the door. “What’s that?”

  He no sooner asked the question than the donkey rushed him, screaming, “Aw-ee, aw-ee, aw-ee.”

  Shocked, Osbourne stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and they both went down in a tangle. “What the hell!”

  The donkey loomed over them.

  Full of apology, Marci winced. “You’ll need to help me get the donkey back to his rightful owners.”

  Two

  Slowly, his gaze ripe with accusation, Osbourne turned to stare at her. Never before had Marci seen anyone so red-faced, so enraged, or so disappointed.

  “You had to take the damned donkey, didn’t you?”

  Because Osbourne lay over her, pinning down her legs, she had to stretch to reach the donkey. She patted his soft nose and said, “He doesn’t mean it, honey. You’re not damned.”

  “Oh, God.” Groaning as if in horrible pain, Osbourne collapsed back against the wall. Still tangled with her, he scrubbed both hands over his face, then scrubbed again, this time growling like a wild beast. “I’m going to kill Lucius. It doesn’t matter that he’s the team leader. He got me into this—”

  “Did you see the donkey’s flank?”

  Through his fingers, Osbourne peeked at her. Just that one eye, but it looked pretty incredulous.

  “His flank?”

  “Yes, you see…” But it was difficult to talk in that particular position. “Osbourne, could you please let me up?”

  He didn’t look like he wanted to. That one eye glared at her, and finally he dropped his hands and started to rise.

  Her robe gaped open—all the way to her navel—and he went deaf and dumb, but apparently not blind. His gaze burned her, leaving her scorched.

  He closed his mouth. Swallowed. Licked his lips.

  “Stop that, Osbourne.”

  “All right.”

  But he didn’t. As hot as flames, his midnight eyes examined every inch of her until Marci flushed hot with embarrassment and shoved at his shoulder. “Osbourne. You’re pinning down me and my housecoat. I can’t make myself decent until you move so I can rearrange things.”

  “Okay.” He nudged aside a mere inch.

  Painfully aware of her exposed nudity, Marci groaned. “Snap out of it, Osbourne.” And to help him, she covered herself with both hands, but that just made him suck in a breath and lean closer again—until the donkey took exception and began its brassy, raspy braying.

  “Good God.” That got Osbourne moving, and quickly, too.

  He stumbled to his feet, which put his crotch at eye level for her.

  She stared. No, that couldn’t be, but…

  He grabbed her arms and hauled her upward. “Shut that donkey up before the whole apartment complex knows he’s here.”

  Distracted, Marci readjusted her robe and then stroked the donkey’s long ears until it quieted. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get you back where you belong.”

  Like a man bent on murder, Osbourne growled, “To the Nativity scene.”

  She didn’t bother to look at him. “No, to Kentucky.”

  “Marci,” he warned.

  “Osbourne,” she said right back. “Let me show you. Do you see this marking here on his flank? Well, it’s a discriminating mark, so I’m sure when he was stolen, it was included in his description to help identify him.”

  Osbourne frowned. “I see it.”

  “When he was a baby, he got caught in a fence and cut himself. The wound left a scar. If you’ll just go check”—she shooed him toward the living room—“with whoever lists stolen donkeys, I’m sure you’ll find out who his real family is, and then we can return him.”

  Nodding, Osbourne went to the living room but then, realizing what he’d done, he stopped. Marci almost ran into his broad back.

  He turned to gla
re at her. “There is no damn ‘stolen donkey’ list.”

  Ignoring that, she smiled. “The phone’s right over there.” Again, she shooed him.

  He pushed her hands back down. “Stop doing that.”

  “Osbourne, be reasonable. I can’t keep a donkey here. It’s not like he’s housebroken. We need to return him.”

  Teeth locked, Osbourne leaned down and said, “To the Nativity—”

  Marci kissed him.

  He jerked back so fast he almost fell.

  “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t hold back her long, dreamy sigh. They’d been moments away from making love, and her body still sizzled with need, and she just knew when they did finally get around to being intimate, it’d be too wonderful for words. “When you’re that close, I just can’t help myself.”

  “Oh, no.” He covered his ears and fled to the other side of the room. “No, you don’t. Not again.” And then, finger pointing and voice harsh with accusation, he growled, “You used me!”

  Confused, Marci shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You were going to have sex with me—”

  “Oh, yes I was.” She nodded. “Because you’re irresistible.”

  “For the love of—”

  “And, yes, if you had agreed to the couch instead of insisting on the bedroom, you’d have been used. For sex. For satisfaction. My satisfaction.” She shrugged in apology. “Again, I’m sorry, but it’s been a very long time for me, and you’re a terrible temptation.”

  His eyes crossed. “Be quiet. I mean it, Marci. You’re doing that on purpose.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Making me hard.”

  Scoffing, she felt compelled to point out the obvious. “You were hard about two seconds after you got here.”

  He covered his face again and dropped onto her sofa with a deep groan. “No,” he said without looking at her. “I was semihard. There’s a difference.”

  “Semihard?” Intrigued by that idea, she inched toward him.

  But he must have heard her approach because he snarled, “Stay. Away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t be trusted. Hell, I can’t be trusted. You’re like a damned lodestone. You get close and my hands are all over you.”