by Tharp, Emma
My cheeks heat in spite of myself and I melt into him. “I like that idea. Let’s go cut down a tree.”
“I have a better idea….”
Pulling back, I scan his face. “You don’t have a chainsaw. Do you?”
Jack clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink. “No. I don’t.”
I can’t help but laugh. Big mountain guy doesn’t own a chainsaw. “What’s your idea?”
He sets me down in his chair and goes to his phone. A landline.
“I didn’t think anyone had those anymore,” I say.
“Well, cell service is spotty here and if I need the caretaker to, say…procure a tree, then I should have a landline.” He turns and dials a number and asks whoever is on the other line to find us the perfect Christmas tree. “It will be here in the morning.”
My heart does a happy dance. This man is twisting himself into a pretzel to make me happy. A wave of contentment and fatigue washes over me. It’s been a long day. “Maybe I should turn in early.”
He tops off his drink and comes to sit back down. “Okay.”
He makes no move to get up and show me to my room. “Where will I be sleeping? This floor, or the second?”
Shaking his head, he says, “I shut down the second floor. If I’d known you were coming…”
My mouth goes dry. “So where am I sleeping?”
He gets that damn sexy devilish grin on his face.
Twelve
Jack
This woman is going to kill me. The sexual tension between us is electric. I’d love to take her to my room and fuck her all night, but she looks exhausted. We’re both going to need our energy for what I want to do to her.
I didn’t have the caretaker open the second floor. There’s no need if it’s just me. “I’m teasing. Mostly. You can have my room. I’ll take the couch.” Please relent and ask me to join you.
“Thank you,” she says and shivers.
Shit. I’m really going to have to work on my charms. “You look chilly. Why don’t you grab your drink and join me in the great room? You’ll warm up in front of the fire. It’s fantastic.”
“Okay. For a minute.” She lifts her glass and stands up.
Leading her into the great room, I take the blanket off the back of the couch and set it on the floor in front of the fire. I take a seat and lean back onto one elbow. Jillian joins me and takes the spot next to me.
We sit in silence and watch the vivid red-gold flames crackle in the hearth. It’s mesmerizing as the fire jumps and shifts in intensity.
“Tell me a story about your favorite childhood Christmas,” I say and watch her face as she mulls the question over.
She stares at me with soft eyes and a sweet grin tugs at her lips. “Ah. I have so many. I have one sister; she’s two years younger than me. I’ll never forget when Mom and Dad took us to the North Pole. They reindeer there that you can feed, and Santa and Mrs. Claus were there. I must’ve been about eleven or twelve. Right around the time when you start questioning whether or not Santa is real or not. Well, after that day, I still believed. It was really special. What about you?”
Lying back, I put my arm under my head. “I liked Christmas when I was small. One year, Mom planned a trip to Disney and we spent it there. But I knew there was no such thing as Santa by the time I was seven. My father pulled me aside and told me so. He didn’t want me to be too captivated by the magic of it all. God forbid.”
I let out a harsh laugh.
“The old bastard was a hard-ass and never nurturing. That was Mom’s job. He taught me that hard work and dedication would take me far in life. I appreciated that about him. I wouldn’t have all this without it.” I hold my hand up and gesture around the room.
She gazes at me with her gorgeous eyes, looking like tears could fall any second. “That’s one of the most horrible things I’ve ever heard. How could a father ruin the wonder of Christmas for his child? Let them believe as long as they want to.”
Running my finger along her cheek, I say, “Don’t be sad for me. I turned out all right.” As I say it, I question myself. “For the most part.”
She lies on her stomach and puts her head on my chest, looking up at my face. “We aren’t our pasts. Every day you have a choice. You aren’t your father.”
I nod and run my fingers through her hair and sweep it over her shoulder. Tracing circles over the delicate skin of her neck, I watch as she puts her head down. Can she hear Cupid’s arrow piercing my heart? Fuck. I don’t know what she’s doing to me, but I’d better be careful.
The combination of drinking and watching the roaring fire lulls us both to sleep. Waking up, Jillian’s leg is tangled up in mine and her hand is on my chest. My left leg is completely numb and painful tingles shoot from my hip to my toes. I shift to move and she startles awake.
Jillian’s head pops up and her eyes dart around the room. Realization of where she is dawns and she untangles herself from me and jumps up, clasping her robe around her chest. “I need a shower, then I’ll make breakfast,” she says before walk-running down the hall.
“I’ll make the coffee!” I yell to her back.
Wow. Things just got all kinds of awkward.
I wait out the tingling fit in my leg and hobble to the kitchen. Needing some caffeine before I can even process why everything got a little weird this morning, I start the coffee pot. There are a few dishes left from last night on the counter that I put in the sink and fill it with hot water.
There’s a knock at the door.
My caretaker is standing outside with a massive tree. It has to be fifteen feet tall and smells amazing. Memories of childhood and Mom come rushing back. She wanted to make the holidays special. A dumb grin spreads across my face remembering all the times we’d watch A Christmas Story with Mom in front of our tree. Fred brings the massive blue spruce in already in a mount and I help him haul it into the great room. I tell him “good job” and give him a two hundred dollar tip.
She’s going to love it.
When she finally emerges, her long red hair is wet and she’s wearing a pair of my pajama pants, my socks, and one of my white T-shirts. No bra. I try not to stare, but she’s gorgeous and the shirt hangs on her in all the best ways. “If you’re wearing my boxer briefs, I’m going to be extremely put out.”
She giggles, all traces of the awkward display from earlier are gone. “Nope. Commando.”
My dick twitches and I groan. “Here’s your tree. I need a shower. A very cold shower.” I don’t wait to see her reaction.
Even the ice cold water doesn’t tame my desire for Jillian. I have to play my cards right. I want this woman in the worst way.
By the time I return, Jillian has gone outside to get her clothes from yesterday and has them hung around the fireplace to thaw. “Red. I knew I forgot something. Stockings.” I snicker. “What are you working on over there?”
“I think your caretaker wants us to have an old-fashioned Christmas. Look!” She holds up a bag I hadn’t paid attention to, distracted as I was by the tree. “There’s a needle and thread, popcorn, cranberries, and a variety of crafting supplies. Time to decorate the tree.” Her smile is from ear to ear.
Most of the morning and early afternoon, we decorate and talk about college. She has a marketing and public relations degree from Boston University, while I have an MBA at MIT. She was a sorority girl and I was a fraternity guy. She doesn’t realize how sexy she is when she’s doing mundane tasks like popping popcorn or making eggnog, but, man, do I notice. It’s taken all of my restraint not to come up behind her and grab her ass or lift her up over my shoulder and take her to bed.
She’s coming at me now with a mug full of egg nog. “There’s no way you’re getting me to drink that.”
“Okay.” She nods and dips her finger in the nog and paints her lips with it. Christ. She comes closer and looks up at me with those sapphire eyes, tempting me.
I’m completely done. Without thinking, I pull her in and run my ton
gue all along her lips and into her mouth. She sinks into me and moans. My hands come up and cup her cheeks, deepening the kiss. She smells fresh, like a summer day, and she tastes sweet. Wait.
She got me. Now I know my mistake. I pull back and curse under my breath. Just the tip of my tongue comes out to test the taste on my upper lip. Scooping her up in my arms, I kiss her all over her face.
Squealing and giggling, she says, “You’re getting me all noggy.”
“You’re so lucky this is good. This can’t be egg nog.” I set her back on her feet.
“Told you mine was awesome.”
Going to the sink, I grab a clean dish towel and wet it. I dab her face and grin at her. “You’re right.”
Her smile vanishes as if someone stole the sun from the sky. “I’m right about a lot of things.”
Sighing deeply, I set the towel down. I bet she wants to talk business. Things were going so well. “Not today. After Christmas. Not before December 26th. Right?”
She frowns. “Per the agreement. Fine.”
Cool. I’ve just been “fined.” This holiday is off to a phenomenal start.
I go to the liquor cabinet and pour myself a scotch as she pours herself more egg nog. Clearly, we both need to take the edge off.
Staring out the window, everything is covered in snow and it continues to fall. We got at least a foot overnight. This is some storm.
We stand in the kitchen. She’s wiping down the counters, even though they’re spotless. You could hear a pin drop in here. I take a sip of my drink and it goes down the wrong tube. I go into an awkward fit of coughing and sputtering. Breathing deeply, I go to the sink and fill a glass with water and take a long drink. When the choking spell ends, the room goes quiet again and I hate it.
Several painful minutes later, she’s first to recover and ends the silence. “Let’s bake cookies. It’s been scientifically proven it’s impossible to be miserable when baking cookies.”
And just like that the tension in the room disappears. I laugh. “Good. I love cookies.” And I’m more fond of you than I’m comfortable admitting.
Thirteen
Jillian
Avoiding the reason I’m here is beginning to take its toll. It’s exhausting not saying what you want to say. It’d be easier to just hash it all out and then move forward. I’m struggling with new and interesting ways to keep busy. It’s still blizzarding outside. There aren’t many options left besides board games or charades.
It’s probably going to have to be sex.
I’m not usually the one to break first, but in this situation, I’m willing to make an exception.
The day is here: Christmas morning. Waking up, I’m in bed alone. I go out to the great room and Jack is there, asleep on the couch as promised. How did he do it? I tossed and turned all night long, my sexual and professional frustration at an all-time high.
Due to his ground rules, I can’t talk to him about rehiring or un-firing everyone, and because of mine, I can’t screw him. And that is why I sulk all the way to the kitchen, my bare feet padding loudly on the hardwood floors. I don’t care if I wake him. In fact, I’d be thrilled if I did. Honestly, I’d like to bait him into a fight to let off some steam.
After surveying the kitchen, I realize he’s been up at least once already. The damn bird within a bird within a bird has been seasoned and is roasting in the oven. Since the time he’d designated for dinner is many hours away, it couldn’t have been in too long ago so there are no amazing aromas wafting from the appliance, but I know there will be soon enough.
Turning the faucet on, I fill the coffee carafe. I add grounds to the basket and set it to brew. Maybe caffeine and sugar will elevate my mood. It’s worth a try. The coffee pot starts hissing and gurgling. Maybe it’ll be loud enough to wake him. It’s no fun to be awake and miserable alone.
Turning around, I lean my back against the counter and glare at the couch, willing Jack to wake up. Even in sleep, he’s handsome. His dark hair is askew, but all the muscles in his strong jaw are relaxed. The blanket covering him is mostly on the floor, exposing his strong chest and six-pack abs. The ache between my legs intensifies.
He begins to groan, sits upright, and rubs his face with his hands. “Lonely, Red? How’d you sleep?”
I narrow my eyes. “Awesome,” I snap.
Obviously he isn’t brave enough to face me, or maybe he has to use the bathroom. Regardless, he rolls off the couch and strides toward the master bedroom wearing only his boxer briefs.
Should I stay in here and wait for him? Screw it. He’s in the master bathroom. I stand outside the closed door. I cross my arms and tap my foot.
Jack comes out and grins at me, all beautiful smile and bedroom eyes. “Can I help you?”
I huff. “I’m leaving. I just thought I’d let you know. I can spend Christmas in the city.”
His brows raise. “Alone? Is that what you want? To be alone on Christmas?”
Throwing my hands in the air, I say, “Don’t you? I mean, it’s obvious you don’t want me here.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounded remarkably like “and this is why I don’t date.” Then his eyes meet mine. “I make a mean turducken. You will be here to enjoy it with me because, and this isn’t hyperbole, there’s no way you’re getting out of here. The storm shut down all the roads, the airport, and what’s left of my driveway. Planes can’t make it here.”
Completely unsure of what to do with all of my dissatisfaction, I stomp my feet in frustration like a toddler. “How could you know this?”
He stares at me, his hazel eyes flecked with copper and emerald. “Because I made some calls after you went to bed last night.”
“See!” It comes out as a shriek. “You don’t want me here.”
At this, Jack actually chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m going to take a shower now. You’re welcome to stand there and watch if that’s your thing. Otherwise, we can talk after.” He turns, starts the water, peels off his underwear, and gets in the shower.
My blood starts to boil. I clench my fists into tight balls. At first I decide to wait here as he suggested. He said we’d talk after. We’ll talk after? He’s controlling everything. He’s making all the rules. Am I supposed to sit back and follow them? By God, I’m sick to death of following all his stupid rules.
I drop my bathrobe to the floor, pull my underwear down, and open the shower door, stepping quickly and unapologetically into the shower.
He looks me up and down. “Care to join me?” He lets out a little laugh which does nothing to appease me. “I thought I told you we’d talk after. And I’m pretty sure that I made it abundantly clear that we’re stuck together. For now. So what’s up?”
Staring down, I snarl, “You’re up.”
Fourteen
Jack
Glancing down at my groin, I say, “Red, this isn’t even half-mast.”
“You. You think you can control everything and everyone.” She glares at me, and I swear she has steam coming out of her ears.
“I always have,” I point out. “I see no reason for it to change now.”
She leans in, her nipples mere inches from touching my chest, the only thing separating us a hot stream of water. “And that’s why you’re still single. No one wants to be controlled all the time. Especially me.”
The desire to grab her and show her how much I want to control her is almost unbearable, but I grasp on to what’s left of my restraint. “Especially you? What makes you so special?” But I could answer my own question. There are a million little reasons. I love the way her nose crinkles when she laughs. I really should make her laugh more often. When she’s angry, her sapphire eyes flash at me, and I’ll be damned, but I love that, too. She has a way of making everything seem new and wonderful, even things as mundane as making cookies or cleaning up dishes. And somehow, I have to guess that if I gave the woman lemons, she’d make a damn good lemon meringue pie.
She’s furious with me. On Chr
istmas. She really wants to leave me. No one wants to leave me. And yet, this woman has done it once already, waking and sneaking out of my penthouse after the first night we’d spent together. No doubt she’d do it again if she could, which sucks because I’d really like her to stay.
I’d only checked on the roads and airport because I could feel everything coming to a head and expected she’d announce her departure. I’m nothing if I’m not prepared.
Without considering the ramifications, I decide to interrupt her rant. She’s been going on and on about how I set all the rules, determined when we could talk, when we could do anything. I bend my head down and capture her lips. I want them silent. I want them on mine. Although I’m quite proud of myself for quieting her rage, she pushes against my chest, breaks the kiss, and yells some more.
“You don’t want to kiss?” She’s in the shower with me naked. Not to mention all women want to kiss me. How could the one woman I want now not want me?
“Now? Of course not! You know what I want? I want you to listen to me! I want you to respect me! I want you to treat me like an equal.”
I nod and blurt out, “I will. I will. But…”
“If you’re about to tell me that I’m not your equal, I swear to God I will get dressed and risk death to get the hell out of here. You can live with that on the conscience you don’t have.” Her chest is heaving, and her lips are pressed together in a tight line.
Pulling her into my arms, water sprays all over us. “Be my Jiminy Cricket. I’ll listen to you. Just…don’t leave me.” I press my forehead to hers. “Talk to me. Now. Later. Whenever you’re ready.”
Suddenly, Jillian stands on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around my neck, and starts kissing me.
“What’s this for?” I ask, my lips never leaving hers. Whatever I did to deserve this kiss, I want to do more of it.
“Respect is the best aphrodisiac,” she whimpers against my mouth.
