“Left behind by my baby sister, Meggie, no doubt, though that’s something I honestly don’t want to think about at the moment.” He dipped his chin down again and refocused his attention. “I am, however, very interested in finding out just how welcoming Kitty might be.”
If Hello Kitty panties weren’t a buzz kill, snort-laughing during first-time sex should have been, but his amused chuckle, all low and deep and sexy in his throat, even as he began the most torturous exploration with his tongue, somehow made it not just okay, but added to the erotic charge of the moment.
He slid the sweats slowly down trembling legs, tugging off boots, socks, and everything but her panties.
“Aren’t you . . . a little overdressed,” she managed, as he slid back on the bed, between her legs. She surprised him—and herself—by pushing him to his back and straddling him.
He’d dropped his jacket to the floor already. Now he pulled off shirt and hoodie in one fluid display of perfect, chiseled muscle and tossed them in the same direction.
“Show off,” she said, but she might have been drooling. Just a little. Then he propped his hands behind his head and everything flexed, and she sent up a private little thank you to Santa. Who had apparently decided to reward her with pretty much the most fantastic present ever, despite almost burning down her grandmother’s cottage.
And she wasn’t one not to appreciate a well-wrapped gift. She smiled and toyed with the button to his jeans.
“That’s not going to be as easy as a drawstring,” he said.
She heard the strain in his voice . . . and marveled at it. Her confidence grew. “Do you trust me?”
His immediate grin made her shudder in pleasure, and instinctively push down a little bit on his thighs.
He groaned. She popped the button free. Slowly, carefully, she drew the zipper tab down over the bulge straining against the row of silver tabs.
“You know,” he said, his voice a hard rasp, “I’ve spent several very long days wanting to kiss that spot on your lip.”
“Spot?” she said, distracted by her work in progress.
He reached up, lifted just a little, flexing every part of those delicious abs, and touched the corner of her mouth . . . where she was presently biting her lip.
“It got so bad, I got hard every time you did that. You’re so damn sexy when you concentrate.”
She gave him a look indicating he was clearly addled, probably from blood loss to the brain. But, privately, enjoyed the hell out of knowing she hadn’t been the only one completely distracted by imagining them in various sexual entanglements. All over the cabin.
“Briefs,” she said, revealing tight black cotton, inch by torturous inch. “Boxer briefs.” Zipper done, she reached for the belt loops on his hips and tugged. “Very . . . snug boxer briefs.”
“No patience,” he said again, only he wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop her this time. He kicked his boots off and she slid off jeans and everything else, except the briefs. Fair being fair and all. Besides, the snug fit around his well muscled thighs was just, well, it was damn sexy.
She toyed with the waistband, and felt him twitch . . . grow.
“Danger, danger,” he murmured, and a hot thrill raced straight through to her core.
She started to pull the elastic band, but his hand came around her wrist like a velvet vise. “My turn again.”
An instant later, she was flat on her back, and any resistance she might have shown died swiftly as he found her nipples with his fingers . . . and the inside of her thigh with his tongue. “Fair is fair,” she gasped, as the elastic band on her hips gave way in a tight little snap. A moment later she was arching tightly off the bed as the tip of his tongue found the exact right spot . . . and stayed there. And stayed there. His fingers stroked her nipples until she thought she’d scream from the intensity of the pleasure that rippled down through her.
“Thank you for trusting me, Parker,” he murmured against her, the vibration of the words alone tripping her right along the edge. “Come,” he whispered, and with one gentle flick, took her hurtling over.
Everything clenched, then expanded, all soft and accepting, then clenched more tightly again as he continued, taking her, keeping her there, until she was clutching at him. “Will . . . Will.”
She tugged his hair, reached fingers toward his shoulders. “Will.”
And he must have heard something in that final, desperate plea, because he moved up her body and between her still trembling legs, naked now, and impressively ready. He settled his weight and she felt the length of him press into her belly. Then he slid down until he nudged between her legs, making her shake with need as he pulled her thighs up tight to his hips. “Hold on to me.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She sank fingertips into thick shoulder muscles. Her hips were already half off the bed as he pressed, slowly and oh-so incredibly, perfectly, into her.
“Jesus,” he whispered, holding completely still once he was fully inside of her. “Parker.” He turned his face into the side of her neck, and slowly began to move.
She wrapped legs and arms around him . . . and moved with him. Slowly, rhythmically . . . perfectly. She wanted it to go on forever . . . and she wanted to take him where he’d taken her, feel what she’d felt, when she’d utterly shattered.
She turned and pressed a kiss to the thrumming pulse point on the side of his neck, just below his ear, as they moved together, their slow-motion erotic dance in perfect sync. He was taking her higher, and deeper, with every thrust. And the climax this time was coming from some other place, deep within her, so strong, so mighty, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it. And was pretty sure she didn’t care.
She kissed him again, then nudged him until he lifted his head to look at her. She lifted into him, squeezed him more tightly, held him there for a beat longer, then another one. “I was just waiting for you. All this time . . . it was you.”
That fierce light returned to his eyes and he took her mouth, and her, driving her straight to the edge and hurtling past it, flinging himself over it right after her.
It was long moments before they could even begin to control their breathing. He did finally manage to prop his weight on his elbows, bury his face in the now-damp curls clinging to her neck. “It was always you,” he said, when he finally found enough breath to get the words out.
He kissed the side of her neck, then rolled to his side, pulling her with him. Legs entwined, she nestled against his chest as easily and naturally as every moment leading up to that one. He stroked her hair. She listened to his thudding heartbeat. And lost track of time as she drifted and simply let herself feel.
“Can this be our first holiday tradition?” she said, as the enormity of the new direction her life would be taking began to sink in. She pressed a kiss, directly over his heart.
She felt his amused chuckle rumble under her lips, then, quite suddenly, she was on her back again, and he was smiling down at her, dimples flashing, those brown eyes she knew now she’d always loved, always trusted, shining with amusement, affection, and, quite clearly, love. “Well, to get it right, I’ll have to buy you a new pair of Kitty panties.”
She laughed. “It was a three pack. So we’re covered, at least for a few years.” She traced the slight cleft in his chin with her fingertip, and finally, fully let herself love him right back.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, pulled her close, then kissed her again, as if he had all the time in the world. And, she supposed, he did.
“Merry Christmas to us,” she murmured, as she let him take her under all over again.
He moved on top of her, grinned. “And to all a good life.”
Clara Parker might not be a natural in the kitchen—okay, so she’s downright dangerous. Good thing she fell in love with a fireman!—but even she could make Mama Mason’s famous chocolate chip cookies. (The secret is in the ground oatmeal!) This recipe is perfect for the holidays as it makes nine dozen. I know! Some of them might
even have a chance of making it into those cute tins you bought to give to other people. (And hey, everyone should make at least one test batch, right?)
Happy baking, and happy holidays!
MAMA MASON’S MEGASIZED CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
2 cups butter
2 cups sugar
2 cups brown sugar
4 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
5 cups oatmeal (not instant)
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 Hershey’s bar (8 ounces), grated
24 ounces chocolate chips
3 cups nuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 375°F.
Mix butter and both sugars together until smooth. Add in eggs, one at a time, mixing in until assimilated. Stir in vanilla. Use a food processor to grind the oatmeal to powder, then whisk together with flour, salt, baking power, and baking soda. Add in the flour mixture in several increments, blending just until mixed. Grate the Hershey’s bar, then stir in grated Hershey’s and chocolate chips. Stir in nuts if desired. (Chopped pecans or chopped walnuts are ideal.) Scoop 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheets in golf-ball-sized drops. (A melon scoop or ice cream scoop with the squeeze handle works great.) Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, or until golden brown. Let cool on sheets for 5 minutes, then transfer to racks to complete cooling.
Makes approximately 9 dozen cookies.
The Gingerbread Man
KATE ANGELL
Chapter 1
“What’s your name?” Abby Denton asked the man who slouched on the gray flannel sofa in her living room.
“Lander,” he managed with effort.
Her heart went out to him. He was all banged up. His dark hair was mussed and his blue eyes were dazed. A bump stood out on his forehead. “I’m Abby,” she said slowly, making sure he understood her. “What’s the last thing you remember prior to your car accident?” she pressed. It was important to keep him conscious.
“A peppermint-stick penis.”
Abby blushed. This couldn’t be good. She’d seen the man at the Pine Mountain Community Center earlier that evening. How could she forget him? He’d blown inside, tall and compelling in a black cashmere coat with a blustery winter wind at his back just as the snow began to fall. He’d glanced around, then taken part in the town’s annual Christmas Cookie Swap. That surprised her. He didn’t look like the sweet-tooth type. More like a man on a mission.
Dozens of decorative boxes and tins were displayed on long tables, then auctioned off to the highest bidder. No one knew which container belonged to which baker. The contents were a surprise to the winner.
Lander had shouted out a one hundred dollar bid for the brown box decorated with a white icing border. Abby was concerned at first, wondering why this stranger was so quick to outbid everyone else. That was half the fun, she thought, watching the bids climb higher and higher.
Not this time. He’d won the cookies, then gone on to ask for directions to Philadelphia. Abby assumed his GPS wasn’t working. Cell phone services were hit and miss here in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Why was he in such a hurry? she’d wondered. The holidays were a time of joy and fun. Not mad dashes through the hills. Somehow she doubted he was on his way to Grandma’s house.
After receiving his instructions, he’d tucked the box under his arm, turned, and left without a backward glance. His shoulders had been squared; his strides, long and purposeful. He was a man in a hurry. Abby had smiled to herself. He had no idea what type of holiday cookies he’d won. Chances were he’d expected sugar cookies or snickerdoodles. Perhaps even shortbread, spice, or raspberry-filled thumbprints.
Instead he’d gotten her erotic gingerbread men.
She sat across from him now, perched on the edge of a plaid overstuffed chair. She couldn’t help but stare at this man who’d caused her so much panic and worry. Thank goodness he was coherent. He’d been out cold for close to two hours. It had taken Abby that long to catch her breath after saving him from frostbite.
His body had been cold, so cold it scared the hell out of her when she touched his cheeks. His lips had turned blue. Snow had drifted through the broken glass on the driver’s window. His dark eyelashes spiked like icicles.
She watched closely as he removed one black leather driving glove, and then carefully touched the bump on his forehead. His skin was pale. A bruise colored his left cheek. A cut marred his chin.
“The accident,” he muttered. His tone was deep, flat, questioning.
She nodded, encouraging him to speak. “You were headed north on Rural Route Four. It was snowing. Hard. Visibility must have been close to zero.”
His eyebrows drew together as he searched his memory. “There was thick fog and, what that didn’t cover, the snow did,” he said, recalling the drive.
She knew that to be true. The twisting two-lane road could be treacherous in bad weather, slick and icy. Abby usually crept along, sticking to the speed limit. “What caused you to swerve?” she gently prodded him. “A deer? Drifting snow?”
His answer came slowly. “My stomach growled,” he recalled. “I’d missed lunch, but couldn’t find a place to grab a meal anywhere in Pine Mountain. The place was a ghost town when I arrived. Even the gas station convenience store was closed up tight.”
“Everyone was at the community center for the cookie swap,” she explained. “We gather there once a year. The proceeds support a local charity.”
“It was the cookies.” He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if pushing back the image. “I was several miles down the road when I remembered the box lying on the seat beside me. I cracked the lid and found a dozen gingerbread men with candy-cane erections.”
He lowered his hands and gave her a look of frustration and disbelief. “I took my eyes off the road and stared at the gingerbread men a moment too long. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.”
He doesn’t look pleased, Abby thought, digging her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She’d worked so hard to get her G-men to stand at attention.
“My Mercedes hit an icy patch and started to slide,” he added. “Whichever way I turned the steering wheel, I couldn’t correct the skid.”
“A vehicle out of control on an icy road is scary,” she agreed.
His jaw worked, and his words were as disjointed as his memory. “Steep slope. Pine trees. Crashed.” He paused, rolled his shoulders. “I must’ve blacked out.”
Abby had wondered what put him in the ditch.
She now knew. Her cookies had caused his accident.
She felt awful and suddenly cold. So cold, in fact, that her hooded down jacket, wool mittens, and Caribou Pac Boots no longer warmed her. She shivered.
Lander straightened on the sofa, glanced around her living room. “Where am I?” He blinked, trying to focus. “How’d I get here?”
“You’re at my cabin,” she said. “I was driving home from the community center when I noticed the taillights on your car lit up in the ravine. I parked on the shoulder, set my flashers, and tried to call for emergency assistance, but my call didn’t go through. I ended up hiking down the slope to the spot where your car had crashed through the pine trees.”
Hiking wasn’t the operative word, Abby realized. More like a rescue mission. A blanket of snow had covered the ground. Night shadows snuck along the slope. Worse yet, the batteries on her flashlight were low and her visibility was limited.
She’d tripped, fallen, then slid on her bottom, slamming feetfirst into the front tire on the driver’s side. A sharp pain shot through her foot. She swore she’d broken her big toe. It still throbbed. She had no doubt she’d find it red and swollen when she took her boot off.
“I tugged and pulled until I got your car door open,” she further said. She’d nearly wrenched her shoulder out of the socket doing so. “You were slouched over the steering wheel. I shook you, but you didn’t respond. I had to get y
ou out of the vehicle. I couldn’t leave you there to freeze.”
She didn’t add how frightened she’d been when she thought he wasn’t breathing. She’d leaned over him; her cheek was so close to his, she’d felt the ice cold brush of his skin. A small puff of frosty air had escaped his lips, whispering over her mouth. She’d never been so relieved in her life. He was alive.
“How’d you get me out of the car and up the hill?” he wanted to know.
With great difficulty, she thought. Her heart had raced and panic pushed her hard. “I unfastened your seat belt then tried to grip you under the arms. Your shoulders were too wide. I went with your leather belt,” she said. “I tugged, dragged, and prayed you up the slope. It was slow going, but you were able to stand enough to lean on me. It took us nearly an hour to reach the road. You don’t remember any of that?”
Her arms had ached and her stomach had cramped. Her hands had started to go numb from the cold. She was a strong woman, but Lander was a big man. And almost dead weight on top of it all.
She’d hoped another vehicle would pass their way, but no one was on the road. Not unusual. Anyone with any sense was already home, warm and cozy, waiting out the snowstorm.
Lander shook his head. “You dragged me,” he repeated, disbelievingly. “I recall so little. So that’s why my rib cage and abdomen are sore.”
He pushed back the sides on his coat and looked down at his belt. His gaze widened when he saw his white dress shirt was untucked, wrinkled, and several buttons were missing. The back pocket on his black trousers was torn; the front zipper was halfway down. He zipped it back up.
Bruises formed a darkened band about his waist where she’d struggled with his belt. The buckle had cut a deep imprint at his navel. There were claw marks over his ribs where her fingers encased in the wool mittens had dug into his flesh. Imprints from her palms marked his hips.
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap Page 13
