Five Weeks In December

by Blue Kincaid

  “Good thing I don’t plan to wear pants,” she tossed back over her shoulder with a flirtatious laugh. She left that hanging in the air as she hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She pushed open his bedroom door and glanced around, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t seen his bedroom before.

  Curiosity filled her as she stepped inside. It suited him – a warm maroon wallpaper, gleaming hardwood floors with all the grooves and dings of a true 19th century row house. She sat on the edge of the massive bed and unzipped her boots, tugging them off before shimmying out of the charcoal tights as well. His bed dominated the room, but then so did he, really. During her time staying here, she’d come to know that Harry had a routine and rarely deviated. That included his daily workout at a gym around the corner.

  Barefoot now, December stood and peeled the dress off over her head and wandered over to his closet to see what she might find suitable for lounging around with a beautiful man who’d made her dinner. No one had ever made her dinner before and there was something very intimate about it. Also, something very sweet.

  Her fingers trailed the neat row of Harry’s clothes. Shirts and pants and jackets, all lined up ever so precisely. A bit of mischief seized her without warning. A minute later shirts were tucked amidst jackets and ties between pants. She giggled imagining his face when he opened the closet the next morning.

  Back to the job at hand. Nothing to wear in there, it all looked far too formal and neatly pressed. So she went for the dresser instead. She sank down to her knees and tugged open the bottom drawer first. Sweatpants and track pants and a ratty pair of swim trunks that looked as if they’d seen better days. A smile curved her lips and she shook her head before shutting that drawer and opening the next one up. Ahhh, much better.

  T-shirts and sweatshirts and a bunch of wonderfully large hoodies. She grabbed a black t-shirt and a hoodie. So she wouldn’t freeze from a draft, she put back on the charcoal tights and tugged the black t-shirt over her head then wrapped up in the much too big and oh so very comfy gray hoodie, zipping it partway. Perfect.

  She darted back downstairs, careful not to slip in her stockinged feet on the hardwood. “Much better!” she announced.

  Harry turned and went still for a moment. She couldn’t quite explain the look in his eyes, but any woman who has ever borrowed one of her man’s shirts or nicked a t-shirt for a nightdress knew the look. Possessive. Aroused. It made December’s heart trip and race faster.

  Finally, he blinked, as if from a daze, and his gaze swept her head to toe and back. “Poor t-shirt.”

  Her brows shot up, her laugh incredulous. “Excuse me?”

  He brought two plates now filled with food over to set on the counter. “Well, yeah. I mean, after tonight, the poor thing will forever know what it’s missing when it’s stuck on my body instead of yours.”

  December blushed – blushed for goodness sake! – and nodded to the plates. “Are we eating here or in the dining room?”

  “Neither.” Harry ignored her curious look and picked the plates back up. “Grab the wine and follow me.”

  She obeyed, grabbing the bottle of red wine and a pair of glasses and hurrying after him. When they reached the living room, her brows lifted, watching as Harry set the plates on the beautiful coffee table and pulled it close to the massive, overstuffed couch. “What if we spill?”

  He glanced up at her and straightened, holding out his hand for the bottle of wine. “With any luck, you’ll spill on your breasts or something and I know how to clean up that kind of mess.”

  God, he was adorable. Flirty and teasing and a whole different Harry she hadn’t really seen before. She hated admitting it, but god she liked this Harry very much. She rolled her eyes at him with a laugh and plopped down on the couch, stretching out on the long, lounge-y end. “Why in here? Other than your awesome couch?”

  Harry held up a DVD box. “Because this, that’s why.”

  She leaned forward, eyes lighting up at the sight of Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn on the cover. “Ohhhh, I love old movies. Which one?”

  “Bringing Up Baby. It’s sort of the forebear to the modern romantic comedy.” He looked very pleased with himself that he’d picked something she liked. He needed to stop making her want to kiss him stupid. “I’m glad you like them, old movies I mean. I can’t really tolerate the Adam Sandler/Jim Carrey slapstick gross-out comedy.”

  December shook her head, reaching for the wine bottle to work on opening it while he got the movie set up. “No way, me neither.” She poured them each a glass and dragged a lovely soft throw from over the arm of the couch to tuck around her legs as she reached for her plate.

  Harry joined her, the lights low as the opening credits played. “You look cozy. Room for me?”

  She patted the cushion beside her. “Plenty. But get your own blanket.” She felt a little like being back in high school, when she’d gone to a slumber party and a group of boys had sneaked over to hang out in the basement of her best friend’s house. Naughty and fun.

  Harry settled in beside her with his plate and their glasses of wine on the coffee table within reach. He watched as she took a bite of the pasta, smothered in a delicious vodka sauce. “Good?”

  She rolled her eyes in pleasure and smiled around the mouthful, nodding. “Amazing.” She covered her mouth with one hand, trying not to be rude with a mouthful of pasta.

  Harry grinned. “Wait till you try the bread.”

  They spent the next two hours that way. Drinking wine, laughing like loons over Cary and Katherine’s antics, devouring mass amounts of pasta and bread and just… It was the best date she’d ever been on. She forgot for a while that she wasn’t a submissive, she wasn’t a professional anything, she was just December and he was just Harry and she liked him very much. She thought he liked her very much, too.

  She’d worry about the ramifications of all that another day. Tonight she let herself have a good time and when Harry dropped her off at the hotel, she would have happily allowed him upstairs for more than the kiss he took at the valet. But he shook his head and sipped at her lips and told her he’d wait until she wasn’t helpless from his decadent food and the subliminal allure of Cary Grant.

  Cary Grant had nothing on Harry Everett, though. December fell asleep alone, with the taste of his kiss on her lips and a smile she couldn’t shake.

  Chapter Eight

  December had come to the conclusion that Harry was trying to kill her. It’d been three days since he’d left her wanting at the hotel. Oh, they’d seen each other plenty in that time – there’d been a trip to the lighting of the National Tree, which had been exciting and kind of glamorous. There’d been dinner at Harry’s cooked by Harry himself. And now he was on his way to the hotel to take her to a restaurant that, after a bit of googling, December had a hard time believing he could even get them into on such short notice.

  And while she’d enjoyed every minute of all of the ‘dates’ he’d taken her on, he seemed of the mind anything more than a kiss on the cheek or the hand was strictly verboten. It was starting to drive her insane.

  “Maybe that’s his plan. Drive you mad with lust until you can’t imagine ever leaving him and give up this wicked life to be his permanent pet.” Sheridan sounded equal parts amused and annoyed.

  December turned in front of the mirror, making sure her garters were even and the sexy seams down the back of her stockings were straight. “I don’t think that’s what he wants.”

  “Then what? That’s what all men want, Dee. They want to save us, like damsels in distress they get to be knights in shining armor for. Because Goddess forbid a woman take control of her sexuality and ownership of her own body.” Sheridan sighed and December could imagine her sprawled on the couch in their condo on the beach, her beloved pit bull Chino curled up beside her. She always let that dog onto the furniture when December wasn’t home to shoo him off.

  “He’s not like that. He’s the one needing the saving, actually.”


  “Sweet December. Always trying to save the world, one broken man at a time.” Sheridan’s voice held no mocking, but did ring with a certain degree of…pity, maybe. December bristled.

  “This is different.”

  “Oh, honey, come on. We both know it’s why you really agreed to take the job. Harry’s exactly what you love best. A project. It’s not a bad thing, honest. But even if you can ‘fix’ him, what then? How many men are you going to fix before you realize it’s not fixing you? They’re never going to be Trent.”

  December’s jaw clenched and she exhaled heavily. “He has nothing to do with this. I have to go.”

  “Oh babe, don’t be that way. I love you, that’s all. Trent fucked you up, I get it. He broke your heart and now you’re trying to prove to yourself that he was wrong, that you’re not the trash he said you were.” Sheridan sighed softly. “I hate that you believe him, even a little. Just remember that he’s the one who lost out, okay? Be safe. Make good choices. Call me more often.”

  She found it nearly impossible to stay mad at Sheridan, even when she got way too pointed with her ‘I know you better than you know yourself’ shtick. “I will. Love you, too.”

  She tossed the cell onto the bed and turned back to the full length mirror. No more digging up the past – she was focused on the present, and at the present what mattered was this date. Whatever reason Harry had for holding her at arm’s length, December intended to put an end to that tonight.

  * * * * *

  “I read this place is booked up for weeks in advance.” December glanced around, the dining room small and intimate with barely twenty seats total. “How did you get us in?”

  Harry glanced past her to the small bar that led back to the kitchen, lifting his hand in greeting. December twisted in her seat to see a tall, dark haired Adonis with spiked hair and tattoos approaching. “Raphe, thanks for squeezing us in.” He smiled at December. “December, this is Raphael Altieri. Raphe, December.”

  He was gorgeous, with his hazel eyes and sensual mouth and bad boy written all over him. And yet next to Harry, Raphe’s sizzle seemed a little like overkill. A week ago she’d have been trying to control the rush of lust at the sight of a man like Raphe, but tonight she simply gave him a polite smile and returned her focus to Harry.

  He noticed, too. She could tell. Raphe chuckled and said something about not wanting to interrupt before moving over to another table to greet those customers. Harry took a sip of his wine, meeting her gaze as he set the cup back down.

  “Most women can’t keep their eyes – or their hands – off him.”

  December’s lips twitched. “Raphe? I can see why.”

  “You barely looked at him.”

  She lifted one shoulder, the strap of her dress slipping down. She loved the way his eyes followed the movement, as if hoping the silky fabric would continue to drop and reveal more to him. “Did you want me to look at him?”

  December had intended it as teasing, but when she said it, Harry’s eyes darkened and something passed across them that made her shiver. She glanced over her shoulder at Raphe to find the man’s hazel green eyes on her, heated and…anticipatory. Desire clenched deep in her belly and she turned back to Harry, breath shaky.

  “I’d like you to do more than look at him, December.” Harry took another sip of his wine, very casually, but the way he looked at her could hardly be called casual. God, she wondered if everyone in the restaurant could tell she ached with sudden desire – her pussy wet with it. “Raphe is a very good friend of mine from a club I frequent.”

  Oh god. She didn’t have to ask what kind of club. December bit back a moan. She knew exactly what that must mean. “You want to share me with him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. He’s free tonight. All you have to do is say yes.” He leaned forward, voice pitched low for her ears only. “You know nothing happens without your full consent. But if you say yes…”

  December did know. Harry wouldn’t be angry if she said no. But she had no intention of saying no. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “You have my consent. I say yes.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished they had already eaten, that they could leave and bring the devilishly handsome chef with them back to Harry’s house or the hotel and feed off sinful pleasures rather than whatever decadent meal a man like Raphe would serve them.

  But that wasn’t the plan, apparently, because Harry gave Raphe a nod over her shoulder and turned his heated smile on her as he sat back in his chair. “Good girl.”

  She shivered. She had no intention of being a good girl. She wondered if Harry would be joining in or if he wanted to watch her with Raphe. As soon as she thought it, the answer was clear. Harry would want both. Her stomach clenched again in response to the knowledge of what was coming. December almost wanted to laugh – she’d decided earlier to put an end to Harry’s chaste behavior, but before she could, he’d apparently decided it was time for more than courting.

  She tried to pay attention, she really did, as the server came out with the first course of tiny, delicate dishes for them to sample. Henry had ordered the tasting menu, a full nine courses of various tapas-size delicacies from amuse-bouche through to dessert. She couldn’t really focus, though, especially when, from the third course on, Raphe presented each dish personally.

  Harry watched her intently as the night progressed. As Raphe alternated between a friendly, amused mood toward Harry and a more sensual – almost sexual – tone with her. He’d touch her shoulder, brush back her hair as he spoke about some decadent ingredient the current dish contained. And all the while Harry watched, his blue eyes intense, focused. She wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to see, or thought he’d see, but it made her shift restlessly in her chair and wish the meal was over already.

  “You seem distracted.” Harry’s lips twitched lightly, brows lifting in question as a lull in service allowed for a moment alone.

  December laughed, fanning her face a bit. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Do you want to know why?”

  For a second she was confused, then realized he meant did she want to know why he wanted this. She met Harry’s eyes and shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I know why. You don’t have to say anything.”

  She didn’t claim to be a shrink, but her job gave her a lot of insight, to men in particular, and it didn’t take a college degree to see Harry had a lot of painful issues to work through. One of them being the betrayal of the woman he loved giving herself to another man behind his back. What better way to face that than to give her to another man and be present for the entire thing? She imagined it wasn’t quite as simple as that deeper down, but she understood the surface stuff anyway. The point being that Harry needed it and December would give it to him, happily.

  “You must be wondering why you bothered to stay.” He was obviously uncomfortable with how easily she’d read him.

  “I wanted to stay, Harry. You know that, right?” For whatever reason – she still hadn’t entirely worked it out herself – Harry was different. Normally she would have left the minute he said he no longer wanted the contract. But here she sat, days later, playing by unknown rules to a game she thought she’d all but perfected. Until him, that is. Now it’d been turned upside down and though it shook her up, it also excited her in a way nothing had in a long time. She knew her best friend would say she ought to cut and run, but somehow…she couldn’t. She had to play this out.

  “I know. Why you wanted to stay is a bit more of a mystery, but we’ll save that discussion for another time.”

  Thank goodness, because she really didn’t know what her answer would be if he asked why she’d chosen to stay in the first place.

  She glanced over her shoulder again at Raphe, then back at Harry. “You must trust him a lot.”

  Harry’s lips twitched. “Raphe is head over heels in love with a woman who can barely stand to look at him. And even if he wasn’t…he’s one of my best friends. A
nd you’re…”

  He cut off, but again, December thought she could finish the thought. She wasn’t really Harry’s. She was safe. Giving her away was safe. And he was right. As delicious as Raphe was, her focus in all of this was Harry.

  Not to mention it would be hot as hell. Two beautiful men, all to herself? A girl never got tired of that. She gave him a seductive smile. “How long til dessert?”

  Chapter Nine

  It was twenty-seven degrees outside and threatening another dump of unseasonably early snow, but inside it was sweltering. Maybe that was only Harry, because his heart wouldn’t stop pounding as though he’d run a marathon. The lights were low, the sheets were mussed and December stretched out among the rumpled bedclothes, not a stitch on.

  She turned onto her stomach, long legs swaying lazily as she let them look their fill. As if one could ever get enough of looking at her.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  She was so far beyond beautiful the word seemed almost an insult in Harry’s mind. But he didn’t know another that might suit better. “She is.” He approached the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out one hand to skim down December’s naked back. She all but purred, eyes closing as she seemed to flow slightly up into the touch. As if her whole body reached out to him. Harry met Raphe’s eyes. “She’s mine.”

  Raphe didn’t hesitate. “I understand.”

  Raphe did, too. He’d been privy to the fallout of Katie’s death and the revelations of her infidelity afterward.

  December peered up at Harry, her eyes soft. Sensual. Submissive. That wouldn’t last. She became a firestorm once the tinder was lit and he looked forward to seeing Raphe’s reaction to the shift when it happened. But for the moment, she was the very picture of the perfect sub – bare in more ways than just nudity, she hid nothing.