by Jaci Burton
For a guy, Trick was unreasonably easy about her taking over his apartment. Greta wasn't staying on a permanent basis, but Stella was.
It was a good thing his bedroom had large closets, because she had a lot of clothes.
And on top of trying to settle into living together, Stella had made a stupid suggestion to host a Christmas Eve party at the apartment. And even more foolishly, Trick had thought it was a great idea.
So now she was dressed in some slinky silver dress, her makeup done, high heels on, and she and Greta had already gone over the to-do list seemingly a hundred times. Since she sucked as a cook, they'd ordered food to be brought in, and they had ample alcohol, all of it set up in the kitchen.
The house was already perfectly decorated and the scent of cinnamon filled the air.
She dashed into the bedroom to take one last look at her hair, and she stopped to take in the sight of the man she loved finishing getting dressed.
He wore black slacks, his dark hair spilling over the collar of his white button-down shirt.
"I can't get these damn cuffs buttoned. You have to have little kid fingers to button these things."
She laughed and walked over. "Let me do it." Within a few seconds, she had the cuffs buttoned, then took a step back to admire him.
"You look incredible."
He slid an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her lips, the long, lingering kind that left her breathless. "No, you look incredible. I'm going to enjoy taking that dress off you later."
She laid her palm on his chest. "Now there's something for me to think about all night."
His fingers drifted down her back, teasing her bare skin. "Or, we could get a head start . . ."
The doorbell rang, and she slid him a look of regret. "Our guests are arriving, so you hold that thought."
Within the next hour the apartment was filled with their friends. Drew and Carolina came by, as well as several of the Travelers players who hadn't yet left town for the holidays. A few people from her dance company were there as well, including her friend Lisa and Lisa's husband, Louis. She was shocked as hell when her choreographer, Lawrence, and his boyfriend, Jonathan showed up. She'd invited everyone who wasn't leaving town, including Lawrence, but never in her wildest imaginings did she expect Lawrence would show up. He never mingled with his cast.
Yet there he was, he and Jonathan deep in conversation with Drew and Trick about hockey, of all things. He was even laughing.
"We should take a picture of that," Lisa said.
Stella put her arm around Lisa. "I know. He almost looks human."
Lisa laughed.
The house was filled with the smell of Christmas, evergreen and eggnog and delicious food, and the warmth and laughter of new and old friends. For the first time in a very long time, Stella was relaxed.
And happy.
"I don't know when I've seen you smile so much," Carolina said later in the evening. The two of them sat on one of the corner sofas, staring out the window as snow flurries fell lightly from the sky.
Stella dragged her gaze away from the window to look at her friend. "I don't know when I've been so happy. My sister is here with me, and all my friends. I have this amazing new home, a career I adore, and most importantly, I've fallen in love with the man of my dreams. I don't know, Carolina. It almost seems . . ."
"Too good to be true?"
"Yes."
Carolina leaned over and squeezed her hand. "It's not. It's the happiness you deserve. The life you deserve, and the man you deserve."
Stella inhaled on a shaky breath. For so long she'd held the potential for happiness at arm's length, too afraid of hoping for it to believe it could ever come true.
But now, as she stared over the apartment, at all these people she lived with, worked with, and called friends, she was starting to believe that this happiness was real. That she did deserve it.
When Carolina wandered off to find Drew, she did her own wandering, stopping to talk to Lawrence. She was shocked to discover they had a lot in common. His parents had never wanted him to dance, and he'd struggled for years to find his footing and even longer to find success. When he finally achieved his goals, he swore he'd pay it forward, which was why he enjoyed being a choreographer now. For most of his life, dance had been the only thing that kept him going--until he'd fallen in love with Jonathan. She spent a good hour realizing that Lawrence worked his dancers hard not because he was an asshole, but because he wanted them all to be successful.
She had a new appreciation for her boss, who, it turned out, was a very kind man once you got him away from rehearsals. And Jonathan was adorable, and it was very clear the two of them were very much in love.
As she wound her way through the partygoers, she met up with her sister, and hugged her.
"Are you having a good time?"
Greta grinned and wrapped her arms around Stella. "This is going to be one of the best holidays ever. Thank you for letting me stay with you."
"I can't even imagine not having you here."
"You won't have me long."
Stella smiled. "Excited about your new apartment?"
"Ridiculously. It's like a whole new chapter of my life. New job, new apartment. New friends. I'm excited, Stell."
"I'm excited for you."
"And maybe a new guy," Greta smiled. "So if you don't mind, I think Avery is giving me that look."
Stella had noticed that her sister and Avery had been spending time together.
"Go ahead. And have some fun."
Greta gave her a wink. "I intend to."
A few hours later, the party wound down. They said their good-byes, and Greta informed her that she was going to go out with Avery for a while and may or may not be back later.
Which left her and Trick alone.
Trick was seeing the last of the guests out, so Stella stood at the window, marveling at how beautiful the city looked. The snow flurries had turned to actual snow now.
When she felt a warm set of arms surrounding her, she leaned against Trick's chest.
"It's going to be a white Christmas," she said.
"I guess that means we'll have to stay in tomorrow."
"I'm sure we'll figure out that whole 'cooking a turkey' thing."
He turned her around to face him, then tipped her chin up with his fingers. "Babe, I'm a master at that turkey thing."
"Yet something else I love about you."
"What? My cooking skills?"
She wound her arms around his neck. "No. The fact you don't panic about being snowbound on Christmas Day."
"Well, I think your sister might end up snowbound with Avery, which means we'll be snowbound alone together."
"I like the sound of that."
Trick kissed her, and it was as if the whole world fell away, and only she and Trick existed.
When he broke the kiss, he looked up at the clock on the wall. "Merry Christmas, Stella."
Her lips curved. "Merry Christmas, Trick."
"I have a gift for you."
She cocked a brow. "Is that right?"
"Yes. It'll require us to get naked."
She looped her arm in his as they headed to the bedroom. "Is this gift something I've seen before?"
"Well . . . maybe. But this gift can always be used in new and unique ways."
She tilted her head back and laughed. "Best. Gift. Ever."
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next Play-by-Play novel
QUARTERBACK DRAW
Available February 2015 from Headline Eternal
If there was one thing Grant Cassidy hated more than anything, it was PR. Doing commercial shoots was a necessary evil, and some he disliked more than others.
But right now he was in board shorts and bare feet, standing on a beach in Barbados, about to do a shoot for the annual swimsuit edition of a pretty damned famous sports magazine. There were about two dozen barely clad, tanned, gorgeous models who were going to take part in the shoot along with sev
eral athletes.
All in all? Not a bad gig.
"This I could get used to."
Grant grinned as one of his best friends, Trevor Shay, stood next to him.
"Don't get too used to it. Your girlfriend will kick your ass if you get too close to any of these models."
Trevor crossed his arms. "Yeah. I really wish Haven could be here in Barbados with me. But she's in school right now and couldn't make it. She did tell me to behave myself. Trust me, none of these women is as beautiful as mine."
Grant laughed. "You're blinded by love, my man."
"It's true. I am. And perfectly happy to go back to my bungalow at night all by myself. How about you? You like dating models. Got one scoped out yet?"
"I wasn't exactly looking. There are a lot of them here, though."
Trevor slapped him on the back as the assistant director motioned for him. "Hey, I'm up. I'll catch you at the bar later."
"Okay."
He stayed close and watched as Trevor was put into a shot on a hammock with a beautiful dark-skinned model. The model straddled Trevor, who Grant had to admit handled the whole thing professionally. As soon as it was over, Trevor shook the woman's hand and wandered off in the direction of the pool.
"You'll be up next, Grant," the assistant said. "We're pairing you up with Katrina Korsova."
"Sure." He knew who she was. Korsova was a big deal in the modeling world, one of those supermodels whose face and body were all over billboards, in magazines, and on television. She was a beauty and he was lucky to be doing the shoot with her. It would increase his profile, and he was all about exposure.
If he had to be here doing this shoot for the sports magazine, at least he was being paired up with one of the best in the business.
Once they readied the shot on the beach, he was called over and set up on his marks. He stood in the water up to his ankles. They'd already primped his hair, his face, and his skin. It all felt weird to him, but he'd done photo shoots before. They told him it was to combat shine and to make sure his hair would be gelled appropriately enough so it would behave.
Whatever. He was paid to do what he was told, just like in football. So he stood where they told him to stand.
"We're ready for you, Katrina," he heard the assistant say.
The models were clustered in shaded cabanas before the shoot, so he'd only caught glimpses of them.
Katrina stepped out, a gorgeous woman with long hair the color of midnight, wearing a swimsuit bottom that barely clung to her hips. It was more like two tiny pieces of cloth tied together with scraps. There wasn't much to the top, either. Just a couple of triangles that hardly covered her generous breasts.
She was curved in all the right places, and after she bent over so they could spray her hair wet, she straightened, flipped her hair back, and gave him a look.
Wow. Those eyes. They were so deep blue they were almost violet. Maybe they were violet. He had no idea, because he'd been struck dumb as she approached him.
He'd been around plenty of beautiful women before, but Katrina was . . . wow. Photos of her didn't do justice to what a knockout she really was.
"Grant Cassidy, this is Katrina Korsova."
She gave him a quick nod, then turned to the director, obviously all business and not as thunderstruck by him as he had been by her.
He was going to try to not be offended by that. Then again, she likely worked around good-looking male models all the time. He was no big deal, at least not in the modeling world.
"I want your arm around his, Katrina," the director said. "Katrina, your right breast against his chest, with you facing him. Let's see some heat here."
And just like that, she moved into him, her body warm and pliant as she slid her hand into his hair and tilted her head back. Their hips touched, their thighs made contact, and then she looked at him.
He'd never felt that pow of instant connection before, but he sure as hell felt it now. It was as if lightning had struck the center of his universe, and every part of him felt it.
Katrina blinked a few times, then frowned.
"Something wrong?"
"The angle. Give me a second," she said. He'd expected some type of Russian accent, but there was none, just the smoky hot darkness of her voice spilling from her lips. It was like drinking whiskey on a cold night. The sound of her voice heated him from the inside out. He'd never been slammed as hard as this before.
Katrina adjusted, her fingers tangling in his hair, giving him just a bit of a tug.
His lips curved. "So, you like that?" he asked.
"Just a job," she responded, then gave him a smoldering look, tilted her head toward him, and jutted her hips out just enough to hit him right in the crotch.
Goddammit. She'd done that on purpose.
He could do it as well. He raised his hand and laid it just above her hip, knowing he couldn't obscure the swimwear. After all, that's what they were advertising. His fingers bit into her skin, just enough that he caught the flash of awareness in her eyes.
"Yes, that's perfect," the director said. "Hold it there."
Grant heard the camera click several times.
"Now move. Get into each other. Lean in, touch. Be mindful of your angles, Katrina. And Grant, follow her lead."
"Yes, Grant," Katrina said, shifting just a touch, then picking up his hand and placing it on her butt. "Follow my lead."
It wasn't like he'd never posed for a photo session before. He wasn't a rookie here. He knew what he was doing, how to move and react to the camera, and when to be still.
Katrina might be the pro here, but he could play the game, too. He cupped her butt, making sure he didn't squeeze--just slid his fingers lightly over her skin, tucking his fingertips just inside the edge of her suit.
He heard every breath she took, saw the smoldering look in her eyes, and his body reacted.
So did hers, as her nipples pebbled, brushing against his chest.
His lips curved.
"Just a job" his ass.
And as he heard every few clicks of the camera, he turned his head, moved his body against hers, making sure their clothes remained the focus while keeping his gaze intently on hers. When he drew a strand of her hair between his fingers, letting his knuckles brush the swell of her breasts, he heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Just a job, right?" he asked, turning her around so her back was to him, so he could skim his hand down her arm, letting his fingers rest at her hip.
"This is perfect," the director said. "Keep doing what you're doing."
He listened to the sound of Katrina's breaths, got comfortable with her ass nestled into his crotch.
They fit damned perfect together. She was tall--taller than the average woman. He didn't have to crouch down to fit her to him. She had long legs. Really nice legs, too.
"Okay, let's break for a few," the director said. "You both need an outfit change. Then we'll resume."
Before he had a chance to say anything to her, she pushed off and walked away, heading into the cabana. An assistant handed her a bottle of water.
And just like that, she disappeared.
Friendly, wasn't she?
He wandered off at the direction of the staff to change his board shorts and to have his hair and makeup and adjusted. When he came back out, Katrina was in a short robe.
He was called out toward a tree facing the sun.
"Ready for you, Katrina," the director said.
She dropped the robe, and Grant blinked. Katrina wore only a thong bottom. She stood while they arranged her hair to partially cover her breasts.
And what fantastic breasts they were, too. He decided to look elsewhere, like out on the water, until she showed up in front of him. In this game they were playing, it was best for him not to show a physical reaction.
"Katrina, you against the tree. Grant, you plant one hand above her head to start, lean into her body."
Some of the assistants positioned them while Grant and Katrina mad
e eye contact.
She met his gaze with a cool one of her own, a challenge to him, as if she'd done this a million times, as if rubbing her breasts against his chest wasn't a big deal. To her, it probably wasn't. She wanted to know if he'd react.
He had a gorgeous, half-naked woman pressed up against him, and his dick was trying very hard to respond to that, while he was trying equally as hard to convince his dick nothing was going to happen out here on the beach with thirty other people watching.
"Ready?" the director asked.
Katrina tilted her head back toward the sun. "Yes."
Grant gave a quick nod, hoping like hell this wouldn't take long, especially since every time Katrina moved, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. And because she was topless, they had to take special care that no nipple was visible, so they took every shot carefully, stopping to rearrange her hair or strategically place his arm or hand.
It was interminable, and seemed to go on for hours. Katrina was patient through every shot, but to Grant, it was like a goddamned eternity.
"Is it always like this?" Grant asked Katrina during one of the many breaks.
Clearly comfortable standing around having her hair and makeup retouched, Katrina cocked her head to the side. "Like what?"
"Hours of this. Click and change positions. Click and redo the hair. Click and clothing changes."
"Oh. Yes. Always like this. Why? Are you bored?"
His lips curved and he glanced downward where her hair barely covered her generous breasts. "Hardly."
She rolled her eyes. "I doubt these are the first set of breasts you've seen. Not from what I've read about you."
"And here I thought you had no idea who I was."
"Oh, I know who you are, Grant. You've dated a few of my friends."
He wondered which ones. None of them were on location with him, and he'd always remained friends with the women he dated, so he doubted any of them had anything bad to say about him. "Is that right. And did you get a full report?"
"Yes."
"So that means you'll have dinner with me tonight."
She laughed, and he liked the sound of it.
"I don't think so."
He wasn't insulted, and he liked her confidence. They finished the shoot for the day since, according to the director, the light was leaving them. Katrina grabbed her robe and wandered off, and Grant went back to his bungalow to shower off all the makeup and hair gunk. He checked his phone and answered a few emails and text messages.
