Holiday Sparks: A Christmas Romantic Comedy

by Taryn Quinn

  She took his mini-laptop and left him with the circuit boards. “Let’s get going.”

  Darcy caught herself mid-yawn again. She’d worked on a few outstanding displays she never seemed to have enough time for during her regular shift but kept an eye on Ben. He was focused—frowning over his screen, pushing back his hair, jamming his pencil between his teeth. Very distracting.

  He looked massive and yet somehow comfortable on the floor. With all his bulky muscles, he was oddly graceful. And more than able to sit in one spot without moving. He didn’t have a fidgety nature, which was probably key since he had to hold weird positions for long blocks of time as a tattoo artist. She couldn’t stop staring at his long, graceful fingers.

  And that was the path to destruction.

  Every time he touched her, she wanted more.

  She’d never been a sexual creature before, but around him she couldn’t stop thinking about just what he could do with those artist hands. And maybe he was right. Whatever she’d done and whomever she’d been with before—it wasn’t Ben.

  It was a heady feeling.

  And downright hard to define. She was used to meeting someone, dating, waiting at least a few weeks before she thought about taking a man to bed. With Ben, all she could think about was getting him against any available flat surface. After that kiss earlier, she could only imagine what he’d do if he was focused on her with unlimited space and time.

  Just her and just him.

  “So tell me, Darcy. Why oh why do you hate Christmas?”

  “Do we really need to go over that again?”

  “Yep. Because I’m about to make you love it. And I want to know why it sucks so hard in your opinion.”

  “Making it beautiful won’t make it less of a pain in the butt. I’ve never really been all that into it. My mom always worked through the holiday. And for her, Christmas was her only day off. It was hard to celebrate when she was so exhausted. So it just became another day. And then I started working retail, and that was all she wrote.”

  “But wouldn’t it be the day to celebrate that you got to spend time with your mom?”

  “She was so exhausted she usually slept most of the day.”

  He frowned. “You didn’t leap on her bed with bouncing blonde pigtails and demand to see what Santa brought you?”

  She stopped a few feet away from the front of the store. “Santa made a really small pit stop at my house, and when I figured out he didn’t exist, well…I couldn’t see making my mom spend unnecessarily on me.”

  She hadn’t meant to say so much.

  What was it about Ben Hartley that made her do things that were so out of character? He didn’t need to know her sob story. What a way to kill the mood. He moved into her space and she froze. Now he was going to feel sorry for her. She was asking for a night alone the way she was going.

  He lifted her chin with his finger. There was sadness in his deep, dark eyes but there was also a steady calmness. “I come from a single-parent home too.” He kept his eyes open as he leaned in. The kiss was sweet and slow. Like their first kiss, it was spring-breeze soft. Her eyes drifted shut and she fell into his taste. He kept it light and she followed his lead. Content to drift on the gentleness in his touch, she sighed when he drew back.

  “I’m going to make you love Christmas again.”

  She reached up to cup his face. “How about you make my store look like Christmas on crack and we’ll be even.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment then stood back. “Okay, we’ve got some testing to do.”

  She followed him to the displays, placing his laptop on the counter at the customer service desk. Ben had taken over a corner of it to set up the wireless circuit boards. It was the largest area and he could get at it easily if anything happened through the holidays. The things he could do with Bluetooth technology were as close to amazing as she’d ever seen.

  He hopped over the desk and disappeared behind the tree to plug in whatever it was that he’d created back there. He flipped the switch and the front end literally glowed. Every light was on and without the rest of the store’s halogens it was even more pronounced. The tree was majestic with the classy white lights and huge, colorful ornaments he’d bought. Instead of the greens, purples and blues that had been on the first tree now it was all gold, red and orange. The only kaleidoscope of color was the trunk of the tree. He’d lined it with colored fat retro bulbs.

  Their LED light was bright in a strangely flat way and served as a perfect base for the warm LED whites he’d bought. She thought it would dull the color of the tree, but it only accentuated the golds of the ornaments and made the whole room pop. If she didn’t know better, she’d be expecting a warm fire to be crackling bedside the tree.

  He’d used a cooler-toned white light to decorate the evergreen wreaths behind each register. Fat silver bows hung from the bottoms with holly berries instead of ornaments. It was pure class. Even without the light show, the man knew how to create an amazing space. She lifted herself onto the podium Jaime used to watch over the cashiers and direct traffic on the busy days.

  Ben was behind the customer service desk at the back wall, directly across from her. He was intent on his little shells of electronics and tapping on his laptop. Suddenly an updated version ofO Holy Night shot out of the speakers, making her heart jump. Christina Aguilera’s unique voice soared.

  The displays fluttered then steadied. The tree light took on a swirling pattern in time with the soft song. It was as lovely as fairy wings. Surely something so elegant couldn’t be designed so easily. Just how much work had he put into this? The song drifted into a jazzy piano piece with a gospel chorus and the tree flashed and came alive.

  She couldn’t stop the smile.

  The man was good.

  In fact, it was even better than she’d hoped for.

  He came around the counter and walked to her as the song changed to Elvis. He crossed the floor and held his hand out to her. She laughed and shook her head. He circled her waist and pulled her down from the podium, drawing her into an easy box step. She laughed. “Where did you learn to dance?”

  “Single mom.” He dragged her hands up and around his neck and laced his fingers at her back. Thigh to thigh, they swayed to Elvis’ smoky voice as he sang about a blue Christmas. The lights on the tree slowly faded in brightness, went back to full light, then twirled down the length of the tree and took a slow trip around the entire display.

  “Impressed doesn’t cover it, Ben.”

  “I told you I’d make the store amazing.”

  “You did.” She laid her head on his shoulder and let him lead her around in a soft swaying circle. The song ended, but instead of another Christmas one, a heavy rock power ballad remake made her giggle. The powerful and gritty guitars flooded the room and amazingly the lights shimmered in time to the drums. “How?”

  “Any song can be programmed.”

  She played with the ends of his flyaway hair and rose onto her tiptoes. “George Michael is probably wincing right now.”

  “I like it.”

  Darcy laughed. “I’m never going to think of Careless Whisper without thinking of this.”

  “Good.” He lowered his head and the dance of lights disappeared behind closed lids as he kissed her. This one wasn’t sweet. It was as gritty as the guitars that gave new flavor to an old song. Her fingers bunched into his shirt, her nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders as she held on. They’d teased each other all evening. “Come home with me, Darcy.” He breathed into her neck, nipping her clavicle.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  He pulled back. “Of course you do.”

  She crossed her forearms behind his neck, unable to stop herself from letting his hair sift between her fingers. “You live in my house.”

  “Oh.” He nuzzled his nose against hers. “Come to my side. Stay with me tonight.”

  “All night?”

  “I’m going to need all night.”


  She shivered. He wasn’t being boastful. She could see it in his eyes—he was going to take his time. She wanted him. She couldn’t deny it, not when she’d been a live wire of sensations since that moment under the tree. This was her last night to do something for herself. She’d have to face Mr. and Mrs. Blackstone tomorrow. And her Thanksgiving wouldn’t be her own. She would need to be at the store at three the day after to ready it for the five a.m. door busters.

  She nodded. It would need to last her for a while.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. The rules didn’t apply to anything that had Ben in the subject line. And she liked it that way.

  Chapter Seven

  His headlights cut through the deep blackness of their neighborhood. At two in the morning there was barely a light on. The streetlamps were on sensors, clicking on as they drove past the stone sign for Oakwood Gardens, like a halogen arrow leading them home.

  He parked his truck on his side of the driveway. Darcy pulled in after him, her coupe silent on the recently sealed blacktop. He stepped down, his work boots crunching on the frosted lawn. His breath curled in front of him, a wispy specter of heat on the cold night.

  The little tree was a spotlight, a mini-me to the tree they’d worked on all night. Twin spheres of light above each of their doors was a final bit of welcome. The winter white of her coat emphasized the paleness of her cheeks. Her fair hair that wouldn’t stay in its bonds made his fingertips itch to get into all of that silk. But it was the dark watchfulness of her eyes that was his undoing. They didn’t rush. Instead, they climbed the stairs together. Her pinkie brushed his forefinger, but that was their only contact.

  He dug out his keys and opened the door, backing his way in. She passed him, the whisper of wool brushing against his own peacoat. He shut the door and followed, clicking on a light. Then he tossed his coat on a chair, curling his fingers into his palms. He was as eager as a teenager, for fuck’s sake.

  His hands shook a little as he came up behind her and smoothed his fingertips over the wool covering her shoulders. Her bag thudded to the floor. His knuckles grazed along her neck, the corn-silk softness of her hair tickling his wrists as he slowly drew her coat down her arms.

  She looked over her shoulder, the dim light making her skin seem impossibly fragile. The freckles dusting her skin were even more pronounced. He placed her coat over the arm of the couch that bisected the room then came up behind her again. The curve of her bottom fit against his hips, her shoulders rested against his chest and the back of her neck slid into place along his. He circled her hips, his fingers tightening on the belt loops of her jeans as he finally took his first taste of her in his space.

  He nosed his way along the endless line of her neck, trailing a soft kiss up to her ear. “This is what you want?”

  She nodded. A small quake vibrated through her and into his chest. He twisted the denim and breathed through the urge to take. He wanted more than just clawing needs and recriminations in the morning. He’d had lifetimes of that. This woman was more than mistakes and misdeeds.

  He smoothed his palm over her midriff, lifting her shirt until he found skin. She covered his hand with her own, bringing him up to cup her breast. The simple cotton burned under his palm. Or was it the bead of her nipple against the heel of his hand? She slowly swayed against him. The curve of her bottom brushed against his jeans and a little hiccupping sigh melted into him.

  With his other hand he dipped down over her jeans and guided her closer. The tips of his fingers hovered over the seam of her jeans, his palm cupping and squeezing her breast as he kissed her neck. She heated under his touch like a slow candle flame that could, and probably would, burn him alive.

  Tucking into the natural curve of her, he hardened against the cleft of her bottom. He unzipped her jeans, all the while teasing one nipple, then the other, through the lightweight cotton. His tugs grew sharper with each bite of her nails into his wrist as she clung to his forearm.

  He drew the fleshy lobe of her ear between his teeth, the wild ocean scent of her strongest behind her ears. Her hair was full of the clean scent. It seemed fitting since the damn ocean seemed to be roaring between his ears. He dipped his fingers down into her jeans, finding more cotton and then soft, slick flesh. He groaned against her neck and pushed lower.

  She rolled her head against his collarbone, her hips jerking under his touch. He held her tighter. His dick was near strangled in his jeans, but he wouldn’t stop even if his damn house was on fire. No, her house was on fire. His rhythm stuttered for a moment and he put that thought out of his mind, concentrating on her pleasure, on feeding the hunger within him into her. He wanted to hear her cry out his name. Wanted to know it was him that made her feel like this and not just a willing body.

  He loved that he could bring out her laughter and her passion. He hooked the tips of two fingers deeper. Slick with her excitement, he pressed harder until the friction of his fingers made her gasp and twist against him. Her nails scraped down his arm, through the hair. “You feel so good. Hot and wet.”

  She whimpered and the shudder that racked her made him ache to be inside her. To feel that clench around him. She drew her other hand up to his hair and held him tighter to her even as they both bowed under the strength of her release.

  “That’s it, darlin’. Let go. God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  And she was. Sweet and so goddamn responsive. She twisted in his arms, wrapping around him as she buried her face in his neck. He gripped her hips, banding his forearms around her waist. Stunned, he held her firm. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  She shook her head and the sniffle of emotion surprised him. “I’m sorry.”

  He buried his hands in her hair and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Don’t be sorry. You’re beautiful. That was beautiful.”

  “I feel stupid.”

  He leaned back, drawing her chin up. The wetness on her cheeks humbled him. This woman was so wrapped into herself, so tightly controlled, hadn’t she ever just let go? “Don’t. You’re anything but stupid.” He leaned down, pressing his mouth to hers. “Come upstairs with me.”

  She ducked her head, then lifted her gaze to his and nodded.

  With linked fingers they climbed the steps. At the top, she pulled to the left but he shook his head. “This way.” He drew her down the dark hallway. A tiny LED nightlight glowed from his bathroom. When he flicked the light switch inside his bedroom door, a small desk lamp lit the corner, leaving them in muted shadow. He stopped in the middle of the room, his king-sized bed at her back. He pushed her hair over her shoulder and followed the curving line of her t-shirt that dipped just below her clavicle. He trailed the tips of his fingers over her curves until he found the bottom of her shirt and lifted it.

  She raised her arms, goose bumps flooding down and her nipples tightening against the smooth cotton of her simple white bra. He reached behind her, carefully unhooking it, and drew the straps down. Trying to take things slow, he took a deep breath. Her nipples were a few shades darker than the freckles that dusted her entire upper half. He cupped the pale weight of her breasts, brushing his thumbs lightly over her tight peaks.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted as he plucked the tips.

  Going slow might just kill him.

  But he was more than willing to throw himself into the fray if it extended the night.

  He trailed lightly over her ribs and dragged her in, lifting her into his arms. She gasped and grabbed hold of his shoulders, hooking her ankles at his back.

  He latched his mouth to her throat and a low groan escaped. “You have the longest goddamn legs. I’m going to lay you out and taste every inch before tonight is over.”

  She slipped her hands into his hair and drew his mouth to hers. The kiss was hot and anything but slow. He tumbled them onto his bed. Her quick laugh made his dick even harder as she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him.

  He knelt between her thighs. “What?”

 
“I did not expect to do this tonight.” She tugged at his shirt until it came up over his head. He smiled down at her. Pale hair tumbled over his midnight-colored sheets. She smoothed her palm over his shoulders, down his arm that wasn’t inked and pulled his hand up to her face. Peach-soft skin filled his palm, demanding patience where he wanted only to take. She explored her way down his other arm, smoothing the pad of her thumb over the flames that exploded around his shoulder and down to the flashpoint where the tree sat, then down the serpentine body of the dragon that hugged his forearm. The tip of her nail traced the dragon tail that circled his wrist, the point accentuating the Chinese character that bloomed over the inside of his wrist in a deep red.

  “What does this mean?”

  “Hope.”

  She looked up at him and drew her hands up to cup his face, pulling him down on top of her. The first contact of his skin to hers was so good he hissed out a groan. The tips of her breasts burned into his skin. She opened her legs, cradling him into her. He dug his knuckles into the mattress and lifted himself over her, undulating his hips against where his body wanted to go most.

  She gripped his back, her fingertips tightening on his lower spine to draw him closer. Her deep green eyes were wide and so fucking innocent it made his chest ache. She trailed her nails around his belly. The tickle had him arching over her.

  Then she levered herself up and flipped him, straddling his thighs with a wide smile. Her long, graceful fingers went to his belt. “The slow thing? Maybe when I’m not so wound up I could scream I’d appreciate it. But right now?” She flicked her tongue around his navel. “Can’t wait.”

  His cock was pulsing with each pull of her fingers at his fly. His belly tightened as her cool fingers slid under the band of his boxers. He lifted his hips, groaning as she reached around and dragged his jeans and boxers down over his ass. She crawled backward and the tip of his cock grazed her cheek.

  Fuck.