by Amanda Rose
Gabriel enters me hard and fast with a deep groan of approval, slamming his body into me with the force of a man possessed. The guttural sounds coming from him are the sexiest things I have ever heard in my life. Wild and masculine. The deep feral noises of relief and the soft cries coming from my lips mix with the symphonic clang of keys. Every inch of my body is on fire and my eyelids flutter. My cunt pulses faster, encouraging him to increase the tempo. He does, fucking me harder. Driving his stiff cock into me over and over again, bruising my hips against the piano. A familiar pressure builds and my pussy clamps down.
The sweet song of sex between Gabe and I is short and hard and rough. And electrifying. I finish first, screaming and writhing against his powerful hips and the firm grip of his hand in my hair. But he doesn't stop thrusting. He rides my orgasm all the way through, pumping a few last times as I go limp beneath him. When he finally finishes, it's with a violent shudder.
He pulls out and backs up. My legs are weak and shaky, so without his strong arms holding me up, I can't stand. Still panting, I collapse onto the floor in shock. When I look up at him, he is lost in thought and the chiseled features of his face are unreadable.
“Holy shit. That was amazing,” I say with a laugh. “Now get dressed for dinner. And don't take too long. Your brothers are waiting outside in the limo.”
Gabriel doesn't smile, but he doesn't frown either. He just looks down at me and, after a moment, reaches out his hand for mine, pulling me to my feet.
I realize my torn panties are still stuck to my right heel.
“Guess you'll just have to go to dinner without them,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk.
I glare at his back as he moves away and leaves to get dressed.
When he returns, his face is as cold as ever … and it's almost like the moment between us never happened.
The rest of the night goes like you'd expect.
The Northington brothers treat me to a beautiful restaurant that is way above something I could ever afford. Expensive wine. Phenomenal food. A ton of flirting. It's the best date I've ever been on. Sad, I know, that the best date I ever had is all fake. But I decide I might as well enjoy myself.
We talk about all kinds of things, most of it frivolous, like our favorite Christmas movie or whether we prefer our Christmas lights to blink or not. The five of us end the night with after-dinner drinks at Jack's house. We stay up so late, just getting to know each other that I decide to stay the night in a guest bedroom.
Alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
I'm sitting next to the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
Well, at least top five.
Angelic blue eyes and soft shoulder-length golden hair are not what you would expect on a man as savagely gorgeous as this. His face is like something out of a romance novel, with strong chiseled features and a sharp slash of mouth schooled in an emotionless mask of boredom. Even dressed in an expensive suit and tie, Colden Northington has this rugged quality to him. Masculine. Beastly. Stunning.
He ignites a primal lust deep in my belly, something base and animalistic. My femininity wants nothing more than to succumb to primordial desires and mate with the virile male sitting only a few feet from me. A thin scar runs down the length of his face, from his forehead all the way over his right eye and onto the corner of of his mouth. And he is huge. Massive. And like seriously ripped. Not a single Northington brother was under six feet, but Colden … he dwarfs them all. He has this whole Nordic Viking warrior sort of look to him.
“How was your flight?” he asks stoically. Even cold and emotionless, his voice comes out a sumptuous feast of Lucullan notes. Shrewdly, he watches me with only mild curiosity. His face is schooled into a mask of apathy. He doesn't trust me. The thought itself is frustrating, but I decide since we have to spend the next six days alone together, I won't let it get to me.
“It was amazing,” I say with a smile. I don't have to fake it because that simple statement doesn't begin to describe how incredible it was to fly on a private plane. No security or busy airport terminals. Comfy seats, two flight attendants all to myself, no dealing with the crowded airport. I used the time to get some work done and started planning the Christmas party. “I even managed to set up a meeting with the caterer for tomorrow afternoon if you'd like to join me?” I hope the invitation will get him to warm up to me a little bit.
“Perhaps,” he says. One word, not an iota of emotion in his voice. He is giving me this whole ice king vibe that I just don't buy. Several times, I catch a flash of his extraordinary blue eyes observing me. We sit in silence, watching the scenery go by for about fifteen minutes before I decide I can't take it anymore.
“Have I done something wrong?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.
“No.” He turns to look at me for only the briefest of moments before very pointedly turning back to the snowy landscape outside the window. I couldn't get the message any clearer if he'd sent me a memo. I don't want to talk to you. What have I ever done for him to so strongly reject my every attempt at conversation?
“Am I really so insignificant that I don't merit a proper answer?” I ask, frustrated by the cold shoulder he is giving me. This gets his full attention for the first time since I got in the car.
“I gave you a proper answer,” he says, daring me to argue. As intimidating as he is, I'm sure very few people ever question anything he says, but the tone in his voice just a little too patronizing for me to let it go.
“I don't care who your father is or how rich you are. If you continue talk to me like I'm a child or an idiot, the engagement is off.” I choose my words carefully since we are in a car instead of a limo and there is no privacy glass between us and the driver.
Colden shifts his massive muscular body toward me with unbelievable feline grace. His blank face is too reticent, too perfectly emotionless to be real. Is this mask for me or just an inveterate vizard of a ruthless businessman? He looks me up and down like he is truly seeing me for the first time. Now that the full weight of his intellect is focused on me, I feel self-conscious.
“Oh, now there's a threat that tantalizes my taste buds,” he says, completely stone-faced. The alliteration slides off his tongue enticingly. The frustrating thing about his deadpan delivery is I can't tell if he is mocking me, if he is flirting, or if he is doing neither. His continued impassivity is making me feel so flustered and I hate it.
“Are you mocking me?” I ask, trying to get him to react. When he doesn't, I stare unashamedly, searching the majestic lines of his stoic face for some indication of … any emotion really. He catches my eyes with his own and holds them there. I am drawn into the cool blue of the glacial depths with the same exquisite ferocity I felt for the other four Northington men. My heart starts pounding under the slow, careful scrutiny.
“Why would I do a cruel thing like that to my precious fiancée?” He delivers the question with near perfect diction, like he's snapping each word of the end of his tongue, but not with heat … just … nothing. That's how I know it to be a lie; nobody is that unfeeling.
“I didn't think it possible, but you might be even more frustrating than Gabe.”
“You still fucked him, didn't you?” Colden asks, still bored, still entirely unengaged with the conversation.
“That's none of your business,” I hiss, turning away and my refocusing my gaze out the window.
“I think the men with whom my fiancée copulates is entirely my business.”
I don't bother looking back at him. Why should I? When all I'll see is a perfect face, but the perfect face of a statue, carved of stone and empty of feeling.
“It's not your business because—news flash—I'm not just yours.” I mean to say not just your fiancée.
Even though I know I shouldn't, I flick my gaze back to Colden and see a fire in his eyes, flickering for the span of an instant before it disappears. His body stiffens up and he jerks his head away from me, the muscles in his neck clenching tight with strai
n.
He doesn't answer me, and I don't press the matter.
We sit in silence the rest of the drive, We Three Kings playing softly over the car's speakers.
And all I can think … is I have five kings.
Even if one is made of ice.
The head housekeeper, Anita, a charming middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair and warm brown eyes greets us at the door when we arrive. About a minute after walking into the magnificent foyer, Colden leaves me with her, claiming that he has a few work related things to wrap up. I try not to take it too personally, but my feeling are just a bit hurt.
Anita gives me a quick rundown of the estate, promising that she will give me a full tour tomorrow if Colden doesn't get a chance to show me around first. She gives me a big, genuine hug before taking off to do her job. I wander around the inside of the building, taking notes and pictures.
The Northington Family Chateau is huge and grand and beautiful, perched on the snow drenched evergreen mountains of Colorado, a massive Tudor mansion that blends superbly into the green and white forests around it.
The home has more than any normal person could ever want: ten bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, a private gym, a grand entryway connected to a massive ballroom, a two story library, three living rooms, a formal dining room, two swimming pools—one indoor and one outdoor that takes advantage of the magnificent views, both with attached attached hot tubs—a cedar sauna, a movie theater, a private ski-on slope entrance and the kitchen of my dreams, all with breathtaking views of the snowy mountains. The structure just oozes old-world elegance with dark wood moldings and huge open fireplaces. Nothing could suit a cozy Christmas feel more than a house like this. Yet to me, it just feels unloved. I make my way to the grand ballroom. There's a fireplace so big, several full-sized adults could comfortably stand in it; the large circular room has windows all around.
“Where are all the decorations?” I say to myself. There isn't a single piece of mistletoe or garland anywhere on the property. Not a single strand of lights. Not even the simple cozy warmth of a roaring fireplace. This house could be amazing, but right now, it just feels so sad. Neglected. It's missing the warm feel of family and friends.
“Don't have any,” Colden says tersely. I whip my head around and see him standing in the doorway that connects the ballroom to the foyer.
“That's a shame. I just want to take a few measurements and we can go somewhere to talk,” I tell him. He slips his hand into the pocket of his gray slacks and leans against the doorjamb. There is something so effortlessly graceful about the way he moves. A shiver runs down my spine, and I can feel the profound weight of his crisp, arctic blue eyes following me, but only when he thinks I'm not looking. Whenever I try to meet his eyes, he just stares back blankly like there couldn't be a person on this earth that he is less intrigued by. Am I imagining it?
“I'm busy today.” Another curt answer. Well if that isn't a brush-off, I don't know what is. But I can still feel the tingle of his cold blue eyes on me as I move about the room taking notes.
“Okay then, tomorrow,” I say exasperated. I am getting really tired of being brushed off. They asked me here to do a job, but every time I try to do it, Colden tells me to get lost. It's frustrating, to say the least.
“No. You don't need me to do your job.” His frosty voice has this tone of finality to it. That arrogant son of a snowflake. I have gone out of my way to make the best of this unusual situation. Why am I even here?
“Should I go home?” I say with a big obvious sigh. If he doesn't want me here, I'd like to know now so I can go home and spend the holidays with Lucia. Because after all, Christmas is all about family and she's all I've got.
“Of course not.” The phrase snaps of his tongue, lightning fast. My eyes go wide and my mouth hangs open. He might be gorgeous, but he is an emotionless a-hole.
Colden furrows his brow, breaking the mask of impassivity for the first time today. Behind his eyes, something shifts and I catch the briefest glimpse of something. Searing. Passionate. Magnificent. The depth of emotion that shows through the shield takes my breath away. The sudden change in attitude throws me for a loop. Maybe I wasn't imagining that look in the car after all?
He might be smart and perceptive, but apparently I'm going have to spell it out for him. If he continues to act this way, I am wasting my time. If their father is truly the wonderful loving man they claim him to be, he will instantaneously know that Colden and I are not engaged. Heck, a five year old wouldn't buy it.
We need somewhere private where we can talk freely.
I turn around and walk right up to him, forcing him to look at me. He is so tall—six four at least—that I have to crane my neck back to look him in his face. The way his massive frame towers over me is such a turn-on. How good would it feel like to be wrapped in the comforting embrace of his muscular arms? The warm earthy scents of cedar and pine surround me. He smells like a Christmas tree, only muskier. I inhale deeply. The smell has the same rugged masculinity as the rest of him.
“Where is our bedroom?” I say, a little breathier than I intend. Colden goes stiff, every one of his ample muscles tightening for a moment before relaxing back into the mask of unreadable composure he's had on since the first moment I met him.
“Up the stairs, the big double doors at the end of the hall.” He turns to leave with a dismissive wave of his hand. From behind, the sculpted lines of his athletic build are even more mouthwatering. An image of me dropping to my knees in front of the herculean might of the blue-eyed sex god flashes through my head. A familiar rush of heat and desire races through me. My prurient desires are starting to become troublesome. Distracting. Turn it off, Natalie. Do your job.
“I'd like you to join me,” I reply before he gets more than a few feet from me. I manage to school my tone into something at least in the realm of professional. He pauses slowly, glancing back in my direction, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes search my face like he thinks I'm messing with him.
“That is not a good idea.” His calm, deep voice slides over my skin in an irresistibly sexy way.
“Why is that?” I manage to keep the professional tone. Just barely.
“Because if I'm alone with you and a bed, I don't know what I will do,” he says through clenched teeth. Holy crap. Did he just say what I think he did? The clear meaning behind the words makes my blood rush through my body, and my toes curl with excitement. He's just as attracted to me as I am to him.
“Wait, what?s” I'm so flustered at this point I don't know how to respond.
“I have poor self-control. And you …” He stops talking, but the meaning is clear. His hungry gaze looks me up and down and he licks his lips. Lust rolls off of him in almost palpable waves. His hard chest rises and falls with each deep breath. “I … no,” he growls the last word, but it seems to be aimed more at himself than me. He leans over, resting his hands on his knees and stares at the floor.
“I don't understand,” I say, closing the distance between us tentatively. I approach him like he is a wounded animal. Unpredictable. Dangerous. “Are you okay?” I reach out and gently rest my hand on his shoulder. There is a shock of electricity. He snaps his head to look at me. He felt it too.
The power of his sinful, savage gaze leaves me panting, transfixed. Frozen and in awe. Time stops and I feel the whole world fall away. He rights himself, watching me out of those angelic blue eyes. Colden reaches up, sliding his hand along my neck to the base of my skull the same time he leans toward me. This firm grip guides my mouth to his. The kiss is deep and hungry and oh so sexy. He tastes like an animal with a broken soul. My body relaxes against his hard chest. His tongue teases mine, coaxing small noises of pleasure from my throat. We stay mouth to mouth, tongues dancing for several minutes.
I cant help but think how different his kiss is from his brothers. Hudson is cocky and practiced and flirty. Whittaker is commanding and disciplined and sure. Jack is romantic, sweet and encouraging. And Gabriel … I've
never actually kissed him. But I know it will be cruel and rough and angry, just like he fucks.
When Colden finally pulls back and breaks the kiss, I'm left panting; the throbbing ache between my thighs is back and stronger than ever. I stand there in awe, my body trembling with sudden overwhelming need. He stares down at me, blue eyes surprised but happy, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
All of a sudden, it's like a dark cloud rolls over him and the moment of contentment is gone. He backs up a few steps, putting several feet between us. The way he's looking at me, you'd think I'd sprouted horns and a bright red nose.
“Stay the hell away from me. I don't work right. I'm dangerous. Can't you take a hint?” His shock has morphed into anger and he's directing it at me. That's so goddamn frustrating since I have no idea what's going on. Or why he's acting like a caged polar bear. Not to mention he's the one who kissed me, not the other way around. My dad was an abusive alcoholic, and I escaped that life a long time ago; I won't let myself be intimidated by any man ever again.
“If you want this engagement to work, we really need to have a private conversation.” I stand up and project my voice in an attempt to let him know how serious I am. Christmas is my favorite time of year and I'm giving up all of my own traditions to be here with him and his brothers. Besides, if he is truly as dangerous as he thinks then I'd like to know before the maid staff and the groundskeeper go home for the night. But I know in my heart of hearts that I can trust him—even if he doesn't trust himself for whatever reason.
“I said, I can't,” he snaps. It's my turn to clench my teeth. I wont be treated that way, no matter the reason. I think he can tell he made a mistake because he backs off considerably. He rubs his hands over his face then closes his eyes and inhales slowly. After several breaths, he opens them and the impenetrable wall around his emotions is back.
