Snow and Seduction: A Steamy Reverse Harem Winter Collection

by Amanda Rose

“Fine. I'm going upstairs to get settled. If you don't join me before it gets dark outside, I have no reason to stay and I will get on a plane first thing in the morning.” I start walking up the stairs; with each step, my heels click against the wood floor, and when I stop, the silence feels unbearable. “One more thing—I want an apology.” With that, I leave him alone in the silent foyer of the grandest house I have ever seen with only his thoughts for company.

  I'm still reeling from everything that happened just now.

  The toe curling pleasure of Colden's lips on mine. The look of panic in his arctic blue eyes as he warned me to stay away. The instantaneous shift from cold to red-hot then back again. It was like riding a rollercoaster of unpredictability.

  I'm too tired to really enjoy the stunning suite I'll be staying in for the next week. I head straight for the bed, collapsing right on top of the white duvet. My stomach is in knots of worry.

  What if Colden doesn't come to talk to me? Will I be giving up my only chance at getting my business off the ground? But it's more than that. I made a deal and I don't want to break it. Even though the Northington brothers are haughty and arrogant, and they walk around like they expect everyone in the world to beg for the chance to kiss their ass, I still don't want to disappoint them.

  And the most surprising thing is, I'm actually excited to hang out with them. All of them. Not because of money. Not because of sex, but just because I enjoyed the little time I spent with each of them. I want to know more—no I need to know more about them.

  I lie there for about fifteen minutes before I decide I need to hear a friendly voice.

  Lucia picks up after only two rings, as usual.

  “What's he like? Is he as hot as the others or did they hide him away in Colorado for a reason?” she asks with a laugh. And I can practically hear her flicking her hair over her shoulder. It's one of her ticks. She does it constantly while she talks on the phone.

  “First off, Vail is stunning, like right off a Christmas card. And their house is unbelievable. It's basically a castle,” I say first, pointedly ignoring her question while I think about my answer. I don't really know how to put into words the simultaneous frustration and attraction that I'm experiencing.

  “Colden is … interesting?”

  “So he isn't hot?” she asks and I can hear her pinching her brow in confusion, trying to figure out what I mean. I laugh.

  “He is fucking magnificent. He has this whole cold, aloof Viking dude thing going on.” I snap my fingers even though she can't see me. “You know who he reminds me of? Alexander Skarsgård, from True Blood.”

  “I am so fucking jealous right now. You're staying in a mansion in Vail with a dude as hot as Eric from True Blood. No fair,” she says with a little groan.

  “Hotter.” I pause for a second, thinking of how to describe his strange behavior. “He's weird though. He barely talks or looks me in the eye, ditches me with the head housekeeper. When I see him next, he kisses me out of nowhere.” I know this isn't going to make any sense to her unless I explain everything.

  “Oh. Snap. There five minutes and already getting a little action.”

  “I don't know if I would go that far,” I reply. I tell her the rest of what happened. True to girlfriend style, I give her every little detail. His warnings. My ultimatum. Everything. Even how good he smells. By the time we're done talking, I feel a lot better. Girlfriend time is important, even if it's only over the phone. I wish her a goodnight, promise to call her sometime tomorrow, and hang up.

  I really look around for the first time. The room I'm in is a massive suite with its own sitting room complete with fireplace—later I'll ask someone to show me how to light a fire—a dream bathroom with a soaking tub, my own personal balcony, and … what I thought was another room but is actually a walk-in closet, bigger than my room at my sister's house.

  Row after row of clothes, all with the tags on, greet me as I fling the doors wide. The far wall has a back-lit unit of shelves covered in shoes: Manolo Blahniks, Balenciaga, and of course, Louboutins. There are others, too, but I don't recognize them. I bet Lucia would. She's going to die when I tell her about this. There's only one thing out of place. On the floor in the center of the closet is a huge bouquet of flowers, all red and white. Attached is a note.

  We wanted to let you know we had a wonderful time last night. This closet is an early Christmas present from all of us to you. We have been looking for the right girl to give it to for a very long time.

  – Whit

  P.S. Can't wait to fuck you again.

  The cheeky jerk, just assuming I'm going to fuck him again. I'm smiling though.

  If Colden doesn't come to me then screw him. I'm staying despite what I said, at least until the other guys get here.

  I take a shower and slip into a pair of silk pajamas from the closet, turning on a cheesy made for TV Christmas movie in the background. If I'm staying, I have a ton of things that need to get done.

  I make a bunch of calls, arranging meetings to start setting up for the Christmas eve bash. The hardest part is figuring out where I can get a twenty foot Christmas tree and seven smaller ones. I'm flying in a talented string quartet I've worked with in the past to play background music. I've already crossed off one of the major things on my checklist. Yay for me.

  I call Jack for help getting decorations from NHI shipped here overnight so that I can start preparations. He's beyond helpful, promising that everything but the specialty ornaments for all the trees will arrive in the next two days.

  We end up talking for over an hour, the sensual notes of his smoky voice warming up the empty coldness of the sprawling house. He tells me not to worry about Colden, to just give him time and he will come around. After we say our goodbyes, I just lie there with a smile on my face. I have a crush on Jack Northington. The thought hits me all of a sudden. I'm like some stupid lovestruck teenager.

  I collapse back on the bed to just relax for a minute before I try to start working out where to get enough live garland for a house this size. The stress of the day must get to me because in the blink of an eye, I fall into a deep and restful sleep on top of the luxurious cloud of a bed. My thoughts dance not with sugar plums, but with the memory of Colden's mouth, pressing hard and firm against my own.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I wake to the crackling sound of a fireplace and the faint howling of winter winds. Someone has covered me with a big soft blanket. The soothing scent of pine and cedar surrounds me.

  I sit up on the bed and rub my eyes. Faintly, I can make out the silhouette of someone sitting in one of the wingback chairs next to the flickering light of the fireplace.

  My heart starts racing. It's him.

  Colden sits lost in thought, watching the dancing flames, the orange light casting long shadows on the sculpted lines of his face. His shirt is hanging loose and open, exposing his firm, muscular chest.

  I pad over and sit in the chair opposite him, tucking my legs up underneath me. We sit in companionable silence for a while, just watching the fire. When I finally get the courage to look in his direction, he's already watching me.

  I don't know if it's the soothing heat of the fire, the gentle whistle of the winter storm outside, or just the quiet hush of the December night, but in this moment … Colden just looks like a normal man. Not a stone-faced billionaire, numb to all emotion, or a frenzied animal about to lash out blindly. He speaks first, his deep voice low, an almost whisper.

  “I want you to stay, and I'm sorry.” The quiet sincerity of his words sends a flush of gentle pressure throughout my body and my heart races a frantic rhythm in my chest. The comfort of the cozy setting soothes some of fervid heat that seems to take over whenever I'm around the five Northington men.

  “Apology accepted.” I truly mean it, but I continue so that he can really understand. “Please don't do that to me again. My dad used to take his anger out on me, act as though I were to blame for every broken part of himself.” Colden drops his head
in shame; he doesn't speak or move. The sharp lines of his face a chiseled masterpiece. Why can't I stay away from these damaged, dangerous men?

  I can feel him shutting down.

  I won't let him retreat back into the cold confines of his frozen heart. I want to help him let go of the mask. If I accomplish nothing else before I leave but to trade out the cold, detached specter of the man before me with someone with passion and capacity for love, the world will be a better place.

  “How about we talk about something cheerful and completely unrelated for a while? Like what was your favorite Christmas gift you got as a child?” I let my love for everything holiday bleed into my words. After all, nothing can make a person smile like a little Christmas cheer. The sexy slash of lips curves ever so slightly. The smile is laced with sadness, but it's there. This is enough to encourage me to continue.

  The conversation starts out lighthearted and shallow, but it doesn't stay that way for long. The cozy near-dark and soft tones of our voices give a sense of comfort and familiarity to a friendship only hours old. I tell him things, personal things, some I haven't ever told another living soul. Every now and again, he interrupts me with a question or a comment, but mostly he watches me with unwavering focus. Sometime later, he begins to speak, and it is my turn to listen. The mellifluous cadence of his hypnotic voice is chastely seductive.

  “I killed a man once. It was an accident, of course. But that doesn't change the fact that I took a man's life in a fit of rage. No amount of regret will be enough to bring him back. Nothing will ever make it okay.”

  He tells me about the woman he was once engaged to, how one day he came home early and found her fucking a complete stranger. The man and him got into an argument, and the guy pulled out a knife and sliced up Colden's face. The scar … it's from that day. Poor Colden, having to live with the constant reminder of a single mistake, an accident made only once through passionate rage.

  “I only punched the guy one time, but it was enough. He fell back and hit his head against the doorknob; the impact killed him instantaneously.” Colden stops talking, but I recognize the need for silence so I let him have his moment of just being. Silently, I encourage him to continue.

  “I'm dangerous, a fucking monster. If only you could've seen the look in her eyes. That look will haunt me for the rest of my life. And every time I look in the mirror and see the scars, I wonder how different my life would have been had I just walked away.” He stands up and shakes out his muscles, like the emotions became too heavy to carry. Pacing in small circles, he stops and meets my eyes. “Maybe then I would be a man worth … being loved by someone like you.”

  “You already are,” I say with a deep sigh. I don't know why I say it, but it's the truth. It sort of just pops out of my mouth. I need to keep my distance. Already I can feel myself falling for Colden and it's only been one day. How will I feel when this dream is over and reality comes rushing back?

  “I can't be trusted. If I let the feelings in for too long, bad things happen.” His voice cracks, and he sits back in the chair, emotions overwhelming his handsome face. He closes his eyes and begins breathing in and out slowly, dropping his head back against the supple leather of the chair. I stand up, making my way over to him. I crouch down, carefully avoiding actual touch. His smell is pure seduction, an intoxicating mix of cedar, sweat, and a primal earthy, undeniably male scent.

  “It doesn't have to be bad. Your kiss … it was masterful,” I say. My voice comes out laden with sexual desire. Colden freezes; the ample muscles of his back and shoulders go taught. The gentle rise and fall of his bare chest goes completely still. Turning his head to look at me, he cracks his eyes. The angelic blue color might be at odds with his tough exterior, but they mirror the kind soul beneath. He's radiating energy, electrifying the air around us.

  “I shouldn't have done that. I put people in jeopardy. My brothers. You. I've already said too much; I just wanted someone to understand me.” The need to be understood resonates with me on such a deep level.

  “I understand your regret. I understand your hesitation. But I'm not scared of you,” I tell him. I want him to know I understand. I reach up, placing the palm of my hand over my heart.

  “You should be. The strength of our connection is violent and hot and explosive. I have never felt this for anyone—not even the woman whose lover I killed.” He growls fiercely, running a hand through his golden hair. The red-hot connection between us; he feels it, too.

  “What do we do?” I say in a soft voice. My aching body wants his with a savage craving.

  “Nothing. Because if I let myself have you even once, I won't be able to let you go. You'll be mine, forever and always. And I can't share—not even with my brothers.” I swoon. My breath hitches and I get butterflies. His words are exhilarating. Romantic. And heartbreaking.

  “I … understand,” I manage to stutter out. I want to respect his wishes, but I want him with every cell in my body, every iota of thought.

  “Just knowing they've felt the sweet warmth of your cunt makes me livid with jealousy. And that scares me. I will slit my own throat before I put my family in danger.” His words are so quiet, they're almost drowned out by wild whistle of winter wind.

  “I trust you,” I say softly.

  If he thinks the burning desire between us is too powerful to act on, then friends we shall be. But I will be waiting with bated breath in the hope that I will someday feel the physical manifestation of the torrid attraction between us.

  Colden is gone when I wake up. He slept the night in the chair, stubbornly refusing to sleep next to me.

  I get dressed, picking out a red cable-knit sweater dress and a black knee-high boot with a chunky heel and a plaid cashmere Burberry scarf. Going casual, I just throw on some mascara and a dusting of blush. Satisfied with my look, I head downstairs to try and wrangle up some breakfast before I head out to get the most important of Christmas symbols: the tree.

  Or in this case … trees.

  Anita is in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.

  “Good morning, Natalie. Sit down and let me make you a plate.” She rushes around the kitchen, dishing me up a generous plate of blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon. “Will Mr. Northington be joining you?” The question takes me by surprise.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask, taking my first bite of blueberry pancake. Oh holy night, that's fantastic.

  “He's probably locked in his office working when he should be down here giving his beautiful young fiancée some attention,” she says, raising her eyebrows and giving my ring a look. This is her way of confirming her suspicion that we're engaged. This woman is clever; she notices everything. To convince their father, we have to convince her.

  “Why don't you make him up a plate, and I'll go get him?” I say, standing up.

  “Are you sure? Mr. Northington usually doesn't eat breakfast,” She says, crinkling her brow.

  “I'm sure. I'm no food critic, but your pancakes are the best I've ever had. I don't want him to miss out,” I say, giving her a wink.

  When I find Colden, he's sitting in a big room at a conference table, brow furrowed in concentration. Today, he's dressed just a little less formal in a forest green sweater, layered over a white button up and gold silk tie. This is paired with black slacks and a pair of cap toe Oxfords. His muscular frame seems even more impressive draped in cashmere than it did in the crisp lines of a tailored suit. The soft wave of his golden hair falls in a luxurious curtain, framing the hard lines of his face and making him look even more dangerously handsome.

  He glances up from his work. When he sees me, he smiles and it is so heartbreakingly beautiful, my breath hitches.

  “Hey. I was wondering if you could take the day off work?” I say, making my way across the room and stopping only a few feet from him. Colden stands up with agility not expected of a man as well-built as he is.

  “Why?” He narrows his crystal blue eyes at me, closing the distance with an easy grace. His vo
ice doesn't have the same heat as it did last night, but it doesn't have the cold emptiness either. The strength of his commanding gaze takes my breath away, makes my pulse race and sends a shiver down my spine. We stand so close, the heat of our bodies mix and I can't smell anything except his woody, earthy scent.

  My body quivers with need.

  The muscles in Colden's jaw clench and his pupils dilate. But neither of us make any attempt to touch, each of us fighting to control the carnal urges that threaten to take over. I take a deep breath, stepping away.

  “I'd love if you went with me to pick up the Christmas trees, decorations, and to meet the caterer,” I say in a slightly shaky voice. His eyes stay narrowed like he isn't quite sure. “We click. So, if we can't be lovers, let's be friends.” I smile at him. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

  “Your presence is intoxicating. What happens if I can't control myself? ” he growls. My breath hitches and I meet his eyes.

  “Then … then I'll open for you. Because I know no matter what happened in the past … you wont hurt your family.”

  I can tell by the look on Anita's face that she's surprised when she sees Colden laughing at my jokes. I even convince him to try one bite of my blueberry pancakes—which he loves—and by the time I've finished eating, Colden has gone back for seconds and thirds.

  As if we've be sparked a bit of good luck with our cheerful breakfast, the meeting with the caterer goes even better than I expected. The food is wonderful and we plan an elevated restaurant style menu based on a traditional old-fashioned Christmas dinner: both goose and turkey, crispy roasted rosemary sweet potatoes, balsamic oven roasted green beans, creamy mashed potatoes with goat cheese and fresh sage, as well as an assortment of fantastical desserts and appetizers. That's the theme: old-world Christmas with a twist of elegance, the comforting feel of A Christmas Carol blended with tasteful modernity.