by Brill Harper
“Thanks.” When he is gone, she turns her attention to me. “So...what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
“Are you okay?” I ask. The worst part about being arrested has nothing to do with being in jail. No, the worst part is imagining what the weasel said to her before I got there. Before I shut him up.
She unwraps her scarf. “I’m fine. Alan’s fine too, in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not. Why was he there?” Why did her family, so protective of her, allow him so close?
She pulls off her hat and stuffs it into the pocket of her coat. Like she is staying there for a while. I don’t know what possessed Jones to let her even come in here, but jail is no place for Emily. “He was there to apologize to me. Why were you there?”
Apologize.
Huh.
Christmas miracles and all that shit.
“So I hit him while he was making amends?” That was not my best move.
She nods. “He was being nice. For a weasel.” Her crooked smile nearly breaks me. “Why were you there, Charlie?
I slump back onto the bench, forgetting my Santa padding and almost tipping over. “It doesn’t matter.”
She crosses the room slowly, untying the belt of her long coat. “I think it does.” She stops in front of me and slides the coat off her shoulders, revealing a very sexy red nightie trimmed with white fur.
I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I can’t figure out what the hell is going on.
Red. She is wearing red. And not much of it.
She went out like this? She could have frozen. What if her coat had come open and exposed her again? She braved frostbite and a second humiliation for me?
While my mind tries to catch up, she sits on my lap. “I hope it’s not too late to tell you what I want for Christmas, Santa Baby.”
My mind is fuzzy, but my hands know what to do, instantly skimming her sexy curves and holding her so she won’t fall. Or get away. I look at the door. “What about –?”
“Sheila’s got it handled. Nobody will bother us until I rattle the cage.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” I squeeze her tighter, unable to let her go. “Who knows who’s been in here? It’s not sanitary or safe.”
She pets my beard and smiles. “They don’t actually use this cell anymore, Sarge. It’s just for show. The real jail is down the hall.”
This isn’t a real jail cell? “Am I really under arrest?”
She shrugs. “Probably not? I’m not sure. I think it depends on your behavior. You’re actually not the first of us to grace this cell. Both my brothers—even my dad one Fourth of July—have gotten a cool-down period in here. I think Jason put Sheila back here one night. I’m pretty sure it’s not legal. But at least you’re in good company.”
I don’t understand. She should hate me. Her family should hate me. I left her and when I got smart enough to come back, I started a brawl at Christmas. With a guy who was trying to apologize—an apology she really needed to hear.
“Are you ready to listen to my wish list, Santa?”
I risk a glance at her sexy Mrs. Claus cleavage. Bad idea. I am ready to peel off both our costumes and take her right here. Reading my mind, she takes off my hat and runs her fingers through my hair. Her eyes sparkling with mischief. It’s a good look for her. I want to see it again. Every day.
“Yeah, what do you want for Christmas?” I’ll give it to her. Whatever it is. “You want the moon?”
She shifts in my lap as she shakes her head, her bottom rubbing me just the right way.
“I’ll lasso it for you.” I’m no George Bailey, but I’ll find a way to be her small-town hero.
“I don’t want the moon. I want to know why you came back tonight.”
“That’s all?”
“No, but that’s a good place to start.”
Nothing about her is blending into our surroundings now. She is wearing red—my new favorite color—standing out, making herself seen. For me. I don’t deserve her trust—but apparently, I have it. I don’t deserve her love, but I’m going to go after that, too.
I take her hand in mine. “I came back tonight, dressed like this, to steal your heart.”
She lays her head on my shoulder. “I came here tonight, dressed like this, to give it to you.”
She feels so right. Everything in my life suddenly feels so right. Can it really be this easy? “I’m not good enough for you, but I’m selfish enough to not care.”
She lifts her head up. “Why do you say that? That you’re not good enough?”
“I just got arrested in your mother’s kitchen.”
“I don’t think you’re really under arrest.”
There is a special place in hell for having a hard-on in a Santa suit. I’m sure of it. “I’m too old for you.”
“I think you’ll do just fine keeping up with me, gramps.”
I am so ready to whisk her away, but I need to know she isn’t going to come around to all our challenges and leave me when she figures it out. It would hurt now. It will kill me later.
I don’t want to tie her down. Make her think her world is confined. Getting that apology from the weasel might have freed her up to try more wild and crazy things. “Seriously, mistletoe. You’re young. You’ve still got some exploring to do. Some more things to try that are unexpected.”
“So do them with me.”
I think of her parents—her whole family. How they take care of each other, work as a unit. She’ll expect that from me. “I don’t know how to love.”
“Yes, you do. You so do. Do you think I could be here now, dressed like this, putting myself out there to be seen if I didn’t think my heart was safe?” She places my hand on her chest. “You give love just fine. You just don’t know how to accept love. But I can give you that.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat that threatens the first tears in three decades. She could give me that. I just have to let her.
“I don’t have a job—”
She interrupts me. “You can sell pot holders!” She tugs on my beard. “I knew you’d come back, you know.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know—how did you figure it out?” How can she trust me so much when I don’t trust myself?
“I just knew. I even told Sheila this morning.”
I knead her thigh. Because I can. Because I am beginning to understand that this isn’t a dream. She is here, flesh and blood and in my arms. And she wants me. She wants to give me her heart. “So, what was all that business about wanting me to be a temporary lover? That you wouldn’t have slept with me if I were staying?” I dip down and inhale the scent of her neck. “You had me fooled.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You changed your mind?” Like it is just that easy.
“I want you to stay. I want to see where this goes. I just want you for Christmas. Maybe every Christmas.”
Every Christmas. Every Christmas sounds fucking fine to me. I cup her cheek in my hand. “I can give you that.”
And then I bring out the sprig of mistletoe I put in my pocket so many hours ago, hold it above our heads, and kiss my naughty and nice Mrs. Claus to fill in the rest of the words I’m not sure I know how to say.
Yet. I figure I have plenty of time. I have every Christmas after all.
Epilogue
Emily
Christmas, Five years later
“WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER?” I ask Alyce after she comes out of the bathroom from brushing her teeth.
“Reading nook.”
I sigh. Where else would he be?
“Okay, go get your PJs on. We’ll read The Night Before Christmas in a few minutes.
“And Santa will come?”
“After you’re asleep he sure will!”
She runs to her room to change, and I find my son, Alex, in the cupboard under the stairs. Where he pretty much always is. Only tonight, his daddy is in there with him.
“What are you boys up to?” I ask, pret
ending I don’t see the cookie crumbs all over their blanket fort.
My husband, the biggest kid in our house, gets worse at Christmas. Making up for the childhood he didn’t have, he’s become more Griswold than even my mom. And now that our kids are three, he’s having even more fun since they understand more and Santa stopped making them cry.
I don’t begrudge him his fun, either. He’s been working hard on getting his degree while also doing volunteer work and sometimes working on car restoration with my cousin. He’ll graduate this spring, but there is talk of a master’s degree.
We get the kids settled on our laps for our tradition of reading the classic Santa book. I love the wonder shining in their eyes. I also love the spark I see in Charlie’s eyes. The sooner we get the kids to sleep, the sooner we get to work on making another baby. Or two. As my family seems to be determined to do. After all, my youngest sisters will be going to the same school as my kids someday. It’s crazy.
Tucking the twins in is easier tonight because they are aware that only sleeping children get presents, but it’s a good hour before I am sure they are really asleep.
“Is it time?” Charlie asks.
“It’s time.”
The world tilts as I find myself slung over his shoulder like Santa’s pack. He’s slapping my ass the whole way into our room until he tosses me into the middle of our bed.
“Gonna put a baby in you tonight, Mrs. Warner.”
He kisses down my neck, scraping his beard across my collarbone because that seems to be my Kryptonite. Off go our clothes. I want my man. I want him inside me. I love the way he fills me up. But he likes to drive me insane first.
I turn my head when he goes at my neck, sucking and biting me there. When I open my eyes, I see the picture of us on the nightstand. It’s from our honeymoon. We’re kissing on the beach—the same beach where I was filmed all those years ago. The same spot, pretty much.
He loves me. He doesn’t judge me. He understands when I need solitude and when I need his company. I have my own reading nook, though we call it an office and it’s pretty much the contents of my old apartment’s living room. The rest of our house is all things we purchased together.
And sex. Oh my God. We have sex all the time. Often when we shouldn’t. I have become insatiable and have heard zero complaints about it. I just need him all the time. And it feels so good to know that it’s okay. It’s safe for me to love him that much. To love his cock that much, too. It doesn’t make me a lesser person to have desires. To want to be desirable.
Charlie pushes my tits together and starts sucking them into his mouth, as much as he can. He’s enamored with my tits, despite how much trouble they caused me.
They like him just fine, too.
He reaches between us and touches my pussy. “So wet already, baby.”
I lift my hips, needing more contact. He drags his cock through my folds, rubbing the tip against my clit until my legs start shaking. Until I come from the friction.
“Oh, yeah. That’s it, mistletoe. Get my cock all slick. Lube me up so I can fuck your tits.” He moves up and straddles my chest, sliding between my breasts. I hold them tightly together, making a cavern for him. “Such a good girl. Mama wants her cock, doesn’t she?”
I smile and open my mouth over the tip when it comes up between my boobs. He groans and I do too, tasting myself on him.
“You’re going to make me come.”
Like that’s the worst thing in the world.
This time, he pauses longer at the top, and I get more of him into my mouth. He growls and pulls out and completely away from me.
“Hey,” I complain.
But he just flips me over and pulls me up to my knees. “I’m going to fuck a baby into you tonight. As much as I want to come in your mouth, I can’t let it happen.”
He kisses my spine as he notches himself at my opening. Slowly, ever so slowly, he eases in like it’s our first time or something. I feel every single inch as he fills me, stretches me. He doesn’t pull back, but he flexes his cock and my inner muscles squeeze him.
“Shit, baby. Ease up. I’m trying to make this last.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Fuck me hard and fast, Charlie. I want to be sore everywhere.”
His eyes darken, and he wraps a fist around my hair. “I love you so goddamn much.” He tugs hard, pulling my hair as he rears back and into me hard. Then again. Then again. And then it’s not slow or measured. Our bodies are slapping hard, and he’s hitting my G-spot on every stroke. My legs start buckling, so he wraps an arm around me for support and start thrusting faster. Harder.
Stars explode inside me, my pussy spasming around him.
He groans. “Fuck, that’s it. Come around my cock just like that. You’re going to squeeze the cum out of me, aren’t you?” His fingers dig into me hard, and I can feel him ejaculate as he roars.
We collapse, a tangle of limbs and sticky love.
A short nap later, we go downstairs for leftover pizza, and we put out the gifts from Santa and fill the stockings. He’s got some silver at his temples, not a lot, but it catches the light from the tree, and just like that, I’m horny for him again. I can’t explain it, the way I love his laugh lines and his few gray hairs. But my core clenches, and I’m already setting out to seduce him again.
I open his robe, to his surprise, and kiss my way down his body. This time, I’m going to get him in my mouth a lot longer than he let me upstairs. He’s just starting to get hard, so I can fit a lot more of him in my mouth than usual. I love the velvety texture of his cock. I love that I can have it whenever I want. I love that he swipes my hair off my face and looks me in the eye while I’m bobbing on him.
But at the last minute, when I think I’ve got him exactly where I want him and he’s losing control of his hips, he gets me on my back on the floor before I know what’s going on. “Did you forget that I’m breeding you tonight, Mrs. Warner?” He’s seated all the way inside me and he’s thrusting, our bodies slapping together.
“You’re such a family man now. For someone who never even wanted kids—”
He shuts me up with a kiss. “I love the way you look when you’re pregnant. I love knowing everyone who sees you knows you’re mine. I love everything you’ve given me in the last five years, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you every day just how much I love you.”
I wrap my legs around him tighter, pulling him into me as much as I can. And then we have no more use of words. And when he pumps the last of his seed into me, I pull his head to my chest and hold him there, under the lights of our Christmas tree. In our home where everyone feels safe, important, and wanted.
Where it’s okay to be alone in a room full of people but you never feel lonely.
IF YOU’RE TIRED OF billionaires, maybe you’re ready for some real men. Dirty, hardworking, and good with their hands are the kind of heroes you’ll find in the Blue Collar Bad Boy Series. These guys aren’t cultured. They are hot AF alpha heroes who know how to take care of the slightly nerdy women they fall for. For reals, this series is more fun than you knew you were missing. And they don’t need to be read in order.
So which blue collar bad boy will you choose next? They are all rough, raw, and surprisingly sweet.
Like...the roadhouse bouncer and the actuarial sciences student in Bounced.
Or...the carpenter and the Jeopardy! nerd in Nailed.
Perhaps...the oil rigger and the kindergarten teacher in Drilled.
Mayhap...the tow truck driver and the sorority uptown girl in Wrecked.
And surely...the brick layer hot single dad and the babysitter in Laid.
Here’s a sneak peek at Wrecked.
Chapter One
Layna
I'VE GOT NINETY-NINE problems, and one of them is that I just used my one phone call to ask the tow truck driver I met in a ditch yesterday if he'd be willing to bail me out of jail.
It was the only phone number I could remember off the top
of my head because 555-TOWR is kind of lame. I probably told him so at the time, too, but in retrospect, I guess it works as intended. After all, I did remember the dumb phone number.
An hour later, the tow truck driver and I exit the county jail together, and the sunlight is jarring. Like when you get out of a matinee movie and you expect it to be dark but it's still afternoon. But I bet to people already outside, the sight of the Hulk-sized muscle man in greasy coveralls next to the pint-sized sorority sister in an Amour Vert romper is equally discombobulating.
I thrust my hand out to him in goodwill, my jail-issued paper bag clutched close to my body in my other. "Thank you, again, for everything. I'll pay you back." Somehow.
He stares at my hand, then brings his hands to his hips and glares down at me. My tow truck driver, if you remember, is very large, and this pose is intimidating. Or it would be if I were not now a seasoned criminal with a rap sheet.
Okay, he's still intimidating, and I'm probably more "lightly" seasoned than anything. Though sometimes my language is salty.
He's glaring at me, so I pull my hand back. "You mad, bro?"
Why I said that? I don't know. I'm going to blame spending too much time on Greek Row. Or something like that. Because that was over-the-top dumb.
I've never much thought about the word "seething" before, but that is what the tow truck driver is doing. He is seething at me. And it makes my heart race a little. A lot. Okay, I'm freaking out now. He is really big but so far just surly in all my dealings with him. But he's the kind of guy whose button you probably can't unpush once you've set him off into his gamma radioactive rage. Something I now wish I'd considered before calling 555-TOWR. And certainly before I'd asked him you mad, bro?
I take a step back, and he takes a step forward. His dark eyebrows slash menacingly above his eyes, his dark beard not hiding the grimace on his face. "Thank you very much? That's what you have to say?"
