The Spirit of Christmas

by Liz Talley

  His hands traveled from her bottom and he tugged the sweater up. She felt air on her naked back and shivered, but she wasn’t certain if it was from the exposure or the magic this man performed on her. Quickly, she tore her mouth from his and helped him remove her sweater and bra.

  “Ah, sweet, sweet,” he murmured, rolling her over so his hands cupped her breasts. She’d always wished she’d been bigger on top than on bottom, but at that moment, Brennan made her feel like the sexiest woman on the planet. His thumbs flicked over the nipples that had puckered and she sighed.

  “Good?” he asked, lowering his head to suck one into his mouth.

  “Ah,” she said, lifting her hips, grinding them against his erection as she held his head in place. His mouth was so hot, felt so damn good on her. Liquid fire spilled into her belly, coating her with a need so intense, she lost herself in the sheer deluge. “Oh, oh, oh.”

  He smiled against her breast as he slid one hand to the waistband of her jean leggings. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Then he shifted his attention to her other breast as his hand slid beneath her leggings, past her new flirty panties to cup her sex.

  His touch set her on fire. Like seriously over the edge of sanity. She pushed him back a little and he lifted his head and looked at her. “Too much?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not enough.”

  One finger moved, parting her. “Oh, dear…ah. You’re not playing around.”

  “Oh, I am, Mary Paige. I’m definitely playing,” he murmured, continuing his assault, diving in to capture the nipple he’d abandoned.

  Mary Paige stroked his head, reveling in the feel of him loving her. Her hips moved against his hand and she could feel an orgasm gathering. That was how hot she was for this man. But she didn’t want to go so quickly. She wanted to savor the languidness of exploring each other for the first time, so she stilled his hand with her own.

  “Thought I was in charge,” she said when he lifted his head.

  Those gray eyes were as she’d envisioned when making love with Brennan—dilated with passion, crackling with intensity.

  His eyes alone made her shiver.

  Or maybe it was his hand, which refused to leave its place between her legs.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we go to your room? I want to see you naked. I’ve had fantasies.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really,” she said, recalling her naughty imaginings then forgetting momentarily as he did something marvelous with his hand. “Oh, dear Bessie, I’ve got to take these pants off so you have better access.”

  Brennan chuckled. “You are something else, Mary Paige Gentry. And, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve had my own fantasies,” he said, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. “Ever been tied up before?”

  She shook her head.

  The look he gave her she felt all the way to her freshly painted toenails and it made her laugh with anticipation.

  Yeah, having sex with Scrooge was going to be lots of fun.

  * * *

  TEN MINUTES LATER, they sprawled naked on Brennan’s bed. All the pillows had been tossed on the floor and there hadn’t been time to tie anyone up or to leisurely explore the boundaries of desire. Once they’d hit the bed and managed to get her stubborn boots off, passion had ignited, inflamed and exploded. Kinda fast.

  “Whoa,” Mary Paige said, panting as she stared at his ceiling fan, which wasn’t moving.

  He picked up a strand of her hair and looped it around his finger. Her hair was so soft…just like her body. He loved the silky texture of both. “I hadn’t intended to go so fast. Sorry. You drive me crazy, lady.”

  She turned her head and met his gaze. She smiled, slow, sweet and very Mary Paige-ish. “From the very beginning, right?”

  “From the moment I saw your Spanx and you tried to leave the boardroom. Why do you have to wear those anyhow? Your ass is spectacular.”

  He couldn’t really tell if she blushed or not because night had fallen. But enough light from the street spilled in to show him how beautiful she was splayed naked on his bed.

  “It’s a smoother.” She sniffed. “Almost all women wear them.”

  Brennan laughed softly, pulling her to him. “A smoother. Gah, you women do nutty things.”

  “All in the name of attracting a man. I almost waxed my hoo-ha yesterday in anticipation of tonight. Can you imagine? That has to be so painful.”

  He laughed, a full-on belly laugh—which probably wasn’t the least bit attractive while naked—but he couldn’t help himself. She was so funny and made his heart sing.

  The last thought hit him between the eyes and he stilled. “Want to go eat our food? It’s probably still warm.”

  Mary Paige lifted herself onto an elbow, which did wonderful things for her breasts. They were small and slightly sloped, ending in upturned pale nipples—breasts that made his palms itch to cup, his mouth water to taste. And her ass… Good heavens, it was a masterpiece—smooth, rounded and perfectly plump. Made for sex.

  He felt himself stir and saw Mary Paige look down. “Oh,” she said.

  Moving quick as a cat, he rose above her and flipped her over.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “I’m seeing what needs smoothing out,” he said, running his hands over her quite marvelous bottom. “Nope, I see nothing that needs smoothing. It’s perfect.”

  “You’re insane.” She giggled into the goose-down comforter. “Now I know why I like you.”

  She liked him? Hmm…something about those words wiggled inside him, multiplying in his heart. This woman who fought him, who saw him as an asshole extraordinaire, who looked down her goody-two-shoes nose at him liked him. When had things changed so much between them? When had it become so important to please her, to love her?

  The thought was too much for him to contemplate at the moment. Not when this woman lay before him, wrought for his pleasure, perfect for his kiss, his touch, his soul.

  He rained kisses down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. “Admit it. You want me for my sexual prowess.”

  “Meh,” she said.

  He smacked her bottom and she flipped over, reaching out to wrap him in her arms. Her mouth found his and again, the words fled as the desire took over. No need for words when there were sweet actions to perform, to savor, to revel in.

  Her mouth opened to him and he took full advantage, delving into all that was Mary Paige as her thighs fell open, welcoming him. But this would be no quick lovemaking. No, her body was a playground, and Brennan had spent far too long being a man who never played, who never savored.

  So tonight he would eat that cold Chinese food.

  Gladly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MALCOLM WATCHED HIS nephew, Joseph Asher Henry, sip his whiskey and eyeball the soup with a curled lip.

  “Thought you loved seafood gumbo?”

  Asher tossed him a jaded look. “Been so long, I suppose my tastes have changed. I’m much more accustomed to European cuisine.”

  “I can’t imagine turning down Ernestine’s gumbo,” Brennan said, passing a basket of French bread from Leidenheimer, a bakery that was tops in turning out delicious, crusty loaves. “But to each his own. At least have the bread.”

  Asher took a piece and set it on the Limoges china, and for the second time that evening, Malcolm wondered if it was a good thing Asher had come home in time for the company party after all. The past few weeks had been so smooth and joyful—two things not normally associated with Brennan. Malcolm was loath to have anything upset this new delicate balance.

  “So Brennan told me you’re going to marry again,” Asher said, favoring the liquor in his tumbler over the food. “Who’s her family?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “She’s a Poche. From Chalmette.”

  “Chalmette?” Asher looked puzzled.

  “Or thereabouts,” Malcolm said, picking up the spoon and dipping it in the broth, allowin
g it to sail away and come back to his lips in proper soup-sipping fashion. “Her father’s a retired plumber.”

  Asher shot a look at Brennan, who merely arched his eyebrows in a don’t-ask-me manner.

  “I suppose you thought her family was an old Creole one? Or perhaps her great-grandfather an oil tycoon?”

  “No, merely surprised. I thought you’d never marry again after being tied down to the original ballbuster.” Asher gave a look that was probably designed to encourage male bonding—a look more suited to the locker room than the dining room. “Aunt Cammie was the kind of woman who inspires a vow of bachelorhood.”

  His nephew had always been a bit of a jackass, even if he was correct about Malcolm’s late wife, Camille. Before his illness, Asher’s snot-nosed attitude hadn’t bothered him much. The boy had sold his shares of MBH Industries, married a European supermodel and moved to Switzerland. Asher was extraordinarily good-looking with enough polo-playing haughtiness and charm to get him invitations to any exclusive event he wished.

  Brennan had always admired his older cousin to the point of obsession. Sunshine always seemed to sit upon Asher’s shoulders, and people often lingered near, as if his beauty and fortune might brush off on them. Few saw that beneath the perfection, he was a total charlatan. But the boy was family.

  Still, Malcolm suspected something was rotten in Denmark, or rather, Switzerland. They had not seen hide nor hair of Asher in more than four years, and that trip had happened only because his wife, Elsa, had an American photo shoot.

  “Judy’s the director of a home for mentally and physically challenged children and young adults, and is the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. I’m honored she’s accepted my proposal,” Malcolm commented as Asher pulled out his phone and stared at the glowing screen before repocketing it.

  “Then I’m pleased for you,” his nephew said with a nod. “Is Ellen coming for dinner?”

  “She texted me she’d be late,” Brennan said, finishing the last of his soup. He had been particularly cheerful for the past few weeks. Even more peculiar, he left work early nearly every day, disappearing with little word of his planned activities. Of course, he still attended all the obligatory events for the Spirit of Christmas campaign alongside Mary Paige, except for the St. Thomas’s Christmas Bingo Bash. Mary Paige had chosen to attend her company’s small holiday dinner instead. Malcolm didn’t know whether it was wishful thinking on his part, but Brennan had appeared a little lost calling out numbers without her beside him. Hope had burgeoned at the thought Brennan might find a similar joy, as he had. At the very least Brennan might learn how beneficial service to others could be by experiencing it with Mary Paige.

  “Ellen has a habit of being late, but because it’s often a result of her throwing herself into her work, I always let it slide.” Malcolm chuckled, taking another piece of bread even though he knew he shouldn’t. Never could resist the bread from Leidenheimer’s. “How are things for you, Asher? All is well in Bern?”

  “Of course. Elsa would have come but decided to stay in Atlanta with friends. She sends holiday greetings and kisses, of course.” Asher tossed a glance toward Brennan, almost as though to rub it in that he was married to Elsa.

  Irritation rose inside Malcolm at the reminder. Little shit.

  Brennan had been the first one to meet the blonde model at a promotional shoot for a line of bathing suits. After they’d been dating for a while, it was clear Brennan was quite smitten with Elsa. She’d seemed to return his affections…until Asher had encountered her while on a summer jaunt in Rome. He’d culled her, wooed her, then stolen her away, giving no apology to his cousin for blatantly doing so.

  Even worse than that foul act had been Brennan’s reaction. He hadn’t been devastated; had merely accepted the situation, as if it were understandable Asher would win.

  Malcolm felt the sharp pinch of guilt at the role he might have played in perpetuating Brennan’s hero worship of Asher. Through his preoccupation with the business and making money, Malcolm had failed to provide guidance and a positive role model for Brennan. In that absence, he had fixated on Asher, who, on the surface, seemed almost perfect—gilded with money, success and good genes. What Brennan didn’t seem to see was that Asher was a professional at twisting all things to his advantage. In short, he was a shyster. And Malcolm should know since he’d spent most of his life acting in a similar fashion.

  “Is Elsa well?” Brennan asked, a subtle inquiry since Elsa had suffered a miscarriage nearly a year ago and it had devastated her.

  “Of course,” Asher said, rising and retrieving the decanter of whiskey from the sideboard. “She’s at a spa getting a bit of needed rejuvenation. She’s booked for the spring and summer.”

  “And Aare International? Still dazzling the world of high-end luggage?”

  Asher glowered. “What is this? Twenty questions? Of course everything is well. I came to New Orleans because my older sister has henpecked me until—”

  “You finally came,” Ellen said from the doorway, a huge smile on her face even though she’d caught her brother complaining about her.

  Asher swiveled his head. “Ah, she squawks.”

  Ellen leaned over the chair, wrapping her arms around her brother, bussing him on the cheek with a kiss. “Yes, I’m squawking. Can’t believe you finally came home. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Asher returned the hug, smiling at his sister. “In the flesh.”

  She pinched him.

  “Ow!”

  “Just making sure you’re real,” Ellen said before brushing an air kiss near Malcolm’s cheek. He patted her hand, enjoying the pleasure she took in seeing the brother who was nearly twelve years her junior. The girl had virtually raised the boy until she’d gone off to college. The relationship was more maternal in nature and Ellen had never seen beyond the drooling toddler she’d taught to walk to the spoiled man he’d become.

  Ellen sat, beaming as bright as the Victorian tree Ernestine and Gator had put up that week. “Evening, Brennan.”

  Brennan nodded at his cousin. “Saw the article in the Times about the success of the campaign, Ellen. Congratulations.”

  “You should congratulate yourself. You and Mary Paige have caused a sensation. Saw another picture of you two at Celebration in the Oaks a few days ago. I hadn’t realized you’d decided to go the fake romance route.”

  Brennan’s expression shuttered. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with Mary Paige. Once we got past our philosophical differences, of course.”

  “I’ve noticed you’ve been less grumpy,” Ellen teased.

  Much to Malcolm’s surprise, Brennan didn’t seem to mind the gibe in the least. Interesting.

  “Didn’t you love that one story about the pregnant lady on the bus and the man who helped her, only to figure out she was a friend he hadn’t seen in over a decade?” Ellen asked Malcolm. “The writer did a great job of creating an aw moment. This Spirit stuff really is sweeping the city. And, as we’d predicted, Henry’s bottom line isn’t suffering a bit by the giveaways.”

  “Brilliant suggestion you had about letting our employees award the gifts rather than hire that out. Wish I had your marketing mind,” Brennan said, his expression sincere.

  “I’m surprised at this about-face from you, Brennan,” Malcolm said as Ernestine brought in the pork roast, fingerling potatoes and Creole green beans.

  Brennan stood and helped the woman with the dishes, something Malcolm was certain he’d never seen the boy do. Hmm…

  “I can admit when I’m wrong. The entire Spirit of Christmas campaign has been successful on so many levels,” his grandson said, setting the bowl of beans beside his plate. “This looks fabulous, Ernestine. Thank you.”

  The woman sent a disbelieving look at Malcolm then smiled. “You’re welcome. Hope you enjoy it.”

  “What’s this Spirit stuff?” Asher asked.

  Ellen gave him a brief rundown of the campaign, adding in the way the media had spun a romance between Ma
ry Paige and Brennan.

  “You’re faking this?” Asher asked.

  “No,” Brennan said, regarding his cousin over the rim of of his wineglass. “Just letting public perception to trump.”

  Asher made no further comment, instead contemplated the chandelier and sucked at the highball glass.

  Malcolm regarded the dynamics of this small family gathering. Ellen seemed pleased to have her brother here, while Asher acted as though he’d done them a favor to sit down with them for a meal. Brennan ate and occasionally stared off with a half smile on his face. What would his Judy think of them and how would she handle what was left of the Henry family?

  What was left.

  My, how he wished for new life in the family.

  Judy would do her part to add another perspective. But with Ellen’s recent divorce making her wary about relationships, it was likely that by the time she remarried—if she did remarry—she would be past childbearing years. Asher and Elsa might yet have children and therefore carry on the name. But Brennan… Yes, Malcolm had high hopes his grandson would bring a new generation of Henrys into the beautiful, mysterious city he loved.

  “The Henry Christmas party is this week, and I’ve decided to change the venue. This year I’m hosting it on the top floor of the Canal Street store.”

  Ellen frowned. “That’s a storage area. How are you going to manage that?”

  “You’ll see,” Malcolm said, his head spinning with the visions of the party he’d planned with Gigi and her flamboyant designer Max, who had conceived the concept one day when Gigi had shown him the old window stages housed in storage. “Christmas in the Attic” had emerged from that foray and Malcolm was excited about showcasing the flagship store’s past as they contemplated the future of the company. “And I can’t wait for Asher to meet Judy.”

  “I’m so thrilled for you, Uncle, and I know Asher will like Judy,” Ellen said, looking happier than she had in months.

  Malcolm caught Brennan’s gaze. “Sometimes we overlook what actually suits us in favor of what we think should. I’m truly blessed by that woman’s love.”