Christmas In Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  Jaw clenched, he grabbed the knob and wrenched the front door open, then drew up short. It was either that or barrel into the woman standing on his welcome mat.

  Nessa rocked back on her heels, and he shot his hand out, grabbing her arm and steadying her.

  “Nessa? What’re you doing here?”

  Reluctantly, he released her and glanced over her shoulder. Frowning, he returned his gaze back to her. “Where’s your car?”

  “I walked. You told me to follow the path past the workshop...” Her voice trailed off as she looked behind her.

  His heart clutched at the hint of nerves in her tone and dark eyes when she turned back to him. The urge to take her in his arms and assure her that it was okay to be there welled in him so hard, he had to steel himself against it. He fought his own nature in not physically comforting her, because touching her in any way would be like setting a match to dry kindling. And she’d obviously walked over here to talk to him.

  So he had to keep his hands off her. At all costs.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing a hand down his beard. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Can I come in for a minute? To talk to you?”

  “Oh sure, yes.” Damn. He mentally winced as he stepped back inside his cabin. One look at her, and some of his brain cells had suffered. “Come on in.”

  She moved inside, passing by him. Pausing in the small foyer, she scanned his home, and he did the same, peering at it through her eyes. The cabin had originally been his parents’ when they’d bought Kinsale Inn all those years ago. They’d lived here while they completed renovations. When he’d returned home from Iraq, as much as he loved his family, he hadn’t been able to live with them in the family wing of the inn. When his parents had suggested the cabin, it’d been perfect—close to his family, but a quiet space of his own.

  The spacious log cabin possessed an open layout with a living room, dining room and kitchen that all flowed into one another. Large windows allowed the sun to bathe the room in natural light and the requisite bachelor furniture occupied the space—couch, recliner, huge mounted television, dining table. A hallway led to the two bedrooms and bathroom.

  Simple. Ordinary. The fanciest piece of furniture was the coffee table he’d built himself. Probably a far cry from what she was used to in Boston. What she was returning to.

  “Would you like some coffee?” he offered, stepping toward the kitchen.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, and he halted. “Since it’s Saturday, Ivy is going with the twins and their friends to a reindeer rally, whatever that is. Then they have pageant practice. Did I tell you she’s in the show, too? Her and Cher are going to sing together. While she’s busy, I thought I’d just... Well, I needed to talk to...” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “And I’m honest-to-God babbling. Dammit, I feel like I’m making this awkward as hell.”

  “Even when you had a wreath on your head, you weren’t awkward. You wore it like a crown,” he murmured. Like the queen you are. Somehow he managed to trap those too-revealing words inside, but to prevent anything else from slipping, he shrugged out of his coat and gestured for hers. “Let me have your coat, and you can start talking.”

  She removed the outerwear, revealing a cream-colored V-neck sweater that clung to every curve and dip and dark blue jeans that highlighted the feminine swell of her hips and tightness of her thick thighs.

  He almost handed her back the coat.

  Because he had no idea how he could carry on a conversation without picturing his mouth on those breasts, his hands cradling that waist, or his legs squeezed by those thighs.

  Exhaling a low, deliberate breath, he turned toward the closet, using those moments to get his throbbing body and rebellious thoughts under control.

  Yeah, good luck with that.

  “Sure you don’t want any coffee?” he asked, returning to the living room. Please, give me something to do other than stare at you.

  “I’m sure.” She rubbed her palms down the sides of her jeans, and the nervous gesture snapped him out of his own head.

  “I’m sorry. Moe would kill me over what she’d call my barnyard manners. Have a seat.” He waved toward the couch, taking a step in that direction. “I’m actually glad you stopped by. I was on my—”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, and I want to hear what you have to say, but please, can I get this out first? If I don’t...” She shrugged, lifting her hands, palms up. “I don’t know if I will be able to later.”

  Wolf pivoted and peered at her. Noticing the sinking of her teeth into her bottom lip. The slight fidgeting. The restless drumming of her finger against her legs.

  The obvious signs of unease triggered a dread that coiled in his gut. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the back of the couch. And waited.

  Nessa Hunt did ballsy. Snarky. Even aloof.

  But Nessa Hunt did not do nervous.

  He braced himself for whatever she had to say, even knowing the effort would be pointless, fruitless. He didn’t like it, hadn’t been prepared for it—even on some level resented it—but this woman had the power to fell him with a word, a glance, a touch.

  And he suspected she was about to prove it.

  Shit. If this wasn’t proof that he’d failed to protect himself—hell, failed to protect her from him—then he didn’t know what was.

  Nessa blew out a hard breath, running a hand over the shaved side of her head. “For the past day, I’ve been thinking over what to say. How to say this without it being offensive or even selfish.”

  “Just say it,” Wolf said, his tone even, though inside... Inside, his heart pounded like an anvil striking iron. “You’re responsible for the heart and intention behind the words, not for how the other person hears them.”

  “You’re doing the wise-old-man thing again.” The corner of her mouth quirked up in a faint smile, but after an instant, it disappeared. “Wolf, I haven’t been honest with you. That seems to be a theme with me, lately. I haven’t been honest with Ivy, you, myself.”

  She shook her head, glancing away from him and shoving her hair behind her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell on a deep breath, then she returned her gaze to him.

  “You asked me the other night about how my day at the clinic went. I avoided the question then, but I’ll answer now. It went amazing.”

  “I’m glad for that,” he murmured, a little confused about where this was going, but something inside him stilled. Waited.

  “I was scared, Wolf. So damn scared when I pulled up to that clinic.” Nessa pressed a fist to her chest, over her heart. “Because bringing Ivy to Rose Bend at Isaac’s request wasn’t the only reason I came. Before...” She hesitated, slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. Wolf locked his muscles, physically restraining himself from going to her. “Before I left Boston, I collapsed in the emergency room. A panic attack. It was the first time it’d happened to me, much less occurring at work. My supervisor insisted I take time off. She believes I haven’t truly dealt with my mom’s and Isaac’s deaths and suddenly becoming the guardian to a twelve-year-old who’s cast me as the evil stepsister in her own fairy tale.”

  “Do you need me to hold you?”

  She blinked at his offer, her lips parting. Then, she closed her eyes, her soft hitch of air almost deafening in the silent room. Jesus, she was killing him. The pressure to ease that pain, that sorrow, shoved at him until he damn near shook with the urge to go to her. In his twisted head, was he more addicted to being the rescuer, no matter the person being rescued? Was that what he found so irresistible and...and consuming about her?

  Like a flailing man hanging over the side of a mountain from a threadbare rope, he grasped at some kind of explanation.

  Some reason why he should usher her out of here right now before he took them past the point of no return.

  But she looked at him again.
A glimmer of warmth had banished some of the shadows in those espresso depths, and he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  “How do you do that?” She didn’t wait for him to answer but continued, “No, I’m okay. I need to do this.” She paused and inhaled a breath. Let it go. “So after being forced to take vacation, I headed here with Ivy, hoping to, I don’t know, fix myself. Fearing I was too broken for that to happen. Then I was asked to fill in at the clinic. And I survived. Not only that, I realized I hadn’t lost the career I love, the path I’d chosen. Because I had been scared, Wolf. That seems to be the theme of my life for the last eight months since Mom died. Fear. I’m tired of that. The clinic was one step out of it. This is another.”

  She took that step toward him. Then one more. And one more until she stood in front of him, the toes of her boots nudging his.

  “I’ve always played by the rules. Toed the line. Made the correct and expected decisions. And walking out your front door and letting the other night be the farthest we go would be the wisest decision right now. But I don’t want to.”

  She inched closer until her toes bumped the heels of his boots. Until her legs brushed the insides of his thighs. Until her sultry jasmine-and-cedar scent taunted and teased him. He unfolded his arms and curled his fingers around the back of the couch. Holding on so he didn’t grab her.

  “Even though I’ve followed the rules, I’ve been lied to, walked away from, abandoned. So now I’m going to throw all that out the window and see what happens. I owe it to myself to take what I want...and I want you. Even if it’s just for the next few weeks before I return home. But, Wolf—” she held up a hand and slowly shook her head “—that’s all it can be. You offered me a temporary arrangement, no questions, no strings. And if that’s what is still on the table, then I’ll accept it. Otherwise, I don’t have it in me to give more than that. Not right now. Maybe not for a long time. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m an untrusting, suspicious, emotional bad bet. I’m being up-front with you about that because you’ve been hurt, and I won’t lie to you. There’s nothing happily-ever-after about me.”

  “Can I touch you now?”

  The question emerged rougher, harsher, than he’d intended but all he heard in the last part of her speech was a yes. Though a phantom vise squeezed his chest at her “before I return home,” it didn’t compare to the acceptance. And that she’d set important boundaries that allowed him to have her without risking his own pain. He was going in, eyes wide open, knowing she would leave. Knowing he couldn’t disappoint or fail where there were no expectations.

  He wanted her. And he could have her.

  She wanted him. And she wasn’t turning him away.

  That’s all he cared about.

  Well, that and getting her naked as quickly as possible.

  A smile—a small but true one, not that nervous facsimile—curved her mouth. “Yes.”

  Before the consent completely passed her lips, he shoved off the couch, already reaching for her. But at the last moment, he abruptly drew up short.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “What?”

  “The panic attack. The day at the clinic. Are you sure you—?”

  She threw herself at him, crushing her mouth to his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tunneling through his hair and tugging. Prickles of pain darted across his scalp, and he rumbled his pleasure into her mouth. Opening wide for her, he thrilled in the possessive thrust of her tongue, the hungry growl that preceded the wet, raw tangle. No foreplay for them. Their mouths got straight to fucking with hard, demanding strokes, greedy sucks and lush licks.

  The woman could kiss like nobody’s business.

  Could willingly bring him to his knees with one of those needy whimpers.

  Dropping his hands to her prayer-inspiring ass, he hiked her up, and her legs immediately wound around his waist. With long strides, he stalked around the couch and set her on the dark brown cushions whose only sellable factor until now had been the color that hid all manner of food and drink stains. Now it would forever remind him of the beautiful color of her eyes.

  His lips tingled, swollen from the delicious carnal abuse they’d just suffered, as he trailed them over her cheek, over her temple to the closely shaved side of her head. Fingers sliding up her arm, shoulder and neck to burrow into the long, thick strands on the other side, he fisted them, tilting her head.

  “I promised myself when I finally got you here, I’d go slow, take my time and worship you and this body like you deserve. But reality is a different animal, and I don’t know if I can follow through on that wish.”

  He brushed his mouth back and forth along her scalp, dipping his head to graze the top of her ear with his teeth. She trembled, her grip on his hair tightening.

  “Wing it.”

  He laughed, amazed that he could when lust gripped him in its razor-sharp teeth. But as he pressed his lips to her temple, his humor softened then evaporated. Fuck, he wanted this woman. Wanted her with a fierceness that should terrify him. And later, later when her powerful, toned thighs weren’t cradling his waist, when her intoxicating, rich scent didn’t have his head thick and his cock even thicker, he’d have the sense to be scared.

  But not now.

  Now he just needed to be balls deep inside her.

  Bowing his head, he captured her mouth again, delving deep. He couldn’t get enough. Of her taste. Of those sexy sounds. But they weren’t enough. Not nearly. He craved more. And then more. And even more.

  Gripping the bottom of her sweater, he jerked the top up, barely granting her a moment to lift her arms before tearing it over her head and dropping it to the floor. In seconds, he’d returned the favor to his own sweater. He stared at her, hair tousled and spilling over a shoulder, brown skin gleaming against the light blue of a silk-and-lace bra. Last time, he hadn’t touched her bare flesh, and now his fingers almost cramped with the need to be on her.

  “You’re stunning.” Lust and something more tender—that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge, especially here, when softer emotions could be mistaken for more—pulsed and beat within him. Alive and hungry.

  She stroked a hand down his face, her fingers tracing his cheekbone, the arch of his nose, the top curve of his lip, painting the bottom one with a damp fingertip. Her hand dropped to his chest. He stiffened, the air stalling in his lungs as she followed the lines of his tattoo on his chest.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to look at you,” she murmured, lifting her hand from his chest to join the one mapping his face. Brushing his chin, jaw. He exhaled the breath he held. “No person should be as beautiful as you.”

  This mating of their mouths was gentle, slower but no less erotic, no less hot and full of intent. As he curled his tongue around hers, he demonstrated what he intended for her nipples, her clit. What he promised with his touch.

  Sliding his hands down her shoulders, he didn’t hesitate in cupping and squeezing her breasts, slightly less than a handful and utterly perfect. Didn’t waver in popping the front clasp and stripping the bra from her, leaving her naked from the waist up.

  Didn’t pause in pulling free of their kiss and taking a dark brown, tightly furled nipple in his mouth.

  Nessa’s soft cry was a symphony he longed to record and play over and over. He’d settle for drawing it from her as often as possible. Pinching the other tip, he licked and sucked, tonguing it until her hips writhed like an untamed thing. Then, he switched to the other nipple and started over.

  By the time he lifted his mouth, she clutched his head, holding him to her, arching so hard, her swollen flesh trembled. He should feel a little sympathy; after all, his cock throbbed. But only pride swept through him as he studied his handiwork. As heavy, loud pants and pained whimpers broke on her lips.

  “Are you with me?” His hands dropped to her thin belt, but his gaze found hers, searching. For the s
lightest hint of hesitancy, for doubt.

  “Yes,” she breathed, backing her answer up with a jerk of her head. “Yes.”

  He unbuckled the belt and released the top button of her jeans, then skipped to her knee-high boots, quickly removing them.

  “Wait,” she ordered.

  She batted his hands out of the way when they returned to her zipper and she reached for his jeans. Within moments, she had the button loosened, the zipper down and her hand inside his boxer briefs. Their twin groans saturated the room as her fingers closed around his cock and squeezed.

  Jesus. His head fell back on his shoulders and his ass hit his heels. He punched his hips up into that first tight stroke, and maybe he swore, maybe he groaned again. Hell, maybe he cried. He didn’t know because his ability to form rational thought vanished under her pumping hand.

  And then she pushed off the couch, bowed over him and sank her mouth over his cock.

  “Fuck.” He thrust his hands in her hair, holding her...trying to pull her away...

  Goddamn, he’d lost his mind. To the pleasure that attacked his spine and balls. To her. His dick, though. His dick understood which side it wanted. More. More of her tongue flicking over its head. More of that greedy suckle. More of that hard squeezing.

  “Baby,” he grated. Shifting, he sat, raising his knees so she knelt between his thighs, working him over as if he were the most delicious treat she’d ever had in her mouth.

  He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Not from the sight of himself disappearing between her lush lips, of her flushed cheeks, of the pleasure that glazed her dark eyes when her lashes lifted and she looked at him. He ground his teeth together, trying to trap the orders to suck harder, open wider, take all of him. But when she dipped her head lower, hollowed her cheeks and twisted her fist, they spilled from him anyway.

  A jagged telltale electrical pulse sizzled up his legs and down his back, culminating in his cock. Swearing, he gently but firmly tugged her away from him and covered her mouth with his. Not here. The first time he came wouldn’t be in this perfect, wicked mouth.