Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by M. Robinson

  Her voice, when she replies, is just as husky as mine: “I’ve just committed at least ten policy violations, and I’m hoping you won’t find the need to report me, Agent Paxton.”

  That tone.

  That fucking sass.

  I curl my shoulders forward and put down the backseat window to let in noise from the city. “Might just have to punish you for overstepping boundaries.”

  “Yeah?”

  She sounds so damn hopeful that it’s all I can do to swallow a laugh. Flicking my gaze up to the driver, I give him the new address before returning my full attention to the woman on the other end of the line.

  Laela Donna.

  I’ve made a career out of doing the right thing—until her. When she emailed me, I emailed back. When she came at me with guns blazing, I refused to fold and bend to her will. She’s the daughter of a man whose case I worked. The two of us sit on opposite ends at the table of judgment, our hands outstretched toward the other but never allowed to touch.

  “Take off your clothes,” I tell her, my voice pure grit, “and kneel for me at the foot of the bed. Don’t move. Don’t ask questions. Can you do that for me?”

  In the silence that follows, there’s only the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, softly, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  Chapter Six

  Laela

  The carpet is soft under my knees.

  I keep my hands folded in my lap, my body angled toward the door. I can’t say that I’ve spent any length of time getting this closely acquainted with one of our hotel beds before. Then again, there’s a first time for everything and this thing with Reid . . .

  It consumes me.

  It wasn’t a lie when I said that seeing him at the gala felt like fate. There have been so many times in the last eighteen months where I could have stopped reaching out to him—and, whenever the guilt of betraying Dad struck too deep, I almost did. Still I came back for more, compelled to peel back the layers of every word and email to piece together the man who spun into our lives like a wrecking ball.

  I tucked away the details of his life like secrets I would never tell another soul—that he’s the third generation of Paxton men to work for the FBI, that he can see the spire of St. Louis Cathedral reaching toward the sky from his house, and that when his days are too busy to even breathe, there’s nothing that settles his restless spirit more than running on the levees that border the Mississippi River.

  He wrote once to me, I’m terrified that I’ll look back at everything and realize that I’ve never done anything that makes my heart pound with want. Right now, I want.

  Him. This. Us.

  When the door cracks open five minutes later and his broad frame enters the room, it takes every ounce of willpower to remain kneeling on the floor. Dark-wash jeans mold to the muscles of his thighs and a black leather jacket hugs his shoulders like a glove. He’s not even remotely dressed for today’s frigid temperature, and a smile inches its way onto my face when he shakes his head like a damp dog and sends snowflakes fluttering to the ground.

  “Clearly, this Southerner didn’t come prepared.”

  His gaze flares at my teasing comment. Closing the door behind him with the heel of his boot, he shucks off his jacket and drops it over the back of a nearby chair. Each movement is executed with masculine grace, snaring my focus and holding it captive. The warmth in the room spreads like liquid heat in my blood, teasing my naked skin with the promise that any minute now, it’ll be him who sets me on fire.

  Reid lowers his frame into a wingback chair to my left. Pools of sunlight dance across his handsome face as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, that restless tic revealing that while his expression might be calm and composed, his soul is rattling the chains of his self-restraint.

  “I want more, Laela,” he says huskily, never allowing his stare to drop below my face. “You give yourself to me, and I’m going to take it to mean that you’re mine.”

  It’s a proposition.

  A vow.

  I dig my nails into my bare thighs. “It goes both ways.”

  Dark, sensual laughter teases across his lips. With his gaze locked on mine, he sinks his elbows down onto his splayed thighs and lets his wrists dangle between them. Kicking up his chin, he murmurs, “I was yours the second you called me a self-righteous, home-wrecking bastard.”

  Embarrassment catches in my throat. “A little sadistic of you to get off on that, don’t you think?”

  “Come here, Miss Donna, and I’ll show you how much I liked it.”

  It’s almost a purr, the way he orders me to his side. His golden eyes are bright with devilry and his cheeks already stained with a flush of color. He holds out a single hand, palm tilted up toward the ceiling, exactly how he’s tempted me before. Beneath all those hard muscles and that careful reserve, Reid Paxton is a man who feels too much, all at once—just like me.

  Shifting forward, I drop my hands to the carpet.

  And then I crawl.

  My smile is sly, pointed, a reminder that I won’t be submissive for much longer. Based on the challenge sparking to life in his gaze, he’s more than willing to step onto the battlefield and see who comes out the victor.

  Placing my hand in his, I let him pull me into the V of his thighs.

  A low, possessive growl escapes him just before his work-roughened palms dance across my bare shoulders. “Fucking beautiful,” he grits out, slipping his hands down over the outside of my arms to cup my elbows. “Sit up for me.”

  I place my hands on his thighs instead.

  Knead the tense muscles hard enough to make all the blood in his body rush south.

  “Laela . . .”

  It’s a warning, the way my name spills out of him. One that I happily ignore.

  With nimble fingers, I undo the brass button of his jeans. Flicking my gaze up, I pointedly hold his stare as I tug on the metal tab and inch it down, down, down. Reid’s lips part on a ragged exhale. He lets me go as if I’ve scorched him, grasping the stuffed armrests with the sort of keening desperation that makes my heart pound that much harder.

  I palm his cock through the denim, running the heel of my hand up his length. A flick of my thumb and forefinger, and his jeans part open to reveal his erection straining against the cotton of his briefs. “Should I make you come like a fumbling teenager?” I murmur lightly.

  His head falls back.

  The sight of him like this . . . beautiful. All brutal handsome lines and coiled muscle. The veins of his throat visibly strain as he drags in fistful of air after fistful of air. Big, broad shoulders tremble with unraveling control. On either side of me, his thighs fall open in silent invitation. Tearing my gaze away from his face, I stare at the briefs cupping his erection, the gray material already damp with pre-come.

  He wants this.

  He wants me.

  “Say it,” I whisper.

  His hand finds the crown of my head. I lift my eyes to his face just in time to see his expression darken with lust. “Fuck me, then. Put that gorgeous mouth around my cock and make me come.”

  God. Yes.

  The weight of his palm doesn’t relent as I pull the steel length of him free from his briefs. My entire body twitches with anticipation, need. If it weren’t for the fact that I instigated this entire power play of dominance, I’d sit back on my heels and simply admire the view.

  Reid Paxton is a god.

  Instead, I wrap a hand around him and relish in his throaty groan.

  Beneath my left forearm, the muscles in his thigh bunch and release as his hips punch upward into my tight grip. Like he’s fighting some internal war, his fingers flex rhythmically in my hair. Pull me close, push me away. Hiding a satisfied grin, I drag my hand down to the root in the same breath that I touch my tongue to the ruddy head. A single swirl to lap up all that pre-come and—

  “Oh, fuck—Laela.”

  His hips rise again and again, chasing the warmth of my mouth. This time, I swa
llow him down. He slides over the flat of my tongue in fast, furious strokes that level the playing field and shift power back into his waiting hands. The soft carpet abrades my knees and tears sting the back of my eyes and I hear the breathy, pleading moan that saturates the hotel room like it’s been whispered in my ear.

  That moan comes from me.

  My heart is a wild, frantic thing inside my chest. His hand fists my hair, tugging sharply to keep with the pace he’s set, and my nails bite ruthlessly into his thigh. He holds me to him, those cognac eyes flashing with hunger each time that I bring my gaze to his face.

  “I’ve dreamed of this,” he grunts. “Every fucking night, I found you in the darkness and let you haunt me.”

  Oh, God.

  Arousal pools between my thighs at his gruffness, his honesty.

  “And in every dream, you wanted me too.” He pulls on my hair, demanding my attention. His cock slips over my bottom lip, pumping back in with a slow, sensual fury that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. “You begged me to take you in my arms and you begged me to put my hands on you. But none of it—fuck, Laela. No fantasy can live up to the reality of you. Touch yourself for me.”

  I won’t last.

  One swipe of my finger and I’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

  I don’t want this to end, not yet.

  When I start to shake my head, Reid presses a finger to my chin. “Show me how wet you are.”

  A whimper strangles my lungs as I spread my knees and hover my weight forward, so I can still take every thrust of his cock. I’m trembling, I think. So turned on by the hoarse groans reverberating in his chest and the taste of him on my tongue that when I press a finger to my clit, it feels like I’m already on the verge of an orgasm.

  My hips shift forward again and again. Then Reid rasps, “Two fingers, sweetheart. Fuck yourself and let me hear you scream,” and I all but detonate.

  He swipes a tear off my cheekbone, bringing it to his mouth to clean away with his tongue. That hand settles on the column of my throat, the way my velvet choker did on the night of the gala. He powers into me with flexing hips and he praises me when I slick two fingers inside my pussy and grind down.

  We’re messy and raw and chasing earth-shattering relief.

  And then he’s yanking away with a snarled, “I need you.”

  I gasp at the sudden emptiness, only to find myself hauled into his arms and thrown down on the bed. The mattress bounces beneath my weight. Reid flips me over with a sweep of his hands over my hips so that I’m on my hands and knees with my ass in the air.

  There’s the crinkle of foil, the wisp of clothing hitting the floor, and then the subsequent dip in the mattress behind me.

  His hands run down my spine, and that one touch alone elicits a shudder of pleasure. Every nerve ending is so sensitive that it won’t take long for me to come.

  I’ve never wanted anything more.

  “One last chance to walk away,” comes his husky voice.

  I glance back at him over my shoulder, letting every emotion spiral to the surface. My fear that this chemistry will burn out. My hope that this is where we were meant to end up all along, together and fated to fall in love. Licking my lips, I offer him complete and utter honesty:

  “Give me another reason to stay.”

  Fingers dig into my ass and his golden eyes remain fixed on mine, and then he thrusts forward and claims me forever.

  My moan shatters the hotel room.

  He drives into me with slow, sensual strokes. I clutch the sheets beneath me, head thrown back. I’m falling and spiraling and crying out his name. Reid folds over me, one hand landing beside on the bed while the other clutches my hip.

  I can feel the breadth of his naked chest against my back.

  His breath, hot and fast, against my nape.

  Tilting my head to the side, heat flushes over my skin as he accepts the wordless invitation and presses his lips to my neck. I move my hand over his, interlacing our fingers, and breathe his name. “I’m going to come,” I pant, thrusting my hips backward to meet his strokes. “Oh, God, I’m going to—”

  His fingers drop away from my hip to slip between my thighs.

  One touch.

  One thrust of his cock.

  And I explode with a cry, shuddering in his arms and bowing my back and grabbing his hand to keep his finger circling my clit while I ride out the storm.

  “You feel so good,” he mutters against my neck.

  “Like fate.”

  “Like you were always meant to be mine, Laela Donna. Like you’ve been mine all along.”

  He grasps my hip, leveraging his weight so that he angles his hips to thrust upward with every stroke. He grunts my name and brushes his lips over my shoulder. This man is a contradiction of shadows and light, bold and aggressive one minute and sweet and romantic the next. And when he comes, it’s with a jagged groan that lights me up from within like a wave of sunlight on the coldest winter day.

  Gently, he lowers us to the bed. Rolling us onto our backs, he pulls me halfway over his body so that I can rest my chin on his chest. Eyes closed, he draws circles over my shoulder blade. “Do you hate me, Laela?”

  It’s a joke, I think.

  A play on every moment in the last year and a half when I’ve signed off each email with Regretfully in hate, Laela Donna.

  I press a kiss to his damp skin. “No, Agent Paxon. I don’t hate you.”

  “Do you like me?” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Could you see putting up with me for the foreseeable future?”

  My heart squeezes at the vulnerability coated within humor.

  Stassi may never approve of me dating the man who took our father away, but she’ll come around. As for Dad . . . he made his own decisions. He created a ripple effect that touched every one of our lives and left no stone unturned. He may hate me for this, and that’s his right. His choice. But I’ve spent too long pretending to not care for Reid Paxton when it was obvious all along that I was falling, and falling hard.

  “If we had a mistletoe, I’d kiss you.”

  His eyes flash open. “You don’t need a plant to lay one on me. I’m easy like that. All you need to do is lean over a little more . . . Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.”

  My lips slide over his, tasting, memorizing.

  Falling even deeper.

  “I’m yours, Reid Paxton.”

  Approval rumbles deep in his chest. Against my lips, he whispers, “I love you.”

  Three little words.

  They spin in my heart and spread like the sweetest poison in my veins.

  This is joy.

  This, right here, feels like fate.

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading Carol of the Bells, and I hope you enjoyed Laela and Reid’s story!

  Need more hot and steamy action? Be sure to pre-order Made In Ruin, an age-gap mafia romance set in New Orleans, where nothing is as it seems . . . and the love between our headstrong heroine and her bodyguard is entirely forbidden.

  Pre-Order Made In Ruin

  Silent Night

  Sienna Snow

  Chapter One

  I stood in the shadows of a hallway in the penthouse suite of the Ida Las Vegas Hotel, studying the group of men and women gathered around a collection of gaming tables as they played high-stakes poker.

  They had no idea that tonight would be the last time they’d gather for a game night in Vegas organized by Olympia Nyx Mykos, known in the underground as the Silent Night.

  Especially if a specific person had his way.

  But then again, I wasn’t the type of person to ever follow orders.

  My grandmother, Yia Yia Gina, liked to tell me I’d made an art form of navigating around the rules and expectations set for good Greek girls of my standing.

  Taking a deep breath, I glanced in the direction of a Hollywood starlet. She wore a sparkling red and green gown to showcase her love of Christmas, with long strands of diamonds h
anging from her ears. She oozed confidence as she tossed in chips totaling a cool five hundred thousand dollars to raise the stakes at her table, and three players folded. A calculating gleam entered her blue eyes, and immediately I knew she was ready to take the pot holding twenty times what she’d just bet.

  At another table, a group of friends from around the world had flown in to enjoy a game. I was positive they were wagering on some real estate venture one of them had recently procured in addition to the million dollars in the pot in front of them.

  Yes, all of these players could bet in the many casinos of Vegas and win big, but none of them could make the type of deals that went down at my tables. Here, it wasn’t just cards and cash at stake, but business transactions. I created the opportunity for them to meet, and the players created their endeavors without a paper trail.

  It was all very illegal, with the possibility of landing every person here in hot water if caught.

  They all knew what to expect the second they entered an event space: high stakes, cash up front, with a percentage going to the house, and no one discussing the guest list or what transpired.

  All attendees went through a vetting process before receiving an invitation, and I never held a Silent Night event at the same location twice. Even tonight’s event would disappear come morning with the suite only having evidence of a couple of friends enjoying their last night in Vegas together before one of them moved to New York for her wedding.

  My wedding.

  My stomach clenched. I was really going to do it. I’d leave this city I’d grown to love and return to a life filled with rules and expectations.

  All for a man.

  A man who drove me crazy half the time and made me need him with every fiber of my being the other half.

  “Drink this. It will calm your nerves. I know it helped me,” my girlfriend and cousin-in-law, Penny Lykaios, said as she set a soft hand on my shoulder and held out a tumbler of dark reddish-gold whiskey with the other.

  Without thinking, I threw it back, letting the fiery liquid burn down my throat and soothe my senses. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”