Surprise Baby for Christmas

by Harmony Knight

  Surprise Baby for Christmas

  A Secret Baby Romance

  Harmony Knight

  Copyright © 2019 by Harmony Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Pippa

  2. Aiden

  3. Pippa

  4. Aiden

  5. Pippa

  6. Aiden

  7. Pippa

  8. Aiden

  9. Pippa

  10. Aiden

  11. Pippa

  12. Aiden

  13. Pippa

  14. Aiden

  15. Pippa

  16. Aiden

  17. Pippa

  18. Aiden

  19. Pippa

  20. Aiden

  21. Pippa

  Epilogue

  Pippa

  Aiden

  Deleted Chapter

  About the Author

  Pippa

  March 27, 2018

  “Wait there.”

  Aiden’s voice makes me look up from where I’m lying on the floor with a lazy smile on my face. I bite my lip on purpose, because even though we’ve only known each other for a week, I’ve already picked up on the little things that drive him wild. Lip biting is one of them. I see his eyes narrow on me, hungry, before he rushes out of the room.

  I’m naked, lying on a fur rug that I hope is a fake, in front of a roaring open fire, inside a log cabin. When I gaze at the window, I can see the fire’s reflection dancing over the scene outside. It’s close to midnight and the moon is out, an almost-perfect circle suspended high over the mountains and trees below, its light glittering across the thick blanket of snow that covers them, pillowy and undisturbed.

  I shouldn’t be here, really. Vacations like this don’t happen to girls like me—but they do happen to girls like Valerie, my best friend. Where I turned to art and followed my passion right into borderline poverty, she followed hers into law school. The bad thing about being a lawyer only a couple of years out of college is that, if the boss says you have to cancel your vacation and come into work next week because there’s a big client coming in, you have to ask how high. And then what do you do with your expensive, no-refunds, luxury ski break? Well, if you’re an absolute treasure like Valerie, you offer it up to your poor sculptor bestie and loan her your gear.

  I feel bad for her, but if I’d said no this whole thing would have gone to waste. And I’d never have met Aiden.

  Just the thought of him sends a ripple of pleasure up my spine. We met at the lodge bar on the second night I was here, and it’s just been one long whirlwind ever since. I can’t let anything get too serious, not with such a recent break up hanging over my head. One in a string of many—I feel like I’ve barely been single since college. I’ve made it very clear that this is a vacation-only thing and we won’t be swapping information, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. I haven’t asked Aiden about his job, his life at home... not even where he lives. Assuming, that is, he doesn’t live here. When I arrived he was hanging out with the owner, and the first time we met he offered to teach me to ski, so I just figured that he worked here. But he’s spent pretty much every evening with me since then, so I either got lucky and happened to be here when he had a week off, or he’s on vacation too. I guess I’ll never know. He’s respected my firm request that we just enjoy this week and then let it end, and hasn’t asked anything about my life.

  He returns waving a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. “Got it,” he smiles, walking toward me. “All I can tell you is that it’s French, and old. Here, want to see the bottle?”

  This man is drop-dead gorgeous. He is an adonis, and he really doesn’t seem to realize it.

  I prop up on one elbow to watch him walk over. He is toned like I’ve never seen. Michelangelo’s David has nothing on this guy. His torso is broad at the top and narrow at the waist, his legs are sculpted from hip to foot. His stomach is a washboard complete with six bars of soap. His face? Perfection. Chiseled jaw, intense brown eyes, dark hair. If you’d told me about this guy a couple of weeks ago, I would have said there was no way in hell I could ever let someone that perfect see me naked, with all my wobbly imperfections. But here I am, and here he is. I think our vacation-only rule has made me throw caution to the wind. Who cares if he sees a little cellulite? After tomorrow, I’ll never see him again. And yeah, maybe I wish he’d pushed back against my request for a no-strings fling a bit harder than he did, but it’s really for the best, I’m sure.

  “Well?” he says, standing over me in all his naked glory. He’s holding the bottle by its neck and waving it back and forth, and it couldn’t be more obvious that I can’t even remember the question anymore. I’ve just been laying here, staring. I clear my throat.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask.

  A smile creeps onto his mouth, slow and seductive. “Like what you see?” he asks.

  I look at the bottle and then at him, drawing my gaze down slowly over his whole, delicious body. I see his length twitch as I glance at it, a sure sign that it’s about to get considerably lengthier. “Are we still talking about the wine?” I ask him.

  He twitches again and begins to grow. The wine is forgotten. I don’t see what happens to the bottle, but he is on top of me suddenly, his mouth on mine, his tongue seeking to dance with my own. I respond without hesitation. It might be the very last time, after all.

  He shifts himself on top of me in a way that urges me to open my thighs, and I need no further encouragement to comply. His large hand moves to my right leg, pulling it up at the knee so I can hook it around his waist.

  He’s fully hard now. He grabs a condom from an open pack beside the rug and slips it on with ease. Then I can feel him pressing against my sex, not entering me but pushing through my wetness until he finds that sensitive little nub and rocks his hips, teasing me, earning himself a gasp from my mouth that seems to delight him. He smiles against my mouth, and then nibbles at my bottom lip. “I’m going to miss this,” he says.

  I thrust my hips a little, impatiently, only to moan as he slides over that sensitive little bud again. I try to ignore the sinking feeling at the reminder that this will all be over soon.

  “Better make it memorable.” My own voice is a stranger to me, husky and breathless. My nipples are almost as hard as he is, and he stimulates them with every pass as his body rocks that slow, teasing rhythm, still refusing to enter me, no matter how insistently I tug at him with that leg hooked around his waist.

  “Ask for it,” he whispers beside my ear, his breathing heavy, his voice low and demanding. I feel my cheeks flush pink and hot. I roll my hips, pulling my body against him, defying his demand, and watch his composure falter a little. His jaw tightens slightly. He looks me right in the eye and raises one brow, slowing the rhythmic motion of his hips.

  The delicious ripples of pleasure that have been rolling through my body stop abruptly as he stills, and a smirk lifts one corner of his mouth. He knows as well as I do that this deprivation will break my playful resistance.

  “Please,” I say, leaning up to nibble quickly on his lower lip.

  “Please, what?” he asks. The smirk is infuriating by now. I can still feel the heat of his body radiating against me, almost as hot as the open fire beside us.

  I curl my hands to fists in the fur beneath me, for a little leverage, and slide my hips up quickly, lining up his tip before quickly thrusting forward and pulling him toward me with the leg I have ho
oked around his waist.

  “Ah-hah!” I grin, triumphantly, as he slides into me, but my triumph is short-lived. He narrows his eyes and pushes a little deeper, staring into me. A little deeper yet and my triumphant exclamation is drowned out by a groan of pleasure from my own lips. I feel him stretch me, and my body responds instantly, my other leg coming up so that both are wrapped around his waist.

  His left hand pushes a stray hair out of my face, while his right moves down between my legs, between our bodies. He presses his thumb against that sensitive nub that he’s already teased toward the edge, and I see that smirk return to his face.

  “That was very naughty, Pip,” he tells me, and sweeps his thumb up and back down. A shock of pleasure shoots through me and my body, pinned beneath him, twitches.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, breathless. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m normally such a good girl.”

  He laughs. His laugh is gorgeous, masculine and unbridled, and it dies easy against my lips as he kisses me, and finally starts to fuck me, slowly at first, and then with every ounce of energy and enthusiasm he has. His thumb works overtime on my clitoris, rubbing gentle, small circles that match the rhythm of his hips. In barely a couple of minutes I am gasping, digging nails into his back, gripping at the fur rug beneath me, and arching my back as the pleasure builds.

  His breathing is heavy. He slips his hand beneath my neck and holds me, pulling up a little as though to watch my face and all its many expressions as he pushes my body closer and closer to its limit.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he tells me, through gritted teeth, as he struggles to hold on himself.

  It doesn’t even occur to me, with him, to object to the praise. He could tell me anything in this moment and I’d moan some superficial agreement. His hips thrust and roll a few more times, harder, and the sound of our bodies meeting is drowned out by my sudden gasp. I hold it as the pressure builds in my belly, and then all at once it comes flooding out. Wave after wave of pleasure rolls through my bucking body, and I moan with every one.

  I can feel Aiden’s eyes on me, intently, watching every millisecond of my orgasm play out on my flushed face and through my body. Just as I feel the pleasure begin to ebb away, he picks up the pace. He slams into me harder and faster, pushing his own limits and sending me off on the crest of another wave. I feel him tense, muscles bunching on his back and his shoulders as he slams into me one final time and holds, and I feel him pumping inside me as he groans loudly beside my ear.

  “Jesus,” he says, breathless, as he leans down and kisses my lips gently. He pulls out of me slowly and rolls off me. Laying beside me on the rug, he runs his fingers up and down my tummy, making me twitch and giggle in the super-sensitive afterglow. I’m a mess, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like a queen.

  “Jesus,” I whisper, smiling at him.

  Aiden

  March 28, 2018

  I’m awake before I open my eyes, feeling content and warm—if a bit hungover. I can already tell the room is bright from the sun’s reflection off the snowy banks outside, and I can hear the faint crackle and pop of the dying fire. But as comfortable as I am, something feels off.

  Reluctantly, I peel my eyes open and look around; first at the wooden beams splayed across the ceiling of the cabin, then towards the fire on my right, and finally, apprehensively, to my left. She’s not there. No matter how hard I try to stop myself falling, no matter how much I remind myself that this is a temporary, week-long adventure and then it’ll be over, I already feel like something’s not quite right when she isn’t beside me. At some point today she will leave, and I’ll let her go without a single protest. Because I gave her my word that I would.

  I sit up with a groan and rub my hands over my face, settle my elbows on my knees and try to clear the last remnants of wine from my head. I’ve just about convinced myself to get up when there’s a knock at the door.

  “It’s open,” I call, my voice cracking with residual sleep. It’s always open. I’ve been coming to this same lodge twice a year since I was a boy. The people here are like family. I’ve been helping out teaching new skiers since I was fifteen, and occasionally working the bar since I was twenty-one. I spent a whole year here in my late teens. I’m pretty sure Pippa thinks I live and work here now, but the only time I did that was when I needed to take some time out from life, to let my heart mend for a while.

  The door opens and Dave walks in, dressed in full snow gear with a smile on his face. “Morning!” he says, smiling. Behind him, disturbed flakes of snow flutter down from above the door.

  It’s at that moment that a blast of icy cold air hits my bare torso. “Holy shit, Dave! Close the door!” I pull the blanket up over my chest and he laughs.

  “Where’s Pip?” he asks, and I almost groan at the reminder that she’s not here. In all the years he’s known me, from my trips here to his parents’ ski resort and his trips to Chicago to see me in the summer, he’s never known me to spend as much time with a girl as I have with Pippa. Not since college, at least. My best friend asking me about her somehow makes her leaving much more real.

  He must be able to read the conflict on my face, because the smile vanishes as he walks in and drops onto the couch. “Man, she’s gone?” he says, picking up a piece of paper from the coffee table.

  “Going,” I say. “Today.”

  “Ah, yeah,” he says, flapping the paper toward me. “At five. Did you give her your number?”

  “Is that from her?” I ask, gripping the blanket around my waist as I lean forward to snatch the paper from his hand. It reads: Gone to pack. Cab at 5. Meet at Driscoll’s at 3? P. xoxo

  “Shit. What time is it?” I demand from Dave. I stand up to look for my phone, still holding the blanket around me like a makeshift sarong. I almost trip over it on my second step, and just manage to stop myself by gripping onto the mantel. “Jesus, my head,” I groan.

  Dave is wearing a half-amused expression as he watches me bumble around.

  “Not even two,” he says, putting me out of my misery.

  “Right.” Sighing with relief, I can feel my pulse slowing a little and I stand there, scratching my head.

  “I’ll make you a coffee and find some aspirin,” Dave says, getting to his feet. “You go and shower. You’re a mess.”

  “You’re a diamond, Dave, you know that?”

  Dave flashes his broad, generous smile as he turns towards the kitchen. “That’s right, buddy. You couldn’t afford me if you tried.”

  An hour later I’m standing in Driscoll’s bar. The shower, the aspirin, and the inky black coffee that Dave made for me have worked their magic, and I feel human again. I even managed to scrub the wine stains from my lips with my toothbrush, and despite the way they’re tingling Dave has reassured me that I don’t look like Mick Jagger’s love child.

  “Buddy, I know it was hard, but it was years ago. And this girl… she’s good for you. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

  Dave is now hard at work trying to convince me to slip my number into Pippa’s bag before she leaves, telling me that I’m ready for something more than a snow-lodge fling, when Driscoll’s door swings wide open and slams against a nearby table. There, struggling under the weight of a huge backpack and dragging a large duffel bag across the slushy puddle outside the door, is Pippa.

  “Hey! Wait up,” I call as I bound across the room. Dave’s there with me in a second, lifting her bag out of the slush while I ease the backpack from her shoulders. I’d have helped her with her bags anyway, of course, but I’m also relieved to get away from Dave’s badgering. He almost had me convinced.

  “My knights in shining snow boots!” Pippa grins. She has a dimple, just on the one side, every time she smiles and sometimes when she makes a disappointed frown. It’s the most adorable thing.

  “I prefer to think of myself as the knight and Aiden as the feckless squire,” says Dave, giving me a good dig in the ribs. Pippa laughs and steps
into the bar, pulling off her gloves and kicking the snow from her boots on the mat.

  “And now, Madame,” Dave continues, with exaggerated chivalry, “If you will excuse me, I must away. There’s a bus-load of new guests arriving in an hour. Safe journey, Pippa!”

  “Aw, that’s a shame. It was great meeting you, Dave,” Pippa replies warmly, and pulls him in for a hug. They break apart, and Dave gives a little wave as he moves towards the door. As soon as Pippa turns back to face me, Dave gestures wildly to her bags and mouths “Your number!”, then gives me a big cheesy grin and two thumbs up.

  “Coffee?” I blurt out, trying to move her away from the door while subtly shooing Dave away. She nods, and heads off to find a seat. There’s something sad about the smile she gives me before she turns away, and the entire time I’m waiting at the bar, it eats at me.

  Dave’s sister, Anna, is working the bar. We chit chat about the weather, and by the time she’s done pouring two coffees, I’ve managed to convince myself that Pippa’s sadness is caused by the end of her vacation, rather than by the end of her time with me. She’s been very clear, several times, about wanting this to be a vacation-only thing, and much as I’d love to slip her my number as Dave suggested, it wouldn’t be fair. I promised her I wouldn’t push my luck at least half-a-dozen times over that first couple of insane, exhilarating, sex-filled days.

  Maybe, once she’s gone, I’ll just become some sad, lonely loser who let the right girl slip away, bitter because he was too distracted by her dynamite body and her gripping personality to make the right moves. Too wrapped up in an old teenage tragedy to be a man.