Christmas Wishes: A Christmas Romance Anthology

by Creative Anthologies

  “That sucks. You’ve come to the right place. We’ll do our best to keep you company.”

  “Merry Christmas.” I raise my glass sarcastically and take a large drink.

  This is the first year I’m going to be away from my family at Christmas. I go home to Scotland every year around the 22nd of December, but this year, I was snowed under with work and clients. I couldn’t get away until today, and now with the flight company double booking, I can’t fly. The weather is terrible, so there are limited flights in and out of New York. I could cry.

  “You sound like you’re having about as good a night as me,” comes a soft but gruff voice.

  I look over to my right. I don’t know how I didn’t know I had a bar-hogging partner before, but I’m not complaining. He’s handsome. And by the quick inspection, he looks about as pissed off as me.

  “Who said Christmas was a happy occasion?”

  He raises his glass and drinks the contents, which I guess is whiskey. “You don’t like Christmas either?”

  I shake my head. “I love Christmas, when I can actually get home to spend it with my family.” I drink.

  Maybe if I take a drink every time I think a depressing thought, the next few days will fly by extremely quickly.

  “And your family isn’t local, I’m guessing from your accent. Is that a Scottish accent you have?”

  I smile at that, because I’ve been asked if my accent is Australian, Welsh, Irish. Someone, for once, has got it right.

  “I’m from Central Scotland. My family all live there. We usually have a big family gathering at Christmas. It’s the first year I’ve been away from them.”

  “I’m sorry. Can you make other plans quickly?”

  I shrug. “I have friends and colleagues here, but I’m quite happy to spend a few days in peace and quiet away from work.”

  I might even have a few editing jobs I can start early if I’m lucky.

  “Thia.” The barman pushes another glass over to me.

  “Thanks.” I raise my glass.

  “Put it on my bill,” says Mr. Dark and Handsome.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you. I don’t even know your name.”

  He holds his hand out to me and I accept it. “My name is Damon. Nice to meet you…”

  “Ilythia.” I offer. “But my friends call my Thia.”

  “I like that. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  I feel my cheeks heat. I bet they’re like clown cheeks now. I’m never good at taking compliments, unless it’s work related.

  “So, I’ve poured my heart out to you. What are you doing here alone? There are two days until Christmas. You must have someone you can hang out with.”

  He smiles warmly. “I’m here at my company’s Christmas party.”

  I point to next door and he nods.

  “My friend is over in that corner chatting up the local talent.”

  I look over to the corner he’s talking about, and sure enough, another tall guy is eating up the attention of several women.

  “And you’re here, alone.”

  He looks directly into my eyes and smiles. I swear his smile reaches his eyes.

  “I prefer my own company.”

  I try to study this fine specimen in front of me, but he’s not the usual douchebag that walks the streets of New York.

  “What is it you work as, Damon?”

  “I own part of Brewster and Sons. I am one of the sons.”

  I about spit my wine all over the poor guy. He looks concerned and offers me a napkin from the bar top.

  “Thanks.” I dab at my mouth and make sure I have no spillages on myself. That would be the icing on the cake.

  “You know my company?” he asks.

  I nod. Brewster and Sons is our rival company. If we don’t publish it, they do, and vice versa.

  “You could say that. I’m the chief editor of Foresters.”

  He opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. “I guess that should make us enemies.”

  “You’d think so, but I’m not that kind of person, Damon.”

  He bites the corner of his mouth and I imagine myself biting his lip.

  Shut up, Thia! Go back to being stuck in your shell.

  “You’ve probably heard of the son that doesn’t follow his father and brother like a lapdog,” he says, and I nod. “That’s me, Ilythia.”

  My name running off his tongue does something to my insides. I feel like I’m turning to mush. The heat pools in between my legs, and my heart rate spikes.

  “Okay then.” I turn back around to face the bar, but I can feel Damon’s eyes still burning holes through me.

  A group of obnoxious partygoers stumble through the bar. It’s Christmas, and the whole world is drinking and having fun. It’s the season to be jolly.

  Damon clears his throat. “I’m probably being forward here, but what the hell.” I look over towards him. “We’re both sitting here drowning our sorrows. I have an apartment one block away. We can grab a pizza on our way back, have a night cap away from the festivities. I’ll even get you home when you’re ready.”

  I find myself biting my lip through the butterflies floating around my stomach.

  “I don’t know you, Damon.”

  “Come on. You probably know more about me than anyone else in this hotel, minus my assistant and so-called best friend over there.”

  I taste the metallic taste in my mouth from biting my lip. It’s like I have a devil on one shoulder telling me to live a little, but the angel on the other shoulder is telling me to go home and be a good little girl.

  I would only be going home to wallow in self-pity, drink myself into a stupor, and eat my body weight in junk food.

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah?” He sounds shocked, but he isn’t as shocked as I am. I’m never impulsive. I’m the level-headed woman. The one that does everything by the rule book.

  “Yeah. I hope you know of a good pizza restaurant.”

  “I know just the place, but I have a question for you that determines whether this friendship can continue.”

  “Go on,” I ask nervously.

  “Does pineapple belong on a pizza?”

  I giggle. I don’t know if it’s out of relief or not. “It abso-effing-lutely belongs on a pizza.”

  “Ah, I should just marry you here and now.”

  “I have the same argument with my friends. Only I eat Hawaii pizzas. What do you say we get the biggest ham and pineapple pizza they do?”

  “Deal.”

  We both down our drinks, settle our tabs at the bar, and wish Jack a very merry Christmas. I doubt this will be the last time he sees me over the holidays, but I can’t answer for Damon.

  Just an hour or so ago, I walked into his bar all doom and gloom. Now, I might just have something to look forward to. Damon certainly isn’t like his father, so that’s a bonus. I’ve done some work alongside old Mr. Brewster, and he drove me up the wall the whole two weeks.

  Oh, well. Merry Christmas to me.

  Damon

  Meeting Ilythia tonight was a saving grace. It’s like she’s my angel from up above, taking me away from that godforsaken hotel. And I haven’t enjoyed someone else’s company in… forever.

  We collected the pizza on our way back to my apartment. Of course, it was ham and pineapple. I love this woman already. We’ve walked slowly back to my apartment, talking, laughing, enjoying the moment.

  We stop outside my block and I point to where we’re going. I can feel her unease about walking into my apartment with me, a stranger, and I’m happy that she’s showing that side, because it lets me see that my initial thought was right. This isn’t like her. She doesn’t just go home with strangers.

  “I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman. When you’re ready to go home, you just need to tell me and I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Okay. But you can just walk me home. I live right around the corner.”

  “Really?” I can’t believe I haven’t s
een her before. She’s stunning. Her long brown hair hangs down around her back. She looks like an angel, sounds like an angel, and acts like my angel.

  “I picked my apartment because it’s so close to the office. No commute.”

  “Wise move.” I walk up the steps in front of her. I open the door and hold it for her. “Evening, Jake.” I salute the doorman.

  “Party not go as planned?”

  “You know me, Jake. Besides, I got a better offer.”

  “So I see. Have a good evening.”

  Ilythia smiles warmly at Jake, and for the first time in forever, a woman makes my dick strain against my zipper. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry that this beautiful woman has walked into my life tonight.

  I walk us over to the elevator and type in my code. I notice that Ilythia looks anywhere but at the keypad; another quality I like. She isn’t here because of who I am, or what I offer. She’s here for the same reason I am; filling a void the festive season has brought.

  “This is a nice building.”

  “Nice. I’m surprised a top editor like yourself would use a mediocre word like nice.”

  She rolls her eyes at me and smiles. “Just because I write properly doesn’t mean I have to speak it. Besides, I’m Scottish. We have our own language.”

  “Hit me with something you’d say back home that someone here wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’ve had an awfy gid nicht the nicht.”

  “Okay.” We both laugh.

  “I don’t speak like that back home. It’s more the older generation that still speak with their Scot’s tongue.”

  “And it meant?”

  “I had a really good night tonight.”

  I raise my brows. “I once had a Scottish author on my books. I had to do a lot of Google searches to make sure the words were correctly spelled. It was that bad, my assistant editor did her first read-through and handed it off to me.”

  “You have a wise assisting editor.”

  “Indeed.”

  The doors ping open into my hallway. I have the penthouse apartment in the building. It’s all mine. I paid for it from my grandfather’s inheritance. Something my father didn’t like, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want my father’s name on anything I have.

  “Wow! I thought the building was beautiful, but this is something else.”

  “Thank you. This is home.”

  I feel a little awkward, but I walk into my kitchen, place the pizza box on the counter, and take out two glasses. I remember she liked white wine from the bar, so I grab a bottle of my favorite white from the cooler.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  “Do you mind if I kick off my shoes?”

  “Be my guest.”

  I pour the wine and look over at her taking off her shoes. She even makes that look graceful. She takes off her jacket and folds it over the back of my couch. For the first time tonight, I’m seeing her little black dress. It shows off her curves perfectly. She’s a womanly woman. Everything screams sexy. There’s not one thing on her I would change.

  “This smells delicious.” She walks over to me as I open the box and take out some plates. “I can’t remember the last time I had pizza.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who watches her figure.”

  She scoffs. “Hardly, but I work with people who watch their figures. We eat in fancy restaurants, sushi bars; all things I could gladly give up.”

  I pull out my barstool and sit down. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Three years. I moved here after I graduated. I got offered an editing job at Foresters and the rest is history.”

  “You must miss home.”

  “Deeply.” I can see unshed tears well in her eyes.

  I instantly feel horrible for reminding her what she’s missing this holiday season.

  “I’m sorry. I promise we won’t talk about your family again. Change the subject, you pick.”

  The unshed tears are quickly wiped away and I see the mischievous glint in her beautiful brown eyes. I’ve maybe just made the worst decision of the night.

  “Okay. You asked for it, Mr. Brewster…”

  “Please.” I hold up my hands. “My father is Mr. Brewster. Damon will suffice.”

  I cringe at the thought of being called the same name as my father. He’s nothing like me. I prefer my own identity.

  “Okay. Damon.”

  She takes a bite out of her pizza and moans a deep throaty groan. My dick is painfully hard now.

  “I’m guessing what all the magazines say is true.”

  “And what do they say, Ilythia?”

  “That you’re the quiet one. The single one. The man who doesn’t like the limelight.”

  I clear my throat and adjust my position on the seat. “They don’t always write the truth, but those assumptions are correct. I like to be my own person. I don’t shame myself or my family by taking home any piece of skirt I can get my hands on.”

  She nods, deep in thought.

  “Yet you brought me home.”

  “You seem different. Even after finding out who I am, you didn’t change. I like that.”

  She takes another bite of her pizza and dabs her mouth with a napkin. “I’m me, Damon. I guess you could say I’m the quiet one. The one who prefers to push her clients to the top and remain in the shadows.”

  It’s as if she’s describing me. How can someone else have those same characteristics, be goddamn beautiful, and accept life for what it is?

  “Have I shocked you?” she asks.

  “I think you have. I’ve never met anyone else in this business that resembles me.”

  “Me neither. I come across plenty of pompous pricks, arrogant jerks, and self-absorbed know-it-alls, but never the genuine people that are grateful for the opportunity to make a name for themselves.”

  “I couldn’t put it better myself. Unfortunately, a lot of my family fall into those categories.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

  I reach over and squeeze her arm. “I know you didn’t mean it towards my family.”

  “I worked with your dad for two weeks on the NYC book convention about twelve months ago.”

  “How did that work out?”

  She shrugs. She looks shy suddenly, but she looks up and shakes her head. “Honestly, he was a pain in my backside. It was his way or the highway.”

  “Sounds about right. I’m lucky I work at the opposite side of the office from my father. We see each other only if it’s a necessity.”

  She nods.

  “Anyway, it’s Christmas, and you said you like Christmas.”

  I reach into my pocket and take out my cell. I program the speakers to play a mix of Christmas songs, then round the counter and hold my hand out to her.

  “What?”

  Just as Mariah Carey starts singing O Holy Night, I say, “You know how to dance, yes?”

  “Yes, but we don’t have to.”

  I reach over and take her hand into mine. She’s much shorter now with those heels off, but her head is just the right height to nestle into my shoulder if she so desires. We stand in between my kitchen and living area, the music echoing around us, with just the twinkling Christmas tree I have in the corner that my housekeeper insisted I put up last week.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” she says.

  “It is. I love it. The perfect escape.”

  I look down at our hands entwined as we move slowly to the music.

  “I didn’t peg you as a dancer, Damon.”

  “This hermit can dance, Miss Ilythia.”

  I twirl her around as the song changes to Rocking Around The Christmas Tree. She twirls back into me, misses catching my hand, and lands into my chest. I place my thumb and forefinger under her chin and make her look me in the eye. I’m not imagining this connection between us. I can see from her dancing eyes, growing pupils, and fast breathing that she feels this tension as much as I do.

  “I shouldn’
t like you here, in my space, but for whatever reason, I like having you in my apartment.”

  “I bet you say that to all the women you bring here,” she whispers against me.

  I shake my head. “I thought we established that I’m not a womanizer. And just to clear this up fully, I’ve never brought a woman back here. This is my sanctuary.”

  “Why am I different?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’re both at a loose end at Christmas. Why don’t we see what becomes of tonight’s adventure?” I proposition her, not really believing what I hear coming out of my own mouth.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I feel her hand clench my shirt shakily. She looks confident, but her body is giving her away.

  “These perfect lips are meant to be kissed. Worshipped.”

  “Hmm.” She hums, which only eggs me on further.

  I lean into her mouth, giving her a moment to pull away or push me away, but her fist clenches my shirt tighter. Our mouths collide, tongues probing, exploring every crevice of one another’s mouths. Her body sags into me and I tighten my grip around her waist before her legs disobey her and give out.

  “Tell me to stop.” I speak against her mouth, breathing in the same air as her, smelling a mixture of the wine she’s been drinking and her minty toothpaste.

  “I should, but I don’t want you to stop, Damon.”

  I reach around to her back and lower her zip deliberately slowly. I have the patience of a saint; she’ll be begging me first. She pulls at my tie and pulls it off in more of a hurry than I am. I want to savor this moment. I push her dress down her arms and it falls to the floor in a puddle at her feet. I rake my eyes up and down her glorious body. Her matching black lace bra and panties call to me on a level that nothing ever has before.

  “You look beautiful.”

  I walk into her frame and lift her. Wrapping her legs around my waist, I walk over to the fur rug in front of the fire and lay her down.

  Her hair fans out around her, making her look like the angel I believe she is. I stand up and quickly remove my clothes, leaving me standing in my black Calvin Klein briefs. Her eyes are hungry, devouring every inch of me. It’s been a while since a woman appreciated me for the person I am, and not the millionaire I am. I quite like it too.