12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020

by Megan McCoy

  A cacophony of primal grunts and shrieks filled the hotel room until he finally collapsed over me and rolled onto his side, taking me with him.

  I couldn’t control the aftermath of trembling that continued to wrack my body.

  Cam left me and went into the bathroom, where I could hear him filling up the tub. No doubt presuming that I needed a deeper form of heat than his body could offer.

  I dissolved into tears from the sudden loss of his touch.

  “Cora, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, Cam, you left me.”

  “It’s okay now, Cora. You need a little bit of aftercare after that punishing spanking and mind-blowing sex,” he smirked. Scooping me up into his arms, he placed me gently in the tub. Then he climbed in behind me.

  I leaned back my head and closed my eyes, allowing the trembling to die down. I was ready now, ready to hear the rest.

  Chapter 8

  Cam

  “I am sorry for how I left, although despite how many times I have thought about it, I couldn’t have changed our parting.”

  She glared at me, almost defying what I had just confessed.

  “I have been part of a special unit or task force since the week before we met. Homeland Security scouted me right out of military college. I was supposed to have a week off to prepare and say goodbye to my family; that is when we met. Stopping in England on my way back was a last-minute decision. I was going to Washington a few days early and thought I had time to put things right and add you into the mix.”

  She was still glaring at me, but not maliciously like she had a few moments earlier; the look she wore now was more accusatory. I should have been honest, up front with her that night we spent together.

  “Cora, I should have told you that night, our one night together. I thought I knew what I was getting into and would have more control over my life than I did. When you pulled away from me in the cab, I received a call. You weren’t even out of eyesight yet. I ignorantly assumed that when they said they needed my expert advice on a situation, it was a consultation. Instead, they sent me out of the country the next day. My next mistake was thinking worst-case scenario: I’ll be gone two weeks, she’ll be mad, but she’ll forgive me. Almost two years later, I showed up in Boston to beg your forgiveness.”

  I paused, giving her time to process my words. Her glare toned down considerably, now she looked more hurt than malicious or accusatory. I had abandoned her; that was the truth.

  “Continue,” she said.

  “When I arrived in Boston, I texted Josh for Heather’s address. I found her apartment and knocked on the door. Except Heather didn’t’ answer, her roommate did, and she had never heard of you. So, I found Heather’s number, and I called her.”

  I paused again; her expression now held questions.

  “She told me about the assumption that I was dead. I’m still puzzling that one out myself. She told me about you getting pregnant and losing the baby. I’m sorry, Cora, I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”

  Again her expression changed, holding the sorrow I knew she must have felt when she discovered she was alone and pregnant.

  “Heather told me never to contact you. That you had gotten over me, and it had been hard, but eventually, you had accepted my death. I took Heather’s advice and let you go, and I wish I hadn’t. But in retrospect, we would have had a tough time. These past ten years, I have only been home a few times and not for long.”

  She looked angry again, so I quickly moved along to what I had been hiding in my pocket for eight years. “Cora, I had an engagement ring in my pocket when I showed up at Heather’s apartment; I still have it. I carried it to every country, on every mission. Even after, after I heard the news.”

  I pulled the Tiffany’s box from underneath the towel and placed it on the tub’s marble edge.

  She had stiffened at the mention of the miscarriage and grew colder at seeing the box.

  “So, I’m just supposed to believe this? That for eight years, you’ve been carrying around the engagement ring meant for me. What do you take me for, Cam? I’m not the ignorant virgin you met ten years ago.”

  “Open the box, Cora, and you’ll see I’m not lying.”

  She grabbed the box and snapped it open; I don’t know what she thought she’d see, but apparently, it wasn’t what was in there. She took out the ring, the exact ring she had described to me all those years ago as the perfect ring.

  She saw the receipt that was taped to the lid, the old ink barely visual now. She stared at it, and blinked several times, then looked at me. She seemed about to say something. Then the wall snapped back into place. She pushed the box back to me, being careful to keep her lovely, expressive moss green eyes blank.

  “This proves nothing, Cam; you could be playing a game and maybe tried to give this ring to a hundred different women over the years.”

  “I’ve never been married or engaged, Cora. I have not even dated. There has been no one for me, since you. As I said, after talking to Heather, I gave up on my dream, our dream, until a month ago.”

  “What happened a month ago?” she asked quietly.

  “I walked outside my building in D.C. and saw a newspaper headline that grabbed my attention. I sat down on a bench and read all about Cora Reed for a solid three hours. When I finished, I walked back inside my building and handed in my resignation.”

  She was conflicted; her eyes spoke of her tumultuous feelings.

  “Why, what did you read that made you decide that now was the time? Why was quitting your career and finding me the right thing, after all this time?”

  I sighed; putting my feelings into words was exceedingly difficult for me. Showing how I felt was easier. “Because Cora, after letting you go, my hope died, my humanity died, and I never questioned it until I read your words. I felt like you were talking to me, that we weren’t so far apart, that if I could find you and tell you what happened, I could be alive again. For the past ten years, I have been one thing: an elite soldier, not a man, just a thing. You made me feel alive, and even being in this room with you now, the soldier is dimming, and the man is awakening. It was how you write that got me. No matter the commentary or context of your articles, I felt you. I could hear the sorrow and the pain, and I knew you still suffered. Even if you kick me to the curb, at least I have done what I set out to do. Now, it’s your choice, and I will accept whatever you choose.”

  I lied a little. I had no intention of letting go of Cora, not again, not ever. I stood, wrapping a towel around my waist. Then I leaned in and picked her up and wrapped her in a towel. I took my time drying her arms and her legs, gently patting her ass and between her thighs.

  Then I carried her to the bed and covered her up, sliding underneath and pulling her in tight. She was warm in my arms, her heated backside snuggled into my groin.

  She sighed and started speaking, opening up, allowing her story to pour out, and I quietly held her as she told me how things had gone for her.

  “When I told my parents what had happened with school, I shared with them about you, our plans, and then this unexpected pregnancy. Losing my scholarship was all they cared about and told me I could move along. They didn’t want me around as a constant reminder of failure. I was devastated. Heather tried to be helpful, but let’s face it, even at her most giving, she is pretty self-absorbed. She is a rich kid; they don’t want to get bogged down by the ugly aspects of life.

  “I got a job at a diner on campus while I figured out my next move. Things were okay for a while. I made better tips than I thought I would, enough to enroll in a single journalism class. One night outside the diner, a guy in a ski mask attacked me. I tried to fight back, I wasn’t showing yet, but for some reason, the bastard thought to kick me in the stomach several times. He murdered my baby, Cam, our baby. I was in the hospital for two weeks with a broken jaw and cracked ribs. My parents finally took pity on me and paid my hospital bills, but they never visited me. When the hospital
released me, Heather told me that my folks had talked to hers, and I had to move out of the apartment as it was for students only.”

  I was finding it incredibly difficult to remain still and listen to her story. Heather hadn’t mentioned any of this, and I realized why being with me proved so hard for Cora. She had suffered, and I could have helped her if I’d had the guts to come forward sooner instead of listening to her friend’s advice.

  “Luckily, a few friends from home had gone to Georgetown. I got hold of them, and they invited me to join them. Again through my friend’s network, I got a job bartending and waitressing in a bar that caters to academia. I made good money and worked extra shifts. I volunteered to write and edit for a free newspaper. I used my articles as a resume and challenged some of the course work with hands-on experience. Because of that, I finished my degree a year early. I stayed in Washington for a while and three years ago moved to L.A. I wanted a warmer winter. Honestly, there was something about Washington that reminded me a bit of England, made me think too much of you. So, don’t feel bad for me, Cam. I got my degree without a scholarship, without my parents and you.”

  She sighed, and I felt the weariness, the cost of all those years alone, hammering out her life, bravely stepping up to the challenge time and time again. And at that moment, Cora morphed into so much more than I ever could have imagined she could be. Her moss green eyes held intelligence that had only been a promise of things to come in the future.

  When I met her, she was so unaware of her beauty, so uncomfortable with herself, that she was almost clumsy. She had transformed into a virtual lioness, making her more attractive than ever. Her hair was still long, but styled very differently from when we met. She was still curvy, although a little thinner than she should be, a woman who had missed many meals in pursuit of a story. I was so engrossed in my thoughts when she spoke, that I almost missed her question.

  “Why are you here, Cam? In England, I mean? What were you doing in Tintagel Castle? Did you know I would be there?”

  I countered with a question of my own. “Did you file charges against your attacker, was he ever found?”

  She stayed quiet a moment, and when she finally spoke, she whispered as if it hurt her just to say the words. “Yes, I reported the attack. But the investigation didn’t go well. Eventually, the cops finally wrote off my case, calling it bad luck. Wrong place at the wrong time, most likely by a random passerby. Someone traveling through town, most likely a drifter.”

  “Think back, Cora. Can you tell me anything about him?”

  She looked thoughtful. “He was close to your height but older, maybe mid-thirties, he had silver eyes, that was what stood out about him the most, and he had a tattoo on his shoulder. I managed to rip his shirt when I was fighting him; it was an organization tattoo, you know, like the military.”

  The blood froze in my veins; she was describing my boss, Roger Maitland. It couldn’t be. Why would he attack Cora? How… Then the pieces came together. He had me watched all those years ago; when I stopped in England, someone must have been tailing me.

  Even now, soldiers don’t just leave my branch of Homeland Security. He must have known I was meeting with Cora. He had an entire month to plan out the accidental death on the castle rampart.

  Trying to keep my voice calm, I asked, “Cora, when you first heard I was dead, who did you hear that from?”

  She was deep in thought. “I wasn’t told you were dead. I called Josh when you never showed up. He said someone had called the family and told them you were missing and presumed dead. Josh didn’t say who the source was.”

  I jumped out of bed and grabbed my cell phone, calling Josh. “Josh, I need to ask you something important. When you heard that I was missing and presumed dead, who did you hear that from?”

  The line was silent as if he were thinking back. “Your boss called your folks, and they informed us. My dad said it was your boss, some guy named Lawrence, no, Steve, no–”

  “Roger?”

  “Yeah, that was it, Roger. Now I remember, Dad said the call seemed so cloak and dagger it reminded him of a James bond movie, and I thought of the actor who played James Bond, Roger Moore.”

  Now I was angry. My blood began to boil. Earlier, when I saw Cora dangling from that crumbling wall, I thought: If she goes, I’m going with her. I will not live another day without her. Now I find out that my job had compromised us right from the beginning. She was in danger because of me.

  Chapter 9

  Cora

  I had felt the tingling before I knew it was him. I knew it was Cam from the moment I landed on top of him on the castle rampart. I was still in shock from what had just happened. I’d almost died, and no one knew but him and me. The worst part? It was my stupidity; that’s what happens when you pursue fanciful imaginings, karma.

  As I had stared out to sea on the ramparts of Tintagel, imagining I was Igraine, and our castle was under attack. I had run up the stairs towards the tower, trying to escape my pursuer. I burst out onto the parapet and ran for the other side. As I reached the staircase, another enemy appeared and blocked my exit. I was surrounded on both ends by hulking highland enemies that were hell-bent on ending my life; they had to as I was the heir.

  I stood in the middle, weighing my options. I glanced down at the writhing sea below. If I jumped, I would die, I knew that, but would that not be better than being leverage in the surrender of our castle?

  I glanced back to my original path; the highlander wore a horrible leer, his rank smell evident from ten feet away. I shuddered. Please let this be a quick end. When suddenly behind me, I heard a clash of swords.

  The highlander who had blocked my retreat now lay on the ground. His severed head rolling towards my slipper-clad feet. My eyes rounded as I looked up to see a magnificent sight. Cam, his eyes looked as dark and stormy as the waves below. He stood tall, well over six feet, his body honed and looking as dangerous as the claymore he held in his hands.

  I was glad he was on my side; with the scowl he wore, he was all darkness and dread. I felt the other highlander pause in his stride towards me.

  Cam reached for me, taking a moment to gaze into my eyes. “Cora, lass, will I always be saving you from your deadly homestead?”

  I grinned in response. Yes, I thought, yes, if I had my way, he would be rescuing me forever.

  Cam moved me behind him, using his body as a shield, and stepped forward to dual with my enemy.

  Then the tears and self-wallowing followed by the bolt of lightning, bringing the real Cam to my rescue this morning.

  “Cora, we need to get dressed, we’re not safe here.” Cam’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to my hotel room.

  “What are you saying? Not safe, why wouldn’t we be? There aren’t any terrorists around here, for crying out loud.”

  “Don’t question me; we don’t have time. Please, get dressed quickly.”

  “Fine,” I mumbled. I’d play out the danger charade. I wondered if this was another attempt at coaxing me into reuniting. I didn’t want Cam to know yet, but I already knew I wasn’t letting him go, never again.

  Cam was dressed and stuffing my belongings into my suitcase.

  “Cam, what’s the rush?”

  “Shh, don’t move, don’t say anything.”

  He opened the door to my suite, glancing left and right. Then he gently closed it and threw the deadbolt back on.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I answered, genuinely puzzled.

  “Exactly, Cora, there are no sounds. We’re in a hotel; why is it so quiet when it’s dinnertime?”

  Now I noticed the eerie silence; he was right; this was beyond quiet. He stepped away from the door and beckoned me to follow him back to the bathroom.

  “Listen to me, Cora; I need you to keep this door locked.” He tipped the free-standing porcelain tub onto its side. “Hide in the tub, Cora; it will protect you from stray bullets.”

  I
started to panic. “No, we need to get out of here, Cam. No hiding; let’s run! Please!”

  “Shh, Cora, it’s okay, you will be okay, I promise.”

  “Oh yeah,” I huffed. “Can you promise me you’ll be fine too, Cam? I won’t lose you again, do you hear me? Not again.”

  He held my eyes. “I haven’t come this far to lose you, us, now. Have some faith, Cora. We will get through this, I promise.”

  I reached up and kissed his lips; fiery passion ignited between us. “You better, Cam Moore, because this time, I’m not letting you go anywhere without me.”

  A boom at the front door broke us apart.

  “Lock the door behind me and get in the tub, NOW,” he hissed.

  Cam dove out the bathroom door, rolling behind the bed. I closed the door and locked it, calling the police as I hid behind the dense tub. I heard voices and scuffling, then a gunshot.

  Crap, crap, CRAP! I needed to know what was going on. I’m a reporter; we don’t hide. Then I remembered his words; then I remembered mine, and that settled it. I slid out of the tub and tiptoed to the door.

  I unlocked it and peered out. Cam was on the floor, holding his bleeding shoulder. My attacker from years before stood over him with a gun pointed at Cam’s heart. No, no, oh God, what do I do?

  I looked around for something I could throw at his arm. But first, I switched my phone to video. Then I grabbed the lamp, reaching down and gently unplugging it from the socket.

  Standing at an angle, beside the assailant, I struggled to remember his name. Roger, isn’t that what Cam had said?

  “Roger!”

  He spun towards me, and as he did, I hit his gun arm with the lamp. He stumbled, and the gun went off. The bullet hit the ceiling. Cam kicked with his feet as Roger stumbled backward and fell over. Then Cam was on him, punching Roger to a bloody pulp.

  “Cam! Cam, please stop, please. Please don’t kill him. He needs to go to prison for a long time for what he did to us.”