Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “Surprise!” Dozens of voices roar at once.

  And here we go. I try to hold back a laugh, but it rumbles out anyway.

  Blake and Annie jump over as I try to assess the sea of bodies swarming the tiny room.

  “Do I know any of these people?” I spot two familiar faces coming my way.

  “Everyone’s here.” Blake socks me in the arm. “Happy birthday, big bro.”

  A pair of cool hands close over my eyes from behind, and my grin expands twice as wide.

  “Happy birthday, Professor James,” Marley whispers hot in my ear, and I know for a fact it will be a very happy birthday—in less than an hour if I can help it.

  I spin into her and pull her tiny body to mine. A part of me instinctually wants to kiss her, but I hold back.

  Marley outshines the entire bar, Hollow Brook, the universe.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

  Her hair is wild, and my fingers don’t hesitate running through it. Her face is dusted with a touch more powder than I’m used to. Marley doesn’t need anything to enhance her beauty. She’s perfect as is, but, tonight, with her eyes glistening like jewels, she looks like she should be added as an honorary wonder of the world.

  “Happy birthday, stranger.” A young girl’s voice emanates from behind as I’m pulled backwards by my shirt.

  I turn to find a dark-haired beauty with eyes the exact color as mine.

  “Piper?”

  My sister beams her infectious grin back at me. She’s taller than the last time we saw each other. The heels might have something to do with that. She’s wearing a little black dress that is far more revealing than necessary, and she’s got lipstick on—red lipstick that screams I’m-not-a-little-girl anymore.

  “Come here.” I pull her into a hug. “Don’t grow up so fast.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m a senior. I’ll finally be graduating this year. And you’d better not miss the ceremony.” She jabs me hard in the chest.

  “You bet I won’t. How is our boneheaded brother?”

  “Cade?” She steps back and presents him like a prize. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “Holy crap.” I slap my kid brother on the back. And yet, he’s grown too. Cade is older than Piper by two years, a college man himself just like Blake. It feels good to be surrounded by family. And it hurts like hell that Benji couldn’t be here to join us. I know Blake is feeling it too. “Dude.” I pull him in by the shoulder. “Did you do all this?”

  “Annie insisted.” He holds up his hands. “And don’t worry, Piper and Cade are crashing with me tonight.”

  Cade and Piper both have my coloring, dark hair, light eyes, same obnoxious grin—not to mention identical trust funds the size of Texas. It’s not a bad deal to be a member of the James clan. Too bad my father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us outside of the tax write-offs we’ve provided.

  Marley steps in and circles her arms around my waist. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”

  Cade shoves a beer in my hand. “At his age you just sort of forget.” He winks.

  “Watch it. I’m not old.”

  “That’s right, you’re ancient!” A girl squeals from behind, and I turn to find Baya giggling into Marley.

  I laugh with the crowd, but it echoes a little too close to the bone considering what Monica said, and, now, I’m wondering if there’s any weight to it.

  “Pizza for everyone!” Blake shouts, and the room erupts in cheers.

  The next hour and a half is spent trying to kick Bryson and Ryder’s ass in a game of pool, then chatting it up with my sister and brother while we watch Blake perform with the band. But it’s Marley in that glittering navy dress that my attention drifts to. Marley shines like a sea of stars, and my eyes keep flitting in her direction. No matter where she is in the room, my body demands to gravitate to her. We should be together always. No one makes me feel as relaxed, as happy, and as anxiously frustrated than that little girl right there.

  Her eyes connect with mine as she saunters over.

  “You ready for a real party, cowboy?” Her voice is light. Her eyes sparkle as if an entire galaxy were buried in each one.

  I feel those words like a hot stone in my stomach.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Show Time

  Marley

  Wyatt whisks us the hell out of the Black Bear, blazing right through Saturday night traffic until we land at the ranch in record time. He hops out and carries me to the porch as if I were his bride, unlocking the door with a flick of his wrist until we land in his dimly lit home. Wyatt slams the door with his shoe and moves us to the living room depositing me gently onto my feet as he races to start a fire.

  He appears before me again, breathless without missing a beat. “Here we are.” His voice rumbles straight to my bones like thunder through a hurricane.

  “Here we are indeed.” I take a few steps forward and wrap my arms around his neck. “Happy birthday, Wyatt. I have a little something for you.” My teeth graze over my bottom lip as I take him in like this. Tall, forebodingly handsome, his strong arms clasping onto my waist in anticipation.

  “Aren’t I the lucky birthday boy?” His dimples dig in tight, no smile. There’s an earnestness about him that spells out ecstasy in the making, and my thighs quiver because if I’m not careful I’ll achieve the big O before we ever get started.

  “Actually”—I clasp onto the tie that he’s neatly paired with dark denim and chukka boots, my all time favorite—“I’m the lucky one. I win because I have you.”

  He winces before his dimples dig in ten times deeper.

  “Clothes off.” The smile drops from his face. Wyatt is a man who is used to being pleased, when and how he wishes, and most likely by whomever he wants.

  “Yes, Professor James.” I reach back and unzip my dress, letting it drop to the floor in a celebrated thump. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slowly pull them over my curves. Wyatt’s eyes float down to my hips. His chest expands as if he’s pleased with what he sees. I let them glide off, soft as a feather and carefully step out of the fabric puddle, wobbling on my heels in the process.

  God, God, God, don’t fall! I do a little dance trying to right myself and land a few inches closer to him with my heels the only foreign objects on my body. “Your turn, cowboy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He loosens his tie with a vengeance before running his fingers down his shirt and peeling it off. He works his jeans, and, before I know it, Wyatt James is standing before me, naked—impressively very naked.

  My eyes greedily take him in. This is no boy with gangly limbs, no bare chested prepubescent adolescent masquerading as a college boy. This isn’t Will and his wimpy willy by a long shot. Wyatt is all man. The girth of his chest alone is impressive as hell, his muscles are so bulked up, I’m half tempted to ask if he’s flexing. My fingers brush over his chest—where there is actual hair. Hair. Not like gorilla hair, just enough to let me know he’s passed puberty by a mile. My eyes track lower as I give an audible swallow.

  Wyatt is already saluting me with the most impressive specimen known to all of man. Dear God. I fight hard not to take pictures stat and Instagram the hell out of this. Not one girl I know will ever believe me. Who knew that Will was cheating me out of the real deal for so long? This man, this imposing long board of his (and yes it appears sturdy enough to surf on), his woody, his remarkably lengthy third arm is almost too much to believe—so much so that I can’t seem to take my eyes off it.

  “Oh, my, God,” I whisper a little louder than anticipated. I swear if this were anybody else I’d ask if it were some prosthesis. “You are absolutely amazing.”

  I’ll keep reminding myself that having a boyfriend whose manhood doubles as a flotation device is oh so worth it—newfound hobble aside.

  I scoot back in horror as Wyatt grips me by the shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s w
rong.” I blink up at his equally stunned expression.

  Wyatt isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my friend. My bed buddy. No wait that’s too crude—he’s my lover. I’ve taken a lover. That sounds so much more refined than bed buddy, although technically I could never say either in front of my mother, so I don’t really see the difference. Mommy’s face smiles back at me from the twisted theater of my mind. Ack! I swat my mother out of my brain like shooing a fly. It’s so not kosher to think of one’s mother when you have a perfectly good man part staring you in the face. Besides, Wyatt and I have drawn a quasi-platonic line in the sand. What we have between us is simply for physical purposes, sort of like a good yoga session or a really fantastic Zumba class.

  I get right to work, taking care of him the best way my mouth knows how and Wyatt offers a haunting moan that lets me know at the least I’m making him feel good—real good according to the tone he’s exuding.

  His fingers dig into my hair, swirling it around, driving it into my face. Okay, so it’s a little like a dizzying dry shampoo. I make a mental note of this as a part of me tries to factor in how I can finagle this into an article.

  “You don’t mess around, do you?”

  A laugh bubbles from me and I gag. A horrid retching sound—or, more honestly, a very unattractive, yet odiously prolonged burp emits from deep inside me—and, instinctually, Wyatt whips me off of him before I can bring my own emissions to the party. And why was that so freaking loud? Is there a bullhorn feature built into my throat that I don’t know about? God, I sounded like some prehistoric creature! Like a dragon who was about to light his man parts on fire. Of course he pulled away. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he were afraid of me. Hell, I’m afraid of me at this point.

  I take a full moment to cringe properly. Crap! Crap! Crap! Can’t I do anything without humiliating myself? He probably thinks I’m full of all sorts of interesting gasses tonight. He’s probably sorry he ever offered me that third slice of pizza. Clearly I’ve violated our contract.

  The fireplace roars, enticing me to jump on in and I seriously consider the proposition.

  “Come here.” Wyatt pulls me up, stripping me of my oral duties for the time being—the time being forever. I can’t say I blame him. I’m sure no man wants his body vomited on—like ever. And here I was, equipped with a verbal threat. Leave it to me to turn a belch into a hate crime.

  He grimaces a moment. The exact facial expression you never hope to see when standing in front of an attractive man sans clothing.

  “Sorry.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “I’d hate to end the party before it ever really begins.” His devilish grin catches the light, and I’m reminded that I’m about to make love to the single most gorgeous man on the planet—that is if the offer still stands. If he’s not afraid to hear any other wildly auditory bodily function on my part. “I want to kiss you, is that okay?”

  “Kiss?” My chest bucks with relief. “I just introduced your joystick to my uvula. I don’t think you need to ask about kissing me.”

  His eyes widen a moment as the fire reflects in them. “Joystick?” he mouths.

  I bite down hard over my lip as my fingers float up and down his back. Wyatt runs his hands down my shoulders.

  “Are you ready to do this?” He’s studying me in this dim light, looking for the extra assurance that I’m down for the big game.

  “What is this a cross examination? I thought you were going to ravage me?” I give an impish grin. “You have my permission by the way.”

  Wyatt hardens his gaze into mine. Something in him turns, and I can see his primal devices going off like a flare. He seizes my face with both hands and crashes his lips to mine.

  His hot kisses track all the way to my ear. He gives my neck a tender bite, and my mouth opens with a dry croak emitting from my throat. Wyatt lands us both on the couch, thankfully choosing to overlook my throat’s second offense of the evening. The soft velveteen fabric warms against my skin. (I once had sex with Will on a leather couch at his mother’s house. It was like a cold slap to the entire backside of my body, and, here, even Wyatt’s furniture is all about making me comfortable.) I bet Wyatt bought this couch with girls like me in mind. He’s thoughtful that way.

  His tongue rides down my neck, down further as if he were simply just saying hello on the way to more interesting places. Wyatt dips down further.

  Oh, my gawd! He really is headed to more interesting places!

  Will—idiot that he is—never did that. He claimed he had an allergic reaction that almost killed him once with some other girl he went down on. So, of course, I never pressured him. Who would want to be responsible for killing their boyfriend by way of her body? How would I ever explain that to his mother? But now that I see him for the cheat he is, I’m sure he just made it all up because he wasn’t into pleasuring me. Either that or the girl that turned him off from going south forever had one tainted twat! Not me. I’m showered and shaved, and I’ve even clipped myself into a Valentine’s Day heart down there in honor of my first kiss with Wyatt. Technically we kissed in the parking lot that first night we met, but that hardly counts since I was just trying to make Will jealous. Anyway, it’s not like Wyatt can possibly notice the craftsmanship that went into my mop chop.

  “Did you do this for me?”

  I peer down to see him looking at my handiwork, amused. His finger traces out the heart-shaped pattern, over and over.

  “Why, yes I did! Thank you for noticing.” I’m strangely elated by the approving gleam in his eyes.

  “I noticed.” He circles my features with his gaze. “I make it a point to notice every single detail about you.”

  A tiny squeal emits from my throat.

  Is it sick that I love how stalker-ish that sounds?

  Wyatt gets right to work.

  “Oh, wow.” I flinch unexpectedly. So this is what I’ve been missing. “Oh, this.” I groan as Wyatt turns my nether regions into his tongue’s favorite fun zone. He does this twirly thing, and I jump a little just trying to catch my breath. “Okay, that.” I pant. “Yes, for sure that!”

  Wyatt lets out a little laugh right over my sweet spot. I guess fair is fair, I practically chortled him right back out of my throat.

  “Damn.” He growls into me, and I die.

  Two things. One—he’s not gagging and going into anaphylactic shock, so already I’m pleased. And, two—just hearing him belt out that expletive turned me on ten thousand times more than I ever thought possible. Wyatt is a gentleman, a man’s man. He doesn’t bark out cuss words 24/7 like the frat boys I’m so often surrounded by, so when he does let the occasional swear word fly, it carries a lot of power and apparently has the ability to bring me to a wild burst of ecstasy at record pace.

  “Wyatt!” I cry out in a panic. “It’s happening. I’m going to have it!” Geez, could I sound anymore like an idiot? Worse yet, like an idiot who’s in freaking labor? Who shouts these things in the throes of passion? I should have thought this through more diligently when I had the chance. I should have asked Baya what she screams when her man brings her to the ecstasy parade. And then I should have taken notes and rehearsed the damn thing like a freaking novena.

  “Do you want it?” He growls it out quickly before getting back to business. Wyatt doesn’t mess around. I can tell he is all about getting crap done.

  “Yes! I want it. I want it so bad, Wyatt.” I pull a throw pillow over my head and bury my face in it. I would rather suffocate to death than allow one more asinine thing to burp from my mouth. God, wouldn’t it be ironic if I really did suffocate and die during sex? And, here, Will was the big faker all along.

  I fling the pillow across the room in a fit of rage. I’ll be damned if I’m going to gift Will the pleasure of being right in anything even remotely related to my heart-shaped ass.

  The fire roars and lights up the room a brilliant shade of yellow. Wow, I marvel trying to keep pace.

  “Yes!” I groan louder than humanly possible, partl
y because the fire just gave an obnoxious roar of its own.

  Wyatt glances up. “Crap!”

  I follow his gaze to find the pillow I flung across the room hanging partway out of the fireplace, going up in flames like a marshmallow.

  Wyatt tries to get up, but I lock his head between my thighs.

  “Oh, no you don’t. The big O is knocking at the door. You can’t leave now.”

  He gives a quick look to the fire. “You have one minute.”

  “And then what?”

  “The curtains go up in flames.” He presses out a peaceable grin, and those adorable dimples dig in deep.

  “Hurry!” I press his head down, and Wyatt diligently, might I add furiously, gets back to work. Oh, he’s biting!

  “Yes that!” I scream so loud you’d think a thermonuclear missile were in my sights.

  Wyatt goes into overdrive, and I let out a yelping scream—the kind you’d hear if a terrier had a paw run over in the driveway.

  What the hell happened to the sexy cry I was just christening the room with a few moments ago? Really? A terrier?

  I whimper and gasp as his tongue rides over me. Wyatt buries his face over my stomach for a brief moment before looking up.

  He’s panting. His teeth glint as the entire house explodes with light.

  The curtains go up like dry brush on a hillside as the room ignites with heat and flames.

  “Oh my, God! We’re going to die!” I expel the words in a blood curdling—yet savagely sexy—scream. “Fire!” I shout stupidly from the couch.

  Of course, he’s aware there’s a fire. There’s a freaking blaze taking place five feet away!

  “Open the door!” Wyatt barks, and I jump up, opening it wide before running outside, screaming my head off—naked and terrified as if I were being chased by an ax murderer.

  Annie and Blake rush from the carriage house just as Wyatt runs out the front door hauling a fiery line of curtains with him.

  I pause a second from my primal screaming to marvel at how badass he looks hauling those flames out of his home as if he were teaching them a lesson. He’s like a fire god.