Christmas in Bed

by Bridget Snow

  Quickly, Mel pulled her shirt off and stood at the kitchen sink in a black bra. She ran cold water through the fabric, hoping a stain wouldn’t set, but the fabric seemed to hold onto the chocolate’s dark color anyway.

  “I think all is lost,” she said.

  Mason still didn’t turn back. Instead he held her phone up from the island where she had left it earlier.

  “Who is Craig?” He practically growled her boss’s name. She was surprised that his tone — protectiveness mixed with jealousy — was such a turn on.

  “He’s my boss,” she said. “Back home. Back in New York, I mean.”

  “Is that all he is?”

  “Let me see that,” she said, reaching for the phone. Mason passed it to her without looking back. Was he protecting her privacy, or was he actually angry?

  A series of missed text messages lit up the screen, all spaced less than five minutes apart.

  Craig: Where are you?

  Craig: Melody, I need you. Call me ASAP.

  Craig: I don’t like when you’re away for so long.

  Lorna: Craig has called me twice asking when he’ll “hear your voice.” Creepy stalker much? Call him though, he’s worrying me.

  “Typical Craig,” she said. “I handle all of the financial accounting for a small international food distributor. Like clockwork, Craig goes crazy at year’s end. He always wants the year’s data ready to finalize the second the books close at the end of December. I assure you, there is nothing else going on there. The idea of it is actually revolting.”

  “This job,” Mason said. “You like it?”

  “It pays the bills. I have a degree in business administration, and I’ve taken extra classes in accounting to pave the way for a promotion one day.”

  “So you have a good head on your shoulders,” he said.

  She shrugged. “It was just a job. Now I guess it’s a career path.”

  “And you’ll go back when this is done,” he said. “Sell off this house and never look back.” He turned around then, still holding one mug of her cocoa. His eyes bore into hers, wide and dark green, searching her brown irises for something deep and essential. His gaze trailed down her body inquisitively, a stare that was heavy and exploring. She felt him trace down her neck, her cleavage, and further down, like her skin reacted to his glance, sensing a touch that wasn’t there and longing for it all the same.

  “I never expected to stay in a quiet, sleepy town,” she said. It was true, but expectations have a funny way of evolving when a muscled tree farmer is standing shirtless in your kitchen.

  “It’s not sleepy,” he said.

  “I only meant—”

  “How long will you stay?”

  “I have until January 2 before I fly out.”

  “Two days more than I need,” Mason said. “I will prove to you that Pine Corner can give Manhattan a run for its money, and I can do it before this year even ends.”

  “That’s not much time,” she said. “I hope for both our sakes you’re very convincing.”

  Mason grinned to one side and stepped toward her with that mug of cocoa in hand. She set her phone aside, leaving her work texts unanswered. Mason dipped his thumb in the hot chocolate, then touched Mel’s mouth, tracing her lower lip and painting her in cocoa. The caress of his finger across her mouth sent chills down her back, even as the house’s framework clinked with the churn of fresh heat. When Mason wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face close to his, her knees slackened.

  And that was before he kissed her.

  Mason’s lips were soft against Mel’s even though his kiss was firm. He nibbled on her lower lip, pulling her into his mouth and sucking the chocolate clean as he placed the mug down on the counter behind her.

  “I don’t even know you,” she said.

  “I want you to,” Mason replied. He kissed under her chin, then down her neck, a string of soft kisses that led to her clavicle while he spoke. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day. That coat tied so hard and tight around your waist, the slope of your hips, your perky ass as you walked away in those flashy red heels. You do things to me, Mel.”

  “You don’t strike me as a man easily fooled by a flattering outfit,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “It’s what’s underneath. There’s wit, and kindness, and creativity, but you’re all alone. I know that feeling, reflecting back at me from those big brown eyes. If a magnificent woman like you has no one to keep her warm, then the world is just all wrong. I don’t accept that.”

  She curled her fingers in his blond hair, pressing his face harder against her neck. He reached up and unhooked her bra with one hand, then pulled it down, stripping her chest of the one band of fabric that separated his flesh from hers.

  Her breasts pressed against his hard chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath. Then his hand moved toward the small zipper at the back of her skirt.

  The sound of those metal teeth separating filled her with anticipation. A moment later, the skirt fell to the floor, a forest green rumple of fabric encircling her bright red heels. The only thing containing her now was her lacey black panties. She swelled inside them, her mound exciting at the idea of his touch.

  “I’ve thought about you too,” she said. “Your eyes pierced right through me the first moment I met you. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, whether I was some piece of trash blown in from the east, or just a needy customer you took pity on. I kept wondering if you felt the same spark, and if you’d dismiss it without a passing thought.”

  “I’m not a complicated man, Mel,” he said. “I know what I want. I want you.”

  “I want you too,” she said.

  Mason kissed his way down her front, tracing his rough hands down her chest, cupping her breasts from beneath as he took one into his mouth. His hot, wet lips surrounded her nipple as the scruff on his face scraped lightly against the inner curve of her chest. His hands continued down her ribs and he lowered himself to his knees, hooking his thumbs inside her panties and dragging them down her thighs.

  Mel shuddered as Mason kissed her sex. He licked at her outer lips before probing deeper, enticing her body to release its tensions. Her fingers ran through his mane of blond hair, settling on the back of his head and pulling him into her folds.

  His tongue delved inside her, lapping up her juices, then trailing up to her sensitive apex. He swirled over her clit, sending electric pleasures through her whole body that forced her to hum between shortened breaths.

  This was so unlike her, stark naked from head to heel with a man she had barely met. A man whose scent and body and voice made her melt into a dripping puddle of desire.

  He kissed her inner thigh before standing upright to unbutton his jeans. Mel pulled on a belt loop, drawing him closer so she could unleash his length, tugging his underwear and jeans down together. When he sprang free, his sex was thick and long. She curled her fingers around it and began to stroke, smiling as Mason bit his lower lip and closed his eyes.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “I’m on the pill. And you have nothing to worry about from me.”

  He smiled and opened his gorgeous green eyes. “Me neither. Now turn around.”

  Mason spun Mel around so that she faced the rest of the kitchen. One second, she glanced into the dining room ahead, the furniture still covered with white tarps. The next, Mason’s hand was on her upper back, and she was bent over the kitchen island. Her arms braced against the cold marble countertop, and her nipples chilled against it. She was pinned down, with her ass out in the air and Mason’s rigid length resting against her, nestled between her cheeks.

  A sense of vulnerability overtook her and her whole body swelled with need.

  He touched her glistening sex, gliding his fingertips past her opening and toward her clit. Using her own juices to lubricate his fingers, he toyed with her sensitive spot, forcing her to hum and moan with pleas
ure. He kept his hand on her back, exerting just enough pressure to keep her from arching her back and lifting from the countertop. All she could do was move her hips from side to side, toying with Mason’s shaft as it rested against her.

  Mason nudged at her feet with his own, coaxing her to spread her legs a little wider. With his fingers in position, he split her open before sliding his sex into hers.

  Mel’s lungs inflated quickly, and then she held her breath. He entered her slowly, carefully, and the process seemed never to end. He was so long, and so thick, and her sex was tight around him. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another millimeter, he paused, then slid back again, picking up his pace as he advanced and retreated, building into an accelerating rhythm while he worked at her body with his free hand.

  Mel reached back for his hips, and stretched as best she could to grab onto his ass. It was too muscular and round to contain in her palms, but she wanted to feel him, every contracted muscle as he thrust into her, and every movement as he pulled away. She wanted more than she could hold, more than she could reach, and her fingers scrambled for every inch of his skin she could touch.

  Finally, the hand on her back moved up her spine, past her neck, and into her hair. Mason’s fingers clenched around her long, dark locks, and she lifted her head in response, arching her back so that she could meet his thrust with her own, sliding her hips up and back as he bore down on her.

  Soon, the sound of skin smacking against skin was echoing off the walls of the old house and he bent over her, his chin resting against her upper back, his open mouth against her spine. His breath was hot and fast against her skin, his hard pecs and chiseled abs tensing and flexing against her back.

  Her sex clenched against him, building toward a climax. Mason grunted in a low growl. He told her how sexy she was, how much he needed a woman like her. How much she needed a man like him. She agreed in her own breathy rasp, his body rocking too hard and too quick to form full words.

  The pressure inside her reached its max. She gushed all over him, coming in a flood of euphoric release that triggered his body to spring into climactic bliss. Their bodies were one, throbbing and pumping, humming and grunting, tingling and exploding.

  When they stilled into post-orgasmic calm, his body still lay on top of hers, weighing her down onto the kitchen island’s marble. The countertop was warm now, and the aroma of residual cocoa powder battled with Mason’s bouquet of evergreens and natural musk.

  He separated from her and reached for his clothing.

  “That was…” he started.

  “Amazing?” she asked.

  “Unexpected. That’s not like me, I don’t usually—”

  “Me neither.”

  “That’s not what I was suggesting,” he said. “I just… I should go.”

  “Or maybe you should stay.” She reached for his hand and held on with both of hers, sandwiching his fingers between her own. “I’ve cleaned the master suite. Mostly. The bed is made and the bathroom is useable, with a nice big shower. I even have hot water, thanks to a certain hunky handyman. I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning, and then—”

  “I can’t,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t be like that,” she said, letting his hand drop and folding her arms across her bare breasts. “The big macho man who can’t process conversation with a woman after sex.”

  “I’m due at work tonight,” Mason said. “At Grover’s. Taking inventory is an overnight chore.”

  “Oh. Can you call out?”

  “No.”

  “It’s just one night, I’m sure Grover wouldn’t mind, he seems a thousand times more reasonable than Craig.”

  “He is.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He pays weekly,” Mason said. “The money isn’t much, but this is a tough time of year. The Christmas tree farm is a family business, and my brother has made it very clear that we’re a sinking ship. After a year’s worth of costs, we may not sell enough trees this Christmas to avoid foreclosure. I’m doing everything I can to prevent that.

  “See,” he continued, zipping up his jeans, “you’re not the only one that inherited a stubborn little piece of Pine Corner.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she started.

  “Like I said, I should go.”

  Mel suddenly felt as naked as she was. She pulled her bra back on and clasped it in the back while Mason buttoned his shirt. She glanced at her blouse, still wet and stained with chocolate, and thought better of trying to put that on too.

  “I’ll come back in the morning, if you’ll have me.” Mason said. “We never did set up the tree. And if your cooking is as good as your cocoa…”

  “Yes.” She exhaled the word quickly, a simultaneous breath of relief and an affirmation that she hadn’t just given into the first one-night stand of her life.

  “Good,” he said. Then he leaned in and kissed her again, placing a warm, firm hand against the small of her back while her chest pressed up against his. It was a kiss that said, Let me in. I’m here to stay.

  Still, Mel had to wonder: Was she?

  Chapter Four

  Mason

  Mason rushed from the front porch and into his pickup truck, breathing the crisp December air in heaving gulps. He revved the engine and turned the air conditioning up as high as it went. His body was a million degrees and his cheeks were fiery red.

  He was sweating in the dead of winter, passion and panic swirling at the forefront of his mind.

  What had he just done? The timing was all wrong. His family farm was on the brink of ruin, and Grover’s offer of extra hours would expire after the holiday rush. How could he provide for a woman with city tastes and sensibilities when he could barely provide for himself? He was one stroke of bad luck away from abject failure.

  He would have to work harder. Better. He and Mel had something electric between them and it didn’t matter if the timing was wrong. He would step up and find out how to provide for that woman if it was the last thing he did.

  He put the truck into gear and sped off to Grover’s, newly determined to work every hour of the night if he had to.

  Chapter Five

  Melody

  The sun’s first light streamed through the gap in Mel’s curtains, but she wasn’t in bed to notice. She was already in the shower, eager to start her first full day in Pine Corner. Yesterday had been a whirlwind, waking up in Manhattan, flying out of J.F.K. before the sun had risen, touring her inheritance with sourpuss Harvey, and then…

  She smiled. Her hand ran down her clean, sudsy body. Piping hot water cascaded down her front as she planned what came next: Putting up the tree, with Mason. A home cooked meal, with Mason. Then, a hot, sweaty tangle of limbs and libidos, with Mason.

  Her fingers grazed against her lower half and for a moment, she gave into that desire, toying with herself as she thought about her Montana man’s intoxicating touch. She had never been with a man who took care of her the way he did, like his pleasure depended on hers. He was so attentive with his hands, so purposeful with his tongue.

  Mel’s knees started to slacken again, just at the thought of how he took her in the kitchen. A kitchen she had to clean this morning before it was suitable for cooking again. She caught herself grinning like a schoolgirl, wasting water as a daydream turned into something… self-indulgent.

  Save it for Mason, she thought, shutting the water and wrapping herself in an oversized white towel.

  So far, this house had been full of surprises. The bath towels, bedsheets, and other linens had been meticulously preserved. They were sealed in plastic, perfectly clean, and crisply folded, waiting for someone to open them up and put them back into use.

  Of course, Melody ran them through the wash first anyway — and she was pleased that the decades-old laundry machines were in working order. All eight mattresses in the house had been sealed in protective covers to shield them from dust and mites. Sure, she had to cle
an the counters, the fixtures, the bathrooms. And yes, all of the furniture had its share of wear and tear, but it was useable. Plus, the antique look made sense in a house more than a century old.

  And what a house it was. Aging wallpaper peeled away in some spots, revealing thick, sturdy walls built from plaster. The exposed wooden floorboards were bleached in many places from overexposure to the sun, thanks to the high windows that made full use of the house’s ten-foot ceilings. The area rugs, also sapped of their original colors, had shielded the hardwood, showing how rich and vibrant the maple slats would be if they were refinished. The arched doorways between rooms were wide and Mel left the French doors open to maintain the free flow of the house.

  She cleaned up the kitchen and started on breakfast, continuing to explore as best she could between the alarms from the egg timer. There was a butler’s pantry, a laundry chute, and a coat closet lined with cedar. So many quaint touches all packed into a single home.

  In another town, this mansion would be a million dollar listing, or more. Here, it was a fish out of water. No other house in Pine Corner had more than three bedrooms and they were all modernized, outfitted with air conditioning and other present-day conveniences in mind.

  Which meant winter was the only season to sell this one. Nobody wants to buy a sweat lodge in the summer. She hated to admit that Harvey might be right, but she really did need a little Christmas in here, right this very minute, or she’d never get an offer on the house.

  That realization took some of the whimsy out of her sails. She finished prepping breakfast and left the warm food in the oven to keep it that way. Then she tore into the boxes she dragged up from the basement the night before. They were all marked “Christmas — Ruth M. Hansen.” With the only stepstool she could find, she set out to string up some old time décor.