by Nalini Singh
“I love you, too.” And all the amazing things his tongue was suddenly doing to her neck.
“This house still has some furniture in it since it was a rental,” he said as his tongue splayed across the swell of her breast, her neckline stretched down again. “Couch or bed?”
“Will! This is Mrs. Stritmeyer’s house…we shouldn’t.”
“So? We’re buying it, aren’t we? It’s going to be our house soon.”
Their house. Holy crap. She almost had an orgasm just at the thought of that. Waking up with Will. Eating dinner every night with him. Sharing a bed, a shower…That image went straight to her inner thighs. “Shouldn’t we look at other houses?” It was a struggle to feel practical when his hand was sliding over her clitoris through her jeans, but she forced the words out.
“I did. Didn’t like anything else.” Then he buried his head back in her breasts. “Besides, don’t you know the story? This is the honeymoon house. The original owner built it for his bride.”
How romantic was that? She almost melted right then and there, but Charlotte had heard a different version. “I heard it’s haunted…that the lady cries in the mirror upstairs because her husband left. That’s downright sad.”
“She cries from missing him because they were so in love. That’s romantic. We can bring love back to this house, sweetheart.” He peeled her bra down and licked her nipple. “Starting right now.”
“Okay.” She did like the house. And it was the spot where Will had proposed. And he was doing really amazing things to her nipple, which made really just about everything make sense. “Let’s buy it.”
“It might be cool living in a haunted house, as long as this ghost isn’t yanking down my zipper like the one in your garage.”
Whoops. Guess she had never really discussed that with him. She really wasn’t at all sure how he was going to like the idea of having a witch for a wife. Not that she was exactly witchy, but still, he might not be comfortable with her strange new ability to levitate objects. She wasn’t comfortable with it, come to think of it.
“That wasn’t a ghost, baby.”
“Well, something did it. I didn’t imagine it. Or the fact that someone grabbed my butt.”
Had she done that, too? Charlotte didn’t see how that was possible, but at the same time, she’d been waxing quite poetic about his ass right at that particular moment. “You see, the thing is, you know how Bree thinks I’m a witch?”
“Uh-huh.” His mouth switched to her other breast.
Like it wasn’t hard enough to force out the words. He was seriously distracting her.
“Bree says I can move objects. She says I unzipped your pants with my mind.”
Will went completely still, tongue on her nipple. His breath blew hot on her slick skin, making her nipples firm even more. “Say that again.”
She really wanted to just forget the whole thing and go back to foreplay, but he had obviously gotten distracted by the whole “I’m a paranormal freak” thing she’d just thrown at him. “I unzipped your pants. I was, well, interested in you, sexually, you know, and I envisioned your jacket opening, and it did. Then I pictured your pants unzipping and they did. I’m sorry.” She really did feel contrite about that. It wasn’t fair to unzip his pants without warning and she was going to have to learn how to control her so-called talent.
Will stood up, leaving her chest half uncovered. “So, you’re saying you did it? Did you know you could do stuff like that?”
“No. I’m still not convinced I can.”
“Unzip my pants now.”
“Will!” Charlotte felt her cheeks burn, and she wasn’t sure why. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on. I want you to.” He stood with his legs apart and hands loosely at his sides. “Unzip me. Take what you want.”
Oh, my. That was a little hard to resist. Charlotte stared at his snap and zipper, pictured them opening for her. Pictured what was behind them. Pictured wanting him, undressing him. She chanted down in her head over and over, concentrating on the metal button, vision blurring.
And the button popped open. The zipper went down.
“Whoa,” Will said.
Charlotte felt a strange sort of pride in her accomplishment. “I can’t believe I can do this.”
Will grinned, peeling off his winter jacket and tossing it to the floor. “Think of how many ways you can take advantage of me.”
“You don’t mind that I have a freakish ability?”
“Hell, no. That is seriously hot, sweetheart. Just don’t ever get mad at me and wing dishes at my head.”
“I’m not a dish-throwing kind of girl.”
“I know.” Will sat down on a fussy Victorian sofa in front of the fireplace. “But you’re not really the nice girl you claim to be, either. You have a naughty side, too.”
“Maybe I do. More than I realized.” Because she was already stripping her jeans off, just like that, and climbing onto his lap. “We’d better make it quick,” she told him, even as she ground her panties against his erection. “The heat’s not on in here. And you never know who might show up.”
“I can be quick.”
He wasn’t lying. He had somehow managed to spring himself free, and while he kissed the stuffing out of her, he got her shirt up, bra unhooked, and panties pulled to the side. Before she could barely blink, his finger was inside her, stroking her incoherent. Charlotte plunged her tongue into his mouth, needing to taste him, her hands in his hair, holding on. God, she loved him. She never wanted to let him go.
Desire spiraled into desperation. Normally, she’d always thought of herself as a little bit sexually inhibited, but none of that was in evidence with Will. She just felt, reacted, took. Ripping his shirt up, she pressed her bare chest against his, dragging a moan from both of them at that wonderful collision of hot flesh on flesh.
Will lifted up her hips and brought her down onto him with one smooth motion. Charlotte couldn’t have even explained what exactly happened to her panties. Somehow they were sideways, enough out of the way to accomplish the primary goal, which was him deep inside her. She let her head drift back as he lifted up into her, the angle pressing his pelvis into her clitoris in a frantic tease. Charlotte lifted her hips and slammed down onto him, meeting him thrust for thrust, frenzied and determined. She needed it hard, needed to feel all of him, needed to take them there together.
So much for slow again. Will figured maybe eventually they’d get there, in about a year. He just wanted Charlotte too damn much to have any sort of patience whatsoever. She seemed to feel the same way, given the way she was bucking up and down on him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her ass soft and sexy on his thighs. When she came, Will thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was so honest in her appreciation, her cries loud and unrestrained, her eyes rolled back, her fingers gripping his skull.
Her convulsion jerked his head back, and that was all it took to make him join her. Will pulsed into her, straining, holding her at the waist, wanting her still so he could fill her as completely as possible. It had some solid staying power, and Will finally collapsed back against the sofa and let out a little laugh.
“Was that quick enough?” he asked, blinking hard to focus on her.
Her skin was shiny and pink from exertion and pleasure. “That was perfect.” She grinned and leaned forward to kiss him softly.
Will stroked her back lazily. Then heard a car door slam. “Uh, sweetheart, I think someone’s in the drive.”
She leapt off him with a dexterity that was impressive, tucking and adjusting and pulling her jeans back on. Will did the same and he was just slipping back into his jacket when they heard the front door open and giggling.
“You can see my new thong,” a female voice said.
Uh-oh. Will knew that voice. He darted a glance at Charlotte, whose face had lost all the flush from their lovemaking and every other ounce of color.
Abby and Brady Stritmeyer came into the room,
laughing and kissing and pawing at each other’s clothes.
“Abigail Murphy!” Charlotte said, her voice filled with horror.
Abby’s head snapped up and her eyes went wide. “Charlotte?” she said in a tiny voice.
“Shit,” Brady said, quickly pulling Abby’s shirt back down.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Charlotte asked.
Will figured that was obvious, but he kept his mouth shut.
“The, uh, movie sucked, so we left halfway through. Brady’s grandma owns this house, so we came to talk.” Abby was blushing, but she was also holding her arms crossed over her chest defiantly. “I don’t have to be home until midnight. What are you two doing here?”
“I’m buying this house,” Will said. “I wanted Charlotte’s opinion.” And her body, but that was irrelevant. “And I wanted to ask her to marry me, so I did.”
Abby dropped her arms, defiance disappearing. “Are you serious? Ohmigod! That rocks, Will!” She ran to her sister and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Did you say yes? Tell me you said yes?”
Charlotte smiled and accepted her sister’s hug. “I said yes.”
Then Abby was squealing in delight, so Will took the opportunity to sidle up to Brady, who shot him a wary look.
“Congrats, man,” Brady said.
“Thanks. And keep in mind I’ll be Abby’s brother-in-law. And I’m a cop. I carry a gun.” Then he smiled at Brady. “Just a friendly reminder.”
“Got it.”
“What is going on here?”
Bree joined the party, looking annoyed and cold, snow all over her feet, shod in impractical open shoes, her skirt hovering somewhere around her knees. It wasn’t the best choice of outfit for December, but Will didn’t think Bree went in much for practical. Stubborn was more her style.
“What are you doing here?” Abby asked.
Will was wondering the same thing. When he’d brought Charlotte to see the house, he hadn’t expected they’d be throwing a housewarming party in it that night.
“I saw you and Brady drive past the house, and since you were supposed to be at the movies, I wanted to know what you were doing here.”
“You followed me?” Abby frowned. “You so need a life.”
Bree glared at her little sister, and Will saw the whole conversation going bad places. He slipped his hand into Charlotte’s and pulled her by his side. “I brought Charlotte here to show her this house because I was thinking about buying it.”
Bree blinked, studying him. “You’re going to, aren’t you? I feel all these weird happy waves from you, and…” Her mouth dropped. “You and Charlotte had sex, didn’t you? I can sense it.”
That was kind of disturbing. He didn’t think he wanted Bree sensing it every time he and Charlotte got busy. But since Charlotte was now blushing a violent red, he figured it was obvious anyway. He said, “Charlotte and I are buying this house together. We’re getting married.”
Damn, that felt and sounded so good when he said it. He was having happy waves. Big ones. He pulled Charlotte even closer and wrapped both his arms around her. He never wanted to let her go again.
“Charlotte, is he serious?” Bree asked.
Charlotte looked at him and Will felt his breath catch. There was no mistaking the look she was giving him—it was tender, filled with love, and edged with lust.
“Oh, yeah, he’s one-hundred-percent serious.”
And she kissed him right there, in front of her sisters. Which, for Charlotte, was a serious sign of affection.
He whispered in her ear, “How powerful a witch do you think you are? Can you make them move right out of this house? I want to work on your lust spell some more.”
Charlotte pulled back and gave him a saucy smile. “I can handle this.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You all need to leave because Will and I want to be alone.”
That worked.
Seven
A WEEK LATER CHARLOTTE FIGURED LIFE DIDN’T GET ANY better. She and Will were hosting a Christmas party in the gray house and they were surrounded by family, food, and holiday music. They’d made an offer on the house and were set to close in a few weeks. Jessie Stritmeyer had happily agreed to let them have their first Christmas party in the house, despite not having moved in yet, and she’d even given them their first housewarming gift—a rather obscene-looking cactus.
Charlotte’s mother was chatting happily away to Will’s mother, who had come back from Florida for a week to celebrate Christmas. Mrs. Thornton, bless her heart, actually seemed interested in the running commentary Charlotte’s mother was delivering on her haunted prison tour adventure, complete with cold spots and rattling manacles.
Abby reached around Charlotte for the cookie tray resting on the coffee table. “These rock.” She bit the head off a blue frosted angel and chewed.
“Thanks.” Charlotte had baked six dozen cookies in a sort of love, sugar, and sex high after she and Will had spent a rather industrious morning getting to know each other just a bit better. Yet again. “Nice T-shirt.”
Her sister grinned. “It’s Christmas themed.”
It was, but somehow Charlotte didn’t think a shirt that featured Santa being enthusiastically whipped by his reindeer was really traditional in the truest sense. Charlotte sank back into the sofa and watched Will, her father, Mr. Thornton, and Brady Stritmeyer inspecting the door in the dining room that led to the backyard. She heard them tossing around thoughts like installing better insulation, a new track, and a dead bolt. They were in collective man heaven inspecting the house and laundry-listing all the repairs it needed.
Bree was sitting on the other side of her, wearing the tackiest, most appalling sweatshirt Charlotte had ever seen. Suffering from multiple personality disorder, the shirt was green, red, gold, plaid, striped, decked out with bows, lace, raffia, and featuring at least three Christmas scenes on it. It looked like a craft fair had vomited on her sister’s chest, and she had to admit, Bree looked better in black.
“Are we going to burn this shirt together after today?” Charlotte asked her, knowing her sister had picked the hideous thing to wear to prove a point. Charlotte couldn’t expect her sisters to change any more than she herself wanted to change. Just because they didn’t share the same taste in clothes didn’t make them any less sisters.
“I was hoping.” Bree grinned. “I think I might actually need therapy after wearing this.”
“Thanks for doing it.” Charlotte crossed her legs and took her sisters’ hands in hers. She squeezed, feeling deliciously, ridiculously happy.
“Hey, by the way, what did you do with that mistletoe and the ribbon?” Bree asked.
“It’s shoved in a drawer.”
“If you don’t want it you have to destroy it piece by piece since you put a spell on it.”
“That’s sounds dangerous. How about I give it to you and you can do it.” “Destroy” was not a verb Charlotte acted out intentionally.
“Okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Charlotte was still gripping their hands, unwilling to let go just yet. Will glanced over at her and smiled. Dang, he was so cute. She imagined running her fingers over his tight butt, sliding around to the front and stroking him into thick, throbbing hardness.
Suddenly Will’s eyes went wide and he took a step backward, like he was evading something. A glance showed he had an erection before his hands moved in front of it to block the view. Holy crap.
“Careful, Charlotte,” Bree whispered, her voice gleeful. “Together the three of us are more powerful than one.”
Huh. It was a little scary to imagine what the three of them could do together, but it didn’t stop her from looking at Will and still thinking naughty thoughts.
He grinned at her. Later, he mouthed.
Definitely later. And forever.
BEAT OF TEMPTATION
Nalini Singh
For the Sexy Regency Cave Club:
Sharyn, Peta, and Nicky,
and honorary
members, Doug and Rob.
Thanks for the Christmas memories.
(I’ll never look at a cave the same way again!)
Happiness
THE PSY COUNCIL TRIED TO OUTLAW CHRISTMAS ONCE.
It was in the year 2019, four long decades after the implementation of the Silence Protocol. The Protocol itself arose out of the overwhelming incidence of insanity and serial killing in the Psy populace. Driven to the edge, the Psy made a choice. They conditioned their young to feel nothing—not jealousy, not rage, and definitely not joy at the thought of Christmas morning.
So it was that by 2019, only ice ran in the veins of the Psy politicians who wanted to make Christmas illegal. Since the Psy race controlled government then as it does now, Law 5198: Deletion of Christmas and Associated Holidays was near certain to pass.
There were a few minor hiccups. Some elderly Psy—those who had been too old at the inception of Silence to allow for true conditioning—weren’t certain they wanted the holiday outlawed. But the old ones were few; the last, unwanted vestiges of an emotion-filled past the Psy preferred to forget. They were ignored, their fading voices drowned out by the Silent majority.
Law 5198 was read into the statute books and life moved on.
Except that the humans and changelings, the other two parts of the triumvirate that is the world, took no notice. Christmas trees went up as usual, gifts were bought, and carols were sung. Human business owners did a roaring trade in mulled wine, fruit cake, and roasts with all the trimmings.
In comparison, Psy who owned interests in companies that usually profited from Christmas suffered a sharp drop in income—Law 5198 meant they could no longer advertise their products in conjunction with the outlawed holiday.
The Psy Council found itself faced with both a mass revolt by the other races, and considerable opposition from the very businesses that backed up its regime. Psy might not feel, but they also did not appreciate their profit margins being compromised. The businesses weren’t the only ones who felt the negative impact of Law 5198—Enforcement could find no way to prosecute everyone who violated the law against Christmas.