Once Upon a Holiday

by Beverly Jenkins

  A lover of Kegel exercises, Candy squeezed. Strawberry juice and honey squirted out between her thighs and splashed into Montel’s mouth.

  “Mmm, baby. You’re fucking amazing.” He lifted his head and proceeded to eat strawberry pussy cake. Twenty minutes later, Candy was turned back around and bouncing on his amazing dick as if she was a final contestant in a bronco-riding contest.

  Montel moaned, hissed and promised that he would love her forever. And he meant it. What made the nasty things they did together so wonderful was the fact that there was this deep binding love for one another. That love had existed since the day they’d met. There were challenges—the main one that they still lived in two different cities. After this weekend, he hoped that all of that would change. He knew that she loved her career in New York, but surely she loved him more.

  It was time to choose.

  “Awww. Awww,” Candy gasped as juice and honey continued to pour like an open faucet.

  There was no point in asking whether she was about to come, the grip on his shaft was like a warm, silky vice, tightening with each bounce.

  “Goddamn, baby. Hold up.” Montel tried to catch his breath, but the nice tingling in his balls signaled that his nut was rising—fast.

  She leaned forward, placed her hands on both sides of his head and bounced her perfect brown breasts in his face. “I love you, Monty,” she whispered and then asked, “Can I come? Huh? Can I come on your dick?”

  “You better come.” He sealed their lips and souls together with a kiss. With reserved energy, he locked an arm around her waist and then thrust his dick so hard and fast into her dripping pussy that she exploded with a double orgasm.

  “Merry Christmas, Candy,” he murmured against the curve of her neck. “I love you.”

  Candace shook her head to erase the memory she had spent the last year trying to forget. “Now that we’re finished strolling down memory lane, I have to go.”

  Montel shook his head as he watched her snatch open the suite’s door. “You can’t keep running forever, Candy.”

  She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “Not forever. Just until you stop chasing me.”

  His gaze locked onto hers. “That won’t happen.”

  “We’ll see.” With the threat of tears burning the backs of her eyes, she marched out of the room.

  Chapter 8

  Mia wasted no time rechecking the itinerary for Candace’s Paris trip and just as she thought, she had booked her boss for an executive room. Armed with a confirmation number, she made a quick call to the Hotel Le Meurice, but then received a puzzling answer that someone had called and canceled that reservation. She then proceeded to argue with the woman until she caught a glimpse of Georgine, smiling as she sauntered down the cubicle aisles.

  “That bitch,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

  “Excusez-moi?”

  “Oh. Not you, ma’am. Thanks for your help.” Mia quickly hung up the phone, jumped up from her seat and raced to catch up with Georgine. “You think your ass is slick, don’t you?”

  “Hmm?” Georgine turned with her smile still in place.

  “How did you know which hotel I’d booked Candace with?”

  She shrugged. “Lucky guess?”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed.

  “Or I simply found out where Walter Anderson was having his company’s annual Christmas party. You’re not the only one here with contacts, you know.” She shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Paris has plenty of hotels. I’m sure that she can find a room somewhere.”

  “Or perhaps share a room with her colleague?”

  Georgine’s brow popped up. “Oh, did she now? You know I only booked a single bed for Montel. Any word on whether they—”

  “No. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Candace and Montel are like oil and water. They are never going to mix.”

  Georgine settled behind her desk. “You just keep telling yourself that. I know what I see. And I see two people fighting tooth and nail being in love.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “And you’re going to lose your bet.” She turned up her smile.

  “We’ll see about that.” Mia whipped around and marched to her desk. She needed to get Candace another room fast.

  In Paris, Candace was stunned at the amount of snow that was descending on the City of Light, and the blistering cold effortlessly penetrated her clothes and made her feel as if she was standing outside naked. She’d hoped to flag down a taxi as she’d done earlier that day, but now it appeared that she was one of only a few idiots trying to brave the icy weather.

  When it became clear that she could quite possibly turn into a Popsicle, she tucked her tail—and her pride—between her legs and walked back into the hotel lobby.

  “Welcome to the Hotel Le Meurice.” The young valet greeted her with smiling eyes. Of course he knew that in fact she wasn’t a new guest, and he seemed more tickled for having watched her stand outside for the past hour to no avail. “Will you need any help with your bags?”

  Candace rolled her eyes and swiped snow off her hair and shoulders. “No. Thank you.”

  Across the lobby, the ding of the elevator caught Candace’s attention. Montel lifted his head and strolled into the lobby in a pair of pressed casual khakis and white dress shirt that hung on his tall and broad frame to perfection. Once again, all female gazes shifted in his direction, including Candace’s. Even though she was still angry and annoyed, she couldn’t get herself to turn away.

  Montel smiled but kept it moving toward the hotel’s indoor restaurant.

  She watched him go, feeling a rising tide of tears at life’s injustice. The truth of the matter was that she did remember that beautiful time in New Hampshire last Christmas. How could she not? Montel had been all that she had hoped for in a lover…and even a best friend. But there were just some hurdles that were too big for them to leap over—or were they?

  “Madame Lahane!” A woman from behind the front desk waved to her.

  Candace sighed and dragged her bags over.

  “We had a cancellation today. Are you still looking for a room?”

  “Oh, thank God. Yes. I would love a room. Thank you.”

  “Excellent.” The woman turned to her computer.

  Candace happily dug through her purse and handed over her credit card. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  She smiled. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Lahane. Here is your room key. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced down at her key holder and read the room number. “But this is…”

  “Ah. Fancy seeing you here.”

  Candace turned and was equally surprised to see the kind Santa Claus-looking gentleman she had sat next to on the plane. “Oh. Hello.” She glanced around. “You’re staying here?”

  “Seems I don’t really have a choice, given the weather.” He laughed with a curious “ho, ho, ho.”

  “Well, it looks like we’re both stuck here.” She expelled a long breath, thinking about her chance of doing an ambush proposal with the elusive Walter Anderson before Christmas. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck in a luxury hotel in the heart of Paris for Christmas,” she said, grabbing her bags again.

  “And what better place to make up with your boyfriend than in the City of Light and the City of Love?”

  “He’s not…”

  He held up a hand. “I’m old—not blind.” He winked.

  Her gaze dropped from his twinkling ones. “No, I suppose not.” She started toward the elevator bay.

  Her fake Santa followed. “You know, I’ve been around the world many times and I’ve seen a whole lot. The one thing I know for sure is that love is a very rare and precious thing. Personally, I think it would be foolish for anyone in this day and age to just throw it away.”

  Contrite, Candace hung her head as she entered an empty elevator. “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand,” he said
, stepping into the compartment behind her. “It’s a conflict that is as old as time—a battle between your head and your heart. At the end of the day, you’re going have to ask yourself one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you love him?”

  Candace opened her mouth to bark out an emphatic “no,” but instead the words got caught in her throat, and she was reduced to having a choking fit. Lust was one thing. Love was another. Maybe it was time to figure out exactly which side of the fence her heart was really on.

  The elevator arrived at her floor, and she flashed the older gentleman a brief smile and exited the compartment without answering his question. How could she explain her feelings to a stranger when she hardly understood them herself? She walked to her hotel suite that was two doors down from Montel’s and quickly dragged her things inside.

  The day was a bust—well, not completely when she considered that little sexcapade she’d had with Monty earlier. A smile swept across her face, and then just as quickly she scolded herself. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.”

  Candace walked over to the bed and fell backwards onto the plush pillowtop mattress. “I don’t love him. I don’t,” she said, trying to convince herself. What she felt was lust. It just had to be. Lord knows that they couldn’t be in a room for more than two minutes before they were ripping each other’s clothes off.

  Of course, they did have some fun outside the bedroom. Bora-Bora was fun. But then there were the extended weekend getaways to St. Lucia, Aspen, and even the week-long trip to Hawaii. They had managed to climb out of bed long enough to go dancing, surfing and skiing. And generally they tended to have a great time.

  Then why are you fighting him so hard?

  “Because it won’t last,” she argued with herself. The handful of boyfriends that she’d had in the past always had a problem with who she was outside of the bedroom. They couldn’t take that she was an ambitious woman who worked long hours and oftentimes made more money than they did. It didn’t matter whether they were professional businessmen themselves or not. At some point in the relationship, men always expected the woman to fall back and play some submissive role that wasn’t in her playbook.

  So when they realized that they couldn’t control her—they left.

  They always leave.

  Chapter 9

  Mia dialed and redialed Candace’s cell phone only to be transferred to her voice mail. After the twelfth time, she simply just e-mailed and texted the information for the new room she was able to book at the Castille Hotel. It was the best that she could do and she prayed that it would be enough.

  “Merry Christmas, Mia,” Vicki cheered as she stopped before her desk. “You ready to hit happy hour over at the Olivia? They are having a mistletoe and a karaoke contest. I figured that you, me and Sandra could get on stage and perform “‘Santa Baby.’”

  “Ooh. Count me in. But what is a mistletoe contest?” she asked, shutting down her computer.

  “Heck if I know, but it sounds like a lot of fun.”

  Mia laughed and grabbed her purse from underneath her desk. When she went to stand up, she was surprised to see Mr. Carter making his way toward them. “Hello, ladies. Is Ms. Lahane in or has she already gone for the day?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lahane is out of town on a business trip. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “She’s out of town, too?” He crossed his arms. “Hmm. Do you have a number I can reach her at? I had my secretary try to reach her on her cell phone, but we just kept reaching her voice mail.”

  Mia’s antennae went up. “No. Not yet, but, um, I’m sure she’ll get in contact with me soon. Would you like for me to deliver a message?”

  “Well…” He looked around to see whether he was about to be overheard. “I wanted to be the one to tell her, but I’m about to take the family out to Texas for the holidays. My in-laws are there. Anyway, I wanted to be the one to tell her that the accounting department had recalculated the numbers and it seems that there was an error.”

  “An error?” Mia’s heart leapt. “In Ms. Lahane’s favor?” she asked, her eyes shining with hope.

  “It appears so. Her numbers ending in November were actually 2.3 billion to Mr. Starks’s 1.8 billion. She’s clearly this year’s winner for top ad executive for the year—and the company’s next vice president of sales. When you talk to her, give her my congratulations.”

  Mia wanted to shout, “Hallelujah” but settled for just beaming at the president. “I will definitely tell her. Merry Christmas, Mr. Carter!”

  “Merry Christmas, ladies.” He tilted his head toward Vicki. “Good luck with the mistletoe contest.” He winked.

  Once he walked away, Mia did an odd sort of victory dance while Vicki rushed around and squealed with her in excitement.

  “Now I know we’re celebrating tonight!”

  “You never miss a chance to celebrate.”

  “Damn right. So get your things and let’s go.”

  The phone rang.

  “Hold up.” Mia picked up the phone. “Candace Lahane’s office. Oh, Mr. Scarborough, Merry Christmas.” She listened as he stated that he was missing a couple of pages on the final proposal numbers. “Let me just check if I can find those in Ms. Lahane’s office and if so I’ll fax those right over.” She disconnected the call and held up a finger. “Give me one minute,” she told Vicki and then rushed into Candace’s office to see whether there was a backup file for the Scarborough proposal. She quickly rifled through the drawers, hoping for a quick find, but then had to sit down and take her time. But when she pulled open the bottom drawer, she got the shock of her life.

  “Ohmygod!” Mia reached down, picked up a small frame and just stared.

  “C’mon, girl. Are we going to hit the club or not?”

  Mia didn’t move.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” Vicki strolled over to the massive desk to see what had captured her friend’s attention, only to look at the picture frame and gasp in shock herself. “Oh. My. God.”

  “I already said that,” Mia croaked, shaking her head at a wedding photo. “I don’t believe it. Candace and Montel…are married?”

  Montel sat alone at a small table next to a window inside the hotel’s restaurant, listening to Christmas carols sung in French. As he watched big flakes descend from the sky and blanket the beautiful landscape, a sadness that he’d been trying to suppress threatened to engulf him. Maybe it was finally time to give up, time to stop chasing after someone who didn’t want to be caught—even if it was his wife. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. It wasn’t in his nature to quit, but he definitely felt that his back was up against a wall and it was time to face the very real possibility that he and Candy had reached the end of the road.

  When he thought about all the women in his past—and there were quite a few of them—he couldn’t remember any of them giving him as hard a time as Candace Lahane had. Hell, he couldn’t remember any of them holding his attention more than a couple of weeks, if he was going to be completely honest with himself.

  He was a simple guy—at least that’s what he liked to think. He came from a middle-of-the-road middle-class family. He had graduated at the top of his class at Morehouse and then had headed to Harvard Law. After passing the bar, he’d worked for a prestigious law firm and started rolling in some serious dollars. His sudden shift into advertising happened for one reason and one reason only: Candace Lahane.

  He wanted her and he was willing to do and go anywhere to have her.

  “Your drink, monsieur.” His waiter sat a whiskey sour down on the table. “Your order will be up soon.”

  “Merci,” he said and then cast his gaze back out of the window. He had done a lot of dumb things in his life—but marrying Candace Lahane just hours after meeting her in Bora-Bora was not one of them. He just wished that she could say the same thing….

  Christmas Day 2009…

  They had been secretly married for a full year and for the m
ost part living separate lives—Candy in New York and he in Atlanta. At first he understood. They were, after all, two strangers who had done something really crazy by getting married after one wild night in Bora-Bora. She had a career and an image she had to preserve—at least that was what she kept telling him. To be honest, he didn’t know how their impromptu marriage would work with his own family and friends, either, but he was convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was in love. So he eventually worked up the nerve, sat his parents and siblings down and announced that he was married.

  It would have been better if he’d actually had his wife by his side.

  Sure, Candy would pencil him in for a hot weekend from time to time, and for a few days afterward, he’d forget about pressuring her to meld their two lives together. But after a while he started wondering whether she had any intentions of really becoming his wife. His mind ran wild with possibilities of their being another man in her life, but those accusations were met with laughs and assurances that that wasn’t the case.

  So this Christmas, their one-year anniversary, Montel was taking a leap of faith to force his so-called wife to make a choice. Christmas Eve had been another wild exotic ride with his playful use of strawberries. They had screwed each other’s brains out and now that the sun was up, he was ready to make love again. He woke her up by nibbling on her lower earlobe and sliding his hands in between her creamy, chocolate thighs.

  She moaned, smiling, and then turned over in his arms so that she could devour his Christmas morning kiss with equal passion. “Merry Christmas, lover,” she said.

  Normally that would’ve been a pleasant greeting, but on this morning, it touched a raw nerve. “Is that how you see me? As just your lover?”

  Clearly the question surprised her because she pulled back from his kiss-swollen lips and stared questioningly into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  He wanted to buy into her innocent act, but a growing part of him was forcing himself to confront this situation head on. “I mean…do you view me as your lover or your husband?”