A Bad Boy for Christmas

by Jessica Lemmon

  One of her neighbors must have called. And Michael was making enough noise out there to raise suspicion—even from her hard-of-hearing neighbors.

  “Wait,” Michael protested.

  “Sorry, asshole. Too late.” Connor grinned as he hauled Michael away from the edge of the balcony. He jerked his head in the direction of her living room. “Faith, honey, get the door.”

  “Honey?” Michael’s voice went high. “Are you dating this caveman?”

  Dragging him into the house, Connor dropped her ex into the armchair. “I said stop talking to her. Faith. Door.”

  “Fine!” She threw her hands wide. “I’ll get the door.”

  “Police!” Another shout followed by a series of sharp knocks. She pulled open the door to find Brady, hand on his weapon. The moment he caught sight of her, his expression shifted from alarmed to concerned. “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Brady barreled into her living room taking in the situation: Connor, arms crossed, standing sentry over Michael, who was straightening his hoodie and looking perturbed, if not like he might piss his pants.

  “Who are you?”

  Michael sat up straight in the chair, eyes wide with terror, but Brady’s question was not directed to him.

  “This is my friend, Connor. He caught my ex-fiancé breaking into my patio door. Michael, you remember Brady.”

  Michael never liked Brady. Probably because Brady was ridiculously attractive. Once or twice, he’d caught Brady in Abundance Market chatting up Faith about wine and had freaked out. Never in front of the officer, however. Only in private, whining about her lack of couth. Seemed Michael had been sensitive to the potential of her cheating. Probably because he was the one who was cheating on her.

  Bastard.

  “McClain.” Connor stopped seething over the armchair long enough to extend a hand.

  After hesitating, Brady shook it, his mouth turned down disapprovingly at the sides. “You staying here, McClain?” His eyes swept the room.

  “Who called you?” Connor’s arms again crossed over his chest.

  “Downstairs neighbor. Are you staying here?”

  “I am.”

  Brady assessed him a moment longer, then turned to Faith. “Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  Before Connor could say whatever he’d opened his mouth to say, she spoke. “He’s a friend. He offered to sleep on the couch since I was nervous.”

  The two men stared each other down, Michael temporarily forgotten. That is, until he spoke up. “Can you get the ring, Faith? I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Slowly, Brady and Connor turned their heads to face him. Now he had two frowning badasses standing over him instead of one.

  “You need to start talking,” Brady informed him.

  “And don’t leave out the part where I dragged you in by the neck,” Connor added.

  * * *

  “You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?” Brady asked.

  She found the ring in the drawer of her jewelry box. Honest to God, she’d forgotten she’d tossed it in there. Michael had never acted like he cared to have it back, and she’d been so focused on moving on, she didn’t give it any more thought. It’d been there for over a year. Why he wanted it back now was beyond her.

  She nodded her answer, looking into Brady’s green eyes. “I’m sure.”

  He started to put a palm on her shoulder, but Connor took a step closer to her and slid his arm around her waist. “I got her, Hutchins.”

  Cocking his head to one side, Brady narrowed his eyelids. “You need to know your place, McClain.”

  “And you need to know yours. Your concern is the perp behind you. Not me. Not her.”

  “I’m not an enemy you want to have.” Brady’s attention was solely on Connor now. The officer wasn’t as wide as Connor, but he was as tall. And the guy was no slouch. She could tell there was plenty of firm muscle beneath his uniform.

  But the Popeye and Bluto thing was ridiculous.

  “Okay!” Faith’s raised voice gathered both guys’ attention. “You two need to stop acting so possessive. I’m fine. Michael has the ring, which he should have. It’s his. I admit, he went about getting it back in a moronic way.” She angled a glance at her ex, who pursed his lips and, wisely, remained silent. “But no harm, no foul. I don’t think he’ll be back here trying to break in anymore.”

  “He does, call me,” Brady said.

  “She can call me,” Connor interjected.

  Good Lord.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t all of you go home?”

  “No way,” Connor said first.

  “I mean it. Out. All of you. Mystery solved. Damsel no longer in distress. Out.” She pointed to the door. Connor and Brady stood stock-still, but Michael took his leave, scampering out the door and throwing a brief glance over his shoulder.

  The two men who were left watched him go, then returned glaring at each other.

  She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Thank you, Brady. Good night.”

  Connor smiled. “Yeah, Brady. Good night.”

  “That’s Officer—”

  “You too, Connor. Or I’ll have Officer Brady Hutchins escort you out.”

  The soldier tipped his head and watched her for a beat as if trying to discern whether or not she was kidding. She was not. She wasn’t a piece of veal to be fought over. And there was too much testosterone in her house.

  “Good night. Both of you.” She walked past them and popped open the door, holding it open so they could exit. They did, Brady waiting for Connor to go first, which he did, reluctantly.

  Once Brady filed out, he turned around to speak. She shut the door in his face.

  * * *

  It’d been three weeks since Michael had reclaimed the ring from her jewelry box. Faith would think after he had what he needed and she was out of danger, she was free to resume her new life of independence.

  Her two man-guards did not agree.

  If Connor wasn’t following her home and watching from his truck to see she got safely inside, then Brady was patrolling her apartment’s parking lot. She really didn’t believe Brady had any romantic interest in her, just assumed he was doing his job.

  While Brady did his job, she was contented to do hers. And Connor did his. His job put him at the mansion most days. He was working on several projects at her behest, plus his indoor greenhouse was there, so he checked in often. Things were not tense between them. The pattern was thus: He continued insisting on watching over her, she would argue, then he would do what he wanted anyway and follow her home.

  He’d insisted on having a security system installed in her apartment, and as much as she wanted to claim independence and tell him she could handle it, she let him oversee the company who installed it. If there was one thing she trusted him with, it was her safety.

  And they never brought up the kiss over the ice cream bowl. She assumed he believed what she believed. The kiss was a fluke. At least that’s what she’d started telling herself. He still flirted as per his usual, but he didn’t push harder and she was glad. That’s what she’d started telling herself, too—that she was glad—though she was pretty sure it was a lie.

  It was true she didn’t need a complicated entanglement with a man, but she still would like to steal another smooch or two from the man. Not that she’d ever admit it aloud. Only in the quiet, dark of her bedroom where things no longer went bump in the night.

  With things set to simmer, she found herself loving her apartment and embracing her newfound freedom more and more. She really did feel better now that the security system was installed. So much so, maybe she should push herself to overcome another fear and enter her former workplace for the first time since she walked out…

  From the parking lot at the bank, she watched across the street as shoppers entered and exited Abundance Market.

  Today was the day.

  She would walk in those sliding doors, saunter back to her
familiar playground in the wine aisle, and pilfer the rest of the Layer Cake Primitivo they had in stock. Then in celebration, she could swing by Sugar Hi and pick up Devil Dogs and eat and drink her spoils.

  She navigated her way to the market’s spotless lot, parked, and took a deep, steeling breath. Then she got out and headed for the entrance.

  Here we go.

  The doors slid open to the familiar smell of freshly baked bread and freshly ground coffee from the stand at the front, staffed by a smiling barista dressed in one of Abundance Market’s signature orange aprons. As wonderful as it smelled, caffeine was not on the menu. She turned down an espresso when the young girl behind the counter offered, then glanced to the right and blew out a breath of relief. Michael wasn’t at the Customer Service counter. Maybe he was in the back. Or maybe, she thought with a burst of hope, he wasn’t here at all.

  Either way, she was on a mission, and the mission was—

  “Oof!” She turned and smacked into a woman in the produce section and sent an array of oranges rolling off the stand to the floor. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry.”

  Both women squatted down to clean the mess, and that’s when Faith looked up and her smile froze.

  Cookie’s eyes widened with recognition before she pushed a lock of dyed blue hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. When she did, Faith spotted a ring. The ring. The same ring Michael had attempted to break into her house to steal back.

  And it was on Cookie’s left hand.

  * * *

  Now late November, there was nothing alive outside, or not much anyway, since the season’s first frost killed the plants last week. This was Connor’s least favorite time of year. Everything was in the process of dying or dead. The ground would soon be buried in inches of snow, then eventually, frozen solid.

  The entire reason he gravitated toward his landscaping business was because having his hands in the dirt, creating something that lived, grew, and thrived, was paramount to keeping him sane. Maybe not literally, but…yeah, maybe literally.

  Hands on the eight-by-six box of lavender, he drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes. As counterintuitive as it was, the winter months reminded him of Afghanistan. The landscape was painted all one color—there dusty brown, here dim gray. Nothing grew green and lush. His nasal passages and throat were dry in both places. He’d noticed that more than ever last year. Part of the benefit of coming into his greenhouse was getting some much-needed moisture into his head.

  The back of his neck prickled and he turned, finding Faith standing by the antique doors acting as a divider. He’d salvaged them from this room, leaving the chipped paint and blurred glass as he found them.

  Her face was slack, eyes down. She carried a white bakery box in her hand, and his memory briefly returned to the day she’d carried a box of cupcakes into this room. The day he’d found her, she looked equally distraught—and attempting to bury some work crisis in a box of Sugar Hi. He’d hated seeing her sad and, determined to make her laugh, started calling her Cupcake. Since the nickname lit her face with an irresistible smile, he decided not to stop.

  “Hi,” she said now.

  “Hi.”

  “I thought you’d be in here.”

  So she had sought him out. He liked that. After weeks of pushing him away, or reluctantly letting him watch over her, she had finally come to him. She sat in a chair in front of the lavender, opened the bakery box, and pulled out a donut hole.

  He watched her chew morosely before taking the folding chair next to hers. “Faith?”

  “Hmm?” she asked, picking through the assortment and coming out with an éclair. He peered into the box and saw frosted chocolate chip cookies, brightly colored mini-cupcakes, donut holes, and a chocolate-dipped cake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Devil Dog. Her favorite.

  “Talk to me, Cupcake.”

  “I have some of those, too,” she announced, abandoning the éclair and pointing out a pink confection with rainbow sprinkles on top. “But I don’t want one.” She lifted the Devil Dog, took a massive bite, then sent him a look as glazed as the donut she’d just eaten. “Do you?”

  He reached for a donut hole instead and popped it into his mouth.

  “Flowers look pretty.” Her voice was flat. Robotic. “Nice to have this here in the winter. Almost winter.”

  He ran his tongue along his teeth, sugar coating his mouth. “There a reason you’re eating a box of Sugar Hi?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes were focused on the window across the room. It was cold today, the wind blowing what leaves remained across the yard. She took another bite of the Devil Dog and chewed, looking as unhappy as he’d ever seen her.

  “Well at least enjoy yourself.” He grabbed her hand and steered the cake to his mouth. He took an enormous bite, cramming as much of the monstrous chocolate cake in his mouth as he could fit. When he got to her fingers, he took a bite and left her with a smashed pile of crumbs.

  Chewing, he rolled his eyes into his head. “Muh,” he moaned. “Uhmmm.” He chewed, aware of the frosting on his lips, the whipped cream on the tip of his nose. “Mmmph.”

  His reward wasn’t far behind. A smile parted her mouth. She dropped the remaining bits of cake into the box and laughed, eyes shining with tears as she took a breath and laughed some more. There she was. He knew she was behind that mask of sadness somewhere. With some effort, he finally finished chewing the cake and swallowed, then licked his lips.

  She cleaned her fingers with a napkin, then used it to swipe the cream from his nose. Her eyes moved from his nose to his mouth, where she watched his lips with interest, her smile fading. Rather than using the napkin, she swiped the corner of his mouth with her fingertip.

  Something between them shifted. The air crackled with anticipation.

  Taking her arm, he steered her finger to his lips, and, keeping his eyes on hers, sucked the chocolate off, swirling his tongue around before slowly sliding her finger from his mouth.

  Her mouth dropped open, her small chest lifting then falling as she took in a nervous breath. She blinked as if snapping out of the trance and stood up, closing the bakery box and abandoning it on the chair.

  He let out a breath, attraction filtering through every pore in his skin. Damn.

  Now facing the lavender beds, she leaned over them and took a deep breath. He walked over and stood behind her. Almost to herself, she said, “Lavender. Of course.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You think I’d have figured that out by now. This is what you smell like all the time. I thought it was cologne or fabric softener…” She took another inhalation and exhaled, saying quietly, “God, that’s been driving me crazy.”

  Directly behind her now, mere inches separating their bodies, he stroked his palm up the side of her arm, anchored the other on the lavender box next to her hand, and said into her ear, “How crazy?”

  She answered with a soft moan, and he took the opportunity to nip her earlobe and suckle it gently. Abruptly, she spun within the cage of his arms. He tried to back away from her, so they could both steady themselves, but before he evened out his weight, her mouth crashed into his.

  Connor was a big guy. It took a lot to knock him off balance. So when the delicate, slender blonde fused her lips with his and took another step closer, he was surprised to feel his equilibrium tip. Before he toppled backward, he grasped her hips for balance and instinctively squeezed his fingers into her flesh.

  Damn. He knew he was right about her curves. They were there. Hips filled his palms. Palms he had to concentrate to keep from wrapping around her sweet little ass.

  Unlike the kiss over the ice cream bowl, he felt her wet tongue tease the seam of his lips. He opened for her and let her in, tasting the chocolate frosting and the salt of her tears. Looping one arm around her narrow waist, he kissed her back, pressing her delicate curves against him. A groan sounded in the back of his throat when two small but perky breasts smashed into his chest.

  She didn�
��t stop there, nipping at his top lip and dragging her fingers along his scalp. He backed her against the lavender beds, needing to anchor her, to anchor himself, to get a handle on what she’d unexpectedly laid on him.

  The faint taste of chocolate lingered on her tongue, and he made it his job to remove every last remnant of it with his. When her hands snaked up his chest, for a second he thought she might push him away. Then she molded her hands along his pecs and ran them down his torso until her fingernails teased along the hem of his shirt.

  Right about now, he was having a hard time staying upright. Hard also being the perfect adjective for the head not located on his shoulders.

  She drew away first, eyeing him through wide, dark pupils while he fought to regulate his breathing. Good God, this woman knew how to use her mouth.

  He didn’t have far to bend before he was taking her lips under the will of his again.

  CHAPTER 9

  Had a kiss ever made her feel so good?

  Not ever.

  Connor knew the angle to tip his head so his lips welded to hers, and when he drew back to angle his head the other way, he grasped the back of her skull to tilt her so she went with him.

  It was. Amazing.

  Helping was that he tasted like a Devil Dog. Sweet and delicious. Also helping was the fact that he’d taken that huge bite of her favorite dessert to get her to smile. It’d been so long since a man made her smile.

  Correction: since a man other than this man made her smile.

  She didn’t know what came over her. Maybe the memory of their first kiss. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten. She’d thought about the ice cream kiss many, many times over the weeks, lamenting she hadn’t gotten a French kiss. She’d wondered just as many times what his tongue might feel like against hers.

  Marvelous. As it turned out.

  A grunt sounded across the room, followed by, “Uh, never mind.”

  Donovan. The man of the mansion. Inside, she felt herself wilting. Almost as humiliating as being caught by a parent.