A Bad Boy for Christmas

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Okay.”

  He smiled. She was gorgeous, even frowning. “Okay.”

  “I have to get something off my chest.”

  “Go.” His turn to feel a sharp stab of fear radiate through him.

  “Your sisters play this…game. That’s what they took me off to do Thanksgiving night.”

  “Right. The wishbones. The truth-telling thing.”

  “You know?”

  He chuckled. “Cupcake, you think they have been sneaking into the attic for the last decade and a half and I didn’t find a way to listen at the vents? Hell, I put a tape recorder up there one year.”

  She laughed—much more rewarding than her frown. Unable to keep his hands off her, he took her fingers in his. She bit her lip, looked half-nauseated.

  “Tell me.”

  After a beat, she did. “I asked about you. I asked about where you went on Fridays.”

  He figured that would come up. All he’d ever told her was he had an errand, or had to visit someone. Respectfully, she hadn’t asked more. Now he saw why. She knew why.

  “I know it’s an invasion of your privacy, but they told me about Jonas. About what happened. About the mother and child…” Her brows bent into a look of concern, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she was fighting tears.

  “Faith.” He put his hand on her nape and kept his hand there while she continued.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you feel. What it was like to see something like that. What it’s like to owe someone your life.” She shook her head and her hair tickled his forearm. “They told me if it ever came up, I should tell you what I knew. Kendra said you don’t like to be lied to.”

  Kendra knew him well.

  “I was waiting for you to bring it up…but I didn’t know how far to push. What the boundaries are…with us, I mean.”

  Very serious now, he came closer and held her eyes with his. “Listen to me carefully. You don’t worry about boundaries with me. Not ever. You have something to tell me, you tell me, honey. I’m glad you know. It’s not easy to talk about. Not something I bring up in casual conversation. Reason being”—he put a fingertip in the tiny dent between her eyebrows and smoothed it out—“I don’t want you to hurt for me. Not ever. I can handle this.”

  He could handle her, too. He could handle having her caring about him, looking at him like she needed comforting, like she needed his strength. He’d been at it for a few months now—trying to get her to trust him, to lean on him. To let go of this ridiculous idea she had to be tough all on her own.

  “I’m here for you, Connor. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Damn. Now that was sweet.

  Afraid to acknowledge the feeling spreading across his chest like wildfire, he erased the gap between them and took her lips with his. She responded as passionately, pulling him by the lapels and ruining her lipstick yet again.

  Backing her to the sofa, he reached for where he was sure there was a zipper. She continued kissing him as he fumbled with the tab, then there was a gap and his hand was brushing against her bare back beneath the strap of her bra.

  “There’s a hook and eye,” she murmured against his lips.

  “A what?”

  Giggling, she turned around and lifted her hair.

  Oh. A hook. He undid the pesky piece of metal and when she turned, she dropped the front of the dress, peeled it down her lean form, and stepped out of it. Now she was dressed in only black lace and a pair of tall, bright pink shoes. And stockings.

  “God help me.” It was a very real prayer. The stockings were black with seams running up the backs, thigh-high, and covering those mile-long, gorgeous legs he’d had the privilege of having wrapped around his back on a near-nightly basis. When he wrenched his gaze from her legs, he noticed straps and a matching lace garter belt.

  “You like?”

  “Like is not the word, Cupcake.” He reached for the snaps on the garter, never having seen one in person before. What woman dressed like this? None he’d ever known. Faith was so painfully feminine, she made him ache. Throb. Yeah, that was going on currently. Figuring out the clasp wasn’t hard. He flicked it and the plastic tab let loose like a rubber band, snapping her flesh.

  Her mouth dropped open and she inhaled a short, sharp breath.

  He felt his eyebrow lift.

  “Stings,” she whispered. And it was not an objection.

  He undid the other three snaps, releasing the stockings and allowing the elastic to lightly sting her. He palmed her perfect ass cheeks, pulling her close and kissing her again and again.

  She yanked at his jacket, pulled at his belt, and tore a button off the rented tuxedo shirt, losing it somewhere in the deep rug they stood on. Finger on the bow tie, she grinned at him, something naughty but nice glittering in her navy eyes. “I’d like to see you in just this.”

  “Just the bow tie?” He craned an eyebrow, amused.

  “Yeah.”

  Lifting the tie, he popped the collar, wiggled the stiff tuxedo shirt out from under it, and pulled it off his arms. When he was dressed from the waist up wearing only the strip of tied silk, she raked her fingernails down his chest, over each nipple and to his abdomen. His muscles clenched at the feel of her fingers on his skin. So soft, so light.

  So fucking perfect.

  She yanked the leather belt out of the loops and unzipped his pants, sucking in a breath when they dropped to the floor. “Commando.”

  “I don’t like to be restricted.” He grabbed her up and in a flash of movement unhooked the bra at her back. Then he tore it off her arms and tossed it over her head. “You done with the bow tie?”

  “Not quite.” She tugged the bow, undoing it and slithering it from his neck. Desire flared in her eyes.

  She wrapped the length of it around his wrists, but he was on to her, and no way was she doing what she was thinking of doing. He snatched the silk from her hands and lashed it around her wrists and, working quickly, tied her hands together with a knot she wouldn’t be able to undo.

  “You want to be taken, sweetheart, I’ll take you. But you’re not going to be in charge of anything other than coming with my name on your lips.” She gasped and he lifted her wrists, bent his head, and took a nipple onto his tongue.

  “They’ll hear.” The hitch in her breath encouraged him further.

  “Yeah.” He flicked his tongue over the peaked bud. “They will if you’re not quiet.” Pushing her onto the gold sofa, he laid her on her back and shoved her bound wrists over her head. Tied up, spread from end to end of the couch, she looked like a sacrifice waiting for whatever he wanted to do to her.

  And oh, he had plans.

  Without giving her a chance to say more, he reached for her panties. They gave, the flimsy lace tearing from her hips with a satisfying rip. Another gasp came from her lips, but when he looked up at her, her eyes were dark and wide, her mouth open, her chest and face flushed.

  “Now you go commando, too.”

  “Is this bad? I mean, doing it in a room full of gifts for children?” Her mouth split into a smile, suggesting she liked the idea of being “bad.”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s bad. Not nearly as bad as it’s going to be when I bring you to the brink and you have to try and keep it down.” He dropped her legs over his back and settled between her thighs.

  “Can I touch you?”

  A scant inch away from tasting her, he smiled from between those creamy thighs. “Cupcake, we talked about this. You can always touch me.”

  She put her bound hands on top of his head, and he didn’t need further encouragement before he took her onto his tongue.

  CHAPTER 20

  Sparks burst behind Faith’s tightly shut eyes as she did her level best to keep from crying out. Not only had Connor stayed between her legs long enough to make her every muscle tighten and loosen to the point of being unusable, but then he’d slid inside her and continued moving until she orgasmed for…

  She had no idea how many t
imes.

  Her wrists, still tied together, were hooked around his neck as he drove deep, pressing her hips and back into the cushions on the couch. Earlier, someone had tried the knob on the door and she’d nearly shot out of her skin. Connor assured her whoever wanted to come in could wait. “But you can’t,” he’d said, thrusting again.

  “Tighter, honey,” he said into her ear, his teeth nipping the fleshy lobe and letting up. Using her inner muscles, she clamped down on him, spent but willing to do whatever he asked. He went over a moment later, his low groans buried in her hair, his breath cascading down her neck.

  They lay there after, breathing, recovering. Simply enjoying what had passed between them again. When he regained his strength—she liked how she stole it away whenever they were together—he gently lifted her hands linked around his neck and tore at the knot of the tie with his teeth.

  Stripes pressed into her skin from the material. He pressed his lips to one of the faint marks. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you,” he said, continuing examining her as he held the weight of his body on his free arm.

  With a deep, satisfied, utterly sated laugh, she said, “You did a lot of things to me, Connor McClain, but not a single one of them hurt.”

  He grinned down at her, that certain something hovering in the air between them again. She knew the emotions were dangerous. Faith didn’t dare think the “L” word, but the affection they felt for one another was impossible to ignore. Every time they made love, he rattled her to the absolute core. Now, more than ever, she needed to remember her advice to Sofie last year. Faith needed to maintain her independence, keep her power. If she didn’t, there wasn’t a prayer she’d escape without getting hurt.

  The man had the potential to destroy her. They were in the beginning stages of what they shared now, but after six, eight months, after a year or two, this part would fade. Then there would only be arguments about what was his and what was hers. Financial discussions, family drama, arguments that would erode and chip away at who they once were and all they’d once had.

  When she left Michael, she had not left intact—and the scariest part was, the only reason she’d left was because he cheated on her. If she had stayed, she’d have been the same repressed woman she’d become with him. It was like she’d morphed into him over the years, forgetting who she once was. She could not allow that to happen again.

  Maintaining her independence was about more than just being independent. It was about keeping her personality, her sense of self. Her strength as an individual. That was too much to give away to any man. Even a man who turned her inside out and then looked at her the way Connor looked at her now.

  “Cupcake, you should not be frowning.”

  “I’m not.” She smiled.

  “You were.”

  “I…was worrying people noticed we went missing. What if whoever knocked needs in here?”

  To her surprise, he didn’t argue. “Valid.” He kissed her wrists again, kissed her mouth, then pulled out and left her prone on the couch.

  “Oh, I could so sleep.” Her eyes grew heavy. After an evening of dancing, smiling for the crowd, handling her mother, and having mind-blowing, semi-kinky sex, Faith could sleep for days.

  “We’ll get you home, Cupcake. Get dressed.” He pulled on his tuxedo pants, leaving his chest gloriously bare.

  Home. Her home or his? Either way, they’d be together. Regardless of what happened in the future, there was no doubt their lives had merged, had seamed together so tightly there wasn’t much space in between. Part of her warned of the danger ahead—how much harder it’d be to pull back the closer she got now, but another, larger part of her basked in the idea of snuggling into Connor’s solid presence and sleeping the night away.

  He held up the scrap of lace that used to be her panties and stuffed them into his pocket. “Keeping these.”

  With a laugh, her worries washed away. She sat up on the couch and redressed, watching as Connor tucked the wrinkled bow tie into his other pocket.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve came on a Thursday. Faith took the rest of the week off. She’d been sleeping at Connor’s place, and was proud that not only had she brought in some decorations, but had also convinced him to unpack a box. One in a sea of many, but still. Progress was progress. The box he’d chosen was filled with some of the things he had from his time spent in the army. Letters from his sisters, care packages including drawings from school-aged kids, as well as handmade cards from his nephews.

  She also found a frame with a group of very attractive, fit men wearing camouflage in front of a scorching hot, colorless desert backdrop.

  “Look at you.” She’d pressed a finger to the glass, over Connor’s scowling face. “Hard.”

  “As nails,” he’d commented, taking the frame from her. She asked him to point out Jonas and he did. The man was shorter than Connor, with dark hair he appeared to be at the start of losing. He didn’t fill out his tank top nearly the same way Connor did, but without a doubt had an attractive, friendly face. Connor had named off the other guys, too, going quiet when he pointed to a dark-haired Hispanic-looking man. “Marco. Lost him.”

  Lost him. Those two words filled her heart with pain.

  She’d consoled him, but not in an obvious way, just a touch. Placing her hand on his cheek as she cuddled with him on the recliner. He’d held her, eyes on the frame, mind on his friends. Then he hugged her close and she kissed his temple, and they made love right there on his living room floor, slow and sweet.

  The man was a deep well. Maybe that’s what scared her the most. She’d only scratched the surface of who he was, what he knew, but already, she wanted to climb into the bucket alongside him and descend to the bottom of that well. She wanted to know everything about him.

  And she didn’t want to, at the same time.

  “Mom,” he said into his cell phone now. He was laid out on her couch, arm behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. His shoes were kicked to the floor and the television was on mute, but the weatherman on the screen was saying the same thing he’d been saying for days: A blizzard was coming. Right in time for Christmas.

  “We can get there. Getting there’s not a problem.” He rolled his eyes when Faith smiled down at him. Leaning her elbows on the back of her couch, she watched the forecast and listened to his conversation with half an ear. “We’ll get snowed in, that’s why. Yes. Yes. Do you and Dad have what you need for the next few days?”

  She glanced down at him and he winked at her. Sandy-brown hair mussed, strong arms, thick legs, and dressed in the killer combo of jeans and a henley, the man was sex on a stick. She smiled again.

  “I’m going to stay with Faith. Make sure she’s good.” Taking her hand on the back of the couch, he linked their fingers. She tried to ignore how warm it made her feel to know he wasn’t going anywhere. As a resident of Evergreen Cove, she was no stranger to the winters here. She’d been snowed in once before, and there’d been plenty of days she wished she were snowed in so she didn’t have to go out in it. Knowing Connor would be here with his giant-ass Ram truck to help her get out if she needed to was a relief.

  “We’ll come see you after the storm blows over. Christmas dinner after Christmas. That can be a new McClain tradition.” He finished his phone call with a “Love you guys. Merry Christmas” and a promise to call and let her know he was okay and not frozen to death. He dropped the phone on his chest. “Evelyn McClain has decreed there will be no McClain tradition of celebrating a holiday after the holiday, but since the advice of the mayor is for everyone to get where they’re going and stay there, she will accept us for a post-holiday dinner and a gift exchange.”

  She held her smile in check; afraid he’d see the fear in her eyes she felt in her gut. Christmas with Connor’s family was a big step. Bigger than Thanksgiving dinner. “I hate to interfere with your family time. I mean…I don’t know.”

  He stroked her thumb with his. “You don’t have to go.”

  She
licked her lip and bit down.

  “I get it.”

  But did he? She wasn’t sure. He turned his head and watched TV, dropping her hand. She felt like she should comfort him, but before she did, her cell rang. She crossed to the kitchen counter, yanked it from the charger, and answered.

  “I am so excited I can’t see straight,” came her best friend’s excited voice.

  “Do tell.”

  “A snowed-in Christmas and I’m in a mansion.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?” she teased. “What about your family?” No doubt, the Martins—Sofie’s mom and dad and two sisters—would want to see her.

  “We went last night instead. Mom freaked out about the weather and called everyone in early.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “What about you?”

  “Oh, uh”—she stole a glance over her shoulder at the man on her couch who had unmuted the television but was likely listening to her talk—“we’re here. No plans until after the weather blows over.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  Uh-oh. What was about to happen?

  “We want you and Connor to hole up here for the storm.”

  “Sofie—”

  “I know. You two are doing it like rabbits, but I swear we will give you your privacy. This house is massive. Have you not noticed? And we have a master bedroom cleaned and completely stocked.”

  “What? Don’t you two want to spend Christmas alone? You can run around naked and not worry about anyone seeing you.”

  This got Connor’s attention. He sat up and cocked a curious brow her way. She waved him off.

  “We do that all the time. It’s always us here. And the ballroom, the great room, the dining room—everything is still decked out for Christmas. Seems like a waste if no one can enjoy it.”

  “Sofie…”

  Connor’s cell rang and he lifted it to his ear. “Donny.”

  “Your future husband just called my…uh, Connor.”

  “Your Connor. I like that.”

  So did she. A little too much?