Christmas With You

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Guess you will.” She arched an eyebrow, and with a quick, “Nice to meetcha” at Adam and Steve, she strode out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 9

  Pathetic. Jealous. Over-reacting. Dumbass.

  Carly walked toward home fast enough to set a land speed record, powering down the hill from the Sullivan house and along the foreshore road.

  Burning a hole in your sneakers trying to run away from the truth. You’re a smitten kitten, aren’t you, zoomie?

  “I know you mean well, Daddy,” she muttered, getting some elbow action into her stride. “But in the most loving way, back off.”

  Yeah, she was all of the above and more. A smitten kitten—but one who’d had her nose rubbed in reality.

  “Carly,” a deep male voice shouted behind her. “Wait up.”

  She flicked a glance over her shoulder. Kip was about a hundred yards away, closing the distance fast.

  That’d be an aw, hell no.

  She wanted to go home and lick her wounds. In private. Toughen up before their shift together this afternoon. So she walked faster, putting her temper into elbows and ass. Footsteps thudded behind her, gaining ground.

  Her walk turned into a jog and then a run. To hell with what the people playing on the beach or strolling along the road with dripping ice-cream cones thought. She arrowed into her street, leaving Kip’s “Goddammit, Carly,” in the dust. Hah! All those years of her dad dragging her on morning runs had paid off.

  Evidently, Kip was no slouch, either, because he caught her halfway up the hill to her house.

  “Hey!” He ran beside her, grabbing her elbow.

  She tried to shake off his hand, but he was too strong, and other than throwing a complete bitch-fit— très embarrassing—she had no choice but to slow to a brisk walk.

  “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

  “Figured that when you bolted.”

  A sound, something like a cat hacking up a hairball, exploded from her throat. “Then you should’ve taken the freaking hint and left me alone.”

  His grip tightened on her arm, drawing her to a stop a few houses down from her place. “We need to talk.”

  Dragging that old stinker from his male arsenal? Oh, puh-lease. Besides, “we need to talk” was a woman’s line, not a guy’s.

  She met his steady gaze with daggers drawn, because it hurt, double-dammit. It hurt she was falling in love with him, while he didn’t even bother to correct his brother-in-law’s assumptions that they were nothing more than workmates. “Don’t you dare tell me what I need.”

  “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. Of course, she wouldn’t freaking make it eas—

  Kip grabbed her wrist, slipped his other arm through her legs, and flicked her onto one broad shoulder. Her breath exploded out of her lungs. Hello, upside-down view of the sidewalk and Kip’s superb butt. It took three full seconds of bouncing along the road before Carly sucked enough air into her lungs to speak.

  “Put. Me. Down.” She punctuated each word by smacking his butt cheek.

  Only, from the rough chuckle of the man carrying her, he seemed to be enjoying the ass-whupping.

  “Seriously,” she hissed. She arched her torso and caught a glimpse of her neighbor’s house. “This is ridiculous and unnecessary and plain juvenile, even for—”

  “Kip Sullivan, what on earth are you doing with my tenant?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice had the same qualities that saved ships from being wrecked on rocky reefs during fog.

  Carly closed her eyes and shuddered, going limp.

  Please, God, send an earthquake to swallow me up. I know Stewart Island’s not on a fault line, but still…one small favor.

  “I’m taking Carly to her house,” Kip said.

  A gate creaked, and Carly scrunched her eyes tighter, sure her face glowed brighter than Rudolph’s legendary nose.

  Mrs. Taylor made a small hum of amusement and cleared her throat. “You’re okay with these caveman tactics, dearie?”

  Carly’s eyes popped open, and she glowered at Kip’s legs. “No, I’m not okay, Mrs. T. He’s a complete freaking bonehead, and as soon as he puts me down, I’m gonna—”

  A hand patted her rump, and she yelped, the flame in her face transferring to her butt cheek and the growing heat between her thighs. Yeah, the devious bastard had turned her on a little.

  Mrs Taylor chuckled. “You don’t need me to call Noah? Or one of your brothers?”

  Bring the Island’s cop into this mortifying situation? Or West and Del?

  Dear. God. No.

  “No!” Carly said. “I mean, it’s not necessary. Please don’t call anyone. Kip and I will settle our disagreement like sensible adults.”

  “Yep,” Kip said, and she knew he was grinning at Mrs. T. “Like sensible, consenting adults. But you many want to turn up the volume on your TV shows for the next hour.”

  Then he strode down the path to her house with her bouncing and struggling on his shoulder.

  “Key?” he said.

  “Under the doormat,” she grumbled.

  He squatted, retrieved the key, and stood up again, without letting her go. Not that she was impressed. He shifted his weight from side to side as he toed off his sneakers. Okay, maybe a little impressed.

  “You realize she’ll be on her phone right now,” she said, as he unlocked the door. “Everyone in Oban will know about this, this…kidnapping—within the hour.”

  “I don’t care.” Kip stepped into her little house and kicked the door shut with his foot, the deadlock engaging.

  “You cared ten minutes ago when you let Adam and Steve think we were workmates.”

  “I set them straight the moment you left, and cut me and the guys a break. They’ve just arrived on the island—last they’d heard, you were only my co-worker.”

  “Hmmph.” Trust the man to be so damn logical about it. “Well, then there’s Becca, who wants to have Sullivan babies.”

  Kip sighed. “You’re really going there over a woman I haven’t seen or heard from in two years? I can tell you the boring story of how she dumped me, or you can believe me when I say one perfume-drenched envelope—which I binned without opening, by the way—doesn’t mean shit.”

  Oh. Had she over-reacted? Yeah, probably.

  But it didn’t change the underlying issue. Kip wasn’t a “home and hearth” kinda guy, and she was totally a “home and hearth” kinda gal. And the big bully had manhandled and embarrassed the hell out of her in public.

  She gritted her teeth. “I’m still mad at you, and as soon as you put me down, I’m going ten kinds of crazy on your ass.”

  Kip chuckled and walked straight into her bedroom. “I’m hoping the blood-rush to your head will slow you down.”

  Oh, she could say with great certainty her blood hadn’t rushed to her head, but had left her brain and gone to an area a few inches from Kip’s face. That area grew pretty damn excited about the prospect of naked-fun-time with her captor. Sucky Stockholm Syndrome. Her heart did a jittery side-step, and her muscles developed a weird melting quality that meant she wouldn’t be able to fight her way out of a wet paper bag.

  A large hand stroked down her leg and then disappeared, followed by the sound of her drapes being drawn. Her bedroom transformed from summer day to sultry shadows. All sorts of wicked things could and did happen in the shadows. Belly flutters multiplied. Wicked, wicked things.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m intending to have you naked within the next few minutes. I figure you don’t want an audience.”

  Carly huffed out an indignant snort then squealed when Kip flipped her onto her bed. He bent, his arms either side of her body, caging her as she lay there stunned, and yes, a little light-headed. His heated blue gaze travelled from her face down her neck and then locked onto her breasts. She didn’t need to glance down to see her nipples poking through the soft cotton of her shirt.

  She fol
ded her arms, hiding one outward sign exposing how turned on she was. “I’m not getting naked.”

  Kip shrugged and stood. “Up to you.”

  Disappointment bit low and hard. He’d given up already? She was about to protest, even though it’d mean swallowing her pride, when Kip grabbed the hem of his shirt and stripped it off in one economic move. Her jaw sagged. Forming words over one syllable would be impossible.

  Holy crap, he was bea-ut-i-ful…

  His fingers hooked behind the elastic waistband of his shorts and he shucked off both them and whatever had been restraining the most delicious set of male equipment in the history of the freaking world.

  Her lungs stopped functioning, and she couldn’t pick what to ogle first—

  Kip’s defined pecs covered by a sprinkling of crisp dark hair, or the valleys and ridges of his abs leading down to another narrow stretch of body hair. Or his cock, thick and proud and bobbing gently as he finished kicking off his shorts. Even his long, tanned legs—a runner’s legs…no wonder he’d caught her—grabbed her attention, and oh, dear God, every part of her throbbed with the desperation to touch him.

  “What…?” Her tongue sucked into a growing black hole of mouth dryness.

  “What am I doing?” He supplied for her, returning to the foot of the bed. “Getting naked.”

  “So I see.” Carly propped herself up on her elbows.

  Kip placed his hands either side of the bed, preparing to crawl on the mattress with her, but she planted a sneaker in the center of his chest. The heat in his smile should’ve ignited her clothes into a fireball. As it was, breathing normally was out of the question, and her panties felt soaked and restrictive.

  “Gonna use some of your crazy, military jiu-jitsu moves on me now, sweetheart?” He ran his hand along the underside of her calf, her muscles jumping as if his fingers contained a live electrical current.

  Something like that…

  Her breath caught, ragged and harsh, as she scanned the length of him. All bare, beautiful skin and ripped muscle. Wanting to touch him, wanting to taste him, was an indescribable ache. Why was she resisting again?

  She dropped her foot and scooted to the foot of the bed, splaying her legs either side of his, wrapping a hand around his cock.

  A ragged explosion of breath left his lungs. “Carly.”

  But now she had him right where she wanted, the fresh, raw scent of aroused male filling her sinuses, her fingers gripping silky skin encircling pulsing steel…Well. She wouldn’t let him get away without a few crazy jiu-jitsu moves. Like this one…

  Carly bent her head, brushing her cheek along his length, savoring the shudders trembling through him. She flicked out the tip of her tongue, swiping it over the head of his cock, running it down to the ridge and then along his shaft until her nose bumped the warm skin of his stomach. His fingers sifted into her hair, massaging her scalp, while his ragged inhales as she kissed her way to the head of his cock made her grow even wetter. She took him into her mouth, and her taste buds zinged to life. She sucked him in like he was the sweetest sugar cookie frosting. God, the texture and size of him, the raw groans…as if she was giving him the most mind-blowing pleasure.

  She pulled away and glanced up. Kip stood with his head thrown back, tendons like piano wires stretched in his throat, his jaw clenched. He cracked open his eyes.

  “Payback’s a bitch, eh?” he rasped.

  Without breaking eye contact, Carly stroked him once, twice, three times. His bigger hand covered hers, stilling it.

  “Get naked.” His tone brooked no argument. “Now.”

  She could argue and continue driving him wild, but selfishly—with him pulsing and rock hard beneath her fingers—she wanted him inside her.

  “Bossy.” She released her grip and he stepped aside, giving her room to stand. Which she did—on wobbly legs. Kip being easy-going and amicable at the bar was great, but she had to admit, easy-going and amicable in the sack didn’t work for her. At all.

  “You have no idea.”

  She lifted her chin, because, she had to at least give the impression she wasn’t dying for him. “Are you demanding a strip tease?”

  “No strip tease, this time…” He shot her an I’m gonna give you a screaming orgasm smile. “But the sooner you get your clothes off, the sooner I’ll give you what you want. What we both want.”

  Her erogenous zones merged into one big arrow pointed south. Yeah, she wanted.

  She stabbed a shaky finger at her nightstand. “Condoms. In there.”

  Carly stripped off sneakers, shirt, shorts, and underwear in record time, while Kip suited up. The moment her panties hit the floor, he was on her—kissing any final objection out of her and lowering them into a tangle of naked limbs on the bed.

  Braced above her, he dipped his head to suck the hardened peak of her nipple into his mouth. Spirals of sensation billowed through her, and she arched against him, rubbing her slickness against his cock. He met her thrust for thrust, grinding along her cleft, the head of him bumping against her core, until a scream of frustration built in her chest.

  “Please.” She hooked a leg over his hips, positioned his delicious hardness, and tilted her pelvis at just the right angle—

  Kip gave her the tip of his cock, the head dipping the barest fraction of an inch inside her, but no more. A taste of fullness, of being stretched and filled and taken…but not enough. Carly wailed in frustration, but it was like manipulating a marble statue. Muscles flexed under her calves as his butt cheeks clenched.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She did, slipping under his spell as his warm gaze skimmed over her. He bent to trail kisses down her throat, the scratch of his stubble tingling along her nerves.

  He withdrew his cock until it rested against her upper thigh. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

  “I want you, Kip.”

  So much that the entire residential population of Stewart Island could line up for a peep show, and she’d let them watch—as long as he moved his goddamn hips a little bit to the left.

  He eased in halfway. “More?”

  “God. Yes.”

  He teased her with shallow thrusts, and she squirmed like a fish on a hook.

  “How much do you want?” He whispered by her ear and then gently nipped the sensitive flesh of her lobe.

  She’d start begging at any second. Pride, when opposed with uncontrollable hunger, would be a sore loser.

  “Everything. Give me every damn thing, Kip!”

  So he gave her every damn thing. Pistoning his hips forward, Kip buried himself inside her. Carly cried out, her inner muscles gripping him so hard it was little wonder she didn’t snap him in half. He stilled, and they stared at each other, the slight breeze filtering through the drapes buffeting their sweat-slicked skin. Neither spoke, but she couldn’t verbalize the power of the moment with mere words, so she chose the easiest one.

  “More.” She sucked in a ragged breath, every atom of her awareness focused on the feel of him above, around, and deep inside her.

  He slid a hand along her leg, opening her to him wider as he withdrew and thrust into her again. And again. And again—driving into her with a rhythm that called forth in her a perfect counter-rhythm. There were no more words needed, no reason to beg; Kip gave her everything…and more.

  She came—hotly, loudly, unashamedly intense, her body contracting around his as though he were the center of the universe. Kip dropped his head to her shoulder with a hoarse male sound and joined her in release.

  ***

  Carly floated through the doors of Due South for her shift, seeing everything with new eyes. Eyes that had, up until an hour ago when Kip kissed her goodbye to run home to change, been filled with visions of his naked body doing wonderfully naughty things with her…to her.

  Now, the tinsel draped below the bar seemed to sparkle, and the Ho-ho-ho-ing Santa mat at the entrance appeared cheerful rather than annoying, and the dangling mistletoe in the corner�
�currently utilized by a couple taking a selfie—made her want to grab Kip and have her way with him. Again.

  Even the speakers pumping out “Santa Baby” made her grin widen. She swept around the bar with a little shimmy in her step, singing about the big guy hurrying down her chimney tonight.

  Zach gave her a chin lift in greeting then a double take. “You okay, Carly?” His brows drew low over his hazel eyes as he scanned her face. “I mean, are you…singing?”

  “Three days ‘til Christmas, Zach,” she said. “The most magical time of the year.”

  “Uh-huh.” He took a step away from her, his eyes widening in a back away from the crazy lady look. “Um, West wants to see you before your shift. He’s in his office.”

  “All-righty. Won’t be long.”

  She gave him a finger wave, to which he responded with another squint-eyed look of bemusement, and then she headed toward West’s office, situated out in the main hotel.

  All righty? Carly shook her head as she opened the bar door for a customer returning from the hotel’s restrooms. Where had all-righty and most magical time of the year come from? She stepped into the hallway, caught sight of her reflection in a wall mirror. Holy crap—who was the dreamy-eyed, flushed-cheeked, grinning-like-a-psycho woman? Ah…one who’d just had the best-est, most awesome-est orgasm in, like, ever. She clapped her hands to her face and tried to smooth off the smile, but it kept popping back up. Gah!

  A door opened farther along the hallway. “Carly? A word, please?”

  She whirled. West leaned against his office door frame, his arms folded, his expression bland.

  “Coming,” she said. And oh, gawd, a mental picture flashed into her mind of doing just that only an hour ago.

  Carly jammed her lips shut and readjusted the collar of her Due South polo shirt. Get it together, zoomie. She wasn’t a nymphomaniac who couldn’t cope with the boss’ mini-lecture on the spirit-mixer ratio without thinking about S-E-X with K-I-P.

  Deep breath in. And out. She walked along the hallway and stepped into West’s office, waiting for him to sit behind his desk so she’d feel like a gawky adolescent called in to see the principal. Again.