Christmas Flame (Alpha Phoenix Book 5)

by Isadora Montrose

He pulled the studs out of his cuffs. “I know they came to the Alte Oper looking for you. And they followed you from the hall to the stage door.”

  “Dan stopped them.”

  “I know. I saw it on the monitor. Who knew you and Gilmore were going to the Messiah tonight?”

  “Half the Consulate, I should imagine. It wasn’t a secret.” When discussing your work was treason, you naturally kept to safe topics. She and Dan had bragged about knowing Grant.

  “Those guys are Bulgarians. They were after you or Gilmore. And they knew you would be there. You’d know better why.”

  “But I don’t.” She knew even less about Dan’s job than about most other attachés. She had surmised he was military intelligence, but she didn’t know. “I can’t imagine why they came after me. I’m entirely unimportant.”

  “Not to me,” he said grimly. “My guess is that they didn’t know Dan was going straight home. They set it up so that they could grab him and wound up with us instead.”

  She hedged. “Maybe. Let’s face it, we’re never going to know. Thank goodness someone sent those commandos to rescue us.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What did you say you do at the consulate?”

  “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

  He shook his head. “Not you too?”

  “Me too, what?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Let’s just kill each other and be done with it.”

  “Like that, is it?”

  “Uh huh.” Grant slipped the last of the studs from the shirt placket and dumped them all on the marble counter. He shrugged off his shirt. His left shoulder was red and puffy and the skin was broken.

  “You are hurt!”

  “My thug was wearing brass knuckles. He got in a lucky punch.”

  She rolled her eyes at the macho posturing, but her fingers touched the bruise lightly. “You need an ice pack.”

  He pressed her hand over his wound. “Your touch will do.”

  As if. “At least let me clean it up.”

  “I smell like a prizefighter after the tenth round. I am going to take a long hot shower. Will you join me?”

  She swallowed hard. She was tempted. Heaven knew she was tempted. But if she was going to have casual sex, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be with Grant D’Angelo. That way lay disaster.

  He sighed. “I’m rushing you.” He lifted her onto the cold marble countertop and kissed her.

  The touch of his lips on hers was everything she had ever dreamed it would be. She barely noticed when he stretched out a hand and turned the water off and swept her against his hot and sweaty body. He did smell as if he had had a workout. Probably so did she.

  She forgot about that as his hot tongue dueled gently with her own and he angled her head so he could taste her more thoroughly. She forgot that she wasn’t a blonde bombshell. Her world narrowed to the fire between them. Her vag pulsed cold and hot, ramping up her desire. She leaned into the kiss she had waited for all her life.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Genevieve~

  Grant tasted of testosterone and peppermint and some elemental male essence. Her breasts swelled and her bodice felt tight and constricting. And still he did not touch her there. She was dying of frustration and he acted as if they had forever.

  He sucked her tongue into his mouth and invited her to explore his. Back and forth they took the kiss. Nibbling, licking, sucking, like lovers who knew each other’s pleasure points as well as they knew their own. His chest was heaving when he broke the kiss.

  “Wow.” His words were heartfelt.

  She preened. Pudgy, small-town Gen Carson had knocked the socks off the Angel of the Opera, veteran of a thousand seductions. That reminded her she was playing with fire. She slipped off the counter and staggered as one six-inch heel slipped on the floor tiles. She was pressed up against that broad, sleek chest before she could recover, feet dangling so he could reach her neck.

  His mouth pressed hot kisses along her collarbones. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat. Pleasure speared lightning sharp to her breasts and then to her clit. Everything inside her tightened and throbbed and then tightened more as he traced the satin binding of her bodice and set the skin aflame.

  One strong arm rested under her buttocks. A finger dipped between her breasts in tender exploration. She moaned. He caught the little surrender with his mouth and the loving battle of tongues and lips resumed. She let her own fingers trace the hard outline of his pecs and rubbed her thumbs in circles over his flat nipples. He groaned and stopped her hands.

  “I’ll order supper before we shower.”

  Genevieve sat on the padded bench at the end of the enormous bed while he ordered room service. His hot blue gaze scorched her face but she met his eyes as best she could. She was perfectly aware her face was red and splotchy. If it came to that, scarlet branded his own high cheekbones and his chest moved as if he had just completed the hundred-yard dash.

  She weighed her options. She could have a single night of blissful never-to-be-forgotten sex with Grant. It would either cure her of her infatuation, or scar her for life. Allowing herself to be his evening’s entertainment would do nothing for her heart or her self-esteem. Probably ruin her friendship with his sisters. So why was she so tempted?

  He hung up the phone and stalked her. Just when she was about to surrender, he knelt at her feet and unbuckled her sandals. “You don’t need these.” His hands caressed her ankles through her stockings. She felt his touch straight up her legs into her core. She pressed her thighs together against the burning pleasure.

  She stiffened her spine. “I’m not going to be a one-night stand.” Not even for Grant.

  He stayed on his knees. His hands rubbed the sides of her thighs through her skirt and moved under her bottom to knead. “No,” he agreed.

  She ignored his sensual massage. “Or even your Frankfurt Opera Bunny.”

  He laughed. “My what?”

  “Everyone knows you have a girl in every city.”

  He kissed her hand. Turned it over and kissed the palm and then each fingertip. “Everyone knows wrong.”

  “Do they?”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. Between my publicist and the paparazzi there’s more truth in fairy tales than in the papers.” He reached for her other hand. This time he pulled each fingertip into his mouth, sucked lightly and bit gently, before moving to the next. “I’m a one-woman guy.”

  Sure he was. She moaned. What was he up to? “I am trying to tell you I won’t be dessert.”

  “How about everyday rations?”

  “What?”

  He took both her hands in his. “Genevieve, heart of my heart, will you do me the very great honor of accepting my hand?”

  “You want to marry me?”

  He turned her left hand over and kissed her wrist and then kissed his way up the delicate lace-covered skin to the crook of her elbow. “Hmm.”

  “Out of the clear blue sky?” she yelped.

  “It’s raining.” He licked where he had kissed and blew softly. Her nipples clenched. Who knew the inner elbow was an erogenous zone?

  His chuckle made her arm vibrate. The vibration went straight to her stupid clit. “Stop,” she cried. But her voice was soft and indulgent.

  Nevertheless he let her go. He stood, plucked her from the bench and sat down with her on his lap, letting her feel the tent pole in his dress pants. “I never want to stop, Genevieve. I want to marry you and do this until we have a houseful of kids and are old and gray.”

  “But we hardly know each other.”

  “You don’t mean that. I’ve known you since you were seven years old and had ribbons in your hair.”

  “You’ve always thought of me as a kid.”

  “Not in years. I’ve been in love with you for at least a decade.

  “Since high school? But I was fat!”

  “Not then, not now.” He covered her stomach with one enormous hand and squeezed.
“Soft, supple, and very, very strong. Muscle isn’t fat. And you were just as lovely when you were growing into your height.”

  “I’m chunky.”

  “Then I happen to like chunky.”

  “That’s not what the tabloids say.” Pictures of him beside blonde supermodels flashed before her.

  Grant scowled. “Forget the tabloids. They publish nothing but lies. You are the only woman for me, Genevieve.”

  “Then why did you wait ten years to tell me that?”

  “Because you had things to do, and so did I.” His arms tightened. “Suppose those guys had killed you tonight? I can’t wait any longer, sweetheart. Marry me.”

  It was the climax to her lifelong dream, but she still had doubts. “Why?”

  “Because you are my other half, Genevieve mine. Because you are brave and beautiful, sexy and sweet. Because you are perfect for me. Because I love you with all my heart and soul.”

  “Do you?”

  “Am I a liar as well as a Lothario?”

  He wasn’t. All the D’Angelos had honor. If he said he loved her, he did. Time to be brave. “I love you too. I have for years.” She was proud her voice didn’t tremble.

  He kissed her again. Lifted her into his arms. “You’re mine,” he crowed. “Mine.”

  “Yup.” He loved her. “Why did you waste all those years, D’Angelo?”

  “Because I was a fool. Will you marry me, Genevieve, and let us make up for wasted time?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  And then the time for words was over.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grant~

  He carried her off to the bathroom in triumph. Her beautiful gown was all there was between her pearly skin and the world. “Oh, man,” he crowed as he got his first glimpse of her lovely rack. But he locked his gaze on her eyes even as his fingers found the stiff peaks and tugged gently on one and then the other.

  He was one lucky bird of prey. His mate was all rich curves and strong muscles, promising a lifetime of sensual delight. He wanted to strip her bare and slake his urgency on her soft and willing body. But this first time should be special. As perfect as he could make it. A celebration of love. He had to remember that Genevieve doubted her own beauty. He forced himself to slow down, to leave her arms caught in the net of her sleeves while he gloried in her ample breasts.

  “So soft,” he breathed as he kissed the upper slope and stroked the fragile skin beneath. The mound quivered and the tip puckered, turning from peach to maroon. He licked his way in circles around her breast, listening to her gasps and murmurs. Her arms fought free of the purple lace and urgent fingers wound themselves into his hair, now tugging, now holding him in place.

  After a long time he raised his head and laughed into her eyes. “Other side,” he said.

  “Yes, please.” Her tone was demure, but her green eyes sparkled.

  He took his time. Her eagerness made his own impatience bearable. His cock was jerking and leaping inside his pants by the time he decided to remove her dress entirely.

  “Hang it up,” she ordered sternly when he would have tossed it aside to enjoy her black thong and stockings. “It’s new.”

  Some fights weren’t worth winning. He put it on the door hook. “I don’t know how you fought off a guy with a pipe without ripping a seam.”

  “Lycra. Every girl’s best friend.”

  What a woman.

  He unbuttoned his pants and shoved them down. Kicked them away. Stripped off his socks. Her eyes on his shorts were awed. He took them off and the green irises almost disappeared. He turned away and adjusted the shower. When he popped back out of the stall, she was doing her best to look brazen. His mate wasn’t used to his eyes yet, but she had a lifetime to habituate to his lustful gaze. A phoenix bond was forever.

  He knelt at her feet again and began to sing. He eased the tight elastic from her thigh and slipped the stocking down. The knee had a huge hole. He kissed her through it, and stopped singing. “I think you did this kicking Pipe Dude.” His throat closed on might-have-beens.

  “Probably.”

  She was shivering as he eased the other stocking down, kissing his way along the tender flesh of her inner thigh and then smoothing the skin of her calf. He lifted each foot and sucked her toes in turn. Her hum of approval was music to his ears.

  He rose to his feet, removed his shorts. “Shall we?”

  Her fragrance was everything he had expected and had waited so long for. And the taste of her flaming muff mingled with the rushing water was nectar indeed. He suckled her folds through that frail scrap of black lace until she came apart in his hands. Then he surged to his feet and lifted her.

  “Now?” he asked.

  “Now.”

  Her passage was slick and hot and made for him. He resumed his song with his first glorious thrust and sang in time with his rhythm. Her head fell back and her mouth opened. Her moans came out in breathy counterpoint to his serenade. Truly this woman was made for him.

  Her interior muscles were still pulsing with the aftershocks of her first climax when he pressed upward. His cock scoured her G-spot and sent her back over the edge. He followed her over, careful to keep his arms around her. His song became a victorious bellow which echoed in the tiled enclosure with her joyful tune.

  “I love you,” they sang together.

  Somewhere out on the psychic plane their auras met in blissful union. He had claimed his soulmate – his fated mate. Theirs would be a lifetime of love.

  A long time late he turned the shower off. “Time to eat, my darling.”

  “Everything the waiter brought will be stone cold,” she lamented.

  “Of course. I ordered a cold meal.”

  “You think of everything.”

  Everything, except how to tell his mate he was a phoenix shifter. Everything except how to persuade her to swallow the burning Egg of Immortality and become a phoenix too. Somehow he would convince her to join him in flight. But tonight was for making her his.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Genevieve~

  He dried her with one of the hotel’s soft white towels and then handed her one so she could do him. It was a pleasure to explore his sleek, hard muscles. The bruise on his right deltoid wasn’t as bad as she had feared. It was turning purple but the skin had closed. He was one amazingly fast healer.

  By the time she had blotted her way down his back to his tight buttocks, his cock was erect again. She gave it a playful nuzzle with the towel. She had flown apart in his arms but he had gathered her pieces back together. She wanted to experience that freedom again.

  “Do you want to eat?” he growled. “Or eat?”

  “Can’t we do both?” She knelt at his feet and rubbed his legs briskly.

  She kissed his cock and blew warmly on his balls. His package twitched reassuringly. She gave it a delicate lick. Now that she knew his reputation as a manwhore was unearned, she felt a surge of feminine power and confidence in his presence.

  “Insatiable female. Let’s see what the chef sent us.” He led her naked into the bedroom.

  “If you insist.” She was a little dismayed that he wanted supper more than sex. But he had sung a two-hour concert followed by a major fistfight. She was a little peckish herself. “But I’m not sitting at the table in my bare skin.”

  “Naturally not.” He pulled a pale green kimono embroidered with silver leaves from the closet and held it out for her.

  “Whose is that?” she demanded. She wasn’t wearing some other woman’s clothes.

  “Yours.” He showed her the label. Her name was embroidered on it. “I told you that I have loved you for years. What did you think that meant?”

  “Apparently that you planned this episode.” She slipped her arms into the silky sleeves, ran her hands over the silk, and made a discovery. “These are feathers!”

  “I know.” His black robe looked like hers, but his feathers were gold.

  “We match!”

  “Of co
urse.” His arm around her waist turned her into his body. “Have I told you that you are the most desirable woman in the world?”

  “Nope.”

  He kissed her throat. “Well, you are. And I didn’t plan our first time quite like this. My version didn’t have spies or a fight. But it did have a proposal and fabulous sex.”

  “Was it?”

  He kissed her hard. “The best. Love makes all the difference, dear heart. Doesn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “Is it Christmas yet?”

  She glanced over at the bedside clock. “In one minute.”

  “Good.”

  The waiter had laid a table for two before the living room window. A sheer drapery allowed them to see the city lights spread before them. Church bells began to peal as Grant poured champagne from the bottle the waiter had opened before he left.

  “To a long life and happiness,” he said touching his glass to hers.

  “To us.”

  They drank. The church bells reached a crescendo.

  “Merry Christmas, darling. Time for your present,” he said.

  She stroked her robe. The silk caressed her palm. “Another present? But I have nothing for you.”

  He opened a drawer and rummaged among some papers. “Hold out your hand.”

  He placed a black velvet box on her outstretched palm. “Merry Christmas.”

  An emerald the size of a marble, encased in a filigree cage, lay on white satin. She picked it up and a delicate gold chain followed. It was a pendant and necklace. “It’s beautiful.” It truly was.

  “To match your matchless eyes.”

  “Thank you. Merry Christmas.” She stood up to kiss him.

  When they had explored each other again, he took the necklace from her and fastened it around her neck. “As beautiful as the neck it graces. It’s until I can get you an engagement ring.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him again. “I still wish I had something for you.”

  “You will. You do. There are things you don’t know about me and my family. Accepting them will be your gift to me.”

  “I don’t think that there’s much I don’t know about you D’Angelos.” He had said himself that she had known them since she was a little girl. She, Frankie and Eleanor had shared all their secrets from second grade to second lieutenant.