The Christmas Bride (Brides of Holland Springs Book 4)

by Marquita Valentine

  His mother shook her head in confusion. “I never do... except I have a standing invitation for anyone who wants to eat supper with us tonight. But it looks as though, you’re it.”

  “I won’t be able to make it.” He tried to stand and almost knocked the tray to the floor. “Damn—er, dang it.” Carefully, he grabbed the tray and placed it on the coffee table. “I have to go.”

  “But you just got here,” his mother protested.

  He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back ... later.” He stood and practically ran from the room, grabbing his bag as he opened the back door.

  “But—”

  “Let the boy go, Leah. We have some celebrating of our own to do, remember?” his dad said and Logan shuddered,

  While he was happy they still liked to celebrate, he didn’t want to hear about it.

  ***

  Willow had just sat down to watch A Husband for Christmas on the Hallmark Channel when the pounding started on her door. She knew it wasn’t her dad; he was vacationing in Florida with Bette, his girlfriend of six months.

  Privately, she thought her dad was going to propose. She hoped he did because she was tired of seeing him all alone.

  Like her.

  The doorbell started ringing, giving rise to a tension headache she’d been nursing the entire flight home. Pain meds hadn’t kicked in yet and the thought of what might be made her want to climb into bed, pull up the covers and not come out again until she knew for a fact she wasn’t pregnant or married.

  She gulped, then took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. There was no need to get upset over things that hadn’t happened yet.

  Except her marriage had happened.

  Another knock on her door made her grimace and quicken her steps.

  “Hold your britches on,” she called out, turning the deadbolt and the doorknob at the same time.

  Logan stood there, his dark hair covered in a toboggan, his jaw covered with a five o-clock shadow, and dimples in his cheek. He wore the same sweater and pair of dark jeans with brown boots that he had on during the flight back to Holland Springs.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “What in the world are you doing here?” she asked, knowing she had to look completely foolish wearing elf-themed pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt with the word JOY printed over her boobs.

  His gaze skimmed down her body, a smirk appearing on his face. “I’m moving in, wife.”

  She slammed the door right in his smug face, or she attempted to, but he put his stupid big boot in the way and the darn thing bounced right off him.

  “Move.”

  “As soon as you let me inside so we can talk and have dinner.”

  “Not happening.” She shook her head. “I know what comes after talking and dinner with you.”

  “Oh, come on, Willow, we can’t get married again,” he said in a teasing voice that made her want to smack him up side the head. “But we can have sex again. With protection this time.”

  Her eyes burned hot. “How can you joke around about that?” she cried.

  He tugged off his knit cap, his black hair messy and sexy. “Humor usually helps.”

  “Not this time.”

  “That’s why I said usually instead of always.”

  Cold began to invade her house and her clothes. She stomped her feet. “Fine. Come inside before you freeze.”

  “Thanks.” He stepped inside and dropped his bag in the foyer, then took off his shoes. “Okay to leave here?”

  “Sure.” Why did he care where she wanted him to leave his stupid boots? He’d only be putting them right back on once they were finished talking. “No dinner.”

  “Too bad. I’m hungry.”

  “Too bad. I don’t have groceries and nothing’s open,” she countered.

  He held up his phone. “Ordered Chinese. They should be here in about thirty minutes. Said they had a huge rush of orders.”

  She resisted the urge to scream and instead decided to treat him like one of her Bridezillas. Except she never wanted to have sex with one of them, or notice the way their sweater fit over their muscles.

  And she certainly didn’t think about how any of them felt inside of her, moving and stroking, and—

  “You look a little flushed.” He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. It was only slightly chilly. “Hope you didn’t catch anything on the plane.”

  She pushed his hand away. “You’re not a doctor.”

  “Always did like the way you could tell Luke and me apart.”

  Oh. My. Gosh. Would he flipping stop being so charming? “Anyone with a lick of sense can tell the two of you apart.”

  “Not everyone,” he said quietly.

  “Anyone who cares about you can,” she replied, then wished she’d kept quiet.

  He looked down at her, touching her cheek. “You still care about me?”

  “My feelings don’t turn off and on like a faucet.” She wanted to snipe at him, but his touch made her tell the truth. “Doesn’t matter though because you don’t feel anything beyond physical urges with me.

  “Physical urges,” he repeated.

  She nodded. “I don’t know how much you remember but you really enjoyed sex.” She swallowed hard. “With me.”

  “Oh I remember,” he said, his dark eyes glowing. “I remember every inch of you.”

  Her eyes widened and instead of taking a step back to get some fresh air, her dumb tail took two steps forward. Then she let her husband put his arms around her, let him lift her up and kiss her.

  Softly.

  Sweetly.

  Tenderly.

  “You are so tiny. I don’t know how we fit together so well,” he murmured. “I’m half afraid I’ll break you.”

  “You didn’t break me last night,” she reminded him, feeling particularly bold. “I think I handled you really, really well.”

  He laughed low in his throat and it wasn’t at her, but with her. “Yeah, you did.” Carrying her over to the oversized chair, he sat her down on the arm and kneeled in front of her.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Finally having that dessert you promised me,” he said, then grabbed the waistband of her pajama bottoms and tugged. She lifted her hips, helping him.

  As soon as the cool air hit her, he had his head between her thighs and was lapping at her like a starving man.

  Moaning, she clutched at his shoulder and grabbed a fist full of his hair.

  One of his hands traveled up her leg, up her waist and under her shirt to cup one a breast. Her nipple hardened in his palm while her hips moved, trying to get him closer.

  “Arch your back, wife,” he ordered in a husky voice that she couldn’t help but obey. “That’s it. Oh yeah... sweetheart, you taste so damn good.”

  The soft flick of his tongue against her clit made her jump, made her hang on tighter while he massaged her breast. She was going up in flames, she just knew it, and while the rational part of her brain was shouting Bad Idea, the rest of her brain and her body was all Give. Me. More.

  She was a hot, near-orgasmic mess.

  Logan stopped, pulled his sweater up and over his head, and stood, undoing his pants. Without hesitation, she shoved his jeans down his lean hips.

  His erection sprang free and he produced a condom, rolling it down the length.

  Dragging her to the edge, he lifted her a little. “Put me in you.”

  She grabbed him, rubbing his cock against her mound until she couldn’t take it anymore, then guided him inside. He thrust forward, slowly.

  “What do you think, Blue Eyes?” he asked, working his hips. “Can you take more?”

  She nodded and slipped off the edge of the chair, fully impaling herself on him.

  He groaned.

  She whimpered and wriggled against him. “Is this better?”

  Biting the side of his lip, he nodded. “Oh yeah.” He grabbed her hips with both hands and plunged inside of her, his jeans hitting her tender skin.
“Lose the shirt.”

  It took effort, but she got her shirt off and pressed her chest against his. “That feels so good,” she all but sighed.

  “I can make you feel better.” He reached between them with one hand, playing with her clit until her eyes rolled back in her head and she was scratching at his arms.

  She was wanton and mindless, demanding more and harder. Logan gave it all to her. No demand was too much and he seemed to enjoy doing it too.

  Well who wouldn’t? He was inside her of, where he wanted to be, or he wouldn’t have come prepared with a condom.

  His groin hit her, sliding against his fingers and her clit, and the friction was enough to send her soaring. “Logan. Logan. Logan,” she chanted, never wanting her orgasm to end.

  Bending his knees a little, he rocked into her, setting off another round of sparks and his own orgasm. His fingers dug into her hip and he growled a little.

  It was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.

  She collapsed against him, while he continued to move. She stroked his back, felt the scars and outlines of his tattoos, and wondered at it all.

  Her mind was clear now. She could think straight again. Maybe she’d been too hasty with Logan. Maybe they could make this work. He’d called her wife... during sex, no less.

  That had to mean something positive, right?

  “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, pulling out of her.

  She pointed the way. His jeans fell to his knees as he walked, giving her an unobstructed view of the tightest, most muscular ass in the history of asses.

  A minute later, he was back with a washcloth in hand. Once more, he knelt before her, but this time, instead of getting her worked up, he gently ran the warm cloth over her.

  “I probably should have been more considerate of you,” he said, glancing up at her.

  “I don’t think sex is supposed to be considerate.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “I meant that I should have kept in mind you were a virgin as of yesterday and been more careful.”

  “You didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you mean—the second time, anyway. Not that it was awful the first time. It wasn’t obviously. You made me... you gave me... I was very satisfied,” she managed to say, without feeling too idiotic.

  Standing, he tossed the cloth into the bathroom, straight into the basket that she kept for dirty clothes, and turned back to her. His smile was tender and sweet as he brushed back her hair.

  “Feeling less lonely now?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you feeling less lonely now that I’m here?”

  A horrible thought entered her brain, one that involved his mother blabbing Willow’s family secrets to Logan and Logan feeling sorry for her.

  “Did you only come over here because my mother left my dad and me on Christmas and you thought I needed company?” she asked, hopping down from the coach. She shoved on pajamas and crossed her arms over the word joy, mostly because she felt less than joyous.

  His cheeks heated. “Maybe, but how is that a bad thing? My wife need something and I, as her husband, provided it.”

  “How Neanderthal of you.” Secretly though, it was swoon-city. Yet it was also embarrassing. Conflicted feelings and thoughts did not make for a reasonable Willow. “Well, you’ve done your job, so you can leave, without any guilt and be on your way.”

  He pulled up his jeans and buttoned the top, but made no move to put his sweater back on. “I’m staying for dinner.” A determined look entered his eyes right before he sat down on the sofa. “We can talk afterwards about living arrangements.”

  Jaw clenching, she said, “Fine.”

  The doorbell rang

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Already paid for it,” he called out.

  “Groovy,” she snapped as she grabbed her coat, keys, and purse. She opened the door with a flourish. “He’s right in there.”

  Then she walked out to her car, bare feet and all.

  “What the hell, Willow?” Logan shouted, racing after her. He grabbed her and threw her over one shoulder.

  “Put me down, Logan Ambrose,” she shouted at him while pounding on her back. “Put me down this instant.”

  Her neighbors began opening their doors and poking their heads out. The best and worst thing about living in a townhouse community was that they saw and heard everything.

  “Logan Ambrose? When did you get back?” one of her neighbors called out. “Haven’t see you since what... four years back, up in Richmond?”

  “Yeah.” Logan shook his hand. “Great seeing you. How’s life. How’s Marianne?”

  She groaned, propping herself up on his back with the flat of her hands and her arms pushed straight out so she could look the guy in the face. “Charlie, do you think you and Logan could catch up another time?”

  “Just a minute, Willow. Marianne, get out here. You won’t believe who I’m talking to.”

  Willow’s eyes bugged out of her head when Charlie’s wife showed up, her face wreathed with a big smile. “Oh my gosh. Mr. Matchmaker himself. If it wasn’t for this guy, you wouldn’t have planned the most beautiful wedding in the world for us.” She winked at Willow, not even batting an eye at the fact that she was thrown over Logan’s back like a sack of potatoes.

  “How lucky for me” she all but growled.

  Logan lightly smacked her ass, making her jump. “Want to hear lucky? This lady right here did me the honor in Vegas. We were on our honeymoon, but had to cut it short because I fucked up ... and to top it all off I didn’t get her a ring. So, she’s a little peeved at me right now. I’m trying to make it up to her with dinner and couple time. Figured we could go ring shopping tomorrow.”

  “Shut up,” she hissed and he smacked her on the tail again. “You’re so going to pay for this.”

  “Worth it,” he muttered.

  Marianne clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful news. And yes, come by my store tomorrow. I have the perfect ring for you, Willow.”

  Willow bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Awesome.”

  “Dinner’s getting cold, baby doll, and the delivery guy’s waiting on his tip,” Logan said cheerfully.

  Charlie grinned. “You two go in and work things out. Don’t be too hard on your husband, Willow. He’s a great guy.”

  Logan walked back to the house, keeping Willow on his shoulder. “Are you insane?” she asked. “Marianne knows everyone and now everyone will know we got married.”

  “So?” He put her down, inside the house, and tipped the delivery guy, who all but ran outside, slamming the door behind him. “Who cares if people find out?”

  “I care. It’s my reputation on the line.”

  “So what if I knocked you up. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened in Vegas.”

  She gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

  He shrugged. “And if I were?”

  He mouth open and closed like a fish. “I meant my business reputation, but thanks for the reminder that everyone will think I’m some floozy.”

  This time he was the one to gape at her, but then that infuriating man started laughing. “Floozy. What are you, eighty?”

  “You’re such a pain,” she huffed, then marched to the table and began to sort the contents. “Eat and then leave. That’s my final offer.”

  “Whatever you say,” he agreed, but Willow didn’t trust him.

  “I say we get an annulment.”

  The amusement in his voice died away. “Not until we know if you’re pregnant or not. My kid will not grow up without my last name.”

  He sounded so serious, so unlike himself that she nodded. “In two weeks we’ll know.”

  “Good.” He grabbed his sweater and put it on, then pulled on his boots.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  Color her confused. “I thought you wanted to eat dinner with me?”

  He yanked open the door. “I lost my appetite.” />
  Chapter Eight

  Logan was sitting at a table for twenty-five, with his siblings, their spouses, and their kids. Basically, he was surrounded by people in love and he was the odd man out.

  But he kept up appearances, helping clear the table and wash the dishes until the ladies made all the men go outside so they could have the house to themselves.

  Logan didn’t mind that. Neither did anyone else because it meant they could drink beer, scratch their balls, and talk shit to each other without their wives saying a word.

  Luke tossed Logan a lighter. “Get the campfire going, boy scout.”

  “Afraid you’ll hurt your doctor hands, pretty boy?” Logan shot back. Yeah, his insults sucked.

  “Actually, yes.”

  With a roll of his eyes, he groaned, then squatted down to pile the wood and added some kindling. It didn’t take long for the fire to catch. Soon, there was a nice blaze going.

  It had been their oldest brother’s idea to do this. A sort of let’s-get-to-know-the-new-guy-who-married-their-baby-sister kind of activity. Only the new guy was as silent as a tomb.

  Logan liked him immensely.

  “Logan got married to Willow in Vegas,” Heath said, plopping his ass down in one of the chairs that had been set up for them earlier by Carter.

  And now, he hated his youngest brother with a passion.

  “You’re an idiot,” his oldest brother Carter pronounced.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered.

  “You’re ugly.”

  “You’re going bald prematurely.”

  “You suck at Rook.”

  “Your dick is the size of my pinky finger.”

  Logan made a face and flipped off his both his brothers and brothers-in-law for good measure. His youngest sister’s husband hadn’t said much, but Logan was sure he had an opinion. Everyone in this damn family had an opinion.

  Usually, he was one of the opinionated.

  “We’re twins, you idiot. Our dicks are the same size,” Logan pointed out.

  His twin grinned. “Maybe, maybe not. A lot can happen in thirty-three years.”

  “Where is Willow?” Carter asked, preventing Logan from tackling his brother and pummeling him until he admitted that their dicks weren’t the size of his stupid-smart tiny brain.