Tinsel and Temptation

by Eileen Rendahl

  “Love the way you say my name like that,” he confessed, making an effort to keep their lips from touching. “Now, about that icing…”

  “What about it?”

  He spun her back around. “Let’s make some so I can focus on … something else.”

  With him pressed closely behind her, they mixed butter, powdered sugar and some brown sugar, cream, vanilla and cinnamon until it was the perfect consistency and she was ready to scream.

  He dipped his finger into the bowl and tasted it with a hum of appreciation. “Delicious. How was my focus?”

  “Annoyingly impressive.” She held his hand back into the bowl and brought it to her lips to suck and lick, nipping the pad of his index finger. The creaminess was perfect, and the brown sugar granules gave it a lovely texture. It was worth the exercise in focus just to see his eyes almost slide shut with lust.

  When she released his finger, she grinned slyly, challenging him with a raised eyebrow. “Santa like?”

  “Very, very much.”

  He lifted her and placed her on the kitchen counter. Behind her, she heard a whisk fall to the ground, but Dom was fast enough to catch the bowl of icing when it started to slip away.

  Like a magician, he pulled apart her flannel pajama shirt, her breasts rising and falling with each excited breath. With an expert touch, he took some light pink icing and spread some on each dark nipple, pressing and rolling the tips slowly enough that she could feel the granules of sugar against the sensitive skin.

  A tightness began coiling inside her with each caress, making her feel vulnerable and naked as he watched her enjoying the caresses. But when he lowered his head and took her breast into his mouth, the tightness uncoiled into a shudder of pleasure that made her sway slightly. “Oh! Oh my…”

  With masterful precision, he rolled each of her nipples with his tongue, those granules creating a yearning ache when they pinched slightly, building the pleasure as he licked all the icing off. His hands roamed, his skin touched, and their mouths met, tearing up more kisses until the oven timer dinged loudly.

  Showing more control than she had, he stepped away to turn the oven and timer off, then returned to pull her off the counter. Grabbing the icing with one hand, he lead her to the couch by the fireplace.

  The towel still lay on the arm rest, so he spread it on the seat, and leaned down to kiss her belly button as he pulled off her pajama bottoms. When they slid off, he parted her thighs and inhaled deeply, bracing as if in pain. “That scent… and the icing… holy God, Gin. Incredible.”

  Although she was equally aroused, she fought a sudden shyness. “I-I should get the condoms from the bedroom.”

  He lifted his head, his gaze filled with tenderness. “No. I’ll take care of you. I promise. Lean back, close your eyes and enjoy the ride.”

  She hesitated, then complied.

  It was devastating.

  He painted icing on her inner thighs, her navel, and with one finger, painted icing rosettes around her sex. Satisfied with his design, he proceeded to drive her completely crazy by rubbing in the icing, licking, eating and sucking every last bit off it from her skin, focusing on her swollen clit and simultaneously stroking every part of her sex with his fingers. She moaned and shivered, blindly needing more, caught up in the storm of sensation as his tongue swirled, suckled and stroked her until she came hard, hips shifting off the couch a bit, vaguely aware that her right hand was clutching his head to the juncture of her thighs until the last waves of pleasure faded.

  For a long moment, he knelt there, his face lifting and resting against her thigh. The fire crackled for another long while the afterglow faded enough for her to realize that his breathing was still choppy.

  “Dom?”

  “Si, querida?”

  “Are you okay? Shouldn’t I do … something?”

  He used a corner of the towel to wipe the shine of sex from his face, his eyes still gleaming with repressed lust. “I just need a moment.”

  With the fireplace behind him, he looked so capable and sexy, the feelings for the man before her far surpassing the teenage crush for the boy he’d once been. Everything he had done made her feel special, cared for.

  She caressed his cheek, realizing he was still trying to be a gentleman. “I know you didn’t finish. I wouldn’t mind, you know, taking care of you too.”

  His smile grew to a grin, and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “I should be saying hell yes, but to tell you the truth, I could stay here at your feet, just to watch you like this for about an hour.”

  Moved beyond words, she unconsciously moved a hand over her heart and smiled.

  Time seemed suspended until the shrill of the phone cut sharply into the room, jolting them both. One look, and she could tell that, like her, the only person that came to mind that would call was her brother.

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said.

  “You should.” He nodded toward the offending instrument. “Maybe he finally came to his senses.”

  It rang one more time before she leaned over, placed a kiss on Dom’s lips, then went to answer the phone, picking it up without a greeting.

  “Hey, sis? Sis?”

  “What?”

  “Okay, first of all, I’m sorry! I know I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I just want to know if you’re okay? Please tell me you’re okay?” She held the phone away while he continued. It was easier to watch Dom with his stubborn erection, go into the restroom and hearing him washing his face.

  “Sis? SIS?”

  Virginia reluctantly brought the phone back to her ear. “Glad you made it safely back to town, Bri,” she snapped. “Mom would be so proud.”

  He paused. “Fuck. Yeah, I know Mom and Dad would’ve kicked my ass.”

  “When are you going to grow up and stop doing shit like this, Brian?”

  “I was trying to do a good thing, honest.”

  “I have better things to do than listen to your excuses, Brian.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to bother you, but Tommy made me call. I mean, I was going to call anyway, but Tommy said I should call right away and apologize.”

  Saddened that he’d actually needed prodding, she didn’t say anything, and the silence between them stretched.

  “I was honestly trying to do something right, you know,” he finally said. “I know it wasn’t, but… once I knew it was Dom, I figured it was fate in a way. I remember you guys together back in high school. You were in love. Everyone knew it.” He sighed, paused again. “Last New Year’s, when I showed up late at your house for the flashlight, remember? You were drunk and were falling asleep on the couch, crying a little and saying his name over and over. I’d never seen you drunk before, sis. I mean, I know he’s special to you. So, like I said, it’s almost like fate, right?”

  “Oh, Brian.” She remembered drinking too much on New Year’s, when she’d been expecting to celebrate alone, but loneliness had driven her to overindulge in alcohol. “None of that justifies what you did.”

  Dom stepped out of the bathroom, his erection having abated a bit. He walked toward her and pointed at the phone. “Mind if I talk to him?”

  She handed him the receiver. She could hear Brian stumbling over his apologies all over again.

  Dom interrupted. “Do you know how many women I’ve slapped in my life? How many I’ve cut up, tied up or used against their will? The answer is none! But you didn’t know that when you dropped me off here. Had I been someone else, this stunt of yours could’ve backfired ten ways to Sunday! I could’ve killed your sister or done so much worse! I don’t think breaking your skull is going to knock any sense into it. But you’d better believe that if you ever pull another stupid stunt that puts your sister’s life in jeopardy again, you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Brian responded with something she couldn’t decipher.

  Dom again interrupted. “I don’t waste my time with empty threats, Brian. It’s a promise. You’d better figure out how to make this righ
t with your sister, and do it soon or we’re going to have a whole new conversation. Right now, at the count of three, you should wish your sister a Merry Christmas and hang up.”

  This time, she could clearly hear Brian yelling out, “Merry Christmas, sis. I’m really, really sorry! I do love you!”

  Dom handed her the phone.

  She held it tightly, suddenly feeling like she betrayed the promise to her mother in some irrevocable way. Saying goodbye to her brother seemed very final, as if she’d turned a corner in her relationship with him. “Merry Christmas, Brian. Goodbye.”

  “I’ll talk to you in a few days, okay?”

  Sadness turned into a knot in her throat. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Thanks, sis. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  She waited to hear the dial tone before hanging up.

  Dom opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace, wordlessly accepting the comfort she never realized she’d needed.

  “So, for New Year’s, I think you should come and meet my family,” Dom said.

  They were mired in the afterglow of lovemaking, this time in the bedroom on fresh sheets. She was snuggled up to his ribs and he was lazily playing with her braids.

  “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

  “No. I gave up seven years that I need to make up for.” He placed a puff of a kiss on the top of her nose. “I’m trying not to rush things, but if you need me to slow down, please tell me. I want to be with you, Gin. I think we could be good together. Good for each other, to each other.”

  She smiled tentatively. “I feel the same way too, Dom. But can you honestly say you’ll feel the same way next week?”

  “What? Do you think I’m only in it for the sex?” He paused, frowned, then spoke softly. “Are you telling me you only want sex?”

  “No!” She touched an index finger to his chin, making an effort not to blurt out the word ‘love’ and throw herself at him. “I’m just telling you that the sex is pretty darn good, but I’m new at this and I don’t want you feel like you have to feed me some line.”

  “It’s no line, Gin. It’s how I feel. How do you feel?”

  She took in a deep breath, looked into his eyes and spoke from her heart. “I feel if you respect me at all, tell me if you only want the next few days, or if you truly want more.”

  He grinned. “Absolutely, positively more. You have my word.”

  She bit her bottom lip while grinning. “Yeah?”

  “So, let’s pretend it’s been six months, and you’re still crazy about me.”

  “I’ll be certifiably insane.”

  “And I am still deeply and madly in love with you.”

  Her heart thundered and a gasp escaped her. “Oh, Dom.”

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he murmured when her eyes watered. “You don’t have to say you love me back right now, just know that I do love you, right here, right now. No doubt in my mind about that.” His lips brushed hers. “So, anyway, if you feel warm and fuzzy about me in six months, would you marry me?”

  “Dom!” She could no longer hold back the tears of joy. She threw herself at him, covering his face with kisses and holding him close. “I do! I will! God, yes, I’ll marry you! I’ve been trying not to blurt out that I love you and make a fool of myself, because I know you care about me, but I wasn’t sure if—”

  The kiss he planted on her bloomed like a promise. Words, thoughts and emotion sealed between them in a kiss that took her breath away.

  When they finally broke for air, he breathed, “I love you, Virginia.”

  “Love you, too, Dom,” she said, emotion choking her words. “And Happy fricking Feliz Navidad to you, sweetheart.”

  He hooted and rolled her around with her on the bed. “Absolutely my very best Christmas ever!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I’ve always loved reading romance novels, and I feel so lucky to be an author who can share my own plots and characters too. I took a hiatus a few years back, but my muse calls, so I’m doing a bit more writing these days.

  Feel free to browse my other books on my website: www.delilahdawson.com and let me know what you think.

  I love to hear from my fans, so if you want, drop me a note a ddawson@delilahdawson.com. Thanks!"

  Fire and Fruitcake

  Eileen Rendahl

  Clara pointed at the candle in the middle of the menorah – the shamash, the one you use to light all the others – and flame burst from its wick. She clapped her little starfish hands in delight. I licked my fingers and pinched the candle out, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed.

  “Mamamamama,” Clara chanted, a frown pulling her lower lip down.

  Uh oh. The last thing I needed right now was for her to go into full-blown tantrum mode. We were pushing our luck as it was. It was already six-thirty. Based on what I’d seen of the latke production happening in my mother’s kitchen, we would not be sitting down to eat until close to seven. Clara was usually in her bath about now, followed by cuddly story time, then sleepy time by eight.

  And yes, I’d heard in my head what I sounded like. I wasn’t sure what frightened me more: the kind of language that motherhood was making me think in or one of Clara’s epic meltdowns that seemed more likely to happen when we threw her schedule out of whack. As a Messenger, I have fought off Chinese vampires, rogue werewolves, evil brujas, and more. I have gone toe to toe with gnomes, trolls, and chupacabras. I would be willing to take them all on again rather than endure my daughter’s ear-piercing shrieks during one of her arched back to hell and gone tantrums.

  Now I had to contend with the possibility that she might decide to go all firestarter on the menorah in front of family members who didn’t know or understand about me being a Messenger. Or her being … well, whatever she was. None of us were quite sure about what that was yet.

  I scooped Clara out of her highchair and settled her on my hip. “Why now, pumpkin? Why tonight?” I considered asking her why tonight was different from all other nights, but that question goes with an entirely different holiday than the one we were celebrating tonight at my mother’s house. We were in full Hanukkah mode. Passover was months away.

  Before Clara had been born she’d shown signs of having an electric personality. She’d let off shocks here and there in utero, mainly to protect me or her father. Mainly her father. All that had stopped when she was actually born. Which mirrored what had my mother had told me about when she was pregnant with me and when I was born. Except then I’d fallen into the pool at age three, nearly drowned, and woke up a Messenger.

  Clara had been a regular baby so far. She cried, ate, slept, and pooped. A lot. That was it, though. No sudden shocks. No zapping. Then tonight when we walked into my mother’s dining room, she saw the candles, pointed at one of them, and poof! Literally, poof! This was seriously not good.

  “Let’s go find your Daddy.” Maybe Ted could distract her while I hurried things along in the kitchen. Maybe we could get out of here without having a heck of lot of ‘splaining to do to the family members who didn’t quite know what I was besides awfully lucky to have scored such a nice husband and such a cute baby despite my somewhat surly personality.

  “Dadadadada,” Clara agreed, curling her fingers around the neckline of my shirt. I gave her tiny fists a kiss – yes, she was starting fires, but she was still the cutest bestest baby in the whole world – and went in search of my husband (it still felt so weird to even think of him like that) and her father, Ted Goodnight.

  I found him watching basketball with my father and brother in the den. I caught his attention and gave him a little head jerk to indicate I needed to talk to him alone. He followed me out of the den and toward the sun porch at the back of the house.

  “If you’re trying to foist another dirty diaper on me, I want you to know it’s not cool,” he said taking Clara from my arms. “Just because you can smell it before I can doesn’t give you license to dodge your share of changes.”

  I didn’t point
out that the fact that I could smell it long before anyone else was often punishment enough. “You’re going to wish it was a dirty diaper,” I said, checking my shirt for spit up or any other body fluids. “She pointed at one of the Hanukkah candles and it lit up.”

  Ted looked from me to Clara and then back to me. “Like in flames lit up?”

  “Like totally in flames lit up.”

  As if to prove me right, Clara chose that moment to point at a votive candle my mother had on the windowsill and light it on fire. I licked my fingers again and pinched it out. At this rate, I was going to need to develop asbestos fingers.

  “This could be problematic,” Ted said.

  “You think? What if she decides she doesn’t want to nap and sets her crib on fire? What if she decides she doesn’t want to share and sets another kid on fire?” The what ifs mounted in my brain like debris from an avalanche. Motherhood felt like that a lot. Like a whole mountain of crap was coming toward me and all I could do was stand there and try to make sure it didn’t get in my mouth and eyes.

  “Let’s keep calm. So far she’s only lighting up things that are supposed to get lit up, right? Think of how handy that’ll be on camping trips.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

  “I don’t camp.” It’s not that I didn’t see the appeal of starry skies and fresh air, I just also had to contend with whatever supernatural creatures made their home wherever I was trying to sleep. It didn’t make for restful nights under the stars. Besides, what was so bad about indoor plumbing?

  “I know. Imagine it hypothetically.” He grinned at me, making it nearly impossibly to not at least smile a little back. He was awfully cute with that messy blond hair and big blue eyes and ridiculous dimple, all of which he had passed on to our daughter. Did I mention that she was the cutest bestest baby in the entire world?

  I still wasn’t happy about our little bundle of joy becoming Miss Sparky, though. “We’re going to have to do something.”

  “Like what?” Ted sat down on one of the wicker chairs my mother had placed looking out onto the garden and bounced Clara on his knee.