Snowed In with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 1)

by Sylvia Pierce

  “No, it doesn’t,” Georgie said. “So you’re not a Gunner or a Blade. Rock? Mack? Jack? Yes, Jack fits you. Rugged, classic—”

  “Ronan Steel.” He climbed out from under the car and stood to face her, dusting snow off his hands.

  Georgie waited, but he didn’t offer any additional details. “Not much for regular-type conversation, are you, Ronan Steel?”

  “You converse enough for the both of us.”

  Georgie pressed her lips together.

  “Here’s the situation,” Ronan said. “Bent axle, two bent rims, and that tranny’s FUBAR. You ain’t leaving here tonight, Cupcake. Not in that heap.”

  Georgie knew it was stupid to hope, but still. Hearing him say it out loud like that made it official: Georgie Taylor, miracle of miracles, had ruined Christmas once again.

  The disappointment must’ve shown all over her face, because suddenly Ronan was looking at her with… well, it wasn’t sympathy exactly, but close enough.

  “Thanks anyway for trying,” she said. “Sorry to waste your time.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Ronan put a hand on her shoulder, his calloused fingers unintentionally grazing a sliver of exposed skin beneath her scarf. The touch felt strangely intimate, sending shockwaves of warmth rippling throughout her body. “But as much as I love shooting the shit, I got a blazing fire and a bottle of illegal whiskey I’d like to get back to, preferably sometime before my balls freeze off.”

  “I… oh. Of course.” Georgie smiled and stepped back from his touch, her cheeks burning, despite the cold. She might not be able to get the car moving, but maybe she could use the onboard nav system to signal a tow truck. She unzipped his jacket and slid it off her shoulders, her entire body grieving the loss of the warmth and his intoxicating, masculine scent. “Thanks again for your help. Um… okay, then. I guess I’ll just… right. Merry Christmas, Ronan.”

  She shoved the jacket toward him, but Ronan gave her a crooked, wicked grin that sent a bolt of desire straight to her core.

  “Nice try, Cupcake.” He closed the distance between them and jerked the coat out of her hands, wrapping her up in it and tugging the zipper all the way up to her chin. He grabbed the collar and pulled her so close, she could see the snowflakes melting on his feathery black eyelashes, feel the hot steam of his breath as it puffed white against her cheeks. In a growl that made her panties wet, he said, “I told you, you ain’t going anywhere tonight. Except inside. With me.”

  He held her gaze, those flint-gray eyes boring into hers as if he’d issued an order rather than an offer.

  Holy hell.

  She’d been planning this trip for months, so determined and excited to surprise her family, to finally be able to enjoy Christmas outside of a hospital bed. She was so, so close—she’d made it all the way from her home in New York City, from buses and planes and shuttles to the rental car, across highways and through tunnels and up the side of a mountain, only to crash a mere twenty miles from her destination.

  Despite all that, the strange, magnetic pull of Ronan Steel was too strong to resist—even if he was a little rough around the edges.

  Ronan finally released his grip on her collar, and Georgie pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the familiar lump of her locket, warm against her skin. Behind it, her heart beat strong and steady, calming her nerves.

  Okay, okay…

  Georgie sighed and hit the button on the key fob, popping the trunk. “I need my things.”

  Ronan looked inside. “Jesus, there’s enough luggage in there for a whole platoon. You need all of it?”

  “Just the big one. The rest can stay.”

  Ronan hauled out her suitcase, hefting it over his shoulder and slamming the trunk down again. “Let’s go.”

  Without a backward glance, he walked back up to the cabin, stomping a fresh path for her through the snow.

  Georgie took a deep breath, blew it out in a white plume, and followed him.

  Yeah. Maybe a little “rough around the edges” was just what she needed tonight.

  Not like things can get any worse. Right?

  CHAPTER 5

  “What’s your poison?”

  Ronan took a clean mug out of the cupboard, eyeing up his guest at the end of the big oak table in the kitchen. Bella was curled up on the floor beneath her, as if Georgie was already a regular fixture.

  Other than the realtor who’d sold him the cabin this summer and the occasional lost hunter who’d needed directions, Ronan had never invited another person inside the doorway, let alone to sit at the table where he ate his meals.

  It was surreal.

  Georgie was still snuggled inside his jacket, her legs tucked up underneath her on the chair, watching him with those intense blue eyes. Now that her face had returned to its normal color, a faint spray of freckles stood out across her nose and cheeks.

  Fucking adorable.

  She considered his offer for a full minute, then finally said, “I think I’ll have hot cocoa.”

  Damn. “No can do.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “It’s Christmas Eve and you don’t have any hot chocolate?”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but this ain’t Santa’s workshop.” Ronan slammed the mug on the table, harder than he’d meant to. Why hadn’t he thought to pick up hot chocolate on his run the other day?

  Because you weren’t expecting a hot, demanding-as-fuck, cocoa-drinking redhead to come crashing into your driveway, dumbass.

  “I got coffee,” he said. “Leaded and unleaded. I got whiskey, which I ain’t keen on sharing. I got shitty Christmas beer. I got heavy cream. And I got water. Pick one. Hell, pick two. I’m in a generous mood.”

  “You have Christmas beer, but no Christmas tree?”

  Ronan clamped his jaw shut before he said something really rude.

  “Okay, okay. Coffee,” she said, undeterred. “Leaded, with cream. But don’t make it too strong. Caffeine makes me kind of spazzy.”

  So, decaf then.

  Ronan didn’t have a coffee maker, just did it pour-over style with an old bandanna for a filter. She watched him with great interest as he attached the bandanna to the mug with a rubber band and dumped some ground coffee on top.

  “Does this mean you don’t have any Christmas cookies, either?” she asked. “Because I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I could really use a bite of something sweet. I have to eat a snack every three hours, or else I get this low blood sugar thing, and I really don’t want to pass out on you again. If you don’t have cookies, I’ll—”

  “Hang on.” Ronan filled up the teakettle and set it on the stove, then dug through the pantry. He had a fuck ton of MREs stockpiled in there, and he thought the nutrition bars might help the blood sugar thing. “Here.”

  Georgie grabbed it from his hand, turning it over to read the label. “Soldier Fuel?”

  “It’s like a cookie. Closest thing I got, anyway. Look, it’s chocolate. Just eat it and be happy.”

  “No problem. This looks… good.” She tore open the wrapper and nibbled on the corner of the bar, trying not to make a face. “Hey, if by some miracle we find a way out of here tonight, you should come with me to Christmas dinner. My family won’t mind—the more the merrier. I mean, they don’t even know I’m coming. And my mom makes this crazy feast, with turkey and ham, two kinds of mashed potatoes, stuffing… oh, and she makes this amazing creamed spinach thing baked in a tree-shaped dish and decorated with little red tomatoes to look like—”

  “Pass.” Ronan shook his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “I don’t do Christmas. Don’t do families either.”

  She opened her trap to say something else, but apparently thought better of it because she stuck the nutrition bar in her mouth, and the yammering finally ceased for a full thirty seconds. Ronan could’ve sworn his ears were ringing. He’d almost forgotten what quiet sounded like.

  But after two minutes without a word from the girl, he actually missed the sound of her voice. Something wa
s obviously bugging her.

  I’m going to regret this, but…

  “Spill it, Cupcake.”

  “Spill what?”

  “Whatever it is that’s miraculously stopped your gums from flapping.” He pulled out the chair next to her, spun it around backward, and straddled it, leaning in close. “It’s not like you.”

  Georgie finally smiled, and it lit up her whole damn face. Ronan couldn’t stop staring at her freckles. He wanted to count them. To kiss them. To peel off her clothes and find out if she had freckles anywhere else.

  “It’s just… okay,” she said, the spot between her eyebrows crinkling. “Christmas is, like, epic in my family. My parents go all out. Costumes. Decorations. Enough lights to drain the power grid, enough food to feed a small country, presents galore, caroling—”

  “Caroling? As in, you all sit around the fireplace singing Christmas songs to each other? Do you do that thing with the popcorn on a thread, too?”

  “Yes on the singing, no on the popcorn. Popcorn is one of the things I’m allergic to. Also, I hate needles.” She squeezed her eyes shut and did a full-bodied shiver. “Hate-hate-hate ‘em.”

  Ronan thought of the jagged white scar gouged into his right thigh. Hatchet wound. He’d stitched himself up with a 1960s field kit and some duct tape in the middle of the Bolivian jungle after an opium kingpin’s bodyguard got the drop on him, icing two of his best men in the ensuing fight.

  Guess I won’t be telling her that story tonight.

  “Anyway,” she said, “even if the storm breaks, and the phones come back online, and I can get a tow truck to come out here, I’m already missing all of the good stuff. And my sister and her family are leaving right after lunch tomorrow, so I might not even get to see my nieces and my new nephew, which is the whole reason I got the costume in the first place, and now I’m stuck here, and everything is…” She closed her eyes as the tears slipped out. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just… it’s been a tough couple of years. This year was supposed to be different.”

  Fuck. What was he supposed to say to that? He had no idea how to make her feel better, or why he even cared. All Ronan knew was that for some stupid-ass reason, he was missing that kid-on-Christmas smile of hers, and the whole thing was pissing him off.

  “Hey.” He cupped her face in his hand, swiping away the tears with his thumb. “You’ll get there. I can’t promise you when, but if it’s in my power to do it, I’ll find a way.”

  When she finally opened her eyes, she was smiling again, and God damn if it didn’t get him all twisted up inside.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, sliding her hands around his wrists. Her touch was electric, sending an instant message to his dick, which had been suspended in a state of perpetual hardness since her arrival. “You’re not half bad when you drop that whole brooding, bad boy thing.”

  The teakettle whistled, and Ronan got up to brew the coffee, grateful for an excuse to put some distance between them. Another fifteen seconds up close like that, and he would’ve kissed her so hard it would’ve left a damn bruise.

  “Brooding bad boy, huh?” Ronan laughed. “Newsflash, Cupcake. It’s called my natural state. Don’t like it? There’s the door.”

  Georgie finished up the nutrition bar in silence, then let out a sad little sigh.

  “You know what?” she said. “I think I’ll wait on the coffee. Do you mind if I take a shower and change first? I can’t seem to get warm.”

  Ronan could think of about ten different ways to get her warm, but he shelved those fantasies for later. “Yeah, no problem. Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the left. Try not to hog up all the hot water—the tank takes hours to refill.”

  “Fine.” She got up from the table and unzipped the jacket, revealing the tight, sparkly elf dress underneath. He was dying to know if those stockings went all the way up, or stopped at the tops of her thighs, leaving the tender curve of her ass exposed.

  “You need any help getting out of that dress?” he asked. “It looks a little tight.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I get stuck.”

  “Hey,” he said with a wink. “Here to help.”

  She draped the jacket over the back of the chair, then crossed the kitchen to the stove, where he was still messing with the teakettle.

  “Thanks, Ronan.” She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her perfect tits brushing his arm. “For everything.”

  “No problem, Cupcake.” His skin burned with the fire of that chaste kiss. He could only imagine what it would be like to have her whole mouth, to shove his hands into her hair and pull her close, slide his tongue between her glossy pink lips as she moaned his name.

  She held his gaze for a minute, her eyes dark with something that looked a hell of a lot like desire, and Ronan wondered whether she’d felt it, too—the slow-burn heat simmering between them, his sudden need to feel her skin, to taste her, to make her melt all over his cock.

  But then she lowered her eyes, and Ronan let it go. It was for the best. She didn’t need his kind of darkness in her life—not even for one night.

  She bit her lower lip, her cheeks heating with color. “I should probably…”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You probably should.”

  Ronan watched as she walked over to her suitcase by the door, her tight little ass bobbing beneath the poof of her ballerina dress like a pendulum, hypnotizing him with every step.

  Gonna be a long night. And we ain’t even discussed sleeping arrangements yet.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ronan had just poured another shot of that whiskey and was trying to figure out what to make for dinner when he heard the screaming.

  “Ronan!” The panic in her voice was obvious, even over the sound of the running water. “Ronan!”

  He and Bella bolted up the stairs, Ronan’s heart pounding as he tried not to trip over the damn dog. When he got up there, he didn’t bother knocking—just barged right on through the door.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her tone downshifting from panicked to annoyed. “God. You scared me.”

  “You’re screaming like you’re being attacked by a grizzly, and I scared you?”

  “Ronan. There are no grizzlies in Colorado. Only black bears. And they’re all hibernating this time of year, so—”

  “Georgie.” He shoved his hands into his hair, trying to keep his brain from exploding like a damn land mine. “What do you want, woman?”

  “I didn’t think you could hear me.”

  “Well I could.”

  “Okay. Don’t be mad, but I kind of need a huge favor.”

  If you need someone to soap up those beautiful tits, sign me the fuck up right now.

  “I know I said I only needed the one bag,” she continued, “but I just remembered something else, and it’s in a different bag.”

  Ronan sighed.

  Of course it is.

  “It’s super important.”

  Of course it is.

  “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  Of course you wouldn’t.

  She slid open the top part of the shower curtain and poked her head out. “Please, Ronan?”

  Those baby blues stood out against the white tile like pieces of the Colorado sky. Her hair was slicked back, showing off the delicate curves of her face—high cheek bones, a thin nose that turned up at the tip, right over those thick, sweet lips. Her ears stuck out a little, which only made her all the more fucking cute.

  Water streamed down her face, and when she raised a hand to wipe her eyes, Ronan caught a flash of bare shoulder and collarbone that called to some deep, primal part of his soul.

  He wanted to fucking bite her. He wanted to yank that curtain right off the rings, jump in there, grab that juicy little ass in his hands and slam her against the tile, claim that hot, wet, slippery flesh in a single thrust…

  �
��Ronan?”

  “What is it?” he growled.

  “You totally spaced on me.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steam filling his lungs. “I meant, what’s so important that you wanna send me back out in a blizzard to fetch.”

  “Just… it’s my conditioner,” she said.

  “There’s shampoo and shit right next to you. Use that.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “It’s… it’s a special conditioner that I have to use or else my hair gets dry and brittle, and then it gets all frizzy and I can’t do anything with it because—”

  “Are you always this fucking annoying, or only on special occasions?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Ronan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Might as well put my balls in a jar and hand ‘em right over. “What do you need, Georgie?”

  “Thank you! Okay, in the car there’s an attaché case, a roll-aboard, a personal carry-on, and a shoulder bag. I need the attaché. Wait, no—it’s in the shoulder bag.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. Shoulder bag. The keys are in your coat pocket.”

  Outside, the wind had only gotten more brutal, clawing at Ronan’s face and hands as he stomped down to the car. It took him five minutes to clear off the accumulated snow and ice just so he could get the trunk to pop. The girl had three fucking bags in there and another one on the back seat, plus a big, puffy coat the color of bubblegum.

  What the fuck was the difference between a roll-aboard and an attaché case, anyway? Which one was the carry-on? Wait, no, it was the shoulder bag she’d wanted. Wasn’t that the same thing as a purse? They all looked exactly the same. Ronan was about to Hulk-smash every one of them.

  Instead he grabbed the coat and all four bags, and tromped back up the driveway into the cabin, wondering how the fuck it was possible for a dude to become pussy-whipped without getting any actual pussy.

  Jesus Christ.

  He hauled the bags upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door like the good little man-servant he was. “I couldn’t tell them apart, so I brought them all.”