The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

  But she was hot in his arms and her tongue was playing tag with his and she was moaning and rubbing herself against the bulge in his jeans and her name was the symphony in his blood, the surge in his groin, the ringing in his ears. Almost of their own volition, Grady’s hands slid up under her fluffy sweater, inching it up as he went, his hands straying to the front, traversing her ribs—up, up, up—until his trembling fingers brushed against the smooth satin of her bra and the soft mounds of her breasts filled his palms.

  She gasped against his mouth as he squeezed, and she made a strangled kind of noise in the back of her throat as his thumbs brushed over the taut points pressing into the satin, shuddering as he did again and again and again. He wanted to fuck her like this.

  Her over him, above him like this. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and kiss up every moan and breathy little pant.

  God, her mouth…it was addictive and it was ruining him. He couldn’t get enough. He was fast becoming obsessed. In fact, he was so hot for her mouth and the noises she was making that he didn’t even know her hands had strayed lower until she fumbled with his buckle, pulled at his belt. He groaned as her fingers brushed his erection through the denim, and in seconds the button was gone and his zipper was down and her hand was inside his boxers wrapping around his thickness and Grady’s eyes practically rolled back in his head it felt so fucking incredible.

  For a beat or two, he gave himself up to the overwhelming sensation of her palming him and her lips devouring his and the way her breasts filled his hands and how it was perfect and how he wanted more, wanted it all.

  But that was his body speaking. His head was telling him something different, a backbeat that had rumbled louder and louder. A backbeat he just couldn’t ignore anymore.

  Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

  Such a bad idea.

  She cried in movies; he’d been dry-eyed since seventeen. She was New York; he was bumfuck Colorado. She was touchy-feely; he was all do-not-enter. She was on vacation from her life. This was his life. And it was perfectly fine.

  God fucking damn it.

  Grady tore his mouth from hers, dropped his hands from her breasts, making a grab for her hand creating the kind of havoc that was hard to forgo. He caught her around the wrist, stilling her maddeningly erotic action.

  “Stop,” he said, his voice rough as he panted hard.

  Blood throbbed through his temples and pounded through his chest and the large pulse in his abdomen. His head fell back against the couch as he tried to catch his breath, his heated gaze meeting her confused one.

  Christ, he wanted to kiss that look away, kiss her until the heat came back.

  She didn’t move for a moment or two, just sat, staring at him, her chest rising and falling quickly, her breathing loud. Her gaze dropped to his lap, to where his hand circled her wrist, to where her hand circled his dick, and Grady watched as realization dawned.

  He hated that look.

  “Shit,” she whispered as she pulled her hand away from his dick like it was a live wire. Given its state, it fucking felt like one right now, too.

  She moved then, scrambling off his lap, trying to unwind limbs and get off him as fast as she could, stumbling a little in the process as she yanked her top down and walked away from the couch, shoving her hand through her hair.

  Grady shut his eyes, opening them again on a sigh. Absently, he noticed that the movie was still going and that the hero and heroine were standing in the town square in a crowd all watching a giant Christmas wreath being mounted on the edifice of the town hall.

  Of course.

  Zipping his unimpressed erection back in his pants, Grady pushed to his feet on unsteady legs. He couldn’t believe how quickly things had escalated. How they’d been talking one moment and making out like it was their last night on the planet in the next. How a handful of days ago he’d told Suzanne to stay the hell away and tonight he’d had her boobs in his hands.

  Grady couldn’t remember when he last made out with a woman. Probably with Bethany when he was seventeen. They’d spent hours fooling around and, after a year together, had been each other’s firsts. Sexual experiences since her death had been more about the destination than the journey.

  Which had been perfectly fine by him and the women involved.

  Turning around, he located Suzanne standing in front of the fire, her back to him, her arms wrapped around her body like she was cold. But after what happened on the couch, he doubted that was possible.

  She turned suddenly and pinned him with a composed expression, her chin jutting a little in defiance. Like she hadn’t just had her hand wrapped around his dick. But her mouth couldn’t lie—those swollen lips still looked very well kissed. “That can’t happen again,” she announced.

  Grady nodded. “I know.”

  “I’m not interested in taking this from fake to real.”

  He opened his mouth to say really? Because she’d been very fucking interested a minute ago. So had he. And that’s because, like it or not, he was attracted to her. He hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a very long time, and he’d bet the ranch she was attracted to him.

  Which was seriously fucking inconvenient.

  So maybe denial was better. Because he didn’t want a woman in his life—he didn’t need one, goddamn it—especially not this one who’d turned his house into a Christmas nightmare and given him an even greater aversion to wreaths.

  “Neither am I.”

  He may want to have sex with Suzanne St. Michelle more than any other woman he’d ever met, but that was the sum total of his interest in her, and he was an adult in control of his impulses. He was practically a monk as it was, and there was always his right hand.

  She nodded stiffly. “Good. Let’s not cross that line, okay? It’s complicated enough.”

  “Agreed.”

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll move my stuff into your spare room tomorrow morning. My parents should be here about two in the afternoon. Is it possible for you to be here when they arrive?”

  Grady wanted that about as much as he wanted her in his house. Right now he’d rather be buried under a pile of Christmas wreaths than be a party to either. “I’ll try.”

  If it worked out—fine. But he wasn’t going to neglect his ranching duties because Suzanne had gotten herself caught in a lie. Resentment flared anew at the predicament and warred with a body still clamoring to be back on the couch with her.

  He had known she was going to be trouble. He just thought she’d be the kind of trouble he could resist. The universe, however, had other ideas.

  “Thank you.” She dropped her arms, her gaze darting to the door and back again. “Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Grady nodded. She didn’t wait to see if any words would follow the nod, just strode across the room and out the door. It clicked shut behind her, and Grady eased down onto the couch, cradling his head in his hands.

  “Fuck.” What had he gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER TEN

  A roil of nausea undulated through Suzanne’s stomach muscles as she watched her parents’ rental car turn in from the road to the ranch and make its way down the long drive to the cabin. Two thirty—right on time.

  Another nervous pang rolled through her system. She’d had a busy day ensuring everything was all set to go. She’d moved her stuff out of the cottage and into Grady’s spare bedroom. All the bedrooms were situated through the archway and ran off a long hallway. Grady’s room was at one end and beside what was a smaller room he used as an office. It had a desk—neat-freak tidy—a big black leather swivel chair, and a state-of-the-art computer. There were bookshelves on one wall containing mostly agricultural and animal husbandry books, a three-drawer filing cabinet, and a leather couch that looked as if it had been well used.

  Also, to her surprise, was the cherub, propped against th
e wall. Suzanne had half expected him to have burned it already. Or stashed it in the barn. Yet it was in his office, facing out, where he could see it every day.

  Best not to dwell on that particular quandary.

  Next to the office was the bathroom then another bedroom and next to that—about as far away from Grady’s room as was possible—was Suzanne’s room. Thankfully, it was big enough to be able to store her paintings, her easel, and her art supplies.

  She’d thrown open the back and front doors to the cottage to air it in preparation for her parents’ arrival. It had smelled a bit like her studio, and Suzanne didn’t want her mom asking questions about what Suzanne was working on. Not yet anyway. She’d stripped and remade the bed with fresh sheets and cleaned the bathroom.

  As part of the plan, she had deliberately not put any decorations in the cottage. She wanted it to be a haven for her parents to escape to when the cabin cheer became too much. She had put up a tree, however—the tackiest artificial tree she could find on her Denver expedition.

  The branches were stiff bristles of garish pink, and it came complete with its own yellow-and-green pineapple baubles. The angel on top was a hula girl wearing a Santa hat.

  It was a tropical Christmas abomination. But it still looked better than that coat hanger disaster in their brownstone.

  The vehicle—some fancy, expensive-looking four-wheel drive—pulling to a stop in front of the cabin brought Suzanne back to the present. She waved and plastered a smile on her face. This was it—showtime. There was nothing more she could do.

  The only thing missing was Grady.

  But she wasn’t thinking about that because, if she thought about that, then she’d think about last night, about kissing him and the other stuff they’d done. Heavy petting on the couch like a pair of horny teenagers, his hands shoved up her top, her hands shoved inside his pants.

  And she couldn’t think about that with her mother’s car door opening.

  Grady had said he’d try and be here and, for what it was worth, she’d believed him even though she couldn’t blame him for wanting to avoid her for as long as possible.

  Why did she have to be so sexually attracted to her fake rancher boyfriend?

  “Darling.”

  Suzanne’s chest filled with a rush of love as her mom emerged from the vehicle, the blunt edge of her signature silvery bob sitting, as always, perfectly square with her jaw. She may have wanted to get away from her parents this December, and she’d only been gone for twelve days, but knowing they were going through a rough patch, that they were hurting, intensified the love she felt for these two people who had shaped and formed and loved her all her life.

  After running down the stairs, she jogged to her mom and gave her a huge hug, a lump as thick as her mother’s puffy jacket lodged in her throat.

  “I love you, Mom,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back.

  Her father appeared around the side of the vehicle, pushing his wild curly hair now heavily streaked with silver back off his face. He was tall and slender with round wire-framed glasses that gave him the air of a college professor. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hey, Dad, how are you?”

  He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Same old, same old,” he said in an almost resigned way that rocketed Suzanne’s concerns way off the charts, and she hugged him probably a little too hard.

  “This really is the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?” her mom said as she scanned the winter fields, the barren tree branches adding to the starkness of the landscape. “How does anyone even live out here?”

  “It’s not like home, that’s for sure,” Suzanne said, fixing the smile back on her face. “But Grady loves it.”

  At least that wasn’t a lie. It was clear he did love this ranch, and Suzanne was happy to utter the truth whenever she could to counterbalance the deception.

  “So where is this mysterious rancher boyfriend you kept so quiet?” her father asked, slipping his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

  “Yes, darling. I thought he’d be here?”

  “He’s not far away,” Suzanne assured, although she had no idea if that was actually the case or not. “It’s a full-time job managing the ranch, so he’s usually gone all day.”

  At least that’s what she assumed anyway. She’d met a couple of Grady’s hands, and she’d seen their vehicles come and go, so she knew he had help, but he wasn’t exactly idle, either.

  “Come inside out of the cold, and I’ll show you around, then take you across to the cottage so you can settle in.”

  And hopefully, Grady would make an appearance soon.

  “I see what you mean about him being a Christmas freak,” Simone said, her gaze finding the blow-up Santa with his tinsel scarf perched on the Adirondack chair on the porch. She was staring at it like it was roadkill.

  Suzanne forced a bubbly laugh. “He’s so goofy, right?” She faked a besotted expression. “Come on, this way.”

  She entered the cabin before them, stopping a foot inside and luring her parents to the doorway, then clapping and pointing above them. “Mistletoe!” she said with a grin. “Gotta kiss—it’s the rule.”

  Her parents looked at each other awkwardly, and Suzanne’s heart sat heavy as a stone in her chest as they exchanged an even more awkward peck on the cheek. Jesus. Had this been happening for years and Suzanne had been oblivious?

  Waving them in, Suzanne did a quick tour. Being open plan, it was fairly obvious where everything was, so she just pointed in the direction of the archway and said, “Bedrooms are through there.”

  Suzanne had strategically placed some of her belongings around the living area. Her Uggs by the back door, her coat hung on the hook. One of Winona’s books sat on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, and her favorite wrap was slung over the arm of the couch. A cooking magazine she’d bought in Credence yesterday when she’d picked up the ingredients for the eggnog sat on the kitchen bench.

  Not that her parents noticed any of those details as their gazes darted around the multitude of Christmas decorations that formed a wonderfully horrible Yuletide clash.

  “Wow…this is…” Her mother turned slowly around and around in pretty much the same fashion Grady had when he’d first seen what she’d done to his place. It was rare for her mother to be speechless.

  Her father didn’t appear to have too many words, either.

  “I know it’s a little over-the-top, but Grady is just like a little kid when it comes to this stuff. And…I don’t know…I kinda like it.”

  Simone St. Michelle looked at Suzanne like an intervention might be needed, but she didn’t voice her opinion, which was quite controlled for her mother. “Mmm,” she said instead. “At least the tree is…minimalist.”

  “Oh no.” Suzanne shook her head as she took in the bare tree that Burl has set up for her. “Grady is just obsessed with trimming the tree. But he wanted to wait and have us all do it together tonight. Isn’t that so thoughtful of him?”

  “Oh, no, darling.” She could see her mother already thinking ahead to what kind of horror show the tree trimming was going to be. “We don’t want to intrude on something personal like that, what with this being your first Christmas together.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “Nonsense.”

  No way in hell was her mom inviting herself to the ranch on the promise she’d be fully involved in Grady’s (nonexistent) seasonal fervor and then weaseling out right at the start. Her mom had messed up Suzanne’s Christmas plans by practically begging her for this break away, for a chance to work on her marriage, and that started tonight with them both doing something they’d never done together.

  Terrible ornaments or not, few things underscored the sense of family more than all being gathered around a Christmas tree. Or so she’d been told.

  “G
rady will be terribly disappointed if you don’t. He’s been looking forward to it. He even made a playlist for it. This is what families do at Christmas, Mom.”

  Suzanne didn’t say and you promised. She didn’t need to; the emphasis in her voice made it obvious enough. Which probably made her a lousy daughter, but Suzanne was in a tough spot—albeit of her own making. She was trying to help her parents and get the Christmas she wanted all while operating within the parameters of her lie.

  She felt like she was juggling boiling hot kettles.

  “Of course we’ll be here,” her father said with a strained smile. “Won’t we, Simone?”

  “Yes.” Her mother brightened. “We’d love to.”

  “Good.”

  Suzanne beamed at her parents like it was the best damn thing she’d ever heard. Man, this was exhausting. Her parents had better have this patched up sooner rather than later because this act she was putting on was bonkers.

  “Now, come and see the cottage. You’ll be pleased to know I stopped Grady from going overboard in there. He did insist on a tree, but it’s only a couple of feet high and one of those fake ones you seem to like so much. Trust me, for him, it’s understated.”

  Her parents exchanged a glance like they weren’t sure Grady had understated in his vocabulary. Poor guy, she really owed him big-time. But then she remembered he was getting her paintings—her priceless paintings—so it was a fair trade.

  “Excellent,” her father said, gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way.”

  They’d completed the tour of the cottage—Suzanne had insisted her parents kiss in that doorway, too, which had been just as lackluster—and were stepping outside to grab the luggage from the car her father had brought around when Grady appeared. He strode toward them from the direction of the barn, his big coat buttoned up, his hat pulled low, and his boots eating up the ground. His shoulders were squared like their predicament was a problem he was tackling head-on and, even from a distance, his cool green gaze pinned her to the spot.