Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection

by Kati Wilde

  I laugh, shaking my head, my hand going to the unfamiliar weight of the pendant lying against my throat. My heart seems to clench tighter as he rips away the final strip of packing tape holding the box closed.

  A grin widens his mouth when he looks in at the assortment of books inside. “So I get to judge you now?”

  “Yes.” A nervous giggle shakes through me. “It’s twenty of my favorites—well, twenty of my top fifty, maybe, because you own a lot of my favorites already. So I didn’t buy any repeats.”

  “Are there any of those dirty ones in here?”

  My cheeks heat. “Quite a few.”

  “Hell yeah. I’m going to read those first.” Then his voice deepens when he glances at me. “You’re already filling up the shelves in your library, baby.”

  My heart gives a heavy thump. “And you look really angry now.”

  His icy gaze hardens. “By now you know what this face means.”

  “Yeah, I do.” And my pussy’s aching again, my skin tight with anticipation.

  On a low growl he says, “Then you open those other two gifts, baby. And I’ll give your sweet pussy the hard fucking it’s been waiting for.”

  Breathing slow and heavy, I look to the remaining gifts. There are three left: his present from his Secret Santa and the two others marked with his name.

  Reaching under the tree, he tosses the gold-wrapped gifts to me. “They’re for me, baby. But you might as well open them, since you’ll be the one wearing them.”

  Clutching them in my lap, I say breathlessly, “Your Secret Santa gift first.”

  Because I’ve got a feeling that as soon as we open these, we won’t be getting to that one for a while.

  Logan seems to agree. Almost impatiently he tears the wrapping from the gift, then abruptly freezes, staring at what he just revealed. The strangled noise he makes almost makes my heart stop, then I realize— It’s a laugh. He’s choking on a laugh. Because he’s laughing so deep and so hard that he’s not even making a sound, but his eyes are watering, and his head’s bowed as his shoulders shake uncontrollably.

  And I can’t even figure out what the gift is. There’s no packaging—just a short black corrugated tube with smooth cylinders attached to each end. It looks to me like some weird alien sex toy…which might account for his reaction.

  “What is it?”

  Dragging in a deep breath, he regains some control. He wipes his eyes, then takes another deep breath before he tells me in a strained voice, “It’s a bull moose call.”

  I frown. And that’s from his Secret Santa? “What’s it used for?”

  Another shudder of laughter shakes through him. “When you blow it, you sound like a bull moose. It’s usually used for hunting.”

  Oh. “So you hunt moose?”

  “No.” Grinning, he puts the moose call aside and his gaze drops to the gifts on my lap. “Now your turn. The square one, first.”

  There’s a square, and a rectangle. Setting aside the second, I carefully begin to pick at the tape, gently peeling back the folds of wrapping paper at the end.

  Logan growls. “Rip it open.”

  He’s not the only evil Santa. Deliberately teasing, I gingerly begin to pick at the tape closing the opposite end.

  Abruptly he reaches for me, strong fingers catching my chin. Expression hard, eyes glittering, he says in a soft voice, “As soon as those are open and you’re wearing them, I’m going to put you on your knees and get my thick cock into you as deep and as hard as I can.”

  Oh god. I rip the package open, my hands shaking with the force of the need raging through me.

  A pair of silk stockings in red and white stripes. They’re longer than my knee-high socks, with a lacy band around the top.

  “Now put those on.” Logan watches me, his big hand stroking the bulge of his cock through his flannel pants. “Let me see those stripes go all the way up those long, sexy legs.”

  Not all the way up. Just to mid-thigh, where the elasticized lace holds them in place. They’re soft and feel deliciously luxurious against my skin, so despite my desperate need I take my time, pointing my toes and rolling each one slowly over my knee and up the length of my thigh.

  Logan’s teeth are gritted, a muscle flexing in his jaw by the time I’ve finished. “Now the other gift.”

  I don’t hesitate before opening this one: a sleep mask, made of the softest velvet in a deep, cherry red.

  A red velvet that matches the robe I’m wearing. He’d given me another gift without my even realizing it.

  My breath shuddering through parted lips, I slip the mask over my head. The last thing I see is Logan, watching me with ravenous hunger burning in his icy gaze, his big hand stroking the thick length of his cock.

  “Stand up now, baby.”

  His soft growl is already closer. Muscles trembling, I rise to my feet. Immediately there’s a tug at my waist—Logan loosening the belt of my robe. The heavy material gapes open at the front and prickles of excitement race over my skin. Then callused palms glide over my shoulders, pushing at the sleeves, and with a whisper of crumpling velvet the robe falls to the floor.

  Leaving me clad only in my stockings, the diamond pendant, and my mask. I stand shivering, knowing Logan’s looking at me wearing nothing but the gifts he just gave to me.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Emma.” His harsh voice comes from directly in front of me. “I could just look at you forever. But you want more than that, don’t you?”

  So much more. “Yes,” I whisper.

  “I’ll give it to you, baby.”

  Without warning, strong arms sweep me up against a broad chest. I gasp, then his mouth finds mine as he carries me—to the bed, where he gently sets me down, my head supported by a soft pillow.

  But his hands on my hips aren’t gentle. They’re firm and unyielding as he rolls me over onto my stomach.

  “Up on your knees, Emma,” comes his rough command. “Elbows on the bed, legs spread.”

  With my bottom high in the air and my sex exposed to his gaze. Face flaming behind the mask, I get my knees under me, my pussy feeling swollen and wet and so needy.

  Because I’m already ready, I realize. Because he worked me up so far, then left me hanging, stewing in my need as we opened the gifts.

  Evil Santa. Planning this all along.

  And that’s so damn hot.

  The rip of a condom wrapper is followed by the dip of the mattress beneath his weight. I bite my lip as long fingers slick through the folds of my pussy.

  A rough groan sounds behind me. “So hot and wet. You going to take everything I have to give, baby?”

  “Yes,” I reply, then begin shaking in anticipation as the blunt head of his cock lodges firmly at my entrance.

  “Push back, Emma.” His voice is hoarse with need. “If you want what I have to give you, then you need to take it first.”

  Oh god. Rising up on my hands, I press back, seeking that incredible sensation of being filled. But there’s only pressure, so much pressure.

  “I’m big, baby.” Each word sounds tortured. “You’ve got to push harder.”

  To take the thick head of his cock. I can picture that flared crown, remember the feel and taste of it beneath my tongue. And now the stretch of my delicate flesh around it as I push back harder. Suddenly he breaches my entrance, that broad head lodged just inside me, the ecstasy of taking him overwhelming every other feeling.

  With a soft cry, I collapse onto my elbows again as hard hands grip my hips.

  “Ah, Emma.” Raw and deep, his voice is pure gravel, pure emotion. “Look at the way you give yourself to me. I’m so crazy fucking in love with you.”

  And even as that pleasure washes through me, with one slick thrust, he buries his cock deep. So deep I can barely breathe, then he fucks hard into me again and I scream against my pillow, my hands fisting as I’m bombarded with sensations, my breasts jolting with every sharp thrust, my nipples on fire, my pussy full, so full, the slap of our ski
n so wet and the rhythm so fast.

  Cock pounding into me, Logan’s fingers tangle in my hair and he pulls me back harder, fucks deeper. “You like this, baby?”

  “Yes.” It’s a breathless, sobbing cry. “It’s so good.”

  His groaning laugh is followed by, “Too good, baby. I’m not going to last. So we need to make you feel even better.”

  Releasing my hair, his hand slips between my legs. The stroke of his fingers across my over-sensitized clit is like an electric shock, searing every nerve inside me, the sharp pleasure of his thrusting cock suddenly too much, too much, but he’s fucking me deep and hard and fast, my pussy clenching around him, his fingers delivering another slick jolt to my clit and then I’m coming, screaming as my inner muscles clamp down on his thick shaft, clutching him tight even as he shoves hard into me a final time. He abruptly stills, and the heavy pulse of his erection deep inside me makes me shudder in ecstasy again.

  I collapse forward and Logan comes with me, his weight heavy but I love it, love the sweaty press of his hair-roughened chest against my back, the fullness of his softening cock still inside me.

  Then he mutters, “The fucking condom,” and I moan when he gently withdraws. He disappears into the bathroom and returns a moment later, sliding into bed and pulling me against his side.

  Utterly wrung out, I manage to mumble, “This is the best Christmas ever.”

  His huff of laughter sounds like wry agreement, but a moment later he says, “I bet next year is even better.”

  I won’t bet against that. I rise up on my elbow, looking down at him, and my heart is so full and happy that I don’t know what else this could be. “Are you ready to catch me?”

  Abruptly he sits up, framing my face in his hands. “Are you falling?”

  Overwhelmed by the emotion, tears burn my eyes. “So hard.”

  “I’m right here, baby.” His voice is hoarse, his icy gaze searching mine. “I always will be.”

  I can see that, too. So clearly. Always.

  So I give him everything I can.

  “I love you, Logan Crenshaw.” My heart in my throat, I wreath my arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “I am so crazy fucking in love with you.”

  And his beautiful grin in response, his fierce kiss—they’re the sweetest gifts I could ever imagine.

  Epilogue

  Logan

  One Year Later

  I find Emma in the library, stretched out on her belly on the chaise longue in front of the fireplace. A short stack of books is sitting on the floor next to the chaise—the books she received at my dad’s house today.

  There are plenty more books scattered around the room, waiting to be shelved. She finally gave up her apartment and moved into my house three months ago, and the last time I saw her spreadsheet, the rent line was empty and a book budget had taken its place. So she’s filling those shelves with books faster than she can read them.

  And it’s easy to see what happened here. She was just putting the books away, she said. But she probably opened one and got caught up, losing track of time—and if she’s truly engrossed, she becomes completely oblivious to anything happening around her.

  It’s just another thing I’ve discovered about her in the past year. Just another thing that I love about her.

  I knew Emma Williams was right for me the second I met her. But I had no idea how much I’d love her when I finally got to know her.

  I didn’t know I’d ever love anyone this much.

  And she’s so deep in her book, she doesn’t realize I’m there until my fingers are sliding up the backs of her long, long legs. She’s wearing a swingy little skirt again, different from the one she was wearing last year when I met her, but just as capable of driving me out of my fucking mind.

  “Shhhhh,” I tell her when she tries to roll onto her side. “Keep reading. And stay quiet.”

  “Why?” she whispers.

  “Because you don’t want Logan walking in and seeing Santa pushing this skirt up over your ass.”

  A little giggle shakes through her. “You’re my Secret Santa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to give me something, Santa?”

  My voice deepens to a growl. “I’m going to take something, baby. But don’t make any sound. Because the man who loves you feels like he’s got big fucking holes in his chest when you’re not cuddled up next to him. So he might come looking for you.”

  “That would be bad,” she whispers. “If he came in and Santa was giving me a really big Christmas tree.”

  I can’t stop my laugh. Christ, I love this woman. So much.

  Her breath shudders as my fingers slick between her thighs. She’s already so hot and wet, I’ll be able to slide into her so fucking easy. But that’s not the plan.

  Not yet.

  “Your pussy’s begging for my thick cock, baby. But before I give it to you, you’ve got one more present to open.”

  This time when she turns onto her side, I let her. Her brown eyes narrow at me. “What is it?”

  Just a small gift. But I’ve had it for a year. Now it’s in the palm of my hand, ready to slip onto her finger.

  But first, I give her a note. Her gaze widens as she begins to read.

  Open the box.

  Put on the ring.

  Say you’ll marry me.

  LOGAN

  She looks up with me, eyes shining with tears of joy and hope.

  And with a single word, she gives me everything.

  All He Wants For Christmas

  Detective Cole Matthews has worked toward one goal: being damn good at his job. But after taking a bullet in the line of duty almost destroys everything he’s worked for, he’s not in the mood to play nice or to look after some pampered rich girl at her daddy’s request. There’s only one woman he wants by his side…the sweet angel who saved his life.

  But this Christmas, heaven might be a little closer than one grumpy detective could ever believe…

  1

  Cole

  Walking into the station’s kitchen a step ahead of me, my partner cocks his head. “Do you hear this shit?”

  I hear a whole bunch of shit. His voice, first of all. Then there’s the jingle of keys hanging from Lieutenant McCarey’s belt and the clink of his spoon as he stirs his coffee. Somewhere behind me is faint ring of a phone from one of the desks in the patrol room.

  Loudest of all is the grinding of my teeth. My thigh’s screaming like every single stitch tore open on the short walk up the stairs from the locker room. But there’s no blood seeping through my black pants, so the stitches didn’t actually rip. It just feels like they did.

  “They’re piping in ‘Jingle Bells,’” Huertas continues as I suck up the pain and try not to hobble my way to the water cooler. “We’ve still got clowns in holding who are sleeping off their Halloween benders—literal frickin’ clowns—and they’ve got Christmas music playing?”

  Frickin’ isn’t what he usually says, but the lieutenant’s here so he’s dialing back the fucks. Except McCarey’s not paying any more attention to Huertas’s bellyaching than I am. He’s focused on me, instead.

  “Most guys who catch a couple of bullets take it easy for a while,” he says. “You sure you want to be coming in already?”

  Thanks to the bastard who intended to shoot up the county building, I already sat on my ass at home for two fucking weeks. Just last Friday, a grand jury ruled that I was justified firing my weapon, but I’ve still got a psych exam and physical exam to pass before I’m cleared for full duty. So it’ll be another few months before I’m allowed to do more than sit on my ass at the station, but at least I’ll be working. “Desk duty is taking it easy.”

  He eyes my hair, still wet from my shower. “And what do you call hitting the weight room an hour before shift?”

  “I call it the bare minimum, sir.” I’ve worked too damn hard getting to this point to sleep in now. The lieutenant knows that eventually I’ll be gunning for hi
s job, but he’s not too worried. I only earned my detective’s shield two years back, so by the time I’ve made lieutenant, he’ll have his captain’s bars or be sitting in the deputy chief’s chair.

  And I don’t expect to get that far. I don’t care if I get that far, either. I piss people off too easy and as soon as you rise past lieutenant, it’s all politics. Better to let the higher-ups play nice. I’m happy down in the trenches.

  “Just upper body, LT,” Huertas tosses in. “I’ve got my eyes on him. No leg work until it’s cleared by the doc. And you know Cole never uses his head, anyway, so no worries about his recovery there.”

  The lieutenant’s gaze flicks to the scabbed-over furrow above my ear, where one of Lowery’s bullets gave me a closer shave than dictated by police regulation. “Just don’t hesitate to take more time if you’re not feeling up to it yet. Even desk duty can hit you harder than you expect, and you’re more likely to set yourself back if you push too hard too fast.”

  Desk duty is already a setback. But I just nod and say, “If I start feeling like I can’t hack it, I’ll put in for more leave.”

  McCarey’s bullshit detector isn’t broken, so he doesn’t believe a word of that, but we’ve both said what we needed to say. Except apparently he’s got one more thing to tell me. “Chief’s expecting you in his office at start of shift.”

  Shit. Nothing good ever comes from a visit to the chief of police’s office. He’s a damn fine cop with a long history in this department, but a big part of his job is making sure relations between the public, the DA’s office, and the police run nice and smooth. So being called in usually means there’s a bump in the road—and nobody wants to be the one who gets steamrolled.

  “Probably going to pin a big gold medal on your chest,” is Huertas’s smirking conclusion as I head out, teeth gritted at every step.

  It won’t be a medal. Eventually, I’ll probably end up getting a commendation for taking Lowery down before he got off more than a short burst of gunfire, but I already received a handshake from both the mayor and Chief Jackson while I was still in the hospital. More likely Lowery’s lawyer is yanking someone’s chain or trying to discredit me before we even make it to trial, and I’m going to end up on administrative leave again.