Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection

by Kati Wilde

  “You don’t forget how I look,” I tell her gruffly. “It’s just that after watching you slink around in gowns like that every New Year’s Eve, I’m so goddamn hard for you by the end of the night that I fuck the memory out of your head.”

  And the gown she has this year…Christ. It’s a shimmering silver that covers everything from her diamond-encircled throat to her pretty little feet, but clings so close to every inch in-between that it doesn’t conceal a damn thing. Not the perfect roundness of her tits. Not the hot curve of her ass. Not the swollen mound of her belly.

  “I remember exactly what we did last year,” she purrs in that husky voice as she gracefully descends the stairs.

  So do I. And just like last year, there’s a good chance that the first time I take her won’t be after the gala. More likely I’ll just fuck her at the bottom of these stairs.

  Or maybe not. Because the soft patter of little feet announces the waddling arrival of our son, clad only in a diaper. My heart swells up at the sight of him, just like it does every time. Little Nicholas has Mia’s black hair and pale blue eyes, and owns my heart as completely as his mother does. He’s drooling and chewing on his fist, but his beautiful little face breaks into a smile when he sees me. His single tooth gleams as he laughs and lifts his chubby arms toward me in a silent demand as irresistible as it is cute.

  “Come here, you little bug.” I sweep his cuddly little body up against my chest, and when I glance up at Mia she’s doing that Oooooh thing with her velvet red lips again. A big man in a tux holding a baby is pushing all her fantasy buttons. But then, she seems to make that face whenever I hold the baby, which is pretty damn often. “Give us a kiss goodnight.”

  He lands a wet smack on my chin, then on Mia’s cheek. And she’s smiling, but I see the moment of indecision and regret flash through her eyes when I hand little Nick over to Carol, who’s been helping us out around the house ever since he was born. Because Mia would like to do it all—and she could do it all—but after the forensic accountant she hired a few years back found exactly what Mia expected him to find, to the tune of millions of dollars of embezzled funds, suddenly a heap of new responsibilities landed on her shoulders. Even after delegating and sharing that burden with Jason, simply being the Bennet in this city carries a lot of weight and obligation. So I’ve tried to lighten her load as much as I can—which included persuading her to hire Carol, who eases the burden here at home.

  A burden that had increased now that we’re living in this big house. With the baby coming and with a new role for Mia to play, we both realized we needed something larger than our apartments. Did it grate on my pride when Mia outright bought a house that I could never afford?

  Not a damn bit. Because it was what she needed. So it was what we needed. And together we’ve spent two and a half years making it our home. And that’s what this place is really worth to me. Not the price tag, but the life we’ve built here together.

  For the same reason, she’ll probably never return to the Bennet mansion. Because the life she lived there isn’t one that she ever wants to revisit. Instead Jason resides in the mansion, since he’s the heart of the Bennet Foundation right now and that location is convenient for everyone involved, and that seems to please Mia. Partially because he loves living in that mansion, and she loves knowing he’s happy. Partially because it’s a slap in her father’s face.

  No surprise, John Bennet didn’t end up serving much jail time. Fuckers like him almost never do. But he’ll never be much of anything in this town again.

  And Patricia, she followed Mia’s advice and divorced his ass just before the shit hit the fan, then got the hell out of town. I don’t know where she is now. Don’t care, either.

  The only thing I care about is right here. “He’ll be all right,” I tell Mia.

  “I know,” she sighs. “I just hate leaving him.”

  Every time. Me, too.

  Softly I kiss her, then reach for our coats. The limo’s waiting outside, and Mia holds my hand as we walk down the front steps to the circular driveway. The front of our big house still blazes with colorful Christmas lights—though this year, I didn’t let Mia help, except to tell me which decorations she wanted where. I barely survived multiple heart attacks last year, coming home to find her on a ladder, fastening a string of lights to the eaves on the third floor. Trying to do it six months pregnant? No fucking way was I going to let that happen. Which means we might soon become one of those families that leaves their holiday lights up all year.

  A flash of long leg peeks through the shimmering silver as Mia steps into the car. I slide into the soft leather seat across from her, because I fucking love looking at my wife.

  She loves looking back. “I still like your face,” she says huskily, then pushes the button to close the privacy screen.

  We’ve gotten real familiar with the locations of those buttons.

  And even with that swollen belly she’s so damn graceful, hiking up her dress and straddling me in a smooth movement. It’s pure sweet torture when she does this. Because she’s got her hair done up and her lipstick perfect, and the drive to the gala doesn’t take too long—not long enough to fix them up again. And it’s no one’s goddamn business if I’m fucking my wife in the limo. So I don’t like to mess her all up.

  Her arms link around my neck and her mouth is so close to mine, teasing with every warm breath. “I’ve figured out a plan for our empty-nest years.”

  After the babies are grown up. After she’s gone back to med school and become a medical examiner.

  “What’s the plan?” I hope it involves a lot of fucking.

  “Well…” She reaches between us and slowly unzips my trousers. “I think we should become a crime-solving duo.”

  I let out a quiet grunt of pleasure as her soft hand grips my length. The past years, she’s gotten a whole lot better at getting my big cock out of my pants just by dragging it through the zipper opening.

  “What about Huertas?”

  “He can still be your partner when you’re on-duty,” she says, and her hot tongue flicks out to tease my bottom lip. Groaning, I chase her mouth but she leans back, denying me. “But this will be when you’re off-duty. Like if someone ever gets stabbed while we’re at the gala, but there are no witnesses. I’ll examine the body and tell you what kind of person must have done it—how tall, how strong. Whether they’re right-handed or left-handed. And you’ll use your deductive skills to solve the crime. Then we’ll find a private room and celebrate our victory when you bend me over a table.”

  My breath hisses through my teeth when she drags the tip of my dick through the scalding wetness of her cunt. “This is a damn good plan.”

  “I know.” Her head falls back as she sinks down, burying half my cock within the tight clasp of her pussy. “Oh god. That feels so good.”

  And even after three years, I barely have any goddamn control. My hands clamp over her hips and I ram up between her thighs, forcing myself deeper on a hard stroke. Mia cries out, her fingers gripping the lapels of my coat, then rides me back down.

  “Fuck, angel,” I groan against her exposed throat. “Your pussy takes my cock so good. Every goddamn time.”

  Every time. Every way. Every day. I fuck her hard but it could be slow and be just as perfect, and just being with her will always be the best part of it all. I take her now and love her more with every thrust, waiting until she trembles and screams, then empty my entire heart and soul into her pussy when I come.

  She falls against me, her chest heaving, the belly rounded with our baby pressing against my stomach. “This is the dirtiest thing we’ve ever done,” she claims, panting.

  Not even close. “Pretty damn sure we did this last year. And the year before.”

  “Yes.” Lightly she kisses my mouth. “But we cleaned up. And this time, I’ll be walking around all night with your cum between my legs, while I’m all knocked up with your baby.”

  Holy fuck. My spent dick jerks inside her,
as if trying to squeeze out a few more drops.

  She laughs merrily, looking down into my eyes. And this moment, fuck. It’s like my heart just tries to burst through my chest. Because she’s my angel. Always my angel.

  And every single day with her is heaven.

  The Wedding Night

  He only wants revenge. She only wants him…

  When an opportunity to take everything from the powerful family who destroyed his mother’s life falls into Caleb Moore’s lap, he needs help from the one person with more power and money than they have—business mogul, Audrey Clarke. The trick is getting her attention. So he approaches the infamous ice queen with an unusual proposition: marriage.

  The odds of a snowball surviving in hell are better than the chances of a rich, classy lady like Audrey Clarke marrying a mechanic from the wrong side of the tracks. He only hopes that she might consider a business partnership when she’s finished laughing at his marriage proposal.

  He never expects her to say yes—or that the ice queen could burn so hot. Because Audrey Clarke isn’t cold at all. And if Caleb’s not careful, the only thing he’ll give her on their wedding night…is a broken heart.

  1

  Audrey

  Here is what’s supposed to happen: The elevator doors open to Clarke, Incorporated’s executive level, and I walk through them, trading the noisy disorder of the outside world for the calm efficiency of my private offices.

  Here’s what really happens: I stride out of the elevator and stop dead, because everything’s off-kilter. A man is taking up too much space in the reception area. And he’s standing in the wrong place.

  He unbalances everything.

  Visitors have a clearly designated waiting area opposite the reception desk. Yet he eschewed the comfortable chairs, instead choosing to stand in front of the plate glass window overlooking the lake. And even that’s all wrong. Because with his immense height and broad shoulders, his proportions overwhelm the window frame and the enormous body of water that lies beyond it.

  It’s unsettling. In the place where I most need to be settled.

  Damn him. The incongruity of it all is bothering me. So much. And I can’t look away. His presence seems to tilt the entire room in his direction, as if he’s not just tall and broad, but massive enough to create a perceptible gravity well.

  A familiar voice comes from the opposite direction. “Miss Clarke?”

  With effort, I tear my gaze from the man’s back and give the rubber band around my wrist a sharp tug before releasing it.

  Snap.

  The sting against my inner wrist helps yank my focus away from the man and the mess he made of my equilibrium. Now I have to be careful not to look that way again.

  My boot heels click over bamboo flooring as I approach the sleek reception desk. Jessica currently mans the station, her dark curls and lively eyes giving her a girlish appearance that seems at odds with the seductive, buttery voice that emerges every time she speaks. I once told her that she could have made a fortune as a phone sex worker, but Jessica only laughed for a few minutes before stating that she’d rather work for Clarke, Inc. I don’t know why she didn’t take my advice—I pay her very well, yet it’s hardly a fortune—but I’m not sorry she stayed. Personal assistants who are smart, efficient, and who don’t make me want to hurl rocks at their heads are hard to come by.

  Fortunately, I’ve found two. Jeremy was in the elevator with me and I assume he’s following close behind. Judging by the way Jessica’s gaze settles on him and her eyes widen, she’s silently asking what distracted me for those few seconds, and he’s wildly gesturing his answer.

  Which must have been “I don’t know,” because Jessica asks me, “Are the holiday decorations okay?”

  I don’t even notice the white lights and pine boughs hanging along the edge of the reception desk until she mentions them. And I’m not going to look around at the rest of the decorations now, because I might get stuck on him again.

  The fact that I didn’t already notice the decorations, though, means that I don’t need to look. “They’re fine.”

  “And everything went okay at the rezoning hearing?”

  That was also directed to me, but Jeremy jumps in. “Approved, seven to zero,” he tells her with a triumphant grin. “So now there’s just the two-week comment period, followed by the city council vote. Then, bam! We’re good to go.”

  That isn’t quite accurate, but I let it slide and pass a manila folder to Jessica. “The planning commission gave me these forms to fill out and submit to the city council. Please re-staple them properly so that I can look at them.”

  Because I can still see them. Even hidden safely away in their folder. Two documents, exactly the same—except one was stapled on the diagonal, and the other stapled vertically.

  Who does that? Only a monster.

  “Oh no,” Jessica breathes, accepting the folder. She glances at Jeremy, who shakes his head.

  “It wasn’t too bad,” he says easily. “I didn’t even notice that she’d spaced out until she started snapping her band. That was when Commissioner Melbourne began speaking.”

  “I only missed Jamison’s comments,” I inform them. “And that’s no loss, because he never says anything worth listening to. Did you already show John Holtzmann into my office, or is he running late for our appointment?”

  Because it’s just a few minutes before four o’clock, but Holtzmann isn’t in the waiting area. Only the gravity well of a man is.

  “Oh! He had to reschedule. A weather delay at the airport,” Jessica explains with a slight grimace. “It happened after lunch, so you probably didn’t see the updates to your calendar yet.”

  Obviously I haven’t, or I wouldn’t have assumed he’d be here. “Very well, then. I’ll take my tea and—”

  “But,” Jessica continues in a lower voice and indicates the waiting area with a subtle lift of her chin. “Mr. Caleb Moore called earlier this morning to set up an appointment with you. He claimed to have an urgent matter to discuss and was disappointed when I told him that you had nothing available until February. So when Holtzmann cancelled, I asked Mr. Moore if he could be here at four. And he could.”

  So the big man upsetting the balance of my waiting area is named Caleb Moore. And he probably isn’t looking out of the window now, but facing this direction—it would be the logical response of anyone anticipating someone else’s arrival. Turn and greet them.

  But I dare not turn yet. I can easily gloss over the back of a head and a pair of shoulders—they’re almost featureless in themselves. It was only his proportions within the waiting area that disturbed me. But a face isn’t featureless, and not as easy to look away from. And if his features are as unsettling as his proportions, I might become severely distracted.

  Oh, I’m already distracted, standing here and pondering the effect he might have on me. Unless his face is as bland as the back of his head. Is it?

  I want to look. I want to look so badly.

  Snap.

  But not here. Better to be somewhere his proportions won’t combine with his face—whatever form it takes—and completely distract me. “Very well. Please bring my tea and Mr. Moore to my office at four,” I tell Jessica. “Jeremy, please take over the desk.”

  He flicks a salute while Jessica quickly gathers up her electronic tablet. She catches up with me on the wide spiral staircase leading to my offices.

  I keep my gaze firmly fixed ahead instead of letting it stray down to where the man waits. “What is Mr. Moore’s urgent matter?”

  “He said it’s regarding the Wyndham estate,” Jessica responds immediately. “So I looked him up. Eleanor Wyndham left him everything.”

  Which would include all the property that I approached Eleanor about less than a year ago, hoping to buy it. The woman refused to sell, claiming that she intended to leave everything to her grandson. I assumed that meant Christopher Wyndham, not a man called Caleb Moore. But whatever his name, it’s easy to deduce his
reason for coming: to liquify the estate’s assets as quickly as possible.

  Before veering off toward the kitchen, Jessica adds, “I didn’t tell him that you already purchased a different property for your camp project.”

  Good. I don’t need the Wyndham mansion or the surrounding land, but real estate is often a good investment. If Caleb Moore is eager to get rid of it, he’ll likely accept a lowball offer. He’ll get cash and I’ll get an estate that I can unload later for a hefty profit. A win-win.

  I like a win-win. But then, I also like a win-lose. Especially when I’m on the winning side.

  I usually am.

  In my office, I hang up my wool trench and let my gaze skim the room. The decorators were in here as well, but there’s nothing distracting, nothing out of place. No blinking fairy lights or uneven garlands.

  Jessica has already prepared the office to receive a single visitor, removing the second chair that usually faces my desk, so there can be no wrong place for my guest to sit. The desk itself is sleek and seamless, the surface uncluttered. Behind it, sheer glass forms the fourth wall of my office and offers a stunning view of the lake. Today the water is slate gray, darkened by a leaden sky. Even as I cross over to my desk, tiny splatters against the window mark the first snowflakes.

  I watch the falling specks of snow, delighting in the wonderful random eddies and swirls of wind that move through them, and all the while breathing deeply, evenly—trying to will away the last of the tension that lingers from the planning commission hearing. Rooms filled with people are among my least favorite things. Even when meetings are governed by supposed rules of order, people still speak over each other, or cough or shuffle papers or whisper, and in the background doors open and close while phones buzz and chime. And even when people follow the rules of order, speaking one at a time, so many talk without saying anything relevant. Or they repeat what others have already said. Simply sitting through the hearing had been exhausting.