Three Nights Before Christmas: A Holiday Romance Collection

by Kati Wilde

  And I’ll head there as soon as he explains what that was about. “What call from Bradford?”

  His eyebrows arch upward. “She didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Shit.” He grimaces. “Maybe she wanted to surprise you. So forget I said anything.”

  Not a chance. I narrow my eyes and silently wait.

  He looks at my expression and then throws a glance at Logan, as if seeking help from that direction, but the other man’s been my friend too long to offer any.

  Finally Jeremy relents. “Bradford got a call from the Wyndhams’ lawyer. You guys must have scared the shit out of them last night, because they’re going to drop the will contest.”

  Logan breaks into a grin and claps me on the shoulder. “That means you get the inheritance free and clear, yeah? That’s damn good news.”

  “You’d think so,” Jeremy says wryly. “But he looks about as thrilled as my boss did.”

  Not thrilled. More like I’m about to puke. Because that will contest is the reason for our marriage contract, for our wedding—for everything.

  “And she’s in the kitchen?” I say stupidly, because I know she is, but my brain doesn’t seem to be working.

  “Yeah,” Jeremy says and points out the direction, as if this isn’t his first visit here and I haven’t been in this house a million times.

  But, shit. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone the right way without his help. Because I don’t even remember taking the steps that bring me to the kitchen. Instead I’m in a daze and desperately holding on to a single thought: that Audrey brought Jeremy and Jessica along to hand out wedding invitations. If she didn’t still plan on marrying me, she wouldn’t have bothered.

  The haze in my head clears the instant I see her—pale blonde hair up in a sleek ponytail, her lips a lush velvet red, her head thrown back in a laugh. Not in a weird mood at all, as far as I can tell. Instead she’s in a small group that includes Jessica, Karen, and Patrick, and appears to be having a good time.

  And an even better time when she spots me. Her beautiful face lights up.

  Relief fills my chest. I weave through the crush of people until I’m at her side, and drop a soft kiss to her lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s okay. Patrick said you probably fell asleep.” Her pale eyes are sparkling, and an impish little grin curves her lips. “I heard something about a stag party last night.”

  “Oh yeah?” I raise a brow and look to Patrick, who’s trying to appear innocent.

  Then Audrey’s gaze skips down to my sweater and her eyes widen before she covers her mouth with her hand, giggling wildly.

  “The eyes!” she only manages before dissolving into laughter again.

  Patrick shoves a plastic cup full of beer into my hand before tapping his own against it. “Congratulations—you win for ugliest. Your face alone would have done it, but those eye-titties are going to haunt my nightmares for years to come. They’re fucking horrifying.”

  Eye-titties? I glance down. And, yep. Right over my nipples.

  I glance at Jessica, who’s been silent this whole time. Her shoulders are shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Without a word, I make a V of my first two fingers, tap my jiggly nipple-eyes and then point them at her in a I’m watching you gesture. Which makes her sputter and snort, but I’m sure as hell never going to underestimate Audrey’s Little Helpers again. They know their shit. Because if their goal is to make their boss happy, I’d say they succeeded.

  Audrey wipes her eyes, still breathless from laughing. “Oh god. I wanted to win. But I’m outclassed.”

  Yeah, there’s no way she could have ever won ‘ugliest’ anything. Her sweater is… Fuck, I don’t know what it is. Some kind of argyle monstrosity that escaped from the 1970s, maybe. Yet she makes the thing look great simply by wearing it.

  “Patrick should win,” I say, because his version of an ugly sweater is leaving his shirt unbuttoned and exposing his chest hair. “You’ve probably got a couple squirrels hibernating in that shit.”

  “Alas,” he mourns, scrubbing his fingers through the auburn thicket over his heart. “The host can’t win.”

  “When we’re the hosts, Patrick, we’ll make sure you get a prize,” Audrey laughs and slips her hand into mine. “I was just telling Karen that she and Patrick should come over to our place for dinner after the honeymoon. I already volunteered you as cook.”

  After the honeymoon. Thank fuck. “That sounds good, yeah. And, Christ—wait ’til you see this house.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Patrick replies smugly before glancing at Audrey. “About eight years ago, right?”

  She nods. “That’s right.”

  Patrick looks to me again. “While you were playing Sleeping Beauty, we had a little six-degrees-of-separation moment going on here. Because she already knew Logan.”

  “He designed all my custom furniture,” Audrey says.

  “And I helped build and install it. So I sure as hell didn’t forget a waterfall house that could have made Frank Lloyd Wright weep envious tears. Ah, shit. And here’s this fucker”—Patrick snags his arm around the shoulders of the man who joins us—“Audrey, this is my little brother, Mike. He’s going to try to ask you all kinds of shit about your business and use it for his classes, but you don’t have to pay any attention to him.”

  Jessica raises her hand in a little wave. “You can come and be friends with me, Mike. I know everything.”

  “It’s true, she does,” Audrey says with a laugh. “Are you teaching classes or taking them?”

  “Taking them. And I’ll accept that offer,” Mike adds to Jessica before turning to Audrey again. “But let’s be clear here—the person who really needs a little business advice is this man.”

  He points to me and Audrey’s smile widens, her brows arching.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He ever tell you how he’s restoring those old cars in my brother’s garage? Buys them, fixes them up, sells them.”

  “He did.”

  “Did he mention that he never expenses any of that shit off his taxes? Not the parts he buys, not his rent, nothing?”

  Both Audrey and Jessica make noises like they were stabbed.

  Ah, shit. Dull heat climbs my cheeks and I awkwardly rub the back of my neck. “I’m not good at any of that crap. I just like working on the cars.”

  “Oh, Caleb.” Her gaze full of amusement, Audrey pats my hand. “You’re so innocent. But I will guide you on a journey to maximize your profits as you conduct your business.”

  Not that innocent. “You want me to show you where I conduct that business?”

  The way she briefly catches the tip of her tongue between her teeth brings my cock to instant, aching attention. “I would like that very much,” she says huskily.

  Fuck, yes. With a nod to the others, I lead her through the crowd to the sliding door that opens up to the back of the house. More people are gathered out on the patio but despite the number of friends tossing out greetings and congratulations, I barely slow down. My only hesitation is when I decide whether to take her straight upstairs to my bed or actually show her inside the garage.

  But rushing into this might make her nervous. Better to tease and delay until she’s so needy that it helps overcome her fear.

  The door on the side of the garage is locked, so I don’t have to worry that anyone else from the party sneaked in here with the same idea. Her breath shudders as I pull her inside—but I’ll draw this out, too. Build the anticipation.

  Christ, my anticipation is already really fucking high. Any higher and my cock might poke me in the eye.

  The illumination from the nightlight over the workbench barely touches the ’59 Corvette that I’m currently restoring, but the dim lighting makes the space seem more intimate, so I don’t flip on the halogen bulbs overhead. “There she is.”

  “Ohhhh,” Audrey breathes, moving closer to the car. “I like it very much.”

  That surprises me. “Do
you?”

  “Yes.” Repainting is one of the last steps, so the color’s currently a dull red, but she glides her fingers across the surface of the hood as if it were gleaming. “Do you try to find all original parts?”

  “Depends on the car. This one, I’ll stick a new engine in there, use new upholstery. But I’ll try to get original trim for the body and detailing for the interiors. And sometimes if a buyer gets interested before it’s done and wants to pay for what I put into it, that’ll change it up.”

  “Do you already have a buyer lined up for this one?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll buy it, then.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  She glances up from the car, her brows furrowing. “Why?”

  Because the thought grates on my pride like a rusted gear. “I’m not taking money from you.”

  “Oh.” She bites her bottom lip and averts her gaze. “I guess not, then.”

  Fuck. The disappointment in her voice is killing me. “You don’t even drive,” I point out.

  “Yes, I do. I really like driving.”

  That doesn’t make any sense. “You have six different drivers who take you everywhere you go.”

  “Because I like driving, but I don’t like it when other people are on the road with me. All the rules are clearly defined. Yet so many drivers don’t even use their blinker! It’s so…irritating.” Frustration fills her voice, as if even right now, the thought of those non-signalling drivers is pissing her off. “So I do drive. And I’ll probably drive all the time when robot cars are more common, because they will follow the rules.”

  The image of her zipping around town in this Corvette while surrounded by robot cars is completely fucking adorable. “All right, then,” I grin. “But I’m still not taking your money.”

  She sighs and gives the car another caress before turning away, her gaze slipping around the interior of the garage. “You rent this from Patrick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should be deducting at least some of that cost.”

  “I guess.” I don’t give a shit about my taxes right now. I don’t think she does, either.

  She glances at me over her shoulder and her tongue moistens her bottom lip before she asks softly, “And your apartment’s upstairs?”

  “It is. Though I’ll warn you there’s not much to see up there. Just about everything is in boxes. Except my bed.”

  Her breath shudders again at the mention of my bed. Slowly she turns back toward me, and with her every step anticipation pounds harder through my dick.

  Until she pauses and glances around the garage again. “You haven’t packed up in here?”

  My gut tightens. “Not yet, no.”

  “Oh.” That small exclamation is impossible to read. Just oh. “Don’t you intend to move all this to my garage?”

  “I haven’t thought about it much.”

  Which is a damn lie. I’ve thought about it. Because my stuff upstairs fits into about six boxes. Easy to move and unpack—and pack again if the marriage ends. Even if Patrick rents the apartment out to someone else, I won’t be fucked. I’ll just find another place. But everything in this garage…that’s not so easy to pick up and take somewhere else. Especially if I’ll be doing it again before long.

  And I’ve thought about taking it all there, yeah. Thought about how incredible it would be to really settle into her home, to make part of it permanently mine—just like I want to be a permanent part of her life. But I’m not taking my place there for granted.

  “If you did, you could save on rent,” she says quietly. “You could invest the extra cash back into the business, and eventually make it your primary occupation.”

  “I could,” I say, and maybe she’s right—if so, that sounds real damn good—but I’m not going to worry about it tonight. “Come here, baby.”

  She doesn’t hesitate, stepping closer and rising up as if to kiss me. But I’ve got something to clear up first. Gently I cup her face in my hands.

  My voice is gruff as I ask, “What’s this about the Wyndhams giving up that will contest?”

  Audrey goes utterly still. “You heard?”

  “Yeah. But you haven’t said anything about it. Why?”

  Her throat works. Gaze darting to the side, she tells me, “Because they haven’t actually done it yet. It was just their lawyer telling my lawyer that he intended to file a request for dismissal. But it’s Saturday. Plus Tuesday is Christmas, so the courts aren’t even open, and a lot of people aren’t working on Monday, either. So the request for dismissal might not be filed until a few days after the wedding anyway, and then the judge has to rule on it. So if we didn’t get married on Monday—”

  “The Wyndhams might change their mind?” Scenting blood in the water if Audrey no longer seems to be backing me.

  “Yes!” she says, her voice still pitched high. Her words tumble over each other and her eyes don’t meet mine. “Plus the marriage contract is valid until the inheritance is distributed to you, regardless of the will contest. That won’t be for at least six months—and the Wyndhams might try to bring another challenge to the will before that. So I didn’t say anything about it, because nothing really changed.”

  Christ. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was lying to me. Everything about her shifty behavior screams that she is.

  But Audrey doesn’t lie. She claims that she’s no good at it—and if this was an example of her lying, I’d say she was right.

  The problem is…everything she just said is true. The courts are open on Monday, but the chances of the will contest being dismissed before the wedding are practically nonexistent. And even without any more challenges to the will, it’ll still be a while before I see a penny of my inheritance. Simply being told about the Wyndhams’ intentions really doesn’t change anything.

  Audrey’s behavior probably just means that she’s nervous as hell. And I need to do everything I can to make this easier for her. So I have no intention of making this about popping her cherry or how it might hurt her, but teasing her with all the pleasure that’s yet to come.

  “All right, baby,” I tell her softly, lowering my mouth to hers. Gently I nip at her lush bottom lip, loving the tiny gasp that escapes her, the way she rises up as if seeking more. “Since nothing’s changed, that means I still plan on taking you upstairs and giving you a taste of what our wedding night will be—and every night after that. But tonight, I’m just giving you a little bit. You want that?”

  “Yes,” she breathes against my lips. “So much.”

  No nervousness now. Just anticipation and need. And her kiss is sweet and eager, too goddamn eager, because I’ve got to keep myself on a tight leash and the way she gets so hot so fast threatens to snap that control. She moans as I break away, then shudders as I tip her head back to kiss her jaw, her neck.

  Against her ear, I command, “You go around to the front end of the car. I want you bent over that hood with your ass up in the air like I’m about to fuck you good and hard.”

  Her breath catches, those gorgeous eyes widening. But I don’t see fear in them. Only excitement.

  She catches my hand and pulls me across the garage with her. And Christ, she’s a natural, bracing her elbows on the hood and spreading her feet shoulder-width apart. She paired a knee-length skirt and tall boots with that ugly sweater, making her legs look fucking endless. Normally I might have shoved that skirt up to her waist but the zipper at the back is a temptation I can’t resist.

  So is her ass. Slowly I pull that zipper down, revealing nothing but pale silky skin and taut round cheeks. No panties. I groan as desire surges into my cock, the throbbing length straining against the front of my jeans like it’s lurching for her. “Did you forget your Caleb’s-making-me-wet kit?”

  “I didn’t forget,” she says, panting. “I just didn’t bother, because I knew I’d be wet all night.”

  “And knowing that is going to make me hard all night.” I slide my hand down t
he split of her ass, hissing out a breath as my fingers find her already slick and hot and so goddamn ready for my cock. “The first time I have you on our wedding night, I’ll be real slow and gentle. But this is how I’ll fuck you the second time—from behind, as deep and as rough as you can take it.”

  She makes a little whimpering sound in her throat and rocks back against my hand. “I want that.”

  “You’ll get it, baby. I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking you like that every damn day. But right now, I’m gonna take something else I want.”

  The rasp of my zipper is loud in the quiet garage. So is the harsh breath she sucks in, her body stiffening.

  I mold my palm to her backside, gently massaging as I reassure her, “I’m not taking that yet, Audrey. That’s for upstairs. Not bent over a car with your skirt around your knees in a dirty garage, as if this is just a cheap and filthy fuck.”

  Her tension vanishes as a laugh shakes through her. “A cheap and filthy fuck sounds really hot.”

  “Hell yeah, it does. But we’ll save it for another time. Right now, I just want to wet my dick with all these pussy juices.”

  And get her used to feeling my bare cock. I grip my shaft and follow the same hot path my fingers took over the curve of her ass to the heaven between her legs, the crown leaving a faint trail of pre-cum over her skin. The dim light doesn’t penetrate the shadows between our bodies. I should have flipped on the halogens so I could watch my cock slide through the sultry seam of her cunt. But, fuck. Maybe it’s best this way. If I could see what I was doing, my control might burn away even faster. As it is, the sensation of all that scalding wetness brings me right to the edge of coming, pressure building at the base of my spine.

  Her body stiffens up again as I drag the broad head through her wet folds, but her horny little moan and the wriggle of her hips tells me that her tension isn’t fear. Blood thunders through my veins as the thick tip naturally lodges into the faint well of her entrance. Right where it belongs. With a ragged groan, I force myself to slick my cock downward instead of pushing inside.