by Donna Hill
“Goggles are for pansies. Take a risk,” Kyle said. She looked back over her shoulder. “I’m only joking. You won’t need goggles. You’re fine.”
“Where are all the tubes and kettles?” Miranda asked. “I once saw a show on the Cooking Channel about home breweries and there was a big setup that looked like a chemistry set on steroids.”
“That comes later, just before the fermenting stage,” Kyle said. “What we’re doing right here is called mashing. By letting the barley steep in the hot water, it’ll eventually convert the starches to sugar. It helps with the fermenting process. We have to cook the mash for another half hour before we can move to the next step.”
Miranda let out an exaggerated sigh as she sprinkled the purple flowers into the simmering hops. Then she turned to him. “How long does this whole beer-making thing take?”
Amusement flickered in Kyle’s eyes as he came upon her. He took the bowl from her hands and set it on the counter. He then took both of her hands and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers.
“Did I forget to mention that the number one ingredient is patience?” he asked.
“Yes, you did. Because if you had mentioned it, I would have told you that I have none.”
“Really?” His brow arched as he took her hands and brought them around his waist. Then he clasped his at the small of her back and pulled her in, melding her body up against his. “We’ve been here nearly twenty-four hours and haven’t made it to my bed yet. I’d say we’re both kicking ass in the patience department.”
Miranda felt the bulge that had grown behind his zipper. She ground her pelvis against him.
“I’m all out of patience,” she said.
He reached over and turned the fire off under the boiling pot.
“I’m right there with you.”
She brought her hands up and clasped the back of his head, bringing him into her for a deep, sensual kiss. She’d fought her body’s demands, but it would no longer be denied. She needed him. All of him. And she wasn’t stopping until Kyle gave her every delicious part of him.
Their kiss turned from mild to scorching in ten seconds flat—a ferocious clashing of lips, teeth, and tongue that shot a flood of mind-numbing sensations through her veins. With their lips still locked together, Kyle hoisted her up and Miranda wrapped her legs around his waist. His strength was as much a turn-on as his wickedly decadent kisses. He didn’t break a sweat as he carried her from the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom.
Once there, Miranda slid down his body. Her own body hummed with want at the feel of his rock hard erection trailing down her abdomen. She tore the sweater over her head and peeled off her leggings. Her bra was the next to go. By the time Miranda fell back onto his bed, she wore nothing but her boy-cut cotton panties. She hooked her thumbs in the sides and pulled them off her hips, tossing them on the floor next to the bed.
Kyle had already rid himself of his clothes and sheathed himself with a condom. Standing at the edge of the bed, he closed his palms around her calves and lifted her legs in the air, spreading them so that she was completely exposed to him.
Her center clenched with need. Just his gaze on her was enough to set every one of her nerve endings off like New Year’s fireworks.
But she wanted more than his gaze on her. She wanted him on her.
“Please, Kyle,” Miranda breathed with a gasp. “Please.”
“No need to beg,” Kyle said, tugging her down toward him and hooking her legs over his shoulders. “I’m about to give you all you can take, and more.”
He lowered his head between her thighs and closed his mouth over her aching wet center. Miranda lifted off the bed, shoving her body against his mouth, gaining new life from the wicked way his tongue lashed at her. He plunged into her, his tongue dipping in and out. When his thumb joined in the erotic assault on her senses, Miranda was certain she would spontaneously combust from the sheer pleasure of it. It trailed up and down her soaking flesh, growing more insistent as he matched the rhythm of his tongue’s continued licks. Then he switched tactics, rolling his thumb around her engorged clitoris, plucking at it, pinching it, flicking it, then finally sucking it into his mouth. Hard. So incredibly, shockingly hard.
Miranda’s back bowed once again. She squeezed his head between her thighs, needing to keep him right where she had him.
Her entire body hummed with the pleasure driving through her at maximum speed. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, Kyle sucked his middle and forefingers into his mouth, then shoved them inside her.
Her entire world exploded in a brilliant display of dazzling light. Her limbs trembled as the powerful orgasm tore through her.
That night in Istanbul had been one of the most satisfying of her life, but Miranda had the tantalizing feeling that it wouldn’t be able to compare to what was about to happen. As her body continued to throb with the aftershocks of her orgasm, Kyle kissed his way up her body, pressing his lips against her stomach, then her ribs, then the undersides of her breasts. He gave special attention to her nipples. Licking and sucking and biting, driving her already overtaxed mind absolutely wild.
“God, Kyle. Don’t stop,” Miranda called out, her voice hoarse with desire.
He continued his journey north, trailing his lips along her jawline, and up to her ear.
“Stop? Sweetheart, I’m just getting started.”
Miranda shuddered at his warmly whispered promise, her body already anticipating what was yet to come.
Before she knew what he was doing, Kyle slid his hand underneath her and turned her over, maneuvering her limbs until she was on all fours.
Miranda shivered as she knelt on the mattress, her knees spread apart, her body open to him, presented like a decadent offering. She glanced back and was nearly singed by Kyle’s scorching-hot glaze. Tingles cascaded across her skin, electrifying her entire body, sending her so close to the edge.
She tensed for the briefest second when Kyle nudged her opening, then released an indulgent moan as his rigid length pushed its way into her body. Standing at the edge of the bed, he grabbed her hips and guided her back and forth, rocking into her. Miranda whimpered with each delicious slide of his thick erection, the pleasure so intense, so potent, she could hardly wrap her head around it. Nothing had ever felt this good.
“Deeper,” she groaned, arching her back and driving her ass against his pelvis. Kyle shifted one hand to the small of her back, pressing down ever so slightly so that she bent a little lower.
The angle opened her up even more, letting him slide even deeper. He filled her completely. Luxuriously. It took everything within her not to scream again as hedonistic pleasure slammed into her body. Instead, Miranda bit her lip and concentrated on maintaining her composure. She was so close to another orgasm, but she didn’t want it just yet. She wanted to relish in the unbelievable pleasure he’d released in her.
The hand at the small of her back traveled up her spine, until he reached her hair. When he wrapped a length of her hair around his hand and tugged with just enough force to garner a yelp from her, Miranda’s entire body exploded with a mixture of pleasure-filled pain. A bounty of delectable sensations swirled inside her, all demanding her attention. Miranda didn’t know which to concentrate on.
But that choice was taken out of her hands when Kyle’s other hand snaked around her torso and trailed down her stomach, to her throbbing sex. As his thick erection continued to pummel her from behind, he swirled the pad of his thumb around her clit, over and over and over again, then he pressed it against her flesh.
The force of her climax sapped every drop of her energy.
Miranda collapsed onto the bed, her limbs no longer able to hold her up. Kyle followed her down, pumping into her—one, two, three times more—before finding his own release.
“Forget those Bulls tickets,” he whispered against her temple. “You’re the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”
* * *
As Kyle
lay on his bed with Miranda draped across his chest, he realized that he’d never felt more replete in his life. Her soft snores brought a smile to his lips. It was probably the lingering effects of jet lag, but his ego was inclined to believe that he’d worn her out with their marathon lovemaking.
He stroked his fingers through her hair, imagining how things would have been if he’d never walked to the back of the plane yesterday—or was that two days ago?
Shit, maybe he needed to catch a few winks himself, but he was still too wired to sleep. Or maybe he was afraid that if he did go to sleep, he’d wake up only to discover that this was all a fantasy—some fatigue-induced defense mechanism to shield him from the pain of spending the holidays alone.
Kyle glanced down at the woman plastered against his chest and that satisfied smile traveled across his lips once more.
She was fantasy-worthy, but she was also 100 percent real. And, at least for this Christmas, she was his.
The thought caused his chest to swell with triumph, but just as quickly, a pang of sorrow quelled his excitement. To say he was overjoyed at the fact that she was here with him was an understatement. Even though the snowstorm that still raged outside had a hand in their current situation, she’d still made the choice to be with him. Despite his insistence that she come home with him, she could have just as easily insisted that she stay at a hotel. She was here because she wanted to be here.
But what if this was it?
What if, when she finally did get on a plane to Portland, she decided that this was all just a brief holiday liaison that shouldn’t go any further? What if, after she got her fill of multiple orgasms, she announced that it would be better if they didn’t keep up this new friendship, or relationship, or whatever this thing was between them?
Kyle’s chest tightened with the fear of hearing those words from her. He wasn’t sure how the thought of losing someone he’d met just a few days ago could evoke such a visceral response from him, but it was there, clawing up his throat, its meaty fingers suddenly strangling him.
He felt Miranda stir. Her smooth, bare thigh brushed against his groin, and fears of her leaving were instantly usurped by more pleasurable thoughts.
“Are you finally awake?” he asked.
She sighed, lifting slightly from his chest so she could look up at him. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A couple of hours,” he said. “There’s some leftover soup. I can warm it up if you’re hungry.”
“I am,” she said. “But I don’t want to get up.”
Kyle peered down at her. “Is that your subtle way of asking me to bring you dinner in bed?”
“No. I don’t want you to get up, either. You’re comfortable. Not as soft and squishy as my pillow, but I think soft and squishy may be overrated.”
Kyle’s shoulders shook with his laugh. He did that so easily around her. On this Christmas Eve, when he’d fully expected to be drowning himself in sorrow-filled thoughts about what he was missing in Chicago, he found himself not wanting to be anywhere else.
No, that was a lie. He still wanted to be back home with his family. But he wanted Miranda to be there with him.
Maybe he was jumping fifty thousand steps ahead—okay, he was definitely jumping fifty thousand steps ahead. They’d only met a few days ago, and other than a few cursory facts, he hardly knew anything about her.
But they meshed. That much he did know. It was undeniable. He’d never felt so at ease with another woman, not even the one he’d dated for over three years.
He kissed the top of her head and eased from underneath her. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
Kyle pulled his favorite worn heather-gray T-shirt over his head, but didn’t bother to pull pajama pants over his matching boxer briefs. The pants would just be an added barrier when the time came to do a repeat performance of what they’d done just a few hours ago.
He was in the middle of ladling soup into a bowl as Miranda came around the frosted-glass wall dressed in one of his white T-shirts that had been in the stack from the laundry service. The shirt’s hem didn’t quite reach mid thigh, and suddenly Kyle was hungry for something other than soup.
“God, that smells amazing,” Miranda said, walking over to the stove in her bare feet. “You’ll have to share the recipe.”
Kyle knew he was jumping the gun again, but God, how amazing would it be to have her here like this every day? To spend lazy weekends together, making love, watching movies, making love, brewing beer, making love.
He wanted to capture this domestic moment in his mind and keep it there, a picture of what their future could be. Something beyond this little Christmas miracle.
“You’d have to ask the food delivery service I use,” Kyle said.
“Okay, honest question here. Do you farm out everything?”
“Meaning?”
She ticked items off on her fingers. “You don’t do your own laundry, or cook your own meals, or do your own grocery shopping. And, call me crazy, but I’m pretty certain you didn’t decorate this place.”
“What makes you say that?”
The look she tossed his way made Kyle bark out a laugh.
“Yeah, okay, I had an interior decorator come in and decorate it,” he admitted. “But I do have to cook the groceries that were delivered. However, I’m not going to go through the trouble of cooking this soup, when the caterer in town does such a good job of it.”
He gestured for her to take a seat at the island, then placed a bowl in front of her.
“Give me a minute to grab the bread from the oven,” Kyle said.
He did so, placing the warm baguette on a plate between their two bowls of soup.
Miranda motioned toward the pot of mash that had been cooking earlier during their beer-making session.
“Is that salvageable?” she asked him.
Kyle shook his head. “Nah.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss against her lips. “But it was worth losing.”
Once they’d eaten their soup, they made their way over to the sofa, parroting their earlier pose, with Miranda sitting between his legs, her back against his chest. Kyle pulled the moss-green chenille blanket he kept on the arm of the sofa over them, then tightened his hold on her. The Christmas lights twinkled on the tree, reflecting in the window.
He wanted this. He wanted what they had at this very moment—this comfortable silence, their twin heartbeats beating as one. He wanted it forever.
“Kyle, what happened between you and your dad?”
Her softly spoken words crashed into his peace like a three-ton boulder, rendering him momentarily speechless. When she twisted around in his arms, Kyle could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t backing down from her question.
He sucked in a deep breath and released it. Repeated it. Then repeated it again.
He didn’t want to talk about this.
He experienced the familiar ache that squeezed his throat whenever he even thought about the fight he had with his dad—like something heavy and dull was pressing against either side of his neck, not hard enough to choke him, but with enough pressure to make him want to suffocate.
“Do you . . .” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “Do you remember what I said about selling my tech company?” Miranda nodded. “Well, my dad didn’t think that was a good move. He thought I took the coward’s way out.”
“By making millions off a business you sold?”
“Did I say that it was millions?” Kyle asked. He usually didn’t talk actual figures. He didn’t like anyone to think he was bragging.
“No, you didn’t,” Miranda said. “I just assumed it was.”
He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, well, it was millions,” Kyle admitted. “But money, in my dad’s opinion, and in mine, to be honest, isn’t the only hallmark of success. Actually, it’s not even in the top five. For him, success is more about finding one thing you do well and being the absolute best at it.
“When I left my job at the E
PA, my dad wasn’t happy. He thought it was a waste of all that education, but he saw how much I enjoyed working with computers, so he supported me. But when I sold my firm after only a few years, he saw it as me giving up—giving in to the pressure of the companies that had been trying to buy it. He called me a coward.”
A sharp ache speared through Kyle’s chest at the memory of them yelling at each other across the table during Thanksgiving dinner.
“But you didn’t sell because you felt pressured, did you? You wanted to go into beer making.”
“There were a number of factors,” he said. “I’d taken my firm as far as I was willing to take it. The company that bought it already had enough things in place to grow it to its full potential, and at a much faster rate than I could. It was better for my employees. When I tried to explain this to my dad, he accused me of being a coward who can’t make up my mind about what I want to do in life.”
“And?”
Kyle jerked his head back. “And what?”
“What else did he say during the big fight?”
“You don’t think that’s enough?”
Her eyes went wide, and instead of the sympathy and understanding Kyle thought he’d get from her, she wore an expression of disgust. “Are you kidding me?” Miranda asked. “That’s it? That’s why you skipped Christmas with your family?”
She pushed up from the sofa and marched toward the television.
Kyle followed her, but he stopped when she turned and he saw tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He just stood there, stunned. When two slipped rapidly down her cheeks, he found the ability to move. He took her into his arms and brushed his lips against her temple.
“Miranda, what’s wrong?” Kyle asked. “What is it?”
She stared up at him, her eyes two luminous pools filled with hurt and regret.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t let this silly fight ruin your relationship with your family, Kyle. Especially at Christmas. Instead, be grateful that you have a family to share your Christmas holiday with. Some of us aren’t so lucky, and haven’t been for a long, long time.”
Chapter Six