Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas)

by Maggie Robinson, Elyssa Patrick

  Perhaps they could take advantage of each other. Griffin sensed Carrie had gone through a bit of a dry spell herself. They were both adults, and would be fibbing if they claimed to be uninterested in the other.

  He reached across the workbench and took Carrie’s busy hand. “Let me guess what you were going to say.”

  “I forget. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  She was a poor liar.

  “I think you remember. You’re just too shy to say.”

  Carrie rolled her beautiful eyes. “No one would ever call me shy. I almost always speak my mind unless the truth would be too painful for a person to deal with.”

  “You’re kind as well as cute.”

  She wrinkled her nose, looking even cuter. “Really, why don’t you go back to your papers? I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want to go back to my papers. I want to go back to the blanket with you and undress you. Slowly. Unzip those boots and lower your black stockings.”

  “Leggings.”

  “Whatever. I’m not a hosiery expert. You might be wearing a tiny thong underneath all that black.”

  Carrie choked. “I’m not.”

  “But I want to see for myself.” Griffin did not generally announce his intentions like this. In fact, he rarely had intentions, and never, ever gave them a running commentary. He was a very buttoned-up sort of fellow. But tonight he was infused with some unexpected enthusiasm, and decided to let it show, even if the conversation embarrassed them both. Carrie’s cheeks were already scarlet.

  What would it be to have her naked and writhing under him, flushed everywhere? He’d whisper all sorts of naughty things against her ear and she’d beg and scream his name—

  Good God. What was happening to him? He never even looked at porn.

  Much.

  He squeezed her hand and continued his uncertain path. “I’ll look, perhaps touch. You’ll be ready for me, wanting to take off that unfortunate jumper.”

  She tried to withdraw her hand. “Unfortunate? It’s brand new! My parents sent it for Christmas.”

  “I’m sure they love you, but it’s so . . . beige. If you were mine to dress, you’d be in jewel tones. Sapphire. Emerald. Ruby. Something bright that reflects your personality. You’re a little firecracker. I can feel the sparks from here.”

  “How much wine did you have to drink?” Carrie asked suspiciously.

  “No more than you. It isn’t the wine talking.” What it was, he didn’t recognize himself. “You’ll stretch like a little cat while I pull off the jumper, and that soft brassiere will be unhooked.” Griffin didn’t say how; he’d never been much good with one-handed unhooking. Alice had gotten very impatient and done for herself.

  No. Mustn’t think of Alice.

  Alice who? That was better.

  Carrie’s eyebrows were knitting as if she didn’t truly appreciate the imagery he was attempting to paint. Could she not see herself up against the boat cushions, legs splayed, eyelashes fluttering? Of course he’d have to go upstairs again and fetch the cushions, and he didn’t want to leave her. Griffin circled her palm with his thumb and was gratified to see her twitch. A bloke he knew told him the palm-thumb thing was always surprisingly successful.

  “And then?” she said. Was it his imagination or was she a bit breathless?

  “I’ll kiss you. Everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?”

  Griffin nodded. “Oh, yes.” He might not be able to unhook bras, but no one had ever complained about his aptitude when it came to cunnilingus.

  Carrie looked as if she wanted to say something, but instead she tugged at his hand. They stood, facing each other, and Carrie reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  “Let’s blow this popstand,” she whispered. This was an Americanism he’d never heard before, but who was he to argue? It sounded as if it had numerous possibilities, especially the blowing part.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Yes, I think it should be, for once. I never get to order people around.”

  Griffin was fairly sure she got her way most of the time anyway. “Lay on, Macduff.”

  To his consternation, she dragged him to the Jaguar. “I don’t live too far away from here.”

  Ah, so they were back to pretense. Maybe that was better in case things did not go well. They could plead ignorance, that it was their doppelgangers who were engaged in a torrid affair in a postcard-perfect English village.

  For Griffin was feeling very torrid, even if it was pounding snow outside.

  He got in behind the steering wheel, grateful he was not really going to drive anywhere. He was still getting used to the Evoque and driving on the wrong side of the road. Mostly he traveled around Boston on the T and avoided the crazy Massachusetts drivers.

  “Vroom vroom.” He sounded like an idiot.

  Griffin turned to Carrie, who had her face turned upward as if feeling the evening breeze. “Fitz loves to ride with the window open. He must be in heaven with the top down.”

  “Er, yes.” Apparently they were both idiots.

  “Look! It’s there on the right. The cottage with the roses climbing over the door.”

  “Very charming.”

  “It is, isn’t it? It’s just where I’ve always wanted to live.”

  Carrie wouldn’t care for Archer Hall, which had no roses whatsoever and very little charm left. She opened the door and paused for the fantasy Fitz to jump out. “Good boy. Don’t be mad at me, though. I’m going to lock you in the scullery.”

  She disappeared into the tiny loo for what seemed like eons. When she came out, Griffin went in, armed with his shaving kit. He brushed his teeth for about five minutes, combed his hair, cleared his throat.

  It had been six months since he’d made love to a woman and not his hand. If Carrie would let him, that is. She’d perked up for the “kissing everywhere” part, but Griffin hoped she would be imbued with the Christmas spirit and generously allow him to find his own satisfaction, too. If not, he’d take what he could get and call it good.

  He’d spent a semester in Italy studying architecture and art, and had picked up some amorous techniques as well. They were a bit rusty—Alice hadn’t liked anything too unusual.

  Alice who, he reminded himself.

  Taking a deep breath, he left the tiny water closet without knocking himself unconscious on the doorframe. The carriage house was deadly quiet except for the incessant ping of ice pellets on the windows. Griffin walked around the car to their picnic spot.

  And nearly tripped over his own feet.

  Carrie lay in the middle of the plaid blanket. She hadn’t waited for him to unzip and unroll and unhook but had taken the initiative to remove every stitch herself. Her eyes were closed, her red plastic glasses atop the neat pile of clothing resting on a corner of the blanket.

  Griffin didn’t want to take his glasses off. He felt blinded already. She was so—

  Not perfect, because her body was not Barbie doll-like in anyway. Of course Barbie was not perfect or even at all anatomically correct, just a long leggy blonde that had always met Griffin’s mastaburtory criteria. What was the word he was searching for?

  Real. Carrie was real—small breasts, broad hips, a bit of a tummy. The little mole at her mouth had company here and there on her golden skin. Her legs were muscular, and Griffin wondered if she’d been a gymnast in high school.

  He didn’t know a thing about her, really.

  “This is it. What are you waiting for?”

  She was trying to sound tough, but Griffin heard a touch of vulnerability.

  “You’ve taken my breath away. I don’t think I can walk.”

  “Bullshit. Very nice bullshit, but bullshit all the same.”

  “You really are quite lovely, you know.”

  Carrie cracked one eye open. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s much better if we just get down to business.”

  Much better for who? Whom? Griffin shook his head free of grammatica
l inconsistencies.

  “I’m afraid I cannot be rushed.” Untrue when all he wanted to do was rip his clothes off and fall upon her like a rabid beast.

  “Well, no one wants you to rush. Feel free to take your time.” She folded her hands over her navel, rather like a stone effigy.

  Well, the pressure was on and he’d asked for it. No, begged for it, bragging that he could satisfy her.

  Everywhere.

  He reached under his jumper to unbuckle his belt.

  “What are you doing?” Both her eyes were open now.

  “You look so comfortable in your natural state, I thought I’d join you.”

  “Nobody said anything about you getting undressed. It was just me.”

  Griffin pulled the belt from its loops. “It was just I,” he corrected reflexively. “I didn’t think it required discussion. When one partner is naked, one naturally assumes the other will follow suit.”

  “We’re only kissing,” Carrie said with stubborn determination.

  “Yes, of course. I kiss so much more efficiently when I have no clothes on. I suppose,” he sighed, “that I can remain dressed if you wish it.”

  Please no please no.

  Carrie rubbed her pointed little pixie chin. “I guess it’s only fair for me to see you, too.”

  The rest of his clothes came off in a flash. Out of boredom, Griffin had been going to the gym in his building, so he had nothing to be ashamed of. However, he wasn’t quite as obsessed with his body as other men his age. Quite frankly, he thought those Jersey Shore people were freaks. He lowered himself to the blanket and wished it were not wool.

  “Whoa.”

  Griffin frowned. “I haven’t even started yet.”

  “No, I mean, you’re—you’re kind of aroused.”

  He looked down. “There’s no ‘kind of’ about it.”

  “But—but I don’t have any condoms, just lens wipes. So we can’t do anything but kiss, right?”

  She looked fairly alarmed at his size and Griffin felt a satisfying smugness. He didn’t need to scare her any further at the moment and tell her he had condoms in his bag. An optimistically large number of them. They’d been gathering dust in the side pocket since the weekend Alice broke up with him.

  Alice who?

  “You’re the boss.”

  Just as he was leaning over, she shot up to a sitting position and almost head-butted him. “Oh my God. What about your aunt?”

  “We just met in the pub, remember? As far as you know, I have no aunt. Or uncle, or grandmother or second cousin. We’re strangers—very friendly strangers, to be sure.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “What happens at the Cheese and Plunder stays at the Cheese and Plunder.”

  “Oh! Th-thank you. I never, ever do anything like this, in England or America.”

  “I don’t either.” Griffin couldn’t remember his last one-night stand.

  “Is this silly, what we’re doing?” she asked in a hushed voice. “The make-believe?”

  “Where would humankind be without make-believe? No, I think it’s all right we indulge our fantasies.” They were in Carrie’s fantasy, but he wouldn’t quibble. He got to see her naked, didn’t he?

  She was still sitting up. “I just realized, I never told you my name back there. At the bar.”

  Griffin tried to recall their earlier dialogue. “So you didn’t. Let’s try again.” He extended his hand. “I’m Griffin Archer from the Hall.”

  “I’m Caroline Moore.” She gave his hand a firm shake. “Carrie to my friends.”

  Griffin turned her palm up and planted a lingering kiss in its center. “I hope to be your very good friend, Carrie. That’s the first kiss of many.”

  “I’ll try to keep count. I’m better at English than I am at math.”

  “I plan to make you incoherent in both subjects.” He went back to his circling maneuver, meeting her eyes as he did so. How simple, yet how effective.

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you,” Carrie said, her voice slightly raspy.

  “You must admit, I’ve had some success with you so far. I have every hope in continuing to do so.” It was not like him to brag, but then nothing about tonight was “like him.”

  And that was a good thing. All work and no play had made Griffin a very dull viscount.

  He was going to forget about his viscountish troubles and the sagging ceilings at Archer Hall. It was Christmas, and he was going to give himself a present.

  He eased Carrie back down on the blanket, stroking her shoulder, kissing her throat. She shivered a little.

  “Cold?” Griffin asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  He trailed his fingers down to one peaked nipple and did some more circling. She made a strangled sound and Griffin knew his success continued.

  “This is two.” He captured her nipple between his lips and tugged.

  “Three,” he said before he switched sides.

  And then he lost track, working his way down to her navel, dipping his tongue inside and causing Carrie to squirm on the blanket. He’d forgotten about the pillows. Too late. He would raise her hips himself and part and lick and plunge and—

  Oh God, she tasted good. She was neatly trimmed, too, which was helpful. Everything about her was neat. Griffin spent a goodly portion of his time coordinating his tongue and fingers until Carrie turned liquid beneath him and screamed.

  It was a nice scream, as screams went, not too shrieky. Her body bucked a bit but Griffin kept at it. Her nails scraped his scalp as she cried for him to stop. No chance of that—she didn’t mean it anyway. Those were very happy tears, he reckoned.

  “Shh. You’ll wake the dog,” he said, after torturing her enough and working his way back up. He nibbled an earlobe and drew a hiss from her.

  “You are—you are—” she gasped.

  A god? The best lover she’d ever had?

  “—a fiend!”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Moore. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I am d-dead,” she stuttered.

  “No, no, we can’t have that. The night is still young.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her nose.

  “That was spectacular.”

  He smiled down at her. “Agreed.”

  “W-what about you?”

  What about him? He was only in agony, but not about to complain. “I’m fine. It was a joy to watch you come apart for me.”

  “That’s all you want?” she asked doubtfully.

  He cradled her against him, tucking her hair behind her ear. The warmth of her entranced him, but he resolutely kept his private parts from making contact with her soft skin.

  Gentleman.

  Viscount.

  Fool.

  “For now. How long will you be staying in Lower Topsham?”

  She was silent. Maybe she was tired of playing their game.

  Then she touched his jaw. Who knew jaws were erogenous zones? His five o’clock shadow was suddenly on alert. He thought he could actually feel the bristles vibrate.

  “Till the end of the summer.”

  “There, you see? We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better.”

  “Griffin.” She smoothed a fingertip over his chin.

  “Hm?”

  “Life is short.” Her lashes dropped.

  Where was she going with this? He waited.

  “What if something comes up?”

  Oh, something was up, all right. Griffin willed himself to ignore it.

  He swallowed. “You mean an emergency?”

  “I might not be able to stay all summer.”

  “I see.” He pretended to think. “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “That’s just it—what I’d like to do, I can’t. We don’t have—we don’t have the necessary equipment.”

  “You aren’t proposing something acrobatic, are you? I’m in pretty good shape, but I draw the line at sawhorses or swings.”

  C
arrie chortled. “No, silly. I mean protection. I’m on the pill, but—” She let the rest go unsaid.

  She didn’t trust him, and so she shouldn’t. He might be an intimate stranger at the moment, but she was wise not to take a risk. Griffin knew his sexual history, what there had been of it lately. But the world was a dangerous place and Carrie Moore was a smart young woman.

  “Are you saying you’d sleep with me if I had a condom?” Griffin asked.

  “I don’t think much sleep would be involved.” She smiled ruefully.

  “What if I told you I had an entire box of condoms? Unopened. Shiny foil packets.”

  Carrie elbowed him. “Get out.”

  “Don’t hurt me for telling the truth.”

  “Why would you bring condoms to your aunt’s Christmas dinner?”

  “No aunt, remember? No Christmas. No snow. No Maine. Let’s just say like a good Boy Scout, I come prepared.”

  “You aren’t joking?”

  “Why would I get your hopes up? You do want to make me the happiest of men, don’t you?” He waggled an eyebrow.

  “That’s what a Regency hero says in romance novels when he proposes.”

  Griffin’s throat dried. He was not proposing. He might never propose to anyone ever again.

  Carrie giggled. “Sorry, but I had to take you down a peg. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to compromise you. But I wouldn’t mind seeing one of those condoms in action. Maybe even two.”

  Chapter 5

  SO MUCH FOR good intentions. Well, she could make a New Year’s resolution to avoid gorgeous British men who carried around boxes of condoms in blizzards, but New Year’s was a week away. But right now? Seize the day. Or night, as it were.

  Lord Griffin Archer had already proven his worth and should be rewarded for his efforts. He had been such a good sport over the car and the dog and the cottage and her own reluctance to own what she was doing. Not only was he playing along, but he was leading the way. Carrie would find it difficult to say no to him under any circumstances, but after what he’d just done—

  Wow. He was right—she couldn’t find the words to describe what had just happened.

  Right now he was the one looking adorable as she invited him to ravish her further. Trooper that he was, he was rummaging into his overnight bag, his cock at full mast. Wow again. Carrie didn’t have a ton of experience, but she was pretty sure she’d never seen anything as exquisite as Griffin’s physique.