The bite of frustration and the snap of firm anger seeps into his tone. “I’m not gonna say it again, Eves.”
Wow, even hotter.
I lower my hand and do my best to give him a rebel glare through one good eye, and one squinting, blurry one. Jace peers down at me, his jaw tight, and I lean forward—to soak up every second of being this near to him. His shoulders are even broader this close-up, and beneath his shirt I can make out the prominent cut muscles of his chest and arms.
Jace swipes his thumb along the apple of my cheek slowly, wiping away a tear from the leaky eye. And the feel of his touch . . . dear God . . . I don’t know how I keep from moaning, but thank you baby Jesus, I do.
“It’s looks okay. You’ll be all right, Evie.”
He says my name softly now. Gently. A tone I’ll hear in my dreams and fantasies—a pillow-talk, late night kind of whisper that makes me grow hot and wet between my legs.
But after a moment, I step back and force a smile. Because I have some pride.
At least, I think I do.
“Told you. Totally fine.”
I’m not fine. Not even close to fine.
I’m a mess.
Because I love him.
Love. Him.
Deeply. Soul-wrenchingly. The yearning is a constant pulling weight in the center of my chest.
He’s the perfect man. I didn’t know men could be perfect, but Jace is.
It’s more than the outside package—though speaking of packages, he’s either carrying a big pet cucumber around in his jean’s pocket—or his is superb.
But it’s who Jace is on the inside that really has me hooked. It’s the welcoming, kind way he treats everyone around him—employees and friends and even strangers. It’s the sweet way he hugs his older sister off her feet when she visits, and lifts his giggling little niece up onto his shoulders.
There’s an integrity that emanates from him. He’s hardworking. He bought The Black when it was a rundown dive of a place and single-handedly worked his ass off—and that part of him is fine too—to turn it into the diamond it is today. Jace has an inherent honor, an easy charm, dedication, caring strength and protectiveness. He’s a good man.
A sexy, hot-as-hell, good man, that I want to ride like my own personal mechanical bull. Who I want to cherish and worship and adore. Forever and ever.
Because I love him. I’m in love with Jace Winters.
There, I said it…even if just out loud in my own mind. I can’t remember ever not being in love with him.
And it’s turning me into a total fucking idiot.
A few minutes later, once I can see clearly out of both eyes again, I’m in the kitchen, arranging purple kale garnish on the two plates of burgers and fries, as Ryan, the Black Diamond cook, makes conversation. Ryan’s name is on one of the stockings hanging from the mantle below Walter. There’s one for each of us—me, Jace, Ryan, Heather, and Kevin, the back-up cook and bartender who’ll be in later. We’re one big Black Diamond family.
“You heading back east for Christmas this year?”
Back east is New Jersey, where my parents still live. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but we’re not distant either. I’m an only child but my parents are the types who didn’t actually mean to have a kid—it just sort of happened. So while I know there will always be a place for me in their home, when I flew the nest and relocated to Colorado four years ago, they weren’t exactly brokenhearted about it.
I shake my head. “Not this year. Can’t afford the plane ticket. I finally saved up enough to buy the car I’ve been eyeing at Dooney’s Garage. She’s my Christmas present to myself.”
“Cool.” Ryan pushes a hand through his short blond hair, and runs his teeth across his lower lip. “We’ve got a gig the day after Christmas just outside Aurora—you want to come? It’ll be a good time. Maybe you and me could grab something to eat after?”
Ryan’s an Alpine local—born and raised. He’s about my age and plays lead guitar in a band that’s not half bad. Jace lets them play live here on Wednesday nights. Heather’s been crushing on Ryan forever—almost as long as I’ve been obsessed with Jace.
And even if she wasn’t, I don’t date. The hunk out behind the bar may not realize he’s got my heart under lock and key—but I do. Leading someone else on, giving another guy the idea that I might be interested in him, when I know there’s no chance, just wouldn’t be right.
Before I can answer, the hunk himself is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his eyes cold with impatience.
“You got that order or what, Evie?” Jace jerks his dark head out toward the main room. “Customers are waiting.”
I give him a nod. “Coming right up.”
I pick up the plates and smile at Ryan on my way toward the door. “Thanks for asking, but I can’t.”
Not now. Not ever. Not with him.
Yep . . . totally pathetic.
“You want another round?” I ask the young, trendy couple, as I set their burgers in front of them and point to their almost-empty mugs of dark Guinness.
They each nod and I head over to the bar to fill the order.
The girl kind of reminds me of me—with her full, wild wavy hair and dark brown eyes. The me I was four years ago—back when I used to date.
Dating is how I ended up here.
It was Dylan McCaffery—he wasn’t Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now—he was more Mr. Pass-the-Time. And when he suggested a cross-country road trip, my twenty-one year-old self quit my job as a dental office receptionist, emptied my savings account, and hit the road for some good old life experience.
The first few days went well, but by the time we stopped in Alpine two weeks later, Dylan and I were bickering like two people who couldn’t stand each other.
Because we actually couldn’t stand each other.
The final straw came when I showered first—using all three minutes-worth of the hot water in our motel room.
That’s when Dylan, and his car, ditched me.
My plan was to grab something to eat, spend the night in the motel and head back to New Jersey the next day. But then, I walked into The Black Diamond for that something to eat. Jace was behind the bar, and Heather was my waitress and by the end of the night—I had a new roommate and a new job, and the start of a whole new life.
It’s funny. Sometimes life is like a maze in those activity books for kids. You take a swirly, roundabout path, just to end up right where you were supposed to be all along.
“Have you ever had a sexual fantasy about Santa Claus? If yes, describe in detail below.”
I look up from the paper in front of me, at my roommate Heather.
“This is wrong on so many levels. Explain this to me again?”
We’re in the breakroom—I’m starting my break and she just came in to start her shift. She twists her blond hair into a bun on top of her head and puts her purse in the locker. “It’s called The Naughty List—it’s an anonymous survey for my human sexuality class. I need to gather responses from friends and acquaintances over the winter break, so do me a solid and fill it out.”
Heather is working toward her physical therapy degree.
“What do naughty fantasies have to do with PT?” I ask.
“I have two theories. A—physical therapy is about the health of the whole person, sexual health included. Or B—my professor needs fodder for his spank bank.” She shrugs. “Probably some combo of the two.”
Heather’s hazel eyes open wide. “Oh! I almost forgot . . . speaking of spank banks . . . I got some saucy holiday fashion for the Christmas party this week!”
She reaches back in her locker, and pulls out two clingy t-shirts, holding them up. In jolly green letters, one says, “I love big balls,” above an image of two, large Christmas balls hanging suggestively below it. The other shirt displays, “Who wants to stuff my stocking?” across the chest in bright, Santa-red writing.
“What do you think?”
I laugh, giving the thumbs up. “I t
hink we’re going to look like a couple of ho, ho, hoes.”
“Perfect!” She heads for the door, pointing toward the paper on the table. “Now get to writing down your dirtiest fantasies! And be honest—I promise I won’t read it—and your name isn’t on it.”
Once she’s out the door, I take a sip of my hot chocolate and focus on the Naughty List. Here we go:
Have you ever fantasized about bondage/kink?
I don’t think I’d be into the full-out Anastasia Steele experience or anything—peeled ginger root in the ass is a hard no for me.
But a guy who’s take-charge? Bossy? Someone who’ll bend me over, twist me around, pull my hair, hold me down—because he knows exactly what he’s doing and that I’m going to love every second of it? Hell yeah. Sign me up for that.
Yes
Have you ever fantasized about being spanked during sexual intercourse?
I imagine Jace pressing my cheek down against the leather seat of one of the bar stools, then smacking the globe of my ass with one of his big, rough, beautiful, hands because I’d been a very bad girl. A liquid trail of sexy heat blazes through my mind, straight down to my core, making my muscles clench.
I may not have fantasized about spanking before—but it’s going to be at the top of the menu from now on.
Yes
Have you ever fantasized about food play during sexual intercourse? If yes, what kind?
Grinning like a naughty girl, I pick up the spoon on the table and stir it through the thick hot chocolate. When I lift the spoon out, creamy dark molten liquid cascades down into the mug in a slow, thin line—perfect for dripping, then licking off all sorts of interesting places.
Melted chocolate
Check all that apply:
I enjoy dirty talk.
Check
I enjoy baby talk.
Noooooo. I grimace. That box stays empty.
I enjoy swallowing during oral sex.
Spitters are quitters, and I’m no quitter.
Check
I enjoy gagging during oral sex.
Hmm…that’s a new one. I tap the pen against my lips. Would I be okay with gagging on Jace’s cock?
Why yes . . . yes, I would.
Check.
I enjoy anal sex/play.
I check the box, but clarify:
Never tried, but open to new experiences.
What are your naughtiest recurring fantasies? Describe below:
Although names are completely unnecessary, I’m on a roll. The images play out in my mind like a sensuous silent film, making my breath quicken and my nipples hard. So I just write what I see.
- Jace lifting me onto the bar. Kissing me everywhere—my mouth, my neck, my breasts, between my legs. Then he pulls me down, turns me around, and fucks me hard and fast over the bar as he groans in my ear.
- Jace pulling my hair while I’m on my knees for him—showing me just how he likes it, taking what he wants, while I give him everything he needs. Making him feel so good, he never wants to let me go.
- Jace making love to me, slow and sweet, for hours on the bear rug in front of the Black Diamond’s fireplace. The two of us warm and wrapped around each other, while the snow falls outside the window.
- Telling Jace Winters I’m in love with him. Knowing he feels the same way. Running the bar with him, marrying him, having 3.5 kids and a Husky named Snowbell with him. Making a life with him.
The last one is different from the others—not really naughty at all. I don’t know why I write it. Maybe to sort it all out in my mind.
Or maybe because Christmas is a time when wishes come true . . . and that last one is the wish I want most of all.
“Hey Chickadee.” Kevin Grady says, coming into the breakroom.
Kevin’s a Willie Nelson, “cool uncle” type of guy—early sixties, long gray hair tied in a low ponytail, functioning pot-head, who can pretty much fix anything and makes a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies. He’s worked for Jace as the back-up bartender and cook longer than any of us. Kevin is good people.
“Hey Kev.”
“One of Dooney’s guys just dropped something off for you in the back parking lot.” He smiles, holding up a jingling set of car keys. “I believe these belong to you.”
I squeal. Literally squeal—like a kid opening the latest iPhone on Christmas morning—but louder.
“Oh my God! It’s here!” I fold the Naughty List into my back pocket. “Come see it with me Kevin!”
He opens the door. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”
I stick my head into the kitchen. “Ryan—it’s here! Come see!”
Ryan smiles from behind the stainless-steel counter.
“The Christmas present to yourself?”
“Yes! Come check it out!”
Out in the main area, I grab Heather’s hand and call Jace from behind the bar to follow us out the back door. It’s before the evening rush, so the customers will be good for a few minutes. Everyone files out into the parking lot, surrounding my beautiful new, used, car.
It’s the first big thing I ever bought for myself. The first car I ever bought period. And she’s every bit as adorable as when I first saw her.
I lift up my hands, like a dark-haired Vanna White.
“Tada! What do you think? Isn’t she pretty?” I ask, bouncing.
But none of them seem as excited as I am.
“Yeah,” Heather tries—but I can tell she’s forcing it. “It’s a gorgeous car, Evie.”
“Definitely.” Ryan agrees, looking confused. “Real pretty.”
Kevin scratches behind his head. “Uh…it’s a Mustang, baby-doll.”
Yes, it is. Cherry red, with a white top and all mine.
“I know! I always wanted a Mustang.”
And then I look at Jace—because his reaction matters most of all. But his expression makes my heart shrivel a little inside my chest. Because Jace looks pissed-off. Like super pissed off.
Like his glare could melt snow, and burn Santa’s reindeer right out of the sky, kind of pissed off.
“Jace?”
“It’s a convertible, Evie,” he growls.
“Yeah, I know.” I say softly this time.
Jace holds his arms out—gesturing to the snowflakes falling all around us.
“It’s a goddamn convertible!” He points at the car. “Does it have rear-wheel drive?”
“Yes,” I admit, my face starting to feel hot.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to drive a rear-wheel drive, Mustang, fucking convertible around here? On these roads?” he snaps. “Dooney sold you this death trap? He didn’t even throw in chains or snow tires, the bastard.”
“It’s not a death-trap.” I argue. “It’s my dream car and I love it.”
“Oh yeah? Do you love breathing? Cause I give it a fucking week before we’re dragging you out of a ditch or scraping you off a tree.”
I fold my arms.
“You have a Harley, Jace.”
It’s dark blue, and shiny chrome, and seeing him ride it is an orgasm for the eyes.
“A Harley I drive a total of two weeks a year, when it’s not snowing.” He jabs his finger toward the black pickup parked across the lot. “The rest of the time, my ass is in a safe, reliable truck! What the hell were you thinking?!”
“Easy brother.” Kevin says, but Jace just continues to shoot blue daggers at me.
He holds out his hand and snaps. “Give me the keys. I’ll get your money back tomorrow. You’re not driving this.”
My grip on the keys tightens. And he notices.
“I’m an adult.” I lift my chin. “And I don’t need you—”
Then Jace does something he’s never done before.
He yells at me.
So loud and sharp, I jump.
“Fucking keys, Evie! Now!”
Jace is bossy and take-charge. He’s tough and stubborn. But he’s never been mean.
Until now.
My cheeks bu
rn with embarrassment and my eyes go damp with hurt and fury. And I feel everyone—everyone that I care about—watching me. Watching us.
So I slap the keys in his stupid hand. Because for the first time in ever—I don’t want to be near him. And giving him the keys is the fastest, easiest way to get away.
With my head up and my shoulders straight, I turn my back on him and walk into the bar. Behind me, I hear comments—and it makes me feel better knowing my friends are on my side.
“Harsh, dude. Way harsh.”
“Nice job, Jace.”
“Merry fucking Christmas, everyone!”
“Way to be a ho, ho…asshole, man.”
Did I say Jace was perfect? That statement still stands. But at this moment, he’s a perfect jerk.
Ten minutes later, I’m still in the breakroom—at the table, sucking on a candy cane within an inch of its life and about to cross out Jace’s name on the Naughty List with swift, murderous strokes of my pen.
But before I do, his voice comes from the doorway behind me. His normal voice now. Strong and steady and warm.
“That candy cane is looking pretty dangerous. Should I be worried?”
I glance at the peppermint stick in my hand—at the sharp, pointy-tipped weapon I’ve sucked it into.
I put the pen on the table and shrug. “Maybe.”
I fiddle with a corner of the paper on the table, as Jace walks into the room.
“I’ll stab you in the heart and eat it after. The perfect crime.” I tell him. “Bet you thought I was too stupid to think of that.”
He sighs.
And pulls out the chair next to me, sitting on it backwards, the way guys do.
“I never said you were stupid, Eves.”
My heart feels sore. Achy.
“You implied it. Same thing.”
He’s quiet for a few moments and I don’t look at him, but I feel the touch of his eyes on me.
“I was a dick,” he says gently.
“Yup.”
“And I’m sorry.”
I look at him then. And God, he’s beautiful. It’s really not fair. His gorgeous mouth is heavy at the corners and his eyes are sky-blue, soft with remorse.
“Can I have my keys back?”
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