by Susan Arden
Catch You for Christmas is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2014 by Susan Arden
Cover designed by Cover Art Tart
Vishstudio /Shutterstock.com
Dollarphoto.com ~ Canstockphoto.com
CATCH YOU FOR CHRISTMAS by Susan Arden
All rights reserved.
BAD BOYS SERIES
Published in the United States of America by Silver Sprocket Publishing LLC.
Love is a language constructed between two souls.
This story is dedicated to lovers all over the world.
Chapter 1
ELEVEN SECONDS on the clock. This was crunch time and his heart triple-pounded in his chest. The crowds in the stadium chanted “Devils” until it blurred together in a roaring buzz.
“Brett you got this?” Colin asked.
“Absolutely!” he replied, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The Devils were trailing Chicago by two points. Two shitty points and their playoff ranking was slipping through his team’s fingers. Unless he did what he was hired to do. Catch and carry. “Throw me a bullet. Hard. I’ll deliver.” He stared across the huddle at the quarterback.
“Chupacabra. W.O. on three,” Colin said, indicating the decoy play for those eavesdropping, then followed up with the real one.
The team went collectively silent, and then a few players nodded. Fuck. Last pass, last opportunity to score, and this play went well beyond acute. He shifted on his cleats, curling his fingers into fists. With a knee he’d blown out last year, and playing brutally these last few games, a hardcore play could put him out. Permanently. But this was his team and playing half-fast didn’t meld with his personality. Ever. “All in,” he growled.
“Let’s do this!” Colin shouted, laying out his hand in the center of the huddle. Each of the players bumped fists and then together on the break, they hollered, “Devils!”
At the line of scrimmage, Colin called out the count for the play known as White Out. Serious as a heart attack, and required that the QT take command of the field after the snap without missing a beat—throw a deep pass as Brett ran full-on.
On the third ‘hut,’ the center snapped the ball. Brett dug his cleats into the ground, then took off with Hector, a Devils’ safety covering his ass and flanked by Jonah, a burly linebacker who barreled through Chicago’s defensive line. He counted down the seconds, the burn in his calves reaching epic proportions, and his ‘glass’ knee felt just fucking fine.
Three more yards, then two, then one and he pivoted, running backward as he squinted, focusing on the ball coming dead at him. “Huh,” he grunted, capturing the football, tucking his prize against his ribcage, and he did another one-eighty.
Shit! Chicago looked like a fortress with two of their defensive tackles and a fast moving nickelback, more like a cement wall up ahead. He slowed, jerking his chin at Jonah. The linebacker moved ahead of him and effectively dealt with one of Chicago’s blockers. The opening was an escape route and he didn’t hesitate, but took the opportunity presented, powering up his ability to hustle with one target, the end zone. All his!
He sprinted like a scalded dog, eating up the Astroturf, yard after goddamn yard. Crossing the goal line, he yelled, “Whoa!”
Throwing the ball down, he unclipped and removed his helmet, holding it above his head. The crowds stood up, wildly screaming, wildly throwing everything from plastic cups to brassieres onto the field. He didn’t scan the stands for anyone in particular just smiled and waved.
Cory McLemore, the girl holding his heart was over four thousand miles away. He flashed a peace sign at the cameras, blowing a kiss, and mouthing, “I love you, cowgirl!” Laughing, he couldn’t resist and followed up with, “Préparez-vous, bébé !”
“Son of gun!” Colin came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “You pulled it off!”
“We!” he corrected the QT. “We pulled it off. There’s no team of one.”
Coach Rollins along with the whole team rushed down to the end zone for press photographs as the sports news crews spilled onto the field. “Gold, you did…real good!” Rollins punched him in his shoulder pad.
The owner, Vic Castellano walked over to him along with two of the Devils’ cheerleaders. He didn’t shoot the shit with management or the owner often, but with his contract coming up for renegotiation, this wasn’t the moment to turn on his heel and walk away. Even so, he had a plane to catch, and standing around kibitzing wasn’t his style. Now or ever. He left that to the pretty boys on the team who enjoyed basking in the media limelight. Courting the press, not his shtick of late. Talking it up to the reporters, fans, sponsors—he’d done his share and after getting burned by the press, he’d taken a break.
“Gold,” Castellano spoke smoothly, stretching out his arm. “Great play. Those hands. We should get them cast in bronze and featured on our website.”
Vic relished promoting his team after they’d won the Super Bowl twice in a row, and had a good chance of returning. A rarity in the NFL and this would mean a hell of a signing bonus—if he returned next year.
“That’s an idea,” he replied, shaking the owner’s hand. “Thanks.”
“Anything you need?” Vic asked.
“I’m good.”
“We’re meeting at the Brickell for drinks and dinner. Why don’t you join us? My special guest.” Vic winked and wrapped his arms around the cheerleaders’ waists.
Shit, the philosophy of the team—or rather upper management—had done a flip-flop since last year. Instead of frowning on wild times, Castellano sponsored more than a few.
Brickell, or the Brick as it was known, was an exclusive gentlemen’s club and so far, he’d sidestepped most if not all of Vic’s after parties. With his recent divorce, Castellano was doing everything to garner the media’s support and that included lavish spreads where he invited sponsors, politicians, rock stars, the press … anyone who might help sell a seat.
“Got a plane to catch,” he replied. “But thanks for the offer.” After meeting Cory, he’d curtailed appearing at anything smelling of a scandal or inciting gossip. He’d done enough ‘sowing his oats,’ and now preferred his fiancée, partially clothed or naked in his own bedroom, or a location of his choosing, where the two of them could explore each other. Drinking, lap dances, and whatever else was offered up in a team rendezvous wasn’t appealing. Not with a wild filly waiting for him in Paris.
“Gotcha! But eventually, we’ll sit down, over drinks, and talk.” Castellano shook a finger at him and laughed. “Nothing crazy.” Apparently, he realized Brett played hooky at the team orchestrated victory celebrations.
After exchanging a round of congrats with his teammates, and avoiding the press, he waved to those around him, and headed into the locker room.
“Hey, wait up,” Hector called.
“Thanks, dude.” Brett fist bumped the safety. “You’re always where you need to be.”
“Look who’s talking. Holy hell, Brett. We might make it back to the Super Bowl the way we’re rocking the field.”
* * *
EIGHT HOURS and thirty-three minutes after he’d boarded the Delta flight out of Chicago, he stretched as the stewardess leaned over him, holding out a slip of paper. “Please return your seat to the upright position, Mr. Gold.” She tu
cked the slip into his hand and winked.
“Sure thing,” he said, unfolding the piece of paper. He read the name “Giselle” along with a French cell number, and then returned his gaze to hers. She was an attractive brunette and he smiled. “Thanks…but I’ve got a girl.”
She reached out, but instead of taking the note, she curled his fingers around it, and smiled suggestively. “Keep it. I fly international and you might have a moment. I can meet you anywhere, Cheri. Nothing lasts forever. Especially love.”
She cast him a knowing look, cocking an eyebrow before she turned her attention to the other side of aisle, speaking with another passenger before walking away. Her words didn’t set well with him. Slowly, he crumpled the note, looking around for a place to stow the slip of paper. He ripped the paper in half, then quarters, with the intension of tossing it into the nearest trash bin on his way off the plane.
The more he held the note, the more he fought the idea that his and Cory’s love would change—nothing would alter how he felt about his fiancée. She occupied his mind—fuck, nearly drove him out of his mind if the truth be known. He scuttled, playing brutally on the field as a starting tight end, but that wildcat was the real action that kept him scrambling. He might have Cory dead to rights on a few impulsive moves she pulled, and sometimes, it took all his concentration to keep his cool.
By the summer, they’d be married, and his untamed fiancée would be his. Corinth Hera McLemore… all fucking his! And along with her, came her boisterous family. He was an only child but her family was huge. Gargantuan and all her siblings—five brothers—had read him the riot act. McLemore badasses and initially he’d been introduced to two—or really their fists. Since then, he’d received an education in how to treat a lady. Starting from Cory’s older brother, Matt down to his fiancée’s twin brother Rory, each treasured the ground their better halves occupied. Those men weren’t whipped. Hell no. They had their relationships under control. The last time he’d been down to Evermore, the ranch her family owned, her brothers had taken him to a private club. Spurs and Lace near Clarkesville, telling him they were going on a fieldtrip of sorts.
Well he’d gotten an eye-opener in how to wrangle a filly. The club specialized in delivering sexual fantasies, everything from BDSM to sugarkink, and techniques to garner a lover’s full attention. From the private corridors where he’d stood, he’d watched several highly erotic ‘methods’ a man could employee to establish who was boss. The club was once owned by Brandon, Cory’s middle brother, and from what Brett could decipher not everyone in the McLemore family was aware of the club’s existence.
He’d been to his fair share of gentlemen’s clubs, but that place was far different. Exclusive and super private, and yeah, he’d gotten a schooling all right. One he hadn’t forgotten. Only once had he been pushed over the line and spanked Cory’s ass. And since then, he’d refrained; not that he hadn’t felt the itch a time or two to lay that filly across his lap and color her cheeks.
He chuckled to himself. Yeah, that girl could drive him to his knees if he didn’t watch out. But until they were married, he’d decided he’d give her some line to run with and when the ‘I dos’ were said and done, he’d set her straight if she needed his help. Until then, he enjoyed owning her hot little body when he got the chance. He silently groaned at the thought of what lay ahead as he buckled his seatbelt when the runway came into the view.
* * *
EXITING INTERNATIONAL arrivals, he stopped. “Come here,” he said upon seeing Cory a couple yards away, waiting for him. She wore a charcoal grey sweater dress that hugged all her curves, and a pair of shoes that screamed for him to take her—soon! Every muscle in his body tightened.
All around them people swerved, but the second she started toward him with that provocative rocking of her hips, he felt himself thicken in his jeans. Their eyes locked and when she rolled her lower lip between her teeth, it was like she was scraping her teeth over his cock. He waited for her, enjoying the trek and the torture of maintaining his ground.
It was easier to stand down a defensive line than this wildcat who had the power to ignite an unrelenting hunger that ripped through him. Fuck it! He crossed the polished floors of the airport, and scooped her up and into his arms. “Baby, I missed you!”
Great way to show her who’s boss! If her brothers could see him now.
She planted her pillow-soft lips on his and he groaned in relief, forgetting all about anybody’s brothers…anyone and everyone faded from his mind except this woman. She was his. Her soft body melded to him and he inhaled her scent—light as a wildflowers and clean like sunlight—and wrapped his arms around her tighter as he tasted her mouth. She opened for him, moaning his name. No way to hold back—this close to heaven. He thrust his tongue across her lips, into her mouth, sliding over her tongue until he was lost in their kiss. The breath swelled in his chest, and he deepened their kiss until his lungs burned, and both of them were panting in the aisle.
“I love you,” she said when he released his attempt to consume her. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Darling, did you see the touchdown? …I’m trying to learn some French. Je te aime, cowgirl.”
“Sounds perfect. So perfect! And yep. I saw the whole game and replayed you scoring, Mr. Gold. Pretty amazing. And your message. Super hot.”
“So are you?”
“Ready? In a New York second. Say the word.”
He laughed. “You up for being spontaneous?”
“I’m up for anything you’ve got to give me, cowboy.”
He backed her up to the wall and looked down at her, tipping up her chin. With her captivating blue eyes framed by thick lashes, he was positive he could remain spellbound by her gaze forever. Yeah what they had wasn’t going to change and he hungered for like no other. “I only brought this carry-on so it’s not like I have to waste time with getting luggage. I’m ready for you. Did you bring the car?”
“Affirmative,” she whispered.
“Good thing, we Americans like things large. I always knew there was a reason to have a Range Rover instead of a tiny sports car in a city like Paris.”
“Not for sightseeing?”
“Oh we’ll be seeing some sights. But they’re private. No one else is invited. Let’s go, sugar.” He pressed his fingers to the small of her back, piloting her through the terminal.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked as he held open the exit door.
“You still have access to the mirrored room?”
Her eyes widened and then she smiled mischievously. “The one where we conduct field research on how mirrors impact consumer spending?”
“Yep,” he whispered, taking her arm and bringing her closer. “We can conduct our own research.”
“Very interesting concept,” she replied, her gaze lowering down the front of his body, stopping at his crotch, as she seemed to be considering the matter. Her eyes rebounded to his. “It’s Monday and the place is empty. There’s not much furniture.”
He laughed. “If there’s a wall, we’ve got what we need. Hell, a locked door will suffice.”
They walked to the SUV and he opened her door, helping her climb inside. After buckling her seatbelt, he took possession of her face between his hands. He kissed her long and hard, giving into his hunger to sample her mind-bending lips before taking the wheel. Her lips were soft, her mouth wet and warm. And she had him coming apart. His pulse raced, his cock throbbed, and he lifted his head, surveying people scurrying near them.
“Not the best place to begin a reunion,” he murmured.
She smiled indulgently. “Not with the police right over there.”
He groaned, and planting a last kiss, one that started out lingering and chaste on the heart of her mouth, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. When she whimpered, he slid one hand to the back of her head, holding her steady as he sought entrance to her mouth, her sounds, her taste, wanting to dr
aw the essence of her deep into his body.
He pulled back, looking into her eyes, and then pressed his forehead to hers. “Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me. Do you?”
*
The drive took less than fifteen minutes and in that time, they listened to the stereo. Words were heavy in his mouth, stuck at the back of his throat. He craved getting Cory naked and thrusting all the way inside her—deeper than a prayer.
“Over there,” she said. “Take the next left. There’s parking in the rear.”
They pulled into the alley, behind a small building. On the front side, the building faced a street that was lined with shops, cafes, clubs popular at night. At ten in the morning, the neighborhood around was just coming alive. The alley was empty except for a few delivery trucks. Cory keyed in the security code and a loud buzz rang out as the hardware clicked. He grabbed the handle, and pulled the heavy iron door open.
“What the heck was this place?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” she replied, beckoning him with a crooked finger. “This was your idea.”
As they walked down a dark hallway, Cory flicked a switch and a chandelier at the end of the hall lit up, casting flashes of color from the ornate crystal prisms which seemed ready to drip and fall.
They walked by an open doorway and he peered inside, taking in the long marble topped bar, crushed velvet furniture, and a baby grand piano.
“Was this a bar?”
“It was and upstairs are rooms…bedrooms. Funny that you’d mention wanting to come here. Of course, we cleared out the furniture, but the fixtures, wallpaper and wainscoting are amazing. There are two armoires that are going to be sold at auction, and if this was close to Texas, I’d bid on them. They’re antiques. I know my sister-in-law would love one.”
He followed behind her as they scaled the staircase, their footsteps were hushed by Persian carpeting that was bolted down with brass runner rods on each step. Whatever kind of establishment it was in its heyday, this had been high-class and reminded him of the S & L. He placed his hand on Cory’s hip at the stop step, and swept her up into his arms. “No more waiting. Point the way.”