Holiday Kisses: A Rare GiftMistletoe and MargaritasIt's Not Christmas Without YouThis Time Next Year

by Alison Kent

  She pulled back to look up at him, her enigma, his eyes so kind, so bleak, so full of arousal. “Did you just call me a slave?”

  His laughter rattled off the kitchen walls and vibrated the length of her limbs. “Guess there’s no way to convince you it was a compliment?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” she said, returning to the stove to dish up the casserole, and asking herself again, why now?

  After dinner, Dillon sent Brenna to the main room while he cleaned the kitchen. He’d been kidding with the slave remark, but realized she’d been doing a whole lot of things he would never ask of a guest, and he was liking it. Liking both her taking charge, and taking care of him. Stupid when his job defined caring for others.

  And, yeah. He got that all the casseroles weren’t presented in trade or barter. That there were more than a few women on the mountain who’d made it clear they were ready and willing to take over the care and feeding of him.

  He wasn’t interested in any of them. And he didn’t yet know why Brenna was different, but he was definitely interested in her.

  Maybe it was the close quarters. Conditions the last couple of days had made it impossible to do more than very limited rounds, and he admitted it. He didn’t do well when he had nothing to do. Woodworking filled that void, but he didn’t want Brenna asking about it. He was surprised she hadn’t.

  His woodworking was too connected to his years spent at war for him to explain where it came from. And as much as he wanted to take her to bed, he wouldn’t barter for that pleasure by baring his soul. Nobody got that close. Ever.

  Piling cookies onto a plate, he carried them along with two cups of coffee to the main room. Instead of curling up in her usual corner of the couch, Brenna sat cross-legged on the floor between the coffee table and the fireplace.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t respond to his setting down the drinks and eats, and only looked over when he joined her on the handspun rug he’d taken in payment from a patient.

  “I’d say a penny for your thoughts, but that’s too close to slave wages…”

  She grinned. “You are a funny man. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Your grandmother.”

  “Now that I believe. I don’t know anyone with a better sense of humor than Gran.” She took the coffee mug he handed her. “I tried to call her earlier. Your line’s still down and there’s no such thing as a cell signal up here.”

  “And somehow everyone manages just fine.”

  She looked over from the corner of her eye as she sipped. “You don’t miss being plugged in?”

  “I am plugged in.” He pointed toward the ceiling and the roof above. “I’m a doctor. I’ve got satellite.”

  “A satellite phone? Or just internet and TV? Not that either seem to be working.”

  He’d watched her hopes rise. Hated dashing them. “No phone. Sorry.”

  Eyes closed, she dropped her head back against the table. “What does your satellite tell you about the storm?”

  The wind howled outside the front door, scratched at the windows, rode flames up and down the chimney. Neither one of them needed satellite to know they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. “I’ll get you to Donota’s by Christmas, Brenna. I promise you that.”

  She turned her head, her gaze finding his, and he was lost. He wanted her. She wanted him. So what if the timing was all wrong and they’d have only this? It was more than the men he’d lost had been given.

  Leaning forward, he set his mug on the hearth, took hers from her hands and did the same. Then he moved over her, urging her down, stretching his body the length of hers. The rug was soft, though little protection against the hard floor beneath.

  And when he covered her, he did so gently, bearing the bulk of his weight with his arms, his elbows braced at her sides.

  Chapter Eight

  “Do you want this?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “Do you want me?”

  “Both,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her body trembling, her eyes bright and sharp. “But—”

  “Shh. I know you’re leaving. I know we can’t get involved.” He also knew, but didn’t tell her, that he wasn’t fit to be any woman’s partner. “But we’re here, and we have now, and sometimes that’s all we get.”

  She freed the arm wedged between them and brought her hand to his face. “I could fall for you in a heartbeat. That seems like a dangerous thing to put a match to.”

  Even so… He closed his eyes, opened them, stared into hers. “This is all I can promise.” And then he watched her throat work as she swallowed.

  “I don’t want you to break my heart.”

  He couldn’t give her that unless he moved away. Even then it could be too late. It was too late for him. Whatever happened this Christmas, he’d remember her for all the rest.

  “Your call, sweetheart. Just know…”

  And suddenly he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell her that he hadn’t laughed in ages, that his cabin had never felt like a home as much as a place to hang his coat and hat.

  That he’d dreamed of her the last two nights, not of blood and sand, not of reckless, needless loss, but of her.

  He tried to tamp down memories that had no business in this moment, then realized his service was as much a part of the man Brenna wanted as was his childhood, his years in the ER, his life on the mountain.

  Before he could find words safe enough to say, she slid her hand from his cheek to his nape and pulled his head down, finding his mouth with hers.

  This wasn’t a kiss like the others. This one was simple, sweet. Pure. A kiss of caring, not desire, though he couldn’t ignore the arousal winding through him with her touch, her scent, both as familiar as his name.

  She kneaded the base of his skull, slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, opened her legs to cradle his weight. He wanted this, he needed this, the contact so intimately tender he thought he might break.

  And then her kiss grew bolder, her tongue more insistent. She worked her arms beneath his to massage the muscles on either side of his spine. His erection thickened, and he pressed himself against her, losing the battle with taking things slow.

  He slid his fingers into her hair, slanted his mouth harder, pushed his tongue deeper and began to rock his hips. She rocked with him, her hands roaming his back, her legs hooked over his to keep him close.

  She was making this so easy, and he wasn’t ready to finish so soon. They had all night. He wanted all night. He wanted her in his bed, naked, the storm raging. He wanted to bury the both of them with pillows and quilts until neither had the strength to stir.

  The thought had him groaning, as did the touch of Brenna’s hands against his back as she tugged his shirt from his belt to find skin. He rolled to the side, the fireplace crackling with a hard gust of wind, and reached for the hem of her sweater.

  He bared her slowly, watching the play of light on her flesh. She was warm and soft, beautiful, perfect, and he held her gaze as he bent to kiss her belly, moving higher until his lips grazed her breast.

  She caught her breath sharply, let it go with a sigh, and then she pulled away to sit up. With her eyes on his, she stripped her sweater over her head, then released the clasp of her bra. The straps slipped down her arms, then stopped. He used one finger to help them along until finally her breasts spilled free.

  She was gorgeous, the color of peaches in the fire, her nipples blushed darker, her lips wet where her tongue had slicked over them. He reached for her and she came, crawling into his lap and looping her arms around his neck, leaning back in invitation.

  He accepted, bending to take her into his mouth. She whimpered as he sucked her, moaned as he curled his tongue around the taut peak, gasped as he used his teeth.

  And then she straightened, and her hands were at his shirt snaps, popping them open before shoving his sleeves from his shoulders. He brought her close, kept her there with one hand on her back and one in her hair, and kissed her until he was thinking with his cock.
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  “Do you think we could take this to the bedroom?” he asked against her mouth.

  “I like the fire,” she told him, nipping at his ear. “But, yeah. A bed would be good. Though really,” she added in a gruff-voiced whisper, “all I need is you.”

  For a moment, her words froze him. How many others in need had he failed? Then he remembered where he was, who he was with, and he closed the door on the past.

  “I’m all yours,” he told her as he gained his feet, and with her legs around his waist, his arms around her, he carried her to bed.

  The second they tumbled onto the mattress, Brenna rolled away to switch on the lamp. His legs dangling over the edge of the bed, Dillon raised up on to his elbows and frowned, but before he got out a word, she pushed him down.

  “I want to see you,” she said, tugging off her boots and jeans and giving him no time to argue. “I don’t want to be in the dark. Not tonight.”

  Because he was right. They had tonight and might never be here again. She couldn’t imagine spending this moment in darkness. Too much of her pleasure came from looking at him, from anticipating the touch of his hands, his mouth, from seeing his expression, his lust, the sweat on his skin.

  Wearing only her panties, she straddled his thighs. Then looked down into his worried eyes, his haunted, hungry eyes, ready to put him at ease. “If we’re going to do this, I want to make it unforgettable.”

  With that, she braced her hands on either side of his head and leaned down to kiss him. Her nipples brushed his bare chest, and she swayed, dragging them through the wedge of hair there that felt like strands of silk, tickling. He groaned, his hands settling at her hipbones and holding tight.

  His fingers gouged her flesh and no doubt she’d have bruises, but those would fade and for a few days, anyway, she’d have the reminder of this night, of Dillon, an after Christmas gift to see her into the New Year when her life wouldn’t be this life anymore.

  The thought that she was creating one more thing to leave behind had her throat swelling, her eyes growing damp, and for a moment she wished she’d left off the light. But the moment passed, and she pulled her mouth from his to trail kisses along his jaw, down his neck, along his collar bone to his shoulder where she bit him. Not hard, but enough to leave a mark. She wanted him to have a reminder of her, too.

  He gave a grunt, half pleasure, half pain, and she licked the wounded skin before moving to his chest. There she found a nipple, and swirled her tongue around it, and pinched the other until his grunt turned to a more visceral sound, one that rumbled through her, thunder with lightning sparking where they touched.

  A final lick and she moved to the trail bisecting his abs. His erection thickened, lengthened, and she covered it with her hand when she stopped.

  “I’d wondered what your belt buckle said.” A gold caduceus in the center sat beneath the words United States and above the word Army. “Just didn’t think I’d get close enough to see.”

  He crossed his arms beneath him like a pillow and rested his head on his wrists. “You could’ve asked.”

  “And admit I was checking you out?”

  “You should have. Look at how much time we’ve wasted getting here.”

  She laughed, ran a fingertip over his lips then wet a path down his middle to the buckle holding her back. “Wasted? I didn’t even wait two days before kissing you.”

  “That was two days too long.” His gaze sizzled, singing her. A tic beat in the vein at his temple.

  She released the buckle’s hook from the hole in the worn leather and carefully freed each button of his fly. She did it all without looking but holding his gaze, watching his pupils dilate, watching his lids drop to half mast.

  It was intoxicating, to know she affected him so, a heady feeling, to have this much power. She came to him with nothing more than desire, no years of experience to draw on. All she had was the last two days, and the things she’d learned about him, and desire.

  When she spread open his jeans, he reached for her, his hands covering her breasts as she did the same to him through the white fabric of his briefs. He was gorgeously ridged, full and bold, urgent in his need. He swelled as she drew her fingers as far as she could, and still she looked nowhere but into his eyes.

  What she saw there, his enjoyment, his hunger, stirred her, and she freed him, bending to take him into her mouth. He was smooth against her tongue, engorged to bursting, and he was warm and salty and weighty where she held him. She tongued the slit in his cock’s head, tongued the underside seam, then wrapped her lips beneath the ridge and sucked.

  He let her have her way for a minute at the most, then broke her hold and sat up, ridding himself of boots and jeans and his unbuttoned shirt and his socks. “Now. I’m all yours.”

  If only it were true. That he was hers for more than this moment. He was so beautiful, stretched out as he was, taking up most of the bed and hers to use.

  His limbs were long, his arms muscled, his legs, too, his chest and abs sculpted as if he passed his time in the gym when she knew he didn’t. She walked her fingers over the ridges defining his stomach, wondering how much of his body he’d built during the war, working out to keep from going stir crazy, to relieve the stress of the things he saw, of waiting for RPGs and gunfire.

  The thought had her eyes closing, her chest aching. Fear trembled through her and he wasn’t even there anymore. He was here and for tonight he was hers. She stretched out beside him, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, hooked her leg over his and nestled her thigh against the warmth of his groin.

  “You feel good.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  She grinned against his skin, plucked softly at the hair on his chest. “I like touching you. I like looking at you.”

  His cock stirred, nudging her leg. “Have at it. Just, you know, don’t take too long.”

  “Take too long?” Oh, but the wait made the want that much better.

  He grabbed her hand where she was toying with his nipple, moved it down his body and wrapped her fingers around his erection. “That’s better.”

  “You’re right. It is.” She began to stroke him then, watching the motion of her hand on his shaft, the play of her thumb circling the tight skin on the head. Her own arousal blossomed, her nipples tightened, her sex grew full and damp. And then she rolled on top of him again. “But this is better still.”

  The look in his eyes said play time was over, and he proved it to be true. Opening the bedside drawer for a condom, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her against him before rolling it on. His mouth devoured hers, slanting and bringing her close, his tongue thrusting into her mouth to find hers.

  When he pushed his hand between her legs, she gasped but made room. He parted her lips with the length of a finger, slid up and down to spread her moisture from her entrance to her clit. She ground against his hand, then against the bones of his pelvis, his hair scraping her tender flesh with unbearable friction.

  She was ready, and he was ready, and she lifted her hips and guided him into place. Holding his gaze, she pushed herself onto him, taking him slowly, savoring the first breach as his body entered hers. He gripped her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the swell of her breasts.

  The stubble on his face couldn’t hide the tic in his jaw, and she loved that she made that happen. She lifted, lowered, rode him to a rhythm that he matched with the upward thrust of his hips. He filled her, stretched her. The base of his shaft rubbed against her clit as she writhed, seeking the sweet spot where her nerve endings sizzled, whimpering when she hit it.

  “Good?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “Unbelievable.” It was true. Nothing had prepared her for the sensation setting her body on fire. It was more than what she’d known, bigger and consuming and potent. It devoured her and possessed her, and she was lost.

  Lost in Dillon, lost in more than his touch. Lost in all the things he was, that he offered, safety and courage, compassion and generosity. She could so ea
sily fall in love with him, love him, and she knew this moment held her future in its hands.

  Dillon wrapped his arms around her waist and sat up, bodily forcing her to him. But with his gaze on hers, their connection became more than sex. Became her whole world. Became everything she knew and was, and oh, what a heady rush.

  His forearms on either side of her spine, he hooked his hands over her shoulders and rocked her back and forth. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her sex owned by his cock and his thighs and hard muscled abs. He was everywhere, and she couldn’t get enough, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, gave up. Her core tightened, pressure built, scratching, urging. He whispered in her ear, words she couldn’t make out but didn’t need to. Sex words, sex sounds. Begging, desperate, demanding, hot.

  She let go, cried out, drowning. She couldn’t draw breath, and he followed her into the wake, groaning and shuddering for what seemed like forever. And just as they’d exploded together, then they calmed together, coming down to earth as different people, knowing nothing between them would ever be the same.

  Chapter Nine

  After the energy he’d expended the last few hours, Dillon was surprised to find himself still awake. Surprised, too, that Brenna hadn’t slept at all. Dawn would be here soon, and if his senses were accurate, the storm that had brought her into his life was dying. That meant she’d be leaving, and if he slept he’d miss out on the rest of their time.

  Then again, he didn’t trust his senses for much of anything right now. They’d been scraped raw, peeled to the core, sanded down until they were numb. She’d done that to him, Brenna. Taken all he had. Demanded more. He couldn’t remember the last time… No. There had been no last time. He’d never known a woman like Brenna Keating.

  “It’s okay if you sleep, you know,” he told her, aiming his words down to where she lay curled at his side.