As I load Christmas plates into the dishwasher, my mom catches my ear. “You disappointed there’s no ring?”
Smiling I pull out the fuzzy box with the USB drive. “He asked me to marry him, Mom. But, instead of a ring, he rented office space and got our business all set up. Not only that, Patten Securities is going to sponsor us.”
“Wow. I’m not sure I like the idea of you being a detective but if you’re happy, honey, I am, too.”
The other ladies gather around and I explain as we bring out pastries and pour limoncello.
Later, pleasantly buzzed, Suds helps me into my coat because it’s time for midnight Mass. Outside on the sidewalk, conversation migrates toward the miraculous weeping Jesus of Brooklyn and Mia manages to get a word in edgewise. “It stopped crying. I think it’s happy now.”
“Jesus, Mia, statues aren’t happy or sad.” Rose pokes her sister in the shoulder and Aunt Marion’s voice sounds from the front of our parade.
“Language young lady.”
“Sorry, Mom but this miracle thing is over the top.”
“Be nice. It’s Christmas.”
As we laugh and talk, we make our way to church by the light of decorations so bright, it could be midday.
At church, a policeman directs traffic as volunteer’s herd church-goers into a long line. While my family queues, Suds shakes hands with the SEAL on duty and they talk quietly in the arch of the door to the church.
“Look! Madonna! She’s crying.” The chorus stops singing at a woman’s shout.
She?
Suds strolls to my side as I stand and lean over the fence surrounding the nativity scene. “I told you it was the humidity.”
My bodyguard chuckles as liquid oozes out of the face of the Virgin Mary. “Well, I guess Father O’Connell will be keeping his crowds.”
“Thank Go… pher.”
“Nice catch.”
“The third commandment’s a real bitch.”
“Seems so.”
Arm and arm, me and Suds walk into the church with the rest of our hoard. We stand, sit, and kneel. Then, Father O’Connell takes to the pulpit.
At my family’s quiet moan, Suds leans over. “Is he that bad?”
“Listen closely. You can probably learn a few things about rambling on for hours.” I snicker when he pokes me in the ribs.
“Merry Christmas.” Father O’Connell’s voice booms through the cheap loudspeaker. “Tonight we are indeed blessed. We have another miracle and in this modern world, we forget about them but they’re everywhere.”
He points to baby Kimmy, now asleep in my mom’s arms. “A baby’s smile.”
His gaze moves where I sit close to Suds, “Two young people in love.”
Leaning over the pulpit, he points to the center of the pews. “Miracles abound and yet, we want evidence. I was guilty of this but a woman reminded me, you shall not tempt the lord thy god. Do you? Do you ask God for proof of his existence? Why do you come to St. Thomas’ every Christmas Eve? What if there was no miracle? Would you stay home? Go someplace else? God knows you don’t come for my sermons.”
The congregation titters.
“Tonight, our Virgin Mary cried and I think it was out of pure joy because our nativity’s infant has not only been found but identified. For those that haven’t heard, it was carved by the famous Italian sculptor, Donatello, and will be sold to a Museum in Boston. The funds will be used to repair our aging church and give people a place to come and pray for years. Long ago, I was a boy in this very parish and I always prayed for…”
My lids get heavy and I must doze off because when my eyes open again, Suds whispers, “Nicely done.”
I yawn, grab his ear lobe, and speak so no one else can hear. “How long did it last?”
“About forty minutes. The man is pure genius.”
“Wow, a new record and I missed it.” I open the hymnal to What Child is This, while Suds snickers under his breath.
Finally, the mass finishes with Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus. The high notes remind me of my childhood, screeching and dreadfully out of tune.
By the time we get back home, Joey has already settled in, feeding Kimmy her last bottle. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” I rush into his kitchen, give them both a hug, then climb the stairs and have one last drink with Mia and Rose.
It’s almost three in the morning as we say goodnight and shut my bedroom door.
Sighing happily, I cuddle close and close my eyes until Sebastian’s hands slide under my night shirt and cup my breasts.
“How about silent-night-sex?”
“What if Santa comes while we’re doing the deed?”
“You mean Santa likes to watch? He’ll definitely put you on the naughty list.” He nibbles my ear and crawls on top with knees on either side of mine.
Our kisses become full of passion, our desire spikes, and we make love until almost dawn.
After, he turns on his side, reaches to the bedside stand, and clicks on his brand new brain-wave machine. Then, he spoons with two arms wrapped around me, and we sleep in heavenly peace.
The End
From The Author
Hi, Stella here!
Thank you for downloading A Suds and Sam Christmas! There’s more, including a free gift just for you. If you haven’t yet, you’ll laugh at loud as the duo solves the infamous cat caper in Book One.
Suds and Sam, The Prequel, (only available here)
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Scroll down to start Slate. He has his own story, too!
Love and kisses,
Stella
THE BUSHWICK SERIES
SLATE
I bolt upright at the warble of my house alarm, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Even before my feet hit the floor, I grab my gun off the bedstand and slide off the safety. A familiar stab from my shoulder reminds me to take it easy. My stitches aren’t yet healed.
The nearby cell phone reads two in the morning and I use its light to rush into the bedroom next door. With the noise off, I switch on the wall of monitors.
Shit. Most of the estate’s cameras are down because the goddamn squirrels chewed through the wires. I never figured on needing my surveillance so soon but it’s pretty clear someone opened my front gate.
Barefoot, I rush past four empty bedrooms, jog the length of the living room and two kitchen islands. From there, I open the Anderson doors, pad onto the deck, and peer down at the source of my interrupted sleep.
Thirty feet back, my guest house is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. It’s either some bold squatter or an incredibly stupid thief. Regardless, I plan to scare the shit out of them. Who the hell has the audacity to break into my fucking estate? It must be some out-of-towner. Most everyone around here knows better.
Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I run down the deck steps and make my way across the cold, wet lawn. Worms squish under my toes, crickets stop chirping and inside, a woman sings lightly. I walk up to the bedroom window and look in.
Ah, shit.
A young woman undresses, sexy as hell. She’s got dark brown shoulder-length hair and pert breasts. She’s thin and her calves are muscular, like a runner. My gaze runs up her legs to the curls of her bush and blood runs south.
Ah, fuck it all to hell. Now I’m a pervert? I give her time to dress in pajamas which consist of tiny shorts and a tank top while I consider my next moves. Not too many years ago, I had a buddy blown to bits by a conniving bitch, almost as beautiful as her.
I keep that in mind as I rush to the front door and push it open. In the small kitchen, I figure it’s time to t
each this little trespasser a lesson.
Pulling out my weapon, I shout, “Freeze!”
She slams the bedroom door, a lock clicks, and it takes me two strides to get past the kitchen table.
I bang on the white, painted oak. “Get out here, missy. You have some explaining to do.”
Not only am I pissed some intruder’s in my guesthouse, my shoulder hurts, and my cock’s gone hard. My fucking appendage should know better.
Looking down, it dawns on me I left my room in my birthday suit. I never expected to find a female, a gorgeous one at that. Shit, there’s nothing to do now but grab a throw-pillow and hold it in front of me.
Suddenly, being naked is the least of my problems. The door bursts open and she’s got a weapon. I kick, the gun flies, and my pillow drops. Screaming hysterically, she steps close and pounds her fists on my chest. When one of her blows breaks open my stitches, I’ve fucking had enough.
I grab her wrists, pin them over her head, and press her against the wall. “For crying out loud, stop.”
Her eyes scrunch shut and her heart thumps against my naked chest. Dammit, I didn’t mean to frighten her that badly.
“Look at me.” I step back about a foot as tears leak down her cheek and she bites her lower lip.
“Fuck it all, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing on my property at two in the morning. I won’t call the police, if that’s what’s upsetting you.”
Her eyes pop open.
Ah hell, they’re dark chocolate with a few flecks of gold, framed by naturally thick lashes and no gooey shit. The tears sticking to them make me feel like a complete ass so I move both her wrists to one hand and wipe away the waterworks with the other.
Her mouth moves, lips thick and red. “P-please don’t hurt me.”
I snort and glance down at my shoulder where blood flows from my open wound. “The only one injured is me. If I let you go, you promise not to fight? We can talk?”
She shakes her head up and down, silky locks on her shoulders. However, her gaze traverses to the open windows, the door, and finally between us where my cock has taken a huge interest.
“Sorry.” I let go of her, grab a sheet, and wrap it around my waist. “I sleep naked and you caught me off guard… Sit. Please.”
“W-what do you want with me?” She eases down onto the edge of her bed, her eyes honing in on the gun by her feet which I pick up and turn around.
It’s a realistic-looking water pistol. “What the hell?”
“Mace.”
I shake my head at the stupidity of such a weapon as she narrows her gaze. “So, you’re the infamous Slate. I’m not impressed.”
“And you are?”
She sniffles and swipes her arm under her wet nose. “Lilac Starbird. I was going to be your live-in dog walker. Edna Weissman gave me your access codes. How else could I have gotten through your ten-foot gates?”
Ah shit. She drops her ‘R’s like someone from Boston making Starbird sound like Stahbahd and I don’t know how, but I’m certain my mother’s gone and done it again. For the last six months, she’s been trying to hook me up with nice ladies from good families. This time, I got to hand it to her, she’s upped her game.
“Who are you, really, lady?” I need her to confess and get the hell off my property.
“What’s your problem? Call Edna. She’ll tell you. I’m your dog walker. Well, I was going to be.”
Damn. It’s true I called Edna but I told her to call me back when she found someone. I wanted to interview him. I certainly didn’t tell her to give away my access codes. I gave her specific instructions. She could use them in case of emergency and the dog needed to be fed.
Whatever. There’s still that damn Boston accent. I fucking know my mother set me up.
Lilac, if that’s her name, stands and opens a drawer in the antique dresser. She grabs her unmentionables and tosses them into the suitcase, open on her bed.
The panties are pretty and lacy, too tiny to do much good. They’re the kind made to entice a man. Of course, my cock takes notice.
“Do you mind?” She stops for a moment and glares at my bulging appendage with hands on her waist. “I’ll be out of your hair in just a few seconds.”
“You can’t go. It’s fucking two in the morning.” When I grab her hand, pure electricity sparks between us and we both stare.
Her lush lips open, big eyes widen, and nostrils flair. Holy shit, I let go fast. This is not the time or the place for that much attraction.
Despite the body language, her dry tone implies she’s in agreement. “There must be plenty of hotels. I’ll find one.”
“No. You’re staying right here. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” In another lifetime, I would’ve kissed that look right off her face but now I’m older and wiser. Burnt once, I’m not going there. I no longer play with fire.
As if she hears my thoughts, she gives my thick cock under the sheet a quick glance and pointedly returns her gaze to my face.
“Jesus. That’s not my fault. Look at you.” I give her pointy nipples under her tiny silk top a long, heated, once over.
Face now beet-red, she mumbles, “You’re the one who broke in on me. Edna said you’d be gone.”
“Yeah, well, not too many people know I’m laid up and I prefer it that way.”
The sticky liquid dripping from my stitches makes me run into the bathroom and grab a towel. I’m bleeding all over the place.
“Fuck.” A bit light-headed, I sit and press my hand hard to my shoulder.
“Let me see that.” All business-like, she steps between my legs and of course, my cock does the happy dance.
Focus, Slate.
“What are you, a doctor?”
“Soon.” She lifts my towel, pulls off my bandage, and grimaces.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Do you want me to patch you up or bring you to the emergency room?”
I don’t fancy a night in the hospital. Honestly, I could stitch myself up, if I had to, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. What better way to find out what she’s up to?
KEEP READING…
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