Mischief Under The Mistletoe

by Maren Smith

  “You went back there? You told me you wouldn’t go back.” He rounded the table between them in two long strides. Clutching her left upper arm, he squeezed it upward until she stood on her toes, her face inches from his. “Why did you do that? I forbade you to return.”

  His breath puffed into her lips with each word he pronounced. “Why do you care what I do? I only said I wouldn’t so you would stop beating me.”

  Towing her with him, he returned to the chair from last night’s assault, ripped down her pants, dumping her across his lap again. She yelled. She kicked. She beat her fists against his leg. But he didn’t do anything. He kept his palm lodged in her lower back, but no spanking commenced. She stilled.

  “I didn’t know it was that bad,” he confessed.

  Remorse? Not the reaction she expected. She wanted him to feel bad, yes, but about causing her to lose the money she needed. She didn’t care much about the spanking. Except in the fact it caused her to not be able to dance.

  “Don’t worry about that. I bruise easy. Always have. I lost money I need because of it, though, and that’s not good.”

  In one swift motion she found herself standing in front of him. Her pants bunched up at her knees. He lowered his head. He placed his fingertips on the outside of each of her legs, brushing them over her skin, before he hooked them in her pants stretching them away from her body and returned them to their original position. She couldn’t refrain from grinning at his gentle approach, a complete turnabout from the fuming man wanting to blister her behind.

  “Go have a seat please,” he requested, without raising his head. He pointed to the couch. “Over there.”

  The domineering man she found most enthralling, but this side of him also appealed to her. Just maybe she discovered how to attain the upper hand with him. She shuffled to the couch, without laughing, and she yearned to do so. Forcing a serious, sullen face, she in an extreme over-dramatic display, a few winces added for extra effect, took a seat. She added a few shifts in her weight accentuated with a couple low muttered ow’s.

  “What’s going on, Becca? Are you in some kind of trouble?” his gentle brown eyes scrutinized hers. She squirmed in her seat for an altogether different reason now. The seriousness in his eyes, the calm, controlled lilt in his voice produced a multitude of emotions and sensations. She couldn’t lie to him. She wanted to please him. She wanted to fling herself at him and rock his world. She wanted him to manhandle her and make her forget her own name. “Becca,” he commanded.

  “Why do you assume I’m in trouble? It’s not like I was escorting or prostituting or something. I’m not a kid anymore.” Averting her eyes from his, she detected his disappointment in her. She felt like a kid again.

  “Are you even old enough to be in there?”

  That hurt the most. He did still consider her his best friend’s little sister.

  “I turned twenty-two earlier this month.” Glaring at him, she jolted off the couch needing to put as much distance as she could between him and her.

  His hand struck the door forcing it closed before she got out. Resting her forehead on it, humiliation overcame her. What if he told her family? He wouldn’t do that.

  “Talk to me. What is going on with you?” he urged.

  “Nothing is going on. It’s not as bad as you are making it. I don’t do any private dances. I met a girl in a class and she told me to go talk to Jose. I wanted some money for Christmas,” she expelled the truth before she changed her mind.

  Rotating her around to face him, he put a finger under her chin, guiding her eyes to his.

  “Money for Christmas? Is that the truth?”

  Straightening her back and stiffening her shoulders, her breasts vaulted into his ribs, she repeated, “Yes. Money for Christmas. After all my parents' hard work and assistance, I decided to buy them a cruise. I paid the deposit, but the balance is due by the twenty-third”

  This time she witnessed the change in him. She observed him soften into the image of a presumptuous boy discovering his theories were misguided.

  “That’s a real nice gesture, Becca. I know they will love that.”

  “Between my school, the bakery, and helping out Blake and April with the kids...it was the least I could do.”

  Running his hand through his thick hair, he asked, “How is Blake and his family. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to him.”

  She hadn’t spent much time with her brother, either. Just another reason she wanted this Christmas to be extra special.

  “They are all good from what I know. April had a difficult pregnancy with Preston, that’s why she is so reluctant to leave him in anyone’s care besides Mom’s.”

  “Alright. How can we make this right?” His forehead creased and he scrunched his lips. “I have an idea if you want to hear it?”

  Did she have a choice? Didn’t seem he planned to just give her the money. “I guess.”

  Tapping her elbow, he motioned for her to go back to the couch. Once they were both seated he gave his proposal.

  “As you can see from the state of disarray in my home I haven’t been home much. I’m usually traveling, but most people concentrate on family and Christmas during the month of December. So...I’m home until after New Year’s, but working locally. I will pay you to clean, keep house, cook, and run errands for me.”

  “How much?” she blurted.

  His loud laughter startled her. “Well, we will discuss that. Let’s see if this is something you are interested in first.”

  Crossing her right leg over her left, she folded her hands in her lap, and leaned back into the couch. “Hmm. Seeing how I am unable to return to the paying job I had, I don’t have any other immediate offers.”

  “Becca,” he scolded, “this isn’t a game. I’m being serious. I will expect certain things to be done, and you will be compensated. On one condition.”

  Great. Always a condition. She waited and he didn’t give it.

  “What is it?” she griped.

  A grin spread from one side of his jaw to the next. “No more dancing. Period. If I find out you have even set foot in Jose’s...deal is off. I don’t care if it’s December 22nd and you worked for me for this whole week leading up to it, deal is off.”

  One would almost believe he had a vested interest in what she did. She groaned.

  “Fine, but I work at the bakery every morning except Sundays.”

  “Drive here after your shifts. You can stay in the guest room and leave from here if you’d like. You’ve already spent the night in there.”

  He had a lot of nerve. Did he assume he could monopolize her time? Better yet, did he want to? Wishful thinking.

  “Why would I stay here? How long do you expect me to be on your clock?”

  “I expect dinner each night, and you are to clean up afterward. What time is your shift at the bakery over? I expect you to be here after... beginning Monday.”

  Why did she feel she just made a deal with the devil? “I open at 5 a.m. and usually head out of there around 11 a.m.”

  His cellphone vibrated on the table in front of her. Shooting out of his chair, he snatched it raising it to his ear. He told the person on the other end to hold on a sec.

  Tossing a pad of paper to her with a pen attached he instructed, “Jot down your cell number. I will leave a list for you on the kitchen counter.” Clutching his keys off the table, he removed a key from the ring dropping it on the table. He resumed his phone conversation.

  It appeared he dismissed her. He walked into the other room. Cooking, cleaning, and running errands? Not one of those interested her. He did. This would certainly test her. She found him most aggravating, yet more alluring. Her imagination went into overdrive. This could be an attractive arrangement, or a dreadful one. Let the games begin.

  RETURNING TO THE LIVING room, it relaxed him to find her gone. Picking up an empty beer can from the table, he hurled it at the wall. What did he do? It’s as if he encountered a pit of quicksand and instead
of seizing the opportunity to save himself, he just let himself sink deeper and deeper. Nothing about this situation held any possibility of turning out any way other than catastrophe.

  Imagining what Blake would do to him if he found out how he handled her the other night made him sick inside. Not that Blake would be wrong, but what if she showed him. If he saw what Jake did earlier... damn. Why didn’t he just give her the money? No, he had to propose she stick around the house. Even offering her the extra room to crash in at night. Jackass! Could he be any more of an idiot?

  Ten days. His dick must stay in his pants and his hands off her and her superb ass. No problem, he had this. Corinne always complained about his aloofness in their relationship and his aversion to any discussion regarding their future. He realized the truth in her claims. He hadn't wanted her to leave, but he didn’t prevent it either.

  She never incited the inconceivable fervor in him he experienced Friday night at the club. No. Becca did that. She caused him to make implausible and irrational decisions.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THOUGH HE KICKED HIS own ass in his mind most of Sunday, on Monday he checked his watch every fifteen minutes wishing the day away. He looked forward to seeing Becca when he got home. The list he'd left for her that morning didn’t involve much. His refrigerator stayed empty so he left her some cash requesting she go to the grocery store. Of course, she needed food to cook.

  She parked her Jeep Wrangler on the street so he pulled into the driveway. A chick in a Jeep. Hot. He cussed himself for thinking that. Approaching the front door his ears met the loud, screeching beep of the fire detectors. Bolting inside, smoke enveloped him. Racing to the kitchen, the smoke grew thicker. “Becca!”

  Seeing one detector on the island he clutched it noticing the battery had been removed. He heard crying. Moving around the bar, he saw Becca on the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest, her hands cupping her ears. He hated the new smoke detectors. All of the devices somehow connected throughout the house. Chucking it to the ground, he stomped on it with his work boot. Silence.

  Scanning the kitchen, he saw nothing on the stove assuming whatever burned no longer presented a danger. A skillet lay in the sink. Kneeling, he pried her hands away from her head. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him with her tear-filled brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “What happened here?” he asked assisting her to her feet.

  Her bawling continued. “I...I...went to use the vacuum...” Serious sobbing commenced. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the kitchen. He sat with her on the couch rubbing her back. She began to calm. “I turned it on and a huge cloud of dust blew out.” Her body shook with a few delayed sobs. “It made such a huge mess. I tried to clean it up. And I forgot about the pork chops on the stove.”

  Moving his hand to her head, he encouraged her to rest it on his chest. He stroked her hair.

  “You certainly know how to make the first day of our arrangement an interesting one.”

  Slapping his stomach, she groaned.

  “At least you are okay. And so is my house,” he consoled.

  Drawing her legs into his lap, she curled into him. “I tried. I did. I don’t even know how to cook, but I was trying. I wanted it to be perfect.”

  This confession surprised him. “What? Wait a minute. You don’t know how to cook.”

  “No. I never wanted to learn. Not something I find fun or interesting.”

  “Your family owns a bakery. You work there.” Setting his hand on her hip, he cuddled her. He enjoyed it. He wanted to ease her mind.

  “I don’t do any of the baking. I stock the glass cases and run the front.”

  His stomach growled. They did have to eat.

  “I have a suggestion. Go clean yourself up, I’ll open some windows, and we will eat out tonight.” Patting her behind, she unfolded herself from his lap. “We can tackle the vacuum and the mess when we get back.”

  SHE WISHED WHEN HE mentioned going to dinner he was more specific. Expecting fast food or just a chain restaurant, not the cozy, charming Italian restaurant he took her to, she would have dressed up some. Not that she had anything to change into.

  Talking with the hostess and a few servers, she assumed he frequented the establishment. This felt like a date and it excited her. A date. With Jake. Candles adorned each of the tables, the only source of light. He pulled out her chair and asked if she had any dislikes regarding entrees. Advising him she did not, he ordered for both of them, including two glasses of wine.

  Grateful for the wine, she sipped it. She wanted to drown it, a bad case of nerves developed. Would tonight be the night she dreamed about for so many years? Did she get to live out her teenage fantasies? She studied his face and imagined having his mouth on hers. A five o’clock shadow enhanced his already masculine appearance. Everything about him screamed “total male.”

  It disappointed her that he kept the conversation casual. He asked about her classes and when would she graduate. He asked about her family. If she wished to have the topics escalated to a more personal level, it seemed she must take the initiative.

  “I noticed a lot of empty drawers in the dresser. When did your last relationship end?” Dumb. Now he knew she snooped.

  Grinning, exposing his set of gorgeous teeth, he hassled her about it. “Uh-huh. You were looking through my drawers?”

  Too bad for him, she had an explanation. “You still had a suitcase in the corner. I emptied it and put your stuff away.” He narrowed his eyes. “My duties include cleaning...maintaining your home. Correct?” she alleged.

  “Corinne moved out almost a year ago I guess. What about you? Any college boy suitors?” His reference to boys annoyed her. He went from hot to cold. Earlier he held her and it felt perfect. Now he sat across from her regarding her as he might any common acquaintance. Did he intend to block any progression to their relationship she attempted?

  “Nope. Nothing more than a chance romp on occasion,” she quipped. She thought she noticed him twitch over her accentuation to the word romp. Flagging down the waitress, he paid their bill and ushered her back to his home.

  Leaving her to handle the kitchen, he went straight to the back of the house working on the vacuum cleaner. Before long he carried it through the kitchen and out the back door. When he returned he went into the living room.

  Once she finished in the kitchen, she sat on the couch with him. He had his laptop open, scrolling around some program related to work she thought.

  “What did you decide about the vacuum?”

  “Hmm?” His focus never left the screen. “I don’t even know where that thing came from. I’ll let you pick a new one up tomorrow.”

  Realizing he planned on ignoring her, and it was just eight-thirty, her impatience surged.

  “If there’s nothing else tonight, I’m going to go back to my place. I won’t have to get up so early.” Scooting off the couch, at a snail’s pace, dragging out her departure, he didn’t notice. Best if she did leave. Best for her. He crushed any silly notions she conjured of a night of passion.

  Purse in hand, he acknowledged her when she opened the front door. He looked up and at her from across the room and she swore he appeared disappointed.

  “Drive carefully please. See you tomorrow.”

  What a waste of time! At least with the “college boys” she knew an evening resulted in sex if she wanted. She wanted sex with Jake. Good gosh she wanted sex with Jake. Being in his presence held her in a constant state of arousal, an uncomfortable condition. A crisis in need of crucial satiating, courtesy of him and many hours. Time to turn the heat up in this joint. Her imagination ran rampant as she formulated a plan.

  HE STOOD ADJUSTING himself in his pants before he heard her close her car door. His brain insisted he end this whole arrangement before someone got hurt. Giving her the cold shoulder bothered him more than he anticipated. It was a grueling struggle to avoid her eyes, but he had to. He knew
he couldn’t bear to see any disappointment, misunderstanding, or hurt from her. When he found her on the kitchen floor earlier, the need to comfort her and make everything right in the world for her consumed him. Being near her produced a craving to protect her, to delight her, to pleasure her—to claim her.

  At dinner when she mentioned being with other men, he came unglued. The thought of someone else with their hands on her, their mouth on her, infuriated him. He wanted her, he knew this. But the knowledge that things would end, and badly between them kept him determined to not cross the line. She deserved someone who stayed around. Just like Corinne, she would grow bored, lonely, and her resentment would build. Not worth it. Not only did he respect and care for her, he respected and cared for her family.

  TUESDAY EVENING WHEN he got to his door he heard no detector going off. Then again, he had destroyed it. Stepping inside his gaze fell upon a bare ass. Not just a bare ass. Becca bent over the coffee table, feather duster in hand. Wearing white thigh-highs, black heels, and a French maid outfit, she turned facing him displaying a playful grin of shock and surprise.

  “Oh, Monsieur, you are early. Oui?” she purred.

  Any fight in him fled the premises. Her attire consisted of the hose, shoes, an apron, and a headpiece. Nothing else. Closing the distance between them in one stride, he snatched her to him, his mouth took hers. Damn if she didn’t taste as exquisite as he imagined. It surprised him how forceful and animalistic he became, but she gave as good as she took. Void of any patience and romance, this kiss embodied all the raw, repressed lust shared between them.

  They bit, sucked, devoured each other. She clawed the back of his head and his shoulders. Rocking her midsection into him, he bent his right leg and she straddled it, pressing her breasts against his chest. The heat between her legs warmed his thigh revealing her eagerness. He praised the high heavens because he couldn’t wait.