All I Want for Christmas is…: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  Shit. Just shit.

  His experience with women was vast and varied. He liked women. Liked meeting them, liked partying with them. Especially liked sleeping with them. But that was as far as it went. He wasn’t a relationship guy. He’d seen how disastrous that sort of stuff had turned out for his dad and he’d sworn never to get himself into the same situation. Therefore, he kept his women disposable. No strings. No fuss. No problems afterward. The gals he slept with always went into a night knowing the score—lots of fantastic bedplay, then a quick thanks and goodbye in the morning. End of story. Problem was, his gut told him Shayma was not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of woman. Given that she’d been engaged to his best bud and was still friends with Heath and Mel and Daveed, sleeping with her would be an enormous error on his part.

  No matter how his semi-hard cock might disagree. Hell, truth was, he’d been at half-staff since that ill-advised kiss on the carousel. And every look or sigh or brush of her body against his as she fiddled with all those gaudy decorations only made him want her more.

  Which was totally unacceptable. He wouldn’t be sleeping with Shayma bint Amr Kahlan. Not tonight. Not ever, if he knew what was good for him.

  Murphy shook his head and tapped the keys on the laptop before him with more force than was necessary.

  “What do you think?” Shayma asked from somewhere behind him. “Too much?”

  Jaw clenched, he swiveled slightly to glance back at her over his shoulder. Big mistake.

  Dammit.

  Somewhere between the time they’d returned to Aileen’s apartment and now, she’d apparently changed her clothes, in addition to playing Martha Stewart with the damned tree. Now she stood there in the most ridiculous, most childish, most fucking alluring pair of pink flannel PJs Murphy had ever seen. They must’ve belonged to his sister, but damn if he’d ever seen them before. Strewn across the soft fabric were tiny cups of cocoa topped with frothy white marshmallows and bright red cherries.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Please help me.

  Her outfit should’ve cooled his ardor faster than ice cubes down his drawers, but instead, they somehow only made his desire for her soar. Goddamn, he was in a terrible way. He looked away fast, doing his best to concentrate on the huge gold, glitter bow she’d tied out of garland and tacked above the windows. The last thing on this earth he cared about at the moment was some dumbass Christmas decorations, but staring at those was better than staring at her while his cock ached painfully against his button fly. “It’s fine.”

  Shayma’s bright smile fell slightly. “That’s it? Fine is all I get?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he turned back to face his computer, well aware he was acting like a complete ass, but unable to help himself. Truth was, he missed his sister so much his heart ached and the fact that Shayma was here with him, and had taken the time to decorate the place despite his Scrooge-ness, only made him feel more vulnerable.

  And if there was one thing Murphy Coen didn’t do, it was vulnerable.

  That was part of the reason he’d become a SEAL. Nobody messed with them. They kicked ass and took names, with the names usually being optional. Frustrated in more ways than one, he raked his hands through his short black hair and stared at the computer screen in front of him. So far his tally for the evening wasn’t good. He had no senator’s name and a hard cock to show for his efforts. Nothing else.

  “Well, I’ll just take this down then,” Shayma said, her tone back to its usual efficient, cheerful self. If his sister wasn’t missing and he wasn’t such a mess emotionally, he’d walk right over there and grab her off that ladder and fuck her so hard and so good neither of them would ever forget it. “Since you don’t seem to care either way.”

  His anger at himself for acting like such an idiot came out as irritation toward her, but he didn’t seem to have any control over himself at this point. He felt like a caged tiger ready to pounce and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He ground his teeth, then snapped, “Why are you still here anyway? You should’ve gone back to your posh hotel suite after the park.”

  Seemingly unfazed by his rudeness, Shayma stood on the stepladder to reach the garland bow, grinning down at him while those silly pink PJs hugged her ass and all but begged him to cup those cheeks in his hands. “Boy, you really lose yourself in your work, don’t you? I told you that Mel texted me and asked if she and Daveed could have one more night alone at the Plaza. You grunted when I asked if I could stay here again, so I assumed that was a yes in your caveman-speak.”

  Murphy pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and tipped his head back. Yeah, he remembered that now, but she was right. He had been lost in his search for the senator who might know something about his sister’s disappearance and hadn’t really paid much attention to what she was asking.

  Restless, he pushed to his feet to grab a beer from the fridge in the kitchen when a startled gasp echoed out from behind him. He turned just in time to see the ladder tip sideways and Shayma toppling from the rungs. Putting all his SEAL-honed quick reflexes to good use, Murphy dashed across the room and snatched Shayma out of the air before she hit the ground, holding her fast to his chest as the ladder crashed to the floor. Luckily, the tree was still standing, thought the garland she’d been tinkering with now hung from the ceiling like a droopy party streamer.

  With Shayma’s shaking body in his arms, he hurried to the sofa and sat down, cradling her in his lap as he cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his gaze. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself in the fall? I knew those decorations were a bad idea. You could’ve broken your neck screwing around with those stupid things.”

  She swallowed hard and blinked, tears forming in her dark doe eyes and damn. Now he felt even more like shit than he did before. He’d never meant to make her cry, just to make her go away so he could grieve his missing sister and wallow in his loneliness in peace.

  “I’m sorry.” Shayma said, the slight hitch in her voice causing what was left of his broken heart to shatter. “I-I thought I could help make you feel better by making things f-festive. I know what it’s like to be alone over the holidays. I m-miss my family too, back in Al Dar Nasrani. I thought I’d be able to book a late flight back home for Christmas, but now my parents have decided to travel over the holidays and I don’t have anywhere to go and no one to share the day with and…” She dissolved into tears against his chest and the last of his defenses against her crumbled.

  Rocking slowly back and forth while murmuring soothing endearments against the top of her silky hair, Murphy just held her, allowing his warmth and touch to hopefully calm her and make her feel a little less alone.

  A glance outside showed the snow had picked up again and with the golden glow of the tree and the hint of pine incense she’d bought at the shop wafting through the air, the apartment felt more like home than anywhere he’d been in years. Thanks in no small part to the woman sniffling in his arms.

  Getting closer to her would be a very bad idea. She was too strong, too opinionated, too unforgettable to bring him anything but heartbreak in the end. Then again, she’d be flying home to her island paradise after the holidays and no one really needed to know what they were up to here in their tiny winter wonderland, right? He pressed a kiss to the top of her silky black hair and closed his eyes as he inhaled her scent—cloves and cinnamon and warm, clean woman.

  If she still wanted him, like she had back at the park, Lord knew he was willing. At least for tonight.

  Beyond that, he’d have to reassess.

  Strategy had always been his strong suit on his SEAL team and he tried to apply those same principles to his personal life too—plan, assess all possible outcomes, implement, reassess. Problem was, his emotions never wanted to fit in the nice, neat squares he made for them. That’s why he always tried to push them deep down where they couldn’t interfere.

  Too bad Shayma seemed to bring them all to the surface and then some.

  Sh
e raised her eyes to his and he felt that pitiful look straight through to his soul. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

  Pulse pounding loud in his ears and muscles tense with need, he slid his hands from her shoulders to cup her cheeks again. “What I want…”

  His words trailed off, seeming inadequate for what he wanted from her—sex, caring, devotion, companionship. Love? The world went cockeyed over that last one. Nope. Love wasn’t part of his equation, not at the holidays, not ever. If they spent the night together, it would be a gift of comfort, a gift of hope that maybe they weren’t so alone in the big bad world as they each imagined they were. A gift of one night of passion. Never to be repeated.

  Shayma continued to stare up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, the naked need in her gaze like an electric jolt straight to his cock. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her and dammit, tonight she’d have him. They’d have each other.

  He leaned closer, until only millimeters separated his lips from hers. His thumbs stroked her delicate cheekbones and her long lashes fluttered as her warm minty breath ghosted over his face. “What I want,” he said, his eyes focusing on the tip of her pink tongue, flicking out to lick her lips, “is you.”

  Her breasts grazed his chest as she leaned closer to press her mouth to his on a sigh. He groaned low and feral in his throat, one of his hands sliding around the tangle of hair at the back of her head while the other went to her back, molding her body closer to his, unable to get enough of her. Never enough.

  Aching for her addictive taste, he traced his tongue along the seam of her lips then took possession of her mouth as she opened to him—licking, sucking, nipping, loving every single little mewl and moan of passion coming from her. For the umpteenth time that night he cursed his own stupidity. Once with Shayma wouldn’t slake his need for her. He planned to make love to her all night long, live out all those dirty fantasies that had played over and over in his head since he’d met her—take her against the wall, on the floor in front of the windows, on the breakfast bar, in the bed. Wherever the hell she’d have him.

  With a growl, he pushed to his feet, carrying Shayma with him. When he tried to pull back, she only gripped him harder, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, grinding the heat between her thighs against his rock-hard erection. Jesus. All those snipers back in the Middle East hadn’t killed him, this night with Shayma just might.

  Murphy started for the bed, but only made it as far as the living room wall when Shayma trailed a hand down his chest and straight to his groin, cupping his throbbing cock in her hand. He pressed her against the wall with his body, tearing his mouth from hers to trail hot kisses over her cheek to her ear. She writhed against him, her skin so hot and soft pressed to him. He wasn’t sure if it was the flannel or their chemistry or what, but he couldn’t get the buttons of her top undone fast enough. When her breasts were finally bared to him, he just leaned back and gazed down at her loveliness. Maybe it had been too long since he’d been with a woman, but she was seriously the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen—all creamy, mocha skin and straining pink nipples, begging for his attention. While she stroked him through the denim of his jeans, he bent and took one taut peak into his mouth, loving her sharp inhale and the way she arched hard into him. Her fingers speared through his hair pulling him closer, as if she’d die without him, and damn if he didn’t feel the same way about her.

  Earlier he’d mocked her choice of sleeping attire. Now? He couldn’t have been happier. Once those buttons were undone, it was easy access to all the delicious parts of her he’d only dreamed about before tonight. He worshipped one perfect breast while toying with its twin between his fingers then switched, captivated by the salt on her skin and the low hum of her pleasured cries.

  His cock hurt it was so hard, but he refused to rush this, especially the first time. He wanted to savor Shayma, taste every delectable inch of her before burying himself so deep inside her he never wanted to leave. As he kissed a path across the valley between her breasts, he traced the backs of his fingers down the middle of her quivering stomach to the waistband of her PJ bottoms, teasing her by dipping just the tips of his fingers inside her pants, then—unable to wait any longer—plunging his hand inside to cup her heat through the lace of her panties.

  A deep, needful groan escaped her and he lived and died and was reborn in that sound. So dark, so dangerous, so delicious. Her wetness soaked through her panties and drenched his fingers, she wanted him that badly, and his tightly leashed control frayed even more.

  Ever ready, his eager cock twitched. Perhaps taking this first time slow wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Murphy returned to kiss her hard and she took his lower lip between her teeth, answering his need for a bit of roughness with his sex.

  “I need you. Inside me. Now,” she snarled, her nails scraping along his scalp and making him shudder against her. “Please.”

  It was that last word, that last plea, that did him in.

  “Yes.” With his chest and her clinging arms, he balanced her against the wall as he reached into his back pocket for the condom he always kept there, then quickly undid his jeans. After preparing himself and ridding her of her PJ bottom’s and panties, he cupped her bottom and lifted her higher against him, loving the heady scent of her arousal and the slick wetness of her sliding along his rigid length. He wasn’t even inside her yet and this was already the most amazing sexual experience of his life. There was something about Shayma that made him harder, hotter, hungrier than any other woman he’d ever been with. Usually, he was the one taking charge, calling the shots, dominating the interactions. But with her, his control went right out the window.

  A tiny warning bell sounded deep within his mind, telling him this was too much, too soon, but that caution was quickly drowned beneath an avalanche of desire. Still, he didn’t know that much about her past, didn’t know how experienced she was, and he wanted to make this good for her too. He forced himself to slow down, pull back, ask the question that needed to be asked, even though his breath panted and his words shook from the effort. “Are you okay? You’ve done this before, right?”

  Her already flushed cheeks darkened in color and her eyes lowered, but she nodded. “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’m not super experienced either. I’ve had lovers. A reporter from the US, the summer I spent in Egypt during the protests.”

  The last thing he wanted was a rundown of all the men before him. A savage, possessive streak he hadn’t known he had clawed through Murphy. He might not be her first, but goddamn, he’d be her best. Unable to resist, he slid his fingers down between her legs, stroking her slick folds before tracing the tip of his index finger over her swollen clit. Shayma cried out and bucked in his arms, pressing into his hand.

  “Please…” she begged.

  “Please, what?” Her lack of experience didn’t bother him. Not at all. In fact, he liked being the one in control. He continued to stroke her, sliding lower to insert first one, then two fingers into her tight channel, preparing her for him. “Tell me, darling. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you,” she said, meeting his gaze now, her eyes black with need. “Inside me.”

  He pulled his fingers out of her and brought them to his lips, licking her arousal from them as she watched. “You want me to fuck you?”

  “God, yes!”

  “Then hold on, darling. Your wish is granted.” He pressed her hard against the wall and angled her hips to enter her in one long stroke. Balls deep inside her, Murphy held still, allowing her body time to adjust to his length and girth. He wasn’t a small man, in any capacity. The heat of her wrapped so tight around him damned near made him cum on the spot, but he summoned every last bit of willpower. He traced his lips across her jaw, down the side of her neck, his fingers laced with hers as their hands pressed to the wall on either side of her head. Their only point of contact was where their hips and bodies met, her legs around his waist, he
r heels digging into his buttocks.

  “How does that feel?” he growled into her ear before taking her lobe between his teeth gently.

  “Amazing.” She rocked against him, as if testing him, before groaning low.

  “Yes,” he hissed, withdrawing slightly before slamming home again. He let go of her hands to guide her hips in time to his thrusts. Soon, the rhythm he set had them both teetering on the brink of oblivion. She dug her nails into his shoulders and he reveled in the pleasure-pain of the situation. This. This was what he’d wanted from the first moment he saw her. This heat, this intimacy, this blinding need that obliterated everything else from his mind and centered his emotions in a way that nothing else did. All his pain, his past, their shared connections—none of it mattered now when he was buried to the hilt within her giving, welcoming warmth.

  Her breath hitched and she clung tighter to him, burying her face in the base of his neck. “I-I…”

  “Are you going to cum?” he asked, nudging her head with his chin to get her to meet his gaze. “I want to see you when you come apart in my arms.”

  She gave a little nod, her expression a mix of ecstasy and uncertainty, as she ground her clit into his groin and clenched tight around him. A small gasp left her as she orgasmed, her eyes never leaving his, her pupils blown wide and her nails gouging his flesh. The intensity of her climax only made his own impending orgasm stronger. He drove into her hard—once, twice—before he came hard inside her, his knees trembling and his body taut as a bowstring. Wave after glorious wave of pleasure cascaded over him as he captured her cries with his mouth and returned them to her in his own growls of completion.

  When he withdrew from her at last, spent and sated, he carried her across the living room to the bed and they both collapsed atop it. Air cooled their sweat-soaked skin and Shayma shivered against him. He barely had the strength to pull the covers over them before shutting off the lights and falling into a deep sleep beside her, Shayma’s steady, even breaths telling him she was right beside him in dreamland.