Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology

by Leisa Rayven

  Mom rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen. She secretly loves spoiling Josh, and he exploits it every chance he gets.

  "You could help out, you know," I say as my evil bestie turns back to the television.

  "I'd love to," Josh says, "but I'm carb-loading right now. Angel will be back from Australia in January, and I want to ingest enough processed crap before then to give diabetes to a whole platoon of vegans. I have no time for frivolous Christmas chores."

  "So Angel won't be back for Marco's New Year's Eve party?" I ask.

  He takes a swig of his beer and flips through the channels. "Nope. I can't believe I'm finally in a relationship on New Year's Eve and don't get to kiss the hell out of her at midnight. What the hell is wrong with this world?"

  "I'll kiss you, sweetheart," Ethan deadpans. "You just have to promise to not use tongue."

  Josh smiles at him. "Aw, come on, big fella. Don't be shy. You know you want the tongue."

  Ethan mimes vomiting onto the nativity scene before turning to unpack another box. I'm about to hassle him again about my favor when Cassie appears in the front hall. As usual, whenever his new wife is within a three-mile radius, everything else ceases to exist for my brother. I can't believe it was only a year ago they were upstairs banging like teenagers while we cleaned up Christmas Eve dinner.

  It seems being married hasn't dulled my brother's endless fascination with Cassie. He watches her cross the room with the same level of pride as parents watching their child compete in the Olympics. If it wasn't so stinking cute, it would make me want to throw up all over our collector's edition Rudolph figurine.

  "So," Cassie says to me as she gives Ethan a smile. "Did my man help you out? Are you all set?"

  "Not even a little bit. He said it would be weird."

  Cassie turns to my brother. "Ethan, your sister needs you. It's your duty to help."

  "Honey, don't ask this of me. I beg you. I'll be scarred for life."

  "Oh, please. Liam wants her to buy sexy lingerie, and no one knows more about that than you."

  Ethan puts his arms around her. "Believe me, she could wear a canvas sack and Quinn would still lose his shit. Anything she chooses will be fine."

  "Ethan, come on." Cassie's tone tells me my brother's already lost this one. "If you do this, you and Liam can bond over buying your women stupidly impractical intimate-wear. Wouldn't it be nice to share your hobby with a friend?"

  Ethan drops his head onto her shoulder and sighs. "Fine. But let the record show I'm not at all comfortable helping my baby sister buy underwear that will make her man want to do filthy things to her. My therapy bills are expensive enough as it is."

  "Noted." Cassie runs her fingers through his hair and leans in to whisper, "And, as a reward, you can pick up something up for me."

  Ethan's whole posture changes. "Seriously? My ban is lifted?"

  "One item," Cassie clarifies. "Not the whole store. Our credit cards are still recovering from the last time you went on a binge."

  Ethan grips the back of her neck. "Yeah, but it was worth it, right?"

  "Maybe." Cassie presses again him, and my disgusting brother kisses her so passionately, I get full visible tongue. God, he's gross.

  When he's done violating his wife's mouth, he grabs the box of tinsel from my hands and drops it onto the couch.

  "Okay, let's go. We've got an hour before Mom serves dinner and I want to have my brain bleached of the whole experience by then."

  I turn to Josh. "Want to come?"

  "Where are you going?"

  "Lingerie store."

  "Will you model stuff for me?"

  "Nope."

  "Then I'm out. Have fun, though."

  I grab my purse, and after Ethan throws my coat at me, we head outside to grab a cab.

  ···

  Considering it's the holiday season, we make good time, and fifteen minutes later, we're walking into La Perla on 5th avenue.

  I gape as I take in the opulent store. My God, I've never seen underwear this pretty. All of the mannequins are like lady-shaped presents, waiting to be unwrapped.

  As soon as we enter, both ladies behind the counter spot Ethan and light up like Times Square, before nearly tripping over each other to get to him.

  "Mr. Holt! Welcome back."

  "We haven't seen you for a while."

  "Please let us know if you need any help."

  "Anything at all."

  I don't know if they're eager because they usually earn a crapload of commission from his epic purchases, or because he's tall, semi-famous, and according to most women, handsome. Either way, I roll my eyes.

  Ethan acknowledges the women with a wave and a smile before turning to me and giving me his serious face.

  "Okay, listen up, short one. This is how it's going to work. I'll choose a bunch of stuff for you. At no time will you question my choices, comment on how they’ll look on your body, tell me your actual bra size, or describe how Quinn will react when he sees you in them. When I'm done choosing, I'm gone. If you want to try on stuff, that's your business. I don't want to know what you buy. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you leave without buying anything and spend your entire vacation wearing a chastity belt and a turtleneck. Are we clear?"

  I put my hands on my hips. "You do realize I'm not thrilled about this, either, right? But at least you know what you're doing. I have no clue."

  "Yeah, I'm used to that. Let's go." He stalks up and down the racks of lacy, frilly, delicate garments, and it looks utterly bizarre to see my giant, macho brother surrounded by such delicate prettiness. Every now and then he stops and grabs something before shoving it at me, and after ten minutes my arms are overflowing. When I start struggling, one of the hovering assistants takes everything and places it into a dressing room. By the time Ethan's done, the dressing room is overflowing with bras, underpants, bustiers, slips, and super-flimsy bodysuits.

  He hold onto a beautiful navy bra and panty set with matching garter belt and pantyhose.

  I give him the side eye. "Cassie said one item, Ethan."

  He hands everything to the clerk, along with his credit card. "Semantics. It's one outfit. Not my fault it contains four items." The woman carefully wraps everything in layers of tissue paper before placing it into a fancy cardboard bag and handing it to him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wife to dress up and then strip bare."

  "First of all ... ew. Remember what you said about me and Liam? I also don't want the mental image of you defiling my friend. And second, have you forgotten that Mom will be serving dinner in ..." I check my watch, "half an hour? So, unless you and Cassie intend on doing the dirty upstairs again, any ravaging will have to wait until you get back to your place."

  Ethan scowls. "I hate waiting."

  "Hey, you have nothing to complain about. For you it's a few hours. I've been waiting three months to be with Liam."

  He gives me his most sarcastic expression. "You're right. I have no idea what it's like to have to wait for sex. Oh, except for those three years I waited for Cassie." He raises an eyebrow at me.

  I grunt in defeat. "Fine. You win. This time."

  "And every time, little sister. How do you not know that by now?" He gives me a quick peck on the cheek. "Okay, this has been fun, in a twisted kind of way, but now, I'm leaving. I'll see you back at Mom and Dad's."

  "Yep. See you then."

  I watch the two clerks physically deflate as he leaves. I don't think I'll truly ever understand what women see in my brother. I mean, I love him, but if they had to put up with an 11-year-old Ethan farting into their pillow every night before bed, there'd be no way they'd look at him with those sappy heart-eyes.

  With my brother out of the way, I head into the dressing room and grab the nearest bra to examine it. God, these things are flimsy. There's absolutely no support. If I wore this under a T-shirt, my boobs would jiggle like water balloons.

  Working methodically, I divide everything into categories. Not that it hel
ps me make a decision. Even though each garment is undeniably beautiful, I have no idea what will turn Liam on. Should I follow Ethan's lead and do the garter belt thing? Or would Liam prefer the leather-look bustier and matching thong?

  Ugh, this is impossible.

  I quickly strip off my clothes and pull on a delicate blood-red slip that's completely translucent apart from some strategically placed lace flowers over my nipples.

  Is this really what men want? It's totally impractical.

  There are also three slip dresses of varying lengths and transparencies. Which one do I buy?

  As if my thoughts have magically travelled to Mongolia, my phone lights up with Liam's number.

  I answer and feel my stress melt away as soon as he appears on the screen.

  "Hey, handsome."

  He gives me a tired smile. "Hi, beautiful." His face is covered in dirt, and he has his hair and extensions pulled up into a messy bun. On the whole, I disapprove of the whole man-bun movement. For me, it's up there with male jeggings and dress shoes without socks. But on Liam, I can't deny the bun looks hot as hell.

  "How's filming going?" I ask.

  He wipes a hand across his face and sighs. "Slowly. We only have a few scenes left in the final battle, but the weather has been screwing us. That's one of the downsides of filming in frozen tundra. We're at the mercy of random blizzards."

  "See? This is what happens on a James Cameron movie. You could have shot in a nice warm sound stage in Canada and added CG snow. But noooo. It had to be authentically Mongolian, even if the guy playing the baddest middle-eastern bastard in history is an Irish kid from Hoboken."

  He chuckles. "Yeah, well, apart from the weather, it's been an amazing experience, even if it has kept me away from you. So, what are you doing? Are you at your parent's place?"

  "No. I ducked out to run an errand before dinner."

  "Oh? So where are you?"

  "Well, I'm trying to do what you asked, but it's turning out to be more difficult than I thought." I prop up the phone on the plush chair in the dressing room so he can see what I'm wearing.

  "I need your help. Do you like this one? Or ..." I grab the other two slips. "One of these?" I hold up the other two in turn before grabbing the leather bustier. "Or would you prefer this? Or ..." I scoop up a kaleidoscope of jewel-colored bras and panties. "These? I mean, the choices are endless. Do you want sweet or slutty? Pretty or edgy? Demure slips, or thongs so tiny you'll need a pair of tweezers to remove them from my butt? Seriously, honey, I have no idea what you're after." I throw up my hands and wait for Liam's response. After a few seconds, I lean forward to check the screen, thinking the connection has dropped out and his image has frozen. Turns out Liam has frozen of his own accord. His mouth is open, and his gaze is raking all over me and the see-through lingerie I'm almost wearing.

  "Liam?"

  "Uhhh ..."

  I wait again. He still doesn't say anything. "Liam? Can you hear me?"

  "Yeah, I can hear you. And see you." He rubs the whiskers on his chin. "Fuck me, Liss, I can definitely see you."

  I read in a Cosmo once that pretty underwear can make a woman feel powerful, but I never understood the concept until now. The way Liam's looking at me? I could ask him to do anything right now, and he'd agree.

  "Okay," I say. "So, which one should I get?"

  He closes his mouth and swallows. "All of them. Every goddamn one."

  I laugh. "Sure. I'll just buy out the whole store." His piercing gaze makes it clear he approves of the idea. "You're serious? Liam, come on."

  "Elissa ..." He brings the phone closer to his face. "Do you love me?"

  "Of course."

  "And do you want to make me happy?"

  "You know I do. But these things are so overpriced. I mean, look ... this one costs—" My mouth dries up as I register the number printed on the price tag. "Jesus Cheese-Loving Christ! Fifteen hundred dollars?! Are you freaking kidding me? For what? A scrap of netting and lace? That's ridiculous!"

  I hear footsteps, and one of the sales assistants calls out, "Is everything alright in there, miss?"

  I want to yell that no, everything is not alright. Their stupid undies cost more than what I used to pay in rent, for God's sake. Instead, I say, "I'm fine, thanks. All good."

  When the footsteps retreat, I turn back to Liam. "Honey, seriously, the cost of all of this ..." I gesture to the catastrophe of underwear around me, "... it could feed a small African nation for a year."

  Liam looks at me with an air of supreme obstinance. Coupled with the scruff, the bun, and the dirt-smeared face ... yeah, he definitely looks like a sexy Genghis Khan, ready to do bad things to me if I disobey. I've never really had a thing for historical figures before, but I wouldn't complain about going a few rounds between the sheets with Liam's version of a warrior king.

  "Elissa," he says, and his voice is as primal as his appearance. "I promise that when we get back from vacation, I'll donate a fat chunk of cash to whichever African charity you choose. But right now, I'm going to need you to pick up every bit of lace, satin, and leather in that goddamn dressing room and charge all of it to the credit card I organized for you. Understand?"

  I drop everything on the floor and sigh. I can tell arguing would be futile. "Yes, master."

  Liam makes a noise in his chest. "You need to call me that more often."

  I pick up the phone and bring it up to eye level. "Oh, you like that?"

  "No. I fucking love that." He's looking at me so intensely, it gives me chills. Then he shakes his head and chuckles. "Wow. I think I've been living this character for way too long. I need to get back to civilization and stop behaving like a caveman. Okay, I gotta go shower. You heading back to your parents' place?"

  "Yeah. I'd much rather watch you shower, though."

  "Don't worry. Soon, you'll get to shower with me."

  "Can't wait. Will you still have those hair extensions when I see you?"

  He raises an eyebrow. "I was going to get them removed after our last scene, but if you want me to keep them in ..."

  I feel like a schoolgirl admitting a secret crush. "Maybe. And the beard. Just for a few days, at least. Long enough for you to pretend I'm half of eastern Europe and thoroughly plunder me."

  A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face. "I think that can be arranged."

  As we stare at each other, the sexual tension builds, and we realize that because of his shooting schedule, this is the last time we'll see each other before we reach our vacation destination.

  "I love you," he says. "I'll see you soon."

  "I love you, too. Travel safe."

  When I hang up, a wave of emotion rises up in my throat, and I have to take a few deep breaths to stop myself from crying. When he gets home this time, that's it. I'm nailing his feet to the floor. He's not allowed to leave me like this again. I miss him too much.

  It doesn't help that I've been wearing his engagement ring for nearly four months now, and we haven't made one single wedding preparation. While I adore him being my fiancée, I want him to be my husband.

  After shaking off my emotional mood, I change back into my clothes and carefully gather up my pile of overpriced scraps of fabric. When I take it to the counter and inform the girls I'll be buying everything, dollar signs light up behind their eyes.

  Merry Christmas, girls. Get a bottle of Bollinger for yourselves, courtesy of Liam Quinn.

  As I'm waiting for the redhead to ring up the purchases, the tall brunette studies me. "Hey, have we met?"

  I smile politely and shake my head. "I don't think so."

  "Really? Because you look familiar. You've never shopped with us before?"

  "No. My brother shops here enough for the both of us."

  "Uh huh." She continues to stare, and it makes me want to be anywhere else. Of course, wrapping a million pieces of intimate wear in tissue paper takes forever, so it seems I'm stuck here for a while. To get away from the unwanted scrutiny, I wander over to a r
ack labeled Bridal. There are lots floaty, pretty things in white, cream and pastels. Maybe I'll come back here before my wedding night and pick up something special. Or if my husband-to-be has his way, I'll take the whole damn rack.

  "Liam Quinn!" the brunette exclaims suddenly.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You're the girl who was on the red carpet with Liam Quinn a few months ago. The one he dated after he broke up with Angel Bell." She turns to the redhead. "You know, I'm still not over that. They were so perfect for each other. I never saw it coming."

  The redhead nods. "Right? I cried when I heard. I still can't believe they're not together. The way he used to look at Angel? That was true love."

  I clear my throat. They turn as if they've forgotten I was there.

  "Oh, sorry," says the brunette. "So, was it fun? Dating a movie star? Did he break your heart? Is it painful to talk about?"

  I walk back to the counter and pick up my purse. "Are we almost done here?"

  The brunette nods in sympathy. "I understand. It's hard to let someone like that go, right? I mean, the man is gorgeous. Did you kiss him? Is he a good kisser?"

  "Chastity, stop," the redhead says, giving me a sideway glance.

  Seriously? She works in a store that reeks of sex, and her name is Chastity? Oh, the irony.

  "The poor thing probably didn't even date him," the redhead whispers before looking at me with genuine concern. "I'm sorry about her. She gets carried away with romantic fantasies. You don't need to tell us anything. But just out of interest, did you win that date? Like on a call-in radio show or something?"

  See? This is what I get for banning Liam from talking about our relationship in interviews. I thought I was making it easier on myself, considering my one appearance on the red carpet led to me shutting down all of my social media to avoid the vilest cyber-bullying I've ever witnessed. It blows my mind that Liam's fans claim to only want what's best for him but then threaten violence on the woman he loves.

  God, people are weird.

  When Liam saw how much hate I got for ‘replacing’ Angel, he agreed it was probably best to keep our relationship on the down-low, at least for a while.