The Christmas Bet

by Alice Ward

  I fell silent, and Stephan resumed standing with stick-straight posture beside the door, facing the airport. My brain meandered back to the notion I’d had about employing her myself. Perhaps there was something to that idea, assuming she actually showed up. Making a couple trips in short succession was one thing, but her ability to afford frequent trips to New Orleans if we continued seeing each other was doubtful. I had the capability of traveling to her, though my schedule was more often than not packed and sealed to the last minute without much wiggle room for change. If I made her one of my employees, an in-house photographer for all my investment properties, she might be accessible and financially stable.

  The corners of my vision tunneled as I realized what was happening. I was thinking about a future with this girl. I was calculating visit efficiency and mulling over the possibility of making her a relatively permanent fixture, work-related or otherwise, in my life.

  “Get. A. Grip,” I snarled to myself.

  This was all wrong. I’d broken my rules, and now I was tangled up in the web of messy feelings and unrealistic hopes and idealistic outcomes. My entire career was based on determining levels of success and proportionate wagers to maximize my profits, but here I was waiting for a woman who I didn’t even know would show up. I was setting myself up to fail.

  And it felt good.

  Just as jarring as planning a future was the discovery that I was as light as a cloud. Even with my stomach tumbling and my disappointment waiting in the wings, I felt like a feather. This brand of romanticism hadn’t occupied my being in years, and I’d forgotten what I’d been missing. Since the college breakup with Darla, I hadn’t missed it, not even the awesome endorphin rush of a new love interest, but now I found myself relishing its presence.

  I turned and pinned my eyes to the doors again.

  A trio of women in their late twenties were strolling out, designer purses slung over their shoulders with two men trailing behind them carrying enough luggage to furnish a small boutique. They were tanned, manicured, and confident, and they were just the kind of women I would have sought mere weeks ago. In fact, if it had been a few weeks ago and I’d happened to find myself sitting outside the airport for whatever reason, I probably would have clambered out of the limo, sweet-talked them for a minute, and ended up seeing them naked all at once after vetting them through The Club.

  Not anymore. I’d become a one-woman man without warning, and I didn’t even have the woman. This was a situation that needed to be rectified immediately. I needed to turn off the emotions and sexualize Tabby until my head was clear and my reason returned.

  And, on cue, an ash-blonde stepped out of the airport onto the sidewalk and pushed black frames up on her nose.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tabby

  The horde of people in the airport was nothing I was expecting to encounter, and several elbows jutted into my ribs as I grabbed my luggage off the belt. In an attempt to escape the throng, I bustled toward the exit and started going over a mental plan to catch a cab.

  As soon as I stepped outside, however, I noticed the limo. I didn’t even realize I recognized the man beside it at first. Just the sight of the limo was enough to send me into a mental tailspin. Was it Owen? Then, I saw the face of the driver waiting at the curb, and every ounce of my being turned to jelly.

  It was.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Tabby,” Stephan greeted me, stepping forward.

  Before I could respond, the car door opened and out stepped the man I’d had fixated in my mind for the past couple of weeks. Hair purposefully disheveled, eyes narrowed and sensuous, lips smirking with unspoken threat, Owen was standing in front of me and I couldn’t get any oxygen.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Tabby,” he parroted in a murmur.

  “How did you…?” Of course he would have known when to pick me up as he was the one who’d secured the flight in the first place. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, but I swore it missed a beat at random intervals. He was just so damn attractive.

  “May I take your bags?” Stephan asked. He spoke tentatively as if concerned he was interrupting a private moment.

  I looked down at my luggage. In my surprise, I’d completely forgotten I had any bags. Hell, I’d forgotten where I was. I probably wouldn’t have been able to tell someone my name without thinking about it first if anyone had come by and asked.

  “Oh, yeah, thank you,” I told him, and also handed him my coat. The sixty-degree December weather in Louisiana felt like a balmy beach after Chicago’s frozen tundra.

  He smiled as he reached first for my carry-on, then my suitcase. There was genuine happiness behind the smile, like it actually mattered to him that I came. I felt a warmth spread through my chest at the sight. Stephan might have been Owen’s driver, but he had a friendliness about him that balanced out the doubts I was still struggling with about making this journey to Louisiana.

  While Stephan retreated to the trunk to stow my bags, Owen stood in his place by the door and motioned to it. “After you.”

  I crept into the limo cautiously. The way I was acting, people would think I was tiptoeing my way through a haunted house, but I couldn’t help it. My nerves had gone into overload and I was an unsettling blend of paranoid, anxious, excited, and wickedly aroused. Settling onto the seat didn’t help the latter, either, as the leather reminded me of the tryst on the way to The Blackjack Club. I crossed my legs and tried not to think about the way the pressure clenched my clit.

  Owen got himself in as well and had just closed the door when Stephan claimed the driver’s seat. “Shall we go, Mr. Driscoll?” he called to the back.

  “Yes,” Owen answered. Stephan nodded once, put the limo in drive, and we were off.

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t even given Owen a proper hello. In fact, the word hadn’t yet come out of my mouth. It seemed too late to say it now, but I didn’t want him to think I was rude. Just as I made up my mind to greet him the way a person should, however, he pressed a button and the privacy screen glided up into place to separate us from Stephan.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said.

  His voice was low, his eyes like lasers burning into me, and his masculine scent filled me to the brim. The air between us did everything short of crackle with electricity. He was on the rearmost seat with his knees at least a foot away, but I felt like he was right beside me. My clit seemed to quiver between my crossed legs, and the moisture at my crux thickened as air became harder to suck in and out of my lungs.

  I lifted a shoulder in a shrug that I hoped appeared completely casual and unperturbed. “Well, I came.”

  His face darkened, and the left corner of his mouth rose in an ominous smirk. “Not yet.”

  And then my control crumbled.

  His nails grazed my sides as fingers clawed around my middle and climbed to the buttons on my shirt, then my bra clasp. Teeth bumped teeth as tongues twirled together in a frenzy. My nipples met air conditioning and stiffened to peaks, and panties joined his jacket in a journey to the floor. My shoulders ground into leather and knees locked around his hips.

  He was inside me. Deep, plunging, powerful. Stroke after stroke, my skull slamming into a cushioned backrest, his length filled me with ardor. The lip of his unbuttoned trousers licked the swells of my ass cheeks with every thrust, and the peak of his silk tie stroked the space between my bared breasts. His mouth was on mine, hot and wet. Everything was buzzing. My clit, my folds, my skin, my brain. He rocketed into me over and over again, and when a moan lilted from my mouth to his, he swallowed it like a starved man.

  “No,” he rasped against my lips. “Don’t.”

  I tried to protest, but he choked me with his tongue and blocked any argument I could’ve possibly made. I was clinging by a thread, desperate to oblige his order but equally desperate to unravel. He stroked faster. The head of his cock throttled my sweet spot relentlessly, and the pressure of his pelvis on my mound mirrored the motion against my c
lit. I was his puppet to be used and manhandled as he pleased, but I was sure it pleased me exponentially more than it did him because I couldn’t imagine any human alive had ever felt such pleasure before. Again, again, again, somehow deeper with each slam, he took me as he devoured my mouth and my moans.

  My legs tightened around him. The place where my ankles were twisted together had become slickened by sweat, and I lost the ability to keep them clenched, but I scored my knees to his sides and lifted my hips. It was coming, the edge, in all its promised glory, and I was ready to meet it…

  Suddenly, I was facedown on the seat with my rear in the air and his still-clothed chest plastered against my back. A palm, sharp and quelling, fell hard against my ass and sent snaps of pain shooting up to the place where he conjoined with me.

  “No!” he barked over my startled yelp.

  I was stunned, not only by his swiftness but also by his apparent divination. “How did you know?” I gasped. A droplet of saliva rolled down my cheek to the leather below me.

  “You’re not sneaky, sweetheart,” he growled. I detected a whiff of amusement in his tone. “Your body gives you away every time.”

  His hands secured around my hips, his fingers tucking into the space where my belly ended and my mons began, and he barreled forward. From this angle, I felt everything much more viscerally, and I could’ve sworn I felt the tip of him prod the base of my throat. He felt enormous, and every ounce of composure I possessed shriveled as he speared me. The sound that rose from my diaphragm was so feral it was hardly human, and my nails left deep scars in the expensive leather upholstery as I scrabbled for anything to grip. I heard him exhale his approval behind me.

  “Yes,” he hissed, snakelike.

  “Now? Can I now?” I pleaded. The question was essentially useless as I didn’t have a mite of control over what was happening to me. If I was going to climax, I was going to do so whether he agreed or not.

  “Oh, no,” he said with silken malevolence. “You’re not ready yet.”

  I groaned and smashed a palm against the seat. “Yes, I am!”

  A second spank landed on my butt, and I squealed. “Keep it up, kitten. My hand is far from tired.” It was almost like a challenge.

  It didn’t matter. He could spank me until I was black and blue, but the fact remained that I was quickly plummeting into the abyss of orgasmic euphoria, and once that happened there was no turning back. In an attempt to stave off the impending burst for another precious moment or two, I jammed my teeth into the cushion and bit with vice-like strength. The fabric croaked in consternation, but I wasn’t going to let go, not until either he or I relented.

  Then, in a cruel twist, he released a hip. His thrusts slowed and shallowed, and his breath stilled. I felt the vagrant hand slip along my belly, fingers scribbling lightly with ticklish intent, and the second an unsolicited giggle oozed from my throat that cursed hand shot down to my pussy and laid claim to my clit. His fingers moved in circles and lines across the nerve-laden surface, and I realized he wanted me to break because he wanted a reason to punish me. He’d said so before, the last time I came without asking him first and earning his permission.

  Whatever his reason, he was going to get his wish.

  I trembled from head to toe, and my head rocked back as a loud, plaintive moan swelled through my teeth. He leaned down over me until his mouth was pressed against my ear.

  “Now,” he commanded.

  His pelvis rocketed forward again, and I careened headfirst into an orgasm so powerful I was rendered blind, deaf, and dumb. My world became nerve endings, billions of them, all stimulated at once. If he was coming simultaneously, I had no idea, and I honestly didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. It wasn’t possible for me to care because I was no longer alive. I wasn’t even a thing. I just was.

  When the first waves began to ebb away and allow me to step back into normalcy, I realized his mouth was still against my ear — either that, or he’d replaced it there after finishing himself. “I hope you’re not tired,” he whispered. “We have a big night ahead of us.”

  I didn’t reply, but I couldn’t help wondering what in the hell could possibly be bigger than what had just happened.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Owen

  I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to fuck her in the back of the limo. She was just there, and she looked amazing even though she was just wearing a pair of jeans, a filmy button-down and sneakers, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself. She was inhuman. This Midwestern girl had the ability to turn me into a wild animal, and all I had been intending to do was accompany her to the Ritz and get her settled.

  At least she’d signed the NDA. I still hadn’t delved fully into my “interests” with her, but our impromptu foray had brought me closer than ever to doing so. And, in the name of all that was holy, it was the most beautiful thing I had experienced in my life.

  My bedroom didn’t feel right. I stood in the center and looked around at the massive bed and the matching furniture set and the obligatory artwork by high profile artists from around the world hanging on the walls, and I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be here. After Tabby had returned to Chicago, I’d paced this room for hours on end trying to sort out why I wasn’t able to shake her from my mind, but even then it still felt like my bedroom. At this moment, it felt uncomfortable. I might as well have been standing in the bedroom of a stranger.

  I knew what the problem was. When she was in Chicago, she was out of reach. I could’ve gone to her, of course, or done exactly what I did and bring her to me, but the sheer distance brought with it a sense of dispossession. She wasn’t in Chicago anymore. She was in New Orleans, and the only thing that separated us was a few miles and a hotel room door. I could go to her and take her on her Egyptian cotton sheets almost as easily as I could hunker down under my own. Restraint had come into play. I didn’t want to play, and my restraint was waning.

  The limo had dropped her off well over two hours ago, but my dick was still twitching and maintained a semi-erect state. Who was this witch? What spell had she cast over me? I readjusted myself for the hundredth time and raked my fingers through my hair, groaning aloud in frustration. The clock, an exquisite piece from Germany, had to be wrong because it was claiming that I still had an hour before I was supposed to pick Tabby up to go to dinner and The Club, but my phone and my alarm clock told me the same lies so I had to believe it. When had time developed a sense of humor? I was being tortured. Every second took minutes, and every minute took hours.

  She was a witch — she had to be.

  I flopped onto the foot of the bed and threw my phone onto the comforter behind me. Obsessing was getting me nowhere. While I hadn’t planned on ravaging Tabby on the drive to the Ritz, I would’ve at least expected to feel a little satiated afterwards. I didn’t. My craving was as strong as ever. Stronger, maybe, because I’d never been on the verge of a fit in my desperation to see someone before. My rationality had abandoned me completely and left me pondering the logic behind tying my cock to my thigh just to keep it down.

  A loud jingle erupted in the room, making me jump. I spun and seized my phone. Tabby didn’t have my number — though this was the first time I realized it and hoped I would remember to give it to her later in case she needed something while she was at the hotel. I couldn’t help thinking it was her anyway. I answered without looking at the caller ID. “Owen Driscoll.”

  “Hey, handsome.” The voice was female and flirty, but it was definitely not Tabby’s. “What are you doing?”

  I pulled the phone from my ear and glanced at the screen. Pippa. “Hello, Pippa.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. I ignored her question and waited for her to speak again.

  “I heard a little rumor through the grapevine that a certain someone is coming to The Club tonight. A certain investor someone. You might know him. He’s young and gorgeous and way too charming for his own good.” She giggled. “I hope it’s true.”

&nbs
p; Pippa was a Club woman I’d met about two years before. She had been introduced to our secret society at the tender age of twenty-two by a longtime member, and she’d become a regular participant in the auction. While she had a college degree and a family of repute, along with a pert little ass, there was barely more than hot air between her ears and even less on her chest. I’d bid on her a handful of times and we’d had our dates, but that was it for me. Her lack of substance always had me bored before we were even finished.

  “Yeah, it’s true,” I confirmed with disinterest.

  “Perfect, because I’m going to be there tonight too!” she cooed.

  Unfortunately, Pippa perceived our relationship from a totally different angle. While I thought our chemistry was purely physical, and sometimes minimally so, she seemed to operate under the impression that we had bonded in the way only girlfriends and boyfriends do. I’d never taken her out on a proper date, nor had she ever asked me to, but she tended to behave as though our coming together was a given. On the occasions I’d bid on someone else while she was in the auction, she had acted so hurt I might as well have married her then cheated on her with her own sister on her own bed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to offer me a heads-up she was going to be attending one of the auctions. With the development of whatever I had with Tabby, however, I’d forgotten Pippa even existed.

  “That’s great.” Pointedly, I added, “I hope you get a good bidder.”

  “If you’re there, I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.” My insinuated rejection had flown completely over her head. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but it was irritating.

  “I hope not. I suppose it depends on who else turns out tonight,” I persisted.

  There was a beat of silence this time, and I hoped my intention had landed where I’d aimed. I had the option of coming right out and telling her I wasn’t interested, that I was bringing a guest of my own and no thank you, but I had concerns about that route. Telling her I was taken for the evening allowed her time to plot an interference, and Pippa was absolutely the sort of woman to do such a thing. I didn’t want to subject Tabby to the wily ways of a needy and undeniably oblivious Club woman. Furthermore, the female associates of The Blackjack Club were the only real danger of exposure we had. No member would ever out us, but a spurned woman — well, that was a different story. It had never happened before, and of course, the NDAs were in place, but someone like Pippa was either too dense or too flighty to consider consequences and legalities when out for vengeance.