by Alexis Anne, Audra North, Julia Kelly, Alexandra Haughton
A good man.
It was true. He was a good man, even if she still barely knew him. She’d had a year of feeling unsteady and uncertain and just…un. And he’d brought some of herself back to her in the short span of a weekend.
That night passed with considerably less hope, and her dreams were fraught with scenes of loss, and when she dragged herself out of bed for her last day of work before her holiday time off, she promised herself she would not let man troubles plague her any longer. If she saw Simon around the building, she’d be composed and mature and she’d say hello to him in a friendly way.
That resolved, she grabbed her bag and opened her door to leave—
Only to find him standing on the other side, looking a bit haggard.
Her heart squeezed at the sight of his rough beard, the dark shadows under his eyes. She dropped her bag to the floor.
Forget composed and mature.
“Simon,” she breathed. “Rough week?”
He laughed, and his voice sounded rusty and weak. “You could say that. I’m just getting home. I’ve been at the office since Monday. But before I crashed, I wanted to stop by and say I’m sorry for not contacting you sooner. I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
He’d been at work for two days straight? And the first place he’d come was her apartment?
She forgave him immediately.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “We fixed the bug and we’ll make the shipment. I think—I have a feeling I might not wake up until tomorrow, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out? No pressure. I mean, I’m not trying to pick up where we left off or anything. I just thought we could—”
“Hang out,” she finished for him, smiling. “I’d like that. But tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Don’t you have plans?”
He shook his head, but then shrugged. “I was supposed to go with one of my colleagues to his parents’ place in L.A. since I don’t have time to get back to England for the holidays. But I cancelled that. I’m staying here for Christmas.”
She tried not to read too much into that.
“Tomorrow, then. Come by whenever you wake up. I’ll be here.”
And then she kissed him, sweet and slow, before grabbing her bag again and heading off to work.
Chapter 4
He showed up just after ten o’clock on Christmas Eve morning. Astrid was sitting at her table, reading a mystery novel, when she heard his knock, and she jumped up to answer.
She’d thought about it the night before, and she’d realized…so what if being with a guy like Simon made her happy? So what if the gentle way he treated her and the ease that he brought to her life whenever he was around made her happy and made her crave more?
Wasn’t that a good thing, to find a man she enjoyed being with?
A man she could see a future with. Maybe things wouldn’t work out, but maybe they would. And that was worth taking a chance on. It was worth investing in. She didn’t need to wait for Christmas and make a symbolic ritual of it or anything like that. Maybe she just needed to let herself be happy with Simon.
If she was nuts, if she was weak and sad for placing stock in a guy she was just getting to know—well, then, it was still worth the joy he brought her.
She opened the door to find him shaved, showered, and looking considerably more awake than he had yesterday. She gestured him in, then shut the door behind him.
“Feeling better?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Wow. I slept like the dead for fourteen hours straight, ate something, then went back to bed. I haven’t done that…well, ever. Not even in university.” He smiled, then leaned down and kissed her. “Thanks for putting up with my crazy schedule.”
It was just so easy to be with him.
After these rough few years, “easy” was something she hadn’t even realized was important to her, but Simon had shown her.
Then again, his kisses didn’t make her feel easy, which she supposed was a very good thing. In fact, his kisses made her feel downright restless.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him again, long and sensual. After several minutes, she broke away and looked at him. “I know you’ve been in bed for a long time, but I was wondering…feel like joining me in mine for a little while longer?”
He nodded. “God, yes.”
They practically fell over one another as they kissed their way into her bedroom, pulling at one another’s clothes along the way, until they were standing next to her bed and only a thin layer of cotton and lace separated their naked skin.
Slowly, Simon ran his hands around her back and unhooked her bra, pulling the straps down her arms before letting it slide to the floor.
And then he looked at her. Like, really looked. He stepped back and stared at her breasts, his eyes intense—so intense that they made her feel hot and turned on and impossibly impatient. Her nipples were hard and pointed, and her breasts looked fuller somehow. Bigger.
Aroused.
Needy.
Alive.
She’d missed this for too long.
He reached out a hand and cupped her left breast in his big palm, gently stroking her nipple with his thumb.
When she moaned and arched into him, be brought the other hand up to do the same to her right breast before pushing them together, rubbing, caressing, coaxing sounds from her that she hadn’t even known she was capable of making.
She needed him so badly.
Astrid pushed at the waistband of his boxer briefs with trembling fingers. He tried to pull his hips away, but she was insistent, and finally he took his hands—his glorious hands—from her breasts and helped her, pushing them down until they dropped to the floor.
Her eyes went downward to see—“Oh. Wow.”
His cock was an impressive thing. Fully erect, thick and long…
She wanted it in her.
She put her fingers to the top of her panties, but he stopped her.
“I want to do it.”
She let him kneel and slide them down, and she balanced her hand on his shoulder as she stepped out of the lacy underwear. Thank God she was holding on to him, because in the next moment, he had his mouth between her legs, his tongue licking deep.
“Simon!” She was surprised enough to gasp his name, and he leaned back on his heels, laughing up at her. She laughed, then, too. “I’m ready. I don’t want to wait.”
His face grew serious and he stood up again, kissing her until she melted against him. He eased her back onto the bed, using his fingers to stroke and tease her, until finally she demanded, “Now.”
He laughed again and rose off her long enough so that she could roll over and grab a condom from the top drawer of her nightstand.
I hope it fits him.
She’d gotten large ones, just in case, but still…
He rolled it on without a problem, then eased her back down onto the bed before positioning the tip of his cock at her entrance—
And then he thrust.
Once, gently, but she was so wet and ready that it was enough to slide a couple inches of that thick cock into her body, making her groan and wrap her legs around his back, trying to pull him closer. To get more of him.
All of him.
After that, there were no more words between them. Just the gasp and sigh of their breath, harder and faster, until finally they both shattered on a shout of mutual pleasure.
* * * * *
They stayed in bed for much of the day. Around two o’clock, Simon made a quick run to the grocer before they closed, to get sustenance, and he came back carrying an enormous box with a premade Christmas meal inside.
They ate until they were stuffed, napped, watched a Christmas movie, made love again…
It was just past midnight when Astrid collapsed on top of him after another mind-blowing climax. She rolled to her side, catching sight of the clock as she did.
“Hey. It’s the twenty-fifth now. Merry Christmas.”
Her hand found his and wrapped around it. A solid, comforting, easy touch that brought a message of happiness and hope along with it. A new beginning.
She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect holiday.
About Audra North
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Also by Audra North
Pushing the Boundaries Series
Hard Driving Series
Stanton Family Series
One Week in Love Series
Short Stories and Anthologies
Kiss Me at Midnight
Julia Kelly
Allina Hemphill’s been (unsuccessfully) set up by her parents too many times, but when her mother’s scheming puts Blane Douglas in her sights on Christmas Eve, she finds she’s more than happy to steal a kiss under the mistletoe.
Chapter 1
Allina Hemphill buried her chin a little deeper into the chunky knit cashmere scarf she’d wrapped around her neck and stuffed her hands into her pockets to stave off the sharp bite of a cold London night.
She knew that it wasn’t normal to spend Christmas Eve dining at a club that could trace its roots to George III’s reign, but then again nothing the Hemphills did ever was normal. It had been tradition for longer than she could remember for her mother, father, and her to have a celebratory drink at the family house on the corner of Chesterfield Hill and Hay’s Mews and then take the short walk to the Albion Club on St. James’s Street. Some might find it strange to have dinner brought out on china by the club’s impeccable wait staff, but anyone who had ever had her mother Josephine’s cooking would agree that it was the best solution for all.
“It’s chilly tonight,” she said, trying to repress a shiver.
Her mother, naturally, saw all. “I told you to bring a pair of gloves.”
“It’s just a short walk,” she said.
“I don’t want to wind up in A&E because you’ve gotten frostbite,” her mother clucked.
She laughed. “It doesn’t get nearly cold enough in London, don’t worry Mum.”
“I know that, dear,” said her mother looping her arm through her daughter’s. “It’s just old instincts kicking in. I’m happy to have you back.”
“We both are,” said her father.
Allina forced herself to smile past the nerves that had been roiling in her stomach ever since she’d boarded the plane from Chicago to London. She’d risen through the ranks of the Chicago Museum of Arts & Textiles fast, moving from intern to development officer to department head in three years. It hadn’t taken long for Burrows Museum in London to come calling. The museum’s executive director was an ambitious, practical sort of woman who had plans for a capital campaign that would put the institution firmly on the map as the premiere collection of twentieth and twenty-first century Western art in Europe, stealing the title away from the Tate Modern and the Guggenheim Bilbao. It was a thrilling, intoxicating proposition, and Allina had signed on as quick as she could.
But as great as the job was, she’d given up a life in Chicago and her network of friends to move back to London. She hadn’t lived there in more than fifteen years, and although there were always people she could call, she wasn’t close to anyone. Not anymore. With the exception of her parents, she was essentially alone in the city she’d grown up in.
She shook her head. Christmas Eve wasn’t a time for worries, so she slipped her arm through the crook of her dad’s elbow as her mother had done to her, and squeezed them tight to her for a brief moment. Friends and a social life would come with time. She had to give it more than a month.
They reached the modest three steps leading up to the Albion’s front door just as the bells of St. James Piccadilly began to toll eight o’clock. Right on time.
“Ladies,” her father gestured to the door that was being held open by Mr. Charles, the club’s ancient but elegant steward.
Allina hung back to let her mother go first. She smiled at Mr. Charles as she passed into the warmth of the club’s unabashedly Georgian interior complete with cornflower blue walls topped with white plaster embellishments. Everywhere was decked out in boughs of holly and bright red bows for the season. The smell of mulled wine wafted on the air. It was like walking into a wonderland from another era.
Mr. Charles bowed. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Hemphill.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile as she unwound her scarf. “How have things been at the club?”
“We’ve had quite a few new members since you were last here,” he said as he oversaw the young porter—likely a student working his way through university—who was busy taking their coats.
“I hope that’s a good thing,” she said.
“If it keeps the rolls healthy, I’m happy. I do hope you enjoy your dinner.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful as always,” she said before following her mother and father up the gracefully curving stairs to the dining room on the first floor.
* * * * *
“That was a good roast. The Albion never fails us,” said Allina’s father as he settled his glass of wine in front of him on the now cleared table.
Her mother gestured to the corner of her mouth, and Allina couldn’t help a little chuckle as her father hastily picked up his napkin to dab at a tiny spot of gravy.
“Shall we head home?” her mother asked.
Allina opened her mouth to reply when a woman wearing an understated but unmistakable Chanel suit glided up to their table. “Josephine and Gerald. I’m so happy we ran into you!”
“Happy Christmas,” said her father as he rose to kiss the woman on the cheek.
Her mother placed a light touch on her forearm. “Sophie, this is our daughter Allina.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she shook hands with the woman.
“Your parents have been so kind to us,” Sophie said, in vowels that were just flat enough to make Allina wonder if she’d spent time in the U.S. “We only just became members in April, and they told us that it isn’t uncommon for people to have dinner here before the holiday. We thought it would be fun to take a break from the cooking this year.”
“Yes, we’ve been doing it for years,” she said.
“Is Frank here?” her father asked.
“He and our son, Blane, have just gone to the drawing room for a whiskey,” said Sophie. “Will you join us?”
Her mother glanced around for an affirmative from everyone before agreeing. “We would be happy to.”
“Allina, you’ll like Blane. We spent the last five years in Washington, but Blane’s been in New York for ten. He moved back just last year.”
“Frank is in international law,” her father supplied by way of explanation.
“How interesting,” she said, but really she was trying her best to push away the dread that rose up in her. Even though she’d spent most of her adult life halfway across the world, she’d been in this situation more times that she wanted to admit. Her parents and their friends simply couldn’t understand why a nice, smart, successful girl like her wasn’t already married. They made thirty-three sound like the very depths of spinsterhood, all while trying their hardest to arrange meetings with their various sons, nephews, and even a junior partner in one case. She’d always had the excuse of living in Chicago to gently let down her parents’ well-meaning friends. Now that she was in London, however, she didn’t have quite so easy an out.
Her mother leaned in as they fell into step behind Sophie and her father. “You’ll like Blane. I promise.”
“Mum, I hope you aren’t getting any ideas.”
“No ideas at all,” said her mother with a little conspiratorial smile.
“Liar. Did you set this up with Sophie?”
“It is a complet
e coincidence that they’re here when we are, although we did tell them about our little tradition at the club,” said her mother.
“And did you ‘suggest’ that perhaps we could have a drink after dinner so that her son could meet someone his own age?”
“Not at all.” She shot her mother a look. “What? I can’t hope that my only child will find happiness?”
She sighed even though she wasn’t opposed to the idea of meeting someone. She just hadn’t met the right someone. Not in fifteen years in the U.S. and certainly not in a month back in London. “That’s laying it on a little thick.”
“I know, but it’s Christmastime. Indulge an old lady for once.”
“Now you’re fishing for compliments,” she said.
“Just say hello to Blane. If you don’t like him, you never have to see him again. No one’s forcing you to sign a marriage contract. Victoria isn’t queen anymore.”
“And thank goodness for that,” she muttered under her breath as they walked through the double doors that opened into one of the club’s four drawing rooms. This one was outfitted with a full bar that specialized in whiskey and bourbon as well as an impressive wine list.
Sophie led them through the surprisingly large crowd of merry makers to a tall, slim, white-haired man who sat at a group of leather chairs. “Frank, look who I found.”
Their parents made their hellos and introductions before her mother asked, “Where’s Blane?”
“He’s just getting drinks,” said his father peering over Allina’s shoulder. “Ah, here he is.”
She turned, expecting to see the usual anemic, skinny sons of her parents’ friends, but instead she almost gasped. If the man walking toward them with two tumblers of whiskey in one hand and a champagne flute in the other was Blane Douglas, she was revising her thoughts on dating her parents’ friends’ sons.
He was delicious. Tall with powerful shoulders beneath a suit jacket, he moved like a man who did absolutely everything with purpose and intention. His dark hair, which he wore brushed into a deep part, was long enough to curl slightly at the ends. But it was his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat. They were light blue—almost grey—and they pierced her so intensely that desire bolted through her and pooled between her legs. She tried her hardest not to squirm, but suddenly she wanted the friction of his very short beard against the inside of her thighs and his tongue on her, relieving the pressure he’d built up in her with just one look.