Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  “It’s not a dog,” grumbled Zander. The catch in his voice made her sympathize with his situation. She knew exactly how he felt; aroused to the point of being ready to burn everything down if he didn’t come soon.

  “Any chance you and that big human up there have a condom lying around? We can improvise if you don’t.” To prove it, she swirled her tongue across the swollen skin of the head. His shaft gave a sharp jump in response, and her pussy throbbed. As if they were having a conversation between just the two of them.

  He groaned hard and his whole body went tense, a bow arched and ready to let fly. She tasted salt on her tongue.

  “Wait.” His voice was so guttural it barely sounded like him. “Don’t move.”

  He pulled himself from her mouth. Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, as if she could still taste his firmness and heat. He took a few steps to a set of drawers next to his bed—which meant she got a killer view of his ass flexing as he walked.

  He came back with a condom, already in the midst of rolling it on.

  If they really did this “marriage” thing, maybe they could skip the condoms, she thought randomly.

  If?

  It was probably too late for “if.” She’d already convinced Susan Baker that they were about to get married. A little research, a little paperwork, and it would be done.

  She pushed away that surreal thought and welcomed him back to her side. Snagging his arm, she tumbled him onto the bed next to her. The feel of his naked body touching hers sent her into a happy trance. He was so warm, so solid, so alive, so strong. And so, so hard.

  Muscle-wise and erection-wise.

  Suddenly almost clumsy, they grabbed onto each other and rolled over and over, with first one of them on top, then the other. They could barely contain themselves, both of them just about jumping out of their skins with excitement. Gretel was giggling and shivering at the same time. She nipped at his shoulder. He sucked at the soft skin of her neck. She buried her face in his stomach. He swatted her on the ass.

  Finally Zander took charge and pinned her down on the bed, face up.

  “Like that,” he commanded. “Just like that.”

  “Or what?” she teased.

  “Or I’ll take emergency measures.”

  “Oooh, scary.” The look in his eyes made her shiver with wild anticipation. He tore his gaze from hers and looked down at where their bodies were about to join. He took his erection in his fist and guided it toward her sex.

  One of her hands was now free, but she did as he asked and kept it where it was. Now that he was about to enter her body, she didn’t want any distractions. She blocked out everything else; the feel of the comforter, the click of snow crystals against the windowpane, the smell of his sweat, or hers, the taste of salt still on her tongue.

  Nothing else mattered in that moment except for the slow thick slide of his penis into her body. And then—the pulse of time in which they adjusted to each other, him panting over her body, arms tense as steel, eyes dark as midnight.

  After that, she lost herself in the thrust and retreat of his hard cock, in the slide of sweaty skin on skin, in the pleasure that built and built and finally bubbled over in a warm burst of an orgasm that made her toes tingle. Shortly after that, almost as if he’d been holding off, Zander gave a sharp grunt and plunged deep, deeper, and then stilled, tremors shaking his taut body.

  When he finally went limp, barely holding himself over her, she lifted her head and nipped at his nose.

  He raised his head and did something that completely surprised her. He kissed her. It was slow, deep kiss, not passionate or lustful, just…real. A grounding kind of kiss. A “here we are together and isn’t that lucky” kind of kiss.

  She kissed him back, a smile quivering at her lips. No, Zander wasn’t at all like any of the other men she’d known. And that was definitely a good thing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Zander needed some recovery time after that wild experience with Gretel. Not just physically, but in all ways. Together, they’d gone to a place he wasn’t really used to. It was more than sex. A lot more.

  Was that because they were doing this “marriage with an asterisk” thing? Because he needed to keep in mind that just because they might fill out some paperwork, it didn’t mean Gretel was going to stick around.

  He took longer than necessary to dispose of his condom, just so he could get a grip on himself. Keep it real, he kept reminding himself. As long as he and Gretel both knew exactly what they were getting into—and not getting into—they should be fine. Right?

  He hoped so, because damn, he wanted to do what they’d just done again, and again, and again. How long were the boys going to be gone?

  He was actually calculating the hours when Gretel popped her head into the bathroom. “I’m a little hungry, are you?”

  “For sure. There’s some shrimp stir fry in the fridge, and some leftover mac and cheese. There might be some old pizza too, but that’s from last week, so—” He made a face. He did his best, but he wasn’t much of a cook. One look in the refrigerator and she would know that she was now in bachelor-boy-world.

  “Sounds perfect, I love shrimp,” she said cheerfully and danced away. He knew she danced because he could see the magenta flash of her streaked hair flying behind her, and the flash of her pert little butt.

  God, how could she be so…endearing? Appealing? Enchanting?

  Enchanting? He really had to get a grip on himself.

  After washing off and pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt, he joined her in the kitchen, where she was randomly punching buttons on the microwave, making lights flash on and off.

  He reached over her and set the timer for one minute.

  “Show-off,” she grumbled as she zipped her hoodie all the way up. It had a fleece lining almost the exact shade of her hair.

  “I don’t know much, but I do know how to nuke cold food.”

  She rested her elbows on the counter and looked at him seriously. “We need to talk.”

  A shock went through him, sending his stomach plummeting. Had Gretel changed her mind? Had that spectacular sex been just meh to her? “Okay.”

  She registered his sudden wariness, and her eyes widened. “Oh no! It’s nothing bad. Don’t look so scared. I was just thinking that we need to work on our prenup.”

  “Our what?” The microwave dinged and he grabbed a pot holder.

  “Our prenup. It’s not really a prenup, per se, but it’s a negotiation. Remember, I told you that if we did this, we’d have to work out all the details ahead of time? Well, we kind of ran out of ‘ahead of time.’”

  He pulled out the stir fry and set it down on a hot pad. “So we’re doing this? For real?”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” The same expression of wariness now appeared on her face. “Better say them now, before we go any further.”

  “Listen, I’m in, as long as you still are. I have a lot more to gain than you do, so it has to be up to you.”

  “That’s not really true. I’ll be paying off a debt and saving some butterflies. This has to be a one hundred percent mutual decision.”

  He took two forks from the silverware drawer and handed her one. When she gave it a quizzical look, he laughed. “Sorry, did you want a plate too? We get into the habit of avoiding dishes because no one likes washing them.”

  “No no, I’m good.” She waved the fork at him before diving in. “But that does bring up one of the deal points. Household stuff.”

  He squinted her. “Deal points? What does your father do, exactly?”

  “He’s a real estate developer,” she explained through a mouthful of food. “But he makes all kinds of deals. Investments, loans, all kinds of things. Marriages. He’s big on marriages.”

  “Yeah, you said he’d been married four times?”

  “Gemma is his fourth wife. They’ve been married three years, which is maybe about average for him.”

  “Is that how long he was marrie
d to your mother?” Her world was so different from his, but he found it fascinating.

  “My mother is a slightly different case.” She stopped talking while she chewed a bit of food. She kept her gaze on the pan, not meeting his eyes. “She was my father’s mistress while he was married to his first wife, who was Bethany’s mother. She kept pestering him to get a divorce, but then he didn’t have to, because Eva died. Breast cancer. After that, he did marry my mother and we went to live with him. So he was with my mom more than three years, counting the time before they got married.”

  There was something going on here. She still wouldn’t look at him while she told that story.

  “How old were you then?”

  “I was five. I wasn’t really aware of much, but I can remember very clearly the looks the household staff gave us when we first moved in. Not just the staff, but everyone. His friends, his business partners, his country club buddies. Everyone except Bethany.”

  He licked sauce off his fork and tilted his head curiously. “Seems like Bethany would have the most reason to be upset.”

  “Yeah, she would. Her father cheated on her mother, then her mother died. Then Aimee shows up with a kid in tow, and suddenly she has a sister she never even knew about. And Aimee’s lording it around the house as if she’s the queen bee. Bethany had every right to hate me. But she didn’t.”

  He couldn’t stand it anymore, and reached for her chin to turn her face toward him. The expression in her eyes nearly broke his heart. He saw…shame.

  “None of it was your fault,” he said gently.

  “Oh, I know. I mean, I’ve told myself that a thousand times. So has Bethany. So have various counselors and kindhearted people. It’s one of those things that’s just…there. In the background, like the sky being blue and snow being white. Gretel being wicked.”

  “The sky isn’t always blue. Snow isn’t always white. And I like when you’re wicked.”

  Laughter brightened her pretty aqua eyes, chasing away the guilt. “That is a very good and very literal point. Trust an Alaskan guy to know about snow and sky.”

  He smiled and watched her take another bite from the dish. “I know why Bethany didn’t hate you.”

  “I know why she didn’t hate me, too. Because she’s a generous, kind and loving person. Also because I used to follow her around like a pesky little puppy. I adored her. It’s probably hard to hate someone who thinks you’re the best thing since ice cream.”

  “Yeah, I bet that was part of it. But Gretel, don’t you see how completely lovable and adorable you are?”

  She laughed that off with a wave of her hand. “It’s true, I am extremely charming. It took you long enough to notice.”

  “No, it didn’t. And I’m not talking about charm. I’m talking about…heart. You care about people, which makes it easy for them to care about you.”

  The smile dropped from her face and she shook her head sadly. “See, that’s the thing. I’ve led a very selfish life. I never had to pay my own way. I charged things on a credit card and never had to see the bill. I went wherever I wanted—or wherever someone invited me.”

  She pushed away from the counter and went to pour herself a glass of water. After a long sip, she went on.

  “That’s why I’m trying to do things differently now. I’m trying to help other people, like the Noonans. I never used to think I had anything useful to contribute. Just a pretty smile and decent fashion sense. A nice singing voice. Fun personality. Charm.” She gave a jaunty shrug, but it didn’t fool him. There was a lot of pain behind that gesture. “So basically what I’m saying is, expect me to be fairly useless if I move in.”

  Her wink didn’t fool him either.

  “Look, Gretel, I don’t know what you were like before I met you. But you’ve been helping the Noonans ever since you got here. So maybe you should stop underestimating yourself. Except when it comes to hauling wood,” he added, just to balance things out. “Not your specialty.”

  She giggled and nudged his leg with her knee. “I’m actually getting pretty good at it, thanks to a certain amazing woodworking genius.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “I just got promoted to genius. From grumpy pants. Not bad.” But in that moment, he realized why people wanted to be around Gretel. It wasn’t because of her fashion sense or her personality. It was because she made people feel good about themselves. That was why Bethany hadn’t hated her. Gretel had probably appeared in her life like a drop of sunshine on a miserably sad and rainy day.

  He knew it because he was feeling the same way right now. As if a sunbeam had taken human form and landed on his kitchen counter.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, then should we start on those deal points? Do I need to get a lawyer?”

  A dazzle of turquoise as she swung her head to meet his eyes. “So this is it? We’re decided?”

  “Unless you want another round of ‘are we compatible in bed,’ yeah. We’re decided. Depending on the negotiations, of course.”

  She interlaced her fingers and extended her arms, cracking her knuckles. “Then let the games begin.”

  They shifted to the big worktable in the other room. Shoving aside the homework Jason had forgotten and the Lego spaceship Petey had made, he placed a stack of notepaper and some sharpies in different colors on the middle of the table.

  “I don’t know much about prenups, is this the kind of thing we need?”

  Gretel pulled up a chair across from him and sat crosslegged with her feet tucked under her. He’d noticed that she never just sat on a chair. She always found some creative way to inhabit it. She nodded approvingly at his supplies.

  “Very professional. I’m sure this will work out perfectly. Okay, so let’s start with the hard stuff. Money.”

  “I don’t have any,” he said promptly. “Well, until my parents’ life insurance comes through. If it comes through. Until then, woodworking pays the bills.”

  “I have about three hundred and fifty-two dollars saved up from the Wicked Brew.” The pride in her voice made him give a double take. “I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’s the first money I’ve earned for myself and I’m pretty frickin’ psyched about that.”

  “Okay. Deal point one. We each keep our own money. Neither of us takes any money from the other. I cover all the household bills just like I do now.” He wrote down, “Separate Money,” in big letters at the top of one of the sheets of paper.

  She nodded, then tapped a finger on her chin. “What about other people’s money?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the honeymoon fund is spoken for. It’s all going to the butterflies. But my father could change his mind and decide to reactivate my credit cards. He doesn’t usually stay mad for long.”

  He doodled with the sharpie as he thought it over. “I don’t want his money, and I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m in this for the dollars. I think we need to put that in the agreement. No Morrison moo-lah. If he gives you money, that’s up to you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t need to be in the agreement because I don’t want his money either. I can’t wait for the day when he says, Gretel, please, take this credit card, and I grab some scissors and cut it in half. I’ve actually had fantasies about that.“

  “Interesting fantasy life.”

  “You have no idea,” she purred, giving him an incendiary look from under her lashes.

  That led to a short period of intense making out that nearly led to sex on the worktable. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to go that far with his brother’s Lego spaceship standing guard.

  So they pulled apart and got themselves under control, then continued.

  “Let’s just leave it that we keep our money separate,” she said, still a little breathless.

  “Two separate tiny piles.” He wrestled back his arousal as he finished writing that deal point.

  She raised a finger. “I do reserve the right to buy extra things for the house.”
<
br />   He frowned. “Like what extra things?”

  “Like anything I think would improve things here.”

  Uh oh. That sounded like trouble. “Do I get a say in it?”

  “Hmm. No prior approval, but you do have veto power.” She made that sound very official and legalese.

  “What does all that mean?”

  “It means that I don’t have to consult with you before I buy something for the house, but if you absolutely hate it, we can talk about that.”

  Sounded fair enough to him. “Are we talking about zebra rugs and purple bathroom paint or something? Like your wild outfits?”

  “Possibly. Would that be a problem? Oh! That’s something I need to add. My mother always kind of changed her look to suit her husband of the moment. I will not be changing my look.” She emphasized the point by tapping the paper. “Write it down. Gretel’s look shall not be interfered with.”

  Gravely, he wrote it down, word for word. Then he added, “Gretel is welcome to interfere with Zander’s look.”

  She read it over his shoulder and burst out laughing. “Are you sure about that? Cause I was thinking you could really use a manicure, and—”

  Quickly, he crossed off that entry. “I take it back.”

  “Big mistake, Ross. Big mistake. I could have you walking down a runway if you let me.”

  “Now you’re just scaring me. I’ll handle my own appearance. Write it down. Use that neon orange Sharpie and add some exclamation points.”

  “What about your hair? Can I cut it?” She put her hands together in a pleading gesture. “Pretty please? Sugar on top?”

  He pretended to deliberate. He liked the idea of her hands on his hair. And he’d had enough military style cuts to last a lifetime. It would be…interesting to see what Gretel came up with. “Sure. Unless you literally put sugar on top. That’s where I draw the line.”

  “No sugar treatments.” She tapped the page. “Write it down.”

  Item by item, they went through everything they could possibly think of that might pose a problem—big and little, serious and whimsical.