Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kent,” Clinton said. “I’m here to exercise my option and buy that house on Main Street.” Clinton reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of money as well as his copy of the contract.

  Mr. Kent pursed his lips and studied Clinton then Josie before staring hard at Clinton again. “It’s Christmas Day, Clinton. I don’t have time to do business.”

  Josie gasped. What did he mean by that?

  “If you didn’t mean to do business on Christmas Day, then you ought not to have put that date on the contract.” Clinton held Mr. Kent’s gaze then took a step toward him. “Now, I didn’t just complete two cattle drives and leave my fiancée back home for six months in order for you to go back on your word. We have a contract. I have the money. I intend to buy that house today. So, you can either invite us in where it’s warm, or we can take care of this outside. But I’m not leaving without the deed to that house.”

  Josie didn’t care much for violence, but after all Clinton had been through, and her, too, well, if Clinton didn’t punch him in the nose, she would.

  “Why don’t you come on inside.” Mr. Kent opened the door, and they entered Miss Ryan’s house.

  The house was as austere as its owner. Josie nodded to Miss Ryan, but the Christmas spirit had not thawed her any. Josie didn’t want to take the chance of upsetting Miss Ryan or Mr. Kent, so she waited quietly while the transaction was completed.

  Within minutes, they were outside.

  “Let’s go home, Josie.”

  Josie could hardly believe all that had happened that day, though of course, it was Christmas. Clinton returned, they got married and bought a house. And now, it was her wedding night. Everything had happened so quickly, it wasn’t until they turned down the street toward their house that she remembered that the house was empty. Sleeping on the hard wooden floor was hardly a proper wedding night.

  She cleared her throat and was just about to voice her concerns to Clinton when the house came into view. The windows were full of light, as though there was a party inside. She sat up straight. “Clinton, what’s going on?”

  “You didn’t think we’d spend our wedding night without a proper bed and some furniture, did you?” He nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear, “I’ve been dreaming about making love to you for a long, long time, Josie. And I mean for it to be memorable.”

  “Clinton!” she gasped, blushing.

  The front door of the house flew open, Travis, Millie, Rafe and Lydia all came out onto the front porch to welcome them. Josie hoped they didn’t notice the flush on her cheeks from Clinton’s scandalous statements.

  Scandalous or not, his words and closeness had ignited the yearnings she’d been holding in check for so long. Tonight she would finally belong to him.

  They joined their friends on the porch where there was much merriment.

  “Thank you all so much,” Clinton said. “We hope to spend many happy hours here with our friends. But,” he paused and smiled, “not tonight.”

  “We can take a hint,” Rafe laughed, escorting Lydia down the steps followed by Millie and Travis.

  Clinton lifted Josie in his arms and carried her over the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Ramsey.” He pulled the door closed and locked it, then lowered his face and covered her mouth in a tender kiss. He moved his lips slowly over hers, as though savoring each second of contact.

  When the kiss ended, they looked around their house. Their own house. What a thrill.

  It wasn’t large, but it was perfect for them and Josie loved everything about it. Their friends had done a wonderful job of adding furniture and personal touches throughout the house. Somehow they had gotten a proper bed set up, including the quilt from the Juniper Junction Quilting Society. Josie’s hope chest sat at the foot of the bed. She smiled when she saw it. All those years of wishing and hoping for a home of her own had finally come true. She couldn’t wait to open the chest and use the contents to make their house a home.

  Their friends had even found and decorated a small Christmas tree that stood in the corner of the living room.

  “Oh, Clinton,” Josie said, her heart overflowing with happiness, “what wonderful friends we have. Look, they even thought of a Christmas tree.”

  “Didn’t I promise you that we’d put a star on the top of our tree, just like the necklace I gave you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Clinton clasped her by the upper arms and looked deep into her eyes. “I know I put you through a hard time, a very hard time. I’m proud of you for getting through it, and to be honest, there were a few times when I wasn’t sure I’d make it back here to you at all, let alone by Christmas. At night, especially after a tough day, I’d look up at the stars and think of you. Of our home and even of putting a star on top of our Christmas tree. Maybe it seems like a silly thing, but for me, it represented our life together and I was determined to get back to you, my sweet Josie.”

  By the time he finished talking, tears of happiness ran down Josie’s cheeks. “Oh, Clinton, we’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Look.” Clinton pointed to the base of the Christmas tree. A beautiful silver star. He retrieved it and handed it to her. “Just like I promised.”

  Josie set the star on the top of the tree where it fit just right. They stood with their arms around each other admiring it for a moment. The little house seemed bursting with love and happiness.

  “There are presents down there too,” Josie said.

  Clinton cupped her face in his palms. “Those can wait. I have other things in mind.” Their kiss was filled with love and hope and soon it built to more.

  The longing in Josie intensified and the kiss did as well. When the kiss ended, Clinton carried her through the house to their bedroom and set her on her feet.

  “Time for me to unwrap my Christmas present.” He unclasped the cloak she wore over her wedding gown and tossed it on a chair. His warm gaze traveled the length of her body. “I know I’m not much for fashion and frills, but this is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I can tell you put a lot of work into it...and a lot of love.”

  “Thank you,” Josie said, happiness welling within her.

  “Now,” Clinton began to open the buttons down the back of the dress, his fingers brushing against the delicate skin at the nape of her neck, “I do not want to tear this dress and I’m going to do my best not to, but I can’t make any promises. I want you so bad, Josie.”

  Warm tingles moved through Josie’s body from where his fingers grazed the flesh down her spine. She was in such a fever that if he didn’t tear her dress, she thought she might.

  “Oh, Clinton, please hurry. I don’t care if you tear it. I’m a seamstress.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, darlin’. This is the last button.” The gown loosened and soon it was on the floor around her feet. Clinton picked it up and added it to the pile of her garments on the chair. Now she wore only her underclothes. Just a thin layer of fabric between her and complete nakedness. Her breath came in shallow pants and she could feel her pulse race. Clinton reached out and ran his fingers in a scorching path along the chain of the necklace she wore. Their eyes met. “You’re wearing my necklace.”

  “Of course, I am. I haven’t taken it off since you put it on me.”

  “Well, then I guess you’d best keep it on, but everything else is coming off.”

  “Oh, yes.” She felt squirmy and aching with need and when he added her underskirts to the pile of discarded clothes, she was eager for him.

  His gaze dropped to take in her naked form. “Oh, Josie, you are so beautiful. More beautiful than I ever imagined.” He brushed his hands over her body delicately, stoking the embers that were burning in her. Pulling her close for an intimate kiss, she mewled deep in her throat and clung to him, her fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

  She could feel the urgency in him as the kiss became even more carna, their tongues entwining as they clung to each other
.. He lifted her and laid her across the bed, then stepped away to strip off his clothes. Mesmerized, she watched as his taut body was revealed to her. And when he lowered his pants to unveil the length of his manhood, her lady parts spasmed. Reaching out her hands to him, he joined her on the bed, braced on his arms and holding himself above her.

  “I love you so much, Josie.”

  “I love you too, Clinton. I can hardly believe you are really here.”

  He kissed her eyebrows, then her cheeks, followed by her lips. “I’m really here.”

  She adjusted her hips beneath him and, feeling bold, ran her fingers across the hard muscles of his chest. His eyes darkened and she explored further until she reached the firm shaft of his cock. With one fingertip, she touched the head. Clinton growled deep in his chest and she wrapped her whole hand around him. She wanted to touch every part of him, feel every part of him, to be joined with him as one.

  “Oh darlin, that feels so good.”

  Clinton sat back on his heels with his thighs on either side of her. As she watched, he slipped his hand between her thighs. “Oh,” she gasped as his fingers stroked the wet folds of her sex.

  “Josie, you are so wet.” One of his fingers entered her hot core.

  “Pl-please, Clinton,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking for but she needed something desperately. Needed him. Needed closeness and completion. Her nerve endings were alight with the need for contact.

  “Let me take care of you,” he said, sliding her legs wider, caressing the flesh of her inner thighs and stroking his finger in and out.

  “Oh, oh,” she gasped as she felt a wave of desire building stronger and stronger within her.

  “Do you like that, Josie? I think you must because you are so wet down here.” His eyes darkened with desire as he continued his delicious torment of her.

  “Ye-yes,” she cried out, bucking against the mattress until she climaxed, stars dancing in her vision.

  “That’s my good girl,” he said. “Now, let me love you properly.”

  Nestling the head of his cock between the folds of her sex, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, stroking his hands over the tender flesh of her breasts, before sliding all the way into her heated core. There was some pain when he got to the barrier of her maidenhead. Clinton squeezed her nipples between his fingers and the delicious sensation distracted her from the pain as he pushed through and made her his. He continued to kiss and fondle and stroke her body until she once again felt the rush of a climax moving through her body. Clinton slid his hard cock in and out of her in a steady rhythm that she matched moving her hips with him.

  Her second climax of the night stole over her and she cried out with pleasure just as Clinton did the same, his hot seed filling her with one last hard stroke.

  For a moment they lay together in silence, the lethargy of their lovemaking washing over them. Clinton stirred first, laying next to her and pulling her to rest her head on his chest.

  “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Ramsey.”

  About Celeste Jones

  USA Today bestselling author Celeste Jones is known for writing highly entertaining erotic romance featuring headstrong heroines and stern yet loving heroes who aren't afraid to take a naughty woman over their knees.

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  Holly and Old Lace

  by Vanessa Brooks

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  December 1860

  “Could there be a better way to spend an evening?” Lady Annabelle Holly Lushington gushed, tapping her foot in time to the Straus waltz currently being played so beautifully by the quartet hired for the occasion. She did so love a ball! The colourful gowns, the music, and gentlemen dressed in their finery. The romance, the excitement, all combined to make for a most romantic evening. Once she had a husband, she would be able attend every single one, should she so choose.

  “I agree, but a Christmas ball surpasses all others, don’t you think?” her friend, Lady Alice Parmenter, replied enthusiastically.

  “Yes, I do so adore the Yuletide season.”

  “Holly, isn’t that Lord Mounthurst, the Earl of Caulderbury over there? Oh my goodness, he’s turning in our direction!” Alice gasped.

  “Wait a moment then glance casually about. We can take a sneaky peek at him,” Holly whispered, conspiratorially.

  Alice did as her friend advised.

  “My word, you are right, it is Mounthurst, but he rarely attends a ball,” Holly exclaimed.

  “His wife died a couple of years ago. I overheard my parents discussing the fact that he is recently come out of mourning and might be searching for a new bride,” Alice confided.

  “He is more handsome than his reputation credits. He appears rather intimidating, though, with that dark hair and those hooded eyes. Goodness, he resembles a pirate.”

  “No, a highway robber,” Holly contradicted, studying the tall, dark earl, despite having warned her friend not to stare. He seemed familiar. Had he attended any of the season’s house parties or soirees? She frowned, pondering; perhaps she had seen him at one or other of the summer’s events?

  “I wager you cannot get him to notice us,” Alice goaded, mischievous.

  “Ladies should not accept wagers; however, I can and will accept a challenge,” Holly replied, never one to back away from a dare. She took her friend’s arm, leaning in to whisper.

  Alice’s cheeks grew pink as she listened.

  “No… I withdraw my wager or challenge, whatever you want to call it. We cannot, that is too brazen, even for you!” Alice exclaimed.

  “Don’t be such a goose. There is no convention that will be broken. You are already betrothed to Barnaby so you have nothing to lose.”

  “Only my fiancé, should he disapprove,” Alice retorted.

  Holly cajoled and argued, until, browbeaten, Alice gave in with a sigh of resignation. Being timorous, Alice never withstood her friend’s persuasion for long.

  Holly proceeded to drag her from among the party of debutants, out onto the dance floor where she partnered Alice, taking the position as the male lead.

  There were gasps of dismay from a huddled group of dowager ladies seated opposite them. Many raised their eye monocles in order to scrutinise the theatricals happening right in front of them.

  The girls danced together for no more than a few movements before two gentlemen intercepted them. Disappointingly, neither man was the darkly dashing Earl of Caulderbury.

  “You are a disgrace!” her father spluttered, outraged as they bowled along in their carriage on the return home.

  “Oscar, dear, that is quite enough, no harm has been done. Even Lady Wickham agreed that no rules had actually been broken. Nowhere does it state that an unmarried girl may not dance the waltz with another unmarried girl,” her stepmother attempted to sooth him.

  “Quiet, Henrietta. The issue is far more serious than that. No gentleman wants a wife who deliberately makes a spectacle of herself. This time your daughter has gone too far, madam!”

  “Why is it that she becomes my daughter only if she misbehaves and yours when she excels?” Lady Henrietta Lushington complained. As well she might, for although she had raised Holly from a babe, she was, in fact, Holly’s stepmother.

  Holly leant back in her seat; a small smile of amusement played about her lips. Her mama, although only a stepmother, always defended her against her father. Holly’s birth mother had died in the struggle to give her daughter life. The only mother Holly had ever known was the sweet and caring Henrietta. The arrival of half-brothers and sisters did not detract from either parent’s devotion, and Holly had always enjoyed the company of her younger siblings. Theirs was a happy and playful existence, and Holly l
oved her family, growing up cheerful, if a little frivolous. Her stepmother had not neglected her duty to her stepdaughter and had trained Holly thoroughly in the running of a large establishment, preparing her for her destiny which was to marry well and take her place beside a titled husband as the mistress of his imposing home.

  Holly watched fondly while her parents bickered. She knew that once they engaged in a disagreement, the argument would continue all the way home, which left her alone to ponder. She settled back, replaying the events of the evening through her mind.

  The handsome earl had looked in their direction. His gaze met hers as she was led from the dance floor by Lady Wickham’s rather plump son, Viscount Marchment. The earl’s haughty, unwavering stare had held her gaze. Interestingly, Holly had detected no hint of condemnation in the glance. She’d winked at him and watched a slow flush stain his neck. Ah, so he was not impervious to her. In that moment, he’d endeared himself to Holly.

  She stared out at the darkness, fantasising on how life would be as the earl’s wife—he would blush at her racy tales of balls she’d attend, or by gathering salacious gossip whilst playing whist.

  He would share his own wicked stories with her, of course. Tales of gentlemen broken as he bested them in the gaming halls, or better yet, tales of pugilists and the bets he’d have laid upon the winning man.

  Perhaps they might ride out together when the weather was fine. Holly pictured herself seated upon a creamy white horse, while he rode a black stallion, one reaching at least eighteen hands. Yet she would win the race because he would love her so much, he would allow her to win.

  Her musings lasted the whole way home. By the time they pulled up at the London house, her parents were once again chatting amicably, their discussion about the weather, her father convinced it would snow, her mother insisting it would not. Holly was not deceived; her father would not let this matter drop, for although he was a gentle man, he was also one who worried a subject to death.