My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge: A Festive Romantic Comedy

by Harmony Knight

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “Do. That, I mean. You should do that.”

  For the love of God, why am I not more sexy? I imagine other women in this situation. They’d be making come-hither looks with their sultry eyes, responding to his propositions with classy-yet-highly-suggestive innuendos in their husky, lust-ragged voices. So far I’ve managed “Busted!” and something that I don’t even think qualifies as a complete sentence.

  Greyson doesn’t seem to mind. He’s smiling at me as he pulls me to my feet. Then, romantically but very unexpectedly, he reaches down to grab the backs of my thighs with one arm and the top of my back with the other, and sweeps me up into his arms.

  I let out a little scream and grab around his neck, clinging on for dear life. Have I mentioned that he’s very tall?

  “I cam fee,” he says, and I realize his speech is muffled because I have a death grip on his head and I’m squeezing it into my coat-covered chest.

  “What?” I ask, pulling back a bit.

  I feel more secure than I’d expected. He’s strong, and his thick arms are wrapped underneath me, as solid as the ground itself.

  “I couldn’t see,” he says, looking down at me. His gaze roams all over my face like he’s taking in every detail. “You have about ten steps to change your mind, Alora Brooks.”

  “Quick,” I say. “Run!”

  He throws his head back and bellows a loud laugh as he carries me inside.

  Chapter 12

  Greyson

  Until this very second, “adorably dorky” wasn’t even in the top 100 on the list of things I found sexy, and yet here we are and it’s shot right to the top. Allie’s a little nervous. I can tell by the way she keeps meeting my eyes and then looking away, but I’m transfixed—watching every feature of her face as the emotions wash across them. It’s only making me even more eager to get inside her ridiculously oversized coat.

  I kick the bedroom door open and set her down on her feet. She stands there with her arms at her sides, chewing on her bottom lip (probably number two on the list now).

  I press the side of my index finger against the underside of her chin, forcing her big, green eyes to meet mine, and I lean down and kiss her again. Her scent is honey and flowers and freshly fallen snow, and she tastes divine.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her, pulling back. I start to undo her coat, and she takes a breath in. I can tell she’s about to pipe up with some self-deprecating comeback, so I press my finger against her lips to silence her.

  “Shh,” I say. “I said what I said.”

  She smiles against my finger and I lean in again, kissing around her full lips as I undo the buttons of her coat and peel it off her shoulders. I pull her sweater over her head and discard it, and then I have to pause a moment, just to look at her.

  Her jeans are snug around her waist, and her nipples are pebbled underneath the thin, silky fabric of a white bra.

  “Oh, Lord,” I breathe, moving my hand to her left breast. I cup it, gently, and run my thumb over the peak of her nipple. The whimper from her mouth is like music to my ears.

  She reaches up and places her hand on the side of my neck, pulling me toward her, and I gladly follow her lead, flicking my tongue across her lips. My length is straining against my pants, taught and hard, but I’m desperate to see her fall apart before I have my way with her.

  I push my fingers into the top of her jeans and yank her toward me, pulling her close so she can feel my hardness pressing into her belly.

  “Look what you’ve done to me,” I say, biting her bottom lip gently. She moans into my mouth, all her nervous quips spent.

  I move my thumb and fingers on her jeans and flick open her top button, then pull down the zipper and push them down over her hips. She wriggles out of them, kicking her shoes off at the same time. As soon as her legs are free, I lift her up and throw her backward onto the bed, where she lands on her back with a squeal.

  I crawl onto the bed after her and she parts her thighs for me until I’m propped up with an arm on either side of her shoulders, looming over her.

  “Hello,” I say, lowering myself down to kiss her.

  Fully clothed, I grind myself against her, my hardness rolling up and down over her sex as her mouth makes a delightful little ‘O’ shape and her breathing gets just a little harder. Her hands move down, her fingers wriggle against my torso until she gets purchase on my shirt, and she pulls it upward, over my head, and throws it across the room.

  “Allie,” I say, and her name feels so hot on my lips it’s like a curse. “Tell me what you want.”

  She flushes immediately and pulls me down toward her. She kisses me, her tongue in my mouth, on my lips. She nibbles at my neck and my jaw, and then she whispers into my ear.

  “I want you inside me.”

  Her answer makes my balls lift and my length twitch against her slit, but I have no intention of giving into that particular demand just yet. I unhook her bra and peel it off, and I take a moment to look down at her perfect breasts and her pebbled nipples. I lean down and flick my tongue against one, wetting it, before I pull back and blow gently on it. Her reaction—a lift of her hips that rolls her vulva against my achingly erect dick—tells me everything.

  Shifting down the bed a little, I keep my attention on her nipples. I lick and suckle and flick with my tongue until she’s squirming and breathless, and then I kiss a trail down her belly and press my thumb against her most sensitive spot, on the outside of her panties.

  They match her bra, white and silky, and there is a small dark patch of wet where I’ve been rubbing against her.

  “Holy…” she says, trailing off into a little gasp when I pull her panties to the side and flick my tongue against her clitoris. I use my fingers to open her, gently, and lave my tongue along her slit, bottom to top, before I settle on that sensitive little bud and roll circles around it until she starts to pant.

  I slide a finger inside her and hook it, and then another, curling them slightly until her hands slam into the bed on either side of her and she grips at the sheets until her knuckles go white. I can feel her legs start to shake, and I can taste her arousal as it builds and builds.

  “Oh my God!” she shouts, louder than I was expecting. I am utterly desperate to be inside her, but there’s no chance in hell I’m allowing myself that pleasure until she’s had her first orgasm.

  Just when I think I can’t take any more, she falls apart. Her hips buck, her sex clenches around my fingers, and she moans in time with waves that seem to crash through her entire body. She is beautiful, and I’m enthralled.

  I pull my own jeans and underwear off while she lays on the bed, panting, and then I lay down over her, exercising every ounce of self-restraint I have to keep from immediately burying myself inside this beautiful creature underneath me. Her eyes are like satisfied little slits, still rolling slightly with the tail end of her orgasm. As she comes back to her senses, she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me forward.

  For all that I wanted to wait and tease her, my body has other ideas. I let out a loud, guttural groan as I slide effortlessly into her. She is tight and warm and still slightly pulsing, and there’s not an ounce of restraint left in me. I loop my arms beneath hers and my hands under her head so I can keep her facing me, and then I begin to rock my hips, staring into her eyes and willing her to feel every ounce of what I feel for her.

  She moans as I make love to her. Her eyes roll a little in her head and she grabs around me, her nails digging into my back and her ankles crossing over behind me, as though she wants to keep me deep inside her.

  She is everything I expected and more. Her body fits me like a glove and every sound, every move she makes drives me closer and closer to losing myself inside her.

  Her lips are beside my ear, whispering, and what she’s saying is unintelligible over the sounds of her ragged breaths and mine, but I’m sure it’s filthy. Her nails press into my back harder, her legs grip tighter, and I feel her cle
nch, and clench again, and another orgasm rolls through her.

  I slam into her, faster and harder, feeling the pressure build inside me, and with a loud groan, I bury myself as deep as I can and spill my seed.

  I lay on top of her for a long while, breathless, and I notice almost peripherally that she’s running her fingers up and down my back. I twitch, and twitch again, my nerve endings still too sensitive in the aftermath of the orgasm, and after the third twitch, I laugh and grab her hand to stop her.

  She’s laying there, naked and satisfied with her eyes sparkling in the afterglow, and I roll off her and lay beside her, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, into the quiet, and it’s all I can do to stop myself laughing at how ridiculous it is for her to be thanking me.

  “You can thank me after I’ve made you dinner,” I say, and lean down to kiss her temple.

  Whatever doubts I’ve been battling over the past few weeks seem to have vanished, discarded like an old, tattered comfort blanket that’s outlived its purpose. As I lay beside Allie, listening to her breathing return to normal and feeling her warm, bare skin against mine, I don’t miss it one bit.

  I got out of bed to cook this chilli con carne reluctantly, and not before making Allie come again—I’m a gentleman, after all. When I set the plate down in front of Allie and her eyes light up, I feel a little rush of pride.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Starving,” she says, with a devilish little smile.

  She tucks in, making a bunch of appreciative noises about the taste of the chilli, and we chat our way through dinner as though we’ve been together for years. We talk about what sort of furniture the next owners of the house should put in, what color the outside should be painted. She still insists it should be yellow, and I’m still pretty sure I like the classic grey better.

  “Well that’s just boring,” she says, letting her fork drop with a clatter onto her empty plate, and I grin at her.

  “It’s neutral,” I say. “The type of person who wants a yellow house will paint it yellow. The type who wants grey won’t even look at a yellow house.”

  “Nobody likes the grey house people,” she says, and I laugh as I clear the plates.

  “I can’t imagine the people of Sunrise Valley disliking anyone,” I say, grabbing a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.

  “That’s just because you’re not in the gossip network,” she informs me. “It’s vicious.”

  I beckon her with a nod of my head and she follows me into the sitting room. I pour us a couple of glasses of wine and we settle in, me leaning against the end of the couch and her between my legs, leaning back against me, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “You never thought of living anywhere else?” I ask. Probably a little too hopefully.

  She takes a sip of her wine, hesitating over the answer.

  “I want the girls to grow up here,” she says. “Their cousins are here, their aunt and uncles, extended family…” She shrugs. “They already lost their parents.”

  “What happened?” I ask. It would have felt like prying before, but I think it’s safe to say we’ve knocked down a few barriers tonight.

  “Car crash,” she says. “Libby—that’s my sister—and her husband Alex… they went off to a wedding. Emma was only a couple of months old. Libby didn’t want to leave her, but it was a close friend and I was home from college, so I said I’d watch them.”

  I can feel the emotion building inside her. The horror. The sadness. I squeeze her tighter against me and stay silent.

  “They were late home. I didn’t think much of it. Then the cops showed up a little after midnight.”

  I suck in a breath, close my eyes, already knowing what’s coming. Allie talks as though she’s on autopilot, swirling the wine around in her glass.

  “The driver of the semi that hit them was diabetic, and he’d skipped his medicine. He passed out and the truck jackknifed across the highway, right into Libby and Alex’s car.”

  I place my glass down so I can wrap both arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry, Allie.”

  “It’s been three years,” she says. “I still get sad about it sometimes, but I have the girls to keep me busy. And I have to do a good job with them or Libby will haunt me. She was the type.”

  “If she was half as stubborn as you, I can believe it,” I say, gently. “And I think you’re doing a great job.” I hesitate to press on, but since she’s opened up about it... “But how come you ended up raising the girls? You must have only been… what? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-one,” she says. “And it’s because Libby had put me in her will as the girls’ guardian if anything happened to them. I guess they had to put someone down, and it was probably just a way of giving me a mention. Like an honorary godmother. I doubt it even crossed her mind that it would ever actually happen.”

  “But it did,” I say.

  “It did. Sadie and Eddie offered to take them in, but it was my name on the will. So it’s my responsibility.”

  There’s that stubbornness again. I can’t help but be impressed by how much resolve she packs into her tiny frame.

  “It’s a lot to take on,” I note, running my fingers up and down her arm. She lays her hand over mine and nods.

  “It is, but I wouldn’t change it.”

  “You were at college?” I ask. “Doing what?”

  “Art school.”

  “Oh,” I say, sitting up a little. “Cartoons?”

  She half-turns to look at me with a curious little frown on her face.

  “How did you know?”

  “I knocked your bag off the chair,” I say, nodding towards it. “And a few papers fell out.”

  She fixes me with the same devilish grin. “Doing recon on your target, were you?”

  “I plead the fifth!”

  She smiles again. I love the fact that I seem to be able to lighten her mood when she needs it.

  “You’re really talented. And I say that as someone who sees about a dozen art-school applicants a month,” I say. “Have you thought about taking it back up again?”

  “Yeah. I have a decent portfolio and I’ve applied to a few places, but it’s not very often that the newspapers around here get any openings, you know?”

  “What about starting a webcomic or something?”

  She gives a little laugh. “No, no. I figured I wouldn’t have the time. I’m lucky that my parents basically gave me their house after we lost Libby. They moved into a retirement village a few towns over. But it’s still a struggle to provide for the girls. And I’m not generally in the mood to draw after I’ve pulled one shift at the diner and another at the bar, y’know?”

  I don’t know. I haven’t got the foggiest clue how she does what she does, and without so much as a complaint. She’s a hero. And now, she’s my hero.

  We chat a little longer, and then we head up to bed. I make love to her more slowly this time, taking pains to explore every inch of her body with my lips and my tongue and my fingers, and when we eventually collapse, exhausted, I wrap my arms around her body and pull her close. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am content.

  “Oh, look, Greyson,” she says, as she drifts off to sleep in my arms. I follow her gaze to the window.

  “It’s not snowing anymore.”

  Chapter 13

  Allie

  I feel like my feet are barely touching the ground, and I’m pretty sure that everyone else can see it as well. I’ve been floating around the diner all day with a particularly sunny smile on my face, but the shift was so busy that Sam hasn’t had a chance to interrogate me yet. He’s just been giving me an occasional, suspicious side-eye as we pass each other en route to the next table. Until now.

  “You’ve had sex!” he says, narrowing his eyes at me as he leans his butt against the counter and watches me clearing off some plates.

  I glance up at him, then
back down as I scrape off the final plate into the bin.

  “You’re supposed to be washing dishes,” I say.

  “Bet!” he calls, as our boss breezes into the kitchen with plates stacked a foot high on each arm. How the hell she never drops any is beyond me.

  “Yes, dear?” she says, placing the plates down and scraping them off.

  “Allie’s had sex!”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she says, pushing the pile of plates toward Sam. He takes the hint, turns around, and starts rinsing them off and stacking the dishwasher. Bet gives me a wink and heads back out the door, leaving me to finish scraping off the plates she collected.

  “So,” says Sam, clearly not willing to let this go. “Fact 1: you’ve definitely had sex. Fact 2: the only eligible man that’s come into your life recently is Jawline McPecs. And Fact 3: you just spent three days trapped with him in that big old mansion. In conclusion,” he whirls around, jabbing the dish brush at me as if it were Sherlock Holmes’ pipe, “J’accuse! You’ve been having a scandalous love affair with your boss!”

  I can’t hold it off anymore. A smirk crawls onto my lips, and Sam practically explodes.

  “OH MY GOD, YOU DID! You filthy animal, I’m so proud of you. Is he amazing in bed? Or in the shower? Or on the kitchen countertop? Exactly how many places did you two do it anyway, you insatiable wench?”

  “Wash the dishes!” I say, still grinning, as I push through the kitchen doors and head back into the dining room to help Bet. The place is pretty empty now, except for a few stragglers, and it’s almost time to shut up shop. After that, we’ll be spending the next few hours peeling the vegetables for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner.

  Greyson will be here any minute to help, and every time I think about the fact that I’m going to see him again, my tummy feels like I’ve gone over a hill too fast. I haven’t seen him since I left the mansion the morning after we got down and dirty. He’s been busy getting the house ready and I’ve been busy working in the diner and catching up on the time I missed with the girls.