A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba (25 page)

“You can’t tell me there hasn’t been an ample supply of women parading through your bedroom.”

“Fewer than you think. And I’m not talking about having
a
woman. I’m talking about
the
woman. The once-in-a-lifetime, other-half-of-me, mother-of-my-children woman.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“You don’t think it could happen?”

“I’m not sure. I used to.”

He began painting, his brow furrowed in concentration as he glanced from her to the canvas to her and back again. “How do you feel about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”

“I wonder why we lie to our children. Maybe the whole ‘happily ever after’ thing is a lie, too.” She heard the cynicism in her voice and winced. Was she asking him to convince her otherwise?

He worked in silence for several minutes. Finally he looked up. His dark gaze tracked over her body, male appreciation assessing her femininity and letting her know he liked what he saw. Her skin warmed, his admiration almost physical. She willed him to forget the damned picture, but he didn’t move.

She felt the velvet beneath her, smelled the slightly acrid tang of wood smoke in the air. The radio’s melodies evoked memories of Christmases past, happy Christmases. In the corner, the small, unassuming Christmas tree blinked and twinkled brightly. Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted to believe. True love. Forever. The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. She wanted it all.

But believing was so hard, so scary. It demanded everything. And if you reached for the star at the top of the tree and missed, it was a long hard fall.

Not for the first time, Grant seemed to see inside her head, recognizing her yearning, her fear. His smile was gentle, filled with warmth and affection and something else that made her shake. He sighed softly. “Happiness isn’t a lie or a myth. Christmas is about magic and miracles, Maddy. Your coming here was a miracle. What I feel for you is magic.”

He laid down the brush he was holding and stepped back, his eyes sober as they looked at the picture. “Want to take a look?”

She dressed rapidly, glad she was once again wearing her own clothes. Did she really want to see herself as he saw her? She approached warily, expecting to be slightly embarrassed. After all, she hated looking at herself in dressing room mirrors. This would probably be infinitely worse. He stepped to one side, allowing her to view the canvas full on.

A sharp, quick gasp escaped her throat, and she twisted her hands together, almost needing to touch the wet paint. It was beautiful, amazing. The colors glowed, and the sensuality of her own image stared back at her.

She looked up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like it?”

“That’s much too tame a word,” she whispered. “It’s…I don’t know…It’s more than I expected.”

He seemed pleased by her response, although she felt inadequate to express what the painting made her feel. Humbled. That was part of it, and awed—awed that a man could be so gifted.

He stepped up onto the stone hearth and lifted the heavy painting of Jillian off the wall. Gently, careful not to smudge the wet paint, he rested the unframed canvas on the exposed nails. Maddy’s heart turned over in her chest. As a grand gesture, it was a doozy.

Then he took her in his arms, his firm lips finding her softer ones in a long, lazy, exploratory kiss. He was a heck of a good kisser. They were both breathing hard when he released her.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “When we were growing up, we always got to open one present after dinner on Christmas Eve.”

She looked at him, mute, confused.

He traced her lips with his fingertip. “I want you to be my Christmas Eve present, Maddy…more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

She shivered. “Yes,” she said simply. “Me, too.”

And so they set about preparing the cabin for that most magical night of the year, December twenty-fourth. Maddy was light-headed with excitement and anticipation and plain, old-fashioned horniness. While she raided the fridge and kitchen cabinets for anything that could remotely be considered festive cuisine, Grant was busy transforming the living room into what he called, with a leering grin, the
love nest.
His cheerfulness was contagious.

The table was pushed to one side, ready to bear their holiday repast, and the sofa cushions were commandeered along with several blankets to make a cozy bed in front of the fire. The Christmas tree, lifted to a spot of importance atop an end table, shone down on it all.

Grant brought in extra wood, enough to last through the night, he told her with a chuckle, laughing when she blushed. Maddy found the last of the mistletoe and tied it in little bunches to the prongs of the antler chandelier overhead.

All in all, they created a pretty darned good holiday ambiance, Maddy decided, frowning as Grant put a small, newspaper-wrapped present under the tree. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Just a little something for tomorrow.”

When he wasn’t looking, she rolled the poem she’d written for him into a skinny cylinder and tied it with a red twist tie from the bread package. She tucked it in a branch of the tree.

Sadly, Grant’s bachelor staples left much to be desired. Maddy wanted to make cookies or at least a pie, but she had to settle for sprinkling cinnamon into a pot of boiling water. Her strategy worked, and soon the air was fragrant with the aroma of fresh-baked goodies, pseudogoodies…but what the heck. It worked.

Grant opened a bottle of wine to accompany their frozen pizza rolls and packaged tossed salad. He grimaced. “I’ll make it up to you when we get off this mountain,” he promised. “Prime rib…lobster…my treat.”

He watched Maddy eat, her small white teeth sinking into gooey tomato and cheese. His cock was in permanent erection mode, and had been since this morning. He’d given a damned good impression all day long of being a relaxed, congenial guy, but inside was a pathetic, sex-starved male, ready to beg if necessary.

Maddy had jumped into the Christmas preparations with enthusiasm, and he had a clear vision of spending future Decembers with her under different circumstances…watching hokey holiday movies, their legs intertwined beneath a plaid wool blanket. Missing the end of the picture when their need for each other won out. Shopping for Barbies and dump trucks and Cocker Spaniel puppies.

His throat grew tight. He wanted desperately to lay it all on the line for her, but he sensed she was still skittish, still not ready to admit what he knew in every fiber of his being to be true. Against all odds, they had found each other…And he loved her. It was that simple.

They cleared away the meal debris and Maddy suggested Scrabble. Her voice was a tad higher than usual, betraying her unease. He pulled her down into the newly made nest of cushions and leaned over her, stroking her hair. “Are you scared of me?” he asked, not entirely kidding.

That drew a small smile. “Of course not.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you’re stalling?”

Rosy color blossomed on her cheeks. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m not…not exactly.”

He kissed her forehead. “Want to talk about it?”

She nibbled her lower lip, a crinkle between her eyebrows deepening. “This is all pretty intimidating,” she admitted, her voice almost inaudible.

“You’re intimidated by Christmas?” he asked, playing dumb.

She punched his shoulder. “Very funny. It’s hard…”

Grant laughed. “Damned straight.” He pressed her hand to the front of his jeans, and she jumped as though she’d touched a hot iron.

Outrage, mixed with embarrassment and feminine curiosity, danced across her expressive features. “I’m being serious here,” she wailed. “We’ve spent two damned days building up to this. What if we’ve created a big, romantic fantasy and it amounts to nothing?”

He curled a strand of her hair around his finger, watching fascinated as it clung to his skin. “Are you afraid I’ll disappoint you?”

Her chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “No. The sex will be great. At least I think so,” she added with wry honesty.

He chuckled. “Then, what?”

She searched his eyes, hers big and dark gold, filled with doubts and fears and dreams. “I want this to be more than sex,” she admitted, her voice husky. “I need to know that this matters. It’s crazy…We just met. I don’t even know your middle name. But that’s my Christmas wish, Grant. That’s what I want.”

He traced the contours of her face with a shaky hand, his heart expanding like the Grinch’s at the end of the story. “Tyler,” he said softly. “My middle name is Tyler.” He kissed her slowly, tentatively, pretty certain the words wouldn’t come out right, but determined to show her with his body.

He lifted her and removed her turtleneck. Her pretty breasts were small and round and her raspberry-hued nipples begged for his touch. He played with them gently, pulling and tugging until they puckered into tight buds. Maddy’s eyes were closed, her breathing rough and unsteady.

He tugged her to her feet and divested her of shoes, socks, jeans and panties in short order. A less-hungry man might have stretched out the disrobing, but he was beyond such patience. He stripped off his own clothes, leaving only his navy boxers between him and her. He needed some flimsy help to keep from mounting her like a horny adolescent.

He slid her up onto a pillow so that her upper body was at an incline. He gripped her thighs and tugged them apart, revealing a narrow fluff of curly golden hair. His breath lodged in his throat. The delicate folds of soft, hidden flesh were glistening with the evidence of her arousal.

He lowered his head and used his whole tongue to stroke her. She tasted sweeter than any holiday treat. She cried out and bucked, but he held her down, thrusting his tongue inside her and using his finger where it mattered most to drive her higher and higher. Her orgasm, when it came, was powerful and beautiful to watch, her slender body quivering with pleasure.

He trembled, burying his face in her belly and holding her tightly until the last tremors faded away.

And then he started again.

Maddy was not prepared for a lover like Grant Monroe. He was insatiable, as though starving for the taste of her. He flipped her to her stomach and rubbed his cock up and down her spine, finally lodging it between her buttocks and stroking lightly back and forth against her damp skin.

He lifted her onto her knees, and she felt his hand part her, enter her, first one finger, then two and finally three. She was extremely sensitive, tender from her earlier orgasm. He knew exactly where to touch. He brushed her clitoris, and she came again, this time with his fingers deep inside her.

When she caught her breath, she rolled to her back, struggling to gain some kind of control. He sat back on his haunches, facing her, his long, thick penis rearing proudly against his abdomen. His eyes were hooded, glittering with intense emotion. His hands rested on his thighs. A pulse jumped at the base of his throat, and his broad shoulders were rigid.

She came up on her knees and pressed against him, breast to chest. Her hand slid between them to cup his balls, and a heavy shudder wracked his frame. “God, Maddy,” he ground out in an agonized voice.

She expanded her field of exploration, kissing him as she gripped his cock. Her tongue entered his mouth while her thumb toyed with the wetness at the eye of his eager shaft. He was trembling like a sailor in the throes of malaria.

She knelt to take him in her mouth, and he thrust her away almost roughly. “Next time,” he choked out. “I can’t bear it.”

His sudden movement tumbled her to her back again, and he was between her thighs before she could catch her breath. He reached for a condom, but she stopped him. “I’m on the pill…it’s okay.” He nodded tersely and lifted her legs to his shoulders, the blunt head of his cock pressing urgently to find entry. The position made her feel painfully vulnerable.

On his face she saw the violent struggle to hold back, and she arched her back, taunting him. “Don’t be gentle, dammit,” she cried, craving him with a need that was frightening. “I won’t break.”

He surged forward in one heavy thrust, burying himself deep in her vagina, probing and stretching and filling her almost unbearably. He paused to let her adjust to his size, his great chest heaving with his labored breathing.

Their eyes met, his slightly unfocused, hers filled with shock. Ripples of feeling clenched and clawed deep in her core. She squeezed him with inner muscles, exulting when her subtle motion made him groan. “Do it,” she challenged. “Take what you want. Let it go.”

He held perfectly still for maybe three seconds, and then with a moan of surrender, he began rocking in and out of her, withdrawing almost completely before surging deeper still, the cords in his neck standing out in relief and his clenched teeth bared.

He rode her hard, giving no mercy, his massive body held above hers, driving pistonlike toward a goal they each craved. Maddy loved it, loved him. He surrounded her, filled her. His scent filled her head. Her hands gripped his sweat-slicked shoulders as she felt her third orgasm rising inexorably. “Now, Grant, now,” she pleaded, her leg muscles aching.