The Wedding Night Before Christmas Read online

  A laugh busts out of me. “Bullshit.”

  Wanting her, I believe. But knowing she’s going to be everything?

  “To be fair, I’d just been shot by some asshole with a semi-automatic rifle. It was a high adrenaline moment.” His grin fades into something more serious a second later. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Then I said some stupid shit and she slammed her door in my face. I knew for sure, then. Because I’d have done any goddamn thing to make it right. Anything except not see her again.”

  Fuck me. I don’t know if I said it out loud or Cole just reads my face.

  He gives me a knowing look. “Sound familiar?”

  Too damn familiar. But I’m not getting into it with him now. “You were shot?”

  And obviously came through all right. But still. That’s a hell of a thing.

  He scowls at me. “The incident was all over the news last year.”

  Yeah, and there’s breaking news about one shooting or another every damn week, it seems like. “I prefer to get my daily updates from the little songbirds that chirp outside my bedroom window every morning.”

  “They should be chirping about how I’m a fucking hero.”

  “I’ll be sure to raise a glass to you at Murphy’s then,” I tell him with a grin—then push away from the gazebo wall, because Audrey’s finishing up. “This Friday or next… Shit, not next.” I’ll be at Audrey’s lodge…on my honeymoon. That sense of unreality slips over me again, because I can’t understand how this happened. I thought I had a handle on it, but if she doesn’t need that property, then I don’t have a handle on anything. “Maybe we’ll catch up after the new year.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Good running into you, Caleb.”

  “You, too.” Though I’d give just about anything to have run into him a week ago. To have seen Cole and his wife—a man from my world and a woman from Audrey’s—looking so damn happy. Maybe that could have nudged the chip from my shoulder a little and I wouldn’t have said what I did to Audrey.

  But maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Because it wasn’t just that Audrey was rich. I read her wrong from the beginning. I’m still reading her wrong, because everything I assumed about her motivation for marrying me is way off.

  I don’t know what to think now. But one thing I’ll never be accused of is being indirect. And Audrey likes that about me.

  So I’ll be real fucking direct now and find out what the hell is going on. As soon as we leave the gazebo, I pull her off the main path and into an alcove of tall shrubs wrapped in tinsel and Christmas lights, then swing her around to face me.

  That delight has returned to her face, her eyes sparkling. Until I ask her, “You don’t want the Wyndham property?”

  Her expression dims a little, her brow furrowing. “I do. At the price you’re selling it, I’ll make a substantial profit.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t need it anymore. For your camp project.” Which I’ve heard mentioned but still don’t know what it is. “Do you?”

  “No, I don’t need it.”

  Fuck. Because she could still get that profit if she wanted to. She has to know that. No need to marry me. Just pay for the lawyers and I’ll agree to sell the property at whatever price she wanted.

  My chest tightens. I thought I had something she wanted. Something she needed. And that was my hold on her. But I don’t know what she wants.

  But I need to know. “Why are you marrying me, then?”

  “Because you asked me to marry you, Caleb.”

  As if I’ve forgotten that part. “So you’d have said yes to anyone?”

  She frowns at me. “No. Of course not.”

  Of course not. As if there’s some certainty here. But I’m not feeling certain about anything. “Then why say yes to me?”

  “Because if your goal is to spite the Wyndhams, your proposal is sensible—and a marriage for business purposes is, too. Spite has never been my goal before, but I thought it sounded fun, especially since the Wyndhams deserve it. Though I wouldn’t have accepted if I hadn’t also liked you and been attracted to you.”

  The grounds seems to shift. But it’s just her admission, staggering me. Because from what she’s saying…the only thing she wanted that she couldn’t easily get another way was me.

  And all I want to do is haul her up against me. Kiss the hell out of her. Show her that I want her, too.

  Yet I can’t touch her. And that’s my own damn fault. “But I fucked it up last night,” I tell her hoarsely. “Hurt your feelings. Didn’t I?”

  She doesn’t answer. Just gives me the icy stare that tries to say I didn’t hurt her at all. But I know it’s a lie.

  “Didn’t I?” I say again, softly this time. “I’m sorry for that.”

  Her throat works before she averts her face. “I appreciate your apology.”

  Which sounds like polite shit most people say…but most people aren’t Audrey Clarke. And accepting an apology doesn’t mean all is forgiven—or that she likes me anymore. But she hasn’t called this marriage off.

  Yet.

  Maybe I’ve still got a hold on her. Because she’s attracted to me. So screw going slow. I’ll use any advantage I have to make sure she still wants to marry me. But I already fucked that up pretty good, too. No kissing hello and goodnight. And a kiss is the best way to get started on the rest. Because I might not be going slow anymore, but skipping over the kissing might be too fast.

  So I’ve got to give her another reason to kiss me. And we’re in the perfect place for that. Mistletoe Midway. Because she likes it when interactions have context and this is a context that everyone knows.

  I glance up. A little bush is right over my head, tied with a red ribbon to a string of lights crossing the entrance to the alcove. Remembering the delight on her face, I realize that Audrey already spotted the mistletoe. Because she thought I was bringing her over here to kiss her. And her delight suggests that she wanted me to.

  But I’m not taking a single thing for granted now. In a low voice, I tell her, “It’s traditional to kiss someone under the mistletoe.”

  Her gaze snaps up to meet mine, and she stares at me for a long moment, utterly still, before replying softly, “Yes, it is.”

  “But that’s not why I’m kissing you, Audrey.” Gently I cup her jaw in my hands and a tremor races through her. “It’s because I want to. Real fucking bad. But that’s not all I want.”

  Her focus drops to my mouth. “No?”

  “No.” I drag my thumb across her bottom lip, and the way her breath shudders across the moistened tip blows my dick into a length of hot steel. “I want to consummate this marriage.”

  She trembles against me. “You do?”

  “I do. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense otherwise. I want you, baby. You want me. And we’ll be living in the same house.” Slowly I lower my head, watching her face tilt up, her eyes closing. They fly open again when I say gruffly, “Every day, I’ll get my mouth on your pussy and eat you up. Then I’ll fuck you deep and hard, and I won’t stop until I feel your cunt squeezing my cock as you come. So if you want that, you better say yes right now—”

  “Yes.” She pants the word against my lips. “Yes.”

  Arousal roughens my voice as I demand, “Now tell me you want it by letting me taste that beautiful mouth of yours.”

  Even as she rises up on her toes, she fists her hands in my jacket and drags me closer. Her lips open beneath mine, but although I’m not taking this slow anymore, this isn’t something I intend to rush, either. Not our first kiss.

  Gently I brush my mouth over hers, teasing before nipping at her full lower lip. Her little gasp and chocolate-scented sigh slip over my tongue as I lick past her teeth. And fuck. I should have known. Should have known she’d be hot and sweet and this kiss would mark the end of Caleb Moore and the beginning of Audrey and me. Because Cole was right. My old world is suddenly gone, along with everything else around us. Now there’s just her body pressing closer to mine,
her soft little moan filling my mouth and echoing deep inside my chest, where my heart pounds with a rhythm that sounds like her name.

  Hunger rips through me, a ravenous urge to lift her up and wrap her legs around my waist and grind my rigid cock into the softness between her thighs. Through that red haze of lust, I force myself to recall that the world isn’t really gone. That this is a family-friendly event. That I can’t fuck her right here.

  I ease back and groan at the sheer perfection in front of me. Those icy eyes glazed with desire. Her cheeks flushed with arousal. Her pink lips parted and glistening.

  Needing another taste, I allow myself a sip from her mouth and the tip of her tongue before rasping against her lips, “Are your panties wet again, baby?”

  Her entire body shudders against mine. “Yes.”

  That breathless answer might as well have been a hot tongue down the swollen length of my cock. I bite back a tortured groan and steal another kiss from her panting mouth. “Then how about I take you home, so I can get those wet panties off you?”

  This time her answer isn’t spoken. With her fist still clenched on my jacket, she turns and starts dragging me toward the exit. Eager to take me home. And fuck knows, I’m just as eager to get there…though this night won’t end like she thinks it will.

  Because if Audrey Clarke wants me? Then I’ll give her what she wants.

  But not until she marries me.

  7

  Audrey

  My panties aren’t the issue here. Caleb is. Kissing me like he did. Saying things like he did. Every day, I’ll get my mouth on your pussy and eat you up. How could anyone be expected to function after that? Or think about anything else at all? When his voice is a gravelly promise and he doesn’t just kiss me but sucks on the tip of my tongue? That is not a mistletoe kiss. That’s a make-Audrey’s-heart-race kiss. That’s a make-Audrey’s-pussy-ache kiss.

  And that’s the other issue. Because my panties are wet but they aren’t bothering me. I can’t even feel them. I can’t feel anything but slick hot need, and even though he’s not kissing me now, the need isn’t fading. Because I feel it and feel it and feel it, with my memory revisiting the heat of his mouth and the stroke of his tongue and everything he said, and everything’s aching now, and on fire, and I can’t breathe.

  We reach his truck. He unlocks the door and inside the cab is quiet and dark, and that will be good, but we’re at least thirty minutes from my home. Thirty minutes of not touching him or kissing him and just burning and squirming and trying to hold it in.

  It’s too long. But if I’m going to burn, then I’m going to burn as hot as I can. So when Caleb helps me up into the seat, I shove my fingers into his hair and kiss him again. It’s wet and greedy and his reaction is exhilarating. A harsh groan rumbles against my mouth and his rough hands grip my hips and drag me closer, sideways on the edge of the seat with him standing in the open door, so I can wrap my legs around his waist. So I can grind against him, against his thick erection, and I feel my panties now, between us, there shouldn’t be anything between us. I whimper with frustration, and the sound of his groan is suddenly deeper, rougher.

  He stops kissing me, with my braid wrapped around one of his hands—I don’t know when he did that but now he’s using it to hold my head in place, preventing me from kissing him again, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving.

  “Ah, fuck. Fuck. Audrey.” His voice is ragged. “You get so hot so fucking fast.”

  And I’m dying from it. On a sobbing breath, I tell him, “Don’t stop. I can’t stop like this.”

  “Shh, baby. We’ll just take the edge off. All right?”

  I can’t agree because I don’t know what he means. But what he does is all right, more than all right. He lifts me against him and turns, sitting on the passenger seat. There’s a few seconds of awkward movement as he pulls his legs inside while still holding me. Then he closes the door, and suddenly everything is very all right, because I’m straddling his hips and our mouths are so close. Our hot breaths frost in the cold air, and it’s so dark but his eyes seem to glitter with their own heat.

  And I want my panties gone but I also don’t want to stop what he’s doing now, his hands sliding beneath the back of my coat and sweater and grabbing my ass, holding me in place for the upward thrust of his hips. And there’s so much friction. From his cock and his jeans and my leggings and my panties and all of it dragging against my clit. My strangled moan against his lips is answered by a feral snarl, followed by Caleb’s taut, “Is that the right spot, baby?” and my “yes, yes” that I would have kept saying forever if I hadn’t desperately lunged for his mouth. Because I understand the edge he means to dull now, letting me masturbate against him to orgasm, and this is so much better than my fingers have ever been.

  But not better than his fingers. And I never want to stop kissing him, but when Caleb brings one hand forward around my hip and pushes down the front of my leggings and his thumb dips into my panties to tease my clit, I don’t have a choice. I can’t kiss him anymore. I can’t do anything but feel him touch me, can’t breathe or think. I can’t do anything but fist my fingers in his hair and hold on as he rocks beneath me and curses about how I’m soaking wet and his thumb circles and rubs that slippery knot of flesh.

  Can’t do anything but shake, and chant out a “You’re making me come, Caleb. Oh god, you’re making me come. You’re making me—” before I do come in a convulsing, white hot flash, my head tilted back and my scream trapped behind my clenched teeth.

  Then he pulls me back down against him, our foreheads together, our frozen breaths harsh and ragged. I think of kissing him again, but the edge is gone—and I don’t want to risk it returning until we’re home.

  Maybe Caleb’s thinking the same, because when he does kiss me, he holds my face in his palms but only presses his lips to my forehead and then to both of my cheeks. “All right now?”

  I nod into his hands. “Thank you.”

  He grins. “I ought to be thanking you. Watching you come so hard and so fast was the goddamn sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Warm pleasure blooms inside me and I grin back at him. “And it made me tired.” Utterly sated, with lethargy stealing into my limbs. “I’m going to nap until we get home. Do you have my address?”

  A chuckle rumbles through him. “Yeah, I do. Do we need to stop for dinner? Maybe pick something up?”

  “I should have something ready at home. If you want, you can eat there.”

  “I definitely want to eat,” he says gruffly. “And I’ll even settle for food.”

  “Audrey. I’m sorry, baby, but I need you to wake up.”

  I do, sitting up and wiping the drool from my cheek. Immediately I see the problem. A gate blocks the narrow lane ahead. My hands dig into my pockets searching for my phone.

  Caleb’s frowning at his, the screen open to a mapping application. “The GPS brought us here, but we’re apparently on a nature reserve. Should I have turned down the last road or—”

  “No. This is where I live.” I tap the gate code into my device.

  His brows rise. “In a park?”

  “It’s a private reserve. Most of it’s open to the public. Just not this part.”

  He huffs out a laughing breath, shaking his head. “All right, then.”

  Unfamiliar nervousness flutters in my stomach. Because I forgot—this is where he’ll be living, too. And his reaction seems somewhat…ironical. As if he’s laughing at a joke I don’t understand.

  “You don’t like the forest?” I ask him hesitantly.

  “I do. I just didn’t expect that you’d live in one, especially so close to the city.” He pulls forward through the gate and into the snowy wood, following the gravel lane. “How long have you been here?”

  “I had the house built about eight years ago.” And because that nervous flutter still hasn’t gone away, I add, “It has a big garage that I don’t really need. You could take it over and use the space for yo
ur restoration projects.”

  He glances over at me with a quick smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

  That smile eases some of the tension in my stomach, but not all of it. I watch his face as the truck begins climbing the incline toward the house. The structure is visible now, though at first he doesn’t seem to see—

  “What the…?” Slowing the truck, he brings it to a halt and stares through the dark, as if trying to make out the shape of the house. “You live in a waterfall?”

  Not exactly, but…kind of. “The water actually falls behind the house. And then flows through the different levels, so it just appears as if it’s part of the waterfall.”

  “But your house is built into that cliff?” The disbelief has returned.

  “Right up against it.” And designed to look as if it’s an extension of the cliff. “I wanted the house to seem like it’s a part of the natural landscape.”

  “It does that,” he says in that ironically amused voice again. “Where do I park?”

  “The garage entrance is around the side, but the front entrance is under that overhang. We can just park there, instead. And I’ll show you inside.”

  Where Caleb seems to fall uncharacteristically quiet. The house isn’t built into the cliff, but more like a semicircle sitting with the flat side against the cliff, and made up of several levels. The main living space is on the second level, so I take him there before running upstairs to change. I strip off my leggings and my damp panties, drag on a pair of fuzzy socks, then head back down.

  When I spot Caleb, I’m reminded of the first time I saw him—standing silently with his back to me, his hands in his pockets, gazing through the enormous windows that look out into the snowy forest. Except he doesn’t unbalance this space. He seems to fit right in, as if he belongs—and I suspect that now this room will only feel wrong when he’s not in it.

  As if he spots my reflection in the window, he turns. My stomach drops as I see his expression. Not a frown, exactly. But also not pleased.