Hunk for the Holidays (10 page)

A spear of intense pleasure shot through him as he stared past the miles and miles of black, wavy hair pooled over his stomach and into a pair of deep, emerald eyes. But it wasn’t her eyes that grabbed his attention as much as her full mouth. A full mouth that was wrapped around his… His eyes slammed shut, and a groan escaped his lips.

Damn, what the hell is she doing?
It was a stupid question and one that he answered immediately.
Giving you the best blow job of your life.

No other woman had treated him as if he were a double-decker ice cream cone and she was enjoying every
lick. Cassandra had a technique that was all her own. She moved in a nice, steady rhythm, her lips sliding down before her mouth sucked up. It wasn’t the rhythm that had James pressing his head into the pillow and lifting his hips off the mattress as much as the mind-blowing thing she did with her tongue. Every third or fourth stroke, she’d tease the very tip of his cock with a couple of quick flicks. The feeling it created was intense and brought him to orgasm much sooner than he expected.

Just when he was as close as a man could get, she stopped. It took more than a few moments for the sexual haze to clear and his brain to catch up. By that time, she had him suited up and ready to play. He opened his eyes to a naked temptress. A temptress striped with sunlight. She straddled him, her calves tucked under each thigh as her legs gripped his body. Her head fell back, taking the wealth of rich, dark hair with it and exposing her long, graceful neck and sweet breasts. They were small and firm, her nipples dark and large. He reached up and took each perfect orb in his hands and gently squeezed. He wanted to taste them, to put his lips over those distended tips and learn their texture with his tongue. But before he could lean up, she slid down, sheathing him in hot, tight muscle. It took his breath away.

She took his breath away.

Was he dreaming? Somehow he didn’t think so.

His mind had never conjured up a fantasy like this one. He could only watch in stunned awe as she undulated above him, all soft body, dark hair, and flashing green eyes. While the erotic picture she presented consumed his mind, her actions controlled his body. Every movement of
her hips, every flex of her muscles, pulled him closer and closer to physical release. He tried his best to hold back the tidal wave that rolled toward him. Tried his best to wait for her. But damned if he could do it.

It had to be the longest climax of his life. Then, just when he thought it was over, she pumped out her orgasm with a steady determination that consumed him. It was exciting and completely captivating to watch as she gave herself over to passion like some wild animal. Tossing her head, she arched her back and released a lustful cry of fulfillment. Then, satisfied, she shivered and slipped down to his chest.

James lay there stunned. Here was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. It was phenomenal. Amazing.

And stupid.

Very, very stupid.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What had he been thinking? He could have gotten away with his little deception if he’d only stolen one kiss before he told the truth. But deception paired with sex was a completely different ball game. Especially to women. While men couldn’t care less if their sexual partners turned out to be Mrs. Claus or their mom’s best friend, women didn’t feel the same way. They took sex much more seriously and could become sensitive as hell over the smallest things. Not that lying about who you were was a small thing.

If it had been another woman, James wouldn’t have cared. But he liked Cassie. No, more than liked her. She intrigued him, and he hadn’t been intrigued by that many women in his life—if any—so he wanted to play this one
out to see where it went. He wanted to spend time with her. A lot of time. He couldn’t do that if she wanted to rip out his heart and feed it to her brothers.

While James was contemplating how to go about breaking the news of his identity to Cassandra, the doorbell rang. He glanced over at the clock, wondering who the hell it could be at seven thirty on the Saturday before Christmas. Figuring it was one of the many kids who lived in the neighborhood playing a prank, he ignored it. Unfortunately, whoever was at the door was annoyingly persistent. They rang the bell a good ten times before James could slide Cassie off him and roll to his feet.

He was still completely dressed. Well, not completely. The little minx had managed to undo his trousers and unbutton his shirt. He zipped and fastened his pants on the way to the door, not at all happy about being taken away from the sexy minx who continued to sleep like the dead.

He jerked open the door, intending to let whoever it was have a piece of his mind, but he hesitated when he recognized the woman who lived across the street. He didn’t associate with his neighbors. He waved to the guy next door occasionally, but other than that, he kept to himself. He liked things that way. Emotional attachments only complicated life. Which didn’t explain why he had allowed his assistant, Sierra, to talk him into buying a house in a neighborhood teeming with kids and grumpy retired people. All he had wanted was a town house that was big enough for his office equipment. It was Sierra who was convinced he needed a house. A house in suburban hell.

Something he should’ve remembered when he had handed out her Christmas bonus.

“Can I help you?” he said as his gaze drifted down to the mangy-looking cat that brushed against his pants and left behind a thick layer of gray hair. Four of its furry buddies prowled James’s porch, rubbing up against his railing and batting at the laces of his snow boots that sat next to the door.

“Yesterday was the payment deadline for the holiday luminarias.” The woman lifted the clipboard she carried and pointed at the empty space right next to his address.

James pulled his gaze away from the tabby cat that seemed to be squatting in the corner. The woman looked casual enough with her short gray hair and Eddie Bauer–style clothing, but there was an intensity in her eyes that warned James there was nothing casual about her personality.

“Luminarias?” he asked.

“Candle-lit paper bags. I thought it would be a good fundraiser for the neighborhood association, besides making the block look festive for the holidays. Didn’t you get the flyers I sent out?”

If she was talking about the bright red flyers that had been stuck in the handle of his front door, James had gotten them. He just hadn’t read them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I really don’t celebrate Christmas.”

It wasn’t a lie. Christmas was one of those holidays that James found more annoying than enjoying. Not only did it affect deadlines, due to employee vacation time, but James dreaded a day spent trying to find something other then
It’s a Wonderful Life
on television and scrolling his cell phone app for a restaurant that was open.

He wasn’t complaining. After all, it was his choice. He could always go home for Christmas. Except home wasn’t home anymore. Not after his mother died. And especially not after his father remarried. Now he just didn’t feel comfortable there. He barely knew his stepmom and stepbrother. Besides, the old house made him think of his mother. So the only contact he had with his father around Christmas was the box of baked goods Marge sent and the check James sent in return.

James started to close the door, but the woman wasn’t about to be gotten rid of that easily.

“The Greenburgs don’t celebrate either, but they’re still buying the luminarias,” she said. “The money will help pay for our brand-new recycling containers.” She sent him a censoring look. “Something you should start doing.”

James blinked. How did the woman know he didn’t recycle? Was she keeping track of his trash? He usually wasn’t one to be bulldozed, but he was also a man who prioritized, and he had something much more important waiting in his bed.

“Fine,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

“Ten dollars a dozen, but that includes setting them up.” She glanced behind her. “I figure you’ll need a good four dozen.”

“Great.” He reached for his back pocket before he remembered that his wallet was in his tuxedo jacket. Good manners dictated that he invite the woman inside to wait, but something told him that wasn’t a good idea. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said. Not wanting to be entirely rude, he left the door open and hurried down the hall.

It was a mistake. By the time he got back with the
money, his neighbor was standing in the foyer checking out all his office equipment in the living room. But she was smart enough to wait until he handed her the money before she spoke.

“The neighborhood isn’t zoned for businesses.”

James tried not to look back at his huge copy machine. “Who said anything about a business?”

“Then how do you explain the young woman who comes over every weekday and claims she’s your assistant?”

James should’ve known Sierra wasn’t the type to keep her mouth shut and go about her business. The girl was a regular chatterbox. Figuring it was best to bring the conversation to an end, he reached for the door.

“Well, thanks for stopping by, Ms….?”

“Ellis,” she said as she attached the money to the clipboard and stepped back outside. “Betty Ellis.”

More like Betty Busybody.

James shut the door. But before he could take a step, he noticed the gray cat lying on his gym bag. The cat looked up at him with only one green eye. The other appeared to be sealed closed, giving the cat the appearance of winking. The doorbell rang, and he opened the door only long enough for Ms. Ellis to retrieve her cat.

After it left half of its fur behind on his gym bag.

Having gotten very little sleep the night before, James headed back to the bedroom. But when he got there, he discovered that Cassandra McPherson was a bed hog. She slept on her stomach at an angle, a hand dangling off one side and her toes dangling off the other. He should’ve been annoyed, but it was hard to be annoyed when looking at her perfect ass and long, toned legs.

Besides, it was probably for the best. If he climbed back in bed, there was no way he could keep his hands off all that luscious bare flesh. And before they had sex again, she needed to know the truth. Now the question was, how did he tell her without pissing her off so much that she never wanted to see him again?

The question rolled around in his head as he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After five minutes of standing under the hot water, he still didn’t have an answer. He had just about given up when he remembered a conversation he’d overheard on his last flight from Vegas. Two women had been discussing what they wanted from a man. The consensus had been romance. At the time, it had seemed funny to James, and he’d wanted to lean forward and tell them that men who were into romance were the same men who arranged flowers and used more than one type of styling gel. But now that he thought about it, maybe the women were on to something. Maybe romance was exactly the way to handle his situation with Cassandra.

With Christmas on Monday, he had a couple days to kill. Why not spend them romancing a beautiful woman? Wining and dining worked on clients, so why wouldn’t it work on Cassandra? He would romance the hell out of her, and then after she got to know him, he would gently break the news that he wasn’t an escort. How mad could she be? Instead of a lame escort, she would be getting a businessman who loved the same things she did.

Beer, sex, and construction.

It all made perfect sense. He picked up his shaving cream and gave it a shake before lathering his face. It
probably wouldn’t take more than a few days to win her over, but he had little doubt that he’d have her back in bed by New Year’s.

As he drew the razor across his jaw, James started to hum. Interestingly enough, it was a Christmas carol, and he had never much cared for Christmas carols. Unfortunately, he couldn’t shake the tune. Sierra had been singing the song for the last few weeks, and it seemed to be stuck in his head. In fact, once he started soaping up his body, the words would no longer be contained.

“All I want for Christmas is yoooou, baby.”

Chapter Eight

Something smelled extremely good. Like Sunday mornings at home. Cassie stretched her arms up and released a long, heavy yawn. Besides the fuzziness in her head, she felt wonderful. Simply wonderful. Wonderful and totally relaxed. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

With her eyes still closed, she burrowed down in the expensive sheets and wondered if her mother was making pancakes or waffles to go with the delicious scent of bacon. She smiled at the thought of her mom busy in the kitchen preparing Saturday-morning breakfast while her father sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Of course, once she hit the room he would stop reading and want to talk about business.

Most likely James Sutton.

Cassie yawned again. Screw James Sutton. She didn’t
want to think about the man who was responsible for most of her stress. Not today. Today all she wanted to think about was…

Screwing James?

Her eyes popped open, and she stared up at the ceiling that wasn’t the ceiling of her room at her parents’ house. This ceiling wasn’t lavender with little tiny stars glued on it. This ceiling was pure white with a gold-trimmed light fixture.