White Hot Holidays 16: Christmas To Remember Page 2

  The wind gave her ass another tweak, along with her stone-hard nipples. “Whatever you do, don’t think about Nick.”

  She didn’t need to trash her makeup by crying, and she sure didn’t need to get any more aroused before she had to take off the leather coat and see if she remembered anything about Nancy’s crash course in pleasure aids and sensual adult toys.

  By the time she reached the wreath-covered door of Spirits of the Season, she was shaking not just from the cold, but from absolute terror.

  A sign hung in the window, noting that the bar was closed for a private party.

  Right.

  Meg knew she was the party.

  She was a chemist. She made environmentally friendly perfume, for the love of God.

  How could she be a party?

  Trying to breathe, she put her hand on the door handle, but couldn’t make herself turn the knob. She’d been to Spirits once before for a bachelorette party, and it definitely wasn’t her kind of place. Loud, rowdy, lots of sloshing beer, hot wings and peanuts—nope. Not her scene.

  But, like Nancy mentioned at least ten times before sunrise, the waitresses got paid well, tips flowed like all that alcohol and they had plenty of money to spend.

  Think about the kids. Think about the kids. You’ve got to do this.

  Meg opened the door.

  The entry was dark, and no one manned the podium to collect cover charges and check IDs. Soft strains of Christmas music wafted through a small crack in the heavy oak doors leading into the bar. Before Meg could open them, a little redhead in an elf suit came rushing out to greet her. If not for the skimpy costume—lots of velvet and lace, boobs shoved up to the nose—Meg would have taken the woman for much younger. A child, even.

  “You’re here!” The woman-elf sounded excited. Her eyes moved from Meg’s face to the heavy case she carried. “Go right in and set up on the stage. I’ll just lock up behind you, so you’re not interrupted.”

  “Thanks,” Meg managed. She wanted to scream instead. She wanted to run. But she opened those oak doors, marched into the bar—and stopped, stunned.

  Spirits of the Season had been completely remodeled. Gone were the rough wood tables and board floors, and the stench of aged beer and filth. The walls had been painted a soothing, clean cream. Fine prints and oils hung at tasteful intervals. Fires burned in two fireplaces, one on the left and one on the right, and large, comfortable-looking pillows had been casually tossed on the carpeted floor in front of them.

  Wow. Those fireplaces were real. Genuine firelight danced against polished, carved mantels, and the air smelled faintly of cedar.

  A handful of tables covered with starched white cloths took up the center of the floor. Each one held a candle nestled in a rosemary or holly topiary trimmed like tiny Christmas trees. Red and white poinsettias filled the rest of the room, along with sprigs of evergreen laced with splashes of clear lights.

  Meg felt herself relaxing into the beautiful scene until she looked at the stage.

  The stage where she was supposed to set up her sex toy display.

  Yep. This is a Christmas to remember, all right. I rank it right up there with starting my period and getting my first yeast infection.

  A single long table waited for her, this one also covered with a crisp white cloth, and trimmed with several small wreaths. Meg glanced around, but she didn’t see any waitresses. They must be changing into more comfortable clothes. At least she hoped they were. She didn’t think she could talk about vibrators to a bunch of fashion models dressed in elf costumes.

  You’re doing this for charity. Get a move on, Caulfield.

  Refusing to make herself any more nervous, Meg strode up to the stage, unfastened her case, and unloaded her displays onto the long table. Gels, creams, clamps, clips and beads along the top, like Nancy told her. Eggs, bullets and pocket rockets on the right. Dildos and dongs on the left, and scattered between them all, various sizes of the bow lace body stocking she was wearing for demonstration. Dead center she set up the vibrators, making sure to give The Satisfier a place of honor, right in the middle.

  Now for the harder display.

  Her.

  In the body stocking.

  Meg squeezed her eyes shut, but tried to remember what Nancy had said. It’s just you and the girls, honey. Everybody likes to look sexy. Show ‘em how to do it!

  Heart hammering, Meg slipped off her leather coat, folded it and bent to slide it under the table, incredibly aware of the sheer fabric covering her ass and pussy.

  A strangled cough made her stand up straight.

  Oh, God.

  That cough hadn’t sounded feminine at all.

  Were there male waiters at Spirits?

  Meg wanted to snatch back her coat, but she’d have to bend over again to get it. She’d kill Nancy. She’d kill her dead and fling her body off the Empire State Building. Damn! How could she turn around?

  What if Spirits was a gentleman’s club now and she found herself facing a room full of hunks in tuxedos?

  Shit.

  Why did that make her wet?

  Her face felt so hot she wondered if flames from the fireplaces had jumped across the room to burn her.

  I want to die.

  She didn’t die, though.

  She turned around.

  Nick Myra stood, arms folded, in front of the tables and topiaries, looking like a Greek god in a silk tuxedo. His night-black hair glistened in the firelight, and his dark eyes studied her with an intensity that threatened to melt her to nothing but tallow.

  “Merry Christmas, Meg,” he said in a deep, husky voice. His gaze traveled from her face to her lace-clad nipples, and lower, to the barely covered dark patch of hair between her legs. “Damn, woman. Happy New Year, too.”

  Chapter Four

  Nick fought an impulse to storm the stage, kiss Meg until she begged him for more, and take her right there on the table, in the middle of all the plastic dicks and dongs. His hard cock throbbed. His breath hitched and caught, and his mouth watered at the thought of tasting her full, parted lips.

  Her tightly bound chestnut hair shimmered in the candlelight and flickers of fire, and her gorgeous brown eyes had gone wide with shock. The pattern on that beyond sexy body stocking covered the tips of her nipples, but mouthwatering wine-red circles peeked through the sheer fabric. Her curves would tempt a monk to debauchery. Made for squeezing. Made for a man’s hands to stroke and coax—and between her legs, the dark shadow of curls barely contained by the stocking’s netting and bows…

  “You aren’t a waitress,” she whispered, sweetly confused, and he fell in love with her all over again.

  Keep it together. Do this right.

  “I can be a waiter.” He cleared his throat to control the raw rasp of desire. “I can be a barkeep or a cabbie or street vendor if you like, or a personnel director who worked with you and watched you and admired you. A man who wanted you but never found the right moment to ask if you wanted him, too.”

  Meg’s eyes got impossibly wider.

  He wanted to kiss her in the worst way, brand her lips with his, demand her passion with his tongue and fingers and cock until she moaned and opened wide for him, only him, always him. But he had to be careful. He had to be sure. If she had doubts, if she didn’t return his feelings, it would hurt like hell, but he wouldn’t press his advantage with any woman.

  When she said nothing, he took a slow breath. “I rented the restaurant. The waitresses moved their Decadence party to another day—but your payment’s taken care of no matter what.” He gestured toward the bar’s entrance. “It’s on the podium by the door, twice your fee, plus a separate donation to the Children’s Fund to cover the Sweet Dreams shortfall.”

  Meg still didn’t speak. She just gazed at him with those bright, beautiful eyes.

  Nick’s cock ached so badly he wanted to groan. Instead, he made himself try again. “You don’t have to stay, Meg. No tricks, no traps, no questions asked and you get paid
anyway. I’ll call you a cab or drive you myself if you want to go home.”

  She blinked. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened again. When she answered, her silky whisper seemed to wrap around his cock and give it a slow, deep squeeze. “I don’t want to go home.”

  For a moment, Nick couldn’t speak at all. He felt like someone had him by the balls and heart at the same time.

  “You rented the restaurant,” she said slowly.

  He had to work to get his voice to cooperate. “It belongs to my cousin. He owes me a few favors.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I broke a rule,” he admitted. “I used the number in your file and talked to your roommate before you ever got home.”

  “And how did you get Nancy to agree to all this?”

  Nick shrugged. “I’m persuasive. And I promised her a great Christmas gift.”

  “Bet you did.” Meg shook her head, still looking amazed. “What do you want from me, Nick Myra?”

  His throat went dry, but he told her the truth. “Everything.”

  Her whole body turned an appealing shade of pink under her body stocking, but she didn’t ask to go home.

  “For starters,” he said, “let your hair down. I want to see you like I’ve dreamed so many nights.”

  Meg’s lips parted again. The surprised expression on her face shifted to doubt, but she raised her hands and tugged at her thick bun. He couldn’t help staring at the way her heavy breasts thrust forward, at the hint of nipple teasing him behind the body stocking’s lacy black bows.

  Her hair tumbled free down her shoulders, chestnut waves rich and lustrous, every bit as luxurious and enticing as he’d imagined. God. What would the rest of her be like?

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, and she rewarded him with a shy smile.

  Could his cock get any harder?

  Nick gestured to the table behind her. “What did you bring to show me, Meg? I’d like my demonstration.”

  Her cheeks turned redder than holly berries. “Nick. I—I can’t. I—ooooh.” She fanned herself with one graceful hand, stirring wisps of hair around her flushed cheeks.

  He grinned at her and wondered if his erection would rip through his pants. “You’re standing on a stage, honey. Don’t disappoint your audience.”

  Meg’s eyes drifted from his face to his chest, to the unmistakable bulge of his silk-restrained cock. She gave him another smile, this one decidedly less shy. When she met his gaze again, he could have sworn he saw a wicked little spark in those warm, inviting depths.

  His cock gave up throbbing and started to burn.

  When she picked up a tweezer nipple chain with red flowers and little silver bells, he almost came.

  “Well, sir. As you know, foreplay is essential in a satisfying sexual relationship.” Meg’s voice trembled as she gave the sales pitch, but the spark in her eyes grew brighter. She stroked the top of one breast with the chain, letting the bells dangle against her bow-hidden nipple. “Here we have a seasonal treat guaranteed to leave your woman moaning more.” Up and down went the bells. They tinkled each time they bounced across the swelling center of that bow. “With this sliding ring, you can take her from tweak to pinch in the blink of an eye. These clamps are durable, easy to manage and sure to stay on even under the most passionate assault.”

  I’m going to die, Nick thought as everything inside him caught on fire. I asked for this, and I’m going to die.

  Picking up speed, Meg turned back to her display table. The next thing she selected was a tube of crimson lotion. “This is Liquid Fire, our top-of-the-line warming lotion.” She opened it, squeezed a little of the fluid into her palm, then began rubbing it in her cleavage.

  Nick couldn’t stifle his groan.

  He’d known she had this streak, that she could turn wild and hot with just the right nudge, but damn.

  Meg let her hands slip beneath the body stocking to the full swells of her breast, where she stroked and massaged, and added, “It comes in several flavors, like apple, cherry, strawberry and chocolate—but I prefer cinnamon. A little more spice, don’t you think?”

  He couldn’t have answered if she paid him.

  Back to the table she went, and this time, she turned around with the biggest vibrator he had ever seen. Just the sight of her standing there with that plastic dick between her damp, lace-clad breasts almost finished him.

  “Our most popular vibrator. The Satisfier.” Meg’s hot brown eyes bored into his as she ran her fingers up and down its length, hesitating on the head. “Thick and pleasing. Just what a woman wants.” She lowered her head and slid the tip into her mouth, pulled it back out, and smiled. “And best of all, realistic action.”

  She turned the damned thing on and it started to pump.

  Nick stared, transfixed, as she caressed the thrusting dick with her tongue, then lowered the vibrator and ran it across the tips of her breasts.

  Lower. To her belly.

  Lower again. To the dark curls between her legs.

  The vibrator hummed and slammed against her pussy, and she moaned.

  That was it. All he could take. His self-restraint shattered.

  One minute, Nick was lounging by the tables and topiaries, and the next he was on that stage, standing right in front of her.

  Meg switched off the vibrator and dropped it on the table behind her without looking. The mischievous glint in her eyes blazed into serious fire.

  Nick grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him so fast and hard that he lifted her off the stage. She melded against him, wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight as he kissed her fiercely, blindly, feeding his desperate desire into each questing thrust of his tongue.

  Her feather-soft lips parted as he slid his hands down and cupped her ass, squeezed the firm, warm flesh again and again. Meg tasted like mint and heat and everything female. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and he wanted to eat her whole like a Christmas treat.

  Tongue to tongue, chest to chest, he kissed her and she moaned into his mouth. He felt the push of her breasts through his silk shirt, and he wanted the clothes gone. He wanted her naked, too. He wanted to feel every inch of her with no netting, no bows, no barriers at all.

  Her body stocking shifted under his palms as he stroked her ass and let her slide toward the stage until her feet once more found purchase.

  When he finally released her lips, she pulled his head down, down, back toward her mouth, and whispered, “Don’t stop. I want you. I want you hard and deep. Now. Please.”

  She didn’t have to ask him again.

  Chapter Five

  Meg’s thoughts spun out of control.

  When she’d seen Nick standing in front of the stage, she’d almost fainted. When he asked about the toy display, she’d wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Then she’d seen the scorching flash of desire in his eyes, heard it in his voice and saw it in that incredible erection.

  As for their first kiss—mother of God.

  Fire flowed underneath her skin, blazing hotter everywhere his strong, sensual hands gripped her. She couldn’t believe herself, how she’d teased him, and now, how she was begging him to fuck her.

  But sweet heaven, if he didn’t do it soon, there’d be nothing left but a puddle of Meg on the Spirits stage.

  Nick’s dark eyes drove into her.

  Like black jasper, polished to a perfect shine.

  She ran her palms against his rough cheeks, and he captured her mouth again with a deep, rumbling growl she felt from her tongue to her curling toes. His scent of cedar smoke and some bewitching spice made her dizzy, and his firm, demanding lips made her wet and wetter still. He tasted faintly of expensive wine. Every inch of the man had to be made out of steel, especially his cock, hard and hot against her belly.

  She slid her hand down as their tongues danced and tangled, and she brushed her fingers across the heat of his silk-covered erection. He groaned and bit her lip just hard enough to make her gasp.


  “You’re killing me,” he murmured. “You’ve been killing me since you walked in here.” Then his mouth moved across her cheek, down the line of her jaw, to her neck. When he bit the sweet spot just below her ear, her nipples hardened into throbbing nubs. Hot juices trickled down her legs, drenching the body stocking.

  He nipped her again and Meg shuddered from the exquisite sensation. She clenched her fingers on his cock. She wanted him inside her. She wanted that sensual biting on her shoulders, her belly, her nipples, her clit.

  “Please,” she heard herself moaning. “Please, please…”

  He swept her into his arms so easily she might have been weightless. His lips claimed hers again as he carried her, muscles rippling through his tuxedo against her barely covered skin. She slid her hands into his hair and tugged at the thick, silky strands.

  Kissing her, caressing her even as he held her, Nick carried her down the stage steps and over to one of the fireplaces. Once more, he set her on her feet, this time amidst a bunch of red and green pillows, and pulled back to look at her.

  “You’re an incredible woman, Meg.” The low purr of his voice made her shiver with anticipation. He stroked her hair, then brought his hand to her face and traced her jaw with his knuckles. Bolts of pleasure fired down her neck, across her nipples and straight to her throbbing clit. “A genius at what you do, generous and unbelievably attractive. I wanted to touch you the first day I saw you.”

  “Handsome,” she said over the pound of her heart. “Graceful and mysterious. Where do you come from, Nick Myra?”

  His smile made her melt every time she saw it. “North. From the cold and snow.”

  “I love snow.” She kicked off her cumbersome heels. The carpet felt cushioned and soft under her toes as she stretched up to kiss him, as she savored the strong feel of his mouth and that distant hint of fine wine. When she pushed at Nick’s jacket, he released her mouth long enough to shrug out of the coat and send his tie with it to the floor.

  Meg made short work of his buttons, and she was gratified to touch bare, muscled chest as she pushed his shirt open. Toned. Cut. Pure male, like the cedar and spice she smelled each time he kissed her. He let her take his shirt off, let her squeeze and sample his rock-solid biceps, the tight cords of his shoulders, and lower, to the rippling perfection of his pecs.