The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

17

Amelie

"Of course, I am." I squeeze my thighs together. Damn it, stop imagining the scene he’s laid out.

He doesn’t know me or my needs or my likes. He has no idea how close he came to hitting on a certain forbidden dream I’ve harbored… One that I won’t give in to, no matter that it is being laid out by the meanest, sexiest toad-in-the-hole ever. And that would be an insult to toad-in-the-hole’s everywhere. I blow out a breath. I totally have to stop with these weird food-related metaphors that I seem to come up with when I am around him.

"How do you know if you haven’t tried it?" He lowers his voice and studies me, "Have you tried it?"

I bite down on my lower lip. Damn it, why can’t I lie to him? Say it; do it . "Uh... Not really," I venture.

His eyes gleam, "I think you might be surprised."

"The only surprise would be if there isn’t an intruder in the cabin," I mutter.

He walks up the patio, past the now-silent hot tub. He stops at the entrance. "I need to go in and check the place first," he grumbles.

"I’m coming with you."

"It’s safer here."

"It’s colder." The snowflakes intensify, more of the white, powdery stuff sticking to my lips. I lick them off. His nostrils flare. Did that turn him on? Why is he so attuned to me? Is that why he’d laid out that stupid condition that I can't sleep with him if I want the money? Maybe it was to give me a way out of having sex with him... Except damn it, now I want to shag him. OMG!

Do I want the money so badly that I’ll do everything but allow him to fuck me? Okay, don’t answer that. It isn’t fair, putting this big ol’ hunk of chocolate slab on one side and my future on the other. Would you give up his spotted dick for the chance at realizing your dreams? Not that his dick is spotted…but it has a certain rhyme to it, know what I mean?

He bends as if to lower me to the floor.

"No, no, please no." I pout, "Don’t do this. Don’t leave me out here alone." Max whines to punctuate my words. Good boy.

He glares at me. His shoulders seem to swell. The full force of his dominance seems to weigh down on my shoulders.

I gulp, "We…Weston?" Crap, why is my voice trembling?

"You owe me, Buttercup." His voice is low, hushed.

"Can… can we go in?" I shiver.

He frowns, then jerks his gaze away and in front. Whew. The breath shudders out of me. I glance forward as he steps inside the house. He walks into the living room. It’s silent, the space lit by the flames from the fire.

He glances around the space, his muscles tensed. I look up at the jut of his jaw. The hair covering his face seems thicker. Jeez. Do his whiskers multiply by the hour or something? Isn’t that a sign of virility? At this rate, he’s gonna have a Santa Claus beard by the time it's Christmas Day. And he can take me across his knee anytime. I snicker, and he looks down at me, catching me off guard. Heat sears my cheeks.

"What were you thinking?" he growls.

"N…nothing."

"Don’t try that. I know exactly when your thoughts turn X-rated."

"Huh?"

Max grumbles in his throat.

"I think you can put us down now," I manage to say.

He stares at me a second longer, then stalks over to the cushion in front of the fire. He lowers me down to it. Max wriggles in my hold. I place him on the floor and he stretches, yawns, then patters off toward the kitchen.

"Well, he seems okay." I clear my throat, the adrenaline fades away and my limbs tremble.

"Hmm."

"Should we take him to the vet?"

Weston straightens. "Let’s watch him tonight, and if he shows any signs of trauma tomorrow, we can take him then. I think he just had a fright."

"That’s a plan." I yawn so hard, my jaw cracks. My eyelids seem heavy all of a sudden. "Sorry,” I mumble. “It hit me all at once, I think."

He peels off the socks from my feet. His fingers brush my ankle. I shiver. He runs his fingers up the heels of one foot, then the other. Goosebumps pop on my skin. "What are you doing?" I say, breathless.

"Making sure you didn't cut yourself."

"I'm not hurt," I insist. I tug on my foot and he releases me.

"You should take off your loafers." I say.

"Excuse me?"

I glance down at his feet, "Uh, you're dragging in the snow from outside, not to mention the glass pieces from the shed."

He frowns, then retraces his steps to the door, toes off his shoes. I stare at his beautiful feet... beautiful naked large feet. My throat closes. My belly flutters.

I had no idea I had a foot fetish, until I met Dr Grumpy Pants Kincaid. Hell I had no idea I had a fetish for other male parts either... Not all male parts... Only his male parts. My belly flutters. My throat closes. Bloody hell. Clearly, I am obsessed.

"Why don’t you wait here?" His voice cuts through my thoughts.

I tip my head up to meet his gaze, and warmth laces my cheeks.

"You okay?" He frowns.

No, of course not.

"Of course I am." I fold my hands in my lap.

He looks at me intently until I nod, then straightens. "I’ll check the cabin and lockup, to ensure we're safe. Then we can go to bed." He grabs a log and heads toward the bedroom.

My eyes widen, but before I can worry too much, that dumb voice inside of my head chimes in. We.Gah! He used the 'We' word. I stare up in his direction. Doesn't signify anything, bitch. Wait, does he mean go to bed to sleep or go to bed for something else? And omigosh, isn’t that all cozy? So domestic. Would it be like this if we were together…? Maybe married, with kids… What the f—?

“Bedroom’s clear,” he says as he stalks toward the other end of the house.

I shake my head, push myself up to my feet. Clearly, I am delusional, or the Christmas season is affecting me, or the way he’d swept me up in his arms like I didn’t weigh anything at all, and proceeded to carry me in here had made a huge impact on me. No one had ever done that before. No one. Shit. I am this…close to doing something stupid. Gah! Like giving up the money and giving in to him. No, no, no. I need advice. Need to talk with someone.

I march to the bedroom, which is illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the window, then reach for my handbag; my fingers brush my phone. Huh?

So he decided to return it to me? When had he put it back? Why would he do that? Is this his way of making up for the douche he's been thus far? My head spins. Talk about being complex. The alphahole is certainly the most complicated man I've ever met; and the most intriguing... Don't forget gorgeous. Why does he have to be this difficult though? It sure makes this entire relationship hard work... And unique... No wonder I can't stop thinking of him. And no... Our relationship is strictly professional. Yea, keep telling yourself that, bitch. Regardless, I am going to take every break I get... Like this phone. He returned it; now I can use it.

I grab the phone, glance around.

Where can I speak without him hearing me? I walk into the ensuite bathroom, lock the door behind me. Shit, it’s dark. I switch on the light on my phone, walk over to the bath candle at the head of the tub. I grab it, rummage around in the drawers under the sink, until I find a lighter. I light the candle, place it on the counter next to the sink.

Then, for good measure, I crawl into the bathtub.

I swipe the phone screen, notice a text message. It's from Julia, one of my oldest friends. She'd left high school, gone to Australia for her gap year and stayed on as a nanny for a family there. Last I heard, she'd planned to stay on for another year. I peruse her text:

Hey Amelie, change of plans. I'm returning to London. Should be there just after Christmas. Can I stay with you until I find a place of my own?

Oh, yay!

It's going to be awesome to have her back, especially consideringSummer is on her honeymoon. Victoria is still in that early stars and sunshine phase in her relationship with Saint. Karma… Well, she seems to have forgotten about us, since discovering her hottie on her extended Sicilian sojourn—a hottie she is still hiding from us. So that leaves me and Isla—the only other single woman in our clique, and Julia, when she returns.

I text her back:

Awesome news.

Can't wait to see you! Of course you can stay with me. Come over when you land.

I press send, then call Isla. She picks up on the third ring.

"Hey," her voice is breathless.

"Did I disturb you?" I keep my voice low.

"Nope. Just me and my Hitachi getting all cuddly." She snickers. "If I were to fall pregnant now, I'd give birth to batteries."

"What the—?" I snort, then swallow down the wrong way and start coughing. "That was such a bad joke, it was good." I clear my throat. "At least someone's having fun." I bite down on my lower lip.

The silence stretches, then, "Amelie?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Of course."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Because I don’t want to be heard?"

"Aren’t you at the cabin?"

"Yep."

"So why the secrecy thing?"

"What secrecy thing?"

"You’re still whispering, babe."

"Right."

"Amelie?" she asks, worry in her voice. "Everything okay there?"

"There was a break-in at the cabin."

"What?" I hear the sheets rustle, then the click of a lamp, "Are you okay? What happened."

The line buzzes and I glance at the screen. She’s asking for access to video mode. I decline.

"What the hell?" She demands. "Why aren’t you on video?"

"Uh, because, I’m hiding in the bath tub."

"What the—?" Her voice sharpens, "Why are you hiding? Did the intruder hurt you—"

"I’m fine," I mumble.

Why’d I have to go and blurt that out to her? Maybe I needed someone to empathize with me, huh?Not that Weston hadn’t. He had taken care of me, even if it was grudgingly… Still, I needed to hear a familiar voice, someone unthreatening with whom I don’t need to pretend.

"Then why are you still whispering?" Her voice sharpens, "Is the intruder still there?"

"No, no. I think Wes scared him off."

"Weston?"

"Yeah."

"He’s there with you?"

I draw in a breath. "I walked in on him, completely naked, as he was wrapping up his hot tub session."

Silence, then she chuckles, "You found him naked?"

"Yeah."

"In the hot tub?"

"He’d just been in…yeah, and he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on and he had a cigar."

"Hot damn." She laughs, "Talk about phallic symbols, hmm?"

That’s true. He’d been all but sending me subconscious signals… Okay, seeing his massive dick upfront? Not that subtle…but you have to give the man full marks for making an impression.

"That’s not all," I add.

"You mean there’s something to top off that picture?" She chuckles.

I frown, "Wipe that image from your mind, please."

Silence again. "Did you just ask me to refrain from imagining the hot doctor naked?"

"Yeah." Shit, I know how that sounds... But I really don’t want her going there… Nowhere near that very male, very gorgeous naked ass…or dick, of said doctor…because…well I am...

"Are you jealous?"

Of course, I am."No, no, nothing like that…" I bite my lips.

"It’s fine; I understand." I can hear the grin in her voice.

"Nothing to understand."

"You’re holed up with him over the festive season, huh? Planning a hot and dirty week, eh?"

"No, no," I hasten to clarify, "nothing like that."

"Oh?" Her voice is credulous.

"No, seriously, uh... He wants me to meet his family over Christmas."

The silence stretches this time. A beat, another.

"Family? Christmas?" Her voice sounds strangled. "Isn’t that uh, premature?"

"It’s part of the deal."

"The deal…? What deal? Amelie, what the hell is happening there?"

The phone vibrates again; I glance at the screen. She’s asking for access to my video again. I huff out a breath, then agree.

Isla’s face fills the screen. Her eyes are wide, concern writ across her features.

"Finally," she huffs. "The hell have you gotten yourself into?"

"Me?" I frown, "Why are you yelling at me, when it’s that alphahole’s fault that I am here in this bath tub?"

"Where is the doctor?"

"He’s shutting down the house for the night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

She makes the motion of zipping her lips, "Nothing."

I scowl, "Out with it, bitch."

"It sounds like you two are playing house up there."

"Yeah, and Max is our child," I say, only half-joking.

"Sinclair and Summer’s puppy?"

"Yeah, Weston’s dog-sitting."

"He can’t be that much of an asshole if he’s dog sitting."

"He knows how to fool people, huh?" I mutter.

She peers up at me through the screen. "The deal," she prompts. "What’s that all about?"

"He’s paying me a million pounds a day for my time."

"A million?" she splutters. "You sure?"

"Yeah, we shook on it."

"Hmph." She purses her lips, "He’s filthy rich. No doubt, he can afford it." Her forehead furrows, "And what does he want from you in return?"

"Uh, I’m going to have to housekeep for him, until we leave here."

She bursts out laughing. "You? Housekeeping?” Isla has been to my place.

“Shut up,” I say, before giggling along with her.

She snickers, "So, what does that mean? Housekeeping." She emphasizes the word, as if it has a hidden meaning.

My cheeks heat. "Well, uh..." I shift my body. Why can’t I get comfortable? "It means I have to do everything he wants."

"Ooh," she perks up, "you mean kinky games?"

"Sort of…" I look up at the ceiling before continuing, "except, I’m not supposed to sleep with him."

"Excuse me?"

I hurry to explain. "As long as I don’t have sex with him, I get the money."

She blinks rapidly. "That..." she frowns, "that makes no sense."

"Right?" Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

"I mean, shagging him would be almost as good as getting the money in your account.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose, "This entire thing is gonna go tits-up on me."

"So, he’ll come through with the money. You’re confident of that, right?"

"Right."

"And all you have to do is get through the next few days... Break bread with his fam..."

"Yeah," I nod.

"So, what’s the problem?"

I stare at her.

"Oh." She tilts her head, "OHHHHH."

I turn down my lips, "Now you see?"

"You want to ride him horizontally?"

"Don’t be crude." I laugh.

"You want to fuck him, get it on with him, shag him until you can’t walk straight, until you’re enveloped in a sex haze…?"

"Gee thanks," I mutter. "Thanks for laying it all out there."

"So, do it." She raises her shoulders.

"What?"

"You want him; take him. He won’t say no. Shag him; live out your wildest dreams with the dirty doctor."

"And then?"

"Then go back to your life."

"My indebted-to-hell life," I complain.

"That does suck..." she taps a finger to her forehead, "unless."

"Uh-oh!" Do I want to hear this?

"You, change the terms of the deal."

"You think I could?"

"Sure. Revise it to include money and sex."

"Ah...But..."

"What?"

"Doesn’t that make me a slut…in his eyes?"

"Aren’t you already one?"

"N…no." I mean… "Maybe."

"Is it him or yourself you’re worried about?"

"I don’t understand."

"You want to keep your conscience clean—keep your skirts clean, so to speak. Do what he wants, on his terms, take the money, and run."

"Yeah."

"Think you can keep it that simple?"

"I…" I hang my head, "I’m not sure."

"So, call off the deal. Forget about the money. Go for the man."

"But… but, I need the cash."

"Then do as he says."

"I don’t want to." I pout.

She throws up her hands, "Gah, you’re making my head hurt."

"Tell me about it." I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

"So..." she scans my features, "What are you going to do?"

"I don’t know."

There’s a knock on the door. "Amelie?" Weston’s voice reaches me. "You okay in there?"

"Shit, I gotta go."

"Let me know what you decide.”

"Thanks, Iz."

"Bye, babe."

Weston bangs on the door again and raises his voice, "Amelie? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, coming." I walk over to the commode and flush it. Then check my appearance in the mirror over the sink. My hair is all over the place, skin flushed, no makeup, lips wiped bare. Ugh. And is that…? I lean in closer. Yep, there’s dog hair on my sweater. "Damn it." I take off my sweater, glance around, then toss it into the laundry basket. My blouse is crumpled, but it’ll have to do.

"Amelie?" Weston sounds pissed. "You coming out or do I need to come in there?"

"Hold onto your britches," I yell back, slide my phone into my pocket, then turn toward the mirror. I mean, it’s not even a question anymore, is it? No sex. That’s fine. I can still stick to that plan, but it would be nice to have a bit more fun with him at least, no? I grab the bottom of my blouse and whip it off.

"Amelie." Weston juggles the knob, "I’m coming in."

"Wait!" I toss aside the blouse and scamper for the door.