The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

2

Weston

What the hell?I know what she intends to do, a second before she moves. I step aside and her knee grazes the outside of my thigh. I release her shoulders only to grab the nape of her neck. "Stop that," I scold her, "or you’ll hurt yourself."

"The only one who’s gonna be hurt here, buster, is you." She swings out with her fist.

As if this tiny thing could do anything to injure me? Oh wait, I’d done that on my own, when someone had run my car off the road a few days ago.

I angle my body, but I’m not fast enough. Her fist grazes my side; a burn of heat trickles down my spine. She didn’t hurt me. Instead, my body is responding to her in a manner that leaves no doubt of the fact that certain parts of me would very much prefer to be in more intimate contact with her.

"Stop," I growl.

She makes a noise deep in her throat, "You uncouth, obnoxious, horrible, man." She swings with her other hand, the shot too wide to do any harm. But it causes her to lose her balance, and she topples over, crashing into me.

Softness, curves, the weight of her breasts, even through the layers she is wearing, is a thing of beauty against my chest. I release her nape, only to wrap my hand about her shoulders and haul her close.

"Let me go," she chokes.

"No." I say all casual-like, hoping she’ll take the bait. Whaddya know? The little thing hits out with her fist again, this time catching me on the wrist of my injured hand. Pain flashes up my arm and sparks of brightness dot my vision. Shit, she hadn’t been kidding about her threat.

I grit out the words through clenched teeth, "Stop it before I do something I regret."

"Ha," she scoffs. "I am not scared of bullies like you."

I draw in a deep breath. "Don’t threaten me."

"Don’t underestimate me." She raises her fists.

Ooh, I am so scared.I stifle the chuckle that crowds my throat. Max whines again, I glare at him from over her shoulder. He wags his tail, mouth open, tongue lolling. Of course, I could get my staff in the hospital to behave with that look, but it has little effect on the little rascal. I frown at Max. He pants back, then turns and runs off in the direction of the kitchen. That buys me, maybe, a minute before he’ll be back. Best make full use of it. I train my glare on the handful of woman who glowers up at me. She barely comes to chest level… And that hair? Is she actually sporting streaks of purple? And there is so much of it… Her hair, I mean. It flows like spun gold around her shoulders, catching the light that filters in from the patio behind her.

"Hey," she snaps her fingers, "what are you staring at?"

"Your hair." I reach out with my bandaged hand to touch the shining strands. I bring it up to my nose and sniff it.

She stiffens. "What are you doing?"

"What’s that smell?"

"What?" She tips up her perky little nose, sniffs the air.

"That." I grasp a handful of her hair, bury my nose in it, and draw in a deep breath. "Vanilla, sugar, apples…butter." The mix of scents go straight to my head. "Why the hell do you smell of dessert?" I frown.

"Ah, maybe because I’m a pastry chef?" She scowls. "What the hell do you think you’re doing anyway?"

"Speaking of." I let the hair slide out from between my fingers-...Why do I miss its softness already? "I’m not letting you stay here. You do realize that?"

"What?" She blinks. "What did you say?"

"I was here first."

"Excuse me?"

The light in her blue eyes intensifies and little creases appear on her forehead. Oh, this is going to be good. "Here, at the cabin." I smirk. "I am staying here until New Year’s."

"I’m staying here until New Year’s," she says through clenched teeth.

"Nope," I emphasize the word with a popping sound, and practically see the smoke pour out of her tiny ears. Beautiful, shell shaped ears, that I’d like to curl my tongue around, suck on those pretty earlobes before easing it into that hole. My groin hardens. Hell… there are other parts of her which I’d like to push into as well… Lick her up, suck on the melting flesh between her thighs, nip on her lower lips, before I thrust my tongue inside her soaking channel and bring her to the edge.

"I am too." She props her hands on her hips, her curvy, deliciously rounded hips, which is one of the first things I’d noticed about her too. She’s so different from the women I normally encounter… Hell, she’s not my type at all. Soft, sassy, perfectly shaped for my hands. My fingers tingle. I will not touch her, will not. I tilt my head. "From where I am, you are…on your way out."

"What?" She blinks. "I am standing right here."

"That can be easily changed."

I take a step forward, and honestly, I’d totally expected her to retreat. To shuffle back, maybe even turn and run out of the house… I should have known better, after how she’d threatened me with that spatula earlier, for she doesn’t move. She stands her ground, so my feet bump hers. I lean into her; she tips her chin up.

I lower my face toward hers, closer, closer. "You can’t win this, Buttercup."

"Buttercup?" She scrunches up her forehead. "Why the hell are you calling me after the Princes Bride?"

"It was after a Powerpuff Girl, actually," I chuckle.

"Powerpuff?" She grimaces.

I nod, "You’re small, annoying, and too headstrong for your own good."

"How do you even know about those cartoons?"

"I may have watched them with my little niece."

"Awww." Her gaze widens; her eyes go all sparkly as fuck. Ah, hell!

My neck heats. "Don’t make it out to be anything more than what it is," I grunt.

"Which is?"

"That I babysit on occasion," I mutter.

"You also babysit?" Her features take on the expression I have seen on the faces of the women who have fallen for some of my friends. Specifically, Jace, Sinner and that mofo Saint. All of them ended up married, and shackled, and buying townhouses, and planning extended honeymoons, and baby showers... Argh! A shiver of trepidation runs up my spine. Shit, no, no, no, I am not going there. These kinds of entanglements, and all the bloody relationship fuck-ups that come with it? Not for me. So not my tumbler of whiskey—you didn’t think I’d say cup of tea, now, would you?

Besides, what the hell am I doing, sharing that piece of information about myself? She’d gotten past my guard, obviously. It’s the only reason I’d let that slip. More to the point, why the hell are we still talking, here in the house I co-own?

The hair on my nape prickles.

"How the hell did you get here?" I frown.

"I drove, of course." She sniffs, "What about you?"

"I was driven here by my chauffeur," I grumble.

"That’s why there’s no car parked outside." She nods. "How do you plan to get around for the time you are here?"

"I don’t."

"Guess you can’t drive with that finger, huh?"

"I can bloody drive, if I want." I scowl, "I choose not to; besides, every time I want to head out, I’ll message my driver."

She opens and shuts her mouth, "Let me get this right. Every time you want to go out, you’ll message your chauffeur who’ll come in from where? London?"

I glare at her, "Don’t be daft. He’s staying in the nearest town. It takes him, maybe, 45 minutes to get here."

"To take you back into the village, and return."

"Umm, yeah." I raise my shoulders, "That’s why he’s called a driver. He drives me around," I snicker.

"I could do that."

"What?"

"Drive you around."

"Why should I want that?"

"Since we are going to be sharing this house—"

"Nope, we're not. I own this place with the rest of the Seven."

"Saint offered it to me for the duration of the holidays." She scowls, "Pretty sure he loaned the space to me first.”

"I am one of the Seven. I take precedence," I declare.

She gapes at me and… Damn… Every time she opens her mouth, I want to shut her up with my tongue, or other parts of me that would very happily nestle into that warmth. Why the fuck does she turn me on, when she’s the type of complication I can do without?

"Out," I snarl.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She sniffs, "Why can’t we work this out like adults?"

"Like adults, huh?" I smirk. "Trust me, the kind of things I want to do with you right now would definitely be classified as ‘adult.’"

She reddens. "Can’t you speak a sentence without coming across all lecherous?"

"I haven’t even started," I smirk, “and PS, it’s you who can’t take a hint. Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"You’re a jerk, you know that?"

I yawn. "Get out of the house or I’ll throw you out bodily."

"You wouldn’t."

"Try me."

She raises her fist and I move. I grab her around the waist, haul her over my shoulder.

She yelps, "Let go of me, you oaf."

"You sure about that, Buttercup?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Not gonna oblige you. Next?"

She makes a huffing sound and the warmth of her breath sears my back. She wriggles her body, tries to scramble off. I place my arm across the back of her thighs.

She brings her fists down on my back, rains blows. How cute. As if that’s gonna make a difference. From where I am, it’s more like a massage. Don’t tell her that, though. I stalk forward, and Max chooses that time to dart out.

Blame it on the fact I was distracted by her wriggling arse positioned so close to my face. Or the fact that I was having too much fun. Or that a part of me was bloody angry with that turd Saint, for having put me in this situation.

Clearly, he’d double booked me and this little puff pastry of a woman… whatever the fuck he'd been thinking, he is mistaken. I have no interest in her; none whatsoever... especially when she's proving to be such a distraction that I barely manage to sidestep Max.

My bare feet slip from under me. The world tilts.

The woman across my shoulder shrieks. I tighten my grip on her, as the ceiling recedes further. I manage to find my balance, lurch back a couple of steps, through the door. I must have spilled something earlier. My legs slip out from under me a second time.

I arc back through the air…and still holding her, hit the hot tub and tumble into the water.

"Woman," I growl, "you’re going to rupture my eardrums."

"I’ll do more than that, you…you horrible man. You…you Fruit Salad."

I blink, "Did you compare me to a dessert?"

"I’m not done you…you Carrot Cake." She rears up so quickly, I loosen my grip. She pulls away, and over…smashes straight into my injured finger. Bright lights flash behind my eyes… Jesus F… She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she’d show me the sun in the night time… Hold on. What the hell am I thinking? My brain seems to freeze, then pain ratchets up my spine, through my skull… A growl rips from me, "The hell are you doing?"

"You started this." She lurches up to her feet, stands over me, with my torso in between her legs.

Her wet blouse stretches across her chest, highlighting every gorgeous curve of that magnificent bust.

My cock twitches; my mouth dries. I can only stare at the nipples that salute me, the water that drips down the fabric outlining her flat stomach, the indentation of her bellybutton, down to the valley between her thighs, where her jeans have ridden up to kiss the cleft between her lower lips. What I wouldn’t give to be able to place my lips there… I swallow. My dick lengthens.

Shit, bet if she looks down, she’ll see exactly which parts of me are excited by this little rough play… Which it isn’t… Foreplay, that is. It is an accident, that’s all.

"Why the hell couldn’t you watch where you were going?" She glowers.

"Me…?" I scowl. "I am as steady on my feet as I am with my fingers… Speaking of," I raise my throbbing hand, and glare at the offending digit, "You probably fractured it again, thanks to your clumsiness."

"It was already broken, you idiot."

"Heard about multiple fractures?" I growl. "And don’t call me an idiot."

"Oh, pfft. I’ll call you anything I want, you reprobate."

"Mind your tongue, Buttercup."

"Oh, stuff it." She swings one leg over. "And for the record, I’m the one who’s staying, not you."

"Oh, no, you’re not." I grab for her leg. She squeaks, evades me and jumps up and out of the tub. There’s a howl… "Max." I turn to find her squatting down. She rubs the puppy’s head. "Oooh, little fellow, did I hurt you? I didn’t, did I?" Max whines again.

"Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry," she coos, makes kissing noises at the mutt, who whines. No wonder he’s making the most of having her attention.

She plops onto her butt, cross-legged, pulls the puppy into her lap. The dog, lifts his head, licks her face, her mouth. Hmm. He whines again, she strokes him, and lifts him to her chest. The little bugger cuddles against her breasts. What the—? I glower. How does he get to do that and not me? Wait, hold on? Am I seriously jealous of a canine? I shake my head.

"Enough of this nonsense," my voice rings around the space.

The puppy shivers, snuggles his body tighter against her chest.

"Put him aside," I scowl.

She peers up at me, "Shh."

"What?"

"You’re scaring the baby," she admonishes me.

"Baby?" I growl.

Max moans… No, really. That dog has definitely been taking acting classes, for he bleats out another piteous little whine that has her cuddling him, rocking him side to side. "There, there, little fella. Did Daddy’s heavy voice make your heart go pitter-patter?’’ She lifts him up, and the dog plays along. He licks her lips…right on the mouth.

"Hey!" I growl.

I push up to standing in the hot tub, water flowing from me like I turned on the shower. The water splashes out onto the dog and the woman, who bows her head to shield him. "Stop that, you’re making him wet." She huffs.

"Oh, yeah?" I scowl down at her bent head, the way she croons to the pet, hair flowing in a blonde waterfall about her shoulders, her dripping clothes that outline the curve of her shoulder…and that… The sight of the perfectly turned swell of a what should not be a seductive part of anyone’s body… But on Buttercup… It’s a bloody turn on. The blood rushes to my groin and my head spins. Must be the fact that I hit my hand. That’s why I am feeling lightheaded. No other reason. It’s why I step up and out of the sunken hot tub, to loom over her.

More water pours over her, drenching both woman and dog. He yelps, cowers into her further.

"What are you doing?" She tries to protect him with her body. "You’re an insensitive dog parent."

"I’m not a parent, this is not a child, and you…are completely insane."

She peers up at me, from under her spiky eyelashes. Her gaze runs up my thighs, my crotch, getting an eyeful of my rather spectacular appendage—yeah, I’m well hung, deal with it—up my impressive eight pack—it is eight, I know, I’ve seen myself in the mirror—to my mouth. She gulps; her cheeks turn a fiery red. "You… you…" She swallows, "Why are you flashing the little mite?" She props her palm over Max’s eyes. "You could have stunted his growth, with that exhibition," she huffs. "I mean just because you are … Uh, massive... You don’t need to go around shocking little doggies with your penchant for running around naked."

And that’s when something inside of me snaps. My vision tunnels and the blood thunders at my temples—anger…and frustration…and jealousy… Yeah, bloody hell, I am living with rage that she’s giving all of her attention to that…that… Usurper… I am going to teach her a lesson about ignoring me—one she won’t forget in a hurry. I bend over, grab the nape of her neck with my unhurt hand, and haul her up to her feet, with just enough force for her gaze to widen.

"What did you say?’

"Th…that you’re scaring him."

"After that."

"That you’re running around naked."

"Before that."

She blinks rapidly, the dog wriggles in her hold. "M…max," she stutters.

I click my tongue, "Not the word that you are looking for."

"M…massive?" she wheezes.

"You noticed, huh?"

"Kinda….h…hard not to…" she swallows, tips up her chin, "considering…"

"Considering." I drop my head, thrust my face into hers. "Considering?" I lower my voice. "Complete the sentence, Buttercup."

She gulps, "Considering you’ve been waving that in my face since—"

I lower my head, close my mouth over hers.