The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

41

Christmas Day

Weston

I stare into the amber liquid at the bottom of my glass. Fuck, fucking fuck. I’d stood back and let her walk away. I hadn’t gone after her. I’d held my balls in my hand and allowed her to leave. Am I a man? Can I call myself a male worth his manhood? I hadn’t stopped her; I hadn’t. Bloody fuck. Why hadn’t I? For once in my life, I had faltered. I had stood by, and for the second time, let her walk out, and this time, there is no going back. I’d had my chance and I had blown it. I had allowed my emotions to get the better of me.

When she’d stared into my eyes and pleaded with me to allow her to win… I had wanted her to. Not that this is a game, or a war. Okay, so maybe it is a fight between us—this push and pull. This constant thrum of arousal that laces the air, that connects us and makes us want to go head-to-head... Even as I want to yank her to me and kiss her, and suck on those sweet-sugary tits of hers, bury my fingers in her moist pussy, dip my tongue in the crevasse of her belly button, sink to my knees in front of her, thrust my head between her legs and ravish her, please her, make her come.

Hell… Her happiness and her needs, they come first. Her confidence? I never want to shake that. Her sass and fire, her independence? They are a fucking turn on. It’s what had challenged me. It’s why I had noticed her in the first place. In a world filled with compliance, she had stood out. She had baited me, hated me, pushed me away, and that had only aroused me further.

I’d wanted to...what? Curb her? Tie her to me? I should have known better. A free spirit like Amelie needs to be nurtured, to be allowed to soar as she wants… And I’d be in the background watching, applauding, encouraging, paving her way… Fuck. I shake my head. What am I thinking? What happened to the dominant surgeon who didn’t give a fuck about anyone else…except his patients? To be fair, I’d cared for them, but they had been a way to nourish my ego. Fuck. Everything in my life so far has been one long trip to soothe that scared boy inside of me. The one who had never recovered from the incident.

So, I was kidnapped.

I was hurt.

I was…abused. Mentally and emotionally.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. So what? Shit happens; deal with it. How could I have allowed those few days to color my life so completely? Enough to not recognize the only good thing that had come my way. Her.

"Bloody fuck." I drain my glass then hurl it against the wall of the living room. The glass bounces off of the hard surface, hits the floor, bounces again, comes to a rest at my feet. Go figure. Can’t do even one thing properly, can you? I kick the offending object and it rolls toward the door. A booted foot stops it.

I groan. "Fuck off," I grunt.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Damian’s chirpy voice echoes through the drumming in my head.

Fuck.

I turn away, head toward the bar in the corner of the living room. I grab a glass, reach for the bottle, miss it, swoop down on it. Finally! I pour myself a healthy measure of Macallan’s. Fuck that. I fill the snifter to the top. Set the bottle down on the bar counter with a thwack.

"Careful, ol’ chap. That whiskey’s older than you."

"So’s your nagging," I growl.

"Seen yourself in the mirror lately?" Damian continues.

I frown, "Heard yourself lately?"

"No need to, ol’ chap." He smirks. "I rest confident in the power of my good looks."

"Jesus," I swear, "Can you hear yourself?" I wince.

"No sweeter sound in the world, right?" He grins.

I stare up at him. "Did you just say that?"

"What?" He frowns.

"Have you any idea how pompous you sound, you prat?"

"So?" He straightens his arm, tugs on the sleeve of the white button-down that shows below his jacket.

"So?" I raise the shoulders, "So it’s bloody off-putting."

Damian frowns. "Who are you, and what have you done to my douchebag wanker of a friend?" he mutters.

"I’ll let you know when I find the fuck out." I bring the glass to my lips, take a sip, then grimace. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to substitute alcohol for coffee. I hadn't stopped drinking since I’d dragged my sorry ass home, after seeing my mother in the hospital yesterday.

They’d discharged her this morning, thank fuck. The poison, whatever it was, had vanished from her system. It had left her weak, but she was stable. Thank the bloody gods. I’d lost one parent already; I’m not ready to lose another. I don’t want to lose her. "Fuck." I raise the glass, down half of it. Sweat breaks on my brow. My left hand—so far unhurt. Maybe I need to remedy that? Sure, go for it, wipe out the career you’ve worked so hard to build, huh? Why not, while you’re at it, light a flame to everything you’ve achieved thus far… All of it is nothing, meaningless without her. I slap the glass onto the bar potty it cracks. Huh? The amber liquid bleeds out onto the mahogany counter top.

"You all right?" Damian’s voice is concerned.

"Yes. No." I plant my elbows on the bar, in the whiskey which seeps into my sleeves, but whatever. Why the fuck should I care that I smell like a distillery? It’s not like she’s there to bury her nose in my chest, to rub her cheek into my shoulder, turn her face into my arm pit and coil into me like the feline, sensuous woman she is. "Go away," I moan, then bury my head between my palms. If I press my hands tightly against my ears, would it block out the sound of her laughter? I snicker. Getting delusional now, huh? You’ve gone mental; admit it.

"Wes," Damian grips my shoulder, "you’ve gotta get yourself in hand."

"For what?" I mutter, "I let her leave. Didn’t have the balls to go after her either."

"Maybe you aren’t ready yet for this relationship."

I stiffen. "The fuck do you mean?"

"She was too good for you, ol’ chap."

That she was.

"She’s someone who deserves better."

"She deserves the best," I agree.

"And you’re all wrong for her."

"Clearly."

"You did the right thing."

Huh?I scowl.

"If you can’t make her happy, you should let her go. If she comes back to you—"

"—She won’t," I mumble. "She bloody hates me."

"I hate you. The world doesn’t like you, man, it’s normal."

"Thanks," I grumble. "Nice to know I can trust you to have my back."

"Always," I hear the laughter in his voice, turn and shoot him a glance.

His features are schooled into a serious expression, which is seriously weird. Which also means he’s trying to rile me.

"The fuck’s on your mind?" I growl.

"Me?" He points to himself, "Nothing, man. I’m not the one with a broken heart—"

"I break hearts. I don’t get mine broken…" my voice trails off.

He nods. "Sadly, I believe you’ve crossed over to the dark side."

"What?"

"You remember the thing that had its claws into first Jace, then Sinner, and then Saint?"

"No, I don’t." I scowl, and I thought I was delusional?

"I’m afraid you’ve fallen prey to it as well."

I straighten, lower my chin to my chest, "I have no idea what you’re talking about. And it’s not because I’m a bit hungover—"

"A bit?" He snorts, “Don’t you have to stop drinking before you can be hungover?

I glare at him. "Okay, my head is pounding, and clearly, I’ve poisoned myself with enough alcohol that I may spontaneously combust at any time—"

"Attaboy." He pats my shoulder, "Tell it like it is. I knew you’d come through."

I shake off his hand, "You’re bloody creepy when you go all paternal."

"Me, paternal?" he laughs.

"Stranger things have happened." I roll my shoulders. My stomach copies the motion. "Shit." I wipe the sweat from my upper lip, "I don’t think I’m feeling that well."

"Wonder why that is, huh?" Liam stalks in.

"Oh, bloody fuck," I groan. "Thought you’d crawled away under whatever rock you’d been found under."

He shakes his head, "Man, you’ve gone and done it now."

"What?"

Damian chuckles.

"What?" I ask again.

Liam folds his arms over his chest, "Shit or get off the pot."

"Eloquent, as always." I grimace.

His dark gaze takes in my features, "You look like hell."

"Still better-looking than you."

His forehead crinkles, "Why do I even bother with you, huh?"

"Because you know, at heart, I am the one destined for greatness."

"You’ve proved that already," he mutters. "You got your way in the end—became a surgeon, saved lives. You make the difference between life and death. You saved mother’s life."

He comes forward, grips my shoulder, "Thank you."

Is he for real?"Did you just go all polite as fuck on me?" I scowl.

Liam’s features twist, "Guess not even soulless bastards can resist the spirit of Christmas, huh?"

"You mean it, don’t you?" I shake my head in disbelief. "You’re actually thanking me for the first time ever, that I can remember."

"It is the first time," he confirms. "You can thank your woman for that."

"My woman?"

He nods. "Seeing you fall apart—"

"I didn’t fall apart—" I snarl.

"—then give in, for the first time in my living memory, showed me, you have a human side. You’re not as obnoxious as you come across."

The headache between my temples intensifies. Should I even bother to make sense of what is happening around here?

Arpad saunters in. "What are you still doing here?" He asks.

"That was my next question," Damian chuckles.

"I don’t care either way, by the way," Liam drawls.

I glower. He steps back, then brushes his sleeve, as if to rid himself of all trace of contact. Wanker. Hold on… That’s what I was…or had been… Then she’d swept in, and damn, if all those carefully built walls hadn’t come collapsing around me like confetti. Did I just think confetti? Does that word even exist in my vocabulary?

Liam turns to leave, then shoots me a look over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Mother said to invite her over when you see her." He stalks off.

"When am I going to see who?" I glower.

"You gonna enlighten him?" Damian smirks.

"Nah, it’s inevitable. It’s more fun to watch him fight it." Arpad leans his hip against the bar.

Damian glances at me, "Tick-tock, ol’ chap."

The blood drains from my face. I stumble, then right myself.

"Fuck." Damian leans forward to grab my shoulder, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. Of all people, I should have remembered about your triggers."

"Fuck that," I growl. "The Mafia; they broke into her bakery."

"When?" Damian straightens.

"She mentioned it to me, when we first met."

"But you weren’t connected with her—"

"They’d have seen her at Sinclair’s, then at Saint’s wedding." I squeeze the bridge of my nose. "If they have been watching us—"

"They may have followed her to the cabin—" Arpad mutters.

"Which was broken into." My heart begins to race. "Fuck. And I let her leave. She’s home, alone. If something happens to her..."

"It won’t."

"By now, they must realize she means something to me. I brought her to meet my family, after all." Fuck. I’d put her in the path of danger.

"The cops—" Arpad ventures.

"We can’t trust them," I growl. "We know they are connected with the Mafia. One leak and—" I don’t voice my fears. "Besides, no way am I waiting around here. I need to make sure she is safe."

I stalk past them, toward the door.

"I have to go to her."

"Hold on," Damian calls after me, "You're not planning on driving, are you?"