The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

6

Weston

What the—? What the hell is she up to now?

I walk out of the door and onto the patio in time to watch her sink into the hot tub. There’s a flash of pink, then she holds up her bra… something slinky and made of scraps of nylon. My jaw drops and my belly hardens. She can’t be doing what I think she is. She can’t be undressed…and turning the tables on me…can she?

I’d fed the mutt…then proceeded to take a cold shower…before pulling out clothes. When I could delay no longer, I’d walked out. Okay, also because I was curious. The last thing I’d expected was for her to reverse engineer the scene I’d played out for her earlier.

I stalk forward and my foot brushes something wet. I glance down to find her abandoned blouse…then her jeans… I follow a trail of clothes strewn across the patio that leads me to stand over her.

"What are you up to?"

"What do you think?" She tosses her bra at me and I catch it. Damn her, but I want to smell it. Would it have her scent…of sugar and spices and everything nice? Argh! I really have to stop reading to Birdie, my niece. Now I am thinking in nursery rhymes? Or is it simply her nearness going to my head?

She scoops up some of the hot water, pours it over her shoulders. The bubbles cover her up to the swell of her breasts, but she’s naked below it… Is she? Did she take off her panties? I glance around, can’t see the abandoned lingerie…so she must have it on… Would the cloth be transparent enough for me to see through it to that melting center of her, that I desperately want to get my hands on? My cock throbs and blood thunders at my temples. "Get out of there."

"No."

"If you don’t step out…"

"What? You’ll step in?"

Oh, I’m tempted to, but considering I spent the last few hours in there already, I’ll pass. Doesn’t mean I am going to let her get away with this little tease-filled antic, either.

I toss her bra aside then reach over to grab her shoulder. She twists her body and water splashes onto my shirt. "Oops." She giggles in a voice that seems to imply she’s not sorry at all.

"Why you little—" I scowl, then straighten. "Stand up,” I snarl.

"Make me."

"You don’t want me coming in there. Trust me."

"Oh?" She tilts her head, "We’ll see, shall we?" She slaps the water; more of it splashes onto me. What the—? I fold my arms over my chest, lower my voice to a hush, "Up." I growl.

She swallows.

"Do it."

"You sure?" she asks.

"I won’t repeat myself."

"Fine." She juts out her chin.

"Fine?" I frown. Why is she agreeing so readily? She’s up to no good, for sure, she— She rises to her feet. Water pours from her slim frame down the jut of her hips, in between her legs…and fuck, I was wrong. She doesn’t have her panties on.

The water slides down her flat stomach, down to the triangle between her legs. And I can only watch as a drop clings to her pussy lips, begging me to go closer, closer. My knees bump into the side of the hot water tub. I blink.

"My face is up here," she drawls.

I can’t stop the chuckle that rumbles up my throat. "Very good." I tilt my head. "Clearly, you’ve been paying attention to our conversation, and PS," I make air quotes with my fingers, "you ain’t got nothin’ that I haven’t seen already."

She blinks, then gapes at me, "I was wrong about you."

"Oh?"

"You’re not just an asshole, but a bloody, egoistical brute with no manners."

A grin threatens to split my face. I swallow it with a cough. "I’ll give you one thing though; you got my attention."

"Hallelujah." She raises her arms skyward and tilts her head back. Her tits jiggle with the action. My cock instantly springs to attention. Fuck. It’s not like I haven’t seen better-looking women—certainly, those with bigger tits, slimmer waists…curvier hips… But the complete package of the woman who stands knee-deep in bubbles, with her hair sticking to her forehead…the flushed cheeks, the pink lips… Yeah, the ones between her legs as well... All of it comes together in an amalgamation that is uniquely her… Something I want to get to know better… To own and to understand, to pull apart and piece together until she makes more sense… Until I get her out of my system, that’s all. Perhaps that’s reason to keep her around a little longer?

I jerk my chin, "Come on."

"Huh?" She frowns.

"Out of there. Chop, chop." I clap my hand. "You’ve got a lot of work to do."

Turning, I head for the doorway leading back to the house.

"Wait," she calls out.

I reach the door, step inside.

"Does this mean you accept my proposition?"

"It means," I turn to glance at her, "you’d better get inside before I change my mind."

She stares back, spine straight, shoulders hitched back. She props a hand on her hip, breasts thrust up, nipples pebbled— Hell, if she isn’t as aroused as I am feeling. This is going to be interesting. I start to close the door. She springs into action, clambers over the side of the tub. "Wait," she screeches.

My lips twitch as I try to keep the smile off of my face. "You have one minute to get your arse in here," I drawl.

"Bastard," she huffs.

I yawn, "You’re getting repetitive, Buttercup."

"Aargh." She makes a sound deep in her throat, "I hate that ridiculous name."

"Prefer Blossom? Or Bubbles, maybe?"

"No," she scoffs, "all three of the Powerpuff girls are dumb."

"Hey," I lower my chin, "you did not just say that."

"Yes, I did." She grabs her blouse, pulls it on and it falls to mid-thigh.

My gaze, of course, goes there, to the curved flesh that jiggles as she moves. The women I’ve dated before have been emaciated, by comparison. None of them had that lustrous skin that I itch to mark, the delicate turn of ankles that invites me to run my tongue up the hollow, scooping the water droplets that are sure to be nestled there, up her calf and her inner leg, to that object of my obsession—her beautiful gorgeous core. Fuck.

"Just for that, your first punishment is watching the cartoon characters on loop."

"Punishment?" She grabs her boots and her socks; one of her shoes slips from her hold and hits the ground. "Crummy apple crumble," she swears,

"Did you use a dessert as a swear word?" I chuckle.

She rescues her footwear. "You could help, instead of ogling my body," she grumbles.

"Oh, if I were ogling, you’d know it, sweet thing."

She straightens, her cheeks rosier than they had been a few moments ago, "You’re a chauvinist."

"You’re a submissive."

She stiffens, "How dare you say that?"

"You want to be taken without being given a choice. Somewhere deep inside, you want to be dominated. At your core, you prefer to have all options taken from you, so you can relax into your true self."

She scoffs, "The hell you mean?"

"Right now, as we speak, you want me to bend you over the nearest chair, then part your legs, strum your clit, finger your pussy and make you come, right before I sink my hard, throbbing…aching…length into your melting center."

She draws in a breath, stares at me. Even through the darkness, her blue irises shine… The light in my darkness, the silvery fucking lining to my black cloud of a bloody life... And I am waxing poetic, all right, and all because this woman here has crawled under my skin. I want to grab her and pull her close and kiss her… Right after I turn her over my lap and spank all that impudence out of her. Speaking of... "Okay, I’m shutting the door." I let the barrier swing.

"W-a-i-t!" She scampers forward, then slips through the crack between the door and the frame. The door snicks shut. Silence, a beat, then another. This close, the scent of her—that vanilla and apples essence of her, laced with that sugary-tart sweetness that lingers on my tongue like a memory of that smell...when you go to the mall and you walk past the candy shop and smell the sugar? That smell intensifies. My mouth waters as my cock lengthens. I curl my fingers at my sides.

"Go on," I jerk my chin, temporarily capable of little more than monosyllabic words and spastic movements.

She scowls, "So you can stare at my arse?"

"If you’d rather ogle my butt instead…" I shrug, which has the added benefit of relieving some of the tension I’m feeling.

She snatches up her satchel, wears it across her chest, then bends to pick up her coat. Her toolkit jostles forward and smacks the back of her head. "Ow." She straightens, and her coat slips down to trail on the floor. "Shit," she swears aloud, "I am a mess."

"And I’d love to mess up my bed with you in it," I cough.

"What did you say?" she sputters as she scoops up her coat again.

"Just that you are pretty in your disarray."

She stares. "Somehow, I don’t believe you."

"Somehow, I don’t think I care."

"Is this some kind of NLP technique?" She frowns.

"No idea what you are talking about." I turn away.

"This entire mirroring my words thing you have happening."

"The only mirroring I want to do is of the 69 kind," I snicker.

"That’s it," she snarls, "I’ve changed my mind."

"Hmm."

"I thought we could find a way to get through the holiday season, but clearly, if I spend any time with you, it’s going to drive me insane."

"Goes both ways, sugar," I retort. The patter of paws on the wooden floor announces the arrival of Max. He jumps up, places his paws on my legs, as if he hasn’t seen me in years, instead of minutes ago when I’d fed him. "Hey Buddy, whatcha doin’, hmm?" I scratch at his head behind his ears and he makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat. He attempts to jump up again, but this time I oblige. I snatch him up, cuddle him, turn to watch her watching me.

I tilt my head, "What?"

"Every time I think you’re a horrible monster, Max saves the day."

"Should I be thankful?" I smirk, digging my fingertips into Max’s skin. He makes a deep groaning sound.

"Did he just…?" She blinks.

"Max is every bit as expressive as you," I snicker.

"Thanks." She tosses her head, "Doesn’t get you off the hook. I’m still leaving." She marches past me, snatches up her handbag from where she’d placed it on the bar counter.

She heads for the door, then pauses, to rifle around in her purse.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Wait for—

"You asshole." She turns on me.

"Alphahole." I correct her.

"You took my phone."

I lower Max to the floor and he darts off toward the kitchen. I follow him, shut the door that leads from the living room, then lean against it.

"You did, didn’t you?" she grumbles.

"If you mean that piece of shit technology that went out of date…"

"Hey, don’t insult Hedwig."

"Hedwig?"

“My phone, you idiot."

"Who gives a phone a name? Wait, you named your phone after the owl in Harry Potter?"

"Wow." She swallows, "You placed that?"

She stares at me, her gaze taking on that familiar googly-eyed look.

I hold my hands out in front of me. "Don’t go reading anything into it. And for the record, owl post wouldn’t work, in real life," I mutter.

"What do you mean?"

"It’s a scientifically-proven fact that owls can’t stay in flight while carrying packages."

"Just because it isn’t supported by science, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Magic, remember?"

"Which is what you believe in, of course? Stars and unicorns and all that girlie shit."

Her face heats, "You could do with believing in a little of that yourself."

"When you’re kidnapped and starved for days, and tortured to within an inch of your life, you lose faith in all that stupid stuff very quickly," I snap.

Her features scrunch up, "I’m so sorry for what happened to you and the Seven."

"I’m not. If it weren’t for that incident, I’d still be naive—"

"Like me, you mean?"

"You said it." I let my lips curl.

She frowns, "Why am I debating this with you?" She holds out her hand, "Give Hedwig back to me."

"Sorry, I can’t."

"What do you mean?"

“I can’t remember where I put it." I grimace.

"What?"

"If you find it, you can keep it." I raise my shoulders.

"He belonged to me in the first place."

"He..." I shake my head, "It…the phone's mine now."

"No, it's not."

"Alas, poor Hedwig, he’s going to have to spend Christmas without you, I’m afraid."

Her features contort, and I am sure she’s going to stamp her foot and rage, and have a full-on tantrum. This should be interesting. I head to the armchair by the fireplace, drop into it, then pick up my novel.

"The hell are you doing?" she squawks.

"Reading."

She makes a snarling sound at the back of her throat. I hear the thump of her toolkit satchel hitting the floor, then a softer crash—that’s her handbag—followed by the soft sound of her wet clothes hitting the wooden floor. Good. Footsteps approach; the next second she grabs the book from my hand.

"Hey, you only had to ask."

"I did, for my phone. Remember?"

"I mean the book." I lean back in the chair, fold one leg over the other.

She peruses the cover of the book, then blinks. "Harry Potter? You’re reading Harry Potter?"

She glances at me, with…stars in her eyes, once more.

Oh, no, no, damn it."Why do you think I recognized your reference, which I can tell you, is way too obvious. You need to up your game, Buttercup."

Her features tighten.

Bloody fuck, I shouldn’t have insulted her…but what the hell?I need to live up to my reputation as someone who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else… Besides, that strange gooey expression of hers… It scares the shit out of me. Har, har. Ask me to perform a complicated bypass, I am there. Ask me to try to figure out why I have this strange push-pull reaction to her, and hell, if it doesn’t flummox me. Time to set this right and lay down the rules. We’ll see then, how she copes. Fuck that hint of hopefulness I’ve spotted on her face throughout the evening. It is time to show her what I am actually made of.

"Don’t let the fact that I am reading the Potter fool you."

"God forbid," she mutters.

"It’s only so I can keep up with my older niece."

"How many nieces do you have?"

"Two…and I am not answering any more questions."

"Like I care."

"I think you do, actually. And I have to warn you right now."

"What?"

"Don’t fall in love with me, Buttercup. You’ll only have your heart broken."