Blame the Mistletoe (Montana Born Christmas Book 1) Read online

  She moaned with luxuriant pleasure, glorying in the way he cupped the small swell and sucked and teased then moved to the other. Massaging his scalp through his hair, she encouraged him with hums of need, caressing his hips and buttocks with the insides of her thighs and the backs of her calves, newly aroused and urgent, but wanting this too. This build of loving that was simple appreciation of the other.

  When he finally angled away to reach toward the night table, she had to catch back a little sob of regret. She didn’t want him to wear a condom. And as he rolled it on, she thought she saw apology in the flick of his gaze to hers.

  He kept looking into her eyes as he settled on her, their bodies kissing then . . .

  “Ohhh,” they breathed in unison as he nudged with more purpose against her entrance, slid in, pushing deep with a single stroke. Her body was aroused enough to accommodate his rampant shape, despite how long it had been since she’d felt this delicious stretch. So delicious.

  They held their breaths in that moment of exquisite tension, letting the strums of perfection vibrate within. She didn’t have to ask or look to see if he felt it. She heard it in his rumble of pleasure, tasted it in his reverent kiss. His hot groan bathed her cheek as he sighed in enjoyment.

  Don’t cry, she thought, but the tears stung behind her closed eyelids as she kissed his neck and drank his scent and arched her nipples into the abrasion of his chest hair.

  “God, you’re incredible,” he groaned, cupping her head, kissing her once as he began to move, breaking away to groan in sheer elation, head thrown back and neck muscles tight. “I want it to last forever and I want—”

  “Me too. It’s okay. I want to feel you—ah, yes, like that,” she said on a sob, clenching her nails into his back as he moved with heavy, trembling thrusts. Deep, so deep, with possessive drives that claimed more than her body. It was lovemaking at its finest, shattering in its emotional impact well before the culmination. “Don’t stop,” she begged, hearing the throb of need in her voice that wanted so much more than physical release.

  Take me. Keep me. Make me yours.

  Be mine.

  Their rhythm built, sweeping her along, making her senseless to anything but the way they clung to each other and his thick length moved inside her. Finding the sweetest spot and rousing, teasing, spurring her closer to the edge.

  Breaking from his kiss, she bit her lip, unable to bear the intensity, distantly aware she’d never been this aroused, this desperate. Tell him, she thought. Tell him it’s now, but she couldn’t speak. Could only open her lips and hear her own breaths catching in her throat as the crisis swept up and over her.

  His whole body hardened over hers as he made a ragged noise and pushed harder, deeper, thrusting them both into the vortex.

  They tumbled into it together, so synchronized she didn’t know which pulse or throb belonged to which body. They were one being, crying out with ecstasy, convulsing, holding on, jerking hips into hips, cleaved unto each other through it all.

  Chapter Five

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  They stayed locked together a little longer than was wise, before he finally withdrew and rolled away to discard the condom, coming back with a reach of his arm to pull her against him, front to front.

  He looked into her eyes again, giving her a groundless feeling. She found herself pulling the thick quilt up to her ear, not because she was cold, but because she wanted to hug close the lingering safety of their lovemaking rather than face the chill of the room and, beyond it, reality.

  “Okay?” he murmured, nose to nose with her. “I got a bit caveman at the end there.”

  “I’m pretty tough,” she said, figuring she might be tender later, but in the best possible way. “Just imagine what it would have been like if we’d actually had coffee.”

  “How about I fetch us some and we’ll see?”

  “Yeah?” She slithered a hand to find him pretty hard for a guy who’d just turned them both inside out. “I’m gonna guess that will be the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “Better believe it. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked out stark naked, making her laugh and call, “Are you sure we shouldn’t get dressed and—”

  “Hell no,” he shouted back. “If you get out of that bed, I’m gonna be seriously pissed with you.”

  His silliness reinforced that they had the house to themselves, which made her feel like they had the world to themselves. She sat up and admired the view of rolling, snow-covered land beyond the window. It was both solid and eternal, yet would change every day with the seasons. She didn’t imagine anyone could tire of such a view. He was a very lucky man.

  If he was able to keep this property.

  “Good girl,” he said when he returned to find her still in bed.

  “The curtains are open. I was afraid to move,” she joked. There wasn’t another sign of life in sight.

  He waited while she poured cream into one of the cups and set it on her nightstand before he let her take the tray while he carried his own coffee to his side.

  “Cream? Sugar?” she offered, setting the plate of cookies between them and moving the tray to the floor.

  “Nah, I drink it black. I live pretty spare. I have to.” He hooked his arm behind his head. A brooding look darkened his expression.

  “What are your options?” she asked.

  He made a face of disgust. “None of them are good, so I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about them.” He reached for his coffee, basically forcing her to drop that topic.

  “Do you love it here? I mean, is it more than obligation pushing you to do everything you can to hang onto it?”

  “I do love it. It’s my home. I could have—” He glanced at her, mouth quirking ruefully. “You’re going to think I’m bragging.”

  “Go ahead and brag,” she urged, drawing her hands in the air to indicate the perimeter of the bed. “This is a mattress of non-judgment.”

  He grinned. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind for later. I was going to say that I could have played ball with Chase. At least, I had interest from the same scouts that drafted him. He applied himself and made it happen and I didn’t, but I consciously backed off from the opportunity. I wasn’t being lazy, I just didn’t see the point.” With a cant of his head and a roll of his eyes, he allowed, “Of course, I can see where a multi-million dollar contract would be handy now, but back then it looked like the long way to what I wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “To be here. Dad died when I was in my last year of high school and mom started talking about selling. This place had been in Dad’s family for generations. I figured I could play ball, hopefully make enough money to buy my own ranch—which is what I really wanted—or I could just hunker down and keep this one viable.”

  “Does Chase shake his head at you?”

  “Chase didn’t have this. He had to get out of this town. Skye going with him? That baffles me, but I guess that’s what you do when you’re in love. She actually asked me—this was before Chase came back, but right after her marriage fell apart. She asked me why we’d never got together. We look like a perfect match on paper. Ranches side by side. Our moms were really close. She and Meg are really good friends.”

  “But?” Liz prompted, aware of prickles of animosity toward the very warm and very smitten Skye.

  “It would have been like marrying my sister,” he said, lip curling with rueful distaste. He reached for a cookie, bit into it. “Mmm, cinnamon. It’s good.” He offered it to her.

  She took a bite and chewed, mind stuck on, I guess that’s what you do when you’re in love. No chance he’d leave the ranch to come to California, she surmised.

  Oh Liz, she chided herself. One seriously good lay and you’re looking for that kind of future?

  Rolling onto her stomach, she folded her arms and let her head rest on them, hiding from the fact she was entertaining juvenile fantasies.

  Beside her, Blake shifted and the covers li
fted. He’d moved the plate of cookies and was sliding into its place. A heavy arm and leg came across her, pinning her to the mattress with his muscled heat.

  “You have really nice skin. Soft and smooth. I like the way you smell, too,” he told her, rubbing his lips against her shoulder.

  She turned her head, trying to think of something witty to say, but she could only think, I never want to leave this bed.

  They didn’t. Not for hours. They made love and dozed, then drank cold coffee and ate all the cookies. She straddled his firm butt and gave him a back rub that had him groaning like a dog, then rolled him over and rode him, not caring that sunlight poured through the uncovered windows onto their naked, writhing bodies. When she complained that she was hungry, he said he was too and went down on her, making her knot her fists in the sheets as she cried out with sharp climax, pushed there by two strong fingers inside her.

  Afterward she was a puddle of lassitude, but somehow they wound up in the shower, soaping each other. They got seriously worked up in there and took it back to the bedroom, getting downright nasty with Liz on her hands and knees, Blake behind her, making her scream again as he filled her tender depths.

  That was dusk and now it was dark. She lifted onto a weak elbow, blinking the sleep sand from her eyes, hair still damp and feeling like a disaster.

  “I think this time we actually have to eat real food,” he growled, hooking his arm around her to pull her into a spoon against his front. “Before we screw each other to death.”

  She snickered at how earthy he’d become with their pillow talk. “I’d love to see that CSI episode. ‘We have these unusual bite marks. No sign of struggle, or being bound to the bed, but they seemed trapped here nonetheless.’”

  They lingered a few minutes, his hands soothing over her, lulling her into thinking of staying exactly where she was.

  “Liz, can I ask you something? Say no, if you want. I won’t be offended.”

  He sounded so serious, she turned in his arms, but couldn’t read his face in the dark.

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “Will you cook?”

  She grabbed her pillow and flipped it onto his face, then sat up with a groan at her stiff limbs as she searched for her clothes.

  *

  She cooked.

  Blake stole a few minutes to go out and put the chickens to bed, feed the horses and close up the barn.

  “It’s snowing,” he told her as he came into the mudroom. “What are you washing?”

  He hated that his heart sank when she said, “The sheets.” Electricity was a premium commodity in this house. Full loads were the rule.

  But he didn’t want to go there right now so he only said, “They were clean this morning,” just so he could get a sharply quirked brow from her.

  “Like hell, you didn’t expect me to come upstairs with you,” she stated, pushing something that smelled heavenly around in a fry pan.

  Moving up behind her, he cupped her hips and set his cold lips against her neck. “Are you going to come up there again? Stay the night?”

  “Bring Curly, you said. You’re so transparent, Blake Canon.”

  He slid cold fingers under her sweater, feeling her stomach jump as he warmed his hand on her bare belly. “Are you?”

  She rubbed her butt into his crotch. “Maybe.”

  Definitely, he decided.

  “How much time can you take off from the ranch?” she asked. “Because I was thinking of driving over to Bozeman for some Christmas shopping.”

  “I did the chores that I can’t put off first thing this morning, before you got here. I was up pretty early. Thus, the lame performance in bed.” That got him the sputter of laughter he’d been fishing for. “I could take some time later in the week, but I usually buy whatever I need here in town. There’s a thing Ethan and I usually do—I guess he’ll miss it this year. It’s called The Stroll. Shop local, listen to carols, drink hot chocolate with candy canes in it.” He shrugged. “It’s nice. We could do that.”

  “Yeah?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Like a date?”

  “Sure. Give people something to talk about.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Nah. People don’t mean anything by it. We’re all pretty intertwined here, either working together or meeting up at church or banking or calling on a neighbor for help. Sometimes we’re even married into the same family.” He gave her hair a tug.

  She gave him another look, this one a little hesitant, but only asked, “Do you like your food spicy or tame?”

  “I like some kick.”

  She shook red pepper flakes over the strips of beef in the pan. Shame to do that to a couple of really good steaks, he thought, recalling how he’d pulled them from the freezer when he got home last night, hoping he’d get lucky enough to broil them for her.

  But when they sat down a few minutes later, he discovered she had not cooked the meat into leather laces the way he’d feared. In fact, it was the kind of fancy dish he had a weakness for, but rarely got a chance to eat.

  “This is really good.”

  “We’re really hungry,” she countered. “Makes anything taste good.”

  “Why are you so self-deprecating?”

  She shrugged. “It’s our way, I guess. My family, I mean. We take fierce pride in getting things right and perfect, that’s always the goal, but you never say it aloud and you certainly don’t brag about how close you come.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know.” She frowned into the distance. “Mom had a contentious relationship with her own mother. Grandma didn’t approve of the marriage so Mom was determined to prove she’d made the right choice, even though Dad made her miserable. We don’t talk about the bad stuff either.”

  “Was he . . . abusive?” Blake asked hesitantly.

  “Not really. I mean, he had anger issues. Less now that he’s older and retired. He yelled at the drop of a pin when we were kids, but what serviceman doesn’t come home with some form of PTSD? That’s how I forgive a lot of the . . . It was just a really hard, cold place to grow up. Like walking around a bomb. We all breathed huge sighs of relief whenever he went away. Isn’t that awful? We should have been worried sick. Makes me feel awful about myself now, when I look back on it.” She pushed a bite into her mouth and chewed, frowning.

  Blake didn’t know what to say. He had grown up with the secret craving to know his birth parents, even though he loved the ones he had, but there was no guarantee ‘real’ parents turned out to be perfect. Plenty of people were the furthest thing from a natural at it. Look at Crystal.

  “That’s why, as brutal as it sounds that I’m housesitting alone for Christmas, on one level I don’t really care. Christmas was never a great time in our house,” Liz said with a wave of her fork toward the photos she’d studied earlier. “I can see why you get into it. Your parents showed their love for you and Christmas was a genuine time of closeness. You have an amazing memory of your first one. For us it was something Mom got frazzled over and Dad only sometimes showed up for. My grandmother criticized everything, making it doubly hard on Mom. Us kids sat around afraid to move, feeling like we were faking the whole thing.”

  “Christmas is the best time of year,” he argued. It was a time to rest and plan and catch up with friends and family. Ranching was solitary work a lot of the time. He liked having an excuse to call an old friend or getting a card in the mail. “We need to turn your frown upside down, Liz.”

  “I don’t hate Christmas,” she said, a tad defensive. “I just don’t feel like it lives up to the hype. And you don’t have a tree up,” she pointed out. “So don’t get all over me about it.”

  “I was waiting for Ethan. But you and I can do it. Didn’t you have any nice Christmases with Petra when she was little?”

  “You mean Petra and Nola,” Liz clarified with a hard smile. “Every. Damned. Year. While we were married, anyway. Then, even though Dean’s family had moved he
re, he stayed in California and lived close enough that we always split Christmas day. Petra’s usually with me in the morning and goes to Dean’s for dinner. Which has always killed the season a little more for me. This year I thought I’d write the whole thing off and pretend it’s just any other day.”

  “Oh, hell no. We’re doing the tree, the Stroll. You can bake cookies for me . . . ”

  “I see where this is going,” she said with a knowing smile.

  “And come here for Christmas dinner. Plan on that.”

  “Ethan will be here,” she said, balking. “That’ll be weird, won’t it?”

  “Only if we neck in front of him. Which I’ll want to, but we’ll be discreet,” he assured her with a smoky look that made her curl her toes where her socked feet rested on his under the table.

  “Fourteen-year-olds aren’t oblivious, you know.” The hesitant shadows came back to her eyes.

  “You’re family. It’ll be fine,” he assured her.

  She pursed her lips in a little smirk. “I might be self-deprecating, but you, sir, are into denial.”

  He snorted and gave her a suggestive look. “How in hell did you get that impression?”

  “I mean about facing reality. You can’t just not think about stuff and pretend it’s not there, just because it’s not easy.”

  His mood cooled and he sat back. “What’s the point in letting something worry a hole in your gut?”

  “I don’t know, but I was raised to do it!” she retorted, making them both chuckle and bringing the sense of connection back between them.

  And making him tip a little more under her spell. She made him laugh. Made him hard. Made him want her in his bed every night and across this table, talking like a grown up, every day.

  It was a scary thought. It’s been one day, he reminded himself. But he could see this affair carrying on for a while, but how? Where? He wasn’t sure he’d be at this table for the rest of his life. What kind of future could he offer any woman?