This Year's Christmas Present

  He moved beneath her, lifting his hips to increase the pressure. She could hear his heavy breathing matching her own.

  Harder. She leaned forward to increase the contact, her nipples sliding over his sweat-dampened skin, and as her body begged to feel more of him, she raked her nails the length of his back, then followed the path of her nails with her tongue. She’d never thought of herself as a cat, but she was seeing some disturbing similarities. So who gave a meow anyway? Not her.

  Her jungle-kitty act must’ve woken the sleeping tiger in Sloan, because with a hoarse growl, he turned over.

  Scrambling into a kneeling position, she finally took a good long look at him. All of him. She swallowed hard, not sure if her voice would work. “The bow.”

  “Told you you’d crush it.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight, giving away nothing.

  “It’s…”

  “It’s covering my gift to you.”

  “It’d take a mighty big bow to cover all your gifts to me.” She felt tears filling her eyes. Darn it, she wouldn’t cry.

  “Sure, but this bow is gift-specific.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “It’ll only cover the most important gift.”

  “It’s over…” She reached out with trembling fingers and gently lifted the shiny gold bow from over his heart.

  Jenny couldn’t say a word. Tenderly, she kissed the spot where the bow had rested, then moved to his nipple. Sliding her tongue across the nipple, she gently nipped it.

  His groan was all she could hope for. “Stop. Forgot something important.”

  “No.” Not now. “Please don’t stop me.”

  “Uh-uh. Can’t go on without this.” He picked something up from beside him, then handed it to her.

  “Hershey’s chocolate syrup?” A childhood quote came to mind. “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” He was tall, muscular, and crying out to be served with chocolate.

  She clasped the plastic container, but there was something strange…“This feels warm. How did you…?”

  “I heated it by the fireplace”—his gaze seared the length of her body—“and thought of you. Naked. I wouldn’t need a fireplace to heat it now.” He slid his fingers over his arousal.

  She felt the heat from his body, steamy with the scent of sex, and a want so powerful she imagined smoke rising from it.

  “Use it, Flame.”

  He hadn’t been too specific about how she should use it, but he’d soon find out she had a lot of ideas.

  She concentrated on opening the top, ignoring Sloan’s impatience. Good things were worth waiting for. He’d taught her that this week. “I’ve always had a passion for chocolate syrup. The smooth texture, the rich taste, the way it makes me feel good. That’s why from now on I’ll put it over everything I love.”

  She forced herself not to react to his sharp intake of breath. “I’ll put it on my Cocoa Puffs every morning.”

  “You eat Cocoa Puffs?” His voice was nine parts sexual frustration and one part horror.

  “All the time.” She carefully dripped chocolate dots around his right nipple, then plopped one huge dot on top. She’d always thought she didn’t have any creativity, but she kind of liked the pattern.

  Too bad she was going to destroy it. Leaning over, she scooped up every dot with the tip of her tongue, except for the big one. She had plans for that.

  Sloan sucked in his breath with every touch of her tongue, and she gloried in her power to give him pleasure.

  He smoothed his hand over her hair with fingers that shook, and for once she wished her hair was long and flowing. Long enough to spread across his chest, glide over his flesh, and allow one more part of her to touch him.

  Maybe she’d let it grow long. She’d think about it later.

  Closing her lips over his nipple, she swirled her tongue over it, then sucked the last taste of sweet chocolate from it.

  He tightened his grip on her hair and forced her lips away from his nipple. “God, woman.” That’s all he seemed able to say.

  “We were talking about chocolate syrup, right?” She skimmed her finger down over his stomach and enjoyed the ripple of his muscles. “I’ll put it on my pizza, too.”

  His bark of laughter loosened sexual tension strung tighter than her monthly bud get. Good. She wanted him to last a long time. But how long could she last?

  “Bet you like anchovies on your pizza.”

  She widened her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “That’s disgusting, Jenny.”

  He didn’t think it was disgusting a minute later when she poured a trail of chocolate over his stomach in the shape of a pepperoni pizza. With anchovies. She ate the whole pizza. Except for one anchovy that got stuck in his belly-button.

  She was working hard with the tip of her tongue to scoop out that anchovy when Sloan reached out and stilled her.

  “Leave it. I can’t stand much more.” His voice was hoarse with growing loss of control.

  She smiled her wicked-cat smile. “If you want to go through life with an anchovy in your navel, who am I to stop you?”

  “Where were we? Oh, yes. Chocolate syrup. I’ll put it on spaghetti with Italian sausage and meatballs.” She winced. That was too much even for her.

  “Getting a little obvious, aren’t you, Flame?”

  Jenny glanced at her eventual destination. Obvious didn’t begin to describe it. She slid her tongue across dry lips. She couldn’t wait much longer. But she also couldn’t let Sloan get away with thinking she had no imagination.

  “Me? Obvious? I was just making conversation. I don’t intend to do anything with it.” Her nose would begin growing any second now.

  “You’d better do something with it, and soon.” His threat hung between them.

  “Oh, I forgot. I’ll put warm chocolate syrup on icecream cones.” She scooted lower.

  “Doesn’t that make the ice cream melt?”

  “Always.” This would be her creative masterpiece.

  She made twin swirls with a question mark in the middle of each swirl, then moved onto his main attraction. It was hard to make a dust devil design when your hand was shaking, but she managed it. At the very top of the dust devil she drew a big star, symbolic of her fulfilled desires. The star was a little lopsided, but an artist was allowed creative license.

  “You’re killing me.” Sloan’s voice was a tortured groan.

  Me too. She slid her tongue across the swirls, leaving the question marks for last.

  He bucked beneath her as she answered each question, and she could hear his harsh rasping breaths over her pounding heart.

  The dust devil called for her tip-of-the-tongue technique. Around and around and around. She felt dizzy by the time she reached the star, and his hips were lifting rhythmically, brushing her nipples with each lift until they were so sensitized she felt she would scream.

  The star. The heck with technique. She closed her lips over him, slid along his length, then worked her way up and down until she’d almost finished—

  She didn’t get to finish. There was still a little speck of chocolate left when Sloan heaved beneath her. Before she could gather her scattered thoughts, he’d pulled her beneath him.

  He loomed over her. His long tangled hair trailed across her breasts, and she closed her eyes to savor the sensation of the dark strands sliding over her nipples. She was definitely going to let her hair grow.

  “I wanted this to be long and slow, Flame. I wanted you to enjoy your entire desire, but God, I’m only human.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked at him.

  “I’m going to fast-forward to the end.” His face was dark shadows and tense angles. He smiled, a savage pirate smile. “We can rewind it later, then play it again. Slow and sweet.”

  Sounded good to her. She’d think of new ways to—

  She did no more thinking as he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that took her breath away along with any still-functioning brain cells. He tasted of glowing firelight
and dark nights. Urgency.

  When he abandoned her mouth and kissed a trail over her throat to her breasts, she tangled her fingers in his hair, as though she could transfer her need through the dark strands.

  It must have worked, because he slid his tongue around each breast, then drew a nipple into his mouth. She cried out at the touch of his tongue on what felt like bare nerves. And when she felt she’d shatter with what his tongue and teeth were doing, he transferred his attention to the other nipple.

  She couldn’t stand it one more second.

  “Now. I want you now. And yes I’m ready.”

  “I don’t want to rush this too much.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Now, Mitello, or you…are…a…dead…man.”

  “You’re homicidal. I like that in a woman.”

  Her breaths were coming in heaving gasps as he pushed her legs apart. Only her senses spoke to her now: her wet readiness, an aching need to feel him inside her, the heat of his body, the scent of hot male desire.

  He rose above her, and she closed her eyes so she could concentrate on feeling.

  “I love you, Jenny Saunders.” She almost didn’t hear his whispered message as he pushed into her.

  She felt his tension, his attempt to go slowly. No. She didn’t want slow and careful. She wanted hard and fast.

  Raising her hips, she wrapped her legs around him, clasped his buttocks with her hands, and pulled him to her hard. She knew her nails were digging into him, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him now. Now.

  His body tensed and she felt the tightening of his buttocks just before he plunged so deeply into her that she knew no one would ever fill her this way again. Her brief pain was only a blip on the radar screen of her senses.

  Again and again he thrust into her, a raw primitive rhythm that built until she felt, she felt…

  When it happened, it wasn’t pretty sparkling fireworks, it wasn’t a heavenly choir singing. It was a massive explosion, and she didn’t even have the power to scream as it shook her.

  An explosion. There was no other way to describe it. Bits and pieces of her would be drifting to earth for days.

  Her eyes landed first, so she opened them. Her voice was around somewhere if she could only find it. She probably wouldn’t catch her breath for days. Heaven only knew where the rest of her was.

  Sloan pulled her into his embrace until she’d stopped shaking. “I think we burned up during reentry, Flame.”

  She could only nod.

  “I’d like to make love for the rest of the night.” His eyes lit with anticipation.

  Jenny gazed at him. “Six times. We have to do it six times.”

  “I have a confession to make.” He stretched, feeling relaxed for the first time since he’d rung Jenny Saunders’s doorbell.

  “Confess away. No, let me guess. Those aliens you always wanted to contact switched bodies with you and you’re really a native of the planet Zork. Kinky.”

  “Close. I know how attached you are to this house, but it isn’t really mine.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  “I built this house for Mom. I tried to tell you at the beginning, but you distracted me. This is Mom’s desire. The biggest, fanciest house money can buy, filled with Christmas cheer to make up for all the bad years. We’ll have to fly to California today to bring her home.” He lowered his gaze in mock sadness. “Guess we’ll have to make do with something smaller. Won’t have all these great decorations either.” He brightened. “But next year I’ll buy all the lights you want. Can’t have Christmas without lots of lights.”

  “I love you, Sloan Mitello.”

  Sloan slanted her a wicked grin. “Sure you’re not saying that because we made love six times?”

  She looked puzzled. “But won’t we do that every night?”

  “You’ll kill me, woman. I’m glad I don’t have to explain to anyone why I have fingernail marks on my butt.” After last night, he didn’t care where he had nail marks. “And I didn’t know you were a—”

  “Virgin?”

  He nodded. “I knew you wanted a fling, but I didn’t think it’d be your first time.” His voice lowered. “You made me feel very special, Flame.”

  “You’ll always be special to me, Sloan.” She lay on her side, her fingers idly sliding across his still-damp chest. “I’ve figured out why no one I dated ever suited me. I guess, subconsciously, I was comparing them to you and they always came up short. Now I know I’m a never-settle-for-less kind of woman.”

  “We’re like fine wine, Jenny. It was there in high school, but we needed aging before we were ready to pop our corks.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Her fingers slid to his stomach while her gaze turned thoughtful. “Desires are addictive. I feel another one coming on.”

  “Great. That’s my job, let’s hear it.”

  She leaned close and whispered in his ear. “I’ve decided to wear something special for our wedding.”

  “Okay, I’m open to suggestion.” He looked puzzled. “Fancy white gown? Lots of glitzy stuff?”

  “Something a lot more cost effective.” She nibbled on his ear. “Something classic that never goes out of style.”

  “You’d better tell me right now, because you’re not the only one working on a desire.”

  “A big shiny gold bow.”

  DARA JOY

  Santa Reads Romance

  for

  WHISKERS

  (11/17/81–3/21/96)

  Who stood up on his chubby hind legs and danced

  for a scallion,

  Who unlocked every door and cabinet in my house

  simply to prove a point,

  Who bravely captured tie-wraps and wrestled them to death

  with his patented immobilizer,

  Who slept with me when he thought I wasn’t looking,

  Who always came when I called his name

  and stayed with me in my darkest hours,

  Who passed on to loving memory

  the day I completed this story.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Writers. They were the bane of his existence.

  Unfortunately, they were his bread and butter too.

  C. Hunter Douglas slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel of the rental car. What came into their strange little minds that caused them to react so…so…

  They had to be from another planet. Probably plants of an alien race, put here to slowly drive the sane mad.

  He peered through the windshield into the darkness.

  A snow squall had sprung up out of nowhere, adding to his rising irritation. The Weather Channel had conveniently left this piece of information out of its travel report this morning. He should have realized. Maine. Christmas week.

  It was a trip only a sailor returning home from war or a desperate publisher would attempt to make.

  His hand slammed on the wheel again.

  One million dollars.

  Of his money.

  And no manuscript.

  Normally he was not a violent man, but the idea of grabbing the oh-so-talented Rex Stevens by the throat and slowly squeezing the air from his self-indulgent lungs held great appeal. He’d show the horror writer something really scary. A pissed-off publisher.

  What was he going to do?

  Publicity and marketing had been set in motion, a book tour ready and waiting, appearances on talk shows, tie-ins…Shit, the whole thing was going to fall apart!

  He had counted on this. Placed all of his dwindling profit-margin eggs in Rex’s basket of frightening words. His uncle had made some terrible financial decisions; Hunter had been called in to clean up.

  Everything would have been nice and tidy if the “writer”—he grimaced at the word—had delivered as contracted!

  When the manuscript had still not arrived three weeks after the deadline, an uncomfortable, nauseous feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach.

  It was a feeling he recognized. br />
  Hunter called it his “imminent author sickness.”

  He had called the man and his agent several times, leaving message after message. The agent was in the hospital for his ulcers (Hunter bet he knew why), and Rex had not returned his calls.

  So Hunter had flown up to Maine.

  He would’ve flown to Timbuktu to get his hands on that manuscript.

  Only when he arrived on Rex’s doorstep in this godforsaken rural town, the house keeper had cheerfully informed him that Mr. Rex was not there.

  Mr. Rex was in Sri Lanka.

  At an ashram.

  In search of himself.

  Hunter’s left eye twitched. Writers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  May threw another log on the fire.

  She watched the sparks fly up the chimney as if it were the most interesting sight she had ever seen. Unfortunately, the amazing spectacle was over in less than a minute.

  She sighed, wondering what else could suddenly capture her attention. Surely something?

  Come to me.

  Her green eyes began to cloud over at the subliminal suggestion.

  You must come to me…

  Her shoulders scrunched up as she tried to fight off the insistent voice.

  Get your butt over here!

  The damn laptop was trying to get her attention again. It was the voice of conscience and reason. It was the voice of a deadline fast approaching. It would not leave her alone!

  May desperately scanned the room, searching for an important task that needed to be done immediately. Perhaps the ceilings needed vacuuming? Never mind that they weren’t her ceilings—anything was better than staring at that empty screen.

  This was the stupidest idea she had ever had.

  And she had had some whoppers.

  When her neighbor Billy had told her about his cabin in Maine, May had practically begged him to let her use it for a few weeks. It seemed the ideal hideaway where she would write, diet, and reflect.