Page 47 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

She does as I asked but leans back on her elbows so she can still watch me. I like that she wants to watch, that she wants to see my head descend as I touch and lick and taste her.

I lean in to kiss her thigh, near what I want but far enough away to give her a little tease, then run a finger through her folds, swearing internally when I feel how wet she is for me. “You’re beautiful, Kennedy,” I say as I trace my finger around her clit.

She bucks her hips, and I replace my hand with my mouth, sucking as I curl a finger inside of her, trying to find the spot that will make her buck harder. I do, and I smile as I continue to suckher clit, curling my finger and then pulling it out so I can sweep my tongue through her folds. She tastes musky and sweet, and I could do this for hours. No, I could stand here in this empty pool in a house full of people I hate, pleasuring this woman, for days. But it’s not long before she reaches down to touch my hair, not pushing my head down but running her fingers over my head like she wants to have her hands on me.

“Rowan,” she says, and I’ve never been so happy to hear my name. “Rowan, I’m going to come.”

“Come for me, Princess.” I lift my head slightly so I can look at her, still working her with my fingers. “I want to feel you pulse against me when you come. I want to taste it.”

“Oh my God,” she says as I bury my head between her legs again, and I get exactly what I want, what Ineedwhen she says my name again as her body lifts to my mouth. She shudders against me, her whole form going stiff and then relaxing, her taste a balm to my senses.

When I look up, she’s staring down at me, her eyes soft and full of wonder. “Come here,” she says. “Come here.”

So I lift up onto the rim of the pool and then lie down beside her, turning toward her. I lean in and kiss her, soft and sweet, even though my dick is pissed the hell off at me right now.

She leans down and tries to capture it through my jeans, but I move her hand away, thus pissing my dick off even more.

“Not tonight.”

“Then when?” she asks, a frown forming between her perfect brows.

“Never,” I say. “We both know we can’t do this for real.”

She sits up, that frown deepening, and I have a feeling I’ve fucked up again. Still, I have the presence of mind to present her with her shorts.

“I thought you wanted me to take them off.”

“I did. I do. It’s just—”

There’s a noise from beyond the door, and it takes me only half a second to recognize what it is. The door at the top of a stairway has opened.

Alarm beats through my veins, even more powerful than the boner that’s demanding I get my act together so it can get in on the action.

“Kennedy, put them on,” I say in an undertone. “We have to hide.”

Hide, because we clearly can’t leave the way we came in. We’d be seen. Maybe it’s a shitty attitude, since she’s not mine, but I’m not going to let anyone else see her like this. Not while I’m around.

Her eyes widen, and she slides the shorts on and goes for the towels, which I’d forgotten.

“Where’s your shirt?” she asks in a whisper.

Fuck. I don’t have the first clue. After she took it from me, I stopped caring that it existed. Now, it seems to have disappeared.

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper back, even though it might. “I need to shut off the light, and we need to duck into the changing room. Now.”

The room is against the back wall, with a small window embedded in the top that looks onto a seascape mural painted on the wall directly across from it.

“Go,” I say.

She gives me a look I can’t decipher, but I suspect she’s not happy with me, this interruption notwithstanding. It’s not entirely unexpected. I seem to have an unparalleled ability to piss off women. But she heads for the changing room, much to my relief. If one of the guys comes down, better for him to see a handyman messing with the empty pool than to see a handyman with their television love interest. Or, worse, their love interestalone and by herself in a pair of shorts no larger than a postage stamp.

I’d have to step out if that happened, obviously. No way would I leave her alone with one of those assholes.

Thinking about it, I’m scowling as I switch off the light and pad back into the room, noticing my light-footed approach more now that Kennedy called me on it. I hadn’t even realized I could still walk like that—undetected. At the fire house, or out on a job, there’s never a need to be covert. We all bang our feet around, almost as if it’s a competition.

I step into the changing room, and Kennedy instantly grabs me and pulls me in. When the door swings shut, she doesn’t let go. I’m glad for it. I didn’t like the way things were going before the interruption. She lifts up onto her toes and whispers in my ear. “If you think you’re off the hook because of this, you’re wrong.”

I almost laugh, but she whispers, “I wonder who they are.”

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