Page 2 of Mistletoe Love Match
She’d pop downstairs for a midnight snack, and brooding Alec would be there, guzzling a glass of milk or noshing on an apple, which was utter insanity. Who in their right mind snacked on apples in the middle of the night?
If up at a ridiculous hour when most normal people were fast asleep, the only decent thing to do was to stand in front of the fridge with the doors wide open and gorge on the most delicious, calorie-laden food available. Anyone who drank skim milk and chomped on an apple like a mule at two a.m. had to be a bloody psychopath.
But he was a gorgeous psychopath.
Damn the man for sauntering into the kitchen in nothing but gray sweatpants—gray sweatpants that had given her a glimpse of the man’s equipment below the waistband. On a scale of one to ten, Alec Lamb was a solid negative three thousand in personality, but his cock was off the bloody charts. Honestly, it wasn’t her fault for jumping the guy like she’d majored in pole vaulting at uni. What woman could resist a man in gray sweatpants? It had to be programmed into female DNA. She’d spy the stupid, sexy bloke and instantly become wet and go weak in the knees at the sight of the loungewear hugging the man in all the right places.
But there was more.
Above his giant cock, the man rocked washboard abs. Sweatpants plus a ripped physique and the aloof set of his jaw had her itching to claw his eyes out, which morphed into clawing her fingernails down his back.
He barely uttered a word to her when they were in the company of Callista and Anders. But the lines between lust and loathing blurred when the house was still and it was just the two of them.
Had she wanted to shag his brains out in the pantry next to a box of corn flakes and fifty billion canisters of quinoa nearly every night since they’d arrived in Denver?
Hell to the no!
Okay,hell to the nomight be a bit of an exaggeration.
The sex was toe-curlingly explosive. The man knew what he was doing in the getting down and dirty department. But it was only sex—nothing more. It was a reaction to a fit bloke in gray sweatpants. It could happen to anyone. The truth was, it had been one hell of a hot minute since she’d had a proper shag. Between not getting any in ages and the tension building between herself and Alec, she’d been on the brink of detonating. And the stone-faced shell of a man appeared to feel the same way.
It only made sense to start banging away to release the pent-up frustration.
Right or wrong, that’s how they’d carried on since she’d arrived at her brother’s place in Denver’s ritzy Crystal Hills neighborhood—August, September, October, November, and for the better part of December.
Still, something about today was different.
Callista and Anders, along with their friends and families, had left Denver a few days ago. They’d headed southwest to spend the Christmas holiday in the mountain town of Rickety Rock, Colorado. Her brother and Libby owned a sprawling Victorian vacation home, and her granny Fin resided in the guesthouse.
Calliope should have been there, directing her sister’s attention away from Anders. But thanks to the universe behaving like a knob-headed plonker, she and Alec had to stay behind to work at the health fair. She couldn’t say no. Her brother and Libby were huge supporters of the Helping Hands Community Center. Not to mention, she wanted to volunteer. She was a teacher—and a damned good one. Nobody went into education for the money. She did it because she genuinely loved teaching and wanted to give back. Helping Hands was just the sort of place she wanted to end up once she and Callista had traveled the world.
Still, if she’d had a crystal ball years ago and been able to see that her passion for education would land her in the same building as the exasperating Alec Lamb, she would have gone into accounting or underwater basket weaving—anything to put space between herself and the med school wanker.
At least she didn’t have to drive to Rickety Rock with the man. Her brother had set her up with a smart little Mini Cooper. She could blast the music and get Alec out of her head, but first, she needed Doctor Booty Call to get her off—to help her relax. It was nothing more than that. This would be the last time she’d have it off with him. They couldn’t carry on like this in Rickety Rock. There’d be too many people at Raz’s mountain home and a slew of kids to boot. Knocking out a quickie in the pantry couldn’t happen with four families under one roof.
Alec tightened his hold on her arse and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. “How good is it, Calliope?” he rasped in his stupid, sexy voice.
Bloody idiot.
She met the man’s searing amber gaze. “You know it’s good, or I wouldn’t have said it.”
A cocky smirk twisted the man’s lips—lips that should have been pressed between her thighs. “How good?” he demanded, then grazed his teeth across her sensitive skin.
She gasped as a cascade of tingles tittered through her core. Dammit, she loved it when he did that. She tangled her fingers in his jet-black hair and formulated a reply. “It’s perfectly adequate.”
“Adequate?” he repeated, his cocksure smirk widening into a sly grin. But before she could put together a pithy reply, he returned to working her like his mouth had a vibration mode.
“That’s it,” she moaned when the bloke paused, teasing her like the wanker he was.
“You pulled me into this closet, Calliope Cress. I doubt you would have done that for perfectly adequate oral sex.”
Who actually called it oral sex?
“I’ve only got a fifteen-minute break. What did you want me to do? Book a room at the Waldorf Astoria?” she shot back.
Alec hummed a smug little laugh. “They don’t have a Waldorf Astoria in Denver.”
This tosser!
