Page 30 of A Very Bossy Christmas
“Fine.”
“Great. Would you like me to order dinner to be served in your room?”
“Would you be ordering it as my girlfriend who’s pretending to care about me or as my assistant who did not get us the adjoining rooms I requested?”
“I’d be ordering it as the woman who plans on eating dinner in the very nice hotel restaurant and wants to make sure you stay in your room so you don’t ruin it for her.” She sticks her tongue out at me. Actually sticks her tongue out at me, and it’s somehow sexy and makes me want to impregnate her.
And it also makes me want to stay away from her because I’d just fuck everything up.
“I can order it myself, thanks. But don’t you dare eat dinner by yourself in that dress.”
That. Dress. That fucking sweater dress. Those fucking boots. Those fucking black tights or whatever you call those things that I can see through just a little bit and they make me want to rip them off her.
“I’m not going to hook up with anyone else while I’m with you here, Declan. But I am going to wear whatever I want, whenever I want to.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
She realizes she just said she isn’t going to hook up with “anyone else” and turns a bewitching shade of pink. “You know what I mean.”
“I always do, Cooper. Even when you don’t.”
“This building is so beautiful,” she marvels, trying to change the subject.
“This is the ugliest carpet I’ve ever seen.”
She shushes me. “Then don’t look down.” When I stab at the elevator call button, she pins me with a glare, lowering her voice. “Would you like me to see if I can find you last-minute accommodations at the YMCA? I seem to recall driving by one on the way here.”
“You looked up alternate accommodations for me when you booked this place, didn’t you?”
“I’m very thorough.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, girlfriend.”
If she’s smart, she’ll try to. And I hope, for her sake, that she stays smart. Because I no longer trust myself around her.
The elevator dings and the doors open, and we step aside to let the elderly couple disembark, and then we get on the elevator together. I suppose my face must be doing something weird right now, because the old lady appears to be afraid of me—but that’s just a misunderstanding. “Happy holidays!” I call out to them. And it’s not my fault that I sounded a little too aggressive.
I press the button for our floor and wait for the doors to close and for a trapdoor in this car to open up and drop me into the fiery pit where I belong.
“You want to play with fire, you’d better be willing to get burned.”
“By your terrible mood?”
“By the hot sting of my bare hand on your ass,” I mutter.
Shit. Too far.
She meets my gaze in the reflection of the shiny brass doors in front of us and holds it for a fucking eternity, while I get all cozy here in the second circle of hell. “I don’t seem to recall a separate spanking clause in our agreement, Mr. Cannavale.”
Well, well.Nowthe jingle hop has begun.
Before I can even form another thought—I drop my bag, take her face in my hands, and kiss her.
Her lips are exactly as soft as they’ve threatened to be, and they part so readily for mine that I have to wonder if I’m dreaming. Both of our tongues taste like expensive mouthwash and cheap champagne and anticipation and dread. There’s a moan and then a thud as she drops her bag to the floor too, and I feel her clinging to the lapels of my coat. I push her back against the wall. I don’t remember if we’re going up or down because I just want to goin, hard and deep.
The worst season ever just got awesome, and my hands are celebrating by sliding south to her waist, squeezing her sexy fucking hips. I pull that sweater dress up so my knee can rest there, snug between her legs, and she squeezes her thighs around it, rocking the night away. Good, naughty girl. Grunts and sighs and gasps echo around the elevator like the chorus of a dirty Christmas carol that we’re both making up as we go along.
My hungry mouth finds her long, smooth neck, and I grab that tight bun on top of her head and tug on it so it comes apart, her dark hair cascading all around her, all around me. I want all of her to come apart for me like this. I want to spill every terrible thing that I am into her, every real part of myself that wants to be welcomed home. I need this right now, more than I need my dignity. I need this woman. This is all I want for Christmas.
