Page 18 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

He smirks. “A grilled cheese sandwich?”

“My man knows me too well,” I tease and his grin widens. “Get whatever you like but it’s my treat this time,” I toss over my shoulder. “I’ll just throw on my pajamas and maybe we can find something to watch.”

“Okay, sure.” He grabs the room service menu and watches me head to the bathroom with my snowman pajamas in hand. It’s like he can’t stop staring.

Feeling quite pleased with life again, the bathroom door closes and I drop my towel. I hear Nick’s deep voice through the door starting an order for us. Soft bed, some yummy food, just the two of us; this night won’t be half bad despite the long day. If only I can get these butterflies in my tummy under control enough to eat.

Just then, Mr. Jinglebell decides he needs his mommy right away and it seems I didn’t get the bathroom door closed properly behind me…

“Bad kitty!” I yelp as it swings wide open with one good push of Mr. Jinglebell’s fluffy body. My cat marches in with tail high in the air like he owns this place.

And, Nick’s standing in the perfect position to see me in my birthday suit!

We stare at each other, transfixed, as the room service menu falls from his hand and lands with a soft thump on the floor. The room phone is still up to his ear. “Um… yeah. I’m sorry, what did you ask?” he stutters to the person on the other end of the line while his eyes are glued to me.

My face heats up but other areas are heating up rapidly too from his very keen attention. There’s just enough modesty in my reflexes though to have me covering my mound with one hand and crossing the other arm over my breasts.

And Nick? He groans pitifully, like he’s in pain from those small moves of mine.

Mr. Jinglebell lets out a very loud meow and whoever’s taking our order on the phone must’ve said something else because the spell is broken. Nick spins away, saying, “Sorry, sorry. Repeat that.”

The next week of sharing a room is going to be interesting I think.

11-Nick

Road Trip Rule #6: Sometimes, there really is only one bed (and only one cure for restlessness.)

If I ever had a single negative thought about Mr. Jinglebell joining us on this journey, I’m apologizing for that right now. Never again will I speak a disparaging word about the best purr-boy ever.

Carol wears snowman pajamas to bed. But now that I know what she looks like naked, I can’t focus on anything else.

I’ll admit, I was growing more and more disgruntled as the day wore on. The long days of driving and forty-eight hours without kissing Carol were weighing on me. I went thirteen years without kissing Carol Wilder until a couple of days ago and now I’m like a junkie not getting my fix. I’ve slept like shit since that first kiss.

But, I’d bid her goodnight in Cedar Rapids without a kiss because I’m not trying to confuse either of us regarding our bargain. This is an act. No catching feelings involved. I think we can be convincing but too much practice is liable to lead to unforeseen complications. Our PDA is supposedly just that - aPublicDisplay of Affection and there’s a part of me which fears kissing Carol too often will have me begging her to let me keep kissing her forever. I’m not looking to settle down… right?

In addition to the no-Carol kissing and road trip fatigue, other stresses were messing with me, too. Lydia and her bikini stunt for one. She showed her true colors right before my fledgling tech firm skyrocketed. Her quickly renewed interest in our relationship after I hit the Fortune 500 doesn’t exactly warm my heart if you get me.

Meanwhile, I put Anthony on the Travis Della-Fontaine matter by asking him to get in touch with a private investigator from LA he knows personally while I’ll be doing some digging on this end once I’ve got a secure network to use in Whistler. Nothing like a little holiday computer hacking for a good cause.

I’m concerned how Carol will react to that but I want to help her get what she’s owed for the song she wrote. The guy screwing her over that way pisses me off. Actually, the thought of the lucky bastard getting to screw her in the first place pisses me off. I really hate Travis Della-Fontaine.

The final straw for restraint snapped when Carol started rolling around on the bed we’ll be sharing tonight and giggling. Imagining joining her there, turning those giggles into moans, had me getting hard in seconds flat. I had to escape.

But, I’d felt like a jerk bolting for the hotel bar without even inviting Carol along. She hadn’t done anything wrong and I know we were both feeling tired and frustrated. She wasn’t the problem. I was, me and my raging desire for her; my childhood friend all grown up, this amazing, funny and spirited woman. So, I’d made it down to the bar, sat there morosely sipping scotch alone and decided to go rejoin her.

Just hearing her sing about Hawaii’s way of saying Merry Christmas had put a smile on my face. And when she stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel? Fuck me. I was already a goner and then Mr. Jinglebell went and upped the torment factor, giving me a glimpse of Carol sans clothing.

With her hair still damp, her Coca-Cola brown eyes wide open and her cheeks flushing rapidly, I’d soaked up every inch of her fantastic body. Perfection. Long, lean legs, perky, round tits, shapely ass and all of it.

I needed to get my hands on her, needed to taste her. I could already picture sitting her on the edge of that bathroom counter and kneeling before her to do just that.

Mr. Jinglebell and the hotel employee on the phone had prevented me from storming into the bathroom like some lust-addled barbarian on a rampage but the vision hasn’t left yet. Instead of a lump of coal, I think Santa’s decided I’m getting blue balls for Christmas.

“Are you alright?” Carol whispers in the darkness, nearly thirty minutes after we’ve turned out the lights.

“Yeah,” I say, giving my uncomfortably hard cock a discreet and pointless shove. I’m not a teenager for fuck’s sake but lying in bed with Carol so close and inhaling the scent of apples (must be her shampoo) has my dick stiff and the rest of me unable to relax. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

She’d come out of the bathroom again shortly before the food I’d ordered arrived. We’d managed to laugh off the accidental peep show, eat our late-night room service, watched some TV and then called it a night.

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