Eric swallowed to prevent himself from making any noise. His cock pressed against the rough denim of his jeans, his balls tight and heavy as ceramic tree ornaments. If Callie knew the truth, knew how much he wanted her, their entire relationship would change. He couldn’t pressure her like that.
Across the stretchy red tank top covering her small, perky breasts, large silver block letters spelled out Sexxy Vixen. Unconsciously he bit his tongue, tasting the faint metallic trace of blood in his mouth. Everything about Callie was sexy. Even her flannel pajamas.
His nails bit crescents into his palm. He wanted to rip that tank top off her, touch her breasts, hold her hands down as he sucked her nipples until she bucked and begged for more.
But Callie was too fragile to handle his aggression, the frantic need that had been growing within him for four long years. Since the day they met.
He couldn’t push himself on her. She still needed time.
“It may be a Christmas movie—” she grinned “—but I don’t think I should be dressed this festive.”
“I don’t mind. No one’s going to see you in the theatre.”
“Actually—” Callie’s gaze shifted to the plush taupe carpet. Eric’s gut clenched. Callie only avoided his stare when she had really bad news to deliver. “Krista and James are going to meet us there.”
Eric groaned. “James is weird. You know he doesn’t even watch football. Last time I met him he told me he didn’t watch the Super Bowl last year—he finished the school board budgets instead. What kind of person does that?”
“I know, but she’s one of my best friends, and he’s the principal of the school, and they’re having a hard time so—”
“I’ll be nice to him and on my best behavior all night.”
“Exactly.” She laughed, playfully slapping his right biceps. If he grabbed her hand he could pull her into his arms in seconds, and his mouth would be on hers a second later.
And the next moment she’d be pushing him away, their friendship ruined.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Callie replied, her hand brushing along his arm as she stepped behind him to her bedroom. “I’m going to slip into something less comfortable.”
“Take your time,” he called, holding his breath as he waited for the bedroom door to click closed.
He’d fantasized about that bedroom so many times. The dark navy comforter, the soft baby blue sheets decorated with smiling snowmen she used all winter long. He imagined them so many nights. The smell of her skin along the sheets, the feel of the fabric wrapped around him as he perched above her, soft against his back as she straddled him, keeping them warm as they drifted off to sleep, Callie tucked into his side.
The doorknob snapped shut and Eric jumped to attention. He wouldn’t have long. Callie was always quick getting ready. If he wanted a chance of finding any evidence of what Callie wanted for Christmas, he’d better move fast.
Callie and he had an ongoing bet to find the most heartfelt present for the other. The loser had to be the other’s designated driver for New Year’s Eve. And Eric had lost for the last three years.
If she hadn’t been newly engaged he probably would have lost four years ago too, but when he’d found the picture of her parents’ wedding he’d had the brilliant idea to have her friend Amy make a duplicate of her mother’s veil. Callie had cried when she opened the box and had worn the veil for the rest of the holiday party. Eric had never done anything so right as commissioning that frilly lace train.
It wasn’t that he minded losing. Callie was funny when she had too much to drink. She told racy jokes and got overly touchy, which as long as she was only touching him, was worth being sober to ring in the New Year.
But after all she’d been through this year, calling off her wedding and finding out the truth about Josh, he wanted to make all her Christmas wishes come true. Starting with the perfect present, even if he had to snoop to find out what she wanted.
Eric looked around the room, frantically searching for something she might need. He tipped his head to look into the trash, inspecting the contents for clues, hoping to find some recently broken appliance or family heirloom he could repair that Callie’s elementary gym teacher salary wouldn’t allow.
A sliver of light green between the arm and cushion of Callie’s mocha-colored couch drew his eye. The bright color protruded from rich leather, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room besides an inherited coffee table and elaborately decorated Christmas tree. Taking two steps to the couch, he gripped the spearmint object between his thumb and forefinger, pulling the folded holiday paper from the crevice. Why would Callie shove a piece of paper between the couch cushions? Why would she need to hide something in her own home?
Eric unfolded the paper, expanding the corners into a large, flat sheet. Twirling red ribbons and shiny gold ornaments decorated the page and snowflakes dotted each line. The written words stopped his breath. Callie’s tight, neat script whispered his greatest fantasy.
His throat closed, trapping the oxygen in his chest. His eyes blurred as he read the words over and over. His vision must be playing a trick on him. Callie would never be interested in this kind of sex, and she would certainly never be interested in him.
He’d been in love with Callie since the day he’d met her, which happened to be one month after Josh had slipped a three-carat diamond ring on her finger. He could still remember the bite of that hard rock into his palm as he shook her hand, thanking her for volunteering at the special needs event for thirty kids with physical handicaps, several his cases, that her fiancé’s team was hosting. The small pinch reminded him their meeting was not a dream. This funny, interesting, beautiful woman was real.
He may have denied his feelings at first, but he’d long since accepted he’d never have her, and forced himself to become just her friend. In all that time he’d never imagined she could return his affection.
He wasn’t her type. Callie went for athletic pretty guys. Hell, Josh had been a professional baseball player. How was a social worker supposed to compete with a guy like that? Awkward, gawky, and broke to boot—what a catch Eric was. She deserved better.
His stare remained glued to her naughty Christmas list. His gaze drifted to the top of the page where she’d written his name. He reread each increasingly kinky line. How long had she been thinking about him like this? Since she’d broken off her engagement? Before? If he’d only known, he would have already fulfilled all these wishes and then some.
A wicked smile curled his lips. His body burned stronger than the fire in the chimney Kris Kringle would soon be coming down. His cock pressed against his jeans, hard, hot, wanting. The confinement was a sweet pain he’d become used to after years of being so close to the woman of his dreams but unable to touch her.
There was no time like the present.
“Ready to go?” Callie asked from the bedroom door. He raised his head, cramming the list under his thigh as he drank in the poinsettia red sweater hugging her curves. His mouth watered at the rose blush staining her cheeks. He’d do better than that.
Eric nodded, his tongue no longer working properly. Callie’s curls fluttered as she pulled on a white puffy jacket, making the most adorable candy cane he’d ever seen as she walked to the door. One he couldn’t wait to taste.
Eric trailed behind, stuffing the holiday page into his back pocket. Christmas suddenly looked a lot brighter.
Chapter Two
Callie’s eyes shot open, the room dark and still around her. She froze in her flannel sheets, her heart hammering, her brain screaming, unsure whether to flee or investigate. She’d always been a light sleeper, but the panic racing through her heart wasn’t a normal part of her waking ritual.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Callie tried to convince herself she hadn’t heard anything unusual. Maybe it was the thud of snow falling off the roof, or a bird flying into a tree.
Thick booted footsteps sounded again, stamping around her living room, feet from her bedroom door. The bash of each step vibrated along the floorboards, up her nerves, shaking her to the core.
Another
clump
sounded against her carpet, inciting her to action. Slipping from the sheets, she pulled the comforter down into a lumpy roll at the foot of the mattress. The room’s cold air enveloped her, forcing shivers down her spine. Just her luck that tonight she’d worn her skimpiest pajamas.
Stepping to the door, careful to make as little noise as possible, Callie picked up the old-fashioned wooden baseball bat she hid beneath her bed. The bat had been a gift from Josh for their last anniversary. It was a horrible romantic gesture, but served a practical purpose.
She cracked the door ajar, searching the dark living room before she jerked it open the rest of the way. The urge to react or forever be sorry billowed through Callie, forcing her to step forward. The plushy rug made no noise beneath her bare feet. Moonlight streamed in from the windows, creating sparkles along the floor as it glinted off her elaborately decorated Christmas tree.
She cocked the bat high, ready to strike for a home run if the culprit got close. But the room was heavy with silence. The thief was still there, hidden in the dark, but he made no noise. No clomping booted steps rang in the silence, no rustle of clothing or sack of goodies filled with her valuables.
Her resolve faltered, doubt creeping in and distracting her enough that the bat dipped in her hand. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all. Maybe it was all in her head. A breath whispered across her neck as two large hands clamped around her shoulders, pulling her quickly into a warm body. Soft velour brushed against her back, fluffy edging tantalizing her along the slope of her ass. Thick patent leather rubbed her legs, smooth and cool against her calves.
Callie tried to scream, to breathe, but her lungs froze in fear, each inhale a battle. She’d never been in any kind of dangerous situation before, coming from one suburb to teach at another, and she found herself woefully unprepared for such an attack.
“Ho, ho, ho.” A voice, deep and strangely familiar, echoed inches behind her ear.
Her survival instinct kicking in, Callie swung the bat aimlessly, hoping to assault the handsy home invader. Instead, the solid wood slipped from her fingers, skittering across the floor, coming to a stop with a resounding
whack
against a sofa leg. Callie’s heart sank. Her weapon was too far away to retrieve, leaving her only remaining defense the strength of her body and the accuracy of her nails.
“Merry Christmas,” the voice whispered, husky and seductive. His words were commonplace, but nothing else was, not his actions nor the suggestive tone he used.
Callie kicked back against the home invader, hoping to make contact with any sensitive part of him to inflict maximum pain. “Take whatever you want,” Callie raged into the night, “just leave me alone.”
“All I want is you,” her robber whispered, making her blood run cold. What did he want with her? What did all men want from women whose houses they stole into in the middle of the night? Callie fought harder, kicking with more force, clawing at the hands holding her.
Yet the familiarity still tugged at her mind, confusing her struggle. A recognizable scent surrounded her. Not an artificial aftershave or cologne, but a natural, raw, male smell she’d been surrounded by before.
“Don’t you want your present?” the man asked, his hands massaging her shoulders, resistant to her fight. “Or are you going to forfeit the bet now?”
Callie stopped. The familiarity snapped into place, illuminating her mind in the dark night. “Eric?”
Quick and unexpected, fastenings wrapped around her, holding her forearms tight to her hips like a good tin soldier. The restraint was soft yet strong, like velvet ribbon. She pulled her arms, twisting to free herself, the ties burning her skin against the attempt.
“Not tonight, little girl.” The velvet tightened farther. His arms folded around her as more ribbon slid along her body. The edges pressed into her while the rest of the restraint softly stimulated her skin.
“What are you doing here?” she asked the darkened room, trying to ignore the breathless and needy quality of her voice.
“Tonight I’m Santa.”
She almost purred at the domination in his words, demanding she submit to his Christmas ploy. The wind of his whisper brushed her ear, his warm breath shivering down her spine.
“I’m here to make all your Christmas wishes come true.”
His forearms, elbows, and wrists brushed against her body as he wrapped the ribbon across her torso. Her nipples tightened. The pressure of the restraints surrounding her breasts stimulated them to heightened sensitivity, full and achy against the cotton of her tank top.
A crinkle and stiff tug told her he’d knotted the ribbon, the loose end tickling the back of her neck. Callie twisted her arms, the velvet burning along her body as she pulled against it, shifting in a futile fight against the soft ribbon.
Callie searched her mind, trying to understand what had brought about this change in Eric. This was so unlike him. She wanted to be upset, to scream at him for scaring her, but the tight coiling sensation in her stomach prevented her protests. She wanted him here, wanted him holding her, commanding her. It was the fantasy that kept her awake before she’d fallen into a fitful Christmas Eve sleep, to be roused by a naughty Santa.