Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) (8 page)

“Whoa.”

Griffin frowned. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“No, I mean, you’re—you’re kind of aroused.”

He looked down. “There’s no ‘kind of’ about it.”

“But—but I don’t have any condoms, just lens wipes. So we can’t do anything but kiss, right?”

She looked fairly alarmed at his size and Griffin felt a satisfying smugness. He didn’t need to scare her any further at the moment and tell her he had condoms in his bag. An optimistically large number of them. They’d been gathering dust in the side pocket since the weekend Alice broke up with him.

Alice who?

“You’re the boss.”

Just as he was leaning over, she shot up to a sitting position and almost head-butted him. “Oh my God. What about your aunt?”

“We just met in the pub, remember? As far as you know, I have no aunt. Or uncle, or grandmother or second cousin. We’re strangers—very friendly strangers, to be sure.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “What happens at the Cheese and Plunder stays at the Cheese and Plunder.”

“Oh! Th-thank you. I never, ever do anything like this, in England
or
America.”

“I don’t either.” Griffin couldn’t remember his last one-night stand.

“Is this silly, what we’re doing?” she asked in a hushed voice. “The make-believe?”

“Where would humankind be without make-believe? No, I think it’s all right we indulge our fantasies.” They were in Carrie’s fantasy, but he wouldn’t quibble. He got to see her naked, didn’t he?

She was still sitting up. “I just realized, I never told you my name back there. At the bar.”

Griffin tried to recall their earlier dialogue. “So you didn’t. Let’s try again.” He extended his hand. “I’m Griffin Archer from the Hall.”

“I’m Caroline Moore.” She gave his hand a firm shake. “Carrie to my friends.”

Griffin turned her palm up and planted a lingering kiss in its center. “I hope to be your very good friend, Carrie. That’s the first kiss of many.”

“I’ll try to keep count. I’m better at English than I am at math.”

“I plan to make you incoherent in both subjects.” He went back to his circling maneuver, meeting her eyes as he did so. How simple, yet how effective.

“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you,” Carrie said, her voice slightly raspy.

“You must admit, I’ve had some success with you so far. I have every hope in continuing to do so.” It was not like him to brag, but then nothing about tonight was “like him.”

And that was a good thing. All work and no play had made Griffin a very dull viscount.

He was going to forget about his viscountish troubles and the sagging ceilings at Archer Hall. It was Christmas, and he was going to give himself a present.

He eased Carrie back down on the blanket, stroking her shoulder, kissing her throat. She shivered a little.

“Cold?” Griffin asked.

“Not exactly.”

He trailed his fingers down to one peaked nipple and did some more circling. She made a strangled sound and Griffin knew his success continued.

“This is two.” He captured her nipple between his lips and tugged.

“Three,” he said before he switched sides.

And then he lost track, working his way down to her navel, dipping his tongue inside and causing Carrie to squirm on the blanket. He’d forgotten about the pillows. Too late. He would raise her hips himself and part and lick and plunge and—

Oh God, she tasted good. She was neatly trimmed, too, which was helpful. Everything about her was neat. Griffin spent a goodly portion of his time coordinating his tongue and fingers until Carrie turned liquid beneath him and screamed.

It was a nice scream, as screams went, not too shrieky. Her body bucked a bit but Griffin kept at it. Her nails scraped his scalp as she cried for him to stop. No chance of that—she didn’t mean it anyway. Those were very happy tears, he reckoned.

“Shh. You’ll wake the dog,” he said, after torturing her enough and working his way back up. He nibbled an earlobe and drew a hiss from her.

“You are—you are—” she gasped.

A god? The best lover she’d ever had?

“—a fiend!”

“Why, thank you, Miss Moore. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I am d-dead,” she stuttered.

“No, no, we can’t have that. The night is still young.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her nose.

“That was spectacular.”

He smiled down at her. “Agreed.”

“W-what about you?”

What about him? He was only in agony, but not about to complain. “I’m fine. It was a joy to watch you come apart for me.”

“That’s all you want?” she asked doubtfully.

He cradled her against him, tucking her hair behind her ear. The warmth of her entranced him, but he resolutely kept his private parts from making contact with her soft skin.

Gentleman.

Viscount.

Fool.

“For now. How long will you be staying in Lower Topsham?”

She was silent. Maybe she was tired of playing their game.

Then she touched his jaw. Who knew jaws were erogenous zones? His five o’clock shadow was suddenly on alert. He thought he could actually feel the bristles vibrate.

“Till the end of the summer.”

“There, you see? We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better.”

“Griffin.” She smoothed a fingertip over his chin.

“Hm?”

“Life is short.” Her lashes dropped.

Where was she going with this? He waited.

“What if something comes up?”

Oh, something was up, all right. Griffin willed himself to ignore it.

He swallowed. “You mean an emergency?”

“I might not be able to stay all summer.”

“I see.” He pretended to think. “Well, what do you suggest?”

“That’s just it—what I’d like to do, I can’t. We don’t have—we don’t have the necessary equipment.”

“You aren’t proposing something acrobatic, are you? I’m in pretty good shape, but I draw the line at sawhorses or swings.”

Carrie chortled. “No, silly. I mean protection. I’m on the pill, but—” She let the rest go unsaid.

She didn’t trust him, and so she shouldn’t. He might be an intimate stranger at the moment, but she was wise not to take a risk. Griffin knew his sexual history, what there had been of it lately. But the world was a dangerous place and Carrie Moore was a smart young woman.

“Are you saying you’d sleep with me if I had a condom?” Griffin asked.

“I don’t think much sleep would be involved.” She smiled ruefully.

“What if I told you I had an entire box of condoms? Unopened. Shiny foil packets.”

Carrie elbowed him. “Get out.”

“Don’t hurt me for telling the truth.”

“Why would you bring condoms to your aunt’s Christmas dinner?”

“No aunt, remember? No Christmas. No snow. No Maine. Let’s just say like a good Boy Scout, I come prepared.”

“You aren’t joking?”

“Why would I get your hopes up? You do want to make me the happiest of men, don’t you?” He waggled an eyebrow.

“That’s what a Regency hero says in romance novels when he proposes.”

Griffin’s throat dried. He was
not
proposing. He might never propose to anyone ever again.

Carrie giggled. “Sorry, but I had to take you down a peg. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to compromise you. But I wouldn’t mind seeing one of those condoms in action. Maybe even two.”

Chapter 5

S
O MUCH FOR
good intentions. Well, she could make a New Year’s resolution to avoid gorgeous British men who carried around boxes of condoms in blizzards, but New Year’s was a week away. But right now? Seize the day. Or night, as it were.

Lord Griffin Archer had already proven his worth and should be rewarded for his efforts. He had been such a good sport over the car and the dog and the cottage and her own reluctance to own what she was doing. Not only was he playing along, but he was leading the way. Carrie would find it difficult to say no to him under any circumstances, but after what he’d just done—

Wow. He was right—she couldn’t find the words to describe what had just happened.

Right now he was the one looking adorable as she invited him to ravish her further. Trooper that he was, he was rummaging into his overnight bag, his cock at full mast. Wow again. Carrie didn’t have a ton of experience, but she was pretty sure she’d never seen anything as exquisite as Griffin’s physique.

She caught the box he tossed at her. So, Little League had not been a total waste of time.

All right. She could do this. She’d practiced on bananas at bachelorette parties. Griffin was a lot firmer than a banana, and there was no reason she had to do it with her teeth this time. Honestly, who thought up these lame party games anyway? She opened the box, took out a packet and peeled it open.

Her hands didn’t shake too much. Griffin’s eyes were half-closed and he grunted in affirmation at her technique. Then he pulled her down and kissed her, a desperate, hot blend of tongues.

Man, could he kiss. He’d come off as kind of reserved and cold in the beginning, but he’d warmed right up. The calm, controlled Griffin was entirely absent. In his place was a wilder, freer man, whose hands were everywhere his mouth wasn’t. Carrie was so glad the ferry hadn’t run, for if it had, she’d probably be up in her room right now watching the
Rudolph
special while Griffin and his aunt and cousin sipped an after-dinner drink.

This was
so
much better than red-nosed reindeers.

She cupped his cheek, her thumb sliding down Griffin’s own high-bridged aristocratic nose. That nose had probably come over with the Conqueror. Carrie smiled inwardly, imagining a nose rowing over the Channel and just stopped herself from giggling and spoiling this toe-curling kiss. She knew what she had to do.

She disentangled herself ever so slowly and raised herself up on her knees. Griffin gave her an extremely hopeful look, and she centered herself over his penis. Cock. Manhood. All sorts of romance words for it bumped into her head, but nothing was adequate, and quite frankly she didn’t want to think anymore. He fisted himself and guided her thigh down, palm flat against her.

O.M.G.

Carrie couldn’t move. She was pinned in place, filled completely. Things were actually throbbing and slippery and perfect. She looked down at Griffin. His eyes were bright and unblinking—it felt as if he were staring straight into her soul. She stared back.

And then he thrust up, and she shut her eyes and forgot to look.

Even though she was on top, he controlled the rhythm somehow—she wouldn’t argue for it had never felt so good. He coaxed her body, brushing against her nipples, toying with her clitoris until she flared and flamed. A rolling wave caught her and she went with the current, riding out her orgasm, reaching for more. Griffin delivered, then spent himself in an unmistakable burst of dominance. He stilled Carrie’s hips and took total control, rocking and touching her in places she didn’t know she had, a look of pure possession on his golden face.

She’d opened her eyes—it was too tempting not to.

Double O.M.G. He was beautiful.

And then the lights above fluttered and died with a loud popping sound. The carriage house was cloaked in blackness.

“Was it something I did?” Griffin gasped, stroking her left breast.

“D-don’t flatter yourself. Though the earth
did
move.”

“I’ll say it did. Good God.” He pulled her down and held her close, as though he was afraid she was cold already. “That was . . . extraordinary,” he said against her temple. “Thank you.” He did a delicious little twisty thing inside her and her breath hitched.

She swatted feebly at his chest. “Stop showing off.”

“I can’t help it. You bring out the best in me, Caroline Moore.”

“Carrie. We’re friends, remember?” More than friends.

“So, friend . . . the power’s out.”

“Uh huh.” The carriage house didn’t have a generator or woodstove.

“I suppose we should get dressed.” Griffin made no effort to get her off him. In fact, he held her even tighter.

“What’s in your bag? We may have to layer up if the heat doesn’t come back on. Poor us.”

“Poor Jaguar.” There it was again. Jag-u-ar. Carrie could listen to him read the phone book. She’d fallen for a pretty face and foreign accent. Somehow she wasn’t one bit ashamed.

Of course, she couldn’t see the pretty face at the moment. It was pitch black in and outside.

“I didn’t really bring much. I planned on leaving day after tomorrow.”

“On Boxing Day?”

He tapped her nose. “What do you know of Boxing Day, my little American beauty?”

She tapped back. She wasn’t beautiful, but wouldn’t argue. “It’s tradition for people like you to give Christmas boxes to servants like me. The poor, too.”

“Don’t forget tradesmen for outstanding service. In the olden days, they’d come round with their hands out.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. Like your grocer or tailor?”

“Precisely. And what do you mean, ‘people like me?’ One might say
I’m
a tradesman.” He was playing with the tufts of her hair and for once Carrie wished she had long and flowing romance heroine locks.

“Remember, you’re a viscount, too, with a huge house and responsibilities.”

Griffin withdrew his fingers from her hair. “How can I forget?” The playfulness had gone out of his voice, and Carrie knew she’d made a mistake.

Mrs. Stephens talked about Archer Hall all the time, even if she did complain about the cold there. Carrie would love to see it herself before it all fell in.

“I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have so many worries,” Carrie said softly, smoothing his cheek.

He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth and gave them a brief kiss. “We’ll have none of that, now. Stiff upper lips, Holly Jolly Christmas, etcetera. With any luck, we will not freeze to death or get arrested tonight and it all will look brighter in the morning. I wish I’d thought to set up some sort of sleeping arrangement when we still had power.”

“You Boy Scout you,” Carrie teased. “Your computer screen will light up for another six hours, and I’ve got my phone.” Griffin was slipping out of her body now. Maybe they’d make love again later to keep themselves warm.