Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology (Starcrossed #4)
Leisa Rayven
Part One: Have Yourself a Sexy Little Christmas
ONE
Ethan
December, a year ago
The Apartment of Ethan Holt
New York City, New York
Bing Crosby wafts through my apartment as snow flutters outside the window. Usually, this is my favorite time of year, but right now, I wish I were anywhere but here.
She's looking at me. My Cassie. The love of my life I fought so hard to win back after too many years apart. The same incredible woman I begged to marry me a few months ago and who miraculously said, yes.
Right now, she's gazing at me with nervousness and hope, and me being the asshole I am, I'm about to lie to her.
I don't feel good about it, but it has to happen.
When she took me back, I promised to never keep anything from her, but I also said I'd never hurt her again, and if I tell her the truth right now, it will cause her pain. I figure I've done enough of that during our time together.
"Well?" she asks as she fixes me with those beautiful goddamn eyes that can melt me with a single glance.
I make a vaguely positive noise and smile. "Hmmmm."
"Ethan, come on. Be honest."
Nope. Not gonna happen.
My stomach's churning and my palms are wet, and as usual when I'm around Cassie, my dick is more hard than soft. Hardly ideal conditions to give the performance of my life.
I summon the fortitude of Prometheus and smile as I stand and walk over to her. Then I realize I need a distraction, so I reach over my shoulder and pull off my T-shirt. Her eyes immediately widen when she rakes her gaze over my torso.
Yep. Distraction achieved.
It sounds egotistical, but I love seeing her react to my body. I could live to be a hundred and never tire of how her expression turns dark and sultry. Or how she subconsciously licks her lips when she reaches out to me.
I grab her and pin her against the wall, hands above her head. "If you want me to be honest," I say, "then believe me when I say I'd honestly like to take off your panties and feast on you. Right ... the hell ... now." I graze my hand up her thigh, but before I can touch anything interesting, she pushes it away.
"Does that mean you liked it or not?"
I make that vague positive sound again and press my face into her neck. "Hmmmm. Delicious." And she is. As I kiss and lick, I can feel her caring less about what I have to say and more about the other things I can do with my mouth.
Excellent.
The point where her neck meets her shoulder is her sweet spot. If I suck on it in just the right way, I predict she'll be putty in my hands, in three, two, one...
"Ethan." She puts both hands on my chest and pushes. Shit. "Stop trying to distract me and tell me what you think about what I cooked for dinner."
I drop my head and sigh. A long time ago I'd have had no problem lying to her. These days I'm out of practice. I look her in the eye and do my best. "I think you're fucking amazing. That's what I think." Totally true.
"You liked it?"
"'Liked doesn't even come close to describing how I feel." Also, true. I hated it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. She told me it was chicken pot pie, but really, there was no discernible taste in there except horror and misery. While I was chewing, I swear my stomach tried to crawl up my throat and strangle me. Even now, it squirms and turns, threatening to vacate the building in the messiest way possible. Swallowing it and not spitting it into my napkin is a testament to our love.
And, God, I do love her. That's why I want to protect her from the harsh truth that her 'food' is beyond terrible. I mean, I'm incredibly proud that my Cassie is amazing in a lot of ways, but cooking isn't one of her talents.
Thankfully, my semi-truth seems to have worked. She beams at me and backs up so her butt is grazing my crotch as she does the world's sexiest victory dance.
"Hell yes! I cooked you deenah. And you lahved eet. I am a genius. And you are sexay." Her out-of-tune singing is made even more silly when she puts her hands against the wall and starts twerking. She makes me belly laugh. Fucking glorious woman.
See? Sometimes lying is necessary. I love how happy she is. How her eyes sparkle with pride over what she's achieved. She should always feel that way.
"Okay, then," she says, as she bounces on her toes and pushes me back toward my spot at the dining-room table. "Finish it off, then. I'll get started on desert."
Oh, fuck. "Uh ... but—”