Flown in for Christmas

Nine.

Nick

This may have started as a ploy over rights to a family heirloom, but it’s already crossing a line I’m not sure we can come back from.

My heart kicks up a notch at the sound of the shower turning on. My fiancée , I test it, repeating it over and over in my mind. She’ll be by my side for days straight. We’ll be in constant contact between showing affection and…sharing this space.

My cock weeps at the very premise of sharing my bed with her. Is that too far? Will she draw the line somewhere? My guilty conscience starts to weigh on me as I spare a glance toward the loveseat beneath the windowsill. It’d be cold sleeping there, that’s for sure, but it’d be the gentlemanly thing to do, right ?

We’re both adults , I reason as a bottle of lotion sitting beside the sofa catches my eye. I grab it, tossing it in a drawer in my closet. It’s not exactly sexy, late-night conversation if I have to explain how my feet crack in the winter months.

I should probably ask her if she’s comfortable sharing a bed before I start thinking with my dick. I scan the room one more time to make sure there isn’t anything that could embarrass me when the sound of the shower turning off has my stomach fluttering—the same way it did when we kissed in the foyer.

Butterflies, again ? I don’t get butterflies. Yet, when it comes to her, I can’t seem to stop the feeling. She’s…perfect.

For this job , I add.

Because this is one giant ruse and not a sappy Hallmark movie.

While I wait for her to exit the bathroom, I look through my luggage, trying to decide what’s best to wear to bed. Scolding myself for not packing more. I usually sleep in just a pair of loose shorts. I run too hot at night to wear anything else.

I pull out a pair of grey sweatpants and immediately put them back. Too bold. Stick with what’s comfortable . She won’t care, will she?

Why the hell do I care?

I turn with my sleeping shorts in hand only to bump into Joy coming into the closet. “Sorry,” she yelps, taking a step back and giving me an all too pleasing view of her wearing an oversized T-shirt—no bra, I note—and what appears to be nothing else.

I swallow hard .

“Just wanted to drop these in here,” she says with a forced laugh, raising the folded bundle of dirty clothes in hand. “Bathroom is all yours.”

“Thanks.” I nod, moving past her and heading straight for what I deserve…an ice-cold shower. Unfortunately, it doesn’t save my wandering mind from straying to thoughts of Joy wearing only a T-shirt to bed. Surely, she has something on underneath? Panties? Shorts? Shorts with no panties?

I groan, leaning my head against the tiled shower wall. My cock thickens at the very thought of my fake fiancée laying in my bed in only a T-shirt and panties.

If only it was my shirt…

With that last image in mind, I grip my cock in one hand and brace the other against the wall as warm water pelts my neck and shoulders. I stroke myself from base to tip, biting back a groan. I close my eyes, falling into the fantasy of my hand replaced with hers—of her kissing and nipping at my neck as she guides me into her hot, wet pussy.

The visual causes me to jerk my hips into my fist. I come with a shudder a moment later and my shoulders drop. I shake my head. I haven’t come that fast since puberty. And to the thought of my fake-fiancée-real-assistant. I still have to face her and sleep in the same room.

I finish getting ready for bed. Leaving my chest bare and wearing only my sleep shorts. I take a deep breath and open the door, turning off the light as I walk out. The room is dark aside from the dim glow coming from the built-in lighting over the nightstands and I see she’s claimed my usual side—the right.

She’s tucked under the covers, her damp, brown hair cascading over my pillow. She doesn’t move as I approach. Is she…already asleep? I walk around to the far side of the bed, turning off the lights before I lift the covers to slide in. Waiting to see if she’ll move or say something—protest that I’ve suddenly decided to sleep with her rather than offer to sleep on the cramped sofa.

But she doesn’t stir. Not even a little.

Her breathing is slow and measured to the point I know she is, indeed, fast asleep. I lay on my back and sigh, peering over at her to note she’s facing the opposite direction. And I’m not sure how to interpret my disappointment. There’s plenty of room for the both of us—three feet or so between my body and hers—and yet…I want her closer.

I find myself scooching to the right.

Two inches. Three. Six.

I move until I’m lying in the middle of the bed so that if she were to roll over, she’d roll right into me. I smirk, then frown.

You’re an idiot .

All evening she’s been by my side, since the moment she got off that plane. Why should it matter now?

I like having her close, I realize.

As close as possible, in fact.

I wake to a pull in my shoulder—only for it to register it’s from my arm hanging off the edge of the bed.

The right side of the bed to be precise.

My eyes snap open and I lift my head slightly. The sun peeking around the dark edges of the curtains has me reaching for my cell phone sitting on the nightstand. Except, this isn’t my phone. Joy . I sit up, staring at the lock screen. It’s a cutesy cartoon reindeer peeking out from the bottom of the screen with a tangle of lights around his antlers that say Merry Christmas .

I smile at the thought of her going through dozens of wallpapers only to settle on this one. My smile fades when I notice it’s almost nine in the morning. Did I sleep in? I haven’t been able to sleep past five in months.

My gaze shifts to look around the room. The bathroom and closet doors are wide open and the bed is empty—aside from myself and a tangle of sheets. Which can only mean one thing: she’s somewhere I’m not.

I leap from the bed and rush to tug on a pair of jeans, socks, and a hoodie, then head for the door. There’s a panic in my chest as I hurry down the hall to the top of the stairs.

Where is she? Did something happen? Why didn’t she wake me? Did she leave?

How the hell did I sleep so long?

The boisterous sound of my father’s signature belly laugh greets my ears. I pause. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that laugh .

I descend the stairs at a more reasonable pace and round the corner toward the kitchen to an unexpected sight. Everyone is awake and in the midst of breakfast. Rich, Leah, my aunt and uncle, my sister—everyone aside from my rat cousin and annoying ex.

My mother is too busy cutting fresh fruit by the sink to see me standing in the archway, staring at Joy. She’s at the center of it all, flipping pancakes on the griddle my father got on Black Friday seven years ago for twenty bucks and refuses to get rid of even though they have one built into the stovetop. She’s gesturing wildly with a spatula in hand, telling a story about how her father accidentally used powdered sugar instead of flour one Christmas when leaving ‘footsteps from Santa’—she whispers so Tucker doesn’t hear. Apparently, the presents were overrun with ants by the morning.

“Oh, your mother must have been furious,” my mom exclaims, laughing.

“She was the one who handed him the wrong container,” she says.

Everyone laughs and Joy’s gaze finds mine. A slow, stunning smile lifts the edges of her full lips. The sun beaming in from the window behind her has her looking like a goddess still wearing her pajama shirt from last night—with the addition of a bra and sweatpants underneath .

My grey sweatpants that I’d tossed on top of my suitcase last night. They’re rolled up and tied tight around her middle. I walk straight to her.

“Good morning,” she beams as I come up beside her.

“Morning,” I say, sliding an arm around her waist as I lean in to kiss her forehead.

My sister makes a gagging noise and I flip her the bird. My mother swats my hand.

“About time you joined us,” Dad says, shoveling in a forkful of scrambled eggs.

“We wanted to wake you, but Joy said you haven’t been sleeping well,” Mom adds, setting a platter of fruit on the counter. “Have you been feeling all right, dear?”

My fingers flex over Joy’s waist. She shifts out of my grasp to place a golden-brown pancake on top of a tilting stack. I glance down at her and she quickly looks away, blushing. How would she know I haven’t been sleeping? Then I remember our conversation from yesterday. I suppose the better question would be: How the hell does she read me so well?

“I’m fine, Mom,” I reply. “Just a few long nights is all.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because my father pins me with a look and a raised, weaponized fork in my direction followed by the spiel about how my health should be coming before anything—including DSG. He’s sure to throw one last comment in once my mother takes his plate and he stands with a grunt. “Don’t be putting work over your lovely wife, either,” he says with a firm hand on my shoulder. “She deserves the best. And your attention.”

Joy sits beside me, a steaming mug clasped between her hands. “He gives me plenty, Bruce. And if he doesn’t, I’ll let you know first.” She winks at him and he chuckles, excusing himself to lie down for a bit before today’s festivities.

When he’s gone, I turn to Mom. “You sure he’s feeling up for the park?” I can’t help but ask. His color may have improved, but he’s still going through treatment. I know it’s a drain on his system whether he likes to admit it or not.

“If he wants to go, let him go,” Natalie speaks up from the dinette table in the kitchen. “You only live once.”

I scowl at her choice of words.

“Your father’s been very good about telling me when something is too much for him,” Mom says, wiping the counter in front of her. “If he says he’s well enough to go, then we need to trust him. It’s a beautiful day. The sun may even do him some good.”

I huff. It’s also below freezing.

The kitchen empties while I eat. Joy helps clean before my mother excuses herself to check on Dad.

“What’s the plan for today?” Joy asks, retaking her spot next to me. She turns toward me, bringing a knee up to her chest. Big, hazel eyes watch me. She looks so…content.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “You needed the rest.”

“How— ”

“My dad says I’m good at reading people,” she says quietly, tapping her nail on the ceramic mug. “He said I would’ve made a good lawyer, but that advertising was a close second.” Full lashes lift in my direction.

My chest heats. Does she know? Have I been giving away some sort of cue the last day to what I’ve been thinking? How I’ve been giving in to this whole ‘fake’ fiancée thing a bit more than I should be?

“You’re, um, quite the bed hog, by the way,” she says, changing the subject with another sip from her mug.

I do recall waking up on her side of the bed this morning… I guess I should’ve left the few feet open between us last night. “Sorry about that. When I got out of the shower you were asleep before I could ask if you’d rather me sleep on the couch.”

“The loveseat by the window?” she asks, eyes wide. “Gosh, no. You would’ve been so uncomfortable.”

I chuckle at her horrified expression. “Were you, though?” I ask. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

Her smile is slow. “You’re very warm when you sleep. And you’re a bit…grabby.”

“Grabby?”

She nods, laughing. “You kept pulling me against you, and when I’d try to get away—”

Oh, god.

“—you’d mumble in your sleep.” She’s beaming now. “It was cute.”

“Cute?” I question, my face flaming hot. “You just said I assaulted you and talked about it. In what world is that cute ?” Joy giggles despite all of this. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” I say. “I’m sorry I was…grabby. Did you at least get some sleep yourself? We can skip today if you’re tired.”

“I slept great, actually,” she says with a smile. “And I’d like to know what we’re doing before you try to talk me out of it.”

I shake my head, grinning. “Every year, a few days before Christmas Eve, my family goes ice skating at the town park. We’ll get dinner in town and attend the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony followed by a stop at Annie’s for hot chocolate. Then we end the night with a walk-through of the holiday display of lights. There’s music and food. It’s usually a good time.”

Joy’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Oh. My. God. Heck yes, we’re going!” she squeals, leaping from her stool only to freeze. “But I don’t have ice skates.”

“They have rentals.”

“I don’t know how to ice skate.”

I chuckle. “I’ll teach you.”

She does a little giddy hop and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you.”

I hug her back. “For what?”

She pulls away, shaking her head and smiling. “I just—” She stops herself and the excitement dims a little in her eyes. “I’m just happy to be spending Christmas with you and your family, is all.” She gestures at herself. “I guess I better go get ready,” she adds, leaning in to kiss me. Her lips are soft against mine and she tastes sweet and fresh with hints of chocolate and peppermint. My hand still resting on her waist tightens—begging for more.

My pleas go unanswered as the moment ends far too soon for my liking. She smiles and walks away.

No one else was around to see that kiss , my brain immediately takes note.

She kissed me simply because she wanted to.

And I’m greedy for more.