Chapter 29 Get a Room
GET A ROOM
ISLA
Rowan has to pick up his daughter in a little less than an hour. Where exactly can a woman get devoured under the mistletoe all night long on short notice?
The moment the door to the North Pole Nook swings shut behind us, Rowan says, “Are your parents home?”
“They’re binging holiday movies so they can rate them for their socials tomorrow,” I say, quickly. “They just got a new sponsor.”
“Your parents have sponsors?”
“Tinsel Takes has been trending. They find and rate all the holiday movies you could ever possibly want to watch.”
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“A Christmas jammies maker is their sponsor this week—” Why the hell am I rambling about my parents’ side hustle as we race walk down the street, passing a hot cocoa cart? Oh, right. Because we can’t go to their house to satisfy our holiday horniness.
“My place is twenty minutes away,” Rowan offers. “Fifteen if I drive fast.”
But that only leaves us with twenty minutes.
“We could get—” But I don’t actually say get a hotel room. I’m not a rent-a-room-by-the-hour kind of person. “There’s a place at the bottom of the sledding hill. A secluded little parking lot.”
Rowan stops outside the toy shop on the street corner, meeting my gaze with filthy approval in his. “I know where to go. Do you trust me?”
No question there. “Of course.”
We keep walking, and only then do I consider my answer more deeply.
I do trust him. I trusted him the other night in the car when I told him my fears about love.
I trusted him in the Ferry Building when I told him how JD had hurt me.
I trust him now, even though this isn’t the kind of vulnerability I meant when I gave him this assignment.
With a firm hand on my back, he guides me farther down Main Street, where evening crowds have thinned as stores close. Only bars, restaurants, and the bookstore are still open. As we near the edge of downtown, he ducks down a side street.
“I spotted this when I dropped off Mia,” he says, gesturing to a little cobblestoned alley behind the shops.
“I’ve never seen this before.”
“I thought of you when I saw it,” he says, sounding…hopeful. And a little vulnerable.
“You did?”
He runs a hand up the back of my coat and into my hair, making me shiver. “I think you like it outside. A little risk. Just out of public view.”
I tremble. I haven’t explored these desires before. I’m not even sure I knew they existed until that day at the tree farm, when I first imagined him chasing me and having his way with me in the snow.
But the alleyway calls to me. “Is that the back of Rudy’s? With the pretty lights?”
The twinkling lights on the trellis have nothing on the twinkle in Rowan’s eyes though. “A back patio,” he says, like the words are candy on his tongue.
“They’re not open now,” I say, a little breathless. Or maybe a lot.
“And no one’s around,” he says, scanning the alley.
“What about Nest cameras though?”
“I looked earlier. I didn’t see any.”
This is risky. I should hit the brakes. But I don’t. I want to see what happens when I stop pretending that I don’t want him.
We reach the patio. It’s set back into a sort of nook, so most of it isn’t even visible from the mouth of the alleyway.
I picture the owner of Rudy’s—grandmotherly, always serving smiles and quips. What would she think if she knew I was trespassing on her patio? Wandering through the green metal tables after hours? Checking out the lights flickering along the trellis?
I’m pulled from those thoughts when a familiar tune fills my ears. I whirl around, my heart beating faster. “Do you hear the music?”
A smile shifts his lips, and his gaze drifts down. The music is faint and it’s coming from…his coat pocket. Michael Bublé’s unfairly sexy version of “White Christmas.”
Rowan is definitely Christmas-seducing me.
I grab his shirt collar at the same time that he lunges for me. Our mouths crash together. His hands rope through my hair. He tugs me against him, kissing me so thoroughly my head goes hazy and hot.
I clutch the lapels of his peacoat like I’ll fall off the earth if I let go. We’re a portrait of desperation, making out in a closed coffee shop’s courtyard under flickering holiday lights. The chill of the night air swirls around me. It smells like snow. Like the ocean breeze. Like Rowan.
“What is your cologne?” I pant.
He shrugs. “Something. It’s in a bottle.”
“Such a guy answer,” I mutter, pulling him in again. “Keep wearing it.”
I dive in to kiss him more, savoring the chill and the ocean scent and the promise of snow—a contrast to the way my neck is hot.
My chest is fiery. And I’m aching between my thighs as Rowan slows the kiss, his hand coasting down my cheek to my chin.
He holds me there as he sweeps his lips slowly, teasingly over mine while the music shifts to a new song.
His beard whisks gently across my face before he breaks the kiss to look up at the open-air roof. Mistletoe hangs everywhere.
Rowan meets my gaze again. “The things I want to do to you under mistletoe,” he muses.
I shudder, wanting all those things. “Better start soon. You’ve only got forty minutes.”
He slides a hand down my sweater, over the curve of my breasts, a man who understands direction.
“What’s it going to be, snow angel? You want me to make you come quietly against the wall, in my lap, or on a bench?
Either way, we need to finish what we started the other night. And by finish, I mean…you.”
My thighs clench. “All of the above.”
“Such a greedy woman,” he says with a growl, then hauls me in for a hot kiss.
He moans as he kisses me, like he can’t bear stopping.
But when he does, he scoops me up in his arms, strides to a bench in the corner of the patio, then sits, arranging me so I’m straddling him.
My back is to the alleyway, so even though we’re all alone, he’s making sure no one can see me but him.
That attention excites me more. Feeling bold and daring, I bob a shoulder. “Let’s see. Where did we leave off…?”
He grips my hips and tugs me down, and I feel his length. I gasp. His hands slide under my coat, under my sweater, then under my cami. The chill of his fingers makes me flinch, but I wriggle closer. His big hands warm quickly, coasting up to cup my breasts.
“Fuck, snow angel,” he murmurs as he fondles them through my red lace bra, then drops his gaze to stare at my chest. “Is this…lace? Did you wear something sexy for me?”
I bite the corner of my lips. “Maybe I did.”
He pushes my sweater and cami up higher, staring wantonly at my red lace demi bra. “Beautiful,” he praises, then runs a thumb across the top of my right breast.
Pushing the lace down, he exposes my nipples. They’re hard—it’s cold outside, but I’m hot inside. I shiver, but I’m pretty sure it’s from the excitement.
“Mmm. So pretty and rosy,” he says.
I arch against his hands, seeking more contact. With a groan, he pinches one nipple, then the other, then his mouth finds my nipple.
He sucks and licks as a new tune plays softly from his coat. As I grab his head, lacing my fingers through his hair, the way he likes, it hits me all at once—I’m pushing the limits of propriety. I’m outside, after dark, in the cold. I’ve never been more turned on.
He kisses my tits until I feel like I could come from this. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“What I’ve been fighting for more than a year,” he says, raising his face to meet my eyes.
More than a year.
I barely have time to process the weight of that admission as he kisses me again. I’m lost to Rowan Bishop’s hands and mouth and plans. Like the sexy playlist he made for me. Like the patio he found. Like the text he sent yesterday morning.
It’s not the vulnerability I imagined. But it’s still real. He’s opening up. He’s been making plans for me all along. It’s a heady and a lovely thought.
I tug on his hair, pulling him up, wanting to meet his eyes. “More. I want more,” I whisper, since if he’s being vulnerable like this, I can too.
His eyes darken with dirty deeds as he lowers his hands. “You’re so fucking pretty when you ask for it,” he says. His lips twitch. “But I need something too.”
“What? What do you need?” The question flies out.
He cups the back of my head. With his other hand, he fiddles with the button on my jeans. “Need you to come, snow angel. I need you to come so fucking quietly, so I’m the only one who can hear you. Can you do that?”
Consent is hot, and I love that he’s asking how far he can go with me in public even though we’re the only ones around.
I arch a brow. “Bet you can’t make me come in under five minutes.”
His smile is smug. “You’re on.”
The man is fast but focused. He unzips my jeans with precision, then stops, blows on his hands, and returns one to my belly.
It’s warmer, and I feel a little punch-drunk that he heated them up. His fingers slide farther, dancing across the top of my panties.
But he doesn’t tease me for long. He’s got something to prove, after all, and he slides his fingers into the red lace of my underwear.
I gasp, murmuring an oh god.
“Quiet,” he admonishes.
I nod, then roll my lips together when his fingers find my wetness.
“Fuck me,” he mutters.
I smile back at him. “Quiet, Rowan,” I chide.
He laughs, then brings his hand to his mouth and sucks off the evidence of my arousal. “Yep. You taste better than any dessert,” he says, then drops his hand between my thighs again.
With nimble fingers, he strokes me, his eyes bright, like I’m the most fun thing he’s ever touched. There’s barely room to move. But I manage to spread my thighs wider as I straddle his legs, my hands curled on his shoulders.
Like that, he draws circles on my clit, slides his fingers through my wetness. I’m dissolving into nothing but pleasure as I rock gently against him.
He ups the pace, rubbing faster, right where I want him.
I breathe out hard.
He slides one finger inside.
“Oh yes,” I moan, unbidden.
His mouth finds mine and he whispers a warning against it, “I’ll stop if you make a sound.”
Pleasure roars through me, settling in my core.
I’m so close. I want to tell him. But I don’t want him to stop.
I rock against his fingers, hoping he can read me.
Closing my eyes, I let the wild sensations wash over me.
He holds my face as he fucks me with his fingers till I can’t bear it a second more.
“I’m—”
I can’t even get out the word coming. His lips land on mine, swallowing the rest of the sentence. He kisses me roughly, coaxing me through the climax quietly.
But there’s nothing silent inside my body. I’m a cacophony of bliss. My cells dance. My molecules sing. And it’s definitely the most wonderful time of the year.
When the chorus inside me subsides, I try to get my bearings. I look around, taking in what we just did. But taking in…him.
“Can I?” I look down at his lap.
He shakes his head. “Not tonight, snow angel.”
I pout. “Why?”
“Because I can’t be quiet.”
I laugh, then I moan when he sucks his fingers once more. When he’s done, he gently zips up my jeans, buttons them, and checks the time. “We’ve got thirty minutes. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He rushes off.
Where the hell did he go?