Winter Kisses (A 3:AM Kisses Novella Book 2) Read online

  Then, without warning, my eyes commit the biggest grievance of all. I glance down, and the unthinkable happens—our eyes lock, and I freeze solid.

  Ryder Capwell still very much has me in more ways than one, whether I like it or not.

  His ebony-colored hair is combed back in lustrous waves, a little longer than it was last year. His navy eyes sear right through to my soul while my panties spontaneously combust beneath my tattered gown. Swear to God, smoke is going to plume from under my skirt at any moment, and there aren’t enough fire extinguishers in the world to douse these flames. My nipples inch out of my costume and ache to look at him themselves while my stomach ignites in a ball of fire just imagining the things he can do to me with those oversized hands, that long, serpentine tongue, his soft-as-air lips. Ryder looks impeccable tonight in his inky black suit, his silver tie—luscious enough to bind my wrists with. Every part of me screams for him to touch me, and all the while our gaze is immovable as concrete.

  Crap.

  I’ve broken my sacred rule, and now, here I am, openly lusting for the entire world to see—his mother—Meg.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Ryder Capwell still very much holds my heart.

  Ryder

  She’s looking at me.

  Holy shit if Laney Sawyer didn’t just land those sweet sky blue eyes right over my person, twice in one evening. I take her in with those sugared lips, that black hair that makes her eyes glow like a pair of swimming pools.

  The trace of a smile plays on my lips, but I won’t give it.

  The audience breaks into applause as the performance comes to a close, but I don’t move or breathe or think one lewd thought of her in that carnal catastrophe of a costume. Instead, for one fleeting moment, I pretend we’re still Laney and Ryder, and that later I’ll be mapping out every inch of her lily-white skin with my mouth. An image of her beneath me with her dress hiked above her hips takes over, and there goes the ridiculous idea of not thinking one lewd thought about her tonight.

  The truth is, I’ve had nothing but a stream of insanely indecent thoughts about Laney for the past twelve months. It’s been one long porn flick starring the two of us, and just when I think they can’t get any lewder or cruder, I surprise the hell out of myself. There have been clowns, and monkeys, and, hell, I’ve even thrown in a bottle of crazy glue a time or two because without Laney around to keep me reasonably sane I tend to go off the rails a little both in and out of my fucked up imagination.

  I can’t help it. I gave her my heart—buried it deep inside her, and I never want it back. There’s no one out there for me but Laney Sawyer, and I couldn’t care less if I was making a scene or much to mother’s embarrassment, a fool of myself by holding Laney’s beautiful eyes hostage with mine.

  To hell with the world, I’m about half a second away from getting down on my knees and begging her to take me back.

  The MC claps his way to the mike, and it sputters and pops as his hands get too close to the receiver. He waves over at the cast, and that’s when Laney takes a bow and the spell is forcibly broken—our magic moment gone too soon, just as swift and unexpected as our relationship was revoked.

  My eyes land on the numbered paddles on the table because I know what’s coming next. All night I’ve watched as my mother and her socialite cohorts have bid on item after item to help raise funds for the drama department, and now, the unthinkable is about to go down. Laney, herself, is about to be put on the block in the name of Whitney Briggs.

  The MC barters away half the cast before he finally gets to beautiful, sweet Laney, and my gut cinches as she parades around the stage in full character. She’s sassing it up to a room full of catcalls, mostly from the Les Mis ensemble, but, still, she’ll always be my girl, and deep down I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her, let alone ogling her body for retail purposes.

  Laney pauses with her back to me, sending a clear message that this is one business opportunity both me and my dick are welcome to sit out. Laney would rather cover herself with honey and roll in a pile of fire ants than have anything to do with my dick or my dollars.

  The auction starts, and, much to my relief, the only people bidding for Laney’s company are a handful of women. A boulder rolls right off my chest because for a second there I envisioned some preppy prince charming riding in and sweeping her away to his frat house. With my luck they’d fall in love, and Laney would get right to the task of having an entire herd of preppy babies. But I won’t put up a fight if a few older women want to listen to her belt out a couple tunes for kicks. They can do brunch and call it a day. The university gets paid, and there’s no harm no foul to Laney or her girl parts. Speaking of which, two of my favorite parts have been quivering for my attention ever since she stepped on stage.

  Master of the House, I glare over at Guy Richards and withhold the urge to punch him in the neck. I’ve got a master of the house that wouldn’t mind some of Laney’s attention and a couple of innkeepers that could use some comfort themselves. It was all I could do to keep from clocking him after he did a face-plant in my girlfriend’s chest. Not that she’s my girlfriend anymore, or even a friend for that matter.

  “Who else is up for a dining experience with this fine wench?” The MC points out at the crowd at random. “Dinner and a dance? One magic-filled night? Have her your way, hold the lettuce, pickles, cheese.” A dull laugh circles the room at his lame attempt to make Laney sound like a cheap piece of meat.

  Laney glances over her shoulder. She’s biting down on her bottom lip, and my dick perks to attention ready to pick up the damn paddle itself.

  “Right here,” a male voice booms from the back. I turn to find Holt Edwards flashing his million-watt smile, and my jaw tightens. The last person Laney needs to be paired with is that loser. His brother and I are pretty close, but Holt took Laney out a few times after she dumped me with all of the emotional fanfare that the shit parade calls for. And now I can’t stand the sight of him. I work with his brother, Bryson. Actually he’s doing an internship at my father’s company. The Edwards family own a bunch of bars, and one of them happens to be where Laney is currently employed. Holt and Bryson are twins—fraternal, but nonetheless, they look like one and the same, and for a while it was hard to sit in a meeting with Bryson because as much as it made no sense, I was constantly a little ticked at him.

  My mother picks up her paddle and outbids the douche, and now I’m very fucking alarmed because I know for a fact Laney can’t stand the sight of the woman who gave birth to me.

  I give Mom that what-in-the-hell look, but she dismisses me with nothing more than a placid smile.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Meg leans over in an effort to distract me. I shake my head for a moment, but it has nothing to do with whatever the hell she’s going on about. Last year she worked in perfect synergy with my mother to wear Laney down, and I let it happen. Laney cried out to me from the quick sand, time and time again, and I waited until she was up to her eyebrows to notice. But it was too late.

  Meg comes in close with her single strand of pearls wagging in my line of vision, but I never take my attention from Laney. If I had only done so right from the beginning, we wouldn’t be in this predicament with me withholding my wallet, and, her, doing her best to avoid me in a tragically overcrowded world that’s far too lonely for us to ever be apart. Laney moves toward center stage, her shoulder still strategically hiked in my direction.

  Meg drones on and on about the weather, the over-decorated Christmas tree, the lights strung out over the ceiling, swaying like drunken stars, but I don’t lose focus on what’s really going on.

  Holt outbids my mother, and the auctioneer rattles off, “Going once, going twice—”

  I flip my paddle in the air without putting too much thought into it.

  “Sold to the young man in the front. Hells bells and Jezebel! Pay the man, and take your new bride for a ride.”

  He moves on to the next cast member, and I sit
there like an ass, panting out of breath because I just broke the last promise I ever made to her—the one to stay the hell away.

  A guy from the drama department comes by with the bill, and I hand him my platinum card as if I were anteing up the tab at a restaurant.

  Mom shifts in her seat as if she was sitting on a bed of tacks, as does Meg, and now there’s a shitload of silence in our midst because I’ve just managed to stun them both to hell, myself included.

  “Thank you, sir,” says the guy dressed as a court jester, or an elf, or whatever caped crusader his tights are representing today. I take a breath and cut a quick glance over to my mother as he takes off with three thousand dollars of my hard-earned money.

  My parents are of the school of thought that it’s entirely up to their offspring to generate their own brand of wealth, and, lucky for me, because I’ve managed to do just that, thanks to some smart moves in the market. And now that I’m working for my father’s advertising division, I’m amassing quite a nice nest egg at record pace. He’s fine with me as a grunt worker, so long as I don’t own the place one day.

  Music filters in through the speakers, and the lights dim as couples migrate over to the dance floor.

  Mom leans in. “It’s always a nice philanthropic effort to make a donation.” Her eyes swirl like pinwheels. “Don’t feel like you need to take it any further. Half the people that bid will only take it so far. It’s the thought that counts.” She gives a little wink, but I can see the budding agitation that’s making her sway. I used to think it was the farthest thing from the truth when Laney suggested my mother didn’t care for her, but it’s little things like this that only affirm her theory.

  Meg leans in until our shoulders touch. “I’ve got my dancing shoes on. They’re sure aching to get out there.” She moves in another inch, hoping I’ll put her feet out of their misery.

  Meg. I shake my head. She’s been my mother’s shadow for the past few years while working as her personal assistant, but it’s pretty clear I’m the one she’s trying to assist, or, more to the point, my dick. Although she’s already firmly stated she’s waiting for her wedding night, and if she thinks I’m going to be the groom, she’s got a whole lifetime of waiting to do because no matter what happens, no matter how desperately my balls plead for satisfaction, I’m not going there, ever.

  Once Laney left, I quickly acclimated to the swollen hand blues, and, if need be, that’s the way I’ll continue to satisfy myself until I’m dead and buried. They’ll find my skeletal hand right over my long-evaporated crotch.

  I’ve only ever wanted Laney for as long as I can remember, and now that I have her for the night, I’m not sure what to do. Technically I’d be breaking my promise to “leave her the hell alone,” but a cash transaction just took place for her time and attention, and I’m half-tempted to show her the receipt.

  The cast moves through the crowd, mingling, laughing—breaking into spontaneous song as they grind past the patrons. Laney and Bing stick together as they circulate table-to-table, thanking everyone for coming out like they were guests at their wedding. My gut tightens just watching the way his hand touches her lower back like it belongs there.

  Fucking Bing.

  I pull my cheek back, pissed just witnessing the spectacle.

  He twirls her to the table next to ours, and she manages to keep her back to me at all times. Laney has turned avoiding me into an art form. She could open up shop helping ex-girlfriends everywhere with effective techniques to steer clear of their ex’s.

  “You want to dance?” Meg strokes my hand and I rise out of my seat, half-afraid Laney will see her pawing at me. I’m equally afraid Laney and Bing will visit our table next, and she’ll look through me like a ghost—hate me for sitting right next to the very girl she claims I destroyed our relationship over. It couldn’t be further from the truth—ironic because I’ve always felt the truth would eventually come out and save the day, but I had no idea that it was capable of ebbing its way down the tree trunk of life slow as frozen tears.

  Meg latches onto my elbow and tries pushing me toward the dance floor.

  “No thanks,” I bark, stern as shit. The last person on earth I’d dance with is Meg. It was the drama she caused that finally blew my relationship with Laney to bits. I untangle her limb from mine before she causes another unwarranted tragedy and head for the door.

  Laney spins around just as I’m about to traverse an obstacle of seated gala patrons, and her chest lands soft against mine.

  Holy shit.

  Her beautiful face looks up at me, her breath blows over my skin as she pants. I’d like to think she was panting for me, from the excitement of being near me for the first time in months, but, in truth, she’s been lit up like a pumpkin all night busy entertaining the masses, and that’s always exhilarated her to the point of exhaustion.

  Neither one of us moves, neither one of us says anything.

  Her eyes key into mine, wide with anticipation, and I hold her gaze, daring her to move, to get the hell away from me like we both know she wants to.

  Bing places his hand over her shoulder. “Cool. You got your date. Look, I’ve got a heated little slut waiting for me in the corner. She brought the big bucks, so I’d better head over and let her handle the merch.” He socks me in the arm. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He glances down at Laney’s chest. “If you’re lucky, she’ll let you sink your face in that hillside.” He shoots me with his fingers before taking off.

  Laney tries to take a step back, but I move right along with her and our bodies remain locked at the chest.

  Truthfully I half-expected her to throw out some sarcastic comeback regarding her “hillside” like, you won’t be that lucky, or you’ll never climb this terrain again, and the fact she’s chosen to remain silent only goes to show how virally pissed she still is.

  I press my gaze into hers. “You want to dance?” There. Rules one and two have effectively been broken. Not only am I near her, but I’m speaking to her, touching her with my body in all the right places.

  The music shifts to a Christmas carol with a rhythm far too quick to require our hips to bump and grind. Just my luck.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Roxy and Bryson’s girlfriend, Baya, hedging their way over. If my sister knows what’s good for her, she’ll keep a safe distance. But as much as I’d like to believe I’ve got this handled, deep down I know Laney is about to flutter away, elusive as a butterfly, and I’ll never have the chance to be near her again.

  Laney’s lids grow heavy as she skirts the table with a quick glance. You can feel the tension spewing from my mother, from Meg, and now all I want to do is get Laney the hell out of here, so I can protect her. In no way do I want anyone making her feel like crap, for sure I don’t want to see anyone hurt her.

  “You want to go to my place?” I can hardly believe I had the balls to make the offer. I moved just a week after Laney decided she wanted to break things off. It wasn’t some reactionary situation, my lease was up and I had already secured the penthouse. Laney was going to see it as soon as I got the key, but she was long out of my life by then. And without her in it, the penthouse has been the loneliest place I’ve ever lived.

  Her lips curl upwards, but she doesn’t smile. Instead, she gives an exasperated sigh that cements the fact the only date I’m going to have this evening is the one with my hand later in the shower.

  “How the hell did we end up here?” I whisper, mostly to myself because I half expect her to slap me and take off with Holt Edwards. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to envisioning the two of them lighting the sheets on fire, laughing their asses off at what a moron I’ve been.

  Laney shakes her head ever so slightly.

  “Laney Sawyer? Is that you?” Meg pipes up from behind, and the fact she’s faking not knowing who this is, grates on me like a thousand fingernails clawing their way down a never-ending chalkboard. “Why don’t you take a seat at the table with us?” She continues.
“I’d love to catch up with you. I’m sure Mom would, too.”

  Laney twitches as if she were about to bolt—then she does the unimaginable.

  Laney takes up my hand and whisks me right out the door.

  My heart jumps into my throat. My dick ticks in my boxers because, holy hell, there’s a tiny ray of hope that suggests he might get attention from the real deal tonight, but I think we both know that’s a pipe dream.

  The stars spray out over Hollow Brook like the breath of God—like magic—as Laney leads me into the parking lot.

  It’s a beautiful night, and I’m holding the hand of an even more beautiful girl. And, lucky for me, tonight might just hold enough magic for all of my pipe dreams to come true.

  2

  Love Shack

  Laney

  “Okay, I’ll go to your place.” I hear myself say.

  “Okay?” Ryder looks slightly confused. His blue eyes expand the size of eggs, well, those expense Russian Faberge eggs that sell for millions and have to be kept safe from the general population in heavy duty, guard-protected vaults.

  Ryder Capwell is a rock star among men. I witnessed at least a half dozen girls readying to throw their panties in his direction before we chest bumped rather unceremoniously in front of Meg and his dear old mom. Really I couldn’t think of a more thorough way to collectively piss them off, other than whisking him away to my sexual lair. I’m sure Mommy Dearest is gathering the wire hangers as we speak and fashioning them into my likeness.

  “Yes,” I breathe it out in a silver plume. The sky is crystalline, washed clean from last night’s monsoon-like conditions. I’ve always been a sucker for a white Christmas, and seeing as how it’s just days away, I’m sure we’re going to get one. “I mean if the offer is still there.” I’m still holding his hand, or at this point it’s sort of vice versa because my fingers went limp the second we stepped outside, and his held on for dear life.