Candy Canes and Coal Dust Page 2

  “I would offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you already have one.” He nodded at her full glass.

  “Yes, er, thanks anyway.”

  “Have you been skiing today?”

  “No, I just got here, tomorrow hopefully. What about you?”

  “I’ve been here all week, skied every day so far. The black runs are brilliant, do you do black?”

  “Yes, I’ve been skiing since I was six. I live for the blacks.” Bridget took another sip of her mulled wine. “Are the blacks easy to get to on the lifts?”

  “You have to change a few times and it takes a while, but it’s well worth it.”

  “I hope I don’t get lost. I hate the first day skiing somewhere new. I live in fear of being stranded on the mountain overnight and freezing to death.”

  “You would here. It’s down to minus thirty every night.” He grinned, took off his glasses and leant in closer. “You’ll need to make sure you’re tucked up warm and cosy in bed every night you’re in Finland.”

  Bridget breathed in the musky scent of his aftershave and thought what nice eyes he had. The moustache she could take or leave but nice eyes counted for a lot.

  “Are you here on your own?” he asked.

  “Gerald, Gerald, I’ve been looking all over for you.” A woman pushed up to the bar. A short red dress skimmed her thighs and a matching handbag balanced on her shoulder. She gave Bridget a quick check over and appeared unimpressed with her skinny jeans and tight purple t-shirt. “I’ve been waiting ages for my drink. Gerald, what have you been doing?”

  Gerald turned the shoulder which had, until a second ago, been leaning in close to Bridget’s. He slipped his glasses back onto his nose and linked his fingers. “It’s on the way, darling,” he said quickly. “The bar is very busy. It is Christmas Eve, you know.”

  The woman tutted, folded her arms and pouted her lips. Bridget wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started tapping her patent red stiletto on the floor.

  Without saying another word and her faith in men sinking to an all time low, Bridget picked up her drink and weaved through the crowd towards the huge stone fireplace in the corner. Standing directly in front of it, she noticed how the flames licked the base of the chimney breast like the fire in her hot dream, a swirl of reds, oranges and yellows, dancing and twisting over a bed of wide logs. She held out a hand and let the heat soak into her palm, took another sip of sharply spiced mulled wine.

  Suddenly she was aware of solid heat caressing her back as well as her front. Someone was standing close behind her, almost but not quite touching her. She went to turn but a stubbled cheek at her ear stopped her twisting motion. “If you want some company tonight, I’m in room fifty-six.”

  Bridget caught her breath. It was him, she was sure of it, the guy from the plane. She recognised his lilting Irish accent from when he’d ordered a drink.

  “I’ll be waiting for the next ten minutes,” he said even closer to her ear. “I hope you want to come.”

  And then the heat of his body was gone.

  Bridget spun to see wide shoulders encased in a dark green t-shirt moving swiftly away from her. She still couldn’t see his face but she’d been right—it was him. A bubble of excitement popped in her stomach. The thought of not being alone tonight was very tempting. But could she go to a stranger’s room? Could she be that brazen? Walking through the door would be like consenting to sex, wouldn’t it?

  With a decisive frown, she knocked back the last of her wine and began to weave her way through the buzzing bar. Gerald was sitting looking glum. He glanced up as Bridget passed and she quickly averted her eyes.

  Stepping into the lift, she hesitated. She didn’t even know his name. She hit level five. What if he was a psycho? No, he looked normal enough. Anyhow, what could be considered normal? Her fantasies were hardly within the realms of normality, were they? Her fantasies were sordid and disgusting.

  She reached room fifty-six and held up her knuckles. The door was slightly ajar, just an inch, just enough to see the lights in the room were off. With her breath hitching, Bridget didn’t knock; instead, she swung the door silently open and ducked her head inside.

  There was a small amount of light produced by several candles dotted around. The room was much bigger than hers, a double at least. Huge patio doors at one end offered a view towards the looming silhouette of the mountains, and there must have been a balcony because she could see a neat line of shaped wooden railings through the glass.

  Sweeping her eyes around the shadows, it seemed her host wasn’t in the room. Perhaps she’d been too slow in the lift and he’d gone already.

  But a movement in a deep corner chair caught her attention, and with relief and a shiver of anticipation, she saw his tall frame rise from the shadows.

  “Come in,” he said, his voice musical to her London ears. “Shut the door.”

  Bridget did as he asked and the lock connected with a quiet click.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, moving in front of her. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “Why did you ask me?” Bridget said, looking up at the smooth contours of his face. The candlelight played with his skin and sparkled in his black, day-old stubble.

  He smiled. “Because I thought you could do with the company.”

  “Company?”

  “Yes, company, companionship, someone to be with, talk to.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You seemed lonely on the plane and sad when you arrived at the hotel. Plus I saw that creep in the bar hit on you.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yeah, I considered decking him but it looked like you had the situation under control.”

  Bridget laughed. “It was hardly a situation. He spoke to me when he was waiting for his drink order, that’s all. And for your information, I’m not sad or lonely.”

  He raised one eyebrow the way he had on the plane.

  “So,” said Bridget, not even vaguely interested in talking about Gerald or the state of her mental health. “Since we are going to be…companions, are you going to tell me your name?”

  “James.”

  “Nice to meet you, James. I’m Bridget.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Bridget.” He took her hand in his and gently wrapped his fingers around hers. “And what, forgive me for asking, is a gorgeous girl like you doing all alone in the middle of Finland on Christmas Eve?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a long night.”

  Bridget sighed and kept her hand in his. It was warm and soft and his thumb was gently tracing the skin on the back of her hand. “I split up from my ex, Jed, six months ago. He was a real loser, cheated on me over and over, and foolishly, I kept taking him back.” She paused and swallowed down a bite of humiliation. “He always seemed to wheedle back into my affections at Christmas time or birthdays or anniversaries. It was like he knew they were my weak points. So this year, after being on the Jed wagon for so long, I decided to avoid temptation and take myself right out of the equation.”

  “Good plan.”

  “I’m not so sure; it’s kind of odd being on holiday on my own.”

  “You’re not on your own now.”

  “Not at this precise moment, but tomorrow, I will be, out on the slopes.”

  “You can come with us.”

  “No. Oh, God, no, that’s not what I meant at all. You’re here with friends. You don’t need a girl tagging along. I’ll be fine. It was always my intention to just head off into the mountains.”

  “On to the black runs, no doubt.” James grinned, flashing a row of white teeth, the top two were crossed slightly. He stepped in closer. “I can sense you like the extreme, Bridget.”

  “Yeah, I like to live dangerously.” Bridget tipped her head up and breathed in his clean, freshly showered scent.

  “I think you like to dream dangerously too.”

  Bridget caught her breath. Why had he brought that up when it
was all going so well?

  “Turn around.” Finally, he let go of her hand and placed his palms on her shoulders. He pushed insistently and Bridget found herself facing a full length mirror. “Tell me what you see,” he said by her ear.

  “Me.”

  “I know that. Tell me what you see inside you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In your soul, look into your soul and tell me what’s there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you do. Are you honest or dishonest, kind or cruel? Tell me.”

  “I’m honest, always honest. The truth is the best policy, that’s my motto, and I’m kind, I love animals—I have a cat called Samson.”

  He lifted the flopped part of her Santa hat and laid it over the other side of her head, dipped his head and let hot breath wash over her neck. “Then you’re a good girl, are you not, Bridget?”

  “Yes, yes, I think so.”

  “And you deserve a nice Christmas present.” She felt his upper body press into her back, wide pectoral muscles spreading over her shoulder blades.

  “Yes, yes, I do.” Bridget looked at their faces hovering so close together. She watched as his hands curled over the curves of her shoulders and slid down the outside of her arms to her hands.

  “Are you hot or cold, Bridget?” he whispered, his lips touching her ear lobe and sending a tickle of sensations washing over her scalp.

  “Hot,” she said without hesitation. “I’m hot.” She was getting ready to combust. James was insanely sexy standing behind her in the half light, murmuring lilting words into her hair.

  “Were you hot on the plane?” He laced his fingers with hers and stretched them out like a fan. “When you were asleep, were you hot?”

  “Yes, very.” Bridget was forced to take a step forward as his body leant into hers. “It was a very hot dream.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

  He chuckled, held up his hands, which had hers captured within them, and placed her palms on the mirror face. “Stay like that,” he murmured.

  Bridget peered at her face. Her pupils were wide, her lips moist, and her generous breasts were shifting up and down beneath her t-shirt.

  “I want you to tell me about it,” James said. “The dream.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m curious. You were making some pretty guttural noises and quite insistent demands, and it was me sitting next to you fending off inquisitive glances. People were wondering what I was doing to you, I had to keep my hands in full view at all times.”

  “You did not, it wasn’t that bad.” Bridget tried to sound indignant.

  James screwed up his face.

  “Oh, God.” The remembered flush of humiliation pricked at her chest. “It was that bad wasn’t it?”

  “It depends on what your definition of ‘bad’ is.” He grinned. “You gave me a raging hard on, and that, baby, is never a bad thing in my book.”

  “I did?” Humiliation switched to a little pop of female achievement.

  “Oh, yeah. In fact,” his voice dipped an octave and his face became serious, “It’s still raging, has been ever since touch down.”

  He pressed forward and Bridget felt the long, hard length of him grind into the small of her back. Even through jeans he was steely hard and demanding. She buckled her knees and locked her elbows against the mirror, swallowed down a bolt of wanton desire. Boy was this her lucky night.

  “So are you going to tell me about the dream?” he said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Did it involve a man or a woman?” His wide hands slid around her waist.

  Bridget gulped. “Er, men.”

  “Men…” He paused. “Men as in the plural.”

  “Yes, men, in the plural… There were three of them.”

  Again he paused. “And what exactly were these three men doing to you?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Oh, yes, baby, I really want to know.” He sighed and his erection pressed harder into her back.

  “Well one of them…Guy Number One…”

  “Can I be him?” His hand slid up the inside of her t-shirt and cupped her satin bra. He squeezed gently then dipped a finger inside and searched for her nipple. “Can I be Guy Number One?”

  “Okay.” She felt a breath shiver from her sternum as he twisted and peaked her sensitive skin, pulled her nipple into a tight twist.

  “Am I doing this to you in the dream?”

  “No.”

  “What am I doing then?”

  “You’re…” She hesitated.

  “What? Tell me.” His voice was so low and persuasive. “What am I doing?”

  “Fuck…fucking me.”

  “Hey, I chose the right guy to be.” He let out a small chuckle and peppered kisses over her cheek bone as his hands reached for the bottom of her t-shirt. He pulled it up and slipped it over her head. “And what are the other two men doing?” He made quick work of disposing of her bra then repositioned her hands flat on the mirror and lodged back in behind her.

  Bridget was silent as she looked at the reflection of her breasts swinging down. Heavy but still with a good degree of pertness, her taut nipples appeared to be looking back at her, taunting her, daring her to tell a stranger her deepest, darkest, most disgusting desires.

  Sensing her hesitation, he lifted her chin with the crook of his index finger and looked into her eyes with a burning intensity. “Tell me, I want to know,” he whispered, cupping a breast in his right hand and letting his thumb brush over the already excited nipple. “Be true to yourself, don’t be afraid of what your soul really wants.”

  Bridget closed her eyes and pulled her lips in on themselves. For a moment, she let herself get carried away with the swirling of his thumb, the nip and tweak of her sensitive areola delighting in his attention.

  “Open your eyes, Bridget.”

  She did.

  “Now tell me.” With his thumb and index finger, he toyed her other nipple to maximum erection. “What was Guy Number Two doing to you?”

  “He was…” She paused and swallowed the dirty words back down. She couldn’t say them. They were stuck deep in her larynx.

  “Bridget.”

  “He was…”

  “Bridget, you can do it, just tell me.’

  “He was fucking me too.”

  “I thought I was doing that.” He sounded confused.

  “Yes, you are, but he was fucking me…up the ass.” There, she’d said it.

  James was still.

  It was as if his breathing had stopped. She wondered if he’d think she was disgusting and perverse and make her leave his room. Her heart did a quick flip of uncertainty; she would never live down the shame.

  “There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it,” he said finally as his hands dropped to the fastening of her jeans. “So I was here.” He pulled down the flies and slid a long finger into the front of her knickers. “And he is…” He pushed a palm as far as he could down the back of her tight jeans and cupped her right buttock. “Here.”

  “Yes, that’s my dream.” Bridget tensed as he swept a finger over her clit, just once, just enough to tease.

  “And what about the third guy? Is he watching you getting fucked in both holes?”

  “No.”

  “So, what’s he doing? Tell me, Bridget.”

  She looked in the mirror and the memory of that big, veined cock, shunting at her open mouth flashed before her, the guy with the ski visor, the enormous gloved hands and the appreciative grunts. It had all been so achingly delicious.

  “You’re drifting,” James said, and treated her clit to another swirl with his fingertip. “Stay with me, you’re in reality now.”

  ““He’s in my mouth. I’m sucking his cock,’ Bridget said quickly and licked her lips. “He’s right down my throat. I’m being fucked there too.”

  James grinned as if that was the right
answer. “Lose these,” he said, pulling his hands from her jeans and tugging at the waistband. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  “But, where are you…”

  “Shh, just loose those damn tight jeans, I’ll be right back.”

  Bridget shucked off her jeans and knickers and stood facing her naked reflection as it flickered in the candlelight. It wasn’t a bad figure. Curves above and below a small waist and thighs she was constantly grateful for. Her shock of pubic hair matched her chestnut curls but she kept it trimmed so there was never a need to fear stray pubes peeking from a bikini.

  She brushed her hand over her mound, pulled slightly at the short hairs and found her pelvis tipping to meet her fingers. She was ridiculously turned on. Her clit was pulsating with the blood pooling between her legs, and she could feel a well of wetness sitting just inside her vagina. She hoped it wouldn’t start trickling down her thighs before James got back.

  Suddenly, he was there, standing right behind her. He, too, was naked and she could feel the heat of his body radiating onto hers as his erection kissed the hollow of her back.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She turned to face him and rested her hands on his chest, letting her fingers fill with dark coils of his body hair before sweeping up to his collarbone. He had a Celtic symbol tattooed on the ball of his right shoulder and her index finger traced its dark, intricate pattern.

  “And you’re sure you’ve been a good girl all year?” he husked down at her.

  “Oh, yes.” She licked her lips. “Very good indeed.”

  “Because good girls get their deepest, darkest wishes granted at Christmas you know.”

  “Mmm.” She pushed up on tiptoes and reached for a kiss. “It’s what I’m hoping for.”

  He grinned, reached for the Santa hat she was still wearing and pulled it onto his own head. Then he kissed her, and God, what a kiss. His soft lips were gentle but insistent, urgent but controlled as his sweeping tongue chased and danced with hers. She let him in, happily, revelling in the taste of him—man and sex and maybe a hint of beer.

  He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. Her nipples meshed with his scratching chest hairs, and his penis, jammed between their bodies, settled into her stomach. She melted into a pool of desire. It had been so long since she’d indulged her lust, her body’s wants and needs, and James was so much hotter than a daydream.