His Sugarplum: Curves For Christmas Read online

  “Easy girl,” he says, his voice both gritty and gracious. My heart flip-flops as I collect myself. Stepping away from him. Refusing to give in to what I so desperately crave. A warm touch, a tender hand, a man to protect me from the wilds of the world.

  “I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to bristle at his words. I hand out the beer then give him his whiskey.

  “Thanks, Sugarplum,” he says. I’d toss the drink in his face if it was anyone else who called me that. Somehow, when he calls me Sugarplum, all I see are visions of Christmas miracles and tinsel and packages tied up with strings. I see a future.

  And that is why I blink hard while pushing away all my ridiculous notions and begin to march out the way I came.

  “Easy now,” Rizz says. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?” I ask. “I’m tired and want to go to the motel.”

  “Not tonight, sis.”

  I look at the poker table. The cards are stacked, the chips put away. The game is over. But who won?

  “What do you mean?” I ask, biting my lip, looking at the girls for backup. But Trudy is off somewhere with PJ, and Rimmed is dragging his knuckles over Sarai’s cheek. Jocelyn is giving my brother a neck massage that requires her grinding against him so vigorously it makes me uncomfortable. I press a finger to my temple.

  “Smith is taking you home tonight. One night. Understand? I’ll come for you tomorrow.”

  I lift my eyebrows. Smith is a foot away from me and I suddenly feel trapped. “No.”

  “No?” Rizz snorts. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You go with him or I’ll make your life a living h—"

  Before he can finish his words. Smith is past me, grabbing my brother by the collar. “Don’t,” he says, lifting him from his chair. Uttering one single, direct, and authoritative word. And somehow it shuts my brother up. “Just let me take her in peace. Understood? You owe me.”

  Rizz laughs, but I know he’s scared. This man, Smith, is bigger than him, he’s packing heat, and he isn’t scared of a fight.

  For all the tough-boy act my brother and his buddies play — they are currently scared shitless.

  “Come on Sugar, get your things. Tonight, you belong to me.”

  I think about pushing back — fighting this — but then take a look at the guys here and the women with them. They love this life… playing by the rules of the Badlands. And me? I could leave it all behind in an instant. I’m not saying I want more, exactly, but I don’t want to be my brother’s property.

  And tonight, if I leave with Smith, I won’t be.

  I won’t be free, but I won’t be under my brother’s eyes.

  “Fine,” I say, refusing to let an inch of fear creep into my voice. “I just need a second.”

  Smith follows me, apparently not interested in letting me go anywhere alone. Stalker much? But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. Smith isn’t giving me creeper vibes. He’s giving me mountain-man vibes. Vibes that say, I got this. I got you. And I sure as hell don’t plan on letting you go.

  In the bar, I grab my backpack and shove my romance novel, Timber, in before zipping it shut. I have a type. Alpha as fuck, bearded, and branded. A man who knows what he wants.

  Smith takes my hand as we walk out of the bar into the brisk night, snow falling softly, a swollen moon overhead. A shiver runs through me at his touch, with the magic of the night staring down at me. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m leaving a bar with a stranger. Not necessarily a miracle, but right now, I’ll take it. It means a night away from my brother and his friends.

  Smith opens the door to his massive truck, the hubcaps high above my waist. He helps me in because I need it — this truck could use a step ladder. I blush as I consider my skintight leggings and the way they hug my skin. Wishing I’d worn sweatpants and an oversized hoodie instead of a fitted sweater that barely covers my butt.

  Still, Smith doesn’t say a thing.

  Instead, he grunts — in approval? -- and leans over to buckle me in as if I’m a child.

  “I know you don’t need my help but, girl, you’re precious cargo.”

  I inhale. His hands are so close to my belly, my boobs, and my pounding heart.

  “Do I scare you?” he asks, as he clicks the buckle in place. He runs his hand over the fabric of the belt, making sure it’s nice and tight. I can’t breathe. He smells like pine trees and woodsmoke and gingerbread. Like Christmas.

  “A little,” I admit. But then I breathe him in again and I forget my fear. My insecurities. The fact that a man I don’t know is driving me to God knows where.

  “Good,” he says, looking me in the eye, his hand still on the belt as if determined to keep me in place. “Because I’m a little scared too.”

  3

  Smith

  The drive to the cabin is a quiet one. The night air is still, the trees high above us as we venture deeper into the woods. The further we get from town, the more my desire grows. The woman next to me is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Can we put on some music?” she asks, her voice honey sweet.

  “’ Course,” I grunt, pushing the buttons on the dashboard. Moments later Dean Martin is crooning Baby It’s Cold Outside and Christmas fills my cab.

  “This is one of my favorites,” she says. I look over at her. There’s a smile on her face. She doesn’t seem freaked out at the idea of being alone with me. A man she doesn’t know. “We almost to your place?” she asks.

  “Nearly.”

  “My brother knows where to come tomorrow?”

  “I gave him my address.”

  “Oh.” I swear to God, there is a hint of sadness in her voice that time.

  “He treats you bad?” I ask.

  “Not good.”

  “Why do you stay?”

  “He’s all I got.”

  My cabin is within eyeshot now, and my body tenses, wanting to make the night one where she feels safe and secure. I park my truck, kill the ignition.

  “I know he seems mean—" she starts.

  “He sold you.”

  “You bought me,” she shoots back. “Doesn’t seem like you’re any different than him.”

  “I wanted to get you out of there.”

  “I didn’t need you to rescue me.”

  “Maybe not,” I relent. Running a hand over my beard, I add, “But you didn’t seem to resist the saving.”

  Her head snaps toward me. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I’ve taken care of myself all my life.”

  “You must be tired. It’s hard doing it all on your own.”

  “Do you live alone?” she asks, her question surprising me.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “And do you need help? Someone to take care of you?”

  I swallow. My words aching to get out. The truth so raw, so real.

  “I suppose I do, Sugar. I suppose I do.”

  She stares at me, realizing I’m not a fighter. Not unless I’m pushed against a wall and right now there are no walls up, no barriers. She wants to see me, have me. Well, good because I’m hers.

  My eyes must reveal that truth… that I’ve been alone for far too long. That her being here with me, isn’t about a poker game at all. It’s about the deep thirst in my soul only she can quench.

  “Oh,” she manages to whisper, the electricity between us in the cab charged. Alive. She feels something, that much is for sure. But just how much?

  “Come inside,” I say finally. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

  I don’t wait for an answer. I get out of the truck, and open her door, taking her smooth-skinned hand and helping her down.

  Once inside, I set to making a fire in the river rock fireplace and she sets down her bag. “It’s so festive in here,” she says, taking it in, her eyes lit up. There is a small Christmas tree in the corner with white lights strung around it, a star on top. “It’s like everything you own has a place. Somewhere it belongs.” Her fingers run over the wool blanket
that hangs on the back of the leather sofa, as her eyes run across the framed paintings on the wall of mountain landscapes.

  The cabin has three bedrooms and a loft. An open floor plan for the kitchen and living room, the fireplace grounding the space. I chopped down trees for the walls, hand-hewn timber placed together to make myself a home.

  I can see she appreciates the place and pride swells in my heart.

  “I built the cabin myself,” I tell her, wiping my hands on my jeans as the fire begins to crackle.

  “Impressive.”

  I shrug. “It’s what I do. Put things together. I’m a carpenter.”

  She smiles at that. “That’s so…”

  I think of the crew she runs around with back at the bar. How different I am from those men.

  “Basic?”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “No. I was going to say respectable. Grown-up.”

  “What every woman wants, a responsible man.”

  “Smart women do.”

  My jaw clenches together. Am I possibly what she wants? God, I fucking hope so.

  “You looked so gruff back at the bar. But here you seem so much more…”

  I laugh, running a hand over the back of my neck. “I don’t think I’m gonna like how you end this sentence.”

  She laughs too, stepping toward me. The room suddenly feels so small, the air between us thick. God, I want her.

  “I was going to say here you look less scary.”

  “I scared you back there?” I ask, eyebrows lifting.

  “Sorta. You are really… tall and strong and a stranger. I was nervous to come here with you.”

  “Yet you came. You could have said no.”

  She shakes her head, her long hair swishing over her shoulders. “You met my brother. He’s not someone I ever disagree with.”

  “So, he always gets his way?”

  “Pretty much.” She twists her hair against her finger.

  “Even if you don’t want what he wants?”

  “Even if.”

  “That fucking breaks my heart, Sugar.”

  Her eyes lift, meeting mine. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  I want to pull her in my arms, but right now she looks like a scared doe, skittish, and I don’t want her to jump away. “Well damn, that is even more tragic. You deserve to hear all sorts of nice things, a girl like you.”

  “A girl like me?” she scoffs, walking toward the fire. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know that you are beautiful,” I say, coming up behind her. Unable to contain my words because with the brilliant fire behind her she glows. Her body is curvy, and my hands crave to touch her, caress her, make her feel as gorgeous as she looks in my eyes.

  She turns and faces me. “Why are you being so damn nice?” she asks.

  “I can’t help myself. The moment I saw you, Sugar, I had one thing in mind.”

  Her eyes darken. “This really is just about sex, isn’t? I’m nothing but a prize.”

  I run my hands over her shoulders, drawing her closer to me. “Not true at all. I hated the idea of you spending Christmas Eve at that dive bar, or a seedy motel. You deserve better. I want to give that to you.”

  She shakes her head, refusing to hear me. “You’re insane. A man like you would never want a girl like me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I have nothing to offer you. I can’t give you a wild night of passion. You herd my brother. I’m a thick virgin. You probably want —"

  I cut her off. “You. I want you Sugar.”

  “Why?”

  I lift her chin with the hook of my finger. “Because when I first saw you, I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Knew you were the Christmas miracle I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for.”

  I lean down and kiss her then. Knowing she doesn’t exactly trust my intentions, knowing she doubts this whole damn thing. And I should hesitate too because it’s all probably too good to be true… this angel entering my life, but she is here. As real as anything I’ve ever known, and I want her. Want this.

  So, I kiss her.

  And damn, her lips are soft as pillows, her breath warm and when I wrap my arms around her, I feel her need. Feel the truth. She is craving my touch as much as I’m craving hers.

  Her lips part and my tongue finds hers. Kissing Sugar feels so damn right. I don’t want to stop.

  She pulls back, gasping, her nipples hard and poking thought her sweater. God, her tits look so fucking good in that tight knit. Full and round and made to be sucked.

  My cock aches with desire and my heart damn right pounds.

  “What is it?”

  “My brother will be back tomorrow,” she says, as if already sad at the thought of saying goodbye.

  I smile. “Then we oughta make the most of the time we have.”

  4

  Sugar

  When Smith kisses me, the world starts to spin in the most magical way. I’ve always had a thing for romances but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine having a whirlwind one of my own. At Christmas, nonetheless.

  His mouth is hot and makes my body melt, my core lights up and every inch of my skin feels alive. Awake for the very first time.

  He said I was gorgeous; beautiful, and even though I’ve spent a lifetime believing I wasn’t enough when Smith looks at me all I see is honesty. Truth. He isn’t playing games, making a fool of me. No. His cock is hard against my belly and he wants this as much as I do.

  It’s hard to accept — a man choosing me — all of me. And I hesitate, even when he tells me we ought to make the most of the night because a voice in the back of my mind begins to shout warnings.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  I swallow, wondering how honest to be with him, but knowing if I am truly considering sleeping with a man for the first time in my life, I need to be transparent.

  “When you looked at me -- when my brother suggested giving you a thick virgin, you seemed almost… disgusted at the idea.”

  Smith’s brown eyes turn dark, his intensity ratcheting up a few notches and he takes hold of me by the base of my neck. A hand on my waist. His breath on my ear.

  “Listen to me real good, Sugarplum. It wasn’t disgust. It was goddamn desire.” His voice is rough but also somehow romantic. My heart swoons as he looks down at me. “I couldn’t understand how a girl like you, all curves, with a perfect round ass and big, sweet tits could be a virgin. It didn’t seem possible. So, it wasn’t distaste that you saw… it was delight.”

  My body weakens at his words, my knees nearly give out. He has a hold on me, physically and emotionally and it makes me want to give him everything in the world.

  “Oh, in that case,” I say, with a small smile. “What are we waiting for?”

  He grins, cupping my cheek and kissing me again. The fire is warm against my legs and my heart savors the cozy feelings this cabin gives me.

  “I have to tell you something first, Sugar.”

  “What?” I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. I’ve known him a few hours but already I feel secure next to him. There are no red flags with Smith, and the only alarm bells that are ringing have to do with knowing this is a one-night stand. My heart is going to be ripped to shreds come morning.

  “I’m a virgin,” he tells me. His chocolatey eyes search mine and I can't help but show my shock.

  “Really? How?”

  He lifts his chin, eyes to the ceiling. “God, a nineteen old virgin is one thing … but damn, I’m an old-ass man. You think I’m a weirdo?”

  I run my hand over this arm. “I don’t think that. Not at all. I just… I’m surprised. You seem so… experienced. You certainly seem to know what lines to use on me.”

  “I’m not using canned lines on you, Sugar,” he says, pulling back. I’ve upset him. “I don’t talk like this to other women. Wouldn’t consider this with any other woman. I’ve been waiting for the righ
t person. I’ve been waiting my whole damn life.”

  I blink in disbelief, wrapping my arms around myself. This level of unrivaled devotion seems insane. “You don’t know what you're saying. Waiting for me? You don’t even know me, Smith. I may be a virgin, but I’ve seen things. I’ve had to steal and lie to survive. I may not know what it means to be touched by a man, but it doesn’t mean I’m innocent.”

  He pulls me back to him — refusing to let me go without a fight. But he isn’t clenching his fists. Instead, it’s as if he’s unfurling his heart and offering it to me.

  “You can run from this all you want, Sugarplum. But my instincts are never wrong. And you, girl, are meant for me.”

  “For one night,” I say flatly, not knowing how to believe I could deserve any more than that.

  He shakes his head, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, looking at me as if I’m both a fool and a friend. “I know we just met, but Sugar, when I look at you, I see so much more than one night. I see the beginning of forever.”

  I tense at his words, wanting so desperately to hold on to them and not let go, but I’m scared. I just met this man and I’ve never had a reason to trust men. “Listen, Smith. My body is screaming yes, but my heart is pulling back. The truth is, I’m terrified of being broken and alone. I have been so many times in my life.”

  “Who hurt you?” he asks.

  I give a short, tight laugh. “Who hasn’t?”

  He doesn’t lean in for a kiss, doesn’t draw me to bed — even though I know we are both craving that — instead, he holds my cheeks with both of his calloused hands and says, “I know what you need, Sugarplum.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something sweet.” He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen where he begins to pull out hot cocoa mix, put a kettle on, and in the pantry, he finds a mason jar of marshmallows. He fixes us each a mug and then leads me to the couch. He doesn’t tell me to strip, or to beg, or to get on my hands and knees. No. Smith treats me like a lady.

  And God, as I slip off my boots and curl my feet under myself next to him on the big leather sofa in front of the fire, my eyes start to fill with the most unexpected tears.