Page 50 of Not Home Alone

“I don’t think your Santa toy can do this, Tucker.” He maintains intense eye contact with me while slowly undoing my jeans with one hand.

Yes, okay, yes. Somebody needs to invent a life-size vibrator that maintains eye contact. If that’s a thing, then problem solved.

But then, as he boldly continues to hold my gaze, Grant cups my breast with his other hand. His big, strong, aggravatingly beautiful hand. Finally, yes, finally, it feels so good. I somehow manage to huff out, “I could do this to myself. Big deal, what else you got?”

He slides his hand under my camisole, teasing my nipple and massaging my breast as he kisses me with such ferocious hunger it scares me almost as much as it turns me on. His tongue probes so deep into my mouth, wordlessly asking me why I’m trying to drive him crazy. I answer him by sucking on his tongue and then nipping at his lower lip—because he doesn’t deserve the nice version of me. Never again.

I’m clawing at his tank top, unbuckling his belt, gasping when he licks up my neck and then kisses me just below my ear. Jiminy Orgasm, I think I just had a tiny one. He peels my jeans down to my hips, drags his fingertips across the waistband of my cotton panties.

Positioning one hand to slide down inside my panties, he takes a fistful of my hair with the other, tugs at it to tilt my head back and then says between fervent kisses, “Tell me to stop, Tucker.”

I yank his belt free from the loops of his jeans, tossing it aside. “I dare you to keep going.”

I can feel his hot breath against my ear when he says, “I dare you to show me how much you want me to keep going.”

“I dare you to show me how much you want me,” I say haughtily, pressing my palm against the front of his jeans, and… welp. That’s one way to show me. Grant Moody is stiffer than a king-size frozen candy cane. This might be all I want for Christmas now and it’s even more infuriating than his singing.

SIXTEEN

GRANT

Merrily Tucker is hot, sweet, and so much spicier than she looks. Like a mug of hot apple cider, laced with Fireball. I’m so hard just from making out with her. I don’t know what feels better—her hand against my cock or the look on her face. I can’t see straight and I can’t think straight, but I do know that the second I feel how wet she is for me there will be no turning back. This isn’t like spending one night with a woman I’m hoping will make me forget about the one I really want to be with. This would be one night with the woman I’ve been hoping other women would make me forget about.

There will be no getting her out of my system, I know this. And I can’t get her involved with my fucked-up life. My fucked-up family. But I trust myself to find a way to keep both of our feelings in check. I’ve been doing this for ten years; we’re just adding one more little complication…

I drag the back of my hand across her toned, sexy belly. This tight red tank top thing is fucking with my head. I’m so mad that she was wearing this under that stupid fucking sweatshirt all night. It’s so small, but it fits her perfectly. It’s not see-through, but I feel like I can see her nipples. Her skin is so soft and smooth, and I want to see those nipples and taste every inch of her and hear her scream my name when I—nope.

I can’t afford to be obsessed with Merrily Tucker.

“Wait.” I pull away from her and take a step back. “This is a bad idea.”

She makes one of those cartoon angry puppy noises again, but the expression on her face is not adorable. She looks hurt. And furious. “Oh my god,” she says, more to herself than to me. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again.” She zips up her jeans and heads for the stairs, shaking her head. “I’m done. I’ll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. You can take all the Christmas decorations down. You won’t have anything left here to annoy you by tomorrow morning. I give up!”

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Fuck it.

I reach out to grab her arm as she stomps past me. Outraged, she tries to yank it away, but I pull her in toward me, saying, “You thought you needed to make an effort to annoy me, Tucker? You shouldn’t have bothered. I’ve been tormented by your existence for ten years—that hideous reindeer statue and the rest of it was just icing on the agonizing cake.” I bend my knees to lift her up and fold her over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

“Put me down.”

“I will put you down on my bed. For one night only, I’ll show you exactly why I have the reputation I have.”

She pummels my back with her fists as I carry her up the stairs. “Put me down, Satan!”

“Save your energy, Tucker. You’re gonna need it.”

“Pfft. All talk, no action.”

“You’re about to get all the action you can handle.”

“I’m serious, Grant,” she says, very earnestly. “If you start and then walk away again, I’m leaving.”