Her Christmas Temptation: The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside

“Marry me,” he groaned, his hand tunneling into her damp hair, cupping her head, drawing her forward. “Make me come back to you.”

And then he kissed her. His hot lips possessing and devouring her own. Raw passion permeated every breath, as the wind swirled around them, tearing at their clothes, rattling the broad leaves. The staccato beat of the rain matched the frantic melding of their hearts.

She clung to his shoulders, tipping her head to deepen the kiss, her spine bending as she leaned back, baring her neck and chest and body to him. He peppered kisses on the exposed flesh, cupping his hand over her breast where her nipple had puckered beneath the thin, damp fabric. Sparks flew off in all directions, lighting her brain, making her feel as though absolute clarity was within her grasp.

The world fell away until there was nothing but Jack. Their differences didn’t matter. Geography didn’t matter. Fashion, business, money and power. None of it mattered. There weren’t two of them anymore, only one. And the universe would have to settle around that reality.

She anchored her hands in his thick hair, drawing him back, staring into his passion-clouded eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes and yes.”

He sighed. Then he entwined his fingers with hers, straightening until he faced her. “You have made me unbelievably happy.”

Kristy smiled at him, everything inside her going calm. They’d make it work. She knew with an absolute certainty that she could put her faith in Jack.

Hand in hand, they floated down the hallway to the hotel chapel.

There, Kristy was given a delicate bouquet of white roses. They signed a bunch of papers. Jack asked the organist to play “At Last,” and he chose plain gold bands, whispering promises of diamonds in her future.

But Kristy didn’t need diamonds. She didn’t need designer clothes or corporate jets or a high-end penthouse. All she needed was Jack. And, as the chaplain asked her to repeat the age-old vows of faith and fidelity, she knew she was getting Jack forever.

NEXT TO THE big four-poster bed, with Kristy in his arms, Jack ignored the heated accusations of betrayal and deceit that pounded away at his brain. Instead, he peeled away her silk dress, revealing her creamy, pink-tipped breasts, and honestly told himself he was the luckiest man in the world.

“Beautiful,” he murmured more to himself than to her. “So beautiful.” Then he placed a soft kiss on one tip and then the other.

Kristy drew in a gasp of pleasure, her fingers curling into his hair.

“I love you,” she gasped, and a knife twisted deep inside his heart.

“And I’m about to love you,” he growled in return, hating that he had to fudge the phrase. She deserved better.

“For just as long as you’ll let me,” he finished.

Then he tugged her dress down to her ankles and gently pushed her back on the bed to stare at smooth stomach, her lacy black panties and the creamy thighs that twitched ever so slightly in anticipation of his touch. He’d pay for this one, that was for sure. But no power on heaven or earth could stop him from making love to her tonight.

She reached for him, and he caught her hand, staring into her eyes as he kissed each one of her fingers.

“I want you so bad,” he told her truthfully. “Like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.”

She smiled up at him, blinking a sheen of moisture from her eyes. He stripped off his shirt, tearing most of the buttons. Then he yanked off his pants, and her eyes went wide at his naked body.

“It’s been …”

He waited.

“A while,” she finished.

A feeling of primal possessiveness welled up inside him. He reached for the delicate wisp of her panties and discovered his hand was shaking.

She covered his blunt fingers with her small, manicured hand.

“Nervous?” she asked.

Hell no. “Trying to take it slow,” he managed.

She hooked her thumbs into the lace strips at her hip bones and pulled downward. “Why?”

He blinked, transfixed by the light downy curls covering her innermost secrets. The rampage of lust that slammed into him almost knocked him over. He grasped her panties and finished the job for her. “Damned if I know.”

Then he eased down atop her, kissing her deeply, urging her mouth open, capturing her tongue, while his hand worked its way down her smooth skin. He thrummed one nipple, rolling it to a peak, encouraged by the groans and moans and the wriggle of her small body under his thighs. He followed her ribcage, dipping into her navel, teasing her soft curls, feeling the puffs of her gasping breath against his ear.

Then her hands went on a journey of their own, along his side, her thumbs grazing his flat nipples, her fingertips digging into his back, just hard enough to ratchet up his desire. Then they trailed over his buttocks, to the backs of his thighs, her nails grazing his skin, circling in, starting a familiar pulse at the base of his brain.

In an act of self-preservation, he grasped her hands, dragging them up, pinning them firmly to the mattress on either side of her head. She tried to protest, but he kissed it away. He used his knee to nudge her thighs apart. Then he pulled back, ever so slightly, watching her expression as he eased his way inside.

Her lips parted, rounding in an “Oh,” while her hips flexed against him. He gritted his teeth, refusing to rush, letting her heat and moisture envelope him. Though his brain screamed at him to hurry, and his hormones battled his muscles for control, he forced himself to stop, to regroup, then to carry on one centimeter at a time.

Kristy thrashed her head from side to side. She drew up her knees and pushed her hips forward. But he drew back with her, controlling the pace, holding them both on the edge of exquisite torture.

His muscles turned to molten steel, and her pleas for mercy scalded what was left of his self-control. But he didn’t give in … didn’t give in … didn’t give—

A pithy swear word leaped from his soul, and he lunged forward, burying himself to the hilt.

She freed her hands, and her arms wrapped tight around his neck. Her lips and tongue planted hot, wet kisses along his shoulder.

His mouth was jealous, so he cupped her chin, lining her up for a carnal kiss as his body found its rhythm. He teased her tongue, sucked on her lips, tasted the sweet nectar of her mouth.

Her hands squeezed tight on his biceps, her fingernails denting his skin. Sweat formed between them, slicking their skin, adding to the eroticism of their joining. He cupped her buttocks, drawing her tight against him, tighter, tighter, as he pumped harder and faster. He could feel her muscles tense. Her mewls of desire grew higher pitched, louder against his ear.

This was it. He was losing it.

He held on, held on, held on.

Then her keening cry and the convulsions of her body sent him crashing over the edge. Waves of release washed over him as he held her, reveling in the warm buzzing glow of satiation.

Reality was going to hit them like a freight train, he knew. But, for now, nothing mattered except the small sporadic twitches that told him Kristy was resting on the same plane of satisfaction as him. He inhaled the scent of her hair, stroked his hand over her full breast, tasted the salt of her skin.

Her breathing gradually relaxed, and he eased her sleeping body into a spoon against his own. Then he reached for his cell, and sent a quick text message to Simon.

No need to head for L.A. now. Jack had accomplished his mission.

He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, his usual self-righteousness was battling an unfamiliar and unsettling slither of guilt. He told himself it had to be done. The family was his responsibility. And, anyway, Kristy had brought it on herself.

She had.

He hadn’t been given a choice.

Then she wriggled her bare bottom against him, and his arm spontaneously tightened around her. She turned her head to look up at him and smiled like an angel, even as the unmistakable glow of desire rose in her blue eyes.

He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her flushed cheek. “Again?”

She nodded, and he immediately kissed her swollen mouth.

His body sprang to attention. He flipped her onto her back, pressing her warmth and softness into the big, wide mattress. Just a little longer, he promised himself as desire and passion licked at the corners of his soul. Just a few more hours in paradise.

He’d be burning in hell soon enough.

CHAPTER SIX

JACK WAS awakened by Kristy’s cry of shock. She scooted out of his arms, flipping back the covers and letting in a blast of cold air.

He blinked his blurry eyes to see her leap from the bed and rush naked into the en suite.

“What?” he called out, sitting up and ruffling his hands through his messy hair. He could see her naked profile at the sink as she scrambled for the toothpaste. They’d made love into the early-morning hours, then slept soundly in each other’s arms. She couldn’t be shocked to find herself naked in his bed this morning.

She marched from the bathroom, a white robe draped around her shoulders, open in front, a toothbrush protruding from her mouth. She unceremoniously uncovered him. “We’re late!”

Jack rolled out of bed, slipping his arms into the other robe as a concrete block settled firmly in his stomach. They weren’t late, because they weren’t going to her meeting in California, and it was time for him to ‘fess up. He couldn’t postpone it any longer.

She trotted back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. “Call Simon,” she commanded, above the sound of the running water. “Tell him to warm up the engines or something.”

Jack tried to frame up his confession, but he couldn’t find the correct words. Hell, he could barely command his vocal chords to work.

“Kristy,” he finally rasped.

She turned. “Why are you still standing there?”

His hands involuntarily closed into fists. “Because there’s no point in going to L.A.”

Her glance shot to the clock on the bedside table. It showed eight-fifteen, and her voice went hollow. “We could call Cleveland and explain.”

Jack jerked backward, his guilt turning to shock. “Explain that we got married?”

She nodded.

“And you think he’ll still want to see you?”

Her eyes went wide, giving her face a sweet, vulnerable look that almost got to him. But he ruthlessly reminded himself who she was and what she’d planned, and that she’d married him under as many false pretenses as he’d married her.

“He values punctuality that much?”

Jack shook his head, giving a dry chuckle. “I think he values fidelity that much.”

“Huh?”

“Kristy, you married me.” Jack jammed his thumb against the center of his chest. “Me, not him.”

She blinked, and her voice dropped to a confused whisper. “What are you talking about?”

Man, she was good. Sometimes he couldn’t believe just how good she was. He also couldn’t believe she’d keep the dumb act up for this long. What was the point?

He grabbed his slacks from the chair where he’d tossed them last night. He stuffed in one leg and then the other, watching her with a fatalistic curiosity.

“The jig is up, babe. You can’t get your hands on Cleveland’s money if you’re already married to me. And you can’t get your hands on mine because, one of those papers you signed last night was a pre-nup. And it’ll hold up in court.”

Kristy staggered back. For a second there, he thought her knees might give out beneath her. “What?”

“What?” he mimicked, sarcastically even as he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and offer comfort.

He hated himself for that weakness. And because of his inner battle, the response came out harsher than he intended. “You’re caught. You’re not going to be Mrs. Trophy-Wife-Cleveland-Osland-Number-Three. You’ll have to find another scheme to hawk those rags you call a spring collection.”

Her face turned pure white, and she groped to steady herself on the back of a chair.

Then his cell phone jangled on the table. He snagged it, hoping it was an emergency that would get him out of here and away from his unreasonable guilt.

“Yeah?” he barked.

“Where the hell are you?” his grandfather’s voice boomed.

Perfect. Could the moment get any worse?

“Vegas,” Jack answered, while Kristy blinked at him with big, round, accusatory, blue eyes. He was tempted to turn away from her censure. But he was in the right. She was the one who’d hatched the plan to get his family’s money.

He held his ground.

“Hunter tells me you’ve got Kristy.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, holding her gaze. “The two of us got married last night.”

“Well, get your asses to California. I’ve got seven people sitting around the boardroom table waiting for her.”

Gramps reaction threw Jack. “Didn’t you hear me? We got married last night.”

“Bully for you. Nanette and I bought a Ferrari last night.”

“Who’s Nanette.”

“My fiancée.”

The sensation of being sucker-punched was so strong that Jack actually flinched.

He stared at Kristy in horror as she held the oversized robe around her for protection—her confused eyes, her sleep-mussed hair, her over-kissed lips.

What had he done?

What had he done?

Stupid question.

He’d married the wrong woman.

HEARING JACK’S explanation, and listening to his side of the telephone conversation with Cleveland, it took Kristy about thirty seconds to put the pieces together. The whole thing was a fraud. Jack hadn’t been falling in love with her this weekend. He’d been making a preemptive strike against her.

Her feelings of hurt, confusion and embarrassment were quickly replaced by anger. What kind of a cold, calculating snake did it take to fake a romance, marry a woman and then make love to her, not once, not twice, but three times?

Jack snapped his phone shut, and they stared at each other in silence for a long second.

“We’ll get a divorce,” he pronounced.

“You bet your life we’ll get a divorce.” She yanked the belt tight on the robe. “Although keeping your hands to yourself last night and leaving open the option for an annulment would have been a nice touch.”

“I couldn’t take that chance.”

Her bark of laughter came out a little high-pitched. “Of course you couldn’t take that chance, what with me being a sleazy gold digger and all. Any reasonable man would have had sex with me so I couldn’t get an annulment.”

“Kristy—”

“Don’t you dare try to defend yourself.”

“It’s happened before.”

She looked him up and down. “What? You’ve married other women who were engaged to your grandfather?”

“No! I mean he—”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“He’s married bimbos—”

“Stop.”

“—before!” Jack shouted over her protest.

A bimbo? That’s what he thought of her?

She coughed out a harsh laugh. It was either that or cry.

“Well, in that case, Jack. You came up with a great plan. I mean, if you take away morals and ethics and, well, every scrap of reasonable humanity. It was a great plan.”

“I thought you were—”

“A bimbo. Uh-huh. You’ve made that clear. So, is my meeting in L.A. still on or what?”

“This afternoon.”

“Good.” She stomped back to her own room, intending to call an airline and book a commercial flight. If she never saw Jack Osland again, it would be far too soon.

“You take the jet.” His voice was directly behind her.

“Get out of my bedroom.”

“You take the jet,” he repeated. “Simon is ready. I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Under the circumstances, there is no least you can do.”

“It’s the only way for you to get there on time.”

She sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth. He was probably right, and maybe she was a fool to strive for any scrap of dignity at this point anyway. The man had kissed every inch of her body last night. And she’d told him she loved him.

A sharp pain pierced her chest.

She truly thought she had.

“Fine,” she bit out. “I’ll take the damn jet. But only as long as you’re not on it.” Then she turned away from him to jerk open a dresser drawer and plucked out the skirt and sweater she’d arrived in.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack” she said. “No. Actually. Go ahead and take it the wrong way if you like. But I never want to see you again.”

“Understandable,” he muttered.

She twisted around to look at him. “Gee, thanks.”

“I had my reasons,” he said.

“It was a great plan,” she mocked. “You must be really disappointed that it failed.”

ONE LOOK at the expressions on the Sierra Sanchez buying team told Kristy she was going to fail.

Her sketches littered the top of the polished mahogany boardroom table, with swatches and samples draped on racks around them.

“The lines are technically strong,” said one of the men. She thought his name was Bernard.

“The fabric works, but it’ll be a challenge for the skirt to stand out in a crowd.” Irene Compton was the lead buyer for the chain.

“Overall,” said the one named James, sifting through her sketches like greeting cards. “The collection is … competent.”

Kristy felt herself shrinking in the luxurious armchair. Competent. Thousands and thousands of budding designers were competent. She didn’t have a hope unless she was outstanding.

“Hmm,” Irene nodded. “Maybe we could think about testing it in Value-Shoppe?” She named a European discount chain.

Value-Shoppe? Kristy had to bite down on her tongue to keep from protesting out loud.

The room went silent, while each of the team members contemplated the drawings. Bright yellow sunshine streamed through the window. Car horns honked a dozen stories below, and a mist of clouds gathered in the distance over the bay. The world outside was still spinning, even while her dreams were being dashed.

“Well, I think she shows promise,” said Cleveland.

Six jaws snapped shut, and everyone’s attention flew to the older man sitting at the head of the table.

Seconds of silence ticked by before Cleveland spoke again. “I was thinking about the Breakout Designer category at the Matte Fashion Event.”

Adrenaline hit Kristy’s system in a rush at the mere mention of the prestigious London fashion show. A designer couldn’t even enter the Breakout Designer Contest without a powerhouse retailer behind her. Even in her wildest dreams …

“Perhaps if we mix and match some of the ideas,” Irene offered slowly, glancing at a patterned skirt and a white lace blouse.

Cleveland nodded his approval. “Now you’re getting creative.”

Kristy didn’t want Cleveland’s charity. But the Breakout Designer category? She swallowed her common sense, and let the conversation carry on around her.

Bernard jumped in. “This neckline is unique. And we can certainly scallop the hem and slim down the line.”

“We’d need at least a half-dozen new or revamped pieces for the contest,” James warned.

Cleveland brought the flat of his palms down on the tabletop. “That’s fine. Since we’re all on board, you can talk through the details later.” His attention turned to Kristy. “Right now, Kristy is joining me for a drink.”

She glanced at the buying team, bracing herself for narrow-eyed glares and sidelong expressions of condemnation. They might all think the way Jack did—that Kristy was Cleveland’s floozy. Why else would he overrule their judgment on her behalf?

But, to her surprise, everyone was smiling.

Irene rose from her chair and offered her hand. “We’re looking forward to working with you, Kristy.”

The other team members nodded and murmured agreement.

Kristy stood up to shake hands with Irene. “Uh. Thank you.”

Cleveland opened the boardroom door. “This way, young lady.”

She nodded her thanks to the rest of the team, then preceded Cleveland into the wide, bright, plant-adorned hallway.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as they made their way to the bank of elevators.

“Do what?”

She motioned behind them, torn between being polite and shutting the heck up. “Back there. Give me special—”

“You think I pulled rank because I like you?”

“Well …”

He pressed the elevator button with a wrinkled finger. “Kristy, I’ve made a whole lot of money in my life by seeing things that other people miss. You have something. It’s raw, but I think it’s there.

“I’ll work with you,” he continued. “And I’ll buy your collection when and if it’s good enough. But that back there wasn’t altruism and it wasn’t nepotism.”

A flutter of excitement rolled through Kristy’s stomach. Cleveland actually thought her fashions had a chance?

“It’s going to take a lot of work and dedication.”

She eagerly nodded. She’d work as hard as it took for a chance to fly to London and compete in the Breakout Designer Contest.

“Are you prepared for that?”

“Of course.”

“We have until December thirtieth.”

Kristy quickly did the math in her head. That was less than three days per outfit. Impossible. But she’d have to do it anyway. “Right.”

“Your staff is available over the holidays?” he asked.

Kristy hesitated. Not because her staff might not be available, but because she didn’t actually have any staff.

“Kristy?”

The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open.

She took a step forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

“Kristy.”

She didn’t look up at him. “Yes?”

“How many people work for you?”

She swallowed as the doors glided shut.

Cleveland waited.

“Just me,” she finally squeaked.

There was a long silence as the car glided downward and floor numbers flashed red.

“You’ve got guts,” said Cleveland. “I’ll give you that. But if this is going to work, you must be completely honest with me.”

“Sorry.”

“How big is your workshop?”

“It takes up most of my loft.”

He raised a gray, bushy eyebrow. “Don’t be evasive.”

“It’s six hundred square feet.”

The elevator eased to a stop.

“Well that’s definitely not going to do it,” said Cleveland, gesturing for her to move ahead of him into the lobby.

As they walked across the polished marble floor, past statues and paintings, skirting a central waterfall encircled by bench seats, Kristy could feel the deal of a lifetime slipping from her grasp. She couldn’t really blame Cleveland. Six outfits in three weeks was nearly impossible under the best of conditions. But it seemed downright cruel of fate to bring her this close, to tantalize her with the brass ring, only to unceremoniously yank it away from her.

“You’ll come work at the mansion,” said Cleveland decisively.

Kristy stopped in her tracks. What mansion? His mansion? The Osland family mansion?

He halted and turned back, a sly smile coming over his wrinkled face. “Really. You’re married to Jack now. You have every right to spend the holidays with his family. We have a lovely estate in Vermont, near Manchester.”

Kristy didn’t even know where to start. She wasn’t married to Jack. Well, she was. But she wasn’t. At least not in any real sense. And she never wanted to see him again. She sure wasn’t about to arrive on his doorstep for the holidays.

“That’s insane,” she finally managed.

“Excuse me?” said Cleveland, his bushy eyebrows slanting in an expression of surprise.

Whoops. For a minute she’d forgotten who she was speaking to.

“Sorry,” she offered.

He gave her a sharp nod. “There’s a workshop. Plenty of room for you to spread out. And we can bring in machines, materials and staff.”