A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba by Lori Foster, Janice Maynard, Gemma Bruce Page A
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fingers busy on his chest.
He kissed the top of her head and said, “I feel like a horny high school kid.”
With a purr, Marci trailed her hands down to his abdomen, perilously close to his groin. “You feel like a very sexy man to me.”
After making love, they’d eaten soup, talked quietly, and then played with the dogs for a while before getting them settled in the hallway.
Ozzie should have been sated, but already he wanted her again.
Given the way she toyed with him, she felt the same.
His second effort at making love to her had been an improvement, but it hadn’t abated the urgency he felt. He was starting to worry that he’d always feel that way with Marci—on edge, anxious, soft and hard at the same time.
She left him so confused, he didn’t know what he wanted, or for how long, or when. Sex, definitely. Time with her, sure. A future? He’d never thought so, not with lessons learned from Ainsley.
But were there any real similarities between the two women? It nettled him to think he’d allowed Ainsley’s machinations to affect him so deeply. So she’d lied, and tormented, and—
Marci slid atop him and put her mouth to his chin in a gentle kiss, then his brow, each cheekbone—and Ozzie was a goner. Her touch obliterated all thoughts of other women. Concerns drifted away, replaced by arousal.
He cupped her face, kissed her hungrily, and Marci kept pace with him every step of the way.
Very early the next morning, bright sunshine, reflecting off the snow-covered landscape, flowed in through the windows and stirred Ozzie awake. Automatically, he reached for Marci but found her side of the bed empty. He opened one eye. Huh. He’d need to talk to her about sneaking out on him, and he knew she had sneaked, because he was a light sleeper. She should have awakened him.
He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Still early enough to put in a full day. He stretched, and grinned.
Today they would put up lights and a tree…things he hadn’t considered doing because the loss of his grandmother had taken him out of the holiday mood.
Marci had gotten him right back into it, in a big way.
He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make Grimshaw and Lakeisha happy.
And he knew that pleasing them would have pleased his grandmother also. She had no patience for melancholy and she’d loved him enough that she never wanted to see him in a funk.
He couldn’t wait to go pick out a few gifts for Marci, and maybe a few things for the dogs. Because he often took walks with Grimshaw around the property, he already knew the perfect tree to cut. He could envision the house lit up with twinkle lights after he cleared the walkways and porch. This Christmas would be a special one, a tribute to his grandmother, and a chance to get closer to Marci.
Sudden, furious barking brought him out of his revelry and upright in the bed. Grimshaw sounded outraged. The dog was so friendly that Ozzie wasn’t accustomed to hearing that particular sound.
Seconds later, as he was leaving the bed and searching for his jeans, Grimshaw’s paws hit the closed door and he demanded immediate entrance. Forgoing the jeans, Ozzie opened the door and Grimshaw, overly anxious, immediately turned to go back downstairs.
Ozzie didn’t need to be a pet psychic to know that Grimshaw wanted him to follow. Something was wrong.
Buck-naked, Ozzie raced down the steps. He could hear Lakeisha snarling and his heart shot into his throat. He rounded the corner of the kitchen—and came to a stunned stop.
Marci had her hands full holding Lakeisha back. Lakeisha fought her, but with good reason.
That damned annoying reporter, Vaughn Wayland, had wedged himself in the doggy door, apparently trying to break in. From all appearances, he was stuck. Grimshaw joined Lakeisha with a lot of threatening bluster and a growl that sounded feral and deadly.
Vaughn whimpered and choked in fear.
Marci spoke to the dogs, saying, “It’s okay, guys. He’s an
He kissed the top of her head and said, “I feel like a horny high school kid.”
With a purr, Marci trailed her hands down to his abdomen, perilously close to his groin. “You feel like a very sexy man to me.”
After making love, they’d eaten soup, talked quietly, and then played with the dogs for a while before getting them settled in the hallway.
Ozzie should have been sated, but already he wanted her again.
Given the way she toyed with him, she felt the same.
His second effort at making love to her had been an improvement, but it hadn’t abated the urgency he felt. He was starting to worry that he’d always feel that way with Marci—on edge, anxious, soft and hard at the same time.
She left him so confused, he didn’t know what he wanted, or for how long, or when. Sex, definitely. Time with her, sure. A future? He’d never thought so, not with lessons learned from Ainsley.
But were there any real similarities between the two women? It nettled him to think he’d allowed Ainsley’s machinations to affect him so deeply. So she’d lied, and tormented, and—
Marci slid atop him and put her mouth to his chin in a gentle kiss, then his brow, each cheekbone—and Ozzie was a goner. Her touch obliterated all thoughts of other women. Concerns drifted away, replaced by arousal.
He cupped her face, kissed her hungrily, and Marci kept pace with him every step of the way.
Very early the next morning, bright sunshine, reflecting off the snow-covered landscape, flowed in through the windows and stirred Ozzie awake. Automatically, he reached for Marci but found her side of the bed empty. He opened one eye. Huh. He’d need to talk to her about sneaking out on him, and he knew she had sneaked, because he was a light sleeper. She should have awakened him.
He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Still early enough to put in a full day. He stretched, and grinned.
Today they would put up lights and a tree…things he hadn’t considered doing because the loss of his grandmother had taken him out of the holiday mood.
Marci had gotten him right back into it, in a big way.
He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make Grimshaw and Lakeisha happy.
And he knew that pleasing them would have pleased his grandmother also. She had no patience for melancholy and she’d loved him enough that she never wanted to see him in a funk.
He couldn’t wait to go pick out a few gifts for Marci, and maybe a few things for the dogs. Because he often took walks with Grimshaw around the property, he already knew the perfect tree to cut. He could envision the house lit up with twinkle lights after he cleared the walkways and porch. This Christmas would be a special one, a tribute to his grandmother, and a chance to get closer to Marci.
Sudden, furious barking brought him out of his revelry and upright in the bed. Grimshaw sounded outraged. The dog was so friendly that Ozzie wasn’t accustomed to hearing that particular sound.
Seconds later, as he was leaving the bed and searching for his jeans, Grimshaw’s paws hit the closed door and he demanded immediate entrance. Forgoing the jeans, Ozzie opened the door and Grimshaw, overly anxious, immediately turned to go back downstairs.
Ozzie didn’t need to be a pet psychic to know that Grimshaw wanted him to follow. Something was wrong.
Buck-naked, Ozzie raced down the steps. He could hear Lakeisha snarling and his heart shot into his throat. He rounded the corner of the kitchen—and came to a stunned stop.
Marci had her hands full holding Lakeisha back. Lakeisha fought her, but with good reason.
That damned annoying reporter, Vaughn Wayland, had wedged himself in the doggy door, apparently trying to break in. From all appearances, he was stuck. Grimshaw joined Lakeisha with a lot of threatening bluster and a growl that sounded feral and deadly.
Vaughn whimpered and choked in fear.
Marci spoke to the dogs, saying, “It’s okay, guys. He’s an
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