Winter Miracle: A Bad Boy Christmas Romance Read online

  “I guess you think that was a pretty slick move up there, right?” he says, the serious expression remaining.

  “You’re damn straight,” I nod. “I gave them exactly what they want.”

  The Captain eyes me inquisitively. “And what’s that, do tell?”

  “The fine line between life and death, that’s what.”

  The Captain nods back, taking it in. “I see.” He pauses and I know nothing but a shit-storm of epic proportions approaches.

  Here we go.

  He lets it rip. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Carr?”

  I start to answer, but he holds his hand up.

  “It’s a rhetorical question, smartass.”

  “I can handle maneuvers like that in my sleep,” I protest. “You know it, the crowd knows it, the girl I’m going to fuck tonight will know it.”

  The Captain’s shaking his head, looks like he’s going to pop a vein. “All I know is that your big stunt up there has ‘liability’ written all over it. You consistently pull this shit time and time again after I tell you not to. You’re like a fucking toddler.”

  “A toddler who’s the Top Gun of this team.”

  That goes down like a cold cup o’ puke. “Top. Fucking. Gun!” the Captain shouts. “Are you fucking serious, Carr? I can’t even see past that fat fucking inflated head of yours.”

  I manage to hold it together—just. “As I said, I can handle it. What’s the problem?”

  “We can’t afford the liability. It’s as simple as that. You want our insurance pulled, the team disbanded? I can’t take that risk, not any more. I have the others, those that do fall into line, to consider. Not to mention the crowd out there. I have to keep their safety in mind too.”

  I don’t like where this is going at all. “What are you saying?” I ask.

  He exhales, lifting his sunglasses and locking eyes with me. “I’m saying you’re out, Carr, effective immediately.”

  “I’m out?”

  “Grab your shit and go.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can be a little cheeky when it comes to the maneuverers, but out of the fucking team? “Come on, Cap.”

  He remains firm. “Come on, nothing. I know you think otherwise, but you’re replaceable, Dane. We don’t need some hotshot pilot to fly gigs. I can think of ten, maybe twenty guys to fill your shoes, and every one of them will fall into line and do what they’re told.” He takes out a check from his pocket and hands it over. I look down at it. He’s serious.

  “Your severance,” the Captain continues, “more than enough money to get home, wherever you want to go as long as it’s as far away from this team as possible.”

  I’m still trying to process it all. “You’re fucking leaving me here, in the middle of Nowhereville, Michigan?”

  “Yes, I am,” the Captain replies before turning to walk away.

  My anger gets the better of me. I shake the check at him. “Fine. Fuck the Red Devils, and fuck you, sir!” I add sarcastically.

  He flips me the bird in response, calling, “Try the Merit Motor Inn. I hear the room service is impeccable.”

  I spin around to find the team, but they’ve disappeared. I’m all alone… a check, a duffle bag, and precious little else, but fuck them, him… Fuck everyone.

  I gather my things and make for the exit.

  The sooner I can get out of this shithole, the better.

  *

  The local Merit Greyhound Station is about as hillbilly as they come complete with single ticket booth. The temperature seems to be dropping fast as I approach it, low clouds sweeping in from the south.

  The man behind the glass is watching a small, CRT TV in the corner of the booth, a heater on the ground blasting hot air up towards his legs. He stands when he sees me coming and approaches the glass. “Where you headed, son?”

  “The nearest major city. Don’t care what it is.”

  The man nods and punches something into the computer. “A man of mystery. I can appreciate that.” He looks up. “That’ll be thirty dollars and change.”

  I take out a wad of bills from my wallet and pass them over, receiving a printed ticket in return. “When does the bus leave?”

  The man gestures to the ticket. “Nine AM tomorrow, sharp.”

  “There’s nothing earlier?”

  The man laughs. “This isn’t Central Station, son.”

  I look around. “Yeah, I got that.”

  I notice a weather warning show up on the TV behind his back.

  He follows my eyes as a map of the area pulls up on to the screen. “Big ice storm on the way, they say.”

  “Ice storm?”

  “From the south.” The man lifts his leg. “I can feel it in my bones she’s going to be a big one.”

  Sure you can.

  “So, what are the accommodation options around here?” I ask.

  The man smiles again. “The accommodation option, singular, is a couple of buildings down to your right there. The Merit Motor Inn. Big blue sign. You can’t miss it.”

  Figures. “Thanks.”

  I slide the ticket into my pocket and make a start for the Motor Inn. It’s definitely getting colder now. There’s no doubt about it.

  As soon as I hit a city with a population bigger than three figures I can rent a car, find an airport, find a way back to sunshine, beaches, and sweet ass.

  But the worst part about Merit? With its drab color scheme and lifeless buildings it’s almost a perfect replica of the town I grew up in—a town I was more than happy to kick into the past. I’ve moved on, upwards, and I’m never going back.

  The Merit Motor Inn is the kind of garish blue-and-white monstrosity you’d expect from a slasher flick. There’s even a buzzing neon vacancy sign. I don’t imagine the ‘No’ is lit up very often.

  A bell chimes when I walk through the reception door, rubbing my hands together for warmth as I step up to the desk.

  A large, balding man sits behind it, a name tag reading ‘Barry – Manager’ pinned high on his chest. He doesn’t stand but instead swivels to face me. “Cold out, huh?”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Sure.”

  “You want a room?”

  No. I want a hot sauce enema. “I do.”

  He sizes me up for a second before continuing. “Card or cash?”

  I take out my wallet again and select a handful of Benjamins, slapping them down on the desk.

  He swipes them away, his greasy fingers counting them out. “Alright then. There’s enough here for a couple of nights.”

  “I’m only need the one.”

  He hands a couple of the bills back and selects a key from the hanger at the back, placing it onto the desk. “Room Thirteen. Enjoy your stay.”

  I look right, and see her…

  She’s coming out a room next to the office, a perfect vision of honey blonde hair and legs you want to lift to the sky. The blue-and-white maid outfit she’s wearing wasn’t designed to be flattering, but on her it’s a revelation, showing off her firm cleavage and tight hips, bent as they are over the cleaning cart. Her ass rounds her skirt out, the hem of it dancing high, teasing as to the treasures below.

  My cock starts to stiffen as I watch her, this angel come to life.

  She turns, catches me watching her, and it gets even better. Her eyes are a piercing bottle blue, her lips full and plump, her features somehow spelling out ‘small town’ but wanting to break free all the same. I can show her how. I could show her a lot of things.

  In seconds I’m fully hard, my cock pressing awkwardly against my pants.

  I don’t take my eyes off her. Most guys would pretend they weren’t looking, shift their gaze away, but not me.

  I know what I want.

  I do what it takes to get it.

  And this one? She’s going to be easy as apple pie.

  Angel Girl looks away quickly and pushes the cart into the room, the skirt bouncing high on her perfect, peachy ass. I picture how it’s going to look
in my hands as I thrust into her, drive her up against that cart until she comes all over my cock, those coral lips stretched wide.

  “Your key?”

  I swivel back to ‘Barry.’ He’s tapping the room key on the desk, still making no effort to move from that chair.

  I take it, spitting out “thanks” before walking away from the desk and out into the hall, but the door to the room Angel Girl was cleaning is closed.

  I consider going in until I realize I’ve got my own room, a room that’s going to have to be cleaned eventually. And when she arrives, with that adorable button nose and country curves, I’m going to make sure she is the one who leaves satisfied.

  I’m not usually so taken with these folk, but there’s something about this girl that’s irre-fucking-sistible. She doesn’t have a fucking clue how hot she is, that much is certain. She’s probably been working this dead-end job for years, aspires to be manager one day when Barry keels over from a heart attack. Too many double cheeseburgers at the diner, I’m thinking. She’ll marry and get her picket fence, a two-bedder like her parents had.

  I smile to myself. Or maybe a stranger will appear, an out-of-towner ready to rock her world.

  Merit, middle of fucking nowhere, might be a small town, but big things are coming its way, and it’s all going to start in Room Thirteen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HALEY

  There’s no doubting the incoming ice storm now. The sky’s a dirty wash of desaturation, a bite and electricity to the air that has the hairs on my neck standing on end.

  These storms tend to come in hard and fast. It pays to be prepared, to keep your children safe, and where am I? Still stuck at the motel cleaning rooms until kingdom come.

  There is one distraction. A man, a definite out-of-towner, was at reception earlier. The way he was looking at me… I’ve seen that look from men before, but this was different. There was a hunger in his eyes both alarming and alluring, his inky hair perfectly messy, his shoulders wide under his leather jacket. I could tell he was cut even from that distance, bulging arms ready to embrace… or punish.

  The men around this town? Most are of the icy redneck persuasion. They wouldn’t know fashion sense if it hit them in the face, but this stranger was impeccably dressed, his clothes casual but sculpting his body in all the right ways, and those eyes… Blue and deep and penetrating. Eyes like that and you don’t need a book of pickup lines in your pocket.

  As my thoughts turn more suggestive, I switch them off and concentrate on the bottle of bleach in my hand, the acrid stench of it in my nostrils.

  Yep, about as unsexy as it comes, Haley Walker.

  Still, I can’t help but wonder what drew this mystery guest, so at odds with this town, to the fine establishment that is the Merit Motor Inn. Our clientele seems to be either drunk husbands booted out of the family home or folks passing through on their way to far brighter, bigger destinations. Merit is a stop, not a destination. Only idiots decide to settle here, or stay.

  It’s getting darker outside now, the window panes rattling as the wind picks up.

  I check my watch, the not-gold knock-off of a fancier model. A few more rooms and I can head home, back to Andy and, God willing, a nice, hot bath and peaceful night’s sleep. More than anything I want to get home before the storm sets in for good and the roads close.

  I head out into the hallway and the biting cold, knocking on the door of Room Thirteen. “Housekeeping.”

  I say it once more, louder, but the room’s probably empty—most are this time of year. Sometimes I think Barry only keeps me on out of pity.

  I unlock the door and push the cart in before me.

  Immediately, I notice a leather duffle bag on the bed, movement in the bathroom.

  I go to announce myself again, to back away, but it’s too late.

  The mystery man I saw earlier, the Destroyer of Panties himself, emerges in a cloud of steam from the bathroom like some kind of sultry sex god.

  And he’s naked.

  Oh, boy, is he naked.

  There is that body, a surprising amount of ink on his arms. There’s the washboard abs I expected, the wide chest, but as my eyes drop they only get bigger, because what I see down there, what’s dangling between his legs like Thor’s hammer is unlike any I’ve seen before. I mean, you could take that thing down to the batting cages and hit a home run. ‘Big’ doesn’t even begin to do it justice.

  My jaw drops and I grip the cart like it’s the one thing in the room that’s going to protect me right now.

  Protect you from what? my head queries.

  It’s a good question.

  And he’s smiling, opal eyes gleaming in my direction like he owns the world. He looks down at the towel in his hand and tosses it onto the bed next to his duffle bag. He makes no attempt to cover himself up.

  “It’s you,” he says.

  Me? I’m trying to command my mouth to move, my jaw to shift up and down, but I’ve been paralyzed by Mr. Perfect.

  Was he expecting me?

  He takes a step forward, his cock swinging in time like a giant, penis pendulum. “Do you have a name?”

  He looks down at the offending appendage. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he smiles, slowly shifting to the bed and taking the towel. He casually wraps it around his waist, even though a sizeable bulge remains. “Better?”

  All I can do is nod. I’m absolutely beside myself. I’ve accidentally entered rooms before, seen sights you could never un-see, but this… This is all new.

  He approaches the cart, extending his free hand. “I’m Dane, by the way, Dane Carr.”

  I’m gripping the cart handle so hard my knuckles are white.

  A gust of wind rattles the windows, the roof above us giving off a wayward groan.

  My mouth is so dry. “Haley,” I manage to state.

  He drops his hand, and his eyes. “A beautiful name—Old English if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I… I wouldn’t know,” I blubber.

  He gently pushes the cart aside until there’s nothing between us but air and that towel.

  I point beside myself, actually shaking here on the spot. “I can come back later. It’s fine.”

  I don’t know why, but I just want to get out of here as fast as possible and forget this mortal embarrassment.

  Dane smiles wider, reaching out to hold my nametag, pulling it lightly from my chest. He locks eyes with me. “Why come later when you can come now?”

  I freeze. Did he just… right now… say what I think he said?

  He did. He said exactly what I think he did, and his eyes confirm it, hungry as ever.

  I look down, trying to shake these feelings from my head as I start to back away. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  He lifts my chin up with a single finger. “I won’t be here tomorrow.”

  If nothing, this ‘Dane’ is up front, but I imagine these city types don’t have time for pleasantries. They know what they want and they go for it. Isn’t that the bedrock of all success?

  Something about him exudes power and confidence. It’s magnetic. I’m being reeled right in.

  He’s less than a foot away now, his heat surrounding me, his musky, spicy scent swimming in the air between us.

  My inhibition is slipping, the space between my legs suddenly alight.

  The finger on my chin moves up to my lower lip, lightly pulling it down, running across it until I’m absolutely breathless.

  What are you doing, Haley?

  But I can’t move. I’m confused, but I want this too. Some deep, dark part of me wants to engage and explore, to see what I’ve been missing out on.

  The wind howls outside as the storm skirts the town.

  The finger turns into a hand, running across my cheek, down my neck, his towel dropping but his cock completely transformed—hard, erect and beautiful.

  He leans over until his lips are at my ear, his gravelly voice sending a tremor down my spine. “See what you’re doing to me, Haley?”
r />   I’m practically panting, still glued to the spot.

  The moment his lips press against mine, I know all is lost.

  They’re a contradiction—firm, yet soft, the pressure just right, my body turning to butter at his touch.

  His tongue slides forward into the heat of my mouth and whatever hold I had over my emotions is gone for good.

  I savor it, this taboo encounter, even if it is a dream.

  I can’t think rationally, make sense of anything but his lips and his tongue and touch.

  His hands shift around my hips before one breaks away and lifts my skirt. “What are you…” But my words are lost when I feel the flat of his hand against my stomach, poised before the top of my panties.

  I can’t look away from his cobalt eyes, from the power and mystery held within them.

  It’s freezing outside, but I’m burning up. It feels like it’s a thousand damn degrees in here.

  When his hand slides downwards into my panties, into the slippery heat there, I actually gasp aloud, the hand that was against my hip lifting to run through my hair, hold me in place as the deviant hand below dives further into the crotch of my panties.

  I look down, my skirt ballooned out, bunched over his wrist as he finds my clit with the pad of his thumb.

  My eyes close against the torrent of sensation.

  Oh. My. God.

  He kisses me harder, the butt of his palm grinding gently against my pussy, his thumb adding more pressure to my clit and eliciting sounds from my mouth I didn’t even know I had in me.

  Because this is happening, right now, right here and I cannot, absolutely cannot believe it.

  He leaves my lips wet and places his own at the shell of my ear once more, his thumb continuing to circle and press against the bud of my clit in languid semi-circles.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Walker,” I moan, lost in a trance.

  “You’re going to come for me, Haley Walker,” he purrs.

  “I don’t know… I can’t…” I sputter, bucking forward to meet his hand.

  His thumb moves away to be replaced by three joined fingers, the new pressure sending a jolt of fire from my hips to my head, my core clenching tight against the onslaught.