Christmas Kisses

7. Christian

7

CHRISTIAN

“ S he knows.”

“Knows what?” My assistant gasps in shock when the truth smacks into her. “Then you need to leave.”

“No.”

“No?” Tahlia works the word through her head like it is the first time she’s heard it. “You can’t stay. If she knows why you are there, the assignment is over. That’s how it works. You’ll still get the apartment. It may just take a little longer.”

“This isn’t about the apartment.”

“It’s not?” She couldn’t sound more shocked if she tried. It is understandable. Usually nothing takes my nose off the scent, but ghosts of my past are rearing their ugly heads, making this an unfair fight.

I shake my head like Tahlia can see me. “It is about principles.” And something else I haven’t quite worked out yet.

My cock is saved from having its feathers plucked when Tahlia asks, “Did you fall and hit your head at any time in the last twenty-four hours?”

“No.” I try to hold back my following comment, but after the night I had, I can’t help it. “But it was a close call. I slept in the tub when the dizzy spells became too much.” I have no fucking clue who I am when one truth encourages another. “It was also the only guarantee I could live with the shame if I shit myself while sleeping. Thank god that didn’t happen.” Tahlia stops giggling when I murmur, “It was also a close call.”

“That should have been my first guess that she knew your ruse. Jimmy has used the too-hot-for-your-intestines-to-handle sham many times over the past two years.” Laughter chops up her words. “I bet he’s glad you took one for the team.”

Usually Jimmy moves on the unpaying tenants from our numerous building developments. He couldn’t do this assignment because it was so close to Christmas. He recently got married, and his wife is expecting their first child early in the new year. He would have gotten shot if he’d left the country for a week only a month out from Skye’s due date.

He met Skye during a sting similar to the one I’m endeavoring to get off the ground. That should have sounded an alarm that this assignment wasn’t for me. I’m just a stubborn fuck who once believed he’d never be taken down.

I now believe differently.

As my stomach grumbles, I mumble, “I do not recall Jimmy ever using beans.”

“Never with beans,” Tahlia agrees, laughing. “I’m curious, though. Did she research you? Otherwise, how would she know you hate unkempt pubic hair?”

My throat grows scratchy. “Every man hates unkempt pubic hair.”

“That isn’t true. Thomas?—”

“Lied. He lied because he’d rather eat an I-forgot-to-shave-today pussy than go without.”

I roll over, groaning when the peroxide bottle and sweater I found under the entryway table this morning dig into my ribs.

I would have still believed Angel had a pussy as hairy as a beaver if I hadn’t found evidence of her ruse.

When I stumbled to the door to collect an emergency pharmaceutical delivery, my wallet slipped off the entryway table and landed under it, exposing the props for Angel’s deceit.

She pranked me well, and I use that as an excuse for my eagerness to see this contract through. It is better than admitting I’ve never had such an immediate fascination with someone before, and it has me sniffing around for any bone she may toss my way.

It would be ludicrous to admit that out loud. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into moving my construction company abroad. I can’t let it slip for anyone, much less a stranger. Right?

I ignore the screamed denials of my cock by shifting my focus elsewhere. “I need a handful of things organized before you head off on your Christmas break.”

A pen clicking open sounds down the line before Tahlia says, “Name it.”

She huffs in shock at my first demand. “I need you to cancel the tree I ordered yesterday.”

“But Jimmy said making them swoon while decorating the tree is the number-one holiday ruse.”

“I know.” I stretch when I hear footsteps pattering past my door. “But I don’t see it working this time.”

Last night, when Angel argued that she didn’t want a tree, it was the first time honesty rang in her tone. She isn’t a fan of Christmas. I have no clue why, but I feel like it is one reason she refuses to vacate a rental property not in her price bracket and to which she has no hold.

“All right. I guess I can do that.” You’d swear I was asking her to sell me her firstborn. “What else?”

“I need you to contact Pierre. He’s the best costume maker in this area.”

She hums in agreement. “He’s popular, but I doubt he’s booking out this many months in advance.”

“I’m not ordering a costume for Halloween. I need one for tomorrow night.”

Tahlia shouts so loud that I’m forced to cup my phone to ensure Angel doesn’t hear her. “Tomorrow night! He’s… I…” She gives in with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

My rare praise lowers her defenses even more. “Anything else?”

I almost tell her to run a full background search on Angel, but something stops me. It could be because I felt so close to death last night that I don’t want to waste another second of my life reading reports that never accurately describe someone. But again, that feels like a cop-out.

Angel interests me, and I’m invested enough to give her the chance to explain how she landed on my radar. She can’t do that if I probe into her personal life via a Google search.

“No. But I’ll call you if I think of anything.”

“Okay.” Before I can disconnect our chat, Tahlia says, “Christian?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, your knocking-on-hell’s-door voice is sexy as fuck. It’s all husky and rough… like you swallowed a dozen pubic hairs like a pussy-eating champ.”

I gag, but since my stomach is empty, unlike numerous times last night, nothing comes up.

“Goodbye, Tahlia.”

Still laughing, she replies, “ Ciao. ”

After ending our call, I toss my phone onto the vanity and slouch low in the tub. I need a few more minutes to work out whether I should tell Angel that I know she knows why I am here or let her think I’m clueless.

I shouldn’t need to deliberate, but can you say you’ve lived if you haven’t been knocked onto your ass by a five-foot-three Christmas-hating fairy at least twice in your life?

I’m partway through pondering an offer Angel won’t be able to refuse when the voice that kept me somewhat lucid in the wee hours of this morning breaks through the bathroom door. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t on the verge of bursting, but can I please use the bathroom?” Angel doesn’t pause long enough for me to reply. “I can’t use the kitchen sink as a toilet. I just can’t. And I like these PJs. I don’t want them sullied.”

That’s the same excuse she gave last night when she refused to bring me something to spew in when her prank had me firing from both ends.

The remembrance has me acting ignorant.

“Christian?” Angel murmurs a short time later, her voice back to its standard sexy setting. “Did you hear me?” After a second jingle of the lock, she shouts my name. “Christian! I swear to God, if you don’t let me in right now, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…”

She squeals in frustration before she knocks me on my ass for the second time in under twenty-four hours.

Figuratively.

The door handle whacks into the wall next to the toilet half a second before the shower curtain is fully pulled across the tub. She attempts to hoist me out of it like I don’t weigh more than double her tiny frame. I say attempts because she can barely lift me.

“Please.” One word shouldn’t emit so much panic. However, hers is brimming with it.

I learn why when she murmurs, “I licked my thumb after repacking your dinner.” She sobs out a groan. “It’s hot. Really, really hot.” She isn’t talking about her tastebuds. She’s clutching her ass cheeks together too firmly for me to believe the burn has to do with anything but her intestines. “I need to go, like, now !”

When her stomach’s gurgle represents the deadly roll of an alligator in shallow waters, I leap out of the tub and charge for the exit.

The door can’t close since she warped the hinges when she kicked it open, but a steel vault couldn’t conceal the horrific noises that left her bathroom over the past eight hours. She is aware of the little privacy its closure will offer, so she doesn’t wait for it to occur before yanking her micro cotton shorts to her knees and plopping her backside onto the toilet.

“Do you want?—”

“Just go… please .” A brutal gag breaks up her reply.

“All right.”

I don’t know why I am feeling guilty. This is her doing. She brought this travesty into her home. It just can’t be helped.

“There are supplies next to the tub.” I walk away before turning back around. “And the coolness of the steel does wonders for body aches. Once you’re no longer worried about vomiting and shitting at the same time, climb into the tub for a couple of hours.”

She stammers a shaky “Okay” before her stomach empties in one quick bowel motion.