Riding Dirty for Christmas (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 3

Eden

M y phone buzzes for the third time since I walked into The HideOut. My supplier in Milan's name flashes across the screen.

At midnight here, it's already morning in Italy, and there's probably another crisis with the silk delivery for the spring line. I silence the phone and slide it face-down on the bar.

My mother's somewhere in Vegas right now, probably shopping for a wedding dress that costs more than most people's cars.

I came home to stop that wedding, not to get distracted by the ridiculously attractive bartender.

Yet here I am, watching him move behind the bar with a grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size.

I learned his name was Jack somewhere between my second whiskey sour and his rescue from Tommy Miller. The way he'd stepped in, all quiet authority and subtle strength, had sparked something in me I wasn't expecting.

Now I can't stop watching him - the way his flannel shirt stretches across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, a gray henley underneath that's seen better days but somehow looks perfect on him.

The rational part of my brain - the part that landed me a junior designer position at twenty-five and my own line by twenty-eight - is screaming that this is a bad idea.

The same voice reminds me I have a conference call with buyers in Paris at 9 AM and an empty house waiting for my mother's return from her impulsive Vegas adventure.

But the way he moves with such confidence behind that bar... I've spent my career studying how clothes fit the human form. This man could make a potato sack look like couture.

“Last call was ten minutes ago,” he says, wiping down the bar with practiced efficiency.

I'm not sure what compels me to stay. Maybe it's the way his grin tilts just a little crooked when he teases, or how his voice has that deep, rumbling quality that makes my stomach flip.

Or maybe it's the fact that, for the first time since landing in this town, I don't feel like I'm holding my breath, constantly strategizing about Mom's wedding or fielding crisis calls from work.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

He pauses, stormy eyes meeting mine. “I live upstairs. Could offer you a nightcap.”

I laugh, sliding off my barstool, grateful I chose my favorite Jimmy Choos despite knowing I'd be navigating small-town ice patches. “Smooth. Does that line always work for you?”

“You'd be the first to find out.” The intensity in his gaze makes my pulse jump. “I don't usually do this.”

“What? Invite women to your apartment?” I step closer, drawn into his space.

His cologne is subtle - a hint of pine and something uniquely him. There's something solid about him, something real that makes me want to step closer. “Are you seeing someone?”

“No.” His voice drops. “You?”

“Me neither.” I move closer, the admission making this feel more real. “And for the record, I don't usually do this either.”

What am I even doing here? I'm supposed to be back at Mom's place, plotting ways to stop this wedding, not locking eyes with the hottest man I've met in years.

A man who, judging by his confident ease, knows exactly the effect he's having on me.

“How far up those stairs, exactly?”

“One flight.” His eyes darken. “Although the storage room's closer.”

“Are you suggesting we...” I gesture between us, feigning shock. “In your storage room? How unprofessional.”

“Just stating facts.” He shrugs, but I catch the way his shoulders tense when I move closer. “Although my apartment has better lighting. And a bed.”

“Hmm.” I pretend to consider it, tapping one finger against my lips. The responsible thing would be to go home, try to track down my mother, and forget about those blue-gray eyes. But responsibility is overrated. “Stairs are so far though.”

Before he can respond, I grab his shirt front - and oh, that worn flannel feels even better than it looks - pulling him toward the hallway.

His surprised laugh sends warmth spreading through my chest.

“Eden...” His voice is rough, caught between warning and want. The way he says my name sends heat curling through me.

“What?” I walk backwards, leading him down the hall, thrilled by how his eyes darken with each step. “Show me where you keep the good stuff, bartender. Unless you're scared?”

His laugh is low and dangerous. “Scared isn't the word I'd use, Princess.”

The nickname should annoy me. Instead, it sends a shiver down my spine, especially paired with that knowing smirk.

“Besides,” I curl my fingers into his flannel shirt, loving how his breath catches. “You started it with that storage room suggestion.”

“Pretty sure you're the one dragging me down this hallway.” His thumbs trace circles on my hips, making it hard to think straight.

“Dragging?” I arch an eyebrow. “Funny, I don't feel any resistance.”

His eyes flash with heat and humor. “I'm trying to be a gentleman.”

“How about being less gentle-” The rest of my sass dies in my throat as he crowds me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head.

“Careful what you wish for, Princess.”

His eyes lock with mine, and for a moment we're both perfectly still, the air electric between us. Then he reaches past me to unlock a door marked “Storage,” and cool air rushes out to meet us.

This is definitely not how I planned my night going when I walked into The HideOut. But as he guides me into the dimly lit room, my heart pounding against my ribs, I don't regret a single decision that led me here.

The heavy door swings shut behind us with a solid thunk. Dark wood shelves tower around us, bottles gleaming in the dim light like liquid jewels.

His woodsy scent surrounds me as he moves closer, until I'm backed against the shelves. A bottle clinks softly behind me.

“Careful,” I tease, though my breath catches as his hand settles on my hip. “Some of these bottles probably cost more than my shoes.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up to meet mine. His shoulders are tense, muscles coiled like he's restraining himself.

Something fierce and feminine inside me purrs at the sight.

“Princess,” he murmurs against my ear, “I really don't care about the bottles right now.”

The cool metal shelves dig into my back as Jack presses closer, his solid frame caging me in the confined space. His presence overwhelms my senses, all raw strength and barely contained power.

“You sure about this?” The growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I curl my fingers into his flannel shirt, pulling him closer. “Yes.”

His free hand comes up to cup my face, and the gentleness of the gesture surprises me. I rise up on my toes, letting my breath ghost across his lips.

Jack’s grip tightens, but he lets me play. I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, drawing a rough sound from deep in his chest.

The first real taste of him ignites something primal. The kiss is all heat and hunger. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin as I arch into him, wanting more.

In one fluid movement, he lifts me against the shelving unit like I weigh nothing. A soft moan escapes me as he trails kisses down my neck.

My hands roam greedily across his chest, and his muscles jump under my exploring fingers. A smirk tugs at my lips - I love that I can affect him like this.

“Something funny?” he mumbles against my throat.

“Just enjoying myself.” I rake my nails down his abs, drawing a sharp hiss from him. His grip tightens on my hips.

This is reckless. This is perfect. This is exactly what I need - no strings, no complications.

His breathing grows ragged as I trace the waistband of his jeans. The power rush is intoxicating. Here's this mountain of a man, completely at my mercy.

“Eden...” My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips.

I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, my usually deft fingers clumsy with urgency. Jack's lips trail a scorching path down my neck, and another soft moan escapes me.

My mind races even as I lose myself in the sensations. This is reckless. Impulsive. Everything I've tried not to be since my parents' divorce.

“Wait,” I gasp between kisses, even as my body screams for more. “This probably isn't the best idea.”

“Want me to stop?” he murmurs against my lips.

I should push him away and walk out of this bar, out of this town, back to my safe, controlled life.

“No,” I breathe. “I don't want to stop at all.”

He grins wickedly and captures my mouth again. Something wobbles and crashes to the floor – a tin of what smells like gingerbread mix scatters across the concrete.

We freeze, then burst out laughing.

“Smooth,” I tease, but my words turn into a gasp as he nips at my collarbone.

“I'll clean it up later,” he mumbles against my skin. His hands slide higher, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Right now, I have more important things to focus on.”

I suck in a sharp breath as his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. With a sharp tug, he rips the lace, the sound filling the confined space.

Those were my favorites. But all I can think about is how much I want him inside me.

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him, and he groans, his hips bucking forward.

“Been wanting this too,” I breathe, my thumb brushing over the tip. “Want to feel you against me.”

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice hoarse with need.

He unbuttons his jeans, his eyes never leaving mine. My breath hitches as he pushes them down, his cock springing free.

He's huge, thick and hard, and I can't help but lick my lips at the sight of him.

My breath hitches as his fingers find bare skin. “Wait,” I manage as he finds a particularly sensitive spot. “Protection?”

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his pupils blown wide. “In my wallet.”

In answer, I kiss him again, pouring all my frustration and desire into it. His groan vibrates through me as I roll my hips.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Hold that thought.”

He sets me down carefully, and I immediately miss his warmth.

While he digs through his wallet, I drink him in – shirt hanging open, hair a mess from my fingers, that devastating mouth swollen from kissing.

He returns, a silver package between his teeth. With a low growl, he lifts me with ease, pinning me against the cold metal shelving unit and settling between my thighs. Goosebumps erupt across my skin.

His breath fans my neck, his voice a low, gravelly growl that reverberates through me. “I’ve been dying to do this all night.”

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pull him closer, relishing the hardness of him pressed against me. “Then do it,” I challenge.

The buttons of his jeans are swiftly dealt with, his eyes holding mine captive.

My breath hitches as he pushes the denim down, his cock springing free. Thick and hard, it demands my attention, and I lick my lips unconsciously.

I watch, transfixed, as he tears the wrapper with a sharp tug and rolls on a condom. His body pressing against mine, his cock poised at my entrance.

“Tell me this is what you want,” he demands, his eyes searching mine. I see the question he's really asking. Are you sure about me?

I nod, my breath catching as he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing mine. “I'm sure.”

He's thick and hard, stretching me deliciously. I bite my lip to hold back a moan, wanting to take my time and savor this, but my body has other ideas.

I can't help but move, grinding my hips as Jack thrusts into me, filling me completely. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He stills, giving me a moment to adjust to his size. Then he begins to move, his hips pistoning against mine.

His mouth finds my ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, his words sending shivers down my spine. “So tight, so wet. You're driving me crazy, Princess.”

I can't respond, can't do anything but hold on as he fucks me senseless. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through me, building and building until I'm teetering on the edge of oblivion.

His hand slips between us, his fingers finding my clit. He circles it, his touch light and teasing.

“Come for me, Eden,” he demands, his voice a low growl. “Let me hear you scream.”

And I do. I scream his name as I come, my body convulsing around him. He follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me as he finds his own release.

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies entwined, our breaths mingling. Then he pulls out, his hands gentle as he helps me down from the shelves. My legs are shaky, my body still humming with pleasure.

He disposes of the condom, then turns back to me, his eyes soft. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle.

I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Better than okay,” I whisper. “Incredible doesn't even come close.”

We clean up in companionable silence, stealing glances and trading small smiles.

Typical, I think, watching him adjust his shirt. The only hot guy I've met in forever, the only person who's grabbed my interest in months, happens to live in my hometown.

Why couldn't I have met him in the city? But at least now, even if my new family life sucks and my mother's husband-to-be and his son are assholes, I can look forward to casual hookups with the hot bartender when I visit.

I pull out my phone and order an Uber while we make our way back through the bar. Three minutes away - perfect timing.

He presses his number into my palm, scrawled on the back of a receipt. Before he can make it into something more than it is, I fold it carefully and slip it into my pocket.

“This was fun,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I'll keep your number. Maybe I'll need another escape next time I'm in town. Christmas visits and all that.”

The Uber pulls up outside, its headlights cutting through the falling snow. Jack walks me to the door, his hand at the small of my back.

Protective. Present. I tell myself not to read into it.

As I slide into the backseat, I catch one last glimpse of him through the window. He looks solid, reliable—everything I should want and everything I can't have right now.

Not with my mother's wedding to derail and my career hanging by a thread.

I give the driver Mom's address and watch The HideOut disappear into the snowy night. My fingers brush over the receipt with his number, and I catch myself smiling.

Maybe coming home for Christmas won't be completely terrible after all.