The Holiday Inheritance (Naughty and Spice)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Florence

I jolt awake, my body violently jumping.

“What? Huh?” Briggs falls off the couch, sending his glass of wine spilling and rolling—thankfully—onto the floor instead of the rug. “Bollocks!”

I laugh while he rushes to pick up the glass, his hair a mess and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“It’s okay, Briggs,” I tell him, stretching as I move to get off the couch. “It’s just a floor. I’ll get a rag.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get it,” he says, smiling and leaning over to kiss me softly on the lips. Then my nose. And then my forehead.

He jogs off, and I smile as I watch him go. That ass in those boxer briefs should come with a warning. I stand, avoiding the spilled wine, and tidy up our blankets, plates, and glassware. I’m just throwing a folded blanket onto the back of the sectional when he comes walking back in, rag in hand and cheeks red. When he catches my eye, he looks shy.

“What’s wrong?”

He shrugs and presents me with a piece of lined yellow paper. “I hope—I dunno. I just…I hope this doesn’t upset you.”

I can feel my brows knit together as he starts cleaning, and I start reading.

Trudged over early this morning when there was a break in the snow. Figured you’d need some help checking the generators or stirring the fires. Looks like someone else beat me to it ;) Have fun, be safe. I’ll be back over once the storm clears. — Mary

“Oh…my god.”

“Yeah,” he grunts from the floor. “Whoops.”

I look out the window, seeing the snow has not let up. It’s piled up past the windowsill now. “How did she even get over here?” I ask, probably sounding a bit more hysterical than I mean to.

“Mary takes her job very seriously.” His tone is still joking, but he refuses to look at me. Instead, he wipes the same spot on the floor over and over again. There’s no wine left, and there’s no stain. It’s like he’s too, what? Ashamed? Embarrassed? “She would get here if the snow was ten feet high just to make sure this place was still standing.”

“I—” I start, but can’t really get the words out. I’m trying my hardest not to laugh. Because this is most certainly something that would happen to me. It’s just my luck that on my first day as woman of the house , or whatever, I would be caught half-naked with an employee. Christ. “I’m so sorry,” I get out before I snort, and my hand flies to my mouth to cover up the embarrassment.

He looks up, humor twinkling in those dark eyes. “You just snorted.”

“Shut up.”

Briggs laughs, one strong cackle of a laugh as he stands and tosses the stained-purple rag onto the hearth. “Did you just tell me to shut up, little duck?”

I narrow my eyes at him, a flirty reproach that he sees right through. Or ignores. “You should never point out a lady’s flaws,” I scold.

He hums, closing the distance between us, taking my face in his hands. My god, this man is good. Every time he’s about to kiss me, he holds me so close, so carefully. His palms are warm, and one of his thumbs traces my bottom lip.

“Shall I point out your assets instead?” His eyebrow does a perfect arch, melting my panties all over again. “Like how you give me the sweetest little moans when I’m inside of you?”

I blush…furiously.

“Or how these cute, round cheeks blush so prettily when you’re embarrassed?”

I roll my eyes.

“How about how kind you are to the people who work here?” he asks, continuing like he’s not flustering the fuck out of me. “I heard all about you after you came to visit that first time. What a sweet girl , they all said. So kind, so interested in everything we do. She’s going to be great .” He pauses, kissing the tip of my nose. “For an American, anyway.”

I scoff and push on his chest, but he grabs me, laughing as he pulls me flush against him. “Hush, pretty girl. You’re perfect, even with that Yank accent of yours. I actually find it endearing.”

“Oh, do you?” I ask, my voice laced with sarcasm. I wish I could tease him about his accent, but there’s no way I could be convincing. Because it’s the single most sexy thing I’ve ever heard. Especially when filthy things are being said.

“I do,” he says, nodding and playing with the ends of my hair. “And your eyes?” he asks, locking his gaze with my own. “Green in the sunlight and honey-colored in the firelight.” He makes a desperate little noise. “Beautiful.”

He leans in, glancing his lips against my own. I can feel myself falling into him, our breaths mixing as our mouths barely touch. Briggs holds me up, supports my weight against his own. I love how tall he is. It’s rare that I get to be so dwarfed by a man, and I’m finding it intoxicating.

“Don’t you want to say anything nice about me?”

I break out in laughter, my head falling back. But he just smiles and catches it, pulling my mouth immediately back to his, where he kisses me like his life damn near depends on it. His tongue dives in, exploring and savoring. The feeling of his hands holding me to him just sets my nerves on fire.

“So you aren’t worried about her knowing?” he asks, his voice rough from the kiss. His eyes are wary, looking at me like I might give him the news he doesn’t want to hear.

But I shake my head back and forth slowly. “I’m not.” I run my hands over the strong muscles of his back. “Are you?”

“I thought I would be,” he admits. “Last night, before everything .” His chuckle is soft and sweet. “I was worried I was overstepping, that I should keep my goddamn dick in my trousers. But then you were in the kitchen, swinging your hips with those white cotton knickers peeking out beneath your shirt.” He bites his lip and grins. “Nothing could’ve prepared me for that.”

Without warning, he grabs my hand and pushes me away before spinning me under his arm and pulling my back into his chest. He wraps me up, one hand holding mine against my chest and the other resting gently against my stomach. His hips start to sway to invisible music, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. A soft kiss is pressed to my temple, that stubble tickling my cheek.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, his lips pressed against my ear and then farther down to my neck. “We could watch movies and get to know each other. I’ll cook for you, and you can just sit there and look pretty for me.”

Where the hell did this man come from?

I nod, turning my head a bit so that I can see his handsome face. His age shows in some spots: the faint wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and the salt that’s starting to show around his temples. But he’s gorgeous. Breathtaking, really.

“I don’t think it would be good for my image to shove you back out into the snow.” I grin up at him. “The others would gossip.”

He spins me back out and then pulls me swiftly back in, this time facing him. His eyes are full of mirth at my remark, but then everything turns a little more serious. I think we both realize how much we want this and how perfect this could be. It’s nice to see yourself and your wants mirrored in someone else.

We dance like this for a while, him humming off-key and me laughing when he really gets it wrong. After a while, he pulls me in the direction of the couch, our bodies spinning until finally he sits and tugs me down on top of him. I straddle him, settling easily into his body. It’s intimate, and I feel him harden beneath me.

He groans and runs his fingers through my hair. I love how obsessed he seems to be with it, always twirling or touching it. “Part of me wishes I had taken it slower with you,” he tells me. Quietly, like it’s a secret.

“Why?” My own fingers play with his hair and then settle where his neck meets his shoulders.

“Because I don’t want you to think that’s the kind of man I am. I’m not the man who sleeps with women on the first date. I’m not a man who only wants sex.” He takes a deep breath, letting out a sigh filled with worry. “Not with you, Florence.”

I nod, massaging the knots in his shoulders. “I’ve always been the girl that gets too attached.” I laugh at myself. “I always had a crush, always chasing a boy. I don’t know what makes me fall first and fast, but that’s just who I am. I’ve learned to accept it about myself as I’ve grown. So to hear that you want to accept that we have something here, to explore it and try, it’s a type of validation I don’t think I’ve ever received.”

I should be embarrassed. There’s a part of my brain that is currently screaming at me to shut up. But Briggs looks at me like I have his undivided attention, like he’s really interested in what I’m saying. Like he understands .

“Not that I want to run off and get married or anything,” I tease.

“You sure?” he asks, his eyes lighting up playfully. “I have a friend that would do it in a heartbeat.”

I shove him playfully. “I’m sure. I’d like to get to know you a little better first, I think.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging. “I guess I can get on board with that. But I am sorry for one thing.”

“Yeah?” I ask, my face showing my confusion.

“I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

I laugh, and he tackles me back onto the couch, kissing me senseless. And I think this might just be the gift I needed.