CHRISTMAS COFFEE: A HOLIDAY ROMANCE Read online

  Christmas Coffee

  A Christmas Story

  H. M. Ward

  Laree Bailey Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by H. M. Ward

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  LAREE BAILEY PRESS

  First Edition: NOVEMBER 2016

  Originally printed titled as HOT GUY

  ISBN: 978-1-63035-248-6 (Paperbacks)

  ISBN: 978-1-63035-247-9 (ebook)

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Celyn

  2. Celyn

  3. Nova

  4. Nova

  5. Celyn

  6. Celyn

  7. Celyn

  8. Nova

  9. Celyn

  10. Celyn

  11. Celyn

  12. Celyn

  13. Nova

  14. Nova

  15. Nova

  16. Nova

  17. Celyn

  18. Celyn

  19. Nova

  20. Celyn

  21. Celyn

  22. Nova

  23. Celyn

  24. Nova

  25. Nova

  26. Celyn

  27. Celyn

  28. Nova

  29. Celyn

  30. Celyn

  31. Nova

  32. Celyn

  33. Nova

  34. Celyn

  35. Nova

  36. Celyn

  37. Celyn

  38. Nova

  39. Celyn

  40. Nova

  41. Nova

  42. Nova

  43. Celyn

  44. Nova

  45. Celyn

  46. Nova

  47. Celyn

  48. EPILOGUE

  MORE HOLIDAY BOOKS BY H.M. WARD

  EXCERPT: OVER YOU

  COMPLETED SERIES BY H.M. WARD

  MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS

  SUGGESTED FERRO SERIES READING ORDER

  CAN'T WAIT FOR H.M. WARD'S NEXT STEAMY BOOK?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1

  Celyn

  My heart slams into my chest like I’m having a fucking heart attack. I pull up Quin’s number and press CALL. He’s been my best friend since we were in boarding school together, back when we were young kids with big names. Quinton was shortened to Quin, much to his parent’s horror. And Quin learned how to pronounce my Celtic nightmare of a name, and made sure no one else said had a chance to call me “Sally-Ann” or other stupid shit kids said to me early on.

  In a single breath, I unload all my shit in the longest sentence ever heard. I don’t fucking come up for air until I’m done. Panic has its icy fingers around my throat and I can’t shake the bastard.

  Quin’s on speakerphone as I floor the sleek black McLaren across the Verrazano Bridge and toward eastern Long Island. I’m bobbing and weaving through traffic, gripping the wheel so tight that it might come off in my hands.

  I rant for a while and then slam my palm into the steering wheel. “What the fuck am I going to do? I did every last fucking thing that man ever asked of me! I’m screwed, Quin!”

  “I’ll help you think of something.”

  “Quin, you don’t—”

  “KEHL-ahN,” he says my name in two sharp parts, cutting my off with the throaty sound of that hard C. “Celyn, seriously. Stop. Don’t lose your shit over this. You’ve handled worse.”

  Quin gives me the pep talk I need as I drive away from Uncle Aldrich’s swank office in Manhattan. “Go have a few drinks, nail some hot chick, and we’ll work it out on paper tomorrow.”

  I grimace and stare at the dashboard, making the same expression I’d offer if Quin were here with me. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, asswipe. You’re supposed to be at your mother’s house.”

  He laughs lightly, “She can wait.”

  “She’ll kill you.” His mother is like Martha Stewart, pre-trial, on crack. Their estate home on the north shore of Long Island is pristine and the holiday will be exceptional, until Quin shows up in jeans and a T-shirt instead of a tie. Formality isn’t dead, not in that house.

  “Fine, then come with me. Eat turkey, talk turkey, and then poke your eye out with the wishbone, because my fucking Hallmark family is that boring. We’ll need some drama. If I have to sit through another holiday meal and listen to shit about hedge funds, I’ll fucking snap.” His voice rises an octave as he speaks so fast that all the words run together.

  Quin’s family has more money than God, but he doesn’t act like it. Not until he’s forced into the annual soul-sucking conversations about his future. When we were in college together, Quin nearly cracked from all the pressure put on him by his parents. Yeah, he has a set that’s still married after thirty-five years, which is a feat in and of itself. At times, like holidays—like now, with all this shit raining down—it’s difficult to not be envious. He has meddling parents. I have an evil uncle. That’s it. No kin to call my own, no family watching my back come hell or high water. No cousins or brothers. Quin is my only family.

  I assure him, “I’ll go with you. Calm the fuck down. Hedge funds are better than this shit.”

  Quin laughs but there’s no joy in it. “I’d trade lives with you in a fucking heartbeat, Celyn.”

  “Likewise buddy,” and I mean it, “but first, I need to get through this shit.”

  “Tomorrow, Celyn.” He urges. “Tonight, let your subconscious do all the thinking. Actually, let your dick do all the thinking. Pound some pussy and get smashed, in that order. It’ll give you something to be thankful for tomorrow.” Quin laughs and disconnects.

  I sigh and rub my hand over my face. It’s not a bad plan, but I feel too wound up for it. I’m still pissed. By now I’ve driven so far out on the Island that I’m passing the county line into Suffolk. Shit. It’s another hour to the summer house and an hour back to the city. When I took off, I was irate and started to drive without thinking about where I was going. All I could focus on was finding Ocean Parkway and letting the salty sea air fill my lungs as I gunned it down the road.

  I groan and glance around. I left the Parkway behind a while ago, and am flying down an open stretch of Sunrise—a modest concrete wonder with six lanes that connects suburbia to the city. Buildings jut up from the landscape, nothing more than three stories. If you took Manhattan and tipped it over on its side, you’d have Long Island.

  I drive like I have a destination in mind. I don’t want to go to the normal places tonight. I can’t face those people. They all know who I am, what I am. If they find out what happened, I won’t be able to bear it.

  I drive a bit further and stop just outside of Bayshore, past the mall, in a sketchy part of town. I roll into the back parking lot of a bar and cut the engine. I strip off my jacket and tug on an old gray sweater I left laying on the passenger seat. It’s old and soft. Combined with a pair of shitkickers, I know I can handle myself.

  When I walk into the establishment, I’m thinking bar fight. That’s why I stopped here. I need to beat the shit out of someone, and lose the anger building inside of me. This gutter looks like the perfect place to do it. But then, I spot this blonde in the corner with her nose in a book. Long tendrils of golden hair fall over her shoulders. Her face is perfect, fucking beautiful, not that I look at it too long because her tits are there in this red ribbed sweater, plump and perfect. I can imagine my hands on them as I kiss her
senseless, spread her legs, and fuck her until she cries out in ecstasy.

  I walk over to her and stop in front of her table. She’s reading a Chilton’s manual, which shocks the hell out of me. I pull out a well-worn wooden chair and sit without asking. “Light reading?”

  She doesn’t glance up at me, just gives me the finger. “Fuck off, buddy. I’m not in the mood.” Her petite face remains downturned, her nose in that fat-ass book.

  “Neither was I, until I saw you.” That makes her look up. She stops for a second, startled. I think she recognizes me, but then her eyes tell another story—blank. She has no clue who I am, which is fucking perfect.

  “Nice line. Use it often?” She smirks at me, lifts a brow, and then goes back to her book, turns a page. She opens the index and goes to a previous section and then pinches the bridge of her nose like she has a massive headache. I say nothing, and just watch her for a second. The manual is for Hondas that are over a decade old. I saw one in the parking lot on the way in.

  I reach across, and take the book from her even though I know she’ll rip my arms off. “Hey!” She reaches to take it back, and I grab her hands and squeeze hard before releasing them. I push the book back at her.

  “Listen, I’ve had a shitty day and from the way you’re flipping through the pages of that manual, you’re stuck here until you can get your car to start. Honda Civic, am I right?”

  She frowns and her lip juts out. It’s so fucking perfect. I want to lean in and taste her, suck that pouty lip into my mouth and nip her.

  Her gaze narrows. “How’d you know that?”

  I run my hands through my hair and then lean on my elbows, getting closer to her. Her scent fills my head—fuck, she’s intoxicating. “Listen, I’ll fix your car and then you can spend the night doing funner things, or you can stay here alone. Up to you.”

  She hesitates. “What do you know about cars?”

  I don’t answer her. Instead, I get up and tip my head toward the door. “Keys?”

  She stiffens, and then sighs as she reaches into a purse that looks like a horse-feed bag. She fishes them out and hands them to me. “Fine, but if you steal my car, I’ll kick your ass.”

  I smirk at her. I like the spunky thing she has going on. This chick isn’t a pushover, which means she should be a lot of fun in bed. I offer a lazy smile and lean in close, invading her space and inhaling the perfect scent. “Tell me, honey, how exactly would I swipe a car that doesn’t run?”

  Her eyes lock with mine. Defiant. “You’d be surprised at what a desperate guy is willing to do.”

  I choke and laugh at her. “Desperate? That’s what you see when you look at this?”

  She shrugs and gives me a once over, folding her arms loosely over her chest. She stands on one leg, which tips her curvy hips to the side, and glares at me, like she’s bored. “Does it matter?”

  I step closer, her body an inch from mine. I can feel the warmth of her body. She’s close enough to touch, but I’m having too much fun taunting her. I feel the words wrap around my lips as I say them. “Desperation and kindness don’t mingle.”

  She snaps, and lunges for the keys. “I don’t need charity.”

  I pull back, letting her body brush against my arm. I hold the keys out of reach and look down into her beautiful face. There’s something about her that’s so different. I honestly think she may knee me in the nuts, take back her keys, and figure out the Chilton’s manual. “Good, because I’m not offering a handout. I never said I was paying, honey.”

  Her gaze narrows. “Stop calling me that.”

  “What? Honey? You’re not all sweet and smooth, going down?”

  She snorts. “Well, you’ll never find out, will you?” She raises her brows at me and smirks.

  Holy fuck. I love this woman. I can’t believe she said that. I lean in close enough to see the tiny freckle that rests on the soft skin just above the bow in her top lip. She stiffens and lowers her lashes, her gaze fixated on my mouth thinking that I’m going to kiss her.

  Instead, I stop and whisper as I grin. “Stop thinking about it.”

  “I’m not,” she breathes, but I know she is from the way her gaze drops. She doesn’t move. She stays there a breath away. When she shifts her weight, her tits brush against my chest. It’s enough to make me want to take her here and now. “Besides, certain acts are reserved for men who are worth it, and you’re questionable at best.”

  “Then, I’ll have to change your mind.”

  She smiles and watches me from under those long lashes. “Once I form an opinion, it doesn’t change.” Her minty breath washes across my lips as she speaks. It’s fucking hypnotic.

  “Then, I’ll be sure to leave you with a lasting impression—something unforgettable.” I turn on my heel before she can say another word, or change her mind, and head toward the door. She follows me out into the parking lot.

  I pop her hood, the real one, but see the problem as soon as I sit down behind the wheel. It’s basic, but not something that I can fix in a parking lot. I try to crank the engine. It doesn’t even sputter and I point to the dash. “See that needle?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “It means your battery is dead.”

  “But I just changed it.” She deflates slightly. “It’s new. It can’t be dead.”

  “Odds are it’s your alternator, but someone needs to check it out. A jump won’t bring this battery back to life. Hell, it’s so far gone that the dome light isn’t even coming on”

  She inhales slowly, doesn’t blink, and then swears under her breath. Hand to her head she says, “Shit. I can’t fix that myself.” Her book has black smudges and oily fingerprints all over it. I have no doubt that she’s been working on the car.

  “Not tonight, but given enough time in the light of day, I’m sure you could figure it out.” I mean every word of it. There’s something about her, I can see it in her eyes. She likes to tinker, to take things apart and put them back together. She’s not a grease monkey—it’s more than that. It has something to do with curiosity and understanding. She wants to know how things work.

  She softens a little. “Thanks. I think I’m going back to plan A for tonight.”

  “Which was…?”

  Her green gaze cuts to the side, landing on me. “Getting plastered and joining AAA so they can tow my car home.”

  “As amazing as that sounds, I can have your car fixed in a couple of hours. It’d be ready for you, right here. And I can’t help but notice there’s a nice warm room right over there.” I tip my head at the little Hilton glowing in the cold night. She’s shivering, no coat, and doesn’t flat out reject me this time. “Which would you prefer? Drinking buddy or getting off with a guy who can make a girl come three times, back to back? It’s pretty amazing, at least that’s what I’ve been told.” I hold her gaze, shocked she hasn’t shot me down yet.

  She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she glances up at me. “You don’t need to hype yourself. I’m not blind.”

  “It’s not hype. It’s a fact, and I felt like you needed the choice. But it is fucking cold out here, so how about picking one. Either way, I’ll make sure you forget everything that’s bothering you for a little bit. What do you say?”

  She sighs loudly and looks back at the bar. She’s going to pick drinking buddy. Her body language says it all. Slumped shoulders, apprehension, lack of trust. She’s strung tight like she might punch me in the face for the hell of it.

  Then she looks down at my hand and takes it, threading my fingers through hers. “Grab a bottle to go, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  2

  Celyn

  I have no idea who this woman is and I don’t ask her name. She doesn’t ask for mine. I grab a bottle of Absolute and check in under an alias, pushing the guy at the desk a hundred when he wants to see my license. He takes it, and suddenly that part isn’t important anymore. It’s amazing what people will do for a
few bucks at this time of year.

  A nervous energy radiates from the blonde goddess standing next to me. Her body is tense, all lean muscle, and she’s strong. I got that. She’s not a doormat and sure as hell doesn’t take shit from anyone. I wonder how crazy she is for a second, eyeing that massive purse, knowing damn well she might be insane. There could be an ax in there. The hot ones are always nuts.

  Hot Girl follows me to the room and when we walk inside, I flip on the lights. I toss my keycard on the cheap counter and look at the sad little room. The bedspread has that once white look and the room is well lived in. I’m about to turn around and tell her that she doesn’t have to do shit with me, that we can drink in here—I’m fine with it—when she shuts the lights off and steps toward me with a look in her eye that’s all sex.

  She wants me, is thinking about clawing her nails down my back and riding my dick. I wonder if she wants me or just needs an escape. It doesn’t matter, not tonight. Her arms are around my neck and her perfect little body presses against mine. Her tits mash against my chest making my dick hard. She smells like vanilla and baby powder. Coupled with that peppermint breath, I could eat her up. Her hair feels like silk in my fingers and when her lips meet my neck, she trails her hands up under my sweater running her palms over my abs slowly, teasing me.