A Christmas Interlude
Sandra Sookoo
Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC at Smashwords
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
A CHRISTMAS INTERLUDE
Copyright © 2010 SANDRA SOOKOO
ISBN 978-1-936165-65-0
Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah
Edited By Stephanie Taylor and D. Thomas Jerlo
Chapter One
Luther Harrington whistled an uplifting, holiday tune as the carriage rocked in a gentle rhythm. The mid-December chill provided an excuse to tuck his woman close to his side, which he did, letting her heat seep into his body beneath the lap blanket. His woman. The thought prompted a grin. Chelsea was much more than that. She was his other half, his perfect match—his mate—yet he had never asked for her hand or even made a serious commitment to her.
All that would change on the upcoming Christmas Day. He hoped, but he cautioned himself to go slow and not frighten her. If he were to tell her exactly what he was, she would run screaming. Any member of polite society anywhere, let alone the conservative city of Indianapolis, would do just that.
Moving his head slightly to the left, he glanced at the woman beside him, who was easily the most gorgeous female he’d ever laid eyes on. He studied her face in profile; thick blonde hair styled into the latest updo, he ached to rip the serviceable bonnet from her head, pluck the pins from her tresses and plunge his fingers into the mass, feeling its warmth and vibrancy under his fingertips. He loved her hair, could spend endless moments breathing in the floral scent, yet he constantly had to temper his appetites for fear of spooking her.
This was always the case. As delicate and unique as a snowflake, his Chelsea deserved everything good that life could offer, everything normal. Just as fragile as a snowflake, the truth about him could destroy those dreams he wanted for her. He pushed away the desires before his thoughts could turn morbid and once again looked upon her visage.
As the carriage passed a row of homes, the faint, golden glow of the streetlights illuminated Chelsea’s face. Two spots of rosy color gave life to her rounded cheeks, and her vivid green eyes sparkled with what seemed like contentment, or perhaps happiness.
He wondered what she thought about. It seemed as if she were a million miles away. Not even their favorite dining spot could elicit any animation or conversation from her tonight.
“Did you enjoy the meal?” He repositioned himself until he could openly admire her form. An ivory-colored shawl had slipped from her shoulders, revealing the tops of her full, creamy breasts as they strained against the rich, brown silk of her dinner gown. Heat spiked through his body to lodge in his groin. His cock hardened as he thought about what they would do when they finally arrived at his townhouse, about how the lush curve of her hips would feel, naked, beneath his hands—the perfect Christmas sweet.
At the last second, he remembered to maintain tight control over his baser instincts. Now was not the time to tell her of his furry heritage.
Chelsea turned to face him. A strained smile barely curved her kissable lips, slightly glossy as the tip of her tongue swept briefly along the bottom one. “Dinner was, as always, excellent. I trust your roast beef was rare enough?”
“Actually, the Carlisle has presented the dish better on previous occasions.” His mouth watered at the remembrance of those other meals where the juices ran red with every cut of his knife. Each Saturday, he took Chelsea to dinner at the Carlisle, a hotel in the business district, and he ordered his meat as rare as it could possibly be outside of slaughtering it himself. There was something so primal about digging into a slab of beef that hadn’t been manipulated much by human hands…
This brought his thoughts back to the carnal pleasures he and Chelsea would indulge in mere moments from now, the perfect foil to wrench his mind from his other passion. If he wasn’t fettered by polite manners and stifling rules, he would instruct the driver to continue on a tour of the city until the horse was too tired to walk another step. The extra time he’d use to ravish his woman in the cab, hopefully making certain she was well and truly satisfied.
Yet, he held back. Three years with Chelsea had given his life meaning, enriched it to the point that he yearned to spend the remainder of his time on the earth with her, but the simple fact he was born to be a werewolf whenever the moon grew full hampered any hope of a normal, happy existence. At the first glimpse of fur and fang, she would demand the local authorities come and take him away to the nearest mental facility.
Hell, she might swat at him with a broom. Chelsea, in the height of annoyance, was capable of doing nearly anything.
Still, deep in his soul, he knew she was the one woman meant for him, so why couldn’t he lower his pride and reveal all? He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. Her skin, petal soft against his fingers, stoked the flames already ignited within and created an inferno of need.
He held back out of fear, out of rejection. He would die if he lost Chelsea—not because she held the key to his very existence, but simply because he loved her too much to make her afraid of him.
He was a shape shifter and had been since birth, but also, his sexual needs and appetite far surpassed that of a normal human man. His deepest desires would frighten her. She’d accuse him of depravity of the darkest criminal, yet that knowledge didn’t lessen the constant ache for her companionship and her as a sexual partner. She was too good, too wholesome for anything more risqué in the bedroom than gentle lovemaking.
Luther swallowed down the build-up of hot saliva in his mouth. Oh God, what he wouldn’t do to feel her lips wrapped around his cock as he thrust into her mouth.
This time, he couldn’t control the groan that escaped his throat. In order to keep Chelsea, he would need to content himself with mild sexual encounters, keep the mild-mannered persona for the rest of his life. And what was more, he would need to pretend he was satisfied with that lot.
She could never know his true nature. Above all else, he wanted to keep her.
The carriage lurched sharply to the right as the driver turned a corner. The abrupt motion threw Chelsea into his lap. Unable to help himself, he lifted her and repositioned her legs until she awkwardly straddled him with her skirts bunched between them. “That color of gown suits you, Chelsea. You should wear it more often.” He cupped her cheek, sliding his hand down, and brushed he pad of his thumb over her collarbone. When he felt a host of tremors course through her body, he decided to find out how far she’d let him take her.
He pressed his lips to the bare skin of her décolletage. “You taste like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.” Pausing for a mere second, he licked the swell of first one breast then the other. He slid his hands to her waist and moved them slowly up until he cupped her breasts. Her nipples pebbled into tight buds beneath her gown, hard and ready for him. Lowering his mouth to one of the ripe offerings, he closed his lips around the fabric-covered tip, teasing slightly with his teeth. A low moan eased between her lips and a shudder shook her shoulders. She stiffened on his lap.
Immediately, Luther released her. “I apologize, Chelsea.” He dumped her onto the bench beside him, his chest heaving as he struggled with his instincts. “I cannot explain what came over me.”
“That was…different, Luther. Um, did you, uh, mean to do that?” Unknown emotion wobbled her voice, but she did not glance his way. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the opposite window.
Oh God, she hates me. “I must be mad.” He pressed himself as close to the side of the carriage as he could get, anywhere in order not to touch her. She tempted him like no other woman. He’d make the sacrifice, bury his animal side beneath lies to keep her.
Yet… Inhaling deeply, the sweet, distinctive scent of her obvious arousal gave him hope. Maybe in time…
* * * *
“Oh yes, like that, Luther. You’re such a creative lover.”
Chelsea Thompson rolled her eyes at the sarcastic tone in her voice. She couldn’t summon the enthusiasm anymore. Her mind began to wander even though her suitor of three years treated her to the most recent weekly installment of his interpretation of the bedroom arts.
It was always the same. Every Saturday night they dined at the Carlisle Hotel. Luther had the roast beef. She had the chicken. Upon returning to his comfortable townhouse in an upscale part of Indianapolis, he would lead her upstairs, undress, wait until she did the same, and extinguish the lamps. Afterward, he’d treat her to the three minute joining that lacked energy and any kind of excitement.
A groan from him brought her attention back to his attempt at carnal entertainment. Thrust, thrust, a pause to fumble at her breasts. Thrust, thrust, grunt then he came and collapsed beside her, panting. No sooner did she have time to turn onto her side and huff her frustration than he snored beside her. She’d wager three months of her teacher salary that nary a piece of her blonde hair was out of place from its upswept style.
No muss, no fuss and definitely no spectacular finish for her. Lord, it had been a very long time indeed since Luther had satisfied her sexually. Most of the time, she resorted to pleasuring herself after he drifted to sleep in order to stave off tension-filled disappointment. It wasn’t the same as being taken by a determined man on a mission, but what could she do?
She stared unseeing at the opposite wall as she realized she wasn’t even breathless.
Luther Harrington, although a great catch, a handsome man and a well-connected banker, was absolutely horrible between the sheets.
And that needed to change. Immediately. Maybe if she wished hard enough, a Christmas elf would bring her an orgasm for Christmas. She stifled a snicker at the poor joke. As if there were such things as elves.
Rotating, Chelsea propped herself on a mountain of down pillows and poked her lazy lover in the shoulder. “Wake up, Luther. We need to talk.” He mumbled something she couldn’t catch and swatted her hand away as if she were an annoying insect. She lifted an eyebrow and leaned over him, jabbing him harder. “I am serious.” She brooded until he cracked open his brownish-gold eyes to gaze at her with an air of indulgent humor. “There is no excuse in this enlightened day and age of 1899 that you should have absolutely no clue about what you’re doing in the bedroom.”
“What do you mean? I give you sex once a week. That’s vastly more than most men give their wives, and we’re not married. Count yourself lucky, my dear.”
Chelsea snorted. Willfully giving sex to a partner did not equate to the animalistic passion she craved from him. She sat up, hugging the fine cotton sheet to her chest. “Is that what you call it? I am almost positive a blind dog could do a better job than you.” Her cheeks heated as anger curled through her chest.
“I—”