A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba Read Free

mute.
    No one stalked like Marci Churchill, with that particular enticing gait.
    “Marci,” he warned, and he really, really meant it.
    “Is it a miniature Mediterranean, a standard, large standard, or—”
    “I have no friggin’ idea. There really are different types?” He shook his head. “Who cares?” She drew nearer, and he felt himself sinking deep. “The important thing is that the donkey is missing.”
    “Donkeys aren’t really stubborn, you know. They’re just more laid-back and self-preserving in nature than many animals.”
    Self-preserving? Why did she always say the most peculiar things? “What does that mean?”
    Her gaze drifted over his body, from his booted feet to his drawn eyebrows. “They prefer to do what is good for the donkey, which isn’t always what the human thinks is best, especially when it comes to getting wet feet.”
    Aha. Eyes narrowing, Ozzie asked, “Wet, as in standing in snow?” Is that why she stole the donkey? She thought it wanted dry feet? Er, hooves. Whatever.
    With a shrug, Marci touched his chest. “Stay awhile. Get comfortable.” And with that, she began unbuttoning his coat.
    Ozzie was so rigid with excitement that she’d undone the last button before he thought to move. But if she got the coat off him, she’d see he had a lethal hard-on and then she’d take advantage of his weakened state.
    Survival instincts kicking in, Ozzie caught her hands. But rather than remove them, he just held them still. Near his belt.
    Oh, God.
    Her voice lowered and she stared at his sternum. “Donkeys are friendly, Osbourne, did you know that?”
    He shook his head. Hell, at the moment, he didn’t even know his own name.
    “They’re excellent with children, too. And they make wonderful guard animals.”
    A guard donkey? The absurdity of that cut through the lust and he almost laughed. “You’re making that up.”
    She smiled and pulled her hands free to slip inside his coat. His breath caught. Okay, so he still wore a flannel shirt and a T-shirt, but he wished he didn’t. He wished her hot little hands were on his bare skin.
    “The right donkey will take care of an entire herd of cattle, sheep, or goats.” Her fingers spread out, and she pushed the coat off his shoulders. “Their natural aversion to predators inspires them to severely discourage any canine attacks on the herd. Dogs and donkeys don’t mix well, but a donkey can be trained to leave the house dog or farm dog alone.”
    Her hands were small and soft, and warm, and like any red-blooded male, he knew when to give up graciously. “Marci?”
    “Hmmm?” She started on the buttons of his shirt.
    He lowered his head and inhaled the sweetness of her silky hair. “I don’t think I care about the damned donkey anymore.”
    “Do you care about me?”
    Shit. What kind of tricky question was that? Somehow, he knew no matter what he said, she’d take it the wrong way and he’d end up—
    “I didn’t ask you an algebra problem, Osbourne. You don’t need to do equations in your head. Just tell me, yes or no.”
    He locked his jaw, and almost got lost in her beautiful eyes. “If I say no, are you going to make me leave?”
    She looked at his mouth, and her gaze warmed. “Do you want to stay?”
    Damn it, he hated getting a question answered with another question. “I want what I’ve always wanted.”
    “Sex?” She moved closer, until her breasts brushed his chest, her thighs nudged his.
    “Yeah.” Hell yeah. Hot, sweaty, no-holds-barred sex. Naked, gritty sex. Wet, slippery, prolonged—
    “Me, too.”
    Ozzie almost swallowed his tongue. He forgot the donkey. He also forgot Lucius’s instructions to merely watch over Marci, not enjoy her. He forgot her feather-brained relationships with animals and her propensity to make him nuts.
    Before he even knew what he was doing, he had her backed up to a wall, his mouth sealed over hers, his tongue past her teeth, tasting her deeply. And he didn’t want to stop