Home for the Holidays Read Free

came to a fight. If someone stepped up to me, then they got popped and dropped. It ended once my father sent me to military school. The structured environment taught me discipline and to control my quick temper. At thirteen I left home a tall, skinny kid and came back, at eighteen, twenty pounds heavier and confident enough to know that I didn’t need to use my fists to settle a conflict. Even though I’ve changed, folks still call me Scrappy.”
    Iris digested this information, wondering whether the anger and aggression from Collier’s childhood lay dormant where it could surface without warning, praying she hadn’t targeted a crazy man. “Does it bother you you’re still called Scrappy?”
    He ran his forefinger down the length of her nose. “No, only because it reminds me of what I used to be like.” Pushing back his chair, Collier stood. “I’ll go get your drink now.”
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    Collier hadn’t known what to expect when Iris invited him to come upstairs to her apartment, but it wasn’t the furnishings in the living and dining rooms resembling luxurious lodgings for those on African safari. The colors of white, tan, and black predominated. Rattan chairs, a sofa, and a love seat covered in Haitian cotton cradled accent pillows in animal prints. Zebra-, leopard-, and giraffe-printed area rugs were scattered about the wood floor, and intricately carved mahogany masks and framed watercolors of African women in native and ceremonial dress were exhibited on stark white walls above the wood-burning fireplace.
    â€œI like what you’ve done with your place.”
    Iris slipped off her shoes, leaving them on the straw mat near the door. “Thanks.” She smiled at him. “Would you like some coffee?”
    A slight frown creased Collier’s forehead. Maybe he’d misread her signals. Did she want sex or was she just looking for someone to talk to? After all, she’d admitted she’d gone to Happy Hour to meet someone new.
    â€œSure,” he said.
    â€œHow do you take it?”
    â€œBlack. The stronger the better.”
    Iris smiled. “Come talk to me while I make it.”
    Collier stared at the gentle sway of her hips as he followed Iris into the galley kitchen. The all-white space was spotless. Lounging casually against the entrance and crossing his arms over his chest, he watched as she switched on a single-cup coffee brewer.
    â€œWhy did you invite me home with you?” He knew his question had taken her by surprise when she nearly dropped one of the mugs she’d taken off a rack.
    â€œYou want the truth?” she asked.
    He didn’t move. “Of course.”
    She pulled back her shoulders. “I went to the club tonight with the intent of meeting someone.”
    He blinked slowly. “How often do you pick up men?”
    A nervous smile trembled over her lips. “Tonight was my first time.”
    â€œWhy tonight?”
    Iris assumed a similar pose, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You’re the first man in more than three years I could carry on an intelligent conversation with and not worry about him trying to get me into bed with him and—”
    Collier held up a hand, stopping her words. “Don’t say anything else.”
    â€œDon’t you want to know why?” she asked.
    â€œNo, because I also have a confession to make. When I saw you standing at the bar, the first thing that went through my mind was what did I have to do or say to convince you to sleep with me.”
    Iris frowned. “I suppose I was wrong about you.”
    Collier took a step toward her and cradled her face between his hands. He lowered his head, brushing a light kiss over her mouth. “No, you’re not. But there’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults sleeping together.”
    Iris’s eyelids fluttered. “You’re right, but I’m not ready to sleep with a