Stocking Stuffer: A Bad Boy Christmas Romance by Ali Piedmont

Author:Ali Piedmont [Piedmont, Ali]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-12-20T16:00:00+00:00

13

Ethan

I walk into my room, carrying two cups of coffee and humming—fucking humming—"Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer." If Leo or Crash or any of my service buddies saw me now, they'd laugh their damn asses off.

Then I see Holly, buttoning up her sweater. She's dressed. Ready to go.

"Miss Sweet?" I say.

She looks up and smiles—but then begins to cry.

Holy shit. Did I—did I hurt her last night? I mean, I know I hurt her, but just a little fucking bit. And she loved it. Loved it.

I tried not to get excited about how she reacted. I tried not to think I could actually have it all—my good girl and my bad girl—in one beautiful, brilliant package.

"What's the matter?" My voice comes out gruffer than I intend. I set the coffee on the side table.

"My grandmother." Her eyes fill with tears. "It's the first night I haven't been at home with her. The first night." She balls her hands into fists and stamps her foot in frustration. "And she got up in the night and fell. She lay on the floor, in agony, all night long, and I wasn't there to take care of her."

I don't like this. I obviously don't like that her grandmother was injured. But I really don't fucking like the look on Holly's face. She's actively avoiding eye contact. Her cheeks are mottled, and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She hasn't unclenched her fists. She's lost in her thoughts.

"Alice went to check on her this morning, thank God. Now my grandmother's in the hospital with a broken ankle." She buries her face in her hands. "This is all my fault."

"That's bullshit," I growl, going to her. "It's not your fault. She would've fallen and broken her ankle even if you were there." I don’t know if that's true, but it certainly sounds damn convincing. I just don't like seeing her closed in on herself. In agony. I want to stop it.

I laugh to myself. Me, the co-owner of The Castle, one of the country's hottest private sex clubs, where celebrities throw birthday parties and members come to whip, spank, suck and fuck their friends and associates behind the privacy or our locked, guarded, big-ass doors.

Me, part-time Dom, big fucking fan of whips and the like—wanting nothing more than to take away this woman's pain.

What is she doing to me?

Holly whirls on me. "You can't know that! And even if she had fallen and broken her ankle, I should have been there. If I'd been home, where I belong, she wouldn't have shivered on a cold floor for ten hours. I could have gotten her help, right away."

"Holly, sweetheart." I walk toward her, but she flinches. Pulls away. I drop my hands, take a step back. "You can't seriously blame yourself for this."

She stares at me, stonily. "I know you live alone and don't care about anyone else, but let me tell you: I do. And I do blame myself. And I have to go see her, right now.

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