Once Upon a Holiday Page 5

“She’s a professional, I can spend some time with her and not worry about some crazy woman parading at my house wearing a wedding dress like last time,” I assure him. “It’ll be fun, let me be, big guy.”

  Fun isn’t exactly what I’m looking for. It’s more like her company and answers. I have to figure out what is it about June that keeps me awake at night drawing her and trying to remember every curve, scar, birthmark, and line of her body.

  Her eyes are brown with golden flecks and I need to see them again to get them just right. Her hair and the way her locks spill on top of my pillow.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t think about women, in fact, I barely remember anything about them after we spend a night together.

  With her … I can’t seem to get ahold of my fucking self.

  Once I’m dressed, I run a hand through my damp hair and put on my parka, my hat, and gloves. As we step outside the studio, I say, “It’s late and I’m not sure if we’ll be able to help her with the furniture.”

  “You know the rules,” he says, sternly.

  “It’s fine, she doesn’t know who I am,” I say, brushing him away.

  If I can help it, she’s staying with me tonight. We can either get a room or go to my house. We’re definitely reminiscing about what we did in that hotel room.

  He sighs. “It’s fucking hard to keep you safe when you do shit like this. Hire a real management company to handle your properties.”

  “Give me the keys,” he orders. “I’ll drop you and do it afterward.”

  Jesus, I never liked when my parents controlled my whereabouts and yet, I have to deal with this shit every fucking day. Don’t get me wrong, Beck and his team are great but who likes to have a shadow all day long?

  Their presence reminds me I’m lonely and that my life sucks.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me,” I protest and jump inside the car. Before I close the door I say, “Drive.”

  “If this becomes another shit show, I quit,” he warns me.

  Which one is he talking about?

  My life is a clusterfuck. Being famous isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. It was all fun and shit when I started. Now, it’s a fucking nightmare. I blame all the publications that set me on lists where I became a target.

  Like the most influential people in the world. Most successful under forty. Also, I made it to some list called world’s wealthiest and most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. I wasn’t some starving artist like the world imagined.

  I am Sterling fucking Ahern.

  Half owner of Ahern Enterprises. Beautiful women began to parade around the gallery. Thousands of emails and actual letters arrived daily. I’m not exaggerating, there were thousands of those fuckers at the post office waiting for me.

  They forced me to buy another property where I could set up my studio. My employees were being harassed too. I sigh, look out the window, and wonder when my life will go back to normal. Hate used to be a strong word but now, I hate so many things and it’s so fucking hard to find joy in anything I do.

  That’s why I have a security team. They stopped the insanity. It’s been a couple of years without incidents, thank fuck. The first scary stalker I had terrified the fuck out of me. It was an online threat. A guy wanted me dead because his girlfriend thought I was hotter and richer than him.

  The second was a woman named Stephanie who would leave food, letters, mixed CDs, and her underwear at the gallery or my house. There was Gladys, the woman who threatened to cut off my dick if I continued dating other women. She broke into Mom’s house—thankfully, my mother was out of town when this happened.

  Maggie, the one who brought a kid claiming all her four children were mine almost killed me for cheating on her.

  The list is longer than I care for.

  When I check my phone, I find a message from June. My blood goes cold when I hear her message. I try to call her back, but her voicemail picks up right away.

  “Can you go faster?” I ask Beck. “She’s out in the cold.”

  “Nope, there’s a storm. I’m going as fast as I can. Call 9-1-1,” he suggests. “Or wait for five minutes. It won’t take long.”

  Exactly four minutes and twenty-seven seconds later—I was counting—the car comes to a complete stop. I look forward, looking at the rental. One of the properties I flipped a couple of years back when I thought real estate was fun.

  “There’s a car in the driveway,” Beck announces. “And I think she’s by the door. You better hurry before she freezes.”

  “June,” I call to her, but she doesn’t move. I squat and lift her chin. She’s shivering and looks sleepy. “It’s cold, why don’t we go inside.”

  “It’s not cold,” she says with a shaky voice.

  I look down to try to assess her. She’s shivering, arms crossed, and red nose. Her eyes are closed and there might be a tint of blue on her skin. I push the snow beside her with my foot and take a seat freezing my ass. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

  “Forever,” she yawns, her head resting on my shoulder. Her low voice barely audible. “I was giving up … thought of you, you know. That it’d be nice if you came to rescue me. I forgot my keys in the car and locked it.”

  Holy fuck, how long has she been here in the cold? I take off my coat, dust some of the snow accumulating on her head and back, and cover her with it.

  “Hey, open your beautiful eyes,” I say, moving slightly so I can slide my arm under her legs before I pick her up from the floor. “Please don’t go to sleep.”

  Her eyes flutter open. “But it’s nice when I dream of you. Five more minutes.”

  I try not to freak out but fuck. Maybe I should take her to the hospital.

  She sighs and there’s another big shiver. I pull her closer to me and she mumbles. “You smell good. Just like I remember. It’s funny, I was coming to fix my life and I might not make it. It’s sad because I won’t leave anything worth remembering.”

  Oh, fuck, she’s delirious.

  Beckett has the back door open and I slide us inside. I ask Beck to get her purse.

  “The car is locked,” he informs me, “and too fucking cold to play MacGyver.”

  “She’s freezing, maybe we should take her to the hospital,” I suggest.

  He looks at her, takes her pulse, and shakes his head. Then, he walks to the trunk and brings a few blankets. “Take her shoes off, anything that’s wet and wrap her with these blankets. Make sure to keep her warm. Once we arrive at your house get her in bed and don’t leave her until she’s warm.”

  * * *

  When we arrive home, I follow Beck’s instructions. My favorite is skin to skin, that will warm her up faster.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  She looks at me as I’m undressing her. “What are you doing?”

  “You were out in the cold long enough to get hypothermia, I’m trying to warm you up,” I explain, taking off my shirt and my pants.

  “Where am I?”

  “My apartment,” I answer.

  “Wait, no, I was waiting for the asshole from the management company. He never arrived.”

  I get into bed next to her and bring her closer to me. She’s so fucking cold, I swear I’m shivering just by touching her.

  “Seriously, what are you doing?” she asks, getting closer to me.

  I pull her even closer and begin to rub her arms and back with my hands. Jesus, what would’ve happened if I didn’t arrive when I did? I want to kiss her though, I resist. This isn’t the time for that but … fuck, I have the urge to be inside her to make sure she’s with me.

  Suddenly she’s crying and sobbing. I can’t make sense of what she’s saying. Something about not seeing her family again and how she has nothing.

  “Then, I kept seeing these beautiful children. A little boy and two cute girls … they’re so real but so far away.”

  “Hey, everything is fine,” I promise her. “You’re safe and I’m going to take care of you. T
omorrow, everything will look different.”

  Sterling

  Unlike many, I don’t sleep much. My mind is always busy. I like to draw at night to keep myself busy. Last night was different. Once June was warm enough, I fell asleep, with her in my arms. There’s something about the way her body molds against mine that gives me a sense of peace and calm.

  What is it about her that makes me act differently?

  So different that I had to break the only rule I have with hookups—and between us. No names, no repeats.

  How am I going to explain to her how I found her? Talking about stalkers, I just behaved like one but it wasn’t my intention whatsoever.

  I tried to forget her, to push away the urgent desire to seek her. But how can I when our time together was unforgettable? I needed to see her again—have her again. It was a great night, but we are different people. She seems like the kind of woman who is attached to her family and wants a future. I only care about … what do I even care about?

  In the morning, she remains nestled between my arms. I talk myself out of waking her up with a kiss and trying to seduce her. She’s gorgeous and just waking up next to her is a treat and a temptation.

  Why are you so special, gorgeous?

  She confuses the fuck out of me. It’s not the lust; but the wish of remaining by her side. I want to wake up next to her every morning and being able to just slide inside her.

  Can I make it happen?

  Maybe, once we have a long discussion and we settle things between us. I’ll propose a new arrangement. But what if she says, fuck you or worse; I want more from you—or any man who wants to be with me.

  My head is about to explode with so many questions. Never in my life have I put so much thought into something other than my art, let alone someone.

  Pushing away all this madness, I decide to start my day. Before I head to the gym, I leave a note on the nightstand.

  Good morning, beautiful.

  There’re some clothes on top of the credenza. Feel free to take a shower. Make sure to set the temperature to warm. I’m still concerned about last night. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll have breakfast waiting.

  SA

  Since the blizzard continues and I can’t get her flowers, I make a few flowers with paper and leave them on the nightstand. Again, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  I turn toward my bed and admire June. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just perfect and hopefully mine for the rest of the year.

  * * *

  June

  I can’t decide if it was the best dream of my entire life, a nightmare, or if it was some kind of hallucination. My head pounds and I’m hoping yesterday didn’t happen and I’m still in my apartment running late.

  Lying to myself for a few more minutes only works for so long, but can anyone blame me?

  I thought I was going to die. This bed makes me feel like I’ve landed in heaven.

  The scent of the sheets and the softness is inviting.

  When I have the strength to open my eyes, I realize the room is dark, the sheets are softer than mine, and the familiar scent of cedar, citrus, and musk. It is sexy and definitely not mine.

  Where am I and what happened?

  Going through yesterday’s events, I remember exactly what happened. I went to the office, made sure my staff knew how to contact me and delegated my tasks. I flew to Denver, it’s freezing cold, and … I almost died.

  All because I locked the car and my phone’s battery was drained. Did someone rescue me?

  Not a smart move, Juniper Spearman. You were a few minutes away from dying. The cold had seemed mild at first. I prayed the management company would arrive soon. Until my face and hands felt numb. Next thing I knew the bitter cold had spread across my skin.

  I haven’t prayed in my life so hard for a miracle—and it’s not even Christmas. Then, there was that dream with the little kids. A boy and two girls.

  To add to my madness, the guy I slept with during Thanksgiving week was there too. It felt as if he came to my rescue.

  I smell the pillow next to me and it smells like him. Either it’s Thanksgiving week or I’m in the twilight zone. I have no idea where I am. What in the world happened to me? Why am I just wearing my panties and a T-shirt? A shirt that just like the entire room smells like him.

  My heart races fast because I really can’t remember much from last night other than my dreams. Those cute little babies were just adorable. I touch my belly and smile because in just a couple of days one of those kids might be growing inside me but wouldn’t it be wonderful if they’re at least twins?

  Either way, I’m hoping for a Christmas miracle.

  Dreaming about my future sounds amazing but I stop myself because I’ve no idea where I’m at and if I’m safe. I push myself up and sit on the bed trying to see if I recognize the place, but I don’t. There’s a note on the nightstand.

  I read it a couple of times. Who is SA and since when do I go home with strangers?

  There’s no phone in the room. I look around and other than guy’s clothing in the closet it doesn’t have any personal items. Do color pencils and charcoals count?

  Taking a shower sounds like a good idea. I lock the bedroom’s door from the inside while I try to find something around that tells me who owns this place.

  I don’t find anything. It’s like whoever owns it is an art aficionado. When I enter the bathroom, I’m impressed. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options where I can regulate the water temperature, pressure, and direction. There’s even a massage option.

  This isn’t my finest moment. Nothing will top this shit. Not that anyone will find out what happened to me. Nope.

  I can hear Alex saying, “Remember that time Junie almost froze to death trying to avoid us?”

  He can be so irritating. I hate when he calls me Junie. As if he’s much older. We’re only eleven months apart.

  After I’m done showering, I turn off the water, grab a towel, and step out on the mat. The floors feel warm. My body isn’t numb anymore, actually, I feel rested.

  I finally take a better look at the luxurious bathroom. The white and black tile on the walls is elegant. Very classy. The shower is huge. I could practice barre or yoga before a shower if I wanted to.

  I step into the bedroom and look at the clothes SA left on the credenza. The sweats and the long-sleeve T-shirt are a few sizes bigger than mine but they’re warm and comfortable. There’s also a pair of fuzzy socks. They’re soft and will do the job to warm my feet.

  After I dress, the masculine scent becomes stronger. Whatever fragrance SA uses is rich, sexy, and sensual. Musk, cedar wood, a hint of sandalwood, and … something else. I hug the clothes, feeling different. Warmer that’s for sure.

  They remind me so much of … my eyes widen when I spot a set of origami flowers laying on the nightstand. It’s the same guy from that night, but how?

  My pulse accelerates. Not sure if it’s sheer panic because I can’t remember last night or anxiety because I’m seeing him again.

  Going back into the bathroom, I find a brush inside the drawers and a hairdryer. This guy is ready for visitors because there’re baby products too. My heart skips a beat as I think about babies and children. They are the reason my heart is breaking and I’m not thinking straight.

  God, what was I thinking yesterday?

  Once I’m mentally prepared to face him, I need to know how I arrived here and what happened to me. This is worse than getting drunk and why am I not anxious and worried?

  I head downstairs but stop in the middle of the staircase when I spot him. He’s in the living room. One hand holding a phone and the other combing his hair as he paces. Taking a better look at him, I realize it wasn’t a dream. The guy rescued me last night.

  He’s still hot as fuck. His brown hair is tousled and in need of a good haircut. His green eyes find mine and he grins at me. That smirk steals my breath away and makes my heart skip a beat.
>
  The entire night we spent together replays inside my head. His searing kisses, the way his hands touched me. I had no idea I’ve missed him. But I definitely want a repeat, not that I should. I’m not even sure why I have all these unknown emotions suddenly sprouting.

  It was supposed to be just a once in a lifetime thing between us.

  Why is he back in my life? And why am I here?

  June

  “I’ll call you later,” he says to whoever is on the other side of the line and swipes the screen before he speaks to me. “How are you feeling?”

  His voice is low, rough, and it slides through my ears like a smooth bourbon. I could use a repeat of that night, but it won’t happen. It’s better if I stay away from him. Focusing on the now, I ask some of the questions I have.

  “Where am I, and how did I get here?”

  He takes a deep breath. “You were sitting on the porch of my rental house, freezing, and I’d say hallucinating. Almost unconscious. I brought you here to make sure you were okay.”

  “You undressed me!” I accuse him.

  He lifts his arms in surrender. “Just to warm you up, my bodyguard who is a former Navy SEAL and a paramedic knows what to do in cases of hypothermia and I just followed his instructions. Nothing happened though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I’m pissed at him and myself. “Why not take me to the nearest hospital?”

  He points to a large window that takes over the entire wall. We’re definitely in a building but I can’t see much outside, other than the big snowflakes falling down.

  “It’s still snowing,” I say the obvious.

  “Because of the blizzard,” he answers. “We were closer to my penthouse than any hospital. It was the logical thing to do.”

  I have the feeling that there’s more to what he wants to say but I let it go. Because there’re a lot more questions I need to ask. Like … “How did you know where to find me?”

  He exhales loudly. “I own the house you’re renting—and the Art of Real-State.” He smirks. “I had no idea when I first met you. Coincidentally, the next morning your background check arrived, and I realized you were the same person.”