Christmas and You

Christmas and You

By

Caitlyn Willows

Copyright 2015 Caitlyn Willows

Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. The author’s books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in BDSM titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

About The Author

Chapter One

Tell me this is a prank.

The windshield wipers flashed at full speed. They still weren’t fast enough for Steve to see the road clearly. Few things freaked him out more than being caught in a blinding rainstorm on the freeway. A rainstorm that was turning colder by the minute and promised a rare, low-elevation snow for Southern California. He’d spent five hours on the road already, trying to get home, all thanks to a big rig jackknifed on the I-10 that had taken out ten cars with it. He’d been late getting his column in as a result. Now this? It had to be a joke. His editor couldn’t be that cruel.

Do I sound like I’m joking, Jackson? Bert Madison’s cigarette-induced rasp roughened with the increased volume in his voice. The sound reverberated inside the car—aided in part by the hands-free setting on Steve’s phone—and grated against his last nerve. Cindy’s snowed in at Tahoe. You’re up. I’m not going to miss out on this interview because my sports editor is too snooty to talk art.

"What about my column?" Steve tried not to shout. He detested losing control. It gave the other person too much power.

I’ll delay the run for you as long as I can. This has priority. The Tremaynes have always been reclusive as hell. This is a one-time deal. I’ve texted you the address.

I start vacation tomorrow. Two weeks of precious time he got to spend with his daughters.

Not if you don’t get this done. You get your ass up that mountain and do your job, or you won’t have a job to take vacation from. Got it?

Got it, Steve all but snarled and reached over to disconnect the phone.

Good, Bert said, getting in the last word.

Damn. This time, for his own sanity, he’d really wanted to have the last word. He clutched the steering wheel to keep from slamming his fist into the console. He refused to let Bert get the better of him. He had enough to worry about as it was.

His cell announced the arrival of Bert’s text. He needed to pull off the freeway in order to program the address into his car’s GPS. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t killed when he tried to merge back on. The traffic and the road conditions were getting to be a son of a bitch. That’d be one way to get out of the interview. Considering how his last couple of days had gone, it’d be a mercy killing. Someone needed to put him out of his misery.

He took the next exit and pulled into a convenience store. He could use the facilities, grab a cup of coffee, top off his gas tank, and be on his way—still irritated but somewhat refreshed. Steve handled his personal needs first, then returned to his car to punch the address into the GPS while he filled up the car. Idyllwild. The exit was five miles east of his location. Nothing said danger like traveling a winding mountain road in a snowstorm without chains on the tires. Because as cold as it was down here, Steve knew it’d be snowing up there.

As if he’d willed it, fat snowflakes started to fall. Maybe he’d get lucky and the Highway Patrol would close the road to Idyllwild. Bert couldn’t fault him for that.

Back again on the freeway, Steve ran a list of questions through his mind. It wasn’t difficult to come up with something a hell of a lot better than what Cindy Oswald had planned. She’d been dancing through the office at the opportunity to interview Edward and Catherine Tremayne. Everyone knew the questions she wanted to ask—and they were the stupidest ones he’d ever heard. Outdoing her wasn’t going to be a problem. He knew how to work people, get them to let down their guard and open up. Now all he had to do was let down his guard, get this done, and get out.

Everyone in the office had gotten a constant rundown of the Tremaynes as Cindy had dug into their background and lives—research that had made Steve more nervous with every passing day. So far he’d been safe. But now? He was screwed.

He snorted. It was possible Eddy and Kate didn’t remember him. After all, fifteen years had gone by since that crazy spring. Four months of heaven that had turned into hell—at least for him. He’d changed, filled out from the lean, mean Marine he’d been back then. His hair was longer with hints of gray sneaking through the dark brown. Seeing it in the mirror made him feel old. According to his daughters, he was old, out of touch, and didn’t know anything. He was forty, not twenty-five. Beaten down by the life choices he’d made. Still suffering. Still bitter. Still lonely as hell.

Fifteen years was a long time. Eddy and Kate had fulfilled what they’d called their impossible dream—becoming well-known in the art world. Screw well-known. They’d reached the stratosphere. They had five children ranging from ages fourteen down to six, as Cindy had proclaimed ad nauseam. She’d longed to see if the fruit had fallen far from the tree. Steve knew about their success, despite his efforts to stay away from that world. He hadn’t known about the kids. Finding out had tweaked something inside—sadness, curiosity, hunger for what he’d given up.

He’d left his dreams behind the day he’d walked away from Eddy and Kate. He’d shoved it all into a dark corner of his soul and refused to acknowledge it had ever existed. Whenever someone talked about art, he put up his shields. Or tried to. Past and present were about to collide. Steve sighed. He wondered what would be left of him afterward.

Damn, I was a fool.

How many times had he told himself that? Too many. He’d lost everything dear to him and was still paying the price. His ex-wife saw to that on a near-daily basis.

Great. Now he had a headache to go with his frustration. Bert would have a shit hemorrhage if he learned how well versed Steve was to interview the Tremaynes. Hell, he’d learned art from the best. To this day, Steve could still feel the sensation of Kate guiding his hand for the perfect stroke.

An image that had nothing to do with painting caused shivers to run up and down his spine. Yeah, they’d done that too. Things he’d never imagined he wanted. Things he’d never done again. Things he’d been sure would send him straight to hell. Too late he’d realized hell was the one he’d made for himself.

He hit the exit for Idyllwild and mentally crossed his fingers that access up the mountain would be denied. Luck wasn’t on his side. His heart pounded with every mile the car crawled up the winding road. The snow grew heavier. There was no turning back now. Plunging over the side had its appeal. That would end a lot of his problems.

Or create new ones.

He snickered on that one. So true.

His phone rang. Steve glanced at the display to see Cindy’s name on caller ID. He ignored her. She’d be calling to tell him how she wanted the interview conducted. As far as he was concerned, she should have kept her ass in Palm Springs. Everyone knew one hell of a storm had been predicted. If the interview meant as much