The Magical Christmas Cat

His hands were somehow miraculously on her butt, and they were sliding lower and lower, sort of stroking in a way that made her suck in a breath at the kick of desire that sideswiped her.



"Is that a challenge?" he asked, his head bent close to hers, his mouth inches from hers.



Duh. "Yes. Try to make me scream." Preferably not on her front porch in thirty-degree weather, but at the moment, she was even willing to give that a go.



"You're really asking for it, you know."



"Yes, I am." Bree was enjoying that Ian looked more than willing to give it to her. He had an erection pressing firmly into her thigh, and he looked like he could literally eat her from the bottom up right there with no encouragement. Perfect.



"Here it is then," he said, as he closed the distance between them and took her lips in a searing kiss.



Bree barely had time to open her mouth before Ian was slamming her back into her front door and burying his hands in her hair as he kissed her senseless. Whoa. Hello. Bree gripped the front of his jacket for support and gave as good as she got. There was definitely amazing chemistry between them, and he could make her hot in less time than it took to sneeze. Her mind went blank, and she forgot the cold, forgot the gawking neighbor, and only registered the heat, the pleasure, the intense desire to touch all of this man everywhere, to know him, to have him inside her.



The front door popped open suddenly from his



hand turning the knob, hurtling her backwards. She would have fallen, but Ian held her steady before easing her carefully down onto the floor. He kicked the front door shut with his foot and Bree blinked up at him as he hovered over her, unzipping his pants.



"Are we having sex on the floor again?" she asked, spreading her legs slightly in invitation.



"I think so," he said, his fingers already shoving her skirt up. "I'm sorry, but there are just too many stairs in this house. It will take at least three minutes to get upstairs and I can't wait that long."



Bree gave a soft moan when he slid her panties down more quickly than carefully. "That is a long time to wait."



"And I am supposed to be debauching you."



"You're doing a good job of it." Bree would have added a comment about the view they were probably giving anyone who happened to wander up onto her porch and glance in her giant windows—like say Edith from next door—when her breath was literally taken away from his pushing inside her with an aggressive thrust.



Bree's eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body stood up and did the happy dance. "Oh, Ian."



She couldn't imagine why she had ever thought it was a good idea to go twenty months without sex. Sex rocked, and she loved it, especially with Ian. He knew every way to touch, every way to take, and she liked that he never hesitated, that he just knew his intentions would be well received.



He stroked in and out of her faster, then slower, harder, softer, teasing her until she was squirming beneath him and rocking her hips up to meet him, begging for more, for release, for him to never stop.



The way she had in her dream. "Ian . . . please. God."



Bree had no clue what she was even asking for, she just wanted everything, all of him, wanted him inside her indefinitely, and the blissful feeling of an empty mind to go on and on.



She was sliding backwards on the floor, her fingers jerking across his firm chest with each of his thrusts, and she couldn't react, could only feel, appreciate, breathe.



"What, Bree? What do you want?"



He had to ask that, when she was too steeped in pleasure, too insensate to articulate what she was feeling, so she just pried her eyes open and met his steady gaze. "You. I want you."



Ian groaned. "Bree."



She felt his orgasm, felt his muscles clench, his shoulders tense, felt the pulsing of him deep inside her, and she let go herself, came together with him, so that they were wrapped in pleasure together.



Ian dropped kisses on her forehead, her temples, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "You are beautiful."



Bree smiled, her body and her soul incredibly satisfied. He had said she was beautiful at least four times that day. Not that she'd been keeping count, but it was nice to hear. "And you're hot."



"I'm going to carry you upstairs now," he said. "I need a twenty-minute nap, then the debauching will continue."



"You can't carry me all the way upstairs. There's like seventeen steps."



"Are you insulting my masculinity?" Ian pulled away from her and readjusted her skirt so it fell to her ankles again.



Rolling her eyes, but with no real irritation, she said, "I'm just being practical. We're going to fall if you try to carry me. And those steps are hard. Trust me, I've had the bruised knees to prove that running up them talking on your cell phone is not a good idea."



"I'm doing it."



"If you drop me, I'll curse you." Bree stood up and debated whether she cared if her panties were still lying on the floor. It seemed like a hell of a lot of effort to bend back over and pick them up when she was feeling so satisfied, sleepy, and tranquil.



Ian solved her dilemma by scooping her up into his arms, bouncing her a little to get a better grip.



"Ah!" She clung to his shoulders, off-balance. "Ian. I'm serious."



"And I'm tenacious. Get used to it." He started toward the stairs.



Bree was tempted to close her eyes so if she fell, she wouldn't see the floor rising up to break her nose and knock her teeth out, but she was too enamored by his cuteness to not take advantage of the closeness the position gave her to his face. She rubbed her lips over his jaw and the corners of his mouth.



"You think I'm going to drop you, so you go and distract me?" he asked. "Not a good idea."



"Sorry." Bree just watched him the rest of the way up the steps, studying the fine lines flaring out from under his eyes. Enjoying the length of his thick eyelashes and the strength of his jaw. "How old are you?"



"Thirty-two. In the best shape I've ever been."



His breath was a little ragged, and he had a death grip on her.



Bree laughed. "I can see that." At the risk of distracting him yet again, she brushed her finger over his lip. "But remember that you never have to prove anything to me. I know."



She wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that, but she could sense his feelings, could sense the contentment and happiness he felt with her, the wonder he had at his attraction, attachment to her. She sensed he was falling in love with her, and she was doing the same.



It was insane, but it was real.



"Thank you." Ian hit the landing, and said, "Which way?" "First door on the right."



He finished the odyssey by ungracefully dropping her down onto her bed and collapsing beside her.



"Now leave me alone, Bree, I need some sleep."



"I haven't done anything! This is all you, every time." She loved their banter, that he could tease and take it back in return.



"Witches shouldn't lie." Ian stripped off his T-shirt.



Bree laughed, and shed her own skirt and sweater before pulling back her comforter. "Why not? Not that I'm lying, but if I was, why can't a witch lie?"



"I don't know. It seems deceptive." He punched the pillow to fluff it up and smiled at her.



"Such is the nature of a lie."



"Very true."



They both laughed. When Ian reached for her, she gladly went into his arms and fell asleep.



Chapter 6



Ian woke up, the dream still fresh in his mind, so real that he glanced around the room to figure out where he was. Still in Bree's room, the light from the bay window was gone. It was night already. He reached for her, needing and wanting to feel her warmth. He didn't understand the dream he'd had, didn't know where they had been in it.



"Bree?" he whispered, aware that she was probably still asleep, but not caring. He wanted to hear her voice in the dark.



"Yes?" she said immediately.



"Did you dream?" he asked cautiously. When he had planned this trip to Cuttersville, it had been his intent to end his dreams of Bree. Get over them, move on. Now that he'd had her, now that he was getting to know her and he saw how truly fabulous she was, he didn't want the dreams to end. In his sleep or awake.



Bree had come into his life for a reason, and he wanted to explore the full length and breadth of that meaning.



That was why the dream he'd had bothered him.



It hadn't been sexual. Nor had it been in her house.



"Yeah, I had a dream. Not the same one as before though, so it must have just been some jumbled thoughts cramming together." She rolled over and snuggled closer to him. "We were in some house I didn't recognize. It was kind of dirty in the living room, and there was no furniture, just a card table and a bare artificial Christmas tree. Who knows where my mind pulled that all from, but it's probably pure exhaustion." She kissed him, her tongue sliding along his bottom lip. "You wear me out."



Ian would have liked to give that kiss and her innuendo the response she was clearly asking for, but he was too unnerved. "Bree, I had the same dream. It was the same house you're describing. There was some woman there I've never seen in my life, and I could swear you and I were actually upset with each other. What the hell could we have been doing?"



It had been as vivid and real as his more pleasant sexual dreams, only in this one, instead of the scent of Bree's perfume, he had smelled the mustiness of a house that had been empty. He'd seen the dust on the floor, felt the cold of a room that was only being minimally heated. He'd known the sharp agony of Bree's disapproval. Toward him.



He didn't like it, any of it. He wanted to stay together, warm, in her bed all winter, content with exploring each other's bodies and minds and hearts.



"What? You saw the same house? Are you sure?"



She went up on her elbow and looked at him in the darkened room. "That's weird. It was like it was abandoned or for sale or something."