Full Hart, page 25
Grant and Brock locked eyes and smirked as they moved to sit next to their women.
Rayma sat down where Brock had been and let out a long sigh. “Ah, much better. Now, let’s do these Christmas crackers, get the stupid hats on our heads so we can eat!”
“Always a wizard with words, sis,” Pasha said sarcastically as she grabbed the Christmas cracker from her plate.
“Someone’s gotta be,” Rayma said.
A British tradition adopted by Canadians and Australians, Christmas crackers consist of a cardboard tube with bright colored paper wrapped around it and tied at each end. Running through the center of the cracker is a very small explosive mechanism called a snap, which is glued to either end of the cracker. When each end of the snap is pulled, it makes a small crack noise. The same sound as a cap gun going off. Inside there is usually a paper crown, a fortune, and generally a crappy plastic toy of some kind.
Cracks echoed around the table, and one by one, they all put on their stupid paper crowns.
“Pink is most definitely your color,” Joy said with a little giggle next to Grant. She had landed a yellow crown, and it suited her perfectly.
Grant put his crown on proudly and puffed up his chest. “I’m man enough to pull off pig penis pink, right?” he asked under his breath.
“So manly,” she cooed, leaning into him.
Quickly, because Rayma’s huffs and sighs of starvation and impatience were loud enough for Grant and Joy to hear at the other end of the table, they all collected their treasures from inside the crackers, then tossed the scraps into the plastic bag that Zoe wandered from person to person with to take it all to the recycling bin in the kitchen.
“Now can we eat?” Connor asked. “I can only chew this pickle for so long before my mouth makes me swallow it.”
“We can eat, honey,” Joy said with a laugh. “We can all eat.”
“You’re quite the matchmaker,” Grant said, making his way back into the living room after seeing the last of their guests to the door.
Rayma had had a few drinks, so Constable Lassiter offered to drive her home, which, if she was being honest, was Joy’s plan all along.
She’d only met Lassie, as they called him, a couple of times before, but she liked him immediately and thought he was perfect for Rayma. Several steps up from the duds she normally chose to date. Pompous private school jerks with micro pricks and massive egos.
With a warm rum and eggnog in each hand, heavy on the rum, Joy used her elbow to turn off lights as she made her way from the kitchen to the living room. The only light in the room was from the softly glowing Christmas tree in the corner.
Grant sat on the couch, and she fell gracefully into his lap. He took his drink from her and sipped it.
“Mmm, woman, you make a damn stiff drink.”
“I can make many things stiff. It’s one of my many talents.” She wiggled in his lap before leaning forward and licking the small bit of frothed milk off his upper lip, his stubble rough beneath her tongue. A tendril of arousal spun through her.
“Not much effort on your part there, darlin’.” His tongue flicked out and caught her lip as she pulled away.
Smiling, she settled into his embrace. “This was a wonderful Christmas. You brought my boys home to me. You and Brock are no longer …” Enemies was the wrong word. So was adversaries.
“At odds over the same thing?” he offered.
She glanced up at him. “Huh?”
“How much we love you. Because really, that was what we were at odds about.”
Sighing, she kissed his jaw. “I’m one lucky woman.”
“I’m glad he apologized to you. I wouldn’t have cared if he continued to dislike me, but the way he spoke to you was unacceptable.” He lifted his hand from where it rested on her thigh, clutching his drink, and took another sip.
“We spoke a little more later. He’s still struggling with the feeling that I’m replacing his father, but he knows that’s not true. But of all the boys, since Brock was the oldest, he had the strongest bond with his father. He knew him the best. And boy oh boy, did that kid idolize his dad. The sun rose, set, and shone blindingly bright on Zane when it came to Brock. He could do no wrong. In his eyes, you don’t even have shoes to fill; the shoes just don’t exist. His father is incomparable.”
“And so he should be.”
“But because Zane died when Brock was only a kid, he only remembers his father that way and in a childlike state. So to him, it feels like by me moving on, his dad is trying to be replaced.”
“Is this your therapist’s analysis?”
She shook her head, shrugged, then finally nodded. “No … well, kind of. This is what Brock told me. Not in so many words, of course, because the man sometimes struggles to form many complete sentences in a row and would rather communicate entirely by grunts, but basically, yeah. And then I discerned some of it because I’m a professional and could read between the lines and the grunts.”
He made a chortle in his throat that had her nipples pebbling. “Are you analyzing everyone all the time?”
“Yes,” she said blandly.
Because it was the truth.
“It’s like reading or speaking. Once you learn the skill, it’s impossible to turn it off.”
“Are you analyzing me right now?”
“Haven’t stopped since the moment we met.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Well, you’re obviously not too scared about what you’ve deduced because you haven’t dumped me.”
“You’re not a nut.” She craned her head around to look at him. “And I’m a doctor, so I can legally make that diagnosis—or lack thereof.” Turning back around, she brought her mug to her lips and let the warm, sweet, boozy holiday drink slide down her throat. “Brock will get there. He’s already made huge strides today in accepting you. We just need to give him time.”
“For you, I can do anything.”
She turned her head and kissed his arm.
“Any thoughts on where you’d like to go for your vacation?” he asked.
She was grateful that he switched topics.
“My vote is somewhere where you’re not wearing much clothing and the booze flows free and frequent. An adults-only resort somewhere, maybe?” He adjusted how he was sitting on the couch, and she felt his semi-hard cock beneath her butt.
A little wiggle by her had him groaning.
She giggled. “I’m definitely down for an adults-only resort and you with hardly any clothing on. Where did you have in mind?”
“There are some pretty great places in Mexico or Cuba. Or we could go to Grand Cayman or the Virgin Islands. Anywhere my Hart’s heart desires, and I’ll make it happen.”
His Hart’s heart. The words made her body temperature spike.
“And if I say I trust you to make the perfect choice for me, will you book it and surprise me?”
“Hmmm,” he hummed, stroking his close-shaved beard. “You’re going to put that kind of trust in me?”
Glancing back up at him for a moment, she cupped his face and brought his mouth down to hers, but she didn’t kiss him. She spoke into his parted lips, allowed her breath to mingle with his. “I trust you, Grant. I trust all of you. With my family, my heart, and my soul. I think I can trust you to book the perfect vacation.”
He smiled against her mouth. “What about your body? Do you trust me with that?” Without moving their heads, he deftly set his mug down on the windowsill behind him, took her mug and did the same. Then she was beneath him.
“Oh, I trust you with that,” she said, glancing up in the beautiful stormy-gray of his eyes.
“How about a couple of Christmas orgasms?”
She grinned at him and spread her thighs so he could settle between them. “Is Santa going to—how did Rayma put it? Stuff my stocking?”
He grinned. “She’s a pistol, that one.”
“With a heart of gold.”
“And yes, that’s exactly what Santa intends to do.” His lips fell to her neck.
She smacked his butt. “Then hop to it. Go put on the costume. Mrs. Claus wants the full getup.”
Lifting his head, he stared down at her in wide-eyed shock. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack. The costume is in the bedroom. Don’t come out until it’s on.” She wedged her hands between them and pushed him off her.
He climbed out from between her legs, stood up and gave her a weird look. “You’re an odd one, Joy Hart,” he called as he headed down the hallway.
“And you love it,” she hollered after him.
Sitting back up on the couch, she reached for her mug and took a long sip.
“What’s taking so long? How long does it take to turn yourself into St. Nick?”
“Cool your raging libido, woman. I’m trying to get into character.”
She giggled and sipped her drink. The rum was going to her head, and she loved it. She’d suggested they try some role-playing a few times, but Grant had never truly felt comfortable. He broke character, then just tore off all her clothes and made love to her. She never really complained. But she liked to have fun in the bedroom. Explore and expand her sexuality.
If the man stayed in his Santa costume and character for two minutes, that would be impressive.
Closing her eyes, she reflected on everything that had taken place that day.
Today—Christmas—had truly been magical.
Not only had Grant managed to bring her sons home to her for Christmas, but she had her grandkids with her, her surrogate kid—Rayma—Lassie and now Grant. And his gift to her—it made her gift of a handmade mug that said “Wild Man” on it seem paltry. But he claimed to love it, and even though she wasn’t the human lie detector like Rex, she was pretty sure he was telling the truth.
Crossing one leg over the other, she bounced the dangling foot and sipped her drink. She finished it, then, like the saucy minx she was currently feeling like, she reached for Grant’s drink and started sipping that. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m too comfortable sitting here waiting to bother getting up and make myself another drink, so I started drinking yours.”
“Don’t mind at all.”
Suddenly, loud music flooded the room, making her jump.
Oh, she knew this song.
She’d gone to see Magic Mike XXL with some girlfriends. She knew this song well.
“Pony,” by that rapper who doesn’t know how to properly spell the word genuine, started playing.
Was Grant about to do what she thought he was about to do?
The lights in the living room flicked off.
Yes, yes, he was.
Oh wow, was he ever stepping out of his comfort zone.
And he was stepping out of it for her.
Giddily, but with her heart soaring from just how much he loved her, she took another sip of her drink and sat back, ready for the show.
“Ho ho ho!”
A thrilling tendril zapped through her.
“Ho. Ho. Ho. Where my hos at?” And out he came, dressed like Kris Kringle himself with a swagger that was anything but innocent.
He grooved to the beat, set the pillowcase he was pretending to use as a sack down on the coffee table, then went about removing the buttons of his coat.
He didn’t even make it to the fourth button before the pillow that had been inside the pillowcase fell out from the bottom of the coat.
“Have you been a good girl?” he asked in a rough, gritty voice. “Or a bad girl?”
Smiling, she bit the tip of her finger and shook her head. “So bad, Santa. So, so bad.”
With a flourish like he might have actually done this once or twice before, he pulled open his jacket, revealing that luscious, lickable stomach.
But then he paused, and his face fell.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up from the back of the couch. Did he feel foolish?
She hoped not. This was all harmless fun. And she loved it.
He shook his head. “The blinds are still open.”
Whipping around, with her mouth open wide, Joy discovered it to be true. And of course, one of her nosy neighbors from down the block had stopped in her tracks, her spitz puppy Judo having a piss on Joy’s hedge, while Wendy stared gape-mouthed at Grant.
“Is that Wendy from down the block?” Grant asked.
Joy snorted and nodded. “You want to put on a show for the neighborhood and charge for it, or is this the champagne room? VIP guests only?”
“Only one VIP I want to see this show,” he said, appearing to have regained his mojo. “Besides, she couldn’t afford the tickets to this gun show.”
Damn straight she couldn’t.
Joy snorted.
Grant waved at the woman still staring at them. “Oh hey, Wendy! Merry Christmas,” he called out.
Joy quickly waved at Wendy as well, then pulled the blinds closed before resuming her spot on her couch and sipping the eggnog. “You may proceed.”
Grant’s smile made her pussy clench, and when he started to gyrate, she figured with a few thigh squeezes, she might be able to get herself off.
He still had the beard and hat on but was working on getting his pants off.
When he finally freed himself of those, she was greeted with another surprise.
He was wearing bright red boxer briefs, and over his erection was the picture of mistletoe, and above it was written: “Kiss me.”
The corners of her mouth had minds of their own and tried to reach her ears, her smile was so big.
He made his way over to her, his torso moving like a stripper’s, rippling and gyrating. He put one foot on the couch, putting his crotch right up in her face, then like the strippers on Magic Mike did, he bucked into her face.
She burst out laughing.
Oh man, she was breaking character first!
“You’re really into this. Did you moonlight as a dancer somewhere to pay some hefty gambling debts?”
He shook his head, then straddled her, pressing his cock into her belly. He caged her in with his arms and dipped his head. “Just making it up as I go along.”
“Well, you’re quite the improviser.”
“Is Mrs. Claus ready to have her stocking stuffed?”
Joy nodded. “More than ready. But first, kiss me, Santa.” He went to pull the beard down from his mouth, but her hand to his chest stopped him. “Leave the beard.”
He quirked an eyebrow up at him. “You are an odd one.” Then he took her mouth and swept his tongue inside. The synthetic beard was no match for how good his real scruff felt against her skin. But the change was interesting. She kissed him back, wedging her hand between their bodies to feel his length.
He groaned into her mouth, brought his hand down to hers, and pulled it away, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, woman, let’s go make this the best Christmas ever.” Then he stood up and hauled her off to the bedroom, “Pony” still playing in the background as she drunkenly, happily skipped after him. Madly in love and with a gloriously full heart.
Two years later …
“I think that’s the last of the presents under the tree,” Joy said, staring at the knee-deep piles of wrapping paper, gifts, and gift bags strewn about her living room. “And to think we drew names this year for the adults and only bought for the children.”
“There are a lot of us now,” Krista said, bouncing her new nephew, Von, on her knee. Rex and Lydia’s son was three months old and absolutely beautiful. And as far as her sons and their wives were concerned, he was the last grandchild she was going to get. They were all done.
She had no problem with that. She had eight beautiful, healthy grandbabies who she spoiled rotten, so she considered herself incredibly lucky indeed.
“I dunno,” Grant said, making his way back into the living room from where he’d been brewing more coffee in the kitchen, “I think there might be one more gift under there.”
Joy gave him a poignant look and scrunched her face. “What color is the wrapping or bag?”
“Maybe check inside the tree. I think it’s small. Green paper. Gold bow.”
She did as she was told, looking within the tree among the branches and ornaments. It took some real Where’s Waldo skill on her part, since nearly half the ornaments were green or gold, but eventually she found it. The box was about as big as a square tissue box. A little too big to be hiding in a tree, in her opinion, but it was light, so she didn’t say anything.
“Who’s it for, Nana?” Zoe asked, sitting next to Cocoa and petting the dog’s head as she gnawed on a breath-freshening chewy stick.
Joy checked the tag. “It’s for me.”
“What is it?” Zane asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I need to open it to find out.”
“Need help, Nana?” Thea asked.
“I think I got this, sweetheart, but thank you.” Carefully, she slid the gold bow off the box and set it down beside her. She could tell the box was professionally wrapped with minimal tape, so carefully, she was able to lift the tape off and unwrap the paper without ripping it.
“You can use that paper again,” Thea said. “Reuse and recycle. That’s what we learn at school.”
“You are so right, my angel.”
A few of the kids crowded around her, eager to see what was inside the plain white box.
The From portion of the tag was empty. All it said on it was Joy.
She let her gaze bounce from person to person inside the house, but everyone just smiled at her. Nobody gave off any suspicious vibes like they were harboring some big Christmas secret.
With a harrumph, she opened the box.
Inside was another box.
“Oh, for crying out loud, if this is some Russian nesting doll type game, I’m not having it.” She pulled out the second box. This one was small, blue, and made of wood and leather. It was the kind of box a piece of jewelry would come in.
Her gaze flicked up to Grant.
His expression remained neutral.
“Open it, Nana,” the kids all encouraged her.
“I bet it’s earrings,” Thea mused. “Or a necklace.”
