Page 47 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

He stills and then looks over his shoulder. “I’m flying out on the twenty second to attend the ball and then I don’t know.”

“Oh.” The next part is harder for me because I have to put myself out there. Making sure not to look at him, I say, “If you have no plans on Christmas Day, you could spend it with us. I mean, if you want to.”

I can feel Finn’s eyes boring into the top of my head.

There’s a long silence, after which he says, softly, “That’s a nice offer. I appreciate it.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t give me a definitive answer. The pause is a little too long for my liking and I ask, “How did you celebrate Christmas before you went to WestHallor?”

Finn climbs down the ladder to pick up some more tassels. There’s an odd tone to his voice as he answers, “Like everyone else, I suppose. Mam was a terrible cook, so Dad and I would do most of the cooking. We’d decorate the apartment and then Mam would try to slip brandy into the egg nog and Dad would keep replacing it.” He snorts and a chuckle escapes him. He’s just standing on the ladder now, still holding the tassels, not moving, reminiscing about a past he could no longer go back to, “We didn’t have much money but they always had a gift for me. Dad was really good at woodwork and he would carve me something every Christmas and Mam would knit me a sweater which was always missing at least one required hole.” There’s a deep sadness in his voice that he doesn’t seem to be aware of.

A hot tear trails down my cheek.

He went on, “It was— well, you would have liked them.”

I quickly brush away my tears. “They sound like loving people.”

Finn moves, as if suddenly coming back to life, and he starts stringing the tassel, a fake cheerfulness to his voice as he says, “I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years, already.” He pauses, and then says slowly, “This is the first time I’ve talked to anyone about them.”

I look up from the snowman I’m wrapping. “What about your grandmother?”

He makes a strange sound. “Oh, she hates talking about them. When I first arrived at her home, she told me she had two rules. One, I never bring up my parents in front of her, and second, I follow all her rules.”

I’m stunned by this piece of knowledge. “That sounds unnecessarily harsh.”

Finn shakes his head. “She’s not all bad. But she’s still bitter about Dad abandoning the family business and the family title to marry a nobody. She had a fiancé arranged for him. That she loves bringing up, by the way. About how unfaithful her son was.”

“She had an arranged marriage for him?” I blink, taken aback. “Isn’t that rather old fashioned?”

Finn climbs down the ladder and moves it to the side so he can star working on the counter now. “My grandfather was a Duke. My father inherited the title and my grandmother wanted him to marry someone of the same social status.”

The lights fall from my hand as my eyes widen. “Wait. Wait. You’re a Duke?”

He glances at me, sheepishly. “Well, yes. On paper.”

“Duke Finn McCarthy is decorating my diner?” I mumble and then snicker.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Cute.”

I roar with laughter now, tickled by the very idea of making nobility slave away in my diner.

When Finn hears this he pouts, and then his expression turns wicked. “There are other ways I could serve you.”

My laughter dies as he approaches me, with dubious intentions, flexing his hands.

And in the next two hours, I learn what it’s like to have a duke strip me of my clothing, stuff my panties in my mouth and fuck me over the counter till I scream myself hoarse. He can be quite a sadistic lover when he wants to be and by the time he lets me go, I’m a spent mess, sprawled on him, exhausted.

“It was just a joke,” I whimper, my body satiated and sweaty. “You have no sense of humor.”

Finn runs his hand down the curve of my spine, resting it on my ass. “Make more jokes next time.”

He helps me up after a while and we stumble into the washroom where I stare in dismay at the love marks bracketing my neck. “Possessive bastard.”

“You called, luv?” He pops his head from behind the shower curtain, smirking.

“Stop looking so smug,” I tell him then I again stare at the marks littered on my chest and I don’t know why they don’t bother me as much as I would expect them to.

Chapter 9

---