OLIVER AND I have spent Christmas together before, at my parents’ or his mother’s, but never just the two of us. And this year, as the song goes, he’s all I want for Christmas. For ever.
I’ve lit the fire in his huge living room for that festive feel, but I’ve also deliberately cranked the heating up so high that he’s wandering around in just his jeans and a Christmas apron I gave him as an early present. It says, Screw nice, let’s be naughty. It’s all part of my cunning plan to get him naked... And to think that he lived under the mistaken impression that I’m somehow sweet for nine years.
We’ve spent the afternoon baking mince pies together and drinking mulled wine. He suggested a Christmas movie, but his penthouse apartment is so pretty—both inside, with a huge tree, and outside, with views of a glittering London from the wall of windows—that together with the arresting sight of his sexiness there’s enough visual distraction.
He comes up behind me and traps me where I’m leaning against the wiped-clean kitchen counter with one arm each side. He nuzzles my neck, sending delicious shivers down my spine.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he says, kissing my temple.
‘Me too.’ I lift my mouth up to his kiss and turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his waist. ‘So, what’s your Christmas wish?’ I slide my hand up his naked back and walk my fingers over his shoulder and down his chest.
‘Well, that’s easy. You. For ever. You’re also going to be my New Year’s resolution, by the way.’ His lips trail my jaw and down my neck and I loll my head to the side, giving him access as desire grips me. After all, it has been all of four hours since we were last naked together...
‘Well, we’d better start planning our wedding, then,’ I say, smiling when he jerks upright, his handsome face alive with wonder and hope.
‘Really?’ He grips my waist, lifting me up, and I cling to his hips with my thighs.
‘Really,’ I say, kissing him as he walks us to the enormous white leather sofa facing the fire.
We shed our clothes, laughing, kissing and loving each other, exactly the way we were meant to be. When he’s laid out on top of me, love and passion in his expression, I’m momentarily distracted.
‘Oliver, can you smell burning?’ I ask.
He stops kissing my chest and sniffs the air. ‘Fuck, I think it’s the mince pies.’
I hold in a laugh. ‘Oh, dear,’ I say, wrapping my legs around his hips to stop his escape. ‘So there is something you’re no good at. Don’t worry. Keep practising. We’ll make a cook of you yet.’
‘Sod it.’ He grins, his mouth finding my nipple in a pinch of revenge that only encourages me to tease him more. ‘I have smoke alarms.’
And then we lose ourselves in one of the things he excels at.
Friends. Lovers. In love.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Dating the Billionaire by Lisa Childs.