One Week in December Read online

  One Week in December

  Alexis Anne

  Audra North

  Julia Kelly

  Alexandra Haughton

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Marrying Owen Copyright © 2015 by Alexis Sykes

  Simply Having Copyright © 2015 by Audra North

  Kiss Me at Midnight Copyright © 2015 by Julia Kelly

  This Christmas Copyright © 2015 by Alexandra Haughton

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Authors.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2015

  Contents

  Marrying Owen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About Alexis Anne

  Also by Alexis Anne

  Simply Having

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About Audra North

  Also by Audra North

  Kiss Me at Midnight

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About Julia Kelly

  Also by Julia Kelly

  This Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About Alexandra Haughton

  Also by Alexandra Haughton

  Marrying Owen

  Alexis Anne

  Bringing your boyfriend home to meet your parents at Christmas is a difficult tradition no one looks forward to, but bringing home Owen Jones, lead singer of the triple platinum rock band Jettison Seven, is extra complicated for a few reasons.

  For one, Alice’s parents are quiet, conservative college professors...pretty much the exact opposite of rock stars. For two, Alice met Owen during an experiment. A kissing experiment. She kissed him—on camera in front of a room full of strangers—before she knew anything about him. And the kicker? He’s been on tour ever since, so they’ve barely spent any time together in the same place.

  Which means a week back home with the family for the holidays will be the big test of whether their relationship is the stuff legends are made of, or just another bad idea that started with kissing a stranger.

  Chapter 1

  There are no instruction books for bringing home your boyfriend.

  Okay, that might actually be a lie. I’ve never looked. It’s possible there actually are instruction books for how to bring home your boyfriend to meet your parents for the very first time.

  But I’m willing to bet my Ph.D. that there are no books on how to introduce your famous rock star god of a boyfriend (of all of five months) to your parents. At Christmas.

  What was I thinking?

  “They’re going to love me,” Owen whispered against my ear, making me shiver with need.

  I turned my head so I could look into his dark brown eyes. “That rough voice and sexy swagger may work on your fans, but it won’t work on my parents.”

  Seriously, it wouldn’t. If anything it would have the opposite effect. I may be thirty and a professor of paleontology at a major university, but bringing home a bad boy was still bringing home a bad boy. They’d take one look at the leather jacket, tattoos, and his obvious sex appeal and make a snap judgment.

  “Naw, parents love me.” He smiled.

  I arched an eyebrow. “They are not impressed with fame.” Pretty much the only thing that impressed my parents was credentials of the academic variety. I was the third generation to choose academia as a profession. My mother taught Classics and my father taught Calculus. I’d grown up in a small college town where triple platinum indie rock stars were as common as extraterrestrials.

  “You know,” he growled, pushing me back onto my bed, “I’m starting to think you don’t want to introduce me to your family, Alice.” He loomed over me, sexy and half naked.

  He’d flown in only a couple of hours ago, after his very last concert of the year. He was all mine until February, making this the first extended period we’d ever spent together, not that it mattered. We’d sparked immediately and our romance had been one of sweet, intimate, very real moments. This wasn’t an infatuation or a fling. What I felt for Owen, and how he seemed to feel about me, was love. The epic, forever kind of love.

  So of course I was bringing him home to meet my family. In many ways Owen was already family to me—he was part of my heart.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” I whispered against his lips. “I’m nervous. I love my parents, but they are hard to please.”

  He gave me one of his smoldering looks that told me I was being ridiculous. “First of all, that’s insane. You’re amazing and they should be grateful they got you for a daughter. Second of all, that still sounds like you’re ashamed of me.”

  His voice was teasing, but the tone was not. Which made me feel terrible. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make the man I loved feel like he wasn’t good enough. “I am so proud of you, Owen. And yeah, sometimes I feel like I’ve entered some sort of alternate universe, but I’m not nervous because of you.” I swallowed down my nerves and looked up at his confused face through my lashes. “I’m so happy that I desperately want this to work out. I want you and my parents to get along. I don’t want anything to stop me from feeling the way I feel at this exact moment.”

  His eyes lit up. “Is that so?” He ground his hips against mine, igniting a fire inside me. “At this exact moment? You want to feel like this forever?”

  I bit my lip to help stop the moan from escaping. “Yes,” I whispered. “I think an eternity on the edge of pleasure could be quite a nice way to live.”

  “Well then,” he growled, dipping down to kiss my neck as he began undressing me. “I’d better make them love me. Because I want the exact same thing.”

  I threaded my fingers through his hair as he got to work on pleasing me and pushed all my doubts out of my head.

  This was going to be a simple, exciting family Christmas.

  Maybe if I kept telling myself that it would magically come true.

  Chapter 2

  “Have you been eating?” My mother, Belinda Thomas, said the moment the door opened.

  Not, “Hello!” Or, “So nice to see you!” Or even, “Welcome home!”

  Nope, not my mother.

  “Yes, I’ve been eating.” I kissed her on the cheek.

  “Really? You look like you’ve lost weight. Your face doesn’t look right.” Then she looked past me and held out her hand. “You must be Owen. Welcome to our home. We’re so pleased you could spend Christmas with us.”

  Owen took one displeased look at her outstretched hand and then plastered an adorable smile onto his face. “Dr. Thomas, it is so nice to meet you. A real pleasure. Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

  My mother blinked, then returned his smile. He’d shocked her with his politeness. Score one for Owen.

  Her perfectly combed bun was as tight as ever, but with more gray than the last time I’d seen her. “You’re welcome. Please come in.”

  My parents still lived in the same house we’d moved into when I was eight and they took their positions at Declan University in Cincinnati, Ohio. Their house wasn’t ostentatious, but it still somehow managed to be intimidating. Dark woods, immaculate surfaces, row after row of books and souvenirs from the
extensive travels. If you were the kind of person who tended to feel intimidated by an over abundance of knowledge, then my parents were your worst nightmare.

  She quickly swept us through the formal living room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. The first thing that always caught my eye was the large backyard. The kitchen was lined with massive picture windows that showed off the lawn and forest beyond. In summer it was a brilliant green, but in winter, as it was now, it was eerily barren in a strangely beautiful way.

  My father sat at the counter, a dark beer in his hand, and beside him was our next door neighbor—and my childhood friend—Patrick.

  My heart plummeted into my stomach.

  Just once, couldn’t my parents let an event in my life pass without making in unbearably awkward?

  Apparently not.

  I clamped down on Owen’s hand as a warning but he ignored it. He gave me a reassuring squeeze then let go as he rounded the counter and introduced himself to my father.

  “Owen Jones.”

  My father took his hand. “Bennett Wright.” Then he stepped back. “And this is our neighbor, Patrick Garwood. Would you like a beer?”

  Owen shook Patrick’s hand, his smile never faltering. “I’d love one. Thanks.”

  And what was I doing? Standing by awkwardly, wondering what the heck to do with my hands. Seriously, why did something as natural as having hands become the one thing I couldn’t figure out what to do with when it came to uncomfortable situations? Because this? This was seriously uncomfortable. Not only was Owen meeting my family, but now he was going to sit down and have a beer with the first boy I ever kissed.

  I plopped onto a stool and put my chin in my hands. “Don’t I get a hello and a beer? Or is this a boys only thing?”

  My father threw me a look as he placed two bottles on the counter. “Don’t be difficult.” Then he came around and pulled me into a hug. “Welcome home. How were your classes this semester?”

  I shrugged. “I might be getting less tolerant, but I’m pretty sure college kids are getting more difficult to put up with.”

  My dad was your typical math professor—on the short side, balding, glasses, and an unusually large collection of sweater vests that somehow all managed to look the same.

  He chuckled. “The students change every year.”

  “Isn’t it so nice that Patrick is home for Christmas as well?” my mother chirped as she pushed my dad down onto the stool beside me, forcing Owen to sit next to Patrick.

  “Not visiting your mother this year?” I asked out of politeness.

  Patrick flashed what I’m sure was supposed to be a dashing smile. His sandy hair was now on the longer side and combed in a very stylish way. He wore a navy sweater and jeans that accentuated his height and broad shoulders. He was a handsome man in a very traditional way.

  “She’s on a cruise with her friends. Apparently the Caribbean is more fun than Ohio this time of year,” he said with a smile.

  In a desperate attempt to make things less awkward, I turned to Owen. “Patrick and I went to school together. He lived next door with his dad until he died five years ago. Patrick inherited the house.”

  “And mom has always had a wandering heart,” he finished.

  “That I understand,” Owen replied, holding up his beer.

  “That’s what I hear,” Patrick shot back. The sharpness of his tone set me on edge and put me on alert. “Musician, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I hear the two of you have barely spent time with each other since you met, thanks to your schedule.” Patrick sounded an awful lot like he was making an accusation without actually doing it.

  It pissed me off.

  But Owen just smiled again. “It was unfortunate that we met in the middle of my sold out tour, but we made the most of it. It’s amazing how much you can get to know someone when all you can do is talk.” Then he winked at me and I blushed straight to my roots.

  “He’s right,” I said. “It was a lot like an old fashioned courtship.”

  “Well isn’t that sweet,” my father said, clasping his hand around mine and giving it a squeeze. “That sounds like a wonderful foundation for a strong relationship.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed and my mother bristled. “Since Patrick is alone for Christmas Eve dinner, I invited him to eat with us. Your Aunt Jane and Uncle Stew are coming with the kids. So are Buffy and Pam.”

  Awesome. An entire evening with Patrick.

  Could my mother be any more obvious? She hadn’t said more than two sentences to Owen and she had already dismissed him.

  “That sounds nice, Mom. Do you think we could get settled? Since Owen has been touring so successfully he’s pretty tired. And you know how I am with travel…”

  She pursed her lips, but nodded. “Your room is all set up.”

  When she said it was set up, I was expecting an air mattress on the floor beside the treadmill in the spare room, not my old twin bed (obviously pulled down from the attic) and a cot on the floor on the opposite side of the room.

  “Is that a sleeping bag?” Owen chuckled as he dropped our bags on the floor and kicked the door shut.

  “I do believe it is.” How fast could I book us into a hotel for the night? And push up our flights to tomorrow after brunch? It would be rude, but a heck of a lot more comfortable.

  Suddenly I was in his arms. “I guess she doesn’t know that I sleep wrapped around you like seaweed on a sushi roll.”

  “That’s a terrible analogy.”

  “Don’t care.” He kissed me while walking me backward until the backs of my legs hit my tiny bed.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it that I want to have sex on this bed so loudly we freak out everyone downstairs?”

  He pulled back and made a face like he was seriously pondering where on the scale to place my absurd idea. “We’re probably flirting with the seven or eight mark. And,” he narrowed his eyes, “correct me if I’m wrong, but was your mother trying to set you up with the neighbor right in front of me?”

  “Yep.”

  He groaned and lowered me onto the bed. “No wonder you were all worked up about this weekend. They’re…” he stopped as he searched for the appropriate words.

  “A piece of work?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s the polite thing to say. Because the words I was going to use sounded a lot cruder.”

  I nuzzled him closer because I loved that he wasn’t upset or put off by the insanity. It was almost as if it didn’t phase him at all. I didn’t know how he had that much confidence, but I used it to steel myself.

  “You see that tree outside my window?” I tilted my head toward the fluffy white curtains over my bed.

  Owen craned his neck up. “Yeah.”

  “That’s where Patrick kissed me.”

  When Owen looked back there was fire and jealousy in his eyes. “Oh really?”

  “Yep. We were twelve. He was nice and cute and lived next door. He took me to the school dance and walked me home. We stood out there in the moonlight and he planted a big fat wet kiss on my lips. I thought it was dreadful, but my mother saw the whole thing and she’s been trying to get us together ever since. After all, he is cute, has a good job, and is very steadfast.”

  “Steadfast?” Owen sputtered.

  “Apparently that’s a thing I should be looking for.” And somehow I’d managed to fall right into the arms of a rock star. Anyone who knew Owen knew he was the most loyal and kindhearted man on the planet, but to my mother he was probably the devil himself. Women in his dressing room, drugs on his buses, and blowing his cash as fast as he earned it.

  So obviously I shouldn’t be with anyone as dangerous or unpredictable as Owen Jones.

  Clearly that meant I needed her infinite guidance in finding a man.

  “So let me get this straight…she’d rather you date a guy you don’t want that lives in a different state?”

  “Well obviously. If we live in
different states while we’re dating nothing too serious can happen. And then clearly one of us will move. Probably me.”

  He made a face of horror. “And then you’ll be living in a loveless marriage next door to your mother and working at the same college?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s some seriously twisted shit.”

  Yes. Yes it was. “Kiss me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Kiss you?”

  “Please erase all these incredibly disturbing thoughts from my head.”

  And then he groaned and ground his hips into mine. “Babe. Forget about Patrick, he can’t possibly give you what I can.” I wrapped my legs around his trim waist. There was absolutely no way Patrick could light my body on fire the way Owen could. “Forget about your mother. She doesn’t know you like I do.” He tugged on my earlobe and whispered in my ear. “If you want me, you’ve got me.”

  “Oh I want you, Owen. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  So it was with great pleasure and drama that Owen proceeded to undress me. He knelt beside me on the floor so that I could reach him, and when we were both sufficiently naked he kissed my inner thighs and told me to relax.

  I leaned back on my elbows and watched as he worshipped me one kiss at a time, with so much love and respect and wonder in his eyes that I had to wonder if every woman found love like this, or if I’d stumbled into a gold mine by accident.

  His stubble tickled the sensitive flesh of my thighs, sending jolts of pleasure like a shiver across my skin. “Everyday,” he murmured.

  “Everyday?”

  He nuzzled his nose into the apex of my thighs and smiled. “For the next six weeks I get to do this every single day. How fucking incredible is that?”

  “Pretty incredible,” I sighed.

  But also a little daunting. It felt like a test. If we could make it through this break and still want to be near each other, then maybe all this heady insta-love was genuine, true love. Maybe I’d stop worrying about dating the lead singer of Jettison Seven and start planning a future with the man I loved.