The Naughty List Bundle with The Night Before Christmas & Yule Be Mine. Fern Michaels

said, “I’m not drunk, Jonas. I know exactly what I’m doing.” She paused—then said, “Do you?”

      Oh, hell, no, the woman had just taunted him. “I manage.” In three minutes, he’d manage to make her come. That would be just the start of the fun he had planned.

      His mouth closed over her left nipple. Her sigh filled his ears, and oh, yeah, better than strawberries.

      Her hips arched against him as he licked and sucked, learning her flesh. Christie fucking Tate! Too smart, too rich, too sexy as she moaned beneath him.

      Her brother had never needed to tell him to keep his hands off. He’d known she was off-limits to him for years.

      Still knew it, but…screw it.

      His hands grabbed the flowing material of her skirt and yanked it up.

      Hands most definitely on.

      “Jonas!”

      His hand was on her thigh. Soft, supple skin. So close to touching her sex. All he had to do was slide his fingers under the elastic of her panties. Would her panties be black, too? A scrap of lace to match the bra?

      His gaze met hers. Passion had darkened the blue of her eyes, but wait…was that fear? Was she afraid of him? Sure he’d pulled some dangerous undercover cases when he’d been busting ass in the Narcotics Division of the Charlotte PD. But he hadn’t even gone close to Christie then. He’d made a point to stay away from temptation. He’d transferred out of that department now, and…the woman had to know he wouldn’t hurt her, right?

      He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “Trust me.”

      A small furrow appeared between her brows. “That’s…not easy for me.”

      He knew that about her, too.

      Her gaze dropped to his hand.

      His fingers began to slide up her thigh, pushing the skirt with the slow movement. “Tell me to stop,” he told her. One word, and he’d back off.

      One word.

      Christie didn’t speak.

      He saw the black edge of her panties. His cock jerked; the thing was so eager for her that he ached. His hand looked too big next to her flesh. Too rough.

      But he wasn’t backing off. Not unless she gave the word. His index finger eased under the edge of her underwear and touched warm, wet woman.

      Fuck.

      Christie wanted him as much as he wanted her. His hand caught the lace, pulling too hard, and it snapped.

      The lace fell between them. “Spread your legs wider.” His gravel-rough command.

      She was still looking at his hand when she moved to obey.

      A light covering of midnight black hair. Pink flesh. His hands, touching her, sliding between the folds, finding the center of her need.

      Her breath came faster, harder, when he stroked her. Her hips arched up when he pushed his index finger knuckle-deep inside her.

      Watching. Watching.

      Where the hell was the mistletoe when he wanted it? He knew just where he wanted to kiss. Just exactly where—

      The door flew open, banging against the wall, and Jonas whirled around with his fists up.

      “Hey, look, Christie, we really need to—” a tall, blond dumbass of a guy began.

      “Get the hell out.” Jonas kept his voice lethally soft. He also kept his body in front of Christie’s.

      The blond dumbass staggered to a stop. “What? Who are you—Santa?”

      A choking sound came from behind Jonas.

      Dumbass stepped forward even as his face flushed a dark red. “You’re making out with the guy in the Santa suit, Christie?” Shock had his voice rising.

      “Doing a bit more than that,” Jonas told him, lifting a brow.

      The guy looked like a fish—a blond, dumbass fish—as he tried to suck in air. “You…can’t…Christie and I are—”

      “We’re not anything anymore, Charles,” Christie said, her voice too calm and far too cool for a woman who’d been burning hot in Jonas’s hands ten seconds ago. He glanced back at her. Her sweater was gone, but her skirt was in place. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped her up, fast, before Charles could see—

      Charles. Revenge sex. Shit.

      This was the ex? This guy? Jonas straightened his shoulders. “You’re interrupting.” He hadn’t even gotten his three minutes.

      But old Charles must have gotten some kind of second wind. Suddenly he came barreling forward, and Charles launched his fist right at Jonas.

      Christie screamed. Jonas twisted to the side, did a fast dive, and caught the dumbass with a quick maneuver that took Blondie down, face-first, onto the desk.

      Jonas held Charles’s hands pinned at the base of his back. The idiot kept bucking and swearing and promising to rip Jonas’s head off. Right. Like that was going to happen. “Charles, this is not your Christmas.” A deliberate pause. “Dumbass, you just assaulted a police officer.”

      3

      Charles froze. The guy had finally realized he was screwed to hell and back.

      “Jonas.” Christie’s breathy voice was like a stroke right over his cock.

      He looked up at her, grinding his back teeth. She looked mussed and sexy, and he’d been close to paradise. Until the dumbass had interrupted.

      “There’s been a mistake,” Dumbass said.

      Jonas kept his eyes on Christie. She bit her lower lip, and her gaze darted between him and Blondie.

      “Charles…” Her breath expelled on a rush and Jonas’s brows snapped together. He didn’t like the look she was shooting Dumbass. “You shouldn’t be here.”

      Damn right he shouldn’t. Jonas tightened his hold around the guy’s wrists.

      “D-didn’t know he was a cop!” The ex gasped out.

      “Right. ’Cause it’s fine to assault people, as long as they aren’t cops,” Jonas snapped. Idiot. “Let’s see if a night at the station can—”

      “Jonas!” Okay, now she was back to calling his name. Well, not so much calling it as nearly shrieking it in horror. “You’re taking him in?”

      His jaw ached, and Jonas realized he was still gritting his teeth. “Does it matter to you?” But the real question was…did the ex matter? Dumbass was still pinned. Christie pulled Jonas’s coat closer to her and stared back at him.

      “Christ, this is a mistake!” Dumbass wailed. “I saw you with Christie and I just—”

      “We’re over, Charles,” she said, her voice cold. Not seeming to care so much. “Who I’m with, who you’re with—doesn’t matter. That’s what over means.”

      Okay, that was good enough for Jonas, and because he was suddenly feeling so generous, he eased his grip and let Dumbass flop over.

      The guy stared up at him with wide gray eyes. Jonas glared down at him. “This is your warning, asshole. You ever come at me again, you’re in jail.”

      The gray eyes darted to Christie.

      Jonas stepped closer to her. “You heard the lady. Over. So unless you have Tate Company business with her, stay the hell away.” He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. Territorial? Yeah, that was him.

      But he finally had a chance with Christie, and no dumbass was going to ruin that for him.

      The blond swallowed and tried to straighten