A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

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It was a honk of a passing lorry that made Billie untangle her left hand out of his curls and tear herself away from him. She gasped, quite literally resurfacing for air.

Dair - dishevelled; his cheekbones flushed; his eyes, according to all possible clichés, dark and hungry - growled. Billie felt a hackneyed sweet shiver run down her body.

"Wait, wait," she muttered, ineffectually trying to gather the remains of her wits, whichever still hadn't been decimated by the man's delicious kisses and caresses and pawing, gentle and respectful but eager. "We were still–" She choked on her words, momentarily distracted by his tongue darting to run across his bottom lip.

"We're in a car! And also we're still talking! And–" Billie tried again - and once again the magnetic pull of his physique made her thoughts jumble.

She was straddling him; and there he was, conveniently accessible, warm, and... hard! As in, his toned torso and his prominent thighs, obviously! Billie would know - since she'd apparently opened his coat; bunched up his soft jumper, his button-up, and some sort of a soft silky tee; and had had a thorough 'manual perambulation.' Everything she'd discovered had been given her utmost assured seal of approval. Dair had been enthusiastically returning the favour - and didn't seem to mind his yield either. There might have been some happy noises from both parties.

"You're right, tesorina," Dair muttered and buried his face into the crook of her neck. "I'm s-sorry. You d-deserve better." He sighed and wrapped his arms around her tightly, but much less raunchily. "And we haven't d-discussed the farm yet."

Billie considered returning back to her seat, but something stopped her.

Oh, c'mon, Sybil Harewicke, when will you finally grow up, you pantywaist! It's time to admit that said 'something' is you! You want to stay in his arms. You want to touch and explore and... oh damn with it all! You want to know if you might enjoy everything else as much as you're enjoying his kisses!

You want Eric Dair. No, that's not right. Billie wanted Federico Cerretelli.

More so, she wanted him so much that neither her deep-seated insecurities, nor his star status mattered much. Neither did the fact that there was only a week left till Christmas. On a related note, hadn't he mentioned something about 'staying?'

"So, this 'farm,'" Billie started, her voice raspy. "What sort of a business is it, then? On which you collaborate with Fergusson? Because I could understand if it were a dairy farm; but then what's it got to me? And also he mentioned Katarina Swedenborg, the head teacher in the Fleckney Primary. Which means it's not about cows and milk, unless she decided to switch careers. And how my mentioning library funding at your family dinner 'got Rhys on board,' as Fergusson put it? Eric?"

Dair's nose was still pressed into her, and he sighed again.

"Eric?" Billie was losing patience - as well as her will to fight the temptation of snogging him senseless. "Federico!"

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned. "G-give me a moment, polpetta. All my b-blood travelled South. Mi fai impazzire... I t-told myself I'd g-give you t-time but–"

Billie felt a tinge or irritation. "You do remember that I don't speak Italian, right? You've been using this technique on me since we were little. It's unfair."

"I g-gabble when turned on," he said with a raspy chuckle, and withdrew. His eyes - darkened and laughing - met hers. "Just p-pours out. But also, it's b-better if you don't know what I'm saying," he added. "F-for now, at least."

Billie's cheeks flushed but she stubbornly answered, "I prefer complete transparency. Please, translate anything that 'pours out.'"

"Alright, p-polpetta. F-fair enough." He quickly kissed her cheek. "And if we g-get to the third date, will you l-learn the language?"