Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  He huffs out a deep laugh.

  God, he’s hot.

  Back on the floor, I’m very aware of how large he is. I always have to look up at him, but without my heels on, there’s much further to go. I fold my arms across my chest, mostly so he can’t see how hard my nipples are just from that rough tone in his voice. I’m boxed in between him and the ladder as he takes in the work I’ve done so far. It’s substantial. He has to admit that.

  He may think I’m a princess, but I’m a hardworking one.

  And I’d like to get back to work. His smoldering in front of me is going to throw off my balance more than anything else. My hands seem to have a mind of their own, though, so I smooth them across the top of his chest. His flannel shirt is soft and worn. It’s probably been through the wash hundreds of times. He snaps back to attention at my touch.

  “I can’t move the ladder with you standing here,” I say, trying to make a joke. He rakes his eyes over me, lingering on my breasts. “Can’t have a party with only half a garland.”

  I’m spouting nonsense now, but the sheer sex appeal of this man throws me off. I haven’t been in any kind of relationship in years and his mixed signals are confusing. Was it only yesterday that I’d thought he was a cold, smug pseudo-intellectual?

  Okay, he’s still smug, but not always cold. I’ll have to get back to the intellectual part when my own brain climbs out of my crotch.

  “I’ll move it,” he says, licking his lips.

  My brain shouts at me to get out of the way, but my crotch is still firmly in control here. He skims his hands down my arms and over my waist, holding me just above the hips before moving me to the side. He pushes the ladder over to the next hook.

  I’m never going to get this garland hung if this happens every time I need to change positions.

  Crotch-hijacked brain offers me several positions I could try with Vinny.

  “Don’t go up unless I’m in the room so I can keep an eye on you?”

  It’s an ask rather than a demand, which I can work with.

  “Okay.” I can wash the tables while he’s in the basement. “But hurry up.”

  He laughs again at my saucy remark and heads out to grab the next table. I clean the first one, and we repeat the dance until all the tables are set up and clean, and the garland is hung. I toss some plain white linen cloths over the tables, and I’ll pick up some small poinsettias for centerpieces. I’m going to hang some wreaths on the support columns, add some fairy lights around the wainscoting and in vases around the room, and with the Christmas trees in place and decorated, the ballroom will look gorgeous.

  I turn back to Vinny, who’s bringing up the last of the chairs. They’ll need some dusting, but I’ll get to that after dinner.

  “Not bad, huh?” I ask. It won’t be the party of the century like I’d hoped, but I’m starting to like this much better.

  He looks kind of blank, and I suddenly remember how he feels about Christmas and its trappings. Jesus. Christmas in State care was probably depressing as hell.

  “It’s good of you to help me even though it’s not exactly your thing. Oh, I could help you with your roof,” I offer. My voice brims with excitement. “That could be a lot of fun. I’ve never done roofing before!”

  A smile crosses his face. It’s not the intense smolder I’ve felt from him, but something different.

  “You have a smudge on your cheek,” he says softly, brushing it with his thumb.

  “I mean it.” I stammer a little. “If I can help you with anything in return?”

  Sia, do not catch feelings for this man.

  But I’m afraid it’s too late, and it shocks the hell out of me.

  And that’s when I also realize we’re standing directly under some of my mistletoe.

  Do I want him to notice it or not? Too late to worry, because his gaze shoots up to the ceiling and back at me. I stroke his biceps through that soft flannel. He doesn’t flinch this time, but the smile’s gone from his face. His brow furrows, his eyes still glued to mine.

  “It’s silly,” I whisper. “I know.” With great difficulty, I pull my hands from his arms. I’m embarrassed by how I’m trembling. I want to step away, but instead I inch closer, remembering how safe I felt next to him at the bar that night.

  But this is different. I’m terrified that he’ll kiss me but more terrified that he won’t.

  The tension is unbearable. His name escapes my lips in a quiet murmur.

  He curses under his breath, leans down, and kisses me. It’s gentle and sweet, and I part my lips, caressing his tongue with mine. His beard is rough against my cheek, but perfectly so, and he sweeps his thumbs over my jaw and back into my hair. He pulls away and runs a knuckle down my temple.

  The tenderness of his touch surprises and delights me.

  “You’re shaking,” he says, smiling softly. “You hungry?”

  I am. Though not in the way he means.

  “I’d cook us something,” he continues, “but I lost power the other night.”

  Finally, something I could do for him. I’d grill Danny about what he likes and doesn’t like and replace his stock.

  “I hear you’re a fabulous cook.” My stupid grin refuses to leave my face.

  “I do okay. Pizza?”

  He gestures for me to walk ahead of him. His hand slides down my back as I pass, momentarily grazing my ass. It could have been a mistake, but I hope it wasn’t.

  I hope none of this is.

  12

  Vinny

  “I’ve never gone Christmas tree shopping before.”

  Sia gasps like no one has ever suffered so cruelly in the history of humankind. A few days ago, I would’ve counted it as evidence of her superficiality. I’m a little embarrassed at my former self. She’s not superficial.

  She’s lonely and creates shiny spaces to bring people in, like a magpie decorating its nest.

  It’s not how I’d deal with loneliness, but I don’t blame her for trying.

  “You’re going to have to tell me what to look for,” I say as we pull up to the local Boy Scout troop’s pop-up tree stand.

  You’d think there’d be slim pickings since Christmas Eve is two days away, but there’s a surprising number of trees left. A little farm stand sits nearby, and I know we’re going to have to visit that as well. Sia’s eyes had lit up, and she’d grabbed my arm before self-consciously pulling back.

  Before we leave my truck, I ask if she learned how to choose trees from her parents.

  She stiffens, but only for a moment. Doesn’t stop me from noticing, though.

  “No,” she says. “I used to go with Kieran’s family.” She lets out a little laugh. “The first time we went I think I was around seven? It was the first time my folks had left me by myself so they could take their annual vacation. They’d told me Murphy was going to pick me up, but I found out later that they’d forgotten to ask him. I didn’t know what to do, so I just watched Christmas movies until I fell asleep. The next morning was Christmas Eve. The entire Doyle clan showed up at my house because Kieran had accidentally set their tree on fire, and they were going to pick out a new one and thought I’d enjoy going along.”

  I want to ask about how Kieran managed to do that but now isn’t the time. Sia very rarely talks about herself in a substantive way, and this is answering some of the questions I’ve had.

  “Murphy asked where my folks were, and I said Mexico. You know when you’re a kid, and you know an adult is absolutely furious? And it’s not like they’re yelling or anything, but there’s just something in their posture that clues you in?”

  I nod, and she cringes.

  “Of course you do. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such an idiot. It’s just.” She pauses.

  It’s just that she’s not used to sharing this part of her. And I understand that too.

  “You’re not an idiot,” I say. “Kieran’s an idiot for setting the tree on fire.”

  She laughs, but it doesn’t reach he
r eyes. She’s still looking at me like she’s betrayed me in some huge way by exposing her pain.

  Like how Danny told her she’d betrayed Drew by not dying with him?

  I can’t do this. It’s not that I don’t care, but I don’t know how to help Sia through any of this other than by listening. I’m just bad at feelings.

  “I bet Murphy wasn’t happy to find you there alone,” I say. I need this to wrap up.

  “I started crying. I thought he was mad at me, that’d I’d done something wrong.” The wistfulness in her voice makes me feel sick. It’s too familiar. “He had never been anything but kind to me, but he always seemed so serious.”

  I’d met him a handful of times and even as a full-grown man I felt his gravitas. I can’t blame Sia for being afraid of him as a kid. Not that I had been afraid, naturally.

  “Anyway, he told me to stop crying and grab my coat so we could see Santa. My coat didn’t fit great because it was from the previous winter. My parents hadn’t remembered to pick up a new one for me. They were always so busy with work.” She laughs. “I must’ve looked ridiculous. Like the opposite of when I had to wear my uncle’s clothes.”

  I’m deeply uncomfortable. Now I know how other people feel when I joke about my childhood. It sucks, and I hate it.

  She senses my discomfort and gingerly touches my arm, that shy smile gracing her face again.

  It’s impressive that she has any of that sweetness left in her, given how people have reacted to it. It makes her vulnerable, though, and I wonder if she’d be better off without it.

  “Murphy bought me a jacket that fit and took me with his family to pick out a tree. I’m pretty sure he read my parents the riot act, because they were cold to me when they returned from their trip, but that Christmas with the Doyles was my first great Christmas, and I promised myself that, when I could, I’d throw the best party for them to thank them for including me. Turned that promise into a career.” She squeezes my arm and then lets her hand fall.

  Jesus. She’s completely earnest, believing she has to always pay care back so she doesn’t overdraw the balance and lose someone.

  It makes me sad. She should be enough for anyone. Anyone who’s interested in forging relationships with other people, I mean.

  “Well, I’m very interested in learning about this entire process,” I say, waving at the rows of trees.

  Her face lights up, and we climb down from the truck, and I follow her into the farm.

  Even though it’s only midday, the clouds are so thick and heavy that it feels much later. The air has that crisp smell which usually signals snow, but we very rarely get snow in December on the Vineyard. The ocean, cold as it is, still warms the air to above freezing.

  Sia has the coat and scarf she’d had on when we met, fresh from the dry cleaners. I knew Mrs. Swenson wouldn’t rat me out, but I was nervous when Sia had told me she’d gone with her uncle. But she would’ve said something if she knew what I’d done. Probably offered to scrub my floors or something. A rush of affection hits me hard.

  It’s not a feeling I welcome. Sia’s only going to be here for a few more days. Better to not get attached.

  She’s closes her eyes to fully take in the piney scent of the tree stand. She doesn’t have gloves still and keeps her hands in her pockets. When she opens her eyes she asks me if I’m ready.

  “I am.” I take the knit cap from my head and pull it over hers. “And now you are too.” It’s too big and covers her up to the bridge of her nose. She erupts into a peal of giggles and pushes the wool brim back up over her eyebrows.

  Her self-consciousness gone, she threads her arm through mine, walking us over through the trees.

  “Okay,” she says. “So the ballroom ceilings are super high.” She pauses and glances up at me to see if I’m following along.

  My hat looks ridiculous on her, and I love it. And I hate that I love it.

  “I guess you know that. Anyway, we’ll need two really tall trees. Fresh ones. If you touch them and the needles fall off, it’s no good.”

  “Tall. Fresh. Right. What else?”

  She’s tugging me toward bigger trees in the back of the lot. Her joy is contagious, and I find myself grinning.

  “You want good spacing between branches. Not too big of a gap, not too small. Ornaments look best when they hang straight.”

  “Hey, sometimes hanging crooked is okay.”

  She bursts into another fit of giggles. Her laugh is fast becoming one of my favorite sounds.

  “Not for ornament hanging,” she says between giggles. “But otherwise this is a judgment free zone.”

  “Good. Wouldn’t want any feelings getting hurt on my first Christmas tree outing.”

  “Absolutely,” she says, nodding solemnly. “Ooh, Vinny look at this one.”

  It’s probably about eight feet tall. It’d work great in the ballroom. She’d need that ladder to get to the top of it, but I’m happy to hold that for her. The view is great.

  I touch the branches, and it doesn’t lose any needles. I hear that’s a good sign.

  “It’s a winner,” she declares. “Now we just have to find its twin.”

  We circle the lot and find a similarly perfect tree. She goes to pay for them and check out the farm store while I help net the trees. Carrying them one by one, I tie them to the truck. There was no way Danny could’ve lifted these. Then again, I’ve seen several men watching Sia dart between the rows of trees and don’t doubt that they would be happy to assist.

  Great. Now I’m getting jealous over her too. Just as I’m processing that, two young men carrying crates of plants follow her out of the store. She’s holding another bag. The plants squeeze in next to the trees, somehow. When I open her door, she hops in with her bag.

  “That’s a lot of plants,” I say, backing out of the driveway. I expect her to get a little defensive, but instead she shrugs.

  “It is, but the money goes to the Boy Scout troop, and I’d rather spend locally and on stuff that isn’t just going to go into a landfill. It’ll make the ballroom look nice, and we can send them home with guests as gifts to cheer up their own homes. Winter’s long.”

  I don’t miss her use of ‘we’.

  “Good point,” I concede. As much as I hate to admit it, Sia’s brought a lot of brightness in a short amount of time.

  “Besides,” she says, “groups like the Boy Scouts keep kids busy with constructive things. Giving young people something to do keeps them out of trouble.” A shadow passes over her face.

  Very true. I’d gotten in to quite a bit of trouble as a teenager, but there’d been no one to be disappointed in me. I didn’t do anything bad enough to send me to juvie, or maybe the judges just felt bad for me. My record had all the gory details of my placements.

  “Did you have fun?” she asks. There’s so much hope in her voice.

  Hope is dangerous.

  “I did,” I say.

  And not just because I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “And I have an entirely new skill set now.”

  “You are already multitalented,” she says.

  I’d love to show her some of my other skills.

  “Vinny…”

  Her tone is different. She’s going to ask one of her harder questions. I can read her too well already.

  “You don’t have to answer this. But do you ever get lonely?”

  We turn onto the main road and head back to town. The ocean rises on our right, gray with white choppy caps.

  “Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely, Sia.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

  I hate the sadness in her voice, but I want to make a point. Filling your time with stuff and people doesn’t cure loneliness. Nothing does except maintaining safe distances.

  She fixes me with those big blue eyes of hers.

  “Would you ever want to not be alone?”

  It’s a loaded question. We both know it. I have to tread carefully.


  “It’s not that I don’t think you can’t make genuine connections with people,” I say, finally. “I just don’t know if relationships of any kind are worth the mess that comes with them. They never have been in my experience.”

  She nods, still fiddling with her scarf.

  “I like spending time with you, though.”

  It’s out before I can stop it. My hat has slid down again, and she adjusts it so she can see.

  When we get to the house, she hops around to join me at the tailgate. I lean over to grab a tree, and she moves so her lips are right next to my ear.

  “I think they’re worth it,” she says.

  Her hot, wet breath so close to my cold skin makes me shiver.

  “Besides, sometimes the cleanup of the mess is worth the fun of making it.”

  She presses a soft, chaste kiss on my neck, right under my ear, before grabbing a crate of plants and heading for the door.

  No weather is frigid enough to keep my body from reacting to that woman.

  I take a few minutes, and then carry the first of the two trees in. I’m going for the second when she squeezes by me with another crate of plants, deliberately pressing those beautiful breasts of hers into my back.

  “Sorry.”

  Her innocent tone isn’t fooling anyone.

  I pretend not to notice, setting her trees up in the stands. I screw the second one in place, and they’re as tall and rigid as I am when Sia comes in with the last crate. She thinks I’m busy still and bends over to set them down. As soon as she lets go, I grab her by the waist, pulling her against me. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but Sia, or at least my desire for her, clouds my judgment.

  She lets out a squeak that goes right to my already hard dick. I pull my hat off her head and tease her ear with my mouth. That giant scarf of hers is in the way, once again, so I peel it off and cast it aside, kissing my way down her neck. She’s squirming against me, which feels incredible, but I want to make sure she’s as into this as I am.

  “Does that feel good?” I murmur, my mouth back at her ear as I undo the buttons on her jacket.