The captain came up and slapped Jonas on the back. “My son’s been begging for this all year. You know how hard it’s been to find one of these little bastards?”
Not so hard for Christie and the folks in distribution at Tate. “If your son likes that,” he said, “tell him Rover’s coming next year.”
“Thanks to you, he is.”
Christie.
He spun around. She was there, just a few feet away. Wearing her long, loose cashmere coat and staring at him with that soft smile on her face.
He hurried toward her, aware of the cops milling around, those calling out “Thanks” and “Merry Christmas.” The gifts had sure put them all in good moods.
“What are you doing here?” He took her hand and enjoyed the silken feel of her skin.
“I wanted to come by and make sure the robots were delivered safely.” Her gaze swept the room. “If anyone was left out, let me know. Tate Toys can make sure everyone is taken care of.” Her gaze returned to him. Warmed. “Everyone.”
Oh, she’d already taken care of him.
“Jonas…can we talk a moment?”
His heart rate kicked up. “Sure.” He tugged her toward the back of the station. He couldn’t use the interrogation room again. A suspect was inside. All the interrogation rooms were full. It was one of those days.
He tucked her into the far corner and braced his hand near her head, leaning in and effectively closing her off from the others. “Is something wrong?” Warmth was in her eyes, but she was biting her lower lip and her gaze kept darting away from him.
“You’ve helped me a lot in the l-last few days. Standing by me when the break-in happened at Tate, giving me a place to stay—”
“Baby, having you in my bed was no hardship.”
She blushed, just a bit.
“Then handling Vicki and the fallout. I know you didn’t need to be on the case and—”
He bent and pressed a kiss to her lips. “How many times do I have to tell you? You were involved, so that meant I was, too.”
Her eyes searched his. What was she looking for? What did she want to see? If he didn’t know, how could he give it to her?
“I broke the rules,” she whispered.
He frowned down at her.
Her hand came up and pressed against his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” Was that anger in her voice? Or fear? Either way, the woman had him worried.
“What rules are you talking about?”
She swallowed. “Just sex. Not forever.”
Those rules.
“I asked you not to lie to me, but I came here tonight because I need to tell you…I’m the one who’s been lying.”
What?
“From the beginning, I-I’ve been lying, Jonas.”
The din around him seemed too loud. Too many phones were ringing, too many voices buzzing. Scotty had started a round of “Jingle Bells,” and too many tone-deaf cops had joined in for the song. “Run that by me again.”
Her body trembled against his. “I’ve been lying to you from the beginning.”
She looked so beautiful it hurt him to stare at her, and the twist in his gut told him he shouldn’t ask but, “What did you lie about?” Wanting me? No, hell, no. The lust between them had been real. The pleasure too good to be faked.
“I want more.”
He shook his head. Dammit, he couldn’t hear her. He grabbed her hand and hauled her behind him. He shoved open the precinct door, and they rushed outside. The lightest flakes of snow had started to fall. “Tell me again,” he demanded, the fury and fear in his blood too hot for him to feel the cold. “Tell me what you want.” Was she cutting him loose now? Right before Christmas?
It was the last damn thing he’d expected. He thought of the present he’d bought for her earlier. Tucked nice and safe in his desk drawer. Hell, no, this couldn’t be happening. “My time’s not up yet.”
“I-I know.”
“What do you want?”
“You.” The snowflakes caught in her hair. She drove her hands into the pockets of her coat and rocked back. “I didn’t just want a good time that night. Didn’t just want any man. I wanted you.”
He stared at her.
“I’ve wanted you for years.” Her lips lifted in a smile, but her dimple didn’t flash. “Guess that night…guess I finally got brave enough to go after what I wanted.” Her shoulders slumped a bit. “But deep down, I’m not brave. I’m scared, I’m nervous, and right n-now, staring at you”—her laugh was a little desperate—“I feel like I’m making the worst mistake of my life. I probably should just keep my mouth shut and enjoy the time we have left, but—I made the wrong wish.”
He stilled. “What wish did you want to make?”
She looked up at the sky, at the falling snowflakes. They kissed her lashes and whispered over her face. “I don’t want you just for the holidays.”
His hands curled into fists.
“I’ve watched you over the years. I’ve seen the women come and go, and I know you’re not the kind of man to commit.”
Why the hell did everyone keep saying that? Because that’s the way I used to be. Not anymore. Not with her.
“But that’s the kind of woman I am. I might have pretended I wasn’t—I might have said I just wanted the pleasure, too…but with you, I want more.” Her chin was up. “I’m not going to lie anymore. Not to you, not to myself. I want more.”
“More?”
“Not just the sex. Don’t get me wrong.” Her words tumbled out. “The sex is incredible.”
A uniform stumbled past, eyes wide. Jonas growled at him.
“But I like just lying in bed with you. I like being there for you when you come back from a hard case. I like it when you’re with me and my family.” Her breath blew out on a white cloud. “Jonas, I just like it when you’re with me.”
The cold still hadn’t touched him. Couldn’t, not the way his blood pumped so fast and hot. “Christie…”
She straightened her shoulders. “I had to tell you how I felt, Jonas. I’m going to start doing that, you know. Telling people what I really feel and think. Life’s too short to waste, isn’t it? If you don’t take chances, then you can’t—”
He pressed his lips against hers and tasted the snow and the strawberries that he’d always crave. “When you’re nervous,” he whispered, “you talk fast. Did you know that?”
Her eyes widened a bit.
“You don’t need to be nervous around me. Haven’t you realized that yet?”
“No, you’re wrong. You’re the one who makes me the most nervous.” Her eyes never wavered as she told him, softly, “Because you matter to me.”
His heart jerked hard in his chest. “Not just sex, huh?”
Her head shook. “It never was. Not for me. I shouldn’t have let you think—”
“It wasn’t for me, either, baby.”
And just like that, Jonas found out how to make Christie Tate speechless. She stared at him a few seconds, her mouth hanging open a bit. “Wh-what?” That stutter squeezed his heart.
“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a pair of glasses with black rims. You had on jeans that were two big, sexy black boots, and a blue shirt that made your eyes even darker.”
“Th-that was years ago. I don’t even…how do you remember that?”
“Because, baby, I remember everything about you.” Always had. “I knew the minute I saw you that you were too good for me.” His smile flashed. A real smile. One he didn’t have to fake. With her, he never faked. He just…was. “You were too damn young for me, then. Too young and too good, and I tried to stay the hell away from you.”
The snow fell harder.
“I knew I was going into undercover work. I knew what it would do to me.” He still didn’t want her to know the places he’d been. The things he’d seen. Christie—she was the light he’d held close all those years, and she didn’t even realize it. “But I had to take those jobs.” Would she understand the d
riving need that had haunted him for so long?
Blood. Death.
“I know you did,” she said, her voice a bit sad. “But Jonas…you didn’t have to do that alone.”
His hands squeezed her shoulders. The woman would break him one day, if he wasn’t careful. But with her, he’d always tried so hard to be careful. “Do you know why I left Narcotics?”
She shook her head and the snowflakes drifted through her dark hair.
“I wanted something more.” If he was going to tell her, he’d do it right. “No, screw that. I wanted someone. I wanted you.”
“Jonas—”
“You never dated anyone seriously. I thought—fuck, I don’t know what I thought.” That you felt the connection, too. That we would be together one day. That there was plenty of time. Then he’d seen her with another man one day when he’d gone to Tate to meet Daniel for lunch, and he’d realized time had run out. If he didn’t move, he’d lose her. “Do you know why I was playing that Santa gig? When I’d barely celebrated Christmas before?”
“I thought you were a replacement—”
“Because you were going to be there. You weren’t the only one who wanted something special for Christmas this year. I did, too, baby. I wanted you. I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines anymore. Wasn’t going to let life pass me by while I—” Tried to slay demons who were long dead. “While I just watched you go.”
She blinked, once, twice, and then her dimple flashed. “Jonas…did you know? When you’re nervous, you talk fast.” She rose onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulled her closer. As close as he could get her. “Neither am I.”
Her lips trembled—not with sadness. They trembled and stretched into that slow, sexy grin that had stolen his heart years ago. “New rules?”
“Damn straight.”
“Sex.”
“Lots of it.”
“The best sex.”
“With you that’s what I always have.” Not just sex, so much more. He’d known that from the first touch.
“Strings?” she asked softly.
“Enough to tie you up.” Forever.
She laughed at that and he kissed her the way he needed to kiss her. Long and deep and hard.
He’d finally gotten just what he wanted for Christmas. Christie in his arms.
Just what he wanted—and everything he needed.
Christmas Eve. This year, Jonas wasn’t spending it undercover with a bunch of asshole criminals he hated. He wasn’t at the station, manning the phones.
He was in bed with Christie. His body relaxed, sated from the sex. The best. Hell, yeah, and he’d be ready for another round soon. They had too many years to make up for, and he was too hungry.
His hand slowly trailed up the smooth curve of Christie’s back. She stretched into his touch, then turned her head and he leaned forward to kiss her.
“One more rule,” he told her, whispering the words against her mouth.
Her brows came together. “What do you mean?”
“Come with me.” He slid from the bed and quickly pulled on a loose pair of sweatpants. Christie followed, snagging the silk robe he’d bought for her.
When they went into his den, the little tree was glowing. Christie’s touch. They’d decorated it together last night. Decorated. Drank wine. Laughed. Made love while the snow fell.
Presents were under the tree. Some for her family. Some that Christie had brought over for him. Even one for Scotty.
And a special one for her.
He pulled her down in front of the tree. Jonas reached for the small red box with the bright green bow.
Christie laughed. “Ah…want to start a tradition, huh?”
He turned back and caught the sexy gleam in her eyes.
“I’m all for that,” she murmured, “and by last count, you do owe me another pair.”
She took the box from him, and, as was her way, she lifted it up to her ear. Her grin kicked up as she shook the box.
Then faded. “Wait…that doesn’t sound like—”
“Open it,” he told her, his voice rougher than he’d intended, but he knew that this moment might just be the most important of his life.
She stared at the box, then ripped the bow off and tore into the package.
When she opened the ring box, he held his breath.
“Jonas?” She looked up at him, her eyes so wide.
“I don’t want to have any more Christmases without you.” He pulled the ring from the box and offered it to her. “I told you there was one more rule. This time, I want forever.”
“If that’s what you want”—she lifted her hand—“that’s what you’re getting.”
He slid the ring onto her finger.
“You’ve been very good this year,” she whispered, rising to nip his ear.
Not good enough for her. But he’d try to be. For the rest of his life, he’d try to make everything good enough for her.
She eased back and stared into his eyes. “I love you, Jonas Kirk.”
“And I love you, Christie Tate.”
“Merry Christmas.”
His lips brushed hers. “Merry Christmas.” His arms pulled her close. The woman he’d watched for so long. The woman he’d needed.
The woman who’d given him a really good time that he’d never forget, and the woman who’d just promised him forever.
Now, he had everything he wanted, right there, in his arms.
Merry Christmas, baby.
Tattoos and Mistletoe
SUSAN FOX
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’m delighted to be part of Brava’s 2010 Christmas anthology. Thanks so much to my wonderful editor, Audrey LaFehr, for extending the invitation. Thanks also to editorial assistant extraordinaire Martin Biro, for always making the process run smoothly.
I’m also deeply grateful to my critique group (Michelle Hancock, Betty Allan, and Nazima Ali), the Novelistas (Delilah Marvelle, Lacy Danes, and Christina Crooks), Loreth Anne White and Susan McFee Anderson, and last, but definitely not least, my terrific agent, Emily Sylvan Kim of Prospect Agency.
And of course, thanks to my readers, and especially the ones who take the time to drop me a note. It always brightens my day to hear from you.
Readers can e-mail me at [email protected], write c/o PO Box 73523, Downtown Postal Outlet, 1014 Robson Street, Vancouver, BC, Canada V6E 4L9, or contact me through my website at www.susanlyons.ca (where Susan Fox shares a den with her alter ego, Susan Lyons). You’ll find excerpts of Susan Fox and Susan Lyons books at my website, as well as behind-the-scenes notes, discussion guides, a monthly contest, recipes, e-newsletter signup, and other goodies.
1
Ten years ago, Charlie Coltrane left Whistler, British Columbia, taking only her ratty old backpack and the certainty that she’d never return.
And now, here she was, back in the damned place, riding in a cab from the bus station to the B&B she’d inherited. From beyond the grave, Aunt Patty had, for whatever bizarre reason, found the sole motivation to make Charlie return to the place where she’d grown up. The place that, like Patty, had treated her like shit from the day she was born.
Well, screw Whistler. She wasn’t the same loser kid with a bad rap, she was a Toronto businesswoman. In a few days she’d have her aunt’s B&B tidied up and on the market, and she could blow the town once and for all. With the sale proceeds, she’d open her own tattoo parlor in Toronto and achieve her dearest dream: to be her own boss, making a living from her art.
Shading her eyes against crisp winter sunlight, she noted lots of new buildings, but the town still had the flavor of a Pacific Northwest version of a Swiss village. The color palette hadn’t changed either. Under a frosting of snow and a hodgepodge of tacky Christmas decorations, the forest and earth tones were harmonious, but boring.
In her day, she’d spiced things up, roaming Whistler at night and painting graffiti art on the post office,
liquor store, and some upscale shops. That Halloween mural she’d done on the wall of the police station, with the skulls and zombies, had been totally inspired.
Those blandly painted buildings still made her fingers itch. She grinned. Now, that would be a way of letting Whistler know Charlie Coltrane was back in town.
The grin faded. Nope. As a kid, she’d had to live here and had learned to put on a tough-girl shell, to pretend to the town—and to herself—that she didn’t care what anyone thought. Now, she’d rather fly under the radar.
Yes, she’d changed. The old Charlie had been fuel for the gossip mill: graffiti, cutting class, suspensions, driving without a license, being thrown in juvie.
People had assumed the kid of two loser drunks had to be a loser, too. That gave Charlie two choices: let them know she gave a fuck, or tell them to fuck off. She’d had enough pride that the first choice wasn’t an option.
Suspensions were preferable. Even a night in juvie. Yeah, thanks for that, Aunt Patty. For not coming to claim me when Mom and Dad were too shit-faced to do it. The driving without a license had been to take her dad to emergency. And yeah, she’d cut class, missed exams. Who cared about school when her parents fought all night and she couldn’t study, much less sleep?
“White Gold.” The taxi driver announced the subdivision.
She leaned closer to the window. More Christmas glitter assaulted her eyes: sparkling lights twining through trees, fake icicles hanging from eaves, gross rubber snowmen.
He turned onto Nancy Greene Drive. “What’s the address?”
“It’s the Mountain View B&B.”
She grimaced at the decorations, reminders that Christmas was two weeks off. The worst time of year. A stream of bad Whistler memories filled her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But how not to remember? Especially the afternoon she’d come home to find that her parents and her home had gone up in flames. If she’d been there, not sketching in the woods…But she couldn’t remake the past.
“Here we are.” The driver stopped the cab and glanced over his shoulder. “You know this place shut down after the owner died?”
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