The Mistletoe Kisser: Blue Moon #8

by Score, Lucy

Fitz’s face lit up. “Sweet! Finally some real entertainment. Later, dudes!” He hurried off toward what would soon be a very confused audience.

  “Now, where were we?” Ryan demanded.

  His fiercely frowning mouth was so close. She could feel his breath, warm and sweet on her face. “Is this happening?” she whispered as her heart thudded in her chest.

  “You’re damn right it is,” he said. “Now get used to it.”

  She melted against him, ready to seal the Official Most Romantic Moment of her life with a kiss under the mistletoe. “In that case, I think we were right about here,” she said, rising on tiptoe.

  “Wait!” someone yelled, breaking the spell.

  Chest heaving, Sammy tried to jump back, but Ryan merely tightened his grip on her vest.

  “Stop! He’s the wrong Ryan!” Ellery stormed into the clearing, dragging a man behind her.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Wrong Ryan groused.

  “Is that you, Ry?” the newcomer asked with a lazy grin. He was wearing white pants, a pink Oxford, and a long wool coat. He had a green sweater wrapped around his neck like a scarf. “Heard you got shit-canned. Sucks to be you.”

  There was something unsettlingly familiar about him, Sammy thought.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Shufflebottom?” snapped Wrong Ryan.

  Oh, shit. Ryan Shufflebottom, the Original Mistletoe Kisser, was back.

  “Dude, Esme here told me there was an emergency and paid for my plane ticket,” First Kiss Ryan said.

  “Ellery,” Wrong Ryan corrected. “And there’s no emergency. You can go.”

  “Dunno. I kinda like this place,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of those blinding white pants. “It’s sexy.”

  “What the hell is happening?” Sammy demanded.

  “This only works if you kiss Original Ryan in the same spot as your first kiss. It’s all about symmetry,” Ellery insisted knowledgeably.

  “Original Ryan?” Wrong Ryan scoffed.

  “Holy shit! It’s Fried Tofu Chick,” Original Ryan said, chewing his gum harder. “I totally remember you. You got even hotter. Man, we could have had some real fun that night if my parents hadn’t caught me stealing cash from the Salvation Army kettle in the park.”

  “Ellery, if you don’t want a murder on your conscience, get this douchewaffle out of here now,” Wrong Ryan warned.

  “So, you want me to just kiss her, or can I try for a little third base action?” Douchewaffle Ryan asked, firing off pistol fingers and a lecherous wink in Sammy’s direction.

  “Ew,” she said.

  “What are we working with here? B cup? C cup?” Gross Ryan asked, walking toward her with outstretched palms at boob height.

  “Not happening,” Accountant Ryan said briskly. “Hold these.” He shoved the flowers into Sammy’s hands.

  “Ryan,” she warned.

  “What?” both Ryans said at the same time.

  “Dude, pretty sure she was talking to me,” Boob Grabber Ryan said, wriggling his eyebrows. He no longer had the boy band swoop of hair. Instead he’d graduated to a slicked back, heavy-on-the-gel style.

  “Fuck symmetry,” Grumpy Ryan growled. His fist flashed out and connected with Original Ryan’s jaw. The man crumpled to the ground like a deflating Santa lawn display.

  “Ryan!” Sammy yelped.

  “What?” Wrong Ryan said as he stalked toward her.

  “Ow! I can’t believe you hit me. I’m suing your ass! Tofu Girl, you and Ellen are my witnesses,” whined Inappropriate Conduct Ryan.

  “Let’s do this right,” Wrong Ryan insisted. Once again, his hands fisted in her vest. The flowers fell uselessly from her fingers to the ground as their bodies connected. He didn’t give her a chance to breathe before crushing his mouth to hers.

  There under the mistletoe, their tongues twined, teeth grazed, lips crushed.

  There was nothing sweet or safe about the kiss. But there was fire and heart and hope. Even romance. And a host of other feelings drowned out by the pulsing need of more. More. So much more.

  “Now, that’s a kiss,” Ellery mused from what sounded like a long way off.

  “Can someone get me some ice? And some vodka?” Punched-in-the-Face Ryan asked.

  “Come on, Subpar Ryan,” Ellery said. “I’ll buy you some wassail.”

  Wrong Ryan broke away from the kiss. “Wait,” he ordered. He unraveled the green scarf from Sammy’s neck and threw it at his cousin. “You can have this back.”

  “Hey! I shoplifted this from Nordstrom’s when I was like fifteen. I wondered what happened to it.”

  “You’re not a great person, are you?” Ellery asked as she led Criminal Ryan away.

  “Not really,” he agreed.

  “Oh my God,” Sammy breathed. She’d been wearing a stolen scarf for fifteen years.

  “I paid for this one after I saw it and it reminded me of your eyes,” Ryan said, reaching into his coat and yanking out a deep blue scarf. She buried her face in the yarn and breathed in his scent.

  He cleared his throat. “Now it’s time to get a few things straight. Number One, I won’t tolerate you making out with anyone who isn’t me from here on out.”

  Her butterflies had exploded into a glorious, golden glow that filled her chest.

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s right, and you’d better get used to it. Because Number Two, I’m sticking around. One night with you wasn’t enough for me. I want more of you. All of you.”

  “Even though it doesn’t make sense? Even though this isn’t part of your life plan?” she pressed.

  “Somehow you make more sense than any other decision I’ve ever made,” he insisted, sliding his hand up her jaw to her neck and into her hair.

  Sammy’s blood felt thick in her veins. The night air was chilly, but in the moment, she felt like she’d never be cold again. She slid her hands up his chest and was surprised by the heat pumping through his sexy thermal shirt under the flannel coat.

  He didn’t look like a snooty accounting robot.

  He looked like a man who wanted something. And that something was her.

  His hand fisted in her hair, tugging hard enough that she opened her mouth on the softest moan. Something like triumph lit up his gray eyes, and she felt rather than heard the rumble in his chest as he took her lips again.

  He’d barely touched her, and she was reacting like an orgasm was on its way.

  His other hand slipped under her jacket to her waist, where it curled into the curve of her hip and drew her against him in one swift pull.

  Oh. God.

  Her chest pressed against his torso, hips to his denim-clad thighs, and her stomach up against the erection demanding full attention.

  She wanted. Was wanted. Craved. Was craved.

  She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist. Wanted to run away. Wanted to stay right here in this exact moment of anticipation for the rest of eternity.

  He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “I like when you look at me like that,” he whispered darkly in her ear.

  “Like what?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Like this isn’t just a kiss. Like this is forever.”

  She made some kind of unintelligible moan.

  “What was that, Sam?” he asked smugly.

  She could feel the hardness of his erection where it pressed into her, and she wanted more. Friction. Skin. Sweat. She wanted to taste him and be tasted. He lowered his forehead to hers.

  “How is this going to work?” she whispered.

  “I’m going to take you home and strip off every piece of your clothing in front of the fireplace.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I mean, you staying. What does it mean?”

  “It means Number Three, we’re together,” he said firmly. “This isn’t a marriage proposal, but it’s a notice of monogamy.”

  “If you were proposing right now, I’d be concerned about head trauma or hypothe
rmia.”

  “I am moving in with you,” he informed her.

  “Are you feeling feverish? Did Bruce Oakleigh come near you with a comically large mallet?”

  “I’m feeling alive. And I’m not moving the whole way across the country unless it means I can see your face every morning, Sparkle.”

  Swoon.

  “Besides, we need to figure out how annoying the other is on a day-to-day basis. We’ll start with a one-year probationary period,” he continued.

  “How romantic,” she teased.

  “I punched a guy in the face for you after selling fucking Christmas trees in a small town. I’m the master of romance,” Ryan insisted.

  “So one year. What happens during that year?” she asked.

  “I make love to you on every flat surface in the house until I know your body better than you do. We renovate that God-awful kitchen. I buy into Mason’s practice. We launch the sanctuary. I wait a respectable amount of time before I tell you that I am so in love with you that it hurts to look at you because I’m afraid you’ll disappear and this whole thing will be a dream.”

  “Ryan,” she whispered. Her heart was soaring.

  “Then you’ll tell me you’ve loved me since I tried to abandon a sheep.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then after twenty-four months we get engaged. Get married. Live happily ever after.”

  A single fat snowflake fell from the sky and landed on her cheek.

  She could feel herself nodding as if it was all perfectly logical. “I like this plan. How do we seal this deal?”

  He looked above them at the mistletoe. A few more fat flakes drifted toward the ground. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  “How many of them are family festival friendly?” she teased.

  He nuzzled into her neck, then bit her earlobe. “Zero.”

  “Take me home, Wrong Ryan.”

  29

  Magic really did happen. And this time it was happening to her, Sammy thought as Ryan kissed her across the threshold of her front door. Their front door. That would take a little getting used to. She couldn’t wait.

  “Mmm, wait,” she said, breaking away from the kiss. “Why is it so clean in here—Oh my God! There’s a Christmas tree!”

  Her little farmhouse was immaculate. The crafting supplies, laundry, and dishes were gone. There was a garland draped over the mantel above the warm glow of a fire. A Christmas tree topped with mistletoe stood in the corner, strands of colored lights casting a soft glow.

  There were candles in her windows. Instrumental holiday music played softly in the background. Die Hard was cued up on the TV screen.

  It smelled like sugar cookies and happiness.

  “How did you do this?” she asked, bringing her fingers to her mouth.

  He stroked a hand over her hair. “I asked for help.”

  “I can’t believe you did this for me.” She blinked back tears that blurred the lights into starbursts.

  “I didn’t do it alone. You have a whole town of people who love you, Sam.”

  McClane padded by, a plaid bowtie on his collar. Stan the sheep let out a snore from a dog bed next to the fireplace. “What’s that under the tree?” she asked, spying a small, flat box wrapped with a red ribbon.

  “Go find out,” Ryan suggested. “But lose some layers first.”

  With a grin, she shrugged out of her vest and handed it to him. When he wasn’t looking, she pressed her face to the scarf and took a breath.

  While he hung up their coats, she toed off her boots and pounced on the package.

  Ryan sauntered over to her and joined her on the rug. As she worked the ribbon free, he pulled off both her socks.

  When she started to lift the lid, he stripped her sweater off over her head.

  “This isn’t how unwrapping presents usually goes,” she said as he sank his teeth into her shoulder next to her bra strap.

  “Mmm, are you sure? Because I think the rest of the world is doing it wrong,” he said as he worked open the button on her jeans.

  Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers dipped into the waistband. “I can pay attention to this later,” she decided, sliding the box away and reaching for him.

  “Open your present, Sam, and let me open mine.” His gray eyes glittered in the soft light of the fire, the tree. Dangerously romantic, she thought. Then he maneuvered her onto her hands and knees, and she was left with just dangerous.

  Her heart hammered away in her chest as he knelt behind her and slowly slid her jeans down her trembling thighs.

  His laugh was soft, ragged, as he traced one finger lightly over her underwear. “Mistletoe here too, Sparkle?”

  She shivered. “I don’t make the rules,” she teased, her voice quivering.

  “And I love to follow them,” he said softly. She could feel his breath on her back. Held her own as he deftly unhooked her bra, then ran a palm down her spine. His fingers snagged the band of her underwear and dragged them slowly down to her knees.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes closed. She was bared to him, vulnerable to him.

  “Open,” he growled.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant the box or her legs. So she did both and was rewarded with two of his deft fingers sliding into her entrance.

  Her breath released on a strangled cry, and she felt his teeth graze the curve of her hip. “Look at your gift, Sam,” he ordered.

  She forced herself to open her eyes and stare down at the papers neatly stacked in the box. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “Are these—”

  But the thrust of his fingers was replaced by the stroke of his talented tongue. She nearly collapsed to the floor. Her elbows shook with the effort to keep her upright.

  “Ryan,” she breathed.

  “What are they, Sam?” he whispered, kissing her again where she needed it most.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” she chanted. He was expertly driving her toward an orgasm while expecting her to carry on a conversation. Her entire core was trembling now. She felt him slide back from between her legs and heard the hasty removal of clothing, the tear of a wrapper.

  “These are my grant applications,” she whispered.

  “That’s right,” he said, stroking over her back, her hip, the curve of her backside.

  “They’re filled out.” She managed to get the words out as he notched the head of his erection at her entrance. She was going to cry and had no idea if it was from being so wound up sexually or so bowled over emotionally.

  “And submitted.” Ryan said the word tenderly.

  “All of them?” she asked on a broken groan as she felt the blunt crown nudge at her sex.

  “All of them, my sweet Sam,” he whispered, clamping his hands on her hips and thrusting home.

  30

  Tuesday, December 24, an ungodly early hour

  * * *

  She woke with a crick in her neck and a heavy arm locked between her breasts, anchoring her to a hard body. Dawn was breaking outside the windows, and it was still snowing.

  It was Christmas Eve, and she was waking up naked under a Christmas tree next to her former one-night stand.

  “Magic,” she whispered.

  Ryan grumbled something into her hair, and she smiled to herself.

  “Stop poking me in the face,” he said sleepily.

  “I’m not poking you in the face.”

  They both looked up. Perched on the couch cushion above them was a fat orange cat glaring down at them.

  “Hi, Hans,” Sammy yawned.

  “Oh, thank God,” Ryan murmured. “There really is a third cat.”

  She snickered as the orange ninja vanished above them. “You were willing to commit to me for a year when you thought I had an imaginary cat friend?”

  “That’s how into you I am, Sparkle. Don’t forget it.”

  Sammy rubbed her eyes and stretched luxuriously. Ryan’s arms belted around her again,
pulling her back against his heat, his hardness. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Her smile was so wide it hurt her face. “Absolutely nowhere,” she promised.

  “Good. We can start establishing a morning routine,” he said, nestling his erection against her behind.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she sighed happily.

  “Neither one of us is allowed to come to our senses,” he insisted.

  She laughed. “Do we have to tell the Beautification Committee?”

  “First, you have to explain to me exactly what the Beautification Committee is because they seem less about maintaining common spaces and more about meddling in love lives,” he told her.

  “You just answered your own question.”

  “I don’t see how they could take credit for us. They wanted to match you with my idiot cousin. Technically, you’re being very rebellious right now.” He rolled her on to her back.

  “Mmm. I like being a rebel,” she said, taking his lower lip between her teeth.

  He groaned his approval.

  The knock at the door startled them apart.

  “Ow!” Ryan held a hand to his lip.

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  “Whoever is at your door is the one who’s going to be sorry,” he growled.

  She jumped up and wrapped a fuzzy blanket around herself.

  Ryan rose and snatched a Merry Kiss This pillow from the floor and held it in front of his hard cock.

  She gaped at him. “You are not going anywhere near my door like that,” she hissed as he stalked toward the front door.

  “Our door, Sam. And whoever it is deserves what they get for showing up unannounced at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve.”

  She made a run for the door but tripped over Holly. The cat shook her jingle bell collar in derision.

  Ryan yanked open the door.

  Ellery stood on the front porch in a gray plaid cape trimmed with faux black fur. She cocked her head and took in the view. Her purple lips curved. “High five, Sammy!” She held up a skull gloved hand.

  Sammy felt a little like high fiving the entire town and obliged… promptly losing her grip on the blanket.