“What?” Bailey asked, and when he didn’t answer, a puzzled smile took over her face. “What?”
It was the attraction, Finn told himself, pulling the bakery box closer to his chest. That’s all. His need for sex moving from his groin outward.
“Finn?”
“Get down from there,” he ordered softly.
Her body twitched, swaying a little on the ladder.
He reached her in one stride, steadying her with his hand on her thigh. The top of his head reached her hips. “Be careful.”
She stared at his hand on her leg. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying, I’m trying.”
“Then come on down, sweetheart.” He squeezed her denim-covered flesh.
Her gaze didn’t leave his hand. “I, uh, think we should talk.”
“Talk?” Yeah, he’d sworn to do whatever necessary to get into her pants again, but, hell, she was hot against his palm and he just wanted to get her naked. “Talk about what?”
She cleared her throat, looked up, down, back at his hand. “I don’t know. Tell me about…about Tanner.”
“Tanner?” Tanner? “Why the hell would you want to talk about him?”
She shrugged. “He’s an old friend. And I—”
“How well did you know him?” Finn had never considered it before, but Tanner Hart and Bailey Sullivan were two golden peas in the beachside pod of Coronado. Heat shot up his spine to pool at the base of his skull. “Damn it, did you date him when I wasn’t here?”
“Why are we talking about dating?”
He ground his back teeth. Tried convincing himself he shouldn’t yank her off that ladder, yank down her pants, thrust himself inside to make clear whom she belonged to. But he wasn’t that kind of bad ass anymore. And she wasn’t “his” in any long-term kind of way either. He’d never trust in that stupid idea again.
“You wanted to talk,” Finn muttered. “You brought up Tanner.”
“I’m wondering how the two of you connected, that’s all. I wouldn’t have said you had a lot in common.”
He laughed, and it released some of the tension in his neck. “Ah, but you didn’t see me that summer, did you? I’d cut my hair. Passed the GED and even had one semester of community college under my belt—all A’s.”
“You’re kidding.”
He dropped his hand from her leg and took a moment to send some sympathy to the poor lovesick sap he’d been. “I wanted to surprise someone.” He’d wanted to impress Bailey.
“Finn…”
The note in her voice had the coils tightening again, and he couldn’t have that. “Now don’t go feeling sorry for me, GND. Wanting to be more your style and speed got me out of the gutter, and just that was worth the price of admission, okay?”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
He leaned over to drop the bakery box on a nearby table. He hated the fucking pity in her voice. He had to find a way to get rid of it.
“You want to make it up to me, GND?” His voice was dark and his fingers cupped the inside of her ankle to travel slowly up her inner thigh. “Because I have some suggestions.”
She froze as the blade of his hand found the intersection of seams on her jeans. It was hot there. He pressed closer. Damp. She moaned.
He rubbed his cheek against her hip as one hand unfastened her jeans.
“Finn…”
“Shhh.”
Her body trembled as he slid down the zipper. A triangle of red panties showed in the now-open vee and he bent his head to press his mouth right there.
Her fingers slid through his hair. “Oh, Finn,” she said in a throaty voice.
His skin rippled over his muscles as his pulse started to drum in his ears, at his groin, in the tips of the fingers that curled in denim to yank her pants past her knees. The beat sounded so loud in his head that he couldn’t hear if she protested when he sent her panties in the same direction. He stepped closer, then kissed the sweet, soft hair at the juncture of her thighs.
Her nails bit into his scalp.
He groaned against her, greed, need, want flaring.
The constricting clothes at her ankles didn’t afford complete movement, but it was enough. He lifted one leg, separating it from the other, so he could prop her knee on his shoulder. Then he opened her with his thumbs, pushing against the soft, swollen folds to see her secret flesh glistening. For him.
His sixth sense kicked in, trying to sneak a warning through his haze of lust, but Finn knew one sure way to shut up that irritating voice. Leaning forward, he buried his mouth in Bailey’s wet flesh.
She shuddered. Her nails bit again. That voice inside him tried speaking louder.
None of it deterred him. Instead he flattened his tongue and took in all the sweet tastes and slick surfaces that he could reach. His fingers held her open still, not letting her hide behind even her own flesh.
Mine. All mine.
He strung kisses along the crease of her thigh and pelvis. Made matching bites on the high inside of her thighs and then licked the sting away. He latched on to the hard center of her sweet, delicious flower and sucked until she bucked against his mouth.
And he still wanted more.
He pulled her off the stepladder and laid her under the sparkling tree. Then he threw off his clothes, his heart slamming as he watched her struggle out of her own. Bailey, going naked for him.
It turned him on so much he had to taste her again. This time he pushed her thighs wide, his palms just above the new marks he’d made on her flesh, and watched her sex unfurl for him. Then he dove down to accept her erotic invitation. Her body arched upward as he descended and he filled her with his tongue, trying to get to the very center of her. She cried out, the passionate sound piercing him to the gut.
He glanced up and saw that she was wide open to him, her legs splayed, her arms spread wide, her eyes not squeezed tight, but open too, trained on Finn. On Finn pleasing her.
Bailey, vulnerable, open, giving him everything. Trusting.
His heart hammering against his chest, he reached up to squeeze her breasts and thrust his tongue once more toward her heart.
She screamed, climaxing against his mouth.
Gratified, satisfied, feeling pretty damn puffed-up even with his cock cryin’ the my-turn blues, Finn slid up Bailey’s still-trembling body. Soft, wet, her body took him in like a key sliding into a lock. He groaned into her ear.
She let out another small scream.
He lifted his head. “Christ, I must be better than I thought. Again already?”
“S-Santa. Santa’s watching.”
“Huh?”
“Finn, do something.”
He followed her pointing finger. In the doorway stood her two red-robed gatekeepers. While Santa appeared benignly interested in the sight before him, Finn had to admit that Mrs. Claus wore a pinched look of disapproval behind her wire-rimmed granny glasses. Glancing back at Bailey, he surrendered to the inevitable and clambered to his feet.
When he got close, Mrs. C tried to wave him off.
“Prude,” he muttered, then relocated the figurines out of sight. In a flash he was back to the naked woman who was his ticket to paradise.
Naked, donut-stealing woman.
“It’s not refreshment time,” he scolded, staring her down. Sitting up, she had a powdered sugar treat in one hand and was rummaging through the box with the other. “We’re not done yet, lady.”
She smiled and held out the half-eaten donut. “I’ll share.”
“Damn straight you will.” Lying back beside her, he shoved the pink box out the way, then pushed her down to make his place between her legs again. He bent his head to lick up the powder that had fallen onto her breasts.
“Mmm,” she said. “Maybe I don’t need a donut after all. Maybe I’m hungry for something else.”
Finn’s head shot up. His gaze jumped to her flushed face.
Her knees clamped his hips. He let them sink lower to find her and slide into her again, once more
trying to plumb her depths. The donut fell from her hand and her damp nipples rubbed against his chest.
Mine. All mine.
* * *
Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas
Facts & Fun Calendar
December 17
Ancient people thought that mistletoe was magic, and a connection between earth and the heavens because it grew without roots. It was thought to keep evil away and was also a symbol of peace. Warring soldiers under mistletoe would call a temporary truce.
* * *
Chapter 17
After that night in The Perfect Christmas, Bailey gave up resisting and decided to embrace her inner sex fiend. So when Finn showed up on her front porch that afternoon to help her with the surprise light stringing at her mother’s, she merely laughed when he held up a ribbon-wrapped bundle of mistletoe. Without hesitation, she went on tiptoe for his kiss.
Their mouths met and he tasted like cinnamon again. She savored his flavor, savored his kiss, her hands spearing through his dark hair. When they came up for air she fell back to her heels and rubbed her cheek against his hard shoulder, giddy with his nearness. She was like a cat with a catnip toy, she thought, drunk on his scent and ready to take a bite. As she smiled to herself, her teeth nipped at him through his soft flannel shirt.
He yelped, then pushed her away, his expression bemused. “Good God. Has someone kidnapped my real GND?” He hooked a finger in her T-shirt and pulled it away from her body, copping a look at her chest in the process. “Nope. Those are indeed your lovely breasts.”
She batted away his arm, someplace between embarrassed and pleased with herself. Who knew she could be such a physical creature? Her fingertips trailed along his hard abdomen, and he responded by holding up his mistletoe again. He glanced at it, glanced down at her face. Expectant. Confident.
Bad boy.
Fine. She kissed him again, giving him tongue, making it sloppy and wet until his free arm came around her hips and tilted her against his growing hard-on. Her knees sagged. Then “Good King Wenceslas” sounded in the near distance, and she came to her senses and stepped back, clearing her throat.
“The neighbors are out,” she said, nodding across the street where Mr. Lantz was up on his roof, adjusting the plastic Santa that was trying to stuff a pretend big-screen TV down the chimney. “We don’t want them calling the police.”
Waving the leafy bundle over her head, Finn grinned. “We’ll blame it on the mistletoe.”
She took a second step back from temptation. Six feet, two inches of hard-muscled male, of Finn, had become her personal, sexual switch. When he smiled at her like that, heat shot up her calves, flooded her belly, even made its sneaky way toward her chest. She rubbed there and took a breath of air, clearing away the giddy effervescence that was fizzing her blood and fogging her mind.
“You know that plant’s a parasite, don’t you?” she said, pointing upward. “It has those leaves to produce its own food but it would rather root into its host and take its water and nutrients. There’s no way to get rid of the stuff either, nothing short of amputation, anyway.”
He grimaced, his hand dropping to his side. “Gee, thanks for ruining a perfectly harmless custom. Has anyone ever told you you’re a wet blanket?”
Shooting him a cheeky grin, Bailey walked away. Sex fiend was fine, but better a wet-blanket sex fiend than a shattered romantic with a thing for one man’s body. Despite their attraction and her physical capitulation, she was still committed to keeping her emotions unengaged and unscathed. “It’s what comes from working with dozens of ferocious divorce attorneys.”
He caught her elbow, hauled her back. “What? I thought your firm was family law.”
“Oh sure, we’ve got your ugly one-night-drunk paternity suits, your siblings at each other’s throats over who gets the soup tureen, your fed-up folks wanting to emancipate their bratty teenagers, but we’re best known for our take-you-to-the-cleaners divorce department.”
His hand loosened, but she felt his gaze still studying her as she walked over to retrieve the boxes of lights she’d stacked nearby. “Sometimes I’m sorry I can see inside your head,” he said.
“Orderly, practical.” Unswayed by the fact that multiorgasmic was no longer just the subject of an article in Cosmo. “What’s not to like?”
He didn’t answer the question. “But I don’t get this Christmas lights thing. You, Ms. Grumpy Grinch, volunteering to do more decorating?”
“It’s for my mom.” There was the mailbox bow, the front-door wreath, the garland on the stairs, the tiny tree in the kitchen. Bailey had hung Christmas guest towels in the powder room downstairs and stacked holiday mugs in the kitchen cabinets. So far, though, no sign of her mother at The Perfect Christmas. Not even a whiff of interest in what was going on at the business. Not a good sign.
“I’ve got to snare her into the season.” Bailey gathered the boxes of lights and turned to Finn. “You said you’d help. You’re not changing your mind?”
“I’m not changing my mind about anything.” Taking the boxes from her, he set them aside. Then he put his arms around her and dragged her into a shadowy corner of the porch. “Let’s go have more sex.”
“Finn!” His mouth was already on her, though, hot on her neck, then trailing toward her collarbone. His hand slithered under her tight T-shirt, and her belly quivered as he found his way to her breast.
Making her giddy again. She pressed into his hand and moaned when he rubbed the edge of his thumb across her nipple.
“I want to do it in your room,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot. “On your bed, in your shower, every place you’ve ever been naked that I haven’t been with you.”
Lust tightened her throat, her thigh muscles, her womb, even as another—possibly perverted—part of her thought the line was kind of sweet. “Finn…”
“On your desk. I want to sit you on the very edge with your legs open and your heels on my shoulders. Then I’ll write an essay about all the things I like about your pretty pu—”
Definitely perverted, she thought, her mouth fastening on his, heat shooting everywhere now, toes to fingernails, breasts to thighs, ankles to neck, because that line wasn’t sweet at all and still she liked it. His tongue thrust inside her lips, and giddiness evaporated as her temperature soared. All she wanted was Finn.
Finn forever.
The last two words froze in her mind. Chilled all her heat. Once again she broke away, chest heaving. To hide her new uneasiness, she worked at plastering on a casual smile.
Finn said nothing, his one-eyed pirate gaze watchful. Suspicious.
She swallowed. “I only have a couple of hours before I have to be back at the store. Can we, uh, pick this up where we left off tonight?”
He turned to retrieve the lights. “Tonight might be a problem. I have a dinner thing.”
A dinner thing? Her stomach tightened. What kind of dinner thing did a sexy, piratical man have? Her uneasiness washed away and something else took its place. She saw red, then green, and a little spike of temper burned through her blood. A dinner date kind of dinner thing?
“I see,” she said, keeping her voice calm, though. Noncommittal.
His head whipped around, his eye narrowed. “Oh no. No. You’ve got it wrong.”
“What do I have wrong?” She thought she got incredulity just right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have that braided-bracelet face on.”
Oh hell. In an instant she knew what he meant. She’d been jealous once, fine. She’d kicked up a fuss, probably flounced off in a huff, and then refused to speak with him until he’d cut that butt-ugly bracelet off his wrist. He’d handed it to her.
Later she’d flushed it down the toilet.
Now she felt her face turning red. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“GND.” He snagged her with an arm around her waist and drew her close to his body again. “I’m meeting some people abo
ut a job.”
She meant to pull away, but his words surprised her. “A job? You have a job.”
“Yeah, well.” It was he who let go this time, he who moved off to make his way down the porch steps with a box of lights, his destination the ladder she’d propped against the side of the house.
She had to trot to catch up with him. Her fingers curled around the sides of the ladder as he started to climb. “What are you talking about? What’s this job?”
“There’s a local company. They have contracts with the Department of Homeland Security. Over the past couple of months they’ve been giving me the big recruiting rush. I’ve decided I should hear what they have to say.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh. I, uh, thought you were pretty into working for the Secret Service.”
“We get pretty tight because of the long hours and all the travel.” His long arm stretched to loop the string of lights on the hooks screwed into the eaves. “You follow a diplomat around for a month. Then you’re working the Super Bowl for a couple of weeks, next you’re called on to chase down some loon who’s been sending the White House threatening letters. The saying goes that if the Secret Service wanted you to have a family, then they would have issued you one.”
“You…” Bailey’s chest ached, just a little. “You want a family?”
“That’s not the point.” Finn descended the ladder and she moved aside for him to adjust its position.
He was tense again; she could tell from his jerky movements and the closed expression on his face as he climbed back up. Which meant she shouldn’t press for more, she told herself. A sex fiend didn’t need to know the interior landscape of the object of her lust.
“Well, what is the point?” she heard herself ask anyway, proving that even fiends couldn’t keep their minds on just sex and just sex only.
“I don’t know if I can work for the Service anymore.” He continued stringing lights, as if the admission meant nothing to him.
Bailey stared. “Why?”
“The job requires skills I’ve…lost.”
Whoa, that was news. “Like what?”
“My observational skill, for one,” he replied, his voice matter-of-fact. “You’ve seen it a hundred times, the president or some important dignitary doing the grip-and-grin along a rope line, Secret Service at his or her shoulder. Agents have to be observant enough to detect the first sign of trouble. Missing an eye, I’m not so good at that.”
Must Love Mistletoe Page 18
