Must Love Mistletoe

by Christie Ridgway

  Without a word, he wrestled the life-sized Mrs. C away from Bailey, the dummy’s sensible red shoes and orthopedic hose bumping his shins. “Christmas really has made you nuts.”

  She gave up Madam Claus with a pout, and trailed him as he returned the figure to her rocking chair beside a faux fire. “I never denied it.”

  “Yeah, but why? I get that your family runs a Christmas business, but it seems that might make some people more sentimental about the holiday.”

  “I’m sentimental about nothing.” She said it with an almost-feral smile, her whole body still humming with that inexplicable force.

  Finn picked up the meowing cat twining his ankles and placed it on the soft lap of Santa’s wife. “All right. But to what do we owe this manic mood?”

  “Celebrating some good news.” Her hand waved a dismissal of further explanation as she gazed about the neighborhood, obviously trying to determine what havoc to wreak next. When she headed off again, he followed closely behind, then in stoic silence put to rights the results of each of her little pranks: restoring wooden soldiers moved into I-surrender positions back at parade rest, removing penguins that were piled into a red toy bag and replacing them with the original wrapped gifts, rescuing an innocent ice skater figurine from the clutches of a fake woolly polar bear.

  “You’re worrying me, GND,” he said, yanking an oversized Styrofoam candy cane out of her hand. He didn’t like the way she was eyeing it. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I just have to get this out of my system.”

  But get what out of her system? Shaking his head, he told himself he should leave her to it. Why not go back to bed and recharge his batteries? He was going to need all the energy he could get to get over her.

  With his warm sheets and his good sense beckoning, he started to cross the street on his way to Gram’s. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Bailey approach a family of peacefully grazing animals that would glow with white lights when the power was on. As he watched, she grabbed one of the unsuspecting beasts and started to—

  “Bailey, for God’s sake!” he whispered, as loud as he dared.

  Frowning at him, she whispered back. “Sheesh. Loosen your tie a little. I think that Secret Service gig has been a bad influence on you.”

  The insult turned his feet back around. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you used to be more fun.”

  This from the woman who was doing something obscene with two of the lighted reindeer. She had repositioned one so that it appeared to be scr—uh, climbing the back of the other.

  Dismayed, Finn froze. God, had he become a stick in the mud? He was censoring his own thoughts.

  Still, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Someone’s going to catch you doing this, GND. It’s time to stop.” And furthermore, it wasn’t in character, and neither was the odd, frantic mood she was in.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you take chances anymore?”

  “Well, if we’re going to indulge in character criticism,” he said, shouldering her away to reset the reindeers back to their previous G-rated positions, “can I say that you’ve turned as brittle as a stick?”

  He didn’t have time to regret the words. Just then, at the corner, headlights turned into the street. Acting on instinct, he spun around to yank Bailey by the arm and then behind an igloo located to the right of the reindeer. She bumped into it and the damn thing belched with a hollow sound.

  “Shhh!”

  “That’s not me, it’s the milk jugs.”

  His eye on the approaching car, he reached out to inspect their hiding place. She was right. Someone had constructed a bigger-than-life-sized Eskimo domicile out of empty plastic milk containers. All right, maybe she wasn’t the only one whom Christmas made a little crazy.

  The car cruised toward them at a slow speed. “Cop,” he said, noting the profile of the vehicle, including the strobe on top and the cowcatcher on the front grille. He pulled Bailey closer to his body and tucked her head against his neck. The scent of her rose around him, and he couldn’t stop himself from sucking it in.

  “Hey, Finn, if the nasty ol’ police person pulls over maybe you can scare him off with your big flashlight.” She wiggled her butt against it.

  He thought about strangling her. “That’s just plain mean to mention,” he ground out. “I can’t control that.”

  “Mean is better than a brittle stick.”

  “Oh hell. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” The car was passing them by. “Now be quiet.”

  Of course she wouldn’t shut up. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fight with you, Finn. Not now. Not…tonight.”

  He was about to ask about that little hesitation, when the police cruiser braked in the middle of the road.

  “Oh, it’s only Mr. Baer,” she said, relaxing against him. “The Retired Service Patrol guy. You know.” The car was pulling into a driveway across the street as they watched.

  “That’s some late patrolling he does.”

  “And early too, my mother says. I think he’s out at all hours. After his wife died—”

  She gasped as the car suddenly leaped toward the closed garage door. Finn tensed, spinning Bailey away to give him a clear sprint toward it. His muscles bunched—

  Brakes shrieked. The car halted inches from the metal door, its body rocking on the chassis.

  “God! Is he all right?” Now Bailey moved, but Finn held her back.

  “Look, look, he’s moving. He’s okay. Just mistook the gas for the brake, I’d bet.”

  “Maybe we should check on him.” She craned her head around the igloo.

  “No. Leave him with his dignity. Plus we don’t want him to know we’re out here, remember?”

  “You already put everything back the way it was,” she grumbled. “And you called me a wet blanket.”

  He tousled her hair. “Let’s not call each other anything.”

  She stepped close enough to rub her chin against his chest. “Does that mean we’re kissing and making up?”

  Now her voice had that sultry note he didn’t want to resist. But he should, damn it.

  His hands circled her waist. “Only if you’ll tell me why you felt the sudden need to—”

  “Be naughty?” she whispered.

  He couldn’t look away from her mouth. “Bailey…”

  “I’m in a good mood.”

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  She rose on tiptoe to breathe into his ear. “Remember what you said? About wanting to get naked with me in my shower? Let’s do it. Let’s do it right now.”

  His spine jerked straight at the thought. He cleared his throat. “Your mother—”

  “Isn’t at the house. It’s empty. Unless you and I—”

  “Fill it up.” He slid his hands under her butt and boosted her high. She put her legs around his waist. What man could keep cold turkey on his mind when he had the chance at warm water and slippery soap?

  And Bailey. “I’m going to fill you up,” he promised.

  He’d never been allowed in her bedroom, though he’d probably frittered away more than half his teenage years imagining it, imagining her, pulling down the shades, pulling down her pants, pulling him to her with just one wanton look as she toyed with the clasp of her bra.

  Of course Bailey had never been wanton.

  Before.

  Now, now the skin along his spine prickled as she shut the bedroom door behind them both. Then she turned, her soft, tender mouth curving as she toed out of her shoes and shimmied out of her jeans. She’d dumped her short parka at the bottom of the stairs, so now she stood before him in nothing more than a thin T-shirt and a teeny pair of panties.

  “The bathroom’s this way,” she said, pointing to another doorway at the end of the room. Then she padded off in that direction.

  He stayed where he was, frozen. The ruffles, the rumpled sheets, the confident sway of her
hips shooting the needle high on his personal Lust-o-Meter. She paused in the bathroom doorway and looked at him over her shoulder.

  Smiled like a witch.

  Crossing her hands in front of her, she drew the T-shirt off, then let it fall to the floor. Naked shoulders. The tiny back vee of satin panties. The peach curves of her ass. No bra.

  Then another graceful move.

  Now no underwear at all. Just Bailey, tousled blond hair to bare bottom to bare heels. Pink and white and that ripe peach, right in the center.

  Her eyes gleamed like blue jewels as she gave him another look over her shoulder and decamped.

  The disappearance got him moving. He couldn’t lose her so soon.

  The tiled bathroom was already turning steamy once he made it inside. For a few minutes he stood, transfixed by the sight of Bailey under the spray, her body blurred by the bubble glass of the shower door.

  That odd pitching movement started up in his chest again—like that night in The Perfect Christmas—and he held his palm there to calm the movement. To calm him.

  The shower door clicked open. A flushed face peered out. He saw one rosy breast. A wet knee.

  “What’s a girl gotta do to get a man?”

  This man was already hers. Still, he went slow. Slow removing his clothes, slow to cross to the shower, slow to open the door and climb in.

  Slow to touch her with his hands, even as all her wet flesh pressed against his like a full-body French kiss. He bent his head to meet her mouth, but she stopped him with a hand to his cheek.

  “Can your eye patch get wet?”

  He caught her fingers and kissed her palm, tasting the water on her skin. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her fingers went back to toy with the elastic strap. “It doesn’t matter to me either.”

  “There’s nothing to see,” he said. “It’s not ugly, it’s not anything. It just looks as if my eye is closed.”

  “Then let me touch you everywhere,” she said. “With nothing to hide behind.”

  When still he hesitated, she whispered the most sultry thing of all. “Trust me.”

  So he let her draw the patch away even though he had so few secrets left from her. Her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts as she gently traced the few scars that showed on the outside. At the touch, he felt the old sharp ache in his bones, a phantom pain that would show up at times of stress. He tried breathing through it, but then lost his breath altogether as she went on tiptoe to press kisses to his usually protected flesh.

  “Oh, Finn,” she whispered against the missing part of him. “How much you scare me sometimes.”

  He groaned, his palms cupping her warm shoulders. “Bailey…”

  “Shhh.” She ran her lips down the side of his face to his jaw. Her mouth sipped at the moisture on his neck, his collarbone. She found his nipple and tickled it with her hot little tongue.

  Leaning against the tiled wall, he groaned again and refused to let his eye drift closed as it wanted to. He had to feel her and see her, searing the image of her going down on her knees in his mind for all time.

  Her hands were slick with water. She stroked him, cupped him, ran her fingertip around the pulsing head of his cock. Then she circled him with one slow lap of her flattened tongue.

  He pressed his hips against the tile, then forced his left palm against it too, only allowing his right hand to tangle in the wet disarray of her hair.

  Her gaze lifted as she licked him like a lollipop. “I always wanted to do this.”

  Christ! What was he supposed to say to that? I always wanted you to do this. I stayed awake during years of math, English, and social studies classes, dreaming of you doing this.

  Her tongue slid back down his steely flesh. “Do you mind?”

  Her little cat smile told him she already knew the answer. Still, he tried to sound casual about it instead of ready to beg. “I’ve always tried to be neighborly.”

  It must have been the permission she was waiting for, because she bent over him and drew his cock into the wet heat of her mouth. His breath sucked in, his eye flared wide, he thought he could die happy.

  Even happier, as she teased him with her mouth, setting his blood on fire and his pulse beating against his skin. His head clunked back against the tile and he stroked her hair as he watched the water sluice down her naked back and his flesh disappear between her pretty lips.

  Then it was all too much. As his balls yanked tight to his body, he yanked her to her feet. “No more,” he said harshly.

  “But—”

  He half dragged, half carried her from the shower. Laughing, she snagged a towel and managed to throw it down on the bed before he tumbled her there. She tried scrambling to a different position, but it only inflamed him more.

  He had to have her now.

  With his hands on her hips, he flipped her over. She stilled.

  No longer laughing.

  No longer a saucy flirt with the upper hand.

  “Get on your knees,” he whispered, his voice rough. They’d never made love like this. Teenage Finn would never have dared. He came behind her as she slowly moved higher and then he slid his knees between hers to widen them. His palm slipped from her hip to spread across her belly, his pinkie finding the slick wetness that wasn’t from the shower.

  “Finn?” She glanced over her shoulder, her wet bangs in a tangle over her eyes, her mouth swollen. Her voice…unsure?

  “All grown up now,” he said. He fit himself to her body, key to lock. Pushed inside as she jerked back against him, her pretty ass snug to his groin. “All grown up.”

  Then he rocked, and the hand that held her tight against his body took in the rippling movement of his invasion and her surrender. Of them becoming one. She arched her back and he kissed the place where her wings would meet if she was truly not of this world.

  And didn’t just feel like heaven.

  His mouth went dry as she moaned and pushed back against him, harder. He surged deep, holding there, as his pinkie played over her clitoris. She jerked back again, arched again, and he pressed his mouth to her damp spine as they both came. Adult to adult. Lover to lover. Angel to man.

  Afterward, Finn thanked God he hadn’t held on to his idea to go cold turkey. But he couldn’t say anything to Bailey. Not yet. His throat was too tight, his chest too heavy, his head overflowing with memories of how it had been with them this time. So he cupped his body around hers and pulled the covers over them both, burying his nose in the drying hair at the nape of her neck.

  He had no idea what she thought about. If she dozed.

  If she dreamed.

  But as dawn filled the room, casting pink light across her bare arm, he knew she was awake. Her skin goose bumped as he drew his forefinger from her shoulder to her elbow. He sensed the tension in her body.

  “Bailey?”

  She stiffened. “What?” As if afraid of what he might ask next.

  Leaving him with only one question he could speak aloud.

  “French toast?”

  Gram’s kitchen was quiet, and so was Bailey as she watched him make coffee and then turn to the refrigerator for eggs and milk. He’d taken her there knowing it was stocked with all the necessary ingredients.

  “You don’t really cook,” she said.

  “All grown up.” He shot her a look, noticing the new color flushing her cheeks. So she hadn’t forgotten that moment, or the new connection they’d forged. It satisfied him for now, just knowing she couldn’t pretend—he’d given up on it, of course—that they were merely two people waxing nostalgic.

  This wasn’t scratching an old itch.

  This was stroking new skin, caressing a brand-new version of a first love.

  It was more than they’d ever had before.

  All grown up.

  She cleared her throat. “Finn, I think we should…”

  Her voice trailed off as Gram walked into the kitchen. She stopped short in the doorway, a smile breaking over her pale mouth. None
of her bright lipstick today. “Bailey.”

  The GND popped up from the table. “Mrs. Jacobson!” She rushed around the chairs to embrace the older woman in a gentle hug, as if afraid Gram might break.

  Finn frowned. Bailey had a funny expression on her face as his grandmother lifted a thin hand and stroked her blond hair. “I enjoy hearing your voice in this kitchen,” Gram said. “What a treat.”

  Bailey cleared her throat again as the two women moved apart. Then she held out a chair for Gram. “Let me bring you some coffee.”

  Gram smiled again. “Spoiling me like Finn.”

  The GND turned away and he saw her knuckle away a tear from under her eye. His frown deepened and he glanced over at his grandmother. She didn’t look so bad…did she?

  But his gut clenched as he saw her through different eyes. When had she become so shrunken? When had the shadows beneath her eyes become so dark?

  He hurried forward with her plastic container of pills and a glass of water. Then he stepped back, almost plowing into Bailey. She put a hand on his back, gave him an absent pat.

  He felt it to his heart.

  She slid a mug in front of Gram and sat down beside her. “He says he can do breakfast,” she said. “What are the odds?”

  Gram’s gaze flicked from his face, then back to Bailey’s. Her smile went secretive as she picked up the hot coffee. “Take me to Vegas right now. I’m feeling lucky.”

  The women chatted. Finn moved about the kitchen, then suddenly stopped, an egg in one hand and his coffee in the other. I’m smiling at nothing, he thought. I haven’t felt so relaxed in months.

  Still smiling, he tuned back in to what the women were discussing.

  “Actually,” Bailey said, “my mom and Dan are doing well. Better than well.” Her laugh tinkled like glass breaking.

  The sound sliced down Finn’s spine. His sixth sense stirred. He turned.

  She was looking into her cup of coffee. “They’re back together. It’s official. As a matter of fact, they’ll be opening the store this morning.”

  Her eyes lifted to Finn’s face. “That was my good news. What I felt like celebrating about.” Her gaze jolted back to her mug. “I’m going back to L.A.”