Erin snagged a chair from another table, and female hands pushed Kip into it. Fortunately, not next to Carly—though the little ball of possessiveness in her belly swelled at the sight of him squashed between Holly and Tarryn.
Vee arrived moments later with his beer, placing it in front of him and ruffling his hair. The look he shot his sister could’ve given her a free chemical peel.
Erin craned forward in her seat. “You’re a Christmas Eve baby?”
“A long time ago,” he said.
Holly nudged him. “Bet you were a cutie.”
Tara, Lizzie, and Vee burst into gales of laughter.
“God, no,” said Tara. “Three months undercooked and weighing only two pounds?”
“I was nine when Kip was born.” Lizzie wiped a tear off her flushed cheek. “I looked into the incubator and thought he was one of those hairless cats.”
“Sphynx,” supplied Tara. “Or maybe that little critter that Grace used to watch on some cartoon—a naked mole rat?”
“He doesn’t look like a naked mole rat now,” Shaye said.
“Yeah.” Piper tipped her beer bottle at Kip across the table. “If I weren’t married, I’d do ya.”
“You missed your chance when you threw me over for that moron behind the bar.” Kip toasted her in return and sipped his beer.
“Looking at my little bro now, no one would believe he was a skinny runt most of the way through high school.” Lizzie stirred the straw through her Bloody Mary, the ice cubes rattling in the moment of silence before she continued. “One time, even a girl beat him up. Poor little guy.”
The women surrounding her started giggling.
Tarryn shoulder checked him. “You got smacked down by a girl? Oh, my, gawd.”
The angle of Carly’s chair allowed her to see Kip’s profile. His jaw bunched, and an icy fist squeezed around her gut, her fingers tightening on her glass. He was the first guy to poke fun at himself, taking a verbal roasting in his good-natured stride. But his older sister’s teasing hurt him, of that she was sure.
She glanced at Vee’s tight-lipped expression—and even Tara stared down at her drink.
Vee laid a hand on Lizzie’s arm. “Just to clarify here, since you’re all having a laugh at Kip’s expense. The girl who attacked my brother was a nasty bitch who’d been bullying me the whole of my last year at high school. She was seventeen to his thirteen and weighed at least the same as one of my dad’s dairy cows. He stumbled onto us behind the school building, where I was groveling at her feet, blood pouring from my nose after she’d slapped me.”
The table went dead silent. During Vee’s speech, Kip had put down his bottle and folded his arms, staring over the women’s heads to the mistletoe kissing corner. Carly wanted the world to disappear, so she could drag him over to it and make the grim expression on his face go away.
Vee angled her chin. “Kip may’ve been a skinny runt, but he didn’t hesitate. My brother went for that vicious bitch and fought for me like a demon.”
“He got a black eye and a split lip for his trouble, too,” said Lizzie in a contrite tone. “Mum nearly stroked out when he and Vee came home.”
“If Dad hadn’t been the voice of reason, I would’ve ended up in Bounty Bay hospital, getting a full check-up plus a CT scan and MRI,” Kip said. “It wasn’t the first or last time I got the shit kicked out of me.” He picked up his beer and downed half.
Holly patted his arm. “Capricorns are very protective of those they love.”
Kip belched, loud and proud—breaking the tension and setting the slightly tipsy women off giggling again. “We’re also hard workers, or so you’ve told me.” He stood, his chair scraping the floor. “I’m getting back to it. Have a good night, ladies.”
Kip kept his face turned away from Carly as he pushed the chair back underneath a nearby table. He walked to the bar, his broad shoulders stiff, his spine rigid. Her heart ached. It was almost as if the boy still trapped inside him needed to prove he was all grown up, and nobody, but nobody, would get to see him vulnerable again.
Chapter 8
Carly woke to a steady knocking on her front door. She dragged herself out of bed and snatched up a robe. Yawning, wide enough to dislocate her jaw, she headed out of her bedroom. She’d waited up until nearly one, hoping Kip might stop by after dropping his sisters home.
Hoping he might finish what they’d started in the janitor’s closet.
She opened the door to Grace’s gum-chewing attitude. “Good morning.”
“Nan sent me to see if you wanna bake Christmas cookies with us this morning.” Grace tipped a shoulder forward, indicating she didn’t give a crap whether Carly was interested or not.
“Oh. Well, I…” Carly smoothed the wild tangle of her bed-hair down.
“I said you wouldn’t, that it was a lame idea.” Grace scuffed the toe of her sneaker on the deck. “But I offered to come ask, ‘cause it’s better than looking after the twins, again.”
“Isn’t your dad arriving on the morning ferry?”
“Yeah. And Uncle Adam. But not Patrick, because he, you know, dumped Aunty Vee when Ruby was two months old. What an asshat.”
Carly’s mouth dropped open.
“Well, he is.” Grace folded her arms. “Mum says he’s a player. I’m never getting knocked up by a player.”
Did anything have as much ‘tude as a thirteen-year-old girl? Carly belted her robe tighter. Probably not. But she suspected the ‘tude was a front for something else.
“You hate that Patrick hurt your aunty and left her to raise Ruby by herself. Not all men are like that, Grace.”
The girl snorted and scuffed her shoe again.
“I’ll guarantee your dad and your uncles aren’t.”
“Maybe not Adam and my other uncle, Dave, but lots of women at the Christmas party were giggling over Kip.”
Suddenly, the fresh breeze blowing off the ocean wasn’t cool enough to keep at bay the full-body flush rising under her robe. “Your uncle’s a good-looking man.”
“Patrick looked like Ryan Gosling, who, BTW, is totally over-rated—”
Carly couldn’t help smiling.
“So…is Uncle Kip a player too?”
Carly’s smile withered and died. “I’m sure he’s not,” she said weakly. “But how about I get changed, and we go and bake some cookies to impress your dad when he arrives?”
“Guess so.” Grace followed her inside and flopped onto Carly’s couch. “Maybe you can tell me about Hollywood while we walk to Nan’s. Bet lots of players live there.”
“Oh, I bet they do, too,” Carly said and hot-footed it into the safety of her bedroom.
As she tugged on a pair of shorts and an old tee shirt, her stomach knotted into a thorny ball. Was Kip only playing with her? He’d made it clear he didn’t want the whole wife/kids/family scenario, so where did it leave her? She sighed and yanked a brush through her hair.
With a big, fat, Christmas fling.
***
Heather stepped out of the walk-in pantry in the Sullivan’s kitchen, juggling two bags of flour. “I’m so glad Grace talked you into coming.”
“Happy to help, though I didn’t think Christmas cookies were much of a Kiwi tradition.” Carly grabbed a bag off the older woman and took it to the counter they’d set up for baking.
“Oh, well…” Heather’s eyes cut left, and she gave a tight little giggle. “It’s not, really, but I thought it would keep the kids occupied until their dads arrive.” She placed her bag on the counter and gave it a little pat. “Besides, who better than an American to show us how it’s done, right, Grace?”
Grace gave an epic eye-roll-sigh combination. “Sure, Nan.”
Logan and Lucas barreled into the kitchen, shouting, “Cookies, cookies, cookies!”
They spotted Carly, and suddenly two little boys wrapped around her legs, grinning up at her, the bright red and green reindeer antler headbands they wore quivering like insect antennae. “Carly, Carly,
Carly!”
She laughed, her chest giving a little squeeze. Maybe it wasn’t politically correct for a twenty-first century woman to admit, but she looked forward to having her own little boys or girls clustered around her.
Babies with dark hair and the Sullivan blue eyes, zoomie? ‘Cause your thoughts are headed down that runway, aren’t they?
As much as she tried to pry her father’s voice from her mind, she couldn’t. Her subconscious was onto something—something big, something life changing. Something like she’d fallen a tiny bit in love with Kip, even if she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he wasn’t a player as Grace had suggested.
Which proved how silly you could be in the Silly Season.
She glanced up to see Heather staring speculatively at her. “You are coming for dinner the day after tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Ah, why?” She patted the boys’ shoulders, and they zipped away, onto the next item of mischief.
“Christmas Eve.” Heather’s eyebrows drew together. “For Kip’s birthday. We’re having roast lamb, his favorite. He didn’t mention it?”
Considering the last conversation they’d had involved a make love to me demand in the janitor’s closet, birthday dinners hadn’t come up. But, ouch. It burned a little that he hadn’t asked her earlier, or sent her a text.
“No, but he’s trying to keep his birthday pretty quiet.”
Heather nodded sagely. “Yes, I suspect so. But you will come, won’t you?”
Carly hesitated. What impression would it give if she was the only non-family member invited? Was not wanting his family to know they were more than co-workers the reason Kip failed to mention this dinner? More importantly—did she even want to be there if Kip hadn’t intended to invite her?
She oozed a non-committal smile. “I’ll check what plans my mom and Bill have made for Christmas Eve.” Time for a lightning fast topic change. “Now, are we making shortbread, gingerbread, or sugar cookies? The boys might enjoy decorating sugar cookies.”
Two hours later, the twins had lost interest in baking, and Heather sent them outside with Grace for a game of Frisbee. Tara and Lizzie wandered in and out of the kitchen to chat, until they left with a wave to meet the morning ferry. Vee stayed in her room with Ruby, who was cranky with cutting a tooth.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway electrified Heather.
“You’ll come out to meet Adam and Steve?” Heather rinsed her hands and untied her apron.
Carly shook her head. “I’ll keep an eye on this last batch; they’ll overcook, otherwise.”
“Won’t be long.” Heather left the kitchen to excited squeals from Logan and Lucas as they, too, must have heard the car.
Carly wiped down the counter, a little hollow space in her stomach expanding at the excitement downstairs. It must be nice, having your family embrace you into their fold like that—even when they’d only been apart for a week. How naive to think some of the Sullivan’s inclusiveness would rub off on her. Three days until Christmas and here she was, surrounded by distant, welcoming voices and the delicious aroma of baking cookies, but still…so damn alone.
Though she appreciated Heather’s efforts to revive her spirits—and yeah, Carly’d guessed Kip’s mom’s ulterior motives when she’d been invited to help decorate their tree—the void in Carly caused by her dad’s death was still there. Her pathetic attempts to find her place in her cobbled-together family weren’t working, either. She didn’t belong with the Harlands. She didn’t belong with the Westlakes. And she sure as hell didn’t belong with the Sullivans.
She squeezed the damp cloth between her fingers; then attacked the last countertop.
“Another.” Swipe. “Sucky Christmas.” She scrubbed at glued-on cookie dough. “Alone.” She balled up the cloth and threw it into the sink.
“For someone baking something that smells so amazing, that’s a bloody depressing way to talk.”
Carly squeaked and whirled straight into Kip’s broad chest. His hands gripped her waist to steady her—good thing, considering her pounding heart had sucked all strength from her limbs. She clutched at one deliciously bulging biceps and smacked his other with an open palm.
“You scared the crap outta me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “Did I disturb you during your self-pitying rant?”
“I’m not ranting. I’m cleaning.” And talking to herself again.
Kip toyed with a strand of her hair that had slipped out of her bun. Boo-hoo poor little orphan Carly, nobody wants you around. How embarrassing. She swatted him away, but instead of letting her go, he crowded her against the counter, bracing his hands either side of her so she couldn’t escape.
“You.” He paused until she registered the silence and met his steady blue gaze. “Are not alone.”
She swallowed past a lump-obstructed throat, any arguments she may’ve conjured up disappearing under his intense scrutiny. She’d never seen him so serious, so focused, so in tune with her every throbbing heartbeat.
“Not at Christmas or at any other time of the year. You have friends and family who love you—don’t you dare shake your head. Maybe their love doesn’t come with all the trimmings, and maybe in West’s case, it’s not happening as fast as you’d like. But it doesn’t mean you’re alone, or that you’ll be alone in three days’ time.”
He removed his hands from the counter and cupped her jaw. “And I’m right here. Not planning on going anywhere.”
His thumb stroked across her lower lip, and her mouth parted. Oh, he was most definitely here. His big, toasty-warm body snugged close to hers, rendering all her arguments null and void…
Kip lowered his head, his breath fanning over her cheek. She slid her hand down the soft fabric of his shirt to stroke the corded veins of his forearms.
“So that’s what I smelled burning.”
Their heads flicked in unison toward the kitchen doorway. Vee leaned against the frame, Ruby perched on one hip, the baby inspecting them while sucking on her pacifier. Carly expected Kip to leap aside and pretend nothing was going on. Instead, he grinned down and brushed a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Hey, Vee. Ruby.” He walked over to the oven and crouched down. “Hmm. They do look a little on the crispy-critter side. But me and the guys’ll eat this batch.”
Vee smiled and twitched her eyebrows a few times. “If you don’t want everyone to know you’re making more than cookies in here, you’d better retreat to your separate corners. They’ve finished unloading the luggage.”
“Gotcha.” Kip tossed over his shoulder as he straightened and grabbed a pair of oven mitts.
Vee continued to shoot smirking glances between them, until Ruby plucked out her pacifier and whimpered. “Damn. I’m off for a walk; see you later.”
Carly willed the hot flush on her cheeks away, but Kip’s exceptional ass in her sights as he bent down to save the cookies made indifference mission impossible.
***
Growing up in a household of five sisters, Kip’s only ray of hope was that one day, he’d have several brothers-in-law to even the score. And for the most part, as far as Lizzie’s husband, Adam, and Tara’s husband, Steve, went—Kip had gotten lucky.
Adam entered the kitchen, a huge grin appearing on his bearded face. “Wondered where you’d escaped to—shoulda known you’d be stuffing your face.”
Steve ambled in after him, fanning himself with a pastel-pink envelope, his eyebrows wriggling suggestively. The fanning wafted a florally, citrusy smell toward Kip. A cold fist seized his gut. He knew that scent.
“Forgot to give this to you in the car. Becca came into the office earlier in the week and asked me to deliver it, personally.” Steve ran the envelope under his nose and sniffed. “Smells as if your hot ex has changed her mind about making a whole rugby squad of Sullivan rugrats.”
Today was not one of the times he’d gotten lucky. Today was one of the times he’d cheerfully dismember his brother-in-law.
“Steve—” Kip’s voice ground out of a frozen set of lungs.
Steve’s eyes widened as his gaze skipped to where Carly crouched loading the dishwasher behind Kip, but Adam, too busy munching a stolen cookie, didn’t catch Kip’s tone.
“Uh, Adam…” Steve shot an elbow out, but Adam danced out of the way.
“Don’t be thick.” Adam snickered around a mouthful of crumbs. “Kip’s never gonna tie himself down to one woman; he can have his pick of girls. Why the hell do you think he’s a bartender now and not a cow cocky?”
“Hi, I’m Carly.” Her cool voice sliced through the warm cookie-scented air. “You must be Adam and Steve.”
Adam stopped chewing, his eyes bugging as Carly came around the counter with her hand extended. The cold grip on Kip’s guts intensified at the flash of fire in her eyes.
Oh shit, damage control badly needed.
Adam swallowed and shook her hand. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“No problem. I was finishing up before I headed into work.” She turned to Steve.
He smoothed down his shirt and shook Carly’s hand. “You work with Kip at the hotel, don’t you?”
Kip opened his mouth to say something then shut it again. What the hell was he supposed to say with Adam and Steve in the room? Uh, guys, meet the woman I can’t stop thinking about. The woman who makes me forget there ever was a Becca. The woman I badly want in my bed but who looks as if she’d knee me in the nuts if I even suggested it now.
Avoiding Kip’s gaze, she formed her lips into a hard smile. A watch out; you’re on my shit-list smile.
“That’s right. We’re co-workers. And as much fun as I’ve had with Grace and the boys this morning, I’ve got to go and get ready for my shift.”
“Carly?” Kip choked out her name.
She turned, the bland expression on her face the perfect replica of the way she’d looked at him when they’d first started working together. As if they were polite strangers. As if everything that had happened between them in the last seven days meant nothing.
“I’ll see you at work,” he finished lamely.
Christmas With You Page 9
