The Christmas Key

by Lori Wilde

  Startled, he recognized the pattern: 4–7–8 breathing. She was trying to steady herself. Who’d taught her that? Her brother?

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she murmured, struggling to hide the shakiness in her voice, but he heard it. Loud and clear. She was unnerved.

  So was he.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, pulling her head back to look him in the eyes.

  He’d never in his life felt righter. “I’m good.”

  “Your leg?”

  “It’s—” Heck, he’d forgotten about his knee. “Great.”

  “Really?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  “That makes me happy.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder again and his knee wobbled a little. Not from pain, but from the realization that she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted her there. This was not just a rescue mission. Sure, she might feel sorry for him. But she was feeling more than that. He could tell from the pressure of her head against his shoulder.

  He tilted his own head toward her, until his ear touched the top of her head. It was a perfect moment.

  And then . . .

  “Friends and lovers,” the DJ called out over the microphone. “Are you ready to play mistletoe roulette?”

  Chapter 17

  “What’s that?” someone in the crowd called out.

  “Here are the rules . . .” the DJ explained. “You dance around the floor, switching partners every time the strobe light turns colors. When the music stops, you have to kiss whomever you’re dancing with.”

  A few people shook their heads and left the dance floor, but several more couples walked out onto the floor.

  Shepherd shifted his gaze to Naomi, ready to leave too. But she sent him a look so naughty it could earn coal in her stocking. “Sounds like fun.”

  “You already know how I feel about mistletoe,” he grumbled.

  Her cheeks reddened, but she met his gaze and whispered, “Anything.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “Fine. I’ll find another dance partner.”

  He should have walked away. Just turned and got off the dance floor, but he didn’t want her dancing with someone else. Didn’t want her kissing anyone else.

  The music started. The Bruce Springsteen version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Naomi interlaced their fingers. The strobe light was green. They danced two turns around the gymnasium.

  The light turned purple.

  “Bye.” Naomi waved and turned to Jeff Perry.

  Leaving Shepherd to dance with Mia. She purred a little growl, like a Jaguar engine. “We meet again,” she said, with her cartoon-villainess laugh.

  The light turned red and he was off with someone else. He kept trying to steer his partner near Naomi, who was dancing with Gideon Garza. Unfortunately, Gideon was just as intent on getting across the other side of the room where his wife, Caitlyn, was dancing with someone else.

  Shepherd chased after them, dragging his partner along with him.

  “Wow,” the woman said, red-faced and perspiring. “You sure are lithe for a man with a limp.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Shepherd said.

  “What?” The woman blinked. But then the strobe changed colors again and he found himself face-to-face with Lily.

  “You want near Naomi,” Lily said.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s cut across the middle. You’ve been sticking too close to the edge.”

  The middle looked daunting. What if he fell? But Lily was right. It was the quickest route to Naomi.

  “You’re a good friend,” he said.

  “Just so you know.” Lily leveled him a cool stare. “I’m her friend. She seems to like you. Which is the only reason I’m helping you. But hear this, you hurt my friend, and I’m coming after you. Got it?”

  “Roger that.” Damn, but he liked Lily.

  The music stopped.

  Lily dragged him the last few steps to Naomi. Slipped in to whisk Naomi’s partner away. Planted a big kiss on the startled man’s lips.

  Leaving Shepherd standing in front of Naomi in the middle of the dance floor.

  “It’s the rules,” she said, pointing up. “We’re together when the music ends and we’re standing under the mistletoe again. We have to kiss this time.”

  “What is the deal with you and mistletoe?”

  “It’s fun.” She beamed a spotlight of joy. “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

  “I think you’re just too afraid to claim your desires without an excuse,” he said. “Blame it on the mistletoe.”

  “I . . . I . . .” she stammered.

  They were being watched. Everyone else had already exchanged smooches. The crowd was clapping their hands and calling out, Kiss, kiss, kiss. The DJ got into the act, picking up the chant over the microphone.

  “To hell with this.” Shepherd locked his hand around her wrist, tugged her toward the exit. “Come with me.”

  She did not resist.

  Heart thumping like mad, Shepherd dragged her out the side door and into the parking lot. Pressed her back against the side of the building.

  He looked into her face. Do it. Kiss her. You want it. She wants it. Do it.

  Shepherd loved everything about her—the smile on her lips, the twinkle in her blue eyes, the sweet sheen of perspiration dotting her brow. The way her chest hitched and fell in time to her jagged breathing. Her pure lightness of being.

  God, he wanted what she had. The ability to roll with the punches and come back grinning. Her lips promised contentment beyond anything he had ever known. He wanted to kiss her.

  Needed to kiss her.

  She did not move away.

  The toes of his shoes butted up against the tips of hers. Her feet were so delicate. Fine and fragile. But they anchored her to the ground like tree roots. She was not a girl who let the whip of life’s winds break her branches. She swayed with the troubles, lithe and surefooted.

  Shepherd lowered his head.

  Naomi lifted her chin.

  His eyes were wide open.

  So were hers.

  Thoughts tangled around his brain. Twirling and twisting. Was this stupid? Would kissing her only make things harder on him?

  Walk away. Just go.

  If only he could. For one thing, his legs were shaking so hard he couldn’t walk. For another thing, he had the overwhelming fear that if he did not kiss her here, kiss her now, kiss her long and hard and deep, that he would never find true happiness.

  Illogical. Sure. Don’t get him started. But nothing had been logical since he’d driven into this magical town. Since this adorably sweet and kind woman had mistakenly jumped into his Jeep.

  Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake. What if fate had put him in that exact spot at that exact moment just so they could meet?

  If he kept thinking like that, he’d have to move to Twilight. No rational community would take him in.

  Snap to, Marine. He was disassociating from the very thing he wanted most.

  Those lovely pink lips. Before he ever brushed his mouth against hers, he knew what she would taste like.

  Peppermint candy canes. Refreshing. Sweet and tangy. Uplifting and wholesome.

  She puckered her lips. Closed her eyes. Waited.

  Shepherd gulped. This was his last chance to bail out. It was going to be okay. He could kiss her and it wouldn’t wreck things. He wouldn’t lose his head . . . or his heart . . . over just one kiss.

  Denial is not just that river in Egypt, Gunny.

  He could feel her breath on his chin, warm and inviting. He leaned in closer, his mouth almost upon hers.

  From the gymnasium, the music was up tempo and loud. Outside, they were in the shadows, not completely hidden from view, but passersby would have to really hunt to see them. The air was cold, but not uncomfortably. Just enough bite to make things interesting.

  His arms went around her.


  She pressed her heart forward, and her breasts grazed against him.

  He captured her lips.

  No, not captured. Not really. She surrendered. White flag. Towel thrown. Her lips softening. Jaw loosening. Body melting into his.

  Naomi’s hand fluttered upward, and she skimmed heated fingers over the nape of his neck.

  Inflamed, he deepened the kiss, tugging her closer, touching his tongue to her lips. She opened her mouth, and let him in.

  Ah, he was right. Peppermint.

  He slipped a palm to the small of her back, dipping her slightly, latching on to her securely. He experienced the kiss not just in his mouth, but throughout his entire body. His tongue. His teeth. His skin. His very bones.

  He tasted her. Smelled her. Absorbed her.

  Felt her lodge into the center of him. At his gut. And his heart. In his throat. In his brain. In his blood.

  He closed his eyes, engrossed. Poured everything he had into that kiss. Telling her with his lips what he didn’t dare put into words. I want you. I need you. I think I might be in love with you.

  That last part was a surprise.

  But it was true. He had feelings for her. Strong feelings.

  He’d never been in love. Not really. He’d had girlfriends. Flings. Affairs. He’d had fun. He’d enjoyed himself. He’d made memories.

  But that was all.

  Shepherd had never felt the need to commit. He had looked around at his friends and fellow Marines who were falling in love. Getting married. Having children. He couldn’t recall thinking—not at any wedding he’d attended, not at any birth announcement he’d received—this is what I want.

  But he was thinking it now. This. This. This. Her. Her. Her.

  Naomi.

  She was the one.

  Shepherd savored the kiss. Knowing this bliss could not last. Blessing himself with the taste of her. Committing her flavor to memory so he could remember it in the future when he was lonely and missing this special moment.

  She made a quiet noise and snuggled closer. Wrapped her arms around his neck. Drew his head down. Pressed her body into his.

  He groaned. Overcome. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. And loving every second of it.

  She was the rainbow after a storm. The climactic movement of a symphony. The light in a child’s eyes on Christmas Day. She was everything he’d never had, and all that he’d ever wanted, rolled into one glorious package.

  “Mark,” she murmured. “Mark.”

  “Naomi,” he answered, and they kissed each other so hard and long they stopped breathing.

  “Okay,” she gasped. “Quick break for air.”

  They inhaled deeply, and then went right back at it. Exploring each other with their lips, teeth, and tongues.

  “You,” she whispered when they broke for another breath, “are the best kisser ever.”

  “It’s you,” he said, feeling sappy and happy and not caring one whit that he sounded like a sentimental fool.

  “It’s us.” She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “It’s us together.”

  He couldn’t deny that, so he kissed her again.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, and licked his lips. “Mmm.”

  He pulled her upper lip between his teeth, sucked on it lightly. She giggled. He kissed the tip of her nose. Her cheeks. Her forehead. Her chin. Her earlobes. The pulse throbbing at her jawline.

  “Better watch out,” she said. “You’re starting a fire I’m not sure you can put out.”

  That stopped him in his tracks, because he had a fire of his own burning through his solar plexus, searing his nerve endings, blasting away all common sense. He wanted her. It was the driving thought in his primal brain. Wanted their bodies joined.

  Now!

  But she was the minister’s daughter and he was the man who was ultimately responsible for her brother’s death. She hadn’t dealt with her grief and he was still healing from PTSD. There was no getting around any of that.

  Shepherd eased away from her, his breath coming in short, hard pants.

  “We should go back inside,” she said, pressing a palm to her lips, and shivering in the cold. It had been inconsiderate of him to drag her outside without her coat.

  “Yes.” He kept his voice firm. Steady. Belying how shaky he felt inside. He took her hand. She was trembling.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Just chilled.” She rubbed her hands over her upper arms.

  “Let’s get you warm.” He opened the door, put a hand to the small of her back again, and escorted her inside.

  The contrast from the quiet intimacy of the parking lot to the boisterous Christmas party jolted him. He took her hand. Tucked her into his embrace. Swayed there with her in time to the music, while others danced around them.

  He could feel the thudding of her heart, heard it beat in time with his own. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  And for one split second, the world was absolutely sublime.

  “May I cut in?” a masculine voice rumbled behind them.

  Shepherd stopped. Glanced over his shoulder.

  Spied a lean, good-looking man with chiseled cheekbones, pressed slacks, and a cashmere coat. Snowflakes dusted his hair, and he looked like he’d just stepped off the set of some sentimental holiday movie. He had a package under his arm, and eyes for only Naomi.

  “Robert!” she exclaimed, and peeled away from Shepherd, her eyes feverishly alight. “When did you get here?”

  “Right this minute.” Robert was staring at Naomi and Naomi was staring at Robert and Shepherd felt like a third wheel that had sprung a leak.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” She sank her hands on her hips and eyed him up and down.

  “I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?”

  “Get a feather and knock me over.” She lightly swatted Robert’s shoulder, in the intimate way of lovers.

  Couples two-stepped around the three of them. They were gumming up the flow.

  Robert took Naomi’s elbow as if he’d taken it many times before, and guided her off the dance floor, completely ignoring Shepherd.

  Who was this guy? Waltzing in as if he owned the place. Owned Naomi.

  Shepherd wanted to sit down, but the tables and chairs were all the way across the room and his knee was throbbing. Feeling exposed, and unsteady, without his cane to lean on. Where had he left his cane?

  “Where are my manners?” Naomi asked, turning back to him. “Robert, this is Mark Shepherd. Mark is a former Marine, like Clayton. And he’s the church’s new handyman. Mark, this is Robert Bellamy.”

  Robert stretched out a hand to shake Shepherd’s. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Naomi’s boyfriend.”

  Chapter 18

  The two men sized each other up like roosters at a cockfight.

  “I need to talk to you,” Robert said to her, his voice taking on an urgent quality. “Alone.” He stared pointedly at Mark.

  Naomi could feel the electrical charge of hostility crackling in the air. Robert and Mark did not like each other. She needed to talk to Robert, but she wanted to make sure that Mark was okay. She could tell the dancing had taken a toll on his knee. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth tightly drawn.

  Plus, and here was the part that really confused her, when she thought of going off with Robert and leaving Mark, her heart sank.

  Why?

  Because Mark needed her.

  Yeah, what about how much you enjoyed kissing him?

  She shouldn’t have done that. Not until she’d ended her relationship with Robert. After kissing Mark, she knew there was no future with her high school sweetheart. She needed to let Robert know that too.

  “Could you give us a sec?” She held up one finger to Robert. “I need to help Mark find his cane.”

  “I don’t need any help.” Mark’s voice was gravel, his dark eyes darker still. He turned and started back across the middle of the dance floor. She assumed becaus
e that was the quickest way to a chair.

  But maybe it was the quickest route away from her.

  Her stomach churned. She should have told him about Robert. Why hadn’t she told him about Robert? Why? Because she’d known Mark for only two weeks and, well, okay, here was the truth: she’d wanted to break up with Robert before she told Mark about him.

  Whoa! It was only just this minute she realized it.

  And?

  The kismet-cookie-dream-fated-to-be thing was pretty powerful, but scary as hell. She’d been with Robert since she was sixteen. He was the only man she’d ever been with. That was a lot of history to throw away.

  Had she been hedging her bets? Dueling legends. Kismet cookies versus high school sweethearts? Weren’t both myths silly things to base relationships on?

  Yes. Absolutely.

  Shame filled her. She would like to think she wasn’t the sort of woman who kept a man on a string. But apparently that’s what she’d been doing with Robert by continuing this long-distance relationship when her heart wasn’t in it. Any man who couldn’t get fully on board with Naomi adopting Hunter had no place in her life.

  Watching Mark limp away tore her to pieces.

  The song had changed, the DJ breaking into “Jingle Bell Rock.” People were grabbing partners and pouring onto the dance floor. Getting in Mark’s way.

  He zigzagged to miss a couple that darted out in front of him, and his knee buckled.

  Naomi’s stomach leaped into her chest. Instantly, she was shoving people aside to get to him. And she managed to grab his elbow just before he went down. They seemed to keep saving each other.

  His mouth pressed into a stern line and his body turned to steel against hers. “I’ve got it.”

  That stubborn masculine pride.

  “I know you do,” she soothed, and let go of his arm.

  She went ahead of him, making shooing motions. Clearing a path. She spied his cane propped against the stage. Snagged it, and brought the cane back to him. “Here we go.”

  “I don’t need you.” He snatched the cane from her hand, leaned heavily against it.

  Ouch. Okay, his pride was wounded and he was taking it out on her. He had a point though. She should have told him about Robert before she kissed him. There had been time. Two weeks’ worth of it. But, she’d been scared that if he knew about Robert he wouldn’t kiss her, and she’d been so hungry for his kiss.