Kissing Under The Mistletoe: The Sullivans (Contemporary Romance)

by Bella Andre

  Despite his presence behind her, she felt unsteady in her heels for the first time since being a teenager on her first catwalk. Not because of the champagne, which she’d barely sipped, but because Jack’s nearness affected her so powerfully.

  Out on the curb he started to hail a cab, but Mary put her hand on his arm. “I’d much rather walk, if you don’t mind.”

  He covered her hand with his to keep them connected. “Which way?”

  She nodded in the direction of the Bay. “Nob Hill.”

  “That’s a half-dozen blocks.” He looked down at the heels on her boots. “You can walk that far in those?”

  It had been a long time since she’d been with someone who didn’t know the ins and outs of her world. Despite all of her warnings to herself to stop being charmed by every little thing Jack said and did, she found it really refreshing.

  “When I’m working, I spend all day in heels, most higher than these. The first few months,” she admitted, “I would hobble home at night from a shoot or runway show and soak my feet in an ice bath.” And cry for her mother, who she knew would have called her crazy for sticking with a career that tore her feet to shreds like that. “Eventually, I got used to the pain.” From the shoes, anyway.

  “Well, if they do start to hurt, you should know I give a mean piggyback ride,” he said with an adorable grin. “At least, according to my little nephew Ian.”

  Sexy she could deal with. Kind and intelligent certainly upped the ante and tested her mettle in a serious way.

  But adorable?

  How was she supposed to resist adorable?

  Just then, a teenage girl waiting for the traffic light to change asked her for an autograph. Mary signed it, and after they’d crossed the street, Jack said, “If I had known you were this famous, I’m not sure I’d have gotten up the nerve to talk to you yesterday.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as a man who lets nerves or doubts rule him.”

  “I never have before,” he said, “but you’re making me feel a lot of things I’ve never felt before.”

  Mary was used to men who practically rented out an orchestral hall and filled it from floor to ceiling with roses to set the stage for declaring themselves to her. Jack, on the other hand, simply said the most shockingly delicious things without any fanfare at all.

  “Does it ever bother you to have people constantly looking at you? The way they all want to talk to you and ask for autographs?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of the strangers who approach me for an autograph are lovely, polite people. Honestly, the only thing that bothers me about any of it is that I haven’t done anything extraordinary enough for them to be so starstruck.”

  The sidewalk was crowded, but Jack didn’t seem to care as he turned her to face him in the middle of it. “You were born with incredible blue eyes. Your mouth drives a guy crazy just looking at it. And you have a figure that Michelangelo could have spent a lifetime trying to set into stone and never done justice to it. But I’ve seen how hard you work during photo shoots and I’ve just heard you come up with a half-dozen fantastic ideas for the ads we’re going to shoot together. I’m certain that there are plenty of beautiful women who couldn’t do what you do anywhere near as well, or make it seem as effortless.”

  “I know I’m good at my job,” she agreed, “but I’m not a doctor curing cancer. I’m not an activist changing history. I’m not a mother with children who need me, either.” She’d rarely voiced these doubts aloud, but for some reason, with Jack she couldn’t stop them all from pouring out.

  He reached over to gently stroke his fingers across her cheek, the heat of his touch in sharp contrast to the coolness of her skin. “You make people happy, Mary, and that’s an extraordinary thing.”

  Jack’s words warmed her, just as his touch—and his kiss—had. So when they began to walk again and a damp wind whipped up around them, she let herself hold his arm a little more tightly and move just a little bit closer, too.

  * * *

  Jack had never had any problems with the opposite sex. Girls and then women had always seemed to like his looks, and he’d never been nervous or fumbling around them. But with Mary?

  He could barely think a straight thought…especially after that kiss under the mistletoe.

  The kiss had been two sets of lips barely touching. They hadn’t even held hands. And yet, she’d completely knocked his socks off to the point where his heart was still pounding hard and his veins were still buzzing with desire as they walked down the crowded street.

  Had Mary been affected by their kiss in the same way?

  And was there any way he could have felt that much if she hadn’t felt it, too?

  The first drops of rain came from out of nowhere. Within seconds, they were falling hard and fast. Jack was searching for an overhanging awning when he realized Mary was staring up at the sky as the rain poured down on her. And there was a big smile on her stunning face.

  “I was eleven years old when Singin’ in the Rain made it to Italy,” she said as she let go of his arm to reach for a lamppost and swing around it, humming the title tune from the film. “It’s still one of my favorite movies.”

  Jack had seen Mary as a supermodel, he’d seen her as a businesswoman, and now he saw her as she must have been as a young girl. Full of wonder from something as simple as an unexpected rainstorm, her long, dark hair wet and slicked back, drops of water falling from her eyelashes to her cheeks, her full lips catching drops of rain just moments before she licked them off with the tip of her tongue.

  Once upon a time he’d loved to play in the rain, but over the years, as he’d focused more and more on his invention—with only the occasional break for a fast car or a pretty woman—he’d lost sight of those pleasures.

  After everyone else ran for cover, Jack and Mary were the only two people left on the sidewalk. It felt, for a moment, as if the city was entirely theirs.

  He reached out his hand for her again. “Dance with me.”

  She immediately turned into his arms as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. They might not be Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds, but neither of them cared as they danced. No other woman had felt so right in his arms, and none had laughed with such joy in them, either.

  “No one has ever danced with me in the rain before.” Mary had the same look of soft surprise in her eyes as she had after their kiss under the mistletoe.

  “‘This California dew is just a little heavier than usual tonight.’”

  “You’ve seen the movie?” She looked delighted by the discovery that he knew it well enough to quote from the scene right before Don Lockwood went out to sing and dance in the rain.

  “My mother was a big fan.” And, boy, was he glad that she’d taken him to the theater as a ten-year-old boy and made him watch it. In retrospect, the dance lessons hadn’t been a bad idea, either.

  Jack had meant it when he’d told her he was going to try to respect Mary’s wishes to keep things professional between them until they were done working together. But as they stood together in the rain, kissing her again was inevitable. They were both leaning in toward each other when the rain abruptly stopped falling and dozens of people suddenly emerged from the overhangs and bumped the two of them apart.

  “I’m just around the corner.” Mary pointed to a building a few yards away. When they got to the bottom step, she immediately offered, “Why don’t you come in and warm up with a cup of coffee?”

  Jack badly wanted to spend more time with her, but he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t completely honest with her. “There’s nothing I’d like more, Mary. But you have to know, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss in the bar…or how much I want another one.”

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d taken back her invitation at that point. Instead, her gaze dropped to his lips, and he knew she was being just as honest when she said, “Me, too.” Tearing her eyes from his mouth, she shook her head. “Coffee. We’re just going
to have coffee.” She softened the blow with a smile, then led them up the stairs.

  Both of them were wet from the rain, and he had a sudden flash of making love with her in a warm rain, skin slick from the heat of their bodies, her damp hand sliding into his, that beautiful smile on her face as he kissed every inch of her until she was begging for him to take her.

  Jack was surprised to hear several young female voices when Mary opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. She explained in a low voice, “I’m an informal den mother to several young models while they’re working in San Francisco. It’s a very exciting and sometimes scary lifestyle to be thrown into, especially for girls who may never have left home before now. Basically, I promise their mothers that I’ll make sure they eat enough, don’t date indiscriminately, and put on something warm when they go out.”

  He’d seen how much she’d loved holding the toddler who had rushed onto the set the previous afternoon. With an amused shake of her head, she picked up a stray scarf and hat belonging to one of her modeling charges. She would, he thought now, be an amazing mother one day. Loving but without holding on too tightly. Strict but fair.

  Jack’s brother Max had a toddler with another on the way, but Jack had never thought about becoming a parent himself. Not, he was stunned to realize, until this very moment.

  Chapter Six

  “Mary, you’re soaked!” Janeen was a beautiful twenty-year-old blonde model with legs that went on forever. Her eyes widened even further when she saw Jack standing behind Mary. “Well, hello there.” The girl’s voice had immediately dropped into a husky register as she slunk forward and thrust her hand into Jack’s. “I’m Janeen.”

  More than a little disgusted with herself for feeling any jealousy at all where Jack and the girls were concerned, Mary went to grab a couple of dry towels from the linen closet while her housemates finished introducing themselves. By the time she returned to the large, open-plan living and kitchen area, they had Jack in a captive circle of their youth and beauty.

  In her experience, even the nicest man couldn’t resist three pretty girls fawning over him, so it wouldn’t have been fair for Mary to expect Jack to not look at them with some appreciation, at the very least. But when she said, “Why don’t I trade you this towel for your coat?” and Yvette boldly stepped forward to help him peel it off, Mary couldn’t see even one trace of lust on his face for the stunning redhead. Only laughter when the wet fabric caught on his watch clasp.

  At least until he turned his gaze back to Mary and took the towel she was offering. She’d also taken off her jacket and was standing in front of him in her wet wrap dress. Just that quickly, the desire in his eyes was back.

  But only for her.

  “Jack is the engineer and inventor I was telling you girls about last night,” Mary explained.

  “Mary is so lucky to get to work with you,” Susan said with a seductive toss of her curly black hair.

  “My partners and I are the lucky ones.” He wiped his hair and face with the towel. In unison, the three young models all sighed over his gorgeously rumpled good looks.

  Well, Mary thought as she barely held back her own sigh of appreciation, could she blame them? Jack really was that gorgeous, especially with his button-down shirt and slacks damp and clinging to his well-developed muscles. Clearly, he must not spend all of his time working.

  People always asked Mary about her life because she was a celebrity, but she was just as interested in theirs. Journalist, waitress, mother, photographer, bus driver—they all had interesting stories to tell. What, she wondered, was the rest of Jack’s story? She guessed he was close to his family from what he’d told her at the diner, and she knew he was devoted to his work. But neither of those things explained the slight air of danger—and risk—that he wore so easily. He hadn’t been at all intimidated by the bigwigs in the boardroom.

  “If you need any other models for your campaign,” Yvette offered with her most alluring smile, “you know where to find us.”

  Feeling as if she’d accidentally dropped Jack straight into a shark tank, Mary stepped into the fray by gesturing to the three sets of sparkly heels on the wood-planked floor. “Looks like you have a big Friday night out planned?”

  Janeen nodded, then looked back at Jack with a hopeful expression. “It’s a new club Yvette heard about from the photographer on her shoot today. You two should come with us.”

  “I’m all danced out,” Jack said with a grin for Mary that brought back every wonderful moment of their impromptu dance in the rain. “But thank you.”

  Mary watched Susan shoot the other girls a pointed glance. When Janeen and Yvette didn’t immediately understand, Susan did the world’s most obvious pantomime of Jack and Mary being a couple that included a heart drawn in the air and kissy motions with her lips.

  “Oh,” Yvette said as she looked between them. “Of course, you two don’t want to go dancing with us.”

  Janeen chimed in with, “We should probably let you two be alone now, shouldn’t we?”

  What could Mary do but laugh as she turned on the kitchen tap? “I’m making coffee if you want some before you head out on the town.”

  But the girls were now a blur as they strapped on their shoes, grabbed their coats and sparkly purses and headed for the door. “Thanks, Mary, but our dates have already been waiting for us for a while.”

  Dates?

  Mary followed them to the front door and caught them as they flitted down the front steps. “Be careful, and call me if you need anything. It doesn’t matter how late, I’ll come and bring you home.” Reminding herself that they were young, but that each of them had a good head on her shoulders, she added, “And have fun.”

  A taxi immediately skidded to a stop for the three long-legged beauties and they blew her kisses as they got inside. “You, too!” Yvette called out before tucking her feet into the cab and closing the door.

  Jack was laying both of their jackets over the radiator when Mary returned. She’d chosen the house not only for its views, but because she loved how big and open the rooms felt. Even with four people living in it, she never felt cramped. In fact, on nights like this when the girls went out, rather than appreciate the quiet, she often found herself counting the minutes until they returned with their noise and laughter and exuberance.

  She’d made it sound to Jack as if she was looking after them, but the truth was they looked after her, too.

  “Sorry about all of that. It can be a bit of a circus around here sometimes, especially on Friday nights.”

  Jack was the first man she’d invited inside her house since moving in a month earlier. Seeing him looking so right in the midst of all the feminine disarray sent her thoughts into a different kind of disarray. What had she been doing before she’d rushed to see the girls off? Thankfully, the half-filled boiler of her moka pot beside the sink provided a clue.

  Still feeling flustered as she went back to filling the boiler and then setting it on low heat on the stovetop, she decided to face the situation head-on. “I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. Especially,” she added with a small laugh, “with all their flirting.”

  He laughed as he pulled up a seat at the bar. “They were charming, although I can see that they could certainly be a handful. I sometimes had trouble keeping a class of engineering undergrads from rioting in the middle of a lecture when I was a teaching assistant. My hat is off to you for taking on three energetic young women.”

  She was still amazed that he hadn’t drooled over them the way men always did, especially when they’d been practically throwing themselves into his big, strong arms.

  “Oh, we’ve had a riot or two around here in the past month,” Mary informed him as she inserted the funnel in the boiler, then filled it with espresso beans she had ground that morning. “Especially the night they were all fighting over the same worthless guy. I ended up banning all social activities for the rest of the week.” As she spoke she continued with the coffee prepar
ations by screwing on the top container and watching as the coffee began to appear. “Of course, the girls are also a tremendous amount of fun.” Seeing that half the coffee had brewed already, she turned off the heat.

  “I’ve never seen that kind of coffeepot. Is it from Italy?”

  She nodded. “It’s called a moka pot.” She spelled out the word for him.

  “Whenever you speak about Italy, your accent comes through.” His eyes were warm as he said to her, “Tell me about the country you were born in so I can hear it some more.”

  She was a grown woman of thirty-two, not a naive teenage girl anymore. So how did Jack manage to make her blush so easily and so often?

  “Much like the United States, Italy is a place with many different colors and textures. The golden ruins of Rome. The checkered Duomo of Florence. The canals and opulence of Venice.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “And if you’re not careful,” she added with a laugh, “I’ll end up regaling you with stories of Italy like a travel agent all night long.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, and then, “Especially if they're stories about your hometown.”

  As always, just thinking about Rosciano sent feelings of conflict moving through her. On the one hand, she loved it like no other place on Earth.

  On the other, it was where her heart had been broken for the very first time by the person who had mattered most to her.

  “On warm summer evenings, the teenage girls flirt with the boys out by the fountain in the middle of the square.” She smiled as she told Jack, “Girls learn early in my town how to walk in heels on cobblestone streets without tripping. And once that flirting turns into something more, every couple in town marries in our church. As a little girl I would watch the beautiful women in their handmade wedding gowns. My mother made those gowns, and I used to help her even though I wasn't nearly as good a seamstress as she was.” Making herself focus on the other memories that were coming at her one after the other, she told him, “I used to love to watch the mustard grass bloom in the spring, the grapes growing plump in the summer, the vineyards turning color in the autumn. And Christmas was a time for celebration like none I’ve ever seen anywhere else.”