Blame It on the Mistletoe

by Nicole Michaels

  “Well, I want to do that. I like your lipstick very much, and I don’t want you to lose it.” The saleslady gave Brooke a knowing smile as she tucked it all with tissue paper into a pretty little bag.

  Brooke remained quiet, stunned speechless in fact, as he finished his transaction and then handed her the bag. She didn’t say a word when he took up her hand once again and led her outside, back into the cold wind.

  “Now, we eat. I’m starving,” Alex said, like nothing had just happened. Or like spending money frivolously on a woman you barely knew was an everyday occurrence.

  “Wait.” Brooke stepped in front of him and looked up into his eyes. “Why did you just do that?”

  “Because I wanted to. It’s no big deal, I promise. You liked it, so I bought it for you. I can actually afford it, and I’m not expecting something in return, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at the same time she raised onto her toes and softly pressed her lips against his cheek. She didn’t linger, and when she pulled back there were little red lip prints on his cheek. When she lifted her thumb and rubbed against the light scruff on his cheek, his breath visibly hitched and she looked into his eyes.

  His lips quirked up a fraction. “Why’d you do that, Brooke?”

  She smiled. “You might have deserved it. And now, you are forgiven.”

  “Ah, so you’re easily bought. Nice to know,” he said smugly. She gave him a playful shove and they continued walking.

  **

  Dinner was amazing. Brooke had backtracked on her threat to order the most expensive item. At this, he insisted on ordering for her, and consequently got to watch her eyes nearly roll back in her head when she tasted her filet with brandy cream sauce. It was a mind-blowing experience for Alex. He’d have bought her a thousand more forty-dollar steaks just to witness it over and over. Of course, watching the same expression in another—more horizontal—context would be preferable, but he wasn’t one to press his luck. Not with Brooke.

  She wasn’t like the women he normally took out. Shit, he normally wouldn’t have bought a woman something just because he felt like it—he never felt like it. But he’d seen the longing in Brooke’s eyes as she’d stared into that display window and had instantly wanted to give her something, just genuinely wanted to make her happy, and her innocent thank-you kiss … it had nearly stopped his heart. The sincere warmth in her eyes, the softness of her red lips, the way she’d tried to wipe her mark from his skin. If she’d left it there, he would have had no problem letting the whole world know this beautiful woman had put her mouth on him, and it had taken every ounce of his strength not to turn and assault her lips right there on the sidewalk.

  Those same seductive lips were now wrapped around a spoonful of chocolate soufflé, driving him crazy. She let out a tiny satisfied moan and put down her spoon. He was grateful she finished her dessert before he required a seat adjustment.

  “This might have been the best dinner of my life.” She turned to watch the jazz quartet as they transitioned into “White Christmas.”

  He had to admit this night was rather romantic, not usually his forte, but he was certainly enjoying himself. “I might have to agree with you.”

  She gave him a doubtful look as he planted his elbows on the table, laced his fingers, and leaned forward. She matched his movements, her eyes widening comically like she was dying to hear what he was going to say next. She was toying with him. He wanted to play back, make her squirm. “I’m not kidding, Brooke. I’m really glad we’re here tonight. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d be sitting here with my friend’s little sister, watching her eat dessert and thinking it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. But I’m glad I am.”

  Their gazes locked, and there was no expression on her face, save her slightly parted lips. His eyes flickered over hers, then over her mouth and her short red fingernails. The smallest scar ran down the edge of her pinky. He really should be putting distance between them, preparing her for what might be coming. But instead, a slow smile quivered at the corner of her mouth. It crept into a wide grin as she leaned a little closer and whispered very slowly, “I am not sleeping with you.”

  The desire in her eyes undermined her claim. He wanted nothing more than to convince her that the two of them spending the night together sounded like the best idea in the history of the world, but knowing what he did about her past, he had no intention of pushing himself on her. He needed to save all his energy for when Ryan came around to beat his ass.

  He was saved from having to respond when the server returned his credit card and receipts. Alex finished up, then stood to help Brooke with her coat. He had a strong urge to protect her, to baby her, although she was constantly proving to him that she was in fact a very capable and strong woman. Maybe stronger than her brother realized.

  **

  Brooke walked slowly up to the backdoor of 100 Main trying to ignore her desire to draw the evening out a little longer. Inviting him in would be stupid for a million reasons. First-date sex was never a good idea, and this would most likely end up being first- and last-date sex, so that would be even worse.

  She didn’t even want to think about the fact that she hadn’t been with anyone since Chad. She wasn’t afraid of Alex, not at all; she was afraid of herself. It was the intimate moments that had always made her forgive Chad. When he touched her or kissed her, he was always gentle and loving. She became stupid then, forgiving him and buying all the bullshit that would spew from his mouth in the awful moments. The ones where he would push her around, shove her, or hold her up against a wall, using his size to intimidate her. He’d always been really good about not leaving a mark. Sometimes she would convince herself that because his violence wasn’t really painful, or physically obvious, that maybe she was making too much of it. Certainly there were women who were truly getting abused—she didn’t have it that bad. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Brooke knew by now that she always was incapable of separating sex and feelings. She just wanted to be loved, to be told she was beautiful, to be made to feel desirable. Alex Coleman had no-strings-attached-sex-professional written all over his luscious body. Sleeping with him had the potential to destroy her, because not only did she know it would be wonderful, she knew she would want it to mean something. While Alex would not hurt her physically, he would break her heart. At this point in her life she needed to wait for the man who would be the one. She wanted sex that said “I love you,” not “I’m sorry”—which is what it had always been with Chad. Sex with Alex would probably be amazing, but it would be meaningless—for him, that is.

  She pulled out her key as she turned to face him. “So, are we going to address the fact that you swiped that mistletoe ornament from right under my nose? And why did you do that exactly?”

  Alex raised an eyebrow and put a hand into his coat pocket. He pulled the sparkly beaded ornament out and held it over her head. “I wanted to support your business, and I guess I thought it might come in handy.”

  “Oh my god.” She laughed out loud, her heart kicking up speed. How she wanted to kiss him, maybe more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. “Could this get any cheesier?”

  “It is incredibly cheesy. In fact, I’m ashamed of myself right now.” Lit only by the motion light in the alley, his eyes got serious, staring deep into hers. “But is it working?”

  Brooke took a deep breath as every fantasy she’d ever had about Alex came to mind. Good lord, the man was like the sun—looking straight at him was almost painful, and yet here she stood like a flower, practically leaning into his warmth. “Yes, it’s definitely working,” she whispered.

  And with that he leaned in, and she felt the heat of his breath right before the soft swipe of his lips. One small kiss, then another that lightly tugged at her lower lip, then another to the corner of her mouth. And finally he answered her unspoken prayers and tilted his chin to take it deeper. Their tongues met in unison, an
d she instantly pulled back, letting him take charge. And oh god, did his tongue take charge as his fingers found their way to the back of her neck, pulling her into him.

  Her hands found leverage by grasping his forearms. Even through the thick wool of his coat and the cotton of her gloves, she could make out the corded muscle there. It felt like heaven. He tasted like heaven. Before she had a moment to decide where to let her hands roam next, he pulled away on a strangled groan. She had barely suppressed her own.

  “I should go,” he whispered.

  “Not yet,” she said, pulling him back down to her. She wasn’t ready to let him leave. This was bad boy Alex Coleman, and he was kissing her like his life depended on it. There was no woman in her right mind that would let him stop, and suddenly Brooke didn’t care what the repercussions were. He was too warm, smelled too good, and kissed her just right. She needed this, meaningless or not. She was strong; she could handle it.

  “Oh god, you’re gonna make this hard, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips.

  “I hope so.” She laughed quietly at the double meaning.

  “Shit, Brooke.” He joined in the laughter. “You’re going to kill me.” He pulled back a little, then leaned his forehead on hers. He placed a few more quick kisses on her lips, then fully removed himself from her grasp. “Okay. I’m going. For real.”

  She stepped back, a little shocked and embarrassed. Could he really resist her so easily? That was a little painful because she wanted him so badly her body was humming with it. “Okay.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, a move she was coming to adore. “Come to dinner with me at my grandmother’s Friday.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she quickly collected herself. “Seriously? I mean, I’d love to, but that’s like, family.”

  “I’ve known you forever, Brooke, and my grandmother loves you. It’s not like you’re strangers.”

  “Okay, if you insist.” She smiled.

  “I insist. I’ll come by and pick you up at five.”

  “Well, then, I guess I’ll see you Friday.” Only three days. She knew they were going to crawl by.

  He began to walk to his car then suddenly turned and in two strides was back up on the concrete slab. He gripped the sides of Brooke’s face so gently and softly kissed her lips, the heat of his mouth canceling out the frigid air surrounding them. When he pulled back, he looked deep into her eyes. “Friday.”

  She nodded, rendered speechless by the tenderness he showed. This time he stood waiting until she got into the building and locked the door behind her. She was now pretty sure that he’d held himself back to be a gentleman, not because he wasn’t feeling something for her. The happiness that consumed her was dangerous, because it wouldn’t last, but right now she couldn’t bother to care. For the first time in her life, she knew what pure joy felt like.

  SEVEN

  The next morning Brooke woke early, unable to go back to sleep. She idly stroked Diva’s soft head as she stared at the ceiling. The cat’s loud rhythmic purr was an odd soundtrack to her mess of thoughts about the previous night’s date. She couldn’t help thinking how easily they’d laughed, smiled, joked. Brooke wasn’t the most confident of people these days; she usually left a conversation thinking she’d said all the wrong things. But not with Alex. He’d made her feel funny, intelligent, beautiful.

  And the kissing.

  She’d dreamed about it all night—his soft lips, scratchy face, and sexy scent. She’d wanted him to come inside more than anything, had nearly begged him. But he’d done the right thing, respected her wishes from dinner, been a gentleman, and left. What had she wanted? Him to beg her to give it up, to make her feel like he needed her so bad he couldn’t stand it? Okay, maybe that would have been amazing. With a groan, Brooke rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, Diva meowing in protest.

  Thank goodness she’d managed to make a coffee run yesterday, and after her first cup and a yogurt, she showered and dressed in leggings, boots, and a long chambray shirt. It only made sense to dress comfortably at the shop since she could end up crawling under a table or helping someone load a bookshelf into a truck. Realizing she didn’t have as much time as she thought, she let her hair dry wavy, just hitting it with a little hair spray and a quick blast from the hair dryer.

  Once downstairs she got to work turning on lights, taking money from the safe, and cleaning up the classroom area from the night before. Within an hour she’d refilled her coffee twice and flipped the wooden antique sign on the window from “Sorry, Try Again Tomorrow,” to “Come On In and Stay Awhile.”

  The first couple of hours were a little slow, with only a handful of customers. She sold a few ornaments, a handmade wall mirror, and a pair of earrings. She used the downtime to make a few more pieces of jewelry. Getting her hands on her tools was a huge stress reliever, and the process of making something beautiful never got old.

  Around noon the door opened and she gently laid down her soldering iron before turning. Instantly she grinned as Callie from the bakery strolled in. “Hey! I’m so glad you made it down.”

  “Me, too! Oh my gosh, it’s gorgeous in here. I want my whole apartment to look like this!” Callie said, her arms wide to encompass the entirety of the shop. Another woman entered behind her. She looked a little older than Callie, and very pretty in an understated yet polished way. She was completely put together and effortless-looking, her blonde hair in a sleek ponytail, her skirt perfectly pressed, her skin flawless. She was the kind of woman you could easily hate, but when she gave Brooke a sincere smile, those thoughts vanished.

  “Hi, I’m Anne. I apologize for not coming in sooner. I’ve been meaning to because this is just my kind of shop.” Anne put her hand out to Brooke. Even her voice was soothing and kind, and she reminded Brooke of a mother on a 1950s TV show who could pull out a tray of homemade cookies any second.

  “Thank you so much. I take it you live here in Preston?”

  “I do. I moved here with my daughter a few years ago.”

  “She lives over on Sunset Lane in the cutest little bungalow,” Callie interrupted. “You’d love it. She has the best decorating style.”

  Anne shushed Callie with a wave of her hand, embarrassed at the praise, and Brooke instantly envied the easy friendship the two women shared. On the outside they seemed complete opposites: one carefree, loud, and expressive; the other poised, controlled, and classic. But they were obviously close friends, and their personalities appeared to complement each other.

  Suddenly Callie’s mouth dropped open and she turned to Anne, her eyes wide. “You should feature Brooke, Anne. She makes this jewelry, you know.” Callie turned to Brooke. “Do you have an online shop? I mean it wouldn’t really do any good unless you were capable of selling online. Gosh, I should have thought of this the other day.”

  Brooke was confused, but before she could answer, Anne spoke. “I was actually already thinking the same exact thing. I heard you give classes here. You should do an online tutorial for the site—our readers would love that. We could even put up some photos of the shop for those who are local.”

  “I do have an online shop. It’s not super successful, but I have some loyal customers.” And then suddenly all the dots connected in Brooke’s mind. Anne’s face, her style, and the comments Callie just made. Brooke couldn’t believe it. “Wait a minute. Are you the My Perfect Little Life Anne? And you’re Callie that posts baking recipes?”

  Anne gave her a shy smile. “I am. Sorry. I figured Callie already told you.”

  “I totally should have,” Callie said before turning to Brooke. “Do you read the blog?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I do when I have time. Honestly, I haven’t done much of anything these past six months unless it involves this business. But about a year ago I read one of your columns in the Star. You suggested a cute little shop down in the West Bottoms and now Janie, one of their artists, sells here on commission. I knew you were local somehow but I had no idea it was Preston. Wow
. It’s so nice to meet you. Your blog is one of my favorites.”

  Anne blushed a little. Her lifestyle blog, My Perfect Little Life, was wildly popular. It was only a few years old, but it had become an internet sensation fairly quickly. Brooke knew from reading it when she had the time that Anne was a mix of homemaker, businesswoman, and party planner extraordinaire. Callie posted amazing baked good recipes, and if Brooke remembered correctly, there was also another woman who contributed project tutorials. The blog was updated at least four or five times a week with beautiful photos of crafts, recipes, projects, and all sorts of random things that inspired women to be and do their best. Anne also did a weekly column in the Kansas City Star. Women across the country wanted to be Anne, and here she was in the flesh, standing in Brooke’s shop.

  Offering a feature.

  Callie leaned into Anne’s side and squeezed her arm. “I’m here to tell you she is as perfect as she appears to be.”

  “My goodness, stop. I’m the complete opposite of perfect. I just like to help people, and try to make things special for them.”

  “I love that,” Brooke said. “Please feel free to look around. I’d love your feedback. I’m still new to this.”

  While the two women browsed a little more, chatting about what they loved in the store, the possibility of being highlighted on Anne’s blog sank in. It would be huge. For a small business, being on a site like My Perfect Little Life was like hitting the jackpot. It could change everything for her jewelry line and for her store. If she was able to maintain some consistent online profit, then maybe she would be able to breathe a little when it came to the retail shop.

  The front door opened, and Brooke turned, her polite business smile in place, only to lock eyes with Alex. Without thought she grinned wide, then instantly regretted that she’d so obviously lost control over her emotions. She forgave herself, though, when he grinned back. Oh, this so wasn’t good.