“They really care about you. It’s obvious you’re like a granddaughter to them.”
The smile on my face shifts to a full out beam. “I guess that makes me luckier than most people. Forget about having only one or two or four grandfathers, I have a busload of them.”
After dessert, Josephine insists we return to the living room, where we can be more comfortable. It’s fun watching her tease her future grandson-in-law.
“Since you’re going be a married man next year,” Liza says to him from her armchair. “I vote you spend the rest of the evening shirtless.” She winks at him.
And Isabelle groans. “Haven’t we had this discussion before? He took off his shirt that one time because the sprinkler started up while he was walking to the door, and he got soaked. It wasn’t to turn you on.” She narrows her eyes at Liza and Josephine. “You two didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”
“Who, us?” they chorus, their innocent expressions as real as Henri’s teeth.
Isabelle rolls her eyes. “I should have known better. So much for the temporary malfunction you claimed to be the culprit.”
The two women laugh, as do the rest of us.
A few guests leave, but no one else seems to be in a rush to go anywhere. Josephine gestures for Landon and me to sit on an empty chair. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure you sit on his lap all the time,” she says at my hesitation.
Landon doesn’t seem to have any qualms about this cozy arrangement. He pulls me over to the empty armchair and tugs me onto his lap. Jayden and Isabelle aren’t sitting any differently than we are, but she looks more at ease than I feel.
But for different reasons—and possibly for the same ones.
I’m becoming more and more aware of Landon, and I was pretty damn aware of him before. Add the kiss from earlier, and my body is buzzing from pent-up desire, pent-up need.
Landon’s thumb caresses the spot above the waistband of my panties. That almost does me in. I squirm slightly, trying to relieve the building heat between my legs and low in my belly, while at the same time, attempting to look cool as an English cucumber.
Yep, no problem what-so-ever.
The conversation turns to how things were different in the olden days of Hollywood, but don’t quiz me on what was said.
I’m too focused on the way Landon’s thumb is lazily tracing circles against my hip. And with each caress of his thumb, my body temperature climbs a degree. There’s something sweet and tender about the move.
If I stay here any longer, I’ll combust.
I make a move to shift off his lap. His hold on me tightens.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
He releases me.
I head toward where the washroom is located and spot the door to the balcony. Through the French doors, thousands of tiny dots of lights are visible across the bay.
I open the door and step outside.
The chilled air greets me, wrapping itself around my bare arms. Above the bay, in the inky black night, thousands of stars twinkle like miniature Christmas tree lights. The fog and clouds that usually blanket the sky are absent for now.
God, it’s beautiful.
Several minutes slip quietly past before I hear the balcony door click open and shut again. I don’t bother to see who’s there. I don’t have to. In the short time he and I have been together, my body has become attuned to Landon and is tingling with awareness again.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say on a hushed breath, still staring up at the stars. “I could probably stay out here all night.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, but I sense his presence draw closer. “What are you doing out here?” His voice is rough and fireworks-exploding-between-my-legs sexy. Not a single cell in my body is immune to it.
I should probably be concerned about that, but I can’t seem to drum up even an ounce of resistance. “Watching for shooting stars.”
“I didn’t realize you’re into astronomy.” He doesn’t sound like he believes that.
“I’m not. Not really. But maybe I should rethink that.”
“Why do you want to see shooting stars?”
I shrug—because it feels stupid to say my reason out loud. But I do anyway. “I thought maybe I could make a wish, and it’ll come true.”
“And what wish is that?”
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
Never mind the part where I haven’t had a chance to utter it yet.
He places his hand on my shoulder. The cold November air doesn’t affect me. His touch does. Goose bumps prickle along my arms. I shiver.
“You’re cold.”
“Not at all.” Just the contrary.
He turns me around to face him. In the soft light spilling from between partially closed curtains, I make out the heat in his eyes and the fullness of his lips—lips I can’t tear my gaze from.
Landon lowers his head closer to mine. “I want to kiss you again.” His voice comes out low and gravelly, but he makes no attempt to shorten the distance between us.
“I want that too.” More than anything.
This time he does lower his mouth all the way.
Like before, the touch of his lips against mine is barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to ignite fireworks in my belly.
However, it’s not enough to chase away the goose bumps. Just the opposite.
He pulls back slightly to look into my eyes. Whatever he sees must be the only answer he needs. His mouth returns to mine, but this time it’s more than the gentle meeting of flesh.
This time it’s electric.
My lips part, allowing his warm wet tongue to invade my mouth, seeking, exploring. Tempting.
My tongue greets it, welcomes it with a slow dance of my own. Nothing about this kiss is fast and greedy. It’s about savoring the moment, not knowing if it’s the first and only real kiss we’ll share—or the first of many more to come.
I lift my hands to his neck and burrow my fingers in the short, soft strands of his dark hair, keeping him from ending the kiss too soon.
The fireworks in my belly from a few moments ago are nothing compared to now. I’ve experienced numerous firework displays over the years, from the big city ones of New York City ringing in the New Year, to the smaller ones, celebrating the Fourth of July.
None of them compares to the ones currently going off deep inside me.
Landon wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. Our mouths are not the only parts touching. The full length of my body is pressed against his.
For the first time in forever, I feel wanted and protected.
I feel more than I should, and that scares me.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s dangerous to feel this way.
It’s dangerous to bring my heart into things where it can so easily be broken. But right now, it doesn’t seem too concerned about that.
Maybe it should be.
What difference does it make? This isn’t a real relationship. Just enjoy the perks while you can.
They won’t last forever.
I have no idea how long Landon and I have been kissing when he finally pulls away. Possibly a few minutes. Possibly a few hours. I just know that the instant he steps back, both my body and mouth immediately miss him.
I also notice for the first time how cold the night air is. But I’m not willing to end this moment just yet.
I allow my gaze to drift to the sky as I search for that elusive shooting star.
If I could make a wish—a wish that would come true—it would be for this moment to never end.
It would be so that I’d never feel the bitter sting of rejection again from sharing my heart with a man.
But since the latter will never come true, I might as well hedge for something else.
Something that doesn’t matter which side of the law Landon is on—it’s only temporary.
I turn back to Landon and peer into his beautiful brown eyes, warm
with flakes of gold. “I want you.”
18
Landon
It takes a second for Chloe’s words to sink in, and then I’m kissing her like we’ve just found out the world’s about to end—and this is the last kiss we’ll ever have. With anyone.
Eventually, we pull away and let everyone know that we’re heading home.
Like her, I’m eager to return to my place.
Eager to see what happens next.
But that’s the thing—nothing should happen next.
I’m an idiot.
Those three words keep thundering in my brain as I drive Chloe back to my town house.
Sure, we kissed. We had to—it was part of my cover as her boyfriend.
Or at least the kiss under the mistletoe was part of my cover. The kiss on the balcony? Not so much.
No one was watching us.
No one was expecting us to kiss.
The decision to do that was one hundred percent ours.
It’s wrong—but at the same time, it doesn’t feel wrong. Just the opposite.
We don’t say much on the drive home. Chloe found a radio station that’s already playing Christmas music, even though Thanksgiving isn’t officially over yet.
I try to focus on the music and not on what she and I will be doing soon, assuming she hasn’t changed her mind by the time we arrive. And it’s okay if she has.
It would probably be a good thing if she has, because hell if I can bring myself to deny her if she still wants me.
Chloe sings along with a Christmas song. She hits a few notes wrong but doesn’t seem to care. She sings her heart out like the world will be a better place for it.
And maybe it will.
“You can sing along, too,” she tells me, still keeping with the melody of the lyrics…mostly.
“That’s okay. I’m enjoying listening to you sing them.” Mostly because she’s fucking adorable.
“Now you see why I’m not the one teaching the kids the songs. Thank God. I was getting nervous I’d have to do it, and that would be an epic disaster.”
“But you were still planning to do the show even if Josephine hadn’t agreed to help out.” It’s not a question. It’s just fact. Chloe’s that kind of person. She wants to make everything around her better, even if she stumbles while doing so.
“That’s right. But luckily for the seniors, that won’t be the case.”
My attention’s on the road, but I can’t miss the grin in her tone that’s no doubt reflected on her face.
She goes back to singing. I’m getting the idea that this beautiful, sweet, and generous woman is a massive fan of Christmas.
“So, now that the holiday season has officially begun,” she says in between songs, “when are we decorating your place? You’ll have to take into consideration that you have one super curious puppy, who could get into all kinds of trouble, but other than that…”
“I don’t exactly decorate for Christmas.”
That gets a loud gasp out of her. “How can you not decorate for Christmas? That’s a travesty.”
“I’m just not the kind of man who cares about decorating for Christmas.”
“You do like Christmas, right?”
“I’m not some Scrooge who has no use for it and the days leading up to it. I have young nieces and nephews whom I love sending Christmas presents.”
“But you just don’t like putting up decorations, is that it?”
“Pretty much.”
That’s not entirely true, but I’m not going to go into my reason for not bothering with any of that stuff.
“What about a Christmas tree? Is that allowed, or are you against them too?” The shock in her tone has been shoved aside, replaced with curiosity.
I shrug.
She slumps back in her seat. “Wow, I might have to rethink this fake relationship with you. I suppose that was a question I should’ve asked before agreeing to be your fake girlfriend.”
“You can’t retract it now. You’re committed to making our fake relationship work in a completely fake way.”
She laughs. “No one can accuse me of not sticking with my commitments. I’ll just have to readjust my expectations.…Are your parents and sisters like you? Are they also averse to decorating for the holidays?”
The way she says it doesn’t sound like she’s judging any of us. She’s just curious. Not nosy-curious. More like the curiosity that led Sir Isaac Newton to discover gravity.
It’s what makes her such a great teacher. She fills her students with the same level of wonder, leaving them questioning everything around them—the way a great teacher should.
“No, my mom and sisters are more like you. They love everything about the holiday season, except they usually wait until December to start decorating. Plus, Mom loves to bake. Cookies. Cakes. Pies. You name it, she bakes it. Evie and Kathy like to give her a hard time and call her Martha Stewart’s lost sister—only nowhere near as anal.”
I can see that. If my mom makes a mistake, she claims it gives whatever she’s working on character. She doesn’t get upset.
“That’s so sweet. Did she make you fancy birthday cakes when you were kids, like Martha would have?” My gaze is still on the road but I can hear the grin in Chloe’s tone.
“Hell if I know what Martha’s cakes are like.” She laughs at my gruff I’m-a-caveman-what-do-I-know-about-girlie-cakes? voice. “But yes, she did decorate our cakes. She was really good at it. I think she took some sort of cake-decorating class with her friends at one point.”
“My mom was the opposite. I remember one year she made me a cake with rolled fondant butterflies on it. But for some reason, they kept sliding off the cake and landing in an undignified mess on the plate.” Chloe laughs warmly at the memory. “Nikolai’s mother, my aunt, always ordered his and his siblings’ cakes from a fancy pastry chef. So not your typical birthday cake with whatever licensed children’s entertainment or Disney Princess was big at the time. I’m talking about cakes that would outshine most wedding cakes.
“Mom’s cakes were a symbol of her love for me. My aunt’s cakes symbolized wealth and power.”
I’m beginning to see why Chloe is nothing like the rest of her family. And from the sound of it, her mother doesn’t have a lot in common with them either.
I ignore the voice in my head pointing out that my mom would love both Chloe and her mother—as long as she never found out about their Russian mafia connection.
“You want to watch a movie or a show on TV first—or did you want to just rip each other’s clothes off?” I murmur in her ear as soon as we’re inside the town house. My arms are around her waist.
She twists around with a laugh. “Do you mind if we watch something first? I’m just going upstairs to change into something more comfortable.”
“While you do that, I’ll take Whiskey out. We won’t be long.”
His paw is doing better, and he decides he would rather walk himself instead of being carried. I click on his leash, and we head outside.
“What’s your opinion on decorating for Christmas?” I ask him as he sniffs the ground.
He gives a little bark and lifts his leg to pee.
I guess that answers my question.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much my opinion, too.”
Sarah, my girlfriend who was in a coma, died two weeks before Christmas. Like Chloe, she loved decorating for the holiday season. Her apartment. Her car. Even her clothes and her hair.
After she died, decorating for the holiday season didn’t have the same meaning for me anymore.
Whiskey finishes his business, and we go inside. He heads for the living room. I go upstairs to change.
When I return a few minutes later, he’s lying next to Chloe on the couch. I plonk down on the other side of her.
“What are we watching?” I ask before checking the screen.
It takes less than a second to figure it out. The San Francisco Rock hockey commentator’s voice is the dead giveaw
ay.
“You’re watching hockey?” I ask, even though it’s obvious she is.
She smiles and nods.
Without realizing what I’m doing, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her closer. She cuddles into me, her head on my shoulder. It feels nice. Better than nice.
At one point during the game, a Rock player is in the penalty box for high sticking. A Vancouver Canuck player passes the puck to his teammate, but Travis Hamilton intercepts it. Then he and his fellow teammate, Elias Lawson, race to the other end, narrowly missing being called offside.
It’s a battle between them, the Canuck goalie, and a defenseman. The final seconds of the period tick down. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Hamilton shoots the puck at the goal, and Lawson tips it in.
The Canuck fans groan while the splattering of Rock fans jump to their feet, cheering.
They aren’t the only ones cheering.
When Hamilton and Lawson stole the puck from the Canuck player, Chloe had shifted to the edge of the couch, body stiff.
As soon as the puck flies past the goalie and the red goal light indicates that the puck went in the net, she’s on her feet, cheering. “Did you see that? Ohmigod, that was amazing.” She settles herself on the couch next to me, her face glowing in the dim light.
I barely register the horn signaling the end of the period. My gaze is locked with Chloe’s, the goal quickly forgotten. All I can focus on is the woman cuddled next to me.
Her lips separate slightly, and I lower my head. I press my mouth against hers. With a stuttering sigh, she lets me in.
The sigh goes straight to my cock.
The tip of my tongue traces her lower lip. A needy gasp releases from her, and her mouth opens to me.
I sweep my tongue inside. She tastes like the sweetest wine. So good.
She leans back, resting her head on the couch cushion. Enabling me to deepen the kiss.
I take full advantage of it.
Faint puppy snores on the other side of her tell me that Whiskey won’t be complaining about this anytime soon. I shift slightly and lift my hand to just below her chest, tracing my thumb along the band of her bra hidden under her light-knit sweater.
Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2) Page 14