Mistletoe Kisses

by Anna B. Doe

  I spent my life trying to be independent, to survive because I had to. But since meeting this man, clashing with him head to head in a way few people have dared, we’ve both changed.

  I knew him before I met him, and I never could’ve predicted the wild ride our lives would take us on.

  His tongue parts my lips, and I open on a moan, hungry for him.

  “Hales, help me with some math.”

  “Only since it is one of my zones of genius,” I agree, breathless.

  “We have five sets of overnight houseguests. Ten bedrooms. Two kids.”

  “Right?”

  “How far away can we get from all of them? Because you look hot as fuck in that dress.” His expression steals my breath. He moves closer, his hard mouth brushing mine once, twice.

  I cut a look toward the living room, where everyone’s engrossed in warm conversation with drinks and appetizers in hand.

  “Dinner has to reheat for at least thirty more minutes. I think we could steal a few minutes first.”

  Jax takes my hand, and I follow him up the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  Tyler

  “You seen Annie?” I ask Beck over the rim of the bourbon Jax insisted on pouring everyone after we returned.

  “Not sure.”

  I look around the living room, which is buzzing with conversation and holiday music from the built-in speakers. Everyone here is family. Haley, who disappeared to the kitchen a few minutes ago, was one of the first people who worked with me when I started recording through a program for kids from tough backgrounds.

  Jax, who seems to have vanished too, took an interest later when he saw how talented I was. His band, standing around and cracking jokes and reminiscing, ended up being like uncles to me.

  Even Haley’s friends are mine. Literally. Serena’s brother, Beck, was my roommate at performing arts school, then later in LA after he graduated and started his career as an actor while I was finishing my first world tour.

  Annie’s been my friend since we were teenagers. She sees light in the darkest places. Hell, she saw it in me.

  My adventure with Jax and Sophie this afternoon reminded me of that. When the truck skidded off the road and onto the shoulder—the flatbed wound up halfway in the ditch and was ultimately stopped from going the whole way in by the tree—all I could think about was her. That she was here, waiting for me. That I’d do anything to get back to her and give her everything she wanted.

  An impulse tugs at my stomach, and I glance toward the back of the house. I down the rest of my drink, then head through the kitchen to the patio doors. I slide them open and step outside, a wave of nostalgia and familiarity hitting me along with the cool air.

  The patio is vast and stunning, with a pool surrounded by gardens and the pool house-turned-recording studio. Before it was a studio, I spent a semester living there and attending the same private high school as Annie when home became unbearable.

  I cut a look back over my shoulder toward the house, the room that was hers.

  I grew up here.

  I fell in love here.

  And no matter what’s changed in my life or in the pool house, I’ll never forget it.

  When I let myself into the small building, there’s a single light on in the hall. My eyes adjust to the darkness.

  “Annie?” I call.

  I make my way through, glancing in the offices, including the one I occupied for a month last summer. I spent the odd day there this fall when I flew here to record with Jax on my new album.

  Plenty of memories.

  No Annie.

  I head for the main doors of the studio and out to the small parking lot accessible by a parallel driveway installed next to the main one running up to Jax’s house. It has a separate pin pad by the road so the studio’s entrance is almost as exclusive as the house’s, only letting in the small group of artists Jax works with, the up-and-coming ones he’s mentoring to the kind of greatness he reached. The kind I’m reaching.

  Out in the parking lot, I find what I’m looking for.

  There are no cars, but there is a giant tarp covering something waist height and longer than I am tall. Sitting on the gravel staring up at it is my fiancée.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “You okay?”

  Annie spins and looks up at me, her lips parting in shock, then relief. “You’re back.”

  She jumps up. A second later, the impact of her body against mine knocks the breath from my chest. I grab her and hold her tightly.

  “What happened?” she murmurs against my shoulder. “We were so worried.”

  I pull back an inch to look down into her flushed face. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  I explain what happened, and she listens, her face turning pale.

  She says, “I had this moment when I couldn’t reach you, and it’s crazy because there are lot of times I can’t reach you, but this scared me. I thought, what if something awful happened and I don’t get to see you again? I don’t know how to do this without you.”

  Her emotion wraps me up and drags me along with it. I stroke my knuckles gently down her cheek, loving her softness as much as I love her strength. “It didn’t happen, Six. But if it did, you’d get by.”

  “I remember what my world was like before you were in it. It sucked.” She’s joking but earnest too.

  “I thought about that too,” I admit. “I can’t control how long I’m here, but every second I am, I want to spend it with you.”

  Annie threads her fingers in my hair. Her fingers are cold, and suddenly, I’m questioning how long she’s been out here. But we stand like that, holding each other, until a breeze rustles the plastic behind her.

  I can’t resist asking, “What’s under the tarp?”

  Her eyes widen a flash of guilt. “Nothing.”

  I trace my finger along the full curve of her lower lip, intrigued. “Don’t believe you,” I tease. “You bailed on everyone inside on Christmas Eve to spend quality time with a tarp? Must be protecting something good.”

  She exhales hard, shooting me a look before turning. Starting at one end, she strips the tarp back a few feet at a time, eventually pushing it entirely to the ground.

  What’s underneath leaves me breathless. Speechless.

  “It’s a Triumph Bonneville,” she murmurs.

  I circle it, eyeing up every inch of steel. “Nineteen sixty-two.”

  “Sixty-one. It took me a while to find, and it needs a little love. You sold your bike when we moved to New York. I wanted you to have one. I talked to the garage owner nearby. He has some space where you could work on it if you have time to fix it up.”

  My chest is so tight it feels as if my heart is too big. The fact that she managed to find this for me, without me knowing, and that she knew I’d want one I could work on myself reminds me how fucking special this girl is.

  “How do you know me?” I breathe the words.

  Her smile in the dark warms me, her eyes shining. “Life’s been crazy this year. I wanted you to have something that reminded you of who you are, who you were before everything.”

  It does. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to work on an engine, but as I stroke a hand over the seat, I can’t wait to work on this. “When I’m done, I can’t wait to take you on this.”

  I swoop in and grab her, kissing her hard before she can react. She laughs against my mouth, her hands fisting my shirt as she gets her balance, kissing me back.

  “Needs to run first,” she replies breathlessly when we come up for air.

  “Untrue.” Her eyes darken, and my gut twists with need for her. “I love how you feel. I love all of you, Annie Jamieson.”

  I thread my fingers through hers. The ring I gave her presses into my hand. I don’t need physical evidence of the bond between us, but I like it.

  “And,” I go on, “I fucked up by talking about the album this morning when you wanted to talk about a wedding date. The truth is I wanted to get the album fig
ured out so that we can plan the wedding.”

  Annie sighs happily. “I know we agreed to wait, but lately, it’s all I can think about. I’ll be in rehearsal and space out because I’m picturing walking toward you in the perfect dress. Or miss my stop on the subway because I’m thinking about honeymoon locations. The other night I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking if it feels this good to wear your ring, I might explode seeing you wear mine.”

  She holds up our joined hands, and I feel like the one who might explode.

  “Hearing Serena and Wes talk about it today made it feel even more pressing,” she goes on, her lips curving. “It’s crazy because I know you’re mine and a wedding doesn’t make you more mine, but I want you to be mine in every way. I want you to be the mine-est mine there is.”

  I love how she feels everything. I treasure it. “I am yours, Six. I always have been. If it sounds like I don’t want to talk about the wedding, it’s only because when I picture it, I don’t think about the flowers and decorations. I think about growing old with you, watching our children grow. You taught me how to dream, and being married you is something I dream of.”

  Her eyes gleam in the dark, and I glance back at the bike.

  “So, if we’re doing presents,” I say, cocking my head, “I suppose I could give you yours.”

  Chapter Six

  Annie

  My hand stays locked in Tyler’s as he leads me back into the studio.

  I hadn’t planned to give him the bike until tomorrow, but his reaction made all the effort to find it worthwhile.

  I expect him to continue through the building and out to the patio, then the house, but he surprises me by pushing open one of the studio doors. Inside the space is a range of instruments. He lifts a guitar from a rack on the far side, and my heart skips.

  “You’re going to play me your new album?” I ask. “You’ve been beyond secretive about it. I tried not to take it personally.”

  My smile lets him know I’m joking, but the sincerity in his dark eyes leaves me breathless.

  “Take it personally. I want you to.” He pulls over a stool and sits, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt in a way that turns me liquid before he tunes the guitar.

  I can’t look away. He’s perfectly imperfect, his dark hair falling over the face I love, curling at his collared shirt. Since the first time I saw him when I was thirteen, I haven’t been able to look away.

  Twelve years later, everything in our lives has changed…

  Except that.

  He plays, the chords tugging at my heart. When he sings overtop, that gorgeous voice with a little edge, as if I’m hearing something he’s confessing to himself, I’m ripped open.

  I slide to my knees in front of him, the carpet rubbing my skin through the tights. I don’t care. I’m mesmerized as his eyes lock on mine and he sings me a song.

  When he finishes, he says, “It’s called ‘My Heart.’ Two guesses who it’s for.”

  I couldn’t stop the smile if I tried. “You wrote a song for me?”

  “For you. About you. With you. Because even when I’m alone, you’re with me.”

  God. If there’s a way to resist this man, I don’t know what it is. “I couldn’t love it any more,” I say and mean it.

  I love that he knows me the way I know him. He knew this song would be everything I didn’t know I needed, like I knew the bike would be perfect for him.

  Tyler lifts the guitar from his lap, setting it aside without breaking my gaze. “I want to be where you are, and I know I’ve been struggling with finishing this album. But being with you, here or New York or anywhere, that matters even more.”

  My throat is tight with emotion when he threads his hands into my hair and kisses me.

  “Okay,” I murmur against his lips. “Can we still talk about getting married though? Maybe just… pencil it in?” I trace a finger over the ink on his hand, and he laughs.

  “We can do better than that. Let’s do it this spring. Somewhere warm. On an island.”

  A thrill races through me. We’ve been talking about a destination wedding. “Perfect. Family and friends. It’ll be simple.”

  He cocks his head. “You know our family and friends. It will never be simple.”

  I laugh because it’s true, and I’m good with that. We both are.

  I never wanted to fall for a musician, but I can’t see it any other way.

  I tilt my chin up toward the beams overhead, thinking back to a day seven years ago, before the pool house was renovated and it housed a single resident. He wasn’t a VIP yet, but even then, I knew.

  “That one?” I point at the beam. “Has a big knot in the middle.”

  Tyler follows my gaze.

  “You can’t see it anymore because Dad had them painted white,” I go on, “but I remember looking at those one morning. I woke up in your bed, and all I could think was, ‘Shit—I got really drunk last night, and now I’m in bed with Tyler.’”

  He chuckles. “I remember that morning. All the parts before it, and the ones after.”

  I shift onto the floor and lie on my back, still smiling. “You were next to me. Right about here, I think.” I scoot sideways to the other edge of the studio, where the bed was. “And I thought, ‘I wish he wasn’t such an ass to me.’”

  “I was an ass because I couldn’t have you, and because I hated how much I wanted to.” Tyler stretches out beside me, his shoulder brushing mine and his warmth making me tingle.

  My eyes drift shut. “You always had me.”

  “How about now?”

  His voice is nearer, and I blink my eyes open to see him hovering over me intently. Those dark eyelashes fringe his beautiful eyes, his hair hanging across his face.

  My lips part, and Tyler follows the movement—God, he notices everything. He brushes a thumb across my lips in a way that has me tingling in my breasts, between my thighs.

  He kisses me slowly at first. The deceptively gentle slide of mouths that know one another’s secrets and want to relearn them. He parts my lips with his tongue, and I open for him, wanting and unashamed. The groan escaping him tells me how much he likes knowing I’m his.

  I want to stand up in front of this world and let him mark me as his—so long as it means he’s mine too. Desire floods me, a sudden wave of need, and I grab his hair and tug him close.

  Tyler moves over me, hand dragging down my side and his hips pressing, showing me exactly what he wants. He reaches under my shoulders for the zipper of my dress.

  “Too hard,” I mumble.

  “You can take it.”

  “I meant the dress.” I laugh against his lips.

  Tyler pulls back and winks. “Sure you did.”

  I reach for his belt and work it off with frenzied hands. He gets under my skirt, struggling with my tights before shifting back on his knees long enough to rip them.

  I prop up on my elbows, eyeing him with disbelief. “Okay, ‘man with the plan.’ How am I going to walk back in there with no tights?”

  “Right now, there’s one plan. It doesn’t involve tights.”

  His mouth claims mine again, and I kiss him back as I finish working on his pants, shoving down them and his shorts, freeing his length trapped between us. I want him inside me so damn much.

  The pull is exquisite. Not frantic but powerful, undeniable.

  My nipples are hard, chafing against my bra and the dress, and a moment later, cool air hits between my thighs, where I’m already wet. I’m ready for him. I don’t have to say it. He knows it the second his fingers brush that spot, the second he presses two inside and I moan his name.

  He pulls back enough to watch as I writhe, his expression devout as he sees my need. Then his fingers are gone, replaced with something I want even more.

  The feel of Tyler sliding home is indescribable. Every time he fills me, I question whether I can take him. Not only physically, emotionally. I’m bursting with the feelings, with him, with the knowledge that another person i
s the other half of me in such a profound way.

  My fingers dig into his ass when he slips into a rhythm that leaves me breathless and him panting.

  Every stroke builds me up.

  Coming together in this place, it’s a fucking ode to us.

  To our tangled past.

  To our messy present.

  To our unwritten future.

  Eventually I can’t hold it in, and I cry out, arching hard as my body squeezes around him. Tyler shudders, his gorgeous body clenching over me, the face I love tight with agony and pleasure.

  When we come down, his head rests on my chest, our hearts hammering together.

  “I want to build a world of our own like this,” I murmur into his hair. “Like Dad and Haley have, with all their friends and family. I don’t care where we live, but I want to let go of some of the hustle and enjoy each other. And I want our kids to have moments like this. I’ll wait for it if I have to.”

  Tyler shifts back on his elbows to stare at me, his expression intent with love. “Does it have to wait?”

  I scoff. “You saw how much work Sophie and Mason are. Hell, you wouldn’t have ended up getting towed if Sophie didn’t want that tree this afternoon. You’re ready for that level of chaos?”

  Still, the possibility has my stomach flipping with excitement.

  My fiancé, who values security and planning more than I thought it was possible for a human to value those things, floors me with his reply.

  “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

  We get through dinner, catching up on everyone’s lives: Jax’s label, Tyler’s album, Brick and Nina’s pregnancy, Sophie’s school and her baby brother, a new program Haley’s building for work, and my show hitting Broadway. I tell them about our plans to have the wedding this spring, and cheers go up.

  “It’ll be small,” I warn.

  Beck shouts, “Let’s be clear. Are we all invited or not?”

  I pretend to hesitate, and Tyler smirks at me.

  “You’re all invited,” I say at last, laughing.

  What follows is a round of rapid-fire questions about things we have to decide: location, dresses, flowers, program…