by Kate Kisset
“Did you guys ever get any mistletoe?” At the sound of her voice, Trace kicked the cardboard file boxes out of the way and rushed to the door. He poked his head out.
Clad in a navy blue dressy coat, Monique stood in front of the register with her back to him. She must store that cute hat in the car because he definitely would’ve noticed the blue beanie with the fuzzy ball on top, if she’d worn it this morning.
“So you missed me.” Trace entered the gift shop. She spun around and he appreciated the sparks of surprise dancing in her eyes. All day long, he’d imagined every nuance of her lips he could remember. And like an answer to a prayer, or a light switching on in a dark broom closet, there she was.
“I’m just making a quick run. We need mistletoe for the tasting room. The customers have been asking . . . I thought you were out making deliveries today?”
“Joe’s covering today. I’m sure we have some around here.”
“Ah—we don’t.” Bent over, with his arms resting on the register counter Joe’s nephew, Kyle adjusted his glasses and stuck his nose back in his unwieldy textbook.
Trace frowned. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get some for you.” He studied an empty shelf. “Maybe it doesn’t grow around here.”
“Yes it does. It’s a parasitic plant.” Sighing, Kyle closed his book with a thwack. After straightening his tall, lanky body to full height, he put his index finger on the glasses above his nose and pushed them into place. “Phoradendron macrophyllum is the mistletoe species commonly used at Christmas. But all American mistletoe species are native to California.”
Trace caught Monique’s eye and they raised their brows at each other. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were such a kissing expert, Kyle.”
“You’re welcome.” Kyle opened his book again and bent over the counter. “Ag major, UC Davis.”
Shifting to him, Monique adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse. “It’s not a problem, Trace.” She rested her hand on his arm, and his chest tightened. “I’ll buy it somewhere else.”
“No, don’t leave.” Trace couldn’t let her wiggle those hips and rumba out the door. He hadn’t spent nearly enough time getting lost in her eyes or lusting after her phenomenal curves when she wasn’t looking. Her body drove him insane, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to stare at it for days. And besides, he hadn’t tasted her lips yet today. “Let’s hunt in the trees back behind the lot. I’m sure we’ll find a bush near the redwood grove.”
Monique pulled out her phone and scrolled through several messages.
Trace caught Kyle staring him down, probably about to override his plan with a plant specific factoid. Trace mouthed “no” to him.
“Everything seems to be okay at the winery.” Monique put her phone in her purse. “I think I have some time.”
Trace sighed with relief. Recalling the sexy little sounds she’d made kissing last night gave Trace the nerve to guardedly slip his hand into hers.
Instead of pulling away, Monique intertwined her fingers around his and led him out the door.
They cut through the Christmas tree lot and took the path to the old redwood grove. With no customers in sight and the only employee on the premises buried in a book, Trace grinned at a revelation. He had Monique all to himself.
“So, how was your day so far?” She glanced up from the path at him.
“I’d rather talk about kissing you.”
Her eyes blazed for an instant and then she tossed her head back to take in the sky. “Tell me. You were going to meet with an accountant and a realtor.”
He hadn't intended to bog Monique down with any of the details. She yanked on his hand. “I'm interested. I love this place.”
“I met with Jim Hill this morning. He wasn’t happy with Joe’s accounting system.” Trace rolled his eyes. “He collected all the loose receipts, check stubs and notes he could decipher, and said he’d get back to me.”
Monique kicked a dirt clod off of the path with the side of her boot. “I hope the new owners don't fire Joe.”
Trace glanced at her legs and wished her boots didn’t go all the way up to the knee because they covered too much of her creamy skin.
“They won’t let him go. I’m putting a clause in the contract forcing the buyer to retain Joe’s services until he retires. My uncle used to handle the business end. It’s not Joe’s fault I asked him to take over everything until I settled the estate.”
They reached the edge of the Christmas tree farm and Trace stopped to take in the view of hundreds of pointed tipped trees of various heights and hues of green. Majestic Mount Saint Helena and the purple-blue Mayacamas mountains towered in the distance.
“Joe planted all of these trees from seedlings. And see those?” Trace pointed to a silhouette of redwood trees against the crisp blue sky. “That grove of trees front a vineyard my uncle used to own. It’s what gave him the idea of naming the place Napa Pines and Wines.”
Monique leaned against his shoulder.
Trace squeezed her hand and something made him bring it up to his face and kiss the top of it.
Her beautiful lips curved up in a sly closed-mouth grin. She teasingly batted her eyelashes and then brought her hand down. Tugging his arm, she urged him further down the path. “We’re supposed to find mistletoe, remember? Get back to your day. I want to hear all about it.”
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Trace felt relieved to have Monique there to talk to. “After the accountant left, I took the opportunity to tour the property. I found litter behind the trees, tripping hazards, and burned-out lights. Obviously, there’s a lack of inventory in the gift shop.”
They rounded a lone oak tree and Trace watched to see if she had any reaction to the barren lot he’d checked out after his talk with Joe. Monique gawked at the burnt wood remains of the cottage and cocked her head up at him. Her eyes were the shape of her Nana’s dishes.
“This is another issue.” Letting go of her hand, Trace walked over the mounds of debris and turned. Monique shook her head and gaped at him. Even though the fire happened over a year ago, the smell of fried wood filled his nostrils.
“This,” he grabbed a handful of soot, “is where the family cottage used to be. And all my childhood memories are right here.” He let the grey residue filter through his fingers to the ground.
“Oh my god, Trace.” Monique trudged over the ashes hurrying to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist scanning the area. “I remember the bungalow. Your Aunt Ellie used to bring Nana and me out here sometimes and she always had—”
“Gingerbread in the oven.” He stared at Monique, touched she remembered his aunt. There was no one else to share his memories with except Joe. Overcome with emotion and embarrassed by his sudden reaction, Trace swallowed a lump in his throat. The awful ache in his heart came back with the knowledge that all of his closest relatives were gone.
“Don’t.” Monique draped her other arm around him. She held on, hugging, and they walked away from the remains. “Don't look back, Trace. It will only hurt you. You’ve got to move forward and make new memories.”
He agreed, but what kind of future did he have? The only occasion he looked forward to was the release of his next album.
They picked up the path again and Trace glanced back at the bungalow site.
“I certainly won’t be moving forward with this property. I feel sorry for whoever buys this place.”
“They’ll be lucky to have it and will get the business into shape in no time. Remember the hay rides your Uncle Glenn used to have? I bet they bring those back.” To Monique, every problem was solvable.
The furry ball on top of her hat bobbed as they progressed side by side to the shade of the redwoods. Monique grabbed his hand and his heart flipped for the fiftieth time. Trace couldn’t stop smiling.
“You could bring back hot chocolate nights,” she said, “stock the gift shop with ornaments and wreaths. . . and mistletoe. Adele can have her picture taken with Santa here, just like
I did and carry on the tradition. We wouldn’t have to go to the mall. And you could rebuild the bungalow. You own the lot, the trees . . . everything that’s important you already have.”
Trace stopped and Monique took another step. He dragged her back with his hand. “Did you hear what you just said? I could bring back hot chocolate nights? I could rebuild the bungalow? I have everything I need?”
She shrugged, scanning the area, evidently anxious to change the subject. “Is there any mistletoe around here? I have to get back to work.”
Trace wasn't about to tell her he didn’t know what mistletoe looked like, not after she accidentally revealed she could imagine him living in St. Helena running the farm. The woman did crazy things to his psyche. He felt like singing.
“I think I found some.” He brought her to a plant that if you squinted, might resemble mistletoe in the dark. “See?” He bent over and snapped off a few sprigs.
“You have no idea what mistletoe is, do you?” Monique put her hand on her hips.
“Well, your customers probably won’t either after a few wine tastings.”
Laughing, she snatched the twigs from his hand and held them up to inspect. “I can’t take this weed and hang it over a doorway.”
“You’re right,” Trace said, inching closer. “We should test it out ourselves just to be sure. Be warned though, I'm positive what you have in your hand is the real deal.” Trace moved another step. “And although I’m not an expert, this lot has been in my family for years.” Excited by the way her eyes flashed, Trace could barely keep a straight face. He raised a brow and pressed. “My ancestors have passed the secrets of mistletoe down to me. It makes people do crazy things at Christmastime.” Monique backed up against a tree.
“Hmm. No place to run.” He smiled. “You hold the power of my lips in your hands.” Putting her hands behind her back, she locked her exquisite eyes on him and grinned. His heart somersaulted.
“Did you sleep at all?” Trace asked, hoping their kisses last night meant as much to her as they did to him. “Because I didn’t. I tossed and turned all night thinking about the way you taste. And then I got to wake up and see you first thing this morning.”
Without breaking the stare, Monique tilted her head up. Trace couldn’t be sure, but from the way she was angling her body, she appeared to be daring him to kiss her.
“Of course I thought about you.”
“And now here you are with some silly excuse about mistletoe when what you really want is to kiss me again.” He took the sprigs out of her hand and held them over Monique’s head. Her pretty eyes so full of mischief and heat made her lips impossible to resist. “See, it’s working.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be making deliveries today?” Her mouth was so close to his face her breath whispered against his chin.
“But I am.” Her skin smelled like warm vanilla and fresh, cool grass. He let his nose lead his lips to her cheek and he kissed it. “That's one delivery.” Her cheek rose in a smile under his lips. He moved to the other side of her face and kissed her there. “There's two.”
Monique reached up and cradled his face. His breath hitched. Pressing her soft curves against his chest, she tilted her head up and kissed him on the mouth. She nibbled his bottom lip, and he thought he'd explode.
“There's three,” she whispered against his lips.
Trace let go of the mistletoe and wrapped his arms around her. Tired of holding back, Trace kissed her with the passion he rediscovered last night, wishing he’d done it the second he had seen her in the gift shop. Monique's sensual kisses fanned the flame. There was nothing on this planet better than kissing her. Trace should've flown in from New York for this kiss alone.
Matching fire with fire, she ran her hands up and down his back. He tipped her into his arms, in a deeper kiss. Monique slipped her tongue into his mouth and slid it against his. The move sent Trace’s body racing from sixty to two hundred in less than a second. Wanting to feel her skin against his, he had to fight not to pull every piece of clothing off of her.
The fact he already loved her body and was very well acquainted with every delectable nook and curve made him shudder. Memories of how she felt when she trembled, the moaning sounds Monique made when she came, and the incredible ways they blew each other’s mind in bed flooded his brain.
They kissed like they were starving for each other. Pressing her hands against his cheeks, she tugged him closer. Trace dreamed of kissing her a hundred times after last night. He couldn’t stop himself from covering her cheeks with kisses and trailing down the delightful soft curve of her neck.
“I want you, Trace.”
Her words sent his wits spiraling out of control, and Trace reached for the buttons of her coat. Maybe they could find a soft bed of needles and a little privacy.
Putting a hand on his, Monique shook her head. “I can't stay. I have to get back to work and pick up Adele. Missy, one of her friends from preschool, invited her to a birthday party today.”
He swallowed a breath and put his arms around Monique’s waist. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he nuzzled behind her silky hair. “Can I come to your room later?”
“No,” she whispered. Her soft lips brushed against his cheek. “Nana's across the hall and Adele is next door. If anyone is visiting any room, it will be me.”
Surprised and entirely enthralled by what she’d just suggested, Trace lifted his head from Monique’s shoulder and mouthed, “Thank you God,” to the fake mistletoe bush.
Chapter Seven
Hot water from the tub's faucet warmed her toes again. Monique took a deep breath and submerged deeper into the vanilla bubbles. Lauren, the birthday girl’s mom, served hotdogs and hamburgers to the kids at Missy’s party, so Adele had come home with a full tummy and thoroughly exhausted. She fell fast asleep the moment Monique tucked her under the covers. With mommy duties on hold, Monique concentrated on Trace, not believing what she was about to do.
Trace had been right. After originally panicking over him being back in St. Helena and then having a subsequent conniption over making out with him in front of the Christmas tree, Monique now relived his kisses every waking hour. Although she’d needed mistletoe for the winery, she had gone to Napa Pines and Wines hoping to see him.
She opened the bathtub drain and, with the water gurgling, shaved her legs again.
Satisfied her skin was as smooth as it would ever be, she stepped out of the tub. Her knees shook. She hadn’t dated or slept with anyone since Jarod and had never considered a one-night stand before. And, ex-boyfriend or not, that’s exactly what Trace would be. With him leaving in days, anything that occurred tonight would have to be without strings.
She pulled a towel off the hook and reminded herself she didn’t have to fall in love with Trace again to sleep with him. Men managed to keep their hearts in check all the time. And so could she. After buffing her skin with a towel, she rifled through the bathroom closet and found the most expensive lotion she owned tucked in the back of the shelf. She slathered the cream over her body and the scent of white tea filled the steamy room.
Admonishing herself for the idea of hiding under her comforter, she gave herself a pep talk. When would she have the chance to be with anyone who used to be in love with her? Who better to satiate her loneliness and need for company than Trace?
Although her brain had prevented her from leaving her family and going on tour with him, her body would’ve jumped on board in a heartbeat. Although Monique couldn’t trust anyone in a long distance relationship after what Jarod did, she could let go of her anxiety for one night with Trace. Couldn’t she?
She slipped into a light blue teddy she’d bought on sale last year and had never worn. The silk fabric brushing against her skin felt decadent compared to the warm flannel she usually wore. Monique had saved the ensemble for a special occasion that never happened. It was the only sexy piece of lingerie she owned that looked halfway decent on her. After having Adele, her breasts and stoma
ch never bounced all the way back.
Monique strolled to her closet and squinted, perusing her options. The teddy came with a matching cover-up. But she didn’t bother rummaging for it and decided to play it safe in case Nana or any guests were still awake and milling around. She pulled her trusty Santa bathrobe off the hanger and put it on. This time she didn’t tie the sash in a knot.
Giddy swells of exhilaration and nerves coursed through her veins. Lightheaded even though she hadn’t had anything to drink, she vetoed a second thought of chickening out and left the room.
Slinking quietly like the sex ninja she’d become, Monique tiptoed through the darkened hall into the living room. The crotch of her teddy was already damp between her legs from just the thought of making love to Trace again. Stifling a thoroughly inappropriate laugh, one that roared to the surface at precisely the wrong time when she got nervous, she checked the hutch for something to take the edge off. The lights from the Christmas tree illuminated the room enough for her to grab two glasses and a bottle of Michael Santino’s killer cabernet.
Her footsteps creaked up the stairs. Monique peeked down the hall, praying none of the guests would see her standing in front of the lavender room. She inhaled a deep breath, felt it shudder through her lungs, and knocked. When she exhaled, Trace opened the door.
His devilish little smile made his lips curve up mostly on just one side. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He ushered her into the room, closed the door and took the wine and glasses from her. Placating her nerves, she leaned against the door while he put the bottle and stemware on top of a dresser.
“I didn’t think I’d be here either.” Monique chuckled. Before she could say, “Have you been waiting long?” Trace reached around her waist enveloping her in his muscled embrace and deliriously sensual cedar wood scent. She hadn’t been held by anyone over four feet tall in years. This gorgeous, talented man wanted her and she’d forgotten what it felt like. In another instant, Trace ran his hand up her spine and cupped the nape of her neck, tipping her back for a deep kiss, making her gasp against his mouth. She knew it way back then, and he confirmed it now—God put Trace's lips on Planet Earth to kiss her. End of story.