Just In Time for Christmas

by Kim Boykin

  “I’ve been trying to talk to you, but apparently you’ve been too busy. So, I’m here to help out. Free up some of your time.”

  “You are so full of shit, I ought to just leave your ass here,” she bit out, as the receptionist returned to her desk.

  “But you won’t leave,” he said. “You have to have everything perfect, and it would kill you to have me pick out stuff.”

  “Watch me,” she snapped, but didn’t budge.

  A lock of blond hair fell across her gorgeous face. He started to push it behind her ear when the door opened and a tall brunette entered the reception area.

  “Hi, I’m Terri,” the woman said, shaking Logan’s hand. “Sales manager here at Classic Party Rentals.

  “Logan Mauldin,” he said, “and this is Miranda.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you two. I’m sorry Jemma had to dash to her kids’ school. The twins have a stomach virus. So I’ll be working on your event.”

  “Don’t take it personally if Miranda has to leave too. She’s really busy,” Logan said. “But I can make any decisions that have to be made.”

  “Oh, well,” Terri said, hesitantly. “Would you like to reschedule, Miranda?”

  “I’m not that busy, Logan.” Her smile was sweet, but the vibe she was giving off said, given half the chance, she’d kill him.

  Terri handed each of them a bottle of water. “Okay, I’ll try to make this snappy.” Tapping away on her iPad. She led them to the showroom with a small fancy tent pitched in the center. “I haven’t looked over Jemma’s notes, but I’m sure we can get you squared away so you can just relax until the big day.”

  “Thank you, Terri. I’m sorry if I seem a little frazzled. I just want to make sure everything’s perfect,” Miranda said.

  “Of course you do, honey” Terri said. “Now how many people are we expecting?”

  “Two—” Miranda said.

  “Possibly three hundred,” Logan added.

  “Will it be a sit down affair?” Terri asked.

  “Open bar,” Logan said.

  “Heavy hors d’oeuvres, and, yes, at least six bars. We’ll want round tables with chairs and plenty of high top tables scattered about,” Miranda said.

  “DJ or Band?” Terri asked.

  “Band,” they said together.

  “So you’ll definitely need a dance floor.”

  “For me, yes,” Logan smirked. “Miranda doesn’t dance.”

  At least, not with him. Miranda glared at him and turned up her water.

  He unscrewed the cap and did the same, wishing for something a hell of a lot more potent than water.

  “Don’t be silly,” Terri said, “every bride should dance at her wedding.”

  Water spewed in unison.

  “What?” Logan rasped. “This isn’t for a—”

  “Wedding,” Miranda wheezed. “We’re not getting—”

  “Married,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Terri said. “You were fighting like you’re getting married. Even finishing each other’s sentences.” Red faced, she thumbed through the pages on her iPad. “We are talking about the Mauldin wedding, right? New Year’s Eve?”

  “That’s my brother, Trent,” Logan said. “We’re here for the Magnolia Bay—.”

  “Cotillion,” Miranda sputtered. “We don’t even like each other.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Terri said.

  *

  An hour later, Miranda and Logan were thanking Terri, who was still apologizing all over the place about confusing them with Trent and Darcy. But they’d completed all the plans for the cotillion along with getting incremental numbers in case the event did outgrow the City Garden’s.

  And Logan had actually negotiated a ten percent discount since the cotillion was a charitable event. Something Miranda might have thought about if she hadn’t been so flustered that he was here. Why did he fluster her so? Why did just being in the same room with him both excite and exasperate the hell out of her?

  As they exited the building, his hand settled on the small of her back. Her body thrummed as he followed her to the parking lot. She moved away from him, breaking the connection, making logical thought almost possible.

  She should thank him. Really? Because he pretty much crashed her meeting. But he had been helpful, saving the city a bunch of money. If everything went well, her mom’s foundation would receive a much bigger chunk of profits than in previous years. Then, he’d spewed his drink at the very idea of being married. To her. But then, so did she.

  Abruptly, she turned to offer a nice Southern girl thank-you and ran smack into the hard muscled chest that had started this whole mess in the first place. And when she almost toppled on her too-high heels, his arms wrapped around her to steady her at first, then they tightened.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

  “Why are you running from me?” he said. The traffic whizzed by, taking her good sense with it. Her hands fisted in his shirt.

  “This is a bad idea, Logan. Let me go.” She didn’t even sound convincing to herself.

  “It’s a good idea.” He tilted her chin up. “A very good idea.” He pressed her against the car parked beside hers, dipped his head. His kiss was more sweet than hot, but that didn’t stop the triple shot of lust and something she couldn’t name, or didn’t want to name, from going crazy.

  She should have cared that the world was whizzing by on Coleman Boulevard, but she didn’t. When the kiss ended, Miranda pulled away from him, totally befuddled as to what had just happened. Again.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  “Excuse me,” Terri said. “I need to get into my car.”

  Miranda pushed Logan away and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Yes, of course. So sorry.”

  Terri backed out of the space and rolled down her window. “I forgot to give you my business card,” she smirked. “I think you’re going to need it.”

  Miranda took the card, got in her car, and tossed it on the seat beside her. Backing out, she glanced down at it, then nearly plowed into Logan’s car as he was leaving. She snatched up the card for a better look. Terri Seed, sales director and wedding planner.

  Not happening.

  Chapter Nine

  ‡

  She’d said no, but that wasn’t what her body or that breathy little sigh had said when he kissed her. It didn’t make any sense. When he’d taken Miranda out, they’d had a good time. Teasing her about Christmas was a bonehead move, but, by the time he got her home, she seemed to have rebounded. Still, when he asked to take her out again, she’d said no. He’d given her a couple days and asked again. Same answer. But kissing her at the party rental place, he got a totally different, albeit nonverbal, answer.

  He wasn’t going to beg, he’d leave that to Trent. But she was confusing the hell out of him saying no one minute and bidding in that stupid auction the next. Yeah, he’d downloaded the app, so that every time someone placed a bid on him, his phone pinged. She was turning him down, but was still bidding on him. What did that mean?

  He walked into Bottoms Up and scanned the room for his brothers. They were playing pool in the back with some skinny teenager. Trent and Tanner against Dane and the kid. Dane was good, but the kid was better; Trent and Tanner were losing big time.

  The kid made the final shot and high-fived Dane who was crowing. “Oh, the twins here went down. Pay up big brothers.”

  “Come on. Double or nothing,” Tanner said.

  “That was double or nothing, bro. We kicked your ass twice. Pay up.” Dane rifled through the cash his brothers begrudgingly handed over and gave the kid his cut. “Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime,” the kid said and sauntered off.

  “You’re late, and you owe me a beer,” Trent said to Logan.

  “I don’t owe you anything,” Logan said, fist bumping Dane.

  “You’re a shitty pool player, me and Tanner always beat you and Dane. If you’d been here,
we wouldn’t have lost,” Trent said.

  “Trent’s having a bad day,” Tanner motioned to the waitress to bring four beers. “Darcy made him go to the bridal show at the convention center. He was there all day, and then we lost to that punk ass kid who is definitely a ringer.”

  “You.” Trent pointed to Logan. “Owe. Me.”

  “Bullshit.” Logan sat down at a high top table and his brothers joined him.

  “You do,” Trent said. “Thanks to you we lost, and the last time I saw you, I left you with six beautiful women. You owe me.”

  “Heard about that,” Dane smirked. “You and Miranda? You kill each other yet?”

  “Shut up, Dane,” Logan said, snagging his beer from the waitress.

  Logan turned his beer up smiling. His brothers kept giving him shit, but it was all just noise. He didn’t hear a word they said after she pushed through the door of the bar. Then, he wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked sexy as hell dressed up in some kind of silky looking white blouse, a short pencil thin brown skirt. Tall brown boots. And she was with the same guy he’d seen her with at Crusoe’s, when he let this crazy thing between him and Miranda get out of hand.

  She laughed as the guy said something to her with a cocky grin, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her to a table. Logan’s first inclination was Neanderthal. Beat the shit out of the guy. Haul her back to his man cave. Keep her. But nobody made Miranda Hamilton do anything she didn’t want to do, and as much as he’d wanted her, and had made it know that he wanted her, there was only one thing to do. Leave.

  By now, his brothers had figured out what had his attention. “Sorry, man,” Trent said, clapping him on the back.

  “Save it,” Logan said. “I’m out of here.” He drained his beer and put the bottle down on the table. His brothers must have felt bad for him. Real bad because they didn’t say a word.

  The asshole with her said something as she was checking her phone, she was smiling, clicking away. Screw it. He was just out the door when his phone pinged with another bid on the bachelor auction website. Miranda Hamilton $425. WTF?

  *

  “Miranda?”

  Watching Logan leave, she’d barely heard John. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you were okay. You just seem distracted,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking into John’s eyes. Smiling.

  But that wasn’t true. She needed to stop bidding on Logan, and just let him go. She’d run the bid way up, so far that if she got caught, she’d have to dip into her savings. But, as usual, Pammy Anderson was making her crazy enough to do things she wouldn’t normally do. Like buy a date with Logan Mauldin, which she really didn’t want, but she’d be damned if she’d let Pammy win him. Again.

  “You play pool?” he asked, nodding toward the back of the bar. Logan’s brothers were sitting at a table. They’d no doubt tell him she was on a hot date with the very yummy John Jackson, that she was taken. For tonight, at least, but he didn’t need to know that part. She liked John; she wanted to like him more.

  But that whole legend with the mistletoe berries had screwed with her head. Not that she believed Lowcountry tradition meant anything. It didn’t. But Logan Mauldin had obviously thought he’d had her standing under that mistletoe and plucking off berries. He was wrong. And playing pool with John Jackson with the Mauldin brothers as an audience might just be a good way to prove it.

  “A little,” she smiled.

  “Want me to show you how?” John asked, finishing his beer.

  “I bet you’d like that,” she said.

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked back to the tables. She felt the Mauldin brothers’ eyes on her. She picked a pool cue and dusted the wrong end, making John laugh.

  “So what are we going to bet?” she asked sweetly.

  “Anything you want,” he grinned, dusting the tip of his cue stick.

  “How about if you lose you make a nice donation to my mom’s foundation?”

  “And if I win? That’s got to be worth a kiss?” he teased.

  “Okay, but you’ll be getting one of those anyway,” she laughed.

  “You’re on.”

  “Ladies first,” she smiled, dusting the proper end of the stick and rocking her head from side to side to loosen up. “You play Alabama eight ball, Missouri, or straight eight ball?”

  “I am so screwed,” he said, leaning against his stick.

  Yeah, he’d be doing a lot of that in the next few minutes.

  They’d attracted quite an audience; it was usually like that when Miranda ran the table. Even the Mauldin boys were looking on, envious of the skills her daddy had taught her. She’d just beaten the snot out of John and was finishing up a second game to win best two out of three.

  “Screw you, Trent. Next time I need a partner, I’m calling Miranda,” she heard Tanner say. She lined up her shot, grinning from ear at the last two balls still on the table.

  “Over Logan’s dead body,” Trent said, making Miranda miss.

  The whole crowd oohed. As much as she hated to lose, she couldn’t help but smile at John’s shit-eater’s grin. “For a kiss,” he announced to the crowd.

  The two ball disappeared, and then he called the eight ball, side right pocket. The crowd erupted when he holed the last shot, and he grabbed her around the waist. “Looks like I owe you some money, and you owe me a kiss.”

  He moved in, and she scooted away. Why was that? Because Logan’s brothers were there? “Save it handsome. We’re even. Wanna go two out of three?”

  “You’re on,” he said.

  Yes, she definitely wanted to kiss John Jackson, and proved it by missing the first shot.

  An hour later, after he ran the table, they were standing on her doorstep. And instead of asking the very sexy lawyer inside, she was trying think of a good reason not to. Thankfully, she heard her guests still up in the living room.

  “Thanks, John. I had a really good time.”

  A mistletoe berry fell from above them, hit him on the head, and rolled across the porch. “Hold on,” he said. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”

  “You know there’s a Magnolia Bay tradition. Pick a berry off for each kiss, and whoever picks the last berry off the mistletoe gets the girl.”

  “Don’t want to waste a good tradition,” he said and then cupped her face in his hand; his fingers moved into her hair and he kissed her. Still a good solid eight on the Six Chick’s scale, but he seemed to be the only one who was aware something was lacking.

  He smiled and picked a berry out of the mistletoe. There were maybe two-dozen berries still left on the tangled sprig, most of them would fall off by themselves. But it seemed some of those berries were vying to be the stuff Christmas miracles were made of.

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  Two and a half weeks later, Miranda was still trying not to think about Logan. And she did a pretty good job until she went to sleep. In her dreams, she and Logan didn’t go to Fiery Ron’s; he simply knocked on her door, and when she opened it, she tackled him. He’d caught her, and she’d wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to her bed.

  Sometimes the sex was hard and fast. Other nights, he drove her out of her ever-loving mind, teasing her, pleasing her. She’d never actually felt his naked body pressed against hers before, but if he was a fraction of how hot and hard as he was her dreams, she was a goner. Not to mention that Pammy wormed her way into the dream at some point, ruining everything and making Miranda wish she hadn’t started anything with Logan in the first place. Then she’d wake up all hot and sweaty, her body humming with anticipation of his. Yeah, starting anything with Logan Mauldin was a bad idea.

  Lately, she’d done her best to get him out off of her head and out of her dreams. She’d gone out with John a half dozen times in the past few weeks, hoping he could keep her mind and her libido off of Logan, but no such luck. She’d Googled “how to program
your dreams?” And it had worked, at first anyway. Turned out John was quite capable of hot dreamy monkey sex, only one second he was buried inside Miranda and the next minute, she was screaming Logan’s name and looking into his gorgeous green eyes as he came inside her.

  So much for editing dreams. It didn’t help that she checked the bachelor auction webpage every ten seconds. Damn Pammy Anderson for having that app created. God only knew how high the bidding would go when the bachelors became part of the live auction at the cotillion.

  Every time Miranda swore she wasn’t going to look again, she broke down only to see if Pammy had the top spot. Then, another name would pop up beside Logan’s pretty face. Lately, it seemed that Pammy and Candice Taylor had taken over the bidding war, and they were in a different stratosphere when it came to money. But, if for some reason Miranda really did lose her mind and place one more bid, she’d have to shell out well over five hundred dollars, just so Pammy couldn’t have Logan. Was that what this whole thing was all about?

  Still, a word of encouragement to Candice couldn’t hurt. Could it? And Logan said he didn’t know her so, the chances of him not knowing she’d contacted Candice were good. She typed a message into the Cat Fight chat box and hit Enter.

  Miranda: Hi, Candice.

  An answer came back within seconds.

  Candice: Hi.

  Miranda: I see you have very good taste, bidding on one of our Magnolia Bay hotties. Do you know Logan?

  Candice: No. I don’t.

  Miranda: The bidding on him is really getting pricey. Shocker :) Do you have any questions I can answer?

  Candice: It would be good to get another woman’s perspective.

  Miranda: LOL. I have known him forever. What do you want to know?

  Candice: What do you like most about him?

  Miranda: He’s great. The perfect Christmas present for yourself :)

  Candice: Doesn’t tell me much :)

  Miranda: Okay. He’s very good looking. Gorgeous, actually. He’s charming, incredibly sexy, and best of all, he’s a really good guy.