The Grump Who Stole Christmas: Kringle Family Christmas Book One

by S Doyle

  “You want to kiss me now, don’t you?” I teased. “Even though I can’t change a tire.”

  “I’m just wondering if you have any talents besides cooking and eggnog.”

  “Let’s see,” I said, smiling, bending down in absolute anticipation of what she was going to taste like.

  “Hey! Is anyone home? Dad? Kris? Paul?”

  Like teenagers caught snogging on a couch in the basement, we pulled away from each other and focused on the last of the dishes in the sink.

  Ethan walked into the kitchen and I was fairly certain my dick had softened enough for me to turn around and say hello without embarrassing myself.

  “Hey, Ethan,” I said. Nothing happening here, I thought.

  “Paul,” he said, acknowledging me, before he turned his focus on his sister. “Kris, what the hell is Jasmine arranging? What is supposed to be happening tomorrow?”

  “We’re going to pick up our very famous brother from the airport who is home for Christmas.”

  Ethan grimaced. “I don’t have time for this, Kris. Okay? I’ve got a town to run. Forget the fact that if I see Matt, I’m most likely going to want to punch him in the face, but I don’t have time for bullshit nonsense.”

  “It’s not bullshit nonsense. We need some press coverage if we’re going to save the season, and we need to save the season if we’re going to save the inn. I’m the oldest and I say you’re going to show up tomorrow in your best suit and we’re both going to be thrilled that our baby brother has decided to grace us with his presence for the holidays.”

  “Boss Lady,” I muttered. Both Kay-Kay and Ethan glared at me. “What? She’s good at it.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it, if you say it’s that important,” Ethan said grudgingly.

  “It is.”

  “But this better go well,” Ethan said, sitting down at the kitchen table, loosening his tie as he did. “I’m the one who lives in this town, who wants to be mayor. I’m the City Council President now for Pete’s sake! What I don’t need is you and Matt coming in, messing everything up, before you both conveniently leave again.”

  “Do you resent me, Ethan?” Kay-Kay asked her brother.

  “What?”

  “For leaving. For living in New York, while you stayed here and looked after Dad. Especially after Mom died. Did you think I should come home? For good?”

  He shifted in his chair, lifted his hands, and then set them carefully on the kitchen table. “Kris, no. Your life is in New York. I understand that. Dad does too. And you didn’t hesitate to come when I called you. That’s all I can ask.”

  “But if I did decide to move home. That would make things easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

  Answer, yes, stupid.

  The thought came and went before I could control it. I had no say in Kay-Kay’s future here. We were just…playing.

  Teasing.

  Having a little fun.

  Would we have kissed if Ethan hadn’t interrupted us? Sure. Would it have gone anywhere?

  No. I wouldn’t have let it. I was too old for casual hookups. I meant what I’d told her. I was ready to get serious. To look for a wife. To find someone who did have a family as a goal. Whether that meant kids or dogs it didn’t matter. I wanted a life partner who wanted to slow down and enjoy the little things with me.

  Boss Lady was beautiful. She was smart and funny and I loved her snarky personality. But she was not for me. Not for the man I wanted to be. The arborist who lived in Salt Springs and ran a tree farm.

  “Well, I’m going to call it a night,” I announced. “Good luck with everything tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to bed?” Kay-Kay asked me. “Now? Like, bed, bed.”

  “Like bed, bed,” I said, then faked a yawn hoping she understood the message.

  We’d gotten lucky with the interruption. I was starting to…think things. Sexy things.

  If I let myself go down that path, an affair with Pop’s daughter, it would just make things awkward in the future.

  When she came home the next time and I was dating the future Mrs. McCleer.

  This was for the best. At least that’s what I told myself.

  11

  Later That Night

  Kristen

  Men, I thought, lying in bed, unable to sleep. Why did they have to be so freaking complicated? Why couldn’t they just be clear about what they wanted, when they wanted it? Instead, it felt like Paul was playing games with me.

  Did he want to kiss me? Was he just playing with me?

  If Ethan hadn’t walked in, would it have actually happened, or would he have pulled away at the last second?

  Like Lucy pulling away the football. Only I didn’t know if I even wanted his football.

  I didn’t have time for footballs. I had to save the inn, help my dad.

  There were decisions to make. Big life decisions that were going to have a major impact on my future.

  “Screw him and his football,” I said aloud to the empty room. Only that wasn’t enough. Saying the things out loud so I could hear them only helped sometimes. But this was bottling up inside me and I knew it would only be made better if he actually heard me.

  Pushing the covers up, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

  I stood up and stepped toward my bedroom door and stopped.

  “Am I actually considering going into his room and telling him I don’t want his football?”

  Yes, that’s why you’re standing up.

  “Is he going to know what I mean when I say football?”

  No, probably not. You should tell him firmly that kissing is off the table.

  “Do I want kissing to be off the table?”

  Do you want me to answer that honestly?

  Ugh. I couldn’t lie about it. Apparently, I’d now lost the ability to be in denial about anything.

  Denial was a very useful tool when used effectively.

  “He came into my room. Twice. Going to his room is simply a question of turnabout is fair play.”

  I’m not entirely certain I even knew specifically what turnabout is fair play meant, I just knew it motivated me enough to open my door and sneak down the hallway to Ethan’s old room. I stood outside the door and pressed my ear against it.

  If Paul was sleeping, I wasn’t going to wake him up to tell him I didn’t want his football. What if he was a quiet sleeper though? I mean, sure, he looked like a guy who would snore. Big chest, burly beard.

  I didn’t think there was any physical correlation between beards and snoring, but somehow it seemed logical.

  What if he slept like Snow White instead?

  There was only way to know for sure. I turned the knob on the door and listened to it creak as I turned it. I should probably get some lubricant for that.

  I opened the door the door just a crack, enough so I could peek in. It was dark and there was that ever-present smell of…guy. Same as when my brothers used to live here. I couldn’t put a name on all of the smells, sweat, cologne, soap, testosterone. I just knew it blended into the aroma I’d always referred to as guy-smell.

  This guy-smell came with a hint of pine needles, which made my body tingle a bit.

  “Are you just going to stand there watching me sleep the whole night, or are you going to come inside?”

  His low voice startled me so much I jumped and squeaked like a girl.

  When my heart stopped racing, I stared down at the other end of the hallway to see if I might have woken up my dad, but I knew from previous experience he slept like the dead.

  A total snorer.

  I stepped inside the room and shut the door behind me.

  “Were you awake the entire time?” I asked him.

  There was enough moonlight coming through the window that I could see he was lying on the bed, his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Yep. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “I just wanted to tell you, I don’t need your football.
”

  He turned his head in my direction. I could see his eyes now, which were pinned on me.

  “You don’t, huh?”

  “No. I’ve got big life things happening right now, so you teasing me with a kiss and then walking away is the last thing I need on my plate.”

  “Kay-Kay, why do I still think you’re holding back a secret you want to tell someone?”

  “I don’t,” I said defensively, wrapping my arms around my middle.

  A second passed and I felt stupid. Here I was, in his room, telling him I didn’t want him to kiss me, but the fact that I wasn’t leaving kind of told its own story.

  “You going to come over here or what?” he said.

  “No,” I immediately replied. “I’ve said what I wanted to say and now I’m going to go back to my room. I just wanted to make sure we were clear on what didn’t happen in the kitchen earlier.”

  “Yeah, I thought I was clear about it too. Doesn’t make sense for us to start something when you’re headed back to New York. Next time you come home for a visit, I hope I’m dating, if not engaged to, the future Mrs. McCleer.”

  Why that piece of information landed like a blow to the gut I wasn’t sure.

  “You think you can be cool with her?” he asked me.

  “With who?”

  “The future Mrs. McCleer.”

  I shook my head. “Wait a minute, you’re asking me if you think I can be cool with some unknown woman in the future who you haven’t met yet?”

  “That’s what I’m asking.”

  I did some mental calculations. I’m pretty sure kissing was at stake here.

  “Yeah, I think I can be totally cool with her. I’ll probably even like her. We’ll get to know each other. Have lunches and spa days together. It will be fun.”

  He sat up then, his legs falling off the side of the bed, spreading just wide enough for a person of my size to fit in between.

  “That’s good to know. Come here.”

  I hesitated, but then that whole being honest with myself kicked in again. I wanted this. I’d come here for this. He had concerns, too, which made sense. Neither one of us had any room on our plates for mild flirtation.

  But everything was going so wrong. My life, my dad, my brothers, the family inn. All of it was a struggle and I just wanted…a break.

  I stepped between his legs, and even though I was standing and he was still sitting on the bed, it felt like he dwarfed me. His hands came to my hips, but I still wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, so I wrapped them around my stomach again.

  “We’re not going to fuck.”

  The way he said it, deep and low, made the bottom of my stomach immediately drop, and now all I could feel was a surge of wet between my legs.

  “I wouldn’t do that to your dad. It’s not respectful in his home, under his roof,” he continued. “Beyond that, we both know that this, whatever this is, is temporary. If we don’t take it too far…if we keep things light…then it will be easier to walk away.”

  “I agree,” I said softly. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. You know. Fucking.”

  It never sounded as hot when I said it. Probably because I always felt like I was tripping over the word. I blame my mother and her insistence that swearing was for other people, which she’d drilled into us as kids.

  “Okay,” he said, reaching up to brush my bottom lip with his thumb. “Then let’s make out.”

  He guided me until I was sitting on one of his thighs. The bulk of it underneath my butt was truly impressive. I wiggled a bit and could feel the outline of his muscles.

  “I have a bony ass,” I admitted. I don’t know why, I just felt like I had to apologize for my lack of cushion in that area.

  “Bony ass, huh?”

  “That’s what they used to call me behind my back, actually. Bony Ass Boss Lady. Sometimes Bitch Lady, but the gist was the same.”

  “Who called you that?”

  “Everyone underneath me who had aspirations of taking my job. I wasn’t a bitch to the people I worked with. I don’t want you to think I was that kind of manager. I was always professional and respectful to everyone. But when you’re in that life, people are gunning for you, so they have to label you as something.”

  “Yeah, I know. They called me Junior.”

  I huffed out a laugh and now I knew what to do with my hands. I wrapped an arm around his neck and snuggled closer to his chest.

  “Calling you Junior sounds ridiculous,” I said softly. Geesh, he felt good. Warm and steady underneath me.

  “It was. I wasn’t in the position I was in just because I was Paul McCleer Sr.’s son. I dedicated myself to the science of agriculture. I traveled the world looking for the best ideas on how to grow things. I understood the convergence of respecting the climate while still making a profit. I was fucking damn good at my job.”

  “Which is why they called you Junior,” I reminded him. “It’s just a game. To get in your head. To feel less threatened by you.”

  “Yeah. I know. It’s why I left. Nothing felt real anymore. All of it was a game. I wanted something more real.”

  “Something not like me then.” I sighed.

  This wasn’t a good idea. I knew it. He knew it. We both said it. I needed to get off his lap and go back to my own room.

  “No, Kay-Kay,” he said, capturing my chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Right now, you’re in my lap. Us whispering to each other like this in the dark. Feels as real as it gets.”

  Then he kissed me and it felt like everything else about him. Warm and steady. There were no tricks, no angles, no attempts to impress me with any particular skills. Just like I wasn’t trying to impress him.

  When was the last time I’d kissed someone without being stuck in my head? About what it meant, where it was going. Was this person a potential partner or a one-night stand? Would I seem easy, or prudish? What would they think of me afterward? Did I care?

  But all of that went away sitting here in the dark on Paul’s lap. Kissing him, letting him kiss me. Our tongues touched. Our breaths melded. We broke apart only to go back for more. It felt like high school when the only goal was the kiss.

  Without all the desperation and sweaty hands.

  “Kay,” he said against my mouth, then pressed his forehead to mine. “We’ve got to stop.”

  “Nooo,” I crooned, and dipped my head to suck gently on his earlobe.

  “You taste too good,” he groaned. “I’m wanting things I don’t have any business wanting.”

  But he smelled so good and his body heat wrapped me up like the best blanket. It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t have a little bit of this right now. I’d been through so much.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away. Then he dipped his head to nip at my earlobe, and I could see how entirely unfair that was, because it only made me want more. Like his lips and teeth on my neck. Yes, just like that.

  I’d always pulled away when any guy got too aggressive sucking on my neck. I never wanted some mark there that let the world know what I’d been doing the night before. So it was strange to want that mark now. To want to feel the pressure of Paul’s mouth on my neck and know that tomorrow, I would still feel him there. Still see him there.

  I was also wanting things I didn’t have any business wanting.

  He was right. We needed to stop. This all felt too good and that was trouble. After all, there was the future Mrs. McCleer I had to consider.

  If we were going to be cool and have lunch and spa days together, I didn’t want to think about her husband sucking on my neck while we were doing it.

  I must have tensed a little, because Paul immediately stopped and pulled his mouth away.

  I was wet between my legs, my nipples were hard, my lips were puffy from kisses. I was going to feel my body all night long and part of me wanted to be frustrated about that, but the other part knew that stopping now, before it went too far, made more sense.

  We were both sighing softly.
>
  “You going to make yourself come when you get back to your bed?” he whispered in my ear.

  It made sense. Finish myself off. Have a nice orgasm. Because that’s all I tended to have when I bothered to touch myself. Nice little orgasms.

  I shook my head. “No, I think I want to feel the ache. Everyone is always racing to the end, but there’s something to be said about the ache.”

  He laughed softly against my ear. “Okay, then. I won’t either. Won’t touch myself thinking about you touching yourself. Won’t come. We’ll just sleep in the ache.”

  I smiled. I liked that. I liked that he understood me and that we would be in the same place together. I got off his lap and felt his arms fall away from me.

  Reluctantly? Maybe.

  I didn’t say anything as I left. Good night seemed too dull. Anything else might give away too much.

  I reached for the door handle, but suddenly I felt a rush of movement and then he was there, his body pressed up against my back, his thighs pressing into the back of mine. I could feel his erection through the boxer briefs he was wearing and I wanted to push back and rub up against him so bad.

  “Hey, just so you know. I really like your bony ass.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, Kay. I really do. Anyone ever calls you something you don’t like, you tell me and I’ll…”

  “Beat them up? Take them out? Crush them with your mighty ax?”

  “That’s a little violent of you,” he said, and there it was. That hint of teasing back in his voice. He was trying to end this on a light note, not a somber one. “I was thinking I would just reach out to you and make sure your feelings weren’t too hurt.”

  “Hmm. That doesn’t feel like boyfriend material. Guess you’re right. I’m going to have to find someone who wants to wear the pants in this family.”

  “You can do that, but he won’t come with my pasta recipes.”

  He snickered and so did I. Then I felt him putting distance between us as he moved back toward the bed.

  Reluctantly? Maybe.

  I was about to leave when something occurred to me and I whirled around to confront him.

  “Wait. Recipes? You can cook more than one pasta dish?”