“We will not go down without a fight!” Dylan shouted, wielding a giant snowball above his head like a sword. But with three against two, and the stack of wood blocking their exit, they really didn’t have a chance.
* * * *
A few minutes later, the five of them headed back to the house, laughing, exhausted, drenched with melting snow and ice, and shivering from the cold.
“Don’t you get snow and yuck all over my kitchen floor,” Lola scolded, stopping them on the threshold. She and Pete took their sopping wet coats and gloves, and hung them on pegs beside the door. The group stepped out of their snow boots and left them on the back porch. Once inside, Lola handed them each steaming mugs of hot cocoa.
Francie lowered her face into the steam and breathed in the warmth and delicious smell. “Mm, this is perfect, Lola. Thank you.”
Lola smiled and gave her a hug. “This whole visit is perfect. So thank you.”
Francie understood the double meaning and blushed. Brianna gave them both a weird look and said to no one in particular, “I’m gonna change into dry clothes,” and disappeared up the stairs.
As the rest of them headed out to the great room to warm up in front of the fire, Pete said, “Those of you who are of age have a little something extra in your cocoa.”
“How about a little something more extra?” Nick said, and pulled a liquor bottle from one of the cabinets.
Francie sat down on the couch and took a sip. Yum. Tasted like Baileys. Her favorite. Dylan sat right next to her, close enough for their thighs to touch. A roaring fire blazed in the huge rock fireplace. She straightened her legs to reach her stockinged feet a bit closer to the flames.
She realized the girls were nowhere to be seen. That was never a good sign. “Uh, Molly and Macy…?” She met Lola’s eyes from where she stood in the kitchen putting more water to boil in the tea kettle.
Lola nodded her head toward the back of the house. “They’re lying in our bed watching a Christmas cartoon. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Francie smiled. “Of course not. It’s been a long, busy day for them. They’re probably ready for bed.” She scooted to the edge of the cushion to stand up, but Dylan tugged her back down, into his lap this time. Somehow, she didn’t spill the hot drink.
“Let’s finish our cocoa, then I’ll help you put them to bed.” His arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place.
She smirked at what she felt under her hip. She turned her head and whispered in his ear, “Is that the North Pole in your pants or are you just happy to see me, Santa?”
He chuckled and nipped at her earlobe, shooting shivers of pleasure across her skin. “I can’t wait to see you in your stilettos under the tree.” They both looked at the huge Christmas tree perched in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, its hundreds of twinkling lights reflected in the glass and in all the silver and gold balls hanging on the boughs. “Naked. Legs spread. Your body hot and aching for me. Your sweet mouth begging me to take you hard and fast.”
Oh, my. She crossed her legs to ease the throbbing between them at the fantasy he’d described. “In your dreams, Mr. Maguire.” To enunciate her point further and to torment him just as he tormented her, she wriggled her hips against his erection.
He growled into her ear, “Soon to be my fully realized dreams, Mrs. Maguire.” His hand slipped under her sweater at the waist, and he kneaded her bare skin.
Mrs. Maguire. She liked the sound of that. It just sounded… right. She wondered what Dylan thought about that, if anything. She also liked the feel of his hand on her bare skin. She liked it a little too much.
Katie Jo sat on the hearth and tasted her cocoa, then made a face. “Seriously, Dad? You didn’t put booze in mine?”
“You’re only eighteen,” Pete said.
Katie Jo rolled her eyes and met Francie’s gaze. “They’ll never think of me as a grown up.”
“That’s because you’re not,” Dylan said.
Katie Jo stuck out her tongue, stood up and headed into the kitchen, presumably to find the Baileys.
“I rest my case,” he said, chuckling.
Brianna came into the kitchen and popped her cocoa mug into the microwave. “I just poked my head into Mom and Dad’s room. The twins are both sound asleep. They’re so friggin’ adorable.”
Francie and Dylan both glanced the direction of the first floor master bedroom. His sister might not care for her, but at least she loved the girls.
“You might as well leave them there until you’re ready to go up,” Pete said.
They all talked a bit about the plans for tomorrow. In the morning, they’d go sledding on the hill just outside of town. Then later, while the girls napped, whoever was interested would go snowmobiling on the trails behind the house. Francie had never ridden on one before, so she looked forward to that. Then they’d all head into town for some last minute shopping and the Christmas tree star ceremony.
Francie stole glances at Brianna throughout the conversation, wondering what she must think about her brother getting married, the brother who used to date her best friend. She wondered if Sabrina really was upset about it, or was Brianna just trying to stir up trouble for whatever reason?
Nick brought out a bottle of tequila and shot glasses. Lola held up her hand and said, “None for me, thanks. Chemo brain already has me loopy enough.”
“Yeah, but we love you anyway, Ma.”
Katie Jo stood up. “Since I know I won’t be ‘allowed’ to have tequila…” She turned to Francie. “Do you care if I put the girls down for you?”
Francie’s eyes widened. “No, I don’t mind at all, but are you sure?” She started to get up. “They’re pretty heavy and they’ll probably wake up and—”
Dylan gripped her arm. “That’d be awesome, KJ. I don’t care what everyone else says about you, you’re not so bad.” He winked at her.
She flipped him off and headed toward the master bedroom.
Nick poured shots of tequila all around, including one for his mom. “You can sip it, Ma. It won’t kill you.” He held up his shot glass. “To my brother. He might be a royal pain in my ass—” Lola gasped and slapped his arm. “But I’m damn glad he made it home safe and sound. Love you, bro.”
Dylan lifted his glass to his brother. “Back atcha.”
Everyone downed their tequila in one gulp. Except Lola, who sipped. “So, D-Man,” Nick said, as he came around the room with the bottle again. “I’m sure you have lots of horror stories about that a-hole country you were in, but it couldn’t have been all bad. Tell us something good.”
“Something good,” Dylan muttered, as if he was thinking about it. Francie couldn’t imagine he had much to choose from.
Nick filled Francie’s glass. “You’re going to get me drunk,” she said.
“Yeah, well, my lame-ass brother needs all the help he can get.”
Dylan’s arm shot out to punch him, almost making Francie spill her drink, but Nick’s quick reflexes moved him out of harm’s way.
“Tell them that story about teaching your friend to dance,” Francie said before downing her drink.
Dylan chuckled. “Ah. Okay.” He gulped his drink then grabbed the tequila bottle from the coffee table and refilled it. “Eddie Romaine,” he said it with a Southern twang, “from Alabama,” he drew the name out. “‘Hey, Maguire!’ he yells across the DFAC one day—that’s the dining facility, sorry—‘I hear your wife is a ballroom dance instructor.’ I nod and say yeah, she is. Next thing I know, the guys have pushed aside the tables and Eddie Ro-maine is standing right in front of me, begging me to teach him how to dance. He wants to surprise his fiancé at their upcoming wedding when he gets home. ‘Dude’ I say to him, ‘I ain’t the dancer, my wife is.’ And he says, ‘Yeah, but she’s taught you a few things, right?’”
Dylan’s hand rubbed up and down Francie’s torso, against her bare skin, as he spoke. Think of the bet. Think of the bet. The tequila sat happily in her belly, and tendrils of a
nice warm buzz tiptoed through her veins.
“So I’m like, ‘Okay, fine. I’ll show you a few moves.’” Dylan motioned to Nick, and nudged Francie off his lap. “Dance with me, bro.”
Francie laughed and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t wait to see this.
Nick stood up and the two men squared off. Dylan showed him where to put his hands.
“Do I even want to know what’s going on?” Katie Jo asked from the bottom of the stairs, seeing her two older brothers in each other’s arms.
Everyone laughed. Francie said, “Dylan’s reenacting some dance moves from Afghanistan.”
When Katie Jo joined her on the couch, she said, “The girls are sound asleep. They barely woke up when I put them in their bed.”
Dylan and Nick paused in the middle of the room, and Dylan said, “Then I say to Eddie Ro-maine, ‘But the most important move if you really want to impress your girl, is this,’” and he slid his hands down to cup Nick’s ass.
Laughter rang out throughout the room. Lola said, “Did you actually teach him anything he could use at his wedding?”
“Yeah. I showed him a few steps, trying to remember what Francie taught me.” He met her eyes and grinned.
Desire shot her directly between the legs. Or maybe it was the tequila talking. Or both.
Dylan and Nick wrestled around a little bit, because apparently guys need to strut their testosterone after having a girly moment.
“Did you ever hear how his wedding dance went?” Brianna asked. Her evil glares toward Francie had lessened more and more with each shot of tequila.
Dylan and Nick punched each other hard in the arm, then sat back down again. Dylan slid in next to Francie, propping one foot on his opposite knee, and rested his arm across her shoulders. “Yeah, actually.” He turned to Francie. “I don’t think I ever told you this part.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then he turned to face the rest of the room.
Francie took a few sips from her glass, reminding herself not to get caught up in the moment.
“I emailed him after his wedding and asked him how it went. He said, and I quote, ‘It all went great until I had to dance with my new mother in law. She wasn’t too pleased when I put my hands on her ass.’”
Francie spewed tequila onto her lap.
* * * *
People started going to bed after that. First Katie Jo and Brianna. Then Pete. Dylan and Lola were in the kitchen, speaking in hushed voices while straightening up. Francie couldn’t tell if they were talking about anything serious or if they were just keeping their voices down because others had gone to bed.
Nick held up the almost empty tequila bottle to Francie. She shook her head. “No thank you. I reached my limit a couple of shots ago.” Yikes, her words were slurring a bit. She was kind of afraid to stand up, because she knew she’d probably have the spins. It had been a while since she’d had more than a glass of wine to drink.
She hadn’t had this much to drink since college, when she and Dylan first met. She was all about the studying. He was all about the partying. He’d introduced her to the dark side, and the naughty side. He’d ended up flunking out. She’d ended up pregnant with twins.
She pushed the memories aside, and focused on the feeling she had right now. She was warm and happy as she sat on the couch, her legs curled up under her, burning embers from the dying fire in front of her, the Christmas tree all aglow against the windows. Her gaze glued onto Dylan.
“My brother is a lucky man,” Nick said. He leaned back into the chair next to the couch, and he glanced back and forth between Dylan and Francie.
Well, he was about to get way luckier, she mused, then caught herself. One, sex wasn’t what Nick referred to. Well, she assumed it wasn’t, because that would be a bit eew. And two, if Dylan got lucky tonight, that meant she’d lost the bet.
So… was he going to get lucky?
She dragged her tequila-muddled brain back to Nick’s comment. “I’m the lucky one.” Hmm. She only sounded a little drunk. Good. “He’s everything I ever wanted in a husband.” Shit. Why did she say that out loud? And oh shit again, now she was crying. Because he was everything she wanted, and it was all going to end soon because she obviously wasn’t everything he wanted.
Nick looked at her with horror stamped across his face. “Uh, Dylan,” he called over his shoulder, snapping his fingers in the air. “Your wife, um, needs you.”
That just made Francie cry harder.
Dylan rushed around the kitchen island and over to her. “What’s going on?”
Francie didn’t know if he was speaking to her or Nick, but Nick answered, “I think she’s had a bit too much to drink.”
No, that’s not it at all, she wanted to say, but she was crying too hard.
Dylan helped her to her feet and when the room spun around her and she swayed, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She let him lead her to the stairs. When they got to the landing, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He didn’t kiss her back, but pushed her gently away from him. “Why don’t you want me, Dylan?” New tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Oh, baby, you know I do. But not like this.” They started up the stairs again. At the top, they paused while he opened the baby gate.
“I’m going to make you love me,” she said, stepping through it and into the upper hallway. She didn’t care about that stupid bet. Maybe if she showed him with her body how much she loved him, he would realize he loved her, too. She pulled her sweater over her head before they’d even gotten to their room.
Dylan rushed them inside and quietly shut the door behind them. A nightlight in a plug near the door was the only illumination. It was enough for her. She shoved him back against the door and fiddled with his fly. His fingers around her wrists didn’t stop her and she was able to slip one hand inside his jeans. Her fingers easily found his cock and wrapped around it. He was already hard in her hand.
At least his penis loved her.
“Francie,” he muttered, but she cut him off by covering his mouth with hers. As she kissed him, she worked her hand up and down his length, squeezing and releasing. He groaned against her mouth. “Francie,” he growled. “Stop.”
“No. You need to love me.” She dropped to her knees, anxious to prove to him how much she loved him.
She touched her tongue to him.
“Holy sh—enanigans.” Dylan’s fingers dug into her shoulders and pushed her away.
That was an odd reaction and not quite the one she’d expected. She glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at her. Was he mad? How could he be mad at her? She was only trying to—Wait. He wasn’t just staring off into space, he was looking at something.
She turned around and saw Molly and Macy curled up in their bed.
“Holy shit,” Francie muttered under her breath, and quickly stood up.
Chapter Six
December 24—Christmas Eve Day
“Good morning!” Lola chirped as Francie entered the kitchen the next morning, the bright sun shining off the snow outside and through the windows, causing her head to throb even more than it already was. The dogs lifted their heads from the beds near the back door, tails thumping a greeting against the floor. “How’s the thumb?”
My thumb? Oh. She glanced down at the hand with the bandage. “It’s fine. I totally forgot about it actually.”
“You look like you could use a strong cup of coffee.”
The smells of whatever Lola was cooking practically turned her stomach. “I certainly could.” Francie glanced out into the great room, where the girls sat on the floor, quietly playing with some stuffed animals. Dylan lay on the floor with them, but stood up when he saw her. “We didn’t get much sleep,” she explained, and headed straight for the coffee pot.
She hoped nobody brought up her outburst last night. She couldn’t believe she’d cried, right in front of Dylan, Lola and Nick. Thank God the rest of the family—especially Bri
anna—had already gone to bed.
Nick raised his hand to fist bump Dylan as walked by. “That’s what I’m talking about, bro!”
Dylan waved him off. “The girls were in our bed all night,” he explained, as he came into the kitchen.
And luckily the girls had been sound asleep when Francie had thrown herself at Dylan—the only positive take away from that embarrassing scene.
Lola paused in turning the sausage links. “In a full-size bed?”
He grimaced and stretched his back and waist a few times. “Don’t remind me.” He stepped up behind Francie and wrapped his arms around her, and she tried not to stiffen at his touch. “How you feeling this morning?” he whispered in her ear.
Wishing I could take back everything I said and did last night. She was never drinking again. “Like I’ve been run over by a cement truck. Other than that, I’m great.” She stirred sugar into her coffee, needing the energy burst. “How come I’m the only one who’s hungover?” she asked.
He kissed the side of her neck. “Because the Maguires are a bunch of lushes who can hold our liquor. Right, Ma?” He gave his mom a quick hug as she walked by with a carton of eggs.
“Speak for yourself.” She patted his cheek then rubbed Francie’s shoulder. “You sure you want to be part of this family, honey?”
Francie’s spoon clanked on the side of her coffee mug as she stirred in the half and half, and hoped nobody noticed she didn’t answer the question, even though the answer would have been a resounding Yes!
“We need to talk,” Dylan muttered in her ear.
“About?” Francie continued to stir the coffee.
“Some things you said last night.”
She blinked. Her skin burned. Coffee sloshed out of her mug and onto her hand and the counter from her suddenly rigorous stirring. “What do you mean?” She wiped her wet fingers onto her jeans. Unfortunately, she knew exactly what he meant. She’d practically begged him to love her and to tell her he loved her. God. How humiliating.
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