by M. Q. Barber
“What?” The talk stuck in his head with the permanence of acid-etched metal. “I remember—her conversation, her laugh, her scent. Nora’s the one. I just need to get my head wrapped around this proposal, give her the proper scale. Something grand she’ll remember, so she’ll never wonder how much I love her.”
“Robin. Ain’t one big thing does that, son.” His voice gruff, hoarse from the cold, maybe, Daddy rubbed his wedding band. “It’s a lifetime of little ones. You show her every day, and she won’t forget. Take it from a man married forty-one years.”
The towering non-right-ness toppled. His nagging suspicions hadn’t let him settle on any one scheme because none would do. Elaborate plans wouldn’t make Nora any more or less his wife. She’d hate the secrecy. Other folks knowing before her, and he’d have to keep details from her. Go behind her back.
No.
Not even for a good cause. Sneaky behavior would put her on edge for no reason, and they’d worked hard together to create the security she needed. Trust and honesty trumped impressing her with flash and polish. Trust and honesty, every day of their lives.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“Mm-hmm.” A hard squeeze and two pats graced his shoulders. “Time to get some sleep. Kids’ll be up early clamoring to unwrap all those boxes.”
Santa’s cookies and milk had been half-consumed and the soot trail laid. The presents engulfed the base of the tree. His siblings and their spouses ambled up the stairs with Mama shooing them along.
Nora raised her cocoa mug and quirked a smile at him. “I should rinse this out. I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll do it.” He cupped his hands around hers and kissed her cheek. “Wait for me?”
“As long as you need me to,” she whispered. “Same promise you made to me.”
Christ. This woman. He took her mug and tiptoed into the kitchen. Chocolate residue rinsed clear, the mug claimed a spot on the drain board with the rest. Silence settled over the house, not even a rustle from the pile of sleeping children on the floor in the family room.
He threaded his way back through the dining room, circling the broad table with its extra leaves for fitting the whole family around. The arch framed Nora in the parlor between the brick fireplace and the red-and-gold bows and baubles on the tree. Back turned, she traced the letters on the newest stocking hanging from the mantel. The quilted green and white base matched his own, hanging alongside, but the bright red embroidery spelled out Nora in Mama’s neat stitching.
Not a moment to themselves all day, not since the gentle alarm-clock kiss he’d given her eighteen hours gone. He dug in his pocket. The right moment, precious and perfect, and theirs alone. A lifetime of small gestures. Ring clutched in a thumb-and-forefinger grip, he stepped through the arch.
She smiled as she turned. “Did you get lost—” Her gaze dropped, and her voice trembled. “Rob.”
“Nora.” His lungs flat-out refused to suck in enough air. “Nora.”
Words failed. All the pretty speeches blanked. He’d never choked so hard in a crisis, as time slowed and stopped and the whole world filled up with her. Honey brown hair fell in waves around her face. Head tilted, lips parting, eyes gleaming, she stood surrounded by the soft glow of white lights on the Christmas tree.
“Marry me.” He raised the ring in offering, his arm operating on brilliant instinct instead of waiting for his head to catch up. His heart and soul would have to do. “I want to wake up beside you every morning and thank God for trusting me with such an amazing woman. I want to be a worthy partner to you. I want to be a man you can rely on, a man whose love you can believe in. Marry me, Nora Howard, and I promise you I will be faithful, and true, and yours, every day of my life.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth, her hands shaking, and tears streamed down her cheeks. But she bobbed her head in an unbroken cascade of nods, and his heartbeat started up again.
“Yes.” Voice thick and sniffly, she reached out for him. “Yes, yes, you could ask me a thousand times, Robin Vanderhoff, and the answer for you will always be yes.”
He swept her up toward the ceiling with a shout, swung her down, and kissed her. She tasted of peppermint and chocolate from the candy cane swizzle stick in her cocoa. The ring slipped onto her finger with a gentle nudge.
A thundering herd of little stocking feet thudded and slid through the house. “It’s Santa! Santa’s here!”
“That’s not Santa.” Hair sticking up every which way, Sara’s nine-year-old made a gagging face, complete with sound effects. “That’s just Uncle Rob kissing Aunt Nora.”
“But he was here—look, presents! And the stockings are full, and the cookies are gone.”
“Why’s Aunt Nora crying? Didn’t Santa bring her anything?”
“Footprints! Uncle Rob, did you see Santa come down the chimney? Did he say what he brought? Did you tell him I was an extra good boy this year?”
The children swarmed around them to reach the tree. He set Nora back on her feet with care and pressed their foreheads together. “Sorry, honey girl. I wanted to make this memorable.”
“It is.” She kissed his cheek. “You did.” She smoothed the button flap at the top of his Henley. “How could I forget the night you kept your shirt on?”
Their laughter melted together beneath the din of excitable kids.
The hall lights snapped on above the stairs. “What in the devil is all the ruckus?” Daddy descended in a blue pajama set and slippers. “It’s not even two in the morning. You kids get on back to bed.”
Rob buried his face in her shoulder. “Lord, my siblings’ll love this. How long you think I’ll be making apologies?”
“We’ll be making, you mean,” she whispered. “Probably only the next sixty years.”
Hell, he could live with that.
The rest of the family crowded downstairs in their Christmas pajamas. Big yawns and owlish glances made the top fashion statements.
“Sorry, everyone, it’s my fault.” Nora beat him to the apology by half a second. “I didn’t know my way around the house, and I bumped into Santa by accident. He said he’d let me off with a warning, since I wasn’t snooping and I’d been a good girl otherwise, and he gave me this ring.” She held out her hand, red and white shimmering in the slender circle that called her his.
The congratulations came in a flurry of hugs and the occasional evil eye from sleep-deprived parents.
“I’ll put the coffee on.” Mama bundled her robe tighter and stepped around a wandering child. “We’ll all have a nice nap after breakfast.”
Someone tugged on his left hand, dragging him backward with determined, if minuscule, force. He squatted to niece-level.
“How come Santa didn’t bring a ring for you, Uncle Rob?”
“He brought me your Aunt Nora.” The sweet woman who fretted about making a good impression on his family. The sexy temptress who told him what she wanted and took her pleasure from him. The beautiful angel who shed tears as she promised to love him forever. “He just delivered her early, is all, ’cause I’ve been waiting a long time for her.”
Jilly’s oldest clamped her lips together and wriggled around, staring at the Christmas tree. “I waited a long time, too.”
He gave her a gentle push toward the tree. If Jilly didn’t want hers opening gifts yet, she could steer the munchkins away. He had Uncle Rob duties to uphold. “Santa told me your presents have polar bears on the tags. How ’bout you go find a good one?”
She scampered off, her beaming smile bearing a gap at the bottom where she’d lost her first tooth.
He unkinked his legs and leaned on Nora. Those naps couldn’t come soon enough. “You sure you want to enlist in this motley outfit?”
She laid her hand on his shoulder. The light caught the ring’s jeweled depths. “Santa brought one gift for the both of us this year. Do you think it’s too greedy to ask for next year’s?”
“Anything you want.” Hell, she’d said yes. She could have a d
ecade’s worth of gifts if she liked.
“I want a shared gift next year, too.” She cupped his jaw and turned him toward the tree, her ring smooth and cool on his skin. “Give me one of those, Rob.”
Clustered in a loose half-circle, his nieces and nephews passed presents. Boxes rattled and shook as the chorus of pleas grew louder. His siblings pulled up chairs and slumped in them with half-lidded eyes.
Nora linked her hand in his and slipped them between their bodies. Her flat stomach rested under his palm. “Give me one of ours.”
His Christmas wish granted, his Nora and the promise of a family of their own. The proposal couldn’t have gone better. The chaos of Christmas morning surrounded them. Christ, he couldn’t wait to see what the next year held.
“Whatever the lady wants.” He hugged her close. “My calendar’s full up with Nora Howard Vanderhoff.”
Meet the Author
M.Q. Barber fell prey to Rob’s infectious charm and old-fashioned manners a mite faster than Nora did, but he already had his sights set on his honey girl. Thankfully, the two of them let her tag along with good humor.
In Her Shirtless Gentleman, M.Q. aimed to recapture the giddy joy of young love for a pair worried they’d outgrown it. She hopes every nervous, insecure Nora finds the right Rob to tell her how amazing she is every day.
Keep in touch with the author on Goodreads, Facebook and Twitter by searching for M.Q. Barber. For monthly updates, sneak peeks, and exclusive short fiction, sign up for her author newsletter at http://www.mqbarber.com.
If you had fun playing with Rob and Nora, please take a minute and post a review online at Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever else you swap book recommendations. Nora could use the encouragement, and Rob loves anyone who puts a smile on her face.
Don’t miss M. Q. Barber’s compelling USA Today bestselling debut!
PLAYING THE GAME
Book #1, Neighborly Affection
She expects dinner with neighbors, but gets sex with a side of safewords.
Mechanical engineer Alice still drools over her sexy neighbors a year after she’s moved in. She can’t decide whether they’re roommates or partners, but either way, they spark a wanton desire in her that has her imagination—and vibrator—working overtime.
Henry, director of everything around him, studies human nature and applies philosophies to his paintings as well as his relationships. Quirky, polite to a fault, and formal, he follows his own code of honor even when it means denying himself.
Flirtatious and playful, Jay needs stability, guidance, and to please others. His antics counterbalance Henry’s stuffy ways while he brings a level of vulnerability and fun to everything the trio does.
BDSM play with the enigmatic artist and flirtatious joker across the hall allows Alice to put aside the linear thought processes that have kept her unsatisfied and distant with other lovers. She must dismiss her preconception of love, sacrificing her independence, if she’s to find a permanent place in their beds and hearts.
CONTENT WARNING: Explicit sex, graphic language, BDSM, bondage, spanking, M/M/F ménage.
82,000 Words
A Lyrical Press Erotic Romance on sale now!
Learn more about M. Q. Barber at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/29485
Chapter 1
Three flights separated Alice’s apartment from the ground floor, but she didn’t notice a single step Friday morning. She raced the daylight, as if getting to work sooner would make it end sooner, too. Warp time to deposit her at the dinner with friends she’d anticipated for days. With Henry at the helm, dinner couldn’t be less than divine.
She emerged from the stairwell with a growing grin for the man crossing the lobby with sketchbook in hand. A suit and tie, sans coat, though it wasn’t eight yet and he didn’t have an office to go to. Did he not own jeans?
“Morning, Henry.”
“And a good morning to you, Alice. What a beautiful vision for the end of my walk.”
She shook her head. He could charm a thief out of robbing him and call it common courtesy. “Out people-watching?”
“Yes, the sunrise first—the sky offered up lovely hues this morning—and then the early morning joggers. Exercise for them, and an exercise in the movement of light and shadow for me. Now it’s time to see if Jay has slept through his alarm. Are you off to work, my dear?”
“Got it in one. What gave me away, the basic black pantsuit or the overloaded satchel?” She twirled, knowing he wouldn’t take her flirtation as an invitation. Henry had whatever he had with Jay. The safest sexy guys I know.
“Simply the time of day and knowledge of your schedule,” Henry demurred, his gaze flicking over her form. “Though you do look quite striking in basic black. Have you any plans for the evening?”
He managed to look innocent asking. As if he hadn’t left a note on her door a week ago asking for the pleasure of her company.
She lowered her voice to a faux-secretive whisper. “Yeah, with my crazy neighbors. Can you believe this guy? He not only remembers the first anniversary of my move-in date, but he offers to cook dinner to celebrate.”
“He sounds like quite the catch.” He waggled his eyebrows. “The sort of gentleman who might also remember you often neglect to eat breakfast.”
He held out a brown paper bag with a folded-over top.
“You got me breakfast?” She took the bag and peered inside. Apple fritter. Her mouth watered. “My favorite. Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”
“Oh? And if I declared my undying devotion?” He clasped his sketchpad against his chest. “Here in the lobby, at this very moment? I suppose I could get down on one knee.”
She snorted and adopted an airy tone. “Don’t be absurd. I insist you don’t wrinkle your trousers for me, good sir. Why, it’s entirely undignified.” She broke off a piece of fritter and took a bite. Yum. “Besides, I dumped the last guy who tried that romance crap on me.”
“I suppose that would make declaring my love inadvisable.” He released a heavy, mocking sigh. “The fritter, however, is acceptable?”
“Delicious.” She reached for another bite. “And real. Love’s fake. The convenient excuse people give for making stupid decisions. I have a strict no-love policy.”
“Ah. Is that why Jay and I haven’t seen beaus knocking at your door in months?”
“It’s not like I have a no-sex policy. I just keep things short. Simple. Well defined.” She popped the fritter piece in her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “A couple of months, max. After that, you have to worry about moving in together. Awkward proposals about moving across the country to stay together. Pretty soon, you’ve been married for years and forgotten how to be your own person.”
She wasn’t going to end up in that situation and call it love. The word was a four-letter excuse, a chemical reaction tricking the brain into thinking it wanted something it didn’t. The way Mom thought she wanted to watch Dad pop pills and forget they’d ever been a happy family. The way her college boyfriend had thought she’d finish her degree at a different school once he graduated.
“Not me,” she said. “I avoid love altogether. Thanks for the pastry, though. That, I’m happy to accept.”
“You’re quite welcome, Alice. Have a lovely day. We’ll see you at dinner.”
“Seven sharp. I’ll be there.” She darted outside, waving over her shoulder.
Henry was a nice guy. A good friend. Definitely fuckable. So was his roommate. Boyfriend. Whatever Jay was. She sighed.
That chest. Mmm. Thank God for finding this apartment.
* * * *
Her old place had screamed slum in a shithole neighborhood waiting on urban revival. The charming atmosphere had kept her tense every night from subway stop to front door. She’d split the rent with three near strangers and squirreled money away.
Leases lurched from August to August in a college town like Boston, and moving day meant a mad scramble for scarce resources. Her roommate’
s quasi boyfriend coughed up his van with conditions. Fuck if she’d pay the blowjob fee for failing to get the van back on time and undamaged.
The hungry parking meter, though, sucked down quarter after quarter. The faster she got everything upstairs, the less money she’d spend. A few cars puttered past at school-zone speeds, and even fewer pedestrians meandered by on Saturday strolls.
A guy on a bike turned the corner down the block. He rode slow, lazy maybe, or cooling down after a workout.
She pulled open the van, its innards packed to the roof, and hoisted a box in both arms.
“Soonest started, soonest finished,” she muttered, hustling toward her new home from the closest parking spot she’d found, about three buildings down.
The grinding whirr of backpedaling heralded the cyclist on the far side of the parked cars lining the street. She looked away, passed four more cars and glanced left. The cyclist had kept pace as she approached her door.
“Something I can help you with?”
“Looks the other way around to me.” He hopped off the bike, hefted it over one arm and joined her on the sidewalk. “Moving in?”
She wasn’t above ogling bike boy’s tight shorts and the sweat-wicking shirt hugging his biceps. Telling a strange man where she lived and inviting him up, however, contradicted common sense no matter how much his body reminded her she hadn’t gotten laid in months.