by Cari Quinn
She parked the car up the street from the house and set off at a steady clip. No reason to be nervous. Everything was going to be just fine. Just a pleasant evening with friends.
A family Christmas that finally, she could take part in. A place where she belonged, other than at Happy Acres with her parents and family friends.
She huffed out a breath that stirred the curls hanging from her updo as she hurried up the walk to the front stoop. See, she could be mature about this just as she was about her business dealings. Level-headed. Yes, she’d had a junior high level meltdown the night of the concert, but in retrospect, it was understandable. Everything she’d dealt with during her relationship with Martin had crashed down on her head like a ton of bricks. She’d never properly grieved the end of her marriage. In fact, she’d never grieved losing it inch by inch either. Her standard way of being was to ignore any situations she couldn’t fix and to focus on work, her savior. Things hurt less when you pretended not to feel pain.
Yeah, so that wasn’t working so well anymore. She must’ve ripped the lid off of her emotions after sleeping with Nick, because lately she’d practically been flooded with them.
She knocked on the door, but unsurprisingly, no one answered. They were playing music inside, as always, and probably couldn’t hear her knocking. She tried the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, pushed the door open.
And stepped into a noisy wonderland.
Oh, the place didn’t look all that different. It had been Christmas-fied, though, with twinkling lights around a giant tree in the living room. Several teetering piles of presents toppled over beneath the tree, and when she took a deep breath, the scent of a cooking turkey made her stomach growl.
“Hello?” she called out into the empty living room.
No one answered, but voices and laughter—including the baby variety—wafted down the hall, rising over the music filtering out from a sound system. Not Oblivion for once, but she was pretty sure she could hear someone strumming a guitar. Gray probably, or maybe Nick. Gray toted his instrument around more than Nick did.
Lila headed toward the kitchen, where Harper would be ruling her domain. That would probably be the safest place to enter the party. Fewer people and—
She came to a halt on the threshold to the kitchen as Nick turned toward her, iPhone in hand.
So much for safety. She’d landed face-first in the fire.
“Look who else arrived for our celebration,” he said huskily.
He was filming, probably something for the band Instagram. Great. “Hello Oblivion family,” she said as smoothly as she could manage, tacking on a smile she so didn’t feel.
“So there you have it, Oblivionites, we’re about to all chow down on some serious turkey and rock out with our cocks out,” Nick said into his phone, his swagger still in effect. “Happy holidays to all of you, and thank you for supporting us this year. You’re the rhythm that keeps us going. Rock on.”
He tossed the phone on the island, then pointed at the mistletoe above Lila’s head. “Well, look at that. Can’t break with holiday tradition, can we?” he questioned, prowling toward her.
She immediately retreated. “Nicholas—”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he murmured, advancing on her until their toes bumped. “Let’s eat, drink and be merry.”
She glanced up at the mistletoe before nodding jerkily. Okay, yes. She could do this. It was a holiday tradition. No big deal. “Just a quick one.”
He stepped forward and grabbed her elbows, hauling her up onto her tiptoes while he lowered his mouth to hers. It hovered there, barely a breath away, before he angled his head and dove down deep.
Heat and pleasure swam through her at the first touch of his lips, but more, the sensation of relief and joy swamped her. This was where she was meant to be. Who she was meant to be with.
His tongue snaked into her mouth and encouraged hers into a seductive tug-of-war she’d never grow tired of. His hands coasted up her back and he tugged at pins to get her hair free. He wrecked her curls as he ravaged her mouth with kiss after dizzying kiss, and dammit, she didn’t care, because if there was a freedom to be found in another, this was it.
This was hers.
He spun her and pressed her back into the island before he reached down to pull her hips against the hard column in his jeans. He groaned and she swallowed the sound, savoring it like breath. She was scarcely aware of fisting her hands in his shirt to drag him even closer, of rising on her toes again to grind her breasts into his chest. Nothing was close enough. A cry escaped her, and he caught it, feeding it back to her with slow, erotic licks of his tongue.
Then the clapping started. And her joy started to fade.
Dammit.
Eyes still closed, Nick retreated slightly and dragged in a breath.
“Oh shit,” she mumbled.
He finally turned his head and opened his eyes.
“Now that’s how you kiss under the mistletoe,” Simon said to Margo, producing his own sprig of mistletoe to hold above them. “I intend to invoke this often, by the way.”
Right after Simon and Margo started their kissing search-and-destroy mission, Gray went in for the kill. He nudged Jazz’s arm, and she jumped up onto his hips before he whirled her into a kiss full of laughter under the mistletoe Nick and Lila had christened.
That left Deacon to approach Harper, who waved her long-handled fork like a weapon. “Uh uh, mister, I’m not into public displays—” Then she grinned and tossed aside the silverware. “Who am I kidding? I so am.”
“Cop car,” Nick reminded her over his shoulder. She made a face before Deacon hauled her off her feet and into his arms. His mouth was on hers in a nanosecond.
Shockingly, she didn’t seem to mind.
Nick glanced back at Lila, who was trying not to burn up from sheer mortification. There was some amusement in there too. Hard to feel too embarrassed when everyone around them was making out as well. They were all legitimate couples, but still.
“Ready for some turkey?” He slipped a hand in her back pocket and spoke softly against her cheek. “Unless you’re in the mood for something else…”
She was. She so was. But this would have to be enough.
For now.
9
She was in his house, and he’d kissed her. And God, it had been everything he remembered and more.
How was that even possible?
“I have to go back to my car.” She licked her kiss-swollen lips and he had to fist his hand to keep from dragging her back in for another kiss, damn their audience.
“Escaping already?” Nick clamped his fingers around her elbow. He might be half-joking, but he was half-serious too.
“I forgot gifts.” She sighed. “I mean, I have them, but I forgot to bring them in.”
“I’ll come with you.” He tightened his fingers. “We’ll be right back,” he told the others.
“Yeah, and I have to call that Santa dude. He left a message on my cell.” Deacon kissed the top of Harper’s head and stepped back.
“What Santa dude?” Nick asked. Just what they needed, some fake-smiling, belly-clutching guy to ho-ho-ho them into the holiday.
Gray set down Jazz and frowned at Deacon. “Dammit, really? He better not be pulling out.”
“Yeah, pulling out is something that is just not done in this house. Evidence A, all the screamers down the hall.” Smiling, Nick tugged on Lila’s arm.
Might as well run out before the guy swept down the chimney, or whatever phony Santas did to make an entrance.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Harper told them. “Y’all better be seated around my table when I serve or I’ll pull out a can of rock star whoop ass.”
Nick drew Lila with him down the hall, then stopped long enough to pull on his sneakers before he resumed towing her across the stoop and down to the walk. Her silence was so loud that his ears were starting to hurt.
“You’re never this quiet unless you’re about to come,�
�� he said lightly.
“I’m definitely not quiet then,” she said, quickening her steps to match his. He only tightened his grip so she couldn’t disappear on him again.
“No, but I knew saying that would make you talk to me.”
She gave him a faint smile. “I wasn’t not talking to you.”
“So you say. Where the hell are you parked?”
She pointed down the block, and he slid his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled together. Immediately, she glanced around in case they were being watched by the paparazzi, or Donovan, or perhaps even her husband.
“No one’s around,” he said quietly, trying not to feel the sting from her concern. She had a complicated life. He was trying so hard not to judge her for allowing it to constrain her—to constrain them—but it was difficult.
“Why are you holding my hand?” she asked as they strolled up the street.
Almost like any other couple…except not.
“Because I haven’t had the chance in ten days and it feels wrong.” He stopped and turned her toward him before flicking his fingers through her tousled curls. Her updo was mostly wrecked, but he’d never thought she looked more beautiful. “I don’t know what happened the night of the concert. Why you shut me out when we’d been so close. But I don’t care.”
“You don’t care,” she repeated.
Of course he cared. His desperation to understand was a palpable thing. It just wasn’t the only thing driving him.
He needed her more than he needed an explanation, and if that made him a fool…well, so be it.
“No. Because if the choice is not having you at all or just having you for tonight—well, I choose tonight.” He framed her face then pushed his hands into his pockets. “It’s Christmas. Just one night. Doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”
“One night is all I can give.” Her throat rippled as she swallowed. “Even that’s too much.”
“I understand.” He clenched his jaw, dropping his gaze to the ground before lifting it to hers again. “Fuck, I’ll pretend to understand. All I know is when we came back from New York, you were mine.” When she glanced away, he cursed under his breath. “Okay, not mine, not for real. I know the score. But Christ, Li, we were something. Weren’t we?”
“One night,” she said, her voice low. “When the dawn comes, I’m going. You won’t stop me.”
He accepted it, because he had no other choice that appealed half as much.
Some of her was better than none.
They resumed walking to her car. Once they reached it, she popped the trunk and started withdrawing her bags of gifts.
“What do you have in here? Rocks?” He grabbed the biggest bag from her hands, then went back to pick up one of the smaller ones too. Lots of smaller gift bags had been tucked inside. She snatched one present before he could and clutched the large, foil-wrapped box to her chest. “Ah, a secret one,” he said with a knowing smile.
“Not secret. Just figure you’re the type to shake boxes.”
“Me? No way.” Holding her parcels, he shut the trunk, then lifted an eyebrow at her hold on the box. “Though I gotta say, your protectiveness over it is making me wonder. Who’s that for?”
“It’s for you, of course.”
“Oh.” His lips curved in spite of the heaviness of his chest. “I figured after the last week or so, you wouldn’t be buying me much.”
Her momentarily cheerful expression dimmed. “One thing I had before. The other is new.”
“Two things. Hmm. I only have one for you.” But it was an awesome thing, and that was all that counted, right?
He hoped. Or else he might be making a midnight run to…where, he had no clue.
“I’m sure it’s lovely.” She slipped her keys into her purse and slipped her hand into her pocket, probably so he wouldn’t get any wayward ideas about holding it again.
So he focused on the moment, and the good that was to come rather than all that he might never have. Like walking hand-in-hand on a public street for more than a stolen moment or two.
“You know, when you say the word lovely like that, I have the feeling you think I bought you some cubic zirconias or something.”
She let out a surprised laugh. “No, I would never think that.”
“Just something you wouldn’t want then. Because I don’t know you well enough to get you a present befitting you.” At the end of the walkway that led to the band house, he turned to face her. “I know more than you think, Lila Lee Ronson.”
A wrinkle formed between her brows. “Who told you about Lee?”
“Your mother.” He leaned in close and murmured beside her ear, “I think she likes me. Imagine that.”
Before she could pop any more of his bubbles, he turned away and jogged up the steps to head inside. He kicked open the door, and Lord, the racket inside nearly made his head explode. But it was happy racket. Laughter and jokes and insults and music—and the smell of nearly done dinner, which was a fucking win.
He glanced back to where Lila was hesitating on the sidewalk. “What are you waiting for? Fucking turkey’s almost done.”
She laughed and followed.
Dinner was more amazing than it should have been. He’d had family holiday suppers back when he was a kid, but they hadn’t been like these. Maybe he’d been in denial about how much he’d missed them, because when he was seated at the table with Lila beside him, passing him soft buttered rolls and flicking his wandering hand off her lap, he couldn’t imagine where else he would rather be.
These maniacs were his family, even if they were too loud and had babies who seemed to crap in their diapers way more than was theoretically possible.
Another thing he hadn’t expected to enjoy nearly so much? Something as domestic as doing dishes after the meal with Lila. Because, hello, hot-and-heavy hookup—or it had been, until she’d put the kibosh on things—and dishes didn’t exactly fit into that. They shouldn’t have anyway. With her, somehow they did.
Sure, the sex was incredible. The simmering tension between them, the way she argued and rolled her eyes at half the things he said, all of that oddly worked for him. And so did standing elbow-to-elbow with her at the sink, griping at each other as if they’d been born to do it.
Tugging her into a dance to some old-fashioned Christmas carol Gray was playing in the living room was something else entirely, and that was better still. Dance now with clothes on, later with clothes off.
He tried to focus on the rest of the festivities and not on the hours he would spend alone with Lila. It was nearly impossible. Throughout the opening of presents, and the playful ribbing they all offered each other at the selection of gifts, he had one thought and one only.
Having Lila all to himself.
The idea to play Santa since the other dude had bailed occurred at the last minute. He would’ve been lying if he’d said some of his willingness to take on the role wasn’t to woo his girl. It wasn’t all of it though. He loved the smelly, often whiny babies, and he supposed he sort of loved their parents too. In his own manly don’t-really-give-two-shits sort of way.
Besides, Santa might be kind of a crock, but what were the holidays without that show of crass consumerism?
So he suited up and entertained the babies and their semi-grateful parents—did no one respect the effort it took to wear a fake beard for hours on end?—and resisted doing a happy dance when couple by couple, they began to head upstairs for a night of celebratory fucking.
He had some of that of his own to do. Thank Jesus.
Now that only he and Lila remained in the living room, he had to craftily plot his seduction. Or he could be himself, come hell or high pants.
Hello, door number two.
Leaning back in his rocker, he tugged on his straggly beard. “Ah, to hell with it,” he said, flinging the monstrosity toward the tree. It caught on a branch and nearly dislodged an ornament.
It was ugly anyway.
Lila laughed and sh
ook her head. “Bet it feels good to take that off.”
“There’s a few other things I’d like to take off. Like these stupid pants.” He kicked off his heavy boots and stretched out his legs. “If you knew how much I paid for this ridiculous costume, you’d be horrified.”
“Why did you buy a Santa costume?” she asked quietly.
No good deed went unpunished, and his case that meant bringing up the best weekend of his life—that swiftly had led to one of the worst Mondays he’d ever experienced. “I got it to wear when we went back home to see your folks.” He undid his oversized belt with a grunt. “Figured it would be a good way to hide in plain sight. Then we ended up not hiding at all.”
“No. We didn’t hide from anyone.”
There was no missing the sadness in her tone, and it tugged at him. Lila being unhappy felt like a knife in the ribs. No matter which way he shifted, the ache never left.
He needed to take some of her hurt away, even if he didn’t know where it had all originated. Even if—especially if—somehow he’d played a part in causing her pain.
Smiling, he patted his lap. “C’mere.”
She rose and crossed to him. Lila being Lila she wouldn’t just hop on, so he grabbed her and sat her down right where he wanted her, then dipped them both to grab the sack at his feet. “Your gifts are in here. I kept them aside.”
She engaged in more dainty shifting on his lap, most likely to avoid his cock. She probably didn’t want to encourage him too soon. “Gifts, plural?”
“One was spur-of-the-moment. Hell, both were. But one was really spur. Like tonight kind of spur.” He pushed the sack at her and nodded when she lifted her eyebrows. “Open the bag, Li.”
Pulling open the bag, she stuck her hand inside and felt around, drawing out a piece of paper. “You sent me an email?”
“Read it,” he demanded.
She scanned the paper. “An acoustic Gibson J-45 guitar? It’s beautiful. But I don’t play…oh.” The paper slipped out of her hand. “I can’t have a guitar.”
“You can, and you will, as soon as that one’s delivered. I ordered it rush. I apologize for not buying a clue and getting you one sooner.” He reached up to take down her hair. She kept putting it back up in spite of his many efforts. “In my defense, I was distracted by incredible sex. I barely remembered it was December, never mind that I was supposed to buy stuff.”