Christie Ridgway - Must Love Mistletoe

His wandering finger halted. “I’m a man. I compartmentalize. And the compartment that’s getting all my attention right now is the one that has me in it, with you, naked.”

While unfortunately that was quite an intriguing one to her as well, something suddenly wasn’t jiving in Bailey’s mind. There was a hard look on Finn’s face that you could take for pure lust, but the hair on the back of her neck was now rising in a completely unsexual way.

Her hands pressed harder against the paint, her eyes narrowing. “So, um, what have you been up to since last we met?”

“Downloading photos of my new nephew. Downloading more photos of my new nephew. Driving Gram to a couple of doctor’s appointments.” His finger traveled from her breast to her chin, so he could tilt her mouth toward his. His voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “Thinking about you.”

Bailey swallowed, still not buying it completely. “How is your grandmother?”

His hand dropped. “On the road to recovery.” He pivoted away from her and stalked toward the door. “So do you want to get it on or not?”

“Gee, there you go with the hearts and flowers again.”

He stomped back. His face was furious now, but she held her ground. He grabbed her right hand and pressed it against his breastbone. “I’ve got your heart.” His slammed against her palm with an angry beat. Her left hand he forced to cup the hard rise of flesh between his legs. “And I’ve got your flowers right here.”

And with those two rough gestures he had Bailey all over again. Not because she appreciated rough-but because that wasn’t the kind of man he was. He’d always, always been so careful with her, and this attitude told her that something besides sex was driving Finn, something dark and tangled and that maybe he wasn’t even aware of.

He might as well have been whispering, “I can’t do it, Bailey. I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Just like that, finding his way once more into her damaged heart.

“Maybe we can cut a deal,” she said, sliding her left hand from under his and away from his erection. More sex shouldn’t be on the table-that wouldn’t be a high-IQ move on her part-but maybe there was a win-win option available.

“Yeah?” He caught her escaping fingers in his, held them.

Her heart stuttered a little. “Yeah. I have a business to run, customers waiting, and you fill out the Santa suit better than I do.”

His eye narrowed. “So I ho-ho-ho for you and then you’ll h-”

“Tell me you’re not about to mention me and ‘ho’ in the same breath.”

He grinned, and she felt some of the tension leach out of him.

Some tension left her too. Congratulations, Bailey. He’d taken the bait. By the time he was done with Kris Kringle duty, perhaps he’d be too tired or at least too diverted to think that sex was the answer to whatever was driving his mood.

Almost three hours later, she still hoped she was right. At the end of the film, once the sentimental moviegoers had sighed over the sight of ol’ Kris’s cane left beside the fireplace of the new Santa believers, Bailey had trotted out her Kringle-for-the-night and called upon Trin to help pass around refreshments. Then the customers had proceeded to do what all good customers should…they’d lined up at the cash registers, many of them purchasing their own copy of the Miracle on 34th Street DVD as well as the ornaments, cards, and other memorabilia commemorating the movie that she’d hastily stocked.

Then she’d sent Trin home to her baby and husband and let Finn help her stack the chairs she’d rented and put the displays back to their original position. It was almost midnight when they stood by the door and she flipped off the lights.

“Thanks for everything,” she said to Finn. He had to be as ready to call it a day as she was. Sex, please God, was the last thing on his mind.

He put one hand on the doorknob. The other he curled around the back of her neck, underneath her hair. “I have an idea. Let’s stay here.”

Earlobes could goose bump, she realized. And maybe sex wasn’t the last thing on Finn’s mind.

“Let’s stay here and eat…” He let the sentence trail off, then added the one word guaranteed to seduce her. “Donuts.”

No fair! Her stomach growled and she could already taste them on her tongue. Finn knew she was a goner for greasy, sugary stuff. Bailey slid a glance toward him, his expression telling her nothing more than it had when he’d marched into her back room demanding to once more ring her chimes.

It was such a bad idea. But he wasn’t suggesting sex again, exactly, was he?

Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear. “Bailey.” A hypnotist, and she was halfway to being mesmerized. “Donuts.”

Oh hell. Some things were just worth the risk.

Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas

Facts & Fun Calendar

December 16

The Christmas flower known in the English-speaking world as the poinsettia is named after Dr. Joel R. Poinsett, a U.S. diplomat who served as minister to Mexico in the 1820s. The shrub, native to Mexico, blooms in midwinter with star-shaped crimson blossoms. Mr. Poinsett returned home to Charleston, South Carolina, with enough cuttings to begin growing the plants in more northern climates.

When Finn returned to The Perfect Christmas bearing a pink box and the best four bucks could buy from Dee Dee’s 24/7 Donuts around the corner, he found the front door unlocked but no sign of Bailey in the dimly lit store. “GND?” he called softly, locking the door behind him.

At his first step, a reindeer standing on an eye-level shelf swiveled its head his way. Finn started, nearly dropping the box. The movement triggered more action on a display table to his right. Jack-in-the-box-style, a Santa popped out of a chimney. Shaking his head, he took another step and saw the lights strung along the banister to the second floor spring into action. Red and green alternated, racing upward at a dizzying speed.

Getting the hint, he made for the staircase, then almost swallowed his tongue when something touched his leg. He looked down and left-a knee-high angel was waving her arms about, gesturing him onward with a lighted plastic candle. As he reached the landing, a stuffed moose hanging on the wall broke into song, its mouth moving, its ears twitching, the wreath around its neck blazing with light. “I wish you a Merry Christmas too,” he muttered, then kept moving, senses alert for Bailey’s next surprise.

A train steamed down its track laid along the hallway as he reached the top of the stairs. Taking the indicated left turn, he continued forward. Three snow globes sitting on a narrow table lit up and started spinning in their bases, snow whirling in tiny blizzards as he passed by. Finally, a moving Santa and Mrs. Claus gestured him into the smallest second-floor room, half dark like the rest of the store.

In one shadowy corner stood a real Christmas tree, decorated more simply than those downstairs. White lights twinkled through its bows and it was wrapped in strings of cranberries and slices of dried orange.

“Another popular myth busted.” The amused voice of the woman he wanted sounded in the room. “Apparently men can follow directions.”

His head shifted left. He looked up. Perched on a short stepladder, Bailey gazed down at him with a half smile curving the usual pout of her full mouth. She had a glitter-covered ornament in her hand and he saw a streak of glitter across her cheek.

It was like that night in Gram’s driveway when he’d thought she’d been dipped in stars. He’d ached for her then. He ached for her now.

For some reason she wanted to fight going into his arms again, but he would overcome her resistance. Rushing her wasn’t going to work, he’d tried that in the back room at the store. So he’d settled on seduction. By sweet treats, by sweet words, by whatever damn thing necessary, he was going to get her naked and him inside her again.

Bare to bare.

Battling his Bailey-lust the past couple of days had only been making things worse for him and everyone who came in contact with him. The tension he’d vowed to uncoil this Christmas had instead only been wrapping tighter. He’d nearly clocked the receptionist at Gram’s oncologist’s that morning.

Don’t tell him the holiday season was a bad time to be terminally ill.

Bailey stretched high, taking his mind off everything but her, as she reached to place the ornament in her hand near the top of the tree. Finn remembered the balance beam her stepfather had built for her in her backyard. He’d watch from his side of the hedge as she practiced, fascinated by the grace in her flips and turns. Fascinated by the slender line of her strong legs and the way the sun caught in her blond hair. Bailey then.

Bailey now. A woman.

As if sensing his thoughts, she looked down at him. Their gazes met, and deep inside him, at his center, there was a shift, like something fallen over finally rerighting itself.

“What?” Bailey asked, and when he didn’t answer, a puzzled smile took over her face. “What?”

It was the attraction, Finn told himself, pulling the bakery box closer to his chest. That’s all. His need for sex moving from his groin outward.

“Finn?”

“Get down from there,” he ordered softly.

Her body twitched, swaying a little on the ladder.

He reached her in one stride, steadying her with his hand on her thigh. The top of his head reached her hips. “Be careful.”

She stared at his hand on her leg. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“Then come on down, sweetheart.” He squeezed her denim-covered flesh.