Gift Wrapped (12 page)

“Why not?” She turned the waxed cardboard in her hand until she found the expiry date. “It’s good until the end of January.”

“Good.”
He snorted and plucked the carton from her grasp. “High fructose corn syrup. Carrageenan. Artificial flavors and colors. Twenty-one grams of sugar in a half-cup serving. Not good.”

“You’re a little uptight about food, you know.”

“Discriminating, babe.” He hated to put the carton of chemicals back in the McIntyres’ fridge, but dumping it down the sink—where it belonged—would be kind of ballsy at this point. “You want eggnog? We’ll make some. Fresh. You’ll never want to drink that artificial crap again.”

“I recall a similar statement about pudding. Funny,” she said, tapping her chin. “I never did get a bowl…”

He boxed her in place against the counter, leaning in enough to enjoy her soft breasts against his chest—and to ensure she felt his less-than-soft cock pressing against her. “You’ll get pudding, Brinn. But we’ll finish that lesson in my kitchen, where I can properly take control of my student.”

“And if I ruin it again?”

“Then we’ll start over. As many times as it takes.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That might require more than one night.”

“That’s my plan.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

“I like that plan.” Color rose on her cheeks as she smiled. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Fuck, she was adorable. He stole a quick kiss, moving away before the conversation got more specific. “Let’s get to it,” he said, grabbing milk and eggs from the refrigerator.

“Wait.” She pulled open a drawer, shook out a folded apron and slipped the neckband over his head. “There. That’s better.”

“For who?” He looked down at the red-and-green abomination.

“For me. And for you.” She traced the design on the gaudy apron, paying particular attention to the green patch covering his groin. “Unless you don’t want me to kiss you underneath the mistletoe.”

A blowjob while wearing a tacky Christmas apron. The image of Brinn’s head bobbing beneath the apron had him fully hard. Again. Consider him among the temporarily converted. This really was the most wonderful time of the year.

* * * * *

“That was the best turkey dinner I’ve ever had.” Brinn’s dad shot his wife an apologetic smile. “Other than the ones you’ve made, Gwynnie.”

Her mom flapped a hand at him. “No need to suck up. McIntyre women aren’t known for the culinary skills. We excel in other areas.”

Beside her, Davis choked on a mouthful of wine. Brinn did what any Good Samaritan would do—pounded him on the back. Hard.

“Thanks,” he said, winking as he squeezed her leg beneath the table. “You really saved me there.”

God, could he be any more irresistible? Handsome, sexy, funny, smart. Great in the kitchen, in the bedroom, okay, in pretty much any room. He couldn’t possibly be as good as he seemed.

“Does food expertise run in your family, Davis?”

The hand stroking Brinn’s thigh froze at her mom’s question.

“Only in that they all think they’re experts on what’s good.”

Her family laughed at the perceived joke, and Davis’s hand resumed its sensual kneading.

“Then they must’ve really missed you today, because everything you made was so delicious. I imagine they put you to work in the kitchen at all your family dinners?”

“No. They’re not interested in having me cook for them.”

“Oh.” Her mom must have picked up the same frosty vibe Brinn had, because she straightened in her seat. “Well that’s nice too—that they’d rather have your company than your cooking.”

“That would be nice.”

Would be.
From the silence that fell over the table, Brinn wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on the word “would” or the simmering resentment in his cool, even tone.

“I apologize.” Her mom reached across to pat his hand—the one clenched in a fist beside his wine glass. “It wasn’t my intention to pry.”

“And it wasn’t mine to spoil the mood. It’s been awhile since I sat at a family dinner table. Christmas is always sort of a sore reminder.”

“I’m so sorry, Davis. If I’d known,” she leveled the mom version of a what-the-fuck glare at Brinn, “I wouldn’t have mentioned your family.”

“No need to be sorry, Gwyneth. They’re not dead, they’re just lawyers.”

Zack being Zack, he laughed. The reaction put a smile on Davis’s face, and the mood of the entire table lightened.

“I’ll make coffee.” Her mom stood and pointed at Zack. “You’re on clearing and dishwasher duty.”

“I’ll take out the trash,” her dad said, pushing up from his seat.

“Just to warn you, man, that’s code for ‘steer clear of the bathroom for the next twenty minutes,’” Zack said, as he collected the dinner plates.

Davis chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Brinn, honey, you get the crackers.”

“I get the best job,” Brinn said, but Davis stalled her with his hand on her knee.

“Crackers for dessert? Didn’t I see a pie in the fridge?”

“You did, but it’s a store-bought pie. It’s afraid to come out with you at the table. It knows it contains
high fructose corn syrup
.” Brinn whispered the words as if they were the devil’s work. She tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “I’m kidding. Of course there’s pie. The crackers are for popping, not eating.”

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Not following.”

“Party crackers.” She hopped up from the table, retrieved the box of red and gold novelties from the cupboard and plopped them in front of him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had these.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

The urge to tease him faded as she watched him turn one of the cylinders over in his hand, inspecting it from the ends. What kind of household had he grown up in, that he’d never seen a Christmas cracker? Never experienced the silly, simple joy of pulling the ends and hearing it pop.

She spoke quietly, for his ears only. “See the thin strips attached to the inside of the tube? Make sure you’ve got a hold of those, then pull it apart. It’s going to—”

“Shit,” he said at the sharp
crack
.

“Yup. That’s what it’s going to do. Fun, right? And now you get the stuff inside.”

“The stuff?”

“The booty.” She pointed at the center portion of the cracker, sighing when he shrugged. “Your paper crown, prize and fortune.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wow. You were seriously fun-deprived as a child.” She scooped a cracker from the box and tugged the ends, jumping when it cracked, even though she’d known it was coming. “Here’s my crown,” she said, sliding the purple tissue-paper ring into place on her head. “My prize.” She shook the miniature snow globe in front of his face. “And most importantly,” she waved the strip of paper, “my fortune.
Your future is ahead of you.
”

“That’s deep.” Since a wide grin had replaced his straight-lipped expression, her work here was done.

“And totally true.” She nudged the toned, muscular forearm that’d distracted her throughout dinner. “Your turn. Let’s see what you got.”

He extracted the contents of his cracker. The miniature magnifying glass received a dubious look, as did his fortune, which he didn’t share. He unfolded the blue tissue-paper crown and put it on his head. “Look good?”

“Very majestic. And totally hot. I’d do you.”

“A paper-crown fetish is probably pretty rare, as far as kinks go.” He leaned sideways and tucked her hair behind her shoulder, then kissed the spot beneath her ear that made her shiver. “Good thing we both have it.”

“Fate at work, once again.” She placed a cracker at each of her family’s spots, issued a second to Davis, then piled the remaining eight in front of her place. “What?” she asked when he chuckled.

“You’re fun, that’s all. I like it. I like you.”

Just like that, her heart took off at a gallop. Headed straight for the sunset she’d already pictured them riding off into, if a whack of circumstances were different.

She held back the gushiness that so desperately wanted to pour out, knocking off a Davis-ism instead. “Good to know.”

The comeback earned her a laugh. And a long look from his warm, twinkling eyes. “You were right about the fun-deprived thing. My parents are both partners in my grandfather’s law firm. The dynamic in my house was nothing like what you have with your family. No fun and frivolity, even at Christmas. I can’t remember a time when I believed in Santa.”

“Oh my god, that’s so wrong.”

He shrugged. Whatever had prompted him to share this very personal information, he appeared to be shutting it down.

She curled her hand over his and squeezed. A pointless little gesture, maybe, but she did it nonetheless. Touching was a comfort to anybody with emotions. Despite his anti-commitment status—which now made more sense—Davis had repeatedly shown himself to be a guy with depth and feelings. His stupid family didn’t deserve him.

“Is that why you don’t connect with them anymore, because you didn’t follow in their footsteps and become a lawyer?”

“I did become one.”

Her eyes felt as if they’d bugged out of her head. “You’re a
lawyer
?”

“Was. Very past tense. I hated every minute. It wasn’t amicable when I left.”

“But you’re happy now, being a chef. It’s obviously what you were meant to do.”

“Thanks. I think so.”

The pumpkin pie arrived at the table, along with her family. Zack first, then her mom with the plates, mugs and coffeepot. Her dad filled the final spot. In his red flannel shirt and with a belly that required reducing to improve his health, he had a definite Santa-ness.

“How many kids did you get this year, Dad?” she asked, shifting the conversation to lighter ground.

“Twenty-three on Christmas Eve. That’s two more than last year.”

In some neighborhoods, people counted the kids who came trick-or-treating on Halloween. On this street, and more specifically, in this house, they counted the children who visited Santa in his sleigh out front.

“That’s a lot of kids,” Davis said. “Pretty incredible thing you do, Joe. Brinn told me the story of how it started on our way in earlier.”

Across the table, her dad beamed. “I’m awfully proud of my little girl, to be sure.”

Her cheeks burned under Davis’s inquisitive gaze. She shoveled a forkful of pie into her mouth and prayed for somebody to change the subject.

“Gwynnie, grab one of the pictures of Brinn in her elf suit off the mantle. I bet Davis didn’t see those since he was busy in the kitchen most of the afternoon.”

Oh crap. Subject not changing in the right direction.

Davis turned his full attention on her. “You have an elf suit?”

“Had.”

The creases at the corners of Davis’s eyes sprang into action. “That’s unfortunate. I think seeing you dressed as an elf would’ve ensured my Christmas spirit indefinitely.”

Oh god, the way he was looking at her. She could practically read his mind, and it was full of dirty things he’d do to her naughty elf self.

“You know, honey, I still have all your costumes,” Mom said as she returned from the living room. “From the first one to the one you wore Christmas of senior year. It’s in a garment bag in your closet.”

Fate clearly wanted her to dress up as Davis’s personal elf. Who was she to argue with fate? “Thanks, Mom. Maybe I’ll take it home with me. For old-time’s sake.”

Zack snort-laughed so hard, he probably passed some pumpkin-pie filling through his nose. “I think you meant, for good-time’s sake.” Brinn’s punch to his shoulder only served to make him laugh louder.

Mom shook her head, rather than referee this round of sibling button-pushing. “This picture is my favorite. It’s from the first year. Brinn with all the friends she gathered to be elves so one little boy’s last Christmas wish could come true.” Mom propped the framed photo in front of Davis, subjecting him to her walk down memory lane, whether he wanted to take the stroll or not.

Well, Brinn
had
warned him about her family.

“Can you pick her out of the group?” Apparently making him look at the picture wasn’t enough. Active participation was required.

Brinn groaned and covered her eyes with her hand—which she proceeded to peek through.

“Yeah, of course.” Davis’s index finger landed on the mark. “Cutest elf in the bunch.”

Her mom patted his shoulder. “That’s her. Always shining so bright. Once she got the idea for the sleigh, there was no stopping her. Just dug right in and made it happen. How many thirteen-year-olds would go to such lengths for another person, especially when they had nothing to gain from the effort?”

Davis looked up from the picture. The smile he gave her was like jumper cables on her heart. “Not many.”

God. She really should have pulled her mom aside at some point and explained that Davis was not a serious boyfriend. Not a boyfriend at all. Nor would he ever be.

“Excuse me for a minute,” she said, escaping to her old room before the crush of reality brought her down in front of everyone. She flopped onto the bed that’d absorbed more boy-induced tears than she had any right to ask of it. If she didn’t pull herself together, the poor old mattress would have to deal with a little more renegade saline.

“Hey.”

She cracked one eye open enough to see Davis standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. “Sorry I abandoned you out there,” she said, pulling it together as she assumed a cross-legged position. “I just needed a breather.”

“Damn. I hoped you were in here putting on the elf costume.” He winked. “But it’s probably wiser if you wait until we’re alone to do that.”

“Now I really hope I can still squeeze into it. I’m considerably
curvier
—as you pointed out in my store last night—than I was as a teenager.”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, Brinn, I love your curviness.” He left his post at the door. The air in the small room charged as he moved closer. Standing in front of her, he trailed his fingers along her jawline and neck, then lower, over the swell of her breasts. “I won’t mind at all if you overflow the costume.”