Gift Wrapped (3 page)

Davis shook his head slowly, cracked his knuckles and let his hands hang at his sides. “I’m waiting for the lady.”

The idiot frowned, but made the wise choice to deflate. “Then get her and vacate the premises. It’s time to clear out.” Taking one last verbal stab at being the alpha dog, was he? Another mistake.

Davis had never lost a pissing match. He sure as hell wasn’t starting now, with this loser. “When she’s ready, that’s when we’ll go.”

“Employee hours are done.”

“Yeah? How long are you here tonight,” he eyed the guy’s identification badge, “Nelson?”

“Until midnight.” Nelson cupped one hand around the holstered walkie-talkie, as a cop would a gun. “I’m the night
supervisor
.”

Such a lame, obvious attempt to impress Brinn. She bit into her bottom lip, clearly stifling the urge to laugh. Her amusement made this bullshit worthwhile. Also made it hard not to smile when he needed to appear menacing. Brinn’s adorableness softened his edge, but not his cock. Time to switch tactics and get them out of here.

“You almost ready to call it a night, babe?” With that final word, he’d jumped them from strangers about to have a first date to an intimately familiar couple. For the benefit of the security douchebag, nothing else. Hopefully Brinn connected the dots on that one.

The mall cop’s head swiveled to Brinn. She winked—directly at Davis. “Just need to turn off the lights and grab my purse, honey.”

That shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did. The word
babe
shouldn’t have rolled off his tongue like melted butter, either. Must be the Christmas effect. And the break-ins. He’d come to the mall for something to make Alicia feel better, not to sign up for the beginning of something meaningful. Dinner, a movie, a mutually fulfilling romp in the bedroom—all yeses. A standing date every Saturday night and a box of tampons under his sink—hell no.

The neon sign flickered off first, followed by the interior lights as her store joined the rest in darkness. Brinn ducked under the door and brought it down with a clang. Then bent to lock it.

Thank you, shitty door design, for putting the deadbolts at floor level and providing him—and Nelson—with a primo view up the back of her short skirt.

He should’ve laid a fist to the security guard for ogling
his
woman. But he couldn’t blame the guy. Not to mention, punching the idiot would’ve required Davis to tear his eyes from Brinn’s ass, and that idea didn’t appeal much.

Instead he issued the guard a low, “Merry Christmas” while both of them stared at Brinn’s very fine can.

Nelson came back with, “Yours will be.”

Davis chuckled under his breath. Yeah, it just might.

* * * * *

The security guard locked the heavy mall doors as soon as Davis and Brinn stepped through. With gusto, in fact. That left the two of them standing in the cold, under the sickly glow of fluorescent parking-lot lights. A little awkward, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Brinn, on the other hand, looked ready to bolt, or possibly throw up.

So he did what was necessary to alleviate her stress. “Here’s my info,” he said, pulling a slightly weathered business card from his wallet. He scribbled his address and cell number on the back. Pressed it against her palm, putting the fate of their impromptu date in her hands, literally. “I’ll watch from here until you’re safely inside your car, then I’ll head to mine. If I see you later, great. If not, it was nice meeting you, Brinn.”

She nodded and walked away.

Forty minutes later, the headlights of a small car lit his bay window. She could’ve bailed—done the no-call, no-show. Or called and made an excuse. Anything would be feasible on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t. However, she hadn’t gotten out of her car yet, either.

Davis surveyed the situation from inside his house. The exterior light illuminated most of the driveway, giving him a good view of Brinn, sitting in her parked car, staring down at her lap. Her lips moved steadily. Talking via speakerphone? Singing along to her favorite song? Or having a conversation with an alternate personality about how she should dispose of his body after murdering him in his sleep tonight…

Trust issues still on board—hell yeah. Idiot. He had no reason to think Brinn was a nutcase like Linda. Or Terri. Besides, he’d learned his lesson. Relationships worked best when he stuck with the KISS method—Keep It Sexual and Short. Have a good time together, but get clear before emotional attachments formed. Two dates were usually safe. Three, max. Of course, to make it to a second or third date, there had to be a first. That wouldn’t happen if Brinn didn’t get out of the car.

He stepped out onto the small front stoop, kicking the fresh dusting of snow aside as he walked to the driveway. Their eyes connected and Brinn smiled at him through the windshield. Warm, friendly. Not the grin of a psycho female—he hoped.

“Checking in with somebody?” he asked when she exited her car. Because he couldn’t just leave it alone.

“What? Oh, no. Talking to myself.” She fiddled with the strap of her purse. Her eyes flitted everywhere but at him. “Talking myself down.”

Shit. And the crazy-o-meter just spiked to the orange zone.

“We can rain-check dinner and the movie.” He left off the
permanently
part, though it was right there, on the tip of his tongue. “No pressure, Brinn. Really.”

Now, she looked at him. “No, it’s just that…” No craziness in the eyes focused on him, just nervousness. “I’ve never, um, done…this.” Pink colored her cheeks. Could’ve been from the cold, but he doubted it.

“That makes two of us.”

With a hand planted on her jutted left hip and one eyebrow arched, she silently called bullshit.

He had to smile. Smile, and hope she didn’t turn out to be batshit crazy once they were inside his house, because he was back to wanting her there. In his kitchen. Living room. In his bed if things went well.

“It’s the truth. I’ve never picked up a woman in the mall, and I’ve never spent Christmas Eve with somebody I just met. See, never done this.”

“Hmm.”

“I had to make another stop on my way home, so I haven’t started dinner yet.” He nodded toward his white-sided bungalow. “And I’m starving. You?”

“Very.”

“Great. Come on.” One hand under her elbow and the other at the small of her back, he guided her over the snow-covered path. “Sorry about this. Shoveled it before I left for work this morning, but it’s been snowing all day and—”

“And after work you had to rush to the mall to rattle my door.”

“Something like that.” He turned the handle and motioned her through the opening. “Welcome. Sorry it looks like somebody trashed the place. That’s because somebody trashed the place.”

Brinn swiveled abruptly, bringing them face-to-face. “What?”

“Yeah, the bastards hit a couple of houses sometime this afternoon. Cleaned out all the wrapped presents, electronics and furniture, jewelry, whatever they could easily get out the door. Stuff that’s easy to move and pawn. Cops said the same thing’s been happening around the city the past week. Typical of the season.”

She quickly surveyed the areas she could see. “How much of your stuff did they take?”

“Pretty much everything I just listed.”

“Oh my god. And on Christmas Eve…” Her soft eyes searched his face. “They must’ve had a truck to do that. How’d they get in? And hit multiple places without somebody noticing?”

“Lady across the street saw what she thought was a furniture delivery truck in my driveway. Only my place and the house next door were hit. No fences separating our yards. Both houses had forced rear entries. Backdoor jobs.”

Her lips curved into the cutest hint-of-naughty smile he’d ever seen. “Sorry. It’s horrible, not funny in the slightest, but…”

Half a step put them in very close proximity. “But?” He thumbed the zipper tab of her coat. Slid it down the track until the short, formfitting jacket hung open, revealing some very nice cleavage.

She shivered as he slid the black jacket from her shoulders and down her arms. “But that description was kind of, um…dirty. To me, anyway. But my mind always tends to head for the gutter.”

Not a bad thing from where he stood. A lifetime of keeping his feelings in check had given him a killer poker face, which he put to use now. “What did I say that sounded dirty?”

“Come on, Davis.” One eyebrow rose at him. “Think about it.”

Oh, he was thinking about it all right. Hard not to think about rear entries with the memory of Brinn’s upturned ass in that tight little skirt imprinted on his brain.

“You’re thinking about it.”

Shit, those eyes, taunting him to say something there’d be no mistaking the meaning of, no taking back. “Possibly.”

“I knew it.”

It was too soon to kiss her. A nice guy would let her get more than six feet inside the door before backing her up against a wall and stuffing his tongue in her mouth. Maybe find out her last name or offer her a drink. He could do those things—if she stopped looking at him like she
wanted
to be backed up against the wall, swallowing his tongue.

He stepped away and folded her coat over the back of the couch. Caught her hand and made her tag along to the kitchen before they visited the wall.

“Wait,” she said, throwing on the brakes. “Is that why you went out last minute to buy a present for Alicia? Because her house was robbed too?”

“Yeah.” Thinking about the girl’s tears streaming down her cheeks as she and her mother stood in their looted house had his blood boiling again. “No kid deserves to have their Christmas ruined.”

Brinn squeezed his hand. “Sorry I gave you such grief at the store. If you’d told me then, I wouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

Exactly. She would’ve given him sympathy instead of sexy sarcasm. He likely wouldn’t have enjoyed the spark of attraction and hint of jealousy she’d displayed. They probably wouldn’t be standing here right now.

“I have no regrets, Brinn.” He returned the squeeze to her soft, warm hand. “Ready to forget about work for the night?”

“Very ready.”

“Good.” He gave a little tug to get her moving again, and they reached the kitchen in a matter of steps. “I’d tell you to have a seat, but the bastards stole my barstools. Probably would’ve stolen the breakfast bar if it wasn’t built-in.”

“No problem, I can lean. Will I be in the way here?”

“Not at all.”

“I would’ve brought wine or something, but all I had in my apartment was soup and crackers.”

“The thieves stole all my unopened bottles, but there’s some white open in the fridge. That work for you?”

“Direct me to the glasses.”

“There should be a couple in the drying rack by the sink.” At least the assholes hadn’t stolen his dishes. If they’d known the value of his cookware, they just might have. That stuff was worth more than the computer, downstairs TV and other gadgets they’d made off with.

He pulled out a cutting board, chopping knife and the wooden mallet. Next, he retrieved chicken breasts, a hunk of five-year-old cheddar, some ricotta and a bunch of veggies from the fridge, his eyes staying on Brinn as he balanced it all on one arm. Yeah, he was showing off. He’d keep doing it, too, if it meant she continued looking at him the way she was.

She’d changed clothes. Dark jeans molded to her ass and thighs. A low-cut, red top hugged her tits, and accented slim arms. She’d changed her hair too. A wavy ponytail now dangled between her shoulder blades. More casual, head to toe, but no less gorgeous.

Caught staring, he grinned openly. Long eyelashes batted rapidly as she cast her eyes downward, toward the wine, her pale-pink lips smiling while she poured. Lots of contradictions in his date for the night. A dirty mind and plenty of sex appeal. Eating him up with her eyes, then shyly avoiding his stare.

And those lips…hell, they messed with his head. One second she had a fuck-me smile, the next, she could’ve been a girl who’d never been kissed. All of it seemed natural. Not put on for effect.

The three feet between them was too damn much. So when she extended one arm to pass him a glass, he shook his head. “Not good enough. Come over here.” He tapped the spot where she’d been leaning. Once she’d settled in at his elbow, he got to work chopping vegetables. “Want something to nibble on while I prep dinner?”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Depends what you’re offering.”

“You’re worse than a guy.” By the smile on her face, she took that as a compliment. “Here. Open up, naughty girl.” He slid a long, thin carrot stick over her bottom lip. He expected her to grab it with her teeth, as any normal person would do.

Not Brinn. She looked him in the eye and let him put the whole damn length in her mouth before she closed her lips over the end and started casually chewing.

He believed her when she said she’d never hooked up like this. Didn’t mean she lacked seduction skills. His dick was thick with proof of that.

“May I have another?”

“Sure.” He pushed a few freshly chopped carrots to the end of the cutting board. “But you have to feed yourself, or we’ll be eating these chicken breasts for breakfast. You’re very distracting, woman.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“As you should,” he said, popping one more carrot stick into her mouth.

She giggled as he resumed his chopping duties. Watched intently as he grated the cheese, pounded the chicken.

He focused on not mutilating his fingers—since he hoped to need to them later in the evening—but his peripheral vision served him well. Brinn’s eyes stayed glued to his task. The glass of wine she held close to her face didn’t succeed in hiding her parted lips. Or the way she watched his fingers, followed the flex of his biceps and shoulders.

Shit, with her looking at him that way, he’d keep swinging the damn mallet all night. These would be the flattest filets in the history of pulverized chicken.

He turned his head enough to make direct eye contact. He’d known her all of what, an hour, but there was no mistaking the little smile commandeering her lips. “Your mind in the gutter again?” The flush of pink across her cheeks gave her unspoken answer. “Spill it.”