Holly Lane (15 page)

Since she, for one, was ready for him to get out of it. She still didn’t particularly like being attracted to a man in a Santa suit. Even if she refused to act on her feelings for Adam, at least he was a hot, handsome guy. Lusting for Santa Claus just felt ooky to her.

“Ho-ho-ho,” he said, reassuming his deeper, echoing Santa voice. “You want Santa out of his suit, huh?” Then he flashed a sexy grin the silly beard couldn’t dim.

And like earlier, she was biting her lip to hide her smile even as Adam’s flirtation moved all through her like something tangible, touchable. Since she didn’t want to do anything to encourage him. Now if she could only hide the blush burning in her cheeks. “It’s, um, not like that, Santa,” she told him. But the claim came out sounding far more bashful and playful than she’d intended.

“Wh-h-hell,” he said, still in Santa mode, “before Santa goes, he’s got one more question for you.”

“Um, what’s that?” Darn it, why did her voice sound so breathy?

And when she looked back up into his eyes, there was no mistaking that they shone warm and seductive on her as he asked, “What do
you
want for Christmas, little girl?”

Eleven

And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips . . .

Charles Dickens,
A Christmas Carol

A
dam could see all the heat he was feeling reflected in her eyes, as well. And it wasn’t exactly like he’d planned to put the moves on her—he was wearing a Santa suit, for God’s sake—but it had just happened. One minute he’d been apologizing for what he’d said to Sophie—and the next he’d been thinking about how much he’d like to kiss her again, soft at first, but maybe then harder. He supposed something about Sue Ann just brought out the animal in him these days. Even behind a ridiculous fake beard.

And now . . . damn, he was pretty sure she wanted to kiss him, too. She sure as hell looked like it anyway.

“I should . . . uh . . . probably go,” she said then, her voice barely audible. And yeah, the words said go, but her eyes still said kiss.

“You haven’t answered me,” he reminded her. “Or . . . maybe you want to sit on Santa’s lap first?” He raised his eyebrows—even though he wore big white ones glued over his own at the moment.

And like before, a smile snuck out even as she lowered her eyes and bit her lip. He felt that lip bite of hers right in his big red velvet Santa pants, directly between his legs. “That . . . sounds like a bad idea,” she said.

Moving more on instinct than thought, Adam tilted his head, leaned a little closer, and tried to keep his voice Santa deep. “Why? Have you been a naughty little girl?”

He met her gaze and watched her swallow—nervously it seemed. “Lately maybe. A couple of times.”

And that . . . well, that wasn’t what he’d been going for at all. He’d been flirting, playing—not trying to make her feel like she’d done anything she shouldn’t have. So he just tilted his head and didn’t weigh his response—though he dropped the Santa voice completely. “Listen, Sue Ann—I don’t think you’ve been naughty at all. In fact, I think you’ve been damn nice.” In every way, he meant. As a mom, as a woman adjusting to being alone for the first time—and as a lover. Definitely as a lover.

“Well, maybe it’s more a matter of dumb than naughty,” she offered.

“You haven’t done anything dumb, either, Little Miss Sugar Plum,” he told her. He didn’t like her coming down on herself for having indulged in a little pleasure—or even a lot of it. And he wasn’t going to let that hesitation of hers get in the way of what he was feeling right now—because just like other recent times with her, what he was experiencing in this moment overrode everything else.

Since she’d lowered her eyes again, he used one bent finger to lift her chin. And her brown eyes looked so clear right now that he could read everything in them: the doubt, the trepidation, and the fire. But he felt the last part the most, and he wanted to kiss her almost more than he wanted to breathe. “Sue Ann,” he murmured, leaning forward instinctively.

And that’s when she ducked away from him, moving from the wall he’d somehow managed to back her against without having even planned it. “I should go. I’ll see you later,” she said, and that quick, she was walking back up the hall, the click of her boot heels on the linoleum reminding him with each passing second that she was getting farther and farther away.

M
ick was ready to go. He’d moved the big Santa chair back into the storage room, carried garbage bags outside, broken down the folding tables, and hauled Caroline Meeks’ boxes and bags out to her car. It was nearly ten and he was in the mood to take his wife to bed when they got home. Then again, he was
usually
in that mood. And he was damn thankful Jenny was generally in that mood, too—it was one big thing they had in common.

He’d just come back in, ready to grab her and go—when he spotted her and Sue Ann holed up in a corner on a pair of folding chairs having a heart-to-heart. This had been happening a lot since the summer and he knew to leave them alone.

Most everyone else was gone—only Caroline and a couple of other ladies remained working in the kitchen area. And Sophie knelt next to the Christmas tree, examining ornaments but otherwise looking bored. Damn, he felt for the kid. Not just now, but for everything she and her mom were dealing with. As best he recalled, being a kid was pretty hard at times—and a hell of a lot harder when things went wrong.

He wasn’t good with kids, but he’d at least spent enough time around Sophie to start feeling comfortable with her. She was a lot like her mother—direct, determined, and a little sassy at times. And since they were both stuck waiting—hell, rather than park his ass in a chair by himself, he figured it made more sense to go hang out with her.

“What’s up?” he asked, approaching the tree.

“Santa’s bringing me a reindeer for Christmas,” she replied, peering up at him with a bright-eyed grin as she got to her feet.

Huh. He hadn’t seen that coming. Had Adam Becker been stupid enough to promise her that? “Really?”

“Well, he said he’d try.”

“Oh.” Okay, that was better. But changing the subject seemed like a good idea anyway. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“The baby Jesus,” she said, then reached to touch a rustic wooden ornament that he guessed was supposed to be Jesus in a cradle. “When I grow up, I’m gonna have lots of babies.”

Crap. Another subject that just wasn’t a good one for him. “That’s . . . nice, I guess.” Okay, maybe it was easier being comfortable with her when they had a cat to play with or a tree to trim.

“How come you and Aunt Jenny don’t have babies?”

Holy hell. “Well . . . um, not everybody
has
babies.”

“Why not? I want lots of little kids so they can always have lots of fun together. Don’t you like kids?”

Oh God. He felt like a jerk. What now? “I like
you
,” he said.

And she gave him a small smile. “I like you, too.” Then she raised her hand and held his. Just held it. Like that was the natural, normal thing to do.

Mick was struck by how tiny her hand was, and how soft. It was hard to believe there’d been a time when his own had been that small. And he was sure there’d been plenty of occasions when he’d wished he had someone to hold onto, times when he’d been lonely or afraid when his parents were fighting. Sometimes his older brother, Wayne, had been there for him, trying to make him feel safe—but other times it had been only him, cowering in a corner, feeling like some scared, wounded animal.

So now, he found himself giving Sophie’s little hand a small, gentle squeeze, hoping it somehow made her feel a little safer. And something inside him went warm, the sensation literally climbing up his arm and spreading outward through his body. It made him feel . . . a little frightened himself in a way—vulnerable maybe. But mostly it filled him with a powerful urge to protect her, take care of her, make sure she was all right.

It didn’t make much sense—she had plenty of people in her life closer to her than him, people whose job it was to make sure she was okay. And as far as he knew, most of those people were doing their part on that, so it wasn’t as if Sophie really needed him or anything.

But even so, he found himself squeezing her hand again, and then—on impulse—stooping down to face her. He wasn’t sure what was driving him—just more of that unexplained urge—as he said, “You know if you ever need anything, I’m here, right?”

She tilted her blond head, looking slightly surprised, then said, “Okay.”

Then he immediately felt the need to lighten what he’d just turned so serious. “I mean . . . you want a play date with Trouble, I’m your guy—I can hook you up.”

And when a tiny burst of laugher erupted from her throat, he smiled at her, and everything felt normal again. “So, any cat ornaments on this tree?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. “There’s a white angel cat over here,” she said, pointing, “with a silver halo.”

“Will you show me?”

“Sure,” she said, and taking his much bigger hand in hers once more, she led him to the other side of the tree, where they talked more about cats and Christmas decorations, the things that came easier to Mick with her. But it occurred to him then that maybe, now,
everything
would be different, easier, between him and Sophie. Just from this little moment they’d shared.

And when Jenny and Sue Ann finally stood and walked over to the tree a few minutes later, Mick—weirdly—was almost sorry to see Sophie go. “See ya, kiddo,” he said in parting, even mussing her hair before Sue Ann slid a brightly colored winter hat onto it as they headed for the door.

“Ready?” he asked Jenny after they were gone.

“Almost,” she said.

So he cast a mildly wicked look in her direction, just to let her know what he was thinking about. Talking to Sophie hadn’t made him forget what he wanted to do with his wife when they got home. “Almost? ’Cause me, I’m ready to roll. I’ve got plans for you.”

She bit her lip, offering up a slightly-innocent-yet-sexy expression that made him go hard. “You were sweet with Sophie. I saw you holding her hand.”

He just shrugged. “Only being nice. She just looked a little lonely, that’s all.”

“Watching you with her gave me this feeling,” she began, suddenly seeming more serious than sexy, “this feeling that . . . I’ve been having a lot the last week or so.”

And something in Mick’s chest tightened, but he wasn’t sure why. “Um, what feeling?”

“The feeling of . . .” She stopped then, swallowing visibly, nervously.

Which made Mick a little nervous, too. Normally, he would urge her to go on, try to put her at ease. But right now, he didn’t—because he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to hear what she was thinking. Only then he heard it anyway.

“The feeling that I want to have a baby, Mick,” she said. “With you. I want us to have a baby, a family.”

He just looked at her, instantly frozen, as all the blood drained from his face. Shit.

This was . . . this was completely out of the blue.

Because she knew, she understood, how he felt about that. And up to now, they’d had . . . well, a pretty damn perfect marriage in his opinion. And he hadn’t expected that to change—he was wild about her, she was wild about him, and they wanted the same kind of life. But what she’d just said . . . it meant that suddenly she
didn’t
want the same life he did. How had this happened?

“Did . . . you hear me?” she asked, her expression cautious now.

He wished he hadn’t. Because he felt a little sick. “Jenny,” he finally began, “you know—you’ve always known—how I feel about that. And you agreed that was okay with you.”

“I know I did,” she said, but her eyes . . . in them he saw a yearning he’d never seen before, something sweet and desperate that clawed at his heart.

“And . . . we don’t even know if we can
have
a baby,” he pointed out. Jenny had never gotten pregnant during her first marriage, and she’d not felt strongly enough—at least then—to look into the reasons why.

“But maybe I can,” she said. “And maybe if we just tried to . . . well, if I didn’t get pregnant, then we’d know it wasn’t meant to be. But if I did, it would be like . . . fate. Destiny.”

Mick just looked at his wife. He loved her with all his heart. She had . . . saved him, in so many ways. She had given him a life, and a love, he’d never even hoped to have. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And yet . . . she’d assured him she understood how he felt about being a parent. His own parents had been walking nightmares. He didn’t have the faintest idea of how to
be
a parent, a good parent, and he’d never experienced the desire to have kids.

Hell, hadn’t he just been thinking about how uncomfortable he generally felt around children? A guy like him . . . no, it just didn’t make sense. You couldn’t force what you didn’t feel. And he already knew it wasn’t meant to be,
without
trying to get Jenny pregnant.

The beginning of their relationship had been rough—really rough. But after that, it had been smooth as silk. And now, for the first time since they’d worked through all those early problems, he felt a little bit like . . . like he didn’t know her. And like, just as in the beginning, he was about to let her down. But he couldn’t figure a way around it—he could only tell her the truth.

“Jenny,” he said, the muscles in his chest stretched so tight now he feared they might snap, “I’m sorry. But I can’t do that. I can’t have a baby with you.”

A
s Sue Ann drove home, Elvis sang “Blue Christmas” on the radio and she replayed in her head the conversation she’d just had with Jenny.

“It was agonizing,” she’d told Jen, feeling an actual physical pull in her heart. She’d been talking about avoiding Adam’s kiss. Even while he’d been wearing that silly Santa beard, it had been one of the hardest things she could ever remember doing, resisting. And she was still enduring that same gnawing want even now.

Jenny had shaken her head and said, “I just don’t get it. I know you’ve only been divorced a little while, but I still think Adam is exactly what you need right now.” She’d sounded downright exasperated. “Why won’t you let yourself have fun with him?”