Mistletoe & Hollywood (3 page)

Nigel reached down with his left hand and pulled up a carry container. “Oh my God,” I squeaked. “Is that coffee for me? I love you!” I leaned forward, carefully taking the carrier with two paper cups from his hand.

“Bit fair weather with ’er heart, this one,” Nigel said to Jack with a laugh.

I handed a cup to Jack and took the one that said milk, two sugars. “Thank you, both,” I breathed, touched that Jack had even told Nigel how I liked my coffee. Taking a careful sip, I leaned back and closed my eyes, savoring the taste. I’d always liked coffee but had become a bit of a junkie since I started college and had to work at crazy times to get studio time and projects done.

The time change to England was a killer. My legs felt like lead. “I could sleep for an epoch,” I muttered with a sigh.

Jack reached over and smoothed my hair off my temple. “We have to try and stay awake ’til this evening, otherwise jet lag will kick our asses, and it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

“I’m guessing you’ve both known each other a while?” I asked, looking between Jack and Nigel. Maybe Jack used the same driver on all his trips here.

“Turns out I’ve known this runt since he was eight,” Nigel answered my question with a chuckle. “Though, only found out he’d become this Hollywood hotshot earlier this year. I’ve been working for a car service for about seven years now and was just back from holiday last January and staying with my aunt, and she says to me, ‘you remember little William and ’is mum what came to live with us all them years ago? You’ll never guess who he’s become,’ she says. I says, ‘don’t tell me… a car salesman.’ She’s like, ‘guess again.’ And I do. It bloody goes on for about twenty minutes, doesn’t it?” He checked the mirror and changed lanes.

I glanced at Jack with a bemused smile and he winked. “Is he talking about Mrs. Eversea whose name you borrowed?”

Jack nodded.

Nigel went on. “Then she’s like ‘warmer, colder.’ ‘Cor blimey,’ I says. ‘The bloody Easter bunny, I don’t know.’”

I busted out laughing and Jack snorted.

“‘Just tell me already, I’m getting irritated now, you know?’ She says, ‘… well, he’s that chap what’s in the films in’t he?’” he mimicked her high pitched voice. “So I says, ‘but Aunty, could you narrow it down a bit?’ She says, ‘you know the one about the dreams and the twin brothers, they’re like these gladiator types, but not.
You
know,’ she says. And bloody hell, if I didn’t. ‘Jack Eversea,’ I say, like she’s half a biscuit short on ’er tea. ‘But he’s a yank,’ I say. ‘And that’s
your
surname. You telling me that’s not a coincidence?’ Thought she was finally off her rocker, I did.”

Jack laughed. “Well, I knew Mrs. Eversea’s nephew was a driver for a car service,” he said to me. “And I needed someone I could trust. So… here we are.”

“Yep. Here we are,” Nigel echoed. “Even if he’s not an Everton supporter like me. You can’t be
too
perfect, now can you?”

Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Everton?” I asked.

“A soccer club,” Jack filled in, then looked back at Nigel. “Funnily enough, I hear people are calling them
Eversea
though, now that you’ve gone and bought all those Chelsea players. Can’t find your own talent then?”

I felt the brakes tap on the car. “You better watch your mouth, William, or I’ll turf you out on the side of the M25,” Nigel shot back, using Jack’s real childhood name.

“That was low, Nigel. Watch it or I’ll tell your aunt about—”

“All right, all right,” Nigel groused.

The misty, drizzly morning made it hard to see much outside beyond the highway, though I saw glimpses of green fields and the odd line of semi-detached row houses here and there.

“So what are we doing then? Are we going straight to your mom’s?” A sign said we were leaving the M25 and taking an exit toward the M4. The mist was clearing in patches. It was true that everything in England was really green. It was a deep wet green made more vibrant for being set against the grey overcast sky.

“We’ll go tomorrow. I’m having Nige take us to the Four Seasons in Hampshire.”

Nigel cleared his throat. “You know she’s expecting you.”

“I know.”

I turned back to the better view of my superstar boyfriend. How did he possibly look this good after traveling for twenty-four hours? He had to be tired.

“Let’s go, Jack,” I said, my tone low. I knew his mom must be so excited to see him. “Besides, if we stay at a hotel, we have more chance of being discovered, and we might accidentally lead them to your mom when we leave tomorrow.”

Jack placed a hand above my knee, the heat radiating through to my skin. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath tickling my nerves and raising bumps on my flesh. “But I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “And there’s things I want to do with you that are probably going to make you scream.”

My body’s reaction was instantaneous and overwhelming. I flicked my eyes to Nigel in the drivers seat. He was oblivious, thank God. If he’d looked up right then, he’d see a girl with her blood beating thick and heavy, causing flushed skin and glassy eyes. I squirmed on the seat and pressed my lips closed to avoid emitting any sound whatsoever, earning a chuckle from Jack.

“You see?” He arched a cocky eyebrow over teasing but heated eyes, and his hand ran slowly up my thigh.

I narrowed my eyes at him.
Arrogant
, I said in my head.

Confident,
his green eyes argued.

Regardless, I still thought we should go straight there. Nigel turned the car, and we all chatted as the vehicle ate up the miles.

I was nervous about meeting Jack’s mom, but part of me couldn’t wait. I just hoped she liked
me
.

“She’s gonna love you. Stop worrying,” Jack said.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said and brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, releasing it from the grip of my teeth.

I scowled. “I’m not worrying, I’m hopped up on caffeine, have hardly slept, swoon-effect, and I’m hungry.”

“Swoon-effect?” Jack inquired, not missing how I’d snuck that in there.

He didn’t need to know what happened inside my body every time I saw him. “Long story,” I muttered.

Jack grinned impishly. “Do you want your gift for day five of the twelve days of Christmas?”

“You have a gift with you right now? Uh, sure. Wait, not to be a spoiled brat, but what happened to day four?”

Jack winked and shrugged. “That was me. My presence is your present and all that.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head, laughing. Nigel was doing the same.

Jack briefly rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to get something Nigel was handing back to him. “Day five. Something you’ve been craving, apart from me—” he added.

I let out a snort.

A box. A white bakery box with a familiar red logo on it.

Ooooh, heaven.

“Oh my God, if this is what I think it is…” Taking the box gently from his hands, I laid it on my lap and opened the lid to a view of golden brown, perfectly flaky pastries sprinkled with toasted almonds and powdered sugar. It was. “Mmmmmm,” I breathed. “Thank you.” I offered one to Jack, and Nigel, then finally bit into one myself, feeling the flaky pillow give under my teeth and warm almond filling and fresh buttery croissant surround my taste buds. So good. I let out a long, deep groan.

Opening my eyes, I found Jack staring at me, his eyes dark. Chewing quickly, I swallowed. “What?”

“Nigel?” he raised his voice, his eyes not leaving me.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any music you can put on? I’m about to snog my girl here, and I doubt you want to be listening to us.”

“Jack!” Hot embarrassment pumped blood to my cheeks.

“Blimey.” Nigel chuckled. “You’d think you hadn’t seen each other instead of just arrivin’ together.”

“Er, we haven’t,” Jack said with a smirk, his eyes settling on my lips. “I’ve been in California, and Keri Ann’s been busy at college in Savannah.”

“Ah. Other side of the country is it? Right-o. I’ll put some Coldplay on.”

“You do that. Make it loud.”

I glared at Jack, mortified, but with a sting of anticipation swirling through my lower belly.

“Relax, baby,” he soothed. “Snogging is just slang for kissing.” He leaned forward and moved the box off my lap to the floor before sliding his hand around my head and into my hair. “With tongue,” he added.

WHEN JACK KISSED,
it was a melody rushing through me. The build of a chorus that thrummed in my blood and beat in my chest, my body at one with the resonance as it built, layer upon layer, like a song one could feel more than hear.

I didn’t just taste the sweet almond and coffee taste on his tongue that rode like white caps on the flavor that was uniquely Jack. I was in the cathedral of Jack. His presence surrounded me with perfect architecture to take the burning want he created with every slide of his mouth and every tightening of his hands holding me to him, soaring and whipping around me until I was trembling with the force of it. And flying along side it. Along side him.

“Christ on a broomstick, do you think you could tone it down just a bit?” Nigel’s voice tore through the music like the needle off a record. “It’s not one of them fancy cars I can just raise the partition and turn the bloody noise off. Don’t you think that was enough to tide you over?”

My chest heaved, and Jack exhaled a rough laugh.

“Anyway,” Nigel added, shaking his head, “we’re here. So straighten yourselves up and think of England. The green and glorious land.”

I WAS IN
a storybook. There were fields as far as I could see in the grey misty morning with low, stone walls and small skeletal copses of bare winter trees here and there. The car had left the highway and meandered up a narrow tarred lane that passed through a village consisting of a pub,
The Goat in Boots,
one or two other businesses, a small church, and a shiny bright red cylindrical “post box.” Christmas wreaths and pine garlands adorned doors and lampposts. Then the “village” was gone and the fields stretched out again.

Rising up a small hill, we slowed by a break in the stone wall with a wooden sign that read “The Grange.” We turned in and drove down a winding gravel driveway, bordered by strategically high hedges until we came out in front of a pretty two-story but small rectangle building. I couldn’t make out the masonry, not quite stone or brick, but not stucco either; it was tawny brown in coloring. A wild tangle of thorny limbs covered most of one half of the facade and eased around the doorframe.

“Roses,” said Jack. “They’re incredible when they bloom.” I’d bet they were. The whole place was so very pretty despite the miserable day and the bare winter feel. A large fir wreath with a red bow hung on the wooden door that suddenly flew open.

A short and slender lady, with dark glossy hair, dressed in jeans, green rubber boots, and a cream knitted sweater, came bounding out of the house, her mouth cracked wide with a huge smile.

Jack squeezed my hand, then opened the door and climbed out just in time to catch the woman in an airborne hug that had him swinging her round to the side with her momentum. His “mum.”

I smiled at her excitement and the sound of Jack’s rumble of a laugh while my heart pounded with nerves. Cold, damp air hit my bare arms as I shifted to Jack’s seat to exit after him.

He set his mom down and turned back to me, reaching out a hand. His smile was the most brilliant sight. It was clear he adored his mother. I glanced at her nervously as I climbed out.

“Mum…” Jack seemed to have lost his words.

We all seemed stuck in a moment.

I swallowed nervously as she gazed at me. Exactly my height, her eyes were just like Jack’s but darker, and she was absolutely beautiful. So much like Jack but softer. Her face bore pale smile lines and crows feet at her eyes that told me they crinkled often. Her dark hair was glossy and softly pulled back. Then she reached out and took my hand, pulling me into a tight hug. The scent of warm cooking and Christmas spices surrounded me, her sweater soft under my arms, and I squeezed my eyes closed at the sudden rush of emotion—relief and love for a lady I’d never met before flooded my system. After a moment, we pulled apart, and she held me at arms length. “Keri Ann,” she said in a stunning British accent, and I wanted to melt. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”