Kissing Santa Claus Read online

  She tasted sweet and warm and perfect, and Sean was pretty sure he could kiss her for hours. Days. The rest of his life. There was little that was lush about her small frame, and he’d have to be careful not to crush his weight down on her, much as he wanted to feel her under him. However, what she lacked in curves she more than made up for with that mouth, those lips. They were full and soft and so inviting he thought he might lose himself there forever. And when she kissed him back? Every part of him responded. She kissed him like she did everything else, with such direct, focused intensity. And she fit him, her mouth to his, there was no fumbling, no trying to find just that right angle.

  And her mouth was only the start. The idea that there was so much more to explore, to discover where else they fit together, made it hard to think, hard to focus. He wanted it all, all of her, right now.

  Patience, patience…When creating a new dish, working to get it just right took endless amounts of patience, but that never bothered Sean; he never wavered. In fact, the journey of discovery often taught him more than the actual dish itself. Trial, error, attempt after attempt until all the flavors were there, layered just right, to burst on the taste buds in the exact way he wanted them to.

  Holly Bennett was like an exquisitely prepared dish…so many layers, so many flavors…he wanted to savor it all. Inch by inch, taste by taste. For that, he had endless patience. He moved from her mouth down to her chin, then along her jaw, before stopping to spend time along that soft, tender part of the neck just below her ear. She gasped when he nipped along the side of her neck, then moaned and arched beneath him as he leaned over her, working his way along her shoulder, pushing aside the loose collar of her tee. “More,” he murmured, when he went as far as the opening would allow. He slid his hands down her waist, and lifted his chest just enough to push up the tee. She didn’t stop him and he didn’t wait for further approval. Holly was a thinker, a planner, an analyzer. But right now, he wanted her to go on feelings, instincts, and reach…

  He wanted—badly—to stretch out next to her, but the divan was too narrow, so he shifted to the floor, to his knees, as she stretched out fully. Seeing her pale skin being bared against the red crushed velvet was almost more than he could stand. He was already so hard he wasn’t sure he could be any more aroused, but felt himself twitch, and harden further as he slipped the tee over her head, leaving her bared to him in nothing more than the tiniest of pale blue silk bras. He needed more hands, and another mouth, so he could be tasting all that delicious, creamy skin while tugging off her jeans and finding out if what was beneath matched what was on top.

  He dipped his head and ran the tip of his tongue around her navel, then slowly tracked up the center of her torso. She twisted a little, pushing her body toward his mouth, moaning as she arched her back. Her eyes were closed, her hands in fists beside her head. Good, he thought, lose yourself in me, let yourself go…let me take you.

  When he reached the scraps of silk that covered her breasts, her nipples were thrusting hard against the soft fabric, tempting him to take them into his mouth…taste, touch, tug, lick. So he did. Her hips were moving now, pumping up, and he slid a flat palm down her belly, flipped open the button to her jeans, and continued sliding his fingers past the waistband, the zipper inching down as he toyed along the edge of her silk panties, all the while still teasing her nipples with his tongue.

  “Sean—”

  “Shhh,” he said, moving up, over her body, biting her chin, nipping her bottom lip before taking her mouth again, this time with the intent of claiming her as fully as he could in a kiss…while his fingers slid under the silk panel…and down between her thighs. She arched sharply against his fingers as he slid them over her, then grabbed his shoulders, digging in her nails as he slid his tongue and fingers inside her at the same time. He felt the long, deep groan vibrate through her as she moved against his hand and greedily took his tongue into her mouth. It was as close as he’d ever gotten to coming before getting his pants off.

  The way she responded to him drove him harder. He continued stroking her, fingers and tongue, and felt her pump faster, suck harder on his tongue, moving with him until both motions had a definite rhythm. He felt her gathering, knew she was climbing, and he wanted, with a need that bordered on desperation, to yank off his pants and be fully inside of her when she hit that peak. But then she was there, and her fingers were in his hair, tugging, pulling, raking his scalp as she arched again and again, making incredibly earthy noises in the back of her throat that did things to him he couldn’t describe.

  He’d never wanted like this, needed like this…it was fun and thrilling and sexy as all hell, her sprawled on this crushed velvet divan, the pale afternoon light across her body, his hands on her, in her, his mouth, how she tasted, the scent of her…all of these things, these images, swam through his mind like a tumbled kaleidoscope, each one a tiny snap shot of a moment he’d remember for a very long time.

  And to think he’d just come over here with the intent of making her listen to his very well thought out arguments on why she should give him—them—at least a shot.

  She was shuddering—aftershocks—and he slid his hand back to her stomach and changed the tenor of the kiss. Softer now, not so aggressive, but unwilling to leave her entirely. He had no idea where she’d go in her head when this was over, but he wanted it to be forward, no retreating. And he hadn’t the first clue how to make sure that happened.

  Her fingers slackened, but she kept toying with his hair as he continued kissing her—lazy, slow kisses now, searching, tasting, reveling. There was something almost more intimate in them now, than before, when they’d both been charged up. He’d always enjoyed kissing, but purely for the physical pleasure it brought. This was…different. This was communication, it was connection…and it was so much more than purely physical.

  Finally, she pushed a bit at him, moved her mouth just enough so that it shifted from his own. “Sean…”

  He lifted his head enough to look into her eyes and felt his body punch right back into full tilt gear with what he saw there. Dreamy, unfocused, so rich, like the finest dark chocolate.

  “I can’t believe I…” She looked away, briefly, but he tipped her chin back so their gazes connected again. “I don’t…that’s not—me.”

  “Oh, I think it was wonderfully, beautifully, perfectly you.” She started to talk, but he brushed his fingertip over her lips. “I don’t think less of you, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s just as out of character for me.” He pressed his fingertip on her lips, then stroked them. “Thank you for trusting me. With you. And for just going with it. I—I know that’s probably outside your comfort zone. It meant a lot. To me. That you did.” He leaned in and brushed his mouth over hers. “It makes me hunger, Holly. I want more. I want you.” He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “I want more of this, but I want more than this. You do know that, right?”

  The smallest of smiles played around the corners of her kiss-softened mouth, and he swore he’d never seen anything so beguiling. “I think you’ve been pretty up front about that.”

  “I push. Fair warning. When I want something, I push hard.”

  “Pushing hard isn’t always a bad thing.” Pink instantly bloomed in her cheeks and she choked a laugh as she quickly turned her head away. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

  He nudged her gaze back to his, smiling himself now. “Holly uncensored. I like it. A lot. You can say anything to me, you know.”

  “I’ve already said more to you than…than anyone.” She took a moment, never breaking their gaze, then seemed to gather herself, and he immediately went on guard. “Sean—”

  “Holly, don’t think it through right now. Just…can we keep going with the flow? See what happens next? Just…let it unfold, however it does? I know that’s not how you prefer to do things, but this once, give it a shot.” He grinned. “It’s worked out pretty well so far.”

  She studied him. “You k
now me surprisingly well.”

  “You have no poker face. I can see the wheels turn.”

  She flashed another brief smile. “Good to know.”

  “I have to get back across the street. Prep for the dinner rush.”

  “Oh, okay.” She immediately started to wriggle out from under the way he leaned over her body. “I—I have a million things to do, too. My—where’s my shirt?”

  He hated the sudden awkwardness. “Right here.” He grabbed it off the high back of the divan, but held it out of her reach when she put her hand out. “Allow me.” He was determined to keep her used to him being in her personal space. He wanted her to be comfortable with him putting his hands on her, with him being intimate with her, both casually…and very intently. He could only hope and pray that, at some point, she’d feel the same about him. But it had to start somewhere. He took her hand in his and tugged her up.

  “Sean, I can—”

  “I know, but I want to. You get to every day. I get to now.” He shook the T-shirt right side out, then bunched it up and pulled it over her head.

  She spluttered a laugh as she blew and puffed the hair out of her face. “Bed head, so attractive. New and improved, with more static cling.”

  Sean chuckled as she worked her arms through the sleeves, but he was the one who pulled the soft cotton down around her waist, then pinned it with his hands, keeping her rooted to the spot. “You do wonders for static,” he said, kneeling on the floor between her thighs. He lifted up to kiss her mouth, then her nose. “In fact, you’re the best looking electric shock recipient I’ve ever seen.”

  She moved her hands up, then her eyes went wide as she realized her long strands of hair were in a static halo around her head.

  “Very zero-G, really,” he teased.

  She tried to smooth it down, but that just made it worse. “I need some water, it’s the only way to—”

  He leaned in and kissed her, then smoothed his palms down over her hair, and magically, when he lifted his mouth, her hair was smooth and back to normal.

  “How did you do that?”

  He rose and tugged her to her feet, then slipped his fingers through hers so their palms met. “I’ve got a little body heat thing going at the moment. Can’t imagine why.”

  She smiled, blushed a tiny bit, then said, “I’m sorry you’re…” She rolled her eyes a little and he was torn between laughing and carrying her off somewhere where he could have her all to himself until the end of time.

  “I’ll live, truly.”

  “I know, but…I’m generally not so selfish.”

  He smiled and pulled their joined hands up between them. “Good to know.”

  “Sean—”

  She was looking all serious again. Time for him to cut and run while the glow still lingered. “I’ll bring dinner over later. If it’s not too crazed in the kitchen, I’ll bring enough for two.” He leaned in and kissed her, hard and fast this time. At least he’d meant it to be. But somehow his mouth just wouldn’t leave hers, and then her hands were on his shoulders, and his were in her hair, and she was tilting her head to one side to give him better access…and he was a goner for another good five minutes.

  When he finally lifted his head, they were both a little unfocused and breathing a bit erratically. “Seriously,” he said, “what you do to me. I’ll be back. Seven thirty, eight.”

  And he left her there, dazed and a bit disheveled—both of which he was directly responsible for—and somehow stumbled down the stairs and across the street without giving in to the very strong urge to stay right were he was, until they were both dazed and disheveled some more. A whole lot more, in fact.

  As he pushed through the doors to the kitchen, he was immediately enveloped in steam and the rich scent of beef and roasting potatoes and decided that not only was he going to be free for dinner, but—“Mickey!” he shouted.

  His cousin stuck his head around from the other side of the kitchen where the sinks were. His pale Irish skin was flushed from the steam of scouring pans. “Yeah, boss man?”

  “You want to close tonight?”

  His expression was a mixture of delight and abject terror. Which meant he was ready. “Just me?”

  Sean nodded. “You think you’re ready to be the boss man for a few hours?”

  Mickey grinned. “I was born ready, boy-o.”

  “Good, because tonight’s the night.”

  Sean grinned as he moved into his office and closed the door behind him. If he was very, very lucky, tonight would, indeed, be the night.

  9

  Holly moved to the window and watched Sean cross the street. She could hardly believe what had just happened, what she’d let happen—encouraged to happen, if she was honest with herself. She should be feeling remorse, or worry, or…something. Something other than the huge urge to do a little dance around the room then wander back to the window, and stare, longingly, at the door to Gallagher’s, reliving every single moment, every word, every breath, every…“Wow,” she said, lifting the hair off her still heated nape. “That was—he is—” She leaned against the desk again and laughed at herself. “Yeah. Wow, sums it right up.” She spent a moment or two marveling over the kind of stupid silly giddy feelings she had. Had she ever in her life felt like that? That was an easy one. “Never.”

  She tried to control the rush of emotion so she could think. She had so much thinking to do. More now than before. Important decisions to make, bigger ones, now. Potentially life altering. And yet, she kept staring out the window. “What am I going to do with you, Sean Gallagher?”

  She thought about him over there, inside the restaurant, with all those other Gallaghers milling about…Gallaghers she’d be personally meeting, mingling with, adjusting to, if she wanted to have Sean in her life. She gave a little shudder. A room full of professional clients clamoring for her were one thing. The tightly knit bosom of Sean’s family was quite another. “Okay, so I’m not ready to think about that part yet.”

  She stood, making the desk wobble, which reminded her about the hidden compartment she’d found just before Sean had arrived. It was amazing that she was able to recall anything that happened before he got here. The last hour of her life had truly changed everything. It was like, from now on, her life would be compartmentalized as happening Before Sean and After Sean. Or, perhaps, Without Sean and With Sean.

  She bent down to get a better look in the desk, her mind still spinning on how just a few days and one person could so drastically change her perspective on everything. Spying something tucked away inside the little cubby hole was finally enough to jerk her thoughts back to the present. “Huh. What do you know.” She reached her hand inside and slipped out a slender, bound volume. A book? Maybe it would help to explain where the piece came from, or why it wasn’t listed in inventory.

  She walked over to the divan and sat down as she carefully opened the cover. It was clearly old, very old judging by the faded silk fabric cover and hand-stitched binding. There was no title on the cover, and she realized why as soon as she opened it. It wasn’t a published book. It was someone’s journal. Or diary. A slender piece of ribbon, which might have been pink once, but had yellowed badly with time, was tucked between the pages, marking a spot about two thirds of the way into the book. But, instead of going to that spot, she started at the beginning.

  Holly carefully turned the once glossy cover page over and stared at an unlined page filled with row after neatly written row, all done with what appeared to be an old-fashioned ink pen. The handwritten lines filled up that first page, leaving little white space, and all the others that followed it were the same, until the aged slip of ribbon, which marked the final entry. The ink was a faded brown now, and as she carefully leafed through the pages, there were spots that were almost faded entirely away.

  She went back to the beginning and skimmed, looking for a full date, but there were none she could find. Days of the week, and sometimes months, were noted, but no years. None marked inside
the cover, either, or anywhere that she could discover. No name of the owner, either. A shame, she thought. She might not have been the antiques hound that her mother or Mrs. Gillespie was, but she hadn’t spent a life growing up around them without some of the knowledge of provenance and the like wearing off on her. At least a little.

  At the moment, there was more to her curiosity than simply dating the book or the desk it had been stashed in. Not that one necessarily had anything to do with the other. Anyone could have hidden the volume inside the desk at any time over the intervening years. But, though she couldn’t confirm with her mother at the moment, even Mrs. Gillespie had agreed that, as far as she knew, she’d never seen the little antique rolltop before. And given how it had been tucked so far back into the corner of a room used only for storage, and then behind several other large pieces that Holly had had to rearrange to make room for herself as well as do the inventory…who knew how long it had been back there. But, given the dust and location, it had to have been quite some time ago. A decade or more was highly probable, and possibly multiples of that. In fact, for all Holly knew, maybe the little desk had come with the place when her mother had purchased it from Mrs. Haversham almost fifty years back.

  She shifted so the natural light illuminated the journal pages better, then eventually shifted back onto the divan the way it was designed to be used. She started reading…and within minutes, everything else faded away and she was engrossed in the unfolding story. A story, that as she continued to read, both moved her…and stunned her. Because the names mentioned in the book weren’t all unfamiliar to her. As the sun set, she pulled the chain on the standing lamp she’d positioned next to the divan and continued reading, without pause.

  She’d had no idea how much time had passed until she heard the sleigh bells downstairs. Dammit. She’d never gone down and locked up behind Sean earlier. How long had she been sitting there? She glanced out the window and saw that it was fully nightfall. She heard heavy tread on the stairs and her heart began to race. But it wasn’t simply a reaction to what had happened between them earlier…and what she hoped would happen between them tonight, if she were completely honest.