One
Brent
I smiled at Brooke and Kace, or rather, I smiled as Brooke settled in with her computer while Kace stared at her like she owned his heart.
Because she did.
Still, it was Christmas Eve, last call was done, the bar was empty and clean. Which meant, my duties were complete. It was time for me to go back to my rental and go to sleep.
Pathetic?
Maybe.
But I’d gotten used to being alone.
Better that way.
I waved to Kace and slipped quietly by Brooke, not wanting to disrupt her flow as she wrote the latest bestselling romance novel. Technically, I’d known her longer than Kace, and I still felt real guilt at not having kept in touch with her after her brother and my friend, Hayden, died. I should have looked after her better.
But the past was the past, and I, more than anyone, understood that it belonged there.
Sighing, I stretched my aching back—reason one I’d gotten out of the military—and walked away from the bar. I’d just reached the doorway to the hall when a tiny female crashed into me.
“Oof,” I grunted, instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’.”
She stiffened and pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she said, and my gut clenched from the impact. Her voice was sweet summer peaches, warm honey dripping down fingers. It was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever heard. “I should have been more careful.”
“You’re fine, darlin’.”
She nodded, lifting her hand to push her bangs from her face. It was trembling, as was her voice, when she went on. “I left my purse. I can’t believe I was so stupid to—”
“What color was it?” I asked gently.
“Black with a gold zipper and chain.”
I nodded. “I have it. Come on,” I said. “I saw it left behind and put it in the office.” I’d set it on Kace’s desk earlier while on break.
Her relief was palpable. “Thank you so much. I swear, my whole life is in that bag.”
“Your whole life?”
She smiled, and it was another punch to the gut. I had the distinct thought that I wanted to see that smile forever. What? Blinking away the crazy idea, I turned and led her down the hall, opening the door marked private and pointing to the desk.
Her hands came up and she clasped them to her chest.
“Oh, thank God.”
“You come here often, darlin’?” I asked and mentally winced at the words, which came out sounding like a lame pickup line.
“No,” she said, fiddling with the neckline of her shirt, smoothing it out before bunching it up again. “I just moved to town.”
“Ah. You going to come back in tomorrow?”
Her cheeks went a little pink. “Um. You guys are open on Christmas Day?”
Oh. Shit. Now I’d gone from lame to sounding like a total idiot. “Oh. Um. No, we’re not. I . . . forgot.”
“You forgot Christmas?” she asked, stepping forward to pick up her purse, head tilting to the side in an adorable fashion.
I shrugged. “No family here. Not a ton to celebrate.”
“Oh.”
And now I could add pathetic to the list.
But then she glanced up and I saw warmth in her gorgeous blue-green eyes. “You could come over to my house. I was going to cook and—”
The warmth in her eyes died.
Probably because my expression was coming across as shocked. Or maybe a little disbelieving. What kind of woman invited a strange man back to her house? Moreover, what kind of woman invited a strange black man to her house?
That had happened to me exactly . . . never.
“Never mind,” she said, biting her lip, eyes dropping to the floor. “It was a stupid idea.”
I huffed out a laugh.
“I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
“Inviting strange men you don’t know to your place for Christmas isn’t exactly smart.”
Those eyes shot up, and my breath froze in my lungs. Blue tinged with green. The ocean reflecting the hot summer sun. Pretty and delicate and somehow still strong.
Then she spoke again, and I couldn’t keep the amusement out of my expression. “You’re not a strange man,” she said. “You’re the man who saved my life by keeping my purse safe.” Her chin came up, and that small show of spine was the third punch to my gut. “Serial killers don’t rescue purses.”
I snorted. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”
A huff. “I’m new in town and don’t have any family, and you seem nice, so I invited you for dinner.” She tossed up her hands. “What exactly is the problem with that?”
“Because sweet little girls like you don’t invite men like me places.”
Her brows drew together. “Men like you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Men”—I pointed at my face—“like me.”
She disappeared. I literally had no other word to describe it, but one second, she was all fire and the next, she was a blank slate.
“Girls like me,” she repeated, and her voice was no longer sweet peaches and sticky honey. It was ice. “I see. Heaven forbid a girl like me ask out a handsome man because a girl like me should be at home knitting or collecting cats or darning my socks.” She sighed and turned away. “Or at the very least, hanging her star on a man who fits her. Someone plain and dumpy and average-looking.”
Um. What?
“You’re far from average-looking, darlin’.”
She winced like I’d punched her.
But I wasn’t blowing smoke. This woman was small and curvy with delicate features. Her skin was all peaches and cream, her eyes a mix of blue and green, one I’d never seen before, and her blond hair was lush and thick, hanging in silky waves down her back. Too much sweet in a small package.
And too much sweet for me.
“I’m reading you loud and clear,” she muttered, spinning for the door. “Don’t need to hit below the belt. I’m going back to my empty house, back to my imaginary cats, and won’t darken your doorstep again.”
Fuck. Someone needed to save this woman from herself.
That someone couldn’t be me.
But that still didn’t stop me from snagging her arm and rotating her to face me. “You live near the city now. You have to be smart.” Her lips parted again, probably to tell me she was smart, but I kept talking. “Street smart. You can’t tell strange men you live alone or invite them back to your place.”
“Fine,” she said.
“Fine,” I agreed.
But I didn’t let her go.
Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, to the ceiling, and my gaze followed hers, half-expecting to see a giant spider dangling there.
Instead, I saw mistletoe.
I glanced back down. She licked her lips.
And suddenly, I knew she was thinking the same thing as me. Warm bodies pressed together, lips only inches apart, heat filling the space, and a kiss-inducing plant overhead.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered and licked her lips again.
Just one taste.
I could give myself that.
I bent my head and slanted my mouth across hers.
Two