Together for Christmas (21 page)

Avery had nearly caught them during their first make-out session. They’d decided, since then, to limit their Heather/ boy toy run-throughs to other locales. Just to be circumspect.

“I’m imagining you,” Walden went on as if she hadn’t spoken, hearing a certain husky tone roughen his voice, “wearing those boots and that skirt while I make love to you standing up, right here in the walk-in. It’s pretty cold in here, but
that
would definitely warm us up.”

“What about my tights?” Talia inquired. “And my panties? They’d be in the way,” she pointed out practically, “so you couldn’t technically warm up either of us without more effort.”

He stifled a grin, loving—despite everything—that she’d chosen that moment to be contrary. It was just like . . .
her
.

“It’s a fantasy,” he said. “Try to roll with it.”

“Aha.” At that, she brightened, getting in sync with him instantly. “On the other hand, this
is
a pretty private place. And we
could
be quick about it. And we
could
use the practice.” Decisively, Talia set the container of sage-garlic butter on the shelf. “Just hang on. I’ll go get the wig.”

He thought they’d been over this. “You don’t need the wig!”

I want you as you,
Walden thought.
Not as pretend Heather.

But Talia didn’t even slow down. He didn’t know why—the timing of their “fling,” maybe, or the fact that it had taken him so long to let Talia know he liked her—but she seemed under the impression he
only
wanted her now that she was “Heather.”

Walden wasn’t even sure she heard him. By the time he said anything, Talia was already ducking out of the walk-in, clearly on a mission to enable their spur-of-the-moment quickie. It was almost as if she’d come there on purpose, Walden realized, looking for
him
. Wouldn’t that have been great?

But he didn’t know if Talia wanted him . . . or a “boy toy,” either. After all, she hadn’t liked him until their Heather ruse had started. Maybe she just wanted to be thoroughly practiced up for whenever Heather finally got out of chicken-pox quarantine.

A minute later, Talia was back, sporting her long blond Heather wig. At the sight of it, Walden felt an obvious pang.

He liked her real lavender hair. He liked
her
.

“I really care about you, Talia.” Earnestly, he reached for her wig, dying to take it off. “To me, this is more than just—”

A fling,
he wanted to say.

But she interrupted before he could.

“Shut up and kiss me.” Intently, Talia grabbed his chef’s whites in both hands. She hauled him closer. Their bodies crashed together. “Before Gareth realizes I’m gone.”

“But I wasn’t suggesting a quickie!” Walden said. “It just popped into my head and straight out my mouth. I couldn’t help it. I’m impulsive like that. But I was only having fun.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Talia kissed him. Eagerly, she rubbed against him. “Solving trigonometry problems?”

Uhhh
. Just then, she was driving him crazy.

“I didn’t mean we should get busy right here next to the mustard-seed aioli,” he managed to say between breaths. “It’s not very romantic.”

“Romance is overrated.” She unbuttoned his chef’s jacket. Her hands delved beneath his T-shirt underneath it, then flexed against his bare chest. “But
you’re
not overrated,” she purred. “You’re even better than I expected. Who knew you were so
hot?
”

“Not in here, I’m not hot. Brr,” Walden joked, trying desperately to slow down the Nookie Express before he forgot how to speak altogether. “It’s just that I’ve realized some really major things lately. About us. When I saw you just now, I’d missed you
so
much, and I knew that could only mean—”

“Prove it.” Determinedly, Talia unzipped his pants. She delved her hand inside. “Prove you missed me. I want you to, Walden,” she urged. “Come on. Be my bohemian boy toy.”

Helplessly, Walden groaned. He wanted to communicate to Talia that he needed to be
more
than that to her. That he wanted this to be
real
between them. That they should probably have a serious conversation. Soon. But with her tongue in his mouth and her hand zeroing in on his own personal sweet spot, he could barely think, much less speak coherently about relationships.

Valiantly, he tried again. “I love . . .”

You,
Walden wanted to say. Instead, he only panted.

Talia chose to interpret that as an invitation to caress him. Suspended between pleasure and tender emotion, he closed his eyes, trying to find enough fortitude to poetically profess his love for her without simultaneously dry humping her. That wouldn’t have had the necessary gravitas. The necessary
love
.

But it wasn’t working. Talia was just that good. Her touch took every lucid thought he had and scattered it to the wind.

Giving up, Walden opened his eyes. When he did, he focused on Talia’s sweet face—and for a heartbeat, he
knew
he glimpsed comprehension there . . . and a certain reciprocal feeling, too.

Was it possible? Did Talia love him, too?

“
This,
” she finished for him, breathlessly. She kissed his neck. His mouth. His neck again. “Me too! I love this, too.”

Transfixed by what he’d seen, Walden went still.

Talia loved him
. It was everything he’d ever wanted.

Then she flung her long, blond, fake tresses over her shoulder, reminding him of her insistence on wearing that damn Heather wig, and Walden knew it was more complicated than just loving him.
Talia
was more complicated than just loving him.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been getting it on in a superchilly walk-in refrigerator, surrounded by plastic-wrapped foodstuffs, all for the sake of not being caught together.

At the realization, he shuddered. He had to change this.

“Are you still cold?” Talia felt his tremor and completely misinterpreted it. She winked. “I know how to warm you up.”

Then she tossed down her apron for an impromptu cushion. She gave him a uniquely tenderhearted smile. Then she dropped to her knees and quickly made Walden forget everything he knew about . . .

Well, pretty much
everything
in the universe that didn’t involve her mouth, his body, and the wonderful things that happened when the two of them came together.

With a sense of steely resolve, Casey followed Kristen into her tiny office in the back of her gas-station-turned-diner.

He watched her march with swivel-hipped, tomboyish élan through the Christmassy chaos in the front of the house, usher him inside her private sanctuary, and then close the door behind them. He watched her prop her hip on the edge of her desk. He watched her cross her arms, take a deep breath, then nod at him.

“All right. I’m ready,” she said. “Take your best shot. Make me abandon my litmus test.
If
you really think you can.”

Uh-oh,
Casey realized. It was even worse than he’d thought.

Kristen seemed convinced he was exactly the kind of manipulative, semishady con man she’d accused him of being a few minutes ago. Judging by her uplifted chin and I-dare-you expression, it wouldn’t be easy to change her mind, either.

But that’s how Casey knew he had to try. Because with that single gesture, Kristen communicated to him something he’d already begun to suspect . . . but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

Kristen was
perfect
for him. Despite all the Christmas brouhaha. Despite the inconvenience factor of her pop-star sister. Despite the fact that she came as a matched set with an unnerving diner-based family of lovable nonconformists. Despite all those things, Casey couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He needed her. He wanted her. He might even . . .

Well, he couldn’t say he
loved
her. He wasn’t completely sure what that meant. He didn’t know what it felt like.

If love felt like finding it captivating when Kristen tried on stuffed-felt reindeer antlers and modeled them for the regulars . . . Casey had it.

If love felt like seeing a goofy, spangled, made-in-China piece of craptastic “holiday décor,” thinking that Kristen might like it, and then secretly buying it for her . . . Casey had it.

(He might also have had some sort of psychological break while experiencing that one, because he’d actually touched a Christmas ornament,
on purpose
, then paid for it.)

But he had to move on.

Because if love meant hearing a song and wishing Kristen could hear it too, because it described his feelings for her in a lyrical-but-impossible-to-say way . . . Casey had it. He had it bad.

And he was starting to fear that Kristen didn’t.

Worse, that she never would.

Because he was him, and she was her, and the two of them, together . . . Well, the two of them together would be fantastic, if only they could get over a few of the hurdles first. And the first and most daunting of those hurdles was Kristen herself.

Frankly, Casey had seen plastic mannequins at the department store look more malleable than she did just then.

Not cutting him any slack—and thereby proving herself his perfect woman
again
—Kristen arched her eyebrow. “Can’t do it?”

“Oh, I can do it,” Casey assured her. But his usual mojo didn’t seem to be working. With her, it sometimes didn’t.

Damn it.

All those years of moving from home to home, of struggling to understand his new environment and somehow ingratiate himself within it, of working his ass off to be the best possible kid—they all felt like wasted time right now. Sure, they’d paid dividends in Casey’s ability to go anywhere and get along with anyone at the drop of a hat. But with Kristen, things were different. They were more important. They were essential.

Why hadn’t she been able to see the real him? Casey wondered as he took another look at her, still feeling vaguely upset by what she’d said about him. Why hadn’t she been able to look past what he did for a living to who he was on the inside?

The fact that she hadn’t had hurt. It still did.

So far, Christmas in Kismet was one big carnival of pain.

Because of that, Casey wanted to leave. Instead, he stepped closer to Kristen. Because sometimes, he knew, the only way to get out was to go through. Sometimes the things that scared you most were exactly the things you needed. And Casey Jackson was nothing if not brave. His entire life had taught him to be.

“You can ‘do it,’ huh?” Kristen asked, breaking into his thoughts. She glanced at the wall clock. “If you’d quit with the double entendres, we might get somewhere with this.”

Except it hadn’t been a double entendre, Casey knew. It had been a heartfelt expression of his most fervent and most closely held wish.

Oh, I can do it. I can make you want me, Casey had wanted to tell her.

But he hadn’t. Not outright. And
that’s
when he realized the truth. It nearly bowled him over, too. Kristen had never seen the real him because he’d never shown her the real him. He’d limited their conversations to innuendo and flirtatious banter and quests for information about Heather’s TV special.

He’d treated Kristen, he realized, just like everyone else.

When she couldn’t have been more different. From everyone.

So, dredging up every ounce of bravado he had, Casey showed her the real him instead. He hoped like hell she’d approve.

He started by gazing at her. “I like you,” he said.

As though he’d announced that he liked to spend his spare time training monkeys to juggle, she gave a cautious nod.

“I like you, too.”

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known,” he added earnestly.

“I’ll assume that’s a good thing,” she countered, “since you’re trying to seduce me into sleeping with you right now.”

Casey blinked. “Is that what you think? That all I want to do is sleep with you?”

“That’s what you implied a few minutes ago,” she reminded him. “Why else would you mess with my litmus test?”

“Well,” he hedged, “I
do
want to sleep with you—”

But there’s so much more to it than that
. He just didn’t know how to explain it. He’d never had to try before. Usually, if he’d been alone with a woman for this long, one or both of them would have been ripping off each other’s clothes already.

“Wow. You do?” At his helplessly deliberative tone, Kristen gave him a sardonic grin. “Hold me back.”

Geez. She was going to make this hard for him, Casey thought. Didn’t she know he was new at this stuff? He was new at being sincere, new at being emotional, new at
needing
someone the way he needed her. But just when he’d braced himself for a tough fight, Kristen made things unexpectedly easy on him.

She got up from her desk, then gave him a deliberately provocative once-over. “Seriously. Hold me back.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been dying to kiss you for days.”

Casey’s head spun. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“You can stop pretending to be nervous now.” Smiling, she took a step closer. “You did it. You made me want you.”

He hadn’t been pretending. He really was nervous—nervous because he’d just realized this
meant
something.

“I didn’t do anything yet,” Casey protested.

“
Exactly
. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re not making sense.”

She shrugged. “That must be the lust talking.”

No, no. This was all going off the rails. Casey wanted to explain to Kristen how much he cared about her. He couldn’t get sidetracked with lust. No matter how tempting the idea was.

“Right,” he said. “About that lust thing—”

“My litmus test is overrated,” Kristen interrupted, surrendering faster than he’d ever dreamed, coming close enough to trail her fingers seductively down his chest. “I think we should go for it right here, in my office. My desk is free.”