Yule Be Mine (5 page)

Booker slugged his brother hard in the arm.

“Ow.”

“Damn it, Axel, I told you I didn't want you looking at her.”

In his defense, Axel said, “I didn't know I'd get to see her in the buff, now did I?” and he rubbed at his shoulder where Booker had hit him. “It's a reflex. Naked woman equals staring. Any man still breathing would look at that, and you damn well know it.”

“I would,” Cary said, and Booker slugged him, too. But Cary just continued to snicker and grin.

Booker's front door slammed shut.

Damn it! He rounded on his brother again. “Now see what you two have done?”

“Us? We're innocent bystanders. In fact, I think I may have wounded myself when she dropped that robe. My eyeballs hit the floor.”

Cary nodded. “Coffee came straight out my nose. Hurt like hell.”

Booker pointed a finger at them both.
“Leave.”
Then he went into his bedroom and sat on the bed nearest to the wall. He could hear funny noises in Frances's room. Probably her thumping her fists on the bed.

“Frannie?”

The noise stopped, then in an agonized whisper, “I'm going to kill your brother, Booker.”

“Not if I kill him first.” He smiled. At least she was still talking to him. “Mind if I come over?”

“Yes!”

He rose from the bed, turned—and ran into Axel. After they'd both regained their balance, Booker scowled. “I told you to leave.”

“I thought I'd apologize.”

Frannie yelled, “Go to hell, Axel!”

Axel grinned. “She's got a temper, doesn't she?”

Booker pushed past him. “Go home, okay?” He went through his apartment and next door to Frannie's. Her door wasn't locked, so he walked on in, but made a point of locking it behind him.

He found Frances on her bed, facedown, a pillow over her head. She'd pulled the robe back on, but when she'd flung herself on the bed, it had fluttered up to her knees. Her smooth calves and bare feet drew him.

God, he had it bad. “Frances?”

She went utterly still, then gripped the pillow over her head more firmly.

“Are you trying to smother yourself, honey?”

“Maybe,” came her muffled reply.

Booker sat on the bed beside her. “I'm sorry you got embarrassed.” He was so damn horny, he could barely speak. He wanted to soothe her, to make her feel better, but more than that he wanted to dispense with the robe, turn her to her back and look at her some more. That flash peek at her naked body had only whet an already ravenous appetite.

“Embarrassed?” she repeated with incredulity. “I'm
mortified
. I'll never be able to face your brother again.”

Through the wall, Axel said, “That's okay. The rear view was pretty spectacular, too.”

Frannie lifted the pillow and stared at the wall with the meanest look Booker had ever seen. Before she could say anything rash, he touched her shoulder. “Ignore Axel. He's an idiot.”

“I am,” Axel agreed. And then, more sincerely, “I'm sorry I embarrassed you, hon. Booker will beat the hell out of me later, I'm sure, because I bumbled into his fantasy. And I've no doubt you
are
his fantasy. You only have to look at his face when he talks about you.”

Frannie twisted about, her narrowed gaze colliding with Booker's heated expression. “Really?”

“Cross my heart.”

Axel sighed. “There. All's well that ends well?”

Booker growled. “Will you
go away
, Axel?”

Cary said, “I'll drag him off, Booker. You two just go about your business.”

Frannie's expression said, Yeah, right. They both knew Cary and Axel probably had their ears pressed to the wall with no intention of budging.

She was still red-faced, Booker noted, but at least she appeared less murderous. Tired of waiting, Booker scooped her up into his arms and carried her into her living room, away from prying ears. He settled onto the sofa with Frances on his lap. She hadn't turned any lights on yet, so the Christmas tree provided the only real glow in the room. The lights blinked behind her, forming a soft halo against her fair hair.

“I love you, Frances.”

She curled into him, hiding her face in his neck. “Even though I just made a gigantic fool of myself?”

“You didn't. You pleased the hell out of me.” He smoothed her waist, enjoying the feel of her beneath the terrycloth, the dips and hollows and swells of her body—soon to be his for the taking. Maybe even his forever.

“Axel's right, you know. You are my fantasy, and knowing what you likely intended when you came over to my place has me fully loaded and ready to go.” He nibbled on her ear, kissed her temple.

“Yeah?” She wiggled against his erection, letting him know she understood his meaning.

“Damn right. Now if I could just get you to let loose of this robe…”

Wearing a beautiful smile, she did, and Booker spread it open so he could look at her to his heart's content. Curled on his lap, every part of her was within reach. Her breasts, her soft belly, her smooth thighs. Those dark blond curls over her mound.

Booker drew a shuddering breath. Physically, he didn't know where to start, where to touch or taste her first.

Emotionally, he knew exactly what he wanted. Gaze glued to her breasts, voice gruff with tenderness, he said, “As long as you're being agreeable, do you suppose you could tell me that you love me, too?”

“I do.” He glanced up to find her face rosy with pleasure, anticipation and…love. “I have for such a long time.”

He hadn't realized he was so tense until her quick agreement sank in. He let out a long breath. “Do you suppose you could agree to marry me?”

“Yes.”

She squeaked from his sudden tight embrace, but Booker couldn't seem to loosen his hold. She pressed her palms against him until she could turn on his lap, facing him. She shrugged off the robe, opened his shirt and pressed herself to him chest to chest—heart to heart.

Booker's hands roamed freely down her back to her bottom, along the sides of her thighs. Again, he scooped her up, keeping her tight to his chest until he laid her gently on the floor beneath the tree.

As he shrugged off his clothes, his hands already shaking with anticipation, he smiled. “Christmas dinner is going to be interesting.” He pulled a condom from his wallet and tossed it to the floor beside her.

“If your brother says one word to me, if he even looks at me funny, I'll clout him.”

Booker came down over her. She hadn't refused dinner, and that was all he cared about. He wanted his family to meet her. They'd love her as much as he did. “As I said, interesting.”

For several minutes, he simply enjoyed kissing her, touching her. There was no music in the background this time, but Frannie's soft moans and small whimpers were better than any holiday tune.

When he slipped his fingers between her thighs, she arched up. Wet, hot. He stroked two fingers deep, working them in and out of her at a leisurely pace, feeling the grasp and release of her body. Her eyelids sank down, her lips parted.

“Come for me, Frannie.” He brought his thumb into play, using her own wetness to glide over her clitoris, softly, easily, repeatedly.

“Booker.”

“That's it.” He kissed her mouth hard, swallowing her cries, drowning in satisfaction. When she quieted, he rolled the condom on in record time, held her knees high and wide, and pushed into her.

They both groaned.

To Booker's delight, he felt Frances begin tightening all over again. Her short nails stung his shoulders, her runner's thighs held him tight to her. He pumped into her fast, deep—and as she arched high, her mouth open on a raw cry, he came.

Though it was frosty and cold outside, they were both now warm and sweaty. Frances's heart continued to gallop under his cheek. He remained deep inside her, and he never wanted to move.

She was quiet so long, he finally forced himself up to his elbows. Looking at her, at her sated, sleepy contentment, filled his heart to overflowing. “What are you thinking about?”

Lazily she smiled, her eyes opening the tiniest bit. “I got what I wanted for Christmas.”

“Me, too.”

“But Christmas morning isn't for several more days. I'd like to know just how you plan to top this, Booker Dean. Because I can tell you, it isn't going to be easy.”

The grin tugged at his mouth, then won. He laughed out loud. “Oh, I dunno. I think I can come up with something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lowered himself to kiss her throat, her flushed breasts, each and every rib. Little by little, he scooted down her body. When he reached his destination, he whispered, “Now this is a gift I won't mind getting every morning for the rest of my life.”

With a small moan, Frannie agreed.

W
ith the sluggish winter sun hanging low in the gray sky, Detective Parker Ross dragged himself out of his salt-and-slush-covered car. Howling wind shoved against him, jerking the car door from his hand to slam it shut. His dress shoes slipped on the icy blacktop and he almost lost his footing. The frozen parking lot echoed his muttered curse.

Cautiously, he started forward, taking in the depressing sight of his apartment building. The landlord's attempts at decorating had left bedraggled strands of colored lights haphazardly tossed over the barren, neglected bushes that served as landscaping. Some of the bulbs had blown, while others blinked in a drunken hiccup.

On the ground near the walkway, a dented plastic snowman lay on its side, half-covered in brownish slush, cigarette butts, and scraps of garbage.

Damn, but he'd be glad when the holidays passed and life returned to normal.

Slinging his soiled suit coat over his shoulder, his head down in exhaustion, Parker trudged along the treacherous, icy walkway. He didn't have an overcoat with him because the last perp he'd tangled with had destroyed it. Weariness and disgust kept him from noting the frozen snowflakes that gathered on the back of his neck; after such a bitch of a day, even the frigid December weather couldn't revive him.

A hot shower, some nuked food, and sleep—that's all he needed, in that exact order. Once he hit the sheets, he intended to stay there for a good ten hours. He had the next week off, and he didn't want to do anything more involved than camping on his couch and watching football.

God knew he deserved a rest. The past month of holiday-evoked lunacy and criminal desperation had left him little time for relaxation.

Parker saw Christmas as lavish, loud, and downright depressing. With his planned time off, he intended to hide out and avoid the nonsense.

Now, if he could just slip into his apartment without Lily Donaldson catching him…

Thinking of Lily sent a flood of warmth through his system, rejuvenating him in a way the frozen weather couldn't. He was old enough to know better, but no matter how he tried, Lily tempted him. She also infuriated him.

She aroused his curiosity, and his tenderness.

She made him think, and she made him hot.

She had trouble written all over her.
He
wanted to be all over her.

In the ten months he'd known her, Lily had influenced his life far too often. Smart, kind, gentle. She carried food to Mrs. Harbinger when the old lady fell ill. She argued sound politics with fanatical Mr. Pitnosky. Both intelligent and astute, Lily smiled at everyone, never gossiped, and had a generous heart.

She
loved
Christmas, which rubbed him raw.

And she had a terrible case of hero worship. That was the hardest thing to deal with. Parker knew he didn't possess a single ounce of heroism. If he did, then resisting her wouldn't be so damn difficult.

In a hundred different ways, Lily made it clear she wanted to be more than friends. But her age made him wary, her enthusiasm scared him to death, and her love of a holiday he scorned showed they had little in common.

On top of all that, he had serious doubts about her occupation.

Yep, a conundrum for sure. Parker hated to think about it, yet he thought about it far too often. Not once had he ever noticed any work routine for Lily. Sure, she left her apartment, but not dressed for anything other than a real good time. Always made up. Always decked out, dressed for seduction.

Sometimes she left early, sometimes late.

Sometimes she stayed gone for days, and some days she never left the apartment at all. But that didn't stop a steady stream of admirers from calling on her. The only reason Parker could tolerate that situation was because the guys seldom lasted more than a few hours, never more than a day.

Whatever Lily did to support herself, she sure as hell didn't punch a time clock.

He'd tried asking her about her job a couple of times, but she always turned evasive and changed the subject, leaving Parker with few conclusions to draw.

He was a selfish bastard who refused to share, so even if the other roadblocks didn't exist, no way could he let their friendship grow into intimacy.

That didn't mean he could keep his mind off her. Throughout the awful day—hell, the awful
month
—thoughts of Lily made the hours more bearable. He imagined her sweet smile, the special one she saved for him. He imagined that deep admiration in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

He imagined her lush bod, minus the sexy clothes she wore.

Seeing her now would shove him right over the edge. Avoiding her was the smart thing to do.

He planned to duck inside as fast as his drained body would allow. If she knocked, and he knew she would, he'd pretend he wasn't home.

After rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he opened the entrance door to the apartment building and stepped inside. Whistling wind followed in his wake—and still he heard her husky voice, raised in ire.

Shit.
With no way to reach his front door, Parker paused by the mailboxes and listened. Lily's usually sweet voice held a sharp edge of annoyance. She probably had another smitten swain who didn't want to take no for an answer.

Peering out the glass entrance doors, Parker considered a strategic retreat. Maybe he could drop by a bar and get a beer. Or visit his mother—
no, scratch that
. His mom would start trying to rope him in for a big family get-together, caroling, or God-knew-what-other holiday function.

Maybe he could…

Lily's voice grew more insistent, and Parker's protective instincts kicked in. Damn it, even if it fed her goofy misconceptions about him being heroic, he couldn't let some bozo hassle her. Giving up on the idea of escape, Parker trod the steps to the second floor. Halfway up he saw her, and he forgot to breathe.

A soft white sweater hugged her breasts. Dangling, beaded earrings in a snowflake design brushed her shoulders. Soft jeans accentuated a deliciously rounded ass.

Previously spent body parts perked up in attention. Nothing new there. No matter what Parker's brain tried to insist, his dick refused to pay attention.

Lily's pale blonde hair, pinned up but with long tendrils teasing her nape and cheeks, gave the illusion that a lover had just finished with her. Heavily lashed brown eyes defied any innocence.

And her bare feet somehow made her look half-naked.

His heart picked up speed, sending needed blood flow into his lethargic muscles. Predictably enough, he went from exhausted to horny in a nanosecond.

Vibrating with annoyance, Lily stood just outside her apartment. A fresh, decorated wreath hung from her door, serving as a festive backdrop.

Lily loved the holiday. And he loathed it.

But for now, he couldn't let that matter. Lily had a problem. She had a dispute.

She had…
a guy on his knees?

Parker blinked in surprise at that. Lily's confrontations always involved men. More specifically, they involved Lily rejecting men. But a begging guy?

That was a first.

Glued to his spot on the stairs, Parker stared, and listened.

“It was
not
a date, Clive. Not ever. No way. I made that clear.”

“But we had lunch,” Clive insisted, reaching out to grasp her knee. “Just the two of us.”

While stepping back, out of reach, Lily exclaimed, “I picked up the bill!”

Clive crawled after her. “But I would have.”

She slapped his hands away. “I didn't let you—
because it was not a date
.”

“Lily,” he moaned. “I thought we had something special.”

“Tuna fish on rye is not special, Clive. Now
get up
.”

At her surly reply, Parker bit back a smile. Lily excelled in brokenhearted boyfriends, and this guy looked very brokenhearted. Poor schmuck.

As Clive obediently climbed to his feet, Parker looked at Lily—and met her gaze. The surprise in her brown eyes softened to pleasure; she gave him a silly, relieved smile—expecting him to heroically save the day.

And Parker supposed he would.

He'd taken one step toward her when good old Clive threw his arms around her. “I love you!”

“Oh,
puh-lease
.” Lily shoved against him, but Clive wouldn't let go.

“I do,” he insisted. “Let me show you how much.”

Glancing toward Parker, Lily said, “Don't be stupid, Clive. I know why you're here.”

Parker knew why, too. Lily was sexy and sweet, and Clive wanted in her pants.

“You're after my money,” Lily stated, causing Parker to do a double take.

“Lily, no!” Clive cried.

“You're broke, Clive. I know all about your business going under, the losses you've sustained.”

“Temporary setbacks, I swear.”

“Right. Temporary, because you figured I could shore you back up.” She leaned away from Clive's hold.

“Noooo.”
Clive tugged her close again.

Straightening her arms to hold Clive off, Lily looked at Parker. “Well, don't just stand there.”

Smirking, Parker took the remaining steps to the landing and caught Clive by the back of his coat. Because he was tired and annoyed—and damn it, he didn't like seeing other men slobbering on Lily—Parker rattled him.

“The lady said to leave.” For good measure, he shook Clive again before setting him several feet away from Lily. “Now beat it.”

Flustered, Clive straightened his coat with righteous anger. “Who the hell are you?”

“Just a neighbor.”

“Then this doesn't concern you.”

Given his height of six feet four, Parker had the advantage of looking down on most people, especially shorter people like Clive. “I'm a cop. I've had a shitty day.” He leaned toward Clive, forcing him to back up. “I've dealt with a three-car pileup. Got knocked into a damn curb full of blackened slush by a mob of
happy
shoppers. Got jumped by a crazy woman stealing a bike for her kid. Had to break up a riot during a VCR sale.
And
wrestled with a goon robbing Santa of donations for the homeless. I am
not
in the mood to tell you twice.”

Clive gulped. “I just need to explain to her…”

“She's not interested in your explanations.”

Lily moved to stand beside Parker. “No, I'm not.” She curled her arms around one of his for no reason that Parker could find. She did that a lot. If she spoke to him, she touched him—almost as if she couldn't help herself.

And it drove him nuts.

“All right.” Dejected, Clive fashioned a puppy-dog face. “But you're making a mistake, Lily. I do love you. With all my heart.” He turned and slunk down the stairs like a man on the way to the gallows.

When the door closed behind Clive, Parker mustered up his good sense and peeled Lily's hands off his arm. “Good night, Lily.” He headed for his door.

“Good night?” She hustled after him. “But…what do you mean, ‘good night'?”

“I'm beat. It's been a hell of a day.” Parker refused to look at her. Just being near her made him twitchy in the pants. If he looked at her, he'd be a goner.

“Sounds like.” She scuttled in front of him, blocking his way. “I never realized that detectives got into so many physical confrontations.”

That damned admiring tone weakened his resolve. “It's the holidays.” He couldn't help but look at her, and once he did, he couldn't look away. “It brings out the worst in everyone.”

Gently, Lily said, “That's not true.”

His day had been just bad enough to shatter his resolve. He wanted to vent. To Lily. Somehow, he knew she'd understand.

To disguise his level of emotion, Parker snorted. “The wreck I mentioned? It sent two innocent people to the hospital.”

Concern clouded her beautiful eyes. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

“I got called in because the arresting officer found psilocybin mushrooms in the car of the idiot who caused the wreck. Enough to know he's a dealer.”

“Hallucinogenic drugs,” Lily breathed, surprising Parker. “How terrible. Will the victims be all right?”

Parker eyed her. What the hell did Lily know about mushrooms? “I don't know,” he grouched. “Last I heard, the woman was in surgery.” She had two kids who'd be counting on her to be there Christmas morning. Parker hoped like hell she made it.

“The dealer?”

“Escaped without a scratch.”

“But you'll see to him, I'm sure.”