Something Beginning With Mistletoe (Something Borrowed Book 3) Read online

  ‘I didn’t tell you. I invited you to stay. I thought it would be better that way.’

  His brother’s voice started to deepen. ‘Because your way is always better. Right?’

  ‘No. Come on, Blake, I was trying to help.’ And just like that, they were right back at square one again. Arguing. So much for brotherly love.

  And so much for not getting involved.

  Chapter 8

  Stifling a yawn after an unexpectedly busy Friday night, Faith pushed the bolt on the front door and switched off the main lights. The route across the pub in the dark was one she knew very well and could do in pitch blackness, but tonight it was illuminated by the twinkling Christmas tree lights.

  She paused, her throat filling as she looked at them. Then pulled herself together. No. She wasn’t going to think about Gramps any more. After the dancing and the non-Christmas music she felt as if she’d turned a corner, able to look at the decorations without panic. Pity about the grotto, though. The party was tomorrow and there’d been little word from Blake.

  And there was someone else she wasn’t going to think about any more. Despite Jenna’s eternal optimism, Faith knew she was no good for the long-term thing.

  Roll on January. There was something she loved about going into a new year. Starting over. Hopefully, once his bar had opened he’d be too busy to spend time here and they’d go back to not bumping into each other in street.

  She’d miss him.

  She let that thought—feeling—settle for a minute before picking up the last of the chairs and tipping it upside down onto a table so she could hoover straight through tomorrow morning.

  A sudden sharp knock at the door made her jump.

  It was late. Very late. No one ever knocked in the middle of the night unless there was trouble.

  Ignore it?

  Probably someone who’d left something behind. But there was nothing in the lost property box. Should she go see?

  Probably just a drunk.

  But the snow was thick and deep out there now. If they were in trouble they could get hypothermia.

  She paused en route to the door. Then again, she’d heard about scams where people pretended they were in trouble then stole your stuff. No. Ignore. Time for bed.

  The knock that followed was quieter, but still insistent. ‘Faith?’

  Curious. The burglar knew her name. Heart rattling hard, she peered out of the window. Blake?

  Her skin prickled. Blake? Visits after midnight? Was this…? Was this something to do with the kiss and the near-miss kiss?

  No. They both had their reasons for not following through on that.

  But why the hell else would he be here? In the middle of the night? She flicked the wall lights back on, pulled back the lock and threw open the door, and was shocked by the surge of excitement thrilling through her. He was holding a huge piece of wood in front of him, and two more were propped up against the wall. If this was a booty call he certainly had a lot of props.

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘Hey. Good time? Bad time?’

  She wasn’t entirely sure. Her heart was pumping too fast to tell. ‘It’s after midnight.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry. But I knew you were awake because I saw the upstairs lights on. Still…you didn’t answer my question. Good time or bad time?’

  Judging by the way her stomach melted like liquid gold just from looking at him, it was perfect timing. ‘What do you want?’

  He blew on his bare hands. ‘Can I come in? It’s minus four out here.’

  ‘Sure.’ Small wonder he was cold, given he was only wearing old jeans and a T-shirt. But what was it about him being here at night-time that had her pulse soaring? Mind you, seeing him at nine thirty in the morning had had her heart rate jittery too. She stepped back to put distance between them as he dragged in each piece of wood, one at a time, and lay them on the floor over by the tree.

  Then he ducked back outside and brought in a huge toolbox. ‘You okay if I just do a bit of setting up now? Shouldn’t take long, we’ve cut them all to slide into each other. Just a few screws to hold them firm.’

  ‘What is it?’ All she could see was the underside—plain white.

  He smiled, his dark eyes warm and friendly. Something tugged loose in her gut. With a smile? He was dangerous to her self-control, this man. ‘The grotto. I wanted to get it done before tomorrow. I was going to come over earlier, but I saw how busy you were. I can come back first thing if that works?’

  He’d actually made a grotto house. Wow. The kids would be thrilled, although if he was planning on hammering after midnight the neighbours might not be. ‘We’ll be chock full of teachers and parents all doing the party prep in the morning. Now’s fine. Can you do it quietly?’

  He held up a screwdriver and grinned. Eyes teasing. ‘Honey, I can screw at any decibel you like.’

  ‘Blake Delacourte, I do not believe you just said that.’ She put her hand to her mouth and laughed. God. Not flirting with him was going to be hard. Because now she had all sorts of images of him floating in her head, and all of them involved him being naked. She looked up at his dark eyes and the scruff of hair, tipped with bits of sawdust and flecked with paint, and she wanted to slide her fingers into the strands and tug him to her.

  He smiled, one side of his mouth tipping up in an unbearable sexy way. ‘Oh, come on, Faith. The old ones are the best.’

  ‘What happened to the handkerchief-bearing gentleman? I like him.’ Although she liked this side of him too. Rather more than she wanted to admit.

  ‘Oh? You do? Good to know.’ He looked down at his dusty jeans and paint-stained T-shirt and shrugged. ‘Sorry, he’s having the night off. This one’s a bit more rough and ready. Think you can cope?’

  ‘God, yes.’ Then she coughed. Way too forward. Maybe physical work would override this ache inside her, so hot she thought she might internally combust. ‘You need a hand?’

  ‘Sure. I have to fix those struts on the back so it can stand upright independently.’ He slid a screw between his teeth and started to fix two of the grotto walls together. The muscles in his arms stretched and flexed as he positioned them and screwed them into place. For a pen-pushing property developer he was in good shape. Lean. Strong. Hot as hell.

  She swallowed. Dragged her eyes away from him and focused on helping.

  They worked in silence for a few minutes and got the structure upright. Once it was positioned properly in front of the Christmas tree, she stepped back to take a better look at the overall product, and couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath.

  Three pieces of wood were stuck together and painted in a cinnamon colour to look like the front and sides of a gingerbread house, with white icing effects for the sloping roof sides, complete with a red and white candy-striped porch area. It was a piece of perfect craftsmanship, and the artwork was on point but cute enough for the nursery kids to think it was adorable. ‘You made this?’

  ‘Team effort. But yes.’ He looked a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm. If a six-feet-two block of muscle could ever be embarrassed by anything.

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘It’s just bits of wood and a couple of coats of paint. Brad did most of it, Daisy helped and Freddie…well, Freddie did a bit too. Look, here…’ He pointed to a part where the paint was patchy and had gone over the lines of one of the candy canes. Even more adorable was the fact Blake hadn’t covered up his nephew’s handiwork. ‘He was very proud of that bit.’

  ‘How’s his injury doing?’

  ‘Getting there. Well enough for him to hold a paintbrush. Just. He was so determined to add his mark to the grotto.’

  ‘And are they all moved in now? How’s it going?’ She imagined him subsumed by children and noise and glitter. And laughter. Yes. He was the kind of guy who would do dad jokes just to make the kids smile.

  Blake’s eyebrows rose. ‘Busy.’

  ‘Oh. Difficult then?’

  ‘Not difficult. It just takes some adjustin
g to sharing with other people. Other people’s kids. I’ve been on my own a long time.’

  Since his marriage ended, she guessed. And she wasn’t going to ask him about that. She got the feeling he wasn’t the type to dish the dirt on his private life. Especially as he’d once described relationships as messy. That was all she needed to know. He’d been burnt before.

  And yet, here he was.

  She slid behind the bar and poured out two glasses of wine, then came back and handed one to him. Because she had a bad feeling that now his work was done he might leave, and it shocked her to realise how much she wanted him to stay. ‘How bad’s the glitter now?’

  ‘I don’t dare look. I haven’t been upstairs all day.’ He laughed. ‘To be honest, I needed some space.’

  And for that he’d chosen to come to her. She didn’t want to read anything into that, but her body did. A tight ache squeezed her heart and need rippled through her.

  Laughing, tugging, wanting. It was an endless exhausting rollercoaster with him. And a ride she didn’t want to end. It scared her though, too. Scared her half to death; the rise to the dizzy heights of something near ecstasy when he kissed her, and the seemingly bottomless depths of need. ‘Hey, at least you have nice people around you, that’s good.’

  Unlike her. Yes, she had friends, as Jenna had pointed out, and from morning until closing time she talked herself hoarse with her customers. But late at night, in the dark, she sometimes wondered how it would feel to share her life with someone. To wake up entwined in someone.

  Recently her thoughts had extended to wondering how it would be to not sleep all night and share her bed with Blake. Not sleep all year. A lifetime of sharing a bed with him.

  Which scared her even more. Faith had never thought in lifetimes before. The men she’d dated had been time fillers, an end to a need. She’d always finished it before they’d had a chance to.

  Blake was close to her now. The glass of wine on a table. His hands empty. ‘You have people too.’

  ‘Yes.’ She gripped her glass to stop herself from reaching for him.

  His gaze was on her. Seeing deep inside her. ‘But not the right ones. Right?’

  Some of them. He got her. Understood her so well it was unnerving. ‘I do okay. This place seems to be busy enough.’

  He tapped the tip of her nose. ‘I wouldn’t accept okay, if I were you. You deserve to have your life filled with people who make you happy.’

  She closed her eyes briefly. Don’t. Please don’t make me fall for you.

  He took hold of one of her hands and tugged her to have a second look at the grotto. ‘So you’re pleased with it?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘You noticed the details?’

  Was she missing something? Her eyes roved the house. ‘Sure. I love the striped candy canes and, oh—’

  There, above the front door. A tartan ribbon. ‘Mistletoe.’

  The laugh stopped in her throat when she looked up into his eyes and saw the change from humour to heat. For a moment, two, they just looked at each other. His eyes were molten honey and every single time she looked at them she noticed something new. A flash of gold, a hint of dark velvet. Right now they were alight with desire. Her physical response started deep and low inside and spread to every part of her.

  She knew then, without a doubt, they were so close to the edge and it would only take the slightest nudge to push them over. Even so, she couldn’t not look at him, couldn’t not feel this need to kiss him.

  He reached first. His fingers played with her hair, then strayed to her face. A tremble whispered over her skin. She could barely breathe for the intensity of his gaze. And she knew the same need was mirrored in her eyes. His thumb ran over her lip, his skin rough with work. Her lips parted at his touch and her whole world zoned down to this. To him. ‘You know what that means…’

  ‘Aha. Mandatory.’ The breath stalled in her chest and she knew that nothing now was going to stop them. ‘Tell me the truth, Blake Delacourte. Did you just come here for a booty call?’

  He shrugged. ‘I just didn’t want to spend another hour not seeing you. You drive me crazy.’

  ‘Yeah. I have that effect on people.’ She couldn’t help smiling. ‘So, it was a booty call.’

  ‘Hey, a man can dream.’ His next words curled into her gut and stroked deep. ‘I want you.’

  ‘I want you right back.’ She barely recognised her own voice. Barely made sense of her swirling thoughts that involved him, that mouth, his fingers.

  ‘Faith.’ It was more growl than word, undoing something in her core. And that was the moment she reached for him.

  Blake told himself to slow down, wanting to savour every part of her, but when she moaned into his mouth all rational thought, all self-control, was lost.

  Her hands fisted into his hair and tugged him closer, fulfilling the inevitable trajectory they’d been on these last few days. As her mouth opened to him he stole nipped kisses, hungry for every sensation, every kind of touch of his lips against hers. Greedy, sliding, fast kisses that tasted so sweet he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her; the need for her a physical ache spurring him on, blurring everything else in his life out of focus.

  He didn’t care. All he could see, all he could think of was Faith.

  As the kisses deepened, a delicious dance of tongues and gasps, he ran his hands to the soft dip of her waist, grazing the skin between her top and jeans. Trembling, she pressed hard against him, urgency leading her touch as her hands stroked the nape of his neck, his shoulders.

  Slipping his hand under her top, and then her bra, he found her breast, relishing the way she curled into him as he stroked her hardened nipple. Shocked at the force of his need; not just a physical ache, but something deeper and raw and base. Something feral and yet ethereal.

  He pushed her back against a table, sending stacked chairs scattering to the floor, and stripped off her top, taking her nipple into his mouth. Her hips rocked against him as she nuzzled into his hair and feverishly moaned his name over and over.

  When he lifted his head to look at her he saw the misted beauty of those aqua blue eyes, the mutual desire. More. Emotion swam in her irises, emotion he felt swift and fierce in the middle of his chest. ‘Faith Langley, you are incredible.’

  ‘So are you. This is incredible.’ She pulled slightly away, her chest rising and falling in staccato rhythm with his. ‘But I told you I had a habit of jumping in without thinking.’

  ‘You do. And I like it.’ She’d put distance between them but not far enough that he couldn’t grip the smooth soft skin at her waist.

  ‘Really? You like it?’ Her face transformed into a smile. As if no one had ever given her a compliment before. ‘I thought it pissed people off.’

  ‘Not me. Not if it means I get kissed like that. You fancy jumping in again?’ He paused, saw the frown start to descend on her forehead, so pressed his mouth on hers to silence any answer other than yes.

  But she put her hand to their lips and broke the connection. Damn. Incredible or not, he wished he’d never said a single word. Never stopped kissing her. ‘Blake, what the—?’

  ‘You were starting to think. Don’t do that. Don’t think, okay? Just jump. Just kiss.’ And more. So much more. He softly kissed her forehead, circling his arms round her waist and drawing her closer, pushing out of his head all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this.

  Skin. Touch. Kiss. His new world. The only world he wanted to exist in. In Faith.

  Her hand cupped his cheek, eyes swimming with lust, but there was something else there too—uncertainty? ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…’ She blinked, clearly trying to find the words. Which, for her, was unusual. And it twisted his heart to see her trying to find the right words to push him away. ‘I’m not good at relationships.’

  ‘You’re great with your customers. You’re great with kids. You’re incredible, Faith.’ But he
could tell she was going to need some convincing. She was scared. Hell, he was too. This attraction was nothing like he’d ever experienced—a bittersweet mix of tugging, pulling, fighting, wanting. Never enough. Too much, too fast, too hard. Deep and rich and threatening to everything they knew. But oh, so addictive. And he could see she was struggling with it. She’d built a wall to hide behind and told herself truths that anyone who knew her knew were just plain wrong. She didn’t do relationships. Her mantra. Self-protection. ‘And, for the record, you are an expert at kissing.’

  ‘I am?’ He saw the debate behind her eyes. More? Or no more? But her fingers trailed over his mouth, down his throat. ‘I am. Yes. I’m good at kissing you.’

  ‘So, I just need to double check.’ He tucked his fingers under her jaw, tilted her to look at him, her mouth a fraction away from his. He ran his tongue along the length of her bottom lip, then to the corner. A whimper escaped her throat as she sucked the edge of his lip into her wet mouth. Then he was sliding his mouth onto hers in a ragged kiss that fed his red-hot lust.

  Desperate to kiss every inch of her, he pressed his mouth to her jaw, to the pulsing dip in her throat, her collarbone. He cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over pebbled nipples, and she opened her thighs, allowing him to step between them. Even through clothes he felt her heat as she writhed against his erection.

  ‘Jeans. Off.’ He strained against her, trying to maintain some desperate grip on control. But within seconds her jeans and panties were discarded. He ran his hands up legs as soft as gossamer and found her core. Hot and wet and ready for him. His fingers slipped inside her and he felt her tighten round them, felt her curl into him as she arched and stuttered. ‘Blake. Is this…?’

  ‘The best thing that ever happened? Yes.’

  ‘Yes. Yes it is.’ Her eyes were hazy and she pressed her lips together and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. Something shifted inside him. He had never seen a woman more beautiful. Never wanted anything or anyone so much.

  He wanted to tell her what he was feeling, but even he couldn’t make any sense of it. Didn’t want to push her too hard. Didn’t want to admit the depth of it to himself. But it was there, burning brightly in his core. Faith.