It Must Have Been the Mistletoe(41)
She was different and he felt differently about her. He’d even go so far as to say that she was special. But that didn’t change anything.
And until this moment, he’d always been fine with that.
Something told him he wasn’t going to be fine anymore.
7
WARNING HER, WAS HE? As if she’d expected anything more than a brief but beautiful thing between them. Any woman with a grain of sense knew that Bryant Bishop wasn’t the kind of guy who would be easily domesticated. Did her heart give a little pang at this knowledge?
Definitely.
She felt a strange sort of connection to him, a sense of hope and rightness she’d never experienced before.
But she wasn’t stupid, and letting her heart get tangled up in the strings of the best sex she’d ever had was the height of idiocy.
She wouldn’t allow herself to do that. She was going to enjoy him. That was all. She snuggled in closer and nuzzled his neck with her nose.
“I love the way you smell,” she said. “It’s like musk and wood. Resinous.” She waited a beat. “Sort of like a Christmas tree.”
She felt his silent laugh vibrate against her cheek. “A Christmas tree? If that’s the case, then I want my money back. I don’t want to smell like a damned evergreen.”
“You mean you haven’t been spraying yourself with car freshener in lieu of cologne?” she deadpanned.
“Er, no.”
She hummed doubtfully. “Live or artificial?” she asked.
“Live or artificial what?” He sounded confused.
“Christmas tree, of course. What do you think we’re talking about?”
He laughed again, the sound low and strangely soothing. It moved through her and settled warmly around her heart. “I thought we were talking about the way I smell, but clearly you’ve moved on.” He waited a beat. “A live branch. I do the Charlie Brown kind of Christmas tree.”
“Ah. Is that a family tradition?”
She felt him stiffen beneath her and marveled at the change. She’d wanted to keep things light and noncommittal. Talking about Christmas had seemed like a safe topic, but clearly…not.
“Not really,” he said, expelling a breath. “To be honest, I don’t have any family. My father died several years ago and I’ve never known my mother or any of her family. Dad’s parents passed before I was born.”
He’d never known his mother? Meaning what? That she’d died when he was little? But if that was the case, then that’s what he would have said, right? And he hadn’t. He’d said he’d never known her. So if she hadn’t died…then she must have left. Callous, selfish, miserable bitch. That explained a lot, Layla thought. Talk about hitting the motherlode of abandonment issues. Her chest gave a painful squeeze. “Sorry, Bryant. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s not your fault,” he told her. “It just is and I’ve never known any different, so it’s not a big deal.”
Yes it was, but he’d never admit it. He couldn’t even admit it to himself. She came this close to inviting him to her own family gathering, just to prevent him from being alone, but didn’t. Something told her he’d reject the invitation out of hand and he would know that it had been issued out of pity. That would be reason enough to refuse.
“The family thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know,” she said, determined to make light of what had become a very heavy moment.
“So I’ve been told.”
“It’s true. My mother’s always freaking out over the dinner—is the stuffing too dry? Did she make enough desserts? Is everyone going to like their presents? Meanwhile, Dad is pulling enough electricity to power a Third World country to run his Christmas lights. He’s adding a snowman village and insists that we do a living nativity every year.”
“Living nativity?”
“Yep. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t particularly like freezing my ass off while playing Mary.”
Bryant looked down at her, a grin twitching his lips. “Is this event open to the public?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted drolly. “From six to nine on Christmas Eve, the Cole family front lawn.” Rita would be home this year, which would make it all the more special.
His eyes twinkled. “Do I need tickets?”
“It’s free to the public. Mom will make hot chocolate.”
“I’ll bring my own chestnuts,” Bryant said.
She circled his nipple with her fingertip. “Bring a few for me, would you? I love chestnuts.”
“You do?”