Christmas With You Read online

  Silence descended over the table like the snow of her childhood Christmases in the northern States. Thick, dense, and weighing a ton when it came time to shovel it away.

  Heather’s cheerful expression crumpled. “Oh, honey.” She reached across and laid a warm palm on top of Carly’s hand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought before opening my big mouth.”

  A hand rubbed her bare arm from her other side. Lizzie, her eyes soft with sympathy. “That sucks about your dad. But it’s nice you get to experience a Kiwi Christmas this year.”

  The constricting bands squeezing Carly’s ribs eased a little from the women’s gentle touches and the silent but warm bulk of the man beside her.

  “I’m not feeling very Christmassy, unfortunately. And my mom’s got her hands full looking after Bill—that’s my stepbrothers’ dad.”

  “Kip told us about his kidney disease; such a terrible thing,” Heather said. “But your stepbrothers will be around, won’t they?”

  Carly’s chest bands reappeared with a vengeance. “Del and West and their families are going away for a few days over the holidays. They asked us to go with them, but Bill and Mom wanted to stay here.”

  The Harlands and Westlakes had endured a very busy year, and it was great they’d get some R & R at a friend’s massive property in Queenstown. Just great.

  “The three of us will have a quiet day at Bill’s place,” she added.

  With nothing to keep her mind off her dad’s drawn-out death. Or the hours spent at his bedside, watching him suffer. Last Christmas had been the epitome of Silent Night—but not in song-ish way of being calm and bright.

  Frowns and exchanged glances skipped around the table. You’re a regular red-headed buzzkill, zoomie. Give her a few more minutes and she’d have the whole Sullivan clan weeping into their coffee cups.

  Carly forced a smile and gamely snatched up her fork. One swift subject change coming right up. “Hey, West is making Kip and I dress up as Santa Claus and his helpful elf for a Christmas party next week. So that’ll be fun.”

  “This, I gotta see.” James, at the head of the table, threw his balled-up napkin at Kip’s head with a chuckle.

  Kip ducked, and the napkin sailed over his shoulder. “You’re not invited. It’s for locals, only.”

  “Pooh on that,” said Heather. “We ran into a very nice lady at the grocery store yesterday, who told us about it, and she insisted we bring Grace, the twins, and baby Ruby.” She leaned over and kissed her granddaughter’s chubby cheek. Ruby was in her highchair, Kip safely out of her line of sight. “Though Grace would rather die than be at a party with her grandparents, and Missy, here, will probably scream the place down again if Santa-Kip tries to sit her on his knee.”

  “Kipper in a Santa suit?” asked Vee. “Try to keep us away.”

  Kip stabbed a chunk of sausage. “I can hardly wait.”

  Vee craned forward past Lizzie. “Have you got an elf costume? You’ll make a super-cute elf—the green will look amazing with your hair.”

  Carly shook her head. “I haven’t even thought about what I’ll wear yet.”

  “Mum’ll whip up something for you; don’t you worry,” said Tara. “Kip can find her a sewing machine and some fabric, and you’ll be the most stylish elf on the island.”

  “I wouldn’t want to take up any of your time…” Carly said.

  “Pooh on that,” Heather said again. “It’d be my pleasure. Those store-bought costumes are awful, and there’s nothing worse than a sloppy elf.”

  “Can’t have Carly looking like a slutty elf, can we?” Kip said around a mouthful of sausage.

  Carly turned and caught the gleam in his eyes as he chewed.

  “I said sloppy, not slutty,” Heather said. “Tara, honey? Will you do the honors?”

  Tara laid down her knife, and without looking up from her plate, cuffed Kip’s head. “Don’t be a dick, trying to impress the girl with your wit.”

  “My wit is the last thing I’d try to impress Carly with.”

  Kip just continued to smile, his eyes revealing the same message as the warmth spilling through her from his heated gaze.

  Double-dammit. He knew she was already impressed.

  ***

  “Carly seems like a lovely girl.”

  Kip rinsed a platter and stacked it on the dish rack, casting a sideways glance at his mum. She continued to stare out the bay windows at the expanse of sand, sea, and sky, all Mum-ish, wide-eyed innocence. Normally, after a family meal, it’d be him and his sisters on clean up, so when his mum suggested he helped her in the kitchen…

  Yeah. He knew what was coming.

  “Don’t start.” He dumped a pile of knives and forks into the soapy water. “We’re just friends—as in, way into the friendzone.”

  It’d be so much easier if it were true. Problem was, after Carly’s little spill into his arms, he couldn’t go back to seeing her as a co-worker-slash-friend. Maybe the knee to the nuts was the trigger.

  “This friendzone,” Heather said, wiping down the platter with a dishtowel. “Is that when you call a girl your friend but look at her like she’s something you wouldn’t mind unwrapping on Christmas morning?”

  “Way off base, Mum.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She placed the platter to one side and picked up a handful of flatware to dry. “You like her, though.”

  She’d make more of it if he denied it. “As you said, she’s a pretty girl.”

  “No, I said she’s a lovely girl. There’s a difference—as you know.” She gave him the raised eyebrows, head tilted down mum-look. “She’s nothing like Becca—all beautiful and sparkly on the outside, shallow and rotten on the inside. Carly’s lovely inside and out. I could tell, you know”—she tapped the tip of her nose—“woman’s intuition.”

  Kip shrugged. “Took you a while to pick up on Becca. We were dating nearly six months.”

  Six frustrating, hot and heavy months before he left the Far North and his family behind. He’d been drawn like a drug addict to his next fix every time Becca was around. Which wasn’t often in the last two months of their relationship. Being a dairy farmer meant hard, physical labor and twelve-hour days. By seven-thirty at night? Could almost guarantee he’d be flaked out on his couch, fast asleep. Impossible to please a woman who wanted to go out every night to parties and bars and socialize with friends. So, for a while, she’d dragged his two youngest sisters out partying with her. Becca’s parting words on the night she’d dumped him? “You’re such a boring bloody stay-at-home,” and “I’ll miss hanging out with your family more than I’ll miss you.”

  Yeah, ouch.

  “I wish women’s intuition was more like a psychic ability. I’d have done anything to prevent that little witch from breaking your heart.” She jerked open the flatware drawer and dropped a handful of forks inside with a clatter.

  “She didn’t break my heart.” Because in order to have your heart broken, you had to make yourself vulnerable. And he didn’t do that. Ever. He was done being vulnerable and weak, having spent most of his childhood trying to get strong.

  With Becca, he’d had some of his own intuition. Though the sex had been great, even in the early days of their fascination with each other, the drama and volatile behavior were warning enough to keep his heart to himself. “I’m not starting anything with Carly. We work together.”

  Plus, her big brothers were his employers, and more importantly, his friends.

  His mother blew out her lips in a soft raspberry and selected another platter from the drainer.

  Kip grimaced. “Look, it’s bad enough half of Oban thinks I’m a man whore.” At his mum’s arched eyebrows, he said, “I’m not, though.”

  He liked women—liked them a lot. But he didn’t need or want to hook up with every woman who slipped him her phone number, or, as on one occasion, a lacy thong wrapped in a cocktail napkin. Classy.

  Raised with five older sisters, he just had a better-than-average understanding of how
to communicate with the female sex. Most times.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Even if you’re friends with this girl, you’re still included in my newest project.”

  Kip’s fingers slipped on a glass pitcher, nearly toppling it into the sink. “Oh, Christ, Mum—what’re you up to now?”

  She flicked the damp dishcloth at him, snapping him across the ass. “Don’t you curse out the baby Jesus nine days before his birthday. You’re not too old for a bar of Dove.”

  He rolled his eyes at her, and she fisted a hand on her hip.

  “Now hear me out. My project’s called Operation Carly’s Special Christmas.”

  “Say again?” Though he had his suspicions.

  “The first couple of years after my dad died, the holidays were awful. So, let’s give Carly a Kiwi Christmas she will never forget.”

  “Your pet projects often backfire, Mum,” Kip said. “And as lovely as Carly is, she has family here and won’t appreciate us meddling.”

  “Who said anything about meddling? And her family’s not going to be here on Christmas Day. We can’t let her spend the day alone with just her stepmother and a sick old man—imagine the type of memories that’ll dredge up for the poor girl.” Tears pooled in his mother’s eyes.

  Oh, hell. He was screwed.

  His mother was right. None of them would enjoy their day as much, knowing Carly was miserable and alone. But in order to make Christmas special for her, it’d mean more time spent with her out of work hours. He couldn’t deny being curious about getting to know Carly better.

  But getting to know her under the prying eyes of the Sullivan family?

  Gut squirming, Kip rinsed off the glass pitcher. “She won’t agree to spend the day with us anyway. We’re kind of an over-whelming force.”

  His mother patted his arm. “Oh, we won’t spring an invitation on her yet. Not when she seems so down on Christmas as it is. No, we’ll work on her, Sullivan style.”

  “You mean a guerrilla warfare campaign until she caves and does what you think is best for her?”

  “You always were quick to catch on, honey.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And this isn’t an excuse for you and my sisters to practice your match-making skills?”

  “At twenty six, you’re quite capable of finding your own match.” His mum laughed. “But if you’ve been good this year, maybe Santa will leave you someone special under the tree.”

  Immediately, his brain flicked to a mind-picture of Carly, naked except for a glittery gold bow tied around her waist. A terrible mind-picture to have while his mother watched him with sharp eyes. He cleared his throat, boxing up the image to re-examine at a more appropriate moment.

  “That’s pretty lame, Mum. Besides, Santa and I don’t see eye to eye on what constitutes good behavior,” he said. “So, I expect it’ll be the usual novelty socks and bottles of cologne.”

  His mother dropped the dishcloth on the counter and tugged him into a fierce hug. “We’ll see, Kipper. We’ll see.”

  Chapter 3

  The enemy, while not quite four feet tall, were still sly little devils, and he’d deal with them without mercy.

  Instead of spending a relaxing morning puttering around the house before his shift, Kip snuck around his parents’ rental property armed with a water gun. Lizzie had texted him at eight, ordering him to get his butt up to the house and entertain his nephews—oh, and to bring Carly, since their mum already needed her for an elf costume fitting.

  So, while Carly stayed inside the house, Kip, his dad, Grace, and the boys had been shooed outside. With high-powered water guns.

  No complaint about that.

  Kip peeled off his soaked tee shirt and dumped it on the stairs as he climbed onto the wraparound veranda. Thirty seconds ago, he’d spotted Logan, darting around the side of the house. The twins were part of a SWAT team—Logan with Kip’s dad, and Lucas teamed with Grace. Kip’d been told he was big enough and ugly enough to go solo.

  His lips peeled up into a smile. James Sullivan might be the fastest at applying cups to a cow, but he was no match for Kip in a free-for-all water battle.

  Keeping his finger on the plastic trigger, Kip padded across the wooden decking close to the walls of the house. The drapes were still drawn in the master bedroom, which his parents were using, and a skitter of awareness danced down his spine. Carly was in that room, probably in her underwear. Exposing miles of skin…

  Perfect, lightly tanned skin the color of barely toasted bread.

  Kip shook his head and bit back a laugh. Wasn’t he the romantic? Toast-colored skin—Jesus. Not to mention the fact he shouldn’t be imagining his co-worker in her panties.

  He paused at the corner of the house to get his mind back in the game. Lucas was out in the yard somewhere, creeping around with his eye-rolling but secretly enjoying-the-fun, older cousin.

  Kip raised the barrel of his rifle and slooowly peered around the corner. Movement came from the shadowy interior of the open front door. He’d have to cross past it in order to get to the other side of the house.

  Gotcha, Grandpa.

  “No water in the house,” had been his mother’s strict instructions on doling out the water guns. The five of them had nodded solemnly, Kip and his dad exchanging glances of yeah, right, it’s on.

  Thankful he’d chosen to play in shorts, tee shirt, and bare feet, Kip eased around the corner, rifle ready for action. He moved silently along the decking.

  Carly stepped out onto the veranda, sunlight catching strands of her long hair and transforming them into streams of coppery fire. Kip froze, one foot in front of the other, and then ducked into a defensive crouch. Naively, considering the five armed hunters patrolling the grounds, she looked straight ahead. Her stellar breasts sat high and proud under a white shirt. She stretched her arms to the sky and yawned, some of her smooth, toast-colored skin appearing in a strip above the waistband of her shorts.

  His fingers itched, warring with the part of his brain saying: Mate, she’ll kick you in the balls for real.

  The smile appeared back on his face. Nah, he’d never been good at ignoring a challenge. He aimed the rifle, pulled the trigger, and watched the arc of water sparkle in the sun until it reached the target.

  Bull’s-eye! He shoots, he scores!

  Carly’s head whipped toward him, those soft, pale pink lips that had caused him to toss and turn the night before parted in an almost perfect O. Water soaked through her shirt, and dripped off her shorts. Yet his victim hadn’t screamed. She just stood there, wide-eyed and drenched.

  So he blasted her again.

  Her hands rose in defense, which didn’t do a hell of a lot to prevent her shirt becoming even wetter. Add in the bonus of two rock-hard nipples poking through the thin cotton, and man, he could keep firing until the chamber went dry.

  “You.” She stabbed a finger at him, which caused a delicious wobble of her incredible tits. With her other hand, she swiped water droplets off her face, her whiskey eyes flashing promises of bloody revenge. “You. Are. Dead.”

  “Empty threats, sweetheart.”

  Voices behind her from inside the house grew louder.

  “Ohmigawd. Kip just soaked her!”

  “Mum, look what he’s done!”

  Lizzie poked her head out of the doorway, and then jerked it back in when Kip fired a warning shot.

  “Vee! Where’s the backup artillery? Quick—bring it here!”

  Carly grinned at him. “Game on, pretty-boy.”

  Kip spun and darted back around the corner, heading down the garden to the outside tap for a reload and then to set up an ambush.

  A private ambush.

  ***

  Carly squeezed what moisture she could out of her shirt. She blamed the blast of cold water for her tight, tingling nipples.

  Nothing whatsoever to do with Kip’s heated gaze fanning over her. Or the low-in-the-belly sizzle she got at the sight of hard muscles crisscrossing his bared chest and abs.
Nope, nuh-uh, impossible.

  Yet, she hadn’t stopped thinking about those muscles since she’d found herself squished on top of them two days ago. The belly sizzle indicated at least part of her would like to be squished up against him again.

  “Here.” A voice sounded from behind her.

  She turned, all sexy thoughts shoved aside as Kip’s mother held out a gigantic water gun.

  “It’s locked and loaded. Take it and make for the treeline.” Heather angled her chin toward a grove of pohutukawa trees, their crimson flower-laden branches sweeping down over the beach.

  “You saw him headed there?” Carly hefted the sloshing gun, which looked more like a bazooka in her limited experience with water weapons.

  “No.” Heather grinned. “But I know my son. He’ll be waiting there to ambush you.”

  A shiver worked down her spine. Ambushed by that tall, dark-haired hunk of hotness? That kind of shiver was ninety percent pleasurable anticipation, ten percent girl, this is a bad idea.

  “My dad was an Air Force officer. I got this.” Bold words for a woman trembling in her Chuck Taylors.

  “Show no mercy.”

  Carly laughed and gave Heather a mock salute. “Oh, he’ll pay.”

  She ran down the steps to the lawn, scalp prickling at the open exposure until she reached the fence encircling the property. Her back to the wooden posts, she edged along it until she came to the gate closing the yard off from the beach.

  Her pulse an endless peal of thunder in her throat, she ducked down and peered at the sandy trail leading to the beach. Man-sized footprints pointed as effectively as an arrow. Well, now—Heather was right. Kip would be waiting for her under the shadowy branches of the pohutukawas.

  Carly cracked open the gate, slipped through and then latched it again. The beach was off limit to the twins unless they were accompanied by an adult, which worked well for her plan of humiliating their uncle by emptying her jumbo-sized water tank in his smug face.