Must Love Mistletoe

“-candy Kisses.”

“Shit.” Tanner rubbed his hand over his face, jostling all that Hollywood hair. “You had to do it. You had to tell me. My life sucks.”

Finn could only shake his head. Eleven months ago they’d been on the same diplomatic protective detail. But while Finn had been outside the fund raiser when the assassin had fired at the prince, Tanner had been stuck inside. Tanner Hart, the youngest member of the famous, multigenerational family of Hart military heroes, had become infamous for the big ol’ wet one the prince’s daughter had laid on him while all hell was breaking loose outside. Cameras had caught both ends of the action.

Tanner had been guilty of nothing more than following the plan and sticking close to the spoiled young woman who was the product of a brief marriage between the Middle Eastern prince and an American model. One look at the tabloid photos published all over the globe, however, and he had resigned from the Secret Service. It hadn’t cooled the international gossip for an instant.

Tanner had yet to get his head screwed on straight about his lack of culpability regarding the tragic results of that night, but Finn was giving him time. If something didn’t happen soon, though, he’d make it his New Year’s resolution to fix his friend.

One of them had to get back to normal.

“That woman is the devil,” Tanner muttered.

At that moment, his brother Troy passed by. “Who?”

Tanner busied himself with a bar rag. “That damn Desiree.”

“She might be a pain in the ass, but you have to admit she’s a looker,” Troy said.

The younger Hart froze. “When have you seen her?”

Troy shrugged, a mountain of shaved-head macho marine. “What do you mean? The photos, of course.”

His brother’s blue eyes narrowed. Like Finn, he’d been trained to discern the smallest thing out of place. There was an odd twitch along Troy’s jaw.

“Tell me she hasn’t been by here,” Tanner demanded.

“She hasn’t.”

Tanner groaned. “Well she will. And I’m warning you, Troy. Don’t even let her in the door. She’s trouble with a fucking, capital T.”

“Little bro, what is she, like fourteen or something?”

“She’s over twenty-one. And though she might look all innocent with those big eyes and long hair, I tell you, she’s the devil. Just wait, you’ll find out. I dare you to try kicking her out when she comes in and you’ll see just how pigheaded she is.”

Troy waved his brother’s warning away. “I’m a marine. I can handle one little half princess.”

Tanner groaned again. “Trouble, I’m telling you. With a capital T.”

Finn couldn’t help but silently laugh at the note of concern in Tanner’s voice and the ill-fated confidence in Troy’s. Poor guys. The things that a woman could do to a man.

Then a feminine voice sounded in his ear. “I hope Tanner doesn’t mean me.”

Finn’s head whipped left. His amusement died. She’d come up on his blind side. Bailey-his own personal devil- Sullivan.

“Whoops. Gotta go,” he said, starting to slip off the bar stool. He’d left Gram’s because it made him edgy being so close to the Girl Next Door. Getting snarled with her had already proved to be too damn easy, and being her bar buddy would only make it easier.

She grabbed his wrist. “Finn…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned at his hand. “I just realized. Where are your tattoos?”

He flexed his fingers. They were bare of embellishment, except for the heavy signet ring he wore on his left pinkie. In the old days, his knuckles had been perma-inked with skulls, dots, and cryptic messages, most of which only made sense if you were young, stupid, and drinking beer.

“I had them lasered off before I applied to the Secret Service.”

“Ouch.” Bailey winced. “So they’re all gone?”

“Mmm.” Pulling his hand free of hers, he stood. “Now I really do have to go.”

“A date with Fran?”

“Huh?”

“You know, The Nanny.”

He looked into Bailey’s upturned face and noted the sleek fall of her blond hair, the darkened lashes, the kiss- me color of her mouth. His gaze dropped. Since she’d returned to Coronado, he’d yet to see her in anything beside pants and jeans.

Now here she was, in a red sweater and a short black skirt that exposed plenty of her slender legs, one crossed over the other. Swinging back and forth was one small foot encased in a dominatrix shoe that was all tall stacked heel and B &D black straps.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you want, GND?” Despite her second appearance at Hart’s, he didn’t think she’d come for the ambience, unless the sound of clacking billiard balls was suddenly a Bailey turn-on.

“Well…” She leaned her elbow on the bar, and her tongue swiped the gloss on her lower lip.

His blood rushed south, as well as the intelligent instinct to run. He rubbed his palms on his jeans, but that didn’t erase the tactile memory of the silky softness of her bare legs. Making love with Bailey had always begun with slow, heated kisses. The kind of kisses he never tried to rush, even though his teenage hormones were screaming, In! In! In!

Once her mouth was red and swollen, her lips trying to follow his as he lifted them away, he’d allow himself to touch her body. A hand over her breast or his fingers sliding along the damp small of her back. More kissing. When he’d finally move to bare her, she would squeeze shut her eyes, tight enough to make sunburst lines at their far corners.

He’d unbutton her shirt. Unhook her bra. Catch the elastic edges of her panties and draw them down her legs. And because Bailey was still flying blind, he found he could deliberately run his palms up her legs and spread them without her protest or any sort of modest resistance. Maybe she pretended it was happening to someone else. Maybe she avoided embarrassment that way.

Whatever the reason, his heart would be slamming against his chest and his blood would be rushing in his ears as he pushed against the silky skin of her inner thighs…and then looked his fill. He supposed she didn’t know how his heart would stop, his air back up in his lungs as he traced with his eyes the blond curls and the petaled wetness of her sex.

Then he’d reach out a finger-one of his rough fingers with its even rougher-looking black tattoos-and bathe the tip in her arousal so he could paint her folds with it. One finger became two and he didn’t think she ever knew that he would always suck her taste from them before donning a condom and beginning the slow slide inside her heated body.

Then her eyes would fly open, but only for a moment. As if reassured that it was her bad boy covering her, she’d release a little sigh and he’d complete the journey. The In! In! In! screamers inside him would sigh too, and settle.

Inside Bailey, they’d say, as if all was right with the world. Inside Bailey.

“You were so…cute with the little kids the other day at The Perfect Christmas,” this open-eyed Bailey now said. “I should have thanked you more. Several people have stopped in to comment on what an excellent job you did.”

The kids had been cute, not Finn, and she knew it. He sighed, even more wary. “Back to the original question. What do you want, Bailey?”

She made another swipe of her mouth with her tongue. Witch. “Would you consider a reprise of your role as Santa?”

“No.”

Tanner had quit arguing with his brother and turned his attention to them. He was smirking. “Finn? Santa?”

“Ho ho ho,” he answered. “But I’m not doing it again.”

“Please, Finn.” She put her hand on his forearm. “I didn’t want to have to ask, but Byron’s surfing at Swami’s