Kissa Under the Mistletoe (3 page)

“I’m not much of a drinker, Mr. Slate.”

“John, love, just call me John.” He beamed at her. “Are you enjoying our fair city? Lucas tells me you were born here.”

“Yes, my mother is English. My sisters and I are Londoners.” She reached into her purse and searched for the family picture she always carried with her.

“What about your father? Not an Englishman, I take it?”

“No. Dad’s Egyptian”

Kissa laughed as John looked at the picture in shock, his reaction pretty common when faced with the sight of the Nazir girls standing in a row. “Bloody hell! Lucas, why didn’t you tell me there are three like her running around?”

Of course, the sight of their curvy bodies clad in traditional Egyptian cabaret costumes sometimes proved a surprise. The skintight spandex left little to the imagination.

“We’re triplets. Obviously….” Kissa’s face heated as all the men crowded around John who now held the picture. “That was taken a few years ago at a belly-dancing festival in Boston where we performed.”

“Who’s this bloke?” Lucas pointed to the darkly handsome man standing next to her with his arm wrapped around her waist. He was also clad in traditional Egyptian garb. Kissa stared at Lucas a moment, the obvious tension in his hands and mouth taking her by surprise. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear jealousy rested in his steely stare.

“Hassan. My brother. He works in D.C. I’ve told you about him.”

“Oh, yes. You’ve mentioned him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his picture before, though.” Lucas speared her with a delicious glance, a wicked heat flashing in it. That same heat raced through her, and she had to place a palm on her cheek to combat it. The moment was broken when a niece dragged him to the pool room on the far side of the pub. He chuckled and followed the teen.

“My son fancies you. But I don’t think I need to tell you that,” John whispered near her ear.

“We’re just friends. The best of but only friends.” Kissa fidgeted in her stool, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“We’ll see. I think you should rescue Lucas from his nephews and nieces.” John gestured toward the back room where the pool table stood.
Lucas was six foot something
and
mostly consisted
of
granite and stubble, a woman’s seductive fantasy brought to life. Yet there he stood with
his five-year-old nephew, Gavin, hanging on one leg and his seven-year-old niece, Katlyn, holding his hand. The two teenagers, Martha and Rory, belonging to Martin and his wife, stood to one side with pool sticks in hand, laughing at their uncle’s predicament.

Kissa slid off her stool and walked to the pool room, her attention never leaving Lucas’s face. He looked so comfortable with the children. A clenching in her gut hit her hard and fast. He would make a wonderful father. Jealousy raced through her at the thought of another woman with him. Being the mother of his children. Her footsteps faltered as the unfamiliar emotions engulfed her. She shook her head to clear it from the train of thought. He looked up at her and smiled. The heat in her belly unfurled and threatened to consume her.

She grinned at him before turning her attention to Rory and Martha.

“Come on, kids, let’s kick your uncle’s butt.”

***

Lucas couldn’t take much more of Kissa in her tight skirt and those wicked high heels shooting pool. He silently thanked God for the proximity of Rory and Martha. Having the children around enjoying the game helped to keep his libido in check. For the most part. They’d paired up boys against girls, and Lucas admitted she and Martha were kicking their collective asses.

He watched as she bent down over the pool table, taking a moment to line up her shot. He wanted to stand behind her, his hands on those curvy hips, as she rubbed her gorgeous rear against him. Semihard from watching her all night, Lucas found the sounds of his family around him kept him at bay. Her top gaped open at the neck as she leaned a fraction farther over the table, her lacy black bra showcased by the deep V of her neckline. He swallowed hard and turned to stare at his nephew Rory. Sure enough, the seventeen-year-old’s gaze was glued to Kissa’s cleavage.

Lucas moved over to Rory, clapping a palm on the boy’s shoulder. Rory’s attention flew to Lucas’s face. The boy blushed all the way down to his socks.

Lucas leaned in close enough so only Rory could hear his comment. “Watch it, my boy, that woman’s going to be your aunt.”

The teenager grinned. “Sorry, Uncle Lucas, I couldn’t help it. She looks like a black-haired Jessica Rabbit. I like her.”

“That she does. I’m glad you like her but don’t say anything yet. I still have to ask her.”

“What are you two up to over there? Plotting world domination?” Kissa asked as she straightened with one hand on her hip and the other still on her pool cue. “Not a thing, chicken. Just working out our next shot. Right, Rory?”

Kissa winked at Martha “We don’t believe them, do we?”

Martha giggled and bounced over to her, all teenager-gangly energy. Wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder, Kissa pulled her closer. Lucas felt his heart constrict. The thought of children with Kissa filled his mind with the most amazing images.

“Why do you call her chicken, Uncle Lucas?” Martha asked, her voice so soft he almost didn’t hear the question. She was such a shy little thing.

“Well, love, when Kissa and I went to an amusement park at home, she wouldn’t get on the big roller coaster with me. I teased her all day about being a chicken until she finally relented and got on.” Lucas found himself smiling at the memory.

“And promptly threw up when we got off,” Kissa said with a laugh “Ever since then your uncle calls me his chicken.”

Five years. He’d wasted five years because he’d let her stick him in the friend category and never let him out. The woman who made him want her so badly, he hurt. His aroused state wasn’t subsiding tonight unless he did something about it, and he certainly wasn’t about to have a wank in the WC of his brother’s pub. Looking at the pool table and then back to Kissa, tasty ideas began to form.

Something had started to change since they’d arrived in London. Just as he’d hoped it would. Only a few hours into this adventure and Lucas could feel the subtle shift in the way she looked at him, spoke to him, and moved around him. He loved every minute of it. London and Christmas magic. He hoped.

“Uncle Lucas, it’s your shot.” Martha wrapped an arm around Kissa’s waist. Kissa smiled down at the girl, pulling her into a playful hug.

It pleased Lucas to no end his family had taken such a liking to her. Usually, Martha was slow to warm up to new people. Kissa seemed to bring the shy little thing out of her comfort zone. He’d rarely seen the teenager laugh so much as she did tonight.

“So it is, then.”

He moved to the pool table and assessed his shot. Paying attention to Kissa’s backside as she leaned over the table instead of the placement of the balls proved to be problematic.

His girl carried the name Pool Shark as well as Goddess of Belly Dance.

“I’m going for a drink. Miss Kissa, do you want something? Uncle Lucas?” Rory set his pool cue aside.

“I’m fine. Still have my drink from earlier,” Kissa answered with a sweet smile. Lucas shook his head at his nephew’s offer and went back to surveying the pool table.

Martha pulled herself from Kissa’s arms and followed her brother. The teenagers darted out of the room, full of energy, despite the late hour.

Leaning over, he set up his shot. At the brush of fingertips down his spine, he glanced over his shoulder and met Kissa’s gaze, mere inches from him.

“Jessica Rabbit, huh?” She winked at him before moving away, letting her fingertips trail over his shoulders. The lightest of touches. Her laughter floated around him, tickling along his nerve endings.

“Heard that, did you? What have I told you about listening to other people’s conversations?” Electricity skittered around them, and Lucas straightened a bit, closing the distance between them even more. “You’re being naughty, chicken.”

“I like your family a lot, Lucas. They’re great. I’m glad you talked me into coming.”

“I am, too. I thought, perhaps, tomorrow we could play tourist a bit. See the British Museum and the British Library. I’d love to show you the Shakespeare folios they have on display. Blimey, they’re gorgeous,”

“You’re such an English Lit nerd.”

“I love the written word. Which happens to be one of the characteristics you love about me.”

“Yeah, it is.” Kissa traced her fingertips along the pool table edge, belying her cool exterior. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his beautiful girl was nervous. He decided to test his thoughts and shifted a bit closer. He danced his index finger lightly over her knuckles. She shivered. Lucas swallowed back a grin.

“Don’t we have to spend time with your family?” The husky quality of her voice tied him in knots. She leaned her hip against the table and watched him, those gray eyes blazing the light of the pub.

“That’s true. But we only have to have dinner with them in the evening. We can head to Mum and Dad’s after the sightseeing. Want to play tourist with me, my lovely?”

“Hmm, maybe,” she said, although the words sounded so much like a sigh, Lucas instantly began imagining what noises she made in the throes of passion.

He paused long enough to take his shot, the balls clicking as he banked a red-striped one in the corner pocket. Lucas moved to set up his next shot, brushing against Kissa as he went. The light caress of her curves made his blood heat, and he fought to control his response to her. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his family, especially his young nieces and nephews.

“Suit yourself, chicken. But I’m going.”

Something naughty flashed in those silver eyes, but whatever it was eluded him. He found himself entranced by this playful, flirty version of her, and he wanted more.

Rory slunk back into the room with a hangdog expression. “Dad says everyone is heading home. Time to close up.”

Lucas straightened and moved to replace his pool cue, a decadent idea forming in his fevered brain.

“Tell your father Kissa and I will lock up. Everyone can head home, and I’ll take care of the washing. Ask him to leave the spare key on the bar, and I’ll return it to him tomorrow at dinner.”

Being his older brother, and the one who’d taught him the ropes, Martin would instantly know Lucas’s plan and hurry everyone out the door.

“Okay. Nice to meet you, Miss Kissa.” Rory started for entrance, then returned to Lucas. He blushed a little and nervously looked toward Kissa.

“What’s the matter?” Lucas asked his nephew who shifted from foot to foot.

“Hug. But don’t tell anyone.”

Lucas laughed as he wrapped his arms around the teenager and squeezed him tight.

“I won’t say a word. Now off with you.”

Rory waved and scurried out the door.

“We’re going to do the lockup are we?” One inky eyebrow cocked at him in mild amusement.

“Yes, chicken, we are.”

Lucas was up to something. Kissa could tell. Being alone in the pub with him was likely not the best way for her to control her growing hunger for him, but she didn’t have much choice in the matter. Nor did she seem to care.

She rested her butt on the pool table as she waited for him to come back from the main room. They’d finished washing the glasses and dishes from the evening and wiping down the tables and bar earlier. She’d kicked off her heels and swept the floor while Lucas checked some things in the storeroom. The jet lag was finally catching up to her, and she was ready to slip into the cool sheets on the queen-size bed and get some rest.

Lucas stepped back into the room and smiled at her. The gesture set her heart fluttering like she was some fictional character in a romance. Earlier, when they’d been playing pool, the sexual heat had ricocheted between them. If not for their two teenage companions and Lucas’s entire family just beyond in the outer room, Kissa would have captured his luscious mouth in a kiss when he’d started rubbing his fingertip over her knuckles. The small caress had sent her pulse racing in a way only Lucas could. Despite still being leery of moving past the friend stage with this man, she couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to him one iota.

She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. The sensation felt good as the muscles in her back elongated, releasing some of the tension.

“You look comfortable there, love.”

She drank him in. He leaned his tall body against the wooden door frame. He took her breath away. His black hair was mussed from running his hands through it all night long, lending him a rakish look. He’d pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and rolled up the sleeves, exposing his forearms. She admitted to herself she’d always loved when her buttoned-up professor got a little messy.

“How do the coeds concentrate around you, Dr. Slate?”

“I’m just their stuffy old English professor. I bore them to tears with tales of Chaucer, Moliere, and Shaw.”

“Oh, I bet a few concentrate more on your broad shoulders than on Shakespeare’s broad prose.” He did have such wonderfully wide-set shoulders and a muscular chest. He ran in the evenings and lifted weights to keep in shape, constantly complaining he didn’t want to turn into a “flabby academic” with a potbelly and a bad comb-over.

“I’m not certain of that. Old Will was a naughty boy, and his words could entice even the staunchest of maids.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

“I doubt many of those girls are staunch or maids.”

“Maids, in modesty, say ‘no’ to that which they would have the profferer construe ‘ay.’”

A giggle threatened to escape her at his words. She licked her lips and contemplated her next move.

“Do you mean you like to tease them with wicked words?”

“No, chicken. You know me better than that. I don’t touch the young nubiles. I prefer my ladies old enough to appreciate the gray at my temples.”

“I like the gray in your hair. It’s just a light dusting.”