“Yes.”
“You’re pretty good at analyzing people.” Mitch swirled his cup.
“It helps me bring characters to life.”
“For your acting.” He swallowed the rest of the chocolate and replaced the lid.
“Yes.” Kristen didn’t bother finishing the rest of hers. It had gone cold. “I sense that you don’t approve. Am I right?”
He turned his head and took in her jeans and sweater. “I’ve never seen you when you weren’t acting. For all I know, you’re acting now. Are you?”
“I’m acting that I’m not impatient with you. I’m acting as though it didn’t hurt when you turned the anger you feel for Jeremy and yourself toward me. I’m acting as though I’m looking forward to trying that fruitcake.”
She reached for it and took a big bite. The sweet crispy batter gave way to the still-warm interior, a rich mixture of candied fruit and nuts with a faint taste of brandy. “Mmm. This is wonderful!”
“And you’re acting as though you enjoy that fruitcake, though I’ve seen better performances from you.”
And then Mitch bit into his own fruitcake and surprise flashed over his face. “It
is
good.”
Kristen nodded as she swallowed. “Whodathunk it?”
“See? I can’t tell when you’re acting and when you’re not acting. I think I’m in love with you, but I don’t know the you I’m in love with.” And he took another bite of fruitcake.
Wait a minute. Back up. Had he…? Kristen mentally replayed his last comment. It sure sounded as though he’d told her he loved her, but instead of looking into her eyes and following up with a romantic kiss, he was eating fruitcake. “Did you just tell me you loved me?”
“Depends. Which Kristen are you?”
“All of them. And more you haven’t met yet.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“He says as he eats five thousand calories of fat.”
“Which you brought to me.”
“No one forced you to eat it.”
He didn’t respond. She was so not feeling the love.
“Mitch, you’re an accountant who owns his own business. I’ve never seen your business. I’ve never seen you interacting with clients, but I know you. The financial stuff is what you
do
. It isn’t who you
are
. But what you do does give insight into who you are. Acting is what I do. It isn’t who I am. But my performances give you insight into who I am.”
He’d been staring straight ahead, but now he shifted on the quilt until he could look directly into her eyes.
Kristen let him look and didn’t try to express any particular emotion. Let him see that she was sincere, that she understood and sympathized, but that she had her limits. “Do you remember that first time at Noir Blanc?”
He nodded and she saw a faint smile.
“I told you who and exactly what I was. Do you remember what I said next? I said it was a relief not to have to pretend with you.” She let that sink in. “And I never have.”
“Tutti-fruitti,” Mitch said.
“Oh, please. You weren’t fooled. And you know why? Because you know me.”
His gaze softened, but it wasn’t with love. If Kristen was not mistaken, she saw regret.
“But you don’t know me anymore. I’ve changed.”
Bingo. Regret.
“We all change in some ways. I’ve changed, too. I thought I’d wasted the last six years of my life. I thought I’d failed at everything. I thought life had left me cynical and hardened. But it left me with insight and experience—and the ability to recognize a good person when I meet him.”
“Isn’t that the School of Hard Knocks?” he asked.
She smiled. “Guess so.”
He smiled, too, but his faded quickly. “I…trusting…” He looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’m not going to point out that trusting me is not the same as trusting people in the business world, but yes. It’ll take you time to get over this. But you will. Mitch, you’re an investor. When you invest, you expect a payoff. If your investment turns out to be a dud, you cut your losses and move on. You invested everything with Jeremy—business and personal. He’s a dud and you feel you’ve lost everything. But you know something?” She scooted closer. “You’d started to diversify and you invested in me.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “And I’m about to pay off big time.”
She kissed him, their knee-to-knee position preventing any closer contact.
For now, it was enough. Kristen moved her mouth over his, the stubble scraping her chin enough to sensitize
it and make this kiss different from any of their others.
He let her kiss him, but there wasn’t much reciprocity going on. She pulled back, keeping her arms around his neck.
“Is this another attempt to restore my manhood?”
“If you’d quit losing it, I wouldn’t have to keep helping you find it.”
There went the half smile. “I thought you enjoyed the search.”
“Oh, the searching is loads of fun, but I’m ready to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“Wrong holiday.”
She slid her arms from around his neck. “You know, all the build up to Christmas, the parties and the parade and the holiday food and the music, all heighten the anticipation, but eventually, Santa’s got to come down that chimney.”
Mitch’s eyes had darkened and his breathing had picked up. He swallowed.
As direct as she could be while wearing clothes
.
And still he sat there. She’d just have to be more direct, then. Kristen swept their food off the quilt, crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head.
She was wearing a red bra made of lace and very little else.
Mitch’s lips had parted, his expression a battle between desire and restraint.
“Now, you can leave Santa milk and cookies, but I like to leave him these.”
Bending backward so she could reach into her jeans
pocket, she withdrew a couple of condom packages and tossed them on the quilt.
Mitch stared at them and then met her eyes.
“So, hey, Santa,” she said softly. “What do you say?”
He leaned forward onto his hands and crawled toward her. And kept crawling until she fell back onto the quilt and his arms and knees were on either side of her. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said just before he kissed her.
He kissed her while running his hand along the length of her thigh, up her side, and along her inner arm. He kissed her while fisting his hands in her hair—hers and the fake stuff.
“Not good?” he asked when he felt her flinch. “Is it the beard?”
“The beard adds another sensation.” She smiled and ran her fingers over his jaw. “But the thought of you coming away with a fistful of hair took me out of the moment a bit.”
“Ah.” He moved his hands to cup her face and his smile grew. “That was such a typical Kristen thing to say. I guess I know you after all.”
“Not entirely.” She looped her arms around his neck. “But I’m hoping we’ll fix that soon.”
She drew him to her, his head haloed by revolving pink lights. But when she thought he was going to kiss her lips, he bent and kissed her cleavage.
Surprise made her gasp.
“No? Yes?” he asked between kisses.
“Oh, by all means, carry on.”
As though he’d needed an invitation. Mitch kissed her throat, her neck, and her eyelids. He licked her collarbone, her ear lobe and the top curve of one breast. The
contrast between the mild scratching from his beard with the caressing softness of his sweater had her shivering.
“I—” Her breath caught as he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth. “I feel I’m not doing my fair share, here.”
“You showed up. You brought condoms,” he said roughly. “Trust me, that’s more than enough.” He kissed the crook of her elbow.
A very unsophisticated giggle escaped. “I—you’re very…creative.”
“I’m exploring you.” His hand settled at her waist and his thumb caressed her skin. “I’m getting to know every part of you. I’m learning how you respond to my touch. I’m learning where you like to be touched. I’m learning how you like to be touched.”
Her eyes widened. This was…this was…
Mitch parted her lips and delved deeply inside her mouth. Kristen heard herself moan. He’d drawn it out of her before she sensed it.
Taking his time, he drew back. “I’m learning how you taste.” He drew his tongue just beneath her jaw and between her breasts. “I’m learning your scent.”
He lowered his head and breathed in the crook of her neck. “And when I’m finished,” he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and lifted his head, “I’ll know you anywhere, no matter what role you’re playing or how you disguise yourself. And that’s the you I’ll love.”
There were no words. But there were tears. Tears leaking from the outer corner of her eyes and into her ears.
Mitch tenderly wiped one away with his thumb and touched his tongue to the other.
Kristen shuddered. “No—no man has ever—” She swallowed.
“Made love to you?” His smile was tender with understanding, but his eyes were all self-assured, aroused male. “Then I’ll be the first.”
And he was. He absolutely was.
He made her feel. He made her think. He made her gasp and he made her moan. He reduced her vocabulary to repeating his name in gasping pants, long, drawn out sighs and pathetically grateful whimpers.
And then he undressed her.
Her vocabulary increased with the addition of “oh, yes” and “don’t stop” and the occasional ragged “please.”
And he was still dressed.
Propping himself on an elbow, he watched as she recovered from one of his “don’t stops.” He didn’t bother to hide his smug smile, which ordinarily would have annoyed the heck out of her, except he really, truly—make that
truly
—deserved it.
Catching her breath, Kristen desperately tried to remember more words and managed a couple of small ones.
Lifting her limp noodle of an arm, she plucked at the extremely soft and utterly sensual cashmere sweater that she would never look at the same way again and said, “Off.”
With the other arm, she pointed to the edge of the quilt where two square packages reflected the multicolored lights. “On.”
Mitch stood and held her gaze as he methodically removed his clothes, stripping to Christmas carols.
The parade had reached the crowd gathered to watch
the display come together, and the bands had combined to play a concert of Christmas music.
Mitch stood looking down at her, his body bathed in the lights.
Kristen raised her arms. Mitch knelt and she drew him to her. “Please,” she sighed. He captured the end of her sigh in his mouth and the gasp that followed when he eased into her.
She ran her hands over his back and as far down as she could reach, enjoying the novel sensation of his skin.
He broke their kiss to pull back until she could see into his eyes before he began to move.
He let her see his desire build, which fueled her own. She fought to keep her eyes open as the tension coiled within her until it was too much and she squeezed them shut, seeing the lights behind her eyelids as she peaked yet again. Quickly she opened her eyes to catch Mitch’s heavy-lidded satisfaction at her pleasure before he buried his face against the side of her neck and shuddered his release.
They lay there, surrounded by lights and music and their own afterglow.
Being with Mitch had been the most incredible experience of Kristen’s life. She’d been shocked at the depth of feeling and response he’d drawn from her. When their breathing had slowed and some of Kristen’s brain function returned she had an awful thought. “Mitch?” she whispered, though with all the noise, he probably couldn’t hear her.
“Hmm?”
“I… I think I forgot to tell you that I love you, too.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “It’s nice to hear, but I already knew. Remember, I know you now.”
“Then you know I’m going to want my turn with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bright and early the following Monday morning, a number of people crowded a modest conference room in the Houston Field Office of the FBI. Present were three agents in the Asset/Forfeiture/Money Laundering Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division, a court reporter, four parents, one of whom was a private investigator, a lawyer, one girlfriend, playing the role of a modestly sweet innocent standing by her man and a scowling Santa Claus wearing a policeman’s badge and an empty gun holster. Oh, and Mitch.
On the table was everything they’d found. Piles of papers. All Kristen’s mom’s suspicious real estate sales, Kristen’s lists and chart—complete with salsa stains from their first date—and the information Mitch had gleaned from his company’s server and Jeremy’s laptop. The Santa cop was ready to swear that nothing had been illegally obtained, if it came to that. The lawyer was, well, Mitch hoped they wouldn’t need him.
Kristen, who wore a dress with a white collar, low-heeled shoes, and had her hair—her really, really long
hair—pulled back and fastened with a barrette, reached out and squeezed Mitch’s hand.
“We’re ready to begin whenever you are,” said one of the agents.
Kristen’s father was the appointed spokesman. He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Mitch interrupted. “I need to say something here.” He held up his hand to stop his lawyer from cautioning him. “What you are about to see makes me appear
unbelievably
stupid. I need you to keep an open mind and believe that I can be that stupid.” He gestured to Carl. “Go ahead.”
An hour passed and another. Mitch looked at Kristen and raised his eyebrows. Could she read their expressions?
She gave him a tight smile that told him she couldn’t.
Finally, as hour three drew to a close, Carl Zaleski finished.
The three agents looked at one another and leaned together to confer. Expressions never changing, they straightened and faced Mitch.
Kristen laced her fingers through his.
“Okay.” And that was it.
“Okay what?” Mitch asked.
“We believe you really were that stupid.”
There was a shocked silence before the agents cracked smiles and everyone started breathing again.
Oh, and the blood returned to his fingers where Kristen had gripped them.