'Tis the Season to Get Lucky (Entangled Indulgence) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

During the next hour, Kate discovered that Ryder Sinclair hadn’t been kidding: he was an expert at getting onto Santa’s naughty list.

Originally, she’d been keeping track of everything they took so she could inform the relevant department heads tomorrow. But by the time they’d cut a swath through the electronics department—to get two high-beam flashlights—and had a pitched battle in lingerie over the negligees, before she’d redirected them to women’s sleepwear where she’d picked out some fleecy pajamas she was actually prepared to wear, she’d gotten a headache trying to keep all their booty straight.

The trip to the store’s food hall had been equally productive—or criminal, depending on how you looked at it. With all the fresh food locked overnight in the cold storage facility, Ryder had insisted on pilfering the most expensive Christmas hamper on display and a bottle of top-priced Californian merlot—only being persuaded to forgo the vintage champagne because it wasn’t sufficiently chilled. And then of course they’d had to stop by home furnishings to pick up cutlery and paper plates and a corkscrew and… By then Kate had given up trying to do the right and proper thing—and decided she’d have to opt for the expedient thing: namely falling on general manager Gerry Garcia’s mercy tomorrow and hope he didn’t have her and Ryder hauled off to jail.

Consequently, once they reached the fifth floor and bedroom furnishings, with all their loot in tow, Kate had conceded that while she might not be as adept at petty crime as Ryder, she wasn’t as adverse to it as she had always assumed.

The thrill of doing something forbidden in the soft glow of the store’s emergency lights hadn’t just been exhilarating and fun, it had also been surprisingly seductive.

Ryder had flirted mercilessly with her throughout—especially while doing battle over the negligees—and she’d discovered a knack she didn’t know she had for flirting right back. To the point where she was now almost as exhausted from trying to keep up with all the verbal foreplay as she was from the zap of hormones whizzing through her system every time he brushed his fingers down her hair, or placed a quick kiss on her nose, or let his palm stray to her backside—which he seemed to be doing with alarming regularity.

The bedroom displays looked more than a little eerie, cast in the red glow from the emergency lights, but once they’d demolished a feast of Scottish oatcakes and venison pâté, ginger cookies and cold Christmas pudding, all washed down with the fruity merlot, Kate felt relaxed and surprisingly festive. She surveyed the wreckage of their picnic, as Ryder sat cross-legged with his back propped up against the base of a deluxe king-size bed made up with 800-thread count Egyptian cotton.

The low hum of arousal that hadn’t been far away since he’d kissed her so thoroughly in the stairwell pulsed harder as she studied him. With his eyes closed and his hand laid casually across his belly, he looked both peaceful and dangerous. Day-old stubble shadowed the cleft in his chin and highlighted dramatic cheekbones and dark brows. He really was an astonishingly good-looking man. No wonder all the women who worked at Sinclair’s had noticed him on the rare occasions he actually put in an appearance at the store.

And tonight he was all hers. The thought made her feel decadent and desirable. But under the hum of arousal was the sharp twist of guilt. He had a girlfriend. Didn’t he?

She’d always had a strong moral code, maybe too strong in some respects—or she would never have ended up with a killjoy like Benedict—but while she’d discovered this evening that she could bend it more than a little, she couldn’t break it altogether.

The only problem was she didn’t quite know how to ask Ryder what she had to ask, without seeming like a prude—or worse, an idiot.

Just as she was puzzling over how best to go about it, his eyes flickered open and that penetrating sapphire gaze fixed firmly on her face.

“Damn,” he said sleepily, “I almost nodded off there before the main event.” He held out his hand, beckoning her over with his fingers.

She shuffled her bum until she was sitting next to him and laid her hand in his to let him draw her closer. But when he went to slide his arm around her waist, she stiffened.

His brow lifted. “You look kind of serious. Is something wrong?”

It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, but she still had to battle the wave of uncertainty. If he said what she thought he was going to say, they wouldn’t be able to make love, and after flirting with him all evening that was going to be the biggest disappointment of her life. But she couldn’t live with herself not knowing one way or the other, so what choice did she really have?

“Yes, I think maybe there is,” she stammered, trying to find the right words.

He straightened, his brow flattening into a frown of curiosity, but the lazy smile stayed in place. “Then I guess you better spill it…”

“Okay.” She sucked in a deep breath, heaved it out. “I know this is only casual. That we got stuck here together, and we’re both attracted and I do really want to…” She paused.

The sexy smile curled upward and became a little smug. “So far, so good.”

God, what on earth are you wittering on about? Just say it.

“But I don’t feel I can sleep with you, even in a completely casual sense,” she qualified, the words rushing out. “Knowing you have a girlfriend.”

His eyebrows launched up his forehead—and the smile flatlined. “What makes you think I’ve got a girlfriend?”

He sounded genuinely stunned. She suppressed the spurt of hope, knowing she had to clarify, to be completely clear.

“The special lady?” she prompted, but he just stared at her. “The special lady who collects dolls—the one you were buying a gift for? Exactly how special is she?”

His eyes widened and then to her utter shock, a gruff chuckle came out, followed by another, and another.

“What’s so funny? It’s a valid question,” Kate stated, annoyed. It had taken all the willpower she had to ask the bloody question. He could at least take it seriously.

The laughter finally died down to be replaced by intermittent chuckles. “Katherine, you slay me,” he said at last.

“I can see that,” she replied, tartly. “Perhaps you could let me in on the joke now.”

He grasped her hand. “Come here.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her onto his lap.

Warmth spread at the cozy, possessive gesture and the feel of thighs roped with muscle cradling her bottom.

“First off,” he began, drawing the curtain of hair back behind her ear, the brush of his fingertip sending a shiver of sensation down her neck. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not the kind of guy who sleeps with one woman while dating another—no matter how casual the hookup. Okay?”

The twist of guilt released so fast all she could manage was a nod.

“And second of all, in answer to your question, the special lady is very special. In fact, she’s the most special person in my life.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her relief quelled by gut-wrenching disappointment. Which was insane. So he had another woman in his life who meant a lot to him? So what? They’d already established that this was strictly a casual hookup. “But you’re not currently dating her?” she asked.

The smile was slow and sexy and burned right down to her toes.

“No, we’re not dating, because she’s eight,” he said, his voice still light with humor. “And she’s my daughter.”

The warmth spread up her chest, making her pulse pound. “Ah, I see,” she said and laughed, suddenly getting the joke—and deciding it had the best punch line ever.

Not just because she now had confirmation that he was unattached, but because there was something rather wonderful about discovering that this dangerously sexy man had a little girl whom he obviously adored.

“What’s her name?” she asked, fascinated.

“Her name’s Juliana, but everyone calls her Gully,” he said, dropping his head to concentrate on undoing the buttons of her pajama top. “She lives with her mother and stepdad in Ithaca,” he continued, calmly working his way through the task. “She was the result of one night of craziness at a sorority party when I was twenty-two and busy flunking my MBA.” He released the last of the buttons, watching intently as her top fell open to reveal the pink lace of her bra. “She loves her new puppy, Tyler, and drawing her own comic strips, and has a serious addiction to the Disney Channel and the marshmallows in Lucky Charms cereal.”

Her breath caught as he flattened one rough palm on her stomach and lifted his gaze to hers, the pupils dark and dilated.

“And as special as she is to me…,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the underside of her breasts, “that’s more than enough about her.”

Her nipples hardened into rigid, aching peaks, the heat pounding so strongly in her sex she felt faint with anticipation as his mouth captured hers in a mind-numbing kiss.

She threaded her fingers into the short hair above his ears and kissed him back, tasting rich red wine and heady seduction.

The moments stretched into minutes as they feasted on each other the way they’d feasted on the food. Breathing heavily, he lifted her onto the ready-made bed, his face harsh with arousal as he tugged his T-shirt over his head.

His pectoral muscles bulged and flexed, gilded by the pearly glow of the dim lights as he released the hook on her bra and discarded the lacy impediment.

Her fingers found the firm velvet skin of his back as he dropped his head and took one straining nipple into his mouth. The hot suction nearly launched her off the bed. He chuckled and held her down, torturing one breast, then the other, as she moaned, writhed, bucked beneath him.

Desire coiled in her belly, and she knew she couldn’t wait any longer. As she lurched up and reached blindly for the buckle on his trousers, she realized she’d never wanted any man as much as she wanted this one right now.

They wrestled their remaining clothes off, settling into the array of throw pillows gloriously naked. She explored his body: the hard abs, the vee of muscle that defined narrow hips, the tantalizing happy trail that arrowed down to a magnificent erection. And wondered at the tan lines on his arm and neck where he’d obviously sunbathed with his T-shirt on.

She touched her finger to the tip of the straining erection, her swollen sex pulsing with need at his guttural groan as the flesh leaped, seeking her touch.

He swore suddenly and scrambled off the bed. Finding his chinos he tugged out a pack of condoms and began tearing off the wrapping.

She laughed, astonished to realize she hadn’t even given a thought to birth control. And hopelessly pleased that he had. “Where did you get those?”

He smiled, sheathing himself. “I palmed them in the pharmacy while you were getting batteries for the flashlights.”

“My hero,” she purred and flopped back on the bed. She stretched her arms above her head, feeling gorgeous and adored and completely free for the first time in her life. He gripped her thighs in firm hands, the fierce passion on his face making her heart stutter.

He found the bundle of nerves with his thumb, making her plead and beg as he caressed in agonizingly slow circles, then touched the slick nub at last. The orgasm crested, and she arched off the bed, already breaking apart in a glittering shower of sensation as he plunged.

The heavy thrusts hurled her up again, demanding more, and the waves continued to break over her in shattering succession. She clasped broad shoulders, hooking her legs around his waist, their sweat-slicked bodies moving together as they raced toward oblivion. She cried out as the pleasure crashed through that final barrier and heard his hoarse shout of completion as he followed her over the edge.

Chapter Eight

“Damn, that was…” Ryder’s voice trailed off as Kate cuddled against him, her body still basking in afterglow.

“Amazing?” she supplied.

His chest vibrated with a deep laugh. “Yeah, amazing.” His fingers drifted up her arm. “Merry Christmas, Katherine Braithwaite—you’ve certainly made mine merry.”

Kate lifted up on her elbow. His eyes were closed, but she could see his smile of contentment. “Actually, everyone calls me Kate, not Katherine.”

He opened his eyes, sent her a baleful look. “So why did you tell me your name was Katherine?”

“To make myself feel superior.”

“Hmm…” He huffed out another chuckle, gave her bottom a proprietary pat. “Well, then, I’m going to keep on calling you Katherine, to annoy you.”

“Fair enough.” She settled back, deciding she didn’t mind a bit. She liked the way her given name sounded in his gruff American accent.

He tightened his arm on her shoulder. “Damn, I thought I’d sleep for a week when I flew in this morning, and now I don’t feel tired anymore.”

“No, neither do I,” she murmured, enjoying the weight of his arm, the enticing scent of sandalwood soap and sex and the chance to indulge in some idle pillow talk—with a man who had begun to fascinate her. She traced her finger over the demarcation line on his biceps. “You should have taken your T-shirt off,” she said, even though she found it endearing that he wasn’t that vain. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten a tan line.”

“Maybe not, but I would have gotten burned nipples—not to mention the crap taken out of me forever by Delta Company. Those guys take no prisoners.”

Kate’s finger stilled on his arm. “Where did you fly in from this morning?” she asked carefully, beginning to suspect her scathing assumptions about him sunning himself in a ritzy resort had been way off the mark—like all her other assumptions about him.

He folded his arm under his head and said lazily, “Afghanistan. I’ve spent the last two months embedded with a marine company in Helmand.”

“You’re a soldier?” she croaked.

“Hell, no,” he said forcefully. “I’m no hero. I’m a photojournalist. I was on assignment.”

“Oh.” She sat up abruptly, the shame grinding into her gut.

His hand settled on her back. “Something the matter?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, lying in the bed, his eyes dark with concern, and realized how much she’d misjudged him. She’d always believed she was a fair person—and it appeared she was anything but.

“I owe you an apology, Ryder. I made all sorts of nasty, small-minded assumptions about you when I didn’t even know you. And you didn’t deserve any of them.”

He sat up too, raised a knee under the bedclothes and draped his forearm across it, his hand still firm on her back. “You don’t owe me an apology. I did the same thing to you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Sure I did. You want to know why I went nuts downstairs after we’d spoken to Charles?”

She knew why, and it only made her more ashamed. “Because I said something nasty and inappropriate to a man who…”

He touched a finger to her lips. “No, you didn’t, Katherine. You were scared to death about the lights going out again, and you were a little short with him, that’s all. I blew it out of proportion because I’d gotten it into my head that you were as bad as my old man, and I couldn’t understand how I could want you the way I did, knowing that, so I punished you for it.”

She let a long breath out. “You wanted me? Even before you kissed me on the stairwell?”

The lines around his eyes crinkled as he sent her a boyish grin. “I told you the elf outfit was hot.”

She smiled, but then something else occurred to her and the smile died. “Why do you dislike your father so much?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“Was he a terrible father?” she asked, realizing that it was more than probable that a man with Lachlan Sinclair’s insatiable work ethic would also have been an absentee parent. Funny to think that until this moment, it had never even occurred to her that to be a good person you needed to do a lot more in your life than simply succeed.

“He wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up, and when he was he had very strict rules about what he wanted in his son and heir,” he said with little emotion. “But in the end, it wasn’t what he did to me, it was what he tried to do to Gully.”

“Gully?” she said, confused.

“Yeah, Gully,” he said, emotion vibrating through his voice now. “Whom he’s never met and wishes to this day didn’t exist.”

“But how could he wish that?” she asked, astonished. “About his own granddaughter?”

His eyes met hers, the ice-blue gaze hard with contempt. “It’s real simple and real ugly.”

Holding the sheet, he leaned down and lifted his trousers. Pulling out his wallet, he flicked it open and held out a photograph.

“I took that shot a couple of months back on her birthday. See if you can figure it out.”

She took the photograph and stared down at a stunningly beautiful child, her sunny personality captured perfectly in the impish grin as she cuddled her puppy. The little girl had a delicate heart-shaped face, pale-blue eyes that were the same shape if not quite the same shade as Ryder’s, her father’s wide smiling mouth, masses of curling brown hair, and caramel-colored skin.

“You have a beautiful daughter. She has your eyes and mouth,” she said, handing him back the photograph and feeling sick to her stomach. “And your father is a bigot,” she finished, realizing that the man she had idolized from afar was a far-from-stellar human being.

“Among other things.” Ryder gave the photo a gentle swipe with his thumb, then tucked it back into his wallet and dropped the wallet on the floor. “He wasn’t too pleased when he heard that Christine’s dad was a tollbooth operator from Queens, either.”

He raked his hand through his hair, the movement stiff and self-conscious. “But yeah, his main beef was that Christine was African-American. He tried to pressure me into paying her off and disowning my own daughter.” He stretched his neck from side to side, as if trying to release the tension caused by the unpleasant memory. “In the end it was a whole lot easier to disown him.”

She could hear the tinge of sadness and inevitability and doubted it had been all that easy, which made her despise Lachlan Sinclair all the more.

“But you know what?” Ryder continued. “Once I’d made the choice and told him where he could shove his inheritance, I realized I didn’t need him or his damn money. I quit the MBA course he’d insisted I do and got work as a photographer’s assistant. Christine’s dad helped me get a night job on the booth, and I worked my damn butt off for the first time in my life.”

“But I don’t understand. Why are you listed as a company director then?”

He hitched a shoulder. “He had a heart attack three years back, said he’d reevaluated. I believed him at the time. He’s got nothing in his life except this place.” He glanced around the cavernous showroom, and Kate shuddered.

Maybe she wasn’t a bigot like Ryder’s father, but what did she really have in her life except her job?

“So I go through the motions,” he said, resigned. “I have a polite conversation with him maybe once or twice a year. But when he insisted on putting me on the payroll against my wishes, I knew he hadn’t really changed. So I stick the money in Gully’s college fund—because the irony kind of appeals to me—but I’d never let him meet her. Gully’s an intuitive kid, and I don’t want her exposed to that kind of prejudice any sooner than she has to be.”

“Did you ever try and make it work with Christine?” she asked, perhaps more interested in the answer than she ought to be.

“We tried for a couple of months after Gully was born.” He sounded pragmatic. Why that should make her heart lift, she had no idea. “But we didn’t fit. Christine’s scary smart, IQ off the charts, three PhDs, and she works as a research fellow at Cornell now.”

“And that was a problem?”

He sent her a bashful grin. “I guess it makes me sound shallow, but it’s a real turnoff feeling like a dumbass all the time.”

She laughed.

“Laugh all you want, the male ego is a delicate thing,” he said, grinning back, the tension broken. “But hey.” He sobered. “The important thing was we fit as Gully’s parents. And Christine met a guy named Bill, another professor, a couple of years after Gully was born. They’ve been married six years now. They seem happy. And he’s great with Gully,” he added, but there was a definite edge to his voice now. “So that’s good.”

“It must be wonderful for Gully having two dads who care about her,” she said, thinking how much she would have adored having just one dad.

“Well…” He rubbed a spot between his eyes. “It is and it isn’t. Me and Bill, we don’t get on much.”

“Why?” she asked, feeling the pinch around her heart at the thought that he might still have feelings for Christine.

“To be fair to Bill—” He hesitated. “—which I hate to do, because Bill is one of those smart-ass guys who annoy me on principle.” He took a breath as if preparing to say something difficult. “Truth is, I’m jealous of him.”

“Oh?” Kate asked, trying not to get derailed by the pinch that had turned to a punch in her solar plexus. “Jealous of him having Christine?”

“Huh?” Ryder sent her a blank look then frowned. “Hell no, they’re made for each other. I’m jealous of all the time Bill gets to spend with Gully.”

And just like that, the punch turned to something a lot more disturbing.

“He’s there for her 24-7,” he added. “And even though I get her on holidays and some weekends, I’m not there for all the day-to-day stuff. Every time I miss something, like her first step, or the day she lost her first tooth, that’s it. It’s gone. It happened, and I can’t get it back or be there for her. Pretty soon she’ll be dating.” He shuddered theatrically. “Although I’m hoping that won’t be for at least another thirty years.” He let his shoulders drop. “But when it does, he’ll be right there, and I won’t. And I can’t stand it.”

“So Gully never comes to you for advice? Or support?” Kate asked, so touched by his dedication to his daughter she could feel tears stinging her eyes. If only everyone got to have a father like him, the world would be a much happier place.

He looked a little confused at the question. “Yeah, of course she does. We talk a lot, when she’s with me. And I e-mail, when I’m on assignment. Make sure I call, and that she always knows where she can contact me. But it’s not the same.”

“How is it different? You’re there for her if she needs you. And she knows that. That’s what being a good parent’s all about.”

“Well, I…”

“And didn’t you ever consider that one of the reasons Bill might be a smart-ass is because he’s jealous of you, too?”

“Why would he be jealous of
me
?” he asked, thoroughly confused now.

“Because I bet you’re Cool Dad. You get to do all the fun stuff, have lots of quality time with her, and he’s just Everyday Dad—the one who has to make her do her homework and brush her teeth.”

His smile was slow and rueful. “You’re one of those freaky smart people, too, aren’t you?” He folded his arms around her waist and tumbled her into the cascade of pillows. “Thanks,” he said, the tip of his finger drawing circles on her arm in an absent caress as she nestled into his embrace. “Bill and his smug smile have been bugging me for six years. But now that I know he’s only Everyday Dad…”

She cuddled close, resting her palm on his belly and letting her fingers drift over the lean strength of his abdomen, glad she had been able to help. “You shouldn’t feel insecure about your relationship with Gully. You’re a good father. I can tell.”

“Not that my ego needs constant stroking or anything,” he said with that charming air of self-deprecation, “but how can you tell?”

“Because it’s clear you value the relationship, and you want to get it right.” She sighed. “You put her feelings, her needs first, whenever you can. That’s special.”

And what made it all the more special was that his own father had done the opposite to him.

He lifted up on his elbow, trailed his finger down her cheek. “So what’s your old man like? Not as much of a jerk as mine, I hope.”

The tears stung a bit again, so she blinked. “I have no idea.”

“You never met him?”

She gripped his finger and kissed the tip, touched by his indignation, even if it wasn’t necessary. “I’m pretty sure my mum didn’t know who he was. She was a rock groupie, a free-love advocate long after it was fashionable, and every time I asked her who my dad was, she’d have a different answer.”

“Bummer.”

“You don’t know the half of it. She even told me once that Mick Jagger might be my father.”

He chuckled. “Isn’t he old enough to be your granddad?”

She laughed, too, the unhappiness not as painful as it had once been. “It gets worse. At the time, I didn’t know who Mick Jagger was. I was only ten. So I made the mistake of mentioning it to one of my friends. She told her mother. One thing led to another, and I ended up getting a detention from the headmistress for telling lies.”

He cradled her cheek, brushed his thumb across her lip. “Your headmistress must have been blind. Couldn’t she see you’ve definitely got Mick’s lips?”

“Oh, please!” She laughed—but something that had always been a dull ache around her heart didn’t ache as much tonight.

He kissed her, chuckling with her as he fell back on the bed. She took his hand, the feeling of connection so intense it scared her a little. “The point is, even though I didn’t have a dad, I used to spend hours fantasizing about him, and if he had been anything like you, I would have been chuffed to bits.”

“Chuffed, huh?” he said, obviously enjoying the word. He lifted their joined hands to his mouth, kissed the back of hers. Then rolled over and snuck his hand under the sheet. “That’s real sweet of you, Katherine. But given the extremely hot sex we just had, I’m thinking it’s also a bit kinky.”

She laughed again, the memory of the hot sex making her cheeks flush. “Will you please stop!”

He levered himself up, nibbling kisses along her collarbone, while his hand cupped a swollen breast. “No can do,” he said, his voice husky with arousal. “But I tell you what, I’ll let you call me Daddy this time.”