One Kiss

Lisa Fox

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Lisa Fox

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

Lisa Fox

When I was young, I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up. But then I changed my mind because being a famous, yet totally undercover secret agent would be much cooler. I looked into it, but there weren’t many job opportunities. I thought for a while and concluded that maybe I should just marry well. People make whole careers of that. I fell deeply in love with Agent Mulder, but he already had Scully, and I don’t share.

So, instead, I became a writer.

Now I get to be all of those things and so many more.

I wholeheartedly dedicate this book to Allison Gibbons, Sara Brookes, and Kacey Hammell. Thank you.

Chapter One

Kat spun around when her cell phone rang, and the stiletto heel on her brand-new shoes snapped, knocking her off-balance. She crashed down on the living-room carpet with a loud thump, grunting out a string of vile curses. Her short, sparkly dress twisted around her hips as she scrambled to get up, and a few sequins fell off when she collided with the coffee table. The phone slid off the glass top, bounced twice, and hit the floor. She snatched it off the ground as the last bars of “Tank!” played, brought it to her ear, and winced as the missed-call beep blasted her eardrum.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, and checked the caller ID to see who had caused her all this grief. Dean. It figured. Her eyebrows furrowed. She hadn’t expected to hear from him for another few days. He was supposed to be out somewhere swanky tonight, spending a very expensive, very exclusive New Year’s Eve with his girlfriend, Marine. The more expensive, the better. Marine wouldn’t settle for anything less. And she would not be happy if she knew he was calling Kat in the middle of their date. There had to be something wrong.

She slipped off her broken shoes as she called him back, grimacing when she tossed them into the trash can. It was a damn tragedy to have to throw out a cute pair of shoes. This was not a positive omen for the evening.

“Hey, Kat,” he answered on the second ring, and the familiar sound of his deep voice made her smile. Dean had a way of always making her smile. He also had a way of getting under her skin and driving her crazy too, but right now it was good to hear his voice. She’d missed him a lot during the Christmas break.

“Hey, yourself.” She switched the phone to her other ear and pushed open her bedroom door. Going out tonight was probably a bad idea. She was beginning to regret letting Ron talk her into this ridiculous blind date. If there was any time left to back out, she would have. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She was kind of excited. Curious anyway. She’d been so stagnant lately. It was time to shake things up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just got back and I wanted to say hi.”

“Huh-huh,” she said, allowing him to hear the skepticism in her voice. This was not a “just say hi” call. Something was up. She could feel it. “I thought you’d be out with Marine by now.” She knelt down in front of her closet and pushed her half-unpacked suitcases aside. Her shoulders sagged as she peered into the dark, chaotic recesses. She was never going to find anything in there. Why had she never organized? Maybe that ought to be her New Year’s resolution. She dug around and pulled out a pair of red, patent-leather Mary Jane’s, which she examined and promptly tossed aside. Definitely not right. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Mari and I broke up.”

Kat sat back on her heels. That was news—and not the bad kind. The last time she’d seen them together, Marine had been clinging to Dean’s arm as hard as usual. Found someone with a bigger wallet, did she? formed on her lips, but she bit the words back. He knew exactly how she felt about Marine. He didn’t need to hear it right now. “What happened?”

She heard the phone shift and knew that he was raking his fingers through his thick, curly hair. It was what he did whenever he was upset. “It started out like it always does, you know? She bitched about my job, cried over all the money I was ‘losing’ by not going somewhere else, and then she got all twisted, went on this rampage about how we can’t get married if—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She shook her head so violently, her hair got caught on a button of the only business suit she owned. She winced as she pulled herself free, ripping out a fair amount of hair in the process. “Please don’t tell me you proposed to her?”

“What? No. But it’s what she wants.”

I’ll bet. Marine was no fool. She was entering her late twenties and while she was a working model, she wasn’t one of the elite. One day very soon she was going to be nothing more than an old face in a sea of younger, fresher faces. For women like Marine, marrying well became the next logical step. Dean was an excellent candidate. He was young, ambitious, an award-winning designer on the ground floor of a successful boutique web design and marketing firm. He’d already been headhunted a number of times by the corporate giants. If he ever decided to make a move, he’d be able to name his price. And, as an added bonus, he looked great in a suit. “I don’t understand. You broke up over that? You guys have had that fight a million times before.”

“Well, this time when she left, I didn’t stop her.” He paused. “I haven’t heard from her since.”

Good riddance, she almost said aloud. He deserved so much better. “When was this?”

“Tuesday.” She heard him sit down on his couch, the familiar creak of the springs in the background. “Right after the holiday dinner.”

Kat’s mouth dropped open. “Before Christmas? Dean, that was over a week ago! You’re just telling me now?”

She could feel him shrug, see his sheepish grin. “You were in California and I only got back from Colorado last night. There was nothing you could do.”

She huffed in reply and dove back into the closet. There was probably something she should be saying, some comfort she should be offering, but he didn’t really sound all that upset, and a deep, mean, little part of her was glad Marine was gone. A deep, selfish little part of her actually rejoiced. “So, what happens now?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer because Kat yelped as a pile of boxes fell down around her head.

“Kat,” he called, his voice sharp with alarm. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t help but smile. She knew without any doubt that he was on his feet, that he’d leapt up the moment she screamed, and was ready to jet over to her place to save her immediately. Sir Galahad had nothing on Dean. Sickening as it was, it never failed to strum a cord way back in the depths of her black little heart. She wasn’t used to people wanting to care for her and every time he did, it left her feeling a bit unbalanced, yet oddly touched. But, no matter how sweet, it was the reason behind most of his problems. He was a sucker for a female in distress—or at least the ones who were convincingly in distress.

“I’m fine,” she said, pressing her palm against the side of her head where the corner of a box had struck. She supposed she should have been grateful there was no blood. A great, big river of blood gushing out of her head would only have made the night that much more awesome. “I’m trying to get ready for Ron and Alan’s party.”

“I didn’t think you were going.”

“I wasn’t.” She had intended to stay home and work, maybe have a glass of champagne alone at midnight, but then Ron approached her the day after the holiday dinner with his idea, and she had randomly said yes, surprising both him and herself. A sigh escaped her lips as her gaze touched the disarray spanning out into the center of her bedroom. She should have stuck with her original plan.

“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “What changed?”

She bit her lower lip. She was going to have to tell him eventually—there was no way around that—but she thought she wouldn’t have to deal with it until Monday. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed or anything, it was just that whenever she thought about telling him, she got this weird sensation in her gut, as though everything below her navel wanted to tighten up into a hard knot. Even now her stomach flipped, and she had to take a deep breath before speaking. “They’re…” Do it quick, get it over with. “Ron and Alan are setting me up with someone.”

He was silent for a full thirty seconds before bursting into laughter. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She should’ve known that was going to be his reaction. She braced herself for the inevitable ribbing. He loved to tease her, and while she usually found it fun, she was not quite ready to joke around or explain this to him yet. She was having a hard enough time explaining it to herself.

“Wow, Kat.” He must have heard something in her voice because he didn’t press it for a change. “All right then. I guess I’ll let you go. Have a good time.”

“Wait,” she said before he could hang up. He sounded so down. Unlike her, Dean didn’t thrive on solitude. He needed companionship, interaction. He’d be miserable if he spent the night alone. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Oh, no,” he said, laughter returning to his voice. “This is your deal. Besides, what I am going to do while you’re off having your love connection?”

She tsked. “The entire office is going to be there along with the rest of the extended family. You’re going to know everybody.” She shifted through the wreckage of her closet and uncovered a pair of strappy platforms she had forgotten she owned. She held them up to the light, admiring the deep-red hue, the subtle hint of sparkle. They were perfect, way better than the shoes that had broken. A total score. She slid them on and stood up. She obviously needed to check her closet more often. There was some great stuff in there. “There’ll be plenty of people for you to talk to.”

There was a moment of silence before he answered. “Really, Kat, I don’t think I want to.”

“Aw, Dean,” she said, trying to keep her tone light and playful. She didn’t want him to be alone, but more than anything, that damn, annoying, selfish part of her desperately wanted him along. He was her partner in mayhem. She needed him there. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Let’s go drink and party and meet people and get laid. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Our lives won’t be worth living for the next year if we don’t.”

He chuckled. “You have a point.”

She smiled. This was good. “I know.” She stood up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her eyes widening in horror. Her hair was sticking up at crazy angles, the intricate bun that had taken her almost an hour to create was decimated. She pulled the pins out and ran her fingers through the tangled mess. She should probably redo her hair, but all these extra preparations were making her insane. If her blind date wasn’t into the “I don’t own a hairbrush” style then that was his problem. “I’m calling a cab now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

She hung up and then called the cab. It arrived quickly, an old brown Lincoln Town Car that had probably seen more of New York than she ever would. The inside smelled of Royal Pine air freshener and the stale musk of a thousand other passengers. The driver played Spanish-language Christmas music for his own listening pleasure, tapping his thumb against the wheel to the beat. Traffic was light on Flatbush and they glided down the avenue, sailing through a string of green lights. The moon was high in the sky, and it cast a sliver glow over the city streets, illuminating the well-dressed and hardly-dressed people. Kat gazed out the window, watching the Caribbean restaurants, discount shoe stores, and bodegas slowly transform into bistros and organic specialty markets as they made their way to Park Slope.

Dean was sitting on the stoop of his building when they arrived, and she grinned when he caught her eye. The sight of him always made her smile, sent a pleasantly wicked rush of heat through her body. He was just that attractive. The quintessential All-American boy, he was six-foot-two, athletic, charming, and everything about him was golden, from his wavy mass of honey-brown hair to the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, right down to his healthy copper skin. He was the stuff of dreams, a bronzed god among the mortals. Women loved him, fawned for his attention, and there were times when Kat could actually see the sexual fantasies playing out behind their eyes while they spoke to him. She was so glad she wasn’t one of his groupies. They were nauseating.

He circled the cab to the passenger’s side, his camel-colored winter coat brushing against his knees as he walked. The coat was tailored to fit his broad shoulders and judging from the conservative cut, she guessed it was Burberry or one of those other preppy designers he favored. He smiled broadly as he entered the cab, the rosy flush on his cheeks from the cold night air only adding to his sexy, boy-next-door good looks.

She kissed him hello, a peck on the cheek that was their usual greeting. The light stubble on his jaw was soft and prickly against her lips and the smell of his cologne, of him, sent warmth cascading down her spine. Dean was beautiful, sweet and smart, but he was also her closest friend, and she was absolutely not his type. Nor was he hers. She preferred her men darker in both looks and personality.

Their eyes met and a spark of electricity crackled in the air between them. For one, wild, frozen second she thought he might kiss her. And that she might let him. Her cheeks flushed and her breath caught. Eternity stretched out, and then snapped in a blink, gone like it had never been there. He dropped his gaze and took her hand, lightly caressing the inside of her wrist, strumming her thready pulse. She swallowed back the heat that wanted to settle low in her belly, and when he looked back into her eyes, she smiled, her heart filled with simple, platonic affection. Nothing more.

Dean climbed into the cab and smiled when he saw Kat. He always smiled when he saw her. She was beautiful. Most people saw some typical, vapid Southern California girl when they looked at her; she embodied it with her light-blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and smoking beach body, but he knew better. He had seen it the first time she flashed him that dark little smile of hers. Underneath that seemingly tame exterior beat the heart of a brilliant, though somewhat warped, rebel woman and being with her was like being on a perpetual adventure, even when they were sitting on his couch playing video games.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent, the heady combination of lilac and soap that had a way of stimulating his senses. He pulled back slightly and when their eyes met an electric current zapped his nerve endings, raising the fine hair on his arms. She made some noise, or maybe exhaled a little louder than usual, and his eyes flicked to her glossy red lips, plump and slightly parted, close enough to kiss.

For a heartbeat he considered it. All he had to do was dip his head a centimeter more and his lips would be on hers, her taste in his mouth. A part of him craved the contact, demanded it, but he pushed the temptation aside. It was nothing new. He was always kind of tempted, from the moment they met. But he was with the congressman’s daughter at the time, and when that ended, there was the Knicks City Dancer, and then, not much later, Marine. He might have gone for it during one of the few occasions when they were both single, but he never quite knew if she would welcome it or not. Sometimes he thought she might, other times, not so much. He decided long ago that finding out was not worth the risk. She was already his in the best possible ways. He didn’t need to gamble what they shared on one kiss.

Instead, he dropped his gaze to her lap and took her hand, running his fingertips over the tattoo around her wrist, the words, “We’re All Mad Here.” He was with her the night she got it done, holding her other hand while she laughed through the discomfort. Afterward, they’d gone to his rooftop, drank a bottle of Jack, and danced to “Don’t Stop Believin’” until the neighbors complained about the noise. It was one of his best memories.

He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. She smiled over at him and returned the gesture. And just like that, his entire world was better.

“So, tell me about this guy,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. Teasing her was one of his favorite activities, and he wasn’t about to let this prime opportunity pass him by. It had nothing to do with the niggling worm that wanted to squirm its way into his heart.

Kat snorted. “I don’t really know that much. He’s Alan’s sister’s massage therapist’s brother.” She waved her hand, dismissing it all. “Something like that.” A lock of hair dropped in front of her face and she swiped it back behind her ear. “According to Ron, he’s ‘perfect for me,’ whatever that means.” Her hair was messier than she usually wore it, a chaotic tumble of waves that fell around her shoulders and almost looked as if she’d had a good romp in bed. He liked it. “You know how Ron and Alan are,” she went on. “Just because they’re happily married, they think everyone should be too.” She smiled, but it looked strained. “I don’t know how they talked me into it.”

“I was wondering that very same thing,” he said. “Are they blackmailing you or something?” Getting set-up on blind dates was very much not Kat’s style. She was a notorious commitment-phobe and over the years he had known her, she’d had flings, but not much else. Agreeing to a blind date, a match from Ron no less, was completely out of character. Ron and Alan were hopeless romantics and because they wanted everyone to find their “soul mates,” they often set up the Sharpe Designs family members with suitable prospects. They were good at it too—three of their matches had turned into marriages. Kat knew what agreeing to a set up like this could mean and he was surprised that she might be considering something more long-term. He wondered what had changed. And why.

“Or something.” She shook her head and shrugged. “I guess they caught me a weak, horny moment.”

Dean smiled. A very typical Kat response. He tapped her knee, her stockings silky under his fingertips. She could be a hard woman, even cold at times, but her body was always soft, her skin warm and supple. “Guys are for more than just sex, you know.”

“Are they?” Her eyes widened with feigned innocence. “I can’t image what else I would do with one.”

“Oh, I don’t know, we can be handy to have around. We can lift heavy things, get the tops off most jarred products, kill spiders.” He was rapidly running out of examples, and he tried to think of things his dad did that made his mother happy, grasping onto the first thing that came to mind. “Yard work.”

“Yard work?” Her laugher made his insides hum. She had such a great laugh, bold and vibrant. “I live in an apartment in Brooklyn. Why would I ever need anyone to do yard work?”

He couldn’t think of a single reason. “You never know,” he said as enigmatically as possible.

The cab slowed down as the traffic ahead came to a grinding halt in the middle of the Manhattan Bridge. Horns honked and tires screeched, but no one was moving. He could see the Brooklyn Bridge over Kat’s shoulder and the skyline was a dazzling array of sparkling lights on the horizon. The view never failed to take his breath away. He loved New York.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked. The last time they had seen one another was the night of the holiday dinner. The night he broke up with Marine.

She grimaced. “The same as it always is. My first night there, my sister and I argued about the best route to get to back from the airport and because I disagreed with her, she refused to speak to me for the rest of the trip. My mother flaunted her new, much younger, boyfriend. She thinks she’s gloating and she loves it immensely.” The look on her face made his heart sick. “At ‘gift-giving time,’ she tossed a store bag in my lap and said, ‘I wish you’d get yourself a man already so I can stop wasting all this money on you’.” She glanced at him and then quickly away. “It’s all so completely exhausting.” She gathered herself, but he knew she forced that smile onto her face. “I did manage to make it to the beach a couple of times though.”

“Did you wear a tiny string bikini?” She would never wear anything like that, but he desperately wanted to make her laugh. Visiting her family was always a trial, and Dean did everything in his power to bring her back from the abyss she sank into whenever she saw them.

Her lips curved, her smile turning more genuine. “Not this time. But I was naked underneath my clothes.”

Naked—now there was a pleasant thought. His gaze dropped to the gap in her black wool coat, touched on her bare shoulder, followed the line of her dress over her clavicle, down to the swell of her breasts. Heat rushed to his groin, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Hot.”

“I know.”

“What did you do at the beach while not in your bikini?” Her face got animated and his heart was lighter. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t take away her pain, he knew that, but he could make her smile.

“I thought about you, actually.” She shifted in her seat, and her knee touched his. He knocked her leg playfully aside, and she chuckled, knocking him back. He pressed his knee to hers, and they engaged in a short, violent battle of who could make the other’s knee move. She grunted, her butt coming up off the seat with the effort. He laughed as he gave in, letting her win and push his legs aside.

“So, what did you think about when you were thinking about me?” he asked after they settled back down. “Anything good?”

“Very good. ‘Member how we talked about that homicidal bunny working in customer service?”

“Of course.” He remembered the night well. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and they were going to go into the city to check out a new restaurant, but the night was cold and sleeting and they decided to stay in instead. They got a bottle of Jack, camped on his couch, and got drunk off their asses. Somehow they got on the topic of Kat’s comics, spitting out ideas for a new series she could write. Some of them were pretty wild, but the bunny was a good one: a deranged rabbit driven to murderous insanity from dealing with the general public. “A great idea.”

“I was thinking about what you said and instead of making him an actual serial killer, I think maybe he’d kill them in his mind. He could be a chain-smoking, alcoholic bunny who is as insane and evil as the people who call him. Every episode could be a battle of who is more evil, the complaining, annoying customer or the psycho bunny rep.”

Dean nodded, catching her enthusiasm. “That’s good. You could give him a regular cast too. A wife, a boss, a drinking buddy.” He ran his knuckle along the edge of her thigh. “Maybe even a mistress,” he suggested with a wink that made her laugh. “That way it isn’t all one-shots.”

“You’re right.” She pointed both of her index fingers at him, and he grinned. They worked well together, their ideas often flowing and meshing naturally, and when things were really good, it was like they could read each other’s minds. “And everybody is evil; the most despicable and horrible examples of humanity ever.”

He liked the direction this was taking. “They can’t all be evil though. There has to be one ‘good’ character in there; someone to give it balance.”

She touched her tongue to her top teeth. “Like a Ned Flanders type?”

“Yeah, but not a joke or a parody. Someone people can actually root for.” He searched for the right words. “A despicable antihero can only go so far. You need some light in all that darkness.”

She nodded slowly. “A white knight.” Her fingertips grazed the back of his hand, sending warmth all the way up to his elbow. “Like you.”

She was so achingly beautiful sometimes, she just about killed him. He could easily be in love with her. It was better for them both that he was not. “Am I your white knight?”

“Yes,” she said simply, then her smile turned mischievous, her eyes twinkling. “Without you, I’d always wear black.”

He laughed and some of the tension dissipated. Or perhaps it had never there at all. It was possible all that electric energy was completely one-sided. He wouldn’t put it past himself. Whatever it was, he needed to get over it. “You do always wear black.”

“Hmmm, well, maybe you aren’t all that good an influence.” She squeezed his forearm and then looked away, pressing her fingertips to her lips in a gesture she often made when she was unsure or stressed. “We’ll see if I can make it work.”

He took her hand and met her eyes. She was an incredible artist, the best graphic artist he’d ever had the pleasure of teaming up with, and her comics were off the charts. “It’ll work.”

She held his eyes for a long moment and then nodded. “Yeah.” She squeezed his hand and then let go. “How about you? How was home?”

“Fantastic.” And it had been. He loved seeing his family, spending time with his mom, dad, and brother. A trip home always left him happy and recharged, and this one had come at a particularly good time. It was because of his family’s love and support that he was able to be over Mari as quickly as he had and being with them made him realize a lot about his former relationship. Having sex with a model was outrageously good, but hardly the cornerstone of a healthy partnership. There had always been something missing between them, a disconnect of sorts. Seeing his parents together, witnessing how much they loved one another, allowed him to understand that what he’d felt for Marine had been nice, but never truly love. She had come to him for strength and comfort, and he had enjoyed giving it to her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

“Hey.” Kat put her hand on his thigh. “She was never worth it, Dean. She never deserved you.”

He gave her a half-smile. Kat disliked Marine from the first day she met her at the photo shoot Ron had commissioned to use for a romance novelist’s website. Mari was the perfect waif heroine, delicate and ethereal. She had an air of vulnerability, an innate fragility. She was a woman who wanted to be held, protected, comforted, and he wanted to be the man that got to do it. He asked her out that very night. Their relationship didn’t last a full year. “We weren’t right for each other, I guess.”

“Whatever,” she said, and he knew from the tone of her voice that she didn’t believe it. “Tell me what you did while you were home.”

“Not a whole lot really. We went skiing like every year, and my brother and I did some more planning for our climb of Holy Cross in May.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Mostly I ate and relaxed and hung out.”

The traffic lurched forward, stopped, lurched again. At this rate, it was going to take forever to get to the West Village. Normally, the delay would drive him nuts, but it had been over a week since he had seen Kat. It was good to catch up with her.

“It sounds great,” she said.

“They asked about you.” He caught a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a little tug. “My mom says hi.” Ever since his parents visited New York, they asked about Kat. They loved her on sight. “You should come next year.”

She sighed. “I’d love to, I would. Your parents are great, but Christmas is my one obligation. It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s better than dealing with the year-long guilt trip I’d have to endure otherwise, having to hear about how I don’t love her enough to go and see her once a year on the most important of family holidays. I’d rather go and get it done.”

“Okay,” he said, although it wasn’t, not at all. “The invitation is always open.” He hated what her family did to her, hated the defeat and depression she came back home to New York with every year after a week with those people. There had to be a way for him to shield her from that hurt. Maybe next year he could kidnap her, take her off to Colorado whether she liked it or not. Or even better, he could let her do her obligatory Christmas Eve and day with that god-awful woman and then make her come to Colorado, spend the rest of the holiday break with him. He was certain he could convince her to agree—it would just take some finesse. He thought of how stubborn Kat could be and smiled. Maybe if he started now, he could wear her down by then.

The traffic surged forward as whatever was holding things up cleared out, and they were over the bridge in no time. He leaned back into the seat, listening to the sounds of the city as they wove through lower Manhattan, the rev of truck engines, the squeals of brakes, the snatches of music and screaming and laughter.

He glanced over at the woman at his side, subtly studying her profile. Her blind date was a lucky man. He’d better realize it too. He didn’t understand why she agreed to it, but if it was what she wanted to do, he supported her one hundred percent. If the guy turned out to be an asshole, however, well, then, Dean might have to end up having a conversation with him.

He smiled to himself. God, she would hate that. He could imagine the lecture she would give him if he tried to protect her that way. She was going to have to deal with it, though. She knew what she was getting into when she asked him along, it wasn’t like they’d just met yesterday.

The cab turned onto Hudson, and he caught a glimpse of a couple locked in a passionate embrace under a streetlamp. The woman’s sparkly tiara was askew and the man was missing his shirt, but that didn’t seem to deter them one bit. “Why do you think people kiss at midnight?”

She smiled at him. “You get cursed if you don’t. If you can’t find someone to kiss, all you have to look forward to is bad luck, hairy palms, and failed online dating attempts all year long.”

He laughed. “Yeah, everyone knows that, but how do you think it began? I mean, how did it get decided that if you don’t kiss someone at midnight, your year is doomed?”

She ran her index finger over her bottom lip as she thought it over. “Well, that whole make-loud-noises-and-be-obnoxious-at-midnight thing is supposed to keep the demons away, so maybe it has something to do with that. Maybe a kiss is a protection as well, a safeguard of some sort, to keep evil away from you in the New Year.”

“So, celibacy is evil, then?”

“Some people might argue that it is.”

They both laughed. “Maybe demons don’t like kissing? That doesn’t seem right. You’d think demons would be into anything sexual. More ways to sin, you know?”

“It has to be about more than just sex.” She thought for a second and then turned to him, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Okay, how about this? Kissing is personal. When you kiss, you share another’s breath and breath is life, so maybe kissing is an exchange of sorts, like…” Her fingers danced in the air as the ideas formed in her mind. “Like, sharing your soul. Maybe that’s what it is. You kiss someone and share a piece of your soul with them. That way they keep it safe for you in the New Year. They have a piece of you inside them.” She touched his chest, right over his heart. “Here.” Her eyes met his. “Protected.” A wicked smile blossomed on her lips and then she shrugged. “Otherwise, it’s spinning heads and bad skin for everyone.”

“Wow,” he said as the cab pulled up in front of Ron and Alan’s brownstone. “I’m glad I asked. I would have hated to fuck that up.”

She paused from digging around in her coat pockets to nod at him solemnly. “The consequences could have been dire.”

He used her distraction to pull his wallet out and pay the driver before she could. She scowled at him, but he only smiled sweetly in return. She despised it when he paid or opened doors for her or did anything like that and it was always a triumph when he got to treat her.

He climbed out of the cab and an icy wind whipped down Perry Street. The forecast had been calling for snow for days and he thought maybe it was finally coming. Another breeze sliced through his heavy winter coat, and he put his arm around her shoulders to shield her from the cold. They walked up the steps huddled together, and he held her close, the warmth of her body cuddled up against his side. She had such a big personality, such a big presence, he often forgot how small she truly was, how neatly she fit in his arms.

“All right, a kiss at midnight. I’m on it,” he said, and pressed the doorbell.

She looked up at him from underneath his arm, her face serious, but her eyes dancing with mischief. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll call a priest for you if the worst should happen.”

“Thank you,” he said, matching her mock-earnest tone. Did he imagine that her gaze flicked to his mouth, that for the briefest second, she licked her lower lip? Probably. But it was a damn fine delusion. “I knew I could count on you.”

The door swung open, bathing them in a rush of heat and light. Laughter and music floated out, and the distinctive sound of a champagne cork popping made Dean smile. Maybe it was going to be a good night after all. Ron threw the door open wide, grinning broadly as he ushered them inside.

Chapter Two

“Kat!” Ron said, escorting them into his home. Warmth and bright lights greeted them as they entered the foyer. People dotted the Venetian-style living room in pairs and small groups, while tuxedoed waiters passed out glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Murmured conversations mixed with the snazzy ragtime music, accentuated by the occasional burst of laughter. She and Dean waved to Alan as he passed by with a tray full of festive red martinis.

Ron kissed her on both cheeks, then pivoted on the heel of Gucci loafers to give Dean’s hand a hardy shake. “And Dean!” He smiled broadly. “I’m so glad you both came.” His gaze shifted between them. Kat caught the speculative twitch of his eyebrow as he took in Marine’s absence and Dean’s arm around her shoulders. She sighed inwardly. There was always speculation about her and Dean.

Ron loved matchmaking. She suspected that he originally intended for her and Dean to hook up way back when she started with Sharpe Designs and became an official member of the family. On her first day, she should have been placed with another graphic artist, but Ron had sat her next to his golden-boy designer instead. In a way, Ron had achieved another one of his magic pairings. It wasn’t the love match she was certain he hoped for, but they did work well together, making some truly unique websites for the eclectic clientele of artists and authors and small businesses Sharpe Designs catered to. The firm was large enough now to have separate art and production departments, but they still sat next to one another, sharing a small alcove on the top floor of the SoHo office building the company currently occupied.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.