Kissing Under The Mistletoe (The Sullivans #10)(16)

“Look,” Layla suddenly said as she pointed up to the ceiling above Mary and Jack, “the two of you are sitting under the mistletoe.”

Mary looked up and confirmed that there was a fresh green sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over her and Jack. After a quick scan of the rest of the room, she realized it was the only one in the entire bar.

What were the odds that she and Jack would end up sitting under it?

Larry, Howie and Layla were already happily making their way through a second bottle of champagne. Clearly, the bubbly had gone to their heads, because when Layla said, “I’ve heard it’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe,” in an earnest voice, Jack’s two partners nodded their heads, eyes bright from success and the drink.

Mary’s heart hammered and the stem of her glass slipped beneath her suddenly clammy fingers. Jack had said he wanted to kiss her, but she’d made it perfectly clear that he’d have to wait until the campaign had wrapped.

But, she asked herself now, what harm could there be in one teeny-tiny little kiss under the mistletoe in a downtown bar in front of his friends?

And wouldn’t it almost be stranger if they didn’t share a playful smooch?

“In that case,” she said slowly as she shifted in her seat to face Jack, “hopefully it will be good luck if we do.”

Any other man would have already claimed his kiss, or at least pressured her to give him one. But Jack wasn’t like any other man. Because, despite the obvious desire she could read in his eyes, he said, “Mary, you don’t have to—”

Oh, but she did.

She leaned closer, but before she could press her lips to his, his mouth found hers.

Their kiss was gentle and sweeter than any she’d shared in recent memory, little more than a split-second brush of mouth against mouth. But, oh, from the sparks that lit off all through her system, it was much, much more than one simple kiss under the mistletoe. Jack’s lips tasted like champagne and she wanted to reach up to thread her fingers through his dark hair and pull him closer so that she could get an even better taste.

Stunned by her strong feelings for a man she’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, Mary instinctively pulled back. In the span of one short kiss, she’d forgotten not only that his partners were sitting at the table with them but that they were in the middle of a crowded bar. As a public figure, she’d long ago learned to be aware of her behavior in public, especially as her fame had grown larger and larger. Over the years she would often find her name and picture in the papers after a night out.

More than a little worried that she was going to do something to embarrass herself soon, she scooted off her seat. “Thank you for the champagne.” She tried to smile at everyone as though everything was fine, but her lips were still tingling from the sweet pressure of Jack’s mouth against hers. “I’m sorry to have to leave already, but I’ll be in touch with the photographer’s information and location for Monday’s shoot by Sunday night at the very latest.”

Larry and Howie were loose enough from the drink now that they gave her one-armed hugs goodbye. Layla also hugged her and whispered, “Thank you again for saving the boys. I don’t know what they would have done without you.”

Jack had gotten up from his seat, too, but instead of saying goodbye, he said, “I’ll take you home.”

Mary was having enough trouble controlling herself around him in a crowded bar. She could only imagine how little self-control she’d be able to muster up if they went to a more private location. Besides, at this point she desperately needed a cool and breezy walk back to her place to help clear her mind, a walk that was long enough for her to systematically rewind through each of the reasons why getting involved with Jack now—when their promotional campaign had barely begun—was a bad idea.

“You should stay to celebrate, Jack.”

But he was already slipping her jacket on over her shoulders. “I’ll call you both tomorrow morning to coordinate our schedules for next week,” he told Larry and Howie as he reached for his coat. After kissing Layla on the cheek, he put his hand on the small of Mary’s back and walked to the entrance with her.

Despite his presence behind her, she felt unsteady in her heels for the first time since being a teenager on her first catwalk. Not because of the champagne, which she’d barely sipped, but because Jack’s nearness affected her so powerfully.

Out on the curb he started to hail a cab, but Mary put her hand on his arm. “I’d much rather walk, if you don’t mind.”

He covered her hand with his to keep them connected. “Which way?”

She nodded in the direction of the Bay. “Nob Hill.”

“That’s a half-dozen blocks.” He looked down at the heels on her boots. “You can walk that far in those?”

It had been a long time since she’d been with someone who didn’t know the ins and outs of her world. Despite all of her warnings to herself to stop being charmed by every little thing Jack said and did, she found it really refreshing.

“When I’m working, I spend all day in heels, most higher than these. The first few months,” she admitted, “I would hobble home at night from a shoot or runway show and soak my feet in an ice bath.” And cry for her mother, who she knew would have called her crazy for sticking with a career that tore her feet to shreds like that. “Eventually, I got used to the pain.” From the shoes, anyway.