Kissing Under The Mistletoe (The Sullivans #10)(17)

“Well, if they do start to hurt, you should know I give a mean piggyback ride,” he said with an adorable grin. “At least, according to my little nephew Ian.”

Sexy she could deal with. Kind and intelligent certainly upped the ante and tested her mettle in a serious way.

But adorable?

How was she supposed to resist adorable?

Just then, a teenage girl waiting for the traffic light to change asked her for an autograph. Mary signed it, and after they’d crossed the street, Jack said, “If I had known you were this famous, I’m not sure I’d have gotten up the nerve to talk to you yesterday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as a man who lets nerves or doubts rule him.”

“I never have before,” he said, “but you’re making me feel a lot of things I’ve never felt before.”

Mary was used to men who practically rented out an orchestral hall and filled it from floor to ceiling with roses to set the stage for declaring themselves to her. Jack, on the other hand, simply said the most shockingly delicious things without any fanfare at all.

“Does it ever bother you to have people constantly looking at you? The way they all want to talk to you and ask for autographs?”

“Ninety-nine percent of the strangers who approach me for an autograph are lovely, polite people. Honestly, the only thing that bothers me about any of it is that I haven’t done anything extraordinary enough for them to be so starstruck.”

The sidewalk was crowded, but Jack didn’t seem to care as he turned her to face him in the middle of it. “You were born with incredible blue eyes. Your mouth drives a guy crazy just looking at it. And you have a figure that Michelangelo could have spent a lifetime trying to set into stone and never done justice to it. But I’ve seen how hard you work during photo shoots and I’ve just heard you come up with a half-dozen fantastic ideas for the ads we’re going to shoot together. I’m certain that there are plenty of beautiful women who couldn’t do what you do anywhere near as well, or make it seem as effortless.”

“I know I’m good at my job,” she agreed, “but I’m not a doctor curing cancer. I’m not an activist changing history. I’m not a mother with children who need me, either.” She’d rarely voiced these doubts aloud, but for some reason, with Jack she couldn’t stop them all from pouring out.

He reached over to gently stroke his fingers across her cheek, the heat of his touch in sharp contrast to the coolness of her skin. “You make people happy, Mary, and that’s an extraordinary thing.”

Jack’s words warmed her, just as his touch—and his kiss—had. So when they began to walk again and a damp wind whipped up around them, she let herself hold his arm a little more tightly and move just a little bit closer, too.

* * *

Jack had never had any problems with the opposite sex. Girls and then women had always seemed to like his looks, and he’d never been nervous or fumbling around them. But with Mary?

He could barely think a straight thought…especially after that kiss under the mistletoe.

The kiss had been two sets of lips barely touching. They hadn’t even held hands. And yet, she’d completely knocked his socks off to the point where his heart was still pounding hard and his veins were still buzzing with desire as they walked down the crowded street.

Had Mary been affected by their kiss in the same way?

And was there any way he could have felt that much if she hadn’t felt it, too?

The first drops of rain came from out of nowhere. Within seconds, they were falling hard and fast. Jack was searching for an overhanging awning when he realized Mary was staring up at the sky as the rain poured down on her. And there was a big smile on her stunning face.

“I was eleven years old when Singin’ in the Rain made it to Italy,” she said as she let go of his arm to reach for a lamppost and swing around it, humming the title tune from the film. “It’s still one of my favorite movies.”

Jack had seen Mary as a supermodel, he’d seen her as a businesswoman, and now he saw her as she must have been as a young girl. Full of wonder from something as simple as an unexpected rainstorm, her long, dark hair wet and slicked back, drops of water falling from her eyelashes to her cheeks, her full lips catching drops of rain just moments before she licked them off with the tip of her tongue.

Once upon a time he’d loved to play in the rain, but over the years, as he’d focused more and more on his invention—with only the occasional break for a fast car or a pretty woman—he’d lost sight of those pleasures.

After everyone else ran for cover, Jack and Mary were the only two people left on the sidewalk. It felt, for a moment, as if the city was entirely theirs.

He reached out his hand for her again. “Dance with me.”

She immediately turned into his arms as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. They might not be Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds, but neither of them cared as they danced. No other woman had felt so right in his arms, and none had laughed with such joy in them, either.

“No one has ever danced with me in the rain before.” Mary had the same look of soft surprise in her eyes as she had after their kiss under the mistletoe.

“‘This California dew is just a little heavier than usual tonight.’”

“You’ve seen the movie?” She looked delighted by the discovery that he knew it well enough to quote from the scene right before Don Lockwood went out to sing and dance in the rain.