He rolled off the bed, then reached for his clothes. She watched the newly firm curve of his butt until it was hidden behind his jeans. He pulled his key ring from his front pocket.
There were keys on it she didn’t recognize.
Just as she didn’t recognize herself.
She hated him all over again.
But she curled into a C to keep the anger inside her and bit back her crone shriek as he let himself out of what had once been their house.
Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas
Facts & Fun Calendar
December 10
Santa Claus’s history traces back to a fourth-century bishop named St. Nicholas. He was credited with bringing three boys back to life, and thus became the patron saint of children.
Chapter 10
Finn watched Tanner slide a cup of coffee onto the bar in front of him, lining it up with the Coke, 7-Up, and glass of iced virgin Bloody Mary already waiting there. He’d been too restless to sit around Gram’s house all evening, but he’d made himself a promise to avoid hitting the alcohol. Two binges a month were his limit.
Not to mention the trouble he’d gotten into last time he was drunk. Tonight he was determined to keep himself jam-free.
Maybe a bar wasn’t the best destination for him, but after Gram had gone to bed, within minutes he’d been sick of his own company and the replays of past and recent life experiences that continued to run through his brain. The only relief he’d come up with was to leave the house in search of safe, like-minded company.
Tanner was the other most messed-up man he knew.
Finn cupped his palms around the hot ceramic mug. “The Mad Gift Giver struck again.”
Tanner shook back his newly long, pretty-boy blond hair. “What now?”
“Late Friday afternoon, when Gram and I came back from her doctor’s appointment-”
“Anything new there?”
Finn focused on his coffee, edging it closer to the Coke so that there was equal distance between his beverages. “No. I told you. She’s on the road to recovery. As I was saying though, when we came home from her doctor’s appointment, there was a set of knight’s armor waiting for me on the porch.”
“Need I ask? Real knight’s armor?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, though it looks museum quality to my admittedly untrained eye. It’s life-sized and filled with Tootsie Rolls from metal heels to metal helmet.”
Tanner swigged down half a glass of ice water. “Good candy choice, at least.”
“She must be nervous about coming by the bar because there was also something left for you.”
The other man carefully set the glass down. “Don’t tell me what it is.”
Finn couldn’t help his grin. It had been a good idea to come to the bar and hang with his buddy. “One of those big, five-pound-”
“I said don’t tell me!”
“-candy Kisses.”
“Shit.” Tanner rubbed his hand over his face, jostling all that Hollywood hair. “You had to do it. You had to tell me. My life sucks.”
Finn could only shake his head. Eleven months ago they’d been on the same diplomatic protective detail. But while Finn had been outside the fund raiser when the assassin had fired at the prince, Tanner had been stuck inside. Tanner Hart, the youngest member of the famous, multigenerational family of Hart military heroes, had become infamous for the big ol’ wet one the prince’s daughter had laid on him while all hell was breaking loose outside. Cameras had caught both ends of the action.
Tanner had been guilty of nothing more than following the plan and sticking close to the spoiled young woman who was the product of a brief marriage between the Middle Eastern prince and an American model. One look at the tabloid photos published all over the globe, however, and he had resigned from the Secret Service. It hadn’t cooled the international gossip for an instant.
Tanner had yet to get his head screwed on straight about his lack of culpability regarding the tragic results of that night, but Finn was giving him time. If something didn’t happen soon, though, he’d make it his New Year’s resolution to fix his friend.
One of them had to get back to normal.
“That woman is the devil,” Tanner muttered.
At that moment, his brother Troy passed by. “Who?”
Tanner busied himself with a bar rag. “That damn Desirée.”
“She might be a pain in the ass, but you have to admit she’s a looker,” Troy said.
The younger Hart froze. “When have you seen her?”
Troy shrugged, a mountain of shaved-head macho marine. “What do you mean? The photos, of course.”
His brother’s blue eyes narrowed. Like Finn, he’d been trained to discern the smallest thing out of place. There was an odd twitch along Troy’s jaw.
“Tell me she hasn’t been by here,” Tanner demanded.
“She hasn’t.”
Tanner groaned. “Well she will. And I’m warning you, Troy. Don’t even let her in the door. She’s trouble with a fucking, capital T.”
“Little bro, what is she, like fourteen or something?”
“She’s over twenty-one. And though she might look all innocent with those big eyes and long hair, I tell you, she’s the devil. Just wait, you’ll find out. I dare you to try kicking her out when she comes in and you’ll see just how pigheaded she is.”
Troy waved his brother’s warning away. “I’m a marine. I can handle one little half princess.”
Tanner groaned again. “Trouble, I’m telling you. With a capital T.”
Finn couldn’t help but silently laugh at the note of concern in Tanner’s voice and the ill-fated confidence in Troy’s. Poor guys. The things that a woman could do to a man.
Then a feminine voice sounded in his ear. “I hope Tanner doesn’t mean me.”
Finn’s head whipped left. His amusement died. She’d come up on his blind side. Bailey-his own personal devil-Sullivan.
“Whoops. Gotta go,” he said, starting to slip off the bar stool. He’d left Gram’s because it made him edgy being so close to the Girl Next Door. Getting snarled with her had already proved to be too damn easy, and being her bar buddy would only make it easier.
She grabbed his wrist. “Finn…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned at his hand. “I just realized. Where are your tattoos?”
He flexed his fingers. They were bare of embellishment, except for the heavy signet ring he wore on his left pinkie. In the old days, his knuckles had been perma-inked with skulls, dots, and cryptic messages, most of which only made sense if you were young, stupid, and drinking beer.
“I had them lasered off before I applied to the Secret Service.”
“Ouch.” Bailey winced. “So they’re all gone?”
“Mmm.” Pulling his hand free of hers, he stood. “Now I really do have to go.”
“A date with Fran?”
“Huh?”
“You know, The Nanny.”
He looked into Bailey’s upturned face and noted the sleek fall of her blond hair, the darkened lashes, the kiss-me color of her mouth. His gaze dropped. Since she’d returned to Coronado, he’d yet to see her in anything beside pants and jeans.
Now here she was, in a red sweater and a short black skirt that exposed plenty of her slender legs, one crossed over the other. Swinging back and forth was one small foot encased in a dominatrix shoe that was all tall stacked heel and B &D black straps.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want, GND?” Despite her second appearance at Hart’s, he didn’t think she’d come for the ambience, unless the sound of clacking billiard balls was suddenly a Bailey turn-on.
“Well…” She leaned her elbow on the bar, and her tongue swiped the gloss on her lower lip.
His blood rushed south, as well as the intelligent instinct to run. He rubbed his palms on his jeans, but that didn’t erase the tactile memory of the silky softness of her bare legs. Making love with Bailey had always begun with slow, heated kisses. The kind of kisses he never tried to rush, even though his teenage hormones were screaming, In! In! In!