backseat.
Immediately, people surrounded her. Travis supposed she must be Sadie Cool, the celebrity author of the children’s book Jazzy loved so much. Inexplicably, he felt his own pulse rate pick up.
She moved toward the floats, the crowd parting to let her pass. Travis’s gaze tracked down the length of her long, shapely legs. Defying the Christmas costumes everyone else wore, she had on a tailored charcoal gray pencil skirt, a fluffy white long-sleeved sweater, and catch-me-do-me black stiletto boots. Her bearing was regal, square shoulders, head held high. Some might mistake it for aloofness, but a strange hitch in the center of his chest told him that she was very shy and used the detached posture as a shield. He wondered if he was the only one who could see the vulnerability she struggled so hard to hide behind that polished smile.
In that moment, she lifted her head and her eyes met his. The breath left his lungs in a quick huff of air as surely as if he’d been tackled to the ground by an oversized linebacker. Longing fisted his soul, tight and painful, touching him deep. Inside his white Santa gloves, Travis’s fingers curled into fists.
In his mind’s eye he could see her stripped naked, lying on his bed, giving him a real smile, naughty and inviting.
Whoa, wait just a damn minute.
He stomped on his X-rated thoughts. She was a stranger. A famous writer so far out of his league it was laughable. A drop-dead beauty in designer clothes with—his gaze roved over her again, succinctly—a really nice pair of breasts.
“Daddy?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered without glancing at his daughter.
The woman looked oddly familiar, but Travis couldn’t place her. She had sleek, caramel-colored hair, so glossy it made him think of polished pine, that was pulled back into one long braid that fell down the middle of her back and a sweep of side fringe bangs that gave her an exotic look.
The closer she drew, the more convinced he was that he knew her. His mind nagged, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a name to the gorgeous face. Did he know her? If so, how in the world could he have forgotten a woman like that?
“Daddy.” Jazzy tugged on his sleeve.
He ripped his gaze off the woman, turned, and slipped his arm around her. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Is that her? Is that Sadie Cool?” Her little body vibrated like a tuning fork and her smile lit up her whole face.
“I think maybe it is.”
“She’s so pretty.” Jazzy breathed. “Like Rapunzel with that long hair.”
“Yes, she is.” He looked at the woman again. She was sashaying straight toward their float, Belinda Murphey at her side.
The closer they drew, the faster his pulse raced, and when they stopped at his float and climbed the wooden steps, Travis felt his stomach vault into his throat and his tongue twist into a Gordian knot.
“Father Christmas,” Belinda said. “This is Sadie Cool.”
He put out his gloved hand to shake hers. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said lamely.
“I’m Jazzy,” his daughter exclaimed, hopping up from her seat to throw her arms around Sadie Cool’s trim waist. “And I love you!”
Overwhelmed, Sarah just stood there, the little girl’s arms squeezing her tightly. How did she winnow out of this embrace? Sarah was not a touchy-feely type and she didn’t know the first thing about kids. Especially affectionate ones with no internal filter. Or maybe all kids were like that. How would she know? She’d been an only child, had never babysat. Benny asked her why she’d even written a children’s book and her only explanation had been that she’d written it for the kid she’d once been. Overlooked and underestimated by her parents, her mind filled with a lush fantasy life. This kid, this outgoing, easily affectionate, cheery-faced, obviously much loved Munchkin took her by surprise.
“She’s never met a stranger,” the man in the Santa suit explained.
Geez dude,
she longed to say,
ever watch the evening
Immediately, people surrounded her. Travis supposed she must be Sadie Cool, the celebrity author of the children’s book Jazzy loved so much. Inexplicably, he felt his own pulse rate pick up.
She moved toward the floats, the crowd parting to let her pass. Travis’s gaze tracked down the length of her long, shapely legs. Defying the Christmas costumes everyone else wore, she had on a tailored charcoal gray pencil skirt, a fluffy white long-sleeved sweater, and catch-me-do-me black stiletto boots. Her bearing was regal, square shoulders, head held high. Some might mistake it for aloofness, but a strange hitch in the center of his chest told him that she was very shy and used the detached posture as a shield. He wondered if he was the only one who could see the vulnerability she struggled so hard to hide behind that polished smile.
In that moment, she lifted her head and her eyes met his. The breath left his lungs in a quick huff of air as surely as if he’d been tackled to the ground by an oversized linebacker. Longing fisted his soul, tight and painful, touching him deep. Inside his white Santa gloves, Travis’s fingers curled into fists.
In his mind’s eye he could see her stripped naked, lying on his bed, giving him a real smile, naughty and inviting.
Whoa, wait just a damn minute.
He stomped on his X-rated thoughts. She was a stranger. A famous writer so far out of his league it was laughable. A drop-dead beauty in designer clothes with—his gaze roved over her again, succinctly—a really nice pair of breasts.
“Daddy?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered without glancing at his daughter.
The woman looked oddly familiar, but Travis couldn’t place her. She had sleek, caramel-colored hair, so glossy it made him think of polished pine, that was pulled back into one long braid that fell down the middle of her back and a sweep of side fringe bangs that gave her an exotic look.
The closer she drew, the more convinced he was that he knew her. His mind nagged, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a name to the gorgeous face. Did he know her? If so, how in the world could he have forgotten a woman like that?
“Daddy.” Jazzy tugged on his sleeve.
He ripped his gaze off the woman, turned, and slipped his arm around her. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Is that her? Is that Sadie Cool?” Her little body vibrated like a tuning fork and her smile lit up her whole face.
“I think maybe it is.”
“She’s so pretty.” Jazzy breathed. “Like Rapunzel with that long hair.”
“Yes, she is.” He looked at the woman again. She was sashaying straight toward their float, Belinda Murphey at her side.
The closer they drew, the faster his pulse raced, and when they stopped at his float and climbed the wooden steps, Travis felt his stomach vault into his throat and his tongue twist into a Gordian knot.
“Father Christmas,” Belinda said. “This is Sadie Cool.”
He put out his gloved hand to shake hers. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said lamely.
“I’m Jazzy,” his daughter exclaimed, hopping up from her seat to throw her arms around Sadie Cool’s trim waist. “And I love you!”
Overwhelmed, Sarah just stood there, the little girl’s arms squeezing her tightly. How did she winnow out of this embrace? Sarah was not a touchy-feely type and she didn’t know the first thing about kids. Especially affectionate ones with no internal filter. Or maybe all kids were like that. How would she know? She’d been an only child, had never babysat. Benny asked her why she’d even written a children’s book and her only explanation had been that she’d written it for the kid she’d once been. Overlooked and underestimated by her parents, her mind filled with a lush fantasy life. This kid, this outgoing, easily affectionate, cheery-faced, obviously much loved Munchkin took her by surprise.
“She’s never met a stranger,” the man in the Santa suit explained.
Geez dude,
she longed to say,
ever watch the evening
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