Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
QUINTON
My gut plummets. The one thing I’ve wanted. The only woman I’ve wanted for years . . . and she doesn’t want to.
We can’t.
“I—”
Her finger presses over my lips.
And fuck, her touch is so damn soft, it’s torture. Her fragrant floral-and-cinnamon scent shrouds me. Her deep brown eyes take their time traveling my face as if taking stock.
“We can’t kiss here. Mistletoe, remember?”
Relief and desire tangle into a heady concoction.
Her bag drops to the floor as her finger slips from my lips. I slide my arms around her waist, hauling her onto my hips. With a giggle, her hands find my face, and she whispers, “Hi.”
“Hi, CC.”
“Quin—”
I stride for the kitchen doorway. And when we find six clusters of mistletoe my daughter apparently managed to hang all by herself, both of us burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, she really, really wants you to kiss someone.” CC’s eyes are lit with amusement.
But the amusement fades when she notices my stone look. “Not someone, Celeste. You.”
“Oh,” she mutters, glancing up at the mistletoe assault hanging overhead. “Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
“No,” I rasp.
I lower her to her feet, and she looks up at me. It’s then I see the desire darkening her gaze. The way her chest rises and falls too quickly.
“Put your arms around me,” I say.
“Like this?” Her arms slide around my neck.
“Just like that. Now move closer.”
“We’re not close enough?” Cheekiness lines her tone.
“Not nearly.”
“You are so bossy.”
“You have no idea.”
She scoffs an amused, slightly nervous sound. I can only imagine what she would feel like . . .
Heat flushes her face and neck as she drops her forehead to my chest. I could get used to this. Having her this close.
Having her, period.
When she peels off my chest and her gaze swings up to mine, I can’t wait a second longer.
Palming her face, I drop my mouth to hers.
“Qui—”
I brush my lips over her silky, plump ones, barely tamping down the groan that wants out when her hands crawl into my hair. I coax her to open for me.
And she does.
I claim every part of her she gives up.
Head buzzing with an intensity I’ve never felt before, I break away, each short, useless breath burning its way through my chest as I study her face.
It’s wrecked.
As wrecked as I feel.
I stand, struggling to regain my breath, as she starts shaking her head.
“Cel—”
“Oh my god . . .” She takes a step back. “I-I’m sorry.”
She spins and rushes to the door. Plucking up her bag, she’s across the threshold in a beat. The door hits the wall and remains open as she takes the porch steps two at a time, flying across the snowy ground to her house.
Fuck.
I pad to the front door and close it before letting my forehead hit the wood. Dammit.
“Daddy?”
I spin around to find Maise rubbing her eyes at the bottom of the stairs.
“Did CC go home?”
“Yeah, kiddo, she did. You okay?”
She yawns. She looks exhausted. I close the distance, haul her onto my waist, and trudge up the stairs. Rubbing a hand over her hair, I hold her close.
“Did my Christmas wish come true?” she says as I walk into her room.
“What wish was that?” I put her back in her bed and tuck her in tight, snug as a bug in a rug style.
“Under the mistletoe, Daddy.”
I sit on the edge of the bed.
How do I answer that? She did, but I’m guessing the last part was not what she had envisioned. Besides, my heart is not her responsibility.
“A gentleman never kisses and tells, so I guess you’ll never know, little lady. Now go back to sleep.”
I tap her little nose, and she scrunches her face up. Sassy little woman.
“I guess I’ll have to move to plan B, then,” she says with a smile and rolls over, giving me her back.
Should I be scared?
“Night, Maise.”
I rise and walk through the bedroom door, closing it most of the way.
“Night, Daddy. Don’t dream about CC too much. Okay?”
Oh, I’m scared, alright. This little girl has got plans, and she’ll be hell-bent on seeing them through. What’s a guy to do?
Who am I to get in her way?
I chuckle as I make my way back downstairs.
In the kitchen, I wash up the glasses and glance out the window to light snow coming down. It coats every surface with its pale glittering powder. It’s pretty, sparkling under the streetlights, the Christmas lights from our house, and the crescent moon overhead.
Movement catches my attention from next door.
CC is in her kitchen, pajamas on now, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge before she pads from the room, flipping the light switch and leaving the space in darkness.
Leaving me staring at the dim house as I work through what the hell that kiss was.
I could devour that woman and still starve for her.
But it’s not just my heart in this.
There’s four of us, if you count Maise and Hank.
I’ve already seen Maise live through the realization her mother didn’t want her. I couldn’t do that to her again.
It would be beyond cruel.
And that’s the sole reason I’ve never come this far with anyone before.
It’s not just my heart that will be shattered all over the damn floor if things don’t work out.
I wipe the counter down and double-check the fridge and pantry, noting the items I need from the store tomorrow before heading upstairs.
After showering, I settle into bed, running through the tasks remaining to have the school play assets completed and functional.
But that just brings me back to Celeste.
Hell, I couldn’t fight this even if I wanted to.
“You’re doing it wrong.” Celeste’s gaze burns into mine.
“I’m not. This is what the plans have marked out.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure they want the wheels to actually roll the backdrop frame in and out, which means sideways.” She gestures with her hands. “Onstage”—she swings an arm to the right then to the left—“offstage.”
I tilt my head, closing my eyes. I can’t think straight with CC this close. When was the last time I made a mistake at work?
Like, never.
I’m calling it collateral damage from that kiss last night. And I’m assuming the attitude I’m currently getting from her is a coping mechanism. Because there is no way she wasn’t just as affected as I was.
With a sigh, I say, “Guess that makes sense.”
“Thank you!” She throws her arms up in exasperation.
I see she’s a good sport about me losing.
And what I wouldn’t give to kiss that smug look off her beautiful face.
Instead, since Maise and Hank are watching us like we’re the main characters in some blockbuster movie, I tousle her hair with my hand playfully and say, “You’re welcome.”
“Whatever, MacKelvie.”
I wince. “MacKelvie, ouch.”
She gives me a sarcastic face before wandering over to her backdrops. They’re almost done—only the finer details left to go, which she is painting today. She’s amazing to watch. It’s like she just knows where everything goes, what shades and colors need to make up each stroke of her brush.
I decide it’s better to just get on with our tasks, what with it being Saturday, before either of my two helpers lose interest.
“Right, you two. The lady has spoken, wheels operating side to side. Maise, you’re in charge of the two on the right of the frame. Hank, you and I will get the lefts knocked up.”
His eyes round to saucers.
Oh geez, wrong choice of words. Sure, my head has been in the gutter and in the clouds all at once since I kissed his daughter, who is now mere feet from where we stand. Fighting the flush of heat threatening to engulf my face, I clear my throat. I can salvage this, I think.
“How about we screw the—”
Hank’s face splits with laughter. Maise frowns in confusion. And me? I stand there dumbfounded, only just realizing he’s been messing with me this entire time.
“Someone has a thing for the pretty little artist who’s been helping us,” Hank whispers as he leans in like it’s a huge conspiracy.
That pretty little artist is your damn daughter, bud. It would be funny otherwise. It would be appropriate, maybe, if I didn’t feel like I was stealing candy canes from an old man—straight out of his Alzheimer-ridden hands.
“Nah, just didn’t get much sleep last night.” I run a hand through my hair.
Hank’s face says it all. I’m not fooling anyone.
Much less myself.
Maybe it’s a good thing Hank’s got no clue. If he did . . .
It’s unknown territory for me, this disease of his. And I’m glad Celeste has a little fire in her, or this new phase of her life would be much harder.
Maise sinks to the floor by the feet of the frame, her screwdriver with a pink glittery handle in her hand. She’s been helping me for a while now and insisted on her own tools.
I watch as she sticks her tongue out one side of her mouth, screwing the metal plate of the wheel into the pine two-by-four. One little hand works the tool, the other holding the hardware in place as she sinks all four screws into place before tightening them in turn.
Hank groans, his hand slipping as he kneels over the frame, the caster wheel in his other hand.
Shit.
I drop down beside him and hold the wheel in place as he secures it to the frame. When all four are attached, we manhandle the frame back onto its feet and stand back.
“Looking great, boss.” Hank slaps my back.
I chuckle.
He’s good company, despite his memory being shot. And I imagine when he was fully cognitive, he was a hell of a guy.
“That looks wonderful,” a light voice says.
I turn back to find CC, her face streaked with blue paint, paintbrush still in hand. A wisp of hair has slipped from her ponytail, sticking to her cheek with the same blue hue.
“Thanks. How’s the scenery coming along?”
“All done. Just a little cleanup left now.”
“You could say that.” I can’t help the grin that blooms as her face falls and tightens with a self-conscious look. I lean in and brush the strand of hair from her face. “Blue looks good on you.”
“Huh.” She dips her head, a blush coloring her cheeks.
“Daddy, can we go? I’m starving.” Maise brings me back to reality, hands on hips, gaze swinging between me and Celeste.
“Sure, kiddo. Pack up your tools.”
She skips back to her workspace and packs her things in her pink tool belt.
When she was a baby, she would come on-site with me, pink hard hat and all.
Wasn’t a contractor on-site not affected by her cute little mug.
The hard hat still sits in her cupboard, but now she’s upgraded to the tool belt, and I couldn’t be more proud of her.
“Actually, Maise,” Celeste says, getting her attention. “Would you be free tonight to help me with the tree?”
Celeste presses her hands together in a pleading gesture, using my daughter’s favorite tool of manipulation against her. Touché.
Maise shoulders her tool belt and comes to my side. “Sure, CC. I can help you out. How’s seven sound?”
I chuckle as Celeste’s eyebrows raise toward her hairline before she flattens her smile and simply says, “Sounds perfect, see you then.”
“Yep, it’s a date.” Maise winks at her.
Oh no, what is she up to . . . ?