His Mistletoe Wish (Mercury Ridge Christmas #2)

Chapter 1

One

Macbeth

I walk into the restroom at Mercury Slice and groan. The mirror is encircled with fake snow, ornaments hang from the ceiling, and strands of Christmas lights are draped over the stalls.

There’s no escaping Christmas in a small town—not even in the bathroom of the local pizzeria.

Shaking my head, I pull a tube of red lipstick from the back pocket of my jeans. Channeling my inner diva, I pop off the top and carefully slide it over my lips.

The toilet flushes and a moment later, a stall door swings open. I catch sight of the woman in the mirror—and she doesn’t look happy.

“Hiya, Mikki,” I say, waving to her in the mirror. “Nice antlers.”

I must confess, her commitment to the Christmas season is impressive. Even her Mercury Slice sweatshirt is holiday-themed, featuring a slice of pizza designed to look like a Christmas tree with pepperoni for ornaments, mozzarella for tinsel, and a banana pepper on top instead of a star.

She shakes her head, making the bells lining her reindeer headband jingle. Her eyebrows come together in a scowl, a look that is at complete odds with her festive Christmas attire. She shoves the sleeves of her sweatshirt up and leans across me to hold a hand beneath the automatic soap dispenser.

As she scrubs her hands and wrists, she continues to glare at me in the mirror. “Didn’t I tell you to stop hustling my customers, Beth?”

“I’m just using the restroom,” I say innocently.

“Please,” she scoffs. “I’ve known you forever, and you only wear lipstick when you’re conning men at the billiards table.”

She’s got me there. As a boat mechanic, I’m far more likely to have motor oil on my face than makeup.

My best friend and sister-in-law, Holly, would never leave the house without a swipe or two of mascara on her lashes, but I don’t think I even own mascara.

If I do, it’s well past its expiration date and has dried up from years without use.

The extent of my beauty routine is to slap on sunscreen before I leave the house. Because skin cancer’s no joke.

I smile at my friend. “But you have the best food in town, Mikki. You wouldn’t want me to eat a greasy pool hall burger, would you?”

Her face softens, as it always does when someone compliments her restaurant. Mercury Slice is her baby. The only thing she loves more is her husband, Jared.

“Sausage calzone and a side of marinara?” she asks.

“You know it!” She knows the regular order of practically everyone in Mercury Ridge. It’s a good thing she uses her powers for good, not evil.

With a sigh, she spins toward the door. “I’ll put in your order—to go. No hustling!”

“A girl has to make a living,” I mutter.

There’s not much need for a boat mechanic in the dead of winter. But the landlord still expects the rent every month. So, I lean into the only other skill I possess. Raised by a single dad and four older brothers, I was a pool shark before I reached junior high.

When I leave the ladies room, it doesn’t take long to find my mark.

He’s around my age, mid-to-late twenties, with out-of-town motorcycle club leathers.

He’s average height and build, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes.

Despite the MC connection, he seems harmless enough.

And if he tries anything, I’ve had self-defense training—also courtesy of my older brothers—and pepper spray, too.

He tells me his name is Big Georgie, and I can’t help but wonder how he got the nickname. By all outward appearances, he isn’t particularly big. As if reading my mind, he smirks and gestures to his cock.

I fake a giggle, widening my eyes. Oh, Georgie, not a chance in hell.

He tells me he’s just passing through Mercury Ridge for a few hours on his way to meet a group of bikers in Tennessee.

And within a few minutes of chatting, he thinks I’m a trust fund kid with daddy’s money burning a hole in my pocket.

When I ask if he’ll teach me how to play pool, his eyes light up and he eagerly agrees.

Standing behind me, he cups a hand around my hip, and leans me over the table to line up the shot. “Side pocket,” he says in my ear.

I suppress a shiver of revulsion. I hate this part of the hustle. Hate the feel of a strange man pressed against me.

There’s only one man I want to be this close with.

And sadly, there’s about as much chance of that happening as there is of Big Georgie getting lucky with me.

Big Georgie thrusts against me as the pool stick strikes the ball. The shot misses the side pocket by several inches.

After another minute, I’ve convinced him that I’d love nothing more than to throw my daddy’s money away on a pool match, telling him I’ve always wanted to play a game for money.

Mikki personally delivers my calzone, throwing another dirty look my direction when I force a giggle at something Big Georgie has said. I take a ravenous bite before returning to the game. My eyelids flutter closed. Mercury Slice really does have the best food in town.

I throw the first game and suggest we play again. “Double or nothing?”

The man grins. “Are you sure you want to give me more of your father’s money?”

“He doesn’t need it,” I say coyly.

I’m leaning over the table to line up my shot when a voice from behind says, “Well, what do we have here?”

The voice is as rich as melted caramel and twice as smooth. And deliciously familiar.

Fucking hell. As always, my body immediately reacts to the sound. My cheeks flush. Goosebumps erupt on my skin. Liquid heat pools between my thighs. I want Levi Beshear with every fiber of my being.

He’s been my brother Romeo’s best friend since they were in elementary school. And now, all my older brothers work side-by-side with him at Mercury Ridge Search and Rescue. As far as Romeo, William, Hamlet, and Theo are concerned, he’s an honorary Jones brother.

I’ve known Levi my entire life, and I have never seen him as a brother. When Holly and I played with dolls as kids, I always imagined that Holly’s Ken doll was Levi, and he was only allowed to kiss the brunette Barbie—the doll that looked most like me.

Big Georgie must notice my reaction to Levi because his eyes narrow, sending an obvious message to fuck off. “Hey, man, we’re having a good time here.”

“I’m sure you are,” Levi says. “But you’re not sleeping with her tonight, just so you know.”

Big Georgie’s face turns crimson, and I’m sure mine is just as red.

I furiously spin around to face Levi, prepared to tell him off. But at the sight of him, my mouth goes dry.

God, he’s beautiful. He’s wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt that stretches tightly across his broad shoulders. He folds his arms across his chest, stretching the fabric even more, and for the briefest of seconds, I hope that it’ll burst open in Hulk-like fashion.

Alas, it does not.

The worst thing about winter is that I must wait until summer to see Levi without a shirt again. I love watching him swim at Lake Mercury, every muscle rippling as he moves in the water.

I peel my eyes away from his body to focus on his face. A tidy, oh-so-sexy beard covers his jaw. He grew it last month and I’m dying to run my fingers through it.

Thank God for No Shave November. To whomever invented it, I owe you a nice fruit basket for Christmas. Oh, hell, I owe you more than that. How about the keys to my car? My firstborn child?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Which of my brothers sent you to spy on me?” I demand.

Cock block, more like. My brothers are determined to eliminate any man that gets within twenty feet of me. It doesn’t matter that I’m well into my twenties. To them, I’ll always be their baby sister in need of protection from the big, bad wolves of the world.

Little do they know that the only man that’s ever remotely tempted me is standing in front of me now.

Levi smirks. “I’m not here to spy, Baby Jones.” The nickname sends a thrill through my body, as it always does. It feels like an acknowledgement that I’m their sister, not his. I’m a Jones sibling. And he’s not.

Like maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t see me as a surrogate little sister, after all. No matter how my brothers feel about it.

“Then why are you here?” I demand.

He raises an eyebrow. “I was hungry and wanted a pizza.”

Oh. Of course. I say a silent prayer that the ground will open and swallow me whole to spare me from the humiliation of asking the dumbest question in history.

Behind me, Big Georgie clears his throat. “Beth? Are we playing or what?”

Levi smirks, gesturing to the pool table. “Want to wrap that up, Baby Jones?”

With a sigh, I turn back to the table. “Corner pocket,” I announce, lining up my shot and sinking the ball. One by one, I call the rest of the shots, running the table in record time.

Big Georgie’s body trembles with fury. “You bitch!” He takes a step toward me, but Levi’s there in an instant, stepping between the menacing biker and me.

“Pay her what you owe her, then get lost,” he snarls.

“She played me,” Big Georgie protests.

Levi clenches a fist and raises it threateningly. “Give her the cash, or I’ll break your face.”

“Fuck you.” The man hurls the money onto the floor before storming away.

I bend to pick up the cash and so does Levi.

As we kneel on the floor, our eyes meet.

Electricity crackles between us, and there’s something in Levi’s gaze that I’ve never seen before.

Desire? His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my skin.

And suddenly, there’s no breath. As if he’s holding it.

Could Levi Beshear want me? It’s an impossible thought, but what else could that look mean? I lean closer, my desperation to kiss him overwhelming any capability of rational thought.

An unmistakable look of panic crosses his face, and he scrambles to his feet, thrusting the money at me. “Here you go.”

Is his voice huskier than usual?

He turns to walk away, but I can’t let this go. For the first time ever, it seems possible that Levi may be seeing me as a man sees a woman that he’d like to see naked. I chase him through the restaurant, catching him by the elbow before he reaches the door.

“Levi—”

“Look,” a woman shouts with glee, “they’re standing under the mistletoe.” I glance up, noticing that we are indeed beneath a sprig of mistletoe.

“Kiss her!” someone else demands.

Levi shakes his head, turning to leave, but I’m still holding his arm. This may be the one and only chance I have to kiss him, and I’m not letting it pass by.

“It’s just a kiss, Levi,” I say, pulling him toward me.

“But—” He rakes a hand through his beard.

“People are watching,” I whisper. “Stop acting like I’m a leper.”

He looks around the restaurant, as if just now noticing the crowd that’s staring at us. With a look of resignation, he bends to plant a quick, perfunctory kiss on my lips. It’s more like a bee sting than a kiss.

And I am pissed.

I deserve better than that.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull his head back down to mine. Our lips meet again, but his mouth is as rigid as before. Is he seriously trying to get away with another peck on the lips like he’s a fucking family member?

I brazenly swipe the seam of his lips with my tongue, and he gasps in surprise against my mouth. It’s all the invitation I need. I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue over his. His mouth melts into mine, no longer resistant.

I probe deeper with my tongue, and oh my God, he gives as good as he gets, twining his fingers into my hair as he sucks on my tongue. I moan into his mouth, pressing my body against his. Nothing in the world exists but Levi and me.

Levi and me.

Jesus Christ, there’s a Levi and me!

Two hands roughly grasp my shoulders from behind, pulling me away from Levi. The spell of our kiss is broken, and suddenly I’m very aware that we just put on a show for the crowded restaurant. Our audience hoots and whistles. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Mikki glaring at me.

“What has gotten into you? This is a family place,” she hisses. “That means no hustling and no humping.”

“Sorry, Mikki,” I say sheepishly, turning to look at Levi.

But all I catch is a glimpse of his back as he walks out the door.