What Mistletoe Is For (Blushing Books 12 Days of Christmas 2) Read online

  "I don't think I'm always right."

  "Yes, you do. You think you're the boss."

  "I am the boss in a relationship. That's not saying I always think I'm right. We did agree back then that you needed... guidance."

  "Maybe back then I did."

  "And discipline."

  There's the 'd' word. Casey sat firmly on her side of the booth, determined not to wiggle around in front of him.

  "Okay, maybe I did," she gave in reluctantly.

  "You can be stubborn. You make a living out of taking care of other people, but you're not as careful with your own health or safety."

  "I'll have you know I've grown up. A lot!"

  Score one for the cowboy. Preston smirked, regarding her in the light from the votive candles lit on the table.

  "Well, I take credit for some of that good behavior and maturity," he declared.

  "Really!" Casey scoffed. She leaned across the table. "You would take credit! But it's been a long time since we broke up."

  "I know."

  "And I take a lot of that credit. Me, myself, and I."

  "Ah. Good for you, honey."

  Now he was getting under her skin. The waiter dropped by their table, long enough to set their drinks on coasters in front of them.

  "Why did we break up?" she asked.

  "Why?" Preston looked incredulous. "You broke up with me, Casey."

  "I know. But I look back and I know we were both a bit stressed."

  "We were arguing a lot."

  "Yeah, and you didn't have time for me," she accused him.

  "And you said you wanted a break from each other. So I gave you some time. Then you wouldn't call me back. I wasn't going to chase forever after a girl who didn't want to get caught. Next thing I knew, you were engaged to someone else."

  "I was in love with Gary Minter."

  Did she see what she thought she'd seen? Did Preston flinch at those words? She knew she wasn't imagining the hurt in his eyes.

  "For a long time, though," she confessed. "I thought about you. And I wondered about... what happened between us."

  "And I never totally got over you, Casey."

  That must not have been easy for him to admit out loud. What was going on inside her? A tornado of emotions that she hadn't expected.

  "I'm sorry I was late. I was testing you."

  He folded his arms on the table and stared back at her. "I figured as much, you little brat."

  Neither of them had so much as touched their respective drinks yet. Casey remedied that little problem, promptly taking a fortifying swallow of her wine.

  "Easy, there. I don't want to have to carry you out of here," he taunted her. "Over my shoulder..."

  "Whatever, Fuller!" she sassed back. "You gonna spank me? For testing you again?"

  "According to you, you're not mine anymore. I've got no right to spank you."

  "Preston Fuller... do you always have to have the last word?"

  Chapter Three

  Fleetingly, because Casey's head was spinning by the time she stumbled into Preston's foyer, she again pondered finding a new place to board her horse. Especially because it was about to become extra-awkward to leave him at the place where he'd been ever since he'd become hers.

  "Nice place," she complimented Preston in between steamy kisses.

  "Thanks. My sister-in-law loves to decorate," he murmured, closing the door and drawing her against him.

  Somewhere between accusing him of always wanting the last word and that second glass of wine, Casey had ended up tossing caution to the wind. Preston had suggested they go back to his place and, seeing her a bit unsteady on her feet, insisted on being her stern but friendly designated driver.

  Now she was in the foyer of his home, having shed her clothes right down to her bra and panties, about to do something she suspected she would regret immediately.

  "Mistletoe! How cute!" She pointed to the ornament hanging over the doorway to a small, cozy room.

  "A little holiday touch, also courtesy of my brother's wife. Even though, you know, I don't have anyone to kiss under that thing."

  "Aww. Poor you." Casey pushed him against the doorframe, right beneath the mistletoe. "Now you do."

  Was it because she was tipsy or was that really a kiss that sent tingly, little currents all through her? She pressed her hands against his chest—he had already tossed aside his jacket and sweater—and felt those ripply, hard pecs under her fingers.

  Her lips parted again for his tongue, which explored her mouth while his hands took a long, pleasurable journey down her hips to her backside. Each of his hands cupped firmly around each of her plump cheeks.

  "I bet you'd like to spank me under the mistletoe." She smirked insolently at him.

  She should have realized she was treading on dangerous ground when he narrowed his eyes at her.

  "Now that's a good idea. I like that. The mistletoe, to everybody else, would mean one thing, but to us, it would be a reminder for you to behave yourself. Or you will be spanked under it."

  Casey was too caught up in the moment to note how he'd changed the tense from "would" to "will."

  "That's not what mistletoe is for, though," she reminded him.

  "No, I know. But you have to admit, it's a cool idea. Unique. And, in your case, helpful."

  "I haven't done anything spank-worthy yet."

  "Not unless you count that little business of trying to test me."

  She tilted her chin up, not willing to let him catch on that the conversation was making her feel vulnerable.

  "How did I get here again?" she asked. "With you again?"

  "I'm not sure. But please don't ask me to lose you again. Not right now."

  There it was again, a tenderness that she recalled being a part of his nature that she'd loved.

  "But first, young lady... about that mistletoe and you testing me..."

  Casey barely had time to protest past a panicky, "Uh-oh!" The closest chair was at a desk, and Preston held onto her by her waist while he dragged it under the doorway.

  "So glad I set up my office right here," he said, more to himself.

  "Yes! How convenient!"

  "Honey, you know... sarcasm? Not the best of times for that right now."

  How convenient, too, that she'd stripped down to her panties! She couldn't have made it easier for him if she'd tried.

  "It was just a joke. I wasn't really testing you." Casey wriggled on his lap. An attempt to free herself that was futile, because his hands kept her solidly planted in place.

  "Joke or not, you tested me in the past, too. How'd that turn out for you?"

  "Not good." His hand was rock-hard, coming down in that first loud smack! That neither she nor her bottom was ready for. "Owwww! You aren't really going to spank me under the mistletoe, are you?"

  "I could spank you in the office, if you prefer. Bend you over the couch in the living room. Location, location, location." Three more spanks sent heat through the sheer fabric of her lacy panties. "I just thought this might be more festive."

  Oh, he was enjoying this! Casey winced and bit her lip, trying to squelch a yelp. More smacks were administered, each more painful than the last.

  How had she landed herself in that position? Again? It had been years since she'd been spanked so her flesh was particularly tender. All her kicking her legs was useless, too, because he trapped them under his leg, repositioned her bottom higher in the air, and resumed the rhythmic spanks.

  "How'd I do on that test, baby?" He was teasing her, on top of everything.

  It was tough trying to fight while he concentrated the palm of his hand on warming the spot between the bottom of her cheeks and the top of her thighs.

  He wanted her to apologize. To promise that she wouldn't test him again. To be contrite, and most of all, to be submissive.

  Instead, she smart-mouthed him.

  "At least it's not with Storm's brush."

  Suddenly, the spanking stopped. She took a deep
breath, holding onto his legs for support and smiled.

  It wasn't easy, but she'd won. She did it! She'd won! He thought he was so smart. She just got him—Preston peeled down those panties, a gesture that drew an embarrassing, exaggerated gasp from her.

  "Ah, we are really going for old times now!" There was a smile, an exasperating one, in his words. "Okay, baby. I owe you one spanking with Storm's brush. For now, this will have to do."

  Me and my big mouth!

  He really laid into her poor rear end, then, delivering two dozen or more smacks to her already reddened and hurting backside.

  All this for the pleasure of gloating that she'd purposely made him wait ten minutes for their date. Casey yelped and grunted, groaning out, "Okay! Ohhh-kay! I'll be good! I'm s-sorry I tested you!"

  The spanking stopped again. This time she felt Preston's hand return to her bottom to give it a somewhat soothing rub.

  After a minute, he helped her to her feet, making sure she was facing him. Casey sighed, not such a tough cookie now, not such a smart-mouth.

  "You might as well leave them on the floor." He was referring to her panties. "I'll take you upstairs now, baby..."

  *****

  "I'm going to have this baby on Christmas, Casey. How mad would you be if you had to go to the hospital on Christmas?"

  Casey would have laughed if the patient hadn't been looking at her with those big, questioning eyes.

  "Tell you what. If this little man decides to come on Christmas," she said, winking at Mrs. Wright, "I'll make sure I have his gift ready when you come back for your post-partum visit. How's that?"

  Satisfied that she'd put her patient at ease, Casey went about the task of measuring her belly. She was trying not to chew her gum too obviously; the clinic frowned upon the nurses and clerks doing that, let alone the midwives.

  "You're measuring right about at thirty-seven weeks. Now, you know this is—"

  "Going to be cold," the young mother, who was having her first baby at twenty-two, recited. "And any ache or pain I feel, y'all will tell me is normal!"

  Casey laughed with her and the nurse, who was there to assist her. She squirted gel onto the spot where she estimated was best to hear the heartbeat and applied the tip of the Doppler. The wonderful sound of a baby's heartbeat came through the instrument's speakers.

  Earnestly, Casey never thought she would ever tire of hearing that sweet, beautiful sound. That rapid thump, thump, thump. She counted and then switched off the Doppler.

  "One hundred and forty," she told Mrs. Wright. "And that's normal. Your baby's doing great. Any questions?"

  "No. I did have some contractions—I think that's what they were—but they're not coming that close together, and then they go away."

  "Okay. The contractions won't go away, and they'll get stronger and closer together. Call us when that happens." Casey patted her patient's arm. "I'll just go make some notes in your chart and the nurse will make your next appointment. See ya next week."

  "Spending Christmas at the hospital," one of the other midwives, an older woman named Phyllis, said after hearing the story. "Yep. Been there, done that!"

  "Thanksgiving! Right here!" Casey claimed, waving a hand in the air.

  "I love babies. They have the best timing," one of the RNs said, the remark bringing laughter.

  "Babies are our business. Babies and pregnant ladies!" Casey agreed. She was supposed to be charting, not chatting, but with all those women in the room, there was bound to be some chit-chat. Besides, they were talking shop. That was permissible, wasn't it?

  "I used to work with a midwife who had the best tattoo," Jen, one of the nurses, recounted, touching her own arm. "It was of a pregnant woman from about here to here, and you could see the baby inside her belly. All curled up. I don't care for tattoos, but that was gorgeous."

  "I have a tattoo, too. But mine's a little frog on the side of my foot," Phyllis said, much to everybody's amusement.

  "A frog? On your foot?" Casey frowned.

  "Hey, I was twenty. Everything seems like a good idea at the time, when you're that age!"

  "I'm bringing back this patient," a nurse said.

  "Yeah. I'm taking a break," Jen said. "Getting some coffee."

  That left Casey alone with Phyllis. A couple of days had passed since the night she and Preston had slept together. They had spoken on the phone, but they hadn't seen each other yet. She had touched upon it briefly with Phyllis, omitting, naturally, the part about him making love to her that night.

  Neither had she mentioned the part about being soundly spanked. Under the mistletoe. That man had the craziest sense of humor sometimes!

  She was sitting more comfortably now, though for all of Monday she'd been sore and wished she could cushion her seat with a pillow.

  Casey glanced over her shoulder at Phyllis, who was making notes on her patient's electronic record and popping chocolate covered peanuts. On the sly, of course. They weren't supposed to have snacks at the nurses' station.

  Phyllis glanced back at her. "You're up to something."

  "Me? No. Not—no," Casey insisted.

  "You're always up to something, chicky."

  Casey took a deep breath. "What would you say if I told you... oh, never mind."

  "Oh, man. This is gonna be good." Phyllis wheeled her chair across the room, accidentally bumping into the back of Casey's. "What would I say if you told me what?"

  "Okay, well... what would you say if I told you that... I really can't get this man out of my mind?"

  Phyllis smiled kindly at her. "I'm have to ask you what's wrong with that?"

  "Everything, actually. Because I broke up with him years ago—"

  "Honey, that was years ago. Evidently, he's past that now. And so are you or you wouldn't have slept with him."

  She nodded. Her tongue was itching to tell her friend, he also spanked me. He's a firm believer in putting me over his knee and spanking me till it feels like my butt's on fire. I sass him, disrespect him, or don't take my health or safety seriously, he spanks.

  Casey had to bet that most people wouldn't understand that.

  "I've been on my own ever since Gary died, Phyllis.

  "I'm sure. It's time, Casey. You're a young, beautiful woman."

  "But I've been so used to being alone. And now I have to—to—"

  Submit.

  "Compromise?" Phyllis suggested.

  "Yeah. Compromise. Plus, he's..." Oh, heck, just tell her already! "He's, uh, he's a real Alpha male."

  The older woman's eyes widened behind her glasses. "They still make those? Cool! Where can I get one?"

  Casey rolled her eyes. "My Alpha male could teach trainees. He's a great guy and he's sweet. He was always good to me. He's just really strict."

  "Maybe you need somebody strict. You've said yourself how you could use more self-discipline sometimes. And to take care of yourself better."

  Casey fidgeted with the ring her parents had given her as a birthday gift two years ago.

  "I'm afraid of what happened before, of us breaking up. Of that happening again."

  "Casey, honey..." The older woman patted her hand. "You need to iron all that out with him. Before you two go any further."

  "I guess you're right."

  "You know I'm right. Whatever else may be getting in your way, whatever else may be an issue, you need to talk it over. And you need to both put what happened behind you and treat this like a brand-new day. Or you're right—it won't work out this time, either."

  *****

  Preston knew he was supposed to be writing. It was just that the view through the stables' office window had so mesmerized him.

  His laptop, which he'd toted from his home office, was all warmed-up and opened to the document. He doubted he'd written even five hundred words yet. That was about twenty-five hundred words shy of his daily word count challenge.

  At that rate, he would turn the completed manuscript of that ninety-thousand word novel by next Christm
as.

  No one could blame him for not trying, either. He had done all his writing rituals. No music was playing because, other than jazz, he could never write with music playing. He had a cup of coffee, now warmed up in the microwave, waiting beside the laptop. He was wearing his blue shirt, the one with the missing top button, that usually brought him writing luck.

  So why was he staring out the window instead?

  The answer to his dilemma rode by on the back of a horse, appropriately enough, named Storm.

  Casey looked beautiful always, but she was even more tantalizing that night. Some women truly looked like they belonged in a saddle, and that could be said of Casey. She had tied back her long curls, making her hair dance behind her with the movement of the horse under her.

  For ease of movement, she had dressed in faded jeans that were comfortable, which also stretched across the muscles of her legs. Because of the cold, she had also donned gloves.

  Would she come in to see him? She hadn't done so yet. As far as he knew, she had gone straight to the stables to tend to Storm before going for a ride around the property.

  Had she had time to think about their relationship? He didn't want to believe that what had happened between them was a fluke. A product of two glasses of wine, combined with the sentimentality of that season.

  Because it had affected him that way. Christmas was drawing closer: how sentimental and romantic that he should be reunited with her now, at that time of year. And how perfect, how amazing, to be able to greet the new year together, with the promise of a love that had been revived.

  Preston guarded his heart when he saw her, only a few minutes later, return Storm to the stables. Was she leaving? Without saying a word to him?

  He sat back down at his desk. The furthest thing from his mind at that moment was working on that novel.

  His last novel had done better than his previous novel, but he was still considered a mid-list author. True, he had his fans—a loyal following that was growing steadily but surely. Typically, that was enough to get him to write. He knew not to depend entirely on inspiration, that inspiration was an unpredictable mistress.

  There was a knock at his door. Preston swallowed hard.