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“They’re driving over from their hotel.” Drawing his hands from his pockets, he tucks a tattooed finger under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Breathe, Red.” With his other hand, he splays his fingers over the small of my back, jerking me to his muscular body. “You smell good—like cranberries. Bet you taste just as good. Makes me want to—”
“Is that Lucas?” Gram’s voice interrupts from the steps behind me. Reluctantly, he drops his hand from my back, his knuckles grazing my ass in the process. Sliding a red strand of hair behind my ear, I face my grandmother with fiery cheeks. Lucas, on the other hand, casts a grin at her that’s mesmerized millions of die-hard rock fans and stolen the hearts of groupies in every major city.
My grandmother leans against the garland-wrapped banister for support and curls her lips into a bright smile. “Merry Christmas Eve, Lucas.”
“You too, Mrs. Previn.” His tone, calm and pleasant, completely belies whatever filth, sexy promise he was just about to growl at me. He’s been out of town so much recently that my body is already going crazy with anticipation.
Her brows draw together as she walks down the last couple steps. “Your mother and father are still coming for lunch before they go back to Atlanta, aren’t they?” Beaming up at Lucas, she waves me away when I try to help her. “Sienna’s been cooking since the sun came up.”
His thick, dark brows lift in mock surprise. “You cook, Red?”
I roll my eyes. His reaction is similar to the one I got from my younger brother an hour ago. Seth was under the impression lunch was courtesy of Sara Lee and Marie Callender’s. “I swear if one more person looks at me like that...” He laughs at the dark glare I shoot his way. “You should be thankful my mother’s not the one cooking. She’d probably serve us toilet wine.”
“Be nice, it’s almost Christmas.” But Gram winks at me, giving me a pat on the arm as she walks past us. “I know it’s going to taste wonderful, sweetheart. No matter what anyone else says.” She heads into the living room where Seth is watching the football game with my mother—who claims to know what’s going on, even though I can’t remember her watching football ever. Just when I think we’re in the clear, she calls back, “By the way, Lucas, you smell good—like cologne.”
I automatically clench my teeth, but he doesn’t seem the least bit phased because he draws me close to him again. “You’re doing that teeth thing again. You know it drives me abso-fucking-lutely crazy,” he says in a rough, low voice that warms my skin.
“Maybe because my grandmother just pointed out she heard what you were saying to me,” I argue, immediately releasing a sigh a couple seconds later when his lips cover mine. Of course, the moment I mold against him, the knock at the door breaks us apart.
“That must be your parents.” I quickly trace my fingertip around the outline of my lips to fix my gloss, then use the pad of my thumb to wipe the shimmery pink color from Lucas’ mouth. When I’m finished, I hold my arms out and glance down at my burgundy skater dress. “How do I look?”
“By the end of this day, I’m going to peel that little dress off of you.” His hazel eyes seem to
darken while he skims his gaze over the length of my body, and I curl my toes in my shoes. “But to answer your question, you look beautiful.”
A hot tingle wiggles through me, but I pretend I’m unaffected as I reach past him to open the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t say you were gonna do it with your teeth,” I tease, peeking up at him.
He gives my waist a gentle squeeze and bends so that his mouth touches my ear. “I figured that was implied.”
I’m still struggling to catch my breath when I let his parents in and while we exchange hugs. I had met them before—back in February when we went to Atlanta—but this time is different, and his mother makes sure she lets me know when she throws her arms around me.
“I never thought he’d settle down, but I’m so happy it’s with a good girl and none of those ... flings he’s had,” she whispers fiercely in my ear. She kisses my cheek, and her brown eyes are dancing when she leans away from me. “I’m sure my daughter has already inundated you with planning questions—”
“Not too much.” I try not to cringe at the thought of Kylie’s constant Facebook check-ins. For someone who eloped in lieu of a big ass wedding, she’s terrifyingly obsessed with my wedding plans. She claims it’s the pregnancy hormones. I spot Lucas and his dad slipping into the family room, and I give his mom an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to take the ham out, but if you want—”
She quickly nods in understanding. “I’d rather help you.”
Having Shannon Wolfe—who insists I call her Shan—in the kitchen is awkward at first, but she quickly puts me at ease by telling me about the year Lucas and Sinjin, the band’s drummer, managed to ruin the contents of the spare fridge (food meant for Christmas dinner) after they unplugged it to practice.
“All to plug in an amp?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“And I didn’t find out about it until Christmas morning, once everything in Atlanta was closed. You should have seen me—”
My mother’s voice interrupts Shannon, and both our gazes whip toward the kitchen entrance as Mom marches into the room with a cranberry and vodka tipped to her lips. “You should’ve told me you needed help, baby girl.”
Lord, I hate when she calls me that. She must realize that because she rewords what she just said, this time as a question, and a big grin splits her features as the godawful nickname leaves her mouth.
“Didn’t want to interrupt the football game.” I smile at her, and I’m sure it looks pleading. “Mom, this is Lucas’ mom Shannon. Shannon, my mother, Rebecca.”
“We’ve met already,” she says as she sits at the table with Shannon. Then she shrugs and laughs. “Well, we’ve sent each other letters.”
Gee, thanks for the reminder that you went behind my back and sent mail to Lucas’ parents from prison.
I hold my breath while they exchange pleasantries, the youth pastor from Atlanta with the rockstar son and the woman that tried to convince underaged son to take the fall for her drug-dealing. As different as they are, though, Mom is being shockingly nice. Keeping a cautious eye on them, I put the finishing touches on lunch. I almost believe our first real holiday as a family won’t be an absolute clusterfuck, but then my brother pokes his head in the kitchen. He’s scowling. Which means that either the Titans are getting their ass kicked by the Falcons or Mom’s done something crazy.
Turns out, it’s the latter.
“Did you invite someone to eat with us today, Rebecca?” Seth demands.
