Christmas With You by Tracey Alvarez Page A

were here. Even if it did mean he wouldn’t get any action tonight.
     
    ***
     
    Maybe a girls’ night out after being sexed up in a janitor’s closet hadn’t been the wisest idea. But saying no to Kip’s three sisters had been impossible—especially after Piper butted in with her no-bullcrap, ex-cop’s tone and insisted Carly had to come.
    So, there she was, squeezed like strawberry preserve in a sandwich between two blondes—Erin, The Great Flat White Cafe’s proprietor, and Bree Findlow, the town’s gorgeous little gift shop/art gallery owner.
    Blonde surfer-dude Zach, Due South bar’s newest recruit, working a trial period over his summer university break, had taken orders for their table’s last round of the night. The pub had mostly emptied out, except for their boisterous table, and hell, she was having fun. The girls were a hoot; although, she’d spent the last two hours trying not to glance over at the bar where Kip—avoiding their table as if they were plague carriers—kept the drinks flowing.
    “Aw, baby brother’s come for a visit,” said Tara.
    Kip passed out glasses and bottles from his tray.
    “Have you been avoiding us, Kip?” asked Tarryn, the local Department of Conservation worker. She leaned forward, fluttering her eyelashes. “Are we that scary?”
    “Bloody terrifying.” Kip handed over her beer. “And I don’t think my insurance covers being eaten alive.”
    Whoops erupted around the table, and Kip smiled his thigh-clenching smile.
    Carly’s stomach turned a slow roll, spilling a heated wash through her—a poisonous mixture of desire and possessiveness. She blinked over at him as he continued to serve drinks. Possessive? She wasn’t possessive about anything; she didn’t get attached to stuff.
    Growing up on Air Force bases and moving around with parents who liked to travel light, she’d learned this lesson early. She’d never collected trading cards or Beanie Babies. She didn’t care about packing up her life in LA and flying to New Zealand to be with her family—because that’s the other thing she’d figured out. Family was the only thing worth getting attached to, and family was the one thing that could suddenly be taken away. She didn’t get attached to stuff, but it looked as if she’d somehow started to form an attachment to Kip Sullivan.
    Not a good idea, zoomie. Not a good idea at all.
    “Pinot gris.”
    His voice broke through her mental ramblings, and she glanced up from where she’d been tearing strips off a cocktail napkin.
    “Thanks.” She took the wine from his hand, the swift brush of his fingers against hers sending a ripple of awareness through her.
    His gaze swept over her face—nothing wayward or flirtatious in his expression—but the shimmer of hot blood still climbed up her throat. How could she forget that hours earlier, the man had two of those fingers buried deep inside her, thrusting her headlong into the most incredible orgasm. The most incredible, knee-trembling bona-fide world-class-champion of orgasms.
    Carly turned her face away and took a gulp of her drink. She lowered the glass to find Lizzie staring at her like a scientist discovering the missing link. Crap .
    Lizzie grabbed Kip’s wrist as he turned to go back to the bar. “Come sit with us a moment. Vee—go get baby brother a beer; we need to celebrate his birthday in three days’.”
    More whoops and teasing exploded around the table, as Vee got up and hurried off.
    Kip looked like a deer caught in the headlights, or, to use a more Kiwi analogy, a possum caught in a hunter’s spotlight. He tried to tug his wrist away, but Lizzie had a good grip on him.
    “I’m working,” he said. “I can’t stop for a drink.”
    “Yeah, you can. Take a break, Sullivan,” hollered West from behind the bar. “Sit with the ladies.”
    Erin snagged a chair from another table, and female hands pushed Kip into it. Fortunately, not next to Carly—though the little ball of