There were only two weeks before Christmas now, and in the flurry of work and all the extra activities each of them had, the only time she and Frank saw each other was during Sunday Dinner, along with all the other Reagans, except Jack, who was due back from school the Sunday before Christmas.
It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a little frustrating. Without even having to discuss it, she and Frank maintained a polite decorum around the family, keeping their interactions to quick, chaste hugs and pecks on the cheek, but deep within her Briar Rose felt a restlessness. The intimacy with Frank had become . . . addictive. Urges long suppressed had made themselves known again, despite her intentions and the only comfort was that Frank too seemed to be a little on edge though he masked it well.
Years of practice, Briar Rose thought with amusement.
When she brought a cranberry curd pie and lemon-steamed broccoli, Briar Rose made it a point to add the new ornament she'd bought in with the bag. Jamie was in charge of dinner and the flock of grilled Cornish game hens he and Eddie brought looked almost too adorable to eat. They served them up with flair, the two of them in tandem doing so.
"Fancy pantsy," Henry observed after grace, poking his hen with a fork.
"Elegant," Erin corrected with a grin. "They look great!"
"Rosemary butter on them," Eddie told everyone. "Gives the skin a good browning."
For the first few minutes everyone ate, passing salad and sides around without too much discussion. Finally Nicky spoke up. "So why do people kiss under the mistletoe?"
"Because it's a lot of fun," Danny muttered with a grin. "So don't you dare try it until you're thirty. At least."
"It's tradition," Jamie sighed. "A Nordic legend that somehow got mixed up with Christmas. Please pass the butter."
"It's a dumb tradition," Sean grunted. "Christmas isn't supposed to be about kissing anyway. It's supposed to be about baby Jesus' birthday."
"Well I'm sure his parents kissed him," Briar Rose impishly pointed out. "Seeing as how he was the most adorable newborn on earth at that point."
"He was a baby; everybody kisses those," Henry pointed out with a grin. "The rest of us need all the mistletoe we can get."
"Well we don't have any, so the point is moot," Frank murmured mildly. "Who brought an ornament this evening?"
Nearly everyone made a noise of affirmation, and Briar Rose shot at look at Henry, who winked back at her. They made it through dinner and dessert, the conversations ranging from future weather disasters to the distressing number of vandalized subway stations and finally it was time to decorate the tree.
A real one of course; the scent of pine filled the living room and Briar Rose admired the full thick branches. Her own little tree was already done up at home, standing near the bay window there and lit for the evening. Someone—and she suspected it was Henry—had already hung the lights on this one. George snuffled it approvingly and circled around the coffee table, tail wagging.
"All right," Frank murmured. He motioned to what looked like holiday popcorn tins on the coffee table. "The traditionals of course, but we'll start with the new ones."
"Traditionals?" Briar Rose wanted to know.
Nicky smiled. "You know—the ornaments you HAVE to have every year. All the baby ones, and the first Christmas ones."
"The ones we made in school," Danny winced. "Lord help us."
"Hey just because your Popsicle stick angel looks like Sonny Bono is no reason to not put it up," Erin teased her brother, who shot her a sour look.
"Yeah, well your bread dough snow man looks like it should be shot down by the Ghostbusters," Danny replied.
"Christmas," Frank intoned patiently. "Santa's watching."
"Okay we're not kids anymore, Dad. That's just creepy."
She couldn't help it; Briar Rose giggled as Sean patted George and rolled his eyes.
"Nevertheless," Frank murmured, and gestured to the tins.
It didn't take long to decorate the tree with so many people helping, and Briar Rose admired the eclectic collection, particularly taken with the ones that had photos in them. The black and white snapshot of a very young mustache-less Frank in his acolyte robes was particularly adorable.
"You really do have an upper lip!" she teased, only to see him give a pained glare.
"He's pretty angelic in that shot—too bad looks are deceiving," Henry observed. "That was the year you broke three of Mr. Fenterman's windows with foul balls, wasn't it?"
"And I paid for every one of them," Frank muttered defensively. "As you well know."
"Power hitter," Henry told Briar Rose. "Not too good at aim, though."
"Not everyone's an athlete," she agreed.
Frank's pointed glance promised retribution for THAT comment, she knew with a smirk.
Then it was time to hang the new ornaments, and one by one each person held up their offering. When it was her turn, Briar Rose shyly held up a round globe with George's face painted on it.
"The fuzzy one," she announced, holding it up. At his nickname, George wagged his tail and came to sniff it. Seeing it wasn't a treat, he returned to lean comfortably against Kevin again, giving a sigh as Briar Rose hung his globe near the bottom.
After the last ornament, Henry cleared his throat. "Okay, so speaking of mistletoe . . ." he pulled out a huge cluster wrapped up in peppermint ribbon. "Here."
"Ew," Sean repeated. "If we hang it in here it's gonna be gross. I don't want to kiss any of you."
His great-grandfather shot him a gimlet look, and very carefully pulled off a sprig, handing it to him. "No, you get your own to hang wherever you want, kiddo. Like say, your locker."
"Like that's gonna help," Nicky muttered in an undertone, but she grinned as she accepted a cluster.
Henry passed out the rest of it, pointing meaningfully at each person. "Use it wisely."
"With great mistletoe comes great kissing?" Jamie murmured, looking as innocent as he could. Next to him, Eddie turned a giggle into a cough.
"Can I have two? I might wear this one out," Erin batted her eyes.
Danny snorted. "I can see the news crawl now; entire DA's office infected with cooties . . ."
"And I can think of a few people who'll be getting coal for Christmas," Frank pointed out quietly.
"Always on the straight and narrow," Danny sighed, but accepted his sprig with no further comments. When Henry handed one to Briar Rose, she couldn't help but glance at Frank, who refused to meet her glance as she tucked it into her purse.
Henry hung the last one in the front door vestibule, letting it hang from the overhead light there, the peppermint ribbon glittering in the glow.
-oo00oo—
It happened so fast she barely caught her breath. One minute Briar Rose was putting the last rinsed dish into the machine and the next she was spun, pinned against the refrigerator, Frank's mouth hovering over hers.
"Not an athlete?" he taunted quietly. "Don't judge me by my rookie season, sweetheart."
"So you're telling me you're better with your balls now?" she shot back, suddenly achy as he pressed against her.
"Much," Frank assured her, one arm braced over her head. "As I think you know."
"Well I seem to recall something about it, but it's been so long . . ." Briar Rose replied, feeling a surge of lust, startled at how quickly she responded to him. It seemed to be mutual, given the way Frank's other hand slid around her hip to cup possessively around her ass.
"You," he growled softly, "are driving me crazy. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to behave myself when you smell nice and are within arm's reach?"
"I have a clue," Briar Rose whispered. The coolness of the fridge at her back warred with the heat of the man pinning her there. She lightly brushed her lips against his, a jolt going through her at the heat.
"The arch of your neck; the curve of your smile," Frank rumbled, his tone almost angry with hunger. "All I want is to start licking your collarbones and keep going."
"Not here!" she gasped as he pressed a tickly kiss at the corner of her mouth, the sensation sweet and tense at the same time. "Your father-!"
"—went to bed fifteen minutes ago," Frank whispered, his hot breath against her cheek. "He's out for the night and I'm seizing the moment, among other things."
"You—" Briar Rose slipped one arm around the back of his neck to pull him down into a full kiss. The sweet shock of it left her breathless, as did the way Frank rocked against her. Briar Rose smooched him again, feeling reckless and hot, her hips grinding against his. It was crazy and risky but God she didn't want to stop, and then his hand slipped up under her sweater, strong fingers gliding under the bottom of her bra . . .
"Y-you're copping a feel?" Briar Rose accused breathlessly, her own hands trying to find some way in under his bulky Aran sweater.
"Damned right I am," Frank assured her with a quick grin. "It's been on my to-do list."
Briar Rose wanted to protest but several things happened all at once.
First, in the course of all their groping, her shirt had ridden up, and the waistband of her slacks, particularly in the back, puckered a bit, opening a space between fabric and her lower spine.
Secondly, the shifting also brought her rear end in alignment with the pushbar for the ice cube dispenser.
Consequently when Frank's hand slid over her left breast, Briar Rose backed up, and three frosty ice cubes dropped down her back and into her pants.
She yelped at the sudden chill, lurching up against Frank who kissed her again, smothering her little cries with his own enthusiasm, and it wasn't until she desperately wriggled out of his grip and began rapidly undoing her slacks that he stared.
"Sweetheart . . ." he warned, glancing to the doorway, but Briar Rose was digging behind her, hopping a little now.
"Ice!" she hissed at him, finding one of the cubes as the other two dropped down one pant leg to clatter on the linoleum floor. "In my pants!"
Frank lost it. He broke into laughter and had to lean on the counter to support himself as angrily, Briar Rose picked up the offending cubes, threw them down the disposal and turned it on.
He was still smirking when she glared at him; the rush of hurt at his amusement so strong it made her ball her fists. Briar Rose whistled and George came trotting in. She bent to hook his collar.
"We're going home now," she told the dog.
"Wait," Frank sobered, reaching for her but Briar Rose pushed his hand away.
"No," she shot back. "Thank you for dinner."
"Briar Rose . . ." she heard the worry in his voice and part of her wanted to forgive him, but another part—the louder part in her head right now—didn't.
"Don't," she warned him coolly. "I don't want to say something hurtful right now so best let me go, Frank. I'll talk to you another time."
Scooping up her purse and coat, she led George out, well-aware of Frank trailing behind her like a watchful bear. She drove off, and it wasn't until she pulled into the driveway of her own home ten minutes later that Briar Rose wiped her wet eyes. When she went for a tissue, her fingers touched something and she pulled out the mistletoe.
She sniffled all over again.
