Kissing Under The Mistletoe: The Sullivans (Contemporary Romance) Read online

  “I will not allow you to leave,” Lucia Ferrer had declared.

  But Mary had not only inherited her mother’s dark hair, flashing blue eyes, and olive complexion, she’d inherited her stubbornness as well.

  “This is my chance to finally get out of this small town,” she’d retorted in rapid-fire Italian. The two of them were so similar that the years since Mary had hit adolescence had been fraught with tension. Her father had done his best to try to smooth things out between mother and daughter, and she could see the alarm in his eyes at their exchange.

  “That man you met at the coffee shop wants to take you to New York so that you can bare your skin to strangers in flashy clothes after they’ve painted your face with makeup like a tramp.”

  Terribly frustrated with the way her mother was automatically assuming the worst—and the fact that she wasn’t giving Mary any credit at all for knowing right from wrong—she explained again. “Randy is a scout who works with a very successful agency. He says he can get me work as a model with famous designers in Paris and London and New York City.” Lifting her chin, she declared, “There’s nothing you can say or do that will stop me from going.”

  But her mother refused to see things Mary’s way. “If you leave today, don’t bother ever coming back. You will no longer be my daughter.”

  In that moment, one she’d never forget, Mary had let her mother’s absolute refusal to see reason—and her own flaring temper—push her all the way out the door and away from their small country village.

  But Mary had never believed her mother would stand by her threat.

  She’d been wrong.

  As Mary opened her eyes, she was glad of the chance to focus on the lights and excitement of downtown San Francisco at Christmastime rather than giving in to the gnawing pain in her heart that had grown bigger and bigger over the years that she'd been estranged from her parents.

  But though she dearly wished she and her mother could have seen eye to eye over her career opportunities, Mary couldn’t imagine giving up the experiences she’d had all over the world or having had the chance to work with so many talented and passionate people. The past thirteen years had been exciting, lucrative and challenging. Despite the long hours and working in conditions like today, when the winter wind blew straight through the thin velvet of her dress and chilled her from the inside out, she would never complain about her career.

  Gerry, one of her favorite photographers, moved to where she was standing at the side of the set with an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry for the delay, Mary. I know it’s cold out here. Are you ready to get started again so we can finish up and then go get warm?”

  Shaking off her thoughts of the past, she smiled back at him. “Absolutely.”

  But instead of picking up where they’d left off, he put his hand on her arm. “I still can’t believe this is the last time I’ll get to photograph you. Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

  Mary would have hugged him if it didn’t mean sending all of the stylists into a panic and losing another fifteen minutes to more touch-ups to her hair and makeup and clothes.

  She’d had an amazing career and was still in high demand around the world for both print campaigns and runway shows, but after seeing what happened to models when they kept working past their prime, and how bitter they became when they were inevitably passed over for younger women, she’d made the decision to step into the next phase of her life.

  “I’ve loved working with you, Gerry. Hopefully, we’ll work together again in a different way in the future.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do next?”

  As soon as she’d announced her retirement from modeling, Mary had been offered plenty of opportunities to consider: fashion editor for a major magazine, working with Randy at the agency, taking on an advisory role for a makeup company. As a teenager, she’d known becoming a fashion model was exactly the right choice. Now, after thirteen nonstop years, she knew she needed to take as much time as necessary to think through her next steps. And she would start by settling into the beautiful attached house she had rented last month on Nob Hill, just a few blocks from Union Square.

  “As soon as I decide,” she promised her friend, “you’ll be one of the first to hear.”

  As she moved back onto the set, she turned her gaze to the side and saw an extremely handsome man who was watching the shoot. He was wearing a suit, but his dark hair was a little too long and his five-o’clock shadow looked as if it hadn’t been touched for half a week, at least. His eyes were interested, like those of so many others. But something about the way he was looking at her was slightly different…as if he was looking deeper than men usually did.

  Oh my.

  Mary had worked with the best-looking men in the world, but none of them had ever made her feel this shock of attraction. Especially not with just one look.

  The suit, frankly, looked all wrong on him. And not just because it needed better quality fabric in the hands of a top-notch tailor. Something told her that well-worn jeans and a favorite long-sleeved shirt would have accented the man’s rugged sensuality much better.

  “That’s perfect, Mary,” Gerry called out to her. “Your look of longing is exactly right. Hold steady with it while I get some shots from the other side.”

  She’d been so lost in the beautiful stranger’s eyes that she hadn’t realized Gerry had started shooting again.

  It wasn’t like her to be caught off guard while working. She was known for her focus and stamina. And, sometimes, if people were being disrespectful to her or the crew on a shoot, her Italian temper would be revealed. Since she always gave her best, she didn’t think it was too much to ask others to do the same.

  Longing. That’s what Gerry called this feeling inside her chest. And perhaps he was right.

  Mary had been a virgin when she left Italy at nineteen and, with her mother’s voice continuing to ring loudly in the back of her head, she’d been careful not to let anyone take advantage of her innocence, either personally or professionally. At twenty-one, she’d truly believed she was in love with her first lover and that he felt the same about her. Too late, she’d realized he was simply in love with her glossy image. He was always gone before the morning light brought bed head and morning breath. Then, when she’d been hit with an awful flu and he wouldn’t come anywhere near her, she’d had to finally accept the truth that he only appreciated her when she was the “perfect” version of Mary Ferrer.

  She’d been more careful with her next boyfriend, and the one after that. She’d made certain they had plenty of occasions to see the real her. And yet, as each relationship progressed and then eventually fizzled, she couldn’t help but feel that they had all expected so much more from her than from other women. She wondered if she would ever be able to live up to the idealized image men had of her from all her magazine and newspaper photos.

  But it was her last relationship that had taught her the most. Romain Bollinger owned the finest watch company in the world. She had been hired to promote his important new line of Swiss watches, and though she’d always been careful not to mix business with pleasure, he was persistent—and charming—enough that she became his lover, as well. However, when the ad men decided the next phase of advertising for the ultra-important brand would be better served in the future by a woman ten years Mary’s junior, Romain agreed with them by replacing Mary not only in his ads…but in his bed, as well.

  That’s when she learned that he had wanted her not for herself, but for her value to his company, both in his campaign and on his arm at parties. When her value disappeared, so did any pretense of affection. She’d been determined to finish out her contract, and that final week of photo shoots with Romain hovering over her harshly critiquing every pose and expression had been excruciating.

  As she’d walked out of Romain’s Geneva penthouse for the very last time after finding him in bed with her young replacement, she’d sworn that she would never give up her fr
eedom for anything but true love.

  Now thirty-two, and still nowhere close to finding true love, Mary was all but certain her “freedom” would last forever.

  But as the stranger’s eyes remained locked on hers while she held his gaze so that Gerry could get the shot he wanted, a shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the cool December air rushing over her skin.

  Mistaking the reason for her shiver, Gerry called out to one of the crew to turn up the portable heaters on set.

  For the next couple of hours, she continued to pose. Strangers came and went all around Union Square, but the beautiful stranger remained exactly where he was. Perhaps she should have been wary from his interest, but he didn’t look alarming in any way.

  He simply looked like a man who was interested in a woman.

  Maybe, she thought as Gerry finished shooting his final roll of film and the gorgeous stranger walked toward her, today wouldn’t be an end, but the beginning of something new and amazing.

  Chapter Three

  As the sun set behind the buildings in Union Square, the temperature immediately dropped by several degrees. Normally, once they called a wrap, Mary would have rushed back to her dressing room trailer to warm up with a cup of tea but, despite her shivers, she headed toward the man to meet him as he walked directly toward her.

  Instead of simply holding out his hand and introducing himself, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. If another man had done this, it would have felt presumptuous, but Mary sensed that he was genuinely concerned for her having been out in the cold for so many hours.

  His jacket, so big that it swamped her slim frame, smelled like clean, warm male. She wanted to burrow deeper into it, but instead she held it closed across her chest with one chilled hand while holding the other out to him. “I’m Mary. Mary Ferrer.”

  “It’s been a pleasure watching you work, Mary. I’m Jack Sullivan.”

  Despite having stood outside in the cold for the past several hours without any lights or portable heaters nearby, when his fingers closed over hers, they were warm. Even in her heels, she had to tilt her head to look up at his face and figured he was at least three inches above six feet. His shoulders were broad, his hips trim, and his hand over hers was large and strong.

  “Could I take you for a cup of coffee or something to eat? You’ve been working so hard, I expect you’re starved.” He grinned and said, “I know a place not far from here that’s got the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted.”

  She couldn’t have contained her pleasure even if she’d tried. “I love cherry pie.” She gestured at her dress and heels. “I just need to get out of this outfit first and thank the photographer and his crew.”

  “Take your time. I’ll wait here.”

  She started to take off his jacket, but he put his hands over hers where she was holding the lapels. “Keep the jacket. You can give it back to me once you've changed.”

  Every time he touched her, she lost her breath. And as she moved to where Gerry and his crew were packing things up, her hands were still tingling from the brush of his fingers over hers.

  Making sure not to rush her goodbyes, Mary hugged each member of the crew. “Thank you so much for making my last shoot one of my very best.”

  Hugs and kisses came from people she’d worked with countless times over the past thirteen years. What she’d miss most about modeling wasn’t seeing her face on magazine covers, but not seeing the family of photographers and lighting technicians and stylists she’d grown to love so much.

  Gerry held her the longest. “I know you’re ready to move on, Mary, but I’m going to keep holding out hope that we’re going to do this again. Soon.”

  Her eyes were damp when she finally stepped into her trailer to strip out of the red velvet dress and put it back on the soft hanger. By the time she’d slipped off the beautiful heels and pulled on her jeans, along with a turtleneck and a loose sweater that floated over her curves, excitement—and heady anticipation—was moving through her.

  Okay, so it was just coffee and pie with a gorgeous man, but some of the greatest things started from something small, didn’t they? And hadn’t the last big change in her life—thirteen years ago—happened over a cup of coffee with Randy?

  Mary didn’t waste any more time checking her appearance before opening the trailer door and walking back toward Jack. She even liked the sound of his name.

  Jack Sullivan.

  His dark eyes were intense as he held her gaze, and she felt every inch of her skin come alive.

  “You’ve been standing in the cold for hours,” she said as she held out his jacket. “You should really have this back now.”

  But instead of taking it, he asked, “Where’s your coat?”

  “It was surprisingly warm this morning when I came on set and since I figured I’d be heading straight back home in a taxi after the shoot, I didn’t bother to bring one.”

  He took his jacket from her, but only to slide it back over her shoulders again. “It looks better on you.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back, and even through all of the fabric she could feel how warm he was.

  They didn’t speak as they walked the couple of short blocks to the diner, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. On the contrary, Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so immediately at ease with someone. And yet, at the same time, her skin felt just a little too sensitive, her lips fuller and tingly, her breath coming faster, even though they were on one of the rare flat streets in the hilly city.

  When Jack held the door for her, Mary took note of the small gesture with pleasure. She was all for women’s liberation, especially considering she’d been earning her own way for more than a decade, but she couldn’t see why it had to mean the loss of common courtesy.

  The gray-haired woman behind the counter greeted Jack like an old friend and eyed Mary with obvious interest. “Two pieces of cherry pie, warm, with big fat scoops of ice cream on top?”

  Mary smiled at the woman, who reminded her of her mother’s friends back in Italy. Everything that needed to be said could always be said with food. Warm pies, cold ices and fresh baked bread all spoke loudly of love as well as words ever could.

  “That would be lovely, thank you,” she said as she slid onto the shiny red seat in a corner booth. “And some coffee, as well, please.”

  “I’ll take some java, too, Betty.” Jack waited until Mary had taken off his jacket before saying, “I’ve never seen a model at work before. It was fascinating.”

  Long ago she’d learned how to accept a compliment graciously, something she thought was at least as important as knowing how to take constructive criticism. “Thank you. Gerry, the photographer, is wonderful to work with. He makes the process as easy as possible for all of us.”

  Betty brought over their slices of pie, the ice cream already melting down the edges of the thick crust and warm cherries. But it was the coffee that Mary went for first to warm her cold hands. She held on to it for a moment and enjoyed the heat against her palms before taking a sip.

  “How long have you been modeling?”

  At the beginning of her career, fame had been tremendously fun and heady for a young girl from a small Italian village. As the years went by, however, it had become more and more invasive. And surprisingly lonely, even with people constantly around her. It was rare that she met anyone who didn’t know who she was.

  “Ever since I left Italy when I was nineteen.” She didn’t see a point in hiding her age, so she added, “That was thirteen years ago.”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise. “We’re the same age.” He gave her one of his devastating grins that made her heart beat faster. “The years are another thing you wear better than I do.”

  “If you ask me,” she murmured, “they look pretty good on you, too.”

  Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted with a man. She was always so careful not to lead anyone on, just in case he thought
she was feeling something she wasn’t. But the attraction that had simmered between the two of them in Union Square was heating up with every moment they spent together.

  “Where in Italy?”

  “A little town nobody has ever heard of called Rosciano.”

  “I imagine your life over the past thirteen years has been very different from how you grew up.”

  “Well, I had hoped it would be.” Feeling that had come out wrong, she clarified, “I had a great childhood, but I desperately wanted to see more of the world. San Francisco is one of my favorite places, which is why I’ve decided to stay for a while. This city certainly isn’t small, but it still reminds me of my old town in a lot of ways. The hills. The water nearby. How friendly the people are.”

  Mary had been interviewed dozens of times over the years, by some of the best journalists in the business. But none of them had ever looked at her with such honest interest. Because even when they’d been friendly with each other, she’d only been a job to them. Mary had worked so much during her adult years that she’d always met the men she dated on the job.

  She was extremely glad that Jack had nothing whatsoever to do with her career. It made her feel even more convinced that something might actually be possible with him. She wasn’t a product for him. She wasn’t connected to his bottom line.

  She was simply a woman getting to know him.

  “Did your brothers or sisters leave the country, too?”

  “Unlike most Italian families, I was an only child. My mother—” She paused and tried not to betray the emotion that always came over her when she spoke of her mother, but she could already hear the little bit of an Italian accent that always slipped into her voice when she spoke of home and her childhood. “She always longed for more children, but her prayers weren’t answered.”