Page 43 of A Very Naughty Christmas

His expression was amused as he watched her. “You sure you’re okay? You seemrather flustered.”

She cleared her throat. “About dying from asphyxiation tends to have that effect on me.”

“I suppose it would anyone.” He grinned.

Having the full force of his attention focused on her, she couldn’t seem to find her tongue. His amusement increased over that as did the full wattage of his smile. Even Sister Mary Edna down at the corner thrift shop wouldn’t be able to keep her panties dry under the intensity of Kyle Prescott’s gorgeous smile, and Dixie, being far less of a saint, felt her panties begin to melt.

“I’ve got tables.” Actually, she had twenty minutes left on her break, but it seemed like a good excuse at the time.

Reaching across the table, he laid his hand on top of hers. The warmth of his fingers on her bare skin had a paralyzing effect on her and she sat there mutely staring as his gaze dipped to her plate. “You’ve taken one bite. Aren’t you hungry anymore? I could keep you company while you finish.”

Her lust-infused mind seemed to think it a fabulous idea all of a sudden and she could think of nothing she wanted more. So she nodded, feeling another rush of liquid heat to her panty area as he lightly squeezed her hand. Numbly, she stared down at his long tapered fingers and neatly trimmed nails. She caught a glimpse of taupe-colored lace on a black background out of the corner of her eye. The unclaimed umbrella had somehow gotten onto her table and was lying near their hands. Lifting her head, she looked over his shoulder at the coat rack by the door. Only a few coats remained and the hook where the umbrella had hung for weeks was empty.

“What are you doing with that?” she blurted out.

“Pardon?” he asked, his perfect brows climbing up his forehead in surprise.

“The umbrella. Is it yours?”

He laughed. “It’s hardly my style. Someone I know thought she left it here and asked me to stop in on my way and check. I’ve been meaning to swing by and pick it up for at least a month.”

Someone. He meant a woman. Of course he did. As gorgeous as he was, Kyle wouldn’t ever be hurting for female companionship. He hadn’t in high school, going through the elite of the senior class and half the juniors—excluding her. Not that he hadn’t asked her out, but after the incident with Spencer, Kyle and his circle of friends, and any cocky, confident seven or higher on a scale of ten, became the exact type she avoided like the plague. Still did. He spelled trouble with a capital T.

Handsome, charming, the kind of guy every man wanted to be, and every woman wanted to be with—no matter the sacrifice. He knew it and took advantage of it. That he’dcallously talk about women in the hall like they were nothing more than a conquest, not a person with feelings or a reputation to protect, but another notch on his belt, made him a horn-dog in her book.

Her daddy had been cut from the same cloth. Ray Culbertson had attracted women like a moth to a flame and her mama had been one of them, when she’d been eighteen. They’d married six months later when she ended up pregnant with R.J., Dixie’s eldest brother. Four more babies had followed in six years, three boys and then a little girl, herself, who was the last. She’d been two when he’d finally had enough and left them.

Dixie was too young to remember her father being there. But she heard the stories about the drinking and the women, of coming home at all hours. Those tales hadn’t come from Mama, though. She’d never said a bad word about him. It had come from her grandparents, her aunts, and from R.J., who grew up exactly like him.

At thirty-six, her eldest brother practically lived at the Rocking Horse, the country western bar on the edge of town. He drank to get drunk, screwed anything in a skirt, and like dear old Dad, caroused until all hours. It had been too much for his first wife, who’d taken their infant daughter and went home to Weaverville to live with her mother. It had happened again with wife number two. Thankfully, they hadn’t started a family when she’d gotten fed up.

Her middle brother, Darrell, never let any moss grow beneath his feet as he moseyed from one bed to the next. Married, single, widowed, he didn’t care as long as he could add a notch for another pussy claimed to his bedpost. They were both carbon copies of their dad.

At least Bobby and Lee, her youngest two brothers, weren’t married. But they went through girlfriends so fast, she’d come out and asked why they didn’t install revolving doors in their bedrooms. That had gotten them high-fives, like it was an achievement when she’d posed that question in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. Lee at least had seemed embarrassed as she and Mama had glared at the four of them.

Then there had been her friend Cissy’s old man, who had cheated within a year of saying “I do” and while she was carrying her precious baby girl. And she couldn’t forget the four other pregnant girls from her senior class who were left to go it alone after graduation. And Dixie herself had not been immune to the love ‘em, get in their panties, and leave ‘em type. It hadn’t only been Spencer Hicks as he’d bragged so audaciously, but also a boy in college who she thought was different. After a few weeks of getting to know each other, hand holding and sweet kisses, he’d pushed for more and she’d let him in—gifting him her virginity, which was the last time she’d heard from him.

All the men in her life were horn-dogs, especially Kyle. Although she had hoped desperately that he’d be different, he wasn’t. And she’d never forgiven him for playing a part in ruining her junior homecoming, what should have been a fond memory.

Were all men this way, or did she attract jerks like her mama? She’d alwayswondered. Or maybe, like one of her friends had pointed out, she subconsciously sought them out to continue to prove her theory right. Perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophesy so when they let her down, as she expected, she wouldn’t be left heartbroken and devastated like her mother was.

“My break is almost over.” She pushed her untouched piece of pie his way. “Here, help yourself. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Dixie, wait.”

But she didn’t, having already gathered the rest of her untouched meal and slid out of the booth, tray in hand. She heard the squeak of vinyl as he also left the booth. And she didn’t turn at the occasional slap of his wet sneakers against the tile floor as he followed her all the way across the diner to the gap in the counter, which led to the kitchen and dish room in back. Before she could disappear through the swinging doors, he caught her arm and turned her around. The dishes on her tray rattled.

“Until today, you haven’t said two words to me since high school. And it wasn’t from my lack of trying.”

“Do you blame me? In one brief snippet of conversation, I’d heard enough to last a lifetime.” She drew her arm away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Give me a chance to explain.”

“What’s to say? You and your football buddies were talking about my tits and ass in the hallway and what an easy lay I was.”

“You walked in on something you didn’t understand.”

“And I never will. I don’t understand treating any woman like a piece of meat.”

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