Blame It On Christmas. Janice Maynard

Nothing moved. Except one thing. One startling and rather large thing.

       Jackson Beauregard Vaughan was aroused. Since Mazie had plastered herself against his front, it was rather impossible for him to hide. She found his mouth with hers and threw every ounce of her undiluted teenage passion into an eager, desperate kiss.

       J.B. tasted wonderful, exactly like he did in her dreams, only better.

       For a moment, she thought she had won.

       His arms tightened around her. His mouth crushed hers. His tongue thrust between her lips and stroked the inside of her mouth. Her legs lost feeling. She clung to his shoulders. “J.B.,” she whispered. “Oh, J.B.”

       Her words shocked him out of whatever spell he’d been under. He jerked away so hard and so fast, she stumbled.

       J.B. never even held out a hand to keep her from falling.

       He stared at her, his features shadowed in the unflattering yellowish glare of the porch light. The sun had gone down, and the dark night was alive with the smells and sounds of spring.

       Very deliberately, he wiped a hand across his mouth. “Like I said, Mazie. You’re a kid. Which means you need to stick to the kiddie pool.”

       His harsh words, particularly coming on the heels of that kiss, confused her. “Why are you being so mean?” she whispered.

       She saw the muscles in his throat work.

       “Why are you being so naive and clueless?”

       Hot tears sprang to her eyes. She wouldn’t let them fall. “I think we’re done here. Do me a favor, J.B. If you ever find yourself in the midst of an apocalypse—zombie or otherwise—and if you and I are the only two humans left on the planet, go screw yourself.”

      “Mazie...hello... Mazie.”

      Gina’s voice shocked Mazie back to the present. “Sorry,” she said. “I was thinking about something.”

      “About J.B., right? You were ready to tell me why you loathe the man after all these years, and why you won’t sell this property to him, even though he’s offered you three times what it’s worth.”

      Mazie swallowed, shaking off the past. “He broke my heart when we were teenagers, and he was kind of a jerk about it, so yeah... I don’t want to hand him everything he wants.”

      “You’re being illogical.”

      “Maybe so.”

      “Forget the money. Hasn’t he also offered you two other properties that are prime locations for our shop? And he’s willing to do a trade, easy peasy? What are you waiting for, Mazie?”

      “I want him to squirm.”

      J.B. had bought up every single square foot of property in a two-block strip near the Battery. He planned a massive renovation, working, of course, within the parameters of historic Charleston’s preservation guidelines. The street-level storefronts would be glitzy retail space, charming and Southern and unique. Upstairs, J.B.’s vision included luxurious condos and apartments, some with views of the picturesque harbor and Fort Sumter in the distance.

      The only thing standing in J.B.’s way was Mazie. And Mazie’s property. And the fact that he didn’t own it.

      Gina waved a hand in front of Mazie’s face. “Stop spacing out. I understand wanting to torment your teenage nemesis, but are you seriously going to stonewall the man just to make a point?”

      Mazie ground her teeth until her head ached. “I don’t know if I’m willing to sell to him. I need time to think about it.”

      “What if the agent doesn’t call you back?”

      “She will. J.B. never gives up. It’s one of his best qualities and one of his most annoying.”

      “I hope you’re right.”

      J.B. slid into the dark booth and lifted a hand to summon a server. He’d worn a sport coat and a tie for an earlier meeting. Now, he loosened his collar and dispensed with the neckwear.

      Jonathan Tarleton was already sitting in the opposite corner nursing a sparkling water with lime. J.B. lifted an eyebrow in concern. “You look like hell. What’s wrong?”

      His friend grimaced. “It’s these bloody headaches.”

      “You need to see a doctor.”

      “I have.”

      “Then you need to see a better one.”

      “Can we please stop talking about my health? I’m thirty, not eighty.”

      “Fine.” J.B. wanted to pursue the issue, but Jonathan was clearly not interested. J.B. sat back with a sigh, nursing his beer. “Your sister is driving me crazy. Will you talk to her?” He couldn’t admit the real reason he needed help. He and Mazie were oil and water. She hated him, and J.B. had tried for years to tell himself he didn’t care.

      The truth was far murkier.

      “Mazie is stubborn,” Jonathan said.

      “It’s a Tarleton trait, isn’t it?”

      “You’re one to talk.”

      “I’ve literally put my entire project on hold, because she’s jerking me around.”

      Jonathan tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “My sister is not fond of you, J.B.”

      “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Mazie refuses to talk about selling. What am I supposed to do?”

      “Sweeten the pot?”

      “With what? She doesn’t want my money.”

      “I don’t know. I’ve always wondered what you did to piss her off. Why is my little sister the only woman in Charleston who’s immune to the famous J.B. Vaughan charm?”

      J.B. ground his jaw. “Who knows?” he lied. “I don’t have time to play games, though. I need to break ground by the middle of January to stay on schedule.”

      “She likes pralines.”

      Jonathan drawled the three words with a straight face, but J.B. knew when he was being taunted. “You’re suggesting I buy her candy?”

      “Candy...flowers... I don’t know. My sibling is a complicated woman. Smart as hell with a wicked sense of humor, but she has a dark side, too. She’ll make you work for this, J.B. You might as well be prepared to crawl.”

      J.B. took a swig of his drink and tried not to think about Mazie at all. Everything about her flipped his switches. But he couldn’t go there. Ever.

      He choked and set down his glass until he could catch his breath.

      Hell’s bells.

      The Tarleton progeny were beautiful people, all of them. Though J.B. barely remembered Jonathan’s poor mother, what he recalled was a stunning, gorgeous woman with a perpetually sad air about her.

      Jonathan and Hartley had inherited their mother’s olive complexion, dark brown eyes and chestnut hair. Mazie had the Tarleton coloring, too, but her skin was fairer, and her eyes were more gold than brown. Amber, actually.

      Though her brother kept his hair cut short to tame its tendency to curl, Mazie wore hers shoulder length. In the heat and humidity of summer, she kept it up in a ponytail. But during winter, she left it down. He hadn’t seen her in several months. Sometimes J.B. dropped by the Tarletons’ home on Thanksgiving weekend, but this year, he’d been tied up with other commitments.

      Now it was December.

      “I’ll take the candy under advisement,” he said.