Sarge carried the crates into the hall, shaking his head as he went. When Lita, James, and their groggy bass player helped with the unloading, he was surprised at first, until he noticed the concerned glances in his direction. On a trip to the van, Sarge caught up with James. “You told them I was staying with Jasmine, didn’t you?”

James adjusted his sunglasses. “I don’t participate in gossip.”

Okay. That was accurate. None of them did. Still… “Lita just gave me the awkward shoulder pat of the century. Something’s up.”

As if the sky would fall down if he were forced to converse, James dropped his head forward on a sigh. “There’s a video of you and Jasmine in a toy store…it’s circulating.”

A throb pushed at his jugular. “When you say circulating…”

“A few million hits.”

“Oh. Great.” He ripped a hand through his hair. “That might account for why I haven’t heard from her.”

“I sent you the video days ago. You should check your email.”

“Email,” Sarge repeated for no reason, his voice dull.

Lita pushed between the two men on her way to the van. “Hey, what if I played an entire set on one of these mini drum sets? We could all pretend like it was completely normal and everyone would trip balls.”

James’s lips twitched.

Sarge started to question them both about their motives for coming to New Jersey, when Lita slammed the van door and crossed her arms, staring at something past Sarge’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but Yoko just showed up.”

“Yoko?” Sarge turned—and almost staggered back with the impact of seeing Jasmine when he hadn’t been expecting it. Or had time to brace himself. She was dressed up for Christmas Eve, dark hair piled on top of her head, lips painted the color of cranberries. Her legs looked an extra mile long, thanks to a pair of black high heels that Sarge instantly wanted to hear hit the floor. She stopped short upon seeing them, pulling her winter coat tighter around her body.

Dammit, I should be the one warming her up.

The fact that she remained between the rows of cars, as if someone had hit a pause button, made him want to rage at the darkening sky. She should have walked faster or beckoned him closer. Not stopped. Never stopped. Did that mean she was sticking to her decision? Fuck. That.

“Can you two head inside?”

James indicated the church in a “ladies first” gesture for Lita, but the drummer took her time sauntering past, giving Jasmine a lazy once-over. “I saw the video. You’ve got pipes, I’ll give you that.”

“Lita…” Sarge warned.

“I’m just saying.” The drummer held up both hands. “If she wants to sing with the band, she should come around for a legit tryout. This is a democracy.”

Gratefulness flooded Sarge, so much that he was actually able to nod at Lita in the face of Jasmine rejecting him. Not an easy feat. A minute later, James had shuffled Sarge’s bandmate off to the church, leaving him standing alone with Jasmine. Not really alone, though, since the parking lot was filling around them. Parents wrapped scarves around their children and guided them inside; Hook residents called “merry Christmas” to one another over the hum of car engines; the cold wind picked up around all of it, making the church parking lot feel like the inside of a snow globe. One that needed to be shaken until it put Jasmine in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, Jas.”

She adjusted the pink bakery box on her hip, making him notice it for the first time. “Merry Christmas, Sarge.”

He’d been right. This was indeed some serious bullshit. Conscious of the multitude of people with them in the parking lot, Sarge closed the distance between him and Jasmine, angling his body so no one would see his face. “What’s in the box?”

“Um.” She looked down, obviously thrown by the question. “Cheesecake.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head. “Fruit topping?”

She shifted in her heels. “Strawberries. Why are you asking me this?”

“Not sure. I think I’m kind of enjoying how impossible small talk is between us.” He took one more step closer, bringing them less than a foot apart. God, what he wouldn’t have given to knock the box out of her hand and shove her up against a parked car. It wouldn’t take much to get that dress up around her waist, would it? Somehow, though, he maintained the scant distance separating them. “Nice weather we’re having, right?”

“Stop it.”

Sarge leaned back, allowing his gaze to travel up her stocking-clad legs, over the curve of her hip. “I think we’ll have snow for Christmas.”

A white cloud of air puffed from her cranberry lips. “I’m going inside.”

Jasmine took one step to bypass him, and just a simple brush of their shoulders seemed to break them both. She made a small sound, heels scuffing on the concrete. Sarge snagged an arm around her waist and dragged her back around, into the warmth of his body. Right where they fit. Right where she belonged. The pastry box plonked onto the ground, but neither one of them moved to pick it up as Sarge walked them back, using a van to hide them from view.

“You’re so angry.”

Hardball pitches, one by one, landed in his midsection, hearing those whispered words. But denying the accusation in them would be a lie. “Of course I’m angry. You looked nervous to see me. You know how much I hate that?”

“Not nervous.” She wet her lips. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”

His forehead dropped to rest on hers. “Baby, you want my mouth.”

It hadn’t been posed as a question, but it was still for her to answer. “I don’t…know if that’s wise. I haven’t—”

“Changed your mind. I know.” Or he did now, anyway. Sarge ignored the drilling pain and focused on her eyes. She shook her head and started to speak again, but he pressed a thumb to her lips. “We can go back to bullshit and small talk afterward. I’ll just need your taste on my tongue to get through it.”

Her eyelids fell. “We can’t keep doing this.” She struggled a little in his grip. “After what you told me, I have no excuse. I would be leading you on.”

“Lead me on, then.” He lifted her off the ground, planting her backside against the nearest car trunk and fusing their bodies together. “I’m asking you to lead me on. There’s your permission. Make me believe this is real.”

“You can’t ask me to do that—”

Sarge kissed the words off her mouth. He could almost feel them crumbling under the impact of his lips and tongue. The occasional raking of his teeth over her full lower lip. Wind whistled past, but couldn’t drown out their mutual heartbeats. His galloped like a runaway horse in his ears…and Jasmine’s. He could hear it, would hear it a country away, wouldn’t he? It sounded like he’d heard it eight thousand times, when logic told him that was impossible. Her body shifted between him and the car trunk, her hands tugging him closer…then pushing him away. Away. Away?

“Sarge.”

He’d been expecting Jasmine’s voice, but it was Adeline, calling him from the church entrance. He and Jasmine traded breaths for a heavy moment before he turned his head and called, “Yeah?”

A low chuckle. “Your band is ready, but they have no lead singer. Know anyone who could help them out?”

“Be there in a minute.” He returned his attention to Jasmine.

“Go,” she whispered.

He hated that word coming from the swollen mouth he’d just kissed. “I smeared your lipstick.”

“I know.” Her tits were lifting and falling so fast. Up and down. Dragging over his chest. “It’s all over your mouth.”

Sarge couldn’t resist. “Wipe it off.”

She looked to be considering it, but shook her head. “No.”

“Wipe it off or I’ll be wearing it on stage.”

“Jesus.” Jasmine actually laughed, and it calmed some of the thunderheads clashing in his brain. Using her thumb, she wiped away the cranberry coloring, pulling away quickly when his tongue licked out to taste her. “You’re good to go.”