In the St. Nick of Time

“You must be Kay.”

She jumped at the masculine voice.

“Your brothers have been waiting for you.” The stranger leaned against a half-painted post, his face hidden in the shadows. “Need help with the cookies?”

“No, thanks.” Kay admired the rippling muscles across his back as he bent to drop the paintbrush in the pan and turned, advancing toward her. His crystal green eyes twinkled, snug jeans rode low on slim hips. Bare-chested, he strode with athletic grace. Very nice. She shivered, an unexpected, lustful surge zipping through her.

Adjusting the foil that covered the tray, Kay said, “How did you know I had cookies?”

“Every five minutes or so, one of your brothers yells, ‘Where is Kay with the cookies?’” The laugh lines around his eyes deepened with his genuine smile.

“Nice to be wanted,” she grumbled. Shifting the tray on her hip, she gripped the screen door’s handle.

“Hey, I bet my sisters never looked at their watches and wondered, ‘Where’s Flynn with the Guinness and chips?’” His infectious smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “My brothers-in-law, maybe, but definitely not my sisters.”