Page 1 of Seducing Daddy

Chapter 1

Rex

According to my calculations, this was approximately the fiftieth holiday potluck I’d attended this year, but I wasn’t complaining, nor was my belly. If my brothers and I didn’t show our faces at Mama’s annual Christmas party, she’d have our heads, finishing us off in her typical classy fashion, probably by tanning our hides and making an overstuffed ottoman out of us both. That way, she could remind us who was boss while taking a load off her “tootsies” and devouring her latest trashy romance. The fresh addition would go well in this tastefully appointed living room with burl coffee tables in modern, clean-lined silhouettes; an oyster-colored linen sectional was currently filled with guests whose homes were deliberately decorated to hide country dirt, rather than giving it the middle finger as Mama’s hand-knotted ivory wool rug did in this room.

Nonetheless, it was simpler to show up when summoned, which she did more often ever since Dad passed away two years ago.

“God damn, what is this?” my brother, Chet, asked, purposefully taking the Lord’s name in vain in my presence.

He thought doing so was a real hoot.

“You’re stuffing your mug with what Mom said is a brie and a fig crostini. It’s more heavenly than you deserve, that’s for sure,” I retorted bitingly.

“Hilarious,” he remarked, talking with his mouth full for my benefit and shoving yet another appetizer in his maw. Trust me, every single one of Mama’s three boys, two in town and one living in Idaho, knew exactly how to behave.

That didn’t mean my brothers ever passed up an opportunity to poke fun at my status as a preacher. They couldn’t get past the profession I’d chosen as a man of God, asking me regularly why I chose a life of celibacy—just to bug me. It didn’t matter how many times I told them I wasn’t that kind of reverend.

They insisted I wasn’t getting any action, even though the church of my choosing was nondenominational and allowed me to couple if I so chose. I just didn’t have dating on my mind, let alone settling down seriously with a woman.

The voice inside my head accused liar with good reason. As it so happened, there was a woman who plagued my thoughts both night and day. The only problem—she wanted nothing to do with me. To hear the town folk tell of it, Jolene Paris wanted nothing to do with any man.

It wasn’t just me.

At this moment, she stood in the corner with one of her best friends, who was about a gazillion years older than her and also a member of the Drago family. It was only in a small town like Briarville where you had the pious partying with business owners who started off their careers as gangsters. Come to think of it, the original “settlers” of this area followed a similar trajectory, swindling native residents out of their land and reinventing themselves as barons when the trees, fish, cattle, and land lined their coffers with gold.

I watched the toffee-hair-colored imp whose sassy mouth, gorgeous curves, and plump lips gave me sinful thoughts. She made her way towards the ancient, Italian woman, known as “Nonna”, with a punch-bowl-sized pour of blue liquid. I strained to hear Jolene’s words as she handed it over, speaking to the spunky elder. “All right. Try it. That’s the bartender’s best attempt at making you a Blue Hawaiian. He looked up the recipe on his phone, so please, no complaining to him.”

“Complain? Why would I do that? So long as he put enough shots in, I’m high-key excited about this drink right now.” The septuagenarian wobbled slightly on her skyscraper-high heels and pursed her ox blood-painted lips to prepare for the straw.

“High-key, Nonna? You’re going to have to explain that one.” Jolene grimaced in good humor.

“I’m with my squad. It’s going to be a very Buon Natale. The craft fair is only two weeks away, and I’m shook! In a good way. Aren’t you? We’re going to make bank.” Her voice wobbled slightly, and she took another sip of her aquamarine drink. Setting it on a burl side table, she gave the impression she could topple over at any moment during the best of times, let alone when woozy on holiday punch.

I meandered over to the two women, observing Jolene sliding a coaster under the huge goblet full of cocktail, and told myself I did so in order to be certain that Nonna was okay.

Hell, even a man of the cloth lies to himself sometimes.

I wondered if Jolene suspected how much I longed for her. It wouldn’t do if the town’s most popular clergyman suddenly earned a reputation for being a womanizer. Especially when Jolene did her best to give off don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t dare look at me vibes.

It was the last one that killed me the most. She didn’t act as though she knew she was beautiful. I often wondered how anyone as pretty as her could look in the mirror every day without growing conceited.

Prickly? Yes.

Arrogant? No.

Tall and slim enough to be a model, she didn’t carry herself like a woman who grew up being told how pretty she was all the time. Jolene turned towards me, prompted by Nonna’s nonverbal greeting. I just stood there, staring, as if she didn’t shake up my entire world, and noted the way she was dressed in black, as if in a constant state of mourning. Her nose was pretty, Grecian, and I wanted to tell her how the flush on her pale cheek was like the flush of sundown on snow.

The holidays were all about being together, and I wanted to be with Jolene.

Alone.

A good Christmas meant good food, a good laugh, and good company.

Simple.

I was grateful for the small-town community we lived in.

But I fantasized about sharing my holiday exclusively with her.

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