by Naima Simone
Ivy nodded. “Yeah, fine,” she said, the moody half sister returning. Shrugging a shoulder, she turned and headed into the common area, plopping down on the couch and removing her headphones from her coat pocket.
Nessa stared after her. For a second there, she’d almost believed... Well, it didn’t matter. They were here for Ivy to get away from the house and city that were haunted with memories of her father. And also, to fulfill Isaac’s dying wish. That his daughters be together for the holiday. In this moment, that seemed the most daunting of the hurdles to leap. If she and Ivy got through this holiday without stabbing holly through each other’s hearts, well, Merry Christmas.
Note to proprietor: “Please remove all holly from room.”
Pivoting on her boot heel, Nessa retraced her steps to the front entrance and grabbed the knob, pulling the door open. The sooner they got settled—
“Oof.”
Blindsided by what felt like a truck, she stumbled backward several steps, arms pinwheeling before her ass smacked the floor. The impact sent jarring waves up her tailbone and spine, propelling the breath from her lungs.
Ouch. And... “What the...?” She gingerly touched the prickly object that had landed on top of her head.
A wreath?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
She tipped her head back, the wreath staying firmly in place like a crown, to meet a...stack of more wreaths? The stack shifted, lowering to the floor in front of her feet.
God, that face.
A masterpiece full of sharp angles, a pair of almond-shaped emerald eyes, a blade of nose, a mouth that was a puzzling dichotomy of firm and pillow soft, golden, sands-kissed-by-the-sun skin...and a beard. A neat full one that had her hands itching with the need to stroke...and tug. She curled her fingers into her palms, trying to contain the prickling sensation as heat surged up her chest, throat and poured into her cheeks. Thick, wavy, dark brown hair tumbled around his face, the ends falling a couple of inches below his chin.
Her rapt gaze dropped, skimming over the wide, wide shoulders draped in a chocolate cable-knit sweater, down to powerful denim-covered thighs and even lower to large feet encased in well-worn work boots. Slowly, she followed the same path back up his body, meeting his green gaze.
Wow.
“Here.” He stretched his hand out to her, palm up. “Let me help you.”
For a long moment, she stared at his hand. An instinctual sense of self-preservation screamed at her not to do it. That whatever she did, she should. Not. Touch. To do so would set in motion something she wouldn’t be able to stop. As if her body heeded that warning, she scooted back a little, pulling her arms in closer to her thighs. His eyes narrowed, sharpening.
Mistake on her part. Revealing weakness to a complete stranger.
“Thanks.” Setting her jaw, she disregarded her body’s blaring objection and laid her palm over his much bigger one. Strong fingers wrapped around hers, and he stood, drawing her to her feet in a show of negligent strength that had her breath lodging in her throat—that strength and his height. Tall didn’t cover it. Big didn’t cover it.
She’d always had a weakness for big men. Jeremy Havers, the surgeon she’d been in love with before he’d decided he loved Miami and his career more, had been tall with shoulders that would’ve made a linebacker pout in jealousy.
Even more reason to avoid this guy and touching his hands.
“Can I get that back?” He dipped his head toward the wreath still perched on her hair, a smile playing with his full lips.
Showing weakness be damned, she shuffled a step backward, planting space between them. And noticed he still held her hand.
Dammit. So much for her resolution of just seconds ago.
Uttering a sound that was somewhere between a mortified groan and a cough, she released him, taking yet another step back. She jerked the Christmas decoration off her head, wincing when the stiff leaves tugged on her hair.
“Wait. Let me help.” He shifted closer, and his scent enveloped her. Cold air, wintergreen, mint and...and beneath, a trace of an unidentifiable fragrance.
Him.
His huge chest blocked out the rest of the room—hell, the world—as he lifted his arms and carefully, gently, untangled strands of her hair from the wreath. Mortification burned inside her, debunking the myth that black people didn’t blush. When he finally freed her, she ran her fingers over her hair, the gesture jumpy and unprecedented. She hadn’t even had this attack of...of...nerves with Jeremy on their first date at L’Espalier, where she’d been terrified of sending escargot sailing across the room à la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
Who was this guy?
Trouble. That’s all she needed to know. And with so much on her plate already, she didn’t have any room for trouble. Bearded and big or otherwise.
“Well, that was awkward.” Ivy appeared at Nessa’s elbow. She pinched the bridge of her nose while Ivy crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’re you?” her sister demanded.
“Sorry,” he said, the hint of a smile blooming into a full one. And whoa. That thing was the very definition of unfair practices. Or if it wasn’t, it should be. He extended his hand to Ivy. “Wolf Dennison. My parents own Kinsale Inn.”
“Wolf?” Ivy tilted her head to the side. “Like what? The animal?”
“No, like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, the composer.”
“You’re kidding,” Nessa blurted out. His gaze swung to her, and she winced. “Sorry.” Pause. “But you’re not kidding.”
“‘Fraid not. My parents named all their kids after musicians and composers,” he said, shaking his head. Then that killer grin returned with an arch of a dark eyebrow. God, so much trouble. “You think my name is bad, you should hear my brothers’ and sisters’ names. I got off easy.”
“I don’t think your name is bad,” Ivy chimed in. “We learned about Mozart in school. He was awesome and a genius. He wrote over six hundred pieces of music before he died at thirty-five.”
“Thanks, kid. ‘Bout time someone recognized the coolness of it.” He held his fist out, and Ivy bumped it, both doing the exploding hand and sound effect afterward.
Still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling, he returned his focus to Nessa. And she almost asked him to switch it back to Ivy. Those eyes and the smile? Shouldn’t there be a squadron of sighing women following him everywhere he went?
“You’re checking in?” he asked. Nessa nodded. “Great. Follow me. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. Since we were a little slow, I ran out back to grab more wreaths for the house.”
“More?” Ivy asked, drawing the word out until it stretched to about three syllables. “To put where?”
Wolf chuckled, and the low, rumbling sound reminded her of the purring engine of a muscle car. Masculine. Sexy. Ready for anything.
“You’d be surprised,” he teased, slipping past them and heading toward the desk.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
Dammit. Now the image of stressed denim hanging off his lean hips and cupping his firm ass was permanently emblazoned on her brain.
“I saw that,” Ivy half whispered, half snapped. “You so checked out his ass.”
“Language,” Nessa half whispered, half snapped back. “And I did not.”
Ivy snorted, clearly not believing her. Smart girl. Too nosy for her own good, but smart.
“All right.” Wolf flipped open a book and scanned it. “You’re either Mr. and Mrs. Calder or Nessa and Ivy Hunt. I’m going with Nessa and Ivy.”
“I’m Ivy,” her half sister volunteered. “She’s Nessa. We’re half sisters.”
Wolf nodded, studying them. His gaze drifted over her face like fingertips skimming her forehead, cheekbones, nose...lips. There went that fanciful notion again, because she could’ve sworn, she could feel his visual touch. It
stirred a simmering heat deep inside her.
A heat she hadn’t experienced in five months.
She hated that heat. She’d allowed it to convince her that men stayed. That her man, the one she’d permitted herself to imagine a future with, would be the one to stick. But while she’d been falling in love, he hadn’t. Heart versus heat. Both had sucked in the end.
So, yeah, she despised heat.
“So you’re spending the holidays together. That’s good. Family’s important.” Wolf dragged her from her admittedly bitter thoughts and turned the book around, pushing it toward Nessa. “If sometimes a pain in the ass.”
“Language,” Ivy singsonged.
For the love of... “Thanks,” Nessa said from between clenched teeth and signed the book.
Wolf withdrew a key from a drawer and handed it over to her. “Room 2. It’s the first room right at the top of the stairs. And before I forget. Breakfast is from seven to nine every morning, you’re on your own for lunch and a buffet-style dinner is served at six. The kitchen closes at nine, but there’s always some snacks left out in case you wake up with a sweet tooth.” He rounded the desk and gestured for them to follow him up the steps. Don’t freaking look. This time she forced herself to obey. “As you might have noticed on the way into town, Rose Bend really loves Christmas.”
“You don’t say,” Ivy muttered.
“Really, Mozart? And here I thought we’d bonded over the fist bump.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the preteen. And Ivy—broody, sullen, cantankerous Ivy—grinned at Wolf’s nickname. Warmth unexpectedly blossomed in Nessa’s belly, creeping its way into her chest. Had she ever seen her half sister look like that? Not even the few times they’d seen each other before her father’s death. In this instant, Ivy was a normal, carefree girl.
“There’s a pamphlet listing all the town’s holiday activities. There’s at least one thing every night, even if it’s just a chocolate tasting at the candy store or caroling in the town square.”
“I saw the Yulefest sign on the way in,” Nessa said. “Not that we could miss it. Is that some kind of festival?”
“More than a festival,” Wolf replied, glancing at her with that penetrating stare. “It’s a Rose Bend tradition. Thirty days of holiday events to celebrate Christmas. The whole town participates.”
Sounded...wholesome. “There are thirty-one days in December,” she pointed out.
A small smile curved the corner of his soft-looking mouth, making it appear even fuller. “Christmas Day is for spending time with family.”
“Oh. Right,” she murmured.
For years, she’d had a small but loving family with her mother. But she’d never see her mother’s smile or hear her laughter at their traditional gag gifts. She’d never have those Christmases again.
She blinked, dispelling the memory.
Nothing could bring back those times. Bring back her mother.
“We saw the square,” Ivy said, passing Nessa on the stairs so she climbed them beside Wolf. “And the Christmas tree. It was huge. As big as the one in Boston Common.”
“Every year, the committee finds the perfect tree at one of the farms outside of town. It’s tradition. Speaking of tradition, the lighting is tonight. It officially kicks off the Christmas season. There will be food at Town Hall afterward. You should both go.”
“I haven’t been to a tree lighting in forever! The last one was about three years ago with my da—” Ivy’s voice broke off as she froze on the top step, her fingers curling into fists by her sides.
Oh God. Nessa’s heart flew to the base of her throat. Nessa almost went to her, almost wrapped an arm around those thin shoulders. But the fear of rejection quelled the impulse. Ivy didn’t want her comfort...or Nessa.
“I’m cool. We’re probably going to be too busy unpacking and everything,” Ivy said quietly with a shrug.
Wolf peered over his shoulder at Nessa again as they cleared the second floor. And that look, as dark and mysterious as a forest and yet as sharp and incisive as a scalpel, had her nearly cringing from the intensity. She had to be careful around him. This man didn’t miss much. And seemed to sense too much, saw too deep. He had her battling the urge to splay her palms over her chest and prevent him from peering beneath skin and bone to her secrets.
She turned from him, caving to a need for self-preservation. Emotional survival. That was her number-one priority.
“We don’t have to decide now,” she said to Ivy. “It kind of sounds like fun.”
Lie. It sounded like the very opposite of fun. Standing in the cold and freezing her ass off, surrounded by a bunch of strangers to watch the lighting of a tree. Give her a night of Frontier on Netflix, a glass of wine and Lisa Gardner’s latest thriller. That was fun.
But to erase that flat, hopeless tone from Ivy’s voice...to see the little girl who’d grinned up at Wolf again...
Wolf’s chin dipped in a small nod. “Are your bags in your car?”
“Yes,” Nessa said, removing the keys from her coat pocket. “I was just about to get—”
“I got it covered.” He held out his hand, palm up. “If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll bring them up.”
“That’s not necessary. I can—”
“Nessa,” he interrupted again, tone soft but firm. Too stunned by the way his deep, warm voice wrapped around her name and slid through her veins like sun-warmed molasses, she handed the keys over without a fuss. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
He turned and disappeared down the steps at a light jog.
“That man is fine,” Ivy muttered.
“Ivy.” Nessa glared at her.
She shrugged, totally unrepentant. “What? He is. And you’re a liar if you tell me you don’t think so, too.”
With that, Ivy grabbed the doorknob to their room, turned and entered. Leaving Nessa to stare after her.
Well, what was one more lie added on top of everything else?
She muttered a curse under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Why did she suddenly feel like this month was going to pass by in Narnia time?
Don’t miss what happens next in...
Christmas in Rose Bend
by Naima Simone
Available November 2021 wherever HQN books and ebooks are sold.
www.Harlequin.com
Copyright © 2021 by Naima Simone
ISBN-13: 9780369719119
A Kiss to Remember
Copyright © 2021 by Naima Simone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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