by Lori Wilde
“You remembered.” She pressed a palm against her chest, feeling the air in her lungs rise, fall, rise again. “That daisies are my favorite flowers.”
His work-roughened fingers touched her wrist as he handed her the flowers. It was slight contact, but oh! Her nerve-endings responded as if it had been full-on, naked-body-to-naked-body contact. Tingling and burning. Aching and sizzling. More. More.
She was hyperaware of him, this tall, lanky man standing on her front porch. Had his jaw line always looked so strong? Had his eyes always been so brown?
He wore slacks and a sports coat, and she was glad she’d decided against the blue jeans. But he also had on a western-style shirt and cowboy boots.
“You look sensational,” he said, his dark brown gaze turning murky as he took her in.
“So do you,” she said, annoyed to discover she was both embarrassed and beguiled by his compliment.
An awkward moment passed between them. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight.
“Come in, come in.”
Eli Borden was now inside her small house, filling her foyer with his manly musk and masculine body. She tracked into the kitchen, taking care to limp as little as possible. He followed her, his boot heels making a shuffling noise against her hardwood floor.
She found a vase to put the flowers in. She thought of other daisies she’d plucked from her mother’s flower garden, when she’d played “he loves me, he loves me not” with the petals. Eli had always been the topic of the game. One day he’d come walking past her parents’ house while she was out in the garden picking daisies, and he’d stopped to ask her what she was doing.
“Nothing,” she’d lied, not about to confess that she was using daisies to forecast the power of his affection for her. She still remembered what he’d looked like standing there on her lawn, a straw cowboy hat cocked back on his head, a bead of sweat straying down his brow, his torso tanned and shirtless.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “Or I could make coffee.”
He glanced at his watch. “We have seven o’clock reservations at Twilight Cove.”
“You don’t have to take me somewhere that expensive,” she protested. He was a single parent with four kids. He had to be on a budget.
“You let me worry about the expense,” Eli said. “This is my treat.”
“Really, an expensive dinner isn’t necessary.”
“I’m trying to court you, woman,” he growled. “Work with me here.”
His tone was gruff but his eyes were playful. He didn’t want any arguments, but at heart he was an easygoing man.
“I can’t tell you the last time I had a nice sit-down dinner alone with an intelligent adult for grown-up conversation. You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you?” he asked.
“Okay. You win.”
“Good call.” He took her elbow and guided her outside to the maroon Honda Odyssey parked at the curb.
Christine laughed. “You drive a minivan?”
“Don’t make fun. I’ve got four kids.”
But of course it was a mom car, and must have belonged to his late wife. There it was. This ghost between them. Inside the vehicle were kiddy car seats, Happy Meal toys and cracker crumbs on the floorboard. It smelled like family.
“I meant to clean the van,” he said. “I’d planned on vacuuming it, but I promised Abbey and Abel I’d read Curious George to them before I left.”
“Those are your twins?”
“Yes. They’re three.”
“Don’t apologize. Kids ride in this van. Be proud. Think of all the poor people with no kids and spotless cars.” People like me.
“Never thought of it that way,” Eli said. “You make a good point.”
At the restaurant, the hostess seated them near a floor-to-ceiling plate glass window overlooking Lake Twilight. The town was beautiful in December. Buildings, docks, piers, and walkways trimmed with festive lights. Inside, the dining room was candlelit and elegant. White linen tablecloths. Fresh flowers. Poinsettias, amaryllis, chrysanthemums. Red and white and glorious.
“This is very nice,” Christine said, smoothing out a linen napkin in her lap.
“Told you.” He held her gaze, and she felt a smile creep across her face.
Her wrist still tingled from where his fingers had grazed her skin earlier. How was it that one look into his mesmerizing eyes melted her insides like butter, making her simultaneously both weak and strong?
“So,” she said, “tell me about your kids.”
“You’re ready to jump into that with both feet?”
“If we’re going to be dating, your children are part of the package. So yeah, let’s jump right in.”
“Don’t you want to edge into this slowly? Dip in a toe at a time rather than just jumping off the diving board into the deep end?”
“I’ve never been afraid of deep water,” she said, “but if you want to start slow, I can do that. What else would you like to discuss?”
“You. I want to know all about Christine Noble.”
She waved a hand. “I’m dull. Think of something else.”
“You’re not dull.”
“I am. All work and no play makes Christine a dull girl.”
“Why don’t you ever play?”
“I love what I do. Baking is my play.”
“Okay, you don’t want to talk about yourself. I get it. How about our favorite movies or books. Except it’s been a long time since I saw a movie that wasn’t made by Disney or read a book that didn’t start with once upon a time.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. Fantasy vacations.”
“Hmm, fantasies. I like the sound of that.”
He arched a sly eyebrow. “Me too.”
She flicked out a tongue to moisten her lips. He never took his gaze from her face and he leaned forward as if he found her the most fascinating creature on the face of the earth. Heady stuff, his undivided attention.
“I have a better idea,” she said. “How about I tell you what your favorite fantasy vacation is and then you can do me.”
“I like the sound of that.” He grinned, innuendo in his voice.
“That sounded bad, didn’t it?”
“On the contrary, it sounds really good.”
She lowered her lashes, unable to handle the heat in his eyes. “Okay, here goes. You spend your fantasy vacation in the forest. Verdant. Vegetation. Twigs snap beneath your hiking boots. The smell of loam pulls primal.”
“Poetic. Am I with my kids or without?”
“This is a fantasy vacation.”
“Definitely without. Let’s park them with my sister, Tilly.”
“Kids are parked with Aunt Tilly. They’re safe and secure so you don’t have to worry. You take off for your camping trip.”
“I’m camping now?”
Christine nodded. “Rough camping. No R.V. or cabins for you. Somewhere ruggedly beautiful. Colorado. The Pacific Northwest. Maybe even Utah. You take long hikes in the wilderness and fish in clear mountain streams.”
“Am I completely alone?” He lowered his voice. The candle on the center of the table flicked shadows over his face, making him look both dangerous and enigmatic. “Sounds lonesome.”
“Not completely . . .” she dared.
“Who’s with me?”
“A woman of your choosing.”
“So.” He reached across the table, rested his hand on top of hers. “You’re with me.”
“Me?” she squeaked, emotion tightening her throat.
“Yes, because this is your fantasy vacation too.”
“We’re on it together?”
“We are,” he said, his eyes never straying from hers. “So maybe after a few days camping and fishing, we find a nice hotel with spa services. Where you can
get a hot stone massage and they put rose petals and chocolates on your pillow at night.”
“I’m liking this vacation a lot.”
“I’m ready to book it.”
“Unfortunately,” Christine said. “It’s all a fantasy.”
“Does it have to be?” He looked so serious that she inhaled audibly. What was going on between them? It was as if sixteen years had collapsed into sixteen minutes. A deep, wistful longing filled her. Could they have the fantasy?
You could get hurt so badly, Christine. Tread carefully. Watch each step.
When it came to men, she hadn’t had a lot of heartbreak in her life because she’d never really allowed herself to get emotionally invested. Except for the man in front of her, and even then, their relationship had been based more on unfulfilled possibilities than any real foundation. One kiss did not a love affair make. But she wanted him. Oh yeah! A lot.
The waiter arrived to recite the daily special, take their drink orders, and leave a small complimentary appetizer. Mushroom caps stuffed with lump crab.
To deal with the out-of-control emotions simmering between them, Christine popped a mushroom cap in her mouth. The earthy taste of mushroom lingered on her tongue, the spongy soft texture tickled her palate, the rich bouquet of butter exploded in her mouth. Salty. Of the sea. Warm.
“Mmm, ooh, these are so delicious.”
“You should see the look on your face.” He chuckled.
“What?” she asked, bringing a hand to her mouth.
His sly grin was back. “Orgasmic.”
She swallowed the crab-infused mushroom, forced herself to smile as if every inch of her body was not flushed with heat and sensation. Delicately, she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, tried her best not to look overwhelmed, overpowered, over-stimulated. “Can we talk about your kids now? And I expect to see pictures.”
Eli’s sly grin turned proud and he pulled out his wallet. “This is Abbey. She’s all girl. Loves Tinkerbell, tap shoes, grape soda, and wearing costumes. She hates bugs, bullfrogs, thunder, and for her foods to touch. Don’t ever fix that child a sandwich, or she’ll have a meltdown.”
“Eli, she’s adorable.”
“This is her twin, Abel.” He passed Christine a photograph of a round-faced little boy with a silly smile. “He’s the clown. Always making us laugh. He loves knock-knock jokes, mud puddles, hot dogs, and he thinks the whoopie cushion is the funniest thing ever invented. He hates going to the doctor, getting his picture taken, and sitting still. It takes hours to get him to go to sleep, but once he’s out, he’ll sleep through a cyclone.”
“What an interesting kid.”
“This is Deacon. He’s my quiet one. He plays guitar, wants to be a cutting-horse cowboy like his old man, and like most ten-year-old boys, he’s a video-game fiend. He struggles in math but kicks butt at science and history. He’s in that awkward phase where his face is growing faster than his body.”
Christine looked at Deacon’s picture. “He’s going to be a very handsome man some day.”
“And then there’s Sierra. She’s an amazing kid. She runs cross country, competes in cutting-horse events, and plays slow-pitch softball. My little tomboy. She can cook and clean better than some grown women. She’s fiercely protective of her siblings. She’s crazy for Mexican food, and I have to force her to eat breakfast.” His voice changed tone. “She was the one who suffered the most when Rachel died. The twins never knew her, of course, and Deacon was only seven. He doesn’t remember her much. But Sierra . . .” Eli shook his head. “Poor kid’s been through so much.”
Christine’s heartstrings tugged for Sierra. “Anyone can see how much you love your kids. I can tell you’re a great father. She’ll be okay.”
“I hope you’re right.” Eli slipped the photographs back into his wallet just as the waiter returned with their food order. “I worry about her most of all.”
“You are very lucky, Eli,” she said fiercely over a steaming plate of shrimp scampi.
“I know.” His eyes met hers. “There’s only one thing missing from my life.”
“What’s that,” she asked, feeling her neck burn from the heat of his stare.
“A wife,” he murmured so softly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Cowboy Christmas concert at the Brazos River Music Review located halfway between Twilight and Jubilee made for a pleasant end to an incredible meal. The venue was well known for bringing in topflight musical performances of the country-and-western ilk. Willie Nelson had performed there, as had Faith Hill, The Band Perry, the Tejas Brothers, and Brent Amaker.
The Brazos River Music Review was quickly gaining a reputation as the best country music scene in North Central Texas, giving Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth a run for its money. Christine had never been there, but she’d heard that the facility had both an outdoor amphitheater for the summer months and an indoor auditorium for winter concerts.
The night air was brisk, but not frigid. The parking lot was packed, the fresh asphalt black and shiny in the moonlight. There were cowboys in Wranglers and Stetsons, cowgirls in fashionable pointy-toed boots and short denim skirts, older men in bolo ties and western shirts snapped tight against paunchy bellies, and older women in prairie skirts and crisp blouses accessorized with snakeskin and animal prints. Smells of cedar, beer, and nachos rolled through the night along with the scent of peppermint candy canes, spicy cologne, and floral perfume.
On the drive home, they compared notes on the musical acts. They reviewed which songs were their favorites and how fun it had been when The Texas New Notes came into the audience to pull folks up to dance and sing along with “Jingle Bell Rock.”
Then, in unison, Eli and Christine sang “Jingle Bell Rock” all the way back to Twilight. By the time they reached her house, they were both laughing.
“That was fun,” Christine said breathlessly as Eli pulled to a stop in her driveway.
“It was.”
A sudden silence filled the minivan.
“Do you want to come in?” she ventured timidly, wanting him to say yes, while simultaneously afraid that indeed he would. “For a cup of coffee,” she rushed to add.
“Sure,” he said. “That sounds good.”
They went inside, and Christine put coffee in the coffeemaker and turned it on. Pivoting, she glanced at Eli who stood with one shoulder propped against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his hungry eyes feasting on her.
As the scent of coffee filled the room, their gazes met.
“Chrissy,” he murmured.
Chrissy.
No one had called her that since high school. Her smile widened. She felt as if she’d been sucked into a time warp and she was fifteen again.
The sound his deep, masculine voice made in the confines of her little kitchen sent ribbons of pleasure uncoiling inside her.
She was overtaken by a supreme sense of ease. Being with Eli was at once both familiar and novel.
“C’mere.” He drew her to him and she did not resist.
He lowered his head.
She raised her chin.
His mouth closed over hers. Startled by the intensity of the feelings running through her, Christine sucked in air and along with it, the tangy taste of Eli. She could feel her passion rising, escalating with each sultry flick of his tongue.
He cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand and pulled her closer against him. His hands were so big. Had they always been this large? Or had hard work and adulthood lengthened and broadened them?
Her fingers fisted against his chest, the crispness of his starched shirt rustled. She tilted her head back, parted her lips, and opened herself up to him. He’d changed in one important way over the last sixteen years. He was even a better kisser now than he’d been at seventeen.
> Her hands crept up, arms moving to encircle his neck. Heaven. His lips. She hung on, closed her eyes, savoring the connection, the sweet sensation of kissing him again. Yes! This was the way a woman longed to be kissed.
His taste spun her head, stirred her blood, and aroused her long-buried sexual appetite. It was the most splendid kiss she’d ever received, and that included the one behind the gym. His kisses fired her system. Turned her inside out.
Turned her on.
“Oh, Eli.” She sighed into his mouth.
He kissed like an astronaut exploring a new planet, with complete and total dedication. Letting no territory go uncharted, plumbing and searching, eager for every little discovery. The touch that made her knees buckle, the nibbled spot that made her lean into him and shudder, the tender strokes that made her moan for more.
Things were moving way too fast. She knew that, and yet she could not stop. She wanted him with fierceness she had not known she possessed.
“Eli,” she said, eyes closed. “I want you.”
He captured her face between his palms. “Chrissy, look at me.”
Chrissy.
The nickname only he had ever used for her. Reluctantly, she forced her eyes open. As long as she kept her eyes closed it felt more like a sweet dream. If it was a dream, she had nothing more to fear than waking up. But if he was real, if this was real, she could get hurt in oh-so-many ways.
“Do you mean it?” he asked hoarsely.
Yes!
“I could be there with you. I want to go there with you.” He peered into her eyes.
“It’s too soon,” she admitted.
“But we’re working on something here. Right?”
She nodded silently; hope a torturous thing. Tenderness engulfed his face. “You are so beautiful.”
“I’m not.” She shook her head.
“You are to me.”
“I limp.”
“I don’t care.”
“There are other things about me that you should know.”
