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Under The Mistletoe (Holiday Hearts #2)

Page 15

by Kristin Hardy


  “Me? What about you?”

  He shrugged as he unlocked the door. “I didn’t help deliver a baby today. Besides, it sort of goes with the territory for me. It’s not really your job.”

  “No problem.” She stepped in ahead of him. “I was happy to help.” And it had made her feel a part of something, essential in a way she never really had.

  “Lots of people would have figured it wasn’t their business. Thank you isn’t nearly enough.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.” She stood at the bottom landing, stifling a sigh at the thought of climbing the stairs.

  Gabe looked at her. “Do you even have anything to eat up there?” he asked abruptly.

  Minestrone and crackers probably didn’t count, she supposed, but it was all she’d been able to find nearby. Making the half hour drive to the nearest supermarket had been more than she’d been able to face. “I’ll figure out something.”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “I couldn’t….”

  “Consider it a thank-you. You were there for Angie today, plus you worked yourself blind. Come in,” he invited. “You don’t even have to talk to me. Just sit, eat and head upstairs.”

  Warm light spilled out of his door and suddenly the idea of going up to her cold, empty flat to a can of soup seemed decidedly unappealing. Just once she wanted to have dinner with a live person, someone else across the table to talk with. Or not precisely someone else.

  She wanted it to be Gabe.

  “Let me get out of these clothes.”

  His eyes lit. “Great. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

  It was a foolish move, she lectured herself even as she tossed her coat down on her couch. She should take a bath, get some sleep. She shouldn’t be playing with fire, and spending the evening alone with Gabe Trask definitely qualified as incendiary. But she was tired of being sensible, tired of doing the right thing. For once she just wanted to do something that felt good, have a relaxing evening with an interesting companion.

  She’d deal with tomorrow when she got there.

  Gabe stood in front of his open refrigerator, pondering the riddle of dinner. Suave invitation. Too bad the only thing he had for an intimate dinner éagrave; deux was a bottle of good meritage. Clearly, the chicken breast he’d gotten out that morning wouldn’t do. He had venison medallions in the freezer, but no time to get them defrosted. Pizza? He rejected the idea even as it formed.

  “Hello?”

  He heard a knock on his hall door. “In here,” he called. As he turned toward the hallway, he caught sight of a blue box on his open shelves and snapped his fingers. Pasta. Pasta was the ticket.

  When he saw her in the hallway, he smiled. It was the first time he’d seen her in casual clothes. She wore jeans and a fisherman’s sweater big enough to hide a small pony. Her hair was soft and loose. She looked about fifteen.

  “Is this Gabe’s Bar and Grill?”

  “Tonight, I think it’s Gabe’s House of Pasta.”

  “Beats what I had upstairs.”

  “Hey, I’m not the head of food and beverage for nothing. Want some wine?”

  “Sure.” She followed him back into the kitchen. “So why did you take on food and beverage with all you have to do?”

  “I like food and wine and it was one way to cut costs. Red okay, by the way?”

  “Sure.” She took a seat in one of the tall kitchen chairs set up around his peninsula. “It’s too cold for white.”

  Digging out his corkscrew, Gabe opened the meritage. “I’m thinking about carrying this in the dining room. Tell me what you think.” He handed a glass to her, then raised his own. “Here’s to surviving the first night of the Winter Carnival.”

  “Don’t jinx yourself. It’s not over yet.”

  “I know it, trust me. I’ll probably take a walk over in a while, just to see how they’re making out.”

  She propped her chin in her hand. “Some people might call you a workaholic.”

  “They’d be wrong. I’m lazy, I just choose my times.”

  “Mmm.” She sipped her wine. “This is really nice.”

  “Isn’t it? It’ll be a midrange wine, not something that requires a big splurge.”

  She took another taste. “So what are we having tonight, Mr. Food and Beverage?”

  “Watch and find out.”

  He put a pot of water on the stove to boil for pasta, and started slicing the chicken into cubes.

  “Something I can do to help?”

  “You can cut up the broccoli.”

  She took a swallow of wine and rose to wash her hands. She’d taken off most of her makeup but freshened up her scent. There was something essentially female about it, something that spoke of woman, not of girl. And it made him want.

  But he’d invited her for company, not a seduction, he reminded himself. And even though his desire for her had grown into an all-encompassing ache, he wasn’t going to do a bait and switch. Instead, he schooled himself to ignore it. Placing a cutting board in front of her with a knife and the broccoli, he went to work chopping a clove of garlic.

  Hadley poked dubiously at the broccoli with the tip of the knife. “What do you want me to do?”

  Gabe grinned and relaxed, turning on the heat under the sauté pan. “Cook a lot, do you?”

  She gave him a disdainful look. “No one in Manhattan cooks. We live off restaurants, takeout and the salad bar at the corner grocery.”

  “I see. We don’t have salad bars at the corner grocery here.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “We don’t have corner groceries. You’ll have to learn to fend for yourself. Cut the florets off the top and peel and slice what’s left.”

  “Aye aye, captain.”

  He added some oil to the simmering water then splashed some in the hot pan. A sizzling filled the air as he added the garlic, tossing it around as it cooked, then the chicken.

  “So are you a trained chef?”

  “Nah, I just like to eat well. I watch the guys in the kitchen, try to pick up what I can.”

  “Including leftovers?” Cutting the broccoli became easier as she got the hang of it, she discovered.

  “If we’re trying out something new. Mostly I try to take care of the hotel, not let it take care of me.” He took the chopped broccoli from her and raked it into the pan, pausing in his stirring occasionally to give the pasta a whirl.

  “You really love it, don’t you? The hotel, I mean.”

  “It grows on you. Don’t forget, I’ve worked here more than half of my life.”

  She sank back down on the chair. “You’re doing something important. Preserving something.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “But then you take care of everybody, don’t you?”

  He made a face. “Not exactly a dynamic recommendation.”

  “Why not? It means you stand for the things you believe in, you stand for the people. You came to the rescue today. Tina had Angie in her sights and it was going to get ugly.”

  He reached in a cabinet to get a jar of pine nuts and threw a handful in with the chicken. “Tina has her moments but she’s actually a good person. She’s just a perfectionist, and I think she’s intimidated by you.”

  “By the idea of layoffs, maybe. We talked about it. Things are better now.”

  “Good, I’m glad. But I still think she’s intimidated.”

  “Why? I’m not going to call for layoffs. In fact, I’m specifically going to recommend against it.” She rose to get a couple of pasta bowls from his open-fronted cabinets. “I’m not going to mess with her. Why should she be intimidated?”

  He snorted. “Let’s see. It might be because you’re the hotshot from corporate. Or the fact that you dress like something out of a fashion magazine or that you can think rings around virtually everyone.” He drained the pasta, releasing a cloud of steam. “Or it could be the fact that you’re beautiful.”

  She stared at him as he tossed the chicken mixt
ure and pasta together in a deep, blue bowl, adding a few dollops of pesto and some black olives from the refrigerator. He gave her a guileless look. “Feel like eating in the living room?”

  It reminded her of a stylish fifties jazz bar, with classic leather furniture and polished wood, neither garishly modern nor slavishly period. The carpet was soft and deep, the shelves held books and pieces of art or things that interested him. The walls glowed a rich teal.

  “This is wonderful,” Hadley said as she sat.

  “I do have a dining table but this is the warmest place in the house this time of year. With the high ceilings, it takes the radiators awhile to get going, but the fireplace heats this room up pretty quick.” He moved to the granite hearth and began to wad up newspaper.

  “Show me how you do it.” She set her bowl aside and rose. “I tried to start a fire the other night and I couldn’t get it to light. Now I’ve got a fireplace full of singed wood.”

  “Did you use kindling?”

  “I took some sticks from the bin but they wouldn’t catch. Do you need lighter fluid or something?”

  He laughed. “No, you just need to build the fire right. Come on.” He patted the carpet beside him. “I’ll give you a hands-on lesson.”

  She hesitated.

  “You’re not going to learn from over there.”

  Lighting a fire. How dangerous could it be? Hadley came over and knelt beside him.

  “The idea is that you start with lots of stuff that burns easy underneath so that by the time it’s all gone, the logs are burning. Okay?”

  His hair had flopped down over his forehead. He looked, she thought, endearingly intent. Then his eyes snared hers and she felt that snap of sexuality again. Endearing, hell. The man was dangerous.

  “First, you want to wad up bunches of newspaper and pack them into the grate. One sheet at a time but you want to do seven or eight of them.”

  Hoping for her system to settle, Hadley began crumpling up sheets of newsprint and laying them in the fireplace.

  “Not too tightly.” Gabe reached past her to adjust the paper, his arm bumping hers. “Air’s got to be able to come up from underneath. Good. Now you add some sticks of kindling on top, laid in a crisscross pattern.”

  “Do I get a fire-lighting merit badge for this?”

  “Only if it works. Now you lay the wood on top.” He handed her a piece of split oak from the wood box at his elbow. She wasn’t prepared for its weight and it tipped her toward him. He caught her with his hands on her shoulders.

  And they were eye to eye as they’d been too many times before. Always, she’d been the one to keep control. This time, she couldn’t move away, couldn’t do anything but stare. This time, they would come together and it wouldn’t be an innocent kiss in the moonlight. This time…

  The oak lowered bit by bit to rest on Gabe’s thigh and he started, releasing her and giving his head a brisk shake. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “Lay it on the kindling with the rough side down.” His voice was husky and he didn’t touch her as he watched her put the oak in place. “Good. Now light it.”

  Hadley pulled out one of the long fireplace matches and struck it, then held it to the kindling.

  “No, like this.” Gabe closed his hand over hers. Reaction flashed through her. He moved the match to the edge of the grate, one arm behind her so that she was almost cradled against him as he touched the flame of the match to the paper again and again, the flame leaping up. When he was finished, he drew the mesh fire curtain across and brought the match back toward his lips to blow it out.

  But he didn’t look at the match. He looked at her.

  The flame danced between their faces, shifting with each breath they took. His eyes flickered with the reflection. His expression was intent, as though he were trying to look inside her. The breath clogged in her lungs. She wanted to escape and yet somehow she knew there wasn’t any escape anymore.

  Then with a low curse Gabe blew out the flame and dragged her into his arms.

  Heat. It bloomed between them, whether from the igniting wood or from their bodies, she couldn’t tell. This wasn’t like that night in the sleigh. There was nothing cool or tentative about it. This time, they both knew what they were after and there was no hesitation.

  This time, they took.

  The rush of desire in her veins was familiar, the pressure of his lips known. When he plundered her mouth, she met him move for move, seeking out the heady flavor of the wine, rediscovering him. It didn’t matter that she’d told herself again and again she had no business getting near him. She’d held back before but this time the draw was too strong, the connection too deep.

  He nipped at her lip and the fleeting pain had her catching her breath in surprise. Almost before she could react, his mouth closed over hers again, taking her deep, dragging her down into hot passion where only arousal mattered. How could a kiss take her so far? How could a touch of lips become something that involved all of her, something that bound them together?

  The slick friction of tongue on tongue shivered through her and set up an answering tension between her thighs. And she sank back on the thick carpet.

  Gabe leaned in, his mouth hot and hard on hers. Eyes closed, she could see the orange of the flames through her lids as his hands roved over her body, dragging a moan from her. She felt the warmth of his lips moving down over her throat, tasting, sampling, then roving up over her jaw and along her cheek. The fire in the grate was no match for what burned between them.

  He’d tried, Gabe thought feverishly, he’d tried to keep from doing this, kneeling beside her with the scent of her hair tangling his senses, looking into her eyes to see that she wanted as he wanted, and still not taking.

  He couldn’t release her now. Now, he wanted everything at once, wanted to feel her everywhere, to taste her. And yet he fought back the urge to rush. It was the time to go slowly, to savor. He could feel her body, firm and springy under the sweater, and then he slid his hand underneath just a bit, enough to feel the silky skin of her belly quivering under his fingers. She was so responsive it threatened to take him too far.

  Hadley moaned and tightened her arms around him. This was what she’d searched for, this feeling, this wholeness. He was everything she wanted, everything she needed.

  Everything she needed?

  She broke away and sat up, staring at the fire, shattered. That he was a risk, she’d discovered in the moonlight, but she’d never guessed how big. And now, in a few short minutes, she’d laid herself open to him completely. It would have taken so little to continue, so little to take the next step of discovery that her greedy body demanded.

  And God help her then.

  “What are we doing?” Her voice was low.

  “What we’ve both been thinking about for days. Don’t tell me you haven’t because I know better.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I know better than this.” She was shivering now despite the fire, arms wrapped around herself. “I must be out of my mind.”

  “Why? What’s the problem?”

  “A bad breakup for starters.” Inevitable heartbreak because he could do it to her; she’d just seen it.

  “I don’t operate like that,” Gabe said, giving her a level look. “And something tells me you don’t, either.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said desperately.

  “Help me. Why is this so scary?”

  Because love didn’t last and she was already in way too deep. “I don’t do this. I don’t get involved.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “I can’t.” She raised her eyes to his and all the defenses dropped. He saw the confused wanting. And he saw the fear. Desire ground through him but the look in her eyes left him powerless to act on it. He dropped his hands.

  “I want you,” he said softly.

  “And I can’t do this.” She rose, swaying, and stepped to the door. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” she whispered. And she fled.

  Chapter Thirteen
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br />   Airports looked the same the world over, Gabe thought, as he stood in the arrivals hall in Montpelier. Baggage carousels, luggage carts, the same half-dazed looks on the faces of the travelers whose minds hadn’t caught up yet with their bodies.

  He had a similar problem, only it was his body that hadn’t caught up with his mind. Intellectually, he knew that what had started with Hadley that night in front of the fire was on hold. That didn’t keep him from dreaming about her. That didn’t keep him from waking with the low, dull ache of desire grinding through him.

  The job was just an excuse. It was more than that, whatever held her back. He remembered her body, quivering against his, and he remembered the desperation in her voice after. And the fear. I can’t do this. Why not? Why was she at risk?

  There were too many walls around her, too many secrets. And now they were both supposed to go back to business as usual and pretend nothing had happened? No way. Patient? Sure, he’d give her all the time she needed. But he wasn’t going to back away. Sooner or later she was going to let him in.

  He heard throaty female laughter and turned to see J.J. and a pair of neatly dressed flight attendants coming past security. J.J. towed their roller bags gallantly, his own backpack thrown over his shoulder. “Now, you both know where to find me. Come on over to Crawford Notch, I’ll teach you how to ski,” he promised, then his eyes lit on Gabe. “Hey, wait, here’s my friend who owns the maple sugar farm.” J.J. waved Gabe over.

  The flight attendants twittered and laughed and finally, regretfully, took their roller bags back. J.J. kissed them on their cheeks and waved goodbye.

  Blond and outdoorsy, looking more like a California beach boy than a lifelong Vermonter, J.J. stuck out his hand.

  Gabe shook his hand and slapped his shoulder. “Man, you never stop, do you?”

  “Hey, I just make friends easily. They’re here until Saturday and they want to learn how to ski. Maureen, the little redhead, loves maple syrup. You’ve got an in there.”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

 

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