by Regan Black
She and Scrabble came around the truck bed. “Why?”
“Why?” Too late he realized he’d roared it.
She froze in place and Scrabble sat down between them, ears perked.
If he touched Marie, he’d shake her. Or kiss her. Either way, the smart move was to keep his hands to himself. “You are more than two hours late,” he said, each syllable carefully separated from the others.
“Oh.”
It wasn’t nearly enough, yet the last fragment of his sane mind appreciated that she didn’t offer useless excuses. He swore. “Marie.” His fingertips dug into his palms, desperate to touch her, to pull her close just so all of him knew the worst hadn’t happened.
“Did you have to tell your boss?”
“No!” He stalked off and turned right back to her. He’d tried to protect her from threats in real life and shelter her from the ugliness online. Without internet access, she didn’t know all the sick and disturbed suggestions the Cohort was encouraging from the safe anonymity of computer keyboards. All it would take was one person to snap and the light in those big doe eyes would be extinguished. “I was scared for you.”
What an understatement. The last time he’d been terrified of losing someone, it was already too late and not at all worth the effort. His ex-wife wasn’t half the person Marie was, which made all these emotions churning through him a thousand times worse. She’d become more than an assignment and he didn’t know how to get his feelings back on the right side of the fence.
“I’m sorry we worried you,” she said softly, heading for the house.
“Hey.” He caught her elbow as she passed. “I lost my head. I know none of this is your fault.”
Her wan smile didn’t reach her eyes.
He couldn’t help himself, had to touch her. Draping his arm across her shoulders, he extended a peace offering. “Claudia was right about my mom. How about I have Ace pick up a Christmas tree tonight? We can decorate before the luncheon tomorrow.”
“No work on the case?”
He couldn’t face it. “Not tonight.”
This time, when her lips curved and her gaze met his, he felt like a superhero.
Chapter 9
Saturday morning dawned clear and cold and Marie hugged herself, still reveling in Emiliano’s reaction to her coming home late. No one had ever cared so much about her whereabouts and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of from such an obviously temporary source. She coached herself to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasted. It would give her something precious and happy to treasure when she was alone again.
She sipped her coffee, grinning at the kitchen counter covered in dozens of cookies for the luncheon. She’d made sugar cookies, snickerdoodles when she’d learned they were Emiliano’s favorite, and chocolate chip with added mint for the season. While she’d been baking, Emiliano had hauled out boxes of decorations and helped Ace set up the fresh tree. She’d never had one of those before and she loved the way the crisp scent filled the house this morning.
After breakfast and the morning rounds with the animals, they wrestled lights onto the tree with plenty of help from Scrabble. In the past, Marie always felt like an impostor, dressing a home with someone else’s stuff and pretending to belong. This time, as Emiliano shared stories about different ornaments and traditions, she experienced a rare sense of companionship, as if this could be her place too. She didn’t quite trust the feeling, but she would treasure it forever. When the decorations were on and he hit the lights, she felt the glow inside herself, as well.
She wasn’t nervous as she dressed for the luncheon, pulling her new holiday-red plaid shirt over a white thermal top. Claudia had told her a little about the ranch owned by her surrogate father, Joseph “Mac” Mackenzie, and she was eager to discover what ranch caroling was all about.
The classic white single-story house was neat as a pin and decked with lit garland around the porch rails. Trucks and cars were crammed in tight along the fence and people were milling on the big porch. Even in her wildest fantasies, Marie had never envisioned family by this definition. Between the introductions Claudia, Jade and Emiliano made that afternoon, she met so many people she’d never keep them all straight. Ignoring a varying chorus of half-hearted protests, Mac proudly showed her pictures of all the Colton kids that filled his home.
Full of food and riding on a high of engaging conversation, Marie nearly skipped along the path to the stable where three wagons had been lined with hay and decorated with holly and greens. Each team of horses hitched to the wagons had red ribbons in their manes and tails and bells on their harnesses.
Emiliano’s hand lingered on hers as he helped her settle into the wagon. Sitting beside her, he shifted so his arm curled around her shoulders, and she caught him watching her. The heat in his gaze deliciously kicked her pulse up a notch.
“Happy?”
“It’s incredible,” she whispered. She was a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm, but no one seemed to mind. As the wagons rolled off under a cold, starlit sky, bells jingling, the group broke into a series of Christmas carols.
Emiliano’s mellow singing voice warmed her almost as much as being pressed close to his side as the wagon jostled them together. His free hand covered hers and she laced her fingers through his, marveling at the strength and subtle promise of his touch. She had no idea Christmas could be this wonderful.
The wagons stopped near a clearing, where Mac had a bonfire blazing and thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate ready. Someone hooked up speakers and soon the night was filled with more music. On the other side of the fire, Hawk, Claudia’s fiancé, tugged Claudia to her feet for a dance. Soon others were paired off, as well.
Emiliano held out a hand. “Shall we join in?”
“Rude not to,” she said, placing her hand in his. He drew her close and desire swirled through her system as they danced. This was so new, so lovely, and she never wanted it to end.
Her lousy track record in relationships had convinced her she didn’t have the emotional mettle to move from mutual attraction to serious commitment. Time with Emiliano made her yearn for the deep connection she’d been so sure was beyond her.
Overwhelmed, she rested her head on his shoulder. Oh, yes, this would be a memory with enough holiday joy to last the rest of her life. She finally had a best day that towered over her list of worsts.
Later that night, they returned to the ranch, flushed and happy from the caroling and camaraderie. Marie felt as if she’d finally had a real Christmas, even if it was ten days early. “That was a beautiful night,” she said, wishing she could hold his hand as they walked to the house. “You have wonderful neighbors.”
Emiliano opened the door and she knelt to greet Scrabble while he reset the security system.
“I’m glad you had fun,” he said, taking her coat.
“Did you?”
“Yes.” His smile sent a flutter through her. “I haven’t done that in ages.”
“Claudia plans to make it an annual thing.” She tapped her toe on the switch for the lights and the Christmas tree bloomed with dazzling light and color. A visual expression of everything she felt bubbling inside. Delighted, she stood back and simply admired it.
Feeling his gaze on her, she turned to find Emiliano standing under the mistletoe. Invitation or happy accident? she wondered idly. “Thank you,” she said simply, crossing to him.
He might have been carved from marble, he was so still as she approached. Was he feeling what she was feeling?
She’d been fighting the quiver in her belly and the need prickling over her senses all night. His masculine scent when he was near, the rich tone of his voice as they sang, his laughter blending with the others and his arms around her while they danced.
She stopped in front of him, taking
stock of every enticing detail in his face. Reaching up, she traced that hard, square jaw, delighted herself with the soft rasp of his beard against the pad of her finger.
Unmoving, he let her comb her fingers through the dark waves of his hair. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.” The lightest pressure of her fingertips brought that marble to life and at last he moved, just far enough for lips to meet.
Tender, warm and soft, it was over too soon as he eased back, breaking the kiss. Her body craved more, her pulse trembling as her palm trailed down from the nape of his neck, over his shoulder and away. She told herself to be satisfied with the sweet kiss. To be grateful she hadn’t crossed into territory she couldn’t come back from.
“Good night, Emiliano,” she said.
He caught her hand, bringing her body close to his. “You’re under the mistletoe now.”
Her pulse leaped at the heat and longing in his eyes. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone over her lower lip. It took an eternity for his mouth to claim hers.
Under the first layer of gentleness she found an urgency that matched hers. On a gasp, she clung to him for balance as his kisses spun her into dark territory full of secrets and promises lovelier than she’d ever imagined.
His hands spread across her back and lower, pressing her closer, molding her hips and gliding back up again. As if he couldn’t touch her enough. The contact was glorious, swamping her senses in a rush that filled all the emptiness she had worked so hard to ignore.
Her head fell back and his mouth nibbled along her jaw, down her throat, ripples of pleasure drifting along her skin. She sifted her fingers through his thick, dark hair and arched into every sensation. The memories of the night air, dotted with starlight, evergreen, hay wagons and bonfires, mingled with his masculine scent, enveloping her.
His hands skimmed under her thermal shirt and she sighed, her muscles quivering in delight as those hard, calloused palms trailed up her ribs, his thumb tracing the curve of her breast.
He stepped back abruptly and she chilled, body and mind. If the Cohort had found her, it could wait. “Emiliano?” She was ready to beg him to forget how they’d met, why she was here, and see this through.
There was a sexy spark in his deep brown eyes, and a sizzle when his fingers laced with hers. She focused on the desire arcing between them as brightly as the Christmas tree in the window.
Backing up, he brought her along, plucking a throw from the couch. With a quiet command, he sent Scrabble to his bedroom.
“I had an idea,” he murmured. “Earlier.”
She remembered those glances he’d aimed at her while they’d decorated the tree. Thought the fantasies those glances had stirred were one-sided. Sweet anticipation prickled along her skin.
“What kind of idea?”
He spread the throw across the floor in front of the sparkling tree. He sank to his knees. His eyes locked with hers as he caught her hands, and he rubbed his thumbs across her palms. “Call it a fantasy.”
“Oh.” Who knew his strong and silent routine hid this delicious sensuality?
His hands stroked up, over her wrists, cruising back down to her fingertips again and again, melting her one languorous touch at a time. Without realizing she’d moved, she was on her knees, wrapped in his warm embrace, his mouth laying claim to hers once more.
As he stripped away her top and bra and set his mouth to her breast, she found her way past his shirt to the supple skin and chiseled torso beneath. He groaned when she touched him, the sound vibrating through his kisses as she learned the hard planes and mouthwatering angles of his body. The lights from the tree cascaded over his dusky skin. He teased her, pleasured her, discarding clothing and baring them both to the moment.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “This is like having you all to myself in a galaxy just for us.”
She closed her eyes, as his words shimmered through her. Afraid of the myriad emotions she didn’t recognize, she rocked her hips against his arousal, letting her body do the pleading as needs built and built.
She traced the curve of his biceps, up over his shoulders, levering up to kiss that sinful mouth. How did he have so much patience?
He hugged her close and then released her for a moment. She heard the tear of a condom wrapper before he drew her back into his arms, settling her over him. His hand smoothed her hair, twisting it around his fist as he kissed her. She leaned on those strong shoulders as she took him in, slowly, slowly, delighting in the passionate expressions moving over his handsome face.
“This was a good fantasy,” she whispered, bringing his hands over her breasts.
He thumbed the hard peaks of her nipples as she rocked against him, found her rhythm. It was so right, this being filled and poured out and filled again. As if he had the strength and the patience and the answers to renew every dry well within her spirit, her heart.
She clenched around him, her pace faltering on a gasp as the climax crashed over her, her arms going weak.
He caught her, every weightless, sparkling piece of her, and brought her close so she didn’t float away. His heart thundered at her ear a moment, and then he was over her, sinking into her again and again. Each thrust was more demanding and urgent than the last, until she was flying apart once more, and this time, with a shudder, he joined her.
There was a breathless laugh dancing on her lips as he stretched out beside her. She curled into him, pressing that bewildering happiness to his chest and throat with soft kisses.
* * *
Emiliano kept watch as she drifted off, her sumptuous curves tucked close to him. Did she realize the way she instinctively trusted herself to him? When she slept soundly, he carried her to his bed and slid under the covers to sleep beside her.
When the sun rose, he left her in his bed to tend to the ranch, his mind preoccupied with Marie and her case. He couldn’t keep her all to himself forever. She had a career she loved and longed to return to. She had a thriving city she belonged in. Shadow Creek was an interlude, if not an outright inconvenience for her.
Yet she’d surprised him, adapting quickly to early mornings and the small-town pace.
One night of spectacular sex probably wouldn’t change her mind or her career goals, though having her in his arms had changed him. He shoved the foolish thought aside in search of cold logic. She wouldn’t have any kind of future if he couldn’t shut down the threats against her. When it was safe, she’d return to Dallas and he would stay here where he belonged, waiting for the FBI to call.
He’d worked hard to create this career and give his life purpose and stability, especially after his divorce. His job was to protect her, not fall for a temporary, delightful version of her.
That was the kicker, he realized. He was falling for her. He’d sworn off the feeling after his divorce, never wanting to be that vulnerable again.
In the case of his ex-wife, love had blinded him. He’d told Marie as much the other day. He could just imagine his boss’s reaction if it came out that he was dating Marie. He’d be the butt of every office joke, not that he spent much time in an office to hear his name used as a punch line.
He couldn’t allow a hint of his feelings to show until her case was clear or the team would never accept his assessment about her involvement or anything else. He had to find a way to move this investigation along. For both of them.
Finishing the chores, he let the problem roll through his mind, bumping facts into new directions. When he returned to the house for coffee and breakfast, he had a tentative working plan.
With Scrabble at his heels, he walked in through the mudroom. Scrabble bounced on into the kitchen while Emiliano paused to remove his work boots and peg his barn coat, an echo of his mother’s rules putting a smile on his face.
At the stove, Marie chattered a
t Scrabble while something in the skillet sent heavenly aromas through the air. Emiliano’s stomach growled but his feet grew roots to the floor. She was a vision with her silky, dark hair gathered up high and snug jeans hugging her hips. Her fuzzy socks protected her feet from the cool tile floor and...and she wore one of his flannel shirts. Too big on her, she wore it open like a sweater, with the cuffs folded back to her elbows.
“Can I give her a b-i-t-e?” She pointed at a bit of bacon she’d set aside.
He nodded, struck mute by the moment.
Beaming, she carried the bacon to Scrabble’s food bowl and made his dog the happiest corgi on the planet.
Something turned, opening inside him like the tumblers in a lock. He loved her. Not the blind and stupid version. This love had trust and hope woven in and... “You’re cooking,” he noted, dumbly.
She puffed her bangs away from her eye and sent him a quick glance. The happy glow in her rosy cheeks dimmed. “Not the first time,” she reminded him.
Right. She’d made breakfast on several days for both him and Ace. But this was the first time she’d done so since he’d put a name to the emotions wheeling through him.
The twin lines of doubt puckered her brow as she gave the skillet her focus.
“It smells amazing,” he said, pulling himself together. Case first.
“Good.”
The short, cautious reply was confirmation that he was screwing up this morning-after thing. He crossed to the stove and, faced with the creamy column of her throat, barely managed to keep his hands and lips to himself. “Can I help with anything?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Set the table?”
He handled the task swiftly and poured coffee for himself, carefully topping off her mug near the stove. She’d assembled a hash of sorts with diced potatoes, thick chunks of bacon, onion, peppers and seasonings that set his mouth watering.
He watched her poach eggs as he sipped the coffee, wondering if this life—his life—would actually be enough for her. To hell with tomorrow and wrapping up the case first; he wanted another taste of her right now. Setting his coffee down, he reached over and nudged a loose strand of hair behind her ear, let his fingers trail down her neck. “Do I need to move the mistletoe in here?”
