Kiss This

by L. L. Muir

  “Mmn?

  “You’re a talented woman. It would be a great shame if you closed your business.”

  “Yes. A shame for customers, but not for me. And from what London has said tonight, I think she’s going to be fine with it too.”

  “But what will you do?”

  She laughed. “Floral design is not my only talent.”

  He glanced at her lips. She frowned, warning him not to say it.

  “Alright then. I’ll bite. What other talents have you?”

  She tipped her nose into the air. “I’m an artist. And a good one. I can make a decent living as a graphic artist.”

  He grinned. “You painted the ornaments.”

  “Yes.”

  He straightened and stared into the fire again, but he was frowning again. “I wonder…”

  “What?”

  “I wonder if you might be able to understand me a bit better, and be able to forgive my eagerness, if you knew more about me.”

  “Were you a lonely little boy, desperate for attention?” She grinned.

  He smirked. “Hardly. My father and I were very close. I never wanted for affection, even with my mother gone.”

  “Did he teach you how to move like a panther, or did you come by it naturally.”

  “In the genes, you know.” He winked. “Speaking of genes, did you know there are scientists who have proven that the more diverse a man and woman are genetically, the more attracted they are to one another? They say it is a survival instinct, the a more diverse set of genes makes for healthier offspring, so it natural for us to be drawn to someone from say, another country, where our genes will have mingled less.”

  Mal rolled her eyes. “Mmn hmph.”

  “It’s true. I know it’s true. In fact…” he bit his lip, then stood and tossed another log on the fire. He waited for it to catch before he sat down again.

  Was he not going to finish?

  “You were saying?”

  He looked sheepishly down at his hands, then back at the fire. “I have experienced this myself, with another American, as it happens.”

  Mal felt like she’d just taken a hit in the chest from a football helmet.

  “Oh?” She tried to breathe.

  “Quite a while ago. Seems like ages now.”

  She waited, not wanting to hear about this other woman but unable to change the subject.

  “It’s all my father’s fault, actually. If he hadn’t met Pem’s mother and fallen madly in love with her, I wouldn’t have known Pem. And even you must realize how wonderful she is. For a boy without siblings, she more than made up for being alone until she arrived.”

  “I can totally see that.”

  “And when our parents died, we had each other. Naturally, I assumed that America was the place to find such women as Pem and her mother. So I came hunting.”

  He glanced at her. She smiled but it was forced. He was just going to keep talking and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “I was sorely disappointed, as you can imagine. I thought various versions of Pemberlys would be thick on the ground, but what I found were a number of girls who thought I was the rich foreign prince who would save them from their bored little lives.”

  “I can totally see that, too.”

  He winced.

  She patted his knee. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just another one of those, huh?”

  He shook his head. “I had totally given up on meeting my own American fantasy and went home with my tail betwixt my legs. I resigned myself to the fact that what I really needed was an English lass of good stock, one who would be content to remain in England for the rest of our lives if need be. One that had never tasted of this supposed land of milk and honey. One that wouldn’t want to spend all my money trying to live a Hollywood life.”

  “But you didn’t find one of those?” Mal imagined rolling green hills with a couple of homely women with snarls on their faces and a few sheep wandering around. She hoped that’s all he had to choose from when he got home again. She hoped he ended up with a sheep. It wasn’t the kindest thought she’d ever had, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I did not. Obviously I had no idea where to look. Then one day Pemberly convinced me to come visit again, claiming she knew just the right girl for me. A girl a lot like her, she said. So how could I resist judging for myself? Only when I met her, she was so much more wonderful than I’d hoped for, I quite lost my breath.”

  “Was she just like Pem, then?” Mal tried not to sound bitter, but she failed, at least to her own ears. 007-in-baby-blue didn’t seem to notice.

  “Not a thing like Pem.” He laughed. “Oh, she was capable of being sweet, like my sister. But until I met her, I had no idea what I’d truly wanted in a woman. She was strong and clever, and confident,” he turned and grinned. “And you know how I appreciate confidence in a woman.”

  “Mmn.” She held her tongue so tight between her teeth she might have tasted blood.

  “And what really sunk the hook in deep was the fact that she didn’t need me at all. Oh, she liked me well enough, I believe, but she wasn’t easily impressed. Didn’t care for money—not like you, of course.”

  “Excuse me? You think money matters to me?”

  “Doesn’t it? Aren’t you putting a price on your pride by refunding my money? Oh, forgive me. You said it was honor, not pride. But you are terribly concerned with my Tom Ford.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re what?”

  He laughed. “My suit. A Tom Ford design.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you like to name your clothes.” She felt stupid. She really needed to get out in the world. The only designers she knew by name were floral designers. Not the kind of names you could drop at a party and impress anyone.

  “In any case, she must have been blessed with genes completely opposite mine because the moment I saw her…”

  “Fireworks?”

  He tipped his head back and looked into the shadows and arched beams. “Fireworks.” He sighed like he was remembering.

  Mal held still, not wanting to remind him she was still sitting there next to him. It was like standing by watching a couple kiss. Awkward.

  Eventually, he came back to earth, along with his attention.

  He gave a short laugh. “It didn’t matter that we came from different religious backgrounds. It didn’t matter if she refused to move to England. There was no philosophy, no way of life that could keep me from her. I was willing to give up everything I am for her, make more out of myself for her. I was that sure we should be together. So I set out to win here.”

  “And what happened? Why didn’t you marry her?”

  He smiled sadly, then his smile melted away when he looked into the fire. “She thought I was a playboy. Like you. She couldn’t trust the chemistry. She couldn’t trust the suddenness. She couldn’t believe in love at first sight, so she couldn’t believe in me.”

  Tears built up in Mal’s throat and threatened to choke her. She had no choice but to clear it. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “I turned on my charm, tried playing it cool. Even tried to seduce her once. But that just made it worse. I thought she had to be feeling the same chemistry. I could see it in her eyes. But she denied it. I think one day, she’ll realize how rare true chemistry is. She’ll wish for a second chance.” He stood up, restless. “I suppose that must be vindication enough, since there will be an ocean between us by then.”

  A suit bag was draped over one chair, and he reached inside it, pulled out his suit coat and headed for the kitchens. Mal was pretty sure he’d be back with another armful of wood. She was also pretty sure there were tears on his cheeks again.

  Like there were on hers.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mal’s eyes felt hot and swollen. The heat from the fire made them dry. Bennett hadn’t come back and she wondered if she should go looking for him.

  An angry wind arrived and blew snow and ice crystals against the giant windows. The gusts sound
ed like pounding, so she wondered if her English companion might be pounding on the door, locked out and trying to get back in.

  She jumped to her feet and checked her coat. Still wet, so she took off without it, snatching a candle off the buffet on her way. She ran down the hallway protecting the candle’s flame and slammed into a body before she realized it was there. Hard arms wrapped around her and kept her from falling backward. The candle sputtered out before she got a look at the man’s face.

  “Bennett?” It was more a prayer than a question.

  “Yes.”

  His body radiated cold like he’d radiated heat before, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close with the hand not holding the candle. “You’re freezing! How long were you out there?”

  “I haven’t been outside. But a single candle in the kitchen wasn’t much help.”

  “You shouldn’t have left the fire.”

  “Just needed a moment to compose myself, that’s all.”

  They were face to face. So close, and yet so far.

  “We should go back then.” She didn’t let go, waiting for him to nudge first.

  “Yes. We should.”

  She dragged her empty hand forward along the side of his face, found his jaw. His eyes were a darker the shadow in the blackness. Or maybe she just imagined them boring into hers. His skin was so cold. And hers was not. So she pulled his head down toward her, lifted up on her toes, and kissed him. Whiskers on a cold chin. Cool lips moved against hers and warmed quickly with the friction. The lovely friction. His tongue was warm and sweet with the faintest hint of frosting, and he tasted her over and over again like she was the confection.

  Heaven help her, she would never be able to stand near a wedding cake again and not burst into tears. So she supposed it was a good thing she was getting out of the business.

  He lifted her slightly and turned her, then pressed her back against the wall with his body. Tingles shot through her bloodstream and she tried to pay attention, but couldn’t, too busy concentrating on his mouth and the way his hands tried to pull her into him. She was breathless and desperate, thrilled to have the power to excite him.

  His hands stilled suddenly. “A wonderful way to get warm,” he said against her lips.

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  He took a deep, audible breath, then released her and stepped back. “Thank you.”

  What should she say, “You’re welcome?” He was back to being formal only seconds after she’d kissed him? But then she realized why —she had kissed him. He hadn’t kissed her—because he didn’t offer second chances.

  “Got it,” she muttered with a breath that seemed to have been knocked out of her.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She turned and stretched her arms out to feel the walls as she made her way back toward the glowing entrance to the ballroom that wobbled before her tear-filled eyes. She used his sweater to dry her face as she walked around the buffet, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  The wedding cake looked like a Christmas tree in the center of the room. Pearly white and lime green winking, reflecting the light of a three dozen large candles. A dozen ornaments spun slowly on their invisible strings, like ballet dancers twirling around a nutcracker. It was magical. And it was misery.

  He’d tried to get close to her. She’d pushed him away, insulted him away. If she could have just trusted him a little… But it was too late.

  St. John pushed the ottoman/chairs away and pulled the end of the couch closer to the fire, put another log on, then walked away. He was soon back, dragging the second couch with him. Together, the two ornate pieces of furniture formed a V, serving two functions. First, the warmth was somewhat contained, and second, it let her know he was done cuddling, even if he froze to death. She’d disappointed him just like that other American, the one who didn’t care about money, like she apparently did.

  He sat at the end of the second couch that was closest to the fire, then leaned toward the flames and rubbed his hands together. “Once the chill is gone, I plan to stretch out and get some sleep. We’ve six good hours before dawn.”

  Mal went to the buffet and gathered up the table cloths that had been puddled around the chafing dishes and arrangements for effect. They were thin, but there were six in all. She went back to the fire and handed three to St. John.

  “If that’s not enough,” she said, “we can strip the tables for more.”

  “Thank you.” He kicked off his shoes and lied down with this head closest to the fire, doing his best to spread the tablecloths over himself. She did the same.

  “Would you like your sweater back?” she asked softly.

  “Keep it,” he said, and closed his eyes.

  The heat crept around her and invited her to sleep, but she couldn’t stop thinking about, and watching, the man across from her. She had been unfair to him, she’d admit that. But she hadn’t known anything about him other than what she’d heard from his sister, and Pemberly had insisted he was wonderful. Always wonderful. The problem was, Pemberly thought everyone was wonderful. The word told Mal nothing.

  When she’d first met St. John, she’d been cranky. He’d been rude—maybe from jet lag. Then he’d kissed her for no reason, and that had led her to only one conclusion, that he was a playboy, that his kisses meant no more than the word wonderful. He’d given her no reason to believe they meant anything more than that. And why would they? How could he possibly care for someone he’d just met?

  Or could he?

  She stared at his face, wishing she could tell what in the world was going on behind it, and realized his eyes were open.

  “You’re thinking again,” he said in a sleepy voice. “You’ll never get to sleep that way.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He sighed. “If it will help.”

  “What did you ever see in that American girl? Was it just the chemistry? Because she doesn’t sound very…nice.” She knew before she let the words out of her mouth that she was also describing herself. She hadn’t been nice at all. But if the other chick had redeeming qualities, maybe there was hope for Mallory too.

  “Perhaps I bring out the worst in her. Though, her worst was utterly charming to me.”

  Mal tried not to roll her eyes, since he was watching her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I can’t believe in love at first sight either, no matter how romantic it sounds.”

  “No, Mallory. It wasn’t love at first sight.” He paused. Breathed. Stared into her soul. “It took a moment or two.”

  She gave a short laugh, then caught her breath. Was he talking about the other girl? Or about her?

  He sat up abruptly and changed positions, putting his feet closest to the fire and turning his back to her. She wanted to think it was because his feet and back were cold, but she didn’t believe it for a minute.

  She tried to relax and stop trying to guess what the man was thinking. If she wasn’t such a coward, she would ask him. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  Pardon me, Mr. Bond. But is there a chance you believe you’re in love with me?

  Yeah. Right. He was just getting her mixed up with that other girl. That was all. Wasn’t that the point of telling her about it? So she’d understand why he seemed to be moving so fast?

  The flood of the day’s emotions finally threatened to pull her under and she found herself gasping for air, fighting back the sobs building in her chest. She needed to take a mental step back, to stop thinking, and try to relax. She focused on the peaceful crackle and pop of the fire, the sound of the wind dying down, its fits against the window growing weaker, like a tired old man who couldn’t fight much longer.

  She didn’t expect to sleep, but found herself swept smoothly back into her nightmares anyway. The transition was seamless, maybe because those nightmares always happened there, in the ballroom at Harmony Lodge…

  ~ ~ ~

  She and Bennett were standing b
efore the fireplace, holding hands. Santa Claus stood before them with an open book. Instead of a fire, the fireplace overflowed with electric green ornaments. Instead of her artwork, the ornaments had giant m’s stamped on them. Big green m&m’s—London would think it was hilarious, and telling.

  Unlike her usual Bennett-induced nightmares, in this one she was aware she was dreaming.

  “Dearly Beloved,” Santa began.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon,” the doorman said, stepping forward in his white and green uniform. “I’ve already married these two. Go on yer way, then.” He shooed Santa away.

  Mal licked her lips, hoping they were going to repeat the “kiss the bride” scene, but Bennett dropped her hand and took off for the kitchen.

  “I’ve got to do the dishes before the guests arrive,” he shouted without looking back.

  She looked at the doorman. “He doesn’t want me anyway.”

  “Oh?” He snorted, one side of his large nose curling up in disgust. “Yer the daftest lass who ever prayed for snow.”

  “You made it snow?”

  He preened. “I did. I did indeed. I’ve near broken me back fillin’ wishes this day. And no thanks from you. Shame, shame.” He wagged a finger at her.

  “I only wanted a little snow for Pemberly. I didn’t ask for the rest of this.”

  He bobbled his head back and forth. “Weeel, missy, they weren’t yer wishes I was filling, were they?” He turned and headed for the front entrance.

  “Wait!” She hurried to catch up. “You can’t go anywhere. The causeway is closed.”

  “Oh, aye. It is. Because yer man wished it closed, didn’t he? He wanted ye all to himself, for all the good it did ‘im.”

  She froze. Bennett wanted her to himself? For real? Enough to sabotage the reception? To waste all that money?

  She’d never really seen the power pole across the causeway, and she trusted the man who said he was Chief Moulder. Was London in on it too?

  The doorman made his way outside and down the steps. Mal followed. A large clump of snow fell on her head and she turned and looked up at the roof. Three teenage boys were shoveling snow off the edge to make it look like it was snowing for those inside the lodge.