To her surprise, Ayden said nothing until they reached Hearth’s Gate, and he stepped around to help her out of her side. “I know, Grace.”
Inside the house, his warm and deft hands spun her around, helping to untangle her from her winter garb. When he smirked down at her, her heart melted. This emotional feeling was the one sensation she feared the most. God help her.
****
Ayden wanted like hell to kiss Grace, again. So far, his creed of never making the first move had backfired on three occasions. His only solace was that the first time he’d been coerced, the second time was a life and death situation, and this third and final time was necessary to keep things going as he planned, without any interruption from her ex.
“Do you like rum cake?” he asked to keep himself from having to reevaluate all the reasons again. He admitted Wilhelmina Hawthorne’s dessert was more alcohol than flour, but anything to keep Grace from leaving him to go check her text messages in case the damn wish somehow made it through…not that he believed in the folklore in the first place.
“Sure, but I’m not very good with liquor.” She tucked a piece of dark hair behind her ear.
He chuckled, imagining her getting wild and disrobing on top of his antique coffee table. “So, what happens with you and alcohol?”
She smiled. “I don’t take off my clothes, if that what you’re asking.”
“Damn.”
She laughed but lifted a dainty finger as if to give him a warning. “I fall asleep, so I can have some cake, but keep in mind there’s a very good chance my face will fall flat into the plate after my third bite.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“It’s your call.” She shrugged. He left her to retrieve Wilhelmina’s prized rum cake, deciding to bring the entire Bundt-shaped dessert with two forks resting on each side. When he entered the room, he found Grace sitting in quiet contemplation, her attention focused on the dormant redbrick fireplace. Since he’d installed the gas furnace several years before, he’d not had any desire to light the fireplace up again, even when his dates hinted several times of how romantic it would be to cuddle before a crackling fire.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She peered up ,startled. “No, I’m fine.” She tried to stifle a shiver, and he sat the plate down and ambled away to retrieve some logs from his deck. Despite not using the fireplace, he understood the importance of keeping it ready for emergencies.
It took several minutes, but he managed to build a popping fire, the sweet aroma of sizzling sap filling the space with a comforting fragrance. She moved to sit beside him, bringing the blanket his mother made with her.
“This feels wonderful.” Grace closed her eyes and let the flickering light kiss her cheeks.
“Yes.” He sat captivated by her entranced features, realizing how he’d reminisced about kissing her, every glorious inch of her.
“Are you ready for some football…and cake?” He projected his voice above the tone of his own thoughts.
Her lids flew open, and he wondered where she’d been these last few moments, and with whom. The thought unsettled him.
“Are you ready to carry me up a flight of stairs?”
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Only if you’re fully naked.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?” She sighed and maneuvered around so the cake sat between them on the short coffee table. As he flipped the game on and muted the volume, she lifted a small bite to her lips when he reached out to stop her.
She gave him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter?”
“How about we make this interesting?”
She drew back, and he knew she didn’t trust his motives. “How…interesting?”
He laughed before pressing his palm into her back to bring her closer. “Since we are in need of learning as much about one another as possible, I say, for every question asked, the other has to take a bite. The more questions one has, the more bites the other takes.”
She nibbled at her lip before answering. “You do realize I’m at a serious disadvantage?” After a few moments of deep sighs and headshakes, she finally stuck her hand out for him to shake. “Fine, who goes first?”
He pulled a coin from his pocket. “Call it.” He flipped it high in the air and caught it in his palm.
“Tails!”
“Heads. You go first.”
Like a child, Grace wiggled so her back sat against the pillow he’d propped against the mahogany table. As he watched her, mesmerized, she closed her eyes and thought of her first question. Damn, he wanted to kiss her again. He’d thought of the game to relax her, to put her at ease, not take advantage of her.
Of course, the longer she sat meditating on her question, the longer he sat thinking about her lips or tasting the sensitive flesh just below her earlobe.
“Okay,” she finally said, jerking him, again, out of his thoughts. “If your life was turned into a movie, what actor would play you?”
Caught off guard, he almost choked. He’d expected a question about how many sex partners he had or his favorite position. Thoughtful, he turned his head toward the fire and contemplated his answer. “Dead or alive?”
She tapped the end of her index finger against her lips, drawing his attention there. “Alive.”
“Chris Hemsworth.” He sliced a glance in her direction, satisfied to see her smile. “Now eat.”
As promised, she lifted a spoonful in a mocking toast. He could tell by the thick bouquet of molasses and alcohol, he’d know soon how honest she was regarding the effects. “My turn,” he said with a nudge against her shoulder. “What was your worst subject in school?”
“Uhm, wow. I…I guess it was drama.”
“Oh, right,” he said, wishing he hadn’t wasted a question on something that was so obvious.
For good measure, however, he dug out a generous amount of cake, savoring the strong portion as it warmed a trail from his throat to his stomach. He’d barely had enough time to set the fork down before she lobbed another question at him.
“What was your worst Halloween costume?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Having indulged in this game before with at least a dozen women, he thought he’d know her questions before she asked them. He was wrong.
Offended, she drew up beside him. “What’s so funny?”
He cleared his throat and pulled his lips into a cocky smile. “I guess I expected a more erotic game of truth.”
She nodded. “You mean, like, what was your worst date, or where was the craziest place you ever had sex?”
He sat there, with his mouth open, unsure what to even say now that she’d posed the obvious questions to him. “At the moment, I can’t remember ever being on a worse date. As for the second, I would have to say—”
Before he could tease her with an answer, she stuffed a full bite of cake into his mouth.
“Now, where were we?” she said, daring him to distract her from the game again.
“Cheating,” he answered simply and swiped the corners of his mouth with the tips of his thumb and index finger.
She blinked at him, innocent and quiet.
“All right, my worst Halloween costume was Little Tarzan.”
She laughed, her eyes glittering in the warm firelight. “Oh, you must have looked adorable.”
“Adorably cold,” he admitted, his gaze narrowing.
He knew by the way she nibbled on her lower lip, she had more inquiries pertaining to his outfit. “Go ahead, but every one of them will cost you.”
Her smile lit up with excitement. “How old were you?”
“Seven.”
“Leopard or stripes?”
“Leopard.”
“Do you have pictures?”
“No! I burned them.” He pointed to the fireplace. “Right there, in fact. Now you owe me three bites.”
She opened her mouth to protest when he scooped up a charitable amount and placed it between her li
ps. It proved a rewarding effort as her pretty mouth closed slowly around the spoon without protest.
Content to remain as sober as possible, he encouraged her to continue her interrogation until her movements and speech slowed. To make it somewhat fair, he pandered to his own curiosity, taking a bite off her plate for good gesture.
“I know your worst childhood memory, but tell me your best one,” he asked, feeling her relax. She sighed and slunk her shoulder against his, her soft body molding to his side and her cheek resting on his arm.
“That one is easy. It was a few months after my dad left, and we were all suffering from the aftershock. My mom thought it would be a good idea to get us out of the city and decided to take us camping.”
“Do you like camping?” He made sure to keep his voice gentle.
She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling like a gentle wave. “That’s two questions.” She held up two fingers and kept them out to exaggerate her point.
He brought his hand over hers, relishing in the suppleness of her skin. “In that case, put it on my tab.”
“A tab, why didn’t I think of that?” At this point, her words were methodical and deliberate. “Camping was okay, but both Danielle and my mother hated it. After about three hours of bizarre animal noises, a brief rain, and something slithering around my mom’s feet, she packed us up and checked us into the nearest place with a bed that sat more than a foot off the floor.”
“Oh, this sounds like a wonderful childhood memory, Grace.”
She clicked her tongue, and he held a chuckle to keep from breaking her thoughts.
“We ended up staying in this quaint bed and breakfast somewhere in Oregon. The couple was very nice, and I remember we’d sit around, just talking. The owner’s husband was tall with a full head of white hair and friendly twinkling aqua-colored eyes. He’d tell us these funny stories of other guests, while his wife served us tea and always with these delicious little desserts that just melted in your mouth. I guess that’s why I wanted to start baking. I wanted to create a little magic, like she did.”
Grace paused to yawn, and he waited for her to continue. Only she didn’t. When he glanced down, her gaze was transfixed on the fireplace, a million miles away.
“Grace, tell me what happened to you that Christmas day.”
Her head shook against him. “You really don’t want to know. It’s depressing and boring.”
“Nothing you say is boring.”
She exhaled and then cleared her throat. “It was an unusually hot night, I remember. I was sleeping and Danielle, who still believed in Santa, decided to wake me first and find out what he’d brought us for Christmas. She was so excited. By then, I knew the truth, so the magic of the day had somewhat faded.”
For her sake, Ayden sat with a stealth-like silence, waiting for the rest of the story.
“But since I loved to see the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her favorite holiday, I pretended to believe. So that morning, I grabbed her hand and led her downstairs, hoping, praying to see a normal Christmas morning. You know, the ones they show on TV with presents around the tree, the aroma of strong coffee brewing, Mom and Dad wrapped in holiday housecoats on the couch.”
She paused, but not for long. “Instead, the tree lay in a mess on the floor and our presents were cast about as if a bear had gotten loose in our living room. Danielle crumpled on the stairway as my mom sat in a corner, her arms locked around her knees, her face swollen from hours of crying.”
He’d heard enough, enough of the sadness and disappointment in her voice. “Grace, you don’t—”
“I know. My parents had gotten in a horrible fight about the flavor of the week: money, his job, her gift, some woman named Theresa. He left and never came back.”
Ayden brought Grace closer against him, unable to imagine her being a child or having to endure such heartbreak.
“After that day, my mom sort of just closed up and handed everything over to me.”
“For God’s sake, Grace. You were just a child.”
She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I felt so bad for her. I remember lying in my bed, listening to her crying across the hall. In the morning, when it was still dark, I’d get up to fix Danielle something for breakfast, and I’d find my mom sitting in the kitchen with the lights off.”
“Oh, Grace.” He bent his head to kiss her hair.
“So basically, we became nonparticipants over nonbelievers.”
“Yes,” he agreed and stayed silent. After a very long moment, he called her name. “Grace?”
She didn’t answer. Like she’d said she would, she fell asleep. He glanced around him and realized they hadn’t even paid any attention to the game. So far, the Hawks were on top by fourteen. With Grace still leaned against him, he turned off the TV, scooped her up, and carried her upstairs. Light as snow, he laid her upon his pillow, sat down, and brushed back a wisp of her dark hazelnut brown hair.
With the hall light filtering into the room, he noticed when her eyelashes flickered open and she smiled. “I hope I wasn’t too heavy for you to carry.”
“No, not at all.”
She nodded and sighed. “So do you think you know enough about me, Mr. McCabe?” she said in a tired voice.
“I do have one more question.”
She let her thick eyelids flutter and then rest against her check. “All right.”
“Have…you ever thought of leaving San Francisco?” He thought it a safe enough question while she was slightly intoxicated and half-asleep.
Her lips curled upward. “Do you mean, like moving away?”
“Yeah, I mean, did you always want to live in California?”
“That’s two questions.”
He leaned forward. “I still have a tab, remember.”
“Cheater,” she teased and rolled onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. “No. I guess I never thought there was any other option.”
That was all she said as she let out a breath. Ayden sat, enjoying watching her sleep. Then, after some time he stood, unsure how many more nights of getting to know each other he’d have to endure. In the past, the answer and question game always led to one thing, with the outcome always being the same, them in his bed, and definitely not sleeping.
He chuckled to himself and ambled back to the spare bedroom, believing life had a clever way of mocking him.
Chapter Fifteen
Grace awoke with a throbbing headache. The last thing she remembered was reminiscing over her happiest and most tragic moments with Ayden.
Ayden! She jerked upward, afraid to find the bed occupied, his magnificent body stretched beside her, his irresistible grin burning into her conscience. To her heart’s disappointment, the mattress lay empty.
“Oh, please don’t fall further for Ayden McCabe,” she chanted to herself between showering, dressing, and slipping downstairs. Believing he’d endured another night in the windowless room, she stepped into the kitchen, halting abruptly inside the doorway.
If she thought she’d escaped glancing upon Ayden’s half-naked form this morning, she’d not remembered whose house she occupied. He stood, shirtless in a pair of forest green pajama bottoms and propped against the counter, a midnight blue coffee cup in his left hand and a folded paper in his right.
She glanced away, trying to cease the sudden swooping motion in her stomach. Unable to erase the image of his hard-sculptured chest and contoured abdomen tapering into a V below the drawstring waistband, she continued on a blind path to the breakfast nook.
On the round mahogany table, she found a stack of toast and a bowl of buttered grits. Between both sat a frosty glass of what looked like tomato juice.
“I thought you might want something light on your stomach after—”
“You shamelessly got me drunk? Thanks,” she said, embarrassed how she’d indulged so much in front of a man she’d didn’t know existed less than a week ago. She settled down, grasping a piece of rye toast.
> “How do you feel?”
Grace closed her eyes, not wanting to admit she wished to crawl back in bed and sleep for another day or two. However, she needed to get back to work and she still didn’t know how to find Danielle. “Never better.”
“That’s the spirit!”
She knew, even without looking, he stood smiling, his beautiful lips curled, behind a steaming cup of coffee. As not to appear obviously affected by his wondrous half-nakedness, she rotated around and settled her gaze on his amused face. “Do we find Danielle today?”
“Hmm,” he commented before throwing the paper on the marble island and sauntering over to join her. “I asked the Hawthornes to locate the surveillance recording of the person who took the postcard. Maybe from that, you will be able to recognize him.”
“Mistletoe needs surveillance?” she half joked.
“For insurance purposes, yes.”
Grace nodded, finding optimism in his plan.
“Until then, I thought we’d go to the hospital and visit the O’Shannon clan.” He reached over her to take a piece of toast from the plate. The warm, spicy scent of him made her imagine lifting her lips to his bare skin and tasting every bare inch of him. She felt groggy from the alcohol and the constant thoughts of falling in bed with him without both of them overthinking or ruining the moment with premeditated notions.
“Do you want to?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she forced her gaze to his face, unsure if she’d said her thoughts out loud. “Do—” she started to say, and then had to clear her throat. “Do I want to do what…exactly?”
Ayden chewed slowly on his food before asking, “Are you okay?” The sincere concern made her bow her head in embarrassment. While she was thinking of tearing off what was left of his clothes, he was probably wondering about their next step in finding Danielle.
“Yes, of course.”
He sent her a lopsided grin, and she knew he’d guessed at her wayward thoughts. She shifted her gaze to the window and the brilliant sun glaring off the thick snow. Her reflections quickly turned to someday leaving this place: the snow, the cold, the falling Christmas trees, and Ayden.
“I don’t know,” Grace said, her mind suddenly remembering what he’d asked before she took a U-turn down the road of immoral contemplation. When she angled back to look at him, he was lounging in his chair, still shirtless, with an expression of perplexity. Now, what was he thinking? She shook off the answer. “I mean, I don’t know Sarah or Neil very well, and I can’t imagine they’d want me there.”
In Mistletoe Page 13
