by Webb, Peggy
Alone in the car, Ben studied her in a way that stirred her blood. She felt as if she’d landed on some remote part of the world where only the two of them existed.
What was the man up to?
The silence reverberated in the closed space, and still Ben didn’t speak. If he meant to disturb her with his intense scrutiny, he had succeeded. But if he meant to catch her off guard, he had failed. Holly prided herself on being equal to any occasion, and she was never without a quip handy.
“What’s your plan? To keep me barefoot and pregnant?”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a terrible mistake.
“What an intriguing idea. Is that what you suggest?”
“Wipe that grin off your face. I’m suggesting no such thing. I’m merely trying to find some humor in this situation.”
“That’s important to you, isn’t it, Holly, finding humor in situations that are difficult or scary?”
“Is that so bad?”
“No, not unless you use it as an excuse to hide your real feelings.”
“If this is going to be a deep philosophical discussion, I’m going to put my boots back on. I can’t think when my feet are cold.”
“We can’t let that happen. Come here.”
Ben had her feet in his lap before she knew what was happening.
“There, is that better?”
How could she think with her bare feet snuggled tightly against his thighs? It took all her concentration just to breathe, particularly when he began a slow, erotic massage. As he stroked the palm of his hand against the sole of her feet, her toes curled under. And darned if she didn’t moan like a stray cat searching for a home.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“If I lie, will you stop?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“My mood.”
He stroked her arch with his index finger then began to trace small circles on her sensitive skin. Ben instinctively knew what many men did not, that the foot was an erogenous zone.
Though reason had almost vanished, there was still a small voice inside Holly that questioned what she was doing in that car. She was a grown woman. She could demand that he stop that nonsense immediately and take her back where she belonged.
But why couldn’t she belong in a limousine with a gorgeous man stroking her feet and making her feel attractive and desirable? What was wrong with letting go for just a few minutes and enjoying every deliriously wicked thing Ben Sullivan could do?
Maybe Santa Claus had come early.
“Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop,” she said.
Holly the vamp. Loweva would approve.
Ben’s laughter was low and sexy. “I think it’s called groveling. Is this what you had in mind?”
“Not exactly... but it will do.”
Ben uncapped the small bottle of lotion, and the scent of roses surrounded them. Such a romantic fragrance. Exactly right with the heat in the car, so much heat that Holly couldn’t tell what was on the outside of her body and what was on the inside. After years of doing without, she reveled in the sensation.
She watched while he heated the lotion in his palms. Erotic images came to mind, images of Ben rubbing the lotion not only on her feet but on her calves, behind her knees, inside her thighs. Slick flesh caressing slick flesh. Hot skin touching hot skin.
Slowly she drew her tongue over her full bottom lip.
“That’s incredibly sexy,” Ben said.
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
“Didn’t you?”
Why couldn’t she become Holly the seductress? She didn’t need anybody’s approval.
“Actually, I did,” she confessed. “I figured that as long as I’m your captive, I might as well make the best of it.”
He laughed. “At last, an honest woman. I thought they were a dying breed.”
“Not where I come from.”
“Your honesty deserves a reward.”
He cupped her left foot between his hands and began a heady massage. Suddenly she was drowning in sensation, heat from his thigh, heat from his hands, heat coming from deep inside her.
She had always believed that the only chemistry was the kind you had to struggle through your freshman year at college. Her runaway bridegrooms had shaken her confidence in herself, but they hadn’t changed her mind about basic, elemental chemistry.
It was a steamroller: It ran over you when you least expected. It was something that came out of nowhere and simply overpowered you. Not merely overpowered you, but filled you and charged you and changed you, inside and out.
Holly surrendered. Leaning back in her seat, she wiggled her toes and made soft humming sounds of sheer ecstasy.
“I like a woman who is not afraid to express her pleasure.”
“I like a man who gives it.”
“How can I reward you for that?” His hands slid over her ankles and halfway up her calf. “Will this do?”
His voice was soft and intimate. He probably talked that way to every woman he met, but she wasn’t going to think about that right now.
“Oh, yes. That will do very nicely.”
Holly the hot hoyden. If her conscience pricked her the tiniest bit for betraying her friends the Snipes family, she would deal with that tomorrow.
Holly O’Hara. The only difference between her and Scarlett was that she didn’t have an eighteen- inch waist—and never would, even with a waist cincher.
What Ben was doing with her legs was probably a sin of some kind and definitely should be outlawed. Were his hands sliding higher?
Yes, definitely. Almost to the knee.
Would he go beyond? More to the point, would she let him?
She shouldn’t, but she probably would, considering her present absence of mind.
How high under her skirts could she let him reach before she crossed the line between proper and improper? And did it count if nobody saw?
The absurdity of her line of thinking suddenly struck her, and she chuckled.
“Ticklish?” he said.
“No... oh, no.” Once something turned her tickle box over, Holly had a hard time stopping her laughter.
“I didn’t know I was doing a comedy routine.”
His wounded male pride was showing. That added to her hilarity.
“It’s... not... you,” she gasped between giggles.
“Then what is it?”
“Me.”
With the lift of one eyebrow, he demanded an explanation.
“I was sitting here trying to decide if the likes of Miss Manners had ever declared a line of demarcation.” His eyebrow lifted a notch higher. “You know, to separate the proper ladies from the improper ones. And then I was wondering which side I would fall on, and whether I even cared... and I got tickled.”
There was nothing as sobering as being closely observed by a sexy man. Holly’s laughter ceased as abruptly as it had begun. To make matters worse, she couldn’t even remember why she had found all that so funny in the first place.
“Fascinating,” he said, without a single hint of sarcasm.
“What?” she whispered, for suddenly she realized that his hands were still on her leg, and that if he kept up those slow sensual movements for another thirty seconds, she was going to stretch out on the leather seats of that white limousine and start writhing and moaning in a very improper fashion.
“You,” he said. “My original observation still stands: When you find a situation difficult or frightening, you use humor to keep from facing your real feelings. Do I scare you, Holly?”
The scariest thing about him was his razor-sharp mind. He could see through every smoke screen she threw up.
She jerked out of his grasp and grabbed her boots. “No, you don’t scare me, not in the least.”
She rammed her feet into her boots, careful to keep her freshly massaged and still tingling legs covered by her long wool skirt.
“Your time is up,
” she said.
She half expected him to protest. Instead he got out and hailed their drive. Then he settled back into his seat with an enigmatic smile on his face.
There was no use trying to figure him out. Even after all their encounters, he remained a man of mystery. He puzzled her, maddened her, and absolutely fascinated her.
When he caught her studying him, he winked.
“There’s something to be said for groveling,” he said in that deep, rich voice that made her hot and cold all at the same time. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t say it in polite company.”
He chuckled. “By all means, say it. The company is not polite.”
“Speak for yourself. Our driver is extremely polite, and I’m a lady from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.”
“I can vouch for the head and the toes. The interesting part is going to be finding out about everything in between.”
Ben was playing games, and she decided to play along. Batting her eyelashes Scarlett O’Hara fashion, she practically purred, “Why, Mr. Sullivan. How you turn a girl’s head with your pretty lies.”
“That’s not a lie; it’s a promise.”
Holly had spent a number of lonely years trying to erase the empty promises her two almost-husbands had made. The thing that took her so aback about Ben was that his promise didn’t seem empty. Oh, he was playing with her; there was no doubt about that. Having a bit of fun in this fancy limousine with the fresh roses in real crystal vases.
But somehow the things he said had the ring of truth. Not that she was any expert, but she had learned that sometimes you could look in a man’s eyes and see whether he was making up pretty lies to suit the occasion or saying things he meant.
Ben meant every word he said. For once, Holly was all out of quips.
Chapter 11
Somewhere in the distance Christmas bells were ringing, but Ben was definitely not in a Christmas mood. He was down at his barn trying to coax Henry into the trailer he had rented for the occasion. The donkey, being his usual obnoxious self, refused to budge. To top it all off, it had rained the night before, and Ben was standing ankle-deep in mud.
Besides all that, he was still in a foul mood from Hines’s lecture. True to his nature, Hines had upbraided Ben royally about taking Holly out in the limousine without calling her first. Kidnapping was his word for it.
“That’s no way to treat a lady, sir.”
There was no telling what Hines would have said if he had known about the foot massage. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Ben wasn’t courting the woman; he was merely researching her, testing her. So far, she was making top-notch scores.
The thought of seeing her again made him feel good in a clean, wholesome way. He could hardly wait.
“Look, Henry. We don’t have all day. If it’s good enough for the sheep, it ought to be good enough for you.”
He tugged on Henry’s halter, but the donkey stood his ground, expressing his opinion with a loud bray.
“I don’t think you can sway a donkey with reason, sir.”
Dressed in suit and tie, Hines stood under a huge umbrella well out of reach of the mud and mayhem in the barn.
“I don’t need advice from a man whose shoes still bear a spit shine.”
Ben’s own boots were beyond redemption. He even had mud on his jeans.
“Be that as it may, sir, somebody has to come up with a plan or else we’ll be late delivering these beasts to the church.”
“We’re not going to be late, even if I have to bodily lift that stubborn animal into the truck.”
“We might call on some of the neighbors for help. That farmer down the road seems a nice sort.”
When Ben had told Holly that he was part of the deal, he’d never dreamed that transporting the animals would be such a problem. But he had never seen a problem that he couldn’t solve, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“I said I would do this, and I’m going to do it. I’m not about to let a jackass get the best of me.”
“My sentiments exactly. Don’t let the beast get the best of you, sir.”
Ben tired of friendly persuasion and tried force. But the donkey dug his hooves into the mud and wouldn’t be moved. A cow watching with interest from the other side of the pasture fence let her sentiments be known with a soulful mooing.
“I don’t need advice from you, either,” Ben said, and then he remembered what Holly had told about the cow and the donkey being inseparable.
“Hines, if you’ll open that pasture gate and let Gertrude out, I think this problem will be solved.”
Ben put a small pile of hay just inside the trailer, and Gertrude marched docilely in. Henry promptly joined his best friend, and Ben latched the trailer gate.
“Very impressive, sir.”
“If you can get this rig up to the house while I make a quick change, we’ll be off. Can you drive this thing?”
“Nothing to it, sir. I’ve watched a lot of cowboy movies.”
o0o
The tables in the fellowship hall were laid with juice and doughnuts, the Christmas decorations were in place, and the live Nativity was ready for the animals.
Loweva put her hands on her ample hips and surveyed the surrounding.
“Where’s Ben?”
That’s what Holly was wondering, too.
Over the intercom they could hear the minister still going full blast with his sermon. Early church wouldn’t be over for another thirty minutes. They still had plenty of time to get the animals in place.
“Don’t worry,” Holly said. “He promised he would come, and he always keeps his promises.”
If Loweva thought it odd that Holly was defending a man she had once considered the enemy, she wisely kept her thoughts to herself.
“And where’s Clara?” Loweva grumbled. “She’s the big Ike on the special events committee that thought it all up. If you ask me, she’s the one ought to be here seeing about this foolish piece of business. How come you always get stuck with these dirty jobs?”
“I like to think of it as being chosen because of my brilliant and uncanny knack for being in charge.”
Sometimes Holly wished she didn’t get tapped to do so many odd jobs for every department in the church, but she never said no. In a way it was flattering that Jonathan thought she was equal to almost any task.
Suddenly the door opened and Ben Sullivan strode through.
“Are you the angel in charge?” He stood directly in front of her, taking in her bed sheet and tinsel from head to toe.
Holly was glad she’d used permanent press this time. And she’d made sure her hair was freshly shampooed and her halo was on straight, too. She was even wearing perfume. She had to remind herself that she was in church and should act accordingly.
“Yes. I always enter the spirit of the season. Besides, the kids love my costumes.”
“So do I.”
His gaze was slow, deliberate, and sexy. At that moment Holly wanted to be anywhere except church.
“You brought the animals?”
“All of them.”
All of a sudden, she smelled orange blossoms, and she knew without a doubt that the scent wasn’t coming from a new perfume Loweva wore or a citrus tree somebody had put in the hall without her knowledge. The ancient legend was at work. She was trapped in its spell and she had no desire to escape.
In this most unlikely of places, in a most unlikely garb, Holly had fallen in love. She marveled at how a man could turn a woman inside out with nothing more than a single look. As they stood in the middle of the fellowship hall wrapped in hot silence, Holly knew that once in a lifetime there comes a man who can render a woman speechless. Ben Sullivan was that man. After today she could no longer tell herself that he was the enemy. She could no longer pretend that she was merely intrigued by him or that she was simply playing games.
The only game she wanted to play with Ben Sullivan was for keeps. Whi
le she had deluded herself that she could slip and slide toward a fatal attraction but never take a tumble, she had fallen. Hard.
It no longer mattered what he had done or who he was. It no longer mattered that he was probably wrong for her or that she was probably making another terrible mistake. Her heart was out of control. All she could do was pray that she didn’t get hurt, and that if she did, she could pick up the pieces and put them back together again without too many of the damaged parts showing.
Meanwhile early church was in full swing, the coffee was perking, and the season to make merry was at hand. Thank goodness Holly had plenty to take her mind off the delicious man standing in front of her—at least for a little while.
“Bring the animals in here,” she said.
“Into the fellowship hall?”
“Clara…you know Clara who owns the café and makes the best doughnuts in the world?”
“I’ll have to give them a try.”
The way Ben was looking at her made Holly feel as if he wanted to give her a try. She reined in her runaway emotions.
“Well, anyway, Clara fixed a place for them yesterday. Over there.”
Sixteen kindergarten-size chairs had been arranged in a large semicircle in front of the west wall. Looped along the tops of the chairs was a length of rope.
“I’m just a city slicker, but I don’t think those little chairs are going to prove much of a barrier for two sheep, a cow, and a donkey.”
“We’ll wrangle them.” Holly spoke with far more confidence than she felt. “Better get them in here. The early-church crowd will soon be here for doughnuts and coffee.”
“Whatever you say, boss angel.”
As Ben headed toward the door, Holly discovered a simple truth: People in love have an uncanny knack for finding significance in every word of their beloved. She glowed at the way Ben called her boss angel, as if the boss part was a compliment to her talent for organization, and the angel part was an endearment meant especially for her.
From across the room she watched as Ben came in with his animals, and while she watched she wondered if Loweva noticed anything different about her.
