Realizing another smell, one that was making his stomach grumble, was taking precedence over the pine and was coming through an open doorway, he followed his nose.
When he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped still at the sight that met him, wondering if he’d had one too many kids call him Santa. Because he certainly had the feeling that he’d stepped into an old Christmas movie again.
Singing to the soft Christmas music playing on the mounted under-the-counter player, Abby had on an apron that had Mr. and Mrs. Claus kissing under a sprig of mistletoe on the front. She’d pulled her thick hair back with a red ribbon and had kicked off her shoes for a pair of worn, fuzzy Rudolph slippers.
Stirring a mixture in a glass bowl, a whimsical smile played on her lips as she swayed to the beat of “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.” She looked happy. Like she belonged in this house with its hand-me-down decorations and cozy holiday atmosphere.
Not that he found any of this cozy.
Only there was something about Abby that made him feel warmth where only coldness had resided for so long. There was also something about her that made him want to hold mistletoe over her head and kiss her.
He’d need a thatched hut with a mistletoe roof over her head to justify all the places he wanted to kiss Abby Arnold.
He wanted to do more than kiss her. Lots more. Like take some of that fudge and smear it across her…
Her gaze lifting from the glass bowl she held, she smiled, knocking the breath from his lungs with her beauty and sincerity. “I can’t believe you wanted homemade fudge as your any time, any place, any thing.”
Her smile said he’d pleased her with his ravings about the goodies she’d brought to the break room at the hospital and how he wanted another bite.
He wanted another bite all right.
Her dimples dug a little deeper into her lovely face. “Some men are so easy.”
Smiling at him like that, she made him feel easy. Like he was cookie dough in her hands, waiting for her to mold him into whatever shape she wanted. So why was he still there? Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving as he’d come in here to do?
Why was he smiling back at her? Why was he eyeing the pan of chocolate-chip cookies she’d taken out of the oven and feeling a pang of hunger in his belly? A pang that didn’t begin to compare to the one below his belt caused by eyeing Abby.
“If they’ve tasted your homemade goodies, I understand why. Especially the peanut-butter fudge.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes sparkled like the silver tinsel draping her tree. “It was my mother’s recipe.”
“Was?”
A flicker of pain crossed her face. “She died.”
“I’m sorry.” He was. Death was never easy. If anyone knew that, he did. In spades. No, death wasn’t easy. Not even when you were a highly trained doctor who’d been dealing with life and death on a daily basis for years.
Just look at how stupidly he’d behaved that first night he and Abby had worked together. Even now, his reaction to the motor vehicle accident victims bothered him, but he understood why, understood that when he’d been battling to save the mother and daughter, he’d been trying to save his wife, trying to save Shelby.
Only to fail.
But he’d held up fine, wearing the mask he’d perfected in those months following their deaths. Pretending he was okay when inside all he’d felt was cold.
Until he’d run into Abby.
He’d been on his way out of the hospital, had caught the elevator just as the door had started closing, and been startled to see a red-eyed Abby eyeing him in surprise.
After shift change, she’d obviously slipped into the bathroom and had a good cry, was still fighting tears. She’d looked vulnerable, needy, way too distraught to be getting behind the wheel of a car.
Way too distraught for him to let her.
He’d insisted on driving her home.
Which was all fine and dandy.
Walking her to the door, going inside, staying, was where he’d messed up.
He didn’t date hospital employees, wouldn’t date hospital employees.
He hadn’t really dated Abby. He’d just not been able to stand the sadness in her eyes, to stand the thought of her driving upset and possibly something happening to her. They’d ended up naked, in her bed, making love until they’d both collapsed in each other’s arms and slept the day away.
He shouldn’t have done that.
Shouldn’t have agreed to be her Santa.
Shouldn’t be here now.
So why was he pulling up a chair, willingly staying somewhere Christmas tunes played, instead of beating a path to the door?
Was her imagination running wild or was Dirk looking at her like he’d rather take a bite out of her instead of the peanut-butter fudge?
Abby turned away from his intense blue eyes and took a deep breath. Needing to do something with her hands, she twisted on the faucet and filled the sink with sudsy water to wash the dishes she’d used to make the cookies and two batches of fudge—one chocolate, one peanut butter.
“This is really great.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. She’d swear she heard him moan a moment ago.
Without turning toward him, Abby began stacking the dishes into the hot water to let them soak a few minutes.
“My mother had tons of great recipes, but…” But most of them had been lost in the fire. Only her mother’s Christmas recipes packed away in the crates in the basement had survived. The items stored in the basement had been the only items that had survived, period. Almost every box had contained precious Christmas items. “I always bring several big platters full of goodies to the hospital every Christmas.”
“Like the fudge you brought the other day?”
“That, and more.” She grabbed a dish towel, turned toward him and leaned against the sink. “I like to bake. I like how the house smells when I have cookies in the oven and candies going on the stovetop and…”
Realizing she was probably boring him, heat flushed her face. She wiped her hands more with the dish towel, wondering if the moisture was from the dishwater or from nervous clamminess. Dirk made her edgy.
“Sorry.” She smiled wryly. “Christmas is my favorite holiday and I get carried away at times.”
“Obviously.”
Despite the amusement in his eyes, something about the way he said the word struck her as wrong. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His grin stayed in place but, still, there was something off kilter, something a bit too brittle about him. “Just that it looks like Bing Crosby should be showing up any moment to start singing about a white Christmas.”
“What would be so bad about that? He was a great singer. What’s wrong with you anyway? All day you’ve acted like you really don’t like Christmas.”
He shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Say it isn’t so!” Astounded, flabbergasted, shocked, her mouth dropped open and her palm flattened against her chest, dish towel and all.
“Why?” He shrugged, looking so serious it made Abby want to loosen her apron strings. “It’s the truth. I’m surprised you buy into such a commercialized holiday.”
“The business world commercializes every holiday but that doesn’t lessen what the day is about.”
“Which is?”
“Are you kidding me?” She eyed him, wondering if he was teasing her. When he’d first told her he didn’t like Christmas, she’d thought he was just trying to get out of playing Santa. Could anyone really not like Christmas? Why wouldn’t they? “Christmas is about everything good in life. It’s a time when families come together and give of themselves to each other. A time when the world slows down and gives a helping hand to someone in need. It’s—”
“It’s a time when people run up credit-card debt they can’t pay. It’s a time of the highest rate of depression cases treated, the highest rate of suicide, the highest rate of—”
“How can you be such a
cynic about Christmas?” Abby tossed the dish towel onto the countertop and frowned. How could someone not love Christmas? Not love the bright colors in the stores, the sounds of Christmas over the radio, the decorations along the streets? Abby even loved walking past the Salvation Army bellringers. Dropping money into their collection pails always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Giving of oneself was the greatest joy of the holidays. Sure, it would be nice to have someone give to her, to share the moments with, but she’d already decided once today that she’d had enough self-pity.
“I’m not a cynic,” he denied, but the more he talked, the more convinced she became that he was.
“I’m a realist,” he clarified. “For most, Christmas is a major stressor with trying to come up with the perfect gift, trying to figure out how they’re going to pay for that gift, and how they’re going to fight the crowds to make sure they get their hands on that perfect gift.”
“You’re so negative,” she pointed out, wondering what had given him such a slanted view of her favorite time of the year. “I see Christmas as at time when you get to search out that special gift to bring a smile to someone’s face. A gift meant just for them from you that signifies who they are and how much you appreciate having them in your life.”
“It’s about rushing from one place to the next,” he went on, as if she’d never interrupted his tirade. “Never quite satisfying family and friends with how much of your time you can allot for the festivities they planned without any consideration for your busy schedule. It’s about high emotions and family bickering and—”
“Bah, humbug,” she interrupted, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down beside him, positive she was staring at a complete stranger. Who would have thought the wonderful emergency doctor was such a Scrooge? The caring man who’d been as devastated by the deaths of two patients as she had? “Say what you will, but that’s not what Christmas is about. Not to me, and you should be ashamed for being so…so…Grinchy!”
He eyed her for long, silent moments, studying her as if she were an oddity. Then, as if he’d not just dissed her favorite holiday, dissed her favorite childhood memories of perfect Christmas moments, his lips curved into a crooked smile. “If it’s any consolation, I really like Christmas fudge.”
Taking a deep breath, relaxing the tension that had tightened her neck muscles, Abby sighed. How could she stay annoyed at him when he gave her that boyish look that made her toes curl in her shoes?
“Good thing I didn’t know all this about you when I asked you to be Santa,” she said, smoothing out the edge of a plain red and green table placemat. “You, Dr. Kelley, are no Santa Claus.”
“You asked me to be Santa because you couldn’t get anyone else to agree.” Still showing wry amusement, his gaze pinned hers. “Admit it.”
An unexpected giggle rose up her throat. “Okay, you’re right. Everyone else I asked claimed to be busy.”
“Such classic examples of Christmas goodwill and cheer.”
“They were probably busy,” she said defensively, although she doubted any of them could match her holiday season schedule. Every year she took on as many projects as she could fit in.
“Sure they were.” He popped the last piece of his fudge into his mouth. “But if they’d known they could maneuver their way into your kitchen, you’d have had to beat Santa-wannabes away with stockings filled with coal.”
“I’m guessing you’d know a lot about those stockings filled with coal.” At his mock look of horror, she smiled. “You should’ve tried my mother’s Martha Washington candy.”
Memories of standing on a chair beside her mother, carefully dipping rolled candies into melted chocolate, her mother smiling down at her, praising her efforts, filled Abby’s heart. How she longed for a family to spend Christmas with.
Dirk reached for a second square of fudge. His sooty ashes swept across his cheeks as he bit into it. Was it shameful she’d like to see that blissful look on his face while he tasted her lips? Yes. Yes, it was. They’d agreed anything physical between them was a mistake. She’d agreed when he’d said that.
It had been a mistake. Hadn’t it? Or had agreeing with him been the mistake?
Because looking at him, being here with him, denying the way she wanted him when she wanted him so badly sure felt like the bigger mistake.
Chapter Three
“IF YOU’RE more into peanut butter, there’s always peanut-butter balls and homemade peanut brittle,” she rushed out, trying to redirect her mind away from the direction it was headed.
Eyes wide, his gaze lifted to hers. He looked like an eager little boy. Like he’d looked that morning when he’d devoured her mouth.
He placed his hand over his heart. “I’ve died and gone to heaven. You’re right. I was too easy. I should have asked for peanut brittle.”
She laughed out loud at his look of ecstasy.
Just as quickly her laughter faded as more memories of another time, another look of ecstasy had been on his handsome face.
When he’d been standing just inside her front door, awkwardly saying goodbye but making no move to leave. The only move he’d made had been to bend and gently kiss her lips.
Then he’d kissed her not so gently.
Oh, Lord, how he’d kissed her.
And kissed her.
No, she couldn’t keep thinking of that morning. Not with him here, alone, in her house, just the two of them and the bed where he’d made love to her.
No, not love. They’d just been two colleagues dealing poorly with a very stressful night in the emergency room.
Her gaze tangled with his and his good humor faded just as quickly as hers had. Was he remembering, too? Recalling that the last time he’d been in her house, he’d never seen the kitchen but had had an up-close-and-personal tour of her bedroom?
He stuck the remainder of his fudge in his mouth, stood and brushed his hands over the faded jeans he’d changed into in her guest bathroom after his shower. When he’d swallowed the mouthful, he took a step back. “I put your Santa suit on the sofa.”
His words managed to pull her from memories of Dirk’s last visit to further in the past. Her father’s Santa suit. When Dirk had asked her about what he’d wear, she’d instantly offered her father’s suit.
“Thanks for the fudge and for the loan of the suit.”
“It was the least I could do as you filled in for Santa.” True, but had anyone else agreed to play the role, she would have bought a cheap Santa costume from a department store. For Dirk, she’d dug out the treasured suit that had belonged to her father.
“Thanks all the same.”
“If you hadn’t agreed, I’d have had to play Santa.” Not that her father’s suit would have fit her, but she’d have made it work somehow. “I think the kids might have been scarred for life.”
His gaze raked over the ample upper part of her body. “You’re probably right about that. You’re no Santa.” He tossed her earlier words back at her.
Abby didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered. Either way, heat crept into her face.
“I’ll get a dish for you to take some home.” She stood so rapidly her chair almost toppled. Pulling out a Christmas patterned storage tin, she placed a generous piece of plastic wrap inside, arranged as much as would fit of the fudge and cookies, and put the lid on. “There you go.”
He’d moved over next to her, standing near the cabinets. His body heat radiated toward her, luring her nearer. “I feel guilty, coercing you to make this and then taking most of it.”
“You should feel guiltier if you left it here,” she teased a bit nervously, playfully elbowing him, the contact shooting stars through the pit of her belly.
His gaze dropped to where she’d touched his arm then his brow rose in question of her comment.
“If you left it, I’d eat it,” she clarified, not lowering her gaze despite how her blood pumped through her body at warp speed and made her feel as if she needed to c
all time out so she could catch her breath.
Again his eyes ran over her features, taking their time and not seeming to mind the bumps and valleys along the journey. “That would be a bad thing?”
“I’m a woman who is constantly on a diet,” she admitted, sucking in her waist reflexively as his gaze traveled lower. Not that holding her belly in would do much good.
“You have no reason to be on a diet.” When his eyes met hers, they were blue fire, hot, lust-filled.
A thousand carolers began to sing in her soul, louder and louder until she might explode from the sheer beauty of it, until she was sure the sound must be able to be heard in heaven itself.
“No reason at all,” he repeated, his gaze burning hotter. “You’re perfect just as you are.”
Um, right. Perfect. If you liked a woman who was busty and hippy, with a little extra thigh thrown in on the sides. But she couldn’t look away from Dirk, because he was either the most talented fibber in the world or he meant what he said. And, darn, if those carolers hadn’t gone up another octave in the pit of her belly, making every individual cell vibrate in a happy dance.
“I, uh…” What could she say when he was looking at her as if a slightly fuller figure really was perfection? She shoved the fudge at him. “Thank you, but I’m glad you’re taking it, all the same.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but must have decided against doing so as he took the candy, stared at her a few moments, his gaze going from fire to almost a sad smoldering. “Bye, Abs. You working tomorrow night?”
Abs. He really shouldn’t say her name like that so carelessly! Holding her breath, she nodded.
“Are you planning to go to the hospital Christmas party this weekend?” Had he winced while asking that? Or after the words had left his mouth?
“Of course,” she answered slowly, watching the play of conflicting emotions dance on his face. “I’m on the hospital’s Christmas committee and helped put the party together. Are you going?”
“I hadn’t planned to, but…” He paused, looked as if he needed to loosen his collar even though his black T-shirt was far from restricting at the neck.
His for Christmas Page 33
