by Leanne Banks
He opened the door of the linen closet and grabbed sheets and a blanket. There was just something about her. Something in the depths of her brown eyes that grabbed at him and twisted. Being in her house gave him the oddest feeling of finding home.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. It must be the Christmas season. All the holly-jolly, mistletoe and heart-plucking nostalgia. He was usually immune. He returned to the couch.
Faith immediately hobbled to her feet.
Gabriel glanced at the clock. “It’s still early. You don’t have to leave on my account.”
“Oh, no, I—”
Cutting through her fluster, he waved his hand. “Are you sleepy?”
She opened her mouth then closed it. Her slim shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Not really. My head is spinning. I’m overwhelmed.”
“Have a seat before I help you,” he said with a half threat in his voice.
She sank onto the sofa.
“Is it the gifts?” he asked, moving to sit down on the sofa. He set the linens on the coffee table.
She nodded. “The gifts, the press, the SUV—” She closed her eyes then covered her face. “The check and you—”
“Me?” he echoed, interrupting her list. “What’s overwhelming about me?”
Faith squirmed. “You just are. You come in here like some kind of superhero with all these gifts for my kids and a job offer for me—”
“I’m looking out for myself by offering you a job,” he told her. “You know you’re a damn good cook.”
“I suppose,” she admitted. “But the car and the check. And you keep picking me up and carrying me everywhere,” she said, clearly exasperated.
“You’re not used to having a man around the house,” he said.
“I can’t argue with that,” she muttered, looking down at the sofa cushion.
“Do the kids ever see their dad?” he asked.
She shook her head and the disappointment he saw in her eyes grabbed at him. “He abandoned us. He couldn’t handle the responsibility of a family.” She sighed. “Even though my aunt was very ill during the last year and she couldn’t do much, I didn’t realize how much I relied on her company. I love my kids, but I miss having another adult around.”
Gabriel thought about his too-quiet house and understood what she was saying. “Makes sense,” he said. “Raising kids is hard enough to do with two people, let alone one.”
“Yeah, Becky says I need to get out more.”
“If she starts bringing home romantic prospects for you—”
Faith groaned. “Oh, don’t start. That’s one of her Christmas wishes she’s determined to make happen.” She sighed and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “Christmas is a wonderful time of year, but it can be hard for some people.”
“For you?” he asked, curious.
“Well, it’s a time that I count my blessings and Jason and Becky bring so much magic to my life. But I also think about losses, like my parents when I was very young, my marriage and now my aunt.” She glanced at him, her brown eyes reminding him of hot chocolate. “I imagine it could be a tough time for you.”
He felt the familiar ache of loss and nodded. “When I have time to think about it, it is. But I try not to think about it. The last several years I’ve been too busy to pay much attention to the holidays.” He’d been busy because he’d made sure of it.
She met his gaze for a long moment then lifted her head. “Do you ever think it might work better not to avoid thoughts about your wife and daughter?”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I guess focus on the happy memories. Maybe give a donation in their honor. I’ve been told that if someone loves you, they will live inside you always.”
“You think it’s true?” he asked skeptically.
Her lips lifted and he noticed that her smile transformed her entire face. “I like to think so. It’s my way of keeping people alive who have been important to me. What about you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he said. “I try not to.”
“What was your wife like?” she asked.
“Type A like me. She had our daughter in every activity imaginable. That kid barely had time to catch her breath. But they both loved it.”
“Did you have any special Christmas traditions?”
“In between the performances of The Nutcracker?” He allowed his mind to drift back in time. He saw his wife brimming with happiness after a day of shopping, full of pride after trimming the tree. “My wife, Charlotte, always had to have the house perfectly decorated. She was in some women’s club and our house was always on the Christmas House tour. She loved the hustle and bustle of that time of the year.”
“It sounds like she made it fun,” Faith said.
“She did.” His heart lightened a fraction at the memory. “My daughter, Michelle, was always up before dawn wanting to see Santa Claus.”
Faith nodded. “My sisters and I did the same thing. Used to drive my uncle crazy.”
“I didn’t mind. It was always a lot of fun watching her open her gifts. My wife would always leave very broad hints about what she wanted and it usually involved jewelry.”
“But she always acted completely surprised when she opened it, right?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Female programming,” she said. “It’s in the chromosomes.”
“You do the same thing with your gifts.”
She nodded. “It’s slightly different, though. I hint with small things like dish towels or hand lotion and I act very surprised when I get them. Jason likes to be more creative. Last year, he gave me the coolest rubber snake he’d ever seen. He traded a week’s worth of lunches for it on the playground.”
He chuckled, picturing Faith’s face when she opened the gift. “What did you do?”
“Well, I screamed at first because I thought it was real. Then Jason reassured me it was fake.” She shook her head. “He was so proud that I screamed because that proved how cool the snake really was.”
“Where do you keep it?” he couldn’t resist asking.
“It’s safely packed away right now. If we don’t keep it packed away, then it somehow gets put in people’s beds,” she said with an expression that conveyed too much experience in the matter. “In the spring, we’ll pull it out and put it in the garden to scare things that want to eat my vegetables.” Her lips twitched. “I guess, in a way, you could say it’s a useful gift,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
A memory of his daughter slid through his mind. “My daughter gave me aftershave one Christmas. It was the rankest smelling stuff I’ve ever smelled.”
“But you did wear it?” she asked as if there were no other choice.
“Yeah, for a while.” He shook his head. “I swear I smelled like a dead fish when I wore that aftershave.”
She chuckled. “The things we do for our kids.”
He felt a bittersweet tug. His kid was gone. “Yeah.”
She covered his hand with hers. “It’s okay to miss them.”
He stared at the sight of her small hand over his, but didn’t reply. His throat was too tight.
“We put special ornaments on the Christmas tree for special people. My uncle was a very hard man, and a very hard worker. He loved carpentry work, so we put a couple of makeshift carpenter’s tools on the tree in his honor. My aunt collected tea cups, so we have a few miniature ones on the tree. And I get to hang the teapot. Ever since I can remember, my mother, and then my aunt, allowed me to hang the teapot ornament.”
She squeezed his hand. “So what was your daughter’s favorite thing in the world to do?”
“Ballet,” he said, remembering how Michelle had practiced twirls and leaps in the kitchen, in the foyer, just about everywhere. “She wanted to be a ballerina.”
“And your wife?”
Gabriel chuckled despite the tight feeling in his chest. “I don’t know w
hat her favorite thing to do was, but her favorite thing to collect was diamonds.”
She laughed with him, meeting his gaze. “And you, what do you like to do more than anything in the world?”
Work, so I don’t have to think about what I’ve lost. He glanced away. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.”
“Something tells me it’s not ballet.”
He chuckled again. How did she do that? How did she make him laugh even when he was hurting? “What makes you say that?” he asked, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers through hers.
“I’m having a tough time imagining you in a tutu,” she confessed in an almost-whisper that was surprisingly sexy.
He looked at her, taking in her towel-wrapped head, face bare of cosmetics, and terry robe and wondered how she managed to come across as playfully seductive. He wondered if she even knew she was sexy. He suspected not. “What do you most like to do?”
“Cook,” she said immediately. “I love to bake.”
“But that’s work.”
“Not always.” She covered his hand with her other one so that his hand was cradled between hers. “Food is more than work. It’s more than just filling the belly. It nourishes, it brings comfort, pleasure. Certain smells can evoke childhood memories. In some cases, it can even be a very sensual experience.”
“How?” he asked, too aware of how her fingers grazed his. The movement was both comforting and sensual. She seemed to be moving her hands without thinking about it. Each caress of her fingers cranked up his internal temperature.
“The smell of baking bread is definitely a comfort smell. For me, biscuits baking in the oven evoke childhood memories. Sugar cookies do the same thing. And fondue,” she said, “eating fondue can be an incredibly sensual experience. Dipping tenderloin into a special seasoning sauce. Dipping fruit into a chocolate sauce. You just eat a bite at a time, so you’re almost forced to savor it.”
“Like slow sex,” he murmured, and his gaze locked with hers. He felt heat and awareness flash between them like a shared crackle of electricity. The awareness sizzled in her gaze for a few seconds.
She looked down and her glance must have fallen on their entwined hands. He heard a soft gasp before she tried to pull away. Drawn to her touch, he instinctively tightened his grasp.
“You don’t have to stop,” he said.
She hesitated then slowly met his gaze. He read embarrassment on her face and wished he could take it away. He wished he could get back the easy growing intimacy.
She cleared her throat. “I should probably go to bed.”
“I can take you,” he said, brushing away a twinge of disappointment.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “That’s not—”
“You know I’m not going to let you hop,” he said flatly.
She swallowed and deliberately pulled her hands from his. “Okay. Will you be okay here on the sofa?”
A forbidden thought snuck through his mind. Maybe he would be a lot better than okay if he stayed in her bed.
Pushing aside the thought, he nodded. “I’ll be fine. Are you ready for your ride?”
“I guess,” she muttered.
He picked her up and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. Her body was soft in his arms. Neat except for her discarded dress lying on her bed, the room beckoned with a soft bedside lamp and a cozy comforter drawn back partway. The curtains were ruffled and the top of her dresser was covered with photos of the children at various ages and a toy truck. Jason’s, he suspected. A lady’s vanity sat in the corner with a collection of nail polish and cosmetics. The location of the vanity suggested it had been shoved aside. Too busy caring for others to take much time to care for herself, he thought, setting Faith down on the bed.
“Ready to be tucked in?” he said, tongue in cheek.
“Not quite,” she said. “All I need to do is brush my hair and get my nightgown, but you can leave,” she added with unflattering speed.
“Here’s the brush,” he said, finding it on the top of the dresser. “Where’s the nightgown?” he asked and saw the beginning of a mutinous glint in her eyes. “And you might as well go ahead and tell me, because I’m not leaving until you’re in bed for the night.”
She shot him a dark glance. “Third drawer down on the left,” she said grudgingly.
He opened the drawer and pulled out a pink cotton gown. Setting the brush beside her, he handed her the gown. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman’s nightgown in his hands. A long time since he’d held a woman in his arms, all night long.
She clutched the nightgown to her chest. “Now, you really can go.”
His lips twitched at the firm tone in her voice. “Stay in bed or else.”
She lifted her chin. “Or else what?”
“Or else I’ll have to kiss you.”
Chapter 5
Every time Faith closed her eyes, she saw Gabriel’s mouth.
She dreamed of kisses, all kind of kisses. Soft, gentle comforting caresses. Deep-drugging endless, sensual kisses. French kisses that echoed the physical act of lovemaking. Her lips burned. She rolled restlessly through the dreams, seeking his mouth, seeking release. Her body grew sensitive, her loose gown felt too tight. Air felt too tight.
She awoke wondering how he tasted, if he was a good kisser. Hot and bothered. It took several moments before she realized the embarrassing truth. She was aroused. Very aroused. All because Gabriel had threatened to kiss her.
Faith groaned and covered her head with her sheet. She had thought her sex drive was dead and buried. If her ex-husband’s selfish approach to sex and subsequent abandonment hadn’t killed it, then sheer exhaustion should have. Instead her hormones were churning like a tornado.
“This is not happening,” she muttered to herself. “Gabriel is Santa Claus, and you absolutely cannot lust after Santa. Gabe will be your future boss,” she told herself sternly. “You may not lust after your boss.”
“Mommy, who are you talking to?”
Ack! Faith jerked the covers down, taking a breath of relief that only Jason stood in her open doorway. “Honey, I’ve told you that you should knock.”
“I forgot,” he said, picking up the truck on the top of her dresser. He yawned and rubbed at the cowlick sticking up straight from the crown of his head. “Who were you talking to?”
“Myself,” she fibbed, rising to a sitting position. “I was making a list of things to do for the day.”
“Okay.” He walked over to her bed and crawled into her lap. “How’s your foot?”
She wiggled it experimentally. Only a touch of stiffness remained. “I think it’s mostly better.”
“That’s good,” he said, snuggling against her. “Becky’s fixing breakfast.”
“She is?”
“Yep, and Gabe is helping her.”
“Mr. Raines,” she corrected. “What do you mean helping her?” she asked, oddly uncomfortable with the idea of Gabe in her kitchen.
“He told us to call him Gabe. They’re making pancakes,” Jason said, rubbing his stomach. “And I told them I wanted a million.”
She tickled her son. “If you ate a million pancakes, you would explode.”
Jason giggled. “Okay, half a million.”
“Try four at the most,” she said.
“How many do you want, Faith?”
Faith jerked her head up to find Gabe, all broad shoulders and tousled sexy hair, leaning against her doorjamb. Her heart jumped into her throat. The morning shadow on his unshaven jaw and the intent look in his blue eyes gave him a dangerous male look.
He lifted his head with an expectant expression. “Pancakes,” he repeated. “How many do you want?”
He was offering pancakes, not his body, she told herself. “Two or three, thank you.”
“How’s the foot?”
“Great,” she said swiftly. “I think I’m going to be fine.”
“Let’s see,” he said in a skeptical tone.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean go ahead and get out of bed.”
Prove it, he might as well have said. Resisting the urge to scowl at him, she urged Jason out of her lap and slid her legs out from under the covers. She carefully moved her feet to the floor, putting most of her weight on her uninjured ankle. She tested her other ankle and didn’t feel the pain she’d experienced last night.
She smiled. “I’m all better. See?”
“A little stiff,” Gabriel surmised, studying her.
“Not much,” she insisted.
“You might want to wrap it and wear tennis shoes.”
“That was what I’d planned to do,” she said. “This means you don’t need to carry me anymore.”
“Well, darn,” he said with a mocking glint in his eyes. “And I was just getting used to it.”
Faith reached for her robe. “I’m sure you’ll adjust. Jason, you need to get dressed, so you won’t miss the school bus.”
“I was hoping you would need me to stay home and take care of you today.”
Faith smiled at her sweet, but wily son. “And maybe watch a few cartoons in between right?” She shook her head. “Scoot. You need to go to school, so you can get smarter and smarter and smarter. And if you don’t get dressed, you won’t have time for pancakes.”
Jason raced out of the room.
“I can be ready in just a couple of minutes. Please just make sure Becky doesn’t burn herself,” Faith said.
“Will do. She’s been giving me orders,” Gabriel replied.
Faith winced. “She’s assertive for her age.”
“Wonder where she got that quality?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Faith said. “Sometimes I think she’s more assertive than I am.”
“Well, I’ll give you a little warning. She’s got a questionnaire she wants you to answer.”
“Questionnaire about what?”
“About the kind of man you want.”
