by Jane Porter
“Thank you, sir,” she said, as he set the cookies on the side table next to the rocking chair and retrieved one of the stools from the island and carried it back to the fire, placing it in front of Harley.
He sat down on the stool facing her, and leaned back against the dark wood, long legs extended, looking very relaxed as he sipped his tea.
Harley sipped her tea, too, but felt far from relaxed.
They might look all cozy and domestic sipping herbal tea in front of the fire, but there was nothing cozy about the tension coiling inside her.
Brock was not soothing company. He didn’t calm her down. He wound her up, and ever since he’d entered the kitchen, he’d lit the room up, even though it was still dark.
She didn’t know how he did it, either. Wind her up. Turn her on. But last night she literally fell into his arms, and then fell apart for him, and she didn’t do that. Harley didn’t go through life wanting and desiring. She was far too practical for that.
But Brock was making her want the most impractical things.
Like right now. She was baffled by his energy, a potent male energy that made her aware of things she never thought about, like her body, her lips, her skin.
He was doing it to her again, right now. The tension was incredible. The kitchen was practically crackling and humming.
She was crackling and humming, too, which was baffling, since she hadn’t ever hummed for anyone before.
Flushing, she lifted her head, met his gaze. He let her look, too, his dark gaze holding hers, challenging her.
He wanted her.
He wanted to finish what they’d started last night.
Harley’s pulse quickened and the silence stretched, wrapping around them, making the spacious kitchen feel very small and private. Intimate.
It wasn’t. This was the kitchen, the heart of the house, and even though the kids were asleep, they could come downstairs at any time.
The kids...
She had to remember the twins. Had to remember facts, reality. “Maybe I should go back to bed,” she said, shifting uneasily.
“Why?”
“You know why.” She licked her upper lip, her mouth suddenly too dry. “Last night.”
“What about last night?”
She could feel him across from her, feel him as surely as if he was touching her, just the way he’d touched her last night, his hands beneath her robe, hands cupping, stroking, making her forget everything...
She couldn’t afford to forget everything. It was too dangerous. She exhaled in a little rush. “Last night was a mistake.”
His dark gaze met hers, held. For a long moment he said nothing, and then his powerful shoulders shrugged. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
Her eyes widened. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “You were?”
He nodded. “It’s good you’re going,” he added quietly. “It’ll be a relief to have you gone.”
She stiffened, startled. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” he echoed, setting his mug down. “Because when you’re gone, I won’t be tempted to do this.” He leaned forward, took her tea from her, placing it on the side table before taking her hand and dragging her to her feet.
“Or this,” he said, drawing her toward him, pulling her against him until he had her wedged firmly between his thighs.
“Or this.” His hands clasped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, making her skin tingle and burn. “Such a beautiful woman,” he murmured, angling her head to cover her mouth with his.
The kiss was slow and hot and unbearably sexy. His fingers slid into her hair, tangling in the thick weight framing her face as he took his time kissing her, savoring her mouth, exploring the shape of her lips with his lips and tongue.
Last night had been good, but oh, this was better. This kiss was intoxicating, so wickedly good but also so sweet that she felt as if she was melting into a puddle of need, just as if she were dark chocolate or marshmallow crème...
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around Brock’s neck, luxuriating in the feel of his warm body, holding him tighter, holding him closer, leaning against him as she no longer trusted her legs to support her. But leaning against him just made her more aware of his desire for her, his erection pressing against her through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
It would be so easy to touch him, stroke him, and feeling strangely empowered, she slid one hand down his chest, over the bunched bicep in his arm before trailing lower to his side, his hip, his thigh.
She felt him straining against her and it made her even bolder. Curious about him, she caressed the length of him, and there was quite a bit of him to explore.
His breath hitched, and he covered her hand with his, his fingers curving around hers. “I don’t know how much more self-control I’ve got left,” he said hoarsely. “This might be a good time to talk about the weather or animal husbandry or crop rotation.”
Harley laughed softly. “That’s awesome.” She laughed again, and leaned back to better see his face. “You know I could discuss all three,” she said, trailing her fingers over his cheek and jaw, liking the bristle and bite of his beard beneath her fingertips. “I’m especially well versed in animal husbandry. That was my minor at Cal Poly.”
He turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm. “I forget you’re a farm girl.”
“I’m good with cows.”
“You’re the perfect girl.”
“Ha!” And yet her heart turned over, aching a little, wishing. Wishing.
Like a child, all those impossible Christmas wishes...
“What would the perfect girl do now, Brock Sheenan?”
“Not go tomorrow.”
Oh. She drew a little hiccup of a breath. “But if she did have to go tomorrow, what would she do tonight?”
“Love me all night long.”
Oh God.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion rushing through her, rushing through her, Harley leaned forward and kissed Brock, deeply, fiercely, needing him, wanting to feel him and touch him, and yes, love him.
Because she did love him. As impossible and improbable as it was.
But Christmas was the time for miracles. If anything could happen, it could happen now...
“Yes,” she murmured against his mouth. “Yes. I want to.”
His hand tangled her hair. “You’re my perfect girl even if you don’t sleep with me, Harley.”
“But I want to,” she answered, licking her bottom lip, heart thudding. “Where would we go? My room?”
“I don’t think your door locks.” He hesitated. “But mine does.”
“What about the kids?”
“They’re asleep.”
She stared into his eyes, nervous, excited, and scared, but even more scared of this moment going and never having it again. “We’d have to be so quiet.”
“Baby, I’m always quiet.”
She laughed, a real belly aching laugh that made her chest and tummy hurt, and it felt so good to laugh a real laugh, felt so good to be warm and fizzy and excited.
Excited.
And that was the moment she knew. She’d fallen for him, head over heels. There was no playing it safe now. No easy, painless way out.
The log in the fire broke, and the fire crackled and popped, sending a river of sparks into the air.
Harley watched the red hot sparks fly and then disappear.
She felt like one of those sparks now, burning so hot and bright. She wanted her Christmas wish now.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
He carried her up the stairs and set her on the bed before silently locking his door. His bed was huge, a big wood four poster, and he stripped off his T-shirt and sweatpants, leaving him naked.
The curtains were open and outside the moon shone high in the sky, reflecting brightly off the thick white drifts of snow, casting a silvery white glow across the bedroom.
She could see Brock, all of him. It was amazin
g—he was amazing—but this was also intimidating because she had to undress next.
Heart pounding she shrugged off her robe, and then tugged off her pajama top and then finally peeled off the matching bottoms, aware that Brock was just standing, watching.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered, suddenly nervous and painfully shy.
“That you look like an angel on my bed.”
Her eyes stung but with the good kind of tears. “You say the nicest things.”
“I don’t like talking, so I only say what I mean.”
She put a hand out, reaching for him. “Come here, before I lose my courage.”
“There’s no reason to be afraid.” He opened the nightstand next to the bed and removed a foil wrapped package from the drawer. “And we can stop at any time. I’ve waited a long time for you. I can wait another night or two.”
Brock stretched out on the bed next to her, covering them with the folded blanket from the foot of the bed.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, drawing his head down to hers.
“Absolutely,” he answered, rolling her onto her back and settling between her thighs.
The sex was so good. The sex was unbelievably good.
“Wow,” she murmured, cheek resting on his chest, her pulse still racing, her body warm and languid. “You do that like a rock star.”
He laughed and stroked her hair. “You’ve been with a lot of rock stars?”
She smiled, enjoying the husky vibration of his laughter and the steady thud of his heart beneath her cheek. She liked it when he laughed, and loved it when he teased her.
And now this intense physical connection...
If she wasn’t careful she’d get completely swept away by the intensity and passion, but she had to remember that the sex—although very good and very hot—wasn’t love. It was just pleasure. Physical gratification. And the physical couldn’t replace love, friendship, respect.
All she had to do was remember David to know why a relationship couldn’t be based on chemistry and passion. Chemistry and passion would fade, and then what?
Harley didn’t want to fall in love just for the thrill of it. She wanted what she’d thought she’d had when she married David. A family. A future.
Brock’s hand slipped from her hair, to trace down her spine, his calloused palm so warm against her bare skin. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“I am,” she agreed, regrets creeping in.
“Tell me.”
She drew a deep breath, hating how quickly her emotions were changing, hating how all the good feelings were fading, leaving her scared, sad.
It was hard to feel so much, and want so much.
It was hard to care so much when she was leaving in the morning.
“Come on,” he insisted, shifting her onto her back, and rising on his elbow to look down at her. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t want tomorrow to be weird,” she said roughly.
He lifted a strand of hair from her cheek, smoothing it from her face. “Why would it be weird?”
“You know. Saying goodbye. And then leaving the kids.” Her throat ached. “It’s going to be hard to leave... them.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. Deep grooves bracketed his lips. “Just them?” he teased, dipping his head to kiss her brow, her nose, her lips.
A tingle shot through her and her tummy flipped at the trio of tender kisses. “And you.” She struggled to smile. “I kind of like you, tough guy.”
“So stay,” he said, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her chin. “Why go? Where do you have to go?”
His kisses were making her pulse race, and his words were making her want things but her head balked. Her head was practical and real. She was practical and real. She’d been swept away by passion once before and she couldn’t afford to get carried away again. “It sounds like a horribly depressing romance novel. The Housekeeper & The Cowboy.”
“Perhaps it’d sound better if you called it, The Housekeeper’s Cowboy.”
“That’s even worse.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then just beneath her lower lip, making it quiver. “Maybe we just need some adjectives, fancy it up.”
“You have suggestions?” she asked.
He kissed the other corner of her mouth, lightly, so lightly that her breath caught in her throat. “How about...The Hot Housekeeper’s Lonely Cowboy.”
“Too pathetic,” she whispered, toes curling with pleasure. The man could kiss.
He nuzzled below her ear, and then kissed his way down her neck. “Your turn,” he said. “Make it good. Make me want to buy that story.”
She giggled then sighed, as his mouth traced her collarbone making her shiver and need. She pressed her knees together, closed her eyes, her body tingling everywhere. “The Hot Housekeeper’s Sexy Cowboy.”
“Now there’s a story I want to read,” he murmured, moving over her, his big body shifting between her thighs, his erection pressing against her inner thigh. He kissed down, his lips capturing one pebbled nipple. He sucked and she arched up, her hips rocking against his.
Brock’s fingers twined with hers. He slid her hands up the mattress, over her head, trapping her.
She liked it. Liked the tension in her arms, the tension in their bodies, it felt hot and raw.
It’d be so easy to open to him. To just take him. She wanted to take him, loved the weight of him, and the feel of him. Loved the way they felt together. But couldn’t make love again without protection. “Have another condom?” she whispered.
“More where that one came from… in the bunk house.”
“We don’t need The Sexy Cowboy’s Pregnant Housekeeper.”
“Not unless she wanted to be The Sexy Cowboy’s Hot Wife,” he answered, shifting so that the tip of his shaft stroked her, making nerves dance.
“Ha.”
“We’d make a beautiful baby.”
She no longer felt like laughing. Her eyes burned. It hurt to swallow. “That’s not funny.”
He released her hands, cupped her face, kissing her slowly. “It wasn’t meant to be funny.” His dark head lifted, he gazed down at her, dark eyes somber, expression grave. “I never thought I’d ever marry again. But I can see you here, with us. You fit with us. I think I’d like being married to you.”
She didn’t even know how to respond to that. She couldn’t wrap her head around any of it. Stay here. Marry him. Be a surrogate mom to his kids.
She’d have a family. It’d be his family.
And that was the problem.
It’d be his family. She’d be the surrogate. The fill-in. He could replace her, too. She couldn’t bear being replaced, not again.
“It’s too soon,” she said. “Too fast. You don’t even know me. A month from now you might feel differently—”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I’m not reckless. I don’t make promises and break them. If I make a promise, I keep it. And if I promise to love you and cherish you all the days of my life, I will.”
Just like he still loved Amy...
And perhaps that should have scared her, that he still loved Amy, but it didn’t. It reassured her. He had loved his wife. He had been faithful to her memory all these years. His steadfast love gave Harley hope that Brock could be faithful to her.
She closed her eyes, held her breath. It’d be so easy to capitulate. To just give in to the miracle of it all.
Christmas wishes, Christmas dreams...
But what would happen after the holidays were over and it was a new year? How would this work...?
Maxine.
The ranch.
The twins.
The twins.
She exhaled in a small painful puff of air. “Mack and Molly.”
“Yes?”
“They’ve never had to share you with anyone before. They could grow to resent me.”
“They won’t.”
“They could.”
He kissed her again. “Then we deal with it.”
“You make it all sound too easy.”
“Because I think it is easy, after everything we’ve both been through.”
She reached up to touch his cheek. His skin was so warm and his beard rasped her fingertips. Lightly she scraped her nails across his rough jaw. “My family will say I’ve lost my mind.”
“And mine will say the same thing, until they meet you, and then they’ll know what I know.”
“And what is that?”
“That you being here wasn’t an accident. You were meant to be here. You were sent to be here.”
Her chest burned, hot and tender. “Who knew you were so good with words?”
“Not selling you. I’m telling you what I know, what I believe. God brought you here to Marietta for a reason. He knew we needed you, and He knew you needed us, and He put his angels to work and produced a Christmas miracle.”
“Stop,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“Never. Not if it means letting you go. Can’t lose you, Harley. I’ve waited too long for you. Have prayed too long for you.” The corner of his mouth lifted, but there were shadows in his dark eyes, and a hint of his old grief. “Don’t break my heart now, baby. Not when I have hope again.”
Hope.
Hope.
The hot tears blinded her, falling fast, too fast. She’d lived so long without hope. She’d looked so long with pain. “I can’t fall in love with you all and then be sent away.”
He dipped his head, kissing her cheeks where they were wet. “Won’t ever send you away. We are yours. You are home.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
She couldn’t say yes.
She didn’t say yes.
It had all sounded so perfect, but that’s what scared her. It was too perfect to be true.
The great sex, the laughter, the beautiful words in Brock’s cozy moonlit bedroom.
It was a Christmas Hallmark movie and God knows, she didn’t watch those. They were so sweet and hopeful they just made her sad.
So she told him no, telling him as kindly as she could, that as wonderful as his offer sounded, she couldn’t accept. It was all happening too fast. But if it was meant to be, they’d find each other later, and try again when the timing was better.
