And he liked Abby a lot. He felt things for her that couldn’t be explained. Sometimes the indefinable was the strongest emotion. Their connection seemed right to him.
He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, then asked, “Shall we do the snow globes next?”
She trembled a little, surprised by his quick kiss, he imagined, but was obviously pleased. She smiled at him and said, “The globes are much easier to handle than the stocking.”
“Good to know.”
They each unwrapped three large globes, then carried them to the mantle. “Any particular placement?” he asked, remembering how she’d teased him, requesting he move around the lead figurines. He wanted to get the globes right the first time.
“The white snow owl goes to the far right; the Christmas village next to it,” she said, thinking. “The snowman and Santa Claus are always in the middle. We go to the left with the Disney characters glitter dome and the gingerbread man.”
“Oh, yes, the gingerbread man . . .” His voice trailed off with the image of the peppermint-pecker-packing cookies. That wasn’t his best memory. He happened to notice Abby’s pained expression before she blew out a breath. Something seemed to be bothering her. But only for a moment.
She touched his arm once the globes were placed. Smiling now. So he didn’t pursue the issue. “Close your eyes and listen,” she requested. There was lightness to her voice, hinting of laughter.
Lander did as she asked. The room grew still, the silence soon broken by cranking and winding. He couldn’t resist squinting when—
“No peeking,” Abby said.
He shut his eyes tight. In a matter of seconds, an eclectic mix of holiday music brought merriment to the living room. He blinked, stared. Abby had wound all six globes, and a blend of “Frosty the Snowman,” “Winter Wonderland,” “Here Comes Santa Claus,” “Jingle Bells,” “Holly Jolly Christmas,” and “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” combined for an interesting musical arrangement. Crazy and fun, the cacophony of sounds would fill his head for days to come.
They listened until the snow globes wound down. He watched as Abby skimmed her fingers over each one, like a mother patting each of her children’s heads for a job well done. “A silly tradition to play them all at one time, but one I started years ago. Gram never complained about the music.”
Lander rubbed his ears, which continued to ring. “Your grandmother had the patience of a saint.”
Her eyes misted. “Yes, she did.”
Once again he tucked her close. She slipped her arms about his waist as naturally as a wife would. She rested her head on his shoulder. He liked feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest; the way she fit so nicely between his widened thighs. They stood together for a long time. So long, he swore he heard heavy breathing that wasn’t all that musical.
Had she fallen asleep? “Are you snoring?” he finally asked, curious.
She tilted back her head, smiled. “Tennyson is snoring, not me,” she said, releasing him. “The deeper he sleeps, the louder he snores. When his paws are moving, he’s chasing mice.”
Lander lifted his brows. At that moment the cat sounded like a lion.
“Let’s unpack the candles now,” she proposed. “I set them down on all the tables.”
“Do you light them all at the same time, too?” he had to ask.
She scrunched her nose. “The scents would be overpowering and you couldn’t enjoy their uniqueness. They’re beautiful individually.”
He inhaled a pale-blue pillar candle before he placed it on the coffee table. “White Ice,” he said, noting the name. “Smells cold, like the outdoors.”
She passed him a round candle, then said, “Burnt Vanilla Frost.”
He liked that scent, too. Once the candles were situated throughout the room, Lander returned to the couch and made a furniture adjustment. Not wanting to hurt his ribs further, he carefully pushed the overstuffed chair to the side, then angled the sofa directly toward the Christmas tree. He liked the view.
“The tree could use some presents.” He spoke his thought out loud.
Abby caught her breath; put her hand over her heart. She looked like she’d just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past.
What had he said to cloud her eyes? To cause her to bite down on her lower lip? To make her shoulders slump?
“Abs?” he prodded, needing her to talk to him.
“I’m okay, Lander,” she said on a sigh. “There are going to be moments like this when memories hit me hard. Your mention of gifts did just that.”
“I’m sorry.” And he meant it.
“It’s not your fault. You can’t predict how I’m going to feel or react, so don’t try to soft coat the holiday,” she said, breathing easier. “I’d ordered several boxes of my grandmother’s favorite candy before she passed. When they were delivered, I didn’t have the heart to give them away, so I stacked them at the back of the pantry. Out of sight, out of mind.”
He wanted nothing more than to take her hand and squeeze it. To tell her everything would be all right. Instead he waited for her to catch her breath before he asked, “What kind of candy?” He had the occasional sweet tooth. Perhaps they could celebrate and share a box.
Her eyes brightened. “The best homemade candy from the Vermont General Store,” she said. “There’s cherry divinity, marzipan fruits, almond buttercrunch, and a tin of old-fashioned hard candy.”
“I’m sure your grandmother would’ve been pleased with your selections,” he said.
She looked at him thoughtfully. “I might wrap up a box and give it to you.”
“That would hardly be a surprise, Abby, as you’ve already told me what I’d be getting.”
For some reason that struck her as funny. She laughed until tears trailed from her eyes. He crossed to her and brushed them away with his thumb. “By the way, I do like almond buttercrunch.”
She nodded. “Good to know.”
He enjoyed their closeness. How she teased him and made him feel at ease. Her scent was warm and womanly. He breathed in a hint of spice and sentiment, knowing it wasn’t just friendship he wanted from her. He wanted to kiss her and feel her tremble under his touch.
He appreciated the way she looked at him, wearing her heart on her sleeve, as if she knew him better than he knew himself. And she liked what she saw. “Come sit with me,” he suggested, taking her hand and leading her back to the couch. He settled on one end and she on the other. All he could hear was the old Swiss clock ticking, reminding him their time together wouldn’t last forever.
Lander swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be easy to leave Pine Mountain. And Abby. She inspired him. Knowing her had brought back his own love for the holidays. No matter how crazy it was, he was convinced they had something together. He just needed more time. That time would melt away with the flicker of electricity and warming sunshine.
“We’ve accomplished a lot this morning,” she mused, her smile soft, her eyes beaming. “The living room is very merry. Gram would definitely approve.”
“How about you?” he asked, crossing one ankle over his knee. Getting comfortable. “Are you feeling the Christmas spirit?”
“More and more,” she admitted, reaching out and touching his forearm. Her look was wistful and grateful. “Thank you for being patient with me, and for making this work. Had you not dragged in the tree, it would’ve died a slow death in the garage. The needles would’ve fallen off and I would have hauled the bare branches into the woods.”
“The evergreen will live to see another day.”
She looked at him then, her expression open. “You’ve given me a great memory, Lander. You’re a good man.”
Her words meant a lot to him. The women in his life politely thanked him for dinner and the theater. Or a long weekend getaway. Abby’s appreciation came from her heart. She would now survive Christmas.
The corners of his mouth curved when he admitted, “There are a few things I like about you, too, Abs.”
“
Name one.” She blushed, embarrassed at seeking his praise.
“I can name several,” he said. “You’re beautiful, generous, and kind. You love animals. You drag strangers from vehicles after a crash. You can cook over a fire. I’m fond of the way your hair spikes with static electricity. You’re open and honest—”
She visibly flinched. “I’m honest?”
“Truth is important to me always.”
She went suddenly still. The look on her face stunned him, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. And regretted it deeply.
He had no idea what was behind her silence. “Abby?” he pressed.
She averted her gaze and stared into the fire. Her hands were clasped in her lap, so tightly her knuckles turned white. She’d crossed her ankles. She appeared to distance herself from him.
Concerned by her behavior, he moved down the couch toward her. “Talk to me,” he requested.
“Confess to you is more like it.” Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper.
“Confess what?” She confused him.
“I caused your car accident.”
He ran one hand down his face. “That’s impossible,” he assured her. My God, the woman had saved his life. This was the last thing he expected to hear. “I got distracted by the box of gingerbread men with the peppermint-stick penises. I stared at them too long. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It had everything to do with me, Lander,” she said on a sigh. She looked so distraught, so unhappy, that he reached out to hold her. She slumped against his chest; buried her face against his shoulder. He felt her mouth move and he listened closely, never expecting her to say “I’m the erotic gingerbread baker.”
Chapter 4
“You bake X-rated cookies?” Lander sounded both surprised and amused. And, if Abby read him correctly, the man was also turned on. He curved his hands over her shoulders and set her gently away from him. “Wholesome Abby from Pine Mountain has a naughty side?” he asked with a chuckle in his voice.
She found it difficult to speak. “Naughty when it comes to my gingerbread men,” she admitted.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Naughty looks attractive on you,” he said.
She breathed a little easier.
“Is your baking a hobby or a business?” He was curious. “Do you cook your erotic treats naked or wear a short holiday apron?”
He was teasing her now, and she didn’t mind in the least. “It’s a seasonal mail-order business,” she told him without embarrassment. “I was testing the waters this Christmas. I have a website, but it’s not public knowledge here in town.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pine Mountain is conservative?”
“Somewhat so,” she confirmed. “You wouldn’t find my G-men in the storefront window at the local bakery.”
Lander grinned. “Your cookies are for those eighteen and older.”
“You could say that.” She sighed, then continued with, “I loved my grandmother’s old-fashioned gingerbread cookies as a kid. They soothed my soul. After Gram passed away, I baked a batch and, in the process, decided to take them in another direction. Making them anatomically correct. I showed them to my friends Clara and Lily. They encouraged me to sell them. Discreetly, of course.”
“Do you ever make gingerbread women?” he wanted to know.
“I could,” she said, “but all my requests this year have been for men. I have a large order to bake for a bachelorette party in Las Vegas as soon as the electricity returns.”
“Interesting . . .” was all he said.
She waited for his further reaction, for him to circle around and chastise her. To be mad at her. Or even disappointed. Instead his eyes darkened, and he looked at her in a way that warmed her belly. His smile came slow and lazy. And far too sexy. His lips were distracting.
“Let me ease your mind,” he said, breaking the tension between them. “I was hungry when I left the community center, my stomach was growling. The road was icy and it was snowing heavily. I opened the box I’d bought at the cookie swap. I have to admit that seeing the X-rated gingerbread men all lined up in a row startled me. I stared too long. My car hit an icy patch and I couldn’t correct the skid.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He dropped a light kiss on her brow. “Who knows, I might’ve been as easily diverted by rocky-road fudge or marshmallow drops.”
That brought a thankful smile to her lips. He was trying to make her feel better. She was grateful to him for not making fun of her or her attempt to make a business out of erotic cookies. It was no different in her mind from writing sexy books with sexy covers.
But her plain, brown cookie box had no warning cover, she reminded herself. No wonder the poor man had skidded down the side of a mountain when he’d opened it up. Nevertheless, she knew the truth and it wasn’t pretty, no matter how hard he tried to dress it up. “Marshmallows aren’t nearly as distracting as peppermint-stick penises.”
“Erect peppermint penises,” he emphasized.
Abby ran her hands down her thighs, mulling over what to do next. Lander was teasing her, not mad at her, maybe even liked her. A little. Should she encourage him? She might be letting herself in for a big disappointment, but she’d never know if she didn’t try.
“How can I make it up to you?” she dared to ask him. “Ask for anything you wish, Lander.”
He grew thoughtful; his gaze surveyed the scene, the holiday decorations, the tree. And her. Taking his sweet time. Slow to come to his decision. “You can kiss me,” he said finally.
“A Christmas kiss?” she said, still cautious.
He nodded. “Why not? We can keep to holiday tradition. Do you have a sprig of mistletoe?”
She shook her head. “No mistletoe.”
“Holly berries would do.”
“No holly either.”
“Work with me, Abby.” He nudged her with his elbow. “What comes close?”
“I have wilted parsley in the refrigerator,” she said. Now she was stalling, but just the thought of him kissing her sent goose bumps up and down her arms. The anticipation was enough to make her pulse quicken.
“At least it’s green,” he said.
She touched his hand. It would be amazing to kiss this man. “Trust me, Lander, we don’t need a vegetable hanging over our heads for us to kiss.”
He twined his fingers with hers. “There’s something I want to say first, and it needs to be said. I’m not feeding you a line, Abby,” he added. “We’ve only just met, but I somehow feel like I know you.”
She understood and wanted to tell him so. Surprisingly, her shyness left her, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t embarrassed to reveal what a man meant to her. “I feel the same way, Lander. It’s not the length of time you know a person, but the depth of the connection.”
“We have a strong bond between us,” he added. “We’re both survivors. I don’t just mean the accident and you saving my life. We made the decision to carry on with our lives, whether it’s our families’ Christmas traditions or keeping alive the spirit of those we’ve lost.”
He paused, appearing to give a great deal of thought to his next words. “This may sound crazy, but a part of me believes my father and your grandmother brought us together.”
His thought didn’t sound silly to her at all. Abby had the strangest feeling he was right. “It’s a distinct possibility,” she said softly. Gram would’ve liked Lander as much as Abby did.
He squeezed her hand. “Make a memory with me, Abby?”
Her heart quickened. “That we can do.”
She initiated their first kiss. And she didn’t hold back. She wanted to leave her imprint on his heart. From the first touch of their lips, he let her do what she would with him. He had a firm mouth that softened against hers. She stretched out each second, kissing him slowly and appreciatively. Loving the fact he responded with intimate ease.
/> Her heart sighed softly. Who knew closed-mouth kisses could be so romantic? she thought. They definitely were amazing. She cradled his chin in her palms, angled her head left, then right, then kissed him full-on. They bumped foreheads and noses, and he smiled against her mouth. His stubble rasped like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of her cheek. Stimulating and arousing. The scrape had her shifting on the sofa. Fidgety and stirring. Her breasts grew heavy and heat spread between her thighs.
Lander soon participated in their foreplay. He nipped one corner of her mouth. Bit down on her bottom lip. Then traced the crease between the two with his tongue. A craving rose within her, escaping her lips on a gentle moan. She longed for this man. To crush her breasts against his hard chest, to rub her hands over his shoulders. To feel his hot breath at the base of her throat.
Her body liquefied long before he encircled her in his arms. Their hips bumped, and their thighs grafted. He drew her knee over his leg, positioning her so he could stroke her lower spine, her butt, and the back of her thighs. She shivered, sensitive to his touch.
She responded in kind, curving her fingers over his biceps, and clutching his shirt in her fists. His front pocket bunched. She wished she could climb into his pocket and stay close to his heart long after he’d gone. Snuggle up and let him take her with him wherever he went. Where that was, she couldn’t imagine. She refused to think about it, not now anyway. Especially when she had him all to herself. She lived in the heated joy of their moment.
Leisurely, masterfully, he ran his tongue inside her lower lip, then pushed deeper into her mouth, taking her breath away. She yielded and he explored. He glided his tongue over hers, time and time again. From sweet and tender to demanding surrender, his kisses stirred a sensual assault. He claimed her with experience and patience. And a growing intensity.
She wrapped her arms about his neck and leaned even closer. He touched her then, a shifting glide of his hands over her shoulders, down her sides, then up and under her red waffle pullover. A delightful chill wiggled through her as the pads of his fingers played over her ribs. Unhooking her bra, he slid his hands underneath. Cupping her breasts, he thumbed her nipples. They crinkled in response. A sexual ache filled her.
The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap Page 20
