Jingle Spells

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  And though, deep down, it felt a bit out of character, Lark was certain it wasn’t. And anyway, the cocoa was divine...

  * * *

  Though Ethan knew he was doing the right thing for his family and for everyone who enjoyed the magic of Christmas, he couldn’t shake the guilt. Watching the cocoa work its magic and override that stubborn, bull-headed, opinionated woman’s natural objections and tendencies had been as comical as it was...wrong.

  But he didn’t know what else to do. He absolutely couldn’t let her go on that show.

  The greater good, he reminded himself. Eyes on the prize.

  Lark chose that moment to walk through the door and that last thought took on a whole new meaning.

  Mercy.

  “You decided to wear the dress.”

  Her lips curved. “How could I not? It’s incredible. Your sister has excellent taste.”

  That she did. A deep purple, the dress was scoop-necked, with long sheer sleeves accented with crystal-studded cuffs. It hugged her curvy frame like a second skin, molding to the luscious swell of her breasts and clinging to her womanly hips. The hem stopped just above the knee—it was long enough to be appropriate, but short enough to reveal a serious amount of leg. She had paired it with black pumps and a matching bag, and with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders and her make-up a little more dramatic than usual, she looked...stunning.

  Prior to her arrival, Ethan had been practically starving, but a hunger of another sort suddenly took hold of him. Longing coiled through his body, settling hotly in his groin, and his mouth actually ached for the taste of her. He wanted to slide his nose along the creamy column of her throat, slip his tongue over the swell of her breasts, sample the valley in between them. It took a supreme amount of effort to pull himself together and say something that sounded somewhat normal.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice oddly rusty.

  Those unusual violet eyes warmed and shifted away, almost shyly. Her? Shy? Had she gotten into more cocoa?

  “Thank you.” She nodded at him. “You look nice as well.”

  He chuckled. “This old thing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Old, my rear end,” she scoffed. “The only thing that seems the least bit old around here is the furnishing, and in that case, it’s a good thing.”

  “I like antiques,” he said. “They’ve got character.”

  She nodded. “And better craftsmanship. I’ve got a few as well.”

  He’d just bet she did. He hummed thoughtfully under his breath and considered her. “I’ve often wondered about your lair,” he said musingly.

  Lark laughed, her eyes widening briefly. “My lair? You make me sound like a comic book villain.”

  “Well, I’ve never pictured you in a bat cave, if that helps,” he said, chuckling. “More of a secret tree house, with a hidden elevator in the trunk.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Like a nest.”

  Ethan felt his grin spread. “Exactly like a nest.”

  She released a little breath. “I wish my parents had named me something simple, like Jane or Sarah,” she said, giving her head a rueful shake.

  “No, you don’t,” he told her. “You’re neither of those. The bird name suits you. I like it.” A thought struck him. “What’s your middle name?”

  “Lark is my middle name,” she said a little too quickly. “Shouldn’t we be going? You said our reservation was at eight.” She checked her watch. “It’s a quarter til now. How long does it take to get to the Crystal Snowflake?” she asked rapidly as she headed out the door, despite the fact that she had no idea how to locate the car, or the restaurant, or hell, even the front door.

  Intrigued by her cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof response, Ethan followed her into the hall, where she drew up short. “Oh.”

  One direction must have looked the same as the other to her. Ethan smiled and guided her forward with a touch to the small of her back. “It’s not nearly as daunting as it looks. This way,” he said.

  “It’s...massive.”

  “I told you that my entire family lives here. There are too many of us to have any smaller of a place. We’d drive each other crazy. Still do sometimes,” he added with a grim smile, remembering how they’d followed him upstairs earlier. “But the central staircase is just up and to the right. See?” he told her as they rounded the corner.

  He heard her delighted gasp and felt a dart of pleasure land in his chest. It was his home, but it was impressive.

  Particularly the central staircase.

  Carpeted in thick jewel-toned colors with the Evergreen coat of arms cameoed throughout, bounded by rails and spindles intricately carved with garlands, pine cones and bows, the staircase was a testament to fine elfish craftsmanship. Creamy marble inlaid with subtle wreaths of holly leaves and berries blanketed the foyer floor and the enormous arched double doors matched the exquisite carving on the staircase.

  “Wow,” she said, running a reverent finger along the banister as they descended the stairs. “This is incredible.”

  Just wait until you see Mistletoe Mountain and Gingerbread proper, Ethan thought. Rather than use one of the elf tunnels that led directly to different parts of the town—their own magical subway system—as he normally did, Ethan had called for his car. To get the full effect of his little piece of earth, one needed to be aboveground. He was looking forward to seeing Lark’s reaction to it.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. “So what’s your first name then?”

  She snatched her hand away as though she’d been burned. “I’d rather not say.”

  Ethan smiled. “I’d rather you did. Your reluctance is intriguing. It must be something ghastly if you’re this determined not to share it.” He paused. “Is it another bird name, I wonder? Like Falcon?”

  She shot him a you’ve-lost-your-mind look. “Falcon Lark? Really? That’s your best guess?”

  “Not my best guess, just my first,” he told her as he opened the front door. “And I’ve got the rest of the week to keep trying.”

  It was ridiculous how happy that made him, the excitement that tripped through his blood. He had a sense that something fantastic was near, but was still hovering just shy of his grasp.

  It was the challenge, Ethan told himself. Nothing more. It was his determination to succeed.

  And if he made a Christmas convert of her and finally managed to take her to bed and get her out of his system, all the better. He smiled.

  Two Larks with one stone.

  Chapter 7

  With the “rest of the week” comment echoing in her ears and the faint hum of an alarm bell ringing along with it, Lark stepped through the huge double doors. If she’d been impressed by the house, then “blown away” was a more accurate description for the view that greeted her outside.

  It looked like a scene straight from a greeting card.

  Moonlight glittered with a luminous, almost otherworldly blue glow over rolling hills blanketed with snow. Enormous spruce trees, equally covered, their branches sagging beneath the weight, cast dark shadows in the night. Swans glided across a large lake, its center illuminated by a tall carved-ice fountain shaped like an angel tree topper, and twinkling lights from what had to be Gingerbread shimmered in the valley below like diamonds on a jeweler’s cloth. She smiled, charmed despite herself.

  “That’s incredible,” she said, giving her head a disbelieving shake.

  “What? Hortense?”

  “The fountain.”

  “Yes, Hortense. My brother Dash named her this year.”

  They descended the steps to what she presumed was his car, a sleek black Jaguar that suited him, and she waited while he opened her door. “So it’s a tradition, then?”

  “Yes.”

  She missed traditio
ns. She’d established her own, of course—she always worked at the local soup kitchen on Christmas Day—but it wasn’t the same as having one with a family. Though she’d tried to forget, she remembered that much about their early Christmases. Decorating the tree, making cookies for Santa the night before, eating a big pancake breakfast after opening presents. A needle of pain pricked her heart at the memory. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that in years.

  “I named her last year,” Ethan announced as he slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition, and then slipped the gear shift into drive.

  “Oh?” she asked, thankful for the distraction.

  “Yes.”

  “So who was she last year?” Lark asked. “Trixie? Tiffany? Celeste?” she drawled, immediately wishing she could pull the words back into her mouth.

  He turned briefly to look at her, his expression a combination of surprise and delight. “None of the above, though I think it’s sweet that you’ve been paying enough attention to my social life to read about the dates I take to charity events.”

  Crap. She feigned shock. “Those are the names of the women you’ve dated? Really? Wow. I had no idea.”

  He merely smiled. “Right. I’m sure you didn’t.”

  “So what was her name then? The fountain angel?” she asked, eager to move past that particular topic.

  He negotiated a bend in the road, one that left an unobstructed view of the little town as they grew closer. The lights were brighter and the colors more vibrant, and she found herself inexplicably leaning forward, eager to see more.

  “Flossie.”

  A startled chuckle broke up in her throat and she turned to look at him. “Flossie?”

  “Yes, Flossie,” he said with a nod. “What’s wrong with Flossie?”

  “Not a thing.” Lark looked ahead once more, surprised to see that they were just coming into town. Wide sidewalks lit by candy cane−like gas lamp posts lined a street called Yuletide Drive, and live evergreen garlands festooned with big bows and curling ribbon were draped from posts, storefronts and even the grills of local cars. Christmas lights spun around trees, dripped from eaves and sparkled in windows. Life-sized nutcrackers marched along the streets, small people dressed as elves darted to and fro, looking busy and important and Christmas ornaments dangled from...everything.

  An overwhelming wave of joy suddenly swept through her, followed by a delight so profound she could feel it expanding in her chest. It was the strangest sensation, a combination of relief and odder still...homecoming? There was a familiar shimmer to the ornaments, a certain glow and, as they passed a pair of tall wooden toy soldiers stationed outside a store called Baubles, she could have sworn that one of them actually smiled at her.

  But it couldn’t have. Because it wasn’t a real person. Logic, Lark, she reminded herself, struggling not to panic. Use your brain. What was she doing here again? Why had she agreed to come here with him? It didn’t make any sense. “Is something wrong?” Ethan asked, his voice heavy with concern.

  She started. “No, no. I’m fine. Just hungry,” she improvised.

  She could feel his gaze on her, the weight of it as he studied her, but thankfully he didn’t push it. “Well, we’ve come to the right place, then,” he said as he pulled the car into a space. “You’re going to love the Crystal Snowflake. It’s got the best cocoa in Gingerbread.”

  Lark chuckled. Unless it was laced with something alcoholic, she didn’t think plain old cocoa was going to take the edge off. Between Ethan’s perpetual sexiness pinging her sonar, the conflicting emotions about being here in Christmas Land and the niggling sense of something being not quite right, she was going to need something much stronger.

  Ethan’s fingers suddenly landed against her chin, turning her toward him, and his mouth met hers for the briefest of seconds, sending shockwaves of heat through her body. Her blood instantly boiled up beneath her skin, her breath caught in her throat and pleasure bloomed through her, petals of sensation so intensely hot and sweet she didn’t know whether to kiss him again or weep. Probably both.

  Lord, she was a mess—an absolute mess—and it was all his fault.

  Seeming every bit as startled as she felt, he drew back to look at her, those singularly gorgeous green eyes lacking their usual irreverence and bravado. “I’d say I was sorry, but it would be a lie,” he told her, his voice low and husky. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

  And she’d wanted him to do that for years. Lark knew that under ordinary circumstances she’d offer some sort of flippant remark, one that would be witty and slightly cutting, but for reasons that escaped her, the comment wouldn’t come.

  She swallowed, her gaze drifting of its own volition to his mouth. Her belly gave a little drop and longing ballooned inside of her. “Years, you say? Really?”

  He nodded.

  She hummed a regretful breath. “Seems like you’d have given it a little more effort, then. Maybe lingered a little—”

  The smile that suddenly curled his lips did the same thing to her toes, and he leaned in, a mere hairbreadth from her mouth. “Critiquing me, Chickadee?” he asked, his strong fingers slipping into her hair. “You telling me there’s room for improvement?”

  A thrill whipped through her. “I’m not sure yet. It didn’t last long enough for me to make a proper assessment.”

  “Hmm. I understand. I’ll give it another go and you let me know how I do, okay?”

  The next instant that supremely beautiful mouth molded to hers, slipped across her lips with expert skill—soft but firm and oh so hot—and his tongue dipped into her mouth and tangled around hers. The rest of the world just fell away, shrinking until there was nothing left but the two of them and a fog of desire so thick she could barely catch her breath.

  A few moments later, hands trembling, Ethan drew back and rested his forehead against hers. “Well?” he asked, his voice slightly strangled. “How did I do?”

  How’d he do? He’d practically set her underwear on fire and turned her into a melted puddle of goo. Parts of her were aching that she didn’t know could ache, bits of her body were shaking that had never shaken before. And he had the presence of mind to ask for marks on his performance when she could barely string a coherent thought together?

  Considering all of that, she was probably the one who had room for improvement.

  Lark pulled in a breath and pretended to mull it over. “Better,” she said. “Definitely better.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Hardly the ringing endorsement I’d hoped for,” he said. “But I’m eager to improve and you know what they say about practice.”

  Yes, she did. And, heaven help her, she looked forward to working on his technique.

  Chapter 8

  “So you’re giving her the guided tour this morning, eh, son? What’s first on the agenda?” his father wanted to know.

  “You should take her to the Cup of Cheer,” Belle said, slathering jam on her biscuit. “They have the best peppermint cocoa,” she confided with a look at Lark.

  “You can get good cocoa anywhere in Gingerbread,” Dash argued good-naturedly. He loaded a stack of bacon on his plate before passing the platter to Cole. “Don’t waste your time there. Bring her out to the reindeer farm. They’re beautiful animals. Very sweet. Most of the time,” he added grimly. “That Rudolf...”

  “Still having trouble with him?” their mother wanted to know. “I warned you about that fan club, but did you listen?” She shook her head.

  Having paid attention to the Evergreen family chatter for the past few minutes, Lark’s eyes widened. “Rudolf has a fan club?”

  “He does,” his mother confirmed, adding sugar to her cocoa. “And it’s gone straight to his head. You wouldn’t think fame could go to an animal’s head, but it has.” She tsked under her breath. “I don’t know what you�
��re going to do with him. But the deer is out of the barn now. It’s too late to close the door.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” Dash assured her.

  “You should bring her to the offices,” Cole suggested. “Show her Evergreen Central.”

  “Or,” Taryn interjected with a secret smile, “you could actually ask her what she’d like to do and let her make the choice.”

  Every pair of eyes at the table swung to Lark and waited expectantly. Her cocoa cup halfway to her mouth, her hand stalled. “Er...”

  Ethan decided to save her. “She’s my guest,” he reminded them. “I have every intention of making sure that she stays entertained.”

  And if kissing her counted as entertaining her—and since this was his rodeo and he was making up the rules, it did—then he was already ahead by leaps and bounds. It had taken every iota of willpower he possessed to actually let her go through to her own room last night. And honestly, even now he couldn’t explain why he’d done it. Why, when she was right there and for all intents and purposes, his for the taking...he’d let the evening end with a kiss.

  He’d never thought of himself as particularly old-fashioned or chivalrous, but that was the only explanation his mind could produce that made any sort of sense. Watching her as they’d driven into town last night—seeing her expression go from awestruck wonder and delight to abject fear and despair, seemingly in a heartbeat... He couldn’t imagine what she’d witnessed that could have put that haunting look on her face, but it had done something to him, seeing her that way. She was scrappy, a fighter. The Lark DeWynter he knew didn’t back down, didn’t run, but she would have last night if it hadn’t been for the cocoa.

  He was sure of it.

  And that was ultimately the problem. He’d tricked her into coming here. For good reasons, he knew, but...

  He couldn’t trick her into his bed.

  That was a different kind of betrayal, one he suspected would again put that terrible look he’d noticed on her beautiful face last night. He wouldn’t be able to handle it, knowing he’d hurt her like that.