Christmas Sanctuary

by Lauren Hawkeye

  She didn’t want to be that Emma anymore.

  Her lips parted against his, letting him in. Pulling him in, her fingers finding his biceps and digging in, tugging him right up against her. She gasped when he pressed against her, lifted her until she was seated on the table, her legs wrapped around his waist.

  She could feel exactly how sexy he thought she was, and she loved every second of it.

  When his hand slid along her thigh, she cried out, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. Immediately she flushed, worried that she was sounding silly.

  “Emma.” Rather than being put off, Nick growled against her throat. Sliding the hands that created such beauty around her waist, he lifted her off the table. She clung to him, head thrown back, as he carried her to a small couch she hadn’t noticed before. Setting her down gently, he claimed her mouth again as she rose to her knees, kissing her as though he couldn’t get enough.

  She’d worried that her level of enthusiasm might have turned him away, even if it was how she really felt. The notion of just being herself was still so foreign to her that it was frightening. It was also intoxicating, and as their clothes started to fall to the studio floor, she forgot all about how she should or shouldn’t act and lost herself.

  Soft sighs. Panting breath. Heat sealed them together as he rolled her to her back on the couch, lowered his lean length to hers. She expected urgency—wanted it, even—but when he took the time to draw a finger up the outside of her bare thigh, his lips at the same time tracing an exquisitely tender line up her throat, she felt the muscle of her heart clench so tightly it hurt.

  She wanted…she wanted everything.

  Those hands of his guided her slowly but surely up over a sharp edge of pleasure. When she would have reached for him, he held her hands above her head, coaxing the embers of the first blaze back to full flame as he sank inside her, claiming her fully as his own.

  The edge was softer, deeper the second time. When she felt him falling along with her, his skin sliding against her own, she tugged a hand free and traced it over the lean planes of his face. His forehead was beaded with sweat, the scent of it in the air as he played her body.

  She looked into his eyes, found him staring right back at her—seeing her, as he marked her from the inside out. Knowing he was seeing nothing but her, she let him pull her against him tightly as they both fell.

  Chapter 19

  Wow.

  Wine in hand, Nick stood by the couch, looking down at Emma sleeping. He’d covered her with a ragged blanket that was usually used to hide works in progress from outside eyes. The later it got, the colder the studio grew from the wintry night air pushing through the uninsulated walls. He hadn’t bothered covering himself nearly as well, only hitching up his jeans. He’d left his shirt where it had been thrown to the floor. He liked the cold. It made him numb.

  He’d seen a family resemblance between Emma and Mike when she was awake. Asleep, he could study her without seeing her own unique set of mannerisms or hearing the way she savored her words as she spoke them.

  The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. The high cheekbones, the milky skin, the ribbon-straight hair the color of corn silk.

  She looked so much like Mike. She was Mike’s daughter. A daughter the older man might not even know existed.

  And what had Nick done? Nick, whose reputation with woman was something Mike liked to poke fun at?

  Nick had slept with her. Actually, what had happened between them…he didn’t like thinking that he’d just slept with her. He’d slept with other women. That didn’t describe the intensity of what had just happened here, the confusing emotions fluttering around in the pit of his stomach.

  He was pretty sure Mike wasn’t going to see a difference, though. And often when Mike found himself in circumstances that were out of his control, it triggered a depression that could last anywhere from days to months.

  Wincing, he turned away from the woman who made him feel so many different things and headed to the front of the studio. Snow had started to fall outside, fat and fluffy flakes, the kind that would stick. The white powder piled up on top of the red and green bulbs of the Christmas lights outside, and he momentarily wished he could hide beneath a blanket like that.

  Merry Christmas, Mike. I slept with your long-lost daughter.

  “Mercy, that’s a lot of snow.” Emma was at his elbow before he heard her. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she hesitated before wrapping her arms around his waist as well. “I’m going to have to beg a ride back to the cabin. I’d get lost in all this white.”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t at least drive you home.” He stiffened involuntarily. With other women, he…well, he usually expected them to part ways shortly after the main event. He’d never had a woman at the studio, but he could admit that it was more likely that he’d call them a cab than drive them himself.

  With Emma? He wanted to escort her home. Wanted to go inside with her. Wanted to stay the night.

  It terrified him.

  Turning in her arms, he intended to say that they should get going now, before the snow got any worse. Instead, when he stepped back he discovered her covered in nothing but his shirt. The worn black cotton hung to mid-thigh, her long, pale legs gleaming in the low light. His fingers twitched again with the need to sketch her, to capture this woman in some kind of solid medium before she disappeared from his life.

  She would disappear, wouldn’t she? He didn’t like the way that made him feel. Yet he didn’t quite know what to do with the way the sight of her in his shirt made his mouth go dry.

  “Let’s get you that blanket.” He focused on something immediate, the fact that he could see the prickles of goose bumps on her skin. “You’re not used to this weather. You’ll catch a cold.”

  “Hmm.” She studied him, the faintest crease appearing between her eyes. She managed to look so proper, even standing here in his shirt, her hair messy, her makeup long gone.

  His heart gave a little tremble before falling somewhere down to the vicinity of his knees. He was in trouble here. Deep, deep trouble.

  He started toward her, his mouth opening of its own accord. So many things were on the tip of his tongue—the fight he’d gotten into on the playground in first grade, the plot of his favorite movie, the loss of his mother, and the reason he’d retreated to the island in the first place.

  The crunch of heavy-duty tires on the fresh snow outside stopped him. Squinting out the window, he saw flickering headlights, the outline of a truck he knew well.

  “Mike.” His stare was drawn immediately to Emma as her eyes widened and she sucked in a deep breath.

  “Mike’s back.”

  Chapter 20

  Adrenaline shot through Nick’s blood. Emma was scurrying back into her discarded clothes. The crunch of boots packing the snow beneath their tread sounded through the suddenly silent studio, and Nick looked from Emma to the door with absolutely no idea what to do.

  Emma made a soft sound as the door opened, crossing to stand behind Nick. She’d gotten her pants on but was still wearing his shirt. The way her pale hair fell around her face highlighted those big frosty-blue eyes, making her seem incredibly vulnerable. He wanted to gather her in his arms to lend his support, but something held him back.

  He’d known Emma for days. He’d known Mike for years. And he’d put himself right in the middle of this epically tense situation.

  He had no idea what to do.

  The door slammed open, rebounding off the concrete loud enough that it startled him. Mike stood framed by the opening, still wearing his cold-weather gear. A gust of cold as sharp as a blade sliced through the air around him.

  “Little underdressed for the weather, kid.” He nodded at Nick’s bare chest as he slammed the door behind him, tugging off his toque as he spoke. The movement revealed a shock of hair the exact same corn-silk color as Emma’s, and a soft cry escaped her lips, warm against the back of Nick’s neck.

&nb
sp; “Oh.” Noticing Emma for the first time, Mike looked from her to Nick and back again. His mouth curved in the hint of a grin. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He turned away to his side of the studio. Nick watched him unzip his jacket, wondering what on earth he was supposed to say, choosing his words carefully.

  “Mike.” The older man turned back, pale eyebrows raised in question. Nick inhaled, deeply aware of Emma at his back. “This is Emma. Emma Kelly.”

  Mike’s expression didn’t change. He nodded at Emma, his fingers worrying the toque he’d stuffed in the pocket of his coat.

  Nick couldn’t tell if he recognized the name. The thought that he might not know the name of his own daughter stirred the first sparks of anger in his chest. “Mike. This is Emma Kelly.”

  Only the slightest widening of his eyes gave him away—most wouldn’t have caught it, but Nick was probably the closest friend that Mike had, and he saw it, the hint of recognition. Behind him Emma was holding her breath, the tips of her fingers digging into his shoulder. He absorbed some of her tension, staring his friend down.

  “What is she doing here?” Abruptly, Mike turned away again, not even bothering to speak to Emma herself. She was silent behind Nick as his mouth fell open in shock.

  “Did you leave the few manners you have back in the bush, man?” Nick straightened his spine. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “What am I supposed to say?” The older man looked at Emma, actually looked at her for the first time, then looked away, a clear dismissal. “We don’t know each other.”

  The callousness of his friend stopped Nick in his tracks. The words were cold, and the Mike that Nick knew wasn’t cruel. Moody, antisocial, awkward, sure. He’d been like that since Nick had first met him, ten years ago. But this?

  This told him that Mike had known about Emma. Known about her, left her, and wasn’t real interested in getting to know who she was now.

  “I think it’s pretty clear why she’s here.” He didn’t realize he was moving, but he found himself reaching back for Emma’s hand, tangling his fingers in hers. If Mike noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “She’s come to meet the father she just found out she had.”

  It was a jab at the lies Emma had been told, but again, the dart missed its mark. Mike just shrugged as though the situation were irritating to him, a fly buzzing around his head.

  “I have the show coming up.” Coat still on, he turned to his table, started organizing some of the tools that were scattered across its surface. “It’s not a good time.”

  Seriously?

  Behind him, Emma was still silent—eerily so. Nick couldn’t even begin to wonder what she was feeling but knew it couldn’t be good.

  “Actually, she flew all the way up here from Georgia, right before Christmas.” Nick’s voice was sharp. “Seems to me that it’s the perfect time.”

  “You judging me, kid?” Mike’s face was still eerily expressionless. “Seems to me you know a thing or two about avoidance yourself.”

  A cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the studio settled into Nick’s bones. Direct shot—Mike was referring to the fact that he’d come to the island to hide. An up-and-coming artist in Vancouver, he’d dropped everything after his mother’s…well. After she died.

  “She came here to meet her father,” Nick repeated, brow furrowed. “Come on, Mike.”

  Mike cast one more look at the woman standing behind Nick, his expression unreadable. Finally he shook his head, smashing his toque back onto his head. “I’m not her father. Not really.”

  Nick fell into silence alongside Emma. Together they watched as Mike moved stiffly to the door, slamming it behind him. A second later the headlights of the truck again shone through the window, illuminating a wide stripe of golden light on the concrete floor.

  “Well.” She pulled back from him and he felt a chill at her absence. “I suppose that’s that, then.”

  His gut clenched—what did she mean? She was done here? She was going to head home in the morning?

  A second later, he gave himself a shake. The woman he couldn’t get off his mind was leaning against his table, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes were dry, but her shoulders were shaking.

  This was in no way about him. This was about her, and in that moment he wanted more than anything to take her pain away.

  “Hey.” He knew she heard him, but she didn’t—perhaps couldn’t—move. “Come here.”

  She looked at him then, and the sadness in those eyes tore at his heart. Anger, the strength of it unlike anything he’d ever felt before, burned in his veins.

  What the hell was wrong with Mike? Didn’t he care how his words would make Emma feel?

  She let him pull her into a tight hug, sighing against his chest. Her skin warmed against his, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent.

  He shouldn’t be this mad on her behalf. His loyalty should be to Mike.

  It wasn’t.

  “All right, Peaches.” Pulling back, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Time for some distraction.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d just like to go home.” He wasn’t sure if she meant Georgia or the cabin, but no way was he letting her go wallow in Mike’s cruelty alone.

  “Haven’t you looked outside?” He smiled guilelessly as she squinted out the window, then back at him. “Look at all that white stuff. We’re snowed in, Peaches. You’re stuck here with me.”

  It was a white lie, and from the suspicious glance she cast at the window, he was pretty sure she knew it. There was a ton of snow outside, but his truck had handled worse. He’d learned to drive in a Canadian winter on the prairies, and a little ice and snow weren’t enough to scare him off.

  Emma didn’t need to know that, though. Right now she needed her mind taken off things, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

  Chapter 21

  Emma was pretty sure Nick was lying about being snowed in, though of course she had no frame of reference—still, she appreciated that he was trying to distract her.

  On the plane here, she’d reminded herself that this might all be a wild goose chase. That the man who’d provided half of her DNA had likely disappeared for a reason.

  Seeing him, though, setting eyes on the man—she hadn’t expected the tug of kinship, the need to connect.

  Clearly Mike hadn’t felt the same way.

  Turning, she watched Nick move the sensual piece he had on the table. Hefting a coil of wire, a tangle of thin rods, and some other bits and pieces, he nodded with satisfaction and motioned her to join him.

  “Time for a welding lesson.” It was the last thing she expected to hear. She only had time to blink before he placed the large shield he’d been wearing earlier over her head. He grinned at her confusion as he added a thick pair of gloves that came up over the elbow, tucking the sleeves of the baggy T-shirt she wore—his T-shirt—into the cuffs.

  “This is not a fashion statement I’m looking to make,” she said as he tugged his own mask over his face. He was still shirtless. Not that she was complaining.

  “Safety first.” He picked up the torch and she arched an eyebrow at his naked torso. He couldn’t see it, of course, so he didn’t comment on it. “Okay. Pick a piece to start with.”

  “What are we making?” She appreciated art, but her mother had never really nurtured that streak in her. Having now met her father, the artist, she supposed she knew why.

  Looking at the metal pieces on the table, her mind stayed blank.

  “Your choice.” When he fired up the torch, she jumped at the sudden flare of sparks, a squeak escaping her. “Mercy, give a girl some warning!”

  Nick laughed. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  She snorted inelegantly, then gestured toward the table. “I have no idea where to start here.”

  “Pick a piece. Whatever little bit calls to you.” Taking her gloved hand in his, he placed it on the pile of metal. Pursing h
er lips, she chose a diamond shape with the slightest purple sheen.

  “Then what?”

  “Pick another. Then we put them together and see what happens.”

  Letting herself be guided by his hand over hers, Emma felt herself relax just the tiniest bit. Nick’s words, his rough voice, were easy to sink into as he explained things, clearly passionate about his topic.

  She liked this. She liked him. Spending time with him here, now, just like this—companionship without their hands all over each other.

  It felt good. Right.

  When she left, it was going to hurt.

  “See?” Nick held up the two pieces she’d chosen and indicated that she should choose a third. “See how they make kind of a heart shape? We could go in that direction. Or wherever else this drags you. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Won’t be any time at all before I’m as famous as you, then, hmm?” Looking back at him from over her shoulder, she smiled, more of the tension falling away.

  The sound of tires on the driveway and the slamming of a truck door made them both stiffen. For a moment she felt guilty, as though she was intruding.

  The steady gaze of Nick’s eyes through the shield had her squaring her shoulders. Maybe Mike wanted nothing to do with her, but Nick did. She could be here if here was where she wanted to be.

  Nick’s fingers found hers, squeezed through the gloves, and she felt a jolt of the courage he was giving her.

  Here was definitely where she wanted to be.

  She didn’t look up as Mike slammed his way back into the studio, but she found herself tracking him in her peripheral vision. Without a word, he shed his winter layers—thick jacket, snow pants, hat—sorry, toque—and gloves. In long johns and sweatpants, he then hauled a large sculpture onto his own table with a grunt.