'Tis the Season for Romance

by Kristen Proby

  When he’d first started working for us, my father had insisted Austin personally see to my protection. Dad had been paranoid that I was at risk ever since I’d opened Crumbs. From who was a mystery, but Dad wasn’t much for reason when it came to his daughter.

  So Austin had done a full assessment of my life. He’d been all business, focusing on assessing security at the bakery and at my home. It had been cute, the way he’d carried a notebook around, jotting down notes about access points and breach potential—if one could call a six foot three, muscled heartthrob cute.

  After Austin’s inspection, he’d deemed my home and workplace safe enough but in need of improvement. I’d owned the bakery for a year by that point and had never had a problem, but that hadn’t stopped him from installing a new locking system on the rear entrance as well as an entire video surveillance system. There was an alarm fob on my keychain. A can of pepper spray in my nightstand.

  The system and safeguards should have been enough, but Dad had still insisted on a bodyguard. It had been Austin in the early days. He’d sit at a corner table in the bakery, working on his laptop in silence, paying me next to no attention. Though I had no doubt that if a customer had so much as raised a voice he would have come to my rescue.

  Apparently, the only person allowed to criticize me or my baked goods was Austin himself.

  Then one day, it hadn’t been Austin who’d shown up at my house at five in the morning to escort me to work. It had been one of his team members. And the days when I’d glimpsed Austin had become fewer and farther between.

  At first, I’d worried that he suspected my crush. That he thought of me as that silly girl six years his junior. Then his true colors had shown. The reason Austin avoided me like the mall on Black Friday was because he didn’t like me.

  He’d made that perfectly clear three months ago when he’d come to the bakery and insulted me.

  That was the day I’d called my father and said enough. No more bodyguards. No more Austin. My foolish heart had been bruised one too many times.

  Dad had promised to lighten up security. How stupid was I to have believed him?

  Where had Austin and his team been lurking? Had they stayed outside the bakery all day long? Did he have someone stationed undercover? I had plenty of regulars at the bakery, a couple in particular that might fit in Austin’s crew. Tall. Broad. Muscled. Brynne always made sure to alert me whenever there was a hot guy on the premises.

  So how had they been watching me? Had they hacked my surveillance system? How had they known I’d come to Montana? The assholes were probably monitoring my credit cards. Bastards. I wouldn’t put it past my father. Or Austin. With his resources, I doubted there was much I could hide.

  Garrison, Austin’s firm, wasn’t the biggest private security company in Los Angeles, not by a long shot. But his was one of the fastest-growing firms with the best reputation.

  Austin was known for his risk-assessment skills. Word on the street was—because heaven forbid the man actually talk to me—Austin preferred to take jobs with the entrepreneurial wealthy. He didn’t like the drama and spotlight that came with celebrities. His clientele consisted of people like my father, those who stayed under the radar but who made enough money that some whacko might try to kidnap their kids and ask for ransom.

  Or kill their loved ones.

  Dad’s motives, though ridiculous at times, were coming from a good place. He was terrified to lose me, like he had Mom.

  But there had to be a limit, right? My father’s fears wouldn’t hold me prisoner any longer. I was perfectly safe in Montana for three days. When Austin showed up in the morning to escort me home, I was telling him no.

  “No.” I practiced the word. Easy.

  “No.” Super easy. I could definitely tell Austin no, with or without liquid courage flooding my veins. I’d done it tonight. I’d do it again tomorrow.

  My stomach churned and not from the champagne. Today’s show of stubbornness had been an anomaly. And who was I kidding? Telling Austin no was nearly impossible. It was a miracle I’d managed to delay him tonight.

  It was his eyes. Those coffee-brown eyes swallowed me whole. I was powerless against them. Maybe tomorrow I’d just avoid eye contact. It would probably be best if I avoided all of his face, period. There wasn’t a feature I didn’t adore, from the strong line of his nose to his supple lips to his square jaw and high cheekbones.

  At least he’d shaved the beard he’d grown last year. Had he shown up in Montana with the beard, I’d be on an airplane instead of waiting for room service.

  I’d only seen it once but the image of his sculpted jaw covered in perfectly groomed, dark hair was committed to memory. Austin had walked into the bakery after I’d gotten into an, erm . . . altercation with the guy on duty. The weather had been unseasonably warm and the air conditioner had quit, so I’d propped the back door open to get some air circulating and combat the heat from the ovens.

  Well, the guy on duty hadn’t liked having the door open. I’d told him tough luck. He’d called in his boss.

  In true Austin fashion, he’d gotten his way. I’d closed the door, blaming my moment of weakness on the beard.

  Thankfully, it was gone now. Austin was back to his usual clean-cut self. Dark jeans, polished boots and a starched, long-sleeved button-up. Though today, he’d rolled the sleeves up his forearms, revealing the dusting of dark hair.

  Just once, I wanted to see him smile. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen his teeth. But why would he smile at me? He hated me as much as I pretended to hate him.

  My minuscule, insignificant, harmless crush was surprisingly resilient. No matter how many times he flustered or frustrated me, the damn thing wouldn’t die.

  Because Austin Myles was a dream.

  He was a good man. He loved his mother—I’d overheard him talking to her on the phone twice and the adoration and love in his voice had brought tears to my eyes. His employees looked up to him, respected and appreciated his steady leadership. He carried an air of authority and confidence, but he didn’t use his charisma to intimidate or make others feel insecure. He was levelheaded. Smart. He held the door open for others and let the elderly cut in line.

  My life would be easier if I hated him like he hated me.

  Why did he dislike me so? Did he really think I was spoiled and selfish? Austin wasn’t rude to anyone except me. What was it about my personality that put him on edge?

  Well, screw him. I was nice. I was likable. I was a good baker. And he was ruining my Christmas.

  A surge of anger raced through my body and I closed my eyes, holding it tight. I’d need it tomorrow because I wasn’t going home. Call me selfish. Call me spoiled. Call me a brat. I was staying in Montana for three days, whether Austin liked it or not.

  “So there.” I stomped my slippered foot.

  I’d have to call and explain to my father that it wasn’t Austin’s fault. Dad would probably fire him otherwise. But no matter how much they pushed, I wasn’t backing down. If I did, I’d lose a lot more than this getaway.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Yessss. Food.” I didn’t bother checking the peephole. Again. I was really going to have to work on that. Because there he was, the star of my fantasies, here to ruin Christmas once more. “You said I got one night. Go away.”

  Austin pushed his way past me, sending a waft of his sexy, spicy cologne straight to my nostrils.

  I inhaled and held it in. God, I was pathetic.

  “They’re out of rooms,” he said, walking around the end of the bed to the side closest to the window, barely giving me a glance as he set his backpack beside the dresser. He took the phone from his pocket and deposited it on the nightstand. Next came the wallet from his jeans pocket.

  As he moved, my gaze wandered down his spine, past his belt and to his scrumptious behind—when a man had an ass that perfect, any woman two bottles of champagne into the night would look.

  Austin gripped the sides o
f his shirt and yanked it free from the waist of his jeans.

  My mouth watered. Then the two brain cells still functioning in my hazy stupor tuned into what was happening here. Austin was making himself comfortable. “Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No. You can’t stay in here.”

  “They’re out of rooms,” he repeated.

  “Then find another hotel!” My hands flew in the air as I shrieked. There was no way I could sleep in the same room—and bed—as Austin Myles.

  “There is one other hotel in Quincy, Montana, and a bed-and-breakfast. And they’re all sold out.”

  “Then go to another town.”

  He scowled. “The nearest town is fifty miles away. Trust me, I asked.”

  Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. We could not share a bed. What if I fell asleep and tried to cuddle with him? Or worse, what if my hands wandered and I groped him while unconscious?

  “Then go home. Take the plane. I’ll call my father and tell him I refused to come home. I’ll make sure he knows that it was my decision and—”

  “Cleo, calm down.” Austin held up a hand. “It’s one night. Would you mind just putting something on?”

  I glanced down at myself and a crimson wave of shame spread across my skin. I imagined the color was about the same as my silk pajamas.

  I’d put them on earlier to scare Austin off. It had worked. Except now it was painfully obvious that my nipples were pebbled and there was a lot of skin showing.

  My arms banded around my chest and I rushed to my drawers, finding a cream sweater and pulling it over my head. The moment it was on, draping midthigh, Austin’s shoulders relaxed away from his ears.

  Really? Were my nipples that horrific? Ugh. Why did I have to crush on such a jackass?

  Another knock came at the door and I turned, ready to collect my dinner, but in a flash Austin vaulted over the bed and was yanking me away from the door.

  “Peephole.” He pointed to the circle.

  I pointed to the handle. “Room service.”

  He frowned and opened the door, barely cracking it until he could assess who was on the other side.

  “Seriously,” I muttered.

  Austin opened the door further, not before shooting me a scowl, and waved the same bellboy from earlier inside.

  I rushed to my purse, taking out another twenty because this kid had earned it tonight. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and his smile widened as I handed over his tip. “Just roll the cart into the hallway when you’re done and I’ll come collect it later tonight. Have a good night, ma’am.”

  “You too.”

  The moment he pulled the door closed, Austin flipped the deadbolt and secured the chain.

  “Paranoid much?” I lifted the metal lid on my plate and the smell of french fries and a cheeseburger filled the room.

  Whoa. The Eloise Inn didn’t mess around. They’d sent an entire basket of fries with nacho cheese on the side, and the burger was bigger than my face.

  Austin’s gaze zeroed in on my food.

  Good. Maybe if he was hungry enough, he’d go somewhere else to find food. Like West Hollywood.

  His stomach growled, but he didn’t make a move to leave. The man would probably starve himself rather than give up and leave this room and concede me a victory. The stubborn mule.

  There went the growl again. It echoed in the room like a hungry lion trapped in the cage that was his flat stomach.

  Damn it. Couldn’t he shut that animal up? It growled again and my nerves began to falter. My inner nurturer was starting to break out in hives as the growling continued. The overwhelming urge to feed people, to bring them joy through sugar, carbohydrates and fat, was engrained deep in my soul.

  Damn it, again.

  “Would you like to share? I won’t eat all of this myself,” I muttered. Or he could call and order his own cheeseburger. Maybe I should have just tossed the binder in his face.

  “I’m good to share.” Austin’s dark eyes met mine and he gave me a small smile. There were no teeth showing but it was a smile, nonetheless. “Thanks.”

  My crush flared like a skin rash immune to hydrocortisone cream.

  Hopeless. I was hopeless.

  I turned my attention to the meal, dividing it between the plate and basket. “Would you like some champagne?” Not that there was much left.

  “No.” He took the plate I offered and returned to his side of the bed, propping himself up against some pillows.

  “Water?” I walked to the minifridge and took out a bottle for myself.

  “Please.”

  I retrieved another, then sat on the bed, mirroring his posture, and popped a fry into my mouth.

  He did the same.

  Next I went for the burger.

  Austin kept eating fries.

  Five bites in—there was nothing else to do but count—I wanted to hide in the bathtub to eat. Awkward wasn’t a strong enough word for this.

  We didn’t look at one another. We didn’t speak. But it was impossible to ignore, especially in my getting-drunker-by-the-second state, every one of Austin’s movements. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, and his broad shoulders took up half the bed, putting us much, much too close. His legs were so long that even dangling off the edge, I knew he’d have to sleep at a slight diagonal to fit.

  There would be touching.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, we were going to touch. It was terrifying, yet exhilarating. If my crush were a small rash, it would probably be a full-body breakout by morning.

  What was he going to wear? Would he strip down to boxers? A shirtless Austin would be one hell of a Christmas present, but knowing Austin, he’d sleep on the floor, fully clothed with a scowl aimed my way all night long.

  “It’s snowing.” Austin shot a glare at the window.

  Outside, illuminated by the streetlamps, fat clumps of snow floated through the air like icy feathers. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  He turned to me, his face screwed up in horror like I’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real.

  I waved him off and lifted my basket. “More fries?”

  “No.” Austin shook his head and returned his gaze to the window. “Why couldn’t you have run away in the summer?”

  “Excuse me?” My spine stiffened. “I’m not a child. I didn’t run away. I went on a vacation.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?” I swung my legs off the bed and took my basket to the cart, setting it down with too much force.

  “You know.”

  “Obviously, I don’t,” I grumbled, reaching for my drink. In this room, the champagne was the only thing on my side. And my slippers.

  “What I mean is . . . you’re calm,” Austin explained. “Levelheaded.”

  “Predictable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Boring,” I mumbled before taking a long gulp.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He didn’t have to. A lot of people thought that my life should be more exciting. My father was a billionaire. Dad would give me anything in the world if it was at his disposal, no questions asked. I didn’t travel the world. I didn’t spend frivolously. My idea of an exciting Friday night was experimenting with pastry recipes.

  “I get it,” I said. “This isn’t the type of thing I normally do and it’s taken everyone off guard. Cleo has a mind of her own. Surprise.”

  I swiped the TV remote from the dresser and turned it on. The generic music from the guide channel filled the room as I returned to my side of the bed, taking care to sit as close to the edge as possible.

  The Hallmark Channel was my favorite this time of year because cheesy holiday romances made me smile. I found it in the guide, punched in the number and the minute the channel changed, a couple dry humping filled the screen.

  Kill me now.

  Austin swiped the remote from my hand and didn’t miss a beat as he found a sports show. It was the one and only time I wouldn’t complain about basketball.
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  “Uh . . . who’s watching the store?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was also hovering close to his edge of the bed.

  “Brynne.”

  He hummed, his eyes fixed on the screen.

  I did my best to follow the game, but as the ball moved from one end of the court to the other, the champagne soaked into my blood, making me sleepy. Before I could crash, I forced myself off the bed and into the bathroom, where I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Then I braced my hands by the sink and met my reflection in the mirror.

  One night.

  You can make it one night.

  Then I’d sit Austin down, sans champagne, and calmly explain to him that I needed this trip. He’d go home and I’d have two blissful nights alone in my hotel room.

  I slathered on my night cream, then took off the sweater I’d pulled on because there was no way I was sleeping in merino wool, then eased out of the bathroom.

  Austin’s eyes snapped to me the second the door opened. He’d taken the food cart and my champagne bottles and bucket to the hallway but was back on his side of the bed.

  I kept my chin high and walked to the bed, turning down the covers and sliding beneath. Then I stretched an arm to the lamp and turned it off. “Goodnight, Austin.”

  “Goodnight, Cleo.” He shifted, kicking off his boots.

  My eyes darted to his socks as he lifted his feet onto the bed. “Are those pizza socks?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, flipping off the light on his side of the room. “My mom bought them for me.”

  Heart. Melt.

  He wore dorky socks because they were a gift from his mother.

  I shifted onto my other side to face him. “I’m sorry you had to come here. That wasn’t my intention.”

  He looked down at me and his gaze softened. “I know.”

  If he knew, then why was he so angry? Why did I irritate him so much?

  “Why do you hate me?” I whispered, instantly regretting the words and the two bottles of champagne that had given me the courage to blurt them. Partially drunk was out the window. Clearly, I was fucking wasted. But I didn’t take back my question. I stared up at him, hoping he’d answer.