Christmas in Harmony Harbor

by Debbie Mason

  “Here.” She handed him the cloth and pushed to her feet. He probably smelled like the bottom of a garbage bin, thanks to the cat. “Take off your shirt and clean up. I’m going to get you something to wear.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he muttered at Bruiser. Then it hit him that he did indeed owe the cat his thanks, because the last thing Caine should be doing is regretting the loss of Evangeline’s hands on him, the loss of her body’s warm weight leaning against him.

  Caine stood up and took off his shirt, dropping it on the closed lid of the toilet seat. “Okay, Bruiser. You either have your flea bath or you go back to the old lady’s shed. Take your pick.” Caine gingerly reached for the cat, who took a swipe at him, but it wasn’t as aggressive as the last time. He took that as a good sign and got ahold of him. “No scratching or biting. Let’s get this done.”

  “Oh, look at you. Aren’t you a good boy,” Evangeline said, coming to his side to pet the cat.

  “Thank you. I’m very good at doing what I’m told.” He lowered himself to the side of the tub while holding the cat over the water.

  “Ha. You know I was talking to Bruiser.”

  “And apparently he does too. Keep up your crooning and we’ll get this done.” Feeling the weight of her gaze, he glanced at her. “What?”

  She lifted a shoulder as she knelt beside him. “You’re not what I expected, that’s all.”

  He could say the same of her, but it wouldn’t be true. She was exactly what he’d expected: sweet, compassionate, kind, and loyal without being a total pushover. What he hadn’t expected was how much she would appeal to him. She wasn’t his type.

  “What were you expecting? Big head, overlong hair, greenish cast to my skin, voracious appetite, freakishly strong?”

  She took a moment to answer, and he glanced at her while he gently scooped warm water onto the cat. Her eyes were on his chest. As she raised her gaze to his, her face flushed, and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t say you looked like an ogre. I said you acted like one.”

  “And now?”

  “I’ve discovered when you’re not in high-powered-businessman mode, you’re actually a very nice man. Theia always said you were kind and thoughtful, generous to a fault, and so does your uncle. But I didn’t see how that could be true. You are though.”

  “Be sure to keep it to yourself. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.” She smiled and returned her attention to the cat, gently kneading the shampoo into his mangy coat.

  Caine tried to picture his last date leaning over a tub crooning sweet nothings as she washed a flea-bitten cat. She wouldn’t be alone in her horror. None of the women he’d dated in the past ten years would take in a stray cat and a stray dog. The closest they’d get to helping out was donating money, but only if it came with a photo op.

  “Caine, can you rinse him off while I hold him?”

  He shook off the unsettling feeling that came from comparing the women he’d dated to Evangeline.

  “Of course,” he said, and she glanced at him. The words had come out sharper than he’d intended. Or had they? Maybe his subconscious knew what he didn’t want to admit. That he’d let Evangeline get a little too close and he needed to put some distance between them. No doubt their bet would accomplish that.

  Once Bruiser was thoroughly rinsed, Caine stood up and grabbed a towel off the rack, handing it to Evangeline. She placed it over her knees and then lifted the dripping cat from the water. Bruiser couldn’t have looked more pathetic had he tried. But he didn’t look pathetic when Evangeline wrapped him in the fluffy white towel and cradled him against her chest.

  Lucky bastard, Caine thought, and briefly closed his eyes. It was past time for him to leave. He turned to wash his hands. Glancing in the mirror over the sink, he caught Evangeline eyeing his back. There was interest and a touch of heat in her hazel eyes, and his own desire flared to life in response. His hand tightened around the tap as he warred with what was right and what was wrong and what he wanted. It had been a long time since he’d damned the consequences and given in to his desires. But no matter how strong his desire, the consequences would be dire.

  Caine shook the water from his hands, then dried them on a hand towel by the sink. “I’d best be going. I have calls to make. We can do the angel wish tomorrow.” A fair number of the paper angels had been damaged when the tree fell, and Evangeline hadn’t had a chance to replace them. “Will you be all right tonight? My uncle can stay with you if you’d like.” Seamus had gone to have a couple pints at the pub.

  “If he’s planning to stay at the Salty Dog until closing, he’s welcome to stay here. But I’m fine. I have Max and Bruiser.”

  Caine reached out to help her up. She stood, resting a palm on his chest as she adjusted the cat in her arms. She jerked her hand back as though shocked she’d touched his bare skin. He understood her reaction. He felt the imprint of her palm on his chest. He wanted to take her hand and press it there again.

  Without meeting his gaze, she pointed at the doorknob. “There’s a sweater for you.”

  It was a red sweater with the words Get Lit above a gaudy Christmas tree. “The tree lights up,” she murmured, glancing at him with a self-conscious grin.

  “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. Not everything has a price tag attached to it, Caine. I appreciated your help. That’s all.”

  Her reaction was stronger than he would have expected given what he’d said. She was reacting to more than his question. She was reacting to her reaction to him, to his reaction to her. To the sexual tension swirling around them in the small, confined space.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He picked up the sweater and discovered a small bag underneath. It was from the local bakery. He held it up. “What’s this?”

  “Just a cupcake. Mackenzie made it for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day Evie heard Caine’s voice through the vent of the guestroom she was cleaning out for her mother. She frowned, thinking he was early to pick his first angel wish until she looked at the pumpkin alarm clock on the nightstand. He was right on time. She doubted he was ever late or that he’d ever made a single misstep in his life.

  “He’s perfect, and I’m perfectly inept,” she said to Bruiser, who was soaking up the sun shining onto the bedspread.

  Her mother would arrive in less than four hours, and Evie had barely boxed a quarter of the decorations. The guest bedroom served as an overflow room for stock from the Halloween room, since it was Evie’s second-favorite holiday and she tended to buy too much. At least she didn’t have to close up shop to get her mother. Seamus had offered.

  She didn’t know what she’d do without the older man. He was a godsend. Who’d been provided courtesy of the devil, she reminded herself. At least that was how she used to think of Caine. Ogre, devil, they were one and the same. Devilishly handsome and devilishly charming more like, she thought, remembering her reaction to him last night.

  She lowered herself onto the end of the bed, a box of purple, orange, and black feather boas and witches’ hats on her lap, and allowed herself a mini vacay from the reality of her life or what her life would become at six tonight, when her mother arrived.

  Lenore wouldn’t give Evie a moment’s peace. She’d have no time to fantasize about a man she had absolutely no business fantasizing over. But, oh my gosh, how could she not? As his deep voice came through the vent, she flashed back to last night, when she’d heard him swearing at Bruiser in what she’d assumed was Gaelic. His voice all gravelly and commanding.

  “If you were a Betty instead of a Bruiser, you would have rolled over and showed your belly. I certainly would have,” Evie murmured as images of a shirtless Caine flitted through her mind. From somewhere below, she heard him answer his phone. His rolling baritone managed to make what sounded like a tense conversation deliciously sexy.

  Who had she been trying to kid yesterday? His accent turned her on as much
as the sight of his broad back with its sculpted muscles and skin the color of liquid honey. She was surprised she’d managed to keep from smoothing her hands over all that taut muscle and warm skin when she’d accidently placed a palm on his chest. Only to jerk it away when a low hum of appreciation began in her throat.

  Somehow the part of her that kept her out of trouble managed to push past the heavy, pulsing desire she’d felt for the man, saving her from making a complete fool of herself. Caine Elliot wanted only one thing from her—to wipe Holiday House off the map of Harmony Harbor.

  It didn’t matter that he’d brought her Bruiser and bought her rat traps, flea baths, cat food, and squeaky toys. It didn’t matter that his uncle (at Caine’s directive, she assumed) was helping her at the store or that Caine had agreed to a bet when all he had to do was charm the people of Harmony Harbor to have them fall in line just like he’d charmed her.

  It didn’t matter that she thought she’d seen another side of him yesterday: a kinder, gentler side. Caine Elliot used charm, money, and his big, logical mathematician brain to get exactly what he wanted. She was lucky. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d read the look in hers. He might as well have put up his hands and told her to back off. She’d misread the heat. She wasn’t his type.

  “And he’s not mine,” she told Bruiser, and came to her feet.

  “Who’s not yours?”

  She looked over to see Caine leaning against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, a half smile on his face. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, at the same time thanking God that she hadn’t been confiding her feelings for him and his body to Bruiser. At least the feelings she’d had for him and his body yesterday. She didn’t have them today. Uh-uh, no way.

  Ignoring the traitorous flutter in the pit of her stomach when he walked into the room, she lifted her chin at the closet. “The skeleton. He was my aunt Noelle’s.”

  “Ah, I see.” He nodded at Bruiser as he walked to the bed. “He seems to be enjoying your conversation.”

  “He was until you walked in. He’s pretending to sleep. You traumatized him yesterday.”

  “I can tell,” he said when he lightly scratched behind Bruiser’s half-bitten ear and the cat purred loudly. “Evangeline?”

  She tore her gaze from his big hand and his long, blunt-tipped fingers. “What?”

  “It looked like I’d lost you for a minute.”

  “Lots on my mind.” She stood up and put the box on the bed.

  “So I gathered. Do you need a hand? Seamus says you have to clean out the room before your mother arrives.”

  “Yes. She’s not a fan of the holidays. Any holiday. She says they’re a bunch of sentimental claptrap and a waste of time and money. I’m sure you agree.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have an opinion on them either way. Seamus is another story. He loves them. Thanks for letting him stay, by the way. He enjoyed sleeping in the St. Paddy’s room.”

  All she’d done was move a few display tables and pull down the Murphy bed. “I’m happy to have him. He’s been a great help. He offered to pick up my mother in Boston at five. Is that a problem for you?”

  “Not all. I figure for the next couple of days I’ll be busy fulfilling my angel-wish assignments, so it’s best if he’s busy. It keeps him out of trouble.”

  “Wonderful. It’ll be good to have the extra help during the holiday season. All four weeks of it,” she added as she began emptying the closet of Halloween costumes.

  He reached past her to grab an armful. “It’s not going to take me four weeks to fulfill three holiday wishes, Evangeline.”

  “I have a feeling it will,” she said as she walked from the bedroom to the stairs in the hall that led to the attic. The other bedrooms were crammed with their particular holiday paraphernalia, and Evie didn’t want to traumatize any children who might happen upon the costumes.

  “And would that feeling have anything to do with you curating my wishes?” Caine asked as he followed behind her.

  She gave a noncommittal hmm to his question, then said, “Thanks, but you can just leave the costumes here. I’ll take them to my room later.” She wouldn’t be able to go into the second-floor bathroom without thinking of him, so she didn’t want him anywhere near her bedroom. She didn’t need to start imagining him there. Her bedroom was her sanctuary.

  “It won’t take as long with me helping.”

  She stopped halfway up the narrow staircase and turned, coming almost face-to-face with him as he stood two steps below her. “Here.” She held out her arms. “Just pile them on.”

  His gaze dropped to the costumes in her arms, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he lifted his eyes to hers. “Is the sexy maid’s uniform popular?”

  She wondered if he’d intended for her to imagine herself playing sexy maid to his sexy billionaire self, because that’s exactly what happened. Such was the problem of a vivid imagination. Sometimes it could be used against her. Like now.

  “Not as popular as the sexy nurse. It’s probably in the closet,” she said when he appeared to be searching their piles for it.

  “I can’t see it being more popular than the sexy maid. I’ll have to check it out.” He nodded at the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very bossy man?” she said as she headed the rest of the way up the stairs, fully intending to stop him at the entrance to her room.

  “Yes. Several people. A good number who actually think it’s a positive attribute, not a character flaw like you appear to.”

  “The ones who approve, would they be women in sexy maid uniforms, by chance?”

  His warm, rich laughter rolled over her, and she found herself smiling. Reluctantly, of course. She turned to him at the entrance to her room. “I can take it from here.”

  Instead of piling the costumes on top of hers, he nudged her back. Not forcefully but just enough that she knew to argue with him would be a lesson in futility. She made an irritated sound in her throat, uttering Fine with enough attitude that he knew she wasn’t happy about him invading her space.

  “Do you want to tell me why you’re so intent on seeing my bedroom?” she asked as she walked to the closet, surreptitiously checking to be sure she hadn’t left anything embarrassing out.

  “I was just lending a hand, but the fact you obviously didn’t want me up here made me curious. I thought maybe you were hiding a man in your room.”

  “You did not, and even if you did, what would it matter to you?”

  “You’re right, I didn’t. My uncle would have told me,” he said, looking around her room.

  She followed his gaze, seeing the space through his eyes: the framed photos of her with her dad at a Christmas craft fair when she was twelve; her graduation photo with her parents, her dad wearing her cap with his usual playful grin, her mother clearly unamused; a picture at her twenty-seventh birthday, laughing and surrounded by her girlfriends. Friends that had slowly disappeared from her life as she allowed Aaron to isolate her. She turned off thoughts of the man she’d run from. This was her safe place.

  Her decorating style was warm and cozy. She loved the shades of blue and cream, touches of fur and heavy wool, the twinkling lights she’d strung from one end of the room to the other. The way the ceiling slanted over her bed, which was covered in pillows and a fur throw. The low cream-colored bookshelf beside the big comfy chair with an even bigger ottoman was decorated with Christmas ornaments, a small ceramic Christmas tree sitting on top of it.

  Caine’s expression tensed as his eyes seemed to search every corner of her room.

  “Okay, you’ve seen enough. It’s obvious you have a problem with my room, but that’s not a surprise since you have a problem with my entire house. So, bye-bye.” She walked to the door and motioned for him to leave. “You’re going the wrong way,” she said when he strode to the opposite end of her room. “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried as he pulled the plug
on her twinkle lights.

  “What I’m doing”—he waved the cord at her—“is saving you from burning down Holiday House with you in it. This is a death trap up here. Start packing your things. You’re not staying here another night.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead she stabbed her finger at him, hoping to convey how ticked off she was while she waited for her temper to unfreeze her brain or her tongue or both. “You, you—”

  “Sputter and stutter and point your finger at me all you want. It won’t change the outcome. Look at the outlets and tell me you don’t see what I do, Evangeline. See here, where it’s black?” He rose to his feet and moved to the other end of the bookshelf to push the chair out of the way. Swearing under his breath, he held up another cord. “Do you have a death wish, woman? The bloody thing is frayed. Obviously rats are not your only problem. You have mice.” He pulled out his phone. “You’re not sleeping here until I have your electrical looked at.”

  How was she supposed to argue with him? She might hate what he saw and hate what he said, but she didn’t have a death wish. Still, she couldn’t give in. “I’m not letting you kick me out of my room. You’re already trying to—”

  He held up his finger. “Caine Elliot here. I need an electrician—on second thought, send me a team to check the electrical at Holiday House on Main Street. Yes, one and the same.” He turned his back to her. “I don’t want it burning to the ground before I tear it down. Yes, I realize it’s crazy. So is the woman I’m dealing with.” Shoving his phone in his pocket, he turned to her. “Until the house has been given the okay by the electricians, you plug in the bare minimum of small appliances and lights. Do you understand?”

  Panicked tears prickled the backs of her eyes at the thought of being left in the dark. She couldn’t sleep without her twinkle lights. Afraid she might not be able to hold back tears, she lowered her eyes and heard Caine draw a deep inward breath.