Blush Duo - Marriage Under the Mistletoe & The Christmas Inn (2 page)

“How’s the coffee here?”

She turned. Scott was close. Really close. His chest seemed like a solid wall in front of her. “I’m not sure.” She held up a small cardboard carrier containing two foam cups. “It’s hot at least.”

“That’s a good start.”

Evie’s skin prickled. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it.”

He smiled. “Black, two sugars and milk.”

A funny guy. Great.
She passed him four sachets of sugar. “Knock yourself out.”

“Shall we sit?” he asked.

Evie handed over the coffee. “Sure.”

She grabbed the food and followed him to one of the melamine tables and contained her surprise when he pulled out a chair for her. “How much do I owe you?” he asked once seated.

Evie shook her head and flouted the way her heart pounded beneath her ribs like a freight train. “My treat.”

He smiled again and she got another look at the dimple. “Thanks.” He took the lid off his coffee and poured in some sugar. “Callie tells me you’re in the wedding party?” he asked, resting both elbows on the table.

She nodded and pushed a sandwich toward him. “And you’re giving the bride away?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “So, what else do you do besides run a B and B?”

Evie carefully sipped her coffee. “I paint.”

“Houses?”

“Pictures,” she replied. “Portraits, landscapes...that sort of thing.”

“Talented
and
beautiful,” he said smoothly.

Color rose up her collarbone and she felt like shaking her head to refute the compliment. Evie knew she
wasn’t
beautiful. She had even enough features and was attractive at best. Her sister Grace, on the other hand, was a classic beauty. And Mary-Jayne, the youngest of the three sisters, had always been considered the pretty one. Evie was just...Evie.

“And I teach art classes at my studio. What about you?” she asked, ignoring the compliment. “What do you do?”

“Besides what I’m doing now?” he replied, then shrugged. “The usual, I suppose.”

“The usual?” she echoed.

He put down his cup and leaned back in the chair. “I work.”

Evie took a breath.
Talk. Say something. I talk to people every day. I’m good at talking.
“And when do you play?”

It wasn’t exactly what she’d planned to say. Because it sounded outright flirtatious. And she
never
flirted. Without warning, the sexy-as-sin Scott Jones had somehow tapped in to the female part of her she’d kept under wraps for a decade.

“I mean,” she said quickly, covering her escalating embarrassment. “Do you like sports and stuff?”

“I like sports.” He smiled. “Do you?”

“I like to
watch
sports,” she admitted. “Even the macho sweaty kind like football.”

“But you don’t play?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling like a couch potato. “I run.”

“Me, too.”

With that body he did more than run—Evie would bet her boots on it.

“Shall we get going?” she asked, changing the subject. Before he had a chance to reply she grabbed her coffee and food and made her way outside. The late-afternoon sun was settling toward dusk and they still had another three hours driving ahead. It would be well after dark by the time they arrived into Crystal Point.

She hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and waited until they were both buckled up before heading off. They had a few minutes of silence before he spoke.

“Lacrosse.”

Evie slanted a sideways look. “What?”

“You’d probably like it,” he said. “It can be macho and sweaty.”

“I thought it was badminton on steroids?”

He laughed, and the sound thrilled her down to her toes. “
Ouch.
You don’t miss a man’s ego with that aim.”

A smile curled the edges of her mouth. “I’m guessing you play?”

“Yes. I still think you’d like it.”

“The next time I’m in L.A. I’ll be sure to catch a game.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Once,” she replied. “Years ago. Gordon and I did the whole tourist thing just after we were married.”

“Gordon? That was your husband?”

“Yes, he was.” Her voice automatically softened. “He’s dead.”

“Callie told me that,” he said soberly. “You must miss him.”

“Yes.”

“Were you happy?”

She shot a glance sideways for a moment. It was a highly personal question from a stranger.
A stranger who would soon be family. Part of the Preston clan.
Except, she hadn’t been Evie Preston for a long time. She was Evie Dunn, mother of one—
mother-hen,
her father often called her. The girl most likely to fade into the background and do whatever needed to be done. The sensible daughter.

“We were very happy,” she said quietly.

“And does your son look like his father?”

“No,” she replied. “Trevor looks like me.”

“Lucky kid.”

Another compliment. He was good at them. He had an easygoing way about him and a kind of masculine confidence she figured he’d probably possessed since the cradle.

Evie was tempted to say thank you, but she caught herself before the words left her mouth.

He stretched out his legs and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his thighs.

I really need to pull myself together...and fast.

She went for a rabbit in a hat. “So, your girlfriend couldn’t come on this trip with you?”

“I’m single,” he replied flatly.

“Sorry,” she said automatically. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He looked at her again. She felt the burning intensity of his gaze through to her blood. He wasn’t fooled, either. She
wanted
to know, foolishly, if there was a woman in his life. And she felt stupid. Incredibly stupid. Like a silly teenager gushing over the new boy in school.

She glanced at him, hoping he didn’t notice, and wondered where all these sudden hormones had come from. Okay, so he wasn’t a boy. He was the furthest thing from a boy.

But he’s young. Way younger than acceptable.

Boy-Toy
sprang to mind. Ridiculous.
Cougar
followed on its tail, racing around in her head like a chant, telling her to stop dreaming impossible dreams.

“I broke up with my ex-girlfriend over a year ago.”

Evie looked at Scott again, slanting her gaze sideways while concentrating on the road ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

She gripped the steering wheel. “I guess...” Her words trailed, then stopped. “Actually I’m usually not one for platitudes. So I’ll happily take that back and stop sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It would be a shame to waste such a pretty nose, don’t you think?”

Evie’s skin tingled. He turned a good line. She pointed to a stack of CDs in the center console. “You can choose some music if you like.”

He took a moment before flicking through the pile, and then Jack Johnson’s voice filtered through the cab.

“Good pick,” she said on a sharp breath.

“You sound surprised?”

Evie stared directly ahead. “My son tossed them to me this morning. I had no idea what he’d chosen. I expected—”

“That I’d go for something a little less mellow?”

“I guess.”

“I was raised on a steady diet of jazz from my father, and classic bands like The Eagles and Bread from my mom, who was, and still is a seventies purist,” he explained. “I like most types of music.”

Evie felt distinctly put in her place. “Sorry.”

“That’s a favorite word of yours.”

Around you it is.
But she didn’t say it. All she wanted to do was stop thinking about his washboard belly, unfairly cute dimple and nice voice.

“I’ll just...” she began, and then stalled because she knew he was looking at her, summing her up and working her out. “I’m really quite okay to not talk if you’d prefer. You’ve had a long flight and I’m...”

He laughed softly. “Chill out, Evie,” he said with a grin she couldn’t see but knew was on his lips. “I can cope without conversation.”

He settled back in the seat and Evie drew in a sharp breath, feeling like such a fraud. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. She only knew that in a matter of hours, her life—the life she’d lived for so many years—seemed a lot like a life half-lived.

It was as though she’d been asleep for years, not thinking, not wondering. But Evie was wondering now. And she was awake.
Wide
awake.

Chapter Two

S
cott woke up in a strange bed. He rolled onto his back, blinked twice and took stock of his surroundings. A nice room with sloping walls. A comfortable mattress. Clean sheets that smelled like fresh-squeezed lemons. Another scent caught his attention. Coffee. And vanilla.

Green eyes, lips the color of ripe California cherries, dark curly hair dancing down a woman’s back.

Evie Dunn.

Scott quickly remembered where he was
. I’m in Evie’s bed.

Well, not technically
her
bed. Although that idea unexpectedly appealed to him when he inhaled another whiff of coffee laced with vanilla. A bed in her house. And not in the B and B part of the big home. These were her private quarters. That had surprised him. But she’d explained how the rooms were fully booked over the holiday season and with Callie and Noah’s wedding organized so suddenly she hadn’t time enough to change her bookings.

He checked the clock on the bedside table. Six o’clock. He’d been asleep for over nine hours. When they’d arrived at Dunn Inn the night before, he’d pretty much crashed within half an hour of dumping his duffel at the end of the bed.

Scott’s stomach growled. He was hungry. And his body ached. He swung out of bed and planted his feet on the floorboards.
I need a run.
He stood, stretched and then rummaged through his bag for sweats.
It’s summer here, remember?
He opted instead for shorts and a T-shirt, pulled on socks and trainers, found his iPod and left the room.

He headed down the hall and took the flight of stairs. The rich scent of coffee hit him again as he got to the side door and the private entrance Evie told him he could use. He could hear voices coming from the guest area and main kitchen and fought the urge to follow the sound. She was obviously busy. But he looked forward to seeing those sparkling green eyes again.

Once outside, Scott got a good look at the house. It was huge and had long windows protected by timber shutters and a gabled roof. He walked backward out of the front yard to the garden. Then he turned and was struck by the most incredible view of the Pacific Ocean barely one hundred meters away. As kids he and Callie had vacationed in the nearby town of Bellandale a few times, where their father had been born. But Scott had never seen Crystal Point before. Callie had told him about it, of course, and he’d listened to his sister’s stories about small-town life and the camaraderie among the residents and how she’d been readily accepted by the community. And Scott knew her marriage to Noah Preston would cement that bond and she’d never return to California.

He looked toward the ocean, inhaling deeply. The sea was as flat as glass and he spotted a couple of fishing boats on the horizon. He liked this place. Especially when he looked to his left and spotted Evie Dunn pounding the pavement on incredibly athletic legs. She jogged toward him, zigzagging across a wide stretch of grass between the road and the footpath. Black shorts flipped across her thighs as she moved. She wore a white tank shirt, bright pink socks and flashy new trainers, and her glorious hair was pulled back and tied up beneath an equally pink visor. Scott swallowed hard. She looked vibrant and wholly desirable.

“Hey,” she said, coming to a halt about six feet in front of him. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early.” She took in big gulps of air and planted her hands on her hips.

“I told you I run,” he said, trying not to look as though he was checking her out. He managed a smile and kept his gaze level with hers. “Perhaps next time we could go together?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Well, I’d better go inside. I’ve got hungry guests waiting.”

She smiled and headed off past him at a slow jog. Scott turned instinctively and watched her until she disappeared around the side of the house. He liked the way she moved. He liked her curvy, athletic body.

A jolt of attraction ran through him, stronger this time. Not what he wanted.
Definitely
not. She wasn’t the casual kind of woman like those he’d been seeing since he’d broke up with Belinda. Evie Dunn looked like the kind of woman who’d want permanence—and more than that—she looked like the kind of woman who’d
need
permanence.

And that’s not me.

Commitment had no place in his life. He had his job—a job he had to prove to himself that he could do without distraction.

He put the earbuds in place and turned up the volume on the iPod. Stretching his travel-weary muscles for a few minutes, he then went for a long run and decided not to think about Evie’s great legs, or lovely hips or bright green eyes. He would just have to forget all about her.

* * *

The Manning sisters had been coming to Dunn Inn for nine years. Both in their seventies, both widows who’d married twin brothers, they shared a profound camaraderie that Evie knew she’d have with her own sisters throughout the years. Her sisters were her best friends, her confidantes, her conscience, her troubleshooters. She wondered what they would think of her new houseguest—or the semierotic dream she’d had about him the night before.

Evie listened to Flora Manning explain her newest recipe for double chocolate fudge brownies while she served them breakfast in the main dining room. Sticklers for tradition, the sisters preferred to have all their meals in the bigger room, and forgo Evie’s usual and more casual approach of breakfast in the kitchen. Most of her guests favored that particular meal at the long wooden table where they could chat among themselves and with Evie.

But the Manning sisters liked the good china and the pressed tablecloths and the fresh flowers Evie always maintained in the formal dining area. And because her next guests weren’t arriving until that afternoon, Evie gave Flora and Amelia a little extra attention.

“Did we see you talking with a man outside?” Amelia asked as she sipped her tea.

Evie looked up from her spot at the buffet table. There was clearly nothing wrong with the Manning sisters’ eyesight despite their recent protestations about their failing senses. “He’s here for my brother’s wedding.”

“Ah,” Flora said, nodding to her sister. “Told you so.”

“Mmm,” she replied, and placed a rack of toast and petite pots of marmalade on a serving plate.

“He’s a nice-looking young man,” Amelia said.

Definitely nothing wrong with their eyesight. “I guess he is.”

“And he’s staying until after the wedding?” Amelia asked.

Evie nodded. “Up until New Year’s, I believe.”

The sisters shared another look. “Is he a relative of yours?”

“No,” she replied. “He’s Callie’s brother. As you know, Callie’s engaged to my brother.”

Two sets of silver eyebrows rose. “Is he married?”

“No.”

Another look—this one a little triumphant. “Straight?” Flora, the more to-the-point sister, asked.

Evie smiled to herself. “Yes.”

“You should find yourself a man.” Flora again, never one to hold back, spoke as she smoothed out her perfectly groomed chignon. “Your son needs a father.”

Heat prickled up her spine. “He has a father.”

Flora tutted. “A ghost,” she said. “The same ghost you cling to.”

Evie’s hands stilled. “Not a ghost,” she said, probably a little sharper than she would have liked. But she knew the sisters’ cared about her. Telling it how they saw it was simply their way. “Just memories of a good man.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it,” Amelia said with a soft smile. “Now, when are you going to finish decorating the house?”

Good question. With Christmas only weeks away Evie usually had all the trimmings up. Granted, the beautiful cypress tree stood center stage in the living room and looked remarkable with its jewel-colored decorations and lights. Noah usually helped her with the rest of the garlands and tinsel she always scattered around the big house. But this year was different. He and Callie had their own home to decorate, and Evie hadn’t wanted to bother her brother simply because she wasn’t tall enough to finish decking the halls.

“I’ll get to it as soon as I can,” she promised, thinking the ladder in the shed out back would do the trick.

She returned to the main kitchen and left the sisters with their breakfast. She was just stacking the dishwasher when the door connecting the guest quarters and the stairwell leading to her private residence opened. Her sleepy-looking son emerged.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“We’re out of milk upstairs,” he muttered, eyes half-closed.

Evie opened the refrigerator and took out a plastic carton of milk for her cereal-addicted son. “Try and make it last past this afternoon,” she teased.

“Sure,” he said. “Hey, can I have twenty bucks? There’s a computer gaming party at Cody’s tomorrow night and we all want to pitch in for snacks.”

Evie raised one brow. “What happened to your allowance this week?”

He shrugged. “I could say the dog ate it.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“But we should get one,” Trevor said, swiftly employing his usual diversion tactics as he draped one arm across her shoulders and grinned. “It could be a guard dog. Especially for those times when I’m not here and you’re all alone.”

“I’m rarely alone,” Evie said. “We have a seventy-five-percent occupancy rate, remember?”

“I remember. So, about that twenty bucks?”

“If you help me put up the rest of the Christmas decorations tonight, I’ll consider it.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to—”

“No help, no snack money.”

Her son’s dark hair flopped across his forehead. “Okay,” he agreed begrudgingly. “But I’m not wearing a Santa hat while I do it like you made me last year.”

“Spoilsport.” She checked her watch. “You better go upstairs and finish breakfast. Cody’s mother will be here soon to drive you to school.” She took a few strides toward him and gave his cheek a swift kiss. “And don’t forget the milk.”

As one young male raced out of the room, another walked right on in through the back door. Only
this
young man set her pulse soaring. It should be illegal for any man to have arms like that. The pale blue T-shirt did little to disguise the solid muscle definition. She spotted a Celtic braid tattoo banding his right biceps.
Oh, sweet heaven.

Scott smiled when he saw where he’d ended up. “I think I took the wrong door.”

Evie managed not
 
to look him over as if he were a very tasty hot lunch. He looked as though he’d been running hard. His hair, a kind of dark hazelnut color, stuck to his forehead in parts while sweat trickled down his collarbone.

“You should find yourself a man.”

Flora Manning’s words returned with vengeance. Should she? Was that what she wanted? Sure—Evie was attracted to him. Any woman would be, right? He was young and gorgeous and had somehow kick-started her sleeping sexuality. But it was just
lust.
Just attraction. And attraction was...well, pointless if it wasn’t backed up with something more, wasn’t it? With Gordon she’d had more. She’d had love and loyalty.
A marriage.
Happiness.

Evie swallowed. “It’s a big house. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I don’t remember much of the tour you gave me last night, I’m afraid,” he said, just a little breathless.

“Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded and took in a few gulps of air. “Like a baby.”

Evie had a startling image in her head of long, powerful legs and smooth silk-on-steel skin wrapped in cotton bedsheets. She cleared her throat in an effort to stop her thoughts from wandering any further. “Breakfast will be upstairs.”

“You’re joining me?”

“Er—yes. I just have to see to my guests.” She quickly explained about the Manning sisters.

“I’ll see you upstairs, then,” he said, and chose that moment to grab the hem of his T-shirt and wipe the sweat from his face. Evie’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she caught sight of the most amazing abs she’d ever seen. A six-pack.
A twelve-pack.
She could swear he’d heard the rush of breath from her lips and felt the vibration of her heart pounding like an out-of-control jackhammer.

“Yeah...okay.”

He disappeared through the door that led upstairs, and it wasn’t until she heard his footsteps on the top of the landing that she left the kitchen and returned to the dining room. The sisters were still sipping tea and peeling the crusts off toast, and Evie collected a few dishes and told them she’d be back later for the rest. When she was done in the main kitchen, she headed upstairs. She could hear water running in the guest bathroom and relaxed fractionally. Trevor was placing his empty cereal bowl in the sink when she entered the kitchenette and pantry. They heard the familiar beep of a horn outside.

“That’s my ride. I gotta go.” Trevor grabbed his knapsack and left on fast feet.

Evie filled the jug and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. By the time Scott reappeared about ten minutes later, she’d chopped fruit and set the small table she usually only shared with her son.

Faded jeans fitted over his hips, and the black T-shirt did little to disguise the breadth of his broad shoulders and flat stomach. His feet were bare, his hair freshly washed. He smelled clean and extraordinarily masculine. The mood felt uncomfortably intimate and Evie suddenly regretted agreeing to allow him to stay in her home. Downstairs would have been better. Downstairs was about business. Upstairs was her private world. A world she shared with her son. A world no man had entered for ten years.

He looked around and then pulled out a chair. “This is an incredible house,” he said easily. “You have good taste.”

And I’ll bet you taste good...

She cleared her throat and held up the jug. “Coffee?”

“For sure.” He sat down. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

Desperate to change the subject, Evie grabbed a couple of slices of bread. “So, how do you like your toast?”

He smiled. “However you’d like to give it to me,” he said, and looked at the bread flapping in her hands.

Evie did her best to ignore the inflammatory words and placed the bread in the toaster, set out two plates and grabbed the diced fruit. Once the toast popped and the jug boiled, she poured coffee and moved toward the small table.