Blush Duo - Marriage Under the Mistletoe & The Christmas Inn (4 page)

At five minutes to seven, people began entering the dining room. Evie noticed Scott first. Before she could say anything, the Manning sisters arrived and quickly cornered him. Evie had to smile. He took their monopoly of him with a grin and appeared to be genuinely interested in their conversation. Evie relaxed when the Kellers entered the room. Once all the introductions were done, she brought in the food and invited everyone to be seated.

It was a relaxed, enjoyable evening—mostly because Scott Jones was so effortlessly charismatic he held the attention of all her guests. Evie was as seduced by his humorous anecdotes and stories as the three other women at the table. He talked NASCAR with Trent Keller, antique restoration with Amelia Manning and the dwindling power of the European monarchies with her sister. And Evie, normally the one to hold court with her guests, remained mute and ate her dinner and simply listened to the sound of his voice.

Once dinner and dessert was done and her guests moved from the dining room and into the front living area, Evie began clearing up the dishes and remaining food. Busy with her task, she didn’t immediately notice how Scott had stayed behind and now stood in the doorway, watching her intently. Very intently. His blue-eyed gaze scorched over her as if they were linked by a thread of fire.

“Need some help?”

No.
“Ah—sure.”

“So,” he said quietly as he grabbed a stack of dishes. “Flora tells me you need a hand putting up some decorations?”

Evie stilled. “Trevor’s going to help me.”

His brows rose over those remarkable eyes. “Trevor’s not here, though.”

He had a point. “Well, no. I can get to it tomorrow night.”

“Trevor mentioned he had a party at his friends’ place tomorrow night?”

And another point. “Oh, yes, that’s right.” She didn’t want his help and didn’t want to question why
.
“I’ll do it some other time, then.”

“No time like the present,” he said easily. “Flora and Amelia are keen to see them up.”

He was right. She had promised to finish decorating the house. Not accepting his help made her sound foolish and neurotic. “Well, okay. I could use some help later.”

That settled Evie headed back to the kitchen with her arms loaded. Scott was close behind her and then made another trip to collect what remained. He stayed and helped stack the dishwasher, and Evie was so excruciatingly aware of his every movement she had to stop herself from staring at him.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Evie turned toward him. “There’s a ladder in the shed outside. Perhaps you could—”

“Sure,” he said quickly, and disappeared through the back door.

While he was gone Evie retrieved a box of decorations from the cupboard beneath the stairs. When he returned she was waiting in the front foyer, armed with scissors, double-sided tape, a packet of small nails and a hammer.

Scott held the ladder in the crook of his arm. “So, where do you want me?”

A loaded question
.

Evie cleared her throat and pointed to the archway above. “I’d like this put up there,” she said, and pulled a wreath from the box.

Scott placed the ladder in the doorway. He took the wreath and held out his hand for nails and the hammer. “Just tell me where,” he said, and climbed up the steps.

Evie stood still and gave instructions.
Not so easy.
When he reached the top step, her eyes were directly in line with his groin.
Not easy at all.
She looked toward the floor and examined the rubber stops at the bottom of the ladder and counted the markings on the timber floorboards. She looked anywhere but straight ahead. But temptation grabbed hold of the blood in her veins and she looked up and almost lost her breath when he raised his arms to knock in the small nails and his jeans slipped fractionally, exposing that glorious, beautiful belly, and her breath suddenly caught.

“Evie?”

She jerked her head up so fast she almost snapped her neck. As he looked down at her, Evie knew she’d been caught staring.

He smiled. “I need another nail.”

She pulled another from the box and dropped it into his outstretched palm.

“That should do it,” he said, and came down the steps. “Anything else?”

Evie dived for the box and withdrew another green and bronze festive wreath. “This,” she said, taking a breath. “On the front door.”

While he attended to the door, Evie looked inside the box.
Mistletoe.
The everlasting plastic type sat in a bunch at the bottom of the box. The last thing she wanted were sprigs of the kissing plant hung up at every doorway. She shoved it back into the corner of the box and pulled out three lengths of long green garland instead. “This goes in the front living room,” she explained. “Along the picture rail.”

“Lead the way.”

She tucked the box under her arm and walked toward the front room. There was no sign of her guests and she assumed they’d all retired for the evening. It took about fifteen minutes to hang the remaining garlands. When they were done she adjusted a few lights on the Christmas tree and pretended not to notice his movements when he folded up the ladder and placed the hammer and tape back in the box. The tree really was spectacular—now all she needed to do was begin her shopping and put some parcels beneath it.

“What about this?” He pulled something out of the box.

The mistletoe.

In his hands, the small plastic greenery seemed to be laughing in her face. She should have tossed the stuff in the garbage bin. “I don’t think so.”

He grinned. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Not even one piece?”

He was still grinning
. Probably amused by the look on my face.
Evie tried to keep her voice light. “If that goes up I’m sure the Manning sisters will be chasing you around the house for the next three weeks.”

He smiled, showing off that dimple, making her head spin. He twirled the bunch of plastic sprigs between his fingers. “I guess it’s fortunate I have a thing for older women.”

“It’s still not a good idea,” she managed to say, and fought back the feeling she was treading into deep water. But she felt the awareness in the air—it pulsed between them, catching them both, fanning the flames of an attraction she somehow knew was unmistakable.

He smiled again and tossed the item back in the box. “It’s your call.”

Yes, it is.
“Well, thank you for your help. Good night.”

His brows rose fractionally. “Are you sending me off to bed, Evie?”

She colored wildly, feeling the heat, feeling the air thicken. “Of course not. I just—”

A door slammed at the back of the house. Trevor. Evie made a sound of almost palpable relief. “That’s my son. I should go and see if he’s eaten.” She turned and walked away but stopped at the threshold.
I’m being such an idiot.
When she turned back, he was still standing by the box. “Peppermint tea,” she said loosely, shaking her shoulders. “I’m making some if you’re interested.”

He smiled and the lethal dimple showed itself again. “Coffee would be better.”

“Sure...coffee.”

Evie headed upstairs and felt him in her wake. Trevor was standing by the open refrigerator when she walked into the kitchenette. “Hungry?” she asked her son.

Trevor shook his head. “Not anymore,” he replied before he shoved a piece of cold homemade pizza into his mouth.

Scott was behind her and she heard him laugh softly. Evie ignored the way her belly rocked at the sound and concentrated on her son. “I can make you some—”

“I think I’m gonna crash,” Trevor said.

Stay.
But she didn’t say it. Didn’t dare admit she needed her son’s presence to shield her from her ever-growing awareness around Scott. She bid him good-night and waited until she heard his bedroom door shut before filling the jug. Scott sat in a chair, the same one he’d occupied that morning.

He looks so good in my kitchen. I could get used to him being in my kitchen.

Evie rested her hand on the stainless-steel appliance. She was appalled by her thoughts. And knew she had to say something. “Scott, I—”

“Evie, I—”

Both stopped, both looked, both had something to say. “You go,” she said quickly.

He nodded and placed his elbows on the table. “Okay. Something is happening here.”

She caught her breath. “It is?”

“You know it. Downstairs...and earlier today...it was there again.”

Denial burned on the edge of her tongue. But instead she nodded. She wanted the truth out there. Truth always worked.

“So, what should we do about it?”

Evie’s cheeks burned. “Do? Nothing. It’s just...”

“Attraction,” he finished for her. “Yeah...and it’s powerful, Evie.”

He
was
attracted to her? Evie could barely contain the emotions and feelings running riot through her entire body. She’d suspected it. She’d certainly felt it herself. But to suddenly know this gorgeous man felt it, too, made her head spin.

She drew in a breath. “We have to keep it in perspective,” she said evenly. “I mean, you’re only here for three weeks. And you’re Callie’s brother. And I’m hardly your type.”

That made him smile. “You know my type?”

“I imagine someone your own age would suit.”

“You’re an ageist?”

“I’m a realist,” she replied, feeling hot all over because she was sure he was laughing at her. “I’m... And you’re... It’s a crazy idea.”

“Probably,” he said quietly. “But sometimes crazy ideas are the most fun.”

Evie skinned burned. “I’m not looking for fun.”

His eyes widened. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “I have everything I need.”

“Then you’re one of the lucky few.”

“What does that mean?” she asked quickly.

“It means that most of us are looking for something—friendship, success, love, sex.”

Evie swallowed hard. “And you’re looking for sex?” she replied, and couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.

“As much as the next guy, I suppose.”

It was a fairly relaxed response—when Evie knew there was nothing relaxed about what was happening between them. A fire was building and they were both fanning the flames.

He wants me? My God, I’ve forgotten how it feels to be wanted.

For a second she thought about Gordon. About wanting him. About how good it had felt. And then her thoughts shifted again to Scott and suddenly she didn’t want to think, or make comparisons or imagine for even a moment that what she’d had with her husband could ever be replaced.

“I’m not interested in...” She colored, felt the heat rise up her neck. “I’m not in a position to pursue something that’s... What I’m trying to say is that I’m not interested in casual sex.”

Scott linked his hands together and looked at her with such burning intensity Evie couldn’t drag her gaze away. “Believe me, Evie, if I made love to you, there would be nothing casual about it.”

I’m dreaming this...that’s the only explanation.
“But we—”

“But we won’t,” he said decisively. “Yeah, I get that.” He stared directly into her eyes. “I’m not entirely clueless, Evie. I have figured out what kind of woman you are, even if my sister hadn’t pointed out your virtues.”

“Callie said something to you about me?” she asked, mortified, and not quite believing they were having this conversation. Her virtues? How dull and unexciting did that make her sound? “What did she say?”

“Word for word?” he asked, smiling. “That you were likable and generous.”

Definitely dull and unexciting.
“Damned with faint praise,” she said, and cradled her mug.

“Not accurate, then?”

Evie laughed. “Oh, I’d say it’s accurate. But it makes me sound old and boring.”

Scott unlinked his hands and leaned back in his chair. “How old are you?” he asked quietly. “Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

“Six.”

“Which hardly qualifies you for a walker.”

She liked how his words made her feel—liked the slight grin on his face, which teased the edges of his dimple. “I suppose not. But, you know, despite what your sister said about me, I’m not always as nice as people make out.”

“Must be hard living up to the expectations of others.”

Evie looked at him, tilted her head and smiled. “I guess you’d know a bit about that yourself?”

“I would?”

She shrugged and then narrowed her gaze, trying to focus her thoughts into words. “You’re expected to race into burning buildings, climb up trees to rescue kittens and risk your life for people you don’t know simply because of the profession you chose. Sounds like you’ve got the tougher gig.”

“It’s just a job,” he said flatly.

“And you love it?” she asked.

“I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Because you’re addicted to the risks?”

He looked at her a little warily. “Because I took an oath to preserve life and property.”

“Someone else’s life,” she said automatically. “Someone else’s property.”

“You disapprove?” he shot back, sharper, as if she’d hit a button inside him.

Evie took a moment. She took a few steps forward and pulled out a chair. As she sat she considered what she was about to say. She didn’t want to sound irrational—she didn’t want to admit to something and give Scott a window into her fears and thoughts. She’d said too much already.

But suddenly she wanted to say it. She wanted to get it out. The words formed on the edge of her tongue, and before the sensible part of her kicked in, she spoke. “My husband was an Emergency Services volunteer. One night there was a cyclone moving off the coast and he went out to help evacuate the holiday park because the strong winds were overturning trailers and camper vans. He was killed preserving life and property. And I was left to raise our son alone.”

Chapter Four

S
cott heard the pain in Evie’s voice, felt it through to the marrow in his bones. It rang in his ears over and over. And his career suddenly loomed like a red flag. Her husband had died serving the community and he knew without a doubt that a firefighter from California didn’t have a chance of being part of her life.

Not that he wanted to get involved...he was just thinking, wondering. And as he looked at her and saw the pain in her green eyes, Scott felt compelled to tell her he was sorry for her loss, but he knew the words would be inadequate.

“You’re angry?” he said, not quite sure where he was going.

She shook her head quickly, as if she knew it was what he’d ask. “It’s difficult to explain. I...sometimes I feel...I feel like...”

“Like what? I’m listening,” Scott assured her when her voice faded.

She met his eyes directly, and his heart knocked behind his ribs. Strange, he thought, watching her, waiting for her to speak. Everything about Evie called out to some kind of inner radar inside him. Despite her outer layer of easygoing friendliness, Scott knew, without being sure how, that she was a complex woman who felt things deeply.

She took a long breath. “I feel like I should have known something was going to happen.”

There was guilt in her words. And Scott knew guilt all too well. “You couldn’t possibly have foreseen the future.”

“I’m not sure. Gordon and I had this connection. It was strong—unbreakable. We always knew when something wasn’t right and when we needed each other.”

His insides heated up. She’d obviously loved her husband deeply. The notion shouldn’t mean anything to him. Strangely, it did. “But?”

She shrugged. “But that night it felt different. The cyclone had been upgraded three times in the twelve hours prior to the evacuation of the holiday park. We were taping windows and clearing the yard of potential flying objects, like garden chairs, when the call out came. He left immediately.”

Scott’s skin prickled. “He left you here alone?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said quickly. “Noah was here. His ex-wife and eldest daughter were away at the time, so he came over to give Gordon a hand preparing for the storm. After Gordon left I went downstairs and sat by the front window, looking out into the dark, listening to the wind and rain.”

“And waiting?” Scott asked, prompting her.

She nodded. “Yes. I waited for hours,” she said quietly. “When he didn’t come home, I knew. I knew before the police arrived. I sensed it. I felt it.” Evie shook her head, as if she were shaking the words out, ridding herself of the memories. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She sighed heavily. “I haven’t talked about Gordon’s accident for years.”

“Maybe because you’re always the listener?”

She looked surprised by his question. “How did you know that?”

“It’s not hard to figure,” he replied, toying with his cup, wanting to keep her talking because being around her reached a place inside him that suddenly felt a whole lot more powerful than simply physical attraction. “You run this place—it’s the kind of job that makes you the one who gets to listen to the lives of everyone else. And generally people like to talk about themselves.”

“That’s true,” she said. “Do you?”

He shrugged. “Depends on who’s doing the listening.”

“You’ve got my attention,” she said quietly.

Scott looked at her. “And you’ve got mine.”

The air between them changed again, shifting on some kind of invisible and powerful axis. He knew she felt it as much as he did.

“Which kind of brings us back to what we were talking about before,” she said, smiling fractionally, though he sensed the last thing she wanted to do was smile. “I’m thinking we should just keep a lid on whatever is happening.”

Sex was happening, he thought. Or at least the idea of sex. That’s all it was, surely? But she didn’t want it to happen. And he knew it
couldn’t
happen. “Sure.”

Evie took a deep breath. “Good. We both agree it’s the sensible course of action.”

He bit back a smile. “Very sensible.”

Scott watched her, fascinated, as her skin flushed beneath his gaze. She really was remarkably sexy. There was nothing obvious about Evie Dunn. But she possessed a latent sensuality that brimmed beneath the surface and it had quickly mesmerized him.

“Do something with me tomorrow?”

She stared at him. “Do what?”

“Sailboarding,” he said easily, not sure why he was suggesting it.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why not? Do you already have plans?”

“I’m not exactly the adventurous type.”

“It’s not bungee jumping, Evie. It’s a board, a sail, some wind and a bit of balance. Can you swim?” he asked.

Evie nodded. “Of course.”

“Then you can probably sailboard,” he said, and an idea formed in his head. “I’ll teach you.”

She didn’t bother to conceal her surprise. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is,” he said easily, and smiled. “I’m on vacation, remember? You don’t want to ruin it by refusing to help me enjoy the sights of your little town, do you?”

“No,” she said after a long, cautious-looking moment. Finally she smiled back. “I guess I don’t.”

“If it makes you feel better, we could get Trevor to come as a chaperone?” he suggested, smiling to himself.

She frowned and he liked the way her nose wrinkled when she worked out he was teasing her. “We
hardly
need a chaperone,” she said purposely, and her green eyes lit up with a kind of defiance. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Scott wasn’t sure what the feeling was that pitched in his chest. Relief maybe? The idea of spending time with Evie pleased him. Too much.

They said good-night, lingered over the words for a few moments before Scott left the kitchen and headed to his room. He had a restless night. The time zone difference caught up with him and he spent most of the night lying on his back in the big bed, staring at the ceiling. And he thought about Evie just a few doors away.

He’d planned to go into Bellandale the following morning and hire a car. He needed wheels—and didn’t want to spend every day until the wedding hanging around the B and B like loose change.

He’d come to Crystal Point for his sister’s wedding. Only he hadn’t expected Evie.

Scott tossed in the bed, looked at the digital clock on the small table to his left and pumped the pillow with his fist.
I’ve had too much sleep...and too much coffee...and way too much Evie for one evening.

He thumped the pillow again, dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

* * *

Why is there a motorcycle in my driveway?

And not the basic model, either. This was huge and powerful and clearly designed for cruising. Evie grabbed the pair of planet-friendly shopping bags from the passenger seat of her Honda and stared at the big, noisy-looking machine parked in front of her studio. She figured out who the culprit was once she went upstairs and spotted two helmets on the kitchen table and a leather jacket hanging on the back of a chair.

She didn’t have to wait long for Scott to emerge. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. He wore a pale yellow T-shirt and long navy shorts—the kind made from some filmy sort of quick-dry fabric that was designed for swimming. He had trainers on his feet and sunglasses and a hat in his hand.

“Will it take you long to get ready?” he asked lazily.

Evie dropped the bags on the bench top. “Not at all. Nice bike,” she said. “Yours?”

He smiled and nodded. “Just for the next three weeks. I made a call and we can hire a board from the surf club,” he said, and looked her over. “You should get changed.”

She placed the perishables in the refrigerator and excused herself. In her bedroom she sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what kind of madness had taken hold of her usual good sense.

Sailboarding with Scott... She was off her trolley. She’d spent the night tossing in her bed, wondering why she’d opened up and talked to him with such intimacy. Evie never talked about herself. She never let anyone in. Oh, she made all the right noises—that was her way—but the deeper stuff, the stuff that really mattered, she kept all that guarded close to her chest. But with Scott she’d let loose about her feelings. About Gordon. About...herself.

Evie got up and shook herself and then chose shorts and a top to cover a sensible one-piece bathing suit she’d pulled from her dresser. She changed her clothes, tied her hair back into a ponytail, slapped on some sunscreen and grabbed her sun visor.

When she returned to the kitchen he was gone. Then she heard the unmistakable roar of a Harley-Davidson. She grabbed a couple of beach towels from the hall cupboard and headed outside. Evie followed the sound of the engine, saw Scott perched against the side of the motorcycle and stopped dead in her tracks.

“No way,” she said, crossing her arms.

He held out a helmet. “It’s only down the road. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Evie looked at Scott, then the motorcycle. “I’m still not—”

“Come on,” he urged as he took the towels and placed them in the storage compartment at the rear of the bike. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The way he said the words, Evie would probably have scaled a mountain without a rope with Scott Jones beside her. She stood still while he placed the helmet on her head. It was her first time on a motorcycle, and even though the trip was brief, Evie felt the exhilaration down to her feet. She hung on to his waist, feeling the hard muscles beneath her fingers with only a thin layer of soft cotton between her hands and his stomach. She itched to stroke her fingers back and forth to
really
feel him. But she didn’t because Sensible Evie Dunn didn’t do that kind of thing.

When they arrived at the surf club, Scott parked the Harley and held her hand while she swung herself off.

“It’s a good day for it,” he said quietly. “Let’s hope the wind keeps up.”

He didn’t release her hand and Evie didn’t move, either. She looked at their hands, felt the heat between them and knew she was crazy. “Scott, I’ve changed my—”

“Let’s go,” he said, and tugged her to follow as he began walking along the pathway that led inside.

The surf club, situated at the fringe of the tourist park, was in the middle of a much-needed overhaul. Scaffolding covered the front of the building, and most of the ground level had been gutted of fittings to make way for the renovations. But there was still a small office inside the front door. A volunteer lifeguard manned the desk and within ten minutes they had the sailboard and safety vests and were heading for the beach.

The river mouth was one of Evie’s favorite places. The inlet was one of the most pristine waterways in the state, and the local residents association, along with the rest of the tightly knit community, ensured that it stayed that way with regular patrols and rubbish collection. Jays Island was two hundred meters from the beach and had once been a part of the mainland. Through erosion and sand trenching to allow sugarcane ferries to pass, the island was now home to nesting herons and returning sea turtles.

“This is a great spot,” he said as he placed the sailboard on the sand and flipped off his shoes. Evie did the same and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it at his feet.

He had a magnificent chest and was so well cut she couldn’t pull her gaze away. His smooth, bronzed skin stretched over hard, defined muscles. Flawless pecs, biceps, abs...he had it all. And she kept looking, absorbed by the beauty of him and the sheer magnitude of such physical perfection. Her fingertips tingled, as if they knew, somehow, that she wanted to reach out and touch him, to explore the contours of his smooth chest and then trace lower, down his superbly flat abdomen and lower still, to where his...

“Evie?”

His voice felt like a bucket of cold water. She knew her cheeks scorched. He smiled and she wanted the ground to open up and suck her in. “I’m...ready,” she said unsteadily.

“You’ll be more comfortable out of those clothes,” he said, and grabbed a safety vest. “And you’ll need to put this on,” he said, and placed the vest beside her feet.

Evie shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“Trust me,” he said, so easily, so quietly, Evie’s resistance faded. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and slowly pulled it over her shoulders. Scott began maneuvering the sail and didn’t watch her very unseductive striptease. Evie felt a mixture of relief and mortification. She’d watched
him
as if she’d been starved of the sight of a man’s body, but he showed absolutely no interest in watching
her
remove her T-shirt. Her self-esteem spiked, dwindled and then crashed to her feet as her fingers hovered on the waistband of her shorts.

Flaws.
She wasn’t twenty-five anymore. She had thighs she worked hard to keep toned but hadn’t quite managed to maintain, and a behind she knew was fuller than what was considered fashionable. She had the body of a thirty-six-year-old woman—a woman who’d borne a child, a woman who looked and felt every year of her age as she considered the gorgeous young man beside her.

“Ready?” he asked, still not looking at her.

Why did I ever agree to this?
Sand, crystal-clear water, swimsuits...she was asking for trouble. “Yes, sure.” She tossed her flip-flops aside, stripped off her shorts as mechanically as she could and quickly pushed her arms into the safety vest.

“And you said you could swim?”

Her hands stilled on the task of clipping the vest and she nodded. “Reasonably.”

“Good,” he replied, still not looking at her. “Let’s go.”

Humiliation morphed into a slowly rising indignation. Okay, so her body wouldn’t win prizes on the catwalk—but it wasn’t totally unsightly, either.

Look at me.
The words burned on the edge of her tongue.
Look at me, or I’ll...

He turned, stopped his task and straightened. And he
did
look at her. The same kind of look he’d given her in the living room the day before—long, leisurely and with the purpose of admiring. For a crazy second Evie forgot her flaws. Her perfectly respectable one-piece swimsuit suddenly felt like the most seductive piece of fabric on the planet.