Her Mistletoe Husband (14 page)

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Authors: Renee Roszel

BOOK: Her Mistletoe Husband
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She frowned, looking around.
Who said that?
Before she could deal with the shocking fact that she had agreed to his plan, he was lying prone on the sled. Rising up on one elbow, he asked, “Ready?”
She glared at him, not believing what was happening. But even as she took a step away from him, that same vile, incorrigible, disobedient wanton beast inside her forced her next step to be forward—toward him and his waiting back. As if by magic, she found herself standing over him.
“Okay, I'm braced,” he said with a grin.
She gave him an impatient smirk. “I don't weigh
that
much.”
He laughed. “I know. I thought you might jump on me with both feet.”
Her smirk was hijacked by the incorrigible beast inside her, and she found herself smiling. “Don't give me any ideas.”
With a playful wag of his brows, he cocked his head. “Come on, I'm getting cold.”
She scrambled to straddle him, muttering, “That'll be the day.”
Once she was lying. on his back, she grabbed his shoulders and shouted, “Go!” Her objective was to get this thing over before she completely lost her mind.
He pushed off and they headed down the long incline. The race through cold air and fluttering snow was exhilarating, but not nearly as thrilling as the feel of his taut hips against her thighs. She could detect every flex of muscle in his shoulders and his legs, registering the sensations with heart-pounding single-mindedness. He maneuvered around a curve in the hill, and she squealed, burying her head in his neck. She sucked in a breath of him, enjoying the experience much more than she should.
As she lifted her face again, he steered the sled sharply left, barely missing a little cedar. “Are you trying to kill us?” she shrieked, laughing.
“I hate back seat drivers,” he shouted.
“I'm not crazy about you, either!” She squealed as they took another turn. The beast inside her made her burst out with a delighted peal of laughter. Then it forced her to her curl her feet around his legs, clamping her body even tighter against his.
Darn beast!
His next turn was even sharper, and they skidded sideways for what seemed to be an eternity before gravity won out and they spilled into soft snow. As she was thrown off his back, she instinctively grabbed his shoulders. When they came to rest, she found herself sprawled beneath him.
As the laughter stopped, their eyes met.
Alex brushed snow from her cheek, whispering, “Fantasies do come true.”
She lay there, looking into his remarkable face, his body, hot and hard, blanketing hers. His soft smile, those exotic eyes mesmerized her.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused softly, unable to conjure up a shred of real indignity.
His answer was the hunger she could see in his eyes, as he lowered his lips to hers.
CHAPTER NINE
E
LISSA found herself surrendering to the wonder of his kiss. Her senses filled with his texture and scent, and she kissed him back with all the passion she possessed. Breathless and with urgent abandon, she wrapped her arms around him, her embrace as wild and hungry as her kiss.
He moaned against her lips, clearly aware of the change in her attitude. His mouth moved over hers, his hot kiss becoming a provocative request. The fires inside her shot upward and outward, and with a surge of joy, she opened her lips inviting him to fully possess her mouth.
With a sensuous rhythm, his tongue joined hers in a soundless, writhing dance. Caressing, thrusting with increased urgency, his tongue sent her spiraling toward new heights of sensation. Sizzling desire roared through her, feelings that were both alien and exquisite. No other man had ever affected her this way, making her bold, unafraid—even eager—to share herself fully.
As his kisses grew white-hot, his body began to move suggestively against hers. Though some faint voice in her brain shrieked that this man was her enemy, that she was a fool to let this happen, she couldn't bring herself to pull away.
At long, long last, she faced a truth she had been fighting since that fateful morning of her birthday, when he'd walked into her inn.
She loved Alex D'Amour
. From the first time she'd looked into his strange, silver eyes, she'd known, deep inside, that this was the man she'd looked for all her life—intelligent, authoritative, and first-class sexy. He could have been her lover, her confidant and her verbal spaning partner.
Only, after that first, split second of revelation, he'd told her the bad news. He planned to take away her inn. So, she'd fought the feeling, denied it with all her strength.
But now, glorying in the torturous sweetness of his lovemaking, she could no longer lie to herself. She loved Alex D'Amour with all her heart and soul.
Yet, what did he feel for her? His whispered vow at the dance sprang to her mind—his promise of seduction—and her heart clenched. Yes, that was all this little romp was to him. A challenge. A victory to be won. Oh, he probably found her attractive enough to crave a quick fling, but that was all. He'd made his feeling about love quite clear.
Ah, yes, love—love to Alex, was selfishness. He might even call this thing he felt, love. But since they both knew his definition of the word, the notion sent a shaft of ice slicing through her heart. It could only verify for her that this act was pure selfishness. A way to satisfy his baser needs while he softened her up for the kill.
As his hands roamed and caressed, making her crazy with desire, a mewling sound of wanting escaped her throat, then a low, desolate sob.
He seemed to sense her turmoil, for he lifted his face to look at her. His eyes glowed, molten, and she lost her ability to speak.
“What's wrong?” His voice was a rough whisper. “Am I hurting you?”
The question stung. There were so many ways he was hurting her. Not the way he thought. Not physically. His body was like heaven, warm, protective, exciting. No, he could never hurt her physically; she knew that in her woman's heart. But emotionally, psychologically, financially. Yes. He was hurting her, and she wasn't sure she would ever recover from the pain.
With great difficulty, she dragged her arms from around him and pressed hard against his chest. “Get off,” she pleaded, her voice so fragile she could hardly hear herself.
He watched her, his expression closing in confusion. “What—”
“Get off, Alex,” she cried, again, this time with more strength.
He slid sideways just enough for her to wriggle out. After she did, she braced her hands on the snowy ground and pushed up with all her might. When she stood, her legs were buttery, and she felt dizzy as she backed away. “Seducing me won't make it easier to get my property, if that's your scheme,” she threatened brokenly, wishing things were different between them. Wishing he didn't have to be her enemy. And most of all, wishing he didn't want anything from her but her love.
He pulled up on one elbow, looking gut-punched “If your scheme was to turn me into a bent-over cripple—congratulations.”
Turning on her heel, she stumbled, righted herself, then scrambled toward the forest and the pathway to the inn.
His raw blasphemy was the last thing Elissa heard before she dashed into the woods.
 
It seemed like a month before Alex could move. When he finally sat up, he ran both hands through his hair, scattering snow and curses. “What the hell...” He eyed heaven with disgust. “The woman should wear a sign—Hazardous To A Man's Health.”
With a long, low exhale he stood, then spied the sled, coated with a new frosting of white. Stooping, he grabbed it and shoved it under one arm. “Damn woman,” he grumbled. “I don't know why you waste your time kneeing men. If you really want to disable one, just kiss him like you mean it. Then leave him there to rot.”
He started toward the woodland path, stopping after only a few steps. He felt vacant, forlorn, and oddly directionless. Dumping the sled to the snow, he sat on it, resting his elbows on his knees. Staring off into space, he ignored the snowflakes that were leaving cool kisses along the back of his neck and drifting down inside his collar.
He was in trouble.
He wanted this woman. He hadn't wanted any woman this badly since...
He cursed and held his head in his hands. Hell, he'd
never
wanted a woman this badly. He sucked in a cold draught of air, and another, trying to clear his mind, get his head on straight. This lapse into morose introspection wasn't like him. But he couldn't seem to shake the mood. He felt as if sections of his body had been ripped away, and he would never be whole again.
Damn the woman. Damn her silky red hair and her sexy emerald eyes. Damn her smell—so sultry and musky it drove him nuts, even from across a room.
And damn her kisses to hell...
At the memory, pain burned in his belly, and he groaned. It was a good thing he was taking away her inn. If she didn't hate his guts the way she did, things could get out of hand between them. He might grow to love her. Then, maybe, he'd start to comprehend how his parents' passion for each other had made them so unforgivably selfish. That was a place he didn't plan to go.
“Damnation, Elissa Gardenia Crosby...” he growled, then stopped himself. This wasn't her fault. The woman had treated him as if he were a pariah from the moment they'd met. Anything bothering him was his fault. He'd wanted her to kiss him as if she meant it and he'd maneuvered her into doing just that. Shaking his head sadly, he grasped the meaning of the saying, “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it.”
He'd gotten what he'd wished for, and now he had himself a truckload of grief. He refused to use the word love, hostile to everything it represented in his life. The
last
thing he wanted to do was experience an emotion that could be so destructive.
“Hate me, Elissa,” he muttered. “I
need
you to hate me.”
 
New Year's Eve began badly for Elissa. Jack invited the family to eat at his restaurant, Gallagher's Bistro. Of course, it wasn't the invitation to dinner that unsettled Elissa. She loved the place. It was the fact that Alex had been included. As the only single man and woman in the group, the process of elimination threw them together.
Gallagher's Bistro was a charming place, and as soon as Elissa walked in, she made herself concentrate on the eclectic atmosphere and the aroma of wonderful food. The decor was an inventive mix of dining-room suites, collected from across the country and in Europe. Clever partitions made from brick, stone or beams were constructed in such a way that gave the feeling that each table was in a dining room, all its own.
Settings ranged from Early American, with bandanna's for placemats, to Louis Quarze French, complete with lace tablecloths. A diverse array of light fixtures hung from the ceiling over each table, matching that particular decor—from sparkling crystal chandeliers to simple turned wood and wrought iron.
Though the bistro had a private room for special parties, Jack didn't want to separate his guests from the general gaiety and clamor of other New Year's Eve diners. So, they were shown to a lovely eighteenth Century Colonial alcove with a spectacular view of the valley behind the restaurant. Christmas lights twinkled in the distance, amid the thick-forested hillside. Snowy fir trees glistened like looming spirits in the almost moonless night.
At the head and foot of an unadorned pine table stood ladder-back chairs. Two discarded church pews served as side seating, the rich patina of old wood elegant in its simplicity. The polished floorboards sported a simple red-and-white checkered rug.
A bouquet of straw flowers in an earthenware bowl served as their centerpiece. And a tin lantern with starshaped holes hung over the table. Its subdued light intensified the mood that they were in a bygone century.
As Elissa entered the partitioned area, she sidestepped and back-stepped, trying to get away from Alex, as she headed for one of the ladder-back chairs.
She grabbed the nearest one, but Lucy shoved her away, in a rare show of pushiness. The blonde gave her older sister a look that seemed to say, “Don't be silly, you want to sit beside Alex.” Though Elissa wanted to shout back, “I'd rather be devoured by Bigfoot!” she decided not to make a spectacle of herself in Jack's restaurant.
Reluctantly Elissa ate her dinner beside Alex, every so often grazing his arm with hers as she cut her fillet or reached for cream for her coffee. He would always—
always—
acknowledge her touch with a glance. Odd, though, he wasn't doing much smiling—at least not at her. Ever since yesterday when he'd returned from sledding, he'd been unusually silent. Though, all through dinner, he chatted and laughed with her sisters and brothers-in-law, he gave her a few strange looks. More like glowers.
That was
fine
with her. The less social contact with him—or any other kind of contact—the better!
Though her brain knew that was best, her body reacted to his nearness as if she were a lovesick ninny. His scent caused an unexpected tremor of desire to race through her, making her delicious fillet stick in her throat. She choked so hard, she feared Alex would have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on her. She waved him away, not wanting his arms around her again, for any reason. Not even to save her life. By sheer force of will, she managed to dislodge the bite just in time. It didn't keep her from feeling like a fool.
Once when his leg brushed hers, she froze, unable to lift her fork the rest of the way to her lips. Though his touch was quickly gone, she was paralyzed with a feminine need for him that terrified her. Trying to quell the pounding of her pulse, she forced her body back into action and made herself eat the green beans, hoping nobody noticed her mental short-circuit.
Checking her watch, she prayed the party would soon end. She didn't know how much longer she could keep from grabbing Alex and dragging him under the table—his selfish motives be damned.
“This lemon meringue pie is wonderful,” Lucy said, smiling at her husband. “Do you think the chef would give me the recipe? I've never made a good lemon meringue pie.”
Jack grinned at her from the head of the table. “I might be able to convince him—since I know his boss.”
Elissa made herself laugh, needing to get her mind off Alex's nearness and onto something else—anything else. “As long as you're asking, get the recipe for this pecan pie, too.” She passed Lucy a conspiratorial wink, hoping it looked playful. “For
Lucy,
that is.
I
certainly don't want it. I hate pecan pie, myself.” She took a showy bite of her half-eaten dessert. It was delicious, but her stomach had been so tied up in knots all evening, her appetite had suffered. This teasing display was her way of apologizing for picking at her meal. “Awful stuff.” She made an impish face. “Just awful!”
Jack grinned at her. “I appreciate your sacrifice, eating it so the rest of my patrons don't have to suffer.”
Elissa smirked. “I'm a saint.” She loved Jack dearly, and the joking repartee they shared always lifted her spirits.
“St. Elissa?” Jack's chuckle sounded dubious. “The Patron Saint of Gin Rummy cheats?”
“I do
not
cheat!” She said, tossing him a mock frown.
“You
cheat.”
“No, I just play better than you.”
“Well, playing better than me is against
my
rules.”
As the group burst out laughing, the waitress came and refilled their water glasses. Elissa noticed the young woman's hand shook as she served. The poor kid was petrified. She'd probably never expected to actually serve the head of the Gallagher Bistro Corporation. Once the waitress had gone, Jack stood. “If you'll excuse me, I have some recipes to collect.”

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