Jingle Spells (14 page)

Chapter 9

“T
hat was
amazing
,” Lark said, feeling the rush of excitement and the burn of adrenaline tripping through her veins as she climbed off the back of the snowmobile. “Absolutely incredible.”

In the process of dusting the snow off the front of his pants, he looked up and shot her a smile. “I'm glad you liked it. I told you you would.”

“Yes, you did. You were right,” she said. “Feel better?”

He nodded, the wretch. “Yes, I do, actually. You'll have to come back soon and I'll teach you how to drive.”

A bubble of sadness burst inside her at the thought of leaving the next morning. The past few days had been so unbelievably bizarre. She'd spent practically every minute with Ethan, which had been a combination of fantastic and torturous. Or as she liked to call it...

Her own personal hell.

She'd known deep down that there'd always been something special about him—aside from the off-the-charts attractiveness—but seeing him in his element, watching him in his studio and at his family home... He was a genuinely great guy. He had a wonderful sense of humor; he was an excellent conversationalist; he was witty and clever and, as she'd learned recently, he had more willpower than anyone she'd ever met.

She knew he wanted her—
she c
ould feel it when he looked at her, when those startlingly green eyes raked over her body. She could feel his longing in her damned bones. But despite the fact that she'd all but crawled into bed with him, he'd very politely—and regretfully—kissed her good night at her bedroom door.

And that had been all.

For the life of her she couldn't understand it. It didn't make the least bit of sense. They were both adults, both consenting and, after tomorrow when her
Ophelia Winslow Show
aired live, it was entirely possible they'd no longer be friends. Or even frenemies, as they'd been up to that point.

Which, of course, depended on what she said when she actually went on the
Ophelia Winslow Show,
and the truth was...she was no longer sure what that was going to be. Everyone's perception was their own reality. And the Evergreens? Christmas tradition, Christmas spirit...it was their way of life. It was the only way they knew. And the town, with Baubles and Cup of Cheer and the Toy Shop and all the beautiful decorations? It was more than charming—it was
special
. She could feel that, too. The air here was different, and it seemed to shimmer and glow a little more brightly.

Oddly enough, she'd felt more at home here in the last few days than she had in Georgia, where she'd lived her whole life. And, sad as it was to admit it, she liked Ethan's family more than she did her own.

“I thought we'd eat upstairs tonight,” Ethan said, opening the back door for her. A blanket of heat from the house wrapped around her and she smiled as Cook pressed a cup of cocoa into her cold hands.

“Mustn't get chilled, dear,” she said.

Lark murmured her thanks, wrapped her fingers around the pretty little cup and took a sip. The rich flavor spread over her tongue and into her limbs and she sighed with pleasure. Man, she was going to miss this stuff.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked. “Dinner upstairs?”

Lark nodded. As much as she enjoyed the meals with his family, tonight she'd just as soon be alone with him. “That sounds good to me,” she said.

“Great,” he said, smiling at her. “Why don't we both have a shower, thaw out a little bit, and then we'll open a bottle of wine and have dinner?”

An image of his naked and body, water sluicing over supple muscle and masculine hair, suddenly materialized in her mind's eye, rendering her momentarily mute.

“Chickadee?” he prodded with a smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Lark lifted her chin and nodded stiffly. “Sounds great.” Having learned her way around the house at this point, she set off toward the door that would lead her to the central staircase.

“I'll be along in a few minutes,” he called after her. “I need to talk to Belle.”

All too aware of how little time she actually had left with Ethan and the Evergreens, Lark hurried upstairs and quickly showered. She took a little more time with her makeup and hair than she normally would have, and she donned a long nightgown and robe instead of actual clothes. She'd expected to find Ethan in the sitting room when she entered, but he wasn't there. Puzzled, she crossed the room and carefully nudged his door open.

“Ethan?”

Peering inside, she saw him sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the fire, his hair damp from a shower, his chest and legs bare, a mere towel fastened loosely around his waist.

And it was sagging.

He was asleep, she discovered, and something about seeing all that beautiful masculinity in vulnerable repose, gilded by firelight, made a wave of longing swell deep inside of her. Her mouth and eyes watered simultaneously, and her heart thundered in her ears.

She crept closer, unable to help herself, her feet moving quietly along the carpet.

Mercy, he is beautiful,
Lark thought. High cheekbones, lashes long and obscenely curly for a man—why hadn't she ever noticed that? His dark locks were uncombed, looking as though he'd merely toweled them dry. A teensy bit of golden stubble shaded his jaw.

But ultimately, it was his mouth that did her in.

A little too full for a man, but incredibly beautiful, it was sin incarnate, wicked and carnal. Suddenly it wasn't enough to just look at it—she
needed
to taste it.

She bent low, carefully touching her mouth to his, and she knew the exact instant he awoke, because that wonderful mouth moved beneath hers, coaxing her closer, and one hand crept up and cupped her neck while the other grasped her hip and pulled her into his lap.

A shivery thrill eddied through her as she landed against him, deepening the kiss. Like butter over a hot bun, she melted over him, her soft to his hard...and mercy was he
hard
. She could feel the long, stiff length of him against her bottom and her feminine muscles clenched in response, sending a rush of dewy warmth over her folds.

Ethan suddenly drew back and pressed his forehead against hers, his expression agonized and futile. “Chickadee...” he breathed. “You're killing me.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “But you like it.”

He chuckled and kissed her. “Yes, I do.”

“You know where you'd like it better?” she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Where?”

She gestured across the room, where his giant bed loomed invitingly. “On a mattress.”

He chuckled again lowly, and then his eyes darkened with desire, flashed with purpose. He wrapped her up in his arms and headed for the bed. “I believe you're right.”

Excitement and anticipation bubbled through her, pushing a laugh out of her throat. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?” she queried lightly as her back landed against velvet and his warm body landed against hers.

“I said I believe you're ri—” He stopped, smiled darkly and drew back to look at her. “Trust you to home in on that little comment,” he told her. “You like being right, don't you?”

She rocked her hips against him and arched her back, her sensitized nipples straining against her gown. “Beats the hell out of being wrong.”

Ethan pressed his hot mouth against her neck, sucking the air from her lungs, and she squirmed against him, desire and desperation winding through her, making her impatient. She'd been waiting for this for
years
, had been thinking about it for
years
... She loved the feel of him beneath her hands, sleek muscle, smooth and warm and oh so wonderful. She tugged at the loose towel, tossed it aside and then palmed his length.

Ethan sucked in a startled hiss and parlayed with a long suck of her pouting nipple. He flexed against her, his slippery skin working against her palm.

“I've got a clean bill of health,” he said, as he pulled the robe and gown impatiently off her body, baring her to him. “You?”

Lark bent forward and licked a path up his throat, curved around his jaw and then nipped at his earlobe. “Clean. Protected.
Now
,” she said, opening herself to him.

Ethan threaded his fingers through hers, pinned her hands over her head, and then entered her in one long, beautiful thrust.

The breath vanished from her lungs, her feminine muscles clamping tightly around him while the rest of her body went strangely limp, and every cell in her being sang with joy, with impossible recognition.

Her startled gaze met his equally shaken one and for the briefest of seconds she saw something there that made her want to weep—something so pure, so sweet and so genuine there wasn't a name for it. Affection? Yes. Love? Maybe. But it was more, too. Bigger.

And then he drew back and pushed into her again, and again and again, harder and faster, angling deep, the engorged head of his penis hitting that one elusive spot that elevated a garden-variety orgasm to something akin to a religious experience. Like a storm gathering force in the distance she could feel it swelling within her, and she welcomed the feeling.

Like a crack of lightening, she came, her entire body feeling gloriously illuminated and electrified. She sucked in a breath and couldn't let it go. Every muscle atrophied with pleasure and then let go with a soundless scream, and as the hot, sweet rain of release washed over her she knew without a doubt that she'd never be the same...

* * *

Lark DeWynter was unquestionably gorgeous.

Lark DeWynter naked beneath him, her hot, tight little body squeezing around him in a violent orgasm?

Indescribable. Beyond words
.

Dark hair fanned out over his pillow, pale, creamy skin, rosy-tipped breasts absorbing the force of his thrusts, the tiny, almost heart-shaped mole beneath her jaw...

He'd been so proud of himself for resisting her the past few days, of being able to stop at a kiss when what he really wanted to do was kiss her all over, lay her out on the rug in front of the fireplace and learn every curve of her body. Every indention, every freckle, every taste.

And had she not kissed him awake—before he could put his defenses in place—and not sat in his lap, putting that delectable part of herself so close to the part of him that wanted her the most? He might have been able to keep it together.

Might
being the operative word.

But she hadn't. She'd tasted like cocoa and desire, familiar yet exotic, and he'd wanted her, just wanted her. And now, as her greedy hands slid over his body, her muscles contracting around him to create a delicious draw and drag between their bodies, Ethan knew he'd
always
want her—there would be no getting her out of his system.

He'd been an idiot to think he could resist her.

She was part of him, as important as any vital organ, and the idea of her leaving in the morning, of not telling her the truth, of allowing her to continue to believe that she was delusional...

He couldn't let any of that happen. He just couldn't.

He didn't know how he was going to fix it, how he was going to make everything work out, but there had to be a way to be honest with her
and
protect his family.

But one thing was for damned sure, Ethan thought as his balls tightened and every hair on his body stood on end—a prelude to what he instinctively knew would be the best orgasm he'd ever had in his life—there was no way in hell he was going to make her drink any more magick cocoa.

Every decision she faced going forward would be made with her own mind, one that he hoped she checked with her heart first.

Chapter 10

P
leasantly warm, with a feeling of contentment deep in her bones, Lark smiled sleepily and stretched a hand toward Ethan's side of the bed...only to find it empty. They'd skipped dinner and reached for each other repeatedly during the night, talking, dozing, and then making love again.

Goodness...

He
definitely
had the Sparkly Penis, and if this was her curse, she'd count herself lucky. He was a phenomenally attentive lover, paying particular attention to parts of her she'd never realized were sensitive. The crease of her upper thigh, the bend of her knee, hell, even the spot just above her elbow.

Though they'd avoided the subject of her leaving and her impending spot on the
Ophelia Winslow Show,
she knew they'd turned a corner, come to some sort of unspoken agreement. While she hadn't necessarily changed her opinion on lying to children about Santa Claus, Lark had to admit she'd gotten swept back up in the Christmas spirit by being in Gingerbread. But more importantly...she'd gotten swept up in Ethan Evergreen.

If Ophelia came round to her way of thinking, then the effect on Ethan and his family—who she'd come to adore—and the little town of Gingerbread would be jeopardized...and she just didn't think she could do that.

In fact, she didn't just think it—she knew it.

It suddenly seemed imperative that she tell him that to put his mind at ease. She'd noted the worry in his face over the last few days, and it had tugged at her then, knowing that she was responsible for it.

Determined to find him, Lark rolled out of bed, donned her robe and made for the door to the sitting room. She'd just put her hand on the knob when she heard the low, heated murmur of voices and something made her pause and listen.

“I'm not going to do it, Belle. I can't. I just wanted to give you fair warning,” Ethan said.

“Fair warning?” Belle echoed, sounding incredulous. “You call letting me know a few hours in advance that you're going to let her leave here and go and destroy our family
fair warning
? Really?” She exhaled a pent up breath. “Look, brother, I know you're in love with her—we all do—but that doesn't change the fact that you have a job and part of that job is protecting the secret. And to protect the secret, she's
got
to drink the cocoa.”

Drink the cocoa? What the hell?
Lark thought, her heart beginning to pound.

“Listen, I adore her,” Belle went on. “I think she's great and I think any woman who can go toe-to-toe with you deserves your respect and your heart. But...she's got to drink the cocoa.”

“No more,” Ethan insisted. “It's been terrible watching her struggle with what she knows and what the cocoa makes her believe. I can't do it to her,” he insisted. “She thinks she's crazy, Belle.
Crazy
,” he emphasized. “Because she can see the magick. She's a
glimpse
,” he told her. “I confirmed it with Edgar—Kris was too busy trying to decide on his tattoo to listen to me,” he said, sounding exasperated. “But Edgar remembers her. Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me to know the truth and not tell her?” he asked, his voice climbing with frustration. “I can't do it to her, Belle. I won't. I'm not going to let her continue to believe she's delusional when
I
know the truth. I know she's
special
.”

A glimpse? Special? See the magick? Surely she'd misunderstood. Surely she—

“Edgar remembers her?” Belle asked.

“He does,” he confirmed. “But even if he hadn't, I still would have known. You should have heard her when we were in my studio. She systematically pointed out the magick in each ornament. She even knew there was something wrong with next year's collection because she
couldn't
see it. She knew.” He let go of a breath. “And that's good enough for me.”

“Say you tell her the truth and let her leave without altering her memory, and she thinks
you're
delusional and goes on the show. Then what? You'd risk everything? For her?”

Ethan was quiet for a moment and she could sense his anxiety, his determination, his agony. “I trust her,” he said simply, bringing tears to Lark's eyes. “And I'm going to believe in her, because no one else ever has, Belle. And she belongs here. With me.”

Yes, she does,
Lark thought. And she was going to prove it once and for all.

* * *

It took Ethan less than ten minutes to confirm that Lark had snuck into her room from the hall, collected her things, and asked Cook to arrange for a ride into town because she wanted one last peppermint cocoa before she left. From the Cup of Cheer she'd rented a car and driven herself to the nearest airport, where she'd promptly switched her ticket out for an earlier flight and left.

Ethan was so stunned he was numb.

He couldn't imagine what would have made her sneak away like that without saying goodbye...unless she couldn't bear the thought of telling him that she was still planning to go forward with her platform on the
Ophelia Winslow Show.

Much as he wanted to be angry at her, he couldn't, not when his own intentions—however well-motivated—were in question.

But that still didn't change his job, which was to protect his family. He wasn't going to lie to her, but at the very least he wanted to plead their case. With that thought in mind, he readied the jet and two hours later found himself in Atlanta, at the studio, where the show had already gone live.

His gaze locked with Lark's just as Ophelia finished her introduction.

“I have to tell you, Ms. DeWynter, I absolutely love Christmas. I love the presents and the food and the joy and camaraderie. I love making cookies with my kids and decorating the tree, and doing crafts. I love the scent of pine and cinnamon, the excitement that hovers in the air. The
humina humina
from a little time under the mistletoe,” she added, drawing a tittering laugh from the audience. She paused dramatically. “But I have to say there are aspects of your argument that particularly resonated with me.”

Oh, no,
Ethan thought, his heart jumping into his throat. He wracked his brain for a solution. A mute charm? A quick power outage? A—

Lark smiled reassuringly at him, and there was something in that grin that made him pause. “There are certainly aspects of my book that I find valuable, too, Ophelia—in particular, honesty—but I have come to appreciate the value of a child's imagination, the innate certainty they have of their own minds and their own realities. Rather than squashing the innocence of that early creativity, I think we should indulge it.”

Ophelia blinked, clearly taken aback by Lark's very obvious change of heart. “But in the book you say—”

Lark grinned, picked the book off the table and held it up. “I know what I say, and when I wrote the book I was sincere—” her gaze locked with Ethan's “—but I was
sincerely wrong
. Let me tell you a story,” she said. “Once upon a time there was a little girl who believed in Santa Claus—believed so thoroughly that she could talk to him and see his elves and see toy soldiers smile and nutcrackers wink and angel wings flutter. She had a great imagination, but one that frightened her parents, so her parents took away Christmas and set up regular appointments with a therapist. The girl grew up believing Christmas was bad because it had caused her so much grief, and she believed that it was the Christmas lie, in particular, that was so harmful.” She paused, swallowed, her eyes shining with tears. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “But what was the harm, really? How long would the little girl have continued to believe the unbelievable? Another year, maybe two?”

With tears in her eyes as well, Ophelia handed Lark a tissue.

She took a bracing breath. “It's my professional opinion now that it would have done less damage for the little girl to have a harmless fantasy than for her to believe there was something wrong with her, that she was defective in some way. And her family would have been stronger as result of having Christmas tradition. Because what is Christmas if not a tradition?” she asked. “The things you mentioned, Ophelia—the making cookies and the wrapping presents, the special dinners, the mistletoe. Those are traditions, and traditions are built to bond a family. They make them stronger.”

Ophelia wholeheartedly agreed, as did the rest of the audience. Ethan's phone lit up with text messages and the app his brother had designed to measure Christmas spirit glowed brighter than it ever had.

All because of her.

“You know we have Mr. Christmas himself in the audience, right, Ophelia?” Lark asked her.

Ophelia's brows lifted and she scanned the crowd until she found Ethan. “Ethan Evergreen,” she said, smiling. “Why don't you come up here and join us?”

He was glad she'd asked because he was ready to rush her stage and wasn't eager to get thrown out. He mounted the steps, his gaze on Lark, and then reached out to shake Ophelia's hand. “Thank you for having me,” he said.

“Pleasure.” She grinned. “So this is quite a turnaround. Ms. DeWynter is typically your biggest adversary, wouldn't you say?”

Ethan reached over and took her hand, threaded her fingers through his. “Yes, she was. But you know what they say about your enemies,” he said leadingly.

Ophelia noted their hands with an “mmm-hmm” and arched a knowing brow. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“That's a good one, but it wasn't the one I was thinking of,” Ethan told her.

“Oh?”

“Yes. The best way to get rid of an enemy is to make them your friend.” He squeezed Lark's hand. “But I've got an even better solution.”

Lark's eyes widened as Ethan suddenly slid to one knee in front of her and the audience went absolutely wild.

Ophelia was smiling so widely she could barely talk. “And what's that?”

Ethan looked at Lark, his gaze searching hers. “Make her your wife.” He essayed a grin. “What do you say, Chickadee? Will you marry me?”

“I believe I will,” she said with a watery smile. She bent forward and kissed him, and then she drew back. “And you won't even have to make me drink the cocoa to do it. I heard you this morning,” she whispered. “Thank you for believing me,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You can't know what it means.”

Ethan returned her smile, gesturing significantly at the audience. “Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” she murmured with a chuckle, and kissed him again.

* * * * *