Sweet Christmas Kisses (39 page)

He blinked. “What about stalkers?”

“What?” Her chin dropped.

“Aren't you afraid of people taking advantage that everything here is accessible?”

She shrugged. “I'm not a celebrity, so people are not interested in me.” Then she smiled as she remembered the boy. “Or maybe I do have a stalker. A mini-one. He believes I'm a witch.”

“A witch?”

“Yeah, because of that house. Only a witch can live in this house. Stands to reason, doesn't it?”

His blue eyes lit up in a smile. “I see his point.“

Joanna caught her breath. He shouldn't smile. Didn't he know it was dangerous? It felt like a warm hug, something to get lost in. She cleared her throat. “Besides, I did some martial arts, so I'm able to defend myself.”

His smile left, and the interesting-but-repulsing-insect-look returned. “Still, I think it's strange.”

To distract him, Joanna said, “I think you have to take Dimitri outside to potty.”

He colored. “Sure. I'm sorry I took up so much time. You've surely got plans for the evening.” He turned away and scooped up the little dog.

Flustered? Conran Dark was flustered? Joanna put a hand onto his arm. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.” She smiled up at him. “I . . . actually, would you like to share dinner with me?”

Oh. My. God.
Where had that come from? She didn't have anything in her fridge. Her half-eaten sandwich lay in front of the computer. How could she invite this guy, who was used to eating in the finest restaurants of Hollywood? She was no great cook.
Wrong.
Make that no cook at all.

He smiled at her, the genuine smile that tilted the ground beneath her feet. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Joanna felt as if she was falling head first into an universe she had never explored before. Her knees turned soft as marshmallows and started to tremble. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself.

“I'd better take Dimitri outside now.” His voice sounded normal.

Well, he was used to turning girls into mush by smiling at them. No big deal for him, but for her, it was a whole different matter. Joanna pulled herself together and nodded.

“I hope he won't take twenty minutes tonight.” His smile became lopsided. “But the idea with the leash was great. It helps him to stay focused.”

Joanna cleared her throat. “Good.”

As soon as the door had closed behind him, she took a deep breath and tried to focus. “Think, Jo.” She opened the fridge and peered inside. Jam, butter, two eggs. Three slices of toast. A thin triangle of cheddar cheese, dark-orange at the edges. Pineapple yogurt. No way could she create dinner out of this. She closed the door and straightened. “What else?” She opened a cupboard and scanned the shelves. Four cans of baked beans. She liked baked beans. On toast. She rummaged deeper. Maybe she could find spaghetti and pesto somewhere. That sounded a lot more sophisticated than baked beans. Yes! She opened the jar of pesto - was it the one her father had given her as a Christmas gift one year ago? -  and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Better not. It wouldn't do to poison Conran Dark. The fans would crucify her.

Darn. She had no choice. Baked beans. If her father ever heard that, he would disinherit her. Joanna swallowed. It didn't help. She would serve Conran Dark baked beans. He would never come back, and he would never forget. They say you remember the bad things in life better than the good ones. Something to do with surviving techniques. She opened the cans and heated up the content in a casserole.

When she heard the knock on the door, she opened him with a flushed face and avoided his gaze. “Em.” She cleared her throat.

He frowned at her. “Are you called away?”

“No.” Joanna bit her lips.
I will die of mortification
. “It's only. . . I'm not a good cook.”

“Neither am I.” He grinned at her.

God. Did he know how devastating that grin was? Probably. Maybe he'd tested it in front of the mirror, together with his agent, before he tried it out in concert.

“Do you . . . ?” She clenched her teeth. “Do you like baked beans, by any chance?”

“My favorite,” he said without hesitation.

Joanna couldn't suppress a smile. “Oh, come on.”

“No, really.” He looked at his feet, where Dimitri sat with an open muzzle. The little dog looked as if he was grinning at her, lolling tongue, tufts of hair and all. “Maybe you can explain to me during dinner why he always wants to sit on my feet, and how I can rid him of that habit. He trips me up all the time.”

Joanna turned back to the bubbling casserole. “He wants to be close to you.”

“Great.” He muttered. “But there's a limit to how close I want him to get. I need a bit of distance.”

“I know.” Joanna cut herself short.
Darn.

He turned on her with one swift move, towered over her. “What do you mean?”

Joanna colored. “I . . . I only meant that I can understand how annoying it must be if a little dog keeps sitting on your feet while you want to move.” She was babbling, but she could never admit that she had googled him, curious about him like all his other fans. “Do you want to set the table?”
Great, Joanna.
She turned away and rolled her eyes. Now he would see her chaotic kitchen in more detail than necessary.

“Sure.” He looked around. “Where do I find everything?”

“The cutlery is in that drawer next to the fridge.” Joanna pointed to the side. “And the plates are in that cupboard over there.”

She stirred the baked beans. When had she last felt so out of her depth? She couldn't remember. Hugh had never confused her like this. Behind her, everything was silent. Joanna frowned. What was he doing? She turned her head.

Conran Dark stood in front of her cupboard. He held two colorful plates in his hands, looking from one to the other with a puzzled frown.

“I don't have matching plates.” Joanna said. “I like things to be colorful.”

“I see.” He gave her an amused look and placed them on the scrubbed wooden table. “This house . . . you said your friend designed it?”

“Yes. Sally is becoming a well-known architect.”

He opened the drawer and blinked at the mixed cutlery in front of him, then picked a mismatching pair of spoons. “Did she also design the interior, or did you do that?”

“I did.” Joanna turned back to the beans. If he didn't like it, so be it. Not everybody wanted to live in a huge house with cream-colored carpets, linen, crystal glasses and a butler – or whatever his usual style was.

“It fits.”

She frowned. “What fits?”

He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “This house fits to you. It's quirky. Unusual.”

“Hmm.” Was that a compliment or an insult or neither? She popped two pieces of toast into the toaster and placed the butter jar onto the table. Should she light a candle?
No.

She took the saucepan and turned.

At the same instant, Conran made a step forward, fell over Dimitri, and crashed into her. The saucepan went flying and banged onto the floor with a sound like an explosion. Joanna slipped, tried to grasp the table beneath her but missed, and fell onto her back. “Ouch.”

“Gosh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” He bent over her.

“I'm fine.” Joanna took a deep breath. Her back and her injured shoulder hurt, but she was not going to admit that. “It's all right.”

“I'm truly sorry,” Conran made a rueful face. “I tripped over Dimitri.” He turned his head. “Where is the little rascal? Dimitri! You have some explaining to do.”

The puppy was right behind Joanna, licking baked beans from the floor, his tail wagging with enthusiasm.

“If we give him enough time, we won't have to clean the mess off the floor,” Joanna said.

He knelt next to her. “Are you sure you're all right?”

She tried a smile. “Yep.” He was so close, she could smell his skin. Delicious. He had little lines around his eyes. They made him human . . . and irresistible. A part of her melted, and the other part fell into a panic. She scrambled to her knees. “I have two more cans. We'll have another go.”

He laughed, took her by the elbow and hoisted her to her feet without any apparent effort.

Now her nose almost touched his shirt. What would happen if she leaned forward, just a bit? She wanted to feel those hands on her back, his arms around her. She wanted to inhale his scent, feel the rough texture of his shirt beneath her cheek.

Joanna reared back and tried to focus on the cupboard.
Cans.
She was supposed to get out more cans. Had he noticed how close she had come to throwing herself upon his chest? Her face turned hot.
How embarrassing
.

Conran took a roll of paper towel and started to wipe away the remains of the baked beans on the floor. “Don't you think Dimitri will get sick if he eats all that stuff? Isn't it way too spicy for a dog?”

“It's possible he'll throw it up again.” She had found the other cans, opened them, and emptied them into the casserole.

He gave her a horrified look. “What?”

“We'll keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah.” He eyes his puppy with mistrust. “I'm keeping an eye on him all day long. It's hard to do anything else.”

Dimitri wagged his tail and danced around Conran.

Joanna smiled. She was starting to feel more comfortable now, on her home turf, talking about animals. “He'll grow up soon, and you'll become all melancholy when you'll see old pictures of him as a puppy.”

“I doubt it.” He threw the paper towels into the bin and washed his hands at the sink.

The toast popped out. Joanna passed him both slices, and he started to butter them as if he had been in the habit of preparing dinner with her for years.

Joanna stirred the beans once more. “Almost done now.” She looked over her shoulder. “Do you often cook for yourself?”

He stiffened and gave her a sharp look. “Sometimes.” His voice told her to back off.

Joanna turned back to her casserole with dismay. True, she had asked a personal question, but it hadn't been intimate, and yet, he had withdrawn into his shell at top speed. She was foolish to be interested in him; foolish to even try to crack that shell. A feeling of disappointment overpowered her.

She turned around. “The beans are done.” She stepped over Dimitri and filled both plates with an equal quantity. Then she sat down, picked up her spoon and said, “Enjoy your meal,” without looking up. She couldn't meet his eyes. Who had the stupid idea of inviting this guy for dinner? Something must be wrong with her brain.

“I'm sorry.” His voice cut through her thoughts.

She lifted her gaze. “What?”

His blue eyes met hers without flinching. “I'm sorry I answered in such a harsh manner.”

“It's all right.” She didn't smile. “I apologize if I appeared nosy.”

“You aren't nosy.”

Joanna still felt the need to defend herself. “It's a bit difficult to keep up a conversation between strangers without asking the occasional question now and then. It's called small talk.”

He nodded. “I've heard about that concept.”

She bit her lips to hide the smile that crept up. “Have you?”

“I have.” His face remained impassive, but his eyes seemed to smile at her.

“And is it hard to do?” Now she couldn't hide her smile anymore.

“Very.” His lips twitched. “But I've developed a system to cope with it.”

“Really?” Joanna put a spoonful of baked beans into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Is that concept a secret?”

“No.”

His smile tugged at her heart. It was a bit ironic, smiling at himself. She didn't say anything. The last thing you could do with Conran Dark was to push him to spill his guts. He would tell her if he wanted to, and not a second earlier.

“It's quite simple. I ask questions first.” He ate this beans with gusto.

“You do? And then?”

He shrugged. “People love to talk about themselves. Once you get them started, they hardly ever stop. There's just one catch.”

“There is?”

“Yes. Journalists are immune to that technique.”

Joanna laughed. “I can imagine.”

An expression of pain crossed his face.

She sat up straight. “What is it?”

“Dimitri is sitting on my feet again.”

Joanna leaned back and grinned. “Does it hurt?”

“Not yet, but it will as soon as my feet fall asleep.”

Joanna bit into her toast. “So push him off.”

He sighed. “That doesn't help. He scrambles back as soon as I keep my feet still.”

“You can write a song about it,” Joanna started to enjoy herself. “Don't sit on my feet” or something like that. It'll be a hit.”

He eyed her. “Do I hear an ironic note there?”

She met his gaze with a limpid look. “But not at all.”

“Ha. I don't believe a word.”

She smiled. “Have I told you that adult Collies can weigh up to fifty-five pounds?”

“You're kidding.” He bent forward. “Come on, you're a veterinarian. Tell me how to train him.”

Joanna contemplated her toast. “You have to be firm. Set up rules and stick to them.”

He eyed her. “You are aware that I have another job, aren't you?”

She forced herself to fix her lips into one prim line. “You have to set priorities.“

He burst out laughing.

Joanna joined in. It felt good to be with him . . . as long as she avoided asking prying questions. Then he turned into an iceberg, and she felt shut out and lonely. But maybe, given time, he would learn to trust her.
Stop this, Joanna. He's a celebrity, and you're a veterinarian in the middle of nowhere. Or so he says. He'll leave and forget you before Dimitri can say “woof”.

“What are you thinking of?”

She colored. “Making conversation? You don't need to, you know. I haven't asked you anything.”

His blue eyes blazed. “Occasionally, I ask because I want to know.”

“Uh.” She cast about for words, then she heard herself say, “I . . . I was thinking that I enjoy being with you.” She closed her eyes.
Great, Joanna. Add yourself to the thousands of girls who slobber over him. He'll love that.

His face softened. “Funny. I thought the same.”

Joanna could feel her skin prickling.
This will not do
. She picked up the empty plates and jumped from her chair. “Would you like some more?”