Her Mistletoe Husband Read online

  And that kiss!

  The wild, wondrous taste of his lips loomed in her mind, making her stumble, and she sagged against the wall to get her equilibrium back. She couldn’t allow the thought of that kiss to keep creeping into her consciousness. She had to get some sleep. Warm milk might help. She’d heard it settled the nerves. The way things stood, she’d probably have to heat about twelve gallons, but she might as well try it. She wasn’t getting any rest, anyway.

  Quietly she pulled open the door and tiptoed past the unfolded sofa, averting her glance. She had no desire to look at Alex. And even if she had, it was so dark she could barely find her way to the stairs, let alone make out a reclining figure in the rumpled covers.

  She scurried up the steps and rounded the comer into the kitchen before she realized the light was on. Coming to a skidding halt, she was overcome with distress to see Alex sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming cof fee in his hand. He glanced up, his long lashes casting a shadow across his eyes. The harsh, overhead light made his solemn features seem carved from stone. She had a feeling he’d been thinking very dark thoughts and she wondered what they might be. “Troubles?” she asked, daring to hope he was doubting his ownership of her inn.

  He set down his mug and stood, startling her with the gentlemanly move. He was wearing a blue cashmere sweater and jeans. His hair was tousled, and he looked charmingly unkempt, as though he hadn’t been able to sleep, either. His lips curved at one comer as he scanned her attire, from her bulky terry robe to her comical slippers. “What’s this? A late-night rendezvous with a lover?”

  She tugged her lapels together, feeling naked under his scrutiny. “That’s right, avoid answering the question by taking the offensive.”

  “I didn‘t’ realize I was being offensive.”

  She sniffed, shuffling around him to retrieve a pan for her milk. “You’re always offensive, Mr. D’Amour. Maybe you should have that fact tattooed on the back of your hand as a quick reference.”

  His chuckle rumbled through her, though he was a good three feet away. “What are you doing?”

  “Heating milk, if it’s any of your business.”

  “Why?”

  She shifted around, eyeing him with more affront than she felt. His nearness was wreaking havoc on her insides. “To make it hot.”

  He grinned outright then. “Why don’t you just kiss it?”

  The not-so-subtle reminder set her blood on fire, but she masked it by bristling. “Don’t be crude!”

  “I thought I was complimenting you.” Though he was still grinning, the expression was less teasing this time. More contemplative. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about your kiss—and how good it might be if you let yourself enjoy it.” The challenge that lit his gaze made her legs go wobbly. “It’s a hell of a thought.”

  She stared at him, speechless. What was he saying? Had he been as affected by their kiss as she? Realizing her lips had dropped open, she clamped her jaws shut, shaking off the notion. He was playing with her again. Dam the man and his talent for playacting. She was not one of his half-witted conquests who would come softly into his arms, giving him anything he wanted. “That’s something you’ll never know, Mr. D’Amour.” She cleared an odd raspiness from her throat.

  He shrugged those sinfully wide shoulders, so casual and elegant, she wanted to scream. He could sure turn it off as quickly as he could turn it on. “Having trouble sleeping?” he asked.

  She spun away to get the milk out of the refrigerator. Why was it that he could make her furious by merely existing, but she couldn’t seem to rattle him with direct insults? When she turned back, she scowled. “No, I’m not having trouble sleeping. I’m always up for the three o’clock milk warming ceremony.”

  He lounged against the table, his expression serious. “You didn’t get another threatening letter, did you?”

  “No.” She turned her back and poured milk into the pan. Her hand shook, but by some miracle she managed not to spill it. “I don’t care to discuss it.” She switched on the gas and returned the carton to the refrigerator before she faced him again.

  He was watching her, arms crossed. “Then what’s wrong? Did you hear from your lawyer friend?”

  She rummaged in a shelf to get a mug, refusing to answer.

  “I gather you didn’t. At least not good news.”

  “I will,” she warned, brandishing the mug.

  His gaze shifted to the stovetop, then back to her face. “What are you burning?”

  She peered at the milk. It wasn’t even steaming yet. “I know how to warm milk and it’s not burning.” She turned away. “Drink your coffee and leave me alone.”

  He was silent for a minute, and Elissa could feel his stare. She knew her shoulders were too rigid, but she couldn’t even pretend to be relaxed under his watchful gaze. Why didn’t he go away?

  “Something really is burning, Elissa.”

  The urgency in his tone made her jerk around. When she did, he was running out of the kitchen, toward the front of the house.

  Suddenly she could smell it, too.

  “Oh, Lord!” she cried, her mug crashing to the floor. “My inn’s on fire!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE fire apparently started when one of the Christmas lights around the outside of the parlor window had shorted out, igniting nearby decorative greenery. Alex’s quick thinking made fast work of putting out the blaze. But just to be safe, Elissa roused the guests and hustled them outdoors. They huddled in their cars, wrapped in blankets, until the fire marshal determined it was safe to go back in.

  Luckily the damage was mainly relegated to the outside front wall of the parlor where paint was blistered and wood, charred. The parlor window had broken from the heat, and the curtains were ruined, but thankfully no one had been hurt and the damage inside had been minimal.

  The guests were shaken by the experience, but they were reassured that their rooms were safe. There hadn’t even been smoke damage on the second floor. When Bella arrived, she promised a special breakfast, to take everyone’s minds off the fire.

  After the guests were safely back in their rooms, Elissa ran downstairs to change into trousers and a bulky sweater. When she dashed toward the front door to help in the cleanup, Alex grabbed her arm. “This was no accident, Elissa.” His expression was grim as he herded her away from her brothers-in-law, coming inside after nailing plywood over the broken window. “Dammit, woman, don’t you think it’s time you told your family what’s been going on?”

  From the reception hall, Elissa cast a peek at Damien and Jack as they prepared to tape plastic over the inside of the broken window. Sucking in a determined breath, she faced Alex. His cheek was streaked with soot, as were his forearms, where he’d rolled up his sweater. He looked dear, and she fought a softening for him. It was true he’d done her a good deed, but she had no intention of allowing him to make more trouble for her. “Of course it was an accident,” she whispered. “The fire marshall determined the cause as a short in the wiring.”

  “The fire marshall doesn’t know what we know.”

  “It was an accident, Alex.” Elissa pulled from his grip. “Stop acting like Chicken Little, with your shouting, ‘The sky is falling...the sky is falling!’”

  “Why don’t you pull your head out of the sand, Miss Ostrich?”

  She slanted another glance at her brothers-in-law. They were busy with the repair and clearly didn’t notice a fight going on. With a withering glare at Alex, she spat, “You’re being paranoid.”

  “You’re be naive.” His eyes were narrow, flashing slits.

  How dare he be so disagreeable and hardheaded! “I hate stubborn, argumentative people!” she retorted.

  “Oh, sweetheart...” His chuckle was bitter. “You, of all people, don’t want to go there.”

  She could recognize sarcasm when she heard it, and she didn’t give a fig if he thought she was hardheaded and stubborn. With a toss of her head, she resolved to move the subject b
ack on track. “I refuse to upset my sisters with useless worry.”

  “Upset them?” he repeated, cynically. “They were rousted out of bed in the middle of the night, forced to huddle in the freezing cold for two hours. It’s just a guess, but I’d say they’re already upset.”

  “Well, I don’t intend to upset them further,” she said, under her breath. “Anyway, how could it be arson?”

  He exhaled, sounding exasperated. “It doesn’t take that much brains to know how to make a string of Christmas lights short out. A kid could do it.”

  A tremor rushed through her. “You’re too suspicious,” she charged, denying the ugly idea with all her being. “Don’t invent crimes where none exist.”

  He stared at her, the incredulity in his gaze mutating into suspicion. “Please tell me you didn’t do this, yourself—as some sort of empty act of defiance against me. I’m razing the place for the golf course, anyway. Burning it down would only make my work easier.”

  She gasped, horrified by the very suggestion. “How could you—” Her voice broke, and she struggled to control herself. “How could you believe such a thing for one second? Everything—everybody—I love is in this inn!” She glared at him. Revulsion in her tone, she demanded, “Have you ever loved anybody, Alex? It’s not possible, or you couldn’t suggest such a hideous thing!”

  His nostrils flared. “I know all about love, Miss Crosby. Oh, yes. I had the best teachers. My parents were totally devoted to each other. That’s why they shipped me off to boarding school, so I wouldn’t interfere with their ‘great love.”’ He spat the last two words out contemptuously.

  “Would you like to know how I spent my holidays every year?” he challenged. “With five or six other boys who’d also been discarded by self-serving parents. The headmaster would take us skiing once or twice between Christmas and New Year’s. The rest of the holidays, we spent in regimented tedium, with plenty of time on our hands to dwell on the fact that all we had in our meager, lonely lives—was money.” His eyes flashed with emotion. “As far as I’m concerned, love is synonymous with selfishness. So don’t talk to me about love. I’ve had a bellyful.”

  The hurt in his voice, his shimmering gaze, was so staggering, it reached out, ripping through the wall of her anger, and grabbed her by the heart, causing pain. Barely aware of her actions, she took his hands. “Oh—oh, Alex...”

  There was a change in his expression, something almost expectant lit his eyes, making her realize what she’d done. Stunned by her rashness, she yanked her hands away. This lonely-little-boy story was probably a well-rehearsed part of his plan to wear her down. Since seduction hadn’t worked, he’d decided to try pity. Animosity tightened her gut. “If selfishness is the same thing as love to you, Mr. D’Amour,” she cried, “then you’re a very loving man!”

  Spinning on her heel, she marched into the parlor as Jack gave the last piece of duct tape a final swipe of his hand. “That should take care of it until we can get it repaired,” he was saying.

  She headed toward her brothers-in-law, hoping Alex would get the hint and go away. Damien was taking down the ladder when Elissa stopped him and gave him a hug. “Thanks.” Turning to Jack, she kissed his cheek. “You, too.” Backing away she smiled tiredly. “Now both of you get to bed. Lucy and Helen should have the twins down by now.”

  Jack slung an arm around her shoulders. “You’re taking this pretty well.” He squeezed her affectionately. “But then, what would I expect from Mother Elissa.”

  A lump formed in her throat. She cared deeply for both Jack and Damien. It was funny, but her maternal inclination toward her sisters extended to their husbands now. It was irrational, she knew. Both men were well equipped to care for their own families. But she’d mothered her sisters for so many years, she wasn’t quite able to relinquish the parental role she’d become accustomed to playing. Besides, she’d decided long ago it was her lot in life to take on the burdens, in order to spare those she loved from pain.

  Alex’s suggestion about arson nagged at her, forcing alarming visions to crowd her mind. Surely nobody had set that fire on purpose. Surely it was exactly what the fire marshal said. An accident. And her fault, for forgetting to turn off the lights. That was all. Human error combined with an old string of lights. Nobody could want to hurt her family; it was too horrible a thought to even imagine.

  Though unable to trust her voice, she managed to hold on to her brave smile. Squeezing Jack’s hand, she murmured, “All’s well that ends well. Now, you two go on to bed.” It came out a little husky.

  Jack and Damien gathered up the rest of the unused plastic, duct tape and ladder, and were quickly gone. With an exhausted exhale, she allowed her shoulders to slump. Switching off the parlor lights, she dragged herself to the leather chair that sat beside the hearth. Glowing embers were the room’s only illumination, and darkness suited her mood. Sagging into the chair, she stared into the shadows, her fists clenched. The stench of burned wood and fabric stung her nostrils, the eerie quiet somehow frightening.

  She felt numb, brain-dead. Thoughts wouldn’t track to a logical conclusion. They became confused, muddled, butting up against spikes of panic, then ricocheted around her head like terrified mice, running for their lives and finding no refuge.

  “Maybe I am insolent and unfeeling, Elissa,” came Alex’s familiar voice, “but I was forced to become that way because all I had to count on was myself. What’s your excuse for being so detached?” She heard his muf fled footfalls cross the rug. “You have a family you refuse to confide in. They love you. Why don’t you let them help?” He stopped, not far away. “Do you know how many people would give anything for—” He cut himself off, but in those few words Elissa learned a great deal.

  Alex envied her close family. Envied! She could see it now-the poor little rich kid, shipped off to fancy boarding schools, full of strict rules and regimens, by selfish, jet-set parents. He may have taken ski trips to Colorado every holiday, but they hadn’t made up for the warmth of a loving family, laughing and joking before a holiday fire. No wonder he knew nothing about opening gifts at dawn, or Christmas dinners served in the middle of the afternoon, timetables be damned. He had grown up a child of regulations and timetables. He’d had to claw a place for himself in the world—all alone.

  With gritted teeth, she shoved the realization back. Didn’t she have enough trouble without taking on the childhood hurts of her worst enemy?

  She shifted to glower at him. “You could have set the fire—to force us out.” The accusation was empty—nothing more than an attempt to divert attention from a discussion of her relationship with her family. Still, her anguish spurred her to go on. “Like you said, you’re going to tear the place down, anyway.”

  He blinked, clearly thunderstruck, but before he could respond, she held up a halting hand, “Okay, okay, I don’t believe you did it.” She turned away, muttering determinedly, “It was an accident.” After a long, silent moment, she rose, terribly weary. “This isn’t your concern, Alex,” she whispered. “I can handle it.”

  “Before or after something happens to those little girls?” he demanded. “Is your self-reliance that important to you?”

  The indictment cut deep and she bled from her soul. He’d hit on a painful truth. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she fought tears. “My self-reliance has gotten me and my sisters through some tough times-those years after Mom died, and then when Jack’s mother paid no attention to us. Daddy had to be gone a lot. He worked hard. Somebody had to take charge, be the mother. Somebody had to—”

  “Lucy and Helen are all grown up.” He took her by the arms, giving her a shake. “Dammit, Elissa, you have one hell of a family, fully capable of helping you. You keep yourself so separated from them, and they don’t even realize it, do they?”

  A tear slid down her cheek, and she shook her head denying his accusation, scarcely aware of the irony that she was answering his question. Yet, another irony did strike her, and that was how only Alex D’
Amour, so emotionally isolated all his life, could see the truth. Maybe it took one to know one.

  Witnessing her tears seemed to do something to Alex’s anger, and his features grew less harsh. “Do you have any idea who the pervert is that’s doing this?” he asked more gently. “An old law client, maybe?”

  She inhaled a shuddery breath, trying to regain herself. “Get off it! Nobody did this!”

  With a mumbled curse, he tugged her into his embrace, but she was too emotionally fragile to fight him. Nuzzling the crook of his neck, she inhaled. Even mixed with the acrid smell of smoke, his scent made her heart grow lighter. Without analyzing why, she allowed her arms to snake around his back as he held her. His jaw was rough against her cheek, and for some crazy reason that made her feel better, too. Her fingers spread, relishing the feel of cashmere over supple muscle. The combination was heady, stirring, and she found herself leaning greedily into him, delighting in the feel of his powerful body—so big and sheltering. Oh, to be protected. It was a luxury she’d never allowed herself. But sometimes, deep in the night, there were moments when she longed for...

  “Elissa, you have to tell your family.” His warm breath ruffled her hair. “If you don’t, I will.”

  Reality intruded with his quiet threat and she went ramrod stiff, drawing away. She could tell he meant what he said, and a shaft of panic stabbed her. She had to prevent him from doing that—somehow.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  His eyes drilled into hers. There was nothing in his expression that told her he planned to give her any more leeway in the matter.

  Flailing for any straw to hold onto, she pleaded, “What if I report the fire to the police? Let them decide.” Lifting a determined chin, she added, “The fire marshall said some kids had been setting fires around town. Even if it were arson, it was probably a prank. Kids. Promise me you won’t bother my family with unfounded suspicions.” She reached out to take his arms in a beseeching gesture, then thought better of touching him. “Please, Alex?” She balled her fists. “Can’t you understand, you’re overreacting.”