Her Mistletoe Husband Read online

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.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Lucy reached for her purse. “I want to visit the ladies room.”

  Jack circled the table to help her from her chair. Before Elissa knew it, Helen joined Lucy, and Damien said something about calling the baby-sitter. When Elissa started to get up to go with her sisters, Helen placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. You entertain Alex.”

  They were suddenly alone. A nervous wreck, Elissa stared out the plate-glass window as she took a sip of her water.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday afternoon,” Alex said, startling her so badly she sloshed water on her wool jacket.

  She peered at him. “You should be.” Her heart thudded so loudly at the reminder the noise almost drowned out her words. “I’ve never been so insulted.” Grabbing her napkin, she swiped at her lapel.

  He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. It was evident that he didn’t believe her. They both knew how she’d behaved out there, on her back, in the snow—giving him back as good as she got. The word to describe it was not “insulted.”

  She swallowed, shifting farther away from him.

  “Have you heard from your lawyer?”

  She stilled. “No.” She’d been growing more and more alarmed all day. Why hadn’t Dr. Grayson called? She’d left messages on his voice mail for two days. Her mood plummeted to deeper, blacker depths. There was no reason for him to avoid calling, unless—unless.

  “Look. Elissa—”

  “I know. It’s only business. You’re not stealing my inn. I’ve heard it all before.” She made herself face him, if for no other reason than to send the message that she wasn’t a coward, and to assure him that she had not given up hope. “If you don’t mind. I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the subject. It’s been a nice evening for everyone, and I don’t want it spoiled.”

  He watched her solemnly. His eyes seemed eerily brilliant in the muted light. She transferred her gaze to his chin so she wouldn’t be affected by his stare.

  His jaw worked and she wondered what was going through his mind. Could he be uneasy about something, too? Unable to stop herself, she lifted her glance to his. A shadow of uncertainty glimmered there, confusing her.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked, suspicious and hopeful. “Starting to have the guilts?”

  “The what?”

  “Guilts,” she repeated. “You know. About trying to throw me out of my inn.”

  His nostrils flared at her emphasis on my. “No,” he said, but so softly, she wasn’t sure he meant it. “I never feel guilty.”

  She laughed, a caustic sound foreign to her ears. “That talent must come in handy when you steal a person’s livelihood.”

  He broke eye contact and muttered something.

  She frowned. What had he said? The instant he’d spoken, Lucy and Helen came back, their chatter covering his remark. Still, with a terrible suddenness, Elissa knew in her heart, and she shuddered, experiencing an absurd sense of loss.

  He’d said, “Good, Elissa—hate me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  MISSY, don’t plan on having no hapy new year. You ain’t gonna have one.

  THE LAST THREATENING letter Elissa received kept popping into her mind. It seemed to be so long ago, and so far removed from reality, she wouldn’t allow herself to worry about it. This was New Year’s Eve, a time to celebrate. Even though Alex had been with her every second, she’d managed to have fun at dinner.

  The rest of the evening the family enjoyed the inn’s fireplace and warm conversation. A vague odor from the recent fire lingered in the parlor, and the boarded-up window reminded them of the near tragedy. Yet, the fact that they were all well, and together, was enough to put the recent emergency from their minds.

  Hirk and Jule Boggs baby-sat the twins while the others had been out to dinner. Jule had insisted that Milhouse, their two-year-old, loved the company. So, the Boggs family had been invited to stay for the remainder of the evening to ring in the New Year, as if they were one big, happy family—except for Alex, Elissa’s emotional albatross. Even so, she managed to ignore him most of the time. Interestingly he looked at her less frequently that evening, and when their eyes did meet, he dragged his gaze away as readily as she.

  She supposed it was because, when he’d discovered he couldn’t seduce her, his male pride had been hurt. A smug sense of satisfaction outweighed her depression for a moment. She had a feeling Alex didn’t experience failure often, and was happy to give him a big, bitter gulp. Forcing the memory of his kiss from her mind, she tried to catch the thread of conversation.

  Lucy’s laughter drew her gaze to the couch where she, Jack and Jule were sitting. Hirk stood behind his wife, his hands placed lovingly on her shoulders. “Oh, Helen and Elissa, did I tell you I heard from Stadler?”

  “My favorite subject,” Jack muttered.

  Lucy took her husband’s hand and squeezed. “He sent us an early Christmas card.”

  “The man sent you a Christmas card?” Damien asked from the chair opposite Elissa. His chuckle was disbelieving. “He’s such an ass.”

  Jack grinned. “And he keeps proving it over and over.”

  “What’s he doing these days?” Helen sat crosslegged on the rug beside Damien’s chair. Milhouse, Gilly and Glory were huddled in a cluster before the fire, giggling and coloring in Christmas coloring books. “Did he marry that little Sareena?”

  “No.” Lucy shook her head. “It seems she got smart at the last minute. But Stadler is married. To the daughter of the president of Hillside College, in Joplin. And
by coincidence, Stadler is now the director of the drama department there.” The note of mockery in her voice was evident. “From his note, I don’t think he’s very happy. It seems that the new Mrs. Stadler Tinsley leads him around by the nose.”

  “That’s good enough for him.” Jack entwined his fingers with his wife’s. “The way he treated you, Luce, he deserves to live under a woman’s thumb.”

  “Karma.” Helen nodded. “I think he’s learned to regret dumping our Lucy.”

  “Somebody dumped Lucy?” Alex asked, dubious. Elissa glanced at him as he lounged against the mantel, looking tall and sexy in black trousers and a matching cashmere pullover. He glanced from Lucy to Jack. “This Stadler guy sounds like the world’s prize fool.”

  Jack grinned, lifting his wife’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “Thank goodness for fools.”

  “Someday, I’m going to have to hear the whole story that goes with that remark.” Alex’s grin was directed at the couple; unfortunately Elissa felt its effect—searing through her body like wildfire.

  Angry with herself, she tugged her gaze away. As she did, she noticed the mantel clock. Abruptly she stood, relieved to have something to do. “It’s almost midnight. Time we started making some noise.” She passed a completely disinterested look toward Alex—at least she wished it were completely disinterested—and noticed his grimace of curiosity. His handsome face was stirring even in a scowl, making her heart tumble over itself at the sight. She whirled away, heading for the parlor door. “Pots and pans, everybody, the New Year awaits!”

  While Elissa, Jule and Jack grabbed kitchen utensils, Helen, Damien and Hirk bundled up the children.

  “What’s going on?” Alex asked as Elissa breezed by him toward the front of the inn.

  She thrust a wire whisk and metal colander, in his direction. “We’re ringing in the new year. Join us if you must.”

  He turned the wire whisk in his hand, as though he’d never seen one before. “I’m afraid to ask what you expect me to do with this.”