Jennifer Probst - The Holiday Hoax

Mischief lit amber eyes and something else she couldn’t name. Some simmering sexual tension that caught and held her in his spell. “I’m truly sorry, ma’am. Can’t do it for under fifty.”

“No deal.”

Her fists clenched in temper. There was no way she was paying $50 for a sad tree that could fall apart once she got it home. He deserved to get nothing for the tree. What did she care if he threw it back on the truck? He was mean spirited and she refused to argue.

Isabella turned and walked away. She waited for him to call out, “Wait,” but he never did. She made it five steps, turned the corner, and stopped.

Damn him.

She needed that tree.

Isabella mentally calculated the odds of pride against emotion. As usual, in her life, emotion won. She yanked her knit hat tighter around her head and marched back.

He stood exactly where she left him, a grin on his face as he watched her. “Back again, so soon?” he asked in evident amusement. His voice was a mixture of gravelly sand and smooth caramel that caressed her ears.

She tried to be reasonable. “It’s Christmas. Why won’t you let me give you twenty dollars and take the tree home? You make some money, and you make someone happy.”

He motioned toward the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. “This tree will make you happy?” His amusement faded to something sharper, and his eyes probed hers. “Why?”

Isabella let out an impatient huff. “Because it’s lonely.”

The words fell between them. She fought embarrassment at the ridiculous statement but held her ground. The man took three steps and closed the distance between them. Her heart stopped, then pounded like a racing Thoroughbred out of the gate. His face was more perfect up close—his nose a bit crooked, to keep him from looking too pretty. He smelled of spruce and coffee, a delicious scent that mixed in the air. He gazed at her for a few moments in silence, then spoke in a husky whisper. “I know how it feels.”

Her lips parted almost subconsciously. As if she had dropped down the rabbit hole, Isabella felt if this stranger leaned in and kissed her, she’d kiss him back. The connection hummed, pulsed, then settled. She took a step back and he gave her the distance.

“Sold,” he said. “For twenty dollars.”

Isabella nodded, still wary of the weird feelings jumping in the pit of her belly. She still didn’t like him, but something pulled her. She took out the bill and handed it to him. His bare fingers brushed against the buttery leather of her glove and she briefly wished she’d removed them, just to feel what it was like to touch his bare skin. He pocketed the money, and carefully lifted the tree. “I’ll take it to your car.”

She followed him through the endless rows to her practical sedan. He laid it gently in the back seat. “Too small to tie it to the roof, but you should be okay. Go easy on the turns. Do you live far?”

Isabella shook her head. “No.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Here you go. Thanks for your help.”

He went to take the bill, but instead of pulling it out of her hand, his thumb found the edge of her glove and pressed against her bare pulse point. The shock of his touch made her catch her breath. His gaze flew to hers with the full knowledge of her reaction. Then he smiled.

“Keep it. Merry Christmas.”

Her tongue stumbled on the words. “Merry Christmas.” Then she turned and got into her car as fast she could. She pulled away and noticed he watched her the whole time, his gaze following the tire tracks until her car disappeared around the bend.

“Vin, I’m not in the mood to go to this party.”

“You’re going. I already told Rick to expect us, and there’s going to be lots of single ladies. Normal, nice single ladies for you. Bad, naughty, single women for me.”

Aidan laughed into the cell phone. “You can go without me, you don’t need a wingman. It’s supposed to snow tonight and I just want to read a good book and go to bed early. Manual labor is kicking my ass.”

“Now you sound like an old person. I’ll meet you at eight. Come on, A, I probably won’t see you again before the holiday. We’ll hang out, meet some women and have some laughs. Okay?”

Aidan refilled his coffee mug and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. “Fine. See you at eight.”

He clicked off the cell phone and drank his coffee. Then glanced down at the ledger paper with a license plate number scrawled on the page . Her license number. The mysterious stranger who’d haunted his dreams for the last few nights. Aidan almost groaned. He was officially a stalker.

He had contacts. All he had to do was give them the number, and they’d get him a name and address. Yes, illegal, but he wasn’t going to do anything. He just wanted a name. If she was local, he could find a way to ask around to see where she hung out, or if she was married. God, what if she was married? The thought made his gut clench. No, her glove didn’t show a bump over her ring finger. He was positive she wore no ring.

Aidan didn’t feel like going to a party to meet another woman, not when he dreamed of her —a woman whose gorgeous blue eyes reminded him of the Caribbean ocean, and could be as chilly as the Atlantic when she raised her chin and tried to look down to him, even though he towered over her. This woman had guts and heart. Yet, he hadn’t asked for her number or her name. For the first time in his life, his smooth social skills held no match for his emotions. He’d been tongue tied, reminding him of his first crush. And when she stumbled back from his touch, obviously feeling their connection…well, he hadn’t known what to do. She disappeared so fast.

Aidan needed to find her.

He set down his coffee mug and went to get changed for the party he didn’t want to go to.

“I don’t want to go.” Isabella hated the whine in her voice as she stood outside the door and turned to her friend. “I told you I just wanted to stay home and read.”

Her best friend, Liz, gave a deep suffering sigh. “We’re here. You’ve complained the whole drive over and now you will stop. I set you up on an awesome blind date. You’re going to love this guy.”

“I hate blind dates,” she grumbled. “They’re always a disaster.”

“He makes a lot of money. He’s charming and good looking.”

“I hate rich guys. They’re spoiled brats.”

“Don’t judge. Come on.” Liz hustled her into the house, decorated for the holiday. The Christmas tree loomed huge in the foyer, over ten feet of sheer perfection and glory, with lights and decorations and tinsel. Crowds of beautifully dressed people clad in bright reds and greens mingled around the large wooden bar and buffet. Carols hummed from strategically placed speakers as they made their way through the room and got rid of their coats. Liz leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Go to the bar and get yourself some wine. I’ll find your date and bring him over.”

“Liz—”

“Go.”

Isabella obeyed and found a space at the bar. She ordered a Pinot Grigio and sipped it while she took in her surroundings. Then she saw him.

Christmas tree guy.

Isabella froze and watched him make his way across the room. Powerful, masculine energy hummed off of him in waves, and the crowd parted automatically to let him through. He looked dressed to please himself rather than the crowd—a black button down shirt, khaki pants, and work boots completed the outfit. In a room sporting Calvin Klein and Prada, she guessed he didn’t have the money to run with this crowd, but maybe he was with someone who did. Like a woman. The thought bit hard and hurt more than it should since she didn’t even know his name.