Jennifer Probst - The Holiday Hoax

Boyfriend?

The term flashed insistently in neon color. Was Aidan Hunter her boyfriend? They’d only been together for two weeks. Two wonderful, snowy, cozy, perfect weeks, but much too limited a period to throw the word around so casually. She winced at the awful adolescent phrase, yet her heart beat like a galloping stampede of wild horses.

They hadn’t discussed the future, but Isabella sensed his emotions were real. After her huge mistake in Manhattan, she’d been careful of letting a man sneak past her barriers. Aidan may not talk about his past, and she sensed he struggled with some identity issues, but his heart rang true. The naked gleam of desire mingled with an open happiness and connection she never experienced before.

Tonight she needed to take the next step in their relationship.

A shiver raced down her spine. She’d ached to feel his warm hands on her naked flesh, to give herself entirely to him. Snuggled in the comfort of his embrace in the snowbank, his kiss gave her the answers she sought. His hot tongue and hard body fueled her need for more of him, but she’d finally crossed the invisible barrier of trust. His kiss promised no lies.

Isabella trusted this man enough to take the leap from friend to lover.

Images of a sheer black nightie and a romantic evening by the fireplace danced behind her lids. Tonight, everything would change between them. And she was ready.

As if he guessed her thoughts, Aidan turned his head and gave a naughty wink.

She hoped the gesture was not a precursor of their evening. The moment of distraction cost him as a ball of ice and snow cracked against his jaw and he staggered back. His team deftly protected him, but Isabella couldn’t control her giggles as he shook his head and frozen flakes flew around his head in a burst.

When she recovered from her hysterical fit, he stood a few feet in front of her. His eyes gleamed wickedly. Droplets of water slid from his soaked hair and traveled over the carved lines of his face. And his hands were full of snowballs.

She sucked in her breath. “Don’t you dare!”

“Think something’s funny, Isabella?” he asked calmly, one brow raised.

She stuck both arms in front of her. “Aidan! Stay away from me.”

Then he grinned. “Never.”

As he charged, Izzy let out a shriek and raced for her life.

Aidan finished putting the final touches on dinner and set out a bottle of wine. The kitchen filled with the tantalizing aromas of fresh tomatoes and garlic. He sliced crusty Italian bread and placed chunks of mozzarella on the plate, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Perfect. He needed everything to be perfect tonight.

Because tonight he was telling her the truth.

Aidan fought off the nervous tug in his gut and poured the wine. For the past two weeks, they’d been together every evening. Each time he tried to confess, she turned those sparkling umbrella blue eyes on his, and her smile lit up her face, until he told himself he needed more time.

But time was running out.

He was due to return to the city and his responsibilities after Christmas. The Pasta King restaurant chain was a demanding business, and as second in command, he needed to be his father’s eyes and ears. But he was tired of working in the city under his father’s reign. He’d wanted this time upstate at the cabin to really discover what he wanted. Now he knew, but had no idea how to get it.

He wanted Isabella.

But would she want him when she learned his true identity?

The question had no time to be answered. The doorbell rang.

He opened it and his breath caught. Her honey colored curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her face was open and happy, her heart literally worn on her sleeve for him to see. Aidan had never met a woman who gave herself so freely and unselfishly, not asking for anything back. She was truthful, headstrong, and passionate. She was the woman he’d been spending his whole life looking for, and tonight he wanted no more secrets between them.

“I brought pastries from the bakery.” She held up a small box.

She wore a fuchsia pink turtleneck, hip hugging jeans, and low heeled boots. Golden hoops flirted with her hair as she turned her head. Her lips were painted in bright pink to match her shirt.

“Did you sneak any before you came?” he asked, studying her with narrowed eyes.

Isabella looked shocked. “Of course not!”

“We’ll see about that.” He pulled her close and kissed her. Like old lovers, her body peaked and responded to his with unconscious ardor, as his tongue thrust into her mouth to taste and stroke. His hands came around her body to grab her buttocks and arch her closer. He swallowed her moans with masculine pleasure. “Hmm, you’re right, you weren’t lying.”

She pushed him away in mock outrage and made her way into the cabin. “Very cute. You better feed me, buster. I’m starving.”

They feasted on the meal and drank wine under the mistletoe. After two heaping plates of pasta, she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied groan. Her sated expression tempted him to satisfy her in a whole lot of other ways. Most involved her being stripped naked and lying open for him. He fought a shudder and reached for patience.

“How did you learn to cook so well?” she asked.

Aidan sipped his wine and smiled at the memory. “God, I hate to say I was a mama’s boy. But I kind of was.” She laughed. “Since I was an only child, I grew up in the kitchen. My mother cooked night and day. Homemade pasta cranked by hand. Hunks of sausage and meatballs simmering in gravy for hours. I learned how to pick a fresh vegetable and the best way to carve meat before I even hit a baseball.” He shook his head. “Cooking made her happy. She’d invite cousins, neighbors, friends to the table. Most of my memories centered around meals.”

Isabella propped her face in her hands with a dreamy expression. “That sounds so wonderful. I’d love to meet your mom.”

Pain cut through him like a dull edged knife. “She died a few years back.”

She immediately reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry, Aidan, I didn’t know. That must have been hard on you, especially so young.”

“Yeah, it pretty much sucked. My father was more of the workaholic, disciplinarian. I love him, of course, but my mother always caught the big picture. My dad looked at life with more of a narrow view, so we clashed.”

“Is this why you don’t want to be involved with his business?”

Aidan closed his eyes. He needed to tell her. Everything. His heart pounded with nervous anticipation. Would she understand? Would she forgive him for keeping the truth from her? “I want to tell you more about the business, Isabella. Why don’t I set out the pastries, put more wood on the fire, and we’ll talk?”

“Sounds like a plan.” They cleaned up together and Aidan put on a pot of coffee while she sang “A Holly Jolly Christmas” in an uneven melody that made him laugh.

“Let me use the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll put another log on the fire.” He walked to the woodpile and reminded himself they had deep feelings for one another. This was more than a one-night stand. He wanted a permanent relationship with Isabella, and he’d bet she felt the same. The way she looked at him with her heart in her eyes couldn’t lie.

He closed the door, stoked the fire, and turned.

Then froze.

Isabella stood in the doorway. She wore a tiny black lace slip that cupped her full breasts, skimmed her curvy hips, and halted mid-thigh. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in full burnished glory, and a faint blush touched her cheekbones as she shifted her bare feet and stared at him.