Helen Lacey - Marriage Under the Mistletoe

“Evie?”

He was behind her. Not in his room. She turned around, took a deep breath and told him about dinner. “So, will you join us?”

“Of course. Do I need to change?”

Evie couldn’t help licking her gaze over his tall, muscular body. Jeans and T-shirt were such a great look on him. “No. I’ll see you at seven.” She turned on her heel and headed downstairs.

Evie loved to cook and adored her big, well-appointed kitchen. She wrapped her favorite apron over her clothes, finished off the lemon meringue pie she’d whipped up earlier that afternoon and popped it into the refrigerator to chill. The mustard beef and assortment of roasted vegetables were done within the hour and she set everything ready in the kitchen before making her way to the dining room. She set the big table for six. There would be no Trevor tonight. He’d pleaded to go to Cody’s to study and promised to be home by nine o’clock. Once the buffet was set up with chilled wine and imported beer, Evie returned to the kitchen.

At five minutes to seven, people began entering the dining room. Evie noticed Scott first. Before she could say anything, the Manning sisters arrived and quickly cornered him. Evie had to smile. He took their monopoly of him with a grin and appeared to be genuinely interested in their conversation. Evie relaxed when the Kellers entered the room. Once all the introductions were done, she brought in the food and invited everyone to be seated.

It was a relaxed, enjoyable evening—mostly because Scott Jones was so effortlessly charismatic he held the attention of all her guests. Evie was as seduced by his humorous anecdotes and stories as the three other women at the table. He talked NASCAR with Trent Keller, antique restoration with Amelia Manning and the dwindling power of the European monarchies with her sister. And Evie, normally the one to hold court with her guests, remained mute and ate her dinner and simply listened to the sound of his voice.

Once dinner and dessert was done and her guests moved from the dining room and into the front living area, Evie began clearing up the dishes and remaining food. Busy with her task, she didn’t immediately notice how Scott had stayed behind and now stood in the doorway, watching her intently. Very intently. His blue-eyed gaze scorched over her as if they were linked by a thread of fire.

“Need some help?”

No. “Ah—sure.”

“So,” he said quietly as he grabbed a stack of dishes. “Flora tells me you need a hand putting up some decorations?”

Evie stilled. “Trevor’s going to help me.”

His brows rose over those remarkable eyes. “Trevor’s not here, though.”

He had a point. “Well, no. I can get to it tomorrow night.”

“Trevor mentioned he had a party at his friends’ place tomorrow night?”

And another point. “Oh, yes, that’s right.” She didn’t want his help and didn’t want to question why. “I’ll do it some other time, then.”

“No time like the present,” he said easily. “Flora and Amelia are keen to see them up.”

He was right. She had promised to finish decorating the house. Not accepting his help made her sound foolish and neurotic. “Well, okay. I could use some help later.”

That settled Evie headed back to the kitchen with her arms loaded. Scott was close behind her and then made another trip to collect what remained. He stayed and helped stack the dishwasher, and Evie was so excruciatingly aware of his every movement she had to stop herself from staring at him.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Evie turned toward him. “There’s a ladder in the shed outside. Perhaps you could—”

“Sure,” he said quickly, and disappeared through the back door.

While he was gone Evie retrieved a box of decorations from the cupboard beneath the stairs. When he returned she was waiting in the front foyer, armed with scissors, double-sided tape, a packet of small nails and a hammer.

Scott held the ladder in the crook of his arm. “So, where do you want me?”

A loaded question.

Evie cleared her throat and pointed to the archway above. “I’d like this put up there,” she said, and pulled a wreath from the box.

Scott placed the ladder in the doorway. He took the wreath and held out his hand for nails and the hammer. “Just tell me where,” he said, and climbed up the steps.

Evie stood still and gave instructions. Not so easy. When he reached the top step, her eyes were directly in line with his groin. Not easy at all. She looked toward the floor and examined the rubber stops at the bottom of the ladder and counted the markings on the timber floorboards. She looked anywhere but straight ahead. But temptation grabbed hold of the blood in her veins and she looked up and almost lost her breath when he raised his arms to knock in the small nails and his jeans slipped fractionally, exposing that glorious, beautiful belly, and her breath suddenly caught.

“Evie?”

She jerked her head up so fast she almost snapped her neck. As he looked down at her, Evie knew she’d been caught staring.

He smiled. “I need another nail.”

She pulled another from the box and dropped it into his outstretched palm.

“That should do it,” he said, and came down the steps. “Anything else?”

Evie dived for the box and withdrew another green and bronze festive wreath. “This,” she said, taking a breath. “On the front door.”

While he attended to the door, Evie looked inside the box. Mistletoe. The everlasting plastic type sat in a bunch at the bottom of the box. The last thing she wanted were sprigs of the kissing plant hung up at every doorway. She shoved it back into the corner of the box and pulled out three lengths of long green garland instead. “This goes in the front living room,” she explained. “Along the picture rail.”

“Lead the way.”

She tucked the box under her arm and walked toward the front room. There was no sign of her guests and she assumed they’d all retired for the evening. It took about fifteen minutes to hang the remaining garlands. When they were done she adjusted a few lights on the Christmas tree and pretended not to notice his movements when he folded up the ladder and placed the hammer and tape back in the box. The tree really was spectacular—now all she needed to do was begin her shopping and put some parcels beneath it.

“What about this?” He pulled something out of the box.

The mistletoe.

In his hands, the small plastic greenery seemed to be laughing in her face. She should have tossed the stuff in the garbage bin. “I don’t think so.”

He grinned. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Not even one piece?”

He was still grinning. Probably amused by the look on my face. Evie tried to keep her voice light. “If that goes up I’m sure the Manning sisters will be chasing you around the house for the next three weeks.”

He smiled, showing off that dimple, making her head spin. He twirled the bunch of plastic sprigs between his fingers. “I guess it’s fortunate I have a thing for older women.”

“It’s still not a good idea,” she managed to say, and fought back the feeling she was treading into deep water. But she felt the awareness in the air—it pulsed between them, catching them both, fanning the flames of an attraction she somehow knew was unmistakable.

He smiled again and tossed the item back in the box. “It’s your call.”

Yes, it is. “Well, thank you for your help. Good night.”

His brows rose fractionally. “Are you sending me off to bed, Evie?”

She colored wildly, feeling the heat, feeling the air thicken. “Of course not. I just—”

A door slammed at the back of the house. Trevor. Evie made a sound of almost palpable relief. “That’s my son. I should go and see if he’s eaten.” She turned and walked away but stopped at the threshold. I’m being such an idiot. When she turned back, he was still standing by the box. “Peppermint tea,” she said loosely, shaking her shoulders. “I’m making some if you’re interested.”