Christine Pacheco - A Husband In Her Stocking

“There’s a closet right there.”

While she gathered a flashlight and candles, he grabbed two kerosene lanterns from a shelf. In the living room, she placed everything on the coffee table, working around the oblivious Snowflake.

By the time he stacked the second load of wood next to the fireplace, the lights gave a final flicker.

Kyle and Meghan’s eyes met. Then their world faded to complete darkness.

Intimacy seemed to take on a life of its own. Kyle was very much aware of the woman standing near him.

“Kyle?”

“Right here. I’ll have a lantern lit in a sec.” The absence of light enhanced his other senses, making the sound of her voice more provocative. He noticed the soft ebb and flow of her breaths, the very feminine scent of her potent perfume and the indescribable impact of her presence.

Want flared in timing with the match he struck against a brick. Within moments, the whiff of kerosene hung pungently in the air. Mother Nature blasted the house and tension dropped over them.

“I guess you’re well and truly stuck now,” she said.

He nodded, then noticed the way dim lantern light and fire glow played on her blond hair.

Temptation.

Kyle tried to resist, told himself to resist, ordered himself to resist.

And failed.

He reached out to her, traced his fingertip down her cheek—soft, so soft. Caught in the spell of lantern light and snow, she seemed ethereal, a result of the magical season.

She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

Their gazes locked, he read loneliness in her eyes and knew it matched his own.

Snowflake belatedly barked, shattering the sensual moment. Meghan slowly moved away, then lit a second lantern. She adjusted the wick when black smoke filled the glass carafe.

He couldn’t help but notice the way her hand shook.

“I’ll...er, set up one of the bedrooms for you.”

“The couch is fine,” he said. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him, but she was grateful for his suggestion. The farther away he was the better.

“I don’t mind the couch.”

She nodded and disappeared for a few minutes, carrying a flashlight, a lazy Snowflake her reluctant companion. Kyle sat on the couch and drank from his coffee in silence. Now that he’d spent an evening with someone special in a Colorado Christmas storm, it made him realize how empty and bleak his own life was.

Even if the snow disappeared overnight and he made it home for the holidays, he would still face January 2 as a lonely man.

Although Meghan might not celebrate Christmas, she knew the meaning of the season. She’d taken in a perfect stranger, given him food, warmth, shelter. If that wasn’t the spirit of Christmas, he didn’t know what was.

A tinder leaped, hitting the grate.

Kyle vowed to find a way to pay Meghan back for the generous gift of her hospitality.

She returned carrying blankets and sheets, even a feather pillow. The linens smelled fresh, as if dried in a breeze—not in an appliance.

While Meghan plumped the pillow, he wondered what her hair would look like spread across the soft surface.

Kyle stood and reached for the sheet she’d draped over the chair. “I’ll do that,” he said, freezing her midmotion.

After a few seconds, she said, “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Meghan accepted the sheet from him, her fingers rubbing across his. Her eyes opened wide before she blinked and turned away.

Motions smooth and economical, she tucked the sheet between the cushions and couch back. Her cotton sweater moved with her, riding high and affording him a view of her thighs and hips.

It was going to be a hell of a long night, he realized again—and not just because of the cold.

He shook out a blanket, then spread it on top of the sheet. If he didn’t do something—anything—he would succumb to the impulse of touching her again, bothering her even more than he already had. That would be unpardonable, a breach of her hospitality.

The resolution didn’t stop him from remembering the feel of her, though.

She turned back to face him, picked up a lantern. The light shed a halo of gold around her, caressing her features the way he wanted to.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Even in the limited lighting, he noticed her blush. The question had been unintentionally intimate; he let it go. Instead, he shook his head.

“In that case, good night.”

He waited until she reached the bottom of the stairs, then spoke. “Meghan?”

She paused.

“I’ll...”

“Yes?”

“Find a way to make this up to you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Which was why he was doubly determined to repay her. Meghan started up the stairs, leaving him alone and feeling more lonely than he had in years.

Meghan tossed and turned.

Muted sounds from the living room filtered up the stairs. She heard her houseguest moving around.

Undressing?

She thumped her pillow.

The night chill seemed to seep beneath her blankets, freezing her. Her toes curled against the cold.

She ordered herself to go to sleep. The moment her eyes closed, though, thoughts of Kyle made her imagination leap with possibilities. Vivid pictures painted on top of what she’d already noted: broad shoulders, lean hips, muscular thighs.

In her mind, she saw his naked torso, his back, his biceps.

She cracked open her eyes and automatically searched for the digital display telling the time. Remembering the electncal failure, she turned over, willing herself to relax.

The second attempt was no more successful than the first.

She still couldn’t believe she’d invited the man to spend the night, couldn’t believe the way he’d taken over and performed several tasks, lightening the load of her responsibilities.

And she especially couldn’t believe the way her body reacted to his, seeming to hum with vibrant awareness.

His touch hadn’t been anything, really—less than a good-night kiss on a first date. But her insides had turned molten... a crackling need sparked to life. The feel of his finger on her cheek had made her want more, want to turn her head into his palm and rest it there.

He hadn’t meant anything, but heaven help her, she’d wanted more.

She groaned. Meghan Carroll did not respond this way to just any man.

It’d been a long time since Jack—years since her heart had raced. Yet Kyle had done that—oh, so effectively—in mere moments.

He hadn’t respected the lines she’d drawn around her personal life, either. Kyle had tried to push past her walls, asking for answers she had never given anyone. She shivered this time not because of the cold but because she suspected Kyle would demand more if he stayed.

She hoped she was strong enough to brave the storm that was Kyle Murdock.

For several hours, she dozed off and on. A vicious blast of wind rattled the house, shaking the window. Snowflake whimpered and bounded onto the bed, startling Meghan from her disturbed sleep.

She was shivering, the temperature in the bedroom having fallen sharply. No matter how tight a ball she curled into, she couldn’t produce any heat.

Conceding the battle, she sat up and fumbled with the flashlight. After reaching for her heavy terry cloth robe, Meghan climbed from the bed, sliding her feet into furry slippers.

She tiptoed down the stairs, intending to make a cup of tea to warm her up before trying to sleep again.

One hand gripping the banister, she paused, the glow from the flashlight falling on Kyle. Six foot plus of raw masculine energy was sprawled across the cushions of her too-small couch. Suddenly, breathing became an act requiring concentration.

A blanket covered him from the waist down, but his chest was bare and every bit as well developed as her imagination teased.