Marriage Under the Mistletoe Read online

  Scott laughed and swiftly dropped the ball into the basket. “You just need to work on your angle.”

  Trevor shrugged and smiled. “I’m not much of a sportsman. Take after my mother, I guess.”

  Scott remembered how Evie had looked that morning in her running gear. She certainly seemed to keep herself in great shape. “She’s an artist,” Scott said, and then felt foolish.

  Trevor looked at him oddly, but continued to smile. “I guess. My dad was the sporty one.”

  “Mine, too,” Scott replied, and passed the ball on.

  The teenager grabbed the basketball, aimed, concentrated and shot it at the hoop. It missed and rebounded directly into Scott’s hands. “My dad’s dead.”

  Scott lobbed the ball back through the hoop once it bounced. “Mine, too.”

  Trevor grabbed the ball and took another shot. The ball curved around the edges of the hoop before dropping to the side. “Yeah...it sucks.”

  They continued to shoot hoops and talk for several minutes, until a taxi pulled up outside the house and two elderly women emerged. As they walked slowly up the driveway, Trevor groaned under his breath. The women approached on quickening feet and Scott watched their progress with a broad grin.

  It took them precisely five seconds to persuade Scott to help them carry their bags from the footpath and into the house. Trevor smiled as if he’d been given a Get Out Of Jail Free card and went back to shooting hoops.

  There were about a dozen shopping bags from various retail outlets, and Scott guessed the two women had spent the day scouting the stores in Bellandale. The perfectly groomed pair were obviously the Manning sisters who Evie had told him about on the long drive from the airport. They regarded him with such blatant curiosity it felt as if their two sets of eyes were burning a hole through his back as he walked up the half dozen steps and opened the front screen door while juggling the parcels.

  Once they’d stepped over the threshold, Scott closed the door and followed them through the house. Vanilla. The scent hit him immediately. Evie.

  The living room was large and immaculately presented, but it was the huge, ornately decorated Christmas tree that held his attention. It was a real tree—the kind he remembered from when he was young and his father was still alive. Memories banged around in his head. They’d go out together and find the perfect tree, strap it to the roof of his father’s Volvo and make the trip home laughing, because they both knew his mother would insist on moving the tree around for hours before she finally settled on a spot to showcase her decorating efforts. And they laughed because, inevitably, the tree ended up in the same position every year.

  Funny, he didn’t think about those days much anymore. He tried not to think about how much he still missed his father. He’d been a good man, and a good dad. But reckless. And that recklessness had contributed to his death. A desk jockey by day, his father would pursue one adventure after another on the weekend. Sailing, skiing, climbing. Ultimately, it was the climbing that killed him. His death had galvanized something inside Scott. At eighteen he had been determined to join the fire department and approached the job responsibly. He didn’t take risks. He followed the rules.

  And those rules didn’t include fantasizing about Evie Dunn.

  A widow. A single mom.

  Two very good reasons to keep his head.

  The Manning sisters thanked him for his help, and Scott was just about to make a quick exit when Evie walked into the room. She smiled at him and his chest tightened unexpectedly. He smiled back, saw her cheeks flush and then quickly she diverted her gaze. His thoughts lingered on how pretty she was. And all that incredible, seriously sexy hair. She started talking with the sisters, but he could feel the vibration of her awareness of him like a drum beating. Because she appeared to be trying not to look at him.

  Scott had placed the bags near the foot of one of the sofas, and Evie and the elderly sisters began unloading the contraband. He stood back and watched, amused by the clear delight the three women displayed as bags were opened and items unwrapped. Evie’s animated expression was addictive and he couldn’t look away. He watched her unload parcels and sigh her appreciation for the treasures as she unwrapped close to a dozen shiny glass ornaments and garlands and laid them carefully on the sofa. Scott snatched a glance at the tree behind him and quickly realized something. Evie loved Christmas. He could easily imagine her trimming a turkey, wrapping gifts with matching paper and ribbon, singing carols on Christmas Eve and doing all the things that made the festive season special.

  A magnet, Callie had called her. Someone who draws people in.

  Was that what she was doing to him? But Scott was convinced it was just physical attraction. He’d been attracted to women before. Some he’d dated. Some he’d slept with.

  Evie looked across at him briefly and the smile curling her lips made his stomach roll over. Her cheeks flushed again, brighter this time. Scott’s fingers itched with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her face, to trace the line of her jaw and her delicious-looking mouth. Her lips parted, as if she knew he was thinking about them...wondering, imagining if they tasted as sweet as they looked. Her tongue came out and moistened her lower lip. The kick of it rushed to his feet, traveled up his legs and hit him square in the groin.

  With his heart hammering behind his ribs, Scott looked at the two elderly women still fussing over their parcels and knew he had to get away from Evie...and fast. He cleared his throat and quickly excused himself.

  By the time he’d returned to the private quarters and headed for his room, his breathing was back to normal. He sat on the edge of the big bed, took a deep breath and clenched his fists. I’m not going to get involved here. I’m going home soon—back to my life—back to everything I know. Three weeks, Jones...I gotta keep it together.

  * * *

  Evie lingered in the largest downstairs bedroom later that afternoon. She had guests arriving soon—a newly married couple who were staying for a week. The bedroom was her favorite in the house—big and airy and decorated in the palest hues of purple, lavender and white. It had its own bathroom and small sitting area, and the enormous bed was scattered with half a dozen cushions in various shades of mauve. She fluffed a couple of pillows, straightened the white lace bedspread and fiddled with the vase of lilac-and-cream miniature roses that sat on the dresser.

  She thought about Scott. Her blood pumped when she remembered how he’d looked at her. The air had smoldered with a kind of throbbing, consuming, slowly building heat.

  This is so crazy...he’s twenty-seven years old, for heaven’s sake.

  Evie took a deep breath, straightened the already straight bedspread and headed upstairs. Back in her own room she looked out the window and saw her son shooting his basketball into the hoop. Scott was with him. They were talking and throwing the ball. She heard a shout of laughter from her son and it tightened something in her chest.

  Oh...no...I’m not going to like him. But seeing him with her son made her like him. Not just lust, she thought, something else, an awareness of him on another level.

  And Trevor’s laughter made Evie ache inside. She knew her son longed for regular male company, a man’s influence...a father’s influence.

  Imagining Scott in that role was foolish. He’d be gone in three weeks.

  Her guests arrived about ten minutes later. In their mid-fifties and obviously in love, Trent and Patti Keller were all smiles when Evie showed them to their room. A tiny stab of envy knotted tightly and she tamped it down.

  Evie gave them a tour of the house, and introduced them to the Manning sisters, who were reading in the front living room. She told them dinner was at seven and left her guests together.

  Upstairs, Evie showered, slipped into white cotton cargo pants and an emerald-green collared T-shirt and low-heeled sandals. She raked a comb through her hair, applied a little makeup and headed from her room. She stopped outside Scott’s bedroom. Dinner’s at seven in the main dining room. Please join me and
my guests. Her knuckles hovered millimeters from the door. Just ask him.

  “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 he
r shoulders. “I’m making some if you’re interested.”

  He smiled and the lethal dimple showed itself again. “Coffee would be better.”

  “Sure...coffee.”

  Evie headed upstairs and felt him in her wake. Trevor was standing by the open refrigerator when she walked into the kitchenette. “Hungry?” she asked her son.

  Trevor shook his head. “Not anymore,” he replied before he shoved a piece of cold homemade pizza into his mouth.

  Scott was behind her and she heard him laugh softly. Evie ignored the way her belly rocked at the sound and concentrated on her son. “I can make you some—”

  “I think I’m gonna crash,” Trevor said.

  Stay. But she didn’t say it. Didn’t dare admit she needed her son’s presence to shield her from her ever-growing awareness around Scott. She bid him good-night and waited until she heard his bedroom door shut before filling the jug. Scott sat in a chair, the same one he’d occupied that morning.

  He looks so good in my kitchen. I could get used to him being in my kitchen.

  Evie rested her hand on the stainless-steel appliance. She was appalled by her thoughts. And knew she had to say something. “Scott, I—”

  “Evie, I—”

  Both stopped, both looked, both had something to say. “You go,” she said quickly.

  He nodded and placed his elbows on the table. “Okay. Something is happening here.”

  She caught her breath. “It is?”

  “You know it. Downstairs...and earlier today...it was there again.”

  Denial burned on the edge of her tongue. But instead she nodded. She wanted the truth out there. Truth always worked.

  “So, what should we do about it?”

  Evie’s cheeks burned. “Do? Nothing. It’s just...”

  “Attraction,” he finished for her. “Yeah...and it’s powerful, Evie.”

  He was attracted to her? Evie could barely contain the emotions and feelings running riot through her entire body. She’d suspected it. She’d certainly felt it herself. But to suddenly know this gorgeous man felt it, too, made her head spin.