12 Gifts for Christmas
His Christmas Captive
Caitlin Crews
A Christmas Refuge
Rebecca Winters
Naughty is Nice
Tawny Weber
The Bodyguard’s Bride
Brenda Harlen
Seduced by the Season
Merline Lovelace
Christmas Evie
Karen Templeton
Cherokee Christmas
Sheri Whitefeather
The GP’s Christmas Miracle
Alison Roberts
Wrapped and Ready
Julie Kenner
A Home for Christmas
Laura Marie Altom
Stroke of Midnight
Julie Kistler
Midnight Reunion
Anna Depalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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His Christmas Captive

About the Author

CAITLIN CREWS discovered her first romance novel at the age of twelve. It involved swashbuckling pirates, grand adventures, a heroine with rustling skirts and a mind of her own, and a seriously mouthwatering and masterful hero. The book (the title of which remains lost in the mists of time) made a serious impression. Caitlin was immediately smitten with romances and romance heroes, to the detriment of her middle-school social life. And so began her lifelong love affair with romance novels, many of which she insists on keeping near her at all times.

Caitlin has made her home in places as far-flung as York, England, and Atlanta, Georgia. She was raised near New York City, and fell in love with London on her first visit when she was a teenager. She has backpacked in Zimbabwe, been on safari in Botswana, and visited tiny villages in Namibia. She has, while visiting the place in question, declared her intention to live in Prague, Dublin, Paris, Athens, Nice, the Greek islands, Rome, Venice, and/or any of the Hawaiian islands. Writing about exotic places seems like the next best thing to moving there.

She currently lives in California, with her animator/comic book artist husband and their menagerie of ridiculous animals.

Look for new novels from Caitlin in Mills & Boon®’s Modern™ series.

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M leaving you.” Lucy Qaderi forced the words out before she could convince herself not to say them. Even if she had not yet dared to turn around and say them to his face.

She’d sensed the moment he’d stepped into this opulent bedroom suite they had once shared, high up in the mountains over the tiny Eurasian country of Alakkul. His country.

She would know him anywhere, this brooding, ruthless man. Rafi Qaderi. The leader of his ancient family, responsible for maintaining the Qaderis’ many international interests and vast wealth while his celebrated cousin prepared to take over the throne of Alakkul from the ailing King Azat. Rafi was a financial wizard, a shrewd businessman. Noble and proud. Her husband.

“Thank you, Lucy.” His tone was dark, sardonic, with that undercurrent of patience sorely tried. “I was able to gather as much from your packed luggage in the front hall.”

She should hate him. At times, she did. And yet that voice moved over her like a wave of heat, making her feel itchy, her chest tight.

Lucy stared out the window. Fiercely. The great Alakkulian Valley was like something out of a fairy tale for a girl who’d grown up with nearly nothing in a small village near Manchester. The crystal-blue mountain lakes shimmered with ice, the bright fields were piled high with the latest December snowfall and far, far below was the rush and clatter of the ancient capital city, bristling with white-capped heights as it stretched out from the foot of the royal palace.

The Qaderis, Lucy thought, preferred to look down on the country they’d helped guide and rule for so many centuries from the remove of this house that was very near a fortress, so high above it all.

Just as Rafi looked down on her, and always had. She was a fool.

“Am I to discern secret messages from the way you present your back to me?” His tone was like a lash, rich and bitter, and she stiffened against it. “Or is it your silence that I should pay attention to this time?”

Hateful man. Hateful, beloved man. Lucy gathered her shaky courage as best she could, and turned to face him.

And wished she hadn’t. Seeing him was a blow. Hard, hot. Straight to her midsection.

Rafi lounged in the doorway, his mocking gray eyes trained on her, the expression on his implacable face grim. She was shocked anew by the power that emanated from him, like an electrical current. It made him seem much bigger—broader and taller than he already was—and he was dressed impeccably in a dark suit that clung to his lean, strong body. He was like some lethal angel, she thought wildly, all that ink-black hair and harsh black brows drawn low over his stormy eyes. She shivered in helpless reaction and her traitorous heart stuttered in her chest. She bit at her lower lip.

“Where exactly will you go?” His voice seemed to caress her even as it taunted her, moving over her like silk. She shifted on her feet, and wished he did not have the power to do this to her—to make her fidget as if she were an errant child.

“Do you care?” She threw the words back at him. But, sadly, she already knew the answer.

“I am an extraordinarily busy man,” he said, his voice harder. Darker. His gray eyes connected with hers. She caught her breath. “I do not have time to dance attendance on you simply because you are having another one of your little attention-seeking fits. My aide told me this was an emergency.”

“Your aide tells you whatever he thinks you want to hear,” Lucy said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. She thought of all the calls she’d made to Rafi that had been blocked by his aide, Safir, of the man’s snide and smug tone, of all her messages that she suspected had never been delivered at all. But Rafi would hear no word against Safir, and certainly not from her. “He is an excellent gatekeeper, and no doubt keeps you adequately protected from anything you might not like. You chose him well.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence in my business decisions.” His voice was sarcastic. Cool. It made her throat ache with tears she would not shed, words she dared not say. “But I still don’t see anything that I would classify as an emergency.”

He moved into the room, and Lucy regretted suddenly that she was already standing with her back to the wall of windows. There was nowhere else to go. She swallowed and felt her pulse race, as if she were nothing more than prey. He stalked toward her, dangerous and male, and Lucy could do nothing but watch him and pretend she didn’t wish for all the things she could never have. That she knew she shouldn’t even want. Not with him.

“That depends on your definition of an emergency,” she said, as he drew close and loomed over her, making heat bloom in her cheeks—and in other, secret places. “It is Christmas, after all. And your wife is leaving you. Some men might consider that an emergency.”

“I don’t see a head wound,” he said, his voice that same sardonic lash, his eyes flicking over her, cold and cruel. “No trauma of any kind. You appear to be in perfect health, Lucy. As ever. And for this I raced home from Berlin.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak. His fingers rose, almost brushing against the skin of her cheek, making her want to weep. It had been so long since he’d touched her. It had been so long. But she couldn’t let herself think about that. About the sweet madness of his kiss, his touch. Of the incandescent heights she had never dared dream of before this man had taken her there.

He dropped his hand. She told herself he had no doubt meant to check for a fever.

“I’m surprised you remembered this place at all,” she managed to say, calling on some deep well of determination and courage she hadn’t known she possessed. That he had forced her to find. “You haven’t been here in so long I had begun to think you’d forgotten about it entirely.”

“I see your flair for the melodramatic is with you still,” he said evenly, his gaze hard on hers. “What do you really want, Lucy? What is the purpose of all this theater?”

“I told you,” she snapped at him. “I’m leaving you, Rafi. And unlike you, I am not doing it the cowardly way—by inference. I’m not making sure to be ‘away on business’ for the better part of three months. I’m not going to make you sit and wonder what it means when I disappear, or take exactly one phone call from you and then be unavailable ever after. I’m saying it to your face. Right now.”

His dark eyes moved over her, and his mouth twisted.

“Did you just call me a coward, Lucy?” he asked, his voice deceptively light as his jaw knotted—warning signs she knew she should heed. “Did I hear that correctly? Shall I share with you my thoughts regarding pots versus kettles?”

“I am your wife, Rafi,” she ventured. “And yet you haven’t set foot in this house in months. You refuse my calls. Your horrible aide speaks to me as if I’m part fractious child and part evil, scheming witch.”

“Is this your rendition of the neglected, sorely abused wife?” Rafi interrupted coldly, his brows raised. “The performance needs work. And an audience unaware of the truth.”

“I’m not like you!” Lucy cried, unable to control herself, to keep all of her misery at bay. Not when she could feel the heat of him—see the light at the back of those mysterious, impossible eyes. “I can’t pretend!”

Rafi let out something resembling a laugh, hollow and frozen.

“On the contrary,” he said, shaking his head slightly, his gaze trained on her face—making her feel so small, so alone. “All you do is pretend.”

“I’m not the liar you’ve convinced yourself I am, Rafi!” she hissed at him. “I never have been!”

He was too close, then. His eyes like fire, his mouth a grim, condemning line.

“I know every lie you’ve ever told, Lucy,” he said. “And most of them to me. You should just count yourself lucky that I have a particular weakness for the lie of your body.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I DON’T care what lies you think I’ve told you,” Lucy said bravely.

Rafi almost admired her. Almost.

“And it doesn’t matter anyway,” she continued. “I’m still leaving you. I should have done it a long time ago.”

She looked so small. So fragile. Her arms were crossed over her chest as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. Her coffee-colored eyes were huge and dark beneath her pale blond curls, giving her the look of an innocent. That was her deepest deception, the one that he had believed so fiercely no matter what those closest to him—including all of his staff and Safir—had told him when he’d first fallen under her spell. No matter what proof they’d claimed to have of her manipulative ways.

Until that phone call three months ago when she had revealed the truth in that hollow, shameless way, and he had been more devastated than he could remember ever being before.

Sometimes he thought he still was.

Rafi stepped away from his wife before he did something he would regret. Like taste her again. Hadn’t that been what had caused all this trouble in the first place?

He was a man who prided himself on his rigid code, his steely commitment to his duty. He lived for his name, his honor, his family and the responsibilities that were his by virtue of being the oldest male Qaderi of his generation. His cousin Adel might have been the current king’s chosen successor, but Rafi was charged with making sure the future king’s family maintained its wealth and power, the better to serve and support Adel when he ascended the throne. Rafi considered it an honor.

More than that, he was a man hewn of the very mountains of Alakkul itself, like his ancestors before him. Many empires had tried—and failed—to take this little valley, to use it for their own ends. But Alakkulians did not bend. They did not break. Rafi felt the truth of that like the very blood that ran through his veins, marking him, defining him.

And then one day he’d glanced up at a cocktail waitress in a club in Manchester, England, and lost his head. Lost himself. It was those damned eyes, soft and vulnerable, over a mouth that made him hard every time he looked at it. Even now.

And what a pretty mess she’d made of him, hadn’t she?

“I know it’s important to you to believe the worst of me,” she said, her voice clipped, color flooding her porcelain cheeks. “After all, how better to excuse your own appalling behavior?”

“My behavior?” Temper pounded through him, threaded with that desire for her that never left him, no matter how much distance he put between them. He bit out a laugh. “I’m sure that in your mind, your deceit and betrayal is as nothing.” He held her gaze until her skin reddened. “Unfortunately for you, Lucy, I live in the real world.”

He realized they were too close when his hands found their way to her upper arms, holding her there. He let go as if electrocuted. But he could not dismiss the beguiling satin feel of her skin as easily. He let his eyes travel over her.

It took a moment, but the difference in her appearance filtered through. She looked … perfectly appropriate. Her messy curls were tamed into a chignon, which only drew his attention to her mouth. The dress itself was exquisite, tailored to showcase her femininity without broadcasting her sensuality.

He felt a pang in the vicinity of his chest, but thrust it aside. She had been all bold colors, garish and exotic, when he’d brought her here. Hadn’t that been what had lured him in when he’d met her, in the midst of all that British rain? Her artless delight. Her simplicity.

But, of course, that had all been a lie, too. Hadn’t it? He shouldn’t mourn its loss. He should be pleased that his uncultured wife had bettered herself in his absence and now more closely suited the image of what his wife should be. So why did he want to thrust his fingers into her hair and shake it from its bonds, see it wild and free?

“Are you in costume?” he asked, without knowing he meant to speak. He indicated her clothes with a jerk of his chin. “You almost appear to be what you are not. The dutiful wife appropriate to my station.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her and he felt as if he had, vile and low. Hot, red heat washed over her face, and her full lower lip trembled, but she did not bow her head. She did not look away from him, though he saw the hurt in her brown eyes. Rafi hated himself. But that never seemed to be enough to tamp down the poison inside of him, the great swell of bitterness and rage at what she’d done to him. He feared it defined him.

“You delight in being cruel,” she said, her words too careful, as if they cost her. “But I am not going to stand here and be your punching bag. I wanted to tell you I was leaving you to your face, assuming I ever saw it again, and now I have.” She pulled in a shaky breath, and her mouth twisted slightly. “Goodbye, Rafi.”

He let her walk away from him. He was barely aware of the room around them, so inured was he to the trappings of the Qaderi wealth and consequence. The ancient, sumptuous tapestries that cascaded down the walls were lost on him; they served only to frame Lucy in reds and golds as she moved over the deep carpet, past the magnificent four-poster bed that rose like an edifice in the middle of the room.

He watched that mesmerizing sway of her hips, and could not help but admire the perfect hourglass lushness of her body, her voluptuous curves. She had mesmerized him back in Manchester, and she bewitched him now.

She was a wild magic, this woman, and he had lost everything because of her. His self-respect. The politically advantageous marriage he’d been plotting for years. His standing in his particular Alakkulian circle of high-ranking ministers and power brokers, all of whom had expected better from Rafi Qaderi than a shotgun wedding to a woman like her. In some parts of Alakkul, it might as well still be the twelfth century—and to those of his countrymen, some of whom graced the halls of power for all that they were hidebound, a cocktail waitress might as well be a scarlet-painted whore. Even his own staff had been appalled that he could fall so low.

She had ruined him. But the greater sin was that he had let her.

“I appreciate the high drama of this performance, Lucy, I truly do.” He did not bother to raise his voice. She stopped walking, though she did not turn around. “But it is wasted on me. I fly back to Germany in the morning.” He shook his head. “Assuming your great emergency does not conveniently strike in the dark of night, of course.”

She did turn then. He had the strangest notion that she was someone else for a moment—the woman she was pretending to be, all elegance and affront, staring at him from across the lavish room as if he had gravely disappointed her. Again. It was no doubt the incongruity that made him feel something perilously close to shame.

“I am not playing games, Rafi.” Her voice was quiet, but he heard the faint tremor in it.

Why should that affect him? And yet something moved through him, acid and heavy, that felt too much like regret.

“My flight to Manchester leaves tomorrow,” she said, still in that cool, detached tone. “I’ve hired a car to pick me up and take me to the airport in the city. Soon it will be as if I was never here at all.”

“It is far too late for that, much as we both might wish it otherwise,” he said, and he almost did regret the coldness of his tone and the way she visibly steeled herself against it, as if she expected nothing more from him. “But I have no intention of letting you go, Lucy.”

“You have no choice—” she began, that hectic color working over her pale skin again, and he should not have taken such satisfaction in that.

“There will be no separation, no divorce, no hint of scandal at all,” he said softly, watching her brace herself against each word. “This is the marriage you wanted, Lucy. The one you worked so hard to achieve. I suggest you enjoy it. We are both stuck in it for the rest of our lives.”

She only stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, and then she turned and left the room.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCY settled herself in the small sitting room off the master suite later that evening, fighting to get her riotous emotions under control. She only had to make it through this one night, she reminded herself, and in the morning she would get on that flight and put all of this—this painful, impossible chapter of her life—behind her. She couldn’t wait. She curled up on her favorite settee, and let her thoughts run wild as she looked out at the thick, dark night that had fallen outside.

Rafi was her husband, and there was no denying that he was a powerful man—but he was not the god she’d believed him to be once upon a time, not by a long shot. If she wanted to leave him, to divorce him—and she did, she told herself fiercely, of course she did—then she would do so. He could not control her. He could not—

“What is this?” His voice was dry, amused. “A strategic retreat?”

Lucy stiffened. She turned to look at Rafi as he moved into the room in that low, confident way of his. He had changed and showered; he smelled of the scented soap he preferred and his dark black hair gleamed. He’d traded his perfect suit for dark trousers and a simple long-sleeved shirt that showcased his impossibly breathtaking physique. He was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever known.

Lucy remembered, suddenly, the first time she’d seen him. She’d been covering a friend’s shift at the Manchester nightclub where she worked, and she’d been dead on her feet. Oh, she’d smiled and flirted with the punters by rote, but she’d been counting down the minutes to closing time. She hadn’t seen him come in; she’d only noted the new group of men at one of her tables. Corporate swells, from the look of them, she’d judged, and she’d plastered on her best smile.

Rafi had been sprawled across the banquette, careless and nearly regal in his indolence. She’d noticed that confidence first. And then he’d glanced up at her, and everything had stopped. The noise of the crowd, the music, the boisterous sounds of his friends. All gone. There had only been that arrested look in his thundercloud gaze, and that faintly dazed expression on his harshly masculine, impossibly beautiful face as they’d locked eyes. And that sweet, addictive pulse, long and low and insistent, in her blood. Her throat. Between her legs.

She’d asked for his drink order and lost herself, then and there.

It was no different now, Lucy realized helplessly. She jerked her gaze away from his body, wishing her own did not ready itself for him so quickly, so thoughtlessly. As if nothing had happened between them at all. As if none of it mattered.

“It’s almost Christmas,” she said instead of responding to him. She pulled the wrap she wore tighter around her, and looked out the window instead of at him. “Only a few days to go now.”

“That generally happens around this time of year,” he agreed, though she told herself his voice was not as cold as it had been before. “It is unavoidable, apparently.”

Lucy heard the derision in his voice, and thought, not for the first time, how little she knew this man who had changed the whole of her life. That should not have made her feel too big for her own skin, and yet it did.

“I love Christmas,” she said softly. She sensed more than saw him drop into the chair closest to her, and then he stretched out his long legs and she could scarcely avoid them. Even so, she kept her eyes trained on her own lap. “Growing up, there wasn’t any money for gifts, so on Christmas morning Mum would tell us stories instead. About how we would be princesses when we were older, how we’d never be cold again and how we would eat whatever we liked in golden palaces, bathed in sun and laughter.” She smiled. “That was my favorite part. Even when there were gifts, I preferred the stories. I used to lie by the fire and imagine they all came true.”

She didn’t know why she’d told him that. Surely she should have learned better by now. He was not at all what she wanted him to be, and she could not understand why she insisted on testing that theory. It never ended well.

“I suppose that your story did come true,” he said after a moment, and there was an odd note in his voice. She looked up and found herself snared in his dark gaze. She caught her breath. He waved a hand at the room surrounding them, the paintings on the walls, the lavish furnishings. But then his cruel mouth crooked into that smirk she recognized too well, and whatever warmth she’d started to feel disappeared. “How enterprising of you.”

“Not at all,” she said, squaring her shoulders against that dry, insinuating tone. Meeting his eyes as if he had no power to hurt her, when they both knew better. But what else did she have? What else could she do? “In the stories my mother told me, the handsome man who inevitably swept me away from my former life was kind.”

His dark gray eyes gleamed, but she still did not look away. Whole hours could have passed. Days. And still he gazed upon her as if he were reading into the most shadowed corners of her soul. Lucy was far too afraid of what he might find there.

Restless and something else, something she was afraid to name, she got to her feet and moved away from him. Distance was good, she thought. Safer. She went and stood by the fire that crackled invitingly in the grate, and welcomed the heat of the flames against her skin. Better to be burned by fire than by Rafi. Burns from a flame healed. The kind of damage Rafi inflicted lasted forever.

“I don’t understand you,” he said quietly, in that cold way of his that sliced into her and made her bones weak. “You play the part of the victim so beautifully, but we both know you are no such thing. And yet you never drop the act, not even when we’re alone.”

It was too much. This never-ending assault. Why had she thought that summoning him here would be better than surviving somehow the long insult of his absence? What could she have been thinking?

She whirled to face him, a storm inside of her, building by the moment and tearing her apart.

“What do you want from me, Rafi?” she begged him. She forgot about pride, about shame. She searched his face, her hands open in supplication. “How long do you plan to punish me? I hardly became pregnant on my own, did I?”

He rose to his feet then, his eyes stark, his mouth a tight line. She thought he paled.

“You dare to throw that lie at me?” he asked, his voice the barest thread of sound. “Now? After you have been exposed?”

“Exposed?” She shook her head, reeling, her heart pounding. She felt sick. “Is that what you call it?”

“The word I prefer is trapped,” Rafi growled, advancing on her. He towered over her, his eyes black. Condemning. “Your claims of pregnancy, which I, a man of honor, could only address in one way. Followed by your claims of a conveniently timed miscarriage, barely a month after the wedding. And this after I had proclaimed your innocence, your innate goodness, to the whole of my country. How much of a fool do you take me for, Lucy?”

She stared at him in horror.

“Is that who you think I am?” she asked, stunned. Horrifed.

“That is exactly who you are,” he retorted.

Which made him far less of a fool than she was, she realized, her stomach lurching. This, finally, explained the way he’d treated her for these long months. He despised her. Believed her to be the worst kind of woman.

And she was the idiot who was still in love with him.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCY stared at him, looking stricken. As if he’d wounded her, deeply and unfairly. Rafi bit back a curse. How did she do that? How could she act as if the truth were a weapon wielded against her?

She is good at what she does, his aide, Safir, had said to him months ago when Rafi had uncharacteristically let some of his anguish at her betrayal slip out. She has made it her life’s work, he’d said.

She really was good at it, Rafi thought. She had lied her way into what was, for her, a spectacular marriage. He was the one who had to suffer the consequences.

“So that’s why you disappeared,” she said after a long moment. “You think I lied about the baby and the miscarriage.” Her brown eyes were wide with distress, and one delicate hand hovered near her throat. This close, he could smell her unique, intoxicating scent. The faintest hint of jasmine, the suggestion of her warmth. He longed to haul her into his arms, to lose himself in her as he had before. “That’s why this is the first time I’ve seen you in more than three months.”

“Despite all evidence to the contrary,” he said quietly, deliberately, holding her gaze with his, “I did not want to suspect you of this. I wanted to believe you were exactly who you claimed to be. A woman as swept away by what happened between us as I was.”

It hurt him to admit that, but it was true. It was just as every one had warned him, though he had been so determined not to believe it in the beginning. But what he had never admitted was that there was some part of him that had been relieved—because if she were that scheming, that grasping, it absolved him of responsibility, didn’t it? Every man had a weakness, even him. And he would spend the rest of his life coming to terms with what his own weakness had wrought.

“You wanted to believe it,” she said softly, her eyes moving over his face as if she searched for something. Her lips trembled slightly as if she fought off some great emotion. “But you did not.”

“My investigator found out quickly enough that you weren’t supposed to be working at the club that night,” Rafi said. “The only question is, how did you know I would be there? Did you target me specifically, or were you simply casting a wide net? I must commend you, Lucy. I was completely taken in.”

He let out a hollow laugh, but he could not seem to help the way he drifted closer to her, as if compelled. She did not move away.

“Your investigator,” she said. She swallowed. “You mean your aide. Safir.”

“He is a loyal employee,” Rafi said darkly. “Far better than I deserve. He dared to tell me the truth about you when I refused to see the evidence before me.”

“Let me guess,” she said in a tone he could not quite read—one both bitter and very nearly amused, at odds with the turmoil in her coffee-colored eyes. “A cocktail waitress must be in want of a wealthy husband, and any one will do.”

Ignoring her words, he reached out and traced the line of her collarbone, a hard satisfaction moving through him when she shivered in response. She pulled her wrap tighter around her as if she were cold, but he knew better. Whatever her plans, whatever her schemes, she could not have been prepared for this fire that raged between them—this wild, maddening rush.

He had stayed away because he could not keep his hands off of her when he was near her. She was temptation incarnate. Tonight, with her blond curls piled on her head, she looked beautiful, and all he could think about was tasting the elegant line of her neck. He wanted to peel the layers of her clothing from her magnificent body and bury himself within her, again and again and again. When he touched her, he didn’t care that he was Rafi Qaderi and she was nobody. He didn’t care that she had altered the course of his life.

He only wanted her. Here, now.

And this close to her, he could not think of a single reason why that was a bad idea.

“You have bewitched me,” he muttered harshly in his own language, well aware she would not understand the words. And then, yielding to the very same urge that had brought them here in the first place, he took her mouth with his.

Rafi’s kiss was hot, slick.

Perfect.

She should push him away. She should denounce him and the horrible things he thought about her. She should tell him the truth.

But Lucy could not bring herself to do any of those things. She was awash in sensation. The way he pulled her into his arms, pressing her against the enticing wall of his chest. The way he angled his head for a better fit, tasting her, teasing her, making her whole body hum with approval and need.

She loved him.

It was that simple. That disastrous. She loved him and he hated her, just as she would no doubt hate herself when this was over—when she was left to reflect on the fact that she was so weak, so easy, that she could listen to him say such ugly things about her and then let him kiss her as if he had every right.

But it had been so long. And oh, how she ached for him. For this. All the long, lonely days and nights seemed to disappear like smoke. All the agony, the pain and the terrible truth of what had happened to her seemed less bright, less vicious, when he kissed her like this.

As if he felt the same wild fire, the same mad connection.

As if he were as helpless to control it as she was.

As if he’d missed her, missed this, too.

It was that last thought that finally penetrated the fog and forced Lucy to take a step back. One hand flew to her mouth and she could only stare at him while her body objected to the space she’d put between them. Her breasts felt too heavy, too full. Her heart shuddered against her ribs. And low in her belly, she ached. Burned.

But he hadn’t missed her, had he. He had believed whatever poisonous things Safir had told him. He would have been content to stay away on his endless business trips forever—would have done so, in fact, had she not claimed she needed him here, that it was an emergency. He’d had no intention of ending these months of punishment. He’d had no intention of coming back at all.

“Do you think you can just kiss me and it will be as if none of this ever happened?” she asked. She wanted to sound tough, strong, but her voice was barely a whisper.

“There is no pretending it didn’t happen,” he said darkly. His gaze was trained on her mouth and she could not help the surge of heat within her. “But why not celebrate the one thing we ever did well? Surely we should take our compensations where we can. We have so little else.”

“We have nothing,” she said, surprised at her own voice. How clear it was. How little it shook. “You will leave tomorrow morning and who knows when you’ll be back. In six months? A year?” She tossed her head. “You can’t abandon me with so little regard for me and then expect me to fall into your bed at a moment’s notice!”

“Expect? No.” His fingers brushed her cheek, traced the shape of her mouth. “But why deny this passion when we are both in the same room?”

“Because it is the biggest lie of all!” Lucy cried. She jerked her head from his clever fingers and moved away from him, toward the door. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. This time, I’m the one leaving, and I won’t be back at all. You can count on it.”

“Lucy …” He said her name but she didn’t know if it was to plead with her or to curse her.

Not that it made a difference, she told herself fiercely. She needed only to survive the night. In the morning Rafi would be gone, she would be on a one-way flight back to reality and she would finally be able to breathe again.

She just had to make it through the night.

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN Lucy woke the next morning, tucked away in one of the lesser bedrooms—behind a locked door to be safe as much from herself as from him—the world outside her window was pure white.

Snow fell inexorably from above, just as it must have been falling throughout the night because the usually breathtaking view was entirely obscured. She could not see six feet from her window, much less into the great valley below.

There was a terrible sinking sensation in her belly and a quick check of her messages confirmed her fears. Her car could not make it through the snow and all the flights had been canceled.

She wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was Rafi.

She dressed quickly and then made her way through the house. Even today, she was unable to walk through the grand halls without marveling at the Qaderis’ power, their grace and consequence. It was evident in the richly appointed rooms, the banquet halls, even the smallest vase upon an incidental table—everything was clearly precious. Ancient. Part of the great sweep of Alakkul’s history.

Except for her. She was nothing but the cocktail waitress whom Rafi believed had trapped him into marriage.

It was no wonder her stomach twisted when she walked into the breakfast room and found him sitting there, lounging back in one of the elegant chairs with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and his brooding gaze directed out the windows.

The fire crackling away in the nearby fireplace was nothing next to the heat of his gray eyes when he turned them on her. Lucy froze.

“You’re still here,” she said stupidly even though she’d known he would be. Was she distraught? Or relieved?

He only gestured toward the window and the snow that continued to fall, silent and impassable. The roads in these mountains were treacherous at the best of times; it would be days before they’d be cleared, and then only once the snow stopped falling.

But her mind reeled away from what that must mean. For both of them.

It was almost funny, she thought from some kind of distance, her gaze trapped in his far darker one. She’d gone to so much trouble to get him here and now that he’d be stuck here for some time—now that they were both stuck here—she wanted no part of it.

“It looks as if your wish has come true,” he said with an edge in his voice, as if he blamed her for the snowfall on top of everything else. “I will be here for Christmas after all. You must be thrilled.”

Thrilled, Lucy thought as her heart fluttered wildly and her throat clenched tightly, was not at all how she would describe her feelings. She swallowed and told herself to pull it together. He lounged there at the end of the table, looking impossibly big and dangerous, but she assured herself it was just nerves and nothing else that swelled and contracted within her, sharp and rhythmic, making it hard to breathe.

“Christmas is in three days,” she said. She forced a bland smile. “Anything can happen.”

It was the longest day of his life.

Rafi found himself in the old library later that afternoon, swirling his drink in a crystal tumbler as he scowled into the fireplace. He felt restless. Hunted. As if she were right there with him, crowding him. An itch he could not reach, that would not leave him be.

She had avoided him for hours, yet he was as wild as if she’d had him naked in their bed, begging for her touch. He, who had never begged. He, who was more and more convinced that she possessed some supernatural power that enslaved him to her whenever he was near her. Even if she was only under the same roof.

With a growl of impatience, he tossed back the remainder of his drink and slapped the tumbler down on the mantelpiece. He raked his fingers through his hair. This enforced seclusion was clearly making him insane. He was supposed to be back in Germany by now, talking contracts and profit margins. Not … trapped here. With her.

He had hardly slept the night before. Being near Lucy made him edgy. As if he were suddenly made entirely of angles. He’d tossed in his magnificent four-poster bed, unable to sleep, images of Lucy haunting him. Taunting him and teasing him.

He remembered that first, delicious night. As he’d watched her work, he had been blindsided by the maelstrom of lust and need she had stirred within him. He had hardly known what he’d been doing, but he’d waited for her at the club until her shift was over and then taken her back to his hotel. She’d gone with him eagerly, seemingly as dazed by their connection as he was. The instant the doors of the hotel’s lift had closed behind them, he’d had his hands on her rich curves and his mouth on hers. He’d urged her legs around his waist and pressed her to the wall within moments of entering his hotel suite. He remembered the fierce, incomparable joy of that first slick entry, right there against the wall. He remembered her soft cries, the look of wonder on her face.

And that had only been the beginning.

Now, as the snow fell outside, he tortured himself with images of that first long night and the holiday he’d coaxed her into taking with him afterward.

I’ll take you to Paris, he’d said, and he’d done so, but it had hardly mattered where they were. They might as well have stayed in Manchester for all they’d seen of the City of Lights. He had no memory of the weather or anything else. It might have been a heat wave or a blizzard. Rafi hadn’t known and hadn’t cared. But he remembered her body in perfect detail. Every freckle, every curve. He knew the texture of her nipples against his tongue and the sweet weight of her astride him, riding them both into oblivion.

He’d thought he’d known her just as well.

“Even the great Rafi turns out to be fallibly mortal,” his cousin Adel had teased him in a family meeting not long after Rafi’s quick wedding—and not long after the phone call that had ripped his heart to shreds. “I would never have believed it possible.”

“We are not all of us destined to wed the future Queen of Alakkul, should she ever be found,” Rafi had replied, forcing a smile. He was known for his cool head, his unshakable resolve—and yet he had fallen for the oldest trick imaginable? A temptress and a liar?

“A beautiful woman should be a prize, Rafi,” Adel had replied, his gaze too calm, too knowing. “Not a curse.”

But Rafi did not believe it. Would not let himself believe it—and he was certain his cousin, who had given over his life to his duty and the glory of their country, was only being kind.

It still filled him with a kind of rage, sharp and deep.

But that, he knew, was not the true reason he despaired of himself.

How could Lucy have betrayed him in every possible way—ruined him and shamed him, tricked him and used him—and he still wanted her this much? Even now, when betrayal and bitterness twisted inside of him and fused into something darker, something hotter, he wanted her.

It was lucky his cousin was meant to be king and not him—because he would no doubt walk away from a throne for this woman, just as he had walked away from all he held dear, all he’d believed to be true about himself.

He remembered with perfect clarity when he’d realized he was nothing like the man he’d always thought he was. It had been during another meeting in another hotel in another interchangeable city somewhere in Europe. His aide had been reading out his messages in his usual bland tone. The standard petitioners for the Qaderi fortune, the regular communications from people such as the family doctor and the senior housekeeper and the usual sheaf of messages from Lucy.

“It is nothing out of the ordinary,” Safir had said in summary of Lucy’s calls, shrugging.

“Of course not,” Rafi had replied curtly, remembering with searing pain the last phone call he had taken from her, the one where she’d revealed her true nature. “My wife is nothing if not consistent.”

And even then, even as he’d pretended otherwise, he’d ached for her. Ached for all the things he’d believed she was, that he knew she could never and would never be.

Rafi pulled in a breath and turned to look out at the falling snow. Still it came, trapping him. Stranding him. Making him a captive in his own home. Making a mockery of the lies he’d told himself about the distance between him and Lucy.

But maybe he had been seeing this from the wrong angle all along, he thought then, as his body hardened, readying itself. Perhaps he should not have distanced himself when he learned the extent of her betrayal. In the end, what did it matter? There would be no divorce. And one day, there would be heirs. So what was he fighting?

CHAPTER SIX

RAFI was prepared for more fireworks. In fact, he craved them. He didn’t care what lies Lucy told tonight, he assured himself as he prowled through the old house, the seat of his family’s power for centuries. He didn’t care that she was the most inappropriate bride he could possibly have chosen and that she had used his honor against him. He didn’t care about any of it.

He only wanted her—badly—and if they had to fight in order to light that spark between them … he was happy to fight.

He was almost smiling in anticipation when he swung into the master suite, expecting to find her once again tucked away in the small sitting room she preferred. But instead he stopped dead, his heart hammering against his chest in a manner he refused to examine too closely.

She was curled up on the far side of the great bed, fully dressed, her hands beneath her cheek. From the doorway, he could see only the shape of her in the low lights that spilled from the dressing room. That perfect hourglass that called to the male in him, that delectable shape that had inspired artists and lovers throughout the ages. The beauty of a woman’s curves—his woman’s curves—nearly took his breath.

He moved to the side of the bed and looked down at her, aware that he was scowling again, though he could not have said why. In sleep, she appeared younger than she ought to, and infinitely more fragile. He saw not a scheming tramp who’d set out to ensnare him, but an exhausted, beautiful woman. His gaze shifted to her mouth, that wicked, deliciously carnal mouth.

His hand reached out of its own accord and he watched it as if it belonged to someone else, watched his fingers trace a pattern over the flushed, warm satin of her cheek. She murmured something in her sleep, incoherent and soft, and then settled against the bed.

He should not have felt that clutching sensation in his chest, as if his heart were involved in this. He should not have felt the quiet of the room and the blanketing silence of the snow outside as some kind of sacrament. The lust that had spurred him into coming here melted into something else, something far more dangerous.

But he could not seem to help himself. He crawled onto the bed beside her, yielding to a compulsion he did not dare study too closely. For a while he lay next to her, soaking in the peace of it. The quiet sense of belonging that he now admitted had always existed, no matter what betrayals were piled on top of it.

And still she slept. Even when he moved closer and pulled her into his chest. Even as he held her, stroking her hair and freeing the wild golden curls from the tight bun she’d kept them in. Even when his lips gently brushed the crown of her head. And even as he drifted off himself, holding her as if the only thing that had ever been between them was this.

Lucy was deliciously, impossibly warm. She woke slowly, savoring the heat, and it took her long time to realize where it was coming from. She was sprawled across Rafi’s chest like a cat in a sunbeam.

Gasping, she reared back—to find Rafi wide-awake and watching her.

“Let go of me.” But her voice was the barest thread of sound. His fascinating mouth quirked.

“I am not holding you,” he pointed out, entirely too rationally. Very nearly amused. “You are lying on me.”

“I only lay down for a moment,” she began, but then he shifted beneath her. The slide of his body against hers made her shiver, as a heat of a different kind washed over her, humming into something molten and incandescent. Nor was he immune. She could feel the evidence of his desire, hard between them. She could see the flare of passion in his dark gray gaze.

It would be so much easier if she didn’t want him, too. If she didn’t love him.

“I cannot divorce you,” he said then, his hands moving to tangle in her hair. “I cannot let you leave. Qaderis keep their vows. They do not bow to the whims of modernity and merrily divorce.”

Lucy couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She couldn’t seem to pull away. She felt caught in his eyes, suspended. Her breasts were too full, pressed against the hard wall of his chest.

“What do you know about vows?” she asked. “You keep yours in name only from as far away as possible, don’t you?”

“I am not far away now,” he said quietly, his gaze intense. Searing into her. “With my body, I thee worship.” His lips crooked. “If you’ll let me.”

She shuddered as one of his hands traveled down her back, spreading fire down the length of her spine, making her yearn to move against him. With him. It had always been like this. He need only touch her, and she was his. She had followed him out of the nightclub, into his hotel room and then all the way across the planet to this tiny little country. She should hate him for it, for this power he wielded over her treasonous body, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She loved him.

She stared down at his beautiful face, so male and arrogant and uniquely Rafi, and she could not even manage to berate herself for that weakness as she had over these last months.

He had treated her terribly, there was no denying it. The parts of her he’d hurt still ached with it, and she thought sometimes they always would. But that didn’t change the man she knew was there, beneath all that, beyond what had happened between them. She still believed in that man. The honorable person who had vowed to protect her—and he had done so. Just not from himself.

“Lucy …” The way he said her name, with the faintest touch of his Alakkulian accent and that fire in his eyes, still undid her. Just as it always had.

She had lost so much and been so alone. She loved him. Tonight he was her husband. He would no doubt leave again as if he had never been, and she would return to England and reality—so what harm was there in treating this like all those dreams she’d had in all the lonely months she’d languished here, by herself?

She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to wonder and worry and rip herself to pieces trying to understand what had happened to this marriage, what had stolen this very connection away from them. Here, now, she just wanted to feel.

No matter how much she might live to regret it.

She bent her head and kissed him.

The fire between them blazed white hot. He pulled her closer, angling his mouth for a deeper fit, and then rolled her over, his hands moving to learn her curves anew.

And Lucy could do nothing but delight in it. In him. At last.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE snow fell all through the night, and into the next day. It cocooned them, Lucy thought sometime the next morning, gazing out at the drifts of white. It softened the reality of their fractured marriage, let them concentrate instead on what they had at that moment.

This connection. This fire. The insatiable wildness of their passion that nothing seemed to dim.

She shut off her mind and pushed away all the darkness of the past months, choosing to bask in Rafi as she had so long ago on that trip to Paris.

Through the day, they fed each other in the great four-poster bed. They tasted each other again and again. And they talked. About the world, about the small, inconsequential things that made up their lives. He was funny, intriguing. And so impossibly sensual.

If she had not already been in love with him, Lucy knew, this little interlude would have sent her head over heels.

But there was so much left unsaid, so much pain and heartbreak, that even a stolen day or two surrounded by the snow could not keep it all at bay. Perhaps it was her knowledge that this bliss could not—would not—last that made the idyll that much sweeter.

It was Christmas Eve, though Lucy had not dared mention it, aware of Rafi’s dislike of all things Christmas.

That evening, they sat before the great fireplace that dominated one wall in the master suite, both of them exhausted in the most delicious way. She leaned back against his bare chest as he toyed with her curls, twining them around his fingers.

I will always remember this instant, this feeling, she thought. No matter what happens.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” she said on a happy sigh, caught up in the joy of the moment—in the sense of rightness that moved through her.

She regretted the words immediately.

He stiffened behind her, then set her away from him. She closed her eyes as all the pain and hurt she’d been ignoring came rushing back, full force.

“I do, too,” he said in a low, bitter voice. “But I am not the one who made this impossible.”

Her hands curled into fists, and she turned to look at him. His gray eyes were so troubled, his mouth so grim. And he still glared at her as if he had every reason to hate her. And did.

It was too much.

Everything she’d been through, everything she’d struggled to survive—all of it rolled through her, incinerating her, scalding her.

“No. You did this, Rafi.” She threw the words at him, letting her anger show, letting him see what he’d done to her. “You destroyed this marriage, not me!”

“I’m not going to play your games,” Rafi said roughly, but he was shaken by what he saw in her eyes. The condemnation. The deep, abiding pain, as if he’d wounded her. But how was that possible? She was the one who’d betrayed him … hadn’t she?

He should never have touched her again. He should have crawled through the snow to stay away from her.

“Listen to me,” she said in a low, serious voice. Her eyes locked on his. “I am only going to say it once. I was pregnant.

I never lied about that—why would I? Did you think it was my life’s ambition to marry a man I hardly knew? To move to the other side of the world to a place where I’d be scrutinized, judged and found wanting every time? But I did it because I loved you and I thought it was the right thing to do for our child.”

“Our child,” he repeated, hearing the fury in his own voice, feeling it surge through him. “How dare you pretend—”

“I lost the baby,” she hissed at him, her brown eyes filling with tears. She jabbed a finger in the direction of the vast bathroom. “In that room. On that floor. It was horrible, and do you know what was worse, Rafi? Being told that you believed I’d made the whole thing up.”

“You said it yourself!” he snapped, his temper blazing as his mind reeled. But he remembered it vividly. “I was in Sydney. I’d had back-to-back meetings for weeks on end in Singapore, New Zealand, Australia. But I called you the second I could get away. I asked after your pregnancy and you said, as clear as day, ‘There is no baby.’ You admitted it.”

“I was grieving!” she protested. “There was no baby because I’d lost it!”

The tears were moving down her cheeks now and she did nothing to check them. She reached for the blanket they’d kicked aside in their last round of passion, and Rafi noticed that her delicate hands were shaking.

“Lucy—” he began, but she made a slashing gesture through the air, cutting him off.

“You made it plain from the start that I was marrying far above my station,” she said, each word like a bullet, each one slamming into him. “You made no secret of the fact that I was beneath you—that sleeping with me was all right for an illicit week in Paris, but should never have gone beyond that. That I should be grateful that you were so honorable, so good, that you would condescend to do the right thing by a trashy little nobody like me.”

“I never said that,” he bit out, as a deep shame moved through him. “Not any of it.”

“You didn’t need to say it.” Lucy gathered the blanket around her and rose to her feet, looking down at him as if she were some kind of goddess. “Everything you did made your position perfectly, painfully obvious.” She waved her hand at the room around them, encompassing the gleaming lights in the ancient sconces on the walls, the historic tapestries. “You hid me away in your family’s country house where I could gaze out at the capital city from afar but never embarrass you by setting foot near your exalted social circles. But I didn’t care, because I was in love with you and I was having your baby.”

There was something in her voice that was making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He was all too afraid that it was the ring of truth.

“Lucy,” he said again. “Please …”

But she ignored him.

“You left me here,” she continued in that same way, as if it cost her, as if speaking to him like this required her to be brave. The thought made something in him ache. “And I saw it as a perfect opportunity to get to know your world. To transform myself into the kind of wife you wouldn’t have to hide away or be ashamed of.”

He remembered, suddenly, what she’d been wearing when he’d arrived—how elegant he’d thought her. How much of a change it had been from the louder, trendier clothes she’d worn before.

“But then I lost the baby,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I had to live through that, Rafi. Alone. And still you left me here, as if I was something undeserving of even the barest compassion.”

Her face crumpled for a moment, as if she might break down into sobs, but she controlled herself.

“Lucy,” he began again, but she shook her head, warding him off.

“I don’t care if the Qaderis don’t do divorce,” she said then, with a quiet dignity that shook him almost more than her earlier show of emotion. “I’m leaving you. Not because I don’t love you—because I do, for my sins. But it doesn’t matter. You may be descended from a hundred centuries of greatness, Rafi, but I deserve better than this. I deserve better than you.”

Rafi sat in silence, unmoving, for a long time after Lucy had left the room, more regal than any queen. He stared into the fire but he did not see the flames. He only saw the past, his tangled history with Lucy and all the conclusions he’d jumped to far too easily. That she’d been using him. That he had been enchanted by a beautiful woman, as any man could be. That she had set out to avail herself of his name and fortune. That the passion between them was not—could not be—real. That what he felt could not be real.

All along, the people around him had whispered poison in his ears—and he had listened. Safir. The country elders. He had wanted to believe them, he realized now. When she had told him there was no baby he had jumped on it, had clung to the evidence that she was as false as all in his circle wanted him to believe she was.

Because then he wouldn’t have had to admit that he was weak. That he was afraid of the power she held over him. Of what she made him feel.

What a despicable piece of work he was, he thought then, an acid taste in his mouth.

He remembered all the snide and nasty things he’d let Safir say about her, all the times he’d never stood up for her. What kind of man allowed such things? And then, unbidden, something else occurred to him. The repeated calls from the family doctor, which Safir had waved away, saying it could wait until Rafi returned home, all the while never encouraging him to do so. But what if it had been something else? Would Safir have told Rafi about something that would show Lucy in a better light?

He knew the answer. But he had to confirm the suspicion that bloomed to life inside of him. He had to know the full extent of his own betrayal of Lucy, who had never done anything save love him. Far more than he deserved.

Rafi moved across the room and picked up the sleek phone on the desk. Gruffly, not even apologizing to his housekeeper, he asked to be connected to the doctor, regardless of the late hour.

The kindly old man had attended his own birth and had kept any number of Qaderi family secrets in his time. And he had never lied about anything.

It was a brief, appalling conversation.

“I’m so glad you called,” the old man said, as if he had not noticed the time. “I’ve been trying to speak with you for months about that night. I wanted to assure you that I made every attempt to convince your wife to go to the hospital but she refused. She was too concerned about your reputation.” He sighed. “So I made her as comfortable as I could and made sure there were no complications. Please, I do not want you to think that her care was substandard, or that I did not do my level best to convince her to go to the hospital. She simply would not go. I thought perhaps you could convince her, but then I could not reach you… .”

“I don’t blame you for anything,” Rafi said through a mouth that felt made of broken glass. And it was no more than the truth. He blamed only himself.

“Sometimes these things happen,” the doctor said, the wisdom and calm of years in his voice. “She has been healthy since, and I’m sure you will have another child, in time. This is but a hiccup. I have every faith, both medically and personally.”

He had never hated himself more, Rafi thought as he hung up the phone in a daze. He could only stand there, alone with the shame of what he’d done to her.

Lucy was not lying. She never had been.

Had he known that all along, on some level? Had he wanted to believe that he’d never had a child at all so that he would not have to deal with the crushing sense of loss? Was he that small, that cowardly, that he would sacrifice Lucy to prevent himself from feeling his own pain?

But he knew that he was. That he had.

Rafi sank down on the side of the great bed, buried his head in his hands and gave in, finally, to the grief that he’d staved off for three long months.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THIS time when Lucy woke it was to find herself in Rafi’s arms.

For a moment, she forgot. She simply breathed in the scent of him, winter and pine, and exulted in the heat of his strong arms around her. But then she exhaled and it all came rushing back.

“Don’t do this!” she hissed at him, tilting her head away to look at him. His dark brows were drawn over his gray eyes, and his mouth was in a flat line. “Just let me go, Rafi.”

“If that is what you want,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, “I will. But there’s something I want to show you first.”

She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes—to let him see the effect his words had on her. It was one thing to announce she was leaving, to demand a divorce, to want those things. It was something else again to have him accept it. She felt something yawn open inside of her, black and lonely.

Perhaps that was why it took several long moments for her to recognize the change in her surroundings after he’d settled her on the overstuffed chaise in the book-lined library. She schooled her features as best she could and when she looked up …

It was Christmas.

Lucy could not help herself—she gasped.

A small, plump pine tree bristled in the corner, festooned with objects Lucy recognized—the tiny china figures from the display in the blue salon, the small ornamental picture frames that were usually scattered on the tables in the formal sitting room. It was as if someone had gone through the house and picked up whatever was small enough to be fastened to the branches and decorated the tree that way.

Lucy’s hands crept over her mouth as she took it in. She turned to stare at the man who had moved to kneel before her, his gray eyes serious.

“What did you do?” she breathed, enchanted despite herself.

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” His voice was gruff.

“You hate Christmas,” she pointed out, feeling lightheaded. Off balance. “You think it’s—”

“Let me tell you a story,” he interrupted gently, running his hands over her legs, gazing up at her. “Isn’t that how this goes? Is this how your mother used to do it?”

Lucy was overcome by the swell of an emotion she was afraid might tip her right over. She could only nod, mutely. She could not seem to tear her eyes away from his.

“I was up most of the night,” he said in a low voice, his eyes intent on hers, though his were dark, agonized. “It was obvious to me that you were telling the truth last night. Then I spoke with the family doctor, who reiterated everything that you had said, what I should have accepted all along. That you lost our baby, and I abandoned you in your pain. I can never possibly make that up to you. I will spend my life regretting it, Lucy. I promise you.”

She could not help the way her eyes glazed over with hot, unshed tears, nor the way her throat seemed to clutch tight. She was not sure she would ever breathe again.

“But as heinous as that was,” he continued, his own voice uneven, “I had to look at what was behind it. To the grief that I didn’t have the courage to face. And … and to acknowledge what an insufferable snob I’d become. How quick I was to use the circumstances of your birth against you—as if they were any more random than mine. As if either one of us had anything to do with it.”

Lucy sucked in a breath then. “You are a Qaderi, Rafi,” she said.

“Yes,” he said sharply. “I am the head of my family. My cousin will be king one day, and I have every intention of being the power behind his throne. So why should I care what Alakkulian society thinks of my choice of bride? When have I ever allowed outside opinions to dictate my own?”

“Never,” she said, her voice catching.

But she hadn’t thought she was worthy of him, either. Was that why his dismissal had hurt so much? Because she’d believed his low opinion of her was accurate?

“I let others poison me against you,” he continued, “like a man far lesser, far weaker, than I would like to believe I am would do.” His mouth tightened. “Safir will never work for me again. The others who dared speak against you will regret it. This I promise you.”

His warm hands found hers and held them, and he shifted closer, gazing at her in a way she was afraid to believe. Surely she was dreaming. Because she’d dreamed this—or something very like this—a million times before.

But he did not disappear when she blinked.

“I never saw you coming,” he whispered. “I looked up from the middle of my gray, dutiful life and there you were, Lucy. I had no idea how to handle it. I can’t possibly imagine the misery I put you through. I can never make up for it. If you want to leave me, you have every right and reason. I won’t fight you.”

Lucy could read the sincerity on his hard face, hear it in his voice. His strong hands clasped hers, but gently. She knew that if she pulled away, he would let her go immediately.

There was a part of her that wanted to do just that. A part of her that wanted nothing more than to hurt him. To make him pay. But that part was growing smaller by the second.

Because she loved him. Even after all he’d done, she loved him far more than she wanted his pain. Far more, even, than her own deep wounds. She had long believed that made her the worst kind of fool. But maybe, she thought now, just maybe love was bigger than foolishness, too.

“And what,” she asked, her voice the barest whisper, “if I don’t want to leave you, after all?”

Powerful emotion moved across his face then, making his beautiful eyes gleam silver. His hands tightened around hers.

“Then I will tell you that I love you,” he rasped out. “That I always have, from the first moment I met you. And I will never be ashamed of that again.”

She said his name and tasted salt, only then realizing that she was crying.

“I have never had any use for love,” he said urgently, hoarsely. “Marriage is supposed to be for political alliance. For power and greed. Love is for fairy tales.”

“And for us,” she whispered. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead. “For us, Rafi.”

When she moved to his mouth, he met her. Their kisses were hesitant at first, then sweeter, hotter, longer. Lucy felt the fire build within her again, shot through this time with the wild joy that he loved her.

Rafi loves me.

She knew that life with this man would never be easy, but as long as he loved her, they could make it work. Would make it work.

And then there was no more thought, only sensation.

Much later, they lay stretched out in front of the fire in the shade of the makeshift Christmas tree he’d put together just for her. Rafi looked down into her face and shuddered slightly at how close he’d come to losing her.

“I don’t know how you will ever forgive me,” he said fiercely. “I will never forgive myself.”

Lucy smiled, her brown eyes shining with the love he did not deserve, the happiness on her lovely face humbling.

“You will have to work at it, I think,” she said, her voice light. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and drew him down to her. “Every day. It will be hard and difficult work, Rafi, but then, you are a very determined man. I have faith that someday, you will make it up to me in full.”

She was teasing, he knew, but he took her words with all the force of a blood oath. He met her gaze.

“I will,” he vowed. “Believe me, Lucy. I will.”

She searched his eyes for a moment, her own wide and gleaming, and then nodded. She smiled again.

“Then kiss me,” she whispered. “It’s Christmas.”

A Christmas Refuge

About the Author

REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her Mills & Boon® romance novels because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at www.cleanromances.com.

Look for new novels from Rebecca in Mills & Boon®’s Cherish™ series.

CHAPTER ONE

Puerto d’Ara

A COLD winter sun glinted on the sign posted at the side of the treacherous snow-packed mountain road. Desidiero Pastrana, known to a few close friends as Des, glimpsed it just before the faded pink ball disappeared behind the majestic Pico d’Ara, which was 3,000 meters high. In the twinkling of an eye, light turned to dark. With Christmas only three days away, night fell fast over the Pyrenees.

Just after leaving the northern city of Jaca, where he’d been on business, Des had gotten that queasy sensation again. He hadn’t been feeling like himself for the past few days. It was probably something he’d eaten, or he’d come down with a cold. Either way, he was anxious to reach the year-round mountain resort village of Puerto d’Ara and call it a night.

Of all the hotels owned by the Pastrana family in the province of Aragon, he preferred the Posada d’Ara, a former 17th-century monastery that had since been converted into an inn. Only two kilometers from the border separating the Spanish and French Pyrenees, Des used it as a base to indulge his passion for climbing.

He was planning to do some winter camping and serious ice climbing over the next ten days. Then after New Year’s, he’d get back to work and sit down with Miguel Torrillas, the affable manager of the Posada d’Ara, to do the requisite end-of-year inventory. Des was the CEO of the Pastrana Corporation and known for his hands-on approach to running the company.

He was also known to his family for avoiding spending the holidays with them. He’d purposely arranged this trip so that he could skip Christmas with his family.

And, he thought, hopefully skip the reminders of last Christmas. A grimace crept over his dark Castilian features. At this time the year before, the woman he’d planned to marry had sued his corporation after he’d taken her climbing and she’d been mildly injured.

His fiancée hadn’t been a winter-sports person, but he’d wanted her to understand his passion for it. His skills could have compensated for her inexperience—but they couldn’t compensate for her utter refusal to heed his instructions while they’d been climbing.

After a few minutes on the mountain she’d suddenly told him she’d changed her mind and wanted to go back to the hotel. He’d asked her to wait for him, but in a huff she’d started off without him and slipped. He’d gotten to her as quickly as he could, managed to extricate her ankle from where she’d wedged it and rushed her to the clinic.

The doctor had said that it wasn’t a major injury and she should just stay off her leg for a few days to avoid the pain until it was gone. She’d left the clinic without speaking to Des.

A week later the corporate attorney for the Pastranas showed Des the petition from her attorney wanting restitution and compensation for his client’s injury. Des had been incredulous. His fiancée was suing him? He’d asked her for an explanation, convinced it had to be a mistake.

“It’s nothing personal against you, amado,” she’d said with a winsome smile. “The insurance will cover it.”

The calculating side of her nature shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, killing any feelings he’d had for her. He’d broken off the engagement, and no amount of winsome smiles, tears or begging could move him to take her back. His best friend, Raoul, a mountaineer from Chamonix, France, with whom he’d shared so much over the last decade, had told him to be thankful for what had happened. It had saved Des from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Des agreed it’d been a miraculous escape, but it had shredded his trust and had changed the way he viewed women. They had been a source of pleasure for him, but no longer. Now that the Christmas season had rolled around once again, he wanted no part of females or festivities.

Raoul was the only person who knew what was going on inside him. His French friend carried his own brand of pain after losing his wife some years ago and more recently his brother. Raoul had also wanted to avoid the holidays so he’d suggested they take a climbing trip to South America.

Relieved to have a plan of escape, Des had been working all hours of the day and night, making his rounds of the family-owned hotels in preparation for the upcoming trip. But a few weeks ago Raoul, whose family owned and ran the legendary Broussard Alpine Guide Club in the French Alps, had called to tell him his father wasn’t doing well. Jules’s asthma was acting up and the family was worried about him.

Raoul couldn’t say how long it would take his father to get over this latest flare-up and in case it turned into something worse, he’d feared making definitive plans with Des only to have to cancel on him later. Though Des had been disappointed, he understood. In truth he wasn’t fit company for anyone, let alone the man who was the closest thing he had to a brother. Before he’d left his headquarters in Zaragoza yesterday, he’d been uncustomarily short with his second-in-command when the man had suggested—in the most tactful way, of course—that Des should take a month off and really enjoy himself. And just today the manager of the hotel in Jaca had asked, very politely, if Des could hold off on their meeting until after he returned from his winter holiday.

One more hairpin turn and Puerto d’Ara came into view, with its ski lifts and hotels. Approximately 1,800 people lived here year-round, making their living off tourists. He took the perimeter road to avoid the resort center’s shops and bars. Just past the clinic with its large red cross on the roof was the small monastery facing the Pico d’Ara. It was a quirky masterpiece of stone and beams with different levels, nooks and crannies, perfect for its conversion to a family-friendly inn.

He kept his own apartment on the ground floor, its only entrance an exterior one around the side. No doubt at one time it had served as a cell for a priest who’d wanted complete isolation. Since Des had been living the life of a monk this past year, the monastic atmosphere suited his foul mood very well.

The parking lot outside the inn was full. Des wasn’t surprised; business was always good here. He pulled to a stop in the staff parking and shut off the motor, relieved to have reached his destination. Still having no appetite and feeling a bit off, he decided to go straight to bed. Though his manager was expecting him, tomorrow would be soon enough to unload all his gear and let Miguel know he’d arrived.

“All-ee,” a young voice cried out before knocking on the door again.

Allison Bonner loved the way the eight-year-old daughter of the Torrillas family pronounced her name.

She finished putting her light brown hair in a ponytail and hurried across the hotel room to open the door. “Good morning, Maricela.”

“Good morning.” They gave each other a big hug. “Mama says to come and eat before it’s all gone.”

Breakfast in the cozy inn was served from seven to ten. Ally checked her watch. It was close to ten now.

“I’m almost ready.”

“You look pretty.”

“Well, thank you.” Ally’s navy-blue cable-knit sweater and jeans were nothing to write home about. Maybe it was the mango-colored lipstick she’d put on after her shower to add some color. “So do you. I especially like that top.”

The girl was wearing a colorful pullover of geometric designs in blues and reds, over red pants.

Maricela beamed. “Thanks.”

Inez, Maricela’s mother, had urged her twins to speak English with Ally. It was good practice for them and easier for Ally, who knew very little Spanish except for a few words and phrases.

“You’re welcome,” Ally said.

The girl’s mother had put Maricela’s dark hair in braids, Ally saw, and she looked adorable in the new cowboy hat and boots Ally had brought her from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Maricela and her twin brother, Nuncio, were smart, wonderful children with shiny deep brown eyes and beautiful features like their mother’s.

More than a year ago Miguel and Inez had brought their family to the Teton Range in Wyoming for a vacation. They’d stayed at her family’s famous dude ranch outside Afton.

The Bonners were a large family. Ally and her siblings helped her parents and grandparents run the ranch and also acted as guides for their guests.

From the first moment Ally had met the charming, attractive Torrillas family, the twins had helped fill part of the empty space in Ally’s aching heart. At the time, she’d still been recovering from her fiancé’s death in a tragic rafting accident on the Snake River and trying not to think about the wedding that had been planned for the next month.

During the two weeks of the family’s stay in September, Ally had spent most of her time showing the children around. They rode horses and fished. Hiked. Because the Torrillas family lived year-round in the Spanish Pyrenees and were no strangers to mountains, Ally, who was a trained mountaineer, took the family partway up the Grand Teton, which knifed almost 14,000 feet in the rarified air.

Those experiences had cemented their relationship. When the family had had to return to Spain, they’d begged Ally to come for a vacation anytime she wanted and be their guest. She’d thanked them for the gracious offer and had actually planned to come this past summer, only certain unexpected detours in life had prevented her from traveling until now.

Her family wasn’t happy about Ally being gone over the holidays, but she’d planned it this way on purpose. Christmas was the last thing on her mind. Though her cancer was in remission, there was always the possibility it would come back. From now on she intended to live life to the fullest and defy the odds.

After tugging on her own well-worn cowboy boots, which added a little more height to her five-foot-six frame, Ally left the room with Maricela at her side. They followed the stone passageway that led around to the timbered dining room with its vaulted ceilings. The children had told her when she arrived that it had once been a refectory for the Benedictine monks. The children knew all of the inn’s fascinating history.

A tall, brightly decorated Christmas tree stood near the enormous fireplace in the dining room. It threw out heat while a few guests dressed for skiing were still lingering at the long tables with their food before hitting the slopes. She spotted Nuncio in his cowboy hat sitting at the far end of one of the tables talking to his father and a male guest. Ally was glad the Western gear had been such a hit with the children.

Maricela headed straight for her father, but Ally didn’t want to intrude and instead went over to the cafeteria-style service bar where the guests could help themselves to a wonderful array of dishes. She fixed herself a plate of fruit and eggs and ham rollups.

“Ally? Come over here and join us,” Miguel called to her. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

CHAPTER TWO

ALLY turned in her friend Miguel’s direction and walked toward him. Then she abruptly halted when she met a pair of eyes so fiery black and piercing, she felt scorched by them. They belonged to the man sitting across from Miguel—a sophisticated-looking Spaniard with his glossy black hair tied at the nape with a thong.

She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, like Miguel.

Beneath the man’s sculpted black brows, his gaze made a swift assessment of Ally’s body, traveling from her cowboy boots to the crown of her head. He said nothing, but she felt instinctively there was something about her that displeased him. Why? She hadn’t even met him. She fought to tamp down her flare of temper.

“Allison Bonner, please meet Señor Desidiero Pastrana, my boss. He’s also the CEO of the Pastrana luxury hotel chain that operates throughout Spain. I told him you’d arrived from the States a few days ago and will be our guest for a while.”

The impossibly handsome, olive-skinned Spaniard got to his feet. “Señorita Bonner,” he said, shaking her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Señor Pastrana.”

With his tall, dark, Aragonian looks, she could easily imagine that he’d just stepped out of a painting done by one of the Spanish masters. In his black shirt and trousers, he took her breath. Yet behind his clipped tone, she still sensed his displeasure.

Perhaps being in the hotel business had caused him to develop an aversion toward Americans. Whatever his problem, she hoped his work wouldn’t keep him here long.

Miguel patted the chair next to him. “Sit down and eat, Ally. I’ve told Desidiero you’re an excellent climber and that you’re keen to try ice climbing on the waterfalls while you’re here. He has agreed to be your guide.”

She moaned, hoping no one heard her.

Her host smiled. “Naturally I couldn’t let you go with just any climber, no matter how good they think they are. Since Desidiero is the expert and is willing to take you, I’ll leave you two to talk. Come on, children. I have work to do. Let’s go find your mamacita.”

Now she understood the resentful vibes coming from the proud Spaniard seated across from her—he thought he’d been cornered into playing babysitter. “I know Miguel’s intentions were the best, but I’m not his responsibility and I’ll hire my own guide. I’m sorry he approached you, señor.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders. “He knew I came here to do some ice climbing. He cares about you, it’s important to him that I go with you.”

“But as he said, I’ve never climbed on ice. I don’t want to hold you back.”

He pursed his lips. “At least that’s honest,” he muttered. “Your inexperience won’t be a problem if you can follow directions. Today is the only time I have. Are you prepared to leave now?”

She’d planned to go skiing today, but this kind of opportunity was exactly what she’d wanted to do on this trip. She just hadn’t expected do it with this throwback to the time of conquistadores who had no desire to be with her.

“Yes,” she said spiritedly. Why not today, now? She’d come to Spain to defy the odds and sensed he presented as much of a challenge as the mountains themselves.

He was surprised by her answer. No doubt he’d counted on her saying no, that she couldn’t get ready that soon. Now he’d have to follow through on this favor to Miguel. “In that case, I’ll take you up for a few hours and give you your first lesson. Do you think you can last that long?”

“Absolutely. It’s very kind of you to take me.” But it was hard getting those words out when it was clear by his cold tone and stiff body how he really felt. His friendship with Miguel must have meant a lot to him.

“You’d be wise to finish all your breakfast.”

So he thought she couldn’t keep up with him? She’d be climbing circles around him before the day was out. “I promise not to fall behind.”

“Bien.” He sounded as if he were already bored with their conversation. “I’ll meet you in the foyer in half an hour.”

Ally checked her watch. “I’ll be waiting. Thank you, señor,” she said but he’d already started walking away.

A strange quiver ran through her body as she watched him stride off, making her think of a dark prince before he disappeared.

She ate her food quickly and then hurried back to her room to get ready, hardly able to believe this was really happening.

After her mastectomy, she’d undergone a lot of physical therapy and eventually worked up a routine of squats, dead lifts, overhead presses, pull-ups, step-ups and dips. Before she left for Spain, her doctor told her she was in excellent cardiovascular condition and saw no reason why she couldn’t do any kind of climbing she liked.

Though this would be a new experience for her, she’d been a climber for years and was determined that the inscrutable Spaniard would eat crow when he realized his low opinion of her was unfounded. She was going to prove herself today or die trying. Better that than to remain home in Afton listening to those inner voices whispering what if you don’t stay in remission?

Ally wasn’t in the foyer one minute before Señor Pastrana came walking through the double doors in his climbing gear. His striking looks caused every female guest coming and going from the posada to stare. He stopped when he saw she’d beaten him there. Without saying anything, his eyes scrutinized her, taking a mental inventory of what she was wearing, as any expert guide would do.

He was the kind of man who had to shave every day, but he hadn’t done it this morning. Was she mistaken, or did he seem paler than he had earlier, even with the shadow of his beard … or maybe because of it?

Why she cared or paid that much attention was beyond her. It had to be the dimmer light here in the foyer, which retained all the elements of the former cloister.

Sensing his displeasure again she asked, “Have I forgotten something?”

His gaze grew shuttered. “Not that I can see,” he muttered in a gravelly voice. “Shall we go?” He opened the door.

She nodded and walked out into the sunshine, aware of his eyes on her body. For no reason she could readily identify, Ally trembled. That had never happened to her before, not even with her fiancé. The blond, fun-loving Rex was so different from Desidiero Pastrana the two men might as well have been born on separate planets.

An elegant, black, four-wheel-drive truck stood outside the Posada d’Ara with the motor running. Her guide opened the passenger door for Ally to get in. Their arms brushed as she climbed inside.

The slight contact sent a dart of awareness through her, shocking her. For so long she’d been dead inside. There’d been a couple of men since Rex who’d tried to get close to her, but she couldn’t give them what they wanted. Getting involved with someone inevitably led to physical intimacy, and she wasn’t ready to suffer the rejection after he saw her scars.

So it was confusing and scary that her senses would suddenly be stirred by this dark, brooding force of nature from the other side of the world … who wanted to be anywhere else except with her.

CHAPTER THREE

DES didn’t speak as he drove several kilometers away from the ski area and began climbing the mountain road, making new tracks in the snow. He’d driven up here in a foul mood last night, but it was nothing compared to his state of mind right now.

Not only hadn’t he been able to stomach food this morning, but he was also now committed to coaching an inexperienced climber—just like his former fiancée. It had taken a lawsuit for him to see through to her mercenary soul, but he knew better than to trust so easily now.

Señorita Bonner might have charmed Miguel’s family, but Des had no illusions about her or any woman. Never again.

As he drove, he noticed Allison taking in the scenery. A true nature lover would find nothing more breathtaking than the beauty of the snow-covered peaks towering above them. They’d left the village behind and were alone on the road. Des shifted gears and they arrived at the road’s summit. He rounded a corner where everything opened up.

“Oh!” she cried out.

They’d come to the massive amphitheater of frozen waterfalls falling from great heights for which Puerto d’Ara was renowned. By the awe on her face he could see she was dazzled by the sight. The sun glinted off the ice as it cascaded over the boulders, giving the illusion of bride’s lace.

“I’ve never seen anything so spectacular in my life!”

Her reaction sounded genuine enough, but he hardened his resolve to remain unmoved by her.

“I’ll grant you this is a unique place.”

She flashed him an enraptured smile. “Thank you for bringing me here. I can’t wait to try climbing one of these ice cascades!”

He studied her animated features with a dubious glance. “The treacherous surface of a waterfall is slick and textured. Have you considered the danger?”

“Of course I have. Let’s see … I could fall in an icy crevasse, or get frostbite, or an avalanche could come out of nowhere. But it’s the risk of the unknown that fuels my need to push the envelope. You of all people should understand what I’m talking about.”

Des made a sound in his throat but didn’t respond. He got out of the car and opened up the back to retrieve their gear. “We’ll climb a little on that cascade to the left of us where the sun won’t be shining directly in our eyes. The lower portion isn’t too steep.” He handed her a helmet. “This is Inez’s. Try it on for size.”

She settled it on her head. “It fits perfectly.”

“Bien.” He handed her some crampons and she put them on. Within minutes they were outfitted and ready.

“I’ll put my helmet on once we start climbing.” He was still feeling nauseous, and the thought of putting on the confining helmet made his stomach churn. “Let’s drop the formality. I’ll call you Ally.” He picked up the axes and ropes and started toward the ice. “Follow me along this flat portion for practice. I’ll stop when we reach the place where you’ll need to start using your ice tool. If you feel nervous, let me know.”

“I promise.”

“Then let’s go.”

As they made their way across the frozen waterfall, Des looked over his shoulder several times to make certain she was all right. She’d gotten the hang of it in minutes. “I’m impressed how well you’re handling yourself on the ice.” It was only the truth.

She half laughed. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

They soon reached the area where the ice started to angle upward. Though it wasn’t steep, it made the going more precarious and he helped her into her harness. He also attached the rope and belay in case she fell. Her moves on the ice were instinctive, indicating she knew what she was doing.

By the time he’d shown her how to throw the ax and kick her foot so the front of the crampon dug into the ice, he was starting to admire how quickly she was catching on. He also had to admit she was in great shape.

“Now grip your tool while you push yourself up with your legs. Do it a couple of times to get the feel.” He gave her a few pointers as she tried the motion out. With each effort she made, he found himself impressed by her grit. “I think you’re ready to scale this a ways.”

She flashed him a nervous smile. “I’m going to give it all I’ve got.”

He stared at her for a minute, respecting her courage and spirit of adventure that called to something inside him. He’d been unfair to her. “Forgive me for being abrupt with you earlier, Ally. I’m afraid I haven’t been on my best behavior today.”

“Forget it. If our situations had been reversed and Miguel had roped me into helping you, I would probably have told him I had a headache and walked away.”

In spite of himself, he found Ally Bonner’s rare honesty appealing. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She threw her ax and began to mount the ice in increments, making certain the point at the front of her crampon was embedded. With each try she gained another foot. So far so good—until he saw the ax fall out of her hand. She’d thrown it wrong.

“Uh-oh!” She had to grab the notch she’d made because the leashed tool was just out of reach.

“Hold on.” He gauged the distance between them and figured she was about eight to twelve feet above him. “I’ll get it for you so you can use it to come back down and take a rest. When you think you’re ready again, we’ll do a short climb together.”

“Okay.”

Her legs were set in the proper stance. She was doing everything right, but she was new to ice climbing and would need a short rest. It took a lot more energy than one would imagine, even for somebody in great shape. If she hadn’t done a lot of climbing back in Wyoming, she could never have accomplished as much as she had.

Des reached her in a few seconds and handed her the tool. “You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.”

After she took it, he swung back to his foothold. As he started to climb down, he was suddenly seized by nausea and a blast of dizziness. His vision blurred and he lost his grip. Then everything went black.

“Des!” Ally cried out, watching in horror as his body suddenly slid down the ice and his head hit the hard surface—his bare head. He hadn’t stopped to put on his helmet. She moaned in anguish.

His body came to rest facedown at the bottom of the ice waterfall. It had all happened within seconds. “Des!” she cried out in panic. No answer. “Des?”

He was out cold, possibly injured. She had to help him. She pulled out her ax and found the former hole she’d made with it. Slowly she eased herself down in increments until she reached his body. She removed her harness so she wouldn’t be hampered and crouched beside him.

She was trained in first aid, and did a quick assessment.

His face had gone the color of ash but she found a pulse, though it was a slow one. He wasn’t bleeding and he didn’t seem to have a spinal injury, thank heaven.

Something must have happened to him after he’d handed her the tool. Something that had caused him to lose consciousness.

Oh, Des … I need to get you to a hospital, fast.

Just the day before Miguel had told her there was no cell phone service in this area to call for assistance. So she’d either have to leave him here and go for help, hoping hypothermia didn’t set in in the meantime, or drag him to the truck. She chose the latter.

After removing his crampons, she turned him over, grabbed hold of his harness and began pulling him toward the car. They were still on the ice, and she had to dig her crampons in with every step, slowing her progress and draining her strength.

Ally prayed every inch of the way over the flat cascade of ice. Several times she heard a moan from Des. Relieved for even that much response, she finally reached their vehicle. After removing her crampons and helmet, she went through several of his pockets and found the keys.

Once she’d opened the rear door, she grabbed him in a fireman’s lift the way she’d been trained in the Tetons and managed to get him inside. He had to weigh at least two hundred pounds of hard muscle, but she couldn’t stop to rest. Frantic to reach help, she raced around and got behind the wheel of the truck. Thank heaven it was only a few kilometers to the village.

All the while her mind was replaying the horrific moment in the raft with Rex when they’d hit the rapids. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet, either. She’d told him to put it on after they’d put the boat in the water. But like Des, he’d said he would get it in a minute but had left the shore without it. They’d gone into the rapids at the wrong angle and the boat had flipped. Rex had been thrown from the boat and his head had hit a boulder. He never regained consciousness.

This was like déjà vu. Des couldn’t die, too! She wouldn’t let him.

CHAPTER FOUR

“DES? Can you hear me?”

That voice crying softly to him … A woman’s voice … An American, he realized, since every once in a while he could hear her speaking English to him. Who in the hell was she?

Slowly his senses picked up other things. The warmth of two feminine hands closed around his, the subtle fragrance of wildflowers found in the highest meadows.

“Please wake up and talk to me,” the sweet voice called to him.

With that urgent entreaty, he made the effort and opened his eyes to discover an enchanting face bent over him, wet with tears. She’d been crying. He didn’t understand why.

The tips of her light brown hair, streaked with gold highlights, brushed against his jaw. Those liquid-filled eyes of amber brown … He’d seen them before. But where? Right now they were full of anxiety and a plea for him to stay with her.

“I’m Ally. Do you remember me?”

He was trying to think, but the pain at the side of his forehead kept interfering with his concentration. “Ally who?” he whispered.

“Ally Bonner. Miguel asked if you would take me ice climbing.”

Something clicked in his brain. “You’re the Teton girl who wears the cowboy boots!”

“Yes!”

Her smile of relief radiated a universe of sunshine. It seeped into those dark places where he’d been living for such a long time. “Thank heavens you’re going to be all right.”

He took a deep breath. “I remember reaching you and handing you the ax. Then I was overwhelmed by dizziness and couldn’t hold on.”

She squeezed his hand before letting go. “So that’s what happened! I watched you fall. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

“I’ve never felt that sick in my life. I was supposed to be protecting you. Where am I?”

“At the clinic here in Puerto d’Ara.”

“Why are you crying?”

He heard her take a shuddering breath. “Because you’re alive… . My … fiancé wasn’t as lucky.”

Fiancé? “What happened to him?”

“We were doing a float trip together down the Snake River with a group of tourists from the dude ranch I help my family run. Like you, he said he’d put his helmet on in a minute. When we hit the rapids at the wrong angle, it tipped and Rex was thrown. He hit his head on a boulder. We managed to rescue him from the water but he was unconscious… . He never came out of the coma,” she said on a whisper.

Des’s stomach clenched, imagining the horror of it. He’d heard her anguish.

“When I saw you lying there, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ally.”

She drew herself up and wiped her eyes. “It’s in the past now. What’s important is that you’re awake and will live to climb another day.”

“Thanks to you. How did I get here?”

“I brought you.”

He frowned, but even that hurt. “How?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. Though she wasn’t conscious of it, he found her smile seductive. “The old-fashioned way.”

What? He stared hard at her. “You mean you dragged me off the ice by yourself?”

She nodded, causing her wavy hair to dance along her shoulders. He remembered she’d been wearing it in a ponytail before. Either way, she was a knockout. “Those harnesses come in handy for a lot of reasons. The hardest part was getting you in the back of your truck.”

“But you managed it. And got me here.” A swell of gratitude and admiration took over, shocking the hell out of him. Only then did he realize there was an IV in his other arm. “What time is it now?”

“Five in the evening.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“On and off since yesterday afternoon.”

He’d lost a whole twenty-four hours? “But that’s impossible!”

“Your body needed the rest. Besides having a slight concussion, the doctor says you have the flu. It hit you hard, that’s why you’ve been sleeping so long.”

Des was incredulous. He passed a hand over his jaw and felt his growth of beard with disgust. “I remember feeling nauseous for the last few days, but figured it was a bug and would pass. Instead of obeying the warning signs, I endangered your life.”

“No, you didn’t,” she insisted. “You did such an expert job of preparing me that I was able to respond. But next time, take your own advice and put your helmet on before you do anything else, okay?”

Des was in awe of this woman. She’d endured heartbreak and grief. Des’s experience with his fiancée couldn’t compare. Now he could truly see it for what it was—a blow to his pride, nothing more. He felt the fool for having allowed it to affect him so much. He’d wasted the past year of his life. On a trifle.

“What’s put that fierce look on your face?” she asked.

“I was also engaged once … this time last year, in fact. But I broke it off and am happy to say that by now she has probably found herself someone greedier than she is.” At her surprised expression, he explained his words. “When I took her ice climbing for the first and only time, she bruised her ankle, then sued my company to make money off an injury that was so minimal she could walk on it within a day.”

“Oh, dear. Are you very rich?” she teased.

“Extremely,” he said in total honesty, unafraid to admit it to her.

“Is she very beautiful, the way I imagine Bizet’s Carmen? Long black hair? Fiery dark eyes, passionate to her very soul with a figure to die for?”

“I’ll admit her beauty was extraordinary.” But her soul …

“Then you’re probably right, and she has the kind of marriage she’s been waiting for all her life, where both grasping parties have their needs completely met.”

After that comment Des broke into full-bodied laughter, delighted by her intelligence and the fact that she didn’t take herself seriously.

“Señor Pastrana,” the doctor said as he walked into the room. “I’m happy to hear you laugh like that. It is the best of signs. And I’m glad that you’re now fully awake and talking to Señorita Bonner. She’s been at your bedside since yesterday, waiting for you to open your eyes. Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

“Good.” It was the truth … since he’d awakened to an angel staring down at him.

The doctor checked Des’s vital signs while Ally kept watch. “Can you give me a few more details, por favor?”

“My head hurts, but it’s not that bad and I’m no longer feeling sick to my stomach.”

“Muy bien. We’ve been giving you antinausea medication in your IV. Keep this up and tomorrow you’ll be able to go home—provided you take care of yourself.”

Ally’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful news.”

For several reasons, Des agreed.

The doctor smiled at him. “You were fortunate your lovely climbing companion here got you off the ice quickly. Otherwise we would have had to treat you for hypothermia. But I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t warn you of the dangers of pushing yourself too hard. You may be the head of a successful business empire and famous throughout Spain, but you are still human.”

“I’ve had a lot of work to accomplish,” he admitted.

“Don’t we all, but that’s the reason why this particular flu hit you especially hard. Follow my advice and take it easy for a while.” He smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Gracias, doctor.”

“De nada.”

As Des looked at Ally again he considered the doctor’s words. Perhaps he should take some time off from work and find more … pleasurable ways to fill his life.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DON’T leave yet, Ally.” Des was afraid she’d follow the doctor out of the room.

She gripped the side rail of his bed. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve been unconscious for twenty-four hours, I feel like company. Do you mind?”

As Des said the words, he realized he meant them. But not just any company would do. Only hers. He realized that, too. His friend Raoul wouldn’t believe how quickly his whole attitude was changing. Des would have to text him later.

“I’ll stay for a while longer.” She pulled up a chair to the side of the hospital bed. “Oh, before I forget, Miguel went up to the amphitheatre and brought back all our things. There was a trail of debris from the cascade to the car.”

“When you went through my pockets, did you find my phone?”

“Oh, yes—” She reached in her purse. “Here it is. I’ll put it on your bedside table.”

“Gracias.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have another thing on my mind after you passed out except to drive you here. I’ve still got the keys to your truck, too.”

“That’s good,” he murmured. “Keep them until tomorrow. That way if you’re willing, you can visit me and then drive me home.”

There was a slight hesitation that concerned him before she said, “Of course I will. You went out of your way to accommodate me. Until you fell, I was really enjoying the climb.”

A nurse came in to change his IV bag, then slipped out again.

Ally smiled at him. “Can I bring you anything from your room at the posada?”

“I could use my electric razor. It’s in the bathroom with my other things.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t I leave now and bring them back to you?”

“In other words, I could do with a shave.”

“Did I say that?”

His black brows quirked in amusement. “You didn’t have to.”

“Where’s the card key for your room?”

“A monk’s cell doesn’t have something as modern as an electronic card to open the door—it has a metal key. It’s with my car keys.”

“Oh—” She reached in her purse once more and brought out the keys. “Which one opens your room?”

He took hold of her hand to show her. It trembled at the contact. Pleased by the response he said, “It’s the middle one.”

She quickly eased her hand away. “What room number?”

“Mine doesn’t have one. It has an exterior entry around the west side of the posada. You can’t miss it since it’s the only one.”

“That sounds rather mysterious.”

A low chuckle came out of him. “Wait till you see it.”

She moved the chair against the wall. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Hurry,” he called out as she opened the door and left.

Hurry?

More than the word, the urgency in Des’s tone caused Ally to tremble again. She couldn’t believe he was the same forbidding stranger she’d met in the posada dining room, let alone the unconscious man she’d brought into the hospital so ill she’d feared for his life.

The warm, compassionate Spaniard who’d just listened to her heartache and then told her about his own broken engagement showed a completely new side of him, and the change was doing odd things to her equilibrium. The increasingly strong attraction she felt toward him sent off warning bells in her brain. She’d come here for adventure, not to get involved in a romance.

He was a gorgeous man. Against the pristine white of the clinic’s sheets and pillow, his coloring and rugged features made him the most sensational-looking male she’d ever seen. Too sensational. Too perfect. Unlike her.

If those black eyes were ever to see what cancer had done to her body … She couldn’t face that. She’d needed to get away from him. Which was why she’d jumped up and offered to go get his things from the hotel. Anything to keep her distance.

Not that he’d shown any sign of romantic interest. Though she knew he was grateful for her help, she was under no illusions that his attraction to her was as powerful as hers was for him. And even though he had to be feeling terrible right now, he was awake and probably itching to get out of the hospital.

A dynamic man like him who ran a multibillion-dollar hotel business and went ice climbing to relax was probably a horrible patient and couldn’t take advantage of the rest.

When she drove back to the posada, she found Inez at the front desk and filled her in. “I know the children were hoping I could eat dinner with them, but Señor Pastrana needs a little waiting on. Tell them I’ll be back tonight and I can read a story to them before they go to sleep. I bought them some Christmas books. Tonight we can read one of my favorites—How the Grinch Stole Christmas. They’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will, too!” Inez smiled. “But don’t worry about anything else right now. Des’s health is more important.”

“He’s doing amazingly well. The doctor said he only had a light concussion.”

Inez crossed herself. “I’ll tell Miguel. We’ve both been anxious. We visited him twice, but both times he was still asleep.”

“Thankfully he’s awake now. I better go and get his things. See you later, Inez.”

After a shower in her room and a change of clothes into jeans and a kelly-green crewneck sweater, Ally dashed out the front doors of the inn and around the side. She felt strange walking into Des’s private hotel room, but he had given her permission.

Once she stepped over the threshold, she was delighted by the way the room felt and looked like a window into the past. But she didn’t have time to examine everything; Des needed his things.

Later, when she entered his room at the clinic, his black eyes darted from her to the suitcase.

“I didn’t know what you’d want so I just brought everything,” she explained.

For the second time in the past few hours he burst into laughter. The sound thrilled her.

“Why don’t you put the bag down and pull up a chair so we can talk.” As she did his bidding, he rolled onto his side toward her, taking care with the IV in his arm. “What did you think of my room?”

She glanced at him. “It felt as if I’d just stepped into a seventeenth-century priest’s inner sanctum. To be honest, I loved it so much I wish I’d known about it so I could have reserved it before I arrived.”

“You can’t reserve it. When the corporation bought the monastery, I had it all remodeled except that room. It’s mine.”

“Well, lucky you.” She paused. “I felt kind of naughty, letting myself in like that and then leaving with the suitcase.”

“If anyone had seen you, they would think I was a very fortunate man,” he said, his gaze fixed on her mouth. A curling warmth traveled through her body. Followed immediately by a burst of panic. If she let the attraction between them go any further, he’d see her scars and be repulsed by them. He wouldn’t want her then.

“Thank you, but if they knew my secrets, they would think nothing of the sort.” She’d said it to jar him, and it looked as if she’d succeeded because a puzzled expression entered his eyes.

“Should I bite?”

Ally shook her head. “It’s not worth the trouble of an explanation.”

“I disagree,” he responded. “You just intentionally threw up a wall to shut me out.” To her astonishment he reached for her arm with his free hand, capturing it with surprising strength. “Why would you do that when I only want to get closer to you?”

CHAPTER SIX

ALLY tried to ease away from the grip he had on her arm, but he refused to let her go yet.

“Des … please listen. We may have just met, but you and I shared a life-and-death experience, which puts our relationship on a different level. I believe in being honest and assume you do, too. Wouldn’t you have preferred to learn the truth about your fiancée at the beginning, instead of the eleventh hour?”

He grimaced. “Ah, I see. So you’ve decided to kill whatever relationship might develop between us right now. But why? What truth are you so afraid of?”

“I have my reasons. I’m sorry.” She removed her arm and got up, putting the chair back against the wall, ready to leave.

His brows furrowed. “No, you’re not.”

“Please don’t be angry with me.”

“That’s the last emotion I’m feeling.”

“Then I’m glad.”

“You’re not making sense. Help me understand.”

She breathed deeply. Get out of here, Ally. “I’d rather not talk about this, especially after your harrowing ordeal.”

“Come over here. Por favor.”

Even though her mind was screaming at her to run, she wasn’t immune to his throbbing entreaty. She hesitantly walked over to the side rail. “Is there something else I can do for you? Open your suitcase and get things out, maybe?”

“No. The nurse will do it.” Once more he reached for the hand closest to him. Turning it over, he kissed the palm then looked up at her. “I forgot to thank you for saving my life.”

The touch of Des’s lips against the skin of her hand sent a sizzle through Ally’s body, setting her on fire. Earlier his thumb had made lazy circles over the pulse at her wrist, shooting an erotic warmth through her body, causing sensations she was afraid to acknowledge.

“No woman of my acquaintance could or would have done what you did for me. If there’s anything I can do for you, all you have to do is ask.”

She could ask that if he ever saw her mastectomy scars, he wouldn’t reject her and turn away, but that was a pipe dream.

Ally took a fortifying breath. “It’s because of me that you had the accident. The only favor I ask is that you get well soon. That means no winter sports for a little while.”

He kissed her fingertips before letting her go. “If I’m going to deny myself, then I’m going to need someone to help me get through the withdrawal period.”

Ally broke down laughing. She couldn’t help it. “I believe you’d go into withdrawal.”

He shot her devilish glance. “There are certain indoor sports I enjoy even more than climbing.”

That came as no surprise. Once upon a time she’d shared the same sentiment, but those days were over. He wouldn’t want her when he saw the truth for himself. “I do, too, as a matter of fact. How good are you at Scrabble? I bought the children the junior version to help them with their English.”

“They won’t mind if we christen it first?”

“Not if we all play,” she said on a burst of inspiration. It was the only thing she could think of to keep him at bay. “You can be on their side. You’ll need the handicap,” she said, adding the dare to spice things up. In reality his English was so good, she probably wouldn’t be able to beat him.

“You’re on,” he said with a speculative gleam in those black eyes.

Before either of them could say anything else, the nurse came in.

Ally’s eyes darted to Des. “I’ll go now, but I’ll be over in the morning to get you.”

“No good-night kiss?”

Her body tautened. “You already got one kiss this evening. Let’s not tempt fate. Next time you might find yourself kissing the Ugly Duckling.”

Des’s face suddenly looked like a thundercloud. That was good.

“Buenas noches, Señor.”

“Rest when you’re sleepy. Eat what appeals to you and you will be fine in a few days, Señor Pastrana.”

Des thanked the doctor as they left the clinic. Per the doctor’s orders, Des let Ally carry his suitcase for him and drive him home. His adrenaline had surged when she’d entered his hospital room at eleven o’clock, dressed in jeans and a bright red pullover.

The hair he longed to run his fingers through had been tied at the nape with a narrow red ribbon. Tiny red-and-green Christmas ornaments dangled from each end. It would be so easy to tug on one of them, allowing the silklike strands to swing loose… .

Her comment about the Ugly Duckling had bothered him all night. He understood the metaphor from the old fairy tale well enough, but there was nothing ugly about Ally, inside or out. He knew that to the depth of his soul. She was a stunning woman who had little conception of her impact on a man. Her lack of awareness was part of what made her so desirable. Her beauty radiated outward to that creamy skin he longed to caress.

But clearly she didn’t think the same about herself. Before the day was out he intended to uncover the secret she’d alluded to, tossing it down like a gauntlet. The list of possible secrets was starting to drive him crazy. It was a challenge, and he’d never passed up a challenge. It wasn’t in his nature.

Yet for some reason Des had the premonition that this would be the most important one he would ever face. The feeling shook him.

After she parked the truck outside his room at the inn, she hurried to the door and unlocked it for him.

Now that the nausea had gone and his forehead wasn’t as sore, he felt surprisingly good and would have enjoyed a short walk in the frigid air with her. But he decided that for once he would follow doctor’s orders. Plus it would get him a lot further with Ally, who still felt some ridiculous residual guilt for having gone climbing with him.

He was the one who felt guilty. If the truth were known, he’d taken one look at her in the dining room and something shocking had happened to him.

For so long he’d avoided women, not wanting any entanglements, but after Miguel had unintentionally laid the groundwork, Des realized he wanted to get to know the beautiful American woman who was so beloved by Maricela and Nuncio. You couldn’t fool children. They saw through to the heart of a person.

He paused at the door of his room. Things had changed since he’d last been in his monk’s cell. A fire blazed in the hearth, and there was a two-foot-high Christmas tree decorated with lights and ornaments placed on the dresser to greet him. The scent of pine was one of those wonderful smells, intoxicating and comforting.

“I hope you don’t mind the additions,” Ally said in a quiet voice as she brought in his suitcase. “It’s too dark in here without any windows and today is Christmas Eve.”

Touched by her generosity of spirit that showed in everything she did, he looked around. On the small wooden table—

one of the original pieces he’d kept—she’d added some snacks and drinks and a few Spanish sports magazines. She’d thought of everything.

She saw where his eyes had wandered. “Those are meant to help with the withdrawal.”

He couldn’t hold off any longer and he reached for her, gripping her arms to bring her close. Her eyes were like warm brandy, but they were conflicted. He could see fear in them, but he also found the emotion he was looking for. Desire.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HOLDING Ally in his arms, Des whispered into her ear, “Happy Christmas Eve day, Allison Bonner. I thought I never wanted to celebrate another one, but you’ve managed to cure me.”

With or without her permission, he covered her heart-shaped mouth with his own and kissed her the way he’d dreamed of doing all night long.

After a brief hesitation, she returned his kiss with a passionate response that thrilled him to his core. He began to draw her over to the bed, needing to hold her closer in his arms. But when she sensed his direction, she tore her lips from his and eased out of his embrace. In the firelight her cheeks were flushed.

“What’s wrong? Why did you pull away from me?”

“The children have been watching for us. They’ll be down any second with their present.”

The Scrabble game. He’d forgotten about it—and everything else.

She’d brought him alive, and he loved this new feeling like he’d never loved anything in his life. But for some reason he sensed that she was still keeping him at a distance.

“Where shall we play?”

“On your king-size bed. That’s where you should be. The priest who lived here should have been so lucky.” The words were barely out of her delectable mouth before there was a knock on the door.

“Allee? Desidiero? Is it all right to come in?”

Des took the initiative and opened the door. “Make yourselves at home, niños. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Nuncio carried the game under his arm. He scrutinized Des. “I thought you were sick, but you don’t look it.”

“That’s because Ally helped me make a magical recovery.”

“Papa said she saved your life.”

“Your papa is right,” he said, staring at Ally.

“Mama’s going to bring you some soup and bread.”

Des smiled and tousled the boy’s head. “I can’t wait.”

“Ooh,” Maricela crooned, walking over to the tree. “I love it.”

Ally busied herself offering the children some candy. “If the three of you have any hope to beat me at this game, you’ll need some sugar for your brains.”

Nuncio frowned. “Brains? I do not understand. What is that?”

“Cerebro,” Des translated. “And after my fall, I don’t think mine is working so well. You two will have to help me.”

The children laughed with excitement as Ally told everyone to get on the bed and explained the point of the game. “There’s a prize for the winner.”

Des forced her to look at him. “If we lose, is there a consolation prize?”

She chuckled. “I’ll think of one.”

“How about if I lose, I get to decide what my prize is?” he answered back. “I know exactly what I want.”

Ally couldn’t hold Des’s gaze when she knew exactly what was on his mind. He wasn’t going to let her get away with not explaining her remarks for much longer. She was putting it off because she was enjoying this time with him so much, and she wanted it to last.

And right now she owed it to the children to get into this game.

Des was a tough competitor and tutored the children with surprising patience. In the end, she won three matches and they won two. The kids would have continued trying to beat her for the rest of the day if it weren’t for Inez, who brought food on a tray and told the children she needed them upstairs.

Ally rewarded each of them with a big peppermint candy cane. Since they’d never seen anything quite like them, they were delighted.

After they left, she and Des ate the delicious food Inez had prepared. He sat against the headboard with his long legs extended. He looked relaxed, but she could feel his tension growing—right along with her own sense of impending doom.

She knew their time together was short—in a few days he’d be off on his planned campout and she’d be back in Wyoming. But in the meantime, as she delayed telling him the truth, their relationship was progressing, making a liar out of her.

Before he could pounce and claim his consolation prize, she put down her coffee cup and took the initiative, not able to stand it any longer.

“You want to know my secret? The reason I’ve been keeping my distance? For the last year I’ve told no one, not even Miguel and Inez. But that was before I met you.”

He sat forward. “Go on.”

“I wanted to say something that morning we went climbing. But you were—are—such an attractive man, and I feared alienating you by seeming … forward. You know. A strange woman suddenly baring her soul to you. I’m sure there’ve been plenty of women who’ve come up with some pretty inventive ways to get close to you. I … I didn’t want you to think I was one of them. If I’d blurted out what was on my mind, I was afraid you would think it seemed desperate. I hated the idea that you would consider me pathetic.”

His features hardened. “I know I acted resentful of you, and I’ve apologized for that, but did I seem that much of a monster to you when we were introduced?”

“No!” she cried. “No, Des.” She jumped off the bed, too agitated to sit still. “After you told me about your fiancée, I understood your disdain.”

She paced the floor for a minute. “What I’m trying to say is that this whole situation is about me and my hang-ups. I’m sorry you ever got involved. When I came to the Pyrenees, I didn’t expect …” She faltered for a second. “I didn’t expect to find what I did. To find you,” she mumbled.

He launched himself off the bed and came to stand in front of her with his hands on his hips. “You think I did?”

With that question she realized she wasn’t the only one feeling anxious about how quickly things had changed. “No.” She shook her head. “Of course not.”

He softened his stance. “Just tell me, Ally.”

She struggled for breath then lifted her head to look at him. “After Rex died, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a full mastectomy.” She smiled at him through the tears. “A woman gets used to her own body parts. But until I met you, I didn’t know how much it affected me that they were gone.”

Though he stood stock-still, as soon as the words left her lips, she saw his eyes widen in shock and his compelling mouth press into a thin line.

“I’m in remission for now and I’ve been working out to get in the best shape possible, both physically and mentally. But every time I go in for testing, I could find out it’s come back. Then again it might never come back.”

Ally heard his sharp intake of breath. “You think that makes you the Ugly Duckling?”

Des looked and sounded furious.

“In the physical sense, yes. When you kissed me a little while ago, it made me realize h-how much I wanted to be like I was before.” She looked down. “Desirable. Sexy.”

Ally was so embarrassed for having exposed herself to this degree, she started for the door with the tray. “You heard Inez. We’ve been invited to spend Christmas Eve with them. If you’re feeling well enough, come up to their apartment whenever you’re ready. If you decide you want to be alone, no one will bother you. I promise.” She left.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DES stared at the closed door after Ally had gone, devastated for her sake by what she’d told him. Two mortal blows in a row—first she’d had to deal with her fiancé’s sudden death and then the diagnosis of breast cancer.

Up on the frozen waterfall he’d discovered she was the most courageous person he’d ever known. She’d disregarded her own safety to get him to the clinic before hypothermia set in. Without injuring herself, no less! He knew Miguel would have sent out a search party for them if they’d been delayed, but by then Des could have been in real trouble. She had a warrior’s spirit and he stood in awe of her.

So how could someone who’d been so brave on that ice be so insecure about her own body? No matter what he had to do, he was going to get around her fears.

No one knew how long they had to live. And since every minute of life was precious, he had no intention of staying down in his room and away from her. Wheeling around, he picked out what he wanted to wear, then headed for the shower.

After he’d shaved and dressed, he left the room for the front entry to the posada. Pleased to have caught sight of Maricela in the hallway without needing to bother Miguel, he called to her. “Will you show me to Ally’s room? I need to talk to her.”

“Sure. She’s right down here.” He followed her along two different hallways until they came to Ally’s door. “Are you going to come to our apartment later?” the girl asked.

He patted her cute face. “We wouldn’t miss it. Come and knock on the door when you’re ready for us.”

“I will.” Her brown eyes danced before she ran off.

Des turned and rapped on Ally’s door.

Ally didn’t recognize the knock, but thought it could be one of the staff. She’d just come out of the bathroom after blow-drying her hair. She pulled on her pink toweling robe and padded across the room to open the door.

“Des!”

She almost fainted at the sight of him.

It was the same man whose room she’d left just a short time ago, but all she could do was stare at the changes in him. Without her shoes on, he seemed even taller. He was wearing a fabulous midnight-blue dress suit and tie, and he’d dispensed with the hair thong. His hair was swept away from the crown and sides of his head to lie against the back of his neck.

His dark Spanish looks, the contrast of his olive skin against his dazzling white shirt, were so incredible she could only stand there, speechless. Her breath came faster as she detected the enticing scent of the soap he’d used in the shower.

“I … I didn’t expect you to come to my room,” she stammered. “We’re not expected at the Torrillas’ apartment yet.”

He lounged against the doorjamb with his arms folded. “After what you told me earlier, I don’t feel like wasting any time. May I come in while you finish getting ready?”

“Of course,” she answered jerkily. He entered the room. As she shut the door, he removed his suit jacket. “Do you care if I sit on your bed while I wait?”

“No … go right ahead. I’ll finish dressing in the bathroom.” She grabbed the clothes she’d intended to wear and dashed into the other room. But her hands were shaking so hard, she had difficulty pulling and adjusting and fastening everything.

When she eventually came out wearing her long two-piece velvet dress with the three-quarter sleeves, he got up from the bed, eyeing her with what she could only describe as desire.

He murmured, “Exquisita. What do you call that color in English?”

She swallowed hard. “Periwinkle.”

“It suits your coloring.” He moved closer. The next thing she knew he had his arms around her and had lowered his head to kiss her long and thoroughly. Ally’s body gave up a voluptuous shiver because his hunger matched hers. She couldn’t hide her desire for him.

But they had a party to go to and eventually she pushed her hands against his chest.

He loosened his hold on her to feel the fabric on her sleeve. “It’s uncrushable, verdad?”

She nodded.

“Bien.” His hand found hers and he pulled her toward the bed. “Then lie down with me for a little while. I just want to hold you.”

A pain jabbed her heart. “Des … I don’t need comfort.”

“That’s the last thought on my mind.”

His response surprised her.

“Since this is the day for honesty,” he continued, “do you want me to tell you what I want?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I know. That’s why I simply want you to know what it’s like to lie in my arms. We both need this. To feel cherished and loved. Would that be such a penance?”

“No,” she answered softly.

“Then come to me, muchacha.”

The banked fires in his eyes and the deep tone of his husky voice seduced her. She put a knee on top of the bed. That was all the encouragement he needed. He enfolded her into his hard-muscled frame, nestling his face in the profusion of her hair. A long drawn-out sigh escaped him. It was as if his body was letting go of all the angst and tension he’d been carrying. When she felt it leave him, her body also seemed to shed a heavy burden.

She felt like she was floating on a light mist.

“I want to stay like this until Maricela comes for us,” he said against the side of her neck. The caress of his lips against her skin sent rivers of delight coursing through her body.

She pushed away her fears and doubts. She decided to stop thinking and simply feel.

Des watched her sleep. He raised himself up on one elbow to study the features of the incredible woman cradled in his arms. After the experience of the past few days, exhaustion had caught up with her.

Unable to hold back, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Very slowly he began kissing her until she started to respond. She made several little moaning sounds before her eyelids fluttered open.

“Des—”

“I’m right here,” he murmured against her lips. “As if I’d be anyplace else.”

In the next breath she began kissing him, causing his senses to leap. One kiss and then another and another until there was no beginning and no end. He rolled her on top of him, cupping her face so he could taste every centimeter of her. “You have no comprehension of how much I want you, amada.”

“But—”

“Hush,” he said to quiet her. “I don’t want to hear that we haven’t known each other long enough, or that you’re not desirable, or that we come from two different worlds, or any of the dozen reasons percolating in your mind.”

“Allee?” Maricela’s voice broke in as she knocked on the door. “It’s time for the party.”

“I’ll be right there,” she called out.

“I’ll tell Mama. Hurry!”

Des kissed her trembling mouth once more before letting her go. She practically weaved in front of him as she got to her feet. He helped her stand. “I’ve got a lot of repair work to do,” she said, and laughed, looking down at her dress.

He grinned. “There’s no time,” he said, loving to watch her blush. “We’re about to enjoy Christmas Eve with Miguel’s family. No matter what you do, you’ll look thoroughly kissed.” He strolled over to the chair and put on his suit jacket and then held the door open for her as they went to the Torillas’ party.

After a feast of lamb followed by almond pastry, everyone gathered in the living room around the Nativity scene. Miguel read from the Bible about the birth of the Savior. Then he flashed Ally a smile from across their living room where he was seated near the fire. “It’s time for your special surprise, señora. Our children have been waiting and waiting for this.”

They nestled on either side of her on the couch. Inez and Des were seated in separate chairs placed in front of the adorable tree the children had decorated. His black eyes didn’t move from her face.

“All right.” Still feeling breathless since waking in Des’s arms, Ally pulled a big picture book out of her sack. “This is my gift to you. It’s my very, very favorite Christmas story. In America, Santa Claus brings the children presents on Christmas Eve. Your parents told me that in Spain, the Three Wise Men will bring presents to your house in January.”

They nodded.

“So let this be my present to you.” Having learned the words by heart as a child, she stared at Des as she began.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.’”

At that moment she had a vision of being in a house with Des, surrounded by their own children. The vision grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.

When she looked back at her decision to come to the Pyrenees, she realized she’d wanted to pit herself against the elements and get past her fear. But unless she could get past her biggest fear of Des rejecting her, what was life for? Where was her courage, her faith?

She looked down at the book. After swallowing hard, she finished reading and ended with the famous line, ‘“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’”

The children were enchanted and begged her to read it again and again. Finally Des stood up and thanked everyone. “If you’ll excuse us, Ally and I have plans for the rest of the evening.”

“But I thought you were still sick,” Nuncio said.

“Nuncio …” his mother scolded.

Ally tried to stifle her laughter, but it was hopeless. “He has a point, Señor Pastrana.” She smiled into his eyes.

“I may not be a hundred percent yet, but tonight is a special one, above all the other nights of my life, and I intend to enjoy it.” She heard the throb in his deep voice and felt her legs turn to water.

After hugs and kisses for the kids, she put on her coat and walked out of the posada with Des. Once the door closed behind them he stopped and pulled the lapels of her coat together so she faced him.

“Where are we going, Des?”

“To a place I know of where we can see the stars at their most brilliant. But before we do anything else, I want you to know I meant what I said in there just now. Tonight I feel like I’ve been reborn and a whole new beautiful future has opened up for me. Because I’ve fallen in love with you, Ally Bonner. It’s the real thing. I know it in my heart and soul.”

She couldn’t deny her own feelings, either. Not now. “Oh, Des—” She threw her arms around him. “I’m in love with you, too. I don’t know how it could have happened this fast, but it did. With you, I feel as if anything and everything is possible.”

Des crushed her against him. “How lucky we are to have found each other in this refuge, of all places. Mi amor …”

He kissed her and then took her hand as they left to watch the stars fade into Christmas Day … and beyond.

Naughty is Nice

About the Author

TAWNY WEBER is usually found dreaming up stories in her California home, surrounded by dogs, cats and kids. When she’s not writing hot, spicy stories for Blaze®, she’s shopping for the perfect pair of shoes or scrapbooking happy memories. Come by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com.

Look out for a new Blaze® novel from Tawny in 2012.

CHAPTER ONE

WELL, ho, ho, ho.

Mari Madison gave a little hum of appreciation as she stared across the street at what was, in her considered opinion, the nicest ass she’d ever seen. Leaning one shoulder against her mother’s porch pillar, she sipped the viciously strong coffee and decided that this was her reward for moving back home to be closer to her mother.

“Looks like the Coles are gearing up for the town’s annual holiday decorating contest,” her mother said from inside the front door. “I’d love to win that someday, but I’m not very clever with the big outdoor display.”

“I’ll bet we can come up with an awesome idea that’s guaranteed to win,” Mari decided. Her mom had been through so much—a lot of it because of her. Mari’s initial solution had been to leave town—out of sight, out of mind and all that. But she’d missed her mom. When she’d heard the only hairdresser in Ponder Hill was retiring, she’d taken it as a sign to come back home. And now that she had, she was going to do her mom proud. So Mari tossed a warm smile over her shoulder and promised, “I’ll help. This year will be your year.”

With another wistful glance and a laugh, her mom warned her not to get too chilly, then returned to baking yet another batch of gingerbread.

Mari leaned against the pillar again, eyeing the sexy carpenter across the street. Despite her hot coffee and even hotter view, she shivered. After five years of California living, Ponder Hill, Tennessee, in the winter was a shock to her system. It was freaking cold here. She’d bundled up in a thick sweater under her fleece-lined denim jacket, jeans and two pairs of socks tucked into a sweet pair of wedge-heeled hiking boots. Totally impractical, but a girl had to have priorities. Cute shoes were definitely at the top of hers.

The hottie across the street didn’t seem to have a problem with the temperature. Like her, he was wearing jeans and boots, although his were clearly for work, not fashion. But instead of layers and a knit beret, he wore a white T-shirt.

Not that she was complaining. This gave her a great view of his rounded biceps as he swung his hammer at a big slab of wood. His hair, dark enough to contrast nicely where it brushed the collar of his shirt, gleamed in the morning light.

Her gloved fingers itched to test the weight and texture of his hair to see if it was as wavy and thick as it looked. Occupational hazard, she figured. Though the tingle of desire in her belly had nothing to do with being a hairdresser and everything to do with attraction.

Then he turned. Mari’s eyes focused on the nice fit of his jeans, noting they were just as promising from the front as the back. The tingle heated up as desire intensified. Her gaze took a slow, appreciative slide up his flat belly, over a chest worth sighing about and paused briefly to give a little hum at the impressive width of his shoulders.

Oh, yeah, they built them nice here in Ponder Hill. Nicer than she’d remembered, even. Anticipation tight, she let her gaze rest on his face.

A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, giving a little-boy sweetness to a face that was hard planes and masculine angles. Sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw and a mouth that just begged to be kissed. Yum.

Her eyes met his—and widened in shock. Though she was too far away to see the color, she knew those deep-set eyes were a vivid green, like a grassy field on a hot summer day.

Declan Cole.

Well, shit. Mari’s fingers constricted on the mug.

Figured. The sexiest guy she’d seen in years was the one who’d ruined her high school reputation. It looked like payback would be topping her holiday list this year.

CHAPTER TWO

DECLAN Cole stepped back from the Christmas display he was building and swiped his hand over his forehead to shove his hair out of his eyes. Definitely time for a haircut. But grooming hadn’t been a high priority this month, what with having to return to his hometown to settle his father’s estate and then having his family gang up on him to get him to settle here permanently.

As he walked around the almost completed manger on his aunt and uncle’s front yard, something bright pink caught his gaze. He glanced across the street and let out a low whistle as his body went from chilly to steaming in three seconds flat. Her face was shadowed and her body was bundled in winter layers. But the sexy vibe he was picking up was humming loud and strong.

Crazy … he couldn’t even tell what she looked like. But she was definitely someone his body wanted to see a little closer. He tossed his hammer on a sawhorse. But before he could take a step, his aunt came out of her house with a steaming mug and a loving smile.

“Dec, you’ve done a great job. I can’t believe how quickly it’s coming together,” she said, gesturing at the various pieces he’d already built.

He warmed at the compliment. He wanted this holiday scene to be perfect. Eric and Amanda had offered him and his mom a place to hide a few times when the old man had been on another of his violent benders. They’d been among the few people in town who had believed the wickedly bad Declan Cole was worth a damn. And they were the only reason he was even considering basing his construction business in Ponder Hill.

But even love for his family wasn’t enough to make him believe it’d work out. Sure, after years as a construction foreman, he could strike out on his own anywhere. But why would he choose a town that saw him as nothing more than a chip off the ol’ drunken block?

“Thanks, Aunt Amanda,” he said. His eyes cut across the street again, lingering on the figure on the porch. Maybe he’d just found another reason to stick around Ponder Hill for a little while.

“Old Man Hanover must have family in for the holidays,” he mused, fishing for details.

His aunt followed his gaze. “Oh, no. Marsha Madison bought that house a little while ago after Mr. Hanover went into the nursing home. Marsha mentioned her daughter was moving back around the holidays. That must be her.”

Declan went from interested to turned-on in a heartbeat.

Mari Madison. The sexiest woman he’d ever dreamed about.

His aunt said something, then patted his arm and walked back into the house. Staring across the street, he barely noticed.

Mari had been a sweetheart. Someone who’d seen him for himself, and yes, judged him for his own wild ways. But never for his father’s. A couple years behind him in school, she’d been forbidden territory. Except for that one time …

Before he could move, she set her cup on the porch railing and bounded down the porch steps. As she crossed the street, his gaze did justice to the gorgeous view.

She’d only improved with age. Sunlight-blond hair slid like water under her funky pink hat, and her dark blue eyes sparkled. He had no idea what the hell those things were on her feet, but the rest of her curves were enough to make his mouth water and his body harden.

“Well, well,” he said with an appreciative grin. “If it isn’t sweet little Mari Madison. Here to give me another kiss?”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’D RATHER kiss a frog,” Mari said with a sniff, furious that Declan was even more gorgeous up close.

Why hadn’t he aged poorly, dammit? He’d been so wild, some of that debauched living ought to show on his face. Instead, all he was sporting was healthy color and a five o’clock shadow. At nine in the morning? Hadn’t he learned to shave yet? With a rush of lust, she remembered how those hair-roughened cheeks had felt against her soft skin. Which only made her madder.

“You ruined my reputation, Declan Cole. Because of you, my life—and my mother’s—became pure hell,” she accused, stepping closer to glare at him better. Even in her four-inch boots, she still had to tilt her head back. As her gaze met his gorgeous green eyes, she couldn’t remember how to breathe, let alone say the words she had meant to speak. Why was he so damned sexy? “What do you have to say for yourself?” she finally managed to ask.

“Maybe sweet doesn’t quite fit anymore,” he murmured.

Mari knew he was laughing at her and it only made her angrier.

“I can’t believe anything could have tarnished that perfect-princess rep of yours,” he continued. “Honor student, homecoming queen, Goody Two-Shoes.”

“Do you have any idea what people were saying about me?” she asked, the memory of the gossip still making her cheeks burn. “Or worse, what they’re still saying?” She recalled the snarky ex-jock at the grocery store the previous day. “Just yesterday some jerk thought he’d get lucky by offering me a ride home.”

“You’re a gorgeous woman. I’m betting a lot of men want to give you a ride.” Declan’s brow creased and he shrugged. “Besides, all we did was kiss. What’s the big deal?”

All they did was kiss? Just the memory of that kiss had fueled years of passionate dreams.

Wait, he thought she was gorgeous? Mari resisted the urge to check her hair and unbutton her jacket so she didn’t look like a denim marshmallow. No! That’s how this had all started in the first place. Declan had said something sweet, she’d gotten flustered and accepted his offer of a ride, and the next thing she knew, he’d kissed her stupid and the entire school was claiming she’d slept with him.

“The word around town was that we did a lot more than kiss,” she said, trying to ignore the thrill tingling all her girly parts and making her squirm. “Everyone was saying that you gave me a lot more than a ride home.”

“Who cares what people gossip about,” Declan objected.

“My mother, for one.” At the time, her mother had been so upset by the rumors, she’d yelled at a woman—very publicly—for repeating them. Unfortunately, the woman had been her boss. Tongues were still wagging about the resulting fight. Mari’s mom had lost her job, her spot on the town council and had almost left Ponder Hill over the humiliation. She’d only just regained her financial footing last year.

“But now that you’re back, you can set the record straight,” she decided. That’d be perfect. The wicked Cole boy would not only put Mari’s reputation right, but he’d also redeem her mother’s actions. Maybe then she could consider doing something about all of the wild sexual needs he was inspiring in her body.

“I don’t think so,” Declan returned with a shake of his head.

Mari stared. “You’re kidding, right? You have to tell people that nothing happened between us. It’s the right thing to do. You should have done it a long time ago.”

She didn’t know why he looked so pissed. She wasn’t asking him to lie. Just to make it clear that she hadn’t thanked him for a ride home by handing over her panties.

“Obviously you’re the one tuned in to all the gossip, so you tell me. When has anyone said I do the right thing?”

Never. Mari huffed out a breath. “So? This can be your first time.”

“Darlin’, there’s only one first time I’m interested in between us. And it has nothing to do with talking.”

CHAPTER FOUR

DECLAN didn’t know why he was being such a hard-ass about denying the rumor. Maybe because he realized a defense was pointless, especially after all this time.

Or maybe it was because a denial would only stir up the gossips. They’d rehash his rep. Talk a lot of shit, dredge up the past and before he knew it, his choice as to whether or not to stay in town would be made for him.

Though deep down, he acknowledged that none of that was true. He’d never cared about what other people thought of him. What bothered him was that Mari was ashamed to have kissed him. Especially when he was desperately craving another taste of her delicious mouth.

“You’re bad,” she said. But she didn’t sound disgusted. More … intrigued. That curiosity was as sexy as her very kissable mouth. He wanted her like crazy.

Declan had learned a lot about self-control over the years. He understood now that he couldn’t always have what he wanted. But Mari made him think of tossing all that out the window and kissing her senseless right here on his aunt’s driveway. In fact, he was liking that idea more and more.

“If you’re gonna worry about gossip, we should really give people something to talk about.”

He gave her his wickedest grin. When she didn’t run, he reached out, slid both hands up her arms and pulled her close.

Not close enough, since she was wrapped in twenty layers of fabric, but still within kissing distance.

Her pretty blue eyes rounded so big, her lush black lashes almost hit her eyebrows as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Delicious.

Heat surged. Even though he wanted to devour her mouth, he kept the kiss whisper-soft, with barely a hint of pressure.

He expected her to push him away. He just hoped he’d get one good taste before she did.

The last thing he figured she’d do was kiss him back.

Her tongue met his, spearing fire through his body. Damn, he loved being wrong. Mari’s mouth was a sweetly addicting nectar and after just one taste, he was hooked.

Their lips slipped together like they were made for each other. A perfect fit, Declan thought as he glided his tongue along the delicate seam of her lips, imagining other seams, other lips, other hot kisses as she gasped and opened to him.

Their tongues tangled in a hot, frantic dance. Her fingers gripped his arms, nails digging into his biceps in a way that made him groan. He slipped his hands down to cup her butt, then, remembering they were in his aunt’s driveway, he quickly moved them back to her waist.

After a few more incredible seconds, he gave in to the soft pressure of her hands on his shoulders and pulled back to stare at Mari. Her eyes were a misty blue, fogged with desire and, he was pleased to see, sexual curiosity.

He was looking forward to answering any questions she might have.

“Was that an agreement?” she asked breathlessly. “Your way of saying you were sorry and you’ll help me out?”

The heat in his blood cooled instantly. “Is that why you kissed me? To convince me to do what you wanted?” he demanded.

CHAPTER FIVE

“THAT wasn’t what I was trying to do.” Mari’s head was spinning; she could barely think straight. Her lips still tingled, sending waves of molten heat swirling down to her belly.

When Mari was sixteen, Declan had given her the best kiss of her life. It’d set a high bar for every brush of the lips she’d had since. It’d taken until she was twenty-four for anyone to raise that bar. Didn’t it just figure it’d be him again?

“We shouldn’t have kissed,” she decided breathlessly. “There’s no way anyone will believe your denial if we’re seen making out again.”

“They wouldn’t believe me if I hauled out film footage and played it at the movie theater, darlin’. And since there’s no point wasting our time trying to convince them, let’s focus on something else.”

Mari was getting a pretty strong clue just exactly what he wanted to focus on, too. His hands traced a path down her spine to settle under her coat on the small of her back. Despite the cold, his palms warmed her hips as he pressed her closer.

She breathed in his scent, male and inviting. The contrast of his hot body and the cool air only added to the surreal sensation as her brain once again checked out and she stood on tiptoe to meet his descending mouth. His lips were soft, his tongue teasing as he coaxed the heat up a couple hundred degrees.

He was so freaking delicious. As long as he kept on kissing her, she didn’t care what people said.

She heard the sound of a car starting up somewhere in the distance. As if she’d been set on fire, Mari ripped her mouth from Declan’s and jumped back.

So much for not caring. The look Declan gave her—part exasperation, part disappointment—made it clear he knew the reason behind her abrupt movement.

She bristled, her chin shifting higher.

“I’m not trying to deny my part in that kiss. Or to claim it wasn’t …” Incredible. Sexy as hell. Orgasm on a stick. “ … nice … But we barely know each other. We haven’t spoken in years, so I just think it’s a little too soon to get that familiar. Okay?”

He arched a brow. “And when do you think it’ll be soon enough?”

Mari bit her lip, wanting to say that two more seconds would be plenty of time. But she couldn’t. She had returned to Ponder Hill to start a new life for herself. To build a business and become a part of the community, something she’d missed in the hustle and bustle of California living. And she was pretty sure the community wouldn’t embrace their new hairdresser getting hot and heavy with the town bad boy up against a plywood donkey. And she knew her mother definitely wouldn’t.

“I think we’re getting sidetracked,” she hedged, needing to get this back on topic. “I came over to talk to you about those rumors, remember?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he snorted, obviously feeling a little pissy. “You ever stop worrying about other people’s opinions, you give me a yell. Otherwise, let’s call that our second kiss goodbye.”

CHAPTER SIX

PRETENDING he wasn’t hurt, Declan turned back to the manger he’d just finished hammering together before Mari’s surprise visit. With a grunt, he lifted it upright and set it on the cement to make sure it was even.

“You’re working on the holiday contest entry?” she asked. He could hear by her tone that she was fishing around for a safe topic. Probably to give herself time to figure out another way to nag him into a town confession.

Declan set his teeth and kept his attention on the eight-foot wooden display, ignoring the frustration—sexual and otherwise—clawing through his system.

“Yeah. This is the Coles’ year to win,” he declared, grabbing a file from his toolbox. Wincing a little, he crouched down to take a little off the right side so the manger stood steady.

“My mom was just saying she’d love to come in first this year,” Mari mused. “I promised her we’d enter together. I’m going to come up with a fun design and surprise her with it.”

Declan craned his head around to watch her poking at the various wooden pieces he’d built. Angels for the roof, sheep and cows for the yard. The structures for the living nativity Uncle Eric was choreographing for the town.

“Are you asking for my help?” He rubbed his chin, wondering at the ethics of aiding and abetting someone in competition with his family. Maybe if the design were different enough …?

“I already asked for your help and you turned me down, remember?” she said, giving him a saucy look. “I’ve decorated storefronts and windows before. I can win the decorating contest without you.”

“Darlin’, you haven’t got a chance,” he told her with a laugh. “I’m a professional carpenter. My aunt and uncle have been working on their design for months now. And the contest is in a matter of days. How do you expect to compete with that?”

The gleam in Mari’s pretty blue eyes made him twitchy.

They’d run in different circles back in high school—so different they might as well have been on separate planets—and neither of them had stuck around after. So Declan couldn’t claim he had a lot of knowledge about Mari Madison. But still, there were three things he did know.

She was gorgeous.

She was sweet.

And she was stubborn as hell.

That day he’d given her a ride home, it’d been because she’d been trying to change her own tire, despite the fact that she didn’t have a tire iron. She’d been so sure she could figure out some other way to get it fixed without having to call her mom away from work or incur a tow bill. He’d had to promise that he’d fix the tire before she got out of the rain and into his car.

“Anyone who’s a resident can enter the contest. And I plan to win. How I do it is up to me, isn’t it?” she returned with a smile so sweet it set off warning bells in his brain.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m just wondering if you’re game for a little bet?”

Intrigued, he tossed the file back in the toolbox and sunk his hands into his pockets, watching her carefully while she inspected the props, not looking at him. “What’s the wager?”

“I bet my display will beat yours in the contest.”

Declan laughed. “Yeah? And the stakes?”

She turned and met his eyes. “When I win, you tell the truth about us. And you do it in front of the whole town when they announce the winner of the decorating contest.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MARI bit her lip as she looked away, scrutinizing Declan out of the corner of her eye while she tried to pretend she wasn’t anxious about his answer. She was also pretending she wasn’t checking out his package.

“And when I win?” he asked, his head tilted to one side so a lock of hair fell over his brow.

“What do you want?” she asked, shrugging like she didn’t care. She glanced at his hair again, her fingers twitching to touch the silken strands … among other things. “How about free haircuts for an entire year.”

“I doubt I’ll be here that long.”

“You’re not living in Ponder Hill?” Why had she thought he was? Mari frowned, noticing for the first time the Georgia plates on his truck.

“Nope. Which means my stakes should be a little more interesting. Especially since the contest competition is fierce this year. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

She’d decorated the salon she worked at for every holiday. And while she might not have much talent with a hammer, she was hell-on-wheels when it came to a hot-glue gun. She remembered the various displays from her childhood and gave a sharp nod.

“Of course I’m sure. But if you need any help, you just give me a holler.” She offered him her sassiest smile and pointed to her mother’s house. “I won’t be far.”

“Living with Mommy?” he teased.

“Just until I find an apartment.” She arched her brow toward the Coles’ ranch house and asked, “You bunking with your relatives?”

“Nah. They don’t need a third wheel. Besides, the girls are all coming home for the holidays, so the house will be full up.”

Mari thought of Declan’s three cousins. All gorgeous, all talented, all clever. She and Rita Mae had hung out once in a while, but Alison and Layla had been a couple years ahead of her.

“So where are you living?” she asked.

“At the old man’s place. It’s been empty for a few months and it’s a dump, but I plan to flip it.” His words were short, his tone closed.

She winced, remembering her mom mentioning Clayton Cole having cancer. He must not have made it. She’d have offered her sympathy, but she knew Declan didn’t want it.

Still, Mari’s heart melted a little. She’d always felt for Declan. Whereas so many people had whispered about what a wild child he was, she’d yearned to bring him home with her and hide him away in her bedroom where he’d be safe. Luckily, by the time she’d hit her teens and had grown brave enough to actually consider doing it, she’d also learned enough to know that if she brought Declan Cole into her bedroom, she’d be the one who wasn’t safe.

“So what about the bet?” she asked, doing them both a favor and changing the subject.

“The bet?” He met her gaze, the look in his green eyes so wicked she took an involuntary step back and wondered where she could find a chastity belt. “I’ll take the bet.”

“And your stakes?”

“You win, I give that speech you’re so desperate for.” After she nodded, he gave her a grin that almost melted her underwear. Then he continued, “And if I win, you make that rumor a reality.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALMOST finished with the music stage, Declan hammered the last LED star in place on the header then climbed down from his ladder. As he descended, his gaze slipped across the street, like it did every five minutes or so.

After accepting his bet with a hot look and a nervous nod, Mari had skedaddled across the street and he hadn’t seen her since. It was driving him nuts.

“Hey, there, Declan Cole,” said a sultry voice behind him. “Talk about a holiday treat. When’d you roll back into town?”

Declan sighed. He should have known the ghost of girlfriends past would show up sooner or later. He turned, raising a brow at the sight.

Sylvie Ford apparently didn’t realize it was winter. Coatless, her low-cut top was plastered over a set of boobs that she hadn’t been sporting when he’d had the pleasure back in the day. Tight jeans tucked into knee-high boots made him wonder if she had a whip hidden in her pants. Big red hair, sharp brown eyes and a smile that told him she’d be glad to let him sample anything he saw completed the familiar package.

Mari had been a thousand times sexier bundled in denim and those weird shoes.

“Sylvie,” he greeted cautiously.

“And you’re looking even better than ever,” Sylvie said,

stepping forward to press her double Ds against him. “I’m glad to see you again. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Not really. Declan just smiled and retreated, glancing past her at the other woman leaning against a beat-up old Toyota.

“Dec,” greeted the quiet brunette with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, Robin,” he said, not surprised to see the other woman was still in Sylvie’s shadow. “How’ve you been?”

Before Robin could answer, the redhead stepped between them again.

“I heard you were helping out your aunt and uncle with the contest this year,” Sylvie said, trailing one of her talons down his chest.

His body cooling rapidly now that he wasn’t working, Declan edged away from her questing fingers and grabbed his coat. Shrugging into the extra layer of protection—from more than the chill—he glanced at the almost finished display. Nothing like the houses he usually built, but it still filled him with a comfortable sort of pride.

“That’s right. My aunt and uncle have a great idea, they just needed a little of my woodworking expertise.”

“You’re wasting your time. My daddy always wins the holiday contest. You know that. He claims it’s because I dress up as an angel and wave at the judges.”

Declan grimaced. He remembered one year she’d shown him what she wore under that costume. He’d had a hell of a time getting those feathers out of his … stuff.

“This is a new year,” was all he said, though. “The Coles have got as much of a shot as anyone.”

“We’ll see,” Sylvie claimed with a friendly smile. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi. And to invite you to the party over at Mike’s Bar to kick off the season. I’ll save a seat for you, okay?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, knowing he wouldn’t go. Mike’s had been his father’s favorite drinking hole. Declan didn’t want to see it any more than he wanted to see Sylvie naked again.

Nope, the only woman he wanted to see naked was Mari, and Mari alone. He glanced across the street again, wondering where the hell she was.

CHAPTER NINE

MARI pulled into her mother’s driveway, glad to find Declan still hard at work across the street. She bounded out of her Jeep, ignoring the bags of decorations and supplies, and hurried over. She told herself it was to pitch her idea, not because she was becoming addicted to the zing of sexual excitement that he incited.

“Here to pay off your bet early?” Declan asked from his perch on a ladder. He’d finished the stage and was now adding touches of holiday glitz. It looked great. But hers was going to be better, she promised herself.

“I stopped by the town hall to enter the contest and got to visiting,” she responded. Mostly she’d been scoping out possible customers. Even though she’d rented her salon space, she wasn’t starting work until after the first of the year. But it never hurt to promote the business a little.

And, she admitted to herself, to see if people were still talking about her, Declan and her mother.

Which they were. She squared her shoulders, knowing she needed to use that as motivation to win this contest instead of pouting over the unfairness of it all.

“Get any good gossip?” Declan taunted good-naturedly.

She wasn’t about to tell him that they were still good fodder for the rumor mill. She wished people would move on. And they would, once Declan confessed.

“The guy who was supposed to work on the gazebo in the town square got hurt last week,” she said instead. “Now the council needs a carpenter. You interested?”

“No.”

“C’mon. You’d be great. They could really use help.” And if she saved the day by hauling Declan in, she’d be one step closer to regaining her golden-girl status with the town. That meant good cheer, friendly faces … and paying customers.

“Nah. They don’t need me,” he said, going back to screwing some doodad into another thingamabob.

Mari frowned. “Really, they do. And I’ll do my part. I’m not so great with a hammer, but you can teach me.”

“Let’s put it this way,” he countered, still playing with his screwdriver, “they might want help, but they won’t want mine.”

Mari huffed, sending a puff of chilled air around her head like smoke. She was fully aware that the town had treated him like crap. But if he’d just put in some time with them, everyone would see what a great guy he was and quit judging him by his past.

“How do you know that?” she asked in exasperation.

“If they wanted my skills, they’d ask me.”

His words were reasonable. His tone was mellow. So why did she think this was a huge deal for him?

“I’m asking you to help.”

“Not a good idea. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you ended up associated with me? If I recall, you are still trying to wash that stain away.”

Mari rolled her eyes.

“You should quit being so stubborn,” she warned. “Don’t forget, Santa keeps track of whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”

Declan’s laugh filled her with a lusty sort of joy. The kind that said he’d make her laugh just before he sent her screaming over that delicious edge of ecstasy.

“Darlin’, haven’t you heard? Naughty is nice.”

CHAPTER TEN

WITH a real smile on his face for the first time since he’d pulled into town, Declan backed his truck out of his father’s driveway, waving to the elderly neighbor, Mr. Roberts, as he went. The old guy gave him a suspicious look, but lifted his hand in return.

Was the town over his past indiscretions? Mari said they were—she was pushing him to donate an hour or two of swinging his hammer, and encouraged him to ask around about jobs and feel out the possibilities of sticking around. For a girl who was still running from rumors, she sure had a lot of faith in his ability to face them down.

Then again, maybe she just wanted to hang with him. He liked that idea. Especially since he wanted to spend a whole lot of time with her. The woman made him feel things … incredibly sexy, oddly sentimental and just plain good around her.

He drove into his uncle’s driveway and parked behind his ‘57 Chevy. He hopped out of his truck, excited to get started. And not just on the display.

Then he stopped so fast the coffee in his to-go cup splashed all over his fingers. He ignored the sting, staring in disbelief at the mess that’d been a music stage when he’d left the day before. Puddles of paint had congealed over the splintered wood littered across the lawn.

“I was just gonna call you,” Uncle Eric said as he came around the side of the house, his face set in grim anger. “Looks like someone got here before we did.”

Fury surged through Declan. His fist clenched on his toolbox as he battled the urge to send it flying into what was left of his display.

“Any idea who’d pull something like this?” Eric asked, adding his glare to the mess.

“Just one,” he muttered, his eyes cutting to the cozy little house across the street. Sometime since he’d gone home the evening before, Mari had strung lights around the house and decorated the huge pine in the yard.

She’d said she wanted to win the contest this year… .

Apparently she’d been quite the busy girl last night.

Hot-gluing wrapping paper to the giant empty boxes that’d go under her tree, Mari couldn’t get Declan’s words out of her head. She’d just bet naughty was nice. Especially the way he did it. He’d gotten her all hot and bothered with just a kiss. What could he do with a little naked action? She fanned herself.

She was in the middle of a heat flash when she heard someone stomp up the porch steps to where she was working. She glanced over, her smile sliding away when she noticed how angry Declan was.

“Hello?” she said.

“Want to explain something for me?”

Frowning now, she got to her feet. She had a feeling she’d want to be standing. Or ready to break into a run.

“Explain what?”

He didn’t say a word. He just pointed. Mari stepped over to the porch rail and squinted across the street. It took her a few seconds to realize what she was seeing.

His display was a wreck.

“You think I did that?” she asked in horror.

“Darlin’, you’re the only one with anything to gain.” Looming over her, he blocked the sunlight, his anger enveloping her like a shroud.

“Right,” she snapped, smacking her hands against his chest to push him away. She’d be damned if he’d try and pull that bad-boy intimidation crap on her. “Because nobody else competing in the holiday contest wants to win.”

He narrowed his eyes for a second, as if he were considering her words. Then he shook his head.

“Not as much as you do.”

“How did I get dibs on all that ambition?”

“You’re the one with the most to lose.”

Mari opened her mouth to blast him then closed it again.

“You think I’d go as far as sabotaging your work just to get your confession?”

“No.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

“I think you’d sabotage my work to get out of sleeping with me.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked back across the street.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MARI was pissed.

Declan didn’t give a damn.

Refusing to look over at her house, he hauled the ruined lumber off the stage. He kicked aside an empty paint can, sending it ricocheting off a plywood donkey as he hauled the mess over to toss in the back of his truck.

“Dec?”

Softening his glare, he turned around. “Yeah, Aunt Amanda?”

“I’m running into town to get more lights for the display. Do you need me to pick up anything?”

He took in everything on the lawn. Other than the irritation factor, the actual damage was minimal. Some paint, a few broken boards. A minor ding to his ego and crack in his heart. No biggie.

“Nah, we’re okay. It’s mostly cosmetic. I’ll have things back on track by this evening. You’re still gonna win,” he vowed.

He’d wanted to win when he’d agreed to build the display. He’d really, really wanted to win when he’d bet on the contest’s outcome with Mari. But now? Now he’d do whatever it took to make sure they did.

“This isn’t your fault, you know,” she said quietly. “Don’t own this obnoxious act, Declan. This isn’t about you, it’s about someone cheating and being mean.”

“Could be,” he responded, giving her a grateful hug. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t want her worrying, either. “How’d you get so savvy?”

“Oh, please. I raised Rita Mae. That girl could have given you a run for your money when it came to trouble. And don’t get me started on the things Layla and Alison got up to.”

Declan laughed, just as she’d intended.

But as soon as she left, so did his smile. The Cole girls had nothing on him when it came to trouble. Even Rita. But him? Even when he didn’t go searching for it, trouble still followed him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have accused Mari of sabotaging his display. At first, he’d figured nobody else had anything to gain. But an hour of hauling debris had given him plenty of think-time. Enough to realize that he’d been an ass to assume that Mari was the only person who might have an issue with him. After all, most of the town would probably be happy to see the back of him again. And he’d been even more stupid to believe that Mari would do anything so hurtful.

For the first time since he’d stormed away from Mari, Declan glanced across the street. She’d added an inflatable holiday globe to the landscape and was now arranging three-foot-tall candy canes along the walkway. He watched her bend over to wiggle one of the sticks into the hard dirt and gave a hum of appreciation at the way her backside swayed with the effort. He was going crazy with wanting her.

Declan shoved his hands into his pockets and contemplated the situation. He could leave things be and let Mari stay pissed at him. That was probably smarter. Or he could go over and apologize. The words might burn his throat. But for another one of her sweet smiles, it’d be worth it.

And maybe if he offered to help her hang a few balls, he could finagle a kiss or two.

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