“I told you yesterday I wanted you from the first second I saw you four years ago. There’s nothing unusual about that, let alone criminal about it. I’m a healthy straight guy, you’re a healthy straight female…who’s to say us being together is wrong?”
“Are you so angry with your father that you would do this to hurt him?”
He started, caught off guard by the double blow of both her words and the sudden evidence of her vulnerability. He hadn’t told himself to move, but suddenly his hand cradled her jaw and his thumb whisked across her satiny cheek, as if trying to erase that lost look from her face.
“My making love to you had nothing to do with Mitchell Carradine. Nothing. Do you understand me?”
He found his gaze pinned to her full, pink lips. Against his will, a rush of heat swept into his cock. He stiffened against his thigh.
Jesus. He really was the animal Angeline accused him of being.
Her lips parted and he found himself drawing closer.
“But, Alex…you don’t even know me.”
He blinked at her whispered words. He opened his mouth to tell her he knew enough. His reaction to her was singular in his experience. Maybe she was right to think of him as a brute, because the fact of the matter was, Alex didn’t even bother to logic out his overpowering need to possess her. He may be single-minded, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew what he wanted when he saw it, and he wasn’t stupid enough to deny it when the object of his desire was suddenly thrown into his path. There was a time for rational thought and there was a time for action.
Alex took one more look at the doubt and confusion on Angeline’s face and decided now might be the time for a little thoughtful re-trenching, however.
He brushed the pad of his thumb across her full lower lip—retreating didn’t mean he was a saint—and let his hand drop to his lap.
“So let me get to know you better.” When he saw the suspicion that flickered into countenance, he couldn’t help but smile. “Not like that. Not now, anyway. Let’s do something together.”
“Alex, there’s a blizzard going on outside. There’s no electricity. We can’t even watch television. What are we going to do?”
He could tell by her wary look that she still suspected of him of trying to get her beneath him again. Not that he didn’t want to get her beneath him, above him…in front of him, restrained to his bed, screaming in pleasure and need…but hell. In all reality, he did also want to listen to her voice, see her smile…find out everything about her.
He shrugged. “It’s Christmas Eve. We could pull out my old Christmas decorations, see if there’s anything that’s not broken, moldy, or serving as a mouse’s house.”
A doubtful smile curved her lips. “You always wait to put up your Christmas decorations on Christmas Eve?”
“No,” he said, sounding more matter of fact than he felt as he stared at Angeline’s mouth. He stood. There was a sealed box of decorations shoved into the back of one of the spare bedroom closets, if he recalled correctly. He wasn’t a Scrooge, necessarily, but the decorations up at the lodge had been more than sufficient for him when it was just him in the house.
“I wasn’t going to put anything up at all,” he explained as he headed toward the glacial hallway. “But from what you told me, you’re used to a tree. I cut one down for you this morning. It’s drying out in the garage.”
Chapter Eight
Angeline was still sitting in the exact same position when Alex returned carrying a huge cardboard box a minute or two later. His casually spoken words had frozen her in shock. Her brain replayed the memory again and again.
But from what you told me, you’re used to a tree. I cut one down for you this morning. It’s drying out in the garage.
He plunked down the box in front of her and sat next to her on the couch.
“Don’t expect much.”
She gave him a curious sideways glance—had there been a hint of vulnerability in his tone?—before she peeled back the flaps on the box and withdrew a velvet bag. When she reached inside, she first drew out an exquisite little beaded apple, then a pear, and then a dove, the detailing and color choice making each item a work of art.
“Where did you get them? They’re darling…perfect,” she exclaimed as she examined a little toy soldier.
“My grandmother made them for me. She can make anything. She can take a coffee can and make it into a family heirloom.”
“You really love your grandparents, don’t you?” she murmured as she continued to admire each beaded gem before she carefully placed it on her lap.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why didn’t you move near them?” she asked as she ran her fingers over a tiny brown-and-white-spotted cow.
“I thought about it. Nearly bought a little resort a couple hours from my grandparents’ house, but…” She glanced back at him when he faded off. “I sort of fell for the land hereabouts. Besides, it’s not that far of a trip to St. Paul.”