by Linda Turner
That was an admission that he knew he was going to regret later, but for now, he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered but holding her, getting his hands and mouth on her, giving in to the need that had been with him so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted her. Groaning her name, he tightened his arms around her, lifted her completely off her feet, and laid a kiss on her that curled her toes.
“We shouldn’t—”
“I know. Just let me—”
Wrenching his mouth from hers, he trailed slow kisses down her neck and loved the way she shuddered in his arms. Moaning, she clung to him. “I can’t think—”
“Don’t,” he murmured thickly, and turned his attention back to her mouth. “Don’t think. Not yet.”
Not now. Not when he finally had her back in his arms and his bedroom was only steps away. It seemed like he’d been waiting for this moment from the second he first laid eyes on her, and tonight, nothing was getting in their way. No house rules, no business, nothing.
Caught up in the taste and feel and heat of her, he would have sworn Phoebe was just as lost to reason as he was. But one second, she was kissing him back with a hunger that matched his own, and the next, she was five steps away. Swearing, he instinctively reached for her.
Behind her, her bedroom door quietly swung open, and it was only then that he realized that she’d heard the kids stirring. And before he could blink the passion from his eyes, the kids were rushing into the living room, both of them excitedly talking at once.
“Mitch! You came!”
“I knew you would. I knew it! Robby said only Santa can fly in the ice, but you said you’d come back if you could, and you did!” Shooting her brother an I-told-you-so look, she grinned cheekily at Mitch. “Boys think they know everything.”
Chuckling, he scooped both kids up for a monster hug. “Actually, for a while there, I thought I was going to be stuck in Amarillo for the rest of the week. The airport was closed, and I almost had to call Santa for a lift.”
Drawing back, Robby looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You have Santa’s phone number?”
“Well, no, I don’t have it, personally,” he admitted. “But I know some people with some pretty high connections. One of them could get it for me.”
“Can you call them? Could we talk to Santa tonight?”
“Please?”
Trapped, Mitch hedged, “Well, I don’t know about that, guys. It’s awfully late.”
“And Santa likes to communicate through the mail,” Phoebe reminded them. “Letter-writing’s a lost art. Anyway, you squirts are supposed to be in bed asleep. Tomorrow’s a big day, and we don’t want any grumpy grapes because you didn’t get enough sleep. So go on—off to bed with you. Scoot.”
Her expression as innocent as a cherub’s, Becky stared up at the two adults guilelessly. “Can’t Mitch read us a story first? Just a little, tiny, baby one?”
The little minx knew she only had to smile at him to wrap him around her little finger. Fighting a grin, Mitch looked at Phoebe. “It’s your call. Do they get a story or not?”
She should have said no—tomorrow was going to be a long day and if they didn’t get enough rest they’d be picking at each other by noon. But if she sent the kids back to bed, she and Mitch would be alone again, and she wasn’t ready for that just yet, not when her heart hadn’t stopped racing from the moment he’d told her how much he’d missed her. If the kids hadn’t come in when they had...
Shying away from completing that thought, she said quickly, “All right. You can have fifteen minutes, but that’s it. Then it’s lights out.”
“Then I’d better hustle,” he said promptly. “Come on, kids. Grab a book, then into bed with you.”
He didn’t have to tell them twice. Laughing, Becky snatched a book from the bookcase, then raced with Robby into the bedroom. Within seconds, Mitch’s low murmur and the kids’ muffled chuckles floated back into the living room. Entranced, Phoebe should have stayed right where she was and waited for him to finish before even approaching the bedroom. But the sound of his voice drew her like a pied piper. Unable to resist, she found herself moving to the open bedroom doorway to listen.
He sat perched on the side of the lower bunk, a half smile curling the comer of his mouth in a crooked grin as he read a story about two boys on a treasure hunt. The kids had heard the tale so many times that they knew it by heart, but you would have never known that from their faces. Spellbound, they crowded close and stared up at Mitch with rapt attention, hanging on every word.
Just watching the three of them together, Phoebe felt her heart lurch. He was a man who should have had children. Why hadn’t she realized that before? Why hadn’t she seen that under the ruthless, cynical businessman image he presented to the rest of the world was a softy—when it came to a couple of rug rats who just happened to be crazy about him?
Lost in her reflections, she didn’t realize he’d reached the end of the story until he suddenly leaned down, kissed the kids good-night, then hoisted Robby up into the top bunk. “All right, monster children,” he said teasingly, “not another peep out of you till morning. Okay?”
“Okeydokey,” Becky said happily as he switched out the bedside light. Snuggling down under the covers, she watched him head for the door, where Phoebe stood in the light that streamed in from the hall. “Are you going to kiss Aunt Phoebe, too?” the little voice called out. “She’s going to bed, too. Aren’t you, Aunt Phoebe?”
Leaning against the doorjamb, Phoebe straightened like a poker, heat flaming into her face. “I think there’s been enough kissing for one night,” she began stiffly, only to realize what she’d said. Mortified, she added hastily, “I mean...of you kids!”
That only sounded like she hadn’t gotten her share of kisses. Cursing her wayward tongue, she wanted to sink right through the floor. “It’s late,” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s time everyone was in bed.”
His blue eyes twinkling with devilment as he approached where she stood in the doorway, Mitch murmured, “I agree completely. Good night, Phoebe.” And before she could step back out of the way, he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to plant a soft, tantalizing kiss on either side of her mouth. Then he propped her back against the doorjamb, stepped around her and headed for his own room. She was still standing where he’d left her when she heard him softly shut his bedroom door. Watching from their bed, the kids giggled.
How she slept after that, Phoebe never knew. But the next thing she knew, the alarm was going off and it was time to put the turkey in the oven. After that, the day just seemed to fly. The kids were up with the sun, so excited that they could barely stand still long enough to get dressed. If it hadn’t been for Mitch, they would have been bouncing off the walls. While Phoebe bustled around gathering the ingredients for the pies she planned to make, he rounded up the kids for breakfast, cleaned up after them, helped them set the dining-room table with Alice’s holiday china, then took them with him to the airport to pick up their grandparents.
While they were gone, Phoebe put the last pie in the oven, checked the turkey, and made the cornbread for the dressing. She just had time to change into a holiday sweater and black slacks, then tie on an apron before the kids were back, bursting through the front door with wide grins on their faces and their grandparents in tow.
Up until then, she’d been nervous about the meal and her ability to pull it off—she was a decent cook, but she’d never attempted to roast a turkey before. But with the Mallorys’ arrival, she realized that it wasn’t the food that was important, but the fact that they were all together. They weren’t her family—their only connection to her was the kids—but they greeted her like a daughter, with hugs and kisses, and just that easily, the day became the holiday that it was meant to be.
Caught up in greeting them, with everyone talking and laughing at once, Phoebe completely forgot about the pie she had in the oven until Louise sniffed and said suddenly, “Is something
burning?”
“Oh, my God! My pie!”
Rushing into the kitchen, Phoebe grabbed hot pads and quickly pulled out a cherry pie that was bubbling over and just on the verge of burning. “Oh, no!”
Following her into the kitchen, Louise chuckled and patted her on the shoulder in sympathy. “It’s not that bad, dear. When you serve it, just put a scoop of ice cream on top, and everyone will rave about it. Now, what can I do to help?”
“Oh, nothing! You came to visit with the kids.”
“And I will,” the older woman said, grabbing a spare apron from the hook hanging by the back door and tying it on. “But there’s plenty of time to do that later—Ward and I don’t fly back home until Sunday evening. In the meantime, you look like you could use some help. If I had to guess, I would say this is the first time you’ve cooked a turkey.”
Phoebe couldn’t have denied it if she’d wanted to—the kitchen was a disaster area and anyone with eyes could see that she wasn’t quite sure what she was doing. Grimacing, she had to laugh at herself. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to another woman who’s tried to do it all by herself,” she retorted with a grin. “Believe me, it’s no fun. So let me help, and you can tell me about the kids and how they’re getting along. They look wonderful. Happy.”
There wasn’t so much as a smidgen of envy in her voice, no trace of regret that the children were no longer with her and Ward in New Orleans, and for that, Phoebe was extremely grateful. The kids had become such a big part of her life that she couldn’t imagine what she would do if the Mallorys ever decided that they wanted them back.
Reading her thoughts, Louise said, “You’ll never know how much comfort we take in knowing they’re with you. You’re good for them, and it’s obvious that you love them like they were your own. The three of you belong together.”
Touched, tears stinging her eyes, Phoebe hugged her. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Her own eyes watery, Louise hugged her back and laughed. “Lord, look at the two of us! It’s a holiday. We should be laughing. Tell me what the kids have been up to. Knowing Robby and the way he likes to get into mischief, your life hasn’t been dull the last couple of weeks.”
“Well, he did flush a puffer fish down the toilet,” Phoebe admitted, grinning, as Louise sat down at the kitchen table to peel potatoes. “He thought it was dead...until it puffed up in the pipes and stopped up the toilet.”
“He didn’t!”
“Oh, yes, he did. That was when we were living in the other apartment. The next day, we were politely asked to leave.”
“I bet you wanted to kill him,” Louise laughed. “Wasn’t that the apartment where children weren’t allowed?”
Phoebe nodded. “After that little escapade, I could see why. I didn’t think the plumber was ever going to get that fish out of the pipes.”
With Louise’s help, getting the rest of the meal together was a piece of cake. While they laughed and talked and cooked in the kitchen, the kids played a new video game with Ward and Mitch in the living room. Tantalizing scents floated on the air, stirring appetites, and more then once, both the kids and the men wandered into the kitchen with their noses in the air. Then Phoebe was putting the food on the table, and everyone couldn’t get into the dining room fast enough.
“I want to sit next to Grandma.”
“But she told me I could!”
Scowling at each other, the kids had the first cross words of the day until Louise stepped in and separated them. “Goodness,” she chuckled, “I didn’t know I was so popular. What do you say I sit between the two of you? How’s that?”
The skirmish settled, everyone took their seats, and moments later, Phoebe asked Robby to say the prayer. “You’re seven now,” she told him with a smile when he looked doubtful. “You can do it.”
Encouraged, he solemnly took Phoebe’s hand and his grandmother’s, and hands were joined around the table. It wasn’t until Phoebe felt Mitch’s fingers close around hers that she realized he’d taken the seat on her other side. It was the first time he had touched her all day. Her heart skipping a beat, she glanced over to find him smiling at her, then she quickly lowered her gaze as Robby began the prayer.
“Thank You, God, for this food. And for taking care of us and making Grandpa Ward better. And for Mitch and whoever gave him Santa’s number,” he added quickly. “We’re going to call him for Christmas because we lost the art of letter-writing. Amen.”
Phoebe choked back a laugh and swore she wasn’t going to reward the little devil with so much as a grin. But then she made the mistake of looking at Mitch, who was still holding her hand and struggling to look serious, and they both burst out laughing.
“Robby! Shame on you!”
All innocence, he said, “What? I was just thanking God for our blessings. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do?”
He had them there and he knew it. Chuckling, his grandfather said, “You did very well, son. Now how about some of that turkey we’ve been smelling all morning? You want white meat or dark?”
Dinner wasn’t a Hallmark card, but it turned out better than Phoebe had hoped. If the turkey was a little dry and the potatoes more than a little lumpy, no one seemed to notice or care. And when it was over, the men insisted on doing the dishes! Sitting at the dining-room table with Louise, lingering over pie and coffee, Phoebe could hear Ward and Mitch talking and laughing as they tried to figure out how to load the dishwasher, then the occasional sharp sound of glassware nearly breaking from too rough handling.
Wincing, she started to get up to help—and save Alice’s dishes before they were completely destroyed—when Louise stopped her. “They’ll manage, dear,” she said with a chuckle. “If you go rushing in right now, they’ll step back and let you do the job, which is what they’re secretly hoping for.”
“But I didn’t ask them to do the dishes. They volunteered!”
“Of course they did. It was the right thing to do, especially after you spent all morning in the kitchen cooking. But if they make enough racket in there, and you insist on taking over for them, I can guarantee you, they won’t fight you on it. Then they can go back to playing games with the kids with a clear conscience while you—and I—do all the work.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s why they keep banging the glasses together?”
Her blue eyes twinkling, Louise laughed softly. “I’m not saying they’re consciously doing it. But Ward’s mother warned me about that little trick the day I married him and told me not to fall for it. If a man can take a motor apart and put it back together again, he can surely do a few dishes once in a while. So...what are your plans for tonight and this weekend?”
Blinking at the sudden change in subject, Phoebe said, “I don’t have any, actually. Except to watch the river parade tomorrow night and the lighting of the lights with the kids. Why?”
“Ward and I were hoping you’d let us have the kids for the weekend,” she replied. “We have a suite, so there will be plenty of room. I know I should have called you last week and discussed it with you, but with Ward’s health the way it is, we didn’t know until the last minute if we were really going to be able to come.” Disappointed, she forced a smile. “Of course, if you’ve already made plans...”
“It’s not anything that was carved in stone,” Phoebe assured her. “The kids do want to see the parade, though. As long as they get to do that, I don’t have a problem with them spending the weekend with you. They’ve missed you. It’ll be good for them.”
The kids were, in fact, thrilled at the idea of spending the entire weekend with their grandparents. By the time Mitch and Ward finished the dishes, they had their overnight bags packed with enough clothes to last them a week, and they were chomping at the bit to leave. They hardly took time to give Phoebe a couple of quick, distracted kisses before they were rushing out of the apartment with their grandparents, beside themselves with excitement at the unexpected treat.
Her heart thudding, she quickly moved to straighten the living room, chattering as nervously as an old maid on her first blind date. “Well, that was a surprise, wasn’t it? I imagine you’ve got to get back to Amarillo and get back to work tomorrow, so it looks like I’m going to have the place to myself. When’s your flight? Tonight or in the morning?”
Humor glinting in his eyes, he moved into her path and smiled slightly when she immediately changed course to avoid coming anywhere near him. “Actually, I hadn’t planned on going anywhere until Sunday night, and maybe not even then if I can get some things done on the phone,” he said lightly as she skirted around the far end of the couch. “Are you okay? You seem a little... jumpy.”
Jumpy? Of course she was jumpy! She’d only had a few hours’ sleep, the day had been wonderful but hectic, and even though the length of the couch was between them, he was too close. Especially when he had that wicked sparkle in his eyes. The one that always made her heart race. The one that always warmed his eyes whenever he was just about to kiss her.
“Jumpy?” she said hoarsely. “No, I’m fine. Just a little... tired. It seems like I’ve been moving in fast-forward all day. I think I’ll go take a nap.”
Her chin up, she headed for her bedroom and told herself she wasn’t acting like a scared rabbit. She was just retreating until she had a better handle on her suddenly raging hormones. But she’d only taken two steps when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her.
“Mitch! What do you think you’re doing?”
Even as he reeled her into his arms, he asked himself the same thing. He knew he had no business touching her. Not now. Not today. Not after he’d spent what was left of the night last night aching for her and fighting the need to go to her. He wanted her too damn much, and if he had any sense, he would get his butt to the airport and take the next flight out, and to hell with where it was headed. It was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, and he prided himself on being an intelligent man. But brains didn’t count for a hill of beans, he was discovering, when he had the chance to have her all to himself for the entire holiday weekend.