by Alexa Rivers
She backed up so quickly it would have been comical if not for the blow to his ego, as effective as a karate chop to the throat. “Don’t do that.” Her voice was shaky.
He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Sorry, sorry. I got carried away.”
“Yes, you did.”
He winced. She wasn’t letting his faux pas go without comment.
“Don’t do it again,” she said. “If you need me, I’ll be in the bedroom. You can bring your paperwork to me there. It’s more comfortable.”
The way she said that made him think physical comfort wasn’t the only thing on her mind. Had his kiss made her uncomfortable? He never wanted to be one of those men who made women nervous. He’d seen plenty of those guys at his bar over the years and ejected them as rapidly as possible. But maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe the past between them made her uncomfortable. If so, he wasn’t doing a damn thing to make it easier for her. She’d crushed him, so it was only fair she feel a little of what he had.
She took the laptop and left. He rubbed his eyelids, strolled to the sofa and slumped onto it. This was not how he’d thought he’d be spending Christmas Eve.
Chapter 4
Once Davy had delivered his papers, Evie perched the computer on her lap and opened a second spreadsheet. She labeled a series of worksheets and columns, and started importing data from one file to the other, matching items up to the receipts and invoices stacked beside her. As the rows of numbers morphed into a meaningful pattern, she smiled in satisfaction.
At least, she did until Christmas music blared through the crack beneath the door.
Grinding her teeth together, she ignored the festive beat. Or tried to, anyway. When Davy cranked the volume, she slapped her hands over her ears to muffle the obnoxious noise, but they did nothing to soften the drone of his voice when he began to sing.
“Tis the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-la.”
He practically yelled the lyrics. Was he actually crazy, or was he trying to rile her? If so, she couldn’t fathom why. God knew she deserved a little torture for dropping him like a hot potato the way she had, but surely revenge should take a back seat to keeping her on side until she’d gotten his books in shape. Besides, she’d thought they’d reached a truce.
Focusing on the screen, she strove, unsuccessfully, to tune out the Irishman’s boisterous singing. She endured it for several minutes, then set the laptop aside and stomped down the hall to the living room, throwing the door open.
“Turn down the racket,” she hollered.
Davy tapped his ear and shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t hear her. His shit-eating grin said otherwise.
“Shut it off,” she insisted, and mimed rotating the volume dial.
His grin widened, and he repeated the movement.
“Shut up!” she roared at the exact moment he reached over and dialed down the music to a pleasant background noise.
His wide green eyes feigned shock. “No need to shout at me, Evelyn. I’m not a mind reader. How can I help you?”
For the first time, she noticed the scarf of tinsel wrapped around his neck and the sparkly green baubles he clasped. “Are those leprechaun testicles?”
Davy just stared at her for the length of a heartbeat, then he guffawed. “Leprechaun balls,” he choked. “That’s a new one.”
She scowled to hide the flicker of interest aroused by his smile. “That’s what they look like.”
He raised one ginger eyebrow. “Am I detecting some Grinchy vibes coming from my house guest? Are you a Christmas Grinch, Miss Parata? I’d never have thought it of you. You’re the life of the party.”
Ah, yes. There it was. Someone expecting her to be her usual perky self, exactly as she’d feared would happen. Sighing, she scrubbed a hand down her face. “I can’t always be ‘on’, Davy. Sometimes even the life of the party needs a bit of down time.”
His expression turned curious. “Of course you do. Just took me by surprise, is all. Here.” He passed her one of the green baubles. “Put this on the tree. Decorating works wonders for mood.”
She looked at the bauble as if it were a viper, then she glanced at the tree, wondering where he expected her to hang it. The tree was so beautifully decorated it could have a full page spread in Interior Design: The Christmas Edition, and she was a total amateur. She couldn’t help but feel that whatever she did, she’d ruin its perfect symmetry.
With a shake of her head, she tossed it back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You do it.”
He frowned at her, crossing his forearms over his plaid-clad chest. “Are you scared to decorate my tree?”
She scoffed. “I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t do Christmas. At least not the way you do. I have my own traditions and they don’t involve glittery leprechaun testicles.”
“You know what? I think you’re scared. As a matter of fact, I think you’re too chicken-shit to hang this bauble,” he held it up by the twine loop, “from that branch.” He pointed to an empty pine twig. “If you’re not, prove me wrong.” He leaned forward, smirking. “I dare you.”
If he’d phrased it differently, she could have taken the high ground, but she couldn’t turn down a dare, and he knew it. She snatched the ball from his grip and threaded it onto the branch.
“There. Happy?”
“Thrilled.”
He looked it too, damn him.
“If you hang another five decorations, I’ll turn down the music so you can carry on in true Grinch style.”
Her hands went to her hips. “I can’t believe you’re holding the volume control hostage.”
“Believe it, girl. You’d better get your A into G.”
“Fine.” She reached into the box of decorations and grabbed the first one she touched. It almost crumpled beneath her thumb and she softened her hold on it. The paper sides of a handmade cube were colored alternately red and green by what looked like the enthusiastic hand of a child with a felt-tip pen. One side was smooth and glossy. A photograph. Lifting the cube, she peered at the photo, which had been faded by years of wear and tear. It showed a little boy with a messy head of straw-like hair and a smattering of freckles.
“Is this you?” she asked, touching the miniature face.
“Yes,” he said, far nearer than she’d thought he was. If she turned, her nose might brush his chest. “That was taken back in Ireland, before we moved here. We made decorations each Christmas, and Mam kept them all, bless her hoarder’s soul. She gave them to me a few years ago.”
Something stung Evie’s eyes and she blinked, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. She would not get emotional at the thought of little Davy making this terrible decoration, or of his mother saving it all these years, even though it had crossed an ocean. She would most definitely not wallow in self-pity because all her own mum had left for her was a photograph and a tragic storybook. She was made of tougher stuff than that.
“Sweet,” she said, and handed it to him, choosing a selection of mass-produced baubles instead. She didn’t need any more cutesy stories.
Deciding it was easier to dive in than worry about ruining the aesthetic, she placed three baubles in quick succession and was stretching onto her toes to hang the fourth when Davy’s torso brushed her back and he plucked it from her fingers, putting it on the branch she’d been aiming for.
“Where do you want the last one?” he asked.
She hung it on the lowest level of the tree. “There. Can you turn it down now?”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
* * *
After an hour and a half of blessed quiet, a rumbling stomach drove Evie from the bedroom. She needed food, ASAP. There was no sign of Davy, so she wandered to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for a bowl and a box of cereal. There was nothing like breakfast for dinner. She poured a healthy serving of cocoa pops and was splashing them with milk when footsteps padded down the hall and Davy came into view, naked except for a towel slung low over his hips.
Evie’s breath hitched. She hadn’t seen this much of him since they were seventeen and she’d hoped he could be her forever boy. They could’ve traveled the world together for the rest of their lives, a dream she’d never expressed to him, especially after she found out how attached to Itirangi he was.
Her gaze roved over him. His skin had the same milky coloring as before, and the dusting of hair on his chest contrasted sharply, orange on white. He’d filled out in the intervening years, his torso blocky and shoulders wide. He’d been a lanky teenager, with all the height of a man but none of the stature. At some point, that had changed. He’d aged well.
Breath eased from between his parted lips and his eyes locked on hers. To her surprise, no snappy quip was forthcoming on either side of the stare-down. Flecks of emerald sparkled in the mossy green of his irises, and she watched them, mesmerized. Her heart pitter-pattered against the inside of her ribcage like it was trying to break free.
A loud beeping interrupted the moment, drawing her attention to the fridge, which she’d left open. She hurried over, slotted the milk bottle into the door, and closed it. Then she grabbed the bowl of cocoa pops and sat at the dining table, spooning a mound of the crackling cereal into her mouth.
“Cereal for dinner?” he asked, making no move to cover himself.
“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
He winked. Winked. The cheeky devil. “Not if you make me some, too.”
Because she was taking advantage of his hospitality, she could hardly say no. Smiling merrily, he pulled out the chair opposite her while she returned to the kitchen area and heaped cocoa pops into a second bowl, drowning them in full-fat milk. Then she passed them to him, taking pains not to touch his bare skin, before she settled back and continued to eat her own.
“Thank you, kind-hearted lady,” he drawled, looking pleased with himself as he started on the cereal. She recalled him looking exactly the same way after the first time they’d had sex, and her heart sped at the memory. Already, the nearness of his half-naked body had her hormones on high alert. She had a sixth sense for sexy guys, and Davy set off her internal hotness radar something wicked.
What did it mean that after all this time and distance she still wanted to jump his bones? Every other man she’d been with, she’d happily banged out of her system. If she encountered them now, she might consider a good romp for old time’s sake, but she knew without an ounce of doubt that her palms wouldn’t sweat and her thighs wouldn’t clench the way they did now.
Had she been a fool to leave him? At eighteen, with grand ideas about the adventures awaiting her in the world outside Itirangi, she’d believed with all her heart that she’d be a fool to stay. She didn’t regret the way her life had turned out, but now she wondered if she’d been naïve to think she could have the same connection with other men.
“Earth to Evelyn. You in there?”
Her head snapped up, and she hoped her thoughts weren’t written on her face. “Yes, just thinking.”
He cocked his head and set his spoon aside. “About what?”
“Nothing interesting.”
He leaned forward, one elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm. “And how do you know what I’d find interesting?”
She held his gaze. “Because I used to know you, and trust me when I say you should stop asking.” Mulling over their break-up would do neither of them any good. She’d hurt him—badly—and she didn’t want to reopen old wounds. His, or hers.
To his credit, he didn’t pursue the line of questioning. Maybe he realized she was only being honest. As she rinsed her cereal bowl and stacked it away, she wondered whether he’d dated much over the years. While she’d always wanted him to be happy, she found she didn’t like the idea of him seeing other women. She liked to think Aria or Sophie would have told her if there’d been someone in the picture, but then Evie had never let on how serious they’d been about each other as kids. They had no idea how deep her feelings for him had gone. Not even her reluctance to go to his bar hadn’t tipped them off. They’d put it down to a disdain for small-town venues, and she’d let them believe it. If they knew one-tenth of the tangle of emotions that sprang up inside her each time she saw him, they’d have tried to push the two of them together long before now.
No, it was best for everyone involved that they’d kept things on the down low.
She bid him goodnight and decided not to leave her bedroom again for the evening. She could survive Christmas without seeing much of him at all.
She had to, for her own peace of mind.
Davy lay in bed, uncomfortably hard. Having Evelyn just down the hall, where he could envision her in tiny summer pajamas, drove him out of his mind. He wasn’t alone in his lust, either. He’d seen the way she’d ogled him. Though she wouldn’t admit it, she was attracted to him, and that knowledge both satisfied and relieved him. Regardless of the heartbreak she’d heaped on him when they were young, he still wanted her, and thank-frigging-God she felt the same way. One-sided attraction wasn’t something to be recommended.
Closing his eyes, he thought of the last time he’d seen her before today. It had been the day of Aria’s wedding, and Evelyn had been a bridesmaid, resplendent in a figure-hugging gold dress. She’d sung at the ceremony, and taken his breath away. She’d always liked to sing, but he’d forgotten how moving it could be. How her raw, throaty voice could wrap around him like a blanket and make him shiver with delight. He’d hoped to talk to her, and try to put some of the awkwardness of the past years behind them, perhaps start fresh, but she’d stayed on the dance floor all night, and seemed to dance with every man except him. He’d drunk himself under the bar—which took a fair amount of effort—and by the time he’d recovered enough to make it to the wedding breakfast, she was gone.
Now she was a guest in his home, trusting him to give her safe shelter for Christmas. Much as he may want to, he wasn’t going to abuse that trust by doing anything inappropriate. If only his body would get the message that she was off limits. Rolling over, he imagined jumping into the frigid water of Lake Itirangi, hoping to cool his ardor. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 5
Davy woke early, stretched toward the ceiling, and smiled.
Christmas Day. How he loved it.
He checked his watch, noting that his family would arrive in a few hours for lunch, so he needed to start preparing the food. His mouth watered at the thought of their traditional Christmas fare—roast turkey, baked ham, cranberry sauce, carrots, parsnips, and a scrumptious trifle for dessert.
His stomach grumbled and he rubbed the flat surface of his belly. Food would come later. First, coffee. Without bothering to dress, he padded next door, into the kitchen and dining area, where he stopped dead in his tracks.
Shit, damn, hell.
He’d forgotten he had a guest. And apparently, she was an early riser. She stood in front of the kitchen counter, balanced on one leg, her foot on a thin yoga mat and an arm pointed out in front of her. Her other arm and leg were bowed above her body so that she looked like a ballerina paused midway through a dance. He expected her to shriek at the sight of him, but she didn’t react at all. He looked closer and realized her eyes were shut. She didn’t know he was there.
Feeling like a pervert, but too entranced to leave, he admired her form, both in terms of her yoga technique and her figure. She was effortlessly graceful, like she’d been doing this her whole life. She didn’t teeter or move so much as an eyelash. Every muscle remained perfectly still. He’d never seen anyone so serene, certainly not Evelyn.
Her legs, though short, were shapely, her thighs curved into a rounded bottom that gave way to a slim torso and heart-stoppingly perfect breasts, which he knew from experience could not be contained by a man’s hands. Those breasts had been enough to reduce him to a slathering mess as a boy.
Her neck was long and elegant, her chin pointed, and cheekbones pronounced. His gaze wandered leisurely back down to her feet, which wer
e ridiculously tiny. He recalled that her hands were also small. He’d burst with pride back when she’d put her two delicate hands side by side along his shaft and not fully encompassed him.
Something thumped his pelvis. Glancing down, he realized he had an erection. Also, he was naked, and watching Evelyn like a creep.
“Feck,” he swore.
Her eyes opened. In about two seconds, she took in his nudity and dropped from her position into a crouch, brandishing her miniature fists at him. When she didn’t scream, he had to wonder how common it was for horny men to disrupt her yoga routine with unwanted advances.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, fixing him with a psycho glare that threatened all kinds of painful revenge if he didn’t back off immediately.
“I’m so sorry.” He lowered his hands to cover his junk, and edged away, reluctant to turn his back lest she either attack, or be blinded by the stunning white glow of his ass. Once in the hall, he darted to his bedroom and threw on black jeans and a snug green t-shirt. Properly attired, he hurried back, intent on making amends.
In the doorway, he bumped into the rolled-up end of Evelyn’s yoga mat. Or had she hit him with it? At this point, he wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t blame her if she had.
“I’m so sorry about that,” he told her again. “I forgot you were here. Normally I can walk around in the buff and there’s no one to see. I swear to Mother Mary, I didn’t mean to shock you like that.”
Her brow furrowed, and she glanced from him to the yoga mat, as if considering whether to whack him over the head with it. He wouldn’t stop her. He deserved it.
“Are you even Catholic?” she asked.
He grinned. She’d opted not to hurt him yet. “My Mam would have my head if I said no.”
She rolled her eyes. “But do you go to church?”
“Once or twice a year, when Mam gets concerned about the wellbeing of my immortal soul. I can recite ‘Our Father’, ‘Hail Mary’, and ‘Glory Be’ word for word, like any good Irish boy.”