by Cait London
Harmony shivered, but refused to retreat, concentrating on holding her unfamiliar anger in check. She’d always faced everything life threw at her, including her powers. They were past the Christmas-cheer area and into another basic realm: Jonah Fargo needed a lesson about women and sensitivity, and she was just the one to give it to him.
He lifted his head to look down at her. “Why don’t you just go ahead and explode and do whatever you think you’re going to do? Then maybe we can both get some sleep.”
Jonah knew he had gotten to her. From the smirk on his dark, bearded face and the gleam in his blue eyes surrounded by tiny crinkling lines, she saw that Jonah enjoyed getting to her. He relished causing her anger to go TILT in big red letters.
“I could devastate you,” Harmony managed unevenly, distantly aware that she had never threatened anyone in her life. “I could take that tiny, one-track brain of yours and—”
“Uh-huh. Sure. I’m scared. You say you’ve got powers. You think I’ve got them. Why don’t you throw a mind brick at me and see if I can catch it?” Jonah said, his grin widening as he crossed his arms over his chest and stood back.
His stance, that of an arrogant male challenging her as no other man had ever done, caused Harmony to study her trembling, splayed fingers. It was better than wrapping them around his throat.
A distant, but firm realization hovered around her shimmering anger: When Jonah tormented her, she acted blindly and her powers were overridden, her emotions and her body responding without the control she had always exercised...
From the couch, Shrimp whined softly, apologizing for her master.
Harmony closed her eyes, fighting for the control that Jonah did not deserve. He was standing there in his boxer shorts, a hole in the material covering his right thigh, his upper body tanned darkly and his long muscled legs pale, and he was challenging her—
Why, you... Then she mentally pictured the dinosaur teeth lifting off the table into the air. The teeth rose. The huge array of petrified teeth hovered in the air and laughed.
Next, Harmony raised a cupid army to decorate Jonah like a Christmas tree. A tiny angel fluttered to rest on his rumpled black hair and held up a sprig of mistletoe.
In a dash of inspiration, Harmony packaged Jonah in a big red satin ribbon and tagged him with a huge sign that read: Warning. Overheated Male. Do Not Open Until Christmas. Use Extreme Caution When Unwrapping.
Jonah stood very still, his hands curled into fists, watching her as she crossed her arms and smiled grimly. “Now you’re ready for June. Tell me aloud what you are wearing, Jonah.”
Then she pictured him in ruffled shorts decorated with jingle bells and cupids. To prompt him, she placed the sound of reindeer hoof beats on his rooftop.
“Shorts,” he said between his teeth, scowling at her. He tilted his head, a characteristic she recognized when Jonah was listening carefully.
She caused Dancer and Prancer to do a fast jig, and Jonah glanced at the ceiling warily. He dusted away the cupid toying with the lace at his thigh, lifting it slightly to peek—
Jonah slapped his open hand flat against his thigh. “Just shorts,” he repeated very firmly.
“June will love your outfit,” Harmony singsonged.
“Do you?’’ he tossed back at her with a rakish grin.
Because her life usually ran as smoothly as her name, Harmony was unused to fast repartee or volatile men. Or the sensual gleam that lighted the tough cowboy’s eyes. Usually men looked at her as a good friend, or as an artist, or simply as a marketing person doing her job. Jonah’s steady, intense look reminded her of steam and storms and heat.
She resented the hair lifting at the nape of her neck. “Now is not the time to torment me, Mr. Hot to Trot.”
“No one ever crosses you, do they?” Jonah asked slowly, as though turning his thoughts very carefully. “You don’t like anything disturbing your life and what you want, do you? Everything and everyone must march as you want, right? If something— someone— gets too close, you just ease away, don’t you?”
He’d struck too close, dancing into Harmony’s life and opening corners she wanted to leave dusty and in the past. She didn’t like arguing and she’d never tasted the need for revenge as poignantly as now.
Harmony breathed quickly as carolers began to sing in the snowstorm she had created in the cabin. She tucked a Christmas tree into a corner and a roasting turkey in the oven. Fresh pumpkin pies sat on the counter.
Harmony studied her revenge-prey closely. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and on his upper lip. His hands formed tight fists, the knuckles pale beneath dark skin.
“Tell me what you are wearing,” she ordered again in a taut whisper.
Jonah closed his eyes and frowned. Harmony saw herself in a transparent black baby-doll negligee, an item she had never owned. A huge Christmas bow that ran from her shoulder across her breast to her hip slowly unraveled. The silky negligee began to slide slowly upward as though being removed by a man’s hand.
She tugged the image down, then crossed her arms over her breasts. Though Jonah did not recognize his powers, they were developing too rapidly for her taste.
“I never wear sexy nightgowns,” she stated baldly.
“Maybe you should. It’s a sight a man appreciates, especially that little mole right—”
She slapped her hand over her left breast, shielding the tiny mole. As an afterthought, she placed her other hand over the small strawberry birthmark on her right buttock— which was covered by an image of tiny transparent and ruffled briefs.
Shrimp tilted her head inquiringly as she looked at Harmony.
Jonah smiled wolfishly then, looking very pleased, and then horror spread across his expression.
“I... am... losing my mind,” he said shakily and walked slowly to the couch.
Jonah Fargo had aged in heartbeats and Harmony had been a part of his pain. She’d pushed him too hard, too soon, before he was ready to realize his psychic ability. Horrified at the consequences of her dark temper, Harmony watched him ease onto the couch like an elderly man.
Jonah sat with his head bent and his eyes closed. Then he turned haunted eyes to her, the shadows waiting for him, ready to enclose him in nightmares and loneliness.
Harmony instantly regretted her loss of control. She had done this terrible thing to him, added to his uncertainty, his anguish. She had never hurt anyone in her lifetime, and she knew instantly that tonight Jonah would hear the child’s sobbing again. Her anger had strengthened his powers and increased his awareness. Now desperation shrouded him, a man clinging to reality by his fingertips and she had nudged him—
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he murmured tiredly, the lines deepening in his face. “Go on to sleep now, Miss Harmony. It’s only—” he glanced at the clock and his expression said he’d lived ten lifetimes “—almost two o’clock now. Pax will be here tomorrow and you’ll be fine. You can wallow in all the Christmas cheer you want.”
He slowly rested his head on the back of the couch, his face lined and harsh.
“Go on. Get some rest,” he said in a deep, hollow tone as though he knew the morning would find him dry-eyed and sleepless. As though he knew his tomorrows would be filled with the sound of the child crying—
Harmony almost cried out her apologies, but realized that one more mental fling would only serve to bring Jonah closer to his abyss.
“You will sleep tonight, Jonah Fargo,” she promised softly when she lay in bed.
~**~
Jonah stretched and yawned sleepily and the bed creaked gently beneath him. He stopped moving, then tested the freshly laundered sheets with his toes. He slowly crushed the pillow with his fingers. He’d fallen asleep on the uncomfortable couch…
Dreams. Good dreams curled around him… soothing touches and whispers, softness wrapped around and relaxed him. Jonah kept his eyes closed, trying to stay in the dreams, wrap them around him for just a while longer…
Ha
nds had touched his forehead gently, fingers stroking his temples and brow, soothing him. There had been a loving family enclosing him— a woman, children, a man had smiled at him. He was a part of them, sharing and loving...
Warm. He’d been warm last night, safe, comfortable, his heart and mind at ease. He’d felt a healing, his heart mending...
The child had not cried out to him…
He remembered last night. Anger had darkened Harmony’s magnificent eyes, the storms swirling around her as he denied having psychic abilities. He’d worn lace boxer shorts decorated with jingle bells and cupids. He had imagined the sound of reindeer hooves on his rooftop.
Jonah breathed lightly, and one glance at the window told him that he had slept heavily. The day was brilliant, blinding, the sunlight intensified by the snow. The wall clock chimed softly: It was seven o’clock, well past his waking hour when he was able to sleep.
He caught a scent: flowers in a spring meadow, sunlight and morning dew. Then a subtler, erotic touch of a woman: Harmony Davis.
Jonah rose quickly to his feet. He slid into his jeans, then walked quickly to Harmony’s room. Shrimp, curled on the rug beside her bed, looked up at him with an expression that said he should hush; Harmony had had a bad night.
Harmony sprawled across the bed on her stomach, the bells on her wrist catching the morning light. Jonah bent, crouching beside the bed to study her: his Christmas-happy intruder. He smiled slightly, surprising himself, when be thought of how magnificent she had been, pitting herself against him, head lifted and amber eyes flashing.
He slid a fingertip beneath the curls covering her cheek and eased them gently away.
Her face was pale, dark bruises circling her eyes. Harmony Davis looked like a woman who had spent the night at the bedside of a needy friend. On the nightstand rested a plate dusted with biscuit crumbs.
Jonah found his hand touching hers, his fingers curling around the slender, capable feminine ones. He owed her an apology; he’d never behaved with a woman like he had behaved with Harmony last night. His thumb stroked the fine inner skin of her wrist, testing the slow pulse there as he considered his apology. To a man living alone, words didn’t come easy.
Then he was looking into Harmony’s haunted eyes. She stared blankly at him for a moment, weariness swirling in the soft depths.
“Were you hungry last night?” he asked, unwilling to spread her crazy notions about psychic abilities into the momentary peace he had been feeling.
“Mmm. Hungry. I ate the rest of the biscuits.” Her voice was drenched in sleep. Jonah couldn’t stop his eyes from skimming down the quilts covering her. How many years ago had he awakened to a woman’s scent? To the soft warmth?
Harmony’s eyes closed slowly as she clung to sleep. She had not been as tired last night, and now she was exhausted. Harmony stretched beneath the quilts and yawned. “Sorry. I’ll make breakfast in a minute. I’m a nervous eater. Comes from childhood problems and—”
Suddenly those magnificent, dark golden eyes opened to his and her fingers tightened on his. “When I began to discover my abilities— Jonah, did you sleep well?”
“If you’re gearing up to toss that psychic malarkey at me— don’t,” Jonah ordered, unwilling to leave her touch, yet sensing she wanted to talk about his so-called powers.
She’d touched him in the night… while he slept. She’d given him peace. Instantly, he knew: He remembered a gentle touch, the taut agony flowing out of him. He shook his head, trying to clear the sound of her soft, beckoning voice. Impossible! The images were only proof that he was sliding.
“You think you hear Grace crying for her doll, Jonah.”
Jonah eased his fingers away and stood as Harmony drew the quilts to her chest and sat up. Her face was stark and pale in the shadows of the room.
“Doll?” Jonah thought of the baby doll he’d planned to give Grace. The doll that he had cradled in his worst moments, remembering how badly she’d wanted it. The doll his tears had dampened...
He was angry then for allowing himself to come near Harmony this morning, to feel the softness that could only turn into pain.
“Lady, I had a real taste of your nutty ideas last night. You need help,” he stated flatly before walking out of the bedroom.
Then, because he was raging, frustrated and fresh from having his pain spread before him, Jonah returned to stand over her bed. “You’re mule-headed, Harmony. You’ve locked onto a dingbat idea, and I don’t need any more buttons pushed right now. Or your misplaced sympathy.”
He swallowed, the thought of Grace crying for her doll too painful, too impossible. “Keep this mind-reading, crystal ball stuff away from me until Pax comes. Better yet— tell me what I’m thinking about now.” He placed his hands on his hips and thought about making love to Harmony because that was truly what he wanted to do: To make love to sweet Harmony until neither of them had the energy to think or move. The way he felt now, their loving season might last through to the New Year.
She flushed deeply, lifting the quilts to her chin. “Jonah, you should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Why?” he asked innocently, then mentally spread Harmony’s pale body over his darker one. If she wanted to think she could read his mind, she was in deep trouble. While she preferred to wallow in mental untruths, he had always moved quickly through life, doing what had to be done and not dwelling on anything but reality.
His physical reality now was sharp and drawn from a dream about Harmony wearing a skimpy nightgown. A tormenting sensual need tightened his muscles when he would have prepared to disregard the image. “Tell me what I’m thinking of now.”
Heat. Storms. Hunger. Harmony locked to him, making love…
Her expression darkened. “I refuse to be involved, my fine buckaroo.”
“Right,” Jonah stated darkly, satisfied that Harmony couldn’t read his mind. Then he frowned slightly, sensing an emotion quivering in her. Was it fear? Fear for him? Fear of him? “Look. I apologize for last night. For the come-on. I’ve never wanted anyone but my wife.”
The sunlight from the window touched her hair in a glossy halo and caught the angular set of her jaw. She sat there, wrapped in her stormy temper and the quilt, her earring hoops shimmering gold, knees drawn to her chest, and he wanted her.
Jonah ran trembling fingers through his hair. He’d made enough of a fool of himself last night. When a man clung to sanity by his fingertips, he didn’t need a Gypsy woman tipping him over the edge. “I don’t know what this ESP malarkey is. I don’t have it. I don’t want it. It’s not real anyway. But, lady, you sure do know how to stir me up.”
As he was leaving the room, walking quickly away from the unsettling emotions, her softly spoken words caught him in midstride. “Merry Christmas, Jonah. I’ll see that you’re repaid for saving my life.”
“Leave it,” he said for the second time since he’d met Harmony.
Four hours later, he wiped away frost from the barn window and watched Harmony. A small, trudging figure in the vast white plains, Harmony walked through the deep snow toward the highway where Pax had been honking.
The lady was trouble. Delicious trouble and too tempting for a man who was too old, too scarred. She wasn’t pretty, but she unnerved his senses. No wonder he was seeing cupids and mistletoe and laughing dinosaur teeth... Harmony Davis had stepped into his life, tossing her crazy ideas at him and filling his stomach with good food.
His mind was shifting, veering, remembering glimpses of her standing in his T-shirt. Or was it a black transparent negligee?
Nothing made sense anymore.
Harmony had said the sound he heard was in his mind: Grace crying for her doll. If he believed that, he was ready for the— Jonah remembered the image of himself standing in cupid-splashed shorts with mistletoe sprigs over his ears and the whole package tied with a big red bow.
Jonah shook his head, trying to shatter the image. Lack of sleep caused a man to think crooked.
Harmony had h
ugged him. Moved right into his arms and held him tight as though to comfort him. He’d acted like some yahoo, wanting her hungrily.
His body ached from the unfamiliar sensual tension even now. Her lips tasted like rose petals and dewdrops. Pax’s little sister had a round, firm body that fit snugly against Jonah’s rangy, lean one. She wasn’t happy about him in her life, either. She liked easy people, comfortable, gentle ways. She enjoyed kissing and hugging from Pax’s family, but she kept others at a safe distance. And unless he missed his guess, Miss Harmony didn’t want entanglements of the heart any more than he did.
And unless he’d gone totally over the edge, in her lifetime Miss Harmony hadn’t been touched as a real woman should be touched: with nothing between, no-holds-barred, and no holding back.
Jonah closed his eyes and pictured the round shape of her breasts beneath the transparent negligee. She had a tantalizing little strawberry birthmark on her right buttock. Those big, surprised honey-shaded eyes told him that no one had ever kissed her there. Those sweet lips alone could drive a man all the way over the edge... She had that sweet, pure look that made a man want to cuddle her.
He’d been thinking of more than cuddling last night just after the cupid brigade got to him.
“Cupids. Get a grip on yourself, cowboy,” Jonah ordered aloud as he bent to grip the pitchfork. “Making moves on a woman at your age could cause some real problems. Let alone a woman who believes in mind reading for real.”
Jonah stopped in the middle of pitching hay to the horses, his leather gloves tightening on the pitchfork.
June. Harmony had specifically said “June” before he had mentioned the name. How did she know?
He shook his head. Pax must have said something about June chasing Jonah. Jonah heard himself mutter, “Extrasensory powers. No way in hell.”
In the barn’s shadows, the child began to whimper… With a groan, Jonah sagged against the wall.
~**~
Harmony leaned her head against the pickup window and closed her eyes wearily. “I’m glad the moving van wasn’t too difficult to get out of the snow,” she said.