by Gina Wilkins
Oh, hell. Who was he to resist mistletoe-even the make-believe kind?
He dragged her against him and closed his mouth over hers, tasting the smile that had been taunting and tempting him.
Had her mouth not been otherwise occupied, Lucy might have been tempted to sigh with relief. She had been so sure that Banner didn't really want to send her away, but she knew the mutual attraction that had developed so quickly between them made him very nervous.
She couldn't blame him; she'd felt the same way initially. But then, Lucy had always been the type to make up her mind quickly. Banner, apparently, took a bit more persuasion.
And this kiss, she thought, sliding her hands up to lock behind his neck, was a heck of an argument in her favor.
His arms were around her now, and the strength she felt in those woodworker's muscles thrilled her. It would take no effort at all for him to literally sweep her off her feet. He'd already done so figuratively, and as far as she could tell, he had made no effort at all.
He lifted his head just far enough to break the kiss, though he didn't drop his arms. “Why aren't you on your way to Springfield?”
Her hands still clasped behind his neck, she allowed her fingertips to play with the back of his hair. It was lushly thick and surprisingly soft and she would have liked to dive into it with both hands-but that could wait. “I will be. Eventually. But I'm not quite ready to go yet.”
“If you're staying because of me…”
“Well, I'm not staying to spend more time with your dog-no offense, Hulk.”
The dog snuffled a lazy acknowledgment, making her smile before she turned her attention back to Banner.
He was frowning at her, though she noted that he still held her quite closely. “You should think about what I said-about how the last few hours haven't exactly been normal circumstances.”
“Yes, I know. You're worried that I've been so dazzled by your suave charms that I've succumbed to a fleeting infatuation.”
He had the grace to color a bit in response to her wry comments about his awkward insinuations. “Okay, I'm aware that I'm not exactly the social type, but I did make more of an effort than usual these past couple of days.”
“Why?”
Her simple question seemed to confuse him. “Why? I don't know. Because it's Christmas, I guess. The kids…and Miss Annie…it just seemed like the thing to do.”
“You were extremely kind to the children and Miss Annie. And to the rest of us, for that matter. Sharing your home and your hospitality, giving up your bed and letting us decorate your living room…you turned a terribly timed ice storm into a pleasant holiday interlude.”
Frowning fiercely, he shook his head, finally letting his arms drop from around her. He took a step backward, moving away from her touch as he spoke flatly. “That's exactly what I mean. I didn't really do anything except open the door. You were the one who came up with the ideas to entertain the kids and keep everyone else busy and content. I'm not a particularly kind person. In fact, I've been accused of being rude and boring and antisocial.”
Now she was the one who frowned, hearing undertones of old pain in his voice. “Who would say such things about you?”
“My family,” he said with a grim shrug. “And my ex-wife had a few extra adjectives to apply to me, but none I'm comfortable repeating in mixed company.”
Ex-wife. That revelation made her blink a couple of times, but it was the mention of his family that twisted her heart. He tried so hard to pretend it was his own choice to distance himself from his parents and half siblings, but she suspected the distance hurt him-maybe because no one else ever bothered to try to bridge it.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I see you more clearly than you think I do?” she asked him gently.
That possibility seemed to scare him worse than his theory that she was overromanticizing him. “I, uh-”
He didn't seem to know what else to say.
Banner had been kicked around so much he'd learned to expect nothing better, Lucy decided. His ex-wife had obviously been all wrong for him. Maybe it was his experience with her that made him worry that Lucy was trying to turn him into something he couldn't and didn't want to be.
He had lost confidence in his ability to form relationships with other people-and it was going to take patience and understanding on Lucy's part to convince him there was a chance that something special had developed between them during the past two days. Something that might last a lifetime, if they gave it a chance.
Just as Lucy didn't take long to make up her mind about someone, she saw no need to waste time once she had. “I'd like a chance to get to know the real you, Banner, if you're interested in getting to know the real me. Because, you see, I've been using 'company manners' myself the past couple of days. I'm not really perky and cheerful all the time. Sometimes I'm downright surly.”
That brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Trust me. Or better yet, ask some of my students. They'll tell you that I can be a pain when I'm in a rotten mood.”
His smile died. “Since the chances are slim that I'll meet any of your higher math students, I doubt that opportunity will ever arise.”
It still seemed to bother him that she was a math professor. Though she didn't quite understand that little hang-up, she figured she would find out the reason eventually. She would deal with it then. If he let her get that far.
She thought she had made it clear enough that she would like to stay a while longer. She had done everything short of tackling him, actually-and she wasn't entirely opposed to that measure, if necessary.
If Lucy had been the shy type who wasn't willing to go after what she wanted, she wouldn't have gotten as far as she had in her career this soon. But she would give him a little more time to make a move toward her first, she thought with a secret smile.
She didn't consider that she was being arrogant. Their last kiss had left little doubt that Banner wanted her.
There was an honesty in his kisses that reflected the innate frankness of the man himself. He wasn't a game player, and he had no patience for the type of insincere flattery other men might use for seduction. He was simply Banner, and to Lucy that fact alone was more captivating than any other man's flowery words had ever been.
This was certainly the first time she had thought about a lasting relationship within forty-eight hours of meeting anyone.
Yet there was still that battle-scarred skittishness to contend with. “Why don't you offer me a cup of tea?” she suggested casually.
The abrupt change of subject seemed to take him aback. “Um, you want some tea?”
“Thank you, I would love some,” she said promptly, as if he were offering rather than merely parroting. More than the tea, she wanted him to relax and stop worrying about what she might expect from him.
At the moment, she wanted nothing more than she had said-a chance to get to know him better. And the best way to get started seemed to be over tea and conversation.
If that didn't work, well, there was always the option of pouncing on him.
The kitchen table seemed bigger somehow with only Banner and Lucy sitting at it. The room itself was notably quiet without the chatter of the departed guests.
Banner was intensely aware of the silence, and self-conscious about his ability to fill it with anything interesting. His ex-wife had expressed her doubts that he would ever develop conversational skills. She had told him once that talking to him had been like trying to carry on a conversation with a block of the wood he worked with.
That had been toward the end of their brief marriage, when she had criticized everything about him, from his lack of ambition to his disinterest in social activities to his thoughtlessness about her happiness. She had taken off not long afterward, and last he'd heard she'd found herself a dirt-track race car driver who liked to party when he wasn't risking his neck at more than a hundred miles an hour. In other words, she had chosen someone wh
o was exactly Banner's opposite-the opposite of the settled, dependable security she had once claimed to want. From all accounts she was much happier now, and so was he, for that matter.
He didn't want to make any more stupid mistakes that would result in anyone else being hurt-himself included.
Lucy seemed perfectly content to sip her tea and wait for him to speak when he was ready, which surprised him since she had claimed a tendency to babble when she was nervous. He supposed she wasn't nervous now, which made him wonder why he was.
He racked his brain for something to say. “So, um, how's your tea?”
She smiled over her cup. “It's delicious, thank you.”
His gaze lingered on her moist, up-curved mouth. And his mind went blank again. Every time Lucy smiled at him, every time she licked a drop of tea from her lips or tossed back her cascade of soft red-gold curls, he went completely tongue-tied.
It was a condition that was familiar to him, since he had never been comfortable making small talk-which made him one lousy date, as he had been informed on a few memorable occasions. But it was even worse with Lucy, because with her-as with no one before her-he actually wanted to be witty and charming and interesting. It was precisely because he couldn't be any of those things that he should be urging her to leave, to join the family that was waiting so impatiently to spend the rest of this Christmas day with her.
He was generally a selfish person, but not even he could feel right about keeping her from that loving family when he couldn't even seem to carry on a conversation with her.
Seeming to sense that he was at a conversational loss, Lucy spoke up. He should have expected her to say something completely unexpected, and she did. “Let's play a game.”
“A game?” he repeated somewhat blankly. “Like what?”
“Twenty questions. Only I'm making a few new rules.”
He felt decidedly wary when he asked, “What new rules?”
“I can ask twenty questions about you, and you can ask twenty questions about me. And no matter what you're asked, you have to answer honestly.”
“And the point of this would be…?”
“It's a very efficient way of getting to know each other. That's one of our goals, isn't it? Exploring the attraction between us? Assessing the potential for more?”
She made it sound as logical and prosaic as if they were considering a financial investment. Must be the math professor in her. Not that he wanted her to start waxing poetic on him, of course. He had already decided that he should be convincing her how incompatible they would be in a long-term relationship-his fault, of course, since there was certainly nothing lacking in Lucy.
Maybe a few blunt answers to her questions would make the futility of any romantic expectations clear to her. Labeling it a game seemed an odd way to determine their fate, but he had learned not to be overly surprised by anything Lucy suggested.
Chapter Nine
“What question do you want to ask me?” Banner said, injecting just enough resignation in his tone to let Lucy know what he really thought about this exercise-which should be her first clue to their incompatibility, he mused.
His reluctance to participate didn't seem to bother her in the least. She reached for one of the cookies he had set out to accompany their tea when she replied. “Question one. Hmm. What's your birthday?”
Hardly a question of deep importance, he thought, which meant he could answer without weighing his words, “April 3. I'll be thirty-one.”
“That's two answers for one question,” she observed cheerily. “I should get extra points.”
“I didn't know we were awarding points.”
“I'll fill you in on that part later. Your turn to ask a question.”
The woman wasn't quite normal, which, Banner had to admit, if only to himself, was one of her charms. “I can't think of anything to ask. You go ahead.”
She sighed heavily. “Banner, you have to play the game correctly. Surely you can think of something to ask me.”
He shrugged. “Okay. What's your birthday?”
“July 25. I'm a Leo. Since you're an Aries, that makes us a very interesting combination.”
He cleared his throat, feeling the need to derail that train of thought before it got a good start. “Yeah, whatever. I've never been particularly interested in astrology. You don't really believe in that stuff, do you?”
“No cheating, dude. It's my turn to ask a question.”
He couldn't help chuckling at her wording. “So it is.”
She lowered her teacup and picked up her half-eaten cookie. “I like it when you laugh. You don't do it often enough.”
“That wasn't a question, it was an observation. Doesn't count.” But he liked that she liked it when he laughed. Which only demonstrated how much she messed with his mind, he thought in exasperation.
She seemed delighted that he was participating in her game, however reluctantly. “Okay, question two. What's your favorite color?”
He didn't know how she figured she was going to get to know him with such superficial questions-nor did he know how he was going to convince her of how different they were if all she asked were trivialities-but he gave her an answer, anyway. “Blue, I guess.”
“Most men say blue. Did you know that?”
“Is that another question?”
“No, just an observation.” She swallowed the last of her cookie and reached for another. “What's your next question?”
“I don't know-what's your favorite color?”
She frowned at him. “You aren't giving this enough thought. You're simply asking the same questions I am.”
“So maybe I really want to know your favorite color. What is it?”
“You know that pinky-purple color that a clear blue sky turns to just before sunset? That's my favorite color.”
Of course it was. He certainly shouldn't have expected her to give a simple, predictable answer like red or green or yellow.
She propped her elbows on the table and studied him. “What sort of music do you like?”
Question three, he thought. Only seventeen more to go. “Alan Jackson's in my CD player right now. Last week I was in the mood for Celtic tunes.”
“Ah. An eclectic listener. So am I-though I suppose I listen to classical recordings more than anything else.”
That was no surprise to him, either. Hadn't he read somewhere that there was a strong connection between mathematics and Mozart? “I didn't ask you what sort of music you liked.”
She chuckled. “Consider that a freebie. You still have eighteen questions.”
Oddly enough, he felt much more relaxed now than he had earlier. Had that been her intention with the whimsical game? He decided it probably had been her plan, since her questions weren't exactly thought provoking.
He tried to think of another question for her. There were a few things he wouldn't mind knowing about her, but most of them seemed too personal to ask. So he asked, instead, “What's your favorite snack food?”
“That's a good one,” she said with a nod of approval. “You can tell a lot about a person from their favorite foods. Have you ever had a deep-fried Twinkie?”
“I can't say that I have. That's your favorite snack?”
“No, but I had one at the state fair last year. I'm a fiend for chocolate-covered malted milk balls. I love the way they dissolve in your mouth when the chocolate is gone.”
Banner cleared his throat and shifted a bit in his chair. Something about the sensuous look on her face aroused him all over again. “I see.”
“Aren't you going to tell me your favorite snack?”
“You haven't asked,” he reminded her.
The way her full lower lip protruded when she pouted was enough to raise his blood pressure by a few dozen points. He dragged his gaze away from her mouth and reached for a cookie as she said, “Okay, if you have to be picky about it, I'll make it a formal question. What's your favorite snack food?”
“Moon pies.”
“Chocolate or banana?”
His left eyebrow rose. “That's question number five?”
“No. It's four-A.”
His mouth twitched with a wanna-be smile. “I'm not sure that's in the rules.”
“I make the rules,” she reminded him airily. “Chocolate or banana?”
“Banana.”
“Yuck.”
“No editorializing, please. That happens to be my favorite.”
“I don't remember seeing any moon pies in your pantry.”
“I'm out. Finished them off a couple of days ago and haven't been back to the store since. I'll stock up with a half-dozen boxes next time I go to town.”
She looked him up and down in a leisurely manner that made his heart start to pound. “Sure doesn't look like you eat half a dozen boxes of moon pies at a time. Not an extra ounce on you.”
Damn. He could almost feel himself starting to blush. Because she had embarrassed him, he blurted his next question without thought, grabbing randomly for another cookie at the same time, even though he hadn't taken a bite of the first one yet. “Have you always been afraid of the dark?”
Lucy didn't seem to find the question too personal. Nor did she seem to mind answering. “I think it started when I was ten or eleven. That's when my mother got sick, and she seemed to always be worse at night. Several times I woke up and found a baby-sitter in the house after my father had taken my mother to the hospital. It got to where I was afraid to go to bed because I didn't know what would have changed in my world by the time I woke up.”
She sighed a little and gazed down into her teacup as she continued, “I woke one morning to be told that she had passed away during the night-just as I had always predicted, I suppose. I've given a lot of thought to my neurosis during the past few years, and that's the best answer I can come up with. It's not that I'm so terrified of the dark that I turn into a screaming hysteric or anything like that-I just don't like not being able to see.”
Because he didn't know what to say in response to that heart-wrenching explanation, and being so lousy at expressing sympathy, Banner changed the subject. “Are you cold? We can move back into the living room in front of the fire, if you are.”