Make-Believe Mistletoe

by Gina Wilkins

  No wonder he had never developed a talent for small talk. No one had encouraged him to participate in social activities or supplied him with the skills to make sure he enjoyed them.

  Honestly, had his parents both been so absorbed with themselves and their younger offspring that they had given no thought at all to Banner's happiness? Had the protective shell he'd developed at such a young age been so tough that they hadn't been able to get through it-or had they given up trying too soon?

  Something he must have read in her expression made him defensive. “I had friends in school. Guys like me who were interested in tools and cars and camping and fishing. Dated some, though not seriously until I hooked up with Katrina. I particularly enjoyed the hours I spent in my great-uncle's workshop. I was content with my life.”

  Content, maybe, but still left feeling like an outsider, she mused. And as far as his ex-wife was concerned, Lucy had already surmised that he had married her because he'd been expected to marry and settle down at that stage in his life. It had been one of the few times Banner had tried to satisfy outside expectations, and that hadn't worked out. Which had only reinforced his reclusive self-image.

  She saw nothing wrong with Banner's choice to work at home or to shun artificial social gestures. She simply sensed that he wasn't entirely happy with his solitude. She had watched him with his Christmas guests, and she had seen the pleasure he had taken in the companionship, even if he hadn't known how to express his feelings. And when he had watched the children open their gifts, she would have sworn that he was imagining Christmas mornings with children of his own, just as she had done.

  Maybe she was mistaken, but she really didn't think so.

  Banner was a man in need of someone to love, and someone to love him in return. She just happened to know a suitable candidate for that position.

  Leap-before-you-look Lucy. Her cousin Mark's old nickname for her hovered in the back of her mind as she carried her teacup to the sink, then turned to smile up at Banner, who had followed her. “I'm ready to ask you my next question.”

  He made a show of sighing in resignation. “Fire away.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I did.”

  Her smile deepening in pleasure at the unexpected sincerity of his answer, she held out her hand to him. “Prove it.”

  Banner had spread his sleeping bag in front of the fire again. The fleece lining was soft beneath Lucy as she lay beside him in the warmth of the dancing flames. She loved the way the golden light played over his face, gleaming in his dark eyes and glinting in his thick dark hair. Appearance wasn't a priority for her when it came to men, but it certainly was a plus that Banner was so nice to look at.

  He reached out to stroke a fingertip down her cheek, his touch gentle, as if he was afraid of hurting her. She felt the calluses on his skin, and she trembled at the thought of those work-roughened hands sliding over her body. It had been quite a while since she had felt any man's hands, actually. She hadn't even been tempted with any of the men she had dated recently in her quest for a soul mate-but oh, was she tempted now.

  This had never happened for her before. Not this fast, this strong. And as exciting as it was, it was also a little scary. She'd had her heart bruised before, maybe even cracked a little-but it had never been broken.

  Those few other men hadn't had the power to hurt her that badly. She wasn't at all sure the same was true of Banner.

  Too fast. Too strong. But it felt real, nonetheless.

  “You're frowning,” he said. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” She reached up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, an excuse to feel the silky texture. “I thought this might happen when I came back to you. I hoped it would, actually.”

  His hair felt so nice against her fingers that she let her hand slide into it again. And since she was already there, she applied just enough pressure to bring his mouth closer to hers.

  Banner took the less-than-subtle hint immediately. His lips covered hers as his arms closed around her to pull her close. His fire-warmed body was long, lean and hard against hers-the perfect counterpart to her petite curves, she decided on the spot, nestling into his strength. As much as she considered herself any man's equal, she could still savor the restrained power of work-honed muscles and the breadth of masculine chest and shoulders.

  Behind her, the fire crackled and popped almost frantically as Banner's tongue slid between her lips. Trying, no doubt, to compete with the heat she and Banner were generating on this sleeping bag, Lucy mused dreamily.

  It seemed completely natural for Banner to slip his hand beneath the hem of her sweater, his palm sliding across her back. Taking that move as an implied invitation, she allowed her own hands to wander, parting the buttons on his soft chamois shirt to reveal the white T-shirt beneath.

  Another disadvantage to winter, she thought with a sigh. Way too many clothes involved.

  Seemingly as impatient as she was to have her hands on him, Banner shrugged out of his shirt, then tugged the T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Lucy sighed again, this time in sheer appreciation. Was there any part of this man that wasn't beautiful?

  She couldn't wait to find out.

  Though she had always been a woman who went after what she wanted, Lucy didn't generally consider herself the wanton or aggressive type. Something about Banner made her behave in ways that might have seemed uncharacteristic to her before she had met him.

  As if to illustrate that point, she reached for him. All that sleek, tanned skin was simply impossible to resist.

  She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse hammering there. His hand was unsteady when he tugged at her sweater, proving that he was as eager as she was. The muscles in his jaw were clenched, making his face look almost harsh when she glanced back up at him, but his eyes gleamed with a hunger that equaled hers.

  Funny, she thought, drawing his mouth to hers again. She had left her home to spend the holiday with people she loved. Who would have dreamed that she would end up falling in love on the way?

  Maybe it had happened too fast. And maybe she wasn't destined for a lifetime of happiness with this man. But what she felt for him now was much more than simple infatuation. More than lust. She loved everything she had learned about him, and she couldn't wait to learn more.

  Maybe neither Lucy nor Banner had intended to do more than talk or kiss when they had stretched out in front of the fire. Maybe. At least, Lucy hadn't deliberately thought that far ahead when Banner had kicked the sleeping bag open and then drawn her down onto it.

  Okay, she thought in a sudden rush of rueful honesty. She had known exactly what she was doing. And she had no doubt that Banner had known, too. Maybe it was just easier to pretend to be swept away by passion than to admit that she had wanted him since she'd first met him, and that she had stayed behind when everyone else left because she had wanted this to happen.

  And maybe she didn't really want to know what Banner was thinking right now, especially if he was thinking along the lines of a single night of pleasure.

  But still she heard herself saying, “Banner?”

  He lifted his head from her throat, which he had reached on his leisurely path downward from her lips. “Yeah?”

  “This is…important to you, right?”

  He went very still, his eyes searching her face as if seeking the meaning behind her hesitant question. “How do you define important?”

  “More than a convenient tumble, less than a declaration of undying devotion.”

  He seemed to be getting used to her way of phrasing things. “Then, trust me, it's important.”

  She smiled and reached for him. “If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be here.”

  He hesitated a moment and then, muttering something she couldn't understand, he crushed her mouth beneath his.

  Sweaters and jeans and socks and underthings fell into haphazard piles around the sleeping
bag. Firelight bathed their bodies as they explored each other, but they would have been plenty warm even without the fire. The heat they generated between them was enough to bring a fine sheen of perspiration to their bare skin.

  Banner disappeared long enough to close his dog in the kitchen, and when he returned, he carried a couple of small foil squares that Lucy recognized as condoms. There would be no unwelcome repercussions of this afternoon-at least, no physical ones. The emotional aftereffects remained to be seen.

  Confident that she could handle whatever might happen between them because she wouldn't allow herself to expect too much, she gave herself over to pleasure.

  Lucy hadn't expected Banner to talk during lovemaking, and he hadn't. She thought he might say something, at least, afterward. Instead he lay on his back, staring at the living room ceiling, his face absolutely motionless except for the dancing of shadows from the fire. He had been active enough earlier. Had he used all his energy?

  Lying on her side, she rose on one elbow to study him. His hair was a mess-her hands had done that. There was a small smudge of lipstick on his throat-she had done that, too. She suspected that if she could see his back, she might detect a faint scratch or two.

  She had definitely left her mark on him. Just as he had left his mark on her heart-invisible, but real, nonetheless.

  “Banner?”

  “Mmm?” he responded without looking at her.

  “Have you gone comatose?”

  His mouth twitched with what might have been a smile. “Maybe.”

  “How long do you think it will take you to recover?”

  “I'm not sure that I will.”

  She smiled. “I think I'll take that as a compliment.”

  He glanced at her then, his dark eyes gleaming. “It was meant as one.”

  Resting a hand on his chest, she spread her fingers and admired the contrast between her fair skin and his tan. “I never expected anything like this when I set out on this trip.”

  “Kind of took me by surprise, too.”

  She walked her fingers up his chest to the very shallow indention in his chin. “You make a very nice Christmas present, Richard Merchant Banner.”

  He frowned, and she wondered if it was due to her words or her use of the full name he didn't particularly like. “I, uh…”

  Whatever he had intended to say, he apparently changed his mind. Instead he set her hand aside and rolled to his feet. “I think I'll take a shower. I'll use the master bath, so you can have the front one.”

  “Okay, thank-”

  He was gone before she could complete the sentence. And if Lucy had ever seen a panicky escape, that had been one.

  Too much? Too soon?

  She knew the feeling. But maybe she was dealing with it a bit better than Banner.

  Sighing lightly, she reached for an afghan, pulling it around her as she padded toward the bathroom, her clothes in her hands. She wondered what the odds were that Banner would talk to her about his feelings when he finally reappeared.

  For some reason, she wasn't overly optimistic about it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Banner busied himself cooking as soon as he emerged from the bathroom. He had paused only long enough to ask Lucy if she had to hurry on her way, or if she would be staying the night.

  “I'm in no hurry to leave, if you don't mind me staying for a while longer,” she replied, watching his face for a clue to his feelings.

  He merely nodded. “Then, I'll start dinner.”

  Lucy knew he liked to cook, but it also gave him something to do to avoid having a meaningful, postlovemaking conversation with her. She wouldn't rush him, she promised herself. She could give Banner as much time and space as he needed, since he didn't seem to be in any hurry to send her away.

  “What can I do to help with dinner?” she asked.

  “I've got it under control,” he replied. “I had already planned to make a pot of gumbo tonight, so the ingredients are already chopped and ready. Uh, you do like gumbo, don't you?”

  “I love gumbo or any kind of Cajun food, for that matter. I try to get down to New Orleans at least once a year, mostly for the food.”

  “I've been there a couple of times. Lots of fancy restaurants, but the best food I found was in the little dives the locals frequent.”

  “I feel the same way. I'd rather have a bowl of red beans and rice from a little mom and pop diner than the fanciest blackened offerings from those five-star restaurants.”

  He sent her a look over his shoulder that expressed both approval and mild surprise. “So would I.”

  That was certainly no revelation to Lucy. “What were you planning to have for dessert?”

  He shrugged. “I haven't really given that any thought.”

  “Do you mind if I make something? I'll stay out of your way.”

  He motioned toward the pantry. “Knock yourself out.”

  Pleased to have come up with an excuse to work side by side with him, she moved to the pantry to take stock of his refurbished supplies.

  Lucy felt no real need to fill the companionable silence between them as they cooked. That was a rather new experience for her. Usually when she was with someone, she felt the need to keep a conversation going, to fill the silence if only with trivialities. But she found it enough just to be with Banner, working side by side with only the occasional smiling glance between them. He seemed content, too, and she thought he enjoyed having her there-though, of course, with Banner it was sometimes hard to tell.

  She bent to place the chocolate cake she had stirred together into the oven. Banner was standing at the stove stirring the spicy-scented gumbo, and she brushed against him as she straightened. The contact made a shiver of awareness run through her. The look he exchanged with her then made her aware that he felt much the same way.

  She smiled at him. “I like being here with you.”

  “Why?”

  His curious response made her giggle. “I just do. Why does that seem so surprising to you?”

  He shrugged, then partially changed the subject. “You pretty much say whatever pops into your head, don't you?”

  “If you mean I try to be honest about what I'm feeling, then yes, I do. Trying to guess what other people are thinking or feeling is what leads to so many misunderstandings and uncertainties, don't you think?”

  “Maybe.”

  “C'mon, Banner, you must feel the same way. You don't say things you don't mean, do you?”

  “No,” he admitted, “but I don't necessarily say everything I'm thinking, either.”

  “I don't say everything I'm thinking,” she agreed. “I haven't told you how pretty your eyes are, have I? Or that you have a truly spectacular body?”

  The wooden spoon he had been holding hit the floor. Giving her a startled look of reproof that made her laugh again, he bent to retrieve it. “For crying out loud, Lucy.”

  She couldn't resist teasing him a bit more. He was so darned cute when he was embarrassed-though she had a feeling cute was another word that would set him off. “Hasn't anyone ever told you what pretty eyes you have?”

  “I can't say they have,” he muttered, rinsing the spoon at the sink.

  “See? How would you have known if I hadn't told you?”

  “I've never met anyone quite like you.”

  “I'm not so unusual. You just don't get out much.”

  He laughed then. “Maybe that's it.”

  She had never heard him laugh before. Had never seen his usually stern face lightened with a full grin. It didn't last long, but oh, lordy, it was amazing. And by the time he sobered again, Lucy was even more convinced that she wouldn't be getting over her feelings for Banner anytime soon.

  Leaving the gumbo to simmer and the cake to bake, Banner and Lucy moved back into the living room. Banner was still rattled by her outrageous flattery. He wasn't used to that sort of flirting, and he wasn't sure how to respond. But, oddly enough, he had rather liked it. It was nice to hear that she found
him attractive.

  Trailing her into the living room, he allowed his gaze to travel down her trim figure. Speaking of spectacular bodies…

  All too aware of the sleeping bag still spread invitingly in front of the fire, he cleared his throat and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  He tried to mask his thoughts when Lucy turned to look at him. “Where's that deck of cards we were playing with Christmas Eve?”

  “Cards?” Did Lucy plan to demonstrate her mind-reading skills again? If she wanted to read his mind, she didn't need a deck of cards. She only had to check out the condition of his body, instead.

  “We can pass the time by playing gin rummy or something while our dinner cooks.”

  “Gin rummy.” He shook his head as soon as the words left his mouth; he sounded like a damned parrot repeating everything she said.

  “Or some other game,” she said cheerfully. “It doesn't really matter.”

  “For someone who claims not to like games, you sure play a lot of them,” he grumbled, digging the cards out of a table drawer.

  “I love games-just not the hypocritical ones that people play in social situations,” she corrected, settling on the floor in front of the coffee table.

  He sank onto the couch and handed her the cards. “How can you survive in the academic world without playing social games?”

  She took the cards from the box and began to shuffle them. “Academia has its own set of rules that I follow sporadically. And you'll note that I chose a small, public university as opposed to one of the more structured liberal arts schools. It's a somewhat less political, kiss-up type atmosphere.”

  “I couldn't put up with all the bull, myself.”

  “Which is why you choose to be self-employed. I figure putting up with a certain amount of bull is the price of working in a job that I enjoy.”

  Made sense, he supposed. And he couldn't help noticing that nothing in her words or her behavior seemed to imply that her teaching career was any more respectable than his woodworking. Of course, she probably hadn't stopped to think about the fact that she had a Ph. D. and he'd gotten no further, academically, than high school graduation.