Snug In His Bed

by Rhonda Russell

  “Wednesday,” Hank said.

  She inclined her head and an ironic laugh slipped between her lips. It made him distinctly uneasy. “Well, that explains it then.”

  Hank quirked a brow. “Explains what?”

  “Why my lawyer thought the judge had made up his mind before he even heard my case. I was in court on Thursday and he’d already arranged my sentence before I got there.” She laughed again and shook her head. “Looks like I picked the wrong mall Santa to hit, didn’t I?”

  “You should report him,” Hank said, angered on her behalf. “This isn’t right.”

  Viv shook her head, sending an errant curl against her bottom lip where it clung distractingly. “No,” she said, sighing. “Ordinarily I would agree and quite frankly, the idea of finding him and pummeling him again for good measure is incredibly tempting, but...I think I need to put my head down and stay off his radar.” She looked up and grinned. “It’s only a week and you’ve given me a new job. It’s all good.”

  He nodded, irrationally pleased. “Good.”

  “So, just leave here at four and go to your house?”

  Hank nodded. “That’ll work.”

  “I’ll see you then.” Viv slid out of truck and made her way toward the gift shop.

  Hank exited as well and, whistling tunelessly, sidled over to the trim shed to help his irritating little brother.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Jase demanded churlishly. “We’re freezing our ass hairs off out here while you’re riding around in your heated truck with a hot girl, you giant dipstick.”

  Hank ignored him.

  “Well? What were you doing?”

  “Making dinner plans,” Hank told him.

  Jase’s mouth sagged open. “Dinner plans? Are you telling me you’ve asked her out already?”

  Hank looked over toward the gift shop and from his vantage point he watched his mother put an apron over Viv’s head. The tableau made something near his heart shift. She fit here. She belonged. It was completely irrational, but he knew it all the same. “I did,” he confirmed, resisting the urge to smile like a total nimrod. “Boys,” he confided with a slap on the back to each. “I’ve invited the Santa Slugger to dinner.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Though she’d been tempted to join Maureen, Hank’s mother, and Angelica for lunch, Viv had taken the opportunity to run home and snag her laptop for her dinner meeting with Hank this evening.

  Dinner. Alone. With him.

  This felt distinctly like a date.

  She resisted the urge to squeal with delight--ordinarily she was not a squealer, delighted or otherwise--but something about Hank Bailey made her want to turn up her Sound of Music CD and whirl around her living room, singing the lyrics at the top of her lungs.

  That track would be immediately followed by Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On.

  Honestly, she had never in her life looked at a guy and instantly thought about taking all of his clothes off, then licking him from one end to the other. She’d never gotten wet from a mere handshake and she sure as hell had never considered making sure she was wearing her “good” underwear on a first date.

  Until now.

  Hank Bailey was one-hundred percent male. In a time when men were getting their eyebrows waxed, getting manicures and pedicures, spa treatments and their hair highlighted, Hank was a refreshing throwback to when men were just men.

  And he was one helluva specimen. His shoulders... She’d spent the day covertly watching him work and had had the pleasure of witnessing those broad, muscled shoulders in action. On more than one occasion, she’d imagined gently biting one.

  Clearly she’d lost her mind.

  Viv let out a shaky breath, wiped a bead of sweat from her upper lip as she let herself into her small Craftman’s style home a few blocks away from one of Jackson’s historic district. Though it had required eating more noodles than she ever would have thought possible, and cutting her phone and cable services to the bone for years on end--with the exception of graduating from college with no student loans--nothing had ever made Viv prouder than purchasing her first home.

  She loved her little house and had painstakingly worked to restore it to its former beauty. With lots of hardwood, crown molding and built-ins, the old house had more character than any of the new boxy-type cookie cutter homes going up in some of the trendier subdivisions.

  Her cat, Geraldine, named after her favorite character from the British comedy The Vicar of Dibley, curled around her legs and howled her displeasure. No doubt her bowl was empty again. Much like her namesake, Geraldine had a fondness for food. Viv set her purse aside and dropped a few pieces of kibble into the cat’s bowl. “That’ll have to do until I get home this evening,” she said, then bent and scratched the fat tabby behind the ears. Momentarily satisfied, the spoiled feline purred in appreciation.

  A quick glance at the clock confirmed that she needed to get back on the road, so rather than linger over her cat, she stood and quickly gathered her laptop and accessories. It would be nice if Hank had an internet connection, but she had much of her files stored onto this computer so that she could at least showcase a bit of her handiwork.

  While she felt like he’d given her the business to off-set her lost income--an especially gallant thing to do--Viv wanted to make sure he knew that she knew what she was doing. If his business was as broad as he claimed--and he had no reason to lie--then a web presence would be a serious boon to his company. In short, she’d make sure that he wasn’t sorry.

  Her gaze slid to her mantle, where her Hyde Park snow globe once more sparkled with promise. He wasn’t just giving her the lost income--she’d gotten her vacation back.

  London. The day after Christmas. She absolutely couldn’t wait.

  With only a few minutes to spare, Viv decided she’d take a chance and see if she could catch Minna to bring her up to speed on the recent developments. She caught her on her cell and relayed the information Hank had shared with her this morning regarding when Judge Moroz’s clerk had contacted him.

  Minna swore. “That unethical bastard. I’ll have his job. I’ll--”

  “Don’t,” Viv told her. “It’s fine.”

  “What do you mean it’s fine? You’re doing community service at a tree farm and you lost your job. You’ve kissed London goodbye again because you’re too frugal to put a penny of the trip on credit card. It’s not fine. It’s--“

  Viv smiled. “Actually, London’s back on and I daresay I’m going to bank more designing a site for Hank than I would have wrapping presents for another three weeks.”

  Minna grew quiet. “It’s Hank now, is it? Do tell,” she all but ooh-la-la’ed. “I sense a story.”

  Viv laughed. “There’s a bit of one. I’m having dinner with him tonight to go over content and design for his Web site. He’s cooking for me.”

  “Excuse me,” Minna said. “I need to see if I can find a concealer that will cover this unattractive shade of green I’m turning. Dinner, eh? And he’s cooking.” She sighed wistfully. “Gorgeous and capable. I knew there was more to that man than those impressive shoulders.”

  “His ass isn’t half bad either,” Viv said.

  “Ogling already. No wonder you’re content to serve your time.”

  She let go a small sigh and a secret thrill tingled in her palms. “Interestingly enough, I am.”

  “But you hate Christmas. How are you going to explain your aversion to Captain Christmas?”

  “I’m not,” Viv said. “In fact, I’m thinking of getting a tree this year.”

  Minna gasped. “Converted already? Seventeen years of I-hate-Christmas and all it’s taken is a single morning at a tree farm with a good-looking lumberjack and a cup of hot apple cider?”

  “I’m not converted,” Viv protested. “I just think it’ll look odd if I don’t get a tree. He hates artificial trees and in all honestly, were I to ever decide to embrace the holiday, I’d like to think that I’d be a real-tree kind of pe
rson.” Though her friend couldn’t see her, she gave a little sanctimonious nod.

  “Are you going to ask him to come decorate it with you?” Minna needled, managing to make the suggestion downright sexual.

  “Minna.”

  “Don’t ‘Minna’ me. You like this guy. You’re charmed. I can tell.”

  There was no point in denying it. From the instant he’d walked into the room and enveloped her palm in his huge, calloused hand, she’d been inwardly simmering with longing. Her belly had gone all hot and heavy and the tips of her breasts had literally tingled when he’d touched her. He absolutely lit her up. Viv grimaced. And it had been so long since anyone had managed to do that, she’d thought her fuse had been permanently broken.

  To be honest, Viv was always exceedingly cautious when it came to romance and that sort of timidity didn’t always translate well to a meaningful relationship. Not to lay everything at her father’s door, but she suspected at least part of her trust issues stemmed from his abandonment. There was no denying that it had shaped her. When her father had walked out, he’d left her mother with two small children to care for, a mountain of debt and sixty-seven dollars in the checking account. She’d watched her mother work her fingers to the bone to take care of them, to dig her way out of that hole and there was no doubt in her mind that her inherent need to avoid debt stemmed from that stark lesson. Not permanently attaching herself to a man who could hurt her was another. But...

  Sexual attraction and good looks aside, there was something else about Hank that drew her to him, made him all the more appealing. The curve of that endearing smile engendered trust and the strength in those shoulders let a woman know that he’d be confident in a crisis. Intelligence and humor sparkled in those keen grey eyes and his loyalty to his family, land and heritage was undeniably impressive.

  He was the total package, Viv realized, and for the first time since this whole mall Santa fiasco started, she could actually see the silver lining in what she thought had been a terrible mistake. She grinned.

  And, interestingly enough, that silver lining was the exact same shade as Hank Bailey’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 6

  “When you told me you were going to cook for me, I got to admit I was a little skeptical,” Viv said, reloading her spoon. “But this--“ She grinned. “This is delicious.”

  Hank inclined his head. “I’m glad you approve. I’m a big fan of the crock pot, especially in the winter. I always come in from the farm starving to death and I want something hot and hearty right then. I make a lot of chili, roasts, stews and the like.” He tipped his bottle of Guiness at her. “But I have to admit this is one of my better dinners, so I’m glad that it’s what I’d put on today before I asked you over.”

  She took a pull from her own beer. “And the homemade bread?”

  He grinned. “I slipped up here and put it in the bread maker at lunch,” he confessed.

  “It’s wonderful. I’d always thought about buying one of those machines, but wasn’t sure they’d work.” She dredged a bit of bread through her Irish Stew and popped the last bite into her mouth. “I’m sold.”

  So was he. On her.

  No doubt about it, she was the most wonderful creature he’d ever had the pleasure of spending time with. She’d walked right into his house and immediately appreciated the things that he particularly prided himself on. He’d taken a lot of time with the design, particularly in the kitchen. He’d installed a huge fireplace, had used antique copper tiles on the ceiling and had made sure that things were equally aesthetically pleasing and functional.

  Viv had settled right in and looked so at home in his house he had the almost incredible thought that she was the final--ultimate--accessory to make everything complete. Crazy, he knew, particularly as he’d just met her, but it didn’t feel that way at all. Instead, he felt like he’d known her his entire life. Almost as though his soul recognized hers.

  And God knows he wanted her with an intensity completely out of the realm of his experience. While Hank had always had as healthy a sex drive as any guy, he’d nevertheless been careful when selecting a lover. Frankly, release was easy enough without risking disease, and he’d always had a bit of an outdated mode of thinking when it came to sex. In other words, he didn’t like to sleep with someone just for the sake of sex. He had to like a woman before he lusted. Atypical of his gender, but...

  With Viv, he’d liked and lusted simultaneously and instinctively knew that making love to her would be the single most incredible thing that had ever happened to him.

  He didn’t just want her--he needed her. Could feel her in his marrow.

  The only blip in the evening had come when she’d stood in front of his Christmas tree. A strange, almost sad, look had dimmed that sparkling dark blue gaze. Concerned, he’d asked her if something was wrong and she’d merely shaken her head and cited a haven’t-finished-my-shopping excuse. For reasons he didn’t understand, he’d gotten the distinct impression that she wasn’t telling the complete truth.

  “Well, I think I have everything I need to start roughing out your design,” she said. “I’ll work up a quote for you later tonight and bring it with me tomorrow if that works for you.”

  “Can you give me a ballpark estimate?”

  She quoted a figure he found more than reasonable considering everything he’d asked for. She hesitated, bit her lip. “Typically I get half of that amount up front--just to make sure I’m not wasting my time--and half upon approval once everything goes live.”

  “No problem.” He started to stand. “Do you need a check now?”

  “No,” she said, staying him with a single touch to his sleeve. “Tomorrow’s fine. Do you mind if I bring my camera? Since this is a family business, I need to get pictures of all of you, as well as photos of the farm, gift shop and the trees, of course.”

  Hank grimaced. “You can take a picture of everything but me.”

  She chuckled. “Sorry, I have to have a picture of you. It’s essential to the design.”

  Hank passed a hand over his face. “I hate having my picture taken.”

  “You sound like a woman.”

  He cut her a glance. “Impugning my masculinity? After I just fed you a wonderful meal?”

  “Sorry,” she said, her laughter warming him as surely as the fire in the grate.

  “That’s some thanks,” he muttered, needling her. “Bake homemade bread. Think about making a cake. And for what? Sexist insults.”

  She laughed again. “You thought about making a cake?”

  He nodded once. “I did.”

  “But?” she prodded.

  “But I don’t know how.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know how to make bread, cook stew and other complicated dinners, but you can’t make a cake?”

  He absently scratched his chest. “It’s a tragedy, I know.”

  “Even I know how to make a cake,” she said.

  “Good. You can make one for me. Tomorrow night? Same time. I’ll cook. You provide dessert.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him for a moment, then her eyes began to twinkle. “Why do I feel like I was just maneuvered by a master?”

  He lifted his shoulder in an offhand shrug. “Not a master, just a guy who’s highly motivated.”

  She cut him a sly smile, one that said she was enchanted, but didn’t altogether trust him. “Yes, but motivated to do what?” she asked suspiciously.

  Hank considered his answer. He could play off the moment with a glib flirtatious comment, or he could be honest. The truth had the potential to scare the hell out of her, but he suspected anything less wasn’t going to be acceptable. He had to be forthright.

  “Spend more time with you,” he said, his gaze tangling with hers. “If you’re agreeable, of course.” Shit. “I probably should have asked this before, but...are you seeing someone?”

  She gave a droll laugh. “No.” She gaze met his. “You?”

  “I wouldn’t be making a pl
ay for you if that was the case.”

  She sighed, almost wistfully. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She cocked her head. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you still single? You seem like a great guy.”

  A bark of laughter rumbled from his chest. “Was there supposed to be a compliment in there?”

  Chuckling, she bit her bottom lip. “You know what I mean,” she said. “You’re smart, funny, handsome and accomplished. And you can bake bread. Some girl should have snatched you up already.”

  “The same could be said of you,” he countered.

  She grinned from behind the lip of her beer bottle. “I hope I never have a girl try to snatch me up. I’d hate to have to hurt her feelings.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “I mean, why are you still single? Why hasn’t some guy clubbed you over the head and drug you into his cave?”

  “Probably because I would club him back,” she said, eyes twinkling. “As evidenced by my community service.”

  Hank laughed. “Too true.” He toyed with the edge of his napkin and released a pent up sigh. “To answer you’re original question, I’ve just never found the right girl. Who ever I settle down with has to want this life as much as I do, you know? This is a family business and I have to consider that when I’m dating someone.”

  A shadow moved behind her eyes. “So you’re looking for a Mrs. Claus type?”

  “If you mean do I want a plump, graying older woman who smells like sugar cookies, I’ve already got one of those in my life--my mother.” He grinned and purposely let his gaze linger on her lips. She licked them and her pupils dilated. “I’m just looking for someone to share my life with. Someone who makes me feel alive. Someone who energizes me, who relaxes me, who will be my lover, my friend, my confidante and my partner. Someone who will help me fill this house with kids, who will rock with me on that big front porch when I’m old.”

  Viv released a small breath. “That’s a t-tall order.”