by Donna Hill
* * *
Kyle stared at the bathroom door, unsure of what he should do. Unsure if he should do anything.
What in the heck could have freaked her out like this?
After about five minutes of vacillating back and forth, he finally decided to man up. Rapping lightly on the door with his knuckles, Kyle called, “Hey, Miranda, are you okay in there?”
His question was met with silence, and his anxiety tripled.
“Miranda?” Kyle called. He jiggled the door handle. A second later, the bathroom door opened, and Miranda emerged. Her deep brown eyes were luminous with unshed tears, though it was obvious that she’d shed some. She’d shed a lot if the tracks on her face were any indication. She’d tried to wipe them, but the evidence remained on her soft cheeks.
“Hey,” Kyle said, smoothing a hand down her head and pulling her to him. “What happened down there?”
“I’m so sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize, just talk to me.”
She shook her head.
“Miranda, don’t tell me it’s nothing. Not to brag or anything, but you saw the degrees on the wall, I’m a pretty smart guy. I can tell when something’s wrong.”
“I forgot I was dealing with the world’s sexiest mad scientist,” she said with a chuckle that still sounded too much like a sob for Kyle’s peace of mind. She swiped at her nose with a tissue, and said, “One of the ornaments on your tree brought back a memory that I wasn’t ready to handle.” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t press me on this. I’m okay now,” she said. “Honest.”
Kyle believed that in the same way he believed Santa would come down his chimney tonight to deliver presents, but if avoidance was what she needed right now, he’d roll with it.
She plastered on an overly bright smile and said, “It looks as if this storm isn’t letting up anytime soon. I should text Erin to let her know that I’m probably going to miss Christmas at her place.”
“If she’s been following the news at all, she probably already knows,” Kyle said. “However, I say we make this Christmas one for the record books.”
She snaked her hands around his waist and pressed her body up against his. Kyle’s hands automatically dropped to her backside. He palmed it, giving her a firm squeeze.
“And how do you propose we do that?” Miranda asked with a smile that was so damn naughty Kyle wanted to strip her naked this very instant.
But he knew a diversion technique when he saw one, and after what just happened with the Christmas ornament, he knew that anything that happened in that bed right now would be nothing more than a distraction for her. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he didn’t want her linking sex with him to whatever had sent her running up here.
He gave her ass a light pat. “I love knowing that’s what’s on your mind, but it’s not what I meant. Back in Istanbul, you said that Christmas isn’t a big deal to you, but as you can probably tell, it’s a pretty big deal to me, especially Christmas Eve. There are a few traditions that I can’t skip. You game?”
She hunched her shoulder. “When in Rome,” she said. Then she pointed a finger at him. “Unless it involves singing Christmas carols. I stop when it comes to off-tune versions of ‘Silent Night.’”
“No singing,” Kyle said. “Unless it’s ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’ That’s a classic that’s loved by all.”
That garnered him an eye roll, followed by a laugh. He was so relieved to hear that sound from her after what happened a few minutes ago. On the one hand, he wanted to know what had triggered her swift mood change, but when he thought about the plea he’d witnessed in her eyes when she’d asked him to drop the subject, Kyle just couldn’t bring himself to press her on it.
Instead, he vowed to take her mind off whatever had troubled her, and make this Christmas Eve one she would never forget.
A few minutes later, they were settled on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn between them and two bottles of the Pecan-Honey beer he’d brewed before leaving for Istanbul.
“This is, by far, my favorite Christmas movie. I’ve watched it every Christmas Eve for the last twenty years. It’s tradition.”
Miranda expelled an overly dramatic sigh. “Please don’t tell me I have to sit through It’s a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street. I know people the world over love those, but I’d rather hold my hand over a hot fire.”
“Yeah, right,” Kyle said as he pressed a couple of buttons on the remote. “Do I look like the Miracle on 34th Street type?”
The television came to life and the opening credits of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation began to roll.
“Now this is a classic,” Kyle said. “Chevy Chase at his finest.”
Miranda shook her head. “I should have known better.”
It was obvious Miranda hadn’t seen the movie nearly as many times as he had. Less than five minutes in and she was already wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. They’d just watched the scene where Cousin Eddie pulls up in his mobile trailer, when Miranda asked the question that made Kyle’s entire Christmas Eve a thousand times better.
She held up her empty beer bottle and asked, “You mind if I have another? I don’t even like beer, but this is fantastic.”
Pride ballooned in his chest. He rushed over to the fridge and grabbed a couple of different brews, along with several of the double shot glasses he used for sampling.
“If you liked that one,” Kyle said as he made his way down the steps of the sunken living room, “maybe you’ll like one of these.” He set a flight of three beers on the table in front of her.
Miranda peered over the various beers, which ranged in color from light amber to a rich, dark brown.
“What am I tasting here?” she asked.
“We have a Belgian-style witbier, an Irish-style red, and an English-style oatmeal stout.”
“How very international of you,” she quipped.
Kyle shrugged. “What can I say, the guys across the pond know how to brew a beer. I’ve been playing around with some traditional flavors, adding just one or two surprises to make them unique.”
“Which one do I drink first?”
“One minute,” he said, and pointed to the television. Once Clark Griswold finished his tirade about his Jelly-of-the-Month Club Christmas bonus, Kyle returned his attention to the beers.
“Sorry, but that’s my favorite scene in the entire movie,” he said. He gestured to the glasses. “The proper way to sample a flight of beers is to go from light to dark. The lighter beers have less hops and bitterness, so it’s gentler on your palate.” He handed her the witbier. “I call this one Tasty Tangerine Tango. Witbiers tend to have citrus notes, so the tangerine works.”
Kyle looked up to find her staring at him with a curious smile.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re really into this beer-making thing.”
“I did just fly all the way to Istanbul because of this beer-making thing,” he said with a laugh.
“You have to admit that it’s not every day that you come across someone with a doctorate degree who brews beer for a living. How did it come about?”
His shoulders hunched in another shrug. “It started as a hobby. I have a couple of friends I met a few months after I moved here—I’ve been in Colorado about eight years now. We’d get together for a pickup basketball game at least once a week, then go out to have a beer. The micro-brewing craze had just started to get its legs around that time. It was nothing like it is today—everybody is brewing craft beers these days—but here in Denver, and especially over in Boulder, it was already pretty popular.”
He picked up a couple of lingering popcorn kernels, then tossed them back in the bowl.
“One of the guys had just opened a bar. He talked about wanting to sell his own house brew, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He’d been toying with some ideas, but his chemistry was off.”
“Ah,” Miranda said. “And that’s w
here you come in.”
“Hey, might as well use some of that fancy education, right?” He said it tongue in cheek, but Miranda noticed a bit of an edge to the words. “Anyway,” Kyle continued, “once I started to play around with it, I discovered that I liked it. A lot. Things were really stressful with the tech company, and the beer making turned into somewhat of a stress reliever.”
“How did it go from just a stress-relieving hobby to a potential business?”
“I sold my company,” Kyle said. “Earlier this year. I’d been fending off buyers ever since the first big app went viral. One of them finally made me the offer I couldn’t refuse. I’d become tired of the rat race. I’d made more than enough money to live on, so I didn’t really need it anymore.”
“That’s the kind of story most people would kill for,” Miranda said. “You’re very lucky.”
Another shrug. “Some people may think I’m crazy. A lot of people—my dad included—think that by abandoning my tech company, I threw away my chances to make even more money. But it isn’t always about what’s sitting in my bank account. I love what I’m doing right now.”
She brought her hand up to his jaw and caressed his skin. “I think it’s awesome that you’re doing what you love. So many people spend years of their lives being unhappy because they cater to what others believe is best for them. You listened to your heart. Forget anyone who thinks it’s crazy. I think it’s an amazing show of strength and character.”
Kyle considered responding, but knew nothing would get past the lump of emotion lodged in his throat. She couldn’t possibly know how much he needed to hear those words.
“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Miranda went through the rest of the beer flight, choosing the apple-cinnamon-flavored stout as her favorite. They shared a lunch of loaded-baked-potato soup, which he’d thankfully had in the freezer, then watched another of Kyle’s favorites, Christmas with the Kranks.
“You have way too many Christmas movies in your DVD collection,” Miranda said as they returned to the sofa.
“I told you already that this is my favorite time of the year. I love Christmas. Always have.” He settled back on the sofa and pulled Miranda to him, fitting her back against his chest. The soft roundness of her ass resting snug in his lap triggered an immediate case of lust, but Kyle managed to control himself.
He wrapped his arms around her and buried his chin against her neck, placing a light kiss on her jaw.
“What’s the best thing you ever got for Christmas?” he asked.
She didn’t even hesitate. “A camera.”
Hearing the smile in her voice was like sweet music to his ears. Even though hours had passed, Kyle had been on edge ever since the debacle with the Christmas tree.
“I should have guessed that,” he said.
“It was my very first digital camera,” Miranda continued. “It was back when digital cameras were the new big thing, and you could only take about twelve shots before all of the memory was filled up. And the only way to get the pictures off the camera was to hook a cord to your computer. There was no uploading to the Internet. I don’t even know if smart cards had been invented back then.”
“Wow, back in the real Dark Ages,” Kyle teased.
“Pretty much.” She chuckled, then released a nostalgic sigh. “But—oh, my God—how I loved that camera. I spent that entire Christmas Day outside taking pictures of any- and everything. Every twenty minutes, I would run back into the house, upload the pictures to our old desktop computer, which was about the size of a Honda Civic, and then run back out and take another dozen. My dad had to come get me that night because, even in the snow, I just could not make myself stop snapping photos.”
“Based on that monster camera you carried all around Istanbul, you’ve come a long way equipment-wise.”
“Yeah, I have, but I still have that very first camera,” she said. “It actually survived the—” She stopped short. Kyle didn’t know what to make of the hitch in her voice. “It survived all these years,” she finished. She expelled a deep breath and looked up at him over her shoulder. “What about you? What was your favorite Christmas gift of all time?”
“That’s easy,” Kyle said. “It was the year my dad got us Chicago Bulls tickets.”
“So you’re a basketball fan.”
He nodded. “Big-time. The same way your dad had to drag you inside from taking pictures, it’s the same way my parents would drag me and my brothers inside at night. My mom always said that the day my dad first hung a basketball hoop over the garage was the day her sons forgot how to tell time.” Kyle chuckled, remembering how his mom would come outside with her hand on her hips, demanding they come in for dinner. “We’d spend hours out there, shooting hoops. I was the youngest of us three boys, but do you think those two jerks took it easy on me?”
“I’m guessing they didn’t,” Miranda said.
“Heck no. Not even a little.” He pulled her tighter to him, giving her a gentle squeeze. “That’s okay, though. They’ve both gotten soft. If I were home right now, I would kick both their butts on the court.”
That thought sapped up every bit of joy Kyle had been feeling, replacing it with a sense of melancholy.
He could picture his parents’ house right now, bursting at the seams with his siblings and their families. Despite the ever-growing brood, no one dared to get a hotel room at Christmastime. The kids all slept in sleeping bags spread around the house. In the past few years, ever since Timothy had gotten married, Kyle had slept on the sofa so that Tim and his wife, Nimrata, could have the room he and his brother shared as kids.
Right now, his mom was probably sitting at the organ, with the rest of the family gathered around her, singing carols. Miranda had joked about singing “Silent Night,” but that’s exactly what Kyle would be doing if he was back in Chicago. His mother, who’d taught music for twenty-five years and had been the organist at their church long before Kyle had been born, had made sure all her children and grandchildren knew how to sing. There would be no off-key notes sung at the Daniels house. Their rendition of “Silent Night” would be soulful and wonderful.
Kyle mentally batted away thoughts of what he was missing back home. After the huge blow up between him and his dad on Thanksgiving, he’d convinced himself that he didn’t need to celebrate Christmas with his family this year. He just didn’t anticipate how much it would hurt to miss it.
“Hey, are you okay?” Miranda asked.
Kyle went for a carefree smile, but he knew he missed the mark. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”
She pointed to the television, where the credits were scrolling. “I thought the first movie was funny, but this one was even better.”
“I can’t believe you’d never watched either of these before.” Kyle shook his head.
“I can promise you that it won’t be the last time. I plan to watch them both whenever I need a good laugh, whether it’s Christmastime or not. So,” she asked, “is there another must-watch on your list?”
Kyle shrugged. “Not really,” he said.
“Good,” she said, turning around in his lap and looking up at him. “Because what I really want to do—”
“Yes?” Kyle asked, cutting her off. He lifted his brows suggestively.
Her cheeks reddened in the sexiest, most adorable way imaginable.
“I do want to do that,” she said. “But you promised to show me how you make beer. I want to see that even more.”
“Even more than . . .” Kyle wiggled his brows again.
Miranda threw her head back with her laugh.
“The beer is winning by a narrow margin,” she said. She pushed herself up off the sofa, grabbed both his hands and tugged.
Kyle refused to budge.
“What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.
“You just told me you’d rather make beer instead of going upstairs and letting me rock your world. I�
�ve earned the right to sulk for a minute.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her grin 100 percent wicked. She leaned down, placing her lips a hairsbreadth from his.
“It’s only because when I do get you in bed, I don’t plan to let you leave it until the morning.”
Desire shot straight to Kyle’s groin.
He allowed her to pull him up, but when she started for the kitchen, he tugged her back to him, clasping his hands at the small of her back and pulling her flush against him.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he murmured against her lips.
Her brows arched with her suggestive smile. “You’d better.” She slapped his ass. “Now let’s make some beer.”
Chapter Five
Miranda watched with spellbound fascination as the well-honed muscles in Kyle’s arms flexed underneath his golden brown skin. She was thoroughly mesmerized, staring at the way they contracted and released, moving in a subtle, seductive rhythm as he crushed several spices into a fine powder using a marble mortar and pestle.
“The trick,” Kyle said, knocking her out of her captivated trance, “is finding the right balance of flavor for the type of beer you want to make. Too much or too little of any one ingredient can throw off the entire recipe.”
“Umm-hmm,” Miranda said. She stood up straight and pretended to pay attention, when, in fact, she’d lost all interest in her lesson on beer making the minute Kyle rolled up the sleeves on his gray cashmere sweater and began combining ingredients. There was just something about a sexy man in the kitchen that made him even sexier.
He picked up a bowl with dark purple flower buds. “I’m not sure how this one will work out, but I thought up the recipe while browsing the Spice Market back in Istanbul. The Myosotis flower has a walnut taste. It should do well in this recipe.” He handed her the crushed flower buds. “You do it,” he said. “This is supposed to be a team effort.”
With a wary glance, Miranda walked over to the pot of grain that had been boiling for the past half hour. “Should I be wearing protective goggles or something?”