Jarrod took another deep breath and dialed his father’s number. He’d been trying to connect with him for most of the afternoon with no luck. Bianca wasn’t answering her phone either. Jarrod had been glued to the television set before heading out to the airport and he knew the snow was hampering travel statewide, with blizzard conditions at the higher altitudes. Familiar with how hazardous the snow could be in the mountains near their cabin home, he suspected his father had sought shelter for the two of them and imagined he’d hear from one or the other in due time.
Just to be safe though, if he didn’t hear from them and they weren’t back by morning, Jarrod made a mental note to contact the local sheriff near the cabin home to do a wellness check, knowing it would be easier for an officer on snowmobile to get up the narrow trails. After leaving one more voice mail message that he was worried, he turned up the volume on his ringer and dropped his phone back into his pocket.
The first passengers had begun to make their way down the carpeted aisle toward the luggage carousels. Jarrod’s heart was beating like a steel drum in his chest. His palms were moist and his knees were actually quivering anxiously. He saw Stefan before Stefan saw him, and a smile blossomed full and wide across his face. Stefan was his best friend, and he’d missed him more than he’d realized.
With his blond locks looking windblown and the hint of a tan to his pale complexion, courtesy of their local tanning booth, Stefan looked like he should have been headed to a beach resort and not a winter haven. He was dressed from head to toe in Armani: black wool pants, a double-breasted cashmere pea coat, and black leather penny loafers. His New York style made him stand out, garnering much attention. But the curiosity didn’t faze the man at all. Jarrod envied his boyfriend’s confidence and his lackadaisical attitude. It was those qualities that he loved most about him.
Stefan waved excitedly, the two men locking gazes. Both were grinning from ear to ear. Jarrod stepped into Stefan’s open arms, hugging him warmly. The embrace was met with curious looks and stares, but neither noticed.
Stefan kissed his lips. “I missed you!”
Jarrod nodded. “I missed you more! How was your flight?”
“I was afraid they were going to cancel it at the last minute. They say this storm is a real bear!”
“You made it. That’s all that matters,” Jarrod said, his hand gently caressing the man’s back.
Stefan looked around. “Is your dad at the house?” he asked.
Jarrod took a deep breath. “I think he’s stranded up in the mountains. I haven’t been able to reach him or his girlfriend.”
“Your father has a girlfriend?”
“It’s a long story,” Jarrod said. “Let’s get your bags and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Chapter 9
Sharon Torres slammed the phone receiver back onto the cradle, her face twisted with emotion. Her husband eyed her curiously.
“What’s wrong? Did Ethan know where the kids are?”
“I didn’t speak to Ethan. I spoke to Jarrod.”
“Jarrod? I thought he was with Bianca?”
“Well, he’s not. He’s home. He thinks his father and Bianca are stuck up in the mountains at his father’s cabin.”
“Why is Bianca up in the mountains with Ethan?”
“That’s what I want to know. Seems that our daughter hasn’t been seeing Jarrod at all.”
There was a moment of silence during which Bianca’s parents both drifted off in thought.
“Then who has she been seeing?” her father suddenly asked.
Sharon tossed the man an annoyed look. “Really, Miguel? Do you really have to ask?”
Confusion washed over his expression. He shrugged his shoulders, still unable to put two and two together.
Sharon shook her head, her eyes rolling skyward. She tossed both her hands up in frustration. “Your daughter has been dating your good buddy,” she said finally. “She’s been seeing Ethan.”
Miguel blinked rapidly as he reflected on her comment. He suddenly burst out laughing, his head shaking from side to side.
“There is nothing funny about this, Miguel!”
“Oh, yes, there is,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Well, I’m not amused. Bianca should know better.”
“You can’t be mad. Bianca has always done things her own way. You’ve got to love her! Our little girl has always been a handful!”
“Oh, I can be mad, Miguel Torres. I can be very mad.”
He shrugged, still chuckling. “It could be worse. She could be dating someone like her Uncle Barber.”
Sharon bit back a response, fighting not to laugh out loud. She tossed a look into the family room, eyeing her brother, who was asleep in her favorite chair, the television remote in his hand, his feet perched on the coffee table. Barber was family, but he definitely wasn’t a good catch for any woman. The family often asked what his wife saw in him, believing that she could have easily done better.
She blew a low sigh. Her husband had a valid point. The real estate mogul was prime property on the marriage market. His philanthropic ventures continually kept people talking and he’d been called one of the area’s most eligible bachelors. Ethan Christmas was definitely a good catch, even if he was too old for her baby girl.
When Bianca woke, it took her a quick minute to remember where she was. She lay very still listening for the two dogs that lived in the house adjacent to her Raleigh home. There were no familiar yips and squeaks. Then she listened for her parents’ voices, half-expecting her mother to be talking loudly about whatever was playing on the morning news. But that recognizable cackle was nowhere to be heard. It had been some time since she’d last woken in a house that was so quiet. But, as she lay in the king-sized bed, listening for a hint of movement, there was none. The silence was slightly unnerving.
Sitting upright, Bianca rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes and then remembered where she was and why she was there. From where she rested, she had a full view of the rear yard, the expanse of windows allowing in a wealth of natural light. The outside was bright and white, snow blanketing everything that it had landed on. And it was still falling, slower and not as thick, but coming down as if it had no intention of ever stopping.
Lying back down against the pillows, she rolled and pulled her knees to her chest. She’d slept unexpectedly well. After her hot shower, she’d sat down against the bedside to catch her breath, and before she’d been able to even think about counting to ten, she’d been out like a light, snuggled under a mountain of warm blankets. Not even the promise of chicken soup had been enough to keep her awake.
Although Bianca considered herself somewhat athletic and in fairly decent shape, she had never expected that hiking a mile in a snow storm would have been as brutal as it had been. But that short walk had completely wiped her out, and she imagined that it had done the same to Ethan. A smile pulled full across her face as she thought about him.
Ethan had been her personal superhero. Even when she had become surly and angry, her frustrations turning her into a snarling, fire-breathing witch, he hadn’t blinked an eye. His tone had been soothing, his touch patient, and he’d gone out of his way to make her feel safe and secure. The man was more than she could have ever anticipated and he definitely topped her to-be-stranded-with list.
As she lay there thinking about the two of them together, she realized that there was something brewing between them that actually frightened her. She had never felt for any man what she found herself feeling for Ethan. He had her feeling some kind of way, and despite her efforts to resist the growing emotion, she was completely beguiled. There was a word for the emotion consuming her, but it wasn’t one Bianca used readily, the mere mention of the four-letter sentiment enough to send her running. She blew a low sigh, hugging her arms tighter around the pillows she was cradled against.
She suddenly thought about her parents. She could just imagine what her old people had to be thinking. She didn’t w
ant them to worry, but she knew there would be much going through their minds, especially when they discovered that she’d stolen off with Ethan and not his son. She anticipated the Christmas fireworks that would ensue would surely outdo any Fourth of July display that she could imagine. Her mother would be ballistic when everything came to light, and Bianca knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. With any luck, she’d get most of it out of her system before she and Ethan made it back to civilization.
Sitting up, she took a deep breath and then a second. She tossed her legs off the side of the bed and stood. Tightening the plush terry bathrobe tighter around her naked body, she moved toward the door, headed to search out Ethan.
In the other room, Ethan lay stretched out across the oversized sofa. One leg was hanging over the side and both of his arms were pulled up over his head. A wool blanket was pulled up between his large thighs and over his chest. She stood staring, her eyes dancing over his rugged features. Despite their predicament, he looked comfortable, an air of peace blessing his expression.
The fire was still burning nicely in the fireplace. Moving on tiptoe through the space, Bianca paused in the kitchen, noting the canned soup, ceramic bowls, and empty pot that rested on the counter. He hadn’t eaten either and she felt bad. The kitchen was striking with an oversized center island, and gourmet stainless steel appliances. Bianca moved to the pantry, peering inside. The shelves were lined from floor to ceiling with canned goods. The freezer was well stocked too, with an assortment of meats and frozen vegetables inside. She was actually surprised by the various selections. Moving to the refrigerator, she found it practically bare, housing a couple of cans of soda, a bottle of ketchup, and an opened box of baking soda.
Minutes later, the aroma of sausage sizzling pulled Ethan from a deep sleep. He sat upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Tossing off the blanket, he moved onto his feet, stretching his body upright. He took a deep breath and then a second, the savory aroma teasing his senses. He moved to the kitchen door.
“Good morning.”
Bianca met his stare, smiling brightly. “Hey! Did I wake you?”
“I needed to get up anyway,” he said with a nod. “It smells good in here. What are you cooking?”
Bianca flipped the sausage patties over, then shifted her gaze back toward him. “Sausage and instant grits.”
He nodded as he moved to the kitchen’s counter and took a seat on one of the bar stools. “Sounds like a meal to me,” he said, giving her his own bright smile. “Are you okay this morning?” A quiet concern danced in his eyes.
She nodded, twisting the belt that closed her terry bathrobe. “I’m good. How about you?”
“I followed your lead and took a hot shower,” he said. “Then I passed out. Did you come back out to get something to eat last night?”
“No, I fell asleep too.”
“We needed the rest.”
She tossed him another easy smile as she stirred the pot of hot grits. “You’re well stocked. Why do you have so much food?” she asked, curiosity seeping from her gaze.
He shrugged. “I actually spend a lot of time up here. I try to keep the pantry and the freezer stocked. Then, when I come up, all I have to worry about is bringing perishables. Unfortunately, this trip I wasn’t planning on needing milk and eggs.”
“I found frozen orange juice,” Bianca continued, “and there’s instant coffee, but I couldn’t find any sugar. I didn’t know if you drank your coffee black or not.”
He pointed to a corner cabinet. “There’s a large red tin on the top shelf. There should be some sugar there.”
“Oh, good,” Bianca said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Now we can make snow cream!”
“Snow cream? What’s that?”
“You’ve never had snow cream?”
He shook his head, shifting in his seat as she sat a plate of food down in front of him. He took his first bite as Bianca eased into the seat beside him.
“Snow cream is ice cream made with snow. It’s the best!”
Ethan chuckled softly. “That sounds . . . interesting . . . sort of . . . maybe not . . .”
She laughed with him. “It’ll be fun. And since it looks like we’re stuck with each other, and it’s Christmas Eve, we should at least have fun!”
Ethan eyed her, a slight smirk pulling at his full lips. The robe she was wearing had fallen open slightly, the thin belt barely holding the garment closed. Her bare legs were crossed teasingly, and there was just enough cleavage showing to hold his attention.
He licked his lips as he shrugged again, just the slightest shift to his shoulders. Realizing where his eyes were focused, Bianca grabbed the front of the robe and pulled it tighter.
“That is not the kind of fun I had in mind, Mr. Christmas!” She giggled, color flushing her face.
Ethan laughed heartily. “You can’t blame a man for hoping, Ms. Torres.”
She shook her head. “Eat up! Then we need to get ready.”
“Ready? For what?”
“For Christmas. We have to find a tree, make the snow cream, figure out what we’re gifting each other.”
He laughed again. “I bought you a present, but it’s back home.”
“I bought you one, too, but since we don’t have them, we have to make each other something. We can’t wake up Christmas morning without a present for each other.”
He grinned. “Make?”
She nodded. “You have to be creative, Ethan.”
He smiled, completely smitten with her enthusiasm. “So what do we need to do first?” he asked.
Bianca swallowed the last bite of her breakfast. “First, we need to get dressed so you can stop stealing looks at my boobs,” she started. Ethan laughed, and Bianca gave him a look, amusement dancing over her face. “Then we need to find us a Christmas tree!”
Chapter 10
Ethan and Bianca sat together in the living room, winding down from their full day. The fire that burned in the fireplace was raging as the crackling flames illuminated the space. She leaned into his side, her arm looped through his, their legs extended up on a shared ottoman. Soft jazz played in the background, and a full moon outside reflected brightly off the white snow that painted the landscape.
After breakfast, they’d bundled up and gone back out in the weather. There had been a distinctive chill in the air, the atmosphere thick enough to cut like pie. It was eerily quiet, everything hauntingly still. Bianca had been standing in the midst of it, taking it in, when Ethan suddenly pummeled her with snowballs.
The first had hit her backside, and when she’d turned in surprise, the second had landed just beneath her chin. The snow was soft and wet and cold, and then the battle began as she grabbed handfuls of snow and began to pelt him back. They’d laughed, playing like children, ducking behind trees and dodging the clumps of snow that were being thrown.
Play had come to an abrupt end when Ethan had suddenly tackled her, spilling her down into the damp pile of snow. Lying there with Ethan above her had left her breathless, her eyes locked with his, intense emotions sweeping between them. Fighting the rise of passion, Bianca had twisted awkwardly in his arms, accidently kneeing him in the groin. As he lay beside her, his knees pulled to his chest, excruciating pain had twisted his expression. Eyes wide, Bianca had apologized profusely as she’d helped him to his feet, still laughing at the absurdity.
Once Ethan had recovered from the low blow, they’d searched out the natural setting for their Christmas decorations. A branch now sat in the center of the coffee table, propped in a narrow wineglass. It was a Charlie Brown tree strewn with the pearls that Bianca had worn and two ornate silver tea balls that she had found in a kitchen drawer. A red cloth napkin encircled it like a tree skirt.
Back inside they’d warmed the canned soup, enjoying their afternoon meal with a pack of stale Ritz crackers. Then both had retreated into their own areas to create the gifts Bianca had insisted on. Her excitement was infectious. She’d run from one room to th
e other, shouting out encouragement and teasing him unmercifully about hers being better than his.
When the presents were done and hidden from sight, they’d gone back to the kitchen and she’d watched as Ethan had prepared dinner. He’d grilled two rib-eye steaks on the stovetop grill and had steamed vegetables in the microwave oven. The meal had been tasty and filling, complemented by a bottle of merlot from his wine collection. Then she’d taught him the intricacies of making snow cream.
“I had to be five, maybe six years old the first time my mother made me snow cream,” Bianca had said, the memories bringing a smile to her face.
They’d gone back outside to collect the perfect snow, enough clean, white, untouched, icy goodness to fill an oversized bowl. She’d poured a can of condensed milk sweetened with extra sugar over the top and stirred in vanilla extract. When the consistency met with her approval, she’d passed him a spoon.
“So how often do you make snow cream?” Ethan had asked.
“Actually, it’s been a few years. Mommy would make it all the time when I was younger and it snowed. It was always a lot of fun.”
“So why do you give your mother a hard time now? It sounds like you two had a great relationship when you were growing up.”
Bianca had paused at the question, a spoonful of sugared ice melting against her tongue.
“It just got too hard to be my mother’s daughter. Her expectations didn’t mesh with my dreams for myself. I think I distanced myself so I wouldn’t be a disappointment.” She paused, then spoke again. “I sometimes felt like a disappointment so I think I distanced myself so that I couldn’t see it in her eyes.” She’d blown a low sigh.
“I don’t think your mother has ever been disappointed with you, Bianca. She loves you, and the way she talks about you, she couldn’t be prouder.”
“Trust me, she’d be happier if I was married with two kids.”
“And that’s not what you want?”
A Christmas Kiss Page 28