Jingle Spells

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  So he wouldn’t. And that would be his penance. Not having her, when everything inside of him yearned with a need so powerful and magnetic that he literally ached with it. His gaze slid to her, over the lovely slope of her cheek, the upturned corner of her ripe mouth, and his groin tightened painfully, his chest squeezing with some peculiar emotion.

  Fair enough, Ethan decided. Fair enough.

  * * *

  Having been to the Cup of Cheer for the peppermint cocoa—Belle had been right, it was divine—and out to tour the reindeer farm (where she thought she’d seen Rudolf’s nose blink a few times, and yes, the animal had definitely developed a bit of an ego) Lark was presently strolling around Ethan’s studio, which was housed on the very top floor of Evergreen enterprises.

  It was not at all what she’d expected.

  In the first place, it was a tall, sleek metal-and-glass building. One would assume it would be outfitted with commercial-grade carpet, serviceable paint, efficient work stations and low-tiled ceilings.

  But, no.

  Much like the rest of the village, the interior was more in keeping with a Swiss village motif. Lots of rich paneling, oriental rugs, framed portraits of Santa and Christmas scenes and, though she was trying to avoid stereotyping, there were lots of little people, some of them dressed in business casual, some of them dressed more like elves. Everyone wore interesting badges with their clearance level—Ethan’s was gold, which indicated he had executive clearance—and everyone seemed extraordinarily busy and happy.

  She stopped at a few sketches of birds—chickadees, doves, red and blue birds—and turned to look at him. “Is this what you’re thinking about for next year?”

  In the process of inspecting a new batch of ornaments—quality control, he’d explained—he looked up and smiled. “Ah, yes,” he told her. “Do you like them?”

  She hesitated. “I do.”

  He stilled. “You do, but?” he prodded. “I know there’s a but. I heard it in your voice.”

  Of course he had. He heard everything, whether she said it or not. It was unnerving. Less so than normal, which she somehow knew but couldn’t explain. Sitting beside him at breakfast this morning, sharing the first meal of the day with all of them and listening to them good-naturedly rib each other, talk about their plans for the day...

  Something about it had made him more than the Ethan she knew. She was familiar with the rich, sexy executive, the one who argued with her, goaded and teased her, enflamed her. But he was so much more than that. He was part of something huge, a centuries-old heritage.

  And he did have parents, she thought with an inward chuckle, and brothers and a sister, and they were all part of a team, one that was at odds with her own pitiful team of one. Somehow being here made her feel not necessarily less committed to her cause, but almost petty for clinging so tightly to it.

  Though she was exceedingly reluctant to admit it, he’d been right about her visiting his little town, meeting his family, seeing just exactly what it was they all stood to lose when she went on the Ophelia Winslow Show on Friday. She was glad she’d done the right thing by coming here. She couldn’t say that it had changed her position—though seeing that toy soldier wink at her had certainly rattled her last night, and there’d been a couple of instances already this morning that had made her question her eyesight—but it had certainly given her a more well-rounded perspective.

  Kissing him, she told herself, had absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing, she thought more forcefully, remembered heat snaking through her limbs. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She wasn’t that shallow. She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let herself be.

  Not that he seemed inclined to do anything more than kiss her anyway, which had been both surprising and disappointing. He’d been flirting with her for years, priming her for what she could only imagine would be the best sex of her life and last night, when he could have pressed his advantage—hell, his bed had been right there—he hadn’t. And after that kiss...

  It had been quite...irritating.

  Granted she wasn’t exactly an expert on all things sexual, but she could generally discern when a man was attracted to her and that magnificent bulge against her belly last night when he’d given her a final farewell kiss, well... It had been pretty telling. She didn’t know why he hadn’t—

  “Lark?” he prodded. “You all right?”

  She blinked, momentarily startled. “Yes, just gathering my thoughts.”

  He rested a hip against the table. “Are you going to tell me what it is that you don’t like about the birds?”

  “Oh, they’re beautiful,” she said. “And it’s not that I don’t like them—I do.” She struggled to find the words for what she was feeling. “It’s just...I don’t know. There’s something different about them. They don’t have that whimsical feel that all of your other designs have.” She went to the case where all of his designs were displayed. “For instance, look at this teddy bear—there’s a sparkle in his eye. And this nutcracker? There’s something about his smile. He looks like he’s in on a joke I’m not aware of.” She moved farther down the case. “And this—” She stopped short.

  Ethan frowned and followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s Frosty,” he said, smiling, as he moved to stand beside her. “He was my first ornament.”

  She reached out almost reverently and slid a finger over him. “I called him Mr. Cool,” she said softly.

  She’d called him—but— Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. There’d only been a few hundred produced, nothing compared to his designs now, and she’d had one? “You had my Frosty?”

  Her lips faltered with a smile. “Have him,” she corrected. “I rescued him from the garbage bin after my parents purged our house the last year we celebrated Christmas.” She turned to look at him. “I’ve never told you that, have I? I mean, you know enough about my past to put things together—you’re clever, after all—but that’s what happened. I really believed, Ethan. My delusions were so detailed, so real, that I believed I talked to Santa, and his elf Edgar,” she added with a rueful laugh. “I believed so deeply that my Mr. Cool even changed his clothes—his scarf would have holly berries one minute and snowflakes the next. I’d see toy soldiers wink, nutcrackers smile, angel wings flutter.”

  So he’d been right, Ethan thought, her confession tearing at him. She could see the magic.

  And no one had believed her.

  She lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. “I don’t blame my parents,” she said. “It’s no wonder they thought I was crazy. Hell, there are still times when I’ll catch a glimpse of something and think I’m crazy.”

  A glimpse, Ethan thought, his brain seizing on the word. That’s what she was. A glimpse. One of those rare, rare children who could see the Christmas magick.

  And, more importantly, could still see it.

  That’s what was missing from the birds. They were merely drawings at this stage, hadn’t been enchanted with the magick. And that’s no doubt what had happened last night. She’d caught sight of something and had immediately panicked, thinking she was experiencing a delusion.

  His heart ached for her and he instinctively put an arm around her, pulling her close. How terrible it must have been to be so sure of your own mind, your own eyes, only to have the world convince you otherwise. Even your own parents. No wonder she’d fought as hard as she had. No wonder she was so passionate about her cause.

  She relaxed into him, seemingly grateful for the support. “I’m so sorry, Lark,” he said. “I—”

  Her cell suddenly went off and she shifted away, almost guiltily, and pulled it from her purse. “It’s Lisa,” she said, reading the display.

  Lisa? Oh, hell.

  “Hey, Leese,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Ethan turned and discreetly muttered a few choice words under his breath.


  Lark suddenly frowned. “Lisa? I can’t hear you. We’ve got a bad connection. Must be the building. I’ll give you a call back in a few minutes.”

  Oh no, you won’t, Ethan thought. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go downstairs and grab some cocoa and a cinnamon roll, and have a mini picnic by the lake.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Ethan. That would be great.”

  He nodded and returned her grin. He had turned to leave when she stilled him with a touch of her hand. “And thanks for listening a few minutes ago,” she said sheepishly. “And for not making fun. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime,” he said, his throat suddenly getting tight. He’d been on the verge of telling her the truth—that she hadn’t been crazy or delusional, that she’d been right. A cardinal sin among their kind.

  Protect the secret.

  And yet, for the first time in his life, he deeply resented that edict. She deserved to know the truth—to know that she was special, not damaged. And yet he couldn’t tell her.

  Because what if she didn’t believe him? What if she decided he was the one who was delusional and it only reinforced her own position in her own mind? There were too many what-ifs, too many things that could spell disaster for his family.

  And while he could argue that he could tell her now, give her that peace of mind for however brief a moment and then hand her the cocoa, wouldn’t that be crueler? To fully open her eyes to the magick and then take it back? Ethan swallowed.

  He’d be no better than everyone else who hadn’t believed her.

  He couldn’t do it.

  And honestly, at this point, he didn’t have a frigging clue what he was going to do, other than spend as much time with her as possible, show her his world...and keep his hands to himself.

  Chapter 9

  “That was amazing,” Lark said, feeling the rush of excitement and the burn of adrenaline tripping through her veins as she climbed off the back of the snowmobile. “Absolutely incredible.”

  In the process of dusting the snow off the front of his pants, he looked up and shot her a smile. “I’m glad you liked it. I told you you would.”

  “Yes, you did. You were right,” she said. “Feel better?”

  He nodded, the wretch. “Yes, I do, actually. You’ll have to come back soon and I’ll teach you how to drive.”

  A bubble of sadness burst inside her at the thought of leaving the next morning. The past few days had been so unbelievably bizarre. She’d spent practically every minute with Ethan, which had been a combination of fantastic and torturous. Or as she liked to call it...

  Her own personal hell.

  She’d known deep down that there’d always been something special about him—aside from the off-the-charts attractiveness—but seeing him in his element, watching him in his studio and at his family home... He was a genuinely great guy. He had a wonderful sense of humor; he was an excellent conversationalist; he was witty and clever and, as she’d learned recently, he had more willpower than anyone she’d ever met.

  She knew he wanted her—she could feel it when he looked at her, when those startlingly green eyes raked over her body. She could feel his longing in her damned bones. But despite the fact that she’d all but crawled into bed with him, he’d very politely—and regretfully—kissed her good night at her bedroom door.

  And that had been all.

  For the life of her she couldn’t understand it. It didn’t make the least bit of sense. They were both adults, both consenting and, after tomorrow when her Ophelia Winslow Show aired live, it was entirely possible they’d no longer be friends. Or even frenemies, as they’d been up to that point.

  Which, of course, depended on what she said when she actually went on the Ophelia Winslow Show, and the truth was...she was no longer sure what that was going to be. Everyone’s perception was their own reality. And the Evergreens? Christmas tradition, Christmas spirit...it was their way of life. It was the only way they knew. And the town, with Baubles and Cup of Cheer and the Toy Shop and all the beautiful decorations? It was more than charming—it was special. She could feel that, too. The air here was different, and it seemed to shimmer and glow a little more brightly.

  Oddly enough, she’d felt more at home here in the last few days than she had in Georgia, where she’d lived her whole life. And, sad as it was to admit it, she liked Ethan’s family more than she did her own.

  “I thought we’d eat upstairs tonight,” Ethan said, opening the back door for her. A blanket of heat from the house wrapped around her and she smiled as Cook pressed a cup of cocoa into her cold hands.

  “Mustn’t get chilled, dear,” she said.

  Lark murmured her thanks, wrapped her fingers around the pretty little cup and took a sip. The rich flavor spread over her tongue and into her limbs and she sighed with pleasure. Man, she was going to miss this stuff.

  “Is that okay with you?” he asked. “Dinner upstairs?”

  Lark nodded. As much as she enjoyed the meals with his family, tonight she’d just as soon be alone with him. “That sounds good to me,” she said.

  “Great,” he said, smiling at her. “Why don’t we both have a shower, thaw out a little bit, and then we’ll open a bottle of wine and have dinner?”

  An image of his naked and body, water sluicing over supple muscle and masculine hair, suddenly materialized in her mind’s eye, rendering her momentarily mute.

  “Chickadee?” he prodded with a smile, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Lark lifted her chin and nodded stiffly. “Sounds great.” Having learned her way around the house at this point, she set off toward the door that would lead her to the central staircase.

  “I’ll be along in a few minutes,” he called after her. “I need to talk to Belle.”

  All too aware of how little time she actually had left with Ethan and the Evergreens, Lark hurried upstairs and quickly showered. She took a little more time with her makeup and hair than she normally would have, and she donned a long nightgown and robe instead of actual clothes. She’d expected to find Ethan in the sitting room when she entered, but he wasn’t there. Puzzled, she crossed the room and carefully nudged his door open.

  “Ethan?”

  Peering inside, she saw him sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the fire, his hair damp from a shower, his chest and legs bare, a mere towel fastened loosely around his waist.

  And it was sagging.

  He was asleep, she discovered, and something about seeing all that beautiful masculinity in vulnerable repose, gilded by firelight, made a wave of longing swell deep inside of her. Her mouth and eyes watered simultaneously, and her heart thundered in her ears.

  She crept closer, unable to help herself, her feet moving quietly along the carpet.

  Mercy, he is beautiful, Lark thought. High cheekbones, lashes long and obscenely curly for a man—why hadn’t she ever noticed that? His dark locks were uncombed, looking as though he’d merely toweled them dry. A teensy bit of golden stubble shaded his jaw.

  But ultimately, it was his mouth that did her in.

  A little too full for a man, but incredibly beautiful, it was sin incarnate, wicked and carnal. Suddenly it wasn’t enough to just look at it—she needed to taste it.

  She bent low, carefully touching her mouth to his, and she knew the exact instant he awoke, because that wonderful mouth moved beneath hers, coaxing her closer, and one hand crept up and cupped her neck while the other grasped her hip and pulled her into his lap.

  A shivery thrill eddied through her as she landed against him, deepening the kiss. Like butter over a hot bun, she melted over him, her soft to his hard...and mercy was he hard. She could feel the long, stiff length of him against her bottom and her feminine muscles clenched in response, sending a rush of dewy warmth over her folds.

  Et
han suddenly drew back and pressed his forehead against hers, his expression agonized and futile. “Chickadee...” he breathed. “You’re killing me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling. “But you like it.”

  He chuckled and kissed her. “Yes, I do.”

  “You know where you’d like it better?” she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair.

  “Where?”

  She gestured across the room, where his giant bed loomed invitingly. “On a mattress.”

  He chuckled again lowly, and then his eyes darkened with desire, flashed with purpose. He wrapped her up in his arms and headed for the bed. “I believe you’re right.”

  Excitement and anticipation bubbled through her, pushing a laugh out of her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” she queried lightly as her back landed against velvet and his warm body landed against hers.

  “I said I believe you’re ri—” He stopped, smiled darkly and drew back to look at her. “Trust you to home in on that little comment,” he told her. “You like being right, don’t you?”

  She rocked her hips against him and arched her back, her sensitized nipples straining against her gown. “Beats the hell out of being wrong.”

  Ethan pressed his hot mouth against her neck, sucking the air from her lungs, and she squirmed against him, desire and desperation winding through her, making her impatient. She’d been waiting for this for years, had been thinking about it for years... She loved the feel of him beneath her hands, sleek muscle, smooth and warm and oh so wonderful. She tugged at the loose towel, tossed it aside and then palmed his length.

  Ethan sucked in a startled hiss and parlayed with a long suck of her pouting nipple. He flexed against her, his slippery skin working against her palm.

  “I’ve got a clean bill of health,” he said, as he pulled the robe and gown impatiently off her body, baring her to him. “You?”