Christmas Sanctuary

by Lauren Hawkeye

  “I thought southern girls were supposed to be all sweet. You know, like a peach.” Closing the space between them in three short strides—she hadn’t gotten far on her injured ankle—he scooped her off her feet, arms supporting her beneath her knees and arms. “You’re more like a prickly pear.”

  “Put me down before I snatch you bald!” She stiffened in his arms, but that just made it easier for him to hold her. Doing an about-face, he started to trudge back down the hill. The gravel lot where he’d parked his car was only about half a kilometer away.

  She bucked in his arms. The friction of her body on his sent a bolt of lust through him, and he ground his teeth together as he tried to push the sensation away.

  Yeah, there was a spark between them, and if she were any other girl he’d have her back in his bed, forgetting all about the pain in her ankle.

  She wasn’t any other girl. She was his best friend’s daughter, and that meant he needed to keep his hands off.

  “Damn it, Nick! Put me down!” She wriggled again, and he sucked in a deep breath as her hip bone shifted low…lower than was comfortable for him right that very moment.

  “Negatory.” Shaking his head, he hoisted her up higher in his arms, safely out of the danger zone. Still she twisted, never giving up.

  He couldn’t quite hold back the sigh. Half a kilometer was going to be a much longer walk than usual.

  Chapter 9

  Her ankle was throbbing, but all Emma could think about was the way it felt to be pressed up against Nick’s wide chest.

  She knew she should keep protesting, even if it meant being pulled away from his warmth—and all the sensations she had because of it. She’d said she would walk, and he’d taken that decision away from her.

  It was infuriating. It was everything she’d left home to get away from.

  But then again, it was part of the reason she was so wildly attracted to him. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. She knew it wasn’t fair to compare them, but she couldn’t help thinking of Matthew—the man she’d been set to marry had always thought first of what others would think.

  “If I put you down, are you going to take off again?” When she gazed up at him Emma noted, with surprise, a few subtle threads of silver around his temples. He couldn’t have been much older than her, so she wondered what had put them there.

  How could she feel such a strong pull toward someone she didn’t know?

  She nodded.

  “I’m putting you down now,” Nick warned. They’d reached a dark-red pickup truck that didn’t appear to have been washed in the last decade. For some reason that made her smile—appearances clearly didn’t mean that much to him. “Don’t run.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Running would mean that she didn’t want to be there, when in truth there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Nick snorted inelegantly as, with her still in his arms, he opened the passenger door. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so eager to get away from me.”

  “I’m not eager to get away from you.” Emma grimaced as, biceps flexing, he settled her gently onto the seat and her ankle protested. Her new perch brought her face level with his, so she was able to see the change in his eyes, the chaos behind the deep whiskey color quieting, coming to a focus—a focus on her.

  His stare roamed her face, as though he couldn’t quite figure out what to make of her. Awareness prickled everywhere his gaze touched, bringing a flush to her skin.

  She wanted to kiss him. It made no logical sense, and was probably a knee-jerk reaction to the turmoil in her life, but it didn’t change what she wanted.

  She wanted to be like him, the kind of person who wanted something and reached out for it with both hands.

  But she’d just broken an engagement, left her proper, perfect life behind and flown across the continent to meet the father she’d never known she had. So maybe she was the kind of person to take what she wanted.

  “Something on your mind, Peaches?” He smirked at her, though she was still the object of that laser-sharp focus. He wanted her, she knew he did, but for some reason he was holding back.

  It was up to her, then. Before she could think about it anymore, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His expression went wary, but he didn’t pull away when she ran a hand up the back of his neck, testing, then feathered it through the short hair at the base of his skull.

  “Emma,” he said. That was all—just her name.

  She liked the sound of it on his lips.

  Eyes wide open, she leaned forward, giving him time to pull away. He didn’t, and in the moment before her lips brushed over his she heard a quiet sigh, one that sounded like relief.

  Then her lips were on his, and all she could do was feel.

  His mouth was hot and dry against hers. He held still, holding his breath as she exhaled against him, then started to pull away.

  His hand on her cheek stopped her before she could break the kiss. Her pulse stuttered when the second hand joined the first, cupping her gently but firmly, pulling her back to him. Fingers stroking lightly, firmly, he took the kiss deeper, skilled lips claiming her.

  His tongue swiped over the seam of her lips, and she parted for him on a sight moan, sinking deeper into the heat of his embrace. He dipped inside, taking the slightest taste, before pulling back entirely.

  She blinked up at him, her breath coming faster as he studied her face, his hands still cradling her cheeks. She could see the confusion in his features—felt it herself—and was both relieved and pained when he let her go.

  “Wow,” she breathed to herself after he’d helped her shift on the seat, tucking her injured ankle inside and closing the door firmly after. Warily, she eyed his lean frame as he rounded the hood of the car, then opened the driver’s seat, swung himself in, and started the ignition, all without saying a word.

  She’d wanted to kiss him, but she hadn’t expected that.

  Chapter 10

  As Nick pulled his truck to a stop in front of her cabin, Emma found that she didn’t know quite what to do.

  The ride from the hiking trail had been short, but they’d spent it in silence, besides her telling him where she was staying. She wanted to say something—needed to, even—but couldn’t quite decide what.

  She knew that he was as attracted to her as she was to him, so why had he pulled back after that amazing kiss? She’d been feeling so confident, but now she was wondering if he regretted kissing her.

  Nick wasn’t speaking, either, and when he pulled the key from the ignition, killing the noise of the engine, the stillness was suddenly a deafening roar that she could no longer stand.

  “Thank you for the ride.” She snuck a sidelong glance at him. He’d shifted in his seat to look at her, and he huffed out a breath of exasperation when he saw her reaching for the door handle.

  “Can’t give you even an inch, can I?” Within moments he was out of the truck, at her door. “Why would I haul you off that trail only to make you teeter across the ice in stupid shoes with an injured ankle?”

  “You really don’t have to carry me.” Her protest was completely ignored as he hooked his arms beneath her and lifted. She knew better than to argue about her shoes—he was right. Italian leather and incredibly stylish they might be, but in this weather, they were also incredibly foolish.

  “Seems that the only way to stop you from doing something ridiculous is to do just that.” He smirked down at her, and Emma frowned. If anyone else had said this to her she might have been insulted, but it seemed that this was just Nick’s way—he liked to tease.

  No one else in her life really did that.

  She liked it.

  “Thank you again,” she said as he pulled the old-school metal key from her hand and unlocked the door to the cabin. He closed the door behind them before slowly lowering her to the floor in a way that gave her a new appreciation of the muscles she’d been a
dmiring. “The light…the switch is just over there.”

  She pointed to the wall, faltering when she looked up. He was watching her again with that intensity in his gaze, his arms still wrapped around her. The only light in the cabin came from the pale late afternoon rays filtering in through the window and the multicolored strings overhead. It was an odd combination, rainbows and shadow on his skin.

  “I don’t need the light. I can see,” he said as he pointed overhead. Puzzled, she looked where he indicated.

  Caught on one of the bulbs of the holiday lights overhead was a hank of plastic mistletoe that she hadn’t noticed earlier. The shiny green leaves and the promise of what they meant kick-started her pulse.

  “I—” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say; maybe she’d tell him that she hadn’t put the mistletoe there, hadn’t planned this. Her words were cut off when Nick caught the length of her ponytail in one hand and claimed her lips with his.

  Have mercy. This kiss wasn’t like the first, where they’d been slow and unsure. This time Nick’s free hand skimmed her torso down to her waist, tugging her flush against his body. A gasp escaped her as his mouth moved, fast and deep and sure.

  This time when she parted for him, his tongue swept inside to explore. His touches were bold, sure where she was not, filling a well she hadn’t realized was empty.

  This. She hadn’t known she could feel like this, hot and cold and up and down and sharp and soft. With his lips on hers, there wasn’t room for any worries, any stress, any pain, just him.

  When he moaned and pressed her more tightly against himself, the heat spread, moving down through her body in lovely liquid pulses.

  She wanted this.

  She wanted him.

  She’d never had a fling. Never thought she’d want to, but right then all she could do was chase the heat, the spark Nick had lodged inside of her that was slowly warming her from the inside out.

  Stay.

  She wanted to tell him to do just that, to climb into the wide bed in the rented cabin and to thaw the last of the ice she’d carried with her from Georgia.

  She didn’t know how. Instead, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind. “My father doesn’t have to know.”

  “What?” Nick pulled abruptly from the kiss. His hair was a mess from her fingers, but his expression when he blinked down at her was startled. “Say that again?”

  “No, never mind.” Her skin flushed crimson as he stared down at her, incredulous. “That was a stupid thing to say. I ruined the mood. I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m not good at this.”

  She waved her hand to emphasize her point.

  “No,” Nick said as he backed away slowly. He ran both hands over his face, a pained noise sounding from somewhere deep in this chest. “This is…I need to go.”

  She collapsed inwardly—why had she opened her mouth? As his expression filled with displeasure, though, she wondered what was running through his mind, because his staccato movements and gritted teeth seemed a bit more dramatic than the situation called for.

  Her mouth opened to ask what was wrong, because clearly it wasn’t just the stupid thing she’d said.

  The door opened, bringing with it the chill of the air outside. And she had to swallow her question back down, because Nick was gone.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, the crisp air of Main Street did little to ease Emma’s embarrassment.

  She hadn’t slept much. An unfamiliar bed and the events of the day had ensured that dreams eluded her, so she’d spent a good portion of her night staring at the ceiling, replaying those two kisses over in her mind.

  She’d said the exact wrong thing at the worst possible time; there was no getting around that. Like a tongue probing at a sore tooth, she couldn’t stop the scene from playing again and again in her head.

  Still, his reaction had been extreme. There had been something more there, but what, she couldn’t guess.

  By the time seven in the morning had rolled around, she’d needed some fresh air. Her cabin, one of five set back in a wooded area, was actually just a short walk from downtown, so she’d tested her ankle on a few laps around the small living space. It was still a bit sore, but as long as she didn’t put too much weight on it, she’d be fine.

  To both her delight and her dismay, the small coffee shop she’d found first thing had served massive gingerbread men. She’d devoured one with a cup of tea, and was now just waiting for the stores on Main Street to open for the day, offering her distraction from her own thoughts.

  Thoughts about home—if she wasn’t just Rosemary’s daughter or Matthew’s fiancée, then who was she? Would she find some kind of identity as Michael’s child?

  And then there were the thoughts about Nick. The ones she’d walked to Main Street to distract herself from.

  She glanced at her watch; it was still a few minutes shy of nine. The shops would be opening any minute; she’d just wander until then.

  The town had clearly earmarked a large chunk of their yearly budget for holiday decorations; the sheer volume was impressive. Emma noted the wreaths that hung on nearly every shop door, each customized to reflect the business within—tiny espresso cups and coffee beans strung on wire for the café where she’d inhaled the gingerbread, knitting needles and yarn for a wool shop, small measuring spoons and spatulas for a store that sold kitchenware.

  Evergreen boughs traced thick lines along roofs and doors, making the buildings look as though they’d sprung from the forest. Multicolored lights nestled among the furry green, and Emma knew she would have to come back at night to get the full effect.

  It wasn’t like she had anything better to do at the moment, at any rate. Not until Michael came home.

  Her spirits dipped. Would Nick even keep his promise to pass along the news that she was in town? There was an undeniable something between them, but she didn’t know him well enough to gauge his level of trustworthiness.

  Embarrassment surged anew. Her behavior the day before was so very unlike her.

  Movement to her right caught her eye; someone was turning their window sign around to read OPEN. She hesitated; she hated being the person outside tapping her toes, pushing her way in the second the door was unlocked.

  There was a flash of bronze hair, and a wide smile beamed through the glass. A glass door decorated with hand-painted bees swung open, and the woman behind it gestured emphatically for Emma to enter.

  “Come on in! Running late this morning; I just have to count out the till, but you’re welcome to come in and look around while I do.”

  “Are you sure?” Emma was startled; she couldn’t imagine that it was very safe to handle an entire till’s worth of cash with a stranger in the shop. The woman’s cheer was inviting, and Emma found herself following her inside a small store, where the air was heavy with the scent of honey. Emma inhaled deeply, reflexively, drawing the sweetness into her lungs.

  “It smells so good!” Spinning slowly, she took in shelves crammed full of jars and bottles and tins, more of the intricate artwork that was on the front door, and, above the cash register where the woman was now busily at work, a large sign that read HIPPIE HIVE.

  “I can’t smell it anymore.” The woman looked up and grinned. “And you’ve traveled a hell of a long way. Where are you visiting from?”

  “Dead giveaway, right?” Emma smiled ruefully, crossing to the counter. Something about the woman’s friendliness drew her in despite her natural tendency toward keeping her distance.

  “Let me guess.” The woman tapped a finger with a glossy sky-blue nail on full lips as she considered. “Florida?”

  “Close. Georgia.” Emma couldn’t help but smile as she ran a hand over a display of candles. The gold of wheat, they carried the sweet honey scent and were shaped like beehives. “Do you make these things?”

  “Most of them.” The woman dropped a final handful of coins in the till and slammed it shut, then offered her hand. “I’m Charlie. Beekeepe
r, surfer, and purveyor of all things beeswax.”

  “Beekeeper?” Emma blinked down at the smaller woman, wondering if everyone here was gorgeous. Charlie had straight copper hair that brushed her shoulders, rum-colored eyes, and skin far more sun-kissed than was fair in the dead of winter. Slender but toned, she was wearing tight ripped blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt knotted at the waist. Bright pink in color, it advised Emma to “Save the bees, plant these!” above an illustration of flowers in full bloom. “You’re not serious.”

  “Why not?” Charlie smiled cheerfully before bending and hauling a sealed cardboard box up onto the counter.

  “How does one get into something like that?” Emma started to circle the shop, running her fingers over a shelf filled with jars of honey. This woman, this stranger, had already exuded such enthusiasm over her chosen career path that Emma felt a little hollow inside.

  She’d never had a passion like that—she definitely didn’t have one for her job. She worked in accounts payable at a car dealership. It met with Rosemary’s approval, but it certainly didn’t put the same light in her eyes that was in Charlie’s right now.

  “I spend most of my spare time surfing,” Charlie said as she pulled out a box cutter and slit open the tape on the box. “I couldn’t find a board wax that I liked, so I started making my own from beeswax. Then I got interested in where the wax came from, toured the operations of some beekeepers, and here I am.”

  “Wow.” Drawn to a display of pretty metal tins, she selected one marked Lavender. “What is this?”

  “A lotion bar.” Opening her box, Charlie pulled out a stack of books. “Beeswax, shea butter, coconut oil, and some essential oil. All natural and wonderful for your skin. Handy to toss in your purse. Nice bit of pampering on the go.”

  “I’ll take one.” Sniffing the open testers, Emma found herself drawn back to the lavender scent. “I could use some pampering.”

  “Couldn’t we all?” Charlie took the tin that Emma held out to her, pulling a paper bag stamped with a honeycomb printout from under the counter. “So what brings you to town? Romantic weekend away?”