Mistletoe Hero

by Tanya Michaels

  She found his bed in the same state as hers—sloppily made. It made Arianne feel like too much of a slob to leave her sheets and blankets twisted any which way when she left home for the day, but she didn’t bother with a lot of tucking and creasing or pillow arranging. She sidestepped him and pulled down the corner of a forest-green comforter. There was a large picture window in here, but the shade was drawn behind tan-and-green curtains.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes at half-mast.

  Arianne knew that if she offered her help, he’d turn it down, so instead of asking, she simply knelt and pulled off the hiking boots he wore. “You lie down,” she instructed in her best no-nonsense tone. “Is there anything I can get you?” It was too soon for any more medicine. She tried to think what would possibly make her feel better if she’d had a seventy-pound kid fall into her, followed by a ladder hurtling down on her head.

  She shook her head, trying to dislodge the morbid what-ifs. “You really were quite the hero today.” Ben could easily have ended his day with broken bones, or worse if he’d fallen at the wrong angle. Then there was the possibility that he could have been injured in a fall and again when the ladder crashed atop him.

  Gabe closed his eyes, his voice a tired slur. “Had to. Can’t take a fourth death on my head.”

  Fourth? Arianne recoiled in surprise. Who, besides the Templetons, did he obviously blame himself for? Now didn’t seem like an appropriate time to ask.

  “Arianne? Could you bring an ice pack?”

  “Of course.” Arianne was a doer by nature. She was relieved to have a specific and helpful task.

  In the kitchen, she flipped on the light and saw a suite of silver appliances, including a flat-range stove and a trash compactor. Crossing to the three-door refrigerator, she decided that the freezer compartment was probably the one with the ice dispenser. She opened the door and stared.

  “Good Lord, it looks like he robbed the Breckfield Creamery.”

  She’d never seen so much ice cream in one person’s kitchen. Individual servings and pints of exotic flavors inside the door, half gallons of country-style vanilla and mint-chocolate chip sharing a shelf, and boxes of individually wrapped ice-cream sandwiches. He must exert a lot of physical effort on the job to maintain a body that looked like his. Even though she knew there was no valid logic to her impromptu reasoning, she wished the more suspicious-minded citizens of Mistletoe could see the contents of his freezer. The man owned a tiny pink carton of Bubble Gum Bliss, for crying out loud—how evil could he be?

  Realizing that she was taking her time snooping while the hero of the day was still lying in agony, she jerked her attention away from all the frozen dairy goodness and found a blue gel pack. The sudden ring of a phone splintering the silence nearly made her jump. After only two rings—Arianne had programmed hers to five in case she had trouble finding the cordless—Gabe’s voice rumbled from the answering machine on the tiled kitchen counter.

  “You’ve reached Sloan Carpentry and Odd Jobs. Leave a message at the beep or, in case of emergency, page my cell.”

  Right after he gave the number for that, a woman spoke. “It’s Nicole. I may have an idea for a job possibility if you’re willing to move to Kennesaw. Give me a call if you want more details—it was great to hear from you the other day.”

  Nicole? Against her will, Arianne recalled what Shane had told her. Kitchen tile wasn’t all he laid for Nicole Jones.

  Even if Shane was right, what business was it of Arianne’s? Every adult had a romantic past. No, the pang she suffered probably wasn’t jealousy over a woman with whom Gabe may have once been involved, a woman who no longer even lived in Mistletoe. Instead, Arianne suspected that the reason it temporarily hurt to breathe was because even though Gabe had told her point-blank that he planned to leave, she’d harbored the subconscious hope that he’d change his mind.

  She shot the answering machine a malevolent glare. Good thing she wasn’t a selfish, devious person or that message might accidentally get erased before Gabe was fully recovered. Pretending she was too noble to have even had such a thought, she left the kitchen and hurried down the hall.

  Gabe wasn’t snoring, but his breathing was audible, deep and even. She crept forward, figuring she could leave the ice pack on the nightstand in case his headache woke him up in the immediate future. Unable to resist the temptation of studying him at her leisure, she sat gently on the edge of the bed. Gabriel. It was a fitting name for him. He was formed beautifully enough to look like an angel, albeit one with the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

  As she gazed down at him—this six-foot loner with surprise dimples and a secret love for ice cream—tenderness swamped her.

  She bent to graze his forehead with a featherlight kiss. Unexpectedly, the arm at his side clamped around her, drawing her inexorably to him. He never even opened his eyes.

  “Gabe?” she whispered.

  Nothing.

  She was squashed into his torso and had to wiggle around so she could breathe easier and so that she wasn’t lying in such a way that pulled her long hair. His breathing was still relaxed, but his arm was like an iron band around her. She debated the best way to slip loose without disturbing his well-earned rest. Oh, heck with it. Despite his teasing remark about taking her to bed earlier, who knew if she’d ever have this chance again?

  Deciding to enjoy it while she was here, she tucked her chin against his chest and succumbed to the luxury of being in Gabe’s arms.

  Chapter Ten

  When Gabe woke in the dark room, his head hurt some but it was a distant pain that paled in comparison to the other physical sensations jolting his body. Arianne was snuggled across him, her warm weight draped over him like the world’s sexiest blanket, her thigh pressing against his erection. Although he wasn’t complaining, he couldn’t remember crawling into bed with her.

  He barely recalled finding the grit to make it down the hall on his own two feet. How long had they been here? No light shone around the edges of the window shade, so the sun must have already set. To get a look at the digital clock on his dresser he would have to shift Arianne, and he didn’t want to disturb her.

  In fact, part of him wanted nothing more than to sink back into slumber, enjoying her nearness and accepting it as fate’s gift to him, a reward for helping that kid earlier. But Gabe didn’t think he’d be able to sleep that easily. He was too alert now, too aware of the sensual softness of her, the crush of her breasts against him, the teasing scent of her shampoo. The kisses they’d shared earlier came back to him in excruciating detail.

  He fidgeted, restless and trying to get more comfortable as his arousal spiked to new levels.

  “Mmm.” Arianne burrowed closer, and he almost laughed. How could she feel so addictively good yet be torturing him at the same time?

  The phone shrilled, and Arianne’s eyes popped open, going wide as they met his. “Oh!”

  He suspected that if there were enough light in the room he’d be watching her blush.

  She started to roll away, but he hugged her first, just long enough to let her know he wasn’t sorry she was there. When their gazes locked again, she no longer looked embarrassed at finding herself sprawled in such a position. Shadows fell across her features, but he could sense a new emotion in her. Dare he hope, desire?

  He slid his hands from her back down to the curve of her butt. She moved against him, the friction overwhelming, even through his jeans.

  “What about the phone?” she whispered, propping herself on one elbow.

  The phone was the least of his problems. He wanted—needed—to kiss her again. But they weren’t in Mistletoe town square now. They were alone in his bed. If they got carried away by the same passions they’d kindled in each other earlier, there was no question of how this would end. He would make love to Arianne Waide.

  And then what? His conscience tried to make itself heard over his libido. Gabe’s only affairs in the past decade had been with women w
ho either lived in neighboring towns or women who, like Nicole, wouldn’t be in Mistletoe long. Arianne would probably be here for the rest of his life. What kind of bastard would seduce a woman like her, then leave without a backward glance? While Gabe thought Shane McIntyre was largely a horse’s behind, the man had been accurate when he said Gabe wasn’t worthy of her.

  “Gabe?” His name was a husky caress on her lips.

  “You were right,” he said halfheartedly, dropping his hands to his sides. “I should get the ph—”

  “It stopped ringing.” She used his horizontal position to mitigate the difference in their height, moving up to nip at his neck and then his bottom lip.

  His body tensed in piercing pleasure. “Arianne—”

  “Kiss me,” she said against his mouth.

  God, yes. “Wait, I—”

  She froze. “I’m so selfish! I’m hurting you, aren’t I? Is your vision still blurred?”

  How could he tell? He was nearly cross-eyed with lust anyway.

  “You aren’t hurting me.” At least not in the way she meant. “But you don’t know me well enough to do this.”

  “Shouldn’t I get to decide that?” She poked him lightly in the chest.

  “Not if you don’t have all the facts,” he countered.

  Shushing his protests, she pressed two fingers against his mouth, then drew them down so that her index finger slipped between his lips. He sucked on the tip, reveling in the way her breathing sped up. Arianne was never shy about expressing herself. Making love to her would be—

  “I know enough,” she pledged, swiveling her hips so that she was astride him. “And I want you.”

  He surprised a gasp out of her when he pushed himself upright, gathering her to him for a searing, openmouthed kiss that burned away the last of his qualms. Plunging his fingers through her hair, he slanted his mouth over hers. The clip she’d been wearing clattered to the hardwood floor and long blond waves fell forward, curtaining them.

  Arianne burned with need. No one had ever kissed her like this. She felt dangerously, exhilaratingly out of control. She was greedy for more, wanted to explore the hollows and planes of his hard body. She started to pull back so that she could remove his T-shirt, and gasped when the motion rocked her against him, the sensation so exquisite that she rolled her hips a second time with slow deliberation.

  He swore softly, then grabbed her waist, hauling her to him and kissing her breathless. Somehow he managed to unbutton the top half of her long shirt using only one hand, shoving the material backward so that it dropped away from her body. The cool air was a sensual balm against her overheated skin. Under the lacy cups of her bra, her nipples beaded into tight points.

  She was unprepared for Gabe to roll them over suddenly, pinning her beneath him. Should a man with a head injury be moving so qui—? Oh! She inhaled sharply as he kissed her through the lace. The pleasure was nearly unbearable—she couldn’t tell if she wanted him to keep going or if she needed a second to catch her breath.

  Almost as if reading her mind, he gave her a moment’s respite, stopping just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Wow. Even in the darkened room, she could appreciate how his well-muscled arms tapered to a movie-screen-worthy chest and a stomach indented with a straight line down the middle, ringed with the faint outline of abs. Next to that kind of physical perfection, Arianne should probably feel self-conscious about how rarely she exercised, but instead the only feeling she experienced was giddiness at the thought of being able to touch him.

  She trailed her fingers over the flat dip of his navel, toward the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers shook as she undid the button and the zipper. Gabe held himself as still as a predatory cat right before it pounced.

  When she rubbed him through the cotton of the boxer-briefs, his head fell back, his expression strained and indefinably erotic. “Arianne.”

  He said her name like a pagan prayer. He made a pilgrimage of her body, worshipping with his hands and his lips. Her denim capris and then her bra vanished beneath his expert touch. By the time he slid a finger over the satiny material between her thighs, she was practically writhing with need. When he opened the nightstand drawer to get a condom, she almost sobbed with relief, long past ready to take him inside her.

  She stroked him one last time, guided him to her center, her body bucking upward when he thrust into her. He braced himself above her, his muscles rigid with exertion as he watched her. She met his gaze as long as she could, until the intensity became too much, and she had to look away as the tremors built inside her. She closed her eyes, spasmed around him and let go, the ripples escalating into shock waves. Gabe finished with a wordless shout, then rolled flat onto his back, reaching for her hand among the tangled sheets and blanket. They lay there panting with their fingers entwined.

  When Arianne noticed that he was pressing his temple with his free hand, she experienced a twinge of contrition. “Are you all right?”

  “I could use some more of those pills,” he admitted. “Other than that, I’m perfect.”

  Yes, you were. “I’ll be right back,” she said, shrugging into the shirt she’d worn earlier. She padded down the hall to the kitchen where she scooped the acetaminophen off the counter and poured a glass of water for Gabe. Standing in front of the refrigerator, she realized that she was famished.

  “Thank you,” Gabe told her when she returned. He’d flipped on the nightstand lamp, the soft golden glow bathing his skin.

  She dropped the pills in his palm. “It’s the least I can do.” What had she been thinking, attacking a concussed guy? This probably had not been what the doctor had in mind when he’d instructed her to wake Gabe every few hours and check for a response.

  “I only hope I didn’t do you irreparable harm,” she said ruefully.

  A smile flirted around the corners of his mouth. “If you did, I forgive you. It was worth it.”

  She sat next to him, tucking her feet under her. “Any chance you’re hungry? We never did have lunch, and I’m pretty sure we missed dinner, too.”

  He paused, as if taking stock. “Earlier I was nauseous, but now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

  “I could make us dinner,” she volunteered, the offer making her incongruously bashful. The man had just seen her naked, but there was a different kind of intimacy in fixing him a meal in his home. It just felt so uncharacteristically domestic. “Although I should warn you, I’m not a very accomplished chef. My mother, bless her heart, tried to teach me, but I always wanted to be playing basketball out on the driveway or riding bikes with my brothers.”

  “Arianne, right now, you could serve me a burned grilled cheese sandwich made with stale bread, and I’d still think you were a goddess. The problem is I doubt I have much in the way of groceries. I stock up on the weekend and had planned to go later today.”

  She considered this, too hungry to get dressed and drive into town in search of sustenance. “Well, there’s ice cream.”

  “Ice cream for dinner?” Gabe grinned at her. “Woman after my own heart.”

  IT WAS A SIX COURSE MEAL, if one counted chocolate syrup, sliced bananas and ice-cream flavors as courses. Dress was informal, Arianne only in a shirt and Gabe in formfitting boxer-briefs. They each picked out two varieties from the assortment in his freezer—Arianne had been curious about one called Hawaiian Vacation that included coconut slivers and macadamia nuts—and made large, sloppy sundaes.

  Gabe didn’t actually have a kitchen table, explaining that he mostly ate at the breakfast bar. But they opted not to perch on the high-backed stools and instead sat together on the navy plaid couch. Arianne, curious about everything from his choice of decorative touches to what movies he might have in his DVD collection, tried to take in her surroundings without seeming too nosy. It was a nice place, nothing fancy or fussy, but he used colors she thought worked well and he obviously wasn’t a slob. Frankly, if the tables had been turned and she’d ended up with him as unexpected company
this afternoon, she wasn’t sure her place would have been as neat. It seemed like she was frequently on her way somewhere—to work, to her parents’, out with friends—and she had a tendency to dump stuff in the chair closest to the door as she passed.

  A picture in a wooden frame, sitting on top of the shelves of the entertainment center, caught her eye. It looked like a personal shot rather than a professionally taken photo, and a pretty young woman on a railed front porch was smiling at the camera. Judging by her clothes and hairstyle, the picture was at least a couple of decades old.

  “Your mom?” Arianne hazarded a guess.

  Gabe paused with his spoon in midair. “Yeah.”

  “Were you close?”

  “No. She died before I was two weeks old. If it weren’t for pictures, I wouldn’t even know what she looked like.” He said the words blandly, with no emotion, and she wondered how he really felt. Did it bother him that he’d been denied the chance to bond with her, or had he made his peace with that years ago, not truly missing something he’d never known?

  “What happened?” she asked, wanting to know more about this man and the upbringing that had shaped him.

  “Postsurgery complications. I was a really large baby and they decided to do a C-section.” Again said eerily without inflection. Not sorrow or misplaced guilt that the C-section might have been his fault, simply a rote statement of fact. “She got an infection afterward, which is always dangerous, but she was diabetic, which made it harder to fight.”

  Thinking of how important her mother, Susan, had been to her all her life, Arianne got a lump in her throat. But nothing in Gabe’s demeanor suggested he wanted to discuss his own feelings, so she found another outlet for her sympathy. “That must have been hard on your father.”