His arms holding her, and the remains of the mushed cake, against him, he asked, “Are you all right?” When she nodded, he licked his lips again, causing something like kindling wood to spark and curl in Myla’s jittery stomach. “Ah, that’s so good,” he said, lifting his hands to dump the ruined cake into the trash. “I could have handled anything but losing my coconut cake. I think I’m going to cry.”
Myla huffed a breath, then turned to find a towel. “Please, if you do, don’t mess up the floor.”
“Very funny.”
Nick raised a hand to take the towel from her, his fingers gripping her wrist. Lifting her head, she saw a set of bronze-colored eyes lazily assessing her. Gone was the cold indifference, the quiet reserve, and in its place, a heated brilliance that took her breath away.
“Let me go, Nick,” she said on a soft whisper.
“Wait, you have a big glob of cake on your right cheek.”
Reaching up, she touched her face. “I’ll get it off. Now, let me go so we can clean up this mess.”
“Let’s start right now.”
Before she could move or protest, he began wiping her face, his fingers gently lifting icing and cake filling off her cheek, his amused gaze causing sparks to ignite again in her stomach. She tried to pull away, but he held her steady.
“Right there.” He took the towel and wiped it across her jaw. “Yep, that’s it.” He held her away to inspect his handiwork. “All clean now.”
Myla could only stare at him. What on earth was the man trying to do to her? Here she was, covered with cake and shrimp dip, in the middle of his kitchen, with her children and his sister in one room and a pack of hungry guests as well as a jealous girlfriend in the other. Everything was ruined, and Nick should be angry with her. Instead, he was treating her with such intense concern that she thought she might cry from the sheer sweetness of his gesture. She could have handled his anger; his kindness was much harder to bear.
“Are you finished?” she managed to ask as she gritted her teeth to keep the lump in her throat from choking her.
Nick, seeing the torment in her eyes, stood back, then carefully wiped bacon-and-mustard salad dressing from his khaki trousers. Thinking he’d made her uncomfortable, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Myla.”
To calm her own wayward feelings, Myla turned to the sink. “It’s all right. I…I’m just surprised that you didn’t…that you aren’t—”
“What?” Confused, Nick tugged her around again.
Myla sighed, then took the towel from his hands. “You should be mad—I promised you everything would work out fine tonight, and now I’ve ruined your party. Why didn’t you just get mad at me?”
A bit amused, Nick lifted a brow. “So, you’re upset because I’m not upset?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. No! I mean, I could have handled you shouting and ranting. Why did you have to be so nice to me?”
Nick watched as she frantically tried to wipe the counter, not knowing how to comfort her. “I am so sorry,” he repeated, a mock glare coloring his face. “What was I thinking?”
“Exactly,” Myla agreed, unaware that he was smiling behind her back. “You don’t have to be nice!”
Nick understood that she wasn’t used to any tenderness and that realization bothered him. What had she suffered, to make her so wary of a kind gesture? He wanted to ask her, but decided she’d just clam up if he tried. So instead, he teased her. “I promise, if this happens again, I’ll try to be justifiably angry.”
She whirled around just in time to see the sparkle in his eyes. Hiding a smile, Myla relaxed a little. “Guess you miss Henny, huh?”
He laughed. “Yeah, but her dinner parties were never this exciting, I have to admit.” Pivoting, he said, “I’ll go get the mop.”
Her hand shot out to stop him. “Wash your face first.”
Lydia stuck her head around the corner from Henny’s apartment. “By the way, Nick, I thought you both should know—I stopped by Magnolia House on my way over here. They’re full, probably will be until well after the first of the year. But Myla, I did put your name on the waiting list.”
Myla looked up at the man who’d saved her, praying he’d let her stay until she could find somewhere else to go.
Nick didn’t say anything, but she could tell by his blank expression that he wasn’t too pleased with the news. Together, they silently cleaned the kitchen while Lydia got the children and Shredder off to sleep.
Finally, when they’d finished and the whole room had been restored to order, Nick turned to Myla. “Well, at least you can stay here until the first of the year.”
“Yes, and I’m thankful that the good Lord led me to you.”
He gave her a puzzled look, then said, “Maybe it’s the other way around, Myla.”
Myla’s heart soared. Maybe he was beginning to feel differently about Christmas and helping others. She followed him into the den where Pooky lay fast asleep in front of the roaring fire. The guests were playing a game that involved telling the truth regarding scruples.
Carolyn turned to Nick. “Your turn, darling. Are you willing to test your scruples?”
“Scruples?” Nick laughed, his shrug indifferent. “Why, you all know I don’t have any. None at all.”
Myla sat watching him. He had deliberately downplayed his good side, the side she’d seen firsthand. You’re wrong, Mr. Rudolph. You have scruples—you just haven’t used them in a while.
Again, she had to wonder what had caused Nick to turn into himself. As she watched him, his eyes touched on her and she saw the warmth shining there. She said a silent prayer. Dear Father, help Nick to find his way back to you. And thank you for leading me to him.
The next night when Nick came home from work, he found a freshly baked pound cake sitting on the counter, its buttery aroma filling the house. The kitchen sparkled and gleamed. Holly branches from the garden decorated the counters, giving the room a homey effect.
The back door opened and Myla, Patrick and Jesse all rushed into the room, giggling and chattering. All three held arms full of firewood. Myla looked up, a hesitant smile cresting her lips.
Patrick said, “Hey, Mr. Nick. We’re gonna start a fire.”
“So I see.”
He nodded toward the boy’s mother, noticing the way the December wind had brightened her cheeks and pinkened her lips, giving her fair skin a perfect contrast to her fiery wind-tossed copper-colored hair. As was his nature, Nick watched and waited as she ordered the children to place the wood in the den.
“And don’t try to light a fire. I wouldn’t want you two to burn down the Christmas tree.” Turning back to Nick, she said, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
“That’s fine.” He gazed at the fat cake sitting on the counter. “That smells wonderful.”
“Want a slice?” She headed toward the refrigerator to pull out the milk. “Milk or coffee?”
“Milk.” Nick slid out of his khaki trench coat. “This looks good.”
“Well, it’s not coconut cake, but I wanted to make up for last night. I hate seeing grown men cry.”
He chuckled, then took the glass of milk and a generous slice of the still-warm cake, his eyes following her as he bit into the flaky lemon-flavored mound. Myla waited as he chewed it with glee,