When Charlie announced his interest in going to the front room, Eric quickly said, “Good idea.”
Lydia and the grandmother followed like wraiths, inspecting him with weighty stares.
Most of the others left soon after finishing their desserts. The few overnight guests retired to their rooms, leaving Eric with the aunt, the grandmother, and Charlie.
Lydia stood at the front window. “I don’t believe it. Snow.”
“Snow?” Charlie lumbered to his feet. “The forecasters didn’t call for any.”
“Whether they called for it or not, it’s here. Quite a bit too.”
Strange. The forecast predicted clear skies, yet a layer of white already covered the ground. An odd shiver of awareness passed over Eric when Joss emerged from the kitchen and a smug glance passed between the grandmother and aunt.
Gram sipped her tea like the queen regent. “You did a wonderful job with the renovations. As large as it is, this room has a cozy, inviting atmosphere.”
Leaning against the back of her grandmother’s chair, Joss smiled. “All it needs is a brass cricket for the hearth.”
“A brass cricket?” Eric asked.
Lydia batted her lashes. “For luck, of course.”
Slapping his hands against his knees, Charlie pushed to a stand. “I better be going. I’ll be back soon enough tomorrow. Still have some rooms to paint upstairs.”
A hint of encouragement edged Lydia’s voice when she said, “Good night.” She turned to the older woman. “Shall we get settled in our rooms?”
Gram sighed. “Yes, even a few hours of travel tire me out.”
Annie burst from the kitchen. “Honey, I’m sorry. I have to take Tammy home. She’s sick to her stomach.”
Joss hurried to Annie’s side. “Go, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll finish up.”
Annie hesitated. “If this snow keeps up, I may not be able to come back.”
She gestured her away. “Don’t even try. I can handle it. Go, before the roads get worse.”
Her friend scrambled back to the kitchen. The others scattered in every direction, upstairs and into the kitchen and outside, leaving Eric the sole remaining person. Besides Joss.
For a moment, they stood there uncertainly, the air between them crackling with tension. At a door slamming upstairs, she broke away her gaze. “Excuse me. I have to…” Jerking a thumb backward, she frowned and then hurried to the kitchen.
To appear busy, he poked at the logs in the fireplace. The flames leapt higher, and he crouched to stare into the fire. He should be used to it by now—everyone else had a family to share the holidays with. Everyone except him. And Joss. His awareness of her heightened. Each time he tried to dredge up a memory of Karen, the vivid image of Joss in the kitchen blotted it out. He shouldn’t sit here. He should go home, but if he did, Joss would be left to clean up by herself.
As if in a dream, he moved to the kitchen doorway. “Need any help?”
Dishes and food warmers crowded the counters. She flashed a humorless smile. “No, I’m fine.”
Then why didn’t she sound fine? She sounded upset. He moved closer, needing to do something, anything, to soothe whatever pained her.
She fumbled containers into the fridge. “Why don’t you go relax? You’re welcome to put on a CD, maybe sit by the fire. Before you go home.”
He didn’t want to do any of those things. He stood dangerously close, fighting the urge to touch her hair, run his hands down her back.
With wide eyes, she averted her gaze, her body tense as she moved to the sink, picked up the towel and dried a glass. “It’s supposed to dip into the twenties tonight, so if you need to get going now, then—”
He slipped the towel from her hand. “I live three minutes away.”
“Oh. Right.” She turned toward him, opening to him. To the possibility of him. “The snow…”
Only inches away, the heat from her body cleaned the slate of his mind. He operated on impulse. On need.
In a breathless rush, she asked, “Did you enjoy your meal?”
“Mm hmm.” Every course of the meal brought his taste buds to life as never before. He traced her collar bone with one finger.
“Eric…” She inclined her head toward his hand.
The motion, slight as it was, spurred his pulse faster. At hearing her murmur his name, his heart revved in his chest like a race car engine ready to explode at the starting line. “Don’t send me away. Please.” He touched his lips to her forehead, then her nose.
Her breath smelled of coffee and cranberries, and a hint of lavender. “You’re making it difficult to…”
His mouth hovered near hers, just out of reach. “Don’t say no,” he whispered.
The honey gold of her hair caught the light, and she appeared illuminated from within. Parting her lips enticingly, she searched his face.
It wasn’t a no. It was enough of a maybe that he closed the space between them. He shuddered with tantalizing release as her soft lips and sweet-tasting tongue moved against his. She pressed against him, driving him wild. Years of pent-up need rushed through him, and he crushed her to him, his hands in her hair, then along her waist and thigh, wanting to know every curve, every inch of skin.
At a banging on the door, she jerked away, breathless.
“Mrs. Gibson?” A man stood outside.
Whoever it was, Eric hated him for interrupting.
Extracting herself from his embrace, she smoothed her hair and opened the door. “Yes?”
A strange kind of happiness filled Eric when her voice shook.
The man shifted on the step. “I’m here to pick up the food.”
“The food?” She held a hand to her head.
“Yes. For Second Harvest.”
“In the snow?” She leaned out the door in amazement. “Oh, it’s stopped.”
He frowned. “Flurries never bothered me. Now, the food?”
Flurries? Eric peered out the window. The snow had stopped as mysteriously as it had begun.
“Yes. Sorry, I’ll get them for you.” Joss rushed to the counter, where the half-full aluminum containers sat. “Give me one minute.”
“It’s not ready?” the man whined.
“I’m sorry, dinner ran late and…” Her breath strangled. “Oh, never mind.” She whirled into action.
“I’ll help.” Eric scraped the stuffing into the tin. He maneuvered around her, anticipating her needs by handing her bowls, taking away empty ones. Together, they topped the tin containers with a foil lid and stacked them in a box.
The man grumbled a thank you and left.
With a sigh, she leaned against the counter. “Next year, I’ll know to be ready for him.”
“I hope he doesn’t serve it to the homeless with the same scowl.” He wanted to move closer, back into her arms, but wasn’t sure how to span the distance. “It’s generous of you to donate leftovers.”
Her eyes bright, she sounded breathless. “We’d have been eating turkey sandwiches for weeks otherwise.”
“It’s very nice.” Already said that. Hell.
She turned.