“I thought you might like a Christmas tree,” he stated simply.
She blinked in amazement, transferring her gaze from the tree to his face. She was stunned. Had he noticed last night—that flash of longing she’d tried to hide when they’d talked about childhood Christmases? Had he noticed months ago, at The Pines, when she’d conversed with Lincoln?
She knew he had when she looked into his somber eyes, knew it down in her very bones.
“I hope it’s okay,” he said quietly. “What do you say, Deidre? A truce? Just for one night?” he added when she didn’t speak.
She dazedly realized she’d just left him standing there at the front door, gaping at him.
“I … well … all right. I mean … it is a great tree.” His face lit up at her flustered response. She gave him a sheepish grin. It was hard to frown at Nick when he flashed those dimples.
He gave the pine a good shake to remove the few snow-flakes that had settled on the upper boughs.
“One of the reasons I got this one was that it was beneath a canopy and completely dry … at least until I carried it to the car,” he explained, knocking off a last few stubborn flakes with his gloved hand.
Without thinking Deidre stepped forward and brushed snow off his shoulder, going up on tiptoe to swipe her hand through his dark brown hair. The strands felt thick, soft and chilled beneath her fingers. He glanced at her in surprise. His face was close. He had little flecks of black interspersed in the silver-gray of his irises. His lashes were very thick….
She cleared her throat and stepped back, banging her hip clumsily on the door.
“Come in,” she said breathlessly, opening the door wider to make way for Nick and his heartwarming gift, all the while hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake by letting him into the cottage … by inviting him into her life.
Chapter Three
They set the tree in the front window where it could be easily admired from the rural road and while curled up on the couch before the fire. Deidre busied herself pulling out all the decorations from the bag while Nick arranged the tree in the base.
“Look at these old-fashioned lights! I love these. They’re so retro,” she said, grinning as she withdrew large, colored bulbs from the bag. Nick removed his head from beneath the tree and glanced back at her. She couldn’t help but notice he was awesome to look at, lying on his side with his back to her, his hands beneath the tree, tightening the screws on the base. His body was long, his hips were lean, his thighs strong-looking. His back muscles flexed interestingly beneath the blue-and-white plaid fitted shirt he wore. She dragged her gaze off the vision of his butt outlined in a pair of jeans.
Her cheeks heated when she noticed his strange expression. Had he noticed where she’d been staring?
“What’s wrong?” she asked when he continued to look at her.
“Nothing. It’s just—Lincoln liked that kind of bulb, too. He never gave a damn about new trends. Not when it came to Christmas. He put up an old-fashioned Christmas tree at The Pines—large, colored bulb lights, garland, tinsel … always the biggest, most gorgeous tree on the lake,” he mumbled. He stuck his head beneath the tree again.
Deidre walked toward him, still holding the box of lights.
“Would Lincoln have the staff put up the tree?”
“The staff helped, but Linc was always in the middle of things. He’d make a party of it,” she heard him say from beneath the boughs. “Sasha, Linea, Otto and Linda joined us last year,” he said, mentioning Lincoln’s chef, administrative assistant, driver and one of his nurses. “Linc insisted on being brought downstairs and overseeing things from his wheelchair.”
“So you were always there for the Christmas decorating ritual?” Deidre asked, running her fingers over the supple needles of the tree.
“Yeah, I usually made a point of trying to clear my schedule to be there.”
She imagined the staff, Nick and Lincoln, the festive mood lightening their spirits, Lincoln directing them on their decorating and encouraging them to partake of food and drink. “Of course, you must have put the tree in front window of the great room. It must have looked fabulous.”
“Yeah. Lincoln was like a kid at Christmastime. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked the architect to design The Pines with that huge window so that he could get himself a twenty-five-foot pine to put in it every year. How’s that look? Is it straight?” he queried.
Deidre stepped back and walked in a half circle, inspecting the tree—and Nick—beneath it. “It’s perfect.”
He backed out and stood. She waved toward the kitchen. “I bought some hot chocolate earlier. It’s just instant, but—”
“I’d love some.”
“Oh … okay, great, then I’ll just—”
“Here. I’ll start to put on the lights and you get the hot chocolate,” he said, coming toward her. She handed him the box of bulbs. When he didn’t move back and Deidre didn’t immediately head toward the kitchen, a strange combination of awareness of his nearness and awkwardness struck her at once.
“What about music?” he asked.
She started. “Music?”
“Yeah. You know … ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Jingle Bells.’”
Deidre laughed. She couldn’t help it. Something about the idea of scowling, bottom-line, business-mogul Nick Malone getting into the Christmas spirit was funny, and yet … right somehow, too.
She ignored his bewildered expression at her laughter and walked toward the bedroom, where there was a radio. “I’ll see if I can’t find a station playing some.
“Was Lincoln responsible for this?” she mused a few minutes later when she walked into the living room with two steaming mugs. “We Three Kings” played softly on the radio while snow drifted down at a lazy pace outside of the window.
“For me bringing over the Christmas tree?” Nick asked as he strung on lights.
“No. For this unexpected proclivity for Christmas spirit in Nick Malone,” she said, turning the handle of his mug so he could grasp it with one hand.
He took a sip, studying her from over the rim.
“You assumed I’d be a Scrooge, I guess.”
“All I have to go on is precedent.”
A shiver went through her at the sound of his deep, gravelly laughter.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, handing the cup back to her after a moment. “I have a lot of really good memories from Christmases at The Pines. After we met, Linc invited me over every year for the decorating party and also on Christmas Eve. When I got older, he was always encouraging me to lighten up at that time of year … enjoy the holiday … try to reflect on what it was I was working so hard for. What about you?”
She set his mug on the mantel and glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged and resumed his task. “How’d you get to like Christmas so much?”
“My family was always big on Christmas,” Deidre said, poking through the bag and beginning to unwrap some garland. “Although as a kid, I might have been the most avid Kavanaugh Christmas devotee.” She glanced up to see his gaze was on her face even as his hands moved in the branches. “I adored Christmastime. It was just …” She shrugged sheepishly. “Magical.”
He said nothing as he continued to string on the lights, but she didn’t have the impression of being dismissed for her whimsy.
“You’re