Why did he have to be so charming?
He brushed his lips over the crest of her cheek, his breath warm as it slid over her skin.
“We’re both grown-ups,” he continued, sprinkling kisses over her face, little flecks of heat in contrast to the chill. “Both consenting adults. With a house to ourselves.” He added the last with special significance.
All good reasons on the “for” side.
But it really only took one good “against” to throw a kink into the works.
“I can’t be casual about this,” she answered, wishing for the first time ever that she could be more free and easy about things rather than take everything to heart. “I’m leaving, remember?”
“You don’t exactly let me forget it.”
“Blake, I don’t bounce back easily.” She put her hands on either side of his face and forced his head around so that she could look him square in the face. She knew she guarded herself closely, and as a result she could often seem like she didn’t care, but the truth was she often cared too much. “If we do this it’ll make leaving even worse, don’t you see?”
“Because you have feelings?”
“Because I can’t do this without feelings.”
She gulped, wondering what he’d think if he knew how much it had cost her to be that honest. Wondered what he’d think if he understood exactly how inexperienced she was and that she didn’t take sex lightly. There’d been one time at the end of high school, which had been a horrible, horrible mistake, and twice more—both in her twenties, both relationships that hadn’t panned out. Instead they’d fizzled out before they’d ever had the chance to get serious.
His gaze cooled. “That’s clear enough, then.”
She suddenly realized that he’d misunderstood. She’d meant that she wasn’t a woman who could be casual about sleeping with someone. It had always been more than physical gratification to her. She’d meant—God help her—that her feelings were already involved. But he’d taken it literally—presuming that she had no such feelings for him. He was so wrong. He had no idea how completely he held her in the palm of his hand. How close she was to breaking. How much he made her feel about everything.
She wished she could explain, but she couldn’t possibly open up about her real feelings. She didn’t know how to have a holiday romance and still leave with herself intact at the end.
He pushed himself off of her and, just like the first time they’d met, offered his hand to help her up. She took it, feeling a mixture of relief and regret, and definitely unsatisfied in the most primal, physical sense.
“Blake, please understand.” She tipped up her face and on impulse peeled off her glove and put her hand to his cold cheek. “It is going to hurt enough when I have to leave on Sunday. This would only make it hurt more.”
“Why should it hurt?”
And there he was—still pushing her emotionally. He wanted her to say the words and it was unfair. It made her feel naked, with no defenses.
“Don’t make me say it, okay?” There was a lump in her throat. “Isn’t it enough that I’ve said this much?”
The air between them hummed with the words she hadn’t said but they both knew.
“You can’t keep kissing me like this. We need to keep it businesslike from now on.” She didn’t dare tell him that it was a very real possibility that he would wear her down. A girl could only hold out for so long—especially when a giant part of her wanted to give in.
“Businesslike?”
She nodded. “If you care about me at all, please do as I ask,” she said, hoping to appeal to his sense of honor.
His brow wrinkled and he reluctantly gave in. “All right,” he replied. “No more kissing in the snowbanks.”
“Or anywhere else,” she cautioned.
“Or anywhere else,” he confirmed.
“Thanks,” she said, and skirted around him to retrieve her camera case.
He picked up his bag and followed her to the house, and Hope was relieved. At least that was what she told herself. But she was also disappointed.
She really did have to get out of here—back to Sydney and real life. It was far less complicated and way less painful—just the way she liked it.
Too bad she’d got the funny feeling that it wouldn’t be the same.
THE morning of the Christmas party Hope kept her laptop packed away and helped Anna with the preparations.
There was to be hot cocoa for the kids and hot spiced cider for the adults, as well as cookies and treats. While Anna went to work making iced shortbread, Hope donned a red-and-green apron and began making an old family favorite—Gram’s Chocolate Truffle Cookies.
She’d called for the recipe yesterday, and been shocked to hear that Grace was out doing something Christmassy with J. C. Carson. She’d wondered if J.C. would make it through the evening uninjured. She’d said nothing to Gram, though, who’d sounded satisfied at the whole thing. And neither of them had mentioned Hope’s parents.
She melted chocolate and then went to work on the dough, beating the butter and sugar while Anna hummed along with “Frosty The Snowman” on the radio as she spread icing on shortbread bells and stars.
Hope was up to her wrists in dough when Blake strolled in, cheeks ruddy from the cold and a smile on his face. “I think the sleigh is ready to go,” he said. “And what have we here?” His gaze traveled from Hope’s feet to her face. “In an apron? Surprising fashion statement, Hope.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Hope responded, rolling a spoonful of dough into a ball and placing it on a cookie sheet. “My grandmother’s Chocolate Truffle Cookies. To die for. Wait and see.”
“Full of surprises, hmmm?” he speculated, snatching a cookie from Anna’s freshly frosted tray. He bit into it and a smidgen of green icing remained on his lip.
Hope stared at it and swallowed. It would be tempting to remove it personally, but she’d sworn off that sort of thing and Anna was right there, after all.
“You’ve got a...” She pointed at her own lip and then watched, fascinated, as his tongue slipped out to swipe the sweet bit of frosting away.
“Thanks.”
She shrugged, rolling another cookie, filling the sheet. “Actually, I have an early present for you. Let me slip these into the oven and set the timer.”
“A present?”
She nodded, butterflies swirling around in her stomach. Why on earth was she nervous? But she was. She avoided his gaze as she washed her hands and dried them on a towel. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Anna, who merely nodded as she worked on piping a red outline on a star.
She only had ten minutes—enough time to give him the present, not enough for them to be alone together for too long.
She hoped.
* * *
Blake followed her down the hall and into her room—the first time he’d been inside it since that afternoon she’d arrived and he’d carried her bag upstairs. The bed was neatly made and her suitcase was nowhere to be seen. Her laptop sat closed on a side table, the mouse pad and mouse precisely lined up at a right angle beside it.
Her perfectionist streak manifesting itself again?
Clearly