Читать книгу Lone Star Christmas - Cathy Thacker Gillen - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Callie stared up at Nash in dismay. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His gaze roved her face, lingering on her lips, before returning ever so slowly to her eyes. He flashed her a sexy grin, chiding, “Another thing you should never do...”

Callie caught her breath, aware she had never been around such an impossible, arrogant man. Never mind in such close quarters! “What?”

He wrapped one hand around the nape of her neck, the other flattened on her spine. Then his slate-gray eyes shuttered to half-mast as his head slowly dipped toward her. “Challenge me.”

Callie shivered as his lips ghosted lightly across hers. “I’m not...” But already her eyes were closing, too. Already, she was losing herself in the feel of his hard, strong body pressed against her, the brisk wintry smell of him, the implacable masculine taste of his mouth and the resolute possession of his lips.

She thought she’d been kissed before.

She hadn’t been.

Not like this.

Like he wanted to savor every iota of her heart and soul.

Yearning swept through her, fierce and undeniable. It had been so long since she had been kissed, touched, held. So long since anyone had wanted her like this. Her whole body radiated heat and he responded by kissing her even more deeply. Unable to help herself, unable to resist the probing pressure of his lips, she surged against him. And still he kissed her, over and over again. Hard, fast. Slow, easy. Tenderly. Erotically.

Dazed, she heard a low groan wrenched from his throat, as if he wanted her beyond reason, too. It was answered by the hardening of her nipples, and lower still, the beginning of an ache that nearly rendered her senseless.

And that was, of course, when he groaned again, jerked in a breath and called a halt to their steamy foreplay.

Frustration mingled with her desire, adding to the tumultuous emotion of her day. She glared at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He met her gaze evenly, his eyes dark, warmly assessing. “I can’t, either.” The corners of his mouth lifted ruefully. “I’m usually a lot more sensible. But then—” gently, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “—you seem to bring out the recklessness in me.”

Callie let loose a rather unladylike phrase, then stepped back. “Your ego knows no bounds.”

He laughed, the desire in his eyes every bit as hot and enticing as his embrace had been. He leaned close enough to press a fleeting kiss across her brow. “You could say that with some impunity if you hadn’t kissed me back, Callie. Unfortunately, for your ego, you did.”

* * *

“I DON’T SEE what the problem is,” Maggie told Callie later that same evening, when everyone but the two of them had gone on to bed. Together, they carried their cups of hot apple cider into the family room and settled before the fire.

Maggie sized her sister up. “You said you were tired of being viewed as this poor tragic young widow who’s constantly being handled with kid gloves.”

Which was true, Callie thought, kicking off her flats and tucking her legs beneath her.

“And Nash didn’t feel sorry for you,” Maggie continued.

Callie sipped her cider and pointed out ruefully, “He kissed me instead.”

“And that’s a problem because...?” Maggie asked, grinning.

Callie closed her eyes against the sultry memory and the new flood of desire it conjured up. “I didn’t want him to.”

“Really?” Her sister’s eyes twinkled all the more. “’Cause I think you doth protest a little too much. I mean—” she shrugged “—it’s not as if he’s the first guy who made a pass at you since Seth died. You handled those missteps, barely blinking an eye.”

All too true. Callie rubbed at an imaginary spot on her wool skirt. “That’s because...”

Maggie ventured wryly, “You didn’t kiss any of them back?”

Callie paused. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’m your twin. And I know the way you think. Always have, always will, remember? Plus, I saw the way you looked at him when he came into the bunkhouse today.” She waggled her brows. “Like you wanted to gobble him right up.”

Callie blushed despite herself. “Okay. I admit there’s a definite physical attraction there. But that’s all it is.”

Maggie chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”

And Callie did.

All through the rest of her late-evening gabfest with her twin, all that night as she tossed and turned in her bed, and into the next morning. Fortunately, she had a lot to keep her busy. Breakfast to prepare for the family still gathered there, a holiday to-do list a mile long and a whole lot of distant whining chain saws in the distance to ignore.

First on the list was the purchase of two Christmas trees. As they lingered at the breakfast table, her brother-in-law listened to her plan. “Of course I don’t mind driving into San Antonio to pick them up for you,” Hart said. “But don’t you think it’s a little silly to go all that distance and drive all that way back with two trees lashed to the pickup truck when there is a perfectly reputable business selling them—likely at wholesale no less—on the ranch right next door?”

Callie had been afraid he would bring that up. Especially since she now knew that Hart and Nash were childhood friends. “Nash is not in the retail business,” Callie argued.

Her former mother-in-law shrugged. “He seemed like a reasonable guy. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Or better yet, text him and see,” Maggie said, still keeping an eagle eye on the two preschoolers playing in the next room.

Noticing the two little boys were beginning to get a little too rowdy, Hart went on in to supervise directly. “You have his cell phone number, don’t you?” he said over his shoulder.

Callie nodded, as Hart settled onto the floor and began building a wooden block tower. Two-and-a-half-year-old Brian and three-year-old Henry immediately joined in.

“He gave it to me when we were setting up the Thanksgiving dinner,” Callie admitted.

“Then...?” Maggie persisted.

Everyone stared at her, wondering why she was so reluctant to make the holiday decorating as easy as she possibly could.

Because, Callie thought, I don’t want to end up kissing him again.

But knowing there was little chance of that, with the group of four adult chaperones at her side, she shrugged off her lingering desire and went to get her cell phone.

All eyes were upon her as she texted Nash. I need two trees. One for the house and one for the bunkhouse retreat. Can I buy them from you?

She hit Send.

Thirty seconds later, her phone chimed. No problem, Nash texted back. What size?

Twelve foot for the bunkhouse, and six foot for the ranch house, Callie typed in return.

Again, the reply coming in was nearly instantaneous. I’ll get them to you this morning, Nash wrote, with the symbol for a wink. Last night was great, by the way. Especially before you kicked me out.

Reading it, Callie had to stifle a laugh but could do nothing to contain the telltale heat climbing to her cheeks.

“What?” Maggie asked, drawing nearer.

Callie shook her head and slid her phone into her pocket. “He was talking about the dinner, how much everyone enjoyed it,” she fibbed. “That’s all.”

Maggie lifted a speculative brow.

But before anyone had another chance to say anything, a ruckus broke out in the adjacent family room. “My daddy!” Henry shouted.

“No,” Brian disagreed, climbing onto Hart’s lap and wrapping his arms around Hart’s neck. “He’s mine!”

Henry attempted to push his cousin aside. “No,” Henry shouted back emotionally. “He is your uncle Hart. He’s my daddy!”

Hart wrapped both boys in his arms. “Hey now,” he soothed, holding them both close—to no avail. “I’m here for both of you...”

Brian let out another outraged howl, and Henry followed suit. Her heart breaking, Callie rushed to the rescue.

But Brian did not want to go with her. Or his grandparents. Or his aunt Maggie. So Callie did the only thing she could do, the thing she always did, and she went to get Brian’s picture of Seth.

* * *

NASH COULD HEAR the ruckus inside, the moment he pulled up to the Heart of Texas ranch house in his pickup truck.

Inside, Nash found, it was little better. Callie was in tears. So were both preschoolers. Hart and Maggie were doing their best to separate—and soothe—the two quarreling little boys, but emotions were at an all-time high. Only Callie’s in-laws were calm.

“This is exactly why you’ve got to think about remarrying,” Doris was telling Callie.

Rock agreed. “We loved our son dearly, honey, and we will always miss him, but we know, like it or not, that life goes on. It has for us. And it must for you and our grandson, too.”

Callie shook her head, understanding—if not agreeing. She wiped the moisture from her face and, picture in hand, went to her son. She hunkered down beside him. “Brian, honey, we have to talk.”

The tyke turned to Callie with a heartfelt glare. “No, Mommy,” he said. “No talk. No picture!” He pushed the framed photo in her hand away.

Deciding to do what he could to break the tension, Nash stepped forward and interjected brightly. “Who wants to see how many Christmas trees I have in the back of my pickup truck?” He squinted at the two boys. “I’ll bet you anything you can’t count them.”

Henry straightened. “I can, too!” he said with importance.

Brian scrambled off Hart’s lap and headed for Nash, doing his best to push his cousin out of the way in the process. “I want to see!” Brian declared.

“Well, okay then.” Nash put out a hand to each child. “Let’s go see. You think you fellas are old enough to see into the bed of my pickup truck, if I lift you up?”

“Yes,” Henry and Brian shouted in unison.

Out the door they went. When they reached the tailgate, Nash bent down to take a boy in each arm and lifted them high. Their quarrel forgotten, they leaned over to look into the bed of his truck, where four unwrapped, fresh-cut pines, of varying sizes, lay.

“Wow,” the cousins said in unison.

Nash let them study the trees. “Think we should get them out, to see just how tall they are?”

The boys nodded.

Nash handed off Brian to Callie, and Henry to Hart. “Okay then,” he said with comically exaggerated importance. “Everyone stand back...”

The next few minutes were spent admiring the trees from all angles and selecting which one would go into the bunkhouse retreat and which would go to the ranch house.

By the time they secured each in the stands Callie had already purchased, the boys were filled with wonder.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Callie said, as she walked him back to his truck, while the others all returned to the ranch house.

Nash tipped his head at her. “Happy to be of service,” he drawled.

Callie’s eyes drifted to his mouth. Flushing, she sucked in a breath and returned her gaze to his. “What do I owe you for the trees?”

That was easy. “Dinner—tonight.”

Her slender shoulders stiffened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He studied the mutinous expression on her pretty face. “Why not?” he prodded, enjoying the display of temper.

Aqua-blue eyes narrowed. “Because.”

He stepped close enough to inhale the flowery scent of her hair and skin. “We might end up kissing again?”

Scoffing, Callie folded her arms in front of her, tightening the cashmere fabric of her sweater over the rounded softness of her breasts. “That’s not going to happen.”

He moved even closer. “Mmm-hmm,” he said huskily. It took everything he had not to touch her again. Haul her into his arms. And...

“And what if I promise not to kiss you again?” he asked. “At least tonight?”

A pulse throbbed in her throat. “Meaning?”

“I only like to think about things like that short term.”

“Well, I don’t like to think about them at all!”

He’d been able to tell that it had been a while. A long while. “So noted,” he said dryly. Besides it wasn’t a vow which would necessarily be hard to keep if she continued to have as many chaperones as she had inside her home at that moment.

“Seems like your son could use the distraction,” he persuaded.

He had her there...and she knew it.

Callie blew out a gusty sigh. “Fine,” she conceded. “But don’t expect anything other than leftovers.”

Leftovers sounded a heck of a lot better than she knew.

“What time?” he asked, before she could change her mind.

Another breath, so deep it lifted—then lowered—the soft swell of her breasts.

Not that he was noticing, he told himself firmly.

She bit her lip, as she considered. “Seven-thirty?”

Nash shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

And then, before he was tempted to forgo all reason and kiss her again, he turned and walked away.