Christmas with Him

“I probably shouldn’t tell you that,” she said quietly. He opened his eyes in time to watch her swallow and cross her arms over her chest. The move struck him as defensive rather than defiant, especially when she added, “Unfortunately, I have a very bad habit of leading with my heart where men are concerned. Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, though the truth was that Eve mattered to him, too. Indeed, in a very short period of time, she’d managed to thoroughly shake up the status quo of Dawson’s otherwise rigidly ordered life. He still wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Don’t say anything. I prefer to do all the talking anyway.” She pushed the hair back from her face and expelled a deep breath. “As my bombshell of a moment ago should make perfectly clear to you, I don’t come from the kind of family you do. After my mother died, my father took off and I was shuttled around from one relative to another, all of whom made it plain that they disapproved of my dad, had been disappointed in my mother and didn’t have very high hopes that I’d amount to much.”

“Aw, Eve.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. That’s not the purpose behind my words. You’re lucky, Dawson. Very lucky to have people who care about you and who want to remain close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. I’ve accepted my family for what it is and my father for what he isn’t. He’s let grief and regrets rule and ruin his life. I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.” She blinked a couple of times in rapid succession and managed a smile. “Okay, that’s all I’m going to say on either subject.”

Dawson didn’t quite believe her. But before he could think of anything to say in response, Ingrid arrived in the doorway.

“Dinner is ready, Mr. Burke.”

Dawson’s formal dining room sported vaulted ceilings, a crystal chandelier and an oval cherry table that could comfortably accommodate a dozen guests. A gas fireplace and glowing candle centerpiece made the large room cozy. But it was the framed family portrait hanging over the mantel that made it personal.

Eve had never seen photographs of Dawson’s late wife and daughter, but even if he hadn’t been included in the shot, she would have known who the other two people were. In an odd way, she recognized them, even if she did not recognize the happy, relaxed man who was seated with them.

As Ingrid set out serving dishes heaped with enough steaming food to serve a small army, Eve discreetly studied the photograph. Sheila was blond-haired and blue-eyed with the delicate beauty of a porcelain doll. Isabelle was lovely, too. Eve glimpsed mischief in the little girl’s light eyes and a hint of her father’s stubbornness in her small jaw. She’d expected them to be beautiful and they were. But what truly surprised Eve was the odd connection she felt to Dawson’s loved ones and the disappointment that they would never meet.

The dinner conversation started out stilted and strained thanks to the emotionally charged discussion that had preceded it. She blamed herself for that. What had she been thinking, provoking the man and then essentially baring her soul to him?

No matter, the deed was done and she wouldn’t waste her time or energy regretting it now. Besides, she’d only spoken the truth. Dawson did matter to her. Eve hadn’t realized how much until the words had tumbled out.

Oh, well. She was who she was … though it seemed she never learned. No, she picked up stakes and started over, but she never learned.

She was fussing with her napkin when Dawson asked, “Would you care for some wine?”

Eve pushed her glass closer to his side of the table. “Yes, but just a little, please.”

Once he’d poured the chilled pinot grigio, dinner became a far more relaxed affair. It had nothing to do with the loosening effects of alcohol, but the fact that Dawson spilled his wine down the front of his shirt when he went to take a sip.

It was an accident, of that Eve was sure. He wasn’t the sort of man given to slapstick comedy, though he had loosened up considerably since their first meeting. Had that been a mere two weeks ago?

“I can’t believe I did that.” He dabbed at his shirt front with his napkin. “I’m rarely so clumsy.”

“It’s my fault,” Eve said.

He stopped wiping and glanced over at her. “How do you figure that?”

Face straight, she replied, “It’s the effect I have on men. They become blundering fools in my presence.”

Dawson snorted. And though he was smiling, he sounded somewhat serious when he replied, “You certainly do have an effect on me, Eve.”

Half an hour later, Eve pushed back from the table on a contented sigh. “I probably should have passed on that second helping of pork tenderloin, but it was too good.”

“Irresistible,” he agreed as he watched Eve dab her mouth with a linen napkin.

Heat curled inside her at the suggestive remark. Just over his right shoulder, Sheila and Isabelle smiled down at Eve from the portrait, dousing any flames before they could start. Just as well, she decided. Just as well.

During the meal, while they’d talked companionably, steering clear of weighty or emotionally complicated topics, the candles on the table had burned low and the sun had set outside. Though Eve had planned to leave as soon as good manners would allow once they’d finished eating, she glanced out the window and reevaluated.

“Let’s go for a walk, work off some of these calories,” she suggested instead.

“A walk? It’s snowing,” he said.

“Yes, I hear it does that in Denver. No need to worry. I won’t melt.” Her eyebrows arched. “Or are you afraid that you will?”

“It’s getting dark, Eve.”

Dawson’s home was surrounded by a private, almost parklike setting with mature trees and meandering paths. “The landscape lighting looks adequate for a leisurely stroll.”

“The paths haven’t been shoveled recently. A good three inches have fallen since the grounds crew went through last.”

She batted that excuse aside, too. “That’s all right. I’ve got boots.”

Of course, the boots in question were unlined and made of supple Italian leather with three-inch heels that hardly made them suitable for a hike—or even a stroll—in inclement weather, but she was willing to take her chances.

“I don’t know.”

Like a veteran poker player, Eve upped the ante. “I promise to protect you.”

But it was Dawson who called. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“Is that a threat?” she inquired.

He set aside his napkin and pushed back from the table. Gaze direct and challenging, he said, “There’s only one way to find out. Are you still game?”

“Please.” She snorted. “That question is insulting. I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

“I didn’t think you had.” One side of his mouth lifted, tugging her pulse rate right along with it. “I’ll just get our coats.”

Outside, the air was crisp. It stole Eve’s breath, making her glad for the scarf that she’d wound around her neck. She tucked her chin into it now.

“It’s lovely here,” she commented. And it was. Winter had wrought its magic, covering everything in a pristine layer of white that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

“The grounds were what attracted me to this property in the first place,” Dawson admitted.

“I can see why.”

“If you think it’s lovely now, you should see it in the spring or summer. The flowerbeds are incredible.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a green thumb.”

“Oh, it’s black, believe me. I know my limits, which is why I hired the services of a professional.”

She chuckled. “The economy loves people who know their limits since it helps create all sorts of job opportunities.”

“Like professional shoppers?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m glad to do my part for my country.” His voice grew soft. “I haven’t walked out here in the winter in … a long time.”

Eve figured she knew exactly how long, so she remained silent.

After a moment, he added, “I used to love the winter. I looked forward to the first snowfall.”

“Me, too.” She scuffed her foot along the walkway, ruffling the blanket of white, before bending down to scoop up a handful. “Snow made everything seem so clean, so perfect,” she said as she compacted the snow into a ball.

“And your life wasn’t perfect.”

“No. But whose is?” She shrugged off the melancholy of childhood memories and changed the subject. “You know, this is really good packing snow.”

“So I see. Are you thinking of making a snowman or something?”

“Or something.” When she smiled his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” she asked innocently.

He backed up a couple of steps. “You wouldn’t throw that thing at me.”

“And if I do?”

He folded his arms. “You do and you’ll be asking for trouble.”

“Dawson, Dawson,” Eve said, shaking her head. “What did I tell you about me and challenges?”

“That you never back—” The snowball hit him in the chest before he could finish. He gaped at her. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Eve bent down and scooped up a second handful. “Then this is going to come as a complete shock,” she said, tossing the snow right into his face.

Her laughter followed the ball’s flight path, but her mirth was short-lived. Dawson didn’t even pause to wipe it off before he launched himself in her direction. She feinted right to avoid him and managed to get a full ten feet up the path before he caught up with her, grabbing her around her waist. Eve skidded on the walk, betrayed by her boots. Both she and Dawson wound up going down. Snow cushioned her fall. Snow and man. Somehow she wound up partway on top of him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think I broke my heel.”

“Are you in pain?”

She laughed as she clarified, “The heel of my boot. It got caught on something. What are you doing, anyway? We were supposed to be having a snowball fight.”

“We still are.” And with that he brought up his snow-filled hand and rubbed it over her cheek. It wasn’t only the cold that had her shivering. Dawson had shifted so that he was now mostly on top of her.

“You know, when I was a kid I didn’t believe in taking any prisoners. But I’ve decided to make an exception in your case. You’re too pretty to annihilate.”

“So, I’m your prisoner.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” She pulled a considering face. “I guess this isn’t so bad.”

“That’s because the torture hasn’t begun yet.” His gaze was on her lips.

“Torture?” she repeated in a husky voice she barely recognized as her own. “What kind of torture?”

“This,” he whispered just before his mouth met hers.

CHAPTER TEN

DAWSON could think of a million reasons why he should stop the kiss before it progressed any further. First among them was the fact that he and Eve were outside lying on the snow-covered ground. She apparently didn’t mind. When he started to pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in place, taking where a moment ago she’d been the one giving.

Her arms weren’t the only thing wrapped around him. Her legs were, too. One was hooked over his calf, the other angled over his thigh, anchoring him in place. Their bodies fit together perfectly. He could tell that despite the layers of their clothes, and it fueled both his imagination and his desire.

It had been a long time—a very long time—since he’d lain atop of woman. His body had no trouble remembering the pleasure. Need surged through him with tsunami force, shredding his control until it hung by a thread. Though Dawson knew he was playing with fire, he rocked forward slightly anyway.

Eve moaned.

He did it again.

This time they both moaned, and that last frayed thread of his control snapped. It was only when Eve’s icy hands moved beneath jacket and sweater and came into contact with the bare skin just above the waistband of his jeans that reality came slamming back.

“This is insane,” he said as he came up for air.

There didn’t seem to be enough of it, especially when he glanced down at Eve. She was still lying in the snow, dark hair fanning out around her head. In the moonlight her eyes glowed with an arousing mix of awareness and humor.

“Absolutely insane,” she agreed on a chuckle. “My butt is numb.”

Parts of Dawson had lost all feeling, too. Unfortunately, his back wasn’t one of them. He discovered this when he levered away from Eve and rolled to one side. Long into the night, and in more ways than one, he would be paying for this spontaneous and very sensual tussle.

Grimacing as he rose, he reached down to help Eve to her feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I will be.” After a couple or four painkillers. He’d also be calling Wanda for a therapeutic massage first thing in the morning.

They entered the house through the French doors that led from the patio directly into the kitchen. Dawson always hated entering the house in the evening when his staff had gone home. The place was so quiet and seemed so … lifeless. Eve chased away the gloom by stamping her feet and giving her damp hair a toss.

“Ingrid has gone home for the night, but I can make some coffee or a cup of tea, if you’d like.”

“Your housekeeper doesn’t live here?”

“No.”

“What about your driver?” she asked.

“His rooms are over the garage.”

“And that masseuse I saw the first day?” she asked as she removed her scarf and unzipped her jacket.

He chuckled ruefully. “At the moment I wish she lived here, but no. I prefer my privacy.”

“Nothing wrong with privacy,” she agreed. After tucking her scarf into the sleeve of her jacket, she draped it around the back of one chair. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”

“I … don’t know. Possibly.”

“I’d prefer that to tea or coffee if you have it. Chocolate in any form trumps all else,” she said.

“My sister has made the same claim.”

“Ooh, and little marshmallows. I love those little marshmallows.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best to accommodate your request. In the meantime, we probably should get out of these wet clothes.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips with an index finger.

“What?” he asked as he put his coat on the back of another chair.

“I’m trying to decide if you’re being chivalrous with that suggestion or merely clever,” Eve said.

He smiled. “A man can be both.”

“Okay, you can prove that by helping me out of these boots. The leather is wet and they feel like they’ve become a second skin.” She took a seat and smiled up at him, managing to look prim and provocative at the same time.

He knelt because it was warranted and pushed up the damp hem of one pant leg so he could find the zipper on the side of the boot. The leather was high quality and soaked. He had a bad feeling her boots might be ruined.

“These aren’t exactly practical footwear for Denver winters,” he said.

“No, but they’re sexy as hell.”

She had a point. It took a little effort, but Dawson managed to free the boot from her foot. Though she hadn’t asked him to, he peeled off the damp stocking beneath it, revealing a set of chilly pink toes whose nails were painted fire-engine-red. He rubbed the foot between his hands, chafing some warmth into it and hoping to cool down his libido in the process. Since his first days of dating, he’d had a thing for red toenails on members of the opposite sex. He wasn’t sure why. Something about them screamed sexy. That was especially true in the winter when no one else was likely to see them. It made this glimpse more intimate and almost like a secret.

He groaned.

“Is your back giving you trouble?” Eve asked, sounding concerned. “I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to help me. Sorry. I can probably do this myself.”

“Oh, no.” He moved on to the other foot. “I’m fine.”

Dawson was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of fine, but he didn’t want to deny himself a single second of this sweet torture. So he performed the same ministrations on the second foot as he had on the first. And, even though he knew the nails on its toes would be painted red also, he felt a potent kick of lust upon seeing them.

Afterward, he put her boots over a heat vent on the floor and straightened. “I have a robe you can put on while your clothes are in the dryer.”

“Not offering to help me off with those, too?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Would you return the favor?”

She gave him a considering look, but said nothing.

Sweeping his arm, he said, “Right this way.”

Eve followed him down the hall, past the formal dining room, great room and study. She’d seen some of the rooms earlier today and on a previous visit, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the rest of the house. People’s homes said a lot about them. Dawson’s told of a fondness for fine things. All of the rooms were large and lushly appointed. She wouldn’t call the furnishings fussy or ornate, but they definitely were of the highest quality.

The bedrooms were located on the second floor, up a staircase that curved dramatically around the two-story foyer. Her nerves were humming along on high by the time they reached the master suite.

To one side of the room was a fireplace with its own cozy sitting area. She chose to concentrate on it rather than the king-sized bed. With the touch of a couple buttons, flames shot to life and soft lighting illuminated the room’s periphery.

“I think your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment,” Eve remarked as Dawson disappeared into a large, walk-in closet. He emerged a moment later with a sumptuous terry cloth robe in one hand and a fresh change of clothes for himself in the other.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the robe. “You can change in here. The bathroom is right through that door.” He backed up a step, looking endearingly flustered when he added, “I’ll just … uh … use one of the rooms down the hall.”

“Shall I meet you downstairs afterward?”

“Sure. I’ll start the cocoa.”

“Don’t forget the marshmallows,” she called as he was closing the door.

Alone, she made fast work of changing her clothes. She was shivering now, gooseflesh puckering her skin. Cold was the culprit rather than pent-up need. Still she wanted to blush when she recalled the wanton way she’d clung to him out in the snow. She hadn’t wanted to let go, knowing that once she did he would retreat again to that isolated prison he’d constructed out of guilt and grief. He hadn’t withdrawn completely, though his emotions were once again firmly in control.

The robe was too big. No surprise there, but the fact that it smelled like him had her insides curling. Eve turned up the sleeves and cinched the belt as tightly as she could, knotting it just to be on the safe side before gathering up her damp garments and returning downstairs. She found Dawson in the kitchen, standing in front of the six-burner gas stove. He was stirring a pan of milk. He glanced up at her arrival.

She felt suddenly shy. “Hi.”

He was dressed in jeans and a chamois-cloth shirt, which he’d left untucked. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him, and by far the most domestic. The wealthy and resourceful Dawson Burke was heating milk to make hot cocoa.

“Hi.” His gaze meandered down to her bare feet and she saw him swallow before he looked away. “I should have thought to give you a pair of socks.”

“I’ll be fine, especially if I can prop my feet in front of a fireplace. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of those in this house.”

“No. It has four. All of them gas.” He motioned for her to come closer. “Here. Why don’t you take over stirring while I throw your things in the dryer?”

“Are you sure you know how to operate one of those?” she asked dryly.

“I think I can figure it out.” Tongue in cheek, he added, “Of course, that’s assuming I can remember where the laundry room is.”

On a chuckle, she handed over her jeans and socks. “Only the back hem of my sweater was damp and since it’s cashmere, I left it to dry in front of the fireplace in your room along with some of the, um, more delicate items.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed a second time. “Okay.”

When he continued to stand rooted in place staring at her, Eve added, “The regular setting on the dryer is fine for those.”

Dawson cleared his throat. “Regular setting. Right.”

When the cocoa was ready they moved to the sitting room where Eve had sipped tea on her first visit to Dawson’s home. After he started the fire, she lowered herself to the rug just in front of the hearth. Making every effort to preserve her modesty, she put her feet as close to the flames as possible.

“Mmm,” she said on a sigh. “This feels wonderful.” Dawson was still standing. Eve glanced up at him. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“I was planning on using a chair.”

“Why would you do that when there’s a perfectly good patch of floor right here?”

She patted said patch of floor. Her smile turned the benign gesture into a dare. Grabbing a couple of throw pillows off the sofa, Dawson joined her. Eve wasn’t the only one who refused to back down from a challenge.

“So, how’s the cocoa?” he asked.

“Good.” She sipped it as if to back up her pronouncement, leaving a fine layer of froth on her upper lip, which she then licked off.

He resisted the urge to groan, but not the urge to touch her. “You’ve still got a little …” He traced her top lip with the tip of his index finger.

“All gone?” she asked.

“I think so.” Still staring at her mouth, he said, “Sorry that I couldn’t find any of those little marshmallows to go in it.”

“That’s all right.” Her lips curved. “It was a tall order. You don’t strike me as the sort of man who drinks hot chocolate with little marshmallows.”

He shook his head. “Not often, no.”

“Of course, you didn’t strike me as the sort who would tackle me in the snow, either.”

“I didn’t tackle you. I tried to break your fall,” he said.

“Yes, but I only fell because you chased me.”

“I only chased you because you threw a snowball at me. Two, in fact,” he reminded her. “And I did give you fair warning before you fired a second time.”

She took another sip of her hot cocoa and gave him a considering look. “Okay. I’ll give you that. Of course, I’m going to want a rematch. And the next time I can promise you I won’t be wearing a pair of high-heeled boots that are far more suited to fashion than they are to function.”

“Too bad. I really like those boots.” He tortured himself with a glance at her bare feet.

“I loved them.” Her lips pursed. “They’re probably ruined now.”

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he offered magnanimously.

“That’s nice of you, but no need. It was my own fault.”

“Agreed,” Dawson said and enjoyed watching her scowl. “So, what will you wear for our rematch?”

“A pair of waterproof hikers and my ski bibs and down parka.”

“You ski?” he asked, marginally surprised.

“Not really, but I look absolutely amazing in the outfit. Like something out of a magazine.” She winked.

Dawson didn’t laugh, though she’d obviously intended the words as a joke. “I don’t doubt it. I’m beginning to think you’d look amazing in just about anything.”

He allowed his gaze to skim over the curves that were partially obscured by thick folds of terrycloth.

“I … I … hmm.”

He rather liked knowing that he’d made Eve tongue-tied since the woman had had that effect on him more than once in the past couple of weeks. Though he knew he was playing with fire, he said, “I like what you have on at the moment.”

She coughed and recovered enough to joke, “What? This old thing?”

“You know, I never really cared for that robe … until now.” He knew he’d never put it on again without thinking of Eve and remembering just how provocative she looked with firelight and curiosity reflected in her eyes.