The Complete Christmas Collection - Rebecca Winters Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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he wasn’t. He was the strongest man she’d ever met.

      “There’s just one thing left to do,” he said, clearing his throat. “Put the angel on the top.”

      He reached into the box and took out a rectangular carton. He opened the flap and carefully took out the most beautiful Christmas angel Hope had ever seen. A flawless porcelain face was framed by a coronet of hair the color of cornsilk; a white circlet atop her head was a halo. The dress was white silk shot with gold thread, and softly feathered wings flowed from the center of her back, the tips nearly reaching the hem of the dress. It was a work of art—a family heirloom.

      “Do you want to do the honors?” he asked.

      “Oh, I couldn’t.” She put up her hands. “That’s gorgeous, Blake.”

      “It’s been in the family a long time.”

      “It’s your tree,” she said. “You should be the one to put it on.”

      Blake disappeared to the kitchen and came back with a step stool. He put it on the floor and held out the angel. “It’s your tree, too,” he said.

      “Blake...”

      “Please?”

      Her hands trembled as she took the delicate figure from his hands and stepped up on the stool. He stood beside her, and she was acutely aware of his shoulder next to her rib cage as she leaned forward and carefully placed the angel over the top bough of the tree. The cone inside the skirt slid over the pointed top and settled firmly into place as Hope let out the breath she’d been holding and turned around.

      The step stool put her higher than Blake, so that his face was just below hers. He was standing close...so close she could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint spiciness of his aftershave.

      “Perfect,” he whispered.

      He wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at her. Gazing into her eyes with his own deep blue ones.

      She felt herself going, losing what was left of her common sense in the depths of them. Before she could think better of it she lifted her hand and laid it along his cheek—the one with the scar. She ran her finger down the length of it slowly, carefully, her heart breaking at the difference in texture of the scar tissue, its smoothness oddly perfect when its very presence was a symbol of such pain and loss.

      His hands spanned her ribs and lifted her from the stool, put her feet firmly on the floor.

      And once she was steady he took her hand from his face, squeezed her fingers and kissed her.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      “PERFECT,” Blake had heard himself say. But he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her.

      The way she was looking at him made it impossible. He’d never talked about Brad like that before—not to anyone but his parents. It made people uncomfortable. But not Hope. She’d spoken in such a matter-of-fact way that it had been a relief to express how he missed his brother.

      And then she did the last thing he expected. She rested her hand on his scar, tracing the length of it with warm, soft fingertips. Exploring. Caressing.

      He spanned her waist and lifted her down, never taking his gaze off hers. She wasn’t backing away this time. The music played softly and the lights glowed around them. And right now all he wanted to do was feel close to someone. To her. He knew in his heart that this could never truly go anywhere, but what she’d given him broke down all his resolve. With nothing more than a touch she’d accepted him, scar and all.

      He covered her hand with his, pulled it away and squeezed her fingers—the fingers that had given him back something he’d lost long ago: faith. Faith that someone would see past the scar and see who he really was. Inside, where it mattered.

      He dipped his head and kissed her lips. Warm, cinnamon-spicy lips that opened beneath his and for one breathless moment made him believe that anything was possible.

      * * *

      All Hope’s senses were on full alert as Blake touched his lips to hers. The glow of the Christmas lights beside them. The scent of the tree and mulling spice in the air. The sound of Christmas songs on the television. It was the kind of holiday moment she saw in the movies and read about in books; the kind that never happened to a girl like her but kept her up late on Christmas Eve under a blanket, with a DVD, a box of tissues beside her glass of wine and a packet of store-bought shortbreads that were never quite as good as Gram’s.

      But here she was, closing her eyes as Blake’s warm lips beguiled her, tasting of cider and something far more potent than the tot of rum she’d put in his mug. His arm slipped around her, drawing her closer, and she put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the exciting firmness of his muscles beneath her fingers. He drew back slightly, their breaths mingling in the charged silence as the song switched. She bit down on her lip and chanced a look up at him, desperately wanting more and terribly afraid he might just realize it.

      Looking up was a mistake and a blessing. The first petals of curiosity had been plucked and had been replaced by the more exotic bloom of desire and need. Blake’s embrace tightened and Hope wrapped her arms around his neck as their mouths met again, hotter, more demanding. Her breasts were crushed against his shirtfront and his wide palm pressed against the curve of her back, molding their bodies together as their breathing quickened.

      She hadn’t expected this explosion, this powerful craving for him. It would only take a word and they’d be in bed together. Hope knew it, and the thought made her blood race. It would be fantastic. Blake was the kind of man who would be gentle and physical all at once. Careful, yet thorough. Sexy, yet loving.

      And that last was what made Hope hesitate, back away from the heat of his touch and the glory of his mouth.

      This wouldn’t be a casual one-nighter. A brief encounter with no strings. Blake wasn’t that kind of man.

      And she wasn’t that kind of woman either. She wouldn’t be able to simply get up and walk away.

      The alternative was getting in way too deep...or backing off.

      She gathered all her fortitude and took another step backward, nearly tripping over the step stool, righting herself while her cheeks flamed and her heart seemed to pound a mile a minute.

      “Hope...”

      “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “We can’t do this, okay?”

      “You’re afraid?”

      Damn straight she was. Afraid of everything she was feeling lately. Afraid of getting caught up in holiday nostalgia. And most of all afraid of getting caught up in him. It would be so easy.

      “I’m here for a few more days and then I’m gone. I don’t do temporary flings, Blake. I’m not built that way.”

      “What do you do? Because it’s perfectly clear that you don’t do serious or commitment either. What’s holding you back, Hope?”

      Panic threaded through her limbs. “I’m just here to take pictures, okay?”

      “Liar,” he said softly, taking a step forward. “Those pictures are just a reason our grandmothers gave us both. Surely you’d figured that out by now?”

      The very idea frightened her to death. “Are you saying you’re...?” She choked on the next words. “On board with this? That you planned...?”

      Oh, Lord. She was really starting to freak out now. Blake was looking at her in his strong and steady way, and she felt like a baby bird flapping its wings and still falling steadily toward the ground, waiting for the inevitable thud.

      “Of course I didn’t plan it. When you arrived I knew you were the last person I’d be interested in.”

      Ouch.

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