Beach Blanket Santa (Holiday Brides Series) (6 page)

“Don’t you think Robert and Margaret will miss you?”

“With that new little bundle to keep them busy?” he said
with a smile. “Not a chance.”

Lightning crackled, and Sarah stared out the rain-streaked
window. “So, what do we do?”

Matt carted his backpack toward his bedroom with a wink.
“Make the best of it.”

After a soup and sandwich lunch, Sarah found herself chatting
easily with Matt before a roaring fire. She’d made them coffee while he’d
gotten the fire started, and now they sat discussing their afternoon plans. They’d
already had a great time sorting through the house’s stash of holiday movies
and board games, so they had a sense of what type of entertainment was in store.
Being stuck here with Matt wasn’t going to prove uncomfortable at all. In fact,
Sarah decided it could be a whole lot of fun. Just as long as she could keep
her heart in check, she thought with a sigh.

“So, what’s on the agenda?”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be swimming today,” he said with
a teasing smile.

“No. You’re probably right about that. I think it’s cold
enough to snow out there.”

“Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“Snow at the beach? It happens.”

“Yeah, it happens. But around here, it’s rare.”

She smiled above the rim of her cup, enjoying their light
banter. They’d both phoned their families to explain neither would be coming
home, and incredibly, everyone seemed happy with the situation. As long as they
were safe and had enough provisions to weather the storm, everybody understood.
In fact, they were glad that Matt and Sarah had serendipitously wound up there
together. How much nicer for the two of them that each wouldn’t have to spend
Christmas alone. “So maybe we’ll have a white Christmas?”

“Ha! You’ll have to ask Santa for that.” He mischievously
cocked one eyebrow and studied her. “Don’t tell me you’re too old to believe in
Santa?”

Sarah thumbed her chest. “Me? No. It’s just that I’ve never
had the pleasure.”

“Of what?”

“Meeting Santa. Knowing him, whatever.”

He stared at her aghast. “Are you telling me, not even as a
kid?”

Sarah shook her head. “Cheryl doesn’t believe in such.”

“Cheryl?”

“My mom. She wanted me to start calling her Cheryl when I
was, oh…about eleven.”

“Really? Why?”

“Once I hit puberty…” She felt her face flush. “Well, I
guess the thought of having a daughter my age made her feel old.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s okay. I got over it.”

“Not having a mom?”

“Oh, I had a mom. She was just…different. You know?”

He nodded like he was trying to understand, but Sarah didn’t
see how he could completely. Not coming from the background he did, which was
so diametrically different. “So, what about Christmas, then? If there was no
Santa, how did you celebrate?”

“Generally with moo shu pork and gas logs.”

“Were you happy that way?”

“It was the only way I knew. I mean, sure. I heard the other
kids in school bragging about what they got for Christmas and stuff, but after
a while I learned not to worry about it. My mom always got me what I needed and
didn’t want to fill my head with bubble-headed fantasies anyway.”

“Like the notion of Santa Claus and make-believe and
dreaming impossible dreams?”

“Yes.”

Matt’s gaze was lined with compassion. He was trying to read
her, and Sarah felt as open as a book. “I see.”

“It wasn’t so bad, really,” she said, trying to lighten the
moment.

Matt smiled at her, his face brightening. “No, I’m sure it
wasn’t. Who’s to say which way is better? One person’s childhood or another? I
had a big brother to beat up on me.”

“Robert?”

“Yeah, but he did so in a loving way.” He shot her a wry
smile. “And I still have the scars to prove it.”

“Oh!” Sarah replied, not knowing whether he was kidding.

“So, come on,” he said. “Let’s decide what’s next. Between
the two of us, we’ve clearly brought enough provisions to get by. But did
either of us plan for anything fun?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, you know. Something to get us in the holiday spirit?”

“Well,” Sarah began tentatively, “I had planned to make
Christmas cookies while I was here. Take them home for the holiday.”

“Perfect!” Matt said with a grin. “I’m in.”

A little while later, Sarah found herself standing at the
kitchen counter with Matt. He’d located Robert’s CD collection and put on some
music. With it turned up loud, they could scarcely hear the howling winds below
the sultry collection labeled
Rainy Day
Blues.
Nothing could have been more appropriate. Waves crashed outdoors and
windy gusts slammed the house, though inside they were safe and warm.

“Well, go on,” he said. “Lay it on me.”

She looked up at him, and her knees went weak. All this
light chatter with Matt had gone right to her head just like a million
champagne bubbles. He was so easy to be with. Fun and lighthearted too. Was it
any wonder she’d crushed on him so badly three years ago? But now she was
getting to know him better—which made things worse. If only she could
believe that certain things wouldn’t matter to him.

“The supplies?” he said, reading her dumbstruck look. “What
did you bring?”

“Oh, that,” she said, feeling she sounded a bit dopey. This
was crazy, and she knew it. All they were doing here was making Christmas
cookies. It wasn’t like they were slathering each other all over with icing.
Her face flamed hot as she feared he’d read her thoughts. Of course she
wouldn’t be coating Matt with icing.
That
was to be reserved for the cookies. But wasn’t he a dish?
Yummy.

“Sarah?”

She swallowed hard, collecting herself. Before they’d
started to cook, Matt had offered to serve some wine. After all, they still had
that open bottle from their late-night snacking… At the time, she’d been
feeling so good and confident in her abilities to resist him that this had
sounded fine. Now Sarah wondered if that had been such a great idea.

 
“Ah, yeah,” she
said, opening the refrigerator to retrieve the limp tube of sugar-cookie dough.
She absolutely, positively, had to get herself under control.

Matt looked down at the dough, then right in her eyes.
“Slice and bake?”

“I brought icing,” she said lamely, hoping he couldn’t read
between the lines.

Matt took the cookie dough from her and set it on the
counter, shutting the refrigerator door. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve never
made sugar cookies from scratch?”

 
“Well, no,” she said feeling her face
warm with embarrassment. “No, actually I haven’t. Is that a problem?”

He slowly stroked his chin and studied her. “No, darling,
it’s not a problem at all. I was just wondering…” His lips creased in a subtle smile.
“If you’d like to learn?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, taken aback.

“I have confession to make,” he said. His voice was low and raspy.
“I’m one helluva baker.”

She sputtered a laugh. “Go on!”

“I’m also a dynamite teacher.”

Was it sheer coincidence that in the background a song about
giving love lessons started to play? Matt could teach her all right, probably a
lot of things. A man like him was sure to have had his share of the ladies.

“Are you now?” she said, backing up a step.

He’d be damned if she didn’t look enticing, just standing
there with that little pout on her lips. Matt took another sip of wine, tuned
in to the music
. I got a brand-new way of
teaching, I’ll give you homework every night. Yeah, I got a brand-new way of
teaching, I’ll give you homework every night. Gonna make you hug and kiss me…ha-ha…until
you got it right…
“You’re not afraid?”

“Of learning something new?” She pulled herself up a little
straighter and squared her shoulders. “Of course not.”

Now, when I’ve taught
you all I know, you’re going to have a love degree. When I’ve taught you all I
know, you’re going to have a love degree. You’re going be a love professor, and
soon you’ll be teaching me.

That was all the encouragement he needed to grab an apron
off a nearby hook and tie it on. “Did you bring any sugar?”

“I brought a small container, enough for what I use in my
coffee.”

She produced the square Tupperware, and he whistled. “Got
quite a sweet tooth, have you?”

Her cute face reddened all over. “I brought extra.”

“Well, that’s good, extra good. And, I’m betting we both
brought butter.” He grinned, his enthusiasm building. He was going to do this.
Teach Sarah to bake cookies from scratch. Even if forcing himself to keep his
hands off her sumptuous body killed him. Man, didn’t she look sexy offering up
her sugar that way? “I brought eggs and a bag of flour for coating fried fish.”

She gasped as he set it on the counter. “A whole five-pound
bag? Got quite an appetite, do you?”

He shook a finger at her and grinned. “Got me there. Now,
all we need is vanilla.”

“Think there’s any in the house?”

He turned to check supplies in the pantry, figuring he could
replace anything they used later. After a few seconds passed, he held up a
small dark bottle.

“Bingo.”

Sarah didn’t know how Matt made it all look so easy. They didn’t
even have cookie cutters, but he’d fashioned some makeshift from various-sized
drinking glasses turned upside-down to use their rims as cutting surfaces.
“It’s incredible how you figured all that out,” she told him, duly impressed.

“And you thought I’d only studied law at Georgetown.”

“You didn’t learn this in law school,” she said astutely.
“You learned this at home.”

“Guilty,” he said, not looking culpable in the least. “It
was all about food at the Salvatore house, especially with my folks running the
restaurant.”

“That must have been something,” she said a bit wistfully. “Growing
up with a big happy family and so many siblings.”

“We managed,” he said with a grin. “Managed to get into a
lot of trouble and drive our parents crazy. Though I understand I’ll have this
coming back at me one day.”

“What do you mean?”

“What goes around comes around. I have no illusions about my
own kids not giving me grief, in one way or another, when the time comes. I’ll
more or less accept it as my due.”

It was easy to guess that Matt would make a terrific dad.
His life experience had primed him for it. Naturally, he wanted kids. Not five
children perhaps, but at least one or two.

“Your turn,” he said, handing over the rolling pin. “Why
don’t you try?”

Sarah took the weighty implement in her hand, not knowing
quite what to do with it. Naturally she understood she was to press it to that
little ball of dough and flatten it out, but she wasn’t so certain her results
would come out as stellar at Matt’s. The truth was, Sarah had never been
instructed much in the way of cooking at all. And, for one reason or another
had never felt much inclined to learn. Her mom was a restaurant kind of girl
who considered prepackaged dinners sold in the frozen section as good as
homemade. She’d probably passed that gene on to Sarah. Nearly everything Sarah
ate came out of some sort of box. Not that she was prepared to tell Mr. I’m-Italian-and-Cook-Everything-from-Scratch
at the moment. He probably thought
she’d only packed frozen foods for her trip to the beach.

“Go on,” he said kindly. “Just put your weight into it
evenly and give it a go.”

Sarah smiled uncertainly over her shoulder. “All right,” she
said, determined to try. She centered her gaze on the big mound of glop on the
counter, wondering how she was going to press that into a perfect one-quarter-inch
slab the way he had. She grabbed each handle on the rolling pin and gingerly
pressed forward. The blob squished slightly, but the rolling pin stuck. Not
much else happened.

“Put your back into it,” Matt prodded.

She glanced at him cheering her on from the sidelines and
then gave it her all, heaving her might into that little wooden spindle in her
hands. Dough splatted out like an egg cracked fresh from its shell, transparently
thin on the cutting surface. “Oh no!” she cried with dismay. Even
she
knew there was no way to bake
cookies from
that
.

“Here, let me help.” He sidled up behind her and calmly
collected the mess, transforming it into a new ball. “It’s all in the technique,”
he said, his voice a light tickle at the side of her neck. He drew nearer still,
enveloping her in his warmth, and every inch of her came alive. He smelled so
good and manly standing so close, the sleeves of his sweatshirt just brushing
hers as he positioned himself around her.

He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, and Sarah feared
she might faint from his proximity. It was intoxicating being enveloped in his
arms, his solid chest pressing into her back as he steadied his hands around
hers on the rolling pin. The “Love Lessons” song had ended, and a more
provocative one had started to play. “Just like this,” he said, swaying
forward. She moved with him, letting him lead as dough glided into a flat
plane. “And like this…” he whispered in her ear, lifting the rolling pin and
repeating the process again as the sexy music played on.

Sarah felt breathless, as if she might faint at any moment,
lost in the rhythm of Matt’s embrace.

He held her more tightly in his arms and whispered, his
voice husky. “What do you think of home cooking?”

In many ways, this felt more intimate than dancing, almost
as if they were in bed. But Sarah had never been with a man who moved with such
grace and care for her comfort.

“I think I like it,” she said, barely breathing the words.

He stopped rolling, wrapping his fingers around hers.