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Authors: Renee Roszel

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BOOK: Her Mistletoe Husband
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“It's really coming down,” Alex said, bringing her back. She was surprised to see that he was beside her again, his hands resting on the railing as he watched the snow twirl and dance, thicker, ever thicker, a ballet of heavenly scraps of lace.
In a self-protective move, she leaned away from him. Resting her shoulder against a support pole, she peeked at his profile. The veranda light emphasized his prominent cheekbones and bore witness to his skin, attractively rosy with the cold. On his wind-mussed hair a few wayward snowflakes had made their home, twinkling as if they were fallen stars. Uneasy with the way the sight made her go all fluttery inside, she shifted away, lifting her hands to her own curls. She could feel the damp, coldness of snowflakes that had settled there. Shaking her head, she smoothed her hair back.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, startling her, for she hadn't realized he'd been watching. “Your hair's amazing with snow gleaming in it. Like red coral, just under the surface of a sunlit sea.”
She felt a foolish tingle at his hushed remark and lowered her gaze. If he thought she'd give up her fight for her property because of a few pretty words, he was crazy. “Enough snow in your hair and you catch pneumonia.” Plodding to the grill, she glared down at the glowing coals.
“You have so much stubborn pride, Elissa, you can't even take a compliment from me?” he asked as he joined her.
She glared at him. “It's an ugly flaw, I know.” The Christmas spirit draining from her, she bit out the words, “Imagine me not swooning under such praise about my hair—when all you want from me is my entire life!”
“That's not fair—”
“Turkey!”
she blurted, needing to change the subject.
His expression grew wry. “Is it time to cook the bird, or are you talking about me?”
She wheeled away, heading for the front door, the hollow thud of her footsteps loud in the morning stillness.
 
Elissa watched Alex with reluctant fascination. He was a wildly successful, sophisticated lawyer, yet he'd obviously never been involved in a family Christmas. He'd never seen children playing before a wood fire, never opened Christmas packages at dawn, or watched football while women laughed and cooked in the next room—every so often calling for one of the men to “check the turkey and turn down the TV.”
She couldn't help laughing at him when he checked his watch at one o‘clock, suggesting they should have put the turkey on earlier, since lunch was already an hour late. She didn't know why she took such delight in telling him that, “noon” on Christmas day really meant about three o'clock. He'd actually been surprised with the news. Alex D'Amour was like an alien dropped down from Planet Humbug, where holidays were not celebrated. Or maybe he was more like some recently manufactured android with no knowledge of kin or customs.
His surprise about so many things they took for granted touched something in her, and that shocked her. She found herself wondering where this man had spent his formative Christmases? She was even more stunned to realize she was harboring some uncharitable thoughts for the people who
hadn't
taught him about rising at dawn full of expectation, of eating homemade cinnamon rolls and drinking eggnog for breakfast. Of sitting around a roaring fire, eating turkey and dressing off paper plates, while watching toddlers ignore their gifts to play with the boxes.
Several of the inn's guests had opted to stay in out of the snow and eat Christmas Dinner at the inn, so there was lots of clamor and laughter. By five o'clock things had quieted down. Bella and Ramona had cleaned away the Christmas meal debris and left for celebrations of their own. Even the least adventuresome guests had braved the snow to go into town to see much anticipated Christmas shows, featuring America's biggest music stars.
The twins were asleep, exhausted. Christmas music played softly in the background and the scent of wood smoke and Christmas tree pine filled the air. Lucy was curled up on the parlor couch, knitting something tiny and yellow.
Her glance drifted to Glory who was sound asleep, stretched out on a blanket before the fire, her head half inside the box her Barbie Pet Doctor doll had come in. The Veterinarian Barbie's toes were pressed against her cherubic mouth. With a rush of tenderness, Elissa decided her niece looked like a little doll herself.
Her gaze roamed to the chair opposite her own, where Alex sat. His eyes were closed and one arm was wrapped around Gilly, who seemed to have decided that Alex and his cashmere chest was just about the greatest napping spot in the world. The toddler was dribbling all over the expensive sweater. She twitched in her sleep, her little fist grabbing another wad of cashmere. As she readjusted her backside, cuddled in Alex's big hand, his long fingers moved, shifted to better accommodate her. Elissa's lips twitched at the toddler's assumption that she was right at home on this stranger's lap. She decided she'd have to keep an eye on that young lady—a natural coquette.
Elissa scanned Alex's hand, cupping Gilly's hips. His nails were neatly trimmed, his fingers graceful, gentle. Ringless. She winced, wondering where that thought had come from. She had absolutely no interest in his romantic attachments. Her gaze trailing up to his face, she worked to repair her thinking—reminding herself that this man was an ogre as far as she was concerned.
Watching him, she found herself wondering if he was sleeping or simply resting his eyes. For a man who had never had anything to do with babies, he was being a pretty good sport about Gilly. Facing that difficult fact put a small rip in the fabric of her dislike for him.
She gritted her teeth, trying to shake off the resurgence of soft emotion. What was it about this man who could allow himself to be a mattress for a tiny little thing like Gilly, and at the same time so heartlessly try to take away everything she'd worked for these last four years? She lowered her glance to her fisted hands, her emotions suddenly conflicted. She didn't like this irreconcilable mix of feelings. She preferred harboring pure, unadulterated loathing for the man.
A noise from the front door drew Elissa's attention in time to see Damien, Jack and Helen come inside, shedding coats, laughing about who won the three-way snowball fight. Elissa lifted a finger to her lips, cautioning in a loud whisper, “We have sleeping babies in here.”
The three intrepid warriors grew hushed and peeked into the parlor. “Maybe we'd better take them up to bed,” Helen whispered to Damien. “I think we'll owe Alex for about ten cashmere sweaters if we're not careful.” She walked over to pick up a limp little Gilly, and smiled at Alex. “I hope she isn't too much of a bother. Honestly I have no idea why she's so attached to sleeping on you.”
Alex grinned. “I have that effect on some women. They see me and fall asleep.”
Elissa eyed him dubiously, knowing that was a lie. But she also knew that any comment to the contrary would take her where she didn't want to go.
Helen laughed, snuggling Gilly to her. “I would imagine the only women you affect that way are under three years old.” She passed Elissa a sly look, but thankfully kept any further thoughts to herself.
Damien scooped up Glory. “Well, folks, we'll see you later. I think it's time for a family nap.”
Lucy stretched, laying her knitting in her bag. “I'm for that. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
Jack came over to the sofa and took her hand. “Good idea.” He looked at Alex and then Elissa as he tucked Lucy under a protective arm. “We'll see you later.”
Elissa nodded, deciding she needed a nap, too. Unfortunately, since she didn't have time for such luxuries, the next most important thing she needed to do was leave the room. She had no desire to be left alone with Alex. She stood. “Well, if everybody else is going to desert me, I guess I'll go work on my accounts.”
As she passed Alex's chair, he caught her wrist. With a frown of confusion she stared at him, but couldn't speak.
“It was nice, today,” he said. “Thank you.”
Jarred by his compliments, she continued to stare at him, her emotions at war. After a few seconds, she pulled from his grasp. “Now you can smoke a turkey. Big deal.”
He winced slightly at her curtness. “Look, I'm not your enemy.”
She swallowed hard. “If it makes you feel better to think that, Mr. D'Amour...” She couldn't go on. But there was no need. The flash in his eyes told her the message had been received.
He rose from the chair and she took that as her cue to leave—to escape to her office and get out from under the heat of his gaze. When she reached the parlor door, she remembered she'd left the shawl Lucy had knitted for her for Christmas and hurried back to snatch it up.
This time when she got to the parlor entrance, Alex was standing there. She breezed past, but he caught her hand. “I'm standing under the mistletoe, Miss Crosby.”
“My middle name is Gardenia,” she retorted. “Now that we've exchanged holiday trivia, let me—”
Go! That had been the word she'd almost said.
Unhappily, as her lips opened to say it, his mouth closed over hers, shocking her into stillness. A strange, almost imperceptible tremor went through her as his lips took hers captive. His kiss was wildly masculine, stealing her breath. As his mouth moved over hers, she struggled to tame an urge to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him against her.
She tried to protest, wanted to, but her voice wouldn't come. And even though he was still holding one of her hands, the other was free—free to shove against his chest, to make it clear she didn't want this. Yet, that hand didn't resist. Instead she found herself drifting toward him, her fingers whispering along his cheek in a caress, then slipping back to stroke the hair at his nape. So soft. And his scent—so stirring.
Though her mind was numbed by his provocative kiss, Elissa still managed to seize on an irony. She'd had several marriage proposals in her life, rejecting them in favor of her precious independence. But with this offensive man's kiss she felt strangely uncertain, her need for self-rule undermined in some insidious way.
His hand moved to cup her waist, warm, big and
welcome
, tugging her into him. She heard a ragged whimper of need escape her throat—a sound she'd never heard before. It frightened her, brought her back to reality as surely as if a snowball had been thrown in her face.
Though some crazy part of her experienced a reluctance to be separated from him, she yanked at his hold and shoved against his chest, stumbling a step away when he released her. “You—you...” she exclaimed in a husky exhale. “Never do that again!”
He grinned. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Gardenia. And thanks for the tie.”
“I didn't give you any tie,” she cried, her lips throbbing. “Helen and Lucy must have done it and put my name on it.” Taking a protective step away, she poked a finger toward his chest. “And if you ever call me Gardenia again, I'll—I'll...”
“Knee me?” His grin was outrageously sexy, those dimples taunting, making her heart jump foolishly. “Funny you didn't think of doing it when I kissed you.” With that telling remark, he walked away, leaving Elissa fairly sure she was coming down with some terrible flu. She was shaky...feverish...short of breath. And her lips were swollen. Swollen and sizzling! That had to be bad. Squeezing her eyes shut, she slumped against the door jamb, her mind shrieking,
Yes
—
dear heaven
—
please let it be the flu.
CHAPTER SIX
T
HAT evening, Elissa discovered to her amazement that she was hungry, and went upstairs to make a turkey sandwich. She wasn't surprised to find someone there ahead of her, but was grateful it was Helen, not Alex. Her sister explained that the rest of the family and a few guests—as well as Mr. Inn Stealer—were in the parlor enjoying the warm fire and a friendly chat.
Helen was slicing turkey. “We were taking bets on when you'd come up for air.” She smiled. “You know, Lis, it's not healthy to spend so much time underground. People will think you're a mole.”
Elissa managed a weak grin. “Well, I'm a starving mole.” She pulled up a chair and slathered mustard on the wheat bread Helen had laid out. She laughed wryly. “This afternoon I thought I would never be able to eat again.”
Helen handed her the plate of sliced turkey, then drew up a chair beside her at the table. “You need lots of energy.”
There was something odd in Helen's tone, and Elissa looked her way. “What do you mean?”
Helen leaned closer, though there was nobody within earshot. “For your wild love affair with Alex.”
Elissa stilled, unable to believe her ears. “Are you insane?”
Helen took the mustard knife from her sister's limp hand and began to apply the condiment to another piece of bread. “Don't be coy, Lis. It's as plain as your flaming red hair that you've met your match.” She nudged Elissa's shoulder. “Now you have somebody you can argue with to your heart's content. I've heard it's the only way lawyers can have orgasms—arguing themselves into a state of sexual euphoria.”
Elissa knew her jaw had gone slack, but she couldn't seem to do anything about it. She could only gape at her sister, aghast. Where had the shy little protector of broken animals gone? Who was this woman glibly discussing lawyers and their orgasms?
Seemingly unperturbed, Helen went back to making sandwiches. “It's too bad you've already had your birthday, or I'd suggest you go take a nap in the mansion.” She peered at Elissa, her expression teasing. “I'd use my charming personality to entice Alex over there the first thing in the morning and—well, let nature take its course.” She prodded her sister suggestively with her elbow.
The impact helped bring Elissa back, her temper flaring. She tried to squelch it After all, hadn't she taken great pains to make sure her sisters didn't know her true feelings about Alex D'Amour. “Don't be silly,” she snapped, then forced her tone to be more neutral. “Alex and I are just acquaintances. To be honest, I find him—utterly—resistible.”
Helen's smile faded for an instant before it was refreshed. She chuckled. “For a second there I almost believed you.” Standing, she indicated a platter of sandwiches that had somehow been thrown together while Elissa was in her trance. “But your actions speak louder than your words.”
Elissa vaulted up. “What actions?” She'd had to force herself several times not to jump the man bodily and pummel him into the ground. Maybe she shouldn't have bothered being so discreet.
Helen picked up the platter. “You look at him
all
the time. Your eyes say things.”
“No they don't!” Elissa dogged her sister's heels as she headed toward the kitchen door. “My eyes haven't even given the
slightest
thought to that man!”
“What man?” came a deep voice. Both women stum bled to a halt when Alex appeared in the kitchen's entrance.
Helen walked up to him, placing the plate of sandwiches in his hands. “Look who's here, Elissa.” She turned, wagging her brows. “Why, it's Alex D'Amour—of all people.”
Elissa decided that if her eyes were ever going to communicate anything, it had to be now. She telegraphed a message to Helen that screamed, Keep your mouth shut! Though the communication was just short of lethal, Helen laughed merrily, taking Alex's arm and steering him toward the parlor. “Now what were we talking about?”
“Some man?” he offered.
“Oh?” As they left, Helen tilted her head at him, her expression believably quizzical. “My mind's a blank.”
Once they'd gone, Elissa sank into a chair, relieved that Helen had obeyed her wordless order. Where had her sister gotten such a ridiculous idea?
She fiddled absently with the mustard bottle, her mind running back over what Helen had said about the myth. Though she loved her baby sister with all her heart, that didn't change the fact that she was an idealistic dreamer. The myth was nothing more than pretty words. The fact that both her younger sisters had met their husbands the way the myth suggested they would was mere coincidence. Bizarre, maybe, but a coincidence, nevertheless.
Gritting her teeth, she renewed her vow that she would never let anyone find out that she'd actually slept in the mansion on her birthday—and that the intolerable Alex D‘Amour had been the first man she'd seen that morning. Her sisters were bad enough with their conniving glances and innuendoes, now. If they found out the truth, she would be put in an unbearable position. Her nerves were tattered enough having Alex D'Amour underfoot—a constant reminder that he intended to take away her livelihood.
She heard a pop and discovered she'd cracked the glass jar with her tight grip. Placing trembling fingers to her lips, she winced at the bitter taste of mustard and blood.
 
The day after Christmas, Damien and Helen took the girls out to the side yard to hang strings of suet, for the birds, in a cedar tree. Lucy wasn't feeling well, so she and Jack were upstairs in their room. Early that morning, Alex had trekked off in the snow toward his mansion. The inn's guests had scattered for the day.
After finishing with the morning's business, Elissa came upstairs and heard the familiar grumble of the mail truck's engine. She was pleased to note that it was arriving earlier, since the pre-Christmas madness was over. She tromped through the fluffy three-inch snowfall to retrieve that day's delivery.
Though the thought flitted through her mind that another sinister letter might be among late Christmas cards, bills and junk mail, she forced the idea from her mind. With a friendly greeting to the postman, she accepted the stack of envelopes.
He pulled away, his ‘happy new year' half buried beneath the clanking protest of his truck's acceleration.
She turned toward the inn, thumbing through the mail. Even before she recognized the messy scrawl, the short hairs on her nape stood up. Though she went weak all over, she managed not to drop everything in the snow.
A shrill laugh invaded her fear-cloaked mind, and she realized the girls were running around on the front lawn. Knowing Damien and Helen would be following, she panicked that her expression would give away trouble. Swerving, she headed around the opposite side of the house, intent on entering by the back door.
Once she reached the steps that led to the kitchen, she couldn't stand it any longer. Laying the other mail aside, she tore open the letter. Dread thundered through her as she read, and she dropped to the bottom step. This one was worse than the others.
Missy, don't plan on having no hapy new year. You ain't gonna have one.
Terror made her shiver. Something in the ominous wording smacked of a threat on her life. If this letterwriting turned out to be nothing more than a joke, then it was a very sick one.
She turned the envelope over. This letter had been postmarked in Branson. She ran a hand through her hair.
So what?
She scolded silently. Whoever he was, he was probably too cowardly to really do anything. Yet even as her rational side counseled with her panicking side, she trembled uncontrollably.
“Ohmigod
, another one?”
Her head jerked up to see Alex trekking her way. His cheeks were aglow, his raven hair wind-tossed. His long legs seemed even longer in the form-fitting jeans and thick-soled boots. Shoulders swathed in a down-filled parka, took on an epic width. His breath frosted the air as if it were smoke, and his scowl was so deep he seemed to be some mythical man-dragon charging out of his forest lair.
She closed her eyes, mortified that he always seemed to sneak up on her when she was most vulnerable. Angry with herself for being too weak-willed to get to the privacy of her office before she opened the damnable letter, she took it out on him. “Will you
please
mind your own business?”
The crunch of his boots told her he was close. She even detected his aftershave in the cold air. Unable to help herself, she peered at him the instant he leaned down, plucking the letter from her lap. She grabbed at it, managing to snatch it away. “Just because you think you own my inn doesn't mean you have any business reading my mail,” she hissed, aware that Damien and Helen were outside and might hear if she spoke too loudly.
Gathering up the rest of her mail, she twisted around to go inside. As she took the first step away from him a black, ugly thought struck her square between the eyes and she halted.
“Oh my Lord
” She exhaled in a moan, turning to glare at him. “Or is this particular piece of mail your business?”
He stared at her, appearing confused.
Suddenly it all made sense. His arrival shortly after the first threatening letter. Then believing she'd been stalked that night she'd had a flat tire, plus the fact that Alex had been right there the next morning. And now these two other letters arriving while he was staying in her inn.
It was all Alex's doing!
It would have been easy for him to ask one of the workers to take a letter home with instructions to mail it from some nearby town. “You!” She glared at him, raging inside.
“What are you—”
“If you can't get rid of me legally, you'll ice the cake with some intimidation! I see it all now!” she whispered angrily. “By threatening my life your plan was to frighten me out of here!”
His eyes widened. “Somebody's threatened your life?”
He asked the question in such hushed amazement that Elissa found it hard to believe he was pretending. Before she could react to his question, he was grasping her by the arms. Startled by the move, she allowed the mail to fall, unheeded, into the snow.
“Hell, Elissa. Why? Why would anyone want to harm you?” His eyes held her hostage for a long moment, and she thought she saw distress there. Or did she? Was he that adept at showing precisely the emotion he wanted to express? She already knew he was a master at playing a part. Maybe he was merely acting the innocent to take her off her guard.
Uncomfortable with the rush of—of some unnamable emotion she felt when she looked into those eyes, she jerked from his grasp. “I only know one person who wants me out of the way—and that's you, Mr. D'Amour.” Forgetting the mail, she turned and ran up the steps. “You do the math.”
“That's not the way I operate, Miss Crosby,” he growled.
As she escaped to her basement office, his words soaked in.
That's not the way I operate.
Though she didn't want to admit it, she supposed it was true. Mr. Alex D'Amour—nationally celebrated lawyer—was a man with a tremendous ego. He would naturally assume he could win any legal fight he embarked upon by the golden brilliance of his arguments. His self-assurance would never allow him to threaten anyone with anonymous letters.
As she tossed her coat onto her filing cabinet, she faced the fact that Alex wasn't responsible. It was simply the timing of the two separate occurrences that had sent her mind spiraling along that path.
Dropping into her chair, she covered her face with her hands, wishing she could enjoy the luxury of a good cry, but knowing she couldn't, didn't dare let her guard down. She was afraid if she did she'd become a screaming, jibbering wreck.
But if not Alex, then who was writing these ghastly letters? Even if it was nothing more than a prank conjured up in some perverted mind, it came at a terrible time. She couldn't take much more.
Hearing a noise, she looked up to see Alex lay the mail on her desk, the threatening letter on top. It was unfolded, a clear indication that he'd read it. She chanced a peek at his face, grim, his eyes on her. “You don't really think I sent this, do you?” he asked, almost too softly to be heard.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she shook her head. “No—I—I'm sorry...”
“I'm calling the police.”
When he reached for the phone, she stilled his hand. “This isn't your concern, Alex. Besides, people who write these kinds of letters are too cowardly to really
do
anything.”
“Where the hell did you hear that?”
She blanched, but forged on with her bluff. “It's— common knowledge. Statistics...” In the face of his cynical gaze she couldn't go on.
“When do you want me to call the police, after you're a statistic?”
With a heavy sigh she broke eye contact. “That's not funny
.
”
BOOK: Her Mistletoe Husband
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