The Elf and the Ice Princess (7 page)

But before she
could let him off the hook, he said, “I’m from Baffin Island, in Canada. I
mentioned that at dinner.”

Carrie
nodded, now more curious than ever. “Yeah, with the story about the tonttu.”
She smiled to try to lighten his mood. “It’s up near the North Pole, right?
Appropriate for an elf.”

He nodded,
the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Closer than most people ever get. I’m from
a small town there.” He shook his head, the smile turning self-conscious. “And
when people in Texas say ‘small town,’ they seem to mean around five thousand
inhabitants. But when someone in northern Canada says ‘small town?’ We mean
more like fifty.”

“Fifty
people total? That’s it?”

His
expression grew to something resembling the normal teasing grin, though the
light didn’t reach his eyes. “Total anything warm blooded. I’m pretty sure my
neighbor included his six huskies in the population count.”

Carrie
chuckled at the idea of dogs included in the census.

“It’s beautiful.
Mountains and fjords, snow and sea, polar bears and harp seals. White wolves
and arctic foxes and snowy owls. I saw the Northern Lights all the time. When I
was a kid, I thought they were the holiday decorations of the gods. It’s really
lonely, up there, too. And with the weather and the lack of sun in winter,
spotty education and almost nobody new moving in, nobody old moving out…it can
make things a little crazy.” He shook his head. “It can make the residents a
little crazy.”

His tone stayed so
somber that Carrie reached for him, and he readily took her hand, enfolding it
in his own. It felt nice, and that in and of itself was strange. The
contemplative look came back, as if once again he was debating how much to say.
She didn’t make a noise for fear he’d decide not to speak. When he started
talking again, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. “When I
was sixteen, I fell in love with a girl one town over.”

When he
didn’t continue, Carrie knew she should leave him alone, but this serious Brett
fascinated her. She glanced back at his ear. The top didn’t curl over, showing
a flat scar as if someone really had lopped the top off. “How does that get
your ears sliced up?”

“Her brother did
it. He didn’t think I was good enough for his sister.”

A chill ran
through her. “Oh my God, he cut you on purpose?” Who did that? And why his
ears?

He shifted
uncomfortably. “My family wasn’t exactly the most well respected.”

“So? Who
cares about your family? You’re pretty awesome.” Oh, crap, did she just say
that? He lifted a dark eyebrow, warmth back in his eyes. She blushed and busied
herself by examining the scar again. It did seem far too precise for anything
but a purposeful cut. “What a violent nutball. That’s scary.”

“Nyall was a
scary guy.”

“I guess
that broke you up. But why your ears? That’s strange.”

Brett
doodled pictures on the couch with his fingers. “I applied for college in
Toronto and asked Ryssa to come with me. She decided to stay behind. Didn’t
want to be disloyal to her family like that.” He brushed the couch, as if
erasing whatever he’d drawn, and captured Carrie’s gaze with his own. His blue
eyes were as bright and sad as melting ice. “We were awfully young. And leaving
is considered treasonous among my kind.”

The story
was crazy, nothing like the staid life she’d had, but those scars were too
clean to be an accident. Then his last statement registered. “Your kind?”

Brett
blinked, shook off the maudlin with a friendly smile and stretched. “You know,
crazy far-northern Canucks.” He shook her hand. “I like it better here,
anyway.”

She
couldn’t help asking, “Is that all true?”

His
expression turned confused, as if the idea of lying hadn’t occurred to him, and
he canted his head again in that way that always made his bells jingle. Without
the cap, though, it looked more like he was listening to something, like faint
music or unspoken words.

He held a finger
up and slid his wallet out of his back pocket. A moment of digging inside, and
he produced a folded photograph. “That’s the house I grew up in.” A weathered
wooden structure, small and none-too-sturdy but with brightly painted window
shutters, took up a third of the frame. “My little sister.” He pointed to a
fair-haired kid of maybe ten making snow angels on the lawn in a threadbare
jacket. “And a moose. ’Cause they’re everywhere.” He pointed to the background
where, sure enough, an enormous brown animal stared at the camera with angry
eyes.

“Wow.” The
windswept desolation in the photo made it all real. He’d grown up in a totally
different world than she had with her cheerful middle-class family. Talk about
overcoming some odds. Shame pricked at her. How dare she or anyone else judge
him or his job when he’d come from frozen poverty and creepy violence to become
a friendly guy cheering up children at the mall?

He folded
the picture carefully along the same lines and replaced it, then spun the
wallet so she could see his driver’s license through the clear plastic. “But
I’m a US citizen now.”

“Brett
Vertanen,” she read. Apparently Elf-man had a last name, too. It made him more
real. “That’s a cool name.”

“Finnish.”
He chuckled. “I’m the only one of my immediate kin to escape the cold.” He
slapped the wallet closed and stuffed it back into his pocket. When he faced
her again, his cheerful smile had returned. “So you liked my food, eh?”

She nodded.
He still had her hand, and he squeezed it.

“Can I cook
for you again?”

Here it
was, the decision to keep seeing him, to let him in, if only just a little. She
couldn’t help hearing, “Give me a chance to hurt you?” But that wasn’t what he
meant. She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Even if it scared her,
she meant it.

The
cheerful smile turned triumphant. What a goober he was. Furtively, he glanced
around them.

“What are
you—”

She stopped
when he cupped her cheek with his free hand. His gaze found hers with the force
of a storm. In his eyes again she glimpsed a core that was strong and a little
wild, hidden—or maybe held in check—by his laughter and affable smile. The
depth of space masked by the light of the stars.

It struck her
that Lincoln had been the other way around, a wild, rebellious exterior hiding
a man who feared he wasn’t special. She’d always wanted to help Lincoln see
that he had more inside him than he realized.

And then, when it
had mattered most, he’d gone and proved her wrong.

Brett’s thumb
stroked her cheek, bringing her back to the present and the man she was with.
“I’m checking for eyes before I do this.” With a twinkle in his own eyes, he
leaned in.

Her heart
pattered furiously, her skin tingling in anticipation as she realized what he
was about to do. Since the divorce she’d told herself she didn’t need to be
touched, but it was a lie—such a lie. Desire eclipsing fear, she closed her
eyes and met his kiss with her own.

B
rett’s kiss was
full of warmth and sweetness. The need it inspired went straight to her
center and radiated out again with unexpected power. Her breath caught as the
fingers of her free hand clenched at the air, longing for more. He started to
pull back. Without thinking, she reached for his shoulder and wrapped questing
fingers in the crisp fabric of his shirtfront. He felt so good.

A noise of
surprise shook from him. Instead of pulling away, he deepened the kiss. The
pressure of his fingers on her jaw increased, making her gasp as his tongue
grazed her lips. She parted them, and the tip of his tongue circled hers. Her
shuddering fingers splayed against his chest, no longer clutching but feeling
him and the firmness of his chest muscles beneath her palm.

He pulled away,
decisively this time. His breath quivered as his temple rested against hers.
“I’m going to back up before I forget I’m on someone else’s couch.” 

She laughed
self-consciously and leaned back then pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Are you…” His
voice trailed off. She looked up to see emotions running across his face with
no attempt to hide any of them. Eagerness, doubt, restraint. Desire.

She’d made him
feel those. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have that power, but it was
strange to be with someone who didn’t hide anything. “Am I what?”

“Are you staying
here after I leave? Is that your plan?” The teasing grin was back, but the
lightness was forced over him this time, like that story of the wolf wearing
sheepskin. “Talk about me with your friends?”

Of course she had
been, and of course he knew that. But the look in his eyes said he wanted to
take her to a different couch where he didn’t have to worry about privacy. No
pressure, just an opening she could take if she wanted.

She was tempted.
Tempted and terrified. She made up a story in her head of what would happen.
They’d go someplace, he’d get her out of his system and then she’d be rid of
him. No complications. No risks. And it would be nice to be touched again. If
his kisses were any indication, it would no doubt be very nice to be touched by
him.

And yet the
thought of a relationship with Brett that was so cheap and held so little
substance was a letdown when he felt so innocent.

Innocent. What a
silly word to describe a full-grown man, and she doubted he’d appreciate it. “I
was planning to stay here for a while, yes.” She turned toward the kitchen.
“Help them clean up.” Not that that was necessary after their bet.

His knuckles
brushed her chin, turning her face up to his. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you
think so hard.” His smile turned self-deprecating. “I see what I want, and I go
marching that way. Tunnel vision.”

She smirked.
There he went again, laying it all out on the table. As someone who hid, well,
practically everything from the world, it was unsettling. And yet beautiful.
“And what is it you want, Brett?”

The question
seemed to confuse him. “Well, you. I haven’t made that obvious yet?”

She chuckled. Brett wasn’t innocent; he was a human being. Didn’t make him a bad person. Just
made him a person.

He threw one hand
in the air, and it dawned on her he was still holding the other. “No, no. Don’t
take that the wrong way.” He huffed in irritation. “I swear I’m normally good
with words, then I get around you and turn into an ass.” He took her other hand
and held them both in his lap. His eyes widened slightly and he slid them down
to his knee, as if to illustrate his point. “I’m not trying to get you into
bed. Or not in the way you’re thinking, because it’s not like I’d tell you no.
Uh, that’s outside of my point. My point being…” He looked down, lips pursed
into a thin line as if he was trying to keep them shut long enough to think. “My point is, yes, of course I want you like that. You’re beautiful, and any
man with eyes would be happy to take you to bed.

“But that’s not
my end plan. You’re honest, you take care of your family—I saw all those
presents at the mall, despite you hating the holiday.” He grinned. “You have
great taste in food.” He looked back down at their hands. “And despite me
ruining your sweater, drunkenly babbling at you, dragging you all over
Santaland like a crazy man and nearly making you cry—and I’m sorry about that.
That was not my intention at all. Despite all that, you’ve not only
not
called
the cops on me, but I’ve managed to get you to kiss me.” He flashed a grin
again. “Twice. So either you’re incredibly forgiving or somewhere near as crazy
as I am. Either way, I like you.”

Her insides went
soft, practically mushy. He was really getting to her. Damn it. “You are
crazy,” she said, her voice embarrassingly breathy. “And I like you, too.”
She’d never intended to like him.

“Walk me to my
car? I’d offer to walk you to yours, but you’re not leaving, so…”

His eyes somehow
lit up and darkened at the exact same time. He planned to kiss her again at the
car, now did he? Well, then. She planned to let him.

Brett took her
hand again as they headed out the door of Tom’s garden home. He wasn’t tugging
her somewhere this time. Or comforting her or helping her up or anything that
resembled a reason for holding hands. She looked down at their interlaced
fingers. How could such a chaste gesture feel so intimate? The contact of his
long fingers and smooth palm pressed against hers was comfortable—nice,
even—but she worried her acquiescence gave him the wrong idea.

He noticed
her attention and shook their joined hands. “Does this bother you? I like
holding your hand, but I’ll stop if it bothers you.”

It seemed
to matter to him, so she shook her head. “No. It’s good.” That was mostly
true. 

“Okay.
Good.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll keep doing it then.”