Dawn Temple - Moonlight and Mistletoe

Not fair. The man looked nearly as scrumptious in the baggy hand-me-downs as he did in the snug towel.

This was going to be an extremely long night.

Kyle hadn’t missed the spark in Shayna’s eyes. Good to know the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Although why the hell this ridiculous outfit turned her on was anyone’s guess. The coveralls fit well enough through the shoulders, but they were too long in the leg. He’d been forced to cuff the pants to keep from tripping.

He’d left the enormous black hoodie on the bed, after a quick fantasy of Shayna parading around in it, her naked legs peeking out from a thigh-high hem.

The image had stirred him to half-mast. Now, seeing her standing barefoot in the kitchen, his desire swelled again. He raked a frustrated hand through his damp hair.

“Oh! You need to put some ice on that bump.” As Shayna grabbed a plastic bag and turned to the freezer, he ran his fingers over the tender, swollen skin on his forehead. His X-rated fantasies had completely numbed the pain, but now that she reminded him, he did have a throbbing headache.

She wrapped the ice pack in a wet cloth and motioned him to the table. “Sit down and hold this in place.”

He did as told, laying his damp clothes on the kitchen counter as he passed. The minute his butt connected with the well-worn wooden seat, she gingerly placed the cold press against his forehead then grabbed his hand and used it to hold the cloth in place.

“Ouch. That stings.”

“Don’t be such a baby. Just grit your teeth and do it. Otherwise, you’ll have a huge goose egg by morning.” She gently jabbed his shoulder before turning around and grabbing his laundry bundle. “Sit there while I get the washer started, then I’ll dig up some aspirin.”

Kyle turned in his chair, watching the enticing sway of her hips as she strolled down the narrow kitchen and into the attached mudroom. Despite the lingering pain from the crash, he felt pretty good. With a contented exhale, he rested his head against the back of the chair.

Shayna’s obvious concern for his well-being did more for his aches and pains than a bottle of pain reliever ever could. No one had ever reacted that quickly to ease his suffering. It was the kind of luxury he hadn’t planned for in his life but one he could definitely become accustomed to.

Only problem was, he couldn’t imagine his future trophy wife even knowing where the kitchen was, much less risking her fifty-dollar manicure to make him an ice pack.

The edges of his contentment frayed. The closer he got to achieving the goals he’d set fifteen years ago, the more he questioned them. He’d based his life’s accomplishments on an angry teenager’s view of success. Wealth and power had been his primary motivators, but the messed-up kid he’d been had no idea what that kind of accumulation required.

But he was too close to the finish line to quit now. Dismissing his self-doubts, he concentrated on the homey sounds of Shayna bustling around the kitchen.

He’d never met anyone like her. She had made it emphatically clear she didn’t want him here-not in Land’s Cross and most certainly not in her home. Yet somehow, she’d managed to put that aside and treat him with kindness and respect.

The woman was almost too good to be true, and being an old-school cynic, Kyle found it difficult to take her at face value. No matter how tempting the offer.

The clunk of glass hitting the tabletop snapped his head upright. He dropped the ice pack and opened his eyes. Shayna stood mere inches from him, her vanilla scent tantalizing him, a pill bottle in her hand.

“Here, take a couple of these.”

Their fingers touched as he accepted the bottle. A physical spark zinged up his arm. He knew she felt it, too, by the way she rubbed her fingertips together, as if trying to hold on to the sensation.

Kyle put the ice pack on the table and sat up, the pill bottle rattling with the movement. She stood so close that it would take very little effort for him to pull her onto his lap where he could feast on her generous mouth.

The tip of her tongue snuck out and wet her lips. Kyle’s coveralls became skin tight. He started to reach for her just as her eyes widened. Nervous fingers twining through her hair, she backed away, not stopping until her backside hit the counter. With her gaze glued over his shoulder, she gestured behind her.

“Hungry?” Her raspy voice stretched the second syllable, drawing his body even tighter.

Hell, yes. Starving. And only one thing in that kitchen would satisfy him. Unfortunately, even if Shayna put herself on the menu, he’d be forced to abstain.

He’d come in here determined to charm his way under her defenses. A casual dinner, harmless small talk, whatever it took to get her to lower her guard. Yet less than ten minutes in and he’d let hormones distract him.

“Hope you like sandwiches.” Her forcefully upbeat tone made it clear she wanted to pretend the past few minutes hadn’t happened. He was more than willing to oblige.

He stood and, leaving as much distance between them as the cramped quarters allowed, approached the ingredients she’d laid out. Two kinds of bread, three varieties of lunch meat, precut slices of pepper jack cheese, a platter of fresh veggies, half a dozen jars of condiments and a giant bag of potato chips.

“It looks like a gourmet sandwich shop in here.”

“Sandwiches are the closest thing to gourmet we get around here. Cooking’s not my strong suit.”

Hello, opening! He tried not to smirk, but man, she’d just lobbed a big, fat conversational softball right over the heart of the plate. Playing it cool, he casually leaned one hip against the counter. “Then what is your strong suit?”

An uneasy look flickered across her face. She fidgeted, as if she wanted to put more distance between them, but she held her position. He liked that about her. She didn’t back down.

“Well, I’m good with people. Animals love me. And I’m a crack shot.”

That last comment was a bit unnerving, but Kyle refused to back off. “All very fine recommendations, but what’s the one thing you do better than anything else?”

“That’s an intriguing question.” She drummed her fingers against her chin, her eyes studying the kitchen’s ceiling. “Oh! I’ve got it.” She snapped her fingers. Her relaxed, friendly grin returned, stretching ear to ear. “I’m fantastic at making kids smile.”

“How is that a skill?”

“Children often pay the highest price for their parents’ mistakes. They can lose their trust in grown-ups. By winning back a little of that trust and making them smile, I can restore some normalcy to their chaotic lives. That’s why I studied social services, so I can help kids who were dealt a raw deal in the parental lottery.”

Ah, now this was something he could work with. “Not a very lucrative career choice.”

“I’m sure I can scrape by. Besides, money’s not as important to me as doing something worthwhile with my life.”

“All the more reason for you to have a long-range savings plan. A million dollars would make a cozy nest egg.”

Her quick wit showed in the simple, cocky way she arched her eyebrows. “Careful there, counselor. I’d hate for you to break the ground rules and end up sleeping outside.”

Knowing when to push and when to back off, he waved his hands in mock protest before gathering up the cheese and lunch meat. “I’m just making conversation.”

“More like working the conversation.”

He shrugged. “Force of habit.”

“I’d call it compulsive behavior.” She grabbed the platter of veggies and followed him to the table. “So, how about you? What’s your strong suit?”

Getting gals like you to cooperate with my clients’wishes.

Knowing that much honesty wouldn’t win him any brownie points, he returned to the counter and gathered up the remaining sandwich makings before giving a less specific answer. “Talking people into seeing things my way.”

“Guess that’s why you decided to become a lawyer, huh?”

“Actually, I didn’t really hone my communication skills until after college.”

“So then why did you pick law?”

“I wanted to make a lot of money.”

“Really? I kind of figured you grew up with money.”

“Hardly.” He snorted. Her brows crinkled, but he damned sure didn’t want her to continue on that track, so he quickly followed with, “Lower middle class. Money never went far enough.”

It was a true statement but not exactly an honest answer to her unasked question.

“So, if your goal was to be rich, why not become a doctor or an accountant or an investment banker or a rock star or any of a hundred other jobs that don’t have such a negative reputation? Why law?”

He had to give the lady points for intelligence. And perseverance. She’d seen right through his flimsy excuse, and he was sure she’d peck at him till she found the truth. She’d have made a great attorney.

Might as well reward her with a slice of the truth.

“As a kid, I was a bit of a runt and always seemed to get the short end of the stick, so I decided early on that I wanted to be powerful and influential enough to ensure I always came out on top.”

“And do you?”

“Most of the time.”

“Huh.” That single grunted syllable sounded very confused, and he expected more questions. Instead, she began building herself a massive sandwich.

He followed suit, all the while conscious of her mind still silently working its way through something. He knew her curiosity wasn’t yet satisfied. What he didn’t know was whether she would pursue more answers.

Halfway through the meal, she put her sandwich down and turned cautious eyes on him.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”