Marriage Under the Mistletoe. Helen Lacey

from the box.

      Scott placed the ladder in the doorway. He took the wreath and held out his hand for nails and the hammer. “Just tell me where,” he said, and climbed up the steps.

      Evie stood still and gave instructions. Not so easy. When he reached the top step, her eyes were directly in line with his groin. Not easy at all. She looked toward the floor and examined the rubber stops at the bottom of the ladder and counted the markings on the timber floorboards. She looked anywhere but straight ahead. But temptation grabbed hold of the blood in her veins and she looked up and almost lost her breath when he raised his arms to knock in the small nails and his jeans slipped fractionally, exposing that glorious, beautiful belly, and her breath suddenly caught.

      “Evie?”

      She jerked her head up so fast she almost snapped her neck. As he looked down at her, Evie knew she’d been caught staring.

      He smiled. “I need another nail.”

      She pulled another from the box and dropped it into his outstretched palm.

      “That should do it,” he said, and came down the steps. “Anything else?”

      Evie dived for the box and withdrew another green and bronze festive wreath. “This,” she said, taking a breath. “On the front door.”

      While he attended to the door, Evie looked inside the box. Mistletoe. The everlasting plastic type sat in a bunch at the bottom of the box. The last thing she wanted were sprigs of the kissing plant hung up at every doorway. She shoved it back into the corner of the box and pulled out three lengths of long green garland instead. “This goes in the front living room,” she explained. “Along the picture rail.”

      “Lead the way.”

      She tucked the box under her arm and walked toward the front room. There was no sign of her guests and she assumed they’d all retired for the evening. It took about fifteen minutes to hang the remaining garlands. When they were done she adjusted a few lights on the Christmas tree and pretended not to notice his movements when he folded up the ladder and placed the hammer and tape back in the box. The tree really was spectacular—now all she needed to do was begin her shopping and put some parcels beneath it.

      “What about this?” He pulled something out of the box.

      The mistletoe.

      In his hands, the small plastic greenery seemed to be laughing in her face. She should have tossed the stuff in the garbage bin. “I don’t think so.”

      He grinned. “You’re sure?”

      “Positive.”

      “Not even one piece?”

      He was still grinning. Probably amused by the look on my face. Evie tried to keep her voice light. “If that goes up I’m sure the Manning sisters will be chasing you around the house for the next three weeks.”

      He smiled, showing off that dimple, making her head spin. He twirled the bunch of plastic sprigs between his fingers. “I guess it’s fortunate I have a thing for older women.”

      “It’s still not a good idea,” she managed to say, and fought back the feeling she was treading into deep water. But she felt the awareness in the air—it pulsed between them, catching them both, fanning the flames of an attraction she somehow knew was unmistakable.

      He smiled again and tossed the item back in the box. “It’s your call.”

      Yes, it is. “Well, thank you for your help. Good night.”

      His brows rose fractionally. “Are you sending me off to bed, Evie?”

      She colored wildly, feeling the heat, feeling the air thicken. “Of course not. I just—”

      A door slammed at the back of the house. Trevor. Evie made a sound of almost palpable relief. “That’s my son. I should go and see if he’s eaten.” She turned and walked away but stopped at the threshold. I’m being such an idiot. When she turned back, he was still standing by the box. “Peppermint tea,” she said loosely, shaking her shoulders. “I’m making some if you’re interested.”

      He smiled and the lethal dimple showed itself again. “Coffee would be better.”

      “Sure...coffee.”

      Evie headed upstairs and felt him in her wake. Trevor was standing by the open refrigerator when she walked into the kitchenette. “Hungry?” she asked her son.

      Trevor shook his head. “Not anymore,” he replied before he shoved a piece of cold homemade pizza into his mouth.

      Scott was behind her and she heard him laugh softly. Evie ignored the way her belly rocked at the sound and concentrated on her son. “I can make you some—”

      “I think I’m gonna crash,” Trevor said.

      Stay. But she didn’t say it. Didn’t dare admit she needed her son’s presence to shield her from her ever-growing awareness around Scott. She bid him good-night and waited until she heard his bedroom door shut before filling the jug. Scott sat in a chair, the same one he’d occupied that morning.

      He looks so good in my kitchen. I could get used to him being in my kitchen.

      Evie rested her hand on the stainless-steel appliance. She was appalled by her thoughts. And knew she had to say something. “Scott, I—”

      “Evie, I—”

      Both stopped, both looked, both had something to say. “You go,” she said quickly.

      He nodded and placed his elbows on the table. “Okay. Something is happening here.”

      She caught her breath. “It is?”

      “You know it. Downstairs...and earlier today...it was there again.”

      Denial burned on the edge of her tongue. But instead she nodded. She wanted the truth out there. Truth always worked.

      “So, what should we do about it?”

      Evie’s cheeks burned. “Do? Nothing. It’s just...”

      “Attraction,” he finished for her. “Yeah...and it’s powerful, Evie.”

      He was attracted to her? Evie could barely contain the emotions and feelings running riot through her entire body. She’d suspected it. She’d certainly felt it herself. But to suddenly know this gorgeous man felt it, too, made her head spin.

      She drew in a breath. “We have to keep it in perspective,” she said evenly. “I mean, you’re only here for three weeks. And you’re Callie’s brother. And I’m hardly your type.”

      That made him smile. “You know my type?”

      “I imagine someone your own age would suit.”

      “You’re an ageist?”

      “I’m a realist,” she replied, feeling hot all over because she was sure he was laughing at her. “I’m... And you’re... It’s a crazy idea.”

      “Probably,” he said quietly. “But sometimes crazy ideas are the most fun.”

      Evie skinned burned. “I’m not looking for fun.”

      His eyes widened. “What are you looking for?”

      “Nothing,” she said flatly. “I have everything I need.”

      “Then you’re one of the lucky few.”

      “What does that mean?” she asked quickly.

      “It means that most of us are looking for something—friendship, success, love, sex.”

      Evie swallowed hard. “And you’re looking for sex?” she replied, and couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.

      “As much as the next guy, I suppose.”

      It