The Heart of Christmas. Brenda Novak

on what appeared to be a very long driveway, and that’s about it.”

      When Eve’s mind conjured up the same memory, she barely managed to stifle a groan. “Noelle Arnold.” That Noelle, of all people, would know what they’d done made it so much worse....

      “You don’t like her?”

      Her tone had revealed more than she’d intended. “Not a great deal. Not since she seduced her sister’s boyfriend, then claimed she was pregnant so he’d marry her.”

      “Small towns...”

      She didn’t like the way he said that. It seemed to imply that they were too backward to behave with as much sophistication as city folk. “I happen to be close friends with Kyle, the man she duped. Of course I’d feel defensive.”

      “You can feel defensive all you want, but this Noelle person did us a favor. She could easily have left us to our own devices. I certainly deserved it. I haven’t gotten that wasted in—” without bothering to ask, he rummaged on the nightstand and helped himself to one of her elastic ties so he could pull back his hair “—a couple of years.”

      She could’ve pointed out that if Noelle had really been looking out for her, she would’ve seen to it that she got home safe and alone. But then she remembered making out with this man in the backseat of Noelle’s car. No wonder Noelle had dropped them off together. Now she was probably running around, telling everyone she could think of that Eve Harmon, of all people, had picked up a stranger and taken him home to bed.

      His eyes narrowed. Something about her had caught his interest. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      She combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to untangle it. While she had far bigger concerns than her appearance, she couldn’t entirely resist her female vanity. Because her hair was jet black and her eyes blue, people often told her that she reminded them of the Disney version of Snow White. Some red lipstick added to the effect; she’d often capitalized on that when she needed a costume.

      But maybe he didn’t find Snow White all that appealing. He didn’t seem too impressed.

      “Nothing. Why?”

      “You’re blushing.”

      “No, I’m not.”

      “You absolutely are,” he said. “Did I say something to embarrass you?”

      She stopped trying to act as if discovering him in her bed was no big deal. “This whole situation embarrasses me,” she admitted. “I’ve never taken anyone home from a bar before and, unlike you, I won’t be leaving this town any time soon. That means I’ll have to face all the people who witnessed my licentious behavior.”

      He raised one eyebrow. “Licentious?”

      “Promiscuous, debauched. Whatever you want to call it. Waking up with a total stranger isn’t something that’s normal for me.”

      He studied her, his gaze...thoughtful. “Last night you told me it was your birthday.”

      “And?”

      “Quit being so hard on yourself. From what I could gather, it was a rough one. And with the holidays coming up, and knowing you’re going to spend another year alone, you said it wasn’t likely to get any easier.”

      Damn. She’d shared that? Hadn’t she revealed enough when she took off her clothes? “My birthday was fine. Spending another Christmas as a single woman is fine. Everything’s fine.” How could she complain when she’d always had it so good?

      She could hear the scrape of his beard growth as he ran a hand over his chin. “What’s that saying about protesting too much?”

      “I’m not protesting.”

      “If you say so.”

      Holding the sheet in place, she slid a few more inches away from him, but she couldn’t go far. She was about to fall out of bed. He wasn’t bulky, but he had wide shoulders and he didn’t seem to be concerned about giving her space. “If you know it was my birthday, you remember more than getting dropped off here,” she said.

      “It’s coming back to me.”

      Bits and pieces were coming back to her, too. How she’d noticed him watching her from where he sat alone at the bar. How she’d danced for him in such a seductive manner, reveling in the appreciation she kindled in his eyes. How he’d eventually gotten up and walked over to join her. How he’d danced with her, so cautiously and respectfully even though the sparks between them felt like they were about to burn the place down.

      How she’d slipped through the crush of bodies on the dance floor to catch her breath outside and he’d followed....

      There were still things she couldn’t recall, however, and his name was one of them. Had he ever told her what it was?

      “Who are you?” she asked.

      Without even a stretch or a concluding peck on the cheek, he climbed out of bed and started to dress.

      At least she wouldn’t have to ask him to leave, she told herself. It looked as if he planned on walking into the sunset—or sunrise since it was early—as soon as possible. But this wasn’t New York or Los Angeles. He couldn’t just hail a taxi. She lived in the Sierra Nevada foothills of Northern California in one of the many mining towns along Highway 49 that had sprung up when gold was discovered a century and a half ago. It was a community that hadn’t changed as much as one might expect in such a modern, technologically advanced world. And if the lack of urban conveniences in Whiskey Creek wasn’t enough of an obstacle, she lived several miles outside town. There was very little traffic out here and no buses or other public transit.

      He’d have a long hike if he intended to make his way back to Whiskey Creek without catching a ride from her.

      Or maybe he planned to call someone. He had a cell phone and, for the most part, there was service.

      “You won’t answer?” she asked.

      “What difference does my name make?” he finally responded.

      That set off alarm bells, since one of the other things she couldn’t recall was whether they’d used any birth control. He wasn’t one of those weirdoes who went around purposely infecting people with HIV, was he?

      “You don’t want me to know who you are?”

      Having donned his boxers, he jammed one leg and then the other into a pair of well-worn jeans. “I don’t see any purpose in exchanging personal information.”

      So he’d already decided he wasn’t going to see her again. She hadn’t been entirely sure she wanted to see him. He hadn’t been that friendly so far, but she felt a measure of disappointment all the same. She had enjoyed what she could remember of last night—and what she remembered more than anything else was the way he kissed. It was so good, so completely bone-melting, that she grew warm just thinking about it. A man who really knew how to kiss a woman seemed like a nice place to start a love affair.

      “What if I need to reach you?” she asked. To tell him he’d given her herpes, for instance.

      He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, but last night...I shouldn’t have let it go the way it did. I knew better and...I wasn’t going to, but...God, you can dance.”

      “So you do have one nice thing to say....”

      “I told you not to take what we were doing seriously, but...I’m sure that’s all forgotten. So I’ll say it again. I’m not interested in a relationship.”

      He couldn’t even take her to dinner before calling it quits?

      Obviously her luck with men wasn’t improving—even when she opened herself up to a random encounter.

      “Why?” she asked. “Are you married?” At this point, his rejection was so unequivocal