Her Naughty Holiday Page 5

  Clover pulled a nightgown from off a hanger in the back of her closet. This was what she wore on the coldest nights, ankle-length with full sleeves. A very pretty nightgown if somewhat old-fashioned. Maybe too old-fashioned? The doorbell rang. Too late to change. Clover threw on her pale yellow bathrobe and walked down the steps to the front door. Erick stood on her front porch with a black gym duffel bag over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

  “Nice house,” he said as she let him in. “Didn’t know you lived on Lost Lake. You like it out here?

  “Love it,” she said. “Did you have trouble finding it? The roads can be a little winding.”

  “A little?” He dropped his duffel on the floor by the door and started untying the laces on his work boots. “I swear David Bowie wearing a giant codpiece gave me directions, that’s how winding they are.”

  “Never figured you for a Labyrinth fan. Isn’t that kind of a girl movie?” she teased.

  “It’s a Ruthie movie, which means I’ve seen it approximately...” He yanked one boot off. “One million...” He yanked the second boot off. “One hundred thousand...” He pulled his coat off. “Times.”

  He hung his coat on the coatrack and turned to look her in the face. Not knowing what else to do she just stood there with her hands in her robe pockets trying to look casual when she felt anything but.

  “Did you really get lost finding the house?” she asked, feeling bad she hadn’t given him better directions.

  “Nah. I was just out here last month putting cedar siding on one of the new Lost Lake rental houses. I know these roads pretty well.”

  “That cedar cabin down the road?” she asked.

  “That’s the one. Chris Steffensen hired me to do the job. Although I think I did too good of a job. He and his girlfriend are living in it now. They were supposed to rent it out.”

  “It did turn out great. I came this close to offering to buy it from him.”

  “Why? This place is great.”

  “Feels too big, I guess,” she said. “You know, since I live alone and...”

  “Hold still,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to kiss you before we get weird and awkward around each other. You good with that?” he asked. She was already feeling both weird and awkward so she was glad he mentioned it.

  “Oh. Okay. Good idea.”

  “Also I’m going to kiss you because I want to kiss you.”

  “Even better idea.”

  He put his hands on her waist and she placed hers on his shoulders. She imagined they looked like models on a How to Kiss Like Reasonable Adults public service poster. This was easily the strangest fake relationship she’d ever been in.

  But.

  Strange as it was, as soon as Erick’s lips met hers and she relaxed enough to enjoy the kiss, well...she enjoyed the kiss. He tasted like toothpaste, which made her smile against his mouth. She’d brushed her teeth, too, in anticipation of more and deeper kissing. And the more and deeper he kissed, the more and deeper she wanted him to kiss her. Erick knew how to kiss. He could teach classes on it. She hoped she was making the grade. When he stepped closer and slid his hands from her waist to the back of her neck and the curve of her hip, she had a feeling she was at least passing this test.

  “Well...” he said against her lips. “What do you think? Still weird and awkward?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But less weird and awkward now.”

  “Hmm...a little kissing made it a little less weird. You think a lot of kissing will make it a lot less weird?”

  “Stands to reason,” she said. “I mean, if you run the numbers, that adds up.”

  “So we should probably kiss some more, right?”

  “We should. Definitely.”

  “Definitely, she says. I like a definite woman.” He reached for her again but she stepped back, suddenly awkward again. She couldn’t get over thinking that this was Ruthie’s dad. Ruthie’s insanely sexy dad. Why did Ruthie have such a sexy dad? Work was going to be weird as heck next week.

  “Let me show you around the house first,” she said. “You know, since you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, you should probably know where the bathroom is.”

  “For a lot of reasons.”

  She showed him the living room and he admired the layout and the finish on her bamboo floors. In the kitchen he admired her box window. She would have showed him the deck but it was already pitch-black out and raining. That could wait until tomorrow. He liked the bathroom for the paint color and the nice fixtures. He actually said that—“nice fixtures.”

  “No one has complimented my fixtures before,” she said. “This is new.”

  “I like a lady who knows how to pick a faucet.”

  “Chrome is so dated,” she said. “Copper is classic.”

  “You are speaking my language. What’s upstairs?” he asked. His question sounded so innocent but something in his eyes looked quite devilish. She liked devilish.

  “Oh, another bathroom. Guest room. My bedroom.”

  “You have copper fixtures upstairs, too?” he asked.

  “Of course. I designed the whole place myself.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing the upstairs. You know, for the fixtures,” he said.

  “Right. The fixtures.”

  Clover took him up the steps—which he also admired for the fine grain of the cedar—and showed him her bathroom. He approved. She showed him the guest room. He also approved of that.

  “And here’s my room,” she said. “Kind of a small bed. Hope that’s okay. I can sleep in the guest—”

  Erick had walked to the bed while she was chatting away nervously and before she could get any more words out he’d turned around and fallen onto the bed on his back.

  Her full-size bed suddenly looked like a twin with Erick on it. He wallowed a little on the quilt, rolled left and rolled right, bounced once or twice, then sat up on his elbows and looked at her. She liked the look he gave her.

  “Comfy,” he said.

  “Good. As I was saying...you’re sort of, you know, big—”

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  “Stop. You know what I mean. You are tall and this is a small bed.”

  “I like small beds. You can’t hide from me in this bed.”

  She tucked a strand of hair that didn’t actually exist behind her ear.

  “What makes you think I want to hide from you?”

  “You’re wearing a bathrobe over a nightgown that’s got so much material to it I could make a schooner sail out of it. And you’re doing that grandma thing where you’re holding the lapels of your robe together like you’re afraid I’ll see your neck or some other unmentionable part of your body. It’s very cute, this shyness.”

  “I really want to be sexy and flirty with you, but if I ever knew how to do that, I’ve forgotten how.”

  “You are sexy.”

  “Not like you are.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “How am I sexy?” he asked. “And please, be specific.”

  “You’re very comfortable with yourself. I like that. I’m not as comfortable with myself.”

  “You’re comfortable with yourself at work.”

  “I am, but this isn’t work. And I don’t know you very well. Even though I know you really well. That made more sense in my head, I promise.”

  “You know me as Ruthie’s dad. That’s how you know me, and as dear old dad, you do know me well. Ruthie’s in LA right now and it’s just you and me. Now you get to know the other side of me that has absolutely nothing to do with my daughter even though it’s the reason she exists.”

  “I want to get to know that side of you. I want to get to know that side of me, too. But you know how it is, running your own business.”

  “Mine’s nothing like yours. I can pick my jobs, tell people no if they try to book me on a day I need to be at Ruthie’s school or something. Your place is open seven days a week, eight to eight, and
I’ve never once gone there to drop off Ruthie or pick her up and not seen you there with your nose in a stack of invoices or with a trowel, a hose and a pair of hedge clippers in your hand. You work your ass off.”

  “It’s still there. I think.” She patted her backside. “Yup. I don’t work that hard.”

  “How long have you lived in this house?”

  “Um, two years and six months,” she said.

  “Where is everything?”

  “What?”

  “Where is everything? You have furniture and you have plants. I saw two books downstairs and those were on gardening. No art on the walls, no pets, no souvenirs from vacations anywhere. This place looks like a bed-and-breakfast. A nice bed-and-breakfast but not a home.”

  “I’m not here very often.”

  “Your office looks more like home than your home.”

  “It is my home.”

  “And that’s my point.” He sat up on the edge of the bed. “Your office is lived-in. It’s homey. You have pictures of your family on your desk and a stuffed puppy or something—”

  “That is a sock monkey. A pink sock monkey and his name is Alejandro. Your daughter gave him to me.”

  “Of course she did. You have a messy office. It looks like someone’s home. This house looks like you bought it yesterday turnkey and just brought a suitcase of clothes with you. Do you even have anything in your nightstand? A book? Chapstick? Vibrator?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he reached out and opened the nightstand drawer.

  “I knew it,” he said. “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing. There’s something in there, right?”

  “Yeah. A packet of silica gel that the manufacturer put in here that you never took out. Oh, and this is the receipt for your lamp.”

  She snatched both of them out of his hand and tossed them into the white wicker trash can.

  “Okay, so I’m not home much,” she said. “Don’t you start in on me, too. I get this from my parents.”

  “Whoa there.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I’m not telling you that you need to get married and have kids. I’ve been married. I’ve had a kid. Trust me, neither one is a requirement for happiness. I would die for my daughter. I’ve also come close to killing her a few times. Marriage and kids is another kind of work. What I’m saying is it looks to me like you need to work less, not more. At least for this week. Maybe be a homebody. Maybe be...my body?”

  She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.

  “You’re sexy when you glare at me like that,” he said.

  “I am not. You just said I’m wearing a robe over a schooner sail.”

  “You’re still sexy.”

  “I don’t feel sexy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Prudish. Uncomfortable.”

  “Well, you aren’t prudish. You asked me to spend the night with you.”

  “I think that was your idea.”

  “Beside the point. You liked the idea.”

  “I did. Kind of.” She smiled.

  “But what about this uncomfortable thing? Are you uncomfortable with me? Or are you uncomfortable with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said you liked that I’m comfortable with myself. Are you comfortable with yourself?”

  “If I were, do you think I’d be wearing a schooner sail?”

  “Good point. Maybe let’s lose that. Can we?”

  “You’re trying to get me naked already? That was fast.”

  “Not naked. Not yet, anyway. Here.” He stood up in front of her and unzipped his black fleece Columbia jacket. Under it he wore a white V-neck T-shirt. He tossed the Columbia jacket onto the back of her armchair and then pulled the T-shirt off over his head. “Take this.”

  “What?” She looked at his naked chest in shock. Shock, surprise and pleasure.

  “I want you to put on my T-shirt. If you would. If you wouldn’t mind. I’d appreciate it. You’re really doing me a favor here.”

  “Doing you a favor by putting on your T-shirt,” she repeated.

  “When a beautiful woman puts on my shirt, it makes me feel better about the state of the world. And if the only other thing she has on is her underwear, I’m downright optimistic for the future. And don’t we all need a little more optimism these days?”

  “So I put on your T-shirt and traipse around in my underwear and you’ll feel better about world events?”

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t really know exactly what traipsing is. But I would like you to do it, yes. Whatever it is.”

  “So you’ll feel better about the world?”

  “Right,” he said, nodding. “I’m feeling perkier already.”

  “Perky...that’s what we’re calling it now, are we?”

  “Lose the sail and I’ll be downright cheerful.”

  She sighed and took the T-shirt out of his hands. She tried not to stare at his chest as she did it, but she didn’t try very hard. He had a good chest, nice broad shoulders and the right amount of chest hair—more than a boy’s and less than a Sasquatch’s. Flat stomach, which was good. No washboard, which was better. She would feel really uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man with a six-pack. She much preferred normal bodies over perfect bodies considering just how unperfect her body was.

  “I’ll go change in the bathroom. If that’s okay,” she said.

  “Your pony, your saddle. You change where you want. I’ll be right here.” He patted the bed.

  She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She went to lay Erick’s T-shirt on the bathroom counter but she paused and lifted it to her nose. Cedar. Cedar and soap. She would happily smell that all night. Maybe she could, too, if she didn’t screw this up.

  “Clover?” Erick called out, and she almost dropped the shirt on the floor.

  “Yes?”

  “You mind if I open the window a little? I like night air.”

  She smiled and pressed the shirt to her chest.

  “Me, too,” she said. “Go for it.”

  “Plus if you’re cold you’ll have to come to me for body heat,” he said, and she quietly laughed to herself. This was flirting. Good flirting. The man could really flirt. So could she, couldn’t she?

  “Or I could just get the extra blankets out of the closet,” she called back through the door. Her robe was gone and now the gown.

  “Where’s the linen closet?” he replied as she pulled his T-shirt on over her head.

  “In the hall. Why?”

  “I’m just going to go throw all your blankets out in the backyard. Be right back.”

  She didn’t believe him until she felt his footsteps on the floor and heard a door opening and closing.

  “Oh, don’t you dare,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom to find Erick nowhere near her linen closet. He was on her bed. No. Not on. In her bed. He was in her bed and his pants weren’t. She knew his pants weren’t in the bed because they were on the floor at her feet.

  “Kidding,” he said.