A Miracle For Christmas

Sweeping the duvet aside, he swung himself off the bed, and on legs that threatened with every step to give way under him, made his way across to the ensuite bathroom.

Once there, he planted his palms on the counter and stared starkly at his reflection in the mirror.

‘Ye gods!’ The man staring back at him looked like a criminal from an America’s Most Wanted poster. Black hair sticking up every which way, jaw scruffily bearded, eyes shot with blood—the red striations on the whites forming a lurid contrast to the steel blue irises.

He needed a shower and a shave...desperately needed a shower and a shave...but he was pretty sure he’d keel over if he tried to stand upright in the shower stall. First he had to get something in his stomach. And a cup of coffee would hit the spot.

He closed his eyes. Coffee. He wanted it so damned badly he could swear he smelled the fragrance in the air, aromatic and devilishly tantalizing...

‘...and the storm that hit northeastern Vermont late yesterday, shows no signs of letting up...’

Damn! Stephanie frowned as she snapped off the Sony ghetto blaster she’d clicked on when she’d come through to the kitchen ten minutes earlier. Pouring herself a mug of coffee from the six-cup pot, she crossed to the patio doors facing what was possibly the back of the house. She stared out, though she might as well have saved herself the bother, she thought bleakly. There was nothing to be seen but white. And Grantham Towing, she surmised as she took the first sip of her coffee, would be as likely to send someone down the treacherously steep Tarlity side road in this blizzard as they would send one of their trucks to the moon.

So here she was, stuck in a remote lodge with a—

‘Well, hello and good morning.’

Stephanie swiveled, convulsively swallowing the coffee she’d been swirling around her tongue, and stared wide-eyed at the man standing in the doorway.

McAllister.

If indeed he was McAllister...

He was tilted forward, and he had a hand pressed flat on either jamb, at shoulder level. He was wearing what seemed to be the same pair of jeans he’d had on the night before; certainly he was wearing the same scowl. And he looked for all the world like one of America’s Most Wanted...but at least he wasn’t carrying an ax. Not that he would have needed a weapon to overpower her, Stephanie reflected as her gaze skimmed over the sleek muscles cording his arms, his dark-haired chest, his powerful thighs—

She flicked her gaze up and noticed with dismay that his eyes—slightly bloodshot but keen—were fixed with interest on her own thighs, revealed beneath the hem of her short nightie. She’d awakened so early she’d decided she’d be safe enough to have a mug of coffee before showering and getting her clothes on. A mistake.

‘I hate to be a nuisance,’ she said, ‘but you did indicate last night that I could stay over.’

‘You’re real.’ His mouth quirked up at the edges.

‘Real?’

‘I thought you were Mrs. Claus.’

She raised an incredulous eyebrow.

He dropped his arms and slumped sideways against the doorjamb, the brown of his tanned skin accentuated by the crisp white of the door’s painted trim. ‘The red coat, the red-and-white hat...the sack of toys...’

‘Oh.’ Stephanie chuckled. ‘My duffel bag. No, it’s just got a few clothes and my toilet things... not toys. The teddy bear—well, I stuffed him on top at the last minute.’

Her host scratched a hand over his chest, and yawned, showing a glimpse of perfect white teeth. ‘I thought, this morning, that I’d been hallucinating last night, but I wasn’t. Your reindeer—’ he corrected himself ‘—your van...it’s in a snowbank?’

‘I lost control coming down the hill, ending up slewing off to one side and got stuck at the bottom of your driveway. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I saw this place—all the lights on, and every sign of being inhabited. But I admit I began to panic when—’

‘When I took so long to answer the bell.’ He pushed himself lazily from the doorjamb. ‘I seem to recall telling you to make yourself at home.’ His gaze drifted to the mug in her hand. ‘I see you took me at my word.’

Stephanie indicated a second mug on the table. ‘I was going to pour you some shortly and bring it to your room.’

‘Had I but known...’ Amusement lurked in his voice.

Was the man flirting with her? Good Lord, that was all she needed! In a prim tone, she said, ‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Just cream. Thanks.’

He was halfway to the nearest chair, when he started to wobble.

Stephanie frowned. ‘Are you all right? You look—’

He started to keel over.

In a flash she was at his side, grasping his arm, trying to steady him. Might as well have been a tug nudging a listing freighter! she thought as she felt his powerful body sag against her slender frame...yet her support seemed to do the trick. He steadied and threw an arm around her shoulders. The arm was lifeless, and so heavy she thought she might crumple under its weight. She didn’t.

‘Should have stayed in bed,’ he muttered.

‘Let’s get you back upstairs then.’ Her breath came out in a series of strained grunts. ‘Here, turn around.’

The maneuvre was a complicated one and they somehow got all tangled up, she trying to guide him one way, he starting to turn the other. He lost his balance, and she was unable to keep him from toppling backward, and still under the weight of his arm, she found herself reeling with him. They ended up together, over by the door, their progress halted abruptly when they clattered against the wall. His back was to it, his arm was around her as if a trap.

And her palms were pressed against his chest.

She could feel the erratic hammering of his heart under her fingertips; could feel the texture of his hairroughened skin, slick with sweat. She thought she felt his eyes on her. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

She jerked her head up. His head was angled back against the wall, but he was slanting his gaze down toward her, through lashes that were almost closed. Gorgeous lashes. Thick, as black as soot, and turning up ever so slightly at the ends—

‘My,’ he drawled, ‘you are a pretty one!’

She could barely see his eyes; his eyelids were drooping even as he spoke. He was, she realized, on the verge of flaking out

‘And you,’ she retorted as she hauled his arm even more securely around her shoulders, ‘are not!’

His chuckle had a cracked sound. ‘And that’s the truth—’

‘Let’s get you through to the other room and onto a sofa—’

‘Up to bed...’

‘No, you’ll never make it. For heaven’s sake, just do as you’re told.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

They staggered together through to the living area, where Stephanie steered him over to the long sofa where she’d spent the night. Seconds before he toppled sideways onto it, she whisked off the duvet she’d left there earlier. His head landed on the pillow; and even before it did, his eyes were closed.

‘Cover me,’ he said in a fast-fading voice. ‘I’m freezing...’

Stephanie was only too glad to throw the duvet over him. She had never seen such a magnificent male body, and it seemed almost voyeurish to stare, though she did...for just a moment...before she covered him. Caveman type, she decided, with his overly long hair, unshaven face, rugged features, powerful physique; a type that had never appealed to her...but he seemed harmless enough.

‘Your coffee,’ she said; ‘would you like me to...’