Marriage Under the Mistletoe

Two sets of silver eyebrows rose. “Is he married?”

“No.”

Another look—this one a little triumphant. “Straight?” Flora, the more to-the-point sister, asked.

Evie smiled to herself. “Yes.”

“You should find yourself a man.” Flora again, never one to hold back, spoke as she smoothed out her perfectly groomed chignon. “Your son needs a father.”

Heat prickled up her spine. “He has a father.”

Flora tutted. “A ghost,” she said. “The same ghost you cling to.”

Evie’s hands stilled. “Not a ghost,” she said, probably a little sharper than she would have liked. But she knew the sisters’ cared about her. Telling it how they saw it was simply their way. “Just memories of a good man.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it,” Amelia said with a soft smile. “Now, when are you going to finish decorating the house?”

Good question. With Christmas only weeks away Evie usually had all the trimmings up. Granted, the beautiful cypress tree stood center stage in the living room and looked remarkable with its jewel-colored decorations and lights. Noah usually helped her with the rest of the garlands and tinsel she always scattered around the big house. But this year was different. He and Callie had their own home to decorate, and Evie hadn’t wanted to bother her brother simply because she wasn’t tall enough to finish decking the halls.

“I’ll get to it as soon as I can,” she promised, thinking the ladder in the shed out back would do the trick.

She returned to the main kitchen and left the sisters with their breakfast. She was just stacking the dishwasher when the door connecting the guest quarters and the stairwell leading to her private residence opened. Her sleepy-looking son emerged.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“We’re out of milk upstairs,” he muttered, eyes half-closed.

Evie opened the refrigerator and took out a plastic carton of milk for her cereal-addicted son. “Try and make it last past this afternoon,” she teased.

“Sure,” he said. “Hey, can I have twenty bucks? There’s a computer gaming party at Cody’s tomorrow night and we all want to pitch in for snacks.”

Evie raised one brow. “What happened to your allowance this week?”

He shrugged. “I could say the dog ate it.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“But we should get one,” Trevor said, swiftly employing his usual diversion tactics as he draped one arm across her shoulders and grinned. “It could be a guard dog. Especially for those times when I’m not here and you’re all alone.”

“I’m rarely alone,” Evie said. “We have a seventy-five-percent occupancy rate, remember?”

“I remember. So, about that twenty bucks?”

“If you help me put up the rest of the Christmas decorations tonight, I’ll consider it.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to—”

“No help, no snack money.”

Her son’s dark hair flopped across his forehead. “Okay,” he agreed begrudgingly. “But I’m not wearing a Santa hat while I do it like you made me last year.”

“Spoilsport.” She checked her watch. “You better go upstairs and finish breakfast. Cody’s mother will be here soon to drive you to school.” She took a few strides toward him and gave his cheek a swift kiss. “And don’t forget the milk.”

As one young male raced out of the room, another walked right on in through the back door. Only this young man set her pulse soaring. It should be illegal for any man to have arms like that. The pale blue T-shirt did little to disguise the solid muscle definition. She spotted a Celtic braid tattoo banding his right biceps. Oh, sweet heaven.

Scott smiled when he saw where he’d ended up. “I think I took the wrong door.”

Evie managed not to look him over as if he were a very tasty hot lunch. He looked as though he’d been running hard. His hair, a kind of dark hazelnut color, stuck to his forehead in parts while sweat trickled down his collarbone.

“You should find yourself a man.”

Flora Manning’s words returned with vengeance. Should she? Was that what she wanted? Sure—Evie was attracted to him. Any woman would be, right? He was young and gorgeous and had somehow kick-started her sleeping sexuality. But it was just lust. Just attraction. And attraction was...well, pointless if it wasn’t backed up with something more, wasn’t it? With Gordon she’d had more. She’d had love and loyalty. A marriage. Happiness.

Evie swallowed. “It’s a big house. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I don’t remember much of the tour you gave me last night, I’m afraid,” he said, just a little breathless.

“Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded and took in a few gulps of air. “Like a baby.”

Evie had a startling image in her head of long, powerful legs and smooth silk-on-steel skin wrapped in cotton bedsheets. She cleared her throat in an effort to stop her thoughts from wandering any further. “Breakfast will be upstairs.”

“You’re joining me?”

“Er—yes. I just have to see to my guests.” She quickly explained about the Manning sisters.

“I’ll see you upstairs, then,” he said, and chose that moment to grab the hem of his T-shirt and wipe the sweat from his face. Evie’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she caught sight of the most amazing abs she’d ever seen. A six-pack. A twelve-pack. She could swear he’d heard the rush of breath from her lips and felt the vibration of her heart pounding like an out-of-control jackhammer.

“Yeah...okay.”

He disappeared through the door that led upstairs, and it wasn’t until she heard his footsteps on the top of the landing that she left the kitchen and returned to the dining room. The sisters were still sipping tea and peeling the crusts off toast, and Evie collected a few dishes and told them she’d be back later for the rest. When she was done in the main kitchen, she headed upstairs. She could hear water running in the guest bathroom and relaxed fractionally. Trevor was placing his empty cereal bowl in the sink when she entered the kitchenette and pantry. They heard the familiar beep of a horn outside.

“That’s my ride. I gotta go.” Trevor grabbed his knapsack and left on fast feet.

Evie filled the jug and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. By the time Scott reappeared about ten minutes later, she’d chopped fruit and set the small table she usually only shared with her son.

Faded jeans fitted over his hips, and the black T-shirt did little to disguise the breadth of his broad shoulders and flat stomach. His feet were bare, his hair freshly washed. He smelled clean and extraordinarily masculine. The mood felt uncomfortably intimate and Evie suddenly regretted agreeing to allow him to stay in her home. Downstairs would have been better. Downstairs was about business. Upstairs was her private world. A world she shared with her son. A world no man had entered for ten years.

He looked around and then pulled out a chair. “This is an incredible house,” he said easily. “You have good taste.”

And I’ll bet you taste good...

She cleared her throat and held up the jug. “Coffee?”

“For sure.” He sat down. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

Desperate to change the subject, Evie grabbed a couple of slices of bread. “So, how do you like your toast?”