Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas

“Where were you?”

His eyebrows rose at her tone. “Excuse me?”

She combed her fingers through her hair. “Sorry. I had a bad weekend and when you weren’t here and there wasn’t a note—” She fisted her hair in her hands this time. “I just panicked and thought you must have been in an accident. I’m sorry.”

He shucked his overcoat. “No. I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have let you know I would be going home for weekends and not returning until late Monday.”

“It’s almost quitting time. You shouldn’t have bothered to come in at all.”

He laughed. “You are in a mood.”

She sighed. “Harry had a bad weekend.”

“I’m not surprised. He lost his mom and spent a month in foster care. When he was finally given to you—someone he knew and felt safe with—he was told his dad was dead.”

His instant understanding made her so damned glad to see him that she was sure it showed on her face. They might be different. They might even be unsuited. But he absolutely understood her and what she was going through with Harry.

She busied herself stacking the pages she’d just pulled from the printer, turning her face away so he couldn’t read anything into her expression. “It has been an awful month for Harry.”

“My offer of dinner is still open. Remember, I promised Randy that I’d look in on you.”

“And you can. But I—” She glanced over and totally lost her train of thought. He always looked positively yummy, but two days in the sun had given his skin a warm glow. He looked rested, relaxed and so damned sexy that her heart skipped a beat. Her own skin flushed with color but not from the sun, from being flustered and tongue-tied. God, she was an idiot. Not just attracted to a man who was out of her league, but also unable to hide it.

“I—”

His eyes narrowed. “You what?”

She pulled in a breath that caused her breasts to swell beneath her warm pink sweater and Cullen suddenly realized what was going on. She hadn’t kicked him out of her house on Friday because she was moody or tired or even unwilling to talk about her husband. She liked him. He’d worried all damned weekend for nothing.

He grinned. “You want to orchestrate my visits, don’t you?”

She wouldn’t look at him again. “I just want to make sure that you’re not around so much that Harry misses you when your work here is done.”

He stepped closer. “Ah.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

He slid his index finger under her chin and lifted her face so that she would look at him. “No, I’m just curious about why you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Of course you are,” he said, holding her gaze, noting that her pretty green eyes had flecks of gold and that her skin was a smooth, perfect pink.

He gave her points for not yanking herself away from him and breaking eye contact, even as he wondered why he was forcing himself into a situation that was totally wrong. He knew as well as she did that two people who were this attracted couldn’t have a lot of contact or they’d spontaneously combust one day and do something they’d both regret. Yet here he was, pushing.

“Or I could simply be too busy with Harry to add another thing to my life.”

Her gaze flicked down for a mere second as she said that and he knew that if she wasn’t out-and-out lying, she was at least only telling him a half truth.

Before he could stop himself or once again remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t be insinuating himself into her life, he said, “We both know this isn’t completely about Harry, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? On Friday night you were fine and then suddenly you kicked me out. Let’s start there.”

She pulled away from him and rounded her desk so she could stand behind it, almost as if she wanted protection. “You’re a playboy. Anything between us would mean very little to you. But even if you weren’t, you’re too much like my husband.”

He’d been all ready to argue her concerns about him being a playboy until she mentioned her husband. “What?”

“You’re like my husband. Greg was a wonderful person. And he always seemed to know the right thing to say…the right thing to do. So much so that I never argued when he made all our decisions.” She finally glanced up from the papers she was stacking. “That cost me the chance to have a child of my own with him. Had I pushed for the one thing I truly wanted, a baby, I wouldn’t have been alone when he died. I would have also proven myself a capable parent. Nobody would wonder whether I could care for Harry.”

This time Cullen took the step back. “You’re saying you don’t want me around me because I’m like your husband?”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Yes. No. Because for me this isn’t about you and me. It can’t be. It has to be about Harry.”

“Why?”

“You don’t think he’ll miss you when you return to Miami?”

And suddenly he got it. They were talking about Harry, but she was also talking about herself. She would be hurt when he left. She would miss him.

He took another step back. Away from her. The events from Friday night came back to him in a rush. He couldn’t help himself from being romantic with her, from touching her, from wanting to kiss her again. Now, she was telling him she didn’t want to be involved with him because he reminded her of her husband. Which should—and did—put the appropriate fear in him. Tighten his chest. Make his heart speed up and his stomach tighten. She was seeing him as a husband.

And he was a bachelor. She’d even gone so far as to accuse him of being a playboy. He liked Miami. He loved nightlife. He wasn’t wild about responsibility so he chose his responsibilities carefully.

But the way he was behaving around her reminded her of a husband.

He took another step back. “I’m helping Harry through a tough time in his life. He needs me because he knows I understand him because my mother also died recently. But by the time I leave, he’ll be adjusted to you, secure with you. He’ll miss me a bit, but not for long.”

“Really?”

The trust in her eyes nearly was his undoing. No one had ever looked at him like that.

He pulled in a breath. Took another step back. He’d never wanted anyone to look at him like that.

“Take it from a guy who had to get adjusted to a lot as a kid. Once Harry feels secure with you, I could fall off the face of the earth and he’d be okay in a day or two. It’s in this transition time as he’s adjusting to living with you that he needs someone he thinks understands, and that’s why I’m making myself available.”

She smiled and nodded, and Cullen turned on his heel, eager to escape to Paul McCoy’s office, but he stopped and faced her again.

“For the record, I would never deliberately hurt anyone.” It was as close as he could come to telling her that he understood her fears. She didn’t want his advances, didn’t want to get too close because she would be hurt when he left.

He got it.

Now he just had to stop himself from acting on all the impulses that raced through him whenever she was around.

Harry’s mood improved greatly on Tuesday morning. Wendy made him oatmeal, sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar and promised him a trip to the mall after school. She didn’t downplay his sadness or his fear of being alone, but rather, tried to show him he was secure with her by feeding him and taking him to school. She promised him the trip to the mall to demonstrate that life went on by making plans for the future.

Walking into work, on time, she experienced a swell of pride until she glanced into Cullen’s office and saw him sitting behind Mr. McCoy’s big desk.

She knew she’d scared him silly the day before by telling him he reminded her of her husband. She’d done it on purpose. He liked her. She liked him. Their chemistry could go off the charts if they let it, and he didn’t seem to have a practicality switch or understand that they were opposites. He might be the if-it-feels-good-do-it type, but she wasn’t. If they got involved, he’d have a good time, maybe be sad when he returned to sunny Miami, but in twenty minutes on his boat he’d forget all about her. While she’d be left in snowy Pennsylvania with a broken heart.

No thanks.