A Holiday to Remember Chapter Thirteen

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Thirteen – Rich Jerks

by Christine DePetrillo

Don’t pass out. Do not pass out.

Mitch inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying not to look at the bright red blood marring the white blanket of snow at his feet. He hated the sight of blood, especially his own. His stomach churned, his pulse beat like a heavy metal drum solo in his ears, and his vision grew spotty.

How the hell had he lost control of the chainsaw? This wasn’t his first time using the thing. He’d been cutting his own wood since moving out here with no accidents whatsoever.

You weren’t focused, dumbass.

He tightened his gloved grip on his arm and squeezed his eyes shut as warm blood soaked through to his cold fingers. He’d been thinking of Candy while he sawed into the log. Remembering the soft curves of her naked body, the smell of his soap on her skin, the silkiness of her hair as it wound around his fingers. He’d been so distracted—and aroused—he hadn’t held the chainsaw at the right angle, hadn’t followed the standard procedures in Simple Lumberjacking 101. The blade wedged in the trunk and locked up on him. Before he realized what was happening, the saw kicked back and freed itself. Not expecting the sudden weight of the freed machine, Mitch had lost his footing in the deep, slippery snow. He hadn’t fallen over, but with his fingers still on the trigger, so to speak, the saw blade got him right across the inside of his arm just below the elbow.

He wouldn’t have believed it if he’d watched a video, but there was his blood, staining his torn jacket and shirt, seeping into his glove, and making his stomach flip-flop. He bent over at the waist, willing himself not to puke, not to faint.

Be a man, dammit.

“Oh, my God, Mitch. What happened?” His boots on Candy’s feet came into view as he stayed hunched over, still holding his arm. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he had a second to think he should respond to her before everything faded to black…

When he opened his eyes, he lay sprawled on the couch in his living room, a fire roaring in the fireplace. Candy hovered over him. Night had fallen, and even in the dim glow of the fire, her face was pale. Beautiful, but pale. Mitch tried to sit up, but instantly his arm burned with a searing pain. He had trouble swallowing as he remembered that saw blade grazing his flesh.

“Are you going to vomit?” Candy pressed a cold cloth to his forehead, and he settled back down against the couch cushions.

“Maybe.” He closed his eyes to keep the ceiling from spinning above him.

“Please don’t. Blood doesn’t bother me, but vomit…no way, buddy. Not going to deal with that. If you puke, you’re on your own.”

“So much for a bedside manner.” He pulled the cloth off his face.

“Hey, you’re lucky I hauled you back in here, cleaned that gash, stitched it, and bandaged it. I charge extra for polite bedside banter.” Having said that, she fussed with a quilt she’d thrown over his lower body.

Mitch looked at his arm, which was neatly wrapped with white gauze. He was wearing a fresh flannel shirt with the arm rolled up above the injury. It must have been quite a job getting him changed.

“How did you know what to do?” He couldn’t picture the grown up, sophisticated Candy successfully tending the wounded.

“I have many layers, Mitch. Many layers. Don’t judge a book by its flashy cover.” She winked at him, and just for a second, he saw the girl he’d known all those years ago. That…spark was still there. That indescribable something that had drawn him into his parents’ kitchen every time she came to help her mother work. And she was right about not judging. Life was a journey, and you never knew where people had been or what they were hiding.

“Well, thanks for coming to my rescue.” He almost spilled his guts right then and there about who he was, but she spoke first.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I need to call in a forensic team to inspect the scene out there?” She gestured to the windows facing the back of the house.

He explained his stupidity, leaving out the part about thinking of her. She didn’t need to know she’d compromised his ability to function. Especially not after her comments earlier today about no entanglements. It was his problem he had let her crawl inside him. His problem that she already meant more to him than was safe. His problem that he’d never completely forgotten her all those years ago. She didn’t want commitments or complications, and truthfully, he didn’t need them either.

“Luckily, due to my expert emergency skills, you’ll live.”

When she smiled, Mitch began rethinking commitments and complications.

She shifted on the sliver of couch where she sat beside him. “You know, you remind me of someone I once knew.”

Every muscle in his body froze. And not because he was cold. The fire and Candy’s close proximity kept him heated. Overheated was more accurate.

“When I was a little girl, I knew this boy named Michael who was afraid of blood.”

She looked deeply into Mitch’s eyes, and he could barely breathe. “I’m not afraid of blood,” he managed to say, though his voice sounded horse.

“Mitch. Please. Save it. I saw you. You dropped like a rock back there. I’ve only seen one other male do that. Michael.” She grinned when she said the name. His name.

“He’d been squirting me with the hose attached to the sink in his parents’ kitchen. Being a real pain in the ass. I defended myself with a giant, silver serving tray. Water spilled onto the floor, and clumsy Michael slipped, knocking his head on the corner of the granite countertop. When he touched his head, and his fingers came away covered in blood, he said my name and boom. Right down to the wet floor like a sack full of watermelons.”

She laughed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make fun, but when my mom brought him back around, the first thing he’d said was, ‘I don’t want to die, Marie. I don’t want to die.’”

Mitch remembered the incident. He’d needed stitches then, too, and had to be watched for signs of concussion. He remembered Marie’s tender touch, one his own mother never gave him. In fact, his mother had been more upset that he’d bled all over his expensive clothes and her imported tile floor.

After he’d come home from the emergency room, his father sent him up to bed to rest. Mitch knew his tears had made his father uncomfortable, as did any display of real emotion. With a pounding headache, he’d showered, slipped into shorts and a T-shirt, and eased onto his bed.

A soft knock had sounded on his bedroom door. The door opened slowly, and Candy appeared.

“Are you okay, Michael?” she’d asked, her eyes soft and full of concern.

“Yeah.”

She stood at the threshold. He knew she helped Marie clean the house and had been in his room before, but somehow, seeing her there, just a mere step away, moved him in a way he’d never been moved.

He’d lain there, tongue-tied. When her mother called, she gave a quick smile just for him, and scurried away.

Blinking up at her now, Mitch took a breath and opened his mouth to tell her everything.

“You know,” Candy said. “I really want to slap Michael.”

His mouth snapped shut. “Slap him? Why?”

“Once he went to prep school, his father sold the penthouse apartment and fired my mother. Losing that job crushed her. It was the only thing keeping her going. Work was her life, and it was a while before she found another job. When she died a few years later, he didn’t even come to pay his respects, and I sent the Crawfords a note. My mother cared for Michael a lot more than his own mother did. He knew it too.”

Hurt battled anger in her eyes. “Some guys are just rich jerks, I guess.”

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Twelve

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Twelve – Trouble in Paradise

by Laura Breck

Candy flinched at the words Mitch hurled at her. “Never figured you for a user, Candy.” If he hadn’t slammed the bedroom door when he stormed out, she might have responded impetuously, shouted something just as hurtful. Something she would have regretted.

She hadn’t risen to a high position in the corporate world by overreacting emotionally. Her psychology classes taught her to illuminate, evaluate, and communicate. And that's just what she was going to do.

Using every pillow on the bed to prop herself up against the headboard, she took a deep breath.

Mitch hadn’t liked her flippant attitude. And it wasn’t that she didn’t care… If she let herself, she’d care more than was smart—or safe. Together, they’d been spectacular. But they barely knew one another. Hell, they’d spent more time sniping at each other than cooing and sighing.

It had to be loneliness. Out here in the woods, isolated and leading a rustic lifestyle, he’d latched onto her as a respite from his solitary existence.

Her amateur psychoanalysis made perfect sense. She grinned. Now she needed to test it on him and see if she could smooth out the wrinkles in their temporary situation.

After digging through his drawers and closet, she slipped into fresh backwoodsman apparel. Another flannel shirt, this time green, and a pair of black sweats.

Padding barefoot to the bedroom door, she inched it open and listened. Nothing. She headed down the hall to her room but stopped when she spotted him at his computer.

Before she could say a word, he killed the monitor and stood. “Storm’s let up for a while. Another heavy band is coming through in an hour or so.”

Funny, her heart had dropped at the thought of the storm ending, opening the door for her to leave. It rebounded when she heard there would be more snow. Maybe she should analyze her own loneliness issues before diagnosing his.

He brushed past her. “I’m going out to haul in a couple more trees I felled last spring. We may need more firewood than I have split.”

She followed him. “Can I help?”

Stopping abruptly, he turned. “Yeah. Maybe it would be good for us to get out of the house for a while.” His gaze locked with hers and his jaw worked, as if an apology fought to free itself.

She imagined how he felt. He’d snapped out those cutting words in the bedroom without thinking them through first. Just let his emotions drive him. Where did that come from? Her training pointed to the possibility of a deep scar somewhere in his past.

“Let’s get out of here while we can,” she said. “We’ll talk about…things…later. When we're back inside.”

He nodded and looked away. Turning, he put a hand on the side of her neck. “Sorry, Candy. I didn't mean it.”

“I know.” But they still would be having a long chat later. He wasn't getting off that easily.

It took five minutes to outfit her in a voluminous jacket, waterproof pants, hand-knit mittens, hat, and scarf. She could barely make it out the door wearing the four pair of wool socks that made his boots less floppy.

Mitch shoveled a path to the garage and hauled open the door. “Wait here.” He went inside and manually opened the roll-up door.

Light flooded the space as she peered inside. Tools and gadgets and gas-powered lawn implements.

The roar of a motor startled her. Mitch swung his leg over the seat of a four-wheeler. Major barked and jumped excitedly, circling the vehicle as Mitch drove it out of the garage.

“Hop on.” He grinned at her and patted the seat behind him.

She’d never done this before, but it looked like fun. Waddling over, she put her hands on his shoulders and eased a leg over. He helped her place her feet on the back pegs, and with a roar, they were off.

It was beautiful. He'd chosen a perfect plot of land to call home. His property was thick with trees, and for a short way, they followed alongside a river. He wove his way through the forest as she held on with her arms around his waist, her body pressed to his.

When he leaned back and took them speeding down a hill, she giggled, feeling as excited as Major. The dog rushed ahead, stopped to dig and sniff, caught up again, and repeated the process.

Too soon, they stopped at a clearing where a dozen tree trunks lay piled in a pyramid. He turned off the engine.

She got off, her legs tingling from the vibration of the motor.

Mitch hefted a thick chain from the box at the back of the ATV and trudged through a snowdrift to the pile of trees. Wrapping the chain around one, he rolled it off the pile, and then wrapped another length of chain around the second.

He seemed so competent. Never hesitating, just doing what needed to be done. Candy admired that. In her life, every plan had to be checked and double-checked before taking action. She could learn a lot from this man.

After hooking the chain to the four-wheeler, he said, “Keep Major by you. Move back a ways, too.”

She called the dog, and when he came, slid her hand into his collar. “Let’s go see what’s over here.”

The dog walked along beside her without trying to tear her arm off. “Good boy.” Who would have thought she’d become pals with this slobbering beast?

The motor gunned as Mitch eased the vehicle forward, hauling the two logs behind him. He turned off the engine and walked back to check the chains.

“That you, Mitch?” a voice called from behind them.

Major barked and tugged to get free.

“You can let him go,” Mitch said. He held up a hand in greeting as Major ran toward the voice. “Hey.”

Candy hadn't noticed the small, dark house tucked into the woods. On the porch, a tall man stood, wearing bib overalls and sporting a graying military-style haircut.

The man shouted, “Come over for a drink?”

Mitch cupped his hands around his mouth. “Can’t, Jeb. Gotta put up some wood.”

“Next time,” the man answered, petting Major.

Mitch glanced her way. “Let's go.”

“Who was that?” she asked as she climbed on behind him.

“Jeb Nobell, my neighbor.”

As they followed the four-wheeler’s path back to the house, she thought of her neighbors. Not acres away, but separated by sixteen-inch walls. What a different lifestyle he led.

They made slow progress hauling the load. Major caught up to them halfway back.

At the garage, Mitch unhooked the logs, tucked the vehicle away, and came out of the garage with a chainsaw. Major growled as Mitch yanked a cord and brought the tool to life.

“I know, boy. I’m not a fan of those things, either.” Candy brushed the snow off the dog’s head. “Let’s be useful and do some shoveling.”

Major leapt and snapped at every shovelful she tossed until she was laughing so hard she had to lean on the shovel.

The chainsaw droned and whined from the backyard as she shoveled a path from the front door to the flattened tow truck. Was it his? Or did the garage own it? She hadn’t even asked. She took a peek inside what was left of the side window.

From the backyard, the chainsaw squealed and popped, then died abruptly.

Mitch yelled, low and long. “Shit!”

Major’s ears shot up.

Candy straightened, holding her breath.

“Candy. I need help.”

The dog took off at full speed.

Her heart raced as she plowed clumsily through the snow, encumbered by the big boots and loose pants. Panic flashed through her, and her head spun. Dread choked in her throat.

She came around the back of the house and stopped dead.

Mitch held his arm. The snow was speckled with blood.

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Eleven

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Eleven – The Temperature is Hot and Rising

by Vonnie Davis

The woman had a mouth made for kissing. A man could live happy the rest of his life feasting on her sweet mouth. She was slowly driving him mad. A moan escaped from somewhere deep inside her. In response, he gently bit her lower lip and soothed it with his tongue.

Her wide eyes hazed with passion. “Mi…Mitch,” she murmured against his lips.

Did she say, My Mitch? Had he heard her correctly? He fisted his hands in her hair and blazed a trail of kisses down the side of her face and neck. “You’d better stop me while you can. Tell me to stop, Candy.”

She shook her head, her eyes hiding her emotions.

What was she thinking? Was she afraid to say no?

“What I'd really like…” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed. Slowly she unzipped his jacket and tugged off his knitted cap. “Pick up that wood and stoke the fire in the fireplace. Then take me to the bedroom and stoke mine.”

Did she mean it? His hands slipped under her shirt and found warm skin. Her lips parted as she leaned forward and bit his earlobe. Don’t analyze it, man. Just take her to bed. Slaking his needs—needs she’d stirred to a fevered pitch—was certainly how he wanted to spend the day. The entire day, because once wouldn’t be enough.

With his eyes locked on hers, he stepped back. “If you’re serious, my bedroom is…”

“I know where your bedroom is.” Her eyes were shadowed, full of mystery and emotion he didn’t understand.

His hands shook, and he clenched them on his hips. Yes, he wanted her. In some ways he always had. He frowned at the realization. Mitch had been fifteen, a skinny kid who hadn’t had his growth spurt yet, the last time he saw Candy. His hair was clipped short and tight the way his father liked it. Yet, even at that young age, there’d been something about Candy that called to him. When he visited her in the kitchen, there was a rightness about their time together.

He couldn’t put a label on it. As he stood in front of the adult Candy with her lips swollen from his kisses and her eyes heavy-lidded with passion, he couldn’t describe how the little Candy Wright he'd known so long ago made him feel. Needy. And hell, with her here in his house, she brought it all back. The admission scared the beejeesus out of him.

If she knew who he really was, would she still want him?

“Don’t start anything you don’t plan on finishing. And don’t crawl into my bed if you’re going to regret it later.”

“No promises. No regrets. And definitely no entanglements.” She stepped out of his arms and headed for his bedroom. “Works for me.”

For some reason her remarks grated on his nerves. Bugged the hell out of him. He stalked into the living room and stoked the fireplace, filling it with wood. His gaze drifted in the direction of the bedroom. “Works for me,” he growled in a mocking tone. She was waiting for him. Was she taking off her clothes? He hardened at the thought. Would she be snuggled under his sheets, waiting for him to come to her?

Major nuzzled his hand. He scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Well, how does it feel to have a master who’s nothing more than a booty call?”

The dog whined.

****

Murky afternoon light filtered through the windows of the bedroom when Candy woke. The snow wasn't coming down as heavily. Was the storm over? She stretched under the sheets and comforter, her naked skin sliding decadently across the smoothness. The shower was running, and Mitch was singing. Somehow it all felt right, her being here in his big bed with her skin still humming from his touch, and her system singing its own sultry love song.

He’d come to her like a man possessed, almost as if he were angry. Then he turned tender, his sweetness nearly breaking her heart. She’d never been loved like that, as if she were someone precious. For this one morning, she needed to feel cherished. She needed to feel like someone truly cared.

Mitch had made love to her four times. She stretched again, lifting the sheet to cover her mouth as she grinned with feminine satisfaction.

The things that man did to her. Closing her eyes, she felt heat bloom in her cheeks. She wasn’t aggressive. Normally she dated a man for weeks before sleeping with him, so why… A frown wrinkled her brow. Something about Mitch was different. Familiar, or so it seemed when she caved in to the need to be closer to him.

The shower turned off, but the singing continued. He had a nice voice. The man had a nice everything. She just needed to focus on the fact that this was all temporary. A sexual interlude in the middle of a raging blizzard. How foolish am I for wanting something more permanent?

When the bedroom door opened, Major shot in around Mitch and hopped onto the bed. The dog gave her one canine kiss before turning around twice and flopping onto the comforter with a contented sigh.

A towel hugged Mitch’s waist. He was lean and well-muscled. Those six-pack abs weren’t airbrushed on. She knew all too well the power behind them. He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked with hers, and leaned down for a kiss.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, affectionate.

“Hey, yourself.”

He nuzzled her neck, his wet hair tickling her. “We missed lunch. Hungry?”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Typical male. As soon as the bottom half of your anatomy is taken care of, thoughts move above the belt.”

His hand rubbed over her breast. “And just how many typical males am I going to have to fend off to keep you for myself?” His teeth grazed the column of her neck.

Fear crept into the bed and snuggled between them. “Mitch, we said no promises, no regrets, and for sure, no entanglements.” Her life was in New York. “I’ll be leaving as soon as the roads are clear. You know that.”

He stood and went to the other side of the bed, yanked his jeans off the floor, and stepped into them. The zipper echoed in the silent room. “So what the hell was this? Just some meaningless fu—”

“Don’t use that tone with me. Or that kind of language, either.” She sat up in the bed and tugged the sheets around her neck. “It was what it was.”

He gritted his teeth. “Maybe you could be more specific.”

What did he want from her? Her heart clenched in her chest. They lived two different lifestyles hundreds of miles apart. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “It was an amazing afternoon between two consenting adults.”

He tugged on a turtleneck and snagged a pair of clean socks from a drawer. He put on his socks and boots in silence. “Never figured you for a user, Candy.” Standing, he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Ten

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Ten – Boxers or Briefs?

by Vonnie Davis

Candy took her first bite of Mitch’s homemade blueberry pancakes and closed her eyes. Heaven. Oh my God, curl-my-toes-in-his-socks heaven. He’d even heated the bottle of syrup in a pan of hot water. The sweetness of the warm syrup and tartness of the blueberries struggled for dominance on her tongue. She moaned, opened her eyes, and looked into inquisitive blue ones.

“Well?” His lips twitched. “What do you think?”

She forked in another bite, broke a cardinal rule, and talked with her mouth full. “I think you should come to New York and work for me.”

A faint redness crept up his neck, and he stilled.

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking as soon as the storm’s over, I’ll take you back to New York and set you up as my house boy. You can clean—” She took another bite of pancake. “—cook, and iron my blouses. How are you at catering parties? I throw them from time to time for The Wright Way.” She cut another bite of pancake.

“Candy?” His voice was deathly quiet.

She gazed into stormy blue eyes that held an emotion she couldn’t identify. A bubble of laughter broke from her chest. “I was just teasing.”

He rubbed his temples. “You know what would be great?”

Her giggles ebbed. “What?”

“If you would shut up and eat.”

Not very gentlemanly, but she deserved it. She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I should just…”

“I guess you should just eat.” Mitch extended a pancake to the dog who whined beside him. “You irritate me sometimes.”

“Really? Do you have a short fuse?” What put that odd look on his face? “I’m sorry. I was joking. Don’t get your briefs in a twist.”

He blinked twice. “I don’t wear briefs.”

She forked in another bite and eyed the last pancake on the platter. “Ah, a boxer kind of guy.”

Mitch raised his mug and took a long gulp. She watched his throat move and wondered what would happen if she snaked the tip of her tongue over his Adam’s apple and down his torso. Good Lord, what had come over her? Being sexually aggressive had never been her style. She eyed that last pancake again. Maybe she'd better resist. Evidently blueberries were an aphrodisiac.

“Don’t wear boxers either.” He rose and carried his dirty dishes to the sink.

Her gaze followed his very magnificent behind.

He turned and came back for more dirty dishes. Plates in hand, he leaned over and placed his lips next to her ear. An involuntary shudder went through her.

“Commando all the way, baby,” he whispered.

Candy’s gulp sounded like a gong in the silent kitchen. He was naked under those jeans? Her eyes darted around the small kitchen, trying to focus on anything but his crotch. Her tummy did its fluttery thing and her nipples evidently loved the commando visual because they were certainly standing at attention.

Mitch poured hot water into the sink and started washing dishes.

“I’ll wash.” She stood, attempting to regain control of her sensually overloaded system. “You cooked. I’ll wash.”

“Are you sure you know how?” His voice sounded strained, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

While Mitch headed outside to the woodpile, Candy stood at the sink and gazed out the window. Major jumped through the snowdrifts blown deep by the wind. His tongue lolled out, catching snowflakes. The dog was like a spoiled child. She shook her head and rinsed off the silverware. Her gaze cut to Mitch who'd loaded his arms with wood. The man was moody today. Maybe cabin fever was getting to him the same as it was with her. Still, if he remained silent and surly, their snow prison could get mighty uncomfortable. Which was why she was better off alone. Bad enough she had to deal with men flexing their egos at work; there was no way she would happily endure one in her private life.

Michael. The old memory resurfaced every time she did dishes. She smiled. A cherished memory she unfolded and relived when emotional needs upset her. How many times had she taken out the few memories she had of Michael, then folded them into a compact square and tucked them back into her heart?

Her memories were from a fragile time in a girl’s life, when hormones were just beginning to bud. Emotions bounced from one extreme to another. She'd been too old for childishly familiar things and not old enough for others. And, oh how she’d missed Vermont. Making friends in Manhattan was next to impossible, except for Michael. While she washed dishes, the son of her mother’s employer kept her company. He had a way of getting her to talk about herself, making her believe he was truly interested. Endearing qualities in a gangly kid—kind, gentle, caring, and incredibly honest.

Then suddenly Michael was gone from her life.

Twin tears tumbled down her cheeks.

For some reason, that loss left scars as deep as the loss of her childhood home and watching her mother work herself into exhaustion cleaning houses for rich people.

The door opened and Major bounded in, shaking off snow. Her vision was tear-blurred when she looked at Mitch.

“Candy?” He bent to lay the logs on the floor and removed his gloves, tossing them onto the pile of wood. “What’s wrong?” He approached and cupped her face in his hands.

“N…nothing.” She sounded like a needy woman. Damn, grow a backbone here.

He leaned in and kissed away her tears. “Honey,” he breathed on a moan as his lips covered hers. “I didn't mean to snap at you. I…I’ve got a lot going on right now. Forgive me?”

His kisses grew deeper, more passionate. Tender nips at her lips turned to mind-numbing kisses that made her system do twitchy things. She wrapped her arms around his neck and poured all her emotion into the kiss. For a brief few seconds she wondered just whom she was kissing—Mitch Johnson or Michael Crawford, III?

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Nine

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Nine – The Odds Were a Million to One

by Laura Breck

What were the odds? Mitch couldn't begin to calculate as he gazed into Candy’s familiar hazel eyes.

Like a bolt of lightning, it had all come back to him when she'd said her mother’s name. Marie Wright had been the cleaning woman at his parents’ penthouse apartment in Manhattan. She'd occasionally brought ten-year-old Candy with her to help in the kitchen during parties. Odds had to be a million to one that twenty years later he'd run into the adult version of that scrawny girl.

His lips curved into a smile.

Candy smiled back and blinked those same incredible eyes he’d stared into the first time he’d met her. During his twelfth birthday party, he’d snuck into the kitchen and found her elbow-deep in dishwater. She’d been startled, frozen like a deer, her large eyes watching him warily, obviously intimidated by the boy in a suit and tie.

He’d pulled up a stool and started talking. Asking her where she went to school, where she lived, what she did for fun.

It’d been fifteen minutes before his mother found him and hauled him back to the boring, family party. But in that short time, he’d succeeded in getting sullen little Candy to relax and talk to him. She’d even laughed a couple times.

“Mitch?” Candy’s voice dragged him back to the present. She slid her hands up his sides, over his abs, and across his chest.

“Yeah?” He tugged her closer, spreading his feet slightly to better fit them together. Mmm, how they fit. Perfect.

As she gazed into his eyes, her irises darkened, and her arms wrapped around his neck, pushing her breasts tight against his chest. “I'd like that.”

Her warmth seeped into him, sending spirals of desire that centered low in his belly. His brain couldn’t decipher what she was talking about. So he gave up trying.

Pressing his lips to hers, he breathed in her scent. The woodsy smell of his bath soap clung to her skin, melding with her sweet, feminine musk. The combination did even more damage to his lucidity. He fought to cage his lust, struggled to keep his hips still.

Soft, full lips. The kiss last night had been fueled by whiskey. This morning, it was pure desire that kindled his need to taste her. He slid his tongue along the crease of her lips.

She sighed and opened her mouth in invitation.

He accepted, twining his tongue with hers. Exploring every crevice of her mouth, her soft cheeks, her straight, sharp teeth.

Candy’s hips moved, and he groaned. He needed to pick her up into his arms, carry her he-man style. This time, into his bedroom.

As if an internal warning engaged, her stomach rumbled. She giggled, her tongue still gliding over the ticklish inside of his lip.

He slowed the kiss and pulled back, looked into her eyes, and murmured, “Pancakes first?”

“Yes, please.” Her shining eyes and perfect smile hit him like a snowball to the head.

This was Candy. The little girl he’d teased and talked with and grown to care about. Their occasional kitchen visits had ended three years later when he’d left for prep school. His parents had downsized to a smaller apartment, and Marie had been let go. His gut squeezed when he recalled his distraught reaction to losing Marie—and Candy.

Anger surged when he remembered his father’s dismissal of Mitch’s feelings, with parental advice to move on, Michael. A phrase—and name—he would come to detest.

Mitch released her but bent for one more quick kiss. “Come on. Let's get something into that empty belly of yours.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he guided her to the kitchen. “Fresh blueberries in your pancakes?”

Grinning up at him, she taunted, “You don't have blueberries. It’s the middle of winter.”

He laughed. “I made a run to Atlanta before Christmas. Blueberries. Real maple syrup. Butter.”

Her stomach rumbled again. “Stop.” She put her hand on her stomach. “I'm going to start drooling like Major.”

At the sound of his name, Major trotted into the kitchen and sat at Candy’s feet.

After a few seconds, she bent and patted his head. Awkwardly, but at least she wasn’t cringing from the dog anymore.

“What about you, boy? Do you like blueberries in your pancakes?”

His tail swished back and forth across the floor like a windshield wiper in a deluge.

Mitch watched the two of them, startled by the warmth spreading from his heart, creeping its way through his chest to disrupt his breathing. Was it the homey feeling of a sexy woman wearing his clothes and petting his dog? Or was it Candy in particular who invoked some kind of freakishly un-macho nesting instinct in him?

She stood and looked at her hand as if it might sport hair, fleas, ticks, and assorted microscopic health hazards. Looking at him, she forced a smile and went to the sink, taking care to wash away at least one layer of skin.

He grinned and headed to the fridge, pulling out eggs, milk, and the promised blueberries. From the cabinet he hauled down flour, baking powder, and salt.

Candy sidled up next to him. “You're making them from scratch?”

“Can't afford the boxed mix on my salary.”

Her smile wavered. Was she feeling sorry for him? Or did she suddenly realize she’d been flirting with a man who hovered on the low end of middle-class?

He handed her a bowl and a fork. “Two eggs. Beaten.”

“Yes, sir.” She took the bowl and the egg carton to the island and got cracking.

Digging in a drawer for measuring spoons and cups, he asked, “Do you cook?”

“I used to. My mom taught me. But lately, I haven’t had time.” She beat the eggs with the fork. “Do you cook a lot?”

“No. I work long days and eat sandwiches, mostly.” Up until ten years ago, he’d never even turned on a stove. His parents employed a cook, and when Mitch had moved out to attend college, they’d sent the cook to his on-campus apartment four times a week to prepare meals for him.

When he joined the family business, he hired a full-time chef, equipped to cater his weekly client dinner parties, Saturday evening social gatherings, and noon staff meetings.

Scraping something crusty out of the one-cup measure, he smirked. Times had sure changed. Circumstances reversed. For both of them. They’d each gone from one extreme to the other.

He glanced at his unexpected guest. How, and when, would he tell her who he really was? Did he even have to tell her? Or would this be just a hit-and-run for Ms. Candy Wright? The thought spiked his blood pressure.

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Eight

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Eight – A Cup of Hot Chocolate and a Dose of Hot Mitch

by Brenda Whiteside

Candy stared at her boots. They wouldn’t fit over Mitch’s wool socks, and even if they did, the thought of walking five miles in a foot of snow on those heels slipped over the border of ridiculous. She snatched them from the floor.

“Mitch?” She stepped into the hall.

“Out here.”

She followed his voice to the living room and stopped in her tracks at the sight of him. His back was to her, the glow from the fireplace bathing him in golden light. Hunched over a box beside the tree, he pulled a tangle of lights into the air. A waft of hot chocolate teased her nose, dizzying her with memories of her childhood. She and her mother had always had hot chocolate and a fire while decorating the tree in Vermont. In New York, they hadn’t had a fireplace, but the hot chocolate tradition had continued. She didn’t do Christmas like that anymore.

He didn’t look up. “You all set to head out?”

The boots hung heavy in her hand. She clutched them tighter and took a deep breath to quell the nostalgia threatening her resolve. “I either need to borrow a pair of your boots, or a hatchet.”

“Excuse me?” He looked over his shoulder.

She lifted the boots. “The only way to walk in these babies is to remove the heels.”

“Right. You’re going to mutilate a pair of…what? Three hundred dollar boots?”

She snorted. “They cost a lot more than that. Do you have a pair of boots I can use or not?”

“Candy.” He pivoted around and sat cross-legged, the tangle of lights covering his knees. “If you don’t like the sweats and shirt—you do look damned good in plaid—I’ll let you pick out whatever you want from my limited wardrobe. You don’t need to get lost in a snow storm.”

Blond hair lit up in a halo around his head while the devil danced across his face. But the sweetness in his gaze, staring right through her, wiped away all ambition for striking out on her mission.

“I could use some help getting these lights off the tree and packed away.” He gestured to the mess in his lap.

“I’m not much good at holiday stuff.”

He stood, letting the lights fall around his feet, and stepped over them. In two strides he faced her; his hands gently rubbed the tops of her shoulders. The heat beneath her shirt increased ten-fold, and she sighed.

“You’ll get in the mood once you’ve had my hot chocolate.” He slid his hands to her arms and caressed. “Look at me, Candy.”

She swallowed, inhaled his warmth, and tentatively inclined her face to meet his gaze.

“You don’t have to be alone for the holidays.”

“How do you know—”

“Just a wild guess.” He brushed her hair from her cheek, his fingertips trailing sparks along her neck and collarbone on the way to her arms.

“Maybe I like being alone.” She jutted her chin, ignoring the signals sent by her body. “Besides, I wasn’t alone. I make a point of traveling, visiting friends. Just because I’m not a homebody—”

“There are all kinds of lonely. Believe me, I know.”

Why was he looking right through her like that, like he knew something about her? In less than twenty-four hours, the man seemed to think he knew everything from her liquor consumption habits to her lack of holiday cheer.

She'd turn the conversation his way, and see how he liked being under the microscope. “Are you lonely, Mitch?”

His tongue swiped along his lower lip and the corner of his most kissable mouth ticked up. “With the weather and the state of my truck, it doesn’t look like I’ll be joining any friends tonight. But I have you.”

The thump in her chest vibrated down her body. His hands slid from her arms, clasping her waist and drawing her near. Her breath came in short puffs. His closeness stole the air from her lungs. The heat building beneath her sweat pants had nothing to do with the crackling fire.

“How long has it been since you’ve decorated a tree? Then days later fought with strings of lights while packing them away?”

She shrugged.

“I’ll let you take the star off the top.”

A wash of memory engulfed her. She dropped her forehead to his chest. The last time she’d topped a tree with a star was with her mother.

He hugged her tighter, bringing his body against the length of hers. His mouth brushed across the top of her head, and he murmured something into her hair. It sounded like poor little Candy, but it had to be her imagination.

She should move away. He’d get the wrong impression. Or he’d get the right impression; feel her pounding heart, her breasts taut against his chest. The magnolias and bourbon she'd enjoyed at her college roommate's holiday celebration couldn’t compare with a real Christmas tree, a wood fire, a cup of hot chocolate, and Mitch.

“Why are you hurrying back to New York?”

“What difference does it make?”

He rubbed her back, a soothing kind of motion without anything expected in return. But the unintentional friction he created flushed her face. She turned her cheek into his chest.

“Are you hungry?”

Oh, God was she. “Mmm…” The boots fell from her hand, and she encircled his waist. The muscles beneath his shirt tensed.

“I make killer cook stove pancakes.”

Oh, hungry for food? Her stomach answered for her. She leaned back to look up at him, thrusting her hips forward. What she felt against her belly nearly stopped the words in her mouth. “Pancakes and hot chocolate?” She strained to keep a straight face.

“Sound good?” His voice, husky and low, shivered her thighs.

“Sounds a lot better than a five-mile walk in the snow with hacked off boots.”

“I want you to have an old fashioned, holiday morning. The best way to start is with pancakes. Then we’ll finish putting away the decorations while we drink hot chocolate. We’ll haul the tree outside and get chilled.” His hands rubbed her back, caressed her waist. “But I’ll keep the fire going…uh…in the fireplace. How does that sound?”

“An old fashioned, holiday morning.” This man had more than gorgeous looks. “Why?”

His gaze roamed over her face, his lips parted as if to tell her some huge secret. But he stopped. “Just because.”

A Holiday to Remember Chapter Seven

(jump to the first chapter)

Chapter Seven – The Morning After

by Jannine Gallant

Candy woke slowly, head pounding to the rhythm of a jackhammer. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to swallow, and her stomach rolled. Breathing in short pants, she waited for the nausea to pass. Not certain if she’d be forced to make a speedy dash to the bathroom, she pried open her eyes.

Pine paneling and an assortment of rustic furniture spun in her blurred vision. Definitely not her black lacquer Japanese style bedroom set. Where in the name of God am I? She peered toward the window. A swirl of snow slapped against the pane, and memory engulfed her. Wrecked car, know-it-all tow truck driver, candlelit room, bottle of bad whiskey. Check.

She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples, trying to remember what came after the whiskey. A tree had fallen on his truck. That had made an impression—and not only on the truck. She’d slipped her arm around his waist, sympathy taking the edge off her anger at the whole stinking situation. Had he kissed her? The rest of the night was a blur. Firm, cool lips, soft sheets…

She sat up abruptly, the movement reducing her to tears. Cold air hit her naked body. Staring down at her bare breasts, she let out a moan. Did I sleep with the man? Surely she hadn’t stooped so low. Surely she’d remember something so supremely stupid. Candy Wright didn’t have one-night stands. For crying out loud, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, it had been so long!

Sliding out of the bed, she tripped and sprawled across something warm and furry. Eye to eye with the dog, she blinked. Major blinked back and gave her a swipe with his tongue. His doggy breath sent bile surging up her throat. Bracing shaking arms against the hardwood floor, she fought it down.

“Kill me now and get it over with,” she hissed. The dog licked her again.

“Oh God.” Rising to her knees, she tugged Mitch’s wrinkled shirt and sweat pants out from under Major. Her bra and panties were beneath the bed. Teeth gritted, she dressed and cracked open the door. The hall was empty. She dashed to the bathroom.

After brushing her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in the medicine cabinet and washing her face, she was almost convinced she’d live. If she’d done the deed with hunky Mitch, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The man was infuriating. And sexy. He’d swept her off her feet, literally and figuratively. She wasn’t used to men who didn’t try to impress her, who ordered her around, who couldn’t care less that she was the CEO of a successful Manhattan advertising agency. Of course he didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about her.

Taking a breath, she opened the door and padded down the hall to the kitchen, the smell of coffee drawing her like a magnet. Mitch turned and smiled, holding out a steaming cup. Her hand shook as she took it. Wrapping her fingers around the mug, she breathed in the fragrance of heaven. “Is the power—“

“Nope. And the generator isn’t big enough to run the furnace and the stove at the same time.” He pointed at the green, two-burner stove set up on the table. “I dug out my old propane stove and made camp coffee.” He eyed her up and down. “You don’t look so good.”

She grimaced and took a sip. “Thanks.”

“It’s not that you aren’t gorgeous, even in my wrinkled clothes, but your face is a peculiar shade of green.”

“Gee, just what every girl wants to hear after a night spent with a whiskey bottle.”

His grin broadened. “And I thought you could hold your liquor.”

“I can. I’d feel a whole lot better right now if I hadn’t held it.”

“Well, Candy Cane, next time you should learn to just say no.”

She nearly choked on her coffee. “Candy Cane! Candy Cane! No one calls me that.”

“Hey, you told me I could last night.” His voice dropped low and sexy.

A hard knot formed in her chest. Tears burned behind her eyes. “My mom was the only one who ever called me Candy Cane.”

He cupped her chin in his hand and stared down at her. His voice turned gentle when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She wanted to lean into that hand, let it caress away her troubles. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped away. “You didn’t.”

“Your mother must be a special woman.”

“She was.”

His gaze never wavered. “Tell me about her.”

“Nothing to tell. She worked until the day she died so that I could have a better life.” She bit her lip. “Uh, Mitch, there are a few holes in my memory of last night. After the tree fell, everything is a bit of a blur.”

Color spotted his cheekbones, and her heart stopped beating.

“I may have taken advantage.”

She felt for the chair behind her and sank onto it. “What happened to all that talk about chivalry?”

“It was just a kiss. Well, maybe not just. Actually, it was an incredibly hot kiss.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my God, I thought you meant…” She let out a long breath. “I’m afraid I don’t remember it.”

“Not exactly flattering. I must be losing my touch.”

His self-deprecating expression made her smile. “Is there still hot water for a shower?”

“As long as the gas for the generator holds out.”

She stood and turned to leave the room, but his words stopped her.

“Candy, you said your mother worked to give you a better life. What did she do?”

She looked back at him, and the tightness in her chest returned. “She cleaned houses for rich people. Do you have an issue with that?”

His eyes were hooded, completely unreadable. “Nope. It’s an honest way to make a living. What was her name?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“No reason.”

She didn’t believe him for a minute. “Marie Wright.”

He ran one long finger along a scratch in the granite countertop. “You said you grew up in Vermont.”

She pressed her fingers against her temples. “For the first ten years, then we moved to New York.” Meeting his gaze, she wondered at his odd expression. “Is the inquisition over?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

Sure he didn’t. Between her pounding head and her embarrassment at having kissed him, she refused to wonder why he was curious about her mother. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to go get my suitcase.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “How are you going to do that? It’s probably five or six miles back to your car. And in case it slipped your mind, my truck looks like a metal pancake.”

“I remember. I plan to walk.”

He snorted. “There’s a foot of snow out there and more falling.”

“I don’t care. I want—no—I need to change my clothes. Anyway, I could use the fresh air.”

His smile was slow in coming and made her stomach flutter. In a good way.

“Suit yourself.”