Angel's Lake Box Set: Books 1-3 (Angel's Lake Series) Page 7

  Little hearts adorned the page and Anna could picture her teenage mother, full of hope and dreams and the endless love only a teenager can feel. She wiped one of the tears that trailed down her cheeks, trying to swallow the lump lodged in her throat. Looking at the snow, silent and still, while her hand rest on her mother’s words, she felt an intense wave of calm move through her like a light draft. She felt like she was right where she was supposed to be for the first time in her life. Her eyes wandered through the darkness and rested on Sam’s house. The porch light and kitchen light seemed to be on but that was all she could see from her window. He’d been so quiet the other night, almost stoic. She looked back at her mom’s journal, thinking of the happiness her mom had found with her father. She could imagine her father doting on her mom and wondered if he’d tried to do everything for her as well. Did she mind?

  “Obviously you were independent enough to venture out on your own and marry the man you loved,” she murmured, absently rubbing the leather again. Even if her father wasn’t always so cautious, she felt proud of the knowledge that, like her mother, she’d gone after what she’d wanted, followed her heart. Just sitting here, feeling a mixture of happy and sad was proof that she and her mother had some things in common.

  “Including falling for a man that could make you change your mind about everything,” she admitted to the Christmas tree, loving the glow of the lights. She put the journal down on the couch and scooted off so she was sitting on the floor at the base of the tree. Lying back, she stared up and tried counting the lights to take her mind off of the fact that Sam had come to mean so much to her in such a short period of time.

  “Don’t go there,” she warned herself, eyes crossing slightly if she stared at one light too long. She’d been downplaying her attraction to him even to herself. She’d ignored the tingles and the swell of excitement she felt when she saw him at the start or end of her day. He was her first thought when she wanted to show off something, like the plastic, blow-up snow globe for her lawn that she’d found at Target. It was harder to ignore those feelings with the knowledge that he was single. He didn’t seem all that broken up about Sierra. “No reason to be,” she snorted. Though she looked like a cover girl, the woman wrecked her own good looks when she spoke. No wonder Sam wasn’t sad. She’d gotten good at ignoring the hurt that came when she remembered that he hadn’t told her he was engaged.

  “Who would want to admit that?” she wondered aloud. Kyle had almost backed himself into a corner a few years back with a girl that reminded Anna of Sierra. Men were rarely wise enough to detangle themselves from relationships they didn’t want. Too easy to draw them back in, she thought, thinking of Sierra’s perfect body, angular face, and the way she dressed to show her assets, of which there were many. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to block the image of Sierra pulling Sam back in with her pert body. Lights glowed even with eyes shut, little bursts of color. Christmas was only a week away and as she opened her eyes, she faced both the tree and the truth. She hadn’t meant to, she didn’t want to, she certainly didn’t need to, but it seemed like all she was starting to want for Christmas, and not as just a friend, was Sam.

  “This is stupid,” Sam muttered as he changed his shirt again. He hated games. He’d broken up with really hot women because they played games and he couldn’t stand them. You like somebody, they like you, you hit it off, you get together, you get out when it stops being fun. That’s the way relationships in his life had run until he’d met his independent, adorable, highly infuriating neighbor. Since then, he’d gotten a serious fake girlfriend, been engaged, ended an engagement and now he had to find a way to tell her the truth and convince her that even though he’d been a dick and lied, he wasn’t lying about being crazy about her, that she was all he thought about.

  “How do you get yourself into these situations?” he asked his reflection before running his hands through his hair and considering it good enough. He moved through his house, where he’d lived happily until she’d shown up and made him realize what was missing. His fake girlfriend/fiancée had got him to thinking about whether he wanted those things for real. Anna, who he’d only known for just under a month, had him thinking about it, all the time. He loved the way she tipped her head back and laughed with her whole body. The way she could out-eat him in pizza and drank beer from the bottle. The way she kept every ugly ornament students had given her like they were her private treasure collection. How she’d jumped right in and played in the snow with him and kids.

  She didn’t care about ruining her hair or her nails. Hell, half the time her hair ran wild and she wore pajamas more often than regular clothes. His heart tightened unbearably in his chest. She made him want to do little things for her that he’d never thought of doing for another woman even though if he did anything for her she took it as an affront. She made him laugh and ache. She made him want to decorate his house for Christmas. He liked just being in the room with her regardless of what they were doing. He thought constantly of all the things they could be doing, that he’d like to be doing, to her and with her.

  Thinking he’d over thought this far more than his gender would find acceptable, he grabbed the bottle of wine he’d picked up earlier, the stack of Christmas DVD’s he’d borrowed from Melissa, and made his way through the shoveled path to Anna’s home.

  He knocked harder than he intended then stepped back from the door. When she opened the door, his irritation with himself disappeared. She stood there, staring at him while he soaked up the sight of her weird-ass bunny slippers, Old Navy sweats, and a bright pink tank top picturing a dwarf guy that said ‘I’m Sleepy’. He was sunk. When a woman wearing animal slippers turned you on, you were done.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  “Nice greeting, Prince Charming,” she replied. He laughed, feeling stupid for saying it out loud.

  “Sorry. You look…”

  “Sleepy?” she looked down at her own shirt, where he was trying not to look.

  “No.”

  “Sexy?” she asked self-deprecatingly, making a pitiful attempt to waggle her eyebrows.

  “No! Well, yes. No. Was that a trick question?”

  “Nope. Come on in. I’m going to freeze by the time I figure out what you want,” she laughed that laugh that made him oblivious to the cold, oblivious to anything but her. He could tell her, in exact detail, what he wanted but he didn’t think that’s what she meant.

  He shuffled in behind her feeling like he had the first time he’d been invited into Leslie Knotter’s house when he was sixteen. Her parents had been away and his friends had been pretty impressed that he’d garnered an invitation to Leslie “Knockers” house and wanted a full report. He’d been nervous as hell but he wasn’t sixteen now and needed to remember that for a number of reasons.

  She relieved him of the wine he’d forgotten he was carrying when they reached the kitchen. Opening it herself, she grabbed a couple glasses and poured them each one. The kitchen smelled like fresh paint.

  “Where do you find time to do all this?” he asked, accepting the glass.

  “It’s not like I’m working. I just really want it all done before everyone shows up,” she said, sipping from her own glass. He’d placed the movies on the counter and she jutted her chin toward it.

  “We watching a movie?”

  He needed to tell her the truth but it was tumbling around in his stomach like acid. Her hair was falling softly around her shoulders as she leaned back against the counter studying him over the rim of her glass.

  “You okay, Sam?” The way she said it, the question and his name, like it mattered to her, like he mattered to her had the acid turning to lust. She tilted her head and waited.

  “I’m good. Do you want to watch a movie?”

  She was feeling nostalgic, memories of her mother’s mixing with ones of her own. First love and dates and the romance of running off together coupled with the knowledge that had she not died, her mother got exactly what s
he’d hoped for; an enduring love. She knew part of her father’s protective streak toward her protected himself as well. By not sharing Sophia with her, he didn’t have to relive what was obviously still hard for him to accept. Now, standing in her kitchen, the kitchen her mother had stood in, staring at a man who seemed to be doing his best not to stare at her cleavage, a man who was not attached, a man who made her heart beat faster just with his gaze, a man who she could admit that she cared for, a man that would not try to decide what was best for her but instead, accepted her as she was. A man who didn’t seem all that sad about his break-up judging by the intensity in those gentle blue eyes. She felt the tension pulsing between them as strong as her heart.

  “We could,” she commented, the thoughts forming in her mind as she looked at him, really looked at him. He towered over her but not in an intimidating way. It was an “I-could-swoop-you-up-in-my-arms” kind of way which was making her belly tumble and her pulse pick up pace.

  “Do you want to?” he asked warily. He’d come to her with the intention of wine and a movie clearly. Christmas was just over a week away, she felt really good about where she was physically and emotionally, and he wasn’t looking for a commitment; what man that had just escaped one would be?

  She closed the distance between them and took his wine from his hand. After taking a big gulp, she set hers down on the counter beside his and put both of her hands on his chest. It was solid and warm, like Sam. He was looking down at her uncertainly and she felt a giggle rise in her throat from the mixed look of fear and intrigue in his eyes.

  “I like the way you look at me,” she said softly.

  “How’s that?” he asked unevenly.

  “Like you like me.”

  “I do like you, Anna.”

  “Like you want me.”

  “Anna–”

  “You aren’t getting married,” she whispered.

  “Definitely not.”

  “You’re unattached,” she hinted, running her hands over his grey, long-sleeve shirt that made his eyes take on a similar tone.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not getting married,” she smiled.

  “Good to know. I’m actually very glad to know that.”

  “I’m unattached,” she continued, pushing him back slightly so his back met the counter. His hands remained by his side as though he was waiting for permission to touch her, which she fully planned on giving.

  “For now,” he replied cryptically, his arms reaching up to grasp her hands, settle them, cover them.

  She tried arching her brow the way she’d seen him do but was sure she just looked odd. She wasn’t sure what “For now” meant but at the moment, she truly didn’t care. She was giving him the chance to close the gap between them but he hesitated. She squashed the idea that it was because he was hurting over Sierra.

  “I wish I had mistletoe,” she whispered and he smiled softly, sweetly.

  “What would you do with it?”

  “I’d hang it over your head so I had a reason to kiss you,” she said, feeling nerves push at her boldness.

  “You’re not tall enough to hang it over me.”

  “Hmm. That’s true.”

  “Also, you don’t need a reason to kiss me.”

  His face was closer now but she still had to go up on her tiptoes to touch her lips to his, which she did, gently at first. It was a sweet first kiss, tentative and light with him holding back. She could all but feel the tension coming off of him in the way he kept his body from touching hers other than their hands and lips. He was still waiting for that permission she’d yet to grant him. She slid her arm upward, her hand up past the nape of his neck and anchored her fingers in the wavy locks that he styled carelessly, somehow making him seem sexier. She leaned back slightly, met his glazed blue eyes.

  “You don’t need a reason to kiss me either,” she invited.

  This time, when his lips touched hers, it was not sweet or tentative or light. It was strong and potent and overwhelming. It was his hands moving down, gripping her hips and his mouth devouring hers even as he hitched her up, pulled her tight against his body that had released all that stymied tension into a kiss that caused her world, her brain, and her stomach to tilt.

  His mouth left hers only to nibble at the tender spot just under her chin and whisper her name into her ear in a rough, heated voice that made her crazy. Where had this come from? That was the last coherent thought she had before she pulled his mouth back to hers and took what she wanted, what he’d offered, and more.

  He hadn’t intended to take this route but there was no way he was backing off now. He’d figured a little wine, some conversation, the romance of sitting in the living room with the Christmas lights glowing would make it easier to tell her everything but then she’d looked at him with something that resembled lust in her eyes and still he’d tried to hold back. Now there was no holding back and no going back. He’d wanted her from the moment he saw her fall on her ass in the snow and he wanted her more now as she all but crawled up him with her cute little pajamas and silly looking slippers.

  He pulled her close but couldn’t get close enough so he took the expedient route and lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around him. She nibbled at his ear and caught him off guard so he stumbled slightly as he took them to her bedroom. The right thing to do would be slow down, think about where this was going and what the consequences might be but that was next to impossible with her clamped onto him, returning every kiss, tracing his lips with her tongue and making sweet sighing sounds.

  Her room smelled of her: sweet and subtle. He took a brief glance and saw that it looked like her too: bright colors, soft, puffy bed, pillows everywhere. He lay her down on the bright blue spread and the pillows tipped toward her making her laugh and making his gut clench with longing and something more. Something he couldn’t think about too much right now with her smiling and pliant, lying there waiting for him to follow her down, which he happily did.

  He framed her face with his hands and it reminded him how tiny she was; a tiny powerhouse of pride and self-determination.

  “Anna. It’s hard to breathe when I look at you,” he spoke softly, moving his hands to fan out her beautiful blond waves.

  “You’re pretty breathtaking yourself. I didn’t have you pegged as a romantic,” she returned, arching up and kissing his neck, her hands pulling at his t-shirt.

  He laughed and levered himself up to yank his shirt off over his head, leaving her a couple steps behind.

  “Why did the woman who doesn’t need a man have me pegged as anything?” he teased, moving her tank top up slowly, playfully.

  “I don’t need a man. But I want you. Just you. You’re impossible not to want,” she grudgingly admitted, running her hands over his chest, appreciation obvious in her gaze and her touch. He smiled against her lips, his heart beating hard, like it couldn’t handle all that he was feeling. He leaned in to kiss her neck and trail soft kisses along her collarbone while his hands inched her shirt up and finally off. Staring at her, feeling mesmerized, he took his time to behold her pale, smooth skin. To trail his fingertips up and over. To follow the path his fingers led with his lips.

  He was staring at her so intently she felt herself starting to blush. It had started off as sweet and turned to sexy in a flash. By the time they reached the bedroom it had moved several notches up from sexy and right now, right now it was overwhelmingly tender. More than she’d expected, she realized.

  She really had figured him for some fun and certainly finesse but she hadn’t realized he’d make her feel so treasured. It occurred to her that she’d never felt that way before. Desired, yes. Adored, maybe. Wanted, absolutely. But never treasured or admired the way he was looking at her now.

  She bit the inside of her cheek as he trailed kisses along her tummy while his fingers moved gently over her sensitive skin. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over him the way he was doing to her but she couldn’t move. She could only close h
er eyes and absorb the feeling of him slowly removing her clothes. Her hand moved to the softness of his hair and her breath came out in long, dreamy sighs.

  Her breath hitched, her heart stuttered. No, she had not expected this. She knew better than to wear her heart on her sleeve, or her bra, and this wasn’t supposed to be about her heart. She’d started the night feeling sentimental and wistful, thinking of how to make her first Christmas in her first home a memorable one.

  From the look in his eyes and the heat in his touch, she decided she was definitely on the right track. The way he touched her, looked at her, breathed her in made her feel very much like coming to Minnesota had: like she was exactly where she was meant to be – home.

  Chapter Nine

  Her skin was like satin. He could run his hands over it forever. He needed to find a way to make things right so he could spend his life touching her like this, with her tucked into his side, rubbing his stomach absently, causing unintentional shivers in him, while he stroked his thumb along her arm and pressed his lips to her hair. She smelled like vanilla. And her tree. He smiled at the insanity of finding that an arousing combination. Her hand stroked up over the spattering of hair on his chest, coming to rest on his jaw. He looked down and found her eyes slumberous, sexy, and satisfied. He smiled, leaned in and kissed her softly. Then harder. She pushed up and snuggled her way on top of him so she was looking down at him, her blond curls tickling his face, making him grin. Her breasts brushed his chest, making him ache. He moved his hands to her hips and held her tightly to him. She leaned down this time, kissed him, slowly at first, gently. She pressed herself against him and her mouth became greedier.