Page 26 of A Prince for Christmas

I started by asking Nick if he wanted to help me toss a few color-flame pinecones into the fire. Treated with chemicals that burned different colors, the fireplace was suddenly filed with pink, green and blue flames again. Then I held up my favorite book. “That was a lovely poem, but no one can outdo the true poet of the last century,” I joked. “Dr. Seuss!”

Armed with the book to remind me of all the words and another cup of warm, cinnamon-scented wassail, I lifted the mood with How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

By the end of the tale, everyone was laughing again.

After a bit of chit-chat, we all looked at Nick. His arm had been around me all evening, and though he seemed happy and comfortable, he’d hardly spoken.

“Well?” Jenny prompted. “It’s your turn, your majesty. Tell us a Christmas story!”

He looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I remember any.”

I was content to let him off the hook, but the girls weren’t. They fussed, whined, and cajoled until he finally conceded.

“All right, but I don’t have the book. I may not get it all right.” After being assure that no one cared, he refilled our cups of wassail and began.

“This is a story called the Tailor of Gloucester, by Beatrix Potter, if you ever want to read the whole thing.”

The girls’ eyes were glued to him as he started the simple, heartwarming story. The story featured a tailor who had to rely on a group of mice for help in making a waistcoat for the Mayor by his Christmas wedding. Unfortunately, the tailor had freed a group of mice from his cat, and the cat hid a piece of the unfinished waistcoat for revenge. The tailor falls ill, and can’t remake the missing piece, and the mice pitch in to finish for him. The cat eventually gave back the piece he stole, and everyone ended up happy for Christmas.

The girls were enthralled and begged Nick for more details, which I suspected he made up to please them. I found myself tearing up, whether from the story, the wassail, or the company, I really couldn’t say. All I knew was that despite Nick’s deception, I found myself in danger of falling head over heels for him. At any rate, this was shaping up to the best, most memorable Christmas Eve ever.

We all headed upstairs for bed shortly thereafter, slightly tipsy and glowing with the joy of the season, of the love and family around us to warm us through the cold night.

CHAPTER 11

As I made my way down the hall to my childhood bedroom, I forced myself not to look back at Nick. If I looked back, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from inviting him in, and then….

There was no question what would happen next, despite the fact that this had been my room since I was a baby, and my parents were down the hall one way and my little sisters the other. Home had always been separate from the feelings I had for Nick, so I’d never even considered the possibility of inviting a man into my room. But now, those feelings wouldn’t leave. I stripped off my Christmas PJs and climbed between the sheets, knowing the fluffy white comforter Mom preferred would keep my nakedness warm as toast. Or hot as hot sauce, I decided as images of Nick simply wouldn’t leave my mind.

I don’t know how long I laid there, trying all the tricks I’d learned to go to sleep. None of them worked. Not even close. I needed a good, cold shower or maybe an ice-cube bath. I couldn’t quite bring myself to go that route in the middle of winter, so I kept trying to sleep.

It was useless. The more I tried to sleep, the more thoughts demanded attention. The more I recalled the feel of Nick’s lips on mine, the feel of him pushing inside of me, opening places I didn’t know I had, filling me and freeing me and making me forget everything except the simple, amazing moment of connection, of release. For the very first time, feeling that melding, that surrender I’d only heard about, until there was only pure sensation, pure communion.

I refused to use the word love.

Somehow, I shook the feeling off and stopped myself from running down the hall into the arms I longed for. Instead, I fanned my face for a moment and scolded myself. It was ridiculous to get so emotional about Nick. I should be happy that I’d finally learned the difference between good sex and the kind I’d had before.

Nick would be gone in a year or two, no matter what happened now, and I would be left here in my beautiful mountains.

And that was right. Really, it was. He had his duties, his family, far away from my life. My life was here, and that wouldn’t change. No one and nothing would shake my need to saddle Iris and ride her into the mountains with a hunk of cheese, a ripe pear, and a bottle of wine in my saddlebags, along with a few carrots and apples, two with a drizzle of caramel. One for me, because I love caramel apples, and one for Iris, because caramel tastes a little like molasses, and horses love molasses.

Outside the window, I saw a few snowflakes begin to fall. I was too old to think I’d miss Santa if I stayed up, and sleep was clearly beyond me, so I decided on the next best thing.

Climbing out of bed, I started with my feet, putting on a pair of heavy wool socks. Then, a pair of thermal underwear, bottom and top, my clothes. After tiptoeing down the hall so I wouldn’t wake anyone, I padded down to the mud room and pulled on a fleece-lined snowsuit, my favorite snow hat, complete with bunny ears and a nose cover, and my boots and gloves.

The mud room had a back door, but it made an awful, loud squeak. I made my way back to the living room and slipped through the French doors to the glassed-in porch. The porch door was silent as a snowdrift.

I was almost to the outside door when a small sound made me pause. Turning around, I realized that Nick was sitting on the porch, bundled up almost as well as I was. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, hoping he couldn’t see my blush, couldn’t guess that he was the one coming between me and sweet dreams.

“Likewise,” he said. “Where are you off to, Miss Em?”

“I thought I’d take a walk.”

“Care for company?”

Darn. How was that going to help me sleep? Or think?