Jingle Spells (13 page)

She snatched her hand away as though she'd been burned. “I'd rather not say.”

Ethan smiled. “I'd rather you did. Your reluctance is intriguing. It must be something ghastly if you're this determined not to share it.” He paused. “Is it another bird name, I wonder? Like Falcon?”

She shot him a you've-lost-your-mind look. “Falcon Lark? Really? That's your best guess?”

“Not my best guess, just my first,” he told her as he opened the front door. “And I've got the rest of the week to keep trying.”

It was ridiculous how happy that made him, the excitement that tripped through his blood. He had a sense that something fantastic was near, but was still hovering just shy of his grasp.

It was the challenge, Ethan told himself. Nothing more. It was his determination to succeed.

And if he made a Christmas convert of her and finally managed to take her to bed and get her out of his system, all the better. He smiled.

Two Larks with one stone.

Chapter 7

W
ith the “rest of the week” comment echoing in her ears and the faint hum of an alarm bell ringing along with it, Lark stepped through the huge double doors. If she'd been impressed by the house, then “blown away” was a more accurate description for the view that greeted her outside.

It looked like a scene straight from a greeting card.

Moonlight glittered with a luminous, almost otherworldly blue glow over rolling hills blanketed with snow. Enormous spruce trees, equally covered, their branches sagging beneath the weight, cast dark shadows in the night. Swans glided across a large lake, its center illuminated by a tall carved-ice fountain shaped like an angel tree topper, and twinkling lights from what had to be Gingerbread shimmered in the valley below like diamonds on a jeweler's cloth. She smiled, charmed despite herself.

“That's incredible,” she said, giving her head a disbelieving shake.

“What? Hortense?”

“The fountain.”

“Yes, Hortense. My brother Dash named her this year.”

They descended the steps to what she presumed was his car, a sleek black Jaguar that suited him, and she waited while he opened her door. “So it's a tradition, then?”

“Yes.”

She missed traditions. She'd established her own, of course—she always worked at the local soup kitchen on Christmas Day—but it wasn't the same as having one with a family. Though she'd tried to forget, she remembered that much about their early Christmases. Decorating the tree, making cookies for Santa the night before, eating a big pancake breakfast after opening presents. A needle of pain pricked her heart at the memory. She hadn't allowed herself to think about that in years.

“I named her last year,” Ethan announced as he slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition, and then slipped the gear shift into drive.

“Oh?” she asked, thankful for the distraction.

“Yes.”

“So who was she last year?” Lark asked. “Trixie? Tiffany? Celeste?” she drawled, immediately wishing she could pull the words back into her mouth.

He turned briefly to look at her, his expression a combination of surprise and delight. “None of the above, though I think it's sweet that you've been paying enough attention to my social life to read about the dates I take to charity events.”

Crap.
She feigned shock. “Those are the names of the women you've dated? Really? Wow. I had no idea.”

He merely smiled. “Right. I'm sure you didn't.”

“So what was her name then? The fountain angel?” she asked, eager to move past
that
particular topic.

He negotiated a bend in the road, one that left an unobstructed view of the little town as they grew closer. The lights were brighter and the colors more vibrant, and she found herself inexplicably leaning forward, eager to see more.

“Flossie.”

A startled chuckle broke up in her throat and she turned to look at him. “Flossie?”

“Yes, Flossie,” he said with a nod. “What's wrong with Flossie?”

“Not a thing.” Lark looked ahead once more, surprised to see that they were just coming into town. Wide sidewalks lit by candy cane−like gas lamp posts lined a street called Yuletide Drive, and live evergreen garlands festooned with big bows and curling ribbon were draped from posts, storefronts and even the grills of local cars. Christmas lights spun around trees, dripped from eaves and sparkled in windows. Life-sized nutcrackers marched along the streets, small people dressed as elves darted to and fro, looking busy and important and Christmas ornaments dangled from...
everything
.

An overwhelming wave of joy suddenly swept through her, followed by a delight so profound she could feel it expanding in her chest. It was the strangest sensation, a combination of relief and odder still...homecoming? There was a familiar shimmer to the ornaments, a certain glow and, as they passed a pair of tall wooden toy soldiers stationed outside a store called Baubles, she could have sworn that one of them actually smiled at her.

But it couldn't have. Because it wasn't a real person.
Logic,
Lark,
she reminded herself, struggling not to panic.
Use your brain.
What was she doing here again? Why had she agreed to come here with him? It didn't make any sense. “Is something wrong?” Ethan asked, his voice heavy with concern.

She started. “No, no. I'm fine. Just hungry,” she improvised.

She could feel his gaze on her, the weight of it as he studied her, but thankfully he didn't push it. “Well, we've come to the right place, then,” he said as he pulled the car into a space. “You're going to love the Crystal Snowflake. It's got the
best
cocoa in Gingerbread.”

Lark chuckled. Unless it was laced with something alcoholic, she didn't think plain old cocoa was going to take the edge off. Between Ethan's perpetual sexiness pinging her sonar, the conflicting emotions about being here in Christmas Land and the niggling sense of something being not quite right, she was going to need something much stronger.

Ethan's fingers suddenly landed against her chin, turning her toward him, and his mouth met hers for the briefest of seconds, sending shockwaves of heat through her body. Her blood instantly boiled up beneath her skin, her breath caught in her throat and pleasure bloomed through her, petals of sensation so intensely hot and sweet she didn't know whether to kiss him again or weep. Probably both.

Lord, she was a mess—an absolute mess—and it was all
his
fault.

Seeming every bit as startled as she felt, he drew back to look at her, those singularly gorgeous green eyes lacking their usual irreverence and bravado. “I'd say I was sorry, but it would be a lie,” he told her, his voice low and husky. “I've wanted to do that for years.”

And she'd wanted him to do that for years. Lark knew that under ordinary circumstances she'd offer some sort of flippant remark, one that would be witty and slightly cutting, but for reasons that escaped her, the comment wouldn't come.

She swallowed, her gaze drifting of its own volition to his mouth. Her belly gave a little drop and longing ballooned inside of her. “Years, you say? Really?”

He nodded.

She hummed a regretful breath. “Seems like you'd have given it a little more effort, then. Maybe lingered a little—”

The smile that suddenly curled his lips did the same thing to her toes, and he leaned in, a mere hairbreadth from her mouth. “Critiquing me, Chickadee?” he asked, his strong fingers slipping into her hair. “You telling me there's room for improvement?”

A thrill whipped through her. “I'm not sure yet. It didn't last long enough for me to make a proper assessment.”

“Hmm. I understand. I'll give it another go and you let me know how I do, okay?”

The next instant that supremely beautiful mouth molded to hers, slipped across her lips with expert skill—soft but firm and oh so hot—and his tongue dipped into her mouth and tangled around hers. The rest of the world just fell away, shrinking until there was nothing left but the two of them and a fog of desire so thick she could barely catch her breath.

A few moments later, hands trembling, Ethan drew back and rested his forehead against hers. “Well?” he asked, his voice slightly strangled. “How did I do?”

How'd he do? He'd practically set her underwear on fire and turned her into a melted puddle of goo. Parts of her were aching that she didn't know could ache, bits of her body were shaking that had never shaken before. And he had the presence of mind to ask for marks on his performance when she could barely string a coherent thought together?

Considering all of that,
she
was probably the one who had room for improvement.

Lark pulled in a breath and pretended to mull it over. “Better,” she said. “Definitely better.”

Ethan chuckled. “Hardly the ringing endorsement I'd hoped for,” he said. “But I'm eager to improve and you know what they say about practice.”

Yes, she did. And, heaven help her, she looked forward to working on his technique.

Chapter 8

“S
o you're giving her the guided tour this morning, eh, son? What's first on the agenda?” his father wanted to know.

“You should take her to the Cup of Cheer,” Belle said, slathering jam on her biscuit. “They have the
best
peppermint cocoa,” she confided with a look at Lark.

“You can get good cocoa anywhere in Gingerbread,” Dash argued good-naturedly. He loaded a stack of bacon on his plate before passing the platter to Cole. “Don't waste your time there. Bring her out to the reindeer farm. They're beautiful animals. Very sweet. Most of the time,” he added grimly. “That Rudolf...”

“Still having trouble with him?” their mother wanted to know. “I warned you about that fan club, but did you listen?” She shook her head.

Having paid attention to the Evergreen family chatter for the past few minutes, Lark's eyes widened. “Rudolf has a fan club?”

“He does,” his mother confirmed, adding sugar to her cocoa. “And it's gone straight to his head. You wouldn't think fame could go to an animal's head, but it has.” She tsked under her breath. “I don't know what you're going to do with him. But the deer is out of the barn now. It's too late to close the door.”

“I've got it under control,” Dash assured her.

“You should bring her to the offices,” Cole suggested. “Show her Evergreen Central.”

“Or,” Taryn interjected with a secret smile, “you could actually
ask
her what she'd like to do and let her make the choice.”

Every pair of eyes at the table swung to Lark and waited expectantly. Her cocoa cup halfway to her mouth, her hand stalled. “Er...”

Ethan decided to save her. “She's my guest,” he reminded them. “I have every intention of making sure that she stays entertained.”

And if kissing her counted as entertaining her—and since this was his rodeo and he was making up the rules, it did—then he was already ahead by leaps and bounds. It had taken every iota of willpower he possessed to actually let her go through to her own room last night. And honestly, even now he couldn't explain why he'd done it. Why, when she was
right there
and for all intents and purposes, his for the taking...he'd let the evening end with a kiss.

He'd never thought of himself as particularly old-fashioned or chivalrous, but that was the only explanation his mind could produce that made any sort of sense. Watching her as they'd driven into town last night—seeing her expression go from awestruck wonder and delight to abject fear and despair, seemingly in a heartbeat... He couldn't imagine what she'd witnessed that could have put that haunting look on her face, but it had done something to him, seeing her that way. She was scrappy, a fighter. The Lark DeWynter he knew didn't back down, didn't run, but she would have last night if it hadn't been for the cocoa.

He was sure of it.

And that was ultimately the problem. He'd tricked her into coming here. For good reasons, he knew, but...

He couldn't trick her into his bed.

That was a different kind of betrayal, one he suspected would again put that terrible look he'd noticed on her beautiful face last night. He wouldn't be able to handle it, knowing he'd hurt her like that.

So he wouldn't. And that would be his penance. Not having her, when everything inside of him yearned with a need so powerful and magnetic that he literally
ached
with it. His gaze slid to her, over the lovely slope of her cheek, the upturned corner of her ripe mouth, and his groin tightened painfully, his chest squeezing with some peculiar emotion.

Fair enough, Ethan decided. Fair enough.

* * *

Having been to the Cup of Cheer for the peppermint cocoa—Belle had been right, it was divine—and out to tour the reindeer farm (where she thought she'd seen Rudolf's nose blink a few times, and yes, the animal had definitely developed a bit of an ego) Lark was presently strolling around Ethan's studio, which was housed on the very top floor of Evergreen enterprises.

It was not at all what she'd expected.

In the first place, it was a tall, sleek metal-and-glass building. One would assume it would be outfitted with commercial-grade carpet, serviceable paint, efficient work stations and low-tiled ceilings.

But, no.

Much like the rest of the village, the interior was more in keeping with a Swiss village motif. Lots of rich paneling, oriental rugs, framed portraits of Santa and Christmas scenes and, though she was trying to avoid stereotyping, there were lots of little people, some of them dressed in business casual, some of them dressed more like elves. Everyone wore interesting badges with their clearance level—Ethan's was gold, which indicated he had executive clearance—and everyone seemed extraordinarily busy and happy.

She stopped at a few sketches of birds—chickadees, doves, red and blue birds—and turned to look at him. “Is this what you're thinking about for next year?”

In the process of inspecting a new batch of ornaments—quality control, he'd explained—he looked up and smiled. “Ah, yes,” he told her. “Do you like them?”

She hesitated. “I do.”

He stilled. “You do, but?” he prodded. “I know there's a but. I heard it in your voice.”

Of course he had. He heard everything, whether she said it or not. It was unnerving. Less so than normal, which she somehow knew but couldn't explain. Sitting beside him at breakfast this morning, sharing the first meal of the day with all of them and listening to them good-naturedly rib each other, talk about their plans for the day...

Something about it had made him
more
than the Ethan she knew. She was familiar with the rich, sexy executive, the one who argued with her, goaded and teased her, enflamed her. But he was so much more than that. He was part of something huge, a centuries-old heritage.

And he
did
have parents, she thought with an inward chuckle, and brothers and a sister, and they were all part of a team, one that was at odds with her own pitiful team of one. Somehow being here made her feel not necessarily less committed to her cause, but almost petty for clinging so tightly to it.

Though she was exceedingly reluctant to admit it, he'd been right about her visiting his little town, meeting his family, seeing just exactly what it was they all stood to lose when she went on the
Ophelia Winslow Show
on Friday. She was glad she'd done the right thing by coming here. She couldn't say that it had changed her position—though seeing that toy soldier wink at her had certainly rattled her last night, and there'd been a couple of instances already this morning that had made her question her eyesight—but it had certainly given her a more well-rounded perspective.

Kissing him, she told herself, had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Nothing,
she thought more forcefully, remembered heat snaking through her limbs. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She wasn't that shallow. She couldn't be. She wouldn't let herself be.

Not that he seemed inclined to do anything more than kiss her anyway, which had been both surprising and disappointing. He'd been flirting with her for years, priming her for what she could only imagine would be the best sex of her life and last night, when he could have pressed his advantage—hell, his bed had been
right
there—he hadn't. And after that kiss...

It had been quite...irritating.

Granted she wasn't exactly an expert on all things sexual, but she could generally discern when a man was attracted to her and that magnificent bulge against her belly last night when he'd given her a final farewell kiss, well... It had been pretty telling. She didn't know why he hadn't—

“Lark?” he prodded. “You all right?”

She blinked, momentarily startled. “Yes, just gathering my thoughts.”

He rested a hip against the table. “Are you going to tell me what it is that you don't like about the birds?”

“Oh, they're beautiful,” she said. “And it's not that I don't like them—I do.” She struggled to find the words for what she was feeling. “It's just...I don't know. There's something different about them. They don't have that whimsical feel that all of your other designs have.” She went to the case where all of his designs were displayed. “For instance, look at this teddy bear—there's a sparkle in his eye. And this nutcracker? There's something about his smile. He looks like he's in on a joke I'm not aware of.” She moved farther down the case. “And this—” She stopped short.

Ethan frowned and followed her gaze. “Oh, that's Frosty,” he said, smiling, as he moved to stand beside her. “He was my first ornament.”

She reached out almost reverently and slid a finger over him. “I called him Mr. Cool,” she said softly.

She'd called him—but— Ethan's heart skipped a beat. There'd only been a few hundred produced, nothing compared to his designs now, and she'd had one? “You had my Frosty?”

Her lips faltered with a smile. “Have him,” she corrected. “I rescued him from the garbage bin after my parents purged our house the last year we celebrated Christmas.” She turned to look at him. “I've never told you that, have I? I mean, you know enough about my past to put things together—you're clever, after all—but that's what happened. I really
believed
, Ethan. My delusions were so detailed, so real, that I believed I talked to Santa, and his elf Edgar,” she added with a rueful laugh. “I believed so deeply that my Mr. Cool even changed his clothes—his scarf would have holly berries one minute and snowflakes the next. I'd see toy soldiers wink, nutcrackers smile, angel wings flutter.”

So he'd been right, Ethan thought, her confession tearing at him. She
could
see the magic.

And no one had believed
her
.

She lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. “I don't blame my parents,” she said. “It's no wonder they thought I was crazy. Hell, there are still times when I'll catch a glimpse of something and think I'm crazy.”

A
glimpse
, Ethan thought, his brain seizing on the word. That's what she was. A glimpse. One of those rare, rare children who could see the Christmas magick.

And, more importantly, could
still
see it.

That's what was missing from the birds. They were merely drawings at this stage, hadn't been enchanted with the magick. And that's no doubt what had happened last night. She'd caught sight of something and had immediately panicked, thinking she was experiencing a delusion.

His heart ached for her and he instinctively put an arm around her, pulling her close. How terrible it must have been to be so sure of your own mind, your own eyes, only to have the world convince you otherwise. Even your own parents. No wonder she'd fought as hard as she had. No wonder she was so passionate about her cause.

She relaxed into him, seemingly grateful for the support. “I'm so sorry, Lark,” he said. “I—”

Her cell suddenly went off and she shifted away, almost guiltily, and pulled it from her purse. “It's Lisa,” she said, reading the display.

Lisa? Oh, hell.

“Hey, Leese,” she said. “What's up?”

Ethan turned and discreetly muttered a few choice words under his breath.

Lark suddenly frowned. “Lisa? I can't hear you. We've got a bad connection. Must be the building. I'll give you a call back in a few minutes.”

Oh no, you won't,
Ethan thought. “Come on,” he said. “We'll go downstairs and grab some cocoa and a cinnamon roll, and have a mini picnic by the lake.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Ethan. That would be great.”

He nodded and returned her grin. He had turned to leave when she stilled him with a touch of her hand. “And thanks for listening a few minutes ago,” she said sheepishly. “And for not making fun. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, his throat suddenly getting tight. He'd been on the verge of telling her the truth—that she hadn't been crazy or delusional, that she'd been right. A cardinal sin among their kind.

Protect the secret.

And yet, for the first time in his life, he deeply resented that edict. She deserved to know the truth—to know that she was special, not damaged. And yet he couldn't tell her.

Because what if she didn't believe him? What if she decided he was the one who was delusional and it only reinforced her own position in her own mind? There were too many what-ifs, too many things that could spell disaster for his family.

And while he could argue that he could tell her now, give her that peace of mind for however brief a moment and then hand her the cocoa, wouldn't that be crueler? To fully open her eyes to the magick and then take it back? Ethan swallowed.

He'd be no better than everyone else who hadn't believed her.

He couldn't do it.

And honestly, at this point, he didn't have a frigging clue what he was going to do, other than spend as much time with her as possible, show her his world...and keep his hands to himself.