His For Christmas (6 page)

He beamed at her, his eyes did that twinkling
thing it did, the one that made her feel like she was the most
beautiful, the most fascinating woman in the world…and she
melted.

Christmas morning comes early in a house
filled with young kids.

“Uncle Derek. Aunt Anabelle. Time to wake
up!” The door slammed open and two bodies hurtled through before
they jumped on top of Derek.

Anabelle was thankful Derek had made her slip
on her nightgown last night while he put on his pajama bottoms.
He’d muttered, “Trust me,” before unlocking the door after their
last bout of lovemaking late last night.

“I see what you mean,” she said to her new
husband who was under the blankets providing a lumpy cushion for
Esme and Alex to bounce upon.

“Told you,” he said with a grunt after a
particularly hard bounce from Alex.

Janie came in slower and leaned against the
open door.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Derek. Aunt
Anabelle.”

Anabelle smiled. Janie was more reserved than
her two younger sisters. While her two sisters plunged without
thought into action, Janie watched and observed first before
participating. Maybe it was because she’d known loss in her young
life and was more cautious whereas the younger ones had been very
young when tragedy had struck and had adjusted more quickly.

“Merry Christmas, Janie.”

Esme and Alex continued to bounce up and
down, shaking the bed and its inhabitants. “You coming? You
coming?”

“If I don’t die first, I might,” Derek
muttered under the blankets. “Why didn’t you attack Joe first?”

“We did. He was funny. He said thanks, by the
way. He owes you one…whatever that means.” Alex pushed her glasses
up her nose and tilted her head.

Annabelle giggled.

“He went downstairs to help Mommy and Aunt
Dani with breakfast and told us it was probably safe to wake you up
now. So here we are.”

“Yes, you are.” Derek threw the covers off
his head and she grinned at the static bedhead he’d gotten. “Let’s
go open presents!”

The girls squealed and ran downstairs.

Derek and Anabelle followed a little slower,
needing to visit the bathroom and take care of business before they
made their way downstairs.

“Grab a mug of hot chocolate and a cinnamon
roll,” Dylan waved to the goodies on the counter, already settled
around the tree with her excited trio of monkeys.

“What a perfectly positioned tree, you have
here Dylan.” Derek and Anabelle sat next to a rumpled looking Joe
who wore a wicked looking pillow crease on his cheek. Last night
the kids had gone to bed early in preparation for Santa’s arrival
but not the adults.

“I concur,” Joe said and took a sip of
coffee. “The placing is spot on, not the least bit crooked.” He
leaned toward Derek. “By the way, thanks for the warning man. When
you invited me for Christmas, you neglected to mention the
spectacular wakeup call that came with the invite.”

“Oops.”

Joe bared his teeth at Derek and Anabelle
laughed.

“Okay. Who’s first?”

After the last of the presents were opened
and wrapping paper remnants were strewn near and far, the girls
made an announcement.

“There’s one more present.”

All the adults except Dani and Joe looked
surprised because there were no more presents under the tree.

“What’s going on, girls?”

“Follow us, please.”

The girls led the group to the attached
garage where a blanket wrapped object sat on the workbench along
the wall.

“Turn off the lights, Joe.” Janie called and
flipped a switch so the blanket glowed. Alex, Esme and Dani crowded
in front of the lump and took off the blanket before they stepped
back.

“Man, you guys actually fixed it?” Derek was
stumped.

The dream model house he’d thought was broken
and in his workshop sat in front of them. It gleamed with new wood
and paint. The details were a little different but it was
finished.

“It’s yours, Aunt Anabelle.”

“For me?”

The three girls nodded.

“It’s beautiful,” Anabelle said next to him,
in awe. She moved closer to the model to see more details.

“We helped Uncle Derek build it…and then we
broke it. So we came up with the Christmas wedding idea to make up
for it but then the adults sort of took over so we decided to try
to fix the model ourselves.” At Joe’s pointed cough, Alex added,
“With Aunt Dani and Joe’s help, of course.”

“Of course,” Derek parroted and sent a
grateful smile to his sister and best friend.

“Well, I love it! This and last night’s
Christmas wedding…best presents ever!”

“Sorry honey, that’s not true.”

“What are you talking about?” Anabelle turned
to him with a frown.

“The best Christmas present was getting you.”
Her frown disappeared, replaced by a huge grin. She stood and slid
her arms around him.

“You’re so sweet.”

His lips met hers and she sighed into the
kiss. The reactions around them consisted of some combination of
groaning, gagging or sighing, depending on who exactly it was but
Derek didn’t care…because this was
the best
Christmas
ever.

Anabelle was finally his.

** The end **

I hope you enjoyed the short holiday story
revisiting Derek and Anabelle and their friends in Sugar Bay. If
you liked this short story, I invite you to download His Kind of
Perfect, available now at your favorite online retailers.

Read on for an excerpt for His Kind of
Perfect…

If Anabelle Broussard heard, ‘Bless her
heart’ directed at her once more, she was going to hurt someone.
After two years, you'd think the good folks of Sugar Bay would find
another poor soul to pity.

But she wasn’t that lucky.

And today wasn't a good day for people to be
blessing
her
heart unless they had a yearning to be six feet
under. Jail may be a welcome respite from all this wedding talk.
Maybe the judge would set a precedent for leniency on account of
the defendant being the recipient of too many blessings that
resulted in temporary insanity.

Then again, being locked in a cell meant too
many hours to reflect upon the pitiful existence of her life. An
image of being stuck in jail, a veritable spinster according to her
elderly aunt, while her young cousin walked down the aisle in a
picturesque beach wedding burned in her mind. Heaven help her
because that would mean more, ‘Bless her hearts’.

Great.

Anabelle caught sight of two pillars of
society, the former Girl Scout troop leader and the pianist at Holy
Family, barrel towards her in their souped up electric scooter.
Fearing another session of rehashing all that was wrong in
Anabelle’s life, she muttered, “I’m late for an appointment,” and
ducked into the nearest store for sanctuary rather than commit
murder.

As the door snapped shut behind her and she
closed her eyes in sweet relief, she heard a faint but clear,
‘Bless her heart’.

Anabelle groaned and banged her head against
the door. It was unfortunate the momentum wasn’t enough to cause
temporary brain damage or at the least, oblivion from the day’s
events. The sound of throat clearing stilled her.

Her haven was someone’s business but as
focused as she’d been on escape, she’d forgotten.

"Anabelle."

Fudge.

The day kept getting better and better
because that voice, that deep, warm, and oh-so-sexy voice that more
often than not, wrapped her in a tidal wave of lust belonged to
none other than Derek Wheaton.

Double fudge.

"I wasn't expecting you today."

She hadn't expected to see him either but
God had a funny sense of humor. With eyes still closed, she debated
the choice of facing the geriatric set on the other side of the
door or expiring from unrequited lust in here.

Anabelle sighed. She knew another "Bless
your heart" would make her crazy. Today's outfit, a black and white
A-line dress with a deep neckline was more casual than she
preferred in his presence, but sanctuary was sanctuary.

She took a deep breath, tucked her mahogany
colored hair behind her ear and opened her eyes. "Hello Derek,” she
said. She hoped her smile was more natural than it felt but she was
glad she’d taken a moment to compose herself.

She took in the beauty that was all Derek
Wheaton.

Holy smokes.

Derek stood a few inches over six feet with
wide shoulders courtesy of the military, close-cropped brown hair
and dark brown eyes. Those eyes were her Achilles heels since they
reminded her of dark chocolate, her weakness. Sometimes she feared
she’d get sucked into a vortex of naughtiness his wicked grin
hinted at if she stared at them for too long. Since they’d met, his
gaze seemed to beckon her to misbehave.

Unlike many men of her experience, Derek
didn’t use hair products and she doubted a manicurist had ever
touched his cuticles. He was a man’s man and although his face
wasn’t classically perfect, his eyes were a little too close
together, and maybe his nose was a little bit crooked, the
combination proved to be completely drool worthy.

She swallowed. He had on a partially closed
blue plaid shirt, which wasn’t good considering on the days he was
fully dressed she had a hard time concentrating. Half dressed as he
was today…
have mercy
.

Anabelle checked for drool, grateful she’d
controlled herself. It wouldn’t do to expose her appreciation.

Keep it together
.

"Have you come for an inspection?" He wiped
his hands with a sawdust-covered cloth, his brown eyes danced as if
sensing her internal struggle. She forced another smile, smoothed
her dress with one hand and maintained a death grip on her Kate
Spade bag with the other.

"Let me take that for you. It looks heavy."
He reached for the leather messenger bag.

"That's okay. I have it,' she said and
patted it close, ignoring the crinkle sound of something being
crushed.

"Come on. We'll drop it off so you don't
have to lug it around. You don't want to look like Quasimodo, do
you?" He grinned, a hand on the strap. He cocked an eyebrow at her,
looking ready to stand all day until she capitulated.

Heat emanated from him. His hair was damp
near his temple and she spotted a pool of sweat at the base of his
neck. The scent of man and wood teased her nostrils, made her think
he’d been working hard when she’d interrupted, which got her
thinking why his shirt was undone, which got her wondering what he
looked like without his shirt.

Which led to bad thoughts.

Very bad thoughts.

Thoughts she shouldn’t be having regarding
her business associate.

Thoughts that came more frequently of
late.

She relinquished the bag, her last bit of
armor.

"Fine." She stepped away. Proximity provided
dangerous fodder for her overactive imagination.

Derek took the bag and led her through his
workshop. She followed and forced her eyes to remain above his
butt, hoping like heck she could control her wayward thoughts. A
large worktable stood in the center of the studio. A myriad of
projects in a range of completed stages were scattered on top and
he moved rolled up plans, conceptual sketches of a mountain home
built-in and a coffee cup that read, ‘Measure twice, Cut Once
Dumbass’ to make room for her bag. His big hand brushed past the
creamy pink envelope she’d stuck in the side pocket and knocked it
loose. Anabelle picked it up and shoved it back.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” she said and shoved it
deeper but the annoying thing was too large. Anabelle bent it in
half and tried again; somehow it stayed but its presence screamed
at her, reminding her of her inadequacies.

She sighed.

“What are your thoughts on my wood?"

Anabelle almost glanced down at Derek's
groin for evidence of wood but caught herself.

Not that kind.

She swung her gaze toward the custom coffee
table he’d indicated and a painful flush worked its way up her
face.

“It’s very…hard.”

Nice word choice.

She grimaced, because suitable adjectives
escaped her mind.

Major brain fart.

Mortification gripped her and Derek's
chocolate brown eyes twinkled in a wicked way as if he knew exactly
where she wanted to look, where she'd almost looked.

Of course, she hadn’t because drooling over
her vendor did not fall under the heading of professional behavior.
And above all else, Anabelle Broussard was a professional. Her
impromptu visit may have stemmed from a need to escape pity, but
she was aware she had a job to complete.

The Scott Beach house renovation needed her
absolute focus, her attention to detail and the professionalism she
was known for. So Anabelle patted her hot cheeks and straightened
her cardigan before she remembered she'd forgotten the stupid thing
at the office.

“I mean…it’s beautiful.”

Better.

A dimple in his right cheek appeared, joined
the eye twinkling he had going and for a moment she was in jeopardy
of swooning.

Did anyone swoon these days?

She shook her head. It was time to lay off
the stacks of historical romances she’d been devouring. But have
mercy, the man stood in front of her barely dressed with his shirt
held together with three measly buttons. If he’d finished the
remaining ones, maybe she’d have a chance.

“What do you think of the walnut
finish?”

She grabbed the conversational lifeline.
“Love it. It’s a perfect match to what the client requested. It’ll
work well with the other finishes yet contrast nicely with the dark
bamboo flooring we’ve already installed.”