Merry Ever After (Under the Mistletoe collection)

It’s a Whole Thing, having this Very Big Man kneeling at my feet, fixing my blisters.

Up close, he smells like . . . land. Wind, earth, hard leather. His skin is so weathered, it’s almost like the sun has baked some of the farm’s richest soil into his flesh. Even the simple task of putting Band-Aids on my heels has caused a whole riot of flexing triceps and trapezius muscles. His mouth and eyebrows are set in a line, the look of concentration and care on his face nudging something inside me that I’m not ready to have nudged.

No way.

Not happening.

“I think I should go,” I whisper.

“I haven’t even tried the jeans on yet.”

“Oh, right.” I swallow hard, ignoring the deep yen to feel his palms skimming up my thighs. “Could you?”

“Could I what?” he asks, definitely stealing a look at the fly of my jean shorts and getting distracted. Can he see me clenching through the denim?

Good gravy, am I attracted to this man. And not only for the physique that suggests he could lift an eighteen-wheeler but also his demeanor. Not only has he apologized for making incorrect assumptions about me—he went out of his way to make me feel safe and comfortable. Now he’s on his knees, bandaging my wounds.

A man with pride who is also willing to set it aside. Now that’s . . . something.

Something that could lead to something more than casual.

Uh-uh. Not happening.

“Could you try on the jeans now?”

Is that a knowing glint in his eye as he stands to his full, magnificent height? It better not be. “Sure, Evie.”

While he’s in the hallway bathroom changing, I give myself a pep talk. I’ve seen how fickle men can be. How hurtful and irresponsible. I came here for a fresh start with my son, and I’ve done that. I’ve sketched the framework of a new life, and now I’m coloring it in slowly. Romance only causes the colors to bleed, the sketch to become distorted. Or it becomes a new sketch entirely. I don’t want that. I’m not ready for that.

Except when Luke moseys out of the bathroom in jeans and no shirt, my hormones start making their own sketch. One where I find a reliable babysitter and have my way with this giant, humble farmer from time to time. Surely there would be no harm in that. When done properly and safely, sex is downright healthy!

“Evie . . . ,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve never had pants that fit me before. Not well, anyway. These feel like they were made for me.”

The gratitude in his tone distracts me from the high-cut muscles of his hips. “They were made for you.”

He nods once, starts to say something, and closes his mouth again, like he’s sort of overcome by my Christmas gift, and now I feel even worse about coming here to throw it in his face. In fact, I wish I’d made him ten pairs of jeans. Maybe I’m even going to. “Thank you,” he says finally. “I expect you to charge me.”

“Not this time,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re a gift.”

Not unlike the day he demanded to pay five dollars for the jeans he ripped, I glimpse a stubborn streak in the farmer. I don’t find it off-putting, though. Not when it seems to stem from a need to repay kindness. I find that . . . appealing. Too appealing.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept a gift without reciprocating,” he says. “I practically raised my brothers and sisters, all while preparing to take over this farm from my parents. I understand giving, not taking.”

I stand up and cross the room, circling around Luke’s back, tugging the waistband in spots to check the fit. “You can’t even accept a pair of jeans?”

“No.”

I’m standing in front of him now, close enough to feel the heat of his thick torso, his breath on the crown of my head.

“And I’m warning you, if you don’t take my money, I’m going to return the favor a different way. You won’t see it coming.”

“Oooh, scary,” I say, tipping my head back and faking a shiver. Although, that shiver becomes real and warm when I catch him staring at my mouth like it’s chocolate gelato. “I guess I just have to take my chances, Luke Ward.”

His throat works. “Do you want to be kissed, or am I dreaming?”

I allow my breasts to meet his chest, and he breaks off a sound. “Try it and find out.”

“Fuck.”

He hasn’t even finished breathing the word like an oath before his mouth latches on to mine and I’m stumbling back over the sensual impact of his need. It’s heavy, this weight he’s been carrying. I sense that immediately, and it turns me on because I’m needy, too, and while my head is spinning from the first lap of his tongue against mine, I can’t lie to myself. This neediness started the first time he came into the thrift shop and nothing fit.

“God, you’re so beautiful. God.” The fingers of his right hand tunnel through my hair, then continue, frantic, down my back, drawing me close, tight. Letting me feel the growing ridge in his jeans. “I like the look of you in my house, Evie.”

An alarm bell chimes in the back of my head. Not enough to call a halt to the delicious slant of his mouth over mine, but enough to issue a necessary warning. “I’m not interested in anything serious.”

He twists a fist in the rear waistband of my jean shorts and draws me up onto my toes like that, the denim pressure against my core making me whimper. Oh man. Oh wow. “What are you interested in?” he asks, looking me in the eye. Tugging my waistband.

Up. Up.

“I already told you, Luke,” I gasp, following his silent directive to climb, winding my legs around his hips, letting hard settle into soft, pressing, pressing, a soft exclamation tumbling out of my mouth, a curse coming from his.

“Friends with benefits is for boys,” he says, backing me against his refrigerator. Planting his erection right there and grinding lightly, then harder. Harder. “I ain’t no boy.”

He certainly, certainly is not. Has a man ever actually gotten me out of breath like this before? Is this what it means to be in a lather? I’m having trouble concentrating, pulse all erratic, senses snapping like Bubble Wrap. “Let’s s-say we spend adult time together once in a while . . .” My mouth falls open on a sob when he humps me three times in quick succession, rattling the appliance. “What . . . oh . . . what do you want to call it?”

“Fucking my woman,” he rasps into my neck. “That’s what I want to call it.”

“I wouldn’t be your woman. I’m my own woman.”

“How about this, sweetheart? If you still don’t want to be called my woman after I’ve given it to you down and dirty, I’ll let you call me your friend with benefits.”

Um . . . laughably easy. Right? I think I can manage not to call myself someone’s woman, like we’re in an old Western. “Deal.”

“Thank God that was easy.” His teeth latch on to my earlobe, those hips grinding me up against the fridge, and oh Mama, I might come like this. I might actually come if he keeps rolling his lower body like that. Please. Please. Please. “I won’t be easy, Evie. You understand what I’m telling you?”

I understood it five minutes ago. “You’re big all over.”

“Yes.” He drops his face into my neck, nuzzling it there with a drawn-out groan. “They don’t make jeans that fit me, and they don’t make many women that fit me, either.”

Judging from his tone of voice, he’s had some frustrating experiences.

Instinctively, I know it won’t be like that with us. I mean, dang, call me Slick Rick after a few kisses. I can’t even imagine how this wild chemistry will implode once we’re naked.

I want to be naked with him. Now. Badly.

“I will. I’m going to fit all of you,” I whisper, nipping and licking at his jaw, opening my knees wider to allow him to crowd closer. “Try me on for size.”

“Evie,” he growls, stamping his mouth down over mine—and we just begin wrestling with clothes. My shirt comes off, and he makes a desperate animal sound, licking my nipples into stiff peaks in between hungered assaults of my lips, and I’ve never been more relieved I didn’t wear a bra this morning. He grips my butt roughly in his hands and noisily sucks the rosy tips of my breasts, his chest heaving wildly, his pupils blocking out the chocolate brown of his eyes. A man in heat. For me. “What kind of man lets this get away?”

“I . . . don’t know, I—”

“Going to get all of me inside your wet cunt, are you? Good girl.” He grazes the side of my neck and jawline with his teeth. “How hard are you going to let me pump?”

Hard as you want.

Wreck me forever.

Daddy.

I’m poised to scream those knee-jerk responses, but I never get the chance, because Sonny starts to cry in the back bedroom. The familiar and beloved sound is like having a dagger’s blade sink into my side. Over the course of the last several minutes, I totally forgot my son was asleep on this man’s bed.

I lost myself. I forgot about my top priority.

Is that what this man is going to make me do?

If so, he’s dangerous. He’s what I vowed to avoid.

Committing myself to someone when I need to be totally committed to myself.

My son.

“I have to go.”

He nods jerkily, lets my thighs drop from around his waist. Puts his hand on his hips and steps back, trying to regain his breath. “There’s something happening here, Evie.”

“I know,” I manage while filling my lungs. “It doesn’t exactly scream casual, does it?”

“Nope.” A line snaps in his cheek. He appears to be battling the urge to pin me again. Part of me wishes he would. “You’ll decide what this is and how fast it moves, but I’m going to do everything I can to help you decide in my favor. You, Evie, are in my goddamn favor. In whatever capacity you allow me.” He holds eye contact long enough to make my pulse feel fizzy. “But I’m going to say something for the record one time, just so it’s clear: you’re a package deal with your boy. I’m not scared of that.” He jerks his stubbled jaw in the direction of my feet. “I’ll be driving you home, Evie. I’ll be damned before you spill one more drop of blood on my behalf.”

My throat constricts violently, his image blurs—and I know I need to get out of here.

Get my head clear, reset my priorities.

Remember that getting distracted by a man only leads to disappointment.

A very silent fifteen minutes later, when Luke drops me and Sonny off outside the thrift shop, he watches me unlock the door that leads to the little apartment upstairs, and he doesn’t bother hiding his hunger or determination when I glance back. And despite what I’ve been forced to believe about romance and commitment and men, I can’t help but acknowledge . . . Luke might be a distraction from my priorities.

But he wouldn’t be a disappointment.