Christmas At Copper Mountain (A Copper Mountain Christmas) (15 page)

“You never know.
Some wishes do come true.”

The
tea kettle whistled and Brock got to his feet. “I’ll make the tea,” he said, motioning for Harley to take the rocking chair. “You, sit. Relax. I’ve got this.”

“Why?”

“You’ve taken care of my ranch hands, my kids, me. Can’t I do something for you, just once?”

Harley slowly sat down in the still-warm rocking chair and curled her legs up under her, watching Brock cross the dark kitchen lit by only the firelight.
He was so big and powerfully built, the kind of man who looked right in firelight with all those thick muscles and rippling biceps.

She watched him turn off the burner and set out mugs and search for the right tea.
It was a pleasure watching him move, so rugged and beautiful in sweat pants and a white T-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.

Looking at him only made her want him more.
He’d felt so good last night, pressed up against her. Warm, hard, strong. He’d kissed her with fire, kissed her with need, kissed her as if she were infinitely desirable.

It felt good to be desirable.

It’d made her hope. And wish. Longing for things she didn’t have, and might never have again.

A man who loved her deeply.

A man who loved her and would always love her.

A man who wouldn’t tire of her even though she’d given him three beautiful children.

A man who would fight to the end to keep his family together...

Her eyes burned and she blinked, clearing her vision to watch Brock walk back across the kitchen, two mugs of tea hooked by the fingers of one hand and a plate of Harley’s gingersnap cookies in the other.

“My lady,” he said, bowing as he handed her a mug.

She smiled unsteadily as she looked up at him.
He looked so lovely in the firelight, his dark hair rumpled and his jaw shadowed, his black lashes lifting, revealing brown, gleaming eyes.

She liked him, a lot.

It was strange and disorienting and bittersweet to feel so much.

Until a few days ago, he hadn’t said more than eight words to her at any one time and she had to admit, it had been better when he’d ignored her.
She’d been able to maintain her distance when he was detached.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, as he set the cookies on the side table next to the rocking chair and retrieved one of the stools from the island and carried it back to the fire, placing it in front of Harley.

He sat down on the stool facing her, and leaned back against the dark wood, long legs extended, looking very relaxed as he sipped his tea.

Harley sipped her tea, too, but felt far from relaxed.

They might look all cozy and domestic sipping herbal tea in front of the fire, but there was nothing cozy about the tension coiling inside her.

Brock was not soothing company.
He didn’t calm her down. He wound her up, and ever since he’d entered the kitchen, he’d lit the room up, even though it was still dark.

She didn’t know how he did it, either.
Wind her up. Turn her on. But last night she literally fell into his arms, and then fell apart for him, and she didn’t do that. Harley didn’t go through life wanting and desiring. She was far too practical for that.

But Brock was making her want the most impractical things.

Like right now. She was baffled by his energy, a potent male energy that made her aware of things she never thought about, like her body, her lips, her skin.

He was doing it to her again, right now.
The tension was incredible. The kitchen was practically crackling and humming.

She
was crackling and humming, too, which was baffling, since she hadn’t ever hummed for anyone before.

Flushing, she lifted her head, met his gaze.
He let her look, too, his dark gaze holding hers, challenging her.

He wanted her.

He wanted to finish what they’d started last night.

Harley’s pulse quickened and the silence stretched, wrapping around them, making the spacious kitchen feel very small and private.
Intimate.

It wasn’t.
This was the kitchen, the heart of the house, and even though the kids were asleep, they could come downstairs at any time.

The kids...

She had to remember the twins. Had to remember facts, reality. “Maybe I should go back to bed,” she said, shifting uneasily.

“Why?”

“You know why.” She licked her upper lip, her mouth suddenly too dry. “Last night.”

“What about last night?”

She could feel him across from her, feel him as surely as if he was touching her, just the way he’d touched her last night, his hands beneath her robe, hands cupping, stroking, making her forget everything...

She couldn’t afford to forget everything.
It was too dangerous. She exhaled in a little rush. “Last night was a mistake.”

His dark gaze met hers, held.
For a long moment he said nothing, and then his powerful shoulders shrugged. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Her eyes widened.
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “You were?”

He nodded.
“It’s good you’re going,” he added quietly. “It’ll be a relief to have you gone.”

She stiffened, startled.
“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he echoed, setting his mug down. “Because when you’re gone, I won’t be tempted to do this.”
He leaned forward, took her tea from her, placing it on the side table before taking her hand and dragging her to her feet.

“Or this,” he said, drawing her toward him, pulling her against him until he had her wedged firmly between his thighs.

“Or this.” His hands clasped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, making her skin tingle and burn. “Such a beautiful woman,” he murmured, angling her head to cover her mouth with his.

The kiss was slow and hot and unbearably sexy.
His fingers slid into her hair, tangling in the thick weight framing her face as he took his time kissing her, savoring her mouth, exploring the shape of her lips with his lips and tongue.

Last night had been good, but oh, this was better.
This kiss was intoxicating, so wickedly good but also so sweet that she felt as if she was melting into a puddle of need, just as if she were dark chocolate or marshmallow crème...

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around Brock’s neck, luxuriating in the feel of his warm body, holding him tighter, holding him closer, leaning against him as she no longer trusted her legs to support her.
But leaning against him just made her more aware of his desire for her, his erection pressing against her through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

It would be so easy to touch him, stroke him, and feeling strangely empowered, she slid one hand down his chest, over the bunched bicep in his arm before trailing lower to his side, his hip, his thigh.

She felt him straining against her and it made her even bolder. Curious about him, she caressed the length of him, and there was quite a bit of him to explore.

His breath hitched, and he covered her hand with his, his fingers curving around hers.
“I don’t know how much more self-control I’ve got left,” he said hoarsely. “This might be a good time to talk about the weather or animal husbandry or crop rotation.”

Harley laughed softly.
“That’s awesome.” She laughed again, and leaned back to better see his face. “You know I could discuss all three,” she said, trailing her fingers over his cheek and jaw, liking the bristle and bite of his beard beneath her fingertips. “I’m especially well versed in animal husbandry. That was my minor at Cal Poly.”

He turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm.
“I forget you’re a farm girl.”

“I’m good with cows.”

“You’re the perfect girl.”

“Ha!”
And yet her heart turned over, aching a little, wishing. Wishing.

Like a child, all those impossible Christmas wishes...

“What would the perfect girl do now, Brock Sheenan?”

“Not go tomorrow.”

Oh.
She drew a little hiccup of a breath. “But if she did have to go tomorrow, what would she do tonight?”

“Love me all night long.”

Oh God
.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion rushing through her, rushing through
her, Harley leaned forward and kissed Brock, deeply, fiercely, needing him, wanting to feel him and touch him, and yes, love him.

Because she did love him.
As impossible and improbable as it was.

But Christmas was the time for miracles.
If anything could happen, it could happen now...

“Yes,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Yes. I want to.”

His hand tangled her hair.
“You’re my perfect girl even if you don’t sleep with me, Harley.”

“But I want to,” she answered, licking h
er bottom lip, heart thudding. “Where would we go? My room?”

“I don’t think your door locks.”
He hesitated. “But mine does.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’re asleep.”

She stared into his eyes, nervous, excited, and scared, but even more scared of this moment going and never having it again.
“We’d have to be
so
quiet.”

“Baby, I’m
always
quiet.”

She laughed, a real belly aching laugh that made her chest and tummy hurt, and it felt so good to laugh a real laugh, felt so good to be warm and fizzy and excited.

Excited.

And that was the moment she knew.
She’d fallen for him, head over heels. There was no playing it safe now. No easy, painless way out.

The log in the fire broke, and the fire crackled and popped, sending a river of sparks into the air.

Harley watched the red hot sparks fly and then disappear.

She felt like one of those sparks now, burning so hot and bright.
She wanted her Christmas wish now.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

He carried her up the stairs and set her on the bed before silently locking his door. His bed was huge, a big wood four poster, and he stripped off his T-shirt and sweatpants, leaving him naked.

The curtains were open and outside the moon shone high in the sky, reflecting brightly off the thick white drifts of snow, casting a silvery white glow across the bedroom.

She could see Brock, all of him. It was amazing—he was amazing—but this was also intimidating because she had to undress next.

Heart pounding she shrugged off her robe, and then tugged off her
pajama top and then finally peeled off the matching bottoms, aware that Brock was just standing, watching.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered, suddenly nervous and painfully shy.

“That you look like an angel on my bed.”

Her eyes stung but with the good kind of tears.
“You say the nicest things.”

“I don’t like talking, so I only say what I mean.”

She put a hand out, reaching for him. “Come here, before I lose my courage.”

“There’s no reason to be afraid.”
He opened the nightstand next to the bed and removed a foil wrapped package from the drawer. “And we can stop at any time. I’ve waited a long time for you. I can wait another night or two.”

Brock stretched out on the bed next to her, covering them with the folded blanket from the foot of the bed.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, drawing his head down to hers.

“Absolutely,” he answered, rolling her onto her back and settling between her thighs.

The sex was so good. The sex was
unbelievably
good.

“Wow,” she murmured, cheek resting on his chest, her pulse still racing, her body warm and languid.
“You do that like a rock star.”