Jingle Spells (12 page)

“It's rare, but it happens,” he told her. “I've got to do some more research.”

“What do you hope to accomplish by bringing her here?”

The question startled him. “I want to keep her off the
Ophelia Show
, obviously.”

His sister merely smiled, stared at him for a long moment. “That's your objective, E, but it's not your end goal.”

Ethan's heart had inexplicably started to pound and his mouth had gone bone-dry. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that,” she said with an infuriating little smile. “But I'm sure it will come to you.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “And, oh, to be a fly on the wall when it does. I'll have Cook bring up some cocoa,” she said as she turned to leave. “And Ethan?”

Still unaccountably shaken by his sister's cryptic little comment, he started. “Yes?”

“Did you bring her any clothes? Toiletries? Even a toothbrush?”

He blinked, and then he swore.

Belle grinned and shook her head. “Don't worry. I'll take care of it. I'll call Baubles and have him put some things together for her. You'll need to tell her that they're hers and pack it into some luggage.”

He nodded. “Right. Yes. I'll do that.”

“How long before the charm wears off?”

He winced as he thought about it. “Two, maybe three hours.”

She smiled. “Then you'd better get busy.”

Yes, he'd better, Ethan thought. He had to get his story straight—and the props to go along with it—if he was going to pull this off. Because cocoa or no, convincing Lark DeWynter that she was there by choice was going to be a hard sell.

And he had a lot riding on her buying it.

Chapter 6

L
ike a flower blossoming in the morning light, Lark awoke slowly, a feeling of contentment, of warmth and happiness, clinging to the instant smile that shaped her lips. The taste of chocolate haunted her tongue as she stretched and blinked sleepily awake...

...in a bed that wasn't hers, in a room she didn't recognize.

The carved mahogany canopied bed, draped in heavy royal-blue velvet, was something straight out of a fairy tale, and the room was equally opulent. A barreled ceiling gave way to watered silk, and heavy wooden paneling covered the walls. An enormous oriental rug—probably Aubusson—lay spread invitingly over the floor. Candlelight danced in sconces and firelight flickered from the massive marble fireplace against the opposite wall. The room was furnished with lots of beautiful antiques and comfortable, squashy chairs. It was gorgeous and masculine, and it had a lived-in feel. There were books and reading glasses on the table next to the window, a green silk tie slung over the arm of a chair. Wait a minute. She recognized that tie. It belonged to a man with eyes of the same color, and...

Lark sucked in a breath as she scrambled into a sitting position.

“Ah, you're awake,” a familiar voice drawled.

Her gaze swung to the foot of the canopied bed. Ethan sat in one of the chairs flanking the massive carved fireplace—how in the hell had she missed him?—his feet propped up on a footstool, a cut-crystal tumbler of golden liquid in his hand. He wore a pair of jeans, a dark gray cable-knit sweater and an equally thick pair of gray socks on his feet. There was something about seeing him without shoes—or hell, even in jeans—that made her feel acutely off-balance.

He was formidable enough in a Tom Ford suit, but in casual wear? In what was obviously
his
room, in
his
house—which meant this had to be
his
bed—he was positively lethal.

And if this was indeed all of those things—his room, his house, his bed—then that meant she was in Colorado...and she had absolutely no recollection of getting there.

Lark frowned and gave her head a little shake. She had so many questions she didn't know which one to ask first. Her memory was muddled and fuzzy, and what should have been obvious answers hovered just out of reach.

“Um... How did I get here?”

Ethan grinned. “We flew,” he said. “Honestly, Lark, I knew you'd had a little too much to drink, but I didn't think you'd had enough to forget a cross-country flight.” He lifted a brow. “Do you want to shower before dinner? We've got reservations at eight.”

Too much to drink? At the bar? But she remembered leaving the bar and heading to the airport. And after? She wracked her brain as she struggled to remember.

He stood and made his way over to her, lifted a pretty silver cup from the bedside table and handed it to her. “Here,” he said. “My mother is a firm believer in cocoa and says there's nothing a little of it can't fix.”

Lark unthinkingly accepted the drink and took a sip, still desperately trying to make sense of things. Oddly enough, she wasn't afraid or even terribly alarmed, but she felt like she should have been. It was weird...and,
oh sweet heavens
, this was the
best
cocoa she'd ever had in her life. It was creamy and rich—positively decadent. An immediate warmth spread through her limbs when it hit her belly.

“Mmm,” she said. “This is good.”

“I'm so glad you agreed to come out here with me,” Ethan told her. “It was the honorable thing to do, all things considered.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words instantly died in her throat. Truthfully, she didn't remember agreeing to come out here with him, but since she was here and she never did anything she didn't want to do, it only stood to reason that she had. Right? Right.

“Honorable?” She took another sip of cocoa.

“You know. Since I'm not going to get a rebuttal on the
Ophelia Winslow Show
, you thought it would be good for you to at least see my world and my town before launching your agenda from a platform that doesn't offer a quid pro quo.” He smiled sincerely. “That was very fair of you. I appreciate it.”

Once again the instinct to argue arose, but it died a swift death and she nodded. It
was
good of her. And it
was
fair. But...it didn't exactly feel right and, more importantly, it didn't explain how she'd gotten into his bed.

“Erm...”

Seemingly anticipating her question, he smiled again, this time a little sheepishly. “You passed out,” he said. “I've never seen you drink that much. You were ‘celebrating,'” he added with a significant look. “I had to carry you from the plane to the car, and then carry you into the house. I suppose I could have gone a few extra steps into the next room—” he jerked his head toward a door across the room “—but it was just easier to put you here.”

Lark's cheeks burned. He'd had to
carry
her?
Really
? Rather than being alarmed that she'd ingested enough alcohol to incapacitate and give her memory loss, irrationally, she was more irritated over not being able to remember
that
part. Being carried. By him. In those mouthwateringly powerful arms. Her mouth close to his neck.

Need licked through her veins, making her aware of the mattress beneath her and Ethan's exceedingly close proximity.

His eyes suddenly darkened and dropped to her mouth. “Unless you intend to stay in here, you need to stop looking at me like that, Chickadee.”

She blinked, feeling her face warm even more. With effort, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, forcing him to retreat a step. “My room is through there, you say?” she asked, pointing toward the closed door.

“It is. Because it was a spur-of-the-moment trip, my sister, Belle, arranged to have some clothes and toiletries delivered. If there's anything else you need, or if something doesn't fit correctly, let me know and I'll take care of it.”

She blinked again, startled that she'd done something so out of character, something that had required someone else to think of her clothes and toiletries. Lark was an obsessive planner. She lived by her calendar. In fact, she'd gotten pretty anal about it, actually keeping track of her time to the point last year that she could graph it out and look at exactly how much time she'd spent working, sleeping, socializing—the woefully smallest sliver of the pie chart—and everything that fell in between. She couldn't decide if that was efficient or pathetic. Probably both.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling even more at sea. “And thank your sister for me, too.”

Another grin dimpled his cheek. “Oh, you'll be able to tell her yourself. I'm sure you'll see her around.”

“Around where?”

“Here,” he said, as though it should be obvious. “She lives here. Like I do. Like my whole family does.”

Surprise rippled through her. “You live with your family?”

“Yes. We've each got our own set of rooms, of course—” he gestured to his “—but we're a tight-knit family, and the house is big enough to accommodate us all, so...” He shrugged. “It's nice.”

Wow. She never saw her family. Her older brother had been resentful of her for ruining Christmas, and her parents had decided to homestead in Alaska right after she left for college. So much for going home for the summer. Though she'd occasionally gone to visit them over the years, they seemed entirely too nervous with her around for her to ever feel at ease. It saddened her to think about it, and she envied Ethan his close-knit family.

“You should wear the dress,” he said, startling her.

“What?”

“To dinner. We're going to the Crystal Snowflake. It's nice. I think you'll like it.”

She was sure she would, but she'd pick out her own clothes out of the clothes she hadn't picked out, thank you. She lifted her chin. “I think I know how to dress myself, Ethan.”

His smile widened and those gorgeous bright green eyes twinkled with humor. “I'm sure you do.”

Lark nodded and took another sip of her cocoa. She was strangely at peace, completely unconcerned about everything, including the fact that she'd journeyed to Colorado to stay with Ethan out of the goodness of her heart and in fairness to her upcoming visit on the
Ophelia Winslow Show
.

And though, deep down, it felt a bit out of character, Lark was certain it wasn't. And anyway, the cocoa was divine...

* * *

Though Ethan knew he was doing the right thing for his family and for everyone who enjoyed the magic of Christmas, he couldn't shake the guilt. Watching the cocoa work its magic and override that stubborn, bull-headed, opinionated woman's natural objections and tendencies had been as comical as it was...wrong.

But he didn't know what else to do. He absolutely
couldn't
let her go on that show.

The greater good, he reminded himself. Eyes on the prize.

Lark chose that moment to walk through the door and that last thought took on a whole new meaning.

Mercy.

“You decided to wear the dress.”

Her lips curved. “How could I not? It's incredible. Your sister has excellent taste.”

That she did. A deep purple, the dress was scoop-necked, with long sheer sleeves accented with crystal-studded cuffs. It hugged her curvy frame like a second skin, molding to the luscious swell of her breasts and clinging to her womanly hips. The hem stopped just above the knee—it was long enough to be appropriate, but short enough to reveal a serious amount of leg. She had paired it with black pumps and a matching bag, and with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders and her make-up a little more dramatic than usual, she looked...stunning.

Prior to her arrival, Ethan had been practically starving, but a hunger of another sort suddenly took hold of him. Longing coiled through his body, settling hotly in his groin, and his mouth actually ached for the taste of her. He wanted to slide his nose along the creamy column of her throat, slip his tongue over the swell of her breasts, sample the valley in between them. It took a supreme amount of effort to pull himself together and say something that sounded somewhat normal.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice oddly rusty.

Those unusual violet eyes warmed and shifted away, almost shyly. Her? Shy? Had she gotten into more cocoa?

“Thank you.” She nodded at him. “You look nice as well.”

He chuckled. “This old thing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Old, my rear end,” she scoffed. “The only thing that seems the least bit old around here is the furnishing, and in that case, it's a good thing.”

“I like antiques,” he said. “They've got character.”

She nodded. “And better craftsmanship. I've got a few as well.”

He'd just bet she did. He hummed thoughtfully under his breath and considered her. “I've often wondered about your lair,” he said musingly.

Lark laughed, her eyes widening briefly. “My lair? You make me sound like a comic book villain.”

“Well, I've never pictured you in a bat cave, if that helps,” he said, chuckling. “More of a secret tree house, with a hidden elevator in the trunk.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Like a nest.”

Ethan felt his grin spread. “Exactly like a nest.”

She released a little breath. “I wish my parents had named me something simple, like Jane or Sarah,” she said, giving her head a rueful shake.

“No, you don't,” he told her. “You're neither of those. The bird name suits you. I like it.” A thought struck him. “What's your middle name?”

“Lark is my middle name,” she said a little too quickly. “Shouldn't we be going? You said our reservation was at eight.” She checked her watch. “It's a quarter til now. How long does it take to get to the Crystal Snowflake?” she asked rapidly as she headed out the door, despite the fact that she had no idea how to locate the car, or the restaurant, or hell, even the front door.

Intrigued by her cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof response, Ethan followed her into the hall, where she drew up short. “Oh.”

One direction must have looked the same as the other to her. Ethan smiled and guided her forward with a touch to the small of her back. “It's not nearly as daunting as it looks. This way,” he said.

“It's...massive.”

“I told you that my entire family lives here. There are too many of us to have any smaller of a place. We'd drive each other crazy. Still do sometimes,” he added with a grim smile, remembering how they'd followed him upstairs earlier. “But the central staircase is just up and to the right. See?” he told her as they rounded the corner.

He heard her delighted gasp and felt a dart of pleasure land in his chest. It was his home, but it was impressive.

Particularly the central staircase.

Carpeted in thick jewel-toned colors with the Evergreen coat of arms cameoed throughout, bounded by rails and spindles intricately carved with garlands, pine cones and bows, the staircase was a testament to fine elfish craftsmanship. Creamy marble inlaid with subtle wreaths of holly leaves and berries blanketed the foyer floor and the enormous arched double doors matched the exquisite carving on the staircase.

“Wow,” she said, running a reverent finger along the banister as they descended the stairs. “This is incredible.”

Just wait until you see Mistletoe Mountain and Gingerbread proper,
Ethan thought. Rather than use one of the elf tunnels that led directly to different parts of the town—their own magical subway system—as he normally did, Ethan had called for his car. To get the full effect of his little piece of earth, one needed to be aboveground. He was looking forward to seeing Lark's reaction to it.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “So what's your first name then?”