Sweet Christmas Kisses (33 page)

Nothing.
Maybe he has left the house.
She eyed the door with misgiving. It seemed quite solid, in spite of its age.

She knocked again, louder this time. Her heartbeat accelerated.

Were those steps she heard, coming nearer?

The key grated, then the door swung open. “You took your own sweet time,” he said.

She didn't reply.

He looked her over. “Are you going to die on me?”

Joanna cleared her voice. “Not if I can help it.”

“Good.” He turned and went down an ill-lit hall.

Joanna followed him, not knowing what else to do. He was tall, and he had a broad back. A nice body.
But not a nice mind.

Without turning around, he said, “Am I supposed to feed you now?”

“I'm not an invalid. I can feed myself.” Her voice sounded sharper than she had intended. He had saved her life, but that didn't mean she had to put up with his execrable manners. She would have loved to say that she didn't need food, but she knew her body needed sustenance, something hot, no matter that it was four o'clock in the morning by now.

“But if you cook by yourself, you would snoop around my kitchen.” He opened the door to the kitchen and went in.

Joanna followed him. “It seems you have a snooping-complex. You can watch my every move, if that should make you happy.”

He looked back at her and lifted an eyebrow. “It doesn't.”

“Well, then don't. I don't mind one way or the other.”
Bad manners seem to be catching.
Joanna could feel heat rising up to her ears, making her skin prick.
I can't even be rude without blushing.

He turned and watched her from head to toe. “You haven't tried to make yourself more attractive.”

The cheek of him! Joanna balled her fists. “I survived. That's enough for one night.”

“I see.” He turned back to the stove where a pot was already steaming. “You can have soup.”

So he had prepared everything already! She forced herself to reply. “Thanks.”

He served her soup, gave her a slice of bread and pushed a plate with butter close to her. Then he sat down across the table from her, but he didn't eat anything.

Joanna waited for him to question her, where she had come from, what had happened, but he remained silent. Funny. Maybe he wasn't interested. Joanna decided she would not try to make conversation with this strange human species. Her hand still trembled as she spooned her soup, but she could feel how the food steadied her. It was potato soup with bits of sausage, spicy and nourishing. Joanna started to feel more like herself, but at the same time, she became aware of a strong sense of fatigue, pulling her down until she found it too exhausting to chew the fresh bread.

He lounged back in his chair and looked at her with acute dislike. “I assume you want to stay the night?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

“You could go back where you came from.” He said it without heat.

She shook her head. “I can't. My car fell into a ditch.”

He looked bored. “I thought as much.”

Clearly, the man was not quite sane. Joanna couldn't make head or tail of his comments. “I'd love to leave.” She glared at him. “But I'm afraid that I'll have to wait till morning.”

He eyed her without betraying any emotion. “You could sleep outside.”

The thought sent a shiver down her back. Nothing would make her go outside again, not even the worst companion in the world. “I'll stay inside, thank you very much.” Her voice sounded flat.

“I have just one bed.” He said it without taking his gaze off her, as if he was waiting for  a special reaction.

“I'll take the sofa.” She was now beyond the need to be polite to this guy. In a way, it was quite liberating. “I assume you have a sofa?”

He frowned. “I do.”

You're crazy to stay the night
, her inner voice whispered. Joanna clenched her teeth.
He gave me shelter, food, clothes. He can't be all bad. Besides, it's not as if I have a choice.
She forced herself to get up, leaning on the table as she did so. Every muscle hurt. She took her plate and placed it into the sink. “Please show me where to find the sofa. If it makes you happy, you can lock me in. I don't mind.” She didn't mind anything anymore, as long as she could sleep, warm and safe. She turned around and looked at him, hard, without smiling, her back leaning against the sink, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

He returned her gaze without blinking, his face equally unemotional as hers. He was really quite good-looking. Too much so . . . it had warped his character beyond repair.

“So?” she said.

“So?” Again, he lifted that infernal eyebrow.

“Will you show me the sofa?”

“You can't have the sofa.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because that's the room where I'm working.”

She shrugged. “So work. I don't snore and won't disturb you.”

He frowned and looked at her as if irritated. “My work is too loud to allow you to sleep.”

By now, Joanna knew where the expression bone-tired came from. It felt as if her muscles were too tired to hold herself together, as if in another minute or two, she would fall to the floor, in a heap of unsorted bones. “Don't worry. I'll manage.”

As he still didn't move, Joanna decided in a mix of rebellion and desperation to take things into her own hands. She pushed herself away from the sink and turned to the door. “I'll go find it.”

He gave an exasperated hiss and got up without a word, then lead the way to the living room. The first thing she saw was an open fireplace, the flames flickering through the dark. She went to it as if drawn by a magnet. It smelled of resin and made her feel welcome. She stretched out her hands to the fire, feeling the warmth that comforted her like an old friend.

Mr. Eyebrow switched on the light. To her surprise, a grand piano reigned in the opposite corner of the room, illuminated by an old-fashioned lamp with yellow tassels. The piano dwarfed the living room and almost blocked the door to the terrace at the side. The only other thing inside the room was a sofa, equally huge, placed right in front of the fire. It offered enough room for two people, sleeping at right angles.

With relief, Joanna saw two thick throws at one end of the sofa. Perfect. She needed nothing else. With a sigh, she collapsed onto the left wing of the sofa, pulled the rug over her shoulders, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she realized she didn't hear a thing and opened one eye again. Mr. Eyebrow stood in front of her, his arms still crossed in front of his chest, staring at her as if she had surprised him.

“What's the matter?” She wanted him to go away.

“You're taking a lot for granted.”

She pushed herself up on one elbow. The pain made her grimace. “Listen, if I had a choice, I would leave right now. However, I can't. I know my limits, and I've reached them, so even if you continue to treat me like the cholera in person, I won't move. You can do what you want; play the piano all night; whatever, I don't care. I will sleep now. As soon as I can, I will leave, and trust me, I will make sure I'll never return unless someone drags me screaming and kicking.” She narrowed her eyes. “Got that?”

His lips twisted.

She didn't know if it was supposed to be a smile. If it was, she had seen better ones. “Good night.” She dropped her head on the armrest and pulled the blanket over her head. And then she added, because he had after all saved her. “Thank you for the food, the bath, and the shelter.” Her words came out muffled from beneath the blanket, but it seemed he understood her quite well.

“You forgot the clothes.”

She clenched her teeth. “And the clothes. You'll get them back.”

This time, she heard his steps going toward the grand piano. Good.

She was just drifting into sleep when she heard the whine. It was high-pitched and sounded like a tortured animal. Fear coursed through her like fire, and her hair stood up at the nape of her neck. Was he a madman, a werewolf, a demon? She lay rigid, not wanting to move, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

Another whine, louder than before. It came from behind her, where he was, close to the piano.
How long does it take me to reach the front door?

She pulled up her knees without making a sound and pulled the blanket from her face in one slow movement.

A scrabbling sound was now added to the whine, like claws on glass.
Oh, God.
She pulled herself up and tensed all muscles, so she could get to the door with one big jump.

“I don't believe this.” His voice sounded his usual exasperated self. She heard two steps, then a door opened, and a cold gust of wind made the fire flicker in alarm.

Joanna frowned. She stretched until she could look around the side of the sofa, hiding herself as much as possible behind its bulk.

Mr. Eyebrow stood with his hands on his knees, bending forward. A sharp wind blew snow through the open glass door, and in the middle of the snow sat a wet puppy. It shivered, and looked at Mr. Eyebrow with hanging ears. “Oh, come in, come in.” He took the puppy with inexperienced hands and placed it onto the wooden floorboards. “The house is full anyway. One refugee more or less doesn't make a difference.”

He closed the door behind the puppy, then looked over his shoulder. “Are you experienced with dogs?”

“I am.” Joanna smiled.

“Good. Because I have no clue what to do with them.”

“Pretty much the same you did with me. A bath, some food, sleep.”

He eyed the little dog. “A bath? It's wet enough, I think.”

Joanna went to his side and knelt beside the puppy. It sniffed her hand with little enthusiasm. “Poor guy. He's completely exhausted.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Eyebrow didn't look as if a bedraggled puppy charmed him. “Do you think it's house-trained?”

“I shouldn't think so.” Joanna stroked the wet fur. “He can't be older than three or four months. I wonder . . . ” She broke off.

“What?”

“Two miles or so from here, I found an animal crate in the middle of the street. It looked as if it had fallen from a truck. It had been damaged and was empty.”

He frowned at the puppy who decided at this moment to sit on his feet. “You think the puppy may have come from that crate?”

Joanna shrugged. “It's possible, though it seems a very long way to go in that snow and with such short legs.”

“It's shivering.” He stood like a tree, staring down at the dog on his feet.

“Maybe you're right and a bath would be too stressful right now.” Joanna moved experienced hands over every limb of the little dog, checking him for injuries. “He doesn't seem to be hurt but he's a bit too thin.” She frowned and double-checked his neck and ears. “There's no visible mark to tell us about the owner. He's not a pure bred, so I don't think he'll be micro-chipped. Do you have something to rub him dry?”

Mr. Eyebrow's gaze followed her every move. “I can get an old towel if you take him off my feet.”

Joanna grinned. “I have a feeling he won't like that.” Nevertheless, she picked him up. The little dog whined when Mr. Eyebrow left the room and started to wag his tail the second he returned. “It looks as if he has adopted you.”

Mr. Eyebrow frowned. “I was always told that dogs have great instincts. Doesn't it realized I don't want to be adopted?”

Joanna bit her lip to suppress a smile. “Maybe he's missing that particular sense.” She put her head to the side. “Though from the look of him, I'd say there's a Collie somewhere in his family, and they're bright dogs.” She shrugged. “Well, there's no accounting for tastes.”

He stared at her. “You're rude.” A sort of smile crept into one corner of his mouth.

Did he like her to be rude? She returned his gaze without blinking. “I'm just adapting to the manners in this house.” She looked at the dog in her arm. “Now wrap the towel all around him and rub him dry.”

“I can't do that if you're holding him.”

She looked around. “I could place him on the piano.”

“No way.” His mouth was grim.

Joanna carried the dog to the kitchen and placed him onto the table. “There.”

Mr. Eyebrow started to rub the dog dry. He had long fingers and strong hands.

The tenderness of his moves surprised Joanna. She flickered a glance at his face. It was impassive. Hands and face seemed to belong to two different people. How odd.

When the little dog emerged from the towel, Joanna burst out laughing.

“I've never seen ears like that.”

The puppy had pointed ears that seemed to be too large for the rest of the face, but what made them look hilarious were tufts of hair that stood up at the tips. When he opened his muzzle, it looked as if he was grinning.

Mr. Eyebrow stared at the dog. “He looks like Dimitri.”

Joanna was surprised by the sad expression on his face. “Who's Dimitri?”

“Dimitri was a clown.” He sounded as if he was far away, locked in painful memories.

She had a feeling he wouldn't enjoy any questions. “Do you happen to have any raw meat in the house?“

He frowned. “I've got steak for lunch tomorrow.”

“Is it marinated already?”

“No. I like my steak pure.”

“Sounds good.” Joanna turned on her heels and opened the fridge. “Let's check it out.”

“I didn't say I'm willing to forgo my lunch.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You may not have said so, but that little guy here has adopted you, so you might just as well get used to the idea of caring for him.”

“Until the owner claims him back.” His voice sounded firm.

“Quite.” Joanna stood to the side. “I will hold him until you've fixed his dinner.”

He pushed his free hand through his hair. “Is it a dog you always have to hold?”

“Not as a rule, no.” Joanna gathered Dimitri into her arms. “But he is still small and has been frozen through, so we'd better keep him warm for the time being.”

Dimitri wriggled and turned his head to Mr. Eyebrow with an adoring look in his bright eyes. He obviously didn't like to be separated from his new hero.

“Shhh.” Joanna said. “He will just fix you some dinner and then you can sit on his feet again.”