The Christmas pageant.
A tiny part of her completely agreed it was almost masochistic for a man to actually attend when he had no children on the stage, but Izzy believed this was a precursor to a good father. Also a great excuse to end a relationship that bordered on the line of boring. Like she’d done twice before.
Nope. Aidan Hunter probably talked a good game, but he’d never appear. He’d cite work, family emergency, or a hair washing, then maybe offer dinner at a later date. She couldn’t even blame him. Heck, if she wasn’t friends with Liz, there’d be no way she’d volunteer to corral sixty five-year-olds to put on some form of a decent production.
“Miss Summers, my wings broke!” Ava broke into tears and showed a torn wing. Izzy grabbed the ever present box of tissues and mopped up her face, then whipped out a safety pin.
“All fixed, sweetie. Now go with Mrs. Johnson, we’re lining up.”
She brushed the sweat from her forehead, grabbed two small stragglers, and urged them up to the stage. A shepherd’s staff rammed into her head, and she tripped on a fallen angel. Izzy grit her teeth, fought past the pain, and got them all lined up in a halfcocked way.
Liz gave her a thumbs-up signal. Izzy looked around and quickly flashed her the finger.
Her best friend hooted with laughter, and Izzy climbed down the stage to block the right corner. Her job now consisted of pulling off crying kids, whispering forgotten lines, and making sure no children made a break for it.
God, she needed a drink.
She turned the corner and rammed into a solid wall of carved muscle. Hard hands grabbed her upper arms and righted her. She opened her mouth to firmly chide the straggling father, but the words died on her lips.
Amber eyes speared hers. Thick blond hair fell over his brow and she reached up without thinking to push it back. Her fingers tingled at the silky feel of the curl, and she yanked her hand back as if burned.
He smiled down at her, took in her disheveled appearance, and God bless him, still looked interested. “Hi,” he said. “Were you gonna yell at me?”
Izzy grinned back. “Yep. What are you doing here?”
He frowned and looked adorably confused. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you invite me to the play?”
“Yeah. You said you’d try to make it, but that’s always code for you had to cut your toenails tonight.”
His eyes sparkled with humor. And heat. “Damn, that’s sexy.”
She pursed her lips and lowered her voice. “I got much more in my arsenal. Watch out.” A tiny toddler waddled over, diaper hanging, and she scooped him up without blinking. “Ooops, a runaway. Where’s Mama?”
The toddler stuck a drooly hand and grasped a loose curl. “Eeeee!”
Izzy sighed and wished for a wet wipe. Damn, that was sticky. His mother flashed in front of her and she handed him off without pause. “I can’t believe you came,” she said again. Izzy blushed. God, she was lame. Now she sounded as if she was so desperately happy that a man showed up. Not cool. “I mean, it didn’t matter, but I’m happy to see you.”
“Didn’t matter?”
Her blush deepened. “I mean—”
Aidan grabbed the sticky curl. “I’m just teasing you, Ms. Summers. I had such a good time the other night, I wanted the chance to check out your school. See you in action. As long as you promise not to yell at me again.”
Giddiness skipped through her body. She actually believed him. Her gut screamed he wasn’t coming to the play just to sleep with her, but that would’ve been fine too. Because she wanted to sleep with him. Eventually.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“Can I take you for something to eat afterward?”
Izzy nodded. “Yes. On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“The restaurant must supply wine. I’m going to need it after this.”
On cue, the auditorium darkened and the spotlight focused on the stage. Aidan bent toward her. The delicious scent of lemon and soap teased her nostrils.
“Done,” he whispered in her ear. “I have one condition myself.”
“I’m a flexible woman.”
“Dessert must be included. Hopefully something chocolate.”
In that moment, her heart melted.
A man who loved sweets was at the top of her list in qualities needed in a mate.
She nodded her assent, and turned toward the stage.
As the children began to sing “Silent Night,” and the energy of love in the crowd pulled to her, Izzy clasped her fingers within his and felt as if she was finally home.
Chapter Three
Two weeks later, they stood together and took in the scene before them. “Are you sure about this?”
Aidan looked down at her face and fought back his instinct to throw her in the snow and ravish her. Cheeks pink from the cold, aqua eyes bright, a frown marred her brow as she took in the giant hill before them. The sounds of screams and laughter echoed through the air.
Instead, he chucked her under the chin and issued his challenge. “You’re not scared, are you?”
On cue, she narrowed her gaze and slipped into teacher mode. “Of course not. Eat my dust, Hunter.”
She slammed her butt onto the sleigh and pushed off. Aidan laughed and grabbed his own sled, doing a belly flop as he landed hard and took off down the hill. Cold wind ripped at his face as the sled picked up speed, and a shot of adrenalin warmed his blood as he zigzagged, hit a bump, and then went airborne.
His landing was indelicate, but fun as hell. He rolled a few times in the fluffy mounds of white and came to rest on his back, staring up at the endless blue sky that reminded him of Isabella’s eyes.
“Oh, my God, are you okay?” She bent over him, her gloved hand pushing wet strands of hair from his forehead. Aidan couldn’t resist. He closed his eyes and gave a moan of pain. “Aidan, look at me. Where are you hurt?”
He knew a specific part on his body that ached, but it wasn’t from the fall. Tawny locks teased his cheek and he caught the scent of fresh strawberries. The hell with it. He was no saint. He muttered something deliberately low so she couldn’t hear.
“What?” Her hands coasted lightly over his down jacket and snow pants but burned through the material like he wore nothing. She bent, and her mouth stopped inches from his. Aidan fought a grin.
Score.
He reached out and lifted her up and over so she sprawled on top of him. Isabella squeaked in feminine outrage and tried to wiggle away, but he moved fast and rolled her over to pin her neatly beneath him.
“Faker!” she yelled.
He parted her legs and pressed against her. Her eyes widened at his full, throbbing length, then darkened in sensual response. That was all he needed. His voice came out husky with desire. “No, not about this. Not about us.” Then he dove in.
His tongue pushed through the seam of her lips with a raw hunger he didn’t want to hide. Her cold lips were a delicious contrast to her wet heat. Her sweet taste swamped his senses, and he swallowed her throaty moan, urging her to give it all back to him.
She did. Her tongue tangled and pushed back, her hands thrust into his hair and dislodged his cap, and her hips arched up to meet him. Aidan muttered a curse, desperate to slip his fingers between her thighs and send her over the edge. Instead, he eased back, realizing the crowds of laughing kids weren’t the best surroundings for their first time. He pressed one last tender kiss against those plump lips and broke the embrace.
Isabella gazed back at him, punch drunk, and obviously confused. Possession shuddered through him at her raw response. He needed to claim her.
Two weeks and a dozen cold showers later, he needed to make this woman completely his.
And tell her the truth.
The more time passed, the harder it may be for her to understand why he kept his past a secret. When he heard her story and realized what was at stake, his words dried up and withered on his tongue. How could he tell her he was the son of the Pasta King? She’d refuse to see him, imagining the same historic hell repeating itself in her life. He needed more time. Time to convince her to look past his money and crap, and see the man he was. Hell, wasn’t that his whole goal to his undercover operation? To find a woman who loved him for nothing but his soul?
A humorless laugh strangled against his lips. His plan had backfired. He wasn’t afraid Isabella craved his money. Instead, terror choked him at the possibility of her rejection because he
was
rich. Michael, the dickhead, ruined her. Now Aidan had three strikes. He owned money, fame and came from the city.
Of course, the question would never be if Isabella was good enough for him and his family. Aidan already knew the real question. Would she think he was good enough for her?
His father nipped at his heels to make a decision. He had little time left.
“Aidan?” His name cut through the frigid air and caressed his ears like Beethoven. She smiled at him and placed a kiss on his lips. “Where did you go?”
“Come home with me, Isabella.”
Her voice trembled. “Yes.”
Triumph coursed through him. He stroked her cheek, determined to make tonight the best evening she ever had. “I’ll cook you dinner. But first we need to lay here a while.”
She frowned. “Did you really get hurt?”
“No, I don’t want to give the kids a shock.”
She glanced down at the hardened bulge in his pants and let out a loud, clear laugh that rang down the mountain. “Good idea.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re definitely a city boy. You suck at sledding.”
He winked. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoyed the view.” His slipped his hand under her jacket and squeezed her buttocks, which sent her into another fit of laughter. She slapped his grabbing fingers away, glancing around to see if they’d been noticed. He grinned, rolled over and stood up. Fat flakes of snow clung to her stylish knit hat and nestled their way in between silky strands of hair peeking out from the edges. Her lips were bright pink, swollen, and glistened wetly. The thought of those lips on other parts of his anatomy surged, and the uncomfortable cold and dampness suddenly eased. God, he couldn’t wait to get her alone, naked, and underneath him, open and—
“Look out below!”
The war chant echoed down the slopes in warning but it was too late. Aidan stumbled back as several hard-launched snowballs hit him in the face and chest. His breath cut out at the icy sharpness as snow exploded in his mouth, up his nostrils, and in the gap of his jacket.
“What the hell?” His yell barely registered under the sudden shock as three teenage boys came into view. Piles of snowballs held in their hands like machine gun artillery, they stared at him with disrespect and impatience.
“Sorry, man, you got caught in the crossfire.”
“Yeah, dude, hope you weren’t hurt.” The second teen’s words ended in a snicker, obviously disgusted at the idea of a grown man not able to take a few snowballs.
Aidan opened his mouth to defend his wimpy actions but five feet of bristling feminine fury jumped in front of him.
“How dare you hit Mr. Hunter?” Isabella spit out, her finger jabbing at each of them. “Peter, Mark, Tommy, you should be ashamed of yourselves. You know the rules about snowball fights. Before you fire, you look for innocent bystanders.”
Aidan’s mouth dropped open. He waited for the gangly, testosterone tempered teens to bitchily complain to her, or make fun of her tirade, but to his astonishment, they all looked abashed. “Sorry, Ms. Summers.” Mark dropped his head. “Didn’t see you.”
“Who was your target?” Isabella demanded.
Tommy raised a finger to point to another group of boys behind a large spruce. The group bent over in hysterics, obviously loving the idea of an elementary teacher giving their friends hell.
“Well, you could have hurt him. Next time watch what you’re doing.”
“Yes, Ms. Summers.”
Aidan huffed with indignation. Hurt? She actually thought a few snowballs would hurt? He gazed at her in astonishment, but her glance confirmed his suspicions. She actually thought he was pissed off. Aidan almost laughed out loud. What type of men did she date anyway? Did she really think he was a stuffy city boy afraid of a bit of snow and some teens? Maybe it was time to show her how loud he could roar...
While she was distracted still disciplining her charges, Aidan ducked and made a few icy balls in the next few seconds. Then hid them under his jacket as he stood up.
“Now, apologize to Mr. Hunter.”
The three boys literally rolled their eyes at him. Mutters of “sorry” hit the air.
“It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “Just watch it next time.”
They began walking away. “Aidan, are you okay?” she asked gently.
“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He spun on his heel. “Hey, boys!”
The three teens turned.
With rapid fire, he clocked each of them in the face with three perfectly launched pitches. Isabella sucked in her breath. He watched with satisfaction as Mark, Tommy and Peter spit out snow and blinked in pure astonishment at the maneuver.
“Good enough to be on your team, man?” Aidan asked.
Tommy grinned. The other two gave the thumbs up signal.
“Aidan, what are you doing?” she cried.
Aidan pressed a quick kiss to her lips and let out a whooping war cry. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be fine. I’m charging into battle and we’re gonna kick a little ass!”
The teens yelled out in agreement and Aidan raced toward the spruce, already mentally forming his attack.
As he joined in the energetic snowball fight, he realized he’d never been happier in his entire life.
****
Isabella watched Aidan jump out and pummel a teen boy who held out his arms in a fake shield, then fell back in defeat. Her boyfriend roared his victory and high-fived Mark in an all male ritual she never truly understood.
Boyfriend?
The term flashed insistently in neon color. Was Aidan Hunter her boyfriend? They’d only been together for two weeks. Two wonderful, snowy, cozy, perfect weeks, but much too limited a period to throw the word around so casually. She winced at the awful adolescent phrase, yet her heart beat like a galloping stampede of wild horses.
They hadn’t discussed the future, but Isabella sensed his emotions were real. After her huge mistake in Manhattan, she’d been careful of letting a man sneak past her barriers. Aidan may not talk about his past, and she sensed he struggled with some identity issues, but his heart rang true. The naked gleam of desire mingled with an open happiness and connection she never experienced before.