Page 48 of Christmas with Holly

“What is it?”

“I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours.”

There was a smile in his voice. “You first.”

“I put a drizzle of truffle oil in the sauce. Now tell what you put in the coffee.”

“A hint of maple sugar.” He had taken her hand, his thumb stroking over the crests of her knuckles. The casual sensuality of his touch sent a deep, subtle quiver through her. She felt an equal measure of pleasure and despair, privately acknowledging that for a woman who had decided not to get involved, she had made a hell of a lot of questionable choices recently.

What was it Elizabeth had said?…That when it stopped feeling like flirting, that was when it became aproblem. And it was impossible for Maggie to deny that it had gone beyond flirtation, far past the superficial. She could love him, if she let it happen. Deeply, passionately, ruinously.

He was the trap she had once desperately promised herself to avoid.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

“No, stay.” Mark looked into her eyes, and whatever he saw caused him to lift his hand to her cheek in the gentlest possible caress. “What is it?” he murmured.

Maggie shook her head and tried to force a smile, and pushed away from him. Every muscle tightened in protest as she left the warm comfort of his proximity. She went to Holly, who was still sleeping soundly, and bent to kiss her.

“Are you going?” Sam asked, levering himself out of the recliner.

“No need to get up,” Maggie said, but Sam came to her and put his arms around her in a brotherly hug.

“You know,” he said affably, “if you lose interest in my brother, I’m a refreshing alternative.”

Maggie laughed and shook her head.

As Mark walked outside with Maggie, he was filled with desire and liking and sympathy, all bound with a thread of frustration. He understood the conflict within her, probably better than she would have believed. And he found himself in the position of having to push her, carefully, into something she was determined never to be ready for. If it were merely a question of being patient, he would have given her all the patience in the world. But that wouldn’t be enough to get her past her fears.

He stopped her on the front porch, wanting to talk for a minute or two before they went out into the icy open breeze.

“Are you working at the shop tomorrow?” he asked.

Maggie nodded, not quite meeting his gaze. “It’s going to be pretty busy from now until Christmas.”

“How about dinner one night this week?”

That got her to look at him. Her eyes were soft and dark, her mouth edged with melancholy. “Mark, I…” She stopped and swallowed hard, and looked so woebegone that he instinctively reached for her. She stiffened, wedging her forearms between them, but he continued to hold her anyway. Their breaths mingled in puffs of steam.

“How come Sam got to hug you,” Mark whispered, “and I don’t?”

“Different kind of hug,” she managed to say.

Mark lowered his forehead to hers. “Because you want me,” he murmured.

Maggie didn’t deny it.

A long moment passed, and she unfolded and slid her arms around him. “I’m not what you need,” she said, her voice muffled in his sweater. “You need someone who can make a commitment to you and Holly. Someone who can be part of your family.”

“You gave a pretty good impression of that today.”

“I’ve been giving you mixed signals. I know that. I’m sorry.” Maggie sighed, and her tone turned rueful. “Apparently you’re too much temptation for me to withstand.”

“You should just give in,” he said kindly.

He felt a ripple of laughter run through her. But as she looked up at him, her breath caught on another laugh, he saw that her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears.

“God, please don’t do that,” he whispered. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he wiped it with his thumb. “If you don’t stop, Maggie, I’m going to make love to you right on this freezing porch with all the splinters.”

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