Page 24 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“Ew, gross,” she said, her nose crinkling up adorably. But she still looked seriously concerned. Why? Could she possibly have even more secrets than the whole fake-boyfriend thing? Could she be a pathological secret keeper?

And I thoughtIwas tight-lipped.

“Okay,” I said, the problem solver in me wanting to fix whatever was wrong. “Tell me what foods you hate. Besides peanut butter.”

She jerked her head up. “How do you know I don’t like peanut butter?”

“Because you don’t ever eat Valerie’s famous chocolate-peanut butter-oatmeal cookies.”

“I always take one,” she said defensively. “Because she insists.”

“And then you toss it.”

“No onesees me do that,” she said. “I’m very discreet.”

I lifted a brow. “What else should I know?”

“I always win the sledding competition.”

“Sledding competition?” This was getting more and more terrifying.

“You’ll see.”

Right. “If I were you,” I said, “I’d be more worried for me. I mean, you’ve got oak trees for brothers. What are they, like six-five and two-fifty?” That was the trouble with being a doc. Your main weapon was your brain a lot more than your brawn. Not that I didn’t work out, but I had more of a runner’s build than a bodybuilder’s. And these guys…well, they were big and beefy and as full of muscle as WWE fighters.

She smiled. “They really were linemen in college.”

Of course they were. “Exactly what are they going to do to me in that barn?”

It was her turn to count on her fingers. “Brand cattle. Pick up the tractor and see how far you can move it. Make newbies shovel horse poop.” My eyes must have gone wide, even as I was glad she was back in fighting form. “Don’t worry, city boy,” she said with mischief in her eyes. “They’re usually mellower after they’ve eaten, so you’re safe. Probably.”

I couldn’t take that sitting down, so I grabbed her in a firefighter hold and tossed her over my shoulder.

She let out a squeal, pounding me on the back and demanding to be put down.

So then I tossed her onto the bed.

Unfortunately, a side effect was that I landed with her, right on that bed, our bodies tangled up together, so close I could see the vibrant spring green of her eyes. They were the kind of green you see in May when it’s eighty degrees and the sun is streaming brightly through the leaves, and they were wide and round with surprise.

And then things got quiet.

A shock ran through my body. An awareness. A slow, steady quickening of my pulse.

I sat up quickly, struggling to pretend I hadn’t just experienced an inner earthquake.

I couldn’t shake the memory of her in my arms, laughing and out of breath.

“You need to laugh more,” I said. My voice came out low and gravelly.

In that one moment, the world seemed to stop. And I saw her. What I mean is, I saw the raw, honest feeling in her eyes. The attraction I’d tried so hard to hold at bay zapped between us like a hot wire.

I tore my gaze away and forced myself to get off the bed. I busied myself opening my duffel bag, trying to find a nice sweater to wear to dinner. Which made no sense since I already had on my nicest sweater, but I had to focus on something, anything else.

“By the way, they make you do that with one hand,” she said, a mischievous grin spreading over her face.

I frowned. Mia was lying on her side, propped up on an elbow. She mimed bench-pressing a heavy object—the tractor,I presumed. Then she laughed again, sending all the tension inside me breaking like a dam.

Something inside me loosened. Go ahead, brawny D’Angelo brothers, tear me apart. Hearing her laugh—twice—had been worth it.

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