Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,20

his eyes. His dark blond hair was slightly mussed, like he’d recently run a hand through it.

His chiseled face brightened when he saw her. The grin he flashed made her heart flip-flop like a fish on the end of her papi’s favorite fishing pole line.

“Hi,” Ben said. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”

Moving aside, he gestured for her to enter.

Julia stomped the snow off her boots before stepping into the house, then paused inside the foyer, biting her lip to keep her jaw from dropping open.

While Laura and Sherman Taylor’s home might be grand opulence at its finest, Ben’s house was a veritable oasis. Intricate light and dark geometric patterns marked the inlaid wood floors while miniature palms rose up from the basement to tickle the first floor steps of a floating staircase connecting the home’s three levels. Columns in the same dark wood separated the various rooms on the main floor, with a trail of little wooden orbs the size of ping-pong balls stained to match dotting the curved archways of the cream-painted walls.

“Here, let me take your coat,” Ben said. “Make yourself at home.”

Eyeing the strong lines and intricate details in the design and structure, she slowly unwrapped her scarf. “This is absolutely beautiful, Ben.”

“Thanks. It’s a comfortable place to come to at the end of a long day or an even longer road trip.”

“I’m sure.” And yet, it lacked holiday spirit. She couldn’t resist asking why. “No tree though? Aren’t you expecting Santa to come down your chimney with gifts?”

Ben chuckled. “Probably not. My parents weren’t really into the holidays. And these days I’m usually traveling or celebrating with others at their place.”

The thought of a young Ben left to his own devices as a kid or now, alone in this sterile, albeit breathtaking, house devoid of revelry and tradition made Julia a little sad. Maybe because, for her, this time of year had always been filled with fiestas and customs shared with her familia.

Glancing at the living room that faced Addison Street, she easily pictured a stately fir holding center court in front of the middle window. A nativity scene at the tree’s base, a few wrapped presents beside it. A trail of garland looping the staircase railing. Ooh, the possibilities here were endless.

Hands on her hips, she faced Ben again. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but from the outside, your house looks kind of Grinchy. We might have to do something about that.”

“Oh really?” Ben hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, eyeing her with speculation.

“Uh-huh,” she pressed, unable to resist the fun in teasing him a little.

“Hmmm.” His brow furrowed, as if he was considering something. “And you think you can help me spruce up my Christmas image among my neighbors?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Okay, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Too late she realized she’d practically invited herself to help decorate his house. The satisfied gleam in Ben’s eyes told her he knew it, too. And he probably wouldn’t let her off the hook.

Not that she really wanted off anyway.

“But first, we have some ice skating to tackle. Come on, I was about to start heating our hot chocolate on the stove. Unless you’d like a tour of the place.” Ben had taken a few steps to his left, but then he turned so abruptly Julia ran into his chest.

“Oomph!” she grunted, her hands grabbing onto his biceps to steady herself.

Ben’s arms came around her waist, snugly wrapping her in his embrace.

Julia gazed up at him, the light from the intricate wrought iron chandelier turning his hair a burnished gold.

All of a sudden time stood still.

She watched his gaze drop to her mouth before slowly moving back up to meet hers.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a husky rasp that had intimate places on her body thrumming.

Ave María, she was nowhere near okay.

More like confused.

Certainly turned on.

Not trusting her voice, Julia nodded. She licked her lips nervously. Ben’s gaze followed the motion, desire flaring in the depths of his eyes.

His head dipped. Paused. Waited for her reaction.

That pause, the gentlemanly action that told her he’d do nothing without her consent, pushed her over the edge of reason and into passion-fueled insanity.

Rising up on her booted toes, Julia slid one hand behind his neck. Her fingers dug into the cropped hair along his nape, urging him to continue.

Ben did her bidding with a muffled groan.

His lips covered hers in a heated kiss. His hands moved from her waist to her hips at the same