Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,76
“They’re ginger bears. And you don’t have to go just yet. I mean, if you don’t want to. It’s still coming down pretty heavy out there.”
Noah wasn’t interested in “out there” as much as he was in what was happening in here. Where Faith was not only asking him to stay but asking him while standing in those ever-so-sculpting pajama bottoms. Then there was the still rain-dampened hair and bare feet adding an adorable sweetness to that sexy coed vibe she had going on. Noah knew that staying would only lead to trouble.
But hot damn, trouble had never been so tempting.
“As long as I’m not in the way.”
“Honestly, I could use the company.” Her gaze fell, as if embarrassed to have asked. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”
He couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be than in this kitchen with the woman who’d consumed his every waking hour. Some of his sleeping ones too, but he didn’t think she’d want to hear about that, so he said, “Why don’t I make something to warm us up while you start on your cookies?”
Noticing the way her limbs sagged with exhaustion, he grabbed two mugs off the drying rack and placed the kettle on the stove. She didn’t seem to mind him rummaging around her kitchen. In fact, his presence seemed to put her at ease.
Head in her cupboard, he asked, “So I assume you don’t want to talk about what upset you tonight.”
“Not ever.”
Finding what he needed, he went to the fridge. “Okay, then, how about we start with the basics? How long have you lived here?”
“Pax and I lived in the top unit of the cute yellow Victorian across the street for about six years and loved it, but it was a one-bedroom.”
Which meant, at some point Faith started sleeping on the couch so her brother could have the bed.
“Mr. Adams owned this place forever, never married, never had kids, and he loved having Pax around. Used to pay him to help with odd chores around the house. But the winters were hard on his arthritis, so last year he decided to retire to Boca Raton with his brother and sold me this house. Dated furniture included,” she said. “He was a bachelor here for over fifty years, so it’s definitely a fixer-upper, and there’s a lot of fixing up still to be done, but we’re getting there.”
Faith patted the table, old and beautiful with hand-carved legs and an oval top, which he’d bet the ranch she’d refurbished herself.
“What?” she asked. “What’s that look for?”
“I’m impressed is all,” he said honestly. Not only had she managed to buy her own home before turning thirty, but she’d done an incredible amount of work on the place. By herself, from the sound of it, and all while raising her kid brother.
A collage of photos on the far wall caught his attention. There must have been twenty pictures of her and Pax—hiking, at the beach, in front of the Alamo. In every snapshot, the two were smiling or laughing, their love for each other contagious.
Noah enjoyed the idea of her making fun memories with her brother. Seeing her riding in some of the photos, he also liked the idea of her on his horse. He found himself smiling.
“Was this taken at the Crossing?” he asked, and when she didn’t answer, he turned to face her. She was frozen in place, her eyes wide and uncertain. “Faith?”
“Where’s your gun?”
“Left it in the car.”
“I thought you alpha types always carry a gun with you.”
He stepped around the table to stand in front of her. “Not when it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You noticed that?” She rubbed the hem of her sweatshirt between her fingers, her gaze everywhere but on his.
Her unease had been hard to miss. There was a distinct difference between gun-shy and petrified, and he didn’t have to look in some file to guess at the kind of history she must have survived to have that reaction to a loaded weapon.
“I seem to notice everything about you,” he admitted.
The way she always put others first, the way she could look sexy even after standing in a downpour, and the way she fidgeted when she was nervous—like now.
He placed a hand over her fingers and intertwined them with his and, oh holy night was right. One touch was like adding a spark to a brick of C-4. Those lush lips formed the perfect O of surprise, and her eyes were equally round as she