Baby, It's Cold Outside (5 page)

He reached up to twine the end of one curl around his finger. “So soft. You’re delicious,” he whispered.

Ellie leaned forward and kissed him—little teasing, nibbling kisses along his lower lip that made him shiver, and she loved the fact that she could make him react to her like that.

Then he sat up, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hard, pushing deep into her.

Merry Christmas
, she thought. And then she stopped thinking as her second climax hit her, the sensation pulsing through her body.

Chapter Five

When both their heart rates had slowed down to normal, Mitch stroked Ellie’s face. “I’d better deal with the condom. Where’s the bathroom?”

“At the end of the corridor,” she said.

He slid out of bed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Which was just long enough for Ellie to start worrying. What had just happened between them had been amazing. Unexpectedly good.

But she had absolutely no idea what to do now. How was he feeling about this? Okay, so he was stuck here for tonight, but would he even want to see her again once the roads had cleared enough for him to leave?

And then there were the practical issues. His suit was soaked, and her bathrobe was never going to fit him. The best she could offer him was a bath towel. And she could hardly suggest that he spent the rest of the evening wearing nothing but a bath towel. It was ridiculous. She knew she’d laugh about it later, but right now she was feeling like the worst hostess in the world.

Quickly, she pulled some dry clothes on, and was just starting to deal with the soggy heap of clothes on the floor when Mitch walked back into the room, unashamedly naked.

Obviously her worries showed on her face, because he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She told him.

He just laughed. “I guess you have a point. I can’t put my suit back on until it’s dry. But if we were at a pool or on a beach I’d be wearing less than a towel.” He smiled at her. “Actually, I’ve had a thought. How easy is it to scandalize your neighbors?”

Ellie stared at him, horrified. She hadn’t even thought about the neighbors. “You mean, if they saw us outside in the garden…” Kissing each other stupid, and then him carrying her inside—and it would’ve been so obvious what their intentions had been.

“No. I was thinking more about collecting something from my car. But if my going outside in just a towel would upset your neighbors…”

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it,” she said hastily.

“The Santa suit’s in the back of my car.”

She sat down on the bed in relief. “So you’re telling me I’m going to have dinner with Santa? A man in a red hoodie?”

He laughed. “Looks like it. But I already have a pocket full of carrots for Rudolph, so you don’t have to cater to him tonight.” He gave her his car keys.

She rummaged in her wardrobe and took out a couple of hangers. “I don’t think your suit would survive the tumble-dryer—it’s probably best if you hang it up in the bathroom to dry—but I can sort out the rest of your clothes while we have dinner.”

“Thank you. And I’ll, um, borrow a towel, if I may, until you can get that suit for me.”

Now that they’d sorted it out, she was quite happy for him to stay stark naked until then. He was seriously beautiful, and if she were an artist she’d want to sculpt him. As it was, she could think of several interesting things to do with sweet buttercream frosting and sprinkles.

Aware that lust was flickering down her spine again, she scooped up their wet clothes and left the room before she did something
really
stupid. Once the washing machine was going, she went out to his car and discovered that it was snowing harder again. The roads still hadn’t been cleared. She retrieved the Santa outfit, and shook the snow from her hair as she closed the front door behind her.

Mitch was just walking down the stairs. “It’s still snowing?”

“Yes. So it looks as if you’re going to be having Christmas dinner here tomorrow.” She handed over the Santa suit. “I take it you’re not going to wear the beard this time?”

“C.J. wouldn’t be too happy if I got the beard covered in food.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’ll need to get this suit dry-cleaned before I hand it back—or maybe this suit’s mine from now on.”

“I’m not sure if I feel more guilty that you’re going to be totally naked under that, or…”

“Turned on?” he asked softly.

She licked her lower lip. “It’s certainly turning out to be a Christmas to remember—and nothing like what I was expecting.”

“Me, neither,” he admitted.

And then he dropped the towel.

She blew out a breath. “Carry on like that, and you’re not getting any dinner.”

He put on the Santa suit. “You do realize you’re standing below a mistletoe ball?” Then he gave her a truly mischievous grin and broke into song. “’Tis the season to kiss Santa, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la.”

How could she resist? She stepped forward into his arms.

By the time he broke the kiss, she was shaking. “Kitchen. Now.”

“Mmm. Sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?”

Oh, the pictures that put in her head. She felt the color rush into her cheeks. “Behave. Bad boys don’t get a present from Santa.”

“Speaking as Santa, I should inform you that I can be just as bad as I like.” He stole another kiss, then relented. “Come on, Chief Elf, let’s go and make dinner.”

Ellie had to think about what was actually in the cupboards. “Do you like pasta?”

“Love it.”

She glanced at the clock as they went through to the kitchen. “We’re, what, five hours behind London?” At his nod, she sighed. “It’s too late to text the picture of the snow angel to my brother, then.”

“It’s not
that
late.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. And my niece and nephew will be awake at four o’clock tomorrow morning, opening their stockings very noisily, so he and my sister-in-law are going to need every minute of sleep they can get.”

“You’re really missing your family, aren’t you?” Mitch asked.

She nodded. “I’ve sent them presents, and I’ll Skype them tomorrow, but it’s not the same as being there with them and playing all the games.”

“That’s what you do at Christmas?”

“Boxing Day, really. On Christmas Day, we have bookings for lunch.
Had
,” she amended. “Sorry. After five years, it’s hard to get used to the fact that it’s not my restaurant any more.” She bit her lip. “Tomorrow’s the first year in I don’t know how long that I’m not cooking Christmas lunch for fifty.”

“So catering the kids’ party today was a walk in the park for you.”

“Yes. But I used to love doing Christmas dinner, working out the menu choices and planning what I was going to do for the petits fours.” She shook herself. “What about you? How do you normally spend Christmas?”

“Work,” he admitted. “It’s a chance to catch up with paperwork. The gym’s not open on Christmas Day, but there’s a pool in my building so I can have a quiet swim first thing and go for a run later.”

“And then Christmas dinner somewhere?”

“Probably a TV dinner,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“So food is fuel, not a pleasure.”

“I didn’t say that. I know my way around a kitchen. But I guess work takes up a lot of time.” He paused. “So what would you normally cook for Christmas lunch?”

“The same as what you’d have over here, I’d guess. Turkey, stuffing, chipolatas wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes and parsnips, brussels sprouts and red cabbage.”

He shook his head. “We tend to have the same kind of thing as we do at Thanksgiving—turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, followed by pumpkin pie.”

“You don’t have Christmas pudding?”

He looked blank. “Christmas pudding?”

“It’s a steamed pudding with a lot of dried fruit in it,” she explained. “And I mean a lot. My family hates it, so I only put it on the menu at work because it’s traditional and people expect it as an option.”

“So what would a pastry chef suggest for dessert at Christmas?”

“Something traditional with a twist. Say, an Eton mess made with cranberries instead of strawberries, or spiced oranges with chantilly cream, or a cinnamon crème brûlée.” She smiled. “Though I’m afraid I can’t do anything like that for you tomorrow. Because I was going to visit Betty, I planned to have Christmas dinner from the hospital cafeteria. So you’re just going to have to hope I have a few things in the freezer.”

“That’s fine by me. Are you looking for a sous chef?”

She laughed. “You don’t just walk into a sous chef job, you know. You start as a prep chef—in fact, before that, you start as a pot-washer.”

“Hey. I’ve already been a stand-in Santa. I can do anything. And I know my way around a kitchen. I’ll prove it to you if you like. Give me a knife and a chopping board,” he said, “and I’ll do the onions for the pasta sauce. In fact,
I’ll
make the sauce.”

“You’re on. And I’ll get you an apron. You get that suit messy, you’re going to be back to the bath towel,” she teased.

As they worked together to make dinner, they kept accidentally brushing against each other. Even though the Santa suit was shapeless and totally unsexy, Ellie knew exactly what the body under it looked like. What it felt like. How it had made her feel.

That, together with those tingling brushes against her skin, made her temperature spike. Just as well that dinner was something they could make fast, she thought. Or she’d be very tempted to suggest that they skip it completely and go back to her bed with a tub of ice cream.

Mitch surprised her with his efficiency in making the sauce. So he’d been telling the truth about knowing his way around a kitchen. Given that he seemed cagey on the subject of his family, she wondered where he’d learned to cook.

Finally, dinner was ready, and they carried their plates through to the dining room.

…

Mitch poured the wine they’d found, then lifted his glass to toast her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She tasted the pasta and he watched her, wondering whether she’d nitpick and tell him what she would’ve done differently.

“I like it,” she said with a smile. “It has a wonderful texture and a good blend of flavors.”

“So you’d offer me a job if you opened a new restaurant?”

“Maybe. Though I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do yet.” For a moment, her eyes were filled with sadness. “One of the reasons I came here, as well as to help Betty out, was to take a break from London. So I’d have somewhere different to get my head together and think about what to do next.”

“You said your partner bought you out of the restaurant?”

She nodded. “Jeff wasn’t just my business partner. We met at catering college, and got married a couple of years before we bought the restaurant. I thought it was what we both wanted. But.” She sipped her wine. “I guess it was the seven-year itch.”

“The seven-year itch?” Mitch asked softly.

“He fell out of love with me and in love with one of our clients.”

Ellie’s voice was neutral, but her eyes gave her away. She’d clearly been devastated by the split. “That must’ve been rough on you,” he said.

She nodded. “But it was six months ago now, and I’ve had enough of the pity party. Jeff didn’t mean to hurt me. He couldn’t help falling in love with Miranda, and she couldn’t help falling in love with him.” She shrugged. “The divorce is through now. And I wish them both well.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

She took another sip of wine. “It’s the only way to think. Yes, it hurt when it happened, but it’s pointless being bitter about the situation. It’s not going to change anything. To be honest, Jeff and I were always good friends, and maybe we should’ve stayed that way instead of getting together one night at a party. The next morning, we thought the choice was either stay together or lose the friendship—whereas maybe we should’ve just agreed to draw a line under what happened and just gone back to where we were before.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make, mixing up friendship and love.”

“You’ve done that?” she asked.

He’d never been in love. He’d always kept himself slightly aloof from his past girlfriends, not wanting to repeat the damage of his childhood. “Not personally,” he admitted, “but I’ve seen others do it.” Uncomfortable with the subject, he changed it. “So have you got a short list of options? Things you’d like to do?”

She shrugged. “I could open another restaurant, or start up a company specializing in desserts. Or I could maybe teach others how to do what I do—either at a catering college, or hold my own classes. Or even do it as a series of magazine articles. I’ve done a couple of interviews where the journalist brought a photographer along and they took shots of me making whatever. It was a lot of fun.”

“And you’d do this in London?”

Even as he said the words, Mitch knew that they sounded like an invitation.

Was that his subconscious taking over? What he really wanted? For Ellie to stay and for him to get to know her better?

“It doesn’t have to be London,” Ellie said. “Although technically at the moment I’m both homeless and jobless, Jeff bought me out, so I have enough money to make a bank serious about giving me the extra collateral I would need to set up a business. But it needs to be the right decision. I’m taking my time so I don’t make another mistake.”

Did she mean in business, or personally?

He knew it wasn’t a question he should ask. But he found himself looking her straight in the eye. “Was this a mistake?”

She shook her head. “This was a Christmas gift.” She looked right back at him. “But is it just being offered for Christmas?”

He’d asked her a tough question, so he could hardly complain that her question was tough. He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. On paper… You’re single, and so am I. So we could see where this thing takes us, for as long as you’re in the States.”

“But?”

Were his doubts that obvious? He grimaced. “I can’t promise you a long-term relationship. I’ve never done anything other than short-term.”

“Why not?”

He could change the subject again. Or he could be blunt and tell her that it was none of her business.