Once Upon a Christmas (45 page)

He beamed. “Drink up. It’s my specialty.”

She gazed into the Flintstones glass of foaming…stuff…he’d
whipped up, not at all sure she could actually consume it. She sniffed.

“This smells like…I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m
thinking…Christmas time, punch bowls, rum.” Chloe snapped her fingers. “Eggnog!”

“Sure. You could call it that.” Nick ran his
fingertip around the edge of the blender container. “It’s got eggs in it.”

He licked the tip of his finger, then held up the blender
pitcher and lapped up a drip. She’d never envied a hunk of plastic before.

“Eggnog, huh?” she managed to say. “Okay.”

She sipped. It tasted of cold frothy milk, a touch of
banana…and the slimy glob of raw egg that slicked down her throat on the
first gulp.

“Aaack!” Chloe thrust the glass at Nick and leaned
toward the coffee table, shoving aside books and magazines and knocking a
rental DVD of The Three Stooges to the floor in her quest for the tissue box. “Why
didn’t you tell me the egg was
raw
?”

She heard the muffled whump of tissues being pulled out of
the box, then Nick pressed a wad in her hand. She used it to wipe away the last
traces of his pseudo health drink. That horrible stuff had to be revenge for
the way she’d sprung her pregnancy surprise on him.

“Of course it was raw,” he said, exactly in the
same way he might have said, “Of course I hate shopping.”

“You’ve seen too many Rocky movies.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Don’t be a doofus.” She aimed a shuddering glance
at the Flintstones cup. “I’m not drinking that stuff. Don’t you know raw
eggs can carry salmonella? You’re supposed to be the Science Guy, here.”

“Sorry, Chloe.” He looked disappointed. “I
meant well.”

Something told her she hadn’t seen the last of his efforts
to make sure was a suitably healthy example of an expectant mother. The idea
had a certain irony, but it wasn’t anything Chloe could consider further with
egg aftertaste in her mouth and Nick’s steady gaze making her feel warm all
over.

“I’ll come up with a better drink next time.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She dreaded it already.

“You’re welcome.” He picked up the Flintstones
cup, then peered thoughtfully into it. “Nadine’s got some recipes for
smoothies. I’ll make some for you. Otherwise, you’ll be missing out on some
good stuff.”

I know
, Chloe thought, watching him carry the cup to
the kitchen.
I’ll be missing you
. The sink faucet rumbled, then water
splashed. She imagined a future with Nick elbow-deep in soapsuds at her sink
every day, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder and a babbling baby at the
table and her whipping up something gourmet at the stove…and knew her fantasy
was only that.

She couldn’t even cook.

She followed him to the kitchen anyway and found Nick
head-and-shoulders deep inside her refrigerator, mumbling to himself. His
backside faced her, every bit as cute as she remembered. His denim shorts
stretched tight as he reached for something on the shelf in front of him.

Chloe stifled a sigh and leaned on the counter to watch.
Fate was cruel to have delivered her a man like this next door, given her a
taste of life in his arms…then dangled him just out of reach with
Kahlúa-induced amnesia and the constraints of platonic friendship. It just wasn’t
fair.

Nick’s hand emerged holding a box of Twinkies. He slapped it
on the countertop beside the six pack of diet cola he’d already removed from
the refrigerator.

“Hey!” She was beside him in an instant. “Those
will get all gooey if you leave them out like that.”

He faced her, eyebrows raised. “They’ll get even gooier
in the trash can.” He picked up the box and aimed it toward the plastic
bin in the corner like a basketball player making a free throw. He paused. “Want
to say goodbye?”

“What? No!” Chloe grabbed one end of the box and
pulled. Nick pulled back.

The tug of war that ensued wasn’t pretty.

“You can’t eat this stuff,” Nick said, wrenching
his end of the box.

His tug sent her stockinged feet skidding across the
linoleum. She added her other hand to the struggle and gained an inch or two. “Let
go!”

“You let go.” He tugged back, and she lost the
ground she’d gained. His broad chest and grinning face forecast his victory,
but she wasn’t ready to call it quits yet.

Chloe Carmichal was no pushover. She never surrendered.

Instead she stuck her foot on top of Nick’s ankle for
leverage and tightened her grip on the Twinkie box. “It’s mine. Give it
up, you brute, before I have to manhandle you.”

The idea had merit. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on
it—but she couldn’t deny herself a quick roving glance over
his…manhandleables, either. The man could entice a nun to sin, and never know
he was doing it. That was the trouble with brainiac types like Nick. He lived
in a world of the mind, where a buffed-up body was just efficient packaging for
the real goods.

She never knew efficiency could be so sexy.

“Grow up, Chloe,” he said, interrupting her in
mid-fantasy-flight. “Doing without junk food for a few months won’t kill
you.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. Anyway, it’s for your own good.”

He pulled harder. She skidded and tried backpedaling against
the slick waxed linoleum. The motion destroyed whatever balance she had left.
Chloe tightened her hold on the Twinkies, felt herself falling…then Nick
caught her. Cardboard crunched and cellophane crackled between them as their
chests came together and squashed the Twinkie box.

“Oh!”

His arms held her close and his hands splayed across her
shoulder blades to keep her steady. When she looked up from the flattened
remains of her prize—he
had
let go of it, after all—somehow Nick’s face
hovered only inches from her own. Concern turned his eyes mesmerizing and blue.
Chloe felt herself melting, easing into the warmth of his arms like Moe easing
into a brilliant patch of sunlight. Suddenly she understood exactly what it was
about the heat that made the cat purr.

“Whoops,” she whispered.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. She wanted to say more, just
to keep his attention there, but the feel of being in Nick’s arms stole her
breath and sent her wits walking. She licked her lips, drew in a deep breath,
and couldn’t release it to save her life when she felt her chest expand and
press closer against him. Time spun slower.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Mmmm-hmmm.”
Better than all right
. “Thanks.”

And thank God he didn’t let her go. Instead, he held her a
little tighter. “You should have just given up the Twinkies peacefully.
Now they’re ruined.”

As if she cared. She’d crush a million boxes if it would
land her in his arms. Chloe didn’t know how she’d lived without his warmth
surrounding her these past weeks. Like a supplicant, like a woman in love
wanting to be kissed, she tipped her head back.

Her eyes drifted closed.
Please, just give me this one
moment
, she thought as she sensed Nick’s face coming nearer.
I’ll live
on it forever and never ask for more
.

“Chloe…?”

The wonder in his tone opened her eyes. The desire she
glimpsed in his gaze made her heart spin into a happy dance of love lost and
returned. He was going to kiss her! Even without knowing the truth of their
baby, Nick really wanted her, just for herself. It was all she could have
dreamed, happening before her eyes.

He lowered his head fractionally closer. His minty
toothpaste breath drifted past her cheek. The lean, close-shaved caress of his
jaw followed, making her twist her head to capture his mouth.
Kiss me
.

“Kiss me. Oh, Nick—”

His whole body went still. Slowly he drew back, and the heat
in his eyes was from anger, not passion.

“
What
?”

“I—I—I—”
I said it out loud
! “I was
kidding!” She raised her Twinkie box prize and tossed it on the kitchen
table. “I win!”

“You win.”

She nodded.

“You win…that.” He cocked his head toward the
Twinkies.

She nodded.

“You did all…that, just to win.” He straightened
his glasses and peered at her. “Ruthless competitor that you are, of
course.”

Was that irony in his voice? “Umm, sure.”

“Like hell. You’re not like that, Chloe, and we both
know it.”

In silent explanation, she gestured lamely toward the
Twinkies.

“You were serious.”

“All true Twinkie aficionados are serious about their—”

“Cut it out, Chloe. This is important. I have to think.”

Don’t think
!
Don’t think
! She grabbed his
hand. “Later. Think later. I know! Let’s go watch that Three Stooges DVD I
rented.”

She yanked his hand, trying to pull him toward the living
room and away from further explorations of the disaster that had just happened
between them. He didn’t budge.

Now she knew how Larry felt when they played tug of war with
his doggie toys on the slick kitchen linoleum. Lots of movement…no forward
motion.

“You’ve never kissed me before,” Nick said.

Her heart twisted. Chloe quit pulling and let go of his
hand. “I didn’t kiss you now, either.”

“You…” Nick’s gaze searched hers. Typically, he
dismissed the facts and went straight for the truth. “You wanted to.”

She was in so far over her head. But as long as they were
speaking truths, Chloe figured she might as well play along.

“So did you.”

He frowned. “I didn’t. I can’t.
I won’t
.”

Her hopes rose. She couldn’t help it. “Which is it?”

Nick slammed his hands on her bright Spanish-tiled
countertop hard enough to make her wince. That had to hurt, but he didn’t seem
to notice.

He squeezed the edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles. “I
won’t.”

Why not
? part of her wailed.

“I won’t come between you and”—he ducked his head
and his gaze shifted to her non-pregnant looking belly—“and the father of
your baby.”

Openmouthed, Chloe stared at him. This was a wrinkle she
hadn’t anticipated.

“Who is it?” Nick asked.

Tell him the truth!
part of her urged. But the Chicken
Little side of her personality prevailed.

“I told you. It’s over.” Over because he didn’t
love her. Over because having a family now would ruin Nick’s inventing career.

Most of all,
over
because she owed it to her baby to
accept nothing less than a father who loved and wanted children. The kind of
father she’d never known.

“Even now, it’s over?” Nick turned to lean on the
countertop instead of mangle it in his hands. “Even with the baby? Babies
change things—”

“Not for him.” Not if she could help it.

He frowned. “You’re wrong. I know you haven’t dated
that many men lately, but—”

“Now you’re the expert on the men I date?” she
interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Thanks, Mr. Dating Game,
but—”

“—but I think,” he continued patiently, holding her
gaze with his own, “whoever he is, he deserves to know he’s going to be a
father.”

“No!”

Chloe grabbed the mangled Twinkie box. If he wouldn’t move
on, then she would. She’d move right on to a gazillion calories worth of
distraction, if that’s what it took, and nobody had better try to stop her.
Cellophane rustled as she touched the Twinkies-turned-pancakes inside the box.
Then Nick’s hand closed over the outside.

She snatched it out of his reach. “I’m hormonal,”
she snapped. “Cut me some slack, okay?”

He raised both hands and grinned. That grin alone was enough
to break her heart. How had coming so close that night only wound up pulling
them apart now?

“Okay…if you tell me who your baby’s father is.”

Chloe made a face at him. “Like a dog with a bone.”

“Ruff.” His grin widened. “Well?”

“No deal.” She unwrapped a Twinkie and licked up
some of the sweet, squished-out filling, trying not to show all the
sidestepping going on in her brain. “Drop it, Nick. He’s…gone, and he’s
not coming back.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Nick spread his arms wide,
turning a circle between her kitchen table and the sink as though looking for
something. “He didn’t just vanish.”

“No, he—he—he—” Oh, great. Now he’d rendered her
tongue-tied and stammering. She, who’d never been at a loss for words in her
life. Frustrated, she cried, “I don’t need him. I can do this on my own!”

“Like you do everything else?” He slammed his hand
on the kitchen table. “Dammit, Chloe! You don’t have to do everything all
by yourself!”

Why not? She always had
. “I’m doing this.”

Nick touched her shoulders. Slowly, she looked up at him,
then licked some filling from her fingertip. “I’ll be okay.”

He squeezed gently, his gaze stuck on her mouth, then
blinked up at her. “Let someone help you. Let
him
help you. He has
a responsibility to you.”

She shook her head.

“Dammit, don’t tell me he ran out on you!”

The sudden fury in his face caught her off guard. Chloe
stepped back, stammering out a reply.

“He—he didn’t run out on me.”

Nick arched his eyebrows.
I’m waiting
, his expression
said.

Oh, cripes. This just got worse and worse. She’d thought she
could handle it at first, but….

“That wasn’t it at all. No, he—he—he—” Desperate,
Chloe wheeled her arm in a circle as though that might kick-start her
imagination. “He—”

“He…?”

She looked around, seeking inspiration. Her gaze landed on
the “Macho Men of the Military” pinup calendar hanging beside her
refrigerator—Mr. April was dressed in a sailor’s hat and boots and not much
else besides a smile—and all at once, Chloe had the lie she needed.