The Gift-Wrapped Groom (15 page)

“So, Nicholas is getting his own breakfast this morning?” Ginny asked as she set a plate full of her specialty in front of Noel.

Noel cut off a good portion of the T-bone steak and its bone and fed it to the increasingly impatient tail wagger at her feet. As Mistletoe began to happily dig in, she straightened to meet Ginny's curious eyes.

“He's resourceful,” she said as noncommittal as possible.

She stabbed a small tender piece of steak and a little scrambled egg, swirled it in the gravy and shoved it into her mouth. Ah. Absolute heaven.

“I hear you and your Nicholas had your first fight.”

Noel nearly choked. She swallowed hard and fast, forgetting all about savoring her food.

“What?”

Ginny Carson's pert little smile beneath her pert little blond head was full of a pert little gossipy gleam. “Now, no need to get riled up, Noel. You know Midwater. Nothing around here ever stays a secret for long.”

Noel carefully put down her knife and fork, took a quick sip of her coffee and resolutely faced Ginny's smile. “Well, you'll forgive me, but you appear to have learned of this little secret even before I have.”

“Noel, I tell you it's no big deal. These spats happen all the time.”

“Just when was this spat between Nicholas and me supposed to have happened?”

Ginny wiped a dish behind the small counter, eyeing her only paying customer of the morning with that continuing pert little gossipy gleam. “Well, last night, of course. After that dreadful experience you two had with that reckless driver.”

Noel blinked, astounded.

“How did you know—”

“Tucker called over the news first thing.”

Noel rested her palms on the counter, seeking something, anything that felt solid and secure. “Tucker? But how did he—”

“Not that it isn't understandable, mind you. There you were still all shook up about being run off the road, trying to settle down by decorating that ugly pine Christmas tree, and all the while that man of yours pressing for...well, for what's always on the minds of these dang-fool men.”

Noel could not believe her ears. She simply could not believe them. “What?”

“Oh, I'm on your side, of course. Understand perfectly. So do Fay and Marge.”

“Fay? Marge?”

“Of course, you can already hear the grumblings of the village men. Naturally,
they're
on Nicholas's side. Typical testosterone-filled bulls. But I was telling my Seth, just before he and Kurt went to deliver some more of that winter feed to the ranchers, that if
he
had been so insensitive, he'd of found himself locked out of my bedroom, too.”

Noel put her head in her hands. “Dear sweet heaven.”

“And don't you let your Nicholas off the hook too soon. When he brings you that candy and flowers like your grandfather told him to—”

Noel's head came flying out of her hands. “My grandfather knows about this, too?”

“Well, naturally, he was the one Nicholas first told.”

“Nicholas first tol—” Noel saw red, actual blotches of red, pulsing before her eyes.

“I'm going to kill him.”

“Well, Noel, I think that might be playing it just a little too hard to get.”

Noel shot out of her seat. Mistletoe seemed to sense his mistress's mood and quickly scooted out from under her feet, taking his breakfast bone with him.

Noel was fuming, so angry even her ravenous hunger had fled. “I'm going to do it right now. I'm going to get a gun and I'm—”

“Can't right now, Noel,” Ginny interrupted complacently, still drying the dish that didn't need drying. “Pete's flying him off to that interview in Idaho this morning, remember?”

“Idaho? Pete? This morning?”

“Tonight will be soon enough. Although, for the sake of the Christmas committee, I sorta hope you don't put too many holes in all those muscles until after he helps with the building.”

“Building? Building what?”

“Oh you know, the set for
A Christmas Carol.
Now you just sit right back down and finish your breakfast. You're obviously gonna need every ounce of strength to keep up with a husband like this Nicholas.”

* * *

N
ICHOLAS WAS
certain he must have misunderstood. This strangely spoken Montana English could be confusing, after all. And surely the pillow and blanket next to the front door carried another meaning.

He closed the door behind him to shut out the cold night air. “Excuse me?”

She stood before him still as a post, arms across her chest, eyes flashing with the same fire that lit her hair.

“The barn, Baranov. It's that or the plane back to Moscow. Take your choice.”

Nicholas could feel the licks of anger in her words and the always ready response once again twisting in his gut. She was so beautiful in all that glorious anger that Nicholas almost forgot himself. Almost.

“So, not even
Dr.
Baranov this time. I see my transgression has proven to be grave indeed. Yes, this question I asked you last night was most inappropriate. I am willing to acknowledge this. I give to you my apology.”

A thousand flames ignited in her long, thick hair as she swung forward, raising the very temperature of the air against his skin.

“I don't want your apology. I want you out of here. Now!”

This woman should be glad he had himself in such control: otherwise, he might have done something exceptionally foolish and fatal. Like trying to taste those lips, gather in all that glorious heat until it scorched him. His hands burned with the thought.

“And for your information, this has nothing, absolutely nothing at all, to do with your stupid, infantile ranting last night.”

Stupid? Infantile? Ranting?

Ill-advised, inappropriate, these he would have perhaps conceded. But these other labels were too strong. Nicholas did not like these other labels.

Slowly, deliberately, he settled himself before her, spread his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “A wife should not address her husband in this manner, not
even
an American wife.”

She was too angry to notice the subtle change that had placed a new light in his eyes. Much too angry. Her hands waved through the air, as though attempting to release some of that anger, that passion that she could not control. That fatal passion.

“Husband? What a laugh! You're not really my husband. You're nothing but a bumbling...fool! Thanks to you, I am now the laughingstock of Midwater!”

First stupid and infantile, and now he was a bumbling fool. These labels burned in his ears, burned in his hands. Nicholas took a step toward his wife, his arms unraveling from around his chest, his hands dropping into fists by his sides, his voice sinking into a deep, deadly growl.

“Be careful, Noel. My understanding and patience can only extend so far. I am a man. Do not push me into proving this.”

Clearly, his stance did not intimidate her, his voice did not intimidate her, his words did not intimidate her. She marched right up to him, deliberately bumping her chest against his, stood on tiptoe, whipped her hair off her shoulders, shoved her hands onto her hips and taunted him with every flashing spark of her eyes, every clear syllable of dare in her insulting voice.

“You? Understanding? Patient? A man? Ha! You're no man, Nicholas Baranov. You're a bear—a great, big, stubborn, stupid, infuriating, growling, Russian bear!”

Well, he had warned her. Now there was only one thing left to do.

Nicholas grabbed her around the waist, crushing her to him. Then he claimed those luscious, angry lips with a growl and then a groan and then a curse that rose from the deepest depths of his being.

She did not fight him. She melted like hot lead into him, melding her body to his, mumbling something that trembled like a sigh against his lips and then soared like a siren in his skull.

And he was lost. To all the wild, wonderful woman he held.

She was the taste of spring, warm and vibrant and new and alive. Closer, closer, he drew them together, reeling as the exquisite warmth of her breasts and thighs invaded his body, heated his blood, seeped into his bones.

His heart raced. The perfume of her skin and hair engulfed him. He drank her in and knew an instant addiction to her scent, her feel, her taste.

Her arms circled his waist, shooting shafts of desire that threatened to rend him as he pressed her softness to him, grew against her yielding feminine heat.

He burned to take her. Now.

He tore himself away from her lips, breathing heavily like a long-distance runner as he rested his chin against her forehead, closed his eyes tightly and desperately tried to still the rising passion, to regain even a semblance of control.

He must not take her. He must be true to his word. Even if it killed him, he must keep this that was his
real
life.

But it was she who felt real now, only she. Everything else seemed so unreal. He struggled for reason. He struggled desperately for the lucidity he hoped he still might find. Gradually, his breathing came easier and the frantic beating of his heart slowed.

She sighed against his throat, and he felt that sigh shiver on the surface of his skin, like the warm moonlight shimmering on the surface of the pond outside.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips unsteady. He rubbed his cheek against her sweet hair, wondering how anything could feel so silky cool and hot at the same time.

Of course, he should never have kissed her, should not be holding her like this, feeling her body against his like this. It was all wrong. But if there would be regret in this, he would face the regret later. If there would be a price to pay, he would pay it later. If there would be pain to endure for this moment, he would gladly endure that pain later. Right now, right here, he would not, could not, let her go.

“Nicholas?”

Despite their closeness, this melting of their bodies together, her voice seemed to come to him from a long way off. His own throat felt thick and alien as his voice vibrated through it. “Yes, Noel?”

When had her name begun to sound like the robin's song?

“Nicholas, someone is at the door.”

Yes. He had heard the pounding. He had thought it was the echo of his heart.

With great reluctance he released his tight hold on her and eased back from her warmth. This interruption was most fortuitous. He welcomed it. He told himself this several times. Rapidly. It would help him to regain his control. He must regain it, if he was to keep his solemn word to her, if he was to keep his sanity.

Her face was still flushed with all the passion of their embrace. Her eyes gazed full into his, no longer a Siberian sea but the full silver-green of dew on new grass. Somehow his hands were braided through the red-gold fire of her hair. She felt and looked so beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.

The pounding erupted again on the front door.

Resolutely, he removed his hands, wondering if he would ever again know that control which had once been so much a part of his life.

Noel turned and went to the door. But she stood in front of it for several seconds without moving. When she opened it, her voice was clearly full of surprise.

“Tucker. What are you doing here?”

“Evening, ma'am. Promised your husband he could hitch a ride with me to the Christmas committee meeting down in the village. Guess you two are still not on speakin' terms, huh?”

* * *

N
OEL TOOK
a deep breath, flipped the Dodge into third gear with an angry twist of her wrist, let out the clutch and barreled down the country road. She was jumpy, and full of many conflicting emotions. Anger? Excitement? Fear?

Oh, hell, she didn't know what she felt anymore. Thirty minutes ago, she thought she would never again speak to this man sitting on the seat beside her. She thought she hated him. She thought she was sorry he was in her life.

But she didn't hate him. She wasn't sorry he was in her life. She was afraid. And panicky. She could still feel the claim of his lips, his body, his breath on her. And the need he'd begun, the raw-edge need to be held once more by those steel arms, against that massive chest, to be kissed again so thoroughly that her very bones trembled with the need for more.

“Noel, you are all right?”

No, she was not all right. Her face was hot. Her body was hot. She might never be all right again, damn him. Had he done this to her deliberately? She shifted down to second and spun the wheel into a sharp turn.

“You are worried about my keeping my word, yes?”

She bit her lip. Yes, she was worried about it, all right. She was worried that he might not keep it and she was worried that he would keep it. And most of all, she was worried that she wouldn't want him to keep it.

“This is understandable. It was the anger. I lost... But that is no excuse. My actions tonight were most inappropriate.”

Most inappropriate.
So refined. So cool. Oh, hell. Was it so easy for him? So damn easy?

“I will keep my pledge to you. You will need to worry no more.”

Apparently, it was easy. Damn. She didn't want it to be easy. She wanted... No, she didn't want that. She couldn't. What was happening to her, anyway? Where was all that deserved anger she had felt toward this man such a short time ago?

Anger. That was it. She had to concentrate on the anger. And there were lots of reasons for it, weren't there? Oh, yes, she remembered.
Lots
of reasons.

“We have a problem, Nicholas.”

“Not anymore, Noel.”

“I don't mean that, Nicholas. I take your word on that... issue. I'm talking about a communication problem.”

“Yes. You use many idioms. Like tonight when I walked into the house. The phrase
laughingstock
brought to mind perplexing images of cows and chicken and pigs grinning. Naturally, it means something else, yes?”