Wrapped Up In You (A Mystic Island Christmas) Page 5

He hesitated. "Of—" A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and relief flashed across his face. "Dinner. Wait here. I'll bring it out." He set his wine glass on the mantle and slipped past her, not inviting her to join him.

  Willow sighed and turned to face the fireplace, her fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of her glass. There was still a chill in the air, the kind of chill that happened in a house that no one had been living in for a while, from heat that hadn't been used in too long. What else had happened to Cole? When they'd been on the ferry, he'd mentioned losing someone in a storm. Her throat tightened at the idea of him facing more loss. Wasn't his father dying enough?

  She blinked back sudden tears and took a deep breath. She'd come here for Christmas spirit, not to trap herself in a past of loneliness and grief. Did she really want to go to dark places with Cole?

  She didn't even know what she wanted anymore. All she knew was that when he'd come vaulting down those stairs to touch her cheek, it had felt like that was the moment she'd been searching for her whole life.

  "Here." Cole strode out of the kitchen, a red, fuzzy Santa cap on his head, and another in his hand. "My mom and dad used to go crazy with holiday decorations. I found these, so it'll have to suffice for the moment." He set it on her head, and tugged it straight, his face completely deadpan. "There. Much better."

  She laughed at his serious expression. "This is your Christmas celebration? Santa hats."

  "It's the start. I'll find the rest of the stuff tomorrow." He stepped back, eyeing her hat like a designer evaluating his art. "You want Christmas, and this is the place to be. I'm on it." He turned to head back to the kitchen. "I'll be back in a minute with the food."

  "Cole?" She reached out, catching his arm.

  He paused, setting his hand over hers so she couldn't pull away. "What?"

  Her heart ached at the feel of his hand on hers. God, she'd forgotten how special he made her feel. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be so comfortable with him, to feel like she mattered. "You don't have to create Christmas for me," she said. "I know you're not here to be an innkeeper. Just let me crash here, and I'll go into town for my holiday spirit. It's okay, Cole. You don't have to fix my world."

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if contemplating her words. Then he lifted her hand off his arm, and brought it to his lips. She caught her breath as he pressed a light kiss to each knuckle. "I know I don't have to," he said. "I want to."

  Then he released her hand and walked out.

  Chapter 6

  COLE COULDN'T EXPLAIN precisely what it was about Willow that awakened such a powerful need to help her. Maybe it was because she'd been the only one who'd seen him cry when his dad had died, not that he'd intended to bawl in front of a girl, but she'd stumbled across his hiding place when the shit had become too much for him to handle.

  Maybe it was because he was the one who'd held her while she'd cried on his shoulder so long ago. And maybe it was because he needed to do something that was actually worthwhile.

  His dad had believed in Christmas. He'd believed that the holiday could restore life to the dying, health to the sick, and love to those who no longer believed. Since his death, Christmas had never been the same. It had become a poor imitation of a holiday that had once mattered. Ever since, Christmas had been just a bitter reminder of what Cole had lost, and he'd hated the holiday.

  But when Cole had stood in front of his dad's goofy Christmas portrait with Willow, discussing how she wanted Christmas to matter, something had shifted for him. By giving Willow the Christmas his dad believed in, maybe Cole could honor his dad's legacy one final time before selling the inn. A Christmas chain reaction, words his dad would have loved, that defined what he'd believed Christmas should mean.

  Cole might not believe in Christmas anymore, but he once had, and he knew how to present it in a way that would touch anyone's heart. It was what he had ingrained in him from the first moment he was born. He didn't have to buy into Christmas to give Willow one that would matter to her. That was one thing he could do for her, even if she wouldn't talk about what she was really running from.

  So, first on the agenda was food. Good food made a difference. Whistling softly, Cole pulled the roasted chicken out of the oven and plated it with the panache his mom would have approved of. He was actually kind of impressed with the display when he finally had the potatoes and asparagus salad dished up. Some skills apparently didn't fade despite a decade of rust and a lifetime of resistance.

  He paused long enough to grab an advent candle out of the pantry, tucking it under his arm while he snagged utensils and their dinner. He could almost hear his dad ordering him to deliver it with a smile as he walked out of the kitchen, and he felt himself grinning as he walked down the hall toward the living room. It had been a very long time since he'd tried to make someone's Christmas better, and he almost felt like he was a kid again, trying to live up to his dad's legendary legacy.

  When he stepped inside the living room, Willow was seated on the couch, her arm draped over the back and her feet tucked under her. Her hair had been damp from the shower when she'd walked in, but it was beginning to dry, cascading over her shoulder in loose waves, just like it had so long ago after they'd gone for an evening swim. She looked exactly the same as she had as a teen...but at the same time, she was a thousand times more beautiful. The tiny lines around her eyes gave her depth, the curve of her hips made her a real woman, and her eyes carried a lifetime of wisdom in them. "Hey."

  She looked up, and a warm smile lit up her face. "It's so surreal to see you standing there," she said. "It's like it was only yesterday that we were on that beach."

  "I know." He grinned as he hooked his toe around the leg of the coffee table and dragged it over to the couch. "It's cool."

  Her smile widened. "Cool?"

  "Yeah. Cool." He set the plates down, arranging them on either side of the candle. He retrieved his wine and the matches off the mantle, and within moments, he had a decent ambiance established. The whole time he was setting up, she was watching him silently, her big, brown eyes following him until he finally sat down beside her on the couch. He raised his glass. "To a Christmas chain reaction, and innocent teenagers."

  She smiled and lightly touched her glass to his. "To kisses that waited for twelve years."

  He met her gaze, and they both went still for a moment. The air between them seemed to sizzle with electricity, and a raw need pulsed through him. "If you keep talking about kisses," he said in a low voice, "I'm going to have trouble remembering that you're a guest at my inn."

  "Sorry." But she didn't sound sorry, and her voice was rough, almost breathless. "It's just..."

  "It's just what?"

  She met his gaze. "I can't think of anything I want more than for you to kiss me again. I know it's silly, but I can't help it. I missed you. I missed how you make me feel."

  His fingers tightened around his wineglass. "When we were fifteen, kissing you rocked my world. But I'm not fifteen. It's not going to stop at kissing this time, and we both know it."

  She swallowed. "You feel it, too?"

  "Feel what? Like we left something unfinished twelve years ago? I can't even think around you because your pull on me is so strong." He set his wineglass down and leaned in toward her, letting his fingers drift across her collarbone. "I look at you, and I want to be the one to start that chain reaction for you. I want to be that guy. I know how to make Christmas special, and you make me want to do it for you. You make me care and I haven't cared about much besides work in a very long time."

  Her eyes widened, but she didn't pull back. "How can I feel that way, too? We don't even know each other."

  "Maybe we don't know the superficial stuff about each other," he concurred, sliding his hand across her cheek. "But we bared our souls to each other, and that's so much more. I've seen your heart, Willow, and I want to heal it."

  Tears filled her eyes, and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "Cole—"

  "
No words. Not right now." He closed the distance between them and kissed her, their third kiss, one that had all the sensuality of the one on the ferry, and the connection of the one so long ago. He couldn’t keep the kiss light. The moment his lips touched hers, the kiss turned molten, a seduction ignited by the white-hot fire roaring through him.

  Her grip on his wrist tightened, and she leaned into the kiss, welcoming him. It was different from the one on the ferry. That had been intense and fiery, ignited by the storm. This one was a kiss between people who had a connection that had been held in tenuous memory for too long.

  This time, she tasted of wine, sensuality, and innocence. He slid his hand through her hair and deepened the kiss, unable to resist her allure. She palmed his chest, her fingers digging into his sweater, as if she couldn't decide whether to push him away or pull him closer.

  It didn't matter. If she pushed him away, he'd find a way to stop himself, but right now, he liked having her hand on him. Heat began to rise between them, and he pulled her closer, until her breasts were brushing against his chest. She leaned into him, one hand sliding down to his hip, where she slipped her fingers into the belt loop of his jeans, tugging lightly.

  Need pulsed through him, the kind of need he hadn't felt in a long time. He wanted more, he needed more, he—

  Her stomach rumbled, and she burst out laughing in the middle of the kiss. "I'm so sorry. I'm just really hungry."

  He grinned, pausing to steal one final kiss before finally releasing her. He hadn't eaten in hours either, not that he would have stopped kissing her to eat. "I'm a great chef. Your stomach is smart to demand food instead of sex."

  "Sex?" She raised an eyebrow at him as she picked up her fork. "Maybe it would have just been a kiss."

  He gave her a skeptical look that made her chuckle again. He realized he loved her laugh. There was something incredibly magical about it. Irreverent and light. Contagious. It made him want to laugh, and it had been a long time since he'd wanted to laugh. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure it would have just been a kiss."

  A complete lie, and they both knew it.

  * * *

  Willow bolted awake to a loud clanging that jerked her from her sleep. She sprang upright, and almost fell off the end of the couch onto the floor. She had a split second to remember that she was in Maine, on a couch with Cole, when he grabbed her and hauled her back onto the couch, tucking her against his side. "S'okay," he muttered sleepily, his eyes still closed as he wrapped his arm around her. "Just the storm."

  His arm was strong and reassuring, and the heat from his body was pure temptation, so she sank back against him instinctively, her body relaxing into him even before she'd woken up enough to process exactly where she was. Her body melting into him, Willow looked around, trying to regain her bearings and figure out exactly how she'd awakened in Cole's arms.

  The fire was out in the hearth, leaving behind nothing but gray embers. The living room was freezing, and the lights were low. The windowpanes were rattling fiercely, and the wind was howling, making her realize it was the storm that had dragged her from her dreams. The night was dark outside, the kind of deep darkness of the middle of the night in a place where there were no streetlights or fluorescent signs.

  Their dinner dishes sat on the coffee table, along with their empty wineglasses. She smiled when she remembered the delicious dinner he'd served, and how much fun it had been to talk to him, both of them trying to recall more details about their night together so long ago. Her comfort with him was as automatic as it had been when they were younger. Her cheeks heated up as she recalled getting sleepy after dinner, and how she'd leaned into him, lulled by the sensation of peace. She realized that she must have fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation, and he'd apparently decided to stay with her instead of waking her up. Contentment warmed her, and she lightly tapped his arm. "Cole?"

  He mumbled something and turned on his side, draping his leg over her hip and tugging her more tightly against him. The position put her intimately against him, with her belly pressed up against the front of his jeans…which made it clear that he was having some sort of interesting dream. Awareness leapt through her, the kind of delicious, sensual awareness that made heat pulse low in her belly. His thigh was solid muscle, weighing her down, and his body was strong and warm, protecting her against the chill in the air. His breath was warm against the side of her neck, and she closed her eyes, unable to resist the allure of being in his arms. She felt utterly safe with him, so far away from her life, and the pressures and judgments she lived with every day. Cole knew nothing of who she was supposed to be. He'd seen only her true self, the side that wasn't hopelessly trapped by expectation and superficiality.

  She sighed and ran her hand along his arm where it was locked around her waist. The hair on his forearm was soft, and his muscles were defined and toned, the body of a man born to survive a physical life on a rocky Maine island. What would it have been like to grow up here? Where everyone knew her name, and no one wanted anything from her? Where there could have been more stolen nights on a beach with Cole?

  "You okay?" His voice was more alert now, and she turned her head to see that he was watching her. His eyes were dark, half-closed, but they still bore into her with the same intensity as before, as if he were trying to see into the very depths of her soul.

  She liked how he looked at her, as if he didn't care about the outside, only the inside, which she didn't show to anyone.

  She rolled over to face him, tucking her hands under her chin so they were lying face-to-face, only inches apart. It was too close for strangers, but their proximity felt natural and right, even though she barely knew him. With his leg over her hip, his arm around her waist, and their bodies pressed against each other, there was no hope of any kind of proper distance between them…and she didn't want to move away. Being close to him made her feel like she could breathe for the first time in a very long time. "Why did you leave here?" she asked. "Wasn't it amazing to grow up knowing everyone, and feeling like you belonged?"

  He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Once my dad died, it was different. My mom got remarried in less than six months to the owner of the hardware store. Most people said they were already in love before my dad died, and I didn't like hearing that much. He had three boys, and family holidays changed. They outnumbered us, and their traditions won. My mom even started closing the inn for Christmas so we could hang with her new family. It wasn't my world anymore."

  She heard the coolness in his voice, but she wasn't fooled. She'd feigned the same indifference too many times when talking about her own family, and her heart softened for him. Maybe in some ways, they weren't that different. He could talk about it like it meant nothing, but to a child, home meant everything. "I never had a real home growing up," she admitted, snuggling more tightly against him to ward off the cold. "If I had, and then I'd lost it, I think I would have been devastated. Losing something is harder than never having it, I think."

  He studied her, his eyes dark. "What's your last name?"

  She hesitated. She didn't want her real life to come into the moment, but at the same time, a part of her wanted Cole to see all of her. Maybe, he would see something about her that she didn't. "Morgan," she said softly. "My name is Willow Morgan." She held her breath, waiting for that moment of recognition, but he just repeated the name softly.

  "Willow Morgan," he said, his deep voice making her shiver. "That's a beautiful name. Why didn't you want to tell me?"

  She hesitated. "You don't recognize my name?" Her name had been dragged across the tabloids so many times during her life. Her baby pictures had been sold to a gossip magazine for over a million dollars. Her awkward teenage years had been ridiculed on social media. Her first attempt at acting had been brutalized online. Everything she'd done in her life that should have been private had been made public, strewn across people's phone and tablet screens to judge and talk about. How could Cole not have stumbled across something about her,
and her A-list parents?

  He picked up a lock of her hair and rubbed his thumb across the strands. "Should I?"

  "Well, I mean...I guess not." She could tell he wasn't lying. Her name sparked no recognition for him. Slowly, the most wonderful sense of freedom began to sweep through her. Cole had no preconceived ideas about who she was, or who she should be. To him, she was simply the girl he'd met so long ago, and the woman he'd found on the deck of the ferry. How was that possible? "Don't you read the newspapers? Or magazines?"

  He shook his head, his gaze settled thoughtfully on her face. "I read business publications. Other than that, I live under a rock." His eyebrows went up. "Why? Are you famous? Should I be intimidated by you?"

  She laughed at his irreverent tone, all the tension draining from her body. She didn't know how he had no idea who she was, but it was such a relief, a gift. She'd hinted enough about her life, and he didn't care about it. "Yes, you should. I'm terribly scary."

  His low laugh echoed through the cold room. "Sweetheart, I don't really care if you're the first princess of Britain. To me, you're the girl who saw me cry and gave me my first kiss."

  Her heart skipped a beat at his endearment. "There's no such thing as a first princess of Britain," she said. "And how was that your first kiss? You were totally hot. What boy hasn't had his first kiss by then?"

  "A boy who had no interest in girls until he met a certain girl in jean shorts and a red tee shirt." His eyebrow cocked and he leaned closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips "Why do you ask? Wasn't that your first kiss, too? It had to be."

  She lifted her chin, suddenly feeling hot. "Why were you so sure it was my first kiss? Because I was so bad at it?"

  "No." His eyes softened. "Because it was so beautifully innocent and pure. I always figured I was your first. I wasn't?"

  Heat suffused her cheeks. "You were," she admitted.

  The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "I knew it."