Page 88 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
“It wasn’t the truth.”
“Then, there is no harlot.”
“Well, no—”
“She didn’t call you Cowboy or some such nonsense?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed; a rosy circle bloomed on each cheek. “Well, not like that, no.”
Kate pinch-removed the other glove. “Oh. You mean you did not, or” —she glanced down, then up, meeting his crystal blue gaze— “you could not.”
“I couldn’t,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Interesting.” She shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Isn’t that exactly how you remember me, Kat? As an inferior lover.”
She flicked the glove against her palm and locked her smile in place. All the while, her stomach muscles tapped beneath her boned corset. “There have been so many since then, I’m not sure I can accurately recall,” she heard herself say.
Tanner ripped his hand from his pocket and stepped forward. Kate stepped back. And back again, into a table, the edge jamming into her spine. Closing in, he cupped her face in his palms, his fingers sliding into her hair.
Either she trembled or he did, she wasn’t sure which.
“How many, Kat? How many men have known you like I knew you?”
“Lovers—lovers are easy to come by, Mr. Barkley.” She prayed he could not hear the wild beat of her heart. “Surely you, of all people, are not surprised by that.”
He searched her face, analyzing her expression. He leaned in, his breath cuffing her cheek. Tobacco and mint, scents that brought to mind every glorious, painful memory. “You’re lying. I can see it. So, I’ll call your bluff. Lovers are easy to come by, sweet, but I don’t think you speak from experience.”
She pressed back with no success, stuck between hard wood and firm muscle. “How dare you question me when you’ve had a different flavor on your arm every time I’ve—” Easy, Kate. She dropped her gaze to the flawlessly knotted Byron resting in the hollow of his throat.
Don’t let him into your mind. Take a deep breath and say something dreadful to get him away from you. She tried, but all that came out was: “You indiscriminate, presumptuous boor. How dare you.”
“I do dare, Kat. Because, like it or not, I know you.” He shook her, causing her chignon to loosen and send hair tumbling past her shoulders. “I know the taste of your lips, what the inside of your mouth feels like, how arousing your teeth scraping against my tongue is. I know how soft the hair on the inside of your thighs is, that you like your feet tickled and your fingers sucked, that you’re afraid of spiders, but not snakes. I know you’ll eat vanilla ice cream but refuse strawberry every time. I know you play a tough game of chess but throw a ball like a girl, can swim like a fish but hate fishing. I know the color your hair turns in the summer and the way your cheeks pink and freckle in the sun. I know what your face looks like, dreamy and lost, when you tighten around me. I know what color your eyes turn when you go over the edge. And you should know the same things about me, damn you. Ask yourself the same question. How dare you believe what you have believed for two years.” His voice broke, his fingers digging into her skin.
Dear God, she thought, astounded, bewildered—stunned. She squeezed her hands into fists, snaring wool and silk between her fingers. Should she know him that well? Did she know him that well? She couldn’t think, couldn’t make her mind complete the circle. Not when remembering hurt this much.
She was a fool. After everything, a fool, to feel anything for this man.
Tanner tilted his head as awareness lit his face. His gaze found hers, held. His throat worked as he swallowed; his hands slid lower, closing around her elbows. Painful pressure. He opened his mouth, his teeth white, his skin flushed. “Princess,” he said, his voice constricted, raw, as if he’d pinched the word between a crack in a cinder block. His head lowered, the scent of soap and man blocking everything except that…one…word.
Princess.
First one glove, then the other, tumbled to the floor. Kate raised her arms, rammed her palms flat against his chest, and shoved him back. He stumbled enough to allow her to pass.
Princess.
The smell of burnt sugar assaulted Kate as she dashed into the kitchen. She paused, fighting tears. Turning in a slow circle, she stared at the destruction. Flour and cinnamon were sprinkled upon the countertops like snow with a good portion of dirt thrown in. A rolling pin had been halted from its topple to the floor by a dribbling butter mold.
Charlie stood among the chaos, a bit soiled, but otherwise calm. She inched a knife across the counter with the tip of her finger, as if she didn’t want to touch it. “Are you any good in a kitchen?”
Kate picked up the knife, ready to prepare a five-course meal if the activity would banish the dread consuming her.
“I lost the recipe, you see, and I’m quite sure I can’t go it without one.”
“Perhaps, that is, I may be able to help.”
The kitchen door creaked; a board in the floor snapped. “Charlie, I thought you might—you might need this.” Tanner stood in the doorway, Kate’s basket dwarfed in his hand. Deep groves etched his mouth, and his skin stretched taut across his cheeks. For a brief moment, a scorching blue hell burned her from across the room. Then, with a sudden, rapid blink, the heat died out.