A Husband In Her Stocking. Christine Pacheco
his head.
“In that case, good night.”
He waited until she reached the bottom of the stairs, then spoke. “Meghan?”
She paused.
“I’ll...”
“Yes?”
“Find a way to make this up to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Which was why he was doubly determined to repay her. Meghan started up the stairs, leaving him alone and feeling more lonely than he had in years.
Meghan tossed and turned.
Muted sounds from the living room filtered up the stairs. She heard her houseguest moving around.
Undressing?
She thumped her pillow.
The night chill seemed to seep beneath her blankets, freezing her. Her toes curled against the cold.
She ordered herself to go to sleep. The moment her eyes closed, though, thoughts of Kyle made her imagination leap with possibilities. Vivid pictures painted on top of what she’d already noted: broad shoulders, lean hips, muscular thighs.
In her mind, she saw his naked torso, his back, his biceps.
She cracked open her eyes and automatically searched for the digital display telling the time. Remembering the electncal failure, she turned over, willing herself to relax.
The second attempt was no more successful than the first.
She still couldn’t believe she’d invited the man to spend the night, couldn’t believe the way he’d taken over and performed several tasks, lightening the load of her responsibilities.
And she especially couldn’t believe the way her body reacted to his, seeming to hum with vibrant awareness.
His touch hadn’t been anything, really—less than a good-night kiss on a first date. But her insides had turned molten... a crackling need sparked to life. The feel of his finger on her cheek had made her want more, want to turn her head into his palm and rest it there.
He hadn’t meant anything, but heaven help her, she’d wanted more.
She groaned. Meghan Carroll did not respond this way to just any man.
It’d been a long time since Jack—years since her heart had raced. Yet Kyle had done that—oh, so effectively—in mere moments.
He hadn’t respected the lines she’d drawn around her personal life, either. Kyle had tried to push past her walls, asking for answers she had never given anyone. She shivered this time not because of the cold but because she suspected Kyle would demand more if he stayed.
She hoped she was strong enough to brave the storm that was Kyle Murdock.
For several hours, she dozed off and on. A vicious blast of wind rattled the house, shaking the window. Snowflake whimpered and bounded onto the bed, startling Meghan from her disturbed sleep.
She was shivering, the temperature in the bedroom having fallen sharply. No matter how tight a ball she curled into, she couldn’t produce any heat.
Conceding the battle, she sat up and fumbled with the flashlight. After reaching for her heavy terry cloth robe, Meghan climbed from the bed, sliding her feet into furry slippers.
She tiptoed down the stairs, intending to make a cup of tea to warm her up before trying to sleep again.
One hand gripping the banister, she paused, the glow from the flashlight falling on Kyle. Six foot plus of raw masculine energy was sprawled across the cushions of her too-small couch. Suddenly, breathing became an act requiring concentration.
A blanket covered him from the waist down, but his chest was bare and every bit as well developed as her imagination teased.
Even in sleep, he didn’t look innocent, not at all. In fact, he still appeared darkly dangerous.
She swallowed. Aware of acting like a voyeur, she consciously averted her gaze and directed the beam of light at the floor as she continued past him, Snowflake on her heels.
In the kitchen, she lit a lantern, filling the room with a soft glow, and momentarily banishing the blizzard’s fury.
As she turned on the tap and filled the kettle, Meghan released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Glad, for once, of the ancient gas stove that didn’t need electricity, she found matches and lit the burner.
In the silence of the storm, Meghan reached for the clay angel sitting on the counter and traced her fingers across the wings she’d painstakingly sculpted.
This angel, Lexie, was her favorite, named after the grandmother who’d died before she was born. It was one of Meghan’s first-ever attempts at sculpting, yet the one angel she’d been unable to part with. “Well, Lexie, what are we going to do?”
Lexie maintained her perpetually serene smile, offering Meghan some comfort. She replaced the figurine. As the kettle began to hiss, she switched off the gas.
Snowflake plopped down near his bowl, and Meghan carried her cup and tea bag to the table and stirred in a single spoon of sugar.
“Is there tea for two?”
Her spoon clattered to the table. She looked up.
Kyle lazed against the doorjamb, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, tight jeans...and a tempting-as-sin smile.
And the problem was, Meghan realized as her insides constricted into a hyper-aware knot, she was tempted.
Heaven help her, she was tempted.
Three
“Do you see them?” The newer angel’s words were breathless, woven on puffs of air coming from a divinely distant realm.
Lexie smiled as another blip of pure-pink energy zapped past her. “It’s a good sign,” the older angel agreed, folding in her right wing gracefully when another burst of sensually radiant energy sailed by.
“I’m so glad we were able to squeeze so much snow from the clouds.” Grandma Aggie’s eyes opened wide and she looked over her shoulder, as if fearing repercussions from the admission. She twisted her hands together, then she sighed. “Oh, Lexie, do you suppose our reprimand wilt be terrible?”
Lexie smiled serenely, no stranger to breaking the rules. Where Meghan was concerned, Lexie often followed her heart rather than her head. She simply couldn’t bear to watch her darling granddaughter suffer. And now with a co-conspirator... well, Archangel Michael had said it best, himself...trouble had doubled since Aggie’s arrival several years ago, when the two had become fast celestial friends. It hadn’t been long before their individual goals for Meghan and Kyle had become a mutual plan. “I’m sure we’ll have some answering to do.”
Another strand of Grandma Aggie’s hair, black as the coal Santa would leave for some, turned gray.
“But it’s Christmas, and the others are distracted making wishes come true,” Lexie added. “And that’s all we’re doing. Trying to make wishes come true.”
“But neither of them wished for each other.”
“That’s simply beside the point,” Lexie said, sending a mental message of peace to her partner in crime—or in this case, romance.
“They’ll realize soon enough they wished for each other,” Lexie continued, then added her silent hope that her promise would prove true. “If we’re very lucky, Meghan will believe in Christmas again. Then we’ll be rewarded with wings of gold, instead of being chastised.” She straightened the halo that had, oddly enough, tipped to one side.
“Oh, dear me, do look!” Aggie pointed to Meghan.
A flush had stolen