A Husband In Her Stocking. Christine Pacheco
the kitchen.
“He is handsome,” Lexie approved, holding her hands near her heart and feeling the soothing balm of heat.
“Not only that, but he’s a good person inside,” Aggie added loyally.
The sensual chemistry between the two humans wavered in the air, sending shock waves of vibrancy into the atmosphere.
Kyle’s jeans rode low on his hips as he took another step, skittering tension everywhere.
“My...my goodness,” Aggie breathed.
“I guess the rest is up to them.” Lexie spread her wings wide, enveloping the newer arrival in the protective folds. “Er...it’s not polite to peek when things like this start to...” She searched for the right word, cleared her throat. “Percolate.”
“Oh. Oh, my.”
Lexie cracked her gum, ignoring the gentle waves of chastisement buffeting her from above. “Now to think of a suitable excuse so our silver wings don’t get taken away. Puppy duty is entirely too much work....”
Kyle took a second, then third, and finally a fourth step into the kitchen, and Meghan slumped in her chair.
There was something about him, something so real and powerful that made rational thought impossible.
She picked up her cup, holding it with a shaky hand, well aware of Kyle’s intense perusal. Fingers slightly unsteady, she raised her tea to take a deep drink, only to succeed in scalding her tongue.
Kyle took a seat across from her. The sight of his half-naked body was a visual feast. His chest seemed broader this close, and her mind noted each detail of his muscular build. Well-developed biceps spoke of strength, making her wonder what it might feel like to be cradled, protected.
The scattering of dark hair made her fingers tingle in anticipation. The way denim conformed to his muscles induced thoughts she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Meghan hadn’t ever had a lewd thought.
Until now.
Even though the power had failed, electricity all but hummed around them.
He reached for the teakettle and grabbed a mug from the cup tree on the table. His hand stilled, and he glanced around. “Did you hear something?”
Meghan heard precious little above the rush of blood humming through her veins.
“A rustling, like feathers?”
She shook her head.
With a shrug, he said, “Must be hearing things.” Then he placed the mug on the table. “How do you do this?”
“Do what?” The words emerged weak and broken. Breathing took an act of incredible concentration.
“Make tea.” He grinned. “I haven’t done it before.”
Her breath expelled in a heartbeat.
“Which do I put in first, the water or the bag?”
She’d never imagined that mundane conversation could require so much effort. Then again, this was a first for her. “Tea bag first.”
“Gotcha.”
He followed her instructions, then started to squeeze the excess tea from the bag.
“Don’t.” She automatically reached across the table to stop his motion, placing her hand on top of his.
He dropped the tea bag.
The warmth of human touch stole into her.
She gulped, commanding her brain to move her hand away.
She couldn’t.
Then Kyle sealed her hand within his. And suddenly, all oxygen vanished from the room.
Her skin was warm and soothed, her heart fast and furious. Her mouth was dry while her insides moistened with recognized need.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the unwelcome feeling. She didn’t want, didn’t need anyone. Especially Kyle Murdock.
But their gazes locked, and urgency in his eyes communicated to her.
Imminent danger cloaked her, and she needed to escape. With more resolution than she actually felt, she pulled her hand free.
She blinked, telling herself she’d imagined the sensory assault.
But her hand trembled.
She hadn’t imagined it. It was there, and real as anything she’d ever experienced. Looking skyward, she offered a silent plea for help. Her emotions were tangled around and within her physical response, and she didn’t know what to do, how to act. The snow needed to end—now. The roads needed to be clear by dawn.
A gust of wind slashed the window with a sheet of driven white snow.
Obviously, she would receive no help from above.
Which left her alone...with Kyle and simmering awareness.
“Does it really make a difference?”
She stalled for seconds, then gave in and looked at him. “Make a difference?” Meghan tried for a light, airy tone. She’d been so caught up in mental, as well as the all-too physical, images of him, she hadn’t been able follow his conversation.
He grinned, cocking his head to the side. Coherent thought was impossible when that damnable lock of hair fell across his forehead again. She wanted to brush back the wayward hair, absorb each tactile sensation.
“The tea, not squeezing it?”
A thousand sensations had crowded her; not a single one of them concerned tea. “It’s, er, less bitter that way.”
“Some things are less bitter if they do get squeezed.”
Oh, Lord. She was sinking. Drowning.
This was all so unreal, couldn’t possibly be happening. Winter’s fury made her feel isolated and stranded, as if Kyle were the only link to the outside world.
After a few more moments of intense study, Kyle seemed to sense her discomfort. Breaking eye contact, he put two spoons of sugar in his cup, stirred, sipped, then cringed.
“It’s not coffee,” she supplied, retreating from intimacy like a shadow hiding from the sun.
“You can say that again.” He added another mound of sugar, then stirred again.
“Next time I’ll make instant coffee.”
“This is fine.”
His lie hung on the air, making her smile. Kyle was a lousy liar—maybe on a par with her.
“Okay, so I’ll choke it down.”
She thought of seizing the opportunity to vanish back upstairs. For a reason she was reluctant to name, she suppressed the nudge of self-preservation and stayed.
Meghan hadn’t known she liked to flirt with danger... until Kyle showed up on her doorstep.
Now it seemed she not only wanted to skirt it, but wanted to experience, feel, see, taste it. She wondered if he’d be as apt a teacher as she pictured.
With unabashed interest, she watched him swallow another drink of tea, cataloging his frown. “There’s hot chocolate in the cupboard,” she said.
With eagerness, he stood and asked, “Which cupboard?”
She pointed, and he opened the door, choosing the box with miniature marshmallows and real sugar. Then he picked up Lexie, her clay angel, from the counter and carried both back to the table.
Lantern light danced as the air stirred, creating a secluded atmosphere. Maybe, she told herself as he invaded her space again, knees brushing beneath the table, she should have run while she had