Chapter 2

ChapterTwo

Nick

Lucy Emerson is a meddling wench. She’s also my mother. I should have known when she appeared with the groceries. All the stuff I would never buy, like chocolate chips and flour, icing sugar and a waffle iron. What did I need a waffle iron for? She even had bricks of cream cheese. They’re stacked in my fridge, more than I’ll ever eat in a year. She bought wine, not that I didn’t have wine. I did. Both red and white. But she bought pink shit. Bubbly shit. Shit I’d never drink. Not ever.

I should have known when she arrived with the feminine sheets printed with watercolor roses for the bed in my guest bedroom. And the new duvet, currently sitting on the guest bed like a cloud covered in a warm cream cover. I should have known then. I’d even had the sense to question her as she fluffed the pillows, the bed magazine ready. She’d declared with a hand to my chest that she was tired of sleeping on worn flannel when she visited. Not that she visited often. And what the hell was wrong with flannel? She’d never complained before.

I should have known. Should have suspected something was off, that she was up to something. Something I wouldn’t like. And I don’t like this. Not at all.

I’m not a man of conversation. I’ve never been a man of conversation. Not even before the accident, but especially not now. I bet Dad knew about this. I bet he knew just what she was up to, and he didn’t bother to tell me. To warn me.

I bet he knew this woman would be dropped on my doorstep like a lamb brought to the slaughter, and he did not a thing to stop it. To save her.

I’m not a man women are comfortable around. I haven’t been for three years. After the accident—after I was deformed—I’ve kept mostly to myself. If Patricia, a woman who’d accepted my ring on her finger, a woman I’d been planning the rest of my life with, a woman who claimed to love me couldn’t handle looking at me, why would I think any other woman would?

Thinking of Patricia makes me feel sick. Now, I’m pissed.

I’m pissed because this woman is here. This tiny woman with that mass of brown hair that shines like molasses in firelight, with her rosy, red cheeks and bright, caramel brown eyes has been dropped on my doorstep and I don’t know what to do with her.

I know what I want to do with her. I know what any red-blooded man would want to do with her.

I also know that the sight of me sickens her.

Jesus, having her here is going to be painful. It’s already painful. And that pisses me off more.

What am I supposed to do with her?I can’t send her away. Not in this blizzard. She doesn’t even have a car. Mom made sure of that, having Bruce drop her off.

I don’t know what Mom was thinking. I don’t date. Not anymore. I don’t bring women into my life, and I definitely don’t bring them home.

I don’t want them here. This is my space. This is my house. This is my sanctuary. This is where I like to be alone, as I’ve been for the last three years. I shouldn’t have to share my space with this tiny woman with those warm brown eyes. I shouldn’t have to have her here.

I shouldn’t have to feel this want for something I can’t have. I shouldn’t be forced to stand in my own home and have something so beautiful, so out of reach, dangled before me.

I don’t want her here. I don’t want to feel what she’s making me feel.

Fuck, I’m mad.

Mom should know better than this. It’s not like I can even drive her down the mountain. It wouldn’t be safe. The storm is expected to last another three to five days. We get them here on the mountain. I’m prepared for them. I was prepared before Mom brought the bags upon bags of groceries.

I wonder, did she buy all that because this woman likes to bake? Will she bake for me?

No, don’t think about that. She’s not going to do anything for you. She’s not going to stay.

What am I supposed to do with her?

She isn’t going to be comfortable here with me. She already isn’t comfortable with me. I saw the way she looked at me when I opened the door, horror in her eyes.

Every woman looks at me with horror. And then they look at me with pity. I don’t know what’s worse. I can’t stand either. It makes my skin crawl. And my skin has enough problems as it is. Hell, but she shouldn’t be here. I don’t want her here.

“There’s been a mistake,” she repeats, her voice shaking.

Yeah, there’s been a fucking mistake. Huge mistake.

“Yeah.”

There’s been a mistake, all right. She just doesn’t know she was manipulated into making it. She doesn’t know that the woman she was supposed to spend Christmas with manipulated her into spending Christmas with me. She didn’t have to worry about that, though. Christmas wasn’t for another two weeks. We could wait out the storm and drive her to the airport, or wherever the hell she came from.

I’ll make sure she can escape me when it’s safe. But it won’t be safe for a few days. She’s stuck with me, stuck looking at me until then.

I’m sure I can find something to do in the office. There’s always work to be done. She won’t have to look at me if I close the door.

But I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t have to hide in my own home. I shouldn’t have to hide from this delicate woman with her willowy limbs I know are willowy even though she’s wearing the big jacket that’s built more for an Arctic blizzard than a Colorado tantrum. Her warm tan skin, brown sugar eyes and molasses hair shouldn’t have me wanting to hide behind closed doors. I shouldn’t be so afraid of marring her beauty with the hideousness that is me—but I am.

Her nose is perfect and straight and somehow perky as she tips her head back, angling her chin up to me. Her mouth is full and pouty, and I feel a stirring of arousal as her eyes drag up to land on my face. I brace myself, but she’s not looking at me with horror now. Or pity.

What is she thinking?

Suddenly, I want to know her mind. I want to invade her thoughts. Her.

“How do you know Lucy?” My voice comes out rough, and her eyes widen, her lips parting.

She takes a deep breath into her lungs, her face flushing. Why is she blushing? “I met Lucy online.”

“Online?” Well, shit.

“Yeah. Online. She put out an ad, and I answered it.”

“She put out an ad,” I parrot. What the hell is going on, here?

“Yeah.” She shrugs, giving me a cute half smile that I feel a sudden and disconcerting urge to taste. “Lonely soul for lonely soul.”

Well, that’s rich. My bloody mother.

“That right?”

“Mmmhmm,” she confirms. “She doesn’t want to spend Christmas alone, and neither do I.” She laughs, but it’s nervous. “I mean, who wants to spend Christmas alone?”

I feel my brows draw together. It’s screwed up. This whole situation is messed up, but all I can focus on is why this beautiful woman would even be facing a lonely holiday.

“You answered a stranger’s ad to spend Christmas with them?”

“Yes,” her voice is soft. It touches me. I haven’t been touched by anything feminine in three years.

I swallow hard. “Who does that?”

Her eyes search mine and I feel my jaw clench. She makes me feel exposed. I don’t like it.

She pulls in breath, squaring her shoulders like she’s going into battle. She’s cute. I hate that I think it.

She’s too small for battle of any kind. She’d be crushed.

I wouldn’t let anyone crush her.

What the fuck?

“I’m lonely.” Her words hit me like a bullet to the chest. She’s not the only one.

Still, she’s insane. She has to be to answer an ad like that.

And what does that say about my mother?

“You should be more careful. Trusting people you meet online could get you killed.”

Fear flashes in her eyes and she takes a quick step away from me, on guard. “Are you planning to kill me?”

She doesn’t need to be afraid of me.

I’m not going to kill her. I would never hurt her. But I could.

She’s tiny enough. She’s so small, she should know better than to do shit like this. She’s old enough to know better than to trust a stranger. Than to come to a strange house and agree to spend her holiday with someone she’s never met. Anything could happen. She could have been led to the door of a serial killer, and nobody would know. Nobody would know where to look for her. Stupid.

I’m mad. I don’t know why. I feel protective of her. Maybe it’s because she’s so small. Her jacket is puffy, and it makes her look bigger. But her face is tiny. Her features are delicate.

She feels like she needs to be protected.

But I’m not safe. I’m not anyone’s protection.

“I won’t hurt you. But you should know better than to do this kind of stuff. You shouldn’t trust people you meet online.”

“I did more than meet Lucy online. We spoke for six weeks. We emailed. We talked on the phone. We even Face Timed. I know what she looks like. It’s a simple mistake that I was dropped off at your house instead of hers. If you could, I don’t know—you know what?” She shakes her head quickly, her cute little nose scrunching. “I’ll just call her. I’ll call her, and maybe she can come pick me up.”

I shake my head. “She’s not going to pick you up.”

She peers up at me, uneasy. “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t live on the mountain. She lives in the valley, in town.”

I watch, amused, as confusion plays across her face. She’s beautiful. Everything about her.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

“She lives in town?” she repeats, denial in her eyes. “That can’t be right. Her driver brought me here, and she said she lived up the mountain.”

“She lied.” My lip curls around the word.

“There’s been a big mistake. Something is wrong. We’ll figure it out. I’ll call her. I’ll call her.” She’s frantic now, as she digs into her purse for her phone. She lifts it and I reach out to stop her, to explain, but her eyes on me are filled with fear and warning.

I’m not sure what she thinks she can do to me. I’m double her size.

“Stop,” I command gently, lowering my hand.

She hesitates, that same warning in her eyes. “Why?”

“Lucy Emerson is my mother. She plotted this scheme.” I wave my hand in the space between us. “Planned for this.”

“Why?” The warning is gone from her eyes. Only confusion remains.

I pull in a deep breath and her eyes fall to my expanding chest. Red rises in her cheeks and I feel something I shouldn’t feel stir low. Arousal.

My voice is deep, husky even, when I reply, “She doesn’t want me to spend the holiday alone.” I smirk at her. “Lonely soul for a lonely soul. She gave you to me.”

Her mouth drops and she blinks up at me adorably. “Wh—what?”

“You heard me.”

“Th—that’s madness.” She laughs. It’s nervous. It’s also beautiful.

I want to hear it again.

“Yeah. It’s madness. It’s also fact. She brought you here for me.”

She shakes her head in denial. “I’m going to call—I’m going to call Lucy.”

I lean back against the wall and wait for her to do just that. If she needs the confirmation, she can take the confirmation from Mom. There’s nothing I can do. She’s here. She can’t leave.

It is what it is. We’ll deal.

The phone is at her ear, and I can hear it ringing. It keeps ringing long beyond when Mom normally picks up. She knows what she’s doing, leaving me to deal with this. The woman is scared, rightfully, and Mom doesn’t even have the decency to answer the damned phone.

I almost laugh. Almost. But I’m too pissed.