Jennifer Probst - The Holiday Hoax

Isabella reached up and traced the strong line of his jaw. The words ripped from her throat. “Thank you.”

A smile touched carved lips. “Welcome. But I don’t think I could do it again.”

She laughed and tried to change the subject. “You heard my sob story. What about you? Where did you grow up?”

His face drained of emotion. She blinked at the sudden change and he shifted in discomfort. “I grew up in the city,” he said carefully. “I never had a choice, though. I finished college and went straight into the family business.”

“What does your family do?”

Another uncomfortable pause. “They own a restaurant.”

Isabella wondered why he seemed a bit nervous. “There’s much more pressure on kids when their parents already have their life set up for them.” Her gaze probed his, searching for answers. “Did you leave the business? Is that why you’re now doing odd jobs, trying to find what you really want?”

He opened his mouth and Isabella felt like he was going to say something important. Instead, a flash of grief shone in his eyes, then was quickly gone. “I can never leave the business. I’m only taking a break for a while.”

She let his words settle, then reached out and took his hand again. His warm skin closed around hers and chased away the cold. For some reason, he battled some demons and needed time. Isabella went with her gut that told her he’d tell her the truth when he was ready. “Then you’ll just find your way.”

He pulled her close. Tucking her body against his, he put his arm around her and they watched the lights on Charlie Brown twinkle as the snow fell outside.

Isabella knew something had happened tonight. Something wonderful.

She hugged the thought tight and gave herself up to his embrace.

* * *

Isabella glanced at the door nervously, then chastised herself for even thinking he’d come. The few men she’d dated in her past steered clear of anything to do with her classroom or extracurricular activities. This included, but was not limited to, tricky trays, penny auctions, and recitals. But the number one event to avoid at all costs occurred once a year. Tonight.

The Christmas pageant.

A tiny part of her completely agreed it was almost masochistic for a man to actually attend when he had no children on the stage, but Izzy believed this was a precursor to a good father. Also a great excuse to end a relationship that bordered on the line of boring. Like she’d done twice before.

Nope. Aidan Hunter probably talked a good game, but he’d never appear. He’d cite work, family emergency, or a hair washing, then maybe offer dinner at a later date. She couldn’t even blame him. Heck, if she wasn’t friends with Liz, there’d be no way she’d volunteer to corral sixty five-year-olds to put on some form of a decent production.

“Miss Summers, my wings broke!” Ava broke into tears and showed a torn wing. Izzy grabbed the ever present box of tissues and mopped up her face, then whipped out a safety pin.

“All fixed, sweetie. Now go with Mrs. Johnson, we’re lining up.”

She brushed the sweat from her forehead, grabbed two small stragglers, and urged them up to the stage. A shepherd’s staff rammed into her head, and she tripped on a fallen angel. Izzy grit her teeth, fought past the pain, and got them all lined up in a halfcocked way.

Liz gave her a thumbs-up signal. Izzy looked around and quickly flashed her the finger.

Her best friend hooted with laughter, and Izzy climbed down the stage to block the right corner. Her job now consisted of pulling off crying kids, whispering forgotten lines, and making sure no children made a break for it.

God, she needed a drink.

She turned the corner and rammed into a solid wall of carved muscle. Hard hands grabbed her upper arms and righted her. She opened her mouth to firmly chide the straggling father, but the words died on her lips.

Amber eyes speared hers. Thick blond hair fell over his brow and she reached up without thinking to push it back. Her fingers tingled at the silky feel of the curl, and she yanked her hand back as if burned.

He smiled down at her, took in her disheveled appearance, and God bless him, still looked interested. “Hi,” he said. “Were you gonna yell at me?”

Izzy grinned back. “Yep. What are you doing here?”

He frowned and looked adorably confused. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you invite me to the play?”

“Yeah. You said you’d try to make it, but that’s always code for you had to cut your toenails tonight.”

His eyes sparkled with humor. And heat. “Damn, that’s sexy.”

She pursed her lips and lowered her voice. “I got much more in my arsenal. Watch out.” A tiny toddler waddled over, diaper hanging, and she scooped him up without blinking. “Ooops, a runaway. Where’s Mama?”

The toddler stuck a drooly hand and grasped a loose curl. “Eeeee!”

Izzy sighed and wished for a wet wipe. Damn, that was sticky. His mother flashed in front of her and she handed him off without pause. “I can’t believe you came,” she said again. Izzy blushed. God, she was lame. Now she sounded as if she was so desperately happy that a man showed up. Not cool. “I mean, it didn’t matter, but I’m happy to see you.”

“Didn’t matter?”

Her blush deepened. “I mean—”

Aidan grabbed the sticky curl. “I’m just teasing you, Ms. Summers. I had such a good time the other night, I wanted the chance to check out your school. See you in action. As long as you promise not to yell at me again.”

Giddiness skipped through her body. She actually believed him. Her gut screamed he wasn’t coming to the play just to sleep with her, but that would’ve been fine too. Because she wanted to sleep with him. Eventually.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Can I take you for something to eat afterward?”

Izzy nodded. “Yes. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“The restaurant must supply wine. I’m going to need it after this.”

On cue, the auditorium darkened and the spotlight focused on the stage. Aidan bent toward her. The delicious scent of lemon and soap teased her nostrils.

“Done,” he whispered in her ear. “I have one condition myself.”

“I’m a flexible woman.”

“Dessert must be included. Hopefully something chocolate.”

In that moment, her heart melted.

A man who loved sweets was at the top of her list in qualities needed in a mate.

She nodded her assent, and turned toward the stage.

As the children began to sing “Silent Night,” and the energy of love in the crowd pulled to her, Izzy clasped her fingers within his and felt as if she was finally home.

Two weeks later, they stood together and took in the scene before them. “Are you sure about this?”

Aidan looked down at her face and fought back his instinct to throw her in the snow and ravish her. Cheeks pink from the cold, aqua eyes bright, a frown marred her brow as she took in the giant hill before them. The sounds of screams and laughter echoed through the air.

Instead, he chucked her under the chin and issued his challenge. “You’re not scared, are you?”

On cue, she narrowed her gaze and slipped into teacher mode. “Of course not. Eat my dust, Hunter.”

She slammed her butt onto the sleigh and pushed off. Aidan laughed and grabbed his own sled, doing a belly flop as he landed hard and took off down the hill. Cold wind ripped at his face as the sled picked up speed, and a shot of adrenalin warmed his blood as he zigzagged, hit a bump, and then went airborne.

His landing was indelicate, but fun as hell. He rolled a few times in the fluffy mounds of white and came to rest on his back, staring up at the endless blue sky that reminded him of Isabella’s eyes.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” She bent over him, her gloved hand pushing wet strands of hair from his forehead. Aidan couldn’t resist. He closed his eyes and gave a moan of pain. “Aidan, look at me. Where are you hurt?”

He knew a specific part on his body that ached, but it wasn’t from the fall. Tawny locks teased his cheek and he caught the scent of fresh strawberries. The hell with it. He was no saint. He muttered something deliberately low so she couldn’t hear.

“What?” Her hands coasted lightly over his down jacket and snow pants but burned through the material like he wore nothing. She bent, and her mouth stopped inches from his. Aidan fought a grin.

Score.

He reached out and lifted her up and over so she sprawled on top of him. Isabella squeaked in feminine outrage and tried to wiggle away, but he moved fast and rolled her over to pin her neatly beneath him.

“Faker!” she yelled.

He parted her legs and pressed against her. Her eyes widened at his full, throbbing length, then darkened in sensual response. That was all he needed. His voice came out husky with desire. “No, not about this. Not about us.” Then he dove in.

His tongue pushed through the seam of her lips with a raw hunger he didn’t want to hide. Her cold lips were a delicious contrast to her wet heat. Her sweet taste swamped his senses, and he swallowed her throaty moan, urging her to give it all back to him.

She did. Her tongue tangled and pushed back, her hands thrust into his hair and dislodged his cap, and her hips arched up to meet him. Aidan muttered a curse, desperate to slip his fingers between her thighs and send her over the edge. Instead, he eased back, realizing the crowds of laughing kids weren’t the best surroundings for their first time. He pressed one last tender kiss against those plump lips and broke the embrace.

Isabella gazed back at him, punch drunk, and obviously confused. Possession shuddered through him at her raw response. He needed to claim her.

Two weeks and a dozen cold showers later, he needed to make this woman completely his.

And tell her the truth.

The more time passed, the harder it may be for her to understand why he kept his past a secret. When he heard her story and realized what was at stake, his words dried up and withered on his tongue. How could he tell her he was the son of the Pasta King? She’d refuse to see him, imagining the same historic hell repeating itself in her life. He needed more time. Time to convince her to look past his money and crap, and see the man he was. Hell, wasn’t that his whole goal to his undercover operation? To find a woman who loved him for nothing but his soul?

A humorless laugh strangled against his lips. His plan had backfired. He wasn’t afraid Isabella craved his money. Instead, terror choked him at the possibility of her rejection because he was rich. Michael, the dickhead, ruined her. Now Aidan had three strikes. He owned money, fame and came from the city.

Of course, the question would never be if Isabella was good enough for him and his family. Aidan already knew the real question. Would she think he was good enough for her?

His father nipped at his heels to make a decision. He had little time left.

“Aidan?” His name cut through the frigid air and caressed his ears like Beethoven. She smiled at him and placed a kiss on his lips. “Where did you go?”

“Come home with me, Isabella.”

Her voice trembled. “Yes.”

Triumph coursed through him. He stroked her cheek, determined to make tonight the best evening she ever had. “I’ll cook you dinner. But first we need to lay here a while.”

She frowned. “Did you really get hurt?”

“No, I don’t want to give the kids a shock.”

She glanced down at the hardened bulge in his pants and let out a loud, clear laugh that rang down the mountain. “Good idea.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re definitely a city boy. You suck at sledding.”

He winked. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoyed the view.” His slipped his hand under her jacket and squeezed her buttocks, which sent her into another fit of laughter. She slapped his grabbing fingers away, glancing around to see if they’d been noticed. He grinned, rolled over and stood up. Fat flakes of snow clung to her stylish knit hat and nestled their way in between silky strands of hair peeking out from the edges. Her lips were bright pink, swollen, and glistened wetly. The thought of those lips on other parts of his anatomy surged, and the uncomfortable cold and dampness suddenly eased. God, he couldn’t wait to get her alone, naked, and underneath him, open and—

“Look out below!”

The war chant echoed down the slopes in warning but it was too late. Aidan stumbled back as several hard-launched snowballs hit him in the face and chest. His breath cut out at the icy sharpness as snow exploded in his mouth, up his nostrils, and in the gap of his jacket.