“So, we might have a tiny little problem.” Amanda walked into her childhood room and flipped on the light switch, dropping her suitcase.
“What would that be?” Tate followed her in and set his duffle bag down. The upstairs of the cabin was just as rustic and charming as the downstairs. He was going to love spending the weekend here pretending to be Amanda’s boyfriend. Not a bad way to spend his holiday as far as he was concerned.
“I forgot that I’ve pretty much given my brother a play-by-play of our altercations since day one and that I pretty much despise you.” She reached for a pillow from off the bed and dropped it on the floor. “He called me out on it tonight.”
“So we’ve had a few disagreements.”
She laughed “Yeah. Every week.”
“We do fight often, don’t we?”
She nodded. “It’s usually your fault.”
“You don’t really despise me, do you?”
“I guess not.” She grabbed a blanket lying over a rocking chair and handed it to Tate. “Here you go.”
He sat on the bed. “You’re seriously going to make me sleep on the floor?”
Amanda nodded with conviction then shook her head. “I guess that would be mean. We’re adults.” She waved a finger his way. “You’re sleeping above the comforter, though, and if you touch me, I’ll scream.
“Fine.” Tate chuckled. There were other, more pleasurable ways he’d like to make her scream.
Amanda picked up the pillow and threw it at Tate. “Anyway, my brother is overprotective. I’m sure he doesn’t want me to get hurt again.”
“Understandable.” He propped the pillow up on the headboard. “If I had a sister, I’m sure I’d look out for her, too.”
“We’ll need to prove to him we’re in love.”
He raised an interested eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” Amanda came over and sat next to him, stretching her legs and arching her back.
Tate slipped off his shoes, exhaustion finally setting in. Could he convince her that giving him a massage would be a great way to start? He doubted it. Leaning back, he crossed his feet and laid his head on the pillow. “So, Amanda. What will we be doing tomorrow? Is your dad Santa Claus?”
“No.” She pulled the elastic band out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. “Well, at least he’s not the Santa Claus. The trees at the bottom of the hill—it’s our family business. We grow and sell them.” Amanda shot up and moved to the window, pushing back the ruby red curtains. “All of this is a Christmas tree farm. Did your family not get their tree from us?”
“No, we didn’t live here very long.” His heart tugged at the memory of his parents. He rolled over on his side and propped up on his elbow.
“Oh, that’s right. You said that earlier.”
“Is selling Christmas trees a fulltime business?”
“It can be, and for my family it is. The next few days are often two of our busiest.”
“I would think most people have their trees by now, don’t they?”
“Yes, but Christmas Eve for the Turners is always about making sure every family that wants one in this county has a tree. My family works overtime to make that happen.”
“That’s really awesome. How come you’ve never mentioned this before?”
She shrugged and straightened her sweater. “I guess I don’t share much about my personal life with my colleagues.” She peered outside the window. “Well, isn’t that interesting . . . .” She spun around. “Come here,” she demanded. “Quick.”
“What’s wrong?” He jumped off the bed.
“Don’t look.” She moved from the window. “Brad’s outside drinking a beer. He’s looking right up here.”
Tate grinned. “Why that Peeping Tom. Want me to go down and kick his ass?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” She grabbed the bottom of her sweater and yanked it over her head.
Tate blinked. “Amanda?” She was standing in front of him in a black satin bra. He stared at her breasts, wanting to reach out and unhook the material that stood between him and them.
“I’m tired of playing the victim.” She reached for his arm and positioned him so they were face to face in front of the window. Her eyes revealed a seductive glint.
“What are you doing?” Her hands were gently tugging his sweater.
“Oh, I think Tate Ryan knows exactly what I’m doing.” She yanked his sweater up.
He certainly did and helped her pull it over his head. Before it hit the floor, her lips were on his. Was Christmas coming early for him?
She jumped up and latched her legs around his hips.
Apparently it was.
He spun her around, gently cupping her round bottom. She was planting soft kisses on his neck while her hands ran up and down his back. This was way too good to be true.
“Is he looking?” She nibbled on his earlobe.
“Who?”
“Brad,” she muttered. “Is he still watching?” Her tongue probed his ear.
He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan. “I’m sure of it,” he whispered. His lips crashed into hers for another long kiss.
She broke contact. “Take me to the bed.”
He carried her from the window and gently laid her down on the satin red comforter. He leaned in to resume the kiss. His lips needed to be back on hers, to show her just how much he wanted her . . .
She squirmed from his grasp, crept over to the light switch, and flipped it off. Flopping back on the bed, she giggled and brought her knees up, covering her chest. “That was awesome!”
Tate cocked an eyebrow. It was a phrase he’d heard before, but usually it came after sex, not before.
“I’m sure Brad saw all of it. Thank you.” She reached out to high five him. “By the way, nice moves.”
Tate’s heart sank. The window show was all a charade. Of course, he’d known that, but somewhere between her straddling him and his groin tightening, he’d forgotten. All in a day’s work,” he mumbled and high fived her back. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
She swung her legs around to the floor and picked up her sweater. As quickly as it had come off, she slipped it back on.
The moment really was over. Tate rose from the bed. “Um, Amanda, if you’re done with me, I think I’m going to take a shower.” A cold one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Quit it.” Amanda giggled and blocked her face with her hand. “Tate, cut it out. Someone might hear us.”
Her eyes popped open. It was daylight, and she was in her own bed—alone. Tate wasn’t showering her with kisses, but something was, and it had fur.
“Jingle Bells!” She sat up and hugged the rambunctious Jack Russell Terrier. The family dog continued to smother her with his wet tongue. “Jingles, I have missed you so much.” She rubbed his white belly.
The sound of water running in the adjoining bathroom signaled Tate must have jumped in the shower.
She thought back to the last twenty-four hours. Who could have predicted it would have started with Santa’s butt lodged in her car and ended with her straddling her co-anchor.
Tate certainly knew how to kiss. Wow! She hadn’t meant to go so over the top. Just enough for Brad’s benefit. But then, Tate had devoured her . . .
It was all for show, she rationalized. Still, when Tate had kissed her, her toes curled. She got caught up in the moment. Apparently, from her outburst in her sleep, she was still in it. What was wrong with her? This was Tate. He annoyed her on most days.
The warm aromas of coffee and maple syrup swirled in the air, causing her stomach to growl. Breakfast must be ready. It was nice to be home and in the room she spent so much of her time in growing up. Although, glancing around, she noticed her mother was now using the space primarily for holiday decoration storage.