Same Time, Next Christmas. Christine Rimmer
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kept twitching. Apparently, he was finding her extremely amusing.
“What?” she demanded.
He only shook his head again.
She marched back to the counter, leaned against it once more and enjoyed the rest of her coffee in blessed silence.
“You don’t happen to have an extra toothbrush, by any chance?” she asked once she’d drained the last drop from the mug. He just gave her more silent smirking. “Oh, stop it. You may speak.”
“You’re such a charmer in the morning.”
She grunted. “Toothbrush?”
“Under the bathroom sink. Small plastic tub. There should be a couple of them still in the wrappers and some of those sample-sized tubes of toothpaste.”
“Thank you—need more coffee before I go in there? Because I am completely serious. For today at least, you’re not getting up unless you really need to.”
He set his mug on the coffee table and reached for the bottle of painkillers. “No more coffee right now. I’ll have another cup with breakfast.”
The fire was all but out. She added a little kindling and another log. As soon as the flames licked up, she faced him. “Do not get up from that couch while I’m in there.”
He was stretched out on his back again, adjusting the afghan, but he dropped it to make a show of putting his hands up in surrender. “I will not move from this spot until you give me permission.”
She grabbed her pack. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
In the bathroom, she didn’t even glance at the mirror. Not at first. The coffee had gone right to her bladder, so she took care of that. It wasn’t until she stood at the sink to wash her hands that she saw what Matthias had been trying not to laugh about.
She had three deep sleep wrinkles on the left side of her face and her hair was smashed flat on that side, with another ratty-looking section of it standing straight up from the top of her head.
A little grooming was definitely in order. She took off her clothes and gave herself a quick sponge bath, after which she brushed her teeth, put her clothes back on and combed her hair, weaving it into a single braid down her back.
By then, she almost looked human.
Snow had piled up on the sill outside the tiny bathroom window. She went on tiptoe to peer through the clear part of the glass.
A blanket of unbroken white extended, smooth and sparkly, to the tree line. The trees themselves were more white than green. And it was still coming down.
Everything out that window looked brand-new. And she felt...gleeful.
She had someone to spend her Christmas with. And a gorgeous tree to decorate.
So what if that someone was a stranger and the tree wasn’t hers? This totally unexpected interlude in the forest was just fine with her. She felt energized, very close to happy. And ready for anything.
For the first time in a long time, she looked forward with real anticipation to whatever was going to happen next.
Matt was feeling almost human again. Yeah, his leg ached a little. But he’d taken his temperature before he made the coffee. It was down two degrees. His headache was gone.
Sabra came out of the bathroom looking a lot more pulled together than when she’d gone in. Though really, she’d been damn cute with her hair sticking up every which way, giving him the evil eye, ordering him to keep his mouth shut until she’d had her coffee.
“How about some oatmeal?” she asked as she refilled his coffee mug. “Think you could keep that down?”
He had zero desire to eat mush. “Did I dream it or did you haul everything in from the Jeep last night?”
“No dream. I brought the food and your other things inside.”
“And you made soup.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It was delicious. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done and I would like eggs, bacon and toast. Please.”
She handed him the mug and then stood above him, holding the coffee carafe, her head tipped to the side as she studied him. “I’m not going to be happy with you if it all comes right back up.” She put on her don’t-mess-with-me look, just to let him know who was boss.
Damn. The woman had attitude. And she took care of business. She was tough and resourceful and pretty much unflappable—with a dry sense of humor.
Not to mention she looked amazing in panties and a sports bra.
Matt liked her. A lot. He was a little blown away at how much. As a rule, he was cautious around new people. But for her, he would definitely make an exception. He said what he was thinking. “I could have done a lot worse than to get snowed in with you.”
For that, he got a small nod and a hint of a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I just want you to be careful not to overdo it.”
“Eggs,” he said longingly. “Toast. Bacon.”
She made a disapproving face, but then she cooked him the breakfast he asked for. He did his part and kept the food down. After the meal, she changed his bandage. His leg wasn’t pretty, but there was no sign of infection.
Once she’d changed the dressing, she got him some sweats and clean underwear from the duffel bags she’d brought in from the car. She even allowed him to hobble into the bathroom on his own steam.
He brushed his teeth, cleaned himself up a little and changed into the stuff she’d brought downstairs for him. When he emerged into the main room, she said he looked a little green and ordered him to lie down.
“I have a request,” she said as she tucked the old afghan in around him.
“My Jeep? My bank account number? The deed to this cabin? Whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”
She laughed. The sound was low and a little bit husky. Every time she bent close, he could smell her. She’d used the Ivory soap in the bathroom, yeah, but beneath that, her body itself smelled clean and sweet, like fresh-baked bread or maybe sugar cookies. Sugar cookies and woman.
A knockout combination.
Really, she had it all going on. He’d never realized before that he might have a type. Hi, I’m Matt Bravo and I like my women hot, smart, competent and bossy. As soon as he was capable of washing up in the bathroom without needing a nap afterward, it was going to get really difficult not to put a move on her.
Now, though? He was weak as a baby and fading fast, making her one-hundred-percent safe from his bad intentions.
“Keep your bank account,” she said with a grin. “It’s your tree I’m after.”
He imagined reaching up, running a finger down the velvety skin of her neck, maybe tugging on that thick braid down her back—and what was this he was feeling? Like he had a crush on her or something.
Matt didn’t do crushes. He’d been in love once and it had all gone to hell like everything else in his life at that time. Nowadays, he went out occasionally with women who wanted the same thing he did—satisfying sex. And no sleeping over.
Although, in all honesty, if he was going to crush on a woman, it would have to be this one.
“Matthias? You okay?”
He picked up the conversation where he’d dropped it. “I noticed you found the decorations and brought them down.”
She grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re in no condition to decorate