It was like falling on an electric fence.
She grabbed his arm. “First thing tomorrow I’m buying proper footwear.”
She held his arm for as little time as possible and then paused in the doorway to tug off her boots and slide on shoes that gave her at least another three inches in height.
Pushing her boots into her bag, she smoothed her hair. “I’m ready.”
Jackson stared down at her feet. His gaze traveled slowly up her legs and finally ended up at her mouth. He hadn’t touched her but suddenly her lips tingled and her throat felt dry.
“We should—”
“Yeah, we should—” His tone was thickened and then he frowned slightly and turned to push open the door.
Sleigh bells jangled, breaking the spell. Kayla stared at the pretty cluster of bells tied to the door handle below a glossy wreath made of juniper and spruce.
“What are those?”
“My father proposed to my mother in a horse-drawn sleigh. She kept the bells as a memento and hangs them on the door at Christmas.”
Oh, great. That was all she needed. “Your mother loves Christmas?”
“Yes. She loves decorating for the holidays. Be warned—our tree is usually bigger than the one outside the Rockefeller Center.”
Digesting that less-than-welcome news, Kayla stared gloomily at the bells.
They were just decorations, she reminded herself. And at least her cabin was a Christmas-free zone.
She walked into the house and stopped in surprise as she took in the details of the room and saw the number of people crowded around the large table.
“Oh, I— This is—” She turned to look at Jackson, confused. “This is the kitchen.”
“That’s right.”
“The kitchen leads to your meeting room?”
The kitchen is our meeting room.” He closed the door on the cold and Kayla felt a flash of panic as she turned back to face her audience.
They were holding this meeting in the kitchen?
She glanced around and saw shiny saucepans and stainless steel. Bunches of herbs hung drying above the range. Surfaces gleamed, but this was no showroom kitchen. It was lived-in and loved. There were boots of various sizes lined up by the door and shelves stacked with recipe books. It was easy to imagine the three O’Neil boys rushing in from the snow, hoping to grab some freshly baked treats.
A woman hefted a large blue casserole dish into the oven and gave them a welcoming smile.
“You must be Kayla. We’ve heard so much about you. I’m Elizabeth O’Neil, Jackson’s mother. Alice and Walter, his grandparents—” she nodded her head in their direction “—and Tyler, Jackson’s brother. Jess might join us later but I’m sure you won’t mind that. Now come on in and let me take your coat.” She closed the oven door and hurried over, the smile still on her face, her arms outstretched.
Kayla took a hasty step backward, and the sharp heel of her stiletto drove hard into Jackson’s foot.
He swore under his breath and then his hands closed around her arms and he steadied her. “Do you have a license for that weapon?”
She didn’t answer. Terrified she was about to be hugged, Kayla thrust her hand out, almost winding his mother in the process. “Pleased to meet you.”
Jackson released her. “My mother is British, so you have that in common.” He smoothed over the potentially awkward beginning. “Thirty-five years ago she arrived to cook for a winter season and never left.”
“Why would I leave? I never saw anywhere more perfect than this place, and I’m sure Kayla agrees.”
Kayla was ready to agree to anything in order to get out of this Christmas grotto as fast as possible. “Absolutely. It’s stunning. Good to meet you, Mrs. O’Neil.”
“Call me Elizabeth, dear. We’re not formal.” Warm and friendly, his mother took Kayla’s coat, frowning as she hung it up. “It’s wet. Is it snowing again?”