The final time they made love, they did so in front of the lit Christmas tree and a dying fire. When dawn broke, Angeline looked out the patio doors onto a clear, crystalline Christmas morning. She glanced down at Alex’s dark head resting on her breasts as he slept.
Silly to think it of a man she’d known for two days, she knew, but she couldn’t remember ever appreciating a Christmas gift so much.
Angeline wiggled in her warm cocoon, sleepily trying to avoid whatever was interrupting her profound sleep. She buried her face in a hard chest and inhaled, smiling when the increasingly familiar scent of musk, spice and male entered her nose. Experimentally, she rubbed her body against the warm solidness next to her, moaning in her sleep at the erotic feeling of bare skin sliding against bare skin. Despite her body’s instant reaction to the long length of brawn and muscle pressed tightly against her, the warm, heavy blanket of sleep weighed on her consciousness.
Unfortunately, the loud banging in her head would not give way to her delicious, sensual lassitude.
She pried open one eyelid.
“Oh, shit.”
She sat bolt upright in the nest of blankets Alex had formed for them last night, the top sleeping bag clutched to her breasts.
She stared out the patio doors, her mouth gaping open. Mitchell Carradine stood in several feet of snow, his gloved knuckle pressed to the glass pane. He looked back at her, his face pale.
“Oh, God,” she moaned miserably. She’d never so wished so much that she could just disappear…melt into the floor…fade to mist. Her eyes skittered around the room, searching for shelter. Mitchell’s gaze on her felt like a burning laser. She noticed that the clock on the mantel read 12:45 p.m.
They’d stayed up all night talking and making love, and then slept away half the day.
“Alex…wake up,” she hissed.
Alex groaned and twisted his head on the pillow.
“It’s your father.”
Some of her misery must have penetrated his thick sleep because his blue eyes suddenly popped open. His features remained impass
ive as he studied her. Even though she stared at his face, and not at the patio doors, he suddenly turned his head and saw his father.
Angeline began scurrying frantically to unzip the sleeping bag, wild to wrap one of the covers over her so that she could escape the mortifying moment. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to inform Mitchell that she’d had wild, abandoned sex with his son? No, instead Mitchell had to witness them naked in bed together!
Tacky. Classless. Smutty. Those and a dozen other self-recriminating words resounded through her brain as she squirmed around trying to break free like a worm on the end of a hook. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex swing his arm in an arc in a furious go away gesture. She paused in her struggling and glanced in surprise at his face.
He looked cold and furious as he glared at his father.
Mitchell must have read his son’s expression easily enough because he turned and plodded through the thick snow. Angeline wasted no time in flinging back the blankets and dashing toward the hallway, ignoring the sound of Alex’s deep, sleep-roughened voice calling out to her in a tone that sounded irritated, concerned and a little perplexed all at once.
Forty minutes later she walked out of the bathroom, showered, dressed and reasonably composed.
There was no two ways about it. This situation sucked. It was the direct opposite of how she’d hoped to break the news to Mitchell about what had happened between Alex and her.
But what was done was done. All she could do was use honesty and tact to make the best of a very uncomfortable situation.
Both men looked up when she left the hallway and entered the kitchen. They leaned against the counter, two tall, handsome men, each of them compelling in their own way. They each held a coffee cup and examined her soberly. Through the haze of her anxiety, she noticed that Mitchell looked ready for the cover of the Eddie Bauer catalogue, wearing a dark green shirt, khaki pants that perfectly fit his lithe frame and brown leather lace-up boots. For the first time, she realized that Alex had inherited the color of his eyes from his father, although there was no comparison to the impact of their gazes. Alex’s stare was much more penetrating than his father’s.
Certainly Alex’s eyes could be exponentially colder when the mood struck him, she thought in rising disorientation when she briefly locked eyes with Alex.
“Angeline, you look lovely. Merry Christmas,” Mitchell said.
She started to return the cordial greeting, but the ridiculousness of the words given the bizarre circumstances made her pull up short.
“Mitchell. I…I don’t know what to say.”
Mitchell set down his cup on the counter. His charming grin spun her even further off balance.
“It’s not as surprising to me as you might think, Angeline. I’m only a man. Of course it’s never fun seeing a man beat you to a lovely woman—especially your own son—but at the same time… Well, like I said, it’s not entirely a shock to me. Like I was just telling Alex, I recalled very well how taken he was with you several years ago. I had a good feeling something like this might happen.”
Angeline glanced at Alex, looking for assistance. She started back slightly when she saw the glacial fury in his eyes. The impact of his gaze struck her like a slap to the face. Her mouth fell open in surprise. She blinked to alleviate the acute burn in her eyes. Oh my God…how could Mitchell have wrought so much pain in such a short father and son meeting?