“As in like earthquakes and floods and stuff,” he explained.
Emma blinked. That was hardcore. “Tell me more.”
He drew a breath. “The primary goal is to enable the local people to rebuild their homes and towns themselves. But every place is different. It’s always uncertain, and change is rapid.” He shrugged. “So we have to design and build to the unique environments and the requirements of the people and place. Re-establish some kind of normal.”
Emma mulled over what she knew to be the “spiel” he probably gave people all over the world. Why she was stunned she didn’t know—the guy was tough and strong, but he was also funny and kind. He’d helped her get in touch with Grandma Bea, and he’d been concerned for her welfare when she’d been sore from painting. It made total sense that he had a “save the world” type job.
It also made her fall even harder for him.
“So you have no permanent base?” Somehow that idea didn’t surprise her—but it sure made her heart ache.
“I guess New York would be it,” he said. “But I’m really only in and out for a few days. I keep most of my things in a storage facility.”
Yes, all his precious things were locked away—including his heart.
Everyone finished work an hour or so early on Christmas Eve to get ready for the evening. Emma had lied in her earlier grump to Hunter—she did have something to wear. So now she showered and dressed in the one skirt she’d brought with her—a cute black A-line number—topping it with a clean white fitted tee. It felt good to go feminine again; she’d missed her skirts after two weeks of overalls. She tied her hair back into a ponytail and wound a bit of tinsel around it—she’d pilfered the sparkle from the decorations in the lounge. Rubbing glossy balm on her lips, she got to thinking of the one thing she’d been trying very hard not to think of all day.
That one real benefit to her prolonged stay.
Another two nights near Hunter. The sensual memory of last night still sizzled along her nerves. She was a mess of frustration—aching to be back in his arms, aching to be beneath his body. She wanted the experience of a lifetime that she knew he’d give. And nothing else mattered.
There were no promises from him. He’d offered no false declarations of adoration. He’d just admitted his attraction to her and the simple desire to be with her. There was absolutely no prospect of any future. There was only the present.
Her Christmas present.
…
Hunter was in the kitchen already when she got there. He glanced up and froze, his gaze locking on her lips. She waited for his focus to lift and his eyes to meet hers. Blue irises shone brilliantly but his pupils were huge, black, and bottomless. And as she watched, she saw the faintest color surge across his cheekbones—was the guy blushing?
She would have put on a little war paint before if she’d known it would affect him this much.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked him directly.
His lips twisted in a tormented kind of smile. “Dessert.”
There were no fresh berries to top the Pavlova—they’d been coming on that last flight in, the one she was supposed to have gone out on.
“Use grated chocolate instead. And we have some kiwifruit somewhere.” The cook was flying around the galley.
“No problem.” Emma washed her hands.
Hunter stood beside her, humming as he chopped the chocolate for her.
Emma turned and stared, stunned. “Are you humming ‘White Christmas’?”
“I’m thinking it’s one of the pros about you being stuck here. You’re guaranteed a White Christmas. Being a New Zealander, you’ve probably never had one before.”
“No, I haven’t.” Christmas had always been a warm summer’s day.
“And I bet you’ve never had real eggnog before, either.”
“No, that’s not one of our things.”
He flashed a killer smile at her. “Get ready for an American-style Christmas, then.”
And so it was that in between food prep and decoration, serving up and then clearing what seemed like a million dishes, Hunter Wilson put on an American Christmas for her. Well, he put on an American Christmas soundtrack to their kitchen duty.
Emma had never laughed so much in all her life as he invented new lyrics to old Christmas tunes, hung a popcorn lei around her neck, and danced her around the bench.
At one point he kept glancing upward.
“What are you looking for?”
“The mistletoe.” He winked. “Can’t believe none of the stuff grows down here!”
“You’re crazy.” She giggled, not shifting his hand from where it was comfortably curved around her hip.
After dinner, they were called through to the lounge.
“There’s something we all have to do.” The base boss was up at the front. “Everyone follow me, please.”
All fifty of the people on the base followed single file to the new laboratory. Emma broke into a sweat when she saw they’d hung a cloth over her painting.
“We didn’t get to do this earlier because of the problems with the conditions, but it means we can do it now.” He smiled at Emma. “Want to unveil it?”
No, she didn’t, but in front of all these people she had no choice. She stepped forward and took down the fabric hiding her mural.
As soon as she did, the gasps and the applause burst out behind her. She closed her eyes for a second before turning back to face them. People were already swarming forward to shake her hand and congratulate her. Her heart soared as she saw their smiles and genuine enthusiasm for her work. She’d given them pleasure and earned their admiration. She was so thrilled they liked it.
She walked back to the mess sandwiched in a throng of people, but there was a bonus to how tall Hunter was. She met his gaze over all their heads and bathed in the warmth of his smile.
But back in the mess, her emotions seesawed again when she realized there was a Secret Santa thing going on. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be there, so she had nothing to give anyone. She felt terrible, especially when there was a package with her name on it. The guy dressed as Santa gave it to her, but it was to Hunter that she instinctively glanced again.
“I think one of Santa’s elves got busy for you,” he murmured.
Emma stared at the small wrapped parcel and willed her silly emotions to get back under her control.
“You’re supposed to open it,” Hunter nudged.
Yes, but she didn’t often get presents. Now she couldn’t decide whether to rip it open or go slowly. In the end she went for slow, carefully removing the tape so as not to ruin the bright colored paper and to draw out the sweetness of the moment. Finally, she lifted back the paper and gazed at the tiny gift. He’d carved a solid Hägglund out of wood and painted it. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand.
“I know you were disappointed you didn’t get to drive one here.” He looked a little embarrassed.
She didn’t know what to say.
He smiled, his brows lifting in one of his roguish, irresistible moves.
And at that moment, any lingering defense was shattered. She stepped closer to him. “I have a present for you, too.”
“You do?” he asked quickly, a faint note of surprise lifting his tone.
“You need to come to my room to collect it, though.”
“Really?” His gaze sharpened and he stepped closer. “You can’t give it to me here?” he asked, dropping to a low, almost breathless, whisper.
She glanced around at the crowd now singing “Jingle Bells” with gusto. “No.” She smiled slowly. “You’re going to have to come with me.”
“I am?” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Should I come quickly, then?”
“No,” she admonished with a laugh. “You can take your sweet time, but I promise you’ll get there.”
His cheeks were flushed again and he drew in a deep breath. “I’m going to have to get out of here now.”
“I’ll meet you at my bunkroom in five.”