The Elf and the Ice Princess (8 page)

His
unvarnished honesty again threw her off balance. “Do you always go point a,
point b, point c? Do you never, I don’t know, jump to d and sneak up on c from
behind?”

His
expression turned quizzical. “I don’t understand the question.”

“You’re
really straightforward, and it’s not from lack of imagination.”

He kissed
her fingers, as if that pleased him. “Thank you. Although, I can’t take too
much credit as that was expected where I grew up. I think my mother’s favorite
admonition was”—his voice shifted to a light accent with fierce, choppy
phrasing in what Carrie assumed was an imitation—“‘State your intentions and
follow through. If you can’t get what you want that way, you didn’t earn it.’”

She laughed
at the impersonation. “She sounds intense.”

His shoulders
shook, his own laughter silent. “She was. And still is, I assume. She’s a good
woman. I miss her.”

“I guess you
don’t get back home a lot, living so far away.”

“I can’t go back.
I left.” He said it plainly, as if it was a fact and not a decision. Hadn’t he
said something before, in the story of his scarred ears, about leaving his home
being treasonous? But that didn’t make sense. Before she could ask about it,
though, he shot her a sidelong glance. “Answer a question straightforwardly for
me?”

Uh-oh.
“What is it?”

He stopped
in front of a silver car that was meticulously clean and looked awfully nice
for a mall actor. Not that she knew a thing about vehicles. It was probably
just really clean. But still, in spite of his blunt honesty, the mystery of
Brett seemed to grow and grow.

“How’d you become
a restaurant critic? You never mentioned it at dinner.”

Okay, that
question wasn’t too bad. She ignored the car to consider the easy half-truths
she told everyone about her work. But Brett had asked for honesty and had
already given her more than his fair share. She felt she owed him some of the
same, even if it wasn’t the most flattering truth. “I mentioned my ex-husband?”

He nodded. There
didn’t seem to be any judgment in it. First hurdle over.

“He, uh, had
money. I didn’t really care too much about that one way or the other. It’s just
stuff, right?” She felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. She meant it—the money
hadn’t mattered to her. But most people couldn’t believe that. After the
divorce, she’d overheard someone congratulating Lincoln on successfully
extricating himself from undue financial burdens—as if she’d tried to
money-grab and failed, when the exact opposite had happened.

But that wasn’t
the story Brett had asked about. Thank God. “But I missed the
food
. Eating at
restaurants where chefs cared about the cuisine, where culinary skills were
taken to an art. Wine pairings that highlight the subtleties. Unexpected
textures. The smells. I know it sounds stuck up, but caviar and good vodka is
my favorite indulgence. I can do without a fancy house, a nice car, designer
clothes—all of those things can be fun, but I’m fine with my Rack Room shoes
and my used car. But I don’t want to imagine life without delicious food.” Like
the kind he made. It was downright sensual what Brett could do in a kitchen.

She wondered what
it would take to get the recipe for his rice pudding. A too-obvious idea popped
into her head, making her body tighten and her breath catch.

He grinned
as he leaned against the car, arms folded. He looked appealing—no, not just
appealing—
sexy
covered in streetlight and shadow with that confident arc to his
lips. She contemplated his expression, worried he somehow knew what she was
thinking. As soon as her gaze reached his, he said, “I knew I liked you for a
reason.”

Her neck
grew hot. “Why? Because I want your rice pudding?” Did that sound dirty? No,
that was only in her mind. But just in case, she added, “The recipe, I mean.”

He leaned
closer as his eyes darkened. “When you come over, we can make it together.”
Longing for more than a cooking lesson filled his voice.

His
unhidden need turned her on and made her feel safe, like she didn’t have to
hide or minimize her own feelings for fear of judgment. With that thought he
went from interesting to irresistible. She traced a finger down his shirtfront.
His arms released so she could skim from collar to belly. “You want to make it
with me, huh? A big batch of rice pudding?”

His gaze
followed her finger as he took a deep breath. “That and every other recipe we
can invent.”

Her back
hit the car, and Brett was in front of her. Carrie practically moaned as she
threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He responded
immediately, dragging her against his firm chest eagerly. He smelled fresh and
cool, but his body surrounded her with heat as he kissed her harder.

For the
moment, she let herself revel in that first tingle of a new relationship, the
elation, the driving need. The way every nerve inside her fired simultaneously,
and she couldn’t get enough. It was terrifying. And giddy. Building up hope and
waiting for it to get shattered.

She pulled
back so hard her shoulders hit the car window.

Brett’s hands
steadied her balance then jerked away from her like she was hot. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t
have children either.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. But the
words were out, and it answered his question accurately. That was exactly what
was wrong; she was empty inside, and Lincoln had left because of it. But what
an awful moment to blurt that out.

“Oh. Um,
okay.”

She moved
her hand from her mouth to her forehead, blocking her view of whatever Brett
must be thinking of her and her awkward soul-baring. “Time travel would be good
about now.”

He made a
rumbling sound, like a laugh but kind. One hand touched her waist and another
gently pulled her fingers away from her head. “It’s okay. Hey, look at me.”

How was he
possibly smiling? If a moment ago every nerve in her body had been firing, at
the moment they were screaming. She’d been playing with the idea that she could
handle this. She was wrong. A relationship wasn’t worth the end result. And it
was unfair to him to boot. Brett was a nice guy who should be with someone as
openhearted and optimistic as he was.

She tried
to back away, but the car was there, blocking her in. “I can’t do this.”

His fingers
clenched into her side then released stiffly, but his face and voice remained
calm. “What do you mean?”

She slid
sideways, away from the pressure of his hand, and he let her. Part of her
wished he wouldn’t. And that, too, was unfair. “I’m not the right girl for
you.”

His jaw
clenched. “No offense, but I’m the one who gets to decide that. Not you.”

“Yeah. And
then you get to walk away when you realize I’m right. Probably at the worst
possible moment.”

“I’m not
him.”

“But—”

“No. Do not
judge me by the behavior of some other man.” This time he did stop her, firmly
taking her elbow and turning her back to face him. “Look at me.” That
mesmerizing voice was back with all its dominance, and sure enough, she
listened. When he had her gaze locked back onto his, he leaned in slowly,
giving her plenty of time to back away.

She couldn’t
move, caught somewhere between fear and desire. His mouth caressed hers,
sweeter than she expected, and she relaxed into it. He pulled her against him
again. His body felt strong and sure and smelled of crisp air and evergreen. It
would be so easy to use it, to use him, to disappear into a haze of lust and
comfort.

He pulled back
without letting her go. “Tell me you’re not interested in me, and I’ll back
off. I’ll think you’re lying. But I’ll back off.”

He was giving her
an out, but she practically hung off of him. Though she lacked his level of
honesty, she couldn’t bring herself to say words so completely out of line with
her actions.

“Ah, Carrie.” His
voice was practically a groan. “You want me, too.” Her back hit the car again
with the force of his kiss. Desire raced through her as all hesitation left
him. One hand tangled in her hair, and each tug of his fingers sent needy
chills from her head to her toes. His other hand clutched her hip, anchoring
her against him.

He tasted sweet,
like the nougat candy. The thought of devouring him took hold, pushing out all
fears for the future and other rational thoughts. Maybe she couldn’t handle
dating, but she’d sure like to handle him in other ways. “Take me home.”

His breath
hitched. He nipped her lower lip, and she groaned. “Your place?” His forehead
pressed against hers, and hope infused his voice. “Or mine?”

Happiness,
unaccustomed and freeing, fizzed inside her like champagne. “Doesn’t matter to
me.”

His answer came
out a possessive growl. “Mine.” Releasing her hair, he shoved a hand in his
pocket. “Keys…somewhere…” What a beautiful grin he had. It beamed at her, like
he’d won a prize, as his eyes traveled her up and down hungrily. His fingers
reappeared, clanging metal dangling from them. “Keys.” The locks released with
an electronic beep. “Want to swing by your place first to pick up anything?”

She slid to the
side so he could open her door. “Pick up… Oh! I don’t have anything. We can hit
the pharmacy.”

If possible, his
smile increased. “No, no. I’ve got us—me, really—covered. I meant like a change
of clothes for tomorrow. Toothbrush. Lotion? I don’t know what you use. I’m
probably inadequate in the”—he waved a hand in front of his nose—“face stuff
department.”

The chilly
December night seemed to get colder around her. “Oh, I don’t need…I mean, I
figured I’d go home after.”

He shut the door.

She stared at it.
“Why did you do that?”

His fingers
fidgeted on the roof of the car as his gaze swept the ground. “Maybe I
misunderstood.” He caught her eyes again. “I thought we were talking about—and
if we weren’t that’s okay. I’ll open the door and we’ll go hang out or whatever
you were thinking. But I thought were talking about sex.”

The hopeful
confusion on his face pulled at her heart, even if the night continued to leave
her colder and colder. “We were. I was, anyway.”

“Okay.” He took a
deep breath. “That’s good. That’s—I’d like that.” His voice lost focus as his
gazed drifted down her body. “I’d
really
like that.”

“So…let’s go.”

“Yeah.” He shook
his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Uh, no. I want you to stay the night.
Have breakfast with me.”

“Breakfast?”
Panic flared. This was moving too fast.

He straightened
up, a little of his former goofiness returning, even if he had to work to
muster it past the lust. “I make a good breakfast. Pancakes. Waffles. I have
experimental lox at the house. You could give me your opinion.”

 “You want me to
stay the night to critique your salmon?” She meant it to sound like a joke, but
it came out more like an accusation.

“No! No. I’m
trying to convince you to stay the night with breakfast incentives.” A little
grin. “You already gave me four and a half stars. Five with the last nougat.
You can’t take them away.” His face lit up. “I will be highly motivated to make
an amazing breakfast.”

Carrie shifted
uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Though his shoulders
may have sagged a bit, Brett’s smile stayed intact and his voice light. “Okay.
That’s fine. I understand. But it’s a package deal for me.” He wagged a finger
at her. “I may be easy, but I’m not cheap. Or, something like that. Basically,
I’ll wait.”

She narrowed her
eyes. “I offered to get naked with you, and you’re turning me down?” She wasn’t
sure if she was more insulted or impressed.

He shrugged. “I
offered cuddling and pancakes, and you turned me down.” He snatched her hand
and kissed it again. “I’m A-plus-plus
boyfriend
material, Carrie Martin. You’re
going to figure that out—I hope—and then there will be nakedness and cuddling
and pancakes. All of it. It will be epic. Until then…” He yanked on her hand,
and she stumbled forward, landing against his chest. “Until then, I’ll just
have to work on convincing you.” He leaned down.

“No. No…”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

The moment the
kiss landed, any fearful protest died in a wash of lust. She wanted him. Not as
a boyfriend—that was too much—but as a man. She cupped his jaw and pulled him
closer, her bitterness battling his sweetness in a body-thrumming clash of
tongues. 

When they broke
apart, he looked as dazed as she felt. His finger waggled at her again. “And
let that be a lesson to you.”

She laughed.

“You have the
best laugh in the world, you know that? I want to hear it more often.”

More of her
insides went soft. Not good for team stand-your-ground. “You sound dangerously
close to sincere, little elf.” She frowned. “Er, not-little-at-all elf.”

He lifted an
eyebrow. “My response is inappropriate, so I’ll restrain myself.”

“Smartass.”

With nimble
fingers he pickpocketed her phone and started typing on it.

“What are you
doing?”

He put her phone
back into her pocket. “You have my number. It’s under ‘E’ for Elf so you can’t
forget where to find it. Call whenever you want.” He winked and headed for the
driver’s side of his car. “I’ll see you at the party. Hide your dance card, or
I’ll fill it up.”

“We’ll both be
working.”

“We’ll find time
for a dance.” He blew her a kiss. “Get inside so I know you’re safe before I
leave.”

In a fit of
crazy, she blew him a kiss back. He caught it and slapped it against his cheek
before motioning her toward the house.

She strode to
Tom’s doorway with a smile on her lips and a nervous sinking in her gut. Brett
was insane. And she loved it.