There was no use denying that she’d fallen for him in a very big way. The “L” word came to mind, as did a future spent at his side. She’d sworn it was too soon.
Tess had reminded her that it happened. “Love at first sight,” was an adage for a reason—it set forth a general truth that had gained credit through long use.
Claire had stuck out her tongue and blown Tess a big fat raspberry. Tess, like any psychologist worth her weight, had clucked right back and flicked queso from the end of her spoon. After that, a full-fledged food fight ensued.
Thank goodness they’d been in Tess’s kitchen rather than out on the town.
Now, with her cab driver paid, Claire hoisted her overnighter onto her shoulder and headed down Court du Chaud’s alley toward the courtyard. The sun had set, and the Christmas trees lights blazed like an electric kaleidoscope.
Bah, humbug pretty much summed up her lack of holiday spirit. But then she turned the key in her door and was hit smack in the face with the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. Sugar. Chocolate chip. Peanut butter. Oatmeal butterscotch.
Some little elf had been busy.
Some little elf had to go.
Unless, of course, she invited him to stay, damn waffler that she was.
Heart in her throat, she tossed her purse and overnighter to the sofa and made her way to the kitchen where she careened to a stop. It wasn’t an elf after all.
It was Santa…of a sort.
Randy had obviously been baking for hours. Bowls filled the sink, flour dusted the floor. There had to be twelve dozen cookies cooling and stacked on racks. But it wasn’t the cookies that had her slack-jawed.
It was the clothes he was wearing.
Or rather, wasn’t wearing.
She laced her hands on top of her head to keep her brain from exploding. “What in the world are you doing?”
He didn’t even look up, simply glanced at the timer on her stove. “Waiting for you.”
“You’re baking me out of house and home.” If she ate a fraction of the goodies, she’d gain ten pounds. “And you’re doing it naked.”
He glanced down at his apron. The tasseled end of his Santa hat flopped forward. “I’m dressed.”
The apron resembled a red Santa suit, and showed the jolly man’s gloved hands holding open a sack that was actually the apron’s front pocket. Scribbled across the pocket—one that just happened to cover Randy’s groin—were the words Caution: Creature Stirring.
Claire read it and rolled her eyes. “I can see everything except what you’ve got in your pocket. I call that naked.”
“It’s not naked. It’s…unencumbered.”
Way too much information. “Swinging free and all that?”
“No. Damn.” He tugged off the hat, tossed it to the breakfast nook table. It landed on top of a cookie-filled plate. “That’s not what I meant.”
She came closer, reached for a just-baked cookie. Chocolate melted all over her fingers. She licked it away and asked, “Well?”
He removed a baking sheet from the oven, pulled off the hot mitts he was wearing, turned off the flame. “Here’s the deal, Claire. I wanted to come to you with nothing—”
“So I see,” she said flippantly, trying to hide the mix of sheer terror and joy pressing in on her chest.
He tried not to glare. “I wanted to show you I don’t need what money can buy. That I don’t need anything but you. I love you, Claire. It’s only been days. I know that.”
Oh, God. Oh, God.
He took a deep breath. “But I also know that I’ve been waiting for you all of my life.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, though she doubted he heard her whisper.
He came closer. He was big and warm and smelled like cookies. “I’m saying that I want you. It’s simple. I won’t take anything less than everything you have to give.”
The rest of the cookie crumbled in her hand. “I won’t be a kept woman.”
“That’s not what I want.”
Okay. Breathe, Claire. Breathe. “I won’t be your arm candy.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
He was too close. Close enough to hold her if she leaned his way. “I don’t want you to think you can buy me.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” he said, shaking his head.
Like she believed that. “Really?”
“Okay. Maybe once. For two seconds. Until I realized I’d rather trade in my Benz on a Camry and wear nothing but T-shirts and secondhand jeans than risk losing you.”
“Oh, Randy. I love you. I really, truly do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him until her muscles began to ache. Even then she had a hard time letting go.