Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe(15)

He loved her.

Anna sighed, grinned up at him and threw her arms around his neck,  holding on for all she was worth. "Oh, Sam, I love you, too. I love you  so much."

"God." He buried his face in the curve of her neck and swept his big  hands up and down her spine, as if reassuring him that she was once  again in his arms.

He kissed her, long and deep, and Anna felt her world right itself  again. Fires burned inside her and she knew that with him in her life,  she would never again be cold.

"You could have said something," he accused, when he finally broke the  kiss long enough to look down at her. "Did you have to let me keep  babbling?"

She grinned and leaned into him, arching her body into his. "Sorry. But after you said you loved me, I sort of zoned out."

"Is that right?" His voice was low and almost seemed to rumble along her nerve endings.

"Yeah, it is. I do love you, Sam," she said, staring into his eyes and  letting him see everything she was feeling. "And what you did for my  dad-you didn't have to."

"I know that," he said, and bent to kiss her again. Once. Twice. "I  wanted to do it, not because I had to but because I knew it would make  you happy."

"You make me happy, Sam. Just you."

"I'm making that my mission in life," he told her. "Because I never want to be without you again, Anna."

"Never," she whispered and sighed as he kissed her again and again.

At last, though, he pulled back and pointed at the mural. "This is the  first time I've come in here since you left," he admitted. "I couldn't  look at that painting without thinking of you. Couldn't look at that  snake without remembering that I'd let you go."

She laid her head on his broad chest and smiled at the steady beat of his heart. "I'll paint over that snake," she promised.

"No," he told her. "Leave it. It's a good reminder to me."

"Of what?"

"Everytime I see it, I'll remember how close I came to losing you, and  that'll make me appreciate what we've got together even more."

Tears filled her eyes as she smiled at him. "Tell me what we've got, Sam."

"Everything, Anna," he said. "Marry me and we'll have everything."

"Yes." She didn't have to think about it. Didn't have to wonder. Didn't  have to ask herself if she was sure. It didn't matter if she'd met him  two weeks ago or two years ago. This was the one man for her. The man  she would love for the rest of her life. "Yes, I'll marry you."

One corner of his mouth tipped into that delicious half smile she loved so much. "Just what I wanted to hear."

His hands swept under the hem of her sweatshirt to cup her breasts and  she groaned at the contact. He tweaked her nipples through the lace of  her bra and Anna sighed in pleasure.

"I know a great way to spend a rainy day," he said.

She sighed, and almost surrendered before she remembered, "Oh, I can't! I have to work. I told Mateo and-"

Sam kissed her again until she couldn't think, let alone speak. When he  lifted his head, he smiled down at her. "It's okay," he said. "We've got  tonight to celebrate."

She winced and groaned aloud as she remembered she'd already made a  promise to her stepmother. "I promised Clarissa I'd go to the house for  dinner. To celebrate. You have to come, too, so we can tell them our  news together."

He laughed and rested his forehead against hers. "Dinner with the  family. Agreed. And I should probably have a talk with your dad about us  anyway. But after, it's just you and me."

"Absolutely." She couldn't wait to get him alone. To feel his body  sliding into hers. To hear him say he loved her again and to know that  she would be with him forever.                       
       
           



       

"Since we missed our first Christmas together," Sam was saying, "we've got some catching up to do."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"Well," Sam said, "I'm thinking we'll have some wine, sit in front of the Christmas tree and open our presents."

"Presents?" she asked, confused.

He dropped his fingers to the snap of her jeans and flicked it open.  Anna gasped as he undid her zipper and slid one hand across her abdomen.  Then she understood. "Ah. Open our presents," she said, moving into his  touch. "Yep, that's a great idea. We could even call it our first  tradition."

"You really are my kind of woman," he mused, zipping up her jeans and snapping them closed again.

"And don't you forget it," Anna told him, her insides melting at the wild, wicked look in his eyes.

"Not a chance, babe." Taking her hand in his, he kissed her knuckles,  then said, "Come on, I'll drive you to Mateo's. I don't want you taking  chances in this rain."

Anna hugged him and whispered, "Rain? What rain? All I can see is sunshine and rainbows."

While the rain pelted down from a steel-gray sky, inside the garage there was warmth and love and the promise of tomorrow.

Sam held on to her for another long minute, giving each of them a chance  to settle. To relish the realization that they were together now and  everything was going to be just as it should be.

"Happy New Year, Anna."

"Happy New Year, Sam."





MISTLETOE MAGIC by SANDRA HYATT





To the wonderful women and men of RWNZ and especially Barbara and Peter Clendon.





One




The babble of chatter and laughter ceased.

The only sounds left in the sudden hush of the living room were the rich  baritone of Bing Crosby crooning "I'll Be Home for Christmas," and the  crackle of the fire in the stone fireplace.

Perplexed, Meg Elliot turned, careful not to spill the pyramid of Christmas tarts from the silver tray in her hands.

And came face-to-face with a stranger.

Face-to-chest, actually. She had to look up from the navy polo shirt  stretched across his shoulders to see his face. Dark, wavy hair, in need  of a cut, brushed his forehead. He was clean-shaven and tanned. Too  tanned for this time of year at Lake Tahoe, and not a skier's tan. But  it was the silver eyes boring into her with unreadable intent that  stilled her.

She knew those eyes.

But she didn't know this man.

She'd met so many people in the last few months, it was no surprise that  she might forget a face. Except for the fact that this man was not the  forgettable type-imposing, disconcerting and way too handsome.

How had he even gotten in? Caesar, guard dog extraordinaire, invariably  created an unholy ruckus when anyone, even her friends, approached the  house. It had taken him all of the three months she'd lived here to get  used to her. And the stranger standing in front of her, silent and  watchful, most definitely did not fall into the category of friend. He  dropped a leather overnight bag to the carpet with a quiet thud.

There was something so expectant in the way he and, she realized, her guests, watched her. And waited.

The seconds ticked by. Who was he? She needed the answer to that single, simple question before she knew how to react.

He glanced up. Above her hung a chandelier, and incongruous among the glinting crystal dangled a sprig of mistletoe. Surely not?

Meg looked back at him, looked again into those eyes.

Eyes she'd only ever seen the likes of once before.

She felt the color drain from her face. He eased the tray from her  hands, placed it on the table behind her. "Luke?" His name left her lips  on a whisper.

He watched her struggle for calm, and his mouth stretched into a smile  that held little humor. He slid large hands over her jaw to cup her  face. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he said softly as he lowered his head.

Too stunned to react, Meg stood rooted to the spot. Warm lips collided  with hers. There was hunger in his kiss, hunger and a quest for control.

She wouldn't react. Wouldn't let herself react.

His fingers threaded into her hair as he claimed her mouth in a blatant  attempt to dominate her, and then he gentled his kiss. That surprising  gentling melted her defenses and dissolved rational thought.                       
       
           



       

He was alive. He was home. He was kissing her again.

He'd kissed her only once before. She'd thought her memories had been colored by the circumstances of the time.

Apparently not.

This kiss was every bit as beguiling and as latent with promise as that first one.

But the moment she found herself kissing him back, reaching for him, he  lifted his head and then set her away from him as though it was she who  had initiated the kiss and he needed to put distance between them to  prevent her from doing it again.

Dimly, she heard a burst of applause.

Her awareness returned. Her guests-the organizing committee for tomorrow  night's charity dinner-were witnessing this scene play out. She felt  the color rush back to her cheeks.