Together by Christmas. C.J. Carmichael

there a woman in your life right now?”

      “Right now?” He stared into the distance, then glanced back at her. “No.”

      “Well, what about the women in your past, then?”

      “What about them?”

      He wasn’t making this easy. “Warren, this is a subject we’ll have to cover. Eventually. I’d like to meet some of them, if I could. I’d like to meet with all the people who’ve been important to you. Have you ever been married?”

      “No. Haven’t even lived with anyone. I’m a private guy, Miranda.”

      But there had been women. And some of them had mattered. She knew these things with total certainty, although she couldn’t say how.

      “Was there ever anyone special? Someone you never managed to forget…?”

      Knowing Warren had been a loner, knowing how private he was, she didn’t really expect him to answer.

      He surprised her, though, when he said slowly, “There was this girl….”

      After giving him a few seconds to finish his sentence, she was forced to prod. “What was her name, Warren? Was she in our class?”

      With the force of a magnetic attraction, her gaze was drawn to the gray of his eyes.

      “Just a girl,” he said. “I don’t think you ever really knew her.”

      WARREN REALIZED his answer was evasive. It was also true. At thirty-two Miranda was as oblivious to her extraordinary qualities as she’d been at eighteen. She allowed her obvious natural beauty to define her, even as she tried to discount its value—to herself and to others.

      Miranda’s kindness, her sense of fun, her intelligence. Those were the qualities that drew her friends. That drew him.

      But they didn’t totally explain her appeal to the opposite sex. Since their meeting the other day, he’d given this subject some thought. And he realized that what made Miranda so utterly irresistible was that she just didn’t care about the impression she was making. That kind of laid-back attitude was bound to trigger any man’s competitive instincts. It had triggered his.

      Way back when.

      And now.

      “What about you, Miranda? Are you seeing anyone right now? Have you ever been married?”

      “No and no.” She slipped her camera back inside its case. “Why do you refuse to do promotion for your book?”

      He sighed. He’d have to add tenacious to the list of qualities this woman possessed. Summoning patience, he tried to be brief. “Book signings are difficult. People meet you…they think they know you because they’ve read your book. But the fact remains that they’re strangers.”

      “Well, what about interviews?”

      “I dislike the narcissism. Why should anyone be that interested in me? Also, most journalists are pretty predictable. Interviews get dull after a while.”

      “Oh. So today has been—”

      “No. Today was different.” He stopped in front of the gate. They’d circled back to where they’d begun.

      “The tip of your nose is turning white. How about we go back to the house and I’ll make you an espresso?”

      CHAPTER SIX

      SIPPING ESPRESSO in a warm farm kitchen was just the thing on a cold winter afternoon, Miranda decided. Warren had made her cup first, then frothed his own cappuccino. Now he sat in one of the vinyl-covered chairs and stretched out his legs until his feet almost touched the heat-spewing woodstove.

      He wore thick wool socks, the kind you’d team with a sturdy pair of leather work boots. Miranda found herself remembering how his feet had looked bare, those long, slender toes with squarely cut nails. Her imagination traveled upward, picturing long, toned legs, narrow hips, a tight butt—

      Better stop there.

      “Warren, why did the teachers never get mad at you for not raising your hand?”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “At school. When you had something to say.”

      “Miranda, did I make your coffee too strong?”

      “Come on. It’s a valid question. We all had to raise our hands and wait for the teacher to call on us before daring to talk. Why didn’t the same rules apply to you?”

      His expression remained puzzled, and finally she waved a hand dismissively.

      “Oh, never mind. I already know the answer.”

      “And what would that be?”

      “The teachers forgot about the rules because they were so eager to hear what you had to say. We all were,” she added, remembering how the air had seemed to clear a little when Warren started to speak.

      “You didn’t talk in class much, but when you did, you said such interesting things.”

      “Interesting?”

      “Even bizarre sometimes.” And yet, his ideas had made people think.

      “Suddenly I’m very nervous about how you’re going to portray me in this video of yours.”

      “Just keep making me these lovely espressos and I’ll be very kind,” she promised.

      “Are you happy with how things went today?”

      “Yes, I think so. A slow start in some ways, but that’s better than beginning too intensely.”

      “Yes.”

      He gave her one of those odd looks, his old unsettling gaze that penetrated barriers like skin and bones. She supposed she’d have to get used to this strange, off-balance feeling. They would be spending a lot of time together these next few months.