Marriage Under the Mistletoe. Helen Lacey

want to think, or make comparisons or imagine for even a moment that what she’d had with her husband could ever be replaced.

      “I’m not interested in...” She colored, felt the heat rise up her neck. “I’m not in a position to pursue something that’s... What I’m trying to say is that I’m not interested in casual sex.”

      Scott linked his hands together and looked at her with such burning intensity Evie couldn’t drag her gaze away. “Believe me, Evie, if I made love to you, there would be nothing casual about it.”

      I’m dreaming this...that’s the only explanation. “But we—”

      “But we won’t,” he said decisively. “Yeah, I get that.” He stared directly into her eyes. “I’m not entirely clueless, Evie. I have figured out what kind of woman you are, even if my sister hadn’t pointed out your virtues.”

      “Callie said something to you about me?” she asked, mortified, and not quite believing they were having this conversation. Her virtues? How dull and unexciting did that make her sound? “What did she say?”

      “Word for word?” he asked, smiling. “That you were likable and generous.”

      Definitely dull and unexciting. “Damned with faint praise,” she said, and cradled her mug.

      “Not accurate, then?”

      Evie laughed. “Oh, I’d say it’s accurate. But it makes me sound old and boring.”

      Scott unlinked his hands and leaned back in his chair. “How old are you?” he asked quietly. “Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

      “Six.”

      “Which hardly qualifies you for a walker.”

      She liked how his words made her feel—liked the slight grin on his face, which teased the edges of his dimple. “I suppose not. But, you know, despite what your sister said about me, I’m not always as nice as people make out.”

      “Must be hard living up to the expectations of others.”

      Evie looked at him, tilted her head and smiled. “I guess you’d know a bit about that yourself?”

      “I would?”

      She shrugged and then narrowed her gaze, trying to focus her thoughts into words. “You’re expected to race into burning buildings, climb up trees to rescue kittens and risk your life for people you don’t know simply because of the profession you chose. Sounds like you’ve got the tougher gig.”

      “It’s just a job,” he said flatly.

      “And you love it?” she asked.

      “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

      “Because you’re addicted to the risks?”

      He looked at her a little warily. “Because I took an oath to preserve life and property.”

      “Someone else’s life,” she said automatically. “Someone else’s property.”

      “You disapprove?” he shot back, sharper, as if she’d hit a button inside him.

      Evie took a moment. She took a few steps forward and pulled out a chair. As she sat she considered what she was about to say. She didn’t want to sound irrational—she didn’t want to admit to something and give Scott a window into her fears and thoughts. She’d said too much already.

      But suddenly she wanted to say it. She wanted to get it out. The words formed on the edge of her tongue, and before the sensible part of her kicked in, she spoke. “My husband was an Emergency Services volunteer. One night there was a cyclone moving off the coast and he went out to help evacuate the holiday park because the strong winds were overturning trailers and camper vans. He was killed preserving life and property. And I was left to raise our son alone.”