Five

Christmas Eve

Cold. That’s what I woke to on Christmas Eve. A cold house and a cold bed thanks to the snow we received in the midnight hours. My teeth were actually chattering like a skeleton’s on Halloween.

Rolling from my bed, I put on my duck slippers, grabbed Dad’s old sweater, and headed for the thermostat.

The glowing numbers read 59 degrees.

“Cold and alone on Christmas. Welcome home, Anna Banana,” I groused, then moved the dial back and forth, hoping it would kick on the heat.

Nothing.

Now what?

To the basement I go.

Mom and Dad’s house was built back in the days when basements were king, and I hated theirs. It was dark. Dank. And just plain spooky. It was also where the furnace was located.

Flashlight in hand, I opened the door to head downstairs, then directed the beam to find the light switch located three steps down from the door. When I hit the bottom step, the washer and dryer came into view. And the huge pile of clothes my brother had left unwashed.

“Least I won’t be bored.”

I glanced at the old furnace. It had seen better days.

Please, God. Let it just be the pilot light.

I bent at the waist and peered through the slats covering the internal workings. I could see a flame dancing inside, along with my breath.

“Swear to God, if I can’t find someone to fix this today, you are dead meat, Gregg.”

I headed for my phone on the first floor. “Fingers crossed,” I mumbled, then googled HVAC companies in the area. I was halfway through the listings before a gruff male voice bit out, “This is Knight,” instead of a recorded message.

“Are you real?” I asked.

There was a pause. “I ain’t Santa Claus, lady. So, yeah, I guess I am.”

“I would be forever in your debt if you had time to come and fix my heater, Mr. Knight.”

“Today?” he asked, non-plussed.

“YES, PLEASE!” I answered with just a hint of desperation. “I’m really, really cold.”

“I can be there within the hour. Give me your name and address.”

“Anna,” I squeaked out, shocked that my luck had changed. “Thank you so much. I hate taking you away from your family on Christmas Eve, but like I said, I’m really, really, really cold.”

“I got that,” he answered, and I could hear a smile in his voice. “But I still need your address, Anna.” There was something about the way he said my name. It was smooth and heady, and a little bit sweet around the edges, like dark chocolate.

“1430 E 35th,” I answered.

“Got it. Actually, you’re really close, so I’ll see you soon,” he replied, then hung up.

I headed for the kitchen and coffee. I needed to have all my faculties functioning while dealing with a repair man. I’d heard too many stories about women getting ripped off when in reality it’s just a simple fix.

Luke stared at the two-story home and shook his head. The bones were still good, but the former beauty had seen better days. The roof was old, the window sills were rotting, and the yard hadn’t been tended to in years. To say he was confused wouldn’t be a stretch. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected after talking to the woman, but he’d admit the sound of her voice had made him smile, so seeing how little she cared for her home was disappointing.

He tried to open his driver’s door out of habit, then remembered it was stuck from the accident. Annoyed all over again, he scooted across his console, then turned and kicked out with his foot rather than exiting the passenger side door like he had the past three days. It popped open with the force of his kick, so he climbed out and tried to shut it. The metal whined its disapproval like nails on a chalkboard, refusing to close.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Luke mumbled, then grabbed his tools from the back of his truck and headed for the front door.

He needed to find the card that asshole had given him and call his insurance carrier. He wasn’t about to drive around with his door wired shut.

As he approached the front door, he saw movement inside, so he knocked lightly to let her know he’d arrived. He heard her mumble, “Shit,” none to quietly, and he grinned.

He expected a quick response, considering she was right on the other side of the door, so he narrowed his eyes when it didn’t open and knocked again.

She responded this time, throwing open the door while tugging on an oversized sweater. Then he froze. Anna wasn’t just another broken furnace. She was fucking Goldilocks from the accident.

God truly hated him.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him as he took in her ridiculous outfit. It wasn’t bad enough that the sweater hung to her knees, or that the flannel PJs looked like something his grandmother would wear. No, the worst fucking part was the yellow duck slippers that had seen better days. The whole package from head to toe caused his lip to twitch. She looked down-home, not prissy. Laid back rather than some stuck-up social climber who normally lived in the area. He could see himself lying on the couch with her snuggled up to his side, a fire roaring to keep them warm as they relaxed, content in each other’s company. And it pissed him right the hell off. Something about her made him want things he’d given up on. Made him feel things he thought he’d locked deep, and for the first time in years, his heart raced with want. But she was out of his reach. Already taken by another man.

“Gregg’s not here,” she blurted out, pushing her mass of silky curls behind her back. “He left town and won’t be back until after New Year’s.”

That stopped him in his tracks. “Come again?” he bit out. Not only was the guy a shit driver, he was an asshole as well. Who leaves his woman during Christmas with no heat?”

“I don’t think he’s had a chance to call his insurance carrier.”

“I’m here to fix your furnace,” he snapped, then walked forward, backing her up with his body as he pushed through the front door without invitation. He tried like hell not to look at her as he entered, or register the way her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth.

Before he turned to face the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, he hardened slightly as her warm breath kissed the side of his neck as she gasped and said, “You’re Mr. Knight?” in a breathy voice.

“Yeah. Lucas Deacon Knight. Luke, for short,” he bit out, trying to control his body. “Where’s the furnace?”

“Um,” she mumbled, then looked down at her attire. “You got here quicker than I thought.”

“I told you I would see you soon.”

“Right. Right,” she mumbled, then bit her lip again, tugging on the ugly sweater to cover her PJs. “Um, do you want coffee before you start?”

His brows pulled together. “No.”

“Toast?” she asked a tad hysterically.

His brows shot up and he growled, “No,” in exasperation.

He’d never been fed on a job before, so what was her game? Because he sure as hell didn’t want anything that would keep him there longer than need be. He wanted to fix the damn furnace and get the hell out of there before he crossed a line he couldn’t step back over. He’d never made a move on another man’s woman in his life. But he was pretty sure those damn slippers quacked when she walked. And if they did, that might just be his undoing.

Luke scanned her from head to toe again. He had to clench his jaw to keep from smiling. She was a helpless mess of golden curls, big blue eyes, and an innocence that set his molars to grinding.

“Um . . . would you mind terribly if I changed before I showed you to the basement?” she pleaded kinda breathlessly when she caught him looking, and his jaw almost snapped in two.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He minded for two reasons. One, it kept him there longer and he needed distance to control the urge he had to back her into a wall and drink heavily from her lips. And two, he was selfish enough, despite his need to leave, that he didn’t want her to change out of those fucking duck slippers.

She blinked, as confused as he was by his reply, then turned on her heel and quacked her way up the stairs.

“Fuck me,” Luke sighed, dropping his head back, fighting for control. “Merry fucking Christmas.”