Her Mistletoe Man. Carolyn Greene

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Three

      Ruth didn’t know why she had agreed to that stupid Christmas kiss thing Tucker made up a couple of days ago. At first she told herself it was because she knew her persistent family wouldn’t leave her alone until she’d been manipulated into initiating the silly ritual.

      But then, lying in bed later that night, she had to admit—if only to herself—that a tiny part of her had wanted to kiss Tucker. A very tiny part, of course.

      Unfortunately, it did little to satisfy her curiosity, if that’s what one called the strange little yearning that had invaded her well-being since “Cousin” Tucker’s arrival. Instead, it was just enough to tantalize her into wanting a better sampling. It was like the nibble-size morsels of food they give away at the grocery store, usually at mealtime so the shopper can’t get enough of the tasty fare.

      And tasty fare he was. For a man as good-looking as Tucker Maddock, he was a surprisingly good kisser, especially considering the fact that he was holding back because of her family’s presence. In her limited experience, she’d found that men of average appearance were usually better kissers than their handsome counterparts because they felt a need to compensate.

      The tiny hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Maybe he was such a good kisser because he was compensating for some devious leanings. If he was truly a con man, he wouldn’t want to leave anything to chance when wooing his next victim.

      Then again, he may have just had a lot of experience.

      In the three short days since he’d come to stay with them, he had managed to win over her entire family. Ruth had merely tried to keep a safe distance and a watchful eye.

      Although Tucker made her uneasy by his presence, she was even more concerned when he stayed in his room and out of her sight as he had most of this morning. She’d found him in the attic once. Where might she find him next?

      She got up from the sofa to throw the last log on the fire. It had been cold for the past few weeks, but last night the weather had turned bitter.

      “Don’t forget to bring in some more wood,” Aunt Shirley told Boris. “Tonight’s supposed to be even worse than last night.”

      As luck seemed to be having it lately—or perhaps it was carefully calculated timing—Tucker happened to be walking past the parlor as her aunt made her request.

      He poked his head into the room. “I was on my way out to check on my car after I get something to drink,” he told them. “I’ll pick up some wood while I’m out there.”

      Boris, obviously relieved to be released from the chore, flashed his dentures at their houseguest.

      “Why don’t you get the wood while I fix you some hot chocolate?” Ruth suggested. That way she could keep an eye on him through the kitchen window as she prepared the beverage, and perhaps she could learn some more about him as he drank it.

      Tucker seemed surprised by her apparent change of heart. Nevertheless, he pulled on a pair of gloves and his leather jacket over his sweater and went out after showing a heart-stopping smile of thanks. Her heart turned a tiny flip at the seemingly innocent gesture, but she immediately tamped down the emotions that threatened her objectivity. She needed to be clear-headed when dealing with a pro such as Tucker.