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“Hey,” he greeted quietly.
“Hey,” she responded, moving to the opposite chair. She had to pick her way around a couple of gifts to get there.
“You’re still up?” he asked, swirling a measure of deep amber cognac in a blown crystal snifter. The cognac bottle and a tray with three other glasses sat on the low table between the chairs.
“I was in the workshop.” She plunked down.
He held up the cigar. “You mind?”
Kristy shook her head.
Hunter leaned forward and poured a measure of the cognac into a new glass, handing it to Kristy. The fire crackled, and sparks flew off the wood, pinging against the glass front.
“Your last full day,” he said.
“It is,” Kristy agreed.
He raised his glass in a silent toast, watching her expression carefully.
“Merry Christmas, Kristy Mahoney.”
She followed suit. “Merry Christmas to you, Hunter Osland.” She took a sip of the expensive cognac.
He considered her over the rim of his glass. “You moved out of his room.”
“It was time for me to go.”
“But you moved out early.”
She shrugged.
“Why?”
She shrugged again.
“Are you in love with him?”
Kristy nearly dropped the glass. “No.”
She wasn’t in love with Jack. He had simply shown his true colors—absolute allegiance to his corporation, his family and his precious experts.
“You married him,” said Hunter.
“That was infatuation. Nobody falls in love in a weekend.” She knew that. She’d always known that.
She’d just forgotten it for a little while.
“I guess not. I am sorry you got hurt.”
“I’m not hurt,” she lied.
They both stared silently at the fire.
“What about you?” Kristy finally asked.
“Nothing hurts me.”
“You ever been in love?”
He shook his head.
Kristy couldn’t help but smile to herself. “Not even with the redheaded girl?”
“Not even with her.”
“You know, Sinclair is a redhead.”
He turned to Kristy. “Sinclair has a big mouth. And it’s auburn.”
“So you’ve noticed.”
“I also noticed she’s bossy and judgmental.”
“Well, if you’re going to get picky about it.” A slow smile grew on Kristy’s face. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days.
Hunter frowned in return and polished off the cognac.
“We have twin uncles,” Kristy noted.
“Kristy.”
“I’m just saying, from a gypsy perspective…”
“Go to bed.”
She rose and set down her snifter. “And, of course, there’s Sinclair and me.”
Hunter did a double take. “What?”
“Sinclair and I are twins.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m pretty sure we are.”
“You’re taller.”
“We’re not identical.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Really?”
Kristy leaned into him, stretching her smile from ear to ear. After the past couple of days, it felt good to goof around with somebody. “So, you see, Hunter, it’s fate.”
A wolfish grin grew on Hunter’s face. “Maybe the gypsy didn’t mean a redhead with twins. Maybe I get twin redheads. You could dye your hair.”
“No, she couldn’t,” came Jack’s deep, censorious voice.
Kristy reflexively jumped back.
“We’re just messing around,” said Hunter.
“So, I see,” Jack growled, glaring at his cousin.
“Don’t do this.” Kristy scoffed.
He paced into the room. “Don’t do what? Interrupt your late-night chat?”
“You know it’s nothing.”
“I do?”
Hunter came to his feet. “It’s nothing, Jack. Trust her, don’t trust her. But trust me. It’s nothing.”
Jack stared at Hunter as the silence thickened.
“Guess I’ll head upstairs,” Hunter finally offered.
“Good idea,” said Jack, shifting his gaze to Kristy.
“I’ll come with you,” said Kristy.
“I’d like to talk to you,” said Jack.
“It’s late.”
“No kidding.”
She heaved a sigh. “I’m tired, and I really don’t want to fight with you.”
“Who said anything about fighting?”
“Maybe it’s that frown on your face.”
Jack spared another glance for his cousin. “Good night, Hunter.”
“Right,” Hunter muttered, heading for the door.
Kristy crossed her arms protectively over her chest, steeling herself against the familiar pulse of desire, promising to end the conversation quickly so she could climb into bed and bury her head under the covers.
