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“I don’t understand, either, Dax.”
He turned his hand over and clasped her palm in his. “I know you don’t. That’s one of the things I—admire about you.”
Jenna heard the hesitation in his speech. Had he almost said love? Her pulse quivered in her chest, a hopeful bird fluttering for release.
Dax had been badly wounded and now she understood that those wounds made him cautious. She wanted to reassure him that she would never hurt him that way. She wanted him to know that the longing to mother Gavin grew stronger every day.
But she didn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Yet.
Dax took up the paintbrush and cookie again. “This is supposed to be a fun rainy-day project. Didn’t mean to get serious on you.”
“I asked you to talk to me.” The man needed a partner to share his heavy load. And she needed to be needed. For most of her life, she’d been nothing but an ornament like the ones on the massive Christmas tree. Having Sophie and being a part of Dax’s life had given her a sense of worth.
He turned the cinnamon cookie in her direction. “What do ya think of Santa?”
So he didn’t want to discuss his ex-wife anymore. She understood. Derek wasn’t her favorite topic, either. But she did want Dax to have some fun for a change.
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought Santa’s boots were black.”
Dax made a silly face. “Oops. I’ll fix it.”
When he leaned in to dip the brush in black frosting, Jenna dabbed paint on the tip of his nose.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said with mock seriousness. “You have frosting on your nose.”
“I do?” he asked in the same silly tone she’d used. All the while he swirled his paintbrush round and round in the frosting bowl. “Ever heard of face painting?”
Jenna dotted a gingerbread boy with white icing eyes. “Don’t they do that at fairs and carnivals?”
Such events were below the status of a Carrington, but she’d seen the activity on television and had envied those lucky children their flowers and cartoon characters.
“And in living rooms on rainy days,” he said.
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Truly?”
He laughed and pointed the brush at her. “First time for everything. What do ya say, Jenna, want to launch my art career?”
She held up a warning finger. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Too late.” Mischief filled his face.
“Dax,” she warned, though the rise of energy inside her and the giggle she couldn’t stop gave the lie to her warning.
“Ah, come on, Jenna. Play nice. Let me decorate your face. A few dots here, a blue stripe there. Gonna be fantastic.” On his knees, he walked toward her, frosting near the drip stage.
“Don’t you dare.” She crab-crawled backward, but Dax kept coming, brush loaded with bright blue paint.
Like the villain in an old-time movie, he pumped his eyebrows. If he’d had a mustache, he would probably have twirled the ends, too.
Giggling, Jenna scooted back some more, though she couldn’t escape—even if she’d wanted to.
Dax pounced. Jenna flung an arm upward to ward off the blue-drenched brush. Bits of cookie paint flicked loose. A laughing, halfhearted wrestling match ensued, but Jenna was no match for the big man’s superior strength. In two seconds flat she was pinned to the floor, her wrists manacled above her head by one of his powerful hands while the other advanced toward her face with a glob of shiny blue frosting. Jenna switched her head from side to side, laughing so hard now that she could barely breathe.
When Dax saw that he couldn’t paint a face in motion, he resorted to threats. “Take your punishment or prepare to wash sugar out of your hair.”
She stilled but couldn’t stop giggling as Dax moved closer with the brush. She’d never seen him playful. He was still a young man but the past and his load of responsibility weighed him down. He needed to laugh and feel young and happy again. And she was thrilled to be a part of the moment—even if it meant having her cheek painted.
But instead of dabbing her cheek, Dax stroked the brush over her mouth. The motion tickled, but Jenna stopped giggling. A tingle of awareness moved from her mouth into her chest and lower.
She became acutely cognizant of Dax’s body pressing into hers in all the right places.
“You have the most gorgeous mouth,” he murmured.
She tried to joke. “And you think it should be painted blue?”
A tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth as he slowly outlined her top lip with the fine-tipped brush. She shivered. He raised his eyes to hers and then went back to his beguiling work. With painstaking care, while she throbbed at his nearness, he outlined her bottom lip, then dipped his brush again and filled in every millimeter of her mouth.
