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“I know.” Her words were husky. She swallowed and smiled, taking several steps backwards, just as he’d requested.
“Okay, macho guy. Show me what you’ve got.”
He made it look almost easy. Of course, it wasn’t – it couldn’t have been. The tree must have weighed a tonne, yet he dragged it through thick snow as though it were almost nothing. At the house, he pulled it up the steps, each bump dislodging some of the snow that clung to the branches. She quickened her pace to get in front of him, skirting him and the tree to open the door.
The house – which she’d once thought cold – instantly provided warmth and relief.
A few more steps and the tree was in the entrance hall, still on its side, and so much larger once within the confines of the castle’s walls.
“Where would you like it?”
He wiped his hands on the back of his pants, watching her in that way he had, as though she was beautiful and precious and special and he was exerting all his energy in trying to figure her out.
She bit down on her lower lip and looked around. “Umm, I don’t know.” She had to do better than that, though. Somewhere different to last time, to the tree he’d put up seven Christmasses ago, and taken down after enduring an impossible tragedy.
“What about the kitchen,” she suggested after a moment.
His expression showed she’d chosen well. His face relaxed visibly, and his smile seemed to come from deep in his soul. “Yes, the kitchen,” he agreed. “That’s perfect.”
He clenched his hands into fists and then released them, grabbing the rope lower now and starting to drag the tree. She frowned as she watched him. “Please let me help. It isn’t right that you do all the work.”
“Oh, you can make it up to me later.”
She lifted a brow. “I can, can I?”
He laughed. “I meant by decorating the damned thing.” He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes loaded with meaning. “But you can feel free to use your imagination. I am at your disposal.”
Her throat went dry at that simple promise, the idea of Gabe Montebello being her very sexy plaything to do with what she would…her pulse went into overdrive so that, by the time he’d propped the tree against the kitchen wall, it was Isabella who was out of breath.
She busied herself making coffees while he fetched a copper pot for the base, lifting the tree into it then placing a stack of bricks in for balance.
The room smelled like Christmas, and tears of joy filled Isabella’s eyes. It wasn’t the Christmas she’d had planned but everything about this felt perfect and right. She blinked quickly, hoping to clear the tears, but emotions were thick in her throat.
“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”
“But you’re crying?”
She dashed a tear from her cheek. “I’m not,” she denied, then laughed. “They’re happy tears, I promise.” His dark eyes roamed her face, and her mouth felt dry even as her body began to throb with awareness. “It’s just – this is – I know it’s not how you want to spend Christmas, but for me,” she gestured with her hand to the tree first then the snowy alpine vista beyond the windows, “This is exactly what I imagined when I set off for Italy.”
“Different to what you’re used to,” he said softly, nudging her with his shoulder.
She smiled up at him. “Yes. And everything I’ve imagined. Thank you.”
A frown flickered on his lips for a moment and then he dropped his head, kissing her on the forehead. “My pleasure.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Silence vibrated around them. Isabella felt it weaving through her soul and despite the fact neither spoke, a new awareness was spreading from the pit of her stomach through her arms and legs, and into her soul.
“You made coffee?”
It was the perfect circuit-breaker, a question that dragged her back to the rudimentary. She nodded towards the bench, watching distractedly as he strolled to it and took a sip, before shrugging out of his jacket. He was wearing a soft wool sweater beneath, dark in colour, with faded jeans, and the effect combined to make him look dangerous and tantalising.
“If you continue staring at me like that, cara, I’m going to have to do something about it.”
Her heart stammered. “Oh, yeah?”
A growling noise of agreement emerged from his throat.
“And you think that’s going to make me stop staring?”
