Chapter Three
Carrying a large box packed with bags of Christmas cookies—two each of frosted sugar, peanut butter crisscross, and the thumbprint kind with a big Hershey’s kiss stuck in the middle, courtesy of Pete Rutherford’s kitchen—Dixie made her way through the halls of Buncombe County General Hospital to the pediatric ward on the third floor. She had been warned, at risk of death, not to share the origin of this holiday treat with a living soul. But dressed in her signature pink uniform with its attached white apron while waving and stopping to chat with folks, mostly regulars at the diner, she was like a walking billboard for Pete’s. What’s more, if he’d truly wanted to remain a mysterious cookie benefactor, he’d have sprung for cab fare instead of tossing her the keys to his truck, which had Pete’s Diner emblazoned across both doors.
When it came to kids, the old surly grouch was a big softie, especially sick ones in the hospital at Christmas time. It was sweet and she couldn’t keep the grin from her face each time she pictured her big, grizzly bear of a boss tying a dainty bow on one hundred individual bags.
Getting off the elevator, she took a right, passed through a long corridor, then at the corner made another right, immediately noting that the institutional celery green walls had become painted murals of colorful clowns and circus animals to brighten a sick child’s day.
Dixie’s first stop was the nurse’s station to see who was allowed cookies as part of their doctor’s orders. In the heavy shoulder tote that bumped against her hip with every step, she was also equipped with holiday coloring books and crayons for those who couldn’t partake. No child would be left out today; Pete had made sure of that.
Once she got her list of room numbers and corresponding treats, leaving the huge cookie tin for the nursing staff as instructed, she’d deliver her goodies and hopefully a bit of Christmas cheer. Afterward, she was headed up the mountain to visit her mother. Not the highlight of her week, but she couldn’t put it off any longer.
As she neared the station in the center of the long, wide hallway, a door opened and a man came striding out. Skidding to a halt, she juggled her box of fragile sweets that would be smashed to bits and good only for ice cream topping if it hit the floor.
“Whoa!” the man called as he grabbed her upper arm with one hand and the teetering carton with other, in a valiant attempt to keep them from hitting the hard commercial tile beneath her feet.
“Sorry,” he added as he stabilized them both. “They really need to put a window in this door and a mirror ball on the wall so we can see people approaching. This happens daily.”
She caught her breath while Kyle, the last person she expected to see, relieved her of the heavy container.
“Hey, Dixie.”
“Uh, hi. What are you doing here?”
He tilted his chin down to the stitching on the chest of his white lab coat, which read K. Prescott, MD—Orthopedics.
Duh , she thought, blushing at her stupid question, then compounded it by muttering, “Oh, right.”
He grinned as he eyed the contents of her package, the lid having popped open in their near-miss collision. “You’re making cookie rounds?”
“Yeah,” she said as she reached for them. “And I need to get started because this is quite a list.”
“Hopefully, it won’t be nearly as long by Christmas Eve. We try to get as many kids home for the holidays that we can. I’m finished with my rounds,” he added, grabbing the paper with names and room numbers. He tilted his head to the right. “Jason Wright is my patient, he’s in this first room. Come on.”
Having little choice but to follow, she spent the next two hours delivering her cookies with Dr. Prescott, who earned a grin from every sick child, charmed each parent—particularly the moms who seemed to melt when he turned his disarming grin on them—and picked up a few nurses who eagerly offered to help him with his task. Dixie ignored the curious and often envious glances they sent her way. And, except for being irritated by the overtly flirty nursing staff, she found she had thoroughly enjoyed herself by the time they reached the end of the lengthy list.
“That’s every kid and nearly every cookie,” he announced. As he did so, he flipped over the cardboard container and held up one last remaining bag. “Who gets the one left over?”
“You do, as a reward for helping me cheer up the kids. You have a gift with them.”
“Why, thank you,” he said with a grin as he took a big bite of cookie. “And I swear I didn’t maneuver for the last bag to be peanut butter, although they are my favorite. Want one?”
Her stomach growled as though on cue and they both laughed.
“Gift giving is hungry work, don’t mind if I do.”
Kyle brushed the crumbs from his fingers while he watched her chew. She became self-conscious and licked her lips, in case there were crumbs. His smile faded, a gleam of keen interest entering his gaze as it settled on her mouth. He took a step closer.
“Um, I need to go.”
“In a minute. There’s one other thing to do before I can let you leave.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to kiss.”
She stared at him, speechless for a moment, then uttered a flustered reply. “I… uh, we… what?”
“It’s a rule, Dix, not mine, but we can’t risk the consequences.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His chin lifted, exposing his throat and a small patch of smooth skin in the open collar of his navy polo as he focused on a spot above her head. She couldn’t imagine anything being more interesting than what was in front of her right now, but forced her eyes to follow his. Someone had hung a sprig of mistletoe in the nearby doorway only a few feet away.
She shook her head, backing away as he moved closer. “That’s a silly game.”
He kept on coming, a sexy-as-hell grin on his oh-so handsome face as she matched him step for step.
“Besides,” she added, while continuing her retreat. “I’m not really standing under it.”
Almost as soon as she’d said that, she felt the metal handle on the door pressing into her lower back. He leaned in, fully aware she had nowhere to go.
“Now you are,” came his velvety murmur as his head began to dip with obvious intent.
Pinned against the door, she put her hands up to his chest. “You can’t kiss me in the middle of the hall at your place of work. People will talk.”
“I don’t care.”
She wanted those full, sensual lips on hers, but it wasn’t a good idea at all. “Kyle…”
Suddenly, his arm was around her waist, and the other was opening the door. She found herself in the stairwell, against the wall, with his hand on her chin angling her face up to his.
“Now the mistletoe is gone,” she sputtered insistently, “crisis averted.”
“Dixie?” His mouth was so close, she felt the warmth of his breath whisper-soft on her skin.
“Yeah?” she asked breathlessly, all thought of resistance quickly fading away.
“Do you know the legend of the mistletoe?”
“Um, what?” Her response was vague, unable to process anything except him being near, close enough that if she raised up a bit on her toes, their lips would touch.
“It’s from a pagan custom originally used to ward off evil spirits.” As he spoke, he gently rubbed his nose alongside hers, then moved on to nuzzle her cheek. “Later, it became a symbol of peace, under which enemies could declare a truce.”
She wanted to say she didn’t care about a silly legend, except he bent his head and nudged her collar aside, then trailed his parted lips up her throat in the softest of touches against her skin, and she couldn’t think, let alone argue.
As he continued, his mouth slid over the hinge of her jaw, moving up to her ear where he caught the lobe lightly between his teeth. “And still later, embattled spouses would give the kiss of peace under the mistletoe and make up.”
“You’re the one making this up.” Her voice was low and throaty, giving away more than she wanted to.
“No, it’s true.” His head came up and his eyes locked on hers, but they didn’t stay there long. They moved down when she wet her lips again. She wasn’t trying to tease, but with her breathing shortened and more rapid while anticipating his mouth on hers, they had gone dry.
He bent his head until his mouth hovered a smidgeon above her own. “By the eighteenth century, it became more of a social game and the custom carries on until today. A girl standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe, or a festive ball like the one above your head, cannot refuse a kiss.”
“And what, pray tell, happens if she does?”
He eased back a fraction, his gaze alight with a teasing glimmer as he answered, “Tragedy strikes.”
Her eyes narrowed as his crinkled with amusement. “What kind of tragedy?”
“Left unkissed under the mistletoe, the girl could expect not to marry for a year.”
“Oh! And that was supposed to be a deterrent? Such a calamity couldn’t be allowed to pass,” she commented tongue-in-cheek, then went on in her very best Scarlett O’Hara drawl, going so far as to fan herself with her hand as if she were beset by a sudden spell of the vapors. “Whatever will she do without a big, strong man?”
He leaned in closer. “Smart ass,” he whispered against her mouth, not kissing, merely brushing her lips with his own again. “The legend also says that a kiss beneath the magical mistletoe can mean deep romance and lasting friendship for the couple. I vote for both, but if I have to choose, I pick deep romance.”
Entranced by the vivid blue gazing back at her, she answered inanely, “There’s much to be said about enduring friendships, Kyle.”
“Fuck that, Dix, I’m not about to leave either of us hanging here and I’ll be damned if I’ll be relegated to the friend zone with you. Now, are you ready to shut up and be kissed?”
“I’m not the one runnin’ off at the mouth about myths and legends.”
His lips tipped up in a grin at her sass. “Mm. That can be easily remedied. Pucker up and give me some sugar, sugar.”
And she did, because he did.
The first touch was barely there and left her wanting more, but the next was entirely different. Not because he devoured her mouth with the uncontrolled hunger of his passion, but because having been teased long enough, she turned the tables and did it to him first. Her fingers flew up to his head and sank into hair as thick as she’d always dreamed it was. And as she reveled in its silky soft texture, she gave all of herself to the kiss, freely. With a groan that vibrated into her mouth and sent the butterflies in the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl, he took control, sealing his lips over hers and bringing his tongue into play. Her desire sparked and ignited his own, which swept them up in an incredible passion that left them both breathless.
She was panting by the time he pulled away, letting them both come up for air. While she clung to him, her chest heaving, mind reeling that she was in his arms, bodies pressed together, Kyle recovered. His lips resumed moving over her skin with a light touch, along her cheek, along her jaw, and tracing a path of warm caresses the length of her throat.
“You taste as sweet as I’ve always imagined you would.”
“Kyle,” she breathed, stunned that his thoughts so closely mirrored her own. She was in trouble. He was trouble. And she needed to stop this, but she couldn’t, her muddled brain unable to think or will her body to move.
A loud banging echoed through the stairs as someone slammed through the door.
There was a startled male laugh and an “Oops, don’t mind me, Dr. Love.” Then footsteps thudded down the stairs as a chuckle floated up to them.
This brought her out of her lust-filled fog and back to the present.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m going to be late for a visit to my mother.”
“I’d like to see you again, Dixie. Have dinner with me. We’ll talk and clear up this confusion.”
She shook her head as she broke free of his arms, or, more likely, because he let her go. “It’s okay. You’re right. I’ve let an old grudge go on far too long.” She was straightening her clothes and smoothing her hair as she moved away.
“So have dinner with me.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“I’m, uh… I’ve got to go.” She was at the top of the stairs and reached out for the railing. Once her trembling hand had grasped it, she turned and began to descend. Although she willed herself not to, at the first landing, she glanced up.
He was standing at the top of the stairs where she’d left him, arms crossed over his chest, frowning as he watched her running away.
“I’ll see you again, darlin’. This isn’t over.”
“Um, I…” Realizing she sounded like an idiot, she snapped her mouth shut and continued down the stairs. When she was out of sight, she found her tongue and called back to him. “Thanks for the help with the cookies, Kyle. You have a merry Christmas.”
She practically ran down the rest of the steps, the taste and feel of his lips on hers still making them tingle. So easily, she could lose herself in his kiss, in his arms, in the intensity of the passion that flared between them like a flash fire. Yet, in the same way as a wildfire, ignited from a single spark, desire often burned quickly and left devastation in its wake. Both were dangerous, and reminded her of why she couldn’t go there with him; she wouldn’t. Not with him or anyone.