His For Christmas Read online

  “Sorry honey, that’s not true.”

  “What are you talking about?” Anabelle turned to him with a frown.

  “The best Christmas present was getting you.” Her frown disappeared, replaced by a huge grin. She stood and slid her arms around him.

  “You’re so sweet.”

  His lips met hers and she sighed into the kiss. The reactions around them consisted of some combination of groaning, gagging or sighing, depending on who exactly it was but Derek didn’t care…because this was the best Christmas ever.

  Anabelle was finally his.

  ** The end **

  I hope you enjoyed the short holiday story revisiting Derek and Anabelle and their friends in Sugar Bay. If you liked this short story, I invite you to download His Kind of Perfect, available now at your favorite online retailers.

  Read on for an excerpt for His Kind of Perfect…

  Excerpt from His Kind of Perfect - Chapter 1

  If Anabelle Broussard heard, ‘Bless her heart’ directed at her once more, she was going to hurt someone. After two years, you'd think the good folks of Sugar Bay would find another poor soul to pity.

  But she wasn’t that lucky.

  And today wasn't a good day for people to be blessing her heart unless they had a yearning to be six feet under. Jail may be a welcome respite from all this wedding talk. Maybe the judge would set a precedent for leniency on account of the defendant being the recipient of too many blessings that resulted in temporary insanity.

  Then again, being locked in a cell meant too many hours to reflect upon the pitiful existence of her life. An image of being stuck in jail, a veritable spinster according to her elderly aunt, while her young cousin walked down the aisle in a picturesque beach wedding burned in her mind. Heaven help her because that would mean more, ‘Bless her hearts’.

  Great.

  Anabelle caught sight of two pillars of society, the former Girl Scout troop leader and the pianist at Holy Family, barrel towards her in their souped up electric scooter. Fearing another session of rehashing all that was wrong in Anabelle’s life, she muttered, “I’m late for an appointment,” and ducked into the nearest store for sanctuary rather than commit murder.

  As the door snapped shut behind her and she closed her eyes in sweet relief, she heard a faint but clear, ‘Bless her heart’.

  Anabelle groaned and banged her head against the door. It was unfortunate the momentum wasn’t enough to cause temporary brain damage or at the least, oblivion from the day’s events. The sound of throat clearing stilled her.

  Her haven was someone’s business but as focused as she’d been on escape, she’d forgotten.

  "Anabelle."

  Fudge.

  The day kept getting better and better because that voice, that deep, warm, and oh-so-sexy voice that more often than not, wrapped her in a tidal wave of lust belonged to none other than Derek Wheaton.

  Double fudge.

  "I wasn't expecting you today."

  She hadn't expected to see him either but God had a funny sense of humor. With eyes still closed, she debated the choice of facing the geriatric set on the other side of the door or expiring from unrequited lust in here.

  Anabelle sighed. She knew another "Bless your heart" would make her crazy. Today's outfit, a black and white A-line dress with a deep neckline was more casual than she preferred in his presence, but sanctuary was sanctuary.

  She took a deep breath, tucked her mahogany colored hair behind her ear and opened her eyes. "Hello Derek,” she said. She hoped her smile was more natural than it felt but she was glad she’d taken a moment to compose herself.

  She took in the beauty that was all Derek Wheaton.

  Holy smokes.

  Derek stood a few inches over six feet with wide shoulders courtesy of the military, close-cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes. Those eyes were her Achilles heels since they reminded her of dark chocolate, her weakness. Sometimes she feared she’d get sucked into a vortex of naughtiness his wicked grin hinted at if she stared at them for too long. Since they’d met, his gaze seemed to beckon her to misbehave.

  Unlike many men of her experience, Derek didn’t use hair products and she doubted a manicurist had ever touched his cuticles. He was a man’s man and although his face wasn’t classically perfect, his eyes were a little too close together, and maybe his nose was a little bit crooked, the combination proved to be completely drool worthy.

  She swallowed. He had on a partially closed blue plaid shirt, which wasn’t good considering on the days he was fully dressed she had a hard time concentrating. Half dressed as he was today…have mercy.

  Anabelle checked for drool, grateful she’d controlled herself. It wouldn’t do to expose her appreciation.

  Keep it together.

  "Have you come for an inspection?" He wiped his hands with a sawdust-covered cloth, his brown eyes danced as if sensing her internal struggle. She forced another smile, smoothed her dress with one hand and maintained a death grip on her Kate Spade bag with the other.

  "Let me take that for you. It looks heavy." He reached for the leather messenger bag.

  "That's okay. I have it,' she said and patted it close, ignoring the crinkle sound of something being crushed.

  "Come on. We'll drop it off so you don't have to lug it around. You don't want to look like Quasimodo, do you?" He grinned, a hand on the strap. He cocked an eyebrow at her, looking ready to stand all day until she capitulated.

  Heat emanated from him. His hair was damp near his temple and she spotted a pool of sweat at the base of his neck. The scent of man and wood teased her nostrils, made her think he’d been working hard when she’d interrupted, which got her thinking why his shirt was undone, which got her wondering what he looked like without his shirt.

  Which led to bad thoughts.

  Very bad thoughts.

  Thoughts she shouldn’t be having regarding her business associate.

  Thoughts that came more frequently of late.

  She relinquished the bag, her last bit of armor.

  "Fine." She stepped away. Proximity provided dangerous fodder for her overactive imagination.

  Derek took the bag and led her through his workshop. She followed and forced her eyes to remain above his butt, hoping like heck she could control her wayward thoughts. A large worktable stood in the center of the studio. A myriad of projects in a range of completed stages were scattered on top and he moved rolled up plans, conceptual sketches of a mountain home built-in and a coffee cup that read, ‘Measure twice, Cut Once Dumbass’ to make room for her bag. His big hand brushed past the creamy pink envelope she’d stuck in the side pocket and knocked it loose. Anabelle picked it up and shoved it back.

  “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem,” she said and shoved it deeper but the annoying thing was too large. Anabelle bent it in half and tried again; somehow it stayed but its presence screamed at her, reminding her of her inadequacies.

  She sighed.

  “What are your thoughts on my wood?"

  Anabelle almost glanced down at Derek's groin for evidence of wood but caught herself.

  Not that kind.

  She swung her gaze toward the custom coffee table he’d indicated and a painful flush worked its way up her face.

  “It’s very…hard.”

  Nice word choice.

  She grimaced, because suitable adjectives escaped her mind.

  Major brain fart.

  Mortification gripped her and Derek's chocolate brown eyes twinkled in a wicked way as if he knew exactly where she wanted to look, where she'd almost looked.

  Of course, she hadn’t because drooling over her vendor did not fall under the heading of professional behavior. And above all else, Anabelle Broussard was a professional. Her impromptu visit may have stemmed from a need to escape pity, but she was aware she had a job to complete.

  The Scott Beach house renovation needed her absolute focus, her attention to detail and the professionalism she was
known for. So Anabelle patted her hot cheeks and straightened her cardigan before she remembered she'd forgotten the stupid thing at the office.

  “I mean…it’s beautiful.”

  Better.

  A dimple in his right cheek appeared, joined the eye twinkling he had going and for a moment she was in jeopardy of swooning.

  Did anyone swoon these days?

  She shook her head. It was time to lay off the stacks of historical romances she’d been devouring. But have mercy, the man stood in front of her barely dressed with his shirt held together with three measly buttons. If he’d finished the remaining ones, maybe she’d have a chance.

  “What do you think of the walnut finish?”

  She grabbed the conversational lifeline. “Love it. It’s a perfect match to what the client requested. It’ll work well with the other finishes yet contrast nicely with the dark bamboo flooring we’ve already installed.”

  Almost normal, almost like a professional businesswoman.

  Definitely not like a hormonal teenager salivating after the latest heartthrob, which his presence often reverted her to.

  “I’m glad.” The grin he offered struck her resolve to remain professional. His eyes did that twinkling thing again and held her gaze captive.

  Focus, Anabelle. Focus.

  She took a quick breath, her eyes veered from his and landed on a partially finished library table. “This is striking Derek. I showed my new client photos of your work and they want to commission a farmhouse table for their kitchen.”

  His eyes lit up. “That’s great. I should pay you commission for all the work you’ve given me.” He winked and she locked her knees just in case that swooning thing did occur. “This one isn’t finished but it’s coming along.” He reached over and flicked residual shavings left behind. She caught a peek of his abs mid stretch.

  Holy cow.

  She nodded, murmuring, “Yes, it is.” She probably looked like a bobble head but it seemed wrong to drool in silence.

  “The boards for the table came from an old Lenore barn. There are more beams out back if you want to see. They’ve got lots of character. Land development is brisk over there and they called us in to salvage what we could before demolition.”

  “Good call.”

  He stood.

  Goodbye beautiful abs.

  “Look at the turned legs on this baby.” He lifted the table as if the thing was weightless. Anabelle was rewarded with another peek of abs.

  Sigh.

  He lowered the table and the view disappeared.

  “The details are outstanding, Derek. It’s not a wonder business is booming.”

  Derek bent to scope the levelness of the top, running his hands over the grain in a reverent manner. Anabelle suffered a bit of wood envy but caught a glimpse of his pecs in the process.

  Sigh.

  He stood.

  Goodbye.

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful more people are interested in pieces with character rather than getting mass-produced items.”

  Anabelle nodded. “Save us from IKEA.” She was rewarded with another peek of his yummy abs and licked her lips. Then it was gone again. He moved to another piece and inspected it.

  Peek-a-boo.

  She couldn’t stand it.

  “Button up already.”

  He jerked to a stop and Anabelle froze.

  Had she said that out loud?

  Derek fastened the remaining buttons with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was hot and before you came by I was hand scraping a beam and—“

  “No Derek. Please, stop. I’m the one who’s sorry. So sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This day has been…”

  “Been what?”

  The heat from her cheeks burned, but she couldn’t let him think he’d been rude. “You’re fine…I mean…it’s fine. Please.” She grabbed his hands to stop him but instead brushed against his abdomen.

  They both stiffened at the contact.

  Hot brown eyes seared her while she jerked her hands back. Unsure, she wiped her damp hands on her dress.

  Anabelle licked her lips and Derek followed the wet trail with his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please, Derek, it’s my fault. I was in the wrong, I interrupted your schedule and you were kind to let me in. I don’t know why…”

  While she rambled, he finished the last buttons. He studied her lips while silence roared between them. Derek’s study moved from her lips to her nose, then to her eyes. She hated his unhurried inspection and how vulnerable she felt.

  Breathing became difficult.

  Matt Kearney might have been crooning in the background but mainly she heard a loud roar in her ears. It was too much and she needed to escape. “I’ll go and let you get back to what you were doing.”

  She shoved errant strands behind her ear and turned towards the exit but strong hands grabbed her elbows from behind. The heat of his palms tugged a response from her nipples as if attached by live wires. The dress was a painful source of friction. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the hard pebbles.

  “Hold on, Anabelle.” He slid a hand to her wrist, his fingers brushed against her pulse point and she wondered if he felt the rapid beat. “Don’t go.” His deep voice rolled over her, made her shiver. His heat surrounded her while sweat gathered between her breasts. “You’re welcome anytime Anabelle…always.”

  His eyes locked on hers. She felt a strong pull that urged her to move closer, but she stood firm. A part of her knew to do so would signal a start to something she couldn’t control. Something unprofessional. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  After a moment, Derek stepped back, released her wrist and thrust a hand through his hair. As if the tension were too much, he rubbed the back of his neck. When he looked up again, the heated look in his gaze was gone and in its place was his usual laid back grin. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined his tension.

  “Come on. I’ve got something you might want to see.”

  Him, naked with a bow on top?

  She didn’t think that was his plan but she followed him anyway.

  “Where is everyone?” The normal buzz of activity in the warehouse was missing.

  “Dani’s on an extended lunch, her Mac crapped out on her over the weekend and she needed it for school so she’s at the Apple Store at the mall and the boys are driving back from Miami.”

  So they were alone.

  Wonderful.

  As if she needed more fodder for her fantasies. Last week he’d had her on top of the console table. They’d successfully tested the weight capacity of the table. Derek may have thought she’d been in the midst of a hot flash because she’d been red the entire visit.

  Poor guy.

  If he knew he was the star of her many fantasies, he’d stop being so friendly to the dirty old lady she was fast becoming. Because not only was Derek an outstanding custom cabinetry maker, highly sought after sustainable furniture designer and all around exemplary craftsman, he was also too young for her and therefore off limits.

  He was in his late twenties or early thirties, she wasn’t certain but she didn’t dare ask lest he assume she was interested.

  She wasn’t.

  But maybe the overload of fantasies meant she was ready to date again. It had been three years and as her Aunt Martha mentioned during last week’s birthday lunch, Anabelle wasn’t getting any younger and was on the verge of spinsterhood. Although how that was possible since she’d been married was questionable but Aunt Martha had no filter and felt compelled to offer her opinion.

  Lucky Anabelle.

  The invitation in her purse reminded Anabelle her younger cousin was all grown up and getting married. Next month, the extended family would converge at Josie’s beach wedding and before long, the sad state of Anabelle’s life would be discussed. Somebody would inevitably bless Anabelle’s heart and Anabelle would go insane.

  The joys of family…where no filte
r was required because they loved you.

  While Anabelle wasn’t unhappy, she wasn’t bouncing with joy either. She was…content. She had a successful business, good friends and on the verge of getting a dog.

  Once upon a time she may have thought life would have been different, that maybe by now she’d have a couple of kids, assorted pets, and a maybe smooth riding SUV because minivans were too tame, according to her best friend Charlie.

  Derek weaved through the warehouse, his assorted finds scattered about. “Look at this beauty, my most recent find. I salvaged this from a school over in Clearwater.”

  “They look like PE lockers.” She fiddled with the wire baskets on the worn green shelves. The retro numbers on the dinged metal tags reminded her of middle school. She sniffed the air. “They smell like them too.”

  He grinned. “They were but I’ve got plans to turn them into a custom storage display. Mix a little new wood, improve the configuration, age and stain the addition and these old lockers will have a new purpose but still maintain its original character.”

  “Creative but first you’ll have to Lysol them to death.” She wrinkled her nose and he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It was unfair laugh lines on guys added to their attraction yet each morning she was a wrinkle Nazi slathering anti aging cream on every possible hint of a line.

  “Possibly,” he admitted, still grinning.

  She looked away to avoid the yummy sight lest she be lulled into submission. A graffiti heart etched on the rail caught her attention and she fingered the penciled groove left behind by Troy F. or Susan G. who’d loved each other forever. She wondered how long forever had been to the hormonal vandals.

  Three months?

  Maybe.

  To hormonal preteens, three months would have been an eternity.

  “I think they’d be perfect for your office.”

  That captured her attention.

  “They could hold samples, projects, materials…anything you want.”

  The sexy grin was back and she caught her breath. She wanted to smile back but she didn’t.