Desire Collection: December Books 1 – 4. Elizabeth BevarlyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Five

      The sun was barely up when Faye gave up all pretense of trying to sleep. All night her mind had raced over ways she could get out of this situation. By 3:00 a.m. she’d decided that, no matter the dent in her savings, she’d call a helicopter to come rescue her if necessary. Anything to get out of there. In the literally cold light of day that didn’t appear to be such a rational solution to her dilemma. After all, it wasn’t as if she was in an emergency situation.

      At least the storm had passed, she noted as she shoved her heavy drapes aside to expose a clear sky and a landscape blanketed in white. There was a tranquil stillness about it that had a calming effect on her weary nerves, right up until she heard the excited squawk of an infant followed by the low rumble that was Piers’s response.

      She had to admit that he’d stepped up to the plate pretty well last night. By the time she’d made up the makeshift crib in Piers’s room and returned downstairs, he’d competently fed and changed the baby. And later, when she’d instructed him on how to bathe Casey, he’d handled the slippery wee man with confidence and ease and no small amount of laughter. For the briefest moment she’d forgotten why she was even at the lodge and had caught herself on the verge of laughing with them. But she didn’t deserve that kind of happiness. Not after what she’d done to her own family.

      It was true, people said the crash hadn’t been her fault. But she had to live every day with her choices, which included pestering her beloved stepdad to let her drive home that Christmas Eve. Her mom had expressed her concern but Ellis had agreed with Faye, telling her mother the girl needed the experience on the icy roads. And now they were all gone. Her mom. Ellis. And her adorable baby brother.

      Tears burned at the backs of Faye’s eyes and she looked up at the ceiling, refusing to allow them to fall. She’d grieved. Oh, how she’d grieved. And she’d borne her punishment stoically these past years. Rising with each new dawn, putting one foot in front of the other. Doing what had to be done. And never letting anyone close.

      She turned from the window and her memories and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Thankfully, she’d be able to wear her own clothing today, but as she passed Piers’s neatly folded sweater on top of her dresser she couldn’t help but wistfully stroke the outline of the crooked snowman on its front.

      “What’s the matter with you, woman?” she said out loud. “You hate Christmas and you’re not in the least bit interested in Piers that way.”

      Liar.

      Her fingertips automatically rose to her lips as she remembered that kiss, but then she rubbed her fingers hard across them, as if by doing so she could somehow wipe away the physical recall her body seemed determined to hold on to. She turned on the shower and stripped off the T-shirt Piers had given her to sleep in. Hoping against hope that the symbolic action of peeling the last thing of his off her body would also remove any lingering ideas said body had about her boss at the same time.

      Now that the storm was gone, with any luck she’d be able to get away from there, and Piers and Casey, before she fell any deeper under their spell. But even the best laid plans seemed fated to go awry.

      As she crunched down the snow-covered private road to her car she was forced to accept that even in broad daylight the road remained impassable. In fact, she was darn lucky she’d escaped without serious injury, or worse.

      The tree could have struck her vehicle. She could have swerved off the driveway and down into the steep gully on the other side. The realization was sobering and left her shivering with more than just the cold as she opened the trunk of the SUV and pulled out her suitcase before trekking back up to the house.

      “I was beginning to think you’d decided to hike cross-country to get away from us,” Piers remarked laconically when she returned.

      “I thought about it,” she admitted. “I see we have cell phone reception now.”

      “Yes, I’ve called the authorities and requested assistance in removing the tree and getting your car towed. There are a few others in more extreme circumstances needing attention before us.”

      “And the police? Did you call them about Casey?”

      “I did. Again, not much anyone can do until they can get up to the house. I also called my lawyer to see where I stand legally with custody of Casey. Under the circumstances of his abandonment, they’re drawing up temporary guardianship papers.”

      “You’re not wasting any time,” Faye commented, not entirely sure how she felt about this version of her boss. “What if his mom changes her mind? It’s only been a day.”

      “I’ll cross that bridge if that happens.”

      * * *

      Over the next couple of days, if she wanted to get away from Piers’s interminable holiday spirit, she had to tuck herself away in her room to read or watch movies. Otherwise she’d find herself sticking around downstairs and watching Piers interact with the baby. It was enough to soften the hardest shell and, shred by shred, her carefully wrapped emotions were beginning to be exposed and she could feel herself actually wanting to spend time with the two males.

      Watching Piers fall in love with the baby was a wonder in itself. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that this was the same man who usually wore bespoke suits and steered a multibillion-dollar corporation to new successes and achievements each and every year. It was as if the world had shrunk and closed in around them—putting them in a cocoon where nothing and no one could interrupt.

      Piers’s comment a few days ago about heading away cross-country should be beginning to hold appeal. She’d kept her feelings wrapped up so tight for so long that the thought of being vulnerable to anyone was enough to make her hunt out a pair of snowshoes and find her way down the mountain. Except as each day passed, she found her desperation to get away growing less and less.

      One night, three days after the storm, Faye was preparing dinner when Piers joined her in the kitchen.

      “A glass of wine while you work?” he asked.

      “Sure, that would be nice,” she admitted.

      She’d avoided having anything to drink these past few days because she didn’t trust herself not to lower her barriers, or her inhibitions, should Piers try to kiss her again, but since that first night he hadn’t so much as laid a hand on her shoulder again.

      Piers poured them each a glass of red wine in tall, stemmed glasses and put hers next to her on the countertop.

      “Thank you,” she acknowledged and reached for the glass to take a sip.

      “What can I do to help you?”

      Piers leaned one hip against the counter and raised his glass to his lips. Faye found herself mesmerized by the action, his nearness making her feel as though she ought to back away. And yet she didn’t. Instead her eyes fixed on his mouth, on the faint glisten of moisture on