House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas Read Free Page B

“You don’t like it now, or you never liked it?”
    She turned back to him, looking up into his handsome face. That little cleft enhanced a strong jaw that was covered by a dark, rough-looking stubble. His lips, by contrast, looked impossibly soft and kissable. His nose was a straight blade, his cheekbones prominent, and his dark eyes were encased by darker, long lashes.
    “I never liked it,” she told him.
    His brows crept upward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Would it have stopped you from using it as my nickname?”
    “Yes. Of course.”
    She sighed and tore her gaze from him to study her fingers twisting in her lap. Honestly, looking at this man for too long had the unwelcome side effects of not only turning her brain into jelly but making her flesh hot and prickly and needy.
    Gently but firmly, he took her chin in his hand and turned her head so she was forced to look at him again.
    “I never meant it in any negative way,” he told her.
    She raised a skeptical brow.
    “It’s true. I always thought of your nickname with the ultimate fondness.”
    She made a scoffing noise in her throat.
    He lowered his hand from her jaw, looking utterly confused by her disbelief.
    “When a girl is reminded each and every time she sees a boy of how fat and unattractive she is,” she said quietly, “the truth of it eventually becomes embedded in her mind.”
    He recoiled in such horror she would have laughed if it hadn’t been over a topic that had caused her such heartache. “I never thought of you as fat and unattractive!”
    “You called me Pudge, Evan. Pudge . Do you know what that implies?”
    “Well—” He scratched his head. If she didn’t know better, she’d find the bewildered expression on his face endearing. “I suppose I do. But I never defined the word in my head when I was referring to you, nor did I think it defined you in any way. It was a term of endearment, for Christ’s sake. I never meant anything bad by it.”
    He seemed genuinely befuddled and distraught. Amelia didn’t understand it. How could you call someone such a horrid thing for so long and expect it not to intrinsically affect that person?
    “Is that…” He hesitated, frowning, then said, “Is that why you were so angry with me when you first saw me today?”
    Her eyelids slammed shut. She didn’t want to discuss this. Not here, not now. Not ever.
    “Amelia, tell me. I need to know. I need to make this right.”
    She opened her eyes, forcing a smile to curve her lips. “Really, it is nothing. It all happened so long ago. Can we talk about something else?”
    “ What happened so long ago?” he asked.
    Oh, dear. “Nothing. You calling me by that awful nickname,” she said. “That’s all I meant.” A lie, of course. She’d never been much of a liar, but she was willing to become one to extricate herself from the direction in which this conversation was headed.
    He shook his head, clearly not believing her. But then he shocked her. “I think you’re lovely. I always have.”
    She gazed into his liquid brown eyes, so soft as they studied her. And something inside her began to simmer.
    They sat close to each other by necessity, given the miniature dimensions of the room. He smelled so good, of leather and shaving lotion, and before she realized what she was doing, she leaned forward, her head tilting upward, her lids falling to half-mast, and breathed him in.
    He seemed to have the same idea, for their noses bumped. Amelia began to pull back, but his hands closed on her shoulders, locking her in place.
    “Amelia,” he said in a hoarse whisper. The warmth of his breath washed over her cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”
    “You…?”
    The press of his lips against hers cut her off. She froze. But his lips were so warm, so soft; his hard body was so close to hers, and he smelled so good…
    Lord, she’d missed him, too. How desperately she’d missed him.
    Her lips parted, and she kissed him back, exploring his soft, warm