That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(40)

“I am so sorry,” she told Trace with total sincerity. “She shouldn’t have dragged you up here with an ulterior motive. If you want to get back to the city and your friends for Christmas, I will certainly understand.”

Her declaration seemed to amuse Trace for some reason. His eyes were glinting humorously when he reached out to caress her cheek. “Are you kicking me out, Savannah?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted you to understand that you’re free to go if there’s someplace you’d rather be, people you’d rather be spending the holiday with.”

As an answer he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers in the lightest, tenderest of kisses. There was a whisper of heat, the promise of fire…and then he was on his feet.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said as he headed for the stairs.

“You’re staying?” she asked.

“Of course I’m staying.”

“Because it was what Mae wanted?” she asked, determined to clarify the reason.

“No, darlin’. Because it’s what I want.” He winked at her. “Besides, I promised to take you into town tomorrow.”

With that he was gone, leaving Savannah staring after him. She touched a finger to her lips, where she could still feel his mouth against hers. “And you always keep your promises,” she whispered to herself. It was such a little thing, but it meant more than Trace could possibly imagine.

She lifted her gaze to seek out a picture of Aunt Mae that sat on the mantel. “Thank you.”

Just knowing that there was one man left who kept his promises restored her faith that the future would turn out all right.

Six

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee drifted upstairs, pulling Trace out of a perfectly fascinating dream. For once it had nothing to do with mergers and acquisitions, but with a woman—Savannah, to be precise.

How could a woman with so little guile, so little sophistication, get under his skin the way she had? That kiss the night before—little more than a friendly peck by most standards—had packed more punch than any kiss he’d experienced in years. He’d left the room, not because he believed in hasty, uncomplicated exits, but because he wanted so much more. If he’d gone after what he’d wanted, more than likely he would have scared her to death. Then she would have kicked him out and he would have spent another lonely holiday season back in New York.

“I hope to hell you knew what you were doing, Mae,” he muttered.

When the scent of sizzling bacon joined that of the coffee, Trace quickly showered and dressed in a pair of old jeans, a dress shirt and a heavy pullover sweater. That was about as casual as his attire ever got these days. He reminded himself if he was going to paint the front door and trim and sand the floors, he needed to buy something else to wear.

When he walked into the kitchen, Savannah regarded him with flushed cheeks and wisps of curls teasing her face. “Is that your idea of work clothes?” she asked. “Or do you intend to supervise today, the way I did last night?”

Trace noted that she, too, was wearing jeans, but her University of Florida sweatshirt had seen better days, as had her sneakers. She still looked fabulous. He still wanted her. A part of him had been hoping that last night’s desire had been an aberration.

“Did I say I was working?” he inquired as he poured himself a cup of coffee, breathed in its rich scent, then took his first sip. “Good coffee, by the way.”

She grinned. “Glad you like it, since it’s yours. I figured you wouldn’t approve of the instant I had on hand.”

Trace shuddered. “Good guess.” He met her gaze. “Exactly what sort of work are you planning to do today?”

“I want to pick up paint for the guest rooms, a tarp for the roof and…”

“Whoa! Why a tarp for the roof?”

“Because it’s leaking.”

“Why not get it fixed?”

“I would if I could get the contractor over here,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “He said he can’t come till after the first of the year.”

“Then call another contractor.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t you think I thought of that?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said at once.

“What do you mean, you’ll ‘handle it’?”

“I’ll get someone over here to repair the roof.”

“Even if you are a business mogul, I doubt you’ll be any more successful than I’ve been,” she said. “Besides, there’s at least a foot of snow up there. They won’t even be able to look at it, much less start the repairs.”

“Okay, you have a point,” he conceded. “Though that would also seem to make the tarp a waste of time, too, unless you’re planning to put it over the snow.”

She frowned at him. “Okay, then, no tarp.”

“What else do you want from the hardware store?”

“The paint and tools to scrape the wallpaper will do it. I don’t want to spend any more till I know what the rest of the repairs are going to cost. And I have to set some money aside for new brochures and advertising. I need to start getting paying guests back in here as soon as possible. I’ve already missed the start of the ski season.”

Trace thought he heard a hint of desperation in her voice that she was trying hard to hide. “Savannah, do you have the money to get this place up and running again?”