That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(56)

She was also still puzzling over his magnanimous decision to give her Aunt Mae’s stock. Had that been his way of making her financially independent to ease his own conscience and rid himself of some crazy sense of obligation to look after her? Was that going to make it easier for him to pack his bags in a day or two and walk away? When he left, would he go with no intention of ever looking back on her or Holiday Retreat as anything more than a pleasant memory? If that happened, it would break Hannah’s heart.

It would break Savannah’s heart, too.

“How’s the turkey coming?” Trace inquired, peering over her shoulder to look into the oven. “It certainly smells fantastic.”

“Another hour or so,” she told him, wishing he would stay right behind her, his body close to hers.

She stood up and turned slowly to face him, relieved that he didn’t back away. She reached up and cupped his cheeks. “You’re cold. How about some hot chocolate? Or some tea?”

“I’m fine,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist. “I’d rather have a kiss. I’m sure it would do a much better job of warming me up.”

Savannah tilted her face up for his kiss. His mouth covered hers and brought her blood to a slow simmer. She couldn’t be sure if it was working on Trace, but her body temperature had certainly shot up by several degrees. She sighed when he released her.

“Warmer now?” she inquired with forced cheer.

“Definitely,” he said, his eyes blazing with desire. “Too bad we can’t send Hannah for a ski lesson right this second.”

“Are you sure we can’t?” Savannah inquired hopefully.

“Nope. They’re all booked up at the lodge.”

She stared at him, biting back a chuckle. “You actually checked?”

“Of course. I always like to know my options.”

“Do we have any?”

“Afraid not.”

“Oh, well, once we’ve eaten, I have it on good authority that the turkey will put us straight to sleep. Maybe when we wake up, we’ll have forgotten all about sneaking upstairs to be alone.”

“I doubt it,” Trace said, his expression wry. “Besides, I promised Hannah we’d all go for a walk after dinner.”

“Why on earth would you do that? You just got back from a walk.”

“Which taught me the distracting power of exercise,” he said. “Besides, maybe we can have another snowball fight, and I can tackle you in the snow.”

Savannah laughed. “Now there’s something to look forward to.”

“Sweetheart, a frustrated man is willing to take any contact he can get.”

“Interesting. I would think the chill of the snow would be counterproductive.”

“I think I’d have to spend a month outdoors in the Arctic before it would cool the effect you have on me,” he said with flattering sincerity. He tipped her chin up to look directly into her eyes. “By the way, let’s make a date.”

“A date?”

He grinned. “You know, a man and a woman, getting together. A date.”

“Out on the town?”

“Or alone in front of a cozy fire.”

“Okay,” she said with a surge of anticipation. “When do you want to have this date?”

“Tomorrow night?” he suggested.

The level of relief Savannah felt when she realized he intended to stay another day was scary. She had a feeling she wanted way too much from this man. Asking for a date—even making love—was hardly a declaration of undying devotion. She really needed to keep things in perspective and not get ahead of herself.

“Tomorrow would be fine. Maybe I’ll see if Hannah can spend the night with Jolie again.”

Trace grinned. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Savannah’s heart beat a little faster at the promise beneath his words. The memory of the last night they had spent alone in this house brought a flush to her cheeks.

“Then I will definitely make it happen,” she vowed. Because she was desperate for another one of those sweet kisses despite the risk of Hannah walking in on them, she backed away from Trace and moved to the stove, opening lids and checking on things that were simmering just fine only moments ago.

“Trace,” she said without turning around, “if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

“If I can,” he said at once.

“You did make all the arrangements for Santa and the presents, didn’t you?”

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, sounding vaguely frustrated. “Wouldn’t you prefer to think it was part of the Christmas magic?”

She turned to face him. “Sure,” she said honestly. “But I also believe in giving credit where credit’s due. I’m not an eight-year-old who still believes in Santa, at least when it suits her. I know the kind of effort and money it takes to make a morning like the one we had happen. The person responsible should be thanked.”

He shrugged, looking as if her persistence made him uncomfortable. “Look, it was nothing, okay?”

“It was more than that and you know it. You made Hannah’s Christmas, and mine.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “Can we drop it now?”