Nickolai's Noel by Alicia Hunter Pace Page A

perfect sleeping form for a full fifteen minutes, Noel smoothed his messy black curls away from his face. She had made a mistake—one she could never come back from. This was no gift to herself; this was begging for a lifetime burden. There could never be anything like this again with anyone else. Who could have guessed that this one thing that was supposed to be only physical pleasure could have taken her to a place where she cared too much?
    And she knew no matter how sweet his words, they were only that. Saying them didn’t make him bad or a liar; they just made him a flirt, and she’d known that going in. But there would be no jersey forthcoming, no “long and often” viewing of her underclothes, and no chance that she would ever recover from this.

Chapter Six
    Nickolai woke to the smell of bacon frying and a feeling of perfect contentment. That was a first—the contentment, that is. He smelled bacon at Cracker Barrel all the time. He sat up and looked around. This bedroom was smaller than his, but it was also better. The only thing wrong with it was that Noel wasn’t there anymore. But that was okay because she was cooking bacon, and not just any bacon—bacon for him. He couldn’t remember anybody ever cooking bacon for him unless they were being paid to do it.
    Maybe he shouldn’t, but he felt very comfortable in this room with its lace curtains, fancy pillows, and blue-flowery wallpaper covered in blurry little pictures and mirrors.
    He took a second look at the mirrors. He should have looked in them while he was making love to Noel. Maybe next time.
    Next time.
Though he could hardly believe it, he smiled at the thought. And he couldn’t imagine a time when there wouldn’t be a next time with this woman. But why was he sitting here naked in her soft, warm bed with its good-smelling sheets when she was down the hall? He could be with her—as soon as he found his clothes and cleaned up.
    He looked up at the sparkly little light fixture. What were the odds that Noel might want a big mirror on her ceiling—and where did you buy such a thing?
    • • •
    Noel added the grated cheese and a little heavy cream to the grits and gave them a stir. Since she had expected to be in Louisville, she hadn’t done much to decorate the apartment, but she’d salvaged a few things from the shop to try to make a pretty table. After all, it was Christmas, Nickolai was a guest, and she had promised him breakfast. She’d spread the table with the length of red and green plaid she’d cut from a bolt downstairs. Then she’d thrown some cedar, pinecones, and berry-studded holly into a copper bowl and mixed in the antique glass ornaments she’d pulled off the tree. There had been no time to hem the makeshift tablecloth, but she’d clipped the edges with pinking shears. With her plain white dishes and hunter green linen napkins on the plates, it was good enough. At the last minute, she placed candy canes—also stolen from the shop tree—on top of the napkins.
    Not great, but not bad, considering. If she’d known about this, she would have driven out to Sassy Cow Farm and bought some smoked white cheddar for the grits. Of course, if she had known about this, maybe she would have thought it through and not done it.
    But this was just busy work and busy worrying; no perfect centerpiece and no amount of artisanal cheese could make things different. Facts were facts. Nickolai was a handsome, rich, wildly successful hockey player accustomed to sophisticated, glamorous women who had more skill with a mascara wand than a needle. Noel might be good for a little homespun holiday fun, but there was no way she could compete with that in the light of day. And, frankly, unless it was a quilt contest, she wasn’t interesting in competing.
    Ah, from the sound of things, he was awake and had found his way to the shower—to wash the smell of her off him. She shook her head and laughed a little at her drama queen thoughts. After all,