Under The Mistletoe With John Doe

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As the candlelight flickered on the table, casting a romantic spell over them, John and Betsy enjoyed a tasty meal.

“Cara Mia was a good choice,” John said.

“I think so, too.” Betsy scanned the intimate room, with its artsy, European-style prints framed in black and hung upon white plastered walls. “Isn’t the ambience great?”

John agreed. “Maybe next time we can try La Cocina, which is just down the street.”

“I’d like that. I haven’t had good Mexican food for a long time. My ex-husband used to like it, so it was almost a given that we’d have it often. But I kind of swore off of it for a while after he moved out.”

She’d told John that her ex-husband hadn’t been dedicated to the relationship, but she hadn’t gone into detail. He supposed it wasn’t any of his business, but he was curious about the guy and about the downfall of their marriage.

“So why did you two split up?” he asked.

She paused, as if he’d tapped a sensitive subject. Then she lifted the linen napkin and blotted her lips. “He was seeing someone else.”

He’d had an affair? John couldn’t imagine a man doing something like that to Betsy, and his heart went out to her. If he had a wife like her…

Damn. Did he have a wife?

He glanced at his left hand, which was resting on top of the linen-covered table. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

Was that enough to go on?

It was hard to say. It was possible that he’d been wearing a ring, and that it had been stolen along with his wallet and any money or credit cards he’d had when he’d first come to town.

But he didn’t see a tan line.

Still, he wasn’t going to stress about that now. What if he never got his memory back? What if he was stuck in Brighton Valley for the rest of his life?

Would that be so bad?

Right this minute, as he sat across from Betsy, with violin music playing in the background and candlelight flickering, the answer was a definite no. And he wondered how Betsy would feel about that.

As Betsy studied her handsome dinner companion, she couldn’t remember when she’d had an evening as nice as this. And she couldn’t help thinking about their trip home tonight.

They would walk back to the hospital and drive to the ranch in separate cars. But then what?

Would John kiss her good-night the way he’d been doing each evening this week? Would either of them press for more than a kiss on the front porch?

She could certainly invite him into the guesthouse for a nightcap. But as she stole a glance at her handsome dinner companion, his smile sent her heart scrambling to right itself, and she realized it wasn’t an after-dinner drink that she was craving. It was John.

After he’d paid the bill, they took a leisurely stroll back to the hospital and noted the Christmas decorations in the various store windows.

They turned left at the light and into the parking lot where they’d left their cars. Their arms brushed against each other, and he took her hand in his, warming her from the inside out.

They were dating, she supposed. And while she ought to be at least a little concerned about what that might mean in the future, she couldn’t seem to conjure any of the apprehension she’d had when she’d first realized her attraction to him.

Moments later, they reached her car, and she opened the door with the remote.

“I’ll follow you home,” he said.

She appreciated his protective nature. In fact, there were a lot of things about John that she found appealing. He was bright, kind and thoughtful, a gentleman who knew how to treat a lady.

He was also far too handsome for her own good.

All the way to the ranch, she continued to glance in her rearview mirror, to see John’s headlights as he followed at a safe distance behind her.

When they arrived, she parked near the guesthouse, and he pulled up beside her.

Should she invite him to come inside? Or should she wait to see what he suggested?

Before she could decide, he walked up to her, took her by the hand and strode toward her front door, where the yellow glow of the porch light welcomed them home.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’d be nice.”

His smile and a heated glimmer in his eyes caught her off guard, leaving her a little unbalanced.

Did he have any idea what he did to her?

When they reached the front door, she let him into the living room and turned on the lamp.

Now what? she wondered.

He walked over to the entertainment center, which she didn’t use as often as she’d thought she would when she purchased it last summer. Then he turned to her and smiled. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

“No. Go ahead.” She dropped her purse on the sofa but continued to watch him.

He fiddled with the knobs and dials for a moment, then tuned in a country-and-western station.

A duet sung by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw was on-a sexually charged love song. He turned to her and grinned, showing off a gorgeous pair of dimples that spun her heart around.

Then he reached out his hand to her. “Dance with me, Betsy.”

It wasn’t a question, but she wouldn’t have declined even if it had been. So she stepped into his embrace, swaying to the beat as Faith and Tim crooned softly in the background.

His cologne, a faint, wood scent, mingled with those ever-present pheromones that taunted her whenever he was near.

As he wrapped his fingers around hers and slipped his arm around her waist, holding her, possessing her, she placed her hand on his chest and felt the warmth of his body, the solid beat of his heart.

She closed her eyes, letting herself go, trusting him. Trusting fate.

His voice, low and husky with desire, whispered against her cheek. “I might not be able to tell you much about the man I am, Betsy, but I know the woman you are. And I’m falling for you.”

Oh, God, she thought. She was falling for him, too.

The words of the song, the sensual beat, the man in her arms, all stirred something deep within her core-a sweet ache. A desperation.

She drew away just long enough to look in his eyes, to catch his expression. And when she did, he lowered his mouth to hers.

As their lips met, separating, their tongues touched, and the warmth of his breath-still laced with the sweetness of the tiramisu they’d shared earlier-nearly buckled her knees.

She kissed him, harder, deeper, until she finally had to stop long enough to catch her breath.

Did she dare tell him what she wanted? What she needed?

Fortunately, she didn’t have to because he spoke, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I want more than a kiss tonight. But if you don’t, then tell me to stop now.”

She wanted more, too. So much more. And there was no use denying it or making up an excuse as to why they should sleep alone.

So she made the decision to lay her heart on the line, no matter what the cost. And taking him by the hand, she led him into her bedroom.

Chapter Nine

As Betsy and John entered her bedroom, he realized she was giving him an incredible gift.