She swallowed as she looked up at him, the delicate column of her throat shifting visibly. “But…”
“But?”
“We have this,” she gestured to the branch.
He pulled a face. “It’s not exactly a tree.”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s a branch, but it’s as big as I could manage on my own.”
“Sure. So you don’t want a tree?”
“I didn’t say that, but you hate Christmas,” she blurted out, lifting a hand and curling her fingers into his shirt. “You hate Christmas and you shouldn’t feel – you don’t need to make a big fuss just because I’m here.”
He studied her for several seconds, then lifted a hand and tucked an imaginary clump of hair behind her ear, simply because he wanted to touch her. “But I want to.”
He found, as he issued the assurance that he completely meant it.
Her brows drew together as she stared up at him, looking at him as though she wanted to understand him better, studying his face for any hint of how he felt and what he wanted.
“Why?”
That was harder to answer, and so he shrugged like it wasn’t important. “Why not?”
Phew. Isabella could have watched him chop down a tree all day. As if he needed to become any more hyper-masculine and distracting! There was something so incredible about his physique as he worked, his arms moving deftly to chip away at the trunk with the axe, one angle then another, like a coordinated ballet, each strike confident and firm, easily hitting its mark, so that ten minutes after he’d begun, the trunk of the smallest tree they’d been able to find, had two triangular indents on the sides, showing a paler wood beneath. The smell of pine needles filled the air. A few more blows and the tree’s angle changed.
“Watch out,” he called over his shoulder, gesturing for her to step backwards. His concern for her did something to her belly, so that it flip flopped and warmth ran through her veins.
She took a few more paces backwards, mesmerised as he lifted a foot and kicked at the tree, reangling it so that it would drop straight into the snow-covered clearing.
A few more knocks with the blade of the axe, a large creaking noise and the tree was falling, a delicate, gentle drop to the earth, dislocating clouds of snow, and a flock of black winged birds.
Her attention was drawn to the sky as they took off, wings moving quickly and erratically, gliding the birds towards the ravine – and somewhere nearer her car.
The snow had stopped falling, but it was still thick underfoot, so they hadn’t ventured too far from the castle – a silver lining given that they’d have to get this beast of a thing back inside!
Only Gabe had a plan for that too. He pulled some ropes from the bag he’d brought, showing himself to be some kind of Boy Scout as he tethered them around the trunk then formed a loop that would act as a handle.
“You make this look easy,” she admired as she drew nearer to him.
“It’s not exactly rocket science,” he said with a frown.
“Still, that was mighty impressive.”
“It occurs to me you might be easily impressed,” he pondered, a grin cracking his lips.
“I don’t think that’s it.” In fact, she knew it wasn’t. Gabe Montebello was, quite simply, an incredible specimen.
Their eyes locked and her smile faltered as the air between them grew thick with understanding and awareness, and in the back of Isabella’s mind, a cloying sense of danger was there too, so that she jolted her face away, looking down at the tree as though it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Where shall I grab hold?”
He was quiet, yet she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
After a moment, she was aware of his movement, his feet making almost silent marks in the snow as he came to the front.
“I’ve got it. Just try to stay out of the way.”
“I can help –,”
Their eyes met once more. “I know you can. But I’ve got this.”
I’ve got this. The words spoke to his confidence and control; the words urged her to put her faith in him, to allow him to guide her.
“I know.” Her words were husky. She swallowed and smiled, taking several steps backwards, just as he’d requested.
“Okay, macho guy. Show me what you’ve got.”
He made it look almost easy. Of course, it wasn’t – it couldn’t have been. The tree must have weighed a tonne, yet he dragged it through thick snow as though it were almost nothing. At the house, he pulled it up the steps, each bump dislodging some of the snow that clung to the branches. She quickened her pace to get in front of him, skirting him and the tree to open the door.
The house – which she’d once thought cold – instantly provided warmth and relief.
A few more steps and the tree was in the entrance hall, still on its side, and so much larger once within the confines of the castle’s walls.
“Where would you like it?”
He wiped his hands on the back of his pants, watching her in that way he had, as though she was beautiful and precious and special and he was exerting all his energy in trying to figure her out.
She bit down on her lower lip and looked around. “Umm, I don’t know.” She had to do better than that, though. Somewhere different to last time, to the tree he’d put up seven Christmasses ago, and taken down after enduring an impossible tragedy.
“What about the kitchen,” she suggested after a moment.
His expression showed she’d chosen well. His face relaxed visibly, and his smile seemed to come from deep in his soul. “Yes, the kitchen,” he agreed. “That’s perfect.”
He clenched his hands into fists and then released them, grabbing the rope lower now and starting to drag the tree. She frowned as she watched him. “Please let me help. It isn’t right that you do all the work.”
“Oh, you can make it up to
