“I wasn’t always beautiful,” I admitted softly. “I got sick during my second year at college and lost a ton of weight, dropped out, lucked out in an audition, and became famous.”
He was frowning—with concern, not disgust, I realized with relief. “Sick?”
“Meningitis. It was serious, but I recovered.”
“I’m glad.” I felt his hand stroke my hair, and I closed my eyes. “I’m willing to bet you were always beautiful anyway.”
I smiled, choosing to believe him as I shook off memories of the awkward, overweight teenager I used to be. Now was not the time to think of how sometimes I felt like an imposter in my beautiful skin, not when his fingers felt so go
od in my hair.
Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour.
“It’s Christmas,” Braden said.
I sighed, drowsy from the long day and his fingers in my hair. “Merry Christmas, Braden Rhodes.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I woke up in a soft bed. It was easily the most comfortable one I’d ever slept in and as I inhaled, my nose filled with the scent of Braden. I opened my eyes, looking for him, but I was alone.
I rolled to the side and swung my legs over. The drapes were drawn, but the room was light enough that I knew it must be bright outside. I was wearing a long sweater that reached to my knees, and I dimly remembered Braden handing it to me and helping me unfasten my dress before tucking me into bed.
I smiled, wondering again where he was. I rounded the bed and found a door. Opening it, I stepped into a large marble-tiled bathroom, made all the more beautiful by the fact that a very naked Braden was at that very moment stepping out of the shower stall.
Hot damn!
He had one hand on the sliding glass panel, and with the other, he was drying his hair with a white towel. I stared, slack-jawed, because wow! He was a feast to look at. His arms were strong and muscular, his chest hard and sculpted. His legs were long and lean, and between his flexing thighs…he really was the full package.
He looked up, slowly dropping the towel as he met my eyes. I felt hot, but more with desire than embarrassment. He wrapped the towel around his hips without saying a word, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Merry Christmas,” I said softly.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
I shrugged. “Body clock. No matter how late I stay up or where I am, I always wake up when the sun comes up.”
“Me too.” His eyes wandered over my tousled hair and face. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
“I look like I just got out of bed.”
“And it looks beautiful on you.”
I fluttered my lashes. “Well, thank you. Just-got-out-of-the-shower looks spectacular on you.” I went to the marble sink, where a new toothbrush lay, still inside the package.
“Handy,” I said, picking it up and giving him a teasing smile. “For me, I hope. You weren’t expecting anyone else?”
“Here, no.” He came to stand beside me and picked up his own brush. “You’re my first and only guest.”
We brushed side by side then he left me to shower, with instructions to pick whatever I wanted from the adjoining closet. I chose another one of his large sweaters that reached almost to my knees, belting it at the waist with one of his leather belts. It was an artless ensemble, but the look of appreciation on Braden’s face when I joined him downstairs made a flutter of pleasure rise in my chest.
He was standing at the base of the stairs, wearing another black sweater and black jeans, and he looked sensational. I resisted the urge to peel off the sweater and kiss the hard, muscled flesh I’d already glimpsed earlier. Unaware of my lustful thoughts, he led me to a toasty warm breakfast room that looked out onto the snow-covered garden.
“You can have all my sweaters,” he teased. “They look much better on you.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you,” I said lightly, swallowing my lust and taking the seat he offered me. The table was rich with food, toast, and bacon with lots of eggs, fruit, and juice.
Just as I sat, Mrs. Baker walked in with a pot of coffee. “Good morning, Miss Gilbert.”