Free Christmas Male by Jillian Hart Page A

grow an inch taller. But it was pain she saw in him, the result of a truly shattered heart. When he loved, it really must be deeply.
    "Not most women," she argued quietly, gently. "Surely not your grandmother, John's beloved Elma."
    "No." Miles hung his head, his anger deflating in one big whoosh of a drawn out, released breath. He stared at the floor for a minute, cast in shadow now. He cleared his throat. "Nor my mother either. You had to go and remind me of that, didn't you?"
    "Hey, it's part of my job as a woman, you know, to point out where men go wrong." She felt the corners of her mouth quirk, felt the emotional hit in her chest. She wished she didn't like Miles so much. "And I've been hurt too. I could be saying how all men just tell a lady what she wants to hear to get what they want, even if it's just to humiliate her. But I'm not. I know there are good men in the world and they aren't to blame for what Chester and his brothers did."
    "What they did to you was ugly." Compassion darkened Miles's eyes, layered his baritone richly. "Don't worry, there's a man somewhere out there who'll put his heart on the line for you and treat you well. Poor sap."
    But it was the regard for her in his words, the meaning behind them, that touched her. Her heart tugged, starting to like him way too much.
    "Hey, I poured some tea for you." He hefted up the basin of wash water, manhandling the awkward container efficiently. "Why don't you go into the parlor or upstairs to your room? You should relax."
    "Just what I was thinking," she answered lightly, but she didn't feel that way. Her heart ached watching him as he walked away, disappearing out into the snow. She sighed, staring into the space where he'd been. The cups of tea steamed on the counter where he'd left them—one of them he'd poured for her. How about that? Well, Miles McClintock wasn't what he seemed at all. No, he was so much more. She pressed her hand to her sternum, where her heart was inexplicably hurting. She really did like him so much.

Chapter Five

     
    In the darkness of the lean-to, Miles shrugged into Pops's old winter coat, not sure why his pulse was racing. Maybe it was because Maggie's golden beauty was affecting him—the way it would any red-blooded man. She was a heady combination of sweetness, soft curves and desirable woman. Those glints in her eyes and the mischief lurking in the corners of her rosebud mouth would make any male worth his salt wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Add that to the fact that he hadn't touched a woman in years—Bethleigh had insisted on making him wait until after the wedding, not because she loved him but because, come to find out, she was busy getting in bed with some other man behind his back.
    Remembering, anger shot through him, made it easier to open the outside door and step into the beat of the storm. He propped the door open, letting the wind-driven snow whip against him, driving ice through his clothes and cold into his bones. Maybe that was just what he needed to cool his blood, since it was feeling way too hot for comfort. It was a sad state of affairs that the mere thought of a certain woman's kisses could get him in an aroused state.
    He gritted his teeth, shook his head at his sorry self. What kind of man was he if he didn't have better self-control than that? He scooped up the basin of water, carried it down the steps and emptied it against the side of the lean-to. The fierce gale wasn't quite blizzard strength, but close. White snow beat at him out of the dark, blocking out all view of the open door and the faint spill of light where Maggie might still be standing.
    There his pulse went, beating double time again. Ridiculous. He shook his head, tossed the basin through the open doorway and debated going back inside. His tea was waiting for him, and he'd planned to retreat to his den and get some work done, but that would mean going back into the kitchen. She would be there with her unguarded blue eyes