Christmas At Timberwoods by Fern Michaels Page B

meeting her, but now he was glad. She was anything but pretty, but she wasn’t homely, either. He frowned, trying to decide if it was her nose or her teeth that made her face look irregular. Somehow one didn’t seem to go with the other. Aside from that, she was as skinny as a rail, but what the hell? He could put up with her. It wasn’t like they were going to jump into the sack together. They were just having coffee and talking.
    “Do you pick up guys all the time?” he blurted. She was staring at him, and God only knew what she was thinking.
    “Nah. You never know what you’re getting. You’re different, though. You work here with Santa Claus and all. That makes you a safe bet.” She giggled, waiting to see Charlie’s reaction. There was none. Then she asked, “Do you pick up girls often?”
    Charlie’s eyes widened and he almost burst out laughing. Did she really think that? A guy like him, who was big and awkward and nerdish? She was obviously putting him on. Still, she didn’t look like she was poking fun at him. All the guys he knew lied to women; why couldn’t he?
    “Sometimes,” he said quietly. Let her make whatever she wanted out of that.
    Angela pursed her mouth. “Well, let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t go in for onenight stands, and I don’t sleep around.”
    Charlie’s face drained. Not the answer he had been expecting, but at least he knew where he stood. She was no Heather Andrews, but she had something Heather didn’t: honesty. He liked the feeling that was starting to stir in him. “So who said you did? I don’t remember inviting you anywhere. You invited me, remember?”
    “I just don’t want you to think I’m looking to hook up. I mean, I sort of like you, but I don’t want any misunderstandings later on,” Angela replied.
    Charlie stared at her a full minute before he replied. “You’ve made your point.”
    “Have you worked here long?” Angela questioned, hoping to change the subject. She had no idea how it had cropped up.
    “Close to six years. Why do you ask?” he asked bluntly.
    “Why not?” Angela retorted carelessly. “Is it a secret?”
    Jesus, just the way she said the word secret sent a chill up his spine. He was getting the feeling that she was unstable. The last thing he needed in his life was someone like her. But he was uncomfortably aware that his body had other ideas.
    “You certainly ask a lot of questions,” he said coldly, not liking his physical response to her. No point in his getting excited when he knew it would end in frustration. How was he going to tell her he had never had a woman before? She looked experienced. Hell, he would just have to bluff. A bright flush stained his cheeks and he adjusted his pants. “I never had a secret in my life,” Charlie lied.
    “That’s hard to believe. Everyone has a skeleton or two in the closet. You do, too. You just don’t want to tell me,” Angela pressed, to Charlie’s obvious embarrassment. Fleetingly, she sensed that she had crossed a line, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her sense of what was right and what was wrong was dissolving somehow.
    He had to be careful; she was clever. She almost acted like she knew something. What could she know? “Well, you’re wrong. My life’s an open book.”
    “Actually,” Angela said, searching her memory for some kind of compliment to pay him, “you have a nice, open kind of face. Very readable, if you know what I mean.”
    Holy crap, did that mean he was giving away his—what was the word everyone used now—oh yeah. Inappropriate. He definitely had an inappropriate interest in her. Charlie told himself that he had to get out of here, and he had to do it now.
    “Look, I have to get back to the mall. I still have part of my shift to finish, and then I have to clean up the area.”
    “Do you want me to help?” Angela offered, not wanting to see him leave. “Say, where do you live?”
    Charlie debated a second. Then, what the