12 Stocking Stuffers

Faith, Hope and Love
The Christmas Bride
Christmas Passions
A Seasonal Secret
Return of the Light
Star Light, Star Bright
Naughty or Nice?
Christmas Fantasy
A Christmas Marriage Ultimatum
A Prince for Christmas
The Millionaire’s Christmas wish
Merry Christmas, Baby

Table of Contents

Faith, Hope and Love
By Beverly Barton

The Christmas Bride
By Heather Graham Pozzessere

Christmas Passions
By Catherine Spencer

A Seasonal Secret
By Diana Hamilton

Return of the Light
By Maggie Shayne

Star Light, Star Bright
By Anne Stuart

Naughty or Nice?
By Stephanie Bond

Christmas Fantasy
By Janelle Denison

A Christmas Marriage Ultimatum
By Helen Bianchin

A Prince for Christmas
By Rebecca Winters

The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish
By Lucy Gordon

Merry Christmas, Baby
By Monica Jackson

Faith, Hope and Love

By Beverly Barton

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Prologue

“I think that rain is going to change over to snow,” Jody Crenson said as she gazed out the double windows in the living room of Faith Sheridan’s duplex apartment. “You’d better not only take an umbrella, but wear a hat and gloves, too.”

“I’m way ahead of you. I have my hat and gloves ready.” Faith emerged from her bedroom carrying a brown knit hat and matching brown gloves. She laid both on top of her ankle-length camel tan wool coat hanging over the back of the sofa beside the closed umbrella. “I’ll have to leave soon.” She checked her watch again—for the tenth time in ten minutes. “We’re supposed to meet at eight o’clock and it’s nearly seven-thirty.”

“The town square is only a ten-minute walk from here. You wouldn’t be just a little overeager would you?” As she turned from the windows, Jody grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I’ll disappear the minute he shows up.”

“I’ll bring Worth back here and call you to come over and meet him. I promise. But once you meet him, I want you to make yourself scarce and go back to your apartment next door. Worth and I will have a lot of plans to make for our future.”

Jody forced a smile as she sauntered over to Faith and grasped her hands. “Sweetie, nobody wants this to work out for you more than I do. But don’t get your hopes up. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve had guys sweet-talk me into the sack, then forget my telephone number.”

“Worth didn’t sweet-talk me. He’s not like that.” A sudden blush burned Faith’s cheeks. “I actually asked him to…well, you know.”

Jody shook her head. “Ah, Faithie, I really hope the guy shows, but if he doesn’t—”

“He’ll be there,” Faith said, with utter conviction. “I know he loves me. And I’m sure by now he’s figured out for himself just how much he loves me. We were meant to be together.”

“You’re terribly in love with him, aren’t you?” Jody sighed. “When you first told me about him—about the way you two met when he rescued you from those terrorist kidnappers over there in Subria—I thought you just had a major hero-worship crush on him. But it’s more than that for you.”

“For him, too.” Faith swung Jody’s hands back and forth, then released her and twirled around several times. “How do I look?”

“Lovely. I’ve never seen you looking prettier. You’re absolutely glowing.”

“That’s because I’m in love and I’m happy and I’m—” Faith smiled broadly as she hugged herself. “Just think, less than two months ago I was a kidnap victim who could have been killed and now I’m home and safe and have a wonderful life ahead of me.”

“If you and Worth decide not to come back here, you call me. Otherwise, I’ll worry about you.”

Faith picked up her hat and pulled it down over her long brown hair, the two almost identical in color, then she eased on her gloves and put on her coat. “If for any reason we don’t come back here to my apartment, I’ll let you know. But don’t worry about me if I don’t call until late. Worth may have made his own plans for us.”

“If you aren’t back by midnight and haven’t called me, I’ll send out the Highway Patrol.”

Faith grabbed the umbrella and headed for the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re going to be my maid of honor, so you’d better start thinking about a fancy dress. Maybe something in velvet.”

“Velvet will be kind of warm for a June wedding.”

“We won’t be waiting until June.” Faith opened the door. “I’m sure when I tell Worth my news, he’ll want us to get married right away.”

“Your news?” Jody’s eyes widened in a speculative stare. “What haven’t you told me? And why haven’t you told me?”

“Because I just took the test today.”

“The test?”

“I’ve got to go. I want to be early, just in case Worth is.”

Jody followed Faith out the door and onto the front porch that ran the length of the old house, which had been built in the thirties and later divided into two apartments.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Jody grabbed Faith’s shoulder just as Faith opened the big tan umbrella.

Faith jerked away, went down the steps and out onto the sidewalk, then began skipping and humming “Singing In the Rain.”

“Don’t you dare leave here without telling me,” Jody called after her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Faith sang out loud and clear. “I’m going to have Worth’s baby and we’re going to get married and live happily ever after.”

Faith skipped away, the cold evening rain drizzling down all around her as she made her way up Somerset Avenue. She’d never been this happy in her entire life. Very soon she would have what she wanted most—a family of her own. She and Worth and their baby would be that family.

If anyone understood the way she felt, Jody did. They’d met when they were kids, both residents of the Whitewood Girls’ Ranch for orphans outside of town. Faith had very little memory of her mother, who’d died in a car crash when Faith was three, but she had lots of wonderful memories of her father. Alfred Sheridan had been a college professor. A shy, quiet man who’d been a gentle, loving parent. But her dad had been nearly fifty when she was born and suffered with heart problems that took his life when Faith was twelve. Without any close relatives, Faith had become an unwanted orphan. She wasn’t particularly pretty and she’d always been shy. And not many people wanted to adopt a twelve-year-old.

Decked in holiday finery, with festive lights twined around roof lines, shrubbery and fences, the homes near downtown Whitewood proclaimed the season. When she passed the Dawsons’ house, Horace barked at her from his dry perch on a footstool in front of the white wooden rockers on the front porch. Horace was a spoiled rotten, fourteen-year-old beagle. Lindsey Dawson opened the front door, lifted Horace off the stool, then threw up her hand to wave at Faith.

“Horace won’t go out in the yard to do his business when it’s raining like this.” Lindsey shrugged. “What on earth are you doing out on a night like this? Don’t you know it’s suppose to start snowing any time now?”

Faith was in the church choir with Lindsey and they had become very friendly acquaintances since Faith’s return to Whitewood a month ago. The Dawsons, Lindsey and George, were in their midfifties with three adult children who were spread out across the country; and none of them had given the couple grandchildren, much to Lindsey’s consternation.

“I’m meeting Worth in the town square tonight,” Faith said.

“Oh, dear me, I’d forgotten that your young man was coming to Whitewood on Christmas Eve. Such a romantic rendevous for the two of you.”

Faith beamed with her happiness, feeling it through and through, as if this joyous feeling had taken over her body from the inside out. She wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was in love.

Within five minutes, she had made her way to Main Street. Last minute shoppers were scurrying about, rushing in and out of stores as they purchased Christmas presents. Whitewood, South Carolina—population 6,587—had seen its downtown area almost die out when a lot of businesses moved out near the four-lane highway back in the seventies. But in the late eighties, the townspeople had banded together to revitalize the buildings and the square between Main and Cherry Streets.

“Hey there, Faith.” Margaret Tompkins stood in the doorway of her coffee and gift shop. “Off to meet Worth in the square?”

Faith stopped under the green awning over the doorway of Margaret’s Goodies. “I thought you were closing up at seven tonight so you and Mr. Tippins could make it over to the Godfreys for their party.”

“I had so many last-minute customers that I had to call Mr. Tippins to tell him I’d meet him there.” Margaret frowned. “That Moselle Hutton had better not try to make time with my Mr. Tippins. The woman is nothing but a hussy.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you’d better hurry and lock up and get over to the Godfreys.”

“You’re absolutely right about that.” Margaret’s remarkably smooth face wrinkled slightly when she smiled. “Do bring Worth by to see me just as soon as you can.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do just that.”

Faith adored Margaret Tompkins, who’d given Faith her first after-school job when she’d been sixteen. And thanks to Margaret’s kindness of keeping her employed at Margaret’s Goodies, not only after school but in the summers, she’d been able to save enough money to buy an older model car when she was eighteen.

Margaret was what people had once referred to as an old maid; and sometimes Faith thought the sweet old woman—who was now seventy-four—saw a kindred spirit in Faith. But unlike Margaret, who had lost her fiancé during the Korean War, Faith was going to marry and have a family. And nobody was happier for her than Margaret.

The town square had been a part of Whitewood since the town’s conception in the early 1800s. At Christmas the merchants decorated downtown Whitewood so perfectly that it looked like a winter wonderland, and the square was the pièce de résistance, the town’s true showcase. The two gazebos were strung with white lights, green garland and huge frosty white bows. Inside one gazebo was a life-size Santa with a pack of presents on his back and Rudolph at his side. A group of five life-size carolers, song books in their hands, stood inside the second gazebo, and a taped selection of Christmas carols played twenty-four hours a day during the twelve days of Christmas. But the twenty-foot Christmas tree, decorated with thousands of sparkling white lights held the place of honor in the center of the square.

Faith scanned the square for any sign of Worth, thinking perhaps he’d been as eager as she for this night and had shown up early. But maybe Worth wasn’t the type to be early or even on time for that matter. She knew so little about him, had so many things to learn. She didn’t even know if he liked his coffee black or with cream and sugar. But they had the rest of their lives to become acquainted, to get to know each others’ preferences.

Some people—like Jody—might think falling in love at first sight was a ridiculous notion, but Faith knew better. Well, maybe it hadn’t been exactly at first sight, but within the first twenty-four hours. And once they had made love, she’d had no doubts that they were meant to be together forever.

Faith wandered around through the square, following the concrete sidewalk onto the brick walkway that led from one gazebo to the other. The recorded music blasted a cheery rendition of “Let It Snow.” Peeking out beneath the umbrella, Faith saw no sign of snow. She held out her hand and several icy cold raindrops hit her knit glove. Suddenly a teenage couple came racing through the square, called out “Merry Christmas” to Faith, then ran across the street to the boy’s parked Jeep. The kids jumped in, revved the motor and zoomed away.

Only two months ago she had been living on a Mediterranean island working as the nanny to billionaire tycoon Theo Constantine’s seven-year-old daughter, Phila. She had loved her job and adored the Constantines and little Phila. Life had been pleasant and fulfilling. Faith truly believed that no job was as important as the care and nurturing of children. That’s why she’d chosen a career as an au pair. But her idyllic life had ended abruptly when Phila and she had been kidnapped by a rebel terrorist group called the Al’alim, taken to the mountains in Subria and held for ransom.

In the end everything had turned out well, but Phila and she had endured a terrifying ordeal. Theo Constantine had hired his own small army to free them from their abductors and Worth Cordell had been Faith’s personal rescuer. She would never forget his kindness the moment they first met. He had taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her because she’d been wearing nothing but a thin cotton gown. And when she’d cut her foot during their attempt to flee, Worth had swept her into his arms and carried her, keeping her safe.

Faith checked her watch. Five till eight. He’d be here soon. Then she’d take him back to her apartment, fix them cups of steaming hot cocoa and they’d cuddle on the sofa. The north wind picked up, whooshing fine pellets of sleet right into her face. Oh, dear, the rain had changed over to sleet.

But when Worth arrived, he’d take her into his arms and warm her immediately. Her mind recalled the night they’d spent together in the cave in Subria, the two of them, wet and cold. They’d stripped off naked, laid their clothes out to dry and cuddled together under a thin blanket in order to absorb each other’s body heat. She’d been afraid that night might be her last night on earth, that by morning the Subrian rebels would find them and kill them. And one thing she’d known for sure was that she didn’t want to die a virgin.

Suddenly the Methodist church bells rang out the hour. Eight o’clock. Faith listened, then smiled as memories washed over her. She’d never know where the courage had come from that night or how she’d been able to ask Worth to make love to her. Maybe it had been a courage born of fear. And Worth had been so sweet, so reluctant at first to take her. But in the end he had made sweet, passionate love to her and her life had changed forever.

Faith decided that she would stay warmer if she kept moving, so she walked around the square twice, then came back through it again. She checked her watch. Eight-twenty. Worth was late. Perhaps he’d run into bad weather on his trip from Atlanta. Or he could have gotten a late start, or taken a wrong turn.

Faith glanced across the street to see if Margaret had closed up shop. She had. All the stores on Main and on Cherry were closed. And there was no one on the streets. Occasionally a car passed, but there was no other sign of life. People were either home with their families, at holiday parties, or congregated in local churches for Christmas Eve services.

Her feet were cold, despite the thick socks she wore. And her hands were like ice under the knit gloves. Where are you, Worth…Where are you?

They had said goodbye in Subria six weeks ago, but they had agreed to meet here in the Whitewood town square at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. If Worth loved her, he would be here. He’d promised. And she believed with all her heart and soul that Worth loved her as she did him. He’s just running a little late, that’s all. He’ll be here soon.

For over a week she had suspected she might be pregnant. They hadn’t used any protection when they’d made love. And Faith’s monthly period was usually as regular as clockwork. This morning she had driven over to Greenville to a drugstore and bought a home pregnancy kit. She thought it best not to let the entire town of Whitewood find out about her condition—not until after she and Worth were married. She’d been excited at the thought of carrying Worth’s child, but then she’d wondered how he’d feel about having a baby so soon. After all, even she had planned for them to actually date a few months before they got married. Originally she’d thought a June wedding was ideal, but now they’d have to push up the date. Maybe a New Year’s wedding. Something simple at the church with only Jody and Margaret and perhaps the Dawsons.

The Methodist church bells chimed the hour. Nine o’clock. How was it possible that she’d been here for a whole hour? Of course, she was so cold that her hands and feet felt numb. What had happened to Worth? Why was he an hour late? She knew that if he’d been detained, he would have contacted her. After all, it wouldn’t be that much trouble to get her home phone number. She was the only Faith Sheridan living in Whitewood. Oh, God, what if he’d had a wreck? No, she refused to consider the possibility. Worth was on his way here and would show up any minute now.

Suddenly Faith looked through her moist eyes and noticed it was snowing. She sighed deeply and hugged herself, settling down on a bench to wait. When Worth arrived, their reunion would take place with snowflakes falling all around them. It would be like a scene from an old movie. Lovers reuniting in the town square on a snowy Christmas Eve.

Time passed, but Faith wasn’t sure how much time. And when she heard Jody’s voice calling her, she tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. Was she asleep? No, she couldn’t be asleep. She was in the square waiting for Worth. He would be here any minute now.

Jody began shaking Faith as she repeated her name and said, “Wake up, Faithie, wake up. My God, how long have you been lying here on this bench, out in the snow? Come on, honey, let’s get you up on your feet. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“The hospital?” Faith managed to speak, but even to her own ears her voice sounded weak. “Why do I need to go to the hospital?”

“Oh, honey, you’ve been sitting out here in the snow, waiting for that damn man for over four hours.”

She felt Jody lifting her to her feet, then putting an arm around her and urging her to walk.

“What—what time is it?” Faith asked.

Before Jody could reply, the church bells rang out twelve times. Midnight. And Worth hadn’t shown up yet.

“I can’t leave,” Faith said. “Worth might—”

“Damn it, Faithie, he’s not coming. The guy’s a no-show.”

As Jody led Faith to her car, she heard her friend grumbling, “Men! They love you until they’ve had you, then it’s on to the next woman. But don’t you worry, honey, we’ll be all right. You don’t need him. You’ll get by just fine without him.”

“Worth,” Faith whispered. “Worth, where are you?”

Worth Cordell woke from a drug-induced sleep in the ICU of an Atlanta hospital…or he assumed he was in Atlanta. He glanced around the meticulously sterile room. Pale-green walls. No windows. An array of tubes and wires hooking him to various machines. The quiet hum of nurses as they went about their duties within the intensive care facility.

What the hell am I doing here? he asked himself.

His brain was fuzzy. His body ached, but it was a medicated ache that told him his true pain was being masked by some high-powered medicine. Worth felt as if his right leg had been run over by an army tank.

His right leg! Now he remembered. He’d been shot. He tried to raise himself up enough to look at his leg, to make sure it was still there. During his time in the Rangers he’d seen guys get their legs blown off and later in the hospital say they could feel their missing limb.

A strong, feminine hand came down over Worth’s chest and gently eased his head down on the pillow. “Lie still, Mr. Cordell. Don’t try to move around. Not yet.”

“Tell me something.” Worth looked squarely at the brown-eyed, middle-aged nurse.

She glanced down at him and smiled. “What would you like to know?”

“Is my leg still there?” he asked.

“Your leg?” Her smiled widened. “Your leg is very much there and it’s healing nicely. We should be able to transfer you to a private room by this time tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I’m not sure. I’m a bit crazy-headed right now.”

“Your mind will clear up once we reduce your medication. Now take it easy and—” she pointed to a series of buttons attached to the railing on his hospital bed “—if you need anything, just punch right here and one of us will check on you.”

Worth nodded.

The nurse paused at the doorway, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Cordell.”

Merry Christmas?

“Is today Christmas Day?” he asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“How long have I been in here?”

“You were brought into the E.R. three days ago, on the twenty-second, and Dr. Winthrop did emergency surgery. He saved your life and your leg.”

“I am in Atlanta, aren’t I?”

“You’re in Piedmont Hospital and you’ve had visitors every day, but you probably don’t remember.”

“Visitors?”

“Your co-workers from the Dundee agency. A Mr. Sawyer, a Mr. Shea and a Ms. Evans.”

“Oh, yeah, my co-workers.”

Worth tried to remember exactly what had happened to him, but his memory was messed up. He’d been on an assignment, here in Atlanta, providing private security for some rock star in town for a Christmas concert. He could recall that much, but nothing about the particulars. When one of the guys from Dundee’s came back to the hospital, he’d find out the details.

Lying there, his leg aching and his stomach rumbling—when had he eaten last?—he suddenly remembered that he’d had a very important date on Christmas Eve. Faith! He was supposed to have met her in Whitewood, South Carolina, at eight o’clock in the town square.

Well, by now, she realized he wasn’t going to show up. She must have been really disappointed. Hell, he’d had every intention of meeting her. He’d owed her that much. After he had rescued her from kidnappers and gotten them back to safety, she’d developed a major crush on him. And he had developed a major case of the hots for her.

Maybe it was better for her—for both of them—that he hadn’t been able to meet her. Being laid up in the hospital this way, he had saved them both from an unpleasant scene. He had planned to tell Faith that he wasn’t the right man for her, that he wasn’t the settling-down, one-woman-man she needed. He was a man with too many emotional battle scars for a sweet woman like Faith. Plain and simple—he was no damn good for her.

She might be crying today, but by this time next year, she’d probably barely remember what he looked like. Yeah, maybe fate had done them both a big favor. He could continue his life as it was and she could move on to that fairy tale happily-ever-after she wanted with some other guy.

Chapter 1

Faith Sheridan locked the door to Toddle Town Day Care, the business she had opened in February, only a few short weeks after her recovery from hypothermia and pneumonia nearly ten months ago. With a bank loan, cosigned by Margaret Tompkins, and seventy-five percent of her savings, Faith had purchased a downtown building that had once housed a dry goods store that had gone out of business a couple of years ago. Located on Hickory Avenue, a back street in Whitewood, the two-story building was ideal. Her office and nursery were upstairs, where the infants were kept away from the toddlers on the ground level. Out back Faith had cleared off the empty half lot and put in playground equipment.

Opening a day-care center had seemed the perfect choice for Faith since her background was in child care; plus she had the added bonus of being able to keep Hope with her all the time. But today, her baby daughter was running a fever and she couldn’t risk exposing the other children to what the doctor had said was a twenty-four-hour virus. Luckily Lindsey Dawson had become like a grandmother to Hope, as had Margaret, and today Lindsey was looking after Hope.

Life wasn’t perfect, but Faith was content. She had a new business that was thriving, good friends all around her in Whitewood and best of all, four-month-old Hope. Her baby was the absolute joy of her life. But despite everything being well with her, she hadn’t forgotten Worth Cordell. How could she, when Hope was a living, breathing reminder of the man Faith still loved? She never talked about Worth anymore, not to Lindsey or Margaret—and certainly not to Jody, who was convinced Worth Cordell was a low-life scum.

As Faith headed toward her car, the November wind whipping chillingly all about her, she paused on the sidewalk and glanced around at both sides of the back street already decked out in holiday gear; not quite as elaborately decorated as Main Street, but shimmering with white lights. And each shop door on Hickory Avenue held a festive wreath. Every year, the decorations went up earlier and earlier. Here it was a few days before Thanksgiving and already the town was in Christmas mode.

The turn-of-the-century reproduction streetlights cast a mellow golden glow over the entire scene. Since she kept the day-care center open until six-thirty and all the other shops on Hickory closed at five-thirty, she was quite alone. But she never felt afraid, not here in Whitewood. Their crime rate was one of the lowest in the state.

Hitching her shoulder bag higher, she reached inside her coat pocket for her car keys, then headed straight for the used SUV she’d bought from one of Lindsey’s sons who lived in Columbia. The back seat held Hope’s infant seat and an array of toys scattered about, even in the floorboard. She couldn’t wait to pick up Hope and head straight home. She was unaccustomed to being away from her child all day and she longed to hold her baby in her arms.

Faith unlocked the driver’s door of the Chevy Blazer. Just as she stepped up to get inside, someone grabbed her from behind. She gasped, startled by the unexpected hand on her shoulder. When she tried to turn to face the person, she felt something hit her on the head. For a couple of seconds her vision blurred. What was happening? Was she being attacked? She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Oh, God, help me! Whoever had hit her was dragging her away from the car. She tried to struggle, tried to put up a fight, but she felt so weak. When she managed to squeak out a protest, something struck her head again.

Suddenly everything went black!

Worth Cordell finished the paperwork on his most recent assignment for Dundee’s, pushed the print button on the computer and leaned back in his plush office chair as he waited for the information to print out. This job had lasted nearly a month and ended with the apprehension of a stalker who’d been obsessed with her college professor. The twenty-year-old coed had finally moved beyond threatening behavior to actually trying to kill the professor’s wife. Worth had come damn close to taking the bullet meant for Marcia Hallmark.

After snatching the pages from the printer, he slipped them into a manilla file folder and laid it on his desk, then started to get up; but a sharp pain splintered through his bad leg. Hell! Leaning slightly to the left, he rubbed his thigh. The bullets he’d taken in that leg nearly a year ago had left him with a slight limp. For months after he’d been released from the hospital, he’d used a cane just to get around, but now, after endless therapy, he was about eight-five percent back to normal. He relied on the cane only when he’d been on his feet for too many hours and his limp grew decidedly worse. His life had pretty much returned to normal, but he’d have both the scars and the limp to always remind him of what had happened. He’d taken three bullets—two in the leg and one in the side—when a crazed fan had decided to become famous attempting to kill a rock star who had been in Atlanta for a concert.

“Worth Cordell,” Dundee office manager, Daisy Holbrook, called as she knocked on the door, then stuck her head into Worth’s office. “Mr. McNamara wants to see you right this minute. It’s urgent.”

Worth rose to his full six-four height, nodded to Daisy and said, “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Will do.” Daisy beamed that thousand-watt smile of hers and scurried away.

The young woman ran the Dundee office in downtown Atlanta with unequaled efficiency and had for the past year, since she’d been hired to replace the retiring former office manager. Daisy had been the first employee that new Dundee CEO, Sawyer McNamara, had hired when Sam Dundee had asked Sawyer to take over the top job when Ellen Denby married and left the business. Sawyer was the right kind of guy to run Dundee’s. He was smart, shrewd, and hard-nosed, as well as fair-minded. He was a no-nonsense type of man who instilled confidence and loyalty in his employees. Well, everyone except Lucie Evans. Worth had thought one of two things would happen when Sawyer took over the reins: either Lucie would resign or Sawyer would request her resignation. The two had been former FBI agents and the animosity between them apparently had deep roots. No one in the business knew the particulars; they only knew Lucie and Sawyer didn’t like each other. But to everyone’s surprise Lucie remained a Dundee agent and despite an occasional flare-up between the two, Sawyer and she somehow managed to coexist whenever they were both at the downtown office.

When Worth walked through Sawyer’s open office door, he heard the voice of a newscaster coming from the television housed in a compact entertainment center in Sawyer’s office suite.

“Come in. I thought you’d want to see this.” Sawyer motioned for Worth to come over to his desk. “Wasn’t Faith Sheridan the name of the Constantines’ nanny?”

A shiver of apprehension raced up Worth’s spine. He hadn’t heard that name spoken in nearly a year, but he had thought about Faith more often than he liked to admit, even to himself.

“Yeah, that was her name. Why?” Worth made his way over to the side of Sawyer’s desk.

“When the noon news first came on, they said something about a report coming up on a missing person named Faith Sheridan. I thought since you rescued Ms. Sheridan and took care of her after she and the Constantine child were kidnapped, you might be interested in finding out what’s happened to her.”

“It might not be the same Faith Sheridan,” Worth said.

“Might not be. The report is coming from someplace in South Carolina.”

Worth’s heart skipped a beat. “Whitewood, South Carolina?”

“Yes, I think that’s—”

“Faith told me she was going home to Whitewood when she handed in her resignation to the Constantines last year.”

“Well, this news story must be about her. Take a seat.” Sawyer indicated a leather wing chair to the left of his desk. “We’ll check out the report together.”

Just as Worth eased down in the chair, the local noon anchorman said, “Now to Connie Beck in Whitewood, South Carolina, where a young mother has been missing for the past thirty-six hours and feared to be the latest victim of the Greenville Slayer, who has murdered two women and left two others close to death in the Greenville, South Carolina area.”

Every muscle in Worth’s body tensed. Faith dead? No, it wasn’t possible. Not sweet little Faith. An overwhelming sense of grief sucker punched Worth, then he recalled something that the newsman had said. He’d said Faith was a young mother. Did Faith have a child? Was it possible that when he hadn’t shown up on Christmas Eve last year, she’d turned to another man? But if her name was still Sheridan, she wasn’t married. Faith was the old-fashioned sort of woman who would take her husband’s name when she married.

The face of the attractive brunette reporter, Connie Beck, appeared on screen. Beside the reporter stood a somber young blonde holding a baby in her arms.

“This is Connie Beck, coming to you from Whitewood, North Carolina, where Faith Sheridan, the owner of a local day-care center and mother of a four-month-old child, has been missing for the past thirty-six hours and is feared dead.”

Four-month-old child? Mentally Worth counted back. God in heaven! That meant Faith had given birth in late July or early August, which would mean she had conceived sometime in November.

Was it possible the child was his? No! He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Faith knew how to contact him through the Dundee Agency; if she’d been pregnant, she could have gotten in touch with him.

Worth tried to focus on what the reporter was saying. “Police aren’t revealing much about Ms. Sheridan’s disappearance, but our sources tell us the police fear she was abducted when she left the day-care center night before last, and with a serial killer—the Greenville Slayer—having recently hit in the town of Sparkman, only twenty miles south of Whitewood, there’s a good chance Ms. Sheridan is his latest victim.

“With me today is Ms. Sheridan’s best friend since the two were childhood playmates—Ms. Jody Crenson.” Connie Beck held the microphone toward Jody. “Jody, you have something you’d like to show us and something you’d like to say.”

Jody held up a photograph in one hand as she kept the baby, bundled in a pink blanket, poised on her hip. “This is Faith Sheridan. If anyone has seen her or has information about her, please contact the Whitewood police department. Faith’s friends are collecting reward money for anyone with information.” Jody removed the blanket from the baby’s head and the camera zoomed in on the child.

Worth’s heart stopped beating for a split second. Fat, pink cheeks, button nose, rosebud lips. A thick fluff of dark-red hair curled atop the child’s head and a set of dark-brown eyes stared into the camera.

She was his! He knew it the moment he looked at her. Faith’s baby was his daughter.

“This is Faith’s little girl. Hope needs her mother, so please, if you know anything, anything at all, about Faith’s disappearance, we need your help.” Tears spilled from Jody’s eyes.

“Thank you, Ms. Crenson.” The reporter caressed the baby’s rosy cheek, then turned back to the camera, which focused on her. “It is feared that Faith Sheridan is the fifth victim of the Greenville Slayer. This man murdered one woman and left two for dead in the Greenville area, all within the past two months. Only three weeks ago, his fourth victim was found dead in an abandoned warehouse in Sparkman, twenty miles south of here.”

Worth shot up from his chair and bounded out of Sawyer McNamara’s office. He had to get to Whitewood as quickly as possible. Every instinct he possessed urged him to find out what had happened to Faith and to see the child he knew had to be his.

Sawyer came out in the hallway and called to Worth, “What’s wrong with you? Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Worth slowed for a moment, glanced over his shoulder and replied, “I’m going to Whitewood to find out what happened to Faith.”

“I knew she had a major crush on you after you rescued her last year, but I didn’t think you reciprocated her feelings.”

Worth didn’t explain himself to anyone, didn’t justify his actions to anyone, not even his boss—not unless those actions directly related to a current case. But he did owe Sawyer some sort of explanation. “I’ll need some time off. I don’t know how long.”

Sawyer eyed Worth suspiciously. “Sure. Take however long you need. And call me if there’s anything I or the agency can do to help you.”

“Thanks.”

Worth hurried into his office, tossed his overcoat across his arm, then went by Daisy’s desk on his way out.

“Call the airlines and get me the first available flight to Whitewood, South Carolina. And arrange for a rental car.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me on my cell phone to let me know about my reservations.”

“I’ll take care of the arrangements for you, Mr. Cordell.”

Ten minutes later, Worth found himself stuck in downtown traffic. Twenty minutes later just as he entered his one-bedroom apartment, his cell phone rang. Daisy rattled off details of his flight and he registered the information mentally, then set about packing. His plane left Atlanta in less than three hours.

Margaret Tompkins and Lindsey and George Dawson sat around the table in Jody Crenson’s kitchen. Half-eaten sandwiches and empty coffee cups littered the table, along with piles of money.

Margaret punched the final numbers into her adding machine, then announced, “We have collected two thousand, six hundred and forty-two dollars and twenty cents.”

“George and I want to add a thousand dollars to that,” Lindsey said as she bounced a wide-eyed Hope on her knee.

“With my thousand, that will bring our total to nearly five thousand.” Margaret wiped away a tear. “I feel as if we should be doing something more. I want to go out and search this town, house by house.”

“The police have pretty much already done that,” Jody said. “Everyone in Whitewood knows Faith and if anyone has seen anything, this reward money—” Jody eyed the stack of bills and rolled coins in the middle of her kitchen table “—should entice even the most reluctant to come forward.”

“I simply can’t believe that anyone would harm a sweet child like Faith.” A portly, fifty-something George Dawson had been little Hope’s substitute grandfather since the day she was born and both Lindsey and Margaret shared the grandmother role, while Jody was simply Aunt Jody.

“If—and I’m only saying if—the Greenville Slayer—” Jody’s voice cracked with emotion.

She could not—would not—allow herself to believe Faith was dead. Her dearest friend had been through so much in the past year. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take her away from little Hope when the child didn’t have a father. Well, she did have a father, but the heartless bastard had taken advantage of Faith and hadn’t even bothered to call to say he was sorry. Jody would never forgive the man for standing up Faith a year ago on Christmas Eve. The poor kid had sat on a bench in the town square and waited for four hours—in the snow. When Jody had found Faith at midnight, she’d been suffering from hypothermia and had been practically delirious. A week’s stay in the hospital battling pneumonia and nearly a month’s recuperation at home had come at the same time evil bouts of morning sickness had hit Faith.

Jody had wanted to call Worth Cordell and demand he take responsibility for his child, but Faith had told her she wouldn’t ask Worth for anything.

“Obviously he doesn’t love me,” Faith had said. “If he did, he would have shown up at the square on Christmas Eve as we’d planned. I don’t want him to feel obligated to me just because I’m pregnant. If he doesn’t love me, my baby and I are better off without him in our lives.”

“Don’t you worry, Faithie, you’ve got people who care about you. We’ll help you,” Jody had told Faith, and the people gathered here tonight in her kitchen had made Jody’s prediction come true. Jody, Margaret and the Dawsons had stood by Faith through her pregnancy and rallied around her and little Hope like the family they had become.

Margaret stood and placed her arm around Jody’s shoulders. “It’s all right, dear, we know exactly how you feel. Faith is like a daughter to me. I refuse to believe that she’s dead.”

“So do I,” Lindsey added. “We can’t give in to our fears. We have to believe in a miracle. For Hope’s sake, if for no other reason.”

“I’ll take the money to the bank in the morning,” George said. “And open an account for the Faith Sheridan Reward Fund. And Lindsey will contact the newspapers and the local radio and television stations first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Jody offered George a fragile smile. “I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve circulated flyers in Whitewood and all the neighboring towns and the local police have been more than cooperative.”

Hope began whimpering. Lindsey lifted the baby and laid her on her shoulder. “Margaret, warm her bottle for me, will you?”

Margaret got up immediately, retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator and put it in the microwave. “She doesn’t seem to like that formula. Sweet little thing is used to mother’s milk.”

“Faith is such a good mother. She puts Hope’s needs first. Always.” Fresh tears trickled down Lindsey’s cheeks.

The unexpected sound of the doorbell froze everyone for an instant. “I’ll get it,” Jody said. “It might be Reverend and Mrs. Simmons. They mentioned arranging a prayer vigil for tomorrow evening.”

Jody rushed out of the kitchen, through the living room and to the front door. She turned on the porch light, then peered through the window in the door. She didn’t recognize her guest. He was tall—very tall—with dark auburn hair, broad shoulders and wore a tan trench coat. She eased open the door.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“Are you Jody Crenson?” he asked, his voice a deep, husky baritone.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“I’m Worth Cordell,” he replied. “I believe I’m the father of Faith Sheridan’s child.”

Jody glared at the big man as shock radiated through her body.

“You’re about a year late, you son of a bitch!”

Then she slammed the door in his face.

Chapter 2

Worth rang the doorbell repeatedly. He hadn’t come this far just to be turned away by one of Faith’s friends. If as he suspected, Faith’s child was his daughter, then he had certain responsibilities, as well as certain rights. More than anything he wanted Faith found alive and well, but either way, the child was going to need him.

The front door swung open and a stout, balding, middle-aged man stood there glaring at Worth. Three women hovered behind the man, all of them glowering.

“I’m Worth Cordell. May I come in and talk to y’all. Please.”

“Let him come in,” an elderly, white-haired lady said as she moved forward and planted her hand on her hip.

“Thank you.” Worth entered the living room, then closed the door behind him. “I stopped by the police station and a Detective Rollins told me Faith had friends who were caring for her child and were collecting reward money for information concerning Faith’s whereabouts.”

“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Cordell?” The elderly woman nodded toward the sofa.

The man, the older woman and Jody Crenson flanked Worth as he moved toward the sofa. He felt like a condemned man on his way to the gallows. The third woman, a plump, motherly brunette, held back, staying halfway across the room, but her dark eyes bored into him. Worth’s gaze zeroed in on the baby she held on her hip. His heartbeat accelerated as he stared at the little girl. She looked a great deal like his little sister Norma had looked as a baby. Curly red hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Oh, God! No doubt about it—this child was his!

“Sit,” the man ordered.

When Worth sat, the threesome formed a semicircle around him.

“I’m George Dawson,” the man said, then indicated with a hand gesture first to the older woman, then to the younger. “This is Margaret Tompkins and Jody Crenson.” He glanced across the room. “That’s my wife Lindsey and…” George cleared his throat. “The baby is Faith’s little girl, Hope. We’re Faith’s friends.”

“We’re Faith’s family.” Jody frowned at Worth.

“You said you went by the police station,” Margaret said. “Did you learn anything new about Faith’s whereabouts?”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry, there’s nothing new to report.”

“What are you doing here?” Jody asked.

“I saw your interview on the news at noon today,” Worth replied. “I felt I had to come, to see if I could—” All eyes focused hostilely on him. “Faith was…is…I had no idea she had a child.”

“If you had bothered to show up last Christmas Eve, she would have told you she was pregnant,” Margaret said.

“Why didn’t you show up, Mr. Cordell?” Lindsey asked.

“Because he’s a low-life scum who didn’t care anything about Faith.” Jody jumped up out of her chair. “He used Faithie and dumped her. I don’t think we should even be talking to him.”

“Is Jody right, Mr. Cordell?” Margaret asked.

Worth suddenly understood how a man felt when surrounded by a lynch mob who had already tried and convicted him without a hearing.

“I cared about…I care about Faith. I honestly believed that she was better off without me. If she’s told you anything about me, y’all know how we met and—”

“You rescued her from rebels in Subria who had kidnapped her and the Constantine child,” George said. “Yes, we know about that. And we know how you make your living. But Faith told us what a good man you were. She’s never said one unkind thing about you. Not even when you didn’t keep your promise to her.”

“I was in the hospital.” Worth felt a sudden need to defend himself. “I’d been critically wounded on a job assignment. They kept me highly sedated, so I didn’t come out of it and know where I was until Christmas Day last year.”

“Why didn’t you call Faith then?” Lindsay asked.

“Because he’d never meant to show up at the square on Christmas Eve—” Jody snapped her head around and pierced Worth with her sharp glare “—did you?”

“I had planned to meet Faith, to explain why—Look, what does all this matter now? I stayed away because I truly believed Faith was better off without me. I had no idea she was pregnant, that I was a father. If she’d told me, I—”

“You really don’t know Faith at all if you think she would have tried to use a baby to trap you into marriage,” Jody said. “She loved you. She thought you loved her.”

Worth didn’t know how to respond, didn’t have any idea how to defend himself against their accusations. He was guilty as charged. After being released from the hospital last year, he should have contacted Faith; instead he’d taken the easy way out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when Faith needed me. If I could change things, I would, but I can’t. But I’m here now and I intend to stay until we find out what happened to Faith.” Worth glanced at the baby who had laid her head against Lindsey Dawson’s shoulder and fallen asleep. “May I see my daughter?”

“What makes you think she’s yours?” Jody asked.

Margaret shook her head. “Jody, dear, you mustn’t—”

“He can’t waltz in here now and claim Hope. He has no right to assume he can play daddy when it’s convenient for him.” Jody looked from Margaret to George to Lindsey. “Are y’all forgetting what this man put Faith through?” Jody turned to Worth, her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared. “Faith went to meet you in the square that night. It was raining and the rain turned to snow. She waited for you for four hours, sitting out in the snow. When I found her she had hyperthermia and wound up in the hospital with pneumonia. And she was pregnant!”

A guilt-ridden pain tightened in Worth’s gut. He should have known she’d wait for him hour after hour. Damn it—he should have known!

“Our little Faith is such a romantic,” Margaret said. “She convinced herself that you were her white knight, her rescuer and protector. She never considered the possibility that you were just an ordinary man or that you weren’t as much in love with her as she was with you.”

Lindsey Dawson came forward, but when she started to hand Hope to Worth, Jody grabbed the child away from Lindsey.

“Maybe you aren’t Hope’s father,” Jody said. “You have no proof that you are. We aren’t about to turn Hope over to you.”

“If I’m not Hope’s father, then who is?” Worth asked.

“Now isn’t the time to play games with this man,” George said. “Jody, let him hold Hope.”

Reluctantly Jody handed the sleeping child over to Worth. As his muscles tightened, his body went rigid. He hadn’t held a baby since he’d been a kid and held his little sister. Norma had been eight years younger than he—his half sister—and he’d taken care of her when his stepmother had been too drunk to look after her own baby. And that had been just about all the time.

Worth held little Hope as if she were made of spun glass. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful. She looked like an angel. Tiny, helpless and sweet beyond belief. His child. He didn’t need anyone to tell him she was his. Didn’t need any blood or DNA tests. Faith had been a virgin when they’d made love, and there was no way she would have turned to another man so quickly after they’d been together. Jody was right—he didn’t know Faith all that well. They’d shared a very brief relationship, having been together for only a few days. But he did know how good and kind and sweet Faith Sheridan had been. Had been? God, she couldn’t be dead!

Worth closed his eyes as he held Hope against his heart. The clean, delicate fragrance unique to babies assailed his senses. And an overwhelming feeling of possessiveness claimed him. This tiny bundle lying so trustingly in his arms had been born from the passion he and Faith had shared.

“I…uh…I’ve checked into the Whitewood Motel out on the strip,” Worth said as his big hand cradled Hope’s small, round head. “I’m planning on staying in Whitewood until we find out about Faith. I’d appreciate it if y’all would let me know when you hear something from the police.” Reluctantly Worth handed Hope back to Lindsey.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything,” George said.

Worth stood. “I’d like to come by and see my daughter tomorrow.”

“Hope will be at Toddle Town Day Care,” Margaret told him. “Lindsey is helping out there temporarily…until Faith comes back.” Margaret choked with emotion.

“Toddle Town?” Worth asked.

“Faith’s business,” Jody replied. “She owns Toddle Town Day Care and keeps Hope there with her. Hope is used to everyone who works there and they’re all giving her lots of special attention.”

“May I come by tomorrow to see Hope?” Worth looked to Lindsey.

She offered him a tentative smile. “I suppose that would be all right.”

“Thanks.”

George walked Worth to the door, then stepped out onto the porch behind him. When he reached up and put his hand on Worth’s shoulder, Worth tensed.

“Son, you’ve got to understand how the ladies feel. Our little Faith was counting on you and you let her down. My wife and Margaret and Jody aren’t going to make things easy for you. You’ll have to prove yourself to them.”

“I understand. And thank you, Mr. Dawson.”

“Call me George.”

“Thanks, George.”

Barney Jeffries crept down the alley between Clanton and Mooresville Streets in Sparkman. In the morning the sanitation department would empty all the Dumpsters in town, so he had only tonight to sort through the trash and find any usable items discarded by others. In his experience, this particular Dumpster usually yielded the most bounty. Once he’d even found a gold wristwatch that he’d been able to hock for nearly fifty bucks. Some idiot’s loss had been his gain.

As he neared the Dumpster, Barney looked around for something he could use as a step stool. A stack of empty crates piled up in the corner by the back door of Dottie’s Diner caught his eye. After dragging one of the crates across the alleyway and to the Dumpster, Barney climbed up, tossed back the lid and crawled over inside of the huge garbage bin. The stench would bother most people, but not Barney. He’d grown used to the odor and even the worst smells didn’t turn his stomach. A man had to possess a strong constitution in order to go rummaging around in other people’s trash.

Barney removed his flashlight from his back pocket and shined the light left to right, back to front, searching for any tidbits that might rest on top. He did a double take when he saw the white arm lying limply atop a black garbage bag. Holy-moley! He aimed the light at the arm. Human. And by the size, either a child or a small female. Oh, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. He moved the light up the arm to the shoulder. A sinking feeling hit him in the belly. The light moved over the shoulder, up the neck and onto the face. A woman. A young woman with her eyes closed. She was dead. Had to be dead. Otherwise why would somebody have dumped her in the trash? His hand shook so badly he dropped his flashlight. Better get it, he told himself. If the police found it, they’d check for fingerprints and he’d be in deep trouble.

When Barney reached down to retrieve his flashlight, which had fallen by the woman’s hip, he noticed her chest rise and fall. She was breathing. She wasn’t dead!

“Hey, lady.” He nudged her hip with the flashlight. She didn’t respond. “I can’t help you. If I do, they’ll run me in for sure and put me in jail. I’m sorry. Really, I am. But I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll call for help. I swear I will.”

Barney crawled out of the Dumpster, hopped down on the crate and then onto the concrete pavement. Leaving the Dumpster lid open, he hurried out of the alley. He glanced all around, then ran across the street to a pay phone. Taking a dirty rag from his coat pocket, he lifted the receiver, inserted a quarter in the slot and dialed 911. When the emergency operator responded, the machine coughed up his quarter, which he quickly rammed into his pocket.

“Yeah, there’s a half-dead woman in a Dumpster over on Clanton and Mooresville.” Before the operator could say a word, Barney hung up the phone, dashed out of the booth and scurried up the street as fast as he could go.

Worth slept fitfully, tossing and turning, dreaming about Faith. His subconscious played half a dozen different horrific scenarios inside his brain. Each time he was within arms reach of Faith, a moment away from saving her, she disappeared. Vanished. And each time, Worth awoke in a cold sweat.

Tossing back the covers, he rose from the double bed in Room 214 of the Whitewood Motel, a two-story U-shaped structure on the strip outside of town. Sitting on the side of the bed, Worth rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, then dropped his hands between his knees. Although common sense told him that even if he’d shown up at the town square last Christmas Eve and even if he’d married Faith, he couldn’t have prevented what happened to her. If some crazed serial killer had gotten his hands on her, it would have happened regardless of what Worth had or hadn’t done. But the illogical, emotional part of his nature ached with guilt and told him that if Faith had been with him instead of trying to make it on her own, all alone, she wouldn’t be missing right now.

Worth stood and walked across the room to the window overlooking the parking lot. He opened the blinds and glanced outside at the first light of dawn spreading across the eastern sky. Memories of another dawn over a year ago flashed through his mind. The morning after he and Faith had made love for the first time. Her first time shouldn’t have been in some dark, dank cave in a barbaric country half a world away from her home. And it shouldn’t have been with a emotionally battle-scarred former Ranger who wasn’t capable of genuine love. Faith had deserved so much better.

He closed the blinds and shut his eyes. He could almost hear her voice, almost feel her soft, smooth skin. How sweet she’d been, how incredibly sweet. And how shy. That morning before they’d headed out for the rendezvous point to meet the rescue chopper, she’d been worried that because she was dirty, her gown tattered, and her hair a mess, he’d think she was ugly. She had told him that she’d always been skinny and unattractive. How wrong she’d been. And he’d made his feelings perfectly clear.

You have no idea how appealing you are to me. You’re not skinny—you’re delicate. And you have beautiful eyes and a cute little nose and the most delicious mouth I’ve ever tasted. If we didn’t have a helicopter to catch out of this hellhole today, I’d take you back inside that cave and make love to you until neither of us could stand up for a week.

He should have known there might be consequences! After all, he didn’t have a condom handy that night. Why hadn’t he at least picked up the phone and called her after he got out of the hospital last year? He could have at least seen how she was. Damn! Had Jody Crenson been right? Had Faith been too proud to tell him about his child?

Faith had wanted love and commitment. Moon, June and happily-ever-after. He’d tried to be honest with her, tried to tell her that he was the wrong man for her. Yeah, he’d tried all right—just not hard enough. He had made love to a woman who, because of her romantic nature, had waited her whole life for the man of her dreams before giving her innocence. But because she’d feared dying a virgin if they couldn’t escape from Subria, she’d begged him to make love to her. He had resisted, at least at first. But what man could resist such alluring temptation?

The ringing telephone brought Worth from the past to the present rather quickly. He stomped across the room, lifted the receiver and said, “Worth Cordell here.”

“Mr. Cordell, this is George Dawson.”

Worth’s heartbeat went wild.

“They’ve found Faith,” George said. “She’s alive, but just barely.”

“Where…when…how?”

“Come to Memorial Hospital. Drive through downtown Whitewood, go half a mile on Main Street until you reach Underwood Lane, turn right and go one block.”

“Thanks, George. I’m on my way.”

“Mr. Cordell?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better hurry.”

Chapter 3

When the elevator doors swung open on the second floor of Memorial, the only hospital within a forty-five mile radius and served Whitewood, Sparkman and South Lake, Worth rushed out and, following the arrows pointing the way, hurried down the corridor to the ICU waiting room. Jody glanced up at him, a somber expression on her face, but not with the hostility he’d seen last night. Margaret offered him a soft smile. George rose from the green vinyl sofa and came to meet him.

Grabbing Worth’s arm, George said, “She’s alive, but just barely. They told us she came out of surgery about an hour ago. We don’t know much, only that they had to stop some internal bleeding.”

“Where was she found? What happened to her?” Worth asked.

“Come on outside.” George led Worth into the hallway. “The ladies are terribly emotional right now. As a matter of fact, I am, too. Been crying a bit myself. Faith has become like a favorite niece to Lindsey and me. And Hope is like a grandchild.”

“What did the police tell y’all about Faith?”

“The Sparkman police received a call from a 911 operator on duty who had gotten an anonymous phone call from a downtown pay phone telling them to look in a certain Dumpster for a woman’s body.”

“A Dumpster?” Bile rose to Worth’s throat. Someone had thrown Faith in a Dumpster? He gritted his teeth as his hands instinctively clutched into tight fists.

“It seems she was beaten. Severely beaten. And thrown in the Dumpster. The police estimate she’d been there, unconscious, for the past forty-eight hours and if she’d stayed there another night, she would have died.”

Worth grabbed George by the shoulders. “Do they have any idea who—”

“Detective Rollins of our Whitewood police department told me that the M.O. of the crime fits the M.O. of the Greenville Slayer. All of his victims have been found in similar places—Faith and another woman who died were put in Dumpsters; two were found at landfills; and another was actually discovered in her own garbage can inside an abandoned warehouse.”

“My God, this guy is a real psycho.” Worth tightened his hold on George’s shoulders. “Have y’all spoken to the doctor? What odds are they giving that Faith will live?”

“I spoke to the nurses and they didn’t say much, but I got the impression they don’t think her chances are very good.”

“Have they let any of you see her?”

“Not yet. But they’ve told us we can go back, one at a time, during visitation.”

“When?”

George checked his watch. “In about fifteen minutes.”

“I want to see her.”

George nodded. “You care about Faith, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I care.” Admit it, Worth’s inner voice told him, you care a hell of a lot more than you thought you did. Ever since he saw that noon news account about Faith missing, he’d been figuratively holding his breath. And when he heard she was still alive, he had released that breath with great relief. You wanted Faith to be alive because you need a chance to make things right with her.

Jody came out into the hall. “I just called Lindsey to check on Hope.” Jody glanced at Worth. “They’re at Toddle Town and as soon as Hope goes down for her morning nap, Lindsey is coming to the hospital.”

“I should be thanking all of you for taking care of Hope,” Worth said. “She’s a lucky little girl to have so many people care about her and her mother.”

“You don’t need to thank us,” Jody said. “We’re Hope’s family, the same way we’re Faith’s family. You, on the other hand, are a stranger to Hope.”

“I’m Hope’s father and I don’t intend to remain a stranger to her.”

“Well, you’d better wait and see what Faith has to say about it. She might not want—”

George put his arm around Jody’s shoulder. “We all know what Faith wanted. Worth being here when she wakes up is going to be the best medicine possible. Why don’t we put aside any misgivings about Worth and give him a chance to prove what kind of man he really is.”

Jody glared at Worth. “I’ll give you a chance, but so help me, if you hurt her again, I’ll—I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

Worth smiled. “I understand. Faith brings out the protector in everyone, doesn’t she? She’s so small and delicate, so kind and caring.”

Jody swallowed hard. “She’s too good for her own good most of the time.”

Worth nodded. “She’s too good for me. Don’t think I don’t already know that. It’s one of the reasons I believed she was better off without me.”

Margaret joined the others in the hallway. “It’s about time for visitation. Maybe we should check with the nurse in charge. I won’t rest easy until I’ve seen our girl.”

“I want to see her, but…if she was beaten as badly as they say she was, it’ll be hard for us to see her in that condition.” Jody hugged Margaret and both women brushed away tears from their eyes.

Worth led the others when they entered the intensive care unit en masse and swooped down on the nurses’ station.

“May I help you?” A plump, pleasant-faced nurse asked. Her name tag read Wilson.

“We’d like to see Faith Sheridan,” Jody said.

“Are you family?”

“Yes, all of us are family.”

“Then you may go back, two at a time. But you mustn’t stay longer than five minutes.” Ms. Wilson rose from her desk and looked directly at Worth. “Are you her husband?”

“No, I’m…I’m her—”

“He’s her fiancé,” George said.

“Yes, and the father of her baby,” Margaret added.

Ms. Wilson blushed and Worth suspected that the middle-aged lady didn’t quite approve of unwed parenthood. “I must warn you…all of you—” She glanced from one to the other in turn, then back at Worth. “Ms. Sheridan is in a coma. And she won’t look like herself. She’s badly bruised. Her face is swollen and her nose was broken and…just be prepared.”

“Oh, dear, dear, I don’t know if I can bear to look at her.” Margaret rung her hands.

“You don’t have to see her,” Jody said. “It won’t be easy for any of us.”

“No, no, I must see her.”

George placed one hand on Margaret’s shoulder and the other on Jody’s. “You two go on back to see her, then Worth can go. I’ll wait for Lindsey and we’ll go in during the next visitation period.”

Worth and George hovered near the doorway while Jody and Margaret disappeared inside cubicle four. Worth crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. Neither he nor George said a word. He figured they were both trying not to think about what they’d find when they saw Faith or how savage they’d feel. Worth wanted to get his hands on the man who’d tried to kill Faith. He wouldn’t have to think about what he’d do; he’d just do it. With one quick snap of the bastard’s neck, he’d rid the world of a monster.

Within three minutes Jody and Margaret emerged from the cubicle. Jody held on to Margaret who was weeping uncontrollably. Tears streamed down Jody’s face as they approached George and Worth.

“Must be really bad,” George said, then moved forward to help Jody with Margaret.

“You can’t imagine how horrible she looks,” Margaret said between gulping sobs. “The fiend who did that to Faith must be found and punished.”

“I’ll take the ladies to the waiting room,” George said. “You go on back to see Faith.”

Worth took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and marched toward cubicle four. Before opening the door, he paused, willed himself to remain calm and in control; then he opened the door, entered the cubicle and walked straight to the bed.

He’d thought he was prepared for the worst, but he’d been wrong. Despite all the death and destruction he had encountered as an army Ranger and as a Dundee agent, nothing had prepared him to see the mother of his child lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to wires and tubes, her every breath monitored. And dear God in heaven, her sweet face and delicate body had been battered almost beyond recognition. Purple bruises covered her arms, chest, throat and face. She had a busted lip, both eyes were swollen, and her nose had been broken.

Worth stopped dead still. If the police didn’t find the Greenville Slayer, he would—if it was the last thing he ever did.

Forcing himself to move, Worth eased to the bedside. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, Faith appeared lifeless. Unconscious. In a coma. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Worth touched her slender hand, lifted it a couple of inches off the bed and held it tenderly.

“Oh, Blue Eyes. This shouldn’t have happened to you.” Emotion lodged in his throat. “You’re going to be all right. It’ll take time for you to recuperate, but I’ll be here with you. And when you get to come home, I’ll care for you and nurse you back to health. I promise that you can count on me. You and Hope.”

God, how he longed to lift her into his arms and hold her. He wished that he could take away all the suffering she had endured. If it were within his power, he’d gladly suffer for her.

“I’m here and I’m staying. Do you hear me, Faith? I’m not going to leave you.”

He hoped that on some level she understood him, that somehow she knew he was here with her, making her promises that he intended to keep. Faith needed him. Perhaps even more than she’d needed him in Subria. And Hope needed a father.

Worth Cordell wasn’t the kind of man who shirked his duties.

Jody Crenson entered the ICU waiting room carrying a bag from the downstairs deli. Worth Cordell sat slumped in a chair by the windows, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed. Jody had wanted to hate the man who’d broken Faith’s heart, but seeing his devotion to Faith these past two days had softened her attitude toward him. The guy hadn’t left the hospital in forty-eight hours; he’d been cleaning up in the rest room and eating from a vending machine. He looked like hell. His clothes were rumpled and his face was darkened with beard stubble.

As she approached him, Worth opened his eyes and stared at her.

“Hi,” he said. “How’s Hope doing?”

Jody set the bag down on the table beside his chair. “I called Lindsey as soon as I got off from work to check on Hope. She’s doing all right. But we all figure she’s missing her mommy. She’s not sleeping good and her pediatrician has already changed her formula again.” Jody nodded in the direction of the ICU. “Any change in Faith’s condition?”

Worth shook his head, then got up and walked across the room to the coffeepot on the table in the corner. “Want any coffee?”

“Sure, fix me a cup, please. Black.” Jody pointed to the paper sack. “I brought you a sandwich and some chips.”

“Thanks.” Worth poured two cups of coffee, handed Jody a cup, then sat and held his cup with both hands.

“If you want to shower and shave, you’re welcome to come to my house or—”

“George has already offered to let me stay with Lindsey and him, but I’d rather wait until Faith comes to. I don’t want to leave. Not yet.” Worth sipped on his coffee.

“Sooner or later, you’ll have to leave,” Jody told him. “Faith could stay in a coma for weeks. The doctors don’t know for sure when she’ll come out of it.”

“She squeezed my hand, you know. Last night.”

“Yes, I know, but—” Jody stopped herself before she said something negative. By nature she was a pessimist, so she always expected the worst—of people and of situations. But there was no reason for her to take away Worth’s hope that Faith would recover.

“The local police don’t have enough staff to post an officer here 24/7,” Worth said. “That means I’m not leaving her here unprotected.”

“Unprotected? What are you saying? How is she—? Oh, my God, you think the person who did this to her might come after her here in the hospital.”

“Local TV and newspapers have reported that she’s alive and in a coma,” Worth said. “If this guy thinks she might identify him when she wakes, then he very well could come after her.”

“I’ve been so caught up in Faith’s condition and everything going on here at the hospital that I never thought about…Oh, Worth.”

“The police don’t think we have anything to worry about.” Worth finished off his coffee and set the cup on the table. “The other two victims who survived couldn’t ID the guy. They said they never got a good look at his face because he came up from behind them, knocked them out, then kept them blindfolded and tied up while he—” Worth swallowed hard.

Jody laid her hand on Worth’s arm. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Even if I am a year late?”

“Better late than never. Besides, Faith needs you to be her protector again. From what she told me, you’re very good at the job.” Jody pointed to the sack. “It’s roast beef on whole wheat. Eat up.”

Worth glanced past Jody to the door. Jody followed his line of vision. One of the ICU nurses entered, a wide smile on her face. Nurse Malone.

Worth shot out of his chair. “Has something happened?”

“It most certainly has,” Nurse Malone said. “Faith has come out of the coma. She’s awake.”

Jody let out a deep breath, grabbed Worth and hugged him. Worth lifted Jody off her feet and swung her around several times.

“What’s she saying? How is she?” Jody asked. “Did she ask about Hope? Does she want to see me? Does she remember who attacked her?”

“Dr. Tracy is with her,” the nurse told them. “We’ve telephoned the police to let them know she’s conscious. Right now, Faith seems to be slightly disoriented, but that’s not unusual in cases such as this.”

“When can we see her?” Worth asked.

“Dr. Tracy will come out and speak to y’all after he finishes his examination. I’m sure he’ll allow y’all to see Faith very soon.”

The minute Nurse Malone left, Jody rushed to the pay phone on the wall, then glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll call Lindsey and George, then Margaret. They’ll be so thrilled to hear the good news.”

“I’m sure they’ll want to see Faith,” Worth said. “But you should probably tell them that you’ll call them back after we see Faith and give them an update.”

“Yeah, sure. We can take turns caring for Hope and staying here at the hospital. And with one of us here all the time, you could go home and shower.”

“Do I stink?” Worth grinned.

“No, you don’t stink, but you do look pretty grungy.”

Jody lifted the receiver, but before she could dial the number, Worth clasped her shoulder. She glanced up at him.

“Do me a favor, will you? Tell the others that if after the police talk to Faith, they still don’t post a guard at her door, I want to call in one of my Dundee co-workers to come to Whitewood and share bodyguard duty with me until Faith is released from the hospital.”

“You really are concerned about this guy coming after Faith again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m concerned. And I’ve learned from experience that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Okay, I’ll tell the others. I don’t know what hiring a bodyguard will cost, but together we should be able to cover the expense.”

“I’m picking up the tab,” Worth said. “Faith is my responsibility. I’ll take care of her.”

Jody stared quizzically at Worth. “Is that all Faith and Hope are to you—a responsibility?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell Faith you’ll take care of her because she’s your responsibility. She’d kill me if she thought I told you, but…under these circumstances, I think you should know.”

“Know what?”

“Faith is still in love with you.”

Worth followed Jody into cubicle four. Dr. Tracy had told them Faith appeared to be suffering from temporary amnesia, which was fairly common in patients who had received head traumas similar to hers. He estimated the amnesia would eventually clear up entirely and her memory would return in bits and pieces. His prediction was that within a few weeks Faith should regain most, if not all, of her memory. But in the meantime, she didn’t even know her own name.

Jody neared Faith’s hospital bed. Worth held back, staying just inside the doorway.

“Hi, there,” Jody said. “Dr. Tracy tells me that you’re having a problem with your memory.”

Worth inched a little closer to the bed, close enough so that he could see Faith. Her swollen, bruised eyes were open and she stared at Jody with complete puzzlement.

“Do I know you?” Faith’s voice sounded incredibly weak.

“Oh, Faithie.” Jody swallowed her tears. “I’m Jody Crenson. I’m your best friend. We’ve been buddies since we were kids.”

“Jody? You’re my friend.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve had an accident,” Faith said. “The doctor told me that I’m going to regain my memory and he told me that I had two friends waiting to see me.”

“Yeah, that would be me and Worth.”

“Worth?”

Jody motioned to Worth, then said to Faith. “Yeah, this guy hasn’t left the hospital since they brought you in. He’s been awfully worried about you. We all have.”

As Worth came up beside Jody, Faith asked, “Are you my husband?”

Jody gave Worth a concerned look.

“We aren’t married,” Worth said. “Not yet.”

“You’re my fiancé?”

“Something like that.” Worth reached down and took Faith’s hand. “It’s good to see you awake, Blue Eyes. You’ve been asleep for days.”

“Blue Eyes?”

Worth chuckled. “That’s what I called you when we first met. Well, actually I called you ma’am at first, but once I got a good look at those beautiful blue eyes of yours—”

Faith squeezed his hand. “Your voice seems familiar. I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

“I’ve been talking to you while you were unconscious,” Worth told her. “Maybe you heard me.”

“What—what kind of accident did I have?” Faith looked up at Worth. “Was I in a car wreck?”

“Not exactly, but I don’t think now’s the time for you to worry about that. You just concentrate on getting well and regaining your memory. Don’t worry about anything else. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Because you love me,” Faith’s voice was a mere whisper.

“Yes, because he loves you,” Jody answered for him. “We all love you. The whole family.”

“Family?”

“You’ll meet them later,” Jody said. “There’s George and Lindsey, who are like…well, they’re like your aunt and uncle. Then there’s Margaret. She’s like your…sort of a grandmother to you. And there’s—”

“There’s plenty of time later to talk,” Worth interrupted. Now wasn’t the time to tell a woman who had no memory that she was the mother of an infant. He knew that despite her amnesia, Faith’s maternal instincts were probably undamaged and the minute she heard she had a kid, she’d go nuts worrying about the child.

“Yeah, Worth’s right. You need to rest and get well.” Jody backed away from the bed. “I’m going to call the family and give them a current update.”

Worth stayed with Faith, her little hand wrapped securely in his grasp. “You’re going to be all right and your memory will return. I know it has to be frightening for you, but trust me to take care of everything. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“I’m so tired,” Faith said. “And I hurt. I ache all over.”

“I’ll see if they can up the dosage on your pain medication.”

When Faith grasped Worth’s hand tightly, he was amazed by her strength. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me.”

He leaned over and gently kissed her bruised forehead. “I’ll stay right here until the nurses run me out.”

Someone behind him cleared their throat. Worth glanced over his shoulder and recognized Nurse Malone and Detective Rollins standing in the doorway.

Chapter 4

“Dr. Tracy said that I could speak with Ms. Sheridan,” Detective Rollins said.

“He’s allowed five minutes.” Nurse Malone followed the policeman into the room. “I’m to stay with him while he questions her.”

Faith clung tenaciously to Worth’s hand. “Why do the police want to question me? Is it about the accident?”

Worth could see not only the fear and uncertainty in Faith’s eyes, but he could sense how nervous and upset she was. “Don’t worry. Remember that I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Worth eased Faith’s hand from his, then turned to meet Detective Rollins.

“Would you mind stepping outside, Mr. Cordell?” the policeman asked.

“Yes, I would mind,” Worth replied. “I’m sure you’ve been told that Faith has amnesia. She’s not going to be able to tell you anything. Not now.”

“I understand, but I need to speak with her all the same.” Rollins was somewhere in his late thirties, with a short, stocky frame, dark hair and mustache and a professional manner about him. “If you want to stay, Cordell, it’s fine with me.”

Rollins came forward, Nurse Malone at his side. Worth rounded the foot of the hospital bed and took a stand. Faith’s gaze sought and found his. He offered her a supportive smile and when she returned his smile, an odd sensation hit him square in the gut. Faith didn’t remember him, didn’t know him at all, yet on some instinctive level, she trusted him. It was as if her subconscious recognized him as her protector.

“Ms. Sheridan, I’m Jerry Wayne Rollins, a detective with the Whitewood police department and I need to ask you a few questions.”

Faith looked to Worth. He nodded. She turned to the detective. “All right.”

“Ms. Sheridan, do you remember what happened to you?”

“You mean the accident?”

“Do you think you had an accident?”

“I don’t know. I—I assumed that since I’m badly injured and in the hospital, I must have…Wasn’t I involved in a car wreck?”

Rollins glanced at Worth. He knew she had to be told, but why now? Couldn’t it wait? It would be different if she could remember anything, but she couldn’t.

Rollins looked to Nurse Malone. “The doctor said it was all right to explain things to her.”

“Yes, it’s all right,” the nurse replied.

“Ms. Sheridan, you weren’t in a car wreck,” the detective said. “You were assaulted, kidnapped and severely beaten.”

Faith’s blue eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Then her gaze collided with Worth’s.

“Worth?” She held out her hand to him. He rushed to her side and took her hand. “Is he telling me the truth? Is that what happened to me?”

“Yes, that’s what the police believe happened,” Worth told her.

“Who would do such a thing to me?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Rollins said. “That’s one reason we were hoping you could remember something…anything that might help us.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.” Faith frowned, a worried expression forming on her face. She glanced around the room nervously, then tried to lift herself into a sitting position.

Nurse Malone rushed to Faith. “Please, don’t move around. You need to lie still and rest.” The nurse turned to Rollins. “Perhaps you should go, Detective. I’m afraid Faith is becoming agitated.”

Worth followed the policeman out into the main area of the ICU.

“Rollins?”

“Yes, Mr. Cordell?”

“Want to fill me in on what’s happening?”

Rollins gave Worth a curious stare. “Such as?”

“Such as why you’re here questioning Faith and not somebody from the Sparkman police department? Why you don’t have a guard posted here at the hospital? Why—”

Rollins held up a restraining hand. “The Sparkman P.D. and the Whitewood P.D. are working together, along with the Greenville P.D. and the state Bureau of Investigation, but since Dr. Tracy informed us that Ms. Sheridan has amnesia, we saw no point in having anyone other than our department do the initial questioning. And at present, we see no need to post a guard. If the Greenville Slayer is the one who attacked Ms. Sheridan, then she’s probably safe. He’s made no attempt to harm either of the other two women who survived his brutal attacks. Not while they were recovering or since.”

“You’re taking a chance with Faith’s life on the assumption he won’t seek her out while she’s here at Memorial. I’m not willing to risk it. Either I or another agent from Dundee’s will stay near Faith 24/7 while she’s in the hospital.”

“That’s fine with me, Mr. Cordell. She’s your girlfriend and you feel a need to act protective. My job is to do all in my power to find the guy who nearly killed her. If she can remember anything about what happened to her, it might help us.”

“When her memory starts coming back, we’ll be in touch.”

Before the detective was out of sight, Worth heard Faith calling his name. Repeatedly. He rushed back into cubicle four to find Nurse Malone physically restraining Faith.

“Please, see if you can do something with her,” the nurse said. “If you can calm her, I won’t have to give her a sedative.”

Worth all but shoved the nurse aside as he leaned over Faith’s bed. She reached for him, one slender arm hooked up to tubes and wires. With the utmost tenderness, Worth encompassed her fragile body in his embrace as he jerked the side rail down and sat on the edge of the bed. Lying there, cuddled against his chest, her fast, erratic breathing began to slow and return to a steady rhythm.

“Don’t leave me,” Faith pleaded.

Worth rubbed his chin across her temple then kissed the top of her head. “I’ll stay right here with you, if you promise you’ll relax and rest.”

“I promise.”

Worth’s gaze connected with Nurse Malone’s, who smiled and nodded, then left the room. When she returned fifteen minutes later, Faith was asleep, cocooned in Worth’s arms.

A week later Worth sent Domingo Shea back to Atlanta. The Dundee agent had swapped out twelve-hour shifts with Worth during Faith’s hospital stay, but today Faith had been dismissed from Memorial. Her cuts were beginning to heal and the bruises had faded to pale yellow. The doctors had told Worth and Faith’s “family,” it was a miracle that neither of her legs or arms had been broken, only her nose, considering the severity of her beating. She had suffered several cracked ribs, which were also healing nicely.

While the nurse’s aide wheeled Faith out to the canopied hospital entrance, Worth pulled his rental car to a stop, hopped out and rounded the hood. He and the aide filled the back seat with the flowers Faith had received once she’d been moved from ICU to a private room. Then Worth swept Faith up in his arms and placed her in the front seat of the car. After securing her seat belt, he thanked the nurse’s aide, then returned to the driver’s side.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“I don’t even remember where home is,” she said. “But yes, I think I’m ready.”

“Everyone’s going to be there,” he told her. “By everyone I mean—”

“Jody and Margaret and Lindsey and George.”

“You’ve memorized their names.”

“Yes, and I can put each name to a face. They’ve been visiting me every day since I came out of the coma.”

Worth pulled onto the street and headed toward downtown Whitewood. The family had agreed that Faith should be told about Hope before she came home and Worth had decided that since he was Hope’s father, it was his place to tell Faith about their child. It had been a unanimous decision to wait until Faith had recovered to some degree before telling her that she was a mother.

“You’re going to stay with me, aren’t you?” Faith asked.

“Yes, I’m staying. We’ve been over that several times, haven’t we? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, Worth, but for some reason I can’t get over this irrational fear that you’re going to leave me.”

Was her reaction simply gut instincts or was it a hint of returning memory? Worth wondered. Right now Faith depended on him, needed him, wanted him. But how would she feel once her memory came back and she realized he wasn’t the knight in shining armor she thought he was? He had taken her virginity, gotten her pregnant and hadn’t shown up for the most important date of her life.

Worth pulled the Camry into Faith’s driveway and killed the motor, then turned to her. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Something bad? I’m not sure I want to hear anything else bad. It’s been difficult enough coming to terms with the fact that someone nearly beat me to death and that this person might be a serial killer called the Greenville Slayer.”

“This isn’t bad news,” Worth assured her. “It’s actually good news.”

Faith cocked her head to one side and smiled. “If it’s good news, why do you look so somber?”

“Jody and the others have planned a welcome home party for you. Nothing elaborate, just them and us and…” Worth reached out and caressed her cheek. “There’s someone else in your life, someone very important.”

“I don’t understand.” Faith’s nose crinkled when she frowned. “Jody told me that my parents are dead, that I have no brothers and sisters, that she and I grew up at the Whitewood Girls’ Ranch. Is this important person another friend, someone who couldn’t come to the hospital to see me?”

“No, not exactly. You see…you have a…we have a…Hope is our child. She’s four months old and—”

“I have a baby? I’m a mother?”

“Yeah. Her name is Hope.”

“And she’s our child? Yours and mine? She was born four months ago and we aren’t…we didn’t get married? Why didn’t we marry?”

“It’s a long story and we’ll eventually get around to it,” Worth said. “But for now, you need to know that there’s a baby in there waiting for her mama, waiting for you.”

“Oh. I—I can’t believe I have a child and I don’t even remember her. What sort of mother am I?”

“You’re a good mother. The best. It isn’t your fault that you’re suffering from temporary amnesia.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if it is temporary.” Faith sighed heavily. “It’s been over a week since I came out the coma and so far, I don’t remember anything.”

“Not consciously, but I think you do remember a few things subconsciously. Not memories exactly, but feelings.”

“What if when I see my child, I don’t feel anything? What if I don’t feel like a mother? She’ll know. She’ll sense it and…Oh, Worth, I’m scared.”

“I’m pretty scared myself,” he admitted. “You see, Faith, I don’t know our daughter and she doesn’t know me. I haven’t been around since she was born, so I’ll be getting to know her for the first time.”

“You weren’t with me when she was born?”

Worth shook his head.

“Where were you?”

“You and I had ended our relationship before you found out you were pregnant with Hope.” Worth knew that he owed it to Faith to be as honest with her as he could be, without undermining her confidence and trust in him. “I got it in my head that you were better off without me, so I did what I thought was best for both of us.”

“You told me about how we met in Subria, when I was working as a nanny for a billionaire’s daughter and how you were part of the rescue party who freed me. Was that when our daughter was conceived, when we were in Subria?”

Worth nodded.

“But we barely knew each other. Somehow it doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’m not the sort of woman who’d go to bed with a man I just met and I wouldn’t have a child without a husband.”

“That’s exactly the kind of woman you are—the good girl kind who gets married first,” Worth told her. “But when we were hiding out in Subria, waiting for the rescue chopper, we both knew we might not make it out alive. We had sex…made love because we thought it might be our last night on earth.”

“We didn’t love each other?”

Worth couldn’t bear the look of disappointment and regret in Faith’s big blue eyes. “Maybe not then, but later…”

“Later we fell in love?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“But you didn’t know I was pregnant and you left me because you thought I was better off without you?”

“Yeah.”

“And we have a baby together and you’ve come back because…” She glared at him. “When did you come back?”

“What difference does it make when I came back? I’m here now and I’m staying to take care of you and Hope.”

Worth caught a glimpse of the front door to Faith’s apartment easing open. Jody peeped outside.

“They’re waiting for you,” he said. “Are you ready for your homecoming party?”

“I thought I was, but…What if I don’t remember how to take care of a baby?”

“You won’t be alone. I’ll be here and Jody lives next door and Lindsey and Margaret are only a few blocks away. We’ll manage. After all, how difficult can it be to take care of one four-month-old baby?”

Worth got out of the car, lifted Faith into his arms, and carried her up the sidewalk, onto the porch and through the open front door. Jody closed the door behind them, then followed them into the living room. Margaret sat on the sofa, Hope in her lap. Lindsey and George hovered in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

“Welcome home,” they all called out in unison as Worth seated Faith on the sofa beside Margaret.

Everyone held their breaths as Faith studied Hope, looking her over from curly red hair to pink booties. When Faith held open her arms to her child, a collective sigh reverberated throughout the room. Hope gurgled and gooed when Faith took her and held her.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Faith looked from one person to another and each person smiled and said that yes, Hope was the most beautiful baby in the world. “She looks like you.” Faith’s gaze rested on Worth, who stood only a few feet away. “She has your eyes, your chin and…” Faith wound one of Hope’s red curls around her finger. “Was your hair this color when you were a baby?”

Worth grinned. “Yeah, it stayed that color until I was about ten, then it started turning darker.”

“Hello, Hope, my precious baby,” Faith said. “I wish I could remember you. I wish I could…” Tears gathered in the corners of Faith’s eyes.

“Hey, we’ve got supper ready,” Lindsey said. “And for dessert there’s ice cream and a cake. Anybody hungry?”

“Why don’t we go ahead and put the food out?” Margaret suggested as she rose from the sofa. “Then we can make ourselves scarce for tonight. I think Faith and Worth and Hope need some time alone.”

“No, please, y’all don’t have to leave,” Faith said. “I’m sorry if I’m not making y’all feel welcome. It’s just that I—”

“It’s okay, Faithie,” Jody said. “It’s going to take you time to adjust. Having a houseful of people on your first evening home was probably a bad idea. Margaret’s right—you need some time alone with Worth and Hope.”

“We’ll be nearby if you need us,” George said.

Suddenly everyone disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Worth and Faith alone with their child. Worth sat beside Faith.

“Lindsey left us a to-do list,” Worth said. “Things like how to fix Hope’s bottles, her regular nap times, her pediatrician’s phone number. Stuff like that.”

“How could I have forgotten this precious child?” Faith hugged her daughter to her and Hope grasped a strand of Faith’s long, dark hair.

Worth put his arm around Faith and pulled her to his side. “You’ll remember her. If not tomorrow or the next day, then soon.”

“What if I never—”

“Dr. Tracy said it’s temporary. You might not ever remember all the details about your attack, but you will regain almost all your memory. Just give it time, Blue Eyes, and it’ll come back to you.”

“I don’t know why, but when you call me Blue Eyes, I get a funny feeling. It’s almost as if I can remember that I liked your calling me that.”

The foursome emerged from the kitchen. When Worth started to stand, George motioned for him to stay put.

“Supper’s warming in the oven,” Lindsey said. “There are four bottles already prepared and in the refrigerator.”

“We’re heading out now,” Jody said. “Remember, I’m right next door, if you need me.”

Their company left in a whirlwind and when they were gone, utter silence filled the apartment. Then suddenly Hope began whimpering.

For a split second, Worth wanted to call the others back, to ask them not to leave him. What the hell did he know about taking care of a woman recovering from severe injuries and a helpless little baby? Heaven help him, he was out of his element playing nursemaid and daddy.

“She’s hungry,” Faith said as she loosened her robe and began unbuttoning her gown. She stopped abruptly, her hand hovering over her left breast. “Did I breast-feed Hope?”

“Yeah, I believe you did.”

“But I don’t have any milk. It must have dried up when I was in the hospital.”

“I’ll get her a bottle.” Worth jumped up and headed for the kitchen. His heart beat ninety to nothing. What was wrong with him? Why was he letting one fragile, petite woman and one tiny baby scare the hell out of him? He’d taken care of wounded comrades, had rescued people in great danger, administered first aid when a medic wasn’t available. He’d been a Ranger, a tough guy through and through. Why did the thought of being totally responsible for Faith and Hope put the fear of God into him?

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Just do what you have to do. He couldn’t deal with the reasons that were staring him right in the face. Emotions were a weakness he hadn’t allowed himself since he’d been a kid. Caring about somebody meant risking being hurt and rejected. He had to find a way to take care of Faith and Hope without getting in over his head in some touchy-feely quagmire of sentimental feelings.

Chapter 5

With each passing day Faith regained her strength, but Worth insisted she not overdo. Lindsey, Jody and Margaret took turns bringing over home-cooked meals, so all Worth had to prepare was their breakfast each morning. He’d become a whiz at scrambled eggs and toast. He did all the chores, even though Faith kept insisting she could help. Keeping the apartment clean and the laundry done had been a piece of cake compared to caring for Hope. It hadn’t taken him more than twenty-four hours to realize a four-month-old needed something almost continuously. He’d lost track of how many disposable diapers they’d been through in five days, how many bottles Hope had gulped down and how many miles he had walked holding her in his arms, usually in the middle of the night.

With a towel wrapped around his waist and tucked into his jeans, Worth stood at the sink, one hand supporting Hope’s back while the other maneuvered a small washcloth over her soft, chubby body. She gurgled and laughed and slapped at the water in which she sat. Worth had learned the hard way that when giving Hope her bath, he’d better prepare himself for a bath, too. Her plump, dimpled hand reached for the yellow rubber duck that he’d discovered was a necessity during bath time. As he rinsed his daughter with lukewarm water, he wondered if all infants loved water the way Hope did. His little girl was definitely part fish.

“Need any help?” Faith stood in the bathroom doorway.

“Hey, there, Mommy.” Worth glanced at Faith and smiled. “We’re almost finished here. How about getting our towel for us?”

Faith lifted the folded hooded towel from the vanity, opened it and held it for Worth. He slipped Hope’s head into the hood then wrapped her in the terry cloth and handed her to Faith.

“Can you manage her okay? She’s a chunk.”

“She weighed nine pounds when she was born,” Faith said as she took her child and carried her into the bedroom.

Worth let the water out of the sink, dried off the vanity and set the rubber duck back in the mesh bag of bath toys hanging on the wall. When he joined mother and daughter, Faith had Hope lying on the bed with a diaper on and was struggling with the wiggling infant as she tried to pull on her one-piece pajamas.

Worth placed his hand on Faith’s shoulder. “Do you realize you just remembered something else?”

“I did, didn’t I? I remembered Hope weighed nine pounds when she was born.” Faith sighed. “My memory is coming back in bits and pieces, not whole chunks. I recall unconnected, independent facts and incidents.”

Worth squeezed her shoulder. “But every day you seem to recall more and more of these tidbits. Pretty soon those whole chunks of memory will return.”

“I hope so.” Faith managed to finish dressing Hope, then sat on the edge of the bed and placed Hope in her lap. “I’ve started keeping a list.” She nodded to the dressing table under the double windows across the room. An ink pen lay atop an open notebook. “Every time I remember something, I write it down.”

“That’s a good idea.” Worth sat beside Faith. “Doing that should help you see how much you’re recovering.”

“It’s odd what I remember and what I don’t. I remember Jody and Margaret, but my memories are of them from years ago. But I don’t remember anything about Lindsey and George. Or you.” When she looked at him with those luminous blue eyes, Worth could not control his reaction. From the first moment he’d looked into her eyes in a country halfway around the world, he’d felt an unbidden attraction and an instant desire to protect her.

“You’ve known Jody and Margaret most of your life. Those memories are returning first.”

Faith shook her head. “I know Dr. Tracy said it wasn’t unusual to remember my childhood first, but I’ve had flashes of memory about more recent events. I remember giving birth to Hope, how much she weighed, how happy I was. And I’m having quick bursts of thoughts. I see myself sitting on a park bench and it’s snowing.”

“I’ll go to the kitchen and warm Faith’s bottle.” Worth rose to his feet. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to remember that night.

“I should ask Jody about it—about my sitting on a bench in the snow—because I hear her voice calling my name while I’m sitting there. I wonder if it’s a real memory.”

“It’s real,” Worth said. “Let’s get Hope down for the night and I’ll tell you what I know about that memory.”

Faith smiled. “All right.”

She smiled more and more often these days; and every time she focused one of those brilliant smiles on him, he wanted to kiss her. Actually, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. After the first time he made love to her, he’d become addicted to Faith; and during their brief affair over a year ago, he’d made love to her several times. But Hope must have been conceived the first time, in the cave where they’d hidden from the Subrian soldiers—the one time he hadn’t used a condom.

In the past year, since they’d said goodbye at the airport in Golnar and she had concocted a plan for them to rendevous at the square in Whitewood on Christmas Eve, Worth had tried to forget Faith. He’d lost track of how many times he had fought the urge to pick up the phone and call her. And each time he had stopped just short of dialing her number. He’d convinced himself that they were better off without each other.

But for now, until she fully recovered, and he was sure she was in no danger from the maniac who had nearly killed her, Worth knew he was needed here. Faith needed him. And so did Hope.

Faith studied Worth Cordell as he laid Hope down in her crib and stood over her, a gentle, loving expression on his face. If only she could remember this man. She must have been very much in love with him. After all, they shared a child. And even without any memories of him or their love affair, Faith felt an undeniable attraction to the big man who took such good care of Hope and her. Every time she looked at him, butterflies fluttered in her tummy. His every word, every deed, every tender touch seduced her.

Not once had he mentioned loving her—now or in the past—but his actions spoke to her heart. He acted like a man in love. Why else would he be here, caring not only for his child, but for his child’s mother? Sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, Faith would catch a glimpse of Worth staring at her, a hungry longing in his eyes. Whenever he touched her, either on purpose or by accident, she felt an instantaneous connection. When she questioned him about why they weren’t married, she sensed his reluctance to discuss any details of their past, so she hadn’t pushed him. Soon enough she would remember everything, or so the doctor kept telling her.

Faith eased up beside Worth and placed her hand on his back. He tensed, then relaxed. It was as if her touch burned him.

“She’s so very precious,” Faith said as she gazed down at her sleeping daughter. “I want to remember everything about her, from the moment I knew I was pregnant.”

Worth slipped his arm around Faith’s waist. “When you do remember, I want you to share those memories with me. I wasn’t around to share them with you.”

Taking the opening he’d given her, Faith asked, “Will you tell me about my memory of sitting on the bench in the snow? There has to be a reason that it seems to be so important to me, some reason that it’s my strongest memory.”

Worth picked up the baby monitor, then led Faith out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind them. When they reached the living room, he set her down on the yellow-and-blue striped sofa sleeper, where Worth slept every night. Before joining her, he placed the monitor on the oak end table to his left, then lifted his arm and spread it out across the sofa back behind Faith’s head.

“When I left Golnar, you returned to your job as the nanny for Phila Constantine, to work out a two-week notice.” Worth lifted his arm off the sofa, then rubbed the tops of his thighs nervously. He purposely avoided making eye contact with her. Faith concluded that what he was going to tell her must be difficult for him. “At the airport in Dareh, Golnar, we said goodbye, but you came up with an idea that would give us both time to think about our feelings.”

“What sort of idea?”

“Actually it was a plan to give me time to sort through my feelings,” Worth admitted. “You were pretty sure of your feelings.”

“I was in love with you,” she said, and realized she knew without a doubt how she’d felt about him. Not exactly a memory, but a certainty coming from an inner past knowledge.

He nodded. “You said that if I—if we decided we loved each other, we’d meet in the Whitewood town square at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. You showed up. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t meet me?”

“No, I…uh…I couldn’t meet you. I’d gotten shot on an assignment and wound up in the hospital. I didn’t regain consciousness until Christmas Day.”

“Then you called me and explained and—”

He shook his head. “No, honey, I decided that Fate had played a hand in my decision, that I’d been right about your being better off without me in your life.”

“You didn’t meet me and you didn’t call me later to explain.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he told her. “I had no idea you were pregnant. If I’d known…I’m sorry, Faith.”

“Was it snowing that night, the night I waited for you?”

“Yeah, Jody said it snowed that night.”

“It must have been very difficult for me. I must have expected you to show up. I had the most wonderful news to tell you, didn’t I?” A vague, cloudy memory surfaced, then gradually became clearer. “I couldn’t wait to go to the square that evening. It was raining, but I didn’t care. I walked from the house to downtown. I knew you’d be there because I believed you loved me as much as I loved you.”

Worth looked directly at Faith. “Are you actually remembering that night?”

“Yes, parts of it. I remember how I felt. I remember being very happy. And I remember the snow. It was terribly cold and I could hear the church bells chime out the hour.”

“You shouldn’t have waited,” he told her.

“But I did wait. I waited and waited, but you didn’t come.” Anger combined with sadness and Faith understood she was experiencing the same emotions she’d felt that night. “I loved you so very much.” Her gaze locked with his. “Did you love me? Did you love me even a little bit?”

“Faith…I…” He sat there beside her, staring at her, his mouth open, but no other words came out.

“No, you didn’t love me, did you? And you don’t love me now. You’re here out of some misguided sense of obligation, not love.”

She felt his rejection as keenly as she’d felt it that night and the pain spread through her at an alarming speed. She didn’t think she could bear sitting here, so near to him, seeing the truth in his eyes.

Faith surged up off the sofa and ran toward the bedroom, then she remembered her sleeping child and turned back toward the kitchen.

Knowing she was going to cry, she didn’t want to risk waking Hope. But before she reached the kitchen door, Worth caught up with her. His big hand clamped down on her shoulder. She froze instantly.

“Faith, please…”

“Please, what?”

When he grasped her shoulders and began turning her to face him, she thought about rejecting him, but something within her succumbed immediately. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Why was it that, if this man had been little more than a stranger to her in the past and was no more than that to her now, she understood him so well? He wanted to say the right things to her, but he was afraid to speak, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and hurt her even more. He might not love her, but he cared. She was important to him—very important—whether he realized it or not.

“All my memories aren’t going to be happy ones,” she told him. “Some of them are bound to hurt me. Especially if…when I remember about the attack. You can’t protect me from the truth.” She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek. “I know you want to protect me, want to cocoon me in some safe place where I can’t ever be hurt again.”

Worth said nothing for a moment, and then, as if giving into some inner struggle, he lowered his head until his lips met hers. Faith held her breath, uncertain and yet expectant. When he kissed her, she responded without giving a thought to the consequences. On some instinctive level, she remembered the feel and the taste of this man. His body heat seeped into her skin; his passion consumed her. Giving herself over to the moment, she dissolved into Worth, becoming one with him as sensation alone dominated their actions.

She could feel everything; all her senses were heightened. His mouth was warm and moist, his kiss powerful and demanding. Her body longed to know his complete possession. Whimpering, she opened her mouth, allowing him admission. His tongue thrust inside like a velvet-tipped hot poker, exploring as it raked softly against the smoothness of the interior. Tingles spiraled upward from her feminine core. Her nipples peaked. Her body pulsated with need.

It had been this way before, this overwhelming desire to be with him. With Worth. Only with Worth. He was the other half of her, a part of her soul.

But he doesn’t love you, a taunting inner voice said.

Yes, he does. Yes, he does! Her heart defended him. He loves me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Suddenly Worth ended the kiss and gently pushed Faith away from him. After taking several deep breaths, he said, “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have let things get out of hand.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I wanted it to happen just as much as you did.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.” He shoved open the kitchen door and held it for her. “How about something to drink? Some tea or cocoa or—”

Faith laid her hand on his chest; he went rigid as a stone statue. “You want to make love to me, don’t you?”

“Faith…”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I want us to make love,” she told him. “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong. All I know is that…I love you. With or without my memory, my feelings are the same. During the time we’ve spent together, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again. Don’t you see, that must mean we’re meant to be together.”

“Faith, honey, you’re not fully recovered, physically, mentally or emotionally. If I took you to bed now, I’d be taking advantage of you.”

She rubbed the palm of her hand over his chest, caressing the cotton material of his sweater, when what she longed to touch was his naked chest. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He lifted her hand from his chest and gently released her.

She smiled to herself. This was the way he’d acted once before…in the cave, when she’d asked him to make love to her. He’d been afraid then, too. Afraid of her.

“I remember,” she told him. “The first time we made love, I asked you and you said no, at least you did in the beginning.”

“You remember?”

She nodded. “Not everything, just how reluctant you were. You were afraid to make love to me then just as you are now. You’re afraid of the way I make you feel, afraid that you might love me.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t build up some imaginary fairy-tale romance around you and me. I’m no Prince Charming, believe me. I’m the last guy a sweet, gentle, loving woman like you needs.”

“Why do you say that?” She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him close, but she sensed his need to keep some physical distance between them.

“Faith, you don’t know me. The real me. You never did. You have no idea what I’m capable of doing. I was a soldier, a special forces soldier. Do you know what that means? I’ve killed people. Men and women…” He swallowed and glanced away, focusing his gaze on the floor. “And children. Do you hear me—on my last assignment for the Rangers, I was part of an ugly battle between our guys and the native rebels. They came at us from all sides—men, women and children, some of them no more than ten or eleven.”

“Oh, Worth, how terrible for you. You’re such a kind man. That type of brutal killing must have been very difficult for you.”

When she reached out to him, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her up against him. “Damn it, Blue Eyes, don’t you understand—I’ve been a hard-ass son of a bitch all my life. I’m a white-trash redneck from Arkansas who knew how to hot-wire a car by the time I was twelve. I’m not good or kind or caring. I’m none of those things.” He cupped her face between his big hands. “But God help me, I want to be. For you. And for Hope.”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” Faith said. “To me you are all those things—good, kind, caring, gentle and loving. Ever since I woke up in the hospital and I saw your face, I somehow knew that as long as you stayed with me, I’d be all right.”

“You see something in me that no one else ever has.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks and then her lips. Sweet, tender kisses, his passion held in check. “Maybe love is blind.”

“I see you perfectly, Worth Cordell. I accept that you have flaws. Everyone does. Just look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he told her. “All I see is how wonderful you are.”

Just when Worth’s lips touched hers again, the doorbell rang. They halted before they actually kissed. Worth groaned, then slowly released her. Feeling slightly unsteady on her feet, she leaned back against the door frame.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Worth said.

She waited for him to get to the door before she walked across the living room and came up a few feet behind him. He turned on the porch light, glanced through the peephole and then opened the door. Detective Rollins stood on her front porch.

“May I speak to you and Ms. Sheridan?” Rollins asked.

“Come on in.” Worth nodded, indicating a welcome.

“Thanks.” Rollins entered the living room; Worth closed the door. “I’ve got some bad news and I wanted to deliver it in person.”

“What kind of bad news?” Faith asked as she inched her way closer to Worth.

“You might want to sit down,” Rollins suggested.

“Oh, God…” Tremors shivered through Faith’s body.

Worth reached out, slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “Out with it. Can’t you see you’re scaring Faith.”

“Sorry, ma’am. It’s just I hate like the devil to have to tell you this.” Rollins inhaled and exhaled deeply. “The Greenville Slayer’s second victim, Gloria Clemmons, who survived the ordeal, just as you did, has been found murdered in her own home.”

“How was she…” Faith’s voice trailed off as tears lodged in her throat.

“Blunt trauma to the head,” Rollins replied.

“Any suspects other than the obvious?” Worth asked.

Rollins shook his head.

“Why would he kill her?” Faith asked. “She couldn’t identify him.”

Rollins stuck his hands in his coat pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “We figure he came back to finish the job.”

“That means…oh, Worth—” Faith buried her face against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “He’s going to come after the other woman who survived, isn’t he? And he’s going to come after me.”

Chapter 6

After Detective Rollins’s visit three days ago, Worth and Faith had discussed the precautions they would take to keep Faith safe, but she had been adamantly opposed to leaving town with Worth. He’d wanted to whisk Faith and Hope out of harm’s way and take them back to Atlanta with him. But in the rational part of his brain, he’d known what Faith had pointed out to him—that if the Greenville Slayer wanted to kill her, he’d find her no matter where she went. Rollins had hinted at using Faith as bait to catch the killer, but Worth had dismissed the idea before the detective had been able to fully explain it to Faith. She had told Rollins that she would seriously consider the idea, but no way was Worth going to let Faith put herself in more danger.

This morning they’d driven into town to finish Christmas shopping and purchase a live Christmas tree. The big day was coming up in less than a week—Hope’s first Christmas. She wasn’t old enough to understand the concept of Santa Claus, but it really didn’t matter. Faith and Worth were knee-deep into the Jolly Old Saint Nick fantasy. They’d practically bought out the local toy store.

This afternoon Worth had gotten up on a ladder and strung white lights across the edge of the front porch roof, as well as around several large shrubs in the front yard. Since Jody was on Christmas holiday break from her job as an elementary schoolteacher, she’d volunteered as a baby-sitter while Worth and Faith put up the tree and decorated it.

Faith stood across the room and surveyed their handiwork. “It’s beautiful. All it needs is the angel on top.” She lifted the tree topper from its cushioned bed in the box, then walked across the room and handed the golden-haired angel to Worth. “When I was a little girl I thought all angels had blond hair and blue eyes.”

Worth leaned down from his perch on the ladder, took the angel in one hand and clutched Faith’s chin with the other. “Some angels have blue eyes and dark-brown hair.”

Coming in from the kitchen, with Hope on her hip, Jody cleared her throat. Faith jumped away from Worth as if she’d been caught doing something naughty.

“Oops. Sorry. Was I interrupting something?” Jody asked.

“Not a thing,” Worth replied. “I was just getting ready to put the finishing touches on the tree.” He placed the blond angel in the flowing white gown atop the tree. “Is she straight?”

“Perfect,” Faith said.

“Hey, I was wondering if y’all want me to order pizza for supper?” Jody asked. “It’s nearly five and I’m starving.”

“Is it that late?” Faith checked her watch. “The day has gone by so fast.” When Faith held out her arms, Hope came to her immediately. “You order the pizza and I’ll fix Hope’s bottle.”

“We like cheese pizza,” Jody said. “What do you like, Worth?”

“Meat Lovers Supreme,” he said. “Order one of each. I can eat a medium all by myself.”

Jody sized him up, from head to toe. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

When Faith disappeared into the kitchen, Worth stepped down off the ladder, folded it and put it away in the closet. Jody lifted the receiver and dialed the phone on the end table by the sofa. While Worth gathered up empty boxes in which Faith stored Christmas ornaments, Jody ordered supper.

Worth picked up the remote, turned on the television to check the local news and weather and laid the remote on the sofa arm. The forecasters had been predicting snow for today, but none had materialized. No snow, sleet or even rain.

“She’s doing great, isn’t she?” Jody plopped down on the sofa by Worth. “She’s regaining more of her memory every day.”

“Yeah, she’s recalling more and more about her past, her friends, Hope and even me. But she still can’t remember anything about the day she was attacked.”

“Maybe it’s better if she never remembers,” Jody said. “It’s not something I’d want to remember.”

“If she could ID her attacker, I’d want her to remember. That guy needs to be stopped before he kills someone else.”

“I know you’re concerned about what happened to that other woman, another of his victims who survived. But Faith has you to protect her. Or is that the problem—are you getting tired of hanging around, playing knight in shining armor?”

“I thought you and I had buried the hatchet,” Worth said. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“I trust you to protect Faith, but I don’t quite trust you not to break her heart again.”

Before Worth could reply, Faith emerged from the kitchen.

“When she finishes her bottle, I need to give Hope a quick bath and change her clothes before we leave.” She handed Hope and her bottle to Worth. “I’ll go get things ready, so when she’s through, bring her into the bathroom.”

“Where are y’all going?” Jody asked.

“We’re taking Hope to the mall this evening to see Santa Claus and get her picture made with him,” Faith replied. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Jody glanced at Worth. “That is unless I’d be a third wheel. After all, a trip to see Santa is sort of a family thing, isn’t it?”

“You’re family. You’re Hope’s Aunt Jody,” Faith said as she headed toward the bedroom.

“Faith’s right,” Worth added. “We want you to come along.”

Suddenly Worth heard the television announcer mention something about the Greenville Slayer, but since he had the sound turned down low on the TV, he didn’t catch exactly what had been said. Readjusting Hope in his arms, he reached for the remote on the sofa arm, then upped the volume for the television. Before focusing his attention on the TV screen, he glanced over the sofa to Faith, who stood dead still by the open bedroom door.

“The Greenville Slayer has struck again and this time it’s another repeat attack,” the announcer said. “Lois Helton, the Greenville cosmetologist, who survived a brutal attack two months ago, and her husband were both shot and killed in their home today. Police estimate the murders occurred around three this afternoon. The police officer guarding Mrs. Helton was critically wounded and is not expected to survive.”

“Oh, God!” Jody gasped.

“He’s killed both women who survived,” Faith said. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes after me.”

Worth checked Hope’s bottle. She’d drunk three-fourths and was still guzzling away. With Hope in his arms, Worth stood and went over to Faith. He looked directly at her, his gaze demanding her eyes to meet his.

“We’ll cancel the trip to see Santa,” Worth said. “Next year, Hope will be over a year old and she’ll enjoy getting her picture made with Santa more than she would have this year.”

Faith nodded. “Does this mean I’m going to be a prisoner in my own house? I’ve been remembering what it felt like to be held captive in that horrible basement in Subria when I was abducted with Phila Constantine last year. It’s a terrible feeling. Not one I want to experience again.”

“I wish I could say that it won’t be necessary to curtail all your normal activities even more than we have already, but we can’t take any chances,” Worth told her. “Not with your life on the line.”

“It’ll be only temporary. Just until the police catch the killer,” Jody said, as she jumped up off the sofa and looked back and forth from Faith to Worth. “And you have a big plus the other women didn’t have—you’ve got your own professional bodyguard right at your side.”

“You’re right on both counts.” Faith reached out and took Hope from Worth. “I am lucky to have my own bodyguard. And this insanity isn’t going to stop until the killer is caught and put behind bars.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Worth said. “Forget it. I won’t let you do it. Do you hear me, Faith?”

Snapping her gaze back and forth from Worth to Faith, Jody asked, “What’s he talking about? What won’t he let you do?”

“The police suggested setting a trap for the killer and using me as bait.” Faith pressed a tender kiss on top of Hope’s head.

Jody gasped. “I’m with Worth on this one. No way, Jose!”

“Can’t you both see that it’s the only way!”

“No it’s not the only way,” Jody said. “You’re getting back more and more of your memory all the time. You’ll probably remember the attack and be able to ID the attacker—tomorrow or the next day or—”

“Or never.” Faith turned away and walked into the bedroom.

“Hell! Do something,” Jody told Worth. “I know Faithie, and when she’s determined, nothing can stop her.”

Worth and Jody followed Faith into the bedroom. She sat down in the white rocker beside Hope’s crib, removed the empty bottle from the baby’s mouth and set it on the floor; then she rocked back and forth as she crooned a soft lullaby.

“You can’t do it,” Jody said.

“Sh—Be quiet,” Faith whispered. “I don’t want to discuss it. My mind’s made up.”

“Then unmake it,” Worth told her. “Think about Hope. Think about your friends…your family.”

“I am thinking about Hope and about my family. You can’t guarantee me that he won’t try to harm Hope. And with your standing between him and me, he could hurt you. This man won’t stop killing until someone stops him.”

“Why does it have to be you?” Jody asked.

“Because I’m the only one left. If I don’t do all I can to stop him, he’ll kill again and again.”

“We need to talk about this before—” Worth said, but was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. “I’ll get it.”

He stormed across the room to the phone on the nightstand, then picked up the receiver. “Cordell here.”

“Mr. Cordell, this is Detective Rollins. I have some more bad news.”

“Yeah, we already know. Your bad news is being broadcast on all the local TV stations.”

“We’re going to send a patrol car to stay outside Ms. Sheridan’s apartment, around the clock, starting tonight,” Rollins said.

“Who is it?” Faith asked.

Worth placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Detective Rollins.”

“Tell him that we’re coming to the police station first thing in the morning to discuss his plan.”

“No, Faith.”

“Yes, Worth.”

After removing his hand from the mouthpiece, Worth said, “Rollins, Ms. Sheridan and I will see you in your office in the morning. She wants to discuss your plan to capture the killer.”

Worth heard Rollins’s indrawn breath, then silence for a couple of minutes. “If she agrees to do this—to put herself directly in the line of fire—I swear to you, Cordell, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

“She’s not doing this unless you agree that I’m part of the team. I want to be there, close by, participating. Not in the background.”

“I believe that can be arranged.”

Worth hung up the receiver, then turned to Faith. “We’ll have to arrange for someone to take care of Hope until this is all over.”

“I can—” Jody said.

“No.” Faith shook her head. “I’ll pack some of her things in the morning and we’ll take her to Lindsey. She can stay with Lindsey and George until…” Faith looked at Jody. “You’re in the apartment next door. If this guy finds out where I live, I don’t want Hope anywhere around here.”

“You’re right,” Jody agreed. “The best place for her is with George and Lindsey.”

The doorbell rang. A collective gasp filled the bedroom, then utter silence.

“You two stay here,” Worth said, then left the bedroom and headed for the front door.

He peered through the viewfinder and saw a teenage boy carrying two boxed pizzas. A relieved sigh swept from his lungs to his lips.

After paying the delivery boy, he carried the pizza into the kitchen, then called out, “Pizza’s here. Let’s eat.”

Worth ate. Jody and Faith nibbled. They tried to engage in idle chitchat, but it took more effort than it was worth to keep up the pretense of a normal evening. At eight, Jody hugged Faith and said good-night. At eight-thirty Faith and Worth gave Hope her bath, then Worth gave her a bottle and rocked her to sleep while Faith showered and got ready for bed.

By nine-thirty Worth was sacked out on the sofa bed in the living room. The latest David Baldacci bestseller he was trying to read wasn’t doing much to help take his mind off the reality of Faith’s situation. He wasn’t Faith’s husband, but did that mean he didn’t have a right to be part of the decision making? He cared about Faith and the thought of her dying scared the hell out of him. Hope needed her mother. Faith’s friends needed her. The whole world needed a kind, caring person like Faith.

And you need her, an inner voice told him. Faith has become very important to you, as vital to you as the air you breathe.

Worth slammed the book shut and tossed it aside, then slid down until his head hit the pillows. After turning out the lamp on the end table, he pulled the covers to his neck and stared up at the dark ceiling. He lay there listening to the quiet sounds of night. Solitude. Loneliness. He felt both, despite being a part of Faith’s life. He had lived with solitude and loneliness since he’d been a kid. When his mother died and his father remarried, he’d been alone. He might have lived with his father and stepmother, but he’d never been a part of their family. The only family he’d ever had was his half sister and he’d lost her years ago. A drug overdose at a wild college party. He hadn’t loved anyone since he lost Norma.

He hadn’t meant to care so much about Faith, but little by little he’d fallen under her spell. And she had turned to him these past couple of weeks for protection and emotional support, just as she’d done when he’d rescued her in Subria. She’d called her feelings love then and she believed herself in love with him now. But Worth had his doubts. Somewhere in that gentle heart of hers she had confused hero-worship with love. Faith needed him; but did she really love him?

And then there was Hope. His daughter. He’d never thought about fathering a child and had been careful to always practice safe sex—except that one time with Faith. Maybe he should regret the fact that he’d gotten Faith pregnant, but how could he? That tiny baby girl had wrapped him around her little finger. Whenever he looked at her, his heart swelled with love. He was glad to be Hope’s father. He loved her and wanted to be a part of her life from now on.

But what about Faith? Admit the truth, he told himself. You want to be a part of Faith’s life, too.

An earsplitting scream surged from the bedroom and reverberated through the house. Worth bounded out of bed and raced toward the bedroom, his only thought was to reach Faith and Hope. Hope’s whimpers burst into gulping cries. With his heart racing like mad, he skidded to a halt when he saw Faith sitting straight up in bed, a look of sheer terror on her face. He rushed to her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She flung her arms around him. “A nightmare. A terrifying nightmare.”

Worth soothed her, stroking her back and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The phone rang. Hope cried louder and louder.

“You get Hope,” Faith said. “I’ll answer the phone.”

When Faith picked up the phone, Worth headed toward Hope’s crib in the corner of the bedroom. As he lifted his daughter into his arms and placed her on his shoulder, he heard Faith reassuring Jody that everything was all right, telling her that she’d simply had a nightmare. Worth walked the floor with Hope, humming to her as he patted her back. His big hand covered her upper torso. She was tiny and helpless—and his. Did every father feel this way—loving, possessive and protective?

In his peripheral vision he noticed Faith get out of bed and head for the bathroom. He laid Hope in her crib and rocked her back and forth until her droopy eyelids closed.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Daddy’s here and everything is all right.” He bent over the crib and kissed his daughter’s forehead. “I need to take care of your mama now.”

He met Faith as she came out of the bathroom, her face moist and her hair slightly damp. “Are you really okay?”

She nodded. “A splash of cold water in my face helped.”

“You should go back to bed and try to rest.”

She crawled into bed, then held out her hand to him. “Stay with me. Please.”

“Faith, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”

She smiled faintly. “I seem to remember your saying something like that once before, or is my memory wrong?”

Worth sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember that night?”

“Most of it. I remember how dark the cave was and how cold I felt…until I curled up to your back. Then I got hot pretty fast.”

“You were a regular hussy.” He reached out and pushed several loose strands of her hair away from her face. “Want to tell me about the dream?”

“He killed me. In my dream, he killed me.”

“Faith…” Worth scooted over in the bed and pulled Faith into his arms. “He’s not going to kill you. Whatever happens, I’ll be there to take care of you.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled close, burrowing her nose against his neck. “How could you have ever thought I would be better off without you?”

“We shouldn’t let this happen again,” he told her, but made no move to release her. “You were afraid of dying that night, when I made love to you for the first time. And now, tonight, you—”

“Hush.” Lifting her head from his shoulder, she placed her index finger over his lips. “I seem to recall that we made love several times after we were rescued. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Those memories are coming back to me now and I know how much I loved you then…and how much I love you now.”

“But Faith…”

She tapped her finger on his lips. “It’s all right. You don’t have to say you love me. For some reason, you find it difficult to say the words. But I know how you feel. Your actions—in the past and in the present—have proven to me how much I mean to you.”

She brought her arms up and around his neck, then pressed her body to his. He couldn’t deny that he cared about her because he did. And he couldn’t turn away from the need he saw in her eyes. She wanted him the same way he wanted her.

He spread kisses in her hair, over her face, down her neck. “I’ll try to be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She sought his mouth, then whispered against his lips. “Don’t hold back. Make love to me the way you did before. I know you won’t hurt me.”

He laid her back into the mattress and came down over her, bracing himself with his knees as he kissed her. The kiss grew hotter, wilder and more intense. They devoured each other, hunger urging them to take everything, to enjoy every millisecond of their passion. Faith’s fingers skimmed his chest with inquisitive touches, acquainting herself with every inch of flesh, every muscle. With unsteady hands, he reached between them and unbuttoned her pajama top, then spread it apart to reveal her small, high breasts. When his lips suckled one tight nipple, she moaned; when he licked and stroked the other nipple, her hips rose off the bed. With her mound pressed against his erection, she wriggled and squirmed, rubbing herself up and down in an enticing manner.

“Keep doing that and I’m going to lose it before I’m inside you,” Worth murmured against her ear, then grasped the waistband of her pajama bottoms and tugged.

She lifted her hips enough for him to easily maneuver the pajamas down her legs and over her feet. As he tossed the pajamas to the foot of the bed, he kissed her again. Deeply. Savagely. And when she gasped for air, he painted a trail from mouth to breasts. She whimpered and writhed beneath him. His tongue slid over her rib cage, down her belly to her navel. She held her breath. He moved southward, pausing at the edge of her triangle of dark hair. When his mouth captured her tenderness, his hands covered her breasts and kneaded, then tweaked her nipples.

Faith keened deep in her throat when his tongue delved and retreated, then delved deeper. He found her most sensitive spot and stroked her, harder and harder, until she clutched his head and held him in place while he finished the job. He felt her body tighten; he worked harder and faster. Faith cried out as her climax splintered through her. While she was in the throes of fulfillment, Worth rose up and over her, took her slender hips in his hands, lifted her and thrust his sex to the hilt within her.

As he hammered into her, seeking his own satisfaction, she clung to him and within minutes began undulating to the rhythm he’d set. When the moment came, his ears rang and his body trembled from the force of his release. But before the pleasure subsided, Faith reached the pinnacle a second time. As the aftershocks rippled through them, Worth fell exhausted into the bed beside Faith, pulled her into his arms and lifted the sheet and comforter to cover them. She snuggled against him.

“I love you,” she whispered a moment before she fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter 7

They dropped Hope by Lindsey and George Dawson’s before heading out to the police station. Worth had done everything in his power to dissuade Faith from offering herself as bait in the police’s trap, but she’d been unmovable in her conviction that it was the only way to regain control over her life. He understood how much that meant to Faith, especially since her captivity in Subria last year. Nothing made a person want to exert control over their life as much as having all power taken from them.

Detective Rollins met them at the door to his office and welcomed them, then ordered coffee.

“Detective MacMillan from Sparkman, Detective Roberts from Greenville and Agent Colter from the state bureau will be working with us on this plan,” Rollins said. “I’m expecting all of them here by ten this morning. I’d rather wait until they arrive before we discuss the details.”

“That’s fine with me,” Faith said. “I—” She glanced at Worth. “We don’t mind waiting.”

“None of us like the idea of using you to lure this guy into our trap,” Rollins said, “but we admit that the law enforcement of three towns and the state of South Carolina are no closer to nabbing the Greenville Slayer now than we were right after the first murder.”

“I intend to play a vital role in any scenario that requires Faith to risk her life.” Worth reached across from his chair to Faith’s and grabbed her hand.

“You’ll have to humor him.” Faith squeezed Worth’s hand. “It’s the only way I could get him to stop fighting me about my decision. If Worth isn’t involved, then neither am I.”

“Your assistance isn’t needed and won’t be appreciated.” Rollins’s gaze met Worth’s. “But I’ve given you my word. I’ll explain to the others that your involvement isn’t debatable.”

“I’m not exactly a civilian,” Worth said. “I know how to conduct myself under dangerous conditions.”

“I had you checked out, Cordell. I know your background.”

One of the police officers brought a tray laden with coffee cups into Rollins’s office and offered a cup first to Faith and then to Worth.

Rollins glanced through the open doorway as he lifted his cup from the tray. “I see our team has arrived a little early.”

Worth and Faith followed Rollins’s line of vision. Three men in plainclothes stood outside the office. Rollins motioned to them.

“Come on in. Ms. Sheridan is already here.”

The threesome entered, Rollins made introductions and once they were seated, Agent Carter laid out a simple yet potentially dangerous plan.

“There’s a good chance this guy is already keeping tabs on Ms. Sheridan,” Carter said. “If he is, he’s aware she’s never alone, that you’re with her at all times and a police car is stationed in front of her apartment.”

“Lois Helton’s husband was with her when she was killed,” Worth reminded them.

“Lois Helton’s husband was sixty-five years old,” Detective MacMillan said. “If this guy’s gotten a good look at you, Cordell, he’s probably been intimidated by your size alone.”

“Bottom line is we have to make it appear that Faith is alone,” Agent Carter said. “It’s probably the only way to bring him out into the open. And we believe if she goes alone to Toddle Town on some pretense, he’ll be less suspicious than he would if it appeared you’d left her alone at her apartment.”

The minute Worth heard the details, his survival instincts kicked in. He didn’t like the sound of it. It wasn’t a bad plan and the odds were they’d catch their guy; but there was a downside—they couldn’t give Worth a hundred percent guarantee they could keep Faith safe.

“You want me to go to Toddle Town alone?” Faith asked.

“We’ll send a policewoman with you,” Detective Roberts said. “She’ll wear street clothes and you two can act like a couple of old friends. We’ll have Toddle Town under surveillance and our men will already be in place when this guy follows you there.”

“What makes you think he’s watching me? And if he is, why do you think he’ll follow me?” Faith looked around the room at each lawman.

“We don’t know for sure, and it might take more than one try for this plan to work,” Rollins explained. “If you’ll go to Toddle Town every day at the same time, stay for say two hours and then go home, it will set up a routine and make our killer less suspicious. If he’s watching you—and the odds are that he is—he might keep tabs on your activities for several days or even a week or so before he strikes. And by setting the trap at Toddle Town, we know it’s a place he’s familiar with. It’s where he abducted you the first time.”

Faith turned to Worth. “What do you think?”

“It’s too dangerous. I don’t like it.”

“Other than that, what do you think? It’s a good plan, isn’t it?”

“If we don’t factor in the possibility that you could get killed, yeah, it’s a good plan.”

Faith looked at Rollins. “When do we start?”

“How about late this afternoon?”

“That soon?” Faith sucked in a deep breath. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Six days until Christmas. On day one, Faith and policewoman Dale Carruthers drove up in Faith’s SUV, parked and headed straight to Toddle Town’s front entrance. They carried on a conversation, both appearing perfectly natural; Faith even managed a realistic-sounding laugh. Once inside, they set about taking down Christmas decorations and straightening up the individual rooms. They spent two hours trying to act as if they weren’t waiting for a killer to strike. Since the high temperature for the day was supposed to be thirty-four, it had been easy enough to hide the bulletproof vests they wore beneath bulky sweaters. SWAT team members were stationed across the street in the upstairs of a dry cleaners and various police officers joined the downtown Christmas crowds on Hickory Avenue. Disguised as a city work crew repairing a broken pipe line, Worth, Rollins and Macmillan stood around in coveralls and thick jackets, their bulletproof vests and their 9 mm weapons well out of sight.

After two hours, Faith and Dale locked the front door and walked to the SUV. No sign of their guy. Five minutes later, the fake work crew got in a city truck and drove away. Worth didn’t like the fact that there would be a good fifteen minute interval when he wouldn’t be with Faith. He knew that Officer Carruthers was well trained to defend Faith, but his gut instincts warned him that no one, not even the entire SWAT team, could protect Faith the way he could. Hell, it wasn’t personal to anyone else.

And the fact that it was personal for him was as much a disadvantage as an advantage. The minute he saw Faith in imminent danger, not only would his trained instincts kick in, but so would his natural emotional instincts. It was as basic as the fact he would be protecting his woman and not a client.

Day two came and went in pretty much the same manner as day one, without even a hint of their killer being in Whitewood, let alone him following Faith.

Day three. Saturday. Another no-show. Tensions mounted for everyone involved. Worth could see how nervous Faith was and how valiantly she tried to hide it. They took a day off on Sunday. Worth attended church with Faith and Hope, which was a strange event for him. He hadn’t been inside a church since his mother died when he was six. After church they ate lunch at the Dawsons’, joined by Margaret and Mr. Tippins, as well as Jody and Jody’s on-again/off-again boyfriend, Tommy Kenyon. Old Horace, the Dawsons’ beagle, slept soundly in front of the fire the entire time.

Later on at home, while Hope took a late afternoon nap, Worth made slow, sweet love to Faith. Although Hope had stayed with Lindsey for the past few days, Worth and Faith decided to bring her home with them today. Each moment they shared together as a family became more precious with each passing day. Tomorrow afternoon, they would return Hope to the Dawsons. Three days of nerve-racking waiting had taken a toll on both Faith and Worth. He wasn’t sure how much longer either of them could endure the uncertainty.

In the aftermath of lovemaking, they lay in bed together, naked and sated. Worth idly stroked Faith’s slender hip.

“I remember so much about my life,” Faith said. “Almost everything.”

“But not the attack?”

“I remember everything that day, up to when I locked the door to Toddle Town and walked toward the parking area. Then it’s all a blank until I woke up in the hospital.”

“What about everything before then—from your childhood up to that day?”

“I still have a few holes in my memory, but not many. It’s odd, but I still can’t recall everything about the night I waited for you in the square. I remember going to the square. I can hear the church bells and even see the snow, but I don’t remember leaving the square and going home. I’ve lost several days there, maybe even a week or so. I remember being in the hospital after Christmas. I think I had pneumonia. Is that right?”

“Didn’t Jody tell you about—”

“Jody told me she thought it was best if I waited for my memories to return instead of her filling in the blanks.”

Worth pulled Faith to him and kissed her. “Jody’s right. Give it a little more time. You’ll remember.”

He hoped she never remembered all the details of the night she had waited for him for four hours. He couldn’t bear the thought of her experiencing that kind of emotional pain again. If her memories of that night remained vague, he knew that sooner or later, he’d have to tell her. But selfishly, he wanted it to be later. A part of him feared that when she recalled all the details, she would hate him and not be able to forgive him for disappointing her.

Three days to Christmas. Faith spent Monday morning wrapping presents and trying her best to pretend her life was normal. She’d put on a CD of All Time Favorites and the mellow voice of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” filled her apartment. The aroma of gingerbread cookies baking in the oven wafted out of the kitchen and a spicy scent permeated the air. Worth sat on the pallet on the living room floor with Hope, watching her waver back and forth as she shook the rattle in her hand. Faith loved seeing Worth with his daughter; she could tell by his every action that he adored their child. But her big, strong, macho guy couldn’t put his feelings into words. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that Worth loved them. Even if he didn’t know it yet; even if it took him a while longer to come to terms with emotions alien to him.

Worth lifted Hope into his arms and stood, then walked over to the sofa where Faith sat with a gift box half-wrapped in bright-red paper. “If this afternoon’s stint at Toddle Town is a bust, I want you to put an end to it. We’ve all given it our best shot. This guy has eluded the law for months now, which means he’s not stupid. He’s probably suspicious about why I’m letting you go to Toddle Town every day without me.”

“We can’t give up.” Faith clipped off a piece of tape and used it to secure the folded edges of her package. “Today could be the day he shows up. Or tomorrow.”

“Or next week or next month? Honey, you can’t keep doing this day after day. It’s going to wear you down.”

“What’s our alternative?”

“I get Dom Shea back here and we keep you and Hope under guard 24/7 until the police nab this guy.”

Faith placed the wrapped gift atop the stack she’d made in the floor in front of the sofa. “For how long? We can’t live that way indefinitely. Besides, I’m not doing this just for myself, you know. I’m putting myself out there as bait so we can stop this lunatic before he kills another woman.”

Suddenly a loud singsong siren went off. Faith stilled instantly. A smoke detector. The kitchen? Were the cookies burning? Then she realized it wasn’t her smoke detector. The sound wasn’t loud enough.

“That must be Jody’s smoke detector,” Faith said. “You’d better go check it out. I’m pretty sure she spent the night with Tommy last night and probably isn’t home yet.”

“You stay here.” Worth handed Hope to Faith. “I’ll check it out. Where’s your key to Jody’s apartment?”

“I don’t have a key,” Faith said. “Jody keeps an extra taped to the back of the wreath on the front door.”

“I’ll have to talk to her about leaving a key where just anybody could find it.” Worth went to the closet, got his jacket, then checked the pocket for his Glock. After slipping into the jacket, he headed for the door. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it to anyone except me. Not even Officer Deloney out there.” Worth nodded to the unmarked vehicle across the street.

“Do you think—”

“I don’t think anything in particular,” he told her. “Just lock the door.”

As soon as Worth went outside, she closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Well, Miss Sweetie Pie, let’s go check on those cookies while your daddy’s gone.”

Faith entered the kitchen, placed Hope in her bouncy seat in the middle of the table, then picked up her oven mitts and put them on. Just as she bent over to open the oven door, she heard a loud crash. Her first thought was that Worth had broken something next door. Gasping, she jerked around to check on Hope. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of the back door to her apartment. Something had shattered the glass pane.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Faith dashed toward Hope, grabbing her, just as a hand reached through the empty space where the glass had been. The gloved hand twisted the doorknob. They kept the door dead-bolt locked and the key was on the kitchen counter. With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Faith started to run toward the living room. A gunshot rang out. A bullet whizzed over her head and entered the wall. Faith dropped to her knees, cradling Hope in front of her. Another shot ripped into the floor not a foot from Faith. She began crawling on her knees, trying to place herself out of the shooter’s line of vision.

Worth stood in Jody’s kitchen gazing at the open back door when he heard the crash. He was halfway out the door when he heard the gunshots. Damn! Racing outside onto the back porch, his thoughts jumbled with fear, recriminations and pure rage, Worth saw the man shooting through the broken pane in Faith’s back door. Then he heard the scream! His blood ran cold. Faith screaming in agony.

Worth pulled out his Glock, prepared himself for battle and charged. The guy spun around, his eyes wild as he scowled at Worth.

“You’re too late. She’s dead,” the gunman said. “And you’re next.”

An evil, crazed grin spread across the guy’s face as he pointed his pistol at Worth. Thank you, Worth thought. Thank you for making it so easy for me to kill you, you son of a bitch!

Before the killer got off another shot, Worth aimed and fired. The bullet hit the guy right between the eyes. He reeled backward and fell onto the porch in a dead heap. Worth barely glanced at him as he rushed past and into the house. When he saw Faith sprawled out on the floor, facedown, his heart stopped.

No, please, God, no!

He ran across the room, dropped down on his haunches and grasped Faith’s shoulder. She grunted, then rolled over, Hope still secure in her arms. Hope yelled at the top of her lungs.

“Where are you hit?” Worth asked. “Just lie still. I’ll call 911.”

“I’m all right. I don’t know how he kept missing me, but he did. He didn’t shoot me.” Faith held Hope out to Worth. “Take her while I stand up.”

A sense of unparalleled relief washed over Worth, a tidal wave of thankfulness. With one hand he lifted Hope up and braced her on his hip, then reached down, grabbed Faith’s arm and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped mother and daughter in his arms.

Officer Deloney came running around the side of the house, his pistol drawn. The minute he saw the dead man sprawled out on the porch, he skidded to a halt.

“Is everybody okay?” Deloney asked.

“We’re safe,” Faith said as she clung to Worth. “Finally, we’re safe.”

Chapter 8

The police, an ambulance and a fire truck showed up after Officer Deloney put in a 911 call. Before the first emergency vehicle pulled into the driveway, every neighbor within two city blocks showed up in the yard. Although Faith insisted she was perfectly fine, Worth demanded she allow the paramedics to check her.

“Really, Worth, I’m all right,” Faith insisted, but her voice quivered slightly. If Worth didn’t have his arm around her waist, she wasn’t sure she could stand.

“Either you let them check you out or I’m taking you straight to the hospital right now.” She gazed up at Worth and realized how deadly serious he was. His tense, strained expression told her he was fighting to control his emotions.

Worth kept gently jostling Hope in an effort to soothe her. Her yelping cries had softened to sobbing whimpers.

“All right,” Faith agreed. “But first, let me sit down before I fall down.”

George and Lindsey Dawson came rushing in the back door, allowed entrance by their nephew, one of Whitewood’s policemen.

“Merciful heavens,” Lindsey said. “Are y’all okay?” She glanced from Faith to Hope to Worth. “Give me that baby and you see to Faith. She looks like she’s about to keel over.”

Without hesitation Worth handed his daughter to her honorary grandmother, then caught Faith in his arms just as she swooned in a faint.

“Damn,” Worth cursed under his breath.

“Poor thing,” George said. “She’s been through so much. That child deserves nothing but happiness for the rest of her life. Nobody should have to experience so much tragedy in one lifetime.”

Worth turned to the two paramedics standing in the kitchen. “I’ll put her in the ambulance and ride along with y’all. And I’d suggest we get going before she comes to.” He turned and looked at Hope nestled securely in Lindsey’s loving arms. “Take care of—”

George slapped his hand down on Worth’s back. “No need to tell us to take good care of Hope. We’ll bring her on to the E.R. and wait with you until the doctor checks Faith out.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what Faith and Hope would do without you two.”

Worth carried Faith through the house and out onto the front porch. Suddenly the throng of neighbors congregated in the yard quieted and every eye focused on them. Inquiries buzzed from various lips. “Is she all right? Was she shot? What can we do to help? We’ll pray for her. We care so much about Faith.”

Just as one of the paramedics opened the back doors to the ambulance, a sleek, silver sports car skidded to a halt on the street in front of the duplex. Jody jumped out of the Corvette and flew across the yard, parting the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.

“Faith, Faith, Faith!” Jody screamed. “Oh, God, Worth, what happened? Is she—?”

“She’s all right,” Worth said. “She fainted. I think she may be suffering from a mild case of shock. We’re taking her to the E.R. to get checked out. Lindsey and George are bringing Hope.”

“What the hell happened?” Jody asked, her voice tinged with hysteria.

One of the paramedics interrupted. “Sir, we’re ready to go.”

Worth crawled into the back of the ambulance, laid Faith on the gurney, sat beside her, then looked back at Jody. “Get Tommy to bring you to Memorial and I’ll fill you in on the details. But don’t worry about the guy who tried to kill Faith. He’s dead.”

Jody’s mouth gaped open. “Oh. You—you—?”

“Yeah,” Worth replied just as a paramedic closed the ambulance door.

When the ambulance was only minutes from her apartment, Faith roused and looked up at Worth. “Where’s Hope…what—?”

When she tried to sit up, Worth grasped her shoulders, forcing her to stay put. “Lie still, Blue Eyes. Hope’s fine. She’s with Lindsey and George. You’ve had quite a scare. You need to relax and stay calm.”

“Me?” Faith smiled. “Worth Cordell, you’re the one who needs to relax and stay calm.”

“I am perfectly calm,” Worth said through clenched teeth.

“No, you’re not, so don’t try to lie to me. I can see the expression on your face and in your eyes. I know you well enough to be able to read what those brown eyes of yours are saying.”

“Damn it, Faith, what do you expect? I’m not going to fall apart on you just because I’m still shaking like a leaf inside. When I realized there was no fire in Jody’s apartment, that somebody had gotten into her place and set off the alarm as a distraction to get me away from you—” Worth clutched his knees tightly as he leaned over the stretcher on which Faith lay. “If anything had happened to you…” He swallowed hard and glanced away.

Hope lifted her hand and laid it atop his on his knee. “You saved me…again. It seems to be your fate to be my hero. I guess I’m just one of those women who needs her own personal protector.”

Worth gazed deeply into Faith’s blue, blue eyes. He’d never cared as much for another human being as he did Faith and the intensity of his emotions scared him. He’d never been in love, not really. Just a teenage infatuation that had gone bad. He wasn’t sure he knew what being in love was all about. What he felt for Faith was the most powerful emotion he’d ever known. Possessiveness, protectiveness and a huge dose of pure male lust. When he was near her, he wanted to look at her, touch her, taste her, absorb her. No matter how many times he made love to her, he wanted her again. He realized that he could never get enough of her. But was what he felt real love? Hell, if it wasn’t, it was the closest thing to love he’d ever felt.

“You’ve gotten awfully quiet,” Faith said as she lay there looking up at him. “You’re not worrying about me, are you?”

“Just thinking,” he replied.

“About what?”

“About us.”

“Oh.”

“Be quiet and rest until we get to the hospital. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.” When she nodded, Worth took her hand in his. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“As long as you’re with me.”

A tinge of uncertainty alerted Worth to his deepest fears. Did Faith love him or was she mistaking her need for a protector with genuine love?

In less than ten minutes the paramedics unloaded Faith and carried her into the emergency room at Memorial Hospital. Worth followed, staying as close to Faith as possible. By the time the doctor had given Faith a clean bill of health, Jody and Tommy, Lindsey and George, with Hope, as well as Margaret had arrived at the E.R. and were congregated in the waiting area.

“I’m perfectly all right,” Faith announced as she held out her arms for Hope.

“That’s just what we wanted to hear,” Margaret said.

When Faith brought Hope close and kissed her rosy cheeks, Worth put his arm around Faith.

“Y’all are coming home with us,” George said. “We’ve got plenty of room in our big old house and we can go get anything you need from the apartment.”

“Oh,” Faith sighed. “I guess we can’t go home right now, can we? Do you suppose the police are still there?”

“They might be,” Worth said. “But even if they aren’t, there’s no way we’ll be going back to that apartment.”

Faith shivered. “You’re right. I don’t think I can ever go back into the kitchen without thinking about…”

“Let’s get you to the house,” Lindsey said. “I have a nice pot roast cooking and I made a fresh sweet potato pie this morning.”

George chuckled. “My wife thinks all of life’s problems can be solved with a good, hardy meal.”

Lindsey glanced around at Margaret, Jody and Tommy. “Y’all are invited to come to supper, too. After a day like this, we should all be together.”

An odd sensation seeped through Worth, a bittersweet realization that for the first time since he’d been a small child, he was part of a family. Faith’s family. And he didn’t want to lose that good feeling, didn’t want to lose Faith and Hope.

Faith doesn’t need you now, an inner voice reminded him. She got along for the past year without you and if you left today, she’d get by just fine. But what about Hope? Every child needs a father. But he couldn’t use Hope as an excuse to remain in Faith’s life.

“What are we waiting for?” Margaret asked. “I’ve got my car here. Faith, you and Worth and Hope can ride with me.” She turned to George. “Get Hope’s car seat for me.”

In no time at all the entire group arrived at the Dawsons’ home. Cars lined their driveway. Faith was seated in a big recliner in the den and Hope stayed in her mother’s lap while the other ladies put supper on the table. Just as George brought Worth and Tommy a bottled beer apiece, Detective Rollins showed up at the front door and asked to speak to Worth.

Worth stayed in the foyer, keeping his voice low during their brief conversation.

“We’ll need you to come down to the station. Later tonight if possible,” Rollins said. “There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that you killed the guy in self-defense, but—”

“I understand,” Worth replied. “I’ve been through this before. In my profession, being willing to kill to protect a client is part of the job.”

“How’s Faith doing?”

“Truth be told, I think she’s doing better than I.”

Rollins nodded. “It’s rough on a man to see the woman he loves at risk. Thank God you were there with her.”

Worth walked the detective out to his car, then joined the others in the dining room for a late supper.

“We’ll all have Christmas here,” Lindsey said. “George and I will bring your gifts from your place over here and put them under our tree tomorrow.”

“This is Hope’s first Christmas, so I want everything to be perfect,” Faith said.

Margaret patted Faith’s hand. “We’ll make sure the day is perfect for Hope.”

Worth noted that Faith hadn’t touched her meal. She had simply moved the food around on her plate. She was such a tiny thing, slender and delicate. Something in him—that caring, protective part of him—wanted to spoon-feed her, but he knew she’d veto the idea.

Later that evening while Faith settled into bed in the Dawsons’ guest room, Worth helped Lindsey give Hope her evening bath.

“Why don’t you settle down in that rocking chair with her?” Lindsey suggested. “I’ll warm her bottle and bring it to you.”

An hour later, long after Hope had finished her milk, Worth sat in the semidark room, slowly rocking his daughter and humming softly to her. Faith had fallen asleep within minutes of going to bed, her sleep the results of a mild sedative given to her in the E.R. Worth rose from the rocker, placed Hope in the crib that Lindsey kept at her house, then walked down the hall to find his hosts.

Undoubtedly everyone else had gone home; he found George and Lindsey alone in the den. When he entered the room, they both glanced up at him.

“Are our girls asleep?” George asked.

Worth nodded.

“I’ve made up the bed for you in our elder son’s old room,” Lindsey said.

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Worth replied. “But I won’t be staying tonight. I’ve got some things I need to do.”

“You aren’t leaving,” Lindsey said, alarm in her voice.

“Now, honey…” George cautioned her not to interfere.

“I’ll be back,” Worth said. “In the morning, tell Faith that I’ll see her tomorrow night. Tell her to meet me in the town square at eight o’clock.”

“Oh, my.” Tears gathered in Lindsey’s eyes. “You’re going to…oh, Worth, what a sweet thing to do.”

“I have a great deal to make up for…to Faith and to Hope. Tomorrow night, we’ll start all over again. And this time I’m going to do it right.”

With Hope bundled in a pink snowsuit, Faith entered the town square at seven-fifty. She knew that her family was across the street, waiting and watching from the storefront windows at Margaret’s Goodies. Faith’s heart beat wildly as she headed toward the bench where she’d sat and waited for Worth a year ago tonight. As she drew closer, she saw him approaching from the other side of the square. Worth Cordell was the best-looking man on earth. Big, tall, rugged. And about as masculine as a man could be. The closer he came, the more erratic her heart beat. She increased her pace, as did he, until they were practically running toward each other. When only a couple of feet separated them, they both stopped abruptly; their gazes locked and held.

“Hello, Blue Eyes.”

“Hello.”

“You told me that if I realized I loved you, then I should meet you here tonight,” he said.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

“Well, I’m here. And I love you, Faith.”

She swallowed tears of happiness. This was the moment she had been waiting for, dreaming of, for what seemed like a lifetime. “You know I love you. I have since that first night we were together.”

Worth delved his hand into his coat pocket and brought out a tiny jeweler’s box, flipped open the lid and held it out to Faith.

The marquise-cut diamond solitaire shimmered in the muted glow from the streetlights in the square. For a split second, her heart stopped.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. “Marry me as soon as possible.”

“Oh, Worth. Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

When Worth opened his arms, she walked into his embrace. He slipped the glove off her left hand, then removed the ring from the box and slid it onto her third finger. With Hope snuggled between them, Worth leaned down and kissed Faith. Hope squirmed and whimpered.

“I think she’s trying to tell us that we’re smothering her.” Faith laughed.

Worth chuckled as he took his daughter, held her up so that her cheek lay on his shoulder; then he draped his arm around Faith’s waist and led her through the square. Just as they neared the street, snowflakes began falling. Tiny flakes at first, but they soon grew larger and more dense. By the time they walked across the street, the snow had already begun to stick to the grass.

“This is the happiest moment of my life,” Faith said.

Worth halted, kissed Hope’s cheek, then kissed Faith again. “Mine, too. And I promise you that I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the rest of your life is filled with happiness.”

“How could it be anything but happy, with the three of us together. And who knows, maybe by this time next year, we could give Hope a baby brother.”

“Are we planning on having a large family?” Worth asked.

“How does three children sound to you?”

“It sounds just fine to me. I’ve found out with Hope that I like being a daddy.”

Faith snuggled against Worth, then whispered, “Margaret has a little party planned for us at her shop, but act surprised when we walk in and everyone is there.”

“Sounds like your family was pretty sure of me.”

“Oh, Worth, my darling, everyone, including me, knew that you loved me. You were the only one who seemed to be clueless.”

“I always was a slow learner,” he said. “But once I learn a lesson, I never forget it.”

Worth, Faith and Hope entered Margaret’s Goodies and found their family waiting to celebrate with them. They drank hot chocolate, sang Christmas carols and stood by the windows watching a white blanket of new-fallen snow cover the town of Whitewood.

This Christmas was only the beginning, the first magical moments of happiness destined to last a lifetime.

The Christmas Bride

By Heather Graham Pozzessere

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“And what would you like for Christmas, little girl?” Cary Adams asked. She leaned forward at the table, resting her chin whimsically on her hands as she asked her friend June Harrison the question. Cary’s hair, a sleek and shimmering brown, curved around her delicately boned features, and her eyes, a tawny hazel that glittered when she laughed, were as wide and innocent as a child’s. Well, it was Christmas. Nearly.

“It’s not a ‘what,’ but a ‘who,”’ June replied with a laugh. “His name doesn’t matter. He just has to be tall, dark and handsome. And rich,” she added as an afterthought. She grimaced. “It’s not that I’m a material girl, but it is a material world.”

Cary grinned and leaned back. She wagged a finger at June. “Not fair. I can’t get you a man for Christmas.”

“No? Well, I wasn’t expecting one, anyway. But you, Mrs. Adams, deserve one. And he should be tall, dark and handsome. And rich.”

“What if I prefer a blond?”

June shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. The saying is ‘tall, dark and handsome.’ Take it or leave it.”

Cary laughed and looked around the room.

Despite the fact that it was always held indecently early—at barely a week after Thanksgiving—Cary loved the annual office family Christmas party. She loved the music, the colorful lights, the scent of the holly branches, pine and candles, and today she even loved the snow that was piling up on the sidewalks and streets.

There was another Christmas party held at the Elegance office every year, always the night before Christmas Eve. But today’s party was Cary’s favorite. It was held for the families of the employees. Husbands, wives, children, grandparents and even a few cousins managed to finagle invitations. Every year Jason McCready, the publisher of Elegance, rented the ballroom of one of the most prestigious hotels in Boston, and it was pure joy to see toddlers and teens running amok among the handsomely tuxedoed waiters. Champagne, eggnog, beer and wine poured freely for the adults, and Christmas punch—bright red for the season, of course—was in abundance for the underage crowd. There were drawings for huge turkeys and hams, and there was a main prize, too, a microwave oven, a television set, a video recorder or the like. Always the latest, always something that someone would really want. Jason McCready, for all his eccentricities, planned Christmas well for his employees. Everybody went away with something, for there was a draw that he called the seasonal exchange. Each employee drew a name from a hat, someone with whom to exchange a gift. Not that it mattered what McCready called it, for everyone in the office joined in his Christmas party, regardless of their religious beliefs. It was all done with tremendous warmth and goodwill, and though the hall was adorned with a giant Christmas tree and someone was always elected to hand out toys to the children, McCready saw to it that the beautiful and ancient Hanukkah songs were also played, and no one’s beliefs were trodden on.

“Hey, kid, you’re awful quiet! This is a party, a celebration, remember?”

Cary blinked, then smiled. June, of the magazine’s advertising salespersons extraordinaire, was staring at her pointedly. June was her senior by about five years. At first Cary had resented being called “kid” all the time, but she had quickly learned that June used the word with affection. After a rocky start, the two had become best friends.

“I was just thinking,” Cary said.

“Horrors!” June murmured in mock protest. She was a striking woman with a headful of wild platinum hair and soft gray eyes. She had the type of figure that might well have once graced the inner pages of a magazine centerfold, but she was as smart as a whip and knew her business backward and forward. June stirred her Irish coffee. “What were you thinking about? Men?”

“No. Actually, yes. One man. I was thinking that McCready throws a fabulous party—especially since he is…McCready,” Cary finished a little lamely.

June smiled and shrugged, and Cary knew her friend understood her completely. Jason McCready was a good-looking man—definitely tall, dark and handsome—and he was very young for his position, still a year shy of forty. But it was said that he had been a dynamo in his early twenties—bright, energetic and full of the ideas that could turn a dying biweekly into a respected glamour magazine. Elegance had a section on the finest homes in America, an entertainment division, a special section devoted to current politics and one to current affairs. And there was the “American World” column, Cary’s own baby, full of insights into people and more personal events. The magazine had a contemporary flair along with the old, traditional values that were intangible and yet all important. And that was Jason McCready’s doing.

He was the publisher, and he was also the president of the board. He was an American success story, and years back, long before Cary had come into the business, he had often graced the covers of various other news-oriented magazines. She could remember one photograph in particular, taken when he had been at Rockefeller Plaza with his wife.

Oddly enough, Cary reminisced, it had been a Christmas photograph. And she could remember it so clearly. The huge annual tree had risen behind them, the ice rink had stretched out before them, and New York had been decked out in a fabulous display of colorful lights. McCready had been in a long black coat that had accented his dark good looks, and his strong, decidedly masculine profile. His wife, Sara, had been in the softest white mink, a complete contrast to him with her feathered white-blond hair and eyes so blue that, even in the picture, their color shone with an almost unreal light. They had been smiling at one another in that picture, the look on Sara’s beautiful face one of adoration. And he had gazed at her with a tenderness that was somehow shattering to the observer; one could almost touch it. They had been so stunning, a fairy-tale couple.

The next year, though, Cary knew, Sara McCready had been dead before Christmas.

And Jason McCready had never consented to another interview. Cary had thought to do one for their own magazine. It had been one of the few times she had actually spoken with him.

And he had nearly jumped down her throat.

She could still remember the occasion in his office. She had made an appointment with his secretary, had gone in fully prepared and with a truly intelligent presentation.

She had walked into his sparse office. White-walled, peach-carpeted, two prints on the wall, a massive oak desk, a leather sofa, two chairs.

He had never even asked her to sit.

He had remained behind his desk, his lime green eyes sharp and cold and so pointedly on her that she’d felt as if steel blades were stabbing her. He had listened for at least sixty seconds before the pencil he had held idly between his fingers suddenly snapped. Then he’d stood, rising to his full, imposing six-three, and walked around the desk to stand before her. She had nearly cowered, when his palms touched her shoulders. Hard. Forcefully. But not violently.

And he had issued one harsh word to her. “No!”

He had stood there staring at her, a strand of his usually impeccable black hair falling over one of his deadly dark eyebrows. His bronze features had gone tight and white, and the fullness of his mouth had been compressed into a grim line. He’d stared at her as if she were an ancient enemy, and she had wanted nothing so much as to run.

It wasn’t courage that had kept her standing there—she was simply too surprised to move. And at last his hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned away. “I said no, Miss Adams—”

“It’s Mrs. Adams,” she’d interrupted, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes, wondering why it should matter at this particular time that she make such a point about her name.

“Mrs. Adams. Excuse me,” he said coldly. He walked around the desk and sat again, with something like an air of royalty about his designer-suited form. “Could you leave now, please? I’m busy, and this interview is over.”

She stiffened her shoulders, certain that not only had he refused her, but that he had also fired her. “I can have my desk cleared out by five,” she said flatly. “I shall expect to see a severance check just as promptly.”

Only then did his dark brows arch and a look of fleeting surprise pass over his hard and handsome features. “Why on earth should you clean out your desk, Mrs. Adams?”

She hadn’t wanted to falter, but she had. And she knew that crimson flamed in her cheeks. “Mr. McCready, it certainly sounded as if you were annoyed and no longer cared to employ me.”

“I am annoyed, Mrs. Adams, but I do not fire people simply because they annoy me upon occasion. I find your work excellent. I merely wish that you would vacate my office and refrain from mentioning such an article in the future.”

She was still staring at him blankly. She had often wondered if the man read anything that went into the magazine anymore. Apparently he did.

“Is there anything else, Mrs. Adams?”

“No!” she exclaimed. But she didn’t move, and she was stunned to hear herself speaking again. “Mr. McCready, this is your own magazine! Why won’t—”

He was on his feet again. And, oddly enough, she felt as if she had his attention. Really had his attention, and not just his anger.

“Because I cannot talk about my personal life, and that is that! Do you understand?”

“All right,” Cary agreed. He was still staring at her. She felt tremors, hot one minute, cold the next, racing along her spine.

For the briefest moment she saw what might have been a glimmer of anguish in his eyes. And she knew, intuitively, that he was thinking about his wife. He had nothing to say without her in his life anymore.

“I’m sorry—” Cary began.

“Don’t be!” he interrupted her.

The words were soft, the emotion behind them vehement. And Cary found herself speaking again despite them. “Mr. McCready, you loved her very much. I can see that. I’m sorry. So very sorry. But you’re not the only one who has ever lost someone they love. Perhaps the article is a bad idea. But you should talk to someone. You should…”

Her voice trailed away. He was staring at her with ice-cold fury in his eyes.

“Are you quite finished, Mrs. Adams?”

She nodded. His life was none of her business.

“Perhaps you’d like to get back to work then?” he suggested pleasantly.

She spun. She did not thank him for his time. He hadn’t willingly given her any. And she didn’t need to thank him for not firing her. Her work was good; that was what mattered. He just wanted her out of his office.

“Mrs. Adams!”

She looked at him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I really do beg your pardon.” His voice was soft. And, seated behind his desk, his hands folded, his hair so dark and his eyes so startlingly green, he was striking—and more. He was appealing. She gritted her teeth, startled at the temptation to walk to him and slip her arms around him. To offer him some comfort.

It was an illusion. McCready wanted nothing from her. And there were no weak links in his armor. He just wanted her to leave his office.

She obliged him.

And she had never ventured back in.

“He still throws a very nice Christmas party,” she commented idly, then cast June a mischievous smile. “Almost as if he still believed in the Christmas spirit. Ho, ho, ho.”

“You almost make it sound as if you still believe in it yourself,” June said sagely, eyeing her friend across the table.

Cary felt as if her heart slammed against her chest, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. That hurt. She tried. She tried very hard every Christmas. She had learned to smile and laugh a lot. For her family, if not for herself. She had done very well, or so she had thought.

She had gotten past the shock and the agony and the feelings of utter rage, of helplessness. She had found her own apartment, she had become independent and she had managed to build a new life, filled with her son’s school activities, her work and visits to her in-laws and her family. It wasn’t in the least fair that June should attack her about her Christmas spirit.

But June wasn’t really attacking, nor was she going to persist in that vein. She tossed her wild mane, licked her swizzle stick and used it to point toward the large, intricately decorated cardboard house where Santa was seeing to the little ones. “Jeremy is playing Santa this year, isn’t he?” she asked.

Cary nodded. “Padded to the gills, complaining black and blue and having the time of his life. Danny should be just about up to him now. I wonder if he’ll recognize Jeremy.”

“Let’s go see,” June suggested.

They rose and threaded their way through the gaily dressed crowd, stopping to call a greeting here or there. Just as they reached the line leading into the house, Cary came to a halt, smiling. It was just about Danny’s time to go in to talk to Santa. The little girl in front of him had just been escorted through the bright red curtains. Through a tiny crack in the cardboard, Cary could see Jeremy give Santa’s long-legged and beautiful helper a little pinch where the short-skirted elf outfit left her thigh bare.

“Santa is a lech,” she told June with a sigh.

“And Isabelle loves every minute of it, I’m sure,” June assured her.

Isabelle, Santa’s helper, was the newest college student to take a job in the mail room. And her smile clearly indicated that she was having a good time.

Danny, Cary’s eight-year-old son, turned suddenly, sensing that she was there. His freckled face broke into a wide grin at the sight of her, and she felt a sudden, quick pounding of her heart. Danny looked so much like his father. The clear, sky-blue eyes, the blond, almost platinum-streaked hair, the pale spatter of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was a cute kid, she knew, not just because he was her own. Most kids were cute, she assured herself, but with Danny, it was more. There was something about his eyes…a wisdom in them. Even a compassion. Danny had never grown bitter, even when he had understood what had happened to his father. He had only cried.

He still cried at night, sometimes.

But he had never allowed his father’s death to warp his feelings toward others, or even toward life. He had grown older long before his time. Yet it had given him a charm and a sense of responsibility, rare for his age. Talking to Danny was sometimes like talking to a teenager or a young man ready for college.

“Mom! Come on up!” he called to her.

“Go on,” June told her. “I’ll wait for you by the exit from Santa’s hut.”

Cary grinned. “All right. I want to get a peek at Danny with Santa if I can, and see if Jeremy holds up.”

June nodded. Cary excused herself, as she wended her way through the parents and children to reach Danny. Isabelle offered her a wide friendly smile. “Hi, Mrs. Adams. Is this one yours?” she asked, indicating Danny.

Cary nodded. “He is. Danny, this is Miss Isabelle LaCrosse. She works with us now. Isabelle, my son, Daniel.”

Danny solemnly shook hands. “And I thought you were really an elf!” he said with a soft sigh.

Startled, Isabelle stared at Cary, who shrugged, hiding a smile. “He likes elves,” she explained lamely.

Isabelle peeked behind the curtain. “I think Santa is ready for you, Daniel. Come on in. Mrs. Adams, if you’d like…”

Cary saw a break in the red curtain where she could discreetly spy on Santa and her son. She offered Isabelle a wide, engaging smile and slipped closer while Danny marched in to sit on Santa’s lap.

“Well, ho, ho, ho, it’s Mr. Daniel Adams, so it is!” Santa said. Cary watched her son’s eyes widen with surprise as Santa addressed him so familiarly.

Jeremy, she decided, was perfect. He was padded wonderfully, and the suit was great. A big snowy beard covered his chin, with a swooping mustache attachment that hid the whole lower half of his face. The red and white Santa hat fell over his forehead, and little gold spectacles sat on the tip of his nose.

“Yes, sir, Santa,” Danny said with a certain awe. He had told Cary that he had no intention of sitting on Santa’s lap, that he was a big boy. He had meant to stand and talk to Santa man to man.

But he was quickly up on Santa’s lap, and he seemed to have no idea at all that he was talking to his mother’s cousin.

“I know that you’ve been just as good as gold this year, Danny. So tell me, what would you like for Christmas?”

Danny hesitated. Cary frowned, watching him. “What would I really like for Christmas?” Danny asked softly.

“Yes, son, of course. What would you really like for Christmas?”

“I believe in Santa, you know,” Danny said quickly. “I believe in God and Santa and miracles, especially Christmas miracles. And I know you can help me, Santa—Mr. Claus, I know you can!”

“Danny, I—”

“I’d like a father, Santa. Oh, not a real one! I know you can’t bring my dad back. He lives up in heaven, with God, because he was a great dad. God can’t give people back once he takes them. And it isn’t for me. I’d like someone for my mom. She tries not to show it, but she’s so unhappy, and I can see it. I don’t think she knows I can see it, but I do.”

“Danny—”

“She’s a great cook, and a good housekeeper. She makes neat chocolate chip cookies. And she’s a writer. She writes all about other people who need help, and sometimes the things she writes get help for them. She’s been really good, Santa. Please.”

She felt her heart—she could have sworn that she actually felt her heart—swelling. Tears welled behind her eyelids, and she almost choked on them. She swallowed. Hard. A smile slowly curved her lips. I love you, Danny, she thought.

“Look Danny,” Santa said, managing to interrupt him at last. “I—I’d like to make you a promise, but I can’t. You see, grown-ups have to—well, they have to find people that they like themselves sometimes.”

“I know you can help me,” Danny said stubbornly.

Santa opened his mouth, then closed it. Danny had a stubborn streak in him. And this Santa knew it very well.

“I’ll tell you what, Danny. I’ll see what I can do. But that’s not an easy Christmas order. It’s absolutely the hardest. You may have to give me more than one Christmas to fill that wish, all right?”

“But you’ll work on it?”

Santa sighed. “I’ve been working on it,” he muttered, then smiled. “Of course I’ll work on it. Hard. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Danny said simply. “I’ll help you. I’ll wish on the North Star every night.”

Santa nodded. “And what about this Christmas?”

“Oh, well, I’d like that computer made especially for kids my age. The one they have at school.”

Cary almost muttered an expletive out loud. Danny would never say he wanted anything. And now he was asking for something she could never afford. She knew the computer he was working with at school. It was a wonderful invention, with talk-it-through word processing and talk-it-through graphics for math and art projects.

I’ll bet I could even straighten out my income taxes with it, she thought wryly.

But, unlike many other computers, this one had yet to come down in price. The whole outfit cost thousands, and she didn’t know if she could manage the payments even if she bought it on time.

Jeremy obviously didn’t know the price of the computer. “That’s easy!” he assured Danny. “I can definitely work on that one!” He set Danny on his feet and reached into the big red bag by his high black boots. “For the moment, my boy, I’ve got a remote-control car for you, how’s that?”

“Great, Santa!” Danny said. “It’s great, honest, just great. And thanks, thanks a lot.”

Danny escaped through the curtain, Jeremy started to summon Isabelle to lead in the next child when he happened to look up and notice Cary standing there. He stared at her for a second, then crooked his finger toward her.

“Come here, Cary Adams!” he commanded.

She stepped forward. “Sorry, I was eavesdropping. I couldn’t quite—”

She managed to swallow a little squeal as he wound his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap.

“I hear you’ve been a very good girl,” he told her, and winked.

“Would you quit that, you lech, I’m your cousin!” she protested, laughing.

“Second cousin,” he reminded her, and sighed.

“Close enough, so behave.”

“Well, you heard your son, Mrs. Adams,” he told her. “He wants someone for you. And I’ve tried and tried—”

“Jeremy, you’re a dear, and I love you with all my heart, and you know it. And you know, too, that you aren’t a bit serious about me—”

“I could be, if you would just get over this relative bit,” he said jokingly.

“Jeremy—”

“What about that electrician who was built like a bodybuilder?” he demanded darkly.

She had to smile. “Sorry. He wore his boxer shorts up to his boobs.”

“The lawyer from Concord?”

“He was cross-eyed, I swear it.”

“Cary,” Jeremy told her sternly, “no one is going to be Richard. That lawyer was not cross-eyed.”

She caught her breath and stared into his eyes, seeing his concern and love. She exhaled slowly. “I know no one will be Richard, Jeremy. Honestly, I know that. But he—he would have to live up to Richard, can you understand that?”

He started to nod then maybe he realized that she was very close to tears, so he shook his head vehemently. “Mrs. Adams, your boy has been very good all year. And I think—”

“I think you got me into a lot of trouble!” Cary interrupted him.

“Me?” Jeremy said in mock distress. “I have been an absolute angel!”

“Jeremy, you’ve never been an angel, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh?” he murmured, wounded.

“You promised him a father!”

“Hey! I gave you a few years.”

“Thanks. That was really swell of you.”

“I do try to please.”

“And then, on top of that, you promised him a gift I can’t possibly afford!”

“What?” For a moment, Jeremy was serious, frowning. “I thought computers prices were coming down!”

“They are—but not the setup Danny wants. It costs thousands, Jeremy.”

“I’ll help—”

“Like hell you will. I don’t take charity from the family, Jeremy, and you know it.”

“Hey! I have every right to buy my little cousin a Christmas present.”

“Sure. And if I ever manage to afford that system, you can buy him a game or some software.”

“Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn,” Jeremy insisted. Then his eyes brightened. “We might get Christmas bonuses.”

“That much?”

“Maybe. After all,” he teased, lightness returning to his voice, “you’ve been a good girl yourself. Too good. Atrociously, boringly good. So I’m going to sprinkle you with Christmas dust. And the next man you see is going to be the man of your dreams. Rich as Midas, sleeker than a Mercedes Benz, tender, gentle and kind. Tall, dark and handsome. Danny’s Christmas present—and yours. And the Christmas dust is going to make you run right out and be bad with him. How’s that?”

She was laughing. “The next man I see will probably be old Pete from the mail room, he of the ten children and eighteen million grandchildren. But hey, knock yourself out. Sprinkle away with Christmas dust. Maybe I’ll at least find a suitable date for the adult Christmas party. What do you think?”

“I think that your time’s up,” Jeremy said. “If the one adult I get on my lap all day can’t ask for one lousy, decadent present, you may as well stand!”

Laughing, she found her feet. “I’m telling you, Santa sure isn’t what he used to be,” she said with mock horror. She started toward the exit when she stopped short, suddenly aware that someone was blocking the red-curtained exit door.

Someone big. She couldn’t see who it was right away, because the flare from the Christmas lights was in her eyes. All she could catch was the form, tall, imposing, totally blocking the exit. Dark. Even forbidding.

For a moment her heart fluttered, and she didn’t know why. She felt an acute sense of unease.

How silly, she told herself. She didn’t know why she was so startled by the masculine figure in the dark tux.

She took a step forward, then realized who the man was. She should have known him instantly from his height alone.

It was none other than their host himself. Her boss. The illustrious Mr. Jason McCready.

There had been rumors that many a female at Elegance had foolishly cast away her heart and pride on his behalf. McCready wasn’t interested. He never dated his employees, and when he made his necessary social appearances with women, they were never the same from one occasion to the next. Still, Cary knew that June found him irresistible.

That was undoubtedly because June had never ventured into his office with a story proposal, Cary decided.

She took another step forward, deeply irritated with herself. Then she paused again, because of the way he was staring at her.

Once again it seemed as if those green eyes sliced her like steel blades. The scent of him slowly curled around her; it was subtle, but very masculine and…alluring, she had to admit. He was compelling, standing there. So tall, so dark, his shoulders broad, his hips lean. She wondered about his chest. It would be deeply muscled, she was certain. Hairy, or sleek and bare? Hairy, she was sure. Darkly hairy, with a narrow whorl that drew a line from his chest to his…

She jerked her head up and stared into his eyes, horrified. He stepped back, lifting the curtain for her.

“Mrs. Adams?”

She gritted her teeth and started forward. She had meant to see him sometime during the day to thank him for the party, but now she couldn’t seem to muster up a thank you. In fact, she couldn’t seem to speak at all.

“Mrs. Adams!”

She looked up and realized she was very close to him. Close enough to see the texture of his tux, the snow-white pleats of his shirt. The angles and planes of his face, the sensual fullness of his mouth.

“Yes?” she managed.

“I had intended Santa’s lap for those children among us who are under, say, fifteen.”

How long had he been standing there? How could she explain?

She didn’t know if he was seriously angry or if he was teasing her. She still couldn’t find a reply. Nor could she seem to tear her eyes from his.

“Mr. McCready, I…”

He smiled, which made him seem more striking, younger. Almost touchable. Her voice died away as he stared at her.

“I do not want your desk cleared out by five, Mrs. Adams,” he said softly. “I still find your work exceptional.”

“Thank you,” she managed. He was still staring at her. She couldn’t smile; she couldn’t speak. He didn’t expect her to. He was just watching her.

She turned away at last and fled down the steps, hurrying toward June. Just as she reached the bottom step, she realized a little girl was waiting on the landing, waiting for Cary to move so she could run up the steps herself.

But the girl waited politely, with a beautiful smile. She must have been about six or seven, and she had light blond hair caught up in pigtails tied with red ribbons. She looked like an angel, delicate, sweet, with a haunting, wistful smile that instantly tugged at Cary’s heartstrings.

“Is Santa free now?” she asked Cary.

Cary heard June’s laughter, and she blushed. Then she returned the little girl’s smile. “Yes, Santa is free, I think. Of course, there is a line around the other way. I’m not sure—”

“Oh!” the girl cried, stricken. “I have to leave, you see, and my father said it might be okay to slip around this way. But it would be rude to take someone else’s place.”

“Angela, it really is okay. We’ll be quick, and the others will understand,” came a deep masculine voice over Cary’s shoulder.

She turned in dismay. McCready again. But this sweet, delicate little child couldn’t possibly be his daughter….

Yes, she was, Cary realized. She stared from McCready’s gaze to the little girl’s wide eyes. “Excuse me,” she murmured lamely. “Honey, if you have to leave, I know Santa will be thrilled to see you, and no one will mind at all.”

Angela McCready smiled again. “Thank you.” She started up the stairs, then turned back. “It was nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Mrs. Adams. Cary,” Cary told her. And once again that smile crossed the little girl’s lips.

“Mrs. Adams!” Angela McCready exclaimed happily. Cary arched a brow, and Angela continued quickly. “You must be Danny’s mother.”

Cary nodded, still confused.

Angela enlightened her. “We sat together for the magic show. And he taught me how to do a trick. He’s really wonderful.”

“Yes, well, I rather think so myself,” Cary agreed.

“I hope I see him—and you—again,” Angela McCready said.

There was such hope on her face that Cary couldn’t disappoint her. “I’m sure we’ll meet again,” she said.

McCready’s eyes were on her, sharp, unfathomable. Cary felt herself growing warm. But then he and his daughter disappeared into the cardboard Santa hut, and Cary turned away.

It had all happened in a matter of moments, she realized. Running into McCready, meeting his daughter, sitting on Jeremy’s lap…

Jeremy and his Christmas dust! she thought with disgust. So much for Jeremy’s prophesies.

“Danny’s watching the puppeteer. I told him it would be all right,” June said. “Let’s go for a glass of that delicious champagne. I don’t get to indulge in the really good stuff all that often.”

“Champagne sounds wonderful,” Cary agreed. She was parched. More parched than she could remember being. Except for the time she had gone into Jason McCready’s office with her notebook and great expectations.

They walked to the champagne table, where a polite bartender helped them both. Cary toasted June, then raised her glass and sipped her champagne.

The next man you see, Jeremy had told her. She didn’t want a man for Christmas. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever want another man in her life.

And then sometimes…

Sometimes she was lonely and frightened, furious with Richard for leaving her, and sometimes she ached because he had taught her that love could be so very sweet, and then he had been gone, leaving nothing in her life except for the pain and the blackness and the void. She had tried to date, but she had always backed away quickly. Because…

Because no one had ever touched her in the same way. No one had ever made a kiss seem natural. No one had ever seduced her to where she could forget…

“Cary, are you still with me?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry.” She realized she had been ignoring June. They were sipping champagne. It was a party. And she was having a good time. Well, she was almost having a good time.

She started to smile. Jeremy. Santa. Where would she be without him?

Him and his prophesies!

The first man she had seen hadn’t been old Pete from the mail room after all.

She suddenly choked on the champagne.

No, it had been someone much worse.

Jason McCready.

Tall, dark and handsome. And rich. Just like June had ordered…

Cary swallowed more champagne.

No, no, no…

So much for Christmas dust and miracles!

Chapter 2

Jason McCready had a headache. One that pounded viciously at the back of his skull as he drove toward his house.

He knew he was disappointing Angela by leaving the party so early, but he’d really wanted to go home.

The party had really been Sara’s baby.

Oh, he’d always had a Christmas party. And he’d always tried very hard to do right by his employees. He hadn’t been born to money, nor had he inherited the magazine. He had built it. He knew what it was like to work hard. And more, he knew what it was like to dream.

And once he had even known what it was like to hold magic in the palm of his hand. There had been a time when he had had everything.

He’d had Sara.

Sara had loved Christmas. She’d loved winter, the snow and the clean, cold air. She’d loved the bright lights and the decorations, the Santas in the stores and on the street corners, the specials on television. Just sitting with her before a fire had meant more than anything in the world to him. He’d really, truly had everything.

But that had been before the December night when a drunk driver had plowed into Sara’s silver sports car with enough speed to kill her instantly. The only miracle had been that she had just dropped Angela off for a Christmas party, and so he was left with his very young daughter when he had been bereft of his wife.

But others had handled Angela for him then. In his grief, he realized now, he had deprived her of two parents instead of one. It had taken months for him to rouse himself enough to care for Angela. And now he was trying very hard to make it up to her.

“Can he, Dad?”

“What? Sorry, darling. I guess I wasn’t listening,” Jason apologized. The traffic was bad tonight. Fresh snow had made the streets slippery.

“Danny. Danny Adams. Can he come skiiing with us?”

“What?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I did hear you, I just…”

“He was so nice, Dad. He—he made me laugh. And he understood when I—”

Angela broke off speaking.

“He understood what?” Jason asked her curiously. He braked quickly for a red light. On a street corner, a Salvation Army volunteer was waving a bell that clanged away, chiming out the Christmas season with a cheerful vengeance.

Why did he feel the loss so much more keenly every Christmas? Jason asked himself. It was a time for peace, a time for faith.

“Nothing,” Angela murmured evasively. “He’s just—he’s just great. Couldn’t we ask him, please?”

“Honey, his mother is one of my employees. I don’t know if I should bother her with this.” His mother wasn’t just an employee. She was Mrs. Cary Adams, and since he’d been watching her for quite some time now, he could almost guarantee she would tell him no.

Angela didn’t seem to see it that way. “His mother was very nice, and I don’t think she’d be bothered at all,” Angela said stubbornly.

Why shouldn’t he ask a friend along for Angela? Guilt plagued him. He hadn’t thought how lonely things must become for her now and then. She had the run of the lodge, of course, but it was true. She had no special friends.

Except for now. She was crazy about this Danny.

Jason had to admit that the boy seemed to be a special kid. There was something in his smile. It was nice. It was open, generous. He’d taken a few hard knocks himself, but he’d come through with that great smile. Jason knew about Danny Adams’s life because he’d made a point to know something about Cary Adams. He’d done so the day she’d come into his office—and walked out of it with her head held high.

He would never forget that day. Just as he hadn’t been able to forget Cary Adams.

She was petite. She had a smooth, soft, melodic voice, but she had a certain essence of steel about her. When he thought about it, he realized that she was a very beautiful woman, with her sweeping dark hair and richly lashed hazel eyes. They burned when she was indignant or angry. He smiled. She wasn’t flashy. She was nicely, quietly sophisticated. Something wild or ornate might draw a glance first, but once a person’s eyes had fixed on her quiet elegance, they were compelled to stay.

It wasn’t her looks that had drawn his interests, for he lived in a world where women were often beautiful and sophisticated. It had been her determination in coming to him, her staying power when he had refused her.

And then it had been the way she had gazed at him with glimmering gold eyes as she had told him bluntly that he wasn’t the only one who had ever lost someone. And he had been in a rut, one hell of a rut of self-pity. She hadn’t lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders, but her anger had done something, and since that day, life had been a little bit better. He’d made sure it was better. She’d made him see that it was something he had to do himself.

That was why he knew about her. He’d had her personnel file on his desk within five minutes, so he knew that Richard Adams had walked into a burning building because he had heard a child crying, and that he had never walked out again.

“Daddy?”

He sighed. The very beautiful Mrs. Adams might have cast accusations at him, but she had a few failings of her own. He could almost guarantee that she would turn him down. She had the defenses of a porcupine.

“I’ll try, Angela.”

“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” She threw an arm around him and kissed him.

“Hey! There’s traffic out tonight!” he warned her.

“Sorry, Daddy!”

But he caught the look in her eyes. She was smiling. She was radiant.

He’d never seen her so happy or so excited.

Jason tightened his jaw. Somehow he was going to have to get Mrs. Adams to agree to let Danny come with him.

Even a porcupine had to have a chink in its armor somewhere.

It was the very next Monday that Cary found herself summoned to McCready’s office.

She had been looking through the photographs for a Valentine’s Day special when she sensed someone watching her. Gazing up, she was surprised to find June staring at her with a look that combined excitement and anxiety.

“What is it?”

“McCready’s office,” June said nervously.

“What?”

“You’re wanted. In McCready’s office.”

Cary’s heart lurched. Was she being fired after all? Perhaps he really had been angry to see her sitting on Jeremy’s lap.

“Now?” she murmured. Of course now! She rose from her desk and stared at June. Was this how people felt when they walked to the gallows?

No, no, this wasn’t that bad! Even if he was firing her, it wasn’t anything as terrible as walking to the gallows. She was talented! She would find a new job….

Just a month before Christmas. Danny would never get his computer.

He couldn’t be firing her! Not right before Christmas!

But despite his wonderful parties, McCready didn’t have any Christmas spirit. His spirit had been buried with his very beautiful wife.

“I’m here for you,” June said to her softly.

“I’m fine,” Cary muttered. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and walked from her office to the elevators. She stepped into an elevator and punched the penthouse-level button. Her fingers were trembling, she twisted them together.

Stepping off the elevator, she saw Billy Jean Clanahan, McCready’s attractive and sophisticated secretary. She expected to see pity in Billy Jean’s eyes, but there was none. Instead Billy Jean greeted her with a wide grin. “Oh, good, you’re here!” She lowered her voice. “He was getting so anxious in there, I thought he was going to head down and accost you in your own office! Go in, go right in!”

Cary had little choice, for Billy Jean was prodding her toward the door.

She was pushed forward, and a door closed behind her. McCready’s dark head had been bent over the papers on his desk, but it rose instantly. His unfathomable green eyes were on hers, as he stood and walked around the desk, offering her his hand. “Mrs. Adams! Thank you for coming so quickly.”

She wasn’t aware that she had offered her hand in return, but his fingers were folding around hers, and she was aware of an electric tension and tremendous strength. And a startling heat.

She drew her fingers away quickly.

“Sit down, Mrs. Adams, please.” He pulled out one of the chairs for her, and she sat, very aware of him behind her. He was always impeccable. It was a natural thing with him. And he carried that handsome, subtle scent of aftershave. She suddenly felt a warm flowing sensation cascading all the way down the length of her spine. Her fingers curled around her chair, and she caught her breath. She thought that she would leap up and scream, except that he came in front of her and leaned on the corner of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” he told her.

She wasn’t being fired. No one fired an employee this way.

She exhaled, then gasped in new air. He was staring at her curiously, and she struggled for an appearance of composure. “A—a favor?”

“Yes. And may I add from the beginning, Mrs. Adams, that your agreement or disagreement will have no bearing whatsoever on your position here.”

He was smiling again, she thought. That secret smile of his.

She felt herself flushing, and she sat more primly in the chair, her eyes lowering despite her determination. “I didn’t think—”

“Yes, you did think,” he said, and she was startled when he laughed. She looked into his eyes, and she was further surprised by the light of humor in them. “You thought that I had decided to fire you because you had been sitting on Santa’s lap. Taking time away from the children. For shame, Mrs. Adams.”

“Mr. McCready—” She started to stand, utterly humiliated. But his hands were on her shoulders, and his laughter was surprisingly warm and pleasant, even compelling, as he pressed her into her chair. “I understand that you and Jeremy are cousins, right?”

Cary wet her very dry lips. “Yes. But if you—”

“Mrs. Adams,” he said as he walked behind his desk, “do you remember the last time you were in this office?”

Of course she remembered it. She would never forget. She was surprised, however, that he had remembered it.

“Yes, Mr. McCready, I do remember,” she said with grave dignity.

He was still smiling. “Well, you made a rather personal remark to me. You told me that I wasn’t the only one who had lost someone.”

Cary felt as if she were strangling. More than anything, she wanted to get out of his office.

“Look—” she began, standing once more. “I’m sorry, I really had no right—”

But again he was before her. “Ah, but you took the right! Mrs. Adams, will you please sit?” She wasn’t going to have a chance to rise this time. Casually seated on the edge of the desk before her, he kept his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, and to her great distress, she felt a heat like the warmth of the sun come sweeping over her. She didn’t remember ever being this aware of a man. There was little help for it. His bronzed hands remained on her shoulders. The fabric of his suit was nearly close enough for her to feel the texture. And she could feel that electricity emanating from him, the leashed but still powerful energy.

“Mr. McCready—”

“You saw fit to comment on my personal life, so I think that maybe I have the right to comment on yours. You are sensitive, Mrs. Adams. Very, very touchy. I’ve never met anyone so defensive, so quick. Will you please relax! Your work is very good, and I admire you very much as a person.”

Stunned, she stared into his eyes. “Then…”

“I’d like to borrow your son.”

“My son!” she repeated.

“Just for a week. And you have every right to say no, as I explained before. But I’d look after his welfare as if he were my own.”

“What are you talking about?” Cary demanded in confusion.

“I’m going on a ski trip next week. Half business, half pleasure. Angela is coming with me. She was entranced with Danny at the Christmas party.”

“Oh!” Cary murmured. This had nothing to do with her job. Nothing at all.

And for once McCready was looking at her anxiously. She’d never before seen anything that even remotely resembled anxiety in his eyes.

Something did matter to McCready, even if his wife was gone. Angela mattered.

Dismay filled her. “I really am sorry—”

“It would be a wonderful experience for him. As I said, I’d see to his safety at all times. Mrs. Adams, I’m aware that you do not particularly like me, but Angela has not been so enthused since…well, it’s been a very long time. She hasn’t been so excited about anything since her mother died. If you feel some bitterness for me, I implore you, think of the children.”

Cary shook her head. “No, no! It isn’t anything like that at all. It’s just that—Danny is diabetic. He is very good with insulin shots himself, but he’s still…he’s still a little boy. And when he’s away, when he becomes involved in playing, he can forget. Really, Mr. McCready, I’d love him to be with Angela, she’s a beautiful child. If I could let Danny go, I would.”

She was touching him, she realized. While she had been speaking, she had let her hand cover his to emphasize her sincerity.

She jerked her hand away, and her eyes fell from his. “I am sorry.”

He moved, first walking around behind her, then behind his desk. He sat and idly tapped a pencil against his blotter. “If that’s your real reason, there’s no problem at all.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can come, too.”

“Oh, but I can’t. Really, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I have work here—”

“You can work in New Hampshire.”

“But I may need things that are here—”

“They can be expressed or faxed.”

It was so simple for Jason McCready. Everything was always at his fingertips. Well, she wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “Well, if you’re involved with someone…”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” she protested. Then she was furious with herself because she had just admitted to this man that there was no one in her life.

She stood up. “Life just isn’t like that!” she exclaimed. “You don’t live in the real world! No one else can just snap their fingers and have whatever they want!”

He looked at her with a slow, rueful smile curving his lips. “I do live in the real world, Mrs. Adams. I once swore to God that I would trade anything I had if Sara could just breathe, just speak, one more time. It didn’t happen. I’m very aware that the world cannot always move my way. There were two reasons I pulled it all back together, Mrs. Adams. This business, for one. Almost a hundred people are dependent on it for their livelihoods. And I held it together for my daughter. I’m not doing anything terrible here. I’m asking you and your son on a week’s skiing trip, and you might just forget yourself long enough to allow the both of you to enjoy it!”

Cary didn’t know what was disturbing her so much. She leaped to her feet. “I’m sorry!” she snapped again.

And then she spun and hurried out of the office as fast as she could.

June was eagerly awaiting her downstairs, but Cary couldn’t talk to June. She rushed past, shaking her head and casting her friend a look that promised she would explain later.

“Were you fired?” June called as Cary hurried by.

“No!” Cary said. She closed the door to her office and leaned against it, looking at her hands. They were shaking.

What was wrong with the idea? Jason McCready had asked her and Danny on a nice trip. She should be grateful and go. Skiing in New Hampshire. It would be beautiful. The snow would be all over the ground. The lodges would all be decked out in their Christmas finery.

She closed her eyes. She knew why she had said no. She didn’t want to be somewhere like a beautifully decorated ski lodge. Not with Jason McCready.

Because she found him way too interesting. She had liked him better when he had been entirely cold and distant. She didn’t like seeing into any part of his personality.

She was becoming more and more aware…

Of him as a man.

The phone on her desk starting ringing. She walked over and picked it up.

“Cary Adams here.”

“Please?”

The voice was low, deep and very rich. And she was startled when she felt a smile curve her lips.

“It’s just not possible. I’m sure that it’s very crowded this time of year. I’ll never be able to get accommodations—”

“Yes, you will.”

“It can’t be that easy—”

“Yes, it can.”

“But—”

“Mrs. Adams,” he murmured wearily, “I own the lodge.”

“Oh,” Cary replied softly.

“Well?”

“I…” She hesitated again. There seemed to be every reason in the world for her to go. Danny would be delighted. And she would please Angela McCready, and Angela seemed like such a sweet little girl. There was no reason at all that she shouldn’t go.

Yes, there was. McCready himself.

He hadn’t made any illicit overtures toward her, she reminded herself dryly. He hadn’t made any overtures at all.

Still, there was something…

“Mrs. Adams?”

“All right. All right, we’ll come.”

“I’ll pick you up at your house on Sunday morning. Nine o’clock. Is that all right?”

Her palm was damp, Cary realized. “Yes,” she said. Sunday morning.

What had she done?

Sunday morning came, and Cary waited anxiously for nine o’clock to come. How did Jason McCready travel? Would he pick her up with an entourage? In a limo? Maybe a Mercedes. No. A Rolls.

“You all right, Mom?”

She was looking out the apartment window, and she would have been chewing her nails if she hadn’t already donned her gloves. Bless Danny. He thought it was the most natural thing in the world that her boss should have invited them on a ski weekend. Oh, the innocence of children!

But then, she had been the only one to see anything at all wrong. June had been ecstatic. “He likes you, kid, he really likes you!” And then, in the middle of Cary’s office, she had loudly said “Hmm! He’s definitely tall, dark and handsome!”

“And a recluse. And deeply in love with his deceased wife,” Cary had remarked flatly.

“Well, look at that, will you? You’re deeply in love with your deceased husband, he’s deeply in love with his deceased wife. What a couple.”

“We’re not a couple at all. I’m certain he’ll have a date up there for…well, for some function. I’m just going as…as…”

“The nanny?” June had suggested drolly.

“Right. The nanny,” Cary had agreed sweetly, making a face.

“Well, we did order tall, dark and handsome for Christmas. And he’s rich, too.”

“We didn’t order tall, dark and handsome. You did,” Cary had reminded her.

“That’s right. According to Jeremy, all we needed to find for you is someone who doesn’t wear his boxer shorts pulled up over his belt.”

“Would you get out of here, please?” Cary had moaned.

“Hmm,” June had speculated again. And Cary had thrown her out of her office as nicely as she could.

But now that the time was coming nearer and nearer, Cary was nervous. She might have been invited because of Danny, but Jason McCready had never suggested that she was along to play nanny for the children.

But then, she wasn’t one of his real guests, either. So where did that leave her? And why did she care so much?

She leaned her forehead against the windowpane and felt the searing cold come through. Her stomach was in knots, she was so nervous.

Too sensitive. And defensive. She had to relax. Well, she would try.

A Jeep Wagoneer pulled up to the curb as she stared out the window. Her eyes widened when she saw the very tall figure of Jason McCready slide from the driver’s seat.

He was in blue jeans and a leather jacket, hatless despite the cold. He looked up and managed to find her face right there in the window. His dark hair was out of order, lifted by the wind, falling over his forehead, and his eyes were very bright. Instinctively, Cary wanted to withdraw. But he had seen her, and he was smiling. Then he waved, and her heart turned another little somersault, because she suddenly realized just how attractive a man he was.

She smiled. So much for the Rolls, the limo or the Lincoln. He’d come in a Jeep.

“He’s here!” Danny shrieked delightedly.

“Yes, yes, he’s here. Grab your bags, Danny. And don’t scream quite so loudly, or we won’t last the first day!” she advised him. But Danny wasn’t chastised. He cast her a lopsided grin, his eyes alight with pleasure. He scooped up his duffel bag and headed for the apartment door, casting it open just as Jason McCready appeared before it.

“Well, I was about to ask if you were ready or not, but it appears that you are,” he told Danny.

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’m ready. This is great! Just great. Did I say thank you?”

Jason McCready seemed pleasantly amused. “Yes, you did. And I thank you for coming. Angela is very excited. She’s in the car. Want to take your things and run on down? I’ll get your mom’s bag.”

Danny ran out, and Cary found herself face-to-face with Jason McCready. She moistened her lips, alarmed that she was so nervous.

It seemed that she stood there forever, feeling those green eyes touch down on hers. And despite the cold of the day, she felt a warmth creeping swiftly through her.

“Is that your only bag?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes, that’s it, thank you,” she murmured.

He collected her bag. As he did so, his eyes swept the apartment.

She loved antiques, and they fit well with her building, a three-storied federal brick that had been built in the early eighteen hundreds. The parlor was a compilation of Edwardian and Victorian pieces she had lovingly stripped and stained and polished herself. A braided rug covered the floor before the fireplace, and a deep old leather sofa was covered with an afghan. Little copper pots and other bric-a-brac decorated the buffets and cabinets. Blue and white Dutch patterned draperies hung at the windows. It wasn’t contemporary; it probably wasn’t in the least what Jason McCready was accustomed to. But it was a warm and very inviting room.

He didn’t comment on it, only said, “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “You’re not going off into a den of lions, you know.”

She arched a brow and stiffened. Jason McCready’s smile deepened. There was no way, of course, that she could know that he was thinking that the spines of his little porcupine were already bristling away.

Cary hurried through the door.

She also didn’t realize that, as she brushed by him, he breathed in the clean scent of her hair. Or that the subtle charisma of her perfume trailed sweetly through the air.

She was just too aware herself. Of Jason McCready. Big, so very tall in her antique doorway, his shoulders exceptionally broad and attractive in the leather jacket.

She would certainly have no complaints if she was dating this man, she thought. His underwear was not pulled well over his belt line. His belt line was perfect. All of him was perfect.

That wasn’t fair. She knew a lot of attractive men, and she had been teasing about the underwear. It had very little to do with looks. McCready’s appeal was all in his eyes, in the little line around them, in the richness of his voice, in his rare smile….

And then she nearly gasped aloud. She wasn’t dating Jason McCready. She was accompanying her son on a trip to the man’s ski lodge!

With her cheeks flaming, she hurried down the stairs. By the time she reached the streets, she thought she had regained a little of her composure.

The kids were already in back, chatting away. Angela leaped from her seat while Jason packed Cary’s bag in the rear of the vehicle. She threw her slender little arms around Cary, so giving, so trusting. “Thank you! Thank you so much for coming. Daddy said you might not let Danny come along, but I knew you would. I’m so glad that you’re going to be with us!”

“Thank you,” Cary murmured. Jason was coming round to open her door. She stared at him, and he shrugged. She hadn’t realized that he knew her well enough to warn his daughter that she might very well refuse.

The passenger door was open, and he was waiting. She slipped into the Jeep, and the door closed behind her.

Jason McCready went around and slid into the driver’s seat. A plaid thermal blanket lay on the seat between them. He flashed Cary a quick smile. “It’s a long drive. About three hours. Just in case you get cold.”

“Thanks,” she said.

There was very little traffic, even in Boston. The kids chatted away while Jason expertly steered the large vehicle through the narrow streets, past the Common and toward the turnpike.

“Do you ski?” he asked Cary. She shook her head. He shrugged. “Well, we can solve that in a week.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Really,” she murmured. “You don’t have to worry about entertaining me. I’m just along for Danny. I’ll be all right.”

She nearly jumped a mile when his arm stretched out across the seat and his fingers curved around her neck. He flashed her a very quick smile.

“Relax, Mrs. Adams! It is a ski lodge. It’s where people learn to ski. And you and Danny are both my guests, I’m very much hoping that you’ll enjoy yourself.”

The most absurd sensation swept through her. Tears stung her eyes, and she suddenly longed with all her heart to move closer against him. To lay her head on his shoulder. To relax…to feel his fingers, warm and sure, working away the tension at her nape….

His hand fell away, and she blinked. Hard. Then she managed to smile. “Thank you, Mr. McCready.”

“Dad’s name is Jason,” Angela suddenly volunteered from the back.

“Yes, I know,” Cary said.

“Mom’s is Cary,” Danny offered in turn.

Jason grinned, meeting Danny’s eyes in the mirror. “I know, son, but thank you.”

“Well, if you both know,” Angela said with exasperation, “why do you keep up with this Mr. and Mrs. business?”

Cary, smiling, shifted in her seat to see the wide, expectant eyes of the children. “He’s my boss,” she told Angela.

“And she’s one of my employees,” Jason explained.

“That doesn’t change your name, does it?” Danny asked innocently.

“No, it doesn’t,” Jason said. He glanced quickly at Cary. “I can live with Cary, if you can handle Jason.”

“I think so. It’s simple. Two syllables. I should be able to manage it.”

The Jeep sped along the highway. Cary realized that she had actually known Jason McCready for about three years. And now, within a period of fifteen minutes, they were suddenly on a first-name basis.

And she still felt warm. Very, very warm—despite the cold of winter….

Chapter 3

The ski lodge was beautiful.

The place looked like an alpine château, all wood and angles, with beautiful carvings. The reception area in the front boasted a huge stone and wood fireplace that was decorated with Christmas stockings and ran nearly the length of the wall. All around the fireplace were leather sofas and chairs, arranged for small and large gatherings, all offering warmth and intimacy. Hot and cold drinks were served in the area all afternoon, with mulled wines and exotic coffees the specialty for grown-ups, and hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate shavings the main offering for the smaller fry.

Jason McCready explained all this to Cary as they stood in the entryway together. He had pointed out the nearly twenty-foot-high Christmas tree in the lobby to Danny when a young blond man came hurrying forward to welcome them. He was anxious to please Jason McCready, Cary decided, but there was also a warmth in his eyes and a pleasure in his voice that could mean only one thing—he liked his boss.

“Mr. McCready, you’re here! No bad traffic, I hope. Did the weather slow you down?”

Jason shook his head, drawing off his gloves. “No, Randy, the trip was fine. We got off the highway to take a look at the Basin.” He smiled at Cary as he explained. He’d mentioned the Basin when they had stopped for pizza for lunch. It wasn’t far from the lodge, just before a little town called Franconia’s Notch. It was one of the most exquisite places Cary had ever seen, with falls and rivulets racing over rocks through the snow to reach an otherwise tranquil spot where the water hurtled down with a noise like thunder. A lot of the shallower water was freezing over, but Cary assumed that the place would be beautiful in any season. Thoreau had thought so, too. According to Jason, he had been a frequent visitor to the area, and some of his words were now immortalized at the spot.

The area had been exciting to see. And more so, perhaps, with Jason McCready. Because of the ice, he had kept a steady hand upon her elbow as he had led her along, the children racing ahead. He had watched her in silence as he had shown her the place, and when she had spun with pure wide-eyed pleasure, he had seemed to read her thoughts.

“It’s almost like Camelot! In summer, everything is green and lush, and there are wildflowers everywhere. In fall, the colors are simply fantastic. In winter, it’s a crystal palace of ice, just as you see. And spring brings the water rushing down at a greater crescendo, sweet and clean, the flowers just budding and the return of the birds…” His voice had trailed away, and he’d shrugged. They had stood gazing at each other. He hadn’t seemed to need a reply, but she had never seen him so animated, nor had she imagined that he might feel so poetic about any place.

“It’s wonderful. Just wonderful,” she’d murmured, and then quickly added, “thank you for taking the time to stop for me—and Danny, of course—to see this.”

“The pleasure has been all mine, Mrs.—Cary,” he’d said softly. Then he had turned and walked away, leaving her to follow on her own.

And she had wondered if he had come there often with his Sara, and if the place had awakened memories.

In the car he had remained quiet. And he had winced when Angela had begged him to play Christmas carols on the tape player. He had caught Cary’s glance and tried to smile.

He had played the tape, just as his daughter had asked, but he hadn’t joined in any of the songs.

Now, however, he was as polite and easy as could be. He turned, catching Cary’s hand and drawing her over to meet the younger man. “Randy, this is one of my top writers, Cary Adams. Cary, Randy Skylar. And this is Cary’s son, Danny.”

Randy shook her hand and grinned broadly. “Mrs. Adams, it’s wonderful to have you.” His gaze returned quickly to his employer. “I’ve readied the suites in the rear, just as you asked. Would you like something sent up?”

“I’m afraid I have a meeting with the sales staff right away,” Jason said. “But, Cary, perhaps you and Danny would like something?”

She started to shake her head, but then she thought about the children. “Angela, why don’t you come with us to our room for a while? That way we can have Randy send us all some hot chocolate while your dad is busy.”

Angela smiled shyly. “I’d like that. May I, Dad?”

“Well, maybe Cary and Danny should have a little time to settle in first—”

“It’s fine, really,” Cary said, interrupting him. She almost added, We’re only here for Angela, but she didn’t want Angela to feel that she was a burden, because she wasn’t at all. “I’m not tired, and I can throw things in drawers in a matter of minutes.”

Jason shrugged. “Fine, then. I’ll see you all later for dinner.”

He left the three of them with Randy, who escorted them to the room Jason had reserved for her and Danny.

The door to their room was certainly ordinary looking. It was a plain wooden door that opened from the balcony that ran the length of the wall above the Christmas tree. But once that door had opened…

The room was massive, yet cheerful and warm, with its own fireplace against a wall of granite. There was a white leather sofa standing on a raspberry carpet, and beyond a curving pine bar was a full kitchen that appeared to be equipped with all manner of conveniences and utensils. There were two doors leading from the main room. Cary glanced at Randy, then strode across the parlor area to the first door. Opening it, she discovered a bedroom with a huge queen-sized bed covered by a massive quilt. Even here, there was a fireplace. And to one side of the fireplace, set into a small field of white tiles, was a huge Jacuzzi.

Cary left that room behind and hurried on to the next. It was smaller, and it was missing the Jacuzzi, but it was every bit as warm and as nice.

These rooms had been designed as family getaways, she decided. The suite provided a romantic seclusion for adults, while children could be just steps away….

The lodge was his. He had probably designed it, too, Cary thought.

She walked to the main room, and she must have been frowning, because Randy was quick to question her. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just that…” Angela was staring at her anxiously. It’s just too nice! she wanted to shout. She hadn’t really been invited on this trip—Danny had been the intended guest. And now here she was. In the absolute lap of luxury and feeling very uncomfortable.

“I’m just afraid that I’m taking space from…from another guest,” she finished lamely.

“Oh, but you’re not!” Angela assured her. “There are two of these suites here. My dad and I have the other. See—it’s through that door over there. He never rents out these rooms. Never. They’re always for guests. Really. I hope you like it.”

“I like it very much,” Cary told Angela, but her discomfort was growing. She suddenly felt very much like the governess.

“Come, Mrs. Adams,” Randy Skylar told her. “You haven’t seen the half of it yet!”

He led her through the main room and pushed open French doors that led to a balcony. From there, plate glass stretched above her. Below her, swathed in mist, was an indoor pool. A swirling whirlpool sent water cascading over a rock fall into the pool.

Beyond it, the mountains and the ski slopes were visible through the plate glass. It was breathtaking.

Cary heard laughter and looked through the mist. Some guests had left the slopes to sink into the warmth of the heated pool. Children played on the steps. And a pair of lovers, perhaps the parents, laughed together, the man in the water, the woman stretched out on the tiled rim of the pool beside him.

A knot twisted in Cary’s stomach, taking her unaware. Once she had been like that. She could close her eyes and remember when she and Richard and Danny had taken vacations and left their cares behind.

“Hot chocolate has arrived!” Randy announced. Cary turned. A young woman had appeared, pushing a cart holding a silver pitcher of hot chocolate and a plate of Oreo cookies.

“This is living!” Danny announced happily. Then he looked at his mother, remembering that he needed to be very careful with Oreos—their sugar was high, and that was bad for his diabetes. “Can I have some?”

“Yes, of course. A few,” she told him, smiling. She made a mental note to test his blood sugar level and give him his insulin as soon as they were alone. They had a small machine to do the testing, and he was accustomed to receiving his insulin three times a day. Even at his age, he knew how to do it himself, and Cary was proud of him for that, but he was still young, and she liked to be there to oversee things.

But right now, she decided, he could have a few Oreos.

Cary smiled at the children. Danny was still watching her. “Why don’t you two dig in, and then get into your suits? We’ll swim and shower and change, and maybe then your father will be ready to join you again, Angela.”

Angela, delicate and pristine even with an Oreo in her hand, gave Cary a beautiful smile. “Oh, he will be. He’s always on time, and he never lies.”

“Well, how commendable,” Cary murmured. She offered the two another smile, thanked the maid and Randy Skylar, then disappeared into the master bedroom. As Danny had said, this was living.

She just couldn’t accept this kind of hospitality. It was too much.

She stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. It would have been so nice if she could have come to such a place with Richard.

In her mind’s eye she saw the pool and the snow-covered mountains beyond the glass. She saw a fire burning, and she saw herself, her head resting against the shoulder of a dark-haired man.

She bolted up, setting her hands against her flushed cheeks.

Richard had been blond. As light as Danny. The dark head in her daydreams had belonged to another man.

Jason McCready.

She groaned softly and buried her head in her pillow. And she didn’t rise until Danny came in to tell her that their luggage had been brought up, so they could change for the pool.

After their swim, Angela went through the connecting door to the suite she shared with her father to change. An hour later she knocked at the connecting door and Cary let her in.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are really beautiful, Miss McCready?” Cary asked her, smiling.

Angela blushed, her cheeks as rosy as her red velvet dress. “Do you really think so?”

“Indeed I do.”

“You’re very beautiful, too.”

“Thank you.”

“I told my father that.”

“Oh,” Cary murmured.

“Yes, she did, but it wasn’t at all necessary,” came a rich male voice over Angela’s shoulder.

Jason was freshly showered and shaved, his hair was still damp, and he was very handsome in a black dinner jacket and red vest. Cary, uncertain of how to dress, had chosen a soft white knit that gently molded her body until it flared slightly into a wider skirt just below the knees. Only the back was low and in the least daring, and she had hoped that her choice would suffice whether she found herself in casual or dressy surroundings.

“I already knew how beautiful you are, Mrs. Adams,” Jason assured her.

She felt a flush rising to her cheeks, as red as the color that stained Angela’s fair face. But she wasn’t young, she told herself. And she wasn’t the least bit innocent. She had to acquire a backbone where this man was concerned.

“Thank you. May I return the compliment?”

“You think Dad’s beautiful?” Angela inquired, giggling.

“You mean he’s not?” Cary said lightly.

“Oh, no!” Angela told her gravely. “He’s handsome. Very, very handsome.”

Tall, dark and handsome! an inner voice taunted Cary. Ah, but tall, dark and handsome had been June’s order for Christmas. Cary had just wanted a man who didn’t pull his boxer shorts up to his earlobes.

No. She hadn’t wanted a man at all. Jeremy was the one who had wished that upon her. Jeremy and his darned Christmas dust!

“Well, we’ve got reservations at a place up by one of the other slopes,” Jason said. “Not that the restaurant here isn’t marvelous—it is. But the week may grow hectic, and you may eat here frequently, so I thought I should get you out while I could. Is that all right?”

“Certainly. It’s very thoughtful,” Cary told him. “But you really don’t have to worry about Danny or me—”

“Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Adams. I realize that I don’t have to worry. I choose to worry. May I?”

There was that smile again. One that was open and honest. The smile that made her feel warm. That made candlelight seem to dance and flicker down the length of her.

Cary nodded, consenting as graciously as she could.

Dinner was wonderful. The owners of the restaurant had managed to combine moose and elk and deer heads on very rustic walls with a certain amount of elegance. Cary had her first beefalo steak, and a delicious salad. Conversation with Jason McCready was proving to be easy and natural, and throughout the meal she was surprised by the range of topics they covered, from the best qualities for grammar school teachers to the situation in the Middle East. And with Angela and Danny there, Cary also found herself laughing through the meal as Danny described the very best way to spit on a ball to give it a fast curve, and Angela sang camp songs that might have repelled a hungry bear. So much for elegance.

When they left the restaurant, it was late. The children were barely in the car before Cary turned and realized they were fast asleep, one slumped on the other.

Jason was silent for a while, and Cary felt her eyes flickering shut. Then Jason suddenly spoke.

“The kids are out?”

“Fast asleep,” she assured him.

“I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks very much for coming.”

“Thank you. The suite is beautiful. Too beautiful. I think I would have been happier with something, er, smaller.”

She saw the slow curve of his smile. “Mrs. Adams, you are worth it.”

“Well, thank you,” Cary murmured. He didn’t reply. The motion of the car as it sped through the night mixed with the warmth of its heater, and her eyes kept closing. Then they closed one final time and she couldn’t quite get them open.

It startled him when her head fell on his shoulder. Jason almost jumped, but he managed to hold still. The soft, sweet scent of her hair teased his nose, and for a moment he held his breath.

A poignant anguish stole slowly over him, seeming to seep into him like water over porous rock.

It had been so long….

Sara had fallen asleep on him like that.

He’d been out a number of times since her death. And though he was certain that he’d always been courteous, he knew, too, that he’d always been distant, and he’d seldom seen any woman more than once. According to a number of tabloids, he’d become a very eligible bachelor, but in his heart, he knew he would never be that. He couldn’t retain his interest in anyone; he couldn’t look at beauty with more than a casual eye. He hadn’t really dated; he’d had arrangements, and that had been that. Strange, because he had been intimate with some of those women, but…

He’d never come so close that one of them might fall asleep on his shoulder.

And Cary was certainly the only woman he would allow to be there.

He didn’t know why. He did know that he hadn’t thanked her just for Angela. He had thanked her for himself, as well. It had been years since he had really laughed. Years since he had been anxious for a day to end so that he might see someone—other than Angela—again.

Her hair brushed his chin. Soft and satiny, so warm with its rich brown depths. Like silk, it teased over his flesh. His fingers tightened on the wheel, and he clenched his jaw as he felt sudden, volatile stirrings of desire rise hard within him. His initial anguish had faded away. The present—and this woman—held all his attention. He couldn’t remember wanting anyone quite this way. It was ironic.

She was probably the one woman who would not want him.

She made a soft sound in her sleep as she curved against the warmth of his body more comfortably. Her fingers curled over his shoulder. And then her hand slipped and fell to his thigh.

He clamped down on his jaw even harder.

Cary awoke when the car jerked to a halt. Almost instantly, she was sitting upright, wondering how she had been sleeping.

But Jason McCready was already out of the car, and she didn’t know whether to apologize or not.

“This is it,” he said curtly. “We’re here.” For once on this trip, he wasn’t being terribly polite.

“Yes. I’ll, uh, I’ll just get Danny.”

“I’ll get Danny. He’s a lot heavier than my daughter. You carry Angela. If you think you can.”

“Well, of course I can—”

“I meant that you’re so tired yourself. And hell, you’re not a lot bigger than either of them.”

“I can manage,” Cary said irritably.

“Yes, yes, you can manage.” Jason quickly had Danny in his arms. She bent down for Angela, and his next words seemed to slap her right in the face. “Have I ever told you that you remind me of a porcupine at times?”

With her young burden in her arms, Cary stiffened and swung around. “What a lovely comparison. Thank you so much, Mr. McCready.”

“I didn’t say that you looked like a porcupine, Mrs. Adams. You’re a very beautiful woman, and you must know that. Even though your husband hasn’t been around for a long time to tell you, I’m sure that other men have. Or maybe not. With those porcupine bristles of yours, maybe no one has managed to get close enough.”

“Thank you again. You do have my life right down to a tee, Mr. McCready. And with all the women you date! Don’t you dare judge me!”

Cary delivered the last statement with her nose in the air, then turned quickly on her heel and headed for the lodge.

He was right behind her. “All the women I date?” he inquired.

“Ah, yes, if it’s Tuesday, it must be a redhead,” Cary said sweetly as they reached the door to the lodge.

“I didn’t know you had been paying so much attention to my dating habits,” Jason said.

Cary wasn’t able to reply. Randy Skylar was there to open the door for them. “Let me take her,” he offered Cary, and without giving her a chance to refuse, he swept Angela into his arms. Cary followed the two men up the stairs to the suites, forcing a smile to answer Randy’s polite questions about their dinner.

Jason laid Danny on his bed. Randy had taken Angela into Jason’s suite, so Cary and Jason were left alone to stare at one another, the sprawled and comfortable body of Cary’s son between them.

“Good night, Mrs. Adams,” Jason said softly.

“Good night,” Cary murmured. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

His slow, rueful smile curved his lips. “Yes, it actually was.” Then he brushed by her and left. And, oddly, Cary could feel the entire length of her side where he had touched her so lightly and so briefly. It was so much warmer than the other side….

Funny, she had been so tired. But even after she had tucked Danny in and changed into a comfortable flannel gown, she couldn’t sleep at all.

She pulled the pillow over her head, gritted her teeth and willed sleep to come. But for the longest time it didn’t.

She kept feeling the warmth of her side and wondering how closely she had leaned against Jason McCready when sleep had come so easily in his car.

There was a note beneath her door in the morning. It was handwritten, and she recognized Jason’s handwriting from the Christmas cards she had received over the last few years. It was a broad, large script, very legible, and somehow like the man, firm and powerful. The message was brief but courteous. He was tied up for the day, but she mustn’t feel that she needed to tend only to the children. There were programs for them all morning, movies, lessons on the bunny slopes, whatever. She was welcome to spend her day however she chose, and she shouldn’t worry. His staff were wonderful with children.

Cary didn’t mind spending her time with the children, but she did have an article she wanted to edit, and with a magazine’s deadlines, time could be very precious. She decided to have breakfast with the kids, then work for a while, then go down to the bunny slopes with them.

The day worked out as she had planned it. They breakfasted in her suite; then Angela and Danny traipsed off to see cartoons. Cary started to work in front of the main fireplace in the suite. She wondered if she would be able to concentrate, but to her great pleasure, she found that the comfort of the lodge and the snap and crackle of the fire were definite pluses. She didn’t dig her nose out of her manuscript until two o’clock, when she had accomplished everything she had wanted.

Pleased, she dressed in her own best rendition of a ski outfit—clinging knit pants, a warm wool sweater and a windbreaker—and went in search of the children. They were just finishing lunch, and both were pleased that she was going to join them on the bunny slopes.

“I don’t ski,” Cary told Angela. “That puts me on the bunny slope with you and Danny. Except that I’ll bet that you can ski.”

Angela could ski. Beautifully. But she spent the afternoon with Cary and Danny and the young ski instructor, laughing delightedly as Cary and Danny struggled with the equipment and a new sense of balance. Cary, overwhelmed at first by the heavy boots, the skis and all the safety tips she was being given, swore she would never be able to manage. But by early evening she was delighted. She was managing the slopes. She was skiing! And she was thrilled with the rush of pleasure and exhilaration that negotiating the small slopes brought her.

She was also cold. She and Danny and Angela headed into the lodge. The children had hot chocolate; she decided on an Irish coffee. It was very good, but since she hadn’t bothered with lunch, the hot drink seemed to hit her like lead.

She and the children decided to have dinner in the suite. And by the time they finished with the delicious linguine, the kids seemed willing enough to go to bed. Angela slipped through the door into her own suite. Cary hesitated, told Danny to get ready for bed and followed Angela into Jason McCready’s private quarters.

His suite was obviously never rented out. It had the same view of the pool, the same handsome pine walls and deep plush carpeting. There was more of a feeling of home to his rooms. There were beautiful mountain prints on the walls, and a cabinet filled with curious sculptures and knickknacks. A handsome oak secretary was covered with papers, and on a coffee table before the sofa were several issues of Elegance and other magazines. On a side table was a picture frame. It contained the perfect family photo. Jason McCready surrounded by the two women he loved, a much younger Angela and Sara, both with their beautiful blue eyes and angelic halos of soft blond hair.

Cary suddenly felt as if she was intruding, and she almost backed away. But Jason McCready had never given her any decrees about not entering his private domain, so she hurried through the living room to tap at one of the bedroom doors. “Angela?”

“Cary? Come in.”

Angela was already in her red flannel nightdress, her hair flowing down her back, her eyes wide and bright. Looking at her, Cary felt a peculiar rush of emotion, her heart tearing for Sara McCready. She’s so beautiful, Sara! Cary thought. If only you could see her!

“I just came to…to see if you wanted to be tucked in,” Cary told her.

Angela’s eyes widened. “Yes, please. Thank you very much.”

So Cary tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and promised to see her bright and early the next morning. She went to her suite and tucked Danny in, then changed into her flannel gown. But once again, as exhausted as she should have been, she couldn’t sleep. She got out of bed, made herself a cup of tea and wandered to the balcony overlooking the pool and the mountains beyond.

To her surprise, there was activity by the pool. She first recognized Barney Mulray, a salesman from Ohio whom she had met at a convention. Then she realized that the pool was full of Elegance salespeople.

And at the far end was Jason McCready.

To Cary’s growing dismay, her first thought was that he looked wonderful in a bathing suit. He was bronzed, lean and very well muscled. His chest was covered by a handsome and provocative mat of dark hair. And from the breadth of his shoulders to the clean, lean line of his hips to the powerful thighs below his black bathing suit, he was perfectly formed.

Someone else thought so, too. There was a little young redhead, with a chest that didn’t quit, sitting near him. She was talking to him, and Jason was responding. But then Barney called to him across the pool, and Jason was just as quick to respond to Barney. Cary leaned a little over the balcony, trying to hear their words.

“Come on, time for a drink,” Barney encouraged.

Jason shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m about to head up to my room. I want to check on Angela.”

Other encouragements were called to Jason, who shook his head. The people began to trail out of the pool. All but the redhead. She leaned closer to Jason—with that chest that wouldn’t quit.

“Really, Jason. Just one drink. Come on. It’s early.”

“Trudy, thanks,” he said, his voice firm. “But I’m tired. I’d like to be alone now, please.”

Not even Trudy would dare to argue with such a tone, it seemed. She rose with a shrug and moved off with the others.

The pool area was suddenly very silent. Only Jason remained at the far end, his eyes closed. Again Cary felt as if she was intruding. Well, she had been intruding, eavesdropping. She started to move away, but right then his eyes flew open. Right to her.

“Ah, Mrs. Adams!” he called softly.

“Hello,” she called back uncomfortably.

He smiled. Just like the cat who had caught the canary. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes, lovely, thank you.”

“The kids?”

“They’re fine. They’re sleeping.”

“Angela?”

“She’s fine. I…I tucked her in.”

His eyes widened a bit, she thought, but she didn’t know with what emotion—pleasure that she would do so, or annoyance that she would presume to come so close.

“But you’re wide-awake, I see,” he commented.

“Yes, well, I was going in—”

“Don’t. Come down,” he commanded suddenly.

Cary hesitated. She should go to bed. She shouldn’t go down to him. She felt as if little rivers of water were already dancing down her spine.

This was when memory usually kicked in. When she would remember Richard’s smile, his laugh, when she would feel so cold and empty…

But this time she didn’t see Richard’s face before her. She was caught by the powerful, handsome face of the man in the pool below.

“I just heard you say that you wanted to be alone,” Cary murmured.

“Did you?”

Cary flushed. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Well, I did want to be alone—then. But I would very much appreciate your company now. Please, come down. The water is wickedly warm.”

Much, much more than the water was wickedly warm, Cary was certain.

But suddenly she ached for a taste of that warmth. Just a taste. Jason McCready never offered anything more. And she could never take anything more.

But tonight…

Indeed, the wicked warmth seemed to sweep right up and curl around her. She moistened her lips, still hesitating.

“Cary?”

“I’ll be right down,” she promised.

And to her amazement, she got quickly into her suit and made her way to the pool. To the warmth.

Chapter 4

By the time she reached the pool, Cary was wondering why she had come. Jason McCready was no longer at the end of the pool, and she felt rather foolish standing there, looking around for him.

“In here, Mrs.—Cary.”

He’d moved to the Jacuzzi. And he’d watched her arrive. For some reason, that disturbed her.

And there was more to disturb her. There was a tray by his side as he slowly leaned back in the hot swirling water with his eyes on her. There were two glasses of champagne on the tray, and a dish of bite-sized cheeses and shrimp and crackers.

Cary stiffened and tightened the belt on her terry swim robe. But then she heard his husky laughter, and her flesh warmed. “Your quills are bristling, Mrs. Adams.”

“Are they?” she said, looking disapprovingly at the champagne. “Was this for my benefit?”

“It was.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

She waved an arm to indicate nothing—and everything. “Because it’s just too…practiced. As if you were going to…”

“Going to what?” He picked up one of the champagne glasses and took a sip.

“If you don’t know—”

“If you’re assuming that I intend to seduce you, don’t you think you’re being just a little presumptuous?”

“Oh, my Lord, this whole trip was a mistake. I just knew it—” Cary began, turning, intending to walk quickly away.

But she didn’t quite manage it. Jason McCready was out of the Jacuzzi and standing before her, dripping wet, very masculine—and entirely imposing.

“It was a mistake because Danny is having such a miserable time?” he demanded. “Or is it a mistake because you’re suddenly afraid of me? Why, I wonder? I’d admired you because you seemed to be the one person who wasn’t afraid to say what she was really thinking.”

“I’m not afraid of you!” Cary snapped quickly.

“Then?”

“Then…why did you invite me down?” she blurted.

He smiled. And there was a gentle humor in his eyes. “I like you. You’re my guest here. I’ve been dealing with business all day, and you’ve been with our children. I thought it might be nice to talk. And, since it’s late and it might also be nice to unwind, I ordered champagne and a snack. I thought you might enjoy it. And you just might, you know, if you let yourself.”

She wasn’t sure exactly why she felt like such a fool. Maybe she really had been presuming too much. Maybe he didn’t find her attractive in the least.

Most probably he was simply stating the truth. And she had been acting like a porcupine.

Her fingers were still knotted over the belt to her robe. Her lashes fell over her eyes. “Is there cocktail sauce for the shrimp?”

“Yes.”

“Well, all right, then.”

She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, so she turned, slipped off the robe and stepped into the Jacuzzi. The steaming heat was wonderful. It seemed to reach into all her muscles and smooth away her tension. Jason McCready stepped in, keeping his distance, sitting across from her. He offered her a glass of champagne. She thanked him, and he leaned back, sipping his own.

“How was your day?” he asked her.

“Great,” she said. She told him how the three of them had spent their time. He asked her questions all the while, and it was more the tone of his voice than the warmth of the water that relaxed her. Before she knew it, she was leaning closer and closer. She had consumed half the shrimp, while he had politely preferred the cheese.

And she had allowed him to refill her champagne glass twice.

But when she had finished recounting the day, there was a sudden silence. Jason was leaning back, his head resting on the rim of the Jacuzzi, his eyes half closed.

“Did you…did you design this place?” she asked him.

His eyes opened slightly. They seemed to cast a searing heat as they swept over her. “Yes.”

“I thought so. It’s so well planned—” She broke off, willing herself not to flush, because he was staring at her so hard. “You designed it for Sara,” she heard herself say.

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Then it must bring back painful memories for you.”

He shook his head. “My memories aren’t painful. And what difference does it make? According to you, I’m a dating machine.”

“Well, it’s foolish,” she told him.

He shrugged again. “It’s better than what you do.”

“And what do I do?”

“Start off with your quills bristling.”

“I don’t—”

“Did you know that I’m fairly good friends with your cousin Jeremy? Second cousin, actually, isn’t it?”

Cary inhaled and gritted her teeth. Jeremy! What had he been saying about her?

“He says that you’ve gone out three times in three years. And that each time you acted like an ice princess.”

“An ice princess!”

“Yes, an ice princess. And that you never had any intention of enjoying yourself. At least I try.”

“I try, too,” Cary protested.

He sipped more champagne, watching her. Now he didn’t look so much like the cat who had eaten the canary. His eyes were still lazy, half closed, but very green as he stared at her.

“Would you quit that!” she snapped.

“Quit what?”

“Well, I may remind you of a porcupine, but at this moment you very much remind me of a crocodile. So laid back and ready to snap my head off at any moment.”

He laughed and leaned toward her. “I’m not going to bite your head off.”

He was close to her. Very close. She could see the water beading on his shoulders and chest, and she was very tempted to touch one of those little beads. She was even tempted to move closer, to taste one of those little drops of water, to put the tip of her tongue against his flesh.

“The…the life you’re living is very wrong,” she told him primly. She couldn’t draw her eyes from the water…or from his chest. Think! she warned herself. Remember.

“Is it?”

She heard his whisper, and then she knew that they were even closer. She felt his thumb and forefinger stroking her cheek, lifting her chin. And then she felt his lips on hers.

The rushing warmth of the water seemed to sweep through her like a fever, to touch her mouth, her body, her soul, with the same sweet fever. She had never imagined kissing any man besides Richard.

She couldn’t imagine not feeling the touch of this man….

He did not seduce; he did not coerce. He gave so much with the hungry pressure of his lips. They molded to hers; they brought a fantastic warmth, a burst of emotions and sensations to fruition within her.

Maybe she had always known that he would kiss like this. With no hesitation, with a sheer provocative mastery. Maybe she had known that his tongue would move, hauntingly, drawing sensual patterns over her lips, delving between them, seeking the deepest recesses of her mouth, bringing a surge of sweet desire, latent so long, rushing like a cascade of wild water through her.

A sound escaped her, soft, like a moan. A sound of pleasure. Perhaps even a sound of desire. She could never accuse him of seducing her. His first touch had been so light. Even that kiss had provided every opportunity for escape. Perhaps at that point it was she who seduced him. For it was her arms that were the first to curl around his neck. It was she who floated against him as the swirling hot waters of the Jacuzzi lent them aid, seeming to fit their bodies so closely together.

He kissed her again. And again. His fingers traveled down her back, stroking her flesh, her form. She pressed against his muscled body, torn by memory, awakened by it. She was never anything but aware that he was a different man, a very different man, from the one she had married, the one she had loved. But for once her senses were swept away. She wanted this man, and the sensations were so acute and demanding that she didn’t want to care about anything else.

She was in his arms, on his lap, yearning for more and more of his touch. His lips rose a fraction of an inch above hers, and he whispered softly, “I think we’re both relaxed at last.”

“It’s the Jacuzzi.”

“No, because not all my muscles are at ease,” he told her.

Her eyes widened, and she might have been awakened to exactly what she was doing. But he kissed her again as his fingers caressed her cheek, her chin, her collarbone, and his arms tightened around her. The hot whirl of the water was not something outside her anymore, but something that was a part of her.

His lips rose from hers again. “We can’t stay here.”

“No,” she whispered.

“I want this to go on.” Again he offered her every escape.

“I know.”

“Is it the champagne?”

“It helps, I’m sure,” Cary admitted.

She felt him stiffen. He would walk away now, if she chose. But she didn’t choose. She moistened her lips and tightened her arms around him. “Please…” she murmured.

He didn’t make her say more. They stepped from the Jacuzzi and walked across the pool area to a door that led to a private stairway. It led, she realized, from the pool area straight to his bedroom.

One light was on. It cast a soft, dim glow over the black comforter that covered the large bed, the mountain prints on the wall, the black and brass and glass of the furniture. Cary saw very little of it, for she kept her gaze on Jason McCready, on the green eyes that remained locked with hers. She shivered suddenly, violently, for despite the heat indoors, she had come wet from the Jacuzzi into the air, and now her flesh was chilled. Not for long. For when he had laid her down, he covered her with the warmth of his own form. His kiss seared her with heat again, and his caress became a touch of fire.

Once more, his gaze caught hers, and he offered her a last escape. “Will you stay?”

She wanted to speak, but she couldn’t. She nodded, closed her eyes and wound her arms around him, burying her face against him.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded her, drawing her away. And she did so, meeting his gaze. “Tell me that you want me. Say my name.”

“I want you.”

“My name.”

“Mr. McCready.”

“My first name!” He laughed, and she smiled.

She managed to whisper, “Jason. I want you, Jason.”

Then he asked nothing more of her, and the magic began.

He touched her…just where she longed to be touched.

And he kissed her…just where she longed to be kissed.

Fires rose in the night, the flames sending little licks of sensation to tease and torment and bring sweet pleasure to her. She saw his eyes in the dim magical glow of the night. And she saw his hands, so bronze, so large, so masculine and wonderful, against the pale hue of her own flesh.

And she kissed him. Touched the bare skin of his shoulder with the tip of her tongue, just as she had dreamed of doing.

It had been so long. So achingly long…

And what he offered her was good. So beautifully, perfectly good.

For he made love. He took nothing that he didn’t give. He demanded; he shared; he held her; he caressed her. He touched her…so tenderly. And so passionately.

Almost as if he could love her.

And when the sweet whirl of heat and fever rose from pitch to pitch, when the cascade of need and hunger and wanting came swirling to a peak, it burst upon them both with a volatile climax.

The sensations were so strong, so sweet, that Cary’s world went black. And when the light came again, she was still trembling, still drifting. Held in his arms, she shook time and time again with the aftermath of pleasure.

And shock.

It wasn’t that she was suddenly horrified by what she had done. She had done it with her eyes wide open.

But she had done it without thinking. And though she still lay in his arms with the soft glow of the night a sweet shield around them, the garish rays of daylight would come streaking down upon her tomorrow, and she would have the future to live with.

She bit her lip, thinking that her suit was lying by the bed. Was there any way to slip into it without feeling awkward? Should she say thank you very much what a wonderful time and try to slip casually to her own room?

Good God, how could she ever go to work again? She had to quit! Unless he fired her. No—it was getting so close to Christmas. She couldn’t quit. Danny wanted a computer.

She was thinking about a computer at a time like this?

She started to move, but his hold on her tightened. “I—I have to go back,” she said in near panic. “Danny will be waking—”

“At one in the morning?” he said. Those eyes of his were on her again. And he was smiling.

“I have to go back,” she said stubbornly.

He kissed her lips. Then he moved away, rising on one elbow. He watched while she donned her suit, then comfortably slipped into his own. “I’ll walk you down for your robe and back to your room.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I said I’ll walk you back.”

Cary’s suit was still soaked, so cold after the warmth they had shared! As she hurried for the door to the stairway, she brushed by the bedside table, looking down as she struck it with her thigh.

And she stared at the picture. The picture of Sara McCready. Smiling so beautifully.

Oh, God. But Jason didn’t seem to notice. He moved past her, opening the door, then starting down ahead of her. He found her robe by the pool and set it around her shoulders, then smiled. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m cold.”

“You could have stayed warmly by my side.”

“We both have children.”

“We had more time.”

“No.” She shook her head, backing away from him.

“Cary, if you regret anything—”

“No, I don’t regret anything. It was wonderful. You know that. I mean…” Oh, she wasn’t good at this; she wasn’t good at all. She might as well be honest. “It was my first time since…Richard. And maybe I will be able to start seeing people again now. Thank you. But I need to be alone.”

“Cary—”

“I have to go!”

“Wait!” he said demandingly.

Why was she feeling such a swift rise of panic and handling things so poorly? “I have to go! And I don’t care what my leaving means. Even if you fire me!”

His jaw went very square. “Cary! I’m not firing you!”

The panic left her suddenly. But she still needed to escape. “So I don’t have to clean out my desk,” she murmured. She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. She wanted to throw herself against him all over again.

But most of all she wanted to be alone. Alone to deal with the sudden anguish that seized her now. She couldn’t let him walk her back. She turned and ran from the pool to the steps that led to the balcony, then back to her own room.

She spent the morning desperately trying to feel and act normally.

She must have done a better job than she had expected, because neither Danny nor Angela seemed to notice anything amiss. Cary didn’t know where Jason was; she hadn’t gotten a note from him, and he didn’t appear at the table when they went down for breakfast.

To Cary’s dismay, he did appear at the bunny slopes that afternoon. And although he had a meeting scheduled, he just brought the meeting to the bunny slopes with him. Cary recognized a number of the sales staff. They had looked a little dazed at the locale he’d chosen, but nobody was about to say anything.

Cary thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Especially when she skied down the little slope and, despite her very best efforts and determination, ended up on her hind end in the snow. Jason was there, smooth and sleek and infuriatingly comfortable on his skis, to assist her. “We’re going to talk tonight,” he told her briefly.

“No! The children—”

“The children are going to the lodge’s kids’ dinner club. They’re going to have hot dogs and play games and pop popcorn to string on the tree. And they’re going to sing Christmas carols and make Christmas gifts and have a great time. It is the Christmas Season! Have a little spirit!” he told her. “Be ready at six.” By then he had her on her feet and was gliding away.

She couldn’t begin to move so quickly. She could hardly move at all.

“Be ready for what?” she demanded.

But Jason McCready either didn’t hear her or didn’t intend to answer.

Danny left early for the kids’ dinner club. That gave Cary time to bathe and dress carefully. She didn’t know where she was going, so she chose a black velvet dress that she hoped was both concealing and elegant. She wasn’t going to run away tonight. She was just going to explain that they couldn’t go any further. Because…

Because she needed her job. And she couldn’t bear for things to be awkward.

And because she didn’t want to be one of his long string of women.

And that was the real rub, she admitted, seeing her features pale in the mirror as she slipped on her little pearl earrings.

Why? What did it matter? she asked herself. He was good for her. He would open up the world that she had closed away, and then she could go on.

No. She couldn’t.

Because she cared about him, she admitted. Because he had fascinated her from the start. Because no one else could draw the things from her that he had drawn so easily. No one else could make her forget Richard.

She hadn’t forgotten Richard.

Yes, she had. For those precious moments in Jason’s arms, she had forgotten.

She closed her eyes. He had made her say his name. But he had never spoken hers.

There was a knock on the door to the suite. Cary grabbed her coat and hurried out. She didn’t want him coming into her room.

His room, really. The whole lodge was his.

She was breathless when she threw the door open and saw him. His eyes were bright. He was still angry, she thought.

And in jeans and a leather jacket, he was far more casually dressed than she was.

“Oh! I’ll change,” she murmured.

“No, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. Not where we’re going. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Cary demanded.

He could move so quickly when he was in a hurry. He had her by her elbow, and he hadn’t answered her question. In front of the lodge there were too many people around, all greeting Jason and nodding to her, for her to say anything. But finally they were in the Jeep, and she repeated her question. “Where are we going?”

“There.” He pointed to a structure just up the hill. Cary sighed. For a man who wanted to talk, he was extremely untalkative.

And she still had no idea where they were going.

The ride was too short, and yet it was also interminable. As soon as they entered the wooden building on the hill, she realized it was a private château, and that someone had readied it for their arrival. A fire was burning in the grate, and a delicious aroma was wafting from chafing dishes on the rustic table.

Jason removed his jacket, casting it onto one of the couches. He didn’t take her coat, but walked straight to the table, lifting the cover off one of the dishes. “Beef Stroganoff. And, let’s see, a very nice white burgundy. Have a seat.”

He pulled out her chair. Cary still had her coat on. “Jason, I never agreed to a private—”

“Did you want to discuss our sexual relationship publicly?” he demanded.

“We don’t have a relationship!” she insisted.

He smiled. “Fine. Sit down and tell me why.”

Exasperated, Cary groaned, doffed her coat and then took the seat he had pulled out for her. He poured the wine, then sat opposite her. His eyes met hers as he lifted his glass to her.

“Well?”

“I just can’t see you anymore,” she said.

“Why not?”

“You’re my boss, for one thing.”

“We’re nowhere near work.”

“But we will be.”

“This has nothing to do with work, and you know it.”

Cary sipped her wine. “All right. All right—you need another reason? I don’t care to be one of the crowd.”

“The crowd?” One brow shot up. “Really, it isn’t that bad, is it?”

She flushed. “I just don’t—”

He leaned across the table. His fingers closed over hers. The warmth was electric. Seductive…frightening.

“I enjoy you. I like you. I admire you.”

“You’re lost, sunk, in your memories!” Cary told him.

He smiled ruefully. “I am? All right, then, Cary. We have everything in common. You’re in love with a ghost, too. But admit it, you’re having fun with me. You opened up. You didn’t do anything casual or careless last night. You made love with me! And that’s a hell of a lot more than you’ve managed before!”

She jumped up, and his wineglass slammed down. “At least I’m not always trying to run away!” he exploded.

But you’re not in love with me, either! Cary thought. And then she paused at the awful realization that maybe, just maybe, she was falling in love with him. It had started when he had picked her up for the week….

No. It had started before that. It had started with the fascination she felt each time she saw him.

And now…

“Give it this week,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re having fun. Hell, you’re even having sex. Give it this week. Then, if you want to stop, we will. We can go back to work and never even nod in the hallways.”

She should have said no right then.

He had brought her here, to complete privacy. To complete intimacy. But he would take her home if she wanted. She knew that. She had only to say the word.

But…

She liked the lodge. She liked being with the children. And she liked being with him. She liked his slow smile, his laughter, and she even liked seeing the weariness slip from his eyes.

And she liked his chest. Naked.

The rest of the week…

It was almost Christmas. She owed it to herself.

She sank slowly into her chair. “We’ll have dinner,” she murmured.

And they did. Just dinner. But then it began to snow, and they stood at the window and watched the snowflakes falling. Then they sat before the fire and started to talk about baseball and all the things that little girls needed, and children in general.

Suddenly they were stretched out on the floor beside the flames.

And Cary knew that she wanted to make love. Again.

The flames in front of them, and between them, began to climb higher and higher.

Outside, the Christmas lights flickered red and green.

And Cary knew that she had given herself a bigger Christmas present than she had known. She had given herself laughter and a little bit of Christmas spirit….

And even a little taste of peace.

Chapter 5

The week passed in a whirl.

And while it was happening, Cary had to admit that it was the best time she could remember having.

For one thing, she became a passable skier. Between Jason and Angela, she had plenty of help. And plenty of laughter each time she or Danny pitched into the snow.

The laughter. Perhaps that was what she would remember the most. Or maybe it was the warmth, the quiet evenings. Or maybe the sheer excitement of feeling alive and aware and sensual again.

He told her to relax, to try to have fun.

And she did. They swam; they skied; they ate. They spent time with the children, and they spent time alone. They took lazy walks, and they played in the privacy of the Jacuzzi in Cary’s room. They listened to the endless hum of Christmas carols heralding the season, and they went on sleigh rides with bells jingling.

Danny had the time of his life.

But the week came to an end, and though Jason acted as if nothing needed to change because they went back, Cary knew that it would. The week had been a fantasy. Now they were in the real world. It was an uneasy feeling, and as she lay awake the Sunday night before she had to go to work, she regretted what she had done even as she dreamed about the days gone by.

And then there was Jason.

Courteous, charming. He’d made her laugh so easily. And she’d never imagined a more tender or exciting lover. But now it was time to remember that he moved swiftly, that no matter how easy he had been to be with, he was still in love with Sara, and if he thought that Cary was coming too close, he would move on.

She slept very little that night.

Monday morning passed by without her seeing him. She had lunch with June, determined that she wasn’t going to give anything away. Nothing. And despite June’s persistence, she stuck to her story that it had been a nice week, that Jason had been charming, that Danny and Angela had enjoyed a great time—and nothing more.

She thought she would see Jason sometime during the day, but she didn’t. And she didn’t know whether she was anxious, or very, very glad.

A second day passed without her seeing him, and then a third and a fourth. She lay awake at night, tossing and turning. She remembered his every touch, and she clenched her teeth tightly, thinking how ironic it was that she had finally fallen in love again.

With a man who not only couldn’t love her, but didn’t even want to see her again.

She had warned herself. Again and again, she had warned herself.

By Friday she had stubbornly convinced herself that she was not going to go from living in one kind of hell to living in another. If he asked her to dinner, to a show, to coffee—to anything—ever again, she would refuse.

To make matters worse, June plagued her at lunch every day. And it was the Christmas season. Everywhere she turned, people were singing about tidings of joy.

“Maybe you’ll have a date for the pre-Christmas Eve party,” June teased her at lunch on Friday.

Cary clenched her teeth. “June, I had a nice time last week. I enjoyed both the McCreadys. That’s all.”

“And did the McCreadys enjoy you?”

“June, drop it,” Cary said warningly.

But it was when she returned to her office after lunch that she found the computer. And, as it happened, June was with her.

“It’s that system that Danny wanted so much! The one you thought you couldn’t afford!” June exclaimed. “How did it get here? Who would have…oh!” She stared hard at Cary, then she started to laugh. “I guess one McCready did enjoy you. Very much.”

“June!” Cary gasped.

“Oh, kid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. Except that you must have…well, I mean, you must have had a really good time. And he must have had a really good time, too. Oh, I’m not making this sound any better, am I? Gee, I wonder how many other people saw this come in here?”

Damn Jason McCready. He’d forced her into falling for him, then ignored her….

And then managed to turn her into the most delectable piece of office gossip in months.

Cary’s cheeks were flaming, and she couldn’t think of a single word to say to June. She probably shouldn’t accost Jason now, in his office. His secretary would hear her, and the staff would probably be buzzing by the end of the afternoon.

Damn Jeremy and his Christmas dust! Cary thought furiously. The computer was in her office, and it must look like some kind of payment for services above and beyond the call of duty. Well, nuts to timing! She strode out of the office, down the hall and to the elevators. And she didn’t wait for Jason’s secretary to announce her, she waved and went right through the door.

Jason had been expecting to hear from Cary. He’d been waiting for a call.

This past week had been bedlam—absolute bedlam—and he’d played catch-up from morning until night. He’d driven by her apartment on his way home from work twice, but it had been late, and when he’d been about to go up to see if she was awake, he had been amazed to find his hands trembling, and he’d driven home instead.

Early this morning, he’d thought of the computer. He hoped it was the right one and that she would tell him how much it would mean to Danny. The boy had talked about it often enough on the trip, telling Angela all the wonderful things he had been able to do on it in school.

He wanted to talk to Cary. He wanted to hear her voice again. From the minute he had left her at her door, he had missed her. Missed the gold in her gaze, the curve of her smile. He missed the simple beauty of her face and the lithe, sensual beauty of her form. He missed being near someone who shared his love for children; he missed the way she could laugh at herself when she landed in the snow. He missed her eyes, steady and sure when she told him something she was determined he should hear. And he missed her sighs and her whispers and the wonder in her eyes when they made love. Just remembering made an ache rise hauntingly within him.

He had lain awake all night thinking about it, and he had awakened that morning amazed to feel an aching in his heart. He wanted the week back. He wanted to be with her. For the first time in five years he had been happy. He hoped the computer would make her happy, too.

Apparently it didn’t.

He was amazed when she stormed into his office, her eyes gleaming with fury, her beautiful features as tense as iron. There was a pencil between her hands. And even before she began to speak, it snapped.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded.

Defensively, he was on his feet. He walked around the desk and perched on the edge of it, his arms crossed over his chest. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The computer!”

“It’s for Danny.”

“Oh, it’s for Danny! But it’s also for me. And I can’t afford it. And I don’t want things from you that I can’t afford. It looks like a—a payment!”

“A payment!” Jason roared.

“Everyone must know now that…that…”

“You’re sleeping with me?” Jason suggested. He said it as if it were something evil. But it had meant everything to him. It had meant salvation.

“But I’m not ‘sleeping with’ you—it’s not some ongoing thing!”

“There was no payoff intended, Cary, and I can’t believe—”

“Oh!” she ground out with exasperation. “I am going to have to quit—”

“Why?”

“Don’t you see what you’ve done? My position is untenable. I just became another of your casual associations, but I have to appear here every day—”

“I wasn’t sure that we were involved in any casual associations,” he said, his eyes narrowing angrily. “I intended to call you this afternoon—”

“Did you? No! No, it doesn’t matter. It can’t go on, don’t you see? I can’t work here and have everyone looking at me as if I were…as if I were one of your women,” she finished flatly.

“It was good between us,” he said harshly. “Everything was good.”

“Was! It’s over. I will not see you again!”

He was still. Dead still. Absolutely silent and tense. Then he spoke softly. “All right. I’ll marry you.”

Cary was so startled that she fell silent, gaping. Then she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. All right, he’d marry her? It sounded as if he had come to a compromise on a business proposal. And he couldn’t mean it. No matter how…good…it had been between them, he was striking and rich—no, no, how could she forget? He was tall, dark and handsome and rich. Damn June and Jeremy and Christmas dust and the Christmas season! He didn’t mean to marry her; it was just something that had come out of his mouth to stall her.

She shook her head. “You can’t mean that. It makes no sense. And if—”

“I mean it with every breath in me.” He strode toward her, pausing half an inch away. “And it makes perfect sense. You’re the one who said we had a lot in common. So we’re both really in love with ghosts. I understand you, you understand me. We share something.”

Cary shook her head. She didn’t understand the pain she was feeling. He did mean it. He would marry her. Just to keep her near. She should have been flattered. Instead she wanted to cry. “I don’t need anyone to marry me. You certainly don’t have to do anything like that. I can do very well on my own—”

“Yes, yes, I know. But you can do better with me. And I can do a lot for Danny that you can’t do.”

“I’m a good mother—”

“But you’re not a father.”

“This is insane.”

“Angela loves you. And I do flatter myself that Danny is fond of me.”

His hands were on her shoulders, his eyes burning into hers. They were compelling, demanding that she bend to his will.

Excitement began to seize her. She could marry him. He’d offered her something that he hadn’t offered any other woman. There was something missing, but what she would have would surely be better than loneliness. She was falling in love with him. And perhaps that would be enough.

“Do it,” he insisted.

“I…” She jerked free from him suddenly. “I have to go!” she said.

“I’ll be home tonight. Get someone to watch Danny. Come see me. I’ll want an answer.”

She left his office.

She spent the afternoon in misery. Jeremy popped his head in, and it was apparent that he and the entire office had heard about the computer. “Wow! Just imagine what you could get if you went away with him for a month!” Jeremy teased.

Cary felt like hurling her desk at him. “Get yourself and your Christmas dust out of here!” she warned him furiously.

Jeremy couldn’t be gotten rid of that easily. He came in and sat on the edge of her desk. Frowning, he looked into her eyes. “Cary, I didn’t mean anything.”

“Never mind!”

“Cary, I really didn’t mean anything. And neither did Jason, I’m certain.”

“He’s careless! He’s accustomed to having everything at his whim, and he’s accustomed to money—”

“Cary, he was an orphan. An abandoned boy who grew up on the streets more than off them. He worked his way up to everything he has. He isn’t careless.”

Cary stared at her desk. She hadn’t known anything about his past. He never talked about it. Maybe he had walked the hard and rocky road once, but that had been years ago. Perhaps his career had been admirable. Okay, so he was admirable, and that was how he had managed to slip into her heart. That was why she cared so much.

But it was also true that he thought he could snap his fingers and she would snap to attention.

Well, she wasn’t going to.

At nine o’clock that night she was on her way to his house in Cambridge. So much for her best intentions. But as the cab carried her along, she convinced herself again that she would say no. In very certain terms.

The house was beautiful, old and furnished with antiques. She was escorted to an eighteenth-century drawing room where Jason was sipping brandy and evidently waiting for her.

She felt awkward as she walked in. And he had no polite chitchat for her. He simply stared at her, waiting.

“How’s Angela?” she asked.

“Fine. Sleeping.”

She nodded. “Jason, I can’t—”

She didn’t see the disappointment in his eyes. His lashes shaded them too quickly. “I really can’t do this. I can’t do this to you—”

“Do it to me? Cary, I want you!”

“And it seems that you’re willing to pay a tremendous price. Jason, I don’t—”

“The price doesn’t matter, Cary. It’s Christmas. You’re what I want more than anything in the world.”

This year, Cary thought.

“I will do my best to give you anything that you want,” he said harshly.

“Jason, it’s just that—”

“Cary, you don’t want to be one of a number of women. I’ll make you my wife. I can give Danny anything in the world. The best schools, anything he wants. A guaranteed future. No worry for you. Cary, it’s Christmas! And I can give you and Danny every Christmas gift in the world.”

“But there’s nothing that I can give you!”

“Damn it, Cary, give us both a break! You’d be giving Angela and me a real home!” he exclaimed.

She felt her fingers curl. It was a business proposition. Pure and simple. But it wasn’t such a bad proposition.

“All…all right,” she told him.

“Done!” A handsome smile slashed his face. In seconds he was across the room. He took her hand, and before she realized what he was doing, he had slipped a diamond on her finger.

It was beautiful. It was large, but it wasn’t decadent. It was surrounded by tiny emeralds, and it fit right beside her old gold band.

“Jason, I can’t—”

“It’s an engagement ring! It seals our promise.”

And it fit. It fit her just right, the band snug and warm around her finger. “A ring and a kiss,” he told her softly. And she was suddenly in his arms.

The kiss too, was filled with promise. Her anxiety and emotions knotted together, and when his kiss deepened, she found a sweet escape in the growing sensation. It had become so natural to be with him. So natural, so beautiful to feel his touch. To know this wonderful, spiraling desire…

She saw his room that night. Saw his large oak wardrobes and dressers, his massive, white-tiled bath, his king-size bed. She lost herself in that bed, in the soft, warm, sinking comfort. She acutely felt his every touch. The sweep of his hand, the pressure of his body, the passion of his being. She rode with him and flew with him, and when it was done, she was once again left shaking with the wonder of their lovemaking.

And once more feeling the growth of tears behind her eyes.

She lay on the soft sheets, feeling his arms around her, and from somewhere she heard the promise of a Christmas carol on the air.

Christmas…

It was for giving, for believing. It was for miracles. It was for faith.

And to have Jason, well…

But there was something missing. And as she listened to the distant beauty of “Silent Night” filling the darkness, she knew what it it was. Love.

He touched her. Touched her shoulder. And his kiss burned into her flesh.

Once more, she thought. She couldn’t resist having one last time. And so she moved into his arms, meeting his kiss with warmth, with magic, with a prayer.

Later, while he slept, comfortable, handsome as a boy, his dark hair tousled, she rose and dressed quickly.

“Where are you going?” Lazy green eyes were on her.

“Home. Danny is there.”

“I’ll take you.”

She shook her head. “No, please, it isn’t late. I’ll be all right.”

But she was beginning to know Jason McCready. Even if this had been a casual date, he would still have seen her home. The man she loved had manners.

He took her to her apartment door and paused there. “I smell popcorn,” he murmured.

“June and Danny. I’m sure they’re making strands for the tree.”

He placed a hand on either side of her head. “I love your apartment. Did I ever tell you that?”

She shook her head, wondering if it could be true. His house was so magnificent. “I love your house,” she told him.

He smiled. “Good. Maybe you can change it, and I can love it, too.” He leaned down and kissed her, and she wanted to pull away, but she couldn’t. She clung to him, letting the magic wash over her.

She walked into her apartment, where June and Danny were indeed busy with popcorn strings.

“Hi, Mom!” There was excitement in Danny’s eyes. He knew that she had been with Jason.

“Hi, honey.” She kissed him on the top of his blond head, her resolve weakening. It would be so good for Danny. Maybe she was thinking like a fool.

No, it would be wrong to marry Jason. She couldn’t do it. She had told him that she would, but she couldn’t. And she couldn’t see him again. Not under any circumstances. Because every time she saw him, she wanted him. For Christmas.

For always.

“Bedtime,” she insisted to Danny, and she finally managed to get him tucked in.

June was not so easy. “Well? You’re upset. You’re going to cry. Oh, that creep! He told you it was over!”

Cary shook her head. “No, he asked me to marry him.”

“What!” June gasped. “Oh, how wonderful!” She started to dance around the room with a pillow, but then she paused. “You did tell him yes, right?”

Cary sighed. “Yes, I did. But I’m afraid I’m not going to. I’m—I’m going to resign tomorrow. I’m not going back to the office. I’ll finish my present assignment, and you can take in all my paperwork.”

“What!” June stared at her as if she had gone insane. She argued with Cary, pleaded with her.

Cary slipped the diamond from her finger and placed it in June’s palm. “Take this back, too,” she insisted.

“Oh, Cary, you can’t possibly dislike him or be angry with him—”

“I don’t dislike him and I’m not angry with him,” Cary said. She smiled. “Actually, I love him.”

Cary knew that June didn’t understand, but Cary wasn’t going to give her an explanation. She ushered June out and hurried to her bedroom, where she turned on the radio.

Someone was playing “Silent Night” again.

Cary laid her head on her pillow and indulged herself in a cascade of hot tears.

Jason McCready was on top of the world.

Indeed, the world was beautiful. For the first time in years he couldn’t wait for Christmas. The pain had been miraculously lifted from his heart, and he loved all the things that had once hurt so badly. They would be married before Christmas, he decided. He’d forgotten to ask Cary to help Angela with a Christmas dress, something special to be worn to church. She wouldn’t mind, he was certain.

Sitting at his desk at work, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He laced his fingers behind his head and wondered if Danny needed a new baseball bat, or maybe a glove. Or maybe he had an attachment to his old one. Danny liked collecting baseball cards. He had told Jason that in New Hampshire. There were all kinds of baseball card shows they could go to together.

His secretary buzzed him and announced that June was waiting to see him.

“Send her in,” Jason said.

As soon as he saw June he felt a foreboding. He knew immediately, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that something was very wrong.

“Mr. McCready, I…” Her voice trailed away.

“June, I have always hoped that all my employees would feel free to come here and say whatever they had to say,” he told her patiently.

She went very pale.

“June?”

“Oh, Mr. McCready, I hate being here,” she said. “But I…”

She stepped forward, and she put his diamond ring on his desk. He stared at it, and then at her.

“Cary is quitting,” June said in a rush.

He paled, amazed at the assault of pain that swept over him.

“She couldn’t tell me herself?”

June moistened her lips. “I think she was afraid to see you again. Afraid you wouldn’t really listen to her. Not that I understand her myself.”

Jason stared at the ring, then stood, slipping it into his pocket. He walked to the window.

“She’s going to finish up all her work. She just isn’t going to come in anymore,” June said quietly.

His back was square and straight as he stared at the street. “This isn’t like her,” he said. “Cary Adams has always had a talent for stating her mind.”

She did have that wonderful talent, he realized. Since that day when she’d come here and told him exactly what she thought of him, she’d been changing his life. So subtly, at first. She’d just made him watch her. Watch the sunlight in her hazel eyes. Watch her movement in the hallways. Dear God, he’d come to love her smile.

Christmas bells rang below him. Bright lights in green and red were coming on as the early darkness of winter descended.

A bleakness settled over him. The future was empty without her. Suddenly it hit him like a brick as he realized what his despair meant.

He loved her eyes; he loved her hair. He loved her laughter, and he loved her spirit and her mind. He loved the trusting way she looked at him when they lay entwined together. He loved her, he realized.

And she wanted none of him.

June realized that he wasn’t saying anything. He was just standing there, his shoulders squared in misery as he gazed at the snow. June wanted to touch his shoulders in comfort.

And she wanted to give Cary a good shaking for hurting him so. What was the matter with that woman?

“Cary is usually very determined to handle her own affairs. I suppose she thought it would be easier if she weren’t involved this time,” June said. Why hadn’t Cary gotten Jeremy to come up here? He and McCready were friends, and although June had always liked her employer a lot, she was in a wretched position at the moment. “It’s so much harder when you love someone. Though, for the life of me, I can’t understand—”

“What!”

June broke off, stunned, frightened by the harshness of his tone. She couldn’t remember what she had been saying. “I—er—”

“What did you say?”

“What did I say?” June repeated. “Oh. I don’t understand Cary. I don’t know why on earth she’s doing this. She loves you, and—”

“That. That part. Say that again.”

“I said she loves you—”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, she said so, of course—”

Once again June broke off. He was striding across the room to her, and he was moving so swiftly, and with such power, that she almost cried out and leaped away. She didn’t get a chance to.

His hands were on her shoulders. She was lifted off the floor, and his lips brushed her cheeks.

The bleakness had fallen from him like a cloak of darkness.

She loved him. And he loved her. And as he broke into a broad grin, he suddenly understood. They’d both been too lost. Lost in the past. Lost in pain that they hadn’t managed to let go. And then, like a fool, he’d offered her everything in the world. Everything except what a woman like Cary wanted. Love.

“She is going to marry me. Thank you, June, but you don’t need to stand here stuttering anymore. She is going to marry me.”

And then, while June stared openmouthed, he walked past her and out of the office.

By late afternoon Cary had decided that Jason had graciously accepted both the return of his ring and her resignation.

She allowed herself another good cry, then decided she had to try to stop or else she would spend the rest of her days in tears. But it was hard. So hard…

She looked at the phone time and time again, thinking that she should call him. And then her cheeks would flame, and she would be ashamed, because she hadn’t gone to see him herself. She should never, never have sent June to face her own particular lion for her.

But she had been afraid to see Jason McCready. Because if he pressed her, she just might want the magic so badly that she would reach for it, even though it was wrong.

Danny came home from school, and she wondered if she should talk with him yet. She had only told him that she was taking a day off from work—she hadn’t told him she had quit her job.

After all, it was Christmas.

It wasn’t right to be so miserable.

She didn’t say anything to Danny, so he spent the night talking about Jason, and about how wonderful it had been at the lodge, and how he hoped that they would get together again soon.

Cary nearly screamed.

At ten she went to bed. She lay staring at her ceiling and willed herself to go to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Tears would. They were just starting to well in her eyes when she heard the first thump against her window. She jerked up, wondering what on earth could be going on. A second thump hit the window, and she jumped up and raced to it, her heart pounding.

Two stories below was a figure standing under a lamppost. And even as she watched him, another snowball came flying at her, thumping against the window.

Her eyes widened in amazement. Jason McCready, hatless and scarfless, was standing on the sidewalk, grinning at her and throwing snowballs.

She threw open the window, shivering against the sudden cold.

“Jason! What are you doing down there?”

To her utter amazement, he began to sing. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”

His voice was good. Very good. Rich. He could croon out the tune with almost the same appeal as Bing Crosby.

The window next to hers suddenly flew open. Mrs. Crowley, from the apartment beside hers, looked out. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

“Jason, hush!” Cary pleaded.

“…may your days be merry and bright…”

Another window burst open. It was old Mr. Calahan from the apartment below hers.

“Hey, not bad!” Mr. Calahan said, chuckling. “How about ‘Deck the Halls’?”

“Jason, please, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention.”

“Well, you’ve got mine, young man,” Mrs. Crowley informed him. All bundled up in her thick robe, she was a cheerful picture, with her red cheeks and bouncing pink curlers. Jason grinned at her.

“I came to ask Cary to marry me again. I just wanted her to know that I have lots of Christmas spirit. She thinks she knows all about me, but there are a lot of things she hasn’t realized.”

“Jason!” Cary cried in horror. “I told you I can’t marry you—”

“Why not? Specifically.”

Mr. Calahan craned his neck. “Yes, why not? Specifically.”

“Jason!” Cary cried, mortified.

“That’s all right. I already know,” Jason told Mr. Calahan and Mrs. Crowley. But his eyes, green, bright and with such a tender expression, remained on Cary. She felt her heart beginning to ache and her limbs to burn.

“I asked her for all the wrong reasons, you see. I said that we’d be good together. That we’d be good parents for each other’s children. That we’d keep each other from being lonely. I have a nice business, and I told her that I could take care of her.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Mr. Calahan said.

“Go on!” Mrs. Crowley insisted.

Jason smiled. A beautiful, slow, crooked smile that filled his face with wistfulness and longing. “I want to restate my proposal. I want to tell her that I want to marry her for just one reason. For the most important reason in the world. Because she brought light back to my world. She made my every hour worth living. Because I love her with all my heart.”

“Oh, Jason!” Cary whispered.

“How romantic!” Mrs. Crowley clapped her hands.

“Well, tell him yes, young woman!” Mr. Calahan commanded. “Tell the poor fellow yes before he expires out there!”

“Yes! Yes!” Cary cried. “Stay there. Stay right there! I’ll be right down!”

He could have come up, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. And so Cary rushed down the stairs and into the snow, where she threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, Jason! Really? Can it be true?”

He cradled her chin. “Yes, it’s true. Cary, I do want to give you things. I want to give you and Danny everything I can. I want to make you happy. I want you to keep working, if that’s what you want. And I know that Angela and Danny will be delighted. But, Cary, I do love you with all my heart.”

“Jason! I love you, too.”

“Kiss him!” Mrs. Crowley called out.

“Are you still eavesdropping up there?” Mr. Calahan demanded.

“Oh, shut up, you old goat!”

“Hmph! All right, young lady, you go ahead and kiss him. And come inside! That way we can all get some sleep.”

Cary decided to oblige. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Long and hard.

Mrs. Crowley sighed. A window closed.

And suddenly little flakes began to fall. Beautiful, intricate little snowflakes. It would probably be a very white Christmas.

Jason’s lips parted from hers. Cary caught his hand, and they rushed up the stairs.

Once inside her apartment, she was in his arms again. And when the kiss at last seemed to end, she leaned against him, dazed, amazed, dazzled, and then worried and afraid all in one.

“Jason, this still isn’t quite fair. You’ve given me so much already. What will I ever give you?”

“What I want for Christmas most of all.”

“And that is?”

“You,” he said. “In a red ribbon. And nothing else. Just you.”

She smiled shyly, and he kissed her again. Then he broke away. “Maybe something else, too.”

“What?”

“I always imagined a wonderful family, a big family. I grew up alone, and somehow that makes you really love kids. We have a great boy, and a great girl, but maybe we could go for two more somewhere along the line. If you’re willing. What do you think?”

“I think kids are just great,” Cary whispered.

He already knew that.

“So will you marry me?”

“Yes, Jason, yes. Oh, yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Wow. Oh, wow! Wow, oh, wow, oh, my!” came a little boy’s voice.

Danny was up. And Danny had been unabashedly listening to the whole thing.

“Really?” Danny said.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Cary said.

“Really,” Jason told him, grinning.

“When?” Danny demanded. “It has to be by Christmas.”

“Danny!”

“By Christmas it is,” Jason agreed.

And they were married by Christmas. The ceremony was on December twentieth. Danny and Angela were both there, along with Jeremy and June and the entire staff of Elegance.

They were holding off on a honeymoon because they didn’t want to leave for the holidays. Jason and Angela planned to stay with Cary and Danny at her apartment until New Year’s Day; then Cary and Danny would move into Jason’s house.

And make it a home, Jason knew.

On Christmas Eve they all went to church. And when they came home, everyone sang carols and set packages around the tree.

But once the kids were tucked in, Jason turned on the Christmas lights and was startled to find a note to him hooked on the tree.

“I have a special gift for you. My room. Five minutes.”

Curious, intrigued, Jason waited the five minutes, then rushed to Cary’s bedroom.

And there, curled up on an expanse of snowy sheets, was his wife.

His gift, his greatest Christmas gift ever.

His wife.

And she was decked out beautifully in nothing—absolutely nothing—but a big red bow.

He paused just a moment, breathing out a prayer. Thank you, God.

And then he walked forward, laughing, and swept his Christmas gift tenderly into his arms.

Epilogue

It was very late, but Danny slipped out of bed anyway. The house was quiet; everyone was sleeping at last.

He ran to the Christmas tree. He was so startled that he paused, his mouth a large O.

He had expected gifts. But he hadn’t really expected so many.

And he certainly hadn’t expected to find his brand new computer, all set up, with a big red bow on it, just awaiting his touch.

He closed his eyes and opened them again. The gifts were all still there. Wait till Angela saw…

But Angela already knew about the gifts, he was certain. And she would be excited, and she would be pleased, because she was Angela, and she was just great, even if she was a girl. His sister now. They’d both been very lucky this Christmas. They’d already gotten the things that money just couldn’t buy. He had a new father. Jason McCready would never replace his real dad, just like Cary could never replace Angela’s real mom. But both were the second best thing. And they both had the very gift in the world to give. Love.

Danny knew that Jason would always be willing to leave work early to throw a baseball. And Angela would have a mom to take her to her Brownie meetings, and Cary would fuss over her hair, tie it up in those pigtails and dress it up with barrettes.

Danny found himself shaking suddenly. This was just the best Christmas in the world.

He took a walk across the room, going to the beautiful little crèche that his mother had set up. He reached over and very carefully fingered the little Christ figure, then walked to the window.

He could just see the North Star. He knew which one it was because Jason had shown it to him. “Hello,” he murmured. He cleared his throat. That wasn’t how you were supposed to pray. “Dear Lord,” he began again softly. “I just wanted to say thank you. I—well, I do believe in the Christmas spirit and miracles, but I know that the Santa I spoke to was my cousin Jeremy. So I know that everything I got—all the miracles—was because of you.” He smiled. “A new dad, and a computer!” Maybe you weren’t supposed to joke with God. No, God would understand, he decided. But his smile faded anyway. “Thank you so much!” he whispered earnestly. “Once you gave us all your Son. And now you’ve given me a dad, and Angela a mom. And I have a sister, and she has a brother. And Mom has Jason, and Jason has Mom. It is a miracle! Thank you!” He stopped because he didn’t have any more words that could express how grateful he was.

The North Star seemed to sparkle suddenly with a dazzling light.

And then it began to fade.

Danny stared at it for a while, then he smiled. The star was fading because it was Christmas. Christmas day.

He let out a wild whoop and went running for Angela’s door. “It’s Christmas, sleepyhead! Wake up!”

Angela, with her eyes barely open, appeared in her doorway in a fluffy robe. “It’s so early!” she breathed. “Can we wake them up?”

“Sure. We’re kids. And it’s Christmas,” Danny told her.

Cary awoke to the children’s shrieks of delight, yet she was afraid to open her eyes.

Knowing that the kids would be up early, she and Jason had put on pajamas before they fell asleep. His arms were around her tightly; she was pulled against him so that his chest met her back, and they were curled together like a little pair of mice. She felt him, felt all his warmth, and didn’t dare open her eyes. She didn’t want him to be a Christmas dream.

But he wasn’t. She was his wife. She was in love with him, and miraculously, he was in love with her. No gift could be greater.

“Mom!”

“Dad!”

It was Danny who called her name, and Angela who woke Jason. Yet when the two came flying into the bedroom, it was Angela who landed on her, and Danny who tackled Jason.

“Whoa, hey, what is this!” Jason protested gruffly. But he was laughing.

“It’s Christmas!” Danny announced indignantly.

“Wow, you mean we might have missed it?” Cary said, wide-eyed.

“Mom!” Danny moaned. “Will you two please get up!”

“I’ll make coffee,” Cary volunteered to Jason. Then she smiled and slipped out of bed. She winked at the kids as Jason tried to fall back asleep, and as she left the room, she could hear a burst of laughter as the two attacked Jason, tickling him mercilessly.

And apparently Jason was just as merciless in return.

Coffee and cocoa were ready when they all traipsed out to the living room. Cary seated herself by Jason’s side, comfortable in the crook of his arm, as the children opened their gifts. There was paper everywhere. And she was pleased to see that Danny was as impressed with the small things as he was with the wonderful new computer. And Angela, bless her, was thrilled with her gifts, too, even though she’d grown up with everything money could buy.

And Jason McCready, the self-made man, seemed more touched by Danny’s home-made Christmas card than by any gift he might have received.

Cary had just stepped over some of the paper to get more coffee when the doorbell rang. She arched a brow to Jason.

“Don’t look at me,” he told her. “It must be your cousin Jeremy.”

And it was. Except that he had run into June in the doorway, so both of them were standing there arguing, with their hands piled high with boxes for the children.

The two were quickly inside, and there was more mayhem as the children kissed them and thanked them for their gifts. Jason poured the coffee while Cary supervised the gift giving. Pandemonium seemed to reign for quite a while; then at last the room grew quieter. “I wanted to know if I could take the kids to the Parade of the Elves. It’s not far from here—I’d only need to steal them for a couple of hours,” June said.

Jason seemed uneasy. “June, I know it’s Christmas, but it might be a little wild out there today. Are you sure you want to take the kids by yourself?”

“Jeremy will come with me,” June said.

“I will?” Jeremy began. June kicked him. He stared at her indignantly, then he seemed to realize that June was trying to give the newlyweds some time alone. “Oh, I will. Of course.” He cast June a look of stern reproach as soon as he thought Cary was no longer looking. Cary hid a smile. She was certain that Jason hadn’t been aware of anything.

“I don’t know…” Jason began with a frown, looking to Cary.

“The kids will be fine. And I’m sure they’d love to go,” she said demurely.

Within minutes, it seemed, she had the kids dressed and ready to go. June and Jeremy were waiting at the door.

June and Jeremy. Hmm, Cary thought. Why not?

Jeremy paused to give Cary a kiss goodbye on the cheek, and she fluttered her fingers over his head.

“What was that?” he asked her.

“Christmas dust.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just go on and have a good time. And thank you.”

“Sure. We’ll see you later.”

“Christmas dinner is here,” Jason advised over Cary’s shoulder. “I’m doing the stuffing.”

“I’m doing the stuffing!” Cary protested.

“No, you’re the turkey and the vegetables and the mashed potatoes and the pies. I’m the stuffing.”

Cary laughed as his arms came around her. She shrugged. “Whatever. Christmas dinner is here. Just be back by then, okay?”

“Got ya,” Jeremy agreed. June was telling him to get a move on. He rolled his eyes. “Is she coming for dinner, too?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

“Christmas dust,” Cary repeated.

Jeremy frowned with confusion, then the foursome left.

Oh, well, there was always next Christmas, Cary thought.

She turned in her husband’s arms. His lips found hers, and when he kissed her deeply, she felt the familiar thrill sweeping through her.

Jason looked at the door again. “Are you sure they’re going to be all right?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” She caught his hand and, smiling, pulled him over to the couch. “June and Jeremy only look flighty, honest. I couldn’t trust the kids more with anyone else. And besides, I have another gift for you.”

He grinned, cocking a dark eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah?”

She nodded.

“Where’s the box?”

“There isn’t exactly a box,” she said. Her fingers still entwined with his, she started for the bedroom.

His brow arched higher. “Is it a foot massage?”

Cary laughed. “Maybe…” She stood on tiptoe, quickly kissed his lips, then began to whisper. He could still make her feel so shy at times.

“Remember when I told you there was nothing that I could give you that you didn’t have? And you said that yes, there was—me. Well, you’ve got me.”

“A gift I will cherish all of my life,” he promised her tenderly.

She flushed. “Thank you. But you also said you’d like four kids—if I was willing, of course—and that I could give you the two that were missing.”

“Yes?”

“Well, I thought that we could get started. We’re alone, we’re awake, we’re aware…”

“And we’re just as eager and as willing as can be!” Jason said, laughing.

He lifted her off her feet and into his arms. And then he was kissing her, deeply, richly, warmly. She felt herself coming alive, trembling, quivering inside.

The kiss seemed to last forever, but when he broke away, Jason paused, holding her tightly, tenderly.

And she realized that he was looking out the window. The North Star was still visible, a faint little flicker against the day that had dawned beautifully blue.

Cary felt a new trembling seize her. Thank you, thank you! she thought in silence. Thank you so much.

Jason’s eyes met hers. She smiled. “I was just thinking…” he began.

“So was I.”

“I’m so very thankful that I have you.”

She nodded. “And I’m so thankful for you. And for Christmas miracles. And Christmas dust.”

His grin broadened wickedly. “Christmas dust? That’s one you’ll have to explain.”

“Oh, well, you see—”

“Later,” Jason said firmly.

He carried her into the bedroom and laid her down. Then his lips touched hers, and she was in his arms, and very soon the day was exploding into a new splendor of excitement and wonder and enchantment. After the soaring and the magic and the ecstasy, the peace and the contentment remained, and his arms were locked around her.

“We have to get to the turkey,” he mumbled lazily.

“Yes, we have to get to the turkey,” Cary agreed.

But he didn’t move, and neither did she. He might not know about the Christmas dust, but he did know a lot about Christmas miracles.

Indeed he did. He arose at last, pausing to kiss her on the nose.

“Miracles!” he whispered softly. “Thank God for them, and for you—my Christmas miracle!”

He kissed her again, then pulled her from her cocoon of covers.

“Someone really does have to see to that turkey! Unless you want to test our luck and see if any elves will appear to cook it for us?”

Cary grinned. No elves were coming. They already had their Christmas miracles. “I’m doing the stuffing,” she told him. “You can be potatoes.”

“You be the potatoes!” he charged.

She laughed, found her robe and hurried down the hall, then she opened the kitchen door very carefully.

After all, it was just a matter of belief.

There might be elves in her kitchen after all!

Christmas Passions

By Catherine Spencer

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

AVA was neither looking nor feeling her best. Chilled to the bone, her hair hanging around her face in semi-frozen rats’ tails, her hands and nose so numb they might just as well have been amputated, she huddled in the barn and watched Leo disappear into the swirling night.

“Wait here,” he’d told her. “I’ll go raise someone at the farmhouse and persuade them to take pity on us.”

The occasional stamp of hooves and warm animal smell told her there were horses in the stalls behind her. Somewhere beyond the paddock, on the other side of the fence, Leo’s Ford Expedition nestled nose-down and up to its rear axle in a snowdrift. And no more than fifteen miles away, her parents were waiting to welcome her to her first Christmas at home in over three years.

A horse barn, however well-kept, was no more part of the plan than finding her one-time idol Leo Ferrante waiting to meet her flight when it touched down six hours late at Skellington Airport. He was supposed to be wining and dining his lady-love, not stranded up to his knees in snow with her best friend.

Ava’s first reaction when she saw him towering head and shoulders over the sparse crowd at the arrivals concourse had been that he probably wouldn’t recognize her; her second, the fervent hope that he wouldn’t since, the last time they’d met, she’d been all of sixteen and so horribly ill-at-ease in her too tall, too skinny body that she’d given new meaning to the word “ungainly.” She liked to think she’d improved somewhat in the intervening twelve years and now commanded a presence so elegantly cosmopolitan that he’d look right past her in search of a more homely specimen.

He’d dashed any such hope by striding forward the second he caught sight of her, and pinning her in a smile that sent a remembered skewer of pain through her heart. “Ava, I’d have recognized you anywhere!”

Oh, terrific! she’d thought, crushing that belated and completely inappropriate stab of adolescent hero worship. He was Deenie’s lover—soon to be her fiancé, from everything she’d written in her latest letters—and Ava had come home for Christmas with her family, not to make a fool of herself by lusting after a man she couldn’t have.

So she’d smiled a lot during the thirty mile drive to Owen’s Lake, and made polite small talk, and congratulated herself on projecting the image of chic professional taking time out from her adventurous life overseas to make a flying visit home. Until they’d had to abandon his vehicle mid-journey, that was, and slog their way across a windblown paddock, and her once-elegant leather shoes had been reduced to frozen blocks encasing her feet.

Noticing the way she was floundering to keep up with him as he forged ahead, he’d clamped an arm around her shoulders and attempted to shield her with his body from the worst of the weather. The honed perfection of him beneath his sheepskin jacket had felt solid and safe and wonderful. His thigh brushing hers at each step had peeled away all her layers of acquired sophistication and left her palpitating with awareness of how deliciously masculine and strong he was: a world-class athlete-cum-movie idol dressed up as a small-town lawyer romancing the girl next door.

He had never kissed Ava, never held her hand. Never by so much as a word or a glance intimated that he had the slightest interest in anything she did. She’d been nothing to him but the other girl who lived six houses away on upscale Charles Owen Crescent; the one who sometimes came with her mother and father to his parents’ place when they hosted a summer barbecue around the pool, or an open house at Christmas. The one who, with her friend Deenie, used to giggle and blush and whisper behind her hand whenever he put in an appearance.

Cowering now in some stranger’s barn, it struck Ava as supremely unfair that, in less than an hour, he could compress all her accomplishments into a mere blot on her résumé, and reduce her once again to an unprepossessing heap of flesh beset by futile wanting.

“Don’t go there, Ava!” she admonished out loud, slamming shut the door on such traitorous nonsense. “Leo Ferrante has never been more off limits.”

A horse poked its head out of the nearest stall, gave a snuffling whinny, and regarded her reproachfully, as though to say, We’re trying to sleep in here, if you don’t mind!

“Sorry if I disturbed you, handsome,” she crooned, moving close enough to stroke the long, velvety nose. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be gone soon.”

“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Leo advised her, letting himself into the barn just in time to overhear. “I’m afraid we’re stuck here for the duration.”

She didn’t like what that implied. “And how long is the duration expected to last?”

He shrugged. “Until daylight, at the very least.”

“And you’re saying we have to spend the intervening time in here?” She stared in disbelief at their surroundings which, while unquestionably luxurious for horses, hardly amounted to much in the way of human comfort. “Wasn’t anyone home at the house?”

“Only the very nervous young mother of a colicky baby. Seems her husband’s off helping a neighbor with a sick animal, and even if she’d been willing to admit a couple of strangers past the front door, her guard dogs weren’t.”

“I’m sure if you’d explained—”

“I did.” He pulled off his gloves and touched his hand to her cheek, a lovely, too brief contact. “Not exactly the welcome home you were expecting, is it, Ava? But at least I persuaded her to phone your folks and let them know you’re safe.”

Actually, what she’d expected was taking a taxi from Skellington to the grand old house in Owen’s Lake where she’d been born, and finding her parents waiting to ply her with hugs, cocoa and questions. She’d envisioned the garden transformed into a fairyland by hundreds of coloured lights threaded among the trees and shrubs. She’d pictured the railing of the wraparound porch trimmed with pine branches held in place with red ribbons and silver bells.

She’d looked forward to the scent of wood smoke, and the warm reflection of flames flickering over the cool white marble fireplace in the living room, and the ceiling-high Noble Fir Christmas tree filling the big bay window.

She’d counted on having time to prepare herself to face the happy couple without betraying the envy eating holes in her heart. On being dressed to the nines in her smart Thai leather suit that was as soft and pale as whipped cream, or swaying into a room in the beaded silk dress she’d found in Hong Kong. In other words, she’d planned to be in command of herself and her situation, and look like a million dollars on the outside, regardless of how she might be feeling inside.

Instead, she was being forced to spend the night with Leo. In a stable. And looking like something no respecting dog would dream of dragging in.

It was enough to make her wish she’d accepted the marriage proposal offered through an intermediary by a grateful tribal chief whose son she’d nursed through a health crisis. At least he’d rated her on a par with his most prized water buffalo! From the way Leo was surveying her though, she might have been the bearded lady from a traveling sideshow!

“You don’t look so great,” he remarked, as if she hadn’t already figured that out for herself.

“Thanks, Leo,” she said, peeved. “I really needed to hear that!”

“What I mean is, you’re practically blue with cold. You’d better get out of those wet clothes.”

“And do what?” She tried to laugh—no easy task when her teeth were chattering like demented castanets. “Climb under a horse blanket and pray for deliverance?”

He didn’t even crack a smile. “There’s a tack room at the other end of the stable which we’re welcome to use, and yes, Ava, horse blankets and hay are going to be the best this hotel can offer.”

“And where will you spend the rest of the night?”

He raised his altogether stunning eyebrows, as though he couldn’t quite believe she’d asked such an idiotic question, and said, “With you, of course. Where else?”

Her heart should have sunk. Instead, it soared. When she was old and grey and lying on her deathbed, she’d be able to boast that, just once, she’d slept with Leo Ferrante. It almost made her present predicament worthwhile.

Almost. Thankfully, she wasn’t entirely bereft of common sense or decency. “If you think I’m going to strip for your entertainment, think again,” she said flatly.

“You might have lived in Africa for the last three years, but you’re still a nurse, Ava, and as such ought to know better than anyone the dangers of hypothermia.” He steered her firmly toward a door at the far end of the barn, thrust it open and shoved her into a room lined with horsey equipment. “I’m not suggesting you take off everything, but at least get rid of the wet shoes and stockings, and the coat. They’re not doing you any good, anyway, and you aren’t going to be much help to Deenie if you wind up in bed with pneumonia.”

“Why on earth does Deenie need my help? She’s the most self-reliant person I know.”

“Deenie,” he said succinctly, “is a mess right now and everyone is counting on you to deal with her. Whatever it is that’s bugging her isn’t something she’s prepared to talk about.”

He sounded more like an exasperated father than a besotted lover. “It could be simply a matter of adjusting,” Ava said. “Exchanging the world of international ballet for small-town life can’t be easy for someone who always swore she’d never settle for the kind of domestic bliss the rest of us thrive on.”

Oh, great! She came across more like an aging aunt who’d buried four husbands, rather than a twenty-eight-year old who’d yet to exchange the single life for matrimony.

Not that he cared, one way or the other. Apparently tired of the subject, he shrugged and made for the door. “Whatever! Right now, I’m more interested in grabbing a couple of hours sleep. Why don’t you get rid of the wet clothes while I round up some hay for a mattress?”

What the devil was wrong with him, that he’d complain to Ava Sorensen of all people? There were no secrets between her and Deenie. From what he could tell, they’d been joined at the hip practically from birth and shared everything. Everything!

He hefted a bale of hay and grimaced at the painful twinge which shot through his lower back. For Pete’s sake, the stuff couldn’t weigh more than thirty pounds, and six months ago he could press nearly two hundred without breaking a sweat. Could run five miles and swing a golf club, too. Now, thanks to an out-of-control snowboarder using him as a braking device, he was limited to brisk walks, strengthening exercises, and spending too much time with Deenie who was cute and amusing. Yet despite plenty of opportunity and a certain amount of flirtatious bantering, they hadn’t come close to any sort of intimacy.

“A fine pair we’d make!” he’d said, making light of it the one time she’d told him she wouldn’t mind a little sex on the side to relieve the tedium. “Between my back spasms and your sore shoulder and ankle, we’d both likely wind up back in physiotherapy. We’re better off sticking to gin rummy and cribbage.”

He’d been relieved when she’d let the idea drop without further comment. Mightily so, in fact—which made him wonder if more than just his spine had been cracked in the accident. What if he’d suffered other injuries which had gone undetected? What if he’d lost interest in sex forever?

Cripes, talk about a guy’s life spinning out of control! He needed to put a halt to things, and fast, beginning with the insane hints flying around that he and Deenie were an ideal couple and should be making what her mother so unsubtly referred to as “plans.” There were no long-term plans for him and Deenie. They were friends, and that was all.

Shouldering the hay, he trudged back to the tack room and rapped on the door. “Are you decent in there, Ava?”

“As much as can be expected.”

He found her perched on a stool with her knees drawn up under her chin and her bare feet poking out from under the poncho she’d fashioned from a horse blanket. Her toes were straight and unscarred, with perfect nails painted the colour of cranberries, and he thought how much prettier they were than Deenie’s which had become almost deformed from years of dancing en pointe.

“You’re looking better already,” he said, spreading the hay on the floor and tossing a couple of blankets on top. “You want to hop down from there on your own, or do you want me to give you a hand?”

“I can manage,” she said hastily, which was just as well. If he couldn’t have lifted Deenie at five foot two, he didn’t have a prayer of playing hero to Ava who stood at least seven inches taller.

Clutching the poncho around her, she scurried across the cement floor and dropped down on the makeshift mattress, but not so swiftly that he didn’t get an eyeful of her legs. Long and tanned, they were as elegant as her narrow feet, with sweetly curved calves and finely turned ankles. She might have been too tall for ballet, as Deenie had said, but she’d be a knockout in a Las Vegas chorus line.

“Why didn’t Deenie come with you to meet me?” she said, glaring at him as if she’d caught him peeking up her skirt.

“She was planning to, but she begged off when we heard your flight had been delayed. Claims she’s had too many late nights recently. But she wants you to give her a call as soon as you’re up and about in the morning. She said something about getting together with you for lunch.”

He removed his jacket and pulled off his boots, which sent her scooting to the far corner of the mattress with fire in her eyes. What did she think—that he planned to get buck naked and flaunt himself at her? “Relax, Ava,” he said, choking back a laugh. “This is as far as it goes. I’ll even keep my socks on, just to make sure our feet don’t get too intimate.”

She bit her lip and blushed a little, and he wondered if she had any idea how charmed he was by everything about her. Comparisons were odious, he knew, but he couldn’t help thinking that if Deenie had been the one forced to bunk down in a stable for the night, especially after being in transit for over eighteen hours, she’d have raised hell and put a lid on it. Could be that’s why she and Ava had remained such close friends all these years: the old “opposites attract” syndrome.

“You’re nothing like Deenie, you know,” he said, crouching next to her.

“I’ve always known that, Leo,” she replied coolly. “And I stopped trying to be, years ago.”

“Good.” He spread another blanket over her, took a couple for himself, and stretched out. “The world’s not big enough for two like her.”

“She is special. I’ve always known that, as well.”

Her eyes, big and beautiful and grey as summer thunderclouds, all at once had such a bereft look to them that he knew a crazy urge to fold her in his arms and tell her she was special, too, and that she shouldn’t assume what he’d said about Deenie was necessarily a compliment.

Leaping up to turn off the overhead light before he did or said something really stupid, he felt his way back to the makeshift bed and made a point of stuffing a wad of blanket between him and her. “I think anyone who meets her recognizes she’s different and always has been. According to her mother, she was still in diapers when she decided she was going to be a prima ballerina, and she’s never once deviated from the path of that ambition which, by itself, makes her something of a rarity.”

“Exactly,” Ava said, her voice flowing over him in the dark like sweet, heavy ice wine. “So tell me, Leo, how is it that two months around you was enough to persuade her to give up the adulation of sold-out audiences in Europe and settle down in sleepy old Owen’s Lake?”

CHAPTER TWO

SNOW batting against the paned window marked the silence ticking by as he tried to come up with an answer. “I guess,” he finally said, “it began with our both being sidelined by injuries that kept us away from our regular routines. We were housebound former neighbors who met at the physiotherapy clinic one morning, gravitated towards each other by mutual sympathy and boredom, and…one thing led to another.”

“You make it sound as if you drifted together by default,” Ava accused.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, wishing she hadn’t managed to pinpoint matters quite so accurately. “Deenie’s a lovely, intelligent woman and I’d have gone stir crazy if she hadn’t been around to keep me entertained. But I’d be lying if I said our…relationship left me deafened by violins or dazzled by stars. I’m not programmed to react like that. I don’t know any lawyers who are.”

The hay rustled softly as she shifted to a more comfortable position. Or was it her silky underwear sighing against her skin—a possibility which sent heat prickling down his torso to threaten areas best left undisturbed.

“You might not be a romantic, Leo,” Ava said, “but Deenie is, which brings me back to my original question. What made her decide to stay in Owen’s Lake?”

“I think,” he said, striving to maintain a lofty perspective despite the lecherous urgings of his body, “her injuries made her face up to the fact that her performing career isn’t going to last indefinitely. You were a dancer yourself when you were younger, Ava, albeit an amateur. You know how much punishment your body took. Multiply that a thousand times and you get a pretty good idea of the wear and tear on Deenie, both physically and emotionally. She knows that although she’ll probably make a full recovery this time, she’ll be forced into retirement much sooner than most women—probably within the next five years. So she’s trying to compromise.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Deenie I know.”

“What can I say? People change. Maybe being a prima ballerina isn’t enough to satisfy her anymore. Maybe she wants to have something else to turn to when her dancing days are over.”

“And she’s convinced she’ll find that ‘something’ with you?”

Cripes, the question suggested the notion that he and Deenie were on the brink of marriage had spread farther than he feared! “I certainly wouldn’t go that far,” he said neutrally, “even though her family does seem to think we’re a match made in heaven.”

Ava turned toward him. He could tell because her breath sifted over his face, fragrant as sun-warmed peaches. It brought to mind the lush, smooth texture of her lips and left him wondering if she’d taste as sweet as she smelled. Even as a teenager, she’d had a mouth that begged to be kissed and from the little he’d seen, time had only added to its appeal.

“From everything she’s told me, Deenie seems to think so, too.”

“Don’t read too much into what she’s told you, then,” he replied, irritated as much by his reaction to her proximity as by her probing questions. “I’m a thirty-seven-year-old lawyer who’s handled enough divorce cases to know that if people were more realistic about what makes a relationship work, and less prone to fantasizing, I might not have quite such a fat bank account but I’d have a hell of a lot more free time to devote to other pursuits.”

Ava, dogged to a fault, wasn’t about to get sidetracked. “I’m not interested in a run-down of your financial assets, Leo. Deenie and I are as close as sisters and I don’t want to see her hurt. So what I’m waiting to hear you say is that you’re not leading her on, and that you share a clear understanding of how things really stand between you. Can you give me those assurances?”

A hollow gloom descended on him, one with which he’d become all too familiar in recent weeks. Usually it attacked first thing in the morning, filling him with a sense of foreboding before he was awake enough to wrestle it into submission with pragmatic reason.

It stemmed, he’d told himself, from the frustration of enforced idleness; to the knowledge that while he followed doctor’s orders, his partners in the Skellington law firm were doing double duty picking up the slack created by his putting in half days only at the office. But Ava’s continued cross-examination bared a truth he’d been unwilling to face. The real cause of his discontent sprang not from professional frustration, but from the uneasy suspicion that he’d somehow lost control of his private life.

“Well, Leo? That wasn’t such a difficult question surely, so what’s taking you so long to answer?”

“If you must know,” he snapped, feeling like the cornered rat he undoubtedly was, “I’m tired of other people assuming they have the right to poke their noses into matters which are none of their concern.”

“I see. Well now that you’ve got that off your chest, let me ask you this. What do you want from the immediate future, Leo?”

“To get back to work full time. To be on top of my case load. To return to normal, for Pete’s sake!”

“Does ‘normal’ include making time for Deenie?”

“Cripes, Ava!” he exploded. “You never used to be such a pain in the butt, so where’s all this coming from now? Are you jealous because she’s got a man to keep her company, and you haven’t?”

The question sliced through the night like a blade and he knew from the utter silence which greeted it that he’d drawn blood. “Oh, jeez!” he muttered. “Ava, I’m sorry. I had no right to say that.”

Her breathing flitted across to him, jerky and uneven. “No, you hadn’t.”

“Are you crying?”

“No,” she said, her voice swimming in tears.

Awkwardly, he reached for her, planning to give her shoulder a comforting, brotherly pat. But he misjudged the distance between them and instead made contact with her hair. It looped around his fingers like damp strands of silk and snagged in the metal band of his watch.

“Oh, hell,” he said softly. “Don’t try to pull away, Ava. We’re all knotted up.”

It should have been a non-incident; would have been if she hadn’t ignored his request and, in trying to disentangle herself, moved her head in such a way that her mouth blundered against his.

He didn’t exactly kiss her. He just sort of…let his lips rest against hers while he worked with his free hand to unsnarl her hair.

She’d spent the better part of two days in a plane. She should have reeked of stale aircraft food and recycled air. Instead, she tasted delicious. Peaches again.

“Your perfume is driving me wild,” he said against her mouth.

A tremor raced over her. She brought her hand up to cover his, to push it and him away. “Please don’t—!” she began.

“I won’t,” he said.

But he did. This time, he kissed her, and no two ways about it. He cupped her head and took advantage of her gasp of shock to trace his tongue over the silken inner lining of her lips. And just for a nanosecond, she responded, curving her body to fit against his and angling her mouth to give him greater access.

Big mistake! The violins and stars he’d denied experiencing with Deenie made a belated appearance, seeming not to care that they’d shown up for a woman he hadn’t seen in years, and there was no telling what he might have tried next if Ava hadn’t come to her senses. Which she did with a vengeance, by hauling off and cracking her palm across his cheek at the same time that she reared back and yanked her hair free from his watchband.

“You had no right to do that!” she spat.

“I know,” he said, prepared to shoulder the blame. “I’m sorry.”

But he wasn’t. He was dazzled. Dazed. Exhilarated.

“Then why did you?”

He shook his head, less to refute her question than to clear his mind. “Search me! Temporary insanity?”

She drew in a hissing breath. “Make a joke of it if you like, but I don’t mind telling you, your behaviour disgusts me.”

“It didn’t a minute ago,” he said, ticked off by her holier-than-thou attitude. “If anything, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“In your dreams, Leo Ferrante! If Deenie had any idea…!”

“Who’s going to tell her? You?”

“I should,” she said. “She has a right to know—”

“What? That I kissed you and you liked it?” He flopped onto his back and sighed wearily as common sense replaced his brief euphoria. “Look, Ava, I made a mistake and you didn’t exactly rebuff me, but it won’t happen again. Let’s not make more out of it than that.”

He thought he’d put the matter to rest and was almost dozing off when she said in a small voice, “I feel so ashamed. I don’t know how I’ll ever face her without blushing. It’s not just that we kissed, it’s everything you’ve told me—about not being madly in love with her, and all that. You never should have said such things.”

“Probably not. But there’s something about lying next to you in the dark that makes me do and say things regardless of the consequences.”

“You definitely shouldn’t be saying that!”

He shouldn’t be touching her, either, but the mattress was too narrow to allow for the luxury of distance and no matter how he tried to preserve an illusion of decency, some part or other of him—his leg, his hip, his shoulder—kept rubbing up against her.

Pretending the contact was meaningless didn’t carry a whole lot of weight with his hormones coming to a slow boil and him no more able to stop than he could put an end to the storm raging outside. So much for a dead libido!

As for Ava—hell, she could deny it all she liked, but she was far from oblivious, as well. He could hear the rapid, unnatural rhythm of her breathing. Sense the brittle tension stretching her nerves so tight they were ready to snap.

“Is there some guy waiting for you, back in Africa?” he asked, hoping like blazes she’d say yes.

“No,” she said on a faint breath of despair.

“Why not?”

She shrugged, a fatal error of judgement on her part because it provided yet one more reminder of how little stood between them. Or, more accurately, it made him aware that what stood between them had taken on a life of its own even though it had no business standing at all! “I just haven’t met the right man yet.”

“How will you know when you do?”

“It will feel right,” she said, sounding winded.

He reached for her. May God forgive him, he couldn’t help himself. “But this feels right, Ava,” he murmured, stroking his hand over her jaw and down her neck, “so there must be more to it than that.”

She trembled under his touch. “How can you say that, when we both know that what you’re doing and saying is completely unacceptable?”

It was the politically correct response he expected, but the indignation which would have given it substance became lost in a sigh of defeat. He rapped gently against her temple. “Knowing up here is one thing. Accepting it as truth here…” He drew his hand down her face, her throat, and didn’t stop until his palm lay snug and flat beneath her left breast. “Ah, Ava, that’s quite another. And knowing I shouldn’t kiss you again isn’t doing a damn thing to make me want it any less.”

“Don’t, Leo!” she begged—another politically correct answer, but even as the tortured plea escaped, her mouth bumped against his again.

“Our being here at all is totally inappropriate,” he said, charged with awareness that if he moved his hand just a fraction, her breast would nestle against his palm. “We both expected we’d be spending the night someplace else. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re lying side by side, there’s no one here to monitor what we say or do, and that, if I could live with myself afterward, I’d make love to you.”

She didn’t come up with any smart rebuff this time. Instead, she grew so perfectly still that he’d have said she froze—except that implied bone-chilling cold, and even though the temperature had dipped to well below freezing outside, the currents swirling around that unheated tack room were suddenly stifling.

When the beating silence became more than he could tolerate, he moved his open hand and brought it to rest, fingers splayed, between their two bodies. “Ava?”

He knew she couldn’t see the gesture, but surely she sensed it, and recognized the question it asked?

Seconds ticked by, measured by the heavy thud of his heart. Then, when he was just about ready to give up hope that she’d respond, her much smaller hand settled on top of his, aligning itself as best it could, palm to palm, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.

He found it the most profoundly erotic touch he’d ever experienced. More moving than a kiss. More arousing than the most intimate commingling of flesh between a man and a woman. And not nearly enough to satisfy the surge of desire boiling through his blood.

Decency be damned! If she’d let him, he’d have taken her with all the speed and fervour at his command. Locked himself deep inside her and let the devil take the hindmost. Sold his soul for the thrill of bringing her to orgasm, and then, when she was helpless and liquid around him, filling her with the rush of his own release.

He didn’t because, even as he rose up and over her in the dark, she said in a small, sad voice, “I know. And we can’t.”

Defeated, he fell back to the hay, the explosive hiss of his escaping breath betraying more eloquently than words what it cost him to ignore the rapacious demands of a body never more vibrantly alive, and submit instead to the belated tug of conscience.

“No,” he said glumly. “We can’t. But if we could, I’d love you all night long. And the next time someone asked if there’s a special man in your life, you wouldn’t say you’re still waiting for him to show up, because—”

“Leo, please! I’m so confused…so tired….”

“Yeah, me, too.” He expelled another breath and felt it balloon above his face in chilly condensation. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, the air was penetratingly cold. Sliding his arm over her waist, he tugged her close enough that she was molded against him, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, breast to chest.

She burrowed her head against his shoulder and uttered a little moan. Of protest? Misery? He couldn’t be sure. The only certainty was that it was colder than a witch’s thorax in that room, and horse blankets and hay alone weren’t enough to ward off the creeping chill of winter.

“Your virtue’s safe,” he said, “but if we don’t conserve body heat, we’ll both wind up dead before morning. Cuddle up, sweetheart, and try to get some sleep or you’ll look like hell tomorrow.”

She supposed she did—get some sleep, that was—because after some initial skittishness, a great feeling of calm overtook her and the next time she became aware of her surroundings, a pale, cold light filtered through the square of window on the far wall. The second thing she noticed was that her legs were snugly pinned by Leo’s, and his blue eyes were watching her with the shuttered expression of a man not about to reveal a hint of what he was thinking.

But if the workings of his mind remained a mystery, she was left in little doubt about her own. Embarrassment and guilt swept over her in equal measure. How could she have allowed him to kiss her—to come disgracefully close to making love to her? And how would she ever again face Deenie without cringing?

“No need to look so stricken, Ava,” Leo said. “Neither of us surrendered to our baser instincts in sleep. If anyone asks, you can truthfully say you upheld your scruples in the face of adversity.”

“And what will you say, should anyone ask you?” she retorted, immeasurably ticked off that he sounded so unruffled when she was all of a-dither at finding his thigh flung over her hip and the lovely warm length of his torso pressed up against hers.

“That you snore,” he said blandly.

“I certainly do not!”

“How do you know? Did you ask the last man you slept with?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said, not about to admit that the closest she’d come to “sleeping” with anyone was in the back seat of her prom date’s car when she was eighteen—a disastrous, fumbling affair which had ended when he’d suffered the humiliation of premature ejaculation before he’d divested her of her bra—and a couple of semi-hot dates with an ambulance driver when she was in nursing school.

“No,” Leo said. “I guess it’s not.” He lifted the blankets and let a gust of cold air sweep away the cosy warmth between their bodies. “And lying here speculating won’t get my vehicle out of the ditch.”

He rolled cautiously to his feet, stretched guardedly, and reached for his sheepskin jacket. “You planning to spend the day down there, Ava?” he inquired, when she didn’t rush to join him.

“No,” she said, eyeing her pantyhose which sprawled wantonly over a saddle rack. “I’m waiting for you to leave so that I can dress without an audience.”

“Dress?” To her horror, he picked up her stockings and dangled them from one hand the way a husband might. With intimate familiarity. “If you’re talking about climbing into these, you might as well forget it. They’re still soaking wet. And your shoes,” he added, peering at the pitiful things which lay side by side on the floor like two drowned rats, “aren’t any better. You’ll have to throw yourself on the mercy of the lady of the house—always assuming she’s more charitably disposed toward us this morning than she was last night.”

The lady of the house proved more than accommodating, as did her husband. She sent a pair of socks, boots a size too large, and an invitation to breakfast, while he hooked a tractor to Leo’s vehicle and hauled it out of the ditch. By ten o’clock, Ava and Leo were on their way, fortified with home-cured ham and farm fresh eggs, and with nothing to show for their overnight mishap but the faint whiff of horses clinging to their clothing.

That, and a smothering air of disquiet.

CHAPTER THREE

“ASI understand it, coming home for the holidays is supposed to be a happy time,” Leo observed acidly, as they approached the outskirts of Owen’s Lake. “Unless you want to arouse the suspicions of everyone from the family dog to the town mayor, I recommend you trade in the look of long-suffering misery for something a little more cheerful and upbeat.”

Ava shot him a poisonous glare. “Forgive me if I’m not as adept at covering up my sins as you appear to be!”

“A minor indiscretion hardly amounts to sin, Ava. Stop blowing last night out of proportion and focus on today. If anyone’s to blame for what happened back there in the stable, I am. So leave me to deal with it.”

Easy for him to say! He didn’t harbour a secret passion for someone who was strictly off limits. He wasn’t the one who’d been ready to abandon his scruples and betray his best friend for the dubious pleasure of one night of illicit love. “And if I can’t?”

“You will if you concentrate on enjoying the kind of good, old-fashioned Christmas you’ve been missing for the last three years.”

It wasn’t fair that, despite having spent the night on the floor in a stable, he managed to exude an aura of masculine sexuality so appealing that she went weak at the knees. Turning to stare out of the window before she forgot herself so far as to start drooling, Ava saw that he had a point. Owen’s Lake was decked out with a vengeance for the season. Last night’s blizzard had given way to blue skies and the cold clear brilliance of a northern winter sun, as different from Africa’s molten heat as diamonds from rubies.

Platinum glittered from icicles draping the eaves of the grand Victorian homes typical of Owen Heights, the exclusive neighborhood where she’d been born. Huge holly wreaths hung on wrought-iron gates. Illuminated reindeer pulling sleighs romped across lawns buried under a thick quilting of snow. Lampposts sported miniature fir trees draped in sparkling lights.

Half a mile farther along the boulevard, Leo turned the Expedition onto Charles Owen Crescent and a few minutes later pulled into the long driveway leading to her parents’ home. “Time to start smiling, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Here comes the family, all set to welcome home the nomadic daughter.”

Indeed, the SUV had barely come to a stop under the porte-cochère before her parents and Jason, their golden retriever, shot out of the house in a tangle of legs and excitement. Her father yanked open the passenger door and, slithering to the ground in her too-big borrowed boots, Ava found herself wrapped in a bear hug which took her breath away.

“Your mother’s had me up since dawn and just about driven me mad with her pacing back and forth,” he said. “And now that you’re here, she’s crying her eyes out. I tell you, Ava, I’ll never understand what makes a woman tick.”

“Oh, hush up, you big softie,” her mother sobbed happily, wading between him and Jason’s thrashing tail and reaching for Ava. “Who was so impatient to see his little girl again that he was ready to strap on skis and piggyback her home last night, so that she could sleep in her own bed instead of a stranger’s house? Come here, darling, and give your mom a kiss. It’s wonderful to have you home again.”

Her mother smelled of cinnamon and mincemeat and almond paste—lovely nostalgic reminders of Christmases past, when life had been full of simple, innocent pleasures, and affection freely expressed. That this year’s was clouded with guilt and secrets when it should have been the most joyful of all, filled Ava with a regret so intense that she, too, started to cry.

“This is supposed to be a happy time,” Leo reminded her, with pointed emphasis.

“That’s why they’re both in tears.” Blithely unaware of the hidden undercurrents swarming through the cold air, her father gave Leo one of those man-to-man slaps on the back meant to convey masculine amusement at the vagaries of women. “They cry when they’re sad, when they’re happy and when they’re mad. And just for good measure, they cry when they get married, so better get used to the sight, Leo, because from what I hear, you’ll be learning that firsthand before much longer. Here, let me give you a hand with that luggage, then come on in and join us for morning coffee.”

The mere idea of Leo Ferrante cosying up for a visit under her parents’ roof was enough to dry Ava’s tears on the spot. “He can’t possibly!”

“Why not?” her father said. “It’s the least we can do, to thank him for meeting your flight—and for taking such good care of you last night.”

Oh, if he only knew the direction that care had taken!

“Thanks,” Leo said easily, running a hand over his jaw, “but although coffee sounds good, a shower and shave sound even better.”

He looked, Ava thought, as eager to be gone as she was to be rid of him. “We absolutely understand,” she said, with what she feared must seem like insulting relief. “Goodbye, and thank you for…everything.”

He leveled a satirical blue gaze her way. “Glad I could help.”

Help? Averting her eyes, she bent to fondle Jason’s silky ears. Ye gods, things had been bad enough to begin with. How much worse they’d become was something only she and Leo would ever fully understand, and she didn’t appreciate his pitiful attempt to turn the situation into a joke!

“Perhaps it’s just as well he didn’t stay,” her mother said, ushering everyone inside the house as he drove off. “Deenie plans on taking you out for lunch, so I’m kind of glad to have you to myself for a bit before you get caught up in all her Christmas plans. Go warm yourself up by the fire in the library, darling, while I pour the coffee and your father takes your bags up to your room, then we’ll all sit down for a nice long chat.”

Yesterday, Ava would have liked nothing better. Now, the knowledge that she’d have to face Deenie before the morning was out cast a pall over her homecoming that no amount of rationalizing could dispel.

I think he’s going to propose and give me a ring for Christmas, Deenie had written. But nothing Leo had said pointed in that direction, so whose version was closer to the truth?

“Is everything all right with you, Ava?” her father asked, eyeing her as she pulled off her borrowed boots.

“Of course,” she said brightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m not sure. But I do know that, for a woman who claimed she couldn’t wait to come home again, you don’t look particularly pleased to be here.”

“Oh, I am!” she exclaimed, aghast that her parents might think they were the reason she wasn’t brimming over with festive cheer. “I always miss you and Mom, but especially at this time of year.”

“So why all the strain and tension, honey? Did you Leo have some sort of falling out?”

Falling in, was more like it! “No,” she said, too quickly, and almost jumped out of her skin when the phone rang.

“That’s probably Deenie again,” her father remarked, still watching her thoughtfully. “She’s called twice already this morning, and I must say, you make quite a pair. She’s wired tighter than a drum and you’re as jittery as a cat on hot coals. What’s with the two of you?”

“I’m not jittery,” Ava said.

But denying the obvious didn’t carry much weight when she promptly put the lie to her allegation by giving another start as her mother called out from the kitchen, “Phone’s for you, Ava. It’s Leo. Take it in the library, why don’t you?”

She waited until her father had trudged upstairs with her suitcases and she heard her mother hang up in the kitchen, then cradling the telephone receiver furtively, whispered into the mouthpiece, “What do you think you’re doing, calling me here?”

“Where else do you suggest I call in order to get in touch with you?” Leo inquired, and even the sound of his voice was enough to send an unlawful tingle of excitement down her spine.

“You shouldn’t be phoning me at all,” she snapped, taking refuge in umbrage. “What if my parents were to overhear?”

“What if they did? I hardly think they’d take exception to my letting you know I found your watch on the floor in my vehicle.”

Not believing him, she pulled back the sleeve of her sweater and saw that her watch was, indeed, missing. “Well, how did that happen, do you suppose?”

“Search me,” he said equably. “Maybe it fell off when you tried wrestling me into the back seat so you could have your wicked way with me.”

Fuming, she spat, “I’m glad one of us finds this whole situation so amusing!”

“Actually, I don’t, but it beats the way you’re reacting.”

“And how is that?”

“By donning sackcloth and ashes, and bleating to the whole world that you’re a fallen woman.”

“I am not bleating—and nor, for that matter, am I a fallen woman, though that’s hardly something you can take credit for!”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his patience clearly flagging, “no one’s going to buy that argument for a minute unless you stop acting as if our farmer hosts caught us stark naked and rolling around on the stable floor having sex.”

“I am not your sweetheart.”

“No, you’re a pain in the butt, but it being the season of goodwill toward men and all that, I’m trying my damnedest to be charitable.” He didn’t sigh exactly—he wasn’t the sighing type. “Look, Ava, the watch is obviously expensive and I thought you’d want to know it’s safe, that’s all. And since I intend giving it to Deenie to pass on to you when you see her later on, I also thought you’d like to be prepared for the event, rather than be caught by surprise and overreacting to a perfectly innocent occurrence—which, by the way, is what you’re doing now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “And thank you. It is an expensive watch.”

“Solid gold, from the looks of it.”

“Yes.”

“Souvenir of your exotic travels?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad it didn’t fall off when you were trekking through the snow, or it’d be lost for good.”

“Me, too.”

“Enjoy your lunch with Deenie.”

“Thank you. I’ll try.”

“You’ll do better than that, and we both know it. She can’t wait to see you.”

She’d never imagined there’d come a time when she wouldn’t feel the same way. As it was, when Deenie phoned about ten minutes later and made arrangements to pick her up at half past noon, Ava knew only a sickening sense of dread.

“You look wonderful, you know! So tanned and healthy and glowing. And I love the way you’re wearing your hair.” Deenie, who hadn’t once stopped talking from the second she’d arrived to pick up Ava at the house, plopped herself down at a window table in the Owen’s Lake Country Club dining room. “Have I said that already? I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so glad to see you, Ava.”

But she didn’t look glad. She looked drawn and painfully thin. Her smile was too fixed, her nerves too taut. She’d always been highly strung, but the restless agitation that kept her jerking like a poorly controlled marionette was pitiful to behold.

“What shall we order? Let’s have champagne cocktails. To celebrate your coming home.”

“How about to celebrate our both being home at the same time again?” Ava suggested.

“Oh, that!” Deenie waved a dismissing hand and turned to stare out at the lake, covered at this time of year with ice thick enough for people to skate on—but not before Ava caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “We’ll do that tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Ava pretended not to notice the tears, and wondered how it was that years of complete trust and sharing between her and her dearest friend could splinter into the shallow chit-chat of mere acquaintances. Was it her fault? Had her manner alerted Deenie to the fact that something amiss had occurred the night before?

“Didn’t your mother tell you?” Deenie’s smile was back in place again, dazzling and totally superficial. “My parents are throwing their usual pre-Christmas bash, and combining it with a family and friends’ reunion. Our house is bursting at the seams with relatives I haven’t seen since I was in diapers and Leo’s expecting company, too, but his parents winter in Florida now and aren’t flying in until Christmas Eve, so the only person he’ll be showing up with is some dotty old woman he calls ‘duchess’ because one of her many husbands was some displaced European aristocrat, or so she claims. She’s a nutcase, if ever there was one.”

I’d say, from the way you’re acting, you’re not far off from that yourself, Ava thought, watching her. “Then it’s to be a big party, I take it?”

“About forty people. Big enough.” Deenie rearranged her cutlery, moved her water glass a fraction of an inch to the left, and picked a wilted leaf off the potted poinsettia in the middle of the table. “Doesn’t the clubhouse look wonderful? I love all the wall hangings and the way they’ve done up the tree in the foyer. Did you see it? It must be twenty feet tall and have about a million lights on it.”

“I don’t care about the Christmas tree in the foyer, Deenie,” Ava said, reaching across the table to still those restive hands. “I care about you. How are you, really?”

“Really?” Deenie let out an overwrought giggle. “I’m a walking disaster, can’t you tell? Thanks to my dance partner, I’m recovering from a torn muscle in my shoulder and damaged tendons in my ankle. I suppose I should be grateful he only dropped me. If he’d landed on top of me, as well, I’d probably be dead.”

“He must feel dreadful about it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Marcus isn’t a man to waste a lot of time on guilt.”

Taken aback by the venom in Deenie’s tone, Ava said sharply, “But it was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Let’s just say that’s the conclusion everyone reached.”

“What are you implying?” Aghast, Ava stared at her. “That he dropped you on purpose?”

“I think he wanted to see his latest protégée dancing the lead in The Nutcracker, and having me sidelined with injuries came at a very convenient time.”

The contempt with which she spat out “latest protégée” spoke volumes. Stunned, Ava said, “Oh, Deenie, were you personally involved with this Marcus? Did he cast you aside for her?”

Deenie looked up, eyes bright with angry tears. “Yes, to both questions.”

“But you always said you’d never—”

“So I broke my own rules and fell in love with a colleague. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you, but we can’t all be as morally high-minded and disciplined as you.”

Ava reared back in her chair, shocked as much by her friend’s bitterness as by her own ongoing sense of shame. “I’m the last person to judge you, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed, feeling as if she’d just kicked a puppy in the teeth. “I’m just so sorry you were hurt.”

“Not anymore, I’m not! I’ve moved on to bigger things.”

“And you’re happy?”

Again, that too bright smile which stretched the skin over Deenie’s cheekbones until she looked almost skeletal. “Wouldn’t you be, if you were dating Leo?”

Heavenly days, yes! “We aren’t talking about me, Deenie. It’s how you feel that matters.”

“I already told you—like celebrating. Which reminds me, I want you to come shopping with me for something to wear to the New Year’s Eve dinner dance here at the club. There’s quite a smart little boutique downtown—very upscale for a backwater town like this. Designer labels and the works, with all kinds of neat accessories. Say you’ll come.”

“Well, sure. I’m always game to go shopping, you know that.”

“Great. Not tomorrow, though, because I’m expecting guests from out of town and have to meet them at Skellington Airport, but maybe the day after that?”

“Fine.”

“And before I forget, here’s your watch.” Deenie groped in her bag and slid the watch across the table. “Now, let’s get down to some serious celebrating.”

With a snap of her fingers, she brought a waiter hurrying over. “Two champagne cocktails, please,” she ordered, then abruptly changed her mind. “Better yet, just bring a whole bottle and have done with—whatever you’ve got on ice will do.”

As the man raced off to do her bidding, she glanced defiantly at Ava and said, “What are you looking so sour about? I thought you’d be happy to get your watch back.”

“This isn’t about my watch, and I’m not looking sour! Surprised, maybe. I’m not used to downing a whole bottle of wine at lunch and the last I knew, you weren’t, either.”

“Oh, stop being so po-faced! You’re my friend, not my mother, and it’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake! What’s wrong with living it up a bit when a woman’s future’s looking so rosy?”

But the speed with which she knocked back two glasses of champagne resembled someone desperately seeking escape from today, rather than one in happy anticipation of tomorrow.

“Are you sure you’re headed in the right direction with Leo?” Ava asked her cautiously. “I know you mentioned in your last email that you and he were serious, but has he actually said anything about getting married?”

“Not in so many words, perhaps, but he will. It’s only a matter of time.” Deenie swigged down another mouthful of champagne and smirked suggestively. “A man’s actions often speak louder than words, if you get my drift!”

There was hardly any missing it! “If that’s the case, why are you so…twitchy? Is it the idea of a wedding?”

“No. It’s the bit which comes after that’s worrying me.”

“You mean the honeymoon?”

Deenie laughed tipsily. “I mean the marriage, dopey! I mean facing Leo across the breakfast table every morning, and ironing his shirts, and being the gracious hostess when he invites his colleagues over for dinner.”

“Aren’t they what marriage is all about?”

“For types like you, perhaps. But I’m not cut out to be a small-town hausfrau.”

“In that case, why are you even thinking about becoming engaged to a man like Leo?”

“Because a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.” Deenie hiccuped and regarded Ava owlishly. “You know what they say about the means justifying the end, right? Sometimes, you have to play hardball to get what you want. Well, guess what! I’m playing hardball.”

Despite the mixed metaphors and slurred words, there was nevertheless a certain steely determination in her voice that left Ava very uneasy. “You’re up to something, Deenie,” she said, “and I want to know what it is.”

Deenie shook her head—let it flop foolishly from side to side, actually. “No. S’too late for true confessions.”

“It’s never too late, Deenie.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, with exaggerated solemnity. “Let’s have another drink.”

“Forget it! You need food.” Ava wasn’t sure if Deenie really meant what she was saying, or if the champagne was to blame for the disquieting confessions spilling out of her mouth. But she did know that trying to hold a rational conversation with someone close to falling-down drunk was a waste of time. Sober, Deenie might be singing quite a different tune.

On the other hand, in vino veritas…!

Flagging down their waiter, Ava ordered club sandwiches with French fries. Not the most healthful meal on the menu by a long shot, but at least the carbohydrates would soak up some of the wine.

“And bring us another bottle of champagne,” Deenie said, tripping over the words.

“Bring us coffee instead,” Ava countermanded. “A very large pot of it, please.”

“You’ve spent so long overseas tending to the poor and underprivileged, you’ve forgotten how to have fun,” Deenie pouted. “You’re being a real party pooper, Ava.”

“No. I’m being your friend.”

But a good friend, a real friend, would hear what Deenie wasn’t saying, and would give her the kind of unselfish, unbiased advice she obviously needed.

Don’t take up with one man when you’re still in love with another, she’d say. Don’t use Leo. He deserves better than that.

Trouble was, her own motivation was too murky to allow her to speak so plainly. Because the truth was, she’d like nothing better than to throw a monkey wrench in the works and set Leo free to pursue a relationship with her.

And what kind of friend did that make her?

CHAPTER FOUR

HE AND Ava were avoiding each other. Beyond exchanging a flickering glance of acknowledgement when she arrived at the Manville’s home for the dinner party, she’d behaved as if he were just another piece of highly polished furniture, and he’d gravitated to the other end of the room to take up his post next to the glittery artificial Christmas tree.

“Who’s that lovely, long-legged stork of a gal?” Cousin Ethel inquired, sidling up to him as the pre-dinner cocktail hour began to wind down.

“Which one?” he asked, gazing vacantly around the room at the mob of guests, and doing his utmost to look properly puzzled.

Playing dumb with the duchess had never worked. She was too smart, too observant and too outspoken for her own good, and the fact that she’d just turned eighty-four—she wasn’t actually his cousin, but his father’s several times removed—didn’t impair her faculties in the least.

“This might be my third martini, boy, but I’m a long way from being plastered,” she declared, chewing on her olive. “You know very well which one, given that she’s the reason you’re lurking behind this appalling tree so you can ogle her through its silly artificial branches.”

“Oh, her!” he said, removing a skein of tinsel festooning his left ear, and feeling as big a fool as he no doubt must look. “She’s just the daughter of one of the neighbors.”

Not to mention the sexiest creature in the western hemisphere. In her sleek retro dinner dress, Ava might have stepped out of some classic 1930’s drawing room drama. “Elegant” was the word which most immediately sprang to mind, although other, less intellectual parts of him stirred with an even greater appreciation for what lay beneath that shining length of slinky black satin.

“Then she’s a friend of the diminutive Deenie’s?”

“That’s right,” he managed, on a strangled breath as Ava shrugged one shoulder and sent ripples of reflected candlelight shimmering down her torso.

“Aha! Introduce me.”

“What?”

Ethel knocked back the rest of her martini and eyed him balefully. “Something wrong with your hearing, Leo, or has joining the sleaziest profession on God’s earth addled your brains to the point that you can’t understand simple English?”

Caught squarely between amusement and annoyance, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and cruised her over to where Ava leaned against the grand piano, sipping champagne and chatting altogether too cosily with some imported suit wearing too much jewelry.

“Hi,” he said, striving to appear unmoved by the sight. “Someone here wants to meet you. Ethel Whitney, this is Ava Sorensen. And…?”

“Bret Turner,” the suit supplied, flashing a mouthful of perfectly capped teeth. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, madam.”

Ethel nodded. “No doubt. Go amuse yourself with someone else, young man, and leave me to get acquainted with this enchanting lass. Not you, Leo,” she commanded, snagging him by the elbow just as he was about to make his escape. “I’m talking to Mr. Turner. You stay put and be sociable.”

His problem, Leo decided, stifling a groan, had less to do with the fact that Ethel was a domineering dowager used to doling out orders with imperial disregard for the wishes of others, than it had with his having been brought up to show respect toward the elderly regardless of how unreasonable their demands might be. So, like a dog highly trained in obedience, he remained rooted to the spot even though his every instinct told him to hotfoot it away with all due speed.

Ava offered her hand. “How do you do, Ms. Whitney? I’m delighted to meet you.”

Ethel inspected Ava’s short oval nails, painted the same rich cranberry colour as Leo had noticed on her toenails two nights previously, and the slim, capable fingers. “Good hands as well as good manners,” she pronounced with satisfaction. “Good bones, too. Are you a model, child, or merely a model child?”

Ava laughed, a low rich ripple of amusement which further captivated Ethel. “Neither, I’m afraid. I’m an ICU nurse, and my mother blames me for all her grey hairs.”

“A nurse? The hell you say! And was Leo your patient when he injured his back?”

“I was never in ICU, duchess,” he said, almost breaking out in a sweat at the thought of Ava giving him a bed bath.

Simultaneously, Ava said, “No. For the last three years, I’ve worked in Africa, but I came home on leave to spend Christmas with my parents and to spend some time with my friend Deenie. We don’t often find ourselves in the same place at the same time, these days.”

With mounting approval, Ethel scrutinized her from head to foot. “You and she are very close, are you?”

“Very.” Ava’s smile grew a tad strained and she shot a defiant glance Leo’s way before continuing, “We’ve been best friends since our mothers enrolled us in the same ballet academy when we were four. We might not be blood sisters, but the bond between us is as strong as anything identical twins might know.”

“Yet unlike twins, you aspire to different ambitions.”

“Yes, although, at one time, becoming a prima ballerina was my dream, as well. But even if I’d had the talent—which I didn’t—I grew to be much too tall. At five nine in my bare feet, I’d have towered over most male dance partners when I was en pointe. So I exchanged my tutu for a uniform, my ballet slippers for white Oxfords, and enrolled in nursing school in Vancouver at about the same time that Deenie, who was both supremely gifted and petite, flew to Britain to train at London’s Royal Ballet School.” Her smile this time was more genuine. “‘Teenie Deenie’, Madame Antonia, our teacher, used to call her.”

“How nauseatingly quaint,” Ethel snorted. “And what did she call you, my dear?”

“I didn’t rate a pet name.”

“Praise the Lord! Now let’s talk about you and Leo.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, duchess!” he blurted, nearly swallowing his tongue. Cripes, if she ever got wind of the other night, she’d be blackmailing him for the rest of her days—and his!

“Au contraire, mon cher,” Ethel decreed, regarding him with the fond contempt of one being pestered by a beloved but tiresome child. “However, if we’re boring you, consider yourself free to go peddle your funny papers elsewhere.”

Ava choked on her champagne and tried to cover it up with a polite cough. And he, who hadn’t blushed since he was in diapers more than thirty-five years ago, felt his face redden.

“If I’d known you were going to give Ava the third degree like this,” he muttered, “I’d never have introduced you in the first place!”

Ignoring him, she fixed Ava in a benevolent gaze. “Tell me how you came to know Leo.”

“We used to live practically next door to each other. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Deenie.”

“I see. And do you consider him a close friend, too?”

Involuntarily, Ava’s glance locked again with his, and this time a flush stained the smooth golden perfection of her cheeks. “Not exactly. He was older and we didn’t share much in common.”

“I’m sure you didn’t—at least,” Ethel said, after a significant pause, “not back then. Try though I might, I can’t picture Leo in tights, looking as if he’s got a purse full of loose change stuffed in his—”

“Ethel!” This time, he roared. Loud enough for heads to turn all over the room.

Alarmed, Gail Manville, Deenie’s mother, came fluttering over, her rope of pearls swinging like a hula hoop around her well-toned neck. “Is there a problem, Leo?”

Hell, yes! And it was compounding by the minute! “My cousin’s a little hard of hearing, especially with so much background noise,” he improvised, taking grim satisfaction in Ethel’s affronted gasp. “Of course, at her age, it’s to be expected.”

“Poor old dear!” Failing to recognize the scorn with which Ethel regarded her, Gail patted her arm consolingly. “I quite understand, Mrs. Whitney. My mother’s rather ancient, too, and has the same problem. But we’ll be sitting down to dinner shortly and I think you’ll find it easier to follow what’s being said then because instead of trying to cram everyone into the dining room, I’ve had the caterer set up tables for four throughout the conservatory, and we’ll change dinner partners with each course. It’ll be such fun, and you’ll get the chance to meet people a few at a time, which I’m sure you’ll find a lot less confusing.”

“Great balls of fire, the woman’ll be organizing us into teams and having us play spin the bottle before the evening’s out!” Ethel fumed, loudly enough that Gail must have heard.

But if she did, she gave no sign. Instead, she drew Ava aside and said, “Deenie disappeared to take a phone call in her room about half an hour ago and hasn’t been seen since. Would you mind getting her down here, dear? Dinner’s about to be served, but we can’t very well start without her.”

“I can,” Ethel declared, as Ava made tracks for the stairs and Gail hurried to confer with the chef beckoning to her from the butler’s pantry. “If I don’t get something solid in my stomach soon, I’m likely to keel over.”

“And if you don’t start behaving yourself as of right now, I’ll be shipping you out of here before you’re even halfway through your soup,” Leo threatened. “Are you deliberately trying to land me in hot water?”

“You don’t need my help to do that, dear boy,” she said, all sunny smiles. “You’re doing a splendid job of it all by yourself—with a little help from the lovely Ava.”

He didn’t ask what she meant by that remark. He didn’t want to know.

When she finally ran her to earth in her en suite bathroom, Ava saw at once that Deenie had been crying. “Talk to me,” Ava begged, handing her another tissue and scooping the soggy wad already heaped on the vanity into the waste-basket. “Good grief, Deenie, you know there’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

But the old Deenie, who’d have poured out her heart in a flash, had been taken over by a secretive stranger. “It’s nothing,” she sniffed. “I’m just feeling…” Her voice quavered briefly. “…a little letdown. Someone I’d hoped would come to his…um, tonight’s shindig, isn’t going to make it, after all.”

“I’m sure that’s very disappointing, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a roomful of hungry guests downstairs raring to start dinner, and your mom would like it if you’d put in an appearance. It doesn’t look good for the only genuine home-grown celebrity to go AWOL.”

“Have you seen Leo?”

“Oh, yes!” Ava replied, with more feeling than she’d intended. Between him and Ethel, she’d seen plenty! “I imagine he’s wondering what’s keeping you away, as well.”

“I’d be surprised if he even noticed I was gone.” Deenie’s lower lip trembled ominously.

Recognizing another bout of weeping was imminent, Ava said bracingly, “All right, Deenie, the pity party’s over. If you’re this uncertain about your relationship with Leo, for heaven’s sake say so now, and put us all out of our misery.”

“Leo isn’t the problem, I am.”

“That much I already figured out. The question is, why?”

“I’m overtired and stressed out and…” She rotated her shoulder, flexed her injured ankle and winced. “Sore.”

“In that case, take an analgesic for the pain, and make a point of getting to bed early. You’ll be surprised what a decent night’s sleep will do for you.”

“You’re not dishing out orders in ICU now, Ava, and I won’t be spoken to like that,” Deenie said peevishly.

“And you’re not starring in your own tragic ballet, so get rid of the superstar attitude! You’re dating a wonderful man, not facing lethal injection on death row.”

Deenie’s head drooped like a faded blossom on her slender neck. “Being stuck in this backwater over Christmas feels like a death sentence. I’m not exactly a poster child for small-town living, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m used to bright city lights and action.”

Ava blew out a long, frustrated breath and headed for the door. “You’re imparting that little gem of news to the wrong person, old friend. Why don’t I go get Leo and you can tell him to his face what you really think about settling down with him?”

“Don’t you dare do any such thing!”

“Why not? If you’re so certain he’s buying you a ring for Christmas, don’t you think he has a right to know how you feel before he shells out his hard-earned money?”

“No.” Deenie snatched up another tissue, gave her face a final scouring, and searched in the medicine cabinet for drops to take the red out of her eyes. “Just blowing off steam to you is enough to make me feel better.”

Ava wished she could say the same. But for the first time ever, her loyalty was torn between her oldest, dearest friend, and a man to whom she was so powerfully drawn that it was a wonder sparks didn’t fly when she found herself in the same room with him. That both he and Deenie were separately ambivalent about their liaison added yet another wrinkle to the dilemma.

“Don’t look so worried,” Deenie said, inspecting herself one last time in the mirror. “You ought to know me well enough by now to realize I’m not nearly as suicidal as I sound. Leo’s a darling and I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have run into him again when I did.”

“I agree,” Ava said glumly.

“All right, then! Let’s go join the party. Did you get to meet many people earlier?”

“A few. An investment banker named Bret was very attentive, and those out-of-town guests you mentioned, the ones whose flight you met yesterday.”

“Ah, yes, Paul and Lynette Markov. They’re two other principals from our dance company, en route to Santiago for the spring tour, but they took a little side-trip to see me before heading south.” Deenie’s expression grew almost crafty. “Did you happen to notice if they spent any time at all chatting with Leo?”

“No,” she said shortly. “I had better things to do than keep tabs on him. But he did introduce me to the duchess.”

“Oh, you poor thing! I warned you evil Ethel’s a royal pain in the rear—and a scary sight in all that silver lamé, don’t you think? Looks as if someone tried to shrink-wrap her in aluminum foil!”

“That’s cruel, Deenie!” But Ava laughed anyway, glad to see the old familiar Deenie had vanquished the distraught stranger of a few minutes ago.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE Manvilles’ conservatory, a soaring masterpiece of glass architecture reminiscent of the Victorian era at its most splendid, had been transformed into a Christmas wonderland. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of miniature lights draped the tropical foliage. Underwater flood lamps spot-lighted the stone fountains. Glimmering white pillar candles clustered cheek by jowl with banks of scarlet and pink poinsettias. And as a final festive touch, a live fir tree sparkling with antique glass balls stood in the middle of the atrium, tall enough that its topmost branches brushed the peak of the pagoda-shaped roof.

Already famous for their lavish parties, this time the Manvilles had really outdone themselves. Georgian sterling, pearly French china and Austrian crystal graced tables cloaked in starched hunter-green linen. To the baroque guitar strains of “The Holly and the Ivy,” mimosa salad followed sherried consomme. “Good King Wenceslas” heralded the arrival of crayfish bathed in Pernod-flavored cream sauce. “The Twelve Days of Christmas” accompanied partridge stuffed with wild rice and spiced crab apples. “Here We Come A-Wassailing” kept company with palate-cleansing lemon sherbert served in fluted dishes no bigger than a thimble. And so it went, culminating in a flaming plum pudding stuffed with silver favours, and a dessert and cheese buffet which not even the most calorie-conscious diner could resist.

And at every opportunity, Deenie flirted outrageously with Leo, and flaunted him in Paul and Lynette Markov’s faces as if he were a trophy she’d bagged on safari. Ava bore up as well as her private misgivings and misery would allow, but by the time coffee and liqueurs were offered, the sullen throb symptomatic of one of her rare migraines had taken hold.

Knowing it marked the end of the evening for her, she waited until Deenie’s father ushered everyone into the music room for a finale of carol singing, then slipped away from the crowd and took refuge on a bench surrounding the trunk of a huge potted palm at the far end of the conservatory.

“I can’t take any more of this,” she moaned softly, pressing her fingertips to her closed eyes, and almost had a heart attack when a hand squeezed her shoulder and a voice she recognized only too well murmured, “Me, neither, Ava.”

Appalled, she sprang to her feet. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I saw you leave,” Leo said, “and followed you.” He inspected her narrowly. “You don’t look so well.”

“I have a headache.”

It was a woman’s oldest and lamest excuse since the beginning of time, but he accepted it without protest. “Then I’ll take you home. It’ll give me an excuse to escape this shindig, as well as be alone with you.”

She flung a furtive glance around before meeting his gaze. “You shouldn’t be here!” she whispered, shaken. “If anyone were to see us together…or hear what you’ve just said…!”

Ignoring her attempts to evade him, he massaged his thumbs over her temple in small, comforting circles. “Don’t flatter yourself that anyone gives a rap, Ava. Hell, the way the booze has been flowing, we could hide out in here for the rest of the night and no one would care.”

Miraculously, the pain was leaching away and leaving her almost drowsy with pleasure. “Deenie might, if she knew,” she said, doing her level best to resist the drugging seduction of his touch. “And both her family and mine certainly would!”

His fingers slid around her neck, warm and strong and intimate. “The question is, do you mind, sweetheart?”

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered weakly. “And don’t ask me such questions. Don’t make me care about you. It isn’t right.”

“Right be damned!” he muttered, drawing her into his arms. “The truth is, you already do care for me, Ava—maybe as much as I’m beginning to care for you.”

She was quivering all over, so confused she barely knew what she might say or do next. So wanting that, for all she wished she could look away, she continued to feast her eyes on him. How beautiful he was with those high, aristocratic cheekbones and smooth olive skin, and that hair like midnight touched with just a glimmer of frost.

This was a man to turn heads, to make a woman wish for things she couldn’t have. “You should be saying these things to Deenie,” she said, in a low, trembling voice. “She’s the one you’re supposed to be dating.”

“We were never ‘dating’ in that way.”

“And what way is that, Leo?”

“Seriously. The way I’d date you, if you’d give me half a chance.”

“Odd,” she said, steeling herself against the temptation to believe him. “That’s not exactly the impression you’ve given Deenie. She seems to think you’re very serious. About her.”

“Then she’s mistaken.”

“Really.” She laughed bitterly, remembering Deenie’s coy insinuation at lunch the other day. Sometimes, a man’s actions speak louder than words. “I wonder how that happened?”

He buried a sigh. “Sometimes, people deliberately mislead themselves and others, then have trouble finding a way to extricate themselves gracefully. I suspect that’s where Deenie’s at now. But just because she’s lying to herself is no reason for me to compound matters by letting her get away with it. Turn away from me all you like, Ava,” he said, when she tilted her face to the side, “but you can’t turn away from the facts. I’m no more the right man for Deenie than she’s the right woman for me. The pity of it is that it took meeting you again to really bring that message home.”

“Are you saying this…this mess is my fault?”

“No,” he said, stroking his palms down her spine and bringing them to rest with shocking familiarity against her hips. “If anyone’s to blame, I am, for allowing too many people to jump to too many false conclusions.”

“I don’t see how they could have done that if you hadn’t given the wrong impression in the first place.”

He let fly with a pent-up oath of frustration. “Okay, I admit it. For a very short while when we first met up again, I let circumstance and proximity fool me into wondering if Deenie and I might have found something lasting, when the most we ever shared was a passing attraction. And if she were to be really honest, I think she’d agree. Events conspired to bring us together, when it should have been passion. Now events are driving us apart, and there’s no doubt the fallout is going to upset a few people.” He inched her closer. “I’d have to be blind not to see that it’s upsetting you.”

Pity for her friend tore at Ava, making her own misery seem small and insignificant by comparison. How did a woman face the embarrassment of being tossed aside by the man she’d boasted was on the verge of proposing? Never mind that she appeared less than enthusiastic about her impending engagement; being “dumped” was never anything but humiliating. “How are you going to tell her?”

Letting go of her, Leo stepped away, but before he could answer, high-heeled footsteps clipped over the terracotta tiles and Mrs. Manville appeared. “We missed you, Leo, and your cousin mentioned that she saw you headed this way,” she said, her glance swinging from his impassive face to Ava’s which, Ava knew, was flushed with guilt. “Why are you lurking out here with Ava? Is there a problem of which I’m not aware?”

“Yes,” he said, taking charge of the situation with admirable calm. “Ava’s not feeling well, and I’m trying to persuade her to let me take her home.”

“I’m sorry.” But Mrs. Manville sounded more suspicious than sorry. “Exactly how are you not feeling well, dear?”

“A headache.” That much, at least, was true. The migraine, which had subsided to bearable levels, had come roaring back with a vengeance.

“Then you should have turned to me, not Leo. I could have given you an aspirin.”

“I don’t think an aspirin’s going to do the trick,” Leo said. “Look at her, Gail. She can barely see, she’s in so much pain.”

“I’m afraid Leo’s right,” Ava said, terribly afraid that she might be sick if she didn’t soon find some relief from the hammers pounding inside her skull.

“You have turned rather pale,” Gail Manville allowed. “Perhaps it might be best if someone took you home. Wait here and I’ll go alert your parents.”

“Don’t do that.”

Leo’s peremptory tone had Mrs. Manville raising her eyebrows in annoyed surprise. “And why not, Leo?”

“Because it’ll disrupt the party and put a damper on the whole evening, which would be a shame, considering all the trouble you’ve gone to to make it a success.

A burst of distant laughter lent emphasis to his words. Mrs. Manville tapped a manicured forefinger against her pursed lips, clearly caught between not entirely trusting the situation and not wanting her gala evening spoilt by something as trivial as a migraine attack. “Perhaps you’re right. Well…since you’ve already offered to play chauffeur, would you mind…?”

“Not a bit,” he said, with what struck Ava as unnecessary enthusiasm. “I’ll bring my car around to the back entrance.”

“No.” Ava waved a feeble hand. Being alone in a car with him would only exacerbate a situation already threatening to run amok. “Our house is only four doors away, and a walk in the fresh air might help.”

“Then I’ll come with you to be sure you make it home safely.” Overriding her protests, he pressed her down on the bench again. “Stay put, while I get your coat and boots.”

When he was gone, Mrs. Manville inquired with only a veneer of sympathy, “Do you need a doctor, Ava?”

“No. I have medication at home which will help.”

“You never used to get headaches.” She made it sound like an accusation. “What brought this one on?”

“I’m afraid it was the mousse at the dessert buffet. I never touch chocolate as a rule, but I couldn’t resist it tonight. Please don’t be concerned, Mrs. Manville. The medication kicks in very quickly.”

“Then I’ll wish you good night and hope you feel better in the morning.” On the verge of leaving, Deenie’s mother paused. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that Deenie has already laid claim to Leo’s attentions, Ava,” she said, over her shoulder. “Please don’t impose on his time any more than is absolutely necessary.”

“Deck the Halls” was the song of choice belting out of the music room as he searched for the coat and high leather boots Ava had described, and a particularly boisterous Fa-la-la-la-la! camouflaged his footsteps when he returned to the conservatory. But nothing, Leo decided, could mask the chill in Gail Manville’s voice as she leveled her final directive at Ava.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think she didn’t like you,” he said, kneeling in front of Ava and cradling her elegant feet prior to sliding them into the boots. “Considering she’s known you practically all your life, she’s not exactly gushing warm concern.”

“She likes me well enough—as long as I don’t threaten Deenie’s place in the spotlight.”

“Meaning what?” he asked, trying to quell his jolt of awareness when she raised one leg to ease her foot into its boot. But a man needed to be made of sterner stuff than he possessed to remain unmoved when the skirt of her dress slithered over his hands in cool, satiny whispers to reveal a delectable hint of sleek, silk-clad thigh.

Oblivious to her effect on him, she said, “She’s always been very ambitious for Deenie. We—Deenie and I, that is—weren’t much more than babies when we began taking ballet classes together, but right from the start Mrs. Manville viewed me as potential competition. If I was chosen to perform a solo at the annual dance recital, she saw to it that Deenie performed two. It wasn’t until I started to grow like an ungainly weed and clearly would never make my mark as a prima ballerina at any level that she relaxed enough to let my friendship with Deenie flourish on its own merit.”

Ungainly weed, my left foot! He had no recollection of Ava as a small child, nor was he much given to flowery comparisons. But if what he’d just heard was true, small wonder Gail was practically frothing at the mouth. Because there was little doubt that the “competition” had blossomed into a woman more exquisite than anything blooming in the Manville conservatory.

“Given such poor growing conditions, I’m surprised your friendship thrived at all,” he said, wishing the same was true of his nether regions which, at that glimpse of feminine thigh and contrary to his most earnest efforts, showed a lively interest in sprouting past socially acceptable proportions. “But that hardly explains why Gail was so flinty-faced with you just now.”

“She’s a mother, Leo, and she’s no fool. She sensed there was more going on between you and me than there should have been. She’s afraid for Deenie.”

“She should be,” he said, “but not for the reasons you’re implying. Deenie’s badly off-balance, and it has nothing to do with you, nor, I’m beginning to think, with me. Something else is going on with her, and I’m hoping like hell she’ll have the guts to spill it out before….”

“Before what?” Ava’s gaze, big, grey and beautiful anytime, widened so much that her upper lashes almost touched her elegant brows.

“She goes completely over the edge. Right now, though,” he said, helping her into her coat and escorting her through a side door to a path leading down to the lakefront walk, “I’m more concerned about getting you home. You look about ready to pass out.”

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit better,” she said, inhaling deeply of the sharp night air. “The headache’s subsided to a dull roar again.”

“What brought it on to begin with?”

“Mrs. Manville asked me the same thing. I told her the chocolate mousse was to blame.”

“And was it?”

“No. I didn’t have any.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I suspect it’s just a tension headache. And don’t bother to ask the reason for that, when we both know full well why.”

“Don’t you take on my problems and make them yours.”

“How can I help it?” Her hair, as she swung a glance at him, gleamed in the moonlight. “I’m supposed to be Deenie’s dearest friend, yet I find myself wishing….”

“What?” he asked, when she dwindled into silence.

“That I didn’t care about her so much. Because then my conscience wouldn’t be bothering me the way it is.”

He heard a world of misery in her voice; a potent regret. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, pinning her arm in the crook of his elbow and catching her hand in his. “What was, at best, a superficial attraction between Deenie and me floundered long before you came on the scene. You’re not the one who took the bloom off the rose.”

He knew that to be true, but she wasn’t buying it. “Yes, I am,” she said brokenly. “If I weren’t here, she might have come to the realization that things between you weren’t working out, and ending it would have been mutual. As it is now, you’re using me as the excuse to break off with her, and even if she can forgive me, I’ll never forgive myself—or you for putting me in the middle of it all.”

They’d reached the bottom of her garden by then, and were shielded from the houses on either side by a stand of pines. Slipping free of his hold, she unlatched a wrought-iron gate set in the low stone wall enclosing the property.

The night was clear, with a million stars and a cold-faced moon. The lake lay glassy and still beneath a thick layer of ice. But a fitful wind had sprung up, nipping and plucking at Ava’s hair like a puppy with a toy. Unable to help himself, he reached out and snagged a wayward strand in his bare fingers.

“Three wise men followed a star and found a saviour,” he said, tugging her back to face him. “Do you suppose I could be as lucky?”

“It all depends.” Her voice quivered, as if it, too, were at the mercy of the wind. “What is it you want to be saved from?”

“Myself,” he said. “And you.”

Her gaze flared in the gloom, so wide that he saw the pinprick reflection of the starlight in her pupils. “Oh, Leo, stop playing with me! Stop trying to make me believe one thing and letting Deenie believe another. It’s wrong.”

“Wrong?” He drew her to him. Slipped his hands inside her coat and shaped the pattern of her body, committing to memory the sweet indentation of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. “How can this be wrong?” he murmured against her mouth. “You tell me that, Ava.”

CHAPTER SIX

AVA’S heart missed a beat. “Let me go,” she pleaded, her eyes too full to hold back the tears.

But he wasn’t listening. Or if he was, he chose to ignore an entreaty she knew to be half-hearted at best. Because although she was saying all the correct and proper things, her body was betraying her with bold impropriety. Yearning toward him. Finding refuge in the warm, solid strength of him. And just by the way it curved against him, giving him explicit permission to go ahead and kiss her.

Which he did. And if, that first time—in the dark, in the stable—their mouths had blundered together by accident, this time they came together with slow and sensuous deliberation.

And if there weren’t celestial trumpets sounding from the heavens, there should have been, because something tumultuous and jubilant drowned out the feeble protests of her conscience. Something drove her not to care about anything but the stolen ecstasy of the moment.

Under cover of her coat, a heavy black velvet lined with quilted scarlet satin which swirled around to cloak them in intimacy, his hands stole from her hips with brazen urgency and cradled her bottom. “Come to me,” he begged against her lips, and she knew what he meant.

Knew because, even as he asked, he pulled her closer until her pelvis swayed in tandem with the bold, rocking rhythm of his hips, and the liquid pull of her own desire pooled between her thighs at the proud thrust of his arousal pressing against her belly.

A wild tension thrummed within her, so intense that if he’d lifted the hem of her dress and pulled down her panties, she’d have parted her legs and let him take her there and then, and never mind that the temperature hovered some fifteen degrees below freezing. Or that the two of them could have been discovered by anyone happening along the lakefront walk. Or that her betrayal of her best friend grew more despicable with every second which passed.

For the space of a blissful minute or more, she was a creature possessed. So receptive to his advances that her mouth opened in invitation without his having to resort to persuasion. So hungry and desperate to belong to him—in his heart, where it really mattered; and know that he belonged to her in the same way—even if it was just for now and he’d have changed his mind by tomorrow, just as he had with Deenie—that she was beyond shame. So wanting and aching and willing that she didn’t care that, in the morning, she’d despise what she’d become and what she’d done.

Sadly—or perhaps not!—he lived by a less flexible code of ethics. Like a man suddenly waking from a nightmare, he lifted his head and thrust her away from him so abruptly that if the gate hadn’t been at her back, she’d have missed her footing on the snow and gone sprawling.

“What the devil am I doing?” he exclaimed hoarsely, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Ava, forgive me!”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whimpered and, depraved weakling that she was, would have flung herself again into his arms if he hadn’t fended her off with both hands.

“Oh yes, there is!” he said, the horror and disgust in his voice impossible to miss.

“Leo…!”

“Listen to me, Ava.” His voice shook with the force of the emotions at war within him. “I want you about as badly as any man can want a woman. But not, God help me, like this. Not like some out-of-control teenager groping around under cover of dark. And most of all, not furtively, as if we have no right to desire one another.”

The bitter night air shot into her lungs and put paid to the recklessness which had clouded her mind. Repelled by her own wantonness, shamed that he was the one with conscience enough to call a halt to their deplorable behaviour, she retorted sharply, “A better reason might be, not as long as another woman’s under the impression you’re about to ask her to marry you.”

“If that’s what Deenie’s told you, she’s delusional!” he said flatly.

“Is she? Or is it closer to the truth to say you’re enjoying playing both ends against the middle?”

“If that’s what you really believe, then you don’t know me at all.”

“Perhaps not, but this much I do know. I’m not about to enter into a tug of war over any man, and I’m definitely not interested in someone who’s as cavalier about his relationships as you appear to be. You didn’t mind using Deenie when nothing better presented itself, and it seems you have no qualms about ditching her now that you think you’d rather have me.”

“For what it’s worth, Ava, I never ‘had’ Deenie.”…a man’s actions can speak louder than words…! “So you say!”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed, with deadly calm. “But if my word carries so little weight with you, perhaps I’m wasting my time trying to convince you I’m neither toying with her affections nor coming on to you because I’m ready for a change of pace.” He tugged up the collar of his overcoat and turned away. “My apologies for having overstepped the mark with you. It won’t happen again.”

“I was starting to worry about you,” her mother remarked, when Ava straggled into the kitchen just after ten o’clock the next morning. “Gail mentioned that you left the party early because you were tired, but even so, it’s not like you to sleep so late. And if you don’t mind my saying so, honey, you still look a bit peaked.”

In fact, Ava had been awake through most of the night, plagued by doubts. Had she judged Leo too harshly? Was Deenie playing some sort of game whose rules were known only to her? Was it really possible that after all the years they’d known each other and all the confidences they’d shared, Deenie had deliberately set out to deceive her supposed best friend?

“It’s just the jet lag catching up with me,” Ava told her mother. “It’ll pass before the day’s out. Is there any coffee left?”

“Plenty. I just made a fresh pot.” Her mother filled a cup and passed it across the breakfast bar. “Deenie phoned to remind you you’re going shopping together this afternoon to find gorgeous outfits for New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh….” Gloomily, Ava leaned on one elbow and stirred her coffee. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“She suggested picking you up here around two, but you mentioned wanting to buy a couple of Christmas gifts, and since I have to run a few last-minute errands as well, I thought it would be nice if we went into town together. We can do what we have to do, then get together for lunch before you meet Deenie at The Soiree Boutique, which is where she wants to shop. How does that sound?”

“Lovely,’ Ava said, striving to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice. Not that she didn’t want to spend time with her mother, because she did, but the thought of keeping up a cheerful front with Deenie appealed not at all.

“Lovely!” Her mother came around the breakfast bar and gave her a hug. “That’s what we’ll do, then.”

Christmas was only two days away, and Owen’s Lake town center, as always, looked picture-postcard charming. That morning, the air was so crystal clear, it almost rang. The snow huddled purple-blue in the shadows of the steep courthouse roof. In the middle of the square, some prankster had crowned the marble statue of Charles Owen with an evergreen wreath. It hung tipsily over one eye, hilariously at odds with the founding father’s air of timeless dignity.

Not far away, Stuart Shultz, who had to be eighty if he was a day and whose long white beard was real, sported the same red felt Santa Claus suit he’d worn for as long as Ava could remember, and did a roaring business selling hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts from his decorated stall.

On the corner, his wife Violet, dressed as Mrs. Claus in a long green skirt and lace-trimmed blouse under her red-checkered apron, doled out fresh-from-the-oven gingerbread men to the children passing by her shop while, from Saint Martha’s church at the other end of the square, came the sound of the boys’ choir practicing “Silent Night” for the Christmas Eve carol service.

This was what Christmas should be all about, Ava thought, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. Not stealthy kisses and clandestine trysts with a man she wasn’t sure she could trust, but the pure, soaring voice of a boy soprano, and the wide-eyed innocence of children as a kind old couple who’d never had babies of their own put on a show that made even adults half believe in Santa Claus.

Her mother, waiting for her in the dining room of The White Horse Inn, at a table set between the fireplace and a window overlooking the lake, noticed at once that something was amiss. “We both need this,” she said, pushing one of two glasses of sherry toward Ava and raising the other in a silent toast, “and then you’re going to explain why you’re looking as if you’ve just lost your best friend. And don’t bother telling me I’m imagining things, because I know you too well.”

“I can’t talk about it,” Ava said, but the sherry loosened her tongue and she found herself spilling out her heart to the one person in the whole world who’d continue to love her, no matter how far she fell from grace. “Oh, Mom, I might well have lost my best friend, and it’s all because of Leo.”

“Leo Ferrante?” Her mother set down her glass and blinked in surprise. “Good gracious, what’s he done?”

“It’s what I’ve done.” No use blaming Leo, after all. He’d never have put the moves on her if she’d taken the moral high road to begin with, instead of throwing herself at him.

“I understand he walked you home last night,” her mother said. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Not really. It began before that.” Ava blotted her mouth with her napkin and heaved a sigh. “When Deenie first told me she was thinking of settling down with him, I was surprised because she’d always said she was married to the ballet. But she convinced me she was making a change for the better. She insisted she’d never been happier, that I’d love Leo, that he hadn’t changed a bit from when we both mooned over him in our teens, and that he was the perfect man for her.”

“Well, has he? Changed, I mean?”

“No,” Ava said, staring hopelessly out of the window at the sun-washed gloss of the frozen lake. “Unfortunately, neither have I, Mom. That’s the trouble.”

“Good heavens! Are you saying that you’re still smitten with him?”

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. But I’m afraid my feelings go deeper than that.”

“Oh, Ava!” Her mother’s distress was palpable. “Honey, you’re overreacting. Think how embarrassed you and Leo both would be if he had any inkling—”

“He knows.”

“You told him?”

“Not in so many words. I didn’t have to. But that’s not the worst of it. He….”

Comprehension dawned, leaving her mother temporarily at a loss, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, my stars! Ava, are you trying to tell me he returns your feelings?”

“He’s…intimated as much. Or if not that exactly, then he’s made it pretty clear he’s never been serious about Deenie.”

“But that can’t be true! Gail Manville as good as told me he’s giving Deenie an engagement ring for Christmas!” She shook her head, bewildered. “This isn’t like you, Ava. I know how much you hope to marry and have children someday, but you’re not a teenager anymore. You’re twenty-eight years old, widely traveled, an expert in your field of nursing.”

“None of which exactly qualifies me for the young-and-foolish category, and certainly doesn’t excuse my stealing another woman’s man. I know, Mom. You don’t have to hammer the point home. But it doesn’t change what I feel.”

“Which is pure infatuation. The kind of love a marriage is built on doesn’t strike out of the blue like this.”

“It did with you and Dad. You’ve said so many a time.”

“So I have.” Her mother’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “If Gail gets wind of this,” she said mournfully, “she’ll string you up by the thumbs! She confided to me only last night that she’s hopeful there’ll be wedding bells for Deenie and Leo by Easter.”

“I’m more concerned about how Deenie might react. You know how close we’ve always been, and this is killing me. If I’d had any idea….”

But how could she have known that she would indeed love Leo—not, as Deenie had presumed, in a sisterly way, but with all the passion and depth and longing of a woman who’d long outgrown her schoolgirl crush? How could she have known the realization would strike her the minute she laid eyes on him at the airport? That all the time she’d been roaming the world hoping to meet Mr. Right, he’d been waiting on her back doorstep at home? How could she have known she’d be so susceptible to him?

“I wish I’d stayed away,” she said miserably. “I wish the pair of them would just disappear in a puff of smoke. At least then, I wouldn’t be torn in half like this.”

“If he’s telling you the truth and Deenie’s misunderstood his intentions—and I have to say, Ava, Leo’s never struck me as a man who’d lie about anything, let alone something as serious as this—wishing isn’t going to change a thing. You have to deal with what is.”

“And how do I do that, Mom? How do I justify getting involved with him, if he ends things with Deenie? What sort of friend does that make me?”

“Well….” Her mother looked past Ava and scanned the room at large as she debated the question. But whatever advice she’d been about to offer suddenly shifted direction as her gaze settled on something beyond Ava’s view. Face creased with dismay, she leaned forward and said urgently, “Oh dear! Better put this conversation on hold for now and paste a smile on your face, honey. Deenie just walked in the door with those two dancer friends of hers, and they’re headed this way. One look at you, and she’ll know there’s trouble in the air, and this is certainly not the time or the place to air it.”

Setting an example, her mother beamed brightly as the trio came abreast with the table. “Hello! How nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Markov, and what a coincidence, running into you here, of all places.”

“Not really. I phoned your house and Mr. Sorensen told me where you were meeting for lunch.” All smiles, Deenie slung an exuberant arm around Ava’s shoulder. “Listen, there’s been a change of plan. Lynette and Paul are catching the four-thirty flight out of Skellington this afternoon, so I’m taking them on a bit of a sightseeing tour of Owen’s Lake before they leave. We’ve got a limo waiting outside and—”

“I quite understand,” Ava said, a huge wave of relief washing over her. “Please don’t worry about canceling the shopping trip. It can wait until another day.”

“Who said anything about canceling?” Deenie trilled. “Of course we’ll still go shopping! Just not as early as we planned, that’s all, because I’ve also made an appointment to see a house I’m thinking of renting—I need a place with a room I can set aside as a dance studio, you see,” she said coyly, “and Leo’s apartment isn’t nearly big enough.”

“No,” Ava’s mother murmured, in the awkward pause following that remark. “I can see that it wouldn’t be.”

“Exactly!” Deenie bathed Ava in a winning smile. “So instead of meeting me at the boutique, I wonder if you’d mind picking me up at the rental property, instead?” She pulled a slip of paper out of her purse. “Here’s the address. It’s out at the far end of Lakeshore Drive and since that’s on the Skellington side of town, we’ll wind up our tour there, and the limo driver can drop me off before he heads out to the airport with Lynette and Paul.”

Ava hesitated, wishing she could come up with a very good reason to refuse. She didn’t want to spend time alone with Deenie. She particularly didn’t want to look at a house Deenie implied she’d be sharing with Leo.

Seeing her reluctance, Deenie produced another dazzling smile. “Pretty please?” she wheedled. “Say in about an hour and a half? That’ll still give you time to enjoy a nice long lunch with your mom.”

How could she refuse without seeming churlish, or worse yet, arousing Deenie’s suspicions?

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT TOOK longer than she expected for Ava to find the property. Located in a cul-de-sac and hidden from the road by a dense hedge, the house had been built at the turn of the twentieth century by one of the well-to-do families who’d settled the area.

There was no sign of the limousine, but a car she assumed belonged to the leasing agent stood parked at the front door. Probably the Markovs have left already, she surmised, ringing the old-fashioned pull bell, and Deenie’s inside, inspecting the rooms.

But to her utter consternation, Leo answered the door. And from the grimace which passed over his face, not to mention his decidedly hostile greeting, he was no more pleased to see her than she was to see him. “What the devil do you want, Ava?”

“I came to pick up Deenie.”

“Well, she’s not here, and I ought to know. I’ve been hanging around for nearly half an hour, waiting for her to show up.”

“You?” Ava said disbelievingly. “She’s supposed to be meeting the agent showing this house.”

“Bull!” he shot back. “She asked me to pick up the keys and meet her here because she wanted me to look over the lease before she signed anything.”

More of Deenie’s games? Ava wondered, dragging her gaze away from Leo who looked good enough to eat in a very lawyerly grey suit and dark tie, and staring instead at the snow-draped shrubs edging the garden. Or was she being unfair? Now that she thought about it, Deenie never had actually said she was meeting the leasing agent, merely that she’d made an appointment to see the house.

“Well?” Leo said, as the silence between them lengthened. “Cat got your tongue, all of a sudden, darlin’? Aren’t you going to accuse me of some dastardly plot to get you and her in some hidden, out-of-the-way spot, and indulge in a three-way orgy?”

“No,” she snapped, feeling a flush ride over her face. “I’m wondering why you’re not driving your own car.”

“Because it’s in for servicing and this one’s a loaner. Any other questions riding around in that suspicious little mind of yours?”

“No,” she said again, feeling more of a fool with every second that passed.

“Then perhaps you’d tell me why Deenie needed you to pick her up, instead of driving herself here in the first place.”

“She took her ballet friends on a limo tour of town and was supposed to be dropped off here before the driver took them to the airport.” She shrugged. “I guess they’re running a bit late.”

He scowled, his displeasure mounting. “What next, for Pete’s sake?”

“Well, don’t take your frustration out on me!” Ava shot back, her own temper more than a little frayed around the edges. “I’m just catering to the diva’s wishes, but since you’re here anyway, you can drive her back to town. And tell her I’m not going shopping for dresses, either, while you’re at it!”

The sparking anger in his blue eyes softened slightly. “Oh, what the hell! Now you’ve driven all this way, you might as well come in and take a look around. I’ve only walked through the downstairs rooms so far, but it’s enough for me to see it’s quite a show-place. Come on, Ava,” he coaxed, when she shook her head and turned away. “Let’s at least try to behave like the mature adults we’re supposed to be.”

Would she have acquiesced so easily, had the request come from any other man? Would her heart have leaped so erratically when he caught her arm and said with a rueful smile, “Hey, I’m sorry. I know none of this is your fault.”

Of course she wouldn’t! But it wasn’t any other man; it was Leo. And that being the case, her resentment melted like butter left out in the hot desert sun. Defeated, she allowed him to draw her over the threshold and relieve her of her heavy coat.

The entrance hall was magnificent. Graced by a branched staircase of mellow oak, it could well do double duty as a small ballroom, and her first thought was that Deenie would be in her element playing hostess in such a setting.

Leo’s mind ran along a different track, though. “I bet those banisters have known more than their share of kids sliding down them,” he remarked. “This place was made for a large family. You ever thought about having children, Ava?”

“Um…” She gulped, unnerved by the question. Having babies wasn’t something she could discuss composedly with Leo Ferrante.

Appearing not to notice her discomposure, he cupped her elbow and steered her toward a door on the right. “This is the dining room. See what I mean? You could seat twenty people around that table, and still have room to spare.”

“Does the place come furnished?” she babbled, desperate to change the subject.

“It’s one of the options in the lease.”

She ran a finger over the glossy surface of a rosewood sideboard. “That’s convenient for Deenie.”

“I guess.” He raised his shoulders in a mystified shrug. “But I can’t see why she’d be interested in a place this size unless she plans to start her own dance school.”

“Actually, there is supposed to be a room somewhere which would do as a studio.”

Leo scanned the sheaf of papers in the folder he carried. “Must be the games room over the garage, then. Says here it’s thirty feet by twenty. Let’s go take a look—unless you want to see the kitchen first? It’s quoted as being ‘a gourmet affair, recently updated with top-of-the-line appliances.’”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to see the kitchen.”

He shrugged again. “Why not? Isn’t it supposed to be the heart of every home?”

Don’t talk to me about heart! she wanted to cry. Mine’s aching too much already. If things were different, you and I might have been looking at this house with the idea of us living here together and planning where we’d put the Christmas tree next year, and where we’d hang the stockings when the babies came along. Then, of course I’d want to see if the refrigerator’s big enough, and if there’s counter space enough for me to roll out cookie dough, and which room we’d use as a nursery!

But the confusion and mistrust brought about by the last few days was such that the only thing she’d likely be tempted to do in the kitchen was stick her head in the oven!

“I wonder what’s keeping Deenie,” she said, peering out of the stained-glass window next to the front door.

“Who knows? She enjoys being fashionably late. On the other hand, given her mood swings lately, it’s just as likely she’s changed her mind altogether about renting the place and not bothered to let us know.” He slapped the folder closed and threw it down on the table. “Let’s check out this room she’s interested in, and if you don’t think it’ll serve the purpose, we might as well lock up and leave. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got better things to do than waste what’s left of the afternoon hanging around here.”

He loped up the stairs, leaving her hard-pressed to keep up with him, and had thrown open a door on the left by the time she reached the landing.

“Well, will you take a look at this bedroom!” he said, giving a low whistle of appreciation.

“You take a look,” she told him shortly. “I’m only interested in the games room.”

Clearly baffled by her attitude, he gestured to a wide, paned window running the width of the landing. “You’ll be telling me next you’re not impressed with the view, either. What’s the matter, Ava? Isn’t this your kind of house?”

It was so much her kind of house, it hurt! The late-afternoon sun bathed the old stone exterior in pale golden light and turned the ice-covered lake into a dazzling opalescence. The high ceilings, the airy, gracious rooms visible through other open doors farther down the upper hall, the deep carved moldings and smooth oak floors—they called out to her so urgently, she could have wept.

“What does it matter?” she cried. “I’m not the one who’ll be living here! Stop quizzing me at every turn, Leo. What I think is irrelevant.”

“Not to me,” he said quietly, reaching for her. “I’ve tried telling myself what you think isn’t important and I don’t need the complications you’ve brought into my life, but despite what I said last night about not bothering you again, I’m having a hard time sticking to it.”

That great, beautiful house teemed with the ghosts of former couples who’d loved and lived under its roof. The echo of past laughter, the deep and measured breathing of shared passion between a husband and wife, the sound of a mother crooning to her baby, haunted the air. They pulled at Ava, drawing her into Leo’s arms as if trying to tell her she belonged with him, and that they were the ones to inherit that legacy of joy.

“Don’t!” she begged feebly, feeling herself drowning in the searching intensity of his gaze.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, his mouth cruising over her eyelids, her cheekbones and along her jaw until it found her lips.

No man should be able to kiss with such mastery—like an angel, able to make a woman lose all sense of self-preservation and live only for the rapture of the moment. Like a devil, wielding such unholy power that she uttered inarticulate little sounds of surrender deep in her throat when, all the time, she knew she should be giving vent to outrage.

He was taking unpardonable liberties. Persuading her with a suggestive nudge of his hips to move into the seclusion of the big bedroom with him and then, when he’d succeeded, inching the door closed so that they wouldn’t be discovered. Cushioning her between him and the wall, and leaving her half blind with desire at the pressing, urgent weight of him.

His hands skimmed down her throat. Brushed fleetingly at her breasts, just enough to arouse her nipples to tingling awareness—but not nearly to satisfy it. Paused at her hips to raise the hem of her sweater and then, with stunning audacity, pulled her satin camisole free from the top of her skirt.

He touched her waist, lightly, beguilingly. Awoke a thousand sensory pinpoints of pleasure on her exposed skin. “Come with me,” he said, his words caught between a plea and a groan. “Let me take you away from here to somewhere quiet and undisturbed by all the insanity coming between us…to someplace where we can confront our feelings for one another openly. Stop fighting the inevitable, Ava.”

She yearned to agree. Felt the tug of physical longing join forces with her surging emotions—a potent combination beside which conscience and integrity struggled to survive.

“Hang Deenie out to dry, you mean?” she managed, her heart breaking.

“Leave Deenie out of this,” he said, cradling her waist in both his hands. “Do you really think that throwing her name into the mix is going to make me forget what it’s like to hold you in my arms, or kiss you and feel you respond to my touch? Will it make you forget?”

“No. But she believes—”

He shook her; not roughly, or ungently, but with a desperate urgency. “Listen to me, Ava! It doesn’t matter what she believes! I don’t care what she believes!”

“How can you say that?” she cried softly. “Don’t you love her at all?”

“No,” he said.

“She thinks she loves you.”

He closed his eyes. “I doubt that that’s true. But even if it is, I don’t return her feelings. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh and unfeeling, but you’re smart enough to know that love’s not something any of us can dish out on command. We love because we can’t help ourselves.”

“Stop trying to confuse the issue!”

“I’m not. I’m trying to confront it head-on.” He cupped her chin and forced her to meet his troubled gaze. “You love your parents, I love mine, and we both love our work. But we both know that what we feel for one another is a whole world removed from those other loves. They’re safe, comfortable. This isn’t. It’s wild and greedy and overwhelming. And ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away. So tell me, Ava, what do I have to do to make you face up to that?”

She tore herself away from him and backed toward the door. “There’s nothing you can do,” she said. “The only person who can alter the outcome of events in a way that I’d ever find acceptable is Deenie herself. As long as she wants you—or thinks she does—you’re off limits. So don’t come near me again. I don’t want to be alone with you. I don’t want you smiling at me, or talking to me in private, or making knowing eye contact. And most of all I don’t want you touching me. I’m hurting enough already.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

FRUSTRATED, Leo stared around the room. Judging from its size and furnishings, it had to be the master suite. Set at right angles to the window, so that its occupants could look out at the lake, stood a great big bed. The kind where, in the old days, mothers gave birth, then leaned against the headboard and nursed their babies.

In his mind’s eye, Leo could see Ava there, his child at her breast, her lovely face flushed and tender, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder. But day-dreaming about it wasn’t enough to make it happen. More positive action was called for, a point Ethel had driven home with her customary bluntness when he’d taken her out for lunch that day.

“When are you going to do something about that sweet gal?” she’d wanted to know.

“I assume you’re referring to Ava,” he said blandly, just speaking her name enough to remind him of the black satin creation she’d worn the night before. Of how it had slipped through his fingers like cool spring water—and how later, in the small hours, he’d dreamed of stripping it off her and woken in a fine state of arousal.

“Of course. Why would I waste breath on that other creature? The only thing she needs is a good slap on the behind, but I doubt her father has the cajones for the task. And quite frankly, boy, I’ll be wondering about yours if you continue evading the subject like this. You’re clearly so smitten with Ava that I fail to understand why you don’t come straight out and tell the obnoxious Deenie to take a hike, instead of pandering to her neurotic need to be the centre of attention all the time.”

“Deenie’s an artiste. It’s the nature of the beast to enjoy the spotlight, on top of which she’s in a pretty fragile state right now.”

“Fragile, my hind foot! She’s self-centred, shallow, and utterly oblivious to the feelings of the people around her. If she weren’t, she’d see that you and Ava were made for one another, and do everything in her power to bring you together, instead of preying on your time and attention like a black widow spider.”

“That’s a bit harsh, surely?”

“I don’t think so!” She’d snorted with disapproval and drained her martini. “Take this business of dragging you out to some house this afternoon to look over a lease when you’ve got a perfectly good office in which to conduct business, and she could just as easily have come there. She’s up to something, Leo, and if you can’t see that, you’re not the man I always took you to be.”

“Regardless of what you think of my testosterone levels, duchess,” he’d said mildly, “I do know how and when to take a stand. I also know when to back off—and Ava made it pretty clear last night that she doesn’t welcome my advances.”

Sure she had! And he’d assured her he’d received the message. But all that had gone by the board when he’d found himself alone in this room with her. In fact, if it had been up to him, he’d probably have had her underneath him on that bed and made thorough and complete love to her, and never mind who might come in through the front door at any given moment!

Deenie’s voice, sharp and petulant outside on the landing, yanked him out of idyllic introspection and back to irritating reality with a jolt. “Why are you lurking around up here, Ava, and where’s Leo?”

“Right behind you,” he said, stepping out of the bedroom to find Deenie and her friends clustered on the landing. “Is there a problem?”

Ava, looking stricken, hovered at the top of the stairs. Upon seeing him though, Deenie was suddenly all sunny smiles. “Hello, darling!” she cooed, rushing up to hug him. “Sorry we’re a bit late, but the Vancouver flight has been delayed an hour, so we took a little detour!”

Despite his attempt to shrug her off, she latched on to him like a barnacle. Oh, cripes! he thought, recognizing her overly demonstrative response with sinking dismay. She’s on-stage again, right down to the melodramatic ‘darling’!

Ava had noticed, too, but with a different interpretation. He saw the flash of pain she couldn’t hide; the brief but telling glance of mistrust she leveled at him before averting her gaze. “I’ll wait for you in the car,” she told Deenie, and went swiftly down the stairs, her spine poker-straight.

“Sure.” Deenie waved her away as if she were of no more importance than a gnat. “Leo, darling, tell me what you think of the house.”

Wrenching his gaze from Ava’s departing back, he said, “It’s far too big for what you—”

“Perhaps. But would you be willing to pay the rent they’re asking for it?”

“I’m not the one—”

Once again, she interrupted him. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s up to me to decide, but you’re the one with the lease.” She fluttered over to her friends. “Isn’t he adorable? Do you know any other man who’d be so accommodating? So sensitive to my needs?”

Resenting the implied intimacy of her remarks, he said abruptly, “I want to have a word in private with you, Deenie. There are a few things we need to get straight.”

He must have looked as grim as he felt because she spun around like a wind-up china doll, ushered the Markovs toward the stairs, and exclaimed, “My goodness, I had no idea how late it is! Say goodbye to Lynette and Paul, Leo darling. It’s time they were on their way.”

“Indeed,” he said, and would have offered his hand if she’d allowed him to get within spitting distance of the couple. “Safe journey, both of you, and good luck with your upcoming tour. Deenie, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

She waggled her fingers in acknowledgement and hurried the Markovs away. He waited until they’d gone, then went back for a last regretful look around the bedroom. Yeah, he could definitely see himself living here with Ava. After thirty-seven years, carefree bachelorhood had lost its charm, big time! All he had to do was convince her of it.

He heard a car door slam closed and the purr of a departing engine. And then, immediately after, another car leaving. So, she’s sent Ava on her way, too, he thought, heading downstairs. Just as well! By the time I’ve had my long-overdue say, Miss Deenie isn’t going to be fit company for anyone.

He’d returned to the dining room, picked up the key where he’d left it next to his briefcase, and stowed the lease before it occurred to him that Deenie was taking a hell of a long time to come back inside and face the music. Pacing to the entrance hall, he pulled open the front door and looked out.

The driveway was empty. The little witch had left with Ava!

“You’ve been had again, you dumb schmo!” he growled, smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand.

He should have known better than to think she’d play straight with him. She didn’t know the meaning of the term!

“Leo seemed awfully crabby just now,” Deenie remarked, as they drove away. “Did something happen between the two of you before I showed up?”

“Happen?” Ava felt the blood drain from her face and pool weakly around her ankles. “Happen how?”

“I don’t know. A disagreement, perhaps? Did you tell him you hated the house, or something?”

“I loved the house,” she said, grateful that on that subject at least, she could speak freely. “I think it’s gorgeous.”

“Oh, Ava!” Deenie chortled. “Despite that smart cosmopolitan veneer you’ve acquired, you’re still just a small-town girl at heart. You’d probably be quite happy to settle down and spend the rest of your life in Owen’s Lake if nothing better presented itself.”

“I don’t know why that strikes you as so amusing, given that it’s exactly what you’re proposing to do,” she retorted.

“But I’m not,” Deenie said. “Not really. I was just playing a little game.”

“For whose benefit?”

“Well, whose do you think? For mine, of course!”

“Why, Deenie?”

The question, uttered as it was in a tone laced with reproof, would have been enough to spark indignation in the old Deenie. But this new, secretive incarnation merely said, “For reasons you can’t begin to understand, Ava, and which I can’t begin to explain.”

“Then a lot’s changed between us, because we never had a problem communicating in the past. Half the time, we both knew what the other was thinking or feeling without a word being spoken. But now….” Ava tightened her grip on the steering wheel, a very real regret coursing through her. “We’re like strangers, Deenie. Something’s been out of whack between us ever since I got home. And it makes me very sad.”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m not the only one with secrets,” Deenie said darkly. “You’re keeping a few of your own, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Stunned, Ava sputtered, “I don’t know what you think you’ve noticed!”

“You’ve got man trouble, Ava, and don’t bother denying it because I recognize the signs only too well. Yet I don’t hear you confiding in me. If our being open and honest is all that important, why are you being so reticent? Are you ashamed of him?”

Without stopping to think how she might be incriminating herself needlessly, Ava blurted out, “No! That’s not it at all!”

“Is he married, then? Are you having an affair with someone else’s husband?”

Perspiration needled her skin. “No,” she said again, but this time with a lot less conviction.

“Then it must be unrequited love.” Deenie patted her knee with empty sympathy. “I’ve been there, too, kiddo. It’s no fun, is it? But the way you get over it is to dive into an affair with another man and flaunt it in the bastard’s face. Make him sorry he passed you up for someone else.”

“In other words, use one man to punish another?” Ava shuddered inwardly. “When did you become so cynical and unfeeling, Deenie?”

“When I realized that if I don’t look out for myself, no one else will. Pull over into that parking spot, why don’t you? The boutique’s only half a block away.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to pass on the shopping. I lost my enthusiasm for trying on dresses. In fact, I doubt I’ll even bother going to the club on New Year’s Eve.”

“Good heavens, you really are out of sorts, aren’t you? No matter. Just drop me off at the door—I’ll be fine on my own—and we’ll get together…well, let’s see.” She dug in her bag for her diary and flipped open the pages. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and I’m pretty much tied up all day, then the twenty-fifth’s set aside for all the relatives, so probably not before the twenty-sixth or-seventh. I guess the gift exchanging will have to wait until then.”

Ava slid the car to a stop outside the dress shop, let her passenger out, and pulled away before Deenie changed her mind again.

She should have been disappointed. After all, spending time with Deenie had been high on her agenda when she’d first arranged to come home. But things had changed in the days since, and all Ava could think now was, Two whole days of not having to deal with you or Leo? Well, hallelujah! Maybe Christmas won’t be such a wash-out, after all.

The snow began again late in the afternoon of the twenty-fourth. Ava, listening to carols on the radio as she helped prepare the bouillabaisse her mother traditionally served for Christmas Eve dinner, didn’t hear the doorbell ring and was caught totally off guard when her father pushed open the swing door to the kitchen and announced, “You’ve got a visitor, Ava. It’s Leo. You want to see him in here?”

“Of course she doesn’t,” her mother scoffed, sending her a knowing glance. “For heaven’s sake, Gary, show the man into the living room and pour him a drink.”

“Why’s he here at all?” Ava said in an undertone, when her father had gone.

“Only one way to find out.” Her mother pushed her aside and took over the stirring of the stew. “Off you go, honey. Whatever this is about, I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with it.”

If only! But good intentions and firm resolve were no match for her thudding sweep of reaction at the sight of Leo standing deep in thought before the fire. He wore navy cords and shirt, with an off-white sweater—a casual, ordinary combination which on any other man would have been unremarkable.

“Ordinary” and “unremarkable” didn’t belong in Leo Ferrante’s world, though. He looked…he looked….

She swallowed in an effort to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth. He looked sleek and tantalizing and utterly irresistible. Even his thick grey socks—he must have left his boots at the front door, she decided, staring at his feet because it was a lot safer than looking at that superbly molded face—were sexy.

“Hi,” he said, his husky baritone overriding the background sound of the carols drifting from the speakers at the base of the tree. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“I’d have preferred not to,” she said.

“I know. You made your feelings about me very clear yesterday.”

She raised her eyes and found him watching her. His gaze was sombre, his mouth unsmiling. He was, she thought on a painful breath, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and the most troubled. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I want you to hear it from me that before any more misunderstandings or assumptions occur, I intend to make it abundantly clear to Deenie that she and I are nothing but platonic friends. And if spelling it out plainly puts an end to the friendship, I can live with that, and she’ll have to, as well. I’ve tried to be patient with her erratic behaviour and put the most charitable interpretation on it, but enough’s enough.”

From the speakers, a children’s choir caroled “Joy to the World!” And for a brief, uncharitable second, joy did indeed possess Ava. It sprinted through her blood, then died just as quickly as the import of his words hit home. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “Oh, poor Deenie! After everything she’s been telling people, she’ll be so humiliated!”

“Poor Deenie nothing!” he countered. “Her willful distortion of the facts has gone on too long and caused enough trouble. It has to come to an end.”

“I suppose it does,” she said. “But why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I also want to make it clear that this has nothing to do with you or what might have been between you and me. You should feel no guilt or responsibility for any of it.”

In other words, Don’t leap to the conclusion that with her out of my life, I’ll be inviting you into it. “Then why bother telling me at all?”

“Because you’re probably the person she’ll turn to, and I felt it only fair that you be prepared ahead of time to cope with her. You know how she is. Most of the time, her actions and reactions are over the top. I don’t flatter myself that she’ll be heartbroken when I clear the air with her, but she’ll probably feel she must act as if she is.” He gave a rueful smile. “We both know drama is right up her alley—the tragic princess, and all that.”

“On stage, perhaps,” Ava said sharply. “But don’t assume her emotions are quite that shallow in real life.”

“I’m not. All I’m saying is that they never went very deep with me in the first place. I was a convenient understudy: a stop-gap solution to a problem I suspect she’s still not willing to address. In any event, please don’t let yourself get carried away with guilt if she cries on your shoulder. As I said at the start, you play no part in any of this. None at all. So go ahead with a clear conscience and be the good friend to her you’ve always been.”

“When do you intend to speak to her?”

“Tonight, I hope.”

“On Christmas Eve? Couldn’t you have timed it a bit better than that?”

Clearly exasperated, he said, “I’ve tried. I asked her to stay behind at the house yesterday and she took off with you. I tried to see her last night, but she begged off, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. And today she’s pulled a complete disappearing act. Her parents claim they have no idea where she’s gone or when she’ll be back. If it weren’t contrary to everything she’s said and done lately, I’d think she was deliberately trying to avoid me.”

In other words, more of Deenie’s erratic behaviour. “Well, she hasn’t confided in me, if that’s what you’re wondering. But if she does get in touch, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” Ava regarded him expectantly, wishing he’d leave, and at the same time loath to see him go. “Is that all you came for?”

“That, and to say goodbye in case I don’t see you again before you head back overseas. When do you leave?”

“January the fourth.”

He scanned the room, taking in the brass bowl of holly and clove-stuffed oranges on the coffee table, the cedar swag draping the mantelpiece, the Noble fir standing tall and proud in the window alcove. And finally, reluctantly, brought his gaze to bear on her. “How much longer do you plan to be away?”

“My present contract expires in March, but I’ve been offered a promotion which would keep me there another two years.”

“Will you accept it?”

“Probably,” she said, dreadfully afraid he’d see how close to tears she was. It didn’t help any that “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” happened to segue into “Winter World of Love” just then, filling the room with nostalgia and foolish notions of romance. “There’s nothing to bring me back here in a hurry.”

“There’s your family.”

“Oh, I’ll visit. Often.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other the next time you’re here, then.”

“It’s possible.”

“Ava—”

“I think you should go, Leo,” she said. “I really don’t see that we have anything further to say to one another.”

But he wasn’t done torturing her quite yet. Reaching into the pocket of the jacket he’d thrown over the arm of the sofa, he pulled out a small box wrapped in gold paper. “I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it,” she said, her throat swelling with emotion. “Please, Leo, just go. Leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”

“It’s nothing much, a token of friendship, that’s all. Something to remind you of Christmas back home when you’re baking under the hot desert sun next year at this time.”

There it was again, that word “friendship” which could mean everything—but in this case meant not nearly enough.

He held out the gift. Came closer.

But she shied away, her composure so fragile she could almost hear it splintering.

Accepting her rejection, he shrugged and placed the package on top of the others already stacked under the tree. “Just in case you change your mind,” he said, then turned and left.

CHAPTER NINE

AVA couldn’t face attending Christmas Eve service at Saint Martha’s in her present mood, not when she knew that everyone on the street would be there, including Leo. So as soon as her parents left for the church, she changed out of her silk-wool dress into warm slacks and a sweater, borrowed her mother’s down-filled jacket, and took Jason for a walk along the lakefront. The overcast sky had cleared somewhat, reducing the snow to an occasional flurry and allowing glimpses of moonlight to flit between ragged streamers of cloud. The air had an unmistakably northern bite to it, sharp and pine-scented.

This was Owen’s Lake as she’d always known it, the place where she’d always thought she belonged. This was Christmas, pristine and perfect, just as she yearned to experience it when she was thousands of miles away and living in a culture which didn’t recognize the traditional celebrations she’d grown up with. And she could hardly wait to get away from both!

I hate you, Leo Ferrante! she thought balefully, as she passed the big white house where he’d grown up. You’ve spoilt everything that mattered to me. Home, the holidays, and my friendship with Deenie.

But he hadn’t done it alone, and that was what grieved her the most. She’d been his accomplice, every step of the way, as much the instrument of her present misery as he was. More so, really. Because he couldn’t have taken over her heart so easily if she hadn’t let him in to begin with.

A few yards farther along the curving path and just as she drew level with the Manville home, she heard a sound.

“Psst!”

Startled, she glanced up and saw nothing but the pale gleam of moonlight on the picket fence running along the bottom of the garden. The house itself was in darkness, except for the winking lights strung along the back porch and one window on the upper floor.

Deciding her imagination was playing tricks on her she hauled Jason up short on his leash and was about to turn back the way she’d come when a shadow, blacker than the rest, emerged from the bulk of the neighboring hedge. “Psst! Ava!”

“Deenie?” she exclaimed, recognizing the voice. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Waiting for you. I saw you coming along the lakefront.”

“So you thought you’d hide out in the bushes to ambush me? Aren’t you a bit past the age for playing such games?”

“I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.” As if that wasn’t already clear enough, she tugged Ava into the shelter of the hedge. “Listen, something’s happened, I need a really, really big favour from you, and I don’t have much time to talk about it.”

“What is it?” Ava asked warily, wondering if Leo had dropped his bombshell.

But, far from sounding or acting as if she’d just received a dressing-down, Deenie seemed charged with restless energy and a brittle kind of excitement. Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, she plucked again at the sleeve of Ava’s jacket and said, “Can we go back to your place? No one will think of looking for me there.”

Not waiting for a reply, much less agreement, she followed up the question by towing Ava and Jason along with her as she scurried like a hunted rabbit over the snow-packed path to the Sorensens’.

Only when she was safely ensconced in Ava’s room, with the door locked and the blinds drawn, would she elaborate further. “Brace yourself, girlfriend,” she began, curling up at one end of the bed, the way she used to when they were teenagers trading adolescent secrets. “What I’m about to tell you is going to come as a bit of a blow. I’m running off to get married.”

“No, you’re not,” Ava said flatly. “I already spoke to Leo. I know he’s not in love with you.”

“Leo?” Deenie’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “What’s he got to do with any of this?”

“Nothing. That’s my whole point.”

“But I didn’t say I was marrying him, silly!” Her face lit up in a dazzling smile and she hugged herself in unfeigned delight. “Oh, Ava, the most incredible, wonderful thing has happened! Marcus and I are together again. He phoned me yesterday afternoon from La Guardia to tell me he was catching the redeye to Denver, and from there to Vancouver, and that he’d be landing at Skellington Airport at eleven-forty this morning.”

“So that’s where you were!”

“Huh?”

“You disappeared without a word to anyone, Deenie. Your parents were worried.”

“They’d have been more worried if they’d known what I was up to! My mother’s going to throw a hissy fit when she finds out I’m marrying Marcus. She doesn’t think male dancers make good husband material.”

“I see. So what’s this huge favour you want of me?”

“Well, we’re eloping tonight. We’ll fly to Las Vegas to get married, then join the rest of the company in Chile next week.” She grasped Ava’s hands in the first show of genuine delight since their reunion. “We’re going to be partners again, in every sense of the word. As soon as the company doctor gives me the all-clear on my ankle, we’ll be dancing together again—but as man and wife this time.”

“And?”

“And I want you to explain to my parents. You’ll do it so much better than I will.”

Ava let out a squeak of stunned laughter. “You must be joking!”

“No,” Deenie said in an injured tone. “I’ve never been more serious. Look, Ava, this isn’t a decision I’ve made on the spur of the moment. Marcus and I have been in touch constantly over the last week or so. Remember the night of the dinner party, when you came looking for me in my bedroom? I’d been on the phone with him then.”

“What I remember is that I found you in tears.”

“Because he’d been phoning nearly every day, begging me to come back to him, but never once offering me the kind of commitment I wanted, and I was afraid he never would.”

“So you used Leo as a bargaining chip?” Try though she might, Ava couldn’t mask her dismay.

“No more than he used me—perhaps not as a ‘bargaining chip’ as you so quaintly put it, but certainly as a diversion to relieve the boredom of being laid up with a bad back for so long.”

“And the Markovs?”

She made a face. “Okay, so I used them, too.”

“And that whole business of looking at the house yesterday was just another part of the plan? You conned Leo into meeting you there, then showed up with people you knew would run to Marcus with the tale of how you were on the brink of setting up house?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m used to giving a convincing performance.”

“You’re a brat, Deenie, and I’m furious with myself for having let you string me along like this.”

“Well, there wouldn’t have been much point in putting on an act if I went around telling people that’s all it was, now would there?”

“Rationalize your behaviour any way you like. My answer remains the same regardless. I absolutely will not act as the go-between here. You’ll have to tell your parents the truth yourself.”

“I can’t. My mother will weep copious tears and my father will look as if I’ve driven a stake through his heart. But you’ve always been so good with words and with people’s feelings, Ava. It’s why you make such a fabulous nurse.”

“Buttering me up isn’t going to work, Deenie. I won’t do it, and you have no right asking me to. For once in your life, you’re going to have to clean up your own mess.”

“Perhaps,” Deenie said, a distinct chill entering her voice, “I haven’t made my position clear. My lover—my true love—is waiting for me in the departure lounge at Skellington Airport. I came too close to losing him once already. I don’t intend to risk having it happen again by missing our flight.”

“If he was half the man you think he is, he wouldn’t be lurking in the next town and letting you face this alone. If he really loved you—”

“The way you love Leo, Ava?” Deenie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please! Spare me the naïve, wide-eyed stare! Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you are around him, circling like some timid animal afraid to get too close, and either blushing like a rose every time he looks at you, or practically falling into a dead faint?”

“You always did have a vivid imagination, Deenie,” Ava retorted, feeling the betraying blood surge into her cheeks.

“And you always were a rotten liar, though why you feel you have to fib to me I can’t imagine. Listen, maybe you care about him, and maybe you don’t. That isn’t the real issue, is it? What matters is that you and I have been friends for too long to let anything or anyone come between us. So please, do this one thing for me and I’ll never ask you for another favour as long as I live.”

“No.”

Deenie studied her in silence for a moment, then said, “I really hate it when you get that look on your face. You’re not going to budge, are you?”

“No.”

“Not even if I grovel?”

“No.”

“I half expected you might take this attitude.” She sighed and pulled an envelope out of her bag. “Will you at least give them this, then? Tomorrow, after I’m gone?”

“No.” She was tired of being put in the middle. Tired of trying to accommodate everybody else at the expense of her own sense of decency.

“It’s just a letter explaining—”

“I don’t care. Give it to them yourself. They’re your parents, for pity’s sake! Show them some consideration—some compassion.”

“Good grief, whatever made me think I could count on you?” Deenie flounced off the bed and planted her fists on her hips. “You’ve changed, Ava. All that desert air has dried up your sweet nature and left you miserable as an old prune.”

“I’m sorry if I disappoint you,” Ava said, sadly. “But the truth is, we’ve both changed. Our values are different. We want different things out of life.”

Deenie glared at her a moment, then burst out crying. “I know,” she sobbed, flinging herself into Ava’s arms and hugging her fiercely, “and I can’t stand it. But I can’t help who I am, either. I’d find living in this town about as interesting as watching paint dry. But Marcus and I are two of a kind. We belong on a wider world stage. So please be happy that we’ve finally found our way back to each other.”

“If he really is the right man for you, then I am,” Ava said, returning the hug before asking, “As a matter of interest, does Leo know about any of this?”

“Oh yes!” Deenie rolled her eyes in mock dismay. “I told him this evening after he collared me just before dinner and read me the riot act for letting people think our relationship amounted to more than it really was. He can be a real pain when he puts his mind to it, spouting off about moral integrity and such. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.” Wondered if he’d followed through on his decision to speak up, or if he’d slithered out from under the responsibility when he learned Deenie had set her sights on someone else and thereby spared him the aggravation of having to play the heavy.

“He’s much more your type than he is mine, you know.”

“Perhaps.” Ava steered her to the door. “Listen, Deenie, the church service must be just about over. Go home and wait for your parents and do the decent thing. You’ve got plenty of time before you need to leave for the airport.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She scrubbed at her face and pulled on her coat. “We’ll be in touch?”

“Of course.”

But it was a bittersweet goodbye, even though neither of them came right out and said so. Because they both knew things would never again be the same between them. Too much deception had eroded the openness and trust which formed the cornerstone of their friendship.

Christmas Day passed quietly. Word that Deenie had eloped with her dance partner percolated through the neighbourhood and added a little extra spice to the roast turkey and plum pudding. Her mother threw the predicted hissy fit and her father hid in the solarium with his orchids.

“Would you be terribly disappointed if I went away for a few days?” Ava asked her parents, after dinner that night.

“Not a bit,” her mother said. She’d seen the unopened gift from Leo still sitting under the tree. “We understand perfectly.”

“Your mother might,” her father declared, “but I don’t. Where would you go?”

“I’d like to drive up to Topaz Valley Resort and do some skiing.”

“On your own?” Her father didn’t look impressed. “Doesn’t sound very exciting to me, spending Christmas with strangers.”

Nor to me, Ava thought miserably. But it beats hoping Leo will show up at the front door, vow his undying love, and ride off into the winter sunset with me thrown over his shoulder—something which clearly isn’t in the cards.

As if she could read Ava’s thoughts, her mother said sympathetically, “It’ll be a nice change. You’ll meet new people, make new friends.”

“You won’t find accommodation,” her father grumbled. “You’re talking about Zach Alexander’s place, and it’s always booked solid over Christmas.”

“There was a cancellation. I spoke to him in person this afternoon, and he assured me I can rent one of the cabins for the week. I know you’d rather I stayed here, Dad, but I need to be by myself for a while.”

Her father scowled. “Will you at least come home for New Year’s Eve?”

Would six days be enough to get over the ridiculous urge to bawl her eyes out, and pull herself together? Hardly! But the disappointment in her father’s eyes tugged at her heartstrings. “Yes. I’ll be home for New Year’s Eve.”

Leo spent Christmas Day with his parents and Ethel. Inevitably, the conversation turned toward the gossip buzzing around town that Deenie Manville had run off with a man in tights.

“That girl never was happy unless she was in the spotlight,” his mother observed, wading through her turkey-with-all-the-trimmings dinner. “Nothing like that nice Ava Sorensen. Now there’s a girl with breeding!”

“You always did have a soft spot for her,” his father said, with a smile. “Not that you really believe any woman’s quite good enough for our son, but if Leo were to get married, she’s the one you’d have him choose.”

“Is it any wonder? She was genuinely lovely, inside and out.”

“She still is,” Leo said, with enough feeling to make his father sit up and take notice. “I’d even go so far as to say she’s improved with age.”

His mother sighed into her plum pudding. “I hope we have a chance to see her before she leaves town again.”

Not nearly as fervently as he hoped he would! If truth be known, he hoped like the devil that she wouldn’t be leaving town at all!

As for Deenie, setting the record straight with her had taken a load off his mind. He hoped she really had found her true love—and that he hadn’t left it too late to find his.

CHAPTER TEN

FOR three days, Ava rose with the sun and except for a half-hour break at lunch, skied until the lifts closed. Then, exhausted, she trudged back to her little guest house, stoked up the fire, loaded a disc into the CD player, slipped into something comfortable, and had a meal delivered to her door.

The staff and other guests tried to include her in the holiday program, inviting her to join them for après-ski cocktails in the main lodge, or the nightly dinner-dance in its elegant dining hall. But the hurt she suffered went deeper than sore muscles unused to the strenuous downhill slopes. She ached inside, in a place neither a whirlpool spa nor kindly strangers could reach.

A relationship she’d treasured all her life had crumbled. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d fallen in love with a man who might be attracted to her but who appeared not to be interested in any sort of lasting commitment. The knowledge left her so sodden with grief, for a lost friend and a lost love, that it strangled the life out of any pleasure she might otherwise have taken in the Topaz Valley Resort. She simply couldn’t drum up the energy to put on a cheerful front for people she’d never see again, once her respite there was over.

So when a knock came at her door, just after seven on the evening of the thirtieth, she assumed it was the busboy delivering the sandwich and soup she’d ordered. Probably the Christmas music playing on the stereo had drowned out the sound of his motorized cart drawing up outside.

But it wasn’t the busboy, it was Leo. Leo in blue jeans and a dark red sweater with a navy racing stripe down the side, a black canvas sports’ bag slung over one shoulder, and a pair of skis balanced on the other.

Leo, looking like an ad for a posh European ski resort. Like a god making a brief visit to earth to see how mere mortals like her were faring. Leo, looking so mouth-wateringly gorgeous that saliva pooled under her tongue.

For long, tense, unsmiling seconds, he simply drank in the sight of her. Probably because he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, she thought glumly. Probably because, if he opened his mouth, he’d start laughing and wouldn’t be able to stop!

She was wearing yellow fluffy slippers and a long, voluminous flannel nightgown so circumspect that even her great-great Victorian forebears would have approved it. She’d tied her hair up in pigtails, rag-doll style, for pity’s sake! The injustice of it all was enough to give her the heaves.

Finally, when the silence was stretched so taut that she could almost hear the stars wink, she found the courage to ask, “What do you want?”

There wasn’t so much as a hint of amusement in his tone when he answered. “You,” he said, his voice a caress.

Hearts don’t actually stop for things like that, she’d once told a friend who’d happened to find herself alone in an elevator with a man she had a crush on, and had been afraid she’d die from the thrill of it when he unexpectedly kissed her.

But Ava had been wrong. At that moment, hers stopped completely, and left her hanging in a limbo poised equally between heaven and hell.

“May I come in, darlin’?”

Trance-like, she opened the door wider. He stepped across the threshold, disposed of his bag and skis, and bent to remove his boots. The scent of him—an alluring blend of cold mountain air and clean, wind-chilled skin to which a trace of aftershave still clung—tormented her unbearably.

She longed to touch him; to lay a hand on his hair and absorb its thick, springy texture. To feel the warmth and vitality of him beneath all that winter clothing.

Then he straightened, and she realized how little room there was for two people in the tiny capsule of an entrance hall. His breath winnowed over her face, clean and sweet. The width and height of him blocked an escape. Not that she was looking for one. His nearness, when she’d thought she wouldn’t see him again for years or even never, was a gift which might cost her dearly in the long run, but which, for now, was too tempting to withstand.

He stood close enough that she could distinguish each long, dark lash framing those heartbreaker blue eyes. Close enough to detect the tiny nick left by his razor that morning—there, at the hint of a dimple in his chin. Close enough that if she’d raised herself up on her toes, she could have touched his lips with her own.

“You’re probably wondering how I knew where to find you,” he said, forcing her to abandon her spellbound preoccupation with his looks, and address the reasons behind his sudden appearance.

“I assume my parents told you, since they’re the only ones I told.”

“Your mother, actually, but only after a great deal of persuasion on my part, and on the understanding that my coming to see you wouldn’t cause you any more grief than you’ve already suffered.”

“Why did you want to see me? I can’t imagine we have anything left to say to each other.”

He hesitated and glanced past her to the main room of the guest house. “I have a great deal to say, and it’s going to take some time, so do you think we could talk in there? Maybe have a drink together?” He hefted the tote and smiled for the first time. “I came prepared. There’s a bottle of very good Bordeaux in here.”

Other women might have succumbed to the promise of good wine, but she fell under the spell of that smile. “If you like,” she practically gasped.

“Oh, I like,” he replied, eyeing her up and down, nightgown, pigtails, and all. “I like very much.”

“You didn’t like enough to come and find me sooner,” she accused, marching back to the living room in high dudgeon.

“I most certainly did,” he said, the vehemence of his reply devastating her puny efforts to remain distant. “I’d have been beating a path to your door first thing Christmas Day if I’d thought you’d let me in. But in case you’ve forgotten, you were pretty steamed with me the last couple of times I saw you. So I thought I’d give you some time to cool off.”

“And you’re sure that’s all it would take to have me falling into your arms, are you?”

“No,” he said soberly. “I’m sure of only one thing and that is that I couldn’t let you leave the country without pleading my case one more time.”

He took her hand and drew her down next to him on the sofa in front of the fire. “I’m fully aware your homecoming wasn’t everything you hoped it would be, Ava. I know your friendship with Deenie has been put to the test and come out of it a lot the worse for wear. I realize it burdened you with feelings of guilt and disloyalty which spoiled your holiday. And I’m not so clueless that I don’t realize I’m partly to blame.”

“You’re right. You are,” she said, noticing that he was still holding her hand and trying not to read too much into it, even though her heart was almost fibrillating with sudden hope. “In fact, I’d even go so far as to say you’re mostly to blame!”

“How?” he asked her, somehow loading the question with such undertones of intimacy that she quivered inside.

“You know how!” she said feebly.

“By putting an end to all the misunderstandings and rumors about my relationship with Deenie, you mean? Well, as far as that’s concerned, I had no choice, and at the risk of sounding unfeeling, I’d have been a lot blunter a lot sooner if she hadn’t seemed so emotionally brittle.”

“Not that,” Ava said. “I know you weren’t at fault there. She came to see me before she left town and admitted she wilfully misrepresented your intentions for reasons of her own.”

“What, then? For falling in love with you? Hell, that wasn’t something I planned or expected—nor even something over which I had any control. But I can tell you it made abiding by your rules not to come near you, or look at you, or kiss you, damn near impossible.”

Wordlessly, she stared at him. Falling in love with her? Had she heard him right?

He squeezed her fingers. “Feel free to jump in any time you want, Ava. I could use a little help or encouragement about now.”

“Did you say you’d fallen in love with me?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Is that so terrible?”

It was wonderful—so wonderful, she was afraid to believe it, even though she badly wanted to accept it without reservation. “Not terrible at all,” she said. “But I can’t help thinking it’s rather sudden. We might have known each other a long time, but we hardly know each other well.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “It might surprise you to hear how many memories of the teenage-you were stored at the back of my mind, waiting to be released when we met again.”

“I rather doubt that. You never noticed me when I was growing up.”

“Not true.” Laughter danced in his eyes and wove through his voice. “I remember a girl with long, coltish legs and big, serious grey eyes and a wild mane of near-black hair. I remember her tripping over furniture, falling over her feet on the tennis court, and cursing like a trooper when she stubbed her toe on the side of the pool.”

“Exactly,” she said, mortified. “Unlike Deenie, who was petite and perfect at every age and loved by everyone.”

He brushed the ball of his thumb over her mouth to silence her. “I remember thinking, Ava’s going to be a knockout one day, and I was right. When I met the grown-up version, she left me tongue-tied. She made me want to be better in every respect. To be a man worthy of a woman like her.”

They were lovely words. Flattering words. They made her glow all over. But one big question still remained and until she knew the answer, she dared not give in to the happiness trying to burst free inside. “So where do we go from here, Leo?”

“That’s up to you,” he said. “I know what I want, and that’s the chance to explore what you and I might make of a relationship based on something other than a few illicit kisses. Things like friendship and the kind of love which endures into old age. Sharing. Making plans. Learning everything there is to know about each other. Building a life together based on mutual hopes and desires.”

“Those things take time.”

“I know. And I’m in no hurry.”

From the CD player, Frank Sinatra worked his timeless magic with “The Christmas Waltz.” Leo pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

“I want to date you,” he said, guiding her around the small square of floor between the sofa and the breakfast bar. “To dance cheek-to-cheek with you like this. To take you to see tear-jerker movies and lend you my handkerchief when you cry. When you walk down the street, I want people to say, ‘There goes Leo Ferrante’s girl.’ I want them to look at me when I’m with you and say, ‘He’s one lucky guy.’ I want to be able to get in my car and drive over to your place in fifteen minutes flat. To pick up the phone on the spur of the moment and invite you to my place to share the lousy spaghetti dinner I made.”

He slowed to a stop and dipped his head to let his mouth roam over hers. “And right now, I want very badly to take you to bed.”

“Oh!” She sighed, in a froth of anticipation.

He put her from him and hauled the bottle of wine out of his bag. “But I won’t. Instead, I’ll ply you with alcohol and leave you so befuddled, you’ll agree to anything I ask, including not going back to Africa. Is there a corkscrew and a couple of glasses to be had in this place?”

“Yes,” she said, reluctantly flip-flopping in her slippers to the little kitchen nook. “But if you think a glass or two of wine will make me renege on my overseas contract, you’re wrong.”

“I figured you’d say that,” he said, watching as she set stemware and the corkscrew on a tray. “But I thought I’d give it a whirl anyway. I might as well be up front about my intentions from the start.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I drove all afternoon to get here, and didn’t stop for dinner.”

“I’ve already sent for soup and a sandwich, but if you want to phone the main kitchen and order something for yourself, you’ll find a menu on the coffee table.”

“Or I could buy you dinner at the lodge. I passed by the dining room on my way over here, and it looked pretty nice. Of course,” he said slyly, as he cut the foil collar on the wine bottle, “you’d probably want to change first. I’m captivated by what you’re wearing, but I’m not sure I want anyone else enjoying the sight.”

She scurried back behind the breakfast bar and ran her fingers up the back of her neck in a surreptitious attempt to pull loose the elastics holding her pigtails in place. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Good. I’d hate to think you were planning to entertain another man in your nightshirt.”

The way he was looking at her made her elbows tingle. Oh, for heaven’s sake, who was she kidding? The way he was looking at her made her tingle all over! She barely made it back to the sofa without collapsing in a soggy heap at his feet.

He poured the wine and lightly clinked the rim of his glass against hers. “To us and the future, Ava.”

She saw promise in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and for the first time really began to believe that a future with him wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, after all. “Do you think long-distance relationships ever really work, Leo?”

“It depends on the people involved. Nothing can come between true soul mates, not even death. Do I think you and I are soul mates?” He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. “Most definitely.”

Her toes curled. “It’d only be for a little while,” she said, her voice shaking. “My contract’s up in another couple of months.”

“I can wait that long.”

“I can’t,” she said, the clamour in her blood almost deafening her. “I need something more definitive to go on than mere words.”

He took away her wineglass and placed it with his on the coffee table. “Will this do?” he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.

His kiss left her trembling. The strength seeped out of her, and she clung to him. “No,” she managed, when he pulled away again. “It’s not quite enough.”

He regarded her solemnly. “I’m prepared to be patient, Ava.”

“I’m not,” she said.

He needed no further encouragement. So swiftly he left her breathless, he toppled her back against the cushions, buried his hands in her hair, and kissed her again. On her mouth and her jaw and her eyelids. Down her neck to her throat. Searchingly, intimately.

With nimble fingers, he undid the buttons down the front of that chaste, unlovely nightgown. Pulled it away from her to trace his tongue over the triangle of her collar-bone.

He stripped her naked to the waist and gazed at her. In wonder. With love. He touched her breasts. Raised molten blue eyes to her face and then, with almost holy dedication, lowered his mouth and tugged gently on her nipple.

If he’d thrown a lighted match into a can of gasoline, the outcome could not have been more inflammatory. A shaft of pleasure arrowed to the pit of her womb to awaken an answering damp heat between her legs. Tiny quivers, delicate as wind chimes, vibrated within her.

Lucid thought fled, chased away by the passion spurting through her veins. In a frenzy of desire, she met his demands with her own. Stroked her hands over the hard and lovely planes of him. Raised his sweater to claw the T-shirt underneath from the waist of his blue jeans so she could explore the warm, smooth expanse of his back…of his front.

Moments passed, awash with wonder and pleasure and discovery. Somehow she was naked, and so was he, though the precise order of how that happened escaped her. Had she hurled his sweater clean across the room? Was he the one to remove her nightgown completely and send it flying over the back of the sofa? Did he lift her to lie on the sheepskin rug on the floor in front of the hearth, or did they tumble down there together?

Did it matter? Or was the only thing of any importance the sense of completion which engulfed her when, at last, with control fast slipping from his grasp, he gave way to the passion ignited that first night in the stable, and entered her? Possessed her. Locked her in deep and pulsing rhythm with him. Whispered hoarsely that she was beautiful and he could look at her forever and never grow tired of her loveliness.

He took her to places she’d never been before. To heights of ecstasy beyond anything she’d ever imagined. To depths of emotion so critically moving that she felt tears streaming down her face. And when he surrendered to the ruthless forces overpowering him, he held her secure in his arms until the tumult had passed and they’d arrived safely at a new, sublime level of closeness and understanding.

She dared then to tell him what she’d known in her heart for days. “I love you, Leo.”

“That’s good,” he said, sounding shaken. “Because I love you, more than I knew I could love anyone. You hold my heart in your hand, Ava. Treat it gently, please. It’s never experienced anything like this before.”

“I promised your parents I’d have you home by tomorrow afternoon,” he said later, when they’d made themselves respectable enough to open the door to the busboy who brought the celebratory lobster and champagne Leo had insisted on ordering. “They’ve invited a few people over, to ring in the new year, including my parents and the duchess. I hope you’ll be able to weather her remarks when she sees us together.”

“I’ll manage,” Ava said.

“But we can spend the morning on the slopes before we head back. Start on that dating routine I mentioned earlier.”

“I’d like that.”

“Of course,” he said, “we ought to make an early night of it and there are no rooms to be had at the lodge. Do you mind if I sleep here, on the sofa?”

“Certainly I mind,” she said. “There’s a perfectly good king-size bed down the hall. It’s much too big for one person.”

“Sounds perfect to me. The only snag is, you might not get much sleep.”

She laughed, and oh, it felt wonderful! She hadn’t laughed in such a long time. “That’s what I’m counting on, Leo, so don’t disappoint me.”

“Forward hussy!” he said, with an endearing leer. “Do you think you can contain yourself a bit longer? There are a couple of other things I’d like to take care of.”

“I’ll try.”

He reached for the black canvas tote again and withdrew the package he’d left with her on Christmas Eve. “Your mom gave this to me when I stopped by your house. Maybe now that I’ve made my intentions clear, you’ll accept it.”

Her fingers shook as she pulled away the gold-embossed paper, then opened the white cardboard box inside and held in her hand a tiny, exquisite Victorian house encased in a crystal dome filled with liquid through which floated a hundred minute silvery snowflakes.

“To remind you of home when you’re far away,” he said, tracing the outline of her cheek with his finger. “And to remind you that I’ll be here waiting when you come back again.”

“Oh, thank you!” she breathed. “It’s beautiful—and reminds me of that gorgeous old house we looked at.”

“Which brings me to the last item of business.” He pulled a legal-looking document from the bag and handed it to her.

“What…?”

“It’s a deed of sale. To that very same house.”

“Someone bought it?”

“I did, Ava. Because I want you to know how very serious I am about having you in my life. But I’ll put it back on the market if you don’t think you could be happy there, or if you’d rather—”

“I can be happy anywhere, as long as I’m with you, Leo,” she told him, leaning against him. “But if you’re asking me if I’ll be satisfied with this particular house, I can promise you I wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s perfect.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d feel that way.” He tucked the deed down the front of her velour robe. “Merry Christmas all over again, angel, and happy New Year!”

And it would be, she knew. It would be the first of many. With him.

A Seasonal Secret

By Diana Hamilton

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

THE short winter day was drawing to a close as Carl Forsythe cut the Jaguar’s speed, slowing right down as he entered the narrow main street of Lower Bewley village.

Shadows were deepening and the ivy that clothed the stone walls of the ancient church looked black, as black as his mood, he recognised drily, his dark grey eyes brooding beneath clenched black brows.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back at all. The first visit to Bewley Hall since his uncle had passed away three months ago would be tough, adding to his sense of failure.

But accepting one of the many invitations from the friends who had stayed loyal to him after he and Terrina had split up hadn’t seemed like a good idea either. He was no fit company for anyone, especially at Christmas time.

Three days to go before the Big Day and the normally sleepy main street was positively throbbing with expectation. Lights blazed from the bow-fronted windows of the butchers and greengrocers, their displays of turkeys and pheasants, piles of oranges and rosy apples, all decked out with festive sprigs of red-berried holly. And cottage windows were brightly lit, each with its own glittering Christmas tree. People burdened with shopping, buggies and toddlers, bumped into each other, grinning. Everyone was happy, stocking up for the coming festivities.

With a grunt of relief he edged the sleek car past the last straggle of cottages and out onto the winding country lane that led to the Hall.

Reminders of Christmas, family togetherness, he could do without.

Today his divorce had been finalised.

Failure.

Love, or even the pretence of it, had been absent for a long, long time. But when he’d made his marriage vows he’d meant them. For better or for worse. So if everything had so quickly fallen apart was it down to him? If he’d been the husband Terrina had wanted she wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.

Or would she? Were his friends right when they said his now ex-wife was a promiscuous tramp? Had he as her husband been the last to know?

Throughout his uncle’s long illness he’d kept the true state of his marriage from him. Kept his lip tightly buttoned on the subject when Terrina had demanded a divorce so that she could marry her French lover. ‘Pierre knows how to have fun,’ she’d told him. ‘He knows how to have real fun. He doesn’t expect me to have children and ruin my figure or spend dreary weekends in the country keeping a crabby old uncle company!’

So today he had told his executive PA that he was taking two weeks off, had locked up his apartment off Upper Thames Street and headed for his old home in Gloucestershire, where he would spend the so-called festive season sorting through his uncle’s personal possessions, and his own which were still in the small suite of rooms that had been his for twenty years—since Marcus has taken him in when his parents had both died in a motorway pile-up when he’d been just seven years old.

His throat clenched as the powerful car snaked along between high, winter-bare hedgerows, the headlights making the bleached, frost-rimmed grass glitter. The next few days promised to be pretty depressing.

The Hall would be empty, unheated. The staff dismissed with generous pensions.

Another failure.

Marcus had never married and had looked to him, Carl, to bring his wife to live there, start a family, carry on the Forsythe dynasty.

The decision to auction the Hall and its contents hadn’t been easy. But Carl had no intention of remarrying. Once had been enough. More than enough. So, no wife meant no children, no continuity. Pointless to keep the place on.

Smoky-grey eyes grew stormy. Guilt piled heavily on top of failure and intensified with a stabbing ferocity as he glimpsed a solitary light in Keeper’s Cottage, beyond the trees that bordered the grounds of the Hall. Obviously the new owners had moved in.

So where was Beth Hayley now? What had happened to her? His heart kicked his ribs. If he knew what had happened to her, knew that she was happy and successful, then maybe he’d finally be able to forget that night—forget how badly he’d behaved, say goodbye to dreams that were threaded through with past scenes, like snatches of a videotape constantly replayed. Her silky blonde hair, her laughing green eyes, the dress she’d been wearing, a shimmering deep green silk that had made her eyes look like emeralds. The way her taut breasts had felt beneath his touch, the ripe lushness of her lips. And the deep shame that had come afterwards…

Eight years was a long time for a recurring dream to last. Too damn long…

In the fading light the sprawling Elizabethan house looked lonely, almost as if it were an animate thing, endlessly waiting for light and warmth, the sound of human voices, laughter.

His mouth tightening, he pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t like him to indulge in flights of fancy. It was time he pulled himself together and started to do what he was good at: getting the job done.

Locking the Jaguar, he took the house-key from the side pocket of his jeans-style cords and mounted the shallow flight of stone steps to the massive front door.

The main hall was almost pitch-dark, the last feeble rays of light struggling through the tall mullioned windows. Turning on the mains electricity was obviously the first priority. Swinging round to go and fetch the torch he always carried in the glove compartment of the Jag, he froze, his spine prickling.

Laughter, childish laughter, echoed from the upper reaches of the house. Disembodied whispers, a burst of giggles. The shadows of the children his uncle had wanted to see and hear? The new generation of Forsythes that would never be?

Get a grip, he growled inside his head. Failing the uncle who had meant so much to him was making him think irrationally for what was probably the first time in his life!

Young tearaways from the village, he decided grimly, taking the uncarpeted oak stairs two at a time.

The sound of his rapid footfalls had struck terror, judging by the breathy gasp, the sudden, frantic scuffling of feet.

He caught the two of them near the head of the stairs. Boys. Younger than he’d expected.

Keeping a firm but painless grip on their slight shoulders, he demanded sternly, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

A beat or two of unhappy silence and then the slimmer, slightly taller of the two said quakily, ‘Exploring, sir. Mum said no one lived here any more.’

‘So you broke in?’

‘Oh, no, sir. We found an open window downstairs. We didn’t break anything. Honestly.’ It was the shorter, heavier child who spoke now, and Carl’s grip relaxed slightly. The boys were well spoken and even called him ‘sir’!

‘Your names?’

The taller of the two answered first, ‘James, sir.’

‘Guy.’ A sniff. A wobble in the young voice.

Both were probably on the verge of tears, Carl decided sympathetically, remembering some of the scrapes he had got into as a child and the avuncular trouble he’d landed himself in. They obviously hadn’t broken in with felonious intent. Just two small boys having an adventure.

‘How old are you?’ he asked gently, and two quavering voices answered in unison, ‘Seven, sir.’

‘And where are you from?’

‘Keeper’s Cottage,’ James supplied miserably—no doubt expecting parental wrath, Carl deduced with a flicker of wry amusement followed immediately by an icy feeling, deep inside his heart, which could be translated, when he really thought about it, as a strange sense of loss.

New owners at Keeper’s Cottage, the former home of his uncle’s head gardener and his wife. A dour couple who had brought up their granddaughter, Beth. None of their dourness had rubbed off on her; she had been all light and laughter, a joy to be with.

During his holidays from boarding school they’d spent a lot of time together, getting into all kinds of scrapes. Then, in his teens, he’d often brought a schoolfriend home with him and they hadn’t wanted a girl tagging along. In a funny sort of way he’d missed her company, although he had seen her around the estate and had found himself red-faced and tongue-tied when they’d actually stopped to talk. Her emerging coltish beauty had made him feel uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

All that had changed on the night of the annual end of summer party Marcus had always given for the estate workers and their families. Eight years ago now, Beth had been seventeen and the loveliest thing he had ever set eyes on. He had been nineteen and should have known better.

New owners at Keeper’s Cottage. He would never see her again, never find out what had become of her, and he would never be rid of the memories that had forced themselves into his dreams, where they had no right to be.

Guilt, he decided grittily, and said, ‘I’ll walk you back home. Go carefully down the stairs.’ It was pitch-dark inside the house now, but outside the starlight in the clear, frosty heavens enabled him to see both boys more clearly. Guy was a stocky kid, built a bit like a tank, with floppy blond hair, while James, taller, was wiry, full of grace, with a mop of dark hair. Both seven. Twins, then? Though assuredly not identical.

‘We’ll walk back through the trees,’ he told them as he fetched the torch from his car and flicked on the powerful beam of light. ‘It will be quicker than taking the car round by the road, and your parents will be worried enough as it is.’

And serve them right! he thought starkly. No boy worth the name would pass up the chance to get into mischief. He blamed the parents. If he had seven-year-old sons he would make sure he knew where they were, what they were doing, at all times. Make damn sure they were home before dark! And as it was his house that had been the object of the boys’ mischief he had the right to make his opinions known!

Putting that aside, he shepherded the boys along the narrow track and was assailed by a memory so sharp and clear it hurt.

Walking Beth back to the cottage before dawn on the morning after the party. Deeply ashamed of himself and knowing that saying sorry wasn’t nearly enough. But he’d said it, anyway, and she’d been—been just Beth. Sweet and considerate. Kind. The way she’d put the palm of her hand gently against the side of his face, the way she’d smiled, the warmth in her voice as she’d told him, ‘Don’t be. Please don’t be sorry,’ as if the taking of her virginity hadn’t been his fault but hers.

He hadn’t taken this four-minute walk since then. Soon after that night he’d left for America, as arranged, to take his place at university to study Economics. He’d written to her shortly after he’d arrived in the States, asking her to keep in touch, to tell him if there had been any repercussions from that night.

He’d heard nothing. The possibility of pregnancy had all been in his mind, obviously. And as she hadn’t replied he’d assumed she’d forgotten everything that had happened, put it out of her mind because it hadn’t been important enough to remember.

When he’d finally returned to Bewley, three years later, his marriage to Terrina all planned and ready to take his place in his uncle’s bank, old Frank Hayley had died and his widow, apparently, never mentioned her granddaughter, never mind her whereabouts. But then Ellen Hayley had always been close-lipped, dour and grudging. All he had ever been able to ascertain was the fact that Beth had returned to the village briefly to attend her grandfather’s funeral.

Chiding himself for thoughts that were beginning to seem much too obsessive—Beth Hayley was the past—Carl pushed open the wicket that led into the back garden. There was a light showing at the kitchen window.

‘We can find our way now, sir,’ James said with a staunchness that belied his tender age, then spoiled the effect by quavering, ‘Mum said we were never to go with strangers. Not ever.’

‘Sound reasoning.’ Carl swallowed a spurt of amusement at the way the boy had regressed from burgeoning adulthood to just a baby in a split second and pronounced, ‘As I found you on my premises I simply assumed responsibility for your safe conduct home.’ He allowed them to swallow that mouthful as he ushered them along the path to the kitchen door, adding with spurious cheerfulness, ‘Time to face the music!’

The old solid fuel cooking stove was doing its job just perfectly, Beth thought happily as she removed a batch of cheese scones from the oven and put them on the stout wooden table next to the Christmas cake she and the boys had baked earlier.

Inheriting Keeper’s Cottage had been a real surprise, considering that Gran had wanted as little as possible to do with her for the last eight years. Her original intention had been to sell up, invest the money as a nest-egg for James. But since waking this morning another idea had begun to form.

James had kick-started it when he’d asked at breakfast, ‘Why don’t we live here, Mum? It’s brilliant here. Guy would have to stay in horrid London, but he could come for all his holidays, couldn’t he?’

St John’s Wood didn’t really deserve the appellation of ‘horrid’, far from it, but Beth knew what her son meant. There was precious little freedom there, certainly nothing like the kind of freedom a boy could experience in the countryside. And as for herself, living in someone else’s home, no matter how elegant or how kind her employers were, wasn’t like having the independence of living under her own roof.

Besides, she had the gut feeling that she would find herself unemployed in the not too distant future.

And living so close to Bewley Hall wouldn’t be a problem, she reassured herself as she placed the last of the scones on the cooling tray. Sadly, old Marcus Forsythe had died a few weeks before Gran had succumbed to pneumonia, and she’d learned from Mrs Fraser at the greengrocer’s in the village that the Hall was to be sold at auction early in the New Year.

So there was no danger of her or, more importantly, James bumping into Carl Forsythe.

Turning to the deep stone sink, she filled a kettle and put it on the hotplate. Time for tea. Way past time, she thought, her breath catching and a frown appearing between her thickly lashed green eyes.

The boys had wanted to play in the garden, making a den in the ramshackle shed right down at the bottom. ‘Just for half an hour,’ she’d told them. That had been three o’clock. A glance at her watch told her an hour and a half had passed since she’d watched them scamper down the path between overgrown fruit bushes and rank weeds, then turned back to her baking.

Her anxiety level hitting the roof, Beth cursed herself for being all tied up with working out how she and James could make the cottage their permanent home while time had slipped dangerously by. She snatched a torch from the dresser drawer and dragged open the kitchen door to be met by a blast of freezing air and Carl Forsythe’s condemnatory, ‘I believe these are yours.’

CHAPTER TWO

GUY put his tousled blond head down and scampered inside, his lower lip trembling, and Carl, the son he didn’t know he had still at his side, said ‘Beth?’ as if he couldn’t believe the evidence of his eyes.

‘What—what happened?’ It was as much as Beth could do to get the words out, her throat was so tight. Her panic, followed immediately by bitter self-castigation because the two boys had been out in the dark and the cold for far longer than she’d realised and coupled with seeing Carl Forsythe again after all this time had sent her into shock.

And he was just staring—glints of piercing light in those sexy, smoky-grey eyes, his mouth a tight line, a muscle contracting at the side of his hard jawline. He was mesmerising her; she couldn’t look away. It was James who tentatively broke the stinging silence.

‘We were exploring his house, Mum. We really thought no one lived there.’ His young voice wobbled as he added, ‘He said it was all right to go with a stranger ’cos we were in his house and he had to bring us back home.’

Beth’s eyes misted with pride. Her son was being so brave, confessing to his naughtiness, explaining why he had broken the strict rule of never going anywhere with someone unknown to him.

That this particular stranger happened to be his own father was something only she knew. Even so, she would make sure that she explained the rule far more stringently. Her eyes swept from her son’s face to Carl’s and swiftly back again. They were so alike. She bit her lip. Would Carl see the resemblance? She hoped to heaven he wouldn’t!

‘I’ll speak to you later,’ she warned as sternly as she was able, given the panicky emotions that were replacing her initial shock. ‘Go to your rooms now, both of you. Get washed and then change into something clean. I’ve never seen either of you look so grubby.’

As James walked past her he flicked her a look of mute misery which she made herself ignore, and Guy piped up, ‘There were spiders in that shed. Massive humungous ones. So we can’t make a den until you get them out for us.’ As if that explained and excused everything.

He was sitting on the floor, laboriously undoing the laces of the trainers he wouldn’t be seen dead without. Beth flattened her mouth to stop the smallest flicker of amusement showing and reiterated firmly, ‘Upstairs. Now. Both of you.’ And she watched them scuttle up the wooden staircase that led directly up from the kitchen and felt just a little bit safer.

Then she forced herself to give her attention to Carl. She had tried so hard to forget him in the past, but it had proved quite impossible. How could she be expected to forget him when her darling James was so obviously his father’s son?

Carl had changed, and yet he hadn’t. He was still drop-dead gorgeous, yet his shoulders had widened, and he now wore his thick black hair cropped closely to his head, accentuating the savagely handsome features that were harsher than she remembered. His eyes, the colour of storm clouds, were colder and sharper than they had been before.

Belatedly remembering her manners, she said quickly, ‘Thank you for seeing the boys home safely. I can only apologise for their bad behaviour and for wasting your time.’

And then, because it would look mighty suspicious if she continued to treat him as if he were a stranger to whom she was obligated but of whom she wanted to get rid as quickly as possible, she invited, ‘Won’t you come in?’

She hoped he’d say no.

The lecture on parental responsibility Carl had meant to deliver had disappeared like a footprint covered by a fresh fall of snow. Seeing Beth in the flesh after she’d haunted his dreams on a regular basis had stunned his brain.

Her lovely eyes were wide and troubled, her narrow shoulders tense beneath the soft jade-green sweater she was wearing, and the way she’d scooped her long blonde hair back, coiling it haphazardly on the crown of her head, emphasised the tender hollows beneath her high cheekbones and made her slender neck look achingly young and vulnerable.

How could he lecture her when all he wanted to do was fold her in his arms and comfort her, tell her not to get uptight because boys would be boys as long as the world went round? It was no big deal.

‘It’s been a long time, Beth,’ he remarked softly, and wanted to add, Too long, but didn’t. ‘You were the last person I expected to see. For all anyone knew you’d disappeared off the face of the earth, so I guess I took it for granted that the cottage had been sold after your grandmother died.’

Moving past her into the warm brightness of the cosy old-fashioned kitchen, he sensed her slender body flinch and his throat clenched painfully. Was his presence so unwelcome? Because she didn’t want to be reminded of that one-night stand all those years ago? In this day and age it seemed a bit farfetched.

Unless, of course, her husband was around—the father of the twins. Knowing Beth and her open nature, she would have confessed her past relationships—if one night of out-of-this-world passion could be called a relationship, he amended drily.

She might be embarrassed at the prospect of having to introduce a past lover to her husband. That could be why she was so uptight.

He wouldn’t put her in an awkward position, not for all the gold in Fort Knox, so he’d take himself off, relieve her of his unwanted company. He’d spout a few conventional platitudes first, because it would look weird if he just marched straight back out again, even though she might be hugely thankful if he did just that!

‘Are you and your husband spending Christmas here?’ he asked as casually as he could when she turned from securing the door. He noted with entirely masculine approval the way her jeans clipped the shapely outline of her long slender legs. ‘Keeper’s Cottage would make an ideal holiday retreat, and the twins will love the freedom.’

He was simply making idle conversation to make his planned immediate departure seem less precipitate. The thought of returning to that cold, empty house, leaving the warmth, the homely scent of baking, leaving her, leaving all the questions unanswered, was starkly unappealing.

But his seemingly casual question seemed to have thrown her. She looked as if he’d been speaking in Swahili. Her finely drawn brows tugged together and the green of her eyes deepened as she muttered, ‘Twins?’ and shook her head. ‘Do they look like twins? Guy is my employers’ son. I’ve been his nanny since he was six months old. He and James were brought up together.’ She relaxed just a little, smiling slightly as she confided, ‘Guy’s mother is expecting a new arrival any time now. She wants a home birth, so we all thought it best if I brought the boys away and gave them a proper Christmas here. So it’s just us. I don’t have a husband. James’s father and I never married.’

Then she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and bit it. Hard. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? But the tension she’d read in his face had been wiped away, she noted uncomprehendingly. Because of what she’d said? She had no idea.

The trouble was, she had always found him so easy to talk to. Nothing had changed there. She should have had her wits about her—invented a husband—a father for her son—who was working overseas—and put him off the scent. But lying to anyone simply never occurred to her. Never had and never would.

Her eyes wide and troubled, she watched him pull a chair from beneath the old wooden table and sit down, uninvited, one arm hooked over the backrest, his long legs outstretched. He was smiling that slow, utterly disarming smile of his now, and his eyes were as warmly intimate as she’d always remembered them.

He was wearing a soft leather jacket over a dark polo sweater and sleek cord jeans he might just as well have been poured into. If he’d been a film star he’d have had women swooning in the aisles!

Her stomach squirmed and tightened in a sensation she’d almost forgotten it was possible to experience. Raw sexual attraction, she decided, deploring the fact that he could still have this effect on her.

‘Tell me more,’ he invited smoothly. ‘As I said, it’s been a long time. You and I have a lot of catching up to do.’

‘I—’ Aware that all her nerves were standing to attention, her breathing shallow and fast, Beth made a conscious effort to relax. Behaving like a cat on hot bricks would only make him suspicious. She pulled in a slow breath and offered, ‘I was just about to make tea. Would you like a cup?’

‘Love one. It’s been a long day.’ His eyes narrowed as he watched her turn away to take the now furiously boiling kettle from the hotplate. The girl who had woven herself into his dreams for so many years had matured into quite a woman. Five feet five inches of seductive, enticingly feminine curves. Why hadn’t the father of her son married her? She was lovely to look at and had a nature to match. He couldn’t think of a man on the planet who wouldn’t be proud to call her his wife.

Unless her lover had been already married.

He would never have put her down as the type to get involved with some other woman’s husband. She’d been so sweet, innocent and trusting. Which was why he’d been so ashamed of himself for taking something so rare and precious and sullying it.

He frowned heavily, black brows meeting over darkening eyes. Her son was seven years old. He didn’t need a degree in advanced mathematics to work out that she must have jumped out of his bed and straight into another’s! Had the air of innocence and openness that had so enthralled him been nothing but a clever act?

Jealousy and a sense of bitter disappointment twisted a sharp knife deep inside him—and that was both warped and ridiculous! For heaven’s sake, what had happened was well in the past. He had been married himself in the intervening years; he had no damned right to have any feelings whatsoever about what she might or might not have done with her life!

Oblivious, Beth settled a knitted cosy on the teapot and reached cups and saucers from the dresser, milk from the fridge. In the bedroom overhead she could hear the boys clumping about. From long experience she knew that getting washed and changed could take anything from twenty manic seconds to an eternity.

The latter today, she devoutly hoped. They would surely spin the chore out as long as humanly possible in view of the telling-off they were due to receive the moment they presented themselves downstairs!

Which would give Carl time to drink his tea and her time to make a more normal impression—make something approaching normal conversation. After all, they had been childhood friends. He would think it odd if she didn’t make some attempt to do some of the catching up he’d talked about. Not too much, though. She needed him out of here before James reappeared and gave him time to note the almost uncanny resemblance between the two of them.

‘I was sorry to hear of your uncle’s death,’ she said quietly as she set the tea in front of him. ‘I liked him a lot. He always had a kind word for me and apparently a bottomless pocketful of toffees!’ Her smile was unforced; she had genuinely happy memories of Marcus Forsythe.

‘I miss him,’ Carl admitted heavily, his smoky eyes darkening. ‘He was one of the best.’ He gave her a slight smile. ‘I think the fact that we were both without parents drew us together when we were kids. But you drew the short straw. Your grandparents were pretty forbidding.’

‘They did what they thought was best,’ Beth said defensively, soft colour washing over her cheeks. They had been good to her after their own fashion, and she wouldn’t hear a bad word against either of them. In spite of saying she’d washed her hands of her, Gran must have felt something for her. Otherwise, why would she have left this cottage to her? She could have willed it to the church she’d been such a staunch member of, or any number of charities.

Her chin lifting, Beth met Carl’s eyes across the table and earnestly explained, ‘I think they must have both been born with a strong Puritanical streak—it was in their nature, so they can’t be blamed for the way they were. And after what had happened with their only child, my mother, they were doubly strict with me.’

As pain flickered briefly in her lovely eyes Carl instinctively reached over the table and took her hand. ‘I remember how upset you were when your gran told you the truth about her,’ he said softly.

Home from school for the Easter break, he had found her sobbing her heart out down by the stream, where the wild primroses grew. Gradually she’d blurted it all out. Her mother, a first-year student at a Birmingham college, had got pregnant. The first Beth’s grandparents had known about it had been when their daughter had arrived at Keeper’s Cottage with a newborn baby. Twenty-four hours later she had walked away and had never been back.

A card—the only one that had ever been sent—had arrived to mark Beth’s first birthday, with a note enclosed for Frank and Ellen Hayley saying that their daughter had met and married an Australian and would be going to live in Darwin.

Carl had been fourteen years old to Beth’s twelve and he hadn’t known what to say to ease her misery, so he’d simply hugged her. And she’d clung to him until she was all cried out. Looking back, that was when his feelings for her had begun to change. Certainly during the next few years he’d felt awkward in her company, increasingly inclined to blush, get tongue-tied and sweaty.

His fingers tightened around hers now, and something sweet coiled around his heart as she responded with increased pressure of her own. ‘It was a tough nut to swallow, knowing your mother hadn’t wanted you, but it didn’t make you bitter and twisted—I admire you for that.’

‘Why should it?’ Beth’s face went pink. She snatched her hand away from his. What did she think she was doing? Holding hands—and loving it—with a married man! So, OK, she’d had a huge crush on Carl Forsythe for almost as long as she could remember, and he was the father of her son, but that didn’t excuse or explain why she should still feel so inescapably drawn to him.

Knotting her hands together in her lap, trying to erase the sheer magic of his touch and bring herself down to earth again, she drew herself up very straight and staunchly defended what her grandparents had regarded as indefensible. ‘My mother was very young and probably couldn’t face the responsibility of bringing a child up on her own. My grandparents would have given her a hard time. They certainly didn’t take the modern, relaxed attitude to single parenthood.’

As she had discovered for herself!

‘You did. You shouldered the burden of responsibility,’ Carl put in quietly. ‘Did Frank and Ellen throw you out?’

‘Of course not!’ But their disgust and outrage at the way she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps and brought shame on them had made it impossible for her to stay. ‘And James has never been a burden. I wanted my baby!’

Flushed and flustered, she pushed herself to her feet and cleared away the teacups. Why did talking to him, opening her heart to him, seem so right and natural? She wished he would leave. Any minute now she might say something that would alert him to the true situation. Hadn’t Gran always complained that she didn’t know how to keep a still tongue in her head?

Rinsing the cups out under a furiously gushing tap, she desperately hoped he’d take the hint and leave. But his hand on her shoulder killed that hope stone-dead, and she could have cried with frustration as he reached over and turned off the tap.

He was too close, far too close. Her breath ached in her lungs. His body heat burned her. They were nearly touching. Almost against her will, but unable to stop herself, she tilted back her head to look up at him.

He had a beautiful mouth. Her eyes lingered on the wide, sensual contours. As if it had been only yesterday she could remember exactly how that mouth had felt as it had plundered hers, so sweetly and gently at first, and then with a passion that had swept her away in a floodtide of feverish longing. And love.

A shiver raced through her as she heard him whisper her name, and her long lashes flickered as she raised her eyes to meet his. There was something in the slow, smoky burn of that intent gaze that made her gasp air into her oxygen-starved lungs.

‘Beth—’ Lean strong fingers reached out to touch a wildly beating pulse at the side of her lush mouth. ‘You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. Things must have been tough for you, and I’d like to help for old times’ sake. You say you’re working as a nanny. I assume that means you and your boy are living under someone else’s roof at your employer’s beck and call night and day? It shouldn’t have to be that way.’

Beth was watching the way his mouth moved, inhaling the fresh masculine scent of him, fighting the insane impulse to wind her arms around his neck and move closer, close enough to be part of him. His words merely grazed the surface of her consciousness, drowned out by the thunder-beats of her heart.

But when he asked gently, his fingers sliding down to briefly caress her delicate jawline, the slender line of her neck, ‘Beth, what happened? You didn’t marry your boy’s father—wouldn’t the relationship have worked out?’ she was jolted back to stark reality with a vengeance, like the shock of having been suddenly plunged into a pool of icy water.

What in heaven’s name did she think she’d been doing? Having lustful thoughts about another woman’s husband, her whole body responding to his touch, the seductive velvet stroke of his eyes…

And, just as dangerous, she heard the squeaky hinges of the boys’ bedroom door, tentative footsteps on the top of the stairs.

Jerking backwards, she uttered thickly, ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, do you? Now, if you’ll excuse me—’ she walked to the door on legs that felt as if they didn’t belong to her and dragged it open ‘—I have a lot to do.’

And she willed him to go, right now, right this minute, before the boys reached the foot of the stairs and he had the time and the leisure to really look at James and begin to wonder…

CHAPTER THREE

‘THERE—that should do it.’ Beth snipped off one final piece of scarlet-berried holly, added it to the unwieldy bunch she’d already collected, and slipped the secateurs back into one of the capacious side pockets of the cosy fleece she was wearing. For the boys’ sake she was doing her level best to be bright and cheerful, to act as if decorating the cottage for Christmas was the only thing on her mind. But inside she was quaking. Did Carl know? Or at the very least strongly suspect that James was his son? Or was her guilty conscience making her imagine things?

‘There’s loads more over there,’ Guy objected.

‘You can’t take it all,’ James countered. ‘The birds will be hungry if we have all the berries. Mum,’ he added on that reminder, ‘I’m hungry now.’

‘And me.’ Guy put on his pleading face, and Beth hoisted the bundle of holly more securely in her arms, forced her own fears aside and grinned down at them.

The cold wind had whipped rosy colour into their cheeks, banishing city pallor, and the fresh air had turned what had been often picky appetites into something worthy of a couple of navvies.

Which was just one more reason why the idea that she and James should make Keeper’s Cottage their permanent home was becoming more firmly fixed with every hour that had passed since they’d arrived here five days ago.

The village primary school was excellent, and surely she could find a part-time job—cleaning, helping in the village stores—anything that she could fit in around school hours. What she had saved during her years with the Harper-Joneses would keep them while she hunted for something suitable.

‘Lunch in an hour,’ she promised, marvelling at the way they could be hungry after the piles of pancakes and bacon she’d cooked at breakfast-time. She called after them as they scampered back through the trees to the lane that led down to the village. ‘Don’t run, and watch out for traffic!’ Though very little of that passed this way.

Following more sedately, she watched the two small figures—both dressed identically in bright red anoraks, miniature combat trousers and green wellies—and knew they would miss each other. But their separation was bound to happen, whatever she decided about the cottage. Angela Harper-Jones had dropped several hints since her pregnancy had been confirmed.

Angela and Henry Harper-Jones were both barristers and Guy had been unplanned. At the time of his birth Angela had had no intention of giving up her career, which was why she’d advertised for a full-time nanny, child no objection. The fact that Beth had had a three-month-old son had been viewed as a bonus.

‘They will be company for each other,’ Angela had said, making Beth view the reasonably paid, live-in position as the godsend it had been.

She hadn’t had to farm her precious baby out while she went out to work, and they hadn’t had to go on living off the state in a flat in a run down high-rise building the council had provided.

But now Angela was ready to be a full-time mother, and with the resident cook-housekeeper who had been with her throughout her married life she would have no need for a nanny. Beth’s days in the Harper-Jones household were numbered.

Scrambling down the last few feet of muddy track to the lane, where the boys were waiting patiently—well, as patiently as seven-year-old boys could be expected to, kicking up the piles of fallen leaves that had gathered at the edge of the band of woodland—she made her mind up.

She and James would move in here when she was made jobless and homeless—he had already told her he wanted to stay for ever. It was a good place to be.

Despite her strict upbringing she had had a wonderfully happy childhood, and she wanted the same for James. The village of Lower Bewley was a close-knit community, rather like an extended family. Her precious son would have so much more freedom than was possible in London, and as for her—well, the Hall would soon be sold, so she wouldn’t run the risk of running into Carl and his wife.

Frowning, she tried to empty her mind of thoughts of him. There had been far too many of them. Deeply disturbing thoughts, hinging on the way her body still responded to him, the singing of her pulses, the weakening of her bones, the aching desire to touch and be touched.

It couldn’t be love, not after all this time. It simply wasn’t feasible. She had long since outgrown the moonstruck state she’d inhabited all through her teens. Of course she had. Lying awake last night, she’d finally managed to convince herself that it was just an inconvenient chemical thing—hormones.

Seeing the only man she’d ever made love with had made her celibate body react alarmingly. Regrettable, but quite natural.

She wouldn’t think of him, or his sleek and suitable American wife.

And she’d do her level best to forget the way he’d stood his ground last night. She’d wanted to physically push him right out of that door and bang it shut behind him. But he’d simply stood there, watching as the boys had entered the brightly lit kitchen, saying nothing, his darkening eyes narrowed on James as if he’d been committing the boy’s features to memory. It had been a truly frightening situation.

Then, after what had seemed like for ever, he’d turned his attention to her, smoky eyes unveiled by the enviable sweep of thick dark lashes and fixed on hers for several heart-stopping moments, before he’d swung on his heels and walked out.

She’d felt like screaming, her nerves in shreds. Instead she’d lectured the boys on their bad behaviour, explaining that entering someone else’s property without their permission was against the law of the land, not to mention the laws of polite behaviour, and had firmly withheld their usual bedtime story session.

And then spent the rest of the evening wondering if Carl suspected that James was his son.

And what he would do if he did.

Nothing, she assured herself now, shepherding the boys along the narrow lane in the teeth of an increasingly bitter wind. He wouldn’t want to publicly acknowledge his son. It would mean having to confess to his wife that while he’d been getting engaged to her an eighteen-year-old, back in England, had been giving birth to his child.

He might have his suspicions, strong ones, but she’d bet her bottom dollar that was as far as it would go.

The thought reassured her. She really didn’t know what she’d been worrying about. Carl had married his pedigreed American beauty; he wouldn’t want to dredge up a spectre from his past in the shape of the humble granddaughter of his uncle’s gardener.

Besides, in all probability he had already left the area, heading back to spend Christmas in some highly sophisticated environment with his perfect wife. His visit to the Hall, the childhood home he had once loved but which was now apparently surplus to his adult and more blasé requirements, would have been a flying one—checking up that there was nothing personal left behind before the public auction of the house and its contents.

Their paths would never cross again.

Good, she thought staunchly, ignoring the sharp pang of loss she hadn’t the remotest right to experience as a shriek of delight from James caught her attention.

‘Mum—it’s snowing! Look!’

Beth lifted her face. A few flakes were falling from a sky that looked heavy with the stuff. She’d been too enmeshed in the tangled web of her thoughts to notice how the clouds had rolled in.

A white Christmas would be story-book perfect, of course. The children would love it. And so would she. All she could hope for was that it would hold off awhile—allow her to drive down to the village after lunch to buy a tree—if any were left. She wouldn’t want to risk the car Angela had lent her by making the journey to Bewley.

Then the warning note of an engine approaching from behind focused the whole of her attention on the two small boys. ‘Car coming. Keep well into the side.’ Her back to the oncoming vehicle, she heard it slowing down. Well, it would have to; the lane was very narrow and full of sharp bends. Drawing level, the car stopped, and only then did she turn to look at it.

‘Carl!’ She spoke his name without even thinking about it, her stomach turning a series of utterly sickening loops. So much for telling herself he would have already left the area!

Opening the driver’s door of the sleek Jaguar, he unfolded all six feet two inches of lean masculinity, planting his feet wide as he instructed, ‘Hop in. I’ll give you a lift back.’

‘There’s no need,’ Beth countered, feeling the heat in her face and wishing she didn’t blush so easily. There was something very different about him this morning. He looked every inch the forceful, intimidating male, and his eyes were as cold as an arctic sea—completely different from the man who had walked back into her life last night.

He looked formidable.

Glancing down at the boys, she saw wide apprehension in both pairs of eyes. They had trespassed on this large and daunting man’s property, and although she’d given them both a stern ticking-off they probably thought they were in for more of the same from him. Only worse, judging by his frozen expression.

‘We don’t have far to go.’

She stated the obvious as firmly as she knew how, only to watch him open the rear door and tell the boys, ‘In you get.’ Then he turned cold eyes on her. ‘You have at least another half-mile to walk and the weather’s turning atrocious.’

She’d rather walk a dozen miles than endure his company, Beth thought numbly, her feet dragging reluctantly as she obeyed the imperious movement of his head and joined him at the rear of the car. Lifting the boot, he took the bundle of holly and laid it beside a carton of groceries.

Her heart sank. He wouldn’t be stocking up on fresh provisions if he intended to leave the Hall within the next day or two. And this new, bleakly angry mood could only mean one thing: he strongly suspected that James was his son.

Was he about to confront her with his suspicions? And how could she possibly justify what she’d done? she thought guiltily as she slid into the passenger seat and Carl checked that the boys were safely strapped in the rear.

Her stomach was tying itself in knots. She felt nauseous as the worst-case scenario punched itself into her brain: Carl, with his wealth, power and influence, fighting for custody, painting her as feckless and sneaky for denying him the basic right of knowing he had a child, denying that same child all the material and social advantages his father could give him.

But she wouldn’t think of that. She would not!

Maybe the sense of guilt she had tried to quash over the years was making her see problems where there weren’t any? Perhaps his dark mood was down to something else entirely? A quarrel with his wife? Or having to face a longer stay at the Hall than he’d anticipated? Hence this morning’s drive down to the village to collect extra provisions? And the long, searching look he’d given James last night might have been his way of impressing upon him his displeasure at childish naughtiness.

Reacting to his mood wouldn’t set her mind at rest, she decided as he slid in beside her and turned the key in the ignition. The only way to discover whether he was angry with her or with some other situation in his life was to pretend everything was normal—do a bit more of the catching up he had expressed an interest in last night.

‘I heard through the village grapevine that you intend selling the Hall,’ she ventured for starters, wishing her voice hadn’t emerged sounding so thin and squeaky. Swallowing hastily, she lowered her tone. ‘Marcus might be turning in his grave!’

Not a nice comment, she admitted with immediate regret as she glanced at the harsh perfection of his classical profile and saw his long mouth tighten, a muscle clench at the side of his jaw. But, against the grain of her nature, she’d wanted to hurt him because the way he’d so obviously changed made her heart ache.

The Carl Forsythe she had grown to love with an intensity that had been inversely proportionate to any hope that he might love her in return would never have contemplated disposing of the home that had been in his family for countless generations. Bewley Hall had been in his blood. He’d been so proud of the lovely house and the generations of family history wrapped up within its walls. Now he couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

The tough, angular line of his jaw tightened further, and the lean fingers on the steering wheel flexed until his knuckles grew white, but he offered nothing in his own defence.

Her remark had hit home; she could see that very clearly. But the arrogant banker who could trace his ancestry back to the fifteenth century saw no need to explain himself to a nobody like her, Beth thought with deep inner misery, mourning the Carl she had practically grown up around, learned to worship.

The car’s wipers were only just coping with the amount of snow that was falling now, but in a thankfully short space of time they drew up in front of her cottage, pulling up behind the car Angela had lent her for the journey.

After helping the two boys out from the rear, Beth walked stiffly to the back of the Jaguar and held out her hands for the bundle of holly Carl had already taken from the boot.

‘Thank you for the lift.’ She didn’t mean it, and the patently insincere words were difficult to frame because her breath was so tight in her throat. She wanted him to go away, yet she wanted to look at him for the rest of her life. Snowflakes were dusting the dark sheen of his hair, settling on the expanse of black leather that sheathed his wide shoulders. She wanted to look away, walk away, but she couldn’t.

Pulling herself together took a monumental effort of will, but she did manage it. The holly clutched tightly against her chest, she took an unsteady step away. She couldn’t afford to have him around James for one moment longer; it was far too dangerous.

She could have groaned with frustration when James himself prolonged that moment, sliding along the snow-covered ground and thumping to a standstill against the side of Angela’s car, piping up, ‘Can we go down for the Christmas tree now, Mum? Can we?’

Beth’s eyes clouded as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. She hated to disappoint her son, but taking the car on the three-mile return journey down to the village would be asking for trouble in the worsening weather conditions. And doing the journey on foot with two small boys in tow was out of the question.

Surprisingly, it was Carl who came to her rescue. More surprising still, he had obviously read the situation completely. She was sure she wasn’t imagining it—the man who had been positively simmering with some dark internal anger was actually smiling down at James, his eyes soft, his honeyed voice warm and gentle as he vetoed the trip to the village.

‘The roads are too slippy to drive on, and in any case I’d guess the best trees have already been sold. How about if I cut one from the estate and bring it round later this evening? I think I can find a box of lights and stuff. I’ll bring those too, and maybe we can decorate the tree together in the morning.’

He looked and sounded supremely relaxed, Beth thought on a shiver of bleak anxiety. As if such a toing and froing between their two very different households was as natural as breathing.

James said nothing. He just stood there, a huge grin splitting his attractive, boyish features, until he gave a whoop of joy and turned and wrestled Guy to the ground.

And Beth just stood there too, watching the boys roll around in the snow like a pair of young puppies, squealing and giggling. A release for the excitement that was spiraling as Christmas Day approached.

Crazily, she wished she could join them. Anything to release the dreadful tension that was building inside her.

It was a tension that was in danger of exploding all over the place when Carl, the tightness of banked-down anger back in his face, sharpening his voice, said, ‘I need to talk to you, Beth. This evening. About nine. Make sure the boys are in bed. I don’t want their holiday spoiled.’

And on that ominous statement he swung abruptly away, getting into the Jaguar without a backward glance and reversing down the track onto the lane that would take him to the Hall—and the wife who would be waiting for the groceries she’d sent him to collect.

He knows!

The thought sent a river of panic through her veins as she stared at the tracks his car had made in the steadily falling snow.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON as the boys were tucked up in bed Beth put a match to the fire she had laid in the small cluttered room Gran had always referred to as ‘the parlour’ and had only used on rare special occasions, such as when the minister came to tea.

Crammed with an overstuffed three-piece suite of undoubted antiquity, which was starchily protected by stiff linen antimacassars, a forest of Victorian side-tables and whatnots, its walls festooned with gloomy framed prints of dour-looking Highland cattle set in landscapes of ferocious dreariness, the room had a musty, claustrophobic, unused atmosphere.

But if she kept a good fire burning and draped the brightly berried holly all over those depressing pictures then the room would be really cosy and cute, in a quirky kind of way. And the boys could open their presents here on Christmas morning and have fun.

Making plans was a way of taking her mind off what was to come. She’d made no special concessions in preparation for her dreaded confrontation with Carl. She was still wearing the same jeans and comfortable darker blue sweatshirt she’d worn all day, and instead of piling her long hair haphazardly on top of her head to keep it out of the way as she normally did she had scraped it severely back in a ponytail and secured it tightly with a no-nonsense rubber band.

No prinking and preening. Not like that other fateful night, eight years ago, when she’d pulled out all the stops and then some.

Remembering how she’d saved every penny she’d earned helping her grandfather in the gardens of the Hall out of school hours with the precise intention of buying something special for that longed-for evening opened the floodgates, releasing the memories that were as sharp as if they’d happened yesterday.

She didn’t need this! She didn’t want to relive that night again. But, sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, watching the flames leap and crackle, she was powerless to hold back the memories she’d hidden away for such a long time.

Early in June, eight years ago. That was when it had really started. Her grandfather had put her to weed the long double herbaceous borders that were such a feature of the Hall’s extensive grounds. Hot, back-breaking work, but necessary if she was to pay her way through college after taking her A levels.

If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could still feel the sun burning her bare arms and legs, the way her sleeveless T-shirt and old cotton shorts had stuck to her overheated body, still hear Carl’s laughter as she’d almost run him down with the loaded wheelbarrow on her way to the compost heap.

Still feel the punch of sexual awareness that had made her heart tremble and her legs turn to jelly and then almost give way altogether as she’d registered the same awareness in the smouldering charcoal eyes that had held hers with an intensity that had opened up a bone-deep yearning, made her fear she was about to pass out.

There’d been something different about him. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. For ages he’d seemed to avoid her, had seemed uncomfortable in her company whenever they’d run into each other when he’d been home from boarding school.

She’d really mourned the loss of their earlier close friendship and had sometimes woken at night with tears running down her cheeks, just aching to hear his voice, see his smile, be admitted to the magic circle of his friendship again.

But that day he’d looked delighted to be in her company. He had led her to a bench in the old courtyard, left her in the shade of the walnut tree while he’d fetched iced lemonade from the kitchens in long tall glasses, and their fingers had touched as he’d transferred one of the glasses to her.

Something had shuddered inside her and their eyes had met. Then his had dropped to her mouth and lingered and she’d known he wanted to kiss her. But he hadn’t; he’d talked to her instead. And that day, precisely then, she’d fallen headlong in love with him. Looking back, she realised that she had always loved him and falling in love, as a girl on the brink of adulthood, had been a natural progression.

Swamped by an emotion that had transcended anything she had ever experienced in her seventeen years of living, she had barely heard a word of what he was telling her, her huge eyes drinking him in, the sensation of exhilaration making her head spin.

‘So you’ll be there?’

‘Sorry?’ She shook her head so hard her hair whipped across her face. She hadn’t taken in what he’d been saying. He would think she’d turned into an idiot. But he smiled that gorgeous, heart-stopping smile of his and reached out to sweep her bedraggled hair away from her face. She wanted to capture his wrist, put a kiss in his palm, but didn’t have the nerve.

Her eyes widened and her own mouth trembled into a radiant smile as he repeated, ‘I’ll be back at the end of the summer. You will come to my uncle’s party this year, won’t you? I’ll be looking for you. If you don’t turn up I’ll come and get you!’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for worlds!’ she vowed, meaning every single word with a vehement passion.

And she spent every waking minute of those waiting months going over every detail of that last meeting. The way he’d looked at her, the way she’d felt. Holding tightly to the sudden, shattering ecstasy of falling in love for the very first time.

And planning.

At the end of every summer all the household staff, estate workers and their families received an invitation to attend the party Marcus gave for them at the Hall. And every year her grandparents politely declined. They didn’t hold with such wasteful and unnecessary goings-on. They would never give her permission to attend, and while she lived under their roof she would do exactly as she was told. That had been drummed into her more times than she cared to remember.

Somehow she was going to go without them finding out.

Thankfully, they always went to bed early, so creeping out of the cottage after they’d retired for the night, wearing her old school coat over the wickedly expensive dress she’d dug deep into her savings to buy in Gloucester was the only option.

When the Hall came into view, all the downstairs windows flooded with light, she almost lost her nerve. She had wasted all her precious savings on frivolous underwear, the green silk dress that was far more daring than anything she’d ever imagined herself wearing, matching silk-covered high heels and a confusing mass of make-up that had demanded hours of secret experimentation before she had been able to achieve the right effect.

All of which would have to be continually hidden away—because if Gran ever discovered this evidence of what she would call flightiness there would be hell to pay!

And for what?

Just because Carl had asked her if she would be going to his uncle’s annual party. Probably because he felt sorry for her, knew she was denied the sort of fun most girls took for granted by over-strict grandparents. And for the sake of old friendship he’d joked about it. ‘If you don’t turn up I’ll come and get you!’ Not really meaning it. It was one of those things people said.

Hovering on the edge of the drive, feeling foolish, she suddenly realised what the change in him she’d seen back in June was. It was the patina of sophistication that came naturally to a young adult male with wealth, centuries of breeding behind him, looks to die for and a deeply entrenched certainty about who he was and where he was going.

Carl Forsythe had the world at his feet and he knew it. She might have gone and fallen in love with him, but he would never feel more than moderate friendship for his old playmate—the humble granddaughter of one of his uncle’s employees.

A feeling of hopeless misery wrapped itself around her heart as the bright embers of her hopes and dreams crumbled to ashes. Then her sense of self-worth emerged from where it had been hiding, prodding her forward, towards the main door which was flung hospitably wide.

She would go to the party. The money she had spent wouldn’t be completely wasted. Besides, she liked the way she looked. And there was little fear of her grandparents discovering her perceived sins.

Grandad never gossiped with his fellow estate workers and Gran never conversed with anyone who wasn’t a member of the chapel. A terse nod of acknowledgement was as much as most people got. In any case, she didn’t know what she was feeling so strung up about. Carl probably wouldn’t be there. He would have better things to do than hob-nob with a crowd of country bumpkins!

But he was there. Entering the huge, raftered inner hall after handing her old coat to the maid who was in charge of the cloakroom she saw him almost immediately. Head and shoulders above the rest, his crisp white dress shirt contrasting sharply with his dark dinner jacket, his strikingly handsome features tanned from a foreign sun, he made her heart stand still.

After a brief murmur of apology to the group he was with he walked towards her, his smile flattering in its sincerity, the sultry gleam of his eyes lingering on her face before dropping to skim her silk-clad body, making her flesh burn as though he was actually touching her…

It was still snowing, Carl noted as he collected the handsome five-foot-tall tree he’d cut earlier and left in the barn. It swirled, a pattern of wildly dancing flakes, in the beam of the powerful torch he carried. And it meant, he decided grimly, that Beth Hayley wouldn’t have been able to take the sneaky way out again and drive off, disappearing with his son.

Anger beat at his brain with the harsh insistence of a machine gun. If James wasn’t his son he was the Queen of Sheba—he’d stake his life on it!

The dates were right, exactly right, and the boy had his colouring, not his mother’s. He had spent an hour tracking down old photograph albums, searching for what he needed. Proof. He’d found it in the last shot that had been taken of him with his parents, only weeks before they’d been in the accident that had claimed both their lives.

The seven-year-old boy grinning at the camera could have been the twin of Beth’s son.

His son. He was damn well convinced of it.

His mouth hardened in a line of grim determination as he set out for the cottage. If he was right—and she’d have to come up with some cast-iron reasons why he wasn’t—then he’d move heaven and earth to claim rights over his child. How dare she keep his son’s existence from him?

He wouldn’t have believed the open, sunny-natured, almost painfully innocent girl he had tended to put on a pedestal capable of such duplicity.

Innocent! The word intruded, hammered at his mind. His steps halted as he closed his eyes on the knife-thrust of guilt, letting the snow-laden wind push against him.

That night. That fateful night he’d never been able to get out of his head. The images, the feelings of shame coming back to taunt him when he’d least expected it.

He hadn’t meant to seduce her, take away her innocence—he’d swear by everything he held dear that he hadn’t. Suggesting—no, demanding that she attend the annual party hadn’t been done with any dark ulterior motive. Simply a desire to see her have some fun for once in her sheltered life.

Her upbringing had been severely restricted. Seeing her friends outside school hours strictly forbidden. In case, he guessed, they’d led her astray. Her childhood friendship with him had only been tolerated because her dour grandfather had worked for his uncle.

So he’d believed his insistence that she join them had been motivated by compassion, conveniently forgetting that he’d been sexually attracted to her for some time but had been too young to know what to do about it.

He should have recognised the warning signals when he’d found himself watching for her arrival. He’d put his edginess down to jet-lag. He’d been back at the Hall a mere matter of hours since returning from Mexico, where he’d spent the last three months doing volunteer work for a charity which helped homeless children.

When he’d seen her arrive his heart had lurched, an anguished protectiveness taking him over. She’d looked so lovely standing there, the green dress skimming and flattering those lush curves, and so achingly vulnerable, too.

Her beautiful green eyes had been darkened by an apprehension he had never seen her display before, as if she had no right to be there, and her soft mouth had opened, her hands twisting together in front of her, as her eyes had been drawn to the party decorations that dominated the hall. She’d looked as if she had never seen anything like them in her life.

And the poor kid probably hadn’t.

Only she hadn’t been a child any longer.

Her heartbreakingly lovely face had lit up when she’d seen him, her huge eyes glowing like emeralds. He’d walked towards her, his heart thumping with pleasure, and they’d been playing a waltz—his uncle on the fiddle, Mrs Griggs the stout old housekeeper pounding the piano, and young Tom the stable boy on the flute.

Taking her in his arms, he had swept her into the dance. Holding her close had been heaven. He’d felt utterly, gloriously complete. They had moved together slowly, her full breasts brushing against him, thighs clinging. His hand had slid further down her back, holding her closer, and when the trio of players had launched enthusiastically into something modern and lively the older couples had left the floor to the youngsters who, he’d noted through eyes that felt decidedly unfocused, were dancing apart.

Compromising, he had rested both hands on her hips, keeping her swaying body against his, unable to relinquish this tormentingly intimate proximity. And Beth, with a tiny sigh, had looped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, so that he had known she must feel the engorged evidence of his desire. Through a dizzying red mist, he had known that she welcomed it. The way she’d tilted the feminine arch of her pelvis against him, parting her thighs just a little to accommodate him, had made his heart pound with suffocating ferocity.

The cessation of the music and his uncle’s announcement that supper was waiting in the dining room had come just in time to stop him completely losing it.

Even so, it had taken quite a time to get his body back under control. Loosening his grasp, he had inched them apart a little, just as she’d dropped her arms back to her sides.

His throat had tightened with an emotion he hadn’t been able to name as he’d seen her soft mouth tremble. There had been a rosy wash of colour on her cheeks and her eyes had been slumbrous, hazed, the look she’d flicked up at him through thick sweeping lashes oddly shy, uncertain.

‘Would you like to eat?’ His voice was thick because his breathing was still haywire.

‘Not hungry.’

A tiny bead of perspiration nestled in the tantalising cleft between her breasts. He wanted to put his mouth there, take that tiny drop with his tongue. Battling with the almost overwhelming urge, he shuddered convulsively. Both of them were overheated, on a different planet. They needed time out to recover from what had happened.

He pulled himself together. He had to stop behaving like a lust-crazed fool. He’d be leaving for North America in three days’ time, and by the time he came back, after his stint at university there, she would almost certainly have flown the uncomfortably rigid family nest and be making her own life. Their paths mightn’t cross again for years. If ever.

‘Stay right where you are,’ he instructed thickly. ‘I’ll find us something cold to drink.’

People had already begun to emerge from the dining room with heaped plates of fork food when he came back with a bottle of chilled wine and two glasses. ‘Let’s find somewhere cooler to sit.’

And quieter. He could explain about the degree course in Economics he was due to take, before joining his uncle in the family-owned bank, and find out what she meant to do after leaving school.

Take a friendly interest, nothing more. Show her that their earlier close friendship still counted for something, but dismiss what had happened on the dance floor as a simple aberration by not referring to it at all.

Leaving the heat, the sound of people enjoying themselves behind, he led her up the wide staircase to the first-floor landing, where a squashy two-seater sofa was placed between an ancient suit of armour belonging to one of his distant ancestors and a low table that carried a bowl of flowers.

His fingers weren’t quite steady as he poured out two glasses of the sparkling white wine. The lighting was more subdued here, but he could see the rosy flush that grazed her cheekbones, the slight trembling of her lush pink mouth. She looked adorable, her silvery blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders. The green silk of her dress left her arms and shoulders bare, and the straps that looped around the back of her neck were so delicately fragile they looked as if they would snap if he were to touch them.

Swallowing hard, he carefully placed the bottle and his glass on the polished surface of the low table and turned back to her, her glass in his hand. She bent forward hesitantly to take it and the dip of her neckline revealed the edge of her lacy bra, curving so lovingly against the creamy perfection of her breast.

Whether it was the unsteadiness of his hand or the trembling of her fingers he didn’t know, but drops of the liquid spilled on the fine silky fabric that shaped the lush globes of her breasts.

His throat too thick to get an apology out, his heart galloping, he felt in his pocket for a handkerchief. He hadn’t got one and, leaning forward, he used his fingers to brush away the offending droplets. Lightly at first, quickly. Until the fingers of both hands took on a will of their own and curved around the breasts that were peaking, spilling into his palms.

She was breathing rapidly, her lips parting, and his blood ran hotly through his veins as his hands shaped her, his fingers playing with the engorged nipples, his head spinning as this thing between them became a wild conflagration.

With a catch in his throat he brought his head down and kissed her, and he heard her low moan of pleasure as she responded with a generosity that made his heart quiver with emotion. Almost without knowing what he was doing, knowing only that this was the most perfect thing that had ever happened to him, something he had been unknowingly waiting for all his life, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to his suite of rooms.

He had never forgotten that night, or the beauty of it, he thought now, his mind jerked back to the present by a vicious gust of icy wind. But how could he reconcile the Beth who had blossomed so generously and sweetly for him on that long-ago night with the woman who had unconcernedly refused to respond to his letter, who had heartlessly deprived him of his own son? he thought with grim cynicism as he strode through the snow towards the lights of the cottage.

Were people never what they seemed to be? Was Beth, like his ex-wife, all sweetness and light on the surface and twisted and devious underneath?

Time to find out, for sure.

Propping the tree up against the side of the porch, he put his thumb on the doorbell. Beth Hayley had a whole load of questions to answer…

CHAPTER FIVE

IN WELCOME contrast to the bitterly cold night air Beth’s kitchen was warm, redolent of seasonal baking, mouthwateringly spicy and sweet. Terrina had boasted that she didn’t know how to boil an egg. Their sterile, elegant London apartment had been filled with the scent of her sultry perfume and Christmas had come in hampers from Harrods.

But he certainly hadn’t come here to mull over his ex-wife’s deficiencies in the home-making department, he decided grimly as Beth wordlessly took his ancient, snow-dampened sheepskin coat and hung it on a peg on the back of the kitchen door.

Her features had lost the softly rounded quality of her teenage years, were more finely drawn—even more lovely, he thought, an ache settling in the region of his heart. But she was very pale and her full lips were compressed, unsmiling.

He had kissed those lips. Held her and kissed her until they were both delirious.

Snapping that totally irrelevant thought aside with dark impatience, Carl demanded tersely, ‘Are James and Guy in bed?’

Unguardedly, Beth lifted her eyes to the beamed ceiling, and Carl recalled hearing those muffled scuffles and thumps after she’d sent them up to get changed the evening before. Remembered eventually hearing the sounds of their feet on the stairs, the way she’d tried to get him out of the cottage.

Because she hadn’t wanted him to get a good clear look at James.

And this morning she’d been on edge, spiky.

She knew he knew.

No wonder she looked pale. The eyes that had thus far refused to meet his own were dark-ringed and haunted.

Guilty conscience. He’d stake his life on it.

The thought that his son was sleeping overhead, unaware of his very existence, made his gut wrench with anger, pushing any compassion he might have felt for her clear out of sight. Controlling it took all his concentration, so he merely followed leadenly when she murmured, ‘Through here,’ and led him into a time warp.

A smile—unbidden, out of place in view of the fraught circumstances, and most certainly unwanted—curved his lips. The room looked as if it hadn’t changed in a hundred years. Pure late Victoriana. Terrina would have wrinkled her aristocratic nose and pulled her mouth down in distaste, while Beth fitted unquestioningly into the old-fashioned surroundings, as she would fit in wherever she happened to find herself.

Catching himself up sharply, he hardened his mouth. He didn’t know why he kept comparing her with the cold, grasping creature he had been misguided enough to marry. Despite appearances, and his misplaced long and fond memories of her, Beth was as sneaky and devious as his ex.

Closing the door behind him, he turned to face her. She was standing on the hearthrug, her back to the fire. She looked, he noted grimly, as if she was getting ready to face her own execution.

And she’d be right about that!

He paced forward, moving closer because he needed to be able to read her expression and find the truth.

Since the scales had fallen from his eyes a few short weeks after his marriage he’d become expert at knowing when a woman was telling lies, bending the truth to suit her own selfish ends.

He questioned, slowly and deliberately, so there would be no possible mistake about what he was implying, ‘How promiscuous are you?’

For a split second Beth’s blood ran cold, then bubbled hotly through her veins. The bone-clenching trepidation that had grown steadily worse while she’d waited for him was swept away in a flash flood of rage.

‘How dare you ask such a thing?’ Her eyes clashed with his. If she’d had a brick handy she would have thrown it at his head!

Yet Carl looked so coolly controlled, as if he hadn’t just asked her the most outrageous question he could think of. And to push the impression home he followed on flatly, ‘I got James’s birth-date out of him while I was fastening his seat belt this morning. If I’m not his father you must have gone from my bed straight into another’s. That would make you promiscuous.’

Beth felt the ground shake beneath her feet. She’d been sure he had strong suspicions, but she hadn’t known he’d questioned James about his actual birth-date. That would have made his suspicions a rock-solid certainty. She felt sick. Her hands flew to her mouth, her fingers trembling against her overheated skin.

‘Well?’ he prodded remorselessly. ‘Did your initiation into sex give you a taste for it? So much so that you hawked yourself around to get more of the same?’

His anger was cold, pent-up, dangerous. But hers sprang to answering, blistering life.

Taking two fraught steps towards him, she knotted her hands into fists, to stop herself from actually hitting the loathsome swine. Yet.

But he took the wind from her sails, completely deflating her, as he tacked on softly, ‘Or is James my son?’

Beth’s heart juddered, all her strength seeming to ebb away. Head and shoulders above her, his powerful body clothed in thigh-moulding jeans and a black roll-necked sweater, he looked terrifyingly intimidating, his hair clinging in damp tendrils to his beautifully shaped skull, his devastatingly handsome features hardened with cruel determination.

What to say? Brand herself as promiscuous or admit the truth? Run the real risk of him trying to take her son from her?

‘Been struck dumb, have we?’ His velvety voice held a sardonic bite as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him, to meet his cold, dark eyes. ‘Not to worry. A simple DNA test should do the talking for you.’

Beth’s throat convulsed. She was living in her worst nightmare. But she would fight to the death to stop him doing anything to upset her son.

James had recently started asking about his father. Guy had a daddy, why didn’t he? She’d told him as much of the truth as she felt his tender years fitted him to handle. Explained that his father was a wonderful man and that she’d loved him very much. But that their lives and backgrounds had been too different to allow them to live together, that it was best if she was both mummy and daddy. It was an explanation he had accepted without any further questions.

So no way was she going to allow Carl to upset and confuse him, demand rights in his life, demand to have him with him for weekends or parts of his school holidays. His wife would certainly resent his very existence, and possibly show it.

She would not allow that to happen.

Jerking her head away from his punitive grasp, she told him fiercely, ‘James is mine. I carried him, gave birth to him, cared for him and loved him for every minute of his life. He is everything to me. He is nothing to you—how could he be? Your only input was one night of lust you immediately forgot about!’

Momentarily pain flooded his eyes, the stab of it tightening his mouth, tugging at his breath, and Beth wished she hadn’t voiced that last statement. She had wanted to hurt him and had succeeded, but it made her feel ashamed of herself.

She hadn’t been a victim. She had wanted him to make love to her—wanted him with a desperation she could still so clearly remember. And he had written to her from America, asking her to keep in touch. She could have told him she was pregnant, but for reasons that had seemed good at the time she hadn’t.

She took a step towards him, wishing she could take the wounding words back, her teeth biting into her full lower lip. But Carl, obviously furiously recovered, stated lethally, ‘I take it that’s your confirmation? James is my son. I have rights. He has rights. He is the new Forsythe generation. He is all Marcus ever wanted.’

Beth wanted to cry but wouldn’t let herself. Her voice wobbling, she threw at him, ‘Don’t drag your uncle into it! You weren’t thinking of his wishes when you decided to sell the Hall—he would have hated that!’

She was beginning to wail. She clamped her mouth shut. If he had said James was all he, Carl, had ever wanted then she might have softened, tried to work out a way of him getting to know his son without upsetting the little boy. But he hadn’t, and it really, really hurt.

‘There wasn’t going to be a new generation of Forsythes,’ he answered tensely. ‘So there seemed no point in keeping the place on. The situation has now changed. I have the heir I never expected to have. The auction will be cancelled.’

Beth sank onto the nearest chair. Her legs were giving way beneath her. She put her hands over her mouth, her fingers flattening her lips.

She could see it now. Obviously his wife couldn’t have children and, knowing how he took pride in his lineage, that would have been a dreadful blow. But now he had his heir he would move heaven and earth to claim him, to bring him up as a Forsythe, taking no account whatsoever of her or James’s feelings. Then another thought took hold and threatened to shatter her precarious control. If his wife was barren, as he seemed to be implying, then she would resent James even more!

She couldn’t let that happen! But how on earth could she stop it?

There was only one way. She took it. Lowering her hands, tears now streaming unashamedly down her pinched face, she pointed out, ‘Your wife might not agree with you. I suggest you leave now, go back to the Hall and discuss it with her before you start trying to throw your weight around. And—’ she gulped back a throatful of tears ‘—I have a say in my child’s future, too.’

‘What say, what rights, did you allow me eight years ago, when you knew you had conceived my child?’ he demanded witheringly. ‘None. If some quirk of fate hadn’t brought us together, now, I would have gone to my grave never knowing I had a son! So don’t try to plead your case with me. You don’t have one!’

He swung round on his heels and stalked out of the room, and Beth wrapped her arms around her body and tried to pull herself together.

At least he’d done as she’d suggested—gone back to his wife to discuss the matter. Hopefully, she’d talk him out of what Beth was sure was in his mind—having his illegitimate son live with them. That his wife wouldn’t be able to talk him out of anything, or would raise no objections, didn’t bear thinking about.

Carl Forsythe was a powerful man in the banking world, and centuries of believing that what he wanted was his as of right had been bred into him. How could she hope to fight that?

Despite the roaring fire she was shivering convulsively, cold right through to the centre of her bones, and she leapt out of her skin when Carl walked back through the door. She had been so sure he’d left the cottage.

‘Drink this.’ He put a mug in her shaking hands. ‘Hot, strong tea. You need it; you’re in shock.’

For a moment her bewildered eyes met his. The last thing she’d expected from him was this brusque, rough-edged compassion.

Quelling a shiver, she gripped the mug in both hands to hold it steady. The ache at the back of her throat spread down to her chest. She couldn’t blame him for being angry, and she should have remembered that even as a young boy he’d had a caring, compassionate heart.

A sudden memory flashed through her troubled mind, of Carl, probably nine years old at that time, finding a tiny baby frog on the gravel driveway in the full glare of the sun, the careful way he’d picked it up and carried it to the long damp grass which bordered the pool in one of his uncle’s meadows, his grin of pleasure as the little creature had hopped away to safety.

So was it so surprising that he should put his anger aside momentarily and have a care for the mother of his child?

Straddle-legged, his back to the fire, he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and told her flatly, ‘I have no wife to consider. Terrina left me for her current lover, and we’re now divorced.’

Every scrap of colour drained from Beth’s face. When she’d heard of his engagement, his marriage, she’d been gutted, hair-tearingly jealous. She’d loved him so and had wanted him for herself, even though, deep down inside her, she’d known it could never happen.

But she was older now, and very much wiser. Except for their son’s existence the past was dead and buried. Any residual fondness he might have felt for her had been wiped from his heart by what he had learned.

And he was free, which put her at an even greater disadvantage. No wife’s feelings to consider meant he was free to do exactly as he wanted. He’d lost a wife but gained a son. He would do everything within his considerable power to keep him.

‘I’m sorry.’

She muttered the expected polite response, wondering if he knew exactly how sorry she was, and why, and inwardly quaked at the harsh bitterness in his voice when he shrugged those impressive shoulders of his and stated, ‘Don’t be.’

Beth shivered. He seemed to fill the room with his presence, his controlled anger making the air sizzle with tension, and even before he spoke again she knew he would want answers. To her own horror, her defence now seemed unbelievably shaky.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’ he sliced rawly. ‘What did I ever do to make you keep my son’s existence from me?’

Guilt swamped her. He sounded so driven. It tore her in two. She had thought at the time that she was doing the right thing, and during her years as a single parent she’d found composure, remained convinced that the decision made so long ago had been the best for all concerned.

And now he would tear her defences into shreds.

She lifted reluctant eyes to his, her heart thudding heavily, then heaved a sigh of cowardly relief as she heard James pattering down the stairs, his voice wobbly as he called for his mummy.

‘Darling!’ She was out of her chair and opening the door immediately, strength flowing back into her weakened limbs, her only thought now to comfort her child.

Standing on the bottom tread of the staircase in his red and white striped pyjamas, his quivering mouth turned down piteously, the grey eyes beneath a rumpled lock of dark hair flooded with tears, the boisterous seven-year-old had returned to unashamed babyhood.

Her heart swelling with love, Beth hunkered down and held out her arms, murmuring, as he launched himself into her loving embrace, ‘Bad dream, darling?’ She dropped a kiss on the side of his soft little neck as he nodded wordlessly and took a noisy gulp of air into his heaving chest, burrowing his head into her sweatshirt.

He rarely suffered from nightmares, and she guessed tonight’s had been caused by the excitement of the approach of Christmas and the naughtiness of the previous evening. Cuddling him closely, she could feel his slight body shivering. The upstairs rooms were decidedly chilly, and the sooner she got him safely tucked up under his cosy duvet the better.

But first, ‘How about a drink of warm milk, poppet?’ Feeling his vigorous nod, she got back to her feet and dropped a swift kiss on the top of his head. ‘Coming right up.’

She turned and saw Carl’s eyes fixed upon them. Dark, brooding eyes, and a line of pain around his mouth, a line of colour along his slanting cheekbones. Her heart turned over. She knew how he was feeling. Seeing his own son in distress, unable to do anything about it.

Whether it was guilt or compassion, she didn’t know, but she heard herself calmly suggesting, ‘Jamie, why don’t you go through and sit by the fire with Mr Forsythe while I heat that milk?’

She held her breath. Would James do that? Or would he remember the ticking-off he’d had for trespassing and hang his head, cling to her, refuse to do any such thing in case the formidable stranger started telling him off all over again?

But James simply nodded and took Carl’s outstretched hand, and as they walked back into the sitting room Beth heard, ‘Call me Carl. I brought you a Christmas tree. I said I would, remember? I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll put it up together.’

And then the door closed and Beth released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She would have felt utterly, drainingly dreadful if James had refused to have anything to do with his father. Though why she should care about Carl’s feelings when she knew his intentions regarding the future of his son—a future which would see her relegated firmly to the sidelines, a weekend visitor at best, if he had his way—she had no clear idea. And the thought of him coming here tomorrow to help decorate the cottage for Christmas appalled her.

There was too much between them. The past with its lovely bittersweet memories, the future with its threatened dangers, and the spiky tension of the present. She didn’t know how she would handle having him around.

She had to get a grip, she told herself fiercely as she poured creamy milk into a pan, slid it onto the hotplate of the Rayburn and reached down a mug.

Her emotions had been going haywire ever since she’d opened the door and found him standing there with the shame-faced little boys. Found the old attraction still alive and kicking and become the unwilling recipient of memories she’d thought she had buried, battling with the fear that he might suspect James was his son, her feelings of horror and helplessness when those fears had been verified.

She just had to start thinking positively, she lectured herself firmly. What court in the land would take a child from its mother and hand him to his father? And if he went ahead and hired the best lawyers in the universe she would fight him.

Never mind if all she had to offer was unstinting maternal love when Carl could offer every advantage known to man that influence, wealth and position could bring. She would still fight him!

Her chin high, she carried the mug of warm milk into the sitting room, only to have her feeble heart melt inside her. They looked so right together, the resemblance truly remarkable.

Carl was sitting on the chair she had used, near to the crackling fire, with James curled up on his lap, his dark head resting against the big man’s shoulder. They looked so relaxed, so peaceful. James’s tears had dried and his cheeks were flushed with pink, and Carl’s eyes were warm, his smile gentle as he helped the little boy sit upright to take the milk, his strong arms anchoring the warm little body.

‘Carl was telling me a story about Mole and Ratty and the riverbank,’ James announced sleepily. ‘His daddy used to read it to him when he was little.’ He took a long swallow of milk and came up with a creamy moustache. ‘I wish I had a daddy.’

Beth’s stomach churned over. James had just unwittingly given Carl even more ammunition. She didn’t dare look at him, not even when he put the empty mug down on one of the many little tables and got fluidly to his feet, his son in his arms.

‘I’ll carry you up and tuck you in,’ he was saying in a low, conspiratorial whisper. ‘We’ll be very quiet, like mice, so we don’t wake Guy. And I’ll see you in the morning. Say goodnight to Mummy.’

A milky kiss brought tears that stung the backs of her eyes, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She could recognise bonding when she saw it!

And recognise unfairness, too. She had deprived Carl of the first seven years of his son’s life, deprived her child of a father.

Pacing the floor, feeling sick, she waited for Carl to reappear. They had to sort something out. He was angry with her, and she could understand that. She would have been spitting tacks, throwing things, had their positions been reversed.

But when he cooled down they should be able to work something out—gently break the news that Carl was James’s father, agree on visiting rights. Weekends, certainly, and if, as he’d stated, he would be keeping the Hall on, then maybe James could spend time with him there. It was only a matter of a couple of hundred yards away…

Then her mind went blank as she heard Carl coming down the stairs, his feet quiet on the old oak boards. Her mouth had gone dry and she couldn’t stop her fingers twisting together, over and over, as if she were trying to pull the joints out of place.

His face, when she could see it clearly, was unsmiling now. The warmth, the softness that had been there for his son utterly wiped away.

‘He went out like a light,’ he informed her coolly as he reached for his coat. Shrugging into it, he turned to face her. ‘I’ll see you first thing in the morning.’ He turned the fleecy collar up and took his torch from the kitchen table. ‘As I see it, there’s only one thing to do in this situation. Marry. As soon as it can be arranged.’

Marry him! Something inside her rose on a rushing tide of tantalising hope. It was all she’d dreamed of at one stage in her life. But the surge of hope died, dropped like a stone.

Her mouth stiff, she parried, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me!’ She heard the note of sarcasm in her voice and applauded it. It was the only thing that stopped her from bursting into hysterical tears.

‘Of course not.’ His voice was flat. ‘I want my son. And he wants a father—you heard him. He needs two parents. Full-time. To achieve that we have to live together, marry. I lost both my parents when I was a few months older than he is now. Marcus did his best to replace them, but there was a big hole in my life for a very long time.’

He turned for the door, swung it open, and the bitter wind blew a flurry of snowflakes at his feet. ‘You can refuse, of course, but I warn you the consequences won’t be pleasant for any of us.’ One final look speared contempt into her wide, shell-shocked eyes. ‘Don’t fight me on this, Beth. You won’t win.’

CHAPTER SIX

BETH was woken by muffled thumps and shrill giggles from the room next to hers. The boys were already awake, full of beans and ready to start the day.

Christmas Eve.

She groaned. She didn’t want to be awake yet. It was still pitch-dark. And last night she hadn’t been able to fall asleep for hours. She felt exhausted.

Marry him!

The reminder of what he’d said just before he’d left the cottage last night, the reason she had paced the floor for absolutely ages and been unable to sleep when she’d finally gone to bed, attacked her brain, brought her fully, stingingly and regretfully awake.

She hadn’t wanted to have to think about it. Not again. Not yet. She’d gone over and over it last night and it had got her precisely nowhere.

Her stomach tying itself in increasingly tight knots, she wriggled over and reached for the bedside light. A glance at her watch told her it was barely six o’clock. It wouldn’t be light for another two hours!

Pulling a warm woollen robe over her serviceable cotton pyjamas, just as an ominous crash was followed by a breathless silence and then a crescendo of giggles, she heaved an irritated sigh. Obviously her hopes that she could persuade them to go back to sleep were dead in the water. Her opinion consolidated when she opened their door and flicked on the light.

Mayhem. Pillows and feathers everywhere.

James, sitting on the floor beside the upturned night-table, offered spurious innocence, making his eyes seem even bigger than they normally were. ‘I fell out of bed, Mum.’

‘So I see.’ She spoke repressively, but she hadn’t the heart to read the riot act. The two small faces were alight with excitement. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Consigning at least another hour of much needed sleep to the dustbin of dashed hopes, she said, ‘Get dressed. And tidy this room up before you come down for breakfast. And if you behave yourselves—and only if you do,’ she stressed, ‘I’ll help you make a snowman when it gets light.’

‘Wow!’

Guy bounced off the bed and James, grinning from ear to ear, announced, ‘Carl can help as well. He’s coming to put up the tree. He said so. Where is it, Mum? Is it a big one?’

‘Big enough.’ She’d seen it propped up in the porch when Carl had let himself out last night. She wished he hadn’t promised James that he’d come and set it up. She didn’t want to have to face him again until she’d got her mind sorted out.

Besides, they had nothing to dress it with. Christmas trees and glittery baubles hadn’t featured in her grandparents’ scheme of things. She’d fully intended to buy some decorations yesterday, when picking up a tree from the village, but the sudden heavy snowfall had put a stop to that.

But that had to be the least of her worries. Leaving the boys’ room, she closed the door and leant back wearily against it.

What Carl had suggested was out of the question. How could she marry a man who’d vehemently stated that he didn’t love her, who actively and openly despised her?

He had wanted her physically once, briefly, and now he obviously thought she was the pits. That she had loved him, adored him, could safely be relegated to the past. Of course it could.

What she had experienced when they’d been talking after he’d brought the boys back from breaking into his house had been simple animal lust. He had matured into a wickedly attractive male. A woman would have to be blind not to fall victim to his vibrant masculinity.

Marriage would be a form of torture. There had to be another way. But her brain seemed incapable of functioning sensibly.

Using all her will-power, she propelled herself into the bathroom, shutting her ears to the noises coming from the bedroom where James and Guy were clumping around, hopefully tidying up the mess they’d made.

She needed more time to get her head around Carl’s cold insistence on marriage, to work out a compromise that would be acceptable to both of them. She needed a breathing space—but she clearly wasn’t going to get one.

Back in her own room again, she pulled on the first things that came to hand. A pair of warm fawn cord trousers, an old navy blue jumper that had stretched in the wash and a pair of suede ankle boots that had seen better days. Dragging a brush through her long hair, she met her eyes in the mirror and groaned at what she saw there. Utter bewilderment.

The brush dropped from her fingers, clattered on the dressing table.

She had never known who her father was, only that he had been a student at the college where her mother had been studying at the time. As a child she had hopelessly daydreamed that both her parents would come and claim her, make her part of a close-knit, loving family. It had never happened, of course.

Had she any right to deny her own son the security of the love and care of both parents? True, he had a mother who loved him, but he needed a father too.

Full-time, as Carl had stated.

Could she handle it? She simply didn’t know. Her heart twisting alarmingly, her forehead creased with confusion, she padded downstairs to make a start on breakfast. It was going to be a long, long day.

She already felt like a piece of chewed string and the day had barely started!

Carl found what he’d been looking for at the far end of the attics. The box of Christmas decorations.

In less enlightened times this series of small rooms leading off a narrow corridor had provided sleeping quarters for the servants. But things had changed for the better. Mrs Griggs, his uncle’s housekeeper, and her husband Cyril—a cheerful, willing helper around the house and grounds—had occupied a light and comfortable suite of rooms above the kitchen quarters. A phone call early this morning had established the fact that they were only too happy to return.

They would take up their positions immediately after Christmas, hire the extra staff needed and make sure that everything was running like well-oiled clockwork when he took up permanent residence.

With his son.

His heart swelled inside him until he thought it might burst, and he felt strangely light-headed as he lifted the box and walked the length of the corridor to the door at the head of the attic stairs.

He was making decisions. He didn’t have to think about it because it came naturally. And he didn’t have to think about the possibility of Beth refusing his offer of marriage. He would make damn sure that the consequences of her refusal would make her blood run cold.

A few days ago remarriage had been out of the question. But now it was the only option if his son were to have a permanent place in his life, the privileges he himself had enjoyed, the security of two loving parents, his heritage and all that entailed.

The Hall was big enough for him and Beth to lead virtually separate lives—only sharing mealtimes when James was around, joining forces when the three of them needed to do things together: celebrating James’s birthday, school sports days, that sort of thing.

He clattered down the narrow staircase. No one had ever said that such an arrangement would be easy, but if he could live with that, for their son’s sake, then so could she. That would be the first thing he would make sure she fully understood. No arguments!

As he passed the small sofa on the first-floor landing his mouth tightened as an unidentifiable pain clamped around his heart. She had been so sweet, so responsive and loving on that long-ago fateful night. Had she, even then, been concealing a devious nature, a disregard for anyone’s feelings and needs except her own?

He would never forgive her for denying him his rights as a father.

Outside, the air was crisp and cold. An overnight frost had hardened the thick layer of snow, just as her duplicity had hardened the carapace around his heart where she was concerned.

Once, he had been besotted with her, and if circumstances hadn’t removed him he knew he would have pursued her with all the tempestuous ardour of puppy-love. He’d written, asking her to keep in touch, and after weeks and months of waiting for her non-existent reply he’d done what any sane guy would have done—got on with his studies, enjoyed his social life, and forgotten her.

Except in his dreams.

But those erotic, tormenting dreams were a thing of the past. He was no longer a besotted, callow youth, inexperienced in the ways and wiles of women.

Beth was switching off her mobile phone as Carl walked, unannounced, into the kitchen of Keeper’s Cottage. She had an arm round Guy’s shoulders and her face was pink.

Guilty conscience? Had she been phoning her solicitor? Her current man-friend? Trying to find a way out of the situation she found herself in? Her obvious embarrassment, and the absence of James, certainly pointed that way. If she was thinking along those lines she’d have to damn well think again!

Beth felt her face run with hot colour. She hadn’t expected him this early. It was barely eight-thirty. And he looked so dangerously attractive her heart stood still. Gorgeous simply wasn’t the word for it. Perfect, very male features, a lean and sexy physique—but cold, killing eyes. He looked as if he hated her.

It was Guy who broke the tension. Beth heard his bright young voice as if it came from a great distance. ‘My mummy says the new baby is coming soon, and my daddy says Father Christmas knows where I am. He won’t leave my presents at home by mistake.’ He squirmed out of Beth’s hold and dived over the kitchen floor for his wellingtons. ‘My dad says he doesn’t mind if the baby gets born a girl or a boy. But I want a boy to play with, ’cos James says he wants to live here for ever and ever.’

‘We phone Angela and Henry every day, so Guy can speak to them.’ Beth’s explanation was shakily delivered, and the hand that placed the mobile on the table was far from steady.

Carl felt the tension ebb from his shoulders. But whether it was because that phone call had been innocent and not what he had suspected, or whether it was because his son apparently seemed keen to stay in the area—relieving him of the worry that he might not want to be uprooted—he couldn’t say. A mixture of both, he decided, and he put the bulky cardboard box down on the table just as James came clattering down the stairs.

He was wearing a long woolly scarf round his neck and carrying another, which he bunched into a ball and threw at Guy. His face lit up when he noticed Carl. ‘Mum said she’d help us make a snowman. You can help, too.’

‘I’d like that, Jamie.’ Carl’s voice was slightly husky, warm. The cold, killing look had disappeared. His smile would have melted an iceberg.

Beth shivered. She hugged her arms around her body. What had she done to this man? She’d deprived him of the first formative years of his son’s life and turned what had been a fondness for her into implacable hatred.

How could she marry him, knowing that?

How could she live with Carl until their son was of age, making his own way in the world, loving him and knowing that he despised her?

Biting her lower lip until she tasted blood, she made a swift and vehement mental correction. Of course she didn’t still love him! It had been the best part of a decade ago, for pity’s sake. Love didn’t last that long without anything to feed on!

He was helping the boys into their coats, asking them if they’d like to see over his house and look for a hat for the snowman. He was sure they could find something—there were several old trilbys that had belonged to his uncle in the garden room. Marcus wouldn’t mind, Carl was explaining, he’d be glad they were making use of something he didn’t need now.

As Beth listened to the gentle baritone she felt swamped by lonely bitterness. Of course Marcus wouldn’t mind his great-nephew using his cast-offs. The bloodline was all-important to the Forsythes. She felt surplus to requirements. The outsider.

She had never felt that way in those long-gone happy days when she and Carl had been practically growing up together. But everything had changed. And that was the loneliest feeling in the world.

‘Ready?’ Carl turned to her, one dark brow gliding upwards. The boys were fidgeting, anxious to get outside. ‘You’ll need your coat; it’s bitterly cold out there.’

He sounded polite, friendly even, Beth thought hollowly. He wouldn’t want James to pick up bad vibes. But she wasn’t going to jump when he told her to.

‘Now you’re here to supervise I’ll leave you to it,’ she came back with a manufactured saccharine-sweetness, an airiness that belied the heaviness of her heart. ‘I’ve got loads to do inside.’

Their eyes clashed for long fraught moments, then his face froze over. Two strides took him to the door. He flung it open and the boys, needing no encouragement, raced out into the pale winter sunshine.

‘Sulking, Beth?’ he enquired in soft, level tones that sent shivers down her back. ‘Grow up, why don’t you? You brought this on yourself and it’s time you took responsibility for your sins of omission. And by the way—’ there was a sharp edge to his tone now ‘—I’ll give the boys lunch at the Hall. It’s time James got familiar with the place he’ll be calling home. I suggest you use the next few hours to decide when we tell our son who I am and break the news of our forthcoming marriage.’ He walked through the door, turned back to her and stated coolly, ‘It’s going to happen. Just get used to it.’

It was growing dark when they returned. Beth heard the boyish voices ringing out on the frosty air well before Carl pushed open the kitchen door.

Frantically, she pinched her wan cheeks to coax some colour into them. She didn’t want him to see her looking as if she were knocking on death’s door. She had more pride than that!

She’d changed into fresh blue denim jeans and a pale aqua silk-knit sweater, brushing her hair until her scalp stung and leaving the soft blonde mass loose around her shoulders. No way would she let him know she’d spent the intervening hours in a state of blind panic at the way he was taking over, keeping James away from her for the greater part of the day without so much as a by-your-leave. Excluding her.

That she could have gone with him if she hadn’t stubbornly decided to make a point was something she hadn’t contemplated as she’d thrown herself into a mindless whirlwind of cleaning and polishing, baking and ironing, doing anything to stop herself from feeling like a spare wheel, stop herself from thinking.

Now, as the boys rushed past Carl into the warm kitchen, babbling excitedly, their cheeks rosy, their eyes over-bright, she wished she’d been with them and been a part of their fun day.

‘The snowman’s humungous!’ Guy gabbled, kicking off his wellingtons so wildly they flew into a far corner. ‘His name’s Bert and he fell over, but we builded him up again and gave him a hat and an umbrella.’

‘And pelted him with snowballs until he disintegrated again,’ Carl put in with a wry smile. ‘However, Bert Mark Three is still standing, guarding the approach to the Hall—Guy, be a good chap and pick your boots up and find your slippers—’

‘And Carl’s house is brilliant, Mum,’ James, sitting on the floor and removing his boots more circumspectly, cut in. ‘You should see it—millions of rooms and he’s lived there since it was built!’

‘Which would make me getting on for five hundred years old,’ Carl said with a grin that made Beth’s heart turn over. She dragged her eyes away from him, her face hidden as she busied herself helping the two boys out of their coats, hanging them up on the back of the door.

Carl in this kinder mood sent a lonely sigh around her heart, where it curled up and stayed right where it was, leaving her feeling bereft because none of this warm gentleness was for her benefit.

How could it be?

‘I fed them beans and sausages for lunch,’ Carl imparted as James and Guy scampered up to the bathroom to wash their hands, as instructed.

Beth, pulling herself together, but not quite to the point where she could actually turn to look at him and see all that hurtful hating back in his eyes, collected the discarded boots and scarves and told him, ‘Thank you. I’ve made a seafood pie for supper. Will you join us? Or would you rather skip that and come back later? We need to talk.’

She felt calmer then. However unpalatable the facts were, they had to be faced. The fact that she was now willing to do so, and was no longer in denial, had restored some of the sense of self-worth that had been leaching away ever since he’d told her he knew James was his son.

‘I’d like that.’ Carl knew his voice had come out with an intimate slow huskiness, and felt his eyes soften, grow heavy, as he watched her move around the kitchen. Even putting the diminutive wellington boots in a tidy row at the side of the stove, folding the scarves and placing them in one of the dresser drawers, her movements were sheer grace.

The soft denim fabric moulded the elegant length of her legs, clipping the rounded feminine curve of her hips, just as the sweater she was wearing followed the proud curve of her beautiful breasts. The way she moved had always fascinated him.

And he’d missed her today, he admitted. Wanted her to be with them.

Running out of things to occupy her, she turned and faced him. Her silky blonde hair was tumbling around her face, curving around her slender neck. A faint wash of colour was creeping across the delicate arch of her cheekbones and something deep in the emerald depths of her huge eyes made his stomach clench with a desire that should have died years ago.

The sensation made him want to hit something. His mouth twisted bitterly. He had forgotten what love was, but his body remembered hers.

Lust. That was what it was all about. And lust he could handle simply by ignoring it. He surely hadn’t wanted her with them today for any other reason than getting James used to seeing them as a threesome. Sure, he’d like to join her for supper, but only because it would give him the chance to continue the bonding process with his son.

She owed him that much, and a damn sight more!

To hammer that point home, for his own sake as much as for hers, he informed her coolly, ‘It’s important that Jamie and I spend as much time as possible together before we break our news. And yes, we do need to discuss the timing. Also—’ he shrugged out of his coat and hung it with the others ‘—I promised them we’d decorate the tree.’

The hope that his attitude towards her was softening had been a very faint glow in the darkness of his overt dislike of her, and his coolly delivered words had brutally extinguished it.

No big deal, she told herself staunchly. She would be a fool to hope for anything other than implacable dislike from him.

The thought of that dislike stretching through the years to come, until, when their son was grown, Carl could safely get rid of her, made her feel nauseous. But he wasn’t going to see that.

Making herself smile—a thin one, but a smile just the same—she said, ‘Then perhaps you could make a start while I see to supper? The boys will come down any time now. I put the tree in a bucket and wedged it firm with split logs. The box of decorations is through in the parlour, too. And while you’re in there make up the fire, if it needs it.’

Then, feeling her control begin to slip away, she knelt to bring the seafood pie from the fridge. When she stood up again the parlour door was closing behind him and her eyes filled with tears.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CARL had made coffee while Beth had been settling the boys for the night. The aroma, usually so enticing, turned her stomach.

‘Through there.’ He lifted the tray and walked into the parlour and Beth had no option but to follow. Crunch-time, she thought, her face paling as her heartbeats threatened to choke her.

The cheerful blaze of the fire drew her. She sank into the chair nearest the hearth to relieve her wobbly legs of the necessity of keeping her upright. Outside, the wind was howling around the little cottage. It sounded like a wild animal. They were in for another snowstorm; she was sure of it.

She felt trapped. By the weather, but mostly, she admitted, by Carl. She shuddered.

‘I’ve decided to set a date for the wedding towards the end of January,’ Carl announced unilaterally, his back to her as he poured the coffee. ‘It will give time for the banns to be called.’ He turned, a mug in each hand, his features expressionless. ‘A register office ceremony might be more appropriate, under the circumstances, but traditionally Forsythes have always married in the village church.’

‘And we mustn’t go against tradition, must we?’ Beth was amazed by the strength of her sudden anger, but grateful too. At least the surge of hot, savage emotion injected life back into her wilting spirits. ‘This is all about your precious family tradition, isn’t it? Did you divorce your wife because the poor woman couldn’t produce a Forsythe heir? If you hadn’t been the last in the line of your wretched dynasty you wouldn’t have given a damn about my son, would you?’ she accused heatedly.

Her breasts heaving, she shook her head and crossed her arms over her midriff, refusing to take the coffee he calmly held out to her.

Carl’s impressive shoulders lifted in a slight shrug as he put the mug down on the nearest low table within her reach. His voice was as calm as his actions when he countered her blistering accusations.

‘Terrina refused to have children—a fact she had neglected to share with me before our marriage. She preferred to take lovers. Her primary aim in life was to look beautiful, spend money, attract men. She had her second husband lined up when she demanded a divorce. I give him six months at best. She has a low boredom threshold.’

He took a mouthful of coffee and, cradling the mug in his hands, told her forcefully, ‘Remarriage was not on my agenda. I decided to sell the Hall because the old house cries out for a family. If I’d been so obsessed with what you choose to call the Forsythe dynasty, I’d have mothballed the place until I could find some fecund young thing willing to marry me and give me an heir. You should think things out before you make judgements.’ His face tightened, closing up implacably. ‘Now everything’s changed. I have a son. Flesh of my flesh. Satisfied?’

Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth. She wished he’d sit down. Looming over her, he made her feel small. She already felt two inches high and shrinking after hearing what he’d had to say.

How any sane woman could even look at another man when she had Carl’s love, his wedding band on her finger, she couldn’t begin to imagine. He must have been truly, deeply hurt.

But that didn’t alter her own unenviable situation. She said, as calmly as her rioting nerve-ends would let her, ‘And if I don’t agree to be legally tied to a man who loathes me? I could decide to have nothing to do with your crazy ideas!’

His mouth flattened, but there was a thread of danger in his voice as he imparted, ‘Then you will regret such a decision for the rest of your life. Be very sure of that.’

He sank into the chair opposite hers while he waited for his words to sink in. He watched the whole gamut of emotions cross her features, like clouds racing over the landscape—saw the pain, the uncertainty in her deep green eyes, and wanted to hold her, kiss the pain away, assure her that he would care for her, always care for her.

Clenching his hands, he reminded himself that she deserved everything he was dishing out, that in her own way she was no better than Terrina. But for some damn fool reason he heard himself qualifying, ‘I don’t loathe you. I admit I don’t want a real marriage—the Hall’s big enough for us to rattle around in without having to have much to do with each other—but I don’t loathe you. When you opened the door when I brought the boys home that first night, it was like meeting a warm ray of sunshine on a bitter winter’s day. That was before—’

He broke off, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. She knew what he meant. Miserable guilt was written all over her pale and lovely face. ‘Why didn’t you respond to my letter?’ he pressed quietly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were expecting my child? I didn’t just walk out on you—you knew I was due to leave for the States; I told you.’

Or had he told her? His eyes darkened beneath clenching brows. He knew he’d meant to tell her, had taken her to that secluded place for that reason. He had already known that something pretty monumental was coming to life between them and he’d been trying, for both their sakes, to cool things down.

He’d been nineteen years old, and pretty inarticulate as far as his emotions were concerned, but he’d known he had to make her understand that they had to be adult enough to wait until they’d both finished their education before they took their relationship any further.

But maybe he hadn’t actually got around to it. He couldn’t clearly remember. His brain had been in a fog ever since he’d started to dance with her. Then the wine had been spilled and events had overtaken them.

She might have seen his disappearance from the scene as desertion…

The slight contemptuous curl of her mouth as she answered his questions confirmed exactly that.

‘It was days before I found out why you weren’t around. I must have been the last person to know you’d flown to the States directly after that party.’

Even now she could recall exactly how shattered she’d felt at her own naivety. She’d truly believed that he’d made love to her because he loved her. When the truth was he’d simply used her, not even bothering to explain that he was due to leave the country. No wonder he hadn’t suggested when they would see each other again.

He’d left the country without a word, leaving her in total ignorance, waiting for him to get in touch, tell her he loved her and wanted to be with her for ever. Fool!

‘And then that letter came.’ She verbalised her angry thoughts, her rage fuelled by the memory of how eagerly she’d ripped open the airmail letter, how she’d disintegrated after reading the hastily scrawled lines.

Her eyes held emerald scorn. ‘Mostly about how well you were settling in at the home of your uncle’s banking associate, his charming wife and their daughter Terrina. How welcome they made you feel. And then the really stiff and impersonal bit!’ she lashed out. ‘You would like me to keep in touch. And contact you if there were any repercussions.’ She pushed her hair out of her eyes with impatient fingers, then knotted her hands together in her lap, her voice dry as she recalled, ‘It took me until I realised I was pregnant to understand what you’d meant by “repercussions”.’

And then she’d been afraid. So afraid.

Her grandparents would have to be told; they’d probably disown her…

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He closed his eyes briefly; his face looked drawn.

‘After that letter? Get real, Carl! There wasn’t one word of affection, the slightest indication of caring. The dreaded “repercussions” had eventuated. You wouldn’t have wanted to know—why would you have wanted something like that to mess up your perfect, privileged life? You would have probably sent money for an abortion. I couldn’t face your doing that. I wanted my baby. I didn’t want to have you spell out that our baby was the last thing you wanted. Do you know something?’ she queried witheringly. ‘I thought it best for all of us for you to be in happy ignorance!’

There was a beat of heavy silence, then Carl said wearily, ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. When I wrote that letter I was desperately ashamed.’

Ashamed? A vein throbbed at her temples. Her jaw clenched. Her voice shook as she came back at him. ‘Of course you were ashamed. The young lord of the manor, heir to a banking empire, having sex with the gardener’s granddaughter! Bad form, what?’ she taunted, sarcasm dripping from her shaky voice.

Never in her life had she seen anyone move so quickly. Her eyes winged wide open as he left his seat and hunkered down in front of her, taking her hands, loosening her frantic grip, taking each of them into his own. ‘That is not what I meant. Then or now. Did I ever give you any reason to believe I didn’t think of us as equals? I was ashamed because I’d taken something precious. You were so young and I’d taken your virginity. I’d had no control over my own desire; I’d taken no precautions. I was ashamed of myself, not of you,’ he stressed. ‘For pity’s sake, Beth, I was besotted with you, put you on a pedestal—’

Then, just as quickly, he moved away, standing up, dropping her hands, pacing back. As if he’d suddenly remembered that, far from being besotted with her, he didn’t even like her now, not one little bit.

The passion, the vehemence behind what he’d just said rocked her. Had he really felt like that about her? Might everything have been so different? Her eyes swam with sudden tears. The glittery baubles on the Christmas tree shimmered and seemed to lose all substance.

He was standing with his back to her, staring out of the window into the wintry darkness, as if the cluttered room stifled him and he wanted out. Out of the mess they had made of their lives. She could see the tension in the hard, high line of his shoulders, in the taut muscles of his back and long, lean thighs.

Beth blinked, scrubbed the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand and forced herself upright, taking a couple of paces towards him, talking to the back of his head. ‘I know you’ll never forgive me for not telling you about James. But, in my defence, the first time I held our son in my arms I knew I was going to have to. You deserved to know that between us we’d made such a perfect baby. That first time I held him I felt very close to you. It was almost as if you were in that hospital room with me.’

‘Really?’ His voice was flat. ‘Then what stopped you?’

He didn’t turn. She could see the reflection of his grim features in the darkened window. She’d been right; he would never forgive her.

But now, while they still had to agree how and when to tell James that Carl was his father, was probably the only chance she’d ever get to put her side of the story. Already he would be regretting having confessed how he had once felt about her, wishing he could take the words back because his youthful emotions had no relevance now.

Her voice unconsciously low and soothing, she told him, ‘As I said, my grandparents didn’t ask me to leave. But they made their disapproval so obvious it was the only thing I could do. I found work, a room to live in, and a couple of months before James was born I was given a one-bedroom council flat in a high-rise building that was more than half empty and mostly boarded up because nobody who had any choice wanted to live there—’

‘And you took my child to a place like that?’ He swung round, and she was sure the hands that were pushed into the pockets of his jeans were bunched into fists. There was a savage glint in the eyes that raked her face.

‘What other option did I have?’ she demanded rawly. She had hated that flat—the eerie, evil-smelling staircases, the lifts that had almost never worked, the wrecked cars in the street outside, the dubious-looking characters who’d inhabited the flats that were occupied. Did he think she’d lived there because she’d wanted to? He knew nothing—nothing about the real world!

‘You could have contacted me. You said you were going to, so what stopped you?’ he asked icily. ‘Stubborn pride or a need to punish me?’

Beth gasped as a tide of anger hit her. Resentment and agonising pain flooded through her as she remembered how she’d felt at that time. She wanted to kill him for always putting her in the wrong! ‘You know nothing!’ she snapped through gritted teeth. ‘Two days before James was born Gran phoned to say Grandad had died. I was admitted to the maternity ward soon after—and the nurses were willing to look after James while I went to his funeral. My baby was three days old then. I’d meant to phone your uncle, to ask for your current address, but as I was going to the funeral I decided to ask him in person.’

Her cheeks burned furiously, her eyes brilliant with rare temper. ‘I never got round to it. After the service one of your uncle’s outdoor staff told me—in passing, as it were—that you’d just got engaged to some American beauty who could trace her ancestors back to the Mayflower and beyond, and your uncle was over the moon about it!’

Unaware that tears of rage and remembered pain were falling in a torrent, she slapped the open palm of her hand against the side of her head. ‘So what was I supposed to do? You tell me! Announce that I’d just given birth to your bastard? That would have ruined your engagement, disappointed Marcus—even turned him against his blue-eyed boy!’ She was almost sobbing now, her breath catching, her lungs heaving. ‘So I held my tongue—for your sake. Not for mine. Not because I was devious or twisted enough to believe I was somehow punishing you.’

She gulped in a long, shuddering breath, oblivious to the sheer anguish in Carl’s eyes. ‘We managed, James and I. The job with Angela and Henry was a godsend. I must have been with them for around three years when I read an account of your marriage in Henry’s morning paper. A high society affair—and in the photograph you both looked so happy. I knew I’d been right to keep silent.’

He took a step towards her, but she backed away, her body quivering with tension. ‘I loved you, Carl, even then. I wanted you to be happy.’ Her voice broke. ‘Only that!’

‘Beth—’ His face was drained of colour and he looked bone-weary; only the dark glittering eyes spoke of emotions too raw to articulate. ‘I—’ Whatever he’d been about to say, he obviously thought better of it. His lips tightened into a long straight line and his voice was flat when he told her, ‘I’ve misjudged you badly. For the first time in my life I’ve let emotion override logic. You haven’t a mean bone in your body. I should have remembered that before dishing out accusations and orders. I take them all back. Unreservedly.’

‘Where are you going?’ Beth voiced the question even though she already knew the answer as she watched him walk to the door.

Her stomach lurched. Everything he’d said, his insistence that they marry for the sake of their son, had been ruled out of order by his final taut statement. She should have been feeling a rush of happy relief instead of being emotionally gutted.

‘Home.’ He took his coat from the hook on the back of the kitchen door. ‘I’ve inflicted too much on you for one evening.’

‘What about James?’ Her voice was high and wild. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Was she going mad? He was walking away from them, no doubt thinking he was doing the honourable thing in view of how he’d admitted he’d misjudged her. She’d been praying for just such a scenario ever since he’d guessed that James was his son. So why was she feeling so churned up and desperate because what she’d wished for with all her heart was coming true?

‘We’ll arrange for access through our solicitors.’ He sounded so controlled and sensible she wanted to strangle him. ‘There’ll be a generous financial settlement. You’ll never have to work again, unless you want to, and my demands regarding the time I spend with my son will be reasonable.’

He had the door open. The freezing wind gusted in. Beth watched him walk out, her mouth dry, a sick feeling in her stomach, saw him turn, heard him say, ‘I’ll leave it to you to judge when and how to tell him he has a father who loves him.’ And then she closed the door, nearly wrenching her arms from their sockets in the violent process, shutting him out before he could witness her tearful and utter disintegration.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE had been another heavy snowfall during the night. It bowed down the branches of the trees and glittered in the thin winter sunlight.

Beth winced at the noise coming from the parlour. James and Guy were enjoying Christmas morning with a vengeance and it was time to put the chicken in the oven, the pudding on to steam. She passed her fingers over her aching forehead. She hadn’t slept last night, but she’d dressed in a figure-hugging cream-coloured cropped sweater and a calf-length swirly scarlet skirt. A heavier hand with her make-up than normal, and her hair falling softly around her face, went some way towards hiding the havoc of lack of sleep.

For the boys’ sake she had to pretend she was loving every minute of the day. It wasn’t their fault she felt half-dead and more than half-crazy.

She had to be half-crazy to be feeling this way. After she’d met up with Carl again she’d spent all her time wishing he’d disappear, and had been scared witless when he’d insisted on marriage. Yet as soon as that demand had been taken back she’d felt as if half of her life had been sliced away with a very sharp knife.

But she still had James. James was all she had ever wanted.

Not true, she acknowledged as she slid the roasting tin into the oven. She had wanted Carl as well. As a lover, a best friend, her husband, the father of her child.

She still did.

She banged the over door shut, her face flushed. But she couldn’t have him. Didn’t she know that? She hated herself for thinking like a fool. He had always been out of her league; deep down she’d always known that. If she hadn’t she would have contacted him the moment she’d discovered she was pregnant.

Besides, she reminded herself with conscious cruelty, it was just as well he had withdrawn his threat to marry her. Quite rightly, the thought of it had terrified her. Living with the man she still loved—and a plague on her for being such a fool—having him treat her like an only-just-tolerated stranger, would have been torture. She was being a drama queen, pretending to herself that she had lost something wonderfully precious.

It was time to start getting her life back to the way it had been before he had walked in and unsettled it.

Listening to the noise level from the parlour, she wondered whether she could safely leave the boys playing with their new toys for another ten minutes while she prepared the vegetables. She decided to risk it.

As she took potatoes from the vegetable rack the phone rang. She picked the instrument up off the table, stamping firmly on the fluttery hope that it might be Carl. He didn’t have her mobile number; the caller couldn’t be him.

It wasn’t. It was Henry.

‘Angela had a little boy just over an hour ago—both of them are fine, but I’m exhausted! We shouldn’t have let the housekeeper go to her sister for the holiday; the house is an utter shambles and I spent the whole night making pots of tea for the midwives—’

The outside door opened and Carl walked in. Beth lost the thread of what her employer was saying. Carl’s hands were pushed into the pockets of his sheepskin, the upturned collar framing a face that was white with fatigue, the skin stretched tightly over the fabulous bone structure, the eyes deep-set, unsmiling.

Beth’s stomach performed a series of somersaults. She hadn’t expected him to show his face until everything had been arranged through his solicitor. She felt warm colour steal across her cheeks, her lips curve into an unstoppable smile. She knew she shouldn’t read anything into his unexpected arrival, but couldn’t help herself hoping…

Holding the phone against her upper chest, she asked softly, ‘Carl, would you fetch Guy, please? His father has news for him,’ and watched a brief smile touch his gorgeous mouth, a gleam of understanding flicker in his eyes, before he strode past her into the parlour, where the noise was reaching earsplitting levels.

A pulse was beating madly in her throat as she gave her fractured attention back to Henry, offering sincere congratulations and the information that Guy was having a great time and would talk to him in a moment.

The little boy scampered in, his face flushed with warmth from the fire and happy excitement. Beth gave him the phone, her heart lurching as Carl reentered the room. Jamie was holding his father’s hand.

‘I dropped by to wish these two merry Christmas,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not stopping.’

Stay! Beth’s eyes pleaded, and she could have hugged Jamie when he vocalised the word she hadn’t had the courage to force past her lips.

‘Stay! Please! I want you to.’ Huge eyes shining, the little boy tugged at his father’s hand. ‘You can play with my train set and have some Christmas dinner! And Guy’s got a new football and a Man United away strip. You could be goalie!’

Her mouth running dry, Beth met Carl’s eyes. What she read there made her bones go weak. He needed his son and Jamie needed a father. Mums were okay, as far as they went, for kissing sore places better, giving hugs and cuddles, making food. But mums knew zilch about football teams and hadn’t got a clue about rolling stock and signals. A boy needed his dad.

‘Stay.’ She added her own entreaty, making it easier for him by tilting her head towards Guy, who was now capering wildly around the room.

‘I got a brother!’ he was shouting, over and over, until she felt dizzy.

‘I really could do with some help.’

Some of the tension eased out of his hard, handsome face as he conceded, ‘So I see,’ and his smile was wide and magical as he captured Guy’s flying figure with one strong hand and suggested, ‘Why don’t we go and see how Bert’s weathered the snowstorm? If he’s okay we could make him a wife for company. A man gets lonely when he’s on his own.’

Was she meant to read something into that? Beth wondered hectically, her hand going to her breast, where her heart was pounding violently. She hardly registered Guy’s shriek of, ‘And make them a baby. A boy baby. If I’d had a soppy sister I’d have given her away!’

As the two boys raced to collect their coats and boots in a competitive jostle Carl said, ‘I’ll keep them out of your hair for a couple of hours. The fresh air and exercise might calm them down. What time would you like them back for lunch?’

She held his eyes. ‘We’ll eat at two. You included,’ she ordered firmly.

‘I didn’t intend—’

‘I know you didn’t.’ She cut through the stiff beginning of what she was sure would amount to a stiltedly polite refusal to accept her order. He was used to dishing them out, not taking them. As an inducement he couldn’t back away from, she added, ‘James would be really disappointed if you didn’t share Christmas lunch with us.’

She saw the way his broad chest expanded on a sudden intake of breath, heard the huskiness of his voice as he countered, ‘How about you? Would you be disappointed?’

Dragging in a breath just as deep and as ragged as his had been, she answered, ‘Very,’ and heard the lightening of his tone as he collected the boys and led them outside.

Everything was ready on the stroke of two: the table spread with Gran’s best cloth, scarlet crackers by each place-setting, the plump golden-brown chicken surrounded by crisp roast potatoes on a serving dish, vegetables and cranberry sauce, lighted candles and sprigs of holly, glasses of fruit juice for the boys.

And Beth’s stomach was being attacked by a plague of butterflies. While she’d been on her own she’d made up her mind to tell Carl how she felt. Exactly how she felt. She had nothing to lose but her pride—and pride didn’t count for a row of beans when love was at stake.

She’d managed to convince herself that he did feel something for her. Hadn’t he sincerely denied it when she’d accused him of loathing her? Admitted to having been glad to see her again—a warm ray of sunshine on a bitter winter’s day? And he’d said he’d been besotted with her all those years ago.

His insistence on marriage—a clinical, in-name-only relationship—had been dropped when he’d realised she had only kept quiet about James for his sake.

If she still felt the same after all these years then maybe he did, too. All she had to do was find out.

But she was tongue-tied, almost paralysed with the fear that she had got her wires crossed.

The boys were upstairs, washing before lunch, and Carl was opening the champagne Henry had given her to wet the new baby’s head. This was her opportunity to say something, let him know how she felt. But the words wouldn’t come.

The cork popped with a minor explosion and Carl turned to fill the two glasses she’d put ready. He handed her one and their fingers met.

His brilliant eyes shimmered over her flushed face and his voice was low, almost strangely hesitant, for a man who, she was sure, had never suffered a moment’s hesitancy in his charmed and privileged life. ‘Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me all those years ago?’

Emboldened by the intensity in his dark and beautiful eyes, she answered breathily, ‘I was in love with you. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t.’

She saw him wince as if he were in pain, and then there was no opportunity to hear what he might have replied because the boys came thundering down the stairs—and no one could have a meaningful and intimate conversation when crowded out by a pair of chattering, hungry, still over-excited seven-year-old boys.

But it was a happy crowd around the table; she had to admit that. Maybe the champagne helped—and the unspoken messages she was receiving from Carl’s eyes certainly did. If she was reading them correctly, she amended.

‘Why don’t you boys go through by the fire and rest up while Beth and I clear the dishes?’ Carl suggested after the last scrap of pudding had disappeared, the last cracker had been pulled and the last stale joke read out to gales of childish laughter.

‘You could each choose one of your new books to read.’ Beth put in her pennyworth, her heart beginning its now familiar skittering again. Did Carl want to continue that earlier interrupted conversation? She had her internal query confirmed when she started to pile up the dishes.

‘Leave it.’ He caught her hand and a jolt of wicked sensation burned its way right through her. He stood up, facing her, and she wanted to drift her fingers over the lines of his sexy mouth so badly it hurt. There was a moan in her throat and he must have heard it, because every line of his face softened and his voice was a caress that threatened to send her spiralling out of control.

‘Do you still love me, Beth? Tell me the truth. There have been far too many misunderstandings already.’ He took her other hand and her knees wobbled. She nodded, too choked up to speak. Was he going to laugh at her, or, far worse, tell her he was sorry for her?

His eyes darkened emotionally and then he pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his heavily beating heart for one long delirious moment before he cradled her face between his hands and kissed her.

The wild passion of his mouth as it plundered hers, the fevered touch of his hands on her body, her own abandoned responses to every move he made were just as she’d always remembered them—but better. Far, far better. A million wildfire sensations shot like molten fire through her blood and she could have cried aloud in frustrated need when he eventually held her away, his voice rough-edged as he told her, ‘We could have company at any moment, my darling.’

He brought his hands up from the curve of her hips, lightly grazing the narrow span of her waist and then up to brush against the pout of her breasts, making her cry out with the need that was a pulsating fire deep inside her. Silencing her protest with the soft brush of his lips, he murmured against her mouth, ‘I have always loved you. Always.’

It took her a little time to recover, to shake her head and remind him, ‘You married someone else, remember? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.’

Carl cupped her cheekbones, his voice rueful. ‘I’m telling the truth, Beth. It was something I hadn’t fully realised until I saw you again a few days ago. In all those wasted years apart you were often in my thoughts and always in my dreams. Listen, and believe me. When you didn’t respond to my letter—and, boy, did I watch the post every day for months on end—I decided that I obviously meant nothing to you, that what we’d shared had meant nothing. I had to stop myself becoming a total wreck, so I worked hard, played hard—and Terrina was there, literally throwing herself at me, vowing she was crazy about me.

‘One thing led to another, and that led to an engagement. I wasn’t in love with her—I firmly believe the real thing only happens once in a lifetime—but I was fond of her. Marcus, on the one visit he made to the States while I was studying there, thought she was eminently suitable wife material. And she was beautiful. But I didn’t love her. I couldn’t feel the passion I’d felt for you. I was still in love with you, but I refused to let myself even think about it.’

Beth slid her hands up to his shoulders. Of course she believed him. It had been the same for her. He’d never been far from her thoughts, never vacated that special, secret place in her heart.

‘You’ll marry me?’ His heart beat heavily against hers as she moved closer, her shining eyes alight with love. ‘A real, true and lasting marriage? Not merely for our son’s sake but for us?’

The parlour door creaked open and James announced, ‘Guy’s gone to sleep.’ He sounded disgusted.

Beth whispered, ‘Of course I will—just try to stop me!’ and turned to their son.

She took Carl by the hand as the three of them tiptoed back into the parlour, careful not to wake Guy, who was curled up on the sofa, exhausted by the excitement of the day.

The daylight was fading rapidly. Beth closed the curtains and the baubles on the tree glowed in the firelight. When she turned James was snuggled up on Carl’s knee and Carl was saying to him softly, ‘I didn’t expect to meet up with you, so I didn’t have a gift for you this morning. But come the New Year we’ll find something special, I promise.’

‘Excuse me for contradicting…’ Beth knelt with a swirl of scarlet skirts in front of the two dearly loved males in her life. ‘But Carl does have a gift for you, Jamie. Carl is your daddy. And very soon now we’re going to get married and spend the rest of our lives together.’

There was a heartbeat of silence while Jamie’s face went red with sheer happiness, then he wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, and when he emerged from the stranglehold he said, ‘That’s the very best present ever. In the whole wide world!’

Carl caught Beth’s hand and brought it to his mouth, and their eyes said to each other, It’s been a perfect day.

Return of the Light

By Maggie Shayne

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Prologue

The candles were the only light in the room. They glowed from every quarter, painting the faces of the men and women in a golden light. Incense smoke hung in the air; sandalwood and myrrh, mingling with the seasonal aromas of pine boughs, holly and ivy.

In the center, she stood with her arms upward and outward, head tipped back as the High Priest knelt before her, completing the fivefold kiss by pressing his lips briefly to her feet.

She opened her eyes and spoke to the gathered assembly, spoke the words of the Goddess according to Leland, who said they were given to him by an Italian Witch named Maddalena more than a hundred years ago; and to Gardner, who adapted them from Leland, adding his own touches; and to Valiente, who made them beautiful and must have been truly inspired; and according to Dori, Lady Starfire, who had made them her own.

“Hear my words and know me! I shall be called by myriad names. I am the Maiden of the Moon, I am Mother Earth. And I am the Crone, who holds the keys of life and rest. I am an unknowable mystery and yet known to every soul!”

She lowered her arms to her sides, moving her most penetrating gaze from one face to the next, meeting their eyes so they would feel touched by the Goddess.

“Hear my words and know me! Whenever the full moon rises, come to me. Gather in some secret place, such as this…”

Not much of a secret place, though. Not really. Her penthouse apartment in Manhattan. Still, it served the purpose.

“And adore the spirit of your Goddess, who is Queen of all Witches.”

Speaking the words of the Goddess felt a little phony tonight. Something was wrong; something was off. Dori wasn’t sure what. And yet she felt that spirit wasn’t speaking through her, hadn’t in quite some time now. The Charge had become rote, recited from memory. And while those standing in a circle around her seemed awestruck and mesmerized when she met their eyes with her own, she didn’t feel the magic.

“I shall teach you the mysteries of Nature, and the ways of Magick!”

Not much nature, here. Not in the apartment, aside from her plants and her cat.

“All that is hidden shall be revealed. Even the secluded soul shall be pierced by my light.”

She didn’t really teach anymore. The priestesses she had trained did that, ran their own covens, taught bright-eyed beginners, organized social functions and rituals and performed weddings and funerals. But in this particular branch of the Pagan community, she was queen. The ranking elder, the most honored Witch in town, and a coveted special guest at many a Pagan function. She was even respected and a bit famous in non-Pagan circles, having successfully worked with the police on several missing persons cases. The press loved that kind of crap. It was a damn good thing she saw no reason to be secretive about her beliefs. They wouldn’t have stayed secret long.

“I do not demand sacrifice, for I am the mother of all living!”

She moved around the circle now, speaking to each individual.

“Create and heal!” she told one. “Be strong yet gentle,” she said, touching the cheek of another. “Be noble yet reverent,” she instructed a third. “Bring forth and replenish.”

She returned to the center. “And just as the moon moves through her cycles, waxing and waning and beginning again, and just as seasons flow from birth in the spring to life in the summer, to aging in the fall and apparent death in the winter, so shall you—in both worlds.

“And you will say these words—I will love all, and harm none. For the free will of all, and with harm to none, as I will, it now is done. So mote it be!”

And with that, she moved to the seat of honor that had been placed in the North quarter of the circle and sat down to enjoy the rest of the Winter Solstice Ritual the priestesses had planned. She’d done her part, ensuring those gathered that the Goddess was indeed present to join in their rites. She sat and watched the elaborate procedure unfold. There were songs to celebrate the return of the light. There was a dance performed in its honor. The freestanding silver candelabras she had bought for ritual use really made it special, she thought. Each held seven candles—she’d spent a fortune on them, but it was well worth it. Some of the less-experienced priestesses still had to read their parts, and the light was extremely helpful.

The entire group began the circle dance, which usually generated such a rush of energy that Dori tingled from head to toe. Tonight it felt off.

Something was up this Winter Solstice. All week long, she’d been thinking that once again, she’d come through the darkest season without experiencing any real darkness at all. Her life was perfect. Tonight, though, she felt the sword of Damocles dangling overhead. Every nerve in her body was tensed as if expecting a blow.

She broke her train of thought long enough to wince when one enthusiastic dancer bumped into the altar. That was a Tiffany chalice, for Goddess’s sake!

Luckily it didn’t fall off, just wobbled dangerously.

The dancing grew faster and faster, until the High Priestess shouted, “Release!” Then all the dancers in the room went still, relaxing their bodies to let go of the energy they had raised, while the woman in the center lifted her hands to send the magic off to its goal. Its goal tonight was to bring back the light, to help it grow within every one of them and help them through their own dark times, whatever they might be.

The ritual was finished and the circle taken up as Dori rose again, lifting her arms in silence to bid farewell to the Goddess, then lowering them and crossing them over her chest, bowing her head.

As those gathered rushed into the next room, where snacks were piled high and wine was chilling, she quickly cleared her altar, lovingly wrapping each tool in silk cloth and tucking each back into the trunk in the corner. The Tiffany chalice. The crystal-tipped wand she’d had custom-made by an artisan in Greenwich Village. The statues of Pan and Diana, replicas of ancient artifacts. She’d bought them in the gift shop at the Met. The dagger, with its double-edged silver blade and onyx handle, slid neatly into its sheath. It was worth a small fortune. She was especially careful with the giant quartz crystal ball on its elaborate pewter stand. She rarely had time to use the thing, but it looked great on the altar.

She didn’t relax until every item was safely tucked in the trunk and she had turned the key.

“Thanks so much for letting us use your flat, Lady Starfire.” The voice was Sara’s—could be no one else’s, with that beautiful accent. She was new in town, but very highly regarded in the community. Had come straight from England with the equivalent of a Witch’s pedigree—a long and distinguished lineage.

When Dori turned to face her, it was to see her dropping into a curtsy, her head bent low.

“We’re not so formal, here, Sara. Ritual’s over. It’s okay to call me Dori. And I’ve never been all that comfortable with the genuflecting.” She glanced into the next room, where there had to be at least forty people eating, talking, laughing. Someone had put John Denver and the Muppets on the stereo—which was sure to start an earnest debate about playing Christmas music at a Solstice party among those not yet far enough along their path to realize they were all celebrating the same thing.

Dori almost cried when she thought of the potential crumbs and spills on her carpet.

“I simply couldn’t believe we had so many who wished to attend!” Sara went on. “Our open circles have only brought in eighteen to twenty people, up to now.”

“I know.”

“There just wasn’t room in the back room of my shop,” she went on. “And I couldn’t bear to turn anyone away.”

“I know,” Dori said again, fixing the beautiful blond Witch with a serious look. “It’s okay. Really, Sara.”

The other woman sighed in relief. A little too much relief. So Dori quickly added, “And next time, you’ll know in advance that you need a bigger place, so you’ll have time to make other arrangements.”

“Right.” She nodded hard. “Absolutely. And we’ll leave the place spotless, I swear.”

“The cleaning service will take care of that.”

Sara smiled. “Will you join us for the refreshments?”

Dori glanced into the dining room, at the smiling faces, young and old, dark and light, round and narrow. She didn’t want to join them. They tended to fawn and fuss and treat her like a celebrity and she wasn’t up to it tonight. Something was terribly wrong. But if she didn’t take part, they’d be disappointed, so she lifted her chin and walked into the dining room.

Several of those present bowed in her direction when she did. One quickly vacated a chair and another brought her a glass of wine.

Dori sighed, sipped her wine, smiled a little. Every High Priestess in this room had been taught by her. Every coven had sprung from the little one that had begun around her coffee table when she’d first come to Manhattan from tiny Crescent Cove, Vermont, ten years ago. She’d really done a good thing here, she thought. Her Witches were busy, politically active, constantly working to educate the public about the Craft and debunk the widespread misconceptions that caused so many Wiccans so many problems. They provided services for the Pagan community, raised money for the homeless, organized Pagan Pride events and voter-registration drives.

Yes. She’d done a good thing. And the Goddess had rewarded her. Her life was perfect. And she was sitting here in her penthouse apartment, petrified, waiting for the ax to fall.

In the morning, it did.

She showered and dressed for success in a burgundy Pierre Atonia suit—slender skirt, a little on the short side, tailored jacket that accentuated her narrow waist, matching designer pumps. She left a brief note for the cleaning service, asking them to spend extra time on the dining room carpet, and she took a taxi to work just as she always did.

But when she stepped out of the elevator into the reception area of Mason-Walcott Publishing, a grim-faced man was waiting for her.

“Ms. Stewart?” he asked. He didn’t smile.

He was tall and dressed all in black. His face was pale and bony, his eyes deep set. He could have been the pop-culture version of the Grim Reaper, she thought. And a shiver went up her spine. Everything in her told her this was it, the thing she’d been feeling in the air.

“Yes?”

“I’m Martin Black, VP in charge of personnel.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Of Mason-Walcott?”

“Of Beckenridge.”

Beckenridge. One of the largest publishers in the biz—and notoriously right-wing conservative.

“And you’re here because…?”

“Because Beckenridge just took over Mason-Walcott.”

She looked past him to see if co-workers were lurking, ready to laugh at her falling for such a lame joke. But her stomach had clenched into a knot that told her this was for real.

“I’m afraid we’re…not going to be needing you.”

She blinked twice, and for the first time she noticed the big cardboard box on the counter that separated the receptionist’s desk from the rest of the area. It held her belongings.

She shifted her gaze back to Mr. Black’s. “You’re firing me?”

“Technically, we’re laying you off. We took the liberty of clearing out your office. Everything’s right here.”

She nearly gaped. “May I ask the reason?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. I’m not even convinced it’s legal!”

“Oh, it’s legal. The position of editorial executive director is being eliminated, to be sure it’s legal.”

“But that’s not the real reason, is it?”

He shrugged. “Would you really want to stay, Ms. Stewart? Our titles fly in the face of everything you so openly believe in and practice.” He handed her an envelope. “A month’s severance. It’s more than generous. Good luck, Ms. Stewart.”

He scooped her box of belongings off the counter and shoved it into her chest, leaving her no choice but to take it or let it fall to the floor. Then he clasped her elbow, turning her toward the elevator, and reached past her to push the button.

“You can’t do this,” she said. Useless, but all she could come up with.

“I just did.” The doors opened. He nudged her inside and stood there until they closed again. “Goodbye, Ms. Stewart. Have a nice life.”

Chapter One

A few days before Winter Solstice, one year later…

“Hey, Dori, hon, you gonna get over here and fill this coffee cup, or do I have to climb over the counter and get it myself?”

“Keep your pants on, Bill.” Dori set down the tray full of dirty plates, grabbed the coffeepot and hurried to fill the man’s cup. Mort’s Diner, in Crescent Cove, Vermont, was decorated to the max for the holiday season: wreath on the door, fake green garland looped everywhere, cinnamon-and candy-cane-scented candles burned and holiday music played constantly.

Jason was there, sitting in a corner booth, enjoying a sandwich and a cup of cocoa. Watching her. He was there a lot, more often than seemed reasonable. Then again, she didn’t suppose there was much work for the police chief of a small, quiet town like this. Hell, maybe it was vain of her to think he came around just to watch her waiting tables. It had been more than a decade, after all, since he’d held her. Since he’d kissed her.

There was nothing between them anymore.

Dori sighed in relief when she heard the jingle bells over the door and saw Sally walk in. After setting the coffeepot back on the burner, she reached behind her to tug her apron loose as Sally came behind the counter.

“You’re an hour late. Again,” Dori said.

“I’m sorry, Doreen. Little Amy had a doctor’s appointment and I only just got her back home.” She pulled her apron around her and tied it in place.

There was always a reason. Always. And it usually had to do with the woman’s small army of children. “Whatever. I’m out of here.” Dori tossed the apron down, snatched her coat off the rack and went into the back room to collect her sorry excuse for a paycheck from the owner.

But she paused near the door as she heard Bill say, “Damn. You’d think she’d have come down off that high horse by now, wouldn’t you?”

Dori stood still, listening.

“It was a hard fall,” Sally said. “Going from a penthouse in Manhattan to her uncle’s log cabin on the lakeshore. From a high-powered job to slinging hash for lousy tippers like you. Hell, she probably used to earn more in a month than she’s made here in…how long has it been now since Dori came running back here with her tail between her legs?”

Bill didn’t answer. The grown-up version of the boy who’d been her summer fling as a teenager—for several consecutive summers—answered, instead. “Eleven months, three weeks and two days.”

“Think she’s gonna stay for good this time?” Bill asked.

“Wish to hell I knew,” Jason said. And there was something in his voice—something kind of pained.

Dori moved to the swinging door, peered through its porthole-shaped glass. He was still at his table in the corner, staring at the sheet of pink notebook paper he held in one hand. It was old, had been folded so long the creases were darker colored. It looked worn thin. As she stared at it, wondering, he lifted his gaze, and Dori backed away from the door.

“She belongs here,” Sally was saying. “Don’t you worry, Jason. She’s gonna realize that by-and-by.”

Now, why was she saying that? As if Jason had any stake in what Dori decided to do with her life. She’d broken things off with Jason ten years ago—in a Dear John letter….

Written on pink notebook paper.

Something knotted in her belly. She told herself she was being ridiculous, snatched her paycheck from the slotted mail holder on the wall and decided to go out the back door rather than walking through the front of the diner again.

Tugging the hood of her parka up over her head, she trudged through the snow to her car and rolled her eyes when she realized she would have to spend a few minutes brushing snow off it before she could go anywhere.

She missed her Mercedes—the remote starter, the heated leather seats, the warm, snow-free garage where she used to keep it parked. But she pulled her mittens from her pockets and thrust her hands into them. She opened the door to start the engine, grabbed the snow brush and slammed the door hard enough to knock some of the snow off. Then she began brushing. A thin layer of ice lay beneath the two inches of snow, and that required scraping. She hated scraping ice.

An old woman walked past the parking lot, waved at her and called, “Cold enough for you?”

“Plenty,” Dori replied.

“Ah, but cold means clear. It’s done snowing. The stars are going to be beautiful tonight,” the old woman said. And she continued on her way.

Fifteen minutes later, Dori had made a hole on the windshield just big enough to see where she was going, and she was heading out of Crescent Cove proper and toward Uncle Gerald’s cabin on the shore of Lake Champlain.

The lake was moody today, dark and choppy except in the spots where it was beginning to freeze over. She drove into the curving driveway, past the big wooden sign with the image of a green sea serpent and the words Champ Tours: $20.00. She made a mental note to take the sign down. She’d dry-docked the boat and closed up the souvenir shop two months ago. No point leaving the sign up all winter.

Champ—Lake Champlain’s answer to the Loch Ness Monster—had been her uncle’s bread and butter for as long as she could remember. She used to come out here every summer as a teen and work for him as a tour guide, retelling the Champ legends until she knew them all by heart, taking people around the lake until she knew it by heart, as well. And spending every free moment with local boy-next-door Jason Farrar.

He’d been her first lover. It had been innocent and clumsy and wonderful. She would never forget that night. But at the end of her last summer here, she’d left him with nothing except that stupid note, telling him she would never be back, and to look her up in Manhattan if he wanted to. He never had.

She’d meant what she’d written in the note. She had never intended to come back here. She wouldn’t have believed in a million years that she would be forced to revive the old business long after her uncle had retired to Boca Raton. But she’d had no choice. Goddess knew she couldn’t survive on the pittance they paid her waiting tables at the diner.

Yeah, Goddess knew all right. She just didn’t particularly care.

Sighing, Dori shut the car off and got out, hoping she wouldn’t have to scrape the car off again in the morning.

She unlocked the front door and went inside, flipped on the lights, heeled off her boots, shrugged off her coat, tugged off her mittens. She went to the wall to turn up the thermostat, then padded into the living room and sank onto the sofa.

On the opposite wall was a tiny plaque. It depicted a Goddess in silver silhouette against a deep blue background, standing in the curve of an upturned crescent moon. Her arms were raised the way Dori’s used to be in the midst of a circle when she was drawing down the moon. The plaque was the one ritual item she hadn’t been forced to sell.

But she had found that out here in Crescent Cove, there was little use for her elaborate, expensive ritual tools. She was probably the only Wiccan within a hundred miles. She practiced alone.

That wasn’t quite true. She didn’t really practice at all, unless you counted all the spells she’d cast, all the magic she’d done to get her old life back. Nothing had worked. Nothing. And for about the millionth time she found herself wondering if any of it had ever been real.

She looked up at the Goddess on the wall opposite her and wondered why she kept the plaque hanging there. Did she even believe anymore?

JASON WALKED around the cabin toward the front door, but he stopped when he caught a glimpse through the side window of the woman he’d loved for as long as he could remember. She was standing, staring up at something on the wall. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

He couldn’t take his eyes away. Why was she crying?

Hell, he hadn’t been able to make much sense of Dori Stewart since she’d dumped him and headed off to the big city to make her fortune. She’d barely spoken two words to him since she’d been back. And he wasn’t altogether sure that was a bad thing.

He still wanted her. Just as badly as he always had. But he wasn’t ready to risk his heart again. She’d damn near crippled him when she’d walked away. He’d been seeing wedding bells, a house and kids in their future, and she’d apparently thought of him as little more than a summer sidekick. He wasn’t going to let himself go through that again. So he’d stayed away from her, waiting to see what she planned to do, just about as long as he could stand to. For nearly a whole year he’d limited himself to a few words of greeting when they met in the diner, told himself to keep his distance for his own sanity, even while torturing himself by sitting in a booth every day, watching her.

He had asked her out once when she’d first come back to town. She’d shot him down cold. It was then he’d decided he owed it to himself to get over her. But getting over Dori Stewart was easier decided than done.

As he watched, she lowered her head, swiped an impatient hand at her tears and turned to walk out of his line of vision.

Jason went the rest of the way to the door, knocked twice, then stood there waiting.

It only took her a second to come to the door. She asked who it was, and when he told her, he heard locks turning.

Hell, she’d been living in the city too damn long.

She opened the door and stood there, looking out at him. “What is it?”

Friendly, she wasn’t. Then again, he’d already ascertained that she wasn’t in the best of moods. He offered a friendly smile. “I’d prefer to tell you from in there where it’s warm. Save you letting all the heat out.”

She met his eyes, but opened the door wider to let him in. He stomped the snow off his boots and came inside, and she closed the door behind him.

He liked the way she looked. He hadn’t when she’d first come back. Her copper hair had been too tamed, too trimmed, too styled. Her skin had been as pale as porcelain and she’d been skinny as a rail.

A summer on the lake had improved things a whole lot. Put some color in her cheeks. She’d let her hair grow out just as it pleased, and she might have put on a few pounds, too. She was starting to look as though she belonged out here—even if she wasn’t acting that way just yet.

“So what can I do for you, Chief Farrar?” she asked.

“Kind of formal, don’t you think? Given our history?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”

“So long you can’t even call me Jason anymore?”

She met his eyes, and he saw something flicker. Regret, maybe. Interest, perhaps, he hoped. Her tone softened, as did her face. He thought a little of the stiffness left her body.

“What can I do for you, Jason?”

“A cup of coffee would do for starters. If it’s fresh.”

“I stopped serving people at five, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”

“I’ll take it.” He tugged off his boots and then sock-footed his way across the kitchen, draping his coat over the back of a chair on the way. Then he took two mugs from the little wooden tree and filled them. He set them on the table, grabbed the cream from the fridge and sat down.

She sat down, as well. He poured cream into his cup, then passed it to her.

“Nope. I drink it black.”

“You didn’t used to.”

She frowned.

“Two sugars and a good long stream of half-and-half. But only if no real cream was at hand. I remember.”

She studied him for a long moment, her green eyes wide and searching. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember everything, Dori.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

It seemed to take her a moment to stop staring at him and find something to say again. He took that as a positive sign and told himself that was because he was a pathetic sap.

“What are you doing here, Jason?”

“It’s an official visit. You didn’t think I was here to ask you out again, did you?”

She shrugged. “It crossed my mind.”

“I’m not into masochism, Dori. You made it clear the first time that you didn’t have any interest in starting anything up with me.”

“With anyone,” she corrected.

“Right. Because you would only be here long enough to decide which big-city offer to accept, and then you’d be out of here so fast we’d see nothing but a copper-red streak.”

“Is that what I said?” She averted her eyes and drank her coffee instead of looking at him. He’d hit a nerve, he thought.

“That’s what you said. ’Course, that was damn close to a year ago.”

She sighed. “I get where you’re going with this. I’m still here, right? So did you come to rub it in? Gloat a little that the snotty city snob got knocked down a peg?”

He swore softly, and that drew her eyes back to his again. He said, “Hey, it’s me. Jason. Do you remember anything at all about me?”

She frowned for a moment, then nodded twice. “You’re right. You’d never gloat over my failed life. You’re not that kind. Never were.”

“Well, thank goodness you remember at least that much. I’ll tell you, Dori, city living made you cynical. Gave you a hard edge you didn’t used to have.”

“That’s probably true.”

He hadn’t come here to insult her, but he thought he just had. “I was only asking about your still being here because it makes me wonder if maybe your plans have changed.” He hoped to God she would say they had, but the misery in her eyes told him different even before she did.

Dori lowered her head. “My plans haven’t changed. But what I plan to do and what I can do are turning out to be further apart than I imagined.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. “So you still plan to take some big-time job and hightail it back to the city at the first opportunity?”

“I sent out a dozen more résumés last week.”

He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t belong out here, Dori? Hell, nobody tells those Champ stories the way you do.”

She tilted her head to one side, averted her eyes. “You said you were here on official business?”

Jason sighed. If she was determined to freeze him out, there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Yeah. Wanted to ask if you could help me out on a case.”

She looked up at him fast. “Jesus, how do you know about that? No one out here knows about that!”

He was taken by surprise. “About what?”

“Look, Jason, I don’t do that kind of work anymore, okay?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but suddenly he wanted to. So he narrowed his eyes and watched her as carefully as he would watch an ex-con in town for the weekend, and he took a shot in the dark. “Why not? You did it in New York, didn’t you?”

She lowered her head. “It’s different in New York,” she said. “A psychic or even a Witch helping the police find a missing person is so common there it doesn’t even make the news every time anymore. Out here it would be the biggest headline to hit town in a decade.”

He blinked three times. A Witch. She did say Witch, didn’t she?

“You, uh, helped the police find some missing people.”

“Helped. Past tense. Like I said, I don’t do it anymore.”

“And you used…uh…Witchcraft to do it?”

She shrugged. “I used whatever I could. The cards, the runes. My instincts.”

“You’re…psychic?”

“Everyone’s psychic.” She sipped her coffee. “Some people learn how to hone it, how to use it. I’m one of them.”

“So you were successful?”

She nodded, but she was looking at him oddly now. “You didn’t know any of this, did you?”

“I didn’t have a clue. So you went off to the big city and came back a Witch, huh?”

She closed her eyes, irritated it seemed. “If you weren’t aware of my history, then why were you asking for my help with a case?”

“I just need an extra pair of eyes. Some kids have been borrowing boats and taking them out on the lake to party. It’s not safe—especially this time of year. I was hoping you’d keep a lookout and give me a call if you see anything suspicious.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh.”

“So tell me more about this…Witch thing.”

She drew a deep breath, then shook her head. “No.”

“No? Come on, Dori, you can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

“Yes, I can. It’s not something I want to become public knowledge. Not out here—people wouldn’t understand.”

“What, you think I’m completely ignorant? I know what Wicca is. That is what we’re talking about here, right?”

She nodded slowly.

“And as for not letting it get around, you know me better than that, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“You did once. You knew me well enough to make love to me, Dori. Or did you forget that, too?”

“Jason…”

“Knew me well enough to let me believe we had something special, then left me in the dust, wondering what truck had just run me down.”

She lowered her eyes.

“You trusted me then, didn’t you, Dori?”

“People change.”

“You sure as hell proved that.” He sighed. “But I’m the same guy I was back then. A little older. A little wiser, maybe. But you can still trust me.”

She sighed. “I haven’t changed as much as you think I have,” she said softly. “I couldn’t be who I was. Not here. Not in this town.”

“It wasn’t the town holding you back, Dori. That was all you.”

She sighed. “Maybe. Maybe I was just afraid.”

“Maybe you still are.”

She was quiet a moment, seeming to think things over. “I was thinking about reserving a table at the Holiday Craft Fair. Doing tarot readings for people.”

He lifted his brows. “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be, though.”

He shrugged. “As a rule, the word psychic doesn’t stir up the same feelings as the word Witch.”

“I could really use the extra money.”

“So do it. Give folks a little credit, Dori. Just ’cause this isn’t a major metropolitan city doesn’t mean we’re all ignorant here. This is Vermont, for goodness’ sake. Most open-minded state in the union.”

She lifted her head. He saw a light in her eyes for the first time. Maybe she was a little excited about the idea of cracking the door of that broom closet where she’d been hiding, letting a bit of light shine in. He hoped so.

“Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those kids. Okay? They haven’t done any harm so far, but that lake is no place for a bunch of rowdy teenagers.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

He finished his coffee, got up from the table. “It was good talking to you again,” he said. “It’s been way too long.”

“We’ve talked. At the diner.”

He set his cup in the sink and went to the door, stomped into his boots. “I barely get a word in at the diner. They keep you too busy. Or maybe it’s that you’ve been actively avoiding me.”

She brought his coat from the back of his chair and handed it to him. “I guess I’ve been feeling guilty. About the way we left things.”

“The way you left things,” he corrected. “The way you left, period.”

She pursed her lips, lowered her head. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Jason. It’s long overdue, but—”

“But you’re not sorry you left?”

“I had to leave. For me.”

He nodded, looking a little sad. “I hope you found whatever it was you needed. I hope it was worth what you gave up to get it. ’Night, Dori.”

Chapter Two

Jason didn’t ask her out again, even though she’d been convinced it had been on his mind when he’d first come over. He would probably never ask her out again, now that he knew the truth about her. He just gave her the wisdom of his sound advice and left her with an unanswerable question niggling and gnawing at her brain.

Had she found whatever it was she had needed in New York? And had it been worth what she had given up?

She hadn’t thought she’d given up anything, beyond a summer fling with a great guy and a part-time job with her beloved uncle. But now she wondered. Could it have been more? What was Jason thinking about their relationship back then? That it could be something…more? How could she weigh what she had given up when he’d never told her what that might be?

She knew what she had found in leaving. She’d found the freedom to practice her religion. A handful of other women to practice it with. A succession of willing teachers, each a master of some occult discipline; the cards, the runes, healing, meditation. She’d studied and learned and taught. Become a master in her own right. A leader of the community. A true High Priestess of the Craft.

And while she was at it, she’d worked her way up through the ranks at Mason-Walcott Publishing. First as an editorial assistant, then an associate editor, full editor, senior editor and, finally, as editorial executive director, with a clear path ahead to publisher. She’d been out and open about who she was at work, at home. Everywhere she went. She’d become the most in-your-face Wiccan she knew, with a Spiral Goddess on her desk and a huge pentacle hanging from a chain around her neck—to match the smaller ones on her ears, to match the middle-sized ones on her fingers.

Until Beckenridge bought the company. Beckenridge—publisher of inspirational novels and Christian self-help books and right-wing political commentaries. They didn’t need an openly Pagan left-wing liberal giving them editorial input. Even she couldn’t argue with that. It would make as much sense as hiring a vegetarian to edit books about butchering cattle and packaging the meat. It was ludicrous. She understood the new owner’s decision, in hindsight.

What she didn’t understand was why it had to happen. It was as if the Goddess were playing some great cosmic joke on her. And now all that she’d learned and done and become seemed to mean nothing at all.

Nothing. She was back where she’d begun.

Sighing, she turned from the window, headed back into the living room and flipped on the television.

“And the stars are going to be beautiful tonight!”

Dori stopped in her tracks, the remote in her hand, as she stared at the TV screen. The weather girl kept on talking, pointing to a map, discussing warmer-than-average temperatures that might be good right now, though they could be ushering in some serious weather later on. But those first words….

She flashed back to the old woman who’d passed the parking lot when Dori had been leaving the diner tonight. She’d said the same exact words.

Drawing a breath, heaving a sigh, Dori glanced up at the Star Goddess hanging on the wall. Then she went to the window and looked outside.

The stars were appearing in the sky already. How long had it been since she’d spent any time outdoors, in nature, or with her own spirituality? How long?

She’d given up. Why bother? It hadn’t done her a bit of good. She’d lost everything. Every penny. She’d had to let the apartment go, liquidate her investments at a crushing loss just to pay her bills. She’d lost her job. No one else would hire her for reasons that defied explanation. And within a few weeks it had become clear the beautiful British Witch, Sara, was after her position in the Pagan community. Before long she’d taken it, and all those women Dori had guided and trained and mentored turned to the newcomer, instead. And Dori refused to believe any of that had been due to her own withdrawal from them. She had lost everything.

And here she was, in the middle of nowhere with nothing and no one.

Maybe it was time—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing. She was still musing as she answered it.

“Ms. Doreen Stewart?”

“Yes?”

“Jen Stevenson, Turner Books. This is a courtesy call to let you know that the position you applied for last week has been filled. Your résumé looked very good, but in the end…”

The woman droned on, her message the same one Dori had already heard from ten other companies this week. They hadn’t all given her the courtesy of a phone call. She’d been the one to make the call a few times. Others had sent letters. But the dozen résumés she’d just bragged to Jason about having submitted last week had generated eleven rejections. And she had no reason to believe the next would be any different.

She’d been a high-powered executive with a six-figure income, had had wealthy lovers if and when she wanted them, a Mercedes and a bright future.

Now she slept alone, waited tables and depended on tips from strangers in order to survive.

She had been a revered holy woman within her spiritual community. Now she didn’t even wear her pentacle in public.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she asked the Star Goddess. And then she felt her heart darken. Why was she talking to a hunk of plaster and paint, anyway? What was the point? It wasn’t real.

Nothing was real.

She yanked the plaque off the wall, carried it into the kitchen and dropped it into the garbage can. “I’m done with you. Do you hear? I’m finished. I’m not your priestess anymore.”

THE WOMAN AT THE DESK leaned over Dori’s application form, her eyes zipping along the lines from behind black horn-rims that looked great on her. Dark hair, short and fluffy. Black eyeliner and violet eyes. Pretty woman.

There were other desks in the little room at the town hall. Christmas songs jingled merrily from a radio on one of them, and white holiday lights, twined with silver garland, dipped and draped from the windows.

The woman looked up, smiling. “You’re Gerald’s niece, aren’t you? The one who used to come out summers and help him run the Champ tours?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Well, that makes more sense, then.” She slid the application back across the table. “This isn’t gonna do, hon.”

“I’m sorry?” Dori wasn’t sure she’d heard the woman correctly.

“Well, see this is a holiday craft fair. The tables we rent are for folks who want to sell arts and crafts. You know, quilts and afghans, homemade candles and centerpieces, floral arrangements, jewelry.”

“I know what crafts are.” Dori pushed her application back across the desk. “Reading tarot cards is a craft.”

“That’s all well and good, but it’s not what this craft fair is about, Ms. Stewart. This isn’t some New Age freak show.”

“Well, then we’re in luck, because I’m not some New Age freak. And there is nothing in the list of rules and conditions you have posted that precludes me telling fortunes at my table, so long as I pay the fee and am a resident of the town. I’m paying the fee and I’m a resident of the town. So you can’t deny me a table.”

The woman picked up the application form this time and handed it to Dori. “This is not in keeping with the holiday spirit on which our event is based.”

“Seeing the future on the night of the Solstice is one of the oldest holiday traditions around.”

“According to whom?”

“Dickens, for one.”

“Dickens who?”

“Charles Dickens, you illiterate twit.”

“I…I…” The woman rose from her chair, her face reddening.

“It might interest you to know the police chief thought it was a great idea that I buy a table at this stupid little show.” Yeah, the police chief she’d been thinking about all night. Having him in her kitchen had been like throwing a switch—powering up feelings she’d buried long ago. She’d dreamed about him!

Clearing her throat, she continued with her rant. “But if you insist on discrimination, I’ll be happy to organize the noisiest, most un-Christmas-spirited protest march outside this event that you could ever hope to see!”

They stood facing each other over the desk. The entire room went silent as everyone stopped to stare.

Then a heavyset man came trundling over to the two of them, his cheeks as red as Saint Nick’s. “Now, now, ladies, what seems to be the problem here?”

“This woman refuses to process my application for a table at the Holiday Craft Fair,” Dori accused.

The man’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to the woman. “Mrs. Redmond, is this true?”

“She wants to set up a Gypsy fortune-telling booth, Thomas.”

“A tarot-reading booth,” Dori corrected.

“It’s ungodly. Un-Christian. We can’t have it.”

“Oh, now, Mrs. Redmond, it’s not up to us to decide what’s godly or ungodly. This isn’t a church-sponsored event. It’s for the whole town.”

“But…but—”

“Now, Miss uh…oh, say, you’re Gerald Stewart’s niece, back from New York City, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m Doreen.”

“Ah. Well, that explains a lot.” He reached to take the application from the black-haired demoness with one hand and patted Dori’s shoulder with the other. “I’m Thomas Kemp, town supervisor. Now I want you to rest assured that I’m going to handle your application personally, Ms. Stewart.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Did you leave your check?”

“She wouldn’t take it.” Dori pulled the folded check from her pocket. Seventy-five hard-earned dollars. But she would make several times that much if her table was busy.

“I’ll call as soon as everything has been processed, Ms. Stewart,” Thomas Kemp, town supervisor, said, taking the check from her hand. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You have a nice day now.”

Dori took only a moment to send the demon spawn a smug look of triumph before heading out the door. She felt good when she hit the streets. She hadn’t had a spirited battle like that since trying to get a parade permit for Pagan Pride Day in Manhattan the first year they’d held it. Damn, she missed being in the thick of things.

She reminded herself that that part of her life was over. She wasn’t backtracking; she wasn’t “priestessing.” She was just going to tell fortunes to make a few extra bucks.

She sucked in the crisp, fresh air as she strolled along the sidewalks. It was snowy in Crescent Cove. Snowy enough to make it as beautiful as a Currier and Ives Christmas card. It wasn’t too cold, either. Cool enough so her breath made little steam puffs, but not quite enough to numb her fingers or burn her nose. She actually enjoyed her walk down the block and across the street to the diner to begin her day’s work.

When Jason came in around noon, wearing his black leather cop jacket, he sat at the counter, not at his usual table. She tried not to assume it was because he wanted to be closer to her, that maybe he’d changed his mind and was finally going to ask her out again.

She was still attracted to him. She’d been nursing a bad crush ever since turning him down the first time he’d asked, and she was beginning to detect those old feelings stirring to life deep down. He’d always been so good-looking, so attentive, and goodness knows, she hadn’t found a better lover since. Even though it had been his first time, too.

It had been in the summer, in a secluded cove near the shore, the moon riding high. He’d brought a blanket, a bottle of wine and a condom. Everything needed for teenage romance. And it had been incredible.

She smiled at him for a change, unable to banish the memory from her mind, and brought him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “On your lunch break?” she asked.

“You guessed it.” He moved his gaze over her face in a way that made it clear he liked what he saw. He’d always been able to flatter without a word. But he hadn’t looked at her like that in a long time. Why now? she wondered. Or was it all in her mind? Her inner thoughts manifesting in an overactive imagination?

“What’ll you have?”

“Ham and cheese on potato bread. Side of fries.” His voice stroked her nerve endings. She’d been better off when he’d basically ignored her existence.

“Mayo on the sandwich?”

“Let’s go with the honey mustard today. And no cheese.”

“Don’t tell me you’re dieting.”

“Real men don’t diet. This is strictly preventative.”

She smiled and turned to shout the order through the window into the kitchen.

When she turned back, he said, “You sure seem cheerful today, Dori.”

“Do I? Well, I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“Yeah? Why?”

She smiled and thought about last night’s extremely pleasant dream. But she wasn’t going to confess that. “I took your advice. Applied for a table at the craft fair.”

He didn’t smile back. He frowned, instead. “When did you do that?”

“This morning. Oh, it wasn’t at all pleasant at first. Some little twit of a female—a Mrs. Redmond—tried to say I couldn’t have a table, but then this Thomas something or other—”

“Kemp?”

“Yeah. He stepped in and said he’d handle it personally.”

“I…see.”

“What?” The bell rang behind her and she moved to pick up his sandwich, then brought it back to him.

“Uh, I’m going to move to a booth. Do you have a break coming up?”

“No.”

“You do now. Join me.”

“But—”

“Mort, cover the front,” he called. “I need your waitress for five minutes. It’s official.”

Mort emerged from the kitchen, grouchy as always. She was old, tough and mean, dressed in a purple warm-up suit, with her silver hair in a long braid down her back.

“Five minutes,” she snapped. “And it’s coming out of your lunch hour, Dori.”

Dori sent Jason a scowl that faltered as soon as he clutched her hand in his and drew her around the counter. He hadn’t touched her in ten years, and the impact of it now was damn near stunning. That warm hand, so strong, closed around hers, holding it…she remembered it cupping her cheek, cradling her head while his mouth made love to hers.

What was wrong with her?

She was lonely, she realized. She’d been painfully lonely since coming back here—no, no, that wasn’t quite right. She’d been lonely in New York, too.

She let him lead her across the diner, then slid into a booth across from him. He released her hand and she managed not to weep for the loss. “What?” she asked.

“Kemp. I had a visit from him this morning, and I was afraid it had something to do with you. Now I’m convinced of it.”

She lifted her brows. “Go on.”

“I know I told you we’re not all ignorant in this town—and that’s still true. We’re not all ignorant. But that doesn’t mean we’re all enlightened, either. There are still a few narrow-minded idiots around, and I’m afraid Kemp is one of them.”

“Jason, what on earth are you talking about?”

He sighed. “Kemp was poring over town statutes this morning. Old ones. Turns out there’s still a law on the books making ‘fortune telling’ illegal.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He pursed his lips, shook his head slowly. “Nope, it’s there. He showed it to me, asked me if it was enforceable.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Is it?”

“It’s easily worked around, Dori. You’re going to have to post a disclaimer in plain view on your table, stating that the readings are for entertainment only. A game, not a real prediction. You do that and his hands are tied.”

She blinked twice. “So I’m supposed to put up a sign saying I’m a fraud.”

He shrugged. “Only if you’re charging for the readings. You could do them free….”

“That would defeat the whole purpose. I need to pad my income a little.” She pursed her lips and sighed. “So I put up a sign that says I’m a fake. Well, what the hell, at this point I’m not sure it would be all that inaccurate, anyway.” She pressed her palms to the table and stood up.

Jason stopped her, covering her hands with his. They were firm and strong and they sent all those old feelings spiraling up her arms and into the center of her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

She looked down at his hands on hers. He didn’t move them. Experimentally, she turned hers over, palms up against his palms now. His eyes shot to hers, but he didn’t take his hands away. The intimacy of his palms on hers almost brought tears to her eyes. “I don’t know anymore,” she told him.

“Sit back down, Dori,” he said. His voice was rough, as if he needed to clear his throat.

“I have to work—”

“Not for another two minutes. Sit.” He closed his hands on hers, squeezed.

Sighing, she sat down, because when he squeezed her hands her knees went weak.

Still holding her hands, he said, “After we talked last night, I did a little…snooping.”

She lifted her head and her eyes as one. “Into what?”

“Into you. Into what you’ve been up to these past ten years in the big city.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she tugged her hands from his, feeling as stunned as if he’d slapped her. “You investigated my past? Jason, why would you do something like that?”

Chapter Three

“Oh, come on, Dori, I was curious. You spring this Witch thing on me, tell me you’ve helped the police find missing people—I’ve never believed in any of that stuff. I had to know more.”

“Why? It’s not your business.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I want to make it my business.”

“You can’t—”

“I contacted a friend of mine. He did some checking, faxed me some information. Turns out you’ve located seven missing people. Seven.”

She shrugged. “So what?”

“I read the files. Figured it could be explained away. Coincidence. Lucky guesses. Inside info. But none of it fit. Then I spoke to Detective Hennessy.”

Dori blinked at the familiar name. She’d worked with Mike Hennessy on every one of those cases. He’d never ridiculed her, had always taken her seriously.

“He convinced me—this thing you have, it’s for real.”

She moistened her lips, lifted her eyes to his. “Again I ask, so what?”

“So I’d like to know why you’re suddenly questioning it. You just said labeling yourself a fraud wouldn’t be inaccurate. So what happened?”

“What happened?” She lifted her hands, palms up. “Look around, Jason. Look at my life. I’ve lost everything.” She lowered her head, shaking it slowly, feeling bereft, empty. “I don’t know how many times I’ve thrown the cards, asking why this happened, what’s the purpose. But I get nothing. No answers. I didn’t see any of this coming, and I can’t see when it’s going to end. Or if it’s going to end. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, much less what I’m supposed to be doing about it.”

“Maybe you’re supposed to be doing…this.”

“What? Waiting tables? Taking people on Champ tours?”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “You just don’t understand.”

“Sure I do, Dori. I think you’re the one who’s confused here. It’s all about the journey, isn’t it?”

She blinked and lifted her head.

“That’s what you said in that letter you left me. ‘It’s all about the journey, and my journey is leading me somewhere else.’”

“I did not say anything like that,” she told him. Not because it was true—she didn’t remember what she’d written in that letter to Jason. But because it sounded far too wise for the girl she’d been when she’d set out to seek her fortune.

“You said something exactly like that.” Jason yanked something from his pocket as he spoke. And then Dori felt the breath leave her lungs in a rush, because he was unfolding the old piece of pink paper, smoothing it flat on the table, pointing at the lines she had written. “It’s right here.”

She didn’t say anything, and after a heartbeat of silence, he looked up at her slowly. She was staring at the letter, her eyes filling. “You kept it,” she whispered.

He shrugged and lowered his head, quickly refolding the letter and tucking it back into his jacket pocket.

“All this time, you…you’ve been carrying that letter around with you like some kind of…”

“Memory,” he said softly. “It’s just a memory. That’s all.”

She met his eyes, not sure what to say.

“Maybe that part of your journey is done, Dori. You lived in a big city, you experienced big money, big success, learned whatever it was you were supposed to learn from all that. Maybe this is a new phase for you. A new journey. Maybe you’re not supposed to know why just yet. Maybe there isn’t any why. Maybe it just is because it is. And maybe if you stop fighting it so hard, you could enjoy it a little.”

She sat there staring at him. He might claim he hadn’t changed, but he clearly had. “What have you been doing the past ten years, Jason, studying with a Tibetan monk?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t lose as much as you think you did,” he said. “You still have a home. You still have a car. You still have a job. Change your perception a little. I know you Wiccans are all into being in control of your own lives, but fate isn’t gonna be cheated out of playing a role. Can’t you take a page from another book? Let go and let Goddess or something?”

“Five minutes are up,” Mort called. “C’mon, Dori, we have customers.”

Dori got to her feet, though she felt her head spinning. Five minutes with a small-town cop, and suddenly she was questioning everything.

Everything.

“Here’s a tip for you, Dori,” he said. “At the craft fair, bring something to sell. Mark it up the same amount you usually charge for a reading, and give a free reading away with every purchase.”

She frowned at him. “So I wouldn’t be charging for the readings.”

“And you wouldn’t have to use the disclaimer.” He gave her a wink, picked up his sandwich and dug in.

Tilting her head, she studied him. She had never seen this side of him before. Open-minded, accepting, even…spiritual, though she doubted he would call it that. “Thank you, Jason.”

“My pleasure. Now, go. Mort’s glaring at you.”

She glanced at her employer, sighed and got back to work.

Jason finished his sandwich and left, but his words stayed with her all day. She had been fighting this; he was right about that. But since when did a small-town cop spout wisdom like a spiritual guru? It was as if he’d looked right inside her soul and diagnosed the problem. Was it possible she’d missed something so simple?

And God, he had kept her letter. She must have meant so much more to him than she had ever realized. And she’d walked away, left him with barely an explanation. He should hate her for that. But he didn’t.

When her shift ended, she stepped out of the diner and into the cold air. Christmas carols wafted from every store and business she passed. Sister Krissie’s Bar and Grill, the best restaurant in town, was filling up with hungry customers, and every time the door opened, strains from Manhein Steamroller wafted out into the streets. As she passed BK’s Grocery, a stream of bundled children came out with foil-wrapped chocolate Santas in their mittened hands, as their harried mom tried to herd them toward the car while juggling grocery bags.

Dori hurried across the street and down the block to where she’d left her car. She swept off the snow, started up the engine, and sat behind the wheel rubbing her hands while it warmed up.

“A car is a car,” she said softly, trying hard to see things from a new perspective, as Jason had suggested. And this wasn’t a bad one. Only two years old, with a good heater and working AC, a radio and a CD player. It wasn’t rusty and it ran well. It even had studded snow tires and front-wheel drive.

She didn’t want just a car, though. She wanted her Mercedes.

She sighed, pulled into the road and began the drive back to her cabin, only to find that the road out of town was blocked by road crews hoisting holiday lights. Damn. A small Detour sign pointed left onto Evergreen. Dori turned, and realized she’d rarely been on this side street. It meandered among small homes and a handful of shops.

Then out of the blue, her car—which she was working very hard on believing was as good as a Mercedes—spit and sputtered and quit.

“No.” She turned the wheel, coasting to a spot near the curb, then put it in Park and tried twisting the key. Nothing. Dead. And no onboard assistance button to push for help. No cell phone. She’d let it go, to eliminate the extra bill.

“Damn.” Her mood—which had been improving—took a nosedive. She wrenched open the door, got out and looked around.

The building in front of her, nestled on the corner of Evergreen and Hope streets, looked for all the world, to be a haven. White lights in the windows surrounded the words Burning Bright. The window display had candles of every imaginable shape and color. And the sign on the door read Open.

Well, she was going to have to use a phone somewhere. Call a garage. A tow truck. Something.

She opened the door, and a bell jingled as she walked inside.

And then she just paused and breathed. The place smelled of sandalwood incense, and dragon’s blood oil, and the hot melted-wax smell that always transported her. It smelled like a sacred circle. It smelled like her religion and her craft. It smelled like magic, and the scents hit her hard, like a fist to the gut. Tears burned in her eyes and she wasn’t sure why.

“Well, hello, dear.”

Dori looked up, startled because she had thought the place empty. But it wasn’t empty at all. A woman stood there, an old women with a face that was craggy and lined yet somehow beautiful. Her eyes were huge and ebony, and her jet-black hair was streaked with vivid white and hanging loose, halfway down her back. She wore a black caftan, printed with rich gold swirls, that reached to the floor, long dangling earrings that were silver spirals, and a strand of huge beads around her neck, amber and jet.

Amber and jet!

In her hand, she held a broomstick.

Dori stared, stunned to her bones. The image of the Dark Goddess, the Crone, stood before her, so vivid and so real that she bowed her head and very nearly fell to her knees. Those black eyes sparkled, and the Crone said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter Four

“My goodness, child, don’t look so frightened.”

The Crone set her broomstick aside and brushed her hands against each other. “I’m Helen. This is my candle shop. Every candle, handmade.”

“He-Helen?” Not Hecate or Holda or—but she’d said she was waiting for her.

“I saw you sitting in the car out front,” the old woman said as if reading her thoughts. “I was wondering when you’d get around to coming inside to get warm.” She smiled and offered her hand.

Dori took it, surprised that it was warm and entirely human. “I’m Dori,” she said.

“Good to meet you, dear. My but you still seem rather distraught. Is anything wrong?”

Everything was wrong. Including the fact that she thought she’d just had a visit from the Dark Goddess Herself. “I…my car broke down. Do you have a telephone I could use?”

“Of course.” She reached for the broom again, bent to the dustpan Dori hadn’t seen before and swept up a nearly invisible pile of dirt. “I’ll be right back with the phone. Feel free to browse around. You never know, you might find just what you need—even if you didn’t know you needed it!”

With another smile, she carried her dustpan away through the shelves and shelves of candles. She jingled when she walked, and Dori glimpsed bracelets adorning her wrists and her ankles. Dori blinked and tried to give herself a mental shake. But it didn’t work. She felt the way she did when she was in an altered state: very relaxed and open, her heart and pulse thudding slowly, her body heavy, her vision slightly out of focus. Part of it was this place; she knew that. The smells, the candle glow—these were triggers that told her body it was time for spiritual practice, for ritual, for magic. But there was something more about this place that was working on her.

She’d spent a lot of time in this town, yet she didn’t remember a candle shop here. She’d been back for nearly a year, and never heard of or seen it.

Every shelf held candles and holders and snuffers. Tapers and pillars glowed from every windowsill and stand.

When Helen returned, she wasn’t carrying a phone but a candle, the most unusual candle Dori had ever seen. It was as if three strips of wax—silver, gold and white—had been braided together to form a single piece. “I have something for you,” she said.

Dori looked at the candle the old woman held out. “It’s the most beautiful candle I’ve ever seen,” she said. “But I couldn’t…”

“It’s a special candle. Waiting for just the right person to come and claim it. I think you’re that person, Dori.”

Dori smiled, lowering her head. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Why not? Not celebrating the Solstice this year?”

Dori looked at her sharply. How could she know?

“You see, child, the silver is for the year that’s about to pass.” As she spoke, she stroked the silver parts with a long, gnarled finger. “And the gold is for the new one, the one about to begin. And the white is the bond that connects all things, every ending and every beginning, every death and every birth. It’s the perfect candle for you, especially at this time of year. Here, smell.”

She held it closer, and Dori inhaled its scent. Hazelnuts and cedar and cinnamon. She closed her eyes.

“Take it, child. There’s a little magic in this candle. And it’s meant for you, I’m sure of it.”

Opening her eyes, no longer sure this wasn’t a visitation from the Goddess after all, Dori clasped the candle in her hands. How could she have doubted, turned her back on her own faith? she wondered. Surely this was proof…this was a sign…this was—

“That’ll be five-ninety-five, with the tax.”

Dori’s eyes popped open wider. “Huh?”

“Now, where did I put that phone?” the woman said, turning again in a slow circle and searching blankly around the shop. “Maybe it’s in the back.”

“I’ll just try the car again,” Dori said quickly. If she let the woman out of her sight, she’d no doubt find something else to force her to buy. Visitation from the Goddess, hell. Helen was sly and ultra-observant. Nothing more. Dori dipped a hand into her jeans pocket, even though she knew there was no money in there, and came out with a five and a one. She must have shoved some tips into her jeans and forgotten about them, she thought, and handed the cash to the woman. “Thank you, Helen.”

“You’re welcome, Doreen. Don’t stay away so long next time.”

Dori was out the door before she processed any of that. She’d never told the woman her name was Doreen. She’d said Dori, not Doreen. And what did that “Don’t stay away so long next time” bit mean? She looked at the candle in her hand. Its scent teased her senses, and called out to her like a lover calling her home.

She got into the car, wondering which place on this street would be a better bet for finding a phone, and twisted the key just for kicks.

The car started without a sputter, and ran perfectly all the way home.

JASON RETURNED to his office, glanced at his desk and frowned. “Uh, hey, Sheila?”

The receptionist peered in through the open door.

“There was a folder here, just some uh…Internet research I was doing.”

“Oh, you mean all that stuff about Doreen Stewart being a Witch?”

He bit his lip to keep from swearing.

“Who’d have guessed, huh?”

“Sheila, that stuff was private.”

Her smile faded. “It was?”

“Where is it?”

“I took the folder to my desk when I gathered up the others. I was just filing stuff, Jason, I didn’t mean to…” She licked her lips, lowered her head.

“What happened to it?”

“Some of the guys saw me reading through it.”

“Which guys?”

“Joey, Frank…and Mr. Kemp, he was here.”

Jason closed his eyes.

“I tucked it in my desk drawer. But…well, if it was supposed to be a secret, Jason, I’m afraid it’s not anymore.”

“Kemp knows.”

She nodded.

“Hell, Sheila.” He lowered his head, shaking it slowly. Now what? He sighed. “Get me Kemp on the phone.”

“I’m really sorry, Jason.”

“Yeah. My fault. I shouldn’t have left it lying around.”

He went to his desk when she left, waiting for the phone to ring, picked it up. “Kemp?”

“Jason. Wanted to call you anyway, thank you for that research you did on the Stewart woman.”

“That research was not meant to be public knowledge.”

“No? Well, kind of late now.”

“What did you do, rent a billboard?”

“Tipped off the local press. Reverend Mackey, too. Figured he ought to be aware of what was brewing. Get it? Brewing? Witch?” His hearty chuckle made Jason’s stomach knot up.

“Got it. Not smiling. This is her personal business, Kemp. What earthly good is it going to do to spread it all over town?”

“Might show her who she’s dealing with. We’re a God-fearing town, Jason. We don’t need her kind coming in trying to corrupt the youth.”

“Corrupt the—Jesus, Kemp, she’s a decent woman.”

“Best brush up on your scriptures, Jason. And trust me, law or no law, there’s no way in hell she’s getting a table at our Christmas Craft Fair.”

“Holiday Craft Fair,” Jason corrected. “Remember you changed the name for the sake of political correctness?”

“Name or no name, it’s the Christmas Craft Fair and everyone in this town knows it. That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it will continue to be. Period.” The decisive click told him when Kemp had hung up.

Jason sighed, unable to argue with dead air. Now he’d messed things up thoroughly. Dori was going to be furious. This was the last thing she wanted. He hit the flash button, got a dial tone, and reached to the keypad to punch in her number—but then he thought better of it.

This kind of news ought to be delivered in person.

Or maybe it was just that he wanted to see her again. God, he wanted to see her again. When he’d touched her today in the diner, held her hands, it had been like…like taking his first breath after too long under water. He hadn’t breathed like that in ten years. She was his air. He needed her. But now…now he’d probably blown any chance he’d ever had.

DORI WALKED into Uncle Gerald’s cabin and shucked her winter clothes. Then she took the candle from the little bag in which the mysterious old woman had packed it. A year ago, she wouldn’t even have questioned the significance of the encounter. A year ago, everything in her life had made sense. Everything mundane had spiritual implications and everything spiritual affected the mundane. Her life had been integrated, or she thought it had been.

But she’d changed her mind about all of that. Decided she’d been deluded. There was no such thing as magic, or if there was, it had abandoned her. Just as the Goddess had.

So why was she questioning this now? Why was some doubting voice in her mind telling her it had all been more than just a coincidence? The detour, the car breaking down, the woman looking the way she did, the shop that had never been there before, the candle.

Had she really stopped believing in magic? Or had she only told herself she had?

Sighing, she went into the living room, to the mantel. The glass-enclosed candle holder there resembled a lantern and had always been her favorite because she could use it indoors or out. But a long time had gone by since she’d done either. It held a long since burned-out stump. She swallowed, feeling guilty.

She lifted off the glass chimney and plucked the old stump free. Then she carefully placed the new candle in its place and lowered the glass over it again. She spent a moment, staring at it, reviewing the feelings that had rushed over her when the old woman had first appeared in front of her. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time—that surge of certainty that she was in the presence of the Divine. Not really. And now that she really thought about it, her spirituality seemed to have been flagging long before she lost her job and all her money.

She went to the wastebasket and looked down at the Goddess sculpture that lay, face up, atop a banana peel and some coffee grounds.

Someone knocked. She lifted her head and went to the door. Why did her heart jump just a little when she saw that it was Jason? Okay, so she was attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be? But did she have to react like a teenager with her first crush?

Yes. Because she felt like a teenager with her first crush. Hell, he had been her first crush.

“You came back,” she said, and in spite of her best efforts, her voice sounded breathless.

“You didn’t think I would?” He was doing that thing with his eyes, again. Looking at her in that way he had. He focused on her toes first and then her face.

She shrugged. “No, I really didn’t.”

Jason sighed. “I’m afraid you’re not gonna be glad I did. And you can’t believe how sorry I am to say so.” He stomped the snow off his boots and walked inside. He was avoiding her eyes.

She pursed her lips. “So this isn’t a social call?”

“Not really.” He was in the process of prying off his boots as he said it, but he stopped and looked up quickly, as if to gauge her reaction to that. “Did you want it to be?”

She shrugged, and avoided his searching look. She wasn’t surprised. His learning the truth about her might have cooled any notion he might have had about starting things up again with her. He might be open-minded, but being open-minded and dating a Witch were pretty different things.

“I owe you an apology, Dori.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jason. I’m the one who walked away. You don’t owe me a thing.”

He licked his lips, shrugged out of his coat and draped it on a hook inside the door, next to Uncle Gerald’s old hurricane lamp. Then he stepped away from the snowy entry rug, leaving his boots behind. “I’m not talking about what happened ten years ago, honey. I’m talking about what I did today.”

Dori frowned at him. His tone was so gentle it frightened her.

“I mean, not that I don’t want to talk about our past—I do. I’d love it, it’s just—”

“What did you do today that requires an apology?”

He lowered his head, walked across the kitchen to the stove and turned on a burner. Picking up the teakettle, he gave it a shake, heard enough splashing to satisfy him and set it on the burner. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was standing in the doorway between the little kitchen and little living room, leaning against one side, watching him, arms crossed over her chest.

“You have cocoa?”

“It’s in the second canister.”

He nodded and took out a couple of packets of hot cocoa mix, snatched two mugs from the wooden mug tree on the counter and emptied the packets into them.

“Spoons?” he asked.

“Middle drawer. What is it you came to apologize for, Jason?”

He located the spoons, removed two of them. Then he wadded up the empty cocoa packets and spotted the wastebasket. He went to toss them in, but paused as a deep frown etched itself between his eyebrows. “What’s this?”

“It’s nothing. Jason, don’t—”

Too late. He bent and snatched the sculpture out, rising with it and brushing coffee grounds off it. He held it up, staring at the nude female form standing atop the crescent moon.

“Looks old,” he said.

“The figure is a reproduction.”

“Of?”

She sighed. “The Goddess. It’s one of the older images of her, known as the Nile Goddess, I believe. The modern artist added the moon and the starry backdrop.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “So what’s she doing in the garbage?”

“I don’t know.” She lowered her head. “I don’t know anything anymore.” That tears sprang into her eyes angered her, but she managed to keep them hidden. She heard water running, and when she looked up again, he was rinsing the sculpture clean, holding it almost reverently, his hands sliding over her to brush the coffee grounds away. Dori brought him a towel from the rack. He took it from her and patted the figure dry.

“What happened, Dori? You decide to stop believing in magic?”

She pursed her lips. “I decided to. I tried to. But I don’t think it took.”

He smiled. “Let’s hang her back up, hmm?”

“Not yet. I should do a cleansing first.”

He frowned, a little furrow in his brow that made her want to smooth it away with her finger—or maybe her lips.

“I…thought that’s what I just did,” he said.

She smiled. “A ritual cleansing. It’s a little different.”

“Will you show me?”

“Oh, come on, Jason. You aren’t really interested in seeing—”

“I really am.”

He sounded so sincere. The teakettle whistled. Dori found herself conceding. “All right. If you’re sure.” He nodded. “You make the cocoa, then,” she said. “And bring a bowl of snow from outside. And I’ll get the room ready.”

Chapter Five

The minuscule amount of reading Jason had done since learning the truth about Dori didn’t prepare him at all.

She had surrounded the room with candles, and converted her coffee table into an altar by draping a white cloth over it. It held ordinary items. A wineglass with some of the snow in it, rapidly melting. A bowl with something in it that appeared to be sugar or salt. A stick of incense. A small candle. An old iron cauldron in the center.

When he entered the room, he found her kneeling in front of the coffee table, holding her hands over each item, whispering words too softly for him to hear. He stood in rapt silence, watching as she lit the incense, the candle. She sprinkled some of the white stuff into the water and lifted the glass high, bowing her head. Finally, she set the glass down and rose to her feet.

“I used to have the prettiest tools,” she said. “My athame—that’s a ritual dagger—had a sterling blade and a hand-carved onyx handle. My wand was tipped in the biggest quartz crystal you ever saw. My cauldron was a replica of the Gundestrup artifact.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he admitted.

“Oh, it was a beautiful piece. Found in a peat bog in Denmark. It dates back to around one hundred BCE. It was Celtic, maybe used by the Druids in their rites, and has images of more than a dozen gods and goddesses engraved on its sides.”

“Sounds like something special.”

“It was.”

“What happened to all those…tools?” he asked.

She looked at him and he thought her eyes were sad. “Had to sell them. Even the crystal ball.”

“When you were first learning all of this, did you have fancy gadgets then?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“But you managed fine without them, huh?”

She met his eyes. “Yeah. I did. I used to tell my students, ‘It’s not about the tools. It’s about you.’ Come here.”

He came closer. She reached to the table and picked up the wineglass. “The cup is the female. The womb of life. And the dagger is the male. The phallus. To bring our rituals to life, we lower the dagger into the cup. The combination of male and female—force and form—creates the spark of life. The source of all things, and magic.”

“That’s kind of sacred and sexy at the same time.”

“Sex is sacred in the craft. We call this ritual the Symbolic Great Rite.”

He was liking this side of her. Deep and intimate. Mystical and wonderful. “That would imply there’s a…nonsymbolic version?”

She smiled mysteriously at him. “I don’t have my dagger anymore. Will you help me?”

He nodded, all but holding his breath wondering what she was going to do next. She scooped some of her water into her palms and held them cupped loosely. “My hands can be the womb.”

“I get it.” He lifted his own hand. “Mine can be the phallus.” He slid his fingers between her hands, over her skin, sinking them into the water in her palms. She closed her eyes and he thought she shivered. For melted snow, the water she cupped seemed awfully warm. Her hands felt downright hot. And he was burning up.

He withdrew his fingers slowly. She opened her eyes, and they glistened. Then she held her palms over the wineglass to release the water back into it. “You’re a natural,” she told him.

It had felt natural, he thought. About as natural as pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless would feel.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, he stood quietly watching as she walked around the room. She moved in a circle, carrying the water with her. Then she did it again, carrying the smoking incense and wafting it around the room. The third time, she lifted the candle. When she finished, she moved back to the altar and picked up the Goddess sculpture. She held it over the smoking censer, so the spirals of smoke wafted around it.

“I cleanse and consecrate you by the powers of Air, emblem of the Goddess.”

She moved the sculpture over the flame of the candle. “By the powers of Fire, I burn away all negativity.”

Then she dipped her fingers into the water and sprinkled the sculpture. “All malignancy I wash away by the powers of Water.”

She picked up the salt—he was sure it was salt now that he’d tasted it on his fingers—and dusted the sculpture with it. “By the powers of Earth, be you cleansed, purified.”

She lowered the sculpture into the cauldron, then held her hands over it. “By the power of Spirit I…” And there she faltered. “I…I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Jason moved closer to her.

She dropped to her knees, her hands still over the cauldron; trembling now, she said, “I’m so sorry. I remove every negative emotion I sent to you. I cleanse you of my anger. Of my fears. Of my doubts. I…”

Tears slid silently down her cheeks. This was a powerful thing that was happening here, he thought. More powerful, maybe, than even Dori realized.

Jason lowered himself to his knees behind her. He folded his arms around her, stretching them out alongside her arms, his hands sliding over hers above the cauldron. His fingers extended the length of hers, his thumbs bending around to her palms.

“I cleanse myself in you,” she whispered. “Goddess, take this darkness from my soul. I so want to live in the light again.” Her head bowed, and she cried softly.

Moved beyond words, and unsure what to do, Jason felt her relax back against him as she wept. He wrapped her in his arms, held her there. Then, without knowing why, he reached for the incense. He brought it close to her and used his hand to waft the smoke over her. He couldn’t quite remember her words. “Cleansed by Air,” he said softly. “Let it blow away the darkness, Dori.”

He saw her head rise, her brows bend. Sitting on the floor with her legs folded under her, she slid around to face him, searching his eyes. He set the incense down and picked up the candle, moved it under her chin, up and around her body. “Cleansed by Fire, everything bad is burned away.”

She closed her eyes, and more tears spilled over. Her shoulders trembled. He put the candle down, dipped his fingers into the water, then drew them out, dripping, to her face and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks. “Cleansed by water, everything sad is washed away.”

Then he reached for the bowl of salt, gathered a bit in his palm. “Cleansed by…” He hesitated. “Salt?”

“Earth,” she told him.

“Right. Earth. Cleansed by Earth—solid, dependable Earth—everything that hurt you in the past is gone. And you’re starting over, right here, tonight.” He grinned as he sprinkled some of the salt over her head.

“You’re amazing, Jason.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that.” He sat down, glad to see the tears had stopped welling up in her eyes. “Finish this first.”

She nodded, and then she got to her knees again to remove the sculpture from the cauldron and bring it to her lips. She whispered thanks to the powers of the Universe, and then walked around her circle, in the opposite direction this time. When she finished, she knelt and pressed her palms to the floor, eyes closed, and sat silent for a moment.

Finally, with a deep breath, she lifted her head, opened her eyes. “It’s done.”

“It was something,” he said. “No eye of newt or testicles of a righteous man.”

She smiled slowly. “I’m saving those things for your second ritual.”

“Right.”

Her smile died. “What you did for me, that was—”

“That was nothing. I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. I’m not even sure what made me try.”

“It was perfect. It was…wonderful.” She leaned closer and pressed her lips softly against his, for just a moment.

Jason thought his insides were going to shake themselves apart. Somewhere deep down a little voice was warning him not to let himself fall too hard, too fast. She could easily walk away and destroy him again.

“Thank you for that, Jason.”

He drew a deep breath. “It was the least I could do.” He reached for the cooling cocoa and handed it to her, just to put some distance and perspective between them. Otherwise, he was going to sweep her into his arms and—

Best not to think about that.

“Are you feeling better?”

She nodded. “A little.”

And now he had to tell her what he had come here to tell her. “I hate to bring you down,” he said. “I can’t believe how much I hate it. I felt like we…oh, hell.” He closed his eyes.

“Jason, what’s wrong?”

“I have to be honest with you, Dori.” He opened his eyes, gazed into hers. “That research I did on your background?”

“Yeah.” She looked worried now.

“The secretary found it on my desk and took it to hers to file it. She was looking through it, and some other people read over her shoulder. Including the good town supervisor, Thomas Kemp.”

She blinked. “You mean everyone in the police department knows I’m a Witch?”

“Yeah. And pretty soon everyone else in town will, too. Kemp called the newspaper, and one of our local ministers, Reverend Mackey.” He prayed she wouldn’t hate him for this. “I’m sorry, Dori. I’m so sorry. I never meant to spread your secret like this. I…if I could undo it…”

“But you can’t. Oh, Jason, what’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t believe people are as narrow-minded as you think they are. Give Crescent Cove some credit. Have a little faith.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re telling me this today and not yesterday.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“’Cause yesterday I didn’t think I had any faith left.”

He sighed in relief. She hadn’t thrown him out. Yet. And if she was feeling she had a little faith left after all, then hope wasn’t lost. He reached for the sculpture they had just cleansed. “Can I hang her up for you?”

“You’d better. I’m going to need her.”

So he hung the plaster image up for her. And he thought about kissing her before he left, but in the end, he didn’t. In fact, as she stood there at the door, saying good-night, it was all he could do not to. But the night had been an emotional one for her. He didn’t want to scare her off or send her into a panic, much less convince her that his motives were less than decent. And he was scared; he was still damn scared that the minute he let himself fall head over heels, she’d get the job offer she’d been waiting for and walk out on him again.

Because despite all that had happened—she still hadn’t told him she wanted to stay. And damn, he couldn’t risk his heart until she did. And then that little voice inside him asked him if he really believed it wasn’t already too late.

THE TELEPHONE WAS RINGING by the time Jason left, and Dori picked it up with a sigh.

“Doreen Stewart?”

“Yes.”

“This is Grace Merrill from the Crescent Cove Chronicle. I’m doing a story about you and I was wondering—”

“I don’t want a story done about me.”

There was a brief moment of silence. “You don’t understand. You see, I’m a—”

“This is my private business here, and I don’t want it spread all over the pages—”

“Some of it’s a matter of public record, Ms. Stewart.”

“Maybe I can’t stop you then, but I’m certainly not about to help you.” She hung up the phone, feeling just a bit guilty for having been mean. The reporter had seemed respectful enough, been decent on the phone. But she did not want this. And she knew the press well enough to know anything she said could be twisted around and used against her.

She cleaned up the living room, skipped dinner because her stomach was roiling, and went to bed early. But she barely slept. That morning paper might very well have the entire town talking and she did not want to deal with the gossip.

But she didn’t think she had much choice.

All those worries paled in comparison, though, to the big issue on her mind. And that was—she thought she just might be falling in love with Jason Farrar. All over again.

THE NEWSPAPERS WERE STACKED on the end of the counter for the customers, just as they were every morning, when Dori went in to work. She avoided looking at them as she tied on her apron, put on three pots of coffee, filled the sugar dispensers and cream pitchers and set them along the counters and on the tables.

The bells over the door jangled, and jangled again as the morning crowd came in. “’Morning, Dori. Got my coffee ready?”

“’Morning, Sam,” she said, not meeting the old fellow’s eyes, afraid of what she might see there. Instead, she filled four foam coffee cups, added fixings, snapped on the lids and stuck them into a cardboard carrier. “Here you go. Four large, two cream no sugar, one sugar no cream, one black. Three-fifty.”

He dropped a five on the counter. “Keep the change, hon. Have a good one.”

She looked up only as the man took his standing order and headed for the door. That was odd. He always read the paper before he came in, always knew about the day’s news.

Bill tapped his cup on the counter. “Hey, Dori, you gonna top this up with coffee, or just wiggle your nose?”

She frowned at him.

He grinned and sent her a wink. “Hell, I’ve done it now. I’ll be a toad before the day’s out.”

She carried the coffeepot over and refilled his cup. “You were a toad to begin with, Bill.”

“Yeah, but I’m still your favorite customer,” he said.

Then he went right back to work on his breakfast. Nothing negative, nothing dark. He didn’t seem the least bit upset about the newspaper’s revelations.

A throat cleared. She glanced up and saw the Reverend Mackey sitting at the counter. Great. He never came in here. Pasting a smile on her face, she walked up, grabbing a heavy mug and bringing the coffeepot. “Coffee, Reverend?”

“You bet,” he said. “I read your article in the paper this morning.”

“Wasn’t my article,” she said as she poured. “I didn’t really want my private life plastered all over the front page, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“Really?”

“Do you need a menu? Breakfast, or just coffee?”

“No, no breakfast. Mainly, I came in to talk to you.”

She met his eyes. They were kind and blue. He had a blond crew cut and looked more like a marine than a minister. “Please tell me you’re not here to try to convert me.”

His brows went up high. “I imagine you’re expecting that. Might get it, too, from some folks, including some clergy. Nasty mail, phone calls, a protester or two. Are you ready for all of that, Dori?”

“I guess I’ll have to be.”

He nodded, sighed. “I assumed you could handle it. You handled New York, after all. Besides, you’re clergy, according to the newspaper. Quite highly placed clergy at that.”

She stared at him, half expecting some kind of a trick. He reached a hand to hers, and she realized she was still pouring his coffee and damn close to flooding the cup. She stopped and took the pot back to the burner. “I used to be considered an elder,” she said. “But it’s hard to be highly placed when you’re one of a kind.”

He smiled slowly. “That’s why you were against the article? You think you’re the only Wiccan in town?”

She lifted her brows. “I am.”

“No, Dori, you’re not. You might be the only Wiccan clergy in town, though. Which is why I’m rather glad that article ran. There are people here who need you. Now, I admit I’d prefer they come to me, but my beliefs don’t fulfill the needs of every person in Crescent Cove, and I’ve learned to accept that and recognize there’s more than one way to find God.”

“I can hardly believe what I’m hearing,” she whispered.

“Aha!” he said, and pointed at her. “You, of all people, giving in to preconceived notions and expecting me to come in here threatening you with eternal damnation for your beliefs just because I’m a Christian minister?”

“You’re right,” she said. “Shame on me.”

“It takes all kinds to make a world, Dori. Now, here. Take this.”

She picked up what he slid across the counter to her. A card with his name, address, phone number. She flipped it and saw a date and time scrawled on the back. “What’s this?”

“Next meeting of the Crescent Cove Interfaith Council. Every pastor, priest and rabbi in town is a member.” He gave her a wink. “You’ll be our first priestess.”

“You really think they’ll let me in?”

“I’m the president and founder. If I let you in, they’ll let you in. Vermont is a very open-minded state. Now, don’t be offended if some are hesitant. They won’t be once you explain the difference between what your faith really teaches and the ever-popular misconceptions.”

“You say that as if you already know the differences.”

“That’s because I do. A man in my position can’t afford to be ignorant or uninformed.” He tapped the card in her hand. “We meet in the rec center out by the lake. Neutral ground.”

“That’s walking distance from my place.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Be there, okay?”

“Okay.”

He slugged down his coffee and reached for his wallet.

She held up a hand. “It’s on the house, Reverend Mackey.”

“Thanks, Lady Doreen.”

He headed out, and she felt herself smiling. It wasn’t the end of the world after all. People were not looking at her as if she’d grown another head. Maybe she’d underestimated the open-mindedness of Crescent Cove. Or overestimated the shock value of being Wiccan. Just because she’d run into a couple of narrow-minded bigots didn’t mean the whole town was that way. After all, there were Wiccans in every town these days. Why shouldn’t it begin being accepted as just another religion?

As she was serving a platter of sausage and eggs, Jason walked in and slid into a booth. She filled a fresh coffee mug and carried it to his table.

“Did you read it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. My day got off to a pleasant start and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

“It won’t ruin it, hon. It’s good. Approaches the entire story from the angle of you having helped solve those seven missing-persons cases in New York, before giving up your high-powered job to move back home to Crescent Cove.” He laid a paper on the table, opened to the story. “Here.”

She picked it up, glancing nervously over her shoulder for any sign of her boss’s glower. There was a picture of her—she recognized it as one that had been used in a piece about her from a New Age magazine. The headline read: Hometown Heroine Back Where She Belongs. The story talked about her success in the big city, quoting other articles at length and crediting her with using her “uncanny skills” to help the police locate missing persons. It added that she was a High Priestess, elder and legal clergy of the Wiccan faith. And that was the only mention of her religion.

She sighed in relief.

“Not as bad as you thought, huh?” Jason asked.

“No. It’s not bad at all.”

“I’m relieved.”

“Me, too.”

He met her eyes. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. She so longed for him to tell her he was feeling the same things she was. She could see the attraction in his eyes every time he looked at her. She could feel it every time he touched her. Why was he holding back?

Could it be that he was liberal enough to understand Witchcraft but still unwilling to get involved with a Witch? She searched his eyes, hoping—waiting.

“I should go,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you saw it. And that you were okay. No one’s given you any trouble, have they?”

“No. None at all.”

“Good. Call if you need me.”

But I do need you, she thought. I need you right now, to end this aching loneliness. I’m tired of it. Goddess, I can’t stand it much longer.

“Dori?” he asked.

She’d lapsed into staring at him again. “I’ll call if I need you,” she promised. “Thanks, Jason.”

He smiled a little. “See what I told you, Dori? Crescent Cove isn’t a bad place at all. Might even be worth sticking around, don’t you think?”

She frowned at him, but he left before she could analyze his words or the message that she sensed hiding beneath them.

Chapter Six

She was still mulling over every word Jason had said, trying to read between the lines, beyond the words, when she walked to the parking lot to find that for once, her car didn’t require brushing off. No snow today. However, the lack of snow gave her a clear view of the blotch of bright red splattered across her windshield. It looked like paint.

“No.” She didn’t want this.

“Now, that’s a real shame,” a voice said.

Turning, Dori saw the old woman from that strange little candle shop, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the car and shaking her head. She wore a cloak-style coat, with fur that lined its edges and its hood, and had a crooked walking stick in one hand.

“Still,” she said, “I suppose it’s also a good sign.”

“In what way?” Dori asked. Her words sounded clipped. She was angry, but she reminded herself she was not angry at Helen from Burning Bright, but at the idiot who had done this. And at Jason for exposing her secret and at this town in general.

“Well, when we met the other night I had the distinct impression you’d lost your faith.”

“So?”

“So you must have found it again. True faith—of any sort—tends to bring tests, trials. And this seems like one to me.”

Dori narrowed her eyes on the old woman. “My life has been nothing but a series of tests and trials for the past year,” she grumbled.

“Really? And have you passed them?”

She blinked, because the words had hit her right between the eyes. How had she responded to the tests of the past year? By complaining, whining, fighting against her fate and turning her back on her calling, her religion and her Goddess.

“I read about you in the paper today,” she said. “Tell me, what’s the significance of that star?” As she said it she pointed to the blotch on Dori’s vehicle.

Dori frowned and examined the stain again—seeing this time that the way the paint had landed formed a rough shape of an inverted pentagram. “I hadn’t even noticed…the five points represent the five elements—Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit,” she said. “Spirit is usually on top. We often put a circle around it, to symbolize the elements all being connected, all part of the greater whole.”

“I see. And inverted, like it is here? Does that have any significance?”

She sighed. “The Satanists have adopted it, made it so well-known that Wiccans in the U.S. rarely use it anymore. But to us it represents the journey of the Second Degree. For most Wiccans it’s a time of….”

The old woman remained there, silver brows raised, waiting for her to finish.

“Tests and trials. Challenges and obstacles.”

“Tests and trials? Really?” Helen asked. Though Dori got the feeling she wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Well, isn’t that interesting?”

Dori sighed. “Don’t read anything into it. I got through my Second Degree long, long ago. I’m way beyond it now.”

“That’s right, isn’t it? The newspaper called you an elder.” She shrugged. “Then again, I guess the learning and growing never really stop, do they? Why, in any faith the initiations are an endless cycle. Don’t you think?”

Dori sent her a swift frown.

“Why don’t you run into BK’s Grocery and see if she has some nail-polish remover?”

“Nail polish?” Dori looked again at the paint on her windshield, ran a finger over it, and finally bent closer and sniffed, realizing it wasn’t paint after all. “It is nail polish, isn’t it?” she asked, turning again to the old woman.

But Helen was gone.

Dori walked to BK’s, located the nail-polish remover and took it to the front to pay. There was only one register open, which was usual on a weeknight. She waited in line behind a woman she didn’t at first recognize, and when she did, she instantly bristled.

The dark-haired woman had started all this by refusing to process Dori’s application for a table at the craft fair.

“Hello there, Mrs. Redmond,” she said, feeling decidedly evil. Oh, deep down she knew a respectable woman like her probably hadn’t vandalized her car. But for the moment, she would do.

The woman snapped her head around and her eyes widened. “Uh…hello.”

Mrs. Redmond opened her checkbook to make out the check.

Dori peeked over her shoulder, read her full name. Alice W. Redmond. The woman scribbled quickly and paused at the date space, then shot a look at the brunette behind the register, whose name tag read Katie. “What’s the date?”

“Twenty-first,” Katie replied. She shifted her glance between the two of them with confused amusement. And no wonder. Alice Redmond was in such a hurry to get out of the store you’d have thought she was afraid Dori was going to pull out a wand and transform her into a toad at any moment.

Katie sent Dori a wink. “Happy Solstice.”

The Winter Solstice. She hadn’t even realized it was tonight. “Thanks. You know, I’d almost decided to give up practicing Witchcraft. I have Alice here to thank for changing my mind.”

“Really?” Katie appeared stunned.

Dori said, “Nah.”

Katie laughed. Alice Redmond tore her check out of the book and slapped it down on the counter. The cashier was still grinning when she dropped it into the register and handed back a receipt. Alice snatched up her bags and walked out of the store without another word.

Dori set her bottles of nail-polish remover on the counter and pulled a wad of tips from her handbag.

“What’s this about?” the woman asked, holding up a bottle.

“Someone decided my car would be nicer with a splash of blood-red nail polish.”

Katie went still, all traces of humor evaporating. “Because of the article?”

“I can only assume so.”

“Well, I’ll be…that’s not like Crescent Cove, Dori. Not at all.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d known sooner that you were into…that Witch stuff.”

“Why?”

“Well, my daughter’s been poking around it. She’s got a couple of books in her room, has a little stand set up with candles and such.” She shrugged. “I’d like to talk to her about it, but I don’t have a clue, you know? And she’s at that touchy age.”

“Sixteen?”

“Almost.” She accepted Dori’s cash and started counting out change.

“Do you get a lunch break here?” Dori asked.

“Sure, half hour right at noon.”

“Why don’t you come over to the diner tomorrow. I’ll take my break at the same time and you can pick my brain all you want.”

“Really? That would be great, Dori.” Then she smiled. “You’re just what you’ve always seemed like, aren’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“An ordinary person. And a nice one, too.” She dropped the bottles into a bag and handed it to Dori. “You have a nice night, Dori.”

“You, too, Katie.”

Sighing, Dori went outside. She took a deep breath of the crisp cold air and gazed up at the darkening sky. Solstice Night.

The timing was no accident, was it? How many times had she noticed how she never had any darkness to work through over the winter months? Well, this year, she did. And it was time to get to work doing it. It was time for her to come back home—to stop fighting and start accepting. To stop working for change and start trying to see the lesson in what was.

She walked to her car, and spent the next half hour wiping away the nail polish. It washed off more easily than she would have expected. Then she went home and began packing a picnic basket full of ritual supplies. Tonight she would observe the solstice outside, at midnight, under the stars. No matter how cold it might get, she was determined to do this up right.

Tonight she intended to bid her darkness farewell, and welcome the return of the light, no matter what it might bring.

MIDNIGHT. Who the hell could be calling at midnight?

Jason rolled over in bed and reached blindly for the phone. Vaguely he heard the moan of the wind. Not too promising, that sound. Familiar, though. They’d already had the first killer storm of the season—just a couple of weeks ago. It was too soon for another.

Right. And he’d lived here long enough to know better. That wind might be a passing front, but he doubted it. It sounded like it meant business.

He pulled the telephone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Jason, thank God. My son is gone. I’m afraid he’s—”

“Hold on, slow down.” He reached out and snapped on the light. “Who is this?”

“Alice Redmond! It’s Kevin—he sneaked out with those boys.”

A chill rippled through his core and he heard the wind all over again. “Do you think they’ve gone out on the lake again, Alice?”

“I do-on’t kno-ow.” The words emerged as sobs.

Then a man must have taken the phone from her hands, because his voice came on the line. “Chief? It’s Paul Redmond.”

“I’m here.”

The voice grew muffled. “Go finish getting dressed, hon,” he said. There was a pause before he came back on the line. “All right. Chief, the boy has been out on that lake at least twice before. I lectured him, I grounded him, but if he sneaked out tonight, I can’t imagine another reason for it. Seems to me it’s the new big thrill for him and his friends.”

“I’m on it, Paul. Listen, meet me at the rec center, down on the shore. We’ll coordinate from there. I’ll call Phil…get him to open it up.”

“All right. I’ve already driven all over town, Jason. I’m worried.”

“We’ll find him,” Jason said, and even as he hung up the phone, he thought of one person. He thought of Dori.

Not just because she had a knack for finding missing people, either. But because…hell, this was the biggest crisis he’d faced as police chief. And he wanted her by his side, no matter how little sense that might make.

He punched in her number, then cradled the phone between his head and shoulder while pulling on his clothes.

But Dori’s phone rang and rang. He frowned, worried about her now, as well. Where the hell could she be at midnight with a storm brewing?

Chapter Seven

Dori had chosen just the right spot. A spot where the rocks formed a natural, three-sided barrier, halfway between her uncle’s place and the rec center farther down the beach. She knew this spot. Knew it well.

It was where she and Jason had shared that special night so long ago. And maybe that was part of the reason she’d chosen it tonight.

She’d set up her altar—a large flat-topped boulder—with care, but she hadn’t got overly fancy. This wasn’t about props. She didn’t need incense to represent Air, because she had the wind. It blew sharp and cold, but she’d bundled up. It would be fine. She didn’t need a cup to hold Water, because she had the lake right in front of her, choppy with whitecaps. She didn’t need salt to represent Earth, because she was surrounded by the boulders and rocks that were Earth itself. She didn’t need a representation of the Goddess, because the moon, a waxing, lopsided gibbous moon, was up and bright in the sky, despite the dark clouds around it, gathering ever closer.

Fire—all she needed was Fire. And she had brought her special candle. The one the Crone-like Helen had given her, the one she’d said was imbued with a little magic.

Dori piled a few stones around the base of the candleholder to keep any wind from tipping it over. She lit the candle, and the glass globe kept it from blowing out. Then she sat quietly to meditate before it. She thought about this past year, all the things she had lost. And she thought about the things Helen had said to her. The inverted pentacle glowed before her mind’s eye. Spirit at the bottom, moving through the Underworld. She saw herself, making her way through a dark, shadowy place. She heard the old tales she had so often recited to rapt audiences standing in sacred circles—the tale of the Goddess’s descent into the Underworld, and how She was stopped at each of the seven gates and made to surrender one of Her prized possessions at each one. Her jewels, Her robes, Her crown—until there was nothing left.

And for the first time, Dori realized that was exactly what her own journey had been like. She had lost everything she thought was of value. Until she was left with—with just what Inanna had been left with in the legend. She was left with nothing but Her own true self. And that was all She had needed to emerge, triumphant, from the darkness.

For a long time, Dori sat there on the ground and worked through all those things in her mind.

The wind gusted harder. Dori opened her eyes. Her magic candle had blown out, despite the protective glass. A deeper darkness had settled over the night. The black clouds that had been threatening blotted out the moon. In fact, the only light seemed to be coming from the rec center farther along the beach. The wind swept in from the lake, hitting her square in the face. “Damn, I so wanted to continue that meditation,” she muttered. “Maybe find out who my own true self really is.”

Headlights caught her attention, bouncing in her direction from the rec center. What was going on over there? There were several cars visible in the light that spilled from the building’s windows. Some of them were police cars.

She tucked her special candle and her lighter into her bag, left an offering of birdseed, then stepped out of her shelter of rocks, hugging her coat more tightly around her, and hurried toward the center. The approaching vehicle’s headlights hit her, blinded her, and then the vehicle pulled up beside her.

The passenger door opened, and when it did, the interior light came on and she saw Jason behind the wheel. “Get in,” he called. “We have a situation.”

She got into the car without pause and yanked the door shut. Jason immediately turned the car around and took it bouncing back over the rocky beach. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Those damn kids have vanished again. There’s a boat missing from the launch down the beach, and a hell of a storm is rolling in.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, no.”

“I was on my way to get you. Been trying to call, but—”

“I was outside.”

He peered at her as if she were insane.

“It’s the solstice,” she said.

His face cleared. “You went to our cove, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Oh, Dori there’s so much…” Then he stopped himself and gave his head a shake. “But it has to wait. The boys first. And if it being solstice means it’s a good night for calling down magic, put in for some, would you?”

He stopped outside the rec center, a very large, perfectly square, metal building the town used for bingo, auctions, town dances and anything else that came up. It was probably where they would hold their precious Holiday Craft Fair.

Right now, it held people. The entire police force—which consisted of about six cops—and half the town. Maybe more than half. Up close she could see dozens of vehicles parked around the building. They’d been out of her view before as the parking lot was dark and on the far side of the building.

“What are all these people doing?”

“Praying, mostly,” he said. “That storm’s gonna hit and hit hard, Dori.” He started to get out of the car.

She stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Jason…why did you come for me?”

“The first thing I thought of was to call you.” He searched her eyes. “Hell, the first thing I think of when I wake up is you these days. And the last thing before I go to sleep.”

“Jason—”

“Don’t,” he said. “Let’s not do this. Not now, Dori. I need you to help me with this. Help me find those boys.”

She nodded, opened her door and got out of the car. They went into the rec center together, and Dori took in the scene with a swift glance. Women huddled with their husbands, people weeping, people pacing. Cops and others hunched over a table spread with maps and charts. One was talking on a cell phone; another manned a portable radio.

“We have the state police out in boats,” Jason explained. “It’s too windy for helicopters.” He glanced at his officer on the radio. “Anything yet?”

“No sign.”

A huge gust hit, and suddenly, the room full of people was pitched into total darkness. One woman cried out.

“Stay calm,” Jason called. “If anyone brought a light, get it out now.”

Dori thought of the candle in her bag. If ever she had needed its magic, she thought, she needed it now. She took it out, flicked her lighter, touched it to the wick.

Its golden light gleamed.

“You!” a woman said.

One by one other lights came on. Someone lit a gas lantern, which spilled a lot more light on things. Someone else offered to go get a generator.

But Dori was focused on Alice Redmond making a bee-line for her. She was about to roll her eyes and tell the woman that this was not the time, but then she noticed the redness of the woman’s cheeks and the hollow emptiness in her eyes. She’d seen a look like that before.

“Oh, my Goddess,” Dori whispered. “One of the missing boys is yours, isn’t he?”

The woman stopped moving when she couldn’t get any closer without mowing Dori down. She stood nearly nose to nose with her, only the dancing light of the candle in between them. “Kevin. He’s seventeen.”

“I’m so sorry, Alice. I mean it.”

“Do you?”

Others were starting to turn toward the two of them now. More lanterns were lit, more candles, and several flashlights. Alice’s voice was agitated and overly loud.

“Of course I mean it,” Dori said. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Then help him.”

Dori blinked. The room went dead silent.

A man who was probably her husband laid a hand on her arm.

“You’ve done it before,” she went on, not even acknowledging her husband’s touch. “If you can really do what they say you can do, then do it. Help me find my son. I just want him back. Please…”

The woman was sinking to the floor at Dori’s feet, weeping, and her husband caught her in his arms. “Of course I’ll do whatever I can,” she said, bending down, helping the man bring his wife to her feet again. She handed her precious candle to the nearest person and then smoothed her hands over the woman’s back. “I promise, Alice, I’ll try my hardest.”

She didn’t know if the poor woman was listening or not. She didn’t care. She turned and found Jason without having to search for him. She said, “I need to get out on the lake. I need some men to help me launch my uncle’s boat.”

“Dammit, Dori, you can’t go out there,” Jason said. “Work from here. Wave a pendulum over the charts and tell us where to send the state patrol boats. But don’t go out on the lake.”

She moved closer to him, clasped his hands in hers. “I think I have to. Don’t you get it, Jason? Maybe this is why I had to come back here. To save this kid. And even if it’s not, I’m going to try, no matter how much time you waste arguing with me.”

He swallowed hard, holding her eyes. “Then I’m damn well going with you.”

HE COULD NOT BELIEVE he had let her come out on the boat in this weather. The waves battered the small craft mercilessly, and he was at the controls, following her directions. The boat had no cabin. A large glass windshield was all that stood between them and the biting wind.

“Where did you say they started from?” she asked. She was sitting in a vinyl seat beside him.

“The boat launch, a mile down the beach.”

“Then go west.”

“That’s the opposite direction!”

“There’s a strong current. It would have pulled them west. Especially if they’ve been out here any length of time.”

He searched her face. Pale cheeks in the glow of the panel lights. Wide, intense eyes.

“Trust me, Jason.”

“I do.” He headed the boat in the direction she told him. “But I have to ask, what are you basing this on?” he asked. “Instinct or…”

“Experience.”

“With missing kids?”

“No. With the lake. I know every inch of it, Jason. I’ve spent every summer out here since I was twelve, right at Uncle Gerald’s side. Studying his maps, charts, the currents, all the topography of the lake bottom. He took this Champ stuff seriously. And he taught me everything he knew.”

Jason nodded slowly. “You’re right. Hell, you’re probably more familiar with the lake than anyone in town.” He stared at her face. “But what about…the other?”

She nodded. “I’m open. I’m just…not getting anything yet.”

“So you just…wait?”

“You keep us afloat, Jason. I’ll worry about the spooky stuff, all right?”

He seemed completely baffled. “I can’t help in some way? Like at your place the other night?”

She pursed her lips, sent him a sad smile. “It’s all right, Jason. I realize it probably freaked you out a little—that night, I mean. All the Witchcraft stuff.”

He tipped his head to one side.

“Look, it’s all right. Some people aren’t comfortable with Witchcraft, and that’s fine. But I can’t give it up, Jason. I think I had to go through this past year of trying to before I realized that. It’s who I am.” She reached to the wheel, putting her hand over his on it, and moved it slightly.

“I kind of figured that out before you did, remember? Wasn’t I the one who tried to tell you that very thing?”

“Yeah, you did at that.” She smiled slightly. The wind was whipping strands of hair that had escaped her knit hat. “That was pretty cool of you, especially given your feelings about it all.”

“What feelings? What are you talking about?”

She shrugged, averting her eyes, scanning the pitch-dark waters again. Then her eyes went stone-cold serious. “This way,” she said. She lifted a hand and pointed.

He steered the boat where she instructed. “Well?” he prompted. “Dori, don’t tell me you suspect I have a problem with your witchiness?”

“Are you saying you don’t?”

“I don’t. Tell me where you got the idea that I did.”

She bit her lips, then shrugged and blurted it. “You haven’t asked me out again since you found out.”

“Ah, hell, Dori.” He faced her, gripped her shoulder with one hand to keep her attention. “I haven’t asked you out again because you told me you were as determined as ever to leave Crescent Cove. And because I couldn’t take your walking out on me again.”

She stared at him. “Really? That’s why?”

“It almost killed me last time. You’ve got no idea how hard it hit me, Dori. No idea.”

She blinked, and he thought there might have been tears pooling in her eyes. But all of a sudden, they widened, and she swung her head around. “They’re close!” she shouted. “This way!” She grabbed up the spotlight and turned it slowly over the water, shouting the boys’ names over and over again.

The wind came harder, snow blasting them now with such force it stung his face. He got caught up in her certainty, though the logical part of his brain told him this wasn’t possible. There was no way she could just know. No way.

And then her light fell on something, and she whispered, “There they are.”

It was a little boat, bouncing on the rough waters. And it was capsized.

Chapter Eight

The boys were in the water, clinging to the boat, cold and exhausted and weak. “Over here, help us,” was all Dori heard. There were three of them. Dori clutched Jason’s arm as he steered the boat closer. “How many were missing?”

“Three. It’s all right, Dori. They’re all there.”

She felt the tension rush out of her, and would have sagged in her seat, except that he needed her. Those boys needed her. Jason eased the boat alongside the capsized, smaller craft, and before he even came to a stop, Dori was leaning over the side, reaching for them.

“Take Kev first,” said the boy nearest her outstretched arms. He pulled his limp, soaking wet friend nearer, struggling to keep a grip on him at the same time. “He can’t hold on anymore. I’ve b-been keeping his head above water for the p-past half hour.”

Kev. This was Kevin, she thought, as she pulled the boy’s soaking wet, icy cold upper body into the boat. Jason was beside her then, helping her. They got the boy into the boat, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Dori dragged him to the port side, to provide a counterbalance to Jason as he hauled the other two boys aboard. Kevin was freezing cold and drenched, but he was breathing and had a pulse. Poor thing must be damn near frozen.

“We have to get him warm, Jason.”

“We have to get back to shore first.” He helped the other two boys onto the bench-type seat. Kevin was on the floor in front of them.

Dori leaned over the boy, tucking an emergency blanket around him.

“I can’t believe you managed that, Dori. I can’t…you’re something else.”

“Yeah. The question is, what?” She’d done all she could. She was shivering, her fingers numb with cold as she got back into her seat. Jason had put the boat back into motion now, was speeding along, into horizontal snow and a wind that blew the small boat sideways with at least as much velocity as its small engine drove it forward. They continued that way for more than thirty minutes, plenty of time for them to have gotten back to where they’d started. But there was no shoreline in sight. Then again, it could have been twenty yards away and they wouldn’t have seen it in this blizzard.

“Jason?”

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

He looked at her, licked his lips. “I don’t know. I do know we’re headed east, and I believe that wind is blowing us toward shore. We’ll find it.”

She leaned closer to him. “Will we find it before that boy goes into shock?”

“I don’t know.” He stared into her eyes. “But if you have any more tricks up your sleeve, baby, now would be a good time to pull them out. Can’t you conjure up or something? Isn’t that what Witches do?”

“I haven’t been much of a Witch for a year now. And when I tried, my casting and conjuring didn’t amount to much.” She drew a breath. “Then again, maybe I wasn’t working for anything I really needed. I thought I was at the time. But with hindsight…”

He frowned at her. “Dori?”

“Stop the boat.”

He didn’t even question her. He just eased back on the throttle. “I can’t stop us entirely. The wind…”

“This is fine.”

She sat there a moment, grounding into herself, into her body, into the waters beneath them, all the way to the bottom and then into the Earth. She opened her senses, becoming one with the wind that blew around her, even with the frigid, piercing snow that snapped the skin right off her face. One. One. She swore her body temperature dropped. She opened her arms wider, rose slowly from her seat.

“I am the wind,” she whispered. And she felt it. The wind moving through her, within her, her body, her mind. And she was the wind. “I am calming. I’m slowing. I’m easing.”

It was working. She felt it.

“I am the snow,” she said. “And I am fading, slowing, stopping. I am the lake and I am calming, calming, calming. I am the Goddess, and all things are within me. By my power, I still the wind, and the water, and the snow.”

She opened her eyes slowly, brought her hands down to her sides with deliberation and intensity. “So mote it be!”

For a moment, just a moment, nothing happened. But she stood there, still, holding up a hand to the others for silence, her eyes straining in the darkness. And then, so gradually it might have been all in her mind, the winds began to die down. And then a little more, and a little more.

“Holy cow,” one of the boys muttered.

The snow fell, soft puffs instead of a blinding blizzard and the water lay calm. And still she stood, scanning the horizon. But it was Jason who pointed and said, “Look! What is that?”

A single tiny flare of light caught her eye, and she didn’t know how she knew it or why she knew it, but she knew without any doubt that it was the light of that magic candle. Her special solstice candle.

In an instant, it changed. It became another light and another, until it seemed a thousand stars twinkled in the distance. But they were not stars. They were candles, and lanterns, and flashlights, and lighters and anything else the people of Crescent Cove could find that would give off light. They were guiding them back, showing them the way home.

Jason clutched her hand, pulled her until she sat down, and guided the boat in the direction of the lights. As soon as she sat, her concentration broke. The wind picked up, blasting her, and the snow whipped again. But it didn’t matter. They had found their way.

“At the darkest moment of the darkest night,” she whispered, “that’s the very instant when the light is reborn.”

She felt Jason’s eyes on her, felt something in them, but couldn’t quite tell what it was. And then they were at the dock, and men came running out to grip the sides of the boat, tug it farther in and tie it off. Jason handed the still-unconscious Kevin off to one of them. Others had helped his two companions out. Then Jason helped Dori out, as well, and climbed onto the dock.

“You’re nearly frozen yourself,” he told her.

“I could use some dry clothes,” she admitted. She watched the boys being taken to the ambulances that waited on the shore, amid what had to be a hundred people, all holding lights and candles.

Someone started to sing “Silent Night.” Dori thought it fitting, whether one was celebrating the birth of the son, or the rebirth of the sun, or the reuniting of these mothers and their sons. One by one, others joined in the song. Dori’s eyes filled with hot tears that she imagined were probably freezing on her cheeks even as they fell. Jason’s arm came around her, and he helped her away from the dock, toward his car.

As they moved through the crowd, people touched them, patting their shoulders, arms. Voices broke in their singing to thank them.

They stopped near the ambulance where the men had taken Kevin. He was already inside, bundled in blankets, and his mother was about to get in with him, when she paused and met Dori’s eyes. She didn’t say anything, just stared at her for a long moment. Then a sob broke free as if ripped from her lungs, and she flung her arms around Dori’s neck. It was a brief, fierce embrace. The woman turned away just as quickly and climbed into the back of the ambulance. The doors closed, and the vehicle trundled away.

A hand fell on Dori’s shoulder. The husband. Dori had already forgotten his name. He smiled at her. “He’s going to be all right,” he said. “Thanks to you. Both of you,” he added. He reached out to clasp her hand, then Jason’s. Then he hurried off to his vehicle, a pickup truck, and took off to follow the ambulance.

Jason asked one of his men to lock up the rec center and another to let the state police know the boys had been found. Then he led Dori to his car and put her inside. “Your place or mine?” he asked.

She stared at him blankly.

“For dry clothes, some heat and maybe something hot to drink,” he clarified. “And then a talk I think is long overdue.”

“My place is closer. And I’m sure there’s something of Uncle Gerald’s you could put on. Not to mention, I have cocoa.”

“No power.”

“Gas range. And I always have p-plenty of candles. Hell, I’m starting to shiver.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He put the car into gear and drove.

Chapter Nine

She heeled off her hiking shoes as soon as she got through the front door, peeled off her coat and ran in damp socks into the living room while Jason was still shucking his frozen outerwear. The fire had burned low. Glowing coals gleamed from the hearth, and were the only light in the room.

Dori removed the fire screen, set it aside and knelt to take logs from the nearby stack and toss them onto the coals. Tongues of flame licked up around them, and the room grew brighter. She replaced the screen as Jason’s footsteps came closer.

“Get warm by the fire,” she said. “I’ll go find you some dry clothes.”

“Change first,” he said. “Here.” Something clicked and a light appeared. “Take my flashlight with you.”

“Thanks. There are some candles on the mantel. Matches, too.”

“Got it.”

Dori took the light and headed up the stairs to the loft bedroom, still shivering. She opened dresser drawers, pulled out items, happy to have the flashlight to help her find a warm pullover, plaid flannel pajama pants and, best of all, a pair of thick, cushy socks. She set the light on her dresser, than sat down on her bed to remove her frozen socks. The bottoms of her jeans were stiff and icy. She stripped everything off and put on the comfortable clothes. Then she went to the closet, where she’d packed away the clothing Uncle Gerald had left behind. Suits hung in a fat garment bag, but the more practical items were packed in boxes. She found sweatpants, a sweatshirt, put them on the bed and then found her way back down the stairs with help from the flashlight.

She’d only been gone a few minutes, but Jason was efficient. He’d lit every candle he could find. She heard him rattling around in the kitchen. “Jason?”

He appeared in the doorway, lit by the glow of the ancient hurricane lamp that had hung from a nail beside the front door for as long as she could remember. “Sit by the fire. I’ve got the water heating.”

She went to him and took the lamp from his hands, replacing it with the flashlight. “I’ll finish the cocoa. Go on upstairs and change. I left some clothes on the bed for you.”

He was about to argue, so she held up a finger. “Go on.”

Smiling, he obeyed. By the time he came back into the living room, she had two mugs of hot cocoa sitting on the coffee table, and she’d pushed a rocker and an overstuffed chair up closer to the heat. She was sitting in the rocker, a blanket from the back of the sofa draped around her shoulders.

“I smell chocolate.” He flicked off the flashlight and set a bundle of clothes on the floor near the fire before sitting down. “Getting warm yet?”

“My feet have thawed out. Now they hurt. You?”

He lifted his cup of cocoa from the table and stretched his feet out so they were closer to the fire. “Getting there.” He sipped his cocoa. “So.”

“So,” she said.

He drew a breath. “So you really thought I stopped asking you out because you’re a Witch?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I really did. It wasn’t such an illogical conclusion, was it? You asked me several times and then you stopped.”

“I stopped right after you shot me down the first time. And then we had that talk the other day. The one where you told me you still planned to leave here as soon as you could.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I never made any secret about that. I always planned for my stay here to be a temporary one.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I was a little too dense to get that. Or maybe I was hoping you’d change your mind. But when you put it to me the way you did…well, I realized I was deluded.”

“Maybe I was the one who was deluded.”

He stared at her in the light of the fire. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, every résumé I’ve sent out has resulted in a response of ‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not supposed to go back to Manhattan.”

“But you still want to.”

She frowned at him. “I thought I did. All this time, I thought that was all I wanted. My old life back. Now I…now I don’t know what I want.”

He sipped his cocoa again, didn’t say anything for a long time. The fire painted his face in shadows and light. He seemed brooding, deep, and clearly, hours had gone by since his morning shave. She caught herself wanting to run her palms over his stubbly cheeks.

“I owe you an apology. A long overdue one.”

He looked up at her, met her eyes. “For what?”

“For leaving you the way I did. With just a letter.”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have mattered how you left me, Dori. It was the leaving that did me in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hell, it’s water under the bridge. It’s not your fault. I felt something you didn’t. It happens.”

“If I had known—”

“You’d have what? Stayed? No, Dori. I don’t think that would have happened, and I’m not sure it even should have happened. You needed to get out of here, test your wings. It changed you.”

“Did it?”

He nodded. “You figured out who you were. You have something now that you didn’t have before. I’ve been trying to figure out what it was since the first day I saw you back in town, and now I think I’ve nailed it.”

“Really? What is it?”

“I don’t know if it has a name. It’s like you always had this wellspring of…something deep down. But going away gave you the chance to find it, to tap into it, to bring it all bubbling up to the surface. You glow now. An inner light. A core of power. Maybe…maybe it’s that you found your magic.”

“I thought I had,” she said. “And then I thought it was gone again, when I lost everything and had to come back here. Only—it wasn’t really. I turned my back on it, not the other way around. It came so clear to me out there on the lake tonight.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah. I’ve been lost. I’ve been floundering around in the darkness, wondering where the light went. But it’s here, it’s been here all along, just waiting for me to see it. It burns just the same, whether I’m here or in Manhattan. I’m the keeper of my own flame. No one has the power to put it out but me. Not a job, not prestige, not a huge income or a Mercedes or a penthouse apartment. Where I live or what I do for a living has nothing to do with who I am.”

He smiled at her. “That’s great, Dori. I’m glad for you.”

“But?” She waited, draining her cocoa, then putting her cup on the floor.

He shrugged. “But nothing.”

“Come on, Jason, don’t hold back. You’ve been pretty instrumental in my reaching a lot of the conclusions I have. Don’t stop now.”

He pursed his lips in thought, then finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll give it to you straight.” He set his cup down, got out of his chair and took her hands to pull her to her feet.

For a moment he simply looked at her, really looked, deeply into her eyes. Then he cupped her head in his hands, and he kissed her. Dori’s eyes fell closed as his lips covered hers. His fingers spread through her hair, and one hand slid lower, to the small of her back and eased her closer, and still closer, until her body was pressed to his. His hand stroked her hair, a sensual massage as his lips moved over hers. Gentle suction, constant motion. His body molded to hers a little harder, his hand at her back drawing her tighter. Fingers splayed at the back of her head as the kiss deepened. He played her the way a master played a violin. He made her body sing. He always had.

Dori gave in to the music, sliding her arms around his waist, parting her lips to let him in. She wasn’t cold anymore.

They kissed, standing near the fire, for a long time. And when he finally lifted his head, his eyes glittering as they stared into hers, he said, “I want you to stay.”

She blinked at him. “But…Jason, this is…”

“What? So sudden? So new? It’s not, you know. I’m just picking up where we left off ten years ago, Dori.” He let his arms fall to his sides from around her. She felt lonely without them. “I didn’t want to do this, not until I was sure you’d decided to stay. I didn’t want to lay my heart out there on the platter again, just waiting for a cleaver to whack it in two. But maybe…maybe you just need a reason to make that decision. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m dead wrong here. It could be that this incredible thing I feel between us is all in my head. God knows I thought it must have been when you walked away the last time. But then…you came back. And I know it wasn’t for me, but I can’t help wondering if…it was fate that brought you back here. Back to me.”

The lights flicked on, off, then on again. They stayed on this time. He smiled at her. “Guess that would be the return of the light you were talking about in the boat, huh?”

“Not even close,” she said, but she knew he was only joking, trying to lighten up what had become an intense and heavy moment. He wanted an answer from her, a decision. A commitment.

A repetitive beeping sound distracted her and she couldn’t stop the phrase saved by the bell from whispering through her thoughts. Frowning, she spotted the answering machine, its light flashing insistently.

“Talk about timing,” Jason muttered. Then he sighed again. “Maybe we needed a break anyway. Go ahead, get your messages. I’ll put out all these candles before we burn the place down.”

“Thanks, Jason.”

He wandered into the kitchen with their cocoa cups, blowing out candles on the way. Dori went to the machine and poked the Play button.

“Hi, Doreen. This is your old boss, Marie Brown, from Mason-Walcott. We’ve acquired another publishing company and we’d like to offer you a position—as publisher. You’d be making significantly more than you were the last time you worked for us, but we have to hear from you soon. Call me and we’ll discuss the details.”

Dori stood there staring at the machine as Marie’s voice recited her telephone number. “Wow,” Jason said.

She jumped, because she’d been so distracted she hadn’t heard him come up behind her, and turned to face him. He had two fresh mugs of cocoa in his hands, and a sad look in his eyes. “This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? The job offer of your dreams?”

She nodded slowly.

“So you’re going to take it?”

“I don’t—Jason, I don’t—”

He shook his head and bent to set the mugs down. “Don’t. It’s okay. I get it.” He walked past her to scoop up his pile of clothes from the floor.

“No, you don’t get it. Goddess, one minute you’re telling me all these things I never knew, and the next minute I get what I thought I always wanted handed to me. My mind is still spinning. Can’t you even give me time to sort this out?”

He looked at her, and the emotion in his eyes was so powerful it made her throat close up. He looked heartbroken. As if he already knew what her decision would be. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he gave her a sad smile, came to her, touched her face. “Sure I can, Dori.” Leaning closer, he kissed her cheek. “I’m gonna clear out of here, let you sleep on all of this. Okay?”

She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Walking with him to the door, Dori found herself fighting the ridiculous impulse to throw her arms around him and beg him to stay. But she couldn’t do that to him. Not until she sorted things out.

He stomped into his boots, pulled on his coat, opened the door.

“Good night, Jason.”

“Goodbye, Dori.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter Ten

Dori didn’t go to sleep. She turned off the lights and sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames and searching them for help.

What had she lost by leaving the city? Money, yes, she’d lost a lot of that. Friends? Well, maybe not. Friends weren’t friends if they vanished so easily. She’d sold her precious crystal ball. But the Witches of old hadn’t needed four-hundred-dollar gazing balls to see into the future. They hadn’t needed much at all. A bowl of water. A dark mirror. A leaping flame.

She relaxed her mind, let her vision blur, her body go slack. One by one, she opened her chakra centers, felt them fill with energy. She focused her thoughts on her life, her future; saw herself picking up the phone and returning Marie’s call; heard herself accepting the offer; and let herself sink into the future.

The images came floating like bits of a dream, one following another. A beautiful apartment. A new Mercedes. Respect and admiration. The Wiccan community gathering around her once again. It all seemed lovely. Except that in each of those flashes, she saw herself alone. She saw the longing in her eyes, the loneliness. The same heartsick loneliness she’d been feeling since she’d come back here—no, for even longer than that. She felt herself wishing she were somewhere else. With someone else.

Drawing a breath, she closed her mind to the visions, cleared them away and began again. This time she started by clearly visualizing herself phoning Marie and refusing the offer. It was a difficult visualization to manage—saying no to something for which she had been waiting an entire year. But then she relaxed again, and again the images came to her. Stubbornly, slowly. But they came.

She saw herself on the boat in the summer, taking tourists around the lake, telling them all Uncle Gerald’s old Champ stories. Smiling. She saw herself expanding the business, adding an inn, maybe a restaurant, a bigger gift shop. And smiling. And in every picture that came, Jason was with her.

She saw him sitting across a candlelit table from her, at Sister Krissie’s Bar and Grill, the best restaurant in Crescent Cove, holding her hand. And she nearly gasped at the matching gold bands they wore. She saw him get up and come around the table, lowering his hand to rest it on her belly—a belly that was huge and round and filled with new life.

Dori gasped and her body went rigid. The visions faded.

She tried to ground and center, but couldn’t quite make it work. But she did know one thing. There had been no sense of loneliness in that second vision. No sadness in her eyes. There had been bliss, pure joyful bliss.

She reached for the phone, snatched it up and dialed Jason’s number.

His voice, when he answered, wasn’t sleepy. Maybe he’d been lying awake, too? He didn’t say, “Hello.” He said, “Dori?”

“Come back, Jason. Please, come back to me.”

There was the briefest pause. Then he said, “I’m on my way.”

Fifteen minutes later his headlights bounced into the driveway. She was waiting for him, outside, bundled, a hood pulled up around her head. She took his hand when he got out, ignored the questions in his eyes and tugged him toward the lake.

The storm had eased. The wind still blew, but the sky was clearing. Stars peeked from between the clouds now. Standing there on the shore, she faced him, clasping both his hands in hers. “I have something to say.”

He nodded, and she could see in his eyes that he was expecting her to break his heart again. “I’ll try not to interrupt.”

“All right. Here it is. All this time, I thought I was being punished for something. Or that I’d been laid so low in order to learn some kind of a lesson. I turned my back on my own beliefs.” She shook her head slowly. “But the whole time, all that was really happening was that the clutter was being cleared out of my life, so I could find my heart’s desire. Everything I had—those were just things—just obstacles standing between me and the life I was really meant to lead. Once they were gone, I could finally find my way through my own darkness, to a gift more precious than anything I ever had or ever will. I found my way back to where I belong. To the light. To Crescent Cove. And to you, Jason.”

His eyes filled with wonder and dampness. “You’re staying?”

“I’m staying.”

“But…the job offer…”

“I had a better offer. The one where you asked me to stay. And marry you. And bear your children.”

He stared so intensely at her she thought he must be able to see straight through her, and into her heart. “I didn’t ask you those things…not yet.”

“But you will, won’t you, Jason?”

He swallowed hard. “Is that what you want? Are you sure, Dori, that you won’t change your mind and want to go?”

“How could I go?” she asked with a smile. “It’s taken me a while to figure it out, Jason, but I’m in love with you. Madly, deeply, completely in love with you. I think I have been for a long, long time.”

He gathered her into his arms and kissed her as if there were no tomorrow. When he came up for air, he said, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say those words to me, Dori?”

“Too long. I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“I’d have waited forever.” He kissed her again, deeply, tenderly, and she knew down deep in her soul that she had made the right decision. She was home.

When Jason lifted his head, they both turned to see the sun rising slowly over Lake Champlain. “And this is what you meant by ‘the return of the light.’”

“This is what I meant,” she whispered. And looking at the sky, she added, “Thank you.”

Star Light, Star Bright

By Anne Stuart

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter One

First Week of Advent

It was snowing again. Angela McKenna navigated the icy roads with her usual panic, driving her old Jeep at a snail’s pace. At least it had all-wheel drive. But even that wonderful invention wasn’t foolproof when it came to ice. This was her second winter spent on the shores of Lake Champlain, and she would have thought she’d have gotten used to the driving by now. After all, she could navigate the heart of Chicago, the insanity of New York, the freeways of L.A. without breaking a sweat. But let a few flakes of snow start drifting out of the Vermont skies and she was swamped with a tightly controlled terror. It was a good thing she didn’t have to go anywhere for work—she would have been hopeless. Except, maybe that would have forced her to learn how to drive in the snowy vicinity of Crescent Cove without courting a heart attack.

She usually avoided going out entirely when the weather was bad, but right now she was driving home from Burlington Airport after spending Thanksgiving with her parents in Chicago, and the sooner she got back the better. It was only going to keep on snowing.

They’d put the holiday decorations up in the middle of town while she’d been gone. Reindeer danced from every streetlight, and the big tree at the end of the main street was ablaze with lights. Wreaths were on every one of the white clapboard houses she passed. Just after four and already growing dark, the sidewalks of Crescent Cove were empty.

She had to get home and off these snowy roads, she thought as she made her way through town with single-minded concentration, past the stores and restaurants, heading north, breathing deeply as she listened to the New Age holiday music on her car’s CD player, when for some reason she hit the right turn signal. She took the turn, half in a daze. In all the time she’d spent in Crescent Cove she’d never gone down this particular narrow road, never even noticed its existence, and why she’d do so in the middle of a raging blizzard made no sense at all. Nevertheless, that was exactly what she had done.

Well, it wasn’t actually a raging blizzard—more a flurry or two. And maybe she’d just been daydreaming—forgetting where she was, and taken the wrong turn. It would be easy enough to stop and head back the way she’d come. She’d never been gifted geographically, and if she kept going in a strange direction, God knows where she’d end up. Her safest bet was to turn around.

The street was packed with the early snow, and she pulled into a driveway beside a small store, then backed out again. Not into the street, but into a parking spot just outside the tiny shop.

Crescent Cove was too small a place, especially in the winter, for Angie not to have known every single side street, every shop, every restaurant. Nevertheless, this tiny shop was entirely new to her, and the warm light spilled out onto the sidewalk.

On impulse she turned off the car and climbed out. She never could resist a mystery, and the appearance of a new street, a new store, was unimaginable. Of course the street wasn’t new—that would be impossible. She just hadn’t seen it before—the snow made everything look different.

And once she could read the faded gilt sign over the front door she breathed a sigh of relief. Christmas Candles by Mrs. Claus, it read. The very cuteness of it should have been cloying, but Angie was in a generous mood. No wonder she’d missed it—it was a seasonal business. No one would be buying Christmas candles in the busy summer.

The snow was falling gently on her shoulders, and she realized she should return to the car and get her butt safely home, but something kept her rooted to the sidewalk. After all, she’d decided this would be the Christmas she would go all out, and it was important to support local businesses. Buy Vermont First, they said, and she opened the old oak door, listening to the silvery laughter of bells as she stepped inside.

She was expecting to be assaulted by artificial perfumes, but instead the place smelled warm and delightful, like Christmas cookies. Candles of various shapes and sizes were arranged on a number of tables, decorated with festive tablecloths and sweet-smelling greenery, and Angie felt a surge of happiness that hadn’t been there in a long, long time. Christmas always did that to her.

“Merry Christmas, dearie.” The woman seemed to materialize out of the shadows, and Angie would have laughed, except it seemed so right. The owner of the shop had dressed the part—rosy cheeks, wire-rimmed glasses, a red-velvet mob cap atop her soft white hair.

“Merry Christmas,” Angie replied automatically. “I don’t really know why I’m here…”

“You’re here for a Christmas candle,” the woman said in a comfortable voice.

“Well, I suppose I am,” Angie admitted. “I just hadn’t realized…”

“We seldom do,” the so-called Mrs. Claus said. “I’ve got just the one for you, Angie.”

Angie was startled. “How did you know who I was?”

“This is a very small town in the winter, dearie. Everyone knows everyone.”

Angie was about to point out that Mrs. Claus was a complete stranger to her, but she was polite enough to keep quiet. Besides, it wasn’t strictly true. There was a familiarity about the old lady that was unmistakable.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Whether I want some kind of Christmas scent or—the candles are unscented,” she said suddenly, just realizing it.

“No, they’re not. They only release their fragrance when they’re lit. And I promise you, there’s nothing artificial about the scent. If you smell cinnamon and apples, then that’s what’s in the candle.”

“Well, maybe a nice big red pillar,” Angie said, always a sucker for cinnamon and apples.

“No, dearie. I’ll get yours.” The woman disappeared into the back of the store with a swirl of her red velvet skirts, then reappeared holding a wide, slightly conical shaped candle. It was deep gold, with Florentine scrolling around the top and bottom, and a line of angels dancing. It was a work of art, undeniably beautiful, and not in Angie’s budget. If she had any money to spare it was earmarked for presents, not her own pleasure.

“I don’t think I can afford it,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t have to pay for it,” the woman said. “It’s already been taken care of. You notice there are three angels dancing on the side of the candle? One is for Christmas past, one for Christmas present and one for all the Christmases of the future. It will last just until Christmas morning, and when the candle burns down completely everything you need will be yours.”

Angie would have objected, but the old woman put the pillar in her hand. It felt heavy, warm and oddly comforting. “But who…?”

“Does it matter? Think of it as a gift from Santa Claus. Or are you going to tell me you don’t believe in him?”

She had been about to say that very thing but something stopped her. Certain things were meant to be accepted, not scrutinized, and she accepted the gift as she accepted the existence of Santa Claus. Unlikely, but very nice anyway.

“I guess I’ll have to find out on my own,” she said.

The woman calling herself Mrs. Claus smiled sweetly. “I guess you will, dearie. In the end, we all have to find out on our own.”

Not until Angie was halfway down the town road to Black’s Point did the oddness of the encounter hit her. The candle sat on the seat beside her, the rich colors glowing in the darkness. If all her wishes were going to come true when the candle burned down, then she’d better plan to burn it night and day. The old woman said it would last until Christmas Day, but Angie doubted it would make it halfway through Advent, the four weeks before Christmas. Still, it was a lovely thing, and its very presence in the car seemed almost a blessing, to ward off the danger of the snowy roads.

At least they’d gotten around to plowing Black’s Point Road. Since she was the only inhabitant out there during the winter, and since the town road crew knew perfectly well that she didn’t have to get out to a job, her road was low priority. She’d spent four days last winter trapped there, about to run out of canned soup, when her best friend, Patsy, had raised holy hell and gotten them to plow her out.

Had Patsy arranged for the candle? Unlikely—she and Ethan were saving every penny for their new baby, and besides, Patsy was a weaver. She made her own presents.

Angie was in luck this time—the plows had been through recently, and she only slid a little as she took the sharp turn left onto the narrow road. The snow was tapering off—typical that once she was safely home the driving would suddenly become safe once more. Maybe fate was trying to tell her she shouldn’t have run away to Vermont when her marriage failed. Well, she had no intention of listening to such an arbitrary judgment. She’d had to rethink her entire life in the wake of Jeffrey’s behavior, and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like snow stop her from living the life she wanted. And there was no place in the world, not even the house she grew up in outside of Chicago, that felt like home the way Crescent Cove did. She was never sure why—it simply was.

She pulled into her narrow driveway. They’d kept plowing past her house for some reason—usually they just turned around in her driveway and headed back into town. Must be someone new on the road crew who didn’t know the rules, she thought. There was no one else to plow.

Still, it would make walking easier. She no longer played tennis or racquetball, and even though she now lived in Vermont, she’d decided that downhill skiing was vastly overrated. Particularly when you were skiing alone.

But walking in the silent woods that surrounded Crescent Cove was good for the body and soothing for the soul. She’d worked out all sorts of problems while she walked, and when the snow got really deep she even resorted to high-tech snowshoes. The weather wasn’t that bad yet, though Vermont had had more than its share of snow already. And it wasn’t even winter yet. Technically.

Weather-wise, winter in Vermont began around November 15. They’d already had two nights of below-zero temperatures, and caterpillars and the Farmer’s Almanac had predicted a long, cold season.

The house was icy when she unlocked the door. She kept the heat down to sixty-two degrees most of the time, and augmented it with a cast-iron wood-fired stove. She shivered, closing the door behind her and flipping on the lights. Maybe she’d indulge in cranking the heat up, just until she had time to get changed and start a fire. Or maybe she wouldn’t, and then her money would last her just a bit longer.

That was the problem with having married a lawyer, she thought, kicking off her soaked shoes and walking on the icy floors to the old farmhouse kitchen. Not only had she spent her marriage in a lifestyle well above what she was accustomed to, but her divorce settlement had been minuscule. It was her fault—she’d wanted to end her relationship with her philandering husband as quickly and neatly as possible, and land values in Crescent Cove had skyrocketed. The monetary value of the old farmhouse was impressive to any judge. The only problem was, she had no intention of selling the place, and it was the only thing she’d come away with from the failed marriage, while Jeffrey had kept the house, the car and most of their joint property.

She could always try to get a real job, but assistant professors of English literature were not in high demand, even with a number of colleges and universities nearby. And somehow the very thought of academia sent chills down her spine, colder than the Vermont winters. She wasn’t in the mood for politics, students, or the Dead White Guys that made up most college curricula. The full professors got the fun stuff—the assistants were left with the same old crap. If she had to teach Charles Dickens one more time she would scream. Well, maybe not if she was teaching A Christmas Carol. But then, she’d always been a total sucker for Christmas.

No, she liked what she was doing just fine. Even loved it. She’d always loved to bake, and providing pies and breads and other goods to the local businesses kept her busy and brought her some peace of mind. Sister Krissie’s Bar and Grill, Mort’s Diner, even BK’s Grocery provided enough standing orders that she stayed reasonably solvent.

The smell of the farmhouse welcomed her like an old friend. The place had been empty for years—Jeffrey’s parents had acquired it as an investment and then forgotten all about it. Why they couldn’t have bought her own family’s house when finances had forced its sale was another question. Instead, the über-wealthy Jacksons had bought it and bulldozed it to make room for another tennis court, wiping out generations of love and memories. Typical of the new breed of summer people, she thought. Wipe out memories and traditions in favor of ostentation. The Jacksons had only been the first of the professional invaders. Their company, Worldcomp, made so much money that no one could figure out what they were doing in a quiet little seasonal community like Crescent Cove.

Except to tear down her family’s home, she thought grumpily. And bring Brody Jackson into her life, someone she could have well done without.

She put the candle down on the scrubbed kitchen table and set to work. It didn’t take her long to get a new fire going, and the heat began spreading through the kitchen. She lit the candle, and the scent was amazing. It smelled like cinnamon, and delicious enough to make her stomach rumble. She closed off most of the place in the winter—surviving nicely on the first floor with a bedroom, a bathroom and the parlor along with the huge old kitchen. In the summer she threw open the upstairs and invited everyone to visit, but the winters were hers, and she welcomed that season’s approach with a sense of relief.

While the room was heating, she quickly put on some warmer clothes—jeans and a sweater and thick wool socks. She didn’t bother with her indulgent silk long johns—those she kept for subzero weather. Today was comfortably in the upper twenties, according to her outside thermometer. A nice, brisk afternoon.

Five trips later, everything was in from the back of the car. One suitcase of her own, and four more that she’d borrowed from her mother. The first one was filled with Christmas presents from Marshall Fields. The other three were packed with family Christmas ornaments that her mother had finally decided to hand over.

Angie could never understand why her mother had held on to them for so long. Her academic parents had downsized when Angie had married, moving into a small apartment that overlooked Lake Michigan, and from then on they’d only had a tabletop tree, with no room for many of Angie’s favorite ornaments or the Christmas tree house, an ornate tree stand made by her father’s great-uncle Otto early in the last century. For some reason her parents had preferred to keep things in storage rather than let her have them, which was unusual, because her parents tended to dote on their only child.

Her marriage had ended Christmas Eve, and she’d spent the next few weeks huddled in a hotel room, not in the mood to celebrate a damn thing. By the next Christmas she’d been divorced for nine months and living in the farmhouse in Crescent Cove, and Jeffrey’s new wife had just given birth. To Angie’s surprise her mother had called, offering to ship the Christmas decorations east to her, but she’d politely declined, planning to spend the holiday alone in her farmhouse with nary a decoration or a Christmas carol to keep her company.

Big mistake, she’d realized. Fortunately, her old friend Patsy and her husband were living in town, and they’d dragged her out of her morose isolation and into the warmth of their large family holiday that had included Patsy’s mother and her new husband, Patsy’s father and his new wife, Ethan’s father and his new wife, and Ethan’s mother, newly widowed, plus five brothers and sisters and their spouses, countless children and even the ninety-year-old matriarch of the family, known to all as Aunt Ginny.

It had been impossible to stay depressed in such chaos. Impossible not to feel the faint, tentative rebirth of the Christmas spirit. And now that another year had passed, she was once more ready to celebrate the holidays with a vengeance.

She’d been half tempted to go right out and find the perfect tree the moment she’d come home from Chicago. A great many people in Crescent Cove put up their trees the day after Thanksgiving and took them down the day after Christmas. Since Angie had every intention of leaving her tree up until Twelfth Night, she decided it might not be smart to cut one so early, and besides, her mother was shipping the Christmas tree house stand to her. Time enough to find a tree when that arrived.

But she wasn’t going to wait any longer to get the smell of pine in her house. She needed to make an outdoor wreath, an Advent wreath, a kissing ball and anything else she could think of, anything to start the season off properly.

She grabbed the clippers from the jumbled junk drawer, put on her felt-lined Sorrels, her down jacket, her turtle fur hat and her leather work gloves and headed out into the gathering New England dusk.

She knew just where she was going. The trees down by the edge of the lake were thick and cluttered—she could easily trim a boatload of branches off them and it would only help them flourish.

Tucking the clippers in one pocket and her flashlight in another, she headed down the freshly plowed road, toward the lake, with the vast, comforting silence of the Vermont winter all around her.

A little too silent. There were still the occasional bears around, and fisher cats were downright nasty, so she began humming, then started singing. Loudly. “Good King Wenceslas” was an excellent song for tromping through the snow, and she’d always had a good strong voice. Patsy had talked her into joining the church choir for the Christmas season, and Angie had rediscovered the joy of singing. And on this deserted spit of land she could sing as loud as she wanted and no one was around to hear.

The edge of the lake was covered with a rime of ice, but beyond the crusty sheet it lay dark and cold and mysterious. She’d skirted the opulent Jackson compound, moving past the snow-covered tennis court that had once been her front porch, and ended up by the lake, where their rickety dock had jutted out into the water. She hadn’t been down here since last spring—she did her best to avoid the flatlanders who spent their summers on Black’s Point, particularly the robber baron Jacksons, who’d only been coming to Crescent Cove for the past twenty years. Rank newcomers compared with most of the summer population, whose grandparents and great-grandparents had settled in the cottages along the shore more than eighty years ago.

But things were changing, and she had to accept it. In the 1930s, Crescent Cove had been the summer colony of Ivy League professors, a few ministers and the occasional grudgingly accepted lawyer. Now the academics could no longer support the taxes and upkeep on second homes, and the very wealthy had moved in, buying up land and houses, and in the Jacksons’ case, tearing down existing buildings to make more room for their extravagant and totally inappropriate taste.

She shook her head and began cutting branches, letting them fall into a neat pile on the snow, as she switched songs to “Silver Bells.” She was so intent on what she was doing, so lost in her glorious solitude on the deserted tip of Black’s Point, that she didn’t hear anyone approaching.

“You’re trespassing.”

She let out a shriek, the clippers went flying, and she spun around in the snow, her heart pounding. “You scared me!” she said, breathless, too rattled to be polite.

“You’re trespassing,” he said again, patiently. She couldn’t see him clearly in the gathering darkness, only a general outline. It was no one she recognized, and she knew most of the caretakers in town. He was tall, lean, young and not a local. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something about his voice, but she couldn’t quite pin it down.

“I’m the only one living out on the point during the winter, and no one’s going to mind if I take a few branches to make some Christmas decorations.”

“You’ll be sorry.”

“Is that a threat?” A wiser woman would have been nervous, but her instincts told her that she wasn’t really in any kind of danger. Then again, those infallible instincts had told her Jeffrey was her soul mate, and look how that had turned out.

“Not a threat,” the man said in a calm voice. “You’re cutting cat spruce. You put that up in your house and it’ll smell like a litter box.”

“Damn,” she said, staring down at the pile at her feet. She’d forgotten about cat spruce, and it was too cold to notice the pungent smell. She glanced up at the stranger again. She couldn’t see his face, and pulling out her flashlight and blinding him with it wasn’t very polite. She knew that voice, somewhere far in the back of her memory, and it was driving her crazy.

“Listen,” she said. “I don’t know who you are or what business it is of yours, but I really don’t think the Jacksons will mind if I pilfer some evergreen branches from the land that used to belong to my family. They may be greedy robber barons, but a little thing like this isn’t going to matter to them—they won’t even be aware that I’ve done it. Most of them haven’t been up here for several years, so they’re unlikely to notice. By summer everything will have grown back, and no harm done. Except—” she looked around her “—I lost my clippers when you startled me.”

“Greedy robber barons? That’s a new one.” His laugh was without humor. “And believe me, they’ll know.”

She did believe him. Because it finally hit her who he was. She didn’t need to see his face—she was only surprised she hadn’t realized right off.

“You’re Brody Jackson,” she said flatly.

“Yes.” He didn’t bother asking her who she was—it probably wasn’t worth his attention, but she persevered anyway.

“I’m Angie McKenna. I live in the old Martin farm down the road. You probably don’t remember me, but we used to hang out together when we were kids. A century and a half ago.”

“Did we?” His voice was noncommittal. He’d forgotten her, of course. Why should he remember? Brody Jackson had been the golden boy all his life—beautiful, smart, athletic and charming, adored by all the girls, both summer and year-rounders, admired by the boys. For all that she’d been his next-door neighbor, after the first summer they hadn’t had anything to do with each other. She was just one of a gaggle of girls at the Crescent Cove Harbor Club, and while she’d always been acutely aware of him, it was little wonder she’d passed beneath his radar. Except for two occasions, and she wasn’t going to think about that.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t realize your place was winterized.”

“I can manage,” he said. “And why are you here? Where’s Jeffrey? I thought the two of you were America’s sweethearts.” His voice was faintly ironic—something new. And then she realized with a start that he knew exactly who she was.

“We’re divorced. I’ve been living here for a couple of years.”

“Another illusion shattered,” he said. “I suppose I would have known that if we’d used the house in the past couple of years.”

“I…”

“I’m not really in the mood to catch up on old times,” he said. “You better go home.”

The flat, weary tone in his voice made that clear, though it told her little else. Except that he didn’t sound like the golden boy he once had been.

But she wasn’t about to argue. She bent to scoop up the branches, cat spruce and all. “I’ll just clean these up.”

“Leave them.”

No way she could argue with that, either. All she could do was aim for a dignified retreat. “Well, I’m, er, sorry I bothered you.”

He said nothing, and she shrugged. She wasn’t quite sure how to end the conversation. See you around was a possibility, but he’d probably come back with not if I see you first.

“Goodbye, then,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“It’s never too early for Christmas,” Angie said. “Sorry I bothered you.”

“You already said that. Go home, Angel.”

There was nothing she could do but leave, aware that his eyes were on her as she made her way through the snow to the plowed road. When she got there, she turned back to try a pleasant wave, but he’d disappeared.

“Hell and damnation,” she muttered, tromping back down the road. Brody Jackson was the last person she needed around here, especially if he’d gotten mean in his old age, and he certainly behaved as if he had. At least he wouldn’t stay long—there was nothing in the town of Crescent Cove for the likes of Brody Jackson.

Her house was toasty when she went back in. She kicked off her snowy boots, put another log in the stove and began to make herself some dinner. Not until she was falling asleep several hours later did she remember what he’d called her.

IF BRODY JACKSON STILL had a sense of humor he would have laughed. Angel McKenna had thought he wouldn’t remember her. He remembered everything about her—her unflinching gaze, the freckles across her nose, the husky voice that he’d always found such a turn-on. Of course, as a teenager he’d found everything a turn-on. But in particular, Angel McKenna.

She didn’t look that much different. She must be thirty now, and she wore her brown hair long, to her shoulders. Her eyes were the same rich brown that could have the most unnerving effect on a boy. And a man. And her slightly breathless voice was as familiar as if it were yesterday that he’d last spoken to her.

But that wasn’t the case. It had been years, and he still hadn’t quite gotten over her.

It wasn’t arrogance to know that he could have had any girl he wanted in Crescent Cove. Any girl but Angel, who never went anywhere without Jeffrey Hastings by her side. They would have been prom queen and king, he thought cynically. Childhood sweethearts, teenage steadies, the perfect marriage that had been preordained by the Fates.

A marriage that had shattered. He wondered why.

It wasn’t important. He hadn’t come back to Crescent Cove to relive old times; he’d come to lick his wounds and keep a low profile. Softhearted people would say he’d come to heal. More realistic ones would argue he’d come to hide.

In fact, the house on Black’s Point was one of the few things he had left, after the government got through with him. The penthouse apartment in New York, the house in Tahoe, the condo in Hawaii were all gone. As well as the cars, the money and any shred of reputation he might have once had.

And his brothers.

They’d wanted him to join them. They’d siphoned off enough of the money from Worldcomp to keep them very comfortable for the rest of their lives, while thousands of people had lost their life savings, pension plans had gone bankrupt and the very name of their company was becoming synonymous with corporate greed and treachery.

But he’d stayed. As only a junior partner, he stayed to face the music. Once his brothers had left the country he had no more allegiance to anything but the truth, ugly as it was. The Jackson brothers had ripped off hundreds of millions of dollars, covering up that the company was in desperate financial trouble, and they’d departed before it had all blown up in their faces. Leaving Brody behind with his inconvenient conscience.

They’d finished with him in Washington. He’d testified, answered questions, unearthed hidden records—and lost almost everything. He had the house in Vermont, an old Saab, ten thousand dollars and a law degree that he’d never used. And never would, given his reputation.

It was irrelevant that he hadn’t known what his brothers were doing. That was no excuse—it had happened on his watch and he counted it as his responsibility, while his brothers enjoyed life in the Cayman Islands.

He kicked the branches that Angel had cut. She certainly didn’t have much of an eye; these trees were sparse and spindly. He picked up the pair of clippers that had gone flying when he’d startled her and shoved them in his pocket. He’d have to find some way to return them, and the smart thing to do would be to avoid seeing her again.

He could pretend that he hadn’t known she was in Crescent Cove when he’d made up his mind where he’d go, but he’d never been very good at lying to himself. He’d known she was here—the Crescent Cove Chronicle kept a busy social page for such a tiny town—and her presence had been a dangerous lure he couldn’t resist.

He needed to resist it now, now that he’d come face-to-face with her. He hadn’t realized she’d had such an effect on him. Even with Jeff Hastings out of her life, she was still unfinished business, and he’d be wise to keep her that way, at least until he had a better idea of what he was going to do with his shattered life.

At this point there was no room for Angel McKenna, no matter how much he wanted there to be. He’d thought maybe they could have a few laughs for old times’ sake. But he was surprised to find his feelings for Angel were just too powerful. He needed to be smart for once and keep his distance.

Life was complicated enough.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Two

Second Week in Advent

Angie slid into the booth at Mort’s Diner, dumping her mountain of packages onto the seat beside her before she could meet Patsy’s amused gaze from across the table. “Been shopping?” Patsy inquired in a dulcet tone.

“It’s Christmas. What can I say?” Angie reached for one of Patsy’s French fries.

“Weren’t you the person who just last year said she was never going to celebrate Christmas again? It was all Ethan and I could do to drag you over to our house for Christmas dinner. You didn’t even have a tree, for heaven’s sake. And now you’ve gone all holly-jolly on me. What’s the change?”

Before she had a chance to speak, Mort herself set a mug of coffee down in front of her. “Pie’s almost gone,” she said. “You gonna get back to work?”

“I’ll bring you a delivery by this afternoon,” Angie said, feeling guilty. There were four pies sitting on the counter in the old farmhouse, just a part of Mort’s most recent order. She’d been halfway to Burlington before she’d remembered them, and she’d almost turned back, but they were talking about snow tomorrow, and she didn’t dare wait any longer.

Mort departed in a dignified huff, shuffling in the rundown slippers she habitually wore in the old-fashioned diner, and Angie took a deep sip of her coffee, shuddering. “There are times when I would kill for a latte. This stuff could strip the enamel off your teeth.”

“You could have had one in Burlington,” Patsy said. “As a matter of fact, that’s one of the best things about this miserable pregnancy—I can no longer tolerate the battery acid Mort calls coffee. If Junior ever decides to pop out I might just never go back.”

Angie eyed her friend’s huge belly, which was pushing against the table in the small booth. “She’ll come when she’s ready,” Angie said, deliberately keeping up their ongoing battle. Patsy insisted her baby was a boy; she’d been so exhausted from morning sickness and so uncomfortable and unwieldy later on that she’d decided only a male could be oppressing her. Her husband had received this bitter pronouncement with his usual calm good humor. It was almost impossible to ruffle Ethan, and he had kept his volatile wife on a relatively even keel during most of her difficult, long-sought-for pregnancy.

But Angie had decided it had to be a girl, and she was hearing nothing else. Mort was running a pool on sex, weight and birth date, and so far most of the town was siding with Angie’s pronouncement.

“There are things more important than lattes,” Angie said.

“Name one.”

“This!” Angie grabbed a brightly colored bag, opened it and whipped out a tiny red scrap of fabric. It looked as if it might fit a doll, but the red embroidery on the lacy collar said “Baby’s First Christmas.”

Patsy accepted the gift with feigned displeasure. “Junior’s not going to like being in drag for his first Christmas.”

“Any child you raise is going to be completely broad-minded about such things,” Angie said. “Besides, he’s going to be a girl.”

“Humph,” said Patsy, clearly not in the mood for fighting. “What else did you buy?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

Angie took a deep breath. “Christmas napkins, Christmas glasses, soda pop with Santa on the can, Christmas pasta, Christmas paper plates, Christmas candy, Christmas towels. I even got enough fabric to make a Christmas shower curtain.”

“Good God,” Patsy said weakly.

“Plus, I got a baby’s first Christmas tree ornament, a baby’s first Christmas bib, a baby’s first Christmas picture frame, even a pair of miniature red overalls on the rare chance that I’m wrong about your incipient offspring.”

“You’ve gone crazy,” Patsy said flatly. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you bought Christmas toilet paper.”

“No. Christmas paper towels, and a Christmas toilet seat, but no toilet paper. Why, do you have some?”

“If I had such a revolting possession you can rest assured I’d give it to you immediately,” Patsy said with a shudder. “As it is, I’m too busy being pregnant to think about Christmas. Ethan’s already brought home the tree, and it’ll be up to him to decorate. I never wanted this baby in the first place.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Angie said in a soothing voice. “And all those trips into Burlington, all those painful procedures were what…? An excuse for a girl’s day out with me?”

“Exactly,” Patsy said, casting an accusing glance, daring her to disagree. “I want the last piece of pie.”

“Of course you do,” Angie said. She looked at the counter. “What’s with all the flatlanders?” There were more than half a dozen strangers there, choking on Mort’s coffee, talking in low voices among themselves.

“What do you think? The media have arrived. They think Brody Jackson is here.”

Angie blinked. “Really? Why would they care?”

“Don’t you read the newspapers, Angie? Worldcomp has gone bankrupt, and he and his smarmy older brothers hid the financial details until they could get their own money out of it. They’ve bankrupted hundreds of thousands of people. It’s even worse than Enron.”

“I gave up newspapers when I moved here,” she said. “I had no idea. Why are they looking for him?”

“He’s one of the most notorious men in America. His brothers skipped the country and are out of reach, but Brody stayed.”

“Why?”

Patsy shrugged. “You remember Brody. Always the handsome prince. He’s probably just living up to his self-image of nobility.”

“You are so cynical,” Angie said, taking another sip of coffee and shivering.

“Maybe he thought by coming clean he’d get off easy. He handed everything over to the special commission—all the records, everything like that. In return he didn’t have to go to jail. Things won’t go so well for his sleazy brothers if they ever set foot back in this country.” She finished the milk shake with a noisy slurp. “As for Brody, he lost everything. Absolutely everything. The press love stories about how the mighty have fallen, and he used to get a lot of press, he and that model wife of his.”

“He’s married?”

“No, she divorced him before any of this came out.”

“That’s a shame,” Angie said, wondering why she was feeling sudden relief.

“So,” Patsy said, “are you going to warn him?”

Angie jerked her head up. “What do you mean?”

“I know he’s here, Angie. Everyone does. You can’t keep secrets in a town this size, though as far as I’m aware he hasn’t left Black’s Point since he arrived. You’re the only one out that road. There’s no way you wouldn’t have seen him.”

“He wants to be left alone.”

“I understand that. And none of us will help these vultures. But it won’t take long for them to find out where the Jackson place is. It’s a matter of town record. Hell, if they went to BK’s Grocery they could even buy a map of the area with everyone’s house marked on it.”

“I’ve got to go.” Angie couldn’t shove the table back any farther against Junior, but she slid out, grabbing her packages. “Tell Mort I’ll be back with the pies in a few hours.”

“Where are you off to? Or need I ask? You’re going to warn him, aren’t you? You always had a soft spot for Brody.”

“I never had a soft spot for anyone but Jeffrey since I was a kid and you know it,” she said stoutly. “I just happen to hate seeing anyone hounded.”

“Sure you do,” Patsy said with a smug smile. “Say hi for me, will you?”

The men at the counter watched her as she headed toward the door, and she forced herself to slow down, not scramble desperately. It was none of her business. If Brody and his older brothers had ripped off thousands of people—no, hundreds of thousands, Patsy had said—then he deserved everything that happened to him.

But she had a natural aversion to the tabloid press in all its various guises. Besides, she had to get home anyway, she reminded herself with a fair amount of righteousness. She had to make two more pies to go with the ones she’d already finished. And she found she was in sudden, dire need of a little exercise. A short walk down toward the lake would be just the thing.

There were still no tire tracks on Black’s Point Road except her own. The town had plowed down to the Jackson compound, but so far she hadn’t seen anyone else drive past her house. No sign of Brody Jackson at all.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There’d been a sign, all right. The morning after her arrival back in Crescent Cove she’d found a huge pile of freshly cut evergreen branches on her porch, with her missing clippers on the railing. No note, but then, there was no doubt where they’d come from. She’d scooped them up and inhaled the fragrance. Not a cat spruce among them.

The whole house had smelled like Christmas ever since. He’d brought her more than she’d needed—she’d made the Advent wreath, setting the Christmas candle in the middle of it, a wreath for the front door, a wreath for the fence at the end of the driveway, and if she’d been able to figure out how to do it she would have made a wreath for the front of her Jeep. She made a kissing ball to hang in her living room—not that anyone would be kissing her in the near or even distant future, but she’d always liked them. She made boughs for her mantel and the arched doorway into the parlor, and she had still had enough greenery left to make one more wreath and kissing ball. The wreath would be a simple thank-you to her invisible neighbor, and the kissing ball would be for…Maybe sour old Mort might appreciate one in the diner. Anything was possible.

She jumped out of the car, leaving her purchases piled in the back seat, and grabbed the extra wreath off the front porch. She hadn’t planned to deliver it in broad daylight—after all, he’d dropped his unexpected gift off when she’d been asleep. It would be easier if she didn’t have to see him at all, but with the media hot on his trail she figured she owed him that much, if for nothing more than old times’ sake, which he’d forgotten long ago.

She’d planned to walk down to the Jackson place, but at the last minute she got in the car again and drove the quarter mile down the road to his driveway. She pulled her car across the front of it, effectively blocking access, and climbed out, then headed down the narrow, snow-covered path to the house.

There was no sign of him, no sign of a car, but the snow on the front deck was freshly shoveled, and she knew he was still there. For a moment she almost chickened out—he was hardly her responsibility, and sooner or later he’d have to face what he’d done.

But then, Patsy was right. She’d always had an irrational soft spot for Brody Jackson, even though she and Jeffrey had been practically joined at the hip. For the sake of that long-ago, almost indecipherable feeling, she owed him this much.

She didn’t even have to knock on the door. She was halfway across the snow-packed deck when the glass door opened and Brody stood there, a mug of coffee in one hand, an unreadable expression on his face.

It was the first real look she’d gotten—when she’d run into him a few nights earlier he’d been nothing more than a huge, dark figure. In the light of day he was startling.

He was the same man, yet entirely different. His shaggy, bleached-blond hair was now a definite brown, and didn’t seem to have been cut in months. His eyes were still blue, but they were shadowed now, and his face was lean, drawn. He’d had the most remarkable mouth—smiling, lush, ridiculously kissable.

She should know—she’d kissed him. Twice.

But that mouth was drawn in a thin line. His blue eyes were expressionless and he only opened the door a crack. Enough for her to see the faded jeans on his long legs, the bare feet, the old flannel shirt with several buttons missing.

Oh, he was still gorgeous—there was no question about that. Bad luck and bad behavior couldn’t change that much, and the scruffy stubble and shaggy dark hair only made him appear more real.

“Why are you here?” he greeted her in a wary, unwelcoming voice. “And what’s that?”

For a moment she forgot why she was there. He was still distracting, even in his current downbeat state. “I made you a Christmas wreath. You were so nice to bring me all that greenery that I wanted to thank you.”

“I brought you the greenery so you wouldn’t come traipsing around my house,” he said. “And I’m not in the mood to celebrate Christmas.”

“Tough,” she said. There was a cast-iron hook beside the door, one that held a hanging plant in the summer, and she dumped the wreath over it, against the house. “I’ve got more than enough Christmas spirit to spare. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“I assume you’ll tell me sooner or later.”

The cynical, world-weary tone was so unlike that of the Brody Jackson she’d once known that she was momentarily silenced. But only momentarily.

“There are camera crews in town, searching for you. I saw at least half a dozen of them in Mort’s Diner, as well as trucks from CNN, Fox and a couple of the networks.”

Brody’s response was swift and obscene. “Why aren’t they here yet?”

“They don’t know where you are.”

“And you didn’t tell them? Why?”

She considered it for a moment. “I’m not really sure. It’s not as if we’ve ever been particular friends. I guess I don’t like people being hounded. Or maybe I just don’t want a bunch of people crawling around Black’s Point.”

“I think you’re too late.” They could both hear the sound of the trucks and cars, noisy in the winter stillness, as they left the main highway and started down the narrow road.

“Not necessarily. I don’t give up easily.”

“And you’re implying I do?” Brody said.

She didn’t answer that. “Where’s your car?”

“We have a garage, remember?”

“Then go back in the house and stay put. I’ll get rid of them.”

His expression was dubious. “You think you’ll be able to accomplish something the best lawyers in the country couldn’t? They’re like barracudas—they won’t be satisfied till they tear the flesh from my bones.”

“Very melodramatic,” she said, her voice brisk. “They’re only trying to make a living. I just don’t want them doing it in my backyard.”

“And you imagine you can stop them?”

“Watch me.” She thought twice. “I mean, don’t watch me. Get back in the house and don’t come out until they’re gone.”

“Fine with me, but I don’t need you fighting my battles.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s my battle. I came here for peace and quiet, not 60 Minutes.”

“Actually, I don’t rate that high. I usually land on some tabloid show on Fox.”

“How the mighty have fallen.”

“Do you have a reason for disliking me? Apart from my charming behavior last week? I’d been drinking.”

“How reassuring,” she said sweetly. “If I have to choose between a drunk and the paparazzi I’m not sure—”

“I’m not a drunk.”

The vehicles were drawing closer. “Go back inside, then, and I’ll get rid of them.”

For a moment it seemed as if he might argue, but he simply nodded and disappeared into the house, closing the door behind him.

She’d reached her car before the first truck pulled up, and she leaned against the back of it, arms folded across her chest, effectively blocking access to the driveway.

“Can I help you?” She used the tone that had always been effective on frat-boy athletes who thought they could coast through English lit, and the reporter who was approaching her hesitated. Probably a frat boy in his youth, Angie decided dispassionately.

The others with him were busy unloading the van, but she wasn’t about to move, and there was no other way they could get down to the lake. The early snows were thigh-high in some places, the other driveways weren’t plowed and the trees grew so thickly that anyone venturing down there would probably end up walking around in circles. It was a nice thought, but she couldn’t take a chance on their stumbling across the Jackson compound.

“Rex Hamilton, Fox news,” he said with a showy smile, and Angie kept a deliberately stony face. Brody had known exactly who his stalkers were likely to be. “We’re looking for Brody Jackson…”

“I’m sure you are, but he’s not here.”

“Come on, miss. We know he is. He flew into Burlington eight days ago and he hasn’t flown out. Passenger lists are simple enough to trace.”

“I’m sure they are. He was here for one night, picked up a few things and then left. Driving, not flying.”

Rex Hamilton didn’t appear convinced. “Where was he headed?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t care. Probably someplace warmer.”

“That’s easy enough to do,” the man said, shivering. “Randy, set up a shot of this nice young lady and we’ll go from there.”

“You’ll go nowhere but back into your van and on the road again.”

“Do you know who I am?” the man demanded, affronted.

“You told me. Rex Harrison.”

“Hamilton!” he snapped.

“Of course you are,” she said in a soothing voice. “But you’re not filming me, and you’re going to get back in your truck and drive away. This land is private property, and posted against hunters, trappers and trespassers. I’m sure you fit in at least one of those categories.”

Hamilton waved the cameraman off, fixing a disgruntled stare at her. “You the new girlfriend?” he asked.

She had to laugh. “Not likely.”

“Because he goes through women like water. He’s used and dumped supermodels and A-list actresses in the blink of an eye.”

“Not really in his league,” she drawled.

Hamilton tilted his head to one side. “Oh, I’m not sure about that.”

“I am. Go away. If you’re as good a reporter as you seem to believe you are it won’t take you long to pick up his trail.”

“Why are you defending the man? He and those brothers of his ripped off thousands of people.”

“Then why isn’t he in jail?”

“Because he can afford the best lawyers.”

“Then why have his brothers left the country? Can’t they afford the same lawyers?”

“You seem to know an awful lot about the case for an innocent bystander.”

“Actually, I know very little. But as a gesture of goodwill I’ll tell you what he was driving, and maybe you’ll be able to track him down. He was in a Ford Explorer, dark blue or green, headed south.”

“I don’t suppose you have his license plate number.”

“I don’t even know which state issued it. All I can tell you is he drove out of here last week and I haven’t seen him since. And as I’m the only person living out here in the winter, I’d know.”

“And you are…?”

“Extremely tired of talking to you. Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“On what? Cell phones don’t work in this godforsaken place.”

“Where do you come from, Mr. Hamilton? New York City?”

“L.A. Why?”

“And you call this place godforsaken? Go back to the City of Angels, Mr. Hamilton. Or go chasing after Brody Jackson—I really don’t care. Just go.”

During their conversation three more vehicles had pulled up, blocking the narrow road. There was no place for them to turn around, and they were going to have a hell of a time backing out. Rex Hamilton looked at her for a moment longer, then shook his head in defeat. “We’ll find him. I promise you that. He can’t rip off the American public and get away with it.”

“I don’t care whether you find him or not. I just don’t want you finding him here.” Not the best choice of words, because Hamilton gave her one last, assessing stare.

Apparently, her innocent, self-righteous demeanor convinced him. She half expected him to make like The Terminator and say I’ll be back, but he spared her.

By the time the last truck had headed south on Route 100 Angie was freezing. Two of the vehicles had gone into a ditch, and the film crews had shown a surprising spirit of cooperation in helping push each other out. By the end they were wet, tired, cold and frustrated, and it was evident that nothing short of a prearranged interview would get them back out there. Crescent Cove in the winter wasn’t made for the faint of heart. She leaned against the hood of her car, listening to the sounds of the trucks as they faded into the distance, letting the peace of the snow surround her.

“How’d you manage that?”

She turned, startled. Of course the snow muffled everything, but she still thought some preternatural instinct might have warned her.

“I told them you were gone. It took some convincing, but they finally believed me. And you were supposed to stay put until I gave you the all-clear.”

“I was curious. Maybe I should hire you as my bodyguard. You accomplished what few others have managed.”

“I’m not interested in your body.” That came out all wrong, and she could have kicked herself.

“No, I’m sure you’re not,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

She jerked her head around to stare at him. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He walked past her to the end of the driveway, peering down the road. “You think they’ll be back?”

“I doubt it. Once you get that badly stuck in the snow it pretty much ruins things.” She could get a good look at him with his back turned to her. He was thinner than she remembered—instead of the buff golden boy she’d once been uneasily aware of, he was now wiry, almost tough, wearing rough winter clothes that had seen better days, and his unbleached hair was too long.

She’d had a crush on him—she might as well admit it. She and Jeffrey had gone together practically since childhood, and she’d never really noticed anyone else, believing in their fantasy of soul mates, but she’d noticed Brody. Who could miss him, with his easy charm and effortless grace? He’d dated just about every age-appropriate, halfway-decent-looking female in the summer population, except for her, of course.

And out of the blue, she suddenly remembered Ariel Bartlett.

Fate hadn’t been kind to Ariel. She’d been plump, plain and hardworking, and had come from a family who’d farmed in Crescent Cove since the early 1800s. Her mother had given her that particularly unsuitable name, and she’d made her way through life, seemingly stolid and unimaginative, working as a waitress for Mort’s Diner, working as a checkout girl at BK’s Grocery, working at the Crescent Cove Harbor Club during the summers, while the teenage children of the vacationers played. She’d had a huge, embarrassingly obvious crush on Brody, and they’d all found it vastly amusing. Jeffrey in particular had taken to calling her Brody’s pet cow, and he’d told Angie she was being a stick-in-the-mud when she’d tried to silence him.

Not that it would have done much good. Everyone thought her calf-eyed devotion was a riot. Everyone except Brody.

He’d never said a thing when people teased him, and he’d been unfailingly kind to Ariel. And at the Founder’s Day dance, which always signaled the end of the summer, he’d brought her as his date, treating her with exquisite sweetness, much to Jeffrey’s amusement.

That should have tipped Angie off to the fact that her intended was a snake, but she’d been too busy living up to expectations. And trying to ignore the fact that some tiny part of her, for the first time in her life, wanted to be Ariel Bartlett.

“Why’d you do it?”

Brody turned to look at her. “Do what? Steal billions of dollars from the unwitting?”

For a moment she was distracted. “Did you? Really?”

He shrugged. “I was a major executive at Worldcomp, and I should have known what was happening. I’m responsible.”

“But you didn’t do it, did you? Those slimy older brothers of yours did.”

“Why would you care?”

“Actually, I don’t. I was asking you about something else.”

He didn’t move. “I’m waiting.”

“Why did you bring Ariel Bartlett to the Founder’s Day dance?”

She’d manage to surprise him, but he recovered quickly enough. “Maybe I thought she deserved to have a night where she wasn’t waiting on a bunch of spoiled kids who laughed at her. Or maybe I knew she had a crush on me and I decided to be condescending enough to give her the thrill of a lifetime. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of her.”

“You’ll be glad to hear she’s a very successful chef in Philadelphia. She’s happily married with two children.”

“I know that. This is a small town, remember. Have you kept in touch with her?”

He sighed. “What the hell does it matter to you, Angel?”

She’d forgotten he’d called her Angel. The only one who ever had, it had been both mocking and oddly affectionate back in those days. “It doesn’t.”

“Good. Thank you for your noble rescue of the fallen knight. I owe you.”

“You don’t sound very happy about it. If you care to, you can repay your debt right now and we’ll call it even.”

“What do you want, Angel?” He sounded wary.

“A Christmas tree.” It came out of the blue, and it wasn’t until she’d said it that she realized that was exactly what she wanted. A Christmas tree from the place where she’d spent her summers a lifetime ago. When she’d first fallen in love.

“There are fifty million trees on this spit of land,” he drawled. “What are you asking me for?”

“I want a special one. It’s near your tennis court. I planted it the year before we sold the house—I thought it was going to be there for my grandchildren. But instead my parents sold the house and it somehow escaped the bulldozer when you leveled the place. I’d like it.”

“Show me.”

It was tough going through the deep snow, especially with Angie breaking trail, but now that the idea had come to her she wasn’t about to let go easily. If she’d had to walk barefoot in the snow to get her tree, she’d do it.

She circled the tennis courts, heading down toward the lake, ignoring the stab of pain that always hit her. She used to spend hours sitting on the porch, staring out at the lake, eating gingerbread, drinking grape juice, playing canasta with her friends. She’d probably miss it for the rest of her life.

The blue spruce stood there, where she’d planted it so many years ago. Now tall, thick, beautifully shaped, it was her last tie to this land that had once been in her family for generations. It was time to sever it.

Brody had come up beside her. “Too big,” he said, looking up at it. “Unless you have cathedral ceilings, which I doubt. I suppose you could top it.”

“Top it?”

He glanced at her. “I thought you’d been living here for a while. ‘Topping’ means using the upper part of it for your tree. You could maybe use half the tree that way.”

“Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

“There are lots of other trees around. Take your pick.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. I’ll just buy one when I get around to it. I don’t need my main tree until Christmas Eve, anyway.”

“Your main tree? How many Christmas trees do you have?”

She mentally counted. “Six. No, seven. One medium-size one in the kitchen, two small ones in the living room, one in the bathroom, one in the bedroom and two on the porch.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I guess I am. And I guess you’ll still have to owe me,” she added with a certain amount of satisfaction. “I’ve got some baking to do. Let me know if you need rescuing again.”

She half expected him to growl. After all, she was baiting him.

But to her amazement he smiled, a slow, reluctant grin that brought the memory of Brody Jackson back full force. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

HE WATCHED HER as she walked away. Angel McKenna was still a force to be reckoned with, as he’d always known. He wasn’t surprised she’d managed to run off the news crews. She’d always been ridiculously subservient to Jeffrey Hastings, but when he wasn’t around she’d been her own woman, vibrant, strong, enticing. Even when she was fourteen years old and he’d kissed her on her front porch, the summer Jeff’s parents took their kids to Europe instead of Vermont.

It hadn’t been much of a kiss, but then, they’d both been pretty young. And for all the innocence of it, it had lingered in his mind for years. Until he’d kissed her again—the biggest mistake of his life.

No, the biggest mistake of his life was trusting his older brothers with their elastic sense of morality. Second biggest was marrying Estelle when she had the intellect of a toaster and the warmth of a walk-in cooler. But she’d been decorative, understanding and inventive in bed. At the time it seemed enough.

Kissing Angel McKenna hadn’t been a mistake. He just should have kissed her a hell of a lot more, and not given a damn about Jeff Hastings. Since in the end it didn’t look as if Jeff had given a damn about Angel.

How could he have cheated on her, left her? Then again, Jeff had always been a dog-in-the-manger type. He wanted what everyone else had, and the more he suspected Brody’s attraction to Angel the tighter he’d held on. Jeff would have done better with a party favor like Brody’s ex-wife Estelle—he’d always been attracted to shiny objects. Angel was too deep, too multifaceted for a man like him.

And for a man like Brody. He’d been made for models and female tennis pros and debutantes. Not for women like Angela McKenna.

Except that there were no women like Angela McKenna. And he was old enough to know that and stop denying the truth. That all he ever really wanted in this life was the girl next door. And that was the one thing that was always out of his reach.

Chapter Three

Third Week in Advent

At least there were no storms predicted for the next few days. Angie watched the local weather with all the intensity of a Greek sibyl trying to read the future, and while she trusted no one, she had a small margin of faith in channel three.

The back of her Jeep smelled heavenly, even after she’d dropped off thirteen pies, six tortes, two carrot cakes and one wicked concoction known only as Chocolate Suicide, and with each delivery she’d brought dozens of cookies. Her oven was on constantly, adding a nice dollop of heat to her drafty old farmhouse, and the smells of sugar and spice were divine. Almost as divine as the Christmas candle.

Angie had been unable to figure it out. It burned steadily, every night, but there were no drips—the flame glowed straight and true, and the fragrances were unbelievable, ever changing. One day it was bayberry, another pumpkin spice, then another day where it smelled just like cranberries. She’d given up trying to guess how the woman calling herself Mrs. Claus had done it—she simply enjoyed it.

She’d spent the afternoon with Patsy, drinking decent coffee while Patsy grumbled over her milk shakes, sorting through baby clothes, arguing about names. “This kid better not be born on Christmas Day,” Patsy warned, taking a break and collapsing into the oversize rocking chair Ethan had found for her. “Nothing worse than having a birthday and Christmas all at once—you get shafted. Besides, I don’t want to spend Christmas in the hospital.”

“I thought you were planning on a home birth?”

“I am. But you and Ethan and everyone under the sun keep telling me I’m nuts,” Patsy said. “The doctors say I’m strong as an ox, the midwives around here are the best in the country, and I think you’re all fussing for nothing. This time I don’t think I’ll be my usual obedient self.”

Angie laughed. “The day you’re obedient is the day I learn to drive in snow.”

“You drive in snow.”

“Not if I can help it.” She sat on the floor, folding the cloth diapers Patsy had insisted on. “I just wish I’d been able to get you a candle like mine. It’s the most amazing thing. It smells like something different and wonderful every day, and the glow seems to fill the entire house. I wanted to buy one for everyone and I can’t find her shop.”

“Are you talking about that stupid candle shop again? I told you, there’s no such place in Crescent Cove and never has been,” Patsy said, putting a hand on her rounded stomach as Junior delivered a particularly powerful kick. “You must have been dreaming.”

“You can’t dream a candle into existence,” Angie protested.

“Yes, but you brought back hoards of Christmas things when you went home for Thanksgiving, and you’ve gone out every clear day this month and brought back even more. Admit it—your back seat is filled with more stuff, isn’t it?”

“Just a couple of new Christmas CDs,” she said defensively.

“And…?”

“A Christmas sweater, green and red yarn to knit a scarf, a musical globe, a couple of Christmas mystery novels, cereal with red marshmallow stars and green marshmallow trees and—”

“Spare me,” Patsy said. “At least they don’t make Christmas diapers.”

“They do! They’re disposable, and, yes, they’re against your environmental conscience, but I thought when you travel they might come in handy.”

“Oh, God,” Patsy said weakly. “Anyway, you probably picked up that candle in one of your insane shopping forays and just forgot where you bought it. And then you had some crazy dream about a shop run by Mrs. Santa Claus on some nonexistent street, and you don’t remember where you really picked it up. Which is a shame, because it sounds cool, and I’d love to have one.”

“I didn’t dream it.”

“Suit yourself. Are you staying for dinner? After all, you brought it. If you don’t stay I’ll worry that you don’t trust your own cooking.”

Angie looked out at the darkening afternoon. “As long as you promise it won’t snow.”

“Wuss,” Patsy said genially.

Four hours later she regretted her decision. Channel three had betrayed her, and a few lazy flakes were swirling down under the moonlit sky. Angie crept along the bare pavement, clutching the steering wheel. There’s nothing to fear, she told herself. It can’t turn into a blizzard until you get home—there isn’t time.

Though of course at the pace she was driving, she might not be home until midnight. She pressed her foot a little harder on the gas pedal, cautiously, and the Jeep moved with a bit more vigor. She had the heat on full blast, and the car still smelled like a bakery. She only slid a bit when she turned into her driveway and came to a solid stop against the snowbank.

The lights were on, and smoke was pouring out of the chimney. She never left that many lights on, and the fire should have died down by now. For a moment she considered putting the car in reverse and getting the hell out of there.

And then the snow started again, and she knew perfectly well that home was the safest place to be. Besides, if she’d imagined Mrs. Claus’s Candle Shop, then she might very well have imagined she’d turned off the lights when she left.

She grabbed an armful of packages from the back of the car, trudged up the front steps onto the porch and opened the door. Then dropped the packages as she saw him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Brody looked up from his spot on the floor. The perfectly shaped Christmas tree towered over him, albeit at an odd angle, and he’d managed to assemble Uncle Otto’s Christmas tree house, but the actual mechanics of it seemed to be providing more than its share of frustrations.

“What do you think I’m doing? Repaying my debt. And you might want to close the door before you freeze us both.”

She kicked the door shut behind her, leaving her packages where they’d fallen. “By breaking and entering?”

“You don’t lock your house, Angel. And you asked for a tree. I brought you one. Sorry it couldn’t be the one you planted, but I have a certain affection for that one, and besides, it was too big. This, however, is perfect. If I can just get it to stand straight.”

It was a perfect tree. “It needs two people,” she said, stripping off her down jacket and gloves and kicking off her boots. “You hold it while I tighten the screws.”

“I’m already down here. You hold it.”

There was no way to avoid coming close to him—managing the Christmas tree required proximity. She kept as far away as she could, focusing straight ahead as she reached through the thick branches to grasp the tree trunk. The Christmas candle sat where it always did, in the middle of the table, shedding its golden glow, and she felt some of her tension begin to drain.

“I don’t know why you need so many trees,” he muttered, practically beneath her skirts if she’d been wearing any. Fortunately, she had on jeans, but his head was uncomfortably close. “Most people get by with one, and it’s usually artificial.”

“I’m not most people.”

“And you should never leave the house with a candle burning,” he said, looking up at her. “I don’t care how safe you think it is, a cat could knock it over. We’ve even been known to have the occasional earthquake.”

“Highly unlikely. I don’t have a cat at the moment, and for that matter I didn’t leave the candle burning. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“It was burning when I got here,” he said. “And anyone who marries Jeffrey Hastings qualifies as at least a partial idiot. You can let go now.”

She released the resiny trunk and stepped back. The tree stayed where it was, straight and true. “What have you got against Jeffrey?”

He scooted back from the tree, making no effort to rise. “Same thing I’ve always had,” he said. “I would have thought you’d learned your lesson.”

“Our divorce was very civilized. And just because our marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean he’s a monster.”

“No, not a monster. Just a total pig’s butt. Always has been, always will be.” He rose, in one fluid movement, reminding her with sudden, disturbing clarity how tall he was. “Don’t tell me you’re still in love with him. You spent half your life thinking he was God’s gift. I would have thought you’d learned better by now.”

“I’m not still in love with him. Though I don’t know what business it is of yours.”

“Don’t you?” he said, his face enigmatic. “Where are your lights?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your lights. I’ll put the lights on the tree before I go. I’m taller than you are, and I can reach higher. Unless you want to kick me out.”

She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Having him there was bringing back all sorts of memories, disturbing ones, confusing ones. But if he left she’d be alone with those thoughts and regrets.

She swallowed her protest. “That would be very kind of you,” she said. “They’re in the trunk under the table. Can I get you something to drink? Maybe some eggnog?”

“You don’t have eggnog. I already searched your refrigerator. And why do you have light beer? You don’t need it.”

She let that pass. “I can make eggnog,” she said.

He’d been rummaging through the trunk of Christmas lights, but he raised his head up at that, his dark hair falling into his face, and she found she wanted to push that hair away from his eyes. What the hell was wrong with her?

“How do you make eggnog? I thought it came from the grocery store.”

“You use milk and whipping cream and raw eggs and brandy.”

“Raw eggs? You’re trying to kill me.”

“I get the eggs from the Gebbie farm. They aren’t carrying any disease.”

“I think I’d prefer to go straight to the brandy.”

“I can do that. I don’t suppose you’re hungry. I could probably make you something.”

He grinned. “Don’t sound so pained. If you really don’t want me here just tell me.”

She wanted him there. That was the danger. The Christmas candle cast a warm, romantic glow to the room, and he was reminding her of things better left in the past. At least she had the dubious relief of knowing he’d forgotten that night entirely.

“I want you here.” She could have bit her tongue. It was his fault; he’d backed her into saying it, and it had come out all wrong. “That is, I don’t mind.”

“Don’t spoil it, Angel. No one’s wanted me around for a long time.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, managing to put a touch of asperity into her voice.

His smile was almost devilish. “Why, Angel. I do believe you don’t hate me after all.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. I never have.”

“Not according to your former husband.”

“You discussed me with Jeffrey? When?”

“Relax. It was a long time ago. He didn’t like the idea of anyone sniffing around you, particularly me. He was just warning me off.”

“Don’t be silly. I know that the two of you never got along for some reason, but it had absolutely nothing to do with me.”

There was real amusement in his laugh. “Believe that if you want to.”

“And no one was ‘sniffing around’ me, as you so elegantly put it. I was hardly a bitch in heat.”

“More’s the pity,” he murmured. “What do you put on the top of the tree? A star or an angel?”

“What do you think?”

“Bring me the angel,” he said.

The tree really was beautiful. And for some odd reason, she felt totally comfortable to be decorating it with Brody Jackson. He handled the antique glass balls with exquisite care, the ones that her mother would never let Jeffrey touch. He laughed at the string of nun lights, and he didn’t laugh at one of her kindergarten attempts that her mother had refused to part with—a string of spools painted gold. The Christmas candle shone brightly, and she found herself loosening up, like a cat after a long nap. She sighed, a tired, happy sound, feeling better than she had for some time.

He turned to look at her. The tree was finished, the brandy was drunk, the candle light sparkled off the glass ornaments. “I suppose I’d better be going.”

“Yes,” she said, because she couldn’t say anything else.

He reached for his old barn jacket and shrugged into it. He seemed a million miles away from the elegant executive who’d supposedly swindled thousands, he seemed a million miles away from the golden boy of summer she’d had a secret crush on. He seemed like a stranger, and the other part of herself.

And she must have had too much brandy. “Do you have a flashlight?”

“It’s a full moon. I can find my way home.” He had started toward the door, when suddenly she spoke.

“Would you tell me something, Brody?”

He stopped, turning. “Anything,” he said simply, and she believed him.

“Do you even remember the Founder’s Day dance?”

“The one I took Ariel Bartlett to? I thought we already talked about that.”

“No. The last one. Ten years ago.”

She examined his blank gaze and knew, as she’d expected, that he didn’t remember a thing about it. A few short minutes out on the deck at the Harbor Club that had shaken her to her core, and he’d been too drunk to even recall them.

“Not in particular,” he said. “Should I?”

He seemed so innocent that she had to believe him. “No,” she said. “It was just the last time we saw each other before this winter. Jeffrey had left early for college and we danced. I think it was the only time.”

“Did we?” He shook his head. “Sorry. Did anything interesting happen?”

“No,” she said. “We danced, you were drunk, you made a pass and I fended you off. I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.” It was sort of the truth. If one had a very broad definition where truth was concerned.

“Really? Funny that I wouldn’t remember. What did we dance to?”

“I have no idea. It was some old-fogey dance band the club had hired, and I don’t think they played anything written before nineteen-fifty. It must have been some old standard.”

“I suppose so. You still haven’t told me why you’re asking.”

She gave herself a tiny shake. “Just curious, I guess.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, sounding doubtful. “Lock the door behind me, Angel.”

“Why? We’re perfectly safe out here.”

“Do it for my peace of mind.”

“All right.” She followed him to the door, holding it as he stepped out into the wintery night. He went down the front steps, then stopped.

“Lock the door,” he said again.

“Yes, sir.” She started to close it.

“And Angel…”

“Yes?”

“It was ‘Night and Day.’”

He was gone before she could say another word.

SHE STILL DIDN’T know how she’d happened to find herself in his arms. She’d gotten along with almost everyone, but there’d always been tension between Jeffrey and Brody. For the first time in years she was there alone—Jeffrey had left early for college. She’d known Brody for most of her life, been to dozens of the same parties, yet she couldn’t recall ever dancing with him. And suddenly she was in his arms.

“I’m very drunk,” he’d told her with great deliberateness as they moved through the music.

“Maybe we should sit this out.”

He shook his head. “This is my only chance. While the cat’s away the mice will play.”

She didn’t bother arguing with him. He might be very drunk, but he could still manage to keep upright on the dance floor, holding her against him, not too tight, not too loose. “I hope you’re not planning to drive home,” she said severely.

“I’m hoping you’ll take me home with you.”

“You really are drunk, aren’t you, Brody?”

“Very,” he said. He’d managed to steer her over toward the French doors.

“Maybe you should get some fresh air,” she suggested. He had a strong body, warm, lean, and he was taller than Jeffrey. And there was nothing wrong with a harmless little crush—everyone in Crescent Cove went through one sooner or later. It didn’t mean that she didn’t consider Jeffrey her soul mate and her future. It just meant she was human, and Brody Jackson had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen. And always had.

“Good idea,” he said, steering her out onto the deck that hung out over the lake. They were alone out there—the night was cool, and a light mist was falling, and if anything would sober him up that would. But he didn’t let go of her, and she didn’t try to move away. He pulled her a little closer, so that she fit perfectly against his body, and she felt a huge knot of tension begin to dissolve in a pool of heat that the cool mist had no effect on.

Her face was tucked against his shoulder, her arms were around his waist and they were barely moving. She was suddenly, unaccountably happy. “You’re not really going to marry that pig’s butt, are you?” he whispered in her ear.

“Marry who?” she asked, moving her head to look up at him, smiling.

Big mistake. He kissed her then. He had to be drunk to kiss her like that, but she’d already known that he was, and she’d been playing with fire, coming out there with him. It was a shock of a kiss—openmouthed, hungry, and the biggest shock of all was that she kissed him back. And kept kissing him, as he pushed her into a dark corner where no one could see them. His hands touched her, his mouth promised her, and all she wanted to do was shut out the voices and the guilt and lose herself in Brody Jackson.

But they weren’t inner voices; they were real ones, moving closer, and reality came rushing back. She pushed away from him, stumbling in her high heels, and she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. She’d run, down the steps to the street, and kept going until she reached her car.

It had taken her ten minutes to stop shaking. Fifteen minutes to pull herself together and start the car. Twenty minutes to realize he wasn’t chasing after her.

“You okay?” It was Patsy’s boyfriend, Ethan, peering into the car with a worried expression on his face. “Patsy sent me to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” she said briskly. “I’m just going home. I’m driving to Chicago tomorrow and I need to get a good night’s sleep.”

“He was drunk, Angie. He didn’t know what he was doing. I doubt he even realized it was you, and he sure as hell isn’t going to remember anything tomorrow. Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

It had been too much to hope that no one had noticed. At least Ethan was trustworthy. “Of course not. I was just…surprised. Where is he now?”

“Passed out. I’m taking him back home and dumping him there, let him sleep it off. As long as I’m certain you’re okay.”

“Fine. I’m sure he had no idea what he was doing.”

“None at all. You positive you don’t want me to drive you home? He’ll be out for hours.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Ethan. Thank you.” And she drove off before he could see the tears on her face.

“IS SHE OKAY?” Brody had been waiting, just out of sight.

Ethan looked at him severely. “All you did was kiss her, right? It’s not likely to destroy her life. Just how did you manage to get that drunk that fast? If Jeff had been here you wouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of her.”

“Exactly,” Brody said, turning his face up to the cooling mist. “What did she say?”

“She’s leaving first thing in the morning. With any luck she’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Most likely,” he said in an even voice. “Thanks, Ethan.”

“Just how much have you been drinking?”

Brody gave him a calm, clear-eyed smile. “I’m just about to start.”

ANGIE PUSHED the door shut and locked it in a daze. Everything she had believed to be true had just shifted, and she was on very shaky ground. He remembered. He knew. Those hurried, hungry kisses in the rain weren’t some forgotten fantasy, fueled by drunkenness on his part and sheer insanity on hers. He remembered, he knew, just as she did.

She still wasn’t quite sure what that meant. For him, or for her.

It was after eleven. The living room was lit only with the glow from the angel candle and the lights from the Christmas tree, and it was much too late to call anyone. Except that it was three hours earlier in L.A., and even if it had been three hours later she would have still made the phone call.

Jeffrey sounded the same—slightly self-important, oozing charm. How she ever could have believed in him so completely was still a source of embarrassment, but she’d had two years to come to her senses, and regret was a waste of time.

“What went on between you and Brody Jackson?” she said abruptly.

“And Merry Christmas to you, too, darling,” Jeff said. “How lovely to hear your voice.”

Angie sighed. Jeffrey would answer her questions in his own time, and the sooner she got through the formalities the sooner he’d be willing to talk. “Lovely to hear your voice, too. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, how’s Margaret, how’s the baby, how’s work, what went on between you and Brody Jackson?”

“Still my impetuous Angie. I thought age would have cured you of that,” he chided. “Why are you asking me about that now? Brody Jackson has been out of our lives for years. He just missed being in jail by the skin of his teeth, and with luck he’ll follow his brothers into exile and no one in Crescent Cove will ever have to see him again.”

“He may be out of your life, but he’s not out of mine,” Angie said. “He’s moved back up here, and I want you to tell me why the two of you never got along.”

Jeffrey’s lazy chuckle would have fooled anyone who hadn’t been married to him. “Has he been putting the moves on you? Poor Brody—I would have thought he’d let go of that old rivalry. I’ve certainly moved past it.”

“What rivalry? I know you two hated each other, but I never understood why.”

“Jealousy,” Jeff said. “He wanted what he couldn’t have. It had nothing to do with you—he just wanted to score points off me.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. All I can say is he did his best to beat me at everything—tennis, sailing, golf. The one thing he couldn’t beat me at was you, and it drove him crazy.”

“Jeff, he wasn’t out to beat you. He was just naturally good at all those things. Ridiculously so—he beat everyone. I don’t think it was anything personal.”

“Trust me, it was personal. You just happened to get in the way. Don’t let him get near you, Angie. He probably thinks you’re fair game since our divorce, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try to score just for old times’ sake, but he’d just be using you.”

“My mother liked him.”

There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“My mother didn’t like you.”

“And I blame her for the problems in our marriage,” he said in a self-righteous voice.

“You blame my mother for you having a series of affairs? Somehow the connection escapes me.”

“You’re hurt and bitter. I understand, Angie, and I wish I could change the way things worked out.”

“I’m not hurt and I’m not bitter, Jeffrey,” she said patiently. “I just want to know what—”

“You were the one thing he couldn’t beat me at, Angie. It’s that simple. If you have any sense at all you’ll keep away from him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been known for my good sense, Jeffrey,” she said softly. And she hung up the phone.

Chapter Four

Fourth Week of Advent

Brody kept his distance, but it didn’t do Angela much good. The beautiful tree in the middle of her living room was inexplicably entwined with the presence of Brody Jackson. Her first instinct, after that troubling phone call with Jeffrey, was to march straight over to Brody’s house and demand an explanation.

But it was dark, cold and snowing. And she wasn’t sure she could handle an explanation right then.

It was really very simple, she decided. Some kind of midlife crisis as she was approaching thirty. She’d had a crush on Brody, one she’d never been able to admit to or even fantasize about, and it had stayed buried deep inside her. And without the restraining influence of Jeffrey, without anything to do on the long, lonely nights, it was flowering like a crocus after an endless winter. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to squash it down again.

It hadn’t been the only time he’d kissed her, of course. If it had been, it probably wouldn’t have seemed so earthshaking. But that night on the deck of the Crescent Cove Harbor Club had simply been the culmination of something that had started five years earlier.

The Jacksons were newcomers to Crescent Cove, part of the new breed of summer people. The town was evolving—it had been a farming town for more than a hundred years before the first Princeton professor and his family arrived on the shores of Lake Champlain.

But taxes were rising, professors could no longer afford to take the entire summer off and wives worked, as well, and slowly but surely the big old cedar-shingled cottages along the lake were being sold in rapidly escalating bidding wars.

No one was particularly thrilled to see an industrialist like Walker Jackson move in, but he and his wife had been friendly and unpretentious, and their three young sons had blended in quite nicely. And fourteen-year-old Angela had been admittedly fascinated by her new neighbors, in particular the youngest son.

He’d been beautiful even back then—hair bleached by the sun, a tanned body, a dazzling smile. But that first summer he’d been lonely, spending his time out on the lake on his laser sailboat. When he wasn’t spending time with Angela.

There’d been nothing romantic about it at all. She was fourteen; he was a year older. Jeffrey’s family was in Europe for that summer, and for the first time Angela was at loose ends, free to do exactly as she chose. And then there was Brody. She’d read enough books, seen enough movies to feel the first forbidden burgeoning of romantic longing, but she wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Jeffrey would be back, and Brody was nothing more than an increasingly close friend. They could talk about anything and everything—Brody’s bullying older brothers and Angela’s life as an only child. The stupidity of their relatively decent parents, how they wanted to live in Crescent Cove year-round as soon as they were old enough to do so.

The Founder’s Day dance at the end of the summer had been a disaster. It should have warned her to avoid all such occasions in the future. It was the first dance she’d been to apart from the Wednesday-evening square dances, but the boys she’d known all her life weren’t ready to cross the dance floor and actually ask a girl to dance. The best that could be hoped for was a sullen stride through the crowd, a silent appearance in front of the chosen victim and then off to dance with suitable grimness.

Brody didn’t even go that far. He stayed in the corner with a group of boys, not even looking at her. It would have been miserable, except that most of her friends were lined up like ducks in a row, with no one wanting to pick them off.

By the time they announced the last song she was ready to cry, but she’d been experimenting with makeup and she thought it would run. So she lifted her head high as the kitschy sound of an Air Supply song filled the room, and then she rose and crossed the endless dance floor to stand in front of Brody.

He’d seen her coming, and he’d tried to ignore her. But they’d been best friends, and she wanted her first dance, the last dance of the summer, to be with him. She plastered a hopeful smile on her face. “Would you dance with me, Brody?”

She’d forced him to look at her. He was surrounded by his peers, all watching, waiting to see what he would do. She should have known it was a matter of teenage male pride and expected nothing less, but when he shook his head and turned back to his friends it crushed her.

She’d walked away, that same, endless walk, with remarkable dignity for a girl just turned fourteen. She’d walked out of the room, out of the building, and the two miles home on the moonlit path along the lake, wiping the tears and the makeup away from her face.

Her house was dark when she got there—her parents had gone to bed early. The Jackson house was still a blaze of lights, and she’d moved liked a shadow along the path. By that time tears and makeup and shoes were gone, and she wanted nothing more than to go curl up in bed.

She moved up her wide front steps quietly, reaching for the screen door, when she saw him in the darkness. He was there on the green wicker sofa where they’d spent hours talking, laughing, doing crossword puzzles or just sitting in a comfortable silence. There was nothing comfortable about the silence now.

He’d taken off his tie and jacket, and he looked as miserable as she felt. Her first instinct was to ignore him, go straight into the house and slam the door behind her. Her second was to demand what he was doing there.

She did neither. She went over to the creaky old sofa and sat down, curling up in her corner, wrapping her arms around her knees as she waited for him to say something.

He didn’t say a word.

It was her first kiss, and it was a powerhouse. In itself it wasn’t astonishing—just the soft pressure of his lips against hers. And then on her tearstained eyelids, and on her cheek, and on her lips again. He’d been good even back then, a natural, and it was no wonder she’d been ready to put her arms around him. But then the porch light went on, and he drew back as if bitten.

Her father stood there, rumpled hair, clueless. “Don’t you think you ought to come to bed now, Angie? We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

“I can sleep in the car.” She didn’t want to leave Brody. She wanted more kisses from his beautiful mouth.

“I should go,” Brody said, starting to stand up. He had his jacket with him, and he held it in front of him. “Good night, Professor McKenna. Have a good winter. Goodbye, Angel.”

It had been the first time he’d called her that. And then he’d gone, taking the front steps two at a time, disappearing into the moonlit night.

By next summer Jeffrey had returned, Brody had discovered he was irresistible to almost the entire female population of Crescent Cove and those chaste, almost dreamlike kisses had been forgotten. By Brody, at least.

But every time Angie sat on the green wicker sofa she remembered. And she spent a very large part of her summers curled up there with a book, trying not to think about anyone at all.

Oddly enough, she’d never kissed Jeffrey on the sofa. They’d necked on the steps, on the dock, in the boathouse, at the Harbor Club and just about everywhere else during their endless teenage years, but for some reason she’d never let him kiss her on the green wicker couch.

She never did find out what happened to the furniture after her parents sold the house and the Jacksons had it bulldozed. Probably gave it to Goodwill—most summer cottages were furnished with shabby hand-me-downs and secondhand furniture to begin with, and there’d been nothing of any particular grace or beauty. And she wouldn’t have wanted the couch, really. She couldn’t imagine it on Jeffrey’s mother’s freshly painted porch; the woman probably would have insisted on painting it a baby-blue if she’d allowed it there at all. Angie decided she would rather have it gone, over with, part of her long-lost childhood.

Of course she was thinking about it now. Brody had invaded her life, her thoughts, just as he had so many years ago. She could remember the faded cabbage roses on the cushions, the stain from the grape juice she’d spilled when she’d beaten Brody at canasta, the faintly musty smell as she devoured romances and ate homemade cookies.

Cookies. She surveyed the kitchen, the sheets of parchment paper covering every available surface, with Christmas cookies on each one. She’d finally run out of eggs and room, and she needed to give cookies away before she could bake some more. And she desperately needed to bake—it was what grounded her and kept her sane.

The snow was falling lightly, two days before Christmas Eve, and she’d already given cookies to everyone she’d ever met. She knew she wasn’t going to be getting into her car in such suicidal weather, and she knew the one person she hadn’t given cookies to yet was in walking distance. And he probably had eggs.

A simple, neighborly gesture, she told herself. So they had a confusing history together. They were both grown-ups, and that was in the distant past. She should go to show him she was entirely unaffected by it, and a friendly visit with a tin box of Christmas cookies would be just the excuse. If he wasn’t there, even better. She would have made the gesture without having to actually talk to him and pretend it didn’t matter. She blew out the Christmas candle, extinguishing its warm glow, and headed out into the night.

She walked past the snow-shrouded tennis court and the tree she’d planted so long ago. Funny that they hadn’t bulldozed that when they’d wiped out everything else. She circled the house, only to discover where her Christmas tree had come from. He’d taken one of the three carefully landscaped balsams from the side of the driveway. His gardener would kill him.

The deck was freshly shoveled and his truck was in the driveway, but there was no sign of him. She could always hope he’d gone for a long hike. The wreath she’d made for him was still there on the side of the house, and smoke was curling out of the chimney. She couldn’t see him when she peered through the French doors, and her knock was deliberately soft. If he was meant to hear her, he would; otherwise, she could just leave the cookies and head back to the safety of her house.

She should have known fate wouldn’t make it easy on her. Before she could knock one more time the door opened and he stood there, barefoot and bare chested.

“Here,” she said, shoving the cookies at him. “Merry Christmas.”

He stared at her for a long, endless moment. She finally got a good look at the inside of his house—he’d brought a bed downstairs by the wood stove, the fancy kitchen was a mess and every surface was covered with books and newspapers. It was far too cozy, and she had to get out of there, fast.

He took the cookies, but he caught her wrist at the same time, and before she realized it he’d drawn her into the warm house, kicking the door shut behind them. “It’s about time,” he said, setting the cookies down on a nearby table. “Merry Christmas, Angel.” And he pulled her into his arms, against his hard, lean body, and kissed her.

It was as if she’d been holding her breath, waiting for this, for the past ten years. Since the last time he’d kissed her. His skin was smooth, warm beneath the open flannel shirt, and his mouth was just as practiced as ever. He didn’t give her time to speak, and she didn’t want to. She just wanted to kiss him, touch him, let his hands strip the heavy coat from her shoulders and drop it onto the floor.

The house was dark with the oncoming shadows of early evening, and he hadn’t turned on the lights. Maybe what happened in the dark stayed in the dark, she thought, as he gently moved her back, almost as if they were dancing again, until she came up against a piece of furniture.

He barely had to nudge her—she sank onto the sofa, still clinging to him, and he followed her down onto the cushions, his long hair falling over them both as he blotted out the light, and she closed her eyes, letting herself drift in the wonderful sensations. The smell of wood smoke and whatever soap he used, the feel of his hot skin against her hands, his hard lean body on top of hers, the taste of him, rich and dark and intoxicating. The muffled sound of the sofa as it creaked beneath their bodies, the distant sound of a phone ringing as he began unbuttoning her blouse.

He hesitated a moment, his hand stilled, and she put her hands over his wrist. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

He smiled, a slow, sweet smile. “I wasn’t going to,” he said. “This has been too long coming.” And he was reaching for the zipper of her jeans, when the answering machine clicked on and her ex-husband’s smug voice filled the room.

She froze. “You haven’t answered my phone calls, Brody. Too busy trying to steal my wife?”

She put her hands up and pushed, and Brody immediately released her, rolling off her to the side of the old sofa.

“It’s a waste of time. I had her first and nothing can change that. I was her first and her best, and you’ll just be an afterthought.”

Angela got to her feet, fastening her jeans with shaking hands, buttoning her blouse crookedly. Brody lay on his side on the sofa, an unreadable expression on his face.

But Jeffrey wasn’t finished with his long-distance monologue. “The only reason you might be able to get her in bed is that I warned her about you, and she’s still so hung up on me that she’ll do anything she can think of to pay me back. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she didn’t believe that, and hell hath no fury and all that jazz. Don’t be fooled—she doesn’t really want you. She just wants to get back at me.”

Brody rose slowly, lazily, stretching as he ambled toward the telephone. Jeffrey’s voice was getting edgier now, almost desperate. “I know you’re there, Brody. It’s a waste of time trying to avoid me. Sooner or later you’ll have to face the truth. The only reason you want her is you never could have her, and you’re a man who hates to lose. And all she wants is revenge. Brody—”

Brody picked up the phone, then set it down again, breaking the connection.

“Poisonous little son of a bitch, isn’t he?” he said mildly, disconnecting the various cords from the telephone and the back of the answering machine. “He’s been calling me for days now. You’d think he’d be ready to let go of you, now that he’s got a new family, but he always was a dog-in-the-manger type. He may not want you anymore, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you. Particularly not me.” He leaned against the counter. “But then that brings us to the question of you and your motives. Any truth to what he says?” He seemed barely interested. “Is that why you’re here? For revenge against the man who dumped you?”

The room had been so hot, so cozy, the wood heat filling the high-ceilinged room. Now it was as cold as if he’d left the door open to the winter air. She turned her head to make certain it was shut, staring out into the darkness, but of course it was closed. It was only the ice in the pit of her stomach.

“Look at it this way,” she said in a deceptively calm voice. “You finally got what you wanted, even if Jeffrey’s phone call came at the wrong time. Consider me had. You’ve beaten Jeffrey. There is now no woman in Crescent Cove who wouldn’t sleep with you.”

“There are any number of women in Crescent Cove who don’t want to sleep with me,” he said. “Most of them, as a matter of fact.”

“All of them,” she said, picking up her coat and pulling it around her.

“Don’t leave.”

She paused by the door. “Why not?”

She would have taken something, anything. But he simply shrugged, and in the end there was nothing she could do but walk back out into the snowy night.

And in the distance she heard a crashing sound.

SHE SLIPPED on the icy road, sprawling in the snow, and the hard slap of the cold against her face was a salutary force. She scrambled to her feet again and ran the rest of the way, calling herself all sorts of names beneath her breath. What the hell did she think she was doing? All he’d had to do was touch her and she’d been ready to strip off her clothes and do anything he wanted. She’d done just what Jeffrey had warned her against, fallen into his bed without a second thought, and it had only been the phone call that had saved her from turning her life into a disaster zone.

Except that it hadn’t been his bed. She’d been aware of very little but the man who was touching her, kissing her. In retrospect, she knew what had felt strange, wrong but right, familiar yet strange.

He had the old wicker sofa from her front porch.

She couldn’t figure out why. Most of the furniture in the place had been broken-down junk, and the green sofa had been sagging badly, the wicker split and cracked. There’d been a few real Stickley pieces in the living room—the Jacksons should have saved those, not a worthless piece of porch furniture.

But it hadn’t been the Jacksons. It had been Brody. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.

And that was about all she knew at that point. She’d run, the moment she’d had a chance, letting Jeffrey do what he was so good at. Making her doubt everything.

Why had Brody kissed her, why had he saved the ratty old sofa, why had he done any of the unfathomable things he had over the years?

It didn’t matter. If Jeffrey was right, then Brody had accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish.

Then again, why was she trusting Jeffrey at all? He said he’d been her first and her best. Oh, God, she certainly hoped not.

The house should have been dark when she opened the door. She’d left when it was still light, and she hadn’t expected to be that long. She’d blown out the Christmas candle, but she hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights.

But the Christmas candle sat in the middle of the kitchen table, the flame straight and true, filling the room with a warm, comforting light.

She stared at it. She remembered she’d blown it out—she was always very careful about such things, especially since Brody had warned her. She looked around her, wondering whether she ought to be nervous, whether someone had broken into her house while she’d been gone.

But no one had been there—she was certain of it. The place would feel different if there’d been an intruder. And no one would have come in, lit the Christmas candle and then left.

There was no question that the candle was unique—it burned forever with hardly any change in size, it didn’t drip and the ever-shifting scents were a delight to the soul. Maybe the wick was made of some special substance that kept a dull glow, ready to flare back into life again when you thought you’d blown it out, like trick matches. Like childhood crushes. She needed to be more careful in the future.

She plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree, the extra glow filling the room. The woodstove was still going strong, and for the time being she didn’t need to do anything but curl up on the sofa and pretend nothing had happened.

This was not turning out to be the Christmas she’d been determined to have. There were too many unsettled memories, too many voiceless longings.

And the time for denial was gone. Those longings all had to do with Brody Jackson.

Chapter Five

Christmas

He shouldn’t have thrown his answering machine against the wall, Brody thought, but it had made such a satisfying crunch. Almost as good as if he’d slammed it into Jeffrey Hasting’s smug face.

He’d said the wrong thing, of course. Once Jeffrey had begun to spew his nastiness, once she’d stiffened beneath him, pulling away, he’d known he’d lost her.

The question was, had he ever had her? Maybe Jeffrey was right—she was simply the one who got away. Except that despite Angel’s flattering opinion of his irresistibility, there’d been any number of women who’d gotten away, including the first girl he’d had sex with, who’d dumped him for a football player; including his exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely shallow ex-wife and any number in between. He’d had his heart broken and he’d washed the pain away with a bottle of Scotch and emerged bloody but unbowed.

But he’d never gotten over Angel McKenna.

He was an idiot. He wasn’t going to be fifteen again, stealing a kiss on a moonlit porch. He wasn’t going to be twenty again, pretending to be drunk so that he could kiss her in the rain.

And he didn’t want to be. He’d made countless mistakes in his life, lost just about everything, but in the end it had made him a halfway decent man.

And in the end, he still wanted Angel McKenna, and probably would until the day he died.

He ought to just get the hell out of there. Coming back had been a mistake, though his options hadn’t been many.

But he had discovered that the perfect couple of Crescent Cove’s summer population had split, and that Angela had moved up into a house on Black’s Point. And invitations to stay with sympathetic friends in Hawaii, Aspen and Santa Fe had paled next to the chance to see Angel again.

To his shock, he still felt the same. No, scratch that. Not the same. When he was a teenager he’d mainly been interested in getting into her pants. What he was feeling now was stronger, deeper, surer. He wanted her on every level—as a friend, a lover, a sparring partner and anything else that came to mind. He wanted her, needed her, and he had the crazy hope that she felt the same.

He grabbed his coat and headed out the door. It was pitch-black—no moon that night, and snow was in the air. By the time he reached Angela’s farmhouse he’d managed to build up a full head of steam, and his knock on the door was closer to a pounding.

He half expected her to ignore it, which wasn’t an option, but after a moment the door opened and she stood there, looking small and wan, and some of his righteous anger vanished.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“We’ve got unfinished business,” he said abruptly. Not the best thing to say—she immediately folded her arms across her chest in an instinctive defensive posture. “Not that,” he said, irritated. “Though God knows that’s been hanging fire for too damn long.”

She didn’t say anything. Behind her he could see a soft glow emanating from the living room, and the scent of bayberry mixed with the smell of Christmas cookies hanging in the air. Who would have thought Christmas cookies could be erotic? But then, that was his constant state of mind when he was around her.

After a moment she moved out of the doorway, holding it open for him. “All right,” she said. She kept well out of his way when he walked into the room, which was probably a good thing. He might have forgotten his noble resolve and kissed her again, and as long as Jeffrey Hastings didn’t call they’d finish what they started. But he’d rushed it. Just because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for the past ten years didn’t mean she’d spared him a thought. He had to take his time. Give her time.

He closed the door behind him to keep the winter air out, but he didn’t take his coat off. She looked as if she’d been crying, and a pang of guilt hit him. Angela wasn’t the kind of woman who cried easily—she never had been. The question was, was she crying over her lost husband or him?

“I think we need to start over. From the beginning again,” he said. “The history gets too confusing, particularly with your ex-husband’s little tricks.”

“Start what?”

“Start us.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said carefully.

“Maybe not, but I don’t tend to give up easily. I want to set a few things straight. The only reason I hated Jeffrey was that he had you. Oh, and the fact that he’s a total moral vacuum. There’s no rivalry between us. There’s only you.”

He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but he persevered. “I’ll tell you what, Angel. I’ll leave you alone for now. Give you time to think about it. About whether you’re over Jeffrey…”

“Over Jeffrey?” Her laugh was genuine. “I got over Jeffrey a couple of years before I caught him cheating. The worst thing about it was that I was relieved when I caught him and had an excuse to leave. One can’t break up a perfect couple with no excuse.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to be another in your long line of summer conquests.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s winter. The time for conquests is over. I’m in love with you.”

He should have regretted blurting it out like that, particularly given the look on her face, but he couldn’t.

“Go away,” she said in a cold voice.

“For almost fifteen years, Angel. Since the first time I saw you, curled up on that green wicker sofa, crying over Little Women. You were my best friend, the first girl I kissed, and I want you to be the last girl I kiss. It’s embarrassing, unlikely, and from the expression on your face I can guess that it’s entirely unwelcome, but the fact is, I’m in love with you, and all the distractions in the world can’t seem to shake it.”

“You’re lying,” she said, but her voice was doubtful.

“If it makes you feel better you can believe that. You can spend the rest of your life missing Jeffrey.”

“I don’t give a damn about Jeffrey!” she said. “But I’m not about to trust your highly improbable declaration of love.”

“Of course you’re not,” he said soothingly. “So we’ll take it slow. Just promise me one thing. That you won’t run. You’ll keep an open mind, and we can see what happens.”

“You don’t love me.”

“Just forget I ever said that,” he said. “I promise I won’t say it again. At least, not until I think you’re ready to hear it.”

“You don’t love me,” she said stubbornly, and she sounded close to tears. A very good sign, he thought. If she didn’t care about him then his stupid-ass declaration wouldn’t bother her so much.

He didn’t bother arguing. “I’m going to leave this up to you,” he said. “The ball’s in your court, Angel. You make the next move. But I’ll be ready when you are.”

She bit her lip, and for a moment he thought she might be wavering. He took a step closer, just in case. But she took a step back, and he accepted the inevitable. For now.

“Don’t take too long, Angel,” he said. “And don’t forget to blow out the candle when you go to bed. It’s a fire hazard.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She would, unfortunately. She didn’t need or want him half as much as he needed her. But maybe that would change. It had to.

SHE WAS OUT of her mind, Angela thought. Totally and completely out of her mind. Brody Jackson wanted her, and he said it had nothing to do with Jeffrey. He even thought he was in love with her, though she had her doubts about that. But there was no doubt at all that he wanted her.

Almost as much as she wanted him. Which was the danger—she didn’t want to risk that kind of cataclysmic relationship.

She needed time, she thought. He was right about that. He was right about a lot of things. He had no idea she’d spent seventh grade writing “Mrs. Brody Jackson, Mrs. Angel Jackson, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson” in her math notebook.

He didn’t know just how pathetic she was when it came to him, and she knew she was going to have to tell him. Sooner or later. Preferably later. It was the night before Christmas Eve, her baking was done, her presents were wrapped, and maybe the safest thing would be to see if she could get a last-minute flight to Hawaii to have Christmas with her vacationing parents.

It would mean she wouldn’t have to do anything about Brody for at least a week. She could just put him out of her mind, concentrate on the season.

And pigs could fly. Besides, Hawaii was no place to celebrate Christmas—Vermont was made for the season.

And if she made it through the night without going to him she was going to be amazed.

Did she believe him? Was she willing to risk it? There didn’t seem to be any choice in the matter. Sometimes fate handed you a gift so powerful that you were afraid to grab it.

She went to the door, looking out the frosty pane of glass into the cold night air. It was a clear night, not a stray snowflake in sight. Nothing to keep her from going out, maybe discovering if he really meant what he said.

Her boots were already on when the phone rang, and she grabbed it, breathless, certain it was Brody.

“Get your ass over here,” Patsy snarled. “I’m in labor, damn it.”

And Brody would have to wait.

IF ANGELA HADN’T BEEN so exhausted she would have been highly amused. Patsy’s manner of dealing with labor was to cuss everything and everybody, and even her husband’s steady demeanor began to fray a little. Angela had had nine months of trying to talk Patsy out of a home delivery, but Patsy had strong opinions about everything, and Merline Kittredge was the best midwife in the Champlain Valley; plus, unbeknownst to the soon-to-be mother, the rescue squad was standing by, ready to whisk her off to Burlington at the first sign of trouble.

But there was no trouble at all. Harriet Patricia made her appearance after four and a half hours of very efficient labor, and she came out yelling almost as loud as her mother. Even Patsy was silenced by the sight of her perfect, healthy daughter.

“You’re crying,” Angela said.

“Am not,” Patsy insisted, staring down in wonder at the tiny creature she’d just managed to deliver. “It just hurt.”

“Pain’s over, and you didn’t cry during labor. You just cursed,” Angela pointed out.

“Don’t bother me. Can’t you see I’m bonding like any good mother?”

“And I’m taking you to the hospital,” Ethan announced. “You got to have your blissful crunchy granola back-to-nature home birth, and everything’s fine, but we’re going to check the two of you out and then we’ll be right back. It won’t take more than a couple of hours. Assuming the storm lets up.”

“S-s-storm?” Angela stammered.

“Yup. A Christmas Eve nor’easter. They’re figuring twelve to eighteen inches of snow, maybe more, with high winds and maybe even some freezing rain. If I were you I’d stay right here until we get back. We’ve got an extra bedroom.”

“You think she’d drive in this stuff?” Patsy emerged from her rapturous examination of her infant for a brief moment. “She’s the all-time wuss of the universe. Besides, she doesn’t have to be anywhere. Her family’s in Hawaii and there’s no one else who matters. Is there?” She looked her calmly in the eyes.

“I should have never told you anything,” Angela muttered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan demanded.

“Angie’s in love.”

“I am not!”

“With who?” Ethan asked, clearly bewildered.

“The same person she’s been in love with since we were kids. Brody Jackson. The problem is, the only way she’s going to get to him is through a blizzard, and she barely drives on cloudy days. And here it is, Christmas Eve, and there’s never been a better time to admit it and be with him.”

“Go to the hospital and get checked out,” Angela snapped. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Patsy smiled a catlike smile. “Sure you will.”

They went off in the ambulance, driving slowly, the red lights flashing. They disappeared into the swirling snow almost immediately, and Angela closed the door behind them, leaning her forehead against the cold window.

Spending Christmas Eve with Patsy and Ethan and the brand-new baby was a perfect way to celebrate. It was safe and warm here, and people loved her, and there wasn’t any risk of getting her heart broken, or driving off a cliff, or…

It was Christmas Eve, and she was too much of a Christmas slut to ignore it. She shoved her feet into her boots, pulled her coat around her and stepped out onto the porch. The icy snow whipped against her face like a cold slap, and the wind was howling down the main street, obliterating the lights and the town Christmas decorations. She walked down the steps, through the thick snow—they’d had almost a foot of snow since she’d first come to help Patsy, and it wasn’t about to let up any time soon from the looks of things. The snow was mixing with pellets of ice, the kind that would probably cover every available surface and send her sliding into the lake. If she tried to drive in this stuff she’d die. It was that simple.

She managed to open one of the car doors, letting snow fall onto the seat, and grab the snow brush. She started at the front, moving around the car, brushing off the thick, wet stuff, and by the time she reached the windshield again another inch had piled up. She was going to die.

Maybe the car wouldn’t start. She climbed behind the wheel, knocking the snow off her boots before closing the door, and turned the key. The damn thing started like a charm.

She took a deep breath. “You can do this,” she said. “All you have to do is drive very, very slowly. You can do this.”

Unfortunately, no one was listening, especially not her subconscious. She shoved the car into gear, put the four-wheel-drive in low, flicked on the lights and began to inch forward.

She could barely see five feet ahead of her. Visibility was slightly easier with the lights on dim, and when she tested the brakes she only slid for a moment before the reassuring chunk-chunk sound of the antilock brake system kicked in. She had her seat belt on, and she was clutching the steering wheel so hard her fingers were growing numb. She turned on the radio—there were nothing but Christmas carols playing on Christmas Eve and she figured that might help her to breathe. Or at the very least she’d die in a state of grace.

“‘Sleep in heavenly peace,’” she sang under her breath, an octave lower than the thundering choir on the radio. They didn’t sound as if they knew much about heavenly peace or sleeping, but at least she could sing all the verses, and it was a holy night, a silent night, no sound penetrating the thick blanket of snow.

She missed the turn onto Black’s Point Road. Well, not actually missed it—she just failed to put the brakes on in time and went sliding past it, off into the ditch at the side of the road.

“Near enough,” she muttered, turning off the engine and the lights, leaving the keys where they were. If someone wanted to steal the car they were welcome to it. After tonight she might never drive again.

Except that her hands weren’t shaking, and she no longer had that sick feeling of panic deep inside her belly. It was almost a sense of elation.

She was afraid she might get lost in the snow—on foot the visibility was even worse, the snow lashing at her eyes in the inky darkness. Her sense of time, of direction, was shot to hell. What usually took her five minutes to drive had taken her close to forty-five minutes. Her house wasn’t far from the main road, but with her luck she’d stumble right past it and into the lake.

She hadn’t left any lights on, not even her Christmas tree, but the faint glow was unmistakable. She knew what it was, and that it would lead her safely back home, and she no longer even thought to question it. When she stumbled in her front door the Christmas candle sat in the darkness, its warm glow filling the space.

If she had even half a brain at all she’d strip off her frozen clothes, build up the stove and get into bed. But she hadn’t risked life and limb out on the roads because she had sense, or because she wanted to sleep alone. She picked up the candle and started back out into the stormy night.

The snow should have dowsed the flame. The wind should have blown it out. But it stayed, straight and true, leading her through the snow-filled woods to Brody Jackson.

The house was dark as she climbed up onto the front deck. He hadn’t shoveled since the latest storm had begun, and she had a sudden awful feeling. He hadn’t said he was going to be there for Christmas, had he? And she’d pretty much told him she didn’t trust him and never would. Why would she think he’d be there that night?

It was too late now. The candle had led her there, through the storm, and this was where she was meant to be.

She pushed the door open, and the wind blew drifts of snow onto the floor. She shoved it shut behind her, then turned to look at the room.

He was lying in the bed by the woodstove, sound asleep. The covers were at his waist, exposing the long, beautiful back that she still remembered.

It would have helped if he’d woken up, said something, but he slept on, the rat. She set the candle down on the table. The only other light in the room came from the small white lights on the Christmas tree he’d brought in. There were no ornaments on it, but it was surprisingly beautiful.

She was soaking, weighted down with melting snow, and she’d come this far. And only good things can happen on Christmas Eve, right?

She pulled off her jacket and boots and left them by the woodstove. Her jeans were soaked halfway up her thighs, and they were cold, clammy and uncomfortable, when she took them off. She was shivering, but she stripped off her turtleneck and her sweater, too.

Colder still. She needed covers and a warm body. She peeled off her wool socks, but at the last minute couldn’t bring herself to remove her bra and panties. She tiptoed over to the bed, but he slept on. She picked up the covers and slid underneath them, close to him but not quite touching, holding her breath to see if he’d wake up.

He needed a shave. His long hair fell over his face, his mouth had a stubborn, sexy look even in sleep, and she put her head down on the pillow, feeling suddenly, unaccountably peaceful. She should be nervous, climbing into bed with a man when she wasn’t sure she was welcome, but she felt very calm. Safe. Home.

“It took you long enough.” He didn’t open his eyes, but reached out his arm and pulled her up against his warm, muscled body. “Your feet are cold.”

“Everything about me is cold,” she said with a little shiver.

“Not for long.”

It wasn’t perfect. Sex wasn’t meant to be perfect, graceful, elegant. But it was gloriously right. His hands knew just how to touch her, how hard, how gentle, how long. He did things with his mouth that she hadn’t even imagined, and when he pushed inside her she climaxed immediately, unable to help herself.

He held her tightly as the spasms racked her body, an unending shimmer of delight, and when they finally slowed he whispered in her ear, “Hey, I’m not that good.”

She cupped his face with her hands and smiled up at him dizzily. “But I am,” she said with a mischievous smile. And she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeper.

The night was too short, yet endless. They made love, slept, made love again, ate Christmas cookies and drank eggnog, then made love once more, and the light from the Christmas candle spread a soft, magical glow around the cavernous room.

When she awoke it was near daylight and she was sprawled across his body in a haze of total well-being. She could tell by the change in his breathing that he was awake, too, and when he spoke she lifted her head to see him.

“What the hell is this?” he said, holding up her discarded underwear. “Are there Christmas trees on your bra?”

She smiled at him. “Of course.”

He groaned. “Oh, God. You’re going to make me wear Christmas boxers next year, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” She put her head back down on his warm chest, closing her eyes as he stroked her shoulder. The early light of dawn had filled the room with a warm glow, almost like the candle. And then she opened her eyes, to see if it was still burning.

It was gone. The candleholder was still there, but the candle had burned to nothingness, not even a trace of wax left behind. Only the faint scent of cinnamon and cranberry lingered to remind her.

She closed her eyes again, letting out a deep, satisfied smile. “Merry Christmas, Brody,” she whispered.

He put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Merry Christmas, Angel,” he said. “And a happy new life.”

Naughty or Nice?

By Stephanie Bond

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

THE STYLIST HELD A HANDFUL of dark hair high above Cindy Warren’s head, the scissors poised only inches from her scalp. “Are you sure you want to do this, ma’am?”

Cindy bit her lower lip, wavering. Long hair was easy, uncomplicated. And a security blanket, her mind whispered.

Standing behind another salon chair a few feet away, Jerry cleared his throat meaningfully and pushed the fuzzy Santa hat he wore back on his bald head. An institution at the Chandelier House hotel, the elderly black barber gave trims to male guests, but declined to use his artistry on female heads. His implied subtle comment nettled her. Whose hair was it, anyway?

She looked up once again to the length of hair, then to the woman’s name tag. “Tell me, Bea, how long have you been working in our salon?”

“Counting today? Hmmmm. Three—no, four days. I graduated from beauty school two weeks ago, ma’am.”

Cindy digested the information as Jerry spun his seated customer around to face the action. “Well, I’m due for a change,” she murmured, to no one in particular, sitting erect with new resolve. “Long, straight hair is ridiculous at my age. I need to either have it cut, or become a country music singer.”

Jerry gave her a pointed stare. “Hum a few bars.”

“What’s wrong with long, straight hair?” Jerry’s customer asked.

Cindy’s gaze darted to the man’s reflection and her breath caught in appreciation of his appallingly good looks. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, then warmed with embarrassment.

The visitor, a striking man with pale blue eyes and a prominent nose, sat tall in the chair, his long, trousered legs extending far below the gray cape Jerry had draped over his torso. His dark curly hair lay damp and close to his head, compliments of Jerry, and a mirror trimmed with glittery gold tinsel reflected his crooked smile. “I said, what’s wrong with long, straight hair?”

Squashing a zing of sexual awareness, Cindy bristled. “I-it makes me look like a coed.”

“Most women would be thrilled,” the man offered with a shrug.

“Well, not this woman,” Cindy said, growing increasingly annoyed with her unexpected—and unwanted—physical reaction to him.

Jerry leaned over the man’s shoulder and said in a conspiratorial voice, “She’s trying to impress someone.”

“Jerry,” Cindy warned, narrowing her eyes.

The customer nodded knowingly at Jerry in the mirror. “Figures. Man?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jerry drawled, pulling off the plastic cape to reveal the man’s crisp white collarless dress shirt and burgundy leather suspenders.

“Jerry, that’s enough!”

“Boyfriend?” the man asked Jerry.

“Nah,” the barber said sadly, shaking the cape. “Ms. Cindy doesn’t date much—works day and night.”

“Really? Day and night.” The man made a sympathetic sound. “Then who is she trying to impress?”

“Some corporate fellow,” Jerry said, whipping out a brush and whisking it over the man’s neck and broad shoulders.

“Jerry, I’ve never impressed anyone in my life!” Suddenly, she realized what she’d said. “I mean, I’ve never tried to impress anyone.”

The old barber ignored her. “Headquarters is sending a hatchet man next week to check us out, and to check out Ms. Cindy, too, I reckon.”

“Other than the obvious reason—” the man flicked his glance her way for a split second “—why would this fellow be checking out Ms. Cindy?”

“’Cause,” Jerry said, nodding toward their topic of discussion, “she runs this whole show.”

His customer looked impressed. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Cindy said, looking daggers at Jerry. “That’s so.”

“Ma’am?” prompted a shaky Bea.

“Don’t do it.” The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the padded arms of the chair.

With ballooning irritation, Cindy scoffed and waved off the stranger’s opinion. “If men had their way, every woman would have hair down to her knees.”

The man steepled his fingers and glanced up at Jerry. “I would have said ankles. How about you, Jer?”

“Amen.”

“Ma’am,” Bea pleaded, “my arms are about to give out.”

Cindy raised her chin. “Cut it. This will be my early Christmas present to myself.”

“Punishment for being naughty?” the man asked Jerry.

“Punishment for being nice,” Jerry amended.

Fuming, Cindy nodded curtly to the hesitant hairdresser. “Do it.”

“Don’t do it,” the man said, his voice rich with impending doom.

“Whack it off,” Cindy said more forcefully. “Layers all over. Make me a new woman.”

The handsome man’s eyes cut to Jerry. “Is there something wrong with the old woman?”

Jerry pursed his lips. “She’s a little impulsive.”

Cindy set her jaw. “Let’s get this over with.”

Bea swallowed audibly. “I’ll leave the back shoulder length, ma’am.” The woman closed her eyes.

Alarm suddenly gripped Cindy. “Wait!” she cried just as the shears made a slicing sound. Bea opened her eyes and stared.

The man winced, and Jerry grunted painfully when the hairdresser held up more than a foot of severed dark tresses. As the remnants fell back to her shoulders, Cindy tried to squash her own rising panic and painted on a shaky smile, encouraging the new stylist to continue.

Maybe, she thought, keeping her gaze down and dabbing at perspiration along her neck, this woman would stay longer than the seven days their previous hairdressers had averaged. Cindy had urged her staff members to give the salon their patronage, and felt compelled to take the lead. But twenty minutes later, when Bea stood back to absorb the full effect of her latest creation in the mirror, Cindy understood why none of her employees used the unproved stylists.

“Good Lord,” Jerry muttered, shaking his head.

The man whistled low. “Too bad.”

“You hate it, don’t you?” Bea asked Cindy, her face crumbling.

“N-no,” Cindy rushed to assure her. She lifted a hand, but couldn’t bring herself to touch the choppy, lank layers that hugged her head like a long knit cap. “It’ll just take some getting used to, that’s all.” She inhaled and smiled brightly.

“Think he’ll be impressed?” the man asked Jerry, doubt clear in his voice.

“If he can get past the hair,” Jerry said, nodding.

“Do you two mind?” Cindy snapped, feeling a flush scald her cheeks. She tugged the cape off her shoulders and stood, brushing the sleeves of her blouse. Jerry, she could overlook. But this, this…arrogant guest was tap-dancing on her holiday-frazzled nerves.

The infuriating man stood as well, and in her haste to leave, Cindy slipped on a pile of her own hair and skidded across the marble floor, flailing her arms and legs like a windup toy. He halted her imminent fall with one large hand, his fingers curving around her arm. Cindy jerked upright to stare into his dancing blue eyes, then pulled away from his grasp. “Th-thank you,” she murmured, her face burning.

“The haircut must have thrown off your balance,” he observed with a half smile.

Feeling like a complete idiot, Cindy retrieved her green uniform jacket and withdrew a generous tip for the distraught Bea, then strode toward the exit. Her skin tingled with humiliation and her scalp felt drafty, but she refused to crumble. She simply had too much on her mind to dwell on the embarrassing episode with the attractive stranger—the upcoming review, going home for Christmas and now her hair.

Cindy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. No matter. After all, the unsettling man was simply passing through. And Manny would know what to do with her hair.

“OH, MY,” Manny said when she walked within earshot of the concierge desk. “Cindy, tell me that’s a wig.”

Cindy smiled weakly at her blond friend. “It’s a wig.”

“Liar,” he said smoothly, then emerged from behind his desk to touch her hair, a pained expression on his handsome face.

Hiring Manny Oliver as concierge over a year ago had been one of Cindy’s greatest achievements in her four years managing the Chandelier House. Next to most of the oddball staff members she had inherited, Manny was a breath of fresh air: good-looking, polite, helpful and witty. A true friend, and he could cook. Cindy sighed. Why were all the good ones gay?

“Don’t tell me,” he said, stroking her head as if she were a pet. “You’ve been to see Bea the Butcher.”

“You know about her?”

“I arranged a free dinner to console a lady she hacked yesterday.”

Cindy felt like crying. “Now you tell me.”

“You know I don’t bother you with details. What were you thinking to cut your beautiful hair?”

“I was trying to drum up confidence in the salon among the staff.”

“Now you’re a walking billboard, all right.”

She grimaced. “So can my hair be saved?”

He smiled. “Sure. There’s this great little hat shop down on Knob Hill—”

“Manny!”

“Shh, I get off at one. I’ll meet you in your suite,” he promised. “If you get there first, plug in your curling iron.”

Cindy frowned. “Curling iron?”

Manny pursed his lips and shook his head. “Never mind—I’ll bring the tools.”

She lowered her voice and scanned the lobby. “So, have you seen anyone who looks like they might be undercover?”

He leaned forward and whispered, “Not a trench coat in sight.” When she smirked, he added, “What makes you think this Stanton fellow is going to come early to spy on us?”

“Because I would.”

“It would be nice if we knew what he looked like.”

“My guess is he’s in his fifties, probably white—although I can’t be sure—and walking funny because he’s got his shorts in a knot.” She leaned close. “And he might be in disguise. So be on the lookout for someone we’d least suspect to be on a corporate mission.”

At that moment, Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock look-alikes strolled by in full costume. Manny looked at Cindy. “Could you be more specific?”

“Okay,” she relented. “Spotting a spy will be difficult in this hotel, but keep your eyes peeled. I’ll see you at the staff meeting.”

She cruised by the front desk and smiled at the dozen or so smartly suited reservations handlers, not missing their alarmed glances at her hair. Engineering workers were hanging garland and wreaths on the wall behind the reservations desk and at least a hundred over-coiffed females—guests who’d attended a cosmetics convention—waited in lines fashioned by velvet ropes to check out. Cindy slipped in behind Amy, the rooms director, and asked, “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” the brunette answered, then lifted a hand to her forehead. “Except for a raging headache.”

Cindy tried to conjure up a bit of sympathy for the woman, but while Amy had proved to be very capable on the job, her tendency toward hypochondria remained legendary around the watercooler. “Must be the perfume,” she offered in her most soothing tone, nodding toward the aromatic crowd.

Amy sighed noisily. “Don’t worry—I’ll survive. Once we get the makeup ladies out of here, we’ll have a full two hours before the bulk of the Trekkies arrive.”

“May the Force be with you,” Cindy said solemnly.

Amy laughed. “Wrong flick, Cindy.”

“I have thirty free minutes before the staff meeting. Any problems I can take off your hands?”

Amy gave her a grateful smile, then rummaged under the desk and came up with a clipboard. “Room 620 wants a better view, 916 wants a TV without the adult movie channel and room 1010 wants a smoking room with a king-sized bed.”

“And do we have alternative rooms for them?”

Amy made check marks with her pencil as she moved down the list. “No, no and no.”

“And ‘no’ means a personal visit,” Cindy said wryly, taking the clipboard.

Grinning, Amy said, “Take it up with the GM—it’s one of her policies.”

“Touché.”

“By the way.” Amy squinted and tilted her head. “What happened to your hair?”

Cindy frowned. “I’ll see you at the staff meeting.”

Retracing her steps through the lobby, she noticed every detail. The gray marble floors were polished to a high sheen, the sitting areas populated with antique furniture and overstuffed couches were neat. Christmas was a scant two weeks away, and while everyone else in the world shopped and anticipated holiday gatherings, Cindy knew she and her staff had many grueling hours ahead of them during their busiest time of the year.

Top that with headquarters’ announcement they were sending a man from a third-party downsizing firm to look over her shoulder for the next couple of weeks…And not just any man—Cindy shivered—but a highly touted, much-feared hatchet man named Stanton. Her intercompany contacts informed her he was ruthless, and the fact that he was coming at all did not bode well for the future of the Chandelier House. No uptight corporate stiff would appreciate the nutty flavor of her eccentric staff.

Avoiding the crowded elevator corridor, she headed toward the sweeping three-story staircase in the front of the lobby. The climb up the dark-gold-carpeted stairs gave her an impressive view of her front operation.

The hotel’s signature item, an enormous sparkling chandelier, presided over the lobby. She gave the dazzling piece a fond wink in memory of her grandfather, thinking of his stories of the hotel in its heyday, then turned her attention to the pulsing activity below. Every employee seemed occupied, from the valets to the bellmen to the lobby maids. Greenery, garlands and lights, thanks to engineering, were slowly enveloping the lobby walls and fixtures. Jaunty Christmas Muzak kept everyone moving and lifted Cindy’s spirits as well.

A new beginning lay just around the corner. A clean slate. A promising year for the Chandelier House, a better relationship with her mother, maybe even a man in her life.

Cindy smirked. Why settle for one Christmas miracle?

At the top of the stairs, she paused to catch her breath, then caught an elevator to the sixth floor. An owlish-looking middle-aged man answered her knock to room 620. Wearing suit slacks, dress shirt and tie, he held a pad of paper under his arm and, oddly, the room’s antique desk lamp in one hand. Cindy raised an eyebrow, then quietly introduced herself and explained that a room with a better view of the city was available, but it was a suite, and therefore, considerably more expensive.

The man frowned behind thick glasses and complained loudly, but Cindy remained calm, her eyes meaningfully glued to the lamp. In the end he huffily claimed the room to be adequate and slammed the door. Cindy shook her head, then jotted a reminder to send him a complimentary prune Danish the following morning. The man was obviously constipated.

The robed couple in room 916 cleared up a misunderstanding—they weren’t complaining about having access to the adult channel, they were complaining because they thought the channel should be free. No, Cindy explained, but an evening of pay-per-view was still relatively cheap entertainment in San Francisco.

She was two for three approaching room 1010, thankful the complaints were small compared to what her staff normally dealt with. Wrinkling her nose at the ancient orange carpet bearing a nauseating floral pattern, she pledged to put the case forcefully to headquarters about the need for new hallway floor coverings, then lifted her hand and rapped lightly on the door.

Within seconds, the handsome stranger from the hair salon stood before her, minus his dress shoes. His imposing masculinity washed over Cindy and his smile revealed white teeth and slight crow’s-feet at the corners of his ice-blue eyes. Late thirties, she decided. “We meet again,” he said pleasantly.

“Um, yes,” Cindy murmured, resisting the urge to pull her jacket up over her head. She checked the clipboard. “Er, Mr. Quinn?”

“Eric Quinn,” he said, extending his hand.

She returned his firm and friendly shake. “I’m Cindy Warren, Mr. Quinn, I—”

“—run this whole show…I remember.”

She flushed. “I’m the general manager, and I came to discuss your request for another room.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, smiling lazily. “Do you personally oversee every guest request, Ms. Warren?”

“No, I—”

“Then I’m flattered.”

He was an extremely handsome man, Cindy decided as she struggled to regain control of the situation. And very full of himself. “No need, Mr. Quinn,” she replied coolly. “My reservations staff is swamped at the moment, so I’m pitching in. If you’re interested, we have a smoking room available, but it doesn’t have a king-sized bed.”

Mr. Quinn frowned and stroked his chin with his left hand.

No ring, she noticed, then chastised herself. The absence of a ring didn’t mean the man was available. And despite her mother’s increasingly urgent pleas for her to find a nice man and settle down, even if he was available, Cindy wasn’t in the market for a relationship with a guest…who rubbed her the wrong way…at the most professionally chaotic and emotionally vulnerable time of the year.

Mr. Quinn shook his head ruefully. “No, a smaller bed will never do. I can afford to go without cigarettes more than I can afford to go without sleep. I’m a big man,” he added unnecessarily.

To her horror, Cindy involuntarily glanced over his figure again, then felt a heat rash scale her neck. She fidgeted with the clipboard, clacking the metal clip faster and faster as her pulse rate climbed.

He shrugged. “I guess I’ll stay put since I need a big, roomy bed.”

Cindy’s hand slipped and the metal clip snapped down on her fingers, sending pain exploding through her hand. “Yeeeeooooow!”

Mr. Quinn grabbed the clipboard and released her pinched fingers in the time it took for Cindy to process the distress signals from her brain.

“You’re bleeding,” he uttered, clasping her fingers.

“It’s nothing,” she gasped, bewildered that such a minor injury could produce so much blood—and agony—and wondering what it was about this man that made her behave like the Fourth Stooge.

“Come in and wash your hands,” he said, tugging gently at her arm.

“Uh, no.” Cindy knew there was a good reason to turn him down, but the rationale escaped her for a few seconds.

“But you need to stop the bleeding.”

Suddenly Cindy’s brain resumed functioning—oh, yeah, she lived here. “I have my own suite,” she explained hurriedly.

“Be reasonable, Ms. Warren. You’ll ruin your clothes.” His mouth curved into a wry smile. “Not to mention this, er, lovely carpet.”

She relented with a laugh, gritting her teeth against the pain. “Maybe I will borrow a wet washcloth, if you don’t mind.”

He stepped back and swept his arm inside the room. “This is your hotel. I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll just be a moment,” she murmured. As he held open the door, she slid past him, their bodies so close she could see the threads on the buttons of his starched white shirt. The proximity set what hair she had left on end.

Keeping her eyes averted from Mr. Quinn’s personal belongings, she stepped over his barge-sized dress shoes in the doorway of the bathroom, squashing down her instantaneous thought of the anatomical implications. She also ignored the masculine scents of soap and aftershave as she turned on the cold-water faucet and grabbed a washcloth.

Glancing into the mirror was a mistake—her hair looked straight out of the seventies and her makeup needed more than a touch-up. Cindy groaned, then gasped when the water hit her fingers. What an idiot I am.

She applied pressure with a white washcloth and looked toward the bedroom. The door he held open cast light into the room from the hallway, sending his long shadow across the carpet. No doubt he was belly-laughing at what must seem like her talent for self-destruction.

Cindy removed the washcloth, relieved the bleeding had slowed.

“You’ll find a couple of bandages in my toiletry bag,” he called out, and for the first time she noticed a slight Southern accent. “It’s on the back of the door. Help yourself.”

She hesitated to go through his personal belongings, but then told herself she was being ridiculous over a couple of lousy bandages. Cindy stepped back and closed the bathroom door, immediately smelling the soft leather of Mr. Quinn’s black toiletry bag. Her hand stopped in midair at the sight of pale blue silk pajama pants barely visible behind the large hanging bag. A picture of the handsome Mr. Quinn in his lounge wear zoomed to mind and the urge to run overwhelmed her.

With jerky hands, she unzipped the left side of the toiletry bag, but to her dismay, a barrage of small foil packets rained down on her sensible pumps. Condoms. At least a dozen in all varieties—colored, textured, flavored.

Oh, good Lord. Cindy dropped to her knees and snatched up the condoms, then stood and crammed them back into the pocket, knocking down Mr. Quinn’s pajama pants in the process. Dammit. She yanked up the flimsy pants, remembering too late the cuts on her hand. And silk was nothing if not absorbent. Cindy watched in abject horror as the pale fabric soaked up her blood. She dropped the garment as if it were on fire.

“Are you all right in there?” he called.

Cindy nearly swallowed her tongue. “Y-yes.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Her heart thrashing, Cindy tore open the right zippered pocket of the toiletry bag and fished out the bandages amongst shaving cream, shampoo and toothpaste. “Got them!” she called. Quickly she rewashed her fingers and slapped on the bandages despite the tremor of her hands. Finally, she turned and carefully picked up the silk pants to assess the damage.

One clear red imprint of her hand embellished the backside, as if she’d grabbed the man’s tush.

Cindy closed her eyes, her mind reeling. Why did things like this happen to her?

“Is everything okay in there?”

She leaned on the sink for support. Should I tell the man I found his stash of rubbers and fondled his pajamas? Then Cindy straightened. She could have the pants cleaned, then slip them back inside his room before tonight—Mr. Quinn would never know. Considerably cheered, she wadded the pants into a ball and shoved them down the back of her skirt. Thankfully, her jacket covered the lump.

Cindy took a deep breath and emerged from the bathroom, nearly faltering when she had to sidle past him again to reach the hall. “Thank you,” she said, as she retrieved the clipboard.

“No problem.”

At the sight of his devilish grin, Cindy remembered the man’s sexual preparedness and told herself he was a lady-killer to be avoided. Recalling her original errand, Cindy cleared her throat. “And I’m sorry about the room, Mr. Quinn. Of course you’re welcome to smoke in the hotel lounge.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll take this opportunity to rid myself of a nasty vice.”

Backing away on wobbly legs, Cindy nodded curtly. “Well, good luck.” Then she turned and fled, horrifically aware of the man’s pants jammed in her pantyhose.

ERIC STEPPED INTO THE HALL and watched her hurry away. He was at a loss to explain why he’d felt so compelled to tease the woman. In scant days Cindy Warren would see him in an entirely different light, and laying a friendly foundation wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned. He ignored the fact that such a gesture had never seemed necessary in past assignments. Perhaps the thought of her cutting her lovely hair to impress the hatchet man had made the difference.

From the reports concerning the Chandelier House, he had known the general manager was a woman, but nothing had prepared him for her youth or her beauty. Yet after observing her in the salon for only a short time, he understood why Cindy Warren held the top position in the grande dame hotel. She had fire in her beautiful green eyes and a firm set to her chin. And even with the haircut from hell, she was still pretty damn cute.

Eric stepped back into his room, pushing the stiff leather suspenders over his shoulders to fall loosely past his waist. Crossing to the antique desk where he’d abandoned a stack of paperwork, he reclaimed the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Using a pen with the hotel’s name on it, he jotted down notes about the room he’d received as an incognito business traveler. His head pivoted as he surveyed the space.

Although the wood furnishings were far from new, the bed, armoire and desk were charming and smelled pleasantly of lemon furniture polish. The bed linens were a restful combination of taupe checks and plaids, and the worn areas in the carpet had been cleverly concealed by attractive wool rugs. The electrical outlets worked and the spacious bathroom smelled fresh and sunny, although the Sweet Tarts on the pillow struck him as slightly odd.

He scribbled a few more notations, then stopped and dragged his hand over his face, picturing the determined set of Cindy Warren’s shoulders. Frustrated by the attraction he felt for her, he reminded himself of the danger of getting too involved with someone who might suffer from his assignment.

Craving a cigarette, he expelled a noisy breath, then reached for the phone and dialed out. After a few seconds, a familiar voice came on the line.

“Lancaster here.”

“Bill, this is Stanton. I just wanted to let you know I’m on-site.”

“Great. How’s the preliminary—is the place as nutty as we’ve been told?”

Eric fingered the package of Sweet Tarts. “Too early to tell.”

“Well, I spoke to our liaison from Harmon today. If you discover in the next few days that the Chandelier House doesn’t fit the future profile for a corporate property, we won’t even send in the rest of the team.”

Eric frowned. “I’m good, but that hardly seems fair.”

“Sounds like Harmon wants to get rid of this property.”

“If the numbers are that bad, why don’t they just dump it?”

“Because the numbers aren’t that bad. And some old cow on the board of directors has a soft spot for the place, so they need justification. We’re it.”

Eric leaned back in his chair. “Look, Bill, I came here to do a job and I’m not turning in a phony report. Plan on sending the team as scheduled. My reputation aside, there are people here to consider.”

His associate snorted. “People? I’m sorry, I thought I was talking to Eric Stanton. Are the holidays making you soft?”

Cindy Warren’s green-gray eyes flashed through his mind. “No—I guess I’m just tired.”

“Have you met the GM?”

“Yeah.” Oh, yeah.

“Is she on to you yet?”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nope, she’s not on to me yet.” But she’s already under my skin.

2

CINDY TRIED TO ERASE Eric Quinn’s image from her mind as she approached the executive meeting room. If ever there was a time not to be distracted by an attractive guest, it was now, when the fate of her staff depended on her. Worry niggled the back of her mind. Working in the close confines of the hotel, co-workers rapidly became like family, and she felt responsible for their future.

In the two years since Harmon Hospitality had purchased the Chandelier House, she and her staff had received countless memos from the home office mandating changes that would force their beloved hotel to fit into a corporate mold. So far, she had resisted. Her employees had no concept of a corporate direction—at any given time, most of them had no idea which direction was up. Yet somehow jobs were done and guests were delighted enough to return time after time.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, flashing a cheerful smile around the room as she walked to the head of the long table. Six directors and a handful of assorted managers chorused greetings and exchanged barbs while vying for a choice doughnut from the boxes being passed around.

The meeting room reeked of the mingling brews gurgling from appliances in the corner: regular coffee, cappuccino, sassafras tea and something scarlet dripping from the juicer. Cindy wrinkled her nose and refilled her cup with black coffee.

“New haircut, Cindy?” Joel Cutter, the food and beverage director, covered a smile by biting into a powdered doughnut.

Amidst the good-natured chuckling, Cindy threw him her most withering look, which didn’t faze him. A valued employee and personal friend, Joel oversaw the restaurant, the lounge and catering. Hot coffee sloshed over the edge of her happy-face mug as she set it on the table. She tucked herself into an upholstered chair, ignoring the unsettling lump at her back. “Pass the doughnuts. And thanks for the opening, Joel. We’ll begin with the hair salon. Amy?”

All eyes turned to the wincing rooms director, who was shaking white pills from one of the four bottles sitting on the table in front of her. She downed them with a drink of the scarlet liquid. “If it wasn’t for Jerry, I’d say turn the place into an ice-cream parlor. I talked the new stylist into staying through tomorrow, but after that, we’ll be shorthanded again.” Amy smiled sheepishly. “Jerry said she hasn’t stopped crying since you left, boss.” The room erupted into more laughter.

Cindy waved to quiet the melee. “Ha, ha, very funny. Seriously, what seems to be the problem with keeping a qualified stylist?”

Amy leaned forward. “Most hairdressers I’ve interviewed want to keep their skills sharp in areas other than simple cuts, like perming and coloring. In my opinion, we need to offer a full range of services.”

Nodding, Cindy made a few notes on a yellow legal pad. “Fine.”

Amy angled her head. “And it would help if Jerry—”

“—would agree to wait on female customers,” Cindy finished for her. “I know. But Jerry’s good at what he does, and we can’t afford to lose him. He’s a legend.”

“Much like your new hairdo,” Joel mumbled into his napkin, prompting more laughter.

Ignoring him, she shifted her gaze to Samantha Riggs, director of sales. “How’s business, Sam?”

“Never better,” Sam replied, completely at ease in full Klingon war regalia, including the lumpy forehead mask. “If the Trekkies are happy with the way we handle the regional conference, we’re bound to get the business of the Droids and the Fantasms.” She adjusted her chain-metal sash for emphasis.

Cindy hoped her smile wasn’t as shaky as it felt. Although the buying power and loyalty of the role-playing groups was strong, she’d heard the hotel was getting quite a reputation at headquarters as well—as the Final Frontier.

Sam counted off on her black-tipped fingernails as she spoke. “The crystal readers will be here at the end of the week, the vampires are arriving at midnight on Saturday and the adult toy trade show starts next Monday.”

Panic seized Cindy. “Adult toys next Monday?”

“Isn’t that corporate fellow arriving next Monday?” Joel asked casually, reaching for a honey cruller.

Cindy nodded, trying to mask her alarm. She didn’t mind hosting the X-rated trade show, but the timing couldn’t have been any worse.

“Let’s hope he has a sense of humor,” Amy chirped.

“And a sex life,” Manny interjected.

“Don’t worry,” Joel said, “Cindy has cornered the market on celibacy.”

“You’re a laugh a minute, Joel,” Cindy said dryly, ignoring the burst of applause. Joel and his wife were constantly trying to fix her up, but their matchmaking attempts had produced one disaster after another. “Sam, let’s keep the trade show as low-profile as possible, okay?”

Sam nodded convincingly. “You want low-profile, Cindy—you got low-profile.”

“Said the woman in the Klingon costume,” Manny pointed out.

“Hey, whatever makes the customer happy,” Sam said smoothly.

Cindy looked to William Belk, director of engineering, a burly fellow who rarely spoke. Smiling broadly, she asked, “William, how goes the search for the perfect lobby Christmas tree?”

He glanced around uneasily, twisting his cap in his big hands. “The nursery is still looking.”

Cindy’s stomach pitched. “We’re running out of days in the month of December,” she said with mustered good humor. “I’d like to see the tree up and decorated before our visitors arrive next Monday.”

“Uh, yeah.”

She smiled tightly and wrote herself a note to follow up with the nursery. After discussing a few administrative details with the comptroller and the human resources manager, she glanced at Joel and lifted one corner of her mouth. “Would you like to close out the meeting, or is my hair too distracting?”

“I’ll try to be strong,” Joel responded fiercely, then added, “Farrah.”

Cindy rolled her eyes heavenward. “Start with banquets.”

“Booked to 90 percent through New Year’s.”

She blinked. “Great. The restaurant?”

He pushed a newspaper article toward her. “The Chronicle gave us a mediocre review.”

“That beats the flogging they gave us last spring,” she said. “Anything else?”

“I doubt I’m the only one wondering about this axman, Stanton.”

Cindy glanced around the room, which had suddenly grown so quiet she could hear her hair moaning. After a deep breath, she rested her elbows on the table. “The corporate review was next on the agenda, but I’m glad you brought it up, Joel.” She wet her lips. “As most of you know, a third-party firm has been hired to study select properties under the corporate umbrella.” She smiled. “And we’re one of the lucky ones—the Chandelier House is going to be treated to the works.”

Cindy counted on fingers that hadn’t seen a manicure in months. “An audit of our accounting procedures, our reservations process, sales, customer service—if we do it, it’s going to be scrutinized.”

Manny cleared his throat. “Is there a reason we’re being studied so closely?”

Cindy clasped her hands in front of her. “The inspection might be related to the fact that I’ve resisted efforts to change the way the hotel does business.”

“And that you have breasts,” Amy muttered.

“I have no reason to believe this has anything to do with me being a woman,” Cindy said with sincerity, then grinned and pointed her thumb toward the slight curves beneath her jacket. “Besides, your point is debatable.”

Laughter eased the tension in the room.

“They want to turn us into a cookie-cutter corporate operation,” Joel supplied.

Cindy weighed her words. “It would seem that headquarters would like for us to conform more to a corporate profile, yes.” She forced optimism into her voice, then swept her gaze around the room. “A Mr. Stanton is scheduled to arrive next Monday with an examination team. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he arrives a few days early to check us out. Let me know if you notice anyone suspicious.”

“Should we be worried?” Amy asked, massaging her temples. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

“We should all be aware,” Cindy corrected gently. “Aware that everything we do will be under a microscope. As soon as Mr. Stanton arrives, I’ll call an executive committee meeting and make the proper introductions.” She conjured up an encouraging smile. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

“Whoa,” Joel said, raising his hand. “Don’t forget about the Christmas party tomorrow night.”

Cindy nearly groaned. Nothing could have been further from her mind. “How could we forget?” she croaked.

“With cutbacks on the horizon, should we bring a bag lunch?” Sam asked.

Everyone laughed, but Cindy shook her head emphatically.

“Forget the lunch,” Joel said, “but feel free to bring a date for Cindy.”

Amid the laughter, Cindy narrowed her eyes at Joel. “You are treading on thin ice.” She smacked her hand on the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”

As everyone filed out of the room, Joel fell in step beside her and she poked him in the shoulder. “What makes you so sure I’m not bringing a date? It just so happens that I might.”

Joel’s look of incredulity made her wish she actually did have a date. And the flash of Eric Quinn’s face in her mind exasperated her further. “You don’t have a date,” Joel scoffed. “Name one eligible bachelor in this town you haven’t neutered with indifference. Your name is on the bathroom wall—for a hard time, call Cindy Warren.”

“You flatter me.”

“Cindy, if you bring a date tomorrow night—” He looked toward the ceiling. “I’ll cover for you all day Wednesday.”

She straightened. Since her home consisted of a small suite near the top of the hotel, excursions outside the walls—especially for an entire day—were rare. This could be her last chance to go Christmas shopping before the hotel descended into seasonal chaos. “You’d cover my office calls?”

“Yep.”

Her last chance to buy a few casual clothes before she headed home to Virginia on Christmas Eve. “My pager?”

“Sure thing.” Then he grinned. “Of course, if you come stag, I get your parking spot for a month.”

And hadn’t the lock on her garment bag jammed the last time she’d traveled to L.A. overnight on business? She definitely needed new luggage. “And all I have to do is produce a man?”

“He has to be straight,” Amy qualified, walking on the other side.

“Right,” Joel agreed sternly. “I expect to see definite heterosexual groping before the night’s over.”

Cindy put her hand over her heart. “I’m wounded—you two honestly think I can’t find a date?”

“Right,” they said in unison.

She squinted at Joel. “You’re on, buster.”

Joel rubbed his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut. “VIP parking—I can hardly wait.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet this mystery man,” Amy said over her shoulder as she followed Joel toward the stairs.

Cindy stopped and stared after her friends, dread surging in her stomach. “Neither can I.”

ERIC SPENT the next couple of hours touring various areas of the hotel as unobtrusively as possible, occasionally ducking into alcoves to scribble on index cards. If employees stopped to offer assistance, he either manufactured requests for directions or said he was waiting for someone.

The covert stage of his job had always been his least favorite. Eric didn’t have a problem with pointing out deficiencies in an operation, but he much preferred doing it face-to-face with the staff.

He spotted Cindy Warren twice as she practically jogged from one task to another, but he stayed out of her line of vision despite his urge to talk to her again. He typically made his most valuable observations early in the review process and he liked as much done as possible in the first couple of days, since he never knew if or when his cover would be blown. After that, the sucking-up factor set in—an ego trip for some consultants, but merely a hindrance to productivity in his opinion.

After he’d exhausted his many checklists, he made his way to the concierge desk, where a pleasant-looking blond man offered him a professional smile.

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

Eric sized him up in seconds—he knew from the man’s demeanor he was an asset to Cindy Warren. “I’m looking for a dinner recommendation.”

“Any particular type of cuisine, sir?”

“Maybe a good steak.”

“Unless you want to see the city, our chef grills a great rib eye.”

Eric inclined his head, silently applauding the man’s response. “Sounds good—I’ll try it. How’s the lounge?”

“Great drinks, but not much action on Monday night.”

Shaking his head slightly, Eric laughed. “Fine with me.”

The concierge extended his hand. “I’m Manny Oliver.”

Eric clasped his hand in a firm grip. “Quinn. Eric Quinn.”

“Glad you chose the Chandelier House for your trip, Mr. Quinn. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

At that moment, Eric caught sight of Cindy across the lobby. He hadn’t realized he was staring until Manny’s cool voice reached him. “That’s our general manager, Cindy Warren.”

Eric tried to appear casual. “We met briefly in the salon this morning. I was quite impressed with her, um, professionalism.” And her legs. Eric watched her move alongside a barrel-chested man, gesturing from floor to ceiling in the curve of the magnificent staircase.

“She’s first-rate,” the man agreed. “The Chandelier House is lucky to have her.”

“She seems young for so much responsibility,” Eric said, fishing.

“Early thirties,” Manny offered.

“Is she single?” The words came out before Eric could stop them, and he wasn’t sure who was more surprised, himself or the concierge.

Manny straightened, his defenses up, and Eric wondered if the man had romantic feelings for his boss. “Ms. Warren is unmarried,” he said tightly.

Mentally kicking himself, Eric simply nodded. “Thank you for the meal recommendation, Mr. Oliver.” He withdrew a bill from his wallet, but before he could extend it, Manny stopped him with the slightest lift of his hand. “Don’t mention it, Mr. Quinn. It’s my job to take care of everyone in the hotel.”

Manny’s friendly smile didn’t mask the glimmer of warning in his clear blue eyes.

“I’m sure you’re good at your job,” Eric said lightly.

“The best,” Manny assured him as another guest approached his station. “Enjoy that steak, Mr. Quinn.”

Unable to resist another peek in her direction, Eric was treated to an inadvertent display of lower thigh as Cindy stretched her arm high to make a point to the man, presumably in preparation for installing more seasonal decorations.

Feeling Manny’s stare boring into his back, Eric dragged his gaze away from Cindy Warren. Checking his watch and finding he had plenty of time for a drink before dinner, he moved in the direction of the lounge, trying to shake off the undeniable surge of attraction he felt for the general manager. The nostalgia of the season must be getting to him, he decided. Making him sappy. Or horny. Or both.

The name “Sammy’s” stretched over the entrance to the lounge, one of the few areas in the hotel Eric had not yet staked out. He walked down two steps and into the low-lit interior, fully expecting the lounge to resemble the hundreds of other generic hotel bars he’d visited during his fifteen-year stint in the business. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find a motif of antique musical instruments. An old upright piano sat abandoned in a far corner. The strains of Burl Ives played over unseen speakers, evoking memories of past Christmases. A bittersweet thought; family gatherings hadn’t been the same since his mother’s death.

The place was practically deserted, with only a handful of customers dotting the perimeter of the room. A knot of Trekkies indulged in a down-to-earth pitcher of beer.

But to his pleasure, Jerry the barber sat on one of the upholstered stools, still wearing the Santa hat. He chatted with a thick-armed bartender and smoked a sweet-smelling cigar.

“Weeeeell, if it isn’t Mr. Quinn.” Jerry grinned and nodded to the stool next to him. “Have a seat. Tony’ll get you a drink.”

Eric slid onto the stool and rested his elbows on the smooth curved edge of the bar. “Bourbon and water,” he directed Tony with a nod. “Taking a break, Jer?” He patted his shirt pocket for a cigarette, then remembered he had left them in the room.

The older man nodded and took a long drag of his cigar. “I’m through for the day—got tired of that woman caterwauling.”

“Excuse me?”

Jerry used the cigar as a pointer while he talked. “That woman who whacked off Ms. Cindy’s hair—she’s been bawling all day.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Eric said with a laugh. “We warned your boss.”

“You know Cindy?” Tony glared as he slid Eric’s drink toward him.

Another besotted employee, Eric surmised. “Not really,” he said lightly.

Tony sized him up silently, flexing his massive chest beneath his skintight dress shirt. The red jingle bell suspenders did little to soften the man’s looks. Finally Tony walked down the bar to help another customer.

“Don’t mind him,” Jerry said with another puff. “He’s Ms. Cindy’s self-appointed bodyguard.”

“He looks dangerous.”

Jerry glanced around, then leaned toward him. “Just between me and you, he did a stint at San Quentin.”

Eric glanced up from his drink in alarm. “For what?”

“Never asked,” the man admitted. “But he’s fine as long as he stays on his medication. A bit protective of the boss lady, though.”

“Ms. Warren is a popular woman,” Eric observed.

“She’s a good woman,” Jerry amended. “But stubborn.” He shook his head. “Stubborn as the day is long.”

“She’s not a good manager?”

“She’s the best. But a big company bought this place a couple of years ago and has been trying to change it ever since. Ms. Cindy is wearing herself out digging in her heels.”

Eric kept his voice light. “There’s always room for improved efficiency.”

“People don’t come to the Chandelier House for efficiency, Mr. Quinn. You can go down the street and get a bigger room with a better view for less money.”

“So why come here at all?”

The man laughed and nodded toward the Trekkies. “We’re oddballs, Mr. Quinn, and we cater to oddballs. It’s a profitable niche, but Ms. Cindy can’t get anyone up the ladder to listen to her.”

“She confides in you?”

“Nope.” Jerry grinned. “But I know this hotel—been here thirty years, and I know women—been married three times.”

“The last one is a dubious credential,” Eric noted, taking another drink from his glass.

“Women are the most blessed gift the good Lord put on this earth,” the old man said with a ring of satisfaction. “Ever been to the altar, son?”

A short laugh escaped Eric. “No.”

Jerry nodded knowingly. “But Ms. Cindy’s interesting, isn’t she? An attractive woman.”

Eric frowned, alarmed that his interest was apparently so easy to spot. He needed to find a way to spend time with Cindy Warren, but he didn’t want it interpreted as a come-on. “I barely know her.”

Jerry sucked deeply on the cigar, then blew out the smoke in little puffs. “Oh, yeah, you like her all right.”

Feeling warm with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, Eric finished his drink. “No comment.”

“Mmm-hmm. Got it bad.” He laughed, a low, hoarse rumble. “How long you planning to stay in San Francisco?”

A bit rankled, Eric shrugged. “My business will be over in a few days, but I’m thinking about hanging around through New Year’s. Maybe visit the wine country.”

Jerry studied the burning end of his cigar. “Spending Christmas alone, are you? No family?”

Eric considered lying, then decided the truth was just as simple. “My father and I aren’t very close since my mother’s passing a few years ago. My younger sister will be with him for the holidays.”

“You and your sister don’t get along either?” Instead of judgmental, Jerry sounded only curious.

“No, that’s not it. Alicia is quite a bit younger than I am, and she has her own family.”

The barber looked sympathetic. “Still, kinfolk should stick together, especially at this time of year.”

Eric shifted on the stool, struck by a pang of longing for Christmases of his childhood. Popcorn garlands on a live tree, homemade cream candy and his father playing the piano. But Gomas Stanton had grown taciturn after his wife died, until finally Eric couldn’t bear to spend holidays at home, God help him.

If this holiday turned out like the last few, Eric would call his father on Christmas Eve, only to be subjected to a diatribe about how Eric’s work contributed to the fall of American capitalism. A master glassblower who had worked in a union factory for thirty-three years, his father believed a man’s contribution to the world came from a hard day’s work to produce a tangible good, something that could be bought and sold and owned. Eric’s chosen field, business consulting, was a mystery to him. “People like you are doing away with mom-and-pop enterprises—the kind of businesses and people who built this country,” his father had once said. And then there was the music, always the music.

The more Eric thought about it, the better Christmas right here on the West Coast sounded. Especially if he could manage to maintain an amicable relation with one Cindy Warren. Some GMs stayed close to their hotels for Christmas. Perhaps they could ring in the New Year together. He smiled wryly. If the accident-prone woman lived that long.

“Course, you’ll feel different about Christmas when you settle down with a lady,” Jerry pressed on, blowing a slow stream of smoke straight up in the air. “Love’s got a way of makin’ holidays special, yessir.”

Eric laughed. “There’s no danger of me falling in love, my man, Christmas or no.”

The man squinted at him. “Famous last words. I saw you two this morning, bouncing off each other like a couple of magnets turned the wrong way. I’m old, but I ain’t blind.”

Shaking his head, Eric set his glass on the counter and pushed away from the bar. “You’re imagining things, Jer.” He stood and gave the man a curt nod. “But thanks for the company anyway.”

“You’d better watch your step around her,” Jerry warned without looking up.

“Don’t worry,” Eric said dryly. “I’m not going to give Tony a reason to violate parole.”

Jerry laughed. “Mr. Quinn, don’t you know a pretty woman is ten times more dangerous than a hardened criminal?” He took a last puff on his cigar, then set it down with finality. “You’re a goner, son. Merry Christmas.”

3

“SO, WHO’S THE LUCKY GUY?” Manny asked as he rolled a section of Cindy’s hair with a fat curling iron.

Concentrating on his technique for later reference, she glanced at him in the mirror of her dressing table. “Lucky guy?”

“Amy told me you had a hot date for the party tomorrow night—who is he?”

“Is nothing sacred in this hotel?”

“I think we still have a bottle of holy water from a baptismal lying around somewhere.”

She sighed. “I don’t have a date…yet.”

“I can make a few calls.”

“He has to be straight.”

Indignant, Manny scoffed. “I know some straight guys—two, in fact.” Then he frowned. “Oh, but they’re married, and one is Joel.”

Cindy sniffed. “I smell smoke.”

Manny jumped and released the lock of hair, which fell limply back in place, perhaps straighter than before. “No harm done,” he assured her, then clucked. “Your hair is thin.”

“Thanks.” She lifted her bandaged hand. “Would you like to pour alcohol on my cuts, too?”

“What the heck did you do to your hand, anyway?”

Cindy hesitated. “I’ll tell you later. Maybe. Fix my hair—and hurry.”

“The hairdresser should have known better than to give you all these layers,” he grumbled.

“I told her to.”

“Then she should have exercised her right to a professional veto.”

“Maybe you should be our new stylist.”

“Cindy, contrary to popular belief, all gay men cannot cut hair and we don’t have track lighting in our refrigerators.”

“So tell me again why I’m submitting to your ministrations.”

Manny shrugged. “I’m simply trying to make the best of this tragedy.” He released another dark lock of hair that stubbornly refused to curl. “But I’m failing miserably—your hair won’t even bend.”

“Never mind.” She groaned and held up her hands in defeat. “I’ll borrow a nun’s habit.”

“You jest, but I think there’s one in the lost and found.”

“What am I going to do? My mother will have a stroke when I go home for Christmas.”

He scoffed. “You’ll be there for what—three days? You’ll live and so will she.”

“I’m glad you’re coming home with me,” Cindy said earnestly. “She’ll believe you if you tell her my haircut is in style.”

“Oh, no. I’m going home with you for baked ham and pecan pie, not to play referee for Joan and Christina Crawford.”

“We’re not that bad,” she retorted, laughing. “Just the normal mother-daughter, tug-of-war relationship. She’ll think you and I are sleeping together, you know.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes!” She punched him. “And thanks in advance for saving me from the usual harangue about settling down.”

“So, what’s up with that?” he asked, fluffing and spraying her hair.

“My mother?”

“No—you not settling down. Got a bad suit in the old relationship closet?”

Cindy gnawed on the inside of her cheek for a few seconds, pondering the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I can’t recall any particularly traumatic experiences. On the other hand, I can’t recall any particularly noteworthy ones either.” She shrugged. “I’ve never met a man who appreciates the more unusual things in life. You know, a guy who uses words like ‘happenstance’ and ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.’”

Manny stared.

“Okay, maybe I’m expecting too much.”

But he merely shook his head, tucked her hair behind her ears, and studied the effect. “Nope. Don’t settle, because if you’re like most of my friends—male and female—falling in love will be an agonizing event with a man who represents everything you hate.”

She laughed. “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m serious. Oh, yeah, now they’re giddy with newly-weditis, but right here is the shoulder most of them cried on during the courtship.” He tapped his collarbone. “And frankly, I’m not sure it was worth the trouble.”

Cindy held up one hand. “You’re preaching to the choir. But I am in desperate need of a day off, so I’ve got to find a date for the party even if I have to hire a man.”

He nodded. “Now that’s the ticket—retail romance.” Exhaling noisily, he shook his head at her reflection. “Sorry, Cindy, that’s the best I can do. I must say, though, without all that hair, your eyes really come alive.”

She stared at the bottom layers hanging limply around her shoulders, the top layers hugging her ears. “Thanks, but I simply can’t go around looking like this.” Cindy told herself she was not trying to look good in case she bumped into the man from room 1010 again.

“Just go back to the salon tomorrow and take the advice of the stylist. Their instincts are usually correct.” He gave her a pointed look. “They mess up by trying to satisfy the armchair experts.”

“It looks like I slept with panty hose on my head,” she mumbled.

“Control top,” he agreed.

She stood with resignation. “I have to get back to work—believe it or not, I have more pressing issues at hand than my coiffure.” Like the wad of silk at her back that she still hadn’t had time to take care of.

“Don’t forget to work in some time today for manhunting.”

“With this hair, I’ll need an Uzi to bag a date.”

“Where’s that nice Chanel scarf Mommy dearest sent for your birthday?”

“The yellow one?” Cindy walked over to a bureau and withdrew the filmy strip of silk. “Here. Why?”

“Wrap it around your throat and let the ends hang down your back.” He smiled apologetically. “It’ll draw attention away from your hair.”

She made a face, then followed his advice, checking the result in the mirror. As usual, he was right.

Manny slowly wound the cord of the curling iron. “Cindy,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “You’re worried about this Stanton man coming, aren’t you?”

She caught his gaze, then nodded. “Among other things.”

He sighed. “Just when I was starting to like this crazy place.”

“We’re not out of a job yet,” she assured him. “But I won’t lie to you, Manny—we’re a company stepchild and I suspect Harmon is looking to prune the family tree.”

“This scrutiny could be a good thing,” he pointed out. “Maybe Stanton’s people will see the potential of the old gal and headquarters will throw some improvement funds our way.”

“As long as those funds don’t dictate changing what makes the Chandelier House unique.” She forced a smile. “Just who are you calling an old gal, anyway?”

Manny smiled, his good humor returned. “By the way, since you’re on the make, there was a guy in the lobby this morning who looked like he wouldn’t mind having you in his Christmas stocking.”

She frowned. “Me?”

“Uh-huh. Guy named Quinn.”

Cindy’s pulse kicked up. “Eric Quinn?”

“You’ve already met him?”

Anxious to get it over with, she reached around, stuck her hand down the back of her skirt, and whipped out the pajama pants. “Sort of.”

Manny’s eyes bulged. “You siren, you.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I think those are the man’s pants.”

“Okay, it is what you think, but I didn’t get them the way you think.”

He crossed his arms. “I guess you expect me to believe you stole them?”

Cindy bit her lower lip.

His jaw dropped. “You stole them?”

She collapsed into a chair. “I don’t believe this day.”

Manny sat too. “Now you’re starting to worry me.”

“I’m starting to worry me. Every time I see Eric Quinn, I end up doing something stupid.”

“Cindy, I’m dying here—what’s up with the silk drawers?”

Just thinking about the incident made the backs of her knees perspire. “I went to his room to handle a simple request. Next thing I know, I’ve cut myself on a freaking clipboard and I’m in his bathroom washing up.”

He made a rolling motion with his hand. “Get to the good part already.”

“His pajamas were hanging on the back of the door. They fell, I picked them up.” She turned the pants around to show him the handprint.

Manny frowned. “So you offered to get them cleaned?”

“Not exactly.” She buried her head in her hands. “I was afraid he’d think I was some kind of pervert stroking his pajamas, so I took them.”

Her friend pursed his lips. “You run this entire hotel, and that was the best plan you could come up with?”

Cindy lifted her head. “It sounded good at the time!”

He took the wrinkled pants by the waistband, then peered closer at the stain, tisk-tisking. “I hate to tell you this, Cindy, but your chances of getting blood out of nonwashable silk are zippo.”

She moaned. “Now what?”

“Beckwith’s,” Manny declared, scrutinizing the label. “It’s a men’s boutique in Pacific Heights that carries this brand.”

Cindy brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah. The man has expensive taste.”

She reached for her purse. “Manny, I don’t suppose you would—”

“Run to Beckwith’s and see if they have a duplicate?”

Steepling her hands, she said, “I’m officially begging you.”

Manny pressed his lips together and adopted a dreamy expression. “Well, I have a few errands to run first, but there is this tie in their window I’ve had my eye on.”

“It’s yours!” she exclaimed, handing over her gold credit card. “But I need those pajama pants before dinner.”

“Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear every day.”

“And—” she lifted a finger in warning. “Not a word of this outside these walls.”

His mouth twitched. “Didn’t you know that concierge is French for ‘keeper of dirty little secrets’?” He stuffed the pants into the toiletry bag, along with the curling iron. “By the way, Amy said to stop by the front desk—she might have a line on our undercover Mr. Stanton.”

Cindy perked up. “No kidding?”

“She wouldn’t tell me a thing. She said she’d only talk to you.”

They rode the elevator to the lobby together, then separated after Manny promised to page her as soon as he returned “with the goods.” Cindy started feeling shaky again as she approached the front desk—she’d hoped that at least the tree would be installed and all the holiday decorations completed before Stanton arrived.

Amy stood with her head back, placing drops in her eyes.

“Allergies?” Cindy asked.

Blinking rapidly, Amy nodded toward the wall behind her. “I think it’s the evergreen wreaths.”

“Christmas is a lousy time of the year to be allergic to evergreen,” Cindy noted.

“It’s almost as bad as Valentine’s Day.”

“Are you allergic to chocolate, too?”

The rooms director frowned. “No, penicillin.”

Cindy squinted. “How does penicillin—never mind.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Manny said you might have spotted Stanton posing as a guest?”

“I think so,” Amy reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. “Here’s his room number—you might want to check it out yourself.”

After reading the scribbling, Cindy gasped. “I spoke to this man about a room change this morning. Why do you suspect he’s Stanton?”

Amy sniffed, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Besides the name similarity and the fact that he’s alone, he’s been all over the hotel asking questions about the furniture and making notes. Plus,” she lowered her voice, “he’s booked in his room through Christmas Eve and instead of using a credit card, he paid cash for his room deposit.”

Cindy nodded, the implications of the man’s identity spinning in her head. “Sounds like he could be our man. I think I’ll drop by his room again to say hello.”

“Um, boss.” Amy leaned over the counter and glanced at Cindy’s sensible navy skirt. “If you’re going to pay him a visit, show some leg, would you?”

Her mouth fell open. “Amy! Do you honestly think I’d resort to feminine wiles to influence the man’s decision?”

Amy looked at her for a full minute.

Cindy sighed, looked around, then opened her jacket to roll down the waistband of her skirt. “How much leg?”

CINDY SMILED BRIGHTLY as the door swung open to reveal the man still dressed in slacks, shirt and loosened tie. “Hello again, Mr. Stark.”

Holding the same pad of paper as earlier, the graying man’s eyes swam behind wavy lenses. “Yes?”

“I’m Cindy Warren, the general manager. I spoke to you this morning about changing rooms?”

“Oh, right,” he said tartly. “I don’t want a better view now since I’m already settled in.”

“Fine,” she said quickly, deciding not to mention they had already booked the room she’d offered him earlier. “I wanted to express our regret once again, and let you know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable, don’t hesitate to contact me or someone on my staff.”

“A couple of free meals would be nice,” he said bluntly.

She cleared her throat mildly. “I’ve already arranged for a complimentary breakfast to be delivered in the morning, sir.”

He glanced over the top of his glasses. “More than coffee and a doughnut, I hope?”

She bit her tongue. “Yes, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

After the door closed behind her, none too gently, she backed away and frowned. If that sour man had their fate in his hands, they were all in trouble. Waiting for the elevator, she got an unwanted view of her hair in the mirrored doors and groaned. When she remembered her foolish bet with Joel, she groaned again. The doors opened and she stepped inside, lost in thought.

“Hello,” a deep voice said.

She glanced up to find Eric Quinn smiling at her. For a few seconds, she could only absorb his good looks. She noticed a high dimple on his left cheek she’d missed before. He had changed into gray sweatpants, a loose white T-shirt and athletic shoes. She prayed he hadn’t yet missed his jammies.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Problems?”

“No,” she assured him hurriedly, then smiled. “Well, no more than usual.”

“No more injuries, I hope.”

Her cheeks warmed. “No, no more injuries.” She cleared her throat, searching for a new topic. “How is your stay so far, Mr. Quinn?”

“Productive,” he said smoothly, glancing at her shortened skirt, his gaze lingering on her legs before making eye contact again. “And I’m Eric.”

Oh, those eyes. Her fingers tingled slightly—the clipboard had probably severed a few nerves. She scrutinized the numbers panel, trying to remember where she’d been headed. “What’s your line of work…Eric?”

“Sales.”

“What kind of sales?” she asked, for the sake of conversation.

“Oh, trinkets and…things.”

She puzzled at his vagueness, then remembered the adult toy show the following week. “Are you here in preparation for the trade show next week?”

He shifted uneasily. “As a matter of fact, I am preparing for next week.”

Which explained the condom smorgasbord in his toiletry bag. She nodded and averted her gaze, hoping she hadn’t turned as pink as she felt. She was liberal, she was hip. She’d even gone to a men’s nude dancing club once with Manny. So why should the thought of this man selling dildos and fringed pasties unnerve her?

“Are you going to the basement, too?” he asked, nodding to the only lit button.

“Er, no,” she said, stabbing the button for the lobby. The door slid open almost immediately, and she practically fell out in her haste to flee.

Cindy didn’t look back as the doors closed, but was brought up short by a sudden yank to her neck. She stumbled backward and swung around, horrified at the sight of her scarf caught in the elevator door and being dragged down the shaft. She stood frozen as the bit of silk whipped off her neck with a swish and disappeared into the floor.

Thankful she hadn’t knotted the noose, Cindy closed her eyes and hit the palm of her hand against her forehead.

“Was it him?”

At the sound of Amy’s voice, Cindy turned to find her employee walking toward the elevator, scratching her arms.

“Rash,” Amy explained. “Do you think Stark is the man we’re looking for?”

Nodding, Cindy murmured, “Could be. He’s a bit contrary.”

The rooms director’s forehead creased. “Maybe he’s not a leg man.” Then she grinned. “Or maybe he’s a man’s man—perhaps we should have sent Manny.”

Cindy shook her head, smiling wryly. “Just let the staff know they need to be on their toes around our grumpy Mr. Stark.”

Amy snapped her fingers. “Why don’t you invite him to the Christmas party tomorrow night?”

She stared. “Are you insane?”

“Why not? Show him a good time.”

“Let him see the staff at their most drunken, uninhibited selves?”

“Oh.” Amy frowned. “You have a point, but you also need a date.”

“Well, it won’t be the man who has come to make mincemeat out of us,” she insisted. “Besides, I don’t mind playing nicey-nicey, but I certainly don’t want the staff thinking I’m kissing up to this man to save my own job.”

“You’re right,” Amy said, scratching at her neck. “I’d better get back to the desk.”

“See you later.” Sighing, Cindy jogged down the stairs to the basement in the unlikely event her scarf had escaped the moving parts of the shaft and had somehow floated out intact onto the floor. Nothing. Her mother’s gift was probably wrapped around some critical gear, damaging the working parts of the elevator even as she stood wringing her hands.

She glanced at her watch. Three o’clock—Manny should be back within the next hour. Then she’d easily be able to replace the pajamas while Eric Quinn worked out in the health club, a vision that conjured up a sweat on her own body. Cindy called engineering again about a Christmas tree, but the nursery had not yet located a candidate.

She dropped by the crowded Trekkie trade show and skimmed the many rows of tables to make sure the spring show’s bestseller, a stun gun capable of administering a dizzying shock, was nowhere to be found. The public swarmed over the trading card tables. Costumes and masks were also enjoying a brisk trade. All in all, the show had successfully attracted a sizable family crowd.

Cindy fast-forwarded to next week’s adult toy show. Picturing Eric Quinn surrounded by erotic paraphernalia was enough to convince her to skip that particular exhibition.

At seven o’clock, still without a word from Manny, Cindy decided to have dinner while she waited. She descended the service stairs to the restaurant and walked through the kitchen to say hello to the staff. After a few minutes of small talk with the chef, she chose a bad table near the rest rooms and slipped off her shoes. What a day.

“Surely you don’t intend to eat alone,” Eric Quinn said behind her.

She turned to see him seated at a table a few feet away, half hidden by a silk tree. Her pulse picked up. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s kind of silly for both of us to dine alone, don’t you think?” His voice was empty of innuendo. “May I join you, Ms. Warren?”

Say yes, she told herself. He was simply a nice sex-toy salesman, looking for light dinner conversation. Besides, this way she’d be able to keep track of him until Manny paged her. “Please.” He stood and carried his wineglass to her table, then gave her a tired little smile. She nodded toward the vacant chair across from her. “And call me Cindy.”

“All right, Cindy.” He had changed into casual brown slacks and a pale blue button-down. He settled into the chair with athletic grace, his movements triggering an awareness in her limbs.

“What do you recommend?” he asked.

A married girlfriend had once diagrammed a position she’d always wanted to try on a napkin. “The rib eye,” Cindy said, her heart thumping wildly. Not that she hadn’t had her chances with men.

He nodded. “Rib eye is what the concierge suggested.”

“You talked to Manny?” It was just that none of those guys she dated had particularly lit her fire.

“Yeah—seems like a nice fellow.”

“He’s my right-hand man.” Oh, the restaurateur from Oakland showed the spark of a promise, but she’d been mired in hotel problems at the time and…oh, well.

“Good help is hard to find,” he agreed.

“Especially in the hospitality industry.” But this man—this man was one big mass of flammable substance.

“Cindy, before we go any further,” he said, his eyes merry, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

A sense of doom flooded her. He knew about the pajamas. He’d discovered them missing and deduced that she’d taken them. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, reaching for her water glass.

His smile sent a chill up her spine. “I mean a certain piece of clothing.”

She gulped down a mouthful of water, choking in her haste, her mind racing. “Oh, that. Well, I can explain—”

“It’s not necessary,” he said, shaking his head, his smile never wavering. “You were a little embarrassed—I understand.”

“Um, yes, I was, but—”

“Actually, I think your little mishaps are funny.”

Irritated, Cindy squirmed. “I’m glad, but—”

“And I hope you don’t mind that I consulted the cleaners around the corner,” he said, reaching inside his jacket.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, “I’ve already made arrangements for a replacement, so you don’t have to worry about the bloodstain.” Then she stopped. Cleaners? He knew the pants were gone, but how would he know about a stain?

He frowned as he withdrew a small paper bag. “Bloodstain? You were injured when your scarf came off?”

“My scarf?” she croaked.

“Yes, your scarf.” Laughing, he withdrew her yellow Chanel scarf, folded neatly. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“I thought you were talking about…my scarf, of course,” she replied lamely. “The cuts on my hand—I was afraid I had gotten blood on my scarf when I tried to grab it.”

“I was able to pull it inside the elevator,” he explained. “But the silk was soiled, so I thought I’d have it cleaned for you.” He smiled again. “I had to drop off a few shirts anyway—I hope you don’t think it was too forward.”

Not when I have your PJs. “Not at all,” she said. “Thank you. This was a gift from my mother.”

“Ah. And where is she?”

“Virginia. Along with my father and older brother.”

He blinked. “Really? I’m from Virginia, too.”

Her surprise was interrupted by the sound of her beeper. “I’m sorry, I’m still on call.” She glanced at the number, then withdrew a small radio from her pocket and punched a button. “Yes, Amy?”

“Sorry to bother you, Cindy, but our special guest in room 620 is complaining about the room temperature.”

Suspecting Mr. Stark was still testing them, Cindy asked, “Too hot or too cold?”

“Too hot.”

“Check the air-conditioning personally, Amy. And take a fan with you just in case.”

“Sure thing, Cindy.”

She stowed the radio and smiled at Eric. “Where were we? Oh, yes—what part of Virginia?”

“Near Manassas.”

“Ah. I grew up farther south on Interstate 95, near Fredericksburg.”

“I’ve been to Fredericksburg too many times to count,” he acknowledged. “Small world.”

A waiter took their order and they agreed to split a carafe of white wine. Cindy relaxed somewhat, but wished Manny would hurry up and call. The wine arrived and Eric filled her glass, then his.

“Do you go back often to visit?” she asked.

Something flashed over his face. Regret? He shook his head. “My sister and I are close, but my father doesn’t exactly approve of my, um, line of work.”

She nodded sympathetically, but she could see his father’s side, too. That your son sold sex toys wasn’t exactly something to brag about. But she had to admit, the combination of Eric’s good looks, the dim lights and the good wine made his occupation seem kind of…titillating.

“Do you like your job?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to say yes, but her beeper went off and they both laughed. “Excuse me,” she said. Within a few seconds, she had Amy on the line again.

“Cindy, now he’s complaining about the noise next door.”

“What noise next door?”

“I walked up, but I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Walk up again.”

Amy sighed. “He’s kind of hateful.”

“I know, but hang in there.” She put away the phone. “Yes, I like my job most of the time. Working with the public has its frustrating moments.”

They chatted until appetizers arrived, and Cindy found herself warming up to Eric Quinn, despite his somewhat questionable vocation. Once their fingers brushed when they reached for the wine, and Cindy felt a definite spark of sexual energy. From the slightly hooded look of his eyes, she knew Eric felt it too.

What perfect Christmas-party date material—gorgeous, gentlemanly and temporary. “Eric, I was wondering—” Her beeper sounded again, and she groaned, then laughed.

When she pushed the button, Manny’s voice came on the line. “Cindy, I have what you asked for—meet me at the concierge desk.”

Her heart lifted. The sooner the pajama pants incident was taken care of, the better. “I’ll be there in two minutes.” Then she smiled at Eric. “This shouldn’t take long. I hope you don’t mind waiting alone for our meals to arrive.”

“Not at all,” he said politely, standing when she did.

“I’ll take this opportunity to put on my scarf,” she said, scooping up the handful of silk. She wanted to look her best if she ever scrounged up the nerve to invite him to the Christmas party.

“Beware of attack elevators.” His flirty grin sent a bolt of desire through her midsection that hastened her steps.

Eric watched her leave the restaurant. The woman was such an enigma, an irresistible mix of beauty and strength and vulnerability. And the chemistry between them was undeniable.

He drained his glass of wine. Ethically, he shouldn’t become involved with her physically, at least not until after the conclusion of the study. He frowned, feeling unsettled, then glanced at his watch. He probably had time to return to his room and make a quick call to Lancaster before Cindy came back. Perhaps talking about the study would reinforce his resolve to maintain a respectable distance from the fetching general manager.

After flagging the waiter on the way out to let him know they’d both be returning, Eric strode toward the elevator.

4

“WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME go with you?” Manny demanded, trotting down the hall behind Cindy toward Eric Quinn’s room.

“For a ninety-five-dollar tie,” she retorted, “the least you can do is stand lookout.”

“Compared to the pajama pants, the tie was a bargain.”

Cindy stopped and her friend nearly barreled into her. “How much were the pants?”

Manny winced. “Three hundred and fifty.”

Her knees weakened. “Dollars?”

“What can I say? I told you the man has expensive taste. What does he do for a living, anyway?”

Cindy resumed walking. “He’s a salesman,” she answered evasively. And apparently, sex sells. She stopped in front of door 1010, then draped the Chanel scarf over her shoulder to free her hands. After looking both ways, she inserted a master key into the lock.

“I could get fired for this,” Manny said, his voice stern.

“I’ll put in a good word for you with your boss.” The door clicked open. “Give me the pants and cover me.”

He handed her a small bag with handles. “What if Quinn shows up?

Heat climbed to Cindy’s ears. “He’s in the dining room…waiting for me.”

“Ho ho ho. Dinner?”

“Don’t start.”

“And what if he ambles up here while you’re gone?”

Cindy sighed. “I don’t know—sing or something. Work with me, Manny. There’s no section in the handbook on breaking into a guest’s room!” Her heart thumping like a snare drum, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, where she moved quickly to the bathroom and flipped on the light. With shaking hands she withdrew both the old and the new pants. She had to give Manny credit—they were identical, all right, except the new pair looked a little too…well, new. Quickly she removed the alarming price tag, then gently twisted the garment to add a few wrinkles. With considerable trepidation, she lifted the old pair and inhaled the scent of the velvety pale blue fabric, detecting the trace of a vaguely familiar cologne.

She glanced toward the toiletry bag, then unzipped the non-condom-carrying side before she had a chance to change her mind. Cindy rummaged for cologne, smiling unexpectedly when her fingers curved around an unpretentious bottle of English Leather. Eric Quinn wore three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar silk pajamas, and used seven-dollars-a-bottle cologne? Intriguing. She squirted her father’s standby fragrance into the air, then held the new pants beneath the falling mist. Satisfied, she carefully hung the pajama bottoms behind Eric’s toiletry bag and checked her watch. Six minutes—not bad.

She stuffed the old pants into the paper bag and started to leave the bathroom when she heard an odd racket in the hall. Was someone belting out “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”? Then Cindy bit down hard on her tongue—Manny’s warning!

Nearly tripping over her feet, she dived for the light switch. Manny stopped singing and began conversing loudly with someone outside the door. Please, let it be housekeeping. Panic paralyzed her limbs as she heard a key being inserted into the lock. Manny’s words were indecipherable, but his tone had elevated considerably.

In the darkness of the bathroom, Cindy could see the whites of her eyes shining back in the mirror. There was nowhere to go but…she gulped and leapt into the tub in one motion, then jerked the curtain closed in another. Feeling faint, she shrank in the corner, visualizing her career going down the drain beneath her feet.

The door opened and Manny’s shaky voice reached her. “Just a little holiday entertainment, sir.”

The low rumble of Eric Quinn’s laugh sounded, sending sheer mortification through her body. “I didn’t realize I was on the concierge level, Mr. Oliver.”

Manny cleared his throat. “Could I adjust your room thermostat, sir?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Fill your ice bucket?”

“It’s full, thanks.”

“Check your towels?”

“I’m fine. Excuse me, I need to make a phone call, then get back to the dining room.”

“Of course, sir.”

Cindy allowed herself a tiny surge of hope—maybe he wouldn’t be here long.

She heard him move through the bedroom and pick up the phone. He wouldn’t be able to see the door if she left very quietly. But she hesitated—what if he hung up quickly and caught her leaving? Deciding to stay put, Cindy made herself as small as possible.

She could hear his murmured voice on the phone. Cindy wondered about the person he was calling. A girlfriend? A wife? A frown pulled at her mouth. Then she pushed aside the silly response—neither the presence nor the absence of a woman in Eric Quinn’s bed made any difference in her life.

What life? I’m cowering in the bathroom of a guest whose pants I stole. She broke out in a fresh sweat at the sound of Eric putting down the handset. His footsteps came closer, then to her horror, he stepped into the bathroom. Her heart lodged in her constricted throat as fluorescent light bathed the room. She clamped her hand over her mouth, biting back a gasp. What was he going to do?

Remove something from his toiletry bag, from the telltale sound of a zipper. A condom? Indignation lifted her chin. Did the man think he was going to get lucky with her? Water splashed in the sink, and Eric Quinn proceeded to…brush his teeth with the fervor of a dentist.

She felt a sliver of disappointment, but apparently Eric was in a grand mood because when the water stopped, he began whistling under his breath. Cindy strained to make out the tune and pressed her lips together when she recognized “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

…gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…

She frowned wryly, thankful she no longer believed in Santa Claus, because she’d never been so naughty.

He tapped his toothbrush on the counter, then returned it to his bag. Her heart stopped when he folded a towel over the shower curtain rod, rattling the plastic liner. Faintly silhouetted in the harsh light, his tall figure seemed even more imposing. Would he fling back the curtain and finding her squatting in his bathtub? Just when she thought she might pass out, the room went dark and he left the bathroom. Seconds later, he exited the room and Cindy’s body went limp with relief.

She sat on the edge of the tub for a full two minutes, then climbed out and crept to the main door, her muscles taut. After checking the peephole and finding the coast clear, she sucked in a breath, opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

“Well, it’s about time!” Manny whispered harshly behind her.

Cindy jumped. “You scared the schnitzel out of me!”

“I was going out of my mind—what the devil happened in there?”

Heading down the hall, she lifted the paper bag. “I switched the pants.”

“Did he see you?” he asked, exasperated.

“No.” She stopped in front of the elevator and stabbed the button, then sheepishly turned to face her friend. “I hid in the bathtub.”

He shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable.”

“No,” she corrected, shaking her finger, “unrepeatable.”

Manny grinned. “Wonder what a good blackmailer pulls down these days?”

“I have to get back to dinner with Mr. Quinn.” Her chest heaved as if she’d been running a marathon. She held up the bag. “Would you mind disposing of these for me?”

“Okay. So how’s it going?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Supping with the quintessential Mr. Quinn.”

Cindy pressed the button again. “Dinner with Eric Quinn was simply a ploy to keep tabs on him until you returned.”

“No footsie under the table?”

She scoffed. “Of course not.” In the elevator, Cindy selected the basement button and Manny chose the lobby. With a tissue from her jacket pocket, she dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead.

“If I didn’t know better,” Manny said, his voice sing-songy, “I would think you’re starting to like this guy.”

“Except you know better,” she reminded him as the doors opened to the lobby.

“See you tomorrow.” He stepped into the corridor, then turned. “And don’t forget to tell Mr. Quinn the Christmas party tomorrow night is black tie.”

Cindy opened her mouth to protest, but the doors slid closed on Manny’s knowing smirk.

Feeling completely exhausted, she exited at the basement and hurried back to the restaurant. Eric Quinn sat at the table with his hands wrapped around his wineglass, but he stood when she approached the table.

Manufacturing a smile, she lowered herself into her seat, hoping to get through the meal without another embarrassing disaster. “Sorry for the delay.” Someone had lit a votive candle in the table centerpiece, and the light from the flickering flame threw the planes of his chiseled face into relief. Either Eric had grown handsomer during her absence, or her own glass of wine was kicking in.

His eyes crinkled with a smile. “No trouble, I hope?”

“Um, no.”

The waiter arrived with their entrees under domed lids, but Cindy had lost her appetite. Instead she found herself studying Eric for some sign of sleaziness, some manifestation of peddling provocative products for a living that would give her a reason to avoid his company. But she saw only a darkly gorgeous, thoroughly masculine man politely waiting for her to begin eating.

Eric gazed across the table at the ruffled Cindy Warren, trying to figure out how he could spend time with the beauty without arousing her suspicion—or his libido. “Where were we?” he asked as he raked the grilled onions off the top of his steak—not that he expected to be kissing anyone tonight.

“Virginia,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Even with the hacked haircut, the woman was stunning. Classically beautiful with large eyes, high apple cheeks and skin as flawless as glass. “Ah, yes,” he said, already wanting to change the subject. Thinking about his argumentative father gave him indigestion.

“Do you still live near Manassas?”

He sliced into the rib eye, shaking his head. “No, I’m on the road quite a bit. I maintain condos here and there.”

“Will you be traveling back for the holidays?”

First Jerry and now Cindy. Eric wondered if his cover had been blown and if the employees were trying to cozy up to him. “Probably not,” he answered as casually as possible. “I believe you were about to ask me a question before you left the table?”

Cindy reached for her wine. “Whatever it was has slipped my mind.” She fidgeted, then asked, “Is this your first time staying at the Chandelier House?”

“Yes, although I’m in the Bay area several times a year on business.” When she averted her eyes, Eric wondered again if she knew why he was here. If so, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now except play along. “This is a very charming place.”

“Thanks. The hotel was built in the twenties, suffered through two substantial earthquakes, plus countless tremors. She’s been repaired, added on to, torn down and built up again. And still, she perseveres.”

Noting the affection in her voice, he said, “You speak of her more like an acquaintance than a structure.”

“The Chandelier House is something of a family friend,” she said wistfully. “My maternal grandfather was one of the original owners.”

Surprise infused him. He hadn’t been informed of Cindy Warren’s personal connection. “That’s remarkable. So it’s no accident that you’re here—” he smiled “—and running the whole show.”

“Yes and no,” she said between picking at the salmon on her plate. “My grandfather sold his interest in the Chandelier House years before I was born.” A smile lit her face. “My mother says I take after him, although I hardly remember him at all.” She sipped her wine. “Anyway, I studied hotel management in college and worked in a couple of small, independent hotels before stumbling onto this opening a few years ago.”

He played dumb. “So the Chandelier House is independently owned?

“When I came here, it was. But about two years ago a company in Detroit bought it and thankfully, allowed me to stay on as general manager.”

“A vote of confidence for you, I’d say.”

She shrugged. “I’m not bragging, but the Chandelier House is a special place, with special employees. It takes a certain kind of person to appreciate the, um, atmosphere.”

On cue, a crew of Vulcans filed by, in full costume. Cindy smiled. “It’s never dull.” He refilled her glass from the carafe, but she stopped him at the half-full mark. “I’m still on call for another hour,” she said, an adorable blush on her cheeks.

“So,” he said, nodding toward the Trekkies, “are they your typical clientele?”

“Oh, no. Our typical clientele is much weirder than that.”

“Really?”

She took another deep drink of wine and nodded. “The snake handlers were the scariest, I think.”

Eric blinked. “Snake handlers?”

“And surprisingly, the tattoo artists were the most courteous.”

“Hmm.”

“And last year the vampires ran up an incredible bar tab, so we’re looking forward to having them return in the spring.”

He leaned forward. “Vampires, did you say?”

“Oh, don’t worry—the whole staff gets tetanus boosters ahead of time.”

Eric’s jaw went slack. “That’s good.”

“And, um, your people will be arriving shortly.”

So, she had somehow discovered who he was. Relieved, but unreasonably disappointed at the same time, he nodded slowly. “I hope you understand why I had to be discreet.”

She averted her gaze. “Yes, I can see why.”

“People tend to treat you differently once they know the truth.”

A smile curved her mouth and her eyelids drooped sexily. “Well, I have to admit had I not had the opportunity to get to know you, Eric, I might have been one of those people.”

“I’m glad to see my line of work won’t interfere with our, um…friendship.”

Another wine-induced smile. “I’m an open-minded woman.”

Eric’s body leapt in response. Alarms went off in his ears. Was she going to come on to him in hopes of favorable treatment? “I’d rather not talk about work at all,” he said, “because I hate mixing business with pleasure.”

“Fine with me,” she said agreeably, then turned back to her plate with more gusto.

Eric watched her with no small amount of surprise. He had worried the moment of revelation would be confrontational, or tense at the very least, but obviously he’d been wrong. If anything, Cindy seemed more at ease—happy even—that his reason for being at the Chandelier House was out in the open. He relaxed back into his chair and lifted his glass to his mouth, studying the woman before him.

She wasn’t wearing the yellow scarf, but realizing how embarrassed she’d been over the elevator incident, he decided not to say anything. Eric did, however, wonder if she had any idea this was the most enjoyable meal he’d had in months.

Cindy pushed aside her plate, her eyes shining and her lips wet with wine. Suddenly she leaned forward and confided, “I have a confession to make.”

Lifting his eyebrows, he said, “Okay, but I feel compelled to warn you I’m not a priest.”

She laughed, making a bubbly little sound, then hiccuped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Excuse me,” she gasped.

Eric laughed, delighted at her lack of inhibition. He pushed his own plate aside and split the remaining measure of wine between their two glasses. “So what’s this confession?”

She drank deeply, then toyed with the stem. “Actually,” she said, her voice tentative, “I was planning to ask you something earlier.”

“Good evening, Cindy.” A suited man walked up to the table holding two full-bellied glasses and a small beribboned bottle.

Straightening, Cindy said, “Joel. This is Eric Quinn, one of our guests. Mr. Quinn, this is Joel Cutter, our food and beverage director.”

At least she was planning on keeping his identity a secret for a while longer, Eric noted. Cutter set the glasses on the table and extended a hand.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the man said smoothly, “but since you’re finished with your meal, I thought you might like to try a cinnamon liqueur I ordered in for the holidays.”

“Sure,” Cindy agreed. “Eric?”

“Sounds interesting.”

Cutter poured an inch of reddish liquid into the fat goblets. “Enjoy,” he said, then moved away. Cindy studied the liqueur thoughtfully, holding on to the edge of the table as if trying to orient herself. Maybe she’d had too much wine.

“Shall we drink a toast?” Eric asked, lifting his glass.

“I’m not sure,” she said carefully.

“Just a taste,” he said, respecting her restraint.

“Okay.” She smiled, wrapping her hand around her own glass. “To Christmas.”

“To Christmas,” he agreed, clinking his glass to hers over the candle, then added, “May we both get what we want.”

Cindy’s smile faltered and her glass fell, struck the candle, then bounced across the table. The white tablecloth absorbed a second’s worth of liqueur before the flame caught, setting the table ablaze. Eric reached over the flame and pushed Cindy away, catching his sleeve on fire in the process. Screams sounded across the dining room. Someone yelled for a fire extinguisher, but Eric yanked the edge of the table cloth and folded it over his arm, smothering the fire instantly.

Hovering six feet away, Cindy stared at the smoking tablecloth.

“Are you all right?” Eric clasped her elbow and gently turned her toward him.

Mortified, she blinked his concerned face into focus. “I set you on fire.”

“No, you didn’t—it was an accident.” He held up his arm, displaying a smoke-blackened but intact shirtsleeve. “See?” He unbuttoned the cuff and rolled back the fabric. “No damage.”

She still stared, astounded at her own carelessness. First the man’s pajamas, now his shirt…and very nearly his arm!

“Cindy!” Joel jogged toward them. “What happened?”

“Everything’s okay,” Eric said. “The liqueur spilled and the candle—”

“Joel,” Cindy cut in, finally finding her voice. “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance. If you’ll send someone to clean up this mess, I’ll sign for Mr. Quinn’s dinner and see him to the first aid station.”

“That’s not necessary,” Eric assured her, but she gave him her best don’t-argue-with-me look. He relented with a nod and an eye-locking smile that made her knees grow even weaker.

Cindy signed the meal receipt with a shaky hand, still marveling over her own stupidity. “Look, Cindy,” Joel whispered over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about the mess—I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.” He smiled sheepishly. “And I know this isn’t the best time, but I’m looking for a volunteer to be Santa for the party tomorrow night.”

She glanced up with a laugh. “You want me to be Santa Claus?”

“Well,” her friend squirmed, “I thought it would be good for morale if everyone saw you in the holiday spirit, you know, with the review coming up and all.”

She sighed. “Okay, bring the suit to the party—I’ll duck out and change when it’s time to give out gifts.”

“Swell, and don’t worry—the suit is flame-retardant.”

“You’re a real gas.”

As Joel walked away, Cindy glanced at Eric who stood a few feet away reassuring everyone he was all right. Even if she could get up the nerve to ask Eric to the Christmas party, the man would be nuts to go—she was liable to kill him!

He joined her and they walked out together, Cindy blushing with humiliation. “I strike again,” she said finally.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated gently.

Cindy punched the elevator call button. Her body was a quaking mass of fear, embarrassment, exhilaration and confusion. When the doors opened, she chanced a glance at Eric, noticing a smoky streak marking his left cheek. Pulling a tissue from her jacket pocket, she turned toward him and reached high, then stopped in midmotion as their gazes met.

Cindy swallowed. “There’s a…here.” She handed him the tissue and gestured to the black mark, then stepped away from him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stretch his neck toward the stainless panel, then swipe at the mark. “Think we’d better choose a floor?”

Completely bereft of dignity, Cindy lifted her hand, then stopped. Choose a floor? Was he dropping a hint that he’d like to spend the night with her? Her finger started to shake, and the ten button lit suddenly. His floor.

“And for you?” he asked.

“F-fifteen,” she squeaked, feeling ridiculous. He wasn’t dropping a hint about spending the night with her. He was probably going to call his insurance agent—or his lawyer.

“Unless you’d like to come in for a nightcap,” he said, checking his watch, then offering an unreadable smile. “And you never did get around to asking me that question.”

Panic washed over her. The way things were going, she’d probably go back to Eric’s room and the roof would collapse, or he’d be electrocuted, or heaven only knew what else. But the man must be desperate if he was willing to entertain a firebug. Unless he was looking for someone to tie to the bed while he demonstrated S&M toys from sample cases. “No!”

“Okay. Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

Cindy smiled wryly. “Despite the crash and burn?”

He revealed white teeth in a broad smile. “Despite the crash and burn.”

His eyes were so riveting. “I had fun, too.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to his floor. “Perhaps our paths will cross again tomorrow.”

Her throat ran dry. “Perhaps.”

When the doors closed, Cindy leaned against the wall heavily and looked at the ceiling. Please let this day end. First the bad haircut, then cutting her hand, the pajama-pant mess, the scarf thing—

She straightened. Where was her yellow scarf? She closed her eyes, her mind rewinding. She remembered taking it when she left the table and she recalled tossing it over her shoulder just before she’d…

Her eyes popped open. Eric’s room! Somehow, she’d lost her scarf in his room, probably in the bathroom—or in the bathtub. If he found her scarf, he’d know she’d been in his room, and when. Choking back hysteria, Cindy darted out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, and fled toward the stairs.

5

CINDY ZOOMED DOWN the five flights of stairs in record time, twisting her ankle twice. Thank goodness Eric’s room was at the far end of the building—with luck she could catch him before he went in. She sprinted down the hall, turned the corner and saw him standing in front of his door, inserting his key.

“Eric!”

He turned, his gaze questioning.

She jogged toward him, then slowed, suddenly realizing how out of breath she’d become.

“Cindy, is everything okay?”

Her chest heaved while she searched for an explanation. “I…I…want to…buy you…another shirt!”

His face creased in amusement. “You ran all the way back here to tell me you want to buy me another shirt? I assure you it isn’t necessary. I’m not overly attached to my clothing.”

A fact she wished she’d been privy to three hundred and fifty dollars ago.

“I insist. If I can borrow…a piece of scratch paper…I’ll write down the brand…and your size.”

He shrugged good-naturedly. “Okay, if it will make you feel better. But how about just taking the shirt?”

She massaged the stitch in her side and nodded.

“Give me a minute to change.”

Panic gripped her again—she had to get in his room. “Um, Eric!”

He turned back, the hint of a smile still hovering. “Yes?”

“About that question I was going to ask.”

“Yes?”

Desperate, she looked both directions, then lowered her voice. “Well, it’s kind of personal.”

“In that case, please come in.”

As expected, he unlocked the door and gestured for her to precede him into the room. Her heart pounded at the compromising situation in which she’d managed to land herself—again. She scanned the carpet in the entranceway for her scarf, but found nothing. The darn thing had to be in the bathroom.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“Um, no, I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted. Then she added, “to freshen up.”

He blinked. “Be my guest.”

She fled to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Cindy glanced at her reflection, then closed her eyes. Bizarre hair and even more bizarre behavior. What must he think of her? She hurriedly searched the room, then found her scarf—surprise, surprise—in the bathtub. After tying the scrap of yellow silk around her neck in a secure knot, she fluffed her hair, brushed her teeth with her finger, then washed her hands.

When she could stall no longer, Cindy opened the door. With a deep, calming breath, she walked down the short hall to the opening into Eric’s bedroom. She wasn’t sure what to expect—candles, Eric reclining on the bed in a smoking jacket?—but she felt vague disappointment to find every light blazing, from the corner lamps to the night-light in the electrical outlet, and Eric standing across the room looking out the window.

Gazing at the illuminated city of San Francisco, even more spectacular than usual due to added holiday lights, Eric mulled the unfolding situation. Of all the women in the world, why did he have to be attracted to one who not only ran a hotel, but a hotel he had been sent to terminate? And even though she said she was open-minded about the conflicts that could arise, Eric wasn’t as comfortable. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he was drawn to the woman simply because he knew deep down that she wasn’t accessible. Or if she was drawn to him out of some conscious or unconscious desire to influence his decision in the coming weeks? He’d been approached before by comely employees who were under the microscope of a corporate review.

He heard a movement and turned his head to see her standing in the entrance to his room, looking nothing like a woman hell-bent on seducing or being seduced. As a matter of fact, she looked a little scared.

“Nice view,” he said, nodding toward the vista.

“Mmm-hmm. If you have a chance before you leave, go up to the roof at night. Just phone the concierge desk and they’ll buzz you through the security door.”

“I’ll do that. You put your scarf on,” he noted with approval.

“Um, yes, I did.” She fussed with the ends. “Well, Eric, if you’ll give me your shirt, I’ll be on my way.”

Maybe she’d lost her nerve, or maybe she was waiting for him to make the first move. His body screamed yes, peel off her uniform and find out if she loved with as much energy as she lived. But a sexual encounter had never taken priority over doing a job to the best of his ability, so he simply unbuttoned his shirt quickly, smiling when she turned to scrutinize an unremarkable painting on the wall. Shrugging out of the ruined shirt, Eric walked toward her, glad for his father’s advice to always wear a T-shirt underneath a dress shirt. “Here you go.”

Visibly relieved to see his torso covered, she reached for the garment. “I’ll get a replacement as soon as possible.”

He inclined his head, realizing the futility of arguing. Their fingers brushed and desire surged through his chest. “Cindy.”

She felt it too, the chemistry. He could tell by the confusion in her green-gray eyes. “Yes?”

He imagined himself pulling her against his chest, capturing her mouth with his, and then to his astonishment, he realized he wasn’t imagining it. He tasted her breath, her lips, her tongue. Her hands curled, then splayed against his sides, her breath escaping in little sighs. Eric drank the wine that lingered in the depths of her mouth while resisting the urge to fill his hands with her body. Instead, he smoothed back her hair and tilted her face to allow him greater access. His body swelled with longing to crush her closer, but the fierce response was uncommon enough to deliver a dose of reality. Eric lifted his head and released her, attempting to check his raspy breathing.

She took a half step back, biting her swollen lips.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said lamely, bending to retrieve the shirt lying at their feet. “But since I’ve been fighting my attraction to you all day, I can’t truthfully say I’m sorry.”

“Fighting?” she asked softly. “Are you married?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Oh, no, I’m not married, or engaged.” Then he sobered and ran his hand through his hair. “But I still have reservations about us becoming, er, involved, because of my job.”

Cindy retrieved the shirt from his hand and studied the blackened sleeve for a few seconds, then she lifted her gaze. “I can get past it if you can.”

Eric caught his breath at the sensation her words evoked. He’d never lacked for female company, but he couldn’t remember being more satisfied to realize a woman found him attractive. So, while his mind warned that he was about to embark on a path of potential destruction, his mouth said, “Perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow night.”

She laughed—not quite the answer he’d hoped for.

“Eric, the question I’ve been trying to ask you all evening is whether you’d like to escort me to our employee Christmas party tomorrow night.”

Ridiculously pleased, he remained wary. “Have you told your employees why I’m here? I’d hate to get nasty rumors started about the boss.”

She angled her head at him. “Right now I don’t see a need to share this kind of information with my subordinates.”

“And if it comes up?”

Cindy shrugged. “Tell the truth and let everyone deal with it.”

The party, he reasoned, would be a great chance to see her interact with her staff informally—not to mention an opportunity to see how money was spent on after-hours activities. “Sounds great. Black tie?”

She nodded. “Donte’s tuxedo shop is just a couple of blocks over, but I insist on paying for it. It’s the least I can do.” She moved toward the door and he followed.

“Well, thank you anyway, but I travel with my own tux.”

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Oh.”

“What time is the party?”

“Eight o’clock until midnight in the lounge.”

He smiled, despite the warnings going off in his head. “I’ll knock on your door at fifteen of.”

“A BODY WAVE?” Cindy asked, staring in the mirror. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as shootin’,” Camelia, the new hairdresser, said, her animated nod sending her high ponytail whirling around like a ceiling fan. “There are only two ways to add volume to thin, straight hair like yours. One is to layer it, and it looks like you’ve already been down that road. Number two is a perm. You’re a prime candidate for Miss Fern’s Permanent Wave with Aloe, fifteen to eighteen minutes, I’d guess.”

Cindy brightened. “It’ll take less than twenty minutes?”

“Heck, it’ll take me an hour to roll this mess, but after that, it’ll be a breeze.”

Cindy glanced over at Jerry who was shaving a gentleman in the other chair, but the barber kept his head down. “But what will it look like?” she asked the hairdresser.

“Nice and full,” Camelia assured her. “Big, loose curls—it’ll be darling, just you wait and see.”

“I’ve always wanted curly hair,” Cindy admitted, then smiled. “And I have a party to go to tonight, so I want my hair to look nice.”

“They won’t be looking at anyone else,” the lady assured her. “Let’s get started.”

Cindy suffered through agonizing tugging on her hair as the zealous Camelia rolled the small sections tight enough to draw up the corners of her mouth.

She studied her hollowed eyes in the mirror, trying to recall when she had looked worse. The sleepless night she’d had after yesterday’s numerous fiascos was reflected plainly on her face. Not to mention the thoughts of Eric Quinn that had haunted her all night.

She’d risen with that sick feeling in her stomach she first experienced during puberty when the cutest boy in school winked at her in algebra class. The stress of wondering what to do next paralyzed her. Oh, during high school she’d managed to shuffle a few steps further, and in college she’d stumbled over the edge, but the nagging refrain—“Is this it?”—always came back to haunt her.

Much as she lusted after Eric Quinn, she had the vague sensation she was setting herself up for a huge letdown. Even though she hated to admit it, his line of work did bother her, the eroticism notwithstanding. Her mother’s head, of course, would explode before her very eyes if she found out. And Christmas was the worst time of the year for launching a new relationship.

“Almost ready for the solution,” Camelia sang. Cindy endured the eye-stinging pain of the last too-tight curler, and smiled as Camelia squirted the pungent-smelling liquid across the helmet of rollers. “We’ll let it soak in and I’ll check the curl in a few minutes.”

The peal of Cindy’s beeper sounded and she punched a button on her radio. “This is Cindy.”

“Hey, it’s Amy—can you come up to the lobby?”

Cindy glanced in the mirror. “I’m a little indisposed at the moment. Is this an emergency?”

The rooms director’s voice floated to her in a scratchy whisper. “That annoying Mr. Stark is here swearing there’s a rat in his room. He insists on seeing the general manager.”

Cindy rolled her eyes heavenward. “Take him to the break room and get him a cup of coffee—decaffeinated. I’ll be right there.” She turned and smiled apologetically at the hairdresser. “Can you wrap a towel around my head or something? I’m needed in the lobby.”

Camelia frowned, unfolding a bright green towel. “You can’t be gone too long, now, you hear?”

“Ten minutes, tops,” Cindy promised.

She trotted to the lobby, one hand on the towel and her eyes on her feet, hoping to get through unnoticed. A split second later, she collided with a large body and landed on her rump, sliding three feet on the marble floor before coming to a halt. She instantly recognized the feet and bit back a curse. At least the towel remained intact, but she couldn’t imagine how silly she looked to Eric—this time.

“Good morning,” he said, the laughter clear in his voice.

“Morning,” she mumbled, refusing to look up.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, causing the curlers to rattle beneath the towel.

“I’m sorry, Cindy, I didn’t see you coming, although now I can’t imagine why.”

“Everyone’s a comedian.”

He squatted down and angled his head until their eyes were on a level plane. “Would you like a hand?”

The man was just plain gorgeous. “A round of applause is exactly what I had in mind,” she said miserably.

Eric laughed and her sick stomach flipped over. “Here.” He reached for her hand and she reluctantly accepted his warm grasp, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Devastating in gray slacks and a plum dress shirt, he surveyed her turban. “Is this a West Coast thing?”

“I was interrupted in the salon,” she explained, thinking the green towel was the perfect complement to her undoubtedly scarlet face.

“Then I guess I’d better let you go,” he said merrily. “We’re still on for tonight?”

“You mean you still want to?” she asked wryly.

“See you then, swami.”

Well, at least the man had seen her at her worst—she hoped. Cindy rushed to the break room to find Amy fussing over a scowling Mr. Stark. She stepped forward, wondering how many times her name already appeared on his reports. “Mr. Stark, I’m Cindy Warren, the general manager.”

“We’ve met twice before, Ms. Warren,” he said with agitation. “I’m not senile.”

She swallowed a retort while Amy escaped without a backward glance. “My apologies, Mr. Stark. Of course you aren’t. Amy told me you saw a, um, rodent in your room?”

“It was a rat.” He straightened his conservative burgundy tie. “What’s wrong with your head?”

Her cheeks warmed. “I was in the salon, sir.”

The man’s bushy gray eyebrows rose. “You were having your hair done while on duty?”

Cindy squirmed. “I’m almost always on duty, sir. I rarely leave the hotel, so I work in personal services when I can.”

“You look like the rest of those fruitcakes walking around here in costume. What kind of freak show are you running?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to calm herself. He was testing her again. “I’m sorry if any of our guests make you uncomfortable, sir, but I assure you, their role-playing is a harmless hobby.” She inhaled deeply. “Now, about the um, animal you saw in your room. I’ll send someone from maintenance immediately, and I apologize profusely for the incident.”

His chin jutted out. “I think I’m entitled to some kind of compensation for my ordeal.”

Cindy maintained her friendly smile. “I agree, Mr. Stark. I’ll instruct the front desk to deduct one night’s stay from your bill. I hope this incident doesn’t ruin your visit with us.”

He harrumphed and, jamming a hat on his head, strode toward the door. “The prune Danish this morning already did that.”

Cindy winced as she realized she’d forgotten to change his breakfast order. Then, remembering her hair, she sprinted back to the salon, where Camelia stood tapping her foot. “You’re ten minutes late.”

Cindy dropped into the chair. “Is my hair ruined?”

“Let me check—the curl isn’t permanent until I put on the neutralizer.”

The woman unrolled a curler and to Cindy’s delight, the lock of hair sprang back to her head in a spirally curl. She threw Jerry a triumphant smirk in the mirror. He simply shook his head.

Camelia frowned. “The curl’s a little tight.”

But to Cindy, who’d never had curly hair, there was no such thing. “I love it!”

“Okay,” the woman said, breaking open the bottle of neutralizing solution. “Curly it is.”

WHEN SHE OPENED THE DOOR, Manny only stared. “Oh…my…God.”

Her worst fears were confirmed. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

He reached to touch it, then pulled back. “It’s like that awful wig Jan Brady wore when she wanted to be different.”

“Except it’s orange!”

He looked sympathetic. “It does appear that the permanent leached the color a bit.”

She burst into tears. “What am I going to do?”

Manny put his arm around her and walked her toward the dressing table. “There, there, it’s not that bad. What happened?”

“I got a perm,” she wailed. “Then I had to handle a problem and the solution stayed on too long.”

“What did Jerry say?”

“He isn’t speaking to me.” She dropped onto the padded stool and tearfully glanced in the mirror at her friend standing behind her.

He reached into her brassy, stiff hair tentatively. “Good grief, Jimmy Hoffa could be in here.” His nose wrinkled. “And pew.”

“I didn’t know it was going to smell so bad, either,” she moaned.

“Better stay away from open flames tonight, or you’ll spontaneously combust.”

She sniffed. “I take it you heard about the little incident in the restaurant last night.”

“I caught it on Joel-SPAN this morning.”

“I toasted Eric Quinn’s shirt.”

He tisk-tisked. “Cindy, I know you want to see this guy naked, but don’t you think destroying his wardrobe one garment at a time is a little too obvious?”

She scoffed. “Who says I want to see him naked?”

“Okay, maybe I’m projecting, but you do seem to lose control when he’s around.”

She stuck out her lower lip. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

He gestured wildly to her eight-inch-high hair. “You’re not giving me much to work with here.”

Cindy brightened a smidgen. “Well, at least I have a date for the Christmas party.” Then her shoulders drooped. “Of course that was before the perm.”

“Ah, but after the fire,” Manny pointed out. “So at least we know he doesn’t scare easily. Just in case, better wear the Donna Karan.”

“You think? The slit’s a little high.”

“With this hair, you’d better rip it another six inches.”

“Is there any hope?”

He clucked and tried to get his hands around the mass. “You can gel it for a wet look this evening, but for now we’ll have to strap it down. Where’s your scarf?”

Cindy opened the top drawer and handed him the Chanel scarf. “Remind me to tell you that story later. Look at this mess—as if I didn’t have enough to worry about today.”

“Problems?”

“Did you hear that Mr. Stark-Stanton reported a rat in his room?”

“Any truth to it?”

“Maintenance found some half-eaten food under the heat register, but no rat.”

“He could have planted the vittles.”

“Exactly. I’m getting tired of these little tests.” She sighed. “And engineering said the nursery bumped us down on the list for Christmas trees. At this rate, we might get one by New Year’s.”

Manny jammed his hands on his hips. “Can I use your phone, dear?”

She pointed into the bedroom. “The handset isn’t working in here, but try the one on my nightstand.”

“Back in a jiff.”

While he was gone, Cindy wrapped her scarf around her head in different configurations. After a few minutes, she admitted defeat and considered wearing the scarf as a veil so that no one would recognize her.

Manny returned with a satisfied look on his face. “The tree will be here in an hour.”

Cindy gaped. “How did you do that?”

Shrugging, he said, “Connections. I simply called the nursery, dropped a few names and told them if they didn’t deliver a fabulous tree today, I’d sic the gay Mafia on them.” He snapped his long fingers. “They’d never get flowers wholesale in this town again.”

She grinned. “Manny, where would I be without you?”

He emitted a long-suffering grunt. “In Glamour magazine with a black strip across your eyes and a big ‘Don’t’ by your picture.” Smoothing her hair back from her face, he fastened the mop into a fat ponytail, then reached for the scarf. “So tell me about this Quinn fellow who has you whipped into such a lather.”

Injecting as much innocence into her voice as possible, she said, “He’s a salesman.”

“So you said. What kind?”

“Hmm?”

He sighed, exasperated. “What kind of salesman?”

Cindy decided to confess, since Manny would find out anyway. She cleared her throat. “Adult entertainment articles.”

His hands stopped. “Sex toys?”

She squirmed. “You make it sound so tawdry.”

“If the stiletto boot fits, wear it.”

“Well, somebody’s got to sell the stuff.”

He held up both hands. “Hey, I’m grateful, but that doesn’t mean I trust him with my best friend.”

She smiled and elbowed his thigh. “You’re just a big old softy.”

“Keep it to yourself, would you? I have an image to uphold.” He leaned down. “So do you think you could get me some free samples?”

“I have a box of stuff under the bed that Sam gave me to preview for the trade show—you’re welcome to sift through it.”

“I’m there.”

ERIC STEPPED THROUGH the door of Sammy’s and claimed a seat at the bar. A tent sign by an ashtray announced the bar would be closed to guests after eight to accommodate a private Christmas party. The piano bench was stacked high with decorations. He extracted a cigarette from his pocket, suddenly realizing he’d begun smoking about the time he’d become too busy to play the piano.

He ordered a Canadian beer from a glowering Tony and lit his cigarette, frowning after the first drag. He really needed to quit—the damn things didn’t even taste good anymore.

“Those things’ll kill you.” A middle-aged suited man with thick glasses slid onto a stool next to him and plopped a limp fedora on the bar. “Got an extra?”

Eric slid the pack of cigarettes toward him. “Help yourself.”

The man ordered a Scotch from Tony, then lit a cigarette. “Thanks. Reginald Stark.”

“Eric Quinn.”

“Glad to know you.” He glanced around, taking note of the group of Trekkies glued to the TV set in the corner. Frowning, he leaned close. “I think you and I are the only people in this hotel who aren’t in costume.”

Eric laughed. “I’m here strictly for business. You?”

Stark shrugged. “I’m an antique dealer, here on a shopping trip. I always stay in older hotels and keep my eyes open.” He took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled sloppily in Eric’s direction. “Sometimes I get lucky and stumble across things the hotel is ready to throw out or sell for next to nothing.”

“And have you found any good stuff here?”

“Nah,” the man said. “Oh, the furniture is great, but not what I’m looking for at the moment.” He laughed, a dry hacking sound. “This place is kind of pricey, but I’ve discovered that if you complain enough, you can usually get some freebies.”

Eric experienced a pang of sympathy for the staff who had to deal with people like Mr. Stark, day in and day out.

The irksome man expelled a cloud of smoke, glanced side to side, then murmured, “You got any money, Quinn?”

Eric reached for his wallet. “I can spot you a ten if you need to cover your tab.”

“No, man. I mean do you have any real money? I have an investment opportunity.”

Eric shook his head. “I’m not interested in the latest multilevel marketing scheme.”

Tobacco fumes hung thick around the graying man’s head. “It’s not like that. I happen to know where there’s a fortune in plain sight, waiting for someone to jump on it.”

What a con man. Eric put out his own cigarette.

“You don’t believe me? Okay, I’ll tell you because you look like a man of honor.” Stark glanced around surreptitiously again. “It’s the chandelier.”

Eric frowned. “The chandelier?”

“Yeah, that huge one in the lobby.”

“I remember,” he said. “What about it?”

“Worth a fortune, that’s what.” The man reached into his pocket and withdrew a ragged page torn from a book. “See for yourself.”

His curiosity piqued, Eric studied the page which featured an aged black-and-white photo of a chandelier, with a small amount of text beneath. “French lead crystal. This says that three chandeliers were produced, but only two are accounted for.”

Stark nodded, then pointed toward the lobby. “I think the third one is hanging right in plain sight.”

Dubious, Eric said, “The chandelier in this photo looks different.”

“From what I can tell, there’s a piece missing in the center, but the rest of it’s the same.”

“But this page says it’s worth over seven hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s from an old book,” the man said, puffing on the cigarette. “Probably worth a cool million now.”

Eric’s heart rate picked up. “And you’re telling me that no one knows about this?”

“I don’t think so.”

Eric squinted, trying to remember the hotel’s balance sheet. To his recollection, the fixtures category hadn’t seemed inordinately large, but it was something to look into.

“The way I see it, if you’ve got, say, five hundred Gs, we can make the hotel an offer.”

He blinked. “If I have five hundred Gs?”

“Sure. I have a party interested in buying it, but I need up-front purchase money. I’ll split whatever we clear with you.”

The man was a total scam. Eric shook his head and handed back the dog-eared page. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not biting.”

Stark stuffed the paper into his pocket, then drained his drink. “Your loss, pal.” Slapping a bill on the bar, the man stood and snuffed out the cigarette. “Thanks for the smoke, anyway. See you around.”

Eric watched as the man left, wondering if he’d actually find someone dumb enough to give him five hundred thousand dollars. Still marveling over the man’s gall, he signaled Tony and was settling his own tab when the guy who’d given them the Christmas liqueur at the restaurant sauntered over, extending a hand. “Joel Cutter. We met last night. Quinn, isn’t it?”

Eric nodded and shook his hand. “No crises today?”

Cutter grinned. “The day’s not over yet. I hear you’re coming to the party with Cindy.”

Eric cut his gaze to Tony the bartender, who was frowning at the news. “Strictly as friends,” he assured them both, pushing aside the memory of their kiss. Thankfully, a ringing phone distracted Tony.

“Cindy’s a great gal,” Joel said warmly. “She certainly loves this place—to the point of neglecting her personal life, if you know what I mean.”

Eric nodded pleasantly, wondering if Joel was singing his boss’s praises because he knew Eric’s true identity. He hated second-guessing those around him, but speculating about ulterior motives was part of his job.

“Joel!” Tony hung up the phone and reached behind him to untie his waist apron. “Problem in the lobby—Cindy needs all available staff, pronto.”

“Is Stanton here?”

Joel’s question caused Eric to jerk his head involuntarily. So Cindy hadn’t yet told them who he was. And it sounded as though the staff expected his arrival to be traumatic.

“It’s not Stanton,” Tony said, bringing his stout, muscular body from behind the bar. “The Christmas tree just arrived, and the delivery men have it wedged in the front entrance.”

Joel glanced at Eric. “What did I tell you about the day not being over?”

Eric pushed away from the bar. “Think you’ll need an extra hand?”

“Come on.” Joel trotted toward the door. “If not, we can always use an eyewitness.”

6

CINDY MASSAGED THE ACHE at the base of her neck, not quite sure if the pain stemmed from the hairdresser’s brutal rolling job, her skinned-back ponytail, or the stress of seeing a twenty-five-foot Christmas tree wedged in the double-door entrance of the hotel.

Beneath the massive shimmering chandelier, chaos reigned in the lobby. Guests snapped pictures, some posing in front of the spectacle. Employees stood around with their hands in their pockets, gazing first at the giant blue spruce, then at her, expectantly.

The top half of the tree lay inside the lobby, the bottom half sprawled across the sidewalk plus one lane of the busy street in front of the hotel. Manny stood outside, his long arms waving wildly as he gave the delivery crew a tongue-lashing. Cindy had sent a woman from security out to direct traffic around the tree trunk—and to make sure Manny didn’t kill anyone.

“Ms. Warren, how am I supposed to leave this place?”

Cindy closed her eyes and groaned inwardly, then turned to face an impatient Mr. Stark. “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. There is a side exit past the elevators.”

“I decided I’d better go out and buy a rat trap,” he said contrarily.

Thankfully, Cindy spotted Amy hovering in the background, a white filtering mask over her allergic nose and mouth. She signaled her rooms director who came forward with something less than a spring in her step. “Amy, please arrange for a complimentary cab to meet Mr. Stark at the side entrance and take him wherever he needs to go.”

The man’s bushy-browed frown lessened, but only slightly. Amy led him away, explaining that he might be part of a growing medical phenomenon known as Christmasitis—people who are grumpy around the holidays who, in fact, are experiencing physiological sensitivity to Christmas trees, angel-hair…

“What happened?”

Joel skidded to a halt beside Cindy, followed by Tony, Samantha in a yellow, caped uniform, and to her consternation, Eric. Oh, well, she wouldn’t want him to wait more than a few hours before seeing her in yet another jam. Cindy sighed. “The plastic netting around the tree split open when they had it halfway through the door, and now with the branches fully extended, they can’t budge the thing.”

Joel stared at her. “I meant what happened to your hair.”

Resisting the urge to pinch him, she snarled, “I had it done.”

Sam squinted. “It looks kind of…orangey.”

“It’s the glare of the fluorescent lights,” Cindy said through clenched teeth.

“Your head has a real nice shape,” Tony offered.

She smiled tightly. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Do you have a plan?” Eric asked, his expression amused.

“I was considering shaving my head and borrowing one of Sam’s costumes.”

“I was talking about the tree,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Oh. No.” She glanced around the group. “But the floor is officially open for suggestions.”

Her staff assumed identical blank expressions. Eric walked closer to the tree, stroking his jaw with his thumb. Hugging her clipboard, she followed him, self-consciously smoothing a hand over her wiry hair. “What do you think?”

After a few seconds, he gave her a half smile. “I’d call the maintenance department and see if they can remove the panels around the door to widen the opening.”

“Great idea,” she agreed. “I already called, and they can’t.”

His smile flattened. “Oh. Well, you could cut the tree in two and use just the top.”

“But then we’d be left with a mighty short Christmas tree for this mighty big lobby.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a tree. It’ll be up for what—three weeks. Then it will wind up being mulch in somebody’s yard.”

Cindy blinked at his unexpected Scrooginess, evidence of a definite chasm within his family. The sad realization made her own comments about dealing with her mother seem petty, triggering a stab of remorse. She made a mental note to call home later.

Her expression must have betrayed some of her thoughts, because Eric straightened and laughed softly. “Of course, that’s only my opinion.”

She wagged her finger as if he were a child. “You need a big dose of Christmas spirit.” Turning, she addressed Joel. “Round up every pair of gloves you can find. Sam, drag Manny in here, would you?”

“What are we going to do?” Tony asked.

Looking back to the tree, Cindy lifted her chin. “Let’s try to hold down the branches one by one and push it inside. Even if we break a few, we’ll still be better off than if we cut the tree in two.”

She slid a smile toward Eric and paused, mesmerized by his incredible ice-blue gaze. This man turned all her peaceful, orbiting atoms into crazed, overcharged ions. Cindy swallowed. Tomorrow she would write an apology note to her high school science teacher for saying she’d never use that stuff.

Joel returned with a bundle of work gloves and passed them around. The self-appointed team leader, Manny waved his arms for silence, then pulled on his gloves as precisely as a surgeon. “Okay, everybody, we can get through this if we work together. Remember to use your legs, not your back. I know you’ll feel like you want to push, but wait until I say.”

Many employees and several guests pitched in, stepping into the branches and grabbing hold. Eric positioned himself amongst the tangle of towering limbs opposite Cindy, by chance or design, she wasn’t sure. From her vantage point, she could see the lower part of his face, see him smile and his lips move as he spoke to a young man next to him. And in that instant, surrounded by cool air swirling in through the open doors, Cindy decided that Eric Quinn would be an easy man to fall for.

She quelled a little thrill of anticipation by wrapping her fingers around a sturdy branch the width of a soda can…not that she was looking for a phallic substitute. She sighed—might as well drop a note to her psychology teacher too.

Amy handed Manny an extra filter mask. He pulled it over his mouth, then squatted by the door, wrapping his hands around a branch. “Okay, take a deep breath and push on three. One…two…three!” With the nursery workers pushing from the outside and everyone else pushing from the inside, the tree inched through the doorway.

“Easy now,” Manny yelled. “Easy, don’t let her turn.”

Cindy kept her gaze averted from Eric as she threw her weight behind her section of trunk, but she was so aware of him she could scarcely concentrate. In less than six hours, she would be spending the evening on the arm of the sexiest man she’d met in ages. And he had a great sense of humor, good taste in clothes, a decent job.

Okay, maybe decent wasn’t the right word. Stable. After all, what could be more stable than a career in sex?

“One last push!” Manny yelled. “Here she comes!”

With a collective grunt, they shoved one more time and the tree whooshed through the door and into the lobby, sliding easily across the marble floor. Cheers and applause broke out, and relief washed over Cindy—the tree would be set up by the time cranky Mr. Stark-Stanton returned.

Laughing, Eric pulled off his gloves. “Why do I feel like passing out cigars?”

Cindy decided he really should laugh more often. Her heart danced a crazy little jig. Despite the uproar around them, she felt strangely secluded with this man who had affected her so in such an alarmingly short period of time. She seized on a neutral subject. “Speaking of which, how goes the decision to quit smoking?”

“I’m okay as long as I keep my hands busy,” he said with the barest smile.

Cindy swallowed. So much for neutral. Over his shoulder she noted the arrival of the two tree decorators. Feeling flirtatious, she lowered her voice. “What if I told you I had something to keep your hands and your mouth busy at the same time?”

He looked around them. “I’d say we’re in public.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “The tree decorators are here, so I’d better get back to work.”

“Hey.” He laughed, grasping her arm as she halfheartedly started to leave. “All right, I’m curious.”

Cindy angled her head at him. “You also have a very dirty mind.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of Sweet Tarts, then handed it to him with a grin. “Ta-da! The quitting smoker’s secret weapon. Use it wisely, grasshopper.” Cindy sobered slightly, then said, “If our paths don’t cross again, I’ll see you tonight. Thanks for helping with the Christmas tree.”

He nodded slowly. “Thanks for the dose of Christmas spirit.”

Fingering the package of candy, Eric watched her cross the lobby and greet two men, obviously gay. They embraced Cindy, then touched her hair with concern. He smiled—she’d been harboring a permanent under that towel this morning. Actually, he found the reddish highlights in her hair attractive. In fact, he couldn’t imagine anything she might do to herself that would diminish her beauty.

Eric maintained a calm exterior while his insides thrashed with sensory overload. He couldn’t rationalize the urge he felt to keep her within eyeshot—hell, he could barely acknowledge the urge, much less explain it. Away from Cindy, the arguments against spending time with her stacked up neatly, but in her proximity, those arguments tumbled with alarming ease.

Workers were building scaffolding and tying ropes up and down the massive trunk in preparation for hoisting the evergreen next to the magnificent staircase. Eric’s gaze traveled to the dazzling chandelier hanging high above everyone, thinking for the first time how much his father would appreciate the craftsmanship of the glass. Perhaps he would send him a postcard of the chandelier with a quick note to let him know his son was thinking about him. Mysteriously buoyant, Eric made his way back through the lobby.

THE REST OF CINDY’S AFTERNOON passed in a merciful blur. She spot-checked the installation of the towering spruce, then left the somewhat flaky decorators to their own devices after they promised her “a masterpiece” by morning.

She also arranged for Mr. Stark to enjoy a night out at the theater, gratis. At least the play would keep the man occupied while the employees drifted in and out of the Christmas party. She swung by Sammy’s to make sure preparations were under way. Joel waved to her from the other side of the room and gave her a thumbs-up. Jerry stood on a ladder where the piano used to sit, hanging an armful of lights.

Cindy walked over, struck by affection for the elderly man who always pitched in, in any area of the hotel. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked, looking up at him.

Without glancing down, he grunted. “It’s your head of hair to ruin, I reckon.”

She sighed. “Okay, okay, I should have left well enough alone. It’ll grow out.”

“No, it’ll fall out.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “But I have it on good authority that my head has a nice shape.”

At last he laughed and sat down on top of the stepladder, shaking his head. “You look like you got your head caught in a rusty commode and you’re still able to charm the birds out of the trees.”

She shot him a wry smile. “So glad we’ve made up. Where’s the piano?”

“They moved it around the corner to the Asteroid Room to get it out of the way. Hey, I found a sprig of artificial mistletoe—do you think I should put it up?”

She shook her head. “Just last week I received a memo prohibiting mistletoe at company Christmas parties.”

“Never listened to ’em before.”

“I think I’d better this time,” she said. “Nix the mistletoe.”

He climbed down the ladder slowly. “Afraid you’ll be caught under it, are you?”

“No!”

He grinned. “Afraid you won’t be?”

“I won’t dignify that question with a response.”

“Bringing that Quinn lad, aren’t you?”

“Jerry, he’s hardly a lad.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Besides, how did you know?”

“Camelia told me when I walked into the salon this morning.”

“But I didn’t even meet her until she gave me this dreadful perm!”

He shrugged. “She said Stan, the shoeshine man, told her.”

Cindy shook her head. “Unbelievable.” She threw up her hands, defeated. “Well, at least she’s working out.”

The old man grimaced.

“She’s not working out?”

“You keep scarin’ them off with your hair disasters.”

Cindy looked up at the ceiling. “Now what are we going to do for a hairdresser?” She cut her gaze to Jerry, then smiled sweetly. “You know, Jerry, if you’d agree to wait on female customers, your tips would probably skyrocket.”

He held up one brown, weathered hand. “Oh, no. Men, give ’em a few snips here and there, clip the eyebrows, mustache and the occasional bushy ear, and they’re happy. Women? No, thanks.”

“I guess I need to call personnel to arrange for another temp.”

Jerry glanced at his watch. “You’d better pick up the pace if you’re going to get all duded up for the party.”

She pretended to be hurt. “How long do you think I need?”

He gave her a rare one-armed hug. “Build in some time to relax, okay? Try to forget about this old hotel and have a good time tonight with your young man.” Then he held up the mistletoe and grinned, revealing large, perfect teeth. “And I’ll try to find someplace appropriate for this.”

Cindy punched him playfully. “You’re determined to get me into trouble. I’ll see you tonight.”

But Jerry’s words stirred up the anticipation she’d suppressed all afternoon. She tied up a few administrative loose ends, distracted to the point of craning for a glimpse of Eric as she moved through the hotel.

At six o’clock, she returned to her suite and grabbed an apple. Then, sinking onto her bed, she wistfully dialed her parents’ number. Janine Warren answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Mom. How’s everything—Nothing’s wrong, Mom. In fact, I’m going to a party tonight and I had a few minutes—Hmm? Yes, I have a date. He’s a very nice man who happens to be a guest—What? Of course he’s not married. Yes, he told me—huh? Eric Quinn. No, with a Q, not a K. Guess what?…No…No…No. He’s from Virginia, can you believe—Manassas…Manassas…Ma-nass-as. Right. Virginia. Right. So how’s everything? He’s a salesman. What kind? A successful salesman, Mom. So how’s everything? Right, Christmas Eve. No, Mom, Manny is just a friend, he doesn’t care that I—As a matter of fact, they have met. Oh, look at the time! I have to get ready for the party. I will. Okay, I will. Say hello to Daddy for me. Love you, too. Bye-bye…okay, bye-bye…okay, bye-bye.”

Cindy replaced the handset with a sigh, then bit a chunk out of the apple. “I’ll know I’m grown up when my mother lets me finish an entire sentence,” she mumbled. But she had to admit it was comforting to know her mother still fretted over her. She would probably be the same kind of mother. Cindy stopped in midchew—mother? It was definitely time to stop thinking and get ready for the party.

Her stomach was so full of butterflies, it fairly flapped. She undressed slowly, then turned on the shower and let the water run over her fingers until it warmed.

With trepidation, she unfastened her hair, not surprised when the coarse, reddish mass instantly vaulted toward the ceiling. Manny had instructed her to wash her hair twice to diffuse some of the curl and most of the odor. Resigned, she stepped under the water and lathered the rat’s nest carefully, unused to the shortened length and springy texture. After dousing her hair with thick conditioner, she soaped her body, then went for the big shave—both the bottoms and tops of her legs.

She rinsed, then wrapped her hair in a towel. The flashlight from her nightstand was required to locate her special-occasion matching body lotion and perfume in the depths of her vanity cabinet. After slathering her slight curves with moisturizer and stepping into a robe, she finally dredged up the nerve to remove the towel from her head.

The tight curls clung to her head haphazardly, brassy in color even when wet. Cindy moaned and reached for the cosmetic bag Manny had given her with various picks, gels and a little black thing that looked like a tiny hammock. She smoothed out his page of written instructions and drew a calming breath.

Thirty minutes later she had managed to pull out most of the tangles with a wide pick, but by then the mass stood around her head like some kind of exotic hat. She worked the gel through her wild tresses, then slicked it back into a low ponytail according to Manny’s drawing. The little hammock, she discovered, was called a snood, a fancy name for a ponytail net. She fastened the snood in place, then turned sideways to critique her handiwork in the mirror and smiled. It didn’t look half-bad.

She turned back to the vanity mirror and frowned. Her face was another story. She hadn’t arched her eyebrows in ages and next to her perm-lightened hair, they looked darker and more severe than usual. “Glam up the eyes,” Manny had told her. She fished tweezers and an eyelash curler from a cluttered drawer, then pulled her magnifying mirror closer. With grimacing plucks, she thinned her wayward eyebrows, begrudgingly acknowledging her greenish eyes were her best feature.

Carefully, she positioned the eyelash curler to tackle her long straight lashes, and squeezed the handle. The phone in her bedroom rang, startling her, and her hand jerked. She gasped as searing pain zipped across her eyelid, then jumped up to answer the phone, covering her stinging eye with the heel of her hand.

“Hello?”

“Cindy, this is Manny. You have a delivery—shall I bring it up?”

“What kind of delivery?” She wiped at the involuntary tears running down her cheek.

“Let it be a surprise.”

Glancing down at the eyelash curler, she frowned at the number of lashes stuck to the little rubber pad, then froze. “Yes, Manny bring it up.” Cindy slammed down the phone, dread washing over her as she stumbled back to the vanity table. She pressed her face close to the mirror, then gasped. Funny—she’d never realized how much eyelashes, or the lack of them, contributed to the overall balance of a person’s face. The top of her left eye was nearly bald in places.

She groaned, then threw up her hands. She’d simply have to call Eric and cancel. Obligation dictated that she attend the party, but she couldn’t face him with only half her lashes on one eye. Then she chewed her bottom lip—maybe it wasn’t so noticeable. A knock at her door interrupted her panicked scrutiny.

Cindy secured the sash around her robe and jogged to the door. After a quick check of the peephole, she swung open the door to find Manny sporting a smashing black tux with a silver cummerbund and bow tie, and holding a small vase of exquisite flowers with a card tucked among the blooms. She smiled. “What on earth?”

“I didn’t check the card, but I suspect they’re from your dashing date.” He handed her the vase and followed her inside the room. “Hey, your hair looks great.”

“You sound surprised,” she said, setting down the fragrant mixture of white roses and lilies. “By the way, love the tux.”

“Thanks. Was I right?”

Cindy read the card, a zing of pure pleasure coursing through her at Eric’s neat handwriting. Thank you in advance for an engaging evening. Eric.

“Well, is his note naughty, or nice?”

Scoffing at his implication, Cindy said, “Nice, of course.”

He made a face, then he leaned forward, squinting. “Cindy, your eye.” His jaw dropped. “What happened to your eyelashes?”

She sighed. “So much for it not being noticeable.”

“Let me guess—eyelash curler?”

Cindy nodded miserably.

“A dangerous tool in the hands of a nervous woman,” he observed.

“I’m not nervous.”

He gave her a pointed look.

“Okay, I’m a little nervous—my hand jerked when the phone rang. What am I going to do?”

“They’ll grow back.”

“I mean about tonight!”

He tilted his head to one side. “Got any falsies?”

She frowned. “Are we still talking about eyelashes?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

He turned and strode back toward the door. “Put on the rest of your makeup—everything but the eye stuff. I’ll be right back.”

After he left, Cindy buried her nose in the flowers, then dropped onto the stool at her vanity. An engaging evening. He didn’t seem the type to copy words from some generic book at the flower shop. Eric was a sincere and forthcoming man. After all, he obviously suspected his vocation might turn her off, yet he’d been up front with her.

Cindy smoothed foundation over her skin, then applied blush and rummaged for the brightest red lipstick in her makeup case. As Cindy drew on the rich color, she remembered in vivid clarity the pressure of Eric’s lips against hers the previous night. She closed her eyes and relived the taste of him, the sensation of his hands holding her face…a shudder traveled her shoulders and she knew the hair on her neck would have stood straight up were it not plastered down.

She had to admit, the man captivated her at a time when she’d have bet she couldn’t be distracted from the goings-on within the hotel. The presence of the notorious Mr. Stark-Stanton hadn’t consumed her the way she’d feared, although she would continue to do her best to placate the difficult man.

Keeping a near-bald eye on the clock, she stepped into the fitted long black gown. Cindy checked the top half of her dress in her vanity mirror, then climbed on her bed to check the bottom half. “Someday I’ll invest in a full-length mirror,” she mumbled, jumping down to slide her feet into suede pumps.

She slicked clear polish on her short nails, which had dried by the time Manny knocked on the door again. He strode in and whipped a package of false eyelashes out of a bag.

“I don’t have time to put on false eyelashes,” she said in exasperation. “Eric will be here in fifteen minutes!”

Manny, slightly out of breath, lifted his hands high. “Okay, if you want to get nose to nose with this guy with nothing to bat at him as he unlocks the door to his room—”

“You don’t think he’ll ask me to go back to his room,” she gasped, then added, “do you?”

He laughed and gestured toward the vase. “Hello? Do these flowers say ‘I’ll settle for a goodnight kiss’ to you? No. More like ‘I want to devour you, my pet.’” He plucked a white rose from the vase, clenched it between his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows.

“Do you honestly think so?” She nibbled on a freshly painted nail.

Manny pursed his lips and nodded, then broke off the rose and motioned for her to turn around.

“So,” she said sheepishly as he inserted the flower in her hair, “how long does it take to put on falsies?”

“Sit down and give me five,” he said, ripping open the package and pulling out a tiny bottle of something clear. “Your dress is fab, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She eyed the flimsy semicircle of lashes warily. “I’ve never worn these things before.”

“You’ll get used to them in no time.”

Cindy gave him a questioning look.

“So I’ve been told,” he added.

She flinched throughout, but true to his word, Manny quickly patched the gap in her lashes quite convincingly. She tested the subtly heavier eyelid with a few blinks, then grinned and pulled him down for a quick peck on his cheek. “Thank you.” A knock sounded at the door, sending her heart into her throat.

“I’ll stall Mr. Quinn for a few minutes while you finish your eye makeup,” Manny assured her. “And don’t forget your glass earrings.”

Her hands started shaking. “I’m a nervous wreck,” she said. “Any last-minute advice?”

Her friend gave her a wry smile. “Try not to destroy any more of the man’s clothing tonight when you undress him.”

7

ERIC FELT LIKE A TEENAGER picking up his date for the prom. He had to acknowledge, however, that his anxiety about developing an attraction to Cindy Warren had increased tenfold since the tree incident in the lobby. The woman moved him…it was an unsettling sensation.

During the afternoon, he’d stumbled onto more disturbing aspects of the hotel operation. On the two floors with the most conference-room space, there were three bathrooms marked Men, Women and Other. Scary. And instead of the conference rooms bearing regal names, they were dubbed the “Phenomenon Room” and the “Dimension Chamber.”

A quick look at the balance sheet had revealed the chandelier was booked at a legitimate-sounding twenty-eight thousand dollars. So why had he penned on the postcard to his father: Dad, wondering if you can help me dig up information about the chandelier in this photo—possibly French, nineteen-twenties? I’ll call you soon. And why did he feel as if every minute spent with Cindy Warren would suck him deeper into a quagmire of right and wrong?

The door opened and his anxiety turned to puzzlement. Manny, not Cindy, stood in the doorway. “Hello,” he ventured.

The blond man smiled tightly. “Cindy will be ready in a couple of minutes. Come on in.”

Bemused, Eric followed him down a short hallway to a surprisingly spacious sitting room tastefully decorated in a celestial motif of blues and golds.

“Have a seat,” Manny invited, making no move to sit himself.

“Thanks, I’ll stand,” Eric replied, once again wondering if the concierge was smitten with his boss. Closer scrutiny revealed a red lipstick mark on the man’s cheek, eliciting an unreasonable stab of jealousy in Eric. Did Cindy have romantic feelings for her employee? It didn’t seem likely considering the way she’d responded to his kiss last night, but what if she was just trying to butter him up after all? Questions chewed at Eric, renewing his resolve to resist her charms, especially in light of the troubling revelations about how business was conducted at the Chandelier House.

Manny glanced over Eric’s tux and pursed his lips. “Nice threads.”

“Thanks,” Eric said with a nod. “Yours, too.” The subject of clothing reminded Eric of the bizarre incident he’d been meaning to report, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Cindy. He lowered his voice. “Listen, Mr. Oliver—”

“I’m ready.”

Cindy floated down the hallway toward them, her beauty taking Eric’s breath away. The black dress covered her gleaming shoulders and neckline modestly, but hugged her curves, confirming his earlier suspicions of what lay beneath the plain green and navy uniform she wore—a shapely bust, trim waist, flaring hips. A mid-thigh slit revealed a long, lean leg encased in shimmering black stockings. Eric’s body hardened, reminding him again of a high-school date.

Their gazes locked and his tongue grew thicker. Translucent, faceted earrings hung from her small ears like huge raindrops. With her hair skimmed back from her face, her lovely features were brought into relief. Her green-gray eyes shone luminously, set off by thick dark lashes. She winked, surprising him, and he smiled in return. Her bee-stung red lips curved into a shy smile. Eric couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his tongue refused to budge. She, too, seemed hesitant to speak.

“Cindy received your flowers,” Manny injected. “She loves white roses, don’t you, boss?”

Cindy nodded, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the presence of her concierge. Eric spotted her pulse jumping at the side of her slender neck.

Manny cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll be leaving you two chatty kids alone. Don’t mind me, I’ll show myself out.”

Eric heard the shuffle of the man’s footsteps, and the click of the door closing behind him. After a few seconds of heavy silence, he murmured, “Hi.”

One side of her mouth went up. “Hi, yourself.”

“You look…great.”

The other side of her mouth joined the first. “That’s the look I was aiming for.”

He swallowed. “I like your—” body “—earrings.”

She touched one lobe, setting the glasslike bauble into sparkling motion. “Thank you. The flowers are beautiful.” She turned her head slightly to show him the rose in her hair. “And thank you for the nice card.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I guess we’d better get to the party.”

Eric moved toward the door, his steps faltering when she turned to retrieve an evening bag from the breakfast bar. He devoured the sight of her bare back, imagining the sensation of running his hands down the indentation of her spine. Promising himself some unimaginable treat in the morning for resisting her tonight, Eric opened the door and kept his eyes averted as she preceded him into the corridor. As if sharing his awkward awareness, she moved down the hall beside him, staring straight ahead.

Since Cindy, too, seemed quieter than usual, Eric decided the long ride down the elevator might be a good time to casually broach at least one topic niggling at him. “Cindy, when we were moving the tree this morning, I was noticing that amazing chandelier—is it valuable?”

She raised her lovely shoulders in a slight shrug. “The chandelier holds sentimental value to everyone who works here, I suppose.”

“So it’s not a particularly historic piece?” he pressed gently.

“I guess the chandelier is an antique, even though it’s a reproduction.”

“A reproduction?”

Cindy nodded. “I was told the original crystal fixture came from France. Allegedly, three were delivered to the States in the twenties—one to our hotel, one to a hotel in Chicago and the other to a department store in Beverly Hills.” She smiled sadly as the doors slid open to the lobby. “But during the Second World War, all three chandeliers were replaced with glass replicas, and the originals donated to help the war effort.” She smiled and led the way toward Sammy’s. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Mr. Quinn.”

She was teasing him by using the name under which he’d registered. He played along—after all, she probably didn’t want to slip and use the name Stanton in front of her employees. “It still makes for an interesting story.” He extended his arm to her as they reached the entrance to the bar, already alive with moving bodies and Christmas music. “What happened to ‘Eric’?”

She smiled as she tucked her arm inside his. “Shall we, Eric?”

They walked down the two steps at the entrance, and heads turned. More than one set of eyebrows raised, telling Eric they were not used to seeing their boss on the arm of a man, or at least not on the arm of a stranger. He scanned the room for Manny, and as he suspected, the blond man, unaccompanied, had already captured them in his unwavering gaze.

The room glowed with strand upon strand of Christmas lights. A DJ sat on the elevated stage, surrounded by stacks of music selections. Tall speakers were currently blaring “Jingle Bell Rock.” He estimated two hundred people in sparkling dresses and fancy suits studded the room.

Cindy was soon swept up in a circle of employees, meeting spouses and shaking hands, introducing him simply as Eric Quinn. He asked what she wanted to drink, then excused himself and approached the bar. Jerry, dashing in a charcoal-gray suit and red tie, occupied a stool in the middle. Eric shouldered in next to him, then shouted their drink orders to Tony who was managing the open bar.

“Did you come alone, Jerry?”

The old man nodding, smiling. “Yep.”

“I thought you were married.”

“I said I’d been married,” the barber corrected, then his mouth split into a wide grin. “I’m between wives right now.”

“Ah.”

“Do you and Ms. Cindy have big plans tomorrow?”

Confused, Eric frowned. “Tomorrow?”

Jerry nodded his graying head. “Since you’re the reason she has the day off and all, I figured you’d be spending it together.”

Eric laughed. “Excuse me?”

“She didn’t tell you? Joel Cutter bet Cindy she couldn’t get a date for the party and if she did, he’d cover for her tomorrow.” Jerry slapped him on the back. “She must have wanted that day off mighty bad, son.”

Piqued, Eric frowned. Cindy had invited him as part of a wager?

“Ah, don’t get all down in the mouth about it, son. I’m sure she likes you a bit, too.”

Producing his best casual shrug, Eric said, “We’re just two people at a party having a good time. No big deal.” He collected the mixed drinks and headed back to Cindy. Approaching her, Eric experienced another pull of sexual longing. She was a beauty, all right. And smart. And sexy.

And off-limits, he reminded himself, swallowing a mouthful of cold rum and cola to cool his warming libido. And although at times he would have sworn he detected a glimmer of interest in her eyes, perhaps her invitation to the party had more to do with the silly bet than with influencing the man who held her livelihood in his hands. The thought cheered him. Then he frowned—either explanation ruled out the possibility that she was just plain interested.

When Cindy lifted her head to see Eric threading his way back to her, she acknowledged a thrill of excitement. He handed her a Fuzzy Navel and winked, warming her with his intense gaze. She sipped her drink, a feeling of bone-lessness overtaking her. Given the chance, she just might seize the moment and spend one night of abandon with this gorgeous man.

“Hey,” he said, leaning close, his eyes dancing. “What’s this I hear about a bet?”

Heat suffused her cheeks. “B-bet?”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah, word has it that my going rate is a day off with pay.”

Tingling with embarrassment, Cindy pressed her lips together. “It was just a harmless bet between friends.”

“And what was the wager?”

“If I won, Joel would cover for me tomorrow.”

He pursed his lips. “And if you lost?”

She sighed. “Joel would get my parking spot for a month.”

“And I thought you actually liked me.”

“Oh, I do—” She flushed. “I mean, believe it or not, I actually forgot about the bet.”

He grinned. “In that case, I’m sure Joel will be glad to hear—”

“Wait!” she cried, laughing. “I need the day off tomorrow.”

“In that case,” he said, capturing her hand and leading her toward the center of the vacant dance floor, “let’s dance and discuss my compensation.”

Her heart thudded at the touch of his hand against hers. “I’m not a very good dancer,” she protested.

“Just follow my lead,” he said smoothly, spinning her into a slow waltz to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Other couples joined them.

Supremely conscious of his hand at her waist, grazing the bare skin on her back, Cindy kept as much distance between herself and Eric as possible, stiffly following his footwork.

“Relax,” he said, drawing her closer. “This is supposed to be fun.”

“I think it’s the song,” she quipped.

“Does it make you sad?”

“‘Stressed’ is a better word. My mother can be a little intense.”

“Such a shame,” he said lightly, “that you can’t choose your family like you choose your friends.”

Suspecting a deeper issue lurked in his words, Cindy smiled. “I’m sure parents feel the same way occasionally about their kids.”

He laughed suddenly. “You’re probably right.” Distracted by the conversation, she involuntarily moved closer to his body. Eric took up the slack immediately, his hand splaying across her bare lower back. “Now, about tomorrow,” he whispered.

“What about tomorrow?” she asked, fighting the urge to lower her head on his shoulder. He smelled so good, damn him. He moved with such grace. And his feet were so intriguingly huge.

“Since I’m the reason you’ll have the day off, I think the least you can do is spend some of it with me.”

Secretly thrilled, Cindy pretended to relent with a sigh. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Sleeping in.”

She missed a beat and stepped on his foot.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I told you I’m not a very good dancer.” She couldn’t be sure he meant he wanted to sleep in with her.

“So we’d have to get a late start,” he said, picking up where he left off.

“I have Christmas shopping to do. Not exactly the most engaging pastime.”

He smiled wide. “The company will be engaging. You’ll be shopping all day?”

“No. I thought I’d walk the Golden Gate Bridge—it’s invigorating and the view is great because there’s no fog this time of the year.”

“Sounds wonderful. I have some shopping to do myself, and in all the times I’ve been to San Francisco, I’ve never seen the Golden Gate.”

Suddenly nervous, Cindy stalled. “Did I say the view was great? I meant to say ‘gray.’ Blah. And the bridge is not really golden, you know. Kind of rust-colored. Actually, there’s no gate, either. Come to think of it, the bridge isn’t all that special.”

“I believe you’re trying to talk me out of going,” he said in a low voice, winking at her for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Which is very naughty, considering I’m the reason you’re getting a day for fun and frolic.”

The song changed to the upbeat “Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree,” and Cindy allowed him to swing her into a fast waltz, laughing with every dip. After a few spins, she started feeling the alcohol bleed through her system. “I’m getting light-headed.”

“If we stop now, I’ll have to find something else to keep my hands busy.”

At his whispered words, Cindy’s breasts tingled. “Okay, one more song.” She had the deliciously dangerous feeling she was spiraling out of control, but she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the ride. He alternately brushed his body close to hers, then away for a spin. At last the song ended and everyone applauded.

“You’re a very good dancer,” she remarked as they walked off the floor.

“I haven’t danced in ages,” he said, almost to himself. “My kid sister used to make me jitterbug with her in the kitchen.” With a blink, he seemed to return to the present. “You’re pretty light on your feet yourself.” He winked.

There was that wink again—maybe he was getting drunk, she thought, concern creasing her forehead. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who sold sex toys and had a drinking problem. Then she chastised herself—this was only a potential fling, not a relationship. And she could relax her standards a bit for a fling.

They stopped by the buffet and piled their plates high with quiche and sausage balls and fruit, then joined Manny, Samantha and Sam’s date seated around a table. Eric excused himself to go and get fresh drinks.

Samantha, stunning in a long green dress, had invited a Trekkie friend who apparently thought “black tie” meant the type of tennis shoe laces to be worn. Manny looked incredibly bored.

“Cheer up,” she whispered.

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered back. “You’re getting laid tonight.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I am not.”

“I’ll betcha Mr. Quinn thinks you are.”

“Simply because I danced with him?”

“No. Because you’ve been winking at him every twenty seconds.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How are the lashes?”

The winking. “Oh, my goodness, Manny—you’re right. I’ve been winking at him nonstop. He probably thinks I’m being fresh.”

Manny smirked. “I’d say ‘fresh’ would be a safe under-statement.”

“Knock it off, here he comes.”

“So, Cindy, how’s the Christmas tree in the lobby progressing?” Sam asked.

“The decorators said they’d be finished by morning.”

“That’s great. Oh, and how are things going with our difficult Mr. Stark?”

Cindy sighed. “I made sure he’d be off the premises tonight. I hope he doesn’t have any other bizarre room experiences to report.” She smiled at Eric as he rejoined them. Sam’s date pulled her to the dance floor.

“I heard the tail end of your comment,” Eric said, popping a grape into his mouth. “And speaking of bizarre, I’ve been meaning to mention a rather strange incident.”

“What?” Cindy asked. Manny leaned forward.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Eric said, shaking his head, “but I think someone stole a pair of pajama pants from my room and replaced them with a new pair, same color, same brand.”

Cindy swallowed hard, refusing to look at Manny. “Really?”

“Yeah, sounds nuts, huh?”

“Insane,” Manny agreed, nudging her knee.

“The thing is,” Eric continued slowly, “the pants were a gift—probably expensive, too—but I never cared for them.” He laughed. “The pervert who took them obviously wanted something worn, but little did he know, he didn’t have to replace them.”

Now you tell me. “Eric,” she said, playing with the end of her napkin, “if these um—pajama pants, did you say?”

He nodded.

“If these pajama pants are the same color and same brand, what makes you think they’re not the same pair?”

“Because,” he said simply, “my initials were monogrammed on the pocket.”

“Your initials?” she squeaked.

He bit into a tiny quiche, nodding. “Odd, huh?”

“I might go as far to say ‘warped,’” Manny declared. “Desperate, sick, disturbed—”

Cindy gouged him in the ribs. “If there’s anything the hotel can do—”

“I’m not looking for compensation,” Eric said. “I just wanted you to know you might have a weirdo on the loose.”

She conjured up a watery smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

The hours slipped away. She drank and ate and danced with Eric until she was giggly and exhausted—and more turned on than she could have imagined. Her apprehension increased as the minutes ticked away. Surely they would share another good-night kiss, but what if he suggested more? Should she explore the unbelievable chemistry she detected between them? She smiled at him and, feeling languid, rubbed her foot against his leg.

In the middle of telling a funny story, Eric jerked, then cut his eyes to her.

“Hey,” Manny said sternly. “Hands on the table, Cindy.”

Everyone laughed, and to her astonishment, Eric actually blushed. Suddenly Joel appeared. “Eleven-thirty, Cindy. Ready to play Santa Claus?”

Cindy blinked. “Santa Claus?”

“Don’t you remember? You said you’d do it the other night after you set one of my tables on fire.”

Cindy stared, her memory sliding around. “Oh, yeah, I did say something about being Santa.” When I presumed I’d be coming alone.

“Follow me,” he said. “The suit’s in the back.”

Just when she thought she’d get through the next few hours with a scrap of dignity. She glanced at Eric, and he winked. Propping up her lazy eye with her index finger, Cindy sighed and slid out of her seat.

“NO WAY,” SHE SAID, looking at the outfit.

Joel lifted his finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You already said you would, boss.”

“But you said I’d be wearing a Santa suit.”

“This is a Santa suit.”

“Joel, it’s a long-sleeved mini-dress with fur around the edges.”

“Well…it’s red.”

She crossed her arms.

“And look, there’s a pair of black boots with it.”

“They’re thigh-highs!”

“And the hat—don’t forget the hat,” he said, dangling a red stocking cap with a white ball on the end.

“Who bought this ridiculous getup?”

A tolerant expression came over his face. “The lady who runs the gift shop came across it in a clearance catalog. I don’t think she realized what she ordered. She paid for it out of her own pocket.”

Cindy sighed, her shoulders dropping. “If you’re trying to make me feel like a dog, it’s working.” Joel smiled triumphantly. “You’d better be glad I’ve been drinking,” she declared. “And I am not wearing those boots.”

“Okay, okay. The thing looks a little big for you,” he said, holding up the red dress. “At least it won’t be skintight.”

She yanked it out of his hands and pointed toward the door. “Scram.”

“I’ll get the gifts ready—everyone is going to love this!”

“Ho, ho, ho,” she mumbled, waving him out of the supply room. She shimmied out of her dress, then hung the black gown on a hook next to a mop. The fuzzy white hem fell just below her knees, the furry cuffs down to the tips of her fingers, and the dress bagged around the waist. Spotting a wide plastic black belt on top of the preposterous boots, she wrapped it around her middle and cinched up a couple of feet of fabric.

Feeling like a complete fool, she set the cap on her head, and flipped the white cotton tip over her shoulder. At a tap on the door, she took a deep breath and stepped outside. Joel stood holding a bulging red velvet bag, grinning ear to ear.

Cindy lifted a finger. “Not a word.”

He pressed his lips together and handed her the bag.

Eric watched for Cindy’s return, but he heard the roar of laughter before he actually saw her. When she came into view, he grinned and joined the ranks of those around him. She didn’t look nearly as amused to be wearing the baggy red dress, obviously made for a much taller, more buxom Santa. She was a good sport, though, and made the rounds, passing out envelopes to all her employees while the DJ played “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

From the good-natured ribbing she received, it was apparent to him that Cindy’s bubbly personality made her popular with the employees. Unfortunately, in his experience, well-liked managers were not always the most efficient, because they let personal relationships influence their decisions. He swallowed a large mouthful of his drink. Which was precisely why he had to maintain a proper distance from Cindy, at least until he finished his job at the Chandelier House.

Of course, he acknowledged wryly, if he recommended that the hotel be sold, or that Cindy be replaced, that personality of hers might undergo a quick change from bubbly to boiling.

When she stopped at their table, Cindy made sheepish eye contact, then handed Manny and Sam identical envelopes. “You’re in luck this year. You get the same gift regardless of whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”

“Speaking of nice,” Eric remarked, toying with the cotton ball on the end of her cap, “love the outfit.” A vision of her wearing nothing but the hat flashed through his mind.

“I wanted to make sure no other woman at the party would be wearing the same dress,” she said with a mock-serious face. “I’m almost finished. Will you still be here when I get back, or are you completely humiliated?”

He laughed. “I’m completely humiliated, and I’ll be here when you get back.” Sam and her date hit the dance floor again, leaving him alone at the table with Manny. Eric’s gaze strayed to Cindy as she finished passing out the envelopes, and his body swelled in…anticipation.

“Cindy’s a gem,” Manny said crisply, interrupting his musing.

Eric started, then turned to the concierge and nodded. “She’s quite a lady.”

Manny leaned forward. “Just so you know, she told me why you’re here.” His tone was even, his expression serious. “Normally I couldn’t care less what a person does for a living, but in this case, it matters because Cindy matters. You’ll be leaving in a few days and Cindy’s the one who will have to deal with the fallout.” The blond man pursed his mouth, then said, “Cindy means a lot to me, sir. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Rubbing the condensation off his glass, Eric pondered the man’s words. He heard the wisdom, but hated the implication. “I don’t want Cindy to be hurt any more than you do.”

“Good,” Manny said, pushing away from the table. “At least we see eye to eye on one point. Good night.”

“Manny.” Eric pushed himself to his feet. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes, would you stay and give Cindy my apologies? I think I’d better call it a night.”

“No argument here,” the man said curtly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Quinn.”

Eric didn’t miss the dig, calling him by his registered name. “Yes, merry Christmas, Manny.” Funny, he thought as he left the bar, this was the first time he could remember ever wishing he was anybody but himself.

8

“GONE?” CINDY BIT her lower lip, trying to hide her disappointment.

“He said to tell you he was sorry,” Manny said. “But he had to call it a night.”

She plucked at the neckline of the black gown she’d changed back into. “Well, after all, it was just a date. You know, to show Joel.”

Manny clucked. “You like this guy, don’t you?”

Grimacing, she rolled her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s hypocritical to make my living off people like Eric, then hold his profession against him. But I have to admit it does bother me that he makes a living selling plastic rear ends. How does a man like Eric find his way into that industry?”

“Maybe he was a porn star.”

Her eyes bulged. “You think?”

He shrugged. “He’s got the looks for it.”

“Oh, my God, you’re probably right. I might as well put a casket by the phone for my mother to fall into.”

“It was just a thought, Cindy. Don’t bury her yet.”

She sighed. “It’s just that otherwise he seems so…perfect.”

“Well, trust me,” Manny said, “no man is perfect.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “You are.”

He grinned. “Well, excluding me, of course. How about I walk you back to your room?”

Cindy sighed, looking around the deserted bar. “No, but thanks anyway. I’m going to check a few things in the back, then go to bed.” She managed a smile. “At least I get to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“If this guy breaks your heart, I’ll break his nose.”

“Not a chance,” she assured her friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” But as she watched Manny leave, Cindy acknowledged that she had been looking forward to talking to Eric alone, even if it was only during the few minutes’ walk back to her room. Even if he only shook her hand good-night…well, okay, she would have preferred a grinding, full-body kiss, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

If truth be known, she was hurt that he hadn’t said good-night. Wasn’t it just her luck that the first man in years she was attracted to couldn’t conjure up enough desire for her to even make a lousy pass?

Cindy picked up the sack of extra gift certificates she would give out tomorrow to those who missed the Christmas party. She slung the bag over her shoulder, then waved to the team of cleaners who had emerged to put Sammy’s back in order. She stepped into the corridor, paused, then turned in the direction of the stairs. After climbing fifteen flights, she reasoned, she’d be so tired, she wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep thinking about Eric Quinn.

Just as she grasped the door handle, the strains of music reached her ears. Cindy stopped and cocked her ear. Someone was definitely playing the piano that had been moved from the bar. Curiosity won out and she followed the tinkling sound down the long hall to the Asteroid Room.

Part of a larger ballroom, Asteroid by itself was roomy enough to host a dinner party for a hundred guests. She opened the door silently to find the room cast in darkness. The unmistakable melancholy notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” wafted out, and the pianist wasn’t half-bad. The piano had been pushed to the far corner of the room with its back to the door, obscuring the identity of the player.

Intrigued, she crept closer, recognizing the soft glow spilling around the sides of the piano as candlelight. The player missed a note, but covered well. Cindy’s heart pounded as she circled closer, squinting when she recognized the outline of a man. Then she gasped and the pianist stopped abruptly, his head swinging around.

“Eric!” she exclaimed softly. “I heard the music and I…I mean, I had no idea you were in here or…geez, you’re really good.”

His tuxedo jacket lay folded over the top of the piano, and his bow tie hung down the front of his open-throated shirt. A half-burned candle sat on the ledge above the keys, casting soft light over the ivory and his long-fingered hands. His chuckle reverberated in the room. “I haven’t played in years. I found the piano and…well, I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

“Play as long as you like,” she said quickly, walking backward. “Good night.”

“Cindy.”

She stopped.

“I’m sorry I bailed on you at the party.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

“I had a good time.”

Her heart lifted slightly. “So did I.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, then he cleared his throat and gestured toward the keys. “Any requests before you go? Trying to keep my hands busy, you know.”

“Well,” she said, lowering the red sack of envelopes to the floor, “I’ve always been partial to ‘Blue Christmas.’ How’s your Elvis impersonation?”

Laughter rumbled from his throat. “A little rusty.”

“Okay—you play, I’ll sing.” She walked to the piano.

He slid over on the padded bench and smiled broadly. “Have a seat.”

Cindy settled onto the seat next to him, keeping a safety zone of a few inches between them. He started playing and she sang, “I’ll have a blue…Christmas…without you.” He leaned his ear closer as if he couldn’t hear her, so she belted out, “I’ll be so blue…thinking…about you.”

He grinned. “You’re really terrible.”

“I know. Decorations are great…on a green—”

He stopped playing. “I don’t think those are the words.”

“Those are too the words.”

“Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree.”

“You play and I’ll sing.”

“Okay.”

“Decorations of red…on a green Christmas tree…won’t mean a thing, dear—”

He stopped playing. “Won’t be the same, dear.”

She motioned for him to keep playing. “If you’re not here with me. Harmonize—this is where the girls go ‘oohooh ooh-oohwoo’.”

He laughed so hard he could barely play and finally Cindy succumbed, too. Their shoulders brushed, triggering a bolt of awareness through her. Eric’s fingers tripped over the keys lightly, playing the song with a honky-tonk swing. Cindy sang to the end, then yelled, “Big finish—everybody sing!” and Eric crooned the last refrain with her. Cindy clapped and whistled while he tinkled out a resounding finale. “You’re amazing!”

A self-deprecating laugh escaped him. “You must be inebriated.”

Feeling dreamy, Cindy leaned on her elbow and faced him, struck by his strong profile in the semidarkness. “I mean it. The fact that you can put your hands on these keys and make recognizable sounds is remarkable. Did your mother teach you to play?”

“No,” he said quietly, still playing a soft, ambling melody. “My father. He was amazing.” Respect colored his voice. “Couldn’t read a note of music, but he could play the most complicated concertos by ear.” The melody he played took on a haunting quality. “I was never as good as he was—never wanted to be. I enjoyed playing for my mother and my sister, and to impress girls.” He laughed softly. “It made my dad nuts that I didn’t love playing as much as he did.”

“You argued?” she probed gently.

“More times than I can count,” Eric admitted, his gaze still on his fingers. “I wanted to make money, lots of it, instead of winding up teaching piano lessons out of my home.”

“Is that why you aren’t close?”

“There are other reasons, but yeah, basically, it boils down to my old man being disappointed in the way I make a living.”

Cindy resisted the urge to ask why he didn’t just sell pianos. Eric was a grown man and undoubtedly knew his choices and the ramifications of those choices. “You should call him,” she said simply.

“It always turns into a disagreement.” He suddenly stopped playing, plunging the room into eerie silence. “You know, the first sales bonus I received on my first job was for four thousand, six hundred and thirty-eight dollars, and twenty-five cents.” He glanced up and caught her gaze, his expression rueful. “I went to the piano store in the mall and blew the entire check on the nicest piano I could afford and had it delivered to our house for Christmas, for my dad.”

“That’s the most incredible thing I ever heard,” she said, tearing up.

“Except he didn’t want it.” Eric laughed sadly. “He told me I was materialistic and didn’t know what was important in life. That was over fifteen years ago, and that damned piano is still sitting in the family room, pushed up against the wall. To my knowledge, it’s never been played.”

Cindy brought her fist to her mouth as the tears welled in her eyes. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

“Last spring I went home for my niece’s birthday. I stopped by to see him for a few minutes. It wasn’t pretty.”

She shook her head. “He must love you very much to have reacted so fiercely to your choosing, um—” she searched for a euphemism “—a business career over music.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Then he straightened, obviously ready to change the subject. “Last call for requests.”

Her head still spun from his revelations. “Play your favorite Christmas song.”

He smiled, a welcome transformation. “That’s an easy one.” He played a dramatic opening, then launched into a bluesy “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” “Bring it home, Cindy.”

She sang loudly, bumping his shoulder until he moved with her side to side. “He’s making a list, and checking it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice, Santa Claus is coming to town!” They finished the song in rollicking style, laughing and clapping.

“That was fun,” she declared.

“I’m glad you came to investigate,” he said, lowering the wooden key cover. He picked up the votive candle as if to blow it out, then stopped. “Well, well.”

Cindy glanced up, and her pulse leapt. Hanging from the top of the piano was Jerry’s mistletoe. Thank you, Jerry, wherever you are.

Slowly Eric set down the candle, then turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “It would be a shame to waste the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

Cindy pursed her lips and nodded. “A l-low-down d-dirty shame.”

He leaned closer, his gaze riveted on hers. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Her throat constricted. “Well, technically, it’s tomorrow.”

Eric brushed his lips against hers lightly. “Then you look beautiful tomorrow.” He tilted his head and Cindy closed her eyes just as his mouth covered hers. At first his lips were firm and gentle, cautious and sweet. But when she offered her tongue, he deepened the kiss with a groan. She leaned into him, her skin tingling for his touch.

He tasted of rum and grapes, he smelled of English Leather and starch. Her breath caught in her chest, until she had to break the kiss and gasp for breath in a decidedly unsophisticated manner.

He glanced away and swallowed. “I guess we’d better get going.”

She nodded, struggling for composure.

Eric stood and shrugged into his jacket, then picked up the candle. Cindy rose on shaky knees, then followed him out of the room, picking up the red sack of envelopes. In the corridor, Eric blew out the candle and set it on a banquet table. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, taking the sack from her.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but it’s the least I can do for skipping out on you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said congenially.

“I did.” They strolled toward the elevator. “At the rate we were going, I was afraid I’d end up asking you to spend the night with me.”

Cindy tripped, and he grabbed her arm. “And you were afraid I’d say no?” she asked nervously.

“No,” he said with the barest hint of a smile. “I was afraid you’d say yes.”

Smooth line. “Eric,” she asked as the elevator arrived, “do you have any experience in the film industry?”

A look of puzzlement came over his face. “Film? No, why?”

“Just wondering,” she said happily, pushing the button for her floor.

He seemed so relaxed on their walk to her room, Cindy’s awkwardness evaporated. He’d obviously liberated himself by deciding not to ask her to spend the night with him. After she unlocked her door, he set the red sack inside, brushed her cheek with his lips, and said, “Good night, Cindy. Thank you for a truly engaging evening.”

Remembering her intent to seize the moment, Cindy touched his sleeve, her heart thudding. “Eric, did you leave the party because you’re still worried about how I feel about your, um, job?”

He considered her words for a few seconds, then nodded. “That’s part of it.”

She slid her hands up the lapels of his jacket. “Then maybe this will alleviate that part of it.” Curling her fingers around the back of his neck, she pulled his mouth down to hers for a slow, sensual kiss. His arms immediately encircled her, his hands splaying against her naked back and pulling her against him. She felt his hardening desire for her and her body responded in kind. Next week her job would be on the line, this week she deserved a little fun.

She drew back and looked into his ice-blue eyes. “Eric, spend the night with me.”

He swallowed, then ran his hand through his hair.

She held up one hand. “I’m going into this with my eyes wide-open.”

“Cindy, are you absolutely certain?”

In answer, she grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him inside.

Once he passed the threshold of her suite, Eric blocked out all the reasons why he shouldn’t spend the night in her bed and concentrated on all the reasons he should. His mind shut down and his body took over.

They stumbled through the hallway, tugging at each other’s clothing in the near darkness. They shed their shoes in the sitting room, his jacket in the second hall, his pants in the doorway of the bedroom. Cindy fumbled with her zipper and Eric obliged, standing behind her, his breath catching as he reached around and slid his hands over her flat stomach. The dress whooshed to the ground, then she turned in his arms, naked from the waist up.

Standing in the window light of her bedroom, she was simply breathtaking. Slender and long-limbed, her breasts firm and round like two peaches waiting to be plucked from a shapely tree. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, reveling in the feel of her. She pulled at the hem of his T-shirt and soon the hindering garment joined the others scattered about.

Eric was drowning in his desire for her, undoubtedly fueled by the fact that he shouldn’t have her. But she felt so damned wonderful next to him, her skin as smooth as the ivory keys of his chosen instrument. He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently. Taking ragged breaths, he rolled down her stockings, overcome by the sight of her lying beneath him, clad only in teeny black bikini panties. She arched her back, pushing her breasts in the air.

Eric practically dived into the bed. He wanted to make love to her leisurely, but she reduced him to the likes of an inexperienced teenager, hungry for every inch of her, and unsure where to begin. His raging erection strained against the front of his boxers, but he knew he’d come undone if he felt her bare skin against his arousal. He kissed her mouth hard and nipped at her neck, then stroked her nipples, playing her until the music of her moans reached his ears.

Rolling her beneath him, he lowered his mouth to a perfect breast, and laved the plump nipple while she drove her hands through his hair. Her body, her moans, her scents drove him blind with need. He pushed her flimsy panties down her thighs, swallowing hard at the sight of her tangled dark nest. He groaned and gritted his teeth for control.

She tugged at the waistband of his boxers and he hesitated only because he knew it would be over soon if she unleashed him. Then with a frustrated moan, he stilled her hands.

“What’s wrong?” she gasped against his chest.

Embarrassment coursed through him. So determined was he not to let the night end this way, he’d left protection in his room. “I seem to be a bit, um, unprepared for the moment.”

Sudden realization dawned. “You mean a rubber?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

How odd—she figured he carried condoms like business cards. Her desire-drugged mind raced. Of the pack of twelve she’d bought years ago, eleven were still buried somewhere in her bathroom cabinet, but she’d never trust them. Then she remembered the box of sex samples under the bed. Cindy hesitated, embarrassed at the thought of rifling through the box of torrid toys in front of Eric. A second later she realized that not only would he recognize every trinket, but he would probably be able to rattle off the product code. And what better way to prove to him that she was okay with his line of work? “I might have one.”

Eric brightened considerably.

Sliding out of bed, Cindy knelt and pulled the suitcase-size box from under her bed. She opened the lid of the carton, recalling with jarring clarity the diversity of the products she’d given a perfunctory glance.

“Wow,” Eric said, standing behind her.

She rummaged through the bounty, and not wanting him to know how inexperienced she was with the tricks of his trade, handed him the products she thought might be useful.

“Coconut body liqueur…textured condoms…” She held up an interesting-looking battery powered device and raised her eyebrows in question.

Eric shrugged and added it to the pile.

“Chocolate flavored whipped cream…crotchless panties?”

Eric passed on the whipped cream, but fingered the minuscule panties. “Maybe later?” he asked.

She nodded and bent back to her task.

Suddenly Eric was kissing her neck, and rubbing his hard chest against her bare back. “Um, Cindy,” he whispered. “Don’t you think we have enough equipment for the first go-around?”

She smiled lazily. “Get the lamp, would you?”

“No way,” he said, pulling her back to the bed. “I want to see you.”

“And I,” she breathed, pushing down his underwear to free his erection, “want to see you.” She took in the size of him, then bit her lip, covered him back up and shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll fit.”

His laughter filled her ears, apparently pleased with her assessment. “I’ll stop whenever you say.”

But of course she didn’t stop him. She lay trembling against him like a virginal coed, wanting him so much it frightened her. They broke the seals on the flavored potions and proceeded to paint and consume each other’s bodies until they both panted with restraint. She wrestled with the condom package until he took it from her and opened it, then handed the condom back to her. With shaking fingers, she placed the condom over the oozing tip of his straining shaft.

“The other way,” he prompted with a smile.

She glanced down to find that yes, indeedy, she had the thing flipped. “Oops,” she said, knowing her cover was blown. She wasn’t a sophisticated sex kitten—she couldn’t even roll on a condom.

“Let me help,” he said, putting his hand over hers, pinching the top of the condom. “I have a feeling,” he said with a groan as her hands encircled him, “I’m going to need extra breathing room.”

He eased her back to the pillows and settled between her knees, covering her like a big, warm blanket. Her body sang with exhilaration from the feeling of his skin against hers. The light hair on his chest teased her breasts as his hands entwined with hers above their heads. With the moment of reckoning near, Cindy had nearly lost her capacity to speak. Instead, she let her body converse with him, responding to his kisses, nips and caresses with expressive shudders, contractions and yielding.

“Ladies first,” he whispered, then began making love to her with his hand, his arousal branding her thigh throughout. Within seconds, he had her straining against him, moving with a slow, probing rhythm. Months of pent-up sexual energy and the heady presence of the man above her sent her quickly over the edge with shameless abandon. Their moans mingled as she slowly descended.

He withdrew his powerful hand and she instantly felt his shaft at the door of her desire. She ran her hands down his back, clutching his buttocks, inviting him inside. He advanced slowly, his heart thrashing against hers, his teeth clenched. Her knees opened slowly to give him full access and he filled her with one long moan. Cindy threw her head back and arched into him with ecstasy, crying aloud. He slipped his hands under her hips, undulating into her body with agonizing slowness and shocking depth.

She clawed at his back, matching his rhythm, tightening around him instinctively to draw the life fluid from him. Their rocking tempo increased to a frenzy of movement and sounds. Cindy sensed his approach and when he shuddered his release, swelling emotion pulled her over with him. He cried out, his face a mask of pleasure-pain, then lowered his face to her neck.

Gasping for breath, Cindy stroked his back softly and felt an odd stirring in her chest. Stark fear forced her to lighten the moment. “I’m glad you changed your mind about spending the night,” she murmured.

His deep laugh rumbled against her neck. “So am I.” He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled devilishly. “And the night is young.”

Cindy’s toes curled with anticipation. “Now about that gadget with the battery pack…”

CINDY HOVERED between sleep and consciousness for long, languid minutes. Imbedded into the fluffy mattress, her body ached pleasantly. Slowly she opened her eyes, although her left one felt a bit sticky. The events of the previous evening flooded over her. Eric still slumbered, facing her and breathing shallowly through his mouth. Awake, he was gorgeous, but asleep, the man was a god.

When she remembered the way he had held her, a warm, fuzzy tingle spread over her limbs. Their familiarity staggered her. She turned on her side to watch him. Tender, fun, sexy. She sighed. If only Eric’s job was more…ordinary. Of course, she reminded herself, his vocation explained why such an eligible man remained eligible. Apparently, all the good ones were either taken or made their living selling blow-up dolls.

She wasn’t sure why she was complaining. She should be grateful that her uneasiness about the man’s job kept her from falling head over heels in love—

Cindy jerked back. Love? Manny had once said love was best saved for cashmere and Dom Perignon. Pain exploded in her head, reminding her of how much she’d had to drink at the party. And coconut body liqueur did not contribute to a fresh morning mouth. She lifted a hand to her tingling scalp, only to encounter a tangle of wiry hair. Groaning inwardly, Cindy wondered how scary she must look right now.

Keeping an eye on Eric, she slid out of the bed and limped across the carpet, wincing at her stiff muscles. She wore the yellow crotchless panties, and they had found their way into uncomfortable crevices. Their clothes were strewn from chair to chair, and all surfaces in between. Bottles of flavored potions littered both nightstands and the memory of their consumption brought warmth to her cheeks. And a nurse’s cap from the sampler case hung over the edge of a lamp shade—now there was a week’s worth of journal entries.

She yanked a short terry robe from the bench at her vanity and pulled it around her, then leaned forward for a glimpse in the mirror. Cindy gasped, covered her face with both hands and peeked through her fingers.

Her hair sprang in indiscriminate directions. Medusa with a serious case of bed head. A strip of eyelashes stuck to the center of her forehead like some kind of weird tattoo. She plucked at it, managing to loosen one end.

Before Cindy could decide what to do first—dive into the shower or simply leave—the phone rang. Eric stirred. Cursing under her breath, she lunged to the nightstand on her side of the bed and pounced on the phone. It was only eight-thirty, for heaven’s sake, and this was supposed to be her day off!

“Hello,” she snapped, turning her back to the bed and walking as far across the room as the cord would allow.

“Um, good morning?” Manny sounded sheepish.

“This had better be good,” she whispered sharply, cupping the mouthpiece.

“You’re not alone?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“As a matter of fact, no, I’m not.”

“Oh, brother. Quinn isn’t warming your sheets, is he?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I totally agree, but I have a bit of news that you might find, er, eye-opening.”

She turned to look back at the bed. Eric lifted his head and glanced around the room, then smiled when he saw her and rolled onto his side to watch her. Instantly, her nipples pebbled and her thighs twitched with the memory of his weight on her. “What is it?” He’s married, he’s a felon, he has seven children in Iowa.

Manny cleared his throat. “Well, I hadn’t gotten around to disposing of his pajama pants yet—I thought I might cut them up, you know, maybe make pillow covers or something out of the fabric.”

Eric lifted himself with flexing biceps and piled the pillows against the headboard. The nubby blanket slid down past his waist, but he didn’t seem to mind. And neither did she.

Her heart thrashed in her chest. “I don’t care what you do with them,” she told Manny sweetly. “But I do wish you would get to the point.”

“I found his monogram on the pocket, Cindy, and I did some checking. The man in your bed is Eric Quinn, all right—Eric Quinn Stanton.”

The air left her lungs. Her vision narrowed to the handsome man lounging on her bed, fragrant from her body’s scents, smug with the knowledge that not only had he duped the naive general manager, but he’d bedded her, too. Humiliation crashed over her, with mortification close on its heels. A hot flush singed her skin from feet to forehead.

“Cindy, are you there?”

He’d lied to her. Lied in order to get next to her, to win her over, to blackmail her—who knew the extent of his motivations? Of all the unmitigated gall. She had a good mind to take those inflated gonads of his and give them a hearty twist. The phone slipped out of her hand and she took one determined step toward the bed, her muscles propelled by calm fury.

Eric absently watched the phone fall to the carpet, completely distracted by Cindy’s approach. He swept her tousled appearance with a smile and lustily wondered if she’d be willing to fulfill his morning urges like she’d fulfilled him last night. He hated to push, but the woman was addictive. Her sex sampler kit had been a delightful surprise. Without a doubt, they were horizontally compatible. He smiled. For a few seconds last night, he could have sworn they levitated off the bed.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked from across the room.

He nodded contentedly against the pillow, then glanced behind her. “Don’t you need to hang up the phone?”

“No.”

A smile crept up his face. She obviously didn’t want the phone to disturb them again.

“You’re pretty good,” she said quietly, stepping closer.

His allowed himself a sliver of pure male satisfaction. “I’d like to think we were good together.”

She sauntered closer, her hips swinging. “Oh, I guess I should take some of the blame—I mean credit—for what happened.”

Something in her too-seductive expression set off warning bells. “More role-playing?”

She stopped by the bed, then leaned over slowly and opened the drawer in her nightstand.

“Nurse and doctor again?” he asked, craning his neck.

Still reeling from last night’s adventures, he couldn’t imagine what she could be springing on him now. “I’m open to just about anything,” he pressed on nervously.

But when she withdrew her hand, he blinked, because she held a can of mace. “Except pain,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I am not into pain.”

Cindy’s expression turned lethal as she aimed the can directly at his melting manhood. “The only game going on here, Mr. Stanton, is the one you’ve been playing, and it stops now.”

Baffled, Eric pressed his back into the mound of pillows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you or aren’t you Eric Stanton?”

He blinked. “Of course I am.”

“Don’t lie to me—huh?” She straightened slightly.

“Yes,” he declared hotly. “I’m Eric Stanton!” Had she lost her mind?

Her mouth tightened and the can shook. “You aren’t even ashamed enough to try to deny it?”

Astounded, Eric felt his jaw drop. “Why should I deny it? You’ve known my identity almost from the beginning.”

Now she looked amazed. “What?” And angry. “How dare you? All along you led me to believe you were Eric Quinn, adult toy salesman. Get out of my bed and get the hell out of my room.”

Incredulity settled in even as he made small, methodical moves to extract himself from her bed. He spoke slowly, keeping his eye on the nozzle of the mace can. “Adult toy salesman? Where did you get a cockamamie idea like that?”

“From you, you…you shyster!”

“Shyster?” Eric backed out on the opposite side of the bed, suddenly wondering if she was unstable. All too aware of his nakedness and glad to have the bed between them, he held up one hand and laughed softly. “Cindy, put down the mace, okay?”

“You’d better start making tracks, Stanton.”

“I have to get dressed.”

“Ten seconds, then I start spraying every appendage you’ve got.”

“Cindy—”

“Ten…nine—”

“Wait!” He stooped to grab his pants, then jerked them on as he stumbled across the room.

She followed him, taking aim. “—eight—”

“I don’t understand,” he protested, grabbing clothes as he trotted through her bedroom. “Last night we—”

“—seven—”

“—had incredible sex—”

“—six—”

“—many times, in fact—”

“—five—”

“—and now—” He jogged backward through the hallway, shrugging into his tuxedo shirt.

“—four—”

“—you’re ready to—” Eric passed through the sitting room in a blur.

“—three—”

“—disable me!” He backed up against the door, half dressed, his arms full of clothes. “Can’t we discuss this?”

“—two—” She assumed a firing stance.

He whipped around and undid the dead bolt and chain with lightning speed.

“—one.”

“I’m gone!” he shouted, throwing open the door and diving headfirst into the corridor. He landed with a thud, followed by the sound of her door slamming.

Eric raised on his elbows and groaned at the smarting carpet burns on the undersides of his arms. He heard a noise and turned his head to see two white-haired women standing in the hall, staring.

He smiled tightly and pushed himself to his bare feet, then gathered up his tux jacket, his boxer shorts and one sock. “Morning, ladies.” Stepping aside, he gave them a friendly nod as they passed, wide-eyed.

When they rounded the corner, he cursed, feeling like a pervert. Mystified and irate, he walked back to Cindy’s door and rapped loudly. “Cindy, open the door. Dammit, Cindy,” he whispered harshly through the door. “At least give me my shoes.”

But apparently, she was not in the same generous mood she’d been in last night when she’d—oh, hell. Eric set off in the direction of the stairs, painfully stubbing his toe on the carpet. When he heard the sound of her door opening, he turned back, relieved she had changed her mind about talking to him. He barely had time to duck before one large hard-soled shoe bounced off the wall behind him. The second shoe clipped his shoulder, then her door slammed again.

Confounded, Eric stuck his sockless feet into the stiff shoes, and shuffled toward the stairs, dragging his pride behind him.

9

AFTER GOING TO THE TROUBLE to make a pot of coffee, Cindy passed on her morning dose of caffeine since she already had the shakes. She clung to the full mug anyway, taking comfort in something she could actually get her hands around, unlike her current predicament.

A fresh wave of self-castigation kept her rooted to the stool at the breakfast bar. She craved a long, numbing shower, but she couldn’t bear to go back into the bedroom, to see the remnants of her lovemaking with…that man. And to think she’d actually flirted with the idea of falling for him. She gritted her teeth, trying to banish the memory of the intimate things she’d done with him and to him. And the “Box o’ Sex Toys” she’d unveiled, trying to impress the “trinket man” when all the while…

She groaned, blinking back tears. How could she have been so stupid? The man had come to study her staff, to scrutinize her operation, to test her professionalism, and last night she’d played “Santa and the naughty elf” with him. When she thought of the ridiculous props she’d worn, entering the witness protection program actually seemed liked a viable alternative to facing Eric Stanton—or her staff.

What would her employees think of her cavorting with the enemy? Would they label her a traitor? And how fast would word spread to headquarters? Panic seized her anew. Had Eric Stanton already reported what undoubtedly seemed like lascivious behavior toward guests? Perhaps she’d been too hasty to eject him from her room, sans a shower and his shoes.

At the sound of a discreet knock on her door, Cindy inhaled deeply, summoning courage to face Eric if he’d returned. She smoothed a hand over her haphazard hair, not that it helped—or mattered—then padded to the door, her heart pounding. She looked through the peephole, nearly collapsing with relief to see Manny’s grim mug staring back at her. “Are you alone?” she called.

“Yes. Are you?”

She swung open the door, then nodded miserably.

Manny sighed. “I couldn’t hear everything on the other end of the phone, but it sounded bad. Is the receiver still off the hook?”

She shrugged. “I forgot about the phone.”

“Sorry to have been the bearer of bad news,” he said as he moved inside.

To her horror, she welled up with tears. “Oh, Manny, I couldn’t have dreamed up a worse nightmare.”

“I should have figured it out,” he said, pulling her into a comforting hug.

“I should have figured it out,” she exclaimed. “I should have realized Eric wasn’t hanging around just to spend time with me.”

Manny frowned. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. And don’t waste time dwelling on what you can’t change.”

She inhaled deeply and raised her chin. “You’re right. I have to get a grip and concentrate on damage control.”

“Attagirl.”

She exhaled. “Want some coffee?”

He checked his watch. “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes left on my break.”

“Okay,” she said, pouring the hot liquid into a cup for her friend. “Let’s go over what we know he knows about the hotel and about me.”

“Well, for starters, he knows we’re shorthanded in the salon.”

She frowned, then nodded.

He ticked off the items on his fingers. “He watched you stab yourself with a clipboard, the scarf incident in the elevator you told me about and the fire in the dining room.”

Her confidence started to slide.

“He was there when the tree got wedged in the front door, plus he came to the party last night, watched everyone get drunk and saw you dress up like a Christmas Playmate to pass out gifts.”

She slouched on her stool.

“He knows something strange happened to his pajama pants. And let’s not forget,” Manny said, then jerked a thumb toward her bedroom.

She closed her eyes. “Oh, God. Don’t remind me.”

“By the way,” he said lightly. “How was it?”

Cutting her gaze to him, she considered lying, then sighed. “Un-freaking-believable.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“I think I passed out once.”

“Darn.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame he turned out to be a conniving, lowlife, corporate scumbag who came here to dig up dirt on me.”

“Well, how did he act this morning? Was he sorry?”

She scrunched up her face. “No, the jerk had the nerve to act surprised—he said I’d known his identity all along.”

“But didn’t he tell you he sold adult toys?”

She nodded, then stopped, replaying their elevator conversation. “He said he was in sales, and when I asked him what kind, he answered ‘trinkets and things.’”

A frown wrinkled Manny’s forehead. “And from that comment, you assumed the man sold X-rated playthings?”

Cindy scoffed. “No. Then I asked if he was here for the trade show next week, and he said something like ‘As a matter of fact, I am preparing for next week.’”

Manny sighed. “Except he really meant he was preparing for his ream team to arrive at the Chandelier House for a good going-over.”

“Well, now I know that, but with the condoms and all—”

“What condoms?”

She rubbed her temples. “When I was in his bathroom washing up, he told me to get a couple of bandages out of his toiletry bag. I unzipped a pocket, and out fell enough contraceptives for China.”

“Which is interesting, but not particularly incriminating.”

“It was other things he said,” she insisted, then snapped her fingers. “He told me his father didn’t approve of his line of work.”

Manny shrugged. “Another blanket statement.”

“But there’s more!” The words tumbled out as she remembered them. “Last night we were talking about convention groups and I said something about the adult toy people—no, wait, I said ‘his people’ would be arriving shortly.”

He held up his hands. “His people will be arriving shortly.”

“Then he said he was glad I knew what he did for a living and hoped I understood why he had to be discreet.”

“Bingo! From that point on, he thought you knew he was Stanton.”

She gaped. “But if I knew he was Stanton, why would I have invited him to the party?”

“To butter him up, ply him with liquor.”

Nodding in dismay, she said, “He did say that people tended to treat him differently once they knew the truth about him.” She felt the blood drain from her face. “He said he was glad to see his line of work wouldn’t interfere with our ‘friendship.’”

“And you said?”

She stared at him. “I told him I was open-minded.”

Manny drained his cup and set it down with finality. “Well, at least now we know how the mix-up occurred, and that Stanton didn’t bed you under false pretenses.”

“No, he simply thought I knew who he was and would sleep with him anyway.”

He shrugged. “Probably not the first time it’s happened to him.”

She stopped, suddenly remembering the questions he’d asked about the chandelier. Nausea clutched her stomach. How much had she divulged?

“I’d better get back to work,” he said, pushing away from the bar. “The decorators are supposed to have unveiled the tree by now. Will I see you later?”

She nodded numbly. “I’m going to call a quick staff meeting as soon as I shower and do something with my hair.”

“In that case,” he said with a wink, “I’ll see you in the spring.” Manny gave her forehead a sympathetic rub, then placed her wayward false eyelashes in the palm of her hand.

Cindy sighed. “I guess I’d better get used to wearing these things.”

Manny tilted his head. “Don’t you have a pair of reading glasses somewhere?”

She sniffed and nodded, cheering slightly. “Good idea. Maybe they’ll hide my black circles, too.”

He touched his thumb to a loose tear, then smiled. “Just you wait. Stanton will be gone by Christmas and you’ll forget this ever happened.”

Touched, Cindy watched Manny leave, then leaned heavily against the wall. “Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice,” she whispered.

ERIC TOWELED HIS HAIR DRY, mulling over the events of the last few hours. If he understood the scene in Cindy’s room this morning, she had been under the impression that he was some kind of adult toy salesman. Admittedly, he’d first told her he was in sales, but how she had concocted the rest of the story was beyond him.

His best guess was that someone on her staff—probably the concierge—had discovered his identity and called to deliver the news, not realizing he occupied her bed. On the other hand, if Manny had designs on Cindy for himself and suspected Eric had spent the night, the timing of the phone call might simply have been a bonus.

Regardless, the misunderstanding meant one thing—they’d slept together and he alone had known it would pose a conflict of interest. Last night’s justification that Cindy also knew the ramifications now fell flat. He should have conducted himself like the professional he was reputed to be.

Eric finished dressing, still stupefied over how he had let himself be drawn into Cindy Warren’s bed. He’d been propositioned by women more beautiful and more determined, but never had he succumbed to temptation during an assignment. Eric cursed—he was getting sloppy.

Feeling like a heel, he slowly rehung his rumpled tuxedo in the closet. He had to talk to Cindy, to try and explain…what? That he had assumed she was the kind of woman who would sleep with the man sent to evaluate her and the hotel? He sighed, then looked down as something crunched under his shoe. He knelt and picked up two broken pieces of one of Cindy’s earrings which must have gotten tangled in his clothing. Not surprising, considering their frantic progress to her bed.

Regret washed over him. Fortunately, the break along the narrow part of the long translucent teardrop appeared to be clean. Perhaps a jeweler could repair it. He hoped so—it was the least he could do to make up for his behavior last night.

He’d promised Lancaster an update call this morning, but considering what had transpired, he needed to clear his head and decide what to do next. He had compromised his objectivity and the trust of the general manager, not to mention the trust of a “good woman,” as Jerry had called her. Great, just what he wanted for Christmas—guilt.

Flashes of their lovemaking plagued him. She had pushed buttons he hadn’t known he possessed. Oh, the silly games were fun, but when he closed his eyes, what he remembered most was the total abandon on her lovely face as she climaxed with him buried inside her. At the ripe old age of thirty-six, he was no sexual novice, but no woman had ever bared her vulnerability to him that way. For a few seconds, she had passed complete control of her body and soul to him. She had trusted him, only to discover this morning that he wasn’t the person—or the man—she’d thought him to be.

And she was right, of course. He wasn’t a lovable man—hell, his own father preferred not to have him around. He had no business entertaining thoughts of spending time with Cindy Warren. She ran a hotel for misfits, ignoring corporate policies and making a laughingstock of what could be a stately property. He and Cindy Warren might be in perfect harmony between the sheets, but when it came to business, they were way off-key.

He wrapped the broken earring in a tissue and tucked the package inside his shirt pocket. Cindy didn’t answer her phone, and he couldn’t think of an appropriate message to leave, so he simply hung up. Perhaps he would catch her in the lobby and talk to her before she left the hotel.

Opting for the stairwell so he could smoke half a cigarette on the way, Eric slowly descended to the lobby. His temples throbbed with a nicotine headache, and his lower back hurt from either the strange mattress or the high-spirited ride he’d given Cindy the Naked Elf last night on a trip around the world. He gritted his teeth and snuffed out the cigarette. Hell’s bells, what had he gotten himself into?

From Mr. Oliver’s rigid posture behind the concierge desk, he assumed the man had indeed placed the ill-timed wake-up call.

“Good morning, Mr. Stanton,” the blond man said in a crisp tone, confirming his suspicion. When Eric neared, the man leaned forward and whispered, “I ought to punch your damn lights out.”

Eric blanched at the man’s verbal attack, then angered. “Mind your own business, Oliver.”

“We had an understanding last night when you left the party.”

Eric chewed the inside of his cheek. “Cindy made the pass.”

Manny scoffed. “She didn’t know who the hell you were!”

“Well, I thought she did.”

The blond man looked disgusted. “So is this standard procedure for you, Stanton?”

“I’m going to overlook that comment because I know how much you care about Cindy.” Eric clenched his teeth. “Now, have you seen her?”

Manny’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Eric asked, “Where can I find her?”

The man’s blue eyes gave away nothing. “I believe she’s taking a day of vacation.”

“So she’s already left the hotel?”

“Can I help you, Mr. Stanton?”

He turned to find Cindy standing five feet away, looking more composed than he felt at the moment. Dressed casually in a pair of slim jeans, white turtleneck and a man’s boxy plaid sport coat, she looked like a coed. She’d stuffed her too-curly reddish hair under a green velvet newsboy hat, but a few strands had managed to escape down her back. The round wire glasses were new, and flattering. No one would have guessed this serene-looking woman had spent the better part of last night naked and writhing beneath, beside and on top of him.

“May I help you, Mr. Stanton?” she repeated coolly.

Eric walked toward her, stopping at a professional distance. Striving for a level tone, he said, “Cindy, I’d like a private word with you.”

“Sure,” she said, surprising him. “Except it will have to wait until after my staff meeting.” She glanced at her watch, then gave him a polite smile. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes—perhaps I can address your concerns then.” She signaled Manny, then strode toward the elevator.

Not sure what he expected, Eric stood rooted to the spot. “Ms. Warren,” he called.

She turned.

He suddenly wanted to see her smile again. “I thought you were due a day of fun and frolic.”

Her expression remained unmoved. “Something came up,” she said simply, then kept walking.

Watching her retreating back, Eric experienced a foreign twinge…loss? He coughed and thumped his chest, deciding that smoking on an empty stomach had given him heartburn. He wheeled in the opposite direction and went in search of coffee, pondering Cindy’s impending staff meeting.

…Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six. Cindy stopped counting her steps at the elevator and began counting the seconds until the car arrived. In her pocket, she’d clicked the end of an ink pen in quick succession so many times, she’d practically worn out the button. Counting always helped calm her, and if ever she needed a soothing ritual, it was now. In five minutes she would admit to her staff that not only was Mr. Eric Stanton on the hotel premises, but she’d unwittingly ensured him anonymous access to her employees. As for the access she’d given him to herself, well that was beyond belief or understanding.

“Goodbye, Ms. Warren.”

She spun to see Mr. Stark approaching her, suitcase in tow. Stifling a groan, she painted on a smile. “Are you leaving, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, headed home earlier than I’d planned.” He tipped his hat. “Thanks for the great tickets last night. The rat incident aside, I must say, I enjoyed my stay.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said tightly.

He folded a business card into her hand. “If you ever decide to remodel, give me a call and I’ll take some of this junk off your hands.”

“I’ll do that. Have a nice trip home.” As soon as he disappeared toward the door, Cindy flipped over his card. Reginald Stark, Antiques. She grimaced.

Manny walked up just as the elevator doors opened. “Perfect performance,” he murmured. “Don’t let Stanton know you’re rattled.”

“Rattled?” she said airily, stepping inside. “Who’s rattled?”

“Here,” he said, handing her a new ink pen. “For when the one in your pocket falls apart.”

She shot him a grateful smile, then sighed. “Do you want to hear the worst part about last night? I lost one of my earrings.”

“Did you check the bed?” he asked dryly.

“Yes, smart aleck, I did. It’s not in my room. I think I might have lost it when I put on that stupid Santa dress at the party. I checked the bar, but no luck.”

“Joel and I will look for it,” he soothed.

“I think this might be the worst week of my life,” she said as they approached the meeting room. “Do you think the staff will stone me?”

“They’ll come around when they realize he hoodwinked you, too.”

“Oh, now I feel better.”

“Don’t torture yourself. This was all one big misunderstanding. If he was good in bed, count your blessings.”

“Unless this affects his review of the hotel in a bad way. Talk about performance anxiety.”

“So call corporate human resources and tell them what happened—you thought he was a guest.”

“And then everyone in the home office will think I’m seducing guests on a regular basis.”

“That’s ridiculous, Cindy. My goldfish get more booty than you do.”

“I know that and you know that, but extended abstinence is difficult to prove.” She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Especially after Mr. Stanton and I set land records for speed and endurance last night.” She groaned. “Manny, I don’t know what it is about this man, but just when I think I can’t do anything more idiotic around him, I amaze myself.”

With her heart pounding, she walked into the boardroom and greeted her staff already seated around the table. She decided to stand, eyeing the distance to the door in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

“This must be important,” Joel piped up, “considering you’re supposed to be off today after bringing a real, live date to the party.” A titter traveled around the room, stopping at Manny, who studied the ceiling tile.

Her cheeks flamed with memories of just how alive Eric had been last night—and just how much she’d wanted to kill him this morning. Still, she dredged up a wry smile. “I am planning to do my Christmas shopping later, but, um—” She cleared her throat. “First I want to discuss a personal matter with you.”

Amy, sporting a white breathe-easy strip on her red nose, leaned forward. “Is everything okay, Cindy?”

She nodded vaguely, glanced at Manny, then plunged ahead. “I b-believe most of you met the gentleman who escorted me to the party last night.”

“Oh, my God,” Sam said, leaping to her feet. “Eric proposed, didn’t he?”

The room erupted while Cindy nearly swallowed her tongue.

“You’re getting married?” Joel exploded. He began clapping and hooting.

Approaching hysteria, Cindy waved her arms. “Wait!”

The door in the back of the room opened and to her abject horror, Eric Stanton walked into the melee.

Manny silenced the room with a two-finger whistle.

Everyone turned to stare at Eric.

He indicated the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I knocked.” Edging closer, he said, “I have a feeling I’m the reason this meeting was called.”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, Cindy nodded, practically numb. “You might as well come in.” She waved everyone back into their seats, her mind spinning.

Joel frowned. “So are you and Eric getting married or what?” He yelped in pain and jerked back, eyeing Manny directly across the table.

She wished for something sharp to throw at Joel, then gripped the edge of the table. “First of all,” she said with deadly calm, “I’m not getting married anytime in the foreseeable future. And second—” She inhaled and swept an arm toward Eric. “Everyone, may I introduce Mr. Eric Quinn Stanton.”

He stepped up and glanced around the group, falling short of a smile. “Good morning. As you have previously been briefed, my review team and I will be conducting a routine study of your operations at the request of your parent company. I met most of you last night. Hello to the new faces.”

Jaws dropped. Eyes bulged. Adam’s apples bobbed. She watched as incredulity transformed to confusion, then accusing gazes swung back to her.

“Ms. Warren didn’t discover my identity until—” He caught her gaze and she silently begged him not to say “this morning” with all its lewd connotations. “Until a short while ago,” he finished.

Cindy glanced back to the group. “As we discussed, the rest of Mr. Stanton’s team will be arriving soon, but on Saturday instead of Monday. According to my schedule, they will be on the premises for five days, leaving on Wednesday the twenty-third.” She looked to Eric for confirmation.

He nodded.

“Until that time,” she continued, “I’m sure you will extend every courtesy to Mr. Stanton as he directs the review.” She herself had certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty. Cindy picked up her clipboard to signal a welcome end to the meeting. “That’s all I have. If you haven’t met Mr. Stanton, please introduce yourself before you leave.”

Cindy walked around to the other side of the table to avoid Eric and glanced at her watch.

“Ms. Warren.”

At the sound of his voice, she stopped. And so did everyone else. Cindy turned back to find Eric flanked by a few of her employees, apprehension clear on their faces. “Yes?”

On dark eyebrow raised slightly. “You said we could have a word after the meeting.”

Damn. “I’ll be in the lobby near the Christmas tree.” She made a hasty exit without waiting for his response.

Amy trotted up next to her on the way down the hall. “I’m sorry, boss.”

Cindy frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

“If I hadn’t pinpointed Mr. Stark as the corporate spy, you might have suspected Eric before you—” She broke off abruptly.

Cindy sucked in a breath. As far as she knew, only Manny was aware that Eric had spent the night in her bed, and she planned to keep it that way. “Before I what?”

“Before you asked him to the party,” Amy finished, looking sorrowful. “Don’t blame yourself, Cindy. He used you to get close to us.”

Her friends scrambled to assure her they didn’t blame her. When they arrived at the lobby, Amy slipped away. Joel started to make his escape too, but one of his two beepers sounded.

He pushed a button and lifted the radio to his mouth. “Joel here, what’s up?”

Manny’s voice crackled over the tiny speaker. “Trouble at the Christmas tree—you’d better get here quick. And bring Cindy.”

Cindy strode toward the front entrance with Joel right behind her. Her steps faltered as they rounded the corner. “What the—?”

Black. The blue spruce was dressed in black from top to bottom. Black ribbons, black ornaments, even a black star on top. Horrified, Cindy could only stare. Guests passed by and winced.

Joel gasped. “Who ever heard of black Christmas decorations?”

“Get the decorators back here,” she ordered, then pointed to a knot of people gathering on the sidewalk, some with signs. “And security. Looks like we’ve got a picket forming. We just may have offended every religious group in the city.”

“Oh, Stanton will love this,” Joel muttered.

“I’ll cut him off and take him out the side entrance,” she offered, handing him her clipboard.

“You’re a trooper,” Joel said, clapping her on the back.

“I’m an idiot,” she mumbled as she clambered back to the elevator to wait for the man she never wanted to see again. As she lingered, Cindy evaluated her situation and concluded she was definitely up the creek without a paddle. But she didn’t have long to berate herself. Eric stepped off the elevator and nearly smiled when he saw her. Gloating, no doubt. She swallowed the pride she had left—less than a mouthful—and offered him a flat smile. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

His forehead wrinkled slightly, then cleared. “No.”

“I thought we could walk to a diner to have that word in private.”

He pursed his lips, evoking thoughts of her mouth on his. Cindy shook off the memories, thinking tomorrow would be easier since she wouldn’t be reminded of their lapse every time her sore muscles moved. “Fine,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the front entrance.

“Um, the side exit is closer,” she said, moving in the opposite direction.

“HAM, HASH BROWNS, two biscuits, gravy and a side order of grits.” Cindy handed the menu to the waitress with a nod. “I’m starved.”

Amused, Eric tugged on his ear—he couldn’t deny they had worked up an appetite. “I’ll have the same.”

When the waitress left, he lifted his coffee cup. Where to start? He wished he knew what she was thinking, but she’d barely spoken a word to him during the stroll to the restaurant, despite his best attempt at small talk. She looked so fetching in her little green hat and scholarly glasses, Eric wished he could strip away the murky circumstances and carry her back to her disheveled bed. He splashed coffee over the edge of his cup. “Cindy, we obviously need to talk.”

“Me first,” she said, unsmiling, then cleared her throat. “Mr. Stanton—”

“I’m Eric, remember?”

She gripped her coffee cup with those wonderfully familiar hands. “Maybe,” she said evenly, “but you are not the person I thought you were.”

His set his jaw, and nodded in concession.

“Mr. Stanton,” she began again, her voice stronger. “Let me start by saying that I’m not in the habit of…of fraternizing with male guests. In fact—” she dropped her gaze “—last night was the first such incident.” She returned her gaze and lifted her chin before she continued. “I have no excuse for my behavior, but I sincerely hope you won’t hold my regrettable lapse in judgment against my staff.”

Eric pursed his mouth. Regrettable?

“That’s why,” she said, pressing on, “if you feel obligated to report this incident to headquarters, I’m asking you—” she hesitated, then wet her lips “—no, I’m imploring you to wait until the review of the hotel has been completed. If I’m removed as GM now, employee morale will suffer and the profit margins on holiday events might be compromised. I want the Chandelier House to present as healthy a bottom line as possible.”

His respect for her ratcheted up yet another notch. “Ms. Warren, I have no intention of bringing this, um, awkward situation to the attention of anyone at Harmon, although it had crossed my mind that you might be the one filing a report.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Me?”

“Yes. Especially if you thought I might threaten to divulge or withhold certain details about the operation of the hotel unless you, er, you know.”

“Slept with you again?”

He nodded.

“Would you?”

For the first time he wished he was more of a people person, more intuitive, because her greenish eyes were clouded with emotions he longed to decipher. “No,” he said quietly. “I’d never blackmail my way into your bed.”

Her mouth twitched, but she remained silent.

“Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you,” he continued. “I’m sorry I misled you into thinking I was someone else. For the sake of discretion when I’m undercover, I’m usually vague with personal details, but I don’t deliberately try to deceive people I’ll be working with, especially not the general manager. I truly thought I had already blown my cover.” He sighed. “And I’ve never indulged in this kind of liaison before either.”

She studied her hands, then lifted her gaze. “I owe you an apology for accusing you of tricking me. In hindsight, I jumped to wrong conclusions based on that vague information.”

“I’m sorry you’re embarrassed—”

“Please,” she cut in. “Let’s stick to how this situation will affect your handling of my hotel and staff.”

“Okay,” he agreed, having slammed into the personal brick wall she’d erected. “I have two propositions—” He stopped and laughed uncomfortably. Cindy didn’t even blink. “Um, make that two solutions I want to put on the table.”

She nodded, unsmiling.

“First, I can remove myself from this project entirely—”

“I like that one.”

Eric sighed with resignation. He couldn’t blame her for being angry, but he didn’t want her to make a decision that might adversely impact the hotel. “Except, I have a sneaking suspicion that if the review is delayed, some executive at Harmon looking for a promotion is going to ax the Chandelier House without a fair shake.”

“Why?” she asked, spreading her hands. “We’ve maintained a healthy margin, no thanks to Harmon. They’re pocketing our earnings and doling out nickels and dimes for expansion and repair.”

“The hotel is bad for their image,” he said bluntly. “You’re familiar with Harmon’s strategy to cater to the corporate traveler—your guest demographics are way off the chart.”

“So let them sell us,” she said, pounding her fist on the table. “We’d be better off in the hands of someone else.”

“Cindy,” he said, resisting the urge to cover her hand. “It’s not that simple. If Harmon puts your hotel on the block, they’ll do it piece by piece—first the antique furniture, then the fixtures, then the building itself. And chances are, the building could be bought for the land alone and the structure bulldozed.”

She inhaled, then exhaled noisily. “And the alternative?”

“I stay on the project and if the books are as healthy as you say, I could at least present Harmon with a fair business case for keeping the hotel. A positive review won’t keep them from selling, but it will at least make a divestiture more difficult to justify.”

“That’s it?”

He locked his gaze with hers and spoke sincerely. “I can’t make any promises.”

A scoff escaped her lips. “You mean my best hope for saving the hotel is for you to stay and perform the review?”

“In my opinion, yes.”

“And what if you screw me?” One corner of her mouth lifted, but her eyes remained flat. “Again?”

Eric squirmed, knowing he’d put them both in an ethical position more awkward than any position they’d conjured up in her bed last night. “Cindy, I’m not in the business of wrecking people’s lives.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

The remark hit him like a sucker punch, but he didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

Her mouth tightened. “It looks as though I have no other choice, Mr. Stanton.” She pushed herself to her feet, her face pinched and pale. “I guess I won’t stay for breakfast. I lost my appetite. And since I’m going to be forced to see you for the next few days, Mr. Stanton, I think I’ll take this opportunity to avoid your company.”

“Cindy—” he said, half standing and putting his hand on her arm.

She pivoted her head to stare at his hand, which he removed after a few seconds of silence. Cindy slung her purse over her shoulder, then walked away.

CINDY DIALED THE NUMBER twice, hanging up both times before the phone could ring on the other end. With a heavy sigh, she leaned her head back on the comfy chair and stared at her bed. With no effort, she could picture Eric lying nude amidst the covers, his rakish smile beckoning her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself the sinful pleasure of reliving the more vivid sensations of their lovemaking before the inevitable, crushing return of humiliation and self-reproach roused her from her daydream.

Resigned, she picked up the phone and redialed the number, almost hoping no one would answer. But when her mother’s voice came over the line, Cindy acknowledged a decidedly juvenile sense of comfort she hoped she’d never outgrow.

“Mom? Hi, how’s everything—hmm? Oh, the party was fine—what? Well, the date didn’t turn out exactly—no, Mom, he didn’t take advantage of me, in fact—huh? No, I doubt if we’ll be going out again—the Donna Karan. Yes, the black one. My hair? Well, I’ve been doing some experimenting—oh, no, I like it. Hmm? A little shorter—no, it’s not ruined. Everyone around here is talking about it. So how’s everything—Eric…Eric Quinn. Right, with a Q. No Quinns in Manassas? Well, it’s a big place—Mom, it doesn’t matter because he was only—what? Ham will be fine. No, Mom, Manny is not Jewish. No, you don’t have to buy him a gift—size large will be fine, I think. Right. I just called to say hello—yes, Christmas Eve. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. My love to Dad…Love you, too. Okay…Okay, bye-bye…Okay, bye-bye.”

Cindy replaced the phone and shook her head, then smiled warmly, her spirit on the mend.

10

“I’M SORRY, MR. STANTON,” the jeweler said, shaking his head. “I can’t fix it, and there’s no way I can find a replacement.”

Eric’s shoulders drooped. “When I left it here two days ago, the woman said it would be no problem.”

“Again, I’m sorry, but my wife didn’t realize, and neither did I at first, that this earring isn’t glass—it’s vintage crystal.”

Irritated, Eric scrubbed his hand over his face. Cindy hadn’t exactly warmed up to him in the last couple of days, and he was hoping the gift would help repair their strained relationship. Like the piano you gave your father? He squashed the unsettling thought.

The jeweler turned the pieces over in his hand, his expression regretful. “Beautiful piece—looks like it might have come from a chandelier.”

He stopped and squinted at the man. “A chandelier, did you say?”

“Uh-huh. Now that would be some piece, a chandelier made from this caliber glass.”

Eric poked his tongue in his cheek, his mind spinning with possible scenarios. After securing the broken pieces in his pocket, Eric left the shop and found a pay phone. He punched in a number slowly, feeling a stab of longing when a familiar voice came over the line.

“Pop? It’s Eric.”

“I know that,” his father snapped. “I only got one son, you know.”

Eric bit his tongue, then asked, “How are you doing?”

“Bored to damned death—not that you care.”

“Pop, that’s not true—”

“I got your postcard from San Francisco. You out there hacking up another company?”

“No,” he answered patiently. “Dad, did you get a chance to check out the chandelier on the postcard?”

“Sure—recognized it right away. It’s a French design—A Merveille.”

“A merveille,” Eric murmured. “‘To perfection.’”

“Right. I did a little research. This particular model was custom-made in the twenties—the three originals took months to make. It was copied in lesser materials quite a bit in the forties and fifties. And the chandelier on the postcard appears to be a good copy, except for a missing piece, probably broken.”

Eric’s pulse picked up. “Tell me about the missing piece, Dad.”

“The original had a small spiral of crystals hanging from the center.”

From which at least one pair of earrings had been fashioned? “Do you have any idea what the original might be worth?”

“I wrote it down—one point three million.”

Eric clutched the edge of the phone booth. “Really.”

“Uh-huh. But the copies are only worth between twenty and thirty thousand. Not chump change, but not enough to retire on. Why the sudden interest in a light fixture?”

“Just trying to estimate a book value,” Eric lied, to gain time. “Dad, I need a picture of the original chandelier.”

“Christmas is only a few days away. Can’t you get the book then?”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, I need that photo right away, and I, um…I’m not going to make it home for Christmas this year.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want to argue with you the entire visit and hear about how much money I wasted on that damned piano. “Something came up at work.”

“Okay by me, but Alicia and the kids will be disappointed.”

“I’ll call her and try to plan a visit after New Year’s.” He sighed. “Will you send the book?”

“Sure. What’s the address?”

Eric pulled out Cindy’s business card and read the hotel address to his father, thinking it sad that two of the people he cared about most would just as soon not be around him. Then he stopped. Cared about most?

CINDY HELD HER HEAD BACK, looking straight up at the tree. “I think you’re right,” she said to Manny. “Those veil-decorations are definitely melting.”

Her friend scoffed. “A Middle Eastern theme—aren’t those addle-headed decorators aware that most people in the Middle East don’t celebrate Christmas? In fact,” he said flatly, “maybe I’ll move there.”

“Oh, don’t be such a Scrooge,” she said lightly. “We’ve managed to have a decorated tree for—what? Four whole days now. Have Amy call the decorators and tell them to take off everything but the lights—that way it’ll still be festive when the rest of the review team arrives today.”

“You’re nothing if not optimistic,” her friend noted. “Speaking of the review team, I haven’t seen Stanton lurking around today. Wonder where he slept last night?”

She offered a rueful smile. “As long as it wasn’t with me, I couldn’t care less.”

“Just checking,” he said, his low voice rich with innuendo.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve gone out of my way to avoid that man these last few days.” She’d even resisted the urge to hand-deliver the shirt she’d bought to replace the one she’d burned.

His pale eyebrows shot up. “My point exactly.”

“I don’t want anyone thinking I’m…I’m, you know.”

“Still infatuated with him?”

Her jaw dropped, then closed. “Not still…not ever!”

“That’s what I meant,” he said smoothly.

“Well—” Flustered, she scrambled for words. “I take issue with the term ‘infatuated.’” Her arm flailed of its own volition. “Being infatuated implies the existence of…some type of emotional involvement, of…of some kind of personal attachment. Anything between me and Stanton was purely physical.”

“Just a one-night stand,” Manny said, nodding.

A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth. “Right.”

He smiled and exhaled noisily. “What a relief to hear you say that. I can’t imagine a worse match than you and Eric Stanton.”

“Right.” She worried the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “What makes you say that?”

He scoffed. “Cindy, you’re so fun-loving, and he’s so…anal.”

A fond memory of him playing the piano washed over her. “Eric has his less serious moments.”

“And you value tradition, people. That man won’t lose a wink of sleep worrying about the employees here.”

She worked her mouth side to side. “But he said he’d try to help us make a case to Harmon.”

“Why would he do that? Harmon is paying him untold dollars to oversee this review because of his hard-ass reputation. And you think that Stanton is going to help us because he’s undergone a sudden change of heart?” He gave her a dubious look. “This is the same man, Cindy, who climbed into your bed knowing he’d be evaluating you on job performance. What makes you think you can put your faith in him now?”

Hurt stabbed her from all sides. “You’re right.” Deep down, she’d known all those things about Eric—so why did hearing the words aloud bother her so much?

He handed her a plastic bag he’d been holding.

“What’s this?”

“Stanton’s jammies.”

Her eyes widened. “Why did you bring them back?”

Manny shrugged. “I don’t know—I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, and it seemed icky to hang on to them.”

“Icky?”

“Another word for ‘I don’t want this on my conscience, girl.’”

She clamped the bag under her arm. “Like I don’t have enough on mine.”

“Well, I feel better about giving back the pants knowing that Stanton doesn’t mean anything to you.”

She swallowed. “Thanks. I have to go. I have an appointment with our new hairdresser in the salon.” She held up a finger. “Don’t say a word.”

He made a zipping motion across his mouth with his finger, turned on his heel and headed back to the concierge station.

Cindy turned toward the salon, anticipating a few minutes of peace and quiet to mull her recent restlessness.

“Whew, that perm really stripped your color,” Matilda, the new hairdresser, said emphatically. “Let’s try shade number twenty-eight B, chocolate coffee.”

Cindy settled into a salon chair, frowning in puzzlement.

“Dark brown,” the woman clarified.

“Ah. Good—back to my original color.” She glanced at her hair in the mirror. “Is it safe to color so soon after perming?”

“I’ll apply a conditioner first.”

“Okay, you’re the expert…aren’t you?”

Matilda nodded, while in the background, Jerry shook his head.

“Just match my eyebrows as closely as you can,” Cindy declared, ignoring the barber. How hard could it be to open a bottle of dye and pour it on?

“Okeydokey.”

At least her hair would be back to its normal color by the time she met the review team. While the stylist painted on goopy hair dye with a brush, Cindy’s thoughts strayed to pending catastrophes. She longed for the days when they weren’t enslaved to a corporate master, when they didn’t expend so much energy watching their p’s and q’s. “How much longer?” she asked the hairdresser.

“Time to rinse,” the woman said, yanking Cindy’s head back into a sink and nearly drowning her in her attempt to wash away the residue. After a knot-raising towel dry, Matilda plugged in a blow-dryer.

Except when she flipped the switch to the hair dryer, the lights blinked, then went out, pitching the salon into total darkness. “Did I do that?” Matilda cried.

“I don’t think a hair dryer could do this,” Cindy said. The low-watt generator lights came on. “It would take a huge power draw, something like a…”

“Like a Christmas tree?” the woman asked.

“Yeah,” Cindy said, nodding, then gripped the arms of the chair. The Christmas tree—had the decorators added more lights once they stripped the melting decorations?

She launched herself out of the chair and fled for the lobby.

“POWER FAILURE,” Eric murmured, grasping the rail along the three-story staircase landing. He immediately wondered if Cindy was at the source of the calamity and smiled to himself, surprised that the mere thought of her evoked that odd twisting feeling in his chest. Guilt, probably. He held a small pair of binoculars through which he’d studied the chandelier hanging a few yards in front of him for a good fifteen seconds before everything went black.

Emergency lights came on, supplementing the thin daylight streaming in around the front entrance. Eric had a fairly good view of the activity in the lobby. Newly erected scaffolding held a dozen workers, some of whom had been removing items from the tree while others had been adding strands of lights. Someone with a pronounced lisp yelled for everyone on the scaffolding not to move. A knot of six guests came through the front door, dressed professionally and pulling sleek suitcases. His team, he noted, cursing the bad timing. Eric descended the long stairway in the semidarkness.

As expected, Cindy came flying onto the scene, almost literally, since she sported some kind of cape that flapped behind her. Her hair sprang wild and wet around her. Eric approached his team, shaking hands and explaining the recent turn of events. With a start, he realized he was becoming numb to the hotel’s minidisasters. Within a few minutes, Cindy had coordinated an evacuation of workers on the scaffolding and announced that the electricity, which was off in a two-block radius, would be restored soon.

He waved to get her attention and gestured her over. She resembled a drowned cat with her huge greenish eyes and her wild, wet hair that looked almost…no, it was probably just the low lighting that made it look purplish. From the gray cape he assumed she’d been “salonus interruptus” when the blackout occurred.

“This is Ms. Cindy Warren,” he said to his team, “General manager of the Chandelier House.” That she occasionally moonlighted as Nurse Lovejoy, he kept to himself. “Ms. Warren, meet the Stanton & Associates review team members who have been assigned to evaluate your property.”

She blanched, then recovered quickly as she exchanged greetings with his stoic-faced team. “We apologize for the inconvenience,” Cindy said with a big smile. “Lights are being rounded up as we speak so that everyone can find their way around the hotel. Ah, here we are. Eight lights over here, please.”

From a box, a young man passed out pale cylinders to the group, then moved on. Eric studied the object in his hand, frowning.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” A voice he recognized as Samantha Riggs’s came over a bullhorn. “We are providing all guests with a combination glow-in-the-dark flashlight/vibrator, batteries included, compliments of Ready-now, one of our vendors for the adult entertainment trade show that will begin on Monday. If you’re still visiting with us at that time, we invite you to drop by the show. Oh, and please bring photo ID.”

Eric shot Cindy an amused glance as she stared at the contoured flashlight cradled in her hands, closed her eyes and mouthed something heavenward. He suppressed a smile. “Ms. Warren, I was hoping you’d join us for dinner in the restaurant, say around seven? Hopefully the lights will have been restored by then.”

She nodded and smiled shakily. “We can hope, can’t we?”

“IT’S PURPLE,” SHE MOANED, looking in the mirror.

“‘Eggplant’ sounds so much more fashionable,” Manny declared.

“Why does this keep happening to me?”

“It’s a conspiracy, Cindy. What did the hairdresser say?”

“By the time I got back to the salon, Jerry had sent her home.”

“Hmm. And did Jerry have any advice?”

“He gave me a paper sack to wear on my head. I asked for plastic so I could suffocate myself.”

“You have to admit it’s very trendy. Some people would pay top dollar for this look. It’s not half-bad, actually.”

“Manny, I’m supposed to have dinner with Stanton and the rest of the review team in one hour. I look like one of the Spice Girls.”

“Is this just a shmoozy meeting?”

“I think so, although Eric mentioned he wanted to talk to me afterward.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Relax. He said it was about the hotel, although he didn’t give me any specifics.” She gave him a wry smile. “And with my wet head and wearing that plastic cape, I was in such a hurry to get out of there, I didn’t question him.”

“I heard the rest of the review team arrived during the blackout.”

“When else? I’m sure they were very impressed with my getup, not to mention the vibrating hostess gifts.”

“Oh, well, it can’t get any worse.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“At least the lights are on now.”

“Which is a good thing, else no one would be able to see our totally bare three-story Christmas tree.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Do you think the green hat is too casual for dinner?”

“Yes.” He picked up a lock of her wine-colored hair. “Don’t you have a dress this color?”

She nodded.

“How about a head wrap? Blue would be nice.”

“I don’t have a blue scarf.”

“Hmm.” He pursed his mouth as if an idea had struck him.

“What?”

“Where are the jammies?” He spied the paper bag in a nearby chair and pulled them out.

“Oh, no.” Cindy held up her hands. “I am not going to dinner with Eric wearing the pajama pants I stole from him wrapped around my head.”

But his hands were already at work. “Think of it as a three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar scarf. Fold under the waistband, hide the stain, tie the legs in back, tuck, tuck, tuck, and voila`!”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he guided her face to the mirror. She looked…good, exotic even. Creating a four-inch strip around her hairline and ears, the makeshift scarf held the curly purple hair away from her face, forcing it to spill up and over the pale fabric. “Dammit, Manny, how do you do that?”

“Resourcefulness,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“But what if he recognizes it?”

“If he were gay, I’d say don’t risk it. But straight, hungry, horny and under low lights—are you kidding?” He laughed. “Besides, this is too perfect.”

Frowning, Cindy looked at her reflection and let out a sigh. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

11

STANDING NEXT to the long dinner table, Eric lifted his hand in a final wave as the members of his review team filed out of the restaurant. Strange, but he hadn’t noticed before what incredibly dull company his associates were. Of course, he suspected the hours had dragged because he was longing to talk to Cindy alone. She’d chosen the seat farthest from him, so he hadn’t been able to engage her in conversation. “Thanks for agreeing to stay awhile longer.”

She nodded curtly, her expression guarded, as it had been each time he had caught her gaze throughout the meal. “You wanted to talk to me about a hotel matter?”

When she started to reclaim her seat, Eric’s mind raced to come up with a venue that would offer privacy without the connotation of either of their rooms. “How about if we go up to the roof to take in that great view you told me about? I hate to admit it, but I’m dying for a smoke.”

She pressed her lips together, hesitating.

“And I don’t want to risk our conversation being overheard,” he added.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought you said you wanted to discuss the hotel.”

“I do, but I believe you will appreciate the privacy.”

Concern furrowed her forehead. “I’ll need to stop by my room to get a jacket.”

“You can use mine,” he offered. “I won’t keep you long.”

In answer, she picked up her bag and walked to the hostess station, where she signed for their meal. Eric couldn’t stop himself from devouring the swell of her hips beneath the thin fabric of her slim burgundy dress. Her hair, which was actually an odd, lovely contrast to her green eyes, would take a little getting used to, but—

What was he thinking? He wouldn’t be around long enough to get used to anything. Spending the night with Cindy would undoubtedly be a fondly recalled memory, but little more. Once he put a little space between him and the Chandelier House, he would recover his edge.

“You made a good impression on the team,” he said with sincerity as they strolled toward the elevator.

She laughed softly. “With the utter chaos surrounding my introduction this afternoon, I had nowhere to go but up.”

He waved off her concern. “I told everyone they’d get used to seeing you like that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Eric laughed. “I meant, they’d get used to seeing you in the middle of things, taking charge, no matter what.”

She turned wary eyes his way. “That’s my job, Mr. Stanton.” She walked into the elevator car, claimed a front corner and depressed the top floor button. Her posture remained uncompromising.

Hating the formality, the distance and the awkward tension, he watched the floors light as they climbed. Strange, how they had gone from being strangers to acquaintances to lovers, and now back to mere acquaintances.

They reached the top of the building in short order. Cindy removed a handheld radio from her bag and asked the operator to notify security that the silent alarm for the roof door would be tripped. Eric followed her down a hallway, up a flight and a half of stairs, and through the heavy metal door covered with warning stickers.

Cindy looked forward to the openness of the roof after being in close confines with Eric for the past few hours. A gusting breeze enveloped her as she stepped outside, the December chill raising gooseflesh on her skin, despite the long sleeves of her dress.

She shivered involuntarily, then started when Eric’s jacket appeared around her shoulders. The warmth from his body still emanated from the silky lining, and the faint scent of English Leather drifted up to tease her. “Thank you,” she murmured, then stepped away from the stairwell enclosure toward the center of the roof.

“Nice,” he observed, scanning the view.

She had to agree. At this height, the world was a soothing mixture of calm silence with faint undertones of traffic far below. The wind sent the ends of her hair skimming across her face and dancing in the air. She patted the pseudo-scarf, experiencing a stab of alarm that it seemed much looser. Oh, well, the wrap seemed intact for now, and Eric had told her the discussion wouldn’t take long.

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the wind. The only reason she could think of for his wanting to talk in private was to rehash the impact of their night together on the review, and she didn’t want to talk about it again. Wasn’t it enough that the encounter was never more than a few seconds from her mind anyway?

She tried to distract herself by absorbing the wonderful view, which remained breathtaking no matter how many times she made this pilgrimage. A myriad of lights from homes, cars and Christmas decorations, studded the landscape in three directions as far as one could see. To the west, of course, lay the bay, offering its own nighttime spectacle.

“Beautiful,” Eric said, turning to look at her.

Despite the circumstances, Cindy found it difficult to make eye contact with the man and not be affected. Not only was he undeniably handsome, but she also knew intimate secrets about the powerful body standing little more than an arm’s length away. The awareness of their physical compatibility pulled at her like a vacuum. “Mr. Stanton,” she said hurriedly, “I need to get to bed early tonight.”

The words hung in the air between them.

“Alone,” she amended quickly, then stopped and took a deep, calming breath. “Maybe you’d better just dive right in…Into whatever you wanted to talk about, I mean.” To cover her growing uneasiness, she smiled cheerily into the stiff breeze and rambled on. “You know, I’m so glad we’ve been able to get past that little indiscretion and move on to building a business relationship based on—” she spit out a hank of hair that the wind blew against her mouth “—mutual respect.”

Eric nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped forward and reached for her. Terrified at the zing of desire in her stomach, she held up both hands to ward him off. “Stop right there, buster.” Her body responded shamelessly even as her indignation ballooned. “How dare you lure me up here under the guise of business when all you had on your mind was…was copping a feel!”

He halted, his eyes wide.

Hurt loosened her tongue, making her want to give pain in return. “Haven’t you ever done it on a roof, Mr. Stanton? Does it turn you on? Didn’t I give you enough material the other night for a few weeks’ worth of locker-room talk?”

He frowned and nodded toward his jacket. “If you’re finished, there’s something in the left pocket, wrapped in a tissue. I believe it’s yours.”

Slightly deflated that he hadn’t brought her to the roof to feel her up after all, Cindy reached into the pocket and withdrew a wad of tissue.

“Careful,” he warned.

She gently unfolded the tissue, at first confused by the bits of glass winking in the moonlight. Then she sucked in a breath. “My earring,” she said softly, wincing when she saw the two pieces.

His tie whipped in the wind, curling around his neck. “It must have fallen into the pocket of my tux or gotten hung on my clothes somehow,” he explained. “I stepped on it accidentally. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right.” But she could hear the hurt in her own voice.

“I wanted to have it repaired, but the jeweler told me he couldn’t replace it.”

Her head jerked up. “Jeweler?”

“He told me it wasn’t glass, as I’d thought, but vintage lead crystal.”

She met his gaze, looked away, then glanced back, her knees weakening. “Um, yes, as a matter of fact, it is crystal.”

“He also said it probably came from a chandelier.”

“Did he?” Stuffing the broken earring into her purse, she walked past him and over to the shoulder-high concrete edge, her mind spinning.

“He told me an intact chandelier made out of this crystal would be extremely valuable.” She could tell from his muffled voice that he stared at the opposite horizon. How perfectly symbolic, she realized.

Cindy wet her lips, blinking against the wind, which was much stronger here on the perimeter of the roof. “I suppose it would be,” she said over her shoulder. She gasped as the scarf fell slack against her hairline and a leg of the pajama pants whisked in front of her face, riding the wind like a flag. She snatched the leg and straightened, using both hands to try to repair the damage.

Eric still stood with his back to her, hands on his hips. He obviously didn’t know how to broach the next question, which made Cindy a nervous wreck. How much did he know? How much should she tell him?

The head wrap fell around her neck. She panicked and whipped it off in a motion she knew would leave burn marks on her throat. Holding the garment in front of her in a ball, her mind raced. Her purse was too small. She had no pockets of her own. He still had his back to her. Her heart thudded.

“Cindy.”

She held the wadded-up pants over the edge and dropped the bundle, then spun and gave Eric her seemingly undivided attention as he crossed the small distance between them. “Yes?”

“Did that earring come from the chandelier hanging in the hotel lobby?”

“The earrings were p-passed down in my family,” she said quickly.

“And I remember you saying that your grandfather was one of the original owners of the Chandelier House, isn’t that right?”

She inclined her head. “You have a good memory.” Dammit.

He stepped closer, then pinned her down with his gaze. “Cindy, did that earring come from the chandelier hanging in the lobby?”

“Eric,” she said, laughing softly, “I’m not an expert on chandeliers.”

“No,” he said quietly. “But my father happens to be.”

She swallowed. “Your father?”

“He’s a retired master glassblower. I sent him a picture of the chandelier. According to his research, if it’s an original French A Merveille, it’s worth a fortune.”

“I can’t recall what the chandelier is worth,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched even to her own ears. “But I’ll make sure someone in accounting gets that information to you.”

“I checked the books,” he said calmly, “and I don’t think they’re right. Cindy,” he said, stepping even closer and leaning forward, “I’m giving you one more chance to tell me everything you know about that chandelier. If you don’t, I’m going to call Harmon, tell them my suspicions, and suggest the piece be appraised.”

She evaluated her options—including jumping—but none of them seemed viable. Finally she angled her head at him. “And how do I know you won’t call Harmon anyway?”

His mouth tightened. “You don’t.”

She sighed and turned back to the view. Eric joined her, resting folded arms on top of the concrete wall. Wetting her lips, Cindy said, “My grandfather loved this hotel. He said the chandelier symbolized the greatness, the uniqueness of the place. While he was still part owner, he had the center piece removed from the chandelier and commissioned these earrings for my grandmother. I inherited them, along with the wonderful story about the three original chandeliers being sold for the war effort and replaced with glass copies.”

With a soft laugh, she said, “I honestly didn’t suspect the one in this hotel might be one of the originals until after Harmon bought the Chandelier House.”

“What made you suspect it wasn’t a copy?”

“I had a chance to visit the hotel in Chicago where one of the other two A Merveille originals once hung. That chandelier had an extra central spiral that our chandelier doesn’t. Out of curiosity, I made the trip to Hollywood and the copy there also has the center piece.”

He shrugged. “So maybe the center piece was removed from your copy to make it look like the original.”

She smiled, her lips dry and tight. “My thoughts exactly—until I poked around in my grandfather’s personal journals. At the last minute, instead of donating the chandelier, he made a hefty cash donation to the war effort, an amount that exceeded the value of the original chandelier at the time. The copy was hustled away on the black market, and no one was the wiser.”

He shook his head slowly. “That’s an amazing story.”

“And sad,” she noted. “That cash donation drained my grandfather’s resources and he ended up selling his interest in the hotel, even though he continued to love the place. He wrote that it was his secret, knowing the magnificent chandelier reigned over the place in his absence.”

“And why didn’t you notify someone?”

“Because I knew Harmon would probably sell it to the highest bidder and replace it with a cheap copy, if they replaced it at all. And our talk the other day at breakfast only reinforced my resolve to keep quiet.”

“Cindy,” he said quietly. “That piece should be in a museum.”

She frowned, turning to face him. “It belongs here.”

Eric shook his head. “It’s not right, Cindy. Harmon owns that chandelier and they should be told how much it’s worth.”

She stared at him. “And you’re going to tell them?”

He sighed and held up his hand. “I didn’t say that—I need to think things through.”

“I’m trusting you.” To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m trusting you to look past the capital gain and do the right thing, Eric.” She looked up at him, hoping for reassurance, but saw only indecisiveness in his expression.

Cindy turned and gripped the top of the cold concrete wall. She hated needing something from him…hated feeling so vulnerable…hated thinking she could be responsible for over two hundred employees losing their jobs. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I brought all this trouble on the hotel. I should have conformed to the corporate mandates. Now we’ll be sold or closed and the chandelier will be lost, too.” Cindy brought her hand to her mouth to stem a humiliating sob.

“Hey,” he said softly, turning her to face him. She inhaled deeply to regain her composure, loath to meet his gaze. “Cindy, don’t take this review personally—you did what you thought was best for your employees. It won’t be your fault if Harmon decides to divest the Chandelier House.”

She looked into his eyes, aware of the warmth of his hands on her arms, even through the fabric of his coat. “You mean if you decide, Eric?”

He faltered, then nodded curtly. “It’s strictly business, Cindy.”

“How can you do this?” she asked, searching his face. “Don’t you care that a few words from your mouth can change the lives of so many innocent people?”

His head dipped until their eyes were level. “We both have a job to do. We can’t let emotion interfere.”

She looked into his eyes, frustrated that with everything on the line, he could still have such a physical impact on her. His mouth mesmerized her, too vividly bringing back the memory of his lips on her body. Let emotion interfere? He taunted her. She lifted her chin. “That’s not the way I operate, Mr. Stanton. The Chandelier House is more than an entry on a profit-and-loss statement. If I could afford to, I’d buy this place myself.”

His expression softened and he lifted one hand to smooth her unbound hair back from her cheek. “And if I could afford to, I’d buy this place for you.” As if in slow motion, Eric pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin. Enclosed in his warm coat and strong embrace, Cindy closed her eyes and relaxed against him. Gradually, the comforting hug gained momentum. Eric ran his hands up and down her back and she folded her arms around his waist, delaying the moment she’d have to release him.

Eric drew back slightly, cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her mouth to meet his. She inhaled deeply just before their lips touched, because she wanted the kiss to last a long time—through the night, past the review and into the new year. His mouth moved on hers with an aching sweetness. He flicked his tongue against her teeth and gave her his own breath when she needed air. Her knees buckled and she fell against him, moaning and straining for his touch.

Eric moved his mouth to her neck, nipping at the sensitive curve until waves of desire set every nerve ending on edge. His hands moved inside the jacket, cradling her hips with one large hand, supporting her back with the other. Effortlessly he lifted her against him, sliding her down oh-so-slowly over his chest, his stomach, his swollen arousal.

“Cindy,” he whispered. “You make me want to do crazy things, like make love to you right here.”

“We shouldn’t,” she murmured, more for herself than him. Yet she felt herself succumb to the titillating temptation of making love with him under the stars, with the wind whipping over their bodies. She massaged his erection through his slacks, eliciting a frustrated groan from Eric.

He pulled up her dress and slid his hands inside her panties, grasping her bottom and rubbing her against him. Teasing her nest from behind, his fingers urged her to open and give him better access. With a sigh she leaned into him, gasping when he inserted his fingers into her wet folds. The angle of his probing drove her wild and within seconds, they adopted a rhythm, him thrusting, her sliding back to meet his hand. The cool air on her exposed skin, and the sounds of his encouraging whispers billowed her higher and higher, until she trembled around his fingers in a shuddering pinnacle.

He showered her face and neck with kisses, caressing her body with both hands, murmuring her name. Wanting to pleasure him and since her legs were still weak from her own release, Cindy lowered herself to her knees and unfastened Eric’s belt. With his help, his monster erection was soon freed. A little intimidated by the size of his shaft, she trailed kisses and licks up and down before tentatively taking the tip into her mouth.

Eric plowed his fingers into her hair and threw his head back as a long moan escaped from his lips. She advanced carefully, taking him into her mouth with utmost care, grasping the base with her hands and falling into a slow tempo of massage. He could have been in agony or ecstasy from the sounds of his groans, but he let her set the pace. She stroked and devoured him while the wind whisked between them. At last he gasped her name, warning her of his impending flood, giving her time to retreat if she desired.

Suddenly a floodlight lit the sky, illuminating Eric’s head and shoulders above the concrete wall. He jerked around. “What the—?”

Cindy froze, then dragged herself to her feet, struggling to rearrange her clothing. Eric did the same, under considerably more duress. She glanced over the edge straight into a beacon of blinding light.

“Stop!” the head of hotel security bellowed through a bullhorn. A crowd of several dozen had gathered on the sidewalk. “For God’s sake, don’t jump! The police are on their way!”

“What the devil is going on?” Eric growled.

She stared down at the street. “I think he thinks there’s someone up here going to jump.”

“Believe me,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I’m tempted to jump, just to wring that idiot’s neck!”

“Pete!” she yelled down through cupped hands. “Nobody’s going to jump!”

“Cindy? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Pete, it’s me.”

“What happened to your hair?”

She looked for a brick to drop, but seeing none, yelled, “Call the police and tell them it was a mistake. I’ll be right down.”

“Okay.” He sounded dejected.

The light was extinguished, plunging them back into semidarkness. “I have to go,” she said, the impact of her lapse suddenly dawning. “Or else someone will come for me.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, pulling her close for a quick kiss, “I was about two seconds away from coming for you.”

But the tawdry way she’d behaved shamed her. Her hands started trembling. They’d groped like frenzied animals, with no emotional involvement—at least not on his part. With a sinking feeling, Cindy realized that somewhere between “What’s wrong with long, straight hair?” and “I was about two seconds away from coming for you”, she’d fallen for Eric Quinn Stanton.

“I have to go,” she said forcefully, breaking his embrace and shrugging out of his coat.

A frown marred his smooth forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said coolly, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. “Like you said, we both have a job to do.” She turned and strode toward the door, mortified by her heart’s revelation in light of all that had transpired.

What was it Manny had said? Falling in love will be an agonizing event with a man who represents everything you hate.

Manny…right again, dammit.

MANNY LOOKED in the plastic bag she held open, then gaped at her. “You threw the pajamas off the top of the building?”

She shrugged. “How was I to know they’d snag on someone’s window? Security thought there was a man on top of the building getting ready to jump.”

“Little did they know there was a man on top of the building who was being jumped.”

“Hardee-har-har.”

“Where did you get these?”

“I filched them from security—it took me four days of sneaking around to find them.”

He looked at her as if she was insane. “Okaaaaaaay. I’m almost afraid to ask where you’re headed now.”

“To the furnace room,” she declared. “I’m going to burn these things so they can’t get me into any more trouble.” Her stomach rolled with queasy fear. “Stanton said he’d give me a preview of the final report this afternoon at four. And although it doesn’t seem likely that I’ll have yet another catastrophe before he leaves, I’m trying to limit the possibilities.”

“At least the tree is taken care of.”

“Right. What could be more harmless than plain old candy canes?” She checked her watch. “Got to run—I’m due at the salon.”

Manny clucked. “What else could you possibly have done to your hair?”

“I’m getting it fixed this time. New stylist.”

He shook his head. “You never learn, do you? Besides, I’ve heard a lot of people say they think the color is cool.”

Cindy nodded. “Complete strangers have stopped me to ask about my hair, but I just don’t think I can live with it.”

“You or your mother?”

“Both.”

He fidgeted. “Cindy, are you nervous about the report?”

“Sure,” she admitted shakily, “but I’m trying not to worry about it.” Trying not to worry about losing her job, or the chandelier being sold, or the entire hotel being auctioned off, or being in love with Eric, or why bubbles form in leftover glasses of water.

Manny patted her hand. “You’re doing a bang-up job here and if Stanton and his people can’t see it, they’re blind.”

“Thanks.”

“And I hate that man for putting you through the wringer.”

She gave him a careful little smile. “Don’t blame Eric, Manny. Everything I’m going through, I brought on myself.” And to her mortification, her eyes filled with tears.

He brought his hand to his head in a helpless gesture. “Oh, God, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “A fact I am not proud of,” she added. “But don’t worry, I’ll be over him by New Year’s.” She tried to laugh it off. “Besides, I may have a change of heart when I hear his report this afternoon.”

“He’s a fool if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is.”

She sniffed and gave him a grateful squeeze. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re going home with me for Christmas.”

“Me too. Speaking of which, I have to run a couple of errands early tomorrow, so I’ll meet you at the departure gate.”

Falling in love with Eric Stanton—how stupid could she be? she thought morosely as she tramped downstairs to the furnace room. A corporate hack with no real ties to his family, and no appreciation for the things in life that were really important, like preserving the integrity of the Chandelier House.

Using a mitt, she opened the door of an aged furnace and stuffed the pants into a bed of coals, gratified when they caught instantly and began to burn. She watched the tiny white monogram of EQS fold in on itself, then disintegrate. Then she made herself a note to turn in a security report for Eric’s missing pants, just in case he checked her paperwork.

At the salon, Cindy did a double-take at the line of men, women and teenagers waiting to get in. “There she is,” yelled one. “That’s the exact color I want!”

Confused, Cindy walked in to find Matilda furiously working on clients in three separate chairs. “You’re a hit,” she told the woman, amazed at the crowd.

“No, you’re the hit,” the hairdresser said. “Most of these people are here for exotic coloring jobs because they saw your hair.”

She touched her purplish tresses. “Really?”

“Yep. We could make a fortune specializing in coloring, head shaving and stuff like that.”

With their clientele, Cindy couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of it before. She grinned. “That sounds terrific.”

“Great. Oh, Jerry is waiting for you in the back.”

“Thanks.” Cindy wound her way to the back where Jerry had staked out a small sink. “I owe you big for this,” she said, sitting down.

He snapped the cape, then draped it around her shoulders. “It’s my Christmas present to you,” he said with a smile, then raised an eyebrow. “Even if you have been naughty.”

She frowned. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

He leaned down, his gaze boring into hers in the mirror. “And what if it’s something I see with my own eyes?”

Glancing away from his knowing expression, she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shrugged. “You make a good couple, you and the Stanton lad.”

She shook her head, but recognized the futility of arguing. “Jerry, did you have any idea that Quinn was Stanton?”

He nodded. “I knew that day in the salon when you first cut your hair.”

“He told you?”

“Nope—I just knew.”

She sighed. How like Jerry to sit back and watch people just to see what unfolded. She shot him a lethal look, but he simply spun her away from the mirror and picked up a pair of shears, chuckling beneath his breath.

12

ERIC SCANNED THE REPORTS each of his review team members had provided on every aspect of running the hotel from linen inventory to customer service to leaving Sweet Tarts on the pillows. The phrase “unconventional, but effective” appeared over and over. In all, his associates had confirmed his conclusion that the Chandelier House was a finely tuned nuthouse with a profit margin Harmon could only dream about for some of their “pet” properties.

Unfortunately, the Chandelier House didn’t score well on Harmon’s predetermined checklist for the corporate direction. So, although he’d composed several pages about the viability of the property, the crux of his recommendation had to answer one question: Did the Chandelier House meet the profile of a future Harmon property?

Eric tossed down his pen and crossed his arms. The answer was obvious to the point of hilarity, but Cindy’s pleading green eyes kept getting in the way. In a weak moment, he considered the scenario of recommending that Harmon keep the property—his reputation would be compromised, they would think twice before retaining him again and they would likely go against his recommendation in any case. And even if Harmon did keep the hotel, they’d forever be pressuring Cindy and her staff to conform—or more likely, replace her with a more corporate-minded general manager.

He stroked his chin, frustrated because never before had he labored over the delivery of such a logical directive. The words he’d spoken to Cindy on the roof kept haunting him. If I could afford to, I’d buy this place for you. He couldn’t afford to, but he had the contacts to assemble investors who could, and possibly the clout with Harmon to convince them to sell the property intact instead of piece by piece. Resigned but considerably cheered, he typed up the report on his laptop. At least he’d be able to walk away from this assignment knowing he’d treated all parties fairly.

Fairly? What a joke. He’d bent over backward…for the sake of Cindy Warren.

But could he walk away? Definitely. He had no business diddling with the comely woman—if he needed proof, he had to look no further than the disconcerting report he’d just prepared. His team had left this morning, and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. He’d decided to fly to Atlanta and spend a few days looking for a condo. The Southeast was pleasant this time of year, and New Year’s in Atlanta was hard to beat.

And he was bound to find some Southern belle who could take his mind off Cindy Warren. She’d spent the night with him, then ignored him for days, then spilled the beans about the chandelier and begged him to keep a million-dollar secret. Then the next thing he knew, they were both half-naked on the roof and howling at the moon. Had she participated only out of hope he’d keep quiet about the chandelier? And after they’d been interrupted, she’d decided to play hard to get again. To keep him on a chain? Hot, then cold, then hot and cold again. Was that her game? If so, then…then…

Then it seemed to be working.

Gritting his teeth, he typed in a half page of text about the chandelier, then changed his mind and deleted it. Eric cursed and slumped back in his chair. He’d vowed never to let a woman get in the way of doing a good job, and he never had—until now. Falling for Cindy had scrambled his brain.

He jerked his head up. Falling?

Eric pounded his hand on the desk, then attacked the keyboard again, typing furiously. After a few minutes, he absently patted his pocket for his cigarettes, then remembered he couldn’t smoke in his room. Begrudgingly, he grabbed a package of Sweet Tarts and popped a couple, then resumed typing.

Falling for an eccentric, soft-hearted, nostalgic, crazy-haired woman who would have him in knots every day of his life? He hit the caps button, then typed N-O W-A-Y.

MANNY SQUINTED, tilting his head from side to side. “Your hair really looks wonderful. You should have cut it sooner.”

Cindy lifted a hand to her short, wavy, blessedly dark brown locks, then punched him in the arm. “Now you tell me!” She was happy to spend a few minutes clowning with her best friend—especially now, when her stomach churned over the impending meeting with Eric. Laughably, she was more nervous about facing Eric Stanton the man than Eric Stanton the hotel mutilator.

Fifteen minutes before the appointed time she headed up to the boardroom, wanting to appear calm and collected when Eric arrived—for once. She turned on the lights and made herself a cup of hot tea, then assumed the authority seat at the end of the table, facing the door. She gulped her tea, trying to drown the butterflies in her stomach, but only managed to dribble on her best white blouse. She swore, then buttoned her jacket. For five minutes she practiced her busy, on-the-edge-of-her-seat pose for when he came in, and her jaunty-hair-toss-and-ease-back-in-the-chair-confidently maneuver for when he sat down. Then she raised her seat four inches and lowered the one to her right by four inches to give herself a feeling of superiority.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, she quickly assumed the pose, scrutinizing a memo she’d memorized. A light rap resonated through the room. She glanced up and, ignoring the catch of her heart at the sight of him, she waved Eric in, then immediately looked back to the memo and jotted a note in the margin.

“Do you need more time?” he asked, lowering himself, to her consternation, into the chair to her left instead of her right.

“Um…no,” she said after an appropriately occupied pause. She closed the folder and set down her pen, then carefully tossed her hair and slid back in the chair. Except the chair tilt didn’t lock. A leisurely split second passed during which Cindy experienced that sick feeling of knowing she was going over backward. Her eyes bugged and her arms flailed as she fought desperately to regain her balance, but to no avail. Eric lunged for her, but he couldn’t move fast enough to keep her chair from slamming against the floor.

Her head bounced twice, but the rest of her seemed to be okay, thanks to the death grip she’d maintained on the arms. She sat in the chair perfectly aligned, apart from the fact that she was looking at the ceiling.

Eric’s face appeared over her, tight with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

An amused smile broke over his face as he helped her up. Burning with humiliation, she leaned against the table and gingerly touched her forehead. She felt light-headed, but then again, she was down a few pounds of purple hair.

“No wonder it tipped over,” he said, inspecting the chair. “Someone raised it too high and threw off the center of gravity.” He pushed her power chair aside and replaced it with the one she’d lowered. “Try this one.”

She cursed silently, but her head hurt so much, she dropped into the proffered seat, not caring when she sank so low his knees were at her eye level.

Eric knelt and peered into her face. “Are you sure you’re all right? Can I get you a glass of water?”

“No, thanks,” she mumbled. With her luck she’d probably drown herself. Cindy caught the fragrance of his strong soap, and she noticed he’d nicked his square chin while shaving. She wanted him. She loved him. She despised him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He studied her face, his eyes guarded, then he nodded abruptly and reclaimed his seat. She looked up at him from her dwarfed position, her heart thudding. Eric opened a leather portfolio and read aloud. “This document serves as the official report from Stanton and Associates concerning Harmon Hospitality property number eighty-five, the Chandelier House, located at—” He stopped and pursed his mouth, closed the portfolio, then slid it toward her. “You can read it at your leisure, Cindy. I’ll hit the highlights.”

From his close body language and hesitancy she didn’t have to guess the contents. “Go on.”

He pressed his lips together, then said, “My final report contains a recommendation that Harmon sell the Chandelier House. I’m sorry. Professionally, I had no choice.”

She sat immobile, struck by a profound sense of sadness. Aside from the fact that her beloved hotel would likely be quartered and auctioned, Eric simply didn’t get it. Some things were worth more in sum than the total of their parts, market price be damned.

He pointed to the portfolio. “Overall, the review team found this property to be well-run. The hotel’s worst distinction is being purchased by Harmon in the first place. It’s all in my report if you care to read it.”

Cindy swallowed carefully. “Perhaps later.”

Eric folded his hands and leaned forward. “In case you’re wondering, I didn’t disclose the alleged history of the chandelier.”

She smiled tightly. “But when the hotel is put up for sale, unlike when Harmon stole the place two years ago from a group of granny investors, every last spoon will be appraised.”

He conceded her point with a nod. “I decided the only way I could make an objective business evaluation was to proceed as if you hadn’t told me.”

“But I did,” she said slowly. “I did tell you the story of the chandelier, so it should have influenced your decision. The history of this hotel should be preserved, especially when you consider that the Chandelier House is well into the black.”

“For now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That in five years role-playing groups and vampires and tattoos might be out of vogue.”

“So? Other special-interest groups will emerge.”

He threw up his hands. “The long-term customers Harmon needs to cultivate are large and midsize corporate—”

“You made your point, Mr. Stanton.” Cindy fought to maintain her composure. “This meeting is over.” She spun around in her low chair, turning her back to him and biting back tears of disappointment.

She heard him push away from the table and walk across the room. A few seconds of silence passed and she thought he must have left quietly. Then he spoke from the doorway. “Cindy.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry if I ruined your Christmas.”

Egotistical S.O.B.—at least he’d be easy to get over. “Mr. Stanton, you don’t have that much power in my life.”

From the squaring of his jaw, she knew she’d scored a point. “Then let me say it was very nice, um, working with you, despite the misunderstandings.”

She blinked.

“And just one more thing,” he said.

She waited.

“Your hair looks nice.” Then he walked out.

Cindy laid her aching head back on the chair and wished for the hundredth time that she’d never heard of Eric Quinn Stanton.

Her beeper sounded. Massaging the knot on the back of her head, she punched a button on the handheld radio. “Cindy here.”

“It’s Manny. Can you stand one more Christmas tree crisis?”

A groan started deep in her chest and eased out. “How could five thousand candy canes possibly be hazardous?”

“If hordes of street people are shaking the tree to knock down the candy.”

“I’ll be right there.”

ON THE WAY TO SAMMY’S for a stiff drink, Eric heard a commotion in the lobby and investigated the noise. The sky rained candy canes. Teams of shabbily dressed people were grabbing up the candy and stuffing it in bags, hats and pockets. The limbs within reaching distance were picked clean. Four large men hugged the trunk of the tree, taking turns shaking it to dislodge the stubborn hangers-on.

Eric shrank to a secluded corner to watch. As expected, the newly shorn general manager arrived on the scene in record time, dismantled the tree-shaking team, and ordered maintenance to erect scaffolding—again. The remaining candy was to be removed and placed in a bin just inside the entrance, free for the taking.

She’d done it again, he acknowledged. Danced into a crisis and handled it beautifully, dousing tempers and making everyone happy. As he watched her, Eric once again experienced the swelling in his chest he’d begun to associate with seeing and thinking about Cindy Warren. She was a delightful woman—witty, charming, beautiful and honest. Her employees loved her.

And he loved her.

With a jolt, Eric admitted he had indeed fallen for the wrong woman at the wrong time. Some of her most irresistible qualities—eccentricity, aplomb and chutzpah—were the very ones he knew would eventually drive him stark raving mad. He needed order in his life. He liked being surrounded by practical, predictable people.

Which was why he and his father couldn’t get along, he supposed. His father was unconventional. He preferred the process of making music and art to owning it. If his father had a choice, he would rather have been the creator of the chandelier than the heir to its value. That philosophy had been behind the hurtful things he’d said when Eric had purchased the piano so many years ago.

Eric watched as Cindy surveyed the workers and, apparently satisfied that her instructions were under way, slowly climbed the sweeping staircase. Dressed in her standard green uniform she seemed unremarkable, but he knew better. He knew that beneath the sensible skirt lay a pool of desire he craved more than he could ever have imagined. And what about the heart that beat beneath the buttoned-up jacket? Did she have any feelings for him other than malice? It was just as well, he decided, that their jobs had hindered their physical involvement before emotional barnacles started forming.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and wrapped her hands around the railing. Then she simply stared at the magnificent chandelier. Eric wondered what could be going through her mind—was she thinking of her grandfather? Of all the employees and guests who had walked through those double doors? She waved as the maintenance men carried away sections of the impromptu scaffolding. The street people and a few guests lined up to take candy canes from the bin set near the entrance. The tree, tall and naked and completely abandoned, flanked the staircase, swaying slightly.

Swaying?

Eric emerged from his hiding place, his steps quickening. He glanced up and saw the expression on Cindy’s face. She, too, suspected something was wrong. “The tree is falling!” she screamed, shooing stragglers with animated gestures. “Get out of the way, the tree is falling!”

He pulled back a few spectators, then watched in stunned amazement as the tree leaned, then gained slow momentum on its way down. The top branches grazed the chandelier, sending it rocking violently. Eric dragged his gaze from the scene to look for Cindy. She stood on the landing, her hand over her mouth, her eyes riveted on the swinging chandelier.

The gigantic tree landed with a fantastic whoosh, sprawling across the lobby in a spray of needles. Remarkably, no one had been in its path. But Eric knew spraying crystal would not be so kind. “Everybody down!” he yelled. And sure enough, with a sickening twist of metal, the magnificent fixture spun loose and fell on top of the tree, splintering into thousands of pieces.

13

CINDY OPENED HER EYES, practically swollen shut after a night of endless crying. It was Christmas Eve morning, and she’d never felt so miserable in her entire life.

She’d thought the meeting with Eric would be the lowlight of the day, but the falling Christmas tree and the crashing chandelier had outdone that horrible meeting. Luckily the tree broke the fixture’s fall, but she wasn’t sure how or if the chandelier would ever be completely restored. For the time being, the remnants had been carefully gathered and stored in countless boxes.

Eric was one of many who had helped with the cleanup last night, but she’d been careful to stay as far away from him as politely possible. If her overwhelming grief for the shattered chandelier had an upside, it was the fact that it numbed her to the biting sadness of knowing Eric was not the man she’d thought him to be—the kind of man who could love her, eccentricities and all, the kind of man who wanted to build and preserve people and places and things, not tear them down in the name of corporate cloning.

She dragged herself to the edge of her bed, her head spinning with the events of the last several days. Her life had gone from upbeat and fairly stable to downtrodden and perhaps living in a stable if she lost her job. And her heart…well, maybe she’d get a new one for Christmas. An unbreakable one.

On impulse, she picked up the phone and dialed her parents’ number.

“Hello, Mom? Merry Christmas—hmm? No, we’ll be there in a few—what? I’ve got a bit of a cold—no, I don’t have a fever—Mom, I need some advice…Mom, are you there? Good, well, remember the man from Manassas? Right, with a Q. Well, actually, it’s an S…”

ERIC STRODE into the health club and absently climbed on a vacant treadmill, surprised when he realized that Manny Oliver was running on the neighboring machine.

The blond man had a muscular build, tall and lean. Sweating profusely, he nodded curtly at Eric, then checked the display monitor and slowed down.

“Getting in your workout early,” Eric observed.

“Got a plane to catch in a couple of hours,” Manny explained, his tone not overly friendly.

“Going home for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” the man said, “with Cindy.”

Eric balked—so she was having a relationship with her concierge? The realization shocked him because she didn’t seem the type to…not that it was any of his business. He’d been battling guilt all morning over not seeing his family for Christmas. Now his heart squeezed painfully as he imagined Manny and Cindy sharing a good old-fashioned holiday. He increased the speed of the machine to a brisk jog as intense jealousy pulsed through him. “I hope the two of you have a nice Christmas together,” he managed to say.

Manny’s eyes never left his own display. “Well, Mr. Stanton, I’d say you sort of nixed that now, didn’t you?”

Eric didn’t miss the thinly veiled hostility. “Look, I didn’t realize you and Cindy were involved.”

Slowing to a walk, Manny shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Cindy and I aren’t involved, Stanton.”

Eric’s heart lifted, surprising him. Then remembering the man’s comment about him ruining their Christmas, realization dawned. “I guess Cindy told you about my recommendation to sell the Chandelier House. I’m sorry, but that’s my—hey!” Manny pushed him from the machine with one strong shove. “What the hell are you doing?” Eric thundered.

The blond man’s face was a mask of calm disgust. “Cindy told me everything in the final report was positive, you jerk. Sounds like she was trying to spare me.” He scoffed. “You’re a chickenshit, Stanton. You don’t deserve her, and she doesn’t deserve what you’ve put her through, professionally and personally. Excuse me, sir, but I’d better leave before I pop you in the mouth and lose my job.”

Dumbfounded, Eric watched the man walk away, wiping the sweat from his wide shoulders. A slow revelation crept over him, shaming him. Manny was right. He was afraid to reach out to the people in his life he cared about—Cindy…his father.

His mind spun with scenarios. Harmon would collect insurance money for the booked value of the chandelier. Even restored, the piece would never be as valuable as before, except to Cindy. A smile crept up Eric’s face. He just happened to know a bored glass expert who might be willing to tackle the painstaking process of rebuilding the precious antique. Perhaps the project would also give him and his father the time to repair their own bruised relationship.

But first, he had to talk to Cindy and tell her how he felt. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “Oliver!” Eric called. “Wait up.”

The concierge stopped, his towel draped around his neck. “Stanton, I really don’t want any trouble.”

Eric ignored him, rushing to explain what he had in mind.

Manny shook his head and started to walk off. “That’s crazy, man.”

“I know it’s crazy,” Eric said, following him and throwing his hands in the air. “But our entire relationship has been crazy.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “This ordeal has thrown me for a loop.” He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “I mean, when you think about it, it’s pure happenstance that our paths even crossed.”

Manny stared at him. “Happenstance?”

A flush climbed his neck. “You know—luck, serendipity.”

“I know what it means, it’s just that—never mind.” Manny sighed. “If this backfires, Cindy’s going to kick both our asses.”

CINDY CHECKED HER WATCH, scanning the crowd for Manny. He’d promised he wouldn’t be late, but where was he?

“Last boarding call,” the gate attendant announced.

Unbidden tears welled in her eyes when she realized that on top of everything else, she’d miss spending Christmas with someone she really cared about. She picked up her carry-on bag and shuffled toward the gate, looking over her shoulder one last time. No Manny in sight.

As she sidled down the crowded aisle, she steeled herself to hold her tears until she at least found her seat. Then she’d have several hours to purge before arriving home. She had to admit she was anxious to see her mother. Their phone call this morning had been such a turning point in their relationship. Her mother had actually listened and sympathized, woman to woman.

The seat next to her sat vacant, dashing her hopes that she’d somehow missed Manny in the crowd. Cindy stowed her bag, then dropped into her seat, exhausted.

“Hi.”

Cindy rolled her eyes upward, then froze. “Eric?”

Devastating in dark slacks, red sweater and a sport coat, he smiled, looking…tentative?

She straightened in her seat. “What are you doing here?”

He stretched overhead to stow the familiar black leather toiletry bag. “I bought the seat next to you.”

Her heart squeezed. “Manny sold you his seat?”

“Yeah,” he said, lowering himself into the vacant spot. “Well, maybe traded is a better word.” His mouth stretched into a wry smile. “He’s on his way to Atlanta.”

She nodded slowly. “He used to live there and still has friends in the city.” Still, she was hurt that he hadn’t informed her of his change in plans. She took a deep breath, wondering how she’d get through the next few hours. Determined to make the best of the situation, she smiled. “I guess this means you talked to your father.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said cheerfully, “I did. Things are going to be much better between us, I think.”

“That’s great,” she said, and meant it.

The intercom beeped and the captain informed the cabin that due to heavy runway traffic, their takeoff would be delayed for forty-five minutes. A series of groans rose from the passengers, including Cindy. The flight couldn’t be over soon enough.

“Well, perhaps that will give us time to talk,” Eric said.

Cindy cut her eyes over to him. “Talk?”

From the pocket of his coat, he withdrew a small package wrapped in silver metallic paper and red string ribbon. “This is for you.”

She gaped, her heart pumping. “For me? Why?”

“Open it,” he urged.

With trembling hands, she uncovered a slim box imprinted with the name of the finest jeweler in the city. She raised wary eyes to Eric, but he nodded for her to lift the lid.

She did and gasped. Two perfect diamond teardrop earrings lay against the black velvet, winking back at her in breathtaking splendor. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, swallowing hard. She traced the outline of one with a trembling finger, then turned to him, shaking her head. “Eric, I can’t accept these.”

“But I ruined your other pair.”

“That was an accident.”

“Okay, then I love you.”

“And besides, these are much too expensive—” Cindy stopped and wet her lips. “You what?”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I talked Manny into trading tickets so I could spend Christmas with you. And you wouldn’t believe the strings I had to pull to do it.” He leaned toward her and captured her lips in a sweet kiss, but Cindy, too stunned to respond, sat stone-still. He pulled back, his expression clouded with disappointment. “I messed up, didn’t I? I’d hoped you had feelings for me, too.” He laughed softly. “Other than animosity.” He sighed and fell back in his seat. “Manny warned me you’d whip us both for this stunt.”

Her body stung with jumping sensations—happiness, fear, confusion. “Eric,” she said carefully, closing the lid of the box. “I am in love with you.” At the hopeful look in his eyes, she added, “But it takes more than love to make a relationship last. Basic values, similar goals, family ties.” She smiled tentatively. “Remember, I’m going to be out of a job soon.”

Eric grasped her hand and proceeded to tell her of his hopes for buying the hotel. Cindy listened with dawning joy, her heart soaring. “And I can’t think of a better person to run the whole show,” he said with a smile. Then he added, “as long as you don’t fraternize with the male guests.”

He claimed another kiss and Cindy warmed to him, moving closer, re-familiarizing herself with his taste. When the kiss ended, she frowned slightly. “You give me a pair of unbelievable diamond earrings and I’m supposed to fall into your arms?”

His eyes crinkled with merriment. “Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

He studied her face, smiling at her short halo of dark hair. “I think I fell in love with you the moment that woman cut your hair.”

She leaned on the armrest, propping up her chin with her hand. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t take your advice. Are you ready to meet my family?”

“Yes. Are you ready to meet mine?”

She bit her bottom lip. “I think so. Do you think your dad will like me?”

“The woman who got me playing the piano again? I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

Reeling from sheer bliss, Cindy sat back in her seat. Within a few hours, the most miserable Christmas Eve of her life had turned into the happiest.

Eric reached into his pocket and withdrew a slightly crumpled sheet of paper.

“What’s that?”

“When I checked out, the reservations clerk gave me a copy of the security report on my ‘switched’ pajama pants.”

Her pulse kicked up slightly at the mere mention of the problem pants.

He pressed his lips together, almost smiling. “Cindy, this report has your signature on it.”

“That’s because I filed it.”

“Really?” He leaned forward. “How did you know the color of the pants?”

She almost panicked, then relaxed and swallowed. “W-well, I remembered seeing them hanging behind your toiletry kit when you offered a bandage for my hand.”

He nodded and glanced back to the sheet. “And this note about the monogramming on the pocket, how did you know that?”

She meant to laugh softly, but it came out sounding somewhat tinny. “Don’t you remember? You told me and Manny at the Christmas party that your initials were on the pocket.”

His forehead wrinkled slightly. “Funny, but I don’t remember mentioning the specific letters.”

She manufactured an animated shrug and gave him a thousand-watt smile. “I assumed the monogram was your full name, EQS.”

“Really?” he asked, his eyebrows high.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded uncontrollably.

“And how did you know the monogram was—” he referred to the report “‘—straight across the pocket edge’?”

Perspiration moistened her upper lip. “Um, a lucky guess?”

“Ah.” He folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket. “Just one more thing, my dear,” Eric said, tipping up her chin with his finger. “How is it that you happened to know the color of the monogrammed letters?”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. Then she smiled and leaned forward, running her finger down Eric’s nose seductively. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t we go to the lavatory and finish what we started on the roof the other night?”

He grabbed her finger. “I think you’re trying to change the subject.”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

Clasping his hand, Cindy jumped up, and trotted toward the bathroom with him in tow. After they jammed themselves into the tiny cubicle, Eric laughed. “You,” he said, shaking his head, “are very naughty.”

But when her lower lip protruded in a pout, he grinned, kissed her hard, then leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “Which is what makes loving you so very nice.”

Christmas Fantasy

By Janelle Denison

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

1

TEDDY SPENCER’S two good friends, Brenda and Laura, could always be counted on for a good time, especially when it came to marking a special occasion. It was the perfect excuse for them to get wild and crazy, and although Teddy considered herself the more reserved of the trio, after a few mai tai’s that feisty, rebellious side of her personality—the one her parents hadn’t been able to tame—usually made an appearance.

After spending the past hour and a half at a subdued birthday dinner with her parents at the local country club, and listening once again to her parents’ favorite speech lately—that she was getting older and needed to settle down like the rest of her siblings had—Teddy welcomed the opportunity to let loose with her friends. She was on her second mai tai, and thoroughly enjoying herself, even if Brenda had embarrassed her by swiping the deejay’s microphone and announcing to everyone in the Frisco Bay Bar that it was Teddy’s twenty-sixth birthday. Teddy had thought that fairly obvious by the half-dozen balloons attached to her chair and the I’m-the-birthday-girl pennant Brenda and Laura had insisted she wear, but Brenda had a way of coaxing everyone to join in on the fun.

If that hadn’t been embarrassing enough, having fifty pairs of eyes watch her open presents from Brenda and Laura brought a warm flush to her cheeks. The gifts had included an array of skimpy lingerie, not to mention other sensual delights. The single men in the room had issued wolf whistles, and Teddy found herself overwhelmed by invitations to model the silky, provocative underwear.

The bartender delivered the chocolate cake Laura had smuggled to him earlier and, as Brenda lit the single “26” candle, the deejay played “Happy Birthday.” Everyone in the lounge chorused the traditional song just for her.

It was all in good fun, and just what Teddy needed to take a break from the stress she was under at work, and make her forget about her parents’ quest to diminish the independence she’d worked so hard to gain over the past few years. She knew her mother and father meant well. Unfortunately, their views of what was important to her, and for her, varied drastically from her own.

Determined to enjoy the evening, she pushed aside those troubling thoughts. As the lounge settled back to its normal din, and she was able to relax without being the center of attention, Teddy shook her head at her friends. “You two are outrageous.”

As if Teddy had just issued a compliment, a grin brightened Laura’s classical features. “Yeah, we are outrageous, aren’t we?”

“And damn proud of it, too,” Brenda added, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Heck, there’s no telling what we might do next.”

Teddy lifted an eyebrow at the insinuation in Brenda’s voice, but her friend merely feigned innocence. Suspecting something was up, but unable to guess how they could possibly top the evening so far, she glanced at her cake…and frowned at the inscription they’d chosen.

“Happy birthday and congratulations?” She looked from one friend to the other.

Brenda nodded. “We’re combining your birthday and your senior graphic design promotion all together.”

Teddy smiled, genuinely touched. “That’s sweet of you, but I haven’t gotten the promotion yet.” Whether she did or not wouldn’t be decided for another two and a half weeks, just after the new year.

Laura gave Teddy’s knee an encouraging pat. “See how much faith we have in you?”

Teddy wished she had that much faith in herself. It wasn’t that she wasn’t qualified for the job—she’d double majored in graphic design and had a master’s degree in business administration, not to mention being an exemplary employee. It was her boss, Louden Avery, who was making her advancement within Sharper Image Advertising so difficult.

“Come on, Teddy.” Brenda nudged her with her elbow. “Blow out your candle and make a wish.”

Teddy absently toyed with the ruby and diamond band on her left-hand ring finger. It bothered her that she felt forced to wear a ring to discourage Louden’s subtle interest in her, and back up the claim that she had a steady boyfriend. But it was the only thing she could think of. Taking a deep breath, she blew out the single flame and hopefully secured her future. Her wish was simple. She wanted that promotion, awarded to her on her own merit.

“Wow,” Brenda breathed dreamily. “If I had to make a wish, he would be it.”

Teddy followed her friend’s line of vision to the entrance of the Frisco Bay, and caught her breath at the sight of a gorgeous hunk making his way through the Tuesday-evening crowd. Every woman in the establishment was staring at him—for two very good reasons. One, his mere presence was captivating, and two, his unusual attire stood out conspicuously against all the power suits filling the trendy bar. He was the epitome of a cowboy, from the beige Stetson on his head, to the pearl-snap western shirt covering a wide chest, to the chaps and worn jeans that molded to trim hips and muscular thighs, all the way down to his scuffed leather boots. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the Wild West, though he didn’t appear to be uncomfortable in the ultra-urban setting, surrounded by a crowd of Ivy League patrons.

He sidled up to a vacant spot in front of the bar and ordered a drink. While he waited for the bartender to return, he scanned the people in the lounge as if searching for someone. Annoyingly enough, the brim of his Stetson cast shadows over the upper portion of his face, but Teddy caught a glimpse of chiseled features, a well-defined mouth and dark brown hair that curled over his collar at the nape of his neck.

He turned his head her way. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes because of that damn hat, she got the distinct impression he was looking directly at her. The corner of his mouth kicked up ever so slightly in an I’ve-got-you-now kind of smile. Her skin warmed and tightened, and something deep within Teddy fluttered with awareness. It was a sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

She forced her gaze from him and drew a stabilizing breath. “Wow is right,” she murmured in agreement, and was a little surprised that she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

Laura issued a reciprocating sound of appreciation and turned to look at Teddy. A sassy grin curved her lips. “What do you think, birthday girl? Would you like to take a ride with that cowboy?”

Laura’s question made all kinds of images spring into Teddy’s mind. She thought of leather, the scent of hay, the jangling sounds of spurs and the fun she’d have if he’d let her ride…Suddenly, what he stood for had become more erotic than she cared to admit.

“He’s kind of out of place, don’t you think?” she said nonchalantly, trying to keep her friends, the bloodhounds that they were, at bay. “San Francisco isn’t known for its ranches. Maybe he’s lost.”

“Maybe he’s looking for a good time.” Brenda wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously. “I’m sure it gets awfully lonely out on the range.”

As casually as possible, Teddy slid her gaze back to the cowboy, hoping he’d moved on to peruse another woman, considering any one of the ladies in the lounge would have killed for a smidgen of his attention. But no, he was still staring at her, and as she watched, he tipped his Stetson, then reached beside him for the glass that the bartender had delivered. He saluted her, and took a long drink of the dark liquid that looked like whiskey.

Her own mouth went dry, and she reached for her mai tai. The cool, sweet-tangy mixture did little to extinguish the heat spreading through her.

“Didn’t you once say you wanted a cowboy of your own, Teddy?” Brenda asked.

Teddy was startled that Brenda remembered that crazy night nearly six months ago when they’d sat at this very table and spun fantasies about the men in the lounge—imagining who they could be beneath their Armani suits and executive image. At the time, Teddy had wanted a cowboy, because it bucked convention—or rather her parents’ stuffy standards.

“We were just fooling around, and I think I had one too many mai tais.” Setting her drink back on the table, Teddy waved a hand in the air. “It was just a fantasy, Brenda.”

Laura leaned toward Teddy, a meaningful glimmer in her eyes. “Well, honey, fantasy is about to become reality.”

Suspicion twisted through Teddy as her two friends exchanged a covert look. “What are you guys up to?”

“Hey, cowboy,” Brenda called out. “We’ve got a birthday girl over here who has a thing for cowboys. Do you think you could oblige her?”

Teddy’s jaw dropped, and her face heated in mortification. Before she could recover from her shock, her fantasy man moved away from the bar and strolled lazily toward them.

“I’ll certainly do my best,” he drawled in a deep, rich voice that carried across the room and snagged a good amount of attention. The women he passed looked on with envy and longing, not that her cowboy noticed. His gaze was trained on her, and the smile curving his mouth was pure, unadulterated sin.

Closer and closer he came. Teddy’s heart tripled its beat, and a mixture of excitement and apprehension warred within her. “Are you nuts?” she whispered to Brenda.

“Naw.” Brenda winked at Teddy. “Laura and I wanted to do something special for your birthday. He’s all yours, at least for the next twenty minutes.”

Teddy blinked. “I don’t understand…”

Laura gave her a jaunty grin. “It’s all very simple. Just enjoy yourself, and the fantasy.”

Teddy wanted a better explanation than that, but there wasn’t time to ask. Her fantasy was standing beside her chair. Hesitantly, she glanced his way, and found herself eye level with a pair of sinewy thighs wrapped in soft leather chaps that molded to his lean hips and strong legs, and profiled what made him impressively male. She forced her gaze higher, taking in a body honed to masculine perfection—virile, sexy and scrumptious enough to send her pulse racing.

It was a long climb up—she estimated his height well over six foot—but the trek was extremely enjoyable. By the time she reached her cowboy’s face and saw the warm, private smile flirting with the corners of his mouth, she felt breathless.

And then she saw his eyes for the first time. They were a striking green, with gold flecks that mesmerized and seduced. He had ridiculously long, dark lashes, and she had the fleeting thought that his eyes alone could tempt a woman to shed her inhibitions, and anything else he might request.

He touched his long fingers to the brim of his Stetson in a brief caress that had her thinking about those hands of his, and how they’d feel against her skin. It was a maddening, and totally inappropriate, thought, considering she didn’t know him at all, but if this was her fantasy, she intended to enjoy it to its fullest.

“Care to dance, darlin’?” he asked, the perfect gentleman.

She melted just a little, and speech suddenly became a difficult task. “I, uh…”

Brenda lifted Teddy’s hand toward the cowboy and winked at him. “She’d love to dance, and anything else you might be inspired to do.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he murmured huskily.

Uneasiness rippled down Teddy’s spine, putting her feminine senses on alert. What would be his pleasure? she wondered, feeling as though she was in the middle of a conspiracy.

What were Brenda and Laura up to?

A warm hand clasped hers, pulled her to her feet, and she found herself being led to the dance floor, which was currently vacant. That didn’t seem to bother her partner, who gave the deejay a brief nod. As if on cue, the young man put on a slow, country ballad and announced into his microphone, “This one is for you, Teddy.”

If that dedication wasn’t perplexing enough, the soft, crooning voice drifting from the speakers totally bewildered her. In all the times she’d come to the Frisco Bay in the past two years, not once had she ever heard a country song. The deejay played rock and roll, and on occasion, a slow tune by a popular soft-rock artist. If you wanted country music, you went to the Silver Spur.

The plot was getting thicker and thicker…

Like a man accustomed to taking the lead, her cowboy smoothly pulled her against him, aligning their bodies intimately. One arm slipped around her lower back, keeping her from attempting to put any distance between them, and his other hand held hers loosely to the side. Very hesitantly, because she really had no choice, she lightly rested her free hand on his biceps…nice, strong, muscular biceps.

She kept her gaze averted, focusing on the crowd of onlookers over his shoulder, while valiantly trying to distract her body’s response to the man who held her so provocatively.

It was no use. Through the silk of her blouse and the cotton of his shirt, she experienced the crush of his hard chest against her soft breasts that had suddenly become achingly sensitive. And there was certainly no way she could dismiss the subtle pressure of his belly against hers, or the arousing friction of his leather chaps scraping against her thighs where the hem of her skirt ended. It was like being charged head to toe with an electrical shock.

She’d danced with plenty of men through the years, but none had ever ignited such an instantaneous blaze of heat, or made her so aware of herself as a woman.

It was thrilling, incredibly sexy and unnerving.

As he moved her in a circle on the dance floor, she caught sight of her friends. Brenda grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, and Laura snapped a picture of her and the cowboy.

Cringing at their enthusiasm, she cast a surreptitious glance at the man she was dancing with, only to find him staring at her, his eyes taking on a smoky moss hue. She felt the stroke of his thumb along her spine, the press of his large palm against the small of her back, and shivered. His warm breath fluttered a silky strand of hair near her cheek, and she caught an odd scent. She’d expected to inhale the strong odor of whiskey from his drink. Instead, she encountered the delectable fragrance of root beer, which made something curl deep within her. The man drank root beer, of all things! Briefly, she wondered if he tasted as sweet and warm as he smelled.

Clearing her suddenly dry throat, she pushed the forbidden thoughts aside and forced herself to break the silence between them. “This is, um, incredibly awkward. My friends can be a bit wild, and I’m sure they put you on the spot.” She licked her bottom lip nervously. “Dancing with me really isn’t necessary.”

He blinked lazily, a slow sweep of those gorgeous lashes. “Darlin’, I find it hard to refuse a woman’s fantasy, especially on her birthday.”

She detected an underlying insinuation to his words, but wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that cryptic remark. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know, either. Deciding to make the best of the two minutes left to the song, she introduced herself. “I’m Teddy Spencer.”

There was a bit of mischief in his eyes, as if he knew a secret and she didn’t. “Austin McBride,” he offered. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Teddy.”

There was that word again, pleasure. This time, though, the way he rolled it together so seductively with her name caused a flurry of sensations to erupt within her. It tickled her belly and spread out toward her thighs and breasts. Her reaction was crazy, confusing and exhilarating in a very unladylike way.

You’re shameless, Teddy, her good-girl consciousness taunted. The wicked, bad-girl part of her was beginning not to care.

She gave him an upswept look, along with a flirtatious smile she hadn’t used in what seemed like years. There was an undeniable chemistry between them, though reserved on his part, and it made her feel daring, and a little reckless.

She slid her hand up his arm, until her fingers touched the soft strands of hair lying against the collar of his shirt. She had the sudden urge to take off that Stetson of his so she could see his face. But knowing how inappropriate that would be, she held herself back.

“So, Mr. McBride,” she said, surprising herself with the throaty quality of her voice. “Are you really a cowboy?”

“As real as it gets in San Francisco, I suppose.” He followed that up with a private, playful wink.

She lifted an eyebrow, intent on finding out more about this mysterious man. “I take it you’re not from around here, then?”

He expertly moved her to the slow beat of the music, dancing with her as if they were the only two in the bar. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

She regarded him with a combination of curiosity and speculation. “I wasn’t aware of any ranches in the area.”

The corner of his generous mouth quirked, but he didn’t comment. “So, it’s your birthday, hmm?” he asked, smoothly changing the subject.

She rolled her eyes. “Trussed up like I am with this silly pennant, it’s kind of difficult not to know it’s my birthday.”

He smiled, his eyes shimmering with warmth and a scampish spark. “Well, your friends got you a very special present.”

At that moment the song they were swaying to ended, and before she could take in what he’d said, or politely excuse herself from his wonderfully solid body, he maneuvered her four large steps back, until the curve of her knees hit a lounge chair someone had put out on the dance floor. Wide-eyed, she tumbled into the cushioned seat. Startled on more levels than one, she frantically sought out her two friends.

She found them, but quickly realized neither one would be any source of help. Both Brenda and Laura wore goofy grins. Laura lifted her camera, and a bright flash momentarily blinded Teddy, but she had no problem hearing Brenda yell, “Take if off for her, cowboy!”

A flush of mortification burned Teddy’s cheeks as she realized she’d been set up. New music blared out of the speakers, an upbeat, rock-a-billy tune that encouraged her cowboy to move his hips in such a provocative fashion, it took her breath away.

Belatedly, she realized his intent and attempted to escape while there was still a chance. “I really don’t think—”

He leaned forward and braced his arms on either side of her chair, crowding her between hunter-green tweed and an unyielding wall of masculinity. “No, don’t think at all,” he agreed in a teasing drawl. “Just sit back, relax and enjoy your fantasy, darlin’.” Lifting his hand, he withdrew the beige Stetson from his head and settled it lightly on the crown of hers. “And here’s a little something to remember me by.”

Oh, God. Backdropped by thick, luxurious, dark brown hair, his eyes seemed greener, sexier, if that were even possible. But her muddled mind only had a handful of seconds to register that fact before he straightened, ending her hypnotic state of fascination.

Then he stepped back, and while his hips moved rhythmically to the beat of the music, he grasped the sides of his western shirt and ripped open the pearl snaps securing the front. Teddy gasped, and the women in the Frisco Bay went wild—of which Brenda and Laura were the loudest and most unrestrained in their cheering. The men in the establishment looked on with idle amusement.

Despite a fond wish to be anywhere but sitting in the middle of the dance floor with a gorgeous man stripping for her, she found herself totally mesmerized by Austin McBride. Fascinated by his eat-’em-up eyes. Stunned by his breathtaking smile. Enthralled by his incredible body.

It had been a long time since a man had captured her interest so thoroughly.

With a wicked grin, he turned around and slowly shrugged out of his shirt, letting the cotton fabric slide down his arms to reveal a smooth, powerful-looking back that sloped to a trim waist. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her cowboy that she could tell—even that nice, cute butt of his was all firm muscle as he gave it an enticing wriggle that had the women screaming for more.

Yanking the shirt from the waistband of his faded jeans, he tossed the garment over his shoulder, and it landed right in the middle of her lap. The material was warm against her stocking-clad thighs, and smelled earthy and male. She had little time to register that before he tugged on the sides of his chaps and the Velcro holding them on gave way. Those, too, came sailing her way, the soft leather draping across her legs like a lover’s caress.

Though the low-slung jeans he wore had a well-worn look about them, they were snug enough to mold to his narrow hips and the long, muscular length of his thighs and legs. The soft-looking material was creased and faded in all the right places, and even a little threadbare in the most intriguing spots, she noticed, as he slowly, sensuously, rolled his hips to the tempo of the music.

His long fingers settled on the heavy belt buckle cinching his waist, and Teddy’s stomach bottomed out. But she couldn’t look away. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the leather strap slipped from the buckle, the movement slow and somehow erotic. Leaving the belt on and hanging open, he moved close enough for her to reach out and touch the tight muscles rippling along his belly. The dare in his eyes was unmistakable—he expected her to take off his belt!

Someone in the crowd let out a shrill, wolf whistle, followed up with, “Go for it!”

Austin grinned, obviously used to such enthusiastic displays. “You heard the lady,” he drawled encouragingly. “Go for it.”

And so Teddy did. Grasping the metal buckle, she gave it a tentative tug. Austin gyrated his hips at the same moment, and the belt slid from the loopholes on his jeans and into her hands. The strip of leather was warm and supple against her palm, inciting naughty thoughts that shocked even herself. She groaned at her runaway imagination, grateful that no one could hear her over the noise in the bar. The music pulsated, the beat seemingly as raw and primitive as the man before her.

She expected him to strip off his jeans like most male exotic dancers did, but he made no attempt to remove that last barrier of clothing. Instead, he danced for her wearing nothing but his formfitting jeans and a sinfully wicked smile. But, oh, this provocative teasing was so much more arousing than watching him strip down to a skimpy G-string, which would have spoiled the illusion he’d created. This teasing glimpse gave her enough to stir her imagination and incite future cowboy fantasies.

It was apparent Austin McBride knew exactly how to stimulate a woman’s senses, and he used that knowledge to his advantage. He rocked his honed body to the beat of the music, giving her time to take in his bare chest, dusted with a light sprinkling of dark brown hair. Unable to help herself, she followed that trail down to where it whorled around his navel, then disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. And when he turned, giving her a view of his backside, the muscles across his shoulders bunched, and his tight bottom and sinewy thighs flexed with the easy, rhythmic movement of his body.

He was truly a work of art.

She licked her dry lips, suddenly feeling as though someone in the establishment had kicked up the temperature ten degrees. Her face was warm—hell, her entire body was prickly with fever—and her breathing was deep and labored.

When her gaze lifted back to his face, his eyes were filled with a combination of sultry heat, immense charm and forbidden enticement. It was all a well-orchestrated act. She knew that, so why did she experience such an inexplicable connection between them, one that went beyond immediate sexual attraction to something deeper and mystifying in that man-woman way?

Not soon enough to suit her embarrassment, the music ended and her fantasy was over. She glanced over at Brenda and Laura and narrowed her gaze. Brenda grinned outrageously and blew at the tip of her finger as if it were the smoking end of a gun—too hot was her unmistakable message—and Laura waggled her fingers at Teddy impishly.

No doubt about it, Teddy was going to kill her two best friends.

AUSTIN MCBRIDE INWARDLY cringed as the Frisco Bay broke into a roar of raucous cheers, whistles and applause, and tried not to let his growing discomfort show. It was an odd sensation to find himself uncomfortable in what should have been a very familiar, and routine, situation.

However, three months ago, at the age of thirty, while standing center stage wearing nothing more than a tight pair of pants with a roomful of women going crazy with lust, Austin had come to the conclusion that he was getting too old, and certainly less assertive and brazen, to be taking his clothes off in public. As owner and founder of Fantasy for Hire, he’d made the decision to retire his outrageous costumes, and let his younger and more energetic employees handle the exotic, and sometimes outrageous, fantasies women requested.

Tonight had been the exception. Taking off his clothes had been a necessity, not a choice. Don, one of his most requested strippers, had called Austin on his cell phone to tell him that someone had sideswiped his car, and although he was physically okay, he wouldn’t be able to make his seven o’clock appointment at the Frisco Bay. That gave Austin a little over an hour to scramble to find someone to fill in. The two guys he managed to get hold of didn’t have the requested cowboy costume on hand—but Austin did. Deciding it would be simpler to take care of the engagement himself since time was so limited, he’d donned his western attire, all the while swearing this would be the very last time he fulfilled a woman’s fantasy outside of a bedroom.

Tonight’s incident only served to shore up his decision to put Fantasy for Hire on the market for a new owner. In the past six years his shoot-from-the-hip venture had increased beyond his wildest expectations, expanding from two part-time employees to nearly a dozen young men who were willing to fulfill a woman’s twenty-minute fantasy for ample compensation.

Austin had been amazed by the popularity of his business. Fulfilling fantasies, it seemed, was a very profitable commodity. Fantasy for Hire was so inundated with requests that he was turning away more customers than he had fantasies available.

Despite the fact that the business cut into too much of his personal life of late, it was hard to complain about Fantasy’s success. The company had served its purpose in supplementing his income to help pay for the school loans and bills he’d accumulated while embarking on another venture in commercial landscaping nearly four years ago.

His second business and ultimate career choice, McBride Commercial Landscaping, was finally lucrative and self-sufficient. Now, Austin wanted a life. One that didn’t include costumes and games, or bringing fantasies to life for hundreds of faceless women who clung to the illusions he displayed. He’d discovered the hard way that women found it difficult to separate him from the part he played. Once he performed for a customer, he couldn’t be sure if she wanted him for himself, or the private fantasy he’d created for her.

That’s why he’d established his own personal rule a few years ago, after being used for one woman’s particular fantasy. The customers he performed for were off limits, no matter how intriguing the woman. And he found Teddy Spencer plenty fascinating, from the sleek cut of her silky blond hair that brushed her shoulders with a slight under-curl, to her big brown eyes that combined wholesomeness with a heady dose of sensuality, to those shapely killer legs extending from the hem of her short, teal-colored business suit. Her cream-hued blouse was pure silk, and although it was buttoned primly enough, he could see the faintest outline of lace shaping her full breasts. She was a dynamite package of sophistication and casual elegance, a distinct kind of demeanor shaped by old money and ingrained from birth. Those obvious signs should have warned him off, but the awareness that had leaped to life between them while they’d danced was still too fresh in his mind.

Once the noise in the bar lessened, she lifted his shirt toward him with a wavering smile on her lips and the color of roses staining her smooth cheeks. “I, um, guess you’d like your clothes back?”

Her tentative question made him smile. The way she so easily blushed was refreshing—an endearing, old-fashioned quality he didn’t see very often these days. “It is getting a little drafty in here.” He took his shirt from her, and slipped into it. He didn’t bother to snap the front closed—it was a little late to worry about a “no shirt, no service” policy.

Grasping her hand, he helped her to her feet. The touch was simple, an everyday, gentlemanly gesture, but when his fingers slid against her soft palm he heard her breath catch and saw something in her eyes flare. Incredibly, his body flashed a reciprocating heat that spiraled low in his belly.

For the first time in years, Austin thought about mixing business with pleasure, until he saw the ruby and diamond ring staking a claim on her left hand. A woman didn’t wear a sparkly ring on that finger unless she was taken.

It was too bad, but just as well—considering the only thing he had in common with her fantasy cowboy was his love of outdoors. Take off all the western trappings, and he was just a simple, hardworking, blue-collar city man. Hardly a match for her.

“You were a great sport,” he said, distracting himself from the attraction racing between them.

She groaned, the sound rife with chagrin. “As if I had a choice.” She shot her two friends an I’m-going-to-get-you-for-this kind of look.

He grinned. “Happy birthday, Teddy.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles. A fleeting touch as soft as a butterfly’s wing. The gallant kiss wasn’t a service he normally provided for his customers, but he couldn’t stop the urge to give her one last thing to remember this evening by. “It really was my pleasure.”

He let her go, leaving her speechless, and gathered up the rest of his things. He’d taken two steps off the dance floor when she exclaimed, “Oh, your hat!”

He turned back around, and because she’d closed the distance between them, he tipped back the Stetson on her head with a flick of his finger. “I meant it when I said it was yours to keep. Compliments of Fantasy for Hire, and your girlfriends.” He gave her one last wink. “It’s up to you to explain to your boyfriend where you got it.”

She appeared startled by his last comment, but he didn’t give her time to respond. The gig was up. No more pretenses. Back to real life.

He headed toward the entrance of the Frisco Bay, and he didn’t look back.

He never did.

2

SHE COULDN’T STOPthinking about him.

Teddy leaned back in her office chair and flicked her finger along the corner of the white business card that stated simply, Compliments Of Fantasy for Hire. With a soft sigh, she stroked her thumb over the bold, black raised letters of Austin McBride’s name embossed on the left-hand corner. Beneath that was the business phone number, which was permanently etched in her mind.

She’d found the rectangular card as she’d set the Stetson on her bedroom dresser when she’d gotten home last night after her impromptu birthday bash. It had been tucked into the thin leather band around the crown, and since Laura and Brenda had insisted she wear the hat the entire evening, she hadn’t discovered it until later.

The card certainly wasn’t an invitation to call, not unless she wanted a repeat performance from Austin, which she didn’t. She recognized the business card for the piece of advertisement it was—referrals and word of mouth went a long way in making a business successful—so why had she slipped the card into her purse this morning instead of leaving it at home with her birthday Stetson?

She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was a pitiful excuse, but there it was. She reminded herself that she couldn’t afford a distraction like Austin McBride, fantasy extraordinaire, not when she was so close to achieving the goals she’d set for herself. Goals that included a solid, steady career and complete independence from the overbearing family that still hadn’t recovered from the shock that she’d broken off her engagement to the affluent Bartholomew Winston two years ago. Her plans didn’t include a man, especially one who fulfilled women’s fantasies on a regular basis.

She had to stop thinking about him. That’s all there was to it, she decided. Opening the middle drawer of her oak desk, she set the card on top of the other business cards stacked neatly in a small partition in the left-hand corner.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” she muttered, doubting those six words would be able to make her forget her gorgeous, green-eyed cowboy.

“Is that problem with your sight and mind going to affect your performance on the World Wide Travel account?”

Startled by the intrusion, Teddy pinched the tip of her index finger in her desk drawer just as it closed. Wincing, she glanced up and gave the man approaching her desk a barely tolerable look. Louden Avery, her boss and creative director at Sharper Image, considered himself above the courtesy of knocking or announcing his presence.

He strolled into her office as if he owned it, his pale blue eyes missing nothing, not the remnants of a half-eaten lunch that attested to the extra hour she’d worked without compensation, or the files and sketches on her desk that she was currently devoting time to, or even what she wore. The latter was the worst, because he took his time about it. By the time he finished his deliberate perusal, her jaw ached from gritting her teeth.

Keeping in mind that he was her boss, she summoned a pleasant smile she was certain didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Contrary to what you might have heard, my sight and mind are sound.”

“That’s good to know,” he replied with calculated mildness. “I wouldn’t want anything to impair your chances of getting that promotion.”

“The only thing that could hurt my chances is if someone more qualified than myself come along.” After all, they both knew she had the experience, along with a degree that gave her a distinct advantage over Fred Williams, the colleague she was up against.

Louden merely smiled. Rounding her desk, he propped his hip on the corner nearest her, unmindful of the papers resting on the edge. Bracing his left forearm on his thigh, he leaned toward her, though his gaze was busy taking in the project laid out in front of her. “How is the preliminary sketch coming on the World Wide Travel logo?”

“Just fine.” Louden liked to feel superior, and she had no doubt that his position on her desk had been chosen for such a purpose. She forced herself to look up at him, determined to meet his gaze. “It’ll be on your desk first thing in the morning, two days before deadline.”

“My, aren’t you efficient.” Using a slim finger, he turned the sketch she was working on toward him, taking in the rough draft of a globe with connecting W’s, the initials the travel agency had requested. “And so talented, too. It would be a shame to see all this creativity go to waste.”

His mocking tone chafed her nerves, but she didn’t let it show. “Since you weren’t expecting the project on your desk until Friday, is there some other reason you stopped by?”

He stared at her for a long moment, obviously not caring for the way she was trying to dismiss him. “According to my secretary, you haven’t RSVP’d for the Christmas party, which is this Saturday. Certainly you weren’t going to miss the biggest bash of the year?”

She resented the sanctimonious way he chastised her. She hadn’t planned on attending the party, mainly because she didn’t relish the thought of having any outside-of-the-office contact with Louden, but he was making it difficult to refuse.

“I’ve been so busy, I forgot to respond.” The excuse was handy, and served its purpose. “Consider this my confirmation.”

“For one or two?”

Uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation, her mind grappled for another convenient excuse…and came up blank.

His pale gaze slid pointedly to the ring on her finger. “Two,” she said quickly. “There’ll be two of us attending the Christmas party.”

Surprise registered in his eyes, and was quickly replaced by skepticism. “Ah, we finally get to meet the elusive boyfriend.”

What had been an innocent white lie to keep Louden at bay was now becoming a tangled mess. He hadn’t pressed her, accepting the fact that she had a boyfriend in the beginning, but as the months wore on, she suspected he had his doubts. This was the first time he’d made any direct reference to his suspicions.

“What’s his name?” he asked casually.

She stared at Louden, her mind freezing. “Uh, excuse me?” The phrase bought her some time, but not much, she knew. She hadn’t thought to create a name for her fictitious boyfriend.

“Your boyfriend,” he repeated slowly. “He does have a name, doesn’t he?”

“Well, yes, of course he does.” A name, Teddy. Pick a name! At the moment she couldn’t even think of one of her three older brother’s names!

“Then what is it?” he persisted. “My secretary needs it for the place settings. We can’t have just anybody finagling their way into the party.”

Teddy’s chest hurt and her head swam. When she finally realized that she was holding her breath, she let it out in a rush. “Well, maybe I should check with…him. We’d talked about the Christmas party, but quite honestly, he didn’t actually say yes, so we probably should discuss it further.” She offered Louden a placating smile.

Louden’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile curled the corner of his mouth.

Very casually, he picked up her hand, the one with the diamond and ruby band, and ran his finger over the embedded jewels. She tried not to visibly shudder at his touch.

“You know, Theodora,” he said, deliberately using her full name as a way of maintaining his superiority. “For a woman who claims she’s committed, you sure do have a hard time remembering the simplest things about your beau. Maybe he’s not as important as you’d like everyone to believe.”

She yanked her hand from his grasp. “That’s ridiculous.”

A pale eyebrow lifted, expressing those doubts.

Desperation coiled within her, and she seized the only name in her mind. “Austin,” she blurted.

He looked taken aback by her outburst, and somewhat confused. “Pardon?”

She summoned as much confidence as she could and injected it into her voice. “My boyfriend, his name is Austin.” The threads of her white lie were taking on a decidedly black cast. Hell, since she’d incriminated Austin this much, she decided to go all the way and worry about the consequences later. “Austin McBride.”

Sliding off the edge of her desk, Louden straightened and glanced down with enough arrogance to make her uneasy. “Well, I suggest you give him a call and find out for certain if he’ll be attending the Christmas party with you. My secretary needs a firm head count by the end of today.”

Teddy watched Louden leave the office, and knew she’d backed herself into a corner. What she needed was her own personal fantasy man, a fake boyfriend who would establish territorial rights so Louden Avery would back off and see her as a professional, someone well qualified for that promotion. Austin McBride, fantasy for hire, was the man to help her accomplish that goal.

Drawing a deep breath, and hoping Austin could be persuaded to be her date for an evening, she reached for the phone and dialed the number she’d memorized from his business card. The line connected and rang, then a recorder clicked on.

“You’ve reached Fantasy for Hire,” Austin’s voice came over the line, just as deep and rich as she remembered. The sexy, masculine tones spread warmly through her, touching places that had been untouched for too long. “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” A long beep followed.

“Hi, Austin,” she said, just as Louden walked back into her office, a file folder in his hand. Their gazes met from across the room, the interest in his eyes enough to tell her he’d heard her greeting. She had no choice but to finish her message to Austin.

She hadn’t counted on having an audience, and had only planned to leave a brief, impersonal message for Austin to return her call. Louden’s unexpected presence changed all that, forcing her to make up a believable monologue as she spoke.

“It’s, uh, Teddy,” she continued, while her mind latched on to an idea. “I’m calling about the Christmas party this Saturday. Have you decided to go? Since you’re not home, I guess we’ll talk about it tonight. We’re still on for drinks, right? I’ll see you at seven at the Frisco Bay.” She dropped her voice to a husky pitch, lowered her lashes coyly for Louden’s benefit and added, “And later on tonight I’ll wear that adorable Stetson you gave me for my birthday, as long as you promise to wear your chaps.”

She hoped that last intimate reference would serve a dual purpose—to give Louden the impression that she and Austin were, indeed, intimately involved, and to leave no doubt in Austin’s mind who, exactly, the caller was. Austin didn’t seem the type to forget a woman’s name, but she wasn’t taking any chances. The Stetson would identify her, if her name failed to spark his memory.

Whether or not he showed up to meet her was a whole other issue.

Her face burning at her brazenness, she hung up the phone, hoping Louden would mistake the heat scoring her cheeks as a lover’s glow.

Setting the file in her in-box on the corner of her desk, he stared at her for a long moment, making her uncomfortable. Even after hearing her one-sided conversation, he still didn’t believe her. She could see the doubt in his expression, could detect his skepticism in the set of his rigid posture.

Wanting to deflect his suspicion, she pasted on a smile. “He wasn’t home, but go ahead and tell Janet to add two more to the guest list.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, too quietly for her peace of mind.

She suspected his question went much deeper than her certainty about the party. “I’m sure. Go ahead and put Austin’s name down as my date. He’ll be there. I can be very…determined when it comes to something I want.” She shot one of his double-edged comments right back at him.

“Sometimes, determination isn’t enough,” he retorted meaningfully.

“He’ll be there.” She wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Truth was, she feared Austin would hear the message on his answering machine and write her off as a nutcase.

“Very well, then. I look forward to meeting the elusive Austin McBride.”

She folded her hands on top of her desk and met his gaze levelly. “He’s looking forward to meeting you, too.”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? You were supposed to be home an hour ago.”

With a large, flat box tucked under one arm and his other wrapped securely around a green plastic container holding a small, wilting Douglas fir tree, Austin maneuvered his way through the front door of the old Victorian home he and his older brother, Jordan, had inherited when their parents died fourteen years ago. For the past eight years he’d occupied the house by himself, ever since Jordan had moved to Los Angeles to pursue his architectural career. Eight years of coming and going as he pleased, without worrying about accounting for his whereabouts.

Some habits, especially Jordan’s protective instincts toward his little brother, died hard. Jordan had always been the dependable, levelheaded one of them, but then he’d had the responsibility of raising a sixteen-year-old hellion thrust upon him when he, himself, should have been tasting freedom at the tender young age of eighteen. A huge obligation like that tended to make a man out of a child fairly quickly, and Jordan had taken the role of guardianship very seriously. Too seriously, Austin thought, refraining from the urge to remind his brother that he was a big boy and had proven that he could take care of himself.

Pushing the door closed with his shoulder Austin shoved the potted fir into his brother’s hands, giving him no choice but to take the plant.

“Well?” Jordan persisted, following Austin into the adjoining living room where he put the Douglas fir on the corner of the brick hearth. “Where have you been?”

“You haven’t even been home a week and already you’re starting to sound like a wife, big brother.” Setting the package on the settee that had once belonged to his great-grandmother, Austin cast an amused glance Jordan’s way. “A wife is the last thing I need in my hectic life.”

Jordan shoved his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair and grimaced. “Sorry,” he said, releasing a deep, frustrated sigh. “It’s been a long, boring day. And you did say you’d be home at four, and it’s after five.”

Austin’s gaze touched on the fifty-year-old grandfather clock in the corner of the room and noted the time. “Hmm, so it is.”

Despite his brother’s annoying habit of keeping tabs on him, Austin experienced a bit of sympathy for Jordan. After giving an L.A. architectural firm eight years of loyalty, and being promised a partnership in the firm, he’d been bypassed when they’d promoted a relative instead. Jordan had been used and lied to, and if there was anything he abhorred, it was dishonesty. Two weeks ago he’d quit the firm, packed up his belongings and moved back to San Francisco to reevaluate his life.

In Austin’s estimation, Jordan had too much idle time on his hands. And until his brother decided which direction he wanted to take with his career, Austin pretty much resigned himself, and his life, to his brother’s scrutiny.

Jordan was still waiting for an answer. Austin liked making him suffer—goading his brother had always been a favorite pastime, one he’d missed over the past eight years. Shrugging out of his sports jacket, he draped it over the back of the settee. Then he went to work loosening his restricting tie.

“I’m late because I had an afternoon appointment with a client that ran longer than I’d expected,” he told Jordan as he pulled the tie from around his neck and added it to the jacket. “But I got myself a signed contract for a landscaping project I bid on a few weeks ago for a new restaurant. The job came in at a little less than fifty grand.”

“That’s great.” Jordan’s hazel eyes brightened with pride and genuine excitement for Austin’s success. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Austin was still feeling the elation of having outbid the other landscaping companies. This one project, coupled with half a dozen other smaller projects he’d been awarded recently, would keep a steady paycheck coming in. “And after that, I picked up the Christmas present I was supposed to get last night.”

Jordan flicked his finger at the big, fat red bow topping the package wrapped in bright holly paper. “Ah, and who might this be for?”

Austin watched Jordan pick up the box, and knew from experience what was coming next. “It’s for you, and don’t shake it—”

The order came too late. For all Jordan’s seriousness, he had an insatiable curiosity, which included trying to guess what his gifts were. The contents of the box rattled as he gave it a brisk jostling, and his eyes lit up like a little kid’s.

Austin’s stomach pitched as he imagined the delicate, expensive pieces belonging to the specially ordered model of the Bay Bridge breaking into minuscule segments. “Dammit, Jordan,” he growled as he grabbed the box and rescued the collector’s edition from Jordan’s abuse. “I’m serious. It’s very fragile.”

A grin quirked Jordan’s mouth. “What did you do, get me a set of wineglasses?”

“Very funny.” Austin put the gift next to the potted fir.

Jordan came up beside him and cast a hand at the withering tree. “And please don’t tell me you’re going to try and pass this off as a Christmas tree. It’s pathetic, Austin.”

“That’s why I chose it.” Austin smiled and shrugged. “It needed a home, and we couldn’t celebrate our first Christmas together in years without a tree.”

“So you picked the scrawniest one you could find?”

“I didn’t think we’d need anything big and elaborate, considering it’s just the two of us.”

Jordan shook his head at the sad state of the tree. “I hope it holds up for the next week.”

“A drink of water, a string of garland, and it’ll be fine.” Austin turned toward Jordan and cuffed him on the shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re home for the holidays.”

Jordan returned the sentiment with a smile. “Yeah, me, too.”

“So, any important calls today?” Austin asked as they headed into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he snagged a can of root beer for himself and popped the top.

“That depends on how you define ‘important.”’ Jordan’s tone turned rueful. “I overheard a message on your Fantasy for Hire line that was certainly interesting.”

Austin was used to customers leaving odd messages and requests on that line. When you were in the business of fulfilling fantasies, you got some doozies. Though Jordan was aware of the basic operation of the business, his mind was still boggled by the appeal of Fantasy for Hire, and the outrageous requests he’d been privy to the past week.

Jordan smirked. “You must have made quite an impression last night at your cowboy gig.”

The can of soda stopped midway to Austin’s lips, and he lifted an eyebrow at his brother. “What makes you say that?”

Jordan’s grin broadened. “The very personal message someone left on the Fantasy for Hire line for you.”

Interest piqued, Austin set his soda on the counter and headed into an adjoining room that had once been a dining room. Now, it was a no-frills, makeshift office for Fantasy for Hire, consisting of an old, scarred mahogany desk and a battered metal file cabinet. The surface of the desk was cluttered with order forms, and a large appointment book opened to the month of December. Judging by all the fantasies filling it, it certainly was the month for giving.

The phone, with an answering machine and fax attached, sat on one corner of the desk. A digital display indicated he had eight messages waiting for him. He sighed. So much for relaxing after a long day at McBride Landscaping—it looked as if he’d be spending the next hour or so returning calls and scheduling his guys.

He rewound the tape, wondering who’d left the message Jordan seemed so amused with. The only thing he could think of was that the women who’d hired him for Teddy’s cowboy fantasy had been disappointed with his act. According to the description he’d given them when they’d placed the order, they’d been expecting a blond-haired, blue-eyed cowboy. If they’d been dissatisfied with him or his performance, he’d refund their money.

“Oh, by the way,” Jordan added as he stepped into the office behind Austin. “You’ve got a seven o’clock appointment tonight.”

Austin jerked his gaze to Jordan, certain his brother was joking. Seeing that he wore his serious, older-brother expression, Austin’s hopes for a peaceful evening dwindled even more. “I told you last night I wouldn’t be performing anymore, not unless I absolutely have to.”

“You performed last night,” Jordan pointed out.

“That was due to circumstances beyond my control. I had no choice.”

“You don’t have much choice for tonight, either.” Jordan displayed no sympathy for Austin’s plight. “You were specifically requested.”

Frustration coiled through Austin, and he dragged a hand along his jaw. “I thought you said you didn’t want to have anything to do with the business, including taking calls during the day.”

“I don’t, and I didn’t.” A humorous sparkle entered Jordan’s eyes as he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his pleated trousers. “I heard the message while the caller was leaving it. Seems that filly you played cowboy for last night took a hankering to you. She requested a repeat performance for tonight.”

“Teddy?” The name, which had invaded his thoughts all day, slipped from Austin’s lips almost involuntarily.

“Teddy…” Jordan repeated the word as if testing it, then nodded. “Yeah, I believe that’s what she said her name was.”

Easing himself into the chair behind the desk, Austin frowned. Despite the chemistry that had charged between them, Teddy didn’t seem the type to brazenly pursue a man, especially when a ring on her finger indicated she was committed to another. Then again, he could have pegged her all wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been led astray.

Punching the play button on the recorder, he listened to four requests for fantasies before her voice finally drifted out the phone’s speaker.

“Hi, Austin,” she said, then hesitated a few moments before continuing. “I’m calling about the Christmas party this Saturday. Have you decided to go? Since you’re not home, I guess we’ll talk about it tonight. We’re still on for drinks, right? I’ll see you at seven at the Frisco Bay.”

Though her voice was strong, he grasped another thinly veiled emotion in her tone. Desperation.

She continued in a sexy, husky voice, “And later on tonight I’ll wear that adorable Stetson you gave me for my birthday, as long as you promise to wear your chaps.”

The recorder beeped at the end of her message, and Austin hit the stop button before the next caller could speak. He sat there, feeling both confused and fascinated by what he’d heard.

Jordan chuckled. “If that isn’t a line to inspire fantasies, I don’t know what is.”

Austin silently agreed with his brother’s comment, considering the provocative images that had leaped into his mind, of Teddy wearing nothing more than the Stetson he’d given her, and a head-to-toe flush tinging her skin. Oh, yeah, he was certainly inspired. And intrigued. More than he’d been in years.

But beyond the sexy innuendo of Teddy’s final remark, there was more to her words than a flirtatious come-on. Though she’d spoken in an enticing tone of voice, he didn’t get the impression that she was asking for a personal fantasy. On the contrary, he got the feeling that her entire message was a setup of some sort, and that last line had been her way of prompting him to remember who she was.

As if he could forget.

When he’d arrived home last night, he’d been keyed up from the performance and that rare, inexplicable connection he’d experienced with Teddy Spencer. And though he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to shake his mental image of her soft smile and those incredibly sensual brown eyes that had shown him glimpses of shyness, and the potential to be a little reckless. She was off limits, for so many reasons, but his mind had a hard time accepting that fact. Despite his best efforts to maintain his professionalism, she’d taken a hot shower with him, then continued to distract him while he’d attempted to concentrate on an estimate he was preparing for an upcoming landscaping bid. She’d so totally consumed his thoughts that he had no choice but to abandon the figures and call it a night. And that’s when he’d done the unthinkable—he’d taken her to bed with him and succumbed to the most erotic dreams he’d had since puberty.

And damn if he didn’t wake up hard and aching, and wanting her.

Suddenly, the familiar stirring started again, deep in Austin’s belly. He drew a deep breath, gradually released it and firmly focused on the present situation. He knew nothing about a Christmas party, or a date for drinks tonight. She’d left no phone number, no way of contacting her to find out what her strange message was all about.

Remembering the silent plea he’d detected in her voice, he found he couldn’t bring himself to stand her up.

“So, what’s this about a Christmas party this Saturday?” Jordan asked, his expression curious. “Do you think maybe she needs a guy to play Santa Claus?”

Austin curbed the impulse to let out a hearty ho, ho, ho. As amusing as he found Jordan’s suggestion, gut instinct told him Teddy’s request had little to do with needing a Santa for hire.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about,” he admitted, then allowed a slow, devilish smile to form. “But I do intend to find out.”

3

HE WAS LATE. Either that, or Austin McBride had no intention of meeting the woman who’d left such a brazen message on his answering machine. Despite how much Teddy was depending on Austin to help her out of her predicament, a part of her wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t show.

Feeling anxious, Teddy glanced at her wristwatch for the fourth time in the past ten minutes and made the decision that she’d give Austin until 7:30 p.m. before she resigned her post in the Frisco Bay.

While she waited, she sipped her sparkling water and looked over the patrons in the lounge, most of whom she knew as regular customers of the bar. Thanks to Brenda’s and Laura’s outgoing personalities, Teddy was now acquainted with many of the men on a first-name basis. She’d even politely turned down a date or two from a few of the single males present tonight. Luckily, the men who frequented the Frisco Bay were out looking for a good time, no strings attached, and didn’t seem to take rejections personally.

As the minutes ticked by, Teddy found herself perusing the guys in the bar tonight, sizing each one up as a potential date for Saturday’s party should Austin not show. None sparked her interest. Certainly none compared to Austin McBride’s gorgeous looks and charisma. His confident appeal was precisely what she needed to convince Louden that he could never measure up.

“Hey, Teddy,” a female acquaintance sitting at a nearby table called. “Isn’t that your cowboy?”

Every female head in the establishment turned toward the entrance of the Frisco Bay to get a glimpse of last night’s attraction. Teddy included.

Relief at seeing him mingled with a heady dose of awareness that prickled along the surface of her skin. “Yeah, that’s him.”

There was no trace of the cowboy who’d come calling the previous evening, but then Austin didn’t need a western costume to accentuate that athletic body of his. A dark brown knit shirt showed off his broad shoulders and molded to a muscular chest and flat belly. The khaki pants he wore weren’t nearly as tight as the jeans he’d donned last night, but they looked just as good, in a more polished, urban sort of way.

What the women in the place recognized, Teddy suspected, was Austin’s head-turning features, that tousled thick brown hair that made a woman want to run her fingers through the warm strands, and those striking green eyes that flirted and seduced with a simple sweep of those long, dark lashes.

“Is he back for a repeat performance?” another woman asked hopefully.

“Not a public one,” Teddy replied, startled by the spurt of jealousy she felt. She certainly had no claim to Austin McBride, but that thought didn’t diminish the fact that she didn’t want to share him with the dozen other women in the bar who were anxious to see him shed his clothes.

Eyebrows rose curiously, and Teddy reached for her drink, refusing to elaborate on her comment, though it was true. Austin’s performance would be a private affair, one he’d be keeping his clothes on for.

He found her sitting at the bar and headed in her direction, carrying himself with a relaxed self-assurance that was at once appealing and unwavering in confidence. Oh, yes, Teddy thought breathlessly. Austin was exactly what she needed to convince Louden that he was overstepping boundaries. Austin came across as the type who wouldn’t tolerate another man infringing on his territory.

Her stomach fluttered as his gaze locked on hers, making her feel as though she was the only woman in the place—certainly the only woman he was interested in, despite the hungry looks and moist-lipped smiles being cast his way by the other women in the bar. The intensity with which he focused on her was a good indication that he could convince anyone that he was her devoted lover.

By the time he reached her, Teddy knew she wouldn’t be able to find a better man for the job than Austin McBride. He was the one.

“Hi,” she said, gracing him with a smile she hoped didn’t look too enthusiastic.

She’d saved the padded stool next to her for him, and he slid into the vacant seat, his own smile adorably contrite. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had a scheduling conflict I had to resolve that took longer than I’d anticipated.”

“Lots of fantasies to fulfill, hmm?” she teased.

For a moment he appeared harried, then covered up that fleeting glimpse with something resembling reluctant resignation. “More than I can handle.”

Considering Austin epitomized a woman’s fantasy, she wasn’t at all surprised that his services were in demand. “Well, I’m just glad you showed up,” she said gratefully. “After that message I left on your answering machine, I was certain you’d think I was a nutcase.”

“Not at all.” He braced his forearm on the bar, humor dancing in his eyes. “I was intrigued by your message, to say the least. So was my brother.”

Her heart flipped at the thought of another McBride brother as gorgeous and charming as this one. Before she could ask Austin if his brother was in the business, too, Jack, the bartender, sidled up to their seats from across the mahogany surface of the bar, recognition glimmering in his eyes. Drying a beer glass, he grinned broadly at Austin.

“So, what will it be, cowboy?” Jack asked in a feigned western drawl. “The regular?”

“That would be great.” Austin tossed a five-dollar bill toward Jack with a comment to keep the change before Teddy could offer to pay for his drink. “Make it on the rocks this time.”

“You got it, just so long as you keep your clothes on tonight.” Jack set a glass with ice in it on the pouring pad in front of him, then used a spigot to fill the glass with a dark, fizzing liquid. “It took me hours to settle the women down after you left last night. Since you’ve walked in, the crowd has gotten a little restless.”

Austin’s gaze slid to Teddy, irresistibly warm and sexy. “My business here tonight is all pleasure.”

She shivered at the deep, rich timbre of his voice, and that flirtatious smile that tempted and teased. He seemed totally unaware of the interest he was generating, unaware of all the eyes and ears tuned into them. Teddy, on the other hand, grew increasingly uncomfortable with everyone’s scrutiny. What she needed to ask Austin wasn’t something she wanted up for public speculation.

“Would you mind if we took that table in the corner so we can have a little privacy?” she asked.

If he was surprised by her request, he didn’t show it. “Not at all.”

Grabbing her purse and drink, she led the way, nearly jumping out of her skin when he settled his hand lightly at the base of her spine. It was a common gesture, yet with Austin his touch had a decidedly possessive air to it. Not to mention enough heat to penetrate her tightly knit sweater and make her feel branded.

Once they were seated next to each other, he glanced at her and smiled. “So, what can I do for you, Teddy Spencer?”

The answers that filled her mind were shameless, and she gave herself a firm mental shake that knocked those naughty thoughts out of commission. “I have a problem, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”

“In what way?”

Currently, her problem seemed to be her inability to think straight while those sexier-than-sin eyes were trained on her. “I need a fantasy…” Startled that such a reckless request could tumble from her lips, she grappled for another line. “I mean, I need a fiancé…” She groaned at her blunder, felt the rising warmth in her cheeks, and didn’t trust herself to speak further.

His grin turned a bit more wicked, giving her the distinct impression he was enjoying her slip of the tongue. “The fantasy I could help you out with, since I have plenty of experience in that area, but I’m afraid being your fiancé is out of the question. I hardly know you.”

The humorous note to his voice made her relax. She leaned back in her chair, wiped her damp palms on her black denim jeans and decided to try again. For all her business savvy with clients, she was beginning to sound like a bungling idiot with the one man who could help her pave the way to a smooth future with Sharper Image.

“Let me try this again,” she said, drawing a deep, calming breath. “I need someone to pose as my steady boyfriend and escort me to a party.”

He stared at her, the enjoyment of the previous moment fading from his expression. “I don’t run an escort service.”

The disapproving edge to his voice was enough to alert her she’d crossed a professional line with him. “Of course you don’t,” she amended hastily. “I never meant to imply that you did, but isn’t it at all possible that I could hire you for a few hours? You do hire out by the hour, don’t you?” The words, once they were out, sounded like an indecent proposal.

He shook his head, his dark hair gleaming from the low lights in the lounge. “I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice filled with genuine regret, “but I can’t help you out. I make it a rule never to mix fantasy with reality.”

She found his comment odd, but didn’t have the time to worry about what, exactly, he meant. She bit her bottom lip, realizing she had no choice but to put her pride on the line.

Taking a swallow of her sparkling water to ease the dryness in her mouth, she met Austin’s gaze. “I’m embarrassed to have to admit this, but I told my boss that my boyfriend’s name is Austin McBride.”

Austin’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise, and a grin quirked the corner of his mouth. “Really?” he drawled.

She held up a hand, certain he was writing her off as a basket case. “I know what you’re thinking—”

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his low, amused voice stroking along her nerves. Seeing the mischievous glint in his eyes, she decided maybe she didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

Hopelessness settled over her. Could this meeting get any worse? she wondered, dragging her hand through her loose hair to pull it away from her face. She’d failed in her attempt to proposition Austin for an evening, and even her humiliating admission about blurting out his name to Louden hadn’t swayed him.

As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Austin McBride. Her career at Sharper Image depended on him. Only he could knock Louden down a peg or two. And having Louden witness the sexual chemistry between them would be a bonus, too. One night, five hours max. A few tender touches and intimate glances, and once the Christmas party ended they’d go their separate ways.

It was the perfect arrangement.

But first, she had to convince Austin. “Maybe I should explain my situation from the beginning, so my request for your services makes sense.”

“Please do.” After taking a drink of the dark liquid in his glass, he reclined back in his chair, clasped his hands over his flat stomach, and regarded her with rapt curiosity.

She glanced around the lounge to make sure they didn’t have an audience, and was relieved to find the excitement caused by Austin’s appearance had subsided. Returning her attention to the man next to her, she forced her thoughts on business. “I started with Sharper Image, the company I’m currently working for, a little less than a year ago. I was hired as a layout assistant, and within six months was promoted to a graphic designer position with my own accounts.”

“Do you like your job?”

Austin’s unexpected question threw her concentration off stride and the genuine interest he expressed warmed her. Nobody ever asked her about her job, whether she enjoyed it or hated it. When she’d enrolled in college, her brothers and parents hadn’t taken her goals seriously, and wrote off her dream of becoming a graphic designer as a hobby. They’d hoped her engagement to Bartholomew Winston would settle her down, but that brief period in her life had only served to make her realize how important her independence was to her, and how badly she wanted to make it on her own.

The disappointment of their daughter embracing a career over marriage was still a sore spot with her parents. Talking about her job and how much she relished the mental stimulation and challenges wasn’t something the older Spencers encouraged when she visited, and so Teddy had learned in order to keep peace, she kept quiet.

“I love my job,” she told Austin, taking advantage of his interest. “Especially the creative freedom I have as a graphic designer. I design letterheads, logos, brochures and develop advertising strategies for businesses and corporations. I’ve got a flawless record with Sharper Image, and my reviews have been glowing. Recently, the position of senior graphic designer became available. Considering my experience, degree and performance the past year, I’m a prime candidate for the promotion.”

She paused for a moment, making sure she still had Austin’s attention. “This is where it gets tricky. Louden Avery, who is my boss and creative director over my department, sees me as a candidate of an entirely different sort. Ever since I started at Sharper Image, he’s made a few comments that leave me feeling uncomfortable. A few months after I was hired, I told him I had a steady boyfriend, thinking he’d lose interest. He backed off for a while, but it hasn’t lasted.”

Austin’s gaze flickered to her left hand, which rested on the armrest nearest him. “So, you don’t really have a boyfriend then?” he asked, looking back up at her.

She recalled the odd comment he’d made last night, about having to explain the Stetson to her boyfriend, and realized the ring on her finger had given him the wrong impression. “No, no boyfriend. The ring is merely a diversion, but it’s losing its credibility. When Louden pressured me about bringing my elusive boyfriend to the Christmas party and demanded a name, yours was the first one I came up with.”

He smiled. “I’m flattered.”

Hope bloomed within her. “Flattered enough to stand in as my date Saturday night?”

Indecision touched his expression, and before he could succumb to his reservations, she reached out and grasped his hand, stopping just short of dropping to a begging position in front of him. She was desperate, yes, but she didn’t want everyone in the Frisco Bay to witness her despair. “One night, Austin, please? I’ll pay you enough to make it worth your while.”

A young woman at a nearby table turned and looked at them, shock and curiosity brightening her eyes. Belatedly, Teddy realized how incriminating her words had sounded.

Teddy glared until the woman turned back to her own companion. So much for being discreet! Before the night was over, word would probably spread through the Frisco Bay that Teddy Spencer had propositioned her cowboy. She hadn’t said what that one night entailed, but knew the other woman was thinking along the lines of sex. When Teddy returned her gaze to Austin, silent laughter glistened in his eyes.

“Please,” she begged in a low whisper.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, leaning forward so he could brace his forearms on his knees. In the process, he switched the position of their hands, so hers was enveloped in the warmth of his. “If I decided to do this, you’d expect me to act like your steady boyfriend?”

She nodded eagerly and dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. “Yes.”

His fingers drew lazy, sensual patterns on her palm, sending scintillating tremors up her arm. That frisson of awareness settled in the tips of her breasts, tightening her nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. “And give everyone the impression that we’re intimately involved?”

The sensations he was evoking were as intimate as anything she’d ever experienced. He stroked softly between thumb and index finger, a skillful caress that made her pulse race. “Ahhh, yes,” she managed to say, though she sounded as if she was out of breath. “The, um, more people that think we’re intimately involved, the better.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a seductively wicked smile that matched his deep, rich voice. “You want Louden Avery to have no doubt in his mind that we’re a couple well and truly committed.”

“Exactly.” Unable to stand his provocative caresses any longer she gently withdrew her hand from his. “One night should do it, as long as you think you can be convincing.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” On him, confidence was an incredibly sexy thing. “I specialize in fantasies. I have a feeling this performance will come naturally.”

Judging by the thrum of desire that had just shimmered between them, she suspected he was right. She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Well, I don’t expect you’ll have to take off your clothes for this performance.”

He smiled. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.”

“So you’ll do it?” she asked anxiously, needing to hear him say yes.

Instead of the positive response she anticipated, he grew serious, studying her intently. “Why is this so important to you?”

Teddy resisted the urge to throttle him. The man certainly wasn’t an easy sell, though she had to admit it was nice to know he wasn’t in it just for the money. It was as though he cared, and it had been a long time since someone had cared enough to listen to her.

“I want that promotion, and I want it awarded to me on my own merit. I’ve worked hard and I deserve that position without having to compromise my morals. Since Louden is making the process so difficult, proving to him that I’m in an intimate relationship will put an end to his pursuing me.”

He tilted his head, his gaze kind, but concerned. “And you think if Louden believes you’re unavailable, that will make him judge the candidates for the position fairly?”

The doubt in his voice was unmistakable, but she refused to dwell on it. “That’s what I’m hoping. I’m the most qualified for the position, but I refuse to submit to Louden’s tactics to get it.”

She saw him wavering despite his concern, and panicked. She couldn’t lose him now! Giving in to that damned vulnerable emotion named desperation, she dug into her purse, withdrew her leather checkbook case and wrote a check for his services in the amount of one thousand dollars before he could refuse her.

Tearing off the signed voucher, she pushed it across the small cocktail table toward him and lifted her chin in sheer determination. “If that isn’t enough for your time, I’m willing to pay more.”

Austin glanced at the check, noted the staggering amount she’d offered, and realized how deeply her tenacity ran. She wasn’t making him a reckless, frivolous offer—she was proving she’d take whatever risks necessary to secure her future.

He wasn’t comfortable accepting that much money, even though it appeared Teddy Spencer could easily afford it. She didn’t even bat an eye at the amount she’d written on the check. Although she came across as very down to earth in attitude, her well-bred sophistication couldn’t be hidden beneath a pair of black jeans and a Christmas red sweater that outlined perfect breasts. The cut of her hair was a shoulder-length classic, the kind of style that fell softly around her face and made the best of her naturally elegant features. Flawless half-carat diamonds winked in each earlobe, an exquisite, but understated touch. And she had the moves of wealth, too, walking and gesturing with a grace that was refined and private-school polished.

On a distant level, those particular signs made him uneasy, but he didn’t know enough about Teddy to make any assumptions. He only had tonight’s encounter to judge her by, which had given him a mixture of fascinating contradictions to sort through.

Confidence radiated from her, yet he’d detected touches of vulnerability, too, as if she had to struggle to maintain that hard-won self-assurance. That quality he understood and identified with—he’d grappled with similar emotional challenges after his parents died. He’d only been sixteen, and it had taken him years, along with Jordan’s guidance, for him to finally understand the security he’d lost. His landscaping company gave him the financial stability he sought, but he was still searching for that emotional connection that offered the deep solidity he craved.

“Is it enough?” she asked, her voice quiet, but firm with purpose.

Picking up the check, he studied it, deciding the name Teddy suited her much more than her stuffy given name, Theodora.

He shifted his gaze back to her and smiled. “Actually, this amount is a bit high, considering I don’t have to take my clothes off.”

The fingers she’d knotted in her lap relaxed and the tense set of her shoulders eased. “Then consider it an easy night. And I’ll pick up any other expenses you might incur.” She stuffed her checkbook back into her purse and began issuing instructions, as if fearing any lapse in conversation might give him a chance to come to his senses and refuse her proposition. “The Christmas party is a black-tie affair, so you’ll be expected to wear a tuxedo. I can set up an appointment for you to see my tailor, who also rents tuxedos—”

“Actually, I already have a tuxedo,” he said, interrupting her. She blinked at him in surprise, and he grinned. “It’s quite a common fantasy.”

“Oh, of course.” Her face now becoming a shade of pink, she ducked her head and rummaged through her purse to retrieve a pen and notepad. “Cocktails are at six-thirty, so you can pick me up at six. Here’s my address, home phone number and my number at the office if you should need it.”

He listened to her ramble on, waving a hand in the air while giving him verbal directions to her condominium complex. He watched her mouth as she talked, enjoyed the way she used her tongue to sweep across her lush bottom lip and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. The urge to find out what she tasted like was strong, and his body tightened in response.

She placed a hand on his arm, her light touch severing his erotic daydreams. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to this.” She looked out of breath, which is what he suspected ended her rambling—the need for oxygen.

Diamonds and rubies sparkled on the hand resting on his arm. That ring might have dissuaded her boss’s advances, but in the process, the band also gave every other man she met the impression she was unavailable. He found Teddy’s motive for wearing the ring very interesting, and wondered if it served a dual purpose for her.

He met her gaze and gave in to curiosity. “Tell me something, Teddy. You’re a beautiful, classy woman. You must have been able to find a date for Saturday, someone you might know who could have convinced Louden that you’re off the market. So why me, a total stranger?”

She hesitated. Deep reservation passed over her features, along with a flash of defiance, adding yet another dimension to her already intriguing personality. “I don’t want anything complicated,” she told him. “And since we really don’t know one another, our transaction can be strictly business. One evening, then we go our separate ways.”

She made it sound so easy, but he was beginning to think the situation wasn’t so cut-and-dried. Certainly pretending to be Teddy’s lover had enormous appeal, but his interest went beyond a single night of flirtatious overtures and provocative glances.

He found Teddy attractive, sexy, vivacious and full of secrets he wanted to discover. Despite the fact that he had little time for a relationship in his busy life, he wanted Teddy Spencer. He wanted to see if the heat between them was as electrical as it felt, wanted to kiss her and feel her come alive in his arms as she had in his dreams last night…

“Well, it’s getting late,” she said abruptly, and reached for her purse. “And I need to get up early in the morning.”

“So do I.” He stood, and while he waited for her to follow suit, he folded her check and put it into the front pocket of his pants. He still wasn’t sure what to do with the money, but he’d already decided that Saturday night was going to be his treat. It would be his pleasure to be Teddy’s lover. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

They left the bar together with the stares of the patrons following them out the etched-glass door. Outside, the air was December chilled, and the parking lot was barely illuminated by two streetlights. He followed her to a sedate white Honda Accord, parked in a shadowed area of the lot.

Standing by the driver’s side, she turned to face him. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday night.” She thrust out her hand. “Thanks again.”

She was so polite, and so determined to keep their agreement on a business level. He had other ideas. Slipping his hand into hers, he tugged her closer. The unexpected movement caused her to waver off balance. She put her hand out to catch herself, and her palm landed on his chest. She gasped, a sexy little intake of breath that warmed his blood and told him her attempt at formality had just slipped a serious notch.

Her luminous brown eyes were wide and searching. “Austin?”

Her voice trembled, not with protest, but with the thrum of desire. Slipping his fingers around her wrist, he stroked his thumb over the wild pulse beating at the base of her palm. Her skin was soft and warm, and when he took a deep breath, he inhaled a subtle, floral fragrance that awakened something hot and primitive within him: The need to make her his.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone vibrating with low, husky nuances. “Since we’ll be pretending to be lovers, there’s something we should get out of the way before Saturday.”

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice a whisper of anticipation.

“Our first kiss.” He lowered his head, and experienced a heady rush of excitement when she automatically tipped hers up to meet him halfway. Inches away from claiming her mouth, he hesitated, drawing out the moment to marvel at her acquiescence. He hadn’t even touched his lips to hers, but they were parted and ready. Her breathing was eager and expectant, turning him on and making him think of the needy, purring sounds she’d make if he ever had the pleasure of making love to her.

She didn’t play coy, didn’t shy away from the blatant sexual energy between them. She didn’t try to suppress something as basic and natural as desire and he liked that about her. The awareness had been building all evening, in subtle ways, and both of them were ready for the culmination of all that smoldering tension.

Closing the breath of space separating them, he dropped his mouth over hers, and didn’t even have to cajole his way past her incredibly soft lips. His tongue glided deeply, sought and found hers, and tangled playfully. The kiss was slow and silky, soulful and honey-sweet. He took his time exploring, tasting and seducing, until leisurely sweeps of his tongue were no longer enough to satisfy the deep, vital hunger gripping him.

He needed…more.

She gave a soft, frustrated moan that echoed his own growing impatience, and the hand on his chest curled into a tight fist. Heat coiled low in his belly and spread outward, ruthlessly reminding him just how long he’d gone without the softness of a woman’s body to ease his more baser needs.

He didn’t want any woman but Teddy. Teddy with her soft, sexy sighs and incredibly generous mouth…

In a flash he was hard and hungry and feeling more than a little wild. And reckless enough to take their encounter one level higher.

Keeping his mouth slanted across hers, he maneuvered her a step back so she was crushed between her car and his body. A gasp caught in her throat, then rolled into a seductive moan when he released her wrist and gripped her hips in his hands, pulling her intimately closer, if that was at all possible considering their bodies were fitted as tightly as a man and woman could get…from breast, to belly, to thighs.

Blood pounded in his ears and rushed along his nerve endings. Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck, then her fingers delved into his thick hair, urging him to give more. His mouth opened wider over hers, and that’s when the tenure of the kiss changed, turning demanding, erotic, and so wet and hot he knew if they didn’t stop he was going to spontaneously combust.

He broke the kiss, and she whimpered in protest.

“Damn,” he muttered, trying to regain his composure. He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of control, never expected her to be so soft and giving. Taking a deep, calming breath that did nothing to ease the racing of his heart, or diminish how much he wanted her, he glanced down at Teddy.

She looked stunned, a little disoriented and completely aroused.

Tenderly, he ran his knuckles down her soft cheek and traced the line of her jaw with a finger, slowly drawing her out of her sensual trance. “At least no one at the Christmas party will doubt the chemistry between us.” He couldn’t help the masculine satisfaction in his voice, or the pleased grin curving his lips.

She visibly swallowed and gave him a shaky smile. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

4

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you let him kiss you.” Teddy frowned sternly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she chastised herself for surrendering to Austin’s kiss three days ago outside of the Frisco Bay. The fact that she’d thoroughly enjoyed Austin’s advances and openly participated in that sensual embrace was another issue she’d lectured herself on, all to no avail.

“Well it wasn’t me who instigated that kiss,” she argued with her twin image as she dusted blush lightly across her cheekbones.

A mocking smile curved her evil twin’s mouth. “You certainly didn’t do anything to stop him, now, did you? In fact, I distinctly remember you kissing him back with shameless abandon. You didn’t even try to resist him.”

“Fine!” Teddy’s cheeks heated, making the blush she’d just applied unnecessary. Tossing her cosmetics into the bathroom drawer, she lifted her chin, meeting her own gaze defiantly. “I wanted that kiss, okay?” She’d wanted much more than just his lips on hers, but she wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

Drawing a deep, steady breath, she swept her hair into an elegant chignon, allowing a few wispy curls to escape around her neck and face. “Tonight, you’re going to behave yourself, Teddy.”

She rolled her eyes at herself. “Of course I’m going to behave myself! This is a business deal, nothing more.” She pushed rhinestone-studded pins into the mass of hair at the nape of her neck to hold it in place. With a decisive nod of her head, she ended the absurd discussion and headed into the adjoining bedroom.

Her reflection followed, appearing in her dresser mirror, taunting her.

Glaring, she slipped out of her robe, leaving her scantily clad in black lace panties. Ignoring her image, she retrieved a pair of smoke-hued, thigh-high stockings from her lingerie drawer, lifted a slender leg onto the edge of the bed and rolled the hose up her calf to her thigh. She snuck a peek at her alter ego in the mirror and experienced a prick of annoyance at the perception glimmering in her eyes.

“What?” Teddy demanded haughtily, securing the other stocking.

“Business deal, hmm?” her reflection murmured. “What about Austin posing as your lover? He’s going to touch you, pretend intimacy…”

Teddy’s breasts swelled and tightened at the thought of enduring Austin’s amorous advances. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she grabbed her black slip dress from where she’d laid it on the bed, carefully shimmied it over her head and wriggled the clingy fabric over her hips. She adjusted the rhinestone straps holding up the snug bodice and crisscrossed along her bare back.

Reaching for her diamond stud earrings, she slipped them into her lobes, then backed up to get a full-length view of how she looked for the Christmas party. Elegant, yet sophisticated and confident. Precisely the self-assured look she wanted to achieve.

She gave herself an approving nod. “Just keep your mind on that promotion, Teddy, and off your gorgeous date, and you’ll be fine.”

“Good luck,” her twin smirked. “Considering you melt when the guy just looks at you, you’re gonna need it.”

She jammed her hands on her hips and scowled. Before she could issue an argument, a knock sounded at the door, and her stomach rolled…with nerves, anticipation and a bubbling excitement that didn’t bode well for her peace of mind. Squelching the flurry of butterflies taking flight in her belly, she hurried out of the bedroom to the condo’s front door. One glance through the peephole at the gorgeous man standing in the hallway and her heart rate skyrocketed while her knees turned to mush.

Willing a calm composure, she opened the door, momentarily dizzied by the enticing spice cologne drifting her way. Her gaze took in his tailored tuxedo, deriving immense pleasure from the way the suit complimented a body she knew to be virile and incredibly honed. The dark color accentuated his chiseled good looks and gave him a mysterious air. She dabbed her tongue along her dry lips, fantasies aplenty leaping to mind. It wasn’t hard to imagine him stripping off that jacket for some woman, releasing the black bow tie, ripping off his shirt…

An amused smile curved his mouth, reaching his warm, moss-green eyes. “Hi,” he murmured, pulling her from her inappropriate thoughts.

“Hi,” she replied, unable to help the husky quality of her voice. The man simply made her feel breathless, reckless and too aware of herself as a woman. The sensation unnerved her, because she couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.

She cleared her throat. “You look…” Scrumptious, sexy, to-die-for. All apt descriptions, but she settled for, “great.”

Flirtatious eyes appraised her just as thoroughly as she’d assessed him, lingering appreciatively where the black dress dipped to reveal a swell of cleavage, then downward to the hem that ended just above her knee. The journey upward was just as lazy, and just as arousing to her senses. “So do you.”

Promotion, promotion, promotion. The chant ran through her mind like a litany.

“Come on in,” she said politely, stepping back to let him enter. She closed the door, then followed him into the adjoining living room. “I just need a few more minutes, and then I’ll be ready to go. Make yourself comfortable.”

Just as she would have turned to escape to her bedroom for a last-minute lecture, he reached into the front pocket of his trousers and withdrew a piece of paper. “Before we leave, I wanted to give this to you.”

She eyed the yellow slip he held toward her. “What’s that?”

“A receipt for my services.”

“Oh.” Tentatively, she took the proof of payment, not sure she wanted a reminder of her desperation.

“And I hope you don’t mind,” Austin continued, “but I donated the thousand dollars to the Children’s Hospital in your name.”

Startled at his announcement, she lifted her gaze to his face, noting his earnest expression. “Why?”

His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Because I thought the money would be better spent on people who need it. And besides, it is the season of giving.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, overwhelmed by his generosity, and his sincerity, when most of the men she knew would have pocketed the money without a second thought. She folded the receipt and tucked it into her purse on the countertop separating the living room from the small kitchen. “Thank you. That was incredibly thoughtful and selfless.”

His easy, charming smile dismissed her compliment. “Tonight is on me. Merry Christmas, Teddy.”

Touched by his gesture, she closed the distance between them, wanting to express her own gratitude with a chaste, affectionate kiss on the cheek. At the last moment, he turned his head slightly, and her lips brushed his in a soft, infinitely gentle kiss. Her eyes momentarily closed at that tender touch, a rush of warmth suffused her veins and her lips parted on a sigh.

Austin didn’t take advantage of her unconscious offering. His mouth hovered above hers, his breath warm and scented with mint as it caressed her lips. Desire twisted through Teddy, sharpening her senses. He didn’t touch her, didn’t initiate a deeper kiss, like the one she yearned for, yet her body sizzled with awareness.

Heart pounding, she slowly lifted her lashes. Her gaze collided with the unmistakable heat in his eyes—a hunger that told her she was playing with fire, and if she was bold enough to close the inches separating their lips, he’d be happy to oblige her, and more.

She considered the temptation, anticipated the pleasure and weighed the consequences of involving herself with this man who was proving to be more of a distraction than she’d counted on. Deciding she couldn’t allow her attraction to Austin to interfere with her goals, she abruptly stepped back, severing the moment. But the magnetic pull was still there, shimmering in his eyes, tugging her toward the promise of sexual satisfaction, and something deeper and more intimately connected.

The ache within her intensified.

“I’ll, uh, be ready in a few minutes,” she said quickly, then retreated down the hall. Enclosing herself in her bathroom, she pressed her back against the door, took deep breaths to still her racing pulse and didn’t dare look in the mirror for fear of encountering her evil twin again.

“Promotion, promotion, promotion,” she chanted like a prayer.

AUSTIN STROLLED around Teddy’s modestly decorated living room while he waited for her to return, unable to wipe the smile from his face. There was something incredibly sexy about Teddy when she was flustered. Add to her appeal her generous, straightforward personality and that little black dress she was wearing, and he was finding himself hard-pressed to resist her.

Judging by that near miss they’d just had, it appeared she was struggling to suppress the same craving for him. And if a little kiss made her nervous, he wondered how she was going to handle the evening, with him making sure everyone at tonight’s party went home with the impression that he and Teddy were intimate. Surely she realized that illusion meant more than stealing a kiss or two?

He looked forward to those stolen kisses, those subtle caresses. And he was hoping by the end of the night she’d realize that there was something very personal and real between them.

That was the main reason he’d donated the money she’d paid him. Not only was he uncomfortable taking such a huge chunk of change for something he wanted to do, but also, he absolutely refused to be a paid escort. Donating the check to a good cause seemed the perfect solution, for him to keep his conscience intact, and to take away Teddy’s excuse that she couldn’t mix business with pleasure.

Tonight, he was her date, accompanying her to the Christmas party of his own free will. Pleasure was the fundamental purpose of this evening, and he planned to make sure Teddy experienced her fair share.

The phone on the countertop rang, breaking into Austin’s thoughts. He glanced down the short hallway toward her bedroom, wondering if Teddy was available to pick up the line.

The phone pealed again, loud and insistent.

“Teddy?” he called, and got no response. Figuring she was in the bathroom, he decided to do her a favor and take the call, just in case it was important.

He lifted the cordless receiver to his ear on the third ring. “Hello?”

Silence greeted him.

He frowned. “Hello?” he said again, more assertive this time.

“Hi, uh, is Teddy there?” a female voice tentatively asked.

A girlfriend, Austin guessed, and could only image what the other woman was thinking. “Yes, she is, but she’s busy at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Who is this?” the voice queried.

Austin hesitated. He had no idea how many people thought Teddy was seriously involved, especially considering she wore a ring all the time. So he decided to stick with the story he and Teddy had come up with.

“This is Austin McBride, her boyfriend.”

“Her boyfriend?” The woman sounded genuinely delighted. “I didn’t realize Teddy was seeing someone. Isn’t it just like her to keep something like this a secret from the family?”

Her family? Austin cringed. “Could I ask who is calling?”

“This is Teddy’s sister-in-law, Susan,” the woman said, introducing herself in a bubbly tone. “Have you and Teddy been seeing each other for long?”

Austin glanced down the hallway, hoping to see Teddy coming to his rescue. No such luck. “We’ve been friends for a while,” he hedged. Three days, at least, he mentally justified. “And just recently started dating.” How recent, he wasn’t going to elaborate on.

“Wow!” Susan released a gust of light laughter. “The rest of the family is going to be thrilled. Teddy hasn’t dated since her breakup with Bartholomew.” She paused as if realizing she’d revealed too much. “Uh, she did tell you about Bart, didn’t she?”

Austin could feel himself being ensnared in a trap of his own making, and wasn’t sure how to escape. “Oh, absolutely,” he replied, certain he was sinking in way over his head.

“Her parents still haven’t gotten over the fact that she’d throw away a great catch like Bart to pursue a career. But for as long as I’ve known Teddy, which is going on ten years now, she’s always been the rebellious one in the family. Not that I blame her, considering how stifling her parents and brothers have been,” Susan added wryly.

All Austin could manage was a quick nod, because Susan-the-talker didn’t give him a chance to respond to her steady monologue.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued. “I love my husband and the rest of the Spencer clan, but they are a bit old-fashioned in their thinking. It took me years to knock some sense into Teddy’s brother and make him realize that I’m an independent woman, who doesn’t need to be coddled. Teddy has been trying to prove the same thing to her family, but they just don’t seem to understand how important it is to Teddy to make it on her own, without the influence of Spencer money or connections.”

Austin’s stomach bottomed out, and old bitter memories threatened to swamp him. So, Teddy did come from money, as he’d suspected. He couldn’t help but wonder how someone blue collar like him might fit into her group of Ivy League friends and family. Not well, as he’d learned from experience.

“So, in some ways, I’m not all that surprised that Teddy has been keeping you all to herself. When I was dating Teddy’s brother, Brent, I was the one subjected to the Spencers’ scrutiny. It wasn’t fun.”

Austin pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. As fascinating as he found Susan’s rundown on Teddy’s family, he didn’t like hearing this stuff secondhand. Or maybe he just didn’t care for what he was hearing, period.

“Well, Susan,” he managed to break into the conversation when the woman finally took a breather. “Is there some kind of message I can pass on to Teddy for you?”

“Oh, of course!” She laughed brightly. “Here I am, talking your ear off, and I’m sure Teddy is waiting on you. Tell her that Christmas Eve dinner next week is at six, and to be on time. I think she shows up late just to annoy her mother.” Humor, and understanding, followed up that statement.

Austin grinned at Teddy’s display of defiance, and jotted down the message on a notepad situated near the phone. “Will do.”

“You will come with her, won’t you?” Susan asked hopefully.

Austin’s insides clenched tighter. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,” he lied. Not only was he certain he wouldn’t fit in with the Spencer clan, he didn’t think Teddy would appreciate him tagging along to meet Mom and Dad. “I have other plans.”

“Surely you can make the time to meet Teddy’s family, even if it’s just to stop by for a few minutes?”

Was it his imagination, or was there an underlying disapproval in Susan’s words, like what kind of guy was he if he couldn’t even make the effort to meet his girlfriend’s family? He felt like a schmuck, yet it was his own fault for allowing the fabrication to stretch so far. But how was he to know who knew Teddy’s secrets?

The excuse did nothing to ease the twinge of guilt he experienced. “I’ll see what I can do,” he compromised. Hopefully, Teddy would be able to smooth out the mess he’d made of things.

“Great.” Enthusiasm infused Susan’s voice. “It was nice talking to you, Austin. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

“Uh, same here.” He disconnected the line before anything more could be said. Hanging his head, he shook it in dismay.

Hell, what had he done?

“I heard the phone ring while I was in the bathroom.” Teddy’s voice drifted from down the hall as she approached the living room. “Did you catch the call, or did the answering machine pick it up?”

“Don’t I wish,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

Straightening, he faced her, just in time to see her drop a lipstick tube into her small black beaded purse and snap it shut. During her absence she’d put on a pair of heels, lengthening those eye-turning, shapely legs of hers. She looked like a million bucks.

The irony of that assessment wasn’t lost on him. “That was your sister-in-law, Susan.”

Teddy came to an abrupt halt in front of him. “Oh?”

He thrust his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. “And she’s now under the assumption that I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned.

“I’m sorry, Teddy,” he rushed to apologize, not that his own regret could make up for any damage he’d done. “I had no idea who you told about your ‘significant other,’ and it came out before I found out who she was.”

He expected her to be angry, or at the very least upset, but she appeared more worried than anything. “Oh, it’s not all your fault. I adore Susan, but even if you hadn’t said you were my boyfriend, she would have come to that assumption on her own. Everyone in my family wants me to find a decent man and settle down.” The disgust in her voice was evident.

He didn’t get that impression from Susan, but then again the other woman had been quite enthusiastic about Teddy being in a relationship again. Family dynamics were a curious thing.

“I’ll just give her a quick call and explain our one-night arrangement.” Startled by the sound of her own words, she amended hastily, “I mean, set her straight about our business deal.”

So, she was back to business, was she?

Teddy reached for the phone, tucked it next to her ear and punched in a series of numbers. With a forced lightness, she added, “The last thing I’d want is for my entire family to think I’m seriously involved with someone. They’d be all over you like piranhas, picking you apart, piece by piece.”

Her analogy wasn’t a pleasant one, but it served to remind him of where they stood with one another—on opposite sides of the tracks. There was no way her family would approve of a guy who fulfilled women’s fantasies, and was struggling to maintain a landscaping business.

A frown creased Teddy’s forehead, and with a deep sigh, she set the phone back into the cradle. “The line’s busy.” She gave her gold watch a quick glance. “I’ll have to catch up with Susan later. We need to get going.”

Picking up her black shawl from the couch, she settled it over her bare shoulders and headed for the door. Minutes later, they were in Austin’s black Mustang, following Teddy’s directions toward the Bay area.

Silence filled the interior of the vehicle, except for the low volume of mellow music drifting from the speakers. Austin glanced briefly Teddy’s way. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, quiet and subdued. Reserved even. Was she mulling over the conversation he’d had with her sister-in-law? Or was she more worried about the Christmas party ahead?

“So, who is Bartholomew?” he asked, voicing the one question that had been on his mind since Susan mentioned him.

“I’m gonna strangle Susan,” Teddy muttered darkly.

A grin quirked the corner of Austin’s mouth. “Pardon?”

“Bartholomew Winston is a past mistake,” she said succinctly, without looking at him. “And one I’d rather not talk about.”

The resentment in her tone was unmistakable. “All right,” he conceded, now even more curious about this mystery man of her past, and what had happened between them.

Again, silence reigned. As Austin exited the freeway and neared the hotel where the Christmas party was being held, the more tense Teddy seemed to become. He no longer suspected that her uneasiness stemmed from Susan’s call. It was all about the promotion she was up for—if Louden fell for their little game.

Tonight would tell.

Pulling the Mustang under the valet awning, he put the car in park and turned toward Teddy. He touched her knee, his fingers rasping along her silky stockings, and she jumped in response. She jerked her luminous gaze, now filled with anxiety, to his, but the slight tremble he felt where his fingers lay idly against her thigh told him she was very aware of him, and the intimacy of their situation.

He tilted his head, regarding her with genuine concern. “Hey, you okay?”

She moved her leg out of his reach, dislodging his gentle touch. She gave him a smile that appeared more like a grimace. “Sure, I’m fine,” she said in a tone too bright and chipper.

He stared at her for a long moment. Beneath all that forced cheerfulness, there was something incredibly vulnerable about her—not that he’d expect an independent career woman like Teddy to ever admit to such an emotion. No, she wanted to be strong and confident, and in control. A part of him understood that. Respected it, even.

“Teddy,” he whispered, wishing she’d ease up and relax around him. Otherwise, Louden Avery would know he was a fraud, and that revelation would defeat Teddy’s purpose. But before he could express his concerns, a young man opened her door and offered a gloved hand to help her out of the car.

Austin sighed, gave his vehicle over to valet and met up with Teddy on the curb. Settling his palm on her lower back, he ushered her through the automatic glass doors that whooshed open for them. She stiffened, but didn’t protest the hand resting so familiarly where her spine ended and the curve of her bottom began. There was nothing inappropriate about the way he touched her, yet he got the distinct impression that she would have preferred he didn’t.

Knowing she was forcibly resisting what was between them, irritation gripped him. She was nervous, he acknowledged that, but she was giving off the wrong kind of vibes if she expected everyone to believe they had something going on. He wasn’t sure what to do about her remoteness, but his mind mulled over various ideas.

They followed the signs for Sharper Image’s party through the lush, expensively decorated lobby to a glass-enclosed elevator that shot straight up to the thirty-second floor and overlooked the bay. Stepping into the lift behind Teddy, Austin pressed the only button available that would take them to the tower’s ballroom.

The elevator, dimly lit inside to make it easier to look outside, slowly made its ascent, giving the occupants plenty of time to admire their surroundings. The evening sun had set almost an hour ago, but nightfall allowed them to appreciate the expanse of water beyond, and the twinkle of lights from the boats coasting along the ocean. A quarter of the way up, they had a breathtaking panorama of the Bay area.

The atmosphere was romantic, made more so by the intimate four-by-four cubicle that confined them. Teddy didn’t seem to notice, or appreciate, the ambience. She stood at the brass bar lining the thick glass enclosure, her gaze lost on something off in the distance.

“Nice view,” Austin commented, in an attempt to strike up a conversation. Standing behind her, the view was fantastic—she had a nice bottom that deserved a lingering glance.

“Hmm,” was Teddy’s noncommittal response.

He rubbed a finger along his jaw and tried again. “It sure is an awfully long ride up. The possibilities of what a couple could do with all this time is endless.” He didn’t disguise the sexy innuendo in his voice.

“Hmm.” His suggestive comment didn’t faze her.

Frustration nipped at him. If he couldn’t even shock her into acknowledging him, then they were in for a disaster of an evening.

Finally, the right idea came to him, the shock value of which would either set her off, or wind her down. He was hoping for the latter result.

Reaching back to the button panel, he pressed the red one marked Stop. The elevator came to a slow, whirring halt somewhere between the lobby and the thirty-second floor.

She spun around, panic etching her features. “Oh my God! We’re stuck!”

A lazy, unrepentant grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. “I deliberately stopped the elevator.”

Her jaw dropped. “You what?”

He knew she’d heard him, so he didn’t bother wasting precious time by repeating himself. Instead, he closed the distance between them and braced his hands on the brass railing on either side of her hips, trapping her between the cool glass and his solid body.

A small, stunned gasp escaped her lips, and her body immediately grew rigid. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

His grin widened at her haughty tone, but it certainly didn’t deter him. Moving closer, he pressed his thighs against hers, and pushed a knee between her legs to keep her in place. “You know, if you don’t relax and shake off that tension that has been building since we left your place, we’re never going to convince your boss that we’re lovers.”

Teddy dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, then released a long breath. “You’re right,” she admitted, and clearly expected him to release her.

Not totally convinced of her acquiescence, which he suspected was an act for his benefit, he kept her pinned right where he had her. The shock value was about to increase. “What do you think, Teddy, should we start the party off with a bang and give your co-workers something to talk about?”

Even in the dim light illuminating the interior of the elevator, he could see the suspicion in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

He caressed the back of his hand down her soft cheek, strummed his fingers along her neck, watching as her deep brown eyes darkened with the first stirrings of desire. “How about a quickie at eighteen floors up overlooking the bay?”

She gasped in wide-eyed astonishment, then a burst of laughter bubbled up from her chest. “You’re outrageous!”

He chuckled along with her. “You have to admit that the thought is thrilling…maybe just a little bit.”

She glanced down at their position, and he wondered if she realized what a perfect support that brass bar behind her would be. It would be just a matter of lifting her dress, removing her panties, unzipping his pants and letting her sit on that sturdy bar with her back braced against the window as he slid inside her and she wrapped her legs around his hips…

He nearly groaned at the erotic image, and knew she was thinking the same thing by the way the pulse at the base of her throat fluttered.

She swallowed hard, and managed a slight shake of her head. “Austin…”

He conceded to the warning in her voice, but the erection straining the front of his trousers wasn’t nearly so cooperative. “Okay, making love here and now might be a bit too scandalous, but how about necking? That’s pretty harmless.” Before she could object, he skimmed a hand along her hip to her waist and stroked her belly with his thumb through the silky material of her dress. “I want to kiss you, Teddy,” he murmured huskily as his head dipped toward hers. “Will you let me?”

Her chin lifted, bringing her lips closer to his. “We shouldn’t.”

He smiled. “Maybe we should, to help get rid of all that tension.”

She pulled back a fraction and frowned at him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, that’s why you get skittish every time I touch you,” he said wryly. “Just enjoy the evening, Teddy. Have fun with the charade. When I touch you, flow toward me…” Lifting his hand, he smoothed it down her spine in a luxurious caress. She softened, her back arching until her lush breasts brushed his chest. Even through his starched shirt, he could feel her tight nipples, and it nearly drove him crazy. Keeping his thoughts centered and focused on her, he lowered his mouth near the side of her head. He breathed in that floral fragrance that was uniquely hers, and his senses spun. “When I whisper in your ear, close your eyes and think of something sexy, so it looks as though I’m murmuring naughty things to you, even if I’m just asking you to pass the salt.”

She let out a long breath, and he pulled back just far enough to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her expression soft and slumberous, certainly relaxed. Her body followed suit, growing pliable beneath his slow caresses. “Can you do that, Teddy?” he asked.

Her lashes lifted, revealing a need as strong as the one coursing through his veins. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice sultry-soft in the darkness of the elevator.

“Good.” He marveled at his ability to remain so calm when his hormones were clamoring for something more elemental. “And how about that kiss? Can I have it?”

Seemingly seduced by all that had come before, she lifted a hand, sifted her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and brought his mouth to hers. “Yes,” she murmured, and gave him a deep, hot, tongue-tangling kiss more potent than any aphrodisiac.

Passion rose swiftly to the surface, shattering his control. He gripped her hips and rocked urgently against her, swallowing her gasp when his thigh moved upward and pressed against sensitive flesh.

He had to have her. His palm touched her silken thigh, the same moment a shrill ring filled the small cubicle, vaguely penetrating the fog of desire that had settled over him. By the second ring, Austin realized the emergency phone in the elevator was the annoying culprit.

Reluctantly dragging his mouth from Teddy’s, he reached behind him, managing to grasp the receiver without moving away from her. They were both breathing hard from their erotic encounter, and he had to take a deep, steady breath before speaking.

“Yes?”

“This is security,” a gruff voice came over the line. “Everything okay up there?”

His gaze locked on Teddy’s, noting the combination of amusement and arousal glowing in the depths of her eyes. Feeling incredibly daring, he trailed a finger along the rhinestone strap holding up her dress, down to the dip of cleavage swelling from the bodice. “Just taking a little time to enjoy the fabulous view.”

Teddy let out a giggle at his double-edged comment, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter, her eyes sparkling. He managed, just barely, to contain his own chuckles.

“Keep the elevator moving, buddy,” the security guard grumbled, sounding put out. “We’ve got a crowd of people down in the lobby waiting their turn.”

Hanging up the phone, he flipped the Stop switch, and his stomach dipped as the elevator glided upward. “We still have a long way to go,” he said, coming back to her with a wicked grin. Framing her face between his palms, he murmured, “Where were we?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, but resumed the kiss that had been interrupted with as much enthusiasm as before. Mouths met, lips parted and tongues entwined silkily. No resistance, just a mutual hunger that spiraled and tightened between them.

He kissed her with deep thoroughness, wanting to brand the moment in her mind forever. And in return, he was equally seduced. She was soft, provocative and sweeter than honey. He wanted to taste her skin to discover other flavors and contrasts, ached to run his tongue across the breasts crushing against his chest. He wanted to be anywhere but in a roomful of people, making polite conversation and pretending to be Teddy’s lover.

He wanted to be the real thing.

Too soon, he ended the sensual embrace, but the thrum of desire remained.

“Damn,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers, his body inflamed and his mind fogged. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride the elevator back down and try a quickie?”

She groaned, and when he lifted his head, he saw that she was smiling. And much more languidly than before. Her rich brown eyes shone bright with passion, her cheeks wore a rosy hue, and her lips were swollen from their shared kiss.

Male gratification flowed through him. He’d achieved his goal. Not only did Teddy Spencer appear to be a woman well satisfied, but her tension had abated.

She blinked, and as if finally coming out of some drugging trance, her gaze blossomed with worry. Her fingers fluttered to her hair, which Austin had been careful not to touch. “Oh, God, I probably look a mess!”

Grinning, he adjusted her shawl to cover the shoulder it had slipped from during their interlude. “You look beautiful. A little tousled, but certainly convincing.”

“I can’t believe we did that!” she admonished gently.

He stroked his hand over her bottom, and felt her shiver. Her uninhibited response pleased him. “And just think, we’ve got the whole evening ahead of us.” He winked at her.

The elevator came to a slow, smooth stop at their final destination, a soft ping announcing their arrival. Knowing they only had seconds to compose themselves before they greeted the entire staff of Sharper Image, Austin straightened his tuxedo jacket, then at the very last moment slid his hand possessively into Teddy’s.

The insulated doors whooshed open and a dozen curious eyes clamored to sneak a glimpse of the couple who had stopped the elevators midway up to the thirty-second floor. Austin watched eyebrows rise, grins split across surprised faces and murmurs of disbelief and amusement filter from one person to another.

Austin’s mouth curved into a roguish grin, purposely adding fuel to the rampant gossip that would no doubt circulate during the Christmas party and establish him as the man in Teddy’s life.

5

TEDDY HELD her head high and stepped from the elevator with Austin, intensely aware of everyone’s inquisitive stares, and the disheveled way she looked after her interlude with Austin. With Austin gently squeezing her hand and offering silent support, she felt surprisingly confident, and reckless in a purely feminine sort of way. As nervous as she’d been about tonight, Austin had erased a good portion of her anxiety with humor, charm, and hoards of sex appeal—the latter of which had her female colleagues giving the good-looking man at her side a thorough, effusive once-over.

Back off, girls, he’s taken.

Tonight, Austin was her fantasy for hire, and she planned to enjoy the evening, as he’d suggested. The more comfortable she was around Austin, the more convincing they’d be as a couple.

After introducing him to the group of single females obviously waiting to meet him—and watching as he dazzled everybody with his sexy smiles and irresistible personality—they decided to mingle. Over one hundred and fifty employees were present, from mail-room clerks to the top brass, all decked out in their holiday finery. She searched for Louden, but in the crush of people she didn’t see him.

The mood was festive, with a hired band playing upbeat Christmas tunes during the cocktail hour. Being that this was Teddy’s first company Christmas party, she was highly impressed with the show Sharper Image put on.

The ballroom was elaborately decorated for the Christmas season, with garland, holly and mistletoe aplenty. Eight-foot noble firs, gaily decorated in sparkling lights and pretty ornaments, scented the room with traditional pine. Centerpieces of bright red poinsettias and tapered cream candles adorned each table, and lacy snowflakes sprayed with a shimmering incandescent powder hung from the ceiling, giving her the illusion of being in a winter wonderland. The effect was enchanting.

Teddy made sure she introduced Austin to as many people as she could, from the CEO of the company to the front-end receptionist, and watched in amazement as he effortlessly established a male camaraderie with the men, and beguiled the women, while making it apparent, with an affectionate glance, an intimate comment, that he was completely devoted to her. During the moments when they were alone, he’d touch her possessively, run his fingers over her bare back and down her spine, keeping her body in a constant state of awareness. More daring, he’d lean close and murmur bawdy comments and jokes in her ear that caused her to blush, laugh out loud, and made them look as though they shared intimate secrets.

Teddy found herself so wrapped up in his attention, even she had to struggle to keep from blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

“Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?” Austin asked. He’d spent the past five minutes charming two women Teddy worked with, and as much as she didn’t want to be alone with the duo answering a barrage of questions, she was getting thirsty.

She gave him a warm, private smile for her co-workers’ benefit. “I’d love a wine spritzer.”

His large, hot palm casually slid over her hip to her waist, pulling her close to brush his lips across her cheek. A tremor of response rippled through her, and her breath quickened.

Striking green eyes glittered with devious pleasure when they met hers again, testimony that the rogue was relishing every minute of their performance. “I’ll be right back, so don’t go far.”

As if her weak knees would allow her to wander off!

Barb, Sharper Image’s payroll clerk, sighed wistfully, not bothering to conceal her lust as she watched Austin walk away. “What an absolute doll he is, Teddy.”

“Mmm,” Karen, an accounts rep, agreed, shaking her head in wonder and envy. “Where have you been hiding him all this time?”

“I, well, uh…” Teddy grasped a ready excuse while absently twisting the diamond and ruby band on her finger. “Austin’s work keeps him incredibly busy. It’s a wonder I get any quality time with him.”

Barb scoffed at that. “Come on, Teddy, the guy is crazy for you. From what I’ve seen tonight, not to mention the rumor circulating about a little incident in the elevator, he doesn’t come across as a man whose been too neglectful.”

Fire burned Teddy’s cheeks.

“I have to agree,” Karen said, her eyes sparkling merrily over the rim of her champagne glass as she took a sip.

Knowing there was no sense denying what both Barb and Karen wanted to believe—what she, herself, needed them to believe—she didn’t bother to correct their assumption. “Would you two stop, already?”

“We’re just jealous,” Barb admitted good-naturedly. “He’s personable, totally into you, and has a body to die for. And he’s probably rich to boot.”

Teddy didn’t think Austin wallowed in wealth, but she imagined his “Fantasy” services kept his bank account amply filled. “Oh, he does quite well for himself.”

“What does he do, anyway?” Karen asked curiously.

Panic raced through her, pumping up the beat of her heart until she could hear it drumming in her ears. Good Lord, they hadn’t discussed a respectable occupation! “He’s a…broker.” Well, he definitely qualified as such, she reasoned, considering he solicited his services, and those of his other employees.

“Oh,” Barb said, looking suitably impressed. “Like an investment broker?”

“Uh, yes,” Teddy said, going with the suggestion because nothing else sounded better. Feeling herself flounder in unfamiliar territory, she searched frantically for Austin, and found him over at the service bar talking to the vice president of the company while he waited for their drinks.

In an attempt to divert the conversation before she complicated the situation further, she turned back to Karen. “So, I hear you’re planning a surprise baby shower for Catherine Johnson in Marketing after the new year. What can I do to help?”

A few moments later, Austin finally returned. He handed her the wine spritzer, then took a sip of his own drink, which looked suspiciously like root beer. Grateful for the interruption, she told Karen and Barb that she’d get the rest of the details on the baby shower next week at work, and quickly maneuvered Austin in the opposite direction before his cover was blown. Finding a secluded, unoccupied arbor decorated in colorful twinkling lights and Christmas greenery, she finally stopped and faced him.

He waggled his dark eyebrows at her. “Eager to find a dark corner to have your way with me, eh?” His voice was low and tinged with all kinds of wicked innuendo.

Her stomach dipped, but she resolutely ignored the sensation. “No, I—”

He abruptly cut off her words with a kiss that happened so spontaneously she didn’t have a breath of a chance to stop those tantalizing lips from covering her own. Gaining her equilibrium, she jerked back, nearly spilling her wine spritzer down the front of her dress.

“Austin!” she admonished, not exactly shocked at his audacity, considering how bold he’d proven to be. But still, they’d given the employees at Sharper Image plenty to gossip about without giving them a public display, too!

“What?” He blinked at her, a picture of little-boy innocence. “You’re standing under the mistletoe, and anyone watching would expect any self-respecting boyfriend to take advantage of the situation.”

Skeptical, she glanced up at the arbor they stood under. Sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe dangled above her head.

Without permission, he came back for a second sampling, this time curling his long fingers around the nape of her neck and using his thumb to tip her chin up and keep her mouth firmly locked beneath his. He parted her lips with one silken stroke of his tongue, and she tasted heat, and the sweet flavor of root beer.

Losing all sense of time and place, she gave herself over to his soft, compelling kiss. The man stole her sanity, made her want things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need in her life and threatened her hard-won independence. He made her feel too reckless, and entirely too needy.

Desperate to pull the situation back into perspective, she placed a hand on his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. To anyone watching, the gesture looked like an affectionate caress, but he immediately picked up on her cue. Or maybe it was her panic he sensed.

With a low growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Austin lifted his head, his eyes glowing with unsuppressed hunger. “I suggest we finish this later, when we don’t have an audience.”

Certain that intimate comment was meant for their viewers’ ears, she nodded, the only intelligible gesture she could manage at the moment.

“They have got to be the most romantic, in-love couple I’ve ever seen,” Teddy heard some woman say from behind Austin.

They’d certainly fooled everyone, she thought with a grimace. Hopefully, Louden would be just as convinced.

Arm in arm, they strolled away from the arbor. “You’re an investment broker,” she whispered in a low voice to Austin, and nodded sociably at an older couple who were smiling at them.

“I am?” Amusement threaded Austin’s voice.

“As of ten minutes ago, you are.”

“How about I own my landscaping business instead?”

She shook her head at him, dismissing his offbeat suggestion. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of something upscale and respectable.”

“Respectable?” he echoed, his voice losing that humorous edge of moments before.

Her face flushed. She hadn’t meant to insult him. “Well, yes,” she hedged. “Saying you’re an investment broker is more respectable than announcing you’re a fantasy for hire. You weren’t around, we hadn’t discussed an occupation, and it’s the first thing I thought of.”

He shrugged, and accepted her choice of career. “Okay. After all, this is your fantasy.”

She frowned at him, and his choice of words. “No, my fantasy was a cowboy. This is strictly business.”

Annoyance flitted across his handsome face, and just when she suspected he was going to issue an argument of some sort, the man she’d been dreading all evening finally approached them. The tension Austin had worked so hard to obliterate quickly spread through Teddy’s body, tightening muscles and tingling nerves.

Dressed in the prerequisite black tie, Louden exuded confidence and professionalism, which Teddy supposed appealed to the higher-ups in the company. Louden couldn’t have climbed the corporate ladder as high as he had without competence and some personable qualities. What the directors didn’t realize, though, was just how poorly he handled employee relations.

Pale blue eyes scrutinized Austin lazily, but Teddy wasn’t fooled by his complacent behavior. Even if he was suspicious, he certainly wasn’t going to let it show in front of her, or anyone else.

“Hello, Louden,” Teddy greeted, trying to maintain a semblance of courtesy.

“Theodora.” Louden inclined his head at her and smiled pleasantly. “You look quite lovely tonight.”

Ignoring his compliment, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Louden, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Austin McBride.”

Louden turned his attention back to the man at her side, and Austin extended his hand toward her boss. Their hands clasped in a firm handshake, and Teddy caught an undercurrent of silent rivalry. Austin was clearly staking a claim, and Louden was sizing up the competition.

“Nice to meet you,” Austin said, his tone cordial.

Louden didn’t return the sentiment. “So, we finally get to meet the man in Theodora’s life. Can’t say I’ve heard a whole lot about you. Other than that ring on her finger, Teddy’s been keeping you a secret.”

“Well, she certainly hasn’t kept you a secret,” Austin replied meaningfully.

Something dark sparked in Louden’s gaze, but he didn’t respond. “You must be very proud of her. Theodora has proved herself to be quite a valuable asset to Sharper Image in the nine months that she’s been working for the company.”

“The woman constantly amazes me with her talent and dedication.” Austin slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close in an open display of support and tenderness. “I’m hoping to see her promoted to that senior graphic design position, where she can really exercise that creative mind of hers.”

Teddy discreetly nudged Austin in the side. The man was pouring the praise on a bit thick.

“I’d really like to see her promoted, too, but I have the difficult task of weighing both candidates’ proficiency for the position and convincing my superiors of their competence.” He sighed, as if the selection process was a burdensome one. “Needless to say, it’s been a tough decision.”

“I’m sure you’ll select the most qualified person for the job.” Austin’s words were cool, but very calculated.

Louden’s expression was just as shrewd. “Without a doubt.”

The band announced that dinner was about to be served, and for everyone to find their seats before the buffet began.

“If you’ll excuse me, I see a few people I’d like to say hello to before I sit down,” Louden said. “You two enjoy the evening, and I’ll see you in the office Monday, Theodora.”

Once they parted ways with Louden and headed toward their designated table, Austin asked, “Is there a reason why he calls you Theodora when everyone else calls you Teddy?”

“To annoy me, and to make sure I keep in mind his position of authority.” The only other person who used her formal name on a regular basis was her prim-and-proper mother, and her brothers when they wanted to antagonize her. “Speaking of which, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t directly challenge Louden like that.”

Austin clasped Teddy’s elbow to escort her through the throng of people. “Yeah, well, someone needs to knock that guy down a peg or two. He’s too cocky for his own good, and I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

She bristled, feeling her defenses rising. For too many years she’d endured coddling and protecting from three older brothers who’d treated her as a weak, vulnerable female. She’d despised every minute of it. That Austin felt compelled to shelter her as well provoked a bit of rebellion, especially when she’d struggled for so long to break free from her family’s stifling habits.

“Being my bodyguard isn’t your job, Austin,” she said emphatically. “All I need you to do is back up the ring on my finger. I’m more than capable of fighting my own battles in the boardroom.”

His mouth thinned ruthlessly. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I am.” She resented the insinuation that she couldn’t look after the situation herself. “I want this promotion on my own merit. My work record proves I’m qualified for the job, more so than my opponent.”

Austin didn’t look convinced. “Do you honestly believe that introducing your boyfriend is going to stop this slime-ball from making future moves on you? Guys like Louden don’t stop at minor obstacles like boyfriends. He wants to be in control, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants, which seems to be you. The only way he’ll leave you alone is if you press charges.”

Teddy’s stomach churned as she sat in the chair Austin pulled out for her at their table, but she refused to dwell on his accurate assessment of Louden. “Don’t worry, he’ll leave me alone,” she said, wishing she felt more confident than she sounded.

Austin let the subject drop as they joined the others at the table. Teddy made introductions to the people who hadn’t yet met Austin, and valiantly tried to shake off the black mood Louden had cast over them and the evening.

Minutes later, they stood in line at the buffet table, plate in hand. Dinner was a selection of salads, rich side dishes, fancy breads, chicken in a mushroom-and-wine sauce, and prime rib. A quarter of the way down the buffet, Teddy glanced up to find Janet, a buxom redhead who worked in her department as Louden’s secretary, staring purposefully at Austin from the opposite side of the smorgasbord. Janet was extremely loyal to Louden, and that alone made Teddy mistrust the woman.

Austin must have sensed the intensity of the other woman’s gaze, because he looked up, too—which was all the invitation Janet needed to launch into conversation.

“You look so familiar,” she said, tilting her head so her thick mane of curly auburn hair tumbled over her shoulder and lay enticingly just above the breasts straining the too-tight bodice of her spandex dress. “Have we met before?”

The question was harmless, yet an awful premonition made Teddy’s stomach dip.

“I don’t believe so,” Austin replied with a smile, and pressed his hand to Teddy’s spine to keep her moving along the buffet line.

Janet managed to stay aligned to them, eyeing Austin with too much interest as she put a croissant on her plate. “I keep imagining you in a police uniform. Are you a cop?”

The spoonful of scalloped potatoes Teddy scooped up missed her plate and would have landed on her shoes if it hadn’t been for Austin smoothly intercepting the entrée with his own plate.

“No, I’m a broker,” Austin said to Janet without missing a beat. Taking the spoon from Teddy’s unsteady fingers, he ladled a small portion of the potatoes onto her dish and murmured, “Be careful, honey, or we’re going to have a mess on our hands.”

The meaning behind Austin’s words wasn’t lost on Teddy. She struggled to keep a cool composure when all she could envision was the possible scandal should Austin be exposed. Her reputation at Sharper Image would be tarnished, and no doubt she’d kiss that promotion she’d coveted goodbye.

Austin’s answer didn’t seem to appease Janet. Ruthless determination gleamed in her eyes. “I was so certain you were a cop.”

“You must have him mixed up with someone else you’ve met,” Teddy interjected quickly, desperate to end the interrogation.

“Maybe, but I’ve got a memory for faces.” Janet’s gaze flickered dismissively from Teddy, to Austin, scrutinizing him one last time as she waited for the chef to place a slice of prime rib on her plate. “It’s going to drive me nuts until I place where I’ve seen you.” The slight curve to her mouth suggested she found Austin a mystery she intended to solve.

Teddy let out a tight breath as they finished their trek through the buffet and headed back to their table. “Tell me she wasn’t a Fantasy for Hire customer,” Teddy said, knowing her wish was a futile one.

“Unfortunately, I do remember her, though she’s not the one I fulfilled the fantasy for,” Austin replied wryly. “It was at a bachelorette party a few months ago, and the bride-to-be was marrying a cop, thus my costume. That redhead was more enthusiastic about my performance than the bride.”

Teddy groaned at her bad luck. “Hopefully, Janet won’t figure out the connection.”

“I think as long as I keep my clothes on, we might stand a chance,” he said, winking at her.

A burst of dry laughter escaped her throat, but his playful remark didn’t completely reassure her.

Clothes or no, Austin McBride had a body and face that most women wouldn’t soon forget.

THE CHRISTMAS PARTY was winding down, and Austin loathed for the evening to end, especially since he had Teddy right where he wanted her—in his embrace, dancing close to a slow Christmas ballad that comprised the band’s last set.

Despite the fantasy of playing Teddy’s lover, he’d enjoyed being with her and wondered if he’d see her again after tonight—no pretenses, just as a man and a woman strongly attracted to each other. The thought appealed to him immensely.

It went against his work ethics to pursue a client, but he’d thrown that restriction out the window the moment he’d agreed to accompany Teddy to her party. The stakes had somehow turned personal for him, his interest in Teddy Spencer stretching beyond business, yet he had no idea where he stood with her.

Before they parted ways, he intended to find out.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms, and found Teddy frowning, her troubled gaze trained on something beyond the parquet dance floor. Following her line of vision, he discovered her watching the redhead they’d encountered at the buffet table a few hours ago, who stood near the service bar conversing with Louden. She’d yet to approach them again, and Austin fervently hoped, for Teddy’s sake, that the other woman’s curiosity, and tenacity, fizzled. As for Louden, he’d kept his distance as well, but there were times throughout the evening when Austin had caught the man eyeing Teddy in a way that made Austin feel territorial.

“What’s on your mind, Teddy?” he asked, surprising himself with just how much he wanted to know about this woman who seemed such a paradox.

She pulled her gaze from the pair, and smiled up at him, a lazy curving of her mouth that attested to her relaxed state. “A cop, hmm?” she murmured, revealing exactly where her mind had ventured. “What’s your specialty at Fantasy for Hire?”

“I don’t really have one,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb over the hand he held against his chest. “Women’s fantasies vary, and are very personal. I’ve been a lifeguard, a UPS deliveryman, a biker. It all depends on the woman, and what turns her on.”

The hand resting on his shoulder moved upward, until her fingers touched the hair curling over the collar of his shirt. Her body flowed against his as they swayed to Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” “I bet you look just as good in leather pants as you do in chaps.”

“Ah, your fantasy,” he murmured. Pressing his palm low on her back, he slid a thigh gently between hers, making their position more intimate, more arousing. “How did I do in terms of fulfilling it?”

She gave him a sultry, upswept look that had him thinking inappropriate thoughts, considering they were still in a public place, surrounded by a dozen other dancing couples.

“You certainly lassoed my attention,” she admitted in a sexy, cowgirl drawl.

He felt ridiculously pleased with her confession. “So, what is it about a cowboy that turns you on?”

She gave his question some thought as they danced, her expression soft, her dark eyes luminous. “They’re rugged, but chivalrous, which makes them appealing.” She shrugged, her gaze meeting his daringly. “And there’s just something about chaps on a man that I find incredibly sexy, not to mention the sound of spurs on a wooden floor.”

A slow, spiraling heat spread toward his groin. “I’d wear spurs for you, cowgirl,” he whispered huskily, honestly.

Her breathing deepened, and through his tuxedo shirt he could feel her breasts swell, and her nipples tighten against his chest, tormenting him.

She touched her tongue to her bottom lip, and as if deciding their conversation was becoming too hot and provocative, she turned the subject back to him. “So, what compelled you to fulfill women’s fantasies?”

If she expected an exciting, sensational answer, she was going to be sorely disappointed. “Outstanding loans that needed to be paid.”

She nodded in understanding. “And do you enjoy the business?”

“I had more fun when I was younger,” he said, thinking back to the inception of Fantasy for Hire, and how a simple vision to earn extra money had exceeded his wildest expectations. Back then, he’d been enthusiastic, enjoying the excitement of each gig. “Now that I’ve hit thirty, I find I prefer conducting business with my clothes on.”

She grinned, and he thought about mentioning his flourishing landscaping business, which had become his main focus, but Teddy’s next question didn’t allow him time.

“How does your family feel about your profession?” she asked curiously.

“My mother and father are both gone. They died when I was sixteen.”

She appeared startled, and immediately regretful. “I’m sorry to hear that. Losing your parents at such a young age must have been extremely difficult.”

“Yeah, it was.” His mother and father had been good people, very much in love, and totally devoted to their two sons. Their death had shaken up his young world, and if it hadn’t been for Jordan’s guidance, he very easily would have become a juvenile delinquent. “My brother, Jordan, and I still miss them.”

The band announced the final song of the evening, and Bing’s tune segued into another ballad without a lapse. Some of the couples dispersed, but Teddy didn’t show any signs of wanting to go, so he continued to hold her close as the music played.

Her gaze shone with genuine interest, solely focused on him. “So it’s just the two of you then?”

“Yeah. All we have is each other.” Austin found he liked talking to her, liked even more that she’d let down her guard to indulge in personal conversation—the getting-to-know-you kind of exchange that real lovers shared. “Jordan is older than me by two years. He raised me after our parents died.”

She tilted her head, looking soft, and beautiful, and very much at ease. “And how does big brother feel about you taking your clothes off for women?”

Austin chuckled, the sound swirling warm and intimate between them. “It’s definitely not his cup of tea. Jordan is an architect, and has always been a conservative sort of guy, but he’s always been very supportive of me and the choices I’ve made.”

“That’s great.” Her voice held a wistful quality that reached her eyes. “I wish my brothers were that way. Heck, I’d kill for a little support and encouragement from my parents, too.”

Austin thought briefly about what her sister-in-law, Susan, had divulged, but still couldn’t believe Teddy had ventured into her career alone, without having someone to share each step of success with. “Your family isn’t at all supportive of what you’re doing?”

She shook her head a little sadly. “Nope. I’m the youngest girl with three older brothers, which is the kiss of death itself. Then there’s my mother, who is from the old school, and believes a daughter should be raised to be a proper wife and hostess to her husband. She was horrified when I went to college to get my degree, and I know my father was disappointed, too.”

Austin’s hand rubbed small soothing circles at the base of her spine, and he could feel the rasp of her silky stockings against his slacks. He ignored the flash of heat that touched off a deep, inexplicable hunger for her, and steered his concentration back to their conversation. “Why can’t you do both, have a successful career and be a wife? Women do it all the time.”

A wry look crossed her features. “The two don’t seem to mix well for me. Remember Bartholomew? Well, I almost did the deed with him, and luckily came to my senses before I became a clone of my mother. That’s another incident my parents have yet to forgive me for.” Her gaze conveyed an unmistakable reckless defiance. “I’m not ready to settle down yet. I’ve got goals to attain, and quite frankly, after being stifled for more years than I care to recall, I like my freedom and independence.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right man yet.”

“I’m not looking for a man, remember.” With a sassy grin, she reminded him of that vow with a wave of her left hand in front of his face. That sparkly ring of hers flashed, backing her claim. “Staying single is so much easier and less complicated.”

“But a lot lonelier.” His voice was quiet, but his words were powerful enough to touch the vulnerability behind her independent facade.

Their gazes connected, hers filled with unspoken affirmation. Even though he knew she’d never admit to being lonely, he suspected that the world she’d created for herself didn’t keep her warm at night, or bolster her spirits on a bad day. What she needed was someone who believed in her and her aspirations, someone who supported her unconditionally, and didn’t try to clip her wings.

It was clear to him that she was out to prove something to her parents, and herself. And possibly even to Louden. He didn’t begrudge her the success she strove for, only hoped that her single-mindedness didn’t keep her from enjoying other aspects of her life.

“I suppose you want a wife, kids, and the whole bit,” she said cheekily, avoiding the deeper issue he’d unintentionally provoked.

“Sure I do.” And the older he got, the more he wanted that kind of security. That big Victorian he lived in by himself got far too quiet at night, giving him too much time to think about how a special woman might fit into his life. Finding her was another matter, especially when Fantasy for Hire robbed him of any spare time. “When the right woman comes along, I’ve got an open mind about marriage. And I want a big family, too. I love kids.”

She gave a shudder, but he knew she was exaggerating by the teasing sparkle in her eyes. “I get my fill of kids with my eight nieces and nephews. One night with them, and I’m completely wiped out.”

He lifted an eyebrow, wondering how much of that statement was truth, and how much she’d tried to convince herself of.

The final song ended, bringing the Christmas party to a close. Slowly, reluctantly, he let her move from his embrace. A sense of loss filled him—there were no more excuses to postpone the end of the evening. And judging by the slant of their conversation, he pretty much ascertained that no further invitation was forthcoming from her lips to see him again.

She’d made it clear that her job was her priority, that a real man in her life was something her parents wanted, but she had no time or desire for. He wasn’t going to push the issue…at least not much.

On the drive back to Teddy’s place, Austin had plenty of time to mentally plan his strategy to sway Teddy into giving them another chance, another date, one that wasn’t tangled up with lies and pretenses. Just them. And their attraction for one another.

He wondered if he stood a chance against her restricting goals, wondered if he was being foolish for wanting to pursue something that might be all one-sided. And then there was the issue of her family, and what they expected of Teddy…and of a boyfriend.

Meeting their expectations would be impossible, but at the moment none of that mattered to Austin, not when his chest ached at the thought of never seeing Teddy again. Not when he wanted this woman so badly that physical need coalesced with strong emotion.

After parking the Mustang at the curb, he insisted on walking Teddy to her condo. She wrapped the shawl around her in an attempt to chase away the midnight chill, but her teeth began to chatter. Slipping his tuxedo jacket off, he draped it over her shoulders, and she snuggled into the warmth.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks.” Her voice held a slight quiver, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, or if she was nervous.

“I had a great time tonight.” He’d especially enjoyed their elevator ride up, and slow dancing with her—both opportunities had been private, and incredibly enlightening.

She rolled her eyes. “Between Louden, and Janet, it was certainly interesting, if anything.”

He smiled. “I think everything went well. We established a believable relationship, so hopefully Louden will back off like you hope.”

She held up crossed fingers for luck. “As long as Janet doesn’t remember you as a cop who strips, we’ll be in good shape.”

Taking the house key from her grasp, he unlocked the door and opened it for her. She handed him back his jacket, started to step inside, then turned around before she cleared the threshold. A light from the living room behind her illuminated her slender form and tipped her upswept hair with gold. Even in the shadows, her eyes shimmered with regret.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she said softly, and offered him a slight smile.

The last thing he wanted to say was goodbye. “Not just yet.”

Reaching into the pocket of the tuxedo jacket draped over his arm, he withdrew the sprig of mistletoe he’d swiped off their table as they’d left the party. The greenery was crushed, but still in working order. Her rich, chocolate brown eyes widened as he braced his arm on the doorjamb and dangled the mistletoe above her head.

His stance was lazy, deceptively so, and he grinned wickedly, declaring his intent. “I believe you and I have unfinished business to attend to.”

6

SHE SHOULD HAVE said no. She should have resisted. But Teddy didn’t stand a chance against the seductive pull of Austin’s darkened gaze, or the knowledge that this man made her feel restless, needy sensations no other man had ever evoked.

Reckless desire caused her pulse to race. The promise of pleasure glimmering in his sexy eyes touched off a quiver of anticipation deep in her belly. And because she knew he’d make good on that silent vow, she impetuously decided that one last, parting kiss to remember him by wouldn’t hurt anything.

His warm fingers brushed along her jaw and curled around the nape of her neck, urging her to meet him halfway, persuading her to participate and give as much as she took. She swayed toward him, too eager to taste him, too anxious to experience the heady thrill of having his mouth on hers.

His head lowered, hers raised expectantly. His lashes fell slumberously, she closed her eyes and waited. His mouth skimmed hers gently, teasing her unmercifully. Her lips parted with a soft, inviting sigh, and he gradually deepened the kiss, slowly, seductively, cajoling her tongue to mate with his, and offering his own in return.

The kiss was incredibly erotic, a lazy, tantalizing possession of the senses. It inflamed and stimulated a depthless passion, and there was nothing she could do but surrender.

Abandoning all coherent thought, all common sense, she tossed her small purse somewhere behind her in the condo, twined her fingers into the thick strands of hair at the back of his neck and opened her mouth wider beneath his and whimpered, a silent plea for him to ease the ache building within her.

He answered with a deep, dark growl that reverberated in his throat, and with her face framed between his palms and her mouth anchored firmly beneath his, he guided her backward, into the darkened entryway, kicking the door shut behind them. A cool whoosh of air caressed her stockinged legs as he dropped his coat at their feet. Pushing her against the wall, he dragged the shawl from her shoulders to join his jacket, and pressed his hard, muscular body against hers, the urgency in him undeniable. Her knees threatened to buckle, but he wedged a leg between her thighs, and she felt the swell of his erection against her belly—thick, hot and pulsing. The male heat of him surrounded her, engulfed her, sparking a liquid fire that settled low in her stomach.

His breathing roughened, and his heart hammered as frantically as her own. She identified with that out-of-control need, and it frightened her as much as it thrilled her. Her head spun, her mind whirled, and the crazy momentum didn’t show any signs of slowing.

He continued to kiss her, wild, greedy, insatiable kisses she returned with an enthusiasm that should have shocked her, but didn’t. Like a thief, he pilfered and ravished. Like a willing captive, she succumbed and yearned for more.

He obliged her, sliding his fingers into her hair and gently dislodging the rhinestone pins securing the strands. He found each clip, untangled each one and dropped them to the carpeted floor until her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a tousled mess. He crushed the silky tresses in his hands, massaging her scalp, her nape, and then her shoulders.

Finally, he freed her lips, and she moaned as he touched his open mouth to her throat, stroking his soft tongue across the pulse point at the base. And then he bit her sensitive skin, gently, just enough to cause another rush of excitement. She was so distracted by this new, delicious sensation that she was unaware of him slipping his thumbs beneath the thin straps of her dress and dragging them down her arms until she felt the fabric covering her breasts give way.

She gasped at the shock of cool air against her heated skin, felt her first bout of modesty as he lifted his head and looked his fill. His eyes burned with hunger, his gaze ravaged. She shivered, but didn’t move. Nor did she protest when he licked the tips of his fingers and slicked them over her nipples, drawing them into tight, aching points. But she groaned, long and low, when he lowered his mouth and laved those tender crests with his tongue, then drew her into the hot depths of his mouth.

Biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, she pushed her fingers into his hair, brazenly holding him close as he leisurely lapped and suckled and nuzzled. He worked his wet mouth from one breast to the other, his tongue, lips and teeth teasing her with devastating thoroughness. The pleasure was dizzying, and frustrating, and in an attempt to soothe a sharper, more intimate ache, she clamped her thighs against the one riding high between hers and arched into him.

A harsh, aroused sound hissed from Austin, and he buried his face at the side of her neck, his breath hot and moist against her flesh. “Teddy…” he whispered huskily, his voice raw with a want so urgent it invaded every cell of her being. His palms slid down her sides to grip her hips, and rocked her rhythmically against that treacherous thigh of his, building the pressure. “All night I’ve thought about the taste of you, the feel of you. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”

Passion fogged her mind, short-circuiting rational thought. “Not enough,” she echoed the sentiment, turning her head to the side to give him better access to the column of her throat.

His tongue touched the delicate shell of her ear, making her skin quiver, and his hands roamed lower, beneath the hem of her dress. Questing fingers rasped against the stockings covering her legs, her thighs…higher still. “I want to make love to you.”

Yes, her body screamed, her feminine nerves already spiraling toward that release. All it would take to send her over the edge was the touch of his fingers against slick folds of flesh, the seductive caress of his mouth on her breasts. The elemental need to make love to this man mixed with something deep and soul-stirring, overwhelming her with emotions she’d severed herself from years ago.

Panicked that he could make her feel so much when she’d been content to be alone, she pressed her palms to his chest, pushing gently, but firmly. “Austin, we can’t do this.”

He immediately stopped his seduction, slowly withdrawing his hand from beneath her dress, leaving her aroused, and very disappointed. The rhinestone straps of her dress slid back up, and the bodice covered her breasts once again.

Concern etched his features, and he brushed her hair away from her face, his gaze searching. “Hey, you okay?”

No. She was scared, and confused, but admitting either defeated the purpose of all those years she’d struggled to build her confidence. “This is happening too fast.”

“We can take it slow,” he said, his deep, rich voice still holding the vestiges of desire. Bracing an arm against the wall at the side of her head, he skimmed his knuckles down her cheek in a feather-light caress. “As slow and easy as you need it to be.”

Her skin tingled at the thought of how good slow could be with this sexy fantasy man. “Impossible, when I unravel when you just look at me, and I melt when you touch me.” Like now, those insidious fingers of his were causing all kinds of havoc with her libido.

A roguish grin curved his mouth, and he looked pleased with that revelation. “No, slow doesn’t seem to apply to the attraction between us,” he agreed. “But I’m not just talking about sex, Teddy. I’m talking about us.”

She swallowed, hard, trying to keep her rising wariness at bay. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, trailing that treacherous finger along her jaw to her lobe, eliciting a deep, dark shiver that made her body feel like warm molasses. “You. Me. A slow building relationship. Us.”

She shook her head, feeling crowded, and not just because his body surrounded hers. Emotionally, he was slipping under her skin, forcing her to reevaluate her personal life, and she didn’t care for what she was discovering. Moving around him, she put some distance between them, shoring up her fortitude. “There is no ‘us.”’

“There could be.” When she didn’t respond, the set of his jaw turned determined. “You honestly believe there isn’t something between us worth pursuing?”

She rubbed the slow throb beginning in her temples, and chose her words carefully. “I can’t afford any diversions right now, Austin.” Her voice implored him to understand. “Not when I’m so close to getting everything I’ve worked so hard for. And I can’t allow great sexual chemistry to distract me when I need to stay focused on my job.” She’d only wanted a date for the evening, her own personal fantasy for hire. When had things become so complicated? “Besides, you and I have different goals, and certainly opposite visions of the future.”

“Not as much as you might think,” he said, ruthless intent in his gaze. “Or maybe it’s just easier for you to believe that.”

Anger flared within her, that he’d touched on part of the truth—a truth that made her too vulnerable. She was scared of taking personal, emotional risks, for fear of being stifled. It had taken her years to establish her independence, to gain the self-confidence to stand on her own, and there were always those niggling doubts that she couldn’t mix business with a relationship and find an equal balance. In her experience, the latter always won.

She grasped a stronger argument. “You fulfill women’s fantasies, for crying out loud! How opposite is that?”

He jammed his hands on his lean hips and sighed, sounding as weary as he was beginning to look. “It’s just a job, Teddy, and it isn’t who I am. Fantasy for Hire was a means to an end. It isn’t my entire life.”

There was more. She could see it in his eyes. But she didn’t want to hear anything else, didn’t want to give him a chance to sway her decision. “As much as I want you, I can’t do this right now. I don’t have time in my life for a relationship, and that’s not fair to you.”

He stepped toward her, so genuine and understanding. “Teddy—”

She held up a hand to stop him, knowing his touch to be a powerful persuasion. “Please, Austin,” she beseeched him. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. You’re a great guy, and you deserve better than what I can offer you, which is nothing permanent.” She bit her bottom lip, acknowledging on some feminine level that she wished she could be the kind of woman he wanted, but she wasn’t cut out for marriage, and babies, and all those other things that tied a person down and restricted their freedom.

He stared at her for a long, intense moment, his green eyes darkening with resignation. “All right,” he finally relented, and swiped his jacket from the floor. “You win, Teddy.”

It wasn’t a joyful victory. Her throat burned, and her chest hurt at the thought of never seeing him again. She opened the door before she changed her mind. “Thank you, Austin. For everything.”

“The last thing I want is your gratitude for something I wanted to do.” Just as he passed through the threshold, he stopped and turned back around, his chiseled features expressing deep regret. “Good luck on your promotion, Teddy. I hope you get everything you want.”

She was certain the double meaning ringing in his words had been unintentional on his part, but it was there nonetheless, haunting her, forcing her to think about what her desire for that promotion might have cost her. She found the thought disturbing.

And then he was gone, leaving only the warm, male scent of his cologne lingering in the entryway, and a horrible sense of loss blossoming within her.

Leaning against the wall for support, she slid down until she was sitting on the carpeted floor, her knees upraised. Dragging a hand through her tangled hair and trying not to think about how much she enjoyed being with Austin, she let out a deep breath that did nothing to ease the new tension banding her chest.

Her gaze landed on the cluster of mistletoe he’d used to seduce her, and she picked it up, holding the sprig of Christmas spirit in the palm of her hand. Her throat tightened, and a piercing pain wrenched her heart.

Damn Austin McBride anyway, for making her realize just how cold and lonely her life was, for making her question everything that was important to her—everything she’d struggled to attain without the support of anyone.

She’d sacrificed so much to prove her own self-worth to her family, to herself. But this sacrifice was hurting more than she’d ever imagined.

AUSTIN STOOD beneath the hot, stinging spray from the shower. He’d spent a restless night tossing and turning in bed, caused from frustration, confusion and a healthy dose of annoyance that Teddy Spencer had, in effect, brushed him off.

Well, not brushed him off, exactly, he amended as he braced his hands on the tiled wall and dipped his head beneath the invigorating jet of water to rinse his soap-slick body. But her brand of rejection stung nonetheless. He’d served his purpose in aiding Teddy in her plight to dissuade Louden, and she’d never promised him anything beyond last night. He’d known that. He’d followed through with Teddy’s plan with his eyes wide open, knowing it was all an act. So why did he return home last night with his stomach in knots and a keen sense of disappointment riding him hard?

The answer came easily. Despite knowing Teddy had expected nothing more from him than a performance, he couldn’t help feeling used on some basic male level. The unpleasant sensation was one he’d experienced before, and he’d have thought he’d learned from that brief encounter with a woman who’d taken advantage of him for her own self-centered motivations. Diane certainly had her own agenda when she’d pursued him. Too late, he’d discovered that her interest had been for the fantasy he created for her—that of a part-time plaything to keep her occupied when she was bored with her wealthy life and friends. Emotional involvement hadn’t been part of her plan—just an exciting affair that abruptly ended when he no longer served a purpose in her capricious life.

Despite that lesson learned, he’d wanted to believe Teddy was different, that her ulterior motives wouldn’t cloud what seemed so obvious and right between them.

He’d been wrong.

Swearing at his stupidity, he turned off the water, grabbed the thick navy towel hanging over the stall and scrubbed it over his damp hair and wet body.

“She did you a big favor, buddy,” he muttered to himself as he stepped from the shower. “And she’s definitely all wrong for you,” he continued as he trekked naked into the bedroom, where the early-morning sun was just beginning to seep through the second-story bedroom window to warm the hardwood floor.

Grabbing his favorite pair of soft, faded jeans, he pulled them on and concentrated on all those wrongs, mentally ticking them off in his head: her wealthy family, who wouldn’t approve of him, her job being more important than a relationship, and her admitted unwillingness to balance the two.

He finger-combed his thick, damp hair away from his face, and tried not to grimace at the less-than-refreshed reflection in the mirror—he looked tired, haggard and as irritable as a provoked bear. “You have every reason to be grateful that she didn’t allow things to progress further than they had last night,” he told himself, pivoting toward the bedroom door.

But as he headed downstairs, he found it difficult to be gracious about Teddy’s rejection when he’d tasted the need and hunger in her kiss, and in the way her body had responded so openly and honestly to his touch. There had been nothing calculated about her soft groans as he’d caressed her breasts, nothing fabricated about the sensual way she’d arched toward him for more.

Letting out a deep breath to erase those arousing thoughts that would surely haunt him for months to come, he entered the kitchen. Jordan, who’d always been one to be up bright and early, flipped down the corner of the Sunday sports section and glanced at Austin. A slow grin spread across Jordan’s face as he homed in on his brother’s cantankerous disposition.

“You look like hell this morning, little brother.” Humor threaded Jordan’s voice and creased the corners of his eyes.

Austin gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Of course, Jordan looked neat and orderly and ready to begin the day, his knit shirt pressed, and his jeans crisp and a vivid shade of blue, which indicated they were fairly new. Austin barely contained a disgusted snort. Didn’t his brother ever dress for anything but success?

Jordan’s grin increased. “And you should be plenty rested, considering I heard you come in just a little after midnight.”

Jordan’s insinuation that Austin’s evening plans hadn’t ended as he’d personally hoped rankled. Crossing the cool tiled floor, he opened the cupboard and brought down a bowl and a box of cereal, then withdrew a carton of milk from the refrigerator. “I thought I’d outgrown you waiting up for me long ago.”

“Oh, I wasn’t waiting up.” Jordan folded the section of newspaper neatly, and laid it aside. “I was awake, in bed reading. Even if I wasn’t, the way you stomped up the stairs and slammed your bedroom door would have woken the dead.”

He grimaced as he carried his breakfast items to the table. “Sorry,” he said, genuinely contrite. Sitting across from Jordan, he poured Cap’n Crunch into his bowl and added a generous amount of milk. Jordan looked on disapprovingly at the sugared cereal, which Austin had eaten for breakfast since the age of eight.

Jordan believed in a healthy start to the day; Austin wasn’t about to sacrifice his favorite cereal for the scrambled eggs, wheat toast and cantaloupe his brother preferred. “I guess I’m still not used to having someone else in the house.”

“I figured as much.” Jordan shoveled scrambled eggs onto his buttered wheat toast and took a bite while considering Austin through curious eyes. “Dare I ask how things went last night?”

Austin tried for a nonchalant shrug and failed miserably. “Depends on whose point of view you want.”

“How about hers?” Jordan asked, slicing his cantaloupe into precise wedges.

“Great.” Unequivocally, Austin was sure. There was little doubt in his mind that everyone at Sharper Image had fallen for the ruse, which could only work to Teddy’s favor.

“And yours?”

He scooped up a spoonful of cereal, glancing at Jordan before taking the bite. “Disappointing and frustrating.” And a multitude of other emotions he didn’t care to verbally analyze.

Jordan digested that, appearing sympathetic. “Care to talk about it?”

Austin wasn’t one to spill his guts about personal issues, but Jordan had always been a good listener, reflective without judging, and Austin needed that quiet male camaraderie and support right now. “The night itself was great. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had such a good time with a woman. Teddy is smart, sexy, amusing…and entirely too determined,” he added on a note of annoyance.

Jordan lifted an eyebrow. “Usually that’s a good thing.”

Austin pushed his half-eaten bowl of Cap’n Crunch aside. “She’s determined to the point of seeing nothing beyond her promotion.”

“Can’t begrudge a person for wanting to be successful.”

Austin didn’t miss the bitter note to his brother’s voice that had nothing to do with Teddy.

“I don’t begrudge Teddy for wanting that promotion, but what about being successful and making time for a relationship?”

Jordan picked up his glass of orange juice. “Depends on the person’s priorities.”

Austin snorted. Teddy had made it patently clear where her priorities lay—in the hands of Sharper Image. “I guess I went with her to this party expecting something…different. Like maybe another date, where we could get to know one another without that ridiculous charade between us.” Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over the light stubble covering his jaw. “Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about a woman.”

Jordan chuckled, the sound entirely too gleeful. “She certainly has you tied up in knots.”

Austin scowled, but knew he’d be a hypocrite if he denied what was so obviously the truth. Teddy did have a hold on him, one he couldn’t shake. She made him think about things he’d decided were beyond his reach until his landscaping business was financially stable. She made him think about what it would be like to come home to her smiles in the evening and her soft, feminine scent filling this old Victorian house. And then there was the luxury of making love to her every night, and waking up beside her for the next fifty years.

Commitment. Security. And the comfort of having a family. After years of playing the field, the notion appealed to him. More and more with each passing year.

Folding his hands over his bare belly, Austin leaned back in his chair, rocking on the solid hind legs. “Jordan, you ever think about settling down?”

Stacking his fork and knife on his plate, Jordan shrugged noncommittally. “I thought I was close once, but it didn’t work out, which is just as well because look at where I am now. If I had a family to support, I never would have been able to quit and walk out on those dishonest bastards.”

Austin nodded in understanding.

“Now, I’m an unemployed architect, living with my bachelor brother, and I have no idea what the future holds.”

“You could always take over Fantasy for Hire,” Austin offered with a devilish grin.

Jordan visibly shuddered. “I’m nobody’s fantasy, and I prefer to conduct business with my clothes on, thank you very much.”

“You don’t give yourself near enough credit. I’m sure there are women out there who fantasize about straitlaced architects.” Austin ignored the dirty look Jordan cast his way. “I’d sell you the business real cheap.”

“What, you thinking of giving up being the object of every woman’s fantasy?” Humor threaded through Jordan’s voice.

“I’ve been considering selling the business for a while now,” Austin admitted. “Not only is Fantasy for Hire becoming too much for me to handle along with all the business coming in for McBride Landscaping, I’m tired of all the pretense.”

“Feeling a little taken advantage of, hmm?”

He hadn’t, not until he’d met Teddy. For this particular reason, he’d always been careful to draw the line between his job as a fantasy for hire and the customer he performed for, but that’s where he’d failed with Teddy Spencer. He’d brazenly stepped over that line because of an intense, mind-boggling attraction, and he’d gotten burned for his efforts.

Teddy would rather cling to the fantasy than grasp the reality of what was between them.

“I want a normal life,” Austin said, hearing the frustration in his own voice. “And when I meet a woman, I want to be sure that she’s interested in me because of who I am, and not what particular fantasy of hers I might fulfill.”

Jordan stood and carried his dishes to the sink, rinsing them. “Sounds like you’ve got some decisions to make.”

“Yeah.” He’d already come to the conclusion to put Fantasy for Hire on the market, and after the holidays he’d see if he could find an interested buyer for the business. Then, he’d see what he could do about finding a woman who wanted the real Austin McBride.

THE CORDLESS PHONE in Teddy’s lap rang, and she tossed aside the woman’s magazine she’d been thumbing through and clicked the connect button before the sound completed its cycle.

“Hello?” she answered.

“You are a very bad girl, Teddy Spencer.”

Teddy immediately recognized her sister-in-law’s low, throaty voice. Relief mingled with the awful anxiety that had been her constant companion all day long, easing the knot in her chest by a few degrees. Normally, Sundays were her day to relax and catch up on personal errands and chores. Today, she’d been too intent on talking to Susan to move more than an arm’s stretch away from the phone. She hadn’t even taken a shower yet because she’d feared missing the call. The only thing she’d allowed for her vigil was a quick change into leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, a scrubbed face, brushed teeth and a ponytail.

Not wanting to appear too anxious, she strove for a casual air. “It’s the bad girls that have all the fun.”

Susan laughed. “You certainly seem to be having your share,” she said, her tone sly. “When were you going to tell the family about Austin? Or were you going to keep this guy all to yourself?”

The latter, but Susan’s phone call last night had nixed that plan. Not quite ready to answer that question until she had a chance to feel Susan out, she said, “It’s after five. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.”

“No kidding.” Susan snickered. “Thirteen messages on the answering machine is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“No.” Teddy straightened indignantly. “Not when I needed to speak with you about eight hours ago.”

“Brent, the kids and I were out of the house early this morning,” Susan said breezily. “We went to brunch with your brother Russ and his family. I would have invited you to come along, but thought you’d have better things to do this morning.”

The insinuation in Susan’s tone caused Teddy’s face to warm and a horrifying thought to invade her mind…the very real possibility that Susan had shared that assumption with her brother Brent. “Susan—”

“Then Brent and Russ took the kids to see that new animated Christmas feature playing at the movies, and me and Natalie went shopping with your mother for Christmas presents for the kids. Santa went broke this year, and what I didn’t get on the kids’ Christmas list, Grandma insisted on buying.”

Teddy shot up off the sofa, her heart slamming against her ribs. Oh, this didn’t sound good at all! “You went shopping with my mother?” The question came out as a croak.

“She was on her best behavior,” Susan assured her. “I swear, there’s something about the holidays that brings out the very best in her. And when I told her about your new guy, she actually beamed.”

Teddy squeezed her eyes shut, imagining her mother’s pretty face, alight with happiness at the thought that her only daughter was finally coming to her senses and settling down. “No,” she moaned.

“Yeah, she actually beamed,” Susan reiterated, misinterpreting Teddy’s denial. “She looked radiant.”

Teddy shook her head, then realized that Susan couldn’t see the silent gesture. She didn’t know whether to laugh deliriously, or scream at the dreadful turn of events.

All day, her active imagination had come up with various scenarios of how her sister-in-law might have handled last night’s conversation with Austin. She’d expected Susan to mention Austin to Brent, of course, and knew she could have quashed any rumors between the two before they’d circulated through the family. But this…this was her worst nightmare!

“Austin McBride is just a friend,” she blurted desperately.

“Oh, sure he’s just a friend, Teddy,” Susan said, clearly expressing her disbelief. “The tiger is out of the bag, honey, and I have to say, he was an incredibly charming, sexy-sounding tiger. The whole family is dying to meet him—”

“The whole family?” she wailed, feeling pushed to the edge of hysteria.

“Of course the whole family. Since he agreed to come for Christmas Eve, I didn’t see any reason to keep this exciting news all to myself.”

“He agreed?” Teddy wheezed, collapsing back onto the sofa. Why hadn’t Austin informed her of that minuscule fact? She replayed her conversation with Austin in her mind, and remembered telling him she’d take care of the discussion he’d had with Susan.

“Well, I admit to a teensy-tiny bit of coercion on my part,” Susan added impishly.

Teddy rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the meaning of subtle.”

Susan laughed, as if Teddy had issued her a compliment. When Teddy didn’t join in on the humor, Susan attempted to smooth things over. “Honey, I don’t know why you’re so upset. This is a good thing, really. Your mother is thrilled that you’re dating again, especially since this is the first guy we’ve heard about since Bart.”

Just the mention of the fiasco with Bartholomew Winston gave Teddy a migraine.

“And even if Austin is just a friend, there is a bright side to all this,” Susan offered.

All Teddy saw was doom and gloom in her future. “Which is?”

“Well, I know how particular your parents can be when it comes to who their children date, but I’m thinking that if they see that you’re at least making an effort to find a potential husband—not that you are,” Susan quickly amended, knowing what a hot button that was for Teddy. “But if your parents believe that, then maybe your mother will leave you alone and quit obsessing about finding you a suitable man.”

Teddy rested her head against the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, her instincts rebelling against Susan’s preposterous plan. Austin was hardly what her parents would consider “suitable”. Yet he’d managed to fool everyone at Sharper Image, her conscience reminded her.

As she mulled over the suggestion, she began to see the merit behind the idea. Introducing Austin to her family didn’t mean she had to marry him, for goodness’ sake, but showing up with a date would at least pacify her mother into believing her daughter was finally circulating, instead of devoting so much time to “that silly little job” of hers.

Oh, yeah, her mother would be tickled pink. But this grand scheme required seeing Austin again, and that was the tricky part. Not only did the man set off disturbing sensual cravings and make her yearn for things she had no room in her life for, but she was pretty certain she’d chafed that male pride of his with her well-rehearsed speech last night. Which meant she’d be swallowing a large dose of her own pride if she asked this favor of him.

“So, is Austin as scrumptious as he sounds?” Susan asked, her excitement traveling over the phone lines.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a cheerful note to her voice. “You’ll have to wait, and see for yourself.”

7

TEDDY’S HEAD was killing her. Nearly twenty-four hours after hanging up the phone with Susan, what had started as a slow throbbing in her temples had escalated into full-blown pounding in her skull. Dread was the culprit for her headache. She’d yet to call Austin, and considering Christmas Eve was only a few days away, she knew she couldn’t stall the inevitable another day, or even another hour.

Desperate for relief, and wanting her mind calm and focused before she spoke with Austin, she removed her purse from the bottom drawer in her desk and dug for the small bottle of aspirin she carried with her. A loose piece of paper crinkled, and she withdrew the yellow slip, recognizing it as the receipt Austin had given her for the money she’d paid him to escort her to the Christmas party. Except he hadn’t accepted her payment, and had instead donated the money to a needy organization. There was nothing to indicate his generous donation on the receipt, but she didn’t doubt for a second the sincerity of his claim. Austin was genuine, through and through, and she was about to take advantage of that generosity. Again.

Not wanting her thoughts to travel that road for fear she’d talk herself out of calling him, she tucked the receipt in her desk drawer, right beneath his Fantasy for Hire business card, and continued her search. Finding the plastic bottle, she twisted open the top and shook three tablets into her palm.

Needing water, she headed out of her office, down the plush halls of Sharper Image, to the small, unoccupied kitchenette at the end. Plucking a small paper cup from the dispenser next to the watercooler, she filled it, tossed the pills into her mouth and washed them down in one huge gulp. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to relax, hoping her headache would ebb soon.

Something brushed across her skirt-clad bottom, jolting her back to awareness. Startled, she glanced around and found Louden standing two feet away from her, his pale blue eyes giving nothing away. The caress had been so subtle, she would have thought she’d imagined it if she’d been by herself. She didn’t trust Louden, but neither could she prove anything had just happened.

Uneasiness slithered through her. Not wanting to be alone with him, she tossed her paper cup into the trash and turned to leave the kitchenette. He grabbed her arm before she could escape, gently, but firm enough that she couldn’t dismiss the gesture.

She glanced sharply at him, and he slowly released his hold, though he remained in her direct path. “I haven’t had the chance to ask if you enjoyed the party Saturday night.”

He hadn’t had the opportunity because she’d deliberately avoided him all day. She’d decided steering clear of Louden as much as possible was the smartest course of action until after next week, when the promotion was either assigned to her, or Fred Williams.

She straightened, meeting his gaze head-on. “The Christmas party was great. Austin and I had a wonderful time.”

“Ah, yes, Austin,” he murmured reflectively. “What a surprise it was to finally meet your boyfriend. You two certainly seemed convincing.”

Teddy managed a bland smile. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Only that for a man who seemed so attentive during the party, he hasn’t shown much devotion otherwise.” A smile curved his thin mouth, but didn’t reach his eyes. “No flowers on your birthday, no phone calls at work, no lunch dates…”

Teddy shrugged. “He’s a busy man.”

“I’m sure.” He let that insinuation dangle between them as he withdrew a paper cup and filled it with cold water from the cooler. “Care to have a drink with me this evening to discuss the senior graphic design opening?”

In her opinion, there was nothing left to discuss. She qualified for the job in every way that mattered. “No, thank you. I already have other plans.” Not caring for the slant of their conversation, she stepped around Louden and headed for the hallway.

“For a woman who wants the position, you’re not showing much dedication to Sharper Image.”

Teddy immediately stopped, her blood beginning a slow simmer in her veins. Turning, she pinned Louden with a direct look. “My dedication shows in the quality of my work, the deadlines I’ve never missed and the long hours I put in when necessary.”

He sighed, shaking his head regretfully. “But you’re not very accommodating when the situation requires it.” He took a drink of water, as if he hadn’t just issued a double-edged comment.

She forced a calm she was far from feeling. “I don’t think Austin would appreciate me meeting with you after hours.”

He crushed the paper cup in his hand, as if to prove how easily he could demolish her dreams. “It’s just a drink between colleagues, Teddy. I would think if your boyfriend knew how important this promotion was to you, he’d understand.”

Teddy’s stomach pitched. After all she’d gone through to establish Austin as her boyfriend, it appeared Louden didn’t care that she was committed to someone else.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled sweetly at her boss. “Why don’t you see if Fred Williams is able to have a drink with you this evening, and discuss the promotion? Maybe he’ll be more accommodating.” She turned to leave, but not before she caught a glimpse of Louden’s complexion turning an unflattering shade of red.

Feeling wonderfully liberated, she walked back to her office with a light step, shut the door and sat behind her desk. Clinging to that boost of confidence, she picked up the phone, dialed the number for Fantasy for Hire off the business card in her top drawer—the only number she had for Austin—and mentally rehearsed her request while the line rang.

The business recorder clicked on, and as much as she hated leaving a message for Austin when she’d rather talk to him in person, she had no choice. “Hi, Austin, this is Teddy. I’d really like to talk to you—”

The line picked up, interrupting her one-sided conversation. “Hello?”

The voice, though deep and male, wasn’t Austin’s. Another Fantasy for Hire employee, possibly? “I’m calling for Austin. Is he there?”

“No, he’s not, but I can take a message for him.”

The voice sounded a bit too eager. “All right,” she said, deciding she had no choice. “This is Teddy Spencer. He has my home and work numbers. Tell him I’d really like to talk to him, in person preferably.”

“Got it.” The friendly voice hesitated a moment, then added, “You know, you’re welcome to come by the house and talk to Austin. He should be home in about half an hour.”

“The house?” Confusion wove through her. “Isn’t this Austin’s business?”

“One and the same,” he confirmed. “He runs Fantasy for Hire out of the house.”

“Oh.” She imagined a dozen males in Austin’s house, dressed in various sexy costumes as they consulted their schedules for fantasy appointments. Doubt filled her—maybe going to Austin’s house wasn’t such a great idea. “Uh, I don’t think I should infringe on Austin’s business time—”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assured her. “This is Austin’s brother, Jordan,” the male voice went on to explain. “He’s told me about you, Teddy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you stopped by to see him.”

She had to trust that Jordan knew Austin well enough to make such a statement. “Okay.” She jotted down the address Jordan gave her. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Great,” he said effusively. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

Teddy hung up the phone, hoping Austin shared his brother’s enthusiasm about her surprise visit.

“YOU DIDWHAT?” Austin glared at his meddlesome brother.

Jordan held his hands up in a supplicating gesture. “Hey, she said she needed to talk to you in person. It sounded important, and I’m not one to turn down a woman in distress.”

“Distress?” Austin laughed dryly at Jordan’s description. “Teddy can take care of herself just fine. Whatever she needed to talk to me about could have been done over the phone.” He would have preferred that, actually. The past two days, he hadn’t been able to think about anything but her. One date, if he could even term escorting her to her Christmas party as such, and she had his hormones and emotions twisted into something he refused to examine. Seeing her in person again, being close enough to touch her, was going to kill him.

And what in the world could be so important that she had to talk to him in person?

“Regardless, she’ll be here any minute,” Jordan said, then frowned at Austin. “And you look like you’ve been digging ditches all day.”

“Pretty damn close.” He’d been shorthanded today on the landscaping project under development for a newly built condominium complex and had spent the afternoon helping his guys install an elaborate sprinkler system, along with planting trees, shrubs and ground cover. Digging ditches wasn’t beneath him, not in his chosen profession.

Jordan waved an impatient hand toward the upper facilities. “I suggest you go and take a shower before she gets here.”

Austin glanced down at himself, a slow grin pulling up the corners of his mouth. He’d taken off his dirt-encrusted work boots at the back door leading into the kitchen, but the rest of his attire was just as filthy. A combination of soil and sweat coated his skin and adhered to his T-shirt and jeans. Dust layered his thick hair. Hell, he could even taste the day’s grime in his mouth. He was half tempted to greet Teddy just as he was, to give her a good look at what her investment broker looked like at the end of a workday.

“Well?” Jordan prompted, wrinkling his nose at him. “Time’s a ticking, and the longer you stand here, the more Glade freshener I’m going to have to use to cover up that outdoorsy scent of yours.”

Austin spouted an obscene gesture that made Jordan’s mouth twitch with amusement. “Since you invited her over, you can entertain her until I’m cleaned up,” Austin said, none too happy about the situation.

“Hey, I thought I was doing you a favor,” Jordan called after him as he climbed the stairs to his room.

“Yeah, well, next time, don’t,” Austin said over his shoulder.

He heard Jordan mutter something about what an ungrateful brother he was, and took it all in stride. Heading into the bathroom, he peeled his dirty shirt over his head, tossed it into the hamper, then removed his jeans. By the time he exited the shower fifteen minutes later and pulled on a pair of cutoff shorts and a clean T-shirt, he could hear Teddy’s voice drifting from downstairs. He headed in that direction, following the sounds to the living room, where Jordan and Teddy were standing near the potted Douglas fir he’d brought home a week ago. He’d retrieved the small box of Christmas ornaments from the attic last night and placed it next to the tree, but hadn’t had the chance to decorate it yet.

Not quite ready to make his presence known, Austin leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the two of them interact.

Jordan scratched his chin, a disapproving expression on his face. “I tried telling Austin that the tree was a bit on the piteous side, but he seems to think a string of garland will spruce it up.”

Tucking her silky blond hair behind her ear, Teddy tilted her head, a soft smile on her face as she scrutinized the tree. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the tree has potential. Garland might overpower the branches, but maybe we could find something in this box to liven it up without weighing it down.” She glanced at Jordan hesitantly. “Would you mind if I gave it a shot while we’re waiting for Austin?”

A too-cheerful smile curved Jordan’s mouth. “By all means, help yourself.”

Traitor, Austin thought with a dark scowl. He opened his mouth to announce his presence, then snapped it shut when Teddy bent over to rummage through the box of decorative items, which pulled her skirt taut over her bottom and lifted the hem a few inches. Man, oh, man, the woman had a fine backside, not to mention a pair of long, slender legs that inspired erotic thoughts. Images flitted through his mind, of coming up behind her and skimming his hands over her slim hips and pressing his hard body to hers…of her widening her stance as he shimmed up her skirt, caressing her firm thighs…

She straightened abruptly, flashing a spool of red ribbon Jordan’s way. “What do you think about this velvet ribbon?”

Austin liked the idea of velvet ribbon, a whole lot…especially if those possibilities included mutual, pleasurable bondage and erotic explorations…

“I could make some small bows to tie around the branches,” she suggested, her face radiant and her eyes sparkling with excitement. “And here’s a piece of green velvet we can use around the base.”

Jordan withdrew a pair of scissors from the Queen Anne desk next to him and handed the shears to Teddy. “Perfect.”

Yeah, she was perfect, Austin thought. Beautiful, smart, a fabulous kisser, fun to be with…and she didn’t want anything to do with him, he sternly reminded himself.

Teddy snipped a section of red ribbon and twisted it into a pretty bow. “It’s been years since I’ve decorated a tree,” she said, a touch of melancholy in her voice.

Jordan cast her a sideways glance as he took over the job of cutting sections of ribbon for her to tie. “Your parents don’t get a tree at Christmas?” He sounded as curious as Austin was.

“Oh, they do, usually a twelve-foot blue spruce. But my mother hires a professional to decorate the tree so the trim and ornaments match with the house and look evenly distributed on the branches.” She added another bow, swaddled the green velvet around the base to cover the plastic pot, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. “When I was a child, my mother used to let me hang a few of the decorations just to appease me, but by the next day my ornaments were either gone, or rearranged on the tree.”

“That must have been tough,” Jordan commented insightfully.

Austin didn’t want to care about Teddy and her underprivileged youth, yet something near the vicinity of his heart tugged for the little girl Teddy had been, and how she’d been denied one of Christmas’s favorite rituals enjoyed by most kids. He could easily picture her as a mischievous little girl, full of energy and curiosity.

Teddy shrugged, as if having come to terms with her mother’s peculiarities long ago. “Now that I live alone, buying a tree and decorating it seems like so much work, especially when I don’t have anyone to share it with.”

For as much as she declared the importance of embracing her freedom, Austin heard the note of loneliness in her voice, and wondered how much of her need for independence was pure rebellion. Ninety percent of it, he’d bet.

Finished with the last of the bows, she rummaged through the box and withdrew an old, fond memory of Austin’s. A dazzling smile lit her face. “This papier-mâché star is great!”

A wry smile curved Jordan’s mouth. “Austin made that for our mother for Christmas when he was in the seventh grade. She loved it and used it every year until she died.”

Teddy touched the handmade ornament reverently. There was nothing special or fancy about the star—it was just a hodgepodge of paper, glitter and yarn a twelve year old boy had glued together—but Austin imagined Teddy silently wished her own mother would have been so accepting of a gift handcrafted with youthful love and enthusiasm.

She glanced back at Jordan. “It’s the perfect decoration to top the tree, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her softly spoken question asked Jordan’s permission to adorn the Douglas fir with Austin’s star. He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Austin steeled himself against the rush of feeling that stirred to life within him. This scene was too cozy, a false illusion when he knew Teddy would never allow those emotional needs he’d glimpsed in the past few minutes to interfere with her personal goals.

That sobering thought prompted him to push off the doorjamb and fully enter the room, startling both Jordan and Teddy. His brother looked at him questioningly, while an anxious look flitted across Teddy’s expression. She wiped her palms down the sides of her skirt, making him wonder why she’d sought him out again when she’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t have time in her life for a relationship. Or for him.

Another business proposition, he guessed. The thought rubbed him raw, but he couldn’t help being curious. Neither could he help wanting her as badly as he did.

Man, she did have him tied up in knots.

He closed the distance between them, catching the awareness glittering in her gaze, the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat and the slight quiver of her breasts beneath the dark green, silk blouse she wore. The satisfaction he experienced was heady.

“I see you’ve met my brother,” he drawled, smiling pleasantly.

“I, uh, yes,” she stammered, a nervous smile on her lips. “We were just trying to make your tree a bit more presentable for Santa.”

His gaze flickered to the ugly duckling of a tree she’d transformed into a swan, then back to her. “As much as I’m sure Santa will appreciate your efforts, I’m certain you didn’t drop by to make sure I had a well-decorated tree for the holidays.”

Jordan frowned at his brother’s cool tone. But in Austin’s mind, even though their mother had taught them to be gentlemen, there was the matter of his ego being bruised.

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted, that chin of hers lifting a notch. “I’d like to talk to you. Privately, if that’s okay.”

He stared into her unwavering brown eyes, tempted beyond all reason. For all of three seconds he considered telling her no, that whatever was on her mind could be said in front of Jordan, but he wasn’t that much of a cad. Besides, he really didn’t care to share this conversation with his brother.

“Private it is,” he said. “Why don’t we step into my office.”

“Behave yourself,” Jordan muttered beneath his breath.

Austin glared at his brother’s protective gesture toward Teddy before heading toward the back room. Geez, whose side was Jordan on, anyway?

Teddy watched Austin go, suddenly doubting the wisdom of her visit. Austin was hardly welcoming, nor did he seem inclined to accommodate yet another request of hers.

A gentle hand nudged her. “Go on,” Jordan murmured from beside her. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

Encouraged by Jordan’s support, she smiled her thanks and followed the sexy, moody man she couldn’t get out of her mind through a door that connected to a kitchen, where he stopped to grab a can of root beer from the refrigerator. Popping the top, he offered her a drink of her own that she declined, and they continued, to another room transformed into a makeshift office. He closed the door behind her, and her heart leaped in response to just how alone they were.

There were no chairs other than the one behind the scarred desk dominating the room, so she advanced no farther. The phone rang at that moment, and Austin rounded the desk, propped his jean-clad hip on the surface and reached for the receiver.

“Fantasy for Hire,” he greeted the caller.

Teddy tried not to let that deep, rich voice of his affect her, but her attempts were futile. The warm male tones stroked her senses and settled in the pit of her stomach like a potent shot of liquor.

“Hi, Don,” Austin said after a moment, and turned to flip through the schedule open on the desk. His index finger scanned down a page, then stopped. “I’ve got you lined up for two fantasies tonight. A fireman at seven-thirty, and Zorro at ten.”

Teddy listened to the conversation with some amusement as she glanced around the cluttered office, trying not to think about Austin performing his share of fantasies for countless women. In her attempt to keep her mind occupied, her gaze was inevitably drawn to his wide, muscled shoulders stretching the cotton of his T-shirt, then moved to his profile, and eventually stopped on those incredible lips of his.

He grinned at something the caller said. “Hey, you’re the one who thought up the Zorro costume, and it’s become a favorite. Just be careful with that sword of yours.” Austin chuckled at the other man’s response, which Teddy didn’t doubt was a bawdy one.

Excusing himself from the conversation for a moment, Austin covered the mouthpiece with his hand, his gaze on her. “C’mere and sit down, Teddy.” With his bare foot, he pushed the rolling high-backed chair out a few inches from where he sat. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

To refuse would make her look uptight, so she sat down and waited while Austin gave his employee directions to each performance. He hung up the phone, then turned those sexy, intense green eyes on her.

“So, what can I do for you, Ms. Spencer?” Picking up his root beer, he took a long swallow while he waited for her to answer.

She crossed one leg over the other, taking a second to gather her courage. “I need to ask a favor.”

The faintest hint of a smile tipped his mouth. “Another fantasy?”

Seeing the spark of insolence in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t going to make this conversation easy on her, not that she blamed him after the way they’d parted Saturday night. There was no way to sugarcoat her request, so she just came out with it. “No, I was hoping you would come with me to my parents’ house Christmas Eve.”

Surprise crossed his gorgeous features. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Yes, why? her conscience taunted. “Because you promised my sister-in-law that you would, and she told the rest of the family you’d be there.”

He finished his root beer, appearing unconcerned. “Your sister-in-law made assumptions, and you were supposed to clear them up.”

Frustration nipped at her. “I did.” At least she’d tried to, not that it had worked.

“Another charade?” he guessed, his mouth thinning in disdain.

Her entire life was beginning to feel like one big scheme—at work, with her family. Everything was a carefully orchestrated plan…except for her feelings for Austin, which were too real, and becoming more complicated than she’d ever expected. “No, not another charade,” she told him. “I explained that you were just a friend.”

He tensed, the muscles across his chest flexing with the movement. “How convenient.”

She closed her eyes, hating his contempt, but taking full responsibility for his resentment. Lifting her lashes, she met his dark, penetrating gaze, inwardly admitting defeat. “You know what, I think coming here was a big mistake.”

She stood to leave, but he was faster, moving like a lithe panther. Propping his bare feet on either side of her thighs, he reeled the chair in closer to him with the strength of his legs, jarring her back into her seat. He leaned forward, looming over her. His strong, powerful thighs were close enough to touch…and so was that solid chest of his. Trapped between the chair and two hundred pounds of pure male essence and heat, her heart fluttered uncontrollably…with shameless excitement, and apprehension.

“What do you really want from me this time, Teddy?” he asked, his tone low and rough. “I gave you a cowboy. I gave you a lover. What fantasy do you expect me to be now?”

The frustrated undertone to his voice perplexed her, as did this issue he had with being a fantasy for her. “I don’t want you to be any fantasy. I want you to be…a friend. I could really use a friend right now.” Between the pressures of her family, and Louden’s strong-arm tactics, she desperately needed someone in her corner.

Something in his expression softened, then was quickly replaced with ruthless intent. “That poses a little problem, honey, because when I look at you, friendship isn’t what comes to mind.”

Yeah, Teddy, why would he want to be your friend after the way you treated him? To her consternation, her throat tightened and a suspicious moisture burned the backs of her eyes. “I know you probably hate me for how I ended things Saturday night—”

“Hate you?” Harsh, incredulous laughter erupted from him. “No, I don’t hate you, Teddy. I want you.” He stared at her face, and slowly lifted his hand, tracing a finger along her jaw. “I haven’t slept the past few nights because every time I close my eyes I think of you and remember the heat and softness of your mouth…” He stroked his thumb along her full bottom lip, dipping just inside to dampen the pad of his finger. “The silky texture of your skin…” Those sensual fingers skimmed down her throat in a languid caress that made her breathing raspy, and caused her chest to rise and fall rapidly. “The warm taste of your breasts…” He brushed his knuckles over the slope of those swelling mounds, teasing her nipples into hard, achy points.

And just like that, her body hummed with arousal and an excruciating need.

He lifted his slumberous gaze from her breasts. One look into those striking green eyes filled with steely determination and she knew he wasn’t done tormenting her.

A wicked smile lifted his lips. “And if that isn’t enough to drive me crazy, I imagine what it would feel like to be inside you, as deep as I can get, and hear my name on your lips when you come…”

A surge of liquid warmth pooled in her belly, and lower. Her mind spun dizzily. “Austin…” she moaned raggedly.

“Yeah, just like that, Teddy.” His voice vibrated with husky gratification, and he moved back slightly. His eyes, however, had no qualms about seducing her. “I’m not even inside you, not even touching you as intimately as I’d like to, but just thinking about having your legs wrapped around my hips and making love to you makes me hard enough to go off like an untried teenager.”

She had a clear view of just how hard and impressive that part of his anatomy was beneath the faded denim of his shorts. Swallowing the thickness gathering in her throat, she pressed her knees together in a valiant attempt to ease the throbbing need he’d cleverly ignited. The attempt was useless.

Her gaze traveled upward, to his face. “So, you really don’t hate me?” For some reason, having him confirm that was important to her.

He shook his head, his gaze honest. “No, I don’t hate you, Teddy. I think you’re nervous about what you feel for me and how fast our attraction has grown…and where it might lead.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, unwilling to admit how accurate he was. She’d never planned for this, for him, and she feared she’d never be able to balance a career, and relationship—and that ultimately, she’d have to choose between the two.

“Then will you come with me to my parents’ on Christmas Eve?” This time, she wasn’t talking about a business arrangement. She wanted him to accompany her, and be a part of that special, magical evening before Christmas—and hopefully, his presence would banish the loneliness that always threatened to overwhelm her when she left her parents and realized that she was the only one in the family who didn’t have anyone to share the holidays with.

Pure Christmas melancholy, she knew, but the desolate feeling never failed to creep up on her and hang on through the first of the year. Maybe this year would be different.

“If I say yes, I don’t want any pretenses between us this time,” Austin said, clasping his hands loosely between his knees so that he was no longer touching her. “Just you, and me, and whatever happens from there. And if all this leads to just friendship, then I’ll accept that.”

She found his terms more than fair. “All right.”

A devastatingly charming grin transformed his features. “You brave enough to put your promise where your mouth is?”

She swallowed hard, knowing she was playing with fire…but she found Austin’s brand of virile heat impossible to resist. The dare in his eyes spurred the recklessness she tried to keep buried.

Dampening her bottom lip with her tongue, she reached out, curled her fingers into the material of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss the same time she sat up and met him halfway. Her lips crushed his, parted with immediate warmth, skipping all preliminary foreplay and going straight to the heart of the matter. The kiss was a hot, lusty, tongue-tangling mission to drive him as wild as he made her.

But something changed during the course of her provocative goal—an internal realization that overrode the pleasure of his generous mouth surrendering to her whims. She’d missed him. Two days apart, and she longed to see that wicked glint in his eyes, ached to experience the special way he made her feel, and especially craved the effortless way he made her body, her soul, come alive.

It was a frightening, overwhelming sensation.

With a low growl that rumbled in his chest, he grasped her hips in his hands, pulling her up and out of the chair and between his thighs. His large palms smoothed over her bottom, anchoring her intimately close. Her belly encountered the stiff ridge of his erection, and her heart slammed against her ribs. She moaned into his mouth as a very urgent, naughty thought crossed her mind, of pressing him down on his desk, hiking up her skirt and finishing what he’d started with his erotic monologue a few minutes ago.

It was Austin who ended the embrace, slowly pulling back and letting his lips slide from her mouth, to her jaw. “Oh, yeah, Ms. Spencer,” he growled into the curve of her neck, where he nuzzled and pressed damp, open-mouth kisses on her skin. “That’s a fantastic start to making good on your promise.”

A delicious shiver rippled down her spine and she stepped back, until he had no choice but to let her go. Meeting his fiery emerald gaze, and witnessing his cocksure grin, her heart gave a tiny flip-flop of realization. It was useless to deny that what had transpired between them was anything less than powerful, and nothing even remotely close to resembling friendship.

And that meant trouble for her. Big trouble.

8

HE’D PLAYED DIRTY. Austin had acknowledged that fact minutes after Teddy left his house Monday evening, but three days later, he still didn’t regret his unabashed behavior in prodding her to admit there was something between them. Her admission hadn’t been verbal, but that mind-blowing kiss she’d initiated spoke volumes.

At first, he’d been annoyed that she’d had the nerve to ask him for yet another favor, but during the course of their conversation, he’d seen glimpses of contradicting emotions, of her wanting him as much as he wanted her, and a latent fear that kept her from completely opening herself to him. It had been that honest vulnerability that had softened him. Though he’d accepted her invitation for Christmas Eve, he’d been the one to establish the rules. No pretenses. So far, she’d adhered to his personal request, accepting and openly responding to the intimate kiss he’d greeted her with when he’d arrived at her condo to pick her up.

The woman was an inherently sensual creature, and despite her reservations, she certainly indulged wholeheartedly in kissing him, and took pleasure in the way he touched her. The low-cut, clingy red knit dress she’d worn in celebration of Christmas had tempted his hands to skim those ultra-feminine curves of hers—from the sleek line of her spine, over her bottom, and up and around to her hips, her waist, to just below the gentle slope of her breasts where his thumbs brushed along those full, soft mounds.

She’d moaned in acquiescence and arched toward him for a deeper, more provocative contact, but he’d resisted the invitation. Satisfying the hunger he’d tasted in her kiss would take more than the few minutes they had before leaving for her parents’. The woman was in need of personal attention, emotionally and physically, and he planned to give her as much as she could handle, and then some, until she came to the realization that what was between them was worth pursuing.

Satisfied with his plan, Austin glanced over at Teddy sitting in the passenger seat of the Mustang as they drove to her parents’ house in Pacific Heights. She was rummaging through her purse for something, and he switched on the overhead reading light for her. She smiled her thanks and withdrew a tube of lipstick.

“So, how are things with Louden?” he asked, curious if his presence at the company Christmas party had made any difference in her boss’s attitude.

Flipping down the lighted mirror in front of her, she uncapped the tube and covered her kiss-swollen lips with a slash of pink-cinnamon color. “Just fine,” she said too brightly.

He frowned as he made a left-hand turn onto the street Teddy had indicated. “Is he leaving you alone?”

She fluffed her hair that he’d unintentionally mussed during their kiss. She had the silkiest hair, and he loved running his fingers though the warm strands. She didn’t seem to mind his fascination with her hair, either.

“I’m beginning to realize that Louden has the morals of an alley cat,” she said, her tone tempered with disgust. “Which means he’ll continue to prey until a bigger cat comes along and knocks him down a peg or two.”

A flare of possessiveness gripped him, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “How about I pay Louden a personal visit and let him know just how close he is to being neutered?”

She laughed, but the sound was strained. “Austin, I can handle Louden. By the end of the next week, one way or another, this will all be over with. I’ll either get the promotion, or I won’t.”

She didn’t sound very positive, and that bothered him. “And if you don’t?”

“Then I update my résumé and start over,” she said in quiet resignation, putting the lighted mirror back in its place. “And I can’t begin to tell you how much I dread doing that. It means proving myself all over again.”

He heard the frustration in her voice, and knew she was referring to more than just establishing herself with another employer, but with her family, too. Strangely enough, he understood her resentment, and respected her determination to overcome it.

Reaching across the console, he gently laid his hand on her knee, offering silent support. “Getting that promotion is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, for so many reasons,” she admitted, then drew a deep breath as if to dismiss the entire subject. “Turn right here, then make another right on Vallejo. My parents’ house is on the left-hand side.”

He followed Teddy’s directions, impressed with the ritzy area of San Francisco and multimillion-dollar homes overlooking the Bay, even though he’d expected as much. Trying not to allow old insecurities to assail him, he made the final turn onto Vallejo Street, determined to make the best impression on Teddy’s family that he could, and hoped they accepted him for who he was. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Which house?” he asked, glancing at Teddy. He frowned when he saw her struggling with the ruby and diamond band she wore on her ring finger.

“Stop the car for a minute,” she said, her tone exasperated.

He slowed the Mustang to a halt as close to the side of the narrow road as he could, put the vehicle in park, and turned to face her. “What are you doing?”

She tugged and twisted on the band, her face contorted with frustration. “I’m trying to take off my ring.”

“Why?”

She exhaled loudly and continued her determined attempt to remove the ring, which refused to slip over her first knuckle. “Because my parents gave me this band when I graduated from high school, and they’ve never seen it on my left hand.”

He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Ah, so the illusion of being ‘taken’ is for every one else’s benefit, but not your family’s.”

“Yeah, something like that,” she muttered vaguely.

He continued to watch her struggle, amused with her thinking. “Don’t you think you’re making the issue more complicated than it needs to be?”

“No.” Her succinct answer segued into a wince of pain, then a very unladylike curse when the gold cut into her flesh. “I must be retaining water,” she said hopelessly.

Taking pity on her, he reached for her left hand. “Here, let me help.”

“What?” she asked incredulously as he examined her finger. “You’ve got a pair of clippers in your glove box to cut the ring off my finger?”

He chuckled at her sarcasm. “Nope. Don’t need any.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Well, that ring isn’t going to come off any other way…”

Her sassy comment rolled into a surprised gasp as he lifted her palm and used his tongue to dampen the skin where the ring encircled the digit, then closed his mouth over her finger to moisten the entire length. He suckled gently, swirling his tongue up and down her finger, thoroughly wetting her sensitized skin. Her eyes widened, her hand went limp in his, and an arousing groan slipped past her parted lips.

Once he was confident that her skin was slick enough, he dragged her finger from his mouth and gave the ring a twist and a gentle tug. The band slipped to her knuckle, and tightened around the bone. She let out a discouraged sigh, but he wasn’t about to admit defeat, and slipped her finger into his mouth again, using his teeth and tongue to work the ring over her knuckle.

This time, he succeeded. Removing the band from his mouth, he turned her hand over and dropped the ring onto her palm.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

“Anytime.” He grinned wickedly. “Do you need help putting it on your other finger?”

She quickly shook her head, but not before he saw the spark of desire that colored her brown eyes. “I think I can manage on my own.” She did the deed herself, without any problems.

Putting the car into drive, he eased back into the street. “If you insist on wearing a ring on your left-hand finger, you need to think about getting yourself one that fits.” He extended the comment mildly, but a fleeting, possessive thought crossed his mind as he turned into the Spencers’ driveway. He wanted to be the one to put a ring there.

“SO, AUSTIN, how did you and my daughter meet?” The elder Evan Spencer the third asked as he handed Austin the double shot of Bailey’s he’d poured for him.

Austin glanced around the expensively furnished parlor, complete with a professionally decorated twelve-foot blue spruce, and noted that all eyes were on him—from Teddy’s parents, to each one of her three brothers and their respective wives, to Teddy herself. The eight nieces and nephews he’d met in a blur upon arriving were now in an adjoining playroom, watching videos, playing on the pinball and arcade games, and from the sounds of their laughter, having a good time with all the high-tech toys Grandma and Grandpa had purchased for their enjoyment.

“Yes, how did you meet?” Teddy’s mother, Gloria, insisted on knowing. She tilted her blond head questioningly, appearing very much the well-bred hostess.

Teddy stood a few feet away, next to her mother, her luminous gaze pleading with him to be gentle with his answer.

No pretenses, he’d told her, yet he found he didn’t want to embarrass Teddy, either. He’d only known the Spencers for less than half an hour, yet he got the distinct impression that Teddy’s parents would find the truth distasteful and him unsuitable for their only daughter. The last thing he wanted was two strikes against him before he had a chance to convince Teddy how good they could be together.

He grinned at everyone, then settled his gaze on Teddy, giving her a private smile. “We met on her birthday, at the Frisco Bay.”

Gratitude colored Teddy’s eyes, but her relief was short-lived.

Gloria gasped, her hand fluttering to the pearl necklace layering the front of her cream silk blouse as she stared at her daughter in mortification. “You were picked up in a bar?”

Susan and Natalie, two of Teddy’s sisters-in-law who were sitting next to each other on the sofa, smothered amused laughter. The sympathetic look they sent Austin’s way led him to believe that their mother-in-law’s theatrical display was a normal occurrence.

“No, Mother,” Teddy said patiently. “I was with Brenda and Laura, having a drink for my birthday, and Austin didn’t ‘pick me up.’ He was very much a gentleman, and we hit it off well.”

“So well that she took him to her Christmas party,” Susan announced, just in case that tidbit of information hadn’t made the rounds.

“Wow, must be serious, Theodora,” Teddy’s oldest brother, Evan, Jr., commented, winking at his little sister. “It’s been so long since you’ve dated, we were beginning to worry that you were thinking about joining a convent.”

Teddy glared at her brother. “You live to torment me, Evan.”

“You’re wrong, Evan,” her other brother, Russ, added. “She’d rather be a CEO than a nun.”

That earned a harrumph from her father. “I just don’t understand you and your silly whims, Teddy,” Evan, Sr., said sternly, swirling his martini. “We raised you to be a respectable young woman—”

“I’m an independent woman,” Teddy interrupted her father’s tirade.

“No argument there,” Brent agreed with a grin. “Independent, stubborn and full of sass.” Brent saluted Austin with his own drink of Jack Daniel’s and soda. “If you can handle the independent gal, you can have her.”

“No man worth his salt is going to allow his wife to work,” the senior Evans said gruffly. Susan rolled her eyes as if to state she’d heard this lecture before, and the other two merely shook their heads.

“Isn’t that right, Austin?” Evan, Sr., asked, looking for approval.

The cable-knit sweater Austin had worn suddenly felt heavy, hot and suffocating. Teddy’s three sisters-in-law leaned forward in their seats, looking on in avid interest. Her brothers were obviously finding a lot of humor in the situation, and Teddy’s mother was standing by her man and his old-fashioned ways. Even Teddy’s expression showed she was curious about his answer.

This one he had to ride out on his own, and since there was only one person he wanted to please, he spoke the truth. “Well, sir, I’m all for a woman working and having a career, if that’s what she really wants.”

The three sisters-in-law grinned at one another, as if Austin’s statement had marked a major milestone in the Spencer household. Something in Teddy’s gaze softened perceptibly, and Austin grasped and held on to the emotion, tucking it away for later.

“And who’ll stay home and raise the kids?” Evan, Sr., argued.

“Dad, this is a moot point,” Teddy interrupted before Austin could reply, her cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink. “I have no intention of getting married anytime soon, let alone having kids.”

Her father shook a finger at her. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, Theodora.”

Russ stepped up to his father and slapped him good-naturedly on the back. “Dad, I think she’s got you beat on this one.”

“She already passed up one great catch,” Gloria interjected. “How many others will she go through before she runs out of suitable men to marry?”

Evan, Sr., glanced at his only daughter, frowning. “I don’t know many men who’ll wait around while a woman chases after a fanciful hobby that keeps her too occupied to be a proper wife.”

The hurt in Teddy’s eyes was unmistakable, as was the resignation that her parents would never understand her choices.

The maid announced dinner, dispelling the awkward moment, and the family moved to the formal dining room. Austin remained behind with Teddy for a few extra seconds while she regained her composure.

“It’s like this every time,” Teddy said wearily.

Not knowing what to say to that, Austin touched his hand to the small of her back in a supportive gesture as they entered the adjoining room. Her parents didn’t understand what drove Teddy, but he certainly did. The woman was strong and independent, but what no one realized was just how much her struggle to establish her own individuality was costing her emotionally.

Beneath a glittering chandelier, a long cherry-wood table was draped with cream linen and set with fine china, gleaming silver and elegant crystal. The adults sat at the formal table, while the kids were served at the picnic-style table in the game room established just for them.

The meal was an enjoyable feast of rack of lamb, sweet potatoes, fresh green beans and warm, crusty bread. Dinner conversation centered around Teddy’s brother’s professions of surgeon, lawyer and optometrist, and the various charities her mother and sisters-in-law had donated their time to during the holidays. All in all, Austin found the discussions entertaining, shared his opinion when asked, and enjoyed the humor and anecdotes thrown in by Teddy’s brothers and sisters-in-law. It had been a long time since he’d been in a family setting, and it reminded him just how lonely his own life was when Jordan wasn’t around.

They made it all the way to coffee and a rich, decadent dessert of chocolate truffle cheesecake without incident, when Evan, Sr., leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and addressed Austin specifically.

“So, Austin, what are your intentions toward Teddy?” The question was asked congenially enough, but Austin didn’t doubt the seriousness behind the query.

Teddy stiffened beside him. “Dad!” she whispered harshly, obviously mortified.

Gloria, who sat on the other side of Teddy, patted her daughter’s hand consolingly. “Now, Theodora, your father is just looking out for your welfare.”

Austin smothered a grin as he watched that chin of Teddy’s lift mutinously and fire enter her eyes. “I’m a big girl, Mother, and more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Well?” the senior Evans prompted, ignoring Teddy’s statement.

Austin did a quick survey of the other residents at the table, none of whom looked ready to jump to his defense. “Intentions?” He mulled over the word while taking a drink of his coffee. “Well, I hadn’t really thought of Teddy in those terms. I care for your daughter very much. I guess we’ll have to see where it leads.”

Evan, Sr., nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Can you support her appropriately?”

Teddy nearly choked on the bite of cheesecake she’d been swallowing. Once her coughing fit was under control, she cast a beseeching glance her father’s way. “Dad,” she said between gritted teeth, the word sounding suspiciously like a warning.

“Now, Theodora,” her mother chastised. “These are perfectly legitimate questions for your father to ask of any young man who expresses an interest in you.”

“Or a woman who might express an interest in one of your brothers,” Susan added oh-so-helpfully, letting Austin know that no one was safe from the elder Spencers’ interrogation.

“I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination,” Austin admitted, pushing aside his half-eaten dessert. “But the house I live in is paid for, and I make a decent living, certainly enough to support a family.”

An inquisitive look entered Evan, Sr.’s, gaze. “I don’t believe you’ve said what you do for a living.”

“He’s an investment broker,” Teddy announced eagerly, the same moment that Austin said, “I own my own landscaping business.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that Teddy had feared he’d reveal his Fantasy for Hire gig.

Dead silence followed, and everybody seemed to go perfectly still as eight pair of eyes scrutinized him like an insect under a microscope. Even Teddy seemed to stop breathing, and he couldn’t help wondering if she’d approve of what he really did for a living—digging ditches.

“You’re a busy man, Mr. McBride,” Brent said with some degree of amusement, breaking up the stagnant silence that had settled in the dining room.

“Certainly very enterprising,” Evan, Sr., agreed, sounding begrudgingly impressed.

“Actually, I’m no longer an investment broker,” he said, certain he saw Teddy’s shoulders slump at that announcement. “I’m concentrating on the landscaping business.”

“Oh,” Gloria said, and the sound wasn’t a complimentary one.

Austin knew if he intended to see Teddy again, he wanted the truth out on the table now. “I know landscaping doesn’t sound as glamorous as an investment broker. It’s a lot of hard work, and some days long hours, but overall I find it very satisfying.”

Evan, Sr., glanced from Teddy, then back to the man she’d brought to meet their family. Austin was certain he wasn’t what the elder Spencer and his wife had in mind for their daughter, but Austin was exactly what he said he was. What they saw was what they got.

“And your parents,” Evan, Sr., went on, as if striving to find some redeeming quality. “What do they do?”

“Both of my parents are dead.” Knowing he had nothing left to lose, he added, “It’s just me and my brother, Jordan, who is currently an unemployed architect.”

Dismay filled Gloria’s eyes as she looked at Teddy, as if she couldn’t believe her daughter had settled for less than one of the prominent businessmen in their league.

Teddy’s five-year-old niece, Katie, came out of the playroom at that moment, anticipation wreathing her pretty face. “Grandma, we all ate our dinner. When do we get to open our presents?”

An adoring smile softened Gloria’s features as she looked at her granddaughter, and Austin had the thought that this woman was a marshmallow beneath her haughty exterior. “I suppose now would be a good time, since you all have to get to bed soon so Santa can come visit. Why don’t you get everyone to wash up and meet us in the parlor?”

Katie raced from the room, her little-girl voice announcing to her cousins, “We get to open our presents!”

The adults laughed at the responding squeals of delight and “yipees” that drifted from the playroom, and they all moved back into the parlor. Austin made himself comfortable on the sofa while Teddy helped pass out the gaily wrapped Christmas presents under the tree, obviously having fun with the task. For as much as she’d claimed that kids weren’t her forte, Austin couldn’t help noticing how much she enjoyed playing the role of aunt, and how loving she was with each child. A smile played at the corner of his mouth as he watched Teddy divide her attention between helping Drew, her three-year-old nephew, put together a chunky wooden puzzle, and her six-year-old niece, Molly, diaper her new “Baby-wets-a-lot.” Her maternal instincts weren’t as suppressed as she might want to believe.

Susan settled herself next to Austin, and he smiled amicably at her. There was mischief in the other woman’s gaze, and a glint of determination. Leaning close, taking advantage of Gloria and Evan, Sr.’s, distraction, she said in a low voice, “Don’t sweat the small stuff, Austin. The Spencers are a different breed. Everyone goes through the initial interrogation process. What ultimately matters is how Teddy feels about you.”

Austin appreciated Susan’s encouragement, but after that enlightening dinner conversation, he wasn’t so sure fitting into Teddy’s life would be as easy as surviving the Spencer’s third-degree. Not only did he feel as though he’d never measure up, he honestly had no idea where he stood with Teddy—if what he did for a living mattered to her, or how she truly felt about him—beyond their “agreements.”

Maybe it was time he found out.

9

TEDDY LEANED her head against the passenger seat’s headrest and released a long pent-up breath—in relief, exhaustion and a good part frustration. Beside her, Austin was quiet as he pulled out of her parents’ driveway, the moonlight reflected through the windshield illuminating his pensive features.

“That was a disaster,” she said, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Not the entire evening,” he graciously conceded with a smile that wasn’t quite as sexy and breathtaking as usual. “I enjoyed watching the kids open their presents, and talking to your brothers and their wives.”

Her siblings seemed to like him, too, which pleased her. However, Teddy didn’t miss the fact that he had no compliments for her parents—not that they’d deserved any accolades after the way they’d grilled him. “I never would have thought my parents would behave so atrociously,” she said, her tone contrite.

He brought the car to a halt at a stop sign and glanced over at her, his gaze expressing an odd combination of understanding and regret. Reaching across the console, he gently brushed his fingers along her cheek. “I suppose they’re just concerned about who their little girl is getting involved with.”

Her skin tingled where he touched her, eliciting a sensual warmth that spread through her entire body. “As if they have any say in the matter,” she said, forcing an indignant note over the quiver of awareness infusing her voice. “If my parents had their choice, they’d have me married off to some stuffy blue blood, being a proper wife.”

“I can’t imagine it,” he murmured, a sly smile curving his mouth.

She exaggerated a shudder, adding to the humor of the situation. “Neither can I.”

They both laughed, his low, husky chuckles mingling with her lighter ones, the sound pleasant and very intimate in the close confines of the car. The lighthearted moment released some of the tension she’d sensed in him a half hour after arriving at her parents’. The evening had only gotten worse, and certainly more complicated than she’d expected.

Austin drove on, maneuvering the car through the streets of Pacific Heights. He wasn’t taking the normal way back to her condo, but she didn’t mind if he wanted to take a longer route, which would give her more time with him. It was Christmas Eve, and for the first time since she could remember, she dreaded being alone.

“Austin…” She fiddled with the strap of her purse. “I’m really sorry for my parents’ behavior tonight, and that you had to lie about owning your own landscaping business. I’ll be the first to admit that my parents can be judgmental, but they’ll come around.”

He glanced her way. “You planning on bringing me to another family get-together?”

Her heart thumped in her chest, and a flood of emotions shook her to her soul. There was no denying she enjoyed everything about Austin, from his humor and honesty, to the feminine way he made her feel. But he made her yearn for things that conflicted with everything she’d worked so hard to attain, and the strength of those feelings frightened her.

She gave a noncommittal shrug, which was the best she could offer him. “You never know.”

He stared at her for a long, intense moment, then switched his gaze back to the road. “Does it matter to you what I do for a living?” he asked quietly.

She glanced out her window to the darkness beyond, giving his question serious consideration. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that on some level Austin owning Fantasy for Hire bothered her, because she disliked the thought that other women fantasized about him and lusted over that gorgeous body while he performed a sexy striptease for them. She was beginning to think of Austin as her fantasy, and she didn’t want to share. Jealousy was a foreign emotion to her, one she’d never experienced in a relationship with a man, but she quickly realized she wasn’t immune to the green-eyed monster.

So how did she answer his question without sounding like a possessive shrew? “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter to me what you did for a living. But I suppose I can learn to get used to you stripping for other women.”

“And what if I really did own my own landscaping business?” he asked, his voice slightly anxious. “Would that line of work make a difference to you?”

She studied his face, seeing the taut line of his jaw, the tense set of his shoulders beneath his cable-knit sweater, and the truth finally dawned on her. “You really are in that line of work, aren’t you? Along with Fantasy for Hire.”

He nodded, and turned onto another darkened street that climbed upward and overlooked Pacific Heights. “Yep. McBride Commercial Landscaping is a real, solid business. I’m not rich, but I’m successful enough to support myself, and I love my job.”

She tilted her head, fascinated with this facet of Austin’s life. “And Fantasy for Hire?”

“It’s been a lucrative business, and it helped to support me when I needed the money, but I’ve definitely outgrown it. I’m going to sell the business so I can devote my time to McBride Landscaping.”

The car rolled to a stop. Austin cut the engine and turned to look at her with searching eyes, as if gauging her reaction to his newest revelation. It struck her then, that as confident as Austin appeared, he harbored a few insecurities of his own.

“Why does what I think matter so much to you?” she whispered, breaking through the quiet that had settled in the car.

“Because this is who I am, Teddy,” he said, his warm gaze falling from her eyes, to her mouth, then back up again. “What you see is what you get, and I want to be sure you’re okay with that.”

Liquid heat pooled in her belly. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m not some blue blood with a fancy investment-broker image, Teddy—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips to stop his words, and the jolt of electrical heat that passed between them made her shiver. “That’s probably why I’m so attracted to you.”

Gently, he grasped her wrist, lowering her hand so her palm pressed against his chest, so she could feel the steady beating of his heart. “And your parents?”

She understood the reassurances he was searching for. Her mother and father hadn’t issued full approval of Austin, and he wanted to make sure it made no difference to her. “Do you honestly think it matters to me what my parents think?”

His eyes burned into hers, hot and filled with an honest, primitive need that tapped into every responding nerve in her body. “I just want to be sure before we go any further.”

Knowing where the next step in their relationship would lead, an equal measure of excitement and apprehension swirled within her. “I’m…sure.”

The lazy, sexy grin that settled on his mouth was sheer male, and the dark look in his green eyes was very, very pleased.

Needing a moment to absorb what she’d just agreed to, she glanced around at their surroundings. Wherever he’d parked was pitch-black and deserted. They were alone, except for the breathless view of the bay below them and the star-studded sky above. A renewed rush of warmth seeped into her midsection.

“Where are we?” she asked, peering out the window.

His long fingers trailed along her shoulder and toyed with her silky hair. “It’s a secluded place that not many people know about.”

She cast him a teasing look. “And how do you know about it?”

He grinned, a wicked light brightening his gaze. “When I was in high school, I’d bring girls up here to make out with them.” He looked off in the distance, amusement in his expression. “One time, when I was sixteen and had just gotten my driver’s license, I brought a girl up here on a Saturday night. Not fifteen minutes later, another car pulled up, and it was Jordan and his date.” Austin chuckled, shaking his head. “He didn’t so much as get the chance to kiss his girl, because he was so furious at finding me up here, making out with my date.”

Teddy laughed at the fond memory he shared, reminded too much of how her own brothers had been with the guys she’d dated. Protective and ruthless. “It must be an older-brother thing.”

His thumb rubbed along her sensitive earlobe, then found the spot that made her shiver with pleasure. “You got caught necking, too?”

“No, never. I missed out on that particular fun.” She sighed with a small measure of regret, because she’d been too busy with debutante balls and country-club dances. And though she’d been rebellious enough to go along with the suggestion, no boy had issued the invitation. “I just meant that my brothers were overly protective of me, too. Who I went out with, where my dates took me, and all that stuff. Not that they had anything to worry about. The boys I was allowed to date came from prestigious families that were friends of my parents, and they wouldn’t have dared touched me the wrong way. I was deemed a ‘good girl,’ and my brothers made sure I kept that reputation.”

“Well, you’re all grown up, your brothers aren’t anywhere around, and I’m not one of those saps who come from a highfalutin family.” He leaned close, and her senses spun at the hot, hungry look in his eyes. “Wanna neck?”

Being a bad girl suddenly held enormous appeal. Feeling reckless, she met him halfway to the console. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The hand caressing her throat moved up and slid into her hair, threading through the warm strands. The last thing she saw was the sinful grin curving his mouth, then his lips covered hers and he was kissing her—long, deeply intimate kisses that brought her to a fever pitch of need in no time flat. Her body swelled with arousal, her breasts grew heavy, and an achy emptiness settled in the pit of her belly.

They made out like two lust-filled teenagers, both attempting to find a comfortable position that would allow them more freedom to use their hands without putting a crick in their necks. Austin managed to cup her breast in his hand, and when she shifted to move closer, his arm twisted awkwardly and fell away. She touched his thigh, but the other hand supporting her slipped off the console and she nearly bit his lip as the impact jarred her entire body.

A giggle escaped her. “This is crazy.”

He nuzzled her neck, his breath hot and damp against her skin. “But fun and kinda sexy, don’t you think?”

Delicious and thrilling, she agreed, if only her back didn’t ache from her awkward position. “I can’t get close enough,” she complained.

“Yeah, you can.” Moving back to his side of the car, he slid the leather seat back, making more room between him and the steering wheel. “C’mere, Teddy,” he murmured huskily, his eyes ablaze with a sweet, sexual promise that dared her to be just as bold. “I want you to sit on my lap so I can touch you the way I’ve been wanting to since the night of the Christmas party.”

His words made her shiver, made her melt, made her eager for what they both wanted. Judging the distance between them and deeming it as too far, she climbed over the console with his help, but not without whacking her leg on the steering wheel, losing a shoe on the trek and elbowing him in the ribs. They laughed at their bumbling, but all amusement ceased once she was straddling his thighs…their embrace so snug and intimate there was no mistaking how much he wanted her.

He skimmed her hips with his hands and smiled a roguish grin that told her he’d had way too much experience as a young teen at this sort of thing. “Close enough for you?”

“Yeah.” Her fingers found their way beneath the hem of his sweater. His flat abdomen clenched as she stroked his belly, luxuriating in his vibrant, muscular body. “Can I take off your sweater?”

“Honey, you can do anything to me that you’d like to,” he urged. “Be as bad as you want to be. I won’t tell a soul.”

Licking her dry lips, and enjoying the thrill of being naughty, she lifted the cable-knit over his head and spent a minute exploring his magnificent chest and the hot, tight feel of his skin all the way down to the waistband of his slacks. His hips rolled enthusiastically beneath her, but instead of giving him the attention he sought, she touched her knees, which bracketed his hips. Slowly, she skimmed her palms upward, dragging the hem of her knit dress up her thighs, tempting him with the lacy band holding up her silk stockings and a glimpse of smooth, pale skin.

His breathing deepened as he watched her brazen, shameless display on his lap, and she gently tipped his chin up with a finger so his eyes met hers. Not quite done seducing him, she grasped one of the hands cinching her waist and flattened his palm at the base of her throat, then guided his hot, callused fingers inside the low-cut collar of her dress.

Stopping just above where the upper slope of her breast swelled from her bra, she whispered invitingly in the shadowed interior of the vehicle, “Touch me the way you’ve been wanting to since the Christmas party.”

With a low-throated growl, he slipped the shoulders of her dress down, until the stretchy material tightened around her arms, and the front bunched around her waist. He didn’t bother with the back clasp to her sheer, lacy bra, and instead lowered the cups so that her breasts sprang free from the binding—firm, full and eager for attention. His hands shaped her, his thumbs rasped across her sensitive nipples, and then he dipped his head and took one puckered tip into his hot, wet mouth.

Moaning in pure, unadulterated pleasure, Teddy let her head drop back, arched her spine and clenched her fingers in his thick, soft hair. He teased the crest with his teeth, then soothed the gentle bites with the damp swirl of his tongue until her breasts grew swollen and heavy.

Her flesh thrummed. Her blood pounded. A sultry heat swirled within the car, making her skin slick, and his just as damp. Idly, she noticed that the windows were completely fogged, cocooning them in their own private world. The arousing, male scent of him filled every panting breath she gulped, and suddenly she wasn’t near close enough for what she needed. Gripping his bare shoulders, she rocked into him, so that the hard ridge beneath the fly of his pants pressed against the apex of her thighs, rubbing enticingly. She gasped at the erotic friction of wet silk against pulsing, aroused flesh. He groaned and grew impossibly thicker.

A ragged sob caught in her throat, and she grappled frantically with the thin leather belt at his waist, wanting to touch him, stroke him, feel him inside her where she needed him the most.

He caught her wrists, laughing harshly, stopping her before she attained her goal. She gazed down at him in confusion, finding nothing humorous about the situation.

His smoky gaze flickered over her, taking in her wanton display on his lap—the way the front of her dress was pulled low to reveal the pale curves of her breasts, and the hem that flashed a tempting expanse of thigh and held the promise of something far more alluring. She trembled, as if he’d physically stroked her in all those inflamed places.

Visibly drawing in a steady breath, he brought his gaze back to hers. “Teddy, honey, I want you so badly I can’t think straight. But I don’t have any protection with me, and I won’t risk you that way.”

She closed her eyes, ignoring the deep, internal throb demanding release, but her attempts failed. “You’re experienced at this sort of thing,” she said, frowning playfully at him. “Didn’t you come prepared?”

A rakish grin slashed across his features at her complaint. “Not to make love to you. When we do, I want a nice, soft bed beneath us, and hours to enjoy us being together, not a quickie in my car.”

She rolled her eyes in mock disgust. “What a time to be chivalrous.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. Letting go of her hands, he nuzzled her neck, skimming his lips up to her ear. “You’ll thank me later, but right now, let me take the edge off for you.”

She opened her mouth to tell him no, that she didn’t want to experience that sexual release without him, but those clever hands of his were already rasping along her stockings and disappearing beneath the hem of her dress. He stroked the soft, sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, and the only sound that emerged from between her lips was a low, needy groan.

Her hips shifted, tilting toward him instinctively. His fingers leisurely traced the elastic band of her panties along the crease of her leg, brushed erotically over the strip of silk covering her feminine secrets, then finally slipped beneath that barrier to glide his thumb over that slick, aching bud of flesh.

A shock wave of pleasure rolled through her. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out and squeezed her eyes shut to maintain some control. He made her wild. He made her shameless. Her body never felt so vibrantly alive, and the foreign sensation was as thrilling as it was startling.

“Look at me, Teddy.” Austin’s voice was dark and coaxing, gentle and reassuring.

She tried. Oh, Lord, she tried—barely managing to lift her lashes and meet his dark, hungry gaze. He sat back in his seat, watching her, his muscular body tense, his breathing just as erratic as hers as his fingers continued to ply a delicious, forbidden kind of magic.

She quivered from head to toe, and pressed her hands against his chest for support. Uncertainties assailed her. “Austin…”

“Shh…” Somehow, someway, he understood her fears of letting go. “I want to watch you, just like this.” He stroked her slowly, rhythmically, building the exquisite pressure. “You’re incredibly beautiful, Teddy, and very sexy…come for me.”

His words, his touch, the reverent way he looked at her, pushed her to the edge, then over that precipice. While he watched, she came undone for him, letting the climax roll over her in waves of intense pleasure that seemed to go on and on. A long, low moan ripped from her, and he groaned right along with her, the provocative sound setting off additional surges of sensation that extended the deep, internal shudders rippling through her body.

Satiated, she collapsed against his chest, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she struggled to breathe normally. The interior of the car was warm and humid from the heat they’d generated, and her breasts slid against his damp chest, arousing her all over again.

Austin adjusted the top of her dress, covering her, then smoothed his hands down her spine in a languid caress. “You’re incredible, Teddy.”

Smiling drowsily, she lifted her head and brushed her fingers across his lips, reveling in the contentment she felt with this man. “I think you deserve all the credit for what just happened.”

His grin was pure male satisfaction, and she discovered that she didn’t want this night to end. Not this soon.

“Austin, I know it’s Christmas Eve, and you probably spend Christmas morning with Jordan, but I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She swallowed hard. The admission cost her emotionally, but her need for him went beyond anything she’d ever experienced. “If you have a few spare condoms we can use, I have a nice, soft bed at home we can make good use of.” Her tone was light and teasing, but her insides tied up in knots at the thought that he might refuse her.

He smoothed her disheveled hair from her face. The undeniable need reflecting in his eyes eased her fears of rejection. The rakish grin tipping the corners of his mouth made her heart swell with powerful emotions. “The condoms are at home.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, briefly considering her brazen request. “Maybe you could drop me off at my place, then go and get them, and a spare change of clothes?”

He stared at her, searching her expression—for what, she couldn’t be certain. “Are you sure about this, Teddy?”

For a moment, her heart faltered. Trapped by the hunger glittering in his eyes, her breath fluttered in her throat. He wasn’t asking for a lifetime commitment, she told herself, just the certainty that she was ready for a more intimate relationship. Adults indulged in mutual pleasure all the time, and she desperately craved that sensual connection with him.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she whispered. Framing his face between her hands, she lowered her parted lips to his to prove just how certain she was about becoming his lover.

A rapid tapping against Austin’s window startled Teddy, and it took a few heartbeats and Austin’s comical expression for her to realize that someone had caught them making out. Horrified at the prospect, but grateful for the fogged windows which offered a modicum of privacy, she scrambled back to her side of the car. Her dress caught on the gearshift, and the vehicle rocked with her swift movement over the console. Finding Austin’s sweater on the floorboard, she tossed it at him.

“Put that on!” she ordered frantically.

“Kinda late for modesty, don’t you think?” he drawled, tugging the sweater over his head and adjusting it over his torso.

She glared at him, tamping down the bubble of laughter working its way up. The situation was hilarious, if not a bit humiliating, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of humoring him.

“Hey, kids, roll down the window,” a gruff voice commanded. “It’s past curfew, and I don’t think your parents would appreciate being called down to the police station on Christmas Eve.”

Austin did as he was instructed, rolling his window halfway down while Teddy gave the hem of her dress a fierce tug, stretching the material to her knees. “Good evening, sir,” he said respectfully to the uniformed officer standing outside the Mustang.

The cop crouched down, and a beam of light searched the interior of the car, bouncing from Austin to Teddy. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

The officer grinned, clearly expecting teenagers, not two grown adults. “Considering you’re both consenting adults, I’m guessing your parents wouldn’t give a damn if you spent the night in the slammer.”

“Uh, no, sir,” Austin replied politely.

The cop snapped off his light. “I’ll give you five minutes for the windows to clear, then I suggest you take this to a private place,” he said, amusement obvious in his voice.

Austin nodded his gratitude. “We’ll do that, sir.”

The officer headed back to his squad car, and Austin turned and grinned impishly at her. “Well, you’ve just experienced the full effect of making out on a dark, secluded road.” He turned the ignition and put the window defroster on full blast. “That was probably just as embarrassing as getting caught by one of your brothers.”

Teddy groaned and slumped against her seat. “Thank you for the unique experience.”

Austin winked at her. “It was my pleasure.”

AUSTIN STUFFED a clean change of clothes into his duffel bag, then crossed the wooden floor of his room to the bathroom, the spurs he’d attached to his cowboy boots jangling with each impatient step. Grabbing his toothbrush and a few other necessities, he returned to the bed, tossed the toiletries into the duffel, then went to retrieve the most important item for his sleep-over at Teddy’s.

Just as he withdrew the unopened box of condoms he’d had stashed in his nightstand for the past six months, he heard a brisk knock on the open bedroom door. Like a kid being caught with something forbidden, the tips of his ears warmed, and he discreetly buried the box in his bag. His reaction was insane, considering he was a grown man, but there was something about Teddy that made what was going to happen tonight special. He didn’t want to spoil his own mood, or tarnish Teddy’s reputation, by enduring Jordan’s ribbing.

However, explaining the costume he was wearing was something he hadn’t considered.

Reluctantly, he turned to face Jordan, who was leaning against the doorjamb, his hands buried in the pockets of his robe.

A grin twitched the corners of Jordan’s mouth as he took in Austin’s cowboy attire, complete with Stetson, chaps and shiny silver spurs he’d bought to complete the Fantasy for Hire ensemble.

Jordan moved into the bedroom, curiosity brimming in his eyes. “I was expecting to hear Santa tonight, but the jangling noise I heard didn’t sound like Christmas bells, so I thought I’d better investigate.”

Austin zipped up the duffel, anxious to be on his way. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Where in the world are you going dressed like that on Christmas Eve?” Jordan’s amusement faded into a frown of disapproval. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got a gig tonight.”

Austin was beginning to feel like tonight’s “gig” would be the performance of his life. Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he grinned at his brother. “Don’t wait up for me, pardner,” he drawled humorously, tipping his Stetson at Jordan. “I’ve got one last fantasy to fulfill, and I have a feeling it’s going to take all night long.”

A slow grin spread across Jordan’s face as understanding dawned.

Before Jordan could comment, Austin headed out the door and down the stairs. The metallic sound of the spurs’ rowels chinking against wood rang throughout the house.

Jordan stood at the top of the stairs, and called after Austin, “Be careful that you don’t hurt Teddy with those spurs!”

Austin chuckled. It was obvious that his brother adored Teddy as much as he did. Now it was just a matter of convincing Teddy how much she belonged in his life.

10

AUSTIN DIDN’T KNOW what to expect when he returned to Teddy’s condo, but it certainly wasn’t the sultry vixen who greeted him. Just like him, Teddy had changed, but her attire was far more enticing, and certainly more revealing. Soft chiffon and sheer lace in a deep shade of purple shaped her full breasts and draped along her curves to midthigh, accentuating everything womanly about her. Her hair was tousled around her head, her eyes shone bright with anticipation, and she smelled delicious, like citrus and something infinitely soft and feminine.

“Very nice,” he murmured appreciatively, forgetting all about the role he’d wanted to play for her.

She shifted anxiously on her feet, and the hem of the nightie flirted along her thighs. “I got the nightgown for my birthday, and I thought I’d put it to good use,” she explained, a faint blush touching her cheeks.

He didn’t bother to point out that she wouldn’t be wearing it for long.

He waited for her to invite him in, but she didn’t seem in any hurry to do so. Her gaze leisurely traveled the length of him, and he could have sworn he heard her breath catch when she reached the spurs attached to his boots. There was no mistaking the excitement wreathing her expression when she glanced back at his face.

“Hello, cowboy,” she said in a husky, come-hither voice.

He touched the brim of his hat politely, ignoring the swift current of heat rushing through his veins so he could play along with the fantasy he wanted to create for her. “Ma’am.”

Her small, pink tongue licked her bottom lip, and she leaned against the wall in the entryway, looking entirely too tempting. Blinking innocently, she asked, “So, cowboy, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Austin quickly realized that the woman he’d planned to seduce was turning the tables on him. Not that he minded having a willing counterpart, but if she wasn’t careful, her provocative act was going to send him over the edge sooner than he’d anticipated. “I’m looking for a place to bunk down for the night,” he drawled, struggling to maintain his composure when all he wanted to do was take this woman up against the wall, finesse be damned. “And I was hoping you could accommodate a lonesome cowboy.”

Batting her lashes demurely at him, she skimmed her fingers over the swell of her breasts. Austin’s mouth went dry as her nipples tightened.

A seductive smile added to her beguiling act. “Well, you’re more than welcome to sleep in the stable with your horse.”

He chuckled at her unexpected reply. “In that case, I guess I’m going to have to confess that I’m actually an outlaw seeking refuge, and I’ll be taking you hostage.” Making good on his threat, he moved into the entryway, closed the door behind him, and forced her up against the wall with the muscular heat of his body.

Her luminous brown eyes widened in mock fear and genuine excitement as she entwined her arms around his neck. “Dare I hope you’ll be ravishing me?”

Dropping his duffel bag, he plowed his fingers into her hair so he could lift her mouth to his—not that she was resisting much. “Didn’t your parents ever warn you just how dangerous an outlaw could be?” he growled.

“Oh, yeah, they’ve tried, but I can’t help my attraction to a man in chaps and spurs,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a honeyed purr. She lifted her hips, encountering the thick length of his erection framed between the crotch of his chaps. “Especially an outlaw who has a weapon as impressive as yours. I hope you aren’t afraid to use it.”

A guttural groan ripped from his chest. He’d been hard for the past ten minutes, ever since she’d opened the door, but her teasing, arousing monologue increased the pressure in his groin to near pain. “Damn, but you’re feisty.”

She flashed him a sassy grin. “Shut up and kiss me, cowboy.”

Not one to refuse such a tempting offer, he gave her exactly what she demanded—a hot, deep French kiss that quickly had them both wild for so much more. He lifted his mouth from hers long enough to pick up his duffel, then he swung her into his arms, swallowing her squeal of alarm as his lips closed over hers once again for another tongue-tangling kiss. Maneuvering her through the condo to the bedroom took effort, especially since she now had his face between her hands and was kissing him senseless. With every jangling step he took, her breathing deepened, and her urgency seemed to mount, matching the frenzied beat of his heart.

He found the bedroom minutes later, but not before taking a quick tour of her office, where Teddy breathlessly informed him they were in the wrong room—unless he wanted to use her desk. Tempted, but determined to make love to her properly this first time, he continued, stopping briefly in the hallway to readjust his hold on the woman in his arms while she placed damp, openmouthed kisses on his neck that made him weak in the knees. He bumped his hip against the dresser, muttered an oath that made her giggle, and blindly searched for her bed in the dark. Finally, his knees connected with something soft and wide, and he unceremoniously dropped her onto the mattress. She yelped in surprise, and he heard the springs creak as she bounced.

Setting the duffel close by, he switched on the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the room, and Teddy, in a soft glow of light. She was sprawled on top of the floral comforter covering the bed, her blond hair a cloud of silk around her head, her eyes alight with awareness, and that scrap of nothing nightie up around her hips. He was certain the diaphanous panties barely covering her mound were designed to drive a man to primitive measures. He was nearly there.

Tipping the Stetson back on his head, he eyed those long, slender limbs of hers with unabashed male appreciation. “I think this is the part where I ravish you,” he said wickedly.

A pretty shade of pink flushed her skin, and she tilted her head speculatively as her gaze once again took in his attire. “Why are you dressed up like this?” she asked, her voice as soft as the moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window.

“This last fantasy is for you, Teddy,” he said, and knew by the slight catch to her breathing that she understood the significance of this final performance as her cowboy.

She stared at him in anticipation as he lifted a small recorder from his bag, put it on the nightstand, and hit play. Seconds later, the same upbeat, rockabilly tune he’d danced to for her birthday filled the silence of the night, the pulsing sound as provocative as the look darkening her eyes.

Spotting the Stetson he’d given her that same night, he retrieved it from the dresser, and settled it on her head, grinning at the luscious picture she made. “Merry Christmas, honey.”

He straightened, intending to get the show on the road and give this woman a fantasy she’d never forget—and an incredible night that would hopefully change the course of their relationship. Rocking and rolling his hips to the rhythm of the country beat, he reached for the top snap on his western shirt to rip it open.

“Wait!” she blurted, holding up a hand to stop him.

He immediately ceased all movement, paralyzed with the unsettling possibility that she might be having second thoughts about them, about this.

Sitting up on her knees in front of him, she chewed on her lower lip uncertainly. “Would you be terribly disappointed if I undressed you, instead of you stripping for me?” Her voice quivered with an endearing hesitancy, then her chin lifted with that sassiness he was coming to adore. “I mean, after all, this is my fantasy.”

He chuckled, unable to help himself. God, he loved how sexy and bold she was, and knew life with her would always be invigorating. “There’s nothing that would please me more,” he told her, a small part of his mind wondering how he’d be able to withstand such torment. “Where would you like to start?”

She crooked her finger at him. “Come a little closer.”

The rowels on his boots chinked seductively as he did as she requested. Now it was her hips that swayed to the music, her hands that lifted to his chest. Gripping the material in her fists on either side of the pearl buttons, she ripped open his shirt.

A groan of pure pleasure rumbled in her throat as she smoothed her palms over the heat of his skin and explored to her heart’s content, pushing him to the brink of madness. Following the light sprinkling of hair on his chest downward, she splayed a hand low on his taut belly and nudged him back a foot and stood.

With an intoxicating, feminine confidence that made him burn, she slid the tips of her fingers upward, flicking over his flattened nipples on her journey up to his shoulders, where she slowly dragged the shirt down his arms. And during this gradual striptease, when she had his hands tangled in cotton, she moved close and brushed her body against his to the beat of the music—her breasts, her belly, her thighs, all inflaming his senses.

His nostrils flared, and as soon as she tugged his shirt off and tossed it somewhere behind him, he caught her around the waist with one arm, slid a thigh between hers, and brought her flush to his hard length, trapping her arms between them.

She wasn’t intimidated by his domination, or the fierce arousal pressing against her belly. “Hold your horses, cowboy,” she whispered against his mouth, her gaze hot and eager for what was to come—albeit in her own sweet time. “This is my fantasy, and I’m not done yet.”

Austin groaned, certain he’d never be able to hold out.

With her arms locked between them, her hand found the bulge tightening the front of his jeans. Shamelessly, she cupped the fullness in her palm, stroked him to the beat of the music as her own hips gyrated provocatively against his. Austin gritted his teeth as a shudder ripped through him. Heeding that fierce warning, he let her go the same moment her fingers hooked around the sides of his chaps and she gave a hard yank. Velcro tore apart, and with a triumphant grin, she flung the soft leather aside.

And from there, with each article of clothing she playfully removed from his body and tossed haphazardly in the room, from his cowboy boots with those spurs he’d worn just for her, to his jeans and briefs and then finally his Stetson, she totally captivated Austin, bringing warmth and laughter to a place deep within him that had been cold and lonely for too long. She was wicked, amusing, damn sexy, and everything he wanted in a woman.

Teddy stared breathlessly at the gorgeous, naked man standing in the middle of her bedroom—her fantasy. Austin was, in a word, magnificent. He was solidly aroused, all aggressive male, and she thrilled at the notion that she’d brought him to this.

Not quite ready to relinquish the heady rush of feminine power coursing through her veins, she circled him, languidly caressing the firm slope of his back, his tight buttocks, and planting teasing, biting kisses along his throat and chest. Closing her eyes, she slid lower, until the very male essence of him brushed her lips—and heard a rough, strangled sound catch in his throat that was half pain, half pleasure.

Reckless excitement curled through her, settling in the pit of her belly, spreading outward. Eager to taste him in a way she’d never experienced before, she closed her mouth intimately over him, indulging in the smooth, velvety texture of his skin, the virile heat of him sliding along her tongue…

His entire body instinctively bucked toward her, and he sucked in a swift, shocked breath. His hands lifted, knocking the Stetson on her head to the floor. His long fingers tangled in her hair, at first guiding her untutored, but very erotic offering, then in a frantic attempt to pull her away.

Swearing viciously, he dragged her back up again. She caught a quick glimpse of the hot need glowing in the depths of his gaze before he fluidly, effortlessly, turned her, banded his strong arms around her waist, and tucked her backside against the front of his body.

She gasped, her heart slamming against her ribs. It was like being surrounded by fire…so much heat, raw and intense. Flames licked along her back, her thighs, and that out-of-control wildfire even found its way to the tips of her breasts, and her belly, where he’d splayed one of his hands to keep her bottom nestled close to his groin. The dresser mirror in front of them gave her a perfect view of their intimate position, enabling her to see the flush on her skin, the exhilaration in her eyes. The alluring sight aroused her, made her pulse flutter anxiously for what was to come.

He buried his face against the side of her neck, and she shivered as his harsh breathing branded her skin. Gradually, his mouth charted a warm, damp path to her ear. “I feel at a distinct disadvantage here, darlin’,” he drawled in a low voice that rumbled along her nerve endings. “I’m buck naked, and you’ve got way too many clothes on.”

She wanted to laugh at his attempt at levity, but all she could think of was his hands sliding on her skin, his body easing into hers, and the wild ride he’d give her. “Then take them off,” she dared impudently.

A warm chuckle reverberated against her neck. “Yes, ma’am.” Sliding his hands beneath the hem of her gown, he slowly drew the soft material up and over her head, and tossed it somewhere in the room, leaving her clad in just her panties. She felt no embarrassment, only an acute desire for him to touch her as intimately as she’d touched him.

Somehow, he knew. As his gaze met hers in the mirror, he lifted his hands and cupped her swollen breasts in his palms, rasped his thumbs across her nipples until they were stiff and aching. Biting back a soft moan, she pressed her hands to the sides of his thighs, rolled her head back onto his shoulder, and arched her body more fully into his hands. He nuzzled her neck, stroked his fingers down her trembling belly and teased her through the damp, silky material of her panties until a whimper escaped her and her knees threatened to buckle.

Turning in his arms, she sought his mouth with hers, and he didn’t hesitate to give her the kind of kiss she craved. No more teasing. No more gentle humor. Just intense passion and sizzling desire. She wanted it all, and she wanted it with him.

While his mouth consumed hers, and his tongue delved deep, he moved with her toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge, and he urged her down upon the mattress, pushing aside the Stetson that had landed there earlier so she could lie down, though he didn’t join her. Instead, he dragged her panties over her slim hips and down her long limbs. Then he leisurely kissed his way up first one leg, then the other, stopping to explore every erogenous zone with his lips and tongue and the soft strum of his fingers.

The seductive journey took him all the way up to her quivering thighs, where he nipped the sensitive flesh with his teeth, then soothed the bites with long, slow laps of his tongue. He moved on to her belly, swirled his tongue in her navel, then closed his mouth over her breast and suckled the tender flesh until her entire body throbbed for that mystical release…

“Austin, please,” she begged.

He lifted his head, a wholly wicked grin slashing across his features. “But I’m not done ravishing you, darlin’. Any cowboy worth his chaps isn’t gonna leave his lady so worked up.”

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more of the dizzying sensations, he slipped down on the bed, used his palms to nudge her thighs apart, and claimed her in the most intimate kind of caress of all. His fingers filled her, sliding deeply. The heat of his mouth engulfed her. And the silky, rhythmic glide of his tongue sent her soaring straight into the realms of bliss.

Her release was swift and powerful, her cries lusty and unabashed. Her fingers twisted in the covers in an attempt to keep her grounded, but she flew apart anyway, reveling in the luxurious climax that seemed to go on and on. And when she finally tumbled back to earth, panting for breath, her body limp, she opened her eyes to find Austin standing by the side of the bed, sheathing himself in a condom.

“Wow,” she whispered, awed by her body’s ability to melt and surrender at Austin’s whim—first in his car earlier, and now. “Twice in one night. Incredible.”

Finished with the necessary protection, he knelt between her spread knees, then moved over her, settling himself between her still-quivering thighs. Bracing his forearms on either side of her head so they were face-to-face, he allowed a devilish grin to claim his lips. “Darlin’, we’re going for a third.”

Her pulse quickened, and leaped again when his thick sex slid against her damp cleft, the velvety tip of his erection finding the entrance to her body. She was primed and ready, but he didn’t penetrate more than a teasing inch. “I couldn’t…”

“Oh, yeah, you can.” His fingers wove through her hair, cradling her head in his big hands as he eased his chest against her breasts, crushing her with the delicious weight and heat of his body. His dark green eyes glittered with hunger, and powerful emotion that seemed to touch her soul. “And this time, I want to hear my name on your lips when you come…”

And with that demand, he filled her with one smooth, hard thrust. She gasped as her body stretched to accommodate him. He let out a low, animal groan as her sleek, inner muscles clenched him tight. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips and arched into him. He growled in response to her seductive move and surged against her, sliding deeper still.

She saw his restraint in the tight clenching of his jaw, felt it in the taut line of his body. Sliding her hands down his muscled back and over his firm buttocks, she urged him to take what he wanted and give in to those primal desires. “This ride is all yours, cowboy,” she murmured in a husky whisper.

He shook his head, humor dancing in those smoky eyes of his. “Ladies first,” he said, male arrogance tinging his deep voice. “I insist.”

She laughed lightly, but the playful sound ebbed into a moan when he bent his head and captured her lips with his, kissing her in the same erotic manner he made love to her. He had a point to prove, and set out to demonstrate the wonders of a female body, and just how well he knew hers.

He continued to kiss her, ruthlessly maintaining a steady rhythm designed to push her closer to that sublime ecstasy. Her heart raced, and incredibly, with each slow, measured stroke, each primal lunge, she felt the gradual building of yet another climax. Intense pleasure coiled inside her, urging her to move with him, toward the promise of something lush and wild and spectacular.

She was close…so, so close.

He lifted his head, sliding his mouth from hers to watch her expression. His gaze locked with hers, demanding and fiery. There was no way she could hide anything from him, he wouldn’t allow it. He coaxed not only her physical surrender, but an emotional one, too…and she found the feelings swirling within her thrilling, arousing and terrifying, because she’d never given a man what Austin silently asked for…her complete acquiescence, heart, body and soul.

“Let it go, baby,” he rasped, as if he understood her fears. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

Helpless to deny him, she closed her mind to everything, ceasing to exist past the feel of him moving in her, over her…and then it happened, a blinding rush of sensation that stole her breath and spilled through her like liquid fire.

The orgasm was so intense, she grasped his shoulders for fear of flying apart. And just as she reached the peak and her body convulsed with the exquisite, sensual gratification, she gave him what he’d ultimately wanted.

“Austin…” she moaned huskily, raggedly.

A satisfied light glimmered in his eyes. “Yeah, just like that…”

In a series of hard, swift strokes he thrust into her, and as she watched him toss back his head and give himself over to his own violent climax, she realized she’d gone and done something utterly foolish…. Something that would only lead to a wealth of heartache for her, false expectations from her parents, and a string of disappointments for the man who’d possessed her body so thoroughly.

She’d fallen hard and deep for Austin McBride.

STANDING BY the side of the bed, Austin stared down at the woman sprawled on her stomach amidst the tangle of sheets and blankets, unable to help the lazy smile tipping his mouth, or the warm inner glow chasing away the chill still clinging to his skin from his predawn quest through the misty, rainy morning to find Teddy a special Christmas surprise. No easy feat, considering every tree lot he’d driven to had sold out the night before.

Finally, his persistence had paid off. He’d found a lone, solitary tree in an abandoned lot, a scrawny five-foot Douglas fir with a broken limb and a crooked trunk that wobbled haphazardly on the wooden base it had been nailed to. Knowing how effortlessly Teddy could transform such imperfection, he’d claimed the tree. While he was trying to secure the five-foot shrub to the top of the Mustang, it had started to rain, a cold drizzle that gradually soaked through his shirt and jeans.

The slight discomfort would be worth seeing Teddy’s face light up with joy when she saw her surprise. Her very own Christmas tree, to decorate as she pleased, and to share with him. This year, she wouldn’t be alone on Christmas morning. This year, he’d give her every reason to celebrate.

He had nothing to wrap and put beneath the tree for her. The thought had crossed his mind on the drive back to her place, but he’d decided that he wanted to give Teddy something more personal than a tangible gift, something precious and priceless, something all the money in the world couldn’t buy. Something she was in dire need of, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

His love.

Yeah, he loved her. The emotion had snuck up on him when he’d least expected it, stealing into his heart and making him realize he needed this feisty, stubborn, too-independent woman in his life. He wanted a wife to come home to at night and share his life with, and he wanted children to bring love and laughter to a home that hadn’t experienced much merriment since his parents had died. He imagined all those things, and more…and in every mental picture that projected in his mind, Teddy played a central part in his future.

His feelings for her were crazy, nothing he’d ever prepared himself for, yet there was no denying what he felt for her exceeded anything he’d ever experienced. And despite their different backgrounds and her parents’ uncertainties about him, the only person’s opinion that mattered to him was Teddy’s.

He knew that needing someone didn’t come easily to Teddy, but he harbored enough confidence to believe her feelings for him were just as strong as his were for her, which, at the very least, gave them a solid foundation to build on. He’d seen the emotion in her eyes when he’d made love to her last night, the uninhibited way she’d responded to him told a tale of its own. But he’d also sensed her uncertainty after that first joining, felt the barest hint of reservation. And he wasn’t going to give her time to come up with any regrets.

Luckily for him, she was easily distracted. He’d kept her mouth and hands and mind as busy as his own. He’d fanned the flames of desire all over again, taking her in possessive, erotic ways that had at first shocked Teddy, then incited her to new, feverish heights. They’d made good use of the box of condoms he’d brought, and in the dark hours of the night he hoped he’d managed to strip away a few layers of that frustrating reserve.

She let out a soft, slumberous sigh and shifted on the mattress, stretching out more fully on her belly and sprawling those gorgeous legs of hers across most of the bed. He couldn’t help but grin. If he’d still been lying beside her, she would have kicked him right off the edge. The woman was a bed-hog.

The covers wrapped loosely around her slender hips and tangled around her shapely legs, leaving the smooth slope of her back bare to his gaze, and hinting at the soft, warm nakedness beneath the sheet. Her arms were folded around a pillow, her face buried in the softness, and the slight curve to her body afforded him a glimpse of one full, pale breast.

Not so surprisingly, sexual heat surged through his body, settling into an insistent throb in his groin. Amazingly, he grew full and heavy beneath his cold, wet briefs and the denim molding to his hips and thighs. Welcoming the rush of warmth and anticipating the greater heat of Teddy’s body, he stripped his damp T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. He toed off his shoes, tugged off his soaked socks, and struggled to push the wet denim over his hips and down his legs. Completely naked, and fully aroused, he slipped beneath the covers and moved toward Teddy.

The moment his chilled flesh touched hers she gasped and came awake, her head lifting from the pillow. She looked disoriented, her tousled hair falling over her face, her eyes hazy. Before she could turn around or scramble away, he aligned his body over hers from behind, pressed her back down on the mattress, and pulled the blankets up around them.

“Austin?” she said, her voice husky and a little bewildered.

He dragged his open mouth along her jaw, nuzzled the warm, fragrant hollow of neck, tasting her skin with his lips and the touch of his tongue. “’Morning,” he murmured, his rumbly voice low and intimate in the shadowed gray before dawn. The soft, rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the window added to the lazy, sensual morning.

She released a drowsy, complacent “Mmm” as he caressed along the indentation of her waist with his hands, then shivered when he slipped his palms along her ribs and finally tucked his chilled hands between her breasts and the mattress to warm them.

She sucked in a swift breath as her nipples beaded against his icy palms. “You’re freezing,” she complained as another shudder ran though her, though she made no move to push him off her.

Nudging her thighs apart, he settled between that warm, welcoming harbor. “I won’t be for long,” he whispered, gently rubbing his stubbled cheek along her smooth shoulder. His damp hair brushed her skin, and he felt her shiver again.

“And you’re wet,” she said, her voice filled with confusion.

“I think that’s my line.” He rolled his hips forward, gliding his hot, male flesh along her slick, feminine cleft, proving his point.

She laughed huskily, and wriggled her bottom beneath him, impatiently seeking the deeper contact he planned to give her in his own sweet time. She drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. “You smell like rain, and pine.”

“Imagine that.” Smiling at the puzzled note to her voice, he eased a hand away from her breast, slid his flattened palm down her belly, and threaded his way through silky, damp curls to a greater fire, a more desperate need. Sultry desire drenched his fingertips the moment he touched her.

She whimpered beneath him, and he groaned, the heaviness and hunger inside him intensifying. “Ah, you feel so damn good, Teddy,” he breathed. Sinking deeper into her lush heat, he plied that tiny nub of flesh, giving her nothing but pleasure. Her breathing quickened, and he had the fleeting thought that he might be crushing her with his weight. “Am I too heavy for you?” he murmured against her ear.

“Nnnnooo,” she moaned, her legs parting wider for his touch, while her fingers gripped the pillow. She turned her head to glance back at him, but got caught up in the tremors shimmering through her body. He watched her eyes roll back in ecstasy, her lips part, and a long, keening cry rip from her throat as she gave herself over to the erotic sensations.

Satisfaction swelled in his chest, and he continued to stroke her, slowly, exquisitely, reverently, until the last bit of rapture ebbed—reveling in the fact that this time, she didn’t even try to temper the emotional climax.

Her unconditional response turned him on, humbled him, even. Wanting to give the same in return, he dragged his palms from beneath her, found her hands, and laced their fingers together at the side of her head. “Lift your hips for me, Teddy,” he rasped near her ear, desperate to be inside her.

She accommodated his request without hesitation, and he slid into her with a sleek, heavy glide, surrounding her with flesh that was no longer chilled, but now burned with the wild need to possess her in the most elemental way possible.

Mutual groans coalesced, and his hips began pumping harder, faster. Her fingers tightened around his, and she whispered his name, over and over, a sweet, drugging litany that dragged him deeper into the flames.

The sensations crashing over him stole his breath. The powerful emotions he felt for this woman touched his heart, overwhelming him, sending him careening straight over the edge of control. Burying deep, he arched against her and rode with the most excruciating pleasure he’d ever known.

11

SIGHING CONTENTEDLY, Teddy draped her leg over Austin’s and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, unable to think of a nicer way to wake up in the morning—making love to an exceptionally sexual, virile man who was as generous with her pleasure as he was greedy about taking his own satisfaction. The delicious, satiated glow spreading through her was something she could get used to.

Sex had never been a necessity for her, certainly not something she’d given much importance to in her pursuit to establish her career, but she quickly realized it was a matter of making love to the right man. She couldn’t get enough of Austin, the excitement of his kisses, the thrill of his touch, and even the sexy way he looked at her that could make her smolder and burn until he extinguished those internal flames of desire.

Their sexual compatibility and sizzling attraction was a win-win situation, and though her startling realization last night had scared her on an emotional level, she’d put her feelings for Austin into perspective during the night and decided to handle the situation like any other independent woman would. She’d have an affair with Austin. A simple, undemanding relationship that wouldn’t interfere with the goals she’d worked so hard to achieve, or threaten the unrestricted life-style she’d finally established for herself. A no-strings tryst that wouldn’t give Austin any false illusions about a forever kind of future together. No promises. No long-term commitment.

Satisfied with her plan, she lifted her head to look at Austin, furrowing her fingers in the soft, curly hair on his chest. His eyes were closed, and he looked exhausted, completely wiped out. And totally gorgeous with dark morning stubble lining his lean jaw. She thought about that roughness against her neck and shoulders during their last erotic interlude, and her skin tingled with renewed awareness. Slowly, she skimmed her palm down to his belly, slipped her hand beneath the sheet draped over his hips, and curled her warm fingers over his semierect shaft.

He groaned, and grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hand back up so it rested over the steady beating of his heart. “Have mercy, woman. I need a little time to recuperate,” he muttered, eyes still closed.

She laughed softly, and took pity on his poor, abused body. “Okay, I’ll give you ten minutes, and if you’re still being uncooperative, I’ll just have to climb on top and straddle you while you’re sleeping.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re a shameless hussy.”

“It’s all your fault,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through Austin’s still-damp hair, which brought to mind how cold and wet he’d been when he’d slipped into bed with her just a little while ago. “So tell me, why were you all wet?”

“As you can see, it’s raining outside,” he said, his voice a deep, rumbling murmur.

She glanced toward the window, watching rivulets of water run down the pane. The soft sound of rain outside soothed her. “Hmm, so it is.” But that didn’t really answer her question, so she rephrased it. “What were you doing out in the rain?”

The eye closest to her opened halfway, enough for her to glimpse feigned exasperation. “You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”

“Nope.” Smiling at his poor attempt to appear annoyed, she stacked her hands on his chest and rested her chin on top. “What were you doing out in the rain?” she repeated.

Both eyes opened, brilliant green and full of mischief now. “Getting your Christmas present.”

Her heart flip-flopped in her chest at that surprising announcement. It was Christmas morning, and the last thing she expected was a gift from Austin, especially when she hadn’t gotten him anything in return. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, his touch infinitely tender, the look in his eyes just as adoring.

The swell of emotion she experienced for this man at that moment terrified her, and she quickly suppressed it. “What store would be open on Christmas, at six in the morning?”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Well, Ms. Skeptical, why don’t we just go find out?”

Like a giddy kid on Christmas morning, Teddy sprang from the bed and grabbed the long, cotton robe hanging on the hook behind the bathroom door. Slipping into it, she came back to the bedroom and found Austin sitting on the side of the bed, still naked, and frowning at the garments on the floor.

He glanced up at her. “My clothes are all wet, except for my costume, and I’m afraid those chaps might be a little drafty.”

She laughed, though the thought of all that gorgeous masculinity framed in nothing but leather chaps made her pulse quicken. “But oh so sexy,” she said breathlessly.

“I’d be happy to oblige that fantasy later, darlin’,” he drawled huskily. “But right now, I’d prefer to keep the important parts warm.”

She tightened the sash on her robe, and extended an offer before she lost the nerve. “Maybe you ought to leave a few extra changes of clothes here.”

His gaze held hers for an immeasurable moment, dark and searching. “Maybe,” he said, his tone completely noncommittal.

Not wanting to delve any deeper into that subject at the moment, she rummaged through her dresser drawers, withdrawing a pair of light pink drawstring sweat shorts she wore around the house. Turning, she held them out to Austin. “This should work, for now. I know they look small, but they stretch, and they’re comfortable.”

His expression turned doubtful, but without any other options available, he went ahead and stepped into the snug shorts. Sure enough, the fabric stretched to accommodate his muscular form. The soft pink cotton molded to everything male about him, from his lean hips and tight buttocks, to the masculine bulge between his hard thighs.

“Wow, the color pink really suits you,” she teased.

He propped his hands on his hips and glared. “I’m sure your parents would be thrilled to find out I wear women’s clothing.”

She smothered a giggle. “My lips are sealed.” Grabbing his hand, she tugged him toward the bedroom door. “So, where’s this surprise?”

“In the living room.”

She headed in that direction, but before they reached the end of the short hallway, he stopped her, turning her to face him. Uncertainty flickered in the depth of his eyes, touching a chord deep within her.

“It’s really not much, but it’s something I hope might become a tradition.”

His words puzzled her, but she didn’t have much time to ponder them. He asked her to close her eyes, and once she did, he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and guided her into the living room. The scent of pine added to her bewilderment.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said from behind her, his words warm and heartfelt.

Teddy opened her eyes, and gasped at the sight of the Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the room, crooked and fractured in places, but its spirit not broken. The tree was nothing grand, a misfit among Douglas firs, but the sentiment behind Austin’s gesture transcended grandeur. The lengths he’d gone through to offer her this special gift exceeded anything anyone had ever done for her.

“It’s all yours, to decorate as you please,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against her hair. “And you’re not alone this year. You can share it with me.”

Realizing he must have overheard the conversation she’d had with Jordan about her childhood, her throat tightened and tears burned the back of her eyes.

It’s really not much, but it’s something I hope might become a tradition.

Now his words made sense, the meaning behind his remark teeming with assumptions…and complications. “Tradition” implied something lasting, tied up with commitment, and the future. A custom passed on from year, to year, and shared with loved ones.

Oh, Lord. While she wanted to maintain a casual relationship with Austin, he’d sailed headlong into forbidden territory, making subtle insinuations she wasn’t near ready to face.

Feeling suffocated, and unable to think straight, she pasted on a smile, and turned to face him. “This is great,” she said way too brightly. “Let’s decorate it. I’ll make some popcorn and we can string it and put it on the tree.”

She started toward the kitchen, but he caught her arm, stopping her. His gaze flickered over her face, and she desperately tried not to let her fear show.

“This isn’t everything, Teddy.” His tone was so gentle, she wanted to weep.

“It’s certainly enough,” she said, the double meaning escaping on choked laughter.

He hesitated, his own expression momentarily uncertain. Then his gaze cleared, and his fingers slid from her upper arm down to her hand, which he held loosely in his palm. “I love you, Teddy.”

Her stomach sank, and she visibly flinched at the words, so sweet, so powerful…so smothering. She shook her head in denial. “No, please, don’t.”

“Don’t love you?” he asked, surprise etching his features. “It’s too late, because I’m already too far gone. Don’t say the words? I have to, because I want you to know how serious I am about you. About us.”

She pulled her hand from his. “This is too much, too fast…”

The beginnings of a frown appeared on his face, exposing a niggling of concern. “I know you told me that you don’t have time for a relationship right now, but I’d think after the past week, hell, after last night, you’d make time. What we have together is more than just an itch we both need to scratch.”

Her face flushed, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being smothered. Of becoming just as accommodating as her sisters-in-law, and her mother. “Why can’t we just have an affair, and enjoy our time together for as long as it lasts?”

He jammed his hands on his hips, his eyes darkening to a fierce shade of green. “So, you want to use me for sex?”

His harsh voice sent a trickle of uneasiness skidding down her spine. She’d obviously provoked him, but admitting the truth was far better than leading him astray with false promises. “I enjoy being with you, Austin, but I’ve got a job to think about, and a committed relationship would demand more time than I have to give right now.” Her words sounded selfish to her own ears but, dammit, she cherished her independence, the freedom to come and go as she pleased, without answering to anyone.

Her mental assurance lacked a certain conviction she refused to analyze.

Irritation tightened his jaw. “I’ve got my own business to run, and I’m not demanding anything more from you than you’re willing to give. I was hoping we could meet somewhere in the middle.”

She rubbed her forehead wearily, knowing from experience that it rarely worked out so compatibly. Relationships turned demanding in time, and eventually destructive. She shook her head, feeling torn and confused, but ultimately holding on to the belief that balancing a career and relationship wasn’t for her. “I…can’t,” she whispered achingly.

“Why not?” he persisted.

His direct question stirred up many answers, and a whole lot of resentments she’d kept tucked away for so many years. Turning away, she moved deeper into the living room, away from the vibrant heat of Austin’s body, and attempted to explain her reasons the best she could. “It’s taken me years to finally become my own person, to finally break free of my family’s influence. Ever since I was a little girl, my parents have had certain expectations of me. As a teenager, I was groomed to be a ‘lady,’ went to every country-club dance there was and dated ‘respectable’ boys. And when I graduated from high school, my mother set me up with an endless string of potential husband prospects. Every guy I went out with came from an affluent family, and usually after the second or third date my mother was hinting at a wedding. That’s when I broke things off with the guy I was dating, before my mother had the chance to throw an engagement party.”

Standing by the Christmas tree, she reached out and tentatively touched one of the limbs, trying not to let the sentiment behind Austin’s gift get the best of her. She’d never known a man so sweet, so selfless, yet her misgivings wouldn’t allow her to accept what he so generously offered.

Swallowing the huge knot forming in her throat, she continued. “All I wanted was to go to college and pursue a career in graphic design, which I loved. All I got from my parents was nothing but grief, because I was too focused on a career when there was no need for me to work. They disapproved of my choices, and ever since the age of eighteen, I’ve been nothing but a disappointment to them.” She glanced over her shoulder at Austin, meeting his gaze and praying he wouldn’t hate her too badly once this was over. “You saw what I went through last night.”

Something in his eyes softened, and he stepped toward her. “Teddy—”

She held up a hand to ward him off, wanting him to know everything. One touch from him, and she’d lose all train of thought. “Then there was Bartholomew Winston, who was, of course, handpicked by my father and came with my mother’s full approval. He was a banker like his father and grandfather before him, came from old money, and was wealthy enough to impress my parents. After a few months of dating Bart, I finally gave in to the pressure. I had a ring on my finger, a wedding date set, and china patterns all picked out.”

“Did you love him?” Austin asked, that question seemingly important to him.

“No, I didn’t love him,” she admitted, a sad smile touching her mouth. “I cared for him, and I thought that was enough, because he was the first guy who understood and accepted my goals.” She’d learn later that his approval was all an illusion, a way to temporarily appease her. “For the first time in longer than I could remember, my mother and I had a decent relationship. She was in her glory making wedding plans, and I tried to convince myself that I could be happy.” She couldn’t contain the self-deprecating laugh that bubbled out of her. “About three months before the wedding, my parents sat Bart and I down and told me that now that I was getting married to a very prominent man, I should give up this foolishness of having a career. Certainly I couldn’t be a proper wife if I was busy working outside the mansion,” she added sarcastically.

He stood there, too far away, arms crossed over his wide chest, watching her with unfathomable eyes, listening, waiting. He appeared so patient, so understanding, yet there was something in his stance that promised something a bit more charged.

She drew a deep breath, and tightened the sash on her robe, not to keep the lapels together, but in an attempt to keep herself from falling apart. “Bart agreed with my parents, when I thought all along he understood how important being a graphic designer was to me. But he changed his tune, insisting that he wouldn’t have a wife who worked when there was no need for her to do so. And so I insisted that he take his ring back and find a more submissive female who wanted to be his keeper.”

Dragging a hand through her disheveled hair, she inwardly winced as she remembered the fiasco that erupted in her father’s study after her very indelicate declaration. “My parents totally freaked out, but I’d never felt so liberated as I did in that moment. And from then on, I vowed that I’d depend on no one but myself. I moved out of the house, much to my parents’ dismay, and I’ve been supporting myself ever since. I’ve totally disgraced them, but the move bolstered my confidence.” She watched Austin slowly move closer, and her chin rose in a stubborn show of bravado. Unfortunately, her insecurities couldn’t be so easily masked. “I like my independence. I’ve struggled for it. I’ve earned it, and I don’t want to give it up.”

Very gently, he used his thumb and forefinger and lowered her chin back down, as if silently telling her she had no reason to be defensive with him. “Who said anything about giving it up?” Before she could issue a response, he continued. “What makes you think you can’t have a relationship and a career? What makes you think I’d ever try and stifle you like your parents have tried to do?”

His barrage of questions made her head spin. His nearness made her long to put her arms around his neck, cling to his strength, and forget about every one of her doubts. “Because that’s what ultimately happens! I’ve been through it personally, and I’ve seen my brothers do it to each of their wives—”

He scoffed, a harsh sound that cut through her protests. “Oh, you’d be surprised, Teddy. If I learned anything last night, it’s that your sisters-in-law are hardly the submissive types. They let your brothers think they have the upper hand and put on a good show for your mother and father, but every one of them is an independent, self-sufficient woman who seems to have found an equal balance with her husband.”

His insightful view astounded her, and left her speechless.

He took advantage of her wide-eyed stare. “You have nothing to prove to me, Teddy,” he said. “Nothing at all. I love you just the way you are, stubborn, independent and determined to grasp that promotion you want so badly. And I’d never do anything to change the person you are, or interfere with what’s important to you.”

She heard his words, and really wanted to believe them, but couldn’t stem the rise of panic that flooded her…a deep-rooted fear that his understanding would wane in time.

She thought into the future, to where a committed relationship with Austin would lead, and her doubts were confirmed. “But you want a wife, and babies.”

“Yeah, I do,” he admitted. “Eventually.”

“I don’t want that,” she said, issuing the denial out of self-preservation.

“Don’t you?” His deep voice was calm and soothing, but his eyes pierced her with a perception that shook her to the depths of her soul.

She paced away from him, the intensity of her feelings for Austin deluging her with more unsettling thoughts. Her deep longing for him seemed to eclipse her lifelong need for independence and made her wonder what her life would be like if she eventually married Austin and gave him the babies he wanted.

And that’s where everything became a jumbled, conflicting mess in her mind. She’d been taught that women were supposed to be complacent, dutiful wives, and when babies came along, women stayed at home, falling into a maternal role that didn’t include the career Teddy had spent years working toward.

Dread balled in her stomach, overriding sense or reason. “No, I don’t want that,” she forced herself to say, and tried her best to believe those words. Sinking into the cushions of the couch, she beseeched Austin with her gaze. “All this has taken me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting to fall for you. And I don’t think I can be what you ultimately need in your life.” The statement came out as a tight, aching whisper.

His mouth stretched into a grim line. “You’re not even willing to try.”

“I’m willing to give you what I can.” She hated the uncertain quiver in her voice. Hated even more the fear that ruled her emotions.

“A no-strings affair,” he said, his tone flat.

Right now, it was all she could offer him. “Yes.”

“No way. It’s not enough.” His expression turned angry. “I’ve been used like that before, and I won’t be anyone’s part-time plaything again.”

Hearing the heated condemnation in his voice, and suspecting he, too, had been played for a fool in the past, she regarded him cautiously. “What are you talking about?”

“The last relationship I was in, if you could even call it that, was with a woman who was out for a good time, and I was it. Her name was Diane, and she was a Fantasy for Hire customer. Just like you, she was looking for a personal fantasy.”

Teddy’s heart sank as she realized the correlation between her own behavior and this other woman’s. Beyond Austin’s anger, she also heard the hurt in his deep voice, and realized that this other woman had trampled on his emotions and had given him a few insecurities of his own.

“She used me, Teddy, and when the affair came down to something more serious for me, she blew me off.” Tension bunched the muscles across his chest and in his arms as he stood on the other side of the coffee table. “Bottom line, I wasn’t good enough for her, and the life she led. Not on a permanent basis anyway.”

She winced at the lash of his words, and the bitterness seeping into his tone. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight and aching.

“Yeah, me too.” His cold gaze held hers relentlessly. “So no, I don’t do convenient affairs, Teddy. I need some kind of commitment when I’m serious about a woman. No matter how old-fashioned it may seem, when I fall in love, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy. And I expect the same from the woman I’m involved with.”

Her throat closed up, making speech impossible. His rare declaration of fidelity and devotion was what women dreamed of, and Teddy’s heart swelled with so many regrets, so many fears…and the overwhelming need to believe him, and accept his precious offering. The upheaval of emotions swamped her, pulling her in two different directions.

Letting out a low sigh of defeat, he headed for the hallway that led to her bedroom—to gather up his things, she suspected—then stopped before disappearing. “And just for the record, Teddy, I’ve never told another woman that I was in love with her. You’re the first, and I didn’t make the declaration lightly.”

She closed her eyes, listening to the rustling sounds drifting from down the hall, and tried to convince herself that it was best that things ended now, instead of when the relationship became more complicated. More demanding.

Her heart twisted unmercifully, rejecting the convenient excuse she desperately tried to cling to. Emotionally, she was already over her head—and the realization was alarming.

He returned to the living room minutes later, changed into his damp clothes, duffel bag in hand. “You’re still hanging on to the fantasy, Teddy,” he said, his gaze uncompromising as it held hers. “I’m offering you the real thing, and I won’t accept anything less from you, either.”

And then he was gone. As the silence and solitude she’d always cherished surrounded her, hot tears scalded her eyes. Seconds ticked into minutes, which turned into hours as she sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas tree Austin had bought for her, to share with her. Yet she’d pushed him out of her life, so determined to preserve her independence…so afraid to trust him with her heart.

“ARE YOU SURE I can’t convince you to join Brenda and me for a drink at the Frisco Bay?” Laura asked, her concerned voice attempting to cajole Teddy into accepting the invitation.

“I’m sure.” Teddy appreciated her friend’s attempt to cheer her up, but there were too many memories of Austin at the Frisco Bay, and she just wasn’t up to making polite conversation when her heart ached like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

It had been a week and a half since Christmas morning, when Austin had walked out of her life. She hadn’t heard from him, not that she’d expected to after the angry way they’d parted. She’d spent the holiday weekend by herself, alone and lonely and wallowing in misery. The tree in her living room had remained undecorated, yet she couldn’t bring herself to remove it from the condo, either.

She’d refused the New Year’s Eve parties Laura and Brenda had invited her to, feeling as though she had little to celebrate. Her parents had invited her and Austin over for New Year’s Day brunch at the house, hoping to “get to know Austin better,” since it seemed the two of them were serious about each other. Teddy declined that gracious offer with a convenient fib that she had other plans. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that Austin was no longer a part of her life.

And after she’d hung up the phone, Teddy recognized the irony of her parents accepting Austin, even if it was on a tentative level, when she’d been the one to judge him so harshly.

Pushing that awful thought aside, she reached for a file on her desk and resumed her conversation with Laura. “I’ve got a proposal to finish up here at work,” she said, pulling out the first draft copy of a resort brochure. “So I’ll be here late tonight. You and Brenda go and have a good time.”

“All right,” Laura reluctantly agreed. “Hey, isn’t tomorrow the day you find out if you get the senior graphic design promotion?”

Teddy found she couldn’t even summon a small bout of enthusiasm over what once had been her sole ambition. “Yeah. There’s a board meeting first thing in the morning. I should know by noon.”

“Well, good luck, and keep me and Brenda posted.”

Teddy managed a small smile, grateful for her friends’ support. “Thanks, I will.”

Hanging up the phone, she continued working on the brochure, making notes for narrative, and jotting down ideas for what she thought would make for an attractive, trifold advertisement. She welcomed the diversion—it kept thoughts of Austin at bay.

It was a little after 6:00 p.m., and outside her office she could hear other employees leaving for the evening. The building grew quiet, except for the occasional hum of the copier being used by an ambitious employee working late like herself, or the ring of the outer telephone that someone else picked up. Another hour, she decided, and she’d pack up her work and head home, though the thought of entering her condo made her dread the lonely, solitary night ahead. It no longer seemed to matter that she’d once cherished the privacy and freedom that came with being an unattached woman.

“Trying to make a last-minute impression on me?”

Louden’s sly voice slithered down Teddy’s spine, and she glanced up to find her boss standing in the doorway to her office. “No, I’m trying to do my job and meet my current deadline. I’m sure you’ve made up your mind by now who will get the promotion.”

Very casually, he entered the room, closing the door behind him. Her heart gave a distinct thump in her chest, and uneasiness congealed in her belly.

His pale gaze flickered over her silk blouse, then rose to her eyes again as he moved closer to her desk. “I submit my final choice tomorrow morning, before the board meeting begins. It’s still not too late for me to put you at the top of the list.” His insinuation rang clear—as of this moment, she wasn’t his top candidate for the position. “How about dinner tonight?”

Feeling very uncomfortable being alone with Louden in her office, she stood and reached for her briefcase, deciding it was time to pack up and leave. “I don’t think so. Austin is expecting me home shortly.”

“Cut the pretense, Teddy,” he said in a light, mocking tone that was at odds with the ominous glint in his eyes.

Her pulse leaped in apprehension. Trying to keep calm, she gathered important files and stacked them in her briefcase. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bracing his hands on the desk across from her, he leaned in close. “He’s a stripper,” he said, his gaze sparkling with the trump card he’d just played.

A cold chill tingled along the surface of her skin, and her belly tightened with tension. She let none of her anxiety show. “Excuse me?” she asked, infusing her voice with a credible amount of bewilderment.

A slow, insidious smile curved his thin lips as he straightened. “Austin McBride is a stripper, a fantasy for hire, or in your case, an escort for hire who received a higher price than I’d ever demand for services rendered.”

He knew too much, and she had no idea how Louden had discovered the truth about Austin. She watched him circle her desk, like a predatory animal closing in for the final victory, and snapped the locks closed on her briefcase.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious how I know about Austin?” he asked. “Janet mentioned to me that she thought your boyfriend looked familiar at the Christmas party, and then it dawned on her where she’d seen him before…dressed as a cop, one who stripped for a living. Needless to say, I found that extremely interesting, and while you were at lunch today I found a business card and a receipt for a thousand dollars for ‘services rendered’ in your desk drawer.”

White-hot fury filled her, and she turned to face Louden—who stood way too close for her comfort. “You went through my things?”

He shrugged, as if invading her privacy didn’t violate a serious code of ethics.

Months of enduring Louden’s tactics finally got the best of her. Fists clenching at her sides, she met his gaze challengingly, and let her temper boil over. “You had no right!”

He merely smiled, looking pleased with himself. “It proved what I already suspected. Austin is a fraud, so now that the truth is out in the open, there’s no longer a reason for you to play coy and pretend that you’re unavailable.” He slid his fingers down her bare arm. “Now, about your promotion…”

She jerked away from him, gaping incredulously at his nerve. She was tired of battling this man for something she knew she deserved, and she refused to compromise her morals to get it.

And in that moment, she came to a startling realization. This promotion was important to her, yes, but not as much as it once had been. She’d thought she needed to prove to her family that she was self-sufficient, determined and confident, and had put too much emphasis on the senior graphic design position being the direct link to her happiness. Her priorities shifted, and the one topping the list was ultimately pleasing herself—and that meant standing up to this man who believed he wielded so much control over her.

“You know what, Louden? You can take the promotion and shove it,” she said matter-of-factly, feeling more unencumbered than she had in years. “And I’m sure the board of directors will find it interesting tomorrow morning to find out exactly how you choose your candidates.”

An incensed shade of red traveled up his neck and suffused his face. “It’s your word against mine,” he said, his tone low and dark with menace.

Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she met his gaze evenly, telling him without words that she wasn’t intimidated by him. “I’m willing to take that chance. The last thing I knew, sexual harassment was against the law.”

With that parting remark, she started around the opposite side of the desk, her eye on the closed door and her thoughts on quickly escaping this man’s hostility. She’d only managed two steps when strong fingers manacled her wrist in a painful grip.

She glared back at Louden, refusing to cower. “Let me go.”

A malicious sneer curved his lips. “If you’re going to file a complaint, we might as well legitimize it.”

And with that, he jerked her around and shoved her against the wall, hard enough that she smacked her head, causing her to lose her grasp on her briefcase and purse, and momentarily paralyzing her entire body. A picture crashed to the floor from the jarring impact, the sound of shattering glass sharp in Teddy’s mind.

Stunned and dazed, and trying desperately to gulp air into her lungs, she felt his hands grope at her blouse, then viciously rip it open. Her lips parted to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth, nearly smothering her. Refusing to be a victim, she struggled against him as his other hand tugged at the hem of her skirt, then his hand touched her thigh. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shoved against his shoulders, adrenaline lending her a strength she never knew she possessed.

“Oh my God!”

Teddy heard her co-worker’s exclamation from somewhere in the office, and it was enough to alarm Louden. He didn’t let her go, but instead looked over his shoulder at the intruder. Taking advantage of the distraction, Teddy brought her knee up against his groin, hard. Louden’s hands fell away from her to grab himself, and he gaped at her in wide-eyed astonishment. His shock turned to outrage, and though he was in obvious pain, he growled low in his throat and made a last attempt to lunge at her. Her hand shot out to protect herself, and the base of her hand slammed into his nose.

She heard something crack, watched as Louden fell to his knees, clutching both his groin and now-bloody nose. An anguished moan ripped from his chest, and Teddy didn’t spare another second to put some distance between them.

On shaking, trembling legs, Teddy managed to round her desk and reach Anna, one of the secretaries in the firm. The woman appeared as shocked as Teddy felt.

“Are you all right?” Anna asked just as two other employees entered her office, obviously having heard the commotion.

“I’m…fine,” she assured them all, and with less than steady hands pulled the ends of her blouse back together over her chest. “Someone, call the police, please. I want this man arrested for sexual assault.”

12

IT WAS A COLD, cloudy, overcast Saturday afternoon, and neither McBride brother was home, much to Teddy’s disappointment. She hadn’t called beforehand, afraid that Austin might refuse to see her, and she didn’t want to discuss this private matter over the phone.

Sitting on the porch steps leading to the charming old Victorian house that Austin shared with his brother, she waited for over an hour for him to come home, knowing she’d sit there forever if that’s how long it took to convince Austin that he was the single-most important thing in her life.

Him, and his love and belief in her.

Coming to that conclusion had been a soul-searching event, but her realization had put so many things into perspective for her. After Louden’s attack, she’d spent a few days prioritizing her life, putting her own happiness first on that list, her love for Austin second, and her career third. She no longer felt the need to validate her self-worth to her family, or anyone else, by climbing the corporate ladder. No longer believed that sole independence was the means to ultimate happiness and emotional gratification. She’d put way too much stock in her ambitious goals, when the key to her contentment lay in her heart.

And Austin was in her heart and certainly a part of her soul. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with him, never believed a man could make her feel so whole, so emotionally complete. She’d never imagined that the thought of living without him would make her heart ache so unbearably.

Sighing to chase away the nerves fluttering in her stomach, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the stair railing, silently praying that her revelation hadn’t come too late.

Fifteen minutes later, his black Mustang turned the corner and drove up the street. Austin glanced out the driver’s window, saw her sitting in front of the house, and parked his car in the driveway. Neither brother exited the vehicle, and she could see Austin talking to Jordan, or rather, arguing, if the irritable look on Austin’s face was anything to go by.

Finally, Jordan got out of the Mustang, a wide, welcoming smile spreading across his handsome face. “Hi, Teddy,” he said, waving her way as he headed toward the front porch. “It’s great to see you again.”

Austin followed behind at a slower pace, unsmiling, his expression not at all as inviting as Jordan’s. Despite his cranky disposition, one that she was no doubt responsible for, he looked absolutely gorgeous in his well-worn jeans and leather jacket, his dark hair tousled so enticingly around his head.

Heart pounding with apprehension, Teddy stood and forced herself to return Jordan’s smile. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Jordan.”

He sauntered casually up the porch stairs, and hooked a finger over his shoulder to indicate Austin. “I’m seriously hoping that you’re here to give my brother a much-needed attitude adjustment.”

Austin scowled from behind Jordan, but the temperamental gesture was lost on the elder sibling who had way too much mischief glinting in his eyes. “I thought if I sprung for pizza and beer that it might improve his mood, but the man isn’t easily swayed by our favorite pastime.”

“Jordan,” Austin said, his voice vibrating with a low warning.

“Well, it’s true,” Jordan said as Austin slowly, reluctantly, climbed the stairs to join Jordan and Teddy. “You’ve been acting like the Grinch since Christmas morning.”

Austin’s dark green gaze flickered to Teddy, the depths of which were filled with a misery she was all too familiar with. “Maybe that’s because someone stole my Christmas.”

Teddy’s heart sank to her knees. What if Austin had decided that he no longer wanted a relationship with her? What if she’d hurt him so badly he no longer trusted her with his love? And what if she’d destroyed the one thing she needed the most from him—the way he believed in her, his unconditional acceptance of who and what she was. She had to make him realize that what she was offering this time wasn’t a convenient fling, or a part-time fantasy. It was the real thing.

Jordan leaned close, but didn’t bother lowering his voice when he spoke. “If my brother is stupid enough to let his pride get in the way of the best thing that’s ever happened to him, I’m always available.” He gave her a teasing wink, one she suspected was designed to rile his brother.

Jordan’s scheme worked. Austin visibly bristled and a possessive light sparked in his eyes. “Get lost, Jordan,” he growled fiercely.

A huge, unrepentant grin lifted the corners of Jordan’s mouth. “Hey, consider me gone.”

Austin stared after his brother with a frown, waiting until Jordan had unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house, leaving them well and truly alone. His unfathomable gaze traveled back to her, though he said nothing, letting the awkward silence stretch between them.

Since he didn’t seem inclined to start any conversation, she shifted anxiously on her feet and attempted a truce. “Hi,” she said, hating the quiver in her voice.

He didn’t offer a polite greeting in return, but cut right to the chase. “What are you doing here, Teddy?”

“Pleasing myself,” she said, the truthful declaration slipping from her prematurely.

His eyebrows rose, making her realize how selfish that had sounded, when she’d meant it to be a liberating statement—that she’d finally realized what was important to her.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Deciding that starting from the beginning would be the most logical approach, she drew a calming breath and said more steadily, “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

He leaned against the opposite railing, folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs at his ankles. He offered no verbal encouragement; his seemingly casual pose the only indication that he was willing to listen to her.

“I, um, got the promotion,” she said, thinking they could start on neutral territory and work their way to more personal issues—if he softened up along the way.

“I’m happy for you. I had no doubt you’d get it.”

He sounded genuine, and beyond the reservation in his gaze she caught a glimpse of warmth and sincerity. Knowing that he still cared gave her hope for what lay ahead.

As much as she wanted to close the distance between them, she stayed where she was and forged on, knowing she had to tell him everything, even as unpleasant as some of the recollections were. “Louden was arrested for assault, and I was the one to press charges.”

His entire body tensed at that announcement, his expression turning fierce and intense. “What happened?”

She explained the confrontation with Louden in full detail, how he’d assaulted her, how Anna had witnessed the attack, and the fact that Louden spent the night in jail and was fired from Sharper Image. And during her spiel, she watched Austin’s body language shift, watched how protective and outraged he became on her behalf. Surprisingly, she found his possessive behavior endearing and chivalrous, not at all smothering.

“Since that incident, three other women in the company have stepped forward with claims of sexual harassment against Louden.”

“Good,” he said gruffly. “Hopefully, Louden will get his comeuppance.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It looks like he will.”

Austin scrubbed a hand along his jaw and released a heavy breath. “So, it sounds like you’ve got everything you want.”

No bitterness coated his words, no resentment, just a resignation that Teddy refused to accept. “Not quite everything,” she said quietly, curling her fingers around the top of the railing on either side of her hips. “I want you.”

His smile was a little sad. “With that promotion, I doubt you’ll have time for me in your life.”

She’d given him every reason to express that skepticism, to be leery of her claim. And then she realized that there was one thing left for her to prove after all…her love for Austin.

“You know, the incident with Louden was a real eye-opener,” she said, capturing his attention once again.

He frowned at her, though he appeared curious over her statement. “How so?”

“Because it took what happened with Louden to make me realize exactly where my priorities lay.” Her fingers gripped the railing tighter, keeping her grounded and focused. “I allowed my narrow-minded goals, and the need for this promotion, to totally consume my life.”

His gaze sharpened, turned cautious. “And it no longer matters to you?”

“Oh, it matters,” she admitted, knowing she owed him honesty. “But it’s not the most important thing in my life anymore. You see, I now have the career I always wanted, but I have no one to share it with.” Swallowing the huge knot forming in her chest, she risked everything she had. “And I’m in love with this man who is incredibly generous and understanding and would never do anything to stifle me, but I was too afraid to trust him.”

“And he was afraid that he wasn’t good enough for you,” he replied, his voice a tad rusty.

“What?” she whispered.

“Yeah, it’s true.” He met her gaze directly, revealing insecurities of his own. “We’re so different, you and I. How we were raised, and what we come from. I’m not a blue blood, just a down-to-earth man who doesn’t wear a suit unless I absolutely have to. I have no interest in politics, or money, or being an investor, and I own a landscaping business. Most often than not, I come home at night filthy. After meeting your parents, and getting a good idea of what they expect for you, I don’t think I would fit in.”

She laughed, not because she found his concerns amusing, but because none of those things mattered to her. And judging by the few conversations she’d had with her mother the past two weeks, her parents had warmed to him, too.

“Oh, Austin,” she said with a bright smile, one as warm and glowing as their future together. “First of all, I don’t give a damn what my parents, or anyone else, thinks about you. I love you, just the way you are. But I don’t think you have to worry about impressing my mother and father. I get the feeling that they like you. My mother has asked me twice now when I plan to bring you over for dinner again.”

“You love me?” he asked, his voice ragged, his gaze filled with pleasure and excitement, and just a hint of disbelief.

“Yeah, I do.” Finally closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his, craving his heat. “And just for the record, Austin, I’ve never told another man that I loved him,” she said, repeating the same words he’d told her Christmas morning. Her feelings for Bart had never extended beyond caring. “You’re the first, and I don’t make the declaration lightly.”

A full-fledged, sexy grin claimed his mouth, and his hands found their way inside her lambskin coat, sliding around to stroke over her jean-clad bottom. “Damn, but you’re bossy.”

“Yeah, I am, so you’d better get used to it,” she said with an impudent smile. Twining her fingers through his thick, soft hair, she brazenly pulled his mouth down to meet hers. “Now shut up and kiss me, because I’ve missed you so much.”

His reply was a deep, thrilling groan that vibrated against her lips. Their time apart dissolved beneath the onslaught of a hot, needy, tongue-tangling kiss. They made magic. They affirmed their love. They both moaned in frustration when the melding of their lips was no longer enough to quench the burning, out-of-control desire that had ignited between them.

“Too many clothes,” she complained breathlessly as she stole another deep kiss to assuage her hunger for the taste of him, then slipped her cool hands inside his jacket and beneath his shirt so she could touch his heated flesh. She lost all sense of time and place—she could only think of this man and how he made her feel.

Her entire body tingled, causing her thoughts to shift to more urgent matters. Breaking their kiss, she said huskily, “I want you naked.”

His low rumbling laughter tickled her skin as his mouth found the soft hollow under her ear. He nuzzled the sensitive flesh, and she shivered. “I don’t think the neighbors would appreciate the public display.”

She bit her bottom lip, imagining that sensual mouth on her breasts. Knowing too well the delicious, exquisite sensation of her nipple being finessed by his tongue, she melted a little more. “Should we go back to my place?” she whispered.

He lifted his head, shaking it, his eyes feverish and impatient. “I can’t wait that long.”

The unmistakable erection pressing against her belly attested to his barely suppressed restraint. Excitement and awareness seized her. “Me neither.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity to Teddy, both of them uncertain as to what to do about this awesome need they had for each other, and how to satisfy it. Then a reckless grin slashed across his features, and she sensed trouble was about to begin. He bent his knees, and in one fluid motion hefted her over his shoulder caveman-style.

A surprised shriek escaped her. By the time she’d dragged in a breath and could talk again, they were inside the house, and he was carrying her across the foyer toward a set of stairs that led to the second landing. Blood rushed to her head, making her dizzy. “Austin!” she said, choking back laughter, and managing to prop herself up by bracing her hands on his backside. “Put me down!”

He gave her thigh a loving, intimate squeeze. “In a minute.”

Jordan rounded the corner from the living room into the foyer at that moment, a comical expression on his face when he saw the two of them. Teddy blushed to the roots of her hair.

Austin didn’t stop his stride. “Don’t mind us, Jordan,” he said, then loped up the stairs, two at a time, giving Teddy a jarring ride. “We’ve got an itch that can’t wait to be scratched.”

A grin quirked Jordan’s mouth, and he reached for the set of keys on the small table by the front door. “Gotcha. I’ll take this as my cue to ‘get lost’ again, this time for a few hours.”

“At least,” Austin agreed wholeheartedly, shamelessly. Entering a room, he kicked the door shut behind them, then lowered her back to her feet.

Light-headed, she swayed slightly, and he grabbed her hand to steady her. As she gained her balance, Teddy glanced around, registering the warm, masculine tones of Austin’s room, and the big four-poster antique bed dominating the middle. Her pulse quickened, and she brought her gaze back to Austin, who was looking at her very intently, their earlier play replaced by something serious and intimate.

“Will you marry me, Teddy?” he asked, his voice strong, and clear, and infinitely tender. “If you need time, I’ll give it to you, but I need a commitment.”

“You’ve got it,” she assured him, smiling. “I don’t need any more time to know that you’re the perfect man for me. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Relief touched his expression. Framing her face between his palms, he brought her mouth up to his for a kiss that started out gentle and sweet, but quickly escalated into a full-blown seduction. Eager again, she slipped her hands into his jacket and shoved the heavy material off his shoulders and down his arms, letting it fall to the floor. He groaned, and rid her of her coat, too, then lifted her sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Less than five seconds later her bra followed, and he filled his hands with the warm, resilient flesh, rubbed his thumbs over the beaded nipples until her breath caught in her throat.

“Do you mind living here?” he asked, raising his arms so she could peel his shirt off while he toed his loafers off his feet.

She couldn’t imagine them living in her small condo when they had such a lovely place to call home. “I’d love to live in your house…and I’d love to have your babies.”

That stalled him for a moment, just as he’d unsnapped her jeans and started to unzip them. His gaze jerked to hers, hopeful and searching. “What about your career?”

Giving him a provocative smile, she went to work on his belt buckle. “Weren’t you the one who told me I could have it all?” Done with that first task, she took care easing his zipper over the full erection straining the fly of his jeans.

“Yeah, and I’m glad you believe it.” He released a tight hiss of breath when her hands slid into his briefs and she took all that hot, hard masculinity into her hands.

Grasping her wrists, he pulled them away from his body and walked her back toward the bed—until the mattress connected with her knees and she was forced to sit. Then he knelt before her and pulled off her leather boots and socks.

“You’ll make a great mom,” he said knowingly.

She believed that, too, especially when she had him by her side, supporting her, loving her. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, and she lifted her hips so he could pull them off. Then he slowly removed her panties, trailing hot, damp kisses along her belly, her hip, her feminine mound, her quivering thighs…all the way down to her feet.

Dewy and restlessly inflamed, she struggled to keep her mind focused on important issues for just a few minutes longer. “How do you feel about eloping?”

The smoky gaze traveling leisurely, hungrily, up her long legs jumped immediately to her face. “Are you serious? You don’t want a big wedding?”

She exaggerated a shudder. “No.” She’d been that route before, and didn’t need all that pomp and circumstance to pledge her eternal love to Austin.

He raised an eyebrow, and with a tantalizing, calculated roll of his hips that was all for her pleasure, he shimmied out of his own pants. A smile curved her mouth. She planned to extract many more private performances in the future.

“I thought all women wanted a big, fancy wedding,” he said, curious and confused.

Anticipation and desire quickened her pulse as she took in his magnificent body. She wriggled back on the bed, until she lay in the center. “I’d strangle my mother before we made it to the ceremony,” she said jokingly. “Besides, I want to marry you soon. I don’t think I could wait months and months to live with you, and wake up to you every day…”

Grinning in obvious agreement, he moved up onto the bed, and over her, settling his hips between her welcoming thighs, teasing her with the tip of his shaft. “Is three weeks enough time to make arrangements, and schedule yourself a nice, lengthy vacation?”

“That would be perfect,” she murmured, wrapping her legs around his thighs to urge him closer, and drawing his head down so she could kiss him. “But I don’t think I can wait another minute for you to make love to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled with a sinful grin, and obliged her, taking her breath away in one smooth, silky thrust of his hips against hers. He touched her heart with his love, filled her soul with that unconditional faith of his, and in the process redefined the word perfect.

Epilogue

A MONTH LATER, Teddy and Austin eloped to Waikiki, Hawaii, where they were married by a minister on a bluff overlooking the crystal blue Pacific Ocean. The bride wore a simple cream silk dress complemented with a lei of orchids, and the groom sported dark brown slacks, a cream-colored shirt and an adoring smile as he exchanged wedding vows with the woman who’d stolen his heart.

Afterward, they ordered room service in their bridal suite and sat out on their lanai and fed each other lobster, buttered potatoes and slices of raspberry white-chocolate cheesecake. And when their appetite for food had been appeased, they’d moved to the bedroom and satisfied a more physical and emotional hunger, consummating their love in a ritual as old as time.

Two hours after becoming Mrs. Austin McBride, the only thing Teddy wore was the orchid lei, which Austin had insisted upon, a pink flush on her skin from Austin’s loving and the huge rock of a diamond her husband had surprised her with during their wedding ceremony. The ring now replaced the ruby and diamond band she’d worn there for the past year.

Austin propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at his wife, amazed that one woman could make his life so incredibly rich. She looked beautiful, and entirely too pleased with herself. He knew the reason why.

“You do realize, don’t you, that your parents are going to hit the roof when they get your ‘wedding announcement’ in the mail.”

“Yeah.” Amusement threaded her husky voice and sparkled in her eyes. She’d asked the minister’s wife to take a Polaroid snapshot of the two of them after the ceremony, then on a piece of the hotel’s stationery she’d written, “Teddy and Austin announce their wedding to one another,” along with the date. She’d sealed both in an envelope, and sent it to her parents in San Francisco so they’d receive the news before Austin and Teddy arrived back home.

She rolled to her back and smiled up at him, looking tousled, and thoroughly satiated. Her breasts were tipped in fragrant orchids, and a few crushed petals clung to her still-damp skin. “I have to admit that it felt good to buck convention.”

He laughed. Leave it to Teddy to indulge in one final act of rebellion with her parents. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely,” she assured him, touching her hand to his jaw. “I couldn’t be happier, or more in love, and I don’t need a huge ceremony or reception to validate how I feel about you.” Then a small frown creased her forehead. “My parents will survive this little catastrophe, though I’m a little worried about Jordan.”

“Jordan?” he questioned, wondering what his brother had to do with all that. “Why?”

Her hand absently caressed his chest, and the diamond on her finger caught the light, glittering like a brilliant star. “Well, I know you’re trying to sell Fantasy for Hire, but he didn’t seem too thrilled about handling the business while you’re away.”

“He’ll be fine.” Austin grinned with wry humor. “It’s not as though he’s got to worry about fulfilling anyone’s fantasy. I only need him to book the dancers.”

“I guess you’re right, but wouldn’t it be great if he found someone like we found each other?” The hopeful quality in Teddy’s voice attested to the fondness she seemed to have for Austin’s brother. “I mean, I’m sure he’s some woman’s ideal fantasy.”

Austin thought about the possibility of Jordan shedding his conservative image to play some woman’s fantasy, but knew his brother would never go for that kind of public performance. Jordan tolerated Fantasy for Hire, but he’d never personally advocate being hired out as someone’s fondest desire.

He shook his head at Teddy. “Naw, it’ll never happen.”

Moving over Teddy, he fitted himself snugly between her thighs, his need for her already fierce and rampant. “Now, what do you say we forget about Jordan, and your parents, and enjoy our honeymoon. I want you, wife.”

Smiling a sultry, seductive smile, she lifted the lei of orchids from around her neck and placed it over his head, letting the fragrant flowers fill the air between them. “Consider yourself laid, husband.”

A Christmas Marriage Ultimatum

By Helen Bianchin

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHANTELLE transferred the last bag of groceries into the boot and closed it, then she returned the shopping trolley to a nearby bay. Minutes later she eased her mother’s Lexus out from the car park and joined the flow of traffic heading north.

Handling left-hand drive after a four-year absence didn’t pose any problems at all, and she slid her sunglasses down to shade her eyes from the glare of the midsummer sun as she headed towards Sovereign Islands, a top-end luxury residential estate on Queensland’s Gold Coast, comprising numerous waterways where boats and cruisers lay moored adjacent waterfront homes.

It was an idyllic setting, and she approved of her parents’ move from their frenetic Sydney lifestyle. Mother and stepfather, she mentally corrected, although Jean-Paul had taken on the role of father when she’d been nine years old. Too long ago for her to regard him as anything other than a much-loved parent.

The past few years had wrought several changes, she reflected musingly.

Who would have thought at twenty-four she’d have thrown up a position as pharmacist in an exclusive Sydney pharmacy, a modern apartment, family, friends…for a small villa owned by her parents in northern France?

Yet four years ago it had seemed the perfect place to escape to following an end to a brief, passionate affair.

A month after her arrival, she’d discovered she was pregnant. So she’d stayed, gaining work in the local pharmacie, and had the baby, a beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed boy she’d named Samuel. It had become a matter of pride to be self-supportive, and her parents visited twice a year.

Now, after a four-year absence, she’d brought Samuel to Australia for him to sample his first southern-hemispheric Christmas.

‘No snow,’ she’d explained when the jet touched down in Brisbane two days ago, and rejoiced in her son’s wonderment at the switch in climates as he embraced his grandparents.

How simplistic life was to a child, Chantelle mused as she traversed the first of three bridges leading to Anouk and Jean-Paul Patric’s home on one of seven islands linked to form the suburban Sovereign Islands estate.

Children responded to love and affection, and her son was no exception. Bilingual, he was equally conversant in French and English. Tall for his tender years, thick dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, with a melting smile, he was his father in miniature.

Chantelle shook off the whisper of ice slithering down her spine at the thought of the man who’d fathered her child.

Dimitri Cristopoulis. Undeniably Greek, American educated, tall, dark and attractive, an entrepreneur in his mid-thirties who dealt in the buying and selling of hotels and apartment buildings in several major cities worldwide.

Even now, his image was as vivid as it had been four years ago. Broad sculpted facial features, olive textured skin, dark gleaming eyes, and a mouth to die for.

Sexy, sensual and incredibly lethal, she’d mentally accorded when she’d first caught his gaze in a Sydney city restaurant.

She hadn’t been wrong. He was all three, and more…much more. She, who was incredibly selective in sharing her body, had gifted hers willingly after one night.

For one month they’d enjoyed life and each other with a passion that captured her heart. Only to have it torn apart with the arrival of an actress claiming to be his fiancée.

Confrontation involved accusations and argument, and Chantelle had walked away…out of his life, her own, invoking her parents’ promise not to divulge information as to her whereabouts. In a bid for a new life, a new identity, she had reverted to her legal birth-name of Chantelle Leone.

Now Chantelle turned into the boulevard housing the elegant home her parents had retired to last year from their mansion in Sydney, used the remote modem to open the gates, and garaged the car.

Jean-Paul appeared as she opened the boot, and together they caught up the grocery bags and took them indoors.

‘Maman, Maman!’

Chantelle deposited the bags on the kitchen table and opened her arms wide to scoop up her son. ‘Hello, mon ange. Have you been good for Grandmère?’

‘Excellent,’ Samuel assured as he wrapped his arms around her neck. ‘Tonight we’re having a party.’ He pressed kisses to her cheek. ‘Grandmère says I am an important guest.’

‘Very important,’ she confirmed, hugging him close. He was the most precious person in her life, and she never failed to ensure he knew just how much he was loved. ‘After lunch you must have a long nap, hmm? So you will be at your best, and everyone will think you totally adorable.’

‘Totally.’

Chantelle chuckled and buried her lips into the curve of his sweet neck. He was developing a delightful sense of humour, and his smile…it bore the promise of having the same devastating effect as the man who’d fathered him.

Which tore at her heartstrings more than she cared to admit. Already, the likeness between child and father was fast becoming apparent. Too apparent, she perceived, making it difficult to dismiss Dimitri Cristopoulis from her mind.

A silent derisive laugh rose and died in her throat. As if that was going to happen any time soon. His image was just as powerful now as it had been four years ago.

Worse, he invaded her dreams…teasing, taunting, enticing in a way that brought her awake heated, restless and wanting.

‘We’ll have an early lunch,’ Anouk relayed as she began unloading the grocery bags. ‘Then we begin preparations, oui?’

It proved to be a busy afternoon, and Chantelle stood with Anouk and Jean-Paul for a final inspection before they retreated upstairs to dress.

The large terrace looked festive with a tracery of coloured lights, lanterns and potted flowers gracing the area. Holly and mistletoe, a tall Christmas tree festooned with decorative ornaments, with wrapped gifts for the guests. Bottles of wine for the men, and handmade chocolates for the women which Anouk and Jean-Paul would hand out at the evening’s close.

A kindly protestation not to go over the top fell on deaf ears, for Anouk had merely smiled, patted her daughter’s hand, bestowed a fleeting kiss to one cheek, and assured it was just an informal gathering of friends.

Given her mother’s penchant for entertaining, and the many formal social events Anouk had hosted in Sydney over the years, Chantelle conceded with musing humour that tonight’s soirée fell into informal by comparison.

Samuel’s delighted enchantment with everything was sufficient reward for the requisite part she was expected to play.

Consequently she selected a stunning black evening trouser suit, draped a long red silk wrap across her shoulders, added minimum jewellery, and went with subtle make-up before leading Samuel downstairs.

Jean-Paul greeted guests in the main foyer, directed them through to the terrace, whereupon Anouk ensured they mixed and mingled seamlessly while hired staff offered liquid refreshment and proffered trays of hors d’oeuvres.

Anouk was a charming hostess, and Chantelle joined her mother as they moved effortlessly from one guest to another, pausing while Anouk exchanged a few words, a smile as she introduced her daughter and grandson.

Everyone seemed pleasant, and Chantelle silently commended her parents’ circle of friends.

Samuel was in his element, and determined to illustrate his good manners as he formally offered his hand at each introduction.

He was a hit, she acknowledged with maternal bemusement, exuding the charm of a child twice his age.

Just like his father.

Where did that come from? A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.

Not a day went by when she wasn’t reminded of the man who’d fathered him.

Chantelle was aware of her mother’s voice as she effected yet another introduction, and she summoned a smile as she greeted the guest.

‘Andreas recently moved to the Coast,’ Anouk explained. ‘And purchased a mansion in a neighbouring Sovereign Islands boulevard.’

There was something about the man’s stance, the way he held his head that drew her attention.

‘Your parents very kindly included me in this evening’s festivities,’ he informed in a voice that held a faint accent that was difficult to place.

Andreas…The name was of Greek origin.

‘We have something in common,’ he offered. ‘My son is also visiting for Christmas. He’s in the car finishing a call on his cellphone.’

She envisioned with some scepticism a high-powered entrepreneur digitally available twenty-four by seven, negotiating and closing deals worldwide.

‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy his visit,’ Chantelle conceded politely, aware of a momentary intentness evident as the man’s attention focused on her son.

Was it her imagination, or did she glimpse conjecture before it was quickly masked?

Then the moment was gone as Anouk steered her towards a young couple who spent several minutes enthusing about their recent trip to Paris.

Chantelle enjoyed their praise of a city she adored, and they lingered together awhile.

‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Anouk inclined with a warm smile. ‘Another guest has arrived.’

The last, surely? Chantelle mused as she followed her mother’s line of vision to a tall, broad-framed man whose stance portrayed an animalistic sense of power.

Even from a distance he managed to exude a physical magnetism most men would covet.

The set of his shoulders beneath their superb tailoring held a certain familiarity, and she fought against the rising sense of panic, tempering it with rationale.

How many times had she caught sight of a male figure whose stature bore a close resemblance to that of Samuel’s father, only to discover his facial features were those of a stranger?

As it would prove on this occasion, she mentally assured as she saw Andreas move towards him.

Father and son. Had to be, she registered as the two men greeted each other with familial ease.

Seconds later they both turned at Anouk’s approach, and Chantelle froze, locked into speechless immobility in recognition of a man she’d hoped never to see again in this lifetime.

Dimitri Cristopoulis.

What was he doing here? Here, specifically in her parents’ home?

Dimitri’s family resided in New York…didn’t they?

He’d never said, and she hadn’t asked. She choked back a hollow laugh. Had she even given it a thought?

In seeming slow motion Chantelle witnessed the introduction process, aware of Dimitri’s calculating gaze as it encompassed first her, then her son, before settling with ruthless intensity on her own.

‘Chantelle.’

The sound of his voice sent shivers scudding the length of her spine. How could so much be conveyed in a single word?

No. The silent scream rose and died in her throat at what she glimpsed in those dark eyes before it was masked.

With mounting consternation she watched as he sank down onto his haunches and extended his hand to her son.

‘Samuel.’

The similarity between man and child was indisputable. Her son, but undeniably his.

Everything faded to the periphery of her vision, and she was conscious only of Dimitri and Samuel. Her hand closed over her son’s shoulder in a protective, reassuring gesture.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Samuel offered with childlike politeness.

Dear heaven, this was the culmination of her worst nightmare. Instinct screamed for her to scoop Samuel into her arms…and run as fast and as far away as she could.

Except Dimitri would follow. She could sense it, knew it in the depths of her soul. This time there would be no escape…no place she could hide where he wouldn’t find her.

Chantelle was dimly aware of her mother’s voice, although the words failed to register.

Did anyone guess she was a total mess? Every nerve in her body seemed to shred and sever, changing her into a trembling wreck.

Dimitri rose to his full height, and she caught sight of the veiled anger apparent in those dark eyes an instant before he masked it.

There were questions…several, she sensed he would demand answers to. Yet the most telling one was startlingly obvious.

Fear closed like an icy fist around her heart. He couldn’t take Samuel away from her…could he?

Was it her imagination, or did the air fizz with tension? For a wild moment she felt if she so much as moved a muscle, she’d be struck down by its invisible force.

‘Maman, may I be excused?’ A small voice penetrated the immediate silence, and brought Chantelle’s undivided attention.

‘Naturellement, petit.’ She offered a polite smile, then she turned and led Samuel towards the staircase.

A reprieve. One she badly needed. It would allow her time to recoup her severely shaken composure, and prepare for whatever the evening held in store.

For the next hour she could legitimately use Samuel as a shield. But the time would come when she’d have to face Dimitri alone. What then?

She felt the slight tug of Samuel’s hand and realised she retained too tight a hold on it. A self-derisory sound choked in her throat at such carelessness, and she lifted him into her arms, then buried her lips against the sweet curve of his neck.

‘Maman, who is that man?’

Bathroom duty complete, he studiously dried his hands, his dark eyes solemn as he posed the query.

Your father. Two simple words which couldn’t be uttered without an accompanying explanation to his level of understanding.

‘Someone I met a long time ago,’ she said gently.

‘Before I was born?’

Chantelle bent down and brushed her lips to his forehead. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘He’s very big. Bigger than Grandpère.’ Solemn dark eyes locked with hers. ‘Do you like him?’

Oh, my. ‘Grandpère?’ she teased. ‘Of course. Grandpère is the best, non?’

‘Oui. And Grandmère,’ Samuel added. ‘But the man is scary.’

Scary covered a multitude of meanings to a child whose vocabulary was beginning to broaden. ‘He would never hurt you.’ She could give such reassurance unequivocally.

‘No,’ Samuel dismissed. ‘He had a scary face when he looked at you.’

Out of the mouths of babes. ‘Maybe it was because we had a disagreement.’ A mild description for the blazing row they’d shared.

Her son absorbed the words, then offered with childlike simplicity, ‘Didn’t he say sorry?’

‘No.’ But then, neither had she. ‘Shall we go downstairs to the party? Grandmère will wonder where we are.’

To remain absent for too long would be impolite.

Besides, she adored her mother and refused to allow Dimitri’s presence to mar the evening.

It took considerable effort to act out a part, but act she did…smiling, laughing as she mixed and mingled, conversing with what she hoped was admirable panache.

Exclusive schooling and a year being ‘finished’ paid off in spades, and she defied anyone to criticise her performance.

She was supremely conscious of Dimitri’s presence, and he made no effort to disguise his interest. It was only by adroit manipulation that she managed to avoid him during the ensuing hour.

Samuel held most of her attention, and it was with a sense of suspended apprehension she signalled it time for him to bid the guests ‘good night.’

Preparations for bed and the reading of a story took a while, and she watched as his eyelids began to droop, saw him fight sleep, then succumb to it.

Chantelle switched off the bedlamp, leaving only the glow of a night-light to provide faint illumination. Five minutes, she allowed, enjoying the time to study his face in repose.

He was growing so quickly, developing a sensitive, caring nature she hoped would remain despite the trials life might hold for him.

An errant lock of hair lay against his forehead, and she gently smoothed it back before exiting the room.

As he was a sound sleeper who rarely woke during the night, she was confident he wouldn’t stir. However, she intended to check on him at regular intervals, just in case the excitement of travel, a strange house and a party atmosphere disturbed his usual sleep pattern.

A degree of misgiving caused her stomach to tighten as she re-entered the lounge. Most of the guests had converged on the adjoining terrace, and she caught up a flute of champagne from a proffered tray as she moved outdoors.

The string of electric lanterns provided a colourful glow. The sky had darkened to a deep indigo, and there was a tracery of stars evident, offering the promise of another warm summer’s day.

Anouk and Jean-Paul worked the terrace, ensuring their guests were content, replete with food and wine. It was a practised art, and one they’d long perfected.

Chantelle followed their example, pausing to chat to one couple or another, genuinely interested in their chosen career, the merits of the Gold Coast, relaying details of her plans during the length of her stay.

Invitations were offered, and she graciously deferred accepting any without first conferring with her mother.

Dimitri was there…a dangerous, primitive force. She was supremely conscious of his attention. The waiting, watching quality evident…like a predator stalking for a kill.

If he wanted her on edge, he was succeeding, she perceived, aware of the cracks beginning to appear in her social façade.

‘Chantelle.’

The sound of his deep drawl shredded her nerves. All evening she’d prepared for this moment. Yet still he’d managed to surprise her.

‘Dimitri,’ she acknowledged, forgoing the polite smile.

He wasn’t standing close enough to invade her personal space, yet all it would take was another step forward.

‘We need to talk.’

She arched a deliberate eyebrow. ‘I’m not aware we have anything to discuss.’

‘No? You want I should spell it out?’

It wasn’t easy to maintain a distant, albeit polite façade. ‘Please do.’

Dimitri didn’t move, yet it appeared as if he had, and she forced herself to stand absolutely still.

‘Samuel.’

Chantelle felt fear gnaw at her nerve-ends. ‘What about him?’

A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘The Cristopoulis resemblance is uncanny.’

‘Consequently you’ve put two and two together and come to the conclusion he might be yours?’ How could she sound so calm, or inject the slight musing element into her voice, when inside she was shaking?

‘You deny the possibility?’

‘I’m under no obligation to you, or anyone, to reveal his father’s identity.’

‘You want me to go the distance with this?’ Dimitri queried in a voice that was dangerously soft. ‘Seek legal counsel, access his birth certificate, request DNA?’

Ice slithered the length of her spine. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘A statement of intention,’ he corrected.

‘I could deny your request for DNA.’ The need to consult a lawyer seemed imperative.

His mouth formed a cynical smile, although there was no humour apparent in those dark eyes. ‘Try it.’

Her stomach performed a slow, painful somersault. ‘You possess an outsize ego. What makes you think you were my only lover?’

‘I was there,’ Dimitri reminded with deceptive quietness. Leashed savagery lay just beneath the surface of his control, and he gained some satisfaction as soft colour tinged her cheeks.

Was his memory of what they’d shared as startlingly vivid as her own? They’d spent every night together, never seeming to be able to satisfy a mutual hunger for each other.

Possession on every level. An all-consuming passion that had known no bounds.

She had lived for the moment she could be with him, resenting each minute they were apart. The sun had never shone more brightly, nor the senses become so defined. If hearts sang, hers had played a soaring rhapsody in full orchestra.

As for the sex…Intimacy, she corrected, at its most intense…highly sensual, libidinous, magic.

‘There was no one else for either of us,’ Dimitri pursued in a silkily soft voice that speared her heart.

Chantelle drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. ‘Aren’t you forgetting Daniella?’ Even now, it hurt her to say the actress’s name.

A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw. ‘We dealt with that four years ago.’

‘No,’ she corrected with incredible politeness. ‘We had a blazing row over the disparity between her account of your relationship, and yours.’

‘At which time you chose to believe her version, rather than mine.’

Even now, the scene rose up to taunt her…the harsh words, the invective. ‘She conveyed telling evidence.’

‘Cleverly relayed to achieve the desired outcome,’ Dimitri attested. ‘Daniella is a scheming manipulator, and an extremely clever actress.’

‘So you said at the time,’ Chantelle declared bitterly.

‘Yet you still walked.’

Her trust in him, what she’d thought they had together, had been destroyed. ‘I couldn’t stay.’ He hadn’t tried to stop her. Nor had he called.

To be fair, neither had she.

‘Shall we begin again?’

‘There is nothing to discuss.’

‘We can do it here, now. Or we can share dinner tomorrow night.’ He waited a beat. ‘Your choice.’

‘No.’

One eyebrow slanted. ‘You want to play hardball?’

‘I don’t want to play at all!’

His features assumed a hard mask. ‘I deserve to know if Samuel is my son.’

‘What if I tell you he’s not?’

His gaze pierced hers, indomitable and frighteningly inflexible. ‘I want proof, one way or another.’

Bravado rose to the fore as she held his gaze. ‘You don’t have the right.’

‘Yes, I do. Seven, tomorrow evening. I’ll collect you.’

She didn’t want him here. In fact, she didn’t want to see him anywhere, period!

‘You want to do this with a degree of civility?’ Dimitri queried. ‘Or—?’

‘I’ll meet you.’ She named the first restaurant that came to mind. ‘Seven.’

Without a further word she moved away from him, seeking another guest…anyone with whom she could converse and therefore escape Dimitri Cristopoulis’ damning presence.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU look charming, chérie,’ Anouk complimented the following evening as Chantelle collected the keys to her mother’s car.

‘Thank you.’ She’d chosen a slim-fitting dress in black with a black lace overlay, short sleeves and a square neckline. Black stiletto-heeled sandals lent her petite frame added height, and she’d swept hair the colour of sable high into a careless knot.

‘It’s nice of Andreas’ son to invite you to dine with him.’

Nice wasn’t a description she’d accord Dimitri…or his motives behind the invitation. If Anouk knew the real reason there would be concern, not pleasure, evident.

However, not even her mother knew the identity of Samuel’s father. Her parents had been absent from Sydney at the time of Chantelle’s affair with Dimitri, and afterwards, when told of her pregnancy, they’d counselled informing the child’s father…advice she’d chosen to discount.

She crouched down to give Samuel a hug. ‘Be good for Grandmère, hmm?’

‘Oui, Maman.’

Such solemn brown eyes, she mused, kissing each childish cheek in turn.

‘Thanks,’ she said lightly as Anouk gathered Samuel close. ‘I won’t be late.’

For the past eighteen hours she’d derived countless reasons why she should opt out of tonight. Only the knowledge Dimitri was capable of forcing a confrontation in her parents’ home prevented her from employing any one of them.

It took twenty minutes to reach the glamorous hotel situated on the Spit at Main Beach. Chantelle chose valet parking, and stepped into the marble foyer.

Expansive with glorious oriental rugs, comfortable sofas, it stretched out to a double staircase leading to a lower floor, beyond which lay a wide decorative pool, an island bar and, in the distance, the ocean.

It was spectacular, and a waterfall added to the tropical overtone.

Chantelle admired the view for numerous seconds, then she turned towards the restaurant.

‘Punctual, as always.’

The sound of that familiar, faintly accented male voice caused the knot in her stomach to tighten.

Get a grip, she remonstrated silently. She needed to be in control, and nervous tension didn’t form part of the evening’s agenda.

She turned slightly and met Dimitri’s steady gaze.

‘It’s one of my virtues.’

‘Would you prefer a drink in the lounge, or shall we go straight in?’

She even managed a slight smile. Amazing, when the butterflies in her stomach were beating a faint tattoo.

‘Why don’t we cut the social niceties?’ Cool, but neither calm nor collected.

Damn him. He’d always had this effect on her equilibrium. The sight of him sent her pulse racing to a crazy beat. It was the whole male package, his choice of cologne, the freshly laundered clothes…the faint male scent that was uniquely his.

All it took was one look, and her system went out of control. Even now, when she told herself she hated him, heat pooled deep inside, and the pulse at her throat felt as if it jumped beneath her skin.

Could he sense it? See it? Dear heaven, she hoped not.

The maître d’ issued a greeting and led them to their table, where he summoned a drinks waiter, performed an introduction, then graciously retreated.

Dimitri ordered a crisp chardonnay, requested bottled water, and then he settled back comfortably in his chair.

There were a hundred places she’d rather be than here, now. Yet what choice did she have? Her parents could cope with anything life threw at them, but Samuel was too young, too vulnerable, and she’d go to the ends of the earth to protect him from harm…physical, mental, emotional.

Take control, an inner voice urged as she reached for her glass and sipped chilled water.

‘Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is,’ Chantelle opined coolly, and saw one eyebrow slant in silent query.

‘Perhaps we should order?’ Dimitri suggested as the waiter presented the menu.

Food? The thought of calmly forking artistically presented morsels in his company killed what little appetite she had.

Nevertheless, it was necessary to order something, and she settled on a starter and skipped the main course.

‘Not hungry?’

‘Is my appetite an issue?’

His gaze remained steady, and had the effect of unnerving her…which was undoubtedly deliberate.

‘Relax.’

Oh, sure, and that was easy, given he inevitably had a bundle of legal tricks up his sleeve ready to heap on her unsuspecting head.

‘I’m here at your insistence,’ Chantelle reminded. ‘Sharing a meal I don’t particularly want in the company of someone I’d prefer never to have to see again in this lifetime.’

‘Pity.’

Her eyes flashed dark fire. ‘What do you mean…pity?’

‘If Samuel is my son,’ Dimitri voiced with dangerous softness, ‘you’ll have to get used to me being part of your life.’

‘The hell I will!’

Something moved in his eyes, and she felt a chill slither down the length of her spine. ‘Take it as a given, Chantelle.’

The words were hard, inflexible, and seared her heart. ‘You don’t have that right.’

The arrival of the waiter brought a welcome break, and she viewed the contents of her plate with misgiving, sure the smallest mouthful would stick in her throat.

‘Eat,’ Dimitri bade, and she did, managing to do justice to the food. He wasn’t to know her taste-buds had gone on strike.

Conversation had never been so difficult to summon, and anything she thought to offer seemed inane.

It irked her unbearably he was able to affect her this way. Act, she chastised silently. Adopt a practised façade, and pretend Dimitri Cristopoulis is just a man like any other male.

Oh, sure…chance would be a fine thing! She had only to look at him and every nerve-end tingled into vibrant life.

Four years hadn’t made the slightest difference. It was as if her soul recognised his on some base level and sought recognition.

Damn him. Damn coincidence for putting them both in this part of the world at the same time! Fate was playing a cruel hand, intent on causing emotional havoc before the game was over.

Who would win? a silent imp taunted.

Dimitri replaced his cutlery, then he picked up his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. ‘Do you want to begin, or shall I?’

Chantelle lifted a hand in a negligent gesture. ‘Oh, please. Be my guest.’

For a few seemingly long seconds he didn’t speak, and she could tell nothing from his expression.

‘Samuel’s birth certificate records June one as the day he was born.’

How could he know that?

Dimitri’s mouth moved to form a wry smile. ‘I called in a favour.’ All he’d had to do was make a few phone calls, and he had the information he needed within hours.

‘Nine and a half months after we began our relationship,’ he pursued, watching her expressive features through a narrowed gaze. Anger had been just one of the emotions he’d experienced at the confirmation. Resentment had followed with the knowledge she’d chosen not to reveal her pregnancy. There was also a mixture of pride and joy at the thought he had a child…a son.

As to the child’s mother…he’d deal with her. But not easily.

‘So,’ he continued silkily. ‘Shall we move on?’

‘Samuel is mine,’ Chantelle reiterated fiercely. ‘I could have had an abortion.’ She’d never considered it as an option. Hadn’t, even from the onset, thought of a child…Dimitri’s child, but indisputably hers…as an encumbrance.

‘Yet you didn’t.’

She remembered the birth, when she’d cursed Dimitri a hundred times…and she thought of the moment the nurse had placed Samuel in her arms. The indescribable joy that transcended all else, and the fierce protectiveness for the tiny life.

‘No.’

He wanted to reach across the table and shake her. For denying him the opportunity to be there, to care for her, and to claim the child as his own.

‘Tell me,’ he pursued silkily. ‘Did you ever intend for me to know I had a child?’

‘Not if I could help it.’

‘Your body, your responsibility?’

‘Yes.’

‘Allowing some other man to take my place? Raise my son as his own? Give him his name?’

Chantelle could sense the anger beneath his control, feel it emanate from his body as a tangible entity.

‘Samuel is registered as Samuel Leone.’

‘Something that can easily be changed.’

‘To what purpose?’ she demanded. Anger rose to the fore, darkening her eyes. ‘I live in France, you reside in New York.’

‘Samuel is a Cristopoulis. He has a heritage,’ Dimitri endorsed with quiet savagery. ‘I intend to ensure he claims it.’

‘With you?’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘What are you going to do, Dimitri? Engage a nanny during Samuel’s visits? Maybe look in on him as he sleeps when you leave your apartment in the morning, and again when you return long after his bedtime?’ She picked up her napkin and thrust it on the table. ‘Is that your idea of parental visitation rights?’ She rose to her feet and gathered her purse. ‘Hell will freeze over before I’ll allow it.’

He watched her with interest, admiring the fire, the sheer will beneath her fury. A mother defending and protecting her own, he mused.

The waiter chose that moment to deliver the main course, only to stand poised as he sensed the onset of a scene.

Chantelle turned away from the table, only to have her escape forestalled as Dimitri’s hand closed over her wrist.

She tried to wrench her hand free, and failed miserably. Fury pitched her voice low. ‘Let me go.’

‘Sit down.’ He waited a few seconds, then cautioned with chilling softness, ‘We’re not done yet.’

‘I’ll have the maître d’ call Security.’

‘Go ahead.’ His voice was a hateful drawl.

‘There’s nothing further you can say that I want to hear.’

He didn’t move, but something about him changed, hardened. ‘If you prefer negotiations to share custody of our son be dealt with through the legal system…so be it.’ He released her wrist, and regarded her steadily.

Why did she feel like a butterfly whose wings had been pinned to a wall?

‘Sit down, Chantelle. Please,’ he added.

‘Following the manner in which we parted, anything amicable between us is impossible.’

‘Daniella fed you a tissue of lies, which you chose to believe.’

‘You walked out,’ Chantelle accused.

His gaze speared hers. ‘What did you expect?’

‘You should have told me about her.’ Even now, she could feel the anger surge at the memory of that awful scene.

‘Daniella was never in the picture.’

‘So you told me at the time. Perhaps you should also have told her.’

‘I did.’

‘That’s not what she said.’

‘It wouldn’t have served her purpose to tell the truth.’

‘Her purpose being?’

‘To send you running as far away as possible.’ He waited a beat. ‘She succeeded.’

‘And you know that because?’

‘You’d already left your apartment when I rang. The phone number I had for you was disconnected. Ditto your cellphone.’

Pain spiralled through her body. ‘That’s easy to say now.’

‘You’d left the pharmacy,’ he continued. ‘No one had any idea where you were.’

Anouk and Jean-Paul had been absent, enjoying a European vacation, and Chantelle had begged both employer and work colleagues to disavow any knowledge of her whereabouts. ‘I took leave to visit relatives in France,’ she revealed. ‘Within weeks I was offered a job, so I found lodgings, began work…’ She paused fractionally. ‘And discovered I was pregnant.’

‘With my child.’

There seemed no point in further denial. ‘Yes.’

‘You refused to consider I might choose to support you?’

‘I didn’t need your support.’

‘Therefore you imagined I had no right to know you’d conceived my child?’

She looked at him carefully. ‘Imagined?’ A wry smile tugged the edge of her mouth. ‘I didn’t think there was anything left to the imagination, given the way we parted.’ Her shoulders lifted in a negligible shrug. ‘At that stage neither you nor I wanted anything to do with each other, ever again.’

‘And now?’

‘What do you mean—now?’ Her stomach took a dive. ‘Nothing has changed.’

One eyebrow slanted. ‘No?’

‘In three weeks Samuel and I return to France. You’ll depart for New York, and we’ll probably never see each other again.’

‘Wrong.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Think again.’

‘Samuel doesn’t need a father,’ Chantelle said fiercely. ‘He especially doesn’t need you.’

‘I intend being part of his life,’ Dimitri reiterated silkily. ‘With or without your permission.’

‘Something you’ll never have.’

‘You’d prefer a legal fight rather than a cordial agreement?’

‘I’d prefer,’ she managed with a degree of vehemence, ‘never to see you again.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ he asserted in dry, mocking tones. ‘By virtue of the interest we have in our son.’

‘A son you knew nothing about until twenty-four hours ago!’

‘But now I do,’ Dimitri said smoothly.

‘I won’t share Samuel with you.’

‘The law courts will have a different view.’

The waiter appeared and presented Dimitri’s main course, and she watched as he made no attempt to pick up his cutlery.

Instead, his eyes were dark, almost still as he regarded her.

‘I don’t want Samuel to be pushed and pulled between two parents who don’t like each other,’ she said quietly.

‘You consider us as enemies?’

Oh, God. ‘We’re not exactly friends.’

A faint smile tugged the corner of his mouth. ‘Yet we were lovers.’

Dear heaven, just thinking about what they’d shared sent pain shafting through her body. She’d lived, breathed for the moment she could see him, be with him. Just the sound of his voice on the phone was enough to send her pulse racing and have heat pool deep within. She’d loved him, loved, she cried silently, with all her heart. Her soul. Everything. Only to have it shatter into a thousand pieces.

‘That was years ago,’ she managed carefully, hoping her voice didn’t convey her shredding nerves. She wanted to ask why he’d tried to make contact after that fateful day.

‘Not so many,’ he reminded. ‘And it feels like yesterday.’

Don’t, she wanted to protest. Please don’t go there.

‘You should eat,’ Chantelle encouraged in a bid to change the conversation.

‘Concern for my digestive system?’

‘Why not admit we’ve reached a verbal impasse?’ she countered. ‘We oppose each other on every issue regarding my son.’

‘Our son,’ he corrected.

‘If I hadn’t—’

‘Visited your parents? If I hadn’t chosen this particular year to spend the festive season with Andreas?’ His regard was unwavering. ‘Yet we did.’

‘And now we have to deal with it?’ As soon as the query left her lips, the knowledge hit that it was she who would have to deal with the changes. Dimitri would insist on playing a part in Samuel’s life, and he was powerful enough to enforce his legal right to do so.

His eyes never left hers, and she struggled to diminish the impact he had on her senses.

‘Perhaps we should take advantage of fate, and redress the day we walked out of each other’s life.’

A cold fist closed round her heart. ‘Rehashing the past won’t achieve anything.’

‘It might, however, give credence to our reactions.’

She didn’t want to do this. It evoked too many painful memories.

‘You’re not curious as to why I tried to contact you after I returned to New York?’

‘Guilt?’

He recalled that day with disturbing clarity, aware it ranked high among those numbered as the worst in his life.

To Chantelle’s credit, she had no idea, and he took in her expressive features, the slight tilt of her chin, the pain in those beautiful dark eyes.

‘An hour before I arrived at your apartment I’d had a call from New York to say my mother was in hospital on life support following an horrific car accident.’ The food on his plate remained untouched. ‘I’d spent time organising a flight, delegating work to colleagues. Leaving was the hardest thing I had to do. There were words I wanted to say,’ he continued. ‘Except I didn’t have the time or the opportunity.’

Chantelle held a vivid recollection of the phone call she’d received from Daniella, and Dimitri’s appearance soon after. The actress’s allegations had succeeded in filling her mind with doubt and resultant anger. Anger she’d levelled at him within minutes of his arrival at her apartment.

She recalled his denial, his reassurance…and his anger when she’d refused to accept his word as truth. One thing had led to another, and when he’d said he had to leave, she’d vowed if he walked out the door she wouldn’t allow him back in.

‘The food is not to your liking?’

Chantelle heard the words and registered the waiter’s appearance at their table.

‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ Dimitri offered, and brushed aside an offer to bring a fresh serving, qualifying, ‘Thank you. No.’

His mother had been critically injured? He’d had to return immediately to New York?

The words reverberated inside her brain with alarming confusion. ‘You should have told me,’ she managed quietly, regretful she hadn’t given him the chance.

‘She remained in a coma for several weeks. Andreas and I took it in turns to sit with her. In the end we had to accept she had no hope of recovery.’

She was silent for several long seconds, unable to utter a word. ‘I’m sorry,’ she offered at last. ‘I wish I’d known,’ she said quietly as she attempted to come to grips with the words she’d flung at him in anger…testing his control, and breaking it.

With devastating result…for both of them.

‘Andreas took a long holiday with his sister in Sydney and decided to make the city his base, handing control of the corporation to me.’

Chantelle closed her eyes, then opened them again. Like a long-unfinished puzzle, some of the missing pieces were falling into place.

It explained much, yet left an aching void for what might have been.

To continue sharing his table, his company, was more than she could bear.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave.’

His gaze never left hers. ‘We’re far from finished.’

Emotion welled up inside, making her feel physically ill. ‘For tonight, we are.’ She stood to her feet and extracted a note from her evening purse.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Dimitri cautioned in chilling warning as he signalled the waiter for the bill.

‘There’s no need for you to leave,’ Chantelle protested stiffly.

‘Yes, there is.’

She moved ahead of him, aware he followed close behind her as she crossed the marble-tiled reception lounge to the concierge.

‘I’ll ring tomorrow and arrange a suitable time to spend a few hours with Samuel.’

No. ‘I’m unsure what my parents have planned.’ The words tumbled from her lips in quick succession, and incurred his steady gaze.

‘Naturally you’ll accompany him.’

Oh, God. ‘I don’t think—’

‘A few hours, Chantelle.’

‘He has a nap in the afternoon,’ she offered in desperation.

‘In that case, we’ll organise a morning.’

The Lexus drew in ahead of Dimitri’s hire car, and Chantelle was unprepared for his actions as he cupped her face and brushed her lips with his own.

It was a light, almost fleeting touch, but it wreaked havoc with her fragile emotions.

For a moment she could only look at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable until she successfully masked their expression.

Her mouth parted, then closed again, and without a further word she turned and slid in behind the wheel, engaged the gear, then she sent the vehicle down the incline to street level.

It was a scene she replayed again and again as she lay unable to sleep.

His scent, his touch evoked feelings she thought she’d dealt with.

Fat chance, she muttered inaudibly as she tossed and turned for the umpteenth time.

The question was…where did they go from here?

Where did she want to go?

A few days ago her life had been secure on a path of her choice. Now confusion reigned, and she didn’t like it at all.

CHAPTER THREE

CHANTELLE stood at the kitchen sink and watched Samuel play with Jean-Paul. Her son, even at three and a half, was beginning to show a flair for kicking a ball.

‘This morning it appeared you slept badly, and you’ve been troubled all day,’ Anouk ventured gently. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, chérie?’

Maternal instinct was acute, Chantelle admitted ruefully as she shook excess water from the salad greens she was preparing for their midday meal.

‘Your date with Andreas’ son last night did not go well?’

‘It was OK.’ Making light of it didn’t fool Anouk, who teased,

‘You were home early.’

Chantelle effected a faint shrug. ‘We ate, talked a little.’

‘You will see him again, oui?’

If only you knew! ‘You share the same social circle as his father. The festive season usually involves a few parties. I imagine it’s inevitable.’

Anouk placed a baguette into the oven to warm, then she crossed to the refrigerator, removed the cooked chicken and began carving.

‘One senses the chemistry. It is almost as if you have met before.’

There was never going to be a more appropriate moment. ‘Dimitri is Samuel’s father.’ It was done.

To give her mother credit, she never missed a beat as she continued carving poultry. ‘I wondered as much. So what are you going to do?’

Ever practical, Chantelle mused. ‘You just took a quantum leap of four years.’

Her mother began loading slices of chicken onto a serving plate, and paused long enough to shoot Chantelle a telling glance. ‘It was your choice to keep private Samuel’s father’s identity.’

‘You never queried my decision. Weren’t you curious?’

‘Of course. What mother would not be?’

‘And now, you have no questions as to the why and how of it?’

‘Chérie, I know you well. You do not gift your body easily. For you to do so, the man has to be special, someone you deeply love. If that were not true, you would not have had his child.’

Emotion brought a lump to her throat. ‘Thank you.’

‘So,’ Anouk reiterated with prosaic gentleness.

‘What are you going to do?’

Chantelle began layering a bowl with lettuce and sweet, succulent tomatoes. ‘He wants to spend time with Samuel,’ she offered slowly.

‘Of course. But you are afraid, oui?’

‘He wants to share custody.’

‘And you do not want this.’

‘I don’t want anything to upset or confuse Samuel.’

‘And you, chérie?’ She carried the platter to the table, then turned to regard her daughter. ‘What about you, hmm?’

‘I feel as if my life is slipping out of control. If only Dimitri’s visit hadn’t coincided with mine!’

‘But it has,’ Anouk offered gently. ‘And now you must deal with it as best you can.’

But what was best? And for whom? Samuel? Herself?

Sadly they were not the same. Her son would be captivated by Dimitri’s presence in his life. Whereas she was beset by a host of ambivalent emotions.

Lunch was a convivial meal eaten alfresco on the terrace overlooking the pool. Samuel delighted in displaying his burgeoning vocabulary, both in French and English, and Chantelle had just settled him for his afternoon nap when she heard the distant peal of the phone.

‘Dimitri,’ Jean-Paul relayed as he informed the call was for her, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze as she took the receiver.

‘Is this a good time?’ Dimitri’s slightly accented drawl did strange things to her composure, and she resisted the impulse to press a hand to her churning stomach.

‘I guess so.’

‘Such enthusiasm,’ he chided with mockery, and she stifled a sigh of frustration.

‘What is it you want, Dimitri?’

‘If you don’t have plans for tomorrow, I’d like to spend time with Samuel.’

‘And if I do?’

‘The following day, Chantelle, or the day after that.’

She didn’t want to do this. Given a choice, she’d prefer Dimitri to fade into the woodwork for the duration of his stay. But that wasn’t going to happen.

‘Tomorrow morning will be fine.’ Capitulation was the wisest course, given she couldn’t keep putting it off.

‘If you name the place and give me a time, we’ll meet you there.’

‘Pack swimming gear. I’ll collect you at nine.’ His voice was firm, and he cut the connection before she had the chance to argue.

Damn the man! Anger simmered just beneath the surface of her control for what remained of the day, disturbing her sleep, and priming her determination to say exactly what she thought of his high-handedness at the first available opportunity.

Chantelle woke to a day bright with the promise of brilliant sunshine, together with the heat and humidity of a subtropical summer.

Samuel’s excitement was a tangible thing as she filled a backpack with every conceivable item needed for whatever occasion Dimitri had in mind.

‘When are we going?’ and ‘Where are we going?’ tumbled from her son’s lips in five-minute intervals soon after she had relayed the morning’s outing.

‘Ah, petit,’ Anouk protested fondly. ‘Soon, mon ange.’

The faint clunk of a car door closing brought a mixture of relief and trepidation as Chantelle waited for Dimitri to ring the doorbell.

‘Maman, Maman, the man is here.’

‘Dimitri, sweetheart,’ she corrected as Anouk moved to answer the door, only to reappear less than a minute later with Dimitri at her side.

Attired in designer jeans, a navy polo shirt and wearing joggers, he resembled the epitome of the businessman bent on leisure. The soft denim hugged his hips, emphasising the muscular length of his legs, and the polo shirt moulded his breadth of shoulder like a second skin.

Chantelle felt her stomach flip at the sight of him, and deliberately summoned a smile as she greeted him, watching as he solemnly extended his hand to her son.

‘Samuel,’ he offered warmly. ‘Nice to see you again.’

The smile, she accorded silently, was for Samuel’s sake, and she was all too aware of her own restraint. Four years ago she would have almost run to him, lit with the joyful anticipation of his touch, the feel of him as he pulled her close and ravaged her mouth with his own.

Now she simply caught Samuel’s hand in her own, brushed a kiss to her mother’s cheek, then she collected the backpack and slung the strap over one shoulder.

‘Let me take that.’ He reached for the backpack, and their fingers touched for a few seconds.

Liquid heat sped through her veins, igniting her senses, and she silently cursed her reaction.

Samuel, who’d been so excited only moments before, now fell silent, seemingly in awe of the man whose company he was going to share for the following few hours.

‘We’ll be back around midday, Maman,’ Chantelle said as they walked out to the car.

‘After an early lunch,’ Dimitri added, and incurred Chantelle’s swift denial.

‘Samuel has a nap after lunch.’

‘I’ll have you home in time to settle him down.’ He collected the junior safety seat and set it in place on the rear seat of his car, then he stood back as she lifted Samuel into it and secured the safety strap.

‘I’ll sit beside Samuel,’ she declared as she straightened, only to have Dimitri indicate the front seat.

‘Chérie,’ Anouk intervened gently, ‘he’ll be fine.’

Maternal chastisement…or was Anouk bent on some subtle arrangement of her own?

Anouk couldn’t help but be aware of her daughter’s reticence, and God help him…Dimitri had to know she didn’t favour spending several hours in his company.

Chantelle flashed each of them a stunning smile. She could do gracious…she just had to remember she was doing it for Samuel.

‘Andreas suggested the water theme park at Coomera as a fun place for children,’ Dimitri offered.

‘There’s lots of water. We got wet. Maman too,’ Samuel endorsed with childish enthusiasm, and Dimitri chuckled.

‘I gather he’s already been there?’

‘Once,’ Chantelle admitted, unwilling to offer it was his favourite place.

‘In that case, we’re guaranteed he’ll enjoy himself.’

We…there’s no we, she wanted to deny, and almost did, except Samuel’s immediate presence stopped her. Later, she promised herself, she’d correct Dimitri’s assumption.

The theme park was well-patronised, given it was the long midsummer school break and there was a host of visiting tourists to the area.

‘Maman, we can go up there, oui? Please.’

Up there meant exchanging her jeans and top for a swimsuit. An action she normally wouldn’t think about twice, if Dimitri hadn’t been there.

She was acutely conscious of him, aware of his slightest touch, the warmth of his smile. Hell, he knew how to work it! Charm, he had it in spades. Four years ago she’d have believed it genuine. Now she wasn’t so sure.

‘Why don’t I take him?’

Chantelle felt all her protective instincts rise to the fore. ‘I don’t think—’

‘Dimitri,’ Samuel sanctioned without a care in the world, and lifted his arms to be picked up, surprising her.

‘Are you sure?’ she queried dubiously, and gained an affirmative nod in response.

‘Sure.’

‘OK, champ, let’s get rid of some clothes and go test the water.’

Her son’s almost unconditional acceptance made her wonder if there was any truth in some deep recognition of shared genes.

Dimitri turned towards her. ‘Why not join us?’

‘Next time.’ It would give her valuable minutes to steel herself to strip down to a swimsuit. Which was ridiculous.

Samuel was in his element as he took to the junior water slide, returning again and again as he delighted in the ride.

Chantelle almost convinced herself she was only watching her son, but it was the man catching him after each downward slide that held her attention longer than it should.

‘Can we go up there?’ Samuel begged as they returned to her side. ‘Dimitri said I must have your permission.’

Oh, he did, did he? Well, she could hardly say no, when only a few days ago she’d taken Samuel up there herself.

It was a much larger slide with curves and covered sections, rushing water, and children under a certain age were only permitted to take the ride with the supervision of an adult.

They placed their outer clothes in lockers, then joined the queue for the more advanced ride.

When it became their turn Dimitri went in first and Chantelle followed with Samuel positioned closely between her thighs.

It was fun, and when they reached the end Dimitri rose lithely to his feet and caught Samuel, extending a hand to help Chantelle to her feet.

‘Can we do it again, please?’

How easy it was to please a child. And how innocent Samuel appeared to be to the undercurrents between the two adults accompanying him.

As Chantelle looked at both child and man, the physical likeness between them was striking, and she glimpsed a vision of what the child would look like when he grew into a man.

Did Samuel possess any of her physical qualities? It was difficult to tell as the facial bone structure underwent a gradual change during the formative years. The dark hair perhaps, but then Dimitri’s hair was equally dark.

This time out, Chantelle headed the downward ride, with Samuel held firmly in Dimitri’s grasp, and afterwards they took a break for drinks and a snack.

There could be little doubt Samuel was having a ball, and neither his energy nor his enthusiasm lagged as Chantelle and Dimitri indulged him with several of the rides the theme park had to offer.

To his credit he didn’t protest when it came time to change into dry clothes and leave. He remembered without prompting to thank Dimitri for bringing him to visit.

‘I have a picnic hamper in the car,’ Dimitri relayed as they made their way to the parking area. ‘There’s a picnic reserve at Paradise Point where we can eat.’

Casual, laid-back, it was a relaxed way to end the morning.

Except Chantelle was the antithesis of relaxed! She’d found it difficult when they’d been amongst a number of people, but isolated into an intimate group of three on the sandy foreshore at the picnic reserve only heightened her emotional tension.

Samuel ate well, and when he finished he drifted the few feet to the sand, where he became industriously immersed in collecting shells.

‘Has it been such a hardship?’

She sipped the chilled mineral water as Dimitri packed what remained of the food into the cooler.

‘Samuel had a great time.’

‘And you?’

Chantelle looked at him. ‘What do you want me to say?’ He was close, much too close. ‘I appreciate you’re bent on turning my personal world upside-down? Thank the universe for throwing us together at the same place at the same time?’ She was on a roll, and went with it. ‘Thank you for forming an empathy with my son? An empathy I’ll have to explain can only be rekindled at intervals we agree upon, or, failing that, as the law courts decree?’

‘Why not take it one day at a time?’

‘Whichever way I take it,’ she declared with soft vehemence, ‘the end result will be the same.’

‘Will it?’ He regarded her steadily, and the depth of his gaze tested the fragile tenure of her control. ‘You can’t perceive there might be a solution?’

‘Maman.’

Suddenly Samuel was there, his hands cupped as he held a collection of shells, and Chantelle rose quickly to her feet and went to help him, infinitely relieved at his interruption.

‘We will take them back for Grandmère, oui?’

‘Indeed. She will treasure them.’ She reached into her backpack and retrieved a plastic bag. ‘We’ll wash them when we get home.’

Within minutes she brushed the sand from his feet, slid on his joggers and cleaned his hands, aware that Dimitri replaced the cooler into the car, then followed it with the rug.

They were only five minutes from Sovereign Islands, and Samuel’s eyes were drooping as Dimitri pulled into her parents’ driveway.

Retreating was relatively easy as she slid from the car, collected her backpack, and moved to retrieve Samuel from his junior car seat.

‘I’ll take him.’

‘It’s OK.’ Please, just let me get him and leave.

She badly needed to subside into her own space, as far away as possible from his. The morning had been a success, as far as Samuel was concerned. For her, it had dented the protective wall she’d built up around herself four years ago when survival of self had become paramount in her life.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

Was that a threat or a promise? She felt too disturbed to examine the ramifications of either.

‘Thanks.’ The gratitude was a mere facsimile, and one he recognised as her return to polite formality.

‘My pleasure.’

He slid in behind the wheel, ignited the engine, and waited until she went indoors before reversing down the driveway.

CHAPTER FOUR

AN INVITATION to a mid-week cocktail party numbered the second party in five days. Which was something of a record for Chantelle, for, while she recognised the necessity for childcare during her working hours, she rarely employed a baby-sitter for anything other than an important social obligation.

Choosing what to wear didn’t pose a problem, and, pre-warned by Anouk to pack evening wear, Chantelle selected black silk evening trousers, added a matching camisole and a black chiffon silk wrap threaded with gold. Stiletto heels, minimum jewellery, understated make-up, her hair swept into a smooth twist, and the overall look completed an image that met with her approval.

‘We’re going to another party?’ Samuel queried as she brushed his hair, then straightened his shirt.

‘Yes. Grandmère has many friends, and you, mon enfant, are her only grandchild. She wants to show you off.’ She dropped a kiss on top of his head, then drew him close for a hug. ‘There will be other children there, and you’ll have fun, I promise,’ she reassured.

‘OK.’

His smile was matched by her own. ‘Let’s go.’

Would Dimitri be a fellow guest? She hoped not. She didn’t want to cope with his disturbing presence.

Half an hour later she entered the opulent lounge in their host’s luxurious home, after being greeted and introduced to the host’s nanny and ensuring Samuel was comfortably settled in the downstairs playroom with six other young children.

Dimitri was unmistakable, standing on the far side of the room, not so much for his height and breadth of shoulder, the sculpted facial structure, or the expensive cut of his clothes.

It went deeper than that, combining a raw sexuality with electrifying passion; the inherent knowledge of how to pleasure a woman. A quality women recognised and many sought in a discreet bid for his attention. And there were the not-so-discreet few…of whom Daniella Fabrizi topped the list!

Damn. Why did the actress’s name have to enter the equation?

Almost as if Dimitri sensed her presence he turned, and his dark, gleaming gaze locked with hers, held, as she offered a polite smile in acknowledgement of his presence before turning away.

He was something else. She cursed a vivid memory of how it felt to be in his arms, the sensations he was able to evoke in her without any effort at all. She was the instrument, he the master virtuoso, creating a sensual music that was uniquely theirs as they became lost in each other. Primitive, intensely passionate, he’d aroused emotions she hadn’t known existed. And afterwards the degree of tendresse he displayed in the aftermath of a wildly erotic lovemaking always undid her.

Even now, she was intensely aware of him. The feel and touch of him, the satiny textured skin, the rough hairs on his chest arrowing down to the nest couching his manhood.

There had been no one else since him. No man of her acquaintance had aroused the slightest spark of sexual interest.

Introspection could become a dangerous pastime, and with deliberate ease Chantelle mixed and mingled with fellow guests, exerting her social skills without seeming effort as she greeted people she’d met at the party Anouk and Jean-Paul had hosted a few evenings ago.

‘Let me get you another drink,’ a familiar voice drawled close by, and her heart-rate went into overdrive as she turned to meet Dimitri’s musing gaze.

‘Not at the moment, thanks,’ she said politely, aware of the faint aroma of his exclusive cologne. He was close, much too close, and she shifted slightly, gaining a much-needed inch or two of personal space.

‘Samuel is downstairs?’

She was nervous, and that fascinated him. The tiny pulse at the base of her throat throbbed at an increased beat, and he resisted the temptation to soothe it.

‘Yes.’

‘Relax, pedhaki mou,’ he bade gently, and saw those beautiful eyes flash momentary anger. ‘Save the indignation for when we’re alone.’

The affectionate ‘little one’ got to her, for it brought back too many memories…of love, laughter, and exquisite sex.

‘Now, there’s the thing,’ Chantelle responded coolly. ‘I have no intention of being alone with you.’

‘You don’t envisage a truce?’

‘What did you expect? That a rehashing of the day we parted would magically wipe the slate clean?’ She kept her voice low. ‘If you dare suggest the necessity is for Samuel’s sake, I’ll hit you.’

Something moved in those dark eyes, something she couldn’t define, and sudden apprehension slithered the length of her spine.

‘Be aware of the consequences of such an action,’ Dimitri cautioned with chilling softness.

‘You’re all charm.’

A slow smile curved his generous mouth. ‘And you’re a piece of work.’

‘How nice we understand each other.’ She held out her glass. ‘Perhaps I will have another drink.’ Her smile was a mere facsimile. ‘It’s a spritzer.’

Chantelle waited until he turned towards the bar before slipping from the lounge to check on Samuel. The happy laughter echoing from the playroom provided reassurance, and she watched unobserved as the children interacted together.

He looked so relaxed and content, and her heart went into meltdown. Nothing, she promised silently, and no one could be permitted to upset his secure world.

At that moment he lifted his head and saw her framed in the doorway.

‘Maman!’ He ran towards her, and his pleasure stirred her heartstrings. ‘We are leaving?’

For a moment she sensed his disappointment, and hid a smile. He was a very sociable little boy. ‘Not yet.’

‘Good. I’m having fun.’ He caught hold of her hand, his face a study of round-eyed excitement. ‘Damian and Joshua are going to the park tomorrow to see the dolphins.’

‘We will go to watch the dolphins one day, too.’

‘We will? When, Maman?’

‘Perhaps we could make it tomorrow,’ Dimitri suggested from close behind her. ‘If that suits your mother.’

He possessed the stealthy tread of a cat, for she hadn’t heard a sound, and she steeled herself against his close proximity.

‘Please say we can, Maman,’ Samuel pleaded. ‘I do so much want to see the sea lions too. Damian says they bark, and wave. And the dolphins jump out of the water.’

Chantelle didn’t want to disappoint him, but the thought of spending several hours in Dimitri’s company didn’t appeal. ‘Perhaps,’ she qualified. ‘But first we must check with Grandmère. We are her guests, oui?’

Hope, patience, resignation passed fleetingly over his features. ‘Oui, Maman.’ For an instant his expression brightened. ‘Grandmère and Jean-Paul can come too.’ He turned towards Dimitri. ‘Can’t they?’

‘Of course.’ His smile was genuinely warm as he hunkered down to Samuel’s eye level. ‘But first, Maman must ensure there are no other plans for tomorrow, hmm?’

‘Oui.’ He looked up at his mother. ‘May I go play now?’

‘Enjoy, mon petit. I’ll come collect you when we’re ready to leave.’

She watched him rejoin the other children, then she turned and made her way to the stairs, uncaring whether Dimitri followed or not.

‘You could have consulted me first,’ Chantelle said in an angry undertone as he joined her.

‘Only for you to refuse?’

His indolent drawl raised her anger level a notch. ‘Look—’

‘We agreed I should spend time with Samuel.’

Chantelle paused and turned to face him. ‘It was more like you issued an ultimatum.’

‘You want difficult, Chantelle? I can give you difficult.’

She could see the purpose evident, the dangerous inflexibility apparent. He had the wealth and the power to command top-flight lawyers to produce suitable documentation with breakneck speed.

‘I want what’s best for my son.’

‘Then we’re in total agreement.’

He was the limit, and she told him so. ‘I wish—’

‘I hadn’t chosen to spend this Christmas with Andreas?’

‘Yes! Damn you,’ she vented, hating him.

He looked at her long and hard. ‘Are you done?’

Her head tilted and her eyes sparked brilliant fire. ‘For now.’

‘Good.’

She was unprepared for the way his head lowered down to hers, and before she could move his mouth closed over hers in an evocative kiss.

His hands cupped her face as he went in deep, savoured, then he slid a hand down her spine and pulled her in close against him.

Oh, dear God. She couldn’t think, didn’t want to, as all her senses went every which way but loose and she began to respond.

In the recess of her mind she knew she should resist, but it felt so good. Dear heaven, how she’d missed his touch, the feel of him.

His arousal was a potent force, and she gave a sigh in protest as he began to retreat, gentling his mouth until his lips lingered briefly before he lifted his head.

For a moment she was lost, unaware of where she was, only that she was with him. Then reality descended, and confusion clouded her eyes, leaving them vulnerable for a few seconds before she managed to mask their expression.

‘That was unforgivable.’

Dimitri pressed a finger to her slightly swollen mouth.

‘I hate you.’

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘You don’t.’ He traced a finger over her lower lip. ‘You hate having to admit even to yourself that what we once shared together is as strong now as it was four years ago.’

Oh, dear heaven, why did he have to be so right?

Yet she’d known the instant she set eyes on him again the emotions she’d harboured for him had never lessened.

Acknowledging it didn’t mean she had to like it. And nothing, she determined, nothing would allow her to run a repeat. That way lay heartache and despair. She’d been there, done that, and had no intention of doing it again.

Chantelle closed her eyes for a few seconds, unaware Dimitri watched the fleeting emotions play across her expressive features, then she opened them again. ‘I think we should return to the lounge.’

His mouth curved to form a generous smile. ‘Before we do, I suggest you renew your lipstick.’

For a few seconds her eyes widened and she looked intensely vulnerable, then she masked her expression and reached into her evening purse and applied colour to her lips.

Without a further word she turned and ascended the stairs, aware he was following close behind her.

As soon as she reached the lounge she checked Anouk’s location, then began threading her way across the room.

‘Samuel is fine,’ she assured. ‘He’s made two new friends, and heard first-hand accounts of the dolphins and sea lions at the marine park.’

‘I suggested we might take him there tomorrow if you have no plans for the day,’ Dimitri drawled from behind her, and she felt her stomach curl at his close proximity.

‘Why not make it a family day?’ she said quickly. Too quickly, for she glimpsed her mother’s faint surprise.

‘Darling, thank you, but no,’ Anouk declined with a gentle smile, wondering why her daughter’s composure appeared distinctly ruffled. ‘You and Dimitri go ahead. Samuel will have a wonderful time.’

Without doubt, Chantelle admitted. But what about her?

‘Jean-Paul is keen to take the cruiser out on Sunday,’ Anouk ventured conversationally. ‘Perhaps Dimitri and Andreas would care to join us?’

Maman…no. Don’t do this!

‘We thought we might spend a few hours at Couran Cove. It’s a delightful resort.’

‘You must let me take you all to lunch.’

Anouk waved a dismissive hand. ‘Chantelle and I will assemble a picnic basket.’ She offered a stunning smile. ‘All that’s required is your presence. I’ll confer with Jean-Paul and ring Andreas with a time.’

Dammit, what was Anouk doing, for heaven’s sake? Exhibiting a naturally kind heart, or playing matchmaker?

A relaxed cruise of the bay, a picnic on a tourist island had all the promise of being fraught with tension…hers.

Dimitri inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’

Chantelle felt a desperate need to put some space between them, for he loomed too large and too close for her peace of mind. If she’d been aware of him before, now her body was a finely tuned instrument almost vibrating with need for his touch.

It wasn’t fair…nothing about Dimitri Cristopoulis was fair.

He had no right to re-enter her life and try to command it…even for the duration of a family visit.

If she could, she’d take Samuel, organise the next flight to Paris and return to the place she’d called home for the past four years.

Yet such an action would amount to running away. Besides, it would upset Anouk and Jean-Paul…not to mention Samuel, who adored his grandparents. And how could she explain such a sudden change in plan to a little boy who was so looking forward to a Christmas far different from any he’d experienced in his short life?

No, she was doomed to get through the next few weeks as best she could. Dammit, she was an adult, and in charge of her own destiny. No one, especially not Dimitri, could change that.

So why did she have such a strong instinctive feeling she was slowly losing control?

‘If you’ll excuse me?’ Dimitri inclined, wondering if she was aware he could read her expressive features.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said quickly, and glimpsed the faint mocking amusement apparent.

It was another hour before the guests slowly began to dissipate, and Chantelle breathed a sigh of relief when Anouk suggested they should leave.

Samuel was fading fast when she collected him from the playroom, and she lifted him high as she reached the stairs.

‘Tired, mon ange, hmm?’ she queried gently, and felt her heart turn over as his arms encircled her neck. He was such an affectionate child, and she pressed a kiss to his temple. It was something she hoped would never change.

Chantelle reached the top of the stairs and found Anouk and Jean-Paul waiting for them. Dimitri’s presence sent the blood pumping a little faster through her veins, and she looked at him in silent askance as she joined them.

Dimitri met her gaze and held it. Then something moved in the depths of his eyes. This was the woman he’d loved and lost. The child she held in her arms was his own.

The bond between them was a tangible entity, and one he had no intention of losing.

‘Let me take him.’

‘He’s fine,’ Chantelle said quickly, unwilling to relinquish Samuel.

For a moment she thought Dimitri was about to argue, and she hurriedly added, ‘He’s almost asleep.’

It took a few minutes to thank their host, and make their way to the entrance lobby.

Dimitri walked at her side as if it was his God-given right, and she threw him a veiled glare.

‘Nine-thirty tomorrow morning?’ he queried as they paused in the doorway.

The marine park. In Anouk and Jean-Paul’s presence, what else could she say except ‘Thank you. We’ll be ready’?

CHAPTER FIVE

THE Gold Coast was the home of theme parks, and it was almost de rigueur for holidaymakers with children to visit most, if not all of them.

At ten the parking area adjacent the marine park was well-filled, and with the sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky, the day promised heat, humidity and, if they were lucky, a fresh temperate sea breeze.

Chantelle had come well-prepared, with hats, sunscreen cream, bottled water, change of clothes for Samuel, each packed into her backpack. A portable stroller would prove useful when Samuel began to tire. Every eventuality covered, she mused as she slid sunglasses in place.

Casual wear was the order of the day, and she’d chosen a denim skirt, cotton shirt, and wore trainers on her feet.

As to Dimitri, even cargo trousers and a T-shirt did little to disguise his dynamic aura of power. Designer sunglasses and the NY-monogrammed cap added to the overall look of a corporate executive on holiday.

Chantelle had prepared in advance for the ticket box, and she extracted a high-denominational note.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ His indolent drawl held a degree of musing tolerance.

‘I don’t expect you to pay for us.’

‘You want to begin an argument at this hour of the morning?’

It was impossible to tell anything from his expression, so she didn’t even try. ‘Please.’ Independence was important to her, and she didn’t want to owe anyone anything. Especially not Dimitri.

‘No.’

Apart from initiating a tussle, there was little she could do but acquiesce and throw him an eloquent glare.

Once through the gates she focused on Samuel’s delight as they viewed the underground marine world with sharks, stingrays and various large fish held in massive glass tanks.

There was a programme to observe, and first up was the dolphin show. Dimitri secured their seats, and Chantelle very quickly positioned Samuel between them. An action which drew an amused smile.

The accompanying commentary proved to be a show almost on its own, and Samuel clapped as each dolphin performed its trained act, laughing with sheer delight as the wonderful sea mammals dived and leapt on command.

‘We can watch them again?’ he queried eagerly as the show concluded, and he made no protest as Dimitri swept him up to sit astride his shoulders.

‘Of course,’ Dimitri promised. ‘Later.’

‘Dimitri said we can, Maman,’ he assured, blissfully happy at the prospect. ‘Later.’

They exited the area, and chose time out for refreshments.

Man and child seemed perfectly at ease with each other, and there was a tiny part of her that envied the simplicity of a child’s trust.

A small seed of doubt rose to the fore. Had she been wrong in keeping Samuel’s existence from Dimitri? Yet she knew unequivocally that if he’d known, life as she’d known it for the past four years would have been vastly different.

He would have insisted on sharing custody. Something she hadn’t been ready for then, any more than she was ready for it now.

Yet how could she deny her son? Nerves tightened into a painful ball in her stomach at the thought of explaining Dimitri was Samuel’s biological father.

Surely he was too young to harbour any resentment against her?

‘All done?’

Dimitri’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she spared him a quick glance as she secured Samuel’s hat and reapplied sunscreen.

‘Where to next?’ she managed brightly, and saw Samuel’s attention was held by the distant monorail.

‘Can we go on that ride? Please,’ he added quickly, offering Dimitri an appealing smile.

‘Don’t see why not.’ Dimitri held out his hand. ‘Do you want a skyscraper view?’

As if he needed to ask! Riding a man’s shoulders was a new experience, and, judging by Samuel’s willingness, one he couldn’t wait to repeat.

There was no doubt her son loved every minute of the day’s outing. He was almost too excited to eat lunch, and following the sea lion show he began to visibly wilt.

‘I’ll carry him,’ Dimitri said quietly when Chantelle suggested the stroller, and he simply lifted Samuel to rest against his chest, with his head curved into one shoulder. Within seconds the little boy’s eyes drooped closed.

‘He’s already asleep,’ she said quietly. ‘Perhaps we should leave.’

‘There’s a shady spot over by those trees. Let’s go sit down awhile.’

There were a few jetskis on the lake, together with a small powerboat towing a clown-suited man on waterskis.

Tricks, thrills and orchestrated spills that had the audience gasping, and she watched with pretended interest as her son slept peacefully against his father’s chest.

Anyone observing them would immediately assume they were a close family unit. But that was far from reality.

‘Is Daniella still on the scene?’ It was a stark query, but one she felt impelled to ask.

Dimitri’s gaze narrowed. ‘We share mutual friends.’

An advantage Daniella had used without scruples in the past. ‘Uh-huh. So you see each other from time to time?’

‘Occasionally.’

Well-orchestrated occasions, seemingly innocent, yet deliberately planned by an actress who knew how to play the game.

‘How remarkably—’ she paused fractionally ‘—convenient.’

‘Her purported relationship with me was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.’

That wasn’t how Daniella figured it. ‘So you said at the time.’

‘Something you didn’t believe then,’ Dimitri discounted silkily. ‘Any more than you do now.’

She shot him a look that lost much of its effect given he was unable to detect her expression beneath the shaded lenses. ‘Perceptive of you.’

‘We’ve done this already.’

So they had. If he was telling the truth, Daniella Fabrizi had a lot to answer for.

Samuel napped for a while, and woke to the sound of the park ranger announcing the afternoon sea lion show on the speaker system.

Their attendance capped Samuel’s day, and on arrival home he clung as Dimitri released him from the car seat. ‘Thank you for taking me to see the dolphins, and the sea lions,’ he added, then planted an impulsive kiss on his father’s cheek.

Chantelle stood transfixed for a few seconds as Dimitri returned the affectionate gesture.

‘I like you,’ Samuel said with childish candour.

‘Thank you,’ Dimitri responded solemnly. ‘I like you, too.’

‘Will you come and see us again?’

‘You can count on it.’

‘We’re going to see the fireworks tomorrow night.’

Chantelle’s heart ached with emotion. Samuel—stop, she wanted to urge, only the word remained locked in her throat.

Fireworks and Christmas decorative-light displays formed part of the lead-up to Christmas, and Anouk had elicited information on all the activities available for children.

‘You can come too,’ Samuel invited earnestly, and she intercepted quickly,

‘Maybe next time. Dimitri has a busy schedule.’ She summoned a smile as she met his gaze. ‘Thanks for giving Samuel such a lovely day.’

Dimitri let her make her escape. For now.

‘We’re going to see pretty lights,’ Samuel declared as she selected his clothes. ‘There will be lots of bangs.’

Chantelle held out her hand, and experienced a warm tide of affection as he wrapped his arms around her legs.

It had been another hot day, and the temperature hadn’t cooled with the onset of evening.

Chantelle stepped into cotton fatigue trousers and a singlet top, slid her feet into trainers, and scooped the length of her hair into a ponytail, then she helped Samuel don shorts and a T-shirt, added sandals and a cap.

‘We’re having lots of fun, Maman.’ He lifted his head and gave her an infectious grin. ‘I love it here. And I love Grandmère and Jean-Paul.’ He looked thoughtful for a few seconds. ‘I like Dimitri, too.’

Oh, my. ‘That’s nice.’ What else could she say? Least said, the better! ‘Shall we go join Grandmère and Jean-Paul?’

Tonight’s adventure took in a massive fireworks display at one of the Coast’s major shopping complexes, timed to begin at nightfall.

A twenty-minute drive, time out for parking and gaining a position among the gathering crowds of people meant little spare time before the display began.

Jean-Paul hoisted Samuel on top of his shoulders, whereupon Samuel emitted a blissful sigh. ‘I can see everything. But Jean-Paul is not as big as Dimitri.’

Chantelle met her mother’s gaze, saw the faintly raised eyebrow, and revealed quietly, ‘Dimitri carried him on his shoulders while we were at the marine park.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Don’t,’ she swiftly cautioned, and Anouk offered a musing smile.

‘Chérie, I’m merely doing the maths.’

‘It won’t do you any good.’

Anouk’s smile broadened into a fulsome curve. ‘We shall see.’

‘Maman—’

The warning went unheeded as a brilliant series of skyrockets exploded in myriad sprays of vivid colour.

Samuel laughed and clapped his hands in delight.

‘Dimitri. Dimitri’s here.’

She wanted to vent her frustration, and almost did, except Dimitri moved in close and she made do with lancing him with a telling glare.

‘Dimitri,’ Anouk greeted warmly. ‘How nice you could join us.’

With Samuel perched high on Jean-Paul’s shoulders, it wouldn’t have taken Dimitri long to pinpoint them among the assembled crowd.

His presence had an unsettling effect, and she hated the familiar curling sensation deep inside. Unbidden, her pulse-rate picked up, and she felt its thudding beat at the base of her throat.

Could he see it in this dim light? She hoped not.

He made no attempt to touch her, but it was enough that he was there, positioned mere inches from where she stood.

Samuel was in his element, laughing and clapping with delight at each bang and subsequent burst of colour. The designs were many and varied, and lasted a while.

‘Dimitri, look!’ He twisted towards Dimitri and pointed to one spectacular star-burst.

Jean-Paul had a firm grip on his legs, and he appeared to have no sense of fear as he called, ‘Look, Maman, isn’t it magnificent?’

‘Magnificent,’ Chantelle agreed. His delight was catching, and Anouk turned towards her.

‘He’s a beautiful little boy. Such innocence, so much heart.’

‘Indeed,’ Dimitri drawled in agreement.

All too soon the display concluded, and the crowds began to disperse.

Samuel made a sweeping gesture with his arms. ‘They’re all gone.’

‘But it was wonderful while it lasted,’ Chantelle offered gently as Jean-Paul swung the little boy down onto his feet.

‘Oui, Maman.’

She leant down and ruffled his hair. ‘And now we must go home. Tomorrow is another big day.’

‘We’re going out on the boat.’ He looked up at Dimitri. ‘Jean-Paul’s boat.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Dimitri picked him up and held him in the crook of one arm. ‘Would you like it if I came along too?’

‘Yes.’

There you go, Chantelle muttered beneath her breath. Male bonding achieved in record time. A few hours a few days apart, and her son had reached an almost instant rapport with Dimitri.

She should be grateful. She assured herself she didn’t mind sharing Samuel…she just didn’t want to share him with Dimitri.

Together they began wending their way towards the vast parking area, and Chantelle turned towards Dimitri as they reached the base of the steps. Anouk and Jean-Paul were walking ahead of them.

‘I’ll take him.’

‘My car’s not far from here.’

Within minutes they reached Anouk’s Lexus, and Chantelle began settling Samuel into his safety seat.

‘We’ll take Samuel home, chérie,’ Anouk offered. ‘We can detour past a few of the houses displaying Christmas lights. It’s still relatively early. Why don’t you join Dimitri for a coffee?’ She turned towards Dimitri. ‘There’s a delightful area at Main Beach filled with trendy cafés. Chantelle will give you directions.’ Her gaze swung back to her daughter. ‘You so rarely go out, and it’s such a pleasure to baby-sit my grandson.’

‘Grandmère will read me a story,’ Samuel declared, oblivious to his mother’s growing tension.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Darling, you think too much,’ Anouk chided. She crossed round the car and slid into the passenger seat, whilst Jean-Paul, the traitor, took his position behind the wheel.

She’d been neatly shanghaied, and with an adroitness part of her could only admire. But then, Anouk was an expert at subtle manipulation.

So where did that leave her? With Dimitri, and reliant on him for a ride home. She watched the Lexus reverse out and purr towards the marked exit before she turned towards the man at her side.

‘If I thought for one minute you had a hand in this, I’d hit you!’

‘Now, there’s an interesting thought.’

His indolent drawl almost undid her, and she speared him a dark glare. ‘You can skip the coffee.’ She was on a roll. ‘In fact, you can skip taking me anywhere. I’ll take a cab.’

‘And disappoint Anouk?’ he queried mildly. ‘Besides, we need an opportunity to discuss arrangements for sharing custody of Samuel.’

For a few seconds she was rendered speechless, then the impact of his words hit with cold reality.

‘Coffee,’ Chantelle capitulated, and earned his wry amusement.

He gestured towards a line of parked cars to his right. ‘My car is over there.’

She didn’t want to do this. Dear heaven, if she had her way Dimitri would disappear in a puff of smoke. But given that unlikelihood, she had to face facts.

A discussion. Well, there was no harm in conducting a discussion. It didn’t mean she had to agree to anything.

‘I assume you’re aware how to reach Main Beach?’ she queried stiffly as Dimitri eased the car through the exit and branched off to connect with the main road leading through the heart of Surfer’s Paradise.

‘I acquainted myself with a map.’

Chantelle settled for silence unless spoken to, and it was only when they neared the traffic-controlled intersection adjacent Main Beach that she offered directions.

Trendy cafés lined the attractive boulevard, and it irked a little when he slid the car into a recently vacated parking spot.

‘Do you want to choose, or shall I?’ Dimitri queried as he locked the car and joined her on the pavement.

She gave a faint shrug. ‘Coffee is coffee.’ It was a popular area, with patrons filling most of the outdoor tables.

They wandered the southern end of the boulevard, and secured the first empty table available.

The waitress was efficient, and appeared within minutes to take their order.

‘You’ve done an excellent job rearing Samuel.’

Chantelle looked at him carefully. ‘Let’s not play games, Dimitri.’

‘Just cut straight to the chase?’

The waitress returned with bottled water and two glasses, then crossed to another table.

‘It’s a wasted exercise, because I doubt there’s anything you suggest that I’ll agree to.’

‘Because you fear the effect on Samuel.’

‘Yes.’ She drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. She held up a hand, and began ticking off opposing points on each finger. ‘He’s too young to travel without an accompanying adult. I wouldn’t want to entrust him to the care of anyone other than myself. I’m not in a position to take several leaves of absence from work.’ She paused beneath his intense interest, and endeavoured not to allow him to diminish her in any way. ‘You travel extensively. When would you be able to fit Samuel into your current lifestyle?’ She lifted a hand, then let it drop to the table. ‘Oh, dammit, none of this is easy!’

The waitress delivered their coffee, and Chantelle watched as Dimitri added sugar to his, then took an appreciative sip.

‘What if I was to offer a solution?’ He replaced the cup down onto its saucer and spared her an enigmatic look.

‘Such as?’

‘We could marry.’

Shock widened her eyes, and her face paled. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Samuel gains the security of a two-parent household,’ he elaborated. ‘If you choose to continue working, that’s your prerogative.’

Chantelle viewed him steadily, unsure whether to laugh or cry. ‘You perceive that as a neat package. Loose ends tied, you get to have your son full-time on a permanent basis.’ Anger rose and threatened to burst the surface of her control. ‘What’s my part in all of this?’

She couldn’t stop the words. ‘Do I get to play whore in the bedroom, and social hostess as and when required?’ Her voice lowered to a heartfelt huskiness. ‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’

The thought of living with him, sharing his bed…oh, lord, don’t even go there!

‘Would it be so bad?’

‘How can you ask that?’

‘Samuel needs to know he’s my son. How do you think he’ll feel when we tell him I’m his father?’

Her eyes blazed. ‘You think I haven’t agonised over that. Lost sleep over it?’

‘You imagine he won’t ask why we can’t live together?’ Dimitri pursued as he leaned back in his chair, presenting an image of unruffled composure. ‘What are you going to say to him?’

‘The truth,’ she managed shakily. ‘To his level of understanding.’

‘Which you expect him to accept?’

Her coffee remained untouched, and she looked at it dispassionately, aware that if she took so much as a sip she’d be sick.

‘We have a good life. Samuel is a happy, well-balanced little boy. I don’t want that to change.’

‘It won’t.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Easily.’

Don’t you know I can’t live with you? she wanted to scream at him. Share your bed…and not wither and die a little each time knowing Samuel is your main concern and I’m little more than the baggage that accompanies him?

‘Dimitri—’

‘Think about it.’ He drained his cup, and looked askance as she left hers untouched. ‘Would you prefer a latte?’

‘I’d prefer to go home.’

He wanted to extend his hand and pull her close, ease her fears and promise he’d take care of her. There were other words he wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time or the place.

If he could dispense with the barriers she’d erected…Patience, he cautioned. A lot could happen in two weeks, and he intended to capitalise on every opportunity.

He summoned the waitress, paid the bill, then rose to his feet.

Chantelle didn’t offer so much as a word during the drive to Sovereign Islands. Instead, she gazed sightlessly at the tracery of lights reflected on the Broadwater, and she had her seat belt unbuckled as soon as Dimitri drew the car to a halt in Anouk’s driveway.

She released the clasp and opened the door. ‘Good night.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

For a moment she looked at him blankly, then she remembered Andreas and Dimitri were joining them for the day on Jean-Paul’s cruiser.

She slid from the passenger seat and closed the door behind her without uttering a further word.

Indoors, she checked with Anouk that Samuel was settled in bed, then bade her mother ‘good night.’

‘Are you OK, chérie? You look pale.’

‘A headache,’ she invented, not wanting to begin a question-and-answer session, then immediately felt bad. Maternal love was a precious thing. ‘Dimitri asked me to marry him.’ She waited a beat. ‘I said no.’

‘Chantelle,’ Anouk protested sympathetically. ‘Chérie—’

Chantelle lifted a hand. ‘Please, Maman. I beg you. Not now.’

She made for the stairs, checked on Samuel, then quietly undressed and slipped into bed to lie awake until just before dawn.

CHAPTER SIX

SUNDAY provided little opportunity for Chantelle to discuss the previous evening with Anouk, as Samuel was inevitably within listening distance, and there was food to assemble for the day’s outing on Jean-Paul’s cruiser.

Andreas and Dimitri arrived at ten, and within half an hour Jean-Paul had eased the large cruiser away from the jetty and headed into the main waterway.

It was a beautiful day, the sun high in a clear azure sky, and Samuel became a focus as they headed for Couran Cove.

‘He’s a generously spontaneous child,’ Andreas complimented, as Dimitri hoisted Samuel into his arms for a clearer view.

Chantelle proffered a warm smile. ‘Yes, he is.’

‘I am proud he is my grandson,’ he said quietly.

‘Thank you. I have yet to tell Samuel.’

‘But you will.’

‘Yes.’

Oh, lord, the telling would raise several inquisitive questions…the most obvious one being why they weren’t living with his daddy…and worse, when would they?

There was no doubt he liked Dimitri. In fact, liking was rapidly becoming affection.

She should be pleased. It would make things easier.

Not. The mere thought of sharing custody, being forced to let Samuel go from her care for specified lengths of time several times a year was enough to throw her into a nervous spin.

As far as today was concerned, convention decreed she play the social game. As she had all too often during the past week.

Thankfully Anouk, Jean-Paul and Andreas were present to act as a buffer. And Samuel, who delighted them all with his enthusiasm, his non-stop chatter and numerous questions about the boat, the harbour, and when they berthed at Couran Cove there were the resort attractions to amuse him.

Dimitri was a natural in the role of father, always close by, so much a part of the inner family circle that to any onlooker they were a family.

Which, strictly speaking, they were. Yet it was a fact she neither wanted to recognise nor accept.

‘He’s very good with Samuel,’ Anouk offered quietly when they were briefly alone.

‘Yes, isn’t he?’

Without doubt Dimitri had earned her mother’s unqualified approval. Jean-Paul, a shrewd judge of character, appeared similarly won over. Samuel was a cinch…which left only her.

Was she insane to knock back the sensible solution of marriage with him? As far as the sex was concerned, it would hardly be a hardship, and his wealth would ensure she’d never have to worry about money.

But what about her own emotional heart? Could she exist in a marriage based on convenience? Live her life in Samuel’s shadow solely for his benefit?

He was much too young to comprehend or understand such a sacrifice.

Besides, she had a very nice life on her own merit.

There was a well-paid job, a pleasant villa to live in, a small car, savings. She and Samuel were doing just fine.

But wouldn’t it be good to have a man in your life? a wicked imp taunted silently. Someone to share the events of the day, to be taken care of, and a warm male body to curl into through the night?

What about love? Shouldn’t that play an important part?

The imp declined to answer.

If Dimitri had an inkling of her inner struggle, he gave no sign. Although once or twice she caught his thoughtful gaze, and wondered at it. Then there were the few occasions when he stood close, and she felt the heat from his body, sensed the faint musky scent of his cologne…and silently damned her reaction.

It should have been a relaxing day. Yet acting a part and keeping a smile permanently pinned in place took its toll, and by the time they left Couran Cove for Sovereign Islands she was nursing a headache.

‘Please stay for dinner.’ Anouk extended the invitation to Andreas and Dimitri as they reached home. ‘Just a simple meal of cold chicken, salads, with bread and fruit, a little wine.’

Maman, Chantelle protested silently. Don’t do this.

Except she was overruled by Jean-Paul’s enthusiasm and Samuel’s whoops of delight.

‘Only if you’ll allow me to reciprocate,’ Andreas agreed with a smile.

So it was done, and while the men tended to the cruiser, Chantelle bathed and settled Samuel for a short nap, then she helped Anouk in the kitchen.

‘Are you going to tell me why you turned down Dimitri’s marriage proposal?’ Anouk deftly cut cooked chicken in portions and placed them on a large platter.

Chantelle’s hands momentarily stilled in the process of washing salad greens. ‘It wasn’t so much a proposal as a convenient solution.’

‘And a convenient solution is such a bad thing?’

‘We’re doing fine on our own.’

‘Why are you so afraid, chérie?’ Anouk queried gently.

Did her mother have to be so astute?

‘I don’t want to enter a marriage where love is one-sided or confined to mere affection.’

‘But is it? The chemistry between you is apparent to anyone who cares to look.’

Chantelle began shaking excess water from the salad greens. ‘Next you’ll try to tell me I’m still in love with him.’

‘Aren’t you?’

Now, there was the thing. For a few seconds her mother’s query locked the voice in her throat. ‘Sexual attraction, Maman. That’s all it is.’ And knew she lied.

Samuel woke after an hour’s nap, and joined the men on the terrace.

Chantelle set the outdoor table with plates, cutlery and napkins, added glassware, then carried out the food while Anouk cleared the kitchen.

‘Sit with me,’ Samuel pleaded minutes later. ‘Maman here.’ He patted the seat on his right. ‘And Dimitri there.’ The seat on his left received a pat. ‘Please,’ he added.

‘You’re the flavour of the month,’ Chantelle murmured as she moved past Dimitri, and heard his faint chuckle.

He was too close.

‘That bothers you?’

All she had to do was move an inch and her arm would touch his. ‘Why should it?’

‘Perhaps we could pursue this later?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she responded in an undertone, only to cut the conversation as Anouk, Jean-Paul and Andreas crossed to the table.

It was a relaxed, convivial meal, although afterwards Chantelle could recall little of the conversation.

Dusk became night, and Samuel urged Dimitri to witness his prowess with a Play Station game while Chantelle and Anouk took care of the dishes.

Two male heads, Chantelle witnessed as she entered the family room to collect Samuel for bed. Both so dark, their body language so closely linked it brought a lump to her throat.

‘Time for bed, mon ange,’ she said gently, and saw him struggle with disappointment.

‘Can Dimitri read me a story? Please, Maman.’

She wanted to say no, and almost did, except when it came to the crunch she couldn’t do it. ‘If it’s OK with Dimitri,’ she managed, aware of Dimitri’s steady gaze before it shifted back to their son.

‘Here’s the deal. I read the story, and Maman gets to tuck you in.’

Chantelle watched Samuel lead Dimitri upstairs, and she valiantly ignored the sudden ache in the region of her heart.

They were becoming close. Too close for her peace of mind. For what would happen when it came time to say goodbye?

She allowed them twenty minutes, then she went up to Samuel’s room.

Dimitri sat cross-legged on the floor close to Samuel’s bed, with a picture storybook in his hand, his voice quiet as he read the words.

Samuel was trying to stay awake, but his eyelids were beginning to droop, then they flickered as he valiantly fought sleep, only to close as his breathing changed and he slept.

Dimitri rose carefully to his feet, and stood for a moment looking at the sleeping child, then he turned and preceded her from the room, pausing as she quietly closed the door behind them.

‘Thank you.’

She raised slightly startled eyes to meet his.

‘For today,’ he said quietly. He lifted a hand and brushed gentle fingers down one cheek. ‘Go take something for that headache.’

How could he know? She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and nearly died as he lowered his head down to hers and took possession of her mouth in a lingering kiss that took hold of her senses and sent them spinning out of control.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

There were words she wanted to say, but none came immediately to mind as they descended the stairs and joined the others in the lounge.

Within minutes Andreas signalled their intention to leave, and amid voiced thanks for a wonderful day, the two men bade Anouk, Jean-Paul and Chantelle ‘good night.’

Another day, another theme park.

Chantelle struggled with her conscience as Dimitri eased the car into an empty space in the large parking area adjacent MovieWorld.

In truth, each and every theme park was on her list of places to visit with Samuel. So why should it make any difference that Dimitri accompanied them?

Except it did…in spades. His presence heightened her stress levels, and pitched her to tread a fine emotional edge that played havoc with her senses.

She only had to look at his mouth to be forcibly reminded of just how it felt possessing her own…and her own eager response.

This was a man with whom she’d shared every intimacy…the heat, the passion, the primeval, mesmeric hunger for each other…ecstasy at its zenith.

The memory kept her awake too many nights, and when she slept he frequently haunted her dreams, causing her to wake in a tangle of bedcovers, her skin damp with sensual heat…only to discover she was alone, empty and aching.

On the occasions she told herself she was dealing with it…there was Samuel, Dimitri in miniature, as a vivid permanent reminder of what had been.

‘Are we really going to see how they make movies?’

Samuel’s voice penetrated her wayward thoughts, and she caught hold of his hand as they joined the queue at the ticket line.

‘It’s more like a movie show with live acts and stunts,’ she corrected, reaching for her purse. An action which incurred a dark glance from the man at her side. Worse, Dimitri covered her hand and firmly returned it to her side.

Chantelle’s bid for independence both amused and irritated him. ‘We’ve already done this.’

Samuel’s pleasure increased as the day progressed, and he was delighted with the various action shows, fascinated by the stunt actors, and through the eyes of a child…the apparent realism.

It was proving to be a holiday he’d never forget, and although she’d planned it this way, she hadn’t envisaged Dimitri having any part in it.

A chill shivered over the surface of her skin. Had Dimitri already sought legal counsel? Was a team of lawyers preparing custody papers ready to serve on her? Or was he hoping to persuade her marriage to him was a more satisfactory option?

Doubts swirled inside her head. Was she being selfish denying Samuel a family life? Could she marry Dimitri and be content with a convenient marriage? Would it be enough? Sacrifice her life for that of her son?

Dimitri had made it sound so simple, so feasible. So, independently, had Anouk.

Did she have it so wrong?

Maybe Dimitri could view the arrangement with favour…hell, why wouldn’t he? A wife in his home, his bed…not to mention full-time custody of his son and heir.

‘Dimitri.’

The feminine voice was incredibly familiar, and one Chantelle would never forget.

‘Darling, what on earth are you doing here?’

Daniella Fabrizi. Tall, incredibly svelte, her dark auburn hair loose in a flowing mass of curls, and her make-up a work of art. Attired in a cream linen suit whose skirt hemline rested several inches above her knee, and whose jacket was slashed to a low V and revealed an enviable cleavage.

The question had to be what Daniella was doing here.

Following Dimitri? Or was the actress unaware of his plans? Chance was a fine thing, but Chantelle knew Daniella left nothing to chance. So it had to be a calculated trip from her native New York.

‘Daniella.’

Dimitri’s voice was an indolent drawl, and it was impossible to detect much from his expression.

‘I flew in yesterday with Victor LaFarge,’ the actress revealed. ‘He’s thinking of shooting a movie here and wanted to check out the location, the studios.’

And you just decided to tag along? Actresses didn’t usually check out locations and studios…did they?

‘We must get together, darling.’ A slight pout of those beautifully moulded lips was a contrived gesture. ‘I rang and left a message with Andreas.’

Dimitri didn’t confirm or deny he’d received it, and Daniella’s gaze shifted to Chantelle.

‘Why, you’re here, too. I thought you’d moved abroad.’

‘Daniella,’ she acknowledged with as much politeness as she could muster.

The actress’s gaze shifted to Samuel. ‘What a cute child. Your nephew?’

‘Samuel is my son,’ she said quietly, and saw Daniella’s gaze narrow, followed by the moment comprehension dawned.

‘Well, now,’ the actress began with silken vehemence as she swung back to Chantelle. ‘Aren’t you just the cleverest little thing?’

She wanted to pick Samuel up and move away, and she almost did, except only cowards ran.

‘I didn’t realise this visit represented double-duty,’ Daniella commented, shooting Dimitri a stunning smile. ‘It won’t, of course, create an obstacle.’

What in hell was the actress talking about? Samuel’s existence wouldn’t cause an obstacle to what? Daniella’s plan to cohabit with Dimitri? Maybe even marry him? An act that would catapult Daniella into the position of part-time stepmother?

Not in this lifetime, Chantelle vowed silently. She deliberately checked her watch, then turned towards Dimitri. ‘Samuel and I will be at the Batman show. It’s due to begin soon.’ Somehow she managed a warm smile, although it failed to reach her eyes. ‘Do stay and chat with Daniella.’

‘I would hate to keep Dimitri from an obligation.’

She was a first-class witch. But what else was new?

‘Oh, please,’ Chantelle assured. ‘Dimitri is free to do whatever he wants.’ With that she took Samuel’s hand and began leading him away.

Not that she got very far before Dimitri joined her.

‘You had no need to run away.’

She spared him a dark look. ‘Correction. I was removing myself from the line of fire.’

‘Would you believe I gave her no inkling of my visit to the Coast?’

‘Doubtless your secretary organised your flight.’ What point subtlety? ‘Daniella is a very resourceful woman.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘And very good at ego-stroking. You must be flattered.’

Dimitri wanted to shake her, then kiss her senseless. If Samuel hadn’t been present, he’d have tossed convention to one side and opted for the latter.

Instead, he did neither.

‘I don’t possess an ego,’ he drawled with musing humour. ‘Nor do I covet flattery.’ He spared her a sideways glance. ‘Unless you want to offer yours?’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Maman,’ a small voice intercepted, ‘are you angry with Dimitri?’

You have no idea, she accorded silently. Anger doesn’t begin to cover it.

‘Look,’ she encouraged him, indicating the scene ahead. ‘Batman.’ As a distraction, it worked wonderfully well, and she didn’t even protest when Dimitri took Samuel from her and hoisted him onto his shoulders.

For the remainder of the afternoon she kept up a civil front…for Samuel’s benefit.

It was after four when they exited the gates and made their way to Dimitri’s car. Samuel was fading fast, and she knew he’d fall asleep within minutes of the car being in motion.

Chantelle didn’t offer any conversation during the drive to Sovereign Islands, and she unlatched the door as soon as Dimitri brought the car to a halt in Anouk’s driveway.

‘I’ll take Samuel,’ she said quickly. ‘He might wake.’

‘Will that be a disaster?’

‘Of course not.’ She looked askance as he crossed round to her side. ‘Dimitri—’

‘Chantelle?’ he gently mocked.

‘Don’t be facetious,’ she flung beneath her breath, and incurred a dark glance. She refused to be reduced to an undignified struggle, so she simply stood aside and let him unclip the restraints holding Samuel secure in the safety seat.

Which meant Dimitri got to carry Samuel indoors.

‘Oh, poor petit,’ Anouk murmured as she saw her grandson asleep in Dimitri’s arms. ‘Take him straight upstairs. Even if he only naps for a little while, it will be better than the short time he has already had.’

‘I’ll take him,’ Chantelle said swiftly, and sent up a silent prayer to the deity Dimitri would hand Samuel over. She didn’t want to share this indomitable man’s presence in the confines of Samuel’s bedroom, for Dimitri’s height and breadth would swamp the room.

However, the deity wasn’t listening, and she merely received a musing look as Dimitri moved past her and headed towards the stairs.

‘Maman,’ she protested, only to have Anouk direct her a telling glance.

‘Chérie, you are very tense. Has it not been an enjoyable day?’

What could she say? Nothing, at least not right now. ‘I’d better go check.’

Samuel rested silently on the bed, and Chantelle carefully tucked a cellular cotton blanket over him.

She turned and encountered Dimitri’s dark gaze, and for one electrifying minute she was unable to move.

Then his mouth widened into a slow smile, and the spell was broken as he stood aside for her to exit the room ahead of him.

Chantelle stepped quickly from the room, and all but ran down the stairs, supremely conscious that Dimitri followed close behind her.

‘How is he?’ Anouk queried. ‘He didn’t stir?’

‘He’s asleep, Maman.’

‘Good.’ Anouk turned towards Dimitri. ‘Will you join us in a drink?’

‘Thank you, but no. Another time, perhaps?’

Was he anxious to leave so he could call Daniella? She told herself she didn’t care…and knew she lied.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHANTELLE opted for a quiet day at home with Samuel instead of accompanying Anouk and Jean-Paul to a nearby shopping complex. Especially as they’d visited the day before so Samuel could see Santa with all the other children.

Parking was at a premium, the crowds many, and she didn’t want Samuel becoming over-tired.

‘Shall we bake a cake for Grandmère?’

‘A surprise.’ Samuel’s eyes lit up at the thought. ‘Chocolate, Maman.’

‘Chocolate it is.’

She set to work, and had just popped the cake into the oven when the phone rang.

It was Anouk, sounding agitated, which was unusual. Her mother never became agitated.

‘Chérie, I’m at the hospital. Jean-Paul tripped and fell. The stupidest thing. He was avoiding a boy riding a skateboard at speed in the car park.’ She paused fractionally. ‘We are waiting on X-rays. It’s possible he has fractured his collarbone.’

‘Are you OK?’ Chantelle queried at once. ‘Do you want me to come sit with you?’

‘No, I’m fine. But I don’t know what time we’ll be home.’

Late afternoon, with Jean-Paul in obvious pain and wearing a protective sling.

He was required to rest, and the next few days were spent quietly at home. The news of his accident spread, and Dimitri called in for a visit, spent time with Samuel, and was about to leave when Anouk opened the drawer of an escritoire and retrieved two embossed tickets.

‘Jean-Paul and I were to attend a charity ball tomorrow evening.’ She handed them to Dimitri. ‘Please, take these. You and Chantelle can attend in our place.’ She turned towards her daughter. ‘I’ll mind Samuel. Six-thirty for seven. Black tie. It’s to aid the Leukaemia Foundation.’

What if I don’t want to go? Chantelle almost queried, only to be outnumbered before she had a chance to decline.

‘Please,’ Jean-Paul acceded. ‘It’s a good table, and a fund-raiser for a worthy cause. Anouk is on the committee.’

Thirty-six hours later Chantelle stood in the large lounge adjacent the hotel ballroom and glanced with interest at fellow guests assembled there.

Men attired in dark evening suits, the women in designer gowns and jewellery, real and faux.

The evening’s affair was indeed an event. Capacity attendance, she surmised as she sipped champagne and orange juice.

Dimitri was something else in a superbly tailored dinner suit, white shirt and black tie. He had the look, the stature that set him apart from other men. Add an aura of power, and the result was devastating.

He drew women’s attention like bees sensing a honey pot. Feminine interest, blatant and discreet, but apparent none the less. Four years ago she would have smiled and silently voiced ‘you can look, but I get to take him home’. Then she had known how the evening would end, with a loving that lasted through the night.

Now they’d spend the evening together as social equals, pretend they were enjoying themselves, then he’d deliver her to Anouk’s door, and they’d occupy separate beds in different houses.

Did he lie awake at night aching, as she ached for him? The long, sweet loving, the passion? So intense, like twin souls transcending reality and merging into one.

Standing close to him like this, she was aware of him to an alarming degree. The musky aroma of his cologne mingling with the clean smell of freshly laundered clothes acted like an aphrodisiac, heightening her senses, and accelerating her heartbeat.

It was crazy, but she had an urge to slip her hand into his, feel the warmth and strength apparent, and have his fingers thread through her own. To have his eyes warm with sensual heat in silent promise…for her, only for her.

Oh, dear God…get a grip.

Conversation. Chantelle reached for it like a drowning person reaching for a life-raft.

‘When do you return to New York?’

She was nervous, Dimitri observed, idly watching the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.

‘New Year.’ He placed the palm of his hand between her shoulder blades and moved it gently in silent reassurance. An action that earned him a startled glance as his hand slipped to rest at her waist. ‘The second of January to be precise.’

A week before she was due to return to Paris with Samuel.

‘I’m surprised you were able to structure such a long break.’

‘My life isn’t entirely given over to business.’

The faintly accented drawl brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t imagine it was.’

‘No?’

There was something going on here she didn’t know about. An elusive, almost mesmeric interaction she could only guess at.

Dammit, what game was he playing?

‘Dimitri!’

Chantelle steeled herself to present a polite façade as she turned towards Daniella and Victor LaFarge. The likelihood of this being a chance encounter was remote.

‘You should have told me you’d be here tonight.’

The actress did provocative reproach well. The faint pout, the slight tilt of her head…and a sultry gaze that exhibited blatant lust.

Overkill, definitely. But what man wouldn’t react?

‘Where are you seated?’

If Daniella suggested they occupy the same table, she’d scream. Then common sense prevailed; seating arrangements had been organised in advance.

Chantelle noticed the three sets of double doors were now open, and guests were beginning to vacate the lounge.

‘Shall we go in?’ Dimitri inclined.

Was it deliberate, or merely a courtesy? Chantelle wondered as he urged her towards the ballroom entrance.

His hand remained at her waist, and she could have sworn his fingers effected a soothing squeeze.

What was he doing, for heaven’s sake?

Efficient organisation ensured the guests were directed to their reserved seating, and Chantelle sank gracefully into a chair at a table close to the catwalk.

‘Ah, there you are.’

She could only look on with startled dismay as Daniella collected two place-names, replaced them with hers and Victor’s, then quickly transferred the place-names to the table she and Victor had been assigned.

‘That’s better.’ The actress promptly took the chair next to Dimitri.

It was? Chantelle couldn’t imagine anything worse. Whatever happened to good manners? Had Daniella no shame?

Apparently not.

‘Darling,’ Daniella purred with feline sensuality as she placed a hand on Dimitri’s arm. ‘You didn’t return my calls.’

With deliberate care he removed her hand. ‘No.’

Oh, my. He was rejecting her advances? In public?

‘It was very impolite of you, caro.’ The pout was back, and although a smile was in evidence, her eyes were green ice.

‘You think so?’

Victor seemed fascinated with their exchange, and Chantelle reached for her water glass. She needed something stronger, but the wine waiter had yet to appear at their table.

‘Victor and I’ll be on the Coast for another few days, then we fly down to Sydney to check out the studios there.’

‘Indeed?’

Mercifully the wine waiter provided a welcome distraction…one that extended several minutes as Dimitri effected a round of introductions to the four guests sharing their table.

The MC announced the purpose of the evening, noted the charity, and introduced the chairwoman, who gave a splendid speech on the Leukaemia Foundation’s goals and achievements. After which a popular singer came on and produced a stirring rendition of a familiar ballad.

Chantelle was supremely conscious of Daniella’s attempts to gain Dimitri’s attention. And his apparent disinclination to play polite.

The starter was served, and she almost died when he forked a small shrimp from his plate and offered it to her.

What was this? He was feeding her? It had been something they did whenever they’d dined together in the past. So why now? Nothing had changed…had it?

She wasn’t so sure of anything any more, especially not him.

There was a break between the starter and the main, during which time the MC showed slides of children with leukaemia and encouraged the guests to dig deep with donations and the purchase of raffle tickets.

Chantelle made a contribution, and barely contained her surprise at the high denominational bills Dimitri added to the basket being passed around their table.

‘Victor, take care of it,’ Daniella commanded languidly.

The waiters began serving the main course, placing alternate plates of fish and chicken…the usual practice at such events.

‘Oh, please, take that away and bring me a salad,’ the actress said with disdain.

Daniella Fabrizi excelled at playing the diva. Four years ago the actress had been a new kid on the block, but fame and fortune had obviously wrought changes…none of which Chantelle considered an improvement. But then, she had every reason to be biased!

‘I imagine you hired a baby-sitter for…Sam, isn’t it?’ The actress directed the query to Chantelle.

‘Samuel,’ she corrected. ‘My mother is looking after him.’

‘How convenient for you.’ Daniella’s voice dripped barbed cynicism beneath the superficial smile.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, and watched the actress transfer her attention to Dimitri.

‘We really must get together for dinner.’ Her hand rested on his thigh, and her eyes glittered with suppressed anger as he calmly removed it. ‘The four of us, of course,’ she added quickly.

‘I don’t think so.’

Chantelle consciously held her breath for a few seconds, aware all conversation at their table had come to a sudden halt.

‘Darling, why ever not?’ Daniella pursued with a tinkling laugh. ‘We’ve been intimate friends for a long time.’

Dimitri rested his cutlery. ‘We were never intimate. Your deliberately orchestrated interference caused unutterable grief and denied me the pleasure of sharing Chantelle’s pregnancy and the first three and a half years of my son’s life.’

‘Oh, really, how can you say that when we—?’

‘Shared one date five years ago.’

The silence was electric. The muted music, the guests’ chatter…it all faded into the background.

‘Since then you’ve contrived to elicit invitations to the same functions I attend,’ Dimitri continued with dangerous silkiness. ‘Almost everywhere I turn, be it Athens, London or Rome…you manage to be there.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

She was good, Chantelle complimented silently. She did injured indignation to perfection.

‘It amounts to stalking, Daniella.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Easily.’ He waited a beat. ‘If you won’t desist, I’ll have no option but to take out a restraining order against you.’

‘I don’t understand how you can be so cruel.’

Pathos was evident, and seemed incredibly genuine as the actress recoiled from what she perceived to be an unjustified attack.

‘I travel extensively on location. My visit here has been at Victor’s invitation.’

Victor remained silent. Integrity, or a desire to distance himself? Probably the latter.

‘Your inclusion at tonight’s function?’ Dimitri persisted silkily.

‘Publicity. It’s an essential part of an actor’s career.’

‘I have it on authority the venue was fully booked.’

‘So? Someone must have cancelled.’

‘And the several messages you left on Andreas’ answering machine?’

‘Why shouldn’t I look up an old friend?’

‘We’re merely social acquaintances, Daniella. Accept it and move on.’

The waiter appeared at their table and placed a delectable salad in front of the actress, who took one look, and demeaned him with attitude. ‘Is this the best you can do?’

The anger simmering beneath Daniella’s control threatened to erupt into an explosive scene.

The waiter apologised and requested the actress’s specific requirements.

‘The food is appalling. Don’t bother.’

Temperament was one thing, but nothing excused bad manners.

Chantelle picked at the food on her plate, rearranging the artistic vegetable compilation, forked a morsel of fish, then reached for her wineglass.

Dimitri calmly collected his cutlery and finished the contents on his plate.

Doubtless he was accustomed to shooting people down in flames. Maybe he did it in business on a daily basis. However, she needed a temporary escape from the tense atmosphere.

With deliberate movements, she pushed her plate aside, folded her napkin, then she excused herself.

It seemed feasible to freshen up, given the main event…a fashion show…was due to begin when guests had finished the main course.

How long could she remain absent? Five minutes, ten? It didn’t take long to reapply lipstick and powder her nose, but she waited ten minutes before entering the vestibule.

Only to come face-to-face with Daniella, whose transformation was something to behold.

‘Don’t let that little performance fool you,’ the actress vented in barely controlled fury. ‘Dimitri is mine, he always has been.’

Chantelle drew in a calming breath, hating the scene she knew was about to unfold. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said steadily, and took a backward step as Daniella moved close.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’

Oh, hell. She didn’t want a cat-fight, but she was damned if she’d remain quiescent. ‘Did it never occur that you’re delusional? Or that you possess an unhealthy obsession for a man who wants nothing to do with you?’

‘Bitch.’ Daniella’s hands clenched and unclenched with rage. ‘Just because you bore him a son—’

Chantelle held up a hand. ‘Stop it right there,’ she warned, and made to walk away, except she wasn’t quick enough as Daniella’s palm connected painfully with her cheek.

‘Don’t mess with me. I can have you taken out—’ she clicked a finger and thumb together with expressive emphasis ‘—like that.’

‘You think Dimitri wouldn’t put two and two together?’ Chantelle challenged, and felt the first stirring of fear as Daniella’s eyes darkened to emerald.

‘I can make him want me. I know tricks—’

She’d had enough. Without a further word she pushed past the actress and walked to the lift, which mercifully opened as soon as she pressed the call-button.

At Reception she had the concierge summon a cab, which appeared within seconds, and she slid into the rear passenger seat, gave the driver Anouk’s address, then focused on the passing traffic, the nightscape, in an effort to dispel Daniella’s vengeful image.

It didn’t work, nothing worked, and she alighted from the cab feeling as if she’d run an emotional marathon.

Anouk met her at the door, her features creased with concern.

‘What is it, amie? Dimitri has called, not once but twice. Merde,’ she breathed. ‘What is that mark on your face?’

‘Maman—don’t ask.’

‘But of course I will ask!’ The sudden peal of the phone provided a momentary distraction. ‘That will be Dimitri again.’

‘I don’t want to speak with him. I don’t want to see him.’

‘Alors—I must answer that.’ She did, and Chantelle gathered little from her mother’s end of the conversation other than she confirmed Chantelle was home.

‘He is on his way here now,’ Anouk revealed as she cut the connection.

‘Maman, if you let him in the door, I swear I’ll take the next flight out of here.’ Stupid, angry tears threatened to spill, and she brushed at them in a futile gesture. ‘I’m going upstairs to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.’ She caught the concern on her mother’s features, and relented a little. ‘Promise.’ Then she crossed to the stairs and went to her room.

With care she removed her make-up, then slipped out of her clothes. There was a tense moment as she glimpsed the beam of reflected car-lights in the driveway, and she swiftly turned the safety lock in position.

Dimitri might get past Anouk, but she was damned if she’d face him tonight.

Within minutes there was a light tap on her bedroom door. ‘Chantelle. Dimitri insists on speaking with you.’

She took a deep, calming breath. ‘Whatever he has to say can wait until morning.’

It was a while before she saw car-lights switch on and his car reverse down the driveway. Then, and only then did she unlock the door and check on Samuel before retreating to her room to lie in bed staring at the shadowed ceiling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHANTELLE slept badly, and woke to find Samuel tugging at her arm. With automatic movements she reached forward and gave him an affectionate hug.

‘Maman, wake up. Dimitri is here, and Grandmère is waiting to take me to the beach with Jean-Paul.’

What on earth was the time?

Eight, she determined with a silent groan. ‘I need to shower and dress, mon ange. Go downstairs and wait for me. Fifteen minutes, OK?’

‘OK,’ he said happily. ‘I’ve had breakfast, and Grandmère is packing a picnic.’

Ten minutes later she donned jeans and a singlet top, slid her feet into sandals, then she caught her hair into a ponytail. Make-up? Forget it.

Subterfuge was alive and well, she perceived as she entered the dining room. Dimitri stood with Samuel hoisted in his arms as they both surveyed Jean-Paul’s cruiser moored at the jetty stretching out from the water’s edge.

Jean-Paul, his arm in a sling, looked distinctly bemused, and Anouk was slotting bottled water and juice into the portable cooler.

Dimitri turned as he sensed her presence, and gave the appearance of being totally relaxed…until she met his gaze, and she glimpsed something she didn’t care to define.

‘Maman is here,’ Samuel said at once, and looked at his grandmother. ‘Can we go now, Grandmère?’

‘Of course.’ Anouk ran a quick check. ‘Sunscreen, hat, insect repellent, change of clothes, swimsuit, towels…yes, that’s everything.’

‘Grandmère is going to show me how to catch fish.’

She is? Well, now, that has to be a first.

‘We’re going to eat it for dinner,’ Samuel informed as Dimitri released him to stand on the floor. ‘Au revoir, Dimitri. Maman.’

‘The coffee is hot,’ Anouk declared. ‘And there are croissants warming in the oven.’

‘I’ll help you with the cooler.’ Dimitri crossed to where it stood and followed Anouk, Jean-Paul and Samuel out to the car.

Chantelle poured fresh juice, drank it, then filled a cup with coffee, choosing to take it black and sweet. Her nerves were in shreds, and the thought of food repelled her.

Minutes later she heard the car start, and she steeled herself for Dimitri’s return. Even so, his reappearance in the kitchen surprised her and she almost spilled her coffee as he entered the kitchen.

For a moment he simply looked at her, and she met his searching gaze with fearless regard.

Soft denim jeans and a polo shirt did little to minimise his impact on her senses, and, unless she had it wrong, it didn’t appear he’d slept any better than she had.

‘Would you care to tell me why you walked out last night?’

His voice was silk-smooth and sent shivers scudding across the surface of her skin. ‘I gather Daniella wasn’t forthcoming?’

He thrust a hand into each pocket of his jeans. ‘She denied speaking to you. At first.’ The memory of his confrontation with Daniella still had the power to anger him, and he clenched his fists in silent frustration.

‘I can take care of myself.’

He moved to stand within touching distance, then he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. ‘You have the beginnings of a bruise.’ He brushed a thumb-pad gently over her cheekbone.

Beneath his touch she felt strangely helpless. ‘Dimitri…’

He cupped her face and tilted it so she had to look at him. ‘From the moment I met you, there has been only you. In the past four years no one—nothing—has come close to what we shared together.’

He lowered his head and brushed his lips to her cheek, then trailed a path to the edge of her mouth. ‘I want you in my life.’

‘You can’t always have what you want.’

His mouth covered hers in a kiss so incredibly sweet it made her want to cry. ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘I can.’

‘Because of Samuel.’

He was silent for a few seconds, and she tried to wrench away from him, only to be held fast where she stood.

‘That requires a yes and no qualification. Yes, because I want to be part of my son’s life. And no, because you are more important to me than anything or anyone else. Without you, I merely exist.’

Love…what about love?

‘You want me to spell it out?’

His gaze held hers, and she couldn’t look away.

‘I fell in love with you within days of when we first met. It never changed, even after we went our separate ways.’

Daniella had contrived to poison what they shared then, and now, with manipulative effect. Except this time it hadn’t worked.

‘I won’t allow it to happen again.’

Dared she believe him? She wanted to, desperately.

He pulled her close, one hand holding fast her head while the other slid down to cup her bottom. Then his mouth closed over hers, and she became lost in the taste and feel of him.

It was magical, mesmeric…a passionate intoxication of all her senses.

When he lifted his head she could only look at him, and her bones began to melt at the raw desire apparent.

‘This is one level on which we communicate,’ Dimitri said in a husky groan, as he slid his hands beneath her singlet top.

Her skin was like satin, so smooth and silky, and delicately scented. He wanted to taste every inch of her in a long, slow loving that would drive them both wild, bury himself inside her and watch her spiral out of control, then join her in the ride.

‘I need you. Dear heaven, you can’t begin to believe how much.’

‘I don’t think—’

His mouth possessed hers, and any thought of resistance was lost as her hunger matched his.

She couldn’t get enough of him as instinct ruled, and she made no protest when he swept her into his arms and made for the stairs.

He entered her bedroom, and she retained little recollection of dispensing with her clothes, his. There was only now, the heat and the passion in a fast and furious lovemaking that tore the breath from her body and left them slick with sensual sweat.

Dear heaven. She felt as if she’d been consumed by an emotional storm so intense she burned from it.

All her senses were on high alert, and she could feel every inch of her body…inside and out.

Dimitri cupped her chin and gently turned her head towards him. ‘I love you.’

The warmth of his smile melted her bones and she offered a tremulous smile.

‘Marry me, Chantelle.’ He dropped a kiss at the edge of her shoulder. ‘I want to share your life.’ He nibbled a path across her collarbone, then slipped low to nuzzle at her breast. ‘And have you share mine.’

He trailed his lips to her navel, dipped the tip of his tongue and teased the hollow there before moving to one hip and kissing a path to her knee.

He knew where to touch, the location of each sensual pulse-beat, and he explored them all with such excruciating slowness she was almost begging when he sought to gift her the most intimate kiss of all.

She cried with the pleasure of it, and reached for him, exulting in his quickened heartbeat, the thudding of his pulse, and he entered her to indulge in a long, slow loving that left them both sated and sensually replete.

‘You haven’t said yes,’ Dimitri ventured as he drew her in close against him and pillowed her head into the curve of his shoulder.

‘Not fair. You have me at a disadvantage.’

‘Agape mou,’ he murmured against her temple, ‘I plan to keep you at a disadvantage on a permanent basis.’

She lifted a hand and teased her fingers through the swirling hairs on his chest. ‘You do realise it’s the middle of the day?’

‘And that makes a difference, because?’

‘We should get up.’ She made a slight effort to move, and thought better of it.

The warmth of his smile reached down and touched her soul. ‘Soon, hmm?’

‘Anouk and Jean-Paul—’

‘Won’t return until after four.’

‘A conspiracy, huh?’

‘Good management,’ he corrected.

Chantelle lay quietly, exulting in the languid warmth of a woman who had been thoroughly loved. This was where she wanted to be, with this man, for the rest of her life.

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

Dimitri stilled. ‘Is that yes, it was good management, or have you agreed to marry me?’

A light laugh bubbled from her lips. ‘Both. Besides, we’ve just had unprotected sex. Twice. The last time we did that, I fell pregnant. I think I should make an honest man of you.’

He tunnelled his fingers through her hair and settled his mouth over hers in a long, evocative kiss that almost made her weep.

‘Soon. Very soon,’ he promised. ‘We’ll organise a licence and get married before we leave for Paris.’

‘Whoa, not so fast,’ Chantelle protested. ‘Paris?’

‘You need to give notice and pack everything you want to transfer to New York.’

‘We? You’re coming with us?’

‘Pedhaki mou,’ he assured with musing indulgence, ‘I don’t intend letting you out of my sight.’

It was an hour before they rose and shared a shower, then, dressed, they went down to the kitchen and raided the refrigerator for a late lunch, choosing to eat out on the terrace overlooking the sea.

Chantelle sat quietly as she sipped chilled white wine, and became lost in reflective thought.

If she hadn’t returned home for Christmas; if Dimitri hadn’t chosen this particular festive season to visit his father…They might never have met again, never had the chance to experience the joy, the passion of two people so perfectly in tune with each other.

‘I love you,’ she said gently, turning towards him.

‘Cristos.’ The word emerged with heartfelt warmth. ‘Now you tell me.’ He rose from the chair and pulled her to her feet.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking you inside.’ He threaded his fingers through her own. ‘I don’t want to shock the neighbours.’

CHAPTER NINE

‘MAMAN, we are home. Grandmère helped me catch a fish.’

There was a moment’s silence as the child absorbed the scene in front of him. Slowly he turned towards his grandmother. ‘Grandmère, why is Dimitri kissing Maman?’

‘They are standing beneath the mistletoe, mon ange, are they not? It is a Christmas tradition, oui, for adults to kiss beneath the mistletoe.’

‘Only adults?’

Dimitri lifted his head and turned towards his son.

Then he swept wide an arm as he beckoned Samuel to join them.

Samuel ran, and was lifted high into his father’s arms. He wriggled a little, pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, then impulsively gifted another to the man who held him.

‘This is nice.’

‘Nice enough for you to share Maman with me?’

Samuel looked thoughtful. ‘Are you going to be my daddy?’

Chantelle held her breath.

‘Would you like that?’ Dimitri queried solemnly.

‘Oui. Maman doesn’t know how to catch fish, and she won’t let me have a proper bicycle. But I’m getting big, and I won’t fall off.’

Anouk smiled and caught Jean-Paul’s hand. ‘In this case, three isn’t a crowd, but five definitely is. Let’s go look at the garden for a while.’

Christmas was the season for family, with love, laughter, gifts and giving.

For Chantelle it held special meaning, for from this moment on she’d always connect the festive season with being reunited with the love of her life.

Three weeks ago she would never have imagined in her wildest dreams she’d be planning her own wedding. Or that she would reveal to her son his real father’s identity.

Miracles had been worked to ensure the marriage could take place amongst family the day before their departure for France.

Returning home for Christmas had brought more than she could have ever dreamed of, and she lifted her face to meet Dimitri’s warm gaze as Jean-Paul handed out gifts assembled beneath the Christmas tree.

The brief touch of his mouth on hers was a vivid reminder of what they would soon share together.

‘Dimitri is kissing Maman again,’ Samuel announced, and encountered his father’s broad smile followed by his teasing drawl.

‘You’d better get used to it.’

Samuel grinned and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t mind. His mother was happy, Dimitri was cool, and, by the number of brightly packaged gifts beneath the tree, Santa had rewarded him well.

What more could anyone want?

A Prince for Christmas

By Rebecca Winters

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

“ERIC? Will you forgive me for calling you this late?”

“Maren?”

Thirty-year-old Eric Thorvaldsen, fifth in line to the Frijian crown, a fact that pleased him no end because he was almost a hundred percent certain he’d never have to rule, jackknifed into a sitting position on the bed. The black Lab Thor lying at his feet lifted his head before putting it down again.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was four in the morning. “Have you made me an uncle?” This would be his sister’s first child.

“Not quite yet, brother dear. I had contractions and Stein took me to the hospital, but they finally stopped. Our baby’s going to be born prematurely no matter what. But the doctor is hoping I can last one more week, so he has ordered me to bed.”

“Four more days and it’s Christmas!”

“Wouldn’t it be something if my little baby were to have a birthday on the most wonderful day of the year?”

If that were the case, Eric already felt sorry for the baby who would be his nephew. He’d be cheated out of his own special birthday, one he shouldn’t have to share with a holiday, but Eric kept that thought to himself.

“It’ll be wonderful anytime.”

“I know. I can’t wait. Anyway, because I’ve been put on bed rest, I have a favor to ask of you. Please don’t say no before you hear what it is. This is really important!”

Everything was important to his compassionate sister who championed a dozen causes in the name of the homeless, the sick and aged, orphans, abused animals…. The list went on and on.

“I would have asked Knute or mom, but he’s out of the country attending that economic meeting in Hamburg and won’t be back for a few more days. Mother went with him to do some shopping. That leaves you.”

Since their father’s death from a fatal heart attack last year, their older brother Knute was now king. By Maren mentioning his name, it meant this favor had something official about it. “Official” was a word Eric shied away from—whenever it was possible.

“Eric? I can tell you’re cringing.”

He chuckled. “Am I that bad?”

“You’re worse! Seriously, this is so important I’ll have to risk the baby coming early and take care of it myself if you can’t.”

He blinked. “Well—you’ve put me in a position where I can hardly refuse now, can I,” he drawled.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They were like twins, only a year apart with her being the elder. They were their parents’ second family.

Knute was seven years older. Thank heaven he didn’t know any better than to do his duty. With two sons who were being raised to succeed him if anything happened, followed by Maren and her soon-to-be-born-son who’d be third and fourth in line to the throne, Eric had been left free to pursue his work as an oceanographer.

“Do I have to come to the palace?” Thorsvik was only a half hour away from where he lived.

“No. You can stay right there in Brobak.”

“That’s a plus.”

When he wasn’t working in the city or attending oceanographic seminars around the world, he preferred to spend what little free time he had at his home in the little village south of the capitol. On a steep slope far away from other people, he could look down on the Oslo fjord and feel rejuvenated.

“I’ll ask someone from the palace to bring your ceremonial suit to you in the morning.”

Eric’s brows met in a frown. He hadn’t had to look official since a family photograph had been taken at the time Knute became king.

“This is something I have to do tomorrow?”

“Yes, but let me explain. A year ago the Chocolate Barn in the market square decided to expand their Christmas exports to include a hot chocolate mix.

“Instead of putting the traditional gnome on the packaging, they ran a contest to find the right little Frijian girl to display on the labeling around the can. They’re hoping she’ll become a recognizable icon throughout the world.

“A child in America, of Frijian descent won the contest. Her prize was a trip to Frijia before the Holidays with her family and—”

“And the highlight would be a special audience with Princess Maren, at the Chocolate Barn, where she’ll be given a year’s worth of chocolate treats to take home,” Eric broke in.

“Something like that,” she murmured. “They asked me to do this a year ago, and I agreed. She’ll be there at two o’clock to meet you.”

“Have you ever turned anyone down for anything?”

“I try not to if it’s for a worthy cause. The Chocolate Barn is going to donate part of the proceeds of this new product to my animal rescue charity.”

“Surely the owners and the girl’s family will understand when they find out you’re about to have a baby?”

“Of course they will. But we’re talking about a little girl here. A darling little five-or six-year-old who still believes in fairy princesses and castles and magic. No doubt she’s been waiting and waiting for tomorrow to come.”

He let out an exasperated sound between a laugh and a groan. “I’m hardly going to fill the bill, Maren.”

“You’re the genuine royal article, and you look like Prince Charming when you’re dressed as if you’re ready to attend a coronation. Her child’s heart will fall in love with you on the spot. She’ll forget all about wanting to meet me.

“The palace photographer will be there to take a picture of the two of you for a souvenir to be sent to her, then you can go enjoy your Holiday.”

“That’s good. I’m through with work until January and planned to fly to Kvitfjell tomorrow with Bea for a day of skiing before Christmas.”

“I’m glad. A certain source has told me she’s in love with you.”

“The press will say anything, Maren. We’ve had some good times together, but don’t read too much into it.”

“I’ve seen pictures of the two of you in the paper. She’s beautiful and I hear she’s very smart. You couldn’t go wrong with a woman like her.”

“You’re right.”

“Maybe when you get back, you’ll bring her to the palace to meet all of us?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Eric—” she cried in exasperation.

“If I’m in love with her by then, I’ll introduce you.”

His sister moaned in defeat.

“I don’t want to make a mistake, Maren.”

For several years now the paparazzi had labeled him Europe’s biggest playboy. It was a lie they continued to perpetuate in order to sell papers, but he refused to let it bother him.

There was a pause before she said, “I wouldn’t want you to do that. Make a mistake I mean.”

Eric could always count on his sister’s love.

Unlike Knute and Maren who’d married spouses of royal lineage in case either of them or their children had to rule, Eric could marry a woman of his own choosing, even if she was a commoner. That was the agreement he’d worked out with his father before he’d passed away.

Oddly enough, being allowed to find his beloved in the same way any nonroyal could, had made Eric reluctant to jump into marriage. He preferred to get it right the first time and not end up divorced.

The other day his best friend Olav, who’d recently married, reminded him that marriage was for an awfully long time so he’d better be sure before he took the fatal step.

For once Eric hadn’t been able to tell if his oldest childhood buddy was teasing or not. Since that comment, Eric had the distinct impression Olav’s marriage was already in trouble.

It put the fear in Eric.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow. I’ll do my best to represent you. What you need to do is take care of yourself and that baby.”

“Thank you, Eric. You’re the greatest.”

No he wasn’t. Knute would have agreed to fill in for her without hesitation. Anything for the good of Frijia. Their brother was a noble soul. Eric admired and loved him.

In an attempt to assuage his guilt over his distaste for duty Eric said, “I’ll let you know how the day went before I leave on my ski trip.”

“I’d appreciate it. Promise me you won’t break a leg so the rest of the Holidays are ruined for you.”

“I’m hardly going to do that.”

“Even an expert skier like you can have an accident, Eric. Just be careful. You know how mother is looking forward to all of us being together on this particular Christmas.”

Eric was very much aware their mother was still grieving and needed her family around. Knute had been inspired to take her to Germany with him. Hopefully she hadn’t had time to brood. Thank goodness their sister would soon be giving her another grandson to dote on.

“Don’t worry. I’ll only be gone a couple of days. Make sure you do as the doctor tells you, Maren. Goodnight.”

“Hold still for a minute, sweetheart.”

A couple of bobby pins to secure the embroidered red cap in Sonia’s mass of shiny brown curls did the trick.

“There.” Kristin, born Kristin Remmen, gave her niece a kiss. She’d looked after her since the death of her beloved sister. “Now you’re ready.”

“Do you think the Princess is here yet, Aunty Kristin?” Sonia shifted from one leg to the other in excited anticipation of what was about to happen.

Kristin eyed her five-and-a-half-year-old niece whose sightless brown eyes shone like stars. She’d been so good, but the thought of meeting Princess Maren of the Frijian royal family had been all she could think about for the last month. It couldn’t come soon enough for Kristin.

“I don’t know. We’re supposed to wait in here until the owners send for us.”

The Severeids had given them the use of the employee’s lounge at the rear of the world famous Chocolate Barn to do any last minute preparations.

She and Sonia had gotten ready at the small, quaint hotel a block away from the barn. For the occasion Kristin had bought a cherry red wool coatdress with gold buttons that ran from hem to neck. The tailored look played down her curvaceous five foot five figure.

The appearance of Princess Maren meant one inevitable throng of photographers and television journalists. So, Kristin wanted to look her best and had swept back her honey blond hair in a French twist to reveal tiny gold earrings in the shape of jeweled Christmas ball ornaments.

The whole promotion had been tied in with Christmas and was to be the top human interest story for the evening news not only in Europe but all over the world.

“If your great-great-grandmother were alive to see you in the same clothes she brought over from Frijia for her little girl, she’d be so proud.”

According to Kristin’s family history, Anton Remmen, who’d worked on the family farm on the Varland Fjord, came to America in 1900 with his wife and their son and daughter Sonja, after whom little Sonia was named.

The red vest and black skirt reflected that region of the country they originated from, with the famous Varland lace on the white linen blouse and apron. In red stockings and black burnad shoes with silver buckles, Sonia looked the epitome of a traditional Frijian child.

Now Sonia’s picture adorned the label on the cans and packets of hot chocolate manufactured at the Chocolate Barn in Brobak.

Blessed with an engaging wide smile and dimples, many older people who remembered the famous Olympic ice skating champion Sonja Henie, remarked how much Sonia looked like her.

Kristin could see a superficial resemblance. Certainly there was a vivaciousness about her niece that captivated people.

The fact that she was so photogenic and adorable in her grandmother Sonja’s authentic outfit had prompted Mr. and Mrs. Severeid to pick Sonia’s picture from the hundreds that had been sent in from Frijia, Europe and America for the contest.

“Do you think Grandpa Elling will see me on TV?”

“He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Kristin lowered her head. She felt a pang in her heart at the thought of her grieving father who’d been too sick with a bad flu bug to come on their three day trip to Brobak and the surrounding towns in Frijia.

If Sonia’s parents were still alive, they would have brought her here instead of Kristin. They would have been able to see everything and feel the thrill of being back in the beautiful country of their ancestors.

“Ms. Remmen?” At the sound of Mrs. Severeid’s voice, Kristin turned around. “Could I speak to you for a minute?” she asked in Frijian, a language Kristin spoke fluently and taught for the American-Frijian Cultural Exchange Institute in Chicago.

“Is the Princess here now?” Sonia said excitedly.

“Just a minute, sweetheart, and I’ll find out. Sit on this chair.”

Kristin left her squirming niece long enough to go to the door. “Yes?”

“There’s been a change in plans,” the older woman whispered. “We’ve just been told by someone from the royal palace that Princess Maren’s first child is due any day now and she’s been put on bed rest. Therefore her brother Prince Eric has come in her place.

“This is terribly exciting because he rarely makes public appearances. We’re very honored by his visit. I thought you should know about it to prepare your niece. I’ll signal you when it’s time to walk to the front of the store with her.”

“Thank you,” Kristin murmured, but her heart had dropped to her feet. Her anxious gaze darted to her niece who’d been counting on meeting the Princess ever since she’d heard she’d won the contest.

In truth, it was the only reason Kristin had brought her to Frijia. The precarious situation had to be handled with extreme delicacy.

She walked back and knelt down next to Sonia. “Sweetheart? Guess what I’ve just found out?”

“What?” Sonia asked breathlessly, almost falling off the chair she was so excited.

“Princess Maren is ready to have a baby.”

“A baby—” Sonia’s eyes widened. “You mean right here?”

“No, sweetheart. She’ll have it at the hospital, but for the moment she’s home in bed.”

“Is she sick?”

“No. But the doctor wants her to rest until the baby comes.”

“Are we going to the palace to see her then?”

Kristin hugged her, praying for some inspiration. “I’m afraid not, but she has sent someone else to meet you.”

Sonia’s lower lip started to tremble. Not a good sign.

“I don’t want to meet anybody else!”

“Not even her brother?”

“He’s not a princess—” she blurted in a tear-filled voice that could probably be heard beyond the confines of the back room.

Kristin moaned inwardly. “I know, sweetheart, but her brother is a prince and a very special person. His name is Prince Eric. He’s as famous as his sister.”

Except that infamous was probably more like it.

Over the years Kristin had seen pictures of the handsome royal family on television and in magazines, as well as in the Cultural Exchange’s own newspaper. It was in one of their editions that the Chocolate Barn’s contest had been advertised with the promise of the winner being able to meet Princess Maren.

Her brother, Prince Eric, was even better looking than his elder brother who was now king. The eligible playboy prince appeared more often in the news than the rest of his family. He’d been linked with the great beauties of Europe, and was reputed to have broken many hearts.

“But I want to meet the Princess!” Sonia cried loud enough for everyone in the entire store to hear her.

“I know you do, but this can’t be helped. Remember how Grandpa Elling couldn’t come with us because he’s been sick? Well it’s the same thing with the Princess.”

“But she’s not sick. She just has to rest,” Sonia reasoned in her child’s mind before she broke down sobbing and clung to Kristin. “Please can’t we call the Princess on the phone?” she begged, totally out of control.

“If you tell her how much I want to meet her, she’ll let me come. I know she will.”

Tears streamed down her blotchy cheeks, panicking Kristin who hadn’t seen her niece like this since she’d awakened in the hospital to learn that her parents had gone to heaven.

“I p-promise not to make any n-noise or do a-anything wrong, Aunty Kristin. I’ll be s-so good. T-tell her I’ll be g-good.”

Sonia’s hysteria stemmed from a lot more than disappointment that she wouldn’t be meeting a real live princess. She was still too fragile after losing her mother and father.

Kristin was frantic because a member of the royal family along with television crews and photographers were waiting in the store for the appearance of the lucky little girl who’d won the Chocolate Barn’s contest.

This was turning into a nightmare!

“Maybe I can help,” said a low compelling male voice in English with only the slightest trace of accent.

CHAPTER TWO

KRISTIN turned her head in the direction of the door. The second her light blue eyes caught sight of the Prince, resplendent in ceremonial dress, she let out a surprised gasp and stood up.

His coloring was similar to Sonia’s, in that he had dark brown hair and eyes. Tall and powerfully built like his brother and father, he stood six feet two or three, and possessed an aristocratic bearing.

Dressed in dark blue with the wide royal red band crossing his broad chest from shoulder to hip, Kristin’s niece would be awestruck if she could see him.

While Kristin studied him, she discovered that he was studying her just as thoroughly.

His gaze wandered over her face and figure with unmistakable male interest. She swallowed hard before averting her eyes.

In the next instant he moved toward them and hunkered down next to Sonia who was sobbing harder than ever and refused to be comforted.

“I understand you’re called Sonia,” he began. “So you’re the girl who came all the way from America to meet my sister.”

His words produced another paroxysm of tears.

Kristin noticed the play of hard muscle beneath his suit jacket. She could tell he was striving to come up with a different approach to an impossible situation.

“My name is Eric. Do you think you could stop crying long enough to talk to me for a minute?”

She rubbed her knuckles against her wet eyes. “I—I don’t want to talk to a-anybody ’cept the P-princess.”

“I know exactly how you feel. When I was a little boy and very upset about something, I always ran to my sister to talk to her because she’s my best friend and the kindest person I know. Do you have a younger brother?”

“No.” Sonia hiccuped. “My m-mommy and daddy died before they could g-give me one.”

Kristin felt the Prince digest those words. She had the grace to feel sorry for the royal bachelor playboy who she figured had never been forced to deal with a crisis quite like this before.

“My sister asked me to come in her place because she couldn’t. I know you wanted to meet a real princess, but I am her brother.” He wiped some of the moisture off her cheeks. “Will a prince do for today?”

No woman young or old could be immune to that humble yet compelling male entreaty, not even Sonia, who finally lifted her tear-ravaged face to him.

“D-do you h-have your c-crown on?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

The Prince’s intelligent gaze swerved to Kristin’s in distinct puzzlement. At this point she realized everything had fallen apart before Mrs. Severeid had found the time to tell him about Sonia’s condition.

“My niece is blind,” Kristin tapped him on the shoulder and silently mouthed the words.

Their eyes held for endless moments while he absorbed the tragic revelation. As he continued to stare at Kristin, his expression underwent a dramatic transformation. Lines of incredulity darkened his features, making him appear older.

His dark brown eyes looked pained before they settled on Sonia once more. Strong masculine hands reached out to grasp her niece’s little fingers in his.

“I didn’t have time to put it on,” he said in a solemn tone.

“H-how come?” Sonia wanted to know. Small tremors shook her body, but miracle of miracles, her hysterics were subsiding.

“Because it’s in another town.”

“Where?”

“At a cathedral in Midgard with some other family crowns.”

“How come? If I had a crown, I’d put it in my room on the dresser.”

Kristin’s eyes closed tightly. The “how comes?” had started, and now there’d be no end to them.

“My crown’s too heavy to wear all the time, so I keep it locked up in the church where it will be safe.”

“Does it hurt your head?”

She sounded so concerned about that, the Prince flashed Kristin an intimate smile in spite of his shock that Sonia couldn’t see. Already he’d discovered her niece possessed a potent charm of her own. It was unbelievable to Kristin that her ex-fiancé Bruce hadn’t been affected by it.

Encouraged by the progress the Prince was making, Kristin couldn’t help but smile back.

“I get a headache when I have to wear it for a long time,” he said, still looking at Kristin as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Does the Princess’s c-crown hurt her too?”

His gaze eventually swerved back to Sonia. “No. It’s smaller and lighter.”

“Is her crown at that church?”

“No. I think she keeps it with her.”

“Do you live at the p-palace with the Princess?” Sonia asked before she hiccuped again.

“Not since I became a man.”

“When did that h-happen?”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Kristin struggled not to laugh at Sonia’s innocent question.

This time the Prince sent Kristin a slightly wicked smile before he concentrated on Sonia and murmured, “I’m not sure. When I turned twenty-three I decided to get my own place.”

“My Aunty Kristin’s twenty-three. How old are you?”

“I turned thirty on my last birthday.”

“My daddy was thirty when he died. Do you live in your own palace?”

“No. I live in an old sea captain’s house.”

“I thought you were a prince!”

His low laugh excited Kristin. “I am, but I love the sea. My house sits high on a hill where I can look down and watch all the boats.”

Sonia shivered. “I don’t like the water.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Cos I was on a sailboat with my mommy and daddy when they drowned. Now I live with my Aunty Kristin.”

At that news, the Prince subjected Kristin to another intense yet solemn appraisal before he said, “You’re a lucky little girl to have her.”

“That’s what Grandpa Elling says. Don’t you miss the Princess?”

“Yes,” he whispered, “but she has a husband and pretty soon she’s going to have a baby boy. They need their own place.”

“Do you live all alone?” Her voice trembled.

“No. I have a dog.”

Her expression brightened. “Is he big?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Thor.”

“That means thunder!”

The Prince chuckled softly, but Kristin felt it resonate deep inside of her. “That’s right.”

“Is he mean?”

“He’s as sweet as my sister.”

“We couldn’t keep a dog at our apartment.”

“That’s too bad. Every little girl should have one. How would you like to meet mine?”

What? Kristin’s heart thudded.

“Could I?” Sonia cried in delight.

When the Prince turned to Kristin, she shook her head. “Please—that’s not necessary,” she whispered, but by then the Prince had plucked Sonia from the chair and held her in his strong arms.

“I tell you what. Let’s go out in front of the shop so the photographer can take our picture with the Severeids. Then we’ll walk across the square to Santa’s post office. After that we’ll visit Thor.”

Sonia threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She’d never done that with Bruce in the whole time Kristin had known him.

The Prince reciprocated with a spontaneous hug that looked so genuine to Kristin, he could have been Sonia’s daddy loving her.

“Hold on to my hand and don’t let go,” he said after putting her down.

“I won’t. Come on, Aunty Kristin.”

The Princess had been forgotten for the moment, but Kristin feared a new problem had arisen, one that might be much more difficult to fix by the time this experience was over.

“I’m right behind you, sweetheart.”

Kristin had a hard time crediting that any of this was happening. The moment was surreal.

With Sonia in her native dress and the handsome Prince looking as if he’d just stepped from the pages of a fairy tale. Kristin had to admit that the two of them entranced the eye.

Everyone, including the security guards, must have thought so too judging by the hush that fell over the crowd of locals and television people. They’d congregated around the Chocolate Barn’s sixteen foot high chocolate Santa waiting for the Prince to join the owners.

“Your Highness,” Mrs. Severeid spoke up, “we are honored that a member of the royal family could be here today to meet the winner of our contest, Sonia Anderssen from Chicago, Illinois, in the United States.

“She’s a true daughter of Frijia and we are proud for her picture to appear on every can and packet of hot chocolate, the Chocolate Barn’s newest product to the world.

“Out of the fifteen hundred children’s photographs sent in by Frijians from all over the globe for our contest, Sonia’s picture captured our attention and our hearts.”

Fifteen hundred? Kristin had no idea the competition had been so fierce.

Mrs. Severeid bent down to put the microphone in front of Sonia. “Will you tell everyone about the dress with the Varland lace you have on, Sonia?”

“My great-grandma wore this when she came to America from Frijia a long time ago with her mommy and daddy.”

“You look lovely in it. Can you tell the people watching how it happened that your photograph was sent in?”

Uh-oh. Sonia was a precocious child. Kristin held her breath, half afraid of what was going to come out next.

“Grandpa Elling sent it because he loves me.”

“Did you know he’d entered you in our contest?”

Sonia shook her head. “No. Not till Aunty Kristin told me I was going to meet the Princess. But she has to rest cos she’s going to have a baby boy any minute.”

No, Sonia—

“So she asked her brother to come. They’re best friends. He couldn’t wear his crown cos it’s in a church and gives him a headache, but he’s going to let me meet his dog who lives at the Captain’s House. Thor’s not mean. Prince Eric says he’s as sweet as the Princess.”

Stop—

The press was going to seize on all those private juicy tidbits, especially the fact that the Princess was expecting a son, another royal heir to the throne. Kristin was sure the gender of the princess’s unborn child wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge yet!

While Kristin hid her face in her hands, excitement and laughter rippled through the mesmerized onlookers as video cameras rolled and flashes popped by the dozens.

When she peeked through her fingers, she saw that the Prince had gathered Sonia in his arms once more. To Kristin’s shock, he was smiling at her with his eyes as well as his mouth. If he was upset, it didn’t show.

“As you can see, it was my lucky day Princess Maren asked me to represent her on this delightful occasion. I’m sure the whole world is as charmed by Sonia as I am.

“I think it only fitting that everyone meets the woman who made it possible for Sonia to be here.” His gaze sought Kristin’s in the crowd. “If you’d come up here, please—”

With a royal summons like that Kristin had no choice but to join them, yet her legs felt like rubber. She prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself by stumbling on her way up to the mike.

“Sonia?” the Prince said. “Will you introduce your aunt?”

“She’s my Aunty Kristin and I love her cos she takes care of me and brought me to Frijia. I love Grandpa Elling too.”

The Prince’s eyes leveled on Kristin in such a personal way it made it impossible for her to look away, let alone breathe. His gaze traveled over her features and seemed to rest on her mouth.

“This is a great day for Frijian-American relations. Don’t you agree?” he asked in a deep, drawling tone.

Kristin nodded like a tongue-tied school girl before getting control of herself. “This experience is something Sonia will treasure all her life. I speak for my father, Elling Remmen, when I say thank you to the Severeids and Your Highness for this once-in-a lifetime opportunity.”

More flashes went off, then Kristin turned to shake the owners’ hands.

With a happy smile, Mr. Severeid took over the mike. “For the next year we’ll be sending Sonia a chocolate treat from our store every month so she won’t forget us.

“In her honor, we’ve had a mold made of Sonia and will now present her with a chocolate figure of herself she can hang on her Christmas tree at home in Chicago.”

That was a surprise the Severeids hadn’t said anything about until now. It warmed Kristin’s heart. She knew her father would be overjoyed to see his darling granddaughter honored this way. She was his pride and joy.

Everyone clapped and cheered as the owner handed Sonia the five inch high chocolate ornament covered in a transparent wrapper with the blue, red and gold ribbon made expressly for the Chocolate Barn.

Sonia clutched it in her hand.

“Say thank you,” Kristin whispered to her niece.

“Thank you everybody. Can I eat it after Christmas?”

“You can do whatever you want.” The older man knew about Sonia’s blindness. By now his compassionate eyes had filled to the brim with tears.

“I’ll put your ornament in my purse for safekeeping,” Kristin whispered to her niece.

When that was accomplished she started to take Sonia from the Prince, but he held her closer to him as if to say he wasn’t about to relinquish her yet.

“Shall we go to Santa’s post office now?”

CHAPTER THREE

ONE of the salespeople helped Sonia on with her coat before the Prince carried her to the entrance. Surrounded by security men, they made their way out of the Chocolate Barn to be confronted by a vast throng that had gathered because word had spread the Prince was in the marketplace.

Kristin walked alongside them, trying to hear the running dialogue between him and Sonia. It was difficult because her niece was in his arms and their faces were close together.

With her adrenaline working overtime, Kristin didn’t feel the cold even though the temperature which, according to the post office’s exterior thermometer, indicated it was only a few degrees above zero.

A traffic sign bordered in red with a rotund figure packing a big bag stood in front of a darling three-tiered wooden Christmas house with balconies and a peaked roof.

Kristin had already been told by the tour guide who’d brought them to Brobak that this shop had been designated by the Frijian Foreign Ministry as the official post office for Santa Claus.

The inside looked like storyland, and was filled with doll houses and toys and baskets of handmade nisses, the Frijian Santa Claus. While Kristin suffered to think Sonia couldn’t see anything, the Prince was busy describing everything in sight to her niece, making it come alive for her.

Every once in a while his penetrating gaze flicked to Kristin, sending her a private message that said he was loving this.

So was Kristin.

So was her niece!

Sonia’s brown eyes shone while she listened in rapt attention to his vibrant male voice as he pointed out items to her in his inimitable way. In the process he’d seduced Kristin as well as the mesmerized child in his arms.

This was a side of Prince Eric the paparazzi had never shown to the world, a remarkable nurturing side the tabloids had failed to capture. He was turning this day into a magical experience for Sonia. Kristin loved him for it, but she wished her heart wouldn’t race so fast whenever he looked at her.

He moved to the counter where he could help Sonia make her wish list to send to Santa.

“What is it you want more than anything in the world?”

At this point Sonia had discovered the epaulets on his shoulders and was fingering them. “A Seeing Eye dog. They’re not mean.”

Kristin bit her lip. She hadn’t known anything about Sonia’s secret desire. Someone at the hospital must have talked to her about it out of Kristin’s hearing.

“You’re right. A wonderful dog like that will be your best friend for life,” he said in a husky voice. “I’ll write that down for you.”

An employee behind the counter rushed to hand him paper and a pen.

“Do you think Santa will bring me one? My teacher says they’re spensif.”

It sounded as if kindergarten was the place Sonia had heard about a Seeing Eye dog.

“Why don’t you let Santa’s elves worry about that?” he said with another kiss to her forehead. “Here you are.” He handed her the envelope with the letter inside. “Go ahead and drop it in the mailbox.”

Sonia squeezed her eyelids shut, then let it fall.

“Now it’s on the way to the North Pole,” he told her.

She let out a happy squeal. “You have to make a wish too.”

“I plan on making several.” He wrote something on another sheet of paper and put it in an envelope. “Do you want to mail this one too?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Let it go.”

When that was accomplished he said, “Why don’t we pick out a present for you.”

No, Kristin cried inwardly, shaking her head. This was all too much. The Prince only smiled benignly at Kristin, then moved toward a display of toys to delight any child’s heart.

“Do you like mice?”

“I love fat ones like in Cinderella.”

“So do I.” He chuckled. “Right now I’m looking at a collection of the cutest stuffed mice you ever saw. There’s a baker, a candle maker, a chimney sweep, a nurse and a grandma with knitting needles.”

“Can I have the grandma, please? Grandma Astrid died last year. I want to give it to Grandpa Elling so he’ll feel better.”

Again the Prince turned to Kristin, visibly touched by Sonia’s sweetness. Then she heard him say something in Frijian to the saleslady, but it was too low and fast for her to make out words.

The woman put the mouse in a box with the same kind of striped ribbon on Sonia’s ornament and handed it to her with a smile.

“Are you ready to come to my house and meet Thor?”

For a reward, Sonia kissed his cheek again. “Yes, please.”

The black limo with the royal insignia and one-way glass climbed the narrow road above the town, giving Kristin a breathtaking view of the scene below. At ten after four in the afternoon, the sun had already been to bed for an hour.

Lights flickered on the water from Niflheim fortress which guarded the entrance to the fjord. Beyond it was Glatheshim Island.

She kept her gaze focused out the window so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at the Prince. He sat across from her with Sonia on his lap. She chattered nonstop the way she used to do before the accident.

Prince Eric was a captive audience who never seemed to tire of Sonia’s questions and answered each one with patience and occasional bursts of laughter. He appeared to really be enjoying himself. The difference between Bruce’s behavior with Sonia and the Prince’s was like night and day.

As far as Kristin was concerned, he’d gone far beyond anyone’s expectations by agreeing to appear at the Chocolate Barn in Princess Maren’s place.

But even if Sonia was blind, Kristin couldn’t understand why he was lavishing all this extra interest and concern on her niece. He’d done what his sister had asked of him. No one could have imagined him doing anything more.

In real life you didn’t meet a royal and end up going home with him the same day, yet that’s what was happening.

The second he’d asked Sonia if she would like to meet his dog, the matter had been taken out of Kristin’s hands.

It frightened her to watch her niece respond to the Prince the way she’d done with her own father who’d been a fun loving man. What made the situation even more more curious was the fact that both men had been given the same first name of Eric.

Since the boating accident two months ago, Sonia had turned into a somber child not even her own grandfather had been able to make smile very often.

When he’d become ill and couldn’t fly over with them, he’d insisted that Kristin bring Sonia to Frijia. He thought the trip and the opportunity of meeting the Princess might help restore his granddaughter’s spirits to some semblance of her former bright, happy self in spite of her blindness.

Kristin’s father must have been inspired. He wouldn’t recognize the happy, giggling child listening to a funny story the Prince was telling her about three naughty nisses.

Though it thrilled Kristin to see this change in her niece, she felt a growing alarm for the moment when the Prince returned them to the hotel in town and Sonia had to say goodbye to him. Kristin actually shuddered at the thought.

“Are you all right?” he asked sotto voce.

She jerked her head away from the window to look at him, unaware he’d been watching her.

“Of course,” she lied.

How could she possibly be all right? She was riding in a car with Prince Eric of Frijia. This kind of thing just didn’t happen!

Not only was he the most attractive man she’d ever met in her life, he was wonderfully down to earth and normal. Sonia already adored him. Everything was perfect! Her niece wasn’t the only one who didn’t want any of it to end.

But for everyone’s sake it had to, as soon as possible.

“We’re so excited we feel like we’re in the middle of a fantastic dream, don’t we, Sonia?”

That’s what it was. A fantastic dream. That was all it could be. Which was why this whole experience couldn’t be allowed to go on any longer than it took to meet the dog.

To Kristin’s shock her niece’s face fell. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “We’re not in a dream, are we?”

His eyes narrowed on Kristin as he hugged the little girl clinging to him. “No, elskling. This is very real.”

The look in his eye, the deep intonation in his voice when he’d called her little darling in Frijian, shook Kristin to the core of her being. She glanced out the window once more, afraid to meet his gaze again for fear he’d divine her unwitting attraction to him.

“How come your Aunty Kristin didn’t bring her boyfriend to Frijia with you?”

A gasp escaped Kristin’s throat. He didn’t know if she had a boyfriend or not. He’d thrown out the question to see how Sonia would answer it, and she didn’t disappoint him.

“They had a fight when he found out I was going to live with her. Grandpa Elling said Bruce was jealous—”

“That’s enough,” Kristin broke in hot-faced and horrified for the Prince to have heard something that was no one’s business.

Before the trip her fiancé, who’d said he couldn’t get the time off from work, had asked her why she would bother to take Sonia to Frijia when she couldn’t see anything.

Absolutely shocked by his question, Kristin realized she didn’t know this man who’d put a ring on her finger two weeks before tragedy had struck their family.

When he admitted that he was reticent to take Sonia on after they got married, she gave him back the engagement ring and told him goodbye.

But that knowledge had never been meant for other ears!

Unfortunately Prince Eric’s reputation preceded him. He was an expert’s expert at eliciting information he wanted to know when it came to women. Especially from a little girl he’d already enamored.

What child wouldn’t be flattered by that kind of attention?

Kristin didn’t delude herself into thinking the Prince was interested in her. He was only making conversation with Sonia to pass the time.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Oh, Sonia—

The guileless question had put the shoe squarely on the other foot. Kristin held her breath while she waited for his answer.

“I’ve had several.”

“How come you didn’t get married yet?”

“My mother asks me that all the time.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Well for one thing, Thor has to love the woman I pick.”

“Doesn’t he love any of your girlfriends?”

“Not yet, but I know he’s going to love you. You’re just his size and you give better hugs than anybody.”

Her whole face glowed. “I do?”

“Yes. How about another one right now.”

Kristin averted her eyes against the display of affection the two exhibited toward each other.

It was one thing for him to be kind and solicitous to her in front of the camera. But more than ever Kristin couldn’t fathom what prompted his loving behavior toward Sonia now that they were in the limo. In truth, she couldn’t understand why he’d done something as unheard of as to invite them to his home.

As soon as she could speak to him alone for a minute, she would tell him he’d done too much for Sonia already. Any more time spent with him and it would be too hard on her when they had to leave for Chicago in the morning.

He didn’t realize what a breakthrough this was for Sonia to come out of her despondency. But it was only temporary. After meeting the Prince, she would fall back into a more severe depression once it was time to leave him and this enchanted day behind.

Kristin was already dreading the moment. She had the strongest feeling Sonia would dissolve into the kind of hysterics that would require a sedative to calm her down.

“We’re coming to my house. It’s a big rectangle made of wood and stone. The corners of the roof tip up. Right now there’s a layer of snow everywhere. In summer the garden is full of wildflowers of every color. Behind the house are the woods. Thor loves to run through them.”

The limo passed beyond a guarded gate and continued following the winding road lined with trees and dense shrubbery. Suddenly she glimpsed his house nestled in the scenery. Kristin had never seen anything like it before.

Such a solid structure seemed to be a part of the landscape itself, totally reminiscent of Frijia’s Viking heritage. Only a person of royalty could afford to live on top of a fjord in a home of such superb workmanship.

Sonia could have no idea…

As Kristin climbed out of the limo and followed the Prince into his house, she had the impression she’d just entered a storybook.

CHAPTER FOUR

A BEAUTIFUL black Labrador preceded the Prince’s housekeeper into the foyer.

He rushed up to the Prince and rubbed his head against his trousers with a moan of joy.

“Thor? I want you to meet someone very special.” He put Sonia down. “Lift your paw and give her a handshake.”

The well behaved dog obeyed without question. The Prince guided Sonia’s hand. She grabbed hold of the dog’s paw and shook it. Her bright brown eyes shone before she laughed and threw her arms around the dog’s neck.

“I love you, Thor!” she cried. The patient dog stood there with his tail wagging and let her do whatever she wanted, then gave her a lick that made her giggle.

The Prince sought Kristin’s gaze. “My dog is bilingual. Frijian-American relations couldn’t be doing better could they?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Things were going too well. Kristin was terrified.

“Let’s remove your coat, elskling.”

After unzipping her parka, the Prince handed it to the housekeeper. “Eva? I’d like you to meet Sonia Anderssen and her aunt, Ms. Remmen. This is the young lady who won the Chocolate Barn’s contest. They’ve come all the way from Chicago, Illinois.”

“I’m delighted to meet you,” the older woman said, shaking Kristin’s hand. Her eyes flicked to Sonia. “I can see why you won. You look adorable.”

Before Kristin could prompt her niece to respond, Sonia said, “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” She lifted her hand, but it wasn’t high enough.

The housekeeper frowned in bewilderment until the Prince whispered something in her ear. Immediately the older woman’s eyes teared up. She found Sonia’s hand and shook it, then hugged her as if she couldn’t help herself.

“I bet you’re cold and hungry. What would you like to eat?”

“Could I have hot chocolate and a sandwich, please?”

“I’ll fix it right now.”

“We’ll be in the living room,” the Prince murmured.

After the housekeeper told him in Frijian about an urgent call from a woman named Bea, she disappeared with Sonia’s coat.

Kristin had the distinct feeling it was one of the Prince’s girlfriends anxious to get in touch with him. No doubt in doing this favor for Princess Maren, he’d had to put his own plans on hold. Why on earth had he brought Kristin and Sonia to his house?

By now he’d turned his attention back to her niece. “Hold on to Thor’s collar, and he’ll take you on a tour of the house. Just tell him which rooms you want to see.”

Sonia let out a squeal of delight. “Thor—let’s go to the dining room first!”

The dog made another low moan, then slowly, carefully, started walking through double doors leading to the left side of the house. With that marvelous animal intuition, he sensed Sonia needed his help and paced himself accordingly.

Kristin’s eyes blurred at the touching sight.

The Prince’s held a tenderness that stunned Kristin. “Now that we’re alone, I’d like to know what your friends call you,” came his deep male voice.

She cleared her throat. “Kristin.”

“My name is Eric. I’d like you to use it.”

Avoiding his eyes she said, “I’m afraid we won’t be here long enough for that, Your Highness.”

“None of my friends refer to me that way. My sister would have asked you to call her Maren if she’d been able to meet Sonia today.”

Finally she lifted a troubled blue gaze to his. “Did she ask you to do all this?”

“All what?”

“I—I’m quite sure that everything you did for Sonia after we left the Chocolate Barn went beyond the call of duty,” she stammered.

His dark brown gaze pierced through to her insides. “To quote my sister, ‘We’re talking about a little girl here. A darling little five-or six-year-old who still believes in fairy princesses and castles and magic. No doubt she’s been waiting and waiting for tomorrow to come.”’

Kristin bit her lip. “With understanding like that, she’s going to make a wonderful mother.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Maren’s known for her heart of gold. Far be it for me to let her down.”

“You’ve done your part so well, Sonia’s not behaving like the same child I brought to Frijia.” Her voice shook. “She’s happy and laughing again. No one else has been able to bring her out of her shell. It’s wonderful to see.

“But if you thought you saw and heard an unhappy little girl in the back room of the Chocolate Barn because the Princess wasn’t coming, just wait until she has to say goodbye to you in a little while.”

He studied her through narrowed lids. “Who said anything about goodbyes?”

She took a fortifying breath. “Sonia and I are flying back to Chicago in the morning. I have to make certain she gets a good night’s sleep first. Any more time spent with you and she won’t want to leave.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” There was an underlying note of authority in his voice he probably wasn’t aware of. “I want to hear more about the accident that took her sight. If her condition is operable, I know a specialist who would be happy to examine her and operate. If it’s a matter of finances—”

“It’s not.” Kristin shook her head. “That’s very kind and generous of you, but Sonia has hysterical blindness.”

He pondered her comment for a long moment. “You mean she could see if her mind would allow it?”

“Yes. The psychiatrist on her case believes she’s feeling guilty about something to do with her parents’ death. She can’t forgive herself, so her subconscious won’t allow her to see. It’s a form of self-inflicted punishment.”

Lines marred his attractive features. “She’s only a child. How could she feel guilt like that at such a tender age?”

“I don’t know,” Kristin cried softly.

“Does she remember how the accident happened?”

“If she does, she won’t talk about it. That’s why the psychiatrist believes guilt over something has prevented her from opening up.”

“When did it happen?”

Kristin’s eyes closed for a moment. “Two months ago.”

“So recently,” he murmured sounding far away before he put a hand on her arm. “You’re trembling. Let’s go in by the fire and warm you up.”

The contact sent a fire all its own coursing through her veins. He didn’t relinquish his hold until he’d guided her through the double doors on the right side of the hallway. They walked to one of the couches placed next to the living room’s enormous hearth.

The heat from the flames of burning pungent pine seeped into her system, warming her from the inside out.

She could well picture a descendent of a fierce Norseman residing in this essentially male room, yet only a prince could live in such magnificent surroundings with inlaid wood flooring and a handcarved wood ceiling that dated back hundreds of years.

The intricate handcarved furniture gleamed in the firelight. The seafaring appointments of the room gave it the unique flavor of Frijia’s past. She imagined the Prince had looked through the telescope near the windows many times to see the stars as well as ships entering the fjord.

“Here we are.”

Kristin looked toward the doorway in time to see Sonia and Thor, followed by Eva who carried a tray. She set it down on the coffee table in front of the fire.

“Thank you,” the Prince murmured to his housekeeper. He called to the dog who walked over to his feet and lay down. “What do you think of my house, Sonia?” This he asked after he’d picked her up and seated her next to him on the couch facing Kristin.

“It’s a lot bigger than Grandpa Elling’s. How come you don’t have carpets?”

“Because these are wood floors with special designs,” Kristin said before he could. “You’d never want to cover them up. Now it’s time to eat these delicious looking ham sandwiches the housekeeper has made for us.”

The Prince fixed Sonia a plate and handed it to her. Kristin poured the hot chocolate into Christmas mugs.

“Here’s your drink. It’s the perfect temperature so it won’t burn your tongue. There’s the cutest little nisse on your cup looking out of a barn door.” She placed it in Sonia’s fingers. “When you’re through, there are some Christmas cookies too.”

“Yum.”

The room was silent while they began to eat. It appeared everyone had an appetite, especially the Prince who finished off a whole sandwich in no time at all.

“If you two will excuse me, I’ll be right back. Thor,” the Prince said after getting to his feet, “stay with Sonia.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s not polite to ask,” Kristin reminded her.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. I have an important phone call to make.”

“Hurry then,” Sonia urged him.

Before Kristin put her head down in embarrassment, she saw the smile that broke out on the Prince’s arresting features. “I’ll be back by the time you’ve started on the cookies.”

“Can Thor have one?”

“Why don’t you give him part of a sandwich instead? He loves ham.”

“Okay.”

“First you need to eat the rest of your food,” Kristin admonished her niece when she saw that she was ready to give up her own half.

“I hope he comes back soon,” Sonia said between bites after he’d disappeared.

“I do too.”

For your sake as well as mine, we have to leave and get out of Frijia as fast as possible.

“Maren? How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine now that you’ve called. I’ve been waiting to hear from you and thought you must have left for Kvitfjell already.”

“No. I’m still at my house with Sonia.”

“I thought you were going skiing with Bea!”

Bea…He’d forgotten all about her.

“That came out wrong. Sonia’s the little girl who won the Chocolate Barn’s contest.”

There was a long silence. “You took that child home with you?” she finally cried in shock.

Eric realized he’d done something totally unprecedented. “Yes.”

“What happened? Did she become difficult when she found out I couldn’t be there?”

“At first, but then she settled down and was perfect. You’ll see it all on the six o’clock news. Maren—I need a favor from you.”

“Of course,” she said in a quieter tone. “Anything—”

“I’d like Sonia and Kristin to meet you. If we leave here now, we could be at the palace within forty-five minutes.”

“Kristin?”

“She’s the little girl’s aunt. I don’t have time for more explanations. We’ll watch the telecast together. Make sure you’re wearing your crown when we get there.”

“But Eric—” she blurted. “What about your trip with Bea?”

“It’s been canceled.” At least it would be as soon as he got off the phone with his sister. “I’ll see you shortly.”

He hung up and rang Bea. While he waited for her to answer, he found Sonia’s parka laid over a chair.

“Eric? When I didn’t hear from you, I was beginning to worry something was wrong.”

“I’m sorry. The favor I had to do for Maren has turned out to be more complicated than I thought. I’m afraid we won’t be able to go to Kvitfjell.”

“If you mean this evening, I suspected as much. We can go in the morning.”

“I think we’ll have to put it off.”

“But Eric—”

“I’m sorry, Bea. The last thing I want to do is disappoint you, but a situation has arisen I have to see through. It might take me more than a few days to deal with it. By then Maren’s baby will probably come. The family will want me around.”

“Will we at least be able to see each other Christmas Eve?”

He could hear the edge in her voice, but something had happened to him today. Something he couldn’t explain. All he knew was that he didn’t want Sonia or her aunt to disappear from his life. Not yet…

“Maybe.”

“Is this your way of saying goodbye to me?”

I don’t honestly know.

He took a deep breath. “Bea—this is about a little blind girl with a deep psychological problem.”

“Blind?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. If you watch the evening news, you’ll see her. I promise I’ll call you.”

He heard her hesitancy before she said, “I’ll be waiting.”

After ringing off, he hurried to his bedroom to change into informal clothes, then he strode swiftly to the front of the house with Sonia’s parka.

Once back in the living room his breath caught to see the way the firelight outlined Kristin’s exquisite profile. His gaze fell lower to the shape of her lovely body clothed in the stunning red wool dress. Her hair gleamed like spun gold.

She turned at his approach and stood up. Those light blue eyes held a shimmer more bedazzling than any crown jewels.

Whether young or old, the Remmen women were incredibly attractive. It was the reason Sonia had been chosen to represent the Chocolate Barn’s latest export.

What kind of fool was the man Kristin was involved with? Eric couldn’t fathom it.

“It looks like you two have finished eating. Now we can leave.”

Sonia had been rubbing Thor’s ears. When she heard Eric’s voice she lifted her head, startled. “Where are we going?”

Purposely ignoring Kristin, he sat down next to Sonia and helped her on with her parka. “To see the Princess.”

“At the palace?” she cried out in ecstasy.

“Yes. She’s waiting for us.”

“Can Thor come too?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“That’s very kind of Your Highness, but we have to return to the hotel,” Kristin protested just as he’d expected her to.

Sonia immediately started to cry that she wanted to see the Princess. Eric gave her a hug. “Wait here, Sonia.”

He stood up to meet her aunt’s anxious gaze. “Could I speak to you in the foyer please?” he whispered the words.

Though he sensed she wanted to refuse him, her good manners prevailed. She followed him out to the hallway.

“Before you say anything,” he began, “I thought that arranging a meeting with my sister would satisfy Sonia so she’ll be easier to manage for the trip back to the States.”

That was the best excuse he could come up with for the moment. He hoped she would buy it because there was no way he was ready to let her and Sonia go.

Her classic features looked pained. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, Your High—”

“Eric,” he cut in on her.

“E—Eric,” she stammered. Her fingers looked white as they clutched her handbag in what looked like a death grip. “But it wouldn’t be right to impose on your sister, not as this stage in her pregnancy.”

He stared into her anxious eyes. “Kristin,” he addressed her by her first name. Whether she liked it or not, it felt good to get on a more personal basis with her. “Maren wants to meet Sonia.

“When she called me earlier to ask me to stand in for her, she said that if I couldn’t do it, she would go against doctor’s orders to keep that appointment with Sonia.

“Even if it meant she went into early labor, that’s how important it was to her. She can’t wait to be introduced to your niece.”

Kristin’s breathing seemed to be more shallow all of a sudden. “How long do you think it will take?”

No woman of his acquaintance had ever run the other way from him before. Anything but. This was a new experience for him.

He didn’t know if Sonia’s welfare was the sole reason Kristin was so reticent to spend more time with him, but he was determined to find out, even if he had to lean on his title to press his advantage.

“If we leave now, I can have you back at your hotel by eight o’clock. Sonia had a dream to meet the Princess. I’m not willing to take that away from her. Neither is my sister. So I guess the decision is up to you whether we leave for the palace or the hotel.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“PLEASE can we go see the Princess? I promise to be good.”

Kristin twisted her blond head around to discover Sonia standing in the doorway, clinging to Thor’s collar.

The pleading expression in her eyes defeated Kristin who was struggling to get on top of an impossible situation.

“Do you promise that after you’ve met her, there won’t be any more tears when you have to go back to the hotel?”

Sonia nodded.

Her niece meant it right now, but Kristin knew that when the moment came to say goodbye to Eric, the hysterics would start up again much worse than before.

“All right,” her voice shook. “I tell you what. I’ll stay behind at the hotel and start packing while you go with the Prince.” She’d made the suggestion for her own self-preservation.

“But I don’t want to go without you!” Sonia cried out in absolute panic.

The dark frown that broke out on Eric’s face was equally disconcerting. Thor’s low moan seemed to second their feelings.

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll miss watching the telecast with the Princess,” Eric persisted. At this point, he held Sonia in his arms.

“She’s waiting for us, Aunty Kristin.”

Kristin’s mouth had gone dry. “Does your sister know I’m coming too?”

Maybe it was a trick of light but Eric’s eyes looked more black than brown. She’d angered him when it was the last thing she’d wanted to do.

“Of course.”

She expelled a deep sigh. “Then we’d better go so we don’t keep her up any longer than necessary. I don’t want to be the reason she goes into premature labor.”

With a satisfied smile, Eric ushered them out the front door to the waiting limo. Thor climbed in last and lay down next to the Prince who held Sonia on his lap. They sat across from Kristin who stared blindly through the glass.

The drive to Thorsvik only took a half hour.

Eric gave her niece his complete attention and acted as a tour guide at the same time, rendering fascinating facts only someone in the royal family would be privy to.

Sonia was in heaven.

Kristin’s heart ached for her sister’s child because this adventure would be over in a few hours, never to be repeated. They would return to Chicago, a world far removed from the Prince and Thor. Sonia’s heart would be broken.

The only thing Kristin could see that might help mend it would be to buy a pet for Sonia. A Seeing Eye dog would be the answer for her in the future. But that required time and money.

For the moment she needed a devoted dog like Thor on whom she could lavish her affection and receive love in return. Just watching her interact with Eric’s dog had convinced Kristin it would be a wonderful idea.

The manager of the apartment where she lived didn’t allow pets either. When Kristin had given the ring back to Bruce, she’d decided it would be best if she and Sonia moved in with her father until Sonia started school at the blind center the next fall. It would give Kristin time to find an apartment that was friendly to children and animals.

She knew her dad was lonely without her mom, and still grieving for the loss of his elder daughter. He would love it if Kristin and Sonia lived with him for a while, dog and all.

While her mind was busy planning for the future, she hadn’t realized they’d already reached the heart of the city. The huge, wide yellow and white three-story palace built in the mid 1800s sat on a hill at the end of Thorsvik’s main thoroughfare.

Its lighting against a dark velvet sky brought out the unique architecture, making it look as fantastic as the day itself had been.

Drawn by a compulsion stronger than her will, she found herself studying the wonderful man who was telling her niece about his childhood. Worlds apart from Sonia who’d been born to parents who could only afford a small apartment, he’d been the offspring of royalty. This magnificent palace was his earthly home.

Yet inside the limo, dressed in charcoal trousers and a light gray cable knit pullover, she could pretend he was simply a man whose heart had been touched by a little girl’s inability to see. He was a brother who’d taken time out of his busy life to help his sister and had gone the extra mile to make a difference in Sonia’s life.

If Kristin were to give the press a headline, it would state that despite Eric’s reputation as a playboy, he was a prince of a man, title or no title.

“We’ve arrived, Sonia. We’re going to enter the palace through a side entrance. There’s a staircase that leads to my sister’s apartment on the second floor. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She looked excited enough to burst. What child wouldn’t be overjoyed that she was about to meet a real princess?

Eric captured Kristin’s gaze, reading her mind. Her heart turned over before she looked away.

“Do you want me to carry you, or would you like to walk?”

Sonia flung her arms around his neck. “Will you carry me please?”

He laughed gently. “I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, Thor.” The three of them got out of the limo first.

There were several security people in another limo behind them. One of them helped Kristin from the back seat and up the steps into the palace where staff stood in attendance.

Once inside the doors, the interior was more sumptuous than Kristin had imagined. But even if her niece could see everything, Kristin had an idea she wouldn’t be looking at anything or anyone except the man who was treating her like she was a fairy princess.

A third of the way down the gilded corridor of the second floor and the Prince opened one of the double doors. He was greeted by a dark blond man Kristin recognized from pictures as Stein Johansen, the husband of Princess Maren.

After introductions were made, they proceeded to a small drawing room which had been personalized with the conveniences of modern living.

Kristin spotted the lovely brunette Princess in a maternity nightgown half lying on a couch in front of a television set with a quilt thrown over her.

The resemblance to Eric was uncanny.

To Kristin’s surprise, his sister was wearing her tiara. That meant Eric had told her to put it on for Sonia’s sake.

Kristin’s feelings for him were growing stronger by the second.

He waited for her to catch up with him. With Sonia in one arm, he placed his other hand at the back of Kristin’s waist and urged her forward.

The gesture was far too personal. His touch sent a lick of flame through her sensitized body, but she didn’t dare try to break away from him, not in front of his family.

“Maren? I’d like you to meet Sonia Anderssen, the new poster girl for the Chocolate Barn, and her aunt, Kristin Remmen.”

The two women shook hands while they eyed each other for a brief moment. No doubt the Princess was wondering what on earth was going on.

“How do you do, Your Highness. This is a great privilege. Please forgive us for disturbing you.”

“I’m thrilled you did. It’s wonderful to meet you, Kristin. Please call me Maren.”

“Thank you.”

The Princess was as down to earth and gracious as her brother.

She switched her attention to Sonia. “Come here, darling.” She held out her arms. Eric lowered Sonia to the Oriental rug covering the conversation area of the room, then removed her parka.

“Sonia had an accident two months ago and can’t see.”

The Princess underwent a transformation not unlike her brother’s when he’d first found out Sonia was blind.

She sat up and reached for Sonia’s hands, drawing her close to her. Tears spilled down her flushed cheeks. “I’m so happy to meet you, Sonia,” she said in a husky voice. “Will you forgive me for not being there today?”

“Yes. Eric said you had to rest cos you’re having a baby boy.”

“That’s right. Do you want to feel him?”

“Can I?” Sonia’s eyes lit up in wonder.

“Here.” She put Sonia’s hand on her protruding belly and moved it around. “Maybe he’ll kick for you.”

Sonia jumped when a little foot jabbed at her hand. “That’s the baby prince inside?” she squealed incredulously.

“Yes, darling,” Maren murmured.

“What’s his name?”

“We haven’t decided yet.”

“I think you should call him Eric. That was my daddy’s name.”

At the unexpected bit of information, Eric darted Kristin a searching glance. It was one more reason why Sonia had felt an affinity to the Prince, Kristin was certain of it.

“Does he have a crown?”

The Princess let out a laugh. Sonia had a charm that infected everyone. “Not yet, but I’m wearing mine. Would you like to try it on?”

“Could I?”

“Let’s take off your cap first,” Eric said. As if he did it every day, he proceeded to undo the bobby pins so he could remove it. Kristin put everything in her purse.

“There,” he said, smiling down at Sonia. “Are you ready to be crowned?”

Sonia giggled. “Yes!”

He lifted the tiara from his sister’s hair and placed it on Sonia’s head. She felt it for a moment, then turned to Kristin with a smile that took up her whole face.

“How do I look, Aunty Kristin?”

“Just like a princess. I wish I had a picture to show your grandpa.”

“No problem,” Maren’s husband interjected before several flashes went off in succession.

Eric got down on his haunches beside her. “Does it hurt?” he teased.

“No,” she said in frustration, “but it keeps slipping.”

His laughter was so infectious and male, it sent a shiver of delight through Kristin’s nervous system.

Just then another flash went off.

Kristin caught the jeweled tiara before it reached Sonia’s nose. “That’s because this was made for the Princess. I think it’s time to give it back. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Kristin handed it to Eric who’d leveled his gaze on Kristin and refused to look away.

“Thank you,” she mouthed the words.

He put the crown on a nearby table before whispering in her ear, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

The feel of his warm breath made her insides quiver.

“I hope the news hasn’t started yet—”

The sound of a rather breathless female voice caused Kristin to tear her eyes from his. Another surprise awaited her to see Sofia, the brunette wife of Eric’s elder brother, enter the room with her two boys.

They ran over to Eric and practically jumped on him and Thor. Obviously he was a favorite with them.

“Easy, boys,” he said in English. “We have guests. Sofia, may I introduce Kristin Remmen and Sonia Anderssen from Chicago, Illinois, in the United States.”

Everyone shook hands.

“Jan and Knute? Meet Sonia. You can try out your English on her.”

“How do you do,” they both said.

“Hi!” Sonia answered back. She turned in Eric’s direction. “Who are they?” she asked in a loud whisper that made everyone chuckle.

“My nephews, my brother’s boys. Jan is six and Knute is eight.”

Kristin could hear Sonia’s mind working. “Their daddy’s the king?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have to bow in front of him?”

Eric laughed hard. “No.”

“You speak Frijian?” Knute asked in stilted English.

“I know some words. Broe, vann, kjott and potet.”

At her response everyone chuckled again.

Sonia’s lower lip trembled. She turned to Eric. “Why are they laughing?”

He swept her up in his arms. “Because you’re so smart and pronounced the words for bread, water, meat and potatoes perfectly. Not many visitors from America can do that. With those four words, you’ll never starve while you’re in Frijia, elskling.”

Out of the corner of her eye Kristin saw the way both women stared at Eric as if they couldn’t believe his behavior.

“Here’s the news,” Stein interjected. “Why don’t we all sit down and watch.”

“You can sit on my lap and I’ll tell you everything that’s going on,” Eric said to Sonia. They sat down on the nearest seat. Then his dark brown gaze swung to Kristin. He patted the place next to him.

Her cheeks felt hot, yet once again she had no choice but to join him. When their thighs brushed against each other, she started to tremble and couldn’t stop.

The boys sat on the floor in front of the television set while their mother found a chair next to Stein’s.

Sure enough the top story of the night was the visit of Prince Eric to the Chocolate Barn where he met Sonia.

His nephews whooped it up to see their uncle in front of the giant chocolate nisse. The footage didn’t stop there. It followed them through the square to the post office shop.

The boys asked their mother if they could visit both shops the next day like Sonia. She told them they’d talk about it later.

Then the camera zoomed in on Kristin and Eric as he was helping her into the limo.

Judging by the way they were looking at each other at that particular moment, the viewer could be forgiven for thinking they were in love. In truth they were responding to something Sonia had just said about giving Santa Claus a dog for a Christmas present.

Evidently the journalist had the same impression as Kristin because he ended the segment by saying, “Sources tell us the Prince whisked Sonia and her beautiful aunt Kristin to his home as part of their fairy-tale visit to Frijia. Was this too in the name of duty? Or could it be that Europe’s most eligible Prince is finally playing for keeps?”

CHAPTER SIX

“WHAT did the man mean about playing for keeps?” Knute asked his uncle.

By this time someone had turned off the television. A crimson-faced Kristin leaped to her feet ready to leave.

“I’ll tell you what,” Eric answered in kind without missing a beat. “Why don’t you and Jan take Sonia to your playroom.”

No!

“I asked the staff to put some presents in there for all of you. Just remember that she lost her sight two months ago, so Thor will lead her around.”

Jan looked wounded. “She’s…blind?”

“That’s right.”

The shocking news subdued the boys who stared hard at Kristin’s niece.

“Sonia? Hold on to Thor.” He’d switched to English. “He knows where there’s a surprise waiting for you. The boys will go with you.”

She jumped in place. “What kind?”

Eric grinned. “You’ll have to wait and find out.” He placed Sonia’s hand on the dog’s collar.

Kristin stifled a moan. She’d hoped they’d be able to say their goodbyes and slip out of the palace, but no such luck.

“Here, Thor!” Knute prompted the dog, behaving like the adult. Kristin watched the four of them start for the entrance. The boys showed great deference to Sonia who jabbered in English all the way to the double doors. Who knew how much the young princes understood?

“I’ll go with them and supervise,” Sofia volunteered before leaving the room.

Suddenly Kristin felt a strong masculine hand on her arm. “Come with me,” Eric murmured before ushering her out. “I’ll show you the apartment where I grew up.”

Once they were in the corridor, Kristin pulled back in panic, forcing him to let go of her. “I—I’d rather wait outside for Sonia in the limo.”

“If that’s your wish.”

Surprised at his easy capitulation, she walked slightly ahead of him before she realized she was displaying terrible manners. At the bottom of the staircase she turned to him out of breath.

“Forgive me. I haven’t even said goodbye to your family or thanked the Princess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “I’ll explain that I wanted to be alone with you and that’s why we didn’t return.”

While her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt, he told one of the security men hovering close by to bring Sonia and Thor to the car when they were ready. Then he escorted Kristin through the outer doors to the waiting limo.

Once they were settled across from each other in the warm interior, he leaned toward her. “Do you have a job you must get back to before Christmas?”

Why did he want to know that? “No. I’m off until January Third.”

“What a coincidence. So am I. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m involved with the AFCE in Chicago.”

His dark eyes fired with genuine interest. “That’s a program my brother is interested in. What’s your precise job?”

“I train elementary teachers from your country for an exchange teacher program.”

“Have you been on the exchange program?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“My mother was ill for a long time before she passed away last year. I never felt I could leave my father alone.” She kneaded her hands, wondering how to steer the conversation away from her. “What kind of work do you do?”

He sat back in the seat, eyeing her with an enigmatic expression. “You mean you actually believe I do something to justify my existence besides stand around looking official?”

“I have no idea what you do,” she came back quietly, “but I know your life couldn’t possibly be the continual party the press would have the world believe.”

“How do you know that?”

He was beginning to sound like Sonia.

“Because I see how close you are to your family. The rapport with your nephews tells a lot about you. Your sister would never have asked for your help today if she didn’t trust you implicitly. You’ve been wonderful to Sonia…Thank you,” she said in a husky voice.

“You don’t need to thank me. I wouldn’t have missed this experience. Sonia’s a remarkable child. When she cries, it’s never over her blindness. She’s a joy to be around.”

“I love her desperately.”

“I can see why. After being cooped up on a submarine for the last month, you could have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed today.”

A submarine? “Are you in the military?”

“After my naval training, I became an oceanographer. More recently I’ve headed a project that is studying the fjords.

“With the use of satellite remote sensing, we’re able to do better underwater mapping. Hopefully it will aid us in the process of undersea exploration and drilling to discover new resources for our country that won’t harm the environment.”

“Now I’m the one who’s impressed,” she whispered. “With responsibilities like that, it’s a miracle you have any time for a personal life.”

“I make time for family, but it’s true I spend most of it working or attending international oceanographic conferences. Unfortunately the paparazzi never miss the opportunity to photograph me with some woman.

“Usually it’s a total stranger walking along the sidewalk next to me, or a woman from a seminar who happens to be seated at my table for dinner.”

Kristin believed him.

“That isn’t to say there haven’t been a few women in my past.”

She moistened her lips nervously. “You mean like Bea?”

His lips twitched. “When Eva informed me Bea had called, I didn’t realize you understood Frijian to that extent. She’s a woman I’ve been seeing for a short while. If my sister hadn’t asked me to fill in for her, Bea and I would be in Kvitfjell for a day of skiing before Christmas.”

“Where is that?”

“Near Lillehammer in Norway.”

“I see.” Naturally he was involved with someone. What went on in his personal life shouldn’t matter one way or the other. But it did…

Cross with herself, Kristin struggled to maintain a nonchalance about their whole conversation.

“I think you’re a great brother to put off personal plans in order to accommodate your sister’s wishes. However there’s always tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” he said on a satisfied note that hurt Kristin because she would love to be the woman who spent the whole day with him, and all the days after that. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She didn’t want to hear any more about the latest woman to capture his interest. “Eric—would you mind bringing Sonia out to the car? You know how children forget everything when they’re playing.

“No doubt my niece is having the time of her life, but I do need to get her back to the hotel. We have to leave for the airport at seven in the morning.”

“Of course.” He used the limo phone and rang someone inside the palace to fetch Sonia. When he’d finished and had hung up he said, “She’ll be with us in a moment.”

Kristin avoided his eyes. “Thank you.”

He didn’t try to engage her in further conversation. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it.

Before long she saw the palace doors open. Thor raced down the steps and climbed into the limo to curl up next to Eric.

Stein followed carrying a chattering Sonia in his arms. The two boys walked on either side of them, followed by someone on the palace staff holding a large shopping bag which was put in the trunk.

There was a flurry of conversation from all the children as Stein handed Sonia over to Kristin. While the boys asked Eric in Frijian if Sonia could stay overnight, she begged Kristin in English for permission to sleep over.

“We haven’t finished playing fort yet, Aunty Kristin. We were having a big war and everything!”

“Please, Ms. Remmen,” Knute begged politely. Apparently the children had gotten along well.

“I wish she could stay, Knute. I’m sorry,” Switching back to English she said to Sonia, “Remember what you promised? You told me you wouldn’t cry if I let you visit the Princess.”

Sonia’s lower lip quivered on cue. “I’m not crying,” she said, but she was close to it. So was Kristin who hadn’t spent nearly enough time with Eric.

“Boys? I’m sorry to bring your fun to an end, but we’re leaving for America in the morning. Sonia needs her sleep,” Kristin said in Frijian.

And your Uncle Eric has a date to go skiing.

“Thank you for being so good to her. You’ve made it possible for her to take home another wonderful memory. Please thank your mother for watching her. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” they muttered. Two glum faces were the last things Kristin saw before she and Stein said goodbye to each other and he shut the limo door.

“Can I sit on your lap, Eric?” Sonia asked in a tear-filled voice.

“What do you think?” He plucked her from Kristin’s arms and hugged her.

“Where’s Thor?” she cried.

The dog inched his way closer to lay his head on her lap. He was bilingual all right.

A lump lodged in Kristin’s throat.

More than anything in the world she wanted to join that threesome for the return trip to Brobak. Secretly she ached to feel Eric’s arm around her.

Determined to get her mind on something else, she gazed out of the window at the moon which would be setting in a few hours. It was so strange to have daylight for about five hours and then go to bed before the moon did.

By the time they reached the hotel a half hour later, Sonia had fallen asleep against Eric’s shoulder.

“I’ll carry her to your room,” he mouthed the words to Kristin. “Come, Thor.”

The dog made a low moan before obeying his master.

Because it was the Prince, special arrangements had been made for them to slip in through a back entrance. With the aid of a couple of security men to clear the way, they rode the elevator to the third floor and entered Kristin’s hotel room without being observed.

As he started to lay Sonia down on one of the double beds, her eyelids opened. “Daddy?”

His concerned dark gaze met Kristin’s for a fraction of a moment. “No, Sonia, it’s Eric.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“I’ll be right here until you fall asleep again.”

“Why don’t we get ready for bed first, sweetheart?”

“Okay. We’ll be right back. Don’t leave me.”

“I promise I won’t move.”

Eric handed Sonia to Kristin. She hurried her niece into the bathroom to help her undress and brush her teeth. Then she led her into the other room.

Kristin noticed one of the men had brought up the shopping bag from the trunk of the limo and had placed it on the dresser before disappearing.

“Eric?” Sonia called out. “Will you help me say my prayers?”

“I was just going to suggest it.”

Sonia knelt down by the side of the bed where he was sitting. “You go first.”

Kristin stood there mesmerized.

With his hands clasped, he bowed his head. “Dear God—” he began. “We thank you for this wonderful day. Please help Sonia to tell me and Thor about the accident because we love her and we’re all best friends who don’t keep secrets from each other. Amen.”

With those words Kristin knew what she’d suspected in her heart since the moment he’d quieted Sonia’s tears in the back room of the Chocolate Barn. She’d fallen in love with him.

At the realization, she sank down on the end of the bed because her legs would no longer support her.

Sonia forgot about her own prayers. She climbed in bed and let Eric pull the covers over her.

“Where’s Thor?”

“Right here.”

“Can he sleep with me?”

“Of course.” He gave a command to the dog who got up on the bed and found a comfortable spot with his head on Sonia’s stomach. She patted him.

“Daddy told me to stay down in the boat, but I got scared cos of the big waves. I started to run to him. He-he screamed at me to go back down. Then I fell in the l-lake. Mommy t-tried to get me. So did Daddy. But they c-couldn’t r-reach me. I was a bad g-girl cos I didn’t listen to him. Now they’re in h-heaven.”

The last came out in a strangled sob.

Eric had his arms around her before Kristin could join them from the other side of the bed. “You weren’t a bad girl, elskling. You could never be bad. It was an accident! You were frightened.

“If Jan and Knute had been on that sailboat with you, they’d have been frightened too and would have tried to run to their daddy.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He cradled the back of her head. “Your daddy was only trying to protect you. That’s a daddy’s job. But the wind was too strong for you to make it to his arms. He would never blame his little daughter for an accident.

“Right now your parents can see you from heaven and they think you’re the bravest girl in the whole world. They want you to be happy with Kristin, don’t they, Thor.”

The dog barked as if he’d understood every word.

Sonia lifted her tear-stained face. “Y-you promise they’re not m-mad at me?”

“I promise.”

“Eric is a Prince, Sonia,” Kristin broke in. A prince among men. “When he makes a promise, you can believe it. Now go to sleep, sweetheart, and dream about all the wonderful things we did today.”

Sonia’s eyelids fluttered closed and she lay back against the pillow with a deep sigh. Under a minute she was sound asleep.

Without conscious thought Kristin leaned over Sonia to grasp Eric’s arm. She lifted wet eyes to his. “You’ve just accomplished something miraculous—” she whispered shakily.

He moved closer and pressed a warm kiss to her lips. “Let’s hope it’s the start of one. I’ll be by for you in the morning to drive you to the airport. Goodnight, Kristin.”

Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he cupped her face between his hands. This time he kissed her mouth deeply and hungrily before disappearing out the door.

He left Kristin so shaken with longings he’d brought to life, she had to cling to the end table so she wouldn’t fall down.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHEN the phone rang, it felt like the middle of the night because it was still dark outside. Kristin groped for the receiver wondering if it was her father, but it turned out to be the wake-up call from reception downstairs.

Eric would be here soon to drive them to the airport. He’d been all she could think about last night. The thought of him produced such excitement within her, she felt actual physical pain to her heart with every beat.

“Come on, Sonia. It’s time to get dressed and eat breakfast downstairs before our trip home.”

She turned on the light and looked over at her niece. But Sonia wasn’t in her bed and there was no sign of Thor. Her pajamas lay on top of the covers.

“Sonia? Are you already up, sweetheart?” She slid out of bed and ran across the room to the bathroom.

It was empty.

Kristin’s body broke out in a cold sweat. When she searched in the drawers, she discovered one of Sonia’s jeans and top was missing. So was her parka which Kristin had hung in the nook near the door to the room. Her walking boots were gone. Everything!

Was it possible her niece had decided to go on a walk with Thor? There was just one problem with that scenario. The hotel wasn’t familiar territory to Eric’s dog.

Maybe Eric had come by the room early to take her and Thor for a walk. Would he do that without informing Kristin of his intentions first?

Or had some lunatic seen Sonia on television and decided to kidnap her? Even hold her to extort a ransom from the Prince himself?

Terror seized Kristin’s heart.

She raced across the room and phoned reception to inform them that her little niece was missing. The concierge sounded horrified by the news. He said he would alert the police and send the hotel staff on a hunt for her and Thor.

Kristin threw on a pair of wool pants, a sweater and coat. After lacing up her walking boots, she hurried out of the room to look for Sonia. Maybe she was trapped in the elevator and couldn’t get out.

Frantic with fear, she ran down the hall and rang for it to come. When it stopped on her floor the door opened, but all she discovered was a young couple on their way to breakfast.

When she asked if they’d seen Sonia, they said no but offered to help in the search. It was agreed they would start with the staircase to see if by any chance Sonia was playing there with Thor.

The second the elevator arrived at the main floor, Kristin flew out the doors and proceeded to collide with a rock-solid male body.

“Eric—” she gasped.

He clutched her to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Sonia and Thor are missing. When I woke up, they were gone—” she cried out in agony. “The concierge has notified the police, but I thought, I prayed, they were with you.”

He held her tighter. “No. I’ve just arrived. We’ll find her. I swear to you we’ll find her.” His voice shook with barely restrained emotion.

She leaned her head back so she could look into his eyes. “Do you promise?”

His dark brown gaze pierced through to her soul. “Yes. I’m a prince. When I make a promise, you can believe it. Those were your words to Sonia last night. Remember?”

Kristin fought not to break down. “I do.”

“Wherever she is, Thor will protect her with his life.” He reached for his cell phone and made several calls. At this point the concierge rushed over to them.

“We have staff and security searching every floor, every room, Your Highness. So far we haven’t found her.” The bad news brought a moan to Kristin’s lips. As Eric slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, the police arrived.

Eric rapped out orders to the lieutenant to search every lane and street in Brobak, starting with Badeparken, which he explained to Kristin was the fjord-side park where he’d often walked Thor.

“Come on.” He grasped her hand. “We’ll search the Bathavna area.”

Kristin knew that was Brobak’s boat harbor. She hurried with him through the hotel to the rear entrance and climbed into the limo. By now the whole area swarmed with security and police. Eric gave his driver instructions and they drove off.

She clung to his hand. “The sun won’t be up for several more hours. Anything could happen to her if someone hurt Thor and she’s wandering around alone.”

“Shh.” Eric leaned over and silenced her with his lips. “We’ll find her.”

“Oh, Eric—she’s so precious. If I lost her, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“We’re not going to lose her. She has so much faith in Thor, she probably told him to take her for a walk.”

“But he can’t open doors.”

“He’s smart enough to lead her to one so she can open it herself. Those two have uncanny radar. It’s a gift we lose by the time we’re adults.”

“We need it now,” she half sobbed the words. “What I don’t understand is how she knew where to find all her clothes? She didn’t see me hang up her parka. She had no idea where I put everything.”

Eric hadn’t wanted to alarm Kristin, but he’d asked himself those same questions the second she’d collided with him in the foyer and had told him Sonia and Thor were missing.

His instructions to his own security men had been to treat this as a kidnapping which would put the whole town on the highest alert. He phoned Eva and told her the police would be scouring the grounds and the road leading up from the town for any sign of Sonia and Thor.

For the next two hours he and Kristin walked every square inch of the harbor area and marketplace, exhausting all possible areas where she might have gone with his dog.

Kristin kept calling out to her niece in the darkness until she didn’t have a voice left. It ripped Eric’s gut apart to witness her pain. In truth, he’d never experienced this kind of agony before either.

Little Sonia had stolen her way into his heart. The thought of anything happening to her terrified him, but he had to remain strong for Kristin. He’d made a promise to her, one he’d keep or die trying in the attempt.

He’d already received phone calls from his sister and his brother who’d just heard the news from one of his bodyguards. Knute and their mother were on their way back from Germany to help in the search.

Kristin vacillated whether to let her father know what was going on. But in the end she used the phone in the limo to call him and tell him Sonia and Thor were missing. Eric thought it was wise to alert him just in case she was found too late to make the flight home.

His admiration for Kristin escalated when she remained calm while reassuring her father everything possible was being done to locate Sonia. “The Prince himself is helping me look for her, Dad, so don’t worry. We’re going to find her. Say a prayer for us.”

Eric crushed her against his side, his emotions raw.

Kristin finally hung up the phone. “Dad’s amazing. He says he knows we’ll find her. Oh, Eric—where do you think Sonia could be?”

His mind had been replaying various conversations with her. “She was so fixated on my crown, maybe—”

“Maybe in her child’s mind she met someone and asked them to drive her to Midgard—” Kristin blurted. “It’s worth looking into.”

“I agree.” He got on the phone to security and told them to follow up on that lead. Then another idea came to him and he called Sofia at the palace.

“Have you found her?” Knute’s wife cried.

“Not yet.”

“She’s an engaging child, Eric. Last night I really fell in love with her.”

“Sonia has that effect on everyone. Do me a favor and put both boys on different extensions. I need to talk to them.”

After a few seconds, “I’m here, Uncle Eric.” It was Knute’s voice.

“So am I,” Jan piped up.

Eric pushed the monitor button which acted like a microphone so Kristin could hear everything.

“Listen, boys. This is vitally important. As you know, we can’t find Sonia or Thor. While you were playing with her last night, did she talk about something she wanted to see or do before she left Frijia? Think really hard before you answer.”

Kristin clung to his arm while they both waited for a response.

“We asked her if she wanted to play fort. She said she wanted to be the cowboys and we could be the Indians,” Jan explained.

“Let me explain,” Knute cut in. “We told her it was a Frijian fort and we were fighting the enemy.”

“Yeah,” Jan inserted. “She didn’t know we have forts too.”

“I was talking, Jan,” Knute said. “I told her we needed to sink a big ship so we could escape with our country’s gold, she got really excited and said she didn’t want to be the enemy, but she wanted to be a Frijian too.”

Eric’s eyes closed for a minute. “So what else did she say?”

“She said she wished she could see that fort. I told her it was a museum now. She asked if people could visit it.”

“We told her yes,” Jan finished the rest.

“Eric—” Kristin clasped his arm tighter without being aware of it. “Maybe that’s where she went.”

He hated to take away any hope from her, but Kristin didn’t realize Sonia would have to ride the ferry to reach it. Though there’d been a breakthrough last night about her guilt over the accident, that didn’t mean she’d ever be able to set foot on a boat again.

“Can you think of anything else?”

“No,” they both said at the same time.

“Thank you, boys. Will you put your mother back on?”

“Eric?” Sofia said. “I don’t recall any other conversation either.”

“Thank you, Sofia. It’s been a great help. We’ll keep in close touch.”

“Tell Ms. Remmen we’re all thinking of her and Sonia.”

“I will.”

One of the security men knocked on the door of the limo which was still parked at the harbor. He’d brought them coffee and rolls.

Eric thanked him, then urged Kristin to eat with him. “We have to keep up our strength.”

While he phoned the head of security to cover the car ferries and all of the area around Niflheim fortress on the off chance Sonia might have asked someone to take her there, he watched in relief as Kristin ate a roll and drank her coffee.

Only good news would do something about her pallor. Yet she was one of those women with a classic beauty that needed no artifice.

Yesterday she’d caught her hair back. This morning the honey-blond silk tumbled about her shoulders in attractive disarray. Minus any lipstick, her light blue eyes sodden with pain, she looked almost ethereal in the semidarkness of the interior. He wanted to take that pain away.

“Better?” he asked when they’d both finished the last of their coffee.

“Much. Thank you.”

“Are you ready for another trek around the village?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll stick to the smaller lanes where cars can’t go. Sonia may have fallen asleep somewhere and Thor’s keeping her warm.”

Anything was better than sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. He didn’t want to entertain the possibility Sonia had been kidnapped. But the longer time passed without word of her, his fear foul play was involved grew greater.

In the next half hour the sun had come up, but their search proved fruitless. They’d just reached the parked limo when Eric answered another call on his cell phone.

“Did they find her?” Kristin cried.

He clicked off. “No. We’re going back to the hotel. The police want you to help them choose some of Sonia’s belongings from the room. They’re going to make a door-to-door search with bloodhounds, hoping to pick up her trail.”

“Dear God—to think it’s come to this—”

Eric crushed her in his arms and held her for the short trip to the hotel. “We’ll find her, Kristin. You have to believe that.” He rained kisses in her hair.

“I do. It’s just that Sonia might have been gone a long time. It’s always night to her. Who knows when she left the room.”

The limo pulled up to the back entrance which had been cordoned off to everyone except the police. Eric grabbed Kristin’s hand and they rushed toward the door of the hotel.

“Aunty Kristin!” a familiar little voice cried out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KRISTIN and Eric both spun around in time to see Thor and Sonia climb out the back of a medium-size van parked next to the building. It had the hotel’s logo painted on the side.

The dog rushed to greet Eric joyously. Sonia was right behind him and ran into Kristin’s arms.

“Thor and I have been waiting and waiting for you.”

“Sonia!”

Kristin swung her niece around and around, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in all my life.” Her gaze flew to Eric’s. His handsome face radiated joy and relief as great as hers.

“To think she’s been here all the time,” he whispered against her ear before biting the lobe gently. Then he gave his attention to Sonia.

“Where did you go, elskling?”

“I wanted to see that lady before we went to the airport.”

“What lady?”

“The one that rows mommies cross the water cos they’re going to have a baby!”

Eric burst into laughter and pulled her into his arms. “You mean Jacobine, the harbor mistress. It’s the statue on Hovedgata we passed just minutes ago,” he explained to Kristin.

Dazed, she stared at him, then Sonia. “But how did you even know about it?”

“That tour lady told us.”

“You’re a very intelligent girl to remember something like that,” Eric exclaimed before giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Why didn’t you tell your aunt you were leaving the room with Thor?”

“You were asleep, and Thor needed a drink. We went outside and I fed him some snow. Then we went to see the statue. We weren’t gone very long.”

“Sweetheart—didn’t you know I would worry if I woke up and couldn’t find you?”

“Yes, but we came back fast and then I couldn’t open the door. So we got in that car and I locked it so nobody could get in.”

She pointed to the van. “It was cold in there, but Thor got on the floor with me and kept me warm.”

Eric murmured, “The police must have assumed that if they couldn’t open the doors to the van, she couldn’t either, so they didn’t make a thorough search of it.”

Kristin nodded. “Sonia? When you could hear people talking out here, why didn’t you ask one of them to let you in the hotel?”

“Cos they were policemen. I was afraid they’d get mad at me.”

“How did you know they were policemen?” When Kristin thought about it, she couldn’t understand how Sonia even knew the van was there to climb into.

Eric slid his other arm around Kristin’s shoulders and pulled her close to him and Sonia. “You can see again, can’t you, elskling?”

Sonia’s sparkling brown eyes smiled into Eric’s like a full-sighted person’s. “Yes.”

With that revelation, Kristin reeled. “You can honestly see?”

Her niece nodded, causing her disheveled brown curls to dance.

“When did it happen?”

“When I woke up. Thor was panting cos he was thirsty. I saw his big black head.”

Eric roared with laughter. “Did you know the whole town has been looking for you?”

“It has?”

“You’re more famous than my brother.”

“You mean Jan and Knute’s daddy?”

“That’s right.”

Sonia turned toward Kristin with a trembling lower lip. “The boys didn’t want me to leave. I wish we didn’t have to go home today.”

“You can’t go home today,” the man kneading Kristin’s shoulder declared with a triumphant ring. “Your plane already took off. How would you and your aunt like to spend Christmas at my house?”

“Oh—” Sonia made a sound of utter bliss. “Can we, Aunty Kristin? Please?”

Two pairs of pleading brown eyes gazed soulfully at Kristin. Three if she counted Thor’s.

“Please?” Eric whispered. “It’s one of the wishes I put on my list for Christmas.”

Whether he’d made that up or not, right now the blessing of sight had returned to Sonia because of Eric’s inspiration, making it impossible for Kristin to think beyond this moment.

She lifted tremulous eyes to him. “We’d love to spend today with you, but we’ll have to leave first thing in the morning.”

“How come?” Sonia cried mournfully.

Kristin reached for her niece, but she grabbed Eric around the neck and wouldn’t let go. “Because your grandpa’s still too sick to fly here. We wouldn’t want him to be all alone on Christmas, would we?”

Sonia’s expression sobered. “No. He would cry.”

“That’s right. So we’ll have to fly home tomorrow. But we’ve got today to enjoy ourselves.”

One more day…

Sonia patted Eric’s cheeks. “Can we go see your crown?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “I don’t see why not. While I stay here to talk to the police, why don’t you and your aunt go to your room and call your grandpa to tell him you’re safe. Then we’ll leave.”

“Okay. Come with me, Thor.”

As the dog trailed after her, Eric brushed his mouth against Kristin’s lips. “Hurry.”

With her heart pounding out of control, Kristin rushed inside the hotel after Sonia. Since the moment she’d discovered Sonia was missing, Kristin had let her guard down with Eric. They’d both been emotionally upset which accounted for their familiarity with each other.

But though she didn’t doubt his attraction to her was genuine, that’s all it was. An attraction that couldn’t possibly go anywhere.

Eric had girlfriends, but Kristin couldn’t consider herself one of those.

If her father hadn’t sent in Sonia’s picture for that contest—and if Princess Maren hadn’t been put on bed rest—Kristin would never have met Prince Eric.

This whole chance experience had been a complete fluke from start to finish.

One day when he decided to marry, the woman he chose would have to be from a family of royal lineage like Sofia’s or Stein’s.

For that reason, Kristin was doubly thankful she could use her father’s illness as an excuse to fly home in the morning. She needed to meet that deadline before she did something really stupid like believe that maybe Eric had fallen in love with her too and didn’t want her to leave.

There’d be time enough when she returned to Chicago to wonder how she was going to exist for the rest of her life without him. She didn’t even want to think about Sonia’s reaction.

“This church sure is big!”

“It’s very old and beautiful,” Kristin said in a quieter voice, hoping Sonia would lower hers.

Her niece walked between them holding their hands, still overly excited from flying on Eric’s small private jet where they’d eaten a fabulous brunch on board.

But the whole time they were touring the medieval cathedral in Midgard, Kristin was aware that if Eric hadn’t granted his sister a favor yesterday, he would have flown Bea in that same jet to Kvitfjell today for some skiing and very probably a night of loving.

“This is the room where they keep the crowns, elskling.”

Kristin marveled to think they could view them in private behind the glass partition. Her eyes widened like Sonia’s when she saw the various crowns. They were fabulous.

“Which is yours, Eric?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

Sonia walked back and forth. “This one.” She pointed to a tall jeweled masterpiece with gold bands and white stones leaping out against red velvet. On top was an amethyst cross.

He grinned. “How did you know?”

“Cos it looks the heaviest.”

“Like I told you earlier today, you’re a very intelligent young lady.”

His comment made her giggle. “Put it on.”

Kristin sensed his hesitation. “Since we’re locked in this room, I will for you, but don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“It will have to be our secret. Promise?”

“I promise,” she said solemnly.

He reached for it and lifted it on to his head. “How do I look?”

Sonia sucked in her breath. “Like a king!”

He did look like a king. One day it was possible he would be king. Kristin still couldn’t credit any of this was happening. Yet she couldn’t doubt that his love for Sonia was real, not now…

“It was made for the coronation of one of my ancestors, King Carl, almost 200 years ago.”

“What’s a coronation?”

Eric flashed Kristin a private smile before he said, “When a king is crowned king.”

“Are you going to be king someday?”

“I hope not.”

A wealth of emotion went into that comment, giving Kristin more insight into Eric’s remarkable character.

“I’m glad you’re just a prince.”

“How come?” he teased her with one of her own questions before putting the crown back in its spot.

“Cos Jan and Knute said their daddy doesn’t play with them very much.”

“A lot of conversation went on in that playroom,” he muttered, but Kristin heard him. “My brother has the worries of the whole country on his mind, Sonia. When he heard you were missing, he came home from his trip to help me look for you.”

She blinked. “Does he know you found me?”

“I’m sure he’s been told by now.”

“Aunty Kristin?” Her big brown eyes looked up at her. “Can I thank the King?”

“Yes, sweetheart. In fact, we have a lot of people to thank. When we get back to Chicago, we’ll send letters to everyone.”

Suddenly her niece ran to Eric and threw her arms around his legs. “I love you. I wish you could be my new daddy.”

No.

Kristin averted her eyes. “Let’s just be grateful Prince Eric is your good friend.” She’d mentioned his title deliberately. “Now we’d better leave so we can go see the Viking ships in the museum. Come on.”

She grabbed hold of Sonia’s hand. When they reached the door, Kristin knocked for the guard to let them out of the room.

The conversation had touched on treacherous ground. She’d been afraid this would happen before the day was over. Kristin needed to have a private chat with her niece before Eric caught up to them. The best place for that would be the rest room she’d seen at the rear of the church.

Once inside where they could have privacy, she knelt down in front of Sonia. “Sweetheart—I know how much you love Eric, but he can’t ever be your daddy.”

One tear trickled down her flushed cheek. “How come?”

Kristin shook her head in pained exasperation. “Because he was born into a family where he has to marry a woman who’s also from a royal family so their children will be royal.”

“How come?”

“It’s a law that was made hundreds of years ago by the first king.”

“Are Jan and Knute royal?”

“Yes, because their mommy was a princess.”

“Will the boys have to marry princesses someday?”

“Yes.”

Her precious little face fell. “Oh.”

Sonia, Sonia. “Just think how lucky you are that Eric is your special friend.”

Instead of becoming hysterical as Kristin feared, Sonia finally said, “Can we go now?”

“Yes.”

As she stood up, Sonia ran out the bathroom door. Kristin rushed after her, but not before her niece reached Eric who stood at the main doors of the entrance to the cathedral waiting for them.

The sight of him so tall and devastatingly appealing in his black coat and boots took Kristin’s breath away.

By the time she caught up to her niece, he’d swept Sonia into his arms. “What’s the big hurry, elskling?”

“Can I play with Jan and Knute after we look at the ships?”

“They’re planning on it.”

“Sonia—we’ve already been to the palace,” Kristin reminded her. “We can’t go there again.”

He shot Kristin an enigmatic glance. “It’s already been decided Knute and Sofia will bring the boys to my house. My brother’s anxious to meet both of you.”

Sonia’s head jerked around. A smile illuminated her face. “We’re going to meet the King! Now I can thank him.”

CHAPTER NINE

“ERIC? While mother’s talking to Sofia and Kristin, come here for a minute,” Knute whispered.

He left the women and children who were playing in the living room with the dog, and followed his brother into his library.

Knute shut the door, then leaned against it to study Eric. “Kristin told me about your prayer and the miracle that followed. How does it feel?”

Eric’s eyes smarted. “I’m still in shock.”

“Do you know what Sonia asked me after she thanked me for flying home to help in the search?”

“I can’t imagine, but knowing her as I do, it was something completely original.”

“You could say that.” His brows lifted. “She said, and I quote, ‘Could you make a law to turn me into a princess so I can be Eric’s little girl, cos I love him?”’

His brother had done a perfect imitation of her.

The revelation didn’t come as a surprise. Sonia had already asked Eric to be her daddy when they were in Midgard earlier in the day. But hearing this from Knute touched him in the deepest recesses of his soul.

He cleared his throat. “What did you say back?”

“I told her I’d have to think hard about it. She asked me how long it took me to think hard about things.” Eric started to chuckle. “I said it might take six months.”

Knute’s answer brought Eric up short. “Six months?”

“Well…after considering everything, I wanted to be sure there was enough time for you to win her Aunty Kristin around before you proposed an official alliance of the three of you.”

A long silence ensued before he said, “I’ve got competition, Knute. There’s a man in her life.”

His brother shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t see a ring on her finger.”

“You know that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Sonia let it slip the guy doesn’t want to raise Kristin’s niece. It means they’ve been talking marriage.”

“Nevertheless, their problem sounds serious. Now’s your chance, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

Knute clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I always figured when you met the right woman, you’d know it instantly.”

Eric nodded. “I haven’t been the same since I heard Sonia sobbing her heart out in the back of the Chocolate Barn because Maren couldn’t come.

“When I walked to the rear of the store and Kristin looked up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes, helpless in the face of Sonia’s disappointment, I felt something zap my insides from my heart to my stomach.

“Finding out Sonia was blind only intensified my feelings for both of them.” His eyes closed tightly for a moment.

“They’re heartbreakers all right. Sonia has an artless charm about her that draws you in. The boys are crazy about her. I can see why. Do you know she asked me to play with them more because they miss me very, very much?”

Eric smiled again. “That sounds like my elskling. Anyone who meets her is drawn to her.” He stared at his elder brother. “She’s not the only one wanting a favor from the King.”

Knute’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Is that right?”

“There’s something I’d like you to arrange, but we’ll talk about it after I’ve put Kristin and Sonia on the plane in the morning.”

“Come to the palace as soon as they’ve gone.”

“I thought you had a meeting scheduled.”

“It’s been canceled. I’ve decided to take Sonia’s advice and spend every moment of the holiday with my family. After hearing about the death of her parents, it has made me reassess my priorities.”

“I know what you mean,” Eric murmured, anxious to get back to the other room. First, however, he had a certain phone call to make to Bea.

CHAPTER TEN

WITH Sonia in his arms, Eric walked Kristin through the empty body of the 747 to the front of the plane. No other passengers had been allowed to board yet.

“We didn’t fly over first class!” Kristin cried softly.

His dark brown eyes searched hers. “Maybe not, but you’re returning home that way.”

Sonia was already in tears and clung harder to his neck. “I wish we didn’t have to go.” Kristin echoed her niece’s sentiments. It was killing her to think she’d never seen Eric again. “Will you come and see us?” her niece begged.

Kristin groaned. The flight home was going to be a nightmare.

“There’s nothing I’d like better, elskling.”

By the time he’d lowered her into a window seat, Sonia was verging on hysterics. Kristin turned to her niece. “Remember what I told you? Eric has important work to do for his country on a submarine.”

“Can’t you tell the s-submarine to come to America?”

“No, sweetheart, he can’t!” Kristin answered for him.

Eric wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks. “I’ll phone you tomorrow and find out what Santa brought you for Christmas.”

Kristin lurched in her seat.

“We’ll be at G-Grandpa’s. Do you know his number?”

“Yes.”

“Does T—Thor know I’ve gone?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Eric has to leave now so the other passengers can board the plane. Say goodbye, sweetheart.” Kristin tried to act as matter-of-factly as possible, determined to hide her own pain from him.

“Bye, Eric.” The words came out like a croaking sound before Sonia crawled into Kristin’s lap and broke down sobbing against her neck.

Kristin looked up at Eric dry-eyed. “You’d better go, Your Highness,” she mouthed the words. “Thank you for everything.”

His expression sobered. She sensed he wanted to say something else, then thought the better of it.

There was a sharp intake of breath before he strode out of the first-class compartment taking her heart with him.

“Dad? I’m going to run over to the apartment and get a few things I need, then I’ll be back.”

“Take your time, honey.” He was still examining the grandma mouse Sonia had chosen for him with Eric’s approval.

“Do you want to come with me, Sonia?”

“No. Eric’s going to call me.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

It was already five in the afternoon. She knew he wouldn’t have kept Sonia waiting without a good reason.

“All right. I’ll hurry.”

She left her niece in front of the Christmas tree playing with her new fort consisting of Frijian submarines and cruisers on the floor.

Surrounding her were all the rest of the toys Eric had brought to the plane without Kristin’s knowledge, including the full set of mice from Santa’s post office shop.

When she and Sonia had deboarded in Chicago to go through customs, an airport official had met them and ushered them out to a limousine filled with bags of beautifully wrapped packages.

Eric’s generosity extended to signed photographs taken at the Chocolate Barn, a wool scarf for Kristin’s father and an exquisite light blue silk scarf for herself.

“To match your eyes,” the inserted note had said. The message made her breath catch.

She hadn’t given Eric anything for Christmas, but she would rectify the matter when she and Sonia sent thank-you letters to everyone.

No sooner had she driven herself to the house where she rented the basement apartment from an elderly woman, than her cell phone rang again. She checked the caller ID. It was Bruce.

She wanted nothing to do with him, but this was his twentieth attempt to reach her in the last six hours. After walking down the steps at the side of the house, she let herself in the door and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Kristin? It’s Bruce.”

Once upon a time the sound of his voice excited her, but no more. A telemarketer’s unwanted intrusion would have been more welcome.

“I know.”

“I’m pulling in the driveway behind your car and would like to come in for a minute. I’ve changed my mind about Sonia. Please don’t say no, honey. This is far too important to our future.”

If he’d said those words when she’d tried to give him back the ring, she might have listened.

But everything had changed in the last week. A certain prince had appeared on the scene, showing her what a real man was all about. No other male would ever be able to measure up to Eric. Not in a lifetime…

“You can have five minutes. Then I have to get back to dad and Sonia.”

She’d barely hung up and turned on lights when he entered the apartment and reached for her.

“I’ve missed you, honey. Forgive me for being such a fool about Sonia? We’ll work it out.”

Work it out?

“This last week without you has been pure hell. I’m putting my ring back on your finger where it belongs.”

He sounded like he meant everything he said, but she wasn’t moved by his apology or his emotions.

“No, Bruce.”

She pulled away from his arms, aware that he was at least four inches shorter than Eric and didn’t have his powerful build. If she noticed those things, it was because it no longer felt right to be with Bruce. He didn’t feel right to her.

“What do you mean, no?” She heard the hurt in his voice. His dark blond looks were very attractive, yet whatever she’d once felt for him was gone.

Kristin let out a sigh. “You’re a wonderful person, Bruce, but I meant it when I said it was over between us. Please hear me out—” she asked when he started to protest.

“I’m grateful for your honesty about Sonia. It’s an enormous responsibility to raise a child, especially when it’s not yours. I loved Sonia before she was even born, so it was natural for me to want to be her mother now that she’s alone. She’ll always need me and dad.

“And though I appreciate the fact that you’ve had a chance to think about it and want to try to be a father to Sonia, I know it won’t work.

“You deserve to marry a woman who’s unencumbered so the two of you can enjoy married life for a while before you start your own family. I know that one day you’ll make a terrific father.

“The truth is, even though Sonia’s vision has been restored, her daddy is a difficult act to follow.” In fact there’s only one man I know who could make the sun light up her universe again.

“What?” Bruce muttered incredulously. “Her sight’s come back?”

“Yes. The doctor said it might, if she ever got over her feelings of guilt.”

His face lost color. “When did it happen?”

“She woke up one morning on the trip and could see Thor’s head lying near her pillow.”

He frowned. “Thor?”

“Prince Eric’s dog.”

Her ex-fiancé studied her for a full minute. “I watched the TV coverage on you. Evidently the playboy prince had to take his sister’s place for the duty appearance with Sonia. There’s a rumor he’s interested in you. Is it true?” he demanded.

His color had returned. Now his cheeks looked ruddy.

“No. What he did was behave like Prince Charming and make Sonia’s trip to Frijia one of enchantment. Now the enchantment is over.”

Bruce grasped her upper arms. “What does he mean to you, Kristin?”

“What could he mean to me?” she answered in a level voice.

A haunted look entered his eyes. “I don’t know, but there’s something different about you. He got to you, didn’t he?” Bruce whispered in shock.

Yes.

“What he did was win Sonia’s confidence to the point that she told him about the accident. When he found out she blamed herself for it, he convinced her it wasn’t her fault. Obviously she believed him because the next day she could see.”

Tears filled Kristin’s eyes. “It was a miracle. I love him for what he did.”

“You love him for more than that. I can hear it in your voice. Did he kiss you?” He shook her gently.

Kristin wasn’t about to lie to him. “Yes.”

His breathing grew shallow. “Did you kiss him back?”

Remembering that hungry kiss she’d returned with equal fervor at his house on the first night, she averted her eyes. “Yes.”

A sound of grief escaped Bruce’s lips. “If I’d taken the time off to go Frijia with you, none of this would have happened.”

You’re wrong, Bruce.

When the Prince walked to the back room of the Chocolate Barn and their eyes had met, she’d felt herself falling helplessly through space. It was the defining moment of her life, but would have to remain her secret.

“Because things worked out the way they did, Sonia has her sight back. We can all be thankf—”

There was a knock on the door, cutting off the rest of her words.

“It’s probably Mrs. Coretti. Just a minute.”

Kristin walked over to the door and opened it expecting to see her landlady. When she discovered who was standing in the stairwell, she almost fainted.

“Merry Christmas, Kristin.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ERIC—” she cried, holding on to the door so she wouldn’t collapse.

Jeans and a black wool pullover couldn’t disguise his princely bearing. His intense gaze played over her face and figure relentlessly.

“Your father told me I’d find you here.”

“You’ve seen dad?” Her voice squeaked the question.

His smile reached clear down into her soul. “Him, and my little elskling.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” sounded a cold voice directly behind her.

Good heavens—she’d forgotten all about Bruce, let alone her manners.

“Of course. Please—come in.”

Eric crossed the threshold, bringing the freezing air off Lake Michigan inside with him. The temperature outside wasn’t that different from Frijia’s. She shut the door.

“Bruce Hancock, please meet His Royal Highness, Prince Eric.”

The two men shook hands.

“I saw you on television with Sonia and Kristin. She tells me you’re the one responsible for her niece being able to see again.”

Eric took his time responding. “Before Sonia went to sleep, she asked me to say my prayers first. Heaven did the rest.”

Kristin could hardly breathe. She had the grace to feel sorry for Bruce whose Adam’s apple bobbed several times.

The Prince turned to her. “If I’m interrupting something important, I’ll come back at a better time.”

“No—” she cried, revealing the state of her chaotic emotions. “Bruce was just leaving.” She opened the door so he’d be forced to go.

He eyed both of them for a moment. The regret in his eyes saddened her for his sake, but she was glad this was the end of a relationship doomed for failure. Better now than after they’d said their vows.

When he disappeared up the outside stairs, she closed the door and turned to Eric.

“I—I can’t believe you flew here on Christmas.” Her voice throbbed with too much emotion.

“This is a special day for me. Maren had a Christmas baby. He looks like Stein.”

“How wonderful! Did you tell Sonia?”

There was a gleam in his eye. “I even let her know they’ve decided to name him Eric.”

“That must have thrilled you.”

He nodded. “Of course mother’s ecstatic and totally preoccupied with her newest grandchild. Knute took his family skiing after they opened presents. Everyone had a place to go and something to do. It gave me the excuse I was looking for to come after you.”

Come after her?

She felt her heart skitter all over the place.

“From what I learned from Sonia in the limo that night, you and Bruce must have been planning marriage.”

“We were, but I broke our engagement before leaving for Frijia.”

He studied her with a grave expression. “Now that she has recovered her sight, is it possible you two will be getting back together again?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation.

“You’re sure?”

“Very. Not every man can embrace another man’s child. Bruce came over here tonight to tell me he’s willing to work at it. But that’s not enough. From the beginning Sonia has sensed he hasn’t been able to accept her.

“I told him he should look for a woman who doesn’t have a child. I’m afraid I come with a niece who needs me and my father desperately.”

“I met Professor Remmen. He’s a terrific person. You didn’t tell me he’s a mathematician.”

“Actually he’s the chairman of the department at the university.”

“That’s an honor for a man who’s obviously brilliant.”

“Sonia takes after him.”

“So I gather. However, she resembles her grandmother. He showed me pictures of her and your sister, Marthe. Beauty runs in the Remmen family.”

“Thank you.”

“You are beautiful, you know.”

Kristin didn’t want him to say things like that. It would only deepen the pain when he left again. She rubbed her arms.

“Why did you really come here, Eric?”

He stood there with his legs slightly apart. “I found that I missed you and Sonia, so I decided to get on a plane.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s the reason?”

“The only one. Have you missed me?”

“W—what kind of a question is that?”

“Why are you so flustered? Sonia acted happy to see me. How about you? Do you wish I hadn’t come?”

“The truth?” she cried in anguish.

“Of course.”

“It would have been better if you hadn’t.”

After a pause, “At least that’s honest. My apologies for intru—”

“No—” she broke in on him. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me.”

“Sonia wasn’t the only one you enchanted, but we’re home now, and the fantasy has to stop.”

“I enchanted you?”

“You know you did,” her voice trembled. “But it would be pointless to spend any more time with you because—because there’s no future in it.”

“What if there were?”

A gasp escaped her lips. “Now you’re sounding like Sonia, but I can’t afford to dream impossible dreams. You’d better go.”

He remained where he was. “Kristin—long before my father passed away, we had an understanding that when I felt the time was right, I could marry any woman of my own choosing.”

The blood pounded in her ears. “Any?”

“Yes. Now I’m going to ask that question again. Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you over the last forty-eight hours?”

“Till I’ve wanted to die.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” On a groan, he pulled her into his arms. Their mouths and bodies met in a frenzy of need. Before she knew how it had happened, they were on the couch and Kristin found herself clinging to him.

“I can’t believe I’m holding you in my arms,” she whispered against lips that roamed her flushed face and neck with increasing urgency. “You’ve changed my whole life, Eric.”

“That’s how I felt when I walked in the back room of the Chocolate Barn and saw this beautiful blond woman in red, kneeling next to a little girl who was crying her heart out. Mine melted on the spot when you looked at me with those incredible blue eyes.

“I’d marry you tonight if I could have my own way, but you’ve just come out of an engagement and need time. Would you and Sonia be willing to move to Frijia for a few months so we could really get to know each other?

“Knute is making arrangements for you to be an exchange teacher in Brobak at an elementary school where Sonia could attend. There’s a house for rent close by. We’d be able to spend every possible moment together.

“I need you and Sonia in my life, darling. I’m a better person for being with you. If you can’t see yourself leaving the States right now because of your father, then I’ll come here because my life will never be the same witho—”

“We’ll come!” Kristin declared against his lips. “Maybe it’s too soon to say I love you, but I have to say it. I love you. It’s an all-consuming love I feel in my heart.” She clutched him tighter. “Oh darling—what if dad hadn’t entered Sonia in that contest?”

“Don’t think about the what-ifs. There are too many of them. Right now all I want to do is kiss us both senseless. Do I have your permission?”

Kristin threw her arms around his neck and drew him down to her, leaving him in no doubt that his wish was her desire.

Three months later…

“I now pronounce you, Prince Eric, and you, Kristin Remmen, man and wife. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

To Kristin’s shock, the priest suddenly produced a small golden tiara. He motioned for Sonia to come to the altar. She left her grandpa’s side to approach the priest who set it amongst her shiny brown curls. It was a perfect fit.

“From this day forth, King Knute has declared you’ll be known as Princess Sonia.”

Kristin had an idea Eric had asked his brother if he would make a law so Sonia could be a princess.

Their gazes locked. He was too wonderful. Kristin loved him too much and tried to tell him with her eyes before he gave her a kiss unlike any other.

It was the possessive kiss of a husband. One full of passion and the promise of the wedding night to come.

Sonia’s giggle of pure joy finally caused him to relinquish Kristin’s mouth. He grasped their daughter’s hand. She looked like an adorable angel in a white tulle gown that floated when she walked.

“Daddy?” she whispered loud enough for all the guests assembled in the palace chapel to hear. “Am I a real princess now?”

Eric, resplendent once more in his ceremonial suit, smiled down at her. “Yes, you are.”

“Can I keep my crown on my dresser?”

“If you’d like.”

“Does it mean I can marry a prince someday?”

Quiet laughter whispered through the congregation.

“If you want to, but it won’t be for a long, long time.”

“How come?”

Oh no.

Kristin moaned loud enough to capture her new husband’s attention. He was loving this, but the altar of the chapel was hardly the place for a running conversation with Sonia.

“Because I want to enjoy my daughter for a lot of years first.”

She looked up at both of them. “Mommy? Will you and Daddy give me a little brother?”

Kristin’s face went crimson. “Sonia—”

Eric chuckled before flashing her a wolfish glance. “We’ll do our best, won’t we, Your Highness? Now…shall we go meet our guests, elskling?”

“Yes. The boys and Thor have been waiting and waiting for me.”

The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish

By Lucy Gordon

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

IT WAS the most glorious Christmas tree in the world: eight feet high, brilliant with baubles, tinsel and flickering lights, with a dazzling star shining from the top.

Around the base brightly coloured parcels, decorated with shiny bows, crowded together, spilling lavishly over the floor.

The whole thing presented a picture of generous abundance. It was a family tree, meant to stand in a home, surrounded by happy children eagerly tearing the wrapping from the parcels, revealing longed for gifts.

Instead, it stood in the corner of Alex Mead’s huge office. The presents were fake. Any child removing the pretty wrapping paper would have found only empty boxes.

But no child would do so. The whole confection had been designed and carried out by Alex’s secretary, Katherine, and as far as he was concerned she had wasted her time.

She entered now with some letters in one hand and a newspaper in the other, and he noticed that she couldn’t resist glancing proudly at the tree as she passed.

‘Sentimentalist,’ he said, giving her the brilliant grin that won him goodwill at every first meeting. Often the goodwill was short-lived. It didn’t take long for rivals and associates to discover the predator who lived beneath the charm.

‘Well, it looks nice,’ she said defensively. ‘Honestly, Alex, don’t you have any Christmas spirit?’

‘Sure I do. Look at your bonus.’

‘I have and it was a lovely surprise.’

‘You earned it, Kath. You did almost as much as I did to build this firm up.’

He was a generous man where money was concerned. Not only her bonus but that of several other vital employees had been more than expected. Alex knew how to keep good staff working difficult hours.

‘Some of them want to come in and thank you,’ she said now.

‘Tell them there’s no need. Say you said it for them, and I said all the right things—Happy Christmas, have a nice time—you’ll know how to make it sound good.’

‘Why do you have to try to sound like Scrooge?’

‘Because I am Scrooge,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Liar,’ she said, with the privilege of long friendship. ‘Scrooge would never have let his employees go a day early, the way you’re doing. Most firms keep everyone there until noon, Christmas Eve.’

‘Yes, and what’s the result? Nobody does any work on Christmas Eve morning. Half of them are hung over and they’re all watching the clock. It’s a waste of everyone’s time.’

She laid the newspaper, open at the financial page, on his desk. ‘Did you see this?’

It was the best Christmas gift an entrepreneur could have had. There was a page of laudatory text about Mead Consolidated and its meteoric rise, its impact on the market, its brilliant prospects.

Backing this up was an eye-catching photograph of Alex, his grin at its most engaging, telling the world that here was a man of charisma and confidence who could steer his way skilfully through waters infested by sharks. You would have to look very closely to see that he was one of them.

The picture was cut off halfway down his chest, so it didn’t show the long-limbed body that was just a little underweight. He was thin because he forgot to eat, relying on nervous energy for nourishment, just as he relied on nervous force to make an impact.

It was Alex’s proud boast that he had no nerves. The truth, as Kath knew, was that he lived on them. It was one of the reasons why he looked older than his thirty-seven years, why his smile was so swift and unpredictable, and why his temper was beginning to be the same.

When she’d come to work for him his dark eyes had sparkled with ambition and confidence and his complexion had had a healthy glow. The glow was gone now, and there were too often shadows under his eyes. But he was still a handsome man, only partly through his looks. The rest was a mysterious talisman, an inner light for which there were no words.

She had been on business trips with him and seen the female heads turn, the eyes sparkle with interest. To his credit he had never collected, although whether that was out of love for his wife or because he couldn’t spare the time from business, Kath had never quite decided.

“‘Here’s the one to watch,’” she read from the newspaper. “‘By this time next year Mead Consolidated will threaten to dominate the market.” Well, you might try to look pleased. It’s so brilliant you might have written it yourself.’

He laughed. ‘How do you know I didn’t?’

‘Now you mention it, you probably did. You’re conceited enough for anything.’

‘So conceited that if I’d written it I wouldn’t have stopped at “threatened” to dominate. That’s not good enough for me. I have to be at the top, and I’m going to get there.’

‘Alex, you only started eleven years ago, practically working from a garden shed. Give yourself time.’

‘I don’t need time. I need Craddock’s contract, the biggest that’s ever come my way.’

‘Well, you’ve got it.’

‘Not until he’s signed it. Dammit, why did he have to get this tomfool idea about going to the Caribbean?’

George Craddock, the man whose signature he was determined to get by hook or by crook, had been all set to sign when he’d been struck by the notion of a gathering on the tiny Caribbean island that he owned. He’d called Alex about it that very afternoon.

‘And a big contract signing party to end it,’ Alex groaned now. ‘It’s a pointless exercise because the deal’s already set up.’

‘So why the party?’ Kath asked.

‘Because he’s old, foolish and lonely and has nobody to spend Christmas with him. So I have to forget my plans and catch a plane tonight.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be seeing your family over Christmas?’

‘Part of it. I was going to arrive tomorrow and stay until the next day. Now I’ll have to call Corinne and explain that I’ve been called away. I just hope I can make her understand.’

Tact prevented Kath from saying, Sure, she understands so well that she’s divorcing you.

‘You should have told Craddock to get stuffed,’ she told him robustly now.

‘No way! You know how hard I’ve fought for this contract, and I’m not going to see it slip through my fingers now.’

Seeing disapproval on her face he said, defensively, ‘Kath, there’ll be other Christmases.’

‘I’m not so sure. Children grow up so fast, and suddenly there aren’t other Christmases.’

‘Now you’re being sentimental,’ he said gruffly.

That silenced her. ‘Sentimental’ was Alex’s strongest term of disapproval.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the best of moods. Go home, Kath. Have a nice Christmas.’

‘And be in early on the first day,’ she said in a reciting tone.

‘I never need to tell you that.’

When she’d gone he sat down tiredly and stared at the phone. What he had to do could not be put off any longer. If you had to break a promise it was best to do it quickly and cleanly.

He hoped there wouldn’t be any trouble with Corinne. She was used to the demands of his job, and the fact that it often took him away from his family. The only time she’d ever fought him about it was at Christmas.

And it would have to be Christmas now, wouldn’t it? he thought, exasperated. Just when he’d wanted to put a good face on things and show that he wasn’t a neglectful father, as she’d accused him!

He’d planned to join her and the children tomorrow, just for one day, because that was all he could spare. But he would have arrived, overflowing with presents, and they would have been impressed whether they liked it or not. They would have had to be. He would have seen to that.

So the sooner he called, the better. Dial the number, say, I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan—

He reached for the phone.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

IT WAS the most glorious Christmas tree in the world: eight feet high, brilliant with baubles, tinsel and flickering lights, with a dazzling star shining from the top.

Around the base brightly coloured parcels, decorated with shiny bows, crowded together, spilling lavishly over the floor.

The whole thing presented a picture of generous abundance. It was a family tree, meant to stand in a home, surrounded by happy children eagerly tearing the wrapping from the parcels, revealing longed for gifts.

Instead, it stood in the corner of Alex Mead’s huge office. The presents were fake. Any child removing the pretty wrapping paper would have found only empty boxes.

But no child would do so. The whole confection had been designed and carried out by Alex’s secretary, Katherine, and as far as he was concerned she had wasted her time.

She entered now with some letters in one hand and a newspaper in the other, and he noticed that she couldn’t resist glancing proudly at the tree as she passed.

‘Sentimentalist,’ he said, giving her the brilliant grin that won him goodwill at every first meeting. Often the goodwill was short-lived. It didn’t take long for rivals and associates to discover the predator who lived beneath the charm.

‘Well, it looks nice,’ she said defensively. ‘Honestly, Alex, don’t you have any Christmas spirit?’

‘Sure I do. Look at your bonus.’

‘I have and it was a lovely surprise.’

‘You earned it, Kath. You did almost as much as I did to build this firm up.’

He was a generous man where money was concerned. Not only her bonus but that of several other vital employees had been more than expected. Alex knew how to keep good staff working difficult hours.

‘Some of them want to come in and thank you,’ she said now.

‘Tell them there’s no need. Say you said it for them, and I said all the right things—Happy Christmas, have a nice time—you’ll know how to make it sound good.’

‘Why do you have to try to sound like Scrooge?’

‘Because I am Scrooge,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Liar,’ she said, with the privilege of long friendship. ‘Scrooge would never have let his employees go a day early, the way you’re doing. Most firms keep everyone there until noon, Christmas Eve.’

‘Yes, and what’s the result? Nobody does any work on Christmas Eve morning. Half of them are hung over and they’re all watching the clock. It’s a waste of everyone’s time.’

She laid the newspaper, open at the financial page, on his desk. ‘Did you see this?’

It was the best Christmas gift an entrepreneur could have had. There was a page of laudatory text about Mead Consolidated and its meteoric rise, its impact on the market, its brilliant prospects.

Backing this up was an eye-catching photograph of Alex, his grin at its most engaging, telling the world that here was a man of charisma and confidence who could steer his way skilfully through waters infested by sharks. You would have to look very closely to see that he was one of them.

The picture was cut off halfway down his chest, so it didn’t show the long-limbed body that was just a little underweight. He was thin because he forgot to eat, relying on nervous energy for nourishment, just as he relied on nervous force to make an impact.

It was Alex’s proud boast that he had no nerves. The truth, as Kath knew, was that he lived on them. It was one of the reasons why he looked older than his thirty-seven years, why his smile was so swift and unpredictable, and why his temper was beginning to be the same.

When she’d come to work for him his dark eyes had sparkled with ambition and confidence and his complexion had had a healthy glow. The glow was gone now, and there were too often shadows under his eyes. But he was still a handsome man, only partly through his looks. The rest was a mysterious talisman, an inner light for which there were no words.

She had been on business trips with him and seen the female heads turn, the eyes sparkle with interest. To his credit he had never collected, although whether that was out of love for his wife or because he couldn’t spare the time from business, Kath had never quite decided.

“‘Here’s the one to watch,’” she read from the newspaper. “‘By this time next year Mead Consolidated will threaten to dominate the market.” Well, you might try to look pleased. It’s so brilliant you might have written it yourself.’

He laughed. ‘How do you know I didn’t?’

‘Now you mention it, you probably did. You’re conceited enough for anything.’

‘So conceited that if I’d written it I wouldn’t have stopped at “threatened” to dominate. That’s not good enough for me. I have to be at the top, and I’m going to get there.’

‘Alex, you only started eleven years ago, practically working from a garden shed. Give yourself time.’

‘I don’t need time. I need Craddock’s contract, the biggest that’s ever come my way.’

‘Well, you’ve got it.’

‘Not until he’s signed it. Dammit, why did he have to get this tomfool idea about going to the Caribbean?’

George Craddock, the man whose signature he was determined to get by hook or by crook, had been all set to sign when he’d been struck by the notion of a gathering on the tiny Caribbean island that he owned. He’d called Alex about it that very afternoon.

‘And a big contract signing party to end it,’ Alex groaned now. ‘It’s a pointless exercise because the deal’s already set up.’

‘So why the party?’ Kath asked.

‘Because he’s old, foolish and lonely and has nobody to spend Christmas with him. So I have to forget my plans and catch a plane tonight.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be seeing your family over Christmas?’

‘Part of it. I was going to arrive tomorrow and stay until the next day. Now I’ll have to call Corinne and explain that I’ve been called away. I just hope I can make her understand.’

Tact prevented Kath from saying, Sure, she understands so well that she’s divorcing you.

‘You should have told Craddock to get stuffed,’ she told him robustly now.

‘No way! You know how hard I’ve fought for this contract, and I’m not going to see it slip through my fingers now.’

Seeing disapproval on her face he said, defensively, ‘Kath, there’ll be other Christmases.’

‘I’m not so sure. Children grow up so fast, and suddenly there aren’t other Christmases.’

‘Now you’re being sentimental,’ he said gruffly.

That silenced her. ‘Sentimental’ was Alex’s strongest term of disapproval.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the best of moods. Go home, Kath. Have a nice Christmas.’

‘And be in early on the first day,’ she said in a reciting tone.

‘I never need to tell you that.’

When she’d gone he sat down tiredly and stared at the phone. What he had to do could not be put off any longer. If you had to break a promise it was best to do it quickly and cleanly.

He hoped there wouldn’t be any trouble with Corinne. She was used to the demands of his job, and the fact that it often took him away from his family. The only time she’d ever fought him about it was at Christmas.

And it would have to be Christmas now, wouldn’t it? he thought, exasperated. Just when he’d wanted to put a good face on things and show that he wasn’t a neglectful father, as she’d accused him!

He’d planned to join her and the children tomorrow, just for one day, because that was all he could spare. But he would have arrived, overflowing with presents, and they would have been impressed whether they liked it or not. They would have had to be. He would have seen to that.

So the sooner he called, the better. Dial the number, say, I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan—

He reached for the phone.

CHAPTER ONE

‘MUM, it’s the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had. A tree fit for Santa.’

Bobby was nine, old enough to have his own ideas about Santa, kind enough not to disillusion his adults.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it, darling?’ Corinne agreed, regarding her son tenderly.

The tree was five feet high and covered in tinsel and baubles which had been fixed in place by eager, inexpert hands. Perhaps the star on top was a little wonky, but nobody cared about that.

‘Do you think Dad will like it?’ Bobby wanted to know.

‘I’m sure he will.’

‘You will tell him I did it, won’t you? Well, Mitzi helped a bit, but she’s only a little kid so she couldn’t do much.’

‘She’s six years old,’ Jimmy said, from where he was standing behind Corinne. ‘It’s not that long since you were six.’

‘It was ages ago,’ Bobby said indignantly.

Jimmy grinned. He was a cheerful young man with a round face that smiled easily, the kind of man who seemed to have been designed by nature for the express purpose of being an uncle.

He was in the army, on two weeks’ leave, and had gladly accepted Corinne’s invitation to spend Christmas. They were only third cousins, but, with no other family, they had always clung to their kinship.

‘You thought you were a big man at six,’ he reminded Bobby.

‘I was,’ the child said at once. ‘And I’m an even bigger one now. Put ’em up.’

He lifted his fists, boxer-style, and Jimmy obligingly responded with the same stance. For a moment they danced around each other, Jimmy leaning down to get within the child’s range.

Suddenly he yelled, ‘Help! He got me, he got me,’ and collapsed on the floor, clutching his nose.

At once Bobby, the tender-hearted, dropped down beside him.

‘I didn’t really hurt you, did I, Uncle Jimmy?’ he asked anxiously.

Jimmy wobbled his nose and spoke in a heavy nasal whine. ‘I dink you spoiled by dose.’

Bobby giggled.

In falling, Jimmy had dislodged some of the presents and the two of them began to pile them up again. Corinne helped, trying not to be too conscious of the parcel with the tag that read, To Daddy, with love from Bobby.

‘Daddy will like it, won’t he, Mummy? I got it specially with my pocket money.’

‘Then he’ll love it, whatever it is,’ she assured him. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

Bobby shook his head very seriously. ‘It’s a secret between me and Daddy. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, darling, I don’t mind.’

She watched how carefully he replaced the box under the tree, and her heart ached for him. Both children loved their father so much, and had been let down by him so often. And the more he failed them, the more anxiously they loved him.

But he would make up for it this time, she thought desperately. Please, don’t let anything go wrong. Make him be here.

When Bobby had gone away, Jimmy murmured, ‘That has to be the sweetest-tempered kid in the world.’

‘Yes, and it scares me. He’s wide open to be badly hurt by Alex.’

‘But that won’t happen, will it? Alex gave his word that he’d arrive on Christmas Eve.’

Corinne made a face. ‘Yes, but a promise to us was always conditional on business.’

‘But not at Christmas?’ Jimmy said, shocked.

‘Especially at Christmas, because that was when he could steal a march on all those wimps who spent it with their families.’

‘But he promised to spend this Christmas with you and the kids.’

‘No, what he promised was to arrive on Christmas Eve and leave on Christmas Day.’

‘So little time? Then surely you don’t have to worry about him cancelling that?’

‘I wish I could believe it. Do you know? I’m not sure the children even realise that our marriage is over. They hardly see less of him now than they did then. Apart from the fact that we’ve moved house, not much has changed.

‘I don’t mind for myself, but if he disappoints Bobby and Mitzi again I’ll never forgive him.’

‘And you’ve put up with that all these years?’

‘Yes,’ she said, almost in a tone of surprise. ‘Until the day came when I wouldn’t put up with it any more. And now we’re separated, soon to be divorced.’

Put like that it sounded so simple, and that was how she wanted to leave it. This wasn’t the time to speak of the pain, misery and disillusionment she’d endured as she had finally given up the fight to save her marriage.

It had been twelve years, starting in unbelievable happiness. And perhaps unbelievable was the right word, because she had believed the impossible.

At eighteen you convinced yourself of whatever suited you. You thought you could marry a tough, ambitious man and not suffer for it. You told yourself that love would soften him, that he would put you first, not every time, but often enough to count.

When that didn’t work you told yourself that the babies would make a difference. He was so proud of his children. Surely at least he would put them first?

‘He can’t have missed everything, surely?’ Jimmy asked now.

‘No, he was there for some birthdays, even some Christmases. But I always knew that if the phone rang he’d be off somewhere.’

Jimmy looked into her face, trying to see past the wry resignation to whatever she really felt. He doubted that she would let him catch a glimpse. She’d perfected that cheerful, unrevealing mask by now. That was what marriage to Alex Mead had done for her.

To Jimmy’s loving eyes there was little change from the dazzling bride of twelve years ago, gloriously blonde and blue-eyed in white satin and lace, unwittingly tormenting him with the opportunity he’d missed. But opportunities sometimes came again to a man who was patient.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘is there somewhere I can hide my costume so that the kids don’t find it?’

He was playing Santa at Hawksmere Hospital that evening, roped in by Corinne, a member of the ‘Friends of Hawksmere Hospital.’

‘It means going round the wards, ho-ho-ho-ing,’ she’d said. ‘And then you settle down in the grotto for the children who can walk out of the ward, or who happen to be in the hospital visiting someone.’

And Jimmy, good-natured as always, had agreed, just to please her.

‘You can put it in the boot of my car,’ she said now. ‘I’ll be leaving at five to take Bobby and Mitzi to a kids’ party. When I’ve dropped them off I’ll come back for you at six, and deliver you to the hospital by seven.’

‘Yes, sir!’ He saluted.

‘Idiot!’ She laughed.

‘I’m paying you a compliment. You’ve got this organisation thing down to a fine art,’ he said admiringly.

It was true; she was good at arrangements. Years of last-minute changes of plan, because Alex had been called away, had made her an expert.

‘At eight o’clock,’ she resumed, ‘I collect the kids and take them to the hospital, where they’ll find Santa already in place. They’ll never dream it’s you.’

‘What about coming home?’

‘Easy. When Bobby and Mitzi have finished I’ll take them to the “Friends” office on some errand that I’ll suddenly remember, while you get changed. When we leave the office we bump into you. We’ll say you’ve been visiting a friend.’

‘By the way, Alex won’t mind my staying here, will he?’

‘It doesn’t matter if he does,’ she said firmly. ‘Our marriage is over in all but name, and he has no say. Besides, you and I are related.’

Which wasn’t quite fair because she knew how Jimmy had always felt about her. But that was something she wasn’t ready to confront just yet.

‘It could be such a happy time,’ she said, ‘if only that phone doesn’t ring. But I’ll bet you anything you like that in the next few minutes Alex will call and say, “Corinne, there’s been a change of plan.” And I’ll be expected to be “reasonable” and not “make a fuss”.’

Her voice rose sharply on the last words, making her bite it back with an alarmed look at the door in case Bobby or Mitzi could hear.

‘Hey, steady.’ Jimmy gently took hold of her shoulders. ‘That’s all over, remember?’

‘It’s not really over.’ She sighed. ‘Not while Alex and I share children who can be hurt by him.’

‘In the end they’ll see him for what he is.’

‘But that’s just it. I don’t want them to see him for what he is. I want them to go on believing in him as the most wonderful, glorious father there ever was, because that’s what they need.’

‘Just don’t let yourself be hurt by him.’

‘No, that can’t happen any more.’

‘I wish I believed that.’

‘Believe it. I’m completely immune. Whatever was between Alex and me was over a long time ago.’ She gave him a bright smile. ‘Honestly.’

‘Mummy!’ came a shriek from the garden. ‘Uncle Jimmy! Come and look. It’s going to be a white Christmas.’

It wasn’t merely snowing; it was coming down in drifts, huge, thick snowflakes that settled and piled up. Jimmy immediately bounded out into the garden to join the children in a game. Corinne stood in the window, watching them jumping about and laughing. Dusk was falling and the only light came from the house. Through the driving snow she could only just make out the fast moving figures. They could have been anyone.

They could have been the newly-weds, blissful in their first Christmas, hurrying together through the snow to the shabby little flat that had been their first home.

And the happiest, she recalled now.

The next one had still been happy, but they had already been in their first proper house, with Alex promising her ‘a palace by next year’. She hadn’t wanted a palace. All she had asked was for her joy to last, but the first cracks were already appearing.

Even so, she hadn’t realised yet that she had a rival, a beloved mistress called Mead Consolidated. And, as years had passed, the rival had grown all-consuming. How wearily used she had grown to the phone calls, and Alex’s voice saying, ‘There’s been a change of plan.’

But not this year, she thought desperately. I don’t mind for myself, but don’t let him disappoint the children.

The phone rang.

For a moment she couldn’t move. Then, in a burst of anger, she snatched up the phone, and snapped, ‘Alex, is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me. Look, Corinne, there’s been a change of plan—’

On the last lap of the journey the snow began to come down even harder. Alex cursed and set his windscreen wipers to go fast.

It had been an awkward sort of day, with people forcing him to change course at the last moment, which he disliked. First Craddock and his mad Caribbean party, then, just as he was reaching out to call Corinne, the phone had rung.

It had been Craddock’s secretary to say that her boss had been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis. The whole trip was off. The signing would have to be done later.

The upside was that he could call Corinne and say he would be there a day earlier.

‘Alex, that’s wonderful. The children will be thrilled.’

‘OK, I’ll be there tonight, but I’m not sure when. The traffic’s difficult.’

‘We’re going out, but I’ll leave the key in a little box in the porch. Maybe you’ll be there when we get back.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you.’

The snow was coming down harder, and his car began to slide over the road. He slowed, but then more snow seemed to collect on his windscreen.

Why had she insisted on moving out to the very edge of London instead of staying in the mansion he’d bought her? It was a beautiful house, full of everything a wife could possibly want, but she had fled it without a backward glance.

And where had she chosen instead? A dump. A cottage. He knew he was exaggerating because it was a five-bedroom detached house, far better than where they’d lived when they were first married, but nothing compared to what he’d given her later.

It still hurt when he thought of the home he’d provided for her. The price had been extortionate, but he’d paid it willingly, thinking how thrilled Corinne would be.

It had had everything, including a paddock for the pony he intended to buy as soon as Bobby had learned to ride. Those riding lessons had been a kind of eldorado in his mind. How he would have loved them in his own childhood! And how different the reality had been!

But, for Bobby, everything would be perfect.

As always, he felt something melt inside him when he thought of his children, Mitzi, wide-eyed and appealingly cheeky. Bobby, quiet, self-assured even at nine, rapidly growing up to be a companion to his father.

And then Corinne had blown the whole dream apart. He’d come home one day to find the beautiful house empty and his family gone.

When he’d seen her again she’d talked about divorce, which he didn’t understand. There was nobody else for either of them, so who needed divorce? He’d refused even to consider it.

He had thought his firmness would make her see sense and come home, but she had quietly refused to budge. She would wait out the divorce, if necessary.

She didn’t actually say that the important thing was to be away from him, but the implication hung in the air.

He was nearing his destination now. He had never been there before, and darkness and snow made it hard to find the way. It was this road—no, the next!

Relieved, he swung the car into the turning and immediately saw a man crossing in front of him, moving slowly.

What happened next was too fast to follow, although later his mind replayed it in slow motion. The man saw him and began to run, and at the exact same moment he slammed on the brakes. The sudden sharp movement made the car skid over the ice that lay on the road beneath the snow.

It was the merest bad luck that the car went in the same direction as the man. Whether he, too, slithered on the ice or the car actually touched him nobody could ever be sure. But the next moment he was lying on the ground, groaning.

Alex brought the car to a cautious halt and got out. By now a woman had appeared from a house and hurried over to the victim. She was wrapped up in a thick jacket whose hood concealed everything about her head.

‘Jimmy? Oh, God, Jimmy, what happened?’

‘That idiot was going too fast. Hell, my shoulder!’

He winced and, clutching his neck, gasped with pain.

‘Corinne, can you give me your arm?’

‘Corinne?’

Alex drew back the side of the hood to her indignation.

‘Hey, what are you—? Alex! Did you do this?’

‘He slipped on the ice.’

‘Which I wouldn’t have done,’ Jimmy said, ‘if you hadn’t been going too fast to stop.’

‘I was barely doing—’

‘Shut up both of you,’ she said fiercely. ‘This isn’t the time.’

‘Right. I’ll call an ambulance.’

‘No need,’ Jimmy groaned. ‘We were on our way to the hospital anyway. Corinne, let’s just go. I’m sure it’s only a sprain and they can patch me up before I do my stuff.’

He climbed slowly to his feet, holding on to Corinne and refusing all offers of help from Alex. But when Corinne touched his arm he yelled with pain.

‘Be sensible,’ said Alex, tight-lipped. ‘If you don’t want an ambulance I’ll take you. Wait here!’

He strode off to where he’d parked. Jimmy, clinging to Corinne, gasped, ‘Corinne, please, anybody’s car but Alex’s.’

‘Fine. Mine’s just here.’

In a moment she’d opened the door and eased him into the passenger seat. She was starting the engine when Alex drew up beside her.

‘I said I’d take him,’ he yelled.

‘You don’t know the way. Wait for us in the house, Alex.’

She pulled away without waiting for his answer. Muttering angrily, Alex swung around to follow her. He’d just about recognised Jimmy from their wedding. As Corinne’s sole relative he had given her away, but his languishing looks had suggested that he would rather have been the groom.

Soon the main entrance of Hawksmere Hospital came into view. He followed Corinne and drew up behind her as she was opening the passenger door. From the way Jimmy moved he was more badly hurt than had appeared at first. Alex marched ahead into the hospital and up to the reception desk, emerging a few moments later with an orderly and a wheel-chair.

‘He’s right, Jimmy,’ Corinne said. ‘Let them take you in.’

Jimmy muttered something that Alex didn’t catch, which made Corinne exclaim, ‘To blazes with Santa Claus! It’s you that matters.’

They made a little procession into the hospital, the orderly wheeling Jimmy, Corinne beside them, and Alex bringing up the rear.

Once inside, Jimmy was whisked away to an examination cubicle. Now, Alex thought, he would get the chance to talk to Corinne, but she insisted on going too. There was nothing for him to do but sit down and wait, which he found the hardest thing in the world to do.

Relief came ten minutes later with the whirlwind arrival of an elderly lady of military aspect and forthright manner.

‘Where is he? I was told he’d arrived and we’re waiting for him.’

‘Who?’ asked Alex.

‘Santa Claus. Jimmy. Corinne promised he’d do it, but where is he?’

‘In a cubicle, having his shoulder examined,’ Alex said. ‘He met with an accident.’

‘Oh, dear! I do hope it isn’t serious. That would be most inconvenient.’

‘I dare say he’d find it inconvenient as well,’ Alex said sardonically.

She whirled on him like an avenging fury.

‘It’s easy for you to sit there and mock, but you don’t have a crowd of children who are expecting Santa to arrive with his sack and give out presents, and you’ve got to tell them that he isn’t coming.’

Alex was saved from having to answer this by the arrival of Corinne.

‘Mrs Bradon, I’m so sorry,’ she said at once. ‘Jimmy’s got a broken collar-bone and a cracked rib. I’m afraid he can’t be Santa.’

‘But can’t he be Santa with a broken collar-bone?’ Mrs Bradon asked wildly. ‘The children won’t mind.’

‘It’s being set now. He’s in a lot of pain,’ Corinne explained.

‘Well, they can give him something for that.’

‘They are giving him something, and it’s going to send him to sleep.’

‘Oh, really! That’s very tiresome!’

Alex’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Mrs Bradon’s single-mindedness would have been admirable in a boardroom, but here it was out of place.

‘There must be a way around the problem,’ he said.

‘Like what?’ Corinne confronted him, eyes flashing. ‘This is your fault. You ran Jimmy down, driving like a maniac.’

‘I was doing ten miles an hour, if that. He slipped on the ice. He always was a slowcoach.’

‘Well, he can’t be Santa, whatever the reason, and it was your car.’

The sheer injustice of this took his breath away.

‘What does it matter whose car it was if I didn’t hit him?’

‘Jimmy says you did.’

‘And I say I didn’t.’

‘Will you two stop making a fuss about things that don’t matter?’ Mrs Bradon said crossly. ‘We have a crisis on our hands.’

‘Surely not,’ Alex said, exasperated. ‘How hard can it be to play Santa? A bit of swagger, a ho-ho-ho or two—anyone can do it.’

‘Fine!’ said Corinne. ‘You do it!’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘What a wonderful idea!’ Mrs Bradon cut across him. ‘You’re about the same height so the costume will fit you. You have got it?’ This was to Corinne.

‘Yes, it’s in the car. And you’re right, the size is fine.’

‘I’m sure you don’t need me,’ Alex said defensively. ‘This is a hospital. There must be a dozen men around—’

‘There are a hundred,’ said Mrs Bradon firmly. ‘But they are doctors, nurses, ward orderlies. Which one of them do you suggest should be taken off his duties to save you from having to do your duty?’

‘It’s hardly my—’

‘You deprived us of our Santa Claus,’ said Mrs Bradon implacably. ‘It’s your job to take his place!’

‘Look, ladies—’

Alex met Corinne’s eyes, seeking her support. But she was looking at him angrily.

‘After all,’ she echoed him, ‘how hard can it be? A bit of swagger and a ho-ho-ho or two.’

‘All right, all right,’ he snapped.

‘Splendid!’ Mrs Bradon hooted triumphantly. ‘You’d better get to work right away. Corinne will show you what to do. Hurry up!’

She bustled away.

‘You’re finding this very funny, aren’t you?’ Alex growled.

‘It has its moments. When was the last time someone spoke to you like that without you flattening them in return?’

‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted.

‘I’ll get the costume and you can get to work.’

‘Corinne, wait.’ He detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘Must I really do this? Surely—’

‘Aha! Backing out!’ She began to cluck like a hen.

‘I am not chicken,’ he said furiously.

‘Sez who?’ she jeered. ‘You’re just afraid you’re not up to it. That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit that there is something you can’t do better than the next man.’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘No, you meant that it’s beneath you.’

‘I just think that there has to be another way.’

‘Of course there is. All you have to do is find a replacement who can do this in exactly ten minutes’ time.’

He ground his teeth.

‘All right. Get the costume and let’s get this over with.’

‘I’d rather you came out to the car with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.’

‘Dammit, Corinne!’ Alex said furiously. ‘Why must you overreact to everything? I’ve said I’ll do it, and I’ll do it. After all, how hard can it be?’

She fetched the costume and took him into a small kitchen where Jimmy had planned to change. As Alex dressed she explained his duties.

‘You have to go around both the children’s wards with your sack, giving out presents.’

‘How will I know who to give what?’

‘Leave that to me. I’ll be there. I’ll tell you who everyone is and hand you the right present. After that you go and sit by the big tree in the hall and you’ll get some children who are in here visiting people. Then I’ll have to leave you for a few minutes to collect Bobby and Mitzi.’

‘Did you tell them I called? That I was coming a day early?’

‘No, I thought I’d let it come as a nice surprise when you turned up.’

‘You mean you thought I’d let you down?’ he asked wryly.

‘Well, if I did I was wrong,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe I’ve done you an injustice. When I heard your voice I thought you were going to cry off again. But you didn’t, and that’s wonderful. It’ll be the best Christmas ever.’

Remembering how close he’d come to cancelling, he had the grace to feel awkward and was glad that fiddling with his beard gave him an excuse not to look at her.

‘Here,’ she said, laughing. ‘Let me fix that.’

‘There’s an awful lot of stuff to put on,’ Alex said. ‘I thought it would just be a white thing with hooks over the ears.’

‘Well, there are hooks, but there’s also glue so that it fits your mouth and stays in place. Jimmy believes in doing things properly. He got this from a theatrical costumier, and he chose the best.’

‘Jimmy?’

‘Jimmy is spending Christmas with us—or he was before he was knocked down by some maniac driver.’

‘I did not knock him down,’ Alex said through gritted teeth. ‘He fell.’

‘Whatever. He chose the costume, and it’s a good one.’

Alex had to admit that it was the best. The beard was soft and silky, gleaming white, with a huge moustache that flowed down into the beard itself. When it was fixed in place it covered his mouth almost completely.

But there was something else.

‘A wig?’ he protested.

‘Of course. How can you be convincing with a white beard and brown hair?’

‘Won’t my hair be covered by a hood?’

‘Even with a hood they’d notice. Children notice everything these days. They see wonderful special effects on films and television, and when they get close up to reality they expect it to be just as convincing.’

He grumbled some more, but when the wig was on he had to admit that it looked impressive. Long, thick and flowing, it streamed down over his shoulders, mingling with the beard, which was also long and flowing.

He looked nothing like himself, and that was some consolation, he reflected. At least nobody would be able to identify him.

He was beginning to get into the part now, driven by the instinct that governed his life—to be the best at whatever he undertook.

If you weren’t the best there was no point in doing it. Right?

In some respects he had the physique, being over six foot. But there was one flaw.

‘I’m too thin,’ he objected. ‘This suit was made for someone a lot bigger.’

‘There’s some padding,’ Corinne said, diving back into the bag.

With the padding in place he had a satisfactory paunch.

‘Will I do?’ he demanded.

‘Your cheeks need to be rosier.’

‘Get off! What are you doing?’

‘Just a little red to make you convincing.’

‘I won’t even ask what you’ve just put on my face.’ He groaned. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘You look great. Completely convincing. Now, let’s have a ho-ho-ho!’

‘Ho-ho-ho!’ he intoned.

‘No, you need to be more full and rounded. Try it again, and make it boom this time.’

‘Ho-ho-ho!’

To her surprise, he made a good job of it.

‘Well done,’ she said. ‘That was really convincing.’

‘You thought I couldn’t be?’

‘Jimmy never manages it that way. He tries but it comes out sounding reedy.’

‘What about my eyebrows?’ Alex asked. ‘Are they white enough?’

He was right. His dark brown eyebrows now looked odd against the gleaming white hair and whiskers.

‘There aren’t any false eyebrows,’ she said, inspecting the bag. ‘You’ll have to go as you are.’

‘No way. We’ll do this properly. This is a kitchen, right? Won’t there be some flour?’

‘The kitchen’s just for making tea,’ Corinne objected, opening cupboard doors.

But, against all odds, she found a small bag of flour with some left inside.

‘Fancy you thinking of that,’ she said, rubbing it into his eyebrows until the natural colour faded.

‘When I was a kid I wanted to be an actor,’ he said.

‘You never told me that before.’

‘I was never trapped under half a ton of gum and whiskers before.’

She stood back and regarded him.

‘You look great,’ she said. ‘Here’s your sack of toys, all labelled. Are you ready?’

‘Let’s go!’

CHAPTER TWO

ELEPHANT WARD had been designed and decorated for children. Streams of cheerful-looking cartoon elephants walked around the walls and played games with their trunks.

Alex stood in the doorway and boomed, ‘Ho-ho-ho!’ to an accompaniment of shrieks from the rows of beds. When it quietened, Corinne murmured, ‘First bed on the right, Tommy Arkright, broken pelvis. Fascinated by ghosts.’

Whoever had planned this had done it well, Alex realised as soon as he began talking to Tommy. The name, the ailment and the interest were all accurate, and when Tommy unwrapped his gift, which turned out to be a book of ghost stories, it was a triumphant moment.

It was the same with the next child, and the next. From being self-conscious, Alex began to relax, and even to enjoy himself. In part this was due to the knowledge that he was unrecognisable. Not that people here would have known him anyway, but the total anonymity still made him feel easier.

He was in a good temper when he came to the end of the ward and turned in the doorway for a final wave and a cry of, ‘Goodbye, everyone.’

‘Goodbye, Santa!’ came the answering roar.

‘I’ll say this for that Bradon woman,’ he growled as they headed down the corridor towards Butterfly Ward. ‘She prepared the ground properly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Every detail was right. Good preparation is the secret.’

‘I agree. But why do you give the credit to her?’

‘Didn’t she organise all this?’

‘No, I did, you rotten so-and-so,’ she said indignantly. ‘I personally went round every child, asking questions, trying not to be too obvious about it.’

‘You?’ His surprise was unflattering but she told herself she was past being bothered by him now.

‘Yes, me,’ she said lightly. ‘Feather-brained Corinne who can just about manage a shopping list, remember? I prepared the ground, gathered intelligence, surveyed the prospects—er—’ She clutched her forehead, trying to think of other businesslike expressions.

‘Appraised the situation?’ He helped her out. ‘You did a great job.’

‘So did you.’

‘Much to your amazement,’ he said with a grin that she could just detect behind the beard.

‘You see over there—’ she said, not answering directly ‘—the Christmas tree in the corner?’

‘Yes.’

‘When you’ve finished on Butterfly Ward that’s where you go and sit. I’m off to collect Bobby and Mitzi, and I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

‘Are you going to tell them it’s me?’

‘No, I think it will be nicer not to. Let’s see if they guess.’

‘Of course they’ll guess. I’m their father.’

She did not reply.

On Butterfly Ward it was the same as before, except that now he was full of confidence and performed his part with a touch of swagger that went down well.

Corinne stayed long enough to see him settle in before leaning down to murmur, ‘I’m off now. Back soon.’

It was only a few minutes’ drive to the house where the party was being held. Bobby and Mitzi piled into the car, wearing party hats, clutching gifts and giggling.

‘No need to ask if you had a good time,’ Corinne said.

‘And now we’re going to see Father Christmas,’ Mitzi yelled gleefully.

Bobby touched Corinne’s arm and spoke quietly. ‘Is Daddy still coming?’

‘Yes, darling, he’s still coming.’

‘He didn’t cancel while we were at the party?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

He searched her face.

‘Are you sure?’

Until then Corinne had been feeling in charity with Alex, but at the sight of Bobby’s painful anxiety she discovered that she could hate him again. No man had the right to do that to a child, to destroy his sense of security in his parents, so that every moment of happiness had to be checked and re-checked to discover the catch.

‘Darling, I give you my word. Daddy has not cancelled and he isn’t going to.’

He settled into the car, apparently satisfied.

‘By the way—’ she said as she drove to the hospital ‘—Uncle Jimmy had an accident. He fell over on the icy road and broke his collar-bone.’

They were loud in their cries of dismay.

‘Will Uncle Jimmy be in hospital for Christmas?’ Bobby asked.

‘I don’t know. They’re putting him in plaster now. When I’ve delivered you to Santa I’ll go up to see him.’

At the hospital she took them straight to where Alex should be sitting by the tree, only half expecting him to be there.

But of course he was there! Alex had run his pride up this flagpole and it was really no surprise that he was doing well. He had one child on his knee and another standing beside him, while their mother looked on, smiling. There were three others waiting.

Corinne inched forward carefully, keeping her eyes on Bobby and Mitzi, waiting for the moment of recognition.

It didn’t come.

Of course it was the beard and hair, she realised. The disguise was magnificent. It would be different when they were closer.

At that moment Alex looked up. His eyes went first to Corinne, then to the children, then back to Corinne, while his eyebrows signalled a question. Almost imperceptibly she shook her head.

She took them to the end of the little queue, said something to them and walked away.

Alex was glad that he’d bothered to dress up properly when he heard one child mutter, just audibly, ‘He looks like a real Santa, Mummy.’

At last his own two children stood before him, Mitzi keeping back a little. It was weeks since he’d seen her, and he’d forgotten how fast children grew. Her hair, which had been short, was now long enough to wear in bunches which stood out from her head, giving her the appearance of a cheeky elf. He couldn’t help grinning at the picture she presented.

But right now she was solemn and seemed unwilling to come forward.

‘Go on,’ Bobby urged her.

But she shook her head.

‘She’s a bit shy,’ Bobby confided to Santa.

‘But I’m—’ He checked himself, and amended the words to, ‘But I’m Santa Claus. Nobody is shy of me.’

He waited for one of them to say, Daddy! But neither of them did.

Of course, he thought. They were pretending not to know, enjoying the joke.

He leaned down to Mitzi. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what you want for Christmas?’ Big mistake. Mitzi was surveying him, wide-eyed with astonishment.

‘But I already told you. I put it in my letter. Didn’t you get it?’

‘Of course I did,’ he improvised hastily.

Over her head his frantic eyes met Bobby’s. The boy mouthed ‘Marianne doll set.’

Since he’d never heard of this, Alex had to signal bafflement with his eyebrows. Bobby mouthed it again, more emphatically, and this time Alex understood. ‘Ah, now I remember. You want a Marianne doll set,’ he echoed, and saw his daughter’s eyes light up.

‘The one in the riding habit,’ his son mouthed at him.

‘The one in the riding habit,’ Alex repeated.

Mitzi’s beaming smile told him he’d got it right.

‘But is that all?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t there anything else you’ve thought of since?’

Mitzi hesitated until her brother nudged her gently and whispered, ‘Go on.’

Emboldened, the little girl reached up to say, ‘And can I have a necklace?’

‘Of course you can,’ Alex said.

Suddenly the little girl hugged him. He tensed, thinking of the beard that might be dislodged. But it held, and he became aware of her arms, holding him without restraint.

She had hugged him before, but not like that. Now he knew what he had always sensed in her embraces. It had been caution. And it wasn’t there now.

Before he had time to take in the implications, she had released him and moved aside, making room for her brother, who came in close.

But before addressing Santa he wagged a finger at his sister.

‘Don’t wander off,’ he told her severely.

She stuck out her tongue.

‘Does she give you much trouble?’ Alex asked with a grin.

‘She’s OK most of the time,’ Bobby said seriously. ‘But sometimes she won’t do as I say ’cos I’m not very much older than her.’

It was a three-year difference, but a sudden inspiration made Alex say, ‘About five years?’

Bobby looked pleased. ‘Not quite as much as that,’ he admitted. ‘But almost. And it’s a great responsibility being the man of the family.’

‘The man of—? Don’t you have a father?’

Bobby made a face. ‘Sort of.’

Alex felt an uneasy stillness settle over him.

‘What do you mean, sort of?’

‘Well, I don’t really know him very well,’ Bobby said. ‘He’s not around much.’

‘I expect he’s busy,’ Alex said.

‘Oh, yes, he’s always very busy. Too busy for us. He and Mummy aren’t together any more.’

‘Do you know why that is?’ Alex asked carefully.

Bobby gave a shrug.

‘They were always rowing, and Mummy cried a lot.’

A strange feeling went through Alex. Corinne had never let him see her cry. Not for a long time.

‘Did she tell you why she cried?’ he asked.

Bobby shook his head.

‘She doesn’t know I’ve seen her and I have to pretend not to, because she doesn’t like anyone to know.’

‘So you don’t know why?’

Bobby shook his head.

‘Perhaps she misses your dad?’ Alex ventured.

‘I don’t think so. He’s nasty to her.’

‘How?’ Alex asked, a touch more sharply than he’d meant to.

‘I don’t know, but when they talk on the phone she cries after she’s hung up. But he doesn’t mean to be nasty,’ Bobby added quickly. ‘He just doesn’t know how people feel about things.’

Alex hesitated for a while before saying, ‘So maybe it’s better that they’re not together?’

‘Oh, no,’ Bobby said, shaking his head vigorously. ‘He’s coming home for Christmas and it’s going to be brilliant—that is—if he really comes.’

‘Has he said he will?’

‘Yes, but—’ Bobby’s shrug was more eloquent than a thousand words.

Alex could not speak. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head, and they were all of the kind he found hard to cope with. The best he could manage was to put his arm around Bobby’s shoulders and squeeze.

‘You think he’ll back out?’ he asked at last.

‘I keep telling myself he’ll be there,’ Bobby said. ‘It isn’t for long. Just Christmas Eve until Christmas Day. He could spare us that, couldn’t he?’

‘I should think he could spare you more than that,’ Alex managed to say in a voice that he hoped didn’t shake too much.

‘Could you fix it?’ Bobby asked.

‘You want me to arrange for him to stick around for longer than that?’

‘Oh, no,’ Bobby disclaimed quickly, as though saying that nobody should ask for the impossible. ‘Just make sure he’s there for when he said he’d be.’

‘All right. It’s a promise.’

Bobby searched his face anxiously. ‘You really mean it?’

‘You think I can’t do it?’

Bobby shook his head, his eyes fixed on Santa with a look in them that was almost fierce.

‘You can do anything,’ he said, ‘if you really want to.’

The air seemed to be singing in Alex’s ears. He wondered if he’d imagined the emphasis in the last words.

‘Then I promise,’ he said.

‘Honestly? Dad will be here until Christmas Day, and he won’t leave early?’

Alex was swept by a mood of recklessness. ‘I can do better than that,’ he said. ‘He’ll arrive early, and he’ll stay longer than Christmas Day.’

He waited for the effusion of joy. It did not come. If anything, the fierce scrutiny on the child’s face intensified.

‘Really and truly?’ he asked. ‘Cut your throat and hope to die?’

‘Of course. When I give my word, I keep it.’

‘That’s what he says,’ insisted Bobby. And suddenly it was a child’s voice again, forlorn and almost on the edge of tears.

Alex put his hands on both Bobby’s shoulders.

‘He will be there tonight,’ he said. ‘You have my solemn promise. Word of a Santa!’

Bobby nodded, as though satisfied.

‘Now,’ Alex said, ‘tell me what you want for Christmas.’

‘But I just did,’ Bobby said.

‘That’s it? Nothing else?’

‘That’s the thing that matters. And you said I could have it. You promised.’

‘Yes, I did. So you just go on home and see what happens.’

Bobby smiled, and for the first time it was the happy, natural smile of a child. It made Alex feel as though he had been punched in the stomach.

‘All right, you two?’ It was Corinne, appearing suddenly. ‘Move along. Father Christmas still has customers.’

Another three children had joined the little queue, and Bobby and Mitzi moved off to join their mother.

‘How’s Uncle Jimmy?’ Bobby asked. ‘Can he come home?’

‘We might get him home tomorrow. We’ll have to wait and see. Come on, let’s be off home. Goodbye, Santa.’

‘Goodbye, Santa,’ they chorused.

Alex raised a hand in a gesture of farewell and turned back to his next ‘customer’ with reluctance.

He wasn’t sure how he got through the next few minutes. His mind followed Corinne and the children out of the hospital and into her car, watching them talking, wondering what they were saying.

At last it was over and he was free to go. To his relief, Mrs Bradon joined him in the kitchen just as he finished changing. He would not have thought it possible that he could have been glad to see her.

‘What about the costume?’ he asked.

‘Just take it with you. Corinne will know what to do with it.’

He packed up the costume into its bag and tossed it into the back of his car. On the journey, he wondered how much Corinne would have told the children after they left.

When he reached the house he intended to go straight in. Instead, he found himself sitting in the silent car, trying to psyche himself into taking the next step.

It should be his great moment. He would burst through the front door, keeping Santa’s promise and enjoying the look on his children’s faces.

Without warning, his courage failed. He didn’t know why. His son had spoken like a child who loved his father and looked forward to seeing him. Yet he had said, ‘It isn’t for long, just Christmas Eve until Christmas Day. He could spare us that, couldn’t he?’

Something about those words haunted Alex painfully.

He could spare us that, couldn’t he?

Was that how Bobby saw his father? Doling out his time in small, begrudged amounts?

He did not want to go inside the house.

Cowardice. The weakness he had always despised most.

With sudden decision, he got out of the car. In the porch he hunted for the key that Corinne had left out for him, hearing sounds inside the house. There was her voice.

‘Bobby, what are you doing in the hall?’

‘Nothing, Mummy.’

‘Come and have an iced bun.’ That was Mitzi, a little more distant, sounding as if her mouth was full.

‘In a minute,’ Bobby replied. His voice still came from the hall.

Then Corinne’s voice.

‘Darling, why are you watching the front door?’

Suddenly, as though a spotlight had come on inside him, he saw his son’s face, staring at the front door with painful intensity, not daring to believe.

He didn’t know where that light had come from, except that it had something to do with his talk with Bobby. It lit all the world from a new angle, showing what had always been there, but which he’d never noticed.

He turned the key.

‘Daddy!’

The ear-splitting shriek came from Mitzi. Corinne was standing by the kitchen door, watching his arrival with pleasure. Only Bobby did not react. He stood completely still, his face a mask of total and utter disbelief.

Alex wanted to cry out, But I promised you. You knew I was coming. Instead, he concentrated on hugging his daughter, who was almost strangling him with the exuberance of her embrace.

‘Hello, darling,’ he said.

‘Daddy, Daddy,’ she carolled.

‘Hey, don’t choke me,’ he said, laughing. ‘How’s my girl?’

She gave him a smacking kiss, which he returned. Then it was time to face his son.

Bobby was strangely pale. ‘Hello, Daddy,’ he said.

‘Hello, son.’

To his dismay, Bobby held out his hand politely, almost as though meeting a stranger. Or a ghost.

‘Hello, Daddy.’

Then he broke suddenly, as belief came rushing through, and flung himself against his father, burying his face against him.

Alex’s arms closed protectively about his son as he felt the storm of emotion go through the child. He didn’t know what to do except stay as he was, trying to understand but feeling helpless.

Looking up, he found Corinne’s eyes on him. Her expression was gentle but he had the feeling that she was conveying a warning.

Bobby drew back to look at his father. His face bore the marks of tears, which he rubbed aside hastily. Alex brushed some of them away with his own fingertips.

‘It’s all right, son,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m home.’

Bobby sniffed. ‘Hello, Daddy.’

‘Hey, is that any way to greet your old man? Crying? Shall I go away again?’

It was a feeble joke and a badly misjudged one. Bobby clung to him, his eyes full of sudden dread, and Alex drew in his breath. He was floundering badly.

‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily,’ he backtracked, saying anything that came into his head. ‘I’m here now and I’m staying. You’ve got me for Christmas, whether you like it or not.’

Mitzi began hopping about, yelling, ‘Yippee, Yippee!’ Bobby, the thoughtful one, smiled.

‘Come on, kids,’ said Corinne. ‘Let Daddy come in and get his breath back.’

Alex straightened up and kissed her cheek. Corinne did the same, smiling to present a show of cordiality for the children.

‘You said you weren’t coming until tomorrow,’ Mitzi reminded him.

‘Well, I got away early and thought it would be nice to see a bit more of you.’ He tweaked her hair. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

She shook her head ecstatically and pointed to the centre of her mouth. ‘I lost a tooth,’ she informed him proudly.

He studied the gap with great interest. ‘That’s very impressive. When did that happen?’

‘Last week,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry I missed that.’

‘I saved it for you,’ she reassured him.

‘Then I’ll look forward to seeing it,’ he said gamely.

Mitzi promptly pulled it out of her pocket. Alex heard Corinne give a soft choke of laughter.

‘How about selling it to me?’ he said. ‘I’ll bid you a pound.’

Mitzi made a face.

‘One pound fifty?’

She finally got him up to two pounds and the deal was struck. Mitzi pocketed her profit and went off to explain to Bobby how to do business.

‘A chip off the old block,’ Corinne said when Alex joined her in the kitchen.

‘Better,’ he agreed. ‘At her age I’d have settled for fifty pence.’

‘Ah, but don’t forget inflation,’ she said, teasing. ‘I’ll say this for you—you coped very well with that tooth. I thought it was going to faze you.’

‘Nothing fazes me,’ he insisted. Then he looked at the tooth in his hand. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

‘Treasure it.’ She laughed. ‘You just paid a high price for it. I expect you’re ready for something to eat.’

‘I don’t know when I last ate,’ he admitted.

‘I do,’ she said, giving him a friendly smile. ‘Breakfast was a cup of black coffee. You meant to catch up at lunchtime, but you were caught between meetings so you made do with a sandwich.’

‘Am I that predictable?’

‘Yes.’

‘I had a roll in the car on my way here.’

‘Oh, well, then. You don’t need the steak I got for you.’

Suddenly he was ravenous. ‘Just try me.’

She poured him some tea, very strong and heavily sugared, as he liked it, and he wandered into the next room. Like the rest of the house, it was decorated with paper chains and tinsel.

It was an old house, full of a kind of shambling charm. The original fireplace was still there, although only a vase of artificial flowers adorned it now, and, out of sight, the chimney was blocked to keep out draughts.

Beside it stood the tree. It was smaller and less impressive than the one in his office, and the fairy on the top looked wonky, as though she were clinging on for dear life. But the parcels around the base were all addressed to people and, when picked up, rattled reassuringly.

Alex stood looking at it and suddenly the inner light shone again, showing him that this was a real tree, with real presents, for real people.

He looked at some of the labels. There were gifts from Corinne to the children and from them to her, gifts from Jimmy to all of them, and from them to him. It occurred to him how often Jimmy’s name appeared.

‘Time for bed, kids,’ Corinne called. ‘There’s lots to do tomorrow.’

‘I want Daddy to put me to bed,’ Mitzi said at once.

‘All right,’ Alex said. To Bobby he added, ‘What do you want?’

‘I put myself to bed,’ the child said gruffly. ‘But you can look in, if you want.’

‘Fine.’

His daughter bounded all over him and rode on his back down the hall to her bedroom, which turned out to be a shrine to horses. Horse pictures adorned the walls; horses leapt all over her duvet cover. Her slippers were shaped like horses and picture books about horses filled her shelves.

Alex spoke without thinking. ‘Now I understand.’

He meant the Marianne doll in the riding habit that she had mentioned to Santa earlier. With his little girl’s eyes on him he remembered, too late, that he was supposed to know nothing.

‘Now I understand what you’ve been doing recently,’ he improvised. ‘We’ll have lots to talk about tomorrow. Goodnight, pet.’

He kissed her and departed hastily before he could make any more slips.

Bobby’s bedroom was curiously unrevealing. There were no pictures on the wall, or books, beyond a few school books. Alex flicked through one of these.

‘Good marks,’ he observed. ‘You’re working hard, then?’

Bobby nodded.

‘That’s good. Good.’ He was floundering. ‘Are you all right, son? All right here, I mean?’

‘Yes, it’s nice.’

‘Don’t you miss your old home?’

Bobby hunted for the right words. ‘Places don’t really matter.’

‘No. People matter. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, I’m here now.’

‘Yes.’

Alex searched his face. ‘You are glad, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

He would have doubted it if it hadn’t been for their memory of the earlier conversation. How could all that have gone?

Because now he knows it’s me.

‘Tomorrow’s a big day,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Yes.’

It was becoming a disaster. He had resolved to act on what he’d learned from Bobby that evening, and use it to make this visit a triumph. That was the secret of success—good intelligence and knowing how to use it. But all his gains were slipping away.

‘Daddy—’

‘What is it?’ His voice betrayed his eagerness.

‘Tomorrow, will you ask Mitzi about the school play? She was ever so good in it.’

The school play? The school play? His mind frantically tried to grapple with this. When had it been? Why hadn’t he known?

‘It was a pantomime—’ Bobby said, reading his face without trouble ‘—and Mitzi was an elf. She had two lines.’

‘Er—?’

‘It was last week. You were abroad.’

‘Of course—yes—otherwise I’d have—’

‘Yeah, sure. You will remember to ask her, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. Goodnight, son.’

Corinne said her goodnights after him. As they passed in the corridor she said, ‘I’ve put you in that room at the end. Your things are in there.’

He looked in before going downstairs. It was a small, neat room with a narrow bed.

Alex thought about the other rooms. Presumably Corinne had the big room on the corner of the house, but where, he wondered, had she put Jimmy?

CHAPTER THREE

HE CAME down the stairs so quietly that Corinne didn’t hear him, and he had a moment to stand watching her as she worked in the kitchen.

The steak smelled good, and suddenly he was transported back to the early days of their marriage, when steak had been a luxury. But somehow she had managed to wring the price out of the meagre housekeeping money they had.

They had been partners—laughing at poverty, competing with each other in loving generosity, squabbling to give each other the last titbit. But that was long ago.

The years had barely touched her, he thought. The slim, graceful figure that had once enchanted him was the same, two children later.

She had been gorgeous at eighteen—beautiful, sexy, witty, knowing her own power over young men and enjoying it. They had all competed for her, but Alex had made sure that he was the one who won her.

Her face had changed little, except that it was thinner, and the ready laughter no longer sprang to her eyes. They were still large, beautiful eyes but there was a sad caution there now.

‘It’s ready,’ she called, seeing him.

Like every meal she had ever cooked him it was excellent—the wine perfectly chosen, the salad exactly as it should be.

Their last meeting had been three months ago, and it had ended in a fierce quarrel. Since then there had been communication between lawyers, and the odd phone call that had left each of them resolved that it should be the last. Her invitation for Christmas had been delivered through a letter addressed to his office.

‘Thank you for letting me come,’ he said quietly.

‘I didn’t think you would. I was amazed that you actually turned up early. What happened? Did something more important fall through?’

He winced.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘There’s nothing more important than being with my family,’ he said emphatically.

‘It means the world to the children.’

‘What about you, Corinne?’

‘Never mind about me. This is their time.’

‘But I do mind about you. It’s ours too, isn’t it?’

‘Well, it’s a chance for us to be civilized with each other. We haven’t done much of that lately.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes, that’s all. I’m not your wife any more—’

‘The hell you aren’t!’ he said with the swift anger that sometimes overtook him these days. ‘We’re not divorced yet, and maybe we never will be.’

She regarded him with a quizzical air that was new to him. ‘You have to win every negotiation, don’t you? But you won’t win this one, Alex. So why don’t we just leave it there? I don’t want to spoil this holiday.’

‘Is there someone else?’

The question jerked out of him abruptly, without finesse, tact or subtlety.

She sat silent.

‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

‘No, there’s nobody else. I don’t want anyone else. That’s not why I left you.’

‘Just to get away from me, huh?’

‘If you care to put it that way—yes. But why must we put it that way or any way? It’s Christmas, Alex. Let it go.’

‘All right,’ he said hastily.

As she set coffee before him she said, ‘How about you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Do you have someone else?’

‘Do you care?’ he growled.

‘If you can ask, so can I,’ she said lightly.

‘Except that you broke up this marriage. That hardly gives you a stake in the answer.’

She shrugged. ‘You’re right. Do you want a drop of brandy in that?’

‘Thanks.’

As she was pouring the brandy he said, ‘The answer’s no.’

She didn’t answer directly, but she took his cup and carried it and her own into the next room, where the tree glowed.

‘Sit down and relax,’ she said. ‘You look dead on your feet.’

He leaned back in an armchair, closing his eyes, desperately tired in a way that had nothing to do with work. Mercifully he felt the strain begin to drain away, leaving him as close to being relaxed as he ever came.

‘How did it go after I left the hospital?’ Corinne asked. ‘Did the children recognise you?’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘At least, they didn’t show it if they did.’

‘Mitzi would have shown it,’ Corinne said at once. ‘She’s got no subtlety, that little one. Her riding instructor says she has no nerves, but lots of nerve.’

‘Riding instructor?’ Alex queried. ‘She’s learning to ride too?’

Corinne shook her head. ‘Just her. Bobby gave it up.’

‘Don’t tell me he was afraid?’ Alex said sharply.

‘No, not afraid. Bored. It just didn’t interest him, and there are other things he wants to do. But Mitzi is crazy about horses, so she does it instead.’

He was silent, swallowing his disappointment. Corinne eyed him sympathetically.

‘Come out of the nineteenth century,’ she chided.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘In those days you could have told Bobby what he had to be interested in, but not now. He doesn’t have to ride a horse just because you wanted to and couldn’t.’

Alex’s father had mucked out stables for a racehorse trainer. Alex had grown up surrounded by beautiful animals, none of which he had been allowed to touch.

‘And it has to be your son who carries on your dream, doesn’t it?’ Corinne pursued. ‘Somehow a daughter isn’t the same. Pure nineteenth century.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ he growled.

‘No, it isn’t. It’s the way your mind works. But you ought to go and see Mitzi ride, see how good she is.’

‘All right, I will.’

‘You’d be proud of Mitzi. She’s a real natural. In fact, I think you ought to learn yourself.’

‘Me? Take riding lessons?’

‘Why not? You used to tell me how it was your dream when you were a boy. What’s the point of making all that money if you don’t spend some of it making your dreams come true?’

It flashed across his mind that he was too busy earning it to enjoy spending it, but all he said was, ‘Sure, and let my six-year-old daughter make rings round me!’

‘Well, she’s bound to at first, because she’s had some practice and you’re just a beginner,’ Corinne said, ‘but I’m sure she’d make allowances for you.’

He gave a reluctant grin at her teasing. Suddenly he remembered, ‘She says she wants a Marianne doll set, the one in the riding suit. What’s she talking about?’

“‘Marianne” is the latest craze. It’s a doll that comes with its own lifestyle—ballgown, ballet tutu, riding habit.’

‘Where do I get one?’

To his bewilderment Corinne rocked with laughter.

‘You don’t think I left it to the last minute, do you? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. People have been trampling each other to death in toy shops for the last two months. Don’t worry, I’ve got one tucked safely away. You can give it to her, if you like.’

‘Do you think I haven’t bought her a present?’

‘No, I think you’ve probably got her something very expensive. But what she wants is that doll, and if you give it to her you’ll be her hero.’

‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’d like that. And she also wants a necklace.’

‘I’ve got that too,’ she assured him.

‘Like I said earlier, you’re really well organised. I could do with a few like you in the firm.’

‘Funny, Jimmy says the same.’ Corinne laughed. ‘Only he says they need me in the army. It makes me wonder how the country has muddled along without me for so long.’

Alex scowled. He didn’t want to talk, or even think, about Jimmy.

‘Anyway, Mitzi’s easy to understand,’ Corinne went on. ‘Bobby is more complicated, and it’s much harder to know what he’s thinking. Did he recognise you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Alex said slowly. ‘I honestly don’t know. He didn’t say anything, but—Corinne he was just a few inches away from me. Surely he must have recognised his own father?’

‘It was a very complete disguise,’ she reminded him. ‘The wig and the hair and the padding. And he wasn’t expecting you to arrive today.’

The words, And he hasn’t seen you for weeks, hung in the air.

‘Did he tell you what he wanted?’ Corinne asked. ‘I think I’ve got that covered too, but I’d be glad of any “insider tips” you picked up.’

Oh sure, he thought, my son said he wanted me home for Christmas, like it was an impossible fantasy. He reckons he has a ‘sort of’ father, and he’s bracing himself for when I let him down.

‘Hey, there!’ Corinne was waving. ‘Anybody home?’

‘Sorry!’ he said, forcing himself to smile. ‘No, I didn’t get any inside information. You’ll have to tell me. What’s his big interest?’

‘Drawing, painting—anything to do with art.’

‘Doesn’t he like soccer or any sports?’

‘He watches them on television, but his interests are the quiet ones.’

‘Corinne, are you sure? He’s never said anything about drawing to me.’

‘Of course not. He knows you wouldn’t like it. But he’s passionate about drawing and painting since he discovered that he has a talent for it. He’s just getting deep into water-colours now, and if you gave him something connected with that he’d be thrilled. But I’ll bet you’ve bought him a pair of riding boots.’

‘Among other things,’ Alex growled. ‘I suppose you don’t want me to give them to him?’

‘That’s up to you.’

‘Sure!’ he snapped. ‘Like I’m going to dig my own grave by giving him something he doesn’t want, thus proving I’m the useless father that you claim! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Once in a blue moon Corinne lost her temper. She did so now—big time!

‘Don’t be stupid, Alex! I know it’s hard, but try not to be laughably, moronically stupid. If that’s what I wanted I wouldn’t be warning you now, would I?’

‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘Sorry. I didn’t—I just fly off the handle sometimes. I don’t mean to. I shouldn’t have said it.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s the children who matter. Just try to see Bobby as he is, and not as “Alex Mead’s son.” How I’ve come to hate “Alex Mead’s son”!’

‘What the devil do you mean by that?’

‘He’s a character who’s hung around our home ever since Bobby was born. He has plenty of “boy’s interests.” He likes the “manly” sports and anything that involves getting dirty. He’s got no time for art or music or thinking, and he’s the opposite to Bobby.

‘That boy has spent his life so far pretending to care for things that bore him rigid because that was the only way to get your attention. He knew ages ago that he didn’t fit the picture of your ideal son. In fact, the only person I know who does fit it is Mitzi.’

He was silent, too shocked to speak.

At last she got up and brought him another brandy.

‘Thanks. I need it.’

When he’d revived his courage a little he managed to ask, ‘If I’m so hateful why does he bother to pretend?’

‘Because he adores you,’ Corinne said. ‘He worships you. He’d go through fire and water for you. Haven’t you got that through your thick skull yet?’

She broke off and gave a sigh of frustration. ‘We’re quarrelling again.’

‘Yeah, well—’ He shrugged, sharing her frustration.

He was saved from needing to say any more by the sound of his cellphone coming from the hall. He answered it with relief.

It was Mark Dunsford, his assistant, as zealous about business as he was himself. Mark was jealous of Kath, who had been with Alex longer and had his total trust. He tried to compensate by giving himself to the job, body and soul, twenty-four hours a day, and making sure that his employer knew it.

‘I just wondered if you had any final instructions for me,’ he said now.

‘No way. It’s Christmas. Get off home to your family.’

‘I don’t have a family.’

‘Well, get off home, anyway. Or wherever you get off to.’

‘Wherever I am, I’ll be keeping an eye on things. I thought that you would be, too.’

‘Mark, lighten up. It’s Christmas. There’s nothing to keep an eye on.’

‘All right, but perhaps you’d better give me a contact number where you are. I know I can call the cellphone, but another number is always useful.’

He hesitated. Nothing was likely to happen, but it was as well to be prepared.

‘OK. The phone number of this house is—’

He stopped. Corinne had wandered out into the hall and was looking at him, her head on one side.

‘No,’ he said. ‘This is a private number. I can’t give it out and I’d rather you didn’t contact me at all. In an emergency, use the cellphone, but it had better be life or death or there’ll be trouble. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

‘But—’

‘Goodbye, Mark.’

He hung up and looked at Corinne with a touch of defiance.

‘Thank you,’ she said warmly.

He put out his hand and she took it between both of hers. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a great Christmas.’

Her eyes were as warm as her voice and he tightened his hand. But the next moment she stepped back, smiling and saying, ‘It’s time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.’

Next morning the snow lay thick on the ground as they had Christmas Eve breakfast.

‘Are we going to see Uncle Jimmy?’ Mitzi asked.

‘No need,’ Corinne said. ‘I’ve already called the hospital and he can come home. I’m going to fetch him later. You three can go shopping.’

The children cheered, but a few minutes later Alex took her aside.

‘It’s a bit soon for him to be leaving hospital, isn’t it?’

‘Hospitals don’t encourage people to stay over Christmas, and it’s only a collar-bone. I can look after him here. Jimmy’s been kind to me.’

She saw him scowl and said firmly, ‘Alex, I am not leaving him to spend Christmas in hospital. Besides, you’ll be the gainer.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll be spending a lot of time with Jimmy, leaving you with the children. So, you make the most of it.’

For a man who wanted to be with his children it was a good bargain. But ‘I’ll be spending a lot of time with Jimmy’ had a melancholy sound.

Alex became aware that Bobby was signalling to him, and remembered.

‘So, tell me how the school play went,’ he said, tweaking Mitzi’s hair. ‘I want to know all about it.’

She produced her photo album so fast that it was clear she’d had it ready, and they began turning the pages together. There she was in a green hat and green costume with bells, giving the world her wide, gap-toothed grin.

Alex gave her an answering grin, but it was too late to smile back at her. It was only a week ago but that mischievous imp was already gone for ever.

Along with many other things.

After that he made a good job of it, showing an enthusiasm that Mitzi, the unsubtle, accepted at face value. When she’d gone away happy he met Bobby’s eyes, silently asking the child if he’d done all right. And his nine-year-old son nodded in approval.

They split into two parties. Corinne headed for the hospital, while Mitzi and Bobby piled into Alex’s car and directed him to the shopping precinct.

It was quieter than Alex had expected, with most shoppers having finished the day before. On the lower floor an amateur brass band played carols, with spectators joining in. Bobby and Mitzi enthusiastically sang ‘While Shepherds Watched their Flocks’ while Alex, suddenly inspired, sang ‘While Shepherds Washed their Socks,’ at the top of his voice, until compelled to desist by the glares of a large woman shaking a collecting box.

Under her reproving gaze he put a very large donation into the box and scurried away, his children clinging to his hands and rocking with laughter.

‘Oh, Daddy, you are funny.’ Mitzi giggled.

‘I used to sing that at school,’ he remembered. ‘It got me into trouble then, too.’

Strolling around later, Mitzi noticed something that made her gasp with joy.

‘Daddy, look! Santa Claus!’

The precinct’s Santa was just embarking on his last stint, complete with grotto and tree. Mitzi looked up at her father eagerly, but Bobby touched her arm and shook his head.

‘We already saw Santa,’ he urged. ‘Yesterday.’

‘We saw him last week too,’ she pointed out, ‘and the week before.’

Alex watched to see if his son would be stuck for an answer. But he wasn’t.

‘They were just pretend Santas,’ he said. ‘The one we saw last night was the real Santa.’

‘How do you know?’ she demanded rebelliously.

‘I just do.’

‘How?’

‘I do.’

Mitzi subsided, apparently satisfied with this brand of logic. Bobby looked up at his father and received a wink, which he returned.

‘Why don’t we go in there?’ Alex said, pointing quickly at a store that sold books, CDs and various related items.

As soon as they were inside he struck lucky, coming across a display of ‘Marianne’ picture books, with one prominently displayed featuring Marianne as a rider.

‘Has she got that?’ Alex muttered to Bobby.

‘No.’

‘Here.’ He shoved some notes into Bobby’s hands. ‘You get it while I distract her.’

The teamwork went like clockwork. In a short time Bobby was back with a parcel wrapped in anonymous brown paper.

‘What’s that?’ Mitzi demanded.

‘What?’ Bobby looked innocently around.

‘That!’

‘I don’t see anything. Do you, Dad?’

‘Not a thing.’

Making a covert purchase for Bobby was harder, because he couldn’t use Mitzi as an agent. But he struck lucky, noticing a series of video cassettes titled ‘Water-colour Technique’. Managing to catch the assistant’s eye, he mouthed, ‘How much?’ pointing at Bobby to explain the reason for silence.

She indicated the price and Alex produced his card. The videos vanished and reappeared safely wrapped.

Luckily, Bobby had started bickering with Mitzi and noticed nothing.

‘How about something to eat?’ Alex asked. All this undercover work was exhausting.

They found a café and Alex studied the menu, but the other two knew what they wanted.

‘Cocoa and cream buns,’ Mitzi said blissfully.

‘Yes, please,’ Bobby chimed in at once.

‘But what about your lunch?’ Alex objected. ‘If I take you home already full your mother will kill me.’

‘It’s real cream,’ Bobby pointed out.

‘Lots and lots of it,’ Mitzi said ecstatically.

‘Does Mummy allow you to eat cream buns before lunch?’

They considered.

‘No,’ Bobby said regretfully.

‘No,’ Mitzi agreed.

‘Well, then!’

Bobby regarded him innocently. ‘But Mummy isn’t here.’

Alex made the mistake of engaging him in debate.

‘But aren’t you equally bound by her rules even when she’s absent?’

‘No,’ Bobby explained. ‘Because it’s Christmas, so she might have changed her mind, just this once. We don’t know, do we?’

‘I suppose we don’t,’ Alex said, eyeing his son with new respect. ‘Mind you, I’ve got my phone. We could call and ask her.’

‘That wouldn’t be fair,’ Bobby said quickly. ‘Mummy’s very busy, doing last-minute things. We shouldn’t interrupt her.’

‘Ah!’ Alex gave this idea his full attention. ‘You think we could simply assume her agreement—out of consideration for her?’

‘Yes,’ Bobby said firmly.

They shook hands.

‘When you want a job,’ Alex told him, ‘come to your old man. The thought of you arguing on the other side scares me stiff. You’ve got every trick.’

‘I learned them from my dad.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Alex said at once. ‘I’m not taking the blame for your devious mind.’

Bobby grinned.

They each had three cream buns and two cups of cocoa, and Alex thought he’d never tasted anything so delicious. Then they went home to confess to Corinne. But she wasn’t fazed.

‘Fine. It’ll save me cooking a big lunch. Uncle Jimmy’s here, kids.’

Overjoyed, they dashed into the next room where Jimmy, swathed in plaster, was reclining on the sofa. Alex followed and was in time to see them climbing up beside him, moving carefully, not to hurt him.

Mitzi was on his uninjured side and put her arms about him. ‘Poor Uncle Jimmy,’ she said. ‘Is it very bad?’

‘Not really,’ he said cheerfully.

‘What did you do?’

‘Fell in the road,’ he said at once. ‘Silly me.’

Alex regarded him with mixed feelings. It was decent of Jimmy not to have blamed him. On the other hand he couldn’t like him, especially as Mitzi was greeting him with real affection. Bobby was less effusive, but he was on Jimmy’s injured side.

‘Tea up!’ Corinne called, entering with a cup.

She handed it gently to Jimmy, who smiled, receiving it, while Mitzi solicitously plumped up his cushions.

A shiver went through Alex. It was absurd, of course, but for a moment they had looked like a family.

The stockings and socks were in place, hanging from the mantelpiece. Jimmy, clowning, had produced one full of holes, which had reduced the children to fits of laughter.

‘Right now, you two,’ Corinne said. ‘Bed.’

‘Mummy, we haven’t left things for Santa,’ Mitzi urged. ‘In case he gets hungry and thirsty.’

‘What do you want to leave, pet?’

‘Jam tarts and milk,’ Mitzi said at once.

‘Ginger biscuits,’ Bobby said. ‘And some beer.’

‘You can’t leave beer,’ Mitzi said, scandalised.

‘Why not? He’d hardly be drunk in charge of a reindeer after just one beer!’ Bobby said.

‘But it won’t be just one,’ Mitzi pointed out. ‘’Cos he’ll have been to lots of other people first, and drunk what they left, and—’

‘Well, they won’t all have left beer,’ Bobby argued.

‘Will.’

‘Won’t.’

‘Will.’

‘Won’t.’

‘Will.’

‘Won’t.’

Corinne tore her hair. ‘Break it up, you two. Peace on earth, goodwill to all men.’

‘And all women?’ Jimmy suggested.

‘Especially all the women,’ Corinne clowned. ‘They’re so busy cooking for everyone.’

‘I’d do it for you if I had more than one arm.’

‘Yeah, sure you would,’ she jeered.

‘You’re a hard woman.’

They grinned at each other. Alex tried to tell himself that they were like brother and sister, but there was something about the cheerful ease of their relationship, the way they shared the same sense of humour, that troubled him.

‘Anyway, I vote for jam tarts and milk,’ Jimmy insisted.

‘I vote for ginger biscuits and beer,’ Alex said at once. ‘I think Santa gets left a lot of milk, and beer will come as a nice change for him.’

In the end they compromised, which meant that Bobby left out a can of beer and some biscuits, while Mitzi stubbornly left out a carton of milk, jam tarts, and two glasses.

‘Why two?’ Bobby demanded.

‘So that he doesn’t have to drink milk and beer out of the same glass,’ she riposted.

‘He won’t drink the milk at all.’

‘He will.’

‘He won’t.’

‘Will.’

‘Won’t.’

‘That’s enough!’ Corinne roared. ‘Get to bed, both of you.’

They vanished.

‘I think I’ll go up too,’ Jimmy said.

‘You look all in,’ Corinne agreed. ‘Have you had your pills?’

She fussed over him until he’d taken his medication and at last, to Alex’s relief, Jimmy took himself off to bed.

‘That’s it!’ Corinne brushed the hair back from her brow. ‘I’m bushed.’

‘It’s been a great day,’ Alex said.

‘Yes, it has. You’ve been terrific.’

‘Have I?’

‘The kids are so happy. Haven’t you seen?’

But it wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear.

‘What about you?’ he insisted.

‘It’s not about me. It’s about you and them. Alex, I’ve never seen them so much at ease with you. And Bobby—surely you’ve noticed how he—?’

He kissed her.

He did it so fast that she had no time to resist. Surprise had always brought him results in business, and for a moment he thought it was working here. Corinne didn’t try to push him away, but neither did she embrace him back. Instead, she remained so still that it finally got through to him.

‘Corinne—’

‘Alex, please don’t. It’s been so lovely. Don’t spoil it.’

‘Is it spoiling it to say that you’re still my wife and I still love you?’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ she begged.

‘Corinne, what is it? I thought that when we’d been apart for a while—’

‘I’d “see sense”? That’s how you think of it, isn’t it? You think I had to be crazy to leave you, and that I’ll realise I made a mistake.’

‘Are you going to say you didn’t?’

‘Yes, I am saying that. I wanted a home, husband and children, and all I got was the children. They’re lovely kids, but I wanted a husband as well.’

‘And you couldn’t love me?’

‘You weren’t there. You haven’t been there for years.’

His eyes kindled. ‘Tell me about this man you want to love. He wouldn’t be called Jimmy by any chance?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Is it? I can see that he’s a lot of things I’m not—things you might want.’

‘Yes, he is. He’s kind and dependable, and I always know where I am with him, but—’

Corinne checked herself, on the verge of saying, But he’s not you.

It had been a risk, asking Alex to stay for Christmas, but she’d told herself that she must take it for the children’s sake. Now she knew it had been a mistake. Her love was not sufficiently buried, or perhaps not sufficiently dead. It threatened her too often and too piercingly.

Alex watched her, willing her to say something that would ease his heart.

‘But?’ he urged. ‘But you haven’t forgotten “us.” Have you?’

‘No,’ she admitted unwillingly. ‘I can’t forget that. I’m not sorry we married. We were very happy back then, and I’ll never regret it.’

‘If we had the time over again—you’d still marry me?’

‘Oh, yes. Even knowing how it would end, I’d still do it.’

‘It hasn’t ended yet. We don’t know how it’s going to end.’

‘Alex—’

He took hold of her shoulders, very gently. ‘It’s too soon to say,’ he told her. ‘Don’t let’s rush to part, Corinne.’

She gave a wry smile. ‘I thought we had parted. I should have remembered that no position is ever final until you’ve agreed to it.’

‘Tell me that you don’t love me any more,’ he said insistently.

‘And you’re an ace negotiator, always knowing the other side’s weak spot.’

‘Then you do love me.’

‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘I’m trying not to.’ She added reluctantly, ‘But it’s hard.’

He drew her against him, not kissing her this time but wrapping his arms about her body and holding her close while he rested his cheek on her head.

After a while he felt her arms slowly go around him, and they stayed there peacefully together for a long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN his tiny illuminated clock showed midnight, Bobby slid out of bed and went quietly into the hall. The house was completely silent and almost dark, except for a faint glow he could see downstairs.

Moving noiselessly, he crept down the stairs and into the room where the tree glowed. On the threshold he stopped and an expression of relief crossed his face.

‘I knew you’d be here,’ he whispered.

The red-clad figure by the tree turned and smiled at him through his huge white beard.

‘Come in,’ he said.

Bobby moved closer. In dim light, and on his feet, Santa looked bigger than ever.

‘Did you have trouble with the chimney?’ he asked. ‘I was afraid it might not be big enough.’

Santa looked down at his wide girth. ‘You mean with there being so much of me?’

‘I wasn’t being rude.’

Santa laughed, not a ho-ho-ho, but a kindly, understanding sound.

‘It’s not as bad as some places I’ve tried,’ he said.

‘What about when there’s no fireplace?’ Bobby asked. ‘How do you get in then?’

Santa tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘Trade secret,’ he said.

He sat down in the armchair, put down the can of beer he was holding and signalled for Bobby to sit. Bobby plonked himself down on the floor.

‘You know how I got so fat?’ Santa asked.

Bobby shook his head.

‘In their kindness, people leave more out for me than I can possibly eat.’ He indicated the hearth. ‘How about you have the milk and we’ll split the tarts and biscuits? I’ve had most of the beer and it was great. Whoever left that was a genius.’

‘It was my idea,’ Bobby said eagerly. ‘Mitzi insisted on putting out a glass for you as well. I said you wouldn’t be bothered, but you know what girls are.’

‘Actually, Mitzi was right,’ Santa confided, holding up a glass with beer in it. ‘Drinking from the can is awkward when you’ve got a beard.’

He poured milk from the carton into the other glass and the two of them sat sipping and sharing tarts.

‘So what happened?’ he asked. ‘Did your dad show up?’

‘Yes, just like you said. A day early. How did you know?’

Santa hesitated. ‘Inside information.’

‘Do you know everything?’

‘No,’ Santa replied at once.

‘So you can’t tell me how long he’s going to stay?’

‘I already did, when we talked yesterday. Longer than tomorrow.’

‘But after that?’

‘What do you really want him to do?’ Santa asked thoughtfully

‘Stay as long as possible.’

Santa looked at him keenly. ‘Are you hoping I’ll wave a magic wand?’

But his thoughtful son shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He has to want to, or there’s no point.’

‘That’s right,’ Santa agreed. ‘You can’t make people choose what you’d like them to.’

‘You mean he doesn’t really want to stay with us?’

‘Oh, yes, he does. You’re his family, and he loves you all more than anything else on earth, even if he doesn’t always show it very cleverly. But he got confused and other things got in the way. Now he’s trying to find the way back to the place where he took the wrong turning, but it isn’t easy. The road seems different when you’re looking backwards. But you could help him.’

‘How?’

‘I can’t tell you that. You have to sense it for yourself. But you will. Don’t worry.’

Santa indicated the tree.

‘Have you got your presents sorted out?’

‘Yes. I got a scarf for Mum and a picture book for Mitzi.’

‘And your dad?’

‘Well—I got him a pair of cufflinks.’

‘It sounds like a good choice, so what’s the problem?’ Bobby’s voice had hinted that all was not well.

‘I got him something else too, but I’m not sure if I should give it to him.’

‘If it’s from you, he’ll love it,’ Santa said without hesitation. ‘You can rely on that.’

‘Can I show it to you?’

‘That would be really nice.’

‘It’s upstairs.’ Bobby went to the door, then hesitated. ‘You won’t go away?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Bobby vanished and reappeared a moment later with a large, flat object that he put into Santa’s hands, switching on a side lamp so that he could see.

It was a picture of a family sitting under the trees by water, evidently having a picnic. There was a man in a red shirt, a woman in a green and white dress, a small boy of about five and a toddler in a pink dress. It had been painted in water-colours by an inexperienced but talented hand.

‘Did you paint this?’ Santa asked in a strange voice.

Bobby nodded. His eyes were on Santa’s face.

‘I think you should definitely give it to him,’ Santa said at last.

‘You think he’ll understand?’

‘You put a lot of work into it, and he’ll think it’s wonderful that you took so much trouble to please him.’

‘But will he understand?’ Bobby asked with a touch of desperation.

‘Yes,’ Santa said decisively. ‘He will.’

‘Everything?’

Santa put his hand on the child’s shoulder. ‘He’ll understand everything that you want him to understand,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’

A smile of pure, blinding relief broke over Bobby’s face.

‘You’d better go and wrap it now,’ Santa said. ‘I have a lot of other houses to visit.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

At the door Bobby paused and looked back. ‘I didn’t used to believe in you. But I do now.’

He vanished quickly.

The brilliant sunlight flashed and glinted off the water and bathed the river-bank with warmth. The man and the woman picnicking under the trees leaned back in the welcome shade and smiled at each other with secret knowledge.

‘That was good,’ he said. ‘The best I ever tasted. Happy birthday, darling.’

She didn’t answer in words, but she blew him a kiss. Her arms were curled around the two-year-old girl sleeping in her arms, but her eyes, full of love, were on the man.

‘It’s not much of a birthday for you, though,’ he mused, ‘having to do the catering for a picnic.’

‘You helped.’

‘Did I? Oh, you mean when I dropped the butter?’

They laughed together.

‘Wouldn’t you rather have had a big night out?’ he asked. ‘Fancy restaurant, champagne, everything of the best?’

She looked down at the little girl sleeping in her arms. ‘You’ve already given me the best,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Yes, this is as good as it gets.’

Suddenly she chuckled.

‘What?’ he demanded, looking around. ‘What?’

‘It’s that bright red shirt you’re wearing. It’s so un-you. You’re usually so sober-suited.’

‘On the contrary, this is the real me. The suit is a uniform, although sometimes it gets to feel like a second skin.’

‘So the truth is that you’re a bit of a devil?’ she teased.

He winked. ‘You know more about that than anyone.’

He shifted position to get closer to her, but then something that came into view made him leap to his feet.

‘Bobby, not so near the water. Come back here.’

He dashed over and scooped up the five-year-old child, who chuckled with delight as his father carried him back to the picnic.

‘Whadaya mean by giving your old man a heart attack, eh?’ he demanded as he sat down beside his wife. ‘What’s the big idea?’

As he joked he buried his face against the child, who screamed with laughter.

‘Don’t scare him,’ the woman protested.

‘He’s not scared of me. He’s my boy. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said the little boy firmly, putting his arms around his father’s neck.

The man turned his head to smile at the woman. ‘Do you have any idea how much I love you?’ he whispered.

She gave a soft laugh. ‘Not a clue. You’ll have to tell me.’

He leaned sideways to kiss her, and she leaned towards him. It was awkward because they were each holding a child, but they managed somehow between love and laughter. And the little boy in his father’s arms went contentedly to sleep.

Alex awoke with a start and found that he was already sitting up. The dream had been so clear, like being taken back four years to relive the moment.

He’d seen it all again—the trees, the water, the sun. More than that, he’d felt again the blissful contentment of that day.

This is as good as it gets.

That had been his feeling. When had he known it since?

He’d thought of it as something between himself and Corinne. Who would have imagined the little boy was imprinting it all on his mind, to carry there for years until his hands had the skill to reproduce it, like a silent reproach to the adults who had let the happiness slip through their fingers?

He discovered that he was shaking and pulled himself together. He’d been lucky. He’d remembered in time.

Bobby looked in. ‘C’mon Daddy. We’re opening presents!’

He pretended to lie down again. ‘Already? I was hoping for a lie-in.’

‘Daddy!’

He grinned and allowed himself to be hauled downstairs in pyjamas and dressing-gown. ‘Sorry about this,’ he told Corinne. ‘I wasn’t given any choice.’

‘You and me both,’ she said, laughing. She’d managed to dress, but only in hastily flung on jeans and sweater, before getting to work in the kitchen.

‘Mummy, can we open the presents now?’ Mitzi cried.

‘Just a moment, pet. Let Uncle Jimmy come downstairs.’

When Jimmy had come cautiously down and settled on the sofa it was time to start. The children first, tearing off gaily coloured paper with excited screams.

Alex held his breath as Bobby opened the water-colour videos and then became totally still, so that Alex feared the whole thing had misfired. But then Bobby looked at him with eyes so full of incredulous joy and relief that Alex’s own eyes blurred suddenly.

With Mitzi he scored a double hit, giving her not only the Marianne book but a pair of riding boots. They were too large, but Alex immediately clutched his head, swore he couldn’t understand how the mistake had happened, and offered to change them as soon as the holiday was over, and Mitzi was happy.

‘Brilliant,’ Corinne murmured appreciatively when she had him alone for a moment.

‘Even those of us who are moronically stupid have our clever moments,’ he riposted.

‘Oh, don’t be smug.’

His gift to her was a small bottle of expensive perfume, one he’d bought for her in the past. He had thought it a safe present, but suddenly it seemed intimate enough to draw down her disapproval. But she only thanked him with an impersonal smile and said nothing more. He found himself strangely relieved, almost as though he’d been afraid.

Her gift to him had been as impersonal as her smile—a scarf of very fine cashmere, beautiful but meaningless. It told him nothing beyond the fact that she wanted the children to see them being friendly.

The present-giving was nearly over and there were only a few small items left around the base of the tree.

Alex found himself studying them in hope, but none seemed exactly right. The severity of his disappointment shocked him. He was grown up, for Pete’s sake! Grown-ups didn’t get upset because the right gift wasn’t under the tree.

Yet for a moment he was a child again, fighting back the tears because Mum had bought the wrong book and shrugged the mistake aside with, ‘Oh, well, it’s the same thing, really, isn’t it?’ And he couldn’t explain that it wasn’t the same thing at all because she had more important things to worry about than his feelings.

Then he saw his son gradually easing something out from behind an armchair, and relief swept him.

‘This is yours,’ Bobby said, holding out the brightly wrapped parcel.

‘Thank you, son.’

Alex unwrapped it slowly, revealing the picture inside—a water-colour of the happy family sitting by the river. As he gazed at it he became aware of his son watching him, full of tension, waiting for what he would say.

‘It’s beautiful, son. Did you do it?’

‘Yes, I painted it myself.’

‘But how do you recall that day? You were only five years old.’

‘You remember, Daddy?’ Bobby asked breathlessly.

‘Sure I do. It was Mummy’s birthday, and we went out for a picnic. You wandered too near the water and I had to run and grab you. That was a great day, wasn’t it?’

Bobby nodded. Corinne’s eyes were on Alex.

‘Do you remember?’ Alex asked her.

‘Oh, yes, it was lovely.’

‘You’ve even got the details right,’ Alex said, returning to the picture. ‘Right down to that red shirt.’

‘Mummy still has it,’ Bobby said.

‘Really? Well, that’s lucky.’

Corinne was suddenly doing something else. Alex couldn’t even be sure she’d heard the words, although they seemed to sing in his own ears.

Mummy still has it.

It changed everything. Suddenly he was no longer fighting darkness.

He put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

The rest of the day was standard-issue Christmas—turkey, plum pudding, crackers filled with silly jokes and funny hats, Christmas cake, more crackers. Alex faded contentedly into the background, doing nothing that might spoil the atmosphere.

There was the odd awkward moment. From somewhere Jimmy produced a sprig of mistletoe and wandered into the kitchen where Corinne was cooking. Alex heard a giggle, then a silence that tested his control to the utmost. But he forced himself to stay where he was.

And nothing could really spoil the one blazingly beautiful gift that had been given to him unexpectedly.

Corinne had kept the red shirt. He could live on that for a while.

Alex insisted on helping with the washing-up.

‘You can’t ask the kids and spoil Christmas for them,’ he explained. ‘And poor Jimmy isn’t up to it.’

‘Poor Jimmy!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘You’re a smug hypocrite, you know that?’

He grinned. ‘It’s what I’m good at.’

She gave a reluctant laugh and accepted his help.

‘I’ll wash,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where to put things. Pinny?’

‘The only one I have,’ she said defiantly, ‘has flowers on it.’

‘I’ll be brave.’

He looked so ridiculous in the flowered apron, with a garish paper hat still on his head, that Corinne’s heart melted. He did a good job too, washing and rinsing properly, and it reminded her of how domesticated he was. He’d always done his share in the old days.

‘What made you pick this house?’ he asked. ‘You could have had something better.’

‘You mean more expensive? I don’t think it comes any better than this. It has a big garden, is full of atmosphere, and the kids love it because it’s a house where they can be untidy.’

Bobby appeared in the doorway.

‘What is it, darling?’ Corinne asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Did you want something?’

The boy shook his head. His eyes were fixed on Alex.

Suddenly the little kitchen clock gave three clear chimes, and Alex understood.

Three o’clock. The time when he had originally meant to leave. Bobby was watching him intently.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

It was a pleasure to see the smile that came over Bobby’s face, but in the very same moment Alex’s cellphone rang in the hall. Without a word, Bobby went and fetched it, handing it to his father, his face a careful blank.

The screen was showing Mark Dunsford’s number, and for a moment Alex hesitated, tempted to shut it off without answering. But he didn’t.

‘Mark,’ he said in his most discouraging voice.

‘Simply checking to see if you need me,’ came his assistant’s tinny voice.

‘For pity’s sake, it’s Christmas Day!’

‘I just thought you’d like to know that I’m on the ball.’

Alex ground his teeth. ‘Go and eat some Christmas cake, Mark, and don’t call me back unless it’s a real crisis.’

He hung up. Bobby’s eyes were shining, but all he said was, ‘Are you coming back soon, Dad? We haven’t used up all the crackers.’

‘I’ll be there in a moment, son. Put this back for me, will you?’

He handed him the cellphone and Bobby disappeared.

‘I’m glad you got rid of that man,’ Corinne said. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘Have you met Mark? Oh, yes, he came to the house once.’

‘Horrible man.’

‘I suppose he reminds you of me,’ Alex said wryly.

‘Not really. You were always full of fire and enthusiasm. It lit you up inside, and it was exciting. I remember once you got out of bed at one in the morning to work out some brilliant idea. Your eyes were shining and your voice had an edge, as though you’d seen a vision. I never knew what you were going to do next. But Mark Dunsford is a robot. He never had an original thought in his life, and he’s trying to make his name by standing on your shoulders. You should watch out for him.’

The same thought had occasionally occurred to him. Now he marvelled at the shrewdness that had shown Corinne so much in one brief meeting.

‘That must be the first time you’ve said anything good about me and the business,’ he observed.

‘I grew to hate it because it always came first—before me, before the kids.’

‘You never understood how driven I felt.’

‘You’re wrong. I saw you being driven all the time. At first, like I say, it was exciting, but later I saw what it did to you. I used to dream that there’d come a time when you could ease up, but of course there never did, and it went on and on, getting worse and worse.’

He gave a mirthless grunt of laughter.

‘Funny! I thought of it as getting better and better, because I could provide for you properly. A nice house, holidays—’

‘Half of which we ended up taking alone,’ she reminded him. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

‘But can’t you—?’

She stopped him hurriedly. ‘Alex, it’s all right. It’s finished. It doesn’t matter any more. Let’s leave it.’

The washing-up was done. Alex looked up at the sprig of mistletoe that Jimmy had fixed overhead.

‘Do I get a Christmas kiss?’ he asked, speaking lightly to take the sting out of the refusal he expected.

‘Of course,’ she said.

Moving quickly, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He had a brief sensation of her sweetness, the faint tang of the perfume he’d bought her, the warmth of her breath against his face. Then she was gone before he could catch her.

At the end of the day the last cracker had been cracked, the last silly joke read out, the last paper hat reduced to a crumpled wreck. Jimmy opted for an early night. Mitzi, already asleep, was carried to bed, and Bobby went without protest.

‘I’m going up now,’ Corinne said to Alex, who was drying a cup in the kitchen.

‘I’ll stay down for a little,’ he said. ‘There’s a late film I want to see.’

‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight.’

He kissed her cheek and she put her arms gently around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. He held her close, swaying back and forth a little in a gentle rhythm.

‘It’s been a lovely day,’ she whispered.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything, Corinne. Thank you for making it possible, and not driving me away.’

‘I could never want to do that,’ she said, raising her head and looking into his face.

It was once more the face she loved, not distorted by anger or masked against her as it had been in the worst days of their failing marriage. For a moment she saw again the vulnerability that had always been there beneath the arrogance, and which had touched her heart.

It touched her now and she turned away quickly.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

He brushed his fingertips across her eyelashes and found them wet.

‘Sometimes I feel like doing that,’ he said. A tremor went through him. ‘I miss you so much.’

‘I miss you too. The love doesn’t just switch off.’

‘Even though you’re trying to make it?’ he asked.

‘I’m working on it. I don’t pretend it’s easy.’

He kissed the top of her head.

‘Goodnight,’ he whispered.

She went upstairs and he was left alone.

Midnight. The clock in the kitchen chimed. The room was in darkness except for the tree lights that still glowed and flickered.

Santa smiled at the figure in the doorway. ‘Have you come to say goodbye?’

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,’ Bobby said. ‘You’re supposed to have gone back to the North Pole by now.’

‘That’s one of the advantages of being the boss. You can change the rules to suit yourself. I thought I’d pop back to see how it was going.’

‘It’s been brilliant.’ Bobby sighed happily. ‘He’s still here. He liked the picture and everything. He even remembered what it was.’

‘Did you think he wouldn’t? Yes, well, I suppose you couldn’t be blamed for thinking that.’ Santa’s voice was gentle as he added, ‘Let’s face it, he’s not much of a father.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Bobby said instantly. ‘He’s the best.’

‘Doesn’t spend as much time with you as he should, though, does he?’

‘He’s very busy. He has lots of other things to think of. But he always comes back to us, because he loves us best in all the world.’

For a moment Santa seemed lost for words. At last he said, ‘I know he does.’

‘Did he tell you?’

‘I just know. He loves his family so much that it hurts, but he’s not good at saying things.’

‘And we love him best in all the world too,’ Bobby said firmly. ‘I do, and Mitzi does, and Mum does.’

‘Well, I don’t know—’

‘She does. I know she does.’

There was a silence before Santa said, ‘Never mind that. Tell me about Mitzi. Did she have a good day?’

‘Oh, yes. Dad gave her that Marianne doll with the riding habit—the one she asked you about the other day. You must have told him.’

Santa grinned. ‘Let’s just say that I can give him a nudge in the right direction. That’s not always easy, because he’s a stubborn fellow who doesn’t listen as often as he ought.’ Seeing Bobby about to flare up, he added quickly, ‘Now, be fair; you know that’s true.’

‘Sometimes,’ Bobby conceded.

‘Always,’ Santa insisted.

‘Now and then.’

‘All right, I’ll settle for now and then. You’re quite a negotiator.’

Bobby giggled. ‘That’s what Daddy says. He says he wants me working for him when I grow up.’

‘I thought you wanted to be an artist?’

‘Couldn’t I be both?’

‘You could. But it’s better to be what you really want. Your way might be better.’

‘Will you be back again, after tonight?’

‘I don’t know,’ Santa said. ‘Christmas is passing.’

‘But it’s not gone yet. Tomorrow’s still sort of Christmas. Dad won’t leave tomorrow, will he?’

‘No, he won’t. And if you have him, you don’t need me.’

‘It’s different. I can talk to you.’

‘And not to him?’

‘Not about everything. He minds too much, you see, and I don’t want to hurt him.’

Santa spoke gruffly. ‘How do you know he minds so much?’

‘Because he tries so hard to pretend that he doesn’t,’ Bobby said simply.

Santa turned away. ‘Goodnight,’ he said huskily. ‘Go to bed now. Wait for what tomorrow may bring.’

Bobby moved towards the door. As he reached the hall he paused a moment, wondering if he really had heard a noise. But all was dark and quiet. After a moment he sped upstairs.

Alone by the tree, Santa did not move but stood with his head bent, as though trying to bear up under a heavy load.

‘Are you all right?’

He turned quickly. Corinne was standing there.

‘Of course I am.’ He added feebly, ‘Ho-ho-ho!’

‘You seemed a bit tired.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s a great responsibility being Father Christmas. It’s scary.’

‘It must be.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m glad you came back. He needed to talk to you again.’

Abruptly Santa asked, ‘Did you know he was protecting his father?’

‘Yes. He always talks about him protectively. Nothing is ever Daddy’s fault. If he ever lost that faith it would hurt him more than he could bear.’

‘Actually not discussing things in case his father can’t cope? This is a nine-year-old child.’

‘Nobody really knows what Bobby is thinking,’ Corinne said. ‘Except maybe you. He tells you things he can’t tell anyone else.’

‘Not even you?’

‘He’s protecting me too. Santa Claus can help because he’s not involved. And my husband—’

‘Your husband’s a thick-head, and don’t let him tell you any different.’

‘He’s not that bad.’

‘Yes, he is. Take my word.’

Corinne smiled. ‘Well, he may have a thick head but he has a thin skin. Only he doesn’t know it.’

Santa made a sound like a snort.

‘It sounds to me as though you’re protecting him too. I’ll bet he doesn’t know that, either.’

‘I don’t think it’s ever occurred to him.’

‘You invited him here for Christmas for his sake as much as the children’s, didn’t you?’

‘You’re very astute.’

‘Well, maybe a little more than I was,’ Santa said gruffly.

‘He’s lost so much already,’ Corinne said. ‘I don’t want him to lose any more, otherwise it’ll soon be too late.’

Santa stared into the fireplace. ‘I think he knows that. Tell me something. Do you know why Bobby chose that picnic to paint?’

‘I think it was the last completely happy time we had together. Alex’s business was building up fast, but we were still a family. When the picnic was over we went home and put the children to bed. And then we made love—’ her voice softened ‘—and it was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened. He told me over and over how much he loved me and how our love would fill his heart and his life until his very last moment.’

‘Is that why you kept the shirt?’

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘That’s why I kept it.’

‘Perhaps you should have thrown it out of your life, along with him.’

‘I haven’t thrown him out of my life. I never could. It was really the other way around. The day after that picnic he got a call that changed everything. Suddenly it was “big time,” and he was never really ours after that. That’s why I was surprised he recognised the moment. I should think it feels like another life to him by now.’

‘Maybe it does,’ Santa said wistfully. ‘Another sweeter life that he lost somewhere along the way.’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘He’s not a very clever fellow, is he?’

‘Cleverer than I thought,’ she murmured.

‘I think you should go now,’ he said abruptly.

‘Can’t I stay? I could get you a beer and—’

‘Go,’ he said with soft vehemence. ‘It’s better, believe me.’

‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I suppose it is.’

When she’d gone Santa stood looking at the doorway, as though hoping she would return. When she didn’t, he switched out the tree lights and sat for a long time in the darkness.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEX could still remember the first Christmas of his marriage, when he and Corinne had gone out early on December the twenty-sixth, and dived into the sales. She had an eye for a bargain, and they had triumphantly carried back home several pieces of household equipment at rock-bottom prices.

As they’d prospered they hadn’t needed the sales and Alex, who had been able to buy her anything she wanted, had been bemused by her continued enthusiasm. So it hardly came as a surprise that she was set on attending this year.

He came downstairs to find several newspapers spread out on the kitchen table with four eagerly debating heads leaning over them.

‘Washing machine!’ Jimmy was making a list.

‘Shoes,’ Corinne added. ‘And a lawnmower—’

They went on compiling the list and Alex, who had learned wisdom, stayed in the background.

At last Mitzi looked up and noticed him, giving him a hug and offering to make him some tea—an offer her mother hastily overruled.

‘I’ll do it, darling.’

‘Morning, Jimmy,’ Alex said affably. ‘How are you feeling today? You’re not looking so good. I expect yesterday took it out of you.’

‘It did a bit,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘But, heck, I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I can be ill later.’

‘Uncle Jimmy’s a soldier,’ Bobby said in explanation of this reckless heroism.

‘And a good soldier doesn’t give in,’ Alex agreed, straight-faced. ‘But you’re looking a bit seedy now. Are you taking your medication?’

‘Well, I skipped a bit,’ Jimmy conceded. ‘You can’t drink if you’re taking the pills, and it is Christmas—’

‘Of course,’ Alex agreed. ‘But now it’s time you took proper care of yourself.’

Corinne turned around, her jaw dropping with indignation at what she could clearly see him up to. But she was pulled up short by the sight of Jimmy’s face. He really was pale and strained.

‘Oh, Jimmy, you are an idiot.’ She sighed affectionately. ‘You should have said—or I should have noticed. Stay in bed today.’

‘No way. There’s masses of sport on television. But I wouldn’t mind staying in and watching it with my feet up. You won’t mind if I don’t come out with you?’

‘We’ll bear up,’ Alex assured him.

He sauntered innocently out into the hall, looking back to catch Bobby’s eye and send him a signal. Bobby glanced at Mitzi and Alex nodded.

Message received and understood.

After a moment the two children followed him out.

‘Listen, kids,’ Alex said hurriedly. ‘You’re fond of your Uncle Jimmy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Mitzi.

Bobby nodded, alert, ready to tune in to his father’s signal.

‘Well, you wouldn’t want to leave him all on his own at Christmas, would you?’ Alex asked. ‘It wouldn’t be a very kind thing to do. Why don’t you both stay here with him?’

‘What’s it worth?’ Bobby asked.

‘What—? You’re my son.’

‘And I’m up to every trick. You said so.’

‘But, like any skill, it should be used wisely,’ Alex said. ‘There’s a time for using it and a time for not using it.’

‘This is a time for using it,’ Bobby said firmly.

Alex eyed him with respect mixed with caution.

‘I want to come to the shops,’ Mitzi said. ‘Mummy said she’d get me a doll’s house.’

‘It’s in Bellam’s Toys,’ Bobby explained. ‘There’s a big range, and number four is going cheap now because they’ve just brought out number five. So Mum promised her number four.’

His eyes met Alex’s. ‘Of course, Mitzi would really prefer number five.’

‘Mummy said it would cost too much.’ Mitzi sighed.

‘But we’re holding all the cards,’ her brother told her.

‘You are, aren’t you?’ Alex said in appreciation of these tactics. ‘Number five it is, on condition you stay at home.’

Mitzi scampered off to tell Jimmy, whose head was aching, that he was going to have the pleasure of her company and they could talk and talk and talk.

‘What about you?’ Alex asked his son. ‘What’s your price?’

‘Nothing,’ Bobby told him.

‘But you just said—’

‘I always meant to stay at home anyway.’

Alex looked at him with sheer admiration, although he felt compelled to point out, ‘But, like you said, you have all the cards. I’d have paid. You missed a trick there, son.’

Bobby shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he said earnestly. ‘Don’t you see? I didn’t really.’

Alex’s amused irony faded and he took Bobby’s hand. ‘Yes, I do see,’ he said seriously.

‘Good luck, Dad.’

He knew everything, of course, Alex thought.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised his son.

The road to the shopping centre lay through open country. The snow had stopped falling and now lay settled thickly on the ground, the perfect picture of a white Christmas.

They went in Corinne’s car, which was larger than Alex’s sleek vehicle, made to accommodate children and big enough for the mountain of things she was planning to buy.

‘I haven’t seen this before,’ he observed as they climbed in.

‘I got it a month ago.’

Third-hand, from the look of it, he thought. He was wise enough, now, not to say he could have bought her something better, but it flashed through his mind that this was one more thing she’d done without him.

How many other things, now and in the future?

Corinne had on a thick sheepskin jacket and jeans which showed off her long, slim legs, and seemed in high spirits this morning.

‘You were rotten to poor old Jimmy,’ she chided Alex.

‘I advised him to rest and take care of himself, and he was only too glad to accept. He really is feeling poorly, so how can you blame me?’

‘Very clever! You know, if there was one thing about you that got up my nose more than any other it was your way of making your most self-interested actions seem perfectly virtuous.’

‘But what possible ulterior motive could I have for wanting Jimmy to stay at home?’ he asked innocently. ‘You’re not suggesting that I was scheming to be alone with you?’

A sideways glance showed her that he was grinning.

‘If I wasn’t driving I’d thump you,’ she said, falling in with his humorous mood. It was hard to be anything but cheerful in the brilliant white scenery around them.

She reckoned that must be the reason for her new sensation of well-being this morning. It was strange how she had awoken full of contentment, almost happiness, and the feeling had lasted so that now she felt oddly light-hearted, like a teenager again.

The shabby old car saw them safely through the treacherous conditions and into the shopping centre car park. They went from store to store, bagging the washing machine first and then working their way down the list.

‘Doll’s house!’ Alex said, seeing Bellam’s. ‘Quick, before they sell out of number five.’

‘Number four,’ Corinne objected. ‘That’s what I promised her.’

‘That’s a little out of date,’ Alex said cautiously.

‘What have you been up to?’

‘Who? Me?’ Under her suspicious gaze he confessed, ‘Mitzi and I discussed it and came to a joint decision that number five was a better choice.’

‘You mean you bribed her?’

‘Bribed is a harsh word.’

‘But true.’

‘Let’s hurry,’ he said diplomatically.

Just inside the shop they found a counter with a sale of tiny Christmas trinkets that nobody had bought. To Corinne’s surprise Alex lingered there a surprisingly long time, but she didn’t see whether he bought anything because an assistant asked her if he could be of help and she hurried to claim the doll’s house.

Alex secured the last number five available and bore it out of the shop in triumph, refusing the shop’s suggestion of delivery.

‘Next Monday?’ Alex echoed, aghast. ‘If I don’t take it home now I won’t live that long.’

The box was so big that it blocked his view, and Corinne had to guide him into the elevator, then out and to the car.

‘A bit to the left—bit more—stop.’

‘Corinne, I can’t see a thing,’ came a muffled voice from behind the box.

‘It’s all right, trust me. Take two steps forward. Oh, dear!’

‘What does “Oh, dear!” mean?’ came a plaintive cry.

‘There are some steps just ahead. Go slowly. That’s it. Put your foot down very carefully.’

‘I didn’t need telling that!’

‘Now another one—and another—just one more. Now you’re on land again. Walk forward.’

‘Will you please stop laughing?’

‘Who’s laughing?’ she chuckled, opening the back of the car so that he could edge the box through and finally release it.

‘I need something to eat after that,’ he said.

They found a café and tucked into fish and chips.

‘That’ll teach me to make rash promises,’ he said, grinning. “She never warned me it was almost as big as a real house.”

‘Alex,’ she said abruptly, ‘how long can you stay?’

‘That’s up to you.’

‘As long as you like. I have to return to work on Monday, but there’s no reason for you to go.’

‘Work?’

‘Yes, I’ve got a job.’

‘Don’t I give you enough to live on? You should have said—’

‘You give me far more than I need. That’s why I can afford to work part-time. I get the kids off to school first, then I go in to work. In the afternoon my neighbour collects them and they stay with her until I come home. Don’t pull a face. They like going there. She’s got a dog they can play with.’

‘Where do you work?’

‘A lawyer’s office. It’s really interesting. Eventually I thought I could train and get some qualifications.’

‘Be a lawyer, you mean?’

‘Yes. Not just yet. In five or six years, when the children are more independent. For the moment I just do part-time secretarial work to get the feel of it. I took a computer course and my boss says I’m the best in the office.’

‘How long will your training take?’

‘About four years to pass all the exams. I reckon I’ll be qualified about ten years from now.’

He was silent for so long that Corinne thought he was about to fight her on this, and braced herself to stand up to him. She didn’t want to fight, but nor was she going to yield.

But all he said was, ‘You must be brilliant if you did that computer course so quickly.’

‘I started doing it six months ago. I used the computer you bought for Bobby.’

‘Six months? While we were together?’

‘Uh-huh!’

It was painful, like discovering that she’d had a secret life—which, in a way, he supposed she had.

‘And you made sure you didn’t tell me?’

‘No, Alex, I didn’t “make sure” of not telling you. I’d gladly have told you if you’d shown any interest, or even been there. But you were such an absentee that I could have got away with murder. I could have had a dozen lovers and you’d never have suspected.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Don’t glare at me. Many men who live for their work secretly know that their wives are getting up to every kind of mischief behind their backs. But my furtive trysts were with a computer. My “clandestine mail” came from a correspondence course, and you never surprised my guilty secret because it never occurred to you that I was interesting enough to have one.

‘Well, I had, and I passed with very high marks. My boss is very glad to have me around. They’ve just had a load of state-of-the-art machines delivered and I’m the only one who knows what to do with them. I can’t tell you how—’ She stopped suddenly.

‘How proud that made you?’ he suggested.

‘No, how sad it made me. There was nobody to tell.’

He nodded. ‘And you need someone to tell your triumphs to or they don’t amount to much. I always told things to you. Nobody else’s opinion ever mattered as much as yours.’

‘I’d have loved to tell you, but I knew it would look very trivial to the boss of Mead Consolidated.’

After a moment he asked, ‘Does Jimmy know?’

‘Only since he came here last week.’

‘And I suppose he’s rooting for you?’

‘Yes, he thinks it’s great.’

Alex was silent. He was afraid to ask any more about Jimmy. Instead he said, ‘You’ve got the rest of your life pretty well mapped out, haven’t you?’

‘It’s good to have a goal.’

‘Yes, I see that. Ten years—heck! I don’t know anyone who plans that far ahead.’

‘I must. I’m thirty already. I have to make the most of my time.’

‘Where do I come into your plans?’

‘You’re still the children’s father.’

‘I’m still your husband, and I want to go on being your husband.’

‘Alex, nothing’s going to change. You are as you are. What’s the point of saying all this? I tried to explain when we broke up, and you weren’t listening then, either.’

Alex sighed. ‘Yes, I was. I know it didn’t seem like it, but I heard. You were saying you were better off without me.’

Dumbly she shook her head. It was less a denial than an attempt to fend off confusion.

‘I never said that,’ she said at last. ‘And I never, never will. Not with all the things I remember.’

‘What do you remember?’ he asked gruffly.

‘You, as you were when I met you,’ she said wistfully. ‘You were wonderful—the most wonderful, generous, loving man in the world.’

Her words hurt him unbearably. ‘I’m still the same—’ he pointed to himself ‘—in here.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve known what was happening in there.’

‘Nothing’s changed. Not towards you. Tell me it’s the same with you. Or can’t you say it?’ His voice was ragged.

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘I can say it. But we’re not youngsters now, and it’s not enough.’

‘Are you happy?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not sure it really matters.’

He realised that she had altered in some indefinable way. There was a calm about her now, as though she had settled something that had long been troubling her.

‘Alex,’ she said suddenly, ‘will you tell me something honestly?’

‘Fire away.’

‘But I mean honestly. No polite lies. No gilding the lily. The unvarnished truth.’

‘All right.’

‘Why did you arrive here early and stay late?’

He hesitated, knowing that he was going to confirm her worst suspicions. Yet she’d asked for honesty and he could give her no less.

‘Something fell through,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Craddock set up a party in the Caribbean, to settle the contract. Then he got ill.’

She faced him. ‘And if he hadn’t got ill?’

It was the question that he’d dreaded, but he said, ‘Then I wouldn’t have come at all.’

She didn’t seem to react, only nodded slightly, as though something had been confirmed.

It made him burst out, ‘But I did come, and I found myself talking to my son, who didn’t know it was me. And I found out a lot of things I didn’t know before. Maybe it’s my fault that I didn’t, but I know them now. It makes everything different.’

‘Between you and the children. Not between you and me.’

‘But it can if we let it. Corinne, come home. I want to try again. Don’t you want that too, in your heart?’

‘I can’t come back to that soulless place, Alex. I hated it. My home is here.’

‘Then I’ll come here.’

‘Here? You mean move into where I’m living now?’

‘It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. If we stay here you’ll still have your job and—’

‘Wait, Alex, please. I know you when you’ve set your heart on something. You go bull-headed for it without thinking it through. How long would it be before things went wrong again? I know you’ve understood things these last few days, but that isn’t the complete answer you seem to think.’

‘But if we still love each other—’

‘I do still love you, but—’

‘But you think I’m beyond redemption,’ he said wryly.

‘You don’t need redemption. I think you might need a different kind of wife—one who can enjoy the entertaining you want, and wear glamorous clothes, and be a credit to you.’

‘To blazes with that!’ he said impatiently. ‘None of that stuff matters. I want you, and the children. My God!’ He was growing angry. ‘You’ve not only mapped out your own life but mine too. I’m headed for a trophy wife, am I? You’d better tell me her name now, because I’m sure you’ve picked her out.’

‘Calm down!’

‘I’m damned if I will! What do you suggest—a luscious little blonde with a cleavage, or a busty brunette who’ll marry me for my gold card? Do you think I want anyone like that after being married to you, or is that all you think I’m worth?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said in anguish. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

He didn’t say any more. But he took her hand and laid it against his cheek, closing his eyes.

‘Alex—’

‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Don’t say anything.’

She nodded and lifted her other hand to touch his face gently.

‘There won’t be anyone,’ he said in a voice that was both fierce and quiet. ‘It’s just you. Nobody else. Sometimes I wish that wasn’t true. Hang it, Corinne, I’d like to be able to forget you and pass on to something new as easily as you’ve done. But I can’t. If that’s inconvenient, I’m sorry, but I always was an awkward cuss, and I haven’t changed in that way either.’

She wanted to tell him that it was all an illusion. She hadn’t passed on to something new because he still haunted her and always would. But those would be dangerous words to say to him.

Suddenly he seemed to pull himself together.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s time we got back to work. There’s a lot still on that list.’

He rose abruptly, leaving her no choice but to do the same. The subject was closed, she thought. He had simply put it behind him.

It was two hours before they had completed the list and were able to start the journey home. By that time the temperature had fallen sharply and Corinne drove in silence, concentrating on the road, which had become treacherous.

When they left the town and reached the country stretch they slowed.

‘It looks like it snowed here in the last half-hour,’ he said, ‘and there hasn’t been much traffic, so it’s probably icy—’

The words were barely out of his mouth when the car began to make choking noises.

‘What’s that?’ Alex asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s done it before. It doesn’t mean anything. It’ll go back to normal in a moment.’

But instead of going back to normal the vehicle choked some more, slowed, and then quietly died in the middle of the road.

‘Oh, heck!’ she said wretchedly. ‘Is anything coming?’

‘No, but let’s get this to the side before anything does.’

Together they set their shoulders to the rear and pushed the car until it glided on to the grass verge, where it settled, out of danger but totally useless.

Alex pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and called the rescue service. As he’d expected, he was at the end of a long line.

‘An hour, minimum,’ he groaned as he hung up.

‘We have to stay here for an hour?’ she asked, horrified.

‘Not necessarily here. If we take a walk through those trees I think there are some buildings on the other side. There might be a pub where we could get a sandwich.’

‘Can I borrow your phone?’

She called home and was answered by Bobby.

‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Mitzi’s looking through her books and Uncle Jimmy’s watching telly.’

‘Can I talk to him?’

Jimmy assured her that all was well and there would be no trouble about her being late. Corinne hung up, satisfied.

‘Let’s see where the trees lead,’ she said to Alex.

He took her hand and kept hold of it as they wandered beneath the great oaks. The sun was beginning to set, sending golden beams slanting through the branches and on to the snowy ground, and for a while they walked in silence.

It was magic, Corinne thought; the kind best enjoyed in silence. But when she looked at Alex she saw that he was walking with his head down, scowling with tension. His misery reached her almost tangibly, defeating her resolve to keep her distance.

‘Alex—’ She stopped and turned him to face her, and at once it seemed natural to put her arms about him and pull his head on her shoulders. Hang good resolutions, she thought. He was in pain, and she could no more refuse to comfort him than refuse to breathe.

‘Corinne, I’m afraid,’ he whispered.

‘Afraid of what, my dearest?’

‘Everything. Going back to that empty house, that empty life, knowing it’s all I’m fit for now. I’m losing everything I care about, and I don’t know how to stop it.’

Her heart ached for him. She longed to say, Come home. Everything is all right again, and see the happiness return to his face.

But she knew she mustn’t say it. Everything was still not right. Perhaps it would never be right. She shared his sense of helplessness. It was too soon to think that a reconciliation could be easy, or even possible. Until she could see the way ahead she could say nothing to comfort him.

This visit wasn’t working out as she’d expected. She had sent the invitation to the brusque, hard-faced man he had been at the end. But the man who’d arrived had been closer to the old Alex, reminding her of the unexpected touch of defencelessness that he’d always tried so hard to disguise, and had succeeded with everyone but her.

She’d vowed to keep her heart to herself in future, but he’d exerted his dangerous spell on it again, filling her with confusion.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said. ‘You’re the man who’s never afraid, remember?’

‘That’s all a con,’ he admitted. ‘Underneath, my knees were always knocking. Except with you. They never really stopped. Hold on to me.’

She did so, feeling him clinging to her in return, holding her as tightly as a drowning man might clutch a lifeline.

‘I love you so much,’ he said huskily.

‘I love you,’ she told him truthfully.

Let’s try again.

The words trembled on her tongue, but somehow they couldn’t be spoken, although she could sense the longing to hear them in every tremor of his body. Instead she raised her face to him and felt his lips cover hers.

He had kissed her before, on Christmas Eve, but that had been different. That kiss had lacked the driving intensity of this one. Last time he’d been overconfident and it had made her freeze. Now he kissed her like a man who feared he might never be able to do so again, with a dread and desperation that made it impossible for her to hold out against him.

His lips still had the skill to excite her, carrying the reminder of a thousand other times when a kiss had been the prelude to lying naked in his arms and being taken to another world that they made themselves out of love and desire. The memories crowded in on her now, making her ache with longing for what she had renounced.

She was kissing him back. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help herself, for she too thought this might be the last time, and there was so much that she wanted to remember.

Alex, the generous lover, seeking her delight before his own, as subtle in his lovemaking as he was unsubtle in his daily life—the man who could be hurt by a word or a look, and who would move heaven and earth to hide it. He had been hers, she had let him go, and soon she would send him away for good.

‘Corinne—Corinne—’

Just that. Just her name, spoken in a voice of racking anguish. It tormented her, but she would stay firm somehow.

‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered.

She hadn’t known that she was crying, but she knew why she couldn’t help it. She was saying a final goodbye to the only man she could love, and though it broke his heart, and her own, she was resolved on doing it.

‘Excuse me!’

It took a long moment for them to return to reality enough to realise that a man was trying to attract their attention.

‘Are you the gentleman who sent for a tow?’

‘Yes,’ Alex said raggedly. ‘I am.’

‘I know we said an hour, but I managed to get here a bit early,’ the man called. ‘Right, let’s get to work. Can I have the keys?’

Alex was pale and his hands shook, but he had regained command of himself. He stood aside as Corinne handed over the keys to the car, then they all walked back through the trees in the setting sun.

CHAPTER SIX

ALEX supposed it was natural for reaction to set in as Christmas passed. That was the only reason he could think of for the weight that suddenly seemed to descend on Bobby. He had always been a thoughtful child, but now he was more silent than usual, as though burdened by some extra care.

‘Do you know what ails him?’ Alex muttered to Corinne, joining her in the kitchen on the morning of the twenty-seventh.

‘No, all I know is that it happened suddenly, some time yesterday evening. But if I ask him about it he swears nothing’s wrong. It’s best to leave him alone, then maybe he’ll tell us.’

Alex nodded and tried to do as she said, but it was hard to realise that the newly established trust between himself and his son was melting away, and be unable to understand. It was also painful to see the forced brightness that Bobby sometimes remembered to assume.

To divert him, he started a snowball fight in the garden, with Mitzi joining in and Jimmy cheering from the sidelines. When they had got each other wet they dashed back into the house, dried off hastily and continued the fight with cushions.

To Alex’s pleasure, Bobby became caught up in what he was doing and laid about him vigorously with a big soft cushion, yodelling with glee.

Totally absorbed in the tussle, Alex failed to hear the front doorbell, or observe Corinne go to answer it. It was taking all his attention to deal with Bobby, who wielded the big cushion expertly until suddenly it collided with Alex’s shoulder and split. A cloud of little feathers flew up to the ceiling and settled back over Alex, who had fallen on to the sofa in a paroxysm of laughter.

He was madly blowing feathers away when a figure he recognised walked into the room.

‘Mark!’ he exclaimed.

Mark Dunsford regarded his employer with something close to disapproval in his eyes.

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you since yesterday,’ he said. ‘It’s very urgent.’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Corinne grow very still. Little Mitzi did the same. But the stillest of all was Bobby.

‘It can’t be that urgent,’ he said. ‘You could have called me.’

‘I tried. Your cellphone is switched off.’

‘No way,’ Alex said at once. ‘I never switch it off.’

‘I assure you, it’s switched off now.’

Frowning, Alex rose and went out into the hall where his coat hung, plunged his hand into the pocket and pulled out the phone. It was off.

‘But how did—?’

Alex checked himself. The air was singing about his ears, and suddenly he knew that what he said next was going to be critical.

‘Well—’ he said at last ‘—so I switched it off and forgot. Is that so strange at Christmas?’

‘What is strange is that it seems to have been switched off after I made a call,’ Mark observed.

‘That’s impossible. You must be mistaken.’

‘It definitely rang several times, long enough for my identity to be displayed on the screen. Then it was turned off. I was curious, as you’ve never done such a thing before.’

Alex shrugged. ‘There’s a first time for everything. I must have been overcome by the Christmas spirit.’

‘But to do it now, when such an important deal is hanging in the balance!’ Mark sounded aghast at the thought that his idol might have feet of clay. ‘That’s simply not like you.’

The next moment he had another shock. Alex’s voice was cool as he asked, ‘What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait?’

‘I called you to let you know of the change of plan. It seems that Craddock’s illness was a false alarm—just indigestion—so the Caribbean is on again. The flight leaves this afternoon. You’ve just about got time.’

‘Time for what?’ Alex asked blankly.

‘Time to catch the plane. I went to the office first, and collected your passport and ticket. Luckily your address book was there and I was able to discover where your wife was living.’

‘But how did you know I’d be here?’ Alex asked quietly. ‘I didn’t tell you.’

‘It was a reasonable supposition, and luckily correct, otherwise I wouldn’t have known where to find you at all.’

‘I see. Well, I would rather you hadn’t done that. Please remember for the future.’

‘But to put yourself completely out of touch when—well, I’ve found you now. You’ll have to hurry.’

Alex rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not quite with you. I’m not going anywhere, Mark.’

‘You don’t understand. The contract—’

‘I understand all right. Old man Craddock thinks he can snap his fingers and everyone will jump.’

‘He knows we need that contract—’

‘No, we don’t need it,’ Alex interrupted him firmly. ‘We want it, but we don’t need it. He won’t find another firm that’ll do the job as well for such a reasonable price, and he knows it. He needs us, and I’m not cutting short the best Christmas of my life just to dance to his tune.’

‘But—’

‘Mark, do you know why he wanted to gather us all round him on the other side of the world? Because he’s a lonely old man with no family. He has no children and both his wives left him. I’m sorry for him, but I’m damned if I’m going to end up like him.’

Mark was aghast at this heresy.

‘But somebody ought to be there, representing the firm. If you won’t go, then let me.’

Alex shrugged. ‘OK, you can do it if you like. I’m sure you’ve got your passport, because I always used to carry mine, and you strike me as frighteningly like myself as I was in those days.’

‘Frighteningly?’

‘Terrifyingly. Appallingly. You’ve got that look in your eyes. It’s like talking to a ghost of myself.’

Mark looked indignant.

‘I’m not ashamed of following your lead. And if, as you say, I can go—’

‘You can if you want to, but if you’ve got any sense you won’t. I know you have no family, but isn’t there a girlfriend you ought to be with?’

‘I do have a girlfriend, and I’ve spent some time with her this Christmas—’

‘Some time? God help you!’

‘But she understands that I need to seize every opportunity—’

‘Spare me the speech.’ Alex was talking to Mark, but he was aware of Corinne, watching him, holding her breath. ‘I wrote that speech myself, long ago. Now I’m tearing it up. Catch the plane if you want to, Mark, tell Craddock I’ve got a bug or something, and you’re fully empowered to sign for me. Otherwise tell him I’ll be back in the office next Monday, ready to do business. It’s up to you, but try to be wiser than I was.’

Mark was stiff with outrage.

‘Then, with your permission, I’ll go to the Caribbean and watch over your interests there.’ His tone implied that somebody needed to mind the shop until his employer recovered his senses.

‘Fine, I’ll see you when you get back and knock some sense into you then.’ Alex grinned. ‘We’ll have cocoa and cream cakes in my office.’

At this, Mark’s hair practically stood on end. ‘Cocoa and—?’

‘Never tried it? You haven’t lived. You’d better be off if you’re going to catch that plane.’

When Mark had left nobody spoke for a while. For the first time Alex realised that he was still covered with feathers. No wonder Mark had thought he was crazy.

He caught Corinne’s eye and realised that she’d had the same thought. She was smiling at him, but not just in amusement. There was a warmth and tenderness in her eyes that he had not seen there for a long time.

She came forward, hands outstretched to him.

‘You really did that?’ she asked eagerly. ‘You really switched the phone off and blocked his call?’

For a moment the temptation to say yes was overwhelming, but with her candid eyes on him he had to say, ‘No, I didn’t do that. I don’t know how it happened. I’m glad of it, but it’s a mystery to me.’

‘It was me.’

For a moment they had forgotten Bobby standing there, silently watching everything. Now they saw his face, white and determined.

‘It was me,’ he said again.

‘What do you mean, son?’ Alex went and sat on the sofa, taking Bobby’s hands in his.

‘I was in the hall last night, and I heard your cellphone ringing,’ Bobby said. ‘I took it out of your coat pocket. I was going to take it to you, but—then I didn’t.’

‘Why not?’ Alex asked gently.

‘Because I knew it was that man,’ Bobby said desperately. ‘It was displayed on the screen, the same as last time he called. I knew he’d want to take you away, and I didn’t want you to go, so I switched it off and put it back in your pocket, and I never told you.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Corinne said quickly, fearful of Alex’s anger at this interference and wanting to protect the child from it. ‘I know why you did it, but you really shouldn’t have—’

She broke off. Alex’s hand was suddenly raised to silence her. He was looking intently at his son and there was no anger in his face.

‘Were you going to tell me about it?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes, but only when it was too late,’ Bobby blurted out with such fierce resolve that Alex’s lips twitched. ‘I knew you’d be angry but I didn’t want you to go. It’s been brilliant this Christmas—the best ever. You’ve really been here, really been here, not just pretending like other times, but talking and—and listening, and being interested, and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted you to stay and stay for ever, but he’d have made you go away and—and—’

‘Hey, steady on, calm down,’ Alex said softly, brushing back a lock of tousled hair from his son’s forehead. ‘You wanted me that much?’

Bobby nodded vigorously.

‘Well—’ Alex had to stop for a moment to control his voice, which was beginning to shake. ‘I can’t be angry at you for wanting me, can I?’

‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

‘Sorry for what?’

‘Your trip—and your contract.’

‘I didn’t want the trip, and I haven’t missed the contract. Or, if I have, I’m well rid of it if that was the only way I could have it.’

Bobby looked at him uncertainly. ‘Really?’

‘Let me tell you something, son. What you did was completely unnecessary. If I’d spoken to Mark last night I’d have said the same as you heard me say today.’

Bobby didn’t reply. He was gazing at his father, as though longing to believe what he’d just heard, if only—

Alex spoke again, in a rallying tone. ‘You don’t think I’d want to go away from all of you, do you?’

Bobby shook his head.

‘Well, then!’ Alex smiled at his son. ‘I tell you what, it proves what a great team we make. You did exactly what I’d do, just as though you’d read my mind.’

Those words brought forth Bobby’s own beaming grin, full of joy and relief. The next moment he was in his father’s arms.

With Bobby encircled by one arm and Mitzi by the other, he looked up at Corinne. She was not smiling, as he’d hoped, but looking at him with a kind of satisfaction, as though he’d just confirmed something that she’d known in her heart all the time.

‘This is our last meeting,’ Santa said. ‘I don’t usually stick around this long, but I did this time, just for you.’ He leaned down to look at the boy. ‘Do you think you’ll manage?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Bobby said simply. ‘It’s all right now. But you will come back next year, won’t you?’ he added anxiously.

‘Yes, I’ll be back. In the meantime, keep this to remember me by.’

He handed Bobby a small object that he took from his pocket—a medallion made of wood, with the head of Santa Claus in relief. It was a trivial thing, such as anyone might have bought cheap in the sales now that the season was over. But to Bobby it was a precious talisman.

‘For you,’ said Santa. ‘Until we meet again.’

‘Goodbye,’ Bobby whispered. ‘Until we meet again.’

When he’d gone Santa stayed there a while, wondering. He’d almost given up when another figure appeared in the doorway.

‘You’re a wise man,’ she said. ‘Tell me what I should do.’

‘It depends whether you’re thinking of him or yourself,’ Santa told her. ‘For your own sake you should send him on his way and marry Jimmy.’

‘That’s your advice?’

‘It’s what’s best for you.’

‘Would it be best for him?’

Santa shook his head. ‘It would finish him. He couldn’t cope. He told you about going home to an empty place, but he didn’t say how bad it is without you—how he makes excuses to work extra late so that he doesn’t have to go back and face the emptiness, or how he jumps whenever the phone rings in case it’s you, and curses when it isn’t.

‘I know he’s a difficult man, but he understands things now that he didn’t understand before. Doesn’t he deserve a chance to show you? I’m not saying it’ll be easy. He’s still going to get it wrong a lot of the time, maybe most of the time. But he loves you and he needs you, and without you he’s going to turn into a mean, miserable old man. Are you simply going to abandon him to that fate?’

‘But you just told me that I ought to marry Jimmy.’

‘He’s steady and reliable, and he’ll give you no trouble.’ Santa couldn’t resist adding, with a marked lack of Christmas spirit, ‘He’ll also bore the socks off you.’

‘That’s true. And maybe I feel I could cope with a little trouble.’

He looked at her uncertainly, as though not sure that he’d heard correctly.

‘So—what are you going to tell him?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Nothing.’ She gave Santa the smile of a conspirator. ‘You’re such a great ambassador. Why don’t you tell him?’

‘Tell him what?’

‘Whatever you think he most wants to hear.’

She kissed him on the cheek. Then she was gone.

Jimmy was up early the next morning, packing his suitcase with one inexpert hand.

‘Will you be all right for the journey?’ Corinne asked, coming to help him. ‘You surely don’t have to go yet?’

‘Yes, I do,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m a soldier, remember? I know when I’m beaten.’

She didn’t ask what that meant.

Alex drove him to the station, and they parted on reasonably cordial terms, considering. Alex was feeling cordial to the whole world this morning, although there was still a touch of anxiety in his manner when he returned and went to find Corinne. He found her upstairs in her bedroom, pushing clothes aside in the wardrobe.

‘It’s still a bit cramped,’ she said. ‘But your things can overflow into the guest room now Jimmy’s gone.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked quietly. ‘There’s still time to send me away.’

She smiled. ‘Is there? Would you go if I told you to?’

‘Nope.’ He took her into his arms. ‘This is home now.’

‘You don’t mind moving in here?’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is the home where we became a family, and where we’ll stay a family.’

‘Suddenly you’re very wise,’ she said.

‘I’ve been taking advice from a mysterious friend. He’s a very old man who knows a lot because people tell him things. He says the problems won’t simply vanish, but if the love is there we should never give up on it.’

‘And the love is there,’ she said.

‘Yes. Always.’ He took her face between his hands. ‘I love you, Corinne, with everything in me. Promise me that you’ll remember that when I act like a jerk.’

‘Are you likely to do that?’

He nodded wryly. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Me, too.’

‘We’ve just taken the first step,’ he said seriously. ‘I don’t know where the other steps will lead, but if you’re with me I’ll follow the path in any direction.’

‘It may lead to some strange places,’ she reminded him.

‘Just keep tight hold of my hand.’

He drew her close and kissed her. If their last kiss had been one of farewell, this was one of greeting, neither quite knowing who the other was any more, but glad to be introduced.

They didn’t see the door open and two heads look in, then withdraw silently.

‘Told you,’ Bobby said triumphantly. ‘I said Dad would come back for good.’

‘You were just guessing,’ Mitzi accused.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Was.’

‘Wasn’t.’

‘Was.’

‘I knew he was coming back. I had—’ Bobby looked around significantly ‘—inside information.’

‘Go on! Who?’

‘Santa Claus.’

Mitzi looked at him with six-year-old sisterly scorn. ‘You’re batty, you are!’ she announced. ‘There is no Santa Claus.’

‘There is.’

‘Isn’t.’

‘Is.’

‘Isn’t.

‘Is. What’s more, I talked to him.’

‘Batty!’ she said again. ‘Batty, batty, batty!’

She ran off down the stairs, yodelling the word happily.

Bobby was not upset by this reaction. At six, Mitzi still had a lot to learn about life, and people, and Santa.

‘Santa Claus,’ he said. ‘Santa Claus—Father Christmas.’

He took the little wooden medallion from his pocket and turned it over in his fingers, still murmuring softly. ‘Father Christmas, Father Christmas—’

He smiled to himself with secret contentment.

‘Father.’

EPILOGUE

One year later

‘YOU see, I kept my word,’ Santa said.

Bobby nodded, slipping into the room and regarding his friend with shining eyes.

A year had made him two inches taller, and the shape of his face was a little different. His eyes were, perhaps, a little too wise for his age, but that was his nature. The tension and sadness were gone.

‘I knew you’d come because you said you would,’ he said.

Santa looked around him at the room. ‘I hardly recognise this place.’

Bobby nodded. ‘We’ve been redecorating. Dad tried to do this room himself, only he’s rotten at it, and Mum said he should chuck the paintbrush away and she’d get a firm in to do it, and anyway they had better things to do, now that I’m going to have a baby brother or sister.’

He turned to look at a small figure who had appeared in the doorway.

‘Come in. I told you he’d be here.’

Mitzi came further into the room, eyeing Santa with a touch of suspicion, then coming close and poking him in the stomach.

‘Ow!’ he remembered to say.

‘You see, I’m not batty,’ Bobby told her.

‘Yes, you are,’ she said firmly.

‘Aren’t!’

‘Are!’

‘Aren’t!’

‘Are!’

‘That’s enough, the pair of you,’ Corinne said, coming in. ‘Go to bed, now. Santa still has a full night’s work to do.’

He leaned down to them. ‘That’s right. I’ll say goodbye now. I won’t be back tomorrow, like I was last time.’

‘And next year?’ Bobby asked.

‘We’ll see.’ Santa added thoughtfully, ‘Most boys of your age don’t believe in Santa Claus.’

Bobby regarded him with a faint quizzical smile. ‘I believe in you,’ he said.

Mitzi nodded. Then she put her arms around his huge girth as far as they would go, which wasn’t far. Santa leaned down and she vanished into his white hair.

‘Goodnight, both of you,’ he said huskily.

When the children were gone Corinne looked at Santa’s belly, then at her own, which was about the same size.

‘I wouldn’t have much luck cuddling you, either,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Cross fingers that we’ll make it through Christmas.’

‘Well, if not, that husband of yours is here.’ Beneath his beard Santa paled slightly. ‘He may not be much use, but he’s here.’

‘Don’t you say a word against my husband. The clinic said he was doing the breathing exercises very well. Better than me.’

He grinned, but then the grin faded. ‘Are you going to be all right?’ he asked seriously.

She smiled. ‘We’re going to be all right. All of us.’

‘Sure?’

‘I’m like Bobby. I believe in you. Happy Christmas, Santa. Now and always.’

Merry Christmas, Baby

By Monica Jackson

Contents

Her First

His Second

Her Third

His Fourth

Her Fifth

His Sixth

Her Seventh

His Eighth

Her Last

Contents

Her First

His Second

Her Third

His Fourth

Her Fifth

His Sixth

Her Seventh

His Eighth

Her Last

Her First

“They said they were sending out a new physical therapist today,” my mother said.

I looked across the kitchen table at Mama sitting in her wheelchair. “What happened to Melissa?”

“She broke her fool leg skiing.” Mama rolled her eyes.

“That’s too bad. I know she’s going to hate being off her feet. She’s so active.”

“Humph. Silly heifer strapped sticks of wood to her feet to slide down a mountain in ice-cold snow, and for what?”

I hid my smile behind my cup of coffee. Mama was working herself up to rare form this morning.

“For what, girl?”

“I don’t know, Mama.”

“To climb back up the cold-ass, snowy mountain and slide down it again. It’s insane, I tell you. Back in the day, black folk had more sense.”

“Times change.”

“And not for the better,” Mama grumbled. “Lord knows what sort of fool I’m going to get up in here to replace Melissa.”

“I’m sure whoever they send will be fine.” At least I hope they’ll be fine once Mama gets done with them.

Mama had been staying with me ever since she’d had her stroke. I wished Mama would have sold the house in Eskridge and come to Atlanta sooner. But Mom was stubborn.

Damned if I live off my children. Besides, y’all get on my last nerve, she’d say.

Mama was a mess. Like she thought she didn’t get on my last nerve, too.

“What day are you off work this week?”

“I’m off next Friday.”

“I can never tell when you’re coming or going. I see why there’s a nursing shortage if they put all of y’all through this hoo-ha.”

“My schedule is regular, Mama. I work every other weekend and I have every other Monday and Friday off.”

“How are people supposed to keep track of what’s every and what’s other?”

“It’s on the calendar on the refrigerator.”

“Humph. There’s a sale at JC Penney this weekend. I have some Christmas shopping I have to finish. I wanted you to go and get me some things.”

“Why not have May do it?”

“May is one of the ones I need to shop for. Besides, I never see you since you hired that other part-time aide.”

I had to guard my off days. Otherwise, I know Mama’d drive me stir crazy. I needed time to escape to my room, read a book, get on the computer or simply get away from the house.

“We see each other all the time. I got the other aide so I could have a bit of breathing space.”

“A waste of money is what I call it.”

“Do you want more coffee, Mama?”

“I’m all right.”

“I’m going to shower and dress.”

“Hurry up, I need you to help me to the bathroom soon.”

A few minutes later I was in the shower, warm water sluicing over my skin. I wished it could wash the fatigue out of my bones, too.

I didn’t know how I was going to get in everything I needed to do. I needed groceries and I had Christmas shopping to do. The season was closing in on me, and I didn’t feel even a little bit festive.

There was no way I could get anything done before I had to be at work at 3:00 p.m. I’d been working second shift ever since I graduated from nursing school.

But now I wished I worked day shift. It felt as if I put in a full shift at home before I went to work and put in another. I was up early every morning to get my mother up, get her dressed and feed her breakfast. I got up at least twice during the night to turn her so she didn’t get bedsores.

But despite everything, I appreciated the opportunity to pay back the love. Mama got up more than twice a night for me, once upon a time. She’d woken early to feed me breakfast and get me dressed for years.

My brother helped supplement Mama’s limited income and paid for the nurse’s aides, but he had a growing family and he lived in California, so the physical help he was able to give was limited.

“Sharyn!”

Ah—Mama bellowed. I turned off the water and hurried out of the shower. “You all right?”

“I need to go to the bathroom now.”

I pulled a robe over my damp body and hurried to take care of my mother.

I’d just gotten Mama settled into the wheelchair when the doorbell rang.

“Let the new girl in. I can’t wait to see what kind of fool they sent me this time.”

I pitied the physical therapist, whoever he or she was, that had to work with my mother. Mama was always cantankerous at best, but she was impossible now that she was wheelchair and home bound.

I pulled my robe a bit tighter and wished I’d had time to get dressed before the new therapist had arrived.

But when I opened the door, instead of the therapist, a handsome white man stood on the doorstep. He didn’t look the salesman type, but I supposed the better ones didn’t. He looked like a movie star, all sun-streaked hair, blinding white teeth and expensive everything. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“My name is Nick Cohen. I’m here to see Betty Silvers.”

“She isn’t interested.” I wondered what he was selling. What kind of door-to-door salesman could afford a slammin’ suit like he was sporting?

“What?”

“She isn’t interested in anything you have to sell. Thank you.”

I started to push the door shut, but to my astonishment, he blocked it with his foot.

“Take your foot out of my door!”

“I think Mrs. Silvers is interested in what I have to offer.”

“Take your foot out of my door before I knock it out.”

Was I gonna have to call 911 on this fool? I’d heard of persistent salesmen, but dang.

“You misunderstood.”

Misunderstood what? Did he think he was talking to a child?

“I have an appointment with your grandmother. I’m going to be doing her therapy.”

Oops.

“Betty Silvers is my mother,” I said, contrite. “You don’t look like a therapist.” That was an understatement. “How are you going to do therapy in a suit like that?”

I knew suits, and that one cost more than a dime.

“Would you like to see my badge?”

“Please.”

He dug out his wallet and handed me a card. His hands weren’t Hollywood though. They were the hands of a man who worked—rough and callused, although clean—rather than the suit-wearing fancy-model dude he looked.

“I’m sorry, I should have been wearing this badge, but I hurried here from a meeting,” he said.

I glanced at the picture and the logo of the therapy company. Yep, he apparently worked there and he had initials after his name. He was a certified physical therapist.

“Maybe we should reschedule this appointment anyway.” With another therapist. Mama wasn’t about to let some white man with salon-scissored hair and a thousand-dollar suit lay a hand on her.

“That’s not possible. I’m here to provide the therapy Mrs. Silvers’s rehabilitation doctor ordered.” He cleared his throat. “Are you going to let me in?”

All righty, then. I tried to save him. I stood aside.

“Let me introduce you to my mother.” Lord help the man.

I led him inside. All of a sudden I was acutely aware of my nakedness under the bathrobe, the rough terry cloth rubbing against my skin.

“Who is this?” Mama demanded as soon as we entered the den. “My therapist is supposed to be here now.”

“This is the therapist, Mama. Nick Cohen, this is my mother, Betty Silvers.”

Mother didn’t say a word but studied him from the top of his light brown, sun-streaked hair and blue eyes, down his expensive-as-hell Savile Row suit, to the tips of his Barker blacks.

“What the hell is this white man doing in our house, Sharyn?” Mama finally said.

Nick Cohen flinched.

“He’s here for your therapy, Mama,” I repeated.

“The hell he is. What fool is going to come to bend and sweat with some old lady wearing that getup? You thought you was going to a party, boy?”

I noticed Nick Cohen’s cheeks pinkening up nicely.

“No, ma’am.”

So Nick Cohen wasn’t dumb. That was the only right answer, as far as Mama was concerned.

“Well, then what’s wrong witcha, boy?”

“Nothing that I’m aware of, Mrs. Silvers.”

“Humph. Well, it’s your suit that’s gonna get ruined, fool. I leak. Sometimes us old ladies do. Anytime, anywhere, any orifice might start leaking, just like that. Leak, leak, leak, all over the place. Can you deal with that, boy?”

His eyes widened. “If I must, ma’am.”

I tried not to grin and scored him a point.

She chuckled. “He’s not too bad. Take off that jacket. Do you want Sharyn to get you a pair of her sweatpants and a T-shirt? They’ll stretch. He’s a tall one, isn’t he, Sharyn? Look at those muscles.”

I’d been looking. He must work out. Tall, well built and fine was a nice combo anyway you wrapped it.

“No, I’ll be all right,” he said as he swept off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Yessiree, he was as fine as wine. I turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Mama asked.

“I need to get dressed.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone with this strange man. He could be a rapist or something.”

I tried not to giggle at the strangled noise that emanated from Nick Cohen’s direction.

“A rapist? Mama, please.”

“You get over here and help this man.”

“Really, I don’t—”

“Shh. Be quiet, girl. First rule of the Silvers household—never interrupt Mrs. Betty Silvers. You got that? Under no circumstances mess up my train of thought, because once it’s lost, I might not be able to find it again. Now, as I was sayin’, go and get me my gait belt hanging on the back of the bedroom door.”

There was no point in arguing with Mama in this mood. I went.

Nick was perusing Mama’s chart when I returned with the belt a moment later.

“Put down that chart, boy,” Mama ordered. “I know my own routine. First we walk to the bedroom and then we take a little rest while you bring us hot, sweet tea and cinnamon toast. You have enough sense to make cinnamon toast?”

“I believe so,” he said.

“Good. Next time you’ll get a chance to make it. Now, where’s that gait belt, Sharyn?”

Fifteen minutes later I decided Nick Cohen really knew what he was doing. He expertly supported Mama so she was safe and felt secure, but she still did a good deal of work.

He was much better than Melissa, who coddled Mama too much. By the time Mama reached the bed, she was breathing hard.

“Sharyn, come over here and help me lie down.”

“I’d also like to observe your transfer technique,” Nick said.

He must have no idea that I was an RN and that heaving heavy patients around by myself was my bread and butter. I was small, around a hundred and ten pounds and short, while my mother weighed at least two hundred pounds. I forgave him because at first everybody thought I was going to have trouble.

I locked the wheelchair brakes, braced my knees against Mama’s and flexed my hips. With one easy motion I leaned over and pivoted Mama around to the bed.

He cleared his throat.

I almost dropped Mama when I realized my robe had fallen open and the entire curve of my breast was visible. Mortified, I tightened the belt to my robe before I moved around the bed adjusting my mother’s position. Mama closed her eyes and finally fell blessedly silent.

“Nice…nice technique. The way you moved really saved your back muscles and spine,” Nick said, his voice husky.

I darted a glance at him. He was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

“If I didn’t know what I was doing, I’d probably be in a wheelchair myself. I work med-surg at St. Margaret’s Hospital. Speaking of, I better get dressed for work.”

“Show him where he needs to make the cinnamon toast and tea,” Mama said without opening her eyes.

I met his gaze and a wave of sexual awareness passed between us. Our gazes lingered too long, filling me with a warm, wet needing.

Nick’s eyes were narrowed, his cheeks flushed, his hands deep in his pockets, hiding the arousal I knew without a doubt was present. Oh, Lord. He must think I exposed myself to every man who came into this house. That I was stuck in here caring for my invalid mother, desperate for some…

“The kitchen is that way,” I said. “I have to get dressed.”

I turned and fled.

His Second

When she opened the door, I wanted to peel back that sweet little white robe she was wearing and do her up against the wall, no words said, no questions asked or answered.

I couldn’t remember any woman ever affecting me as much.

I’d been with plenty of beautiful women and I had no fetishes for any certain type of women. But something about this woman moved me like no other.

The feeling only intensified when she wouldn’t let me in. The impish smile that had crossed her face only made me want her more.

Was it her delicate beauty or the difference of her glorious milk-chocolate silky skin and wet shoulder-length hair curling in tight, inky, coiled springs? Or was it her outspoken charm, the quick intelligence stamped on her features or the impish grin that crossed her face? Or maybe it was the more traditional appeal of huge doe eyes fringed with incredible velvet lashes and her kissable red Christmas-bow lips.

I was there that morning because there wasn’t one therapist who’d agree to visit “the Dragon,” as they referred to Betty Silvers, other than Melissa. When the office had called me to inform me of that fact, I’d rushed to the Silvers home from a meeting.

Right now wasn’t the time to lose my most lucrative case to one of my competing agencies. It wouldn’t look good at all since I was trying to sell my business I’d built from scratch to one of them. It was essential that I appeared a threat. Otherwise they’d be more hesitant to shell out the bucks to buy me out.

So I’d needed to handle this one myself. Then I could decide how to best present the problem patient to one of my better therapists. Betty Silvers might be difficult, but a difficult patient was something a good therapist should be expected to handle, right?

Wrong.

I was ready to wring that old lady’s chicken neck within the hour.

I’d resolved to give Melissa a raise and a bonus and was trying to figure out some way she could conduct a therapy session on crutches, because the woman must be a saint to put up with Betty Silvers. If she called me “boy” one more time—

“Help me to the bathroom again, boy.”

“Yes, Mrs. Silvers.” The woman must have a bladder the size of a pea.

I helped her and waited outside the door, thinking about Sharyn.

“Boy! Boy, do you hear me?”

“I can hear just fine.”

“Don’t you get smart-mouthed with me, boy. Go to my daughter’s room and get me a book from her bookcase, second shelf from the top, Love’s Fevered Passion. I’m gonna be a while in here. Hurry up now.”

Dear Lord.

Sharyn’s room was neat, decorated with bright, sunny colors. It had a Caribbean feel to it, as if she’d rather be at the beach than in chilly Atlanta. She liked techie toys as much as I did. Electronics were scattered all over the room. Her walls were lined with bookshelves, and they were all crammed full of books. She had very eclectic reading tastes.

Then my gaze was drawn to the flickering computer screen. In her rush to leave, she’d left it on. Her screen saver was a lazy fish that flowed over her desktop, not really obscuring it. She’d been in a chat room?

I had to force myself to look away from the computer.

Second shelf of which bookcase? I looked over all the second shelves from the top, but I could find no Love’s Fevered Passion. I hoped Sin’s Blazing Fury would do.

On the cover, a man clutched a woman who was bent backward over his arm at her waist. He seemed to be sniffing her navel, his face contorted as if he smelled something awful.

The woman seemed dreadfully uncomfortable, arched back in a bow, her unnaturally red hair brushing the heels of her feet. Maybe she was dead. There was a tiny horse in the background and a misty caped figure with a sword.

I guess it was horror novel instead of the porn opus Mrs. Silvers had wanted to read—I couldn’t help an involuntary shudder at the thought—but it would have to do.

I hurried back before Mrs. Silvers had another stroke.

She snatched the book out of my hand. Thank the Lord that Sin’s Blazing Fury seemed to work as well for her as Love’s Fevered Passion.

“It took you long enough. Now get out of here. I’ll call you when I’m done. It’ll be a while.”

“I need to leave, Mrs. Silvers. I have another appointment. Can I call your daughter—”

“You don’t need to do a thing in this life but stay white, die and do what I tell you. You best be here when I need you to get me off this toilet if my daughter isn’t back. You know I can’t be left alone.”

I could see why this case billed so high. Extended daily visits at special-care rates indeed. And we probably didn’t charge enough.

Sharyn had dressed and taken off as though those misty sword-wielding demons on the cover of Sin’s Blazing Fury were after her. She’d mumbled that she’d be back in an hour or so.

The Dragon had screeched after her, “It’s your fault if he rapes me!” I wished that somehow Mrs. Silvers would disappear and I’d be left alone with Sharyn so I could do my best to tempt her to violate my person, but those kinds of miracles just don’t happen.

Anyway, I knew why Sharyn had abandoned me to the not-so-tender mercies of the Dragon.

She was embarrassed about the little bit of heaven she’d shown me when her robe had fallen open. I shut my eyes at the memory of that luscious curve of brown breast topped off by that hardened berry of a nipple. I’d had to bury my hands in my pockets to hide my erection as if I were a teenage boy.

When I’d followed her to the kitchen, it had taken every ounce of willpower I had to play the gentleman I once believed myself to be. Because I was no gentleman now.

Gentlemen don’t want to sweep the kitchen table bare and throw a woman they don’t even know on it. They don’t want to shove that woman’s robe above her waist while their tongues play around and their lips pull at her succulent nipples.

Gentlemen don’t want to bury their fingers in her warm, wet slickness between womanly legs and tease, tantalize and touch until she opens wide, begging and pleading me to slide inside and stroke…oh, God, I was losing my mind.

I certainly had, because I found myself standing in her room in front of her computer, my hand on her mouse.

Match4Luv.com.

CHICCHERIE, 25 years old, Atlanta area. Lonely lady seeks friend for chat, maybe more.

I might have lost my mind, but this was a mighty interesting find.

Sharyn’s timing was uncanny. She walked in through the door just when I had finished the rather unpleasant and involved job of helping her mother out of the bathroom.

“So, Mama, I assume your virtue is intact?”

“I suppose so, but that boy has a special way with a hand and a bottom wipe.”

I felt my face turn red and I wished again that the earth would open up and swallow Mrs. Silvers. As always, the ground stayed as solid as ever, and so did the Dragon, Mrs. Silvers.

“Could you see me to the door?” I asked Sharyn. I had to have a word with her in private. I simply had to know if—

“Have you taken ill, boy? Why do you need help to the door all of a sudden?” the Dragon demanded.

“Uh, I need to ask Sharyn something.”

“Something about what?”

“Um, billing?” Please, Lord, let me strangle her, just a little bit.

“I handle my own bills around here, damn it! Spit it out, boy.”

“Mama, let me see the man to the door,” Sharyn said. “For heaven’s sake, I’ll be right back.”

“I know Mama can be a handful,” she said, as soon as we got out of earshot.

“A handful? More like a dump truck full of cement,” I muttered. “Look, I wanted to ask you if you had any free time this week so I could stop by and take you out for a drink.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “Are you asking me on a date, Nick Cohen?”

“I believe that’s the official term if you’re into labels.”

“I don’t date my mother’s therapists.”

“Not even a cup of coffee?” I had to take another shot.

“Is that all you asked me out here for? I’m freezing.”

Since it was, I really didn’t have a reply.

She gave me one of those looks and closed the door rather firmly between us.

I wished I hadn’t left my coat in the car. I was freezing—in more ways than one. Sharyn cut me cold.

Why? I knew I wasn’t ugly. And like most men, I could pick up the scent of female sexual interest from a mile away. She’d been nervous but interested. Very interested.

So why wouldn’t she go out with me? Psychically bleeding from the pain of rejection, I skulked to my Jag and pulled out my cell phone. I’d received seven calls—three from the office, one from a buddy and three from fine babes more than willing to soothe my pain. But they weren’t like Sharyn at all, and for some damn stupid reason, she was the only woman I wanted right now.

Was it only my hormones talking when I knew that I’d do almost anything for her? But why, oh, why did that have to include braving the Dragon?

Then I remembered Match4Luv.com and smiled.

Her Third

It was past midnight when I got home. Mama was sleeping, her snores audible as soon as I walked through the door. I peeled off my scrubs and jumped into the shower to rinse off residue of my work shift at the hospital.

I dried off and pulled a flannel nightgown over my head, warm bunny slippers on my feet and padded to the kitchen for a snack. It always took me time to wind down after work. I usually didn’t get to sleep until two or three in the morning.

I hadn’t been able to get Nick Cohen out of my head all day. It was worrying me to death. The man looked good, was professional, clean, polite, educated, more than well dressed—Barker blacks, for God’s sake. So why the hell did I turn him down flat?

I sighed. I knew why, I just didn’t want to name it. A part of me wanted to step up to Nick Cohen’s plate and take what he had to offer. But, to be honest, I wasn’t looking for a white guy. Especially a white guy I’d flashed all my goodies to on the first meet.

I knew Nick Cohen wanted to taste this dark chocolate real bad. It was written all over his face. How could I ever know where I stood with him? How’d I know for sure whether I was just an exotic new sexual flavor he wanted to try and discard or a woman he’d possibly consider for the long haul?

I never would know unless I was willing to take that leap, to risk my heart if the chemistry between us took its natural course. I knew I was still too bruised to be able to easily do that.

It had taken me a while to admit to myself how badly Patrick had hurt me, but once I did, I also had to deal with how sore I was, limping around from the aftereffects. I needed a break.

This was the first holiday season in five years I’d be without Patrick at my side. We were supposed to marry. The invitations had already gone out, the marriage plans in place.

I’d thought I was lucky. Patrick was a corporate lawyer, and most importantly, I’d thought he had class, a quality black man. He’d done those things important to a woman—little things like opening the car door, surprising me with an unexpected bunch of flowers and attending church with me on Sundays.

But I wasn’t lucky at all. The way I’d found out was a cliché. I’d caught him in bed with my best friend, my would-be maid of honor. I swear the ugly, jealous bitch had set me up to see it.

Then I’d found out Patrick had screwed every female with a pulse that had moved within a yard’s radius of his manhood, all the few friends I had.

They’d turned on me and then they’d turned on each other. Somebody was pregnant. Somebody didn’t know if Patrick was the daddy of her child. Somebody said she’d had an abortion. My life had turned into a freakin’ Jerry Springer special overnight.

Patrick had sat back and enjoyed the spectacle of all these fool women fighting over his magnificent member. And, believe me, in hindsight I realized that the member in question wasn’t all that in either quality or quantity.

In the end, I had no man. I had no friends. And Mama got sick.

Mama told me the whole mess was a blessing in disguise. She said if I married a mad dog like Patrick, his bite might have killed me. I guess Mama was right. But since I didn’t have the sense to know a good dog from one who’d turn on its owner, I’d been wary about entering the dog pound since, you understand?

But don’t get me wrong; I’m a woman who likes the company of a man. It’s just that, after Patrick, I needed to take it slow and easy next time. And there was nothing slow or easy about the sexual chemistry between Nick Cohen and me.

I sat in front of my computer and clicked the messages link of the Match4Luv site. My mailbox was full, but one message caught my eye. For one thing, he actually knew how to construct a sentence, understood comma usage and how to spell the word and. Also, unlike most of the other guys, he didn’t demand a photo immediately.

I clicked on the chat-room window, and lo and behold he was there! I opened the window for personal chat and clicked his handle GH0ST30

CHICCHERIE: Hi. I liked your note.

He answered immediately.

GH0ST30: Your profile seemed like someone I’d like to get to know. Especially the part about taking it slow.

I opened his profile, but it was sparser than mine, which was pretty sparse. He hadn’t posted any photo of himself, either. He’d listed his profession as an “entrepreneur”. That was broad. He’d listed his interests as wood working, cabinetry, camping, hiking, mountain climbing, skydiving and mountain biking. Yep, a white guy for sure.

CHICCHERIE: You sound intriguing. Why are you interested in taking it slow?

GH0ST30: I’ve been on the market for a while.

CHICCHERIE: That doesn’t sound like a good thing. Are you like a too-small fish? Are the women throwing you back?

GH0ST30: I don’t think so. I’m ready to get real, but all the fish I’m meeting are a tad tiny. My reasoning is that if I start fishing a little slower, maybe I’ll start catching bigger fish.

CHICCHERIE: Touché. So what are you looking for?

There was a pause before he answered.

GH0ST30: I want to fall in love.

Oh, snap. Stop pounding, oh heart of mine.

CHICCHERIE: Why no photo on your profile?

Ghost30: Why none on yours?

CHICCHERIE: I’d like someone to get to know what I’m all about without getting all wrapped up in my appearance.

GH0ST30: Me, too.

CHICCHERIE: But that could tip either way in the looks department. It’s a risk.

GH0ST30: You mean I could be either a three-hundred-pound wheelchair-bound dwarf or a Calvin Klein underwear model?

CHICCHERIE: Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shallow, but I hope you resemble the underwear model more.

GH0ST30: So do I.

CHICCHERIE: I don’t blame you for wanting to look more like a sexy underwear model more than a three-hundred-pound dwarf.

Okay, time to put him to the test. I laid it on him before he got the chance to tap out an answer to my teasing.

CHICCHERIE: Can I ask you a question?

GH0ST30: Are you going to ask me what I look like?

CHICCHERIE. Not quite. I was wondering what you’re wearing right now.

I giggled. Okay, so I was a bad girl. But this brought out the guys who were only about cyberslutting right away.

GH0ST30: :-D . Would you be disappointed if I told you that my black negligee is in the wash?

He had a sense of humor! This could be promising.

CHICCHERIE: No, I can deal with it, since mine has been sitting in the dirty clothes for days. Seriously, what do you look like? Stats, I want stats!

GH0ST30: I’m six foot one, average weight, with brown hair. I’m pretty average looking overall. My great personality is my claim to fame.

CHICCHERIE: Ha! What if I said that? Would you assume I was a three-hundred-pound dwarf?

GH0ST30: Undoubtedly. Now it’s your turn.

CHICCHERIE: I’m five two, a hundred and ten pounds, with black hair. I could almost be a dwarf compared to you.

GH0ST30: You left the lottery question blank.

CHICCHERIE: What?

GH0ST30: The question on your profile that asked what you would do with the money if you won the lottery.

CHICCHERIE: Oh. You left that question blank, too.

GH0ST30: You noticed. I’m flattered. So what would you do? I won’t tell anybody, I promise.

CHICCHERIE: Okay, I guess I can tell you, then. First I’d buy a new house with a separate wing for my mother and I’d get my mother a live-in maid. Maybe two maids. Then I’d pay off my all my brother’s debt, including his mortgage, and set up a trust to send my nieces and nephews to college. Finally, I’d quit work to write novels full-time. That’s it.

GH0ST30: No Rolls, no private jets, no mansions, no bling?

CHICCHERIE: Nah. I’d have an ace investment firm on it, though. I hate taxes. Your turn.

GH0ST30: I’d buy an EarthRoamer—that’s a very expensive, environmentally correct, self-contained RV—and I’d take off to the wilderness. I’d build a house with my own hands and be entirely self-sufficient somewhere naturally beautiful, off the grid. I’d do woodwork and cabinetry and give the rest of the money to charity.

It sounded rather romantic, albeit exhausting. The Adam-and-Eve angle was sort of appealing to me. I hated to admit it, but down deep—okay, waaay down deep—was a craving to get back to the basics. A good man, a simple home, hard work, babies. Was that enough? Was that all I really wanted? I stifled an urge to make the sign of the cross to ward off my sudden insanity.

CHICCHERIE: Everybody’s got a dream. What does “off the grid” mean?

GH0ST30: It means not connected to utilities.

No electricity? No air-conditioning or refrigerator? Now that’s crazy.

CHICCHERIE: What about your computer?

GH0ST30: There’d be one. There’s solar energy for power. There’s wood. There’s biodiesel. We could have most of the amenities you have now.

CHICCHERIE: Thank goodness for alternative energy.

GH0ST30: So basically you want to write, help your family out and get away from your mother. I can’t blame you for wanting to get away from your mother.

What was his deal with mothers?

CHICCHERIE: Why? Do you think most people want to get away from their mothers? Do you want to get away from your mother?

GH0ST30: My mother passed away.

CHICCHERIE: I’m sorry.

He must have had Mama issues. Oh, well. Nobody’s perfect.

GH0ST30: It was a long time ago. What do you want to write? Horror?

CHICCHERIE: Why do you think I want to write horror?

GH0ST30: My favorite horror novel is Sin’s Blazing Fury, but it’s been a long time since I read it.

CHICCHERIE: I’d hope so, since Sin’s Blazing Fury is a historical romance.

GH0ST30: You’re kidding. There’s a dead woman on the cover!

What weirdness was this? Did this dude have a romance-novel fetish? He was sounding crazy, which was too bad, because I was kind of enjoying him so far.

CHICCHERIE:?

GH0ST30: You mean she wasn’t dead? She sure looked dead to me.

CHICCHERIE: Right. Ha-ha. You’re pretty funny.

GH0ST30: A sense of humor is the name of the game. Are you going to be online tomorrow? Same time, same place?

CHICCHERIE: Sure. I’ll be back. Same time, same place.

Okay, so GH0ST30 was a little strange, but so far I enjoyed passing the time with him. I might as well see where this went, if anywhere.

His Fourth

I’m a bonehead and I blew it. Why did I have to bring up Sin’s Blazing Fury? Was I fixated on that book or what?

I wanted to show we had something in common; I wanted to impress her. Instead I came off as foolish. Crap. I drained my beer bottle and threw it in the trash, scoring a perfect two points. It made me feel a little better.

I bet she wouldn’t show online tomorrow night. What would I do then? I’d actually considered taking over Betty Silvers’s case personally, that’s how much her daughter turned me on. But there was no way I could do it regularly with everything else I had to do.

So I kissed profit goodbye and paid the case out at such a high rate I had therapists clamoring for the opportunity to put up with the Dragon. Cash helps anybody get along.

We needed to keep that case. Just a few weeks more and the ink would be dry on the papers to sell and I’d be free, heading out West in my newly delivered EarthRoamer RV.

I wasn’t lying about what I’d told Sharyn. What I didn’t tell her was my dream was almost coming true. All that was missing was the woman I imagined accompanying me. I’d been looking for her the past couple of years, but I hadn’t met her yet.

I knew I’d recognize her when I saw her. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just knew.

I’d never believed in love at first sight. I still didn’t, but I felt as if I had a chance with Sharyn—we’d work everything out, you know? It wasn’t that I expected that everything would be smooth between us—in fact, I was sure it wouldn’t. I just knew somehow we’d get through whatever. And I knew if we ever got together, we’d probably stay together.

But that’s stupid. There’s no such thing as soul mates. My overwhelming attraction to Sharyn had to be nothing more complicated than intense sexual attraction.

I shouldn’t overthink things. The woman simply revved me up. Once we got to know one another better, things would follow their natural course and that would be that.

If Sharyn wasn’t online when I signed on tomorrow, I’d create a new persona. Sooner or later, I’d find a persona that clicked.

Then what?

I’d cross that bridge later. My plan was to charm her first and then it would work itself out. Somehow we’d end up in bed and then I could stop thinking about her all the time.

Because there’s no such thing as soul mates.

CHICCHERIE: I was waiting for you.

She was waiting for me and admitted it? Hot damn!

GH0ST30: I’m glad you’re here. How was your day?

CHICCHERIE: It was all right. Yours?

GH0ST30: The same.

CHICCHERIE: I want to say something to you. Do you mind?

My stomach knotted up. That wasn’t reassuring.

GH0ST30: Of course not. Go ahead and say it.

CHICCHERIE: Let’s get real here. I’m not about wasting time.

I shifted in my chair, uneasy. What was she about, then?

CHICCHERIE: What do you expect out of this online thing, seriously? Are you really unattached? Or are you mainly looking for sex? Are you truly lonely? Or are you bored with your squeeze and just passing time? Do you date other women or are you strictly cyber? What are you all about?

She was direct. Then I would be, too.

GH0ST30: You really want honesty? Or do you want to hear what you want to hear?

CHICCHERIE: You know my answer to that. Otherwise why would I have asked?

GH0ST30: That’s what a lot of women say right before they get pissed off when you tell them the real deal.

CHICCHERIE: I’m not a lot of women. If you can’t be real with me, don’t bother to be with me at all.

GH0ST30: All right. Fair enough. Okay, I date. I see women all the time. I don’t have a committed relationship, though. I’m seldom online and I never cyber. This is a new thing for me.

CHICCHERIE: Then why are you doing it?

GH0ST30: I’m looking to hook up with the right one. What I’ve been doing isn’t working.

CHICCHERIE: What’s wrong with the woman you’ve been seeing?

GH0ST30: Women, plural. Nothing’s wrong with them. But nobody has moved me to want to commit. Nobody’s come close.

Except you, I thought.

CHICCHERIE: Have any wanted to commit to you?

GH0ST30: Hell, yeah.

CHICCHERIE: A bit cocky, aren’t you?

GH0ST30: More than a bit, the ladies say.

CHICCHERIE: Bad boy.

GH0ST30: I can be very bad, if that’s what you want.

Her pause was way too long. Damn it! I’d scared her. But my replies had been automatic, hormone-generated. I’d have to be more careful.

CHICCHERIE: I’m an RN. What do you really do? Entrepreneur sounds a little shady. You’re not in the mob, are you?

She’d changed the subject. I’d started treading on ground too dangerous for her. How much or how little should I tell her about what I did?

GH0ST30: I own a heath-care-supply company. Not nearly as glamorous as Tony Soprano, I’m afraid. I only get to fantasize about shooting people.

CHICCHERIE: What about your family? Have you ever married? Are you widowed? Divorced? You know, if you wrote this in your profile like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have to ask.

GH0ST30: I’m divorced. It was a brief interlude.

CHICCHERIE: I’m sorry. How long?

GH0ST30: Don’t be. I’ve been divorced for about three years now. I was married two years.

CHICCHERIE: Do you want to exchange sad stories?

My story wasn’t all that sad. But I really wanted to know her story. I’d have to show mine to see hers.

GH0ST30: Sure. You first. Are you divorced?

I’d never thought about her past. But she was twenty-five; she had a past.

CHICCHERIE: I’m more of an abandoned-at-the-altar girl.

GH0ST30: Really?

CHICCHERIE: Sort of. I called off my engagement less than a month before my wedding. We were supposed to get married last week. We thought a winter wedding would be nice, with the holiday season and all.

GH0ST30: Last week! You’re a recent veteran of a broken heart.

She was on the rebound. Damn.

CHICCHERIE: I’m more mad than brokenhearted. Mad enough to wonder if I ever loved him in the first place and why I was insane enough to agree to marry him. I should be hurt, but where is the pain?

GH0ST30: You have cause to feel hurt?

CHICCHERIE: More than enough cause. He cheated on me with not only my best friend but four other women I knew. There might have been more.

The man must have been stone crazy to cheat on a woman like that.

GH0ST30: How could he do that to you?

CHICCHERIE: That’s what I wondered. Can you imagine if I’d married him? It would have been awful. He would have tomcatted through the entire neighborhood—no, make that the entire city. I’ve been tested for every sexually transmitted malady under the sun and I’m clean, thank goodness. That’s my sad story. What’s yours? GH0ST30: My marriage collapsed because we were young and I was stupid. It’s not a very sad story. We’d been dating for about a year. I went along for the ride. She had a strong personality and made things easy for me. Then all of a sudden she decided she wanted to be married. I think that’s exactly what it was—she wanted to be married, not necessarily that she wanted to be married to me.

CHICCHERIE: That’s tough.

GH0ST30: I’m not guiltless. I added up the pros and cons and decided she’d be suitable. I settled for suitable and I don’t want to make that mistake again. We had a big wedding, went to Hawaii on the honeymoon, moved into a big house. Then we discovered we didn’t like each other very much. By the end of a couple of years, we couldn’t stand each other’s guts. We decided to split before we got any deeper. I think our divorce was more fun than our wedding. We threw a nice party.

CHICCHERIE: But isn’t the breakup of any marriage a disappointment?

GH0ST30: Not really. We both decided that the best was yet to come.

The pause between us lengthened and I felt compelled to end it.

GH0ST30: So what are you doing for the holidays?

CHICCHERIE: Not much. My brother’s flying into Atlanta with his family this year because of Mama’s stroke—we usually fly out to California, mainly because we like the weather. We prefer palm trees to a cold Atlanta Christmas.

GH0ST30: It’s just you and your brother? No extended family?

CHICCHERIE: Nope. My mother’s an only child.

When they made her mother, they broke the mold, thank God. I’ve never chatted with anybody before. I didn’t know what to do. Was this what chats were supposed to be like? I’d heard about cybersex, but revealing things about ourselves and innocuous banter would get old soon. This was going nowhere fast. I wanted to come out from behind the computer. I needed Sharyn to know the real me.

GH0ST30: My office throws a big Christmas party every year. Ours is coming up next weekend.

CHICCHERIE: Oh?

GH0ST30: I have to show, but I’m not really the party type.

CHICCHERIE: I know what you mean.

GH0ST30: Our party is at the Palace downtown.

CHICCHERIE: The Palace? Your company shells out big dough for this party, huh?

GH0ST30: It’s expected for the making of friends and influencing of people. Actually, a lot of agencies get together and throw it. Anyway, I’d love it if you’d show. It’s in the Grande Ballroom, formal dress. Hundreds of people will be there. It’s a safe place for a first meet, and you can protect me from the hordes of partygoers.

CHICCHERIE: I’ll think about it. We can discuss it later.

GH0ST30: All right. Same time and same place tomorrow?

CHICCHERIE: Same time, same place.

The next day all I could think about was Sharyn. I moved a few meetings around and took the Dragon lady’s session myself, lovesick fool that I was.

I knocked on the door at the stroke of ten. Sharyn’s big brown eyes widened at the sight of me. “No fancy suit today?” she asked.

“No sexy bathrobe?” I regretted my words when a slight look of irritation crossed her lovely face.

“No sexy bathrobe,” she said. “Mother’s waiting for you. She was excited to hear you’d be her physical therapist today.”

“Me, too.”

She let that one go with a raised brow.

“Hurry up, boy, I don’t have all day!”

“Do you have something to do, Mrs. Silvers? Maybe an appointment?”

“Get smart with me and what I’ll have to do is whup your butt.”

“Butt whupping is a bit on the kinky side,” I said, rubbing my upper lip. “But I suppose it’s good for range of motion and an excellent upper-body exercise.”

Mrs. Silvers’s eyes narrowed as she stared at me. I steeled myself for the dragon blast to come but was surprised at the roar of laughter that emanated from her throat instead.

“Good one, boy, good one,” she said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Sharyn caught my gaze and winked. I caught my breath.

If I could tame the Dragon, would she grant me her daughter as a boon?

As I worked through the therapy session with Mrs. Silvers, I could hear Sharyn moving around in the kitchen. I was surprised at how pleasant the Dragon was today. She only called me “boy” a few times.

I got her settled into bed. “Okay, boy, get yourself to the kitchen and make me some cinnamon toast and sweet, hot tea.”

“Sure.” Cinnamon sprinkled on toast. How hard could that be? I headed for the kitchen.

“I have the cinnamon toast ready,” Sharyn said. “If Mama is on schedule—and she always is—she sent you in here to get it.” Sharyn smiled at me, and all was right with the world.

She pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven. Two fat slices of Texas toast lay there, with a rich sugar and cinnamon glaze.

My mouth watered. “Baking is involved in making cinnamon toast? I was going to sprinkle some cinnamon on some bread I put into the toaster.”

“Mama would have a fit. It’s not hard. You mix real butter, sugar and cinnamon together, spread it on the bread, set the oven on broil and brown the toast in the oven for a few minutes.”

It sounded pretty damn hard to me. Putting a Pop-Tart in the toaster was about the level of my cooking skill. But I nodded as if I understood exactly what she was telling me.

“Take one of these to her. Here’s the tray. I’ve already set up the teapot, too. Then come on back to the kitchen. The other one is for you.”

That sounded better. “Thanks a lot.” I infused the words with as much meaning as I could, because I meant them. Really. If Mrs. Silvers wanted cinnamon toast as a part of her PT session, from now on I’d simply have to stop at the bakery on the way.

I set the tray on Mrs. Silvers’s table in front of her and adjusted her electric bed, feeling more like a nursing assistant than a physical therapist.

“Pull up a chair. I like company while I eat,” the Dragon ordered.

“Uh, I have to go the bathroom.” I grabbed my lower belly and did a little dance. “I have to go right now.”

The Dragon frowned, obviously not wanting her repast disturbed by any intestinal unpleasantness. “Well, get to going, then.”

I got.

Her Fifth

Nick Cohen was adorable sitting across the table from me, trying to restrain himself from cleaning up every last crumb of cinnamon toast from his plate. I could tell by the longing in his eyes.

“Do you want another slice?” I asked.

“Please,” he said.

I grinned. I like an honest man. I’d made a batch of cinnamon-butter, and it only took a second to slather it on the toast and slide a piece in the oven. Sure enough, as soon as I returned to the table, Nick’s plate was as clean as if somebody had washed it.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“One moment. The toast is done already. It only takes a second.” I slid the toast on his plate with a spatula and topped off his glass of milk.

I sat down across from him. “Ask away.”

“I don’t want to offend you, but I want to know. Is the reason you turned me down for a date because I’m white?”

My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“You can be honest,” he said.

“I usually am.” I slid back into my chair, adjacent to his. “Maybe a little, but it wasn’t most of the reason.”

I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “White men are basically men like any other, no big deal. If I’m ever hesitant, it’s because I don’t want to deal with this society’s race baggage. But usually I don’t care about society much. I figure the most important society is the one you make for yourself, you know?”

He nodded. “So what was it then?”

“It’s you. I’m coming off a bad relationship and I sense it would be heavy between us. Our vibes are very strong.”

“You think that’s a bad thing?”

I shrugged. “It’s a scary thing.”

“I think if you know beforehand something is going to matter, it’s going to matter. And you shouldn’t let it pass you by.”

His voice had lowered to a whisper and his face was close to mine, his ice-blue gaze intense. I couldn’t breathe in for the sudden sexual tension that descended, but I could smell him, sharp, musky, clean and very masculine.

I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me. And he wanted to kiss me. I was certain of it.

We breathed each other’s air, and our hearts beat a fast, staccato rhythm as the space between us grew smaller.

He stood, pushing the chair back in a sudden motion and grasping my shoulders, pulling me to him. I was boneless, more than willing to be crushed against his hard body.

Yes. I looked up into his eyes, surrounded by his arms, sinking into him, every nerve vibrating. It was as if I’d been waiting forever for this moment.

The feeling was strong, so that I had no hope of controlling it. Nick Cohen could hurt me for real, not merely bruise my pride.

I didn’t care. The moment between uncertainty and surrender was only an instant. His head lowered and his lips neared mine. My eyes closed. My body quivered like a string waiting to be played.

“Boy, come here!”

Nick growled out a low, savage curse.

“Boy! What are you doing? You better get your behind in here before I call the po-lice.”

He grazed my lips with his, like a thirsty man denied water. Then he strode away toward my mother, his steps wide and angry.

Mama, my bane and my salvation. I fled to my bedroom and started a bath.

I planned to retreat behind locked doors until Nick left. I shook with desire from a mere almost kiss.

This man could kill me. He could. I admit it, I’m a wuss, but the power Nick Cohen had over me terrified me.

GH0ST30: I was afraid you weren’t going to come.

CHICCHERIE: Why is that?

GH0ST30: Maybe that I said the wrong thing or scared you off.

CHICCHERIE: I’m not that easily scared.

GH0ST30: That’s a good thing to know. So have you thought about attending the party?

I hadn’t, but why not? Another man might be just the ticket to dilute the frightening power of Nick Cohen.

GH0ST seemed pleasant enough. Meeting in a public place was safe enough. I’d been to a party or two at the Palace before, and the Grande Ballroom was very grand indeed. It was right off the main hotel lobby, as public a meeting place as any restaurant.

CHICCHERIE: Sure. Since we haven’t done pictures, shall we exchange them now so we can recognize each other?

GH0ST30: Let’s surprise one another. How about flowers? A red-green-and-white carnation on the lapel or shoulder would be Chrismassy. We can meet at the bar next Saturday at seven sharp.

CHICCHERIE: Is it a pay or an open bar?

GH0ST30: Would I invite you to a party with a pay bar? It’s an open bar. The best thing about an office party is the opportunity for your coworkers and colleagues to embarrass themselves.

CHICCHERIE: But it works both ways.

GH0ST30: True. So we’re on?

CHICCHERIE: Guess so. Oh, did I mention I’m a black chic?

GH0ST30: Your profile did. Did I mention that I weigh four hundred pounds?

CHICCHERIE. No.

GH0ST30: I’m kidding! But I am white. Do you have any problem with that?

CHICCHERIE: Whiteness was the default choice on Match4Luv, surprisingly enough, with only other races having to specify their race. So I assumed you were white. It’s okay.

GH0ST30: Good. I want to let you know that you’re going to be surprised. I don’t want to say any more for now. But you’re going to be surprised. I only hope you find it a pleasant one.

CHICCHERIE: What? No hints?

GH0ST30: Maybe you’ve heard of me before.

CHICCHERIE: Are you telling me you’re famous? A celebrity?

GH0ST30: You haven’t told me much about your family other than your mother is an only child. My mother passed away about five years ago. My father sold the house and went to live in a retirement apartment. He likes it there.

CHICCHERIE: Right. So you’re just going to change the subject and leave me hanging. No fair.

GH0ST30: Saturday will be here soon enough for you to find out. The reason I was telling you about my father is what you said about your mother and maid service. I think she’d like a place like where my father lives. It comes with maid service, activities and people to order around 24-7.

CHICCHERIE: Really? But we could probably never afford it.

GH0ST30: I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it. Maybe you can bring it up with your other relatives when they get here for the holidays.

CHICCHERIE: You mean my brother.

GH0ST30: Is he married?

CHICCHERIE: Yes, and he has five children. They’re biracial. He married a white woman.

Given the amount of time GH0ST30 paused, I gathered he was surprised.

GH0ST30: Your mother was fine with this?

CHICCHERIE: Not like she had much say. And she’s crazy about her grandchildren. I think her daughter-in-law gets on her nerves less than my brother. He’s a minister.

GH0ST30: Really? And that gets on her nerves?

CHICCHERIE: He’s a minister of the Church of the Glorious Inner Light of Free Earth Beings in Space. That’s the GILFEBS Church for short. Yes, that gets on her nerves a bit.

GH0ST30: Wow. That almost has my brother beat, but not quite.

CHICCHERIE: How can that not quite have your brother beat?

GH0ST30: My brother is a Mormon, an elder in the church. I suppose you could say he’s also a minister. He lives in the Utah desert, a very rural area. He has four wives so far and probably twenty-odd kids. Dad thinks he’s nothing but a no-good swinger who took on that religion to get away with getting a lot of young nooky on the side. He gets on Dad’s nerves a bit, too.

CHICCHERIE: My goodness. It appears we have more in common than we thought. Is that your only sibling?

GH0ST30: I have another. She’s more like me. She’s in Africa now. She’s a World Health Organization doctor.

CHICCHERIE: You’re sounding more interesting by the moment.

GH0ST30: I’m very interesting, as I’m hoping you’ll discover Saturday.

CHICCHERIE: Is that a promise?

GH0ST30: If you want it to be.

His Sixth

It was a few minutes before seven. I hurried through the party crowd to the entrance, but it seemed as if I ran into human obstacles every few feet.

“Nick! It’s been such a long time,” some woman said in my ear.

“Later,” I replied without slowing.

I grinded to a halt in front of a gilded figure who’d planted herself in front of me. Oh, Lord, it was Maureen.

“I will forgive you for not returning my calls if you bring me a martini, two olives. I love olives.”

I looked at my watch. Damn, it was straight-up seven. Was that Sharyn in the red dress?

“What an ugly thing,” Maureen said and plucked the multicolor carnation boutonniere out of my lapel.

“Give that back.”

“I will when you bring me my martini.”

Sharyn was looking around with the slight frown of a stranger at a party. I had to get to her. What if she left? I turned away from Maureen with an exasperated sound and made my way through the crowd.

“Nick! I’m surprised to see you here,” Sharyn said. “I was supposed to meet someone…” she looked around.

I glanced down at my missing boutonniere that was supposed to explain that I was GH0ST30 to her in one glance. “About that…um…”

She looked up at me with her brows raised. The words to explain I was really GH0ST30 died on my tongue, an ignominious coward’s death.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“Sure, a rum and Coke.”

She had uncomplicated alcoholic preferences. No psuedosophistication or girlie, frooty-tooty drinks for her. I liked it. The band started up, playing an upbeat jazz tune.

Sharyn was at my side, and I knew the night was going to be good.

The night was as fabulous as the band turned out to be. We danced nonstop. Was it an excuse to hold each other tight? I hoped she thought so. Because for me, I knew it was so.

Her hair had been pulled back into a knot at the back of her neck, and my fingers itched to release it. Sexy wayward tendrils had escaped their confinement, and her red dress clung to every delicious curve she had.

The band was playing R & B slow-dance tunes. Sharyn had called it “old school.” Her scent of raspberries and roses intoxicated me more than any strong liquor. As her body moved against mine, at first I had to stick my butt out, way too stiff in more ways than one.

But the music moved us together like sticky honey. I’d long since given up trying to be circumspect as her soft curves melded against me. Burying my face in her hair, I longed to finish what I had started in the kitchen the other day.

She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. Our gazes met and something moved between us, something hot and so compelling, I couldn’t look away. Neither could she. I didn’t think as my mouth met hers, couldn’t think for the feeling. Her lips were as soft as I had imagined.

The kiss deepened, grew more intimate. Urgency pulsed through me like the roar of blood through the arteries in my ears. She pulled away, breathing hard. “Your colleagues…?”

I glanced around. There were some stares, a few hostile glares from women I’d dated. I’d not made any polite rounds, not left Sharyn’s side or sweet arms from the moment I’d arrived. I supposed people noticed.

“I couldn’t care less.”

“It’s awkward,” she said, her voice faint. I loosened my embrace and we continued to dance, our hearts thundering against each other’s.

“Would you like to go—”

“I’d love to,” she answered before I got my sentence finished.

I held out my arm and we went to retrieve our coats from the coatroom. I abandoned my own party without a moment’s hesitation.

I felt shy with her in my car. It wasn’t something I was used to feeling with a woman. “Do you want to go to a restaurant? A jazz club? Or if you want to dance, we can do that.”

“I don’t think I’m in much of a party mood tonight after all.” She gave me a smile that almost took my breath away. “I’d like a quiet evening, a chance to get to know you better. A restaurant would be great. Simple food is fine.” I could feel her gaze on me. “Or we could go to your place. I’m curious about how you live. It’s only fair, since you’ve been to my house so often.”

I caught my breath. A man’s dream come true.

But I knew if I took her to my place I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. She had to know it, too. She thought she was in control, didn’t she? Coming off a bad relationship, she needed to be in control of this. I’d bet money that was the case. She wanted to see if she could handle us, just me and her alone together, without it raging out of control.

She thought she could. But I knew we couldn’t. And too soon for us would be disastrous.

“I know a great little restaurant I want you to try. Italian,” I said.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Cohen. Good to see you again.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

He led us to a great table, his eyes gleaming with appreciation as he glanced at Sharyn. So Tony liked her better than some of the other women I brought here? I appreciated his taste. It was excellent in both women and wine.

“How about you serve us, Tony? House specials in everything.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Nick.”

“I hope you like surprises,” I said to Sharyn.

“I love them when they’re good.”

“I trust Tony. I think he’ll hook us up fine.”

Tony appeared on cue with two wineglasses and a bottle of rosé. He proffered it to me to taste, and I shook my head, trusting him. He poured our wine with a flourish and then retired.

“It will be good,” I said.

She sipped. “Excellent.” Her finger traveled around the rim of the glass after she replaced it on the table. “You know, I’m glad I ran into you. I was wrong to turn down a date. I did want to go out with you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I was afraid to take a chance. I recently came out of a bad breakup. I’m still a little bruised, you know?”

I knew too well. I should tell her right now I was GH0ST30. I’d tell her about Maureen and the boutonniere. Everything would be all right.

“Trust is the most important thing to me in a relationship,” Sharyn said. “After being lied to for so long, I want to get it right next time.”

I was a squirrel in the middle of the road and an eighteen-wheeler was bearing down on me.

“I understand,” I choked out, my throat dry. I emptied my wineglass. A waiter appeared as if by magic to refill it.

I understood too well. I’d broken her number one rule right out of the gate. How could I tell her now?

The waiter put our salads in front of us—the fresh vegetables, cheese and olives cut and arranged like a work of art.

“This looks too pretty to eat,” Sharyn said.

“I’ve had it before. It’s delicious. You’ll be surprised how easy it is to eat once you get started.”

I picked up my salad fork even though I was no longer hungry.

“Have you got your Christmas shopping done yet?” Trite, but I needed to fill the silence.

“You’re right, this salad is yummy. Yes, it’s done. My brother and his family will be here day after tomorrow. I’m getting in gear with the baking. I’ve got the holiday off from work this year. What are your plans?”

“It’s just my father and I. We don’t do much. And besides, we’re Jewish.”

“Really? Then why don’t you come over? I warn you—it’ll be wild. My brother has a passel of bad kids, but I think kids are what make Christmas fun.”

“They are. You know what? I’d love to. I think I can drag Dad along for the ride, too.”

She laughed, delighted. “Mama likes you.”

“You could have fooled me. I think what she likes is to call me ‘boy.’”

“She’s trying to get a rise out of you. She’ll grumble for the effect, but she’ll be thrilled.”

Sharyn had invited Dad and me to her home for the holidays? A grin spread across my face. Like that, my mood lightened, my trepidation was forgotten. Wine and laughter flowed.

The waiter served veal piccata. By the time Tony came to ask how we were enjoying the meal, I had relaxed again, enjoying Sharyn’s company, enjoying the food, enjoying everything.

I’d worry about that trust thing tomorrow.

Sharyn looked at her watch. “It’s almost eleven-thirty! Nick, I have to get home. May has to leave soon.”

Everything comes to an end. We drove to her house in companionable silence. It probably was particularly companionable because we were both stuffed to the eyeballs. Tony had outdone himself and I’d rewarded him well.

I opened the car door for her and helped her out like the queen she was. At the door, I pulled her to me, hungry for a different meal. She met my lips with the same fervor, her arms twining around my neck.

“I want to ask you in for coffee, but…”

I thought about the Dragon guarding her lair. “That’s all right. I’ll pick you up for brunch tomorrow. Noon?”

“Perfect.”

She gave me another kiss, before turning to unlock the door and disappearing inside.

Yes! I know it was undignified but I couldn’t help a few air punches as I danced back to the car. I was the man! I was her man to be. We’d dated and we were going to date some more. Our families were going to spend Christmas together. Touchdown! Well, almost.

Her Seventh

I took my hair down, threw my red dress on my chair and studied my kiss-bruised lips in the mirror. Nick Cohen was hot. Tonight I’d been willing to get burned. There was something about that guy that turned me on all the way. He made what Patrick and I had had together seem like practice for the real thing.

Nick was the real deal all right. Thank goodness GH0ST hadn’t shown up. But what if he had? Once Nick and I got together, we didn’t take our eyes off each other all night.

If GH0ST had arrived, he would have seen me grinning up in another man’s face, glued to another man’s side. Would I have spoken to somebody if I were in a similar situation? Probably not.

Maybe GH0ST had shown, but what would be, would be. Given how I was feeling about Nick, it wasn’t fair not to tell GH0ST about it. I didn’t want to string him along, and an online connection had no comparison to the flesh-and-blood immediacy of Nick.

Resolved to tell him, I signed on my computer and logged in to the chat room, but GH0ST wasn’t there.

“You confused, boy? Somebody else already did my session,” Mama said to Nick.

“We’re going out,” I said.

“Going out! Why are you going out with that boy, chile?”

“The usual reasons, Mama.”

“Humph.” She turned her baleful gaze on Nick, and I swear he flinched. “You take care of my child. And spend some money on her. We Silvers women don’t suffer cheap-ass sorry fools, you hear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Silvers.”

Trust Mother to put the icing on the cake of my mortification. That was why I never brought boys home in high school. I never met a man yet that Mama couldn’t scare, but Nick was holding his own with Mother. This was one white boy she wasn’t cowing. I smiled.

“What you grinning at, girl?”

“You, Mother, I’m grinning at you.”

“You better get your hind end outta here.”

I winked at Mama, grabbed Nick’s hand and raced to the door.

“Are you sure you want to play with the Dragon like that?” he asked as the door shut behind us.

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

“Don’t you know by now that Mama’s bark is the worst thing about her? So y’all call her the Dragon at your physical therapy place?”

He looked embarrassed, a slight pink spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah.”

“Mama would be flattered.”

“She would?”

“A dragon is a mighty formidable mythical creature, beautiful and strong. Who wouldn’t want to be a dragon?”

“I guess that’s a point.” He opened the car door for me and then slid into his seat. “What do you want to eat?” he asked, starting the motor.

“I want to eat something I cook at your place.”

I don’t feel as if I really know somebody until I see how he chooses to live—and I wanted to know Nick Cohen.

“All right.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Just that tiny movement turned me on. I twined my fingers together to keep from touching him.

I frowned a little, wondering why something like that affected me so much. I bit my lip as I realized that Nick wanted to know me as much as I wanted to know him.

Nick lived in one of those luxurious high-rise condos downtown with a parking garage underneath.

“I left a mess,” he said as we stood in the elevator.

“I always wonder about OCD or the down-low if a guy is too neat.”

“Isn’t that gender discrimination?”

“Nope. I’m suspicious of overly neat women, too.”

“That type gets on my nerves, too. They’re always following around, picking up something. Thank the Lord for cleaning services.”

I nodded. Nick Cohen was a man after my own heart. He believed in cleaning services! He was damn near perfect so far.

We got off on a floor high enough to make me dizzy, and he turned the key in his lock. I drew in a sharp breath as he opened the door.

His place was stunning, both masculine and beautiful, decorated with bold slashes of color, reds, browns and black against white, and set off with silver.

“I love your place. It’s very modern but not cold.”

“I like it, too. I got a bargain. I would never have paid the prices that decorators charge firsthand.”

I noticed he didn’t say he couldn’t afford it.

“Who decorated?” I asked.

“A friend. Want to take a look around?”

When we got to his bedroom, with a stunning platform bed, the tension between us gathered, thick and palpable as steam. I wanted him to kiss me. I craved his touch.

“Maybe we should go look at the kitchen and see what there is to cook,” he said, his voice husky.

“Maybe we should do that.”

“Yeah. I think I have some eggs.”

“I like eggs.”

“They’re especially good with cheese,” he said right before his lips covered mine.

It was as if the room filled with music. We moved against each other in our own special slow dance. Nick had a fluid grace, and I matched him move for move.

His sex rose and thickened, musk-hot, pounding and throbbing, out of control as he kissed me, his mouth demanding, our tongues hungry, wanting needing more.

He cupped his hands around my buttocks and pulled me close against him. I buried my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, musk and fire. Arousal hardened my nipples as I moved against his body.

Butter-silk smooth, I ground my pelvis against him, I didn’t want control anymore. I wanted him. As I abandoned care and fear, all there was left was Nick and this feeling. Our mouths met again, our tongues dancing in time to an inner beat.

Overwhelming and urgent need for this man overcame me, and I gasped against his lips with the desire to have him buried inside me, his hands on my naked body.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, his mouth reclaiming and exploring my own.

I stepped away, my desire clear in my mind. Once I decided to do something, I liked to do it right. My mood was playful and happy, abandoned and free. No control, no regrets.

A small smile crossed my face. I wanted him to see me.

He tried to follow but I held up a finger. No, no. I pulled off my shirt, one motion over my head. My bra was red, my favorite, lacy and almost see-through.

He drew in a breath, his eyes narrowed.

I kicked off one shoe, then the other. I held out a foot for him to take off the sock, teasing him. “Now the other foot.” His hands trembled.

“Slow down. Take your time,” I said.

He looked up then, a sardonic smile on his face. “I always do,” he said.

Oh, my.

I wasn’t myself, but I didn’t care. I’d decided to cross the line and I was going to go all the way. I dropped my belt to the floor, and my jeans followed right after. He made a convulsive movement toward me.

“No, not yet. I’m not done.”

“Oh, God,” he said.

I took off my bra. His tongue moistened his lips, his pupils huge in his light eyes. I stepped out of my panties.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” I said.

He grabbed me, lifted me in the air and swung me around and gave a whoop. “I have died and gone to heaven. You’re as crazy as I am! I knew it!”

I laughed with him. For a second, at least. He soon silenced me.

He trailed tiny kisses down my throat, circled his warm tongue around my nipple and sucked, pulling deep desire up from between my legs. Then the other nipple.

My hips churned, needing more, needing him.

He parted the curls between my legs and slid clever fingers around my most sensitive part. Then his tongue followed. He slid two fingers within me, in and out, at the same time.

Was it me making all that noise as I spun into freefall, spiraling out of control, clutching his hair, crashing and splintering to a million pieces?

I came back together slowly, gasping hard. Dang. For that alone, he was a keeper.

He moved up me and looked into my eyes. His light eyes were dark, stormy. “You want me?”

“You know I do.”

He quickly put a condom on and slid inside me, moving slowly. He filled me up, so big. I loved it, every inch. He worked it hard and slow, stoking that fire within me again while he whispered words of adoration in my ear.

Wildfire. I burned. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I felt his deep thrusts filling up every inch of me, working and rotating round my slickness.

“Again. I want to feel you quake against me again.” He burned me slow and easy, his fire moving inch by inch, unstoppable.

Then, like the thrust of a knife, sharp and hard, I cried out in surprise and ecstasy as I convulsed against him. He shouted as he met me in that place where we seemed to belong together.

I had to pull myself out of Nick’s arms before midnight as if I were a fairy-tale figure. We’d had a magical day, making love, talking, laughing and being silly. Nick simply felt right, a real good fit.

I’d jumped into bed with him too soon, and the striptease was silly, but I didn’t care because I’d made the decision to trust Nick Cohen.

Did he know the leap of faith it took me to hand him my heart along with my body? I’d whispered it in his ear, and he’d kissed me, reassuring me he was worthy.

It’s not that I’m such a poor judge of men. I never trusted Patrick to this extent, not really. Patrick was never as transparent as Nick, though. His eyes had always been veiled, never showing outright longing for me. Lust, maybe, but never longing.

I’d never again trust a man who wasn’t transparent, who was too quick with the easy put-down and too careful about his ego and persona to be fun. Nick was fun. He didn’t give a damn about being cool.

I eyed the flickering screen of the computer on my desk. I wondered if GH0ST was on, for me to let him know about Nick. GH0ST was a decent guy. I should be trustworthy, too.

I sat down at the laptop and signed on. I’d almost decided to click off when he appeared.

CHICCHERIE: Hi GH0ST.

GH0ST30: Hi.

CHICCHERIE: I’m sorry I missed you at the party, but it’s cool. I was preoccupied. I met this guy.

GH0ST30: Okay.

CHICCHERIE: I want to tell you about him. We said we’d be honest with each other. He’s the guy I’m going to be seeing from now on.

GH0ST30: That’s all right.

If I was a lesser woman, my ego would be a little crumpled at G’s cool reaction, but it was all good.

CHICCHERIE: I’m happy you’re fine with it. Sometimes you meet someone and you just know.

GH0ST30: Yes.

I was bubbling over to talk about my new squeeze, but GHOST was a guy!

CHICCHERIE: I can tell you, but you have to take it like a girlfriend.

GH0ST30: How’s that?

CHICCHERIE: The job of a girlfriend is to listen and make appropriate sounds at intervals. You can handle the gig?

GH0ST30: I can’t resist being a fly on the wall for this one.

CHICCHERIE: He’s fantastic. I met him at your party. We danced. He’s not the greatest dancer, but—

GH0ST30: Not the greatest dancer! What do you mean by that?

CHICCHERIE: It’s not important. It’s how he made me feel. We shot live sparks off each other. It was almost spooky how he turned me on. Then, after the party, we went out to eat.

GH0ST30: Live sparks, huh?

CHICCHERIE: Yep. I think you have the girlfriend thing down pat. And today…today he, uh, kissed me. Squeeee!

GH0ST30: Squeeee? Dare I ask, is that good or bad?

CHICCHERIE: I haven’t actually said squeeee since the eighth grade. But that’s how it felt. I shouldn’t be telling you this.

GH0ST30: Please do go on. You were referring to the way he made you feel. Feel free to use all the descriptive adjectives you like.

CHICCHERIE: Have you ever gone off the deep end like this?

GH0ST30: More than you know.

CHICCHERIE: I invited him and his father to our house for the holidays. He’s coming over for Christmas Eve dinner.

GH0ST30: It sounds like you want this guy in your life.

CHICCHERIE: I think so. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for, too.

GH0ST30: You know what? I think I’ve gotten lucky, too.

CHICCHERIE: GH0ST! Really?

GH0ST30: Really.

The pause was so long I wondered if he’d left.

CHICCHERIE: You still there?

GH0ST30: Yeah. But I better sign off. I’m tired.

CHICCHERIE: Good luck with your somebody. Take care.

He had to know I was saying goodbye.

GH0ST30: You, too.

Guys aren’t that sentimental, I guess. I signed off and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of chamomile tea. I’d better get some sleep. I needed to be at the airport early tomorrow morning to pick up my brother and his family.

His Eighth

“I was going to go over to Maury’s on Christmas Eve,” Dad said. “We were going to double date and play some cards. You know how he always gets depressed this time of year.”

“I really want you to come and meet her family,” I said. “Her mother’s about your age. You’d be crazy about her.”

I was glad that Dad had long since lost the capacity to beat my ass, because he’d certainly deem the whopper I’d just told him as deserving a beating after he met Mrs. Silvers.

“Usually you go out with one of your women on Christmas Eve, and so do I. Why the sudden change of plan? I got things to do and people to see, Nick.”

“How many times have I asked you to meet one of my girlfriends’ parents, Dad?”

“It’s serious?”

“It could be.”

“I guess it’s about time you settled down…again.”

“Yeah, but we just started dating. Don’t embarrass me by bringing that topic up.”

“Is this one of those fancy, rich, goyish affairs where I’m going to have to wear an uncomfortable suit?”

“No. Very down-home, small family probably wearing jeans. They’ll have good food, too.”

“Good food, huh? Your girlfriend’s got a good-looking mother, too? It might not be too bad.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll pick you up Tuesday around five-thirty.”

He was going to kill me once he laid eyes on Betty Silvers, since fetching wasn’t a word I’d used to describe her. But she wasn’t ugly, and I’d bet she was a looker in her day, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

But, man, was Dad going to be surprised! But I didn’t feel like telling him all about the Silverses up front. I didn’t want him to back out and I had to go buy Christmas presents.

The next day I was at Neiman Marcus enduring the hell of frenzied-eyed women stampeding down the sale aisles. I decided to get everybody a sweater. A one-size-fits-all unisex sweater. They had a good selection of outrageously expensive cashmere sweaters—kids, women’s and men’s, so that’s what everybody was going to get. I’d given the salesperson a list and he began fetching and wrapping. I’d hidden from the hordes of shoppers in the men’s department and was playing games on my cell phone when it rang.

“Hey, Nick,” Sharyn’s sweet voice said.

“Hey, darlin’. What’s up?”

“I’m still cooking. What are you doing?”

“Finishing up my Christmas shopping.”

“I’m finishing up the Christmas feast, but I’ve retreated to the bathroom so I won’t choke my sister-in-law.”

That sounded interesting.

“Tell me the tale,” I said.

“They’re strict vegans. They want tofu instead of meat for Christmas!”

“That sounds rather grim.”

“I told her I was cooking duck and turkey. She tells me that I’m not and goes out and buys a tofurkey!”

“A what?”

“A tofurkey, a tofu turkey. It doesn’t look like food, Nick.”

“Don’t you always spend the holidays together? What do you folks usually eat?”

“We do spend the holidays together, but we usually go to her place, so I deal with whatever she serves. I respect other people’s kitchens. If they want to pass off soy by-products as food in their own damn house that’s fine, but—”

“You cooked the duck, didn’t you?”

“Three ducks, a turkey and a ham.” Sharyn sniffed. “I dealt with all the other culinary weirdness she was laying on me. I thought, live and let live and she’d do the same, right?”

“But, no, she didn’t,” I said. I was getting the hang of this girlfriend thing. It was rather fun.

“That’s right. She said her kids’ Christmas would be ruined if they had to look at dead animals sitting on the table. She said it wasn’t sanitary to have dead animals where people intended to eat.”

“Dead animals?”

“She looked at my glazed ducks, ham and turkey breast and said they looked like rotting, maggot-infested roadkill, Nick. She insisted on serving the horrid Tommy Tofu tofurkey instead. I lost it. I can’t believe I cussed my sister-in-law out the day before Christmas Eve.”

“It’s going to be all right. Tell her you won’t put the meat on the table. But it’s going to smell so good people will be sneaking into the kitchen to get it. Your food will disappear and her tofurkey will sit there abandoned.”

“For real. That thing doesn’t look edible. What if I sneak some real stock into the dressing to get her back?”

“C’mon, be nice. Use vegetarian broth and let them sneak their meat-laced foods knowingly.”

“I know you’re right, but I’d still like to hold that heifer down and ram a hamburger down her throat.”

I grinned at the vision. “Any chance of you getting away today?”

“Nope, not until dinner tomorrow. It’s the usual before-Christmas preparation. We’re simply overflowing with holiday cheer. Want to come by?”

“Uh, I can wait till tomorrow.”

“Coward. But it’s probably for the best. This place is a madhouse. I hope your father has a good sense of humor. I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting you over to experience the full force of my family this early in our relationship.”

“I’m thinking you’re wonderful. Dad has a great sense of humor. He’ll be entertained way before he’s offended. And I met your mother, remember? If that’s not full force, what is?”

She laughed. “Five bad kids, a militant vegan sister-in-law and a space-alien minister.”

I wanted to tell her about my crazy family, but I think I’d revealed it as GH0ST, and now wasn’t the time to break the uncomfortable revelation. “Dad and I can handle it,” I said.

“I feel better, thanks. I’m ready to go back to the kitchen.”

“Tell your sister-in-law if she doesn’t zip it, the blood in the kitchen will be hers.”

Sharyn gave a delighted peal of laughter.

I have a sense of humor, too, and I knew Dad’s reaction to the Silvers family was going to be priceless. I couldn’t wait.

At six o’clock sharp on Christmas Eve my father and I stood on the Silverses’ porch and rang the doorbell. A pleasant-looking plump blonde dressed in silky flowing blue robes answered the door. “Welcome, and sweet winter solstice,” she said.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Dad said, handing her his coat. “Is she the one?”

“No, Dad.” To the blonde I said, “I’m Nick, Sharyn’s friend. And this is my father, Saul Cohen.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m Sharyn’s sister-in-law, Carole Silvers. Let me take your coat, too.”

Shrieks of children greeted us. A bunch of kids raced toward us, circled, and one ran straight into Dad’s stomach.

“Oof,” he said, doubling over. He straightened and adjusted his clothes. “What’s with these little brats? Don’t they know how to behave?”

“Those are my children,” Carole said, looking none too pleased.

“Hello, Nick.” Sharyn exited the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Dad’s brows shot up. Yep, he was surprised.

“Is she the one?” he asked me.

“Yes, she’s the one.”

“Dad, this is Sharyn Silvers. Sharyn, my father, Saul Cohen.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cohen.” Sharyn had a glint in her eye and she shook hands with my father. “You remind me a bit of my mother.”

“I agree,” Carole said, her voice faint. “I better go and see what’s going on with my children.” We followed her to the living room.

“Mama, we don’t handle them that way,” a tall, slim black man said to Mrs. Silvers, who brandished her gait belt over her head. “We put them in time-out. Jared, Jeremy, go to those two corners right now.”

“No!” the two boys shouted.

The little boys took off in different directions. I looked around. Sharyn’s usually neat house looked as if a giant had picked it up and shaken it.

Mrs. Silvers gave the belt a decisive shake. “Time-out? What’s wrong with you, boy? No wonder you got such badass kids.”

“Kids, get over here this instant,” I heard Carole’s voice scream from the backyard.

“Mama, you know that we don’t believe in striking our kids or letting anybody else do so.”

“That’s why their little bad asses are so damn bad.”

“They are not bad,” the man said, exasperated.

“You need some glasses and hearing aids, then. You’ve been spending too much time reading all those ignorant books written by psychobabblers who raised a bunch of crazy badass kids themselves.”

“Calm yourself, Mama,” Sharyn said.

“I am calm. It’s your brother and his wife those badass kids are driving crazy.” She sucked her teeth. “Time-out. I can’t believe I raised a son without a lick of horse sense.”

The man started to say something.

“I know you’re not going to open your mouth and talk back to me,” the Dragon snapped.

The man’s mouth closed.

“Butt-whipping is quick, effective and efficient when used properly. Other discipline is a lot harder to carry through. You gotta show a lot more resolve and backbone than I see you two showing.”

Her son fidgeted and the Dragon lifted her hand. “Let me finish. Those kids don’t do anything you say because you don’t back it up. Your word doesn’t mean a damn thing to them. If you tell that boy he’s gotta go to the corner, you make him go there, even if you have to put a foot on his neck to keep him there. Do you understand? All that screaming and yelling of empty words has to stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“You and your wife need to stop chasing after those kids like they’re the boss of y’all. Just let them know what’s going to happen if they run—and follow up. Boy, are you paying attention to me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What would I do to you if you ran from me?”

“You’d whip my butt until I couldn’t sit down, ma’am.”

“Was that a promise?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you ever run from me?”

“No, Mama, I didn’t.”

“Go get your wife. Those kids will get tired and want something soon. When they drop, tell them they ain’t getting nary a present tomorrow morning unless they calm their little bad asses down and fly right. Tell them Grandma said it so they know it will happen.”

The man turned and fled.

Dad had settled on the sofa near Mrs. Silvers and was watching her, fascinated.

“Now who is this old white man in my house and when is somebody going to introduce me to him?”

“Mama, please. You know Nick. This is his father, Saul Cohen. And this is my mother, Betty Silvers.”

“Delighted,” my father said. He took Mrs. Silvers’s hand and held it too long, looking deep in her eyes.

“Is somebody going to offer this gentleman something to drink?” the Dragon demanded. “We have some good eggnog. I made it myself.”

“Then I must try some,” Dad said.

“Get us two glasses, Sharyn.”

“Please call me Saul,” Dad said to her.

“You call me Betty.” Was the Dragon batting her eyes? Lord.

I was relieved when Sharyn returned with the eggnog. Watching the old man put the move on the Dragon was somewhat disgusting, if I can be frank.

I guess they hit it off. I supposed they were both equally obnoxious in their own ways. The Dragon wore her age well. Besides, Dad liked them plump.

“C’mon, Nick. You can help me put out the food,” Sharyn said. I was more than willing to trot after her to the kitchen.

Dad and the Dragon had three glasses of eggnog apiece and were getting rather loud and raucous by the time the food was set out and everybody was settled around the table.

I’d finally been introduced to Sharyn’s brother, Robert. He was a quiet man with no immediate eccentric appearance other than the multicolored robes he wore.

Dad rolled the Dragon’s wheelchair to the table. “Son,” she said to Robert, “you being the eldest male in the family, I’d ask you to say the grace,” the Dragon said. “But I still haven’t recovered from last year. Saul, will you do the honors?”

“I afraid I’m going to have to pass on the Christmas blessing,” Dad answered.

The children tittered.

“Robert prayed to somebody named Metatron last year. I wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t what brought on Mama’s stroke,” Sharyn whispered in my ear.

“I’ll say the prayer, Mama. After all, I am an ordained minister.”

“Not in my house you won’t unless you make it clear you’re praying to the Lord God Almighty Heavenly Father Jehovah in the blessed name of our Savior Jesus Christ.”

“All right, Mother, but—”

“Ump, ump, nope. Don’t want to hear it. Say the prayer right or don’t say it at all,” the Dragon ordered.

Dad was pretending to cough in his napkin. I was surprised he wasn’t choking with gales of laughter by now.

Robert cleared his throat and delivered a heartfelt and respectful prayer to the appropriate deity.

Sharyn squeezed my hand. I looked into her gorgeous brown eyes and decided this was the most entertaining Christmas Eve I’d had in years. I hoped that this was only the first of many family Christmases together.

Dinner was delicious. Sure enough, just as I’d foreseen, the animal carcasses disappeared like magic from behind the closed kitchen door.

My head snapped toward my dad and the Dragon. Had he just asked her to bingo? That qualified as a date!

Sharyn’s gaze followed mine. “They’re hitting it off,” she said. “Surprised?”

“Very.”

“Mama was something of a player back in the day.”

“So was the old man.”

“They make quite a match.”

“We should lay a bet on who does the other in first.”

“No fair. Your dad can run.”

“Nick,” the object of our conversation said. I swung my head toward Dad, feeling guilty.

“Gina Reavis is moving down to Florida to be closer to her daughter,” he said. “Her apartment would be perfect for Betty.”

“I can’t afford that place,” the Dragon said.

“What are you talking about?” Robert asked.

“Saul lives in a retirement center. It sounds great. Lots of activity, enough support so I could be independent. You know I never wanted to be dependent on my children,” the Dragon said. Then she shrugged. “I can’t afford it anyway.”

“I love having you here, Mama,” Sharyn said. “You sacrificed and gave a lot to us, now it’s time for us to give back a little.”

“I did no more than what a mother is supposed to do. I could have done better, could have done worse. That doesn’t mean that I gotta live up under my kids until I’m dead and buried.”

“You can live the way you want to live,” Robert said. “It’s not as if you don’t have options.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” the Dragon snapped. I had a guilty sense of satisfaction hearing that term directed at someone other than me.

“I don’t have the option to get the hell up out of this chair and dance,” the Dragon said with a snort.

“You have financial options,” Robert said. “Ballpark, how much are we talking?” he asked Dad.

Dad told him. It wasn’t a small amount.

The Dragon snorted louder. “What lottery you won, boy?” she asked.

“All right,” Robert said.

“All right, what? I know you don’t have that kind of money and I know Sharyn doesn’t, either.”

“We have that kind of money,” Robert said.

His wife nodded in agreement. “It’s doable,” she added.

“Ya’ll done won the lottery?” the Dragon asked.

I noticed Sharyn leaning towards her brother, her brow raised. She was wondering what was up, too.

“The church of the Glorious Inner Light of Free Earth Beings in Space is financially very well supported,” Robert said.

I thought the Dragon was going to fall over, she snorted so hard. “What? The space aliens got funds?”

Robert looked a little offended. “We’re popular with the celebrities and the affluent. The light beings have a wonderful effect of the inner and outer bodies, freeing the way for emotional and financial success.”

“He got a scam running,” the Dragon said. “Saul, you hear that?”

Dad nodded. “I know of similar cults that are very financially well-supported by certain segments.”

The Dragon surveyed Robert, disbelief written on her face. But it was that tinge of admiration in her gaze? “Sharyn, you hear that? My boy’s getting paid.”

“I heard him.” Sharyn’s voice was dry.

“Investigate this apartment, Mama, and if that’s what you want to do, let me know,” Robert said, picking up his fork.

The Dragon sniffed. “If the boy has fool’s money to spend, I’ll let him spend it.”

“Are you talking about me?” Robert asked. “I’m right here, Mama. And I’m a grown man, too,” he reminded her.

“Yep. I’m talking about you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re always going to be my boy,” the Dragon replied. “But I gotta say, you’re chock full of surprises this evening.” She took a bite of her food. “This dressing is wonderful, Sharyn. You didn’t sneak any meat-based broth in it, perchance?”

Sharyn had the grace to look a little guilty.

The Dragon beamed at her. “This is turning out to be a dandy Christmas, isn’t it?”

The kids were in the bedroom watching Christmas DVDs and the grown-ups were sitting around stuffed; sipping rum-spiked eggnog, listening to mellow Christmas soul music and watching the lights blink on the tree.

Sharyn leaned back in my arms. It felt great, a wonderful Christmas Eve. Just one more thing would make it perfect. “Coming home with me?” I whispered in her ear.

“Let’s go,” she whispered back.

I yawned. “Dad, we better get going. It’s past ten.”

“So soon?” Mrs. Silvers asked.

“Yeah, Nick, we can stay a little longer.”

“I think Sharyn and I better turn in. Tomorrow is a big day,” I said.

Silence.

“I’ll go get my bag,” Sharyn said in her perkiest voice. I braced myself for the Dragon’s roar.

But the Dragon was too busy giving her digits to my Dad to bother.

Her Last

“I got you a Christmas present,” Nick told me as soon as we’d reached the privacy of his condo. “I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of all those people.”

“I got you one too, baby.” I reached for him.

“I’m talking tangible goods,” he said.

“And what makes you think I wasn’t?”

He walked toward a shelf and took a small package off it and handed it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

I love gifts, and it’s true—the best things come in small packages. I opened the box, eager. My eyes grew moist as I stared. “It’s too much.”

“It’s not enough,” he said. He took the gold chain with the perfect square-cut ruby dangling on it out of the box and fastened it around my neck.

“How did you know this was my birthstone?”

“I asked your mother. She said it was your favorite and that you seldom spend money on yourself or the pretty things you love.”

I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you. I love it.”

It didn’t feel as if we had just met, as if we didn’t really know each other that well. Nick seemed like my soul mate, trusted and loving enough to feel like an old friend, edgy and enticing enough to be flaming-hot.

I sank into his kiss, my body molding to his, ready and yielding. But then I remembered and pulled away. “I have something for you.” I moved to my purse. “It’s not nearly as grand as your gift, but I liked this.”

I held a delicate Christmas tree in my hand, carved and exquisite, gleaming with tiny lights. It was a beautiful object. “I noticed you didn’t have a tree. I thought a small one that you could keep with you would be right.”

He took it from me and studied it. “This is great.”

“But it’s not all.” I handed him another package. I’d bought him a compilation of comedy CDs and DVDs, the best of the best, from old classics to the newest emerging talents. “I thought this would be right up your alley.”

“How did you know I love stand-up comedy?”

“Guessed.”

He kissed me again. “God, I adore you.”

“We don’t know each other yet.”

“It feels like we do.”

I couldn’t answer that because it did. His tenderness soon ignited a passion within me, and our kisses grew hungry and wild.

We fell on his bed together. I was as greedy as I always was for him and pulled him free from his slacks.

He gasped as I held his heaviness in my hand, my thumb rotating around the bead of moisture at the tip. What a beautiful man. I wanted him, all of him.

“You’re going to make me explode.” His voice was husky, and he pulled away my clothes, dropping them over the side of the bed to the floor. My blouse, my bra.

His tongue swirled around one nipple, then the other, teasing them to erect, taut peaks, breathing hot breath over them.

It felt so good. He pulled heat from deep within my core as he sucked. But, greedy, I wanted more.

I couldn’t wait, wouldn’t wait another moment. I rolled over on top of him and kissed him, our tongues as frantic as our bodies as I rid us of the rest of the cloth barriers between our skin.

He was rock-hard, so big and beautiful. I straddled him, expertly slid a condom on him, and took him inside me in one motion.

He grabbed my hips and sucked in his breath harshly. The large ridged head of his penis slid slow and easy into my velvety wetness.

“So good,” I said, barely able to whisper through the intense feeling as my hips churned against him.

He groaned and thrust up against me sharp and hard. His clever, expert fingers reached and spread my juices over me.

It seemed as if I felt every vein of him as he moved inside my buttered wetness, plunging, filling every inch. The storm inside me was building, rising, inexorable.

Then a crack of thunder, unexpected and violent, ripped through me. Everything went black for a moment as it rocked me, making me convulse on his hardness, clutching him tight inside me.

His body tightened and he rolled me over, plunging deep, his penis working in and out. I met him stroke for stroke, and a moment later he buried himself deep within me, shuddering.

We subsided against each other. I felt as if I’d come home, wrapped within his arms.

I woke up and looked at the clock next to the bed. Six in the morning. I was far too alert and clearheaded for the hour.

I got up, careful not to disturb Nick’s slumbering form. I took a quick shower and dressed in one of Nick’s robes, padded into his kitchen to see if he had any green tea.

He didn’t. I made some instant coffee in the microwave instead, too lazy to figure out how to unset the preset coffeemaker. I went into his office and booted up his computer for a quick game of solitaire.

To my surprise, I saw an icon for Match4Luv.com on his desktop. I frowned as I clicked it. He’d saved all his passwords in his browser and on the site. My frown deepened when I saw his handle.

Nick was GH0ST30.

I swallowed as I turned off the computer. I made sure I left his office as I’d found it. I poured the coffee down the drain, then washed and rinsed the cup, feeling as if somebody had punched me in the stomach.

I went back to the bed and lay next to Nick, stiff, staring at the ceiling. I’d trusted him. We’d promised not to lie to each other, but he’d been dishonest with me from the beginning.

I’d gambled my heart and taken a chance on this relationship. What was wrong with my judgment with men? What was wrong with me? I wiped at my eyes. I waited.

About an hour later Nick rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he saw I was awake and slipped back into bed, pulling me to him. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he said.

I stiffened and started to speak.

“Shush,” he said. “I have something that I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time. I want to get it out now, so I need you to listen for a moment.”

I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“The first time I came to your house and saw you, I knew you were the one for me. You left, remember? But you left your computer on.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m GH0ST30. I know I was wrong and I apologize. I should have told you, like I said, but I haven’t been able to get it out.”

I didn’t move, didn’t look at him. The pain of betrayal still felt too raw.

“Are you going to say something?”

“Did the things you said to me as GH0ST…were you lying, too?” I asked.

“No, I was telling the truth.”

The hardest question of all. “Were you only trying to get me into bed?” I asked.

“No, no. I adore you. I’ve been crazy about you from the beginning. You have to believe that. That’s the only reason I pretended—I thought it was the only way to get next to you.”

I didn’t know what to believe. An hour ago, I believed everything he said. Now, after one lie, I had trouble believing anything.

“Without trust, there isn’t anything left,” I murmured.

He looked as if I’d punched him.

I looked away. “The kids are probably up by now. I’m going to get dressed, then I’ll be ready for you to take me home.”

I’d just picked up my purse in preparation of following Nick outside the door when he grabbed my hands.

“You have to talk to me. We need to work this through.”

“Please take your hands off me.”

He stepped back. “Sharyn.”

“Nick, I’m hurt. I’m in shock. I’m deeply disappointed. I don’t want to talk right now. I need to process this.”

“You have to talk to me.”

“I don’t have to do anything but stay black and die,” I snapped. When stressed, I admit a bit of Mama comes out in me.

“When people have a difficulty in a relationship, they work it through. That’s what I expect.”

“And I expect not to be lied to. I made that abundantly clear from the get-go.” I sighed. “Take me home. Now is not the time to talk. Things might get said that don’t need saying. You need to leave me alone.”

Nick got out his keys and opened the door. He waited for me to exit, tight-lipped. Christmas was no longer merry, not one little bit.

There was a strange car in front of our house, an older Mercedes.

“Dad’s here?” Nick said.

Loud traditional Christmas music was playing and the kids were yelling and laughing. Nick followed me into the living room. Sure enough, his father was there, next to Mama, both beaming at the kids, who were surrounded by so many presents it looked as if Santa’s workshop had exploded.

We were definitely going to have to ship all this back to California.

“The kids were up at the crack of dawn opening presents,” Mama said.

“Santa was good to us,” my nephew Jeremy crowed.

“It sure looks like it. Where’s Robert and Carole?”

“They went back to bed.”

“Did you eat, Mama?”

“Saul brought us breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Are you going to open your presents?”

“Later, Mama,” I said and escaped to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I carefully locked the door before I threw myself on the bed and let my tears escape.

I emerged from my room an hour later.

“My son says you’re upset with him. He went on home.”

Nick’s dad looked a little pissed off, but it was Mother who verbalized it, as usual. “It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake, chile! Haven’t you ever heard of Christian forgiveness?”

“I need to take a run. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Carole brought a tofu ham for Christmas dinner.” Mama gave me a meaningful look and Saul shuddered.

I laughed. “Yes, Mama, I’ll be back in time to help Carole with dinner.”

I got in my car and drove to Piedmont Park. I ran a couple of miles, wind in my face, sweat in my eyes. Then I got back in my car and drove to Nick’s place.

“Who is it?” Nick asked when I pressed the button on the intercom.

“It’s me.”

He hesitated an instant before he buzzed me in.

When I got off the elevator, he was leaning against his door frame, unshaven with bare feet, ripped jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. He looked sexy.

“You’ve decided you’re ready to talk?” he asked.

“I need a little time and space when my emotions are high, Nick. Believe me, it’s better. Do you have anything to drink?”

I followed him to the kitchen and sat down at the table. He put a bottle of mineral water out for me, took out a Heineken for himself.

“I thought about things,” I said. “I know that if I hadn’t had the experience I did with Patrick, it wouldn’t have been that big a deal to me.”

“I knew it was a big deal to you. I have no excuses. I was a coward. I was afraid to screw up the possible relationship.”

I took a swig of water. “When I was running, I thought about the things that are important to me, the questions that I need answered in an important relationship.”

“Anything,” he said.

“Can I trust you when it matters? Can I trust you not to hurt me? To love me and keep loving me even when it’s hard?”

Nick started to answer, but I held up my hand. “Wait. You can only answer these questions with words. That’s all any man can do. These are questions that I have to answer myself, right here.” I put my hand over my heart.

Nick was silent, staring at the bottle of beer. “Anytime you trust in a relationship with another human being, it’s a leap of faith,” he said.

“That’s right. Love equals having faith. And if you don’t have any, you don’t love. It’s all about taking chances. But I gotta ask you one thing.”

He tipped his bottle, swallowed and nodded.

“Is it true about your brother having four wives? That’s just too freaky.”

The dimple in his cheek creased. “It’s true.”

He reached out and took my hand.

It looked as if we were just sitting there to anybody else. But we were really jumping, almost flying—taking that huge leap of faith together.

Christmas dinner was more modest than Christmas Eve. We had lots of leftovers. I think Mama and Saul were hungover, too; they were much more subdued. They talked in the corner.

The kids were quiet, tired out from excitement, playing hard and too much food.

“We’d better get up and straighten this mess,” Carole said, making a halfhearted effort to struggle off the couch.

“Chill. I pre-booked an after-Christmas housecleaning with Cheerful Cleaners tomorrow.”

Nick listened to his comedy CD through earphones. He laughed at intervals.

I lay on a floor pillow, watching my family, watching him. Nick and I were brand-new and shiny. I didn’t know if we’d work out or not, but so far it felt good. The gambles were that we’d keep being real and keep it right.

I glimpsed this beautiful place in my mind, full of flowers and trees. Birds sang and a waterfall cascaded into an idyllic pond. Nick was at my side. Was it a premonition or a fantasy? I had to take the chance.

Nick was at my side. We were hand in hand, still leaping, flying into that wide-open unknown wilderness of the future. Together.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-1063-3
Copyright © 2007 Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

Faith, Hope and Love
Copyright © 2002 Beverly Beaver

The Christmas Bride
Copyright © 1991 Heather Graham Pozzessere

Christmas Passions
Copyright © 2004 Kathy Garner

A Seasonal Secret
Copyright © 2004 Diana Hamilton

Return of the Light
Copyright © 2004 Margaret Benson

Star Light, Star Bright
Copyright © 2004 Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge

Naughty or Nice?
Copyright © 1998 Stephanie Hauck

Christmas Fantasy
Copyright © 1999 Janelle Denison

A Christmas Marriage Ultimatum
Copyright © 2004 Helen Bianchin

A Prince for Christmas
Copyright © 2004 Rebecca Winters

The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish
Copyright © 2004 Lucy Gordon

Merry Christmas, Baby
Copyright © 2006 Monica Jackson

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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