“Where are you going?”
Bette half sighed at the demanding note in Paul’s voice. He’d been so odd lately. One minute the man she’d first met, full of humor and teasing. The next minute a brooding, belligerent stranger. And the minute after that the man who could make her blood simmer with something as simple as a look.
They’d gotten past the scene Thanksgiving Day by pretending it didn’t happen. She knew the underlying tension remained, however, no matter how well buried it was.
“Down to State Street.” She finished pulling on her coat. If he hadn’t arrived before she left, she would have left him a note. Then he could have made the decision whether to come out to her place, as he did most nights, or not. She couldn’t help but think his moods might be the result of feeling pressured, so she was conscious of giving him room. “I have some last-minute things to pick up for Christmas at Field’s and Carson’s.”
“Last-minute? It’s barely into December.”
She relaxed at the lightness in his voice. But she repeated doggedly, “Last minute for me. Especially since Centurian is interested enough to want a more detailed proposal. I’ll have to work extra hours to get it ready.”
“I don’t see how you can work extra hours when you’re already working twenty-four a day,” he grumbled. “Besides, they probably won’t do anything until after the first of the year.”
“I know, but I want to get it to them quickly, so if there’s a delay, it’s on their end, not mine. So I have to do it before I leave for Arizona next week for my parents’ anniversary.”
“Oh. Yeah. When’s your flight?”
“Wednesday morning.”
“And you won’t be back until 7:45 the next Monday night?”
“That’s right.”
They’d gone through this routine of her telling him the date of her departure at least three times. As haphazard as he could be about times and dates, she was beginning to wonder if there was more to this than met the eye. Each time he seemed to have only the vaguest recollection of when she was leaving, but knew her return flight by heart.
Oh, how she wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want to be apart. Just as she wanted to believe that there’d been more behind his getting her to the real estate office too late to make the bid. Maybe even as she wanted to believe there was more behind these odd behavior shifts than simple moodiness.
But then she would realize all over that Paul Monroe believed only in the moment. Not a future together.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Go with?” He couldn’t mean to her parents’, yet—
“Yeah, you know, as in accompany you to State Street.”
“Shopping?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I have been known to enter a store now and then.”
“But, as you said, it’s barely December.”
“I didn’t say I was going to do Christmas shopping.”
She knew she should say no, she knew that having Paul around would surely prevent her from finishing all the tasks she’d planned. But she couldn’t resist.
“All right, let’s go.”
Shoppers teemed in the streets, and they decided walking the last few blocks would be faster. While Paul paid off the taxi driver, Bette noticed drifts of people piling up in front of the broad expanse of glass in front of one of the stores.
“Hey, the window decorations,” said Paul, hooking an arm around her waist and drawing her in to his side as they started down the street.
“Uh-huh. They do that every year.” The words were dismissive, and she knew she really should be starting on her errands, but her feet slowed as they neared the display of mechanized bears skating on a mirror pond.
She couldn’t even pretend to be surprised when her own voice offered. “We could look at the decorations first, sort of get in the mood.”
But Paul’s amazement showed. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t have much time—”
She waved his caution away. “It hardly takes any time at all,” she said. She wondered at her blitheness—for about half a second, the time it took for the smile to light his eyes. Then she was lost.
It did take time, but she found she didn’t begrudge an instant of it. Hand in hand, they walked from window to window, oohing and aahing with the best of the kids, then moving on to the next department store to start all over. From a street vendor, Paul bought roasted chestnuts because Bette said she’d never had them.
“Don’t you want any?” she asked after the third of the rather gamy-tasting morsels warmed her mouth as well as they had her hand.
“No thanks. I don’t like them.”
“Then why’d you buy so many?” She looked at the large paper container in dismay.
He shrugged. “I like the idea of them.”
Her laugh seemed to catch him by surprise. But when she threw her arms around his neck, he showed no surprise in responding to her kiss, only desire. He turned her kiss from a brief, affectionate gesture to a caress of lips and tongue and teeth. Layers upon layers of cloth buffered their bodies, but their mouths met, naked and honest.
When the basic requirement for oxygen forced them apart, Bette was sure she wasn’t the only one rocked by the intensity of that kiss at the State Street corner. Paul’s eyes looked opaque, with bright flecks of green against polished pewter. With his hair flaring color in the glow of tiny fairy lights, he looked almost fierce, and very unfamiliar. Not at all like the man she’d come to know.
She pushed her hair back from her face in some futile instinct to reorder her thoughts along with her appearance. “I, uh, guess Dickens would be proud, huh?”
He stared at her. “Dickens?”
“The chestnuts,” she supplied weakly.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” He considered her a moment longer, then grinned, slowly and meaningfully, a movement of his lips unlike his usual quick humor. “I thought you might have meant something else.”
“Something else?” She heard the breathlessness in her voice, corroborating that her heartbeat had not slowed from its sprint.
“Yeah, I’ve always had the feeling that behind all those closed Victorian doors, old Charles knew a thing or two about passion.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but tucked her back in by his side, and headed for the Marshall Field’s entrance. She followed docilely, unable to remember a single thing on the list tucked in her purse, and too content to bother looking.
“I’ve got an idea,” Paul announced. “Let’s have dinner in the Walnut Room.”
The restaurant was a Marshall Field’s tradition, especially at Christmastime when an elaborately decorated tree rose from the center of the room to a point some two stories higher. She opened her mouth to say she’d love to eat there, but before she could get a word out, he jumped in.
“I know, I know. You have a lot of things to do. But there’s always a line. I’ll stand in line while you shop. So you won’t be wasting any time.” He slanted a look at her that reminded her of their first few dinners together. “After all, you do eat. That’s one thing I have learned about you. Sometimes even lunch, despite the way you misled me at first.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Telling lies.”
“Purely self-defense. I was trying to protect myself from this maniac who’d burst into my life.”
He smiled into her eyes, and she knew his voice would be low and intimate even before he spoke. “Now aren’t you glad your ploy didn’t keep me away for good?”
Only the truth, she couldn’t give him anything else. “Yes. I am glad.”
And she was, she thought as she reached the department where she hoped to find a special calendar for her father. Though glad seemed entirely too mild.
As she ticked off items on her list, her mind kept drifting back to the man waiting in line, and waiting for her. Two months ago, she would have made this same shopping trip, have made the same purchases. In fact, without Paul distracting her, she probably would have accomplished more in the same am
ount of time. But she wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much.
She accepted another package from the salesclerk, exchanging wishes for happy holidays, and moved aside to consult her watch. She still had ten minutes before she was supposed to return to the Walnut Room. With four more items on her list, she should make use of every minute. She really should... But she didn’t want to wait another ten minutes to see Paul.
She stepped off the escalator at the Walnut Room’s floor and scanned the line. There, at the front, she caught the glow of Paul’s hair. He turned, and then she felt the impact of his smile.
She was in love with him.
She reached him as the hostess indicated they were to follow her, and he took her hand. “Perfect timing.”
“Yes, perfect.” Perfect.
She was in love with a man who gave her laughter and joy, but could never give her what she most wanted—the promise that they would spend every Christmas together.
Prelude to a Wedding (The Wedding Series Book 1) Page 43
