"Do you know where you're standing?" James whispered. He stood in front of her. She hadn't seen him. She'd been lost in the past. Looking up Elizabeth saw the ball of mistletoe hanging over her head. Moving her gaze back to James, she froze at the desire she saw in his eyes. She went to step back, but his arm encircled her waist and pulled her against him. "Merry Christmas," he murmured then lightly touched his lips to hers. Elizabeth felt a tremor run through her. James lifted his head enough to look in her eyes. Then his mouth came down on hers in a ravishing kiss.
Three years of misery and frustration melted away as James's arms slipped inside the cape and it pooled to the floor in a rug of red velvet and fur. Elizabeth's arms connected around his neck as desire swept through her. It felt good to be held, to press herself against him, feel his arms, the hard length of him and know he was solidly there, not the elusive substance of her dreams. She leaned into the kiss, her mouth open as James devoured the inner contours. Elizabeth didn't know how long they stood there, just that she didn't want the moment to end. James slid his mouth from hers.
"Are you the woman at the door?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Confused and disoriented Elizabeth frowned a moment. Then she realized the package contained an acrylic rose with a man's wedding band hooked onto one of the leaf petals. A hand engraved note inscribed with the message: Marry the woman at the door was included. She pushed herself away from him.
"No!" she nearly shouted.
He held the card stock rectangle of snow white paper in his hand. Elizabeth knew her handwriting without looking at it.
"You opened it." Snatching the note and the box, Elizabeth rushed from the room, through the front door and into her car. Her cape lay on the floor at James's feet. She refused to go back for it. She never planned to enter that house again. Or to see him. In less than half an hour she'd found herself back in his arms, as soft and pliable as candle wax.
The chilling air made her shudder. She jumped into the car, throwing the hated parcel on the seat and gunning the motor in her effort to put distance between herself and James Hill.
Just as she came out of the park, Elizabeth passed the stone slab bathed in white light. Welcome to Washington had been carved deeply on one side of the marble square while Welcome to Maryland adorned the other side. Traffic skittered around the circle, their drivers unaware of the turmoil taking place inside the white Corvette that turned toward downtown Washington. Elizabeth pulled the car to the soft shoulder and cut the engine. She slumped over the steering wheel and cursed herself.
How had she let that happen? How could she let James revive feelings she'd fought to bury these last three years. She pounded the steering wheel trying to keep the sensations he'd stirred from raging out of control.
***
James had no breath left after Elizabeth's hasty retreat. She was the last person he expected to find on his doorstep, wrapped like a present in a velvet coat trimmed in white fur. He remembered her with shoulder length hair; her eyes bright and dancing, a ready smile always present. Even in anger her dark champagne-colored skin glowed with health. Only her eyes betrayed her. He'd told her her eyes were her best feature. They were also her most revealing. At one point they were dark and mysterious while at other times they were open and full of hurt. He hated to think he'd been responsible for putting the hurt there.
Their names had been linked since childhood. He'd been in love with her since the fifth grade, and three years ago he thought he'd be married to her, but then Claire had come and everything between them had changed. Tonight when the package arrived, he'd been too afraid to think, too afraid to do more than let it sit on the counter. Then she was the woman standing at the door, he thought the world had tilted in his favor, but she was only there to retrieve it and deliver it to its rightful owner.
He picked up the velvet wrapper. The white fur was soft and feathery, the way her hair felt when he'd dig his fingers into it. He liked the way she looked now and the way her body knew the familiar contours of his.
Looking at the coat in his arms, he remembered another white fur and him wrapping her securely in it. Her brown eyes were huge and warm then, not like the cold ones that had looked at him tonight, but she still had the fire. The kiss had told him that and her fire burned for him, just as much as his burned for her.
"Damn!" he cursed. "Why did Claire have to pick that day to drop her bomb?"
Chapter 2
James guided the Lexus into the flow of traffic on Sixteenth Street in Northwest Washington and headed toward downtown. His intention after the gym tonight had been to shower and turn in early. It had been a grueling week. Most industries, except retail, slowed down at this time of the year. Not the stock market. At the eleventh hour, everyone panicked buying and selling, pushing incomes into the new year or quickly investing in high risk stocks.
He been tired both physically and mentally, but after Elizabeth's unexpected appearance the thought of being alone between the cool sheets of the Lincoln-size bed, was unappealing. And as usual, thoughts of her forced all other women from his mind. Pulling out his tuxedo he changed his mind about attending Charles and Lidia Hereford's annual Christmas dance. He'd refused their invitations for the past three years, yet an hour ago Charles Hereford heartily laughed into the phone when he'd asked if it were too late to accept.
Caught by the light at Military Road he listened to the engine hum then turned right, heading toward Wisconsin Avenue and his parents' house. The Washington, D.C. license tag, reading MHH-MD, on the Mercedes parked in the driveway told him his brother, Dr. Mark Howard Hill, was here. With three additional parking places available at the Cathedral Avenue address, James blocked him in, a grin spreading across his face. Leaving the car he paused to study the red brick house next door -- Elizabeth's house. The "for sale" sign stood askew on the front lawn. No matter who bought it or how many families lived there, he'd always think of it as Elizabeth's house.
Pulling himself out of the past, he rang the doorbell of the house in which he'd grown up.
"James!" The look of surprise on Winton Hill's face quickly turned to joy as he faced his second son. "What are you doing here? I thought you were too tired for anything except an early night."
"I changed my mind," James said, following his father past the soft muted shades of the grey and mauve living room to the one beyond. They entered the family room-library where he'd practically grown up. As a family, this was the room they lived in. It was where he'd told his parents he and Elizabeth were getting married. Where Mark announced he'd been accepted into Meharry Medical College and where his mother, Opal, had told them she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. It was also the room in which he'd notified them of his impending arrest. Happiness and crisis surrounded the book-lined room. James supposed it was why he'd come to his parents' house.
"James, I'm glad you're coming with us." Opal Hill came into the room. Her gown was a glittering green as she lifted her cheek for his kiss. She rarely asked her sons for explanations. James's parents had instilled the values of right and wrong in their two sons. She accepted whatever they did as the right course of action at that time. Going to her husband, she reached up to fix his tie. Winton Hill lifted his chin and his wife tied a perfect bow. "You know Elizabeth is going to be there," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
"I saw her tonight."
Opal's hands stilled. Slowly she turned to face him, the room completely silent. Three pairs of eyes bore into him.
"Where?" Mark was the first to speak.
"She came by the house."
Opal took a step toward him. He could see a mother's concern in her eyes. At thirty-seven he knew he'd always be her little boy and she'd always try to prevent anyone from hurting him. He went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and looking down at her. "I'm fine," he said by way of explanation. "It was merely a case of misdirected mail or I should say a misdirected package. Invitation to Love sent a package to me by mistake. She ca
me to get it. That's all."
It sounded simple, even to his ears. As if the earth shattering kiss they shared hadn't occurred. As if her presence hadn't changed his conviction to forget her. Three years and he hadn't found another woman to take her place. Three years and all he ever did was remember Elizabeth, reliving the nightmare that had begun with Claire.
"How did she look?" Mark asked.
"I saw her a couple of weeks ago," his father said, relieving James of the need to tell them she looked better than cotton candy. He knew Mark saw Elizabeth regularly. "I bumped into her as I was leaving my office." Winton Hill was an economic advisor for the State Department. "We had lunch. She told me about her company. I'm proud of that young lady. She's really come a long way. It's too bad about that sister of hers. I'm amazed that two people growing up in the same house could be so different."
His mother concurred as James and Mark exchanged knowing glances. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between you two." She looked at James. "I'd have liked having her as a daughter-in-law."
"You know they call her "the impossible lady" on the hill," James's father told them.
"They discuss Elizabeth on the hill?"
"You know Washington gossip, James. And anyone who's set up a parachute drop over the restricted airspace of the White House, arranged a wedding reception in the Capitol Rotunda, erected a waterfall at Carter Barron and convinced the Buffalo Film Committee to allow a first time director to use the Wilcox Mansion, will be discussed on the hill. And then there's--"
"Enough." James put his hands up.
"We'd better be going," James's mother said. His father lifted her coat and helped her into it. Minutes later James's father drove competently through the streets of the District. Wisconsin Avenue passed by in a blur. James's thoughts were on Elizabeth. He knew her accomplishments without his father itemizing them and without Mark's reports. Impossible missions were her trademark. He'd had an impossible task of his own -- he'd tried to forget her. It was like forgetting he had a right hand...or a heart. Elizabeth made other peoples dreams come true. She had dreams too. James could only hope hers weren't impossible and he could convince her to try and make them come true.
***
The red and white gown slapped against Elizabeth's legs as she swirled to the music. The pounding in her head hadn't eased since she'd left James's house, although she had taken two ibuprofen tablets in the cold confines of her car. Kyle Gardner pulled her back into his arms, swirling her around as if she were a marionette. She'd been here an hour. One more and she could leave. Smiling at her partner, she followed his steps but felt no joy at the music. She had enjoyed dancing before Claire died. Now Christmas only brought painful memories. Yet she went through the motions of buying and wrapping gifts, attending parties and smiling bravely.
She and Claire used to have the best Christmases. Losing their parents when Elizabeth was only thirteen; Claire barely over legal age, had supported her, made sure they always had food and clothes, a small apartment and money to send her to college. Claire had taken care of her, made sure her Christmases were happy and she always had at least one present. She could almost hear Claire telling her that somehow they would "find" the money.
Then things had changed, all because of --
"James! James Hill!"
Elizabeth lost her footing at the excited call of his name. Stepping on Kyle's foot she looked toward the entrance. Lidia Hereford had just reached the three steps which separated the sunken ballroom from the entrance hallway. James's entire family stood in the archway. Lidia threw her arms around James's neck. Elizabeth stopped dancing and stared at the group near the door. Winton Hill, at fifty-seven had only a few grey hairs. He stood an inch shorter than James's six foot three inches. Elizabeth had no doubt what James would look like when he was his father's age. Opal, James's mother, a petite woman with a wide smile that twinkled in her dark eyes, smiled at her hostess. In her green sequined gown, she looked more like a mature fashion model than a physics professor, yet she commanded several classes a day in the Death Valley building at Howard University. Elizabeth had liked her since she'd tasted her sugar cookies the first Christmas her family had moved to the house on Cathedral Avenue. And Mark, despite his antics and constant reports on James, she liked him. A happy guy, building a reputation as a remarkable surgeon, Mark could charm his patients into getting well. They were a perfect family portrait framed by their love that seemed to protect them. Even Elizabeth could see it from her vantage point. A stone ached in her heart for her own lost family.
"Elizabeth?" Kyle tried to recapture her hand and resume the assault he passed off as dancing.
Elizabeth pushed him away. "Excuse me, Kyle." She offered no further explanation, just turned and searched for an escape route.
"What is he doing here?" Elizabeth fumed as she slipped into a darkened room. The tiny men inside her head with sledge hammers stepped up the pace. She sat down, holding her head. She wasn't going to make it another hour. She needed to find Charles and Lidia and make her excuses now. Waiting in the darkness, she hoped the pain would ease a bit. Minutes later she rose. By this time James and his family should no longer be standing by the door. She could get out without them seeing her, she hoped.
Opening the door to return to the ballroom, Elizabeth blinked at the light. She'd find Charles and Lidia and use her headache as an excuse to leave early. Shading her eyes, she walked into a solid mass. Instinctively her hands came out to support herself. Grabbing hold of the arms that reached out for her, she looked up and into James's dark brown eyes.
"There you are, Elizabeth. I've been looking for you." He spoke as if they were the best of friends and had only been parted for a short time. "Dance with me."
Elizabeth wasn't given time to refuse. James took her hand and started for the crowded dance floor. He threaded through the crowd until he reached the center then turned her into his arms. She wondered what he was up to. Before the dance ended, she knew they would be the talk of the town, but his arms around her felt good. For a moment her headache eased. She held herself stiffly, knowing if she relaxed, she'd melt into him. She wanted to melt, wanted to let him support her without conviction.
Her eyes closed a moment. James ran his hand up her back. She felt his fingers on her skin and warmth spread through her.
"Relax," he whispered in her ear. "It's a crowded floor and it's only a dance."
Elizabeth couldn't fight the pain anymore. She relaxed just to give her head comfort. James's arms criss-crossed her back and he held her close until the last chords of Phyllis Hyman's Somewhere in my Lifetime ended. Even then Elizabeth didn't move. James leaned back and looked at her contorted face.
"Dancing with me couldn't be that bad."
She tilted her head back. Pain shot up her crown. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. A moment later she whispered, "Migraine."
"Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here."
Elizabeth didn't remember saying goodnight or seeing any stares follow them as they left the ballroom. The cold stabbed her bare shoulders as James wrapped her in the rough wool of his overcoat and took her out into the December weather.
"Where are your keys?" he asked.
"My purse," Elizabeth answered clutching the small bag in her hands.
James pried it away, found the keys and opened the door. He pushed her into the passenger seat. Elizabeth recognized her car. As they drove along, it took a few minutes for the heat to reach her. Even then Elizabeth kept her eyes closed to the flash of oncoming headlights and passing street lamps.
"How long have you been having migraine headaches?" he asked. His voice was disembodied and distant.
"I don't know?" she murmured, her head pounding too much for her to try to think coherently. "Since...Claire..." she trailed off.
"Do you have any medicine?"
"I took it," she said, her head lolling back and forth. "After I left you."
James reached across, placi
ng the back of his hand on her forehead. "Just relax," he told her. "Sleep."
The gentle rolling of the car over smooth road lulled her. After a while the light and darkness stopped mixing and only blessed darkness remained. The road became smoother and shifting. James cradled her against his shoulder and she fell asleep.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to bright sunlight. Disoriented she sat up in bed. A thick white satin comforter fell away from her like a cascading waterfall. She had on a pink night gown. Her own night gown. She hadn't worm it in years, and this wasn't her bedroom. "Oh my God!" she said aloud. She was in the guest room; James's guest room. Memory came back. She remembered the party, leaving with James and the blinding headache. It was gone now. Sleep usually took them away. Why hadn't James taken her home? Why did he bring her here? She looked at the gown again. Had he kept it all these years expecting her to return?
Surveying the room, done in shades of green and white, she found her dress and cape lying over a brass butler at the foot of the bed, the cape she'd left the previous night after her hasty exit. She paused unsure what to do next. She had to get out of there. She didn't want to see James, be near him, have anything the do with him. Just as she stuck her foot from beneath the coverlet the door opened. She pulled her foot back, instinctively raising the comforter to her chin.
"Good, you're awake," James's greeting sounded as if they were old friends who'd said goodnight only hours ago. He held a tray in his hands. Setting it across her lap, Elizabeth pushed her way up in the bed. She felt trapped. Her escape route had been blocked. Why did she sleep so long? Why hadn't she awakened, dressed and left?
"What do you want, James?" Elizabeth didn't beat around the bush. James cocked his head to one side as if he were contemplating an answer. She realized the open implication of her question, but refused to drop her gaze. "It's not like you to put up this show of masked enthusiasm unless you want something."
One Christmas Night (Capitol Chronicles Book 6) Page 2
