For This Christmas Only

by Caro Carson

“Cinderella got this part right, I think. The key is finding your own people. Someone who is kind to you. Someone who enjoys being with you, maybe someone who says you’re perfect even when you know perfectly well that you’re not. A champion when you’re down. An ally. A friend.”

  She ran her fingertips over the cheek she’d whispered against during the show, then let her thumb rest on his lower lip. “If this was a real date, I would have kissed you about ten times already.”

  The lip she touched changed shape, slipping into a smile under her thumb. “I thought you spent your real dates talking.”

  “I do. I spend real ones and fake ones talking. But I only kiss when they’re real. It’s a shame this is a fake date, because I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before.”

  “If this was a real date, I would have shaved for you.”

  He smiled wider when her thumb skipped across his lip, a devilish, arrogant smile. He knew he’d flustered her.

  She pretended he hadn’t. “I don’t know if I’d want you to shave. It’s hard to imagine what you’d look like without this.” She squinted one eye and pretended she was imagining him without the beard, but she was just admiring him. He did broody and untamed so well.

  “Mallory.” His mouth was serious now. He was going to say something she didn’t want to hear.

  She pressed her thumb against his lower lip again. “But if you shave for real dates, then the only way to kiss you with a beard is on a fake date. I happen to be on a fake date.”

  “You’re toying with me, Mallory.”

  “If this is a game, can I choose my prize? Say, a fake kiss with a man who has a real beard?”

  “If you like.” He stood, and she took a step back. He was tall, strong, an alpha male fantasy in real life. He could pick her up and take her somewhere, anywhere he wanted to, but he only stood over her as she leaned her back against the tree’s massive trunk. The stage lights were bright on the other side of the tree, but she could see enough of him, here in the shadows.

  He placed his hand on the bark, right beside her head, and braced his arm, reminding her of the opportunity she’d missed by the hay bales. This spot wasn’t nearly as private, but if he kissed her the way she wanted him to kiss her, she’d stop thinking about anyone else in the universe, anyway.

  “Or,” he said, commanding her attention away from his mouth, back to his eyes.

  “Or what?”

  “Or, you could spend a weekend in my bed. I’d pick you up on a Friday with a clean shave, because a gentleman shaves for a woman. It’s much more pleasant for her when she doesn’t want me to be a gentleman, and we risk that public indecency charge somewhere along the way, because she’s decided she’s too impatient to make it to my place. Then...”

  Mallory stopped breathing.

  Eli leaned in, murmuring words over her lips, her cheek, her ear. “Friday night...happens. Saturday, all of it, day and night. By Sunday evening, you have this beard once more, to do with as you please, anything we haven’t done yet, or everything we already have.”

  Her heart pounded. “Are you toying with me?”

  He paused.

  “No,” he said gravely. “I don’t think I am.”

  He wanted her, genuinely. A weekend in his bed. Such a big part of her wanted it, too, but she couldn’t do this for fun, extending a fake date into a weekend fling. She liked him too much. She had a heart. So did he.

  “Eli, Eli.” She closed her eyes against the passion smoldering in his. “Can you make this evening turn into something real?”

  She felt his pause.

  “No, I don’t think I can.”

  Just as she felt her heart start to break, he said, “Not yet.”

  Chapter Ten

  Never fall into the trap of hearing only what you want to hear.

  —How to Taylor Your Business Plan

  by E.L. Taylor

  Mallory opened her eyes.

  The man who had just whispered the sexiest words any man had ever whispered to her pushed himself away from the tree that was keeping her upright after she’d melted.

  Eli shoved some of his hair back. She hadn’t even gotten to mess it up—not yet, anyway.

  “When?” she asked.

  He shook his head like he didn’t know. That was okay, because she didn’t know what she was asking, exactly. When would he ask her out on a real date? When would he kiss her, unshaven? Shaven?

  When would they spend a weekend in bed?

  Her whole body had gone up in flames as he’d whispered those words over her skin, because damn if the part of her that would say I’m not that kind of girl was utterly losing the battle with How far away is your place?

  Her place was a dorm. She had tests to study for. Classes to attend. School, that thing she’d planned for and worked for and left everything behind for—that was real. This was a one-evening fantasy, not a one-night stand. Not a weekend with a gorgeous man who’d let her do anything she wanted to with his strong, healthy body.

  Eli unzipped his leather jacket and held out his hand. “Want to take a walk?”

  “Please.” She pushed off the tree, grabbed his hand and started walking, taking big strides, burning off some of this heat.

  Was he as hot and bothered as she was? She needed to watch where she was walking in the dimly lit field, but she took her eyes off the ground to peek at him. Their eyes met, and they both laughed, more than a little sheepishly.

  “Well,” she sighed, “that was a dumb game to play on a fake date that forbids kisses.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  She waited a few strides. “You won, by the way. I hate to admit it, but that was exceptional. No wonder you think you’re God’s gift to women.”

  Eli threw back his head and laughed, really laughed, and it was contagious and wonderful, and this was the best date Mallory had ever been on, real or fake.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Eli said.

  “We’ve pretty much covered the festival. I’m hot-chocolated out. Maybe there will be another musical act.”

  “All right.”

  But they kept walking away from the stage, hand in hand, leaving the crowd and the light behind until it got too dark to walk easily. Their steps slowed to a stop.

  As if they hadn’t been silent for the last few minutes, Eli picked up the conversation. “What were you thinking of doing with me by the hay bales?”

  “I was thinking of doing the same thing I was trying to do with you by the tree, Fake Boyfriend with a Beard, but you’re playing hard to get.”

  Mallory was just able to see his face in the starlight. She tilted her head and pretended to be coquettish, which, according to Eli’s logic, meant she was actually being coquettish. She batted her eyelashes, which made her feel coquettish whether he could see it or not.

  He sounded amused. “You weren’t trying to kiss me by the hay bales.”

  “I thought about it.”

  “You were pissed off because I was going to kiss you. The opposite of this moment, where you’re pretending to be pissed off because I didn’t kiss you.”

  “Pretending? I’m honestly curious about the beard, and my curiosity has been denied.”

  “Allow me to refresh your memory. You stuffed my gloves into my jacket, told me you had planned to show me something that didn’t require any money, then told me I was a jerk, so forget it.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. If I’m back in your good graces, let’s do that. What is ‘that’?”

  Since they were facing one another, they were holding both sets of hands now, and Mallory gave them a little swing. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

  “Trouble,” he said on a sigh.

  “Allow me to refresh your memory from five minutes ago, wh
en you said, ‘not yet.’ What are you going to make real, and when?”

  “That’s two questions—ow.”

  She’d squeezed his hands hard for doing that big-brother smart-aleck thing again. “But I’m cute,” she added through gritted teeth, “so you’ll answer two questions.”

  “Cute is the wrong word—don’t squeeze. Pretty. Vivacious. Expressive.”

  “You mean talkative?”

  “Indomitable.”

  “Ooh, good one. Is sexy in there?”

  “Passionate. About many things.”

  “Yes, but how about sexy?”

  Mallory was laughing too much to sound sexy. The darkness made her feel uninhibited. She could say anything, and if she made a fool of herself, it didn’t matter because Eli would only be in her life for one night. She’d have no witness to either her weaknesses or her silliness once they parted ways.

  Her laughter caught. She didn’t want to part ways.

  Eli brought their clasped hands up between their chests. Like a large and lazy lion, he dipped his head and ran his jaw along her knuckles.

  The sensuality of him, the reality of him, called to her body and filled her mind. It was her birthday, and she was too old to be Cinderella with a sweet prince. She wanted the seduction of the dark, Jane claimed by a legendary man in the wild, Christine spellbound by a phantom.

  She tipped her head toward Eli with some vague intent to nuzzle him while he savored the rub of her knuckles on his jaw, but he lifted his head and let go of her hands. She heard his calm inhalation, a steady breath, a deep voice. “Yes, sexy. So sexy, it’s killing me.”

  She spread her fingers wide, her hands freed by his. This was not the time. This was not the place. But this was the man.

  “That’s excellent news,” she murmured. She was rewarded with his laughter and relieved that he broke the spell for her.

  She was thinking too dramatically. This one evening was enough. It was a wonderful night. They were having fun, and her life would go back to normal tomorrow. All her plans and goals would still be there, unchanged. Happy Birthday, Mallory. Stop worrying and enjoy your party.

  She tugged at the hem of her coat, squaring it up. “Seriously, this time. What are you going to make real, and when?”

  “Seriously, Mallory Ames—” of course, this man had caught it, the one time she’d used her last name “—I’m in no hurry for this fake date to end, because there will never be another night like this. But when it ends, I want it to end with a good-night kiss. And since you don’t do fake kisses, it will have to be real. Me, kissing you, no games.”

  “I see. When will this happen?”

  “When I can’t stand not kissing you any longer.”

  It was intoxicating to be with him. “Then, when the fake date ends with a real kiss, will that be the start of a real date?”

  “I don’t think it can.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She wouldn’t let him go back to being a silent statue, not with her. She placed her hand on his hard arm. “You do see that the phrase ‘I don’t think it can’ means it might happen?”

  “It might.” Those two words were said in the authoritative voice of Never. Subject over, move on.

  “Oilcan.” Mallory squeezed his arm.

  Eli smiled, breaking his statue stance, but it was a sad smile, not even one-tenth sexy. “It might, but even then, it won’t be the same as this. Nothing will ever be the same as this, and in the words of a pretty, vivacious, expressive, indomitable, passionate, fearless and perfect woman, this is exceptional.”

  “You forgot sexy.”

  “I’m trying not to dwell on it. Thank God you’re in a thick wool coat. Take my glove, too. Cover up that naked hand.”

  It might. She didn’t want to hear anything else, not her own voice reminding her that she’d worked for two years to get here, and here didn’t include an emotionally intoxicating love affair. Never abandon a good plan.

  Eli’s voice returned to the amused, charmed, the perfect man of her fantasy. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do to me. Or with me.”

  “We’re going to go make a Christmas wish at the bonfire.”

  “That sounds very wholesome.”

  “I’m going to try to make you desperate to kiss me the entire time.”

  “That won’t be very difficult.”

  Nothing will ever be the same as this.

  But the next thing might be even better.

  Mallory would find out when Prince Charming finally kissed her good-night.

  * * *

  The fire grew larger.

  Eli kept walking closer, Mallory’s hand in his own once more.

  The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach made him angry. The anger was why he’d come to the park tonight. He knew why the fire sickened him, of course. He’d escaped burning wreckage as water had filled the cockpit. The death he’d faced would have been gruesome, burning up, drowning, both.

  His therapist had suggested giving exposure therapy a try if this avoidance of fires continued more than a few months. He’d have Eli begin by looking at fires that were smaller, contained, limiting the exposure to a few minutes. Then a few more, until the sight of flames would no longer cause a spike of anxiety.

  Anxiety. He’d let the therapist name that one.

  It didn’t matter what it was called, Eli was not going to spend months timidly facing little candle flames. The announcements for this Yule log lighting had been on every gas station pump when he’d filled his motorcycle after he’d driven to Masterson. He’d left his staff to deliver his Aston Martin and a more anonymous Ford pickup, but the motorcycle had been his excuse not to fly. This festival had been his excuse to face a bigger fire than he could have built himself. He’d come tonight to face it and be done with it, in one grand episode of exposure therapy.

  But a woman in a pink coat and blue hat had stood next to him and started talking. She’d grabbed his arm, argued with him, and even lain on a hay bale to talk to some stars. She was so damned distracting while he was dwelling on demons. Then she’d slid down his body, and he had come alive.

  So, he’d lied to keep her by his side tonight, just so she’d make him feel better. Just like her father had done. Just like her aunt and her brother and all the others who were not the key to her happiness. She thought Eli was different.

  He wasn’t even Eli.

  “What are you going to wish for?” She sounded upbeat as they got closer to the fire.

  “I’m not going to make a wish.”

  “You can’t go back to just brooding at the fire.”

  Brooding was a good euphemism for coming to grips with a near-death experience. He liked it. It wasn’t exposure therapy. It was brooding.

  “I’ll watch you make your wish,” he said.

  I’m going to use you as a way to associate something pleasant with fire.

  He was a real prince, all right.

  “The table that’s selling the wishing papers is over there,” she said.

  “Selling wishing papers?” It sounded absurd, and it gave him somewhere else to vent his turmoil. “Someone came up with a great marketing scheme to defraud the good citizens of Masterson out of a few pennies.”

  “Ah, that’s the fake boyfriend I first came to know and love and knock upside the head with an oilcan.”

  Eli chuckled. He actually chuckled as he got closer and closer to a fire. That was the kind of miracle Mallory was. He wanted to scoop her into a bear hug and spin her around.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Not yet.

  He had to tell her the truth first, but he wasn’t ready to stop being Eli.

  “The wishing papers are free, just to blow your skeptical mind. They do ask for a charity donation, but that’s only if you can a
fford it.”

  If she only knew... But she’d know soon enough, and it would change everything for her, for him, for them.

  “They make super cute blank notes, and they tie a little greenery or something organic to it, to make it easier to throw. The air’s always swirling around the fire. Without the weight, everyone would fold up their papers and try to sail paper airplanes at the fire, and you’d have wishes going every which way.” Her free hand went every which way, demonstrating out-of-control airplanes. She looked cute, although he’d told her that was the wrong word to describe her, but she was so cute that it took him a second to realize she was talking about fiery airplane crashes.

  He needed to keep Mallory in his life. He wanted her to be the woman he made the time to see.

  If you need those earrings for next week’s event, get them. An arm offered in escort, a hand on the small of her back, a night of sex. I’ll be in Tokyo tomorrow, then back through LA for two days. Let the staff know which dates you’ll be in Manhattan. I’ll see you then.

  She would never fit into his life. He had to let Mallory go.

  Not yet.

  She was so into the moment. “I had a great professor my sophomore year. She went through the origins of all kinds of holiday traditions. Throwing the greenery onto the Yule log had nothing to do with weighting wishing papers. Greenery represented life, but you have to wonder, why would you want to burn up life?”

  Burn up life. He ignored the roaring flames and concentrated on the little dip in the center of Mallory’s upper lip.

  “For centuries, you see, life was the polite way to refer to desire. Arousal. Sex. Animal appetites. Life.”

  He nodded. “I get the picture.”

  “I was trying to get you to picture kissing me.”

  “I never stop.”

  “Me, neither, but you’re still holding out?”

  “It’s not time to say goodbye. I can last a long time.”

  They continued to walk closer to the fire.

  “Sorry,” Mallory said with a giggle. “A man who lasts a long time was kind of... Anyway. Where were we?”

  “The Yule log.” For the hundredth time tonight, he could feel a smile teasing the corners of a mouth he’d thought had forgotten how to smile.