by Heidi Rice
‘But, Jace, that’s silly. It’s Sunday. And it’s Christmas Eve. No one will be able to meet today. And we could have lunch out together.’ She hurried on, trying not to sound too eager, the opportunity to have some of her curiosity satisfied suddenly irresistible. ‘And don’t you have any Christmas shopping to do?’
Jace stared at Cassie and kept his mouth firmly shut, before he did something really daft, like agreeing to go with her. Ever since she’d turned up at the hotel four nights ago, her small wheel-around suitcase in her hand and a shy but eager smile on her face, he hadn’t let her out of his sight. In fact, he’d barely let her out of his bed. The plan had been to seduce them both into a coma, overdose on great sex for a few days and get the driving need to have her out of his system. Parts A and B of his plan had worked out great—a bit too great. Because part C had clearly been a dead loss. If not, why would he have the driving urge to stop her going out as soon as she had suggested it?
The woman was becoming an addiction. An addiction that all the really amazing sex seemed to be making worse, not better.
Luckily he had the perfect excuse not to accept her invitation. He folded the paper, dumped it back on the coffee table. ‘Believe me, Cassidy. You don’t want me along.’
‘Yes, I do,’ she said, earnestly. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because I hate shopping. I won’t be good company.’
‘Why do you hate shopping?’
He shrugged; this bit at least was easy. ‘There’s always crowds of people and too much stuff to choose from and it takes for ever. Before you know it you’ve lost the will to live over a rack full of suits. I’d rather be kicked in the …’ He paused when Cassie winced. ‘I’d rather be kicked somewhere a guy definitely does not want to be kicked,’ he finished, deciding to spare her the graphic visual.
‘What is it about guys and shopping?’ she said, exasperation edging her voice. ‘It’s the eighth wonder of the world if you do it right.’
‘I do do it right,’ he said flatly. ‘I do all my shopping online.’
She didn’t just wince this time, she flinched. ‘That’s awful. How can you buy clothes on a computer? Especially designer ones. You’ve got to try them on, see how they hang. What the cut’s like. You can’t tell that from a picture and a list of measurements.’
‘If I don’t like it, I send it back. Get a refund.’
‘Which means standing for hours in a post office queue. Personally, I’d rather take my chances at the shops.’
He sent her a level look. ‘I don’t do post office queues.’
‘How can you send it back if—?’
‘Put it this way.’ He stopped her in mid-argument. ‘One of the reasons I worked so hard to earn my first million was so I could send someone else to queue at the post office.’
She dropped back on her heels, an adorable crease of consternation lining her brow.
‘And so I would never have to enter a department store again in this lifetime,’ he added forcefully. ‘Especially not in the West End on Christmas Eve. It’ll be my worst nightmare,’ he said, determined to keep that fact front and centre. He didn’t do shopping, even with someone as cute and sexy as Cassie.
‘No, it won’t,’ she said, clearly not prepared to be beaten. ‘It won’t even take that long.’
‘How so?’
‘I happen to be a champion shopper.’
Yeah, right. Most women didn’t even know what that was.
‘I’m getting the impression from that sceptical look that you don’t believe me,’ she said. ‘How about I make you a bet that we get everything done in under an hour?’
‘How many people do you have to get stuff for?’ he asked judiciously.
‘Umm.’ She curled her plump bottom lip under her teeth as if she were counting up the number in her head. ‘Ten. No.’ Her eyes met his, the bright light of excitement in them almost tangible. ‘Eleven.’
‘Eleven presents in under an hour? In the West End? On Christmas Eve? For a woman who loves to shop?’ he clarified.
She nodded enthusiastically.
‘Not possible.’ This had to be the sucker bet to end all sucker bets. ‘And what do I get if you don’t manage it?’
‘Hmm, let me think.’ She pressed the tip of her finger to her mouth, then leaned forward and touched his chest. Her nail trailed down over one nipple, across his ribs, down his abs and stopped just short of his belly button where his robe closed. She sent him a coy smile. ‘I’m sure I can think of something that you’ll enjoy,’ she said, her voice husky with provocation.
Despite his recent climax, he could feel himself rising to attention. He wrapped his hand around her finger, lifted it off his belly. The little tease. She was going to pay for that.
‘You’re on,’ he declared. ‘But once the hour’s up we head straight back here and get naked.’
One hour of shopping seemed like a small price to pay for the fantasies he was already conjuring to go with her sultry smile. And once they were back in the suite, everything would be back where he wanted it.
‘You’re assuming you’re going to win,’ she said sweetly. ‘But when you don’t, when the hour’s up, I get to take you to lunch.’ The sultry smile became decidedly smug. ‘And we get to have a proper conversation. About something other than sex,’ she added.
He smiled back. It had been fairly easy to distract her up to now. So even if the unthinkable happened and he lost the bet, that didn’t scare him. ‘All right, you’re on.’
He dragged her into his arms to seal the deal, but she wrestled out of his embrace and tapped a finger to his nose. ‘Not so fast, Ryan. No kissing until we’re in public.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I know all your tricks.’
He chuckled as she dashed off to the bathroom. ‘Not yet you don’t,’ he murmured, feeling pretty smug himself. He’d managed to manoeuvre her into only spending an hour away from his bed today.
If this was an addiction, he had the will power to overcome it, once he set his mind to it. He’d overcome much bigger weaknesses to get what he wanted.
But there was no need to go cold turkey. At least not today.
Jace was feeling a lot less smug an hour later as Cassie walked back towards him with her latest purchase clutched in her fist and a triumphant smile on her face.
‘What’s the tally now?’ he muttered.
She held the bag up. ‘Jill’s present makes eight.’
Jace glanced at his watch and groaned. They were only thirty-five minutes into their shopping marathon, and she’d already got over two-thirds of her stash.
She laughed at his frown. ‘Regretting taking me on, Ryan?’
‘You’re not there yet, sweet cheeks,’ he countered, but his confidence about winning the bet was ebbing fast. He slung the three bags of purchases she’d given him to carry over his shoulder. Although, funnily enough, he hadn’t been nearly as bored or frustrated as he would have expected. In fact, watching Cassie shop was nothing short of fascinating.
She really was a champion shopper. Unlike with any other woman he’d had the misfortune to shop with, she seemed to know exactly what she wanted and where to get it. She’d attacked Oxford Street with military precision, avoiding the big chain stores, and instead using a string of smaller independent shops and boutiques mostly dotted on the side streets whose merchandise she seemed to have expert knowledge of. She didn’t browse, she went straight to the counter and described exactly what she wanted. He’d also noticed that her purchases were incredibly well thought out and individual. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she’d actually researched this trip.
As they walked out of the chocolaterie and back towards the throbbing activity of Oxford Street he noticed her open her bag and peek at something inside. He’d noticed her doing that a couple of times already. Snagging the leather bag from behind, he whisked it out of her hands and off her shoulder. ‘Let’s have a look in there.’
‘Hey, what are you …?’ she yelped.
‘Wha
t have you got? A secret weapon?’ Spotting the piece of paper she’d been reading, he whipped it out of her bag.
‘Give that back.’ She made a jump for it, but he held the paper easily out of reach.
‘Damn, it is a secret weapon.’ He stared at the handwritten list, which had annotations and notes, hand-drawn maps and several intricate little drawings jotted all over it. The thing was a work of art. She must have spent hours on it. A weird feeling of weightlessness lifted his stomach at the thought that she’d gone to so much trouble. That anyone would go to that much trouble. Over a bunch of Christmas presents.
‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘Give it back. It’s my Christmas list,’ she said, embarrassment turning her cheeks a bright shade of pink. She looked so damn cute and determined, the weightlessness increased.
‘How comes I never knew this about you?’ he teased, pushing the sentimental thought to one side. It was a shopping list, for goodness’ sake, not the Declaration of Independence or the Magna Carta.
‘Knew what?’ she said, swiping the list out of his hand when he dropped his arm.
‘That you’re anal.’
‘I am not anal,’ she declared, stuffing the list back into her bag. ‘I’m organised. And where Christmas shopping is concerned, it pays to be organised.’
‘I get it.’ The drop in his stomach lifted. ‘You write the list so you don’t overspend, right?’ That had to be the reason why she’d gone to all that trouble. It was so long since he’d had to buy on a budget he’d forgotten what it was like.
‘No.’ She stared at him as if he were witless. ‘I go to the trouble of writing a list so I don’t get the wrong thing. Getting people the right present takes work and consideration. I know it’s a cliché but it really is the thought that counts.’
If that were the case her friends would be rich, he thought, feeling uncomfortable again.
He couldn’t quite believe how much time and effort she’d clearly put into the process. This wasn’t about being a shopaholic. It was about actually caring about people enough to want to get them something they’d really like. The minute the thought registered, the weightlessness returned and the uncomfortable feeling got worse.
‘I like going that extra mile for the people I care about,’ she said doggedly. ‘Because I know they’ll go that extra mile for me.’ She looped her arm through his. ‘Now stop trying to waste time, we’ve still got three presents to go and they’re the most important.’ She headed across Oxford Street, the fairy lights of Selfridges’ facade making her hair sparkle. ‘And for that we need the big guns.’
As she dragged him into the legendary department store he realised that he’d never cared about anyone enough to want to get them something special for Christmas. And no one had ever really cared that much about him.
And it hadn’t bothered him.
Right up until he’d got suckered into going Christmas shopping with Cassie Fitzgerald.
‘See, I told you I was a champion shopper,’ Cassie said as she pushed onto the bench seat and settled the bags of presents she’d purchased under the dinner table, the sense of accomplishment making her feel more than a little smug.
She folded her arms and waited for Jace to take the seat opposite. She had a lot to be satisfied about. Not only had she got all her shopping done in under an hour, she’d also managed to awaken Jace to the true joys of retail therapy. Despite all his earlier protestations, she thought he’d actually quite enjoyed the experience. She’d asked his opinion so many times that after a while he’d been forced to get involved. And by the time they’d got to Selfridges, instead of the usual monosyllabic answers, they’d had a very useful discussion about the merits of different brands of men’s sportswear. She’d wanted to get Nessa’s fiancé Terrence something really good to train in, but didn’t know a thing about tracksuit brands—what was in at the moment and what wasn’t—and Jace had been surprisingly informative. She doubted he would appreciate her pointing that out now though. Because, while it had been touch-and-go for the last ten minutes of her allotted hour, when she’d wasted precious seconds agonising over whether to get Nessa the amethyst pendant or the faux sapphire, Jace had lost the bet. And he didn’t seem to be a very good loser.
Jace slid the tray holding the steaming pastrami on rye sandwiches they’d purchased at the counter, and sent her a disgruntled look. ‘Don’t rub it in, Fitzgerald. If I’d known you were going to cheat, I would never have made the bet.’
‘How did I cheat?’ she exclaimed, having to fake her outrage, as she was enjoying her victory too much.
‘That list.’ He sat down and lifted the plates off the tray. ‘I didn’t know you’d been in training for weeks. If I had …’ His voice trailed off.
She grinned. ‘Gee, Ryan. Sore loser much?’ she teased, unable to resist rubbing it in, just a tad.
His lips tilted up as he slathered mustard on his pastrami. ‘Gee, Fitzgerald,’ he countered. ‘Smug winner much?’ He took a bite into the sandwich with relish. ‘Damn, that’s good,’ he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. ‘It tastes like the real thing.’
‘It is the real thing,’ Cassie replied as she sliced into her own sandwich to make the hearty slabs of rye bread a bit more manageable. ‘This is Selfridges Food Hall.’
‘I know that,’ he replied, his voice gruff, but his eyes bright with humour as he took a swig from his bottle of mineral water. ‘I’ve just wasted five minutes of my life debating the merits of Marmite chocolate, remember.’
She gave a light little laugh. ‘Stop pretending you weren’t severely tempted to buy a bar.’
He sent her a smouldering look that promised retribution at a later date as he took another bite.
‘And you should be looking on the bright side,’ she added, watching him devour his sandwich. ‘Now I’ve done all my shopping, we can devote some time to doing yours,’ she announced, hoping that he hadn’t done his already. All the guys she had ever known did the majority of their Christmas shopping at the last second. ‘You have a champion shopper at your disposal to help. And I know Selfridges and Oxford Street like the back of my hand. All you have to do is tell me who the person is, what they like and don’t like and I’ll be able to locate the perfect present within a mile radius, I guarantee it,’ she said, her enthusiasm increasing. Seeing whom he bought gifts for would provide a fascinating insight into his private life without her having to probe. ‘Really, I should charge for my services,’ she finished.
She picked up her sandwich and took a bite as he swallowed the last of his down. He took another swig of his water, swiped the spot of mustard from the corner of his lips, then dumped his napkin on the empty plate, a considering look in her eyes.
‘No need,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any shopping.’
She gulped the bite of her sandwich down, trying not to be too disappointed by the news. ‘That’s a first. I’ve never met a man who has all his Christmas shopping done before Christmas Eve.’
‘I haven’t done it already.’ He tapped his thumb on the side of his plate. ‘I just don’t do any.’
‘What do you mean you don’t do any?’ she said, disappointment replaced by shock as her eyes widened. ‘What about your family? Your friends? Don’t you get them presents?’
He didn’t seem fazed by the question, even though the very thought of not buying anything for people you loved was unthinkable to her.
He shrugged, the movement stiff. ‘I don’t have any family. And my friends know I don’t like to receive anything, so they don’t expect anything in return.’
‘But how do you celebrate Christmas, then?’ she asked, shock giving way to astonishment and an odd sense of sadness. She didn’t have any family any more either, not since her mother had died. Her father was still alive, but she’d given up on him years ago. Even so she’d filled the gap with a wide circle of friends—and Christmas had always been the perfect time to catch up and enjoy each other’s company. She loved the ritual of the se
ason, the sense of love and companionship she shared with the important people in her life. How could you really participate in that without the giving and receiving of gifts? They didn’t have to be expensive. She’d splurged this year because she’d had a couple of successful commissions and had begun to make a name for herself as an illustrator. But she could still remember previous years when all she’d been able to afford were home-made stuff or bargain gifts, and she’d still enjoyed doing her Christmas list just as much.
‘Simple,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘I don’t celebrate Christmas.’
‘You don’t …’ She paused, nonplussed by the blank look on his face.
Of course she knew there were people who hated Christmas, usually for specific reasons. It could be a stressful time, especially when your family life wasn’t great. And whatever Ms Tremall had meant all those years ago by a ‘bad home’ she suspected Jace’s family life might have been the opposite of great. But he didn’t sound as if he hated Christmas, just as if he were indifferent to it. Which somehow seemed even sadder.
‘But you must have celebrated it with your wife?’ she asked, her skin flushing a little at the boldness of the question.
She hadn’t meant to probe. She knew however curious she was about his past, she didn’t really have the right to ask him personal questions, but instead of clamming up as he had before, he simply leant back in his chair and studied her for a moment.
‘We weren’t married that long,’ he commented. ‘You know, if there’s something you want to ask me about my marriage, why don’t you just ask?’
Her skin heated. Had she been that obvious? Clearly, she had been if the implacable look in his eyes was anything to go by.
But despite feeling exposed, despite knowing she’d been caught asking something that was none of her business, and despite being certain that Jace’s offer to ask him about his marriage was disingenuous, the rapid ticks of Cassie’s heartbeat rose in her throat and she recalled the look in his ex-wife’s face five days ago. And admitted to herself that the naked pain in Helen’s gaze had niggled at the back of her mind ever since that day.
