TIDINGS OF GREAT JOY

by Sandra Brown

  * * *

  Contents:

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  © 1987

  * * *

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  ^ »

  "I'm pregnant."

  Taylor MacKensie's eyes skidded to a stop about halfway up Ria Lavender's shinbone, bringing to a halt his prurient appraisal of her shapely legs. His gaze swung up to her face. She didn't appear to have lost her faculties, but it was either that or he hadn't heard her correctly. "I'm sorry?"

  "I'm pregnant."

  Taylor lowered himself into the leather chair behind his desk and tried his damnedest to work up enough spit to swallow. "Congratulations" didn't seem a proper response. She'd hurled the two words at him like darts. The statement was more than a description of her physical condition. It issued a challenge. That challenge was echoed in her dark green eyes.

  "Thanks for telling me, but I could have waited for a birth announcement," he said flippantly.

  "You're the first to know."

  "Any particular reason why?"

  "A very good reason."

  "Are you implying that I have something to do with your pregnancy?"

  "No, I'm not implying anything. The baby is yours."

  Cool as a cucumber was Ria Lavender, but Taylor went hot all over. And he could forget swallowing any time soon. His salivary glands were dammed up, and he doubted they would ever resume operation. To hide his astonishment he laughed shortly. "Is this a joke?"

  "Hardly, Mr. MacKensie. Farce has never been my favorite form of comedy."

  "Nor mine. But that sure as hell is what this sounds like," he said testily.

  "Take my word for it that no one is going to come barging in here and poke a shotgun in your back."

  "I wouldn't be surprised by anything after this. Just where do you get off, waltzing in here and dropping this bombshell?"

  "I didn't waltz," Ria replied evenly. "I made an appointment, went through all the necessary and proper channels to talk to a city councilman, and—"

  "Ms. Lavender, excuse me, but when a citizen of this city makes an appointment with me, I expect we'll discuss upcoming bond elections or tax laws or extended bus service."

  "Maybe I should have called on you in your company office. But I was afraid you'd think I wanted to see you on business."

  He ran his fingers through his thick, dark mahogany hair. "I can't believe you're serious."

  "I am."

  "This isn't a trick? A practical joke?"

  "I do not play practical jokes," she said with an air of superiority.

  "Well, how the hell should I know that? I barely know you."

  They stared at each other across the polished surface of his desk. Ria was the first to look away. Taylor detected the color rising in her cheeks. About time, he thought. He'd felt flushed and hot ever since she'd come in.

  It should have made her blush to acknowledge just how well he did know her. Especially since they'd only met once before.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  « ^ »

  "Oh, excuse me!"

  "No apology necessary."

  "Didn't I stick your finger with my toothpick?"

  "A few stitches and it'll be as good as new." He shrugged negligently and sucked on his injured finger.

  Ria laughed. "I'm sorry."

  "Forget it."

  "Please take the shrimp."

  "Uh-uh. If you've had your eye on that particular shrimp, I wouldn't dream of depriving you of it."

  Ria smiled up into an incredibly handsome face. It sat atop one heck of a good body too. Tall, slender, outfitted in a dark three-piece suit, white shirt, red tie. Red tie? Well, it was Christmas Eve. The tie and matching silk handkerchief, three corners of which were peeking out of his breast pocket, were his concessions to the holiday. Where other men might look silly because of such frivolity, this one had the panache to carry it off well without its threatening his masculinity. The wide white smile helped. Guileless, open, warm. Growing warmer by the second. Or was that the furnace in her own belly being stoked by that smile and his dazzling blue eyes?

  "Ria Lavender." She switched her plate from right hand to left so she could shake hands with him.

  "Taylor MacKensie." He didn't have a plate yet, only the cocktail toothpick that had been about to skewer the same shrimp her toothpick had aimed for. He shook hands with her.

  "The Taylor MacKensie?" she asked. Her hand wanted to snuggle in the warm, firm clasp of his forever.

  "Is there a the Taylor MacKensie?"

  His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He liked the outdoors. And the outdoors liked him. Its ravages had saved him from being pretty. Although that square jaw was far from what one could define as pretty. "Are you the famous City Councilman MacKensie, candidate for mayor?"

  He bowed stiffly. "The same. It's a pleasure, Mrs. Lavender."

  Ria cocked her head to one side. "Very clever."

  "What?"

  "Mrs. Lavender. You're clearly manipulating me into telling you whether or not I'm married."

  He lowered his voice to a confidential pitch. "The suspense is killing me."

  "It's Ms. and has never been Mrs."

  "Hot damn," he said, snapping his fingers. "I've always had phenomenal good luck."

  Immensely pleased with what they saw, they stared at each other until someone jostled Taylor from behind. "Uh, more shrimp?" he asked courteously.

  "I've already got an immodest number, but thank you."

  He glanced down the length of the holiday buffet table, shopping the variety of food. "Can we talk turkey?"

  Ria liked his sense of humor. So far there was nothing about him she didn't like. And she loved turkey. She flashed him her own rendition of a dazzling smile. "Please."

  He picked up a plate for himself and they moved along the buffet, serving themselves, though food was now the last thing on their minds. The Grahams' Christmas Eve open house had taken on new interest. Each had attended the party out of a sense of obligation and had planned to leave after making an appearance. Taylor forgot the excuse he had intended to give the hosts for having to leave early. Ria was relieved of having to dream up one.

  "Where shall we sit?" Taylor scanned the crowded living room, looking for two empty seats close together. There were single chairs scattered here and there, but he seemed disinclined to claim one, and Ria was glad.

  Spontaneously she asked him, "How friendly do you feel like being?"

  "I can be downright rude and still sleep nights," he told her with a devilish grin.

  "Then follow me."

  Winking conspiratorially at the bartender, Taylor picked up a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses. Ria headed for the staircase. A Persian runner was secured to the steps with brass rods, but the staircase still appeared to be contemporary because of its cantilevered construction.

  "That is a really knockout dress," Taylor remarked as they climbed the stairs.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. His eyes were trained on her spine, which was left bare by the low back of her thickly sequined blue dress. It was cut equally low in the front, dipping to a deep V between her breasts. The skirt was narrow and was hemmed straight across her knees. The waist was cinched with a wide self-belt. The padded shoulders were decorated with a design formed of silver sequins. A matching sequin-covered clasp held back one side of her long, straight hair.

  "Thank you."


  "You're welcome."

  The stairs led to a gallery, which overlooked the rooms below. "This was a great idea," Taylor said as they glanced down at the noisy crowd.

  "I'm glad I thought of it too."

  They stood at the railing for a moment, staring at each other. He looked much hungrier for a bite of her lower lip than he did for any of the food on his plate. She would have enjoyed being nibbled. "This way," she said gruffly.

  She led him into a spacious room lit only by the fire in the fireplace and the mammoth Christmas tree in the corner. The room was furnished with white leather sofas and chairs as soft and plush as marshmallows. The pile of the butterscotch-colored carpet almost swallowed the high heels on Ria's black satin shoes. She crossed the room and set her plate on the glass-topped coffee table.

  "The light switch is on your left," she told Taylor. He was standing in the wide doorway, appreciatively surveying the room. "But if your hands are full I can get it."

  "Do you mind if we leave it like this?"

  Holding his gaze, she shook her head. "Actually, I prefer it this way."

  "Me too."

  He joined her where she stood, between the sofa and the fireplace, and by tacit agreement they sat on the floor. Ria folded her legs beneath her hips. Taylor sat with one knee raised, his back against the couch.

  Expertly, he opened the champagne so that it only burped loudly, but didn't spew. Ria tipped her head to salute this expertise and held up her glass. He poured. When his glass was brimming, he raised it to hers.

  "Merry Christmas, Ria."

  "Merry Christmas, Taylor."

  Looking at each other over their glasses, they drank. He smacked his lips. "Far better than the champagne punch."

  "Hm." She let the champagne bubble and sparkle inside her mouth before swallowing its icy heat. "There's nothing like the real thing."

  Taylor popped an olive-crowned canapé, into his mouth. "How did you know where to find this getaway room?"

  "I designed it."

  Obviously impressed, his eyebrows climbed up his forehead a fraction. "Interior design?"

  "No. I only made recommendations on how it should be decorated. I designed it from the studs out. I was the architect."

  "You were the architect who designed this house?"

  She nodded. Methodically chewing a cherry tomato stuffed with crab salad, Taylor surveyed the room again, looking at it from a new perspective. From the carpet beneath them to the cathedral ceiling, he liked what he saw. Ria could tell that by the way his eyes lingered on every structural detail.

  She was expecting a compliment, so when he said, "It's snowing," she was surprised. She tilted her head back and saw that flakes as big and fluffy as goose down were settling on the clear skylights overhead.

  "How lovely, a white Christmas," she said with hushed reverence.

  "I'm moved to break out in song. Want me to?"

  "Can you sing?"

  "I sound great in the shower."

  "Then maybe you'd better not."

  "You don't believe I can sing? Guess you'll just have to join me in the shower to find out."

  Ria calmly took a sip of champagne. The innuendo wasn't offensive. His smile was too disarming. Still, it was sexy, just as he had intended it to be.

  Setting her glass down, she glanced up at him through her lashes. "You're as dangerous as they say, Mr. MacKensie."

  "Who say?" He was suspiciously sniffing at an anchovy.

  "Everybody who's ever accused you of being a lady-killer."

  "Oh, them." He shrugged dismissively, both at the allegation and the anchovy, which he returned to his plate. "Political enemies started those rumors."

  "Or women scorned."

  "I suppose there are a few of those." His smile was rueful.

  "I didn't mean to imply that you're not a serious politician and businessman," she said sincerely. From reading newspaper articles about him, she knew that he owned and operated an electrical-contracting business. "Despite all the mud your opponent is slinging, I think you'll win the mayor's race."

  "Will you vote for me?"

  "If you'll pour me another glass of champagne." Coquettishly, she held up her glass.

  He topped it off, then refilled his own as he said, "I wish all votes were as easy to come by. Why are you going to vote for me?"

  "Because you're a progressive thinker. Maybe a tad too outspoken and aggressive."

  "Bleeker called me 'street tough.'"

  She laughed over the label his opponent had stuck on him. "The description fits, though I'm sure Bleeker didn't mean it as a compliment. I don't think you'd ever let anybody bully you."

  "You're right. I grew up in the suburbs, an all-American kid. But I held my own with the bad guys."

  "You impress me as a mover and shaker. Some people are afraid of change, but for a long time I've thought that this city needed some changes."

  "I only hope I'll be able to move and shake all the deadwood on the city council. If I'm elected," he grumbled. Then seconds later in the same tone of voice he said, "Damn."

  "What?"

  "I forgot to get turkey after all."

  "Here, have some." She offered him her plate.

  He held up both hands. "No, really, I couldn't."

  Was she getting tipsy, or was his protest actually that overstated and funny? "Go on. I insist. After all, I took the shrimp away from you." She picked up a sliver of white meat and extended it to him.

  He stared at it as though it were the last morsel of food on earth but he was unworthy of eating it. "You won the shrimp in a fair fight."

  "Please?" She lifted her hand closer to his mouth.

  "Well, if you insist."

  He bit into the succulent slice of turkey breast. It had never occurred to Ria that teeth could be sexy, but she felt that bite right above her belly button. It was a thrilling sensation. His breath was warm against her fingers. The turkey was so tender, it could have been cut with a fork, but he moved his head from side to side slightly, as though tearing at it. The bottom of her stomach dropped away, as if she'd just cannoned over the highest peak of the roller coaster.

  He said, "Delicious."

  "Nice and juicy."

  "Uh-huh."

  She realized that he was looking at her mouth. His eyes were as unblinking as a predatory cat's. She felt vulnerable beneath that steady blue gaze. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the stem of her glass of champagne.

  Only when she moved and broke the spell did he stop staring. "I like this Christmas tree better than the one downstairs," he said.

  Ria was glad he had changed the subject. It relieved the tension in her chest. The party noise coming from downstairs was a faraway roar. Occasionally a burst of laughter would puncture the quiet, but basically the only sound in the room was that of the popping applewood logs in the grate and the sexy whisper of evening clothes each time one of them moved. A take-your-shoes-off-and-be-comfortable kind of mood had settled over them. She had never felt so relaxed. Anywhere. At any time. Nor had she ever felt so breathless with anticipation. As a safety precaution, she kept her shoes on.

  She looked at the Christmas tree. Its fragrant green branches were decorated with twinkling colored lights, glass balls, tinsel, and candy canes. "I like this one best too," she said. "I prefer the old-fashioned kind."

  "They don't count unless you can smell them."

  "Right. The one downstairs in the living room is gorgeous, but so formal."

  "Untouchable."

  "It was done by a professional decorator. You can tell that the family decorated this one. The ornaments are irregularly spaced."

  Her host and hostess, the Grahams, had several grown children and numerous grandchildren. Ria could imagine the laughter, the affectionate bantering, the squeals of pleasure that would echo off these walls when the myriad gift-wrapped boxes were ripped open the following morning.

  Leaning closer to her, Taylor whispered, "I'll bet if you looked close,
you'd see some of those ornaments are tarnished and broken."

  She nodded dreamily. "But they're the most cherished ones. The older the better. They're the reminders of past Christmases, and will never be thrown out."

  He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "The lady architect has a sentimental streak."

  Pleasurably, she broke out in goose bumps. "I confess."

  No longer pretending to eat, they abandoned their plates. Another kind of hunger had set in. There was no sense in denying it. Unabashedly Taylor stared at her. "I've never had a battle of toothpicks with someone as pretty as you. Are you sure you're real?"

  It was on the tip of Ria's tongue to say, "Touch me and see," but she thought better of it. He looked ready to pounce and gobble. If the rumors were true, Taylor MacKensie needed no encouragement. Whether such rumors were maliciously sowed by his political enemies or not, they must have some basis in truth. Ria was too level-headed to be swayed by a smooth line and a seductive smile. But she was having too good a time to rebuff him. So she decided to keep them on a friendly and flirting basis.

  "Oh, I'm real, all right. What you didn't know," Ria drawled, "was that my stomach was growling most indelicately when I spotted that fat pink shrimp."

  "Hush, now." He laid his index finger vertically against her lips. "You're making my mouth water."

  Time out! Ria thought. So much for flirting. It was no longer harmless. Taylor MacKensie was making her mouth water. The softly lit room, the fireplace, the Christmas ambience, were having a dangerous effect on her. She felt herself losing control of the situation and knew she had to get it back.

  "Maybe we'd better go downstairs and mingle."

  He frowned, but seemed to recognize the advisability of that. This was getting way out of hand way too fast. "I guess we'd better. There are lots of voters down there."

  He stood up and offered her his hand, which she gladly accepted. She should have eaten more. The champagne had gone straight to her head. And to her thighs. They were rubbery. She swayed slightly as she stood up. He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her, pressing her against him briefly.