by Lori Foster
Her smile trembled, then broke into a grin that rivaled his own. “The dogs think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“They’re obviously smart dogs.” He kissed her hand. “So what do you think?”
Laughing, she straddled him, then laughed some more when the dogs started jumping on them. “I think I’m getting everything I ever wanted this Christmas.”
And he was getting everything he hadn’t even realized he wanted. Thank God Lucius had insisted he keep an eye on Marci, otherwise he’d still be a lonely, miserable fool.
Now all he had to do was explain to Lucius why he’d disregarded his order not to touch Marci. Maybe when he got a ring on her finger, that’d do the trick.
“You want to go shopping?”
She pressed back to look at him. “Now?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her. “I have one more gift to buy you, but I’d like your input.”
“What is it?”
“An engagement ring.” Ozzie stood with her still wrapped around him and started for the stairs. “I want every available male to know you’re mine.”
She laughed. “I knew you watched them watching me.”
Of course she had. There was a lot Marci knew, because she was a very special, intuitive person. And now she knew they belonged together.
What had started out as the loneliest Christmas of his life was now the very best. He hugged her tightly and said, “Thank you, Marci.”
“You’re very, very welcome.” She kissed him, and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Bah Humbug, Baby
Gemma Bruce
For Roddy and Laurel,
who know how to keep
Christmas all year long.
One
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Operation Good Cheer
Marcie
Subject just left, driving east. It’s a go.
Greg
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Operation Good Cheer
Greg
Ditto at my end. Driving west. Expect rendezvous at 22 hundred hours. Keep your fingers crossed.
Marcie
PS Merry Christmas
Allison Newberry downshifted her BMW and climbed upward through the foothills of the Rockies. She pulled the windshield visor down to block out the setting sun and tried to relax. Which shouldn’t be hard. They’d stopped work early for the office Christmas party. The punch, generously laced with gin, had been consumed with the efficiency that Newberry Advertising was known for.
Now she was free. And thanks to her sister’s pre-Christmas snafu, she wouldn’t have to spend the week among the palm trees, doing Christmas the Newberry way at her parents’ condo in Palm Springs.
No rush to the mall for last-minute stocking stuffers, no questions about her single status. No nagging her to eat more. No cloying eggnog without the bourbon. No off-keyed carols in front of the electric fireplace or oohing over a perfectly hideously colored scarf and matching mittens that seemed to be her Christmas present lot in life.
She owed Marcie big time. Actually she owed her brother-in-law, Steven, cheap bastard that he was, for nixing the ski chalet Marcie had booked for the holidays. When Marcie called, Allison was more than prepared to commiserate over Steven’s penury, but she hadn’t expected the bonus that Marcie tearfully delivered. She’d already paid for the chalet and couldn’t tell Stevie baby, so she wheedled her sister into taking it over and sending her the money.
Ordinarily, Allison couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be than stuck in the Rockies for a holiday that she wouldn’t enjoy—except for Palm Springs. Marcie’s coup de grace cinched the deal.
“Steven and I will take the children to Mom and Dad’s if you’ll just go spend a little-bitty week in a ski resort. And I’ll tell the parents that it was a Christmas present. Then I’ll tell Mom that you’re doing it to help me out.”
Allison knew she was sunk as soon as Marcie started ending her sentences on that upward swing. “Ski resort,” sliding up the scale. Ditto for “Christmas present.” Followed by “help me out,” which added an extra glissando on the last word before sliding down again.
“And she’ll tell Dad and you’ll be the heroine of the day and you won’t have to eat microwaved turkey.”
Allison said “yes.” It seemed like a no-brainer. Six whole days with no deadlines, no last-minute pullouts, no fight to the finish over logos and cover copy. Just her and her laptop. She might even get some real work done.
Maybe there was a Santa Claus after all, because her week off was certainly looking up. It seemed too good to be true.
She pushed away the disturbing thought that spending the holidays solo might be considered a little depressing. If she got lonely, she could always hit the ski lodge at night; sit around the fireplace surrounded by après ski hunks. And their bunnies. Well, hell. She could bunny with the best of them as long as she didn’t have to go up the mountain on that T-bar thingee.
Nope. It was perfect. And if the spirit moved her, which she doubted, she could listen to her new disco Christmas CD—a present from her office secret angel.
In keeping with the season, she’d made a dash to the mall after work yesterday, where she loaded up on fashionable winter outerwear. Hell, she’d even bought a pair of snow boots. At least they resembled snow boots. She’d actually bought them from Nordstrom’s. Okay, so they were turquoise with rhinestones; they were lined with fur. They made a statement.
And besides, it wasn’t snowing.
Lee Simonson had learned early in life not to trust his family. But he had a soft spot for his baby brother. So when Greg presented him with an early Christmas present, the only one he’d be getting from that quarter, he didn’t have the heart to turn him down.
A ski chalet in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by feet of snow. He’d promised Greg he would go. He didn’t promise him that he would stay. The idea of sitting out a week in the mountains, alone, except for slope jocks and ski bunnies made his blood run cold.
And he didn’t relish the idea of having time to think, to remember where he’d been last Christmas. How he’d waited for Allison at the LA airport for four hours, only to have her call and say things were running behind at the office and she wouldn’t get there until the next day. Only she didn’t get there the next day. By the time she did arrive, Lee was long gone.
No. One night was more than enough. Then he’d drive to the Denver airport to make a connecting flight in LA that would take him to Bogotá and his next assignment.
He’d be embedded in a covert operation that was involved in taking down a big drug cartel. It was Pulitzer prize material. His passport and ticket were in his inside jacket pocket and his cameras were packed in the trunk. He was ready to rock and roll.
And he would be able to truthfully tell his brother that the chalet was lovely. The mountains were awe inspiring. That, at least, probably wouldn’t be stretching the truth. He’d throw in a few details and Greg would never know the difference. And Lee wouldn’t have to mope through Christmas alone, thinking about the woman who couldn’t commit.
A snowflake hit the windshield. Allison narrowed her eyes.
Another splatted on the glass, then another. She turned up the defroster. A larger flake hit and blitzed out. Ho Ho Ho, she thought. Take that, you winter-wonderland reject.
Soon hundreds of snowflakes were being zapped, then turned into rivulets of water. Melt and drool, melt and drool. It was better than a video game.
But she wasn’t laughing when she reached 1,800 feet and the snow turned to a curtain of blinding white. Her BMW lost traction, skid over a slick spot, and she had to let go of the wheel to keep from spinning out of control. By the time she’d straightened the car out again, she was sweating. Nobody had said anything about a damn blizzard.
The sun had disappeared. She was surrounded by black except for the flakes th
at rushed toward her like computer animation. And for a second she felt a rush of panic as she imagined herself covered in a snowdrift, slowing freezing to death as she rationed out the box of Godiva chocolates she’d brought for the drive.
She slid around an S-curve and saw the dim outline of a highway sign ahead. It was completely covered over and leaned at a sharp angle into a drift of snow nearly as high as the sign. She pumped the brakes and came to a stop a few feet away from it. There was no indication of the road in front of her or to either side. Just white, fluffy wet stuff. Everywhere. Her better judgment told her to just turn around and go back to the nearest hotel, but when she looked out the back window, that road had disappeared, too.
Okay. She had been in tougher spots than this. But only in a boardroom sort of way. She was an executive out of water here.
Resigned, she shoved the door open and stepped out of the car. She sank down to her ankles, while her face was pelted with icy spikes. Shivering, she waded over to the sign. Brushed it off with her bare hand. Found the words Good Cheer with an arrow pointing to the right. But which way was right?
Honestly, this was the last time she let Marcie talk her into bailing her out of a jam. She could be sitting by the pool in Palm Springs instead of being lost in a whiteout.
Yeah, with a newspaper hiding her “you’re much too thin” body and avoiding questions like, “What happened to Lee? This is his fault, isn’t it?”
Better the blizzard.
“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.” She turned back to the car, climbed inside, knocked the snow from her boots on the runner and slammed the door. She shifted into first and, guessing where the road to Good Cheer might be, she plunged ahead.
She was actually relieved when she finally drove into the darkened town. An Alpine village circa 1950. Where the sidewalks roll up at sundown, she thought, as she drove down a silent Main Street. Not even an all-night diner in sight. Hopefully, the ski resort would be a little more lively.
The shopping area gave way to a row of A-framed cabins, their steep roofs covered with snow, the cute little gingerbread moldings, dripping icicles. A couple of vehicles were parked by the side of the street, barely visible under the mounds of freshly fallen snow. What appeared to be an ancient paneled truck had been abandoned sideways in the middle of the street.
She could see a few lit windows but not a sign of life. A few more lights winked up the side of the hills behind the town. But no blaze of light from the ski lodge. It must be farther out from town than Marcie realized.
Just as well; she wouldn’t be distracted by the nightlife here.
She skirted the truck, rolled to a stop and turned on the interior light. Read the instructions once more, then hunkered over the wheel looking for the address of her rental.
It was a two-storied chalet, set a bit away from the other cottages, but with the same gingerbread trim, a small porch and a gable over the front door.
Just too fucking cute for words.
There seemed to be a light coming from a room on the first floor. A nice touch. At least the Realtor had been on the job. The BMW hydroplaned to a stop in front of the house, next to another vehicle completely camouflaged by snow. It looked like an SUV of some kind. One of her neighbors. God, she hoped they didn’t have a bunch of screeching children.
She slid the key out of the white envelope that Marcia had Fed Exed her, grabbed her laptop and her suitcase and made a dash for the front door.
She nearly missed the steps since they more closely resembled a ski slope. She tripped up them and reached the porch just as a heavy, wet glob fell from the gingerbread trim and landed inside the collar of her jacket. She banged through the storm door, managed to fit the key to the lock and practically fell inside.
She dropped her suitcase in the small, tiled entrance hall and looked around. The first floor seemed to be one main room. Ahead of her was an open wooden staircase that led up to a second floor. And she could see kitchen appliances through the open risers of the stairs. To the left was the living area. Several lamps were lit and it was toastily warm. She hung her laptop on a peg by the front door and stepped back. There was a sheepskin jacket and scarf already hanging on the peg.
The Realtor must be waiting for her. She probably had special instructions about heat and water and stuff. Maybe even a welcome basket with food and a bottle of wine.
Or not. This was not the Four Seasons, she reminded herself. And at this point, she’d be thankful for a piece of beef jerky. She took off her coat, shook off the excess snow and stepped fully into the room.
She heard an odd crackling sound, like the pop of wood in a fireplace. Noticed the smell of a fire. There was a fireplace. She could see the brick of the chimney on the other side of a long, dark-colored couch.
From behind it, a man stood up and turned toward her, surprise etched on his face.
A face that she knew all too well. The room went out of focus. Her knees buckled. A tall, dark-haired man dressed in a black sweater and jeans. Eyes an unusual shade of gray. And they belonged to Lee Simonson. Her soulmate, her nemesis.
She should have stopped for a burger on the road. Obviously hunger was doing weird things to her mind.
She blinked. Blinked again. He was still there and it was still Lee. Down to the scowl.
“You,” she said as his mouth opened and “You,” echoed back at her. Then, for a long moment, neither of them spoke, or even moved. Like the freeze-frame of a gorpy movie.
He moved suddenly, stepped toward her.
A bubble of joy rose inside her. Had he planned this? Was it possible? She hadn’t seen or heard from him in over a year. And their last parting had been hurtful and final.
Then he checked, staring back at her as if he’d seen a ghost—or an ax murderer. He was as surprised as she. And he wasn’t happy about it.
All the anger and hurt came back to replace that one unguarded moment of joy. She somehow found her voice, stammered, “What are you doing here?”
His scowl deepened. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t be for long.” He tossed the piece of wood he was holding onto the fire and strode toward the staircase.
Allison felt a sharp stab of disappointment. Just what she swore she’d never feel if they ever met again. Which she had gone to some pains to ensure would never happen. And now here she was again, feeling humiliated, rejected and stupid.
“No. Don’t.”
He hesitated, his foot poised on the step. He glanced back at her and for an instant she thought she saw an expression of hope flit across his face. But then it was gone, leaving only the hard, cold eyes and the stubborn set of the jaw that she knew so well.
“I mean—I’ll leave. You were here first.”
“Forget it.” He turned and took the stairs two at a time.
He was desperate to get away from her and she could hardly blame him. She felt awful about what had happened between them and hated herself for taking the responsibility. After all, he was the one who refused to compromise. Refused to give up any of his peripatetic life to share life with her. And, of course, being Lee, he blamed her.
Anger washed over her. A reaction so tied up in their relationship—check that, their ex-relationship—that she fell into it without having to try.
She stomped after him. Because she had to tell him that she hadn’t planned this. Not that he would believe her. But she went anyway. Knowing that only accusations and recriminations would follow. But, damn it, for once he wouldn’t get the last word.
When she reached the bedroom, he was throwing things into a duffel bag. His camera gear was packed and stacked in a corner.
“Where are you off to this time?” She knew she sounded bitter. Well, she was, so sue her.
She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. How many times had they played this scene, her expecting to spend time with him and him running off somewhere to shoot the next Pulitzer prize–winning photograph.
“Columbia…the countr
y, not the university,” he added as if she were some dimwit.
“I didn’t think you would stoop to doing campus news,” she snapped, and then bit her tongue. This was stupid. She told herself just to back out of the room and sit somewhere out of sight until he had gone. She’d planned to be alone this week, and she’d be damned before she let Lee send her into a fit of depression or see her disappointment.
She was a fool for thinking even for a moment that he had planned this. Lee would never have stooped to tricking her into spending Christmas week with him, not in a snow-covered Alpine village, where the streets were probably lit with Christmas lights and people served hot cider and sang carols…
He zipped up the duffel and walked past her to the door.
She stepped aside, her throat clogging with lost hope of what might have been. She knew it would never work. Hadn’t they proved that a thousand times? She had really thought it was over after he stood her up the last time. All because she was two days late. It was all right for his work to come first but not for hers.
It was finished. It had taken nearly a year, but she had gotten over him. And she was sure he had gotten over her.
So why did she feel so awful?
She knew why. They were soulmates. From their very first meeting, they had shared a complete connection and an unbridled passion. It should have been perfect—It was anything but.
She heard him run down the stairs and back up again, while she stood in the doorway, immobile. He brushed against her as he came back into the room. Awareness invaded her mind and body. She held her ground. Willed away the desire to fling herself at him. To ask him to let them try once more.
He slung a camera case and tripod carrier over his shoulder, picked up the last bag and walked past her, letting the case bang into her as he did.
