by Grace Green
‘I’d no idea Mom worried about me!’ Dismayed, Stephanie stared at him. ‘She’s always seemed so up-beat—’
‘A front. But I’ve assured her that in my care, you’ll be absolutely safe...and living in the lap of luxury. By the way, I didn’t notice your old van. Where did you park?’
Stephanie’s mind was still on her mother. ‘I skidded on the way here,’ she said in a distracted tone, ‘and ended up in a snowbank, had to have it towed. I got a drive.’
‘So the accident held you up, otherwise you’d have been here before me. I arrived around five.’
Stephanie realized he’d assumed she’d left Boston that day. She opened her mouth to set him right—and closed it again. He’d grill her endlessly if he found out she’d spent the night with a stranger, but there was no need for him to know. No need, in fact, for anyone to know. McAllister himself would never talk about it; it would be easier to extract a set of impacted wisdom teeth than to get private information out of that man. Besides, she and McAllister lived in two different worlds. Her secret was safe.
‘Yes,’ she murmured. “The accident did...hold me up.’
‘Steph, I am sorry I gave you that Christmas ultimatum. It was a huge mistake, and I plan on making it up to you. My love for you is the most important thing in my life.’
A month ago, Stephanie would happily have echoed his declaration; now, the words remained strangled in her throat. Certainly Tony had tried to rectify his mistake, but had his gesture come too late? At his party she’d seen a side of him she’d never seen before and it had changed her feelings for him. She’d have to sort those feelings out.
But not now. And not here.
For her mother’s sake, she would maintain the status quo...only, however, for the duration of the holidays.
Once she got back to Boston, she would face her problem squarely, and decide whether or not to call off the wedding.
By the time McAllister got home he was exhausted, and so light-headed that when he staggered from his truck to the door, anyone watching might have thought he’d been drinking.
He had overdone it, of course. What the hell had he been trying to prove, chopping wood when he was still as weak as water! But he’d had to get away from her.
When he’d come downstairs after his shower, he’d heard Christmas music coming from the kitchen. And when he’d seen her, and realized she’d been crying—the nostalgic music must have gotten to her—he’d felt his heart give a strange twist. At the same time, he’d been almost overcome by a passionate urge to haul her into his arms and kiss those tears away...but he’d somehow restrained himself. It was going to be hard enough to forget her without indulging in any kind of sexual involvement. But the picture of her in his kitchen, looking so at home there as she cooked their breakfast, was something that would stay with him forever. Her ghost would haunt his house.
A house that now seemed empty without her.
He kicked the front door shut behind him and walked into the living room. His gaze drifted to the sofa, where she’d sat reading...again, looking as if she belonged there.
Which she didn’t. And never would.
She was already spoken for.
And that was a fact. Stephanie Redford was someone else’s miracle. Not his. Never his.
He made his way slowly up to his bedroom. Without putting on the light, he stripped and slumped down onto the mattress. He inhaled deeply...and shuddered. The scent of her was everywhere, even in his bed. But it couldn’t be. She’d never been in his bed. He must be imagining things. He pulled back the duvet, and rolled under it.
His head struck something lumpy. Frowning, he reached up, and discovered a soft plush object. What the...?
The scent of her was now all around him, choking him. And the object in his hand? He didn’t need to put on the light to identify it; it was the nutmeg teddy bear she’d tossed to him so casually that morning across the breakfast table. She’d left it for him. A Christmas present.
With a guttural curse, he flung it away from him. He heard it hit something on the dresser, heard the sound of shattering glass. He twisted around and smashed his face into the pillow, in a futile effort to drown out the rush of bitter memories.
Memories of childhood Christmases, when the heart of one small boy had still held a shred of hope—hope that once, just once, he would waken on Christmas morning and find a present at the foot of his bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OUR apartment always seems so bare at the beginning of January.’ Janey wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the living room. ‘With the tree and the decorations all gone.’
‘Mmm.’ Stephanie wandered over to the window. The night was dark and cold. Snow had fallen lazily all day, but had tapered off just as she got home from the toy store.
At the end of the block, she could see several vehicles lined up at a red light. ‘I’ll be off in a minute,’ she murmured. ‘I think that’s Tony’s Jag at the intersection.’
Janey crossed to stand by her. ‘Yes, it is.’
The lights changed and Stephanie stifled a sigh as she watched the Jaguar slide forward.
‘Steph—’ Janey sounded worried ‘—what’s wrong? Since you came back from Rockfield, you’ve been so...distracted.’
Stephanie grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, Janey, I didn’t realize it showed. It’s just that Tony’s working all hours on a complicated case and we never have time to talk. We haven’t had two minutes alone together since the holidays!’
‘But he’s taking you out for dinner tonight.’
‘We’ve been invited to the opening of Harry Loeb’s new restaurant, the Trocadero Six, but even so it’s going to be a business dinner—Tony has invited someone from the M.A.G. to join us.’
‘The M.A.G.?’
‘A group of architects. Boston’s finest, apparently. Tony has hired their top gun to design his new house.’
‘His new house? Surely you mean... your new house? You’re both going to live in it, aren’t you?’ Janey teased.
Stephanie shrugged. ‘I tend to think of it as Tony’s,’ she said evasively. ‘He bought the lot years before we met, and has very definite ideas on the kind of home he wants.’
‘But after dinner tonight—’ Janey cut back to their earlier conversation ‘—you’ll have him all to yourself?’
The intercom buzzer sounded, and Stephanie’s nerves jumped. ‘I hope so,’ she said.
‘Well, that’ll be nice.’
No, Stephanie reflected as she scooped up her purse, it wouldn’t be nice. Hurting someone was never nice. And what she was going to say to Tony tonight would hurt him deeply.
The foyer at the Trocadero Six was wall-to-wall people. For this opening evening, it had been set up as a reception area, with a crescent-shape bar adjacent to a table laden with piping hot hors d’oeuvres. The tantalizing aroma of spicy food and rich sauces permeated the air, mingling with the scent of wine, expensive perfumes and dewy-fresh roses.
After Tony had checked their coats, they made their way to the bar. With an arm around her, he raised his voice so he could be heard over the din. ‘Champagne, Steph?’
A group jostled past, throwing her against him. She tried to draw back, but he caught her in a light embrace.
Startled, she looked up into his eyes—to find them hazed with passion. ‘Darling,’ he murmured, ‘you look ravishing with your hair in that upswept style. I want you to come back to my place tonight, and stay over—’
Oh, Lord. ‘No, Tony. But we do have to talk—’
She broke off. Somebody had come up behind her and was standing so close it made the fine hair at her nape rise on end and sent a shiver goose-bumping over her skin. She’d never before been so aware of an unseen presence.
‘Could—’ a voice came from the presence ‘—good evening.’
Stephanie froze. She recognized that voice. No, she hastened to reassure herself, she’d just thought she recognized it. She must be wrong!
‘Ah.
..good evening, McAllister,’ Tony said.
Her heart lurched violently. She ordered it to be calm. This must be another McAllister. After all, what would the McAllister she knew—that dark and brooding recluse—be doing in a place like this?
Still, her heartbeat stuttered and staggered as if it were a road drill on the fritz as Tony turned her around.
Oh, it was her McAllister all right...and if she was surprised to see him here, it was nothing as to the shock he obviously got at seeing her: he flinched, as though she’d slapped him, and in one incredulous stark-eyed glance, took in her sophisticated hairstyle, black taffeta blouse and long velvet skirt. She stared back at him just as incredulously and felt as if she’d been caught up in a whirlwind.
Luckily Tony had chosen that moment to snag a waiter passing by with drinks, and in doing so had missed the impact of their mutual recognition. When he gave Stephanie her champagne flute, she clutched it as if it were a lifeline.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he shouted to McAllister over the hubbub, ‘where we can talk.’ With his arm still around her, he led the way through the crowd.
Stephanie could feel McAllister’s eyes burning a hole in her back; she could have sworn she smelled singeing taffeta. She inhaled deeply in an effort to regulate her heartbeat. It’ll be over in a few minutes, she promised herself. And if it’s not, if Tony doesn’t break away, then I’ll tell him I’m feeling a bit faint, and suggest we go into the dining room so I can sit down. That should do it.
She realized, thankfully, that Tony was headed toward a spot close to the dining-room doors. He drew to a halt beside a fountain and a graceful arrangement of greenery. The noise of the crowd was muffled by the frondy plants, and by the splash of the cascading water.
‘It’s a zoo over there,’ Tony said. ‘Can’t even hear ourselves speak. Now, for introductions. Stephanie...’
She had no option but to turn and face McAllister once more. And as she looked at him, the whirlwind caught her again. This time, she felt as if it had tossed her high in the air, and left her in freefall. In ancient jeans and a casual sweater, the Vermont artist had been a hunk. In a dark dinner suit, with a crisp white shirt, silver cuff links, and impeccably knotted striped tie, he was dynamite.
‘Darling.’ Tony’s voice seemed to be coming from another planet. ‘This is Damian McAllister. McAllister, my fiancée, Stephanie Redford.’
Oh, Lord. Stephanie felt a sudden stab of dismay. If McAllister announced they’d already met, Tony would want to know where and when.
‘Mr. McAllister,’ she said quickly, extending her hand, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
She saw the almost imperceptible rise of his brows. But then smoothly he took her hand in his. ‘Miss Redford, the pleasure is all mine. But do call me Damian.’
‘And you must call me Stephanie!’
‘Gould,’ he drawled, never taking his eyes from her for one second, ‘you’re one helluva lucky man.’
‘Oh, I know it! Stephanie is a treasure.’
A treasure. She could see by the cynical glint in McAllister’s eyes that he might at this moment be thinking her many things, but a treasure was not one of them. How unfortunate that he should be here...tonight of all nights!
If only the architect from the M.A.G. would turn up, she reflected tautly, then Tony would tell McAllister they had a table booked for dinner, and they’d be rid of him!
‘Well,’ Tony said, ‘we may as well go in and sit down.’
With a bright smile, Stephanie waited for him to take their leave of McAllister. To her consternation he did no such thing. Instead he guided her through the open doorway into the dining room...with the other man close on their heels. What was going on? Had McAllister also booked a table for dinner? Yes, of course, that must be it.
The maître d’ approached, flourishing a clutch of cobalt leather-bound menus. He addressed Tony.
‘You have a reservation, sir?’
‘Gould. Table for three.’
‘Come this way, please.’
It was with a sense of rising irritation that Stephanie realized McAllister was tagging along behind them as she and Tony followed the maître d’ to their table. The waiter pulled back her chair and she sat down, hardly noticing when he whisked a napkin across her lap because not only did Tony take a seat, but McAllister sat down, too. At her left. And so close she could smell that familiar spicy scent of his after-shave. It made her remember...
Perspiration pricked her upper lip. Vaguely she was aware that the dining room was beginning to fill up; intensely she was aware that McAllister’s eyes were on her. Nervously she toyed with a wisp of hair by her ear.
‘What a magnificent sapphire!’
She started, jerked her head around to look at him and found that his gaze was fixed on her upraised hand. Quickly she let it fall but he caught it at table level.
‘May I?’ He turned her hand over to inspect the ring.
His hands were warm, and Stephanie could feel the blood pulsing in his veins. Could he feel the rush of blood in hers? Did the intimate contact, flesh to flesh, disturb him, as it disturbed her? If so, his gaze showed no sign of it. Flicking a glance at Tony, who was watching with an indulgent smile, he said, ‘A lovely ring for a lovely lady.’
He turned his attention to Stephanie again. ‘Belated best wishes on your engagement. I was hoping to meet you at the party your fiancée held for you, but unfortunately I couldn’t make it.’
‘You had a bad case of flu, I heard.’ Tony leaned back in his seat. ‘Your secretary told mine you’d taken off for your place in Vermont. Must have been damned lonely, all on your own, over the holidays.’
McAllister had been in no hurry to release her hand. His grasp would have appeared casual to Tony; it was anything but. From under her lashes, Stephanie threw him a resentful look as she succeeded in prying her fingers free.
‘I never find it lonely when I go there,’ he said lazily, ‘but this Christmas was specially interesting. I rescued a maiden in distress—she was beautiful, exciting... and best of all, unattached. At least—’ he directed a conspiratorial smile toward Tony, a man-to-man smile that implied You know what I mean, old buddy! ‘—at least, she said she was. And who was I to call her a liar!’
Stephanie swigged back the last of her champagne though the urge to fling both the glass and its contents in his face was almost overwhelming. She wondered if he could feel the fury emanating from her. How dare he call her a liar!
But of course she had told him there was no man in her life. The memory was crystal clear in her mind. And to his credit, he had no way of knowing she had been free...at that time. Still...she’d love to take him down a peg or two.
The opportunity presented itself a second later as Tony was approached by the sommelier and became involved in conversation with him.
She turned around and looked straight into a pair of dazzling steel blue eyes. ‘Mr. McAllister,’ she began, her voice as sweet as pecan pie, only to have him interrupt her.
‘Damian.’ His expression was mocking. ‘Please.’
She curled her lip and went on in a patronizing queen-to-serf tone, ‘It’s been lovely meeting you, Mr. McAllister, but don’t let us keep you. I know you must be anxious to get to your own table, and I’m sure the maître d’ will be delighted to escort you there.’
He stared at her blankly...and then she saw a look of unholy delight come into his eyes. A low rumble of laughter came from deep in his chest, and tilting back his chair, he looked at her from under his sooty lashes, his expression so smug she could have slapped him.
‘What’s so damned funny?’ she hissed.
The sommelier glided away and, unaware of any tension, Tony said benignly, ‘Now, let’s take a look at the menu.’
‘Gould.’ McAllister’s eyes had a sardonic glint. ‘Your fiancée is laboring under the impression that I’m a gate-crasher. Would you be so good as to set her straight?’
‘A gate-crasher? Good Lo
rd, Steph, how could you imagine such a thing! I assumed you’d realized—’
‘Realized what?’ Stephanie blinked confusedly.
‘Damian is the president of the M.A.G., darling... the McAllister Architectural Group. He’s an architect. The one who’s going to design our new home.’
‘An architect?’ To her own ears Stephanie sounded as if she were an exceedingly dull-witted parrot.
‘Mmm. And when I’m too busy to meet with him you will, of course, take my place and pass on all the plans you and I have discussed in such detail over the past months. Luckily the M.A.G. offices are directly across the street from your store, so your get-togethers will be easy to arrange.’
It was almost eleven before Stephanie got home.
As Tony walked her from the parked Jag to her building, she said in a strained voice, ‘I’m sorry I was such a wet blanket this evening. I’ve had a blinding headache.’
‘Darling, I’m disappointed you didn’t feel like coming back to the condo, but I understand. I did notice, soon after McAllister joined us, that you’d become deathly pale.’
She opened her purse and took out her key. She hadn’t invented the migraine; it was drilling her brain, blurring her vision, making her sick. All she wanted was to lie down in a dark room, but there was something she had to do first.
She knew it wasn’t the right moment but was there ever a right moment to break an engagement?
‘Tony.’ Her voice shook. ‘There’s something I need to say to you—’
‘About the house? Darling, if there’s anything you—’
‘No, it’s not about the house.’ Her skin felt clammy, her legs wobbly. ‘It’s about our feelings for each other.’
‘Steph, I know I’ve neglected you shamefully since the holidays, but let’s leave talking about it till I get back.’
