She looked around in satisfaction when they entered the living room. It really did look pretty, she thought, even if she had done it herself. She could have hired a decorator to come in, of course, but she’d had fun doing it herself, despite Tom’s grumbling.
She readily admitted to having control issues, having some difficulty delegating instead of attempting to do everything herself. She and Tom had engaged in a couple of near arguments over that very subject. He’d suggested that she might have a bit more time for herself—and at the same time for them—if she would let some other people handle a few responsibilities without her direct supervision.
She had retorted that she hadn’t relied on her familial connection to the president of the company to rise to her position; she had earned it with hard work and total dedication. That family connection actually made her feel compelled to work harder than she should have, she supposed. When the time came for her to take over the reins from her mother, she didn’t want anyone to imply that she couldn’t handle the responsibility.
Tom lit a fire in the fireplace, which made the setting just about perfect, as far as she was concerned. She gave a long, contented sigh as the fragrant warmth spread through the room. “I love your house. It always looks nice, but it’s especially beautiful all decorated for the holidays.”
He dropped onto the deep couch facing the fireplace and patted the cushion beside him. “I just wish we could spend more time here.”
We. She liked hearing that, but she didn’t know how seriously he meant it. They had never talked about living together, though during the past year they usually ended up here when they both had a free weekend. She had come to think of this place almost as much her home as her apartment in Charleston, where she did little more than sleep and dress for the next sixteen-hour workday.
What would she say if he did ask her to live with him? She had asked herself that question quite a few times lately, and she still wasn’t sure what her answer would be. As much as her first instinct would be to say yes, she still had the feeling that something was missing between them. A few barriers on both parts that should have been let down by now. A few doubts, on her part at least, that they were both equally invested in the relationship. And a secret, deep-seated fear that their careers and their romance were too closely intertwined.
She didn’t really think Tom had gotten involved with her because she was vice president of marketing for his primary sponsor, she assured herself, as she had many times before. But she couldn’t help wondering how much he’d been subconsciously drawn to her for that reason.
CHAPTER THREE
“ARE YOU GOING TO SIT DOWN or just stand there frowning at me?”
She blinked and forced a bright smile. “I think this is a great time to exchange our own Christmas gifts, don’t you? I mean, tomorrow’s going to be so hectic.”
“What makes you think I got you a Christmas present?” he drawled, but his faint smile told her he was teasing.
She wrinkled her nose at him and turned toward the doorway. “I left yours out in my car. I’ll be right back.”
“Be careful. There’s still a little ice on the sidewalk from that snowfall earlier in the week.”
She moved toward the door. “Thanks. I’ll watch my step.”
Motion lights activated when Melissa stepped outside. Her breath hung in the air as she moved quickly to her car, shivering in the cold night breeze. Maybe she should have put on a coat, she thought, huddling into the thin chocolate-brown turtleneck she wore with dark jeans and brown suede boots that were more decorative than practical for slippery walkways. She really would have to be careful. Hurting herself in a fall would ruin her carefully scripted agenda for tomorrow.
She took a beautifully wrapped package out of the trunk of her car, then looked at it nervously for a moment. It had been so hard choosing a gift for a man as wealthy and complex as Tom. He wasn’t particularly materialistic, not overly sentimental, nor a collector of anything in particular. When he wanted or needed something, he bought it for himself. His biggest indulgences had been his house here and the ultraluxurious motor home he lived in at the racetracks.
Pretty much a man who had everything, except the Championship trophy that had eluded him for the past three years, and she couldn’t buy him that.
Though she made a decent income as a vice president of her mother’s growing and thriving realty company, Melissa wasn’t wealthy, especially when compared to Tom. And while that didn’t matter to either of them, she’d still agonized for months about what she could get him for Christmas that would have some meaning for him. She had ended up spending more than she had intended. Staring at that wrapped box now, she hoped she’d made the right choice.
“Melissa?” she heard him call from the house. “You okay out there?”
“I’m coming,” she said, slamming the trunk.
It was nice that he worried about her, she decided, picking her way carefully to the front door. He wasn’t the type to express his feelings in flowery words or declarations, but the nice dinner he had served her earlier, complete with candles and a rose, and his concern for her safety were his way of telling her she was special to him. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
“You should have worn a coat,” he scolded when she walked back inside. Closing the door behind her, he drew her closer to the fire. “Your teeth are chattering.”
“Not quite.” But she shivered as she handed him the eight-inch-square package wrapped in green-and-red plaid paper with a big red bow. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”
He took the gift a bit awkwardly. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “You haven’t opened it yet.”
“I’m sure I’ll like it.”
They moved to the couch and sat side by side on the deep cushions. “I have a gift for you, too,” he said.
“Open yours first.” She couldn’t wait any longer.
He pulled off the bow, tore away the paper, then studied the hinged, dark box he’d uncovered.
“You’re supposed to look inside it,” she said, wondering why she was suddenly so anxious.
Maybe her tension was affecting him. She would have sworn he looked rather nervous when he lifted the lid of the box. He went very still when he saw what was inside.
“You’re always looking at your watch,” she said, a bit self-consciously. “Always wondering how much longer you’ll have to stay at a publicity event, how long until you’re back behind the wheel of your car. I hoped maybe you would think of me when you look at this one.”
“It’s—Melissa, it’s amazing.”
“It’s vintage,” she said, knowing she was babbling. “I couldn’t afford a fancy new Rolex or anything like that, but I thought this one was interesting. It’s a—”
“It’s great,” he murmured, lifting the watch almost reverently out of the box. “Stainless steel case and band, 17 jewel Swiss movement. Bidirectional pilot’s bezel. Three subregisters. Made in—what? The early seventies?”
“In 1967,” she said wonderingly. “How do you—”
“My granddad had one almost exactly like this. He’s the one who got me into racing, you know. He worked the pits at a couple of dirt tracks, hung out with some of the early legends of stock car racing. He took me to the track for the first time when I was four years old and my parents were having one of their knock-down, drag-out weekends. He won the watch in a poker game when a race had been rained out one Saturday night. He loved that watch. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I just always picture you looking at your watch, and I thought you might get a kick out of a vintage one. When I saw this, I knew it was the one I wanted to buy.”
There had been more expensive vintage watches for sale, a couple that she’d been told were more desirable to collectors—but this one had immediately drawn her attention. It had cost her a few months’ rent, but she’d decided it was worth watching her budget for a while. Though she’d hoped he would like it, s
he’d honestly had no idea it would have any special meaning to him. Another shiver ran down her spine, and this one had nothing to do with the cold. “I really didn’t know about your grandfather’s watch. What happened to his?”
“My father still has it, I guess. Unless he’s sold it. He and granddad were never particularly close.”
He took off the watch he’d been wearing—and which had probably cost him twice as much as she’d paid for the vintage one—and clasped her gift around his wrist. “It’s really great.”
“It’s been fully reconditioned to keep accurate time. It has to be wound manually, of course, but—”
“It’s perfect,” he assured her, leaning down to press a hard kiss on her lips. “Thank you.”
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she beamed up at him. It looked as though she had chosen the right gift, after all.
WITH ONE LAST GLANCE at his wrist, Tom turned on the couch to retrieve the small, wrapped package on the table behind him. He looked at it for a moment before offering it to Melissa, who accepted it with a smile of anticipation.
He wasn’t good at this sort of thing, he thought glumly. He wasn’t the type to come up with the perfect, clever gift. He’d never really given it that much thought.
His family had always shopped, sometimes not until the last minute, because it was expected of them rather than for any real joy in giving to each other. And even though Melissa meant more to him than anyone who shared his gene pool, he hadn’t had a clue about what to buy for her. Things didn’t mean much to him—at least, not usually, he thought with another glance at the watch he knew he would always treasure. Melissa had never seemed to care that much about fancy stuff, either, though she always dressed well and invested in state-of-the-art technology for her business.
Now he found himself wishing he’d put just a little more thought into his gift for her this year. Instead, he’d walked into a jewelry store, consulted for a few minutes with a saleswoman, and walked out twenty minutes later with a wrapped gift that had seemed fine at the time.
How could he have known that she would have put so much effort into what she got him? Even if it had been an accident that she’d bought him a watch just like the one that had meant so much to his grandfather, she’d still gone to a lot of trouble to find something he didn’t have. Something that would make him think of her whenever he looked at it, she’d said.
She peeled away the gold-and-white paper the jewelry store gift wrapper had decorated with gold ribbon, and opened the velvet box she had revealed. “Oh, Tom, this is lovely. Thank you.”
She sounded sincere enough, he decided cautiously, studying her expression as she lifted the diamond necklace from the box. Her eyes had lit up when she saw the expensive bauble, and her smile looked genuine when she turned her face toward his.
“I told the salesperson that you’ve got a thing for starfish,” he told her a bit awkwardly. “She showed me this necklace. If there’s something else you’d rather have…”
“This is perfect,” she assured him, studying the pendant more closely.
The whimsically shaped, diamond-encrusted gold starfish hung from a gold chain. It had been ridiculously expensive, but the saleswoman had assured him it was a quality piece set with fine stones. It had made Tom think of the brass starfish paperweight she kept on her desk, and the little starfish that served as a zipper pull on the soft leather briefcase that was never far from her side.
He’d asked her once about her penchant for starfish, and she’d said with a shrug that they always made her smile. When the saleswoman had asked what sort of thing his girlfriend liked, that comment had popped into his head.
“Thank you,” she said again, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “It means even more to me because you went to so much trouble to find something that made you think specifically of me.”
He cleared his throat, wishing it had taken him more than one stop to find the necklace, just so he’d feel that he’d worked a bit harder for it.
She handed him the necklace, then scooted around to turn her back to him, lifting the hair off her nape to expose the back of her neck to him. “Will you put it on me?”
His hands weren’t quite steady when he looped the delicate gold chain around her neck and fumbled with the clasp. She turned back around as soon as he’d fastened it, one hand touching the pendant as she asked, “How does it look?”
He didn’t even glance at the pendant when he murmured, “Beautiful.”
A light flush warmed her cheeks. She moved her hand from the necklace to his face, stroking her fingertips across his mouth. He caught them, kissed them, his gaze locked with hers. Her dark eyes glittered with reflections of the fire, the candles, the colorful Christmas lights. He moved closer until it was his own reflection he saw in them.
Her mouth was soft beneath his, her lips warm and eager. Tom lifted a hand to the back of her head, burying his fingers in her thick, auburn hair holding her still as he changed the angle of the kiss. Not that she seemed in any hurry to move away.
They finally surfaced for air, and after inhaling deeply a few times, Tom stood and held down a hand to her. Smiling tremulously up at him, Melissa placed hers into it and let him draw her onto her feet and into his arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
HIS HAIR STILL DAMP from the shower the next morning, Tom dressed in khaki slacks and a dark green shirt embroidered at the pocket with the RightTime Realty logo. It was what Melissa had asked him to wear, assuring him it would look nice in the still photos and videos that would be taken of him that day. He was really dreading this thing, but he would do his part.
This was work, he told himself. He’d much rather be on a racetrack, but if entertaining a fan family was the way to keep his owner and sponsor happy, then he would be a gracious host.
He could hear sounds coming from the kitchen as he walked downstairs. It was rare that Melissa was up before him. She usually preferred to grab a few extra minutes of sleep when she had the chance.
Wearing a bright red sweater with beautifully tailored black pants, she was just pouring a cup of coffee when he walked into the large, sunny, red-brick-and-stainless-steel kitchen. She turned with a smile and pressed the cup into his hands. The diamond starfish pendant at her throat glittered with the movement.
“Good morning,” she said, lifting her face to his. “And Merry Christmas.”
Clutching the cup in his left hand, he buried his right hand in her hair and crushed her mouth beneath his for a very thorough kiss. They were both breathless when he lifted his head and glanced at the table she had already set for two. “You made breakfast?”
“I did.” Smoothing her hair, she turned to set two steaming bowls on the table. “Steel-cut oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar. Whole wheat toast with fruit spread and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“How very healthy.”
She laughed. “We’ll make up for it with the meal I’m having catered for the LeMay family later. Turkey and Southern dressing, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, a half dozen other side dishes and enough desserts to give us all sugar highs until New Year’s Day.”
The good mood left by their kiss evaporated that quickly. “Oh yeah. Can’t wait.”
“Now you’re scowling again.” Melissa sighed and shook her head. “On Christmas.”
With a grunt, he picked up his spoon and dipped into his oatmeal. “You say that as if it’s an unusual thing.”
“Yes, well, whatever your feelings about the holiday, you’re going to be Santa’s little elf when the LeMay family gets here. Got it?”
Smiling a little at her exaggeratedly stern tone, he said meekly, “Yes, ma’am.”
IT WAS BARELY eight o’clock by the time they’d finished breakfast and cleared away the dishes. The food and gifts were scheduled to arrive at eleven, the camera crew shortly afterward, and the LeMay family at one. That gave Melissa a minimum of three more hours to obsess about last-minute details.
“Okay, we’ll eat soon
after they arrive, and then we’ll move to the living room to let the family open their gifts,” she said, rearranging a basket of shiny ornaments sitting on a side table. “Jim, the photographer, said he’ll stay out of the way, but he’ll get plenty of pictures. Oh, and there will be a stack of things for you to autograph before the family gets here. Hats, T-shirts, a couple of jackets. And don’t forget—”
“Take a breath, okay?” Tom broke in wryly. “And calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”
She wrinkled her nose, acknowledging the wisdom of his advice with a nod. “You’re right, of course. I guess I’m just falling back into my ‘control freak’ habits. I really want this day to go well, for everyone’s sake.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“You’ll try to smile a lot and act like you’re having fun? I know this isn’t your kind of thing, but—”
Maybe she had pushed a little too hard. He was frowning when he interrupted this time. “I’ll do my part.”
She spoke conciliatorily. “I know you will. Sorry.”
He shrugged and turned away.
No one would have called Tom the embodiment of Christmas spirit at that moment. His attractive face was carved into a stern expression, his smoky blue eyes clouded with his frown. He looked good, no doubt about that, but not exactly approachable.
They had spent so little time together lately. Even after the hectic racing season ended, they had both been so busy for the past month, he with his PR blitz, she with her own work obligations. She knew he was unhappy with the way his season had ended, and she’d tried to bolster his spirits, but that hadn’t been easy long-distance.
It bothered her greatly that she had seen something fading away in Tom during the past year. He’d lost some of the fire and vibrancy that had drawn her to him from the beginning. His team had noticed, his fans had noticed, and heaven knew the media had noticed. And what worried her was that he was pulling away from her, just as he was from everyone else.
A NASCAR Holiday 2: Miracle SeasonSeason of DreamsTaking ControlThe Natural Page 8
