Christmas Eve

by Flame Arden

  Would he be able to find her and restore that trust?

  His bed was a mess. Not unexpected. And well within the realm of the housekeeper's duties.

  He turned toward his bath, hoping Eve had left something of hers in there. The dark pool of dried blood on the bath mat brought him up short.

  Damn. He'd bled like a stuck hog. Lucky for him Eve hadn't fainted at the sight of so much blood.

  He stuck the stained rug in the bag of garbage he'd left in the hall waiting for him to carry out to the trash can.

  The distasteful reminder of his fall made Nick queasy and he hurriedly looked around. When satisfied that Eve had not left anything personal behind, be backed out of the room.

  What had he hoped to find? Eve left here wearing the same clothing she'd arrived in, he remembered that much. And no matter how much he wanted to find some proof that she'd actually been here, it didn't look like he would.

  Not even a business card with her name on it. Not one credit card slip she'd dropped that night in her haste. She had walked out of his life the same way she had walked into it, quietly poised.

  A virtual stranger.

  But very real to him.

  With a disgruntled sigh he strode back up the hall. His laptop sat on the dining room table. He flipped it open and waited for it to boot. Once it did, Eve's sweet face smiled back at him.

  His heart constricted and he solemnly ran his fingertips over the screen. She wasn't some erotic dream.

  "Oh, Eve," he murmured. "How badly I must have hurt you. Can you ever forgive me?"

  For a long moment, Nick sat with his elbows on the table, his forehead cradled in his upraised hands.

  This is not doing one damn bit of good.

  It would make a lot more sense to collect the things he'd come for and beat it back into town. His computer held the proof that Eve existed. Now all he had to do was put a last name with that appealing face.

  How?

  Nick wasn't sure, but he'd wasted enough time here and hurried back through the house. He didn't know how soon he would make it back, so he took the trash out to the garbage can and put the can out at the curb for pickup the following day.

  While there, he glanced down the street. All trace of the toboggan's tracks were gone as completely as any hint of Eve's presence. The tracks left by the tires on her car had melted, leaving wide bands of bare gravel where he'd parked her car. He'd ridden down the hill in a gull winged Mercedes and couldn't even recall making the drive.

  The ritual of locking up the cabin felt too final, as if he were ending an important part of his life. He hoped that was not the case and stopped before closing the back door to breathe deeply, inhaling the remaining proof of Eve's presence, her scent.

  I'll find you, he promised, drawing the door closed. And when I do, we'll come back.

  That thought kept him going until he was back in his hotel suite. Then he realized his heart ached for Eve so much he couldn't complete a thought. He reached for the house phone and punched in Ruth's extension. His fingers twitched as he waited for her to pick up.

  "It's Nick," he growled, then softened his tone to a rumble, needing a favor from her. "If you wanted to know the names of local real estate agents, where would you look?"

  "Are you thinking of buying another house?"

  "Ruth..."

  "I'd look on the Web." Her superior tone grated.

  "Thanks."

  He hung up and booted the hotel computer on his desk, typed housesforsale.com in the Web search box, and narrowed his parameter to those in the Las Vegas area.

  An hour later, he'd learned Eve's last name, Adohr. Had even seen her photograph on her website and discovered she was sole owner of one of the largest real estate agencies in town, with fifteen agents in her employ. Her business earned the kind of income most men only dreamed about, proving she had no earthly need for his money.

  No, he could safely envision a long term relationship with Eve. She wouldn't be after his money, and there were a number of presents he'd like to buy for her. A shiny toboggan, first.

  The tightly wound spring in his gut began to unwind.

  Once he had made amends, he'd have nothing to fear from Eve. The future he hadn't dared to fantasize about could be his.

  Theirs, he amended.

  Unless Eve rejected his apology.

  On that thought the dreams he'd only just started to build crumbled into dust. He'd liked the one about him and Eve holding hands as they strolled off into a desert sunset best of all. Now the idea of Eve becoming a permanent part of his life might never materialize.

  It had felt so right, but there would be no future for them, and certainly no forever in his future if Eve refused to talk to him.

  Could a man fall in love in just five short days?

  He could, and had, in even less time. But It had taken him a while to recognize those feelings. Now he intended to act on them.

  He put in a call to Eve's agency, discovered it was closed for the remainder of the holidays. The head of his security obtained her home address from the DMV and with the help of a reverse directory, Nick found Eve's home phone number and called.

  "Look, Eve. I—"

  A persistent dial tone suddenly buzzed in his ear.

  Not that he could blame her, but she'd hung up on him.

  Which increased his determination to have his say. And emphasized the need to find some other way to bring Eve around.

  How?

  Jewelry?

  No. Eve would just send it back.

  Flowers?

  Worth a try. But not just any flowers. Every yellow rose within a hundred miles. Once they were delivered, he could try to explain his mistake and tell Eve how sorry he was.

  How?

  He'd find some way.

  Nick grabbed the phone, called down to the florist shop in the hotel lobby. "Would you have Rex bring up a stack of enclosure cards? And see how many yellow roses you can get your hands on in the next hour."

  "Are these for a lady friend? Don't you think red roses would—"

  "Under other circumstances, yes, but there's too much riding on this. The lady prefers yellow roses. She told me so. Please, see what you can do."

  Not long after he hung up, Rex arrived with the cards. Nick asked him to wait, then sat at his desk to write a message for each of the envelopes he'd numbered from one to six, the number of working hours left in a normal day.

  When finished, he inserted a carefully worded card in each envelope beginning with number one.

  "There's a lot I need to say to you—"

  "— that can't be said over the phone."

  "I owe you big time for getting me to the hospital as quickly as you did—"

  "—without calling attention to my plight."

  "Have dinner with me tomorrow night so I can thank you in person."

  "It's New Year's Eve. Please give me a chance to make things right."

  He signed the last one, "Nick. 711-3736."

  He placed the messages and a hefty tip in Rex's outstretched hand. "Please take these back down to the florist shop and ask Alicia to call me as soon as she has anything to report."

  While Nick waited for the phone to ring, he paced the length of the room. Beneath the crystal chandelier, he turned and paced back.

  He should devise another plan to put in motion. This one might fail, but dammit, he couldn't think clearly yet. The time spent with Sweet Eve had scrambled his brain more than his fall.

  What a hellacious mess. Here, I've finally found a woman capable of turning forever into my favorite word, and Eve probably considers the name Nick and never again the same word.

  He had to change that, using whatever method it took.

  His phone rang. "Alicia? Good."

  "I was able to line up eight dozen yellow roses for you, Nick, and a few spares."

  "Great. You have the cards? Let's start with a dozen. Please have the box delivered to the address on the first card. The lady is at home, I
checked. Wait no more than thirty minutes, then send the driver back, this time with the roses arranged in a pretty bouquet, and attach the second envelope. Keep making deliveries until there's only one envelope left. Enclose the last one with the largest arrangement you can make out of the remaining roses, except those spares. If things work out, I'll need those tomorrow night."

  "Consider it done."

  "Let's see..." Nick glanced at his watch. "It's after one now, so you don't have much time. Put everything on my account."

  "Right. This lady must be special."

  Far more special than I realized.

  "You might say that."

  When Nick ended the conversation his panic began to subside. Even so, he rubbed his palms together. If things worked out as he hoped, Eve would be in his arms again tomorrow night. He sure had a lot to do before then.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Every year Nick invited the high rollers who gambled in his casino during the year to a private New Year's Eve celebration, and spent the afternoon of December thirtieth making sure the ingredients for the buffet dinner were all ordered. He wanted this party to be one his guests would not soon forget.

  He wanted this gala to be an event talked about long after it came to an end. For it to be the grandest party ever, each detail required careful planning.

  At seven o'clock that evening he was still at his desk when his private line rang.

  "Hello," he said, glancing at his watch, his thoughts on the buffet menu. The proposed list of entrees made his mouth water. No surprise there. He hadn't eaten since noon.

  "Nick? It's Eve," she said softly, a smile in her voice.

  He grinned.

  "I'm crying uncle," she said, laughing. "How did you know I like yellow roses? There are enough here to decorate a float."

  "A calculated guess." And a good memory for details. "An armful of yellow roses should bring out those lovely golden highlights in your hair," he murmured and held his breath, waiting for her response.

  "They're beautiful. Thanks."

  "And—"

  "Yes. I will have dinner with you." Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. "So we can say a proper goodbye."

  Not if things go the way I plan. "Is eight all right? I'll pick you up."

  "Eight is fine. You already know my address."

  He glanced over where Eve's sweet face smiled back at him from his laptop. "Yes. Oh, and Eve..." His heart thumped like an adolescent teen. "... I'm really looking forward to seeing you. Have a good night."

  As soon as he hung up the phone, arrangements for a more private, penthouse rendezvous on New Year's Eve began to take shape in Nick's head. A quiet dinner, the best champagne, flowers, of course. A midnight repast might be a good idea, too, assuming Eve forgave him and stayed to enjoy it with him.

  Across town, Eve cradled the phone, her earlier cheerful mood spoiled by hearing Nick's deep voice. Oh, yeah. He had her address, and by now a fairly good idea of her net worth, she'd bet.

  The fantasy bubble she'd shared with the man she'd almost fallen in love with had finally burst. Like all her other suitors, Nick would now begin a full-fledged assault aimed at meeting her at the altar with the goal of increasing his personal fortune tenfold. He'd already managed the first step, getting her into his bed, and from the abundance of roses, he'd launched the second stage of his assault today.

  Well, she'd show him.

  She had an agenda of her own, one guaranteed to raise Nick's hopes, then watch his expression shift when she dashed them. After he took her to bed one last time.

  She wanted — no needed — that final memory. Then, sharing just enough sensual delights to whet his lusty appetite, she'd smash his plans to smithereens by telling him, "That's it. Never again will we share a bed. Adios and goodbye." Then she'd walk right out of his life.

  Wrecking all her chances for happiness when she did.

  So be it. She couldn't help it if Nick's dreams were shattered. Hers already were. She was strong and would survive the heartache, although at the moment, she wasn't sure how.

  Eve picked up the phone, suddenly anxious to get through the next day and move on with her life.

  "Abbie," she said to her hair stylist and long time friend. "Can you fit me in tomorrow afternoon? I need the works."

  As she hung up the phone she glanced in her dressing table mirror and picked up her hair brush. It would serve Nick right if she had Abbie whack off all this long hair he took such pleasure in running his fingers through.

  She thoughtfully brushed her hair, trying to picture it short, then dropped the brush.

  No. She was the offended party. Cutting her hair would punish her, too. Nick's preferences no longer mattered, even if he had called her long auburn tresses "her crowning glory."

  She preferred her hair long.

  She'd find some other way to change her looks. Go blonde? Acrylic nails painted blood red? No matter what Abbie suggested, she'd agree.

  Now to find the right dress in her closet, a garment guaranteed to make Nick drool.

  * * * * *

  The following morning Eve slipped one party dress after another over her head, then stepped carefully out of each one, certain she'd know the right one when she found it. Something drop dead gorgeous. Sophisticated, yet daring enough to show some cleavage, too.

  She found the perfect dress, a fiery-red, curve-skimming number she'd worn to the grand opening of the newest casino on the Strip. The dress left nothing to the imagination.

  Thigh-high silk stockings? Even though one front seam of the gown was split to well above her knee, their sheer elastic tops wouldn't show. Besides, she had nice ankles, the only part of her body she could truthfully describe as trim.

  To avoid underwear lines, she'd have to leave all her undies in her lingerie drawer tonight.

  Eve smiled, pleased with her plan.

  Later, at Abbie's insistence, she allowed the talented stylist to sweep her hair up and back in a sophisticated style softened by three long curls secured above one ear with a diamond-studded butterfly.

  While getting dressed, Eve glanced in the mirror. Her hairstyle looked fragile, but Abbie had assured her she could even take a nap without mussing those curls.

  She'd been too keyed-up to nap and now, fully made up and awaiting Nick's arrival, she watched from a curtained window as a white stretch limo came up her drive. Just as she'd expected, her escort for the evening was pulling out all the stops.

  Always predictable, the men she went out with were as boring as the miles and miles of desert sand stretching to the west.

  Unless the viewer loved the desert. She did.

  The door bell rang.

  "Shall I get that, Miss Eve?" her maid asked.

  "Please, Lucy, and show the gentleman in here." Eve casually rested her arm on the white baby grand piano and awaited Nick's entrance.

  She heard Lucy say, "Miss Adohr is in the music room," and turned slightly, so that the scarlet dress flowed provocatively over every curve of her body when Nick entered the room.

  Her breath caught. He looked marvelous in evening clothes. Tall. Elegant. And very much at home in what he wore.

  He saw her and his steps faltered, his gaze never once straying from hers.

  She smiled. Round one to Eve Adohr, just as she'd planned. Now to get her runaway heart under control.

  She'd thought she was prepared to see Nick again.

  She was not.

  His eyes gleamed as he strode across the spacious room and up to her, his usually confident demeanor restored. Eve wished she could say the same. Her heart raced.

  The man knew how to make an entrance, she'd give him that. He took her hand.

  No, don't.

  Brought her fingertips to his warm lips.

  Please stop. I can't...

  She swayed toward him, caught herself and lifted her chin.

  It would be nearly impossible to turn her back on this man.

  Then she recalled him forcing
those ten crisp bills into her hand.

  She could and would turn her back on Nick.

  "Thank you for agreeing to see me this evening," he murmured, and pressed tender butterfly kisses across her knuckles before releasing her fingertips, his eyes never leaving her face. When her heart skipped wildly, her gaze darted away.

  Don't forget, this dog insulted you. Practically called you a whore.

  There. Controlled anger slowed her heartbeat's wild race. "You look fantastic," he again murmured in the seductive voice she'd come to know so well. "I have a weakness for red."

  Just as I have a weakness for you, but after tonight, neither one of us is going to get what we want.

  "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, returning her hand to the piano, needing its support.

  "I don't think so. Traffic is a bear. You know how it is with the Strip closed to traffic on New Year's Eve. We had a devil of a time getting here, and I don't want us to be delayed."

  "Then maybe we should get started. Where did you say we were going to eat?"

  "Someplace new, but quiet, where we can talk."

  The Rendezvous? The restaurant that had just opened? Everyone was raving about it. Maybe that's where he's taking me.

  Trying for extra points?

  New Year's Eve had sold out long before The Rendezvous opened its doors for business. On such short notice Nick would have had to pull some important strings to get a reservation there. More of his campaign to get his hands on my savings accounts?

  Her father always said the higher the climb, the greater the fall. She looked forward to Nick's downfall with no regrets.

  Eve's stomach somersaulted. Make that few regrets.

  Even though it would devastate her to hurt Nick, she intended to. But she could never wound his pride as deeply as he had wounded hers.

  With renewed determination, she picked up her evening bag and reached for her wrap. Nick slipped the velvet cape lined with luxurious fur around her shoulders. It had warmed her grandmother on many a cold desert night and what Animal Rights activists failed to notice, Eve was not about to advertise.

  She seldom wore the wrap, but was not above using the garment as part of her campaign to bring Nick down, hard. Just one glimpse of the mink lining was guaranteed to have a money-hungry man panting after her like a male dog on the trail of a bitch in heat.