It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

by Suzanne Brockmann

  "Say good-night to her for me," Lancaster said.

  Across the room Mark Garvin gallantly kissed the back of Nell's hand before releasing her. What was it about Nell that attracted older men like flies to honey? Garvin was Jake's age—maybe even older. He was a walking ad for Grecian Formula.

  Nell seemed unaffected by the blazing-white flash of Garvin's perfectly capped teeth as she turned and approached a group of women who were putting on their coats.

  She looked incredible.

  She was wearing a long gown, befitting the black tie formality of the evening wedding. It was long-sleeved, with something Crash had heard Daisy describe as a sweetheart neckline that dipped elegantly down between her breasts. It was a rich shade of emerald, which—Daisy claimed—was Nell's duty to wear as maid of honour, because it accentuated the bride's green eyes.

  The gown was made of some kind of stretchy velvet material that clung to Nell's slender figure, and drew Crash's attention—along with Garvin's and Lancaster's apparently—away from the bride's eyes.

  As Crash watched, Nell laughed at something one of the women said. And as she laughed, she looked up and directly over at him.

  He was in trouble. He knew that everything he'd tried for so long to hide from her was written clearly on his face. He knew everything he was feeling, all of his longing and desire, was burning in his eyes. But he couldn't look away.

  Nell's smile slowly faded as she stared across the room at him, trapped by his gaze, just as he was by hers. He could see the hint of a blush rising in her cheeks.

  Any second now, she would look away. Crash knew it. Any second, she'd turn and...

  She didn't turn. She walked toward him. She came right across the dance floor.

  Yes, he was in trouble here. He knew he was in big trouble. But he still couldn't bring himself to look away.

  "I owe you a dance."

  Bad idea. If he took her in his arms, if he touched the soft velvet of her dress, felt it warmed by the heat of her body beneath...

  "I know it's not the same as tap-dancing," Nell said, "but for now it'll have to do."

  She took his hand and led him onto the dance floor. And just like that, he was holding her. He wasn't sure exactly what she'd done, but he knew it wasn't entirely her doing that had put her in his embrace. He'd surely done something stupid, like hold open his arms.

  And now that she was there, now that they were dancing, his instinct was confirmed. This was a very bad idea. He'd had way too much to drink to be doing this. "I'm not a very good dancer."

  "You're doing fine." The fingers of her right hand were looped gently around his thumb, and her left hand was resting comfortably on his shoulder. He was holding her loosely, his hand against the small of her back, against the warm softness of her dress. Her legs brushed against his as they moved slowly in time to the music. She smelled deliciously sweet. Her face was tilted up, her mouth close enough to kiss. "How are you holding up?" she asked, looking up into his eyes.

  He was dying. "I'm hanging in," he said.

  She nodded. "I noticed you broke your no-drinking-unless-you-have-to rule tonight."

  Crash gazed down into the calming blue of her eyes. "No, I didn't. Tonight, I had to."

  "'Til death do us part,'" Nell said quietly. "That was what really got to me."

  "Yeah." Crash nodded. He desperately didn't want to talk about that. "Do you think if I kissed you tonight, we could both pretend it never happened tomorrow?"

  Her eyes widened.

  "I didn't really mean that," he said quickly. "I was only trying to change the subject to an allegedly less emotional topic. It was a bad attempt at an even worse joke."

  She wasn't laughing. "You know, Hawken—"

  "I don't want to go there, Nell. I shouldn't have said that. Look, I don't know what I'm doing here, dancing with you like this. I'm a lousy dancer, anyway." He forced himself to let go of her, to step back, away. Distance. Separation. Space. Please God, don't let him kiss her....

  He turned to walk away. It was the best possible thing he could do for her. He knew that. He believed it with all of his heart. But she put her hand on his arm, and he hesitated.

  He who hesitates is lost....

  He turned and looked into her eyes, and indeed, he was lost.

  "This whole night's been like some kind of fairy tale," Nell whispered. "Like some kind of fantasy. If I close my eyes, I can pretend that Daisy's going to be all right. Give me a break, will you, and let me have my dance with Prince Charming. My world's going to turn back into a rotten pumpkin soon enough."

  "You've got it wrong," he said harshly. "I'm no prince."

  "I never said you were. Not really. This is just a fantasy, remember? I just want to hold someone close—and pretend."

  Somehow she was back in his arms again, and he was holding her even closer this time. He could feel the entire length of her, pressed against the entire length of him. Her hand was no longer on his shoulder but instead was wrapped around his neck, her fingers entwined in the hair at the nape of his neck. It felt impossibly good.

  He was no longer dying. He had died—and gone to heaven.

  "You know what's really stupid?" she whispered.

  He was. He was impossibly stupid and certifiably insane. He should've walked away. He should do it now. He should just turn and walk out of the barn and stand for several long minutes in the bracing cold. And then he should walk into the house, up the stairs and into his bedroom, and lock himself in until his sanity returned with the rising sun.

  Instead he bent his head to brush his cheek and nose against the fragrant softness of Nell's hair. Instead, he let his fingers explore the velvet-covered warmth of her back. Please God, he absolutely couldn't let himself kiss her. Not even once. He knew one taste would never be enough.

  "It's really stupid, but even after all these weeks, I never know what to call you," she murmured.

  He could feel her breath, warm against his skin, her lips a whisper away from his throat. Her words didn't seem to make any sense.

  Not that any of this made any sense at all.

  "I don't know what you mean." His voice was hoarse. She felt so good pressed against him, her breasts full against his chest, the softness of her stomach, the tautness of her thighs...

  She lifted her head to look up at him. "I don't know what name to use when I talk to you," she explained. "Crash seems so...well, strange."

  He was hypnotized by her eyes, drugged by the scent of her perfume, held in thrall by the beautiful curves of her lips.

  "I mean, what am I supposed to say? 'Hi, Crash. How are you, Crash?' It sounds like I'm talking to one of the X-Men. 'Excuse me, Crash, would you and your buddy Cyclops mind carrying this tray into Daisy's office?'" She shook her head. "On the other hand, I find it nearly impossible to call you Billy, the way Jake and Daisy do. Calling you Billy is kind of like calling a Bengal tiger Fluffy. I guess there's always Bill, but you don't seem very much like a Bill." She narrowed her eyes, still gazing up at him. "Maybe William..."

  Crash still didn't walk away. "No, thanks. My father always called me William."

  "Ew. Forget that."

  "I guess you could always call me 'The SEAL Operative Formerly Known as Billy.'"

  She laughed. "And I suppose I'd have to call you 'The SEAL Operative' for short."

  "It works for me."

  Nell's eyes sparkled. "God, if that's my choice, I'm going to have to rethink this 'Crash' thing. Maybe after a decade or two, I'll get used to it."

  Crash didn't kiss her. For one instant, he thought he'd totally lost control and was going to do it. He'd even lowered his head, but somehow he'd stopped himself. He felt sweat bead on his upper lip, felt a trickle slide down past his ear. For someone who had a reputation of always keeping cool, he was losing his, fast.

  Nell didn't seem to notice. "What's the latest word on my security check?"

  "So far, so good. After this is over, you'll be able to get a job working at FInCOM
Headquarters, if you want." As soon as he said the words, he realized how awful they sounded. "I meant, after the security check is over," he amended. "I didn't mean..."

  But the sparkle had already left her eyes. "I know," she said quietly. "I'm just... I'm not letting myself think that far into the future. I know it's coming, but..." She shook her head. "Damn. And we were doing so well."

  The song had ended. Crash gently stepped away from her and led her off the dance floor. "I'm sorry."

  "It's not your fault. I'm just...so tired." Nell laughed softly. "God, am I tired."

  He put his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her again. "Is there anything else you need to do tonight? I could handle it for you."

  "No, I'm mostly done. Jake slipped the band God knows how much extra to play another hour, even though most of the guests have gone home. The caterer packed up hours ago. The only thing I have to remember is to turn the heat down in the barn so the trees don't bake all night long."

  "I can take care of that," Crash told her. "Why don't you go to bed? Come on, I'll walk you back to the house."

  She didn't protest, and he knew she was more exhausted than she'd admitted.

  Jake and Daisy were still on the dance floor, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to anyone else. Crash opened the door, holding it for Nell, then followed her out into the crisp coldness of the December night.

  She didn't have a jacket and he quickly slipped off his tuxedo coat and put it around her shoulders.

  "Thanks."

  Even as tired as she was, her smile made his stomach do flips. He had to get her inside, and then he had to get himself away from her. He'd walk her to the kitchen, no further. He'd unlock the door, and he'd close it behind her.

  But the stars were brilliant, Orion's belt glittering like jewels against the black-velvet backdrop of the night sky. Nell was looking up at them, standing completely still, not hurrying toward the kitchen door. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  What could he possibly say? "Yeah."

  "Now might be a really great time for you to kiss me." She glanced at him, and in the darkness, her eyes seemed colourless and unearthly. "Just as a tonight kind of thing, like you said, you know? The grand finale to the perfect fantasy evening."

  Crash's lips were dry, and he moistened them. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea." Christ, what was he saying? He wasn't sure? He was certain that kissing her was a very, very bad idea.

  Nell looked back up at the sky. "Yeah, I thought you might think that. It's all right. It's been a nice fantasy anyway."

  God, he wanted to kiss her. And he also wanted her to go inside so he wouldn't be faced with such an incredibly hellish temptation.

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she turned again to look at him. "Tell me, 'The SEAL Operative Formerly Known as Billy,' do you believe in God?"

  Her blunt question caught him even more off guard than her talk about kissing, but fortunately her somewhat unorthodox delivery gave him time to recover. "You're not really going to call me that, are you?"

  She smiled.

  His stomach flipped again.

  "Do you?" she asked.

  "Are you?" he countered.

  "Yes. But if you want, I'll call you Billy for short. But you better believe I'll be thinking the whole thing." Another smile.

  This time his entire heart did a somersault. Crash nodded. "Yes."

  "Yes, you want me to call you Billy for short, or yes, you believe in God?"

  "Yes for Billy, and... Yes, I believe in something that could probably be called God." He smiled ruefully. "I've never admitted that to anyone before. Of course, no one's ever dared to ask me that question. I think they've all assumed I'm soulless—considering the kind of work I sometimes do."

  "What kind of work do you sometimes do?"

  Crash shook his head. "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to, but believe me, I don't want to—and you don't want to know."

  "But I do."

  He stood there for a moment, just looking at her.

  "I really, really do," she said.

  "There are certain...covert ops," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words, "in which a team might target—and eliminate—known confessed terrorists. The key word there is confessed. The kind of scumbags who take out an entire 747 of innocent civilians, then take credit—boast about it."

  Nell's eyes were wide. "Eliminate...?"

  He held her gaze steadily. "Still want me to kiss you?"

  "Are you telling me that Jake asks you to—"

  Crash shook his head. "No, I'm telling you nothing. I've already said way too much. Come on. It's cold out here. Let's get you inside before you catch the flu."

  She stepped directly in front of him. "Yes," she said. "I still want you to kiss me."

  Crash had to pull up short to keep from knocking her over. "No, you don't. I promise you, you don't."

  She just laughed. And she went up on her toes, and she brushed her lips across his, and Crash's world went into slow motion.

  One heartbeat.

  He couldn't move. He knew that the smart thing to do would be to go for the kitchen door. He knew he should get it unlocked, push this woman inside, then lock it tightly again, with him on the outside.

  Instead he stood there, holding his breath, waiting to see if she'd do it again.

  Two heartbeats. Three. Four.

  And then she did kiss him once more, slowly this time. She stared into his eyes as she stood on her toes again, her gaze finally flickering down to his mouth and back, before she touched her lips to his again—her lips, and the very tip of her tongue. She tasted him, softly, lightly, and the last of his control shattered.

  He pulled her close and kissed her, really kissed her, lowering his head and claiming her lips, sweeping his tongue deeply inside of her sweet mouth, his heart pounding crazily.

  Crash felt her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back just as fiercely, just as hungrily. She pressed herself against him even as he tried to pull her closer and he knew without a doubt that she wanted far more than a kiss. All he had to do was ask, and he knew he could spend the night in her bed.

  She was a sure thing. He could sate himself, with Nell as a willing participant. He could bury himself inside her. He could lose himself completely in her sweetness.

  And tomorrow, she would wake him up with a kiss, her hair tangled charmingly around her pretty face, her eyes sleepy and smiling and...

  And the light and laughter would fade from her eyes as he quietly tried to explain why he couldn't become a permanent fixture there in her bed. Not couldn't—didn't want to. He didn't really want her. He'd just wanted someone, and she'd been there, willing and ready and...

  And he knew he couldn't do that to Nell.

  Crash found the strength to push her gently away. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her dress, her eyelids heavy with passion. Dear God, what was he doing? What was he giving up?

  "I'm sorry," he said. He'd been saying that far too often lately.

  Realization dawned in her eyes. Realization and shocked embarrassment. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," she countered. "I didn't mean to attack you."

  "You didn't," he said quickly. "That was me. That was my fault."

  Nell stepped even farther back, away from him. "It was just, um, part of tonight's fantasy, right?"

  She was searching his eyes, and Crash knew that she was more than half hoping he'd deny her words. But instead, he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That's all it was. We're both tired, and… that's all it was."

  Nell hugged his jacket more tightly around her, as if she'd suddenly felt the cold. "I better get inside."

  Crash went up the stairs and unlocked the kitchen door, holding it open. She slipped out of his jacket, handing it back to him.

  "Good night," he said.

  To his surprise, she reached out and touched the side of his face. "Too bad," she said softly.

  And then sh
e was gone.

  Crash locked the door behind her. "Yeah," he said. "Too bad."

  Out in the barn, the band was finally packing up. But as Crash watched from the shadows beyond the doorway, Jake and Daisy still danced to music only they could hear.

  Admiral and Mrs. Jacob Robinson.

  The evening had been one of laughter and celebration. Jake had accepted the congratulations of friends and colleagues. He'd smiled through the toasts that wished the two of them long life and decades more of happiness. He'd laughed as friends had joked, trying to guess exactly how he'd finally convinced his long-time lover to willingly accept the chains of matrimony.

  Jake had finally gotten what he'd always wanted, but Crash knew he would trade it all for a miracle cure.

  As Crash watched them dance, Jake wiped his eyes, careful to keep Daisy from seeing that he was crying.

  Jake was crying.

  All evening long, Crash had fought to keep the constant awareness of Daisy's mortality at bay.

  But now death's shadow was back.

  Crash waited until the band had left, until Jake and Daisy slowly made their way out to the house.

  He turned down the heat and locked the barn door, then went to his room.

  Nell's door was closed, and as he passed it, it stayed tightly shut.

  He was glad for that. Glad she was asleep, glad she hadn't been waiting for him. He didn't think he would have had the strength to turn her down again.

  He hesitated outside his own bedroom door, looking back down the hall toward Nell's room.

  Yes, he was glad. But he was also achingly disappointed.

  Chapter 7

  Nell sat numbly on her bed, next to her suitcase. She was aware that she was going to have to stand up and walk over to her dresser if she wanted to transfer her socks and underwear from the drawer into that suitcase.

  It couldn't have happened so quickly, it didn't seem possible. But yet it had.

  Two days after the wedding, Daisy had had another of her fainting spells. It had taken even longer for her to be roused, and when she was conscious, she'd found that she could no longer walk unassisted.