A Magical Christmas Present

by Eugenia Riley

  His gaze caught hers, and a shock of recognition shot through her so strong it staggered her senses and knocked her breath away. At this distance she couldn’t tell if his eyes were blue or brown, only that they seemed to see into her very soul.

  A startled expression crossed his face. Did he somehow share what she had just experienced? His grin widened and he nodded slightly as if in silent acknowledgment. She wanted to turn away from this odd intimacy with a total stranger but somehow couldn’t summon the power to so much as move her head. Then abruptly the crowd shifted once again and he was lost to her sight.

  Unexpected, unreasonable panic bubbled through her. Who was this man and why did he have such a dramatic effect on her? She’d never seen him before and would probably never see him again. Unlike Mary Ann, she had no intention of either hunting for a husband or snaring one, so this immediate connection with a stranger was shocking and scary and…

  Fate?

  The thought popped to mind with startling abruptness, and she fumbled with the flower in her hand. The delicate corsage tumbled to the floor, and she swooped down to retrieve it before it could be crushed in the crowd. She reached toward it, but just as her fingertips brushed the petals, a large, male hand gently plucked it off the floor. Her heart thudded faster, and she instinctively knew whose hand it was. Her gaze traveled up the length of his arm to finally settle on his face, the cocky grin she’d seen from across the room, the twin dimples in his cheeks, his dark eyes.

  They were blue, dark as the night and just as endless.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” His voice was mellow and rich and seemed to echo deep within her.

  She stared, mesmerized, speechless. Every fiber of her being screamed Yes!

  “No,” she said coolly and pulled herself to her feet. “But that’s a great line”—her gaze wandered to the bar on his shoulder—“Lieutenant. Almost as good as ‘haven’t we met somewhere before?’ or ‘you remind me of someone I know’ or—”

  “Didn’t we go to school together?” he said, his voice solemn, his eyes twinkling. A challenge shone there, and she couldn’t resist the urge to laugh out loud.

  “That’s better.” He grinned. “I’d hate for the prettiest girl here to think I was some kind of a jerk.”

  She shrugged. “Well, with lines like that…”

  “Funny,” he said under his breath, “it didn’t feel like a line.”

  His gaze met hers and they stared for a long, intense moment.

  “Katie.” She gasped, breaking the taut silence, and thrust her hand out to shake his. “I’m Katie Bedford.”

  “Michael Patrick O’Connor.” He took her hand in his and she struggled not to pull back at the electric feel of her fingers in his. He nodded toward his shoulder. “Lieutenant O’Connor now, I guess.”

  “Where you from, soldier?” The routine words slipped out before she could stop them.

  He cocked a dark brow. “Now, that’s a line if ever I heard one.”

  “Sorry.” The heat of embarrassment flushed up her face. “It’s a standard-issue comment these days.”

  “Like everything else.” He laughed again, and she marveled at the warmth that flushed through her at the sound. “I’m from Chicago originally. Fresh from college graduation.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She nodded.

  “Oh?” The brow rose again. “Does it show?”

  “No, of course not. I just meant…” She scrambled for the right words. What on earth was wrong with her tonight? She sighed. “Well, I’m not sure what I meant exactly. You just look…new at all this.”

  “I am new”—he gestured toward the room—“at this anyway. And by the way, it’s not soldier.”

  “No?” A sinking sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. Obviously he wasn’t a soldier. Even she could see that from the insignia on his uniform. He must think she was a total and complete idiot.

  “Close, though. Army Air Corps.”

  “A pilot?” Please, don’t let him be a pilot.

  “You bet.” Pride shimmered in his voice.

  “How nice,” she said weakly.

  A frown creased his forehead. “I take it you don’t like pilots?”

  “They’re okay.” She shrugged. “My brother was a flyer. In the Navy.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strained.

  His question was casual, but a hint of concern touched his eyes. “Where?”

  “Pearl Harbor.”

  “I see.” He studied her for a moment, his gaze assessing and sympathetic. “Sorry.”

  “It’s been a year. I…” She drew a deep breath and favored him with a shaky smile. “Life goes on.”

  “Sure.” An awkward silence stretched between them. His gaze wandered to his hands and he looked surprised, as if he had just noticed the gardenia he still held. “Here.” He thrust the flower toward her. “I almost forgot.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the corsage and started to pin it on her sweater. Her hands trembled slightly.

  “Let me.” With a few deft moves, he affixed the bloom to the wool cardigan. His dark head bent close and a subtle wave of scent washed over her. She breathed in the heady aroma of aftershave and spice and heat, and her knees weakened with an odd ache for something as yet unknown.

  “There.” He tossed her a satisfied nod and straightened up. Goodness, he was close. He was a good six inches taller than she and her eyes were on a level with his lips.

  He was very close.

  Firm, sensuous lips that seemed made for smiling or…kissing.

  When did he get this close?

  What would those lips be like against hers? Would they demand or coax? Would they be gentle or urgent? Insistent or tender—

  “Miss Bedford?”

  His voice jerked her attention upward to his eyes. Amusement glittered there as if he was well aware of her perusal. Once again, an annoying heat spread through her cheeks

  “Katie,” she sighed. “Call me Katie.”

  “Michael,” he said.

  His gaze meshed with hers, and she wasn’t quite sure what to say next. She wanted to know everything about him. His hopes, dreams, and ambitions. She wanted him to know everything about her. Her secrets, her passions, her joys. Overwhelmed by her own reactions, she feared that every word she spoke would come out wrong. And it seemed terribly important to be clever and charming to this man.

  The band burst into a rousing, if distinctly off-key, rendition of “Chattanooga Choo-choo.” Michael winced, and she laughed at the chagrined look on his face.

  “Sorry.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to be rude. They caught me off guard.”

  “They’re definitely not Glenn Miller but they’re all we’ve got.” She leaned forward in a confidential manner. “We’ll be playing records when they need a break.” She tossed him an impish grin. “Or when we need one.”

  He laughed, and the music abruptly seemed sweeter. “In the meantime”—he nodded at the dance floor—“would you like to dance?”

  “Are you any good?” she teased.

  “Am I any good?” He cast her a look of mock indignation. “I’ll have you know I am one of the best. Why, women have been known to throw themselves at my feet for the opportunity to spin around a dance floor with me.”

  “Just like Fred Astaire, I bet,” she said solemnly.

  “Exactly,” he said just as seriously.

  “In that case”—she offered her hand and a resigned smile—“call me Ginger.”

  Michael took her hand in his, and his fingers fit around hers like a glove, natural and comforting and right. A grin still danced across his handsome face, but his eyes held a light that belied the casual tone of his words. “Call me lucky.”

  Lucky? He led her to the dance floor, and before the beat of the music swept away any possibility of coherent thinking, she firmly pushed back a nagging thought in the dim recesses of her mind.

  These days, just how long would a pilot’s luck la
st?

  The evening and the music and the magic of the man beside her seemed to speed up the hours and the evening flew by. Every now and then she’d catch Mary Ann eying her with a knowing look and a smug smile, and Katie did her best to ignore her. It was easy. Michael occupied her attention completely. He was funny and smart and definitely not shy about his abilities.

  “You are a good dancer,” she said breathlessly as they spun to a stop at the edge of the floor.

  “Told you.” The twinkle in his eye belied the modesty of his tone. “I do a lot of things well.”

  “I’ll bet.” Friendly sarcasm dripped from her words.

  “Surely you don’t doubt the word of a man in uniform?” He clasped his hand over his heart and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “That’s positively—”

  “Un-American?” She grinned.

  “Un-American, unpatriotic, un-just about everything you can think of.” He leaned closer in mock menace. “I feel it’s my duty to report this kind of gross violation of the war-effort act.”

  She stared, startled. “The what?”

  “The war-effort act. Surely you’ve heard of it,” he said in a solemn manner.

  She pulled her brows together in confusion and shook her head. “No. Are you kidding?”

  “Is this the face of a man who’s joking?” His expression was stern but a teasing light lurked in his eyes.

  “You are kidding,” she said with relief. She didn’t mind a good joke, but she didn’t like the vaguest suggestion that she was doing anything even remotely disloyal.

  “I still have to report this.” He nodded at the bar on his shoulder. “I am an officer, after all.”

  “Well, Lieutenant.” Her serious tone matched his own. “If you must, you must.” She glanced around the crowded room and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I don’t know who you’ll report me to. There doesn’t seem to be a single, solitary general in sight.”

  “That is a problem.” He frowned thoughtfully; then a slow grin spread across his face. “I’ve got it. Come with me, Miss Bedford.”

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her across the room. She struggled amidst her own laughter to keep up with his long strides.

  “Where are you taking me?” she gasped.

  “Right here.” He pulled to an abrupt stop and she stumbled into him. “I believe this is the highest authority here tonight.”

  She lifted her gaze, and a giggle bubbled through her lips. Before her sat a most authentic-looking Santa. Who had been corralled into donning a Santa suit tonight? Judge Thomas maybe? Or Mr. Brisch? Regardless, he played the part to perfection.

  “Santa, I have a serious infraction to report,” Michael said in his best commanding-officer voice.

  “Katie Bedford.” Santa frowned in a chastising way she thought would have been reserved for misbehaving children. “What have you done to upset this fine young man?”

  “Why, Santa,” she said with innocence, “I haven’t done anything. Nothing at all.”

  “That’s not true, Santa.” Michael shook his head sadly and leaned toward the oversized elf. “She doubted my sincerity.”

  “Katie!” Santa’s tone was shocked but his eyes twinkled.

  “Well,” Katie said confidentially, “would you believe him?”

  Michael clasped his hands behind his back, raised his eyes heavenward, and whistled a vacuous tune.

  “You look like a choirboy,” she accused.

  “I was,” he said virtuously.

  “Now, now, children.” Santa chuckled. “It’s Christmas Eve. What can I do for you? What would you like for Christmas?”

  “I can think of one thing.” Michael cast her a wicked glance.

  “Michael,” she said, shaking her head, “you are incorrigible.”

  “Thank you,” he said humbly

  “When are you leaving, son?” Santa’s tone was casual, but at once the mood of the conversation darkened.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” A heavy weight sank in the pit of Katie’s stomach. “But it’s Christmas.”

  His somber gaze met hers. His voice was quiet. “It’s a war, Katie.”

  “But—”

  “Enough of that, now. There’s still tonight to be enjoyed.” Santa’s voice rumbled through her, and she thought again what a perfect Santa this man made. “Come now, my boy, isn’t there anything you’d like for a Christmas present?”

  Michael smiled down at her. “I think I might already have everything I need.”

  The intensity of his gaze brought a flush of heat to her face.

  “What about you, Katie?” Santa said softly.

  She stared at Michael and wondered at the depth of feeling this virtual stranger triggered in her. “I don’t think I need anything either.”

  “Katie.” Santa’s words were quiet but some vague underlying tone drew her attention to his face. She stared into his eyes and couldn’t seem to pull away. She watched and they deepened to the color of a winter midnight. The color of the sky on Christmas Eve. “The offer’s good anytime. That’s a promise.”

  At once his eyes lightened and the odd connection was broken. Santa shook his head as if to clear his mind. Then he grinned at the couple standing before him. “You two go and have a good time. And have a Merry Christmas.”

  “I think they’re playing our song,” Michael said.

  Katie laughed. “We don’t have a song.”

  “We do now.” He pulled her into his arms and out onto the dance floor. The strains of “I’ll Be Seeing You” floated through the air.

  “I love this song,” she said and snuggled closer.

  “Me, too.”

  She gazed up at him and quirked a curious brow. “Really?”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “Can I help it if I’m a born romantic?”

  “A romantic?” Doubt colored her voice.

  “Ah, Katie, once again you question my sincerity.” He sighed.

  She laughed. “Sorry. It’s just not often you run into a man who admits to being a romantic.”

  “I not only admit it but I have a hard time believing this particular song fails to touch a sentimental chord in anyone. Even a man.” He pulled her closer and spoke softly into her ear. Her blood pounded through her veins at the intimate contact. “Just listen to it, Katie.”

  She closed her eyes and lost herself in the spell of the music and the man.

  “Listen to what it says.” He hummed a bar or two, then softly sang, “‘I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces all day through.’ Do you know what he’s saying, Katie?”

  “Hmm?” She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want her words or her thoughts to shatter the enchantment that shimmered around them.

  “He’s saying that everything they’ve shared will always remind him of her…” He paused for a moment and the music drifted by like a gentle wave or a warm breeze. “‘…in every lovely summer’s day, in everything that’s bright and gay…’ and more, Katie, everything he sees that’s good and warm and joyous will always bring her to mind for him. He’s talking about love.”

  “Love?” She echoed the word as if she’d never heard it before.

  “Love, Katie,” Michael said soberly. “The kind that lasts forever…‘I’ll find you in the morning sun and when the night is through, I’ll be looking at the moon but I’ll be seeing you.’”

  She pulled back and stared into the deep, endless blue of his eyes.

  “It’s a love song.” His eyes enticed her down into their smoldering, hypnotic recesses and she couldn’t turn away. “And a promise.”

  For a long moment, they stared and the world faded to a soft blur. She was afraid to move, afraid even to breathe, afraid to break whatever magic held them here, bound together in a fierce, intimate communion.

  “Come on.” He pulled her into the corridor where the light was much dimmer than in the main room. Some eager serviceman, or perhaps an equally enthusiastic young hos
tess, had tacked up a bit of greenery in the secluded area.

  “Mistletoe?” She widened her eyes in surprise. “The chaperons would have a fit if they saw that.”

  “Then let’s not let them see it.” He pinned her with a direct gaze that melted her defenses. His eyes were dark with desire and intense with something she couldn’t quite place. Something that took her breath away. “Kiss me, Katie.”

  He drew her into his arms and it was as if she’d finally come home. As if this was where she belonged, where she’d always belonged. His head dipped toward hers and she tilted her face to meet him. His lips brushed against hers, lightly at first, and the sparks she’d noted when he merely touched her hand flared into a blaze of need and wanting. Her arms snaked around his neck and he pulled her closer. The rough wool of his uniform pressed against her, crushing the gardenia that clung to her sweater.

  Was it his heart that throbbed between them or her own?

  His lips demanded more, and she met his insistence with eager abandon. Her fingers caressed the warm flesh at the back of his neck, and she marveled at the feel of hard muscle beneath velvet skin.

  He pulled his lips to the line of her jaw and beyond to a point just below her ear. He nibbled and kissed and teased until she thought her knees would buckle and she would dissolve into a small, quivering puddle. Never had a simple kiss affected her like this. Never had she ached for the touch of knowledgeable hands on previously unknown places. Never had a man done this to her.

  “Dear Michael,” she murmured, “what will I do with you?”

  “Marry me.”

  His words barely penetrated the thick haze of arousal enveloping her, and she uttered a mindless sigh in response.

  Michael drew back from her and his gaze searched her face as if he sought answers to questions only he understood. His gaze locked with hers and it seemed as if time itself stopped just for them. As if they and they alone were the only two people in the world, in the universe, in all of creation.

  “Marry me, Katie,” he said softly.

  “Marry you?” She gasped. “Is that what you said?”

  “Twice now.” A tiny twinkle of wry amusement danced in his eyes. “I love you, Katie.”