by Nicola Marsh
He’d fallen in love.
As soon as he’d admitted it he’d known he was in trouble. He didn’t handle emotions well.
Business, yeah. Feelings, no frigging way.
As for love, he’d never known the meaning of the word.
Until now.
A knock on the den door made him sit up and reach for a pen. William had caught him staring into space once too often and he didn’t need another of those pitying looks.
His butler had tried broaching the subject of Sierra a few times but he’d cut him off. What was the point? She’d made her feelings clear and if she’d felt half of what he felt for her, she’d have contacted him by now.
“I’ve brought the mail.”
“Thanks. Leave it on my desk. I’ll get to it later.”
He didn’t look up in case William made eye contact and wanted to strike up a conversation. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. In fact, he wasn’t in the mood for anything these days.
“You might want to take a look at it now. There’s a letter postmarked Love.”
Marc’s head jerked up and he scanned the pile eagerly before realizing William hadn’t moved.
“Is there anything else?”
He expected a polite nod before William withdrew. Today, even his butler wanted to give him grief.
“I visited Flo yesterday and she sends her regards.”
Marc smiled despite his foul mood, his affection for the Aussie waitress one of the perks of spending time in the land of heart break.
“How is she?”
“Loud and brash as ever.”
Funny, William could’ve been describing Sierra too. She’d never been backward in coming forward. It was one of the things that had grabbed his interest right from the start.
“She’s looking forward to seeing you at the wedding.”
“Same here.”
Thankfully, there was going to be a wedding. For a while it had looked doubtful after he’d botched another Love relationship.
His mom hadn’t known about Hank’s real identity as he’d assumed and after the shortest separation on record—a few hours—the couple had sorted out their differences and would tie the knot on Christmas Eve.
Pity he couldn’t resolve his problems with Sierra before then. It would be damn hard facing her at the wedding, knowing she hated his guts yet having to pretend otherwise for the sake of the bride and groom.
This Christmas promised to be one big happy family. Yeah, right.
“I saw Sierra,” William said, standing as stiff as one of the Queen’s guards yet fidgeting with his cuffs.
William never fidgeted and Marc knew it must’ve been an effort for him to bring up Sierra’s name at the risk of incurring his wrath.
“How is she?”
He instilled the right amount of cool into his voice while flipping through the rest of the mail, trying not to stare at the envelope bearing Love’s postmark. The address had been typed so he had no idea who sent it and he’d be damned if he opened what could potentially be the first contact from the woman he loved in front of his butler.
“As lovely as ever, though she did look a touch harried.”
Harried? Who used words like that in the twenty-first century?
“Uh-huh.”
Marc didn’t ask anything else despite wanting to know how she wore her hair these days, how she sounded, how she looked.
How she felt…
Fourteen long, drawn-out, excruciating days away from the woman he loved. Damn, he missed her. It wasn’t about the amazing sex. He missed the closeness, the way she’d snuggle into him, the way they’d talk quietly as the sun came up, two people at ease with one another.
He’d never had that before and the way things stood he’d never have it period. It king-hit him again, a knock-out punch slugging him in the head, making his ears ring with the knowledge he’d messed up the best thing to ever happen to him.
“Lots of work to do, so if you don’t mind?”
“Certainly, Sir.”
Marc sent William a pointed stare when his butler didn’t move, his fidgeting increasing.
“Flo says she misses you.”
“I miss her too but I’m sure you’re keeping her company when you visit.”
William colored, shook his head. “Not Flo, Sir. Sierra. Flo says Sierra misses you.”
What would Flo know? Probably playing matchmaker again. Look where her meddling had landed him last time.
In Sierra’s bed, where he belonged.
He ignored the thought, quashed the urge to grab his keys and floor it like a Formula One driver direct to Love. “I’ll see everyone Christmas Eve. We’ll catch up then.”
William cleared his throat. “Perhaps a gesture toward the young lady before then is in order? Something like—”
“That’ll be all,” he cut in, surprised by William’s persistence in a personal matter yet touched by his concern.
William was more than the hired help and Marc usually valued his input. Today wasn’t one of those days.
“Very well, Sir. If you need anything else, ring.”
Marc nodded and managed a tense smile, waiting until the door closed before tearing open the letter from Love. All it would take was one word from Sierra and he’d do anything to reach her side pronto. Just one word.
The letter wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for.
Hey Matey,
This bonza sheila needs some advice. Christmas is coming up, what do you think I should get Will? I have no idea what to get a man like him. Any suggestions? I appreciate your help in this delicate matter. (And don’t tell his lordship!)
Looking forward to seeing you at the wedding where I will return your money. Shame on you, leaving all that cash lying around.
Anyway, must go. Looks like Sierra has company, I need to check him out.
Forever yours, (worth hedging my bets just in case things with Will don’t pan out)
Flo. x
His smile faded as one word leapt out from Flo’s missive.
Him?
Sierra had company. Male company?
He crushed the letter before taking a breath, smoothing it out and managing a rueful chuckle. Flo was up to her old tricks. She knew a throwaway comment like that would make him jealous. It would’ve been her intention, and despite the urge to pick up the phone and hear it first-hand he folded the letter and tucked it into the top drawer of the desk.
Flo needed his help in choosing a gift for William? He’d give it to her. Personally.
As for Sierra, it was time he took a stand. No use moping around. He’d lost his enthusiasm for business, for food, for everything. For a guy at the cutting edge he’d lost his focus and it was time to reclaim it.
So what if she’d told him to go to hell? He’d been there the last few weeks and it wasn’t pretty.
Words wouldn’t convince a woman like her. It would take a grand gesture and as he spied the newspaper lying on his desk, he knew what he had to do.
Sierra adored Christmas. The twinkling fairy lights strung across the shop-fronts, the nativity scenes in neighborhood gardens, the squeal of delighted children as they spied the inflatable Santa perched on the town hall spire, all of it.
She loved buying rolls of fancy paper and wrapping gifts she’d specially selected, tying elaborate bows with gold ribbon around them, teasing her friends with subtle hints.
She devoured Flo’s mince pies and shortbread and her famous lamingtons, mini Aussie sponge cakes oozing strawberry jelly, coated in liquid chocolate and rolled in coconut.
She attended midnight mass and sang carols and drifted home in the wee hours of Christmas morning, warmed by eggnog and goodwill.
Everything about the season gave her goose bumps, the buzz of expectation electric in the air.
Not this year.
This year she’d turned Grinch.
Belle closed up shop and headed to the back room, working the kinks out of her neck as Sierra opened the take-out
boxes and served.
“Mm-mm. Is that Essie’s enchiladas?”
Sierra nodded and uncorked a bottle of Napa Valley’s finest, pouring them each a full glass. “Yeah, she’d just made them, couldn’t resist.”
If she could manage to force a few forkfuls past her lips she’d be doing better than she had the last few weeks. Food hadn’t been her friend. As much as she tried to eat, swallowing every mouthful past the lump permanently stuck in her throat was too big an effort.
“To you.” Belle raised her glass. “May this Christmas bring you everything your heart desires?”
There was only one thing Sierra wanted and thanks to her pigheadedness she’d lost him. Flo had said time heals all wounds and she’d been right.
As each day passed Sierra wondered if she’d been too harsh with Marc, not giving him a chance to explain. Then the little devil residing in her brain would poke her with a pointy reality check pitchfork and say hey, the guy screwed up. He used you! and she’d feel vindicated all over again.
She waged this battle with herself daily, wavering between despair and pride, devastated she’d lost him one minute, patting herself on the back for coming out unscathed the next.
If she could call having her heart shattered into a million pieces unscathed.
“Same to you.”
Sierra clinked glasses with Belle, managing a wan smile that didn’t fool her friend for a second.
“Why don’t you call him?”
“Can’t. Been too long.”
“Two weeks isn’t long. Better than pining.”
“I’m not.”
Belle took a healthy sip of wine, quirked an eyebrow. “You’re stuck in your office all hours, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep—”
“Who says?”
“Flo told me your lights are on all night.”
“Meddling old busybody,” Sierra muttered, wondering what would’ve happened if Flo hadn’t meddled all those weeks ago and hidden Marc’s keys the night of the storm.
The matchmaker-in-the-making had finally confessed her little trick and while it had worked a treat at the time, look at her now. Alone, miserable and hopelessly in love, an emotion Sierra swore she’d never feel.
“Dress it up any way you like but you’re pining.”
Sierra pushed the Mexican food she once would’ve drooled over around her plate. “Love sucks.”
“So you’ve said before.”
“I really mean it this time.”
Belle offered her the last of the enchiladas before scooping seconds onto her plate.
“You love the guy, he’s coming back to town in a few days. Why don’t you mend a few fences before the wedding? Give him a call, see what happens.”
Belle dabbed at her mouth daintily, in stark contrast to the way she’d wolfed down the food. “Can’t be any worse than when you parted.”
Sierra cringed, remembering her last words to the man she loved.
Fuck you didn’t exactly inspire a romantic reunion and if she hadn’t been so damn angry at the time she would’ve applauded his quick comeback, done that too.
He’d done it all right.
And it had rocked her world.
Maybe Belle was right. Maybe it was worth another shot. What’s the worst that could happen?
She remembered the disappointment warring with fury in his disbelieving glare before she’d flounced out of his place and thought, plenty.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cupid’s Dating Tips for the Enlightened Male
Don’t expect her to dress like a Victoria Secret girl if you won’t act like a soap opera guy.
“Thought you might like to see this.”
Hank strolled into Sierra’s kitchen and placed a newspaper clipping in front of her.
“Hello to you too,” she said. “Or does the fact you’re Mister Moneybags mean you lose your manners?”
“Watch it, kid.”
He ruffled her hair, like he used to when she was ten, and sat at the table. “Now read.”
“Okay, okay.” She picked up the clipping. “What’s so interesting about the Los Angeles Business Journal’s Top 100?”
Hank stabbed a finger at the small print. “Read that part.”
“California has a new number one acquisitions company. A-Corp…” her voice petered out as she wondered whether it’d be best to read the rest quietly so her voice wouldn’t quiver and give away the secret feelings she harbored.
“Keep going.”
She poked her tongue out at Hank and returned to the article. “Headed by business dynamo Marc Fairley, the company recently wrested the top spot from Fairley Enterprises, run by Marc’s father George. When interviewed about his recent stint away from company headquarters and the reason behind his visit to Love, Mr. Fairley confirmed it had nothing to do with business. ‘Apart from visiting a relative, I was in Love on a personal matter. An important personal matter and I’d like to keep it that way.’”
“The rest of it rambles on about the company but you’ve got the general gist of it?”
Hank grinned and dusted his hands as if he’d just solved all her problems.
“Uh…no. Your point?”
Hank muttered something about youngsters of today before pointing at the clipping again. “It says right there in black and white. A personal matter. What else could he mean but you?”
“So?”
Maybe the article did make a statement. Marc hadn’t come out and named her but he’d implied she was the reason he’d been in Love—figuratively speaking, of course.
If he literally loved her, he wouldn’t have fled town over a little thing like her accusing him of being a lying bastard. He would’ve stood up for what he believed in and made her see reason.
But he hadn’t. He’d been all too happy to pack his bags and flee which could only mean one thing. It had been good while it lasted, and when she’d given him an easy out he’d taken it.
Hank scratched his head and stared at her. “I don’t understand you young people. You throw yourselves headlong into a relationship yet at the first sign of trouble you bail out.”
He placed a hand over hers and squeezed gently. “Nothing ever comes easy. You need to work at it. If this were your business you’d be throwing every last ounce of energy into it, fighting tooth and nail to save it. Why should you and Marc be any different?”
Great. Now Hank had joined the let’s interfere in Sierra’s screwed up life brigade.
She knew she was miserable without City Boy and it would be oh-so-easy to pick up the phone and apologize, but she couldn’t do it. What if he rejected her? It wouldn’t be the first time a man she loved left her in the lurch.
Though Marc was nothing like her father. He meant so much more and the pain of losing him again would completely demoralize her. She couldn’t risk it, despite her heart screaming otherwise. She’d listen to cool, hard logic. Screw emotion.
She forced a smile and withdrew her hand. “Marc and I wouldn’t have worked out. It’s better this way. I’ll see him at the wedding, we’ll patch things up and stay friends.”
Hank’s dubious expression spoke volumes. He didn’t believe a word of her concocted spiel. “It’s that red hair.”
She smiled, knowing what would come next. She’d heard him say this a hundred times growing up, not to mention the many times Flo had echoed the sentiment.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Makes you too fiery. Stubborn. Like a damn mule.”
“I love you too. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got work to do.”
Frowning, he dropped a kiss on her head. “See you at the rehearsal?”
“Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”
She waited until he left before re-reading the article, the words ‘an important personal matter’ resonating.
Couldn’t get much more personal, the way they’d clicked on every level. Too bad they’d unclicked just as fast.
She had to admit the article had s
oftened her up a bit. He’d left her business alone and implied she’d been the reason behind his sojourn here.
Easy to issue a statement like that in hindsight. It didn’t change the fact he’d probably backed off after their showdown, that she’d been justified in accusing him of using her to get what he wanted.
He’d admitted his ruthless streak in the business arena; she hadn’t known how ruthless until he’d come after hers.
So he’d had an attack of the guilts? Showed he had a conscience and in a small way she’d like to think his remorse indicated he felt a smidgen more than lust for her.
She stuffed the article under a stack of bills and headed for the stairs. Facing Marc in a few days would be hard enough and she needed all the help she could get, starting with a killer outfit designed to make his eyes pop.
Trailing her hand across the crimson tinsel strung along the banisters, she stopped on the fifth step, glancing at the Christmas tree Flo had insisted she put up.
It looked the same as every other year: color coordinated gold and emerald balls, scarlet tear-drops, miniature verdigris presents hanging from gold ribbon, the first paper chain she’d made after arriving in Love looped over branches, with a lop-sided angel perched jauntily on the top.
The angel was the only thing she had from her dad. She remembered how he’d held her up as a three year old so she could place it on top of their monstrous tree.
Those had been good times, safe times, happy times, but nothing lasted forever. She’d released some of her resentment following his death; maybe she owed Marc the same courtesy?
Angel reminded her of Angel Face…Blinking rapidly to stem the sting of tears, she continued up the stairs.
Christmas was a time for charity, for forgiveness, for second chances.
With a little luck, maybe this year Santa would bring her what she wished for.
Marc hummed along to muted jazz as he eased his Jag along the main street of Love, happier than he’d been in weeks.
What was it about this crazy town that made him feel like he’d come home?
He’d hated the place on first sight, so he knew it had more to do with the inhabitants than the in-your-face romance on every corner.
