Daniel's Christmas

by M. L. Buchman

  “Where’s the Christmas decorations?” she’d never actually been to the White House before and was sad that she’d be missing them.

  “Not here yet.”

  She bit back her disappointment. Of course, for an analyst to sit in the Situation Room and watch the first piece in the next game move across the board, that was a pretty good treat as well.

  “Now you’ve done it, Alice.”

  “What was that?” Daniel turned to face her.

  “Fallen down the rabbit hole.”

  Daniel’s laugh was easy, comfortable, and helped bring the whole place back into a little perspective.

  “I thought Alice had long blond curls on her trip to Wonderland.” He led her into a mahogany-lined elevator.

  “Mama hoped, but I ended up with this.” Or maybe it was walnut.

  Daniel was quiet long enough for her to look up at him as they rode smoothly upward to the number three he had punched.

  He was looking down at her. She’d need serious heels to be eye-to-eye with him. She’d never been good at heels.

  “No, blond isn’t you. Russet suits you perfectly.”

  “Always thought of it more as mouse-brown.”

  “No. Russet. A beautiful russet red.”

  She glanced back up at him as he led her out of the elevator to see if he was making fun of her. He studied the top of her head with a look of intense concentration. As if he were ascertaining an initial assessment of a situation rather than the bit of a flirt she’d expected. He was the perfect straight man.

  “Like a russet potato?” she was never able to resist prodding a straight man.

  “No. I meant the color of roses at sunset.” She tried to catch her breath, but hadn’t succeeded by the time he led her to a spacious bedroom. Even if she’d wanted to continue the conversation, all her body saw was somewhere to stretch out.

  “Kitchen over that way if you get hungry.”

  Hungry? The word didn’t anchor to anything in particular. It was still consumed by bed and sleep.

  “President lives on the Second Floor, so don’t be concerned about disturbing him.”

  Some saving grace there.

  “I’m the First Chief of Staff to live here in decades. It was a little strange at first, but I’m getting used to it.”

  “Hungry.” Her lagging brain finally found a use for the word. Hungry for a beautiful man who said her hair was the color of roses at sunset.

  “I’m just across the hall if you need anything.”

  Needed anything.

  She went up on her tiptoes, rested a hand on that nice, broad chest of his to steady herself, and kissed him.

  He didn’t respond at first. She could feel the shock and surprise warring in him. All the propriety you’d expect from a gentleman.

  Too much, Alice. Too forward. But the warmth of his lips, the strength of his muscles beneath her palm held her in place a moment longer.

  A moment just long enough for Daniel to return the kiss.

  A gentle, tentative gesture that in moments heated to melting. Specifically, her melting against him as his hands wrapped around and supported her. As his mouth explored hers.

  Alice heard a small moan. She’d never in her twenty-seven years moaned when she kissed a man. But the sound was too high to come from Daniel, so it must have been hers.

  She wallowed in being cradled in his arms, in being held as if she was someone desirable, even precious.

  The change came suddenly. A freeze. A breath of space. A whispered, “sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She opened her eyes, she didn’t recall closing them, and looked up at the summer-sky blue ones inspecting her.

  Okay, this was awfully forward for her. She’d be more likely to go a half-dozen dates and barely hold hands, than to kiss a stranger.

  But she wasn’t sorry. Especially not with a man who could kiss like that.

  “You’re an amazing kisser.”

  Daniel blinked at her. Sliding his hands down her arms until he held her hands. His were big, warm hands. Strong. Not what you’d expect from a paper-pusher.

  “I’d best say goodnight.”

  “Sure you don’t want to tuck me in?” She slapped her hand over her mouth. She’d never said such a Mae West line in her entire life. Next she’d be asking him if he knew how to whistle.

  He slid a hand up to cradle her cheek.

  “I’d love to, which is exactly why I’m not going to.” He kissed the back of her hand where it still covered her mouth.

  “Now go.”

  With gentle hands, he turned her to face the bedroom, and pushed lightly against her shoulders to send her forward.

  A soft click indicated the door had closed behind her.

  The hand that yet covered her mouth was no longer cold. Instead it was warm with the heat of the kiss she could still feel against the back of it.

  Chapter 6

  Daniel had spent most of his lunch hour in the workout room. Now, he was reading through the overnight reports, ones that he’d been trying to get to since breakfast, over a quick lunch of a BLT sandwich and a Coke when she came into the kitchen.

  She entered the kitchen from behind him, but he didn’t doubt that it was Dr. Alice Thompson for a single second. The President would have arrived with his normal bravado and be already in the middle of a sentence before the door was even open. A trait he shared with his deceased wife, a comparison Daniel kept to himself as the man would not have appreciated it. If it had been the Secret Service entering the room, as they would have done if the President was in tow, there’d be at least two sets of very business-like footsteps.

  But there weren’t.

  The kitchen door opened part way, paused for a long moment, and then swung a bit farther. No soft slap of the rubber soles the agents wore for traction, but instead the almost silent step of a pair of sneakers on a woman who weighed half as much your average Secret Service agent.

  “Good afternoon, did you sleep well?”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, but remained instead perched on his stool, his reports spread out across the light and dark stripes of the maple-and-cherry wood island. Didn’t want to acknowledge the advantage he’d taken of an exhausted woman. He’d wanted to take that advantage though. For the first time in a long time, he really wanted to. Daniel tried not to cringe and simply hoped that she wouldn’t recall how he had kissed her.

  She wasn’t drunk, you idiot. Just tired.

  “I guess. Not really awake yet. Did you get any sleep?” She drifted into his peripheral vision over by the refrigerator.

  “Not much.” Not at all really. First he’d gone back down to his office to clean up the mess. Then the phone rang and he’d clarified the instructions the President had set in motion half-a-world away. That was the problem when he and the President classified something “need to know” only, all the little questions shot straight to the top.

  Then he saw the report newly placed in the middle of the teetering stacks on top of his desk. The upcoming G-8 summit had just had another bomb threat which led to a meeting with the Secret Service detail in charge of arranging that. One thing led to the next as he caught up with e-mail, fired off instructions to his staff for the morning. The overnighters discovered he was awake and began routing their questions to him.

  Around three-thirty a.m. the President had drifted in from the Oval Office, “just to see if Daniel was available.” They’d spent the next hour reviewing and revising the new South African trade agreement, which had involved rousting the policy analysts from bed to straighten out an addition that someone had slipped in about Japanese whaling rights around Cape Horn. All of which had to be in place by five a.m. local-time before the eleven o’clock African-time round of talks restarted in Johannesburg.

  When Janet arrived at six-thirty, Daniel had mana
ged to clean up exactly three papers from the foot-deep stack that spread all the way under the couch beside his desk. With the rough edge of her contempt for how he let his desk become so out of control in first place, all communicated articulately by her not uttering a single word, she had it completely reorganized in less than twenty minutes.

  Daniel hadn’t even tried to go to bed, especially not just across the hall from Dr. Alice Thompson. He’d been too aware of her from all the way over in the West Wing. Here in the residence, way too close.

  The only reason he’d come over now was for a workout and late lunch. The break helped recenter him before the typical afternoon mêlée.

  Some part of him had thought Dr. Alice Thompson would have long since been awake and gone. And some part of him had known she still slept across the hall.

  He waved a hand toward the refrigerator, “Help yourself.” Then he tried to recall the notation he’d been intending to write in the report’s margin which lay open before him. Completely vanished.

  Tossing down the pen, he sighed in frustration. He didn’t even know what the report was about at the moment. All he could think about was how much he wanted to taste her kiss again. You aren’t a sixteen-year old dying of hormones, he instructed himself; which had no affect at all on the path of his thoughts.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, maybe I should just go.” She turned for the door. Daniel ran a hand through his hair. “No, this is a never-ending quest here at the White House. The elusive Completed Task.”

  “Maybe if you hunted it with …”

  “A butterfly net?”

  She laughed. It was a light, merry sound. One quickly muffled by the hand she raised to cover her mouth.

  In that moment Daniel discovered just how much he enjoyed making her laugh.

  “Please,” he waved at the refrigerator again. “I can make you coffee or tea.”

  A quick glance checking once more for permission, she finally opened the door and peeked inside the stainless steel monster. “Juice is fine.” She took a bottle. And a container of Greek yogurt.

  “Or the chefs could make you a proper lunch.” He pointed toward the silverware drawer for a spoon.

  “I think breakfast will be fine. And this is good, honestly.”

  She went to sit across the island from him and peeked into the open box in the middle of the counter. “Ooo, Christmas cookies!”

  “Help yourself.”

  “I couldn’t. They’re so beautiful.”

  Daniel looked in. They were. “Old family tradition. We make cookie boxes for anyone, family or close friends, who can’t be around for the holiday baking. My big sister probably made most of these.” He poked around until he found a gingerbread man sticking out its tongue at him. He held it up for Alice to see. “Definitely Melanie Anne.”

  She took a reindeer that had one leg lifted to relieve itself against an elf. “You sure I’m not interrupting?”

  “No need to be so tentative. Please, join me. It has to be better than,” he had to flip to the cover of the report to remember what it addressed, “Pacific Northwest Reforestation.”

  It wasn’t that she was just hesitant. He watched as she settled onto the bar stool opposite him. He’d shared several meals here with Emily Beale when she’d been posing as the First Lady’s chef. Major Beale cooked like a magician and looked like a modern-day warrior goddess. And while it was hard not to be stunned by that, combined with her military achievements, it was also exhausting. The woman was driven in a way that left even the President breathless.

  It was an interesting contrast to Dr. Alice Thompson, sitting exactly where Emily Beale had sat across from him just a year before. The steel backbone, the warrior’s reflexes, and the black-and-white razor of the Captain’s mind contrasting with the quiet thoughtfulness of Dr. Thompson.

  Alice was, Daniel had to cast about his mind until he found it, she was shy. An odd and unusual feature in the world of political extroverts who constituted the bulk of the White House Staff. Perhaps last night had been an aberration, her relaxed attitude and quick ripostes a result of guards lowered by exhaustion.

  He knew that having missed last night’s sleep, he’d be in a similar state by late afternoon. But at the moment, he’d rather put her at her ease.

  “About last night, I’m—”

  “Not the least bit sorry.” She cut him off. Her head popped up just enough from where it had been concentrating on her yogurt for him to see that one eye peeking out from under her bangs.

  Well, no question remained regarding her memory.

  “You’re luscious.”

  Daniel found himself dangerously close to a blush. Clearing his throat didn’t seem appropriate, something his father would do.

  He had to say, something. “Uh, so are you.”

  That earned him the head toss that cleared both of her eyes and revealed that smile that had lit up his imagination last night.

  “Good thing we’ll never see each other again then, hunh?”

  Daniel could feel himself blanch. Never see her again? No. That couldn’t be… “You’re teasing?”

  “Oooo,” Alice clapped her hands and rubbed them together as if preparing for evil deeds. “A gudgeon! This is going to be fun.”

  “A what?”

  “A small fish.”

  Daniel did his best to glare at her, but she didn’t appear daunted in the slightest.

  “It’s also military slang for someone who will take a straight line, hook and sinker. Straight man. Gudgeon. Dr. Drake Darlington. All one and the same.”

  Then she slapped a hand over her mouth again and her eyes grew quite wide and very distressed, looking as comic as she had last night right after he’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. Nothing wrong with his memory either.

  He couldn’t stop the laugh.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers. “I promise I’ll cut my tongue out later.”

  “I’ll help.” Gudgeon indeed. He could keep up just fine.

  Chapter 7

  “I can find the front door on my own.” Alice wished she had on much more sophisticated clothes. What had been comfortable at one in the morning looked very out of place at one in the afternoon in the corridors of the White House.

  “How?” Daniel guided her down a second flight of stairs that opened into a grand foyer. She’d seen this staircase, or a good replica, in far too many movies. The Grand Staircase was just that. A sweeping majesty trod by Annette Bening in a killer blue gown and great shoes. And now the real set of stairs bore Dr. Alice Thompson in garishly green sneakers and dirty corduroys.

  Though she did have a killer handsome guy by her side, so it wasn’t a complete loss. At least until she turned the corner of the stair. A long marble hall spread before them. A sea of gold-trimmed red carpet flowed down the marbled length as if it would never end. It was staggering, sunlight pouring in from tall windows made the room glow.

  The room itself so dazzled the mind that it took her a moment to focus on the hoard of people at the far end of the hallway. Dozens and dozens of people, with a watchful phalanx of security guards, were stringing garlands, erecting and decorating trees, hanging dazzlingly intricate paper snowflakes several feet across from the ceiling using a high-lift platform.

  “Christmas is here.” Her voice had a sense of breathy wonder as if she were witnessing a modern miracle.

  Daniel paused and looked out with her. “Four hundred volunteers. It will take them the better part of a day even at the rate they’re moving. By this evening there will be musicians in the lobby, the whole bit.”

  He led her around the turn in the staircase as she rubbernecked like any tourist trying to take it all in. Right until she came face-to-face with Franklin D. Roosevelt, seated ever so grandly in a painted portrait almost as tall as she was.

  It took her a moment t
o recover. Daniel almost had her turned toward the next set of descending stairs when her head cleared enough to spot the towering double doors. At the midpoint of the marbled foyer sufficiently spacious to hold a ballroom dance, the decorators hadn’t reached them yet.

  “Those are doors,” she pointed. “And it is bright and sunny on the other side of them. They lead outside. Those,” she paused for emphasis, “are doors.”

  “They are.” He continued to coax her toward the set of descending stairs, ignoring her discovery.

  “Well, I found them.” She emphasized the “I” strongly and imagined herself discovering the North Pole.

  “You did.” He started down the next flight of steps and she was half tempted to call his bluff and leave through the lately-discovered doors. She’d need to think up what to name them if she were going to publish her findings.

  “Do you know what’s on the other side of those doors?” Daniel asked from where he’d paused three steps below her.

  Alice wasn’t really sure. Other than the now-famous Doors of Alice discovered by one Dr. Thompson while journeying through new and definitely strange lands, White House cartography wasn’t exactly her thing. She could name the leaders of the hundred-and-ninety-three U.N. member nations and the three that weren’t, draw a to-scale map of southwest Asia including every city with a population over twenty thousand and most of the clandestine weapon supply routes, on-or-off road. But what lay beyond those doors, not so much.

  “What?” she demanded in a voice that echoed surprisingly in the long stairwell and attracted the attention of some of the closer decorators.

  “Half of the capital’s press corps is through those doors. We’ve had the new Egyptian President visiting this morning and he and President Matthews are finishing a photo op out on the North Portico at the moment. That’s why we held back the decorating until after his visit.”

  “Oh. Right, he’s a leader in the Muslim Brotherhood. Wouldn’t be right.” Alice tried to think of a good comeback, but it failed aborning. Maybe for the moment she’d leave herself in Daniel’s hands and not explore the Famous Alice Doors. She followed him down the stairs and through the vaulted underground corridor they’d now entered, not one bit less grand than the main hallway upstairs, if not quite so flashy. No decorations here. At least not yet.