by Nora Roberts
falling in gentle folds to her ankles. It was low cut, but not extreme, the soft swell of her breasts merely hinted at above the neckline. Yes, Hillary decided as she moved, the drifting material following in a lovingly lazy manner, it’s stunning.
Earlier that day, she had modeled an exquisite sable coat. She remembered the feel of the fur against her chin and sighed. Larry had captured the first expression of delight and desire as she had buried her face against the collar. But Hillary knew now that she would rather have this negligee than ten sables. There was something special about it, as though it had been created with her in mind.
She walked from the dressing room and stood watching as Larry completed his setup. He has outdone himself this time, she mused with admiration. The lighting was soft and gentle, like a room lit with candles, and he had set up backlighting, giving the illusion of moonlight streaming. The effect was both romantic and subtle.
“Ah, good, you’re ready.” Larry turned from his task, then, focusing on her directly, let out a low whistle. “You’re gorgeous. Every man who sees your picture will be dying for love of you, and every woman will be putting herself in your place. Sometimes you still amaze me.”
She laughed and moved to join him as the studio door opened. Turning, the gown drifting about her, she saw Bret enter the room with Charlene on his arm. Blue eyes locked with gray before his traveled slowly over her with the intensity of a physical caress.
He took his time in bringing his eyes back to her face. “You look extraordinary, Hillary.”
“Thanks.” She swallowed the huskiness of her voice and her gaze moved from his to encounter Charlene’s icy stare. The shock was like a cold shower and Hillary wished with all her heart that Bret had not chosen to bring his shapely companion with him.
“We’re just getting started.” Larry’s matter-of-fact tone shattered the spell, and three heads turned to him.
“Don’t let us hold things up,” Bret said easily. “Charlene wanted to see the project that’s been keeping me so busy.”
His implication that Charlene had a stake in his life caused Hillary’s spirits to plummet. Shaking off encroaching depression, she reminded herself that what she felt for Bret was strictly one-sided.
“Stand here, Hil,” Larry directed, and she drifted to the indicated spot.
Muted lighting lent a glow to her skin, as soft on her cheek as a lover’s caress. Soft backlighting shone through the filmy material, enticingly silhouetting her curves.
“Good,” Larry stared, and, switching on the wind machine, he added, “perfect.”
The easy breeze from the machine lifted her hair and rippled her gown. Picking up his camera, Larry began to shoot. “That’s good, now lift your hair. Good, good, you’ll drive them crazy.” His instructions came swiftly, and her expressions and stances changed in rapid succession. “Now, look right into the camera—it’s the man you love. He’s coming to take you into his arms.” Her eyes flew to the back of the studio where Bret stood linked with Charlene. Her eyes met his and a tremor shook her body. “Come on, Hillary, I want passion, not panic. Come on now, baby, look at the camera.”
She swallowed and obeyed. Slowly, she allowed her dreams to take command, allowed the camera to become Bret. A Bret looking at her not only with desire, but with love. He came to her with love and need. He was holding her close as she remembered him holding her. His hands moved gently over her as his lips claimed hers after he whispered the words she longed to hear.
“That does it, Hillary.”
Lost in her own world, she blinked and stared at Larry without comprehension.
“That was great. I fell in love with you myself.”
Letting out a deep breath, she shut her eyes a moment and sighed at her own imagination. “I suppose we could get married and breed little lenses,” she murmured as she headed for the dressing room.
“Bret, that negligee is simply marvelous.” Charlene’s words halted Hillary’s progress. “I really must have it, darling. You can get it for me, can’t you?” Charlene’s voice was low and seductive as she ran a well-manicured hand along Bret’s arm.
“Hmm? Sure,” he assented, his eyes on Hillary. “If you want it, Charlene.”
Hillary’s mouth fell open with astonishment. His casual gift to the woman at his side wounded her beyond belief. She stared at him for a few moments before fleeing to her dressing room.
In the privacy of the dressing room, she leaned against the wall battling the pain. How could he? she cried inwardly. The gown was special, it was hers, she belonged in it. She closed her eyes and stifled a sob. She had even imagined him holding her in it, loving her, and now … it would be Charlene’s. He would look at Charlene, his eyes dark with desire. His hands would caress Charlene’s body through the misty softness. Now a fierce anger began to replace the pain. If that was what he wanted, well, they were welcome to it—both of them. She stripped herself from frothy white folds and dressed.
When she left the dressing room, Bret was alone in the studio, sitting negligently behind Larry’s desk. Summoning all her pride, Hillary marched to him and dropped the large box on its cluttered surface.
“For your friend. You’ll want to have it laundered first.”
She turned to make her exit with as much dignity as possible, but was out-maneuvered as his hand closed over her wrist.
“What’s eating you, Hillary?” He stood, keeping his grip firm and towering over her.
“Eating me?” she repeated, glaring up at him. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Drop it, Hillary,” he ordered, the familiar steel entering both voice and eyes. “You’re upset, and I mean to know why.”
“Upset?” She tugged fiercely at her arm. As her efforts for liberation proved fruitless, her anger increased. “If I’m upset, it’s my own affair. It’s not in my contract that I’m obliged to explain my emotions to you.” Her free hand went to his in an attempt to pry herself free, but he merely transferred his hold to her shoulders and shook her briskly.
“Stop it! What’s gotten into you?”
“I’ll tell you what’s gotten into me,” she snapped as her hair tumbled around her face. “You walk in here with your redheaded girlfriend and just hand over that gown. She just bats her eyes and says the word, and you hand it over.”
“Is that what all this is about?” he demanded, exasperated. “Good heavens, woman, if you want the damn thing, I’ll get you one.”
“Don’t you patronize me,” she raged at him. “You can’t buy my good humor with your trinkets. Keep your generosity for someone who appreciates it and let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you calm down and we get to the root of the problem.”
Her eyes were suddenly filled with uncontrollable tears. “You don’t understand.” She sniffed as tears coursed down her cheeks. “You just don’t understand anything.”
“Stop it!” He began to brush her tears away with his hand. “Tears are my downfall. I can’t handle them. Stop it, Hillary, don’t cry like that.”
“It’s the only way I know how to cry,” she said, weeping miserably.
He swore under his breath. “I don’t know what this is all about. A nightgown can’t be worth all this! Here, take it—it’s obviously important to you.” He picked up the box, holding it out to her. “Charlene has plenty.” The last words, uttered in an attempt to lighten her mood, had precisely the reverse effect.
“I don’t want it. I don’t ever want to see it again,” she shouted, her voice made harsh by tears. “I hope you and your lover thoroughly enjoy it.” With this, she whirled, grabbed her coat, and ran from the studio with surprising speed.
Outside, she stood on the sidewalk, stomping her feet against the cold. Stupid! she accused herself. Stupid to get so attached to a piece of cloth. But no more stupid than getting attached to an arrogant, unfeeling man whose interests lay elsewhere. Spotting a cab, she stepped forward to flag it down when she was spun around to face the buttons on
Bret’s leather coat.
“I’ve had enough of your tantrums, Hillary, and I don’t tolerate being walked out on.” His voice was low and dangerous, but Hillary tilted back her head to meet his gaze boldly.
“We have nothing more to say.”
“We have plenty more to say.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” She spoke with the exaggerated patience an adult uses when addressing a slow-witted child. “You’re just a man.”
She heard the sharp intake of his breath as he moved toward her.
“You’re right about one thing, I am a man,” she heard him whisper before he pulled her close, crushing her mouth in an angry kiss, forcing her lips to open to his demands. The world emptied but for his touch, and the two stood locked together, oblivious to the people who walked the sidewalk behind them.
When at last he freed her, she drew back from him, her breath coming quickly. “Now that you’ve proven your masculinity, I really must go.”
“Come back upstairs. We’ll finish our discussion.”
“Our discussion is finished.”
“Not quite.” He began to drag her back toward the studio.
I can’t be alone with him now, she thought wildly. Not now, when I’m already so vulnerable. He could see too much too easily.
“Really, Bret.” She was proud of the calmness of her voice. “I do hate to create a scene, but if you continue to play the caveman I shall be forced to scream. And I can scream very loud.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Yes,” Hillary corrected, digging in her heels. “I would.”
“Hillary.” He turned, maintaining possession of her arm. “We have things to clear up.”
“Bret, it’s gotten blown out of proportion.” She spoke sweetly, ignoring the weakness in her legs. “We’ve both had our outburst of temper—let’s just leave it at that. The entire thing was silly anyway.”
“It didn’t seem silly to you upstairs.”
The slender hold on her control was slipping rapidly, and she looked up at him in a last ditch attempt. “Please, Bret, drop it. We’re all temperamental sometimes.”
“Very well,” he agreed after a pause. “We’ll drop it for the time being.”
Hillary sighed tremulously. She felt that if she stayed any longer she ran the risk of agreeing to whatever he asked. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a passing cab, and she put her fingers to her mouth to whistle it down.
Bret’s mouth lifted in irrepressible amusement. “You never cease to surprise me.”
Her answer was lost as she slammed the cab door behind her.
Chapter Five
Christmas was approaching, and the city was decorated in its best holiday garb. Hillary watched from her window as cars and people bustled through the brightly lit streets. The snow fell upon city sidewalks, the drifting white adding to her holiday mood. She watched the huge flakes float to earth like down from a giant pillow.
Shooting of the layout was complete, and she had seen little of Bret in the past few days. She would be seeing less of him, she realized, a shaft of gloom darkening her cheerful mood. Now that her part in the project was over, there would be no day-to-day contact, no chance meetings. She sighed and shook her head. I’m going home tomorrow, she reminded herself, home for Christmas.
That was what she needed, she told herself, closing her eyes on the image of Bret’s handsome features. A complete change of scene. Ten days to help heal her heart, time to reevaluate all the plans she had laid out, which now seemed hopelessly dull and unsatisfying.
The knock on the door caused her to remove her face, which had been pressed against the glass. “Who is it?” she called as she placed her hand on the knob.
“Santa Claus.”
“B-Bret?” she stammered, thrown off balance. “Is that you?”
“Just can’t fool you, can I?” After a slight pause, he asked, “Are you going to let me in, or do we have to talk through the door?”
“Oh, sorry.” She fumbled with the latch and opened the door, staring at his lean form, which leaned negligently against the frame.
“You’re locking up these days.” His eyes swept her pearl-colored velour housecoat before he brought them back to hers. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Oh, sure.” Hillary stood back to let him enter, desperately searching for lost composure. “I, ah, I thought Santa came down the chimney.”
“Not this one,” he returned dryly, and removed his coat. “I could use some of your famous Scotch. It’s freezing out there.”
“Now I’m totally disillusioned. I thought Santa thrived on cookies and milk.”
“If he’s half the man I think he is, he’s got a flask in that red suit.”
“Cynic,” she accused, and retreated to the kitchen. Finding the Scotch easily this time, she poured a measure into a glass.
“Very professional.” Bret observed from the doorway. “Aren’t you going to join me in some holiday cheer?”
“Oh, no.” Hillary wrinkled her nose in disgust. “This stuff tastes like the soap I had my mouth washed out with once.”
“You’ve got class, Hillary,” he stated wryly, and took the glass from her hand. “I won’t ask you what your mouth was washed out for.”
“I wouldn’t tell you anyway.” She smiled, feeling at ease with the casual banter.
“Well, have something, I hate to drink alone.”
She reached into the refrigerator and removed a pitcher of orange juice.
“You do live dangerously, don’t you?” he commented as she poured. She raised the glass in toast and they returned to the living room.
“I heard you’re off to Kansas in the morning,” he said as she seated himself on the sofa. Hillary strategically made use of the chair facing him.
“That’s right, I’ll be home until the day after New Year’s.”
“Then I’ll wish you both a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year early.” He lifted his glass to her. “I’ll think of you when the clock strikes twelve.”
“I’m sure you’ll be too busy to think of me at the stroke of midnight,” she retorted, and cursed herself for losing the calm, easy tone.
He smiled and sipped his Scotch. “I’m sure I’ll find a minute to spare.” Hillary frowned into her glass and refrained from a comment. “I’ve something for you, Hillary.” He rose and, picking up his jacket, removed a small package from its pocket. Hillary stared at it dumbly, then raised her expressive eyes to his.
“Oh, but … I didn’t think … that is … I don’t have anything for you.”
“Don’t you?” he asked lazily, and color rushed to her cheeks.
“Really, Bret, I can’t take it. I wouldn’t feel right.”
“Think of it as a gift from the emperor to one of his subjects.” He took the glass from her hand and placed the package in its stead.
“You have a long memory.” She smiled in spite of herself.
“Like an elephant,” he said, then, with a touch of impatience: “Open it. You know you’re dying to.”
She stared at the package, conceding with a sigh. “I never could resist anything wrapped in Christmas paper.” She tore the elegant foil away, then caught her breath as she opened the box and revealed its contents. Earrings of deep sapphire stones blinked up from their backing of velvet.
“They reminded me of your eyes, brilliantly blue and exquisite. It seemed a crime for them to belong to anyone else.”
“They’re beautiful, really very beautiful,” she murmured when she found her voice. Turning her sapphire eyes to his, she added, “You really shouldn’t have bought them for me, I—”
“I shouldn’t have,” he interrupted, “but you’re glad I did.”
She had to smile. “Yes, I am. It was a lovely thing to do. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do.” He drew her from the chair, his arms slipping around her. “This will do nicely.” His lips met hers and, after a moment’s hesitation, she respo
nded, telling herself she was only showing her gratitude for his thoughtfulness. As the kiss lingered, her gratitude was forgotten. He lifted his mouth, and dazedly she made to move from the warm circle of his arms. “There are two earrings, love.” His mouth claimed possession again, now more demanding, and her lips parted beneath his insistence. Her body seemed to melt against his, her arms twining around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. She was lost in the feel of him, all thought ceasing, her only reality his mouth on hers, and his hard body blending with her yielding softness.
When at last their lips separated, he looked down at her, his eyes darkened with emotion. “It’s a pity you’ve only got two ears.” His voice was husky, and his head lowered toward hers.
She dropped her forehead to his chest and attempted to catch her breath. “Please, Bret,” she whispered, her hands slipping from his neck to his shoulders. “I can’t think when you kiss me.”
