Kitabı oku: «Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas», sayfa 2

Lucy couldn’t help being wicked when she was around Kate. “I bet it could use some lubrication.”

“Atta girl!”

“But I think you’d have to stand in line.”

“With you?” Kate asked, her eyes sparkling.

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Cheated on and heartbroken an hour ago, remember?”

“Well, cheated on, anyway,” said Kate, perceptive as always.

“Touché,” Lucy admitted, not terribly surprised to realize she was already feeling better. What had felt like heartbreak ninety minutes ago had segued into a heart cramp. Now it was barely a heart twinge.

Kate glanced at her empty cup, and at Lucy’s. “One more?”

“Sure.”

“I got it,” the other woman said, grabbing her bag. She stood up and walked toward the counter near the front of the shop.

Lucy sighed deeply, then forced herself to put Jude out of her mind. Time to forget about him. He hadn’t been her lover, merely a boyfriend who’d gotten a hand down her pants just once in three months. Absolutely forgettable.

Besides which, she had other things to think about. Like Christmas, now just two days away. And the fact that she was spending it alone.

Your own fault. She’d made the choice. Kate was going away with Teddy tonight so the apartment would be empty. But Sam had begged her to come back to Chicago to celebrate Christmas with his fiancée’s family. Lucy had refused, claiming she had too much work to do over the holidays.

Truth was, she couldn’t handle a big family Christmas. The last traditional holiday season she’d experienced had been a week before her parents had been swept from her life by a stupid asshole who’d decided to celebrate a promotion by having a few bourbons, then getting behind the wheel of a car.

It had been just her and Sam for five years now, and each Christmas had been more nontraditional than the last. One year ago, they’d been in Mexico, lying on a beach, ignoring the merriment around them in favor of rum drinks and steel drums.

Though Sam was ready to dive back into the holiday spirit with his new fiancée, somehow, Lucy just couldn’t face it yet. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to again. Christmas had once been her favorite holiday; it seemed almost sacrilege to enjoy it without the two people who had made it so special for the first seventeen years of her life.

Now she had another thing to add to her why-I-should-skip Christmas list: she’d been cheated on—right before the holiday. The angel on the top of Jude’s tree had borne witness to the extension-wearing ho who went around sucking on dicks that belonged to other girls. Er, other girls’ boyfriends.

“The whole holiday is just overrated,” she told herself. “Better off just forgetting about it.”

Not to mention a few other things. Like love. Romance.

And men.

“EXCUSE ME, SIR, can I ask you a favor?”

Ross Marshall heard a young woman speaking, but since he knew she wasn’t talking to him, he didn’t bother turning around. He instead remained focused on putting the finishing touches on the custom-made bookcase he’d been asked to install today. Thankfully, despite his concerns about the off-kilter walls in this old New York building, every shelving unit he’d built for Beans & Books had fit beautifully. Including this last one.

“Sir?”

Though curious, since the voice sounded a little insistent, again he ignored her. He tried to avoid the customers and usually didn’t work until later in the evening when the shop was closed. The owner really wanted the final unit installed today, however—gotta have more shelf space to grab those crazy day-before-Christmas-Eve shoppers who’d be filling the aisles tonight. So he’d agreed to come in right after the frenetic lunch hour but before the five o’clock rush.

He’d still arrived just in time to listen to modern-day robber barons having power coffees while making let’s-take-over-the-world deals via Bluetooth. Oh, and their trophy wives stopping by between Junior League meetings and museum openings to grab a Fat-Free Cappuccino with Soy milk and carob drizzle.

Manhattan was like a different planet. He preferred Chicago, which he’d called home for the first twenty-three of his twenty-four years. It was almost as big and half as pretentious.

“Hellooooo?”

Finally realizing the woman might actually be speaking to him, which he hadn’t imagined since in New York nobody called hammer jockeys “sir,” he turned around. The young woman had been addressing him—she was staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed and her mouth tugged down into a frown.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” He offered her a smile. “I’m not used to being called sir.”

The blonde relaxed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Hey, listen, could I ask you a big favor?”

He stiffened the tiniest bit. He might not be used to being called sir around here, but he’d received a lot of suggestive invitations lately. It seemed men with calluses were, for some reason, catnip to the rich Manhattan types. “Yes?”

“See my friend over there at the table in the far corner?”

Ross glanced over, seeing the back of a woman seated in the shadowy rear corner of the place. Then he looked again, interested despite himself in the stunning, thick brown hair that fell in loose, curly waves halfway down her back. She stood out from every other female in the place—most of whom sported a more typical, reserved, New York professional-woman’s blow-out or bun. Ross’s hands started to tingle, as if anticipating what it might be like to sink his fingers into those silky strands.

He shoved them into his pockets. “What about her?”

“She’s my best friend—we’re both students. Anyway, she needs some help for this project she’s working on. We’ve been sitting over there talking about it and trying to figure out what tool would be best.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “But we’re both pretty clueless about that kind of stuff. Do you think you could go over and offer her your expertise?”

It sounded screwy to him, and the young woman looked like she was about to break into a grin. But something—that hair—made him curious to see more of the girl with the tool problem.

He looked again. This time, the brunette had turned a little, as if looking around for her friend, and he caught a glimpse of her face. Creamy-skin. Cute nose. Long lashes. Full mouth.

His heart-rate kicked up a notch; he was interested in spite of himself. “What kind of job is it?” he asked as he began to pack up his portable toolbox.

“Well, uh…it might be best if she explains that herself.” As if sensing he was skeptical, she added, “She’s a photography student, you see, and I’m in journalism. Between the two of us, we barely know the difference between a hammer and a chainsaw.”

He shouldn’t. Really. Even though he was finished here, he had some things to do for another project scheduled to start the day after Christmas. He needed to phone in a few orders, go to the lumberyard, go over the design he’d sketched out.

Of course, all that would have to come after he risked life and limb at the most miserable place on earth to be today: the nearest shipping store. He had to get his family’s Christmas gifts sent off, via overnight delivery, obviously. Seemed in the past week he had gone from busy self-employed carpenter to forgetful procrastinating shopper. Bad enough that he wasn’t going home for Christmas; if he didn’t get a gift in front of his youngest sister, he’d never hear the end of it.

Yet even with all that, he was tempted to take ten minutes to see if the brunette was really as attractive as she looked from here. Not to mention seeing what this mystery project was.

“Please? I’m sure it won’t take long. Besides, helping someone else will put you in the holiday spirit,” the girl said, managing to sound pious, despite the mischief in her expression.

He chuckled at her noble tone. Her smile and the twinkle in her eyes told him something else was going on. She was probably playing some kind of matchmaking game. Hell, for all he knew, the brunette had put her up to this, wanting to meet him but not wanting to come on too strong.

That was okay. Because he suddenly wanted to meet her, too.

And if the blonde was on the up-and-up, and the woman did need some help, well, that was okay, too. Maybe doing something nice for someone—someone super hot with soft-looking hair he wanted to rub all over his bare skin—was just what he needed. Certainly nothing else was putting him in the holiday spirit. he was too busy working—trying to prove to himself and to everyone else that he could make it on his own and didn’t need to go to work in the family business—to care much about celebrating.

His mom suspected that was why he wasn’t coming home for Christmas, because he didn’t want to get another guilt trip or have another argument with his dad. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Okay,” he said, seeing the shop owner smiling broadly at him from behind the counter, obviously thrilled that even more expensive holiday junk could be shoveled in front of potential customers within the hour. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The freckled blonde turned and headed not for her friend in the back corner, but toward the door of the shop. Like she was making herself scarce so her friend could make her move. He grinned, wondering why girls went through these motions. He would probably have been even more interested if the brunette had just come up to him herself and said hello.

Finishing up with a customer, the owner came out from around the counter. He offered Ross his exuberant thanks for having squeezed in this job so quickly. Ross accepted the check for final payment—which, he noted, included a nice holiday bonus—then shook the man’s hand and picked up his tools. Then it was decision time. Head for the exit and get busy doing what he needed to do? Or take a few minutes out of his day to possibly be hit-on by a very pretty girl who’d gotten her friend to play matchmaker?

Hell. He might be hungry, might need work to pay his bills. But he was twenty-four, human and male. Pretty girl trumped food any day of the week.

Heading toward her table, he brushed some sawdust off his arms, nodding politely at the several women who smiled and murmured holiday greetings. The brunette hadn’t moved from her seat, though he did see her look from side to side, as if she wanted to turn around to see if he was coming over, but didn’t wish to be too obvious about it.

She so set this up.

Frankly, Ross couldn’t bring himself to care.

He walked up behind her, about to clear his throat and introduce himself, when he heard her say something. She was alone, obviously, and had to be talking to herself. And what she said pierced a hole in the ego that had been telling him she’d sent a friend over to get his attention.

“You know you’d have been scared to even pick up a chainsaw,” she muttered. “Or even an electric knife!”

Damn. She really was talking about tools? Some project that she needed to do?

Ross had to laugh at himself. Wouldn’t his youngest sister—always his biggest critic—be laughing her ass off right now? He’d been all cocky and sure this sexy coed was about to come on to him…and she really was interested only in his toolbelt.

“Forget the electric knife,” he said, intruding on her musings, the carpenter in him shuddering at the thought. “They’re not made for cutting anything other than meat.”

The girl swung her head up to look at him, her eyes rounding in shock and her mouth dropping open.

Big brown eyes. Full, pink-lipped mouth.

Then there was the perfect, heart-shaped face. And oh, that hair. Thick and shining, with soft brown waves that framed her face, and curls that tumbled well down her back. There wasn’t a guy alive who wouldn’t imagine all that hair being the only thing wrapped around her naked body; well, except for his own naked body.

He stared, unable to do anything else. She’d been pretty from across the room. Up close, she was beautiful enough to make his heart forget it was supposed to beat.

“Excuse me?” she said, shaking her head lightly as if she couldn’t figure out what was happening. “What did you say?”

He cleared his throat. “I said, you need to use the right tool for the job. Electric knives are for cutting meat. Now what is it you were thinking about cutting through?”

“Meat,” she replied, then quickly clamped her lips shut.

He laughed, admiring her quick wit. “Beef or pork?”

“I’d say pork loin,” she replied, her mouth twisting a bit. “But I was joking. I definitely don’t need to cut any meat.”

“I figured,” he said. Without waiting for an invitation, he walked around the table and sat in the vacant chair, facing her. He told himself it was because he’d promised her friend he’d offer her some construction advice. In truth, he just wanted to look at her a little more. Hear her voice. See whether she had a personality to go with the looks.

Most guys his age probably wouldn’t care. Ross, though, did.

He might be young, but he wasn’t inexperienced. And he’d learned very early on that a pretty face and smoking-hot body were enough before hitting the sheets. But after that, if there wasn’t a great sense of humor, big heart and a brain to go along with the sexiness, he just couldn’t stay interested. Some of his old college buddies used to joke about being happy with tits-on-a-stick. Ross preferred a real woman, from top to bottom.

She seemed like she had a brain. Right now, though, he was wondering about that whole personality thing. Because she just kept staring at him, her face turning pink, as if she didn’t know what to say.

Or she was embarrassed.

Hmm. So maybe this wasn’t about some mystery project. Because the way she was blushing made him suspect she’d had something wicked on her mind.

More interesting by the minute.

“So, what is this big project?”

“Project?”

“Yeah. Your friend came over, told me you needed some advice on tools for a project you’re doing.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes for a second, then whispered, “I’m going to kill her.”

“Maybe that’s why she left—she needed a running start.”

“She left?”

“Yep. Right after she came to ask me to help you.”

Groaning, she shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“So, she was trying to set us up?”

“I think so.”

“What kind of friend does that?” he asked. “She doesn’t know me—what if I’m some kind of serial killer or panty thief?”

Her brow went up. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Either of those things?”

He grinned. “No on the first. I’ll take the fifth on the second until we get to know each other.” Certain he wanted that—to get to know her—he stuck out his hand. “I’m Ross.”

She eyed it, then reached out and shook. Her hand was small, soft. Fragile against his own. Having worked only with his hands for months, he knew he had calluses on top of blisters, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she was the one who held on for a moment, as if not wanting to let go.

Finally, though, she pulled away, murmuring, “Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You, too. Especially now that I know you’re not a serial killer.” She flashed a grin. “As for the other, remind me not to walk into Victoria’s Secret with you…wouldn’t want to get arrested as an accomplice.”

“What fun would there be in stealing brand-new panties?” Then, seeing her brow shoot up, he held up a hand. “Kidding. Believe me, stealing underwear isn’t my thing.”

“Helping mystery girls with mysterious projects is?”

“Uh-huh. Now, mysterious girl, back to the mysterious project.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Your friend made it up?”

She shifted her gaze, those long lashes lowering. “Not exactly. I was, um, wondering which tool to use to, uh, remove something. And she obviously thought it would be fun to bring you into my fantasies.” She gasped, staring him in the eye. “I mean, I wasn’t…it’s not that I was fantasizing about you!”

“Aww, I’m crushed.”

“If you knew the fantasy, you wouldn’t be,” she said, her tone droll.

“So why don’t you tell me?” he asked, only half-teasing. What did a beautiful young woman fantasize about? More importantly, who?

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, trust me on this, I definitely do.”

She studied him for a moment, eyeing him intently as if to see if he was serious. Then, apparently realizing he was, she came right out and told him.

3

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

JUST BECAUSE ROSS Marshall hadn’t seen Lucy Fleming for six years did not mean he didn’t instantly recognize her. It did, however, mean his heart literally thudded in his chest and his brain seemed to flatline. The huge, open reception area of his office—decorated with lights and greenery—seemed to darken. It also appeared to shrink, squeezing in tight, crushing his ribs, making his head throb, sending him off-kilter. He couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

Well, maybe one. You cut your hair? He had the presence of mind to notice that the long, riotous curls that had once fallen well down her back had been tamed and shortened. Then everything just went blank.

She couldn’t be here, right? Could not possibly be here. This had to be a dream—he was still sleeping and she was visiting his nighttime fantasies, as she so often had over the years.

He couldn’t resist, needing to grab the moment before he woke up. He lifted a hand, put it on her shoulder, felt the solid, real person beneath the elf costume. She didn’t immediately pull away, and he leaned a little bit closer, breathing deeply, recognizing the scent that was uniquely Lucy. Not a perfume or a lotion or her shampoo. Just something distinctive and evocative that called to his memories, reminding him that she had been the one.

And he’d let her get away.

“You’re not dreaming,” she told him, her tone dry.

He dropped his hand and stepped back, needing to get his head back in the game. “Guess that means you’re not, either.”

“That thought did cross my mind,” she said, her big brown eyes inquisitive. “I certainly never expected to run into you, today of all days.”

He knew the day. Knew it well. Which just made the meeting all the more surreal. “Same here,” he mumbled.

They both fell silent. Lucy appeared as stunned as he was.

Well, why wouldn’t she be? They hadn’t laid eyes on each other in years. Despite what had happened between them, what they’d shared over that one amazing holiday season, not one word had been exchanged between them since mid-January, nearly six years ago. Not a card, not a phone call. No chance of bumping into each other since, the last he’d known, she had been bound for Europe.

But here she was. Not just in Chicago, but in his office.

His freaking office!

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his brain not catching up yet. It should be obvious. Lucy had been studying photography when they’d met. Besides which, she was carrying a camera bag. And was dressed as an elf.

A smile tried to tug at his lips. He remembered that elf costume. Remembered it so well.

Suddenly he was remembering everything so well.

Some things too well.

“I’m working,” she said, her head going up, that pretty mouth tightening. “Did you happen to notice the picture-with-Santa session that’s been going on for the past couple of hours?”

He’d barely noticed anything that was going on, being too busy working to socialize. The employee Christmas party had been a long-standing tradition with Elite Construction, the company his grandfather had founded, and he now ran. That didn’t mean the boss ever had much time to participate in it. He’d made the rounds, thanked his employees, greeted their kids and wives, then retreated back into his office for the last two hours, only coming out to say goodbye now that things were winding down.

“I noticed,” he finally replied.

“Well, that was me behind the camera.”

“I know that, I heard you did a great job and was coming over to meet you,” he said, still knocked off-kilter by her mere presence.

“Sorry, Santa’s gone. No more pictures. Though, if you want to sit on the chair, I guess I could snap a shot of you holding a candy cane and a teddy bear.”

Still sassy. God, he’d always liked that about her.

“I meant, I was coming to thank you for agreeing to do the party on such short notice.”

“You didn’t know I was the elf until just now?” she asked, sounding slightly suspicious. As if wondering if he’d set up this little reunion.

Huh. If he’d known she was nearby, he might have considered doing just that—even though Lucy probably wouldn’t have been thrilled about it, judging by the look on her face.

“I swear, I had no idea.” He was suddenly very interested in talking to his assistant, wondering how she’d found Lucy. He also wondered if the motherly, slightly nosy woman had been doing a little matchmaking. He wouldn’t put it past her. She was nothing if not a closet romantic.

“My real question was,” he continued, “what are you doing here in Chicago? You swore you’d never live here. Hell, I figured you’d be in Europe.”

That had been her dream, living overseas, being a world-traveling photographer. So what had happened? She had seemed utterly determined that she would never stay near home and take…Santa pictures of little kids.

He glanced at the velvet-covered chair, the fluffy fake snow, the tripod, and her, back in that elf suit.

How on earth had her life gotten so derailed?

“I was for a while, did my semester abroad and went back right after graduation,” she said.

Just as she’d planned. Which was one reason he’d stayed out of touch, knowing an entire ocean was going to separate them, so why bother trying to make something work when geography said it couldn’t?

“And?”

“And I wasn’t happy, so I ended up back in New York a few years ago.”

Years. She’d been on the same continent for years. A short plane ride away. The thought made him slightly sick to his stomach, especially considering the number of times he’d thought about her during that same time span. The curiosity about whether she’d kept the same cell phone number and whether it would work in Paris.

Maybe not. But it probably would have in New York. Damn.

“How did Chicago enter the equation?”

“You remember, I grew up in this area?”

He remembered, but she’d seemed adamant about never coming back here, associating it with her tragic loss. “I remember.”

“Well, I moved back here ten months ago to be closer my brother.”

Even as another wave of shocked pleasure washed over him—she’d moved here, to the very same city—the brother’s name immediately popped into his mind. “Sam?”

“Right. He went through a pretty bad divorce and I thought he could use some family nearby.”

“That’s a shame…about the divorce, I mean.”

“Yes, it is. I really thought they’d make it.”

“Does anybody anymore?” he mumbled before he could think better of it.

Her whole body stiffened, and he mentally kicked himself for going there. Because he and Lucy sure hadn’t.

Then again, had they expected to? Hell, what had happened between them had been so sudden, so unexpected. Neither of them had been in the right place for any kind of relationship—mentally, emotionally, financially, or in any other way.

Except physically. Oh, yeah. There they’d been absolutely perfect together.

It had been so good during the incredibly brief time it lasted. Honestly, looking back, he could say it was the best Christmas Eve he’d ever had in his life.

Followed by the worst Christmas Day.

“How do you like being back in Chicago?” he asked, sensing she was trying to gracefully exit stage left.

“It’s cold,” she said with a shrug, not giving an inch, not softening up a bit. Hell, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“You look like you’ve done well for yourself,” she said, an almost grudging tone to her voice. She looked him over, head-to-toe, as if wondering where the jeans, T-shirt and tool belt had gone.

Some days—many days—he longed for them. Wearing a suit—even if he usually lost the tie and rolled-up his sleeves at some point every day—just didn’t excite him the way working with his hands always had. “I guess. And you?”

She nodded. “I have my own studio.”

“Still boycott Christmas?”

She glanced down at her costume. “As much as I possibly can, which isn’t easy in my line of work. You still a sappy kid about it?”

He nodded, unashamed. “Absolutely.” Even if, for the past five holiday seasons, he’d spent a lot more time wondering about Lucy—where she’d gone, if she’d stayed in Europe, become a famous photographer—than he had worrying about what present to get for which sister, niece or nephew.

As if they’d both run out of small talk for the moment, they returned to staring. Ross couldn’t deny it, the years had been good to her; Lucy was beautiful. No perky little elf hat complete with feather could take away from that. Nor could the short dress, striped tights—oh, God, those tights, did they ever bring back memories—and pointytipped shoes.

She should look cute and adorable. Instead she looked hot and sexy, bringing wild, intense memories to his mind of the last time he’d seen her wearing that very same outfit.

He was suddenly—forcibly—reminded of how long it had been since he’d had sex.

Good sex? Even longer.

Fabulous, never-forget-it, once-in-a-lifetime sex?

Six years. No doubt about it.

He swallowed as memories flooded over him, having to shift a little. Lucy had always affected him physically. Damned if he wanted anyone to notice that now, though. The CEO wasn’t supposed to sport wood at the corporate holiday party.

“I’m impressed that you can still fit into that,” he admitted against his own better judgment. “But not too surprised. You haven’t changed a bit.”

She flushed. “Maybe not physically. But I’m not the same sweet, wide-eyed kid anymore.”

He barked a laugh. “Sweet kid? Aren’t you the same person who was planning to dismember her ex-boyfriend when we met?”

“I didn’t actually do it.”

No, she hadn’t. As he recalled, Ross had enjoyed the pleasure of taking her ex apart. And it had felt damn good, too.

“That’s good—I’d hate to think you’ve spent the last six years in jail.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t stopped calling, you’d know where I spent the last six years,” she replied, ever-so-sweetly.

Direct hit. He winced. “Look, Lucy…”

She waved a hand, obviously angry at herself for having said anything. “Forget it. Water under the bridge.”

“You know what I was going through—why I left New York.” Of course she knew, she’d been there when he’d gotten the call that brought him back home.

“I know,” she said. “I understood…I understand.”

Maybe. But that not-staying-in-touch thing obviously still rankled.

He’d probably asked himself a dozen times over the years why he hadn’t at least tried to get back in touch with her once his life had returned to something resembling normal. Maybe a hundred times. It always came back to the same thing: he was stuck. His life was here. Hers was…anywhere she wanted it to be. And she’d wanted it to be in another country, and a completely different reality from his, which was filled with contracts and workers-comp issues and the cost of lumber.

She’d been off to capture the world one still image at a time. He’d been boxed in, chained to the past, owing too much to other people to just go and live his life the way he had wanted to.

Not that it had turned out badly. He actually loved running the business and had done a damn fine job of it. He was glad to live in Chicago. He liked the vibe of this city, the people and the culture. So no, he didn’t regret coming back here. He had only one regret. Her.

“And now here you are,” he murmured, though he hadn’t intended to say it out loud.

“Don’t make a big thing of it,” she insisted. “I had no idea you worked here.”

“And if you had known? Would you have taken the job today, risked bumping into me?”

She didn’t reply. Which was answer enough.

Lucy really was mad at him. Well, that made two of them; he was mad at himself. Plenty of room for regrets, with six years of what-ifs under his belt. But at the time it had seemed like he was doing the right thing—the best thing—for both of them.

Of course, he’d questioned that just about every day since.

“Excuse me, Ross?”

He glanced away from Lucy, seeing Stella, his administrative assistant, who he’d inherited from his father. Who’d inherited her from his father. Older than dirt didn’t describe her. She had dirt beat—you’d have to go back to the rocks that had been worn down into the dirt to describe her.

You wouldn’t know it to look at her. From the bottled black dye job to the floral-print dress, she could pass for fifty. But Ross knew she’d passed that milestone at least two decades ago. He dreaded the day she was no longer around to keep him organized.

Or to matchmake? He was going to have to have a talk with Stella about that. He knew his assistant thought he was stressed and lonely and spent too much time in the office. Plus, Stella knew about Lucy—she was one of the few people who did, having gotten Ross to reveal the story after one long, stressful day. But would she have gone to that much trouble—tracking Lucy down and getting her here? It seemed crazy.

If it was true, he would have to decide whether to give her hell for meddling in his private affairs…or thank her.

The way Lucy wasn’t bothering to hide her dislike made him suspect the former.