Книга - It Happened One Christmas

It Happened One Christmas
Leslie Kelly


Six years ago, Ross Mitchell and Lucy Fleming shared a hot holiday weekend in Manhattan, back when he was just a hard-bodied guy in a tool belt and she was an impulsive photography student.Fast-forward a few Decembers: Ross and Lucy meet again, by chance, at his office Christmas party. And when they find themselves alone and snowed in after hours, it's not long before they're making their own body heat–again. Only this time, the sex is better than ever!But is it just another holiday romp between the sheets? Or will Lucy and Ross finally get to keep what they really want this year–each other!









That voice sounded so familiar. Impossibly familiar.


Unable to stop herself, Lucy began to turn around, wondering if her ears—and all her other senses—were deceiving her. After all, six years was a long time. What were the odds that she’d bump into him here?

Ross Marshall.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shocked, frozen, staring as thoroughly as she was. “Lucy?”

She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him, wondering why the years had made him even more attractive.

The man was gorgeous. Truly, without-a-doubt, mouth-wateringly handsome, every bit as hot as the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

He’d been her first lover. They’d shared an amazing holiday season. But after that one Christmas, they had never seen each other again.

Until now.







Dear Reader,

I’m a big kid when it comes to Christmas. I love the music and the decorations and the wrapping…the whole holiday feeling in the air.

But many years ago, I realized how difficult Christmas can be when it’s associated too closely with a loss. Christmas of 1989 was incredibly painful for me. Only because I had a one-year-old baby and a wonderful husband was I able to dig myself out of my sadness and try to enjoy the holidays, for their sake.

Remembering those feelings, and drawing on that, I started thinking about a story…about a woman who tries to avoid any kind of “traditional” Christmas because it’s just too hard for her to celebrate a holiday when she has lost the parents who made it so very special for her throughout her life. I loved creating Lucy, the heroine of It Happened One Christmas, who learns to find joy and happiness in the season again, because of a very special man.

I hope you enjoy Lucy and Ross’s story and that you feel just a hint of that Christmas magic in the pages that follow.

Merry Christmas to all!

Leslie Kelly




It Happened One Christmas

Leslie Kelly







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Leslie Kelly has written dozens of novels for the Harlequin Blaze, Temptation and HQN lines. Known for her sparkling dialogue and humor, Leslie has been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award. In 2010, she received the Lifetime Achievement Award in Series Romance from RT Book Reviews. Leslie lives in Maryland with her husband and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.


This one’s dedicated to the Blaze Babes.

It’s such a pleasure being one of you.

Merry Christmas!




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue




1


Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

WHEN LUCY FLEMING HAD been asked to photograph a corporate Christmas event, she’d envisioned tipsy assistants perched on the knees of grabby executives. Too much eggnog, naked backsides hitting the glass-topped copier, somebody throwing up in a desk drawer, hanky-panky in the janitor’s closet—in short, a typical high-end work party where people forgot they were professionals and played teenager-at-the-frat-party, building memories and reputations that would take an entire year to live down.

She’d been wrong. Completely wrong.

Elite Construction, who’d hired her a few days ago when their previous photographer had bailed on them, had chosen to go a different, and much more wholesome, route. They were hosting an afternoon event, a family party for all of their employees as well as important clients, and whoever they cared to bring along—including small children. Catered food, from caviar to corn dogs, appealed to every palate. There were presents beneath a huge tree, pretty decorations, music filled with jingling bells and lots of smiles. It was almost enough to give a non-Christmas person like herself a little holiday tingle.

Oh. Except for the fact that she was working with a very cranky Kris Kringle.

“If they think I’m staying late, they can bite me. I got paid for three hours, not a minute more.”

“We’re almost done,” she told the costumed man, whose bowl-full-of-jelly middle appeared homemade.

If only his nature were as true-to-character as his appearance. Though, she had to admit, right at this particular moment, his foul mood was understandable. He’d had to go dry his pants under a hand-dryer in the men’s room after one boy had gotten so excited he’d peed himself. And Santa.

To be fair, Santa wasn’t the only fraud around here this afternoon. Her own costume didn’t exactly suit her personality, either. She felt like an idiot in the old elf getup, a leftover from her college days. But the kids loved it. And a happy, relaxed kid made for an easy-to-shoot kid…and great pictures.

All in all, she’d have to say this event had been a great success. Both for Elite Construction—whose employees had to be among the happiest in the city today—and for herself. Since moving back to Chicago from New York ten months ago, she’d been trying to build her business up to the level of success she’d had back east. Things were getting better—much—but a quick infusion of cash for an easy afternoon’s work definitely helped.

Finally, after the last child in line had been seen to, Lucy eyed the chubby man in red. “I think that’s about it.” She glanced at a clock on the wall. “Five minutes to spare.”

“Damn good thing,” he said. “God, I hate kids.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open; she couldn’t help gawking. “Then why on earth do you do this?”

He pointed toward himself—his white hair, full beard, big belly. “What else am I gonna do, play the Easter bunny?”

Not unless he wanted to terrify every child on earth into swearing off candy. “Bet you can land a part in the stage version of The Nightmare Before Christmas,” she mumbled. He sure looked like the Oogie Boogie man. And was about as friendly.

Lucy turned to the children lingering around the edges of the area that had been set up as “Santa’s Workshop”—complete with fluffy fake snow, a throne and stuffed reindeer. Whoever had decorated for this party had really done a fantastic job. These kids had already had their turn on the big guy’s lap, but were still crowded around the crotchety St. Nick. “It’s time for Santa to get back to his workshop so he can finish getting ready for his big sleigh ride tomorrow night,” she announced. “Santa, do you want to say anything before you leave?”

Father Friggin’ Christmas grimaced and brushed cookie crumbs off his lap as he rose. “Be good or you won’t get nothin’,” he told them, adding a belly laugh to try to take the sting out of the words. His feigned heartiness fooled everyone under the age of ten, but certainly none of the adults. Waddling through the crowd toward the elevator, he didn’t stop to pat one youngster on the head, or tickle a single chin.

Jerk.

For her part, Lucy found the little ones in their party clothes and patent leather shoes irresistible. Sweet, happy, so filled with life and laughter and excitement. There was one boy who was so photogenic he ought to be on the cover of a magazine, and she was dying to talk to his parents about a formal sitting.

You’ve come a long way, baby.

A very long way. To think she’d once vowed to never take a Santa photo, equating kid portraiture with one of Dante’s circles of hell.

When she’d first set her sites on photography for her future, she’d argued with her brother over leaving Chicago to go to NYU to study. Then they’d argued when she’d decided to go from there to Europe, insisting she didn’t want to take baby’s-first-haircut pictures, dreaming instead of high fashion. Models and travel and exotic locations and French Vogue magazine covers.

She’d done all of that. Well, except for the magazine cover, though one of her shots had landed in a fashion week edition.

Yet, when all was said and done, she’d ended up finding her niche, her innermost talent and her satisfaction, back in the good old U.S. of A., working with children. It was, in this business, her claim to fame. Frankly, she was damn good at it. She’d made a name for herself in New York, her signature being the use of one color image in black and white shots. A toy, a piece of candy, a shirt or bandanna…something bright and sassy that demanded attention. Just like her photographs did.

Now she needed to drum up the same level of business in Chicago—which, despite her having been gone for so many years, was still her hometown. No, she’d never imagined moving back here, but when her brother, Sam, had gone through a messy divorce and seemed so lonely, she’d decided family came before anything else. She was all he had, and vice versa. So she’d returned.

Talk about changing your plans. Who’d have imagined it? Certainly not Lucy. And not her best friend from college, Kate, who still laughed about both her change in career path and in residence. Kate remembered Lucy’s home-and-kids-are-boring stance in the old days.

Kate. She needed to give the other woman a call. Lucy hadn’t seen her friend since she’d moved, though she and Kate kept in touch with frequent calls. Kate’s two children were the ones who’d really opened her mind to the wondrous possibilities of tiny faces and hands and smiles, and she wanted to make sure their Christmas presents had arrived in time.

Those gifts—and working this party in the ridiculous getup—were about the sum total of her Christmas activities this year. Her brother had to work the whole weekend, cops not getting every holiday off the way civilians did. And though she was now back near the Chicago suburb where she’d grown up, she no longer had any close friends here who might have invited her over.

Not that she would have gone. Lucy avoided Christmas like the plague, and had for years. She’d just as soon pretend the holiday wasn’t happening.

Most people would probably think that pathetic; Lucy found it a relief. Especially since the weatherman was saying a storm to rival the one at the start of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was on the way. It was supposed to roll in tonight and shut down the city with a couple of feet of the white stuff by Christmas morning. Sounded like an excellent time to be locked in her warm apartment with her Kindle and a bunch of chocolate and wine. Or chocolate wine—her new addiction.

Eyeing the gray sky through the expansive wall of windows, she began to pack up her gear. The party was winding down, only a dozen or so people remaining on this floor, which had been transformed from cubicles and meeting rooms to a holiday funland. She smiled at those nearest to her, then, seeing the glances at her silly hat, reached up to tug it off her head.

Before she could do it, however, she heard a voice. A deep, male voice—smooth and sexy, and so not Santa’s.

“I hear that you did a terrific job.”

Lucy didn’t respond, letting her brain process what she was hearing. Her whole body had stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her skin tightening into tiny goose bumps. Because that voice sounded familiar. Impossibly familiar.

It can’t be.

“It sounds like the kids had a great time.”

Unable to stop herself, she began to turn around, wondering if her ears—and all her other senses—were deceiving her. After all, six years was a long time, the mind could play tricks. What were the odds that she’d bump into him here? And today of all days. December 23. Six years exactly. Was that really possible?

One look—and the accompanying frantic thudding of her heart—and she knew her ears and brain were working just fine. Because it was him. Ross Marshall.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shocked, frozen, staring as intently as she was. “Lucy?”

She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him, wondering why the years had made him even more attractive than ever. It didn’t seem fair, or just. Not when she’d spent the past six years thinking he must have started losing that thick, golden-brown hair, or added a spare tire to that trim, muscular form or lost some of the sparkle from those green eyes.

Huh-uh.

The man was gorgeous. Truly, without-a-doubt, mouthwateringly handsome, and every bit as hot as he’d been the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But he wasn’t that young, lean, hungry-looking guy anymore. Now he was all fully realized, powerful, strong—and devastatingly attractive—man.

She’d been twenty-two when they met, he two years older. And during the brief time they’d spent together, Ross had blown away all her preconceived notions of who she was, what she wanted and what she would do when the right guy came along.

He’d been her first lover.

They’d shared an amazing holiday season. But after that one Christmas, they had never seen each other again. Until now.

Well, doesn’t this just suck?

“Hello, Ross,” she murmured, wondering when her life had become a comedy movie. Because wasn’t this always the way those things opened? The plucky, unlucky-in-love heroine coming face-to-face with the one guy she’d never been able to forget while dressed in a ridiculous costume? It was right out of central casting 101—what else could she be wearing other than a short green dress with bells and holly on the collar, red-and-white striped hose, pointy-toed shoes and the dippy green hat with the droopy feather? The only thing that could make the scene more perfect was if she’d been draped across the grouchy Santa’s lap, trying to evade his gropey hands, when the handsome hero came up to rescue her.

He did rescue you once. Big time.

Her heart twisted, as it always did when she thought about that… The way Ross had been there for her in what could have been a horrible moment. Whatever had happened later—however much she resented him now—she would never forget that he’d been there to keep her from getting hurt.

But that had been a long time ago. She was no longer that girl and she no longer needed any man’s rescue.

“It’s really you,” he murmured.

“In the flesh.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“That makes two of us,” she admitted.

Her brain scrambled to find more words, to form thoughts or sentences. But she just couldn’t. If she’d woken up this morning to find her bed had floated up into the sky on a giant helium balloon, she couldn’t have been more surprised than she was right now.

Or more disturbed.

Because she wasn’t supposed to see him again. Wasn’t supposed to care again. Wasn’t supposed to even think of getting hurt by him again.

She’d played this scene once, and at exactly this time of year. No way was she ready for a repeat.

She knew all that, knew it down to her soul. So why, oh why, was her heart singing? Crazy expression that, but it was true. There was music in her head and brightness in her eyes and a smile fought to emerge on her lips.

Because it was Ross. The guy she’d met exactly six years ago today. The man she’d fallen crazy in love with.

At Christmastime.




2


Then

New York, December 23, 2005

HMM. DECISIONS, DECISIONS.

Lucy honestly wasn’t sure what would be the best tool for the job. After all, it wasn’t every day she was faced with a project of this magnitude. As a photography student at NYU, she usually spent more time worrying about creating things rather than hacking them up.

Big knife? No, she might not get the right angle and could end up cutting herself.

Scissors? Probably not strong enough to cut through that.

Razor? She doubted her Venus was up to the task, and had no idea how to get one of those old-fashioned straight-edged ones short of robbing a barber.

A chainsaw or a hatchet?

Probably overkill. And killing wasn’t the objective.

After all, she didn’t really want to kill Jude Zacharias. She just wanted to separate him from his favorite part of his cheating anatomy. AKA: the part he’d cheated with.

Lucy didn’t even realize she’d been mumbling aloud. Not until her best friend, Kate, who sat across from her in this trendy Manhattan coffee-and-book shop interjected, “You’re not going to cut off his dick, so stop fantasizing about it.”

Nobody immediately gasped at Kate’s words, so obviously they hadn’t been overheard. Not surprising—they were tucked in a back corner of the café. Plus, Beans & Books was crowded with shoppers frenzied by the realization that they only had one and a half shopping days left before Christmas. Each was listening only to the holiday countdown clock in his or her head.

“Have you stopped fantasizing about having sex with Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal at the same time?” she countered.

“Hey, that could actually happen,” Kate said with a smirk. “It’s at least possible. Unlike the chance that you, Miss Congeniality, would actually go all Bobbitt on a guy’s ass, even if he does totally deserve it.”

It wasn’t Jude’s ass she wanted to…Bobbit. She knew, however, that Kate was right. Lucy wasn’t the violent type, except in her fantasies. She might have fun playing a mental game of why-I-oughta but she knew nothing would come of it.

“Can’t I at least wallow and scheme for an hour?”

“Sure. But we should’ve done it over beer or tequila in a dive bar. Coffee in a crowded shop just doesn’t lend itself to wallowing and scheming.”

True. Especially now that this place was no longer the same quiet, cozy hangout she’d loved since coming to New York three and a half years ago. It had once been her favorite place to meet up with friends, do some homework, or just enjoy the silence amid the scent of freshly ground arabica beans.

Since a recent renovation, though, it had turned from a cute, off-the-beaten-track coffee bar into a crazed, credit-card magnet, filled with overpriced gift books, calendars and stationery. Driven city dwellers who excelled at multitasking were flocking to the place to kill two birds with one stone. They could buy a last minute gift for Great-Aunt Susie—a ridiculously overpriced coffee table book titled The Private Lives of Garden Gnomes, perhaps—while they waited for their Lite Pomegranate Vanilla Oolang Tea Lattes with whip.

Christmas had been reduced to expedience, kitsch and trendy drinks. Fortunately for her, she’d dropped out of the holiday a few years ago and had no intention of dropping back in.

“Face it, girlfriend, revenge just ain’t your style. You’re as violent as a Smurf.” Kate grinned. “Or one of Santa’s elves.”

“Not funny,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. “So not funny.”

Her friend knew how much she disliked the silly costume she had to wear for her “internship” with a local photographer. Intern? Ha. She was a ridiculously dressed unpaid Christmas elf wiping the drool off kids’ chins as they sat on Santa’s lap. What could be more sad to someone who dreamed of being a serious photographer? Someone who was leaving to study abroad in Paris next month, and hoped to go back there to live after graduation? Someone who planned to spend the next several years shooting her way across Europe, one still image at a time?

That girl shouldn’t care about Jude. That girl didn’t care about Jude.

But at this moment, Lucy didn’t feel like that girl. For all the violent fantasies, what this girl felt right now was hurt.

“You know, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out why I ever went out with him in the first place.” She swallowed, hard. “I should have known better.”

Kate’s smirk faded and she reached over to squeeze Lucy’s hand. Kate had been witness to what had been Lucy’s most humiliating moment ever. Said moment being when Lucy had let herself in to her boyfriend Jude’s apartment, to set up his big surprise birthday party that was scheduled for tonight.

Surprise! Your boyfriend is a lying, cheating asshat!

Jude had already gotten started on his birthday celebration. Contrary to his claim that he was going to “pop in” on his family for the day, Jude had apparently decided to stay in town and pop in on his neighbor’s vagina.

At least, that’s who Lucy thought had been kneeling in front of the sofa with Jude’s johnson in her mouth when she and Kate had walked into the apartment. She couldn’t be certain. They only saw the back of the bare-ass naked woman’s head—oh, plus her bare ass and, uh, the rest of her nether regions. Ew, ew, ew. She was still fighting the urge to thrust two coffee stirrers into her eyes to gouge out the image burned onto her retinas. If she’d ever had any doubt she was strictly hetero, her response to that sight would have removed it.

“Maybe I should ask Teddy to beat him up.”

Teddy, Kate’s boyfriend, was as broad as a table, and could snap Jude like a twig. There was just one problem. “He’s more of a pacifist than I am,” Lucy said with a smile, knowing Kate had intended to make her laugh. Teddy was the sweetest guy on the planet. “Besides, we both know Jude’s not worth the trouble.”

“No, he’s not.” Then Kate grinned. “I am glad you got off a couple of good zingers, though. I still can’t believe you asked him if the store was out of birthday candles and that’s why he’d found something else that needed to be blown.”

That, she had to admit, had been a pretty good line. It was a rare occurrence; the kind of one-liner she usually would have thought of hours later, when reliving the awful experience in her mind. Though, in this instance, since she was now feeling more sad than anything else, she might have been picturing herself asking him why he’d felt the need to be so deceitful.

If he’d told her it wasn’t working out and he wanted to see other people, would she have been devastated?

No. A little disappointed, probably, but not crushed.

But to be cheated on—and to walk in on it? That rankled.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to speak. I’da been busy ripping the extensions outta that ho’s head,” Kate added.

“She didn’t cheat on me, Jude did.” Then, curious, she asked, “How do you know they were extensions?”

“Honey, that carpet so didn’t match those drapes.”

Though a peal of laughter emerged from her mouth, Lucy also groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, wishing for a bleach eye-wash. “Don’t remind me!”

Funny that she could actually manage to laugh. Maybe that said a lot about where her feelings for Jude had really been. This girlfriend-gripe session wasn’t so much about Lucy’s broken heart as it was her disappointed expectations.

She’d really wanted Jude to be a nice guy. A good guy.

Face it, you just wanted someone in your life.

Maybe that was true. Seeing the former man-eater Kate so happy was inspiring. But her brother Sam’s recent engagement had also really affected her. Their tiny family unit—made even tinier when they’d been left alone in the world after the deaths of their parents—was going to change. Sam had found someone, he was forming a new family, one she’d always be welcome in but wasn’t actually a major part of.

She’d wanted something like that, too. Or at least the possibility of something like that, someday. Heck, maybe deep down she also just hadn’t wanted to haul her virginity along with her to Europe, and had been hoping she’d finally found the guy who would truly inspire her to shuck it.

Yes, that was probably why she’d let down her guard and gotten involved with Jude when she’d known he wasn’t the right one in the long run. Being totally honest, she knew she was more sad at the idea of losing the boyfriend than at losing the actual guy. Not to mention continuing to carry the virgin mantle around her neck.

“Well, at least you didn’t sleep with him!” said Kate, who’d had more lovers than Lucy had had birthdays.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, sipping her coffee, meaning it. Because being stuck with a hymen was better than having let somebody so rotten remove it.

Something inside her must have recognized that about him, and held her back. Deep down she’d known there was something wrong about the relationship, even though he’d gone out of his way to make it seem so very right.

Maybe Lucy really was the oldest living virgin in New York—kept that way throughout high school by her bad-ass older brother’s reputation, and throughout college out of her own deep-rooted romantic streak. Whatever the reason, she’d waited this long. So, as much as she wanted to know what all the fuss was about, she hadn’t been about to leap into bed with Jude just because he’d said he liked her photography and opened the door for her when they went out, unlike most other college-aged dudes she knew.

Good thing. Because it had all been an act. The nice, patient, tender guy didn’t exist. Jude had put on that persona the way somebody else might don a Halloween costume, sliding into it to be the man she wanted, then taking it off—along with the rest of his clothes—when she wasn’t around. He shouldn’t be studying to be an attorney, an actor would be much more appropriate. God, could she have been any more gullible?

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she really had no business living on her own in New York or, worse, going off to Europe. Perhaps she was a lamb in the midst of wolves. She should’ve just stayed in the Chicago suburb where they’d grown up, gone to community college, done first-communion portraits at Sears, married a nice local guy and gotten to work on producing cousins for Sam’s future kids. At least then she wouldn’t be sitting here all sad at being cheated on by someone she’d hoped was Prince Charming.

“More like King Creeper,” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about Jude.”

Kate nodded, frowned and muttered, “Why are most men jerks? Other than Teddy, of course.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“There have to be other decent men out there, right?”

“Sam’s one,” Lucy admitted. “And my Dad sure was.”

“Mine is, too.” Kate frowned in thought. “Your father managed a car dealership, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And your brother, Sam, is a cop. My dad’s in sales, and Teddy’s a trucker. Hmm.”

“Your point being?”

Kate tapped the tip of her finger on her mouth. “Most of the guys you’ve dated have been like Jude. Rich, future attorneys, politicians, doctors…and dick-heads, one and all.”

Lucy nodded, conceding the point.

“And that’s the type I dated, before I met Teddy.”

She started to get the picture. “Ahh.”

“So maybe you need to look for an everyday guy, who works hard for a living, hasn’t had everything handed to him.”

That sounded ideal. Unfortunately Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone like that. They sure didn’t seem to be on the campus of NYU.

“A guy who’s so hot he makes you stick to your chair when you watch his muscles bunch under his sweaty T-shirt as he works,” Kate said, sounding lost in thought. She was staring past Lucy, as if visualizing this blue collar stud-muffin. “Who knows what to do with his hands, and has enough self-confidence that he doesn’t have to show off in front of a woman.”

Not used to Kate being so descriptive—but definitely liking the description—Lucy could only nod.

“Somebody like him.”

This time, Kate’s stare was pointed and her gaze speculative. Surprised, Lucy quickly turned to look over her shoulder, toward the front corner of the shop, and saw the him in question.

And oh, wow, what a him.

He was young—in his early twenties, probably, like her. But he didn’t look much like the guys she interacted with on a daily basis at school. He had on a pair of faded, worn jeans, that hung low on his very lean hips. They were tugged down even further by the work belt he wore over them, which was weighted with various tools. Powerful hammers, long screwdrivers, steely drills. All hard. Strong. Stiff.

Get your mind out of his toolbelt.

She did, shaking her head quickly to get her attention going in another direction. Of course, there wasn’t any other direction to go…he was hot any way you looked at it.

So she looked at it. Er, him.

Lucy lifted her gaze, taking in the whole tall, lean, powerful package. Though he wore the tools of the trade, he was not built like a brawny construction-worker type. Strong, yes, but with a youthful leanness—Hugh Jackman as Leopold, not as Wolverine.

Yum.

His entire body told tales of hard work An impressive set of abs rippled visibly beneath the sweat-tinged T-shirt. His broad chest and thickly muscled arms moved with almost poetic precision as he finished installing a new bookcase in the back corner of the shop.

He lifted one arm and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, which just emphasized the handsomeness of his face, seen only in profile. He had a strong, square jaw, a straight nose. High cheekbones emphasized the lightly stubbled hollows below, lending his lean face an air of youth and power.

His light brown hair was longish, a little shaggy, and he swept it back from his brow with an impatient hand. Seeing the strong hands in motion made Lucy let out a long, slow breath, and when he turned around and she beheld him from the back, she had to suck in another one. Oh, my, did the man know how to fill out a pair of jeans.

Apparently she wasn’t the only woman who’d noticed. What she’d taken for shopper’s distraction earlier she now realized had been female appreciation for the beautiful display of raw, powerful male in the corner. Every other woman in the place was either sneaking peeks or outright gaping.

She was a gaper. No peeking about it.

Finally realizing she was literally turned in her seat to stare, and probably had drool dripping down her chin, she swung back around to face Kate. Her friend wore a similar expression. “Wow,” she admitted.

“Double wow. If I didn’t love Teddy, I’d be over there offering to take care of his tool for him.”

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 pointy-tipped 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.

The thought that he might be able to get her to change her mind? Definitely the latter.

He didn’t deny he was still interested. Still attracted. Judging by the absence of a ring on her left hand, he suspected she was available—at least technically. So maybe it was time to take his shot. See if he could make up for six wasted years. See if there was any way she could forgive him for walking—no, running—away before they ever really had a chance to get started.

“Ross?” Stella prompted again. “Mr. Whitaker is about to leave, and he’d like to see you before he goes.”

Whitaker—a client who’d sent a lot of work their way over the past several years. He wasn’t somebody Ross could ignore.

“Okay,” he said, before turning his attention back to Lucy. “Wait for me.” It wasn’t a request.

“No, I really have to go. It was nice to see you.”

Said like she’d say it was nice to see an elementary school bully she’d loathed for decades. Damn. He’d screwed this up so badly. Six years ago, and today. “Lucy, please…”

“Uh, Miss Fleming? If you’d step into the office, I can get you your payment right away,” Stella interjected. “I’m sure you’d prefer not to have to wait until after the holidays.”

Her lush bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Lucy looked torn. Ross glanced at Stella, wondering if she was intentionally using some stalling tactics to keep Lucy around. Then again, if she’d been trying to set them up, she probably wouldn’t have interrupted about Whitaker, no matter how important a client he was. So maybe this whole thing had just been luck. Good luck. Incredibly good luck.

And maybe it meant he was going to have another chance with the woman he’d so foolishly let slip away.



HMM. MONEY OR DIGNITY? Go with the bossy assistant, or run like hell? Decisions, decisions.

Normally Lucy would have been heading toward the door the second Ross’s back was turned. She had work to do, editing, photoshopping, cropping…plus all the stuff a small business owner was responsible for, but which often slipped through the cracks when the customers kept walking steadily through the door.

They wouldn’t be walking through the door on Christmas weekend, though, so she should be able to catch up. And one thing she needed to catch up on was ordering. She had some equipment to buy, and paying for it by December 31 would make her tax bill a lot lighter come spring.

Which meant she should really stick around for the money. They’d offered her a lot, both for her time, and for the portrait packages the company had preordered for every family. It might even be enough money to get the new laptop and the new lens she needed.

Ross stared at her, not pleading, not ordering. Just asking her to wait, give them a chance to talk. To catch up on old times? Seriously, what was there to say except, Hey, remember that time we had crazy wild sex in a pile of fluff in Santa’s workshop?

Good times.

Times that would never be repeated.

“I really should go,” she said.

The administrator, who had a brusque manner that said she didn’t like to take no for an answer, didn’t take no for an answer. “Don’t be silly, it won’t take five minutes. It will save our accountants some trouble.”

She eyed the woman doubtfully, suspecting this place did not keep their receipts and canceled checks in empty Amazon.com boxes the way she did.

“After the party, the offices shut down until New Year’s. So I’d really like to get this taken care of today, clear the party off the books, if you will.”

Huh. Sounded like every business had to deal with that pesky little IRS thing, even businesses as big as this one. Which, judging by the size of this brand-new six-story office building, and the fact that Elite Construction took up every floor of it, was very big, indeed. She wondered again what Ross did here. Obviously he no longer swung a hammer—he was dressed like a corporate guy.

She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to his dream of someday buying a piece of property and building a house on it, every stone, every shutter, every plank of wood put there with his own hands. Had Ross given up his dreams? Or had they merely changed, like hers had?

As if realizing his presence was making her reluctant, Ross said, “I should go. It was great seeing you again, Lucy.”

“You, too.”

She forced a tight smile, wishing she could hit Rewind and go back a half hour to think of something else to say to this man. Something breezy and casual, something that wouldn’t have revealed how she felt about not hearing from him after that one magical holiday. Something other than, “Well, if you’d called, you’d know where I’d been for the past six years.”

Weak, girl. So weak. She could almost hear Kate’s voice scolding her for making that snotty, hurt-sounding comment. Even though, now, there would be echoes of a baby and a toddler crying in the background as they had the conversation. Kate had married Teddy and started repopulating the planet.

Lucy, meanwhile, had managed only sexual affairs after Ross. But she hadn’t come anywhere close to falling in love. Not after the one-two punch she’d taken at twenty-two. First Jude, then Ross—the latter being the one who’d truly taught her about love and loss. Her poor heart had formed an exoskeleton thicker than an insect’s. Since then, she’d made love ’em and leave ’em a way of life, only substituting the love with do.

Even Kate had been impressed.

She watched him walk away, noting that he didn’t look back. His departure should have made it easier to stick around for a few minutes to get paid. Instead it just pissed her off. Ross was always the one who got to walk away. One of these days she wanted to be the one to make the grand exit.

But grand exits didn’t buy lenses and laptops. Money did. She’d spent a lot moving her studio from New York to Chicago. Yes, she was building a reputation and business was good. This one check, though, could do some nice things for her bottom line.

If she deposited the check tonight, then by this weekend, she could be happily shopping for laptops online while everybody else in the world unwrapped ugly sweaters and ate rock-hard fruitcake. She had bookings lined up all next week—a few of them big ones that could lead to some serious money. Plus, she was hoping to hear from a children’s magazine in New York, to whom she’d submitted some work. She wanted to be ready if they called and said they wanted more.

“Okay, if you can pay me now, I’d really appreciate it,” she finally told the administrator, who’d been waiting patiently, watching Lucy watch Ross.

“Excellent, come along.”

Lucy put down her camera and lens bags, and followed the woman, who’d introduced herself as Stella when she’d called a week ago to hire her. They left the party behind, heading down a long corridor toward the executive offices. Lucy couldn’t help noticing the opulence of this area, the thick carpet sinking beneath her feet, the beautiful artwork lining the walls. Somebody had spent a lot of time decorating this place and she suspected their clients ranked among Chicago’s most wealthy.

At the back end of the executive wing was an enclosed suite, into which Stella led her. A broad receptionist’s desk stood in the middle of a waiting area, blocking access to an imposing set of double doors. Stella breezed through them, into what looked like the head honcho’s office. It was huge, a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls. The building wasn’t terribly high, but the location right on the water on the very outskirts of town meant nothing interrupted the beautiful view. The desk was as big as the kitchen in her tiny apartment, and in a partially blocked-off alcove, she saw an area for relaxation, complete with a refrigerator, TV and a fold-out couch…folded out. “Wow, is your boss a slave-driver? Do you have to be on call 24/7?”

The woman glanced around, then realized what Lucy was talking about. “That’s just for him. Our CEO is only hard on himself.”

“Does he live here or something?”

“It sometimes seems that way,” Stella said. “When we moved into this new building, he was spending so many hours here, I ordered the couch and make it up for him when I suspect he’ll pull an all-nighter.”

“That’s dedication.” On Stella’s part, and on her boss’s.

“It’s paid off. Elite is thriving when new construction is down nationwide.”

“I could tell by the party,” she admitted, knowing it must have set the company back a pretty penny. Few corporations bothered these days, and she suspected the happy atmosphere contributed to the company’s success.

Stella stepped behind the desk and picked up a pile of sealed envelopes, shuffling through a half-dozen of them before she said, “Ah, here we are!”

Lucy accepted it, tucking the very welcome check into her purse. “Thanks very much.”

“Thank you. Your photos were the hit of the party. I am actually glad the other company canceled. We’ve used them in the past and they’ve never had the response you did today. You’re wonderful with children.”

Lucy smiled, appreciating the praise. It was funny—six years ago, she probably would have been horrified at it.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure herself how it had happened. She just knew that, after two years in Paris, photographing cold-faced fashion models had lost all appeal. Same with old, lifeless buildings and stagnant landscapes.

Then Kate had started having kids. Lucy had visited for summers and holidays, becoming a devoted godmother and falling head-over-heels for those babies. She had delighted in taking their portraits, finding in children’s faces an energy and spontaneity she seldom found anywhere else.

So she’d gone back to New York. She’d set up a studio and begun exploring the amazingly creative world of little people. One thing had led to another, and then another. And soon she’d been getting calls from wealthy parents in other states, and had sold several shots to children’s catalogs and magazines.

Who’d’ve ever thought it?

Not her, that’s for sure. Nor would she ever have imagined that she’d really love what she was doing. But she did.

Life, it seemed, took some strange turns, led you in directions you’d never have imagined. It had taken her from the windy city, to the Big Apple, then to another continent. And now right back to where she’d started, in Chicago.

And back into Ross Marshall’s life.

No, don’t even go there, she reminded herself. She wasn’t back in his life. She was in the same building with him for another five minutes, max. Then she could go back to forgetting about the guy. Forgetting how good he still looked to her. How his sexy voice thrilled her senses. How his touch had sent her out of her mind.

How he’d once seemed like the guy she could love forever.




4


Then

New York, December 23, 2005

LUCY HAD TO GIVE THIS very handsome stranger— Ross—credit. He didn’t stand up and walk out of the coffee shop when she admitted she’d been fantasizing about separating an ex-boyfriend from part of his anatomy. He didn’t yelp, cringe, or reflexively drop a protective hand on his lap. None of the above. Instead he simply stared for a second, then let a loud burst of laughter erupt from his mouth.

She smiled, too, especially because she hadn’t really been fantasizing about maiming Jude when this guy had walked up behind her. In fact, she’d been laughing at herself for having thought about it earlier. Somehow, her whole mood had shifted from the time she’d walked into the coffee shop until the moment this incredibly handsome man had approached her.

Incredibly. Handsome.

Around them, others in the café glanced over. Lucy wasn’t blind to the stares that lingered on him. Heaven knew, any woman with a broken-in vagina would stare. Heck, hers wasn’t broken-in and she could barely take her eyes off the guy!

He’d been super-hot from across the room. Up close, now that she could see the tiny flecks in his stunning green eyes, the dazzling white smile, the slight stubble on his cheeks, well, he went from hot and sexy to smoking and irresistible. She’d actually shivered when their hands had met, unable to think a single thought except to wonder how those strong, rough fingers would feel sliding across her skin.

Gorgeous, sexy, strong. And a sense of humor.

Why couldn’t she have met this guy on a day when she didn’t loathe every creature with a penis?

You don’t. Not every guy.

Truthfully? Not even one. She didn’t loathe Jude. She would have had to care about him to hate him, and, honestly, having really thought about it, she knew she hadn’t cared much at all.





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