Santa, Baby

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “That would have ruined the surprise.”

  “For future reference, since you clearly haven’t figured this out—me and surprises—not really my thing. I like to know.” She motioned to her new black pantsuit that had proven a wrinkle-grabbing disaster. “Look how I’m dressed!”

  “Baxter?” The male voice came from behind and the door jingled.

  Baxter quickly whispered, “You look beautiful.” He released her as his parents entered the store, one of his hands resting protectively on her lower back. “Caron. Meet my parents, David and Linda Remington.”

  “Hello, Caron,” David said, rushing forward and offering Caron his hand. Caron was shocked at how much he and Baxter favored each other, although gray frosted his father’s full, dark hair, and lines flavored his face. He smiled at her, friendly and engaging. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  Finally? “It is?” she asked, surprised.

  He laughed and hugged her. “Don’t act so surprised,” he scoffed, patting her hand and studying her. “I’m glad you told my son to look out for himself in this mess. He’s always worried about everyone else. It’s the same damn thing I’d been telling him, but he wouldn’t listen.” He winked. “Next time I want him to listen to someone, I guess I’ll call you.”

  Shocked at how readily Baxter’s father accepted her, Caron glanced at Baxter, who simply looked amused and pleased with the interaction.

  His mother stepped closer and extended her hand. “I’m Linda, Caron.” She was a petite redhead who managed to be elegant despite barely reaching five feet tall. “I’m so glad we’ll get to watch the show with you.”

  “Oh, yes!” Caron exclaimed, eyeing the clock and noting that several other customers still needed attention. “It starts in five minutes. We’d better go turn on the television.” She focused on Baxter. “Can you take them to my office and get it set up while I lock up?”

  Kasey appeared behind the register to help a customer. “I’ll take care of things,” she said to Caron. “You go watch the show.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Baxter’s mother said. “That is so very wonderful of you.” The words rang with sincerity and true appreciation. Kasey and Caron looked at one another, and Caron realized Kasey was thinking the same thing she was—that Linda Remington was a really classy woman.

  “Thank you, Kasey,” Caron said. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” she answered, a twinkle in her eyes as she glanced at Baxter and back at Caron.

  Piled into Caron’s office, the four of them watched Baxter’s interview and shared comfortable conversation. He’d been firm but likable when he’d presented the FBI’s approach to the securities investigation. He’d even rolled with the punches quite nicely when surprised by viewers’ call-ins, and received overwhelming public support.

  An hour after the show ended, the store was empty but for Caron and Baxter, his parents having left by private car. The two of them stood in Caron’s office, Baxter’s arms wrapped around her waist. “My parents loved you,” he said.

  That pleased Caron, not because she needed their approval, but because she had genuinely liked them. “I loved them, too,” she said, her hands resting on his chest, his jacket long gone. Heat seeped through the white dress shirt to her palm, and before she could stop herself, she said, “I missed you, Baxter.”

  His hand slid down her hair. “I missed you, Caron.” He carefully walked her toward her desk until she scooted on top of it to sit. He claimed the chair in front of her and rested his hands on her knees. “Did you know that my father is an excellent judge of character?” he asked, surprising her with the rather unexpected question. She’d expected something a little more naughty right about now.

  Caron replied, “I can see that in him.” She’d noted a shrewd intelligence in David Remington’s eyes, in his observations.

  Baxter’s expression turned serious. “He never liked Jett.”

  The admission took her off guard, but it explained so much. “Why?”

  “He said Jett would never look him in the eyes.” Baxter laughed, bitter. “I thought Jett was simply intimidated by my father’s success.”

  “You misjudged him,” she said softly. “We’re all human.”

  He stood up, stepped close, slid his hands into her hair. The air crackled with instant sensual tension. “What if I said I was falling in love with you, Caron?”

  Her heart raced wildly, nerves charging through her body. “I’d say you better mean it because that would be a really horrible joke.”

  His lips lifted. “Wrong answer.”

  She ran her hand down his tie. “I never manage to say the right thing at moments like these, do I?” Her fingers brushed his jaw. “I’m pretty sure I’m already there, Baxter. I’m done falling. I’m—”

  He kissed her then, long and passionate. Then he made love to her in her office, and not even her best romance novel–evoked fantasy came close to comparing or ever would again.

  THE NEXT DAY, CARON learned the hard way that fantasies in romance novels were the only ones that came with perfectly happy endings. Her life was another story.

  She arrived at work after the opening bell for trading; Remington stock was on the rise. And Baxter’s attorney had said he felt the wheels were in motion now to end the mess. He had received indications that Jett Alexander had admitted he had nothing on Baxter. The bad news—Jett was likely to get off on a technicality, though his career would be over.Caron was actually humming a Christmas tune, debating a Christmas gift for Baxter, when she walked into her office and stopped dead in her tracks. Leaning on her desk, right where Caron and Baxter had made love the night before, was Agent Walker, her long legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, arms at her sides.

  “You might want to shut that door, Caron,” she said. “We have private matters to discuss.”

  “We have nothing to discuss,” Caron countered, balling her fists by her side.

  Agent Walker held up a small tape recorder. “I’d shut that door if I were you.” She hit Play and Caron’s voice filled the room, “Has he called again?”

  Outrage and panic overcame Caron at the sound of her private phone conversation with Baxter. “You bugged my telephone? I’ll sue you. I’ll—”

  “You’ll listen and listen well or end up in jail, Caron.” She turned off the recorder. “We had court orders for everything we did, and obviously we now know that you were aware Baxter was communicating with Jett, and you didn’t report him. Either you come forward and give me Baxter, or I plan to turn this on you.”

  “Me?” Caron exclaimed and then bit her tongue. She would not react. That was what this woman wanted. “I did nothing wrong,” she added softly, vehemently.

  Appearing almost bored, Agent Walker uncrossed her arms and legs. She set the recorder on the desk and rested her palms on the wooden surface. “Obstruction of justice, impeding a federal investigation…”

  Caron was beyond angry, she was fuming, spitting mad. “Why do you want him so badly? Why?” She reined in her tone, but just barely. “You lost Jett and you need a conviction. Otherwise, you get in some kind of trouble. Well, press charges if you like. I have nothing to say to you that an attorney can’t say for me and better.”

  Unmoving, Agent Walker said, “I like you, Caron. Don’t let a guy screw up your life. You’re better than that.”

  That was it. Caron opened the door. “Leave.”

  Agent Walker pushed to her feet, left the recorder. “I’ll let you listen to that. Feel free to let your attorney listen, too. He or she should find it interesting.” She stopped in front of Caron. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  “As I’ve told you several times before, Agent Walker—”

  “Several times before?” It was Baxter, standing in the doorway, with roses in his arms, accusation burning dark in his eyes. “When have you talked to her before this, Caron?”

  Caron’s heart lurched. He looked handsome. Angry. One step from gone. Her m
ind raced, her throat froze. She would have told him all of this, but it had never seemed relevant, always like past history. Done before they were even started. Something else to worry him, over nothing. “Baxter—”

  “You know what,” he said, cutting her off with unfamiliar coldness and chilling her to the bone. “There isn’t a good answer, Caron. Not one good answer you can give me. I trusted you—the woman who told me to protect myself and was stabbing me in the back at the same time. Well, I am protecting myself. By getting away from you.”

  “You really think that little of me?” she demanded, but he’d already turned away, tossing the flowers on the floor as he left.

  He did think that little of her. He had no intention of hearing her out. Not now. Not ever. She’d lost him. And why did she want him if he thought she’d betrayed him? Caron fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Because she did still want him, damn it; and with emotion about to strangle her, she couldn’t begin to reason herself out of it.

  “This changes nothing, Caron,” Agent Walker said, reminding Caron the woman was still there.

  “Leave!” she yelled, pointing toward the empty doorway. “Leave!” Actually yes, this changed something—it had changed everything.

  Baxter was gone. Caron now faced the reality that her books had allowed her to escape—fairy tales were fiction.

  17

  SARAH SAT IN HER OFFICE in the San Francisco FBI hub late afternoon on Christmas Eve, a bottle of antacids on her desk that eased the knots in her stomach, but did nothing for her turbulent mood. Fred had been gone for days, having taken a leave of absence, and Jett would most likely be headed home before the night was out—free as a bird on a technicality.

  Popping another milky pink tablet, Sarah stared at the manila envelope that had been delivered by a courier a few minutes earlier. Unless it gave her something to do besides go home alone, which was unlikely on Christmas Eve, she didn’t want whatever was inside. Clinging to the hope that the contents might offer a needed distraction from her Christmas Eve blues, Sarah broke the seal and thumbed through the paperwork inside.Stunned at what she’d found, Sarah sat back in her chair. “We got him. Finally, we got him.”

  “We” being her and Fred. Since it was Fred’s hardheaded insistence that somewhere in Jett’s background they’d find another misstep. Sure enough, before Jett had joined the Remington management staff, he’d played this same game of stock manipulation in another company. Jett couldn’t be charged for his most recent activity, but he wouldn’t walk on his past mistake.

  Emotions charged at Sarah, fierce in their intensity. The same emotions she’d been suppressing, the ones eating away at her stomach. She shoved away from her desk, took the envelope with her. She had to deal with Jett before she could deal with her own personal meltdown. She wasn’t about to give him a chance to run again.

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time Sarah pulled her Buick Skylark to a stop in front of the two-story apartment building that Fred called home. Noting his Jeep by the curb, she let out a shaky breath. He was home—like her, with no family, no holiday bliss to escape to.

  But she didn’t know what to say, what to do. Even why she’d come. Time ticked by as she sat there, a black hole spiraling around her as she ticked off all her mistakes these past few weeks, all the reasons she had to feel guilty. How long she sat in that car, she didn’t know. Too long.“Just go knock,” she whispered, and shoved open the car door before she changed her mind.

  Taking the stairs to Fred’s floor, Sarah’s pace was steady, rapid—with her decision made to move forward, she wasn’t backing out. Nor did she hesitate at his door, knocking immediately. Almost instantly, it flew open and Fred stood in the doorway, shirtless, low-slung jeans showing off rippling, hard-earned muscles.

  “Wondered how long you were going to sit in the car,” he said drily.

  Relief washed over her—relief that this man was once again giving her shit. That he was here, and acting as if nothing had changed. Relief that triggered the emotional meltdown she’d held off for hours. Sarah fell into his arms and started to cry.

  “I didn’t mean to say that about your sister,” she whispered into his chest. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” he said, hugging her in the warm cocoon of his arms. Warm and wonderful, accepting not rejecting. She went blank for long minutes, tears shaking her body, her emotions so long contained. Quickly, she was inside his apartment, the door shut. Then she was on his couch, sitting snug against his side.

  When finally she calmed, his fingers lightly brushed hair from her eyes. “Better now?” he asked gently, no sarcasm, no anger. No walls.

  “We got Jett,” she said. “Or you did. You were right. He had a past. A bad one.”

  “I thought that would be good news,” he said, studying her. “Not something to cry about.”

  “You were right about my decisions, Fred. Right about so many things. I made the wrong choices for the wrong reasons. I didn’t want the agency to think I was weak because I didn’t go after Remington. I wasn’t confident enough to just say I knew he was innocent. And I did, I do—I know he’s innocent.” She went on to tell Fred about the confrontation with Baxter and Caron. “See? I really screwed this all up. I destroyed their relationship. I destroyed our partnership. I’ve dropped my transfer request, Fred. Please come back. We are good together. We stopped Jett.”

  He stared down at her, didn’t blink, didn’t move. “Are you sure? What about your promotion?”

  She didn’t want it anymore. She’d wanted it for all the wrong reasons. “We make good partners,” she repeated simply, and barely had the words out before Fred kissed her, a kiss that told of passion to come, passion barely restrained. But she couldn’t allow herself the pleasure. Couldn’t allow herself the peace.

  Fred stopped abruptly, stared down at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I destroyed their relationship,” she whispered.

  “Caron Avery and Baxter Remington?”

  She nodded, emotion tightening her chest.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her to her feet and reaching for the T-shirt he’d flung over the edge of the couch, tugging it over his head.

  “Where?”

  “To see Baxter Remington.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, leaned that hard body into hers. “Then we’ll come back here, and you can be my Christmas present.”

  STANDING IN THE DEN of his parents’ waterfront home, Baxter stared into the crackling fire of their white-rock hearth, a glass of brandy in his hand, Caron on his mind, no matter how hard he tried to stop thinking about her. Though pleased that his middle sister had arrived an hour before, he’d been equally as pleased when she and his mother had retreated to the kitchen for girl talk. He needed the alone time to clear his head.

  “I liked her, you know.”Baxter turned to see his father in the doorway. “I know you did,” he said. Looking back, he now wished he had waited to introduce Caron to his parents. “That doesn’t change what she did.”

  “Which was what?” David Remington asked, moving to stand next to his son, staring into the same fireplace.

  Baxter cast him an incredulous look. “She should have told me about being approached.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, and then peered at his son, clearly concerned. “But from what I understand, even from you yourself, she told them nothing.”

  “She didn’t tell me, Dad,” he argued, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t. Tell. Me. What part of that rings okay with you?”

  “The part where she endured a beating by the press and stuck by your side. The part where she encouraged you to protect yourself and apparently did so herself, as well. That earns her the benefit of the doubt in my mind. I thought it would for you, too. But then, maybe I was wrong, and these things don’t matter.”

  “Wrong?” Baxter asked, glancing at his father, sensing he was being led into one of his father’s all-too-knowing observations.

&n
bsp; Shrewd eyes fixed on Baxter. “I thought you were in love with her.”

  Baxter inhaled a harsh breath at his father’s directness. His statement touched on the core of the turmoil tearing him in two.

  Baxter had been in love with Caron. Damn it, he still was. But it didn’t matter; he couldn’t let it matter. “Secrets and lies do not equal love,” he said, repeating what he had said to himself too many times to count. Jett had burned him. But finding out Caron had been talking to the FBI had cut like a knife.

  “Honey.”

  His mother’s voice had Baxter and David turning to the doorway, where she stood in her festive red velvet holiday dress. “Which honey?” Baxter’s father joked.

  Linda looked at him with mock reprimand. “You know I’m not talking to you, darling.” She refocused on Baxter. “Agents Walker and Ross are here to see you.” Baxter was about to tell her to send them away, when she added, “I really think you want to hear what they have to say.”

  Something in his mother’s voice blasted away Baxter’s refusal. He downed the brandy in his glass, and set it on the hearth. “Send them in.”

  Agents Walker and Ross appeared moments later, minus his mother, and Agent Walker quickly launched into conversation. It only took a few minutes before he learned that he was free and clear—no more visits from the FBI.

  “Thank you for that good news,” Baxter said.

  Agent Walker hesitated. “I approached her the morning after you met,” she said, not bothering with Caron’s name. “I pressured her hard. Did my best to intimidate her. She gave me nothing. And I mean nothing. Shut me off faster than flipping a light switch. That day in her office, I even played a taped conversation that proved we had good reason to suspect that you had talked to Jett. I threatened to prosecute her. She was willing to risk that. She didn’t even blink before she demanded I leave. Why didn’t she tell you? I don’t know. But I’d heard enough, and observed enough, to know that the woman was certain that every day of your relationship would be the last. That it was a fling, and you’d soon find a real blonde bombshell. Don’t prove her right. I was an ass to you and to her. Don’t you be a fool.” She said nothing more, silently turning and leaving, Agent Ross by her side.