by Anthology
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked back from him. “John, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Why not? I thought things were going quite well.”
“They were. They are. But weren’t you listening to what I said? I’m cursed!”
“What does that have to do with us?”
She gestured around the room. “Gee, I don’t know. Aren’t all these decorations giving you a hint? It’s Christmas Eve! Who knows what could go wrong! A fire, a power outage, a leaky pipe...the list is endless!”
“Hmmm. I see. Well then, I guess we only have one option.”
Jenna nodded sadly. It was probably for the best, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed their relationship had to be over before it really even started. She started to lower her injured leg to stand up.
“We have to lift the curse.”
Jenna flopped right back on the couch.
“What?”
“I said we have to lift the curse.”
“That’s sweet, John, but don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough.”
“I swear, I have! Just tonight, I wished on a star. It was so big and bright, I decided it had to be a Christmas star, so I thought what the hell, I’ll take a chance—and I made a wish. And look what happened! I ended up with a banged up head and a swollen ankle! I honestly don’t think the curse is breakable.”
“I don’t know, Jenna. I’m sure the fall wasn’t much fun, but you have to admit something good did come out of it. After all, it got you into my arms, not to mention my apartment.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
Jenna smiled, but opened her mouth to start protesting again.
He put his hand to her lips, shushing her. “I’m serious. I’ve had the biggest crush on you since I moved into this place, but you wouldn’t give me the time of day. You were friendly, but I felt like you never actually saw me. You always seemed so busy, rushing in and out. I’d almost given up on you. And then tonight I heard you scream and I got to be your knight in shining armor.”
“Angel,” Jenna mumbled. Fortunately, John didn’t seem to hear her and continued on.
“Ergo, I’m not convinced this curse is all bad. But I know how seriously you take it, so I’m willing to give breaking it a shot. And I know exactly how to do it.” He got up from the couch and walked over to the coat closet by the front door. He pulled down several boxes from the top shelf and rummaged through them. After a minute, he plucked something from a small red box.
“Aha!” he said, triumphantly holding his find aloft. “Mistletoe!”
I knew it! I knew he’d have mistletoe!
Part of Jenna still wanted to get out of this apartment, worried she’d cause disaster for this sweet, sweet man. But the rest of her had decided to stay exactly where she was, because the combination of this sexy, sexy man and a sprig of mistletoe was too good to miss.
John came back to the sofa and sat down.
“I think this is traditionally done by standing under it, but due to your ankle issues, I think we can forgo tradition this once.”
Jenna managed a quick smile, but she was nervous.
“What if it doesn’t work? How will we know?” she babbled nervously. “If the kiss is really awful, that might be a sign the curse wasn’t broken. I don’t want the kiss to be bad. It won’t be bad, right? I’m a pretty good kisser. And how could someone as gorgeous and nice as you be a bad kisser? It’ll be okay, won’t it?” She started chewing on the cuticle of her left pinkie. “Do you think we need to say something? You know, like magic words, or anything? And does it have to rhyme? Those types of things always seem to rhyme.”
“Jenna...” John caught the hand she gnawed on and set it back in her lap. “It’ll be all right.”
Then, before she could start up again, he held the mistletoe over her head and gently cupped her chin with his other hand. Looking straight into her eyes, he said, “Merry Christmas, Jenna.”
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
The kiss was perfect. His lips were soft and sweet as they gently touched hers. He kissed her again, this time more firmly, slanting his open mouth across hers, his tongue slowly licking its way inside her mouth. He tasted like peppermint, chocolate and molasses, and Jenna wanted to eat him up. She grabbed his head and leaned into the kiss, eager for more. She heard a soft thud, and after John wrapped both his arms around her, pulling her even closer, she realized he’d thrown away the mistletoe. Eh, who needs it? The kiss had enough magic on its own to break a hundred curses.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jenna thought she saw a flash of light through the living room window. She reluctantly broke off the kiss and sat back, pointing to the window.
“Did you see something?”
“I don’t see anything but you.” John smiled and tugged her back into his embrace, raining kisses down her cheek and onto her neck.
Jenna was convinced the light she’d seen had been a shooting star. Thanks, star.
Maybe the curse really was lifted. But even if it wasn’t, she’d met an amazing man, and this had turned into her best Christmas ever. I guess anything really can happen—even magic.
After all, it was Christmas.
Be sure to check out Rachel’s website -
http://www.rachelmichaels.com
Rachel’s Light
Victoria Houseman
Charleston, South Carolina, 1783
“Miss Levine. Your presence is requested in the library—immediately.”
“Coming, sir.” Rachel turned to the children. “Go in to Cook and have her give you some cookies while I speak with your father.” No sense in them hearing their father’s roar.
Since becoming governess to Mr. Samuel Stein’s two young children, Eve and Joshua, she didn’t seem to be able to do anything to please the man. If not for the bond she’d formed with the children, she would have left his employ long ago.
She reached the massive doors leading to the library and paused, her hands gripping the polished brass knobs. She’d endured six months of Samuel Stein’s quick to flare temper and sullen, withdrawn moodiness.
Determination to look him directly in the eye and let him know how insufferable he’d been, pushed past nervousness. Uncivil behavior was unacceptable—even from her employer. The moment had arrived for her to tell him so, in no uncertain terms. If he demanded her resignation, then so be it. At least she’d leave with her self-respect intact.
Rachel pushed the doors open, shoulders squared, head high. He sat in his chair near the hearth, his head turned toward the fire. His shirt open at the neck, the ties hanging down framed a patch of skin covered in dark hair. Firelight outlined his profile, giving his strong bones an almost ominous look.
All her resolve faded and butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach. She prayed he couldn’t hear their fluttering wings.
The most beautiful man she’d ever seen turned to face her. More times than she could count, she’d wondered how much fabric it had taken to make one shirt to house those broad shoulders.
His chestnut hair tied back in a queue, he looked rough and dangerous. Rachel thought she’d faint from the sight of him. A few strands broke free of their moorings and he swiped at them with impatient hands. What would it feel like to be that hand brushing back those thick locks that refused their owner’s commands?
His stern voice snapped her out of her fantasies. Her cheeks flushed hot when she realized he’d been calling her name repeatedly while staring at her with eyes the color of violets. How could God have pieced together so much beauty with such a mean-spirited soul?
“What is this?” He waved the offending object in the air.
Her throat went dry and tight. “It’s...it’s a latke, sir.” So much for bravery.
“I can see that, Miss Levine. What is a potato pancake doing in my study?”
“It is almost the holidays, sir.” She twisted trembling hands in the folds of her skirt. “And.
..well...this being the first holiday without their mother...”
Something dark passed over his eyes at the mention of his late wife.
She continued, “I decided their lessons for this month should focus on the meaning of Chanukah.”
He pushed out of his chair, using his cane for support. Stalking the room in a circle, he continued to prominently display the latke in the air like a spoil of war. All the while he made the circle smaller, getting closer to her with each step. His boots thumped loudly on the wooden floor as his cane thudded with every step. His footsteps made a distinct sound due to his limp.
“While you were away on your recent trip, the children and I took their lessons in here. They told me how much they loved their papa’s library as it made them feel close to you—especially since you’re away so much.”
He paused and glared at her, his jaw tightly set. She knew immediately that had been the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to call it back. “Cook made a wonderful surprise of samples of traditional holiday foods.” The pitch of her voice arced unnaturally high like a squeaky little mouse and she wanted to kick herself. “Ummm... well, sir,” she nervously gestured toward the offending item, “that one must’ve gotten away.”
“Miss Levine.” He spoke the words too softly.
Forcing her eyes to his, it struck her why she babbled when she spoke to him, why she avoided looking into his eyes. Overwhelming emotions emanated from them and they hit her heart with dagger sharp precision.
He looked...haunted. Was it the loss of his wife that had wounded him so? The household staff talked of an unhappy, often volatile marriage—one without love.
She searched deeper and in that moment she knew Samuel Stein’s eyes told of a wounded soul. Something so powerful it went beyond the death of a wife he didn’t love.
She walked toward him with an outstretched hand—slow, halting steps. She could almost feel the muscles in his clenched jaw and she longed to wipe the tightness away, to run her upturned palm down his cheek and trace his cheekbone with a light touch. “Mr. Stein. I...” Without ceremony, he dropped the latke into her hand before she could complete her sentence. She stopped, frozen.
Cold, icy water thrown on her couldn’t have been more shocking than the realization of what she’d been about to do. If he hadn’t dropped the pancake into her hand, she would have touched him—caressed her employer’s face.
“...and furthermore,” he continued, “this is the library, not the kitchen nor the dining room. The children have quite an adequate study area on the third floor—plenty of windows and light. I made sure of it myself. This room is off limits without my express permission. Do I make myself clear, Miss Levine?”
“Yes, Mr. Stein.” She tried to force her voice above a whisper, to no avail.
Samuel turned to stare again into the volatile depths of the fire before she could see the regret on his face. He’d been a total bastard of late—hell, since Katherine’s death, but to take it out on this lovely young woman was beyond cruel.
“May I please be excused, sir?”
The meekness in her voice suited her station. She wore hand-me down clothes that were too short, too worn, and too dull, yet she wore them with a quiet dignity that said they suited her as well as if they were the most expensive frocks made. She never acted above her station. A station that placed her under his employ and outside his reach and he couldn’t bear it. She had hair as black as a moonless night and rich, brown eyes that seemed too big for her sculpted face. Now, because of his brutality, tears threatened to spill from those eyes. He wanted to take his damn cane and whip his own hide.
He tried to gentle his voice before he spoke. “By all means, Miss Levine, you may leave. I shall see the children at supper.”
It took a piece of the remnant of his bitter heart knowing he’d pained such a kind, gentle soul. The early evening chill stiffened his mangled leg and he cursed the damn war that had done this to him. All his life he’d been a failure—a poor excuse for a son, a rotten brother to his only sibling, Grace, and he hadn’t even found redemption by being a good soldier. He came home from The Siege of Charleston battered and crippled.
He thudded into the closest chair near the fire, a tankard of strong whiskey in hand. The chair skidded across the wooden floor. He held tightly to his tankard, but almost toppled in the process. Not a drop spilled. Ah! He found his one talent in life—not spilling his whiskey.
“Miss Levine.”
She turned at the door and looked at him.
“Thank you...” He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak louder, clearer, “Thank you for all you’ve done for my children.” He had a great need to say more, but couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat.
The flames from the fireplace bathed the room in shades of red and gold, framing Rachel beside the doors. She looked like an angel against the rage of fire. An angel he wanted as his salvation.
I am a bitter old man before my time. He brought the glass to his lips and threw back his head, allowing the strong whiskey to burn a fast trail down his throat.
“Would you care to join the children and me for our walk on the grounds before supper? The air is brisk...” She froze when he turned to stare at her.
The loveliness of her offer created an ache deep inside he fought to ignore.
“Not tonight. My leg and the cold air don’t get along.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. I’m...sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I’m sorry.” She hurried from the room.
The doors clicked shut before he could stop her. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the wing chair.
He struck his fist to his forehead and groaned aloud at his own insensitivity. He’d hurt her—yet again.
The faces of Eve and Joshua flashed behind his closed lids. His beautiful children so full of life, so pure of heart. He saw himself laughing while he swung them, one then the other in his arms on the lawn. It had been a glorious spring day—the kind only Charleston could produce. Had it only been this past spring? Then their mother had died and the children stopped smiling. Or, maybe they stopped laughing because of his sudden change after his wife’s death—from loving father to foul-tempered tyrant. He knew his actions were wrong, yet he couldn’t change the way he felt. He was lonely.
His leg didn’t hurt as much as he’d led Rachel to believe. For some inexplicable reason, the thought of spending time with his children frightened him. They couldn’t believe their once beloved papa had turned into this awful man. He saw it in their sweet faces whenever he drew near.
He silently vowed to do better, to try harder. He knew this vow by memory, for he had made it thousands of times before.
~*~
Rachel leaned against the closed door, confusion settling over her. His moods had shifted so quickly. Angry, frightening, civil. And, then, almost...kind. She rubbed the tension between her brow. To think he had looked at her with anything other than the eye of an employer was utter foolishness. The wishful daydreams of a love-struck girl.
What did she know about love? Although nearly two and twenty, love had never entered her life. How could it? As newcomers to this land, she worked all the time, helping her family as they tried to make a life for themselves.
She pushed away from the door and headed upstairs to get the children ready for their playtime outside, determinedly shoving all silly romantic notions out of her head with each step she climbed.
~*~
A quiet murmur drifting through the partially open nursery door caught his attention. Samuel paused to listen. Turning his ear to the opening, he recognized the beautiful sound as singing.
He peered through the slight opening. Tapers burned low. His heart followed the sound before his eyes adjusted.
There, in a corner of the room, Rachel rocked Eve while singing her a lullaby. The child stared, mesmerized by Rachel’s lovely voice. Every time her tiny eyelids tried to flutter shut and drift into sleep, she’d suddenly push t
hem open wide so as not to miss a moment of the song.
An inner door opened and Joshua stepped into the nursery. He tiptoed in the exaggerated way of children and Rachel fought not to laugh. Shifting Eve in her arms, she patted her leg and the little boy eagerly curled in her lap, too. Rachel continued rocking and singing and before long, both children fell fast asleep.
Samuel softly pushed open the door. Rachel laid her cheek on each child’s head and then pressed her lips to their hair, holding them tighter to her breast with each movement. Never had their mother shown such tenderness and love for these children. He wanted to weep for the beauty of it.
For the first time, love and warmth filled this room. All because of Rachel. Light seemed to emanate from her, pulling him in its glow like a drowning man to a safe harbor. He stared, transfixed, while she continued to rock his two sleeping children in her arms—one bare, beautiful foot pushing off from the floor, keeping the movement of the chair soft and fluid.
The rocking stopped and his attention came to rest on her face. Rachel stared at him—eyes wide and deep and full of…what? He didn’t dare hope she had feelings for him—not after how abominable he’d been to her.
A tentative smile curved her lips.
“Here, let me help you,” he whispered.
Rachel coaxed Joshua into his father’s arms while she held onto Eve. Shifting Eve to both arms, she rose from the chair.
They walked in silence to the children’s beds where they laid them down. Samuel pulled warm quilts around his sleeping son, covering the boy to his shoulders. The night threatened frost and he didn’t want Joshua to catch cold. He bent and kissed his son’s cheek. It had been a spontaneous gesture, one he didn’t do nearly enough. “I love you, son.”
Going to his daughter’s side, he repeated the affectionate acts. Eve stirred in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her china doll mouth. He quietly cupped one round cheek and she turned her head snuggling into his hand, the softness of her skin caressing his palm. The gesture of love from his child shattered him. He wanted to hurry from the room and run out into the night. He wanted to howl his hurt and anguish at the moon until empty from all the pain he held inside.