by Jill Barnett
"If I promise to go slowly and be gentle will you take off the long underwear?"
She unbuttoned it, and he felt her squirming out of it.
"Anything else?" he asked calmly.
"A cotton shirt. Should I take it off, too?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'm done."
"Anything else?"
"A corset cover."
"Is that the thing with all the tiny buttons?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Will you take it off, too?"
She did.
"Anything else?"
"An undershirt."
"And?"
"A shift."
"And?"
"A camisole."
He watched her for a long time. Then kissed her. He raised his head. "Nellie, I can't love you with all those clothes on. Don't be frightened. It's a beautiful way of loving. I promise."
She stood then, and he heard clothes falling to the floor. He wondered what else she had been wearing.
Then she was in his arms and kissing him, holding him. His wife.
She was so beautiful. He told her over and over. He touched her whole body, and loved her with his hands and mouth and his body. She was everything he'd ever fought for and the one thing he would never lose. Her name was a prayer on his lips, his name a whisper of love from her.
And when he was deep inside her, loving her tenderly and gently, it was good,—so very, very good. He cried when he felt her passion explode, because he was so in awe that she loved him and was his.
They loved all night and most of the morning. It was late Christmas afternoon before they got up. She tried to hide her body in the bright daylight. He chased her, pulling off her clothes until she stood naked before him.
She had trouble looking at him. "My body is old," she mumbled, looking embarrassed and ashamed.
"Not to me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
"But I'm not perfect. I'm not young."
He walked over to her and placed his knuckle on her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes met his. "No, but your body's got something else that's better than perfection, my beautiful wife."
"What?"
"It's got character."
And she burst out laughing.
Epilogue
New York City, Christmas Eve, 1905
Giant Gymnasium still sat in the belly of New York, except now there were two entrances—one for the gentlemen and one for the ladies. There was also a separate smoking room. This Christmas, like the last seven, there were holly wreaths on the doors, one with red ribbons and one with green, and garland was draped on the fire escapes.
In the rear alley where carriages used to park there was now a brand spanking new Pierce Arrow sedan that still had pine needles scattered in the back from this year's Christmas tree. Inside, the lobby was still huge, but there was a homey wood stove with a basket of pine cones next to it, and Christmas music played on a Victrola with the RCA dog painted on the horn.
The message board was no longer there, because a large black telephone switchboard sat in its place. Behind the lobby was a small office, where Mrs. Nell Donoughue took care of the gymnasium books.
Up the stairs, the family home was now both the third and fourth floors, with an inside staircase that connected the floors. High above the fourth floor, the ceiling was still glass and two telescopes sat on their bases in the center of the main room.
Conn Donoughue stomped up the stairs, his huge arms filled with brightly wrapped packages. He shook the light snow from his shoulders and walked through the front door, stepping around cat toys and a scattering of children's mittens.
He set the packages down by the crooked tree and turned around just as his five-year-old son hollered, "Catch me, Daddy!"
Adam Donoughue leapt off the tall oak cabinet, bounced on his mother's new brocade sofa, and flew toward his father with his arms spread like an eagle.
He smacked into his father's chest with a thud. But his father would catch him; he always did.
Conn carried his son into the kitchen, where there were small hand prints of fudge on the table, the icebox, the walls, and his wife's face, and where nine cats with Christmas bows tied around their scrawny necks played under the work table.
Three-year-old Julia sat in her mother's lap, her small hands cupping Nell's cheek while she gave her a kiss. "Happy Chrith-muth, Mama."
"What's this? No happy Chrith—muth for your father?" Conn gave her a mock frown.
Julie looked up with a very serious face that looked exactly like her mother's. She planted her fudgy hands on her waist and frowned at him, scolding, "Not Chrith—muth, Daddy! It'th called Chrith-muthl"
He leaned down and planted a loud smooch on her small face, then bent toward his wife. "I believe it's not only Christmas, now, is it?" He kissed Nell and tasted chocolate and love and everything that was important in his life. "Happy Anniversary, Nellibelle."
"Ah, mush!" Adam screwed up his face. "Yuk! I'll never kiss a girl!"
Conn looked at him. "I'll remind you of that someday, son."
And later that night, when the children had been tucked into their beds in their rooms on the fourth floor, Conn stood one floor below, in the their bedroom and pulled his wife into his arms. "Happy Christmas, Nellibelle."
Then he started to kiss her.
Above him, someone whispered, "Ah, mush!" Then a small giggle that sounded like his Julibelle sounded from the ceiling. He snapped his head up and saw one small eyeball, just like his son's, peering down at them from a small hole he'd never seen before. There was some whispering, and second later, he saw his daughter's eye staring down at him.
"Go to bed! Now!"
Two pairs of feet scampered over the floor above. - He looked back down at Nellibelle. "Just how long has that hole been there?"
"Oh, let's see . . . Not too long," she said.
"How long?"
"About eight years."
Then she slid her arms around his neck and laughed, that joyous, wonderful laugh. And once again, Conn Donoughue saw the Christmas gift he'd always loved the best. He looked into his wife's smiling face and saw how truly beautiful a woman could be.
About the Author
JILL BARNETT enchants readers with her signature blend of love and laughter. Publishers Weekly gave her book, Dreaming, a starred review, calling it "hilarious… Her characters are joyously fresh and her style is a delight to read—a ray of summer sun." The Detroit Free Press named Bewitching one of the Best Books of the Year, cheering, "Barnett has a wicked way with a one-liner and she makes the romance sizzle." Her other books have all won critical acclaim and have since gone on to appear on such bestseller lists as the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers’ Weekly, the Washington Post, Barnes and Noble and Waldenbooks, who presented Jill with a National Waldenbooks Award. She has over 7 million books in print and her work has been published in 21 languages. Jill lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.
To hear the latest about Jill Barnett’s books please visit these sites
@Jill_Barnett
Jill Barnett Books
www.facebook.com/jillbarnettbooks
Also by Jill Barnett
Christmas in the City Series
DANiEL AND THE ANGEL
by
Jill Barnett
Book One
Daniel and the Angel
When wealthy financier D. L. Stewart's finds an injured woman in the snow in front of his New York City mansion, he has no idea she is the fair Lillian, a big-hearted and somewhat inept fallen angel, sent back to teach him what Christmas is really about. But Lilli has her work cut out for her. D.L. is a wounded and cynical soul, a man who is an expert at not feeling anything, and who believes he can buy anything and anyone. Can one loving, soft-hearted angel really change this damaged man who has a heart of solid stone?
Chapter One
It was the perfect day for a miracle.
The shimmering sky above Hea
ven was as gold as Gabriel's trumpet, and the distant sound of canticles filled the celestial air. Clouds, puffy and white as spring goosedown, created the holiest of firmaments —a place where no angel feared to tread.
Standing just outside the Pearly Gates was a novice angel named Lillian. She glanced left, then right, and, just for good measure, she cast a quick peek above her.
The coast was clear.
With a look of pure determination, she shoved up the sleeves on her flowing white robe, flexed her fingers, and did exactly what she had been forbidden to do: she tried to create a miracle.
The blast was loud enough to crack Heaven.
A backdraft of near hurricane force sent clouds skittering and bumping every which way. Lilli landed flat on her back. For a stunned moment, she lay atop a bouncing cloud with her arms and legs out like a snow angel.
Slowly, the dark smoke from the blast settled around her. She blew a hank of silver-blond hair out of her face and blinked a few times, then found herself
staring up into the Heavenly sky. She wiggled her toes first, then moved her arms and legs.
No ... Nothing broken.
She sat up quickly and her halo slipped down over her eyes. She shoved it back into place, then quickly tugged down her robe so her bare legs were once again covered.
Like falling snowflakes, three pearlescent wing feathers floated in front of her.
She looked over her shoulder and frowned down at her crumpled wings, then rolled her shoulders, shimmied slightly, and fluttered her wings to get the kinks out of her feathers. From behind her she heard a muffled squeal and whipped around. "Florida?" she hissed. "Is that you?"
There was another muffled grunt.
"Where are you?" She looked around, then turned this way and that.
Nearby, two bare feet suddenly popped out from within a dark cloud.
"Oh. There you are."
The feet kicked in the air a few times, before they disappeared in the motion of a somersault. Florie's dark head popped into view, and with Lilli's help she crawled out of the dark cloud, kneeling there for a second, her wings tilted downward while she coughed and wheezed.
Lilli patted Florie's back gently until she stopped coughing and flung her head up, frowning, then she tared at Lilli from dazed eyes. "What happened?"
"Nothing...really."
Florida turned back around and froze, staring horrified toward the west. "Oh, no! Something did happen." She pointed. "Oh, Lilli, look what you've done now!"
Lilli turned around and almost died—again.
"You've broken the Pearly Gates!"
Lilli covered her eyes with both hands and groaned, then slowly opened her fingers and peeked through, hoping she would not see what she thought she had already seen.
Her stomach dropped to somewhere near her bare toes.
Slowly she stood and walked toward her latest disaster, with Florie "tching" and trailing along behind her. She stopped, unable to think, to speak. She could only stare.
The entrance to the most hallowed place in the universe was in complete shambles. The gates to Heaven hung at cockeyed angles from their twenty-four karat gold hinges. The hinges had been shattered in half, their golden pins bent like boomerangs. Those precious gates, which were originally in the shape of an angel's wings, were meant to meet in the center, where a diamond-encrusted lock held them in perfect symmetry.
"Where's the lock?" Florie whispered, eyes wide.
Lilli stared down at her feet, where diamond dust winked back at her like bits of sand amidst cracked pieces of precious pearl. Chewing on her lower lip, she pointed. "I think it's there." She had a sick feeling. "Somewhere."
Florie knelt down and scraped together the dust with her hands.
Lilli gave the small pillar of white dust an uneasy glance. "Is that all that's left?"
Florie nodded.
Lilli winced, then said what she was thinking. "It looks like Lot's wife."
"Saint Peter's going to be mad enough to spit lightning. And can you imagine"—Florie leaned closer and whispered—"His reaction? You'll get the worst punishment yet. It might even be worse than the time Saint Peter made you polish all those silver linings."
"Well, He can't punish me if He doesn't know who did it." She spun around, gripping her long gown in her fists. "Come on! Follow me!" And she took off at a full run.
"Wait!"
"Hurry, Florie!" Lilli called out over her shoulder. "Or He'll think you did it!"
All the color drained from Florida's face. Quick as a wink, she fluttered after Lilli.
Wings shimmying, they leapt from one cloudbank to another, until Lilli found the perfect hiding spot deep inside a plump cumulus cloud, where glittering icicles framed a shining silver lining. She grabbed Florie's hand and dragged her inside.
Florie glanced around with an uncertain look. "Do you think Saint Peter will find us?"
"Of course not. This is the perfect place to hide. I found it when I spent those months silver polishing. No one thinks there's a lining in this cloud."
"You're certain?"
"I hid in here the last time."
"Oh." Florie paused, then gave her a knowing look. "The time you were trying to fly and ran headfirst into Jacob's ladder."
Lilli hung her head. "If only all the archangels hadn't been standing on it at the time."
"Gabriel still has a tweak in his halo."
"I know. I've never been able to look him in the eye again." Lilli looked at her friend, and after a quiet moment admitted, "Well, you know . . . that wasn't exactly the time I was talking about."
Florie stared at Lilli with suspicious eyes. "What else have you done?"
"You promise never to tell?"
Florie nodded solemnly.
"Cross your heart and hope to die?"
"I already am dead."
Lilli squirmed for a second, then said, "So am I, but if they ever find out about those ancient scrolls ..."
"You lost the scrolls? The sacred scrolls?"
She nodded.
"How could you lose the scrolls?"
"Well, I didn't exactly lose them."
Florie just stared at her.
"I dropped them," Lilli admitted.
"Where?"
Lilli's face took on a sick look. "Deep in the Dead Sea."
Florie's mouth hung open.
"I just wanted to move them out of the way. Then I tripped." After a long silent second, Lilli sighed and raised her chin, a hopeful look on her face. "But someone will find them ... someday."
Florie gave her a skeptical glance, then shivered. "I worry about you, Lilli. You really need to stop trying to perform the perfect miracle. She craned her neck around the long frosted icicles that framed the entrance and looked outside. "You're certain no one can see us in here?"
Lilli patted her friend's hand reassuringly. "Trust me. Look. See how our wings blend with the sparkling ice and silver? And our robes are white. My hair is so light blond that it won't show."
She looked at Florie's dark hair and frowned. "Just keep your head down." She shoved Florie's head under her wing.
A moment later Florie sneezed. She sniffed and rubbed her nose.
Lillie looked at her. "Are you that cold?"
"No. It was just one of these." She held up one of Lilli's wing feathers.
Lilli's face fell a little.
Florie gave Lilli's wing feathers a reassuring stroke. Four more feathers fell out. "You can't help it if you're the only angel with a molting season."
Lilli rested a chin in her hand and her wings drooped.
"I believe that's why you have so much trouble flying."
Lilli gave a huge sigh. "But I can't blame molting feathers for the reason I can't sing one heavenly note, or play the trumpet, or perform a miracle."
There was a long lapse of telling quiet, until, from the distance came the lovely lyrical sound of harp music. It grew louder and louder. And closer.
Florie gasped, and both an
gels ducked down.
"Glo . . . oh-oh-oh . . . oh-oh-oh . . . oh-oh-oh ... ria! In ex-cel-seees dey-ohhh," sang a group of clarion-clear voices.
"Shhhh!" Lilli raised a finger to her lips as they huddled closer together. "It's a chorus of archangels."
There was a loud clunk and the angels stopped singing right in front of Lilli's hiding spot. Both novices were so still they barely breathed…followed by another plunk, then a sharp boing!
A tall regal archangel named Mesopotamia flinched and looked over her shoulder. "Are those your harp strings breaking, Israfel?"
Another shorter angel nodded, frowning at her golden harp. "Four of them have broken just this very moment. Look here."
The archangels stared at the harp. One by one, five more harp strings snapped.
There was a long pause before Mesopotamia glanced around. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Lillian was around here somewhere."
All the archangels scanned the surrounding clouds while Lilli and Florie huddled in frightened silence. A second later there was a huge crash of lightning. Then another.
Everyone froze.
"My gates!" Saint Peter's thunderous roar echoed through Heaven. "My gates!"
There was an eternal moment of silence. Then...
“Lillian!" Saint Peter shouted.
Lilli blanched.
"Lill-lee-UNN! Come here! Immediately!"
"Uh-oh," Florie whispered.
"Shhhhh. He can't possibly find us."
Saint Peter shouted her name again.
And again.
Louder.
An icicle broke, landing with a tinkle at Lilli's feet. For a brief moment there was utter stillness.
A burst of light flashed through Heaven, so strong, so brilliant it made the sun dim. The walls of Jericho didn't hit the ground as quickly as Lilli and Florie tumbled onto the cloud floor, their arms over their heads.
All around them, icicles shattered like broken glass. A moment later, the entire cloud dissipated.
In unison, Lilli and Florida both uncovered their heads and looked up… right into the censorious and knowing eyes of Saint Peter.