by Serena Grey
I watched him as he drove, his fingers holding the wheel lightly but firmly. He spared me a quick glance and caught me staring.
“I think we’re clear.”
I rose and looked around. We were still in the city, but there was no sign of relentless photographers. I heaved a sigh of relief, feeling free for the first time in a long time. No one knew where I was—not my agent, not my publicist, my assistant, or my manager. No one knew, and it filled me with a sense of joy I couldn’t describe. “How long till we get there?”
“With the weather, maybe three hours. The roads should be clear.” He paused. “Do you want to come over to the front?”
I scooted between the seats to the front passenger seat and settled in, pulling the belt across and fastening it. Braden gaped at me with something that looked like a mixture of shock and admiration. “That was incredibly unsafe,” he said with a dry chuckle.
“I know.” I shrugged. “But I didn’t want you to stop and have someone catch a glimpse of me. Don’t worry.” I smiled at him. “You know those rumors about me doing some of my own stunts?”
“Mhmm.”
“They’re true.”
He laughed, a deep warm sound that made me curl my toes. “You really are something else,” he said softly.
“I am,” I agreed.
He smiled at me, and my heart skipped a beat. When he faced the road again, a feeling of pleasure unfurled in my chest, along with a smile I couldn’t wipe off my face.
Five
Braden
The drive to Gracie House took a little more than two hours. I hadn’t driven in a long time, but with Allie beside me, I had nothing to complain about. She stayed awake through the long drive, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. I enjoyed the sound of her voice. I enjoyed her silence. I enjoyed the fact that somehow, of all the wonderful things that could happen at Christmas, she was seated there, beside me.
The entrance to the estate was set back from a tree-lined street. As I drove closer, the wrought iron gates slid open, picking up the signal from the sensor on my car.
The drive rose on a hill, crunchy gravel lined with a snow-covered hedge and rolling lawns, all the green invisible under a light layer of snow. At the crest, the house came into sight, framed by the acres of woodland behind it. It was polished sandstone, hugging the incline as it dipped out of sight. Some of the windows were dark, but there were enough bright lights to cast a brilliant glow on the beautifully restored structure.
“It’s so beautiful,” Allie whispered, looking almost spellbound. I understood the feeling. It was a lovely house, with stone and glass that somehow dominated the landscape and yet belonged to it.
Allie was still gazing intently, her face a study in rapture. I’d never been so proud of something I owned as I was in that moment. The purchase had seemed like an extravagance, but right then, I’d have bought it all over again just to see that look on her face.
I parked the car and went over to her side to open the door. She smiled and took my hand, letting me lead her to the front door.
I’d sent a message to the staff that I was on my way, so even though it was short notice, the house was well-lit and warm. As we entered the hallway, the housekeeper hurried into the hall from the opposite direction.
“Mr. Rhodes. Welcome home. It’s great to have you back.” Colleen Baker was a diminutive, pleasantly plump woman with a rosy face. “How was the drive?” she asked.
“Perfect, Colleen,” I replied with a smile. “This is Allie Gilbert. Allie, Mrs. Baker.”
“Hello.” Allie gave the woman a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure.” If Colleen recognized her, she didn’t let on. She held out her hand for my jacket, which Allie still had around her. Allie handed it over, looking almost reluctant to let it go.
“How is Sam?” I asked, referring to the other half of the house management team as we walked into the spacious living room. Sam and Colleen were a package deal for the maintenance of a high-efficiency residence, and they were the best.
“He thought you might need refreshments after the long drive, a light after-dinner snack and wine?”
“Sounds great. Thanks for taking the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Let’s have some of that wine,” I said, turning to Allie, who was looking around. “How does wine sound while I show you around?”
Her lips curved. “It sounds wonderful. I love wine.”
Colleen left us, and a few moments later, Sam arrived with the glasses. He was straight-backed and severe, as tall as his wife was small. He accepted our thanks with a grave nod.
“I like them,” Allie said when we were alone. “They live here permanently?”
I nodded. “A house like this requires constant care and management.”
She shook her head. “I feel like I stepped into an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”
“You are rich and famous,” I reminded her.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d forgotten all that for a moment. Come on,” she said, laughing as she took my hand. “Show me around.”
Six
Allie
The house was huge, so the tour took a while. I followed Braden from room to room, more enchanted by the sound of his voice than by the unarguable beauty of each perfectly decorated space.
I admired his body even as I took in the large living room with huge north-facing windows, raised formal dining room, large library, study, billiards room, indoor swimming pool, ultra-modern kitchen, and a cellar with rows and rows of neatly packed bottles of wine.
Upstairs there were more rooms: bedrooms, guest suites, and sitting rooms with marvelous views of the beach. We held hands until we finally returned downstairs to the family dining room, where food had been set out–warm biscuits, gravy, grilled chicken, and a fresh salad.
“This is heaven,” I exclaimed as he opened a delicious-smelling dish. “Can I stay here forever?”
His eyes were serious. “If you like.”
I chuckled, even though inside, the words did something to me. I felt like I wouldn’t mind staying anywhere forever if he would be there too. I’d only just met him. It made no sense.
I set down my empty wine glass and dove into the food. Braden watched me, a half-smile on his face.
“What?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” he said simply. “I like looking at you.”
I stared at him for a moment, practically swept off my feet by the simple admission. I swallowed. “I like looking at you too.”
After a moment’s silence, he lifted the bottle of wine. “More?”
“Yes, please.”
Later, we went back to the living room. I curled into the soft couch and pulled Braden down beside me, resting my head on his shoulder.
“I’m glad I ran into you on that stairwell.”
He laughed. “I ran into you.”
“You did.” I smiled. “What were you thinking when you were staring at me?”
He paused. “That I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.”
His eyes burned into mine and I didn’t doubt how earnest he was. The urge to explore my attraction to him was overwhelming, and right there, right then, in a scenario that felt almost like a dream…how could I resist?
“I wasn’t always beautiful,” I admitted softly. “I got sick during my second year at college and lost a ton of weight, dropped out, lucked out in an audition, and became famous.”
He was frowning—with concern, not disgust, I realized with relief. “Sick?”
“Meningitis. It was serious, but I recovered.”
“I’m glad.” I felt his hand stroke my hair, and I closed my eyes. “I’m willing to bet you were always beautiful anyway.”
I smiled, choosing to believe him as I shook off memories of the awkward, overweight teenager I used to be. Now was not the time to think of how sometimes I felt like an imposter in my beautiful skin, not when his fingers felt so go
od in my hair.
Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour.
“It’s Christmas,” Braden said.
I sighed, drowsy from the long day and his fingers in my hair. “Merry Christmas, Braden Rhodes.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I woke up in a soft bed. It was easily the most comfortable one I’d ever slept in and as I inhaled, my nose filled with the scent of Braden. I opened my eyes, looking for him, but I was alone.
I rolled to the side and swung my legs over. The drapes were drawn, but the room was light enough that I knew it must be bright outside. I was wearing a long sweater that reached to my knees, and I dimly remembered Braden handing it to me and helping me unfasten my dress before tucking me into bed.
I smiled, wondering again where he was. I rounded the bed and found a door. Opening it, I stepped into a large marble-tiled bathroom, made all the more beautiful by the fact that a very naked Braden was at that very moment stepping out of the shower stall.
Hot damn!
He had one hand on the sliding glass panel, and with the other, he was drying his hair with a white towel. I stared, slack-jawed, because wow! He was a feast to look at. His arms were strong and muscular, his chest hard and sculpted. His legs were long and lean, and between his flexing thighs…he really was the full package.
He looked up, slowly dropping the towel as he met my eyes. I felt hot, but more with desire than embarrassment. He wrapped the towel around his hips without saying a word, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Merry Christmas,” I said softly.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
I shrugged. “Body clock. No matter how late I stay up or where I am, I always wake up when the sun comes up.”
“Me too.” His eyes wandered over my tousled hair and face. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
“I look like I just got out of bed.”
“And it looks beautiful on you.”
I fluttered my lashes. “Well, thank you. Just-got-out-of-the-shower looks spectacular on you.” I went to the marble sink, where a new toothbrush lay, still inside the package.
“Handy,” I said, picking it up and giving him a teasing smile. “For me, I hope. You weren’t expecting anyone else?”
“Here, no.” He came to stand beside me and picked up his own brush. “You’re my first and only guest.”
We brushed side by side then he left me to shower, with instructions to pick whatever I wanted from the adjoining closet. I chose another one of his large sweaters that reached almost to my knees, belting it at the waist with one of his leather belts. It was an artless ensemble, but the look of appreciation on Braden’s face when I joined him downstairs made a flutter of pleasure rise in my chest.
He was standing at the base of the stairs, wearing another black sweater and black jeans, and he looked sensational. I resisted the urge to peel off the sweater and kiss the hard, muscled flesh I’d already glimpsed earlier. Unaware of my lustful thoughts, he led me to a toasty warm breakfast room that looked out onto the snow-covered garden.
“You can have all my sweaters,” he teased. “They look much better on you.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you,” I said lightly, swallowing my lust and taking the seat he offered me. The table was rich with food, toast, and bacon with lots of eggs, fruit, and juice.
Just as I sat, Mrs. Baker walked in with a pot of coffee. “Good morning, Miss Gilbert.”
“Please call me Allie,” I replied as she set the coffee down. “This looks good.”
“Thank you.” She turned to Braden. “McGuire arrived late last night, and we put him in the guest house.”
Braden nodded. “That’s fine.”
She turned back to me. “You left your phone downstairs. Sam charged it this morning, and it’s been ringing up a storm, but I thought you might want to deal with it after breakfast.”
My face fell as I thought of all the people who would be trying to reach me. I thought of the life I’d left behind, and I was in no hurry to open the door to let them into the way I was feeling now.
Happy. Content. Peaceful.
I looked at Braden. “I’ll deal with it after breakfast.”
Colleen nodded and left.
“My publicist and my agent are probably going crazy wondering where I am,” I said as I buttered a piece of toast.
“You’ve never done this before? Just walked away?”
“No.” I laughed. “I’m a good girl, all the time.”
“All the time?” There was a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes were dark with a feeling I recognised, because ever since I set eyes on him, I’d been feeling it too.
“Maybe not all the time,” I said, my mouth a little dry.
He grinned wickedly, and my stomach knotted. “Good.”
Seven
Braden
I could barely keep myself from reaching out to touch her. I wanted to lick off every crumb that lingered on her lips. I wanted to kiss each one of her fingers. Since that moment in the bathroom when she’d looked at me with a hunger I recognized, I’d been in a state of irrepressible desire, wanting her with an intensity that surprised me.
But, I was willing to wait, willing to watch her enjoy little things like breakfast, to listen to her talk, to watch her smile when I teased her.
My phone rang just as we finished eating. It was my mother.
“Merry Christmas, dear,” she said. “We’re having the time of our lives, but I couldn’t go the whole day without talking to you.”
I chuckled. I was very close to my mother, to both my parents. My mother was a fifth-generation heiress, an aimless socialite until she met my father, then a penniless journalist from a vastly different background.
Somehow, they made it work. I grew up with no idea that my parents came from different backgrounds. My father’s career rose, as did my mother’s in charity work. It was important to her from the start that I learn to stand on my own feet and not end up as adrift as she’d been in her youth.
It worked. Aside from the marvelous education they’d paid for, everything else I owned I’d built with my own hands. It made her very proud.
“Merry Christmas, mother.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“My house.”
“Long Island? Great. At least you’re not in that soulless apartment. Please tell me you’re not alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Oh.” I could almost hear the smile of relief in her voice. “Is it serious?”
“Mother.” I laughed and watched as Allie spooned a little yogurt into her mouth and made a sound of utter contentment before smiling at me, and I knew the answer to the question.
“It is for me,” I replied.
My mother laughed. “He’s with someone,” I heard her say to someone on the other end. “He says it’s serious.”
“How are you, Braden?” my father said. He was retired now because of a heart problem, but the force of his personality came through even on the phone. “Your mother is ecstatic that you have a serious girlfriend.”
“I didn’t say…” I sighed. “How’s the vacation?”
“Good. Your mother has guests over. We’re entertaining.”
I wasn’t surprised. My mother knew people on every continent.
“I want to talk to her.” My mother was back on the line. “What’s her name?”
“Her name is Allie.” Allie focused on me when she heard her name. “And I don’t think…”
“I just want to say Merry Christmas, not ask her to take pity and make an honest man out of you.”
“I am an honest man.”
“Who has all the money in the world but won’t settle down.”
I shook my head and handed the phone to Allie. She gave me a questioning look. “It’s my mother, I explained. She wants to say Merry Christmas.”
She said more than that. I listen
ed to Allie’s side of the conversation, hearing her laugh and respond to questions I couldn’t hear.
“I like her,” my mother said when Allie handed the phone back to me.
“Good to know,” I replied, still nervous as I wondered what they’d talked about.
“She’s so nice,” Allie told me when I ended the call. “You’re lucky. My parents aren’t the affectionate type. They give their love to their work.” She sighed. “I don’t mind—they save a lot of lives.”
I could tell she did mind, and I ached to make her feel better. “My mother likes you.”
Allie chuckled. “Mothers always love me.”
How many mothers? I wanted to ask. The surge of possessiveness surprised me. I bit back the words and followed her into the living room. She stopped at the entrance, taking in the white tree we’d put up while she was asleep. It was impeccably decorated, and with the fire crackling merrily in the stone fireplace, it brought Christmas into the house in a way that had been missing before.
“How did you do this?” Allie exclaimed, her delight spilling into me like bubbles of joy.
“With Sam’s help,” I told her. “It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t expect to be here today, but that’s not a good enough reason for you not to have a tree at Christmas.”
She laughed. “I’m sure I could have survived.” Her eyes went to the large gift-wrapped package under the tree. “Is that a present?”
I nodded. “Everybody should have something to open on Christmas morning.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she said, going to sit on the rug in front of the tree. I joined her and helped peel off the wrapping on the package. I watched her open it, waiting as her face relaxed into a smile. The present was a big cuddly bear, almost half as tall as her.
She hugged it close. “I love it! It’s perfect. How did you…?”
“I made some calls.” I didn’t tell her I’d purchased a lot more than that: a diamond bracelet, a miniature model of one of the historic homes she loved so much. I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression—that I was trying to buy her affection with presents—so I kept the more expensive items to myself for the time being.