That Mistletoe Moment

by Cat Johnson

  He had graciously offered her his bed. His own sleeping arrangements, undecided. They’d shared a hot look. One that drew her nipples to points and dampened her panties.

  He was equally affected, she noted. An erection was difficult to hide. He slid his hands into his pockets and made a discreet adjustment.

  Candlelight flickered over his face. His expression appeared as confused as she felt. All because of a stare. They hadn’t even touched.

  Imaginary or not, she had a boyfriend. Andrew Reynolds was an implied prerequisite to her employment. A man not to be forgotten. She lowered her gaze, clasped her hands on her lap. Waited for the moment to pass and the air to clear.

  “I’ll take the couch,” he decided. “There’s bedding in the closet. Plenty of pillows and comforters. The building temperature may drop, but not significantly.”

  She lifted her gaze. “No shivers or chattering teeth?”

  “I’ll make sure you stay warm.”

  His body heat reached her. Surrounded her. Embraced her. He held out his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. She bumped into his side. Sensed his strength. Felt protected. She slipped her hand free, and pulled back. He picked up two jar candles, passed her one. Then maintaining a platonic distance, she followed him to the bedroom.

  He held the door for her, and she entered. She took two steps, and stopped. Holding up her candle, she squinted against the light. She made out a dresser with a mirror and a double bed. Unmade. She set her candle on the built-in shelf in the headboard. The room softened to a bedtime glow.

  “The closet connects the bedroom and bathroom,” he told her. His trip into the closet produced a stack of bedding. He helped her make the bed. Man and woman. A silent closeness. Spreading and tucking cotton flannel sheets. Smoothing the goose down comforter. Plumping feather pillows. Her stomach tightened when their fingers brushed. Their heightened familiarity was as warm and comforting as a wool blanket. Their closeness felt uncanny.

  The bed was soon made, and her stomach softened with appreciation. She stood aside as he collected his own bedding, tucked it under one arm, then turned toward the door. He still held his candle.

  “There may be enough water pressure to wash your face and hands,” he cast back. “I wouldn’t advise a shower. You’d end up soapy. There should be a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet. Feel free to use what you need.”

  Her throat tightened at his kindness. “Thank you,” was barely audible.

  “You may find me serious and harsh,” he said from the doorway. “In my own way, however conflicting with yours, I do look out for those in my employ. That includes you, Riley, on this blustery night.” One corner of his mouth curved. “A better day tomorrow. I’ll cook you breakfast if the electricity’s back on. Otherwise, it’s dry cereal.” He left her.

  She missed him the moment he closed the door. Their rapport had touched her deeply. It had come on so suddenly. An indescribable longing. She believed he felt it too. Maybe not as strongly as she did, but still, his gaze had shone with interest. Unimaginable as that seemed. He was somebody. She, a nobody.

  Had it not been for the blizzard, they might never have spent any time together. Never gotten acquainted, beyond her purchasing his wardrobe and awaiting his approval.

  She tamped down her feelings. Her position with him was personal shopper. Nothing more. She would school her features, detach. Downplay her emotions. The last thing she wanted was to get fired, one day into the job. Still, a small part of her anticipated seeing him the next morning.

  With a quick trip to the bathroom, she freshened up to the best of her ability with the meager water supply. Returning, she let the candlelight play across the walls of his executive closet. The masculine look was carried out in hardwood floors and cedar paneling. Chrome bars with luxury wooden coat, suit, and pant hangers. Tall shoe trees and tie racks. Not a stitch of clothing remained. Vengeance by Judith Scissorhands. Because Daniel hadn’t loved her.

  Riley stepped from the closet and rounded the foot of the bed. Went to sit on the side. She slipped off her shoes and slid into bed. Fully clothed. She snuggled into the cocoon of flannel and goose down. She blew out the candle. She closed her eyes, and her breathing slowed. She slept deep. Ten hours straight.

  * * *

  A knock on her door had her blinking. She rubbed her eyes. Ran a hand down her face. She felt momentarily disoriented. Until the previous day came into focus. The blizzard. Daniel’s office apartment, his bedroom. The warmth of the comforter against the cooling air. The electricity had yet to be restored, she realized. She faced dry cereal for breakfast.

  She pushed up on one elbow, called, “Come in.”

  Daniel cracked the door, and a crease of light shot across the bed. Morning followed him into the room. She glanced in the mirror atop the dresser next to the bed. Inwardly groaned. Sleep had not been kind to her. Bed head. A pillow crease on her cheek. Sleep in her eyes. Her lips were dry. Her knit sweater hung off one shoulder. She needed mouthwash and deodorant.

  Daniel, on the other hand, had never looked more handsome. She liked his rolled-off-the-couch look. Sexy, and romantic. Stubble darkened his jaw. His shirt was untucked, but not wrinkled. He stood in sharply creased slacks and his socks. He rested one hip against the door frame. Sipped a bottle of water.

  She wiggled her butt up the mattress, and the comforter fell across her thighs. She straightened the neckline on her sweater. Tugged down the hem that had snuck up beneath her bra. Then leaned against the headboard. Met his gaze.

  “Good morning,” he initiated.

  “How good is it?” she asked, referring to the weather.

  “Snow is still falling, but less wind. I can see the skyline.”

  She breathed a little easier. “Snow removal?”

  “No snowplows or trucks that I can see.”

  “Soon,” she said hopefully.

  “I imagine the government center, banks, and most of downtown is shut down. Schools will be closed, too. Students will have a snow day.”

  She grinned. “I loved those days. School buses were unable to run, but we could still go outside and sled, make snow angels, and build snowmen.”

  “Sounds like a good time.” Pause. “My father always found a way to bring a tutor to the house when schools were closed.”

  “No fun there.” She bit her lip for being so blunt.

  He shrugged. “Education was important to my dad. He believed we should never stop learning. Even on a snow day.”

  “I’m sure he had your best interests at heart.”

  “He did,” was what he said. What she heard was, “A day of play would’ve been nice, too.”

  She let it go. In her mind, learning was important. Experiencing life, equally so.

  “Breakfast?” he offered.

  “French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, bowl of fresh fruit.”

  “Dry cereal.”

  “Captain Crunch, Honey Nut Cheerios, Lucky Charms?”

  “Muesli or Bran Flakes. Healthy.”

  “Yum. Fiber.”

  “No milk, but there’s honey.”

  Despite the scarcity of choices, she was hungry. “I’m in.”

  She pushed back the comforter, sat on the edge of the bed, put on her saddle shoes. Stood and stretched until her back cracked. Her sweater rose with her arms, over her abdomen, closer to her satin B-cups. She remembered that she’d worn her lucky bra to the final interview. Sheer black satin demi-cups edged with lace. A super-sexy bra. It gave her confidence. She flashed him. Her face heated.

  Daniel’s gaze lowered to her breasts, and his own color heightened. He blew out a breath. His jaw tightening. A gentleman, he looked away.

  She lowered her arms. Swallowed. Reached for her purse on the dresser, searched for a comb. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She kept her voice light. “Hair and teeth.”

  He nodded, made a slow turn out the door. Side view showed his protruding zipper. A significant ridge. Based on he
r breasts. Her heart would’ve burst with happiness at any other time in her life. Instead she lowered her expectations and reminded herself she had a boyfriend. However pretend.

  Hair combed, her teeth brushed—a drizzle of water, and the taste of toothpaste lingered—she next made the bed. Then found her way to the living room. Daniel had set the coffee table with two boxes of cereal, plastic bowls and spoons, paper towel napkins, a squeeze container of honey, and two bottles of water.

  She crossed to the sofa, dropped down. He came to sit beside her. Closer this morning than the night before. “How’s your cold?” she asked.

  “Better, I think.”

  She was a human thermometer. Without thinking, she touched her fingers to his forehead to check if he was overly warm. His brow was as cool as her fingertips. He arched one wicked-sexy eyebrow questioningly, and heat crept up her neck. She explained, “Mothers came into Baby Gap with cranky children, some were ill. I was often asked to feel foreheads for fever. Sorry, Daniel. Knee-jerk reaction. You’re fine.”

  A smile played about his mouth. One corner tipped. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Your concern for my health.”

  “We can’t have the boss sick, can we?”

  “I’m not a good patient. I get ornery when I don’t feel well. I’m known to growl.”

  “More than usual?” Again, inappropriate.

  “I’ll let that one slide.”

  She’d forgotten herself. They sat so casually on the couch, so at ease with one another, that it was hard to remember he was the CEO of Global Financial. Influential in economic circles. Respected in the community. A desired bachelor in the Twin Cities.

  She suddenly wondered whom he had dated when he had social obligations or downtime. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. His cultural circle was out of her league and none of her business. Still, she wondered how often he brought a woman to his apartment. Her stomach knotted with the thought of him and a lover in the same bed where she’d spent the night. She licked her lips. Sighed.

  Riley’s expression spoke to Daniel. She was easy to read. He felt she had more on her mind than cereal. He side-eyed her several times, and with each glance, found her staring at the bedroom door. Intently. He wasn’t sure why.

  He was analytical. A few questions, and he’d have his answer. “Did you sleep well?” he began.

  She nodded. “A deep sleep. One of the best I’ve had in ages.”

  “You were warm enough?”

  “Toasty.”

  “I’ve always slept well there when I’ve spent a night in town.”

  “Do you stay in the city often?”

  “Not as often as my father. Mostly when I have a social function.”

  She hesitated. “I’m sure you’re a man in demand. Cocktail parties, charity dinners, fund-raisers, you and your . . . date.”

  Date? He’d tapped in to her thoughts. She was curious as to the ladies in his life. Possibly even wondered how many had shared his bed. He’d never explained his personal life to anyone. There’d been no reason. He sensed her distress at having slept on another woman’s sheets. A vulnerability. A part of him needed to clear the air.

  “No other woman has spent time in my apartment.” He kept his voice even. “Other than Judith. And that was only when she organized my closet or dropped off groceries. She was never here longer than an hour. That was my rule. This is my private space, my sanctuary. A place where I can breathe when I need to escape. Where I crash when the day’s gotten away from me.”

  Her face softened. Her eyes brightened. He’d eased her mind. She looked at him as if he’d righted the world. She cleared her throat, said, “I hadn’t meant to pry, but I felt awkward—”

  “In a bed where I’d made love.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “More or less. You were voted one of the Twin Cities’ most eligible bachelors.”

  “I like being single,” he stated. “My wealth and heritage put me in the public eye. I work more than I date. I’ve never met that special someone to share my life with. Not like you and the doc.”

  “Andrew . . .”

  He heard the breathy catch in her voice. Such throatiness could only be love. He didn’t want to dwell on the relationship she had and the fact that he’d never been seriously involved.

  He moved on, pointing to the boxes of cereal. “Your choice.”

  “Muesli. It’s like granola.”

  He went with Bran Flakes. Adding honey, they scooped and ate. The crunch of her eating the granola cereal was the only sound in the living room. He heard every oat cluster and nut. He smiled to himself. He enjoyed having breakfast with her.

  “Plans for today?” she asked between bites.

  “Global Financial is expanding. We’re hoping to merge with Fredericks International, a progressive corporation outside Washington, D.C. They would complement our long-term operating balance of current assets and liabilities with their short-term focus on managing cash, inventories, and borrowing and lending.”

  Riley looked lost. So he modified, “I’ll be bringing the founder to visit our home base here in Minneapolis closer to Christmas. I need to formulate an agenda. Show him how the company is run.”

  “Is he as formidable as you?”

  “Equally so. Perhaps even more so. Geoffrey Fredericks is an economic Einstein. He has tremendous ability and foresight. He’s had a rough year. His wife passed away unexpectedly. He has a small son, Christopher. They will travel together when the time comes.”

  “Personal shopper, holiday decorator, babysitter,” she assumed.

  “Would you mind terribly?”

  “I love kids. Perhaps a movie or a trip to the toy store. I could help him pick out a Christmas present for his dad.”

  “I’m appreciative. Christopher is six.”

  “Six is a great age. Six-year-olds are vulnerable, yet expectant. They still hug without being embarrassed.”

  She finished off her first bowl of muesli, and went for seconds. She used her spoon to sift through the cereal box, picking out the dried fruit. He could only stare. The next time he poured out a bowl of granola, there’d be no dried cranberries, apricots, or raisins. He shook his head. She had a hearty appetite.

  Riley slowly came to realize what she was doing. The spoon even with her lips, she blushed, “I-I’ve eaten—”

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I prefer the nuts and oat clusters over the fruit.”

  “Really?”

  “A single raisin might’ve been nice.”

  She looked down at her spoon. Piled with raisins. Instead of pouring them back in the box, she ate them. Right in front of him. She chewed, swallowed, added, “They are good.” She scooped through the remaining cereal and found one raisin. She held it up for him. “You’re in luck.” She rolled the raisin off her spoon and back into the cereal. Then resealed the box. Her grin broke. “Happy now?”

  “Thanks for sharing,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I’ll get a new box when I grocery-shop for you.”

  He’d eaten the same cereal for years. A change might be nice. “Choose something similar to what I’ve been eating, but slightly different.”

  “How different? Puffs, Chex, colorful circles, frosted, fruity, chocolate, cinnamon, Cookie Crisp, stars, marshmallows?” she rattled off. She knew her children’s cereal.

  “Nothing too sweet.”

  “Maybe a peanut butter crunch.”

  “Maybe . . .” He was hesitant. “Use your best judgment. I’m into nutrition. And I do like raisins.”

  “Raisin Bran has two scoops of raisins.”

  They’d both finished their breakfast. She rose, disposed of the plastic bowls and plastic spoons. Daniel leaned back on the couch and appreciated her backside as she stood on tiptoe before the cupboard and replaced the cereal and honey on the top shelf.

&nb
sp; Riley Tyler was a small woman. Curvy. Cute. Full of energy and suggestions. She spoke her mind. He liked that best about her. No one had ever criticized him before. Unless it was behind his back. She was frank, and gave it to him straight. He didn’t mind her candor.

  He stood, said, “I’ll be working at my desk if you need me.”

  She crossed to the coffee table, lifted his wardrobe binder. “I’ll be sitting in a chair facing you. I’m a visual person. I’ll be making up a mental color palette. I want to go page by page and imagine you wearing the clothes. I’ll take notes, and once the electricity is restored, I’ll call in rush orders for the necessary purchases.”

  Color palette? Made him nervous. He felt compelled to remind her, “There’s nothing wrong with dark suits and white shirts.”

  She gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m with you. Conservative yet fashion forward.”

  That stopped him cold. One corner of his eye twitched, and his jaw clamped. “Riley . . .”

  “I’m playing you, Daniel.”

  “Not funny.”

  “It is if you could see your face.”

  He glanced toward the arched windows and caught his reflection. Creased forehead, tight-lipped, stiff-necked. He had the look of his father. A man set in his ways. Stern and serious. Inflexible.

  Daniel released a slow breath. He respected his dad. Always had, always would. Franklin had conformed to traditional dress. Old-style suited him. Daniel, too. There was nothing wrong with basic and bland.

  A hint of sunshine contradicted him. Pushing through the clouds, shades of pale yellow and gold streaked the dark hardwood floor, bringing warmth to a drab day. He watched the hues come alive, sparkle, and dance.

  “Whimsical.” Riley stood behind him. “I won’t go full kaleidoscope on you, Daniel, but color can be flattering, if only in a tie.”

  His face relaxed. His expression was once again his own.

  Riley walked ahead of him into his office, the big binder in hand. “I’ll pull those pages for clown and circus trends. No Bozo for you.”

  Daniel chuckled. Half-smiled.

  Riley heard him. Grinned back.

  Humor. They connected in that moment. A first for him with any woman. The ladies in his life went out of their way to impress him. To please him. Flirty, flattering. Phony. They tried too hard. Riley was her own person. Funny and quirky. Her comments uncensored.