Christmas Promises: The Christmas Eve BrideA Marriage Proposal for ChristmasA Bride for Christmas

by Lynne Graham

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘Jenny...’

  ‘He won’t,’ she said definitely. ‘And even if the impossible happened and he did, do you think I could take Henry away from all this? There’s no way, and you know it.’ She gave herself a mental shake and managed a grin. ‘Okay, he’s gorgeous, and if he happened to kiss me again...’

  ‘He kissed you?’ Lorna squeaked, and Jenny’s grin firmed.

  ‘There’s things that even you don’t know, Lorna Westmere. It’s true I find him enormously attractive, and the memory of Ben won’t hold me back. But it’s only for a few days and then it’ll be over.’

  * * *

  GUY SPENT MUCH of that night awake. Thinking of Christa.

  Thinking of Jenny.

  He’d loved Christa, he thought. He remembered the bleakness, the guilt, the horror of those weeks after she’d been killed, but in contrast... He remembered the joy of Christa’s life, how she’d made him laugh, how when she’d agreed to marry him he’d felt like the luckiest man in the world.

  But then things had changed. She’d hated his new career. There’d been fight after fight. The relationship had soured to the point where if she hadn’t been killed it would have been over.

  He’d thought he’d been in love and he’d been wrong, and such a fundamental mistake had stayed with him ever since. Hell, if he could be so wrong about someone he’d believed he loved so much, how could he ever commit again?

  He couldn’t.

  ‘So what the hell are you thinking of now?’ he demanded of himself aloud, and there was only one answer.

  ‘You’re thinking she’s gorgeous. You’re thinking that she’s been through hell and her little boy needs someone and...

  ‘You’re thinking of marrying?’ It was an incredulous demand into the darkness. ‘You’re thinking of taking them home?’

  Why not?

  The idea was so far out of left field that he almost laughed.

  But...

  But.

  It wouldn’t mess with my life, he told himself. She’d come back to New York. We’d get the best medical attention for those scars. Henry could go to school. Jenny could work in the company.

  And live with you?

  Of course live with me, he told his alter ego, letting the picture of domestic bliss build. I have a huge apartment. There’s room to spare. Henry could have his own wing, and Jenny and I...

  There was the nub of the matter. Jenny and I.

  Jenny. Jenny as she’d been today, dressed only in a bikini, all womanly curves, defending her son, defiant, taking on all comers. Jenny squashed into his Ferrari, giggling with her son, meeting his eyes over Henry’s head and sharing his laughter.

  Jenny.

  You haven’t even slept with the woman, he told himself, and he sounded desperate, even to himself. How do you know you want her every night for the rest of your life?

  Because I do, he thought, suddenly sure.

  It was crazy. It was way too fast. But the thought of Jenny in his bed was suddenly immeasurably enticing.

  It’s too soon, he told himself, his heart for once agreeing with his head. The way you’re feeling... It might just be sympathy.

  It’s not sympathy and you know it.

  It might be. You thought you loved Christa.

  You wouldn’t be committing in the same way, he told himself. You can stay independent. What’s the harm? If it doesn’t work, what do you have to lose?

  Nothing if you stay independent.

  Can you stay independent?

  Maybe. I can try.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KYLIE’S wedding took place two days before Christmas, and it was more than Kylie and Daryl had ever dreamed of.

  Kylie moved though her wedding day in a blissful whirl. She looked totally in love with her wedding—and totally in love with her man. Daryl, too, looked as if all his dreams had come true. He had the woman he loved, and he had a wedding ceremony that would be the talk of the district for years.

  For it was a true Carver Wedding.

  The man had brilliance, Jenny thought, gazing round the transformed hall where the reception was being held. It was no longer a hall. Instead it was a smoky gambling den, straight out of the nineteen-twenties. Guy had spent the last few days painting sets, organising props, training a couple of acting students he’d flown in from Sydney, throwing himself into this wedding as if it was a vastly publicised celebrity wedding instead of the wedding of two butcher’s assistants with no profit to be made at all.

  His work was worth it for the sheer pleasure it gave, Jenny decided. It was fantastic. As every guest arrived they gasped in wonder, joining instantly into the pleasure of make-believe mingled with a true-love wedding. The press, arriving to see the first Carver Wedding in Australia, were hauled right into the theme, being directed to point their cameras at the groom’s right side and make him look good or they’d be wearing concrete shoes before they knew what had hit them.

  The photographers didn’t know where to point their cameras next. Even Shirley Grubb abandoned her need for pink tulle and embraced the theme with enthusiasm.

  ‘Oh, Jenny... I’ve been dreaming of this wedding since Kylie was born, and I so wanted everything to be right,’ she confided towards the end of the evening. ‘I was so upset when Kylie told me she wasn’t doing it my way. But now... My two sisters are here. Their daughters had flash weddings in Sydney—no money spared—and you know what? They’re jealous. They’re jealous of their little sister who married Fred Grubb and never has any money to her name.’ She hugged Jenny, and there were tears slipping down her face. ‘He’s fabulous,’ she whispered. ‘You’re so lucky.’

  Guy was fabulous? Jenny was lucky? Jenny examined the comment from all sides, then decided to ignore it and hand out a few more drinks.

  She couldn’t quite ignore it.

  Guy was everywhere, working hands-on, making sure the event went without a hitch. He was dressed as a bodyguard, armed and dangerous, his slicked-down hair making his face look somehow menacing, his mock pistols too obvious, moving among the crowd, making amiable if-you-don’t-have-a-good-time-I’ll-punch-your-lights-out comments—sure his wedding couple were safe.

  I’d think I was safe if I had him for a bodyguard, too, Jenny thought while she dispensed drinks. But she shoved the notion aside and went to make sure the cake, an overblown affair, adorned with a miniature gangster and his bride driving away in their fancy car—where had Guy found these props?—was ready for cutting.

  She put the thought of Guy to one side.

  But she stayed achingly aware of him.

  * * *

  AND GUY...?

  He moved through the wedding with his customary efficiency, ensuring each and every guest took home memories to cherish. Whether it was adroit flirting with the bridesmaids, bullying Uncle Ern to take Cousin Cecilia onto the dance floor, or removing the third glass of champagne from fifteen-year-old Bert’s grasp and replacing it with cola. ‘That stuff is a lady’s drink—I never touch it,’ he told the kid, who gazed at Guy in suspicion and then decided that maybe cola really was okay. Wherever there was a need, there he was.

  But at any given moment Guy knew Jenny’s whereabouts. She was dressed in a pert maid’s uniform, doing the same as him, working the crowd. He watched her laughter and her affection for these people. He watched as people responded to her with affection, and the more he saw of her the more his mind had to dwell on.

  Jenny.

  The night wore on. The crowd started to thin.

  His awareness of Jenny built.

  And the crazy idea from the night after the beach incident became louder and louder in his head. You’re thinking of marrying?

  Yes. Yes, he was.

  He couldn’t stay
independent without her, he thought. It was a dumb notion, but maybe if he married her and kept her safe he could get her out of his system?

  Or not. Whatever.

  You’re thinking of marrying.

  * * *

  JENNY HAD NO time to talk to Guy until Daryl and Kylie had driven away, their found-for-the-occasion Buick trailing a suitable clattering of ancient shoes and tin cans. The guests dispersed with reluctance, the crew cleared the mess, and Jenny was left with Guy.

  ‘That was fantastic,’ she told him as they emerged into the warm night air, glad to be free of the fog inside. ‘It was the best wedding.’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Guy said. He flicked a switch and the lights of the hall disappeared. They were left in darkness, their two cars standing in solitary state in the abandoned car park. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be hands-on.’

  ‘I loved it.’ She sighed in exhausted pleasure. ‘There’s no nicer thing than a truly happy wedding.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and paused.

  It was one a.m. It was time she was home, Jenny thought ruefully. Henry would be awake at six, and the next day was huge. There was still planning to do for Anna and Barret’s wedding, and Christmas was in two days’ time.

  Christmas...

  Christmas without Ben was awful. She’d hated the last two Christmases. But now...things had changed, she thought, and she wasn’t sure how. All she knew was that in the last few days she’d changed. She was no longer dreading Christmas.

  Because of this man?

  Maybe, but he didn’t have to know it, she thought. He’d set something free in her that she hadn’t known was imprisoned. She felt light and happy and young.

  Whoa. This man was dangerous, she decided. Happy and young or not, she was Henry’s mother, and she needed to go home to bed.

  ‘Goodnight, Guy,’ she said, and turned away, but his hands came out and caught her shoulders, turning her back to face him.

  ‘Jenny...’

  ‘Mmm?’ She had to stay cool, she told herself. She mustn’t let him see that just by touching him he could...he could...

  He kissed her.

  She let him kiss her. How could she not? It was a lovely, languorous kiss, a kiss to melt into, a kiss to lose yourself in. He was so big and dangerous and warm and safe and wonderful...

  These were crazy thoughts. She was crazy, she decided, as the kiss went on and her entire being was consumed with the feel of him, the thought of him. Guy...

  It was a magic end to a magic evening—to be kissed by Guy. Her life had been barren for too long. To have this man’s hands hold her, to have this magic sensation drifting through her... It was wondrous.

  The kiss went on and on, and she took as much as she gave. It was a healing, she thought as she savoured the feel of him. It was a lovely way to end her mourning.

  And at some deep, primeval level she knew it was more than that. There was no thought of Ben as she kissed him, but as he pulled away at last she caught at the ragged ends of her self-control and told herself that of course this was because of Ben. She was a widow, and now she was re-emerging to the outside world. This was nothing more than a reawakening. So she sighed with absolute pleasure as he broke the contact, as he held her at arms’ length and smiled down at her in the moonlight. She sighed with pleasure and tried to hold back the regret that the kiss was at an end. And she tried to think of Ben.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, and she managed to smile back.

  ‘You’re not bad yourself, buster,’ she whispered. ‘Though I’m not sure I go for the hair oil.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he told her.

  Her smile faded and she looked up at him, wondering.

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘I want to ask you something.’

  She didn’t want to talk. She so wanted to kiss him again. She desperately wanted to kiss him again. But... She was a sensible woman. She had to move on.

  ‘About Barret and Anna’s wedding?’ she asked. ‘Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired.’

  ‘Jenny, I wondered if you’d be interested in marrying me.’

  She stilled. The words seemed to echo over and over in the stillness. Marrying...?

  He’s gone mad, Jenny thought at last. The romance of tonight must have gone to his head.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she whispered, and he raked his fingers through his hair—then remembered the oil slick. He stared down at his oily fingers with a rueful smile.

  ‘Urk. I’ve made a mess of that.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of my proposal.’ He took a too-big handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped his fingers clean. ‘I haven’t had that much practice, you see. I didn’t mean to do it.’

  ‘Then why did you?’ She was having trouble making her voice work. She was having trouble making anything work.

  ‘I could make you safe,’ he said, and she looked up at Guy’s earnest face, at his mock pistols and his slicked-down hair, and suddenly, irresistibly, maybe even hysterically, she started to laugh.

  ‘What?’ he said, sounding offended, and she bit back her bubble of laughter and tried to be serious. Or tried to be light-hearted. Or something.

  ‘I don’t need a bodyguard,’ she told him. ‘But it was a very nice offer. Thank you.’

  ‘I’m not offering you a bodyguard. I’m offering you a husband.’

  She stilled at that, her laughter fading. It wasn’t a joke, then. He was...serious?

  He was asking her to marry him?

  The idea was so preposterous that she almost choked.

  ‘I’m already married,’ she said, before she could stop herself, and she watched as his face changed.

  ‘What—?’

  ‘I’m married to Ben,’ she said stupidly.

  ‘Ben was killed two years ago.’

  ‘Yes, but...’ She took a deep breath, searching for... Searching for she didn’t know what.

  ‘I can’t remember him properly,’ she said inconsequentially. ‘I can’t remember the way he held me. I can’t—’

  ‘Jenny, it’s natural.’

  Was it? She felt her heart clench with a well-remembered pain. Ben was dead. Move on, people said. Her own mother-in-law... Let Ben go. And she had tonight. For the first time she had. But to have this moment become a decision about the rest of her life...

  Ben, her heart screamed. Ben. I’m not ready to let you go.

  ‘He’s my husband,’ she whispered. ‘He’s in my heart. I thought you at least would know that.’

  Guy stood, gazing down at her in the silence.

  ‘I do know that.’

  ‘Then why...?’

  ‘You make me feel different.’

  ‘You make me feel different, too,’ she said, and she put her hand up to his face and cupped the curve of his jaw. The feeling she had then...it was indescribable. Say yes, her heart screamed. Say yes before he changes his mind.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘You must see it’s impossible.’

  ‘Why is it impossible?’

  ‘Henry...’

  ‘Henry would come with us,’ he said strongly, taking her hands in his, trying to make her see where his thoughts had taken him. ‘You can’t tell me he’s getting optimal medical treatment here. The world’s best doctors are in New York.’

  She stilled. ‘You’d take us both to New York?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But our home is here.’

  ‘I have a massive apartment in Manhattan. You can see the Statue of Liberty from—’

  ‘Our home is here.’ Her voice was flat, without inflexion, and suddenly desperately weary. ‘Do you think I could leave Lorna?’

  ‘Lorna has
Jack.’

  ‘She does. And she has me. And she has Henry. We’re family, Guy.’

  ‘You don’t need family.’

  ‘At Christmas?’ she whispered. ‘You’re saying that two days before Christmas? That I don’t need a family?’

  ‘Hell, Jenny...’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, trying hard to be strong. ‘We hardly know each other.’

  ‘And yet you feel what I’m feeling.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Jenny,’ he said, and the hands holding her shoulders suddenly firmed. ‘You’re lying.’

  Of course she was lying. Whatever he was feeling she was feeling, too. Multiplied by about a thousand. He drew her into him, his lips met hers, and she felt... She felt...

  Heat.

  The word slammed in her mind as the sensation slammed through her. Heat. A conflagration that was all-consuming, starting from her lips and flooding through the rest of her. As if she was dry tinder and a match had been held to the all-too-ready fuel.

  She wanted him with every inch of her being. Her lips opened under his. She welcomed him with joy. Her hands came around his chest and tugged him closer.

  Guy.

  The kiss went on and on. Neither could stop it. Why should they?

  Guy had asked her to marry him. This man who was holding her, who was making her feel as if life itself could start now...

  Guy.

  He was her employer.

  The thought slammed into her mind and somehow it steadied her. The thought had her remembering that her feet were planted on Sandpiper Bay ground—and had to stay that way. Somehow she tugged back, and Guy gazed down at her in the moonlight, concerned.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart?’

  What right did he have to call her sweetheart? She loved it, she decided. But...she couldn’t.

  ‘Guy, leave it,’ she demanded, and he let her take a further step back. The fact that her body was screaming to remain in his hold had to be ignored. It must be.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘If you weren’t my boss I’d slap your face,’ she managed.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For taking liberties.’