12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton, Heather Graham Pozzessere, Catherine Spencer, Diana Hamilton, Maggie Shayne, Anne Stuart, Stephanie Bond, Janelle Denison, Helen Bianchin, Rebecca Winters, Lucy Gordon, Monica Jackson

  “Cindy’s a gem,” Manny said crisply, interrupting his musing.

  Eric started, then turned to the concierge and nodded. “She’s quite a lady.”

  Manny leaned forward. “Just so you know, she told me why you’re here.” His tone was even, his expression serious. “Normally I couldn’t care less what a person does for a living, but in this case, it matters because Cindy matters. You’ll be leaving in a few days and Cindy’s the one who will have to deal with the fallout.” The blond man pursed his mouth, then said, “Cindy means a lot to me, sir. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  Rubbing the condensation off his glass, Eric pondered the man’s words. He heard the wisdom, but hated the implication. “I don’t want Cindy to be hurt any more than you do.”

  “Good,” Manny said, pushing away from the table. “At least we see eye to eye on one point. Good night.”

  “Manny.” Eric pushed himself to his feet. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes, would you stay and give Cindy my apologies? I think I’d better call it a night.”

  “No argument here,” the man said curtly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Quinn.”

  Eric didn’t miss the dig, calling him by his registered name. “Yes, merry Christmas, Manny.” Funny, he thought as he left the bar, this was the first time he could remember ever wishing he was anybody but himself.

  8

  “GONE?” CINDY BIT her lower lip, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “He said to tell you he was sorry,” Manny said. “But he had to call it a night.”

  She plucked at the neckline of the black gown she’d changed back into. “Well, after all, it was just a date. You know, to show Joel.”

  Manny clucked. “You like this guy, don’t you?”

  Grimacing, she rolled her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s hypocritical to make my living off people like Eric, then hold his profession against him. But I have to admit it does bother me that he makes a living selling plastic rear ends. How does a man like Eric find his way into that industry?”

  “Maybe he was a porn star.”

  Her eyes bulged. “You think?”

  He shrugged. “He’s got the looks for it.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re probably right. I might as well put a casket by the phone for my mother to fall into.”

  “It was just a thought, Cindy. Don’t bury her yet.”

  She sighed. “It’s just that otherwise he seems so…perfect.”

  “Well, trust me,” Manny said, “no man is perfect.”

  She squeezed his shoulders. “You are.”

  He grinned. “Well, excluding me, of course. How about I walk you back to your room?”

  Cindy sighed, looking around the deserted bar. “No, but thanks anyway. I’m going to check a few things in the back, then go to bed.” She managed a smile. “At least I get to sleep in tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  “If this guy breaks your heart, I’ll break his nose.”

  “Not a chance,” she assured her friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” But as she watched Manny leave, Cindy acknowledged that she had been looking forward to talking to Eric alone, even if it was only during the few minutes’ walk back to her room. Even if he only shook her hand good-night…well, okay, she would have preferred a grinding, full-body kiss, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  If truth be known, she was hurt that he hadn’t said good-night. Wasn’t it just her luck that the first man in years she was attracted to couldn’t conjure up enough desire for her to even make a lousy pass?

  Cindy picked up the sack of extra gift certificates she would give out tomorrow to those who missed the Christmas party. She slung the bag over her shoulder, then waved to the team of cleaners who had emerged to put Sammy’s back in order. She stepped into the corridor, paused, then turned in the direction of the stairs. After climbing fifteen flights, she reasoned, she’d be so tired, she wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep thinking about Eric Quinn.

  Just as she grasped the door handle, the strains of music reached her ears. Cindy stopped and cocked her ear. Someone was definitely playing the piano that had been moved from the bar. Curiosity won out and she followed the tinkling sound down the long hall to the Asteroid Room.

  Part of a larger ballroom, Asteroid by itself was roomy enough to host a dinner party for a hundred guests. She opened the door silently to find the room cast in darkness. The unmistakable melancholy notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” wafted out, and the pianist wasn’t half-bad. The piano had been pushed to the far corner of the room with its back to the door, obscuring the identity of the player.

  Intrigued, she crept closer, recognizing the soft glow spilling around the sides of the piano as candlelight. The player missed a note, but covered well. Cindy’s heart pounded as she circled closer, squinting when she recognized the outline of a man. Then she gasped and the pianist stopped abruptly, his head swinging around.

  “Eric!” she exclaimed softly. “I heard the music and I…I mean, I had no idea you were in here or…geez, you’re really good.”

  His tuxedo jacket lay folded over the top of the piano, and his bow tie hung down the front of his open-throated shirt. A half-burned candle sat on the ledge above the keys, casting soft light over the ivory and his long-fingered hands. His chuckle reverberated in the room. “I haven’t played in years. I found the piano and…well, I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

  “Play as long as you like,” she said quickly, walking backward. “Good night.”

  “Cindy.”

  She stopped.

  “I’m sorry I bailed on you at the party.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

  “I had a good time.”

  Her heart lifted slightly. “So did I.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else, then he cleared his throat and gestured toward the keys. “Any requests before you go? Trying to keep my hands busy, you know.”

  “Well,” she said, lowering the red sack of envelopes to the floor, “I’ve always been partial to ‘Blue Christmas.’ How’s your Elvis impersonation?”

  Laughter rumbled from his throat. “A little rusty.”

  “Okay—you play, I’ll sing.” She walked to the piano.

  He slid over on the padded bench and smiled broadly. “Have a seat.”

  Cindy settled onto the seat next to him, keeping a safety zone of a few inches between them. He started playing and she sang, “I’ll have a blue…Christmas…without you.” He leaned his ear closer as if he couldn’t hear her, so she belted out, “I’ll be so blue…thinking…about you.”

  He grinned. “You’re really terrible.”

  “I know. Decorations are great…on a green—”

  He stopped playing. “I don’t think those are the words.”

  “Those are too the words.”

  “Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree.”

  “You play and I’ll sing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Decorations of red…on a green Christmas tree…won’t mean a thing, dear—”

  He stopped playing. “Won’t be the same, dear.”

  She motioned for him to keep playing. “If you’re not here with me. Harmonize—this is where the girls go ‘oohooh ooh-oohwoo’.”

  He laughed so hard he could barely play and finally Cindy succumbed, too. Their shoulders brushed, triggering a bolt of awareness through her. Eric’s fingers tripped over the keys lightly, playing the song with a honky-tonk swing. Cindy sang to the end, then yelled, “Big finish—everybody sing!” and Eric crooned the last refrain with her. Cindy clapped and whistled while he tinkled out a resounding finale. “You’re amazing!”

  A self-deprecating laugh escaped him. “You must be inebriated.”

  Feeling dreamy, Cindy leaned on her elbow and faced him, struck by his strong profile in the semidarkness. “I mean it. The fact that you can put yo
ur hands on these keys and make recognizable sounds is remarkable. Did your mother teach you to play?”

  “No,” he said quietly, still playing a soft, ambling melody. “My father. He was amazing.” Respect colored his voice. “Couldn’t read a note of music, but he could play the most complicated concertos by ear.” The melody he played took on a haunting quality. “I was never as good as he was—never wanted to be. I enjoyed playing for my mother and my sister, and to impress girls.” He laughed softly. “It made my dad nuts that I didn’t love playing as much as he did.”

  “You argued?” she probed gently.

  “More times than I can count,” Eric admitted, his gaze still on his fingers. “I wanted to make money, lots of it, instead of winding up teaching piano lessons out of my home.”

  “Is that why you aren’t close?”

  “There are other reasons, but yeah, basically, it boils down to my old man being disappointed in the way I make a living.”

  Cindy resisted the urge to ask why he didn’t just sell pianos. Eric was a grown man and undoubtedly knew his choices and the ramifications of those choices. “You should call him,” she said simply.

  “It always turns into a disagreement.” He suddenly stopped playing, plunging the room into eerie silence. “You know, the first sales bonus I received on my first job was for four thousand, six hundred and thirty-eight dollars, and twenty-five cents.” He glanced up and caught her gaze, his expression rueful. “I went to the piano store in the mall and blew the entire check on the nicest piano I could afford and had it delivered to our house for Christmas, for my dad.”

  “That’s the most incredible thing I ever heard,” she said, tearing up.

  “Except he didn’t want it.” Eric laughed sadly. “He told me I was materialistic and didn’t know what was important in life. That was over fifteen years ago, and that damned piano is still sitting in the family room, pushed up against the wall. To my knowledge, it’s never been played.”

  Cindy brought her fist to her mouth as the tears welled in her eyes. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

  “Last spring I went home for my niece’s birthday. I stopped by to see him for a few minutes. It wasn’t pretty.”

  She shook her head. “He must love you very much to have reacted so fiercely to your choosing, um—” she searched for a euphemism “—a business career over music.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Then he straightened, obviously ready to change the subject. “Last call for requests.”

  Her head still spun from his revelations. “Play your favorite Christmas song.”

  He smiled, a welcome transformation. “That’s an easy one.” He played a dramatic opening, then launched into a bluesy “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” “Bring it home, Cindy.”

  She sang loudly, bumping his shoulder until he moved with her side to side. “He’s making a list, and checking it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice, Santa Claus is coming to town!” They finished the song in rollicking style, laughing and clapping.

  “That was fun,” she declared.

  “I’m glad you came to investigate,” he said, lowering the wooden key cover. He picked up the votive candle as if to blow it out, then stopped. “Well, well.”

  Cindy glanced up, and her pulse leapt. Hanging from the top of the piano was Jerry’s mistletoe. Thank you, Jerry, wherever you are.

  Slowly Eric set down the candle, then turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “It would be a shame to waste the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

  Cindy pursed her lips and nodded. “A l-low-down d-dirty shame.”

  He leaned closer, his gaze riveted on hers. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  Her throat constricted. “Well, technically, it’s tomorrow.”

  Eric brushed his lips against hers lightly. “Then you look beautiful tomorrow.” He tilted his head and Cindy closed her eyes just as his mouth covered hers. At first his lips were firm and gentle, cautious and sweet. But when she offered her tongue, he deepened the kiss with a groan. She leaned into him, her skin tingling for his touch.

  He tasted of rum and grapes, he smelled of English Leather and starch. Her breath caught in her chest, until she had to break the kiss and gasp for breath in a decidedly unsophisticated manner.

  He glanced away and swallowed. “I guess we’d better get going.”

  She nodded, struggling for composure.

  Eric stood and shrugged into his jacket, then picked up the candle. Cindy rose on shaky knees, then followed him out of the room, picking up the red sack of envelopes. In the corridor, Eric blew out the candle and set it on a banquet table. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, taking the sack from her.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I know, but it’s the least I can do for skipping out on you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said congenially.

  “I did.” They strolled toward the elevator. “At the rate we were going, I was afraid I’d end up asking you to spend the night with me.”

  Cindy tripped, and he grabbed her arm. “And you were afraid I’d say no?” she asked nervously.

  “No,” he said with the barest hint of a smile. “I was afraid you’d say yes.”

  Smooth line. “Eric,” she asked as the elevator arrived, “do you have any experience in the film industry?”

  A look of puzzlement came over his face. “Film? No, why?”

  “Just wondering,” she said happily, pushing the button for her floor.

  He seemed so relaxed on their walk to her room, Cindy’s awkwardness evaporated. He’d obviously liberated himself by deciding not to ask her to spend the night with him. After she unlocked her door, he set the red sack inside, brushed her cheek with his lips, and said, “Good night, Cindy. Thank you for a truly engaging evening.”

  Remembering her intent to seize the moment, Cindy touched his sleeve, her heart thudding. “Eric, did you leave the party because you’re still worried about how I feel about your, um, job?”

  He considered her words for a few seconds, then nodded. “That’s part of it.”

  She slid her hands up the lapels of his jacket. “Then maybe this will alleviate that part of it.” Curling her fingers around the back of his neck, she pulled his mouth down to hers for a slow, sensual kiss. His arms immediately encircled her, his hands splaying against her naked back and pulling her against him. She felt his hardening desire for her and her body responded in kind. Next week her job would be on the line, this week she deserved a little fun.

  She drew back and looked into his ice-blue eyes. “Eric, spend the night with me.”

  He swallowed, then ran his hand through his hair.

  She held up one hand. “I’m going into this with my eyes wide-open.”

  “Cindy, are you absolutely certain?”

  In answer, she grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him inside.

  Once he passed the threshold of her suite, Eric blocked out all the reasons why he shouldn’t spend the night in her bed and concentrated on all the reasons he should. His mind shut down and his body took over.

  They stumbled through the hallway, tugging at each other’s clothing in the near darkness. They shed their shoes in the sitting room, his jacket in the second hall, his pants in the doorway of the bedroom. Cindy fumbled with her zipper and Eric obliged, standing behind her, his breath catching as he reached around and slid his hands over her flat stomach. The dress whooshed to the ground, then she turned in his arms, naked from the waist up.

  Standing in the window light of her bedroom, she was simply breathtaking. Slender and long-limbed, her breasts firm and round like two peaches waiting to be plucked from a shapely tree. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, reveling in the feel of her. She pulled at the hem of his T-shirt and soon the hindering garment joined the others scattered about.

  Eric was drowning in his desi
re for her, undoubtedly fueled by the fact that he shouldn’t have her. But she felt so damned wonderful next to him, her skin as smooth as the ivory keys of his chosen instrument. He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently. Taking ragged breaths, he rolled down her stockings, overcome by the sight of her lying beneath him, clad only in teeny black bikini panties. She arched her back, pushing her breasts in the air.

  Eric practically dived into the bed. He wanted to make love to her leisurely, but she reduced him to the likes of an inexperienced teenager, hungry for every inch of her, and unsure where to begin. His raging erection strained against the front of his boxers, but he knew he’d come undone if he felt her bare skin against his arousal. He kissed her mouth hard and nipped at her neck, then stroked her nipples, playing her until the music of her moans reached his ears.

  Rolling her beneath him, he lowered his mouth to a perfect breast, and laved the plump nipple while she drove her hands through his hair. Her body, her moans, her scents drove him blind with need. He pushed her flimsy panties down her thighs, swallowing hard at the sight of her tangled dark nest. He groaned and gritted his teeth for control.

  She tugged at the waistband of his boxers and he hesitated only because he knew it would be over soon if she unleashed him. Then with a frustrated moan, he stilled her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” she gasped against his chest.

  Embarrassment coursed through him. So determined was he not to let the night end this way, he’d left protection in his room. “I seem to be a bit, um, unprepared for the moment.”

  Sudden realization dawned. “You mean a rubber?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  How odd—she figured he carried condoms like business cards. Her desire-drugged mind raced. Of the pack of twelve she’d bought years ago, eleven were still buried somewhere in her bathroom cabinet, but she’d never trust them. Then she remembered the box of sex samples under the bed. Cindy hesitated, embarrassed at the thought of rifling through the box of torrid toys in front of Eric. A second later she realized that not only would he recognize every trinket, but he would probably be able to rattle off the product code. And what better way to prove to him that she was okay with his line of work? “I might have one.”