by Day Leclaire
"Alessandro, please," she whispered, winding her arms around him.
Hearing his name on her lips impacted with devastating force. He wanted her. Now. He wanted to rip the scrap of cotton from her body and imprint himself on every delicious inch of her. He'd been a fool to think he could control their embrace. Hell, control of any sort was sheer illusion. How his brothers would laugh if they could see what one small, silver-haired elf had managed to do to the Salvatore everyone had considered a passionless aberration.
Not that he was feeling particularly passionless now. Deep, powerful emotions howled through him with more ferocity than last night's storm. Unable to resist, he swept his hand down the length of her spine, contouring her body to his. Lauren shivered in his arms, the eager tremors stealing the last of his self-possession. He surrendered to nature's demand. Tipping her back against the cushions of the window scat, he traced the path of moonlight traversing her shift.
Her breasts were sweetly rounded, peaking under the thin cotton, the dusky centers a tempting hint of darkness beneath a blanket of snowy white. The hem of her gown had ridden up, exposing her lean, pale thighs and hinting at the feminine shadow crowning the apex. It tempted him beyond endurance. So few clothes and so much time. It was a prescription that could only end one way—naked and joined in the best way humanly possible. Few as there were, the clothes had to go. Cradling her hips, he swept his hands upward peeling off her shift and tossing it aside, leaving her perfectly, gloriously naked.
The moonlight flowed across her, benevolent in its caress, and her pale skin took on a pearly luster, the only darkness marring the satin sheen coming from the inky silhouette he threw across her. The contrast was inescapable. Light and dark. Day and night. Sunshine and shadow. He sketched a finger across her breast, a trail of ebony upon a palette of purity. For some reason the images made him uneasy and he pulled his hand back.
"If you stop now, I'm like as not to scream," announced his palette of purity.
A chuckle shuddered through him. "Ah, bella mia, you have such a way with words."
"So do you, Mr. Salvatore. Especially when they're in Italian."
"I don't speak it often."
"No, you don't. Mostly when you're upset. Or so I've noticed."
He lifted an eyebrow, not bothering to ask how or when she'd made that particular observation. "Then why do you like it?"
"Because at least when you're speaking Italian I know you're feelin' something."
It was an opinion he didn't intend to pursue. Not when it was said with such sympathetic understanding. "Let's see if I can't share some of those feelings," he suggested instead.
He didn't give either of them time to think, but came down on top of her, taking her mouth and drinking in her sweetness. Desire washed across her skin, burning him with its heat. Unable to resist, he followed that path of warmth, fitting her breasts in his hands. He could feel the pounding of her heart and he had the oddest impression that he harbored the very essence of her within his grasp.
She was a silvered sprite, a Christmas gift of starshine and moondust and as he gazed down into her soft blue eyes he saw again the unicorns and Santa Claus and impossible dreams. The dreams were struggling to break free, coming to life with each touch and kiss and whispered endearment.
He reared back, fighting to untangle himself from the one place he wanted to be more than any other. What the hell was he doing? Had he lost every ounce of common sense? Apparently. There was something about Lauren that drew him, bewitched him. A dangerous passion he couldn't seem to resist. Or perhaps it was simply that he didn't want to resist. Whatever the reason, it defied understanding. He was the logical Salvatore. The passionless one. The only one of Dom's six sons who didn't base his decisions on emotions or gut instinct or any of the other ridiculous excuses his brothers routinely trotted out.
And yet here he was, making love in a window seat to a woman who believed with every fiber of her being in everything he rejected with every fiber of his.
Lauren drew his attention with a gusty sigh. "You're having second thoughts, aren't you?"
He didn't bother with pointless denials. "Yes."
"I assume we're not gonna make love?”
"You won't scream, will you?" he asked warily, recalling her earlier threat.
“I’ll do my level best to contain myself."
"In that case, no. We're not going to make love. It wouldn't be our smartest move."
"Smart." She nodded, as though in response to a question only she could hear. "I guess that means you also won't handle this incident very well come morning, will you?"
"Not even a little."
"That's because you're thinking instead of feeling." She lifted up on one elbow, seemingly oblivious to her nudity, and regarded him with endearing sincerity. "I'm forced to confess, Alessandro, this logic business is one of your most troublesome characteristics."
"It's a defining characteristic, not a troublesome one."
"I suppose that depends on whether or not you're the one spread naked on a window seat."
"If it helps any, I'm not exactly unmoved by that fact," he retorted dryly.
To his surprise, she tilted back her head and laughed. Any other woman would have been furious or tearful or embarrassed. Any other woman would have scrambled to cover herself with whatever came to hand. But not Lauren. A teasing grin played across her generous mouth, encouraging him to share the absurdity of their situation. "There's hope for you yet, Salvatore."
"I'm gratified to hear it," he said with all due humility. "But I’m afraid I'll have to insist that one of us show an ounce of common sense."
"You're probably the best choice for the job. I’d fail miserably."
He reached down and snagged her shift from off the floor. It was far too thin considering the chilly temperatures. She really needed to wear flannel. Layers and layers of thick, all-encompassing flannel. He dropped the shift over her head and tugged it into place. She emerged looking a bit more rumpled, but no less tempting. A tender smile lit her piquant features, a smile echoed in the warmth of her gaze.
"One of these days, I'll get through to you," she warned. "I'll convince you to make a decision based on your emotions, instead of logic or intellectual consideration."
"Let's hope you're wrong."
Her smile faded. "For your sake, not to mention Nick's, let's hope I'm right." She escaped the window seat and started for the bedroom door. The moon no longer tracked her path and with each step she vanished deeper into shadow.
"Lauren?"
She paused. "Yes?"
"Just so you know...The paternity test is scheduled for tomorrow. We'll learn the truth about Nick by the New Year."
"No, Alessandro. I've found the truth has a way of winning out, whether we want it to or not. You'll know everything by Christmas. I've decided to make it my gift to you."
Damn. "And here I didn't get you a present," he murmured.
"What you can give me is very simple." Her words slipped through the darkness, the cadence a rich, rolling reminder of her mountain homeland. "And it won't cost you a plugged nickel."
"Something tells me it's going to cost me a hell of a lot more than that."
"You might not want romance in your life, but Nicky needs a father's love. That's all I want for Christmas. I want you to love again."
He hadn't left the window seat and moonlight continued to pour down on top of him, leaving him totally exposed to her scrutiny. He struggled to keep both voice and expression aloof. "You're asking the impossible."
"Am I?” Compassion formed a base for her question. "I don't think it's impossible at all, darlin'. You just don't remember how to go about it."
She spoke with a certainty that had nothing in do with rationality and he combated it with the only weapons he had at hand. "And you're here to remind me? With sex, if necessary?"
"That's right." Her teasing laugh annoyed him. There was nothing the least amusing about any of this. Their situation cal
led for calm reason, not half-baked promises or any other touchy feely-get-in-touch-with-your-feminine-side sort of bull. She opened his bedroom door. "You will let me know when I succeed, won't you?" came her parting shot.
She disappeared into the hallway, leaving him fighting for control. "You can count on it," he whispered. "Though I suspect you'll figure it out long before I realize what's hit me."
"Please, Lauren. Don't cry."
"I'm not crying," she instantly denied, a ragged sniff giving lie to her claim.
"Then what's all that stuff leaking out of your eyes?" Alessandro stooped low enough to catch a droplet with the knuckle of his index finger. “It sure looks like tears to me. I swear, you're the cryingest woman I ever have met."
"I am not. It's just…” She started to touch the colorful adhesive bandage decorating Nick's arm and yanked her hand back, fresh tears welling into her eyes. She smothered the top of his little head with a flurry of kisses. "I can't bear it when he gets his shots. And this was even worse. It's a wonder they didn't suck him dry."
"Worse for you than for him, I suspect. He only fussed for a minute."
"He's brave." Her breath caught on a sob and she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. "Very, very brave. Poor darlin’"
Alessandro thought fast, desperate to come up with some sort of distraction. "Would it help if I bought you an ice cream?"
A reluctant smile broke through her tears. "Nick's the one who had his blood drawn. Not me."
"Yeah, well, Nick isn't the one in tears." He took the boy from her, tucking him in the crook of one arm while dropping the other around Lauren's shoulders. "My mom used to dissolve into tears anytime one of the six of us was injured. She'd get so upset, we'd end up comforting her."
"You were all wonderful sons to be so caring,” Lauren claimed loyally.
He shook his head in remembered disgust. "And then Dom would go out and get her a little something to cheer her up."
"What about you boys?” A hint of indignation infused her voice. "Didn't you get anything?"
"Oh, sure. The wounded one would get—wait for it—ice cream."
Her gurgle of laughter pleased him no end. "That explains your suggestion.”
He couldn't begin to guess why he'd told her the story about his mother. He'd never told anyone, not even Rhonda. It was a part of his life he didn't often think about. It dredged up far too many bittersweet memories. "Come on. We'll have a cup of coffee to warm us and a dish of ice cream to make us feel better.” He didn't bother reaching for his chain. This time he remembered that it wouldn't be there. It didn't keep him from silently saluting his mother's memory. "Consider it honoring a family tradition. A very special tradition."
They passed a flower shop on the way to the restaurant and as soon as they'd been seated in the small café, Alessandro excused himself and slipped outside. The trek back to the florist only took a minute, the purchase less than that. He worked very hard not to analyze his actions. Returning to the table he put the small flowerpot in front of Lauren.
She stared at it for the longest time, an odd expression on her face. "You bought me crocuses."
"So I did."
"They're purple crocuses.”
"True."
“Spring's ambassadors,” she murmured.
Alessandro grinned. "Nah. They're little cups of—"
His grin faded and his grim gaze locked with Lauren's.
"Hope," he finished softly. "Damn."
CHAPTER SIX
Three days before Christmas...
She came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. Alessandro sat in the middle of chaos watching as she sorted through the "bounty" she'd collected from the woods. Leaves, pine needles and pinecones, twigs and vines were scattered around her.
She looked liked a pagan goddess amidst a circle of charm, her hair flowing to her hips in a river of gold, her strong, slender body moving gracefully from pile to pile, sorting with practiced assurance.
Alessandro watched in admiration. Life with this woman just got more and more interesting. “So what, exactly, do you make from all this?"
"Critters,” she replied.
"Critters," he repeated, his brows drawing together. "What are those?"
Laughter gleamed in her dark eyes. "Look around you, boy. They're all watching. Waitin’ for me to bring more of their kind to life.”
He started to question her again, then broke off and did as she said. And that's when he saw them. "Critters" were everywhere. Deer peeked from the middle of plants. Grumpy dwarves guarded the logs stacked by the fireplace. Mischievous elves cavorted under the furniture. Bashful woodland creatures hid out of the way in shadowy corners.
"How could I have missed them?" he marveled, crossing to take a closer look at a miniature herd of deer. They'd all been made from the materials she'd collected from the woods. A small stag with an impressive rack of feather antlers sat askew and Alessandro gently straightened it.
"You missed them because you're so busy thinking, you forget to be quiet and look. You'd be amazed at how much more you learn when you stop tryin' to analyze and just let things come of their own accord and fill you up."
He lifted an eyebrow at that. "Fill me up?"
She rocked back on her heels and studied him with an expression that reflected her rich, indomitable life force. "Inside, Alessandro. Where you're needy. Everything around here is whispering so you, tryin' to tell you their special secrets.”
He went to her, scooping her clear of her collection. “Tell me your special secrets,” he demanded.
"They're surrounding you, darlin’." She wrapped her arms around his neck, her head nestling against his shoulder. “Home is where the heart is, remember? Look at my home and you'll see my heart."
"Just keep reminding me," he ordered gruffly. "One of these days I might get it.”
“I’ll remind you for as long as you love me. I promise."
"Then that we’ll be forever."
She lifted her mouth to his and he was helpless to resist. He wanted her. Needed her.
Took her.
Alessandro found the first Christmas decorations when he got up the next morning. They'd appeared sometime during the night and were a series of miniature "stick" animals, unquestionably in the shape of Santa's reindeer. Whiplike branches had been artfully laced together to form a frame for the torso, head and legs, while bits of moss and pine needles had been woven in to add definition to each animal. Holly leaves were used for antlers, cotton balls provided tails, and on one of them a bright red berry formed its nose. The lead reindeer had been left slightly askew and he automatically corrected its position.
The creations were clever and whimsical and Alessandro knew with every fiber of his being that he'd seen something similar before. The memory lay just beyond his reach, buried within the darkness of the weeks he'd lost that long-ago March when spring had finally eclipsed a stubborn winter. But no matter how hard he fought to summon an inkling of those missing days, he couldn't tease them from their hiding place.
It was driving him insane.
Selecting one of the figures, he tracked Lauren to the bedroom she shared with Nick. "I recognize this," he announced, carefully setting her creation on the handmade quilt she'd spread across the mattress. Even that looked familiar and he deliberately turned his back on it. No question. He was going insane. "Tell me where I've seen it before."
She cast him a hopeful glance, the same one she'd had the day before at the restaurant. He'd expected a torrent of questions then, but she'd surprised him by not asking any at all. Her restraint had impressed the hell out of him. She utilized the same restraint now, though it appeared more strained around the edges than yesterday. He'd have to explain soon. After what she'd revealed about her dreams, she deserved to know about his.
"My sister and I used to make them,” she replied, passing him Nick, a plastic diaper and a warm, damp washrag.
He took the hint. If she thought he'd balk
at changing a baby, she had a lot to learn. Ever since his nephews had grown numerous enough to require a calculator to keep track of them all, he'd been in the unfortunate position of having to take a turn or two at diaper duty. Although he'd abdicated the job whenever possible—what man wouldn't?—he still knew how to address the basic fundamentals. He scowled at the diaper. Maybe. Trying to decide which side to use for the front and which to use for the back might prove more of a challenge than he'd expected. But he was an intelligent, college-educated man. He could figure it out.
Lauren reached around him and flipped the diaper over. "That way," she murmured.
"Okay, okay. So I need a little help," he groused. "The minute I return to civilization I'm going to write a letter to the manufacturers suggesting they draw arrows on the damn thing or stamp directions on the bottom. That way it won't be so confusing."
"Can't see what for. Men never read directions, anyway." Laughter rippled through her voice. "Just take your time. I have every confidence in you. After all... A man as calm, cool and logical as you shouldn't have any problem with an itty-bitty diaper, not to mention an itty-bitty boy."
He jerked his head toward her bed, pointedly changing the subject. "Did you bring the reindeer with you or is this a recent creation?"
"Recent. I've been working on them at night whenever I can't sleep." She crossed to the dresser and opened and closed drawers, sorting through the limited stacks of clothing. "I find it...soothing."
"Still having nightmares?"
"Oh, they're improving," she replied brightly. "Now we're both trapped outside in the cold. But at least we get to share the experience."