Snowflake Kisses

by Marianne Evans

  “There’s something so appealing, and so classic, about a handsome man in a dark silk suit.” Vanessa tucked into place against his side, soft and warm.

  “Spoken like a true fashionista.” Her arrival was a Godsend. “May I return the compliment and tell you that dress you’re wearing is incredible.”

  “I thank you for noticing.” Smile on the bloom, she delivered a sly wink. “I chose it for you more so than me.”

  Allowing for a quick indulgence, Jackson fingered back a tempting wave of deep brown hair and tucked it behind her ear. He didn’t know much about couture, but he could certainly admire the end result. Vanessa was a vision in blue satin. The hemline swirled against her legs in a tempting shimmer. Supple motions quite naturally pulled his attention to long legs made all the longer by a pair of spiky black heels. Women and heels. He had given up long ago trying to figure out how they managed to walk in them.

  Vanessa slid her fingertips against his tie in a smoothing motion and then tweaked the knot at his throat. “I’m quite keen on your nod to the holidays with this dash of dark green. Very striking. You’re quite a feast for the eyes.”

  Jackson suppressed an urge to hook his hands against her waist. Business, he thought. This gathering is about cultivating business. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  Surrendering quiet intimacy, they rejoined the party, rounding the edge of a long oval hor d’oeuvres table draped by white linen. Picking up a plate, Jackson explored the selection of gourmet canapés.

  “Thank goodness for food markers, otherwise I’d be clueless.”

  “The food is delicious, so be daring.”

  Easy enough for her to say; selections included such items as herbed goat cheese on focaccia bread. There was also an offering of green pea cake with lemon cream cheese, poached sea trout and avruga.

  “I think I’ll stick with a few red pepper blini’s with smoked chicken. I figure that’s daring yet—”

  “Safe at the same time.” Vanessa’s playful snicker tempted him to try a sweet potato croute with pork pâté that had been lightly drizzled with rhubarb chutney. Vanessa met that selection with an approving nod. “Bravo.”

  Sumptuous food offerings were highlighted at perfectly spaced intervals by the decorative touch of low, round, white china vases. Each narrow neck sported a single, perfect bloom of red poinsettia. The ascent upon London’s iconic Ferris wheel began with barely a shift of motion. Jackson plucked a pair of bubbling champagne flutes from the table and offered one to Vanessa, trailing after her as she claimed a viewing spot within their submarine shaped vessel.

  “Have you ever been kissed at 135 meters?”

  Her audacious question, spoken in a silky whisper, made him smile, and temporarily dispelled the tangled vines of Tamara’s presence. “No, can’t say that I have.”

  Playfully coy, she issued a regretful sound. “If only we were alone so I could take that particular item off your bucket list.”

  The Eye made a slow, steady lift into the sky and a spectacular view of the British Telecom Building came to life along with an enchanting sea of lights that seemed to stretch on to forever. Punctuating the flats and curves were dots of architectural history like Westminster Abbey and the Tower Bridge.

  Their host kicked off an official introduction. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome aboard. Taking you to a height of 135 meters, the London Eye—some still might refer to it as the Millennium Wheel—is the largest cantilevered observation wheel in the world. Designed by Marks Barfield Architects, the structure was constructed in sections which were floated up the Thames on barges and assembled lying flat on piled platforms that were stationed in the river…”

  The speech continued. Jackson tried to pay attention, tried to remain focused on a stunning nighttime display, but his attention kept drifting to Tamara. She was at the opposite end of the capsule, but that didn’t diminish her impact. That didn’t protect him from the way she kept tabs on him as well, a speculative, inscrutable expression on her face.

  He had no idea what she might be up to.

  “You know? I can see precisely where your gaze is leading you.” Vanessa turned toward him and deliberately blocked his sideways view while sipping from her flute. “Don’t go there. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “Nothing except a reputation and work ethic I’ve worked all my life to maintain and uphold.”

  “Successfully, I might add.” Vanessa surrendered no more than a glance in Tamara’s direction. “Pity the same won’t be said about her if she tries to be underhanded.”

  Jackson flattened a palm against the glass encasement, grateful for the coolness against his skin and fingertips. Re-focused on the view, he continued to fight an inner battle. “You and Peter have been fantastic, but you know who and what I am. You operate from a point of established trust and confidence. Not so this group of people who don’t know me at all.”

  “Yet.”

  “Yet.” He tapped his glass lightly against hers. “All the same, I’m trying to build relationships, and work with these people. Poison in the water can—”

  “Can be diluted with anti-serum.”

  For an instant, he stared, then a smile flashed wide, swift and real—from his soul straight through to the curve of his lips. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Never.”

  Her eyes twinkled in the minimalist light. Nothing was meant to detract from the cityscape of London, so Jackson followed that chain of thought to conclusion and lost himself in the view all over again.

  Nothing this special and beautiful—on all counts—should be damaged by anxiety and manipulation.

  ****

  A double rotation on the Ferris wheel complete, and the party instantly classified a resounding success, Vanessa exited the capsule, following guests onto the pier. Jackson hung back with Peter to handle some final farewells and business chat, so Vanessa pulled her mobile out of her coat pocket and checked e-mail, and texts while strolling toward the peaceful hush of Jubilee Gardens.

  Once curiosity was satisfied with regard to goings on in the cyber world, Vanessa tucked away her phone and looked up. Not far, alone at the edge of the park and nearly hidden in shadow stood Tamara McKenna.

  Crying.

  Though cloaked by a long wool coat, her feet shod in a fabulous pair of leather fashion boots, she seemed to tremble. Her arms were folded against her midsection. There was no choice or debate, really. Human compassion led Vanessa to the woman at once.

  “Hello. Can I help you at all?”

  Tamara gave a jerking start, swiping her eyes free of moisture. “I…I don’t know…I…”

  The woman was distraught. Why? What had happened between an uneventful conclusion to the party and now? Vanessa moved closer, resting an arm against hers. “You attended the Colby Intellilink party, yes? I was there as well. Are you OK?”

  “Yes, I was there. I’m so sorry for making a spectacle of myself.”

  “You’re perfectly fine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Tamara’s features were troubled and beseeching in a way even the quasi-darkness couldn’t hide. “You might rent me a new life for the next several years.”

  Vanessa laughed, wanting to engage her while at the same time remain extremely cautious. “There are days I wish I had that power, for myself and for others. What happened?”

  “Nothing in particular and everything in general, I suppose. I’m miserable, and I’m ruining everything by being a fool, by being so consumed by hurt that I’ve become desperate.” Tamara sniffled, offered a watery smile. “Quite an answer, eh?”

  “It’s a good start. Care to have a chat?”

  Tamara shivered and looked around. “Are you seriously tempted to initiate a drama session in the midst of a snowfall?”

  “Why not? Perhaps you can abridge things here and there.” Vanessa walked them toward a group of benches facing the Thames, choosing one that rested just beyond the line of the
paved walkway. The seat was covered by a light, glittery layer of snow which she dispatched with a few swipes of her gloved hand. “Let’s sit a moment.” She didn’t have long; Peter and Jackson would soon emerge from the reception office. After that, she and Jackson had agreed to a concluding snack and beverage at St. Stephen’s Tavern just across the river. “I’m Vanessa Colby. You are?”

  “Tamara McKenna.” Her eyes reflected surprise once Vanessa’s name registered. “You’re a Colby. Related to the family. I noticed you greeting people at the start of the party.”

  Vanessa nodded, watching and praying that Tamara McKenna might redeem herself in some small way.

  “I never had a chance to meet you formally, and I apologize for that.”

  “Quite all right. Parties like this seem to pass before you have a chance to breathe, let alone connect with everyone in attendance. I’m Peter’s sister and the daughter of the owner.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” A long, bitter wind cut through barren, chattering tree branches, causing snow to dance and drift. “And, you might be right about weather conditions not being conducive to getting acquainted.” Vanessa clicked open her jeweled clutch and extracted a business card. “Here’s my contact information. Why don’t we get together, soon, say for tea, or lunch? Let’s get acquainted.”

  “You’re very kind to a blubbering stranger.”

  “We’ve all been there. No worries at all. Plus, you’re a friend to my family’s firm, correct?”

  Oblivious to the somewhat leading angle of that question, Tamara dabbed her eyes with a tissue she pulled from the pocket of her coat. She studied Vanessa’s business card for a second. “You work at Harrods? A personal shopper? What fun.”

  “Mmm. I get to spend other people’s money on fabulous things for their wardrobes or their homes.”

  “Sounds fantastic.”

  “Most days, but it has its moments.” She considered the attempted heist and fought a ghost-driven tremor. “Let’s plan to meet soon. Please give me a ring.”

  “I’d enjoy that very much. Thank you.”

  Needing to conclude this unexpected meeting, Vanessa stood, offered a parting squeeze of Tamara’s hand. “Call when you know you’re available.”

  Tamara didn’t offer a business card in return, but that didn’t mean much. After all, she was overwhelmed, and in her favor, she didn’t seem eager to rage on about Jackson or his business dealings. Again, Vanessa’s curiosity spiked then settled. After all, the next move, if embraced, had to come from Tamara.

  At that point, what would be revealed—the storm of a woman scorned, or something deeper?

  ****

  Vanessa claimed a window seat at St. Stephen’s, relishing the warmth of the pub, the buzzy waves of conversation and laughter. Most of all, she relished the view. The Houses of Parliament were framed in the window.

  “I can’t remember a snowier Christmas season. The tourists will be delirious.”

  Vanessa tossed the comment, unwinding her bright yellow scarf and draping it against the back of her chair. Jackson drew a chair close and she promptly leaned against him, absorbing his warmth and the pleasure of his presence.

  “Speaking on behalf of said tourists, I have to agree with that assumption.” Jackson looked around. “This place is incredible.”

  “There are lots of cozy nooks and crannies, which I love, and you’re hardly a tourist. You’re more like a business maestro.”

  Jackson laughed at that and helped her slide free of her coat. “Well, thanks to you and Peter running interference, Tamara wasn’t even an issue tonight. What a relief. The guests were well-tended and seemed to leave feeling quite spoiled.”

  The issue of Tamara pricked at Vanessa’s skin like pins, but she moved past the reaction. “I love coming to St. Stephens when Parliament’s in session. It’s fascinating, really.” She leaned toward him, gesturing toward the bar not far away. “When it’s time for a vote, they sound a division bell, giving MP’s precisely eight minutes to return to division lobby and cast their votes.”

  “If these walls could talk, eh?”

  “Indeed.”

  Ever a proud Brit, Vanessa loved the way he soaked in the atmosphere. They placed orders for chamomile tea to warm away winter’s chill along with a plate of potato wedges and smoked salmon tarts.

  Jackson continued to study his surroundings, taking in framed portraits of Britain’s more famous politicians before he observed, “I’m sorry Peter and Alexa couldn’t join us. Seems they were eager to get home.”

  “More like eager to get back to CC. As often as they say they crave adult companionship, Christopher Louis Colby has them wrapped around his little finger. It’s adorable. I think it’s wonderful the way they get on together, and spread that love to their baby. I go on at times, and I love to tease my brother, but truth is, I thoroughly enjoy watching the three of them together. It gives me hope.”

  “Hope in the truest form of happily-ever-after.”

  Vanessa’s hands rested against the tabletop; Jackson wove his fingertips through hers and stared at the connection. Sadness, doubt, formed layers against his words and an intense longing struck home in Vanessa’s spirit. A love like that shared by Peter and Alexa remained the dream of her heart, and Jackson captivated her, making the dream seem attainable.

  At the same time, she knew she had to tread carefully around his battered heart. A quandary brewed as to what she should—or shouldn’t—say about her introduction to Tamara. She was curious about what drove the woman, yes, but at the same time there were undiscovered layers to the woman which Vanessa refused to ignore. Uncovering those mysteries just might help Jackson move beyond his past and help Vanessa secure a clear pathway to his heart, not to mention help Tamara work through some obviously difficult issues.

  While she pondered, they ate, and Vanessa warmed her hands around her tea mug. In the end, she opted to wait on telling Jackson about her meeting with Tamara. After all, nothing might come of it. Tamara might reject Vanessa’s offer. No need to disturb the waters any further at this point. The meeting with Tamara had been nothing more than happenstance.

  God-incidence, one might say.

  “Are you still with me, Vannie?”

  Jackson’s summons roused her from her thoughts. They left the pub and Jackson attempted to hail a cab along increasingly empty streets. Fat, tumbling snowflakes continued to paint the world in purest white as a stilling hush built through the air. Traffic gradually quieted; fewer and fewer people strolled past.

  “Is everything OK? You got really quiet in there.”

  “Yes. Sorry. Afraid I drifted for a moment.”

  “Perhaps I can bring you back to the here and now?”

  Before she could answer, before she could blink or think or move, Jackson moved her to a quiet corner of the building, which was bathed by nothing but a black velvet night, buttery lamplight and a sparkling, twirling snowfall. He launched into a kiss so sweet, so evocatively soft and spontaneous it took her under before she ever knew what hit. Her surprised, pleasured exclamation cut the still air. Snowflakes danced all around, moist and soft, cooling her flushed skin, landing on her lashes, her cheeks, her hair. Oh, but he tasted delicious—lips tanged by spice, mouth moving reverent and smooth against hers, warm energy a flood that affirmed passion and stirred a love that shifted her entire axis.

  “It’s not 135 meters,” he murmured at last, “but certainly just as memorable.”

  Breathless, her heart now sealed, Vanessa lifted a trembling hand to stroke the strong, square line of his chin. “Furthermore, what a lovely end to a perfect evening.”

  She met his smoky gaze and his fingers worked tenderly through her hair. All the while, Vanessa tried hard to rebuke a sense of guilt and uncertainty about what was to come.

  8

  A few days later, Jackson sat behind monitor number four of the freshly installed master security console at Harrods. It was just after noo
n, and he couldn’t believe what he saw on the screen overlooking The Tea Room, an eatery located on the second floor of the department store. Vanessa was being escorted to a small corner table—with Tamara at her side. Jackson leaned forward, peering ahead, his pulse pounding.

  Yep. No mistake. Vanessa was about to break bread with Tamara McKenna.

  Storm-driven heat swept in a flash-flood through his system. Jackson watched the maître d’ settle the women and extend menus which they perused at once. Soon they unfolded napkins and appeared to carry on an amiable conversation. Grinding his teeth, issuing a low, rumbling growl, he circled his stiff neck and rolled away tight kinks with the press of his fingertips.

  Had Tamara maneuvered her way into an introduction following the Christmas party? Was she moving in for some form of exploitative “Colby family” kill-shot with regard to his reputation and disrupt further work with the firm? In the face of Tamara’s repeated threats, Jackson considered the idea a reasonable assumption.

  The surveillance screen view lent him no comfort whatsoever. He quelled an urge to blast out of the tech-hub and discover precisely was going on. He forced steadiness and calm. That kind of reactionary response would only reap conflict and pain.

  Coercing emotions into check, he waited until lunch concluded, deliberately focused on work. That didn’t mean he’d ignore present developments. Jackson activated his phone and launched the text program, tapping a message to Vanessa’s contact number.

  When’s your next break?

  She answered quickly. Not for few hours yet. I’m just back from lunch. Have a shopping appt in a few with an author I’ve loved for ages!