However, Ms. ATF’s lack of an answer didn’t change the fact that he thought about her every morning when he opened his eyes and every night before he went to sleep. If she was undercover, he hoped she’d be safe, and if she hadn’t gotten in touch because she chose not to—he didn’t want to think about that. He wished her the best.
* * *
Eve was half way across the country seated at a desk in a huge used tire warehouse in Santa Barbara, California. She was working undercover as an office temp hired as an administrative assistant to the boss, James Quinn. Quinn was under investigation for money laundering, dealing in illegal weapons and tax evasion. She’d been working the job now six weeks to the day, and so far the various agencies in the government task force had amassed almost enough evidence to convict him and everyone else in his five-man organization. Although being undercover in an office was way better than being on the street playing a hooker or a crackhead, she hoped that the operation would be wrapped up soon so she could fly home. Leyton had been on her mind since the moment they’d parted. In hindsight, she supposed she could have taken two minutes to answer his question instead of leaving it up in the air the way she had. But she’d been so focused on transforming herself back into Agent Clark that she’d had to set aside Eve Clark the woman, and as a result him, too. If she had given in to the happiness of saying yes, or to the sadness she felt getting into the cab and leaving him behind, the transformation would have taken longer, and she hadn’t had that luxury. She’d had to hit the ground running, turn herself into Tamika Wells, prim, soft-spoken and efficient, get on the job, and help the government get the goods on Quinn and the rest of the bad guys. In her private moments, she ached for Leyton and hoped when the investigation finished he would understand, take her in his arms, and let her say, yes.
But in the meantime she had a job to do, so she went back to the letter Tamika was typing for the boss on the computer screen.
Three days later, the day after Christmas, the government swooped down on James Quinn and his illegal operation like Godzilla on Tokyo. When the dust finally settled, Eve was on a flight to Chicago and home.
After an indulgent bubble bath and a good night’s sleep, she got up the next morning and tried to decide what to do about Leyton. Should she contact him? She knew she wanted to but wasn’t sure he’d still be interested after all this time. She mulled it over for the rest of the day and in the end, decided she would. The question then became how? Thinking it over for a while she came up with a plan.
* * *
One of the fire department’s mail clerks stuck her head in Leyton’s office. “Captain Palmer, FedEx left this for you.”
Leyton took the small package and thanked her.
After her departure, he used a box cutter to slit the tape and opened the top panels. The inside was filled with scented black tissue paper and inside was the black velvet domino Eve had worn the night they met. His heart started to pound as he slowly lifted it free and the memories it evoked filled his mind. Is this her way of saying goodbye? There was a note enclosed, so he set the mask down and read:
The Warrior Goddess Oya humbly requests the centurion’s presence New Year’s Eve.
Suite 2135—10 p.m.
He picked up the mask again, eyed its sensual beauty and grinned like the happy man he was.
* * *
By Eve’s calculations it would take her three months to pay off the credit card bill for the suite she’d reserved, but as she walked around and viewed the way the table was set and the intimate atmosphere created by the hotel staff, she decided it would be well worth the budget busting, but only if Leyton showed up. There was no guarantee he would, so she was a bit apprehensive as the time on the clock approached ten.
She’d reserved this particular suite because it was same one they’d been in on Halloween, the night they met, and in spite of her hard-boiled demeanor, Eve was sentimental. In the weeks they’d been apart, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time thinking back to how much of a good guy he was and how magical he was in bed. It was the former that stood out, however, and the part of Leyton that she valued the most. She could be herself with him—good, bad or ugly. Even though he hadn’t seen those parts yet, she was certain he could handle it. She knew he wouldn’t turn out to be perfect either, but that was the beauty of a relationship, at least in her mind. Taking the good with the bad and attempting to make lemonade out of whatever lemons they each brought to the table. Not that she’d ever experienced any of that in her past dealings with men, but having watched her aunt and uncle growing up, she knew that that kind of give-and-take would be necessary.
But in order for her to sip that lemonade, he had to make an appearance. So to keep herself from pacing, and yes, worrying, she snagged a meatball from the buffet laid out on the table in the suite and took a seat.
At ten minutes past ten, the phone in the suite rang. Eve picked up.
“Evening, your majesty.”
Eve melted into a puddle at the sound of his Texas drawl. “Hello, centurion.”
“I was at a fire, but I’m on my way now. Didn’t want you to worry about whether I was going to show up or not.” He paused for a moment to add softly, “Good hearing from you.”
“Same here.”
“I’m just turning into the parking garage. Be right up.”
The call ended, and the great warrior goddess, wearing her black leather catsuit and long platinum wig, kicked up her heels with glee.
Moments later there was a knock on the door. Drawing in a deep breath, Eve went to answer it. A quick peek through the hole showed him standing on the other side, so she opened it.
For a moment neither spoke. They were too overcome by the memories.
“Your centurion reporting for duty, my lady.”
She feasted her eyes on the sight of him, and her nipples tightened in response to the heat in his eyes. “Welcome.” It had been too long since she’d seen him last. Way too long. “My answer is yes. In fact, I think we should just cut to the chase and think about making this permanent.”
“Really?”
“I do, but if that scares you or makes you want to run, I’ll understand. There’s the elevator.”
He shook his head and walked by her and inside. She closed the door and turned to face him.
He was standing with his arms folded.
“What?”
“You’ve been gone for almost eight weeks. You get me up here, you’re wearing that suit and all you want to do is talk and give orders. Come here and let me give that mouth of yours something else to do,” he fussed with mock severity.
She tried hard to keep from smiling but failed. “It’s what we goddesses do.”
His own smile peeked out. “I know, but come here anyway.”
So she went to him and let him take her in his arms. It felt good.
“Much better,” he said brushing his lips over hers. “I think we should make this long-term, too, but for now, I want to spend the next little while getting you out of this suit, and then you can talk all you want—if you can.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“It would be if you had a chance of winning.” He was already sliding her zipper down. “I give you twenty minutes, tops, before you’re screaming loud enough to be heard in Canada.” He punctuated his words by placing hot kisses on her throat and the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her catsuit.
She crooned in response. “You’re on.”
He slid the front of the suit down to free her breasts, and before he leaned down to help himself, he promised, “You are so going to lose.”
And Eve did lose—again, and again and again. In between, they did manage to remember to toast in the New Year with flutes of champagne and even to eat a bit of the food, but for the most part, they just made love.
Finally when they settled down to sleep, Eve caught a glimpse of her catsuit lying in a puddle on the floor of the bedroom and made a mental note to make sure Shelly fre
ed up her calendar so she could be maid of honor at the wedding. After all, this was her fault. With that decision made, Eve cuddled back against the man she planned to spend the rest of her life with, and as he pulled her closer, she closed her eyes, the happiest woman in the world.
* * * * *
I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Beverly Jenkins
I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Beverly Jenkins
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
CHAPTER 1
Seated in the audience in the darkened New York theater, Morgan Todd stared rapt at the actress onstage. The New York critics were calling her performance in Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof fiery, bold and mesmerizing, and Morgan had to agree. She moved through her role as Maggie with a confidence that showed off her extraordinary acting talents and why she’d won two Tonys in the past three years. Her name was Dina Caldwell. She was a particular favorite of his not only for her killer performances but because at one time she’d been his fiancée.
He watched her verbally blast the actor playing her husband during one of the play’s critical moments and the air in the theater crackled with the tension. There’d been no blast like that on the day she’d ended their engagement four years ago. She’d been so controlled and icy, it had taken him days to thaw out. His treatment had been well deserved, however. He’d treated her like crap; he knew it, she knew it and so had the readers of the nation’s tabloids chronicling the breakup because Morgan was as famous in his world as she was in hers.
He was Master Chef Morgan Todd, dessert virtuoso to the rich and famous. No Hollywood party was complete without his signature confections and when the First Lady of the United States had needed to impress the French president, she’d called on him. Thanks to his hard work, he had one of the country’s best-rated cooking shows on cable, a partnership in two exclusive dessert restaurants in Vegas and South Beach and cookbooks and bakeware bearing his name. He’d begun his career in college, peddling his version of his mother’s prize-winning coconut cake to help with the costs of tuition, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Now, at the age of thirty-seven, his name was a household word, and his life was so well-ordered and profitable he was making money while he slept, but he’d begun to question where he’d be in twenty years. Economically he’d be fine; the rich would continue to indulge their appetites for fun, fashion and food no matter the economy, but who and where would the man inside himself be? Ideally, relaxing on his laurels and enjoying a wife and kids. That thought brought him back to the woman onstage. In hindsight, she was the only woman he’d ever needed, however, when they were together he’d been too much of a cheating fool to understand that. In his perfect world, Dina would be his wife and the mother of his children, but because of the way he’d screwed up during their engagement she’d been refusing his calls since their breakup four years ago. That was a long time to be angry, but when a woman sees pictures of her fiancé and his latest side dish splashed across the front pages of the tabloids she has reason to be mad and to stay that way. He sighed. To have her in his life again would be sweeter than anything he could create, but for that to happen he’d have to convince her that in spite of everything, he’d never stopped loving her.
After the show, a weary Dina sat at the vanity mirror and removed her makeup. Dressed in a loose silk robe, she tissued off the paint, glad to be free of it and the wig she wore each night over her short pixie-cut hair. The cast and crew had put on another stellar performance and the audience had given them a standing ovation in response. She loved her work, especially when everyone involved put the show first and left their egos at the door. The production had a great director, producer and the other actors in the cast were all heavyweight talents she enjoyed sharing the stage with. A knock at the door made her check her robe to make sure she wasn’t exposed. “Come on in.”
Reflected behind her was her agent and good friend Maureen Anderson.
“How’d you like the show?”
“Fabulous—just fabulous.”
Dina finished the makeup removal with a towel and tossed it into the hamper by her seat. Maureen had a tendency to complain about everything, from the shortcomings of Dina’s understudy Rita, to the snarled NYC traffic to and from the theater, to the temperature outside. She’d claimed to have enjoyed tonight’s performance, but Dina could tell by her expression that something was up. “So, why the face?”
“I’m still having issues with you taking the week off, honey. Do you know how much money the show may lose with you not onstage? The ticket holders aren’t going to be happy to find out they’ve come all this way just to see your understudy.”
Dina sighed. “My being away for one week is not going to send the producers to the poorhouse, and Rita will do fine in the role.”
“She can’t even get to rehearsal on time.”
Dina loved the fifty-five-year-old Maureen. She was efficient, organized and could be a pit bull when called upon, but she was such a worrywart that she sometimes drove Dina insane.
Maureen continued, “What if the producers like her and decide to give her the part permanently?”
“You just said the girl can’t make it to rehearsal on time. I don’t think my job’s in jeopardy, but if that happens, I’ll find work somewhere else.”
The answer didn’t appear to satisfy Maureen but it stopped the fussing, which was all Dina had been after. “Aren’t you the one who’s been saying I need a vacation?”
“I was talking about in the spring, not the week of Thanksgiving.”
“Maureen, this show’s been running over a year. I missed three performances last winter because of the flu, but other than that I’ve been going nonstop, two shows a day. This wedding is important to me, and remember, I told you and the producers last spring that I was going to go.”
Maureen didn’t respond.
“Besides, you should take some time off, too. Go see your sister in Atlanta. It’s Thanksgiving. Eat some turkey. Have some fun. Did she say anything else to you about this man she wants you to meet?”
“No, because I told her I wasn’t in the market.”
“Maureen!”
“Don’t Maureen me. You need to be worrying about being in the same place with The Buttercream Player all week,” she said, helping herself to one of the shrimps sitting on ice in a silver bucket on the table. The dish was one of the buffet selections Dina received after each performance.
The Buttercream Player was Maureen’s playful sobriquet for Dina’s ex-fiancé, Morgan Todd. His sister Jasmine was getting married, and because Dina loved Jas like family she was flying home to Detroit in the morning for the wedding. Dina assumed Morgan would be leaving his Pop-Tarts long enough to fly in for the celebration, too, but she hadn’t spoken to him in years. When they crossed paths she planned to be polite, but that would be extent of her interactions with the man she’d loved most of her life and who’d treated her heart like something you put in a garbage disposal. “I’m a Tony-winning actress, I’ll just pretend he’s not there.”
“Uh-huh. When was the last time you two were in the same room?”
“The day I gave him back his ring four years ago.”
“Then you might want to prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“He’s waiting outside in the hall.”
“Excuse me?”
“He wants to see you.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Could have something to do with you not taking his calls for the past four years.”
“He can kiss my ass.”
“That could be one of the reasons he’s here, too, but I’ll
let him tell you.”
Maureen had always had a soft spot in her heart for Morgan, even when Dina wanted him boiled in oil. “Why didn’t you just tell him I was unavailable?”
“You know I can’t resist dark chocolate, especially when he dangles two front-row-seat tickets to his show. He may be persona non grata, but the man can cook.”
“You took a bribe.”
“I did,” she confessed with mock sadness.
Dina didn’t believe this. “With friends like you, I don’t need any enemies. Go home, and send Mr. Pop-Tart in. I’ll call you tomorrow after I land in Detroit.”
“Love you,” Maureen trilled as she headed to the door.
“Liar,” Dina tossed back teasingly.
In the silence after Maureen’s departure, Dina studied her reflection. Morgan. Inwardly, she wasn’t prepared for this. She’d purposefully avoided all contact since giving him back his ring, mainly because of how much she’d been hurt. Outwardly, her face was shiny from the makeup remover and there was a stocking cap over her hair. She wasn’t looking her best, but she decided, so what. It was only Morgan. He’d have two minutes to say whatever he’d come to say and then get gone.
A quick two knocks sounded on the door.
“Come in.”
Her first thought was that she hated that he was still so damn gorgeous. Rich brown skin. The razor-cut moustache framing his lips and flowing down to the short clipped beard on his chin made him look like a twenty-first century gunslinger. The eyes on hers were as potent as they’d ever been. Dark chocolate, indeed.
“Hey, Dee Dee.”
Dark chocolate voice, too. “Morgan.”
“Great show.”
“Thanks. What brings you by?”
“Was in town, thought I’d catch the show. Jas said you were headed home for the wedding so I wanted to see if you’d like to hitch a jet ride home.”
You Sang to Me Page 17