“Good for you.” He opened the car door, and she slid in.
“Where are we off to eat?”
“Georgio’s. Have you ever eaten there?”
“That’s across the street from Vroman’s Bookstore.”
“That’s the place. My parents recommended it. And they don’t recommend restaurants very often. Then maybe a late stroll into Vroman’s. It’s my favorite bookstore in the whole world.”
“Mine, too.”
The drive to the restaurant took ten minutes. A valet took his Mercedes, and they entered the romantically lit restaurant and were seated at a booth with a high back that went to the ceiling, giving them unusual privacy.
After a discreet waitress took their drink order and left them to read the menu, Daniel dug his phone out of his pocket.
“I want to show you something.” He scrolled down and then handed her the phone. “Read those comments.”
“I hope they aren’t about another of my body parts.”
“Just read,” he ordered.
She read. A dozen comments under his weekly blog, which was about the Rose Parade, ran from nasty to admiring. “Some people seem to think the Rose Parade is frivolous,” she said.
“And would you respond?”
He loved the way her face took on a serious look as she contemplated her answer. “We need things that are beautiful. We need pageantry. Yes, the world’s got problems, but we need things to remind us that there are good things about the human race. I think the Rose Parade does that. Detractors of any event are going to come out of the woodwork to complain about whatever. I need to be above that. And let’s talk about the millions of dollars poured into the Pasadena economy by the people who come to view the parade. That money keeps jobs here.
“And the parade sheds lights on some social issues, too. After I designed the Humane Society float, local shelters were practically cleaned out of adoptable animals. I think the parade does a lot of positive work, and anyone who says otherwise is just mean. Yeah, the parade is a lot more commercial now than it was in the past, but it still does a lot of good things.”
He smiled broadly. “That’s exactly what I want for tomorrow’s segment. I want your passion, your fire, your love for the parade.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Was this a test?”
“What’s the right answer to that? I mean an answer that will get me into your bed tonight.”
She grinned at him. “Silence.”
“Did I tell you that your pink poodle purse is absolutely great?”
She reached across the table and took his hand. “You did, and for that you get another night in my bed.”
* * *
Greer walked ahead of him and unlocked her front door. “Don’t dawdle.”
“What’s the hurry?”
She tossed her purse on the couch and slid out of her shoes. “I have needs.”
Well, so did he, he thought as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. “I do need fulfillment.”
“Good.”
He watched her dress fly over her shoulder and nearly hit him in the face. By the time he got to her bedroom, she was standing naked by the bed. He walked over to her, and she reached out and put her hand on his chest. He grabbed her wandering hand and in an instant had her flat on her back. He bent over until he rested between her thighs, his chest crushing hers.
Greer wrapped her legs around his hips and arched her back. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“I will do my best.” He lowered his head and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking the bud into a peak.
A fractured moan broke from her lips. He nipped her skin, and Greer trembled. Daniel laughed. She squirmed, their skin sliding together, fanning the raging inferno inside him. He needed her so badly. He grabbed her wrists together and held them in one hand over her head. Slowly he trailed his fingers over her breasts to her waist. Heat burned his fingertips, and his heart raced as he watched the muscles in her stomach contract at his touch.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
He licked the underside of her breast.
Greer raised her legs higher on his hips. She struggled to free her wrists. “I want to touch you.”
Daniel rose and pulled her up, chest to chest. He took her mouth in a hard kiss meant to mark her as his. His lips did the job, and when the kiss ended, he was consumed by a need he could not ignore.
All his control had waltzed right out the door when she’d begged him to make love to her. Daniel didn’t know what demon possessed him, but he wanted to consume all of her. One taste of her was worth anything. He cupped her breasts, and when he teased her nipples, she wriggled her body against him.
His pulse raced. He was ready to take her hard. “You want it?”
“Now!” she insisted.
He turned her around and balanced on his knees behind her. Gripping her hips, he pulled her backside to him and plunged into her, burying himself deep inside her tight flesh. He held her hips against him with one hand, digging his fingers in her soft skin, and he used his other hand to tease her clitoris. Each stroke sent a deep shudder through her. Her breathing was harsh as he thrust inside her. Her internal muscles tightened around him, and he could feel the sweat beading on his brow. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of her sleek skin against his. He didn’t have much control left, he was so overloaded by the sensation.
He felt her contract against him as an orgasm ripped through her. His thrusts turned hard and demanding. Sensations tore through him, sensations he’d never felt when making love to a woman before her. He clenched his jaw, feeling all his muscles tense as he pounded into her willing body.
His own orgasm neared, and he thrust harder, his brain clouding with thoughts of her.
He rocked against her. Her back went rigid and stiff as she gripped the bed covers in her fists.
His heart beat like a jackhammer, as if it would burst from his chest. The blood in his veins roared with passion. He withdrew almost entirely out of her and gave one last heaving stroke. His orgasm exploded, and he spilled everything he had inside her. A guttural cry left his mouth, and he began to shake.
Greer went down to the bed, turning as she lay back, and pulled him into her arms. She caught her breath and snuggled up to him, her skin slick with perspiration. The musky scent of unbridled sex hung in the room. Daniel pushed a strand of hair off her flushed cheek. His hand lingered on her soft skin as he tried to form the words to tell her how he felt, but anything he thought to say seemed inadequate.
She smiled at him, her breasts rising with each breath. “Wow! That was so...naughty.”
What they had just done was way beyond naughty. He propped himself on his elbow. “Priceless.”
She giggled and rolled on top of him, giving him a quick kiss.
He grinned.
“Good.” She kissed his chest.
If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to let her go just yet.
* * *
The next day, Greer arrived at the studio and had to traverse a gauntlet of paparazzi and overeager fans. Cameras flashed in front of her eyes, and a barrage of questions was shouted at her. Someone pushed a mic in her face and it bumped against her nose. She stopped and glared at the reporter, who stepped back, looking chagrinned. She shielded her face as she pushed through to the door. She didn’t know how Logan and Daniel could ignore the constant bombardment of inane questions. Who cared if she wore her shoes to bed or not? And it was nobody’s business what brand of underwear she wore.
Daniel had told her to ignore them, give them nothing. But from the number of flashes in her eyes, she figured her photo would still be gracing the cover of Celebrity Buzz.
After a quick makeup session, she took her seat on the set across from Daniel
. Despite several appearances, the camera eye staring at her still made her uncomfortable. No matter how carefully she dressed to bolster her confidence, she knew she was under a microscope and felt awkward.
He reached out and squeezed her hand, letting her know he had her back, and she felt better instantly.
Because of the time constraint of television, he got right to the point. “You ready to do a little history of the Rose Parade and Isabella Coleman?”
Greer nodded. She was delighted to give that information once the camera was rolling. “The first Rose Parade was in 1890 and consisted of horse-drawn buggies decorated with ribbons and flowers from Pasadena gardens,” she explained. She had brought photos of the early carriages, and now she saw them on the monitor facing her and Daniel. “The idea was to promote the beauty of the West by holding a series of games such as chariot races, jousting tournaments and polo. The events were preceded by the parade, which ran down Colorado Boulevard.”
“And to think, that small parade has evolved into something so elaborate today,” Daniel said, a touch of wonder in his voice.
“We have the parade as we know it today thanks to Isabella Coleman. She was a native of Pasadena and a pioneer in float design. She was still in her teens when she designed and built her own float. By the time she was nineteen, she was designing floats for clients. She was quite the entrepreneur.”
A photo of Isabella as a young woman appeared on the monitor, surrounded by trophies and ribbons. Greer loved this photo because it showed what one determined woman could do in the face of so many challenges.
“She completely transformed the float design process,” Greer continued, “and was the first to glue flower petals onto the designs and put flowers in little glass vials filled with water to keep them fresh. She designed the first steel undercarriages, and by the time she was thirty, she’d won numerous trophies and awards. She also pioneered the participation of women in the parade planning.”
Greer owed Isabella a lot. The woman had done more than just pave the way for females. She’d set the foundations of the parade.
“Isabella Coleman sounds pretty impressive,” Daniel said.
“She was,” Greer said with enthusiasm. “She never considered herself a businesswoman, but her design business kept her family afloat when her husband lost his job during the Great Depression.”
“In that time, women weren’t allowed to be business-oriented,” Daniel said.
“Thank goodness times have changed. I probably wouldn’t be able to do what I do if not for her, and there were times when it wasn’t easy. When the first African American Rose Queen was nominated, I wasn’t even born, and my dad used to say that people complained about Pasadena going to hell in a handbasket. In 1958 a queen was disqualified because she was biracial. And now we’ve had a Hispanic, an Asian and an African American queen as a matter of course, and no one blinks an eye.” She went on to talk about Los Angeles being one of the most diverse cities in the United States, and she liked to think the diversity was represented by the Rose Queen and her court.
Daniel smiled and nodded his head. He understood the importance of diversity.
“My grandfather,” she continued, “was an actor in the forties and fifties and did pretty well for himself. He bought a house in Pasadena, and since then my family has been entrenched in the culture that is Pasadena.”
Daniel made a few comments, then wrapped up the segment. “We’ll now pause for this commercial break. And when we return, we’ll have Heather Applegate on weather, Christine Matthews with traffic and Wilma Alvarez with the news.”
The director held up a hand. When he counted down to one, Daniel stood, removed his mic and held out a hand to Greer. “Once again, nicely done, Greer.” Despite his professional demeanor, his eyes seemed to bore through her when he looked at her so intensely. Their brown depths told her more than the simple compliment. Much more.
She wanted him just as badly. She wanted to step into his arms and kiss him right there, but she was aware of all the eyes staring at them on the set. Instead, she let him escort her back to his office, keeping her hands at her sides and away from the temptation that was Daniel.
Once his office door was closed behind them, he turned and kissed her. His kiss thrilled her right down to her toes.
When he had his fill of her, he pulled back and studied her. “What are you doing for Christmas Eve?”
It took her a moment and a few breaths to calm her racing pulse. When she was finally able to speak, she replied, “Traditionally, my family doesn’t gather on Christmas Eve. We get together Christmas morning, have breakfast, open our gifts and have an early dinner, eating ourselves into oblivion.”
He laughed. “Sounds like my family. We have our own tradition. On Christmas Eve, we go to a performance of The Nutcracker. I have an extra ticket. Would you like to be my date?”
Greer hadn’t seen The Nutcracker in years, and she was thrilled Daniel asked. “Yes. I don’t have any other plans, other than maybe finishing my decorations. We rotate houses for Christmas, and this year it’s my turn.”
“I can help with that.” Daniel gave her a hopeful look.
She laughed. “And I’ll take it. Because starting the day after Christmas, I won’t be sleeping until the parade.”
“My last segment will be from the staging area.”
“What will you do if neither one of you wins the Sweepstakes Trophy?”
Daniel looked thoughtful. “Logan and I are so used to one of us coming away a winner that I hadn’t considered it.”
“There are going to be seventy floats vying for the different trophies. It’s not just you and Logan.”
“I’ll talk to Logan and see what he says. Maybe we just have to win a trophy in any category. If push comes to shove, we’ll flip a coin.”
“You’d best have that backup plan implemented just to be safe. There are too many variables to assure you’ll win something. It’s just doesn’t work that way.”
He kissed the end of her nose. “I’ll keep that in mind when I talk to Logan.”
“Okay, then. I need to get going.” She grabbed her purse and turned for the door. But Daniel reached her and pulled her around into his arms.
“Don’t leave without this.” Then he kissed her.
She left the studio and walked through the gauntlet of paparazzi shouting questions at her. Who did she like better—Logan or Daniel? How would she rate their prowess in bed? By the time she shoved through to her car and eased out of the parking structure, she was trembling. But she didn’t know whether it was from the cameras that had been shoved in her face or Daniel’s kiss.
Chapter 9
Greer loved the lot her house sat on. Shaped like an L with the house on the bottom, the property afforded her a huge garden going up from the left side. On the other side she’d placed a gazebo so she could sit and look out over the ravine that bordered her lot and watch the wildlife—mostly deer, raccoons and possums.
Her favorite part of the interior was the large fireplace in her living room. There was something so special, so cozy about sitting there watching the fire on a cool evening. But it was only late morning and she already had the fire going. It seemed the perfect touch to Christmas Eve morning, the perfect way to get her in the mood for holiday decorating. She’d gotten the boxes of decorations out of the garage, and in one corner of her living room she’d placed a live Christmas tree. After Christmas, she would find a place in the yard to plant it. She already had three trees along the left property line to mark the three years she’d lived in the house.
She was about to unwrap the tree ornaments when Daniel pulled into her driveway. She went to the front door to greet him. Cold air swirled in with him. A fine drizzle had started, and little droplets clung to his hair.
He held up a takeout bag. “I brought lunch as
ordered.”
She grinned and kissed him. “Thank you.” She led the way down the hall to the kitchen, where she grabbed dishes and set them on trays to carry into the living room after they made their plates.
“I like your Christmas shirt and hat.”
“Thank you.” Her mother had given her the classic red sweatshirt with Santa in his sleigh with little puffs of cotton for his hat and suit. The hat was her own addition, a traditional stocking with Merry Christmas embroidered on the white band.
In the living room, she pulled two wing chairs up to the fire, and they chatted about holiday traditions as they ate.
“The day after Thanksgiving,” Daniel said, “my brothers and sisters and I head over to our parents’ house, and we set up the outside lights and decorations. Every house on the block is decorated for Christmas, except for one.”
“Who’s the Scrooge?”
“It rotates. We have this huge sign that says Scrooge Lives Here, and whoever is Scrooge for the year gets it.”
“On my street, only a few houses decorate,” Greer said as she munched on her ham sandwich. “But my family tradition is that we all have homemade ornaments. I started making them when I was seven, and since then I’ve made hundreds to decorate all our trees.”
“I’m anxious to see them.”
“Pull that box over.” She pointed at a brown box with Christmas Ornaments neatly stenciled on the side.
She slid down to sit on the floor and pulled the lid off. Inside, each ornament was carefully wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in its own compartment. She unwrapped a clear glass ball with Santa painted on it. She handed it to Daniel. “Every ornament has a story,” she explained. “I painted that one when I was ten. My mother didn’t want mass-produced ornaments. She wanted unique and personal. She loves a good story.”
She unwrapped another glass ornament with crutches painted on them. “This is to commemorate Rachel breaking her leg when she fell off a float.” Rachel had been in her freshman year at UCLA, Greer recalled, and trying to get around campus on crutches had been a huge challenge. Her parents had finally rented a golf cart for her.
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