by Nancy Fraser
“The locals tell me it’s the biggest event of the season.”
“Bigger than Christmas Day?”
“Honey, there are no available men wandering the streets on the twenty-fifth. But I could get lucky at the ceremony,” she said with a chuckle. “It would be nice to see your smiling face.”
He chuckled. Marva was something. “Good luck, then,” he said cheerily. “The single men in this town will fall at your feet.”
And he wondered where he’d be on the twenty-fifth. Like Marva, he’d taken a short-term rental rather than a hotel, so he wasn’t sure if he’d get Christmas dinner. Maybe he could order in.
His next student arrived, and Marva hobbled out, shouting back a promise to return.
GRAMMA RETURNED HOME shortly after four and Brenna climbed out of her car to greet her. The older woman covered her mouth in surprise then opened her car door.
“Brenna, my dear! I’m thrilled to see you.” They hugged and Gramma tugged her toward the veranda steps.
Brenna pulled to a stop. “Gramma, I came early,” she said. She hadn’t been considerate of her grandmother’s schedule. “I hope that’s okay that I did. I don’t want to impose.”
“Impose? Of course not. Come in, come in. I was worried that horrid job would keep you in New York again, the way it did for Thanksgiving. Your mother was fit to be tied.” And she pulled Brenna along again.
“She never said anything.” But that was her mother’s way. Whatever her daughters threw at her, she accepted. Clearly, her mom couldn’t hide her disappointment from her own mother and Gramma made sure Brenna knew it. A stab of guilt made her inwardly wince. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Gramma. I put the job—my career, I mean—before my family. I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m not the one you need to tell.” She busied herself unlocking the front door.
“I’ll apologize when I see her, don’t worry.” The apology would be expected in person, not via text.
Her grandmother opened the ornate, original front door of the huge Victorian house. She’d lived here for her whole adult life. The oval window held a wreath of holly and twinkling lights. Gramma pointed at it. “This is new,” she said to change the subject to small talk, for which Brenna was grateful.
Her grandmother wasn’t one to harp on things. She’d let Brenna know her absence at Thanksgiving had been hard and now it was on Brenna to soothe the hurt feelings. And she would. When her mother arrived, Brenna planned to have a long heart-to-heart to explain her decision to work over the last holiday.
Following Gramma’s lead, Brenna walked through the gaily decorated house and exclaimed over the new pieces. Gramma liked to rotate her garlands and where she put her Victorian Christmas village. This time it was on an antique table near the fireplace.
Brenna felt bad about keeping Trix’s secret, but divorce was another thing better discussed in person, especially since Trix had been betrayed on so many levels. After the announcement was made the flock of James women would encircle her with love and support. And a good deal of wine.
After a comfy, casual dinner where Brenna helped her Gramma raid the fridge for leftovers, the conversations flowed around to the new happenings in Dickens.
“How’s business? Slowing down or are you as busy as ever?” Brenna asked.
Gramma smiled winsomely. “I’ve rented out some hours when I’m not teaching.”
“You haven’t done that before. Who’s rented the time?”
Gramma stood and collected her plate. As she turned away toward the large original porcelain sink, she said, “His name is Jett and he’s teaching the tango. Fun, right? These days dance is all about salsa, but there’s something alluring about the tango.” She faced Brenna again and waved her hand in front of her face. “The tango is H-O-T hot. And Jett is startlingly handsome.”
“Is he?” But Brenna had felt the sweep of heat just from the man’s glance. The scent of his aftershave was stamped into her memory. It had to be the same man. How many Jetts could there be in a town the size of Dickens?
“To be held by a man like that. It’s every woman’s dream,” her grandmother murmured. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m seventy but I’m not dead yet. Any woman would look twice at him.” She cocked an eyebrow.
Oh, no, that look was always followed by a mischievous suggestion. “Whatever you’re cooking up? No. You will not set me up with a man who’s only been here a few days.”
Gramma folded her arms across her middle. “Now, how do you know that my darling granddaughter?”
Caught. “I may have stopped by Dorrit’s and inadvertently sat beside him at the counter where Aunt Lolly introduced us.” She hadn’t meant to sit right there, but it was the closest stool to where her aunt was standing at the time. That’s all. Of course, she hadn’t noticed Jett’s broad shoulders and tapered waist and gorgeous hair the moment she stepped inside the diner. Suspicion curled through Brenna. “But my own aunt, a woman I love and trust, didn’t mention he was renting studio time from my grandmother. Why is that?”
Gramma had the grace to flush. “You’ve been working too hard and Jett seems like such a good guy. What’s the harm in you signing up for tango lessons? He’s got an eight-lesson bundle and it’ll be good for you.”
Gramma had embraced dance as a child when her braces had come off her legs. She felt the discipline and athleticism had helped her regain her childhood and her life. Everyone she met had been told her story and no doubt Jett had been told, too.
“Aunt Lolly sure got on the phone quickly after I left the diner.” She narrowed her eyes.
Gramma shifted a shoulder to indicate Brenna had got it right.
“Lolly called you and told you I’d met Jett while you were still at the studio?”
“Sort of.”
Gramma put on a good act of looking surprised when she’d found Brenna in the driveway. “What else did Lolly tell you?”
“You look tired and stressed and that’s the truth. You do. And you’ve lost weight.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Brenna muttered.
“Oh, honey, of course you should have. Dickens is a healing kind of place, especially at Christmas. Your heart told you to come. You need to suck up the good vibes, set your troubles aside, and relax into the season.” Gramma moved closer and Brenna rose to be pulled into a hug. “When you go back to your life, you’ll feel stronger and ready to take on the world again.”
“You think?” Her voice went soft and childlike and Brenna accepted that there was no place like this place and no family as warm and loving as hers. Jett’s scent prickled her nose again, like a sensual memory. “Maybe tango lessons would be fun. And I could use the refresher. It’s been years since you taught me.” She nodded. “I have to fill my days with something before everybody arrives.”
“That’s my girl,” Gramma comforted.
“I’ll call him to book my lessons. How many people per class?”
“Jett’s offering one-on-one. You’ll be all alone with him. Doing the tango.”
Chapter 4
BILLIE ADAMSON HAD stumbled on a revolutionary method of prolonging battery life that would change the world. Jett wanted to be the man who brought the process to light. He’d seen his first clue in an online chat room dedicated to science. A comment here and there had added to the story and as far as Jett knew he was the only one in the business world to pick up on it. He’d joined the conversation, as he sometimes did, to pull out more pieces of information until he was certain this Billie was onto something big.
He doubted, from Billie’s answers, that the young man understood how big this could be. The applications around the world would change everything from heavy metal mining to how far an electric vehicle could drive without recharging. Handheld devices could go twice as long without being plugged in.
He’d moved their conversation to private and then poof! Billie had disappeared. He had enough information to figure that the young man lived in or near Dickens
.
After a morning spent working remotely, Jett did his usual patrol of the town square, replacing flyers that had wilted or disappeared. The leaves on the huge maples had turned to hues only God could paint, and they skittered in front of him with each footfall. A memory tugged at him from his childhood. A rare good day as he recalled. His foster parents had taken the whole brood of kids to a park for an event and they’d all run wild in the fallen leaves, screeching, and playing.
Mostly, he’d done okay in foster care, but in the end couldn’t wait to age out and move ahead. Ahead and away from anything to do with families. They were noisy, messy, and sapped your energy. At least, that’s what he’d thought at the time.
But now? Now he looked around Dickens and saw fathers with kids on their shoulders, mothers wiping chins and cooing into strollers, tucking blankets when the wind kicked up. These folks cared and took care and provided their children with love and comfort.
He’d never noticed before how some families worked. In New York and other places, he’d been too busy to look around. And Manhattan wasn’t exactly full of these types of families. Not that he’d seen, anyway.
He swung in for his usual mug of coffee from Laurel at Dorrit’s, but she wasn’t in today. Disappointment wafted through him because he’d hoped to get information on her niece, Brenna. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to see her again.
Stupid idea. He was only here for a handful of weeks. Odd that he’d hope for another chance encounter with a woman he’d shared one glance with. Normally, he went into hot pursuit immediately. His lifestyle didn’t allow for wasting time when he saw a woman he wanted.
Last week, before Dickens, he’d have slipped her his card, touched her hand, then a strand of her hair and make a date to see her again. All within minutes.
He’d have been assertive, calm, and deliberate, making no bones about what he wanted. The type of women he found were happy enough to hang out with him for a few weeks before he moved onto another city, another country, another woman.
And at Christmas, he’d find one who wanted to hit a beach and enjoy whatever diamonds he bought for her while he worked.
He wandered over to the studio to chat with Mrs. Moore and see if anyone had walked in through the day to sign up for tango lessons. Odd, but there were still some people who wanted to do things face to face rather than on his hastily constructed website or by email.
But the person he saw inside the studio waiting, wasn’t Mrs. Moore, but Brenna James, the most spectacular woman he’d met the day before. Sorry, Marva.
“Hi,” he said, as he cleared his throat. Unbelievably urbane.
“Hello. My grandmother suggested I stop in and book some lessons with you,” she said as she walked toward him. “You’re teaching the tango?”
She was lovely today; more beautiful than his fevered dreams had made her. Her black hair was up in a ponytail and her green eyes danced with mischief. Dressed in a silk blouse the color of peacock wings, Brenna moved like a dancer, smooth and lithe and...sensual. She’d be an excellent student.
“Your grandmother is Mrs. Moore?”
“Yes,” she said through an affectionate smile. “She just left to run errands.”
“And Laurel from Dorrit’s is your aunt?”
“Yes.” She drew out the word as if he were a bright boy for seeing that one plus one equaled two. “They’re mother and daughter.”
Family. They were all family. He’d fallen into a family full of funny, lovely, smart, women.
“Cool,” he said. “Your grandmother’s left for the day?”
Brenna drew to a halt in front of him; so close he could see her freckles again. He drew in a breath and held it.
“Why? Are you afraid to be alone with me? I assure you, I’m perfectly safe.” Normally, he played pursuer, but this could be fun. He smiled into her eyes.
“Safe?” he murmured. “I doubt that.” Brenna James could be the most dangerous woman on the planet. But just to him. And he didn’t care what kind of ride he was in for.
He was in and that was what mattered.
“As it happens, I have a free hour right now.”
“Me, too.”
He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d already hung her coat, scarf, and purse up on one of the hooks provided for students. Her boots, tall and dark red, leaned against the wall, replaced by well-worn dance shoes.
“I take it you’ve had lessons before?”
“Gramma taught all of us to dance as children. She wanted to instill confidence and discipline.”
“I see your dance experience in your walk. You move beautifully.”
“That’s a lovely thing to say,” she murmured and licked her lower lip.
He only hoped he could get through this next hour without embarrassing himself. Taking her into his arms seemed like tempting fate...and biology. What was he, fourteen again?
BRENNA FELT LIKE AN untried teenager as she stared up into Jett’s handsome face. He took her breath away and she prayed she could make it through the lesson without fainting from lack of oxygen. Yes, the man was that potent. “It’s been years since I’ve danced with a partner. Today couples’ dances are reserved for weddings, and even then, it’s bride and groom or father and daughter.”
“Tango is not a waltz. It’s called the dance of love in Argentina.” Had his voice lowered an octave? His gaze swept her from head to foot and her body leaned closer of its own volition. “But we’ll start with American tango. It’s less suggestive.”
“Suggestive?” she squeaked. Of course, she knew what he meant but putting the word out there made the moment alive with possibility. She flushed and inwardly cursed her fair complexion.
“You’ll see.” He walked around her, his shoulder brushing her lightly as he moved. She straightened away from him instinctively, her years on public transit coming back to her when personal space was at a premium. “Yes, you need to be board straight.” He spoke into her ear, sending curls of heat down her body to her toes. “But you already know that.”
She shivered in reaction.
“Cold?” he asked as he faced her again.
“Not cold, no.”
“I think you’ll be a perceptive student,” he said on a husky note.
“Perceptive?”
“Instinctive, if you prefer.” The gleam in his eyes told her he teased, and she flushed harder. He knew the effect he had on her. “I’m going to touch you now, Brenna. Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.” He was a lit match and she the kindling.
And when he held her, she went up in flames.
Chapter 5
JETT LIFTED BRENNA’S hand to his shoulder and settled her fingers to lightly cup him there. Her other hand came up and he clasped it. The spark that ran through him at her touch startled, then pleased him. He drew her infinitesimally closer and she came, allowing the nearness. He didn’t know why he noticed every breath, every fluid inch of her, but he did. He’d held countless women this way and none of them had had this effect.
“We begin,” he said as he watched her green-eyed gaze widen. She straightened and squared her shoulders perfectly. He slid his left foot toward her. Immediately, she responded by stepping back in time. “Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,” he said with a sidestep at the end. “Good, really good.”
“Here, we side drag so your knees end up touching, but your feet do not.”
She gave him a nod and followed along. Perfect. Brenna was perfect. “Are you sure you haven’t learned this before?”
“We learned waltzes and the rumba.”
He still held her, his hand on her back, his right leg between hers. They’d taken the position naturally. “And you learned to tango,” he said, suspicion rising. “Why come here pretending to want lessons?”
She bit her lip and the adorable action drew his gaze. “I thought I’d got rusty and, to be honest—I can be honest—right?”
“Of course.”
Her green eyes glowed with m
ischief. “My family’s driving me batty. Between Aunt Lolly and my grandmother, they’re hounding me about why I’m in Dickens this early. I don’t want to share my reasons. Not yet.”
“A broken heart?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he needed her to be single, broken heart or not. And he had no idea what this had to do with lying about tango lessons.
“No, nothing like that.”
He examined her more closely. She had faded smudges under her beautiful eyes, and she might be thinner than most women with her height and build. In fact, he recalled Laurel saying as much in the diner. “Stressed out?” he guessed.
“Apparently. My boss told me I needed some R and R.” She shrugged. “I’ve been super busy at work, and things slow down at this time of year. Anyway, here I am, resting and relaxing.”
“And tango will help with that.” He understood now. Tango demanded focus and attention to the body. That kind of focus could help clear the mind. “What do you do?”
“I’m an advertising copywriter,” she said. Her gaze sharpened and she backed away.
He had to let her go.
More’s the pity. He’d been battling an urge to draw her in for a kiss, but now the moment had passed.
“Long hours?” he asked and then followed immediately with, “And creatively draining.”
“Yes, to both.” She walked away and he enjoyed the view of her smooth, elegant gait. Taking her coat off the hook she turned back and smiled at him. “Are you going to the tree lighting?”
“If you are,” he said making no bones about his interest. Time was short and he suddenly wanted not to be alone over Christmas.
“I’ll meet you there.”
After she walked out without looking back, he pondered their conversation. It didn’t seem that Brenna had been entirely truthful. The weeks running up toward year-end were often busier in business than usual. People were in a rush to complete projects and clear their desks when the new year loomed. Procrastinators hell, he liked to call it. He figured advertising had to be the same. Clients pushing for new ad copy for spring would up the stress level in the trenches at ad agencies.