by JoAnn Ross
This easy going man wearing faded blue jeans, a Tulane sweatshirt and scuffed cowboy boots, who’d brought her a tree and eggnog and even that corny batch of Christmas CDs, was unrecognizable from the man she’d found hiding away in that dark and dreary house.
“Tell me the truth, what have you done with the real Roman Falconer?” she demanded, not quite jokingly.
“You’re looking at him.”
“So who was that other guy lurking around your house? Your evil twin?”
“That’s one answer,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
He sighed, telling himself that he’d been a fool to think he could just turn things around without some kind of explanation. The problem was, in order to explain to Desiree what had been happening to him, he’d have to understand it himself. Which he damn well didn’t.
He took her hand. “I owe you an apology. I haven’t been at my best lately.” That was the understatement of a lifetime. “But I promise to improve.”
She glanced down at their linked hands and thought how right they looked together. How right they felt. “May I ask what brought about this change of heart?” She still couldn’t quite get a handle on Roman, still suspected that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
“I don’t suppose you’d believe that I was suddenly infused with an overdose of holiday cheer?”
“I saw your holiday cheer, remember? And it was 80 proof.”
“You’re a tough cookie, Desiree Dupree.” His hands framed her face as his eyes met hers.
“I’ve had to be.”
He considered that for a moment. “I suppose so.” She hadn’t been the only one doing a little digging into the past. He’d gone to the Picayune’s morgue and retrieved all the files about her parent’s deaths and the tragic custody battle that her father’s sister had lost before it had begun.
Although he suspected she’d hate him for suggesting it, and hate him even more for pitying her, Desiree was the quintessential poor little rich girl.
“Look, if you don’t want to come, fine,” he said with a nonchalant attitude he was a very long way from feeling. “But I’d feel better if you were there. And I think you might actually enjoy yourself.”
Having always prided herself on her ability to make quick decisions, Desiree made one now.
“I’ve always wanted to date a musician,” she said with a soft, lilting laugh that reminded Roman of silver bells and made him think that, just perhaps, things might actually be looking up.
12
ONLY SCROOGE or the Grinch could have refused to get in the Christmas spirit in such a splendid setting, Desiree decided as she sipped champagne and admired the lushly decorated rooms of the Falconer mansion. A striking amalgamation of the Italianate and Greek Revival architectural styles that had been popular in New Orleans in the last half of the nineteenth century, the spacious house was resplendently dressed for the holidays.
White candles glowed warmly, wreaths hung in every window, fragrant green swags had been wrapped around the banisters of the exquisite, double floating staircase, more garlands adorned mantles and every room boasted an ornately decorated tree of southern pine, wax myrtle or blue spruce.
The guests were as eclectic as the house itself. There was the usual mix of tourists, in town for the holidays, who’d undoubtedly read about the tour in their hotel magazine guide. Dressed in everything from silk to denim, they oohed and aahed appreciatively at the grandeur of their surroundings.
In addition, there were the locals, as well as most of the Falconers’ Audubon Place neighbors, who’d dressed as if for a party, which indeed it was. Carolers, costumed to look as if they’d just stepped off the pages of A Christmas Carol, strolled through the rooms singing seasonal madrigals, while in the huge front parlor, beside a towering, sixteen-foot tree decorated with angels, gold bows and musical instruments, Roman joined a jazz band, playing a spicy version of “White Christmas” on his alto sax.
Dressed again in black tie, he was every bit as striking as he’d been the night of the charity auction. But tonight he was visibly more relaxed. He smiled often and easily, and his jet hair was mussed in a way that made a woman want to comb her hands through it.
He’d loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his pleated white dress shirt. When she found herself wanting to unfasten a few more of those ebony studs, Desiree curled her fingers more tightly around the stem of her champagne glass to keep them out of trouble.
After the song ended, Roman exchanged a few words with the other musicians. A rakish grin spread across his face, revealing a deep dimple she’d never noticed before in his left cheek. His gaze swept the room, looking for someone. When he found Desiree, he gave her a bold wink.
“Gracious,” a woman standing next to her said as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it atop the gleaming concert grand piano. “I wonder how good a girl you have to be to have Santa leave that hunk of a sax player under your pillow.”
“He’s a very good musician,” Desiree said mildly, tamping down the urge to assure the woman that Roman was taken.
“I wasn’t talking about his horn playing, honey.” The woman, clad in a short, scarlet silk dress that proved an attractive foil for her café au lait complexion, shot a quick, unbelieving glance Desiree’s way. “I was talking about those dark and dangerous looks.”
“I suppose he is rather good-looking,” Desiree admitted.
“Rather good-looking?” the woman echoed. “Girlfriend, if that’s as good as you can do, you need a new dictionary. Or a pair of glasses.”
What she was in need of was a bit of fresh air, Desiree decided as the band broke into a raucous, juiced-up version of “Jingle Bells” with a blues twist, a performance was proving to be as sexy to watch as any MTV video. The crowd in the double parlor—especially the women—went wild.
She made her way through the throng of enthusiastic party goers and slipped out a side door that led onto a covered veranda. A soft rain had begun to fall, blurring the fairy lights sparkling like starlight in the oak trees. It was a night made for romance.
It had been a long time since Desiree had let herself think about anything but her work. But when Roman had arrived at her house this evening, looking sexier than any man had a right to, he’d set off a wild flapping of wings in her stomach. And not just your usual run-of-the-mill butterflies. Oh, no. These babies were gigantic, like the huge blue egrets she remembered from the bayou. As a little girl, she’d sat in her daddy’s pirogue as they glided through the silent dark waters, amazed that such large, long-legged birds could actually fly.
The memory, like all her others about those carefree, youthful days, was bittersweet. After all these years, she still missed her parents, especially at this time of year.
She was looking out over the lush green lawn that could have doubled as a putting green when she felt Roman come up behind her. She did not need to turn around; it was as if she’d developed a second sense that told her whenever he was in the vicinity.
“I was hoping I’d find you out here.” His voice was deep and warm and every bit as smooth as the fudge he’d brought her last night. Although Desiree had always considered herself a fairly strong-willed individual, she’d not been able to resist that luscious sweet candy. Just as she was finding it impossible to resist this man.
“It was beginning to feel a bit crowded in there,” she murmured. When he looped his arms around her waist, she instinctively leaned back against his chest.
“And hot,” he agreed. “The place is packed. I can’t believe how many people showed up.”
“That undoubtedly has a great deal to do with word getting out that you were going to be part of the entertainment.”
“I suppose people like to watch so-called celebrities make fools of themselves.”
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself. Actually,” she confessed, “I was surprised at how good you are.”
“Oh, I’ve got all sorts of hidden talents.”
Desiree, who had no doubt of that, didn’t answer.
Roman rested his chin atop her head and drank in her scent. “Did I mention that you look exceptionally beautiful tonight?”
“When you first showed up at my house.”
“Well, it bears repeating. That’s a gorgeous dress. Sexy and classy at the same time.”
“It belonged to my mother. When my grandmother died last autumn, I was cleaning out her house and discovered it packed away in white tissue paper in an old steamer trunk in her attic.”
A fluid column of bronze silk, the long gown caressed Desiree’s slender curves. The high, beaded neckline of the halter top kept the front of the dress modest while the back dipped to the waist, revealing a weakening amount of creamy flesh. When he had an almost overwhelming urge to press his lips against that smooth white expanse of bare skin, Roman knew he was losing it.
“Although I’m no expert on women’s fashion, I think it could have been designed with you in mind.” He pushed aside her thick hair, giving his lips access to her earlobe.
Desiree drew in an expectant breath as he tugged off one of her earrings. The diamond-and-yellow-sapphire star bursts, like the evening gown, had belonged to her mother—the only things Katherine Porter had taken when she’d left her mother’s home to elope with Lucky Dupree. The earrings could have solved a great many financial problems during those lean years, but Lucky had been a proud man. He’d steadfastly refused to allow his wife to sell the precious jewelry, even when the fishing was light and the traps came up empty more times than full.
Knowing enough not to argue with her husband and loving him too much to challenge his chauvinism, Katherine instead would don the sparkling star bursts every Christmas, never minding that they were definitely overkill for the bayou.
Desiree’s neck was slender and pale in the glow from the twinkling white Christmas lights. The mysteriously exotic scent he’d not been able to get out of his mind for days drifted up from that soft flesh, clouding his mind. “Lord, I love the way you smell.”
When his teeth closed over her earlobe, she closed her eyes. When his lips skimmed down the side of her neck, she trembled.
Observing her slight shiver, Roman plucked his jacket from where he’d laid it over the wrought-iron railing and placed it on her shoulders. “Perhaps we ought to go back in.”
Desiree offered no resistance as he turned her in his arms. His husky tone suggested that returning to the noisy public rooms was not his first choice.
“If that’s what you want.”
He drew her closer. “Hell no, it’s not what I want.”
What he wanted was to scoop her into his arms, carry her up his mother’s beloved Caroline stairway to the nearest bedroom and ravish every inch of her smooth, perfumed and powdered flesh. When she shivered again, he managed, just barely, to stamp down the urge to follow his instincts. “But you’re cold.”
“Actually,” she admitted with a breathless little laugh, “I think I’m burning up.”
His laugh was rough, half relief, half frustration. “Do you have any idea what it does to me when you look at me like that?” He ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. “When you say things like that to me?”
Desiree linked her hands together around his neck. “Why don’t you show me?”
“With pleasure.” His hands moved down her back, settling on her hips, pressing her against him. “How’s this for starters?” he asked as his lips plucked seductively at hers.
“Not bad.” She moved against him, creating friction, sparking heat. “For starters.”
“You keep moving against me like that, sweetheart,” he growled, “and I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
Instead of backing away, she pressed even closer, thrilled by the feel of his hard male body against hers. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Roman had promised himself that he wouldn’t rush things. That he’d take his time, slipping past her emotional barricades with easy words and affectionate touches. But as his mouth claimed hers, he realized that there was nothing easy where this woman was concerned. The hard truth was that he wanted her. Desperately. He wanted her lying beneath him. Naked. Writhing. Screaming.
They came together like thunder. Like lightning. The passion he’d managed to cage that night on the dance floor tore through him.
Every coherent thought Desiree had possessed was scattered to the hot winds swirling around them. There was only here. Only now. Only Roman.
When he stroked a silk-covered breast with his palm, she gasped in heated response, allowing him to plunder the dark recesses of her mouth with his tongue.
His knee slipped between her legs, pressing against her, creating a warm moisture to pool between her thighs. His hands were everywhere—on her hair, her breasts, her hips—leaving fire wherever they touched, creating soft moans born not of pain, but of tormented pleasure.
Drunk with passion, she dragged her fingers through his hair, her avid mouth restlessly trying to recapture his lips as they streaked over her face, leaving stinging kisses against her cheeks, her temples, her jaw.
There was a violence in him. A savage, primal passion that thrilled Desiree even as it made her tremble. His jacket slid off her shoulders, falling unnoticed to the flagstone. She heard his name over and over again, half moan, half plea, and realized through her burning senses that the sound was coming from her own lips.
Needs pounded through Roman, bombarding his senses, scorching away his earlier vow of restraint. Through the roaring in his head, he realized that one taste of Desiree would never be enough. He wanted to devour her—her warm ripe mouth; her hot skin, which was practically melting beneath his desperately roving hands; her bones.
Because he was dangerously close to taking her here and now, on his parents’ flagstone terrace, he managed, just barely, to curb the beast clawing inside him and grasp onto one faint, lingering thread of civilized behavior.
Too fast, he told himself as he dragged his mouth from hers. Fueled by his own burning hunger, driven by her uninhibited response, he’d allowed himself to rush things. To take, when what he wanted to do was to give.
“Lord, lady, do you have any idea how much I want you?”
His forehead was on hers. His breath was rough and ragged and his hands, as they returned to her waist, were far from steady.
“Yes.” As she felt him garnering control, Desiree discovered that it was possible to feel relief and regret at the same time. “Because I want you, too, Roman. Too much for comfort. Too much for safety.”
“Neither of us have been safe since that first night.” His cooling body continued to throb painfully as he looked down into her open face and saw both vulnerability and independence. It was, he’d come to realize since meeting her, an irresistible combination.
When she didn’t immediately answer, he took one of her hands, which were now pressed against the front of his shirt, and lifted it to his lips. “Let’s go back to your place for a nightcap.”
The flame still burning in his dark, hypnotic eyes told Desiree that he was suggesting a lot more than a bit of spiked eggnog or brandy.
As his teeth scraped seductively at her knuckles, she gasped softly. “Oh, yes.” Her usually modulated voice was every bit as unsteady as his.
He exhaled a long deep breath, feeling like a man who’d just made the decision to leap off the edge of a very steep and perilous precipice. There was, he knew, no going back.
He framed her face with his palms and gave her a long, inscrutable look. Then he kissed her. This time he was unbearably gentle and amazingly patient. Still, her mind clouded.
“There’s something you need to know,” she said when the blissful kiss finally ended.
“What’s that?” He turned her hand, which he still held, pressed his lips against her unreasonably delicate wrist and felt her pulse leap.
“I don’t take sex lightly.” She bit her lip, worrying that she was sounding horribly
unsophisticated. Which, in truth, she was. Other than a boy she’d thought she loved in college, who’d left her for a woman whose parents summered in Newport Beach and whose grandfather could buy him a seat on the New York Stock Exchange, Michael had been the only other man she’d ever made love with. “I wish I could.” Her eyes were wide and sober, asking him to understand. “But I can’t.”
“Believe me, Desiree, I don’t take anything about you lightly.” He brushed her reddened lower lip with the pad of his thumb, the caressing touch both soothing and exciting at the same time. “I wish I could.”
Roman sighed, worried that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Unable to stop himself, he could only hope that it didn’t also turn out to be the biggest mistake of hers.
“Let’s get out of here. Before I get talked into playing another chorus of ‘Sleigh Ride.’”
Her heart shining in her eyes, Desiree laughed her acquiescence.
Unfortunately, escape did not prove all that easy. They’d almost made their way to the door when a tall, slender, dark-haired woman clad in a gold crepe dress stepped in front of them.
“Darling!” With a smile as dazzling as the diamonds glistening like ice at her ears, she framed Roman’s face in her hands. “You can’t leave before I thank you for a marvelous performance.” She kissed him on the cheek, then rubbed at the vermillion spot with her fingertips before turning to Desiree. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so rude, but it’s not all that often I can convince my son to play in public.”
She held out a slim hand. More diamonds sparkled, and rubies gleamed on long manicured fingers. “Hello, Desiree, dear. It’s so good to see you again.”
“Hello, Mrs. Falconer. Your home is beautiful.”
“The decorations turned out well, didn’t they?” Margaret Falconer glanced around the parlor with satisfaction. Her bright, dancing gaze returned for a judicious study of the first young female her son had ever invited to her home. “You’ve certainly grown into a lovely woman, Desiree.” She slanted a pleased look at her silent son. “Hasn’t she, Roman?”