“You won’t find accommodation,” her father grumbled. “You’re talking about Zach Alexander’s place, and it’s always booked solid over Christmas.”
“There was a cancellation. I spoke to him in person this afternoon, and he assured me I can rent one of the cabins for the week. I know you’d rather I stayed here, Dad, but I need to be by myself for a while.”
Her father scowled. “Will you at least come home for New Year’s Eve?”
Would six days be enough to get over the ridiculous urge to bawl her eyes out, and pull herself together? Hardly! But the disappointment in her father’s eyes tugged at her heartstrings. “Yes. I’ll be home for New Year’s Eve.”
Leo spent Christmas Day with his parents and Ethel. Inevitably, the conversation turned toward the gossip buzzing around town that Deenie Manville had run off with a man in tights.
“That girl never was happy unless she was in the spotlight,” his mother observed, wading through her turkey-with-all-the-trimmings dinner. “Nothing like that nice Ava Sorensen. Now there’s a girl with breeding!”
“You always did have a soft spot for her,” his father said, with a smile. “Not that you really believe any woman’s quite good enough for our son, but if Leo were to get married, she’s the one you’d have him choose.”
“Is it any wonder? She was genuinely lovely, inside and out.”
“She still is,” Leo said, with enough feeling to make his father sit up and take notice. “I’d even go so far as to say she’s improved with age.”
His mother sighed into her plum pudding. “I hope we have a chance to see her before she leaves town again.”
Not nearly as fervently as he hoped he would! If truth be known, he hoped like the devil that she wouldn’t be leaving town at all!
As for Deenie, setting the record straight with her had taken a load off his mind. He hoped she really had found her true love—and that he hadn’t left it too late to find his.
CHAPTER TEN
FOR three days, Ava rose with the sun and except for a half-hour break at lunch, skied until the lifts closed. Then, exhausted, she trudged back to her little guest house, stoked up the fire, loaded a disc into the CD player, slipped into something comfortable, and had a meal delivered to her door.
The staff and other guests tried to include her in the holiday program, inviting her to join them for après-ski cocktails in the main lodge, or the nightly dinner-dance in its elegant dining hall. But the hurt she suffered went deeper than sore muscles unused to the strenuous downhill slopes. She ached inside, in a place neither a whirlpool spa nor kindly strangers could reach.
A relationship she’d treasured all her life had crumbled. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d fallen in love with a man who might be attracted to her but who appeared not to be interested in any sort of lasting commitment. The knowledge left her so sodden with grief, for a lost friend and a lost love, that it strangled the life out of any pleasure she might otherwise have taken in the Topaz Valley Resort. She simply couldn’t drum up the energy to put on a cheerful front for people she’d never see again, once her respite there was over.
So when a knock came at her door, just after seven on the evening of the thirtieth, she assumed it was the busboy delivering the sandwich and soup she’d ordered. Probably the Christmas music playing on the stereo had drowned out the sound of his motorized cart drawing up outside.
But it wasn’t the busboy, it was Leo. Leo in blue jeans and a dark red sweater with a navy racing stripe down the side, a black canvas sports’ bag slung over one shoulder, and a pair of skis balanced on the other.
Leo, looking like an ad for a posh European ski resort. Like a god making a brief visit to earth to see how mere mortals like her were faring. Leo, looking so mouth-wateringly gorgeous that saliva pooled under her tongue.
For long, tense, unsmiling seconds, he simply drank in the sight of her. Probably because he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, she thought glumly. Probably because, if he opened his mouth, he’d start laughing and wouldn’t be able to stop!
She was wearing yellow fluffy slippers and a long, voluminous flannel nightgown so circumspect that even her great-great Victorian forebears would have approved it. She’d tied her hair up in pigtails, rag-doll style, for pity’s sake! The injustice of it all was enough to give her the heaves.
Finally, when the silence was stretched so taut that she could almost hear the stars wink, she found the courage to ask, “What do you want?”
There wasn’t so much as a hint of amusement in his tone when he answered. “You,” he said, his voice a caress.
Hearts don’t actually stop for things like that, she’d once told a friend who’d happened to find herself alone in an elevator with a man she had a crush on, and had been afraid she’d die from the thrill of it when he unexpectedly kissed her.
But Ava had been wrong. At that moment, hers stopped completely, and left her hanging in a limbo poised equally between heaven and hell.
“May I come in, darlin’?”
Trance-like, she opened the door wider. He stepped across the threshold, disposed of his bag and skis, and bent to remove his boots. The scent of him—an alluring blend of cold mountain air and clean, wind-chilled skin to which a trace of aftershave still clung—tormented her unbearably.
She longed to touch him; to lay a hand on his hair and absorb its thick, springy texture. To feel the warmth and vitality of him beneath all that winter clothing.
Then he straightened, and she realized how little room there was for two people in the tiny capsule of an entrance hall. His breath winnowed over her face, clean and sweet. The width and height of him blocked an escape. Not that she was looking for one. His nearness, when she’d thought she wouldn’t see him again for years or even never, was a gift which might cost her dearly in the long run, but which, for now, was too tempting to withstand.
He stood close enough that she could distinguish each long, dark lash framing those heartbreaker blue eyes. Close enough to detect the tiny nick left by his razor that morning—there, at the hint of a dimple in his chin. Close enough that if she’d raised herself up on her toes, she could have touched his lips with her own.
“You’re probably wondering how I knew where to find you,” he said, forcing her to abandon her spellbound preoccupation with his looks, and address the reasons behind his sudden appearance.
“I assume my parents told you, since they’re the only ones I told.”
“Your mother, actually, but only after a great deal of persuasion on my part, and on the understanding that my coming to see you wouldn’t cause you any more grief than you’ve already suffered.”
“Why did you want to see me? I can’t imagine we have anything left to say to each other.”
He hesitated and glanced past her to the main room of the guest house. “I have a great deal to say, and it’s going to take some time, so do you think we could talk in there? Maybe have a drink together?” He hefted the tote and smiled for the first time. “I came prepared. There’s a bottle of very good Bordeaux in here.”
Other women might have succumbed to the promise of good wine, but she fell under the spell of that smile. “If you like,” she practically gasped.
“Oh, I like,” he replied, eyeing her up and down, nightgown, pigtails, and all. “I like very much.”
“You didn’t like enough to come and find me sooner,” she accused, marching back to the living room in high dudgeon.
“I most certainly did,” he said, the vehemence of his reply devastating her puny efforts to remain distant. “I’d have been beating a path to your door first thing Christmas Day if I’d thought you’d let me in. But in case you’ve forgotten, you were pretty steamed with me the last couple of times I saw you. So I thought I’d give you some time to cool off.”
“And you’re sure that’s all it would take to have me falling into your arms, are you?”
“No,” he said soberly. “I’m sure of only one thing and that
is that I couldn’t let you leave the country without pleading my case one more time.”
He took her hand and drew her down next to him on the sofa in front of the fire. “I’m fully aware your homecoming wasn’t everything you hoped it would be, Ava. I know your friendship with Deenie has been put to the test and come out of it a lot the worse for wear. I realize it burdened you with feelings of guilt and disloyalty which spoiled your holiday. And I’m not so clueless that I don’t realize I’m partly to blame.”
“You’re right. You are,” she said, noticing that he was still holding her hand and trying not to read too much into it, even though her heart was almost fibrillating with sudden hope. “In fact, I’d even go so far as to say you’re mostly to blame!”
“How?” he asked her, somehow loading the question with such undertones of intimacy that she quivered inside.
“You know how!” she said feebly.
“By putting an end to all the misunderstandings and rumors about my relationship with Deenie, you mean? Well, as far as that’s concerned, I had no choice, and at the risk of sounding unfeeling, I’d have been a lot blunter a lot sooner if she hadn’t seemed so emotionally brittle.”
“Not that,” Ava said. “I know you weren’t at fault there. She came to see me before she left town and admitted she wilfully misrepresented your intentions for reasons of her own.”
“What, then? For falling in love with you? Hell, that wasn’t something I planned or expected—nor even something over which I had any control. But I can tell you it made abiding by your rules not to come near you, or look at you, or kiss you, damn near impossible.”
Wordlessly, she stared at him. Falling in love with her? Had she heard him right?
He squeezed her fingers. “Feel free to jump in any time you want, Ava. I could use a little help or encouragement about now.”
“Did you say you’d fallen in love with me?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Is that so terrible?”
It was wonderful—so wonderful, she was afraid to believe it, even though she badly wanted to accept it without reservation. “Not terrible at all,” she said. “But I can’t help thinking it’s rather sudden. We might have known each other a long time, but we hardly know each other well.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “It might surprise you to hear how many memories of the teenage-you were stored at the back of my mind, waiting to be released when we met again.”
“I rather doubt that. You never noticed me when I was growing up.”
“Not true.” Laughter danced in his eyes and wove through his voice. “I remember a girl with long, coltish legs and big, serious grey eyes and a wild mane of near-black hair. I remember her tripping over furniture, falling over her feet on the tennis court, and cursing like a trooper when she stubbed her toe on the side of the pool.”
“Exactly,” she said, mortified. “Unlike Deenie, who was petite and perfect at every age and loved by everyone.”
He brushed the ball of his thumb over her mouth to silence her. “I remember thinking, Ava’s going to be a knockout one day, and I was right. When I met the grown-up version, she left me tongue-tied. She made me want to be better in every respect. To be a man worthy of a woman like her.”
They were lovely words. Flattering words. They made her glow all over. But one big question still remained and until she knew the answer, she dared not give in to the happiness trying to burst free inside. “So where do we go from here, Leo?”
“That’s up to you,” he said. “I know what I want, and that’s the chance to explore what you and I might make of a relationship based on something other than a few illicit kisses. Things like friendship and the kind of love which endures into old age. Sharing. Making plans. Learning everything there is to know about each other. Building a life together based on mutual hopes and desires.”
“Those things take time.”
“I know. And I’m in no hurry.”
From the CD player, Frank Sinatra worked his timeless magic with “The Christmas Waltz.” Leo pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
“I want to date you,” he said, guiding her around the small square of floor between the sofa and the breakfast bar. “To dance cheek-to-cheek with you like this. To take you to see tear-jerker movies and lend you my handkerchief when you cry. When you walk down the street, I want people to say, ‘There goes Leo Ferrante’s girl.’ I want them to look at me when I’m with you and say, ‘He’s one lucky guy.’ I want to be able to get in my car and drive over to your place in fifteen minutes flat. To pick up the phone on the spur of the moment and invite you to my place to share the lousy spaghetti dinner I made.”
He slowed to a stop and dipped his head to let his mouth roam over hers. “And right now, I want very badly to take you to bed.”
“Oh!” She sighed, in a froth of anticipation.
He put her from him and hauled the bottle of wine out of his bag. “But I won’t. Instead, I’ll ply you with alcohol and leave you so befuddled, you’ll agree to anything I ask, including not going back to Africa. Is there a corkscrew and a couple of glasses to be had in this place?”
“Yes,” she said, reluctantly flip-flopping in her slippers to the little kitchen nook. “But if you think a glass or two of wine will make me renege on my overseas contract, you’re wrong.”
“I figured you’d say that,” he said, watching as she set stemware and the corkscrew on a tray. “But I thought I’d give it a whirl anyway. I might as well be up front about my intentions from the start.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. I drove all afternoon to get here, and didn’t stop for dinner.”
“I’ve already sent for soup and a sandwich, but if you want to phone the main kitchen and order something for yourself, you’ll find a menu on the coffee table.”
“Or I could buy you dinner at the lodge. I passed by the dining room on my way over here, and it looked pretty nice. Of course,” he said slyly, as he cut the foil collar on the wine bottle, “you’d probably want to change first. I’m captivated by what you’re wearing, but I’m not sure I want anyone else enjoying the sight.”
She scurried back behind the breakfast bar and ran her fingers up the back of her neck in a surreptitious attempt to pull loose the elastics holding her pigtails in place. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you were planning to entertain another man in your nightshirt.”
The way he was looking at her made her elbows tingle. Oh, for heaven’s sake, who was she kidding? The way he was looking at her made her tingle all over! She barely made it back to the sofa without collapsing in a soggy heap at his feet.
He poured the wine and lightly clinked the rim of his glass against hers. “To us and the future, Ava.”
She saw promise in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and for the first time really began to believe that a future with him wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, after all. “Do you think long-distance relationships ever really work, Leo?”
“It depends on the people involved. Nothing can come between true soul mates, not even death. Do I think you and I are soul mates?” He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. “Most definitely.”
Her toes curled. “It’d only be for a little while,” she said, her voice shaking. “My contract’s up in another couple of months.”
“I can wait that long.”
“I can’t,” she said, the clamour in her blood almost deafening her. “I need something more definitive to go on than mere words.”
He took away her wineglass and placed it with his on the coffee table. “Will this do?” he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.
His kiss left her trembling. The strength seeped out of her, and she clung to him. “No,” she managed, when he pulled away again. “It’s not quite enough.”
He regarded her solemnly. “I’m prepared to be pa
tient, Ava.”
“I’m not,” she said.
He needed no further encouragement. So swiftly he left her breathless, he toppled her back against the cushions, buried his hands in her hair, and kissed her again. On her mouth and her jaw and her eyelids. Down her neck to her throat. Searchingly, intimately.
With nimble fingers, he undid the buttons down the front of that chaste, unlovely nightgown. Pulled it away from her to trace his tongue over the triangle of her collar-bone.
He stripped her naked to the waist and gazed at her. In wonder. With love. He touched her breasts. Raised molten blue eyes to her face and then, with almost holy dedication, lowered his mouth and tugged gently on her nipple.
If he’d thrown a lighted match into a can of gasoline, the outcome could not have been more inflammatory. A shaft of pleasure arrowed to the pit of her womb to awaken an answering damp heat between her legs. Tiny quivers, delicate as wind chimes, vibrated within her.
Lucid thought fled, chased away by the passion spurting through her veins. In a frenzy of desire, she met his demands with her own. Stroked her hands over the hard and lovely planes of him. Raised his sweater to claw the T-shirt underneath from the waist of his blue jeans so she could explore the warm, smooth expanse of his back…of his front.
Moments passed, awash with wonder and pleasure and discovery. Somehow she was naked, and so was he, though the precise order of how that happened escaped her. Had she hurled his sweater clean across the room? Was he the one to remove her nightgown completely and send it flying over the back of the sofa? Did he lift her to lie on the sheepskin rug on the floor in front of the hearth, or did they tumble down there together?
Did it matter? Or was the only thing of any importance the sense of completion which engulfed her when, at last, with control fast slipping from his grasp, he gave way to the passion ignited that first night in the stable, and entered her? Possessed her. Locked her in deep and pulsing rhythm with him. Whispered hoarsely that she was beautiful and he could look at her forever and never grow tired of her loveliness.
Catherine Spencer - Christmas Passions Page 9