Twelve Nights

by Sharon Struth

  The pads of Erik’s fingertips followed a slow path along her spine and he undid the hooks of her bra, making her draw in a sharp breath.

  As he continued to kiss along her jawline, following a trail to her neck, cool air hit her breasts and woke her from the erotic trance he’d cast upon her. “Erik.” She ignored his warm fingers tracing the curve of her breast and pulled away. “What about work?”

  His voice husky, filled with need, he asked, “What about it?”

  “Us, doing this. It’s against company policy.”

  He sighed and paused, leaned back. “Beryl, sometimes things are meant to happen. We’ll keep this to ourselves, let it play out a day at a time. Nobody at work has to know.” He feathered her lips with his. “I want to be part of your life again, and have you in mine.”

  The words sank deep inside her soul, resting in the folds of her heart. He searched her face, but all she saw on his was the love they once shared, radiating from his every pore.

  He took her hand, pressed it to his chest. Beneath her palm, the gentle drum of his heartbeat spoke to her. “Feel that?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “It’s more alive in there than it’s been since that day we split up. Yes, I understand these are different circumstances than before, but I’m willing to give this a second try. But if it’s not what you want, then I’ll let you make the call.”

  Erik’s arrival had shaken the foundation of a fortress she’d put up after their breakup. Since his return, she was reminded of things she’d stopped believing in. Especially love. Now, despite her better judgment and a host of reasons she should not do this, she wanted to believe again. Believe in something besides the single focus driving her for too many years. Believe in the love they once shared.

  Beryl moved her hands along the warm skin of his back. “Remember what we did in our apartment after decorating our first tree?”

  Desire shadowed his face. He arched his eyebrows. “Quite well. My first and only time making love on the floor near a Christmas tree.” He moved a teasing hand along the dip in her waist and settled it possessively on her hip, before drawing her hard to his chest. His warm breath cascaded across her cheek. “Up for making some new memories?”

  Not waiting for an answer, he eased her onto the rug and slowly removed her clothing. Their eyes remained locked, but as he slipped her panties off, a shadowed smile crossed his face. Erik tended to her needs the way he used to, making Beryl melt like molten liquid under his handling. Erik quickly undressed then their bodies joined, the movement easy and familiar. For once in Beryl’s life, sensibility and right didn’t matter. All that mattered was the swelling sensation of love blooming inside her heart.

  * * * *

  Erik shifted beneath the covers and Beryl’s eyes opened. He stared into her sleepy gaze, a sight that twisted his heart into a sappy mess. “You dozed, gorgeous.”

  “Decorating a tree is hard work.” She smiled, rolled onto her back, and stretched her arms above her head. “We must be getting old.”

  “Old?”

  “Yeah, back in our twenties, we fooled around at least twice in front of the tree. Tonight we were begging for a mattress after one pass.”

  Erik rested his hand on her stomach, his palm warm beneath the heavy duvet. “I prefer to think that we’ve just gotten smarter.”

  Beryl softly laughed. “I think we have.” She rolled to her side and touched his cheek so tenderly he wanted to stay in this spot the rest of his life.

  “You hungry? I’m starving.”

  “I am, too.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips, flipped off the covers, and grabbed a terrycloth robe from the bedpost. “I’ll get the takeout menu.”

  She left the room. Heat slid through Erik’s body, a raw urge rushing his chest. Bliss. Contentment. Even love. Now that he had her, he could never walk away again.

  Out in the living room earlier, he’d come one step from giving her the bracelet. For now, he’d save it for a day closer to Christmas. Not rush everything in this first night together.

  He glanced around the room, a place that strangely brought back old memories. She’d kept the pine, four-poster bed they’d purchased together, and her decorating touch was everywhere. The golden walls. Rich red and muted yellow floral curtains. Vibrant, earth-toned throw pillows. Similar to the bedroom in their old apartment.

  “Be there in a sec,” she said from the hallway. The bathroom door closed.

  He got out of bed, threw on his boxer briefs, and went toward the window to see how much snow had accumulated. On his way, he passed a tall bookcase. He studied each shelf, noticing mostly fiction in different genres. One full shelf had multiple copies of only two titles, all by the same author. Katherine Carrington. He’d never heard of her.

  Erik removed one and examined the cover. Competing Forces. A novel of love and valor. From award-winning author Katherine Carrington. A Confederate officer peered off into the distance, lust in his eyes as he viewed a striking woman in the distance dressed in a hooped-bottom, blue-satin dress. Over her bare shoulder, she demurely observed the officer. Erik flipped to the back and read a brief summary about a romance set during the battle of Gettysburg.

  Beryl walked in. “Okay, I think I know what I— What are you doing?”

  He opened to the first page. “Is she your favorite author?”

  “Sort of.” Beryl moved to his side. “I thought we were ordering food.”

  “We will.” He read the dedication. To Pop. This one’s for you. “So this is historical romance? The kind of book you’re trying to write?”

  “Along those lines.” She reached out and gently tugged the paperback from his hands. “Come on. I’m starving. Let’s eat.” She tossed the book onto the shelf and handed him a menu.

  He opened it, studied the choices, but something needled him about those paperbacks. “How come you have so many copies of those books?”

  She inhaled. “Does it matter?”

  “No. But . . . Okay.” He studied the menu again, but something was askew, and yet he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. “What do you like here?”

  She walked over and picked up her cordless phone then stood at his side. “Their eggplant. Oh, they have the best meatballs, too.”

  He stared at the menu listings, but didn’t read them. To Pop. Beryl sometimes called her father by that name. But this author wasn’t Beryl. Authors often wrote under other names, and would probably have multiple copies of their books.

  “Did you write that book?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “What?”

  “The dedication said ‘To Pop.’ Isn’t that what you called your dad?” He placed the menu down on the nearby shelf. “Are you published under another name?”

  She averted her gaze to the messy bed and crossed her arms. “What if I was?”

  He took her by the shoulders, drew her near. “If you were, I’d be impressed as all hell.”

  She met his gaze, blinked a few times. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. In fact, I see more than one book under that name. So it is you?”

  She hesitated, but finally said, “Yes, but nobody knows. Only my dad did.”

  He hugged her tight. “You’re amazing. Why would you hide this?”

  “Mostly to separate my financial career from this part of me. I’ve worked hard to gain the men’s respect at the office. I worry if they knew about this, it might change how they see me.”

  “Beryl, they respect you. I mean sure, some men have issues with women in the workplace, but still.”

  “Maybe I’m paranoid, but I’ve worked too hard to take a chance on losing the seriousness with which they take me.”

  “Maybe you underestimate your male colleagues. I don’t think any one of them would judge you for writing a romantic book. Hell, my sisters gobble that stuff up. We always had romance books around the house when I was a kid.”

  “You’re different. And the
only one besides my agent who knows. Promise me you won’t tell anyone?”

  He lifted her hand and kissed the top. “Miss Beryl,” Erik said, donning a Southern accent, at least the best he could without laughing at how pitiful he sounded. “A gentleman neevah shares a lady’s secret.”

  “I do declare, Mr. Butler.” She fake-batted her eyelashes, put on her best Scarlet O’Hara accent. “You are a more honorable man than I was led to believe.”

  He laughed, enjoyed her glistening smile, and drank in her playfulness. “Now, ma’am. I’d be obliged if you could let me read that fine specimen of work you just pulled from my hands.”

  “Honestly, Rhett. You’re sweet, but don’t toy with me. You’d neevah pick this book off the shelf.”

  “Ah beg to differ with you, my dear.” He was beginning to enjoy this accent thing. “You northern girls know how to make a gentleman work in order to make a point.”

  “We sound pathetic.” She put her hand on his chest, and her laughter and accent both slipped away. “Let’s order.”

  “Go ahead and get two of whatever you’re having. While we’re waiting, let’s crawl back under the covers and you can read me chapter one.”

  Chapter 10

  On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—

  Ten teas for steeping. . . .

  For the past three days, Beryl had gone to the office as if nothing in her life had changed. But everything had.

  “Jackie, if you need me, I’ll be with Erik.” Beryl walked by her assistant with a stack of reports in her arms.

  She hurried to the elevator and smoothed her pencil skirt while waiting for the doors to open. Erik’s phone call five minutes ago, requesting Beryl come to his office with P&L statements on their subsidiaries, filled her with anticipation. The businesslike tone of his voice held an undertone of secrecy, leaving Beryl titillated at the prospect of seeing him for something more than work reasons.

  As the elevator rose, she considered how her world had changed in such a short time. They had rarely been apart since his unexpected visit on Saturday. Sunday morning, she woke curled tight against his warm body and wrapped in his arms. After brunch at a West Side café, they’d stopped at his place so he could change clothes then roamed the city. First snuggling close in the massive crowds to view the gigantic spruce tree in Rockefeller Center. Then strolling Fifth Avenue, they marveled at department store Christmas displays.

  Beryl’s bah-humbug spirit had disappeared, replaced with the season’s anticipation, obvious everywhere else she turned.

  The workdays even seemed recharged. Passing in the hallway, she and Erik would offer each other a simple nod, as if they hadn’t kissed good-bye at her apartment that morning. At meetings, they’d avoid each other’s eyes, but if they did happen to meet, a charge exploded inside of her over anticipation of his touch when the workday ended.

  Her phone buzzed inside her blazer pocket as she reached Erik’s floor. She took it out and glanced at a message from Darcy about getting a drink after work. She’d text her back later. Darcy’s presence these days pointed at Beryl like a beacon of corporate ethics. A fact that became obvious earlier today, while having lunch in the company cafeteria with her friend. Erik had passed them both, barely saying hello. Five minutes later, as Beryl took a forkful of salad, her phone had pinged with a message from Erik.

  Wanted 2 kiss you just now.

  She’d quickly shut off the phone’s screen, but Darcy’s watchful eye across the table reminded Beryl that this liaison with Erik violated company policy. Only she ignored her nagging conscience because the rush from his attention made her feel so darn happy.

  Entering the reception area to the president’s office suite, Beryl was glad to find the assistant’s desk was empty. She went to Erik’s doorway. “Is it a good time?”

  He lowered the paper in his hands and removed dark-framed reading glasses. A sexy grin crossed his lips. “Come on in.”

  His gaze tracked her approach as he stood and walked around the desk.

  Beryl lowered her voice. “Where’s the gatekeeper of all things Erik Lindholm?”

  He furrowed his brows. “The what?”

  “Your assistant.”

  “She had an appointment.” His tone shifted, now husky and making her tingle like his lunchtime text. “Figured it was a good time to call you over.”

  “Oh, you did?” She held out the reports. “Well, I come bearing subsidiary P and Ls, as requested.

  “Merely a ruse to get you here.”

  “I always knew you were a con artist.” She winked and dropped the reports on his desk, but suddenly all the fun collided with the deceit she’d committed in front of Darcy. Her friend’s commitment to corporate policy was something Beryl always thought she believed, too. Yet she willingly broke the rules this time. Rules she’d have expected others to follow.

  “I’ve got something for you.” Erik took a step away.

  Beryl put a hand on his arm. “Hold on. Don’t you worry about how us doing this goes against company rules?”

  He frowned. “I won’t lie. It’s been on my mind. I’m not one to break rules, yet to be with you, I find myself making excuses.”

  “Me, too.”

  He dropped his chin to his chest, stared at the ground, his thoughts his own. He looked up and his lips wavered with a smile. “Can I show why I called you down, then we can talk about this more?”

  “Sure.”

  He motioned with his index finger, and she followed him to a round table in the corner of his office. “Guess what I finished last night?”

  “What?”

  He opened his briefcase and removed her last release, Competing Forces. “This.”

  “Wow, I never dreamed you’d read it so fast. Or at all, to be honest.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” His eyes sparkled as he rested it on the table. “Honestly, I couldn’t put it down. Besides the historical references that I can’t even imagine pulling together, the story was compelling. Page-turning. I’m so damn proud of you.”

  “Thank you. That you noticed those things, it means so much. Since nobody knows, I rarely get to talk to others about my work.”

  “Well, Beryl—or should I say Katherine Carrington—no wonder your books are selling so well. Can I buy copies and have you sign them for my mother and sisters?”

  “You don’t need to buy—”

  “Wait! Come to my parents’ house with me Christmas Eve. Deliver them personally. God, they’ll love it.”

  Christmas Eve. With Erik’s family? The best gift she could ask for. “I’d love to see them again, but what about the other matter we were just discussing?”

  “We’ll deal with it after Christmas.” He took her hands, drew them near his chest. “I’d love to have this holiday with you. Like we used to.”

  “How about I give your mom and sisters one of my books, as Christmas gifts?”

  “Perfect. I’ll let my Mom know you’re coming.” He frowned. “When we broke up, they were pretty ticked off at me.”

  “So was I. But not now.” She smiled softly, not wanting the past to define their future.

  “I will make up every lost minute.” He brushed the top of her hand with a soft sweep of his thumb. “I swear.”

  A strong perfumed scent hit Beryl’s nose. She stilled. Jerking her hands away from Erik’s, she spun around.

  Giana stood just inside the doorway, Gucci bag slung over the shoulder of her shearling coat. Suspicion burned in her catlike eyes. Her gaze shifted between their faces and the tabletop.

  “What’s up, Giana?” Erik’s crisp tone meant business.

  Her face softened. “I left, then remembered I’d meant to remind you about your three o’clock conference call with the West Coast office.”

  “Thank you. I remembered. Anything else?”

  Giana’s gaze drifted to the round table. Beryl cringed. Her pen name stuck out on the book cover
like neon lights on a dark road. Any movement to hide the novel at this point would draw more attention to it. How much had she heard?

  “No. That’s all.” She walked out, casting a sidelong glance at Beryl.

  For a few seconds they stared silently at the door, then Erik walked over and shut it. “I’m so stupid. I should’ve closed this in the first place.” He returned to Beryl’s side. “Something tells me I’m not great at this dating-someone-from-the-office thing.”

  “Me, either. How much do you think she heard?”

  He raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I have no clue.”

  “She saw us holding hands.” A sick wave passed through Beryl. “God, Erik, this is crazy. I’m dating the boss. A huge corporate no-no. An act I’d chastise anybody else for doing.”

  “I know. It doesn’t bode well for me, either. I like to keep thinking because I care about you so much, others will understand. But I suppose that’s naive.”

  “Do you think she realizes I wrote that book?”

  He took her hands in his, an act that suddenly felt all wrong. “You worry too much. People are more accepting than you think.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She stepped away from him and went to the window, the wheels in her head churning like the city’s cogs on the street below. Reality made her gut wrench. “You know, if this thing between the two of us dating got out, it would crash head-on with the rumor you’re going to fire me.”

  He came up behind her, put his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I could never fire you. I’ll let Matt down gently.”

  “You’re missing the point.” She turned in his arms. “If what your assistant saw turns into gossip, it’ll become me screwing the boss to keep my job.”