“Dixon Yano.”
“Friend of Regina’s?” The look she gave him held a speculative edge.
“Acquaintance.”
“You know my cousins, then? Alex and Mandy?”
“I know Alexandra.”
She laughed. “Of course you do. The good-looking guys always know Alex.”
Inside, the carolers launched into “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
Dixon leaned on the doorbell for a third time.
The redhead moved a step closer, idly stroking the soft leather of his jacket sleeve with one narrow, beringed hand. “I work with Alex and Mandy at Gemini Gifts. What’s your line?”
“Private investigations.”
Shelby batted her lashes. “Ooh! Like on TV. How exciting! Tell me more.”
The sudden rush of warmth and noise behind him told Dixon someone had finally opened the door.
“Dixon Yano?”
Turning, he saw Regina Roundtree. Alexandra stood next to her mother, a smile on her lovely face, an engaging sparkle in her eyes.
“Mrs. Roundtree.”
“Regina, please.” Regina Roundtree clasped his hand warmly. “It’s good to see you again. The interview you gave me last summer helped enormously with my last book.”
Shelby inserted herself in the gap between Dixon and the door, placing a proprietary hand on his forearm. “Dixon was just telling me he’s a PI. Isn’t that fascinating? I don’t think I ever met a detective before.” She slanted a soulful look at him.
Alexandra raised an eyebrow, her voice carefully polite. “You two are together?”
Dixon felt guilty despite having done nothing to feel guilty about. “No, I … we just met. Right here on the porch. I rang the bell, but …” No matter what he said, it sounded like an excuse.
“Dixon and I had a nice little chat, didn’t we?” Shelby patted his arm. “The life of a private detective must be so exciting. I bet you have dozens of thrilling stories, and I’m dying to hear them all.”
“Well, Shelby dear, we’re all going to be dying soon … of pneumonia. Come in, you two. It’s freezing.” Regina drew them inside and shut the door.
Shelby clung to Dixon’s arm, her slender fingers clutching him like talons.
“Excuse me.” He freed himself, shrugged out of his jacket, and slung it over his shoulder.
Fanning her lashes, Shelby promptly reattached herself to his sweatered arm. “So, tell me, Dixon, do you carry a gun?”
“Now and then.” Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. That’s who she reminded him of. Unfortunately, he’d always preferred Mary Ann. Dixon shot the Roundtree women an imploring look. He didn’t want to be rude, but …
Regina moved swiftly to the rescue. “Shelby, would you do me a favor? Run Dixon’s coat upstairs and add it to the pile in the master bedroom? Thank you, dear.”
Shelby opened her mouth, then shut it again as her aunt took the coat from Dixon and shoved it into her arms. Casting one final smoldering glance in Dixon’s direction, she retreated.
“Such a friendly little thing,” Regina commented once Shelby was safely out of earshot.
“Friendly.” A faint sneer crossed Alexandra’s face.
“I owe you one, Regina. Thanks.” He shook his hostess’s hand again, then turned to Alexandra. “How’s it going? Anyone ask you about the obituary or mention the excitement yesterday?”
“The obituary I know about. But excitement? This sounds promising.” Smiling broadly, she lifted an eyebrow. “I think you’re mistaking me for my sister, though. I’m Amanda Sutton, Alex’s twin.”
Dixon studied her closely as they shook hands. “I should have noticed right away. Alexandra’s left eye is hazel and her right eye is blue. You’re reversed.”
Amanda tapped his arm approvingly. “Very good. Most people don’t pick up on that. Alex and I are mirror-image twins, not true identicals.”
“So where is Alexandra?”
“Five golden rings,” Alex sang, then fell silent. Someone was watching her. A quick glance toward the hearth told her Mark was still busy charming the pants off Eileen Loomis, so who …
Just inside the entryway, Dixon Yano stood next to Amanda and her mother, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at her. She met his gaze. Time slowed, then stopped for the space of three endless heartbeats.
One …
She liked his looks. He’d shaved since she’d last seen him and exchanged the T-shirt he’d worn all day for a sweater. By some miracle of mousse and sheer determination, he’d even managed to smooth his unruly brown hair back into a semblance of order. He looked gorgeous. Yet even in his previously rumpled state, Dixon Yano had been extraordinarily attractive. Maybe not GQ handsome like Mark with his Armani suits and blow-dried hair, but good-looking in a more rugged, more primal, more swashbuckling way, like Mel Gibson in Braveheart or Adrian Paul in Highlander.
Two …
She liked his style. Yes, he was sexy as all get-out, but he’d also proved he was a man she could depend on. After the police had come up empty in their search for her would-be assailant yesterday, Dixon had answered all their questions, then driven her to the emergency room, where he’d made sure she was taken care of before he would consent to be treated himself. He’d been calm, cool, and decisive—even in a crisis.
Three …
She liked his determination, a determination apparent now in the stubborn set of his jaw. She felt confident that her bodyguard would keep her safe or die trying.
Across a sea of milling guests, his dark eyes burned into hers, compelling, mesmerizing. A strange emotion twisted in Alex’s chest. She felt breathless with anticipation, as if something truly momentous were about to happen.
Slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of Dixon Yano’s mouth, softening his rugged features and melting her heart. Time resumed.
THREE
Alex trembled violently. Her cheeks burned. Was he still staring at her? She couldn’t look.
“… and a partridge in a pear tree!” finished the group around the piano.
“Why aren’t you singing?” Sadie asked. “You’re the only one of this bunch who can carry a tune.”
Alex blinked several times in rapid succession. Why wasn’t she singing? She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the words to answer the question.
Sadie looked at her oddly.
Alex shrugged and shook her head, feeling disoriented and slightly panicky, like an actress who’d suddenly forgotten all her lines.
His face kept getting in the way. His eyes. The saddest eyes she’d ever seen. Even when he smiled. Especially when he smiled.
Dixon Yano’s face. Dixon Yano’s eyes. How strange. For a moment there she hadn’t been able to tear her gaze from his. Now she was afraid to look at him at all, afraid of what she might see in his face, afraid of what he might see in hers.
She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. Glancing across the room, she saw her mother waving, trying to catch her attention. The light of the big chandelier danced off the half-dozen gold bracelets that jangled on Regina’s arm.
Alex blinked again. Dixon was still there, but he wasn’t staring at her anymore. His dark head was bent toward Mandy. She said something and he threw his head back, his laugh ringing out over the buzz of the crowd. What was so funny? Alex wondered, conscious suddenly of a dull throb at her temples.
“Alex?”
She jumped. Mark had slipped up on her unawares. “What?”
Sadie banged out the opening chords of “We Three Kings.”
Frowning, Mark shook his head. “Not here. Too noisy.” He pulled her away from the carolers.
“What is it?”
He nodded toward the corner. “See Ed Loomis sitting over there? He looks bored, and that’s not good. Go spread a little Christmas cheer. He likes you.”
“But I don’t like him. The man is second cousin to an octopus.” Alex shuddered as she remembered the feel of Ed Loomis’s doughy w
hite fingers. He’d groped her once in the hot tub at the fitness center, then pretended it was an accident.
Mark squeezed her hands. “He’s my boss, Alex, and there’s a partnership coming up soon. Do it for me, honey.”
Do what for him? She shot him a wary look.
Mark laughed at her dubious expression and gave her a quick, reassuring hug. “Just be nice to Loomis, okay? The least you can do is save him from that brother-in-law of yours. Old Tom’s probably giving Ed a blow-by-blow of his last colostomy.”
Tom did seem to be involved in an animated monologue, and since the only two topics in his conversational repertoire were bowels and vampires …
Alex sighed in resignation. “Okay, I’ll rescue your boss if you’ll see what my mother wants. She was trying to flag me down a minute ago.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Polyps can lead to bowel cancer,” Tom said, staring hard at his captive audience. “When was your last rectal exam, Ed?”
Alex tapped her sister’s husband on the shoulder. “Mandy’s looking for you.”
Tom swiveled his head, scanning the room. “She is? I haven’t moved for the last ten minutes. Ed and I have been sitting here discussing the importance of preventative medicine, haven’t we, Ed?”
The lawyer grunted noncommittally and took another gulp of his whiskey. From the looks of him, it wasn’t his first drink of the evening. Or his second.
Tom shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Where’d you see Mandy? Did she say what she wanted?”
“Near the door, and no, she didn’t, but I think it might have something to do with your book.”
“Oh!” He jumped to his feet. “I bet she talked to that Silverman woman.”
“Silverberg,” Alex called after his retreating back.
“Thanks,” Loomis muttered, slurring the word.
She turned to him reluctantly.
“Have a seat,” he said, leering up at her and patting the cushion next to him. His fingers looked like fat white sausages against the red velvet upholstery.
Alex’s smile felt stiff and false. “Maybe later. I promised Mother I’d check something in the kitchen first.”
She beat a hasty retreat before he could cross-examine her about her supposed errand. She was a lousy liar, no match for a lawyer, not even a lawyer who was three sheets to the wind.
The kitchen was an oasis of relative quiet once she closed the door. She peered out the window into the darkness. Snow was falling, but not heavily.
Her substitute bodyguard had left shortly after Dixon’s arrival. She hoped he hadn’t wrapped his old boat of a Ford around a power pole on the way down the hill. According to Rocky, snow tires were for sissies.
She sat down at the little drop-leaf table next to the bay window. If ever a woman needed time alone, time to think, time to order her priorities …
What happened back there? One minute she’d been counting down the twelve days of Christmas and the next she was caught up in this whole “Strangers in the Night” thing. She stared down in dismay at the diamond solitaire adorning her ring finger. She was engaged, dammit. She was engaged to a highly eligible man—handsome, charming, successful. So why was her heart racing out of control at a look from someone else?
Dixon Yano. That face. Those eyes.
With a groan, she buried her face in her hands. I must be going crazy.
The door banged open and she glanced up, startled, suddenly remembering Dixon’s advice about staying in a crowd.
“Oh, there you are!” Ed Loomis stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell. He caught himself on the edge of the table, blowing whiskey fumes in her face and slopping the contents of his half-empty glass down the front of her sweater. “Sorry about that. Here, let me help.”
“I can manage,” she said curtly. Boss be damned. The man was a pig.
Brushing aside her protests, he grabbed a dish towel and mopped enthusiastically at her sweater, managing to fondle both her breasts in the process. His fingers weren’t sausages, she decided. They were maggots, bloated white maggots.
“It’s fine. I’ll go change into something of my mother’s.” Shoving his hands away, she shrank back in disgust, but there was nowhere to go. He had her pinned in a corner.
“Need any help?” His leering red face repulsed her.
“No!” He backed off a pace at the sharpness of her tone. Hoping to take advantage of his momentary retreat, she tried to slide around him, but he lurched back into her path, cutting off her only escape route.
“That doesn’t sound very frien’ly,” Loomis commented, and grabbed her. The naked lust on his face sent a shiver down Alex’s spine and the alcohol on his breath made her stomach roll, but even more disgusting were his fat white fingers. They seemed to be everywhere, crawling over her arms, wriggling under her sweater, sliding up her neck and along her cheeks.
“Stop it!” She struggled frantically, trying to maneuver herself out of the corner, trying to push him away, trying to get her knee up where it would do some good.
Ed Loomis was drunk and twenty pounds overweight, but he was also twice her size. Alex knew she couldn’t overpower him, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. Kicking out blindly, she nailed his shin.
He grunted in surprise, then retaliated with a slap that made her ears ring.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Lashing out reflexively, she dug her nails into the loose wattle of his second chin. She grinned fiercely at his yip of pain.
“I love a woman with spirit,” he muttered as he twisted her arms up behind her back. “Relax and enjoy it, baby. The missus was enjoying herself with Mark a while ago. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. And vice versa.” His chuckle sounded like sludge gurgling through sewer pipes.
What did he mean about Mark “enjoying” himself? Was he referring to the cozy tête-à-tête near the fireplace? Or something else?
“I’ll scream,” she threatened, her voice vibrating with loathing.
“I don’t think so.” His arms were a vise that held her imprisoned against him so tightly she could scarcely move, barely breathe. “You don’t want to spoil your mama’s nice party.” He tightened his grip as if to emphasize his point.
The pain was incredible, but it was the smile on his face that curdled her blood.
Alex drew a painful breath, fighting for enough air to make good on her threat, but before she could utter a sound, his mouth engulfed hers in a sloppy kiss.
She writhed like a madwoman, but with his mouth devouring hers, the only sound she could make was a mewling whine, not loud enough to be audible over the noise of the party.
Suddenly she was free and Ed Loomis was sitting on the tiled floor six feet away, nursing his jaw.
“I think you owe the lady an apology.” Dixon Yano reached down with one hand to drag the lawyer to his feet.
“Who the hell are you?”
“A man doing his job.” Dixon’s voice was colder than the wind that shivered along the eaves outside.
“It’s your job to assault people?” Loomis ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, checking for damage.
“Not people, just drunken rapists.”
Loomis’s face turned purple. “That’s slander!” he blustered, though it came out sounding more like “schlander.” “Def’mation of character! I’m going to sue your shorts off.”
“Be my guest.” Dixon’s expression was even colder than his voice. “But if this goes to court, I’ll testify to the fact I caught you molesting the woman I’m being paid to protect.”
“M’lesting her?” Loomis spluttered.
“Sure looked that way to me.”
“I swear to God, all I did was kiss her. Just a frien’ly Christmas kiss.”
Dixon glanced pointedly around the room. “I don’t see any mistletoe. You see any mistletoe, Alexandra?”
Alex shook her head.
Dixon bent nearer, his voice gentle. “Are you all right?”
He wiped the moisture from her face with his fingertips, then balled his hand into a fist. Slowly, he turned to Loomis. “Men who manhandle women really pull my chain. If you want to leave with all your teeth, I suggest you get the hell out of here before I count to three. One …”
“I—I—” Warily, never taking his eyes from the younger man, Loomis backed away.
“Two …”
Turning, Loomis fumbled frantically with the doorknob. He shot a nervous glance back over his shoulder.
“Three.” Dixon’s smile was grim.
With a whimper of fear, Loomis whipped out of sight, slamming the door behind him.
Alex slumped into a chair, all the strength draining from her body. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Edward Loomis. The senior partner in my fiancé’s law firm.” She closed her eyes. “He got carried away.
He’s drunk.”
“He’s slime.”
“That too.” She stared at her own white-knuckled fists.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he persisted, touching her shoulder tentatively.
Alex nodded. “Other than a little residual shakiness and the fact I smell like a distillery. He slopped whiskey on my sweater,” she explained. “The dry cleaner’s going to get rich off me this week.”
He lifted her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye. “Do you want to go home?”
She was still shaky. A deep breath helped. So did the tender expression in his eyes. “Yes, I think so. Would you collect my coat while I explain to my mother?”
“Sure.” Dixon didn’t like the haunted expression in her eyes. She looked as fragile as a glass ornament. If he had been doing his job, that Loomis jerk wouldn’t have dared to lay a finger on her. Attempted molestation and attempted murder all in the same week. No wonder Alexandra Roundtree looked as if she would shatter under the slightest pressure.
Upon a Midnight Clear Page 3