Upon a Midnight Clear

by Catherine Mulvany

  “Or an igloo.”

  Dixon paused at the top of the stairs. “Where’s the library?”

  “First door on the left.” She turned to face him. “Wait here?” It was more request than order.

  He nodded.

  Alex slipped inside the long, narrow room that doubled as Ed Loomis’s home office. Despite the way she felt about Loomis, his library was, oddly enough, her favorite spot in the house. She loved the odor of leather upholstery mingling with the faint mildewy scent of old books.

  Here the sterile white had given way to rich burgundy and teal, a feast for her color-starved eyes. She coveted the jewel-toned carpet, and although the heavy mahogany furniture was too ornate for her taste, its bulk was perfectly proportioned for the spacious, high-ceilinged room.

  At first glance she thought the library was empty. Then she noticed the couple standing motionless near the stained-glass window, locked in a passionate embrace.

  Her heart hammered madly. She felt faint. Quietly, she ducked back out.

  “Alexandra, what is it?” Dixon must have read something in her expression.

  She shook her head and headed for the stairs. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  “What about Mark? Did you talk to him?”

  She gave another jerky little shake of her head. “No. He was busy.”

  “Too busy for his fiancée?”

  Much too busy. He’d had his mouth glued to his hostess’s collagen-enhanced lips. Eileen Loomis was an attractive woman in a brittle sort of way, but she was also considerably closer to Regina’s age than Alex’s. Was Mark that desperate for a promotion?

  “Alexandra?” Dixon sounded worried.

  “Let’s go,” she said. She suspected her face was as pale and bloodless as Eileen Loomis’s decor.

  Dixon gripped her forearm, halting her headlong flight down the broad staircase. “Alexandra, talk to me.”

  She couldn’t talk to him. Not about this. “I’m tired, Dixon. Please take me home.”

  He didn’t argue. She liked that about him.

  Outside, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees, but Alex scarcely felt the cold. She was too numb to feel much of anything.

  The sky overhead was full of stars. A line from an old carol ran through her head. It came upon a midnight clear. A joyful message or a devastating one—depending entirely on what “it” was. The diamond set in her engagement ring echoed the cold sparkle of the faraway stars. She turned the stone toward her palm so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

  Something was bothering Alexandra, something more than a headache. Dixon parked the Jeep behind the store, turned the engine off, and doused the lights. She just sat there in the passenger’s seat, making no move to get out.

  He touched her hand. It was icy. “You’re home, Alexandra.”

  She moved then, jerkily, as if he’d startled her out of a daydream. “Dixon?”

  “You’re home,” he repeated. “You’d better come inside before you freeze to death.”

  Tonight the parking area behind the stores was nearly deserted, the only other vehicles Alexandra’s black Stealth and the van that belonged to the furniture store at the other end of the block. He wondered idly where bums like Myron holed up on nights like these. Someplace warm, he hoped.

  The spicy scent of potpourri enveloped him as he pushed open the back door to the shop. The fragrance reminded him of the Christmases of his childhood, of his mother’s krumkake and the special Swedish tea ring she always prepared for the holidays.

  He ushered Alexandra inside and locked the door securely behind them. The shiny new dead bolt she’d had installed first thing that morning was a great improvement over the old lock.

  He glanced down at his watch, surprised to discover how early it was. “How’s your head?”

  “Fine.” A frown knit her brow.

  Liar, he thought. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really, but I’ll cook something if you’d like.” She turned toward the stairs.

  “Don’t bother.” He followed her up the steps, talking to her back. “I’m used to taking care of myself. I may not be much good in the kitchen, but I can order a mean pizza.”

  She flicked on the lights then moved across the room to the window, where she stood staring moodily down at the street. “Dixon?”

  “What?” He’d been flipping through the Yellow Pages in search of the number for the local pizza place, but he laid the phone directory aside at the look on her face. “What is it?” He crossed the room in three strides.

  Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

  Dixon led her to the sofa, where they sat, thighs touching, hands entwined. “What’s wrong, Alexandra?”

  She dropped her gaze, staring fixedly at his right lapel. “Have you ever been in love, Dixon?”

  “I thought I was once.”

  “Me too.” She looked up at him, and her eyes brimmed over.

  He gathered her into his arms, moving cautiously, half-afraid she’d rebuff his attempt to comfort her, but she melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered against her hair. “It’s okay,” though he knew it wasn’t.

  She was warm as sunshine, soft as silk. And her scent … her scent was as sweetly intoxicating as the fragrance of roses on a hot summer day. Closing his eyes, Dixon let his hands slide down the curve of her back. He buried his face in her hair, drugging himself in the scents and textures of her. Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Alexandra Roundtree, he’d wanted to do this. This and more.

  Only she’s engaged to another man, he reminded himself. Gently he loosened her hands and sat back so he could study her face. “What happened?”

  Her lower lip quivered. “Mark was in the library with Eileen Loomis … kissing her.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. It’s a nightmare.”

  Dixon tilted her chin up with his forefinger. “Facing up to unwelcome truths is never much fun, but maybe it’s for the best.”

  “The best?” She caught her breath on a sob.

  He opened his mouth to tell her about the evidence he’d gathered for Colleen Jordan, then changed his mind. It wasn’t his place to divulge that information.

  “Well?”

  He couldn’t betray client confidentiality, but those rules didn’t apply to everything he knew. “Isn’t it better to discover what kind of man Jordan is now—before you’re married?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I must have misunderstood what I saw.” She shook her head. “Mark wouldn’t have … he’s not like that.”

  Dixon gathered her hands in his. “I think he’s exactly like that.”

  “Meaning?” The trembling of her fingers telegraphed the degree of her anxiety.

  He gave her hands a comforting squeeze. How do you tell someone they’re engaged to a scumbag, especially when you know that’s not the story they want to hear? “Last night when I went up to get your coat …”

  “Yes?”

  “The bedroom door was locked.”

  “Mark and Eileen? They were together in my mother’s bedroom?” A strange emotion quivered across Alexandra’s face. She looked so vulnerable, so devastated, Dixon wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “So that’s what Loomis was talking about.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “No,” he said. He didn’t want her jumping to conclusions, but damn, he didn’t want to tell her the truth either.

  “No?” A faint ray of hope glimmered in her eyes.

  Dixon hated to quench that light. “No,” he repeated. “I saw only Mark.”

  “But if he was alone, why was the door locked?”

  “Good question. He said the lock on the bathroom door was messed up and he didn’t want anyone walking in on him.”

  Alexandra studied their entwined fingers. “Mother’s only lived in that house for two months. I can’t believe there’s anything wrong with the lock.” She looked up at Dixo
n. “You suspect he’d been making love with someone, someone who was hiding in the bathroom.”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted, “as soon as I saw the earring on the bed.”

  “An earring?”

  “It had slid down between the pillows as if—”

  She cut him off. “How did Mark explain the earring?” Her nails dug into his hands.

  “He said your mother probably dropped it.”

  “It is her room.” She frowned. “What kind of earring was it?”

  He shrugged. “It looked like a Christmas ornament.”

  “No, I mean was it for pierced or unpierced ears?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the difference? It had a little hook on it, I think, just like a real Christmas ornament.”

  “Pierced,” she said. “It wasn’t my mother’s, then.” She squeezed his hands in a desperate grip, as if he were her lifeline to sanity. “So it could have been Eileen skulking in the bathroom.”

  “It could have been, I guess.”

  She looked up sharply. “But you don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because I saw someone earlier in the evening wearing an identical pair of earrings.”

  “Who?” Alexandra’s mouth formed the word, though no sound emerged from her throat.

  “Your cousin Shelby.”

  Dixon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. He kept remembering the scene in the living room, the scents and textures of Alexandra’s body as vivid in his memory as her words.

  Another sort of man, a brighter man, would have taken advantage of her vulnerability. But then, if he were a brighter man, he would have married some nice girl right out of college instead of getting involved with a soulless bitch like Brittany Farrell. And no two ways about it, a brighter man, having survived such a damaging encounter, would have been forever immune to the seductiveness of a beautiful face.

  Yet here he was, obsessed with Alexandra Roundtree.

  Alex paced the apartment, unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she remembered the cold, incredulous shock of the moment she’d first seen Mark and Eileen in the library. His hands, the same hands that had held her so lovingly, wrapped around Eileen. His mouth, the same mouth he’d used to caress the most intimate portions of Alex’s body, locked to Eileen’s. And then to learn Mark and Shelby had a little something going on the side as well. Mark Jordan was a perverted monster. How could she have been so stupid, so blind?

  The bedroom door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Dixon tensed, half expecting to see the felonious Santa silhouetted in the doorway. When he realized who it was, his heart beat faster, but not with fear. “Alexandra?” Was she sleepwalking?

  She glided to the side of the bed, silent as a wraith, her pale silk nightgown ghostly in the moonlight. “Dixon?” Her voice was faint. “Did I wake you?”

  “No. What’s wrong? Did you hear something?” Dixon rolled to his side, propping himself on an elbow. The air was chill on his bare arms and chest.

  “I can’t sleep. I just keep remembering.…”

  Dixon captured her fluttering hands and pulled her down on the edge of the bed.

  She slumped against him, burying her face against his chest, her breath warm on his skin. “Hold me, Dixon. Please hold me. I’m so confused. I don’t know where to turn, whom to trust.”

  Moving over, he pulled her legs up onto the bed and wrapped the quilt around her. Alexandra’s skin was cool to the touch. He wondered how long she’d been wandering around the apartment, fighting this battle on her own. Dixon enveloped her in warmth, chafing her chilly flesh and murmuring soothing phrases.

  In the beginning, his intentions were completely honorable. Then, suddenly, things changed. One minute he was concentrating solely on comforting her. The next, he was all too aware of the silken length of her legs, the soft fullness of her breasts.

  She shivered and clutched at his shoulders.

  Muscles bunching, he shuddered and pulled her closer, pressing hot kisses to one satiny shoulder, then up the length of her neck.

  Belatedly realizing where this was leading, he stopped.

  “Oh, Dixon.” Alexandra sighed and shifted, her mouth seeking his, her lips soft and yielding.

  He responded cautiously, afraid to reveal the depth of his hunger for fear of scaring her off. She’s been hurt. She’s just seeking comfort, not a relationship.

  She broke off the kiss with a breathy sigh, then snuggled closer, her hands splayed against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. “I’m so cold, Dixon, and you’re so warm.”

  Warm? More like hot. Dixon took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, battling to get his raging emotions under control. God, he ached for her. He’d never wanted a woman this much in his life.

  So take what you want, urged his libido. She wants it just as much as you do.

  She doesn’t know what she wants. You represent safety to her in a world turned upside down. She’s hurt and confused, argued his conscience.

  She didn’t feel confused. She felt good—no, perfect—rounded in all the right places. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Despite his good intentions, he found himself exploring the curves and hollows.

  She moaned, her fingers clenched in his hair.

  He froze, guiltily aware of his hand on her hip. Dammit, he was slime. He was pond scum, taking advantage of her this way. “I’m sorry, Alexandra. I didn’t mean to—”

  She turned onto her back, staring steadily up at him. “I want you, Dixon.” She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “I hurt so bad, like I’m bleeding inside. Can you understand that?”

  He understood all right. Despite Brittany’s betrayal, he’d damn near hemorrhaged to death when she left.

  “I’m tired of the pain, tired of being scared all the time. I feel safe with you.” Alexandra’s smile was bittersweet.

  Something twisted in his gut, something that had nothing to do with desire. God, he’d do anything … anything … to erase that expression from her face.

  “I need you, Dixon. I need you and I want you.” She slid one hand down over his tense stomach muscles, then lower, until she reached the elastic waistband of his shorts. Sliding her hand beneath, she found his erection.

  “Please?” Her whisper shivered down his spine like an electric shock. Her touch was exquisite torture.

  Groaning, he pulled her on top of him. One narrow strap had slipped off her shoulder and he pushed it lower still, then peeled the silk away to reveal one full breast, its tip puckering in the cool air. Alexandra was so damned beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

  Dixon closed his eyes, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. Perfume? he wondered. Shampoo? Pheromones?

  Her skin was warm silk beneath his hands. He felt dizzy, a victim of sensory overload. So soft, so sweet. Dixon nuzzled her breast, then drew her nipple into his mouth. He would never get enough of her, not in a thousand lifetimes.

  She made an inarticulate sound deep in her throat, and he paused, his mouth at her breast. Had he hurt her? “What is it?”

  Alexandra wriggled to a sitting position and pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it behind her. “Nothing. Just getting comfortable.” Her smile set the blood pounding thickly through his veins.

  “Good idea.” He added his shorts to the discard pile.

  “Excellent,” she agreed. She bent slowly nearer until her nipple nudged his lips in a silent invitation.

  With a groan, Dixon gave himself up to the pleasure, immersing himself in sensation. Time and place ceased to exist. The universe narrowed to Alexandra, only Alexandra, and she was enough.

  At first he thought the ringing in his ears was some weird by-product of passion. It was only when Alexandra’s pliant body went rigid under his hands that he came out of the fog far enough to figure out what was really going on. Oh, hell, not now.

  SEVEN

  The telephone rang with annoying persistence. Alex, in
toxicated by Dixon’s kisses, drugged by his touch, forced her eyes open. “The phone,” she said, pulling away from him. Someone had lousy timing. She squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table. Ten thirty-two.

  “Ignore it.” Dixon pressed his lips to her wrist.

  Despite the shivers the kiss sent down her spine, she wriggled free. “Might be important. I’ll be right back.” She touched his mouth briefly with her own. “Promise.”

  Wrapping herself in an afghan, Alex slipped into the living room in time to pick up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello?”

  For a moment she thought the line was dead. Then the harsh blare of a recording assaulted her ear. She recognized the song: “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” The tape cut out as abruptly as it had started.

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  She heard a click. Then the phone went dead.

  Puzzled, she hung up.

  The phone rang again almost immediately and she snatched at the receiver. “Who is this? What do you want?”

  The caller ignored her frightened questions. “Which are you, Ms. Roundtree? Naughty or nice?”

  The androgynous whisper set her heart beating wildly. Shivering, she hung up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Alex jumped at the sound of Dixon’s voice. She swallowed hard, then turned to face him. “A crank caller.”

  He frowned, looking formidable despite the flowered sheet he was wrapped in. “What did he say?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing that made sense.” She described the calls.

  “Did you recognize his voice?”

  “No, it was muffled, but whoever it was knows me. This number’s unlisted.”

  Dixon’s frown deepened.

  “Santa?” Her voice shook.

  He nodded. “Who else?”

  “But why?”

  “To keep you off balance.”

  She made no response. What was there to say?

  The phone shrilled and Alex stared at it in horror.

  “Want me to get it?” Dixon stood with his hand poised above the receiver.

  She closed her eyes for a second. “Please.”