Unmasking Love: A Holiday for Romance

by Peggy Bird

  She wasn’t exactly alone while she ate. Several people who’d heard the news already stopped by her table to thank her for being so persistent in helping her clients. A bottle of pinot grigio and a serving of crème brûlée—her favorite wine and her favorite dessert—were sent to her table. It would have made Greer freak out to have so many people know what she liked, but it made Julie feel a part of her community.

  Home by eight, the wave of adrenaline, burnt sugar, and wine she’d been riding subsided, and she was suddenly quite tired. She thought about pouring another glass of the wine from the bottle she’d brought home with her, but decided against it, stashing the almost-full bottle in the refrigerator instead. She flipped through the hundred or so movies on her Netflix queue and found nothing to interest her. Finally she gave up on television, took her Kindle to bed, and pulled up a mystery novel she hadn’t read.

  Chapter 19

  The mystery novel was clearly well written, because when the phone rang at eleven, Julie was startled, both by the sound and the time.

  It was Trace, yawning and apologizing for calling at the late hour.

  “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called. You’ve had one hell of a day, haven’t you?”

  “Like no other in my career. I just got home. Between talking to the police, talking to the home office, and talking to each other, I think Henry, Jon, Emma and I used up every word in the English language today.”

  “What’d the cops find? Anything you can share?”

  “There’s still a lot of computer data to search, but from what they’ve found so far, Lindstrom and his nephew had hundreds more names and bank records, which Jon had already suspected, given what his people found.”

  “What’s Lindstrom’s motive? Did he say?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s real clear about the reason and willing to tell anyone, everyone, with or without an attorney present. He’s pissed off at bank management for what he says they did by forcing him into retirement and putting me into what he still thinks of as his job. He’s rabid on the subject.”

  “A couple people tonight told me everyone knew he’d been a little off since his wife died,” Julie said. “They’d been married since they were in college and about to celebrate a fiftieth anniversary when she died. But I don’t think anyone had any idea he was this bad.”

  “No one at the bank knew, that’s for sure,” Trace said. “Although a couple people said they’d noticed he spent more time at work since she died. His world shrunk to the confines of his office, as one woman described it. She thought he hated going home alone to a house they’d shared for so long.” He coughed, as if to cover up a tightening of his throat. “I guess I can understand. At least the part about missing someone you care about so much it hurts.”

  Now her throat tightened up. “Really?”

  “Haven’t you ever felt like that?”

  “I think I have. Only recently, in fact.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Another cough and a pause before he led the conversation in another direction. “Anyway, that’s about all the police will tell us. Except for one other thing. My personal bank accounts are frozen. Seems they found some evidence the nephew might have recently added malware to them. Not sure what it is set to do, but they think it might be either to automatically loot my accounts or to somehow make me look guilty of the other thefts.”

  “Frozen your accounts? How will you pay your bills? Buy food?”

  “‘Frozen’ was probably a bad word choice. Most of the money from my checking account was transferred to a new account, but the old one was kept open to see what happens. The only problem is all the changes to my automatic payments I’ll have to make, but I still have money. My savings account has been blocked from anyone having access to it, including me, until they work out what he’s done. But thank you for worrying about me.”

  “Of course I worry about you. You’re … well, you’re whatever you are to me.”

  “There’s the explanation of a woman’s feelings I’ve always wanted to hear.”

  “I know. Bad, huh?”

  “It’s okay. I know how you feel.”

  Now it was Juliet’s turn to change the subject. “What will the bank have to do to clean this up?”

  After a few silent moments during which she was afraid he might go back to the sticky subject of how they felt about each other, he said, “It’s gonna be hell. Outside auditors will come in and go through almost everything Lindstrom ever did. Then there’s the PR aspect. We have to distance ourselves from him and make sure customers and potential customers understand he was a bad apple and our system is trustworthy. At the same time, we have to tread gently—he’s a hometown boy even if he’s also a hometown thief.”

  “And everyone knows how hard his wife’s death hit him. How will you … what will you …?”

  “I’m not exactly sure how or what. But it’ll be up to me to regain the community’s confidence.”

  “You already have everyone’s trust.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take too big a dent from this. I’ll worry about it after we get a handle on how much mess we have to clean up.” He yawned again. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been this tired yet still so wound up.”

  “Would you like a shoulder rub?”

  “What kind of masseuse makes house calls at this hour of the night?”

  “Me, for one.”

  “As much as I’d love to have you come spend the night, I’m too tired for sex.” Another yawn. “Jesus, did I just say that? I’m sure those words have never crossed my mind let alone my lips before. And I probably would chase you out even if I wasn’t so tired. I have an early morning breakfast with Jon and Henry.”

  “A: there was no mention of sex. B: there was no mention of my staying overnight. C: the offer was for a shoulder rub to relax you enough so you can get some sleep before your next day from banking hell. D: …”

  “I get it, Madam Attorney. I get it.”

  “Good, because there was no ‘D.’ I’d run out of exhibits for your consideration.”

  “If you come over, will I get to see what you wear to bed when I’m not around?”

  “I’d planned to dress before I walked the streets at eleven, Trace. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Then tell me what you’re wearing. I’ve always been curious.”

  “Is this headed toward phone sex because you’re too tired for actual sex?”

  “I think I’m even too tired for that. But I still want to know what you’re wearing. Is that so perverted?”

  “Maybe not so perverted, although it is a little.”

  There was a frustrated groan from the other end of the line.

  “All right,” she said. “If it’s so important to you. I sleep in boy shorts and a camisole.”

  “That doesn’t sound sexy.” He actually sounded as if he was complaining. Or indignant.

  It made her laugh. “Why in the world would I waste sexy on myself?”

  “Right. You should save it for me.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ve timed the walk. It only takes ten.”

  “I have to change. Hanging up now, Trace.”

  • • •

  Trace was, of course, correct. It only took ten minutes to walk to his house, and since she’d changed in under five, she got there in less than the twenty minutes she’d promised. When he opened the door, she saw lines on his face she would swear hadn’t been there before, and eyes so tired looking, they wrung her heart. After a quick kiss and a long hug, she headed for the kitchen.

  “I brought some herbal tea for you, to help you relax.” She glanced over her shoulder as she filled the teakettle with water. “And you have to shed your jacket and tie.”

  “I’ve even been too tired to undress.” But he complied. “Oh, and I was so wiped out I almost forgot what I was supposed to ask you. Emma Jacobs wants to block out time with you tomorrow to talk settlement. Is that possible?”

  “Let me m
ove a couple things around and call her. She’ll be at the bank?”

  “All day. On the phone with Portland when she’s not trying to advise us on how to keep from stepping over some legal line or another. And, by the way, do you know what half the people wanted to talk to us about after the meeting?”

  “The damages they want?”

  “Wrong. They wanted to make sure we knew you had seriously reduced your hourly fee to take their case. They wanted us to pay your usual rates.”

  “You’re not going to, are you?”

  “No, we won’t. We can’t. We’ll only pay what you billed them. But I love it that they wanted us to ignore bank policy and probably some law or other so you could get what you deserve. You didn’t tell me you’d taken them on close to pro bono.”

  “A half dozen attorneys had already turned them down because they didn’t take clients on contingency, and the ones who would take contingency cases didn’t see enough money in it. I negotiated a limited contract with fees they could afford and a payment schedule that worked for them.”

  “And they love you for it.”

  When the water boiled and the tea was made, Julie suggested they take it to his bedroom where he could get undressed and satisfy her curiosity about what he wore to bed when she wasn’t around.

  It turned out to be red plaid pajamas.

  She laughed as he slipped into the bottoms. “I would never have suspected you of being the plaid PJ type,” she said, trying to stifle her laugh.

  “My sister gave these to me for Christmas last year, I’ll have you know.”

  “She must know you better than I do, then.”

  “No, she doesn’t. I’m not a plaid guy. But I couldn’t hurt her feelings. Besides, no one sees me in them. Well, except you now.” He started to shrug on the top.

  “Leave the top off and I’ll rub your shoulders.” She motioned him to the bed. When he lay on his back she shook her head, “How am I supposed to rub your shoulders like that? And,” she continued, glancing at the obvious tenting of his pajama bottoms, “I thought you were too tired for sex.”

  “Apparently the relevant part decided I wasn’t as soon as you were in my bedroom. Come here, beautiful.” He grabbed her hands and urged her toward him.

  “Wait.” She shed her sweatshirt and jeans, revealing why she had gotten out of her house so quickly—she’d gone commando.

  “Jesus, you’ve been sitting in my kitchen naked underneath those clothes?”

  She straddled him and propped herself on her hands. “Not to be too technical but I believe we are all naked under our clothes, Mister Watkins.”

  “How about we skip the Lawyer Lady language and get to the good part.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is where I do this.” He reversed their positions and pinned her hands beside her head. “And I do this.” Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against the underside of her breasts, then teased her nipples with his tongue before backing away, kissing the sides of her breasts, the valley between them, making her squirm with the need for him to return to what she liked.

  As if he knew he was tormenting her, he smiled against her breast before making the move to her nipple. “God, you taste good. Nothing I’ve ever had tastes as good as you do.” He sipped and suckled, nipped, and licked his fill, making her heart race and her body melt.

  “I thought I was here to make you feel good,” she whispered.

  “And you do. Just like this. Always.” He skimmed his hand down her belly to her sex. “I love how wet you get when I kiss your breasts. It turns me on.” He cupped her between her legs and rubbed the heel of his hand against her pubic bone before returning to her mouth, kissing her senseless, making her world spin then disappear, so all she knew was the feel of his mouth on hers and the pressure of his hand on her sex. Everything else was a blur.

  Then he pulled back so he could shed his pajama pants and grab a condom from the bedside table. He was covered and back to kissing her while her mind was still groggy with the fog of desire.

  Mouths crushing, tongues tangling, arms holding tight, he entered her. She moaned at the exquisite feeling of having him fill her body with his. He slowed the pace until she couldn’t bear it any longer and indicated with her hips and her words how much she wanted to reach release.

  The room echoed with the sound of bodies slapping together in unison, on a slick of sweat, until at last she felt her inner muscles clamp around him, and she cried out his name as he poured himself into her.

  When they could breath normally again, he rolled onto the bed and went to get rid of the condom. He slipped under the sheet when he returned, and yawned. “I think you have uncovered the secret to getting me a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind the next time you’re stressed out.” She urged him to turn on his side, and finally had the chance to rub his shoulders. In only a few minutes she felt his body relax and his breathing change to what she knew was a sleep pattern. She moved carefully toward the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb him. But even in his sleep he must have felt her absence because he groaned a protest.

  “I’m going home, Trace. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

  “Mmm. Love you, Juliet,” he mumbled. He didn’t stir or turn toward her.

  Tears came to her eyes as she heard the words the first time. “I love you, too, Trace,” she whispered, then slid out of bed, dressed, and bolted for home.

  Chapter 20

  Wednesday was another long day for Trace. He and his boss, his staff, the police, and a list of bank customers who had been victimized spent the day unraveling the details of the criminal side of what had happened. Emma and Juliet were, he knew, having a meeting mid-morning to work on the settlement side of things. He saw Emma leave, but a thumbs-up from her when she returned two hours later was the only indication of what the results were there.

  What was clear was, he was going to have to spend most of his time for the foreseeable future on Clyde Lindstrom’s mess, and it pissed him off.

  Juliet called late in the afternoon and said how much she’d enjoyed negotiating with Emma Jacobs. She also said Emma had told her she had a job with the bank any time she wanted it. Trace held his tongue, but what went through his mind was, Great. The woman I love gets another job offer in Portland while I’m in Ashland cleaning up after my predecessor. Nice going, Fate.

  When he got off the phone, something niggled at his mind. Something she’d said during the phone call. No, something he’d said. What was it?

  That’s it. Not something he’d said. Something he’d thought. The woman I love. That was it. Or was it? It felt like there was something more.

  Maybe he had said it out loud while they were talking. No, he was sure he hadn’t. He’d decided to wait until after she made her choice about Portland to tell her how he felt, so he didn’t come across as putting too much pressure on her. But somehow he thought he … Oh, shit. Now he remembered. Before she’d left last night, she’d kissed him on the back. He’d been right on the edge of sleep, and he’d told her he loved her.

  What’s more, he could swear she’d said it back.

  • • •

  Friday was shaping up to be a rinse-and-repeat of Wednesday and Thursday. Trace was with the Portland team all day. Julie was contacting the last of her clients to get their buy-off on the settlement she and Emma Jacobs had hammered out. When she had gotten everyone’s signature, she had the papers messengered to the bank, and collapsed in her chair. Done. And done.

  She hadn’t seen Trace on Wednesday or Thursday, although she had talked to him on the phone both evenings after he got home from very late dinners with his boss, and they’d texted like teenagers during the day. Until her clients told her they were holding a party in her honor on Friday evening, she’d planned to see him after the Portland management team had left. But there was no way she was getting out of the party. Maybe afterward she’d go see him. She had somethin
g important to tell him.

  She was just wrapping up a phone call with Heather, when she walked into Martha Combes’s charming old Victorian house for the party and saw Trace watching her from across the living room. It almost felt like Halloween all over again, smiling at each other across a crowded room. By the time she worked her way through the assembled collection of her clients, all of whom congratulated, hugged, or kissed her, Trace had a glass of champagne in each hand. “I thought this party was for me,” she said as she took one from him.

  “It is. I was invited to celebrate with you.” He touched his glass to hers and took a sip.

  “If she doesn’t want you here, I do, handsome,” Martha said as she joined them. “And I’m the hostess. So what I say goes.”

  “Martha, if only I didn’t have such a possessive girlfriend, you and I could …” Trace let the sentence fade off into a pretend future they’d never have.

  Martha snorted. “Yeah, if you didn’t have a girlfriend and I didn’t have forty years on you, we’d set Ashland on fire. But you do and I do, so I only get to look and enjoy.”

  Julie had never seen Trace blush. She enjoyed it.

  Martha tapped on her champagne glass with a knife. “Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else who’s here, now that the guest of honor has arrived, let’s raise our glasses to the best little lawyer in Southern Oregon. Maybe even in all Oregon.” Martha turned to Julie and raised her glass. “Because of you, Julie Payne, our problem was solved and we’ve gotten our money back with interest. Thank you. You’re the best.”

  To sounds of “cheers,” “salud,” “prost,” and “l’chaim” all the glasses in the room were raised.

  “Thank you, everyone. I’m touched and honored. You’re the best, too.” She sipped her champagne and started to say, “I can’t tell you how much tonight means. It’s such an …” She stopped when the phone she was still holding vibrated. Out of habit she glanced at it.

  The screen said Jeff Wyatt.

  “I’m sorry to do this, but I have to take this call.” She put her glass on the nearest table and went out on Martha’s porch.