“He misses Guinevere, even after all this time,” Ben murmured ruefully. “He still loved her, even after that whole thing with Lancelot.”
“That’s so sad,” Trisha sighed.
“What’s sad?” Arthur came back out with a baked ham, already sliced and glazed. They were starting to run out of room on the table.
“Oh, uh, that we, uh, can’t go outside and look at the view,” Trisha stammered. “Because of the snow, I mean. I’m sure it’s lovely in the summer.”
“It’s actually hot and noisy in the summer,” Arthur observed wryly. “I prefer the winters. It’s very peaceful.”
“What is?” Nim brought in a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes, steaming and dripping with melted butter.
“Winter.”
“Hmm. I prefer autumn.” She didn’t bother to explain her choice and returned to the kitchen for her next delivery.
“What about you, Trisha?” Ben smiled. “What’s your favorite season?”
“Oh, well, I don’t really have a favorite. I like whichever one comes next.”
“Never satisfied, hmm?” She fixed him with a sour look and he chuckled as he went to inspect the growing buffet on the table.
Trisha turned to look out the window, using her free hand to shade her eyes from the reflected glare. The outside lights were off but the light spilling out from the dining room revealed an open expanse surrounded by a chest-high wall, all covered in a thick coat of sparkling white as the snow continued to fall. A large oval area sagged a bit lower than the rest. “Is that a swimming pool?” she asked incredulously. “On the fortieth floor?”
“Forty-first,” Hawk corrected her with a smile, earning himself an elbow in the ribs. “Maybe we can go skinny-dipping later.”
Trisha gaped at him in horror and then looked around quickly to make sure no one else overheard. “I’m not going skinny-dipping!” she whispered fiercely. “I’m never going skinny-dipping!”
“Why not?” he asked curiously. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid! I just don’t like people looking at my brph.” She mumbled the last word, avoiding his eyes as her ears turned pink again.
“Your what?”
“My butt, okay?” She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. “It’s big and it’s white and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your butt,” he told her firmly. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I know.” He leaned forward to kiss her but she leaned back just out of reach with a dubious expression.
“One of?” she asked archly.
“Well, yes. To be fair, Nim is hot, even if she is a thousand years old.” He jerked his chin to the table, where Nim was lighting the candles. Her apron almost completely covered her dress, making it look like that was the only thing she wore, and Trisha couldn’t really argue with Hawk’s assessment. Nim was gorgeous.
“All right,” she grumbled, “I’ll give you that. But I better be in your top ten.”
“Top five, guaranteed.” He tried to kiss her again but she stopped him. “Now what?” he sighed.
“You shouldn’t be kissing me here!” she whispered. “Aren’t we coworkers now or something?”
“Office hours are over,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but your boss is standing right there!”
Hawk rolled his eyes. “Attention, everyone!” he called.
“What are you doing?” Trisha hissed as Nim, Lucas, and Ben looked up curiously and Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway with a humungous golden-brown turkey on a handled platter. Hawk ignored her.
“Does anyone have any objections if I kiss Miss Macmillan right now?”
“Oh my God!” Trisha cringed, trying to find someplace to hide.
Lucas shrugged. “I’m good,” he said, and Ben raised his wine glass in a silent salute.
“I’m surprised you waited this long,” Arthur added with a twinkling grin, setting the turkey down in front of his chair. Nim just nodded in agreement, a hint of wistfulness in her eyes, and untied her apron.
“There, you see?” Hawk told her, holding her shoulders and turning her to face him directly. “Official permission.” She shook her head with a laugh.
“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.” She lifted her mouth and he kissed her gently. Her leg lifted off the floor of its own accord, something she thought only happened in movies, but she didn’t care. She clung to him until he finally eased back, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, “any of you. You didn’t know I existed two weeks ago and now you’ve trusted me with your secrets and invited me to join you in all this madness and given me presents. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you.”
“That’s not true, Trisha,” Hawk told her sincerely. “You’ve given me the most wonderful present I’ve ever had.”
She leaned back, puzzled, and searched his eyes. “I have? What?”
“You,” he said, and he kissed her again.
Epilogue
Viviane gazed out through the windows, her fingers tapping on the report Giles had sent. The city was quiet and still now, countless children asleep and dreaming of what Père Noël would put in their stockings. She wondered if she would even see her bed tonight. At least Amelie would be well-rested come Christmas morning.
“Something is happening,” she said, folding the report in two. “Many of her Knights are making arrangements to return to New York. The rest have cancelled their activities, perhaps waiting for new orders.” She turned around to face the only other person in the room. “You believe this has something to do with this nurse of yours, Lionel?” She nearly sneered the word.
“It has to be,” Lionel said with more confidence than he felt. His arm was healing but it still ached terribly. “Trisha and that cairngorm are the only things that have changed on their side in years.”
“That and the tragic death of Dr. Trelawney. Such a pity Arthur survived,” she sighed dramatically. “It would have made things so much easier.” Lionel noted her lack of remorse for her dead agent, but he kept that observation to himself.
“So what are we going to do about it?” he asked. “They’re obviously planning something new. That can’t be good.”
“No,” she agreed, “it’s not.” She strode back to her desk and tossed the paper down carelessly, picking up another, thicker report. “We must discover what the Knights are doing, what their new assignments are. That may give us a clue as to what their goal is.”
Lionel nodded. “I’ll head back to New York. I can –”
“No.” He blinked at her in surprise. “I think we’ve established that you’re no match for Gawain. Leave him to me. I need you in London.”
Lionel bit back his angry retort. “London?”
“Bedevere has been speaking to experts in medieval weaponry for the last several months. I want you to find out why.”
“Another Quest?” he scowled.
“Perhaps. Discover the truth and we will decide what to do about it.” Lionel nodded and she dismissed him with a flick of her fingers. He gave her a mocking half-bow and strode to the door. “Joyeux Noël, Lionel,” she added with a wry smile.
He stopped with his hand on the door and looked back, his expression unreadable. “Merry Christmas, Viviane,” he said, and then he was gone.
Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1) Page 40