by Beverly Bird
There were many more secrets to her body, Fox thought, and he’d spend an eternity finding them all. As he unearthed each one, he lingered until she dragged his shirt free from his jeans with both hands.
“Please.”
His mouth found her temple. “What do you want, darlin’?”
“You. Now. Hurry.”
“There’s a Yankee for you.” He gave a heartfelt sigh even as something joyous leapt in his chest. Then his air knotted in his throat when her own mouth traced a pattern downward on his chest, her fingers trailing behind.
There were definitely some virtues to haste.
He tugged the glittery gold top over her head and his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her pants until she arched into his touch. He found a soft hollow on her tummy just inside her hip and pressed a searing kiss there until she writhed beneath his hands. Then, suddenly, he stripped the jade green fabric down her thighs and off.
She felt the change in him, something suddenly needy and sharp. It was like the electricity that filled the air just before lightning struck. It stirred the hair at her nape and had her gluing her mouth to his again, even as she frantically struggled with the waist of his jeans.
She was no good at this. Her fingers fumbled before they caught the snap and popped it away.
He stood beside the sofa and stepped out of the denim. Just when she expected him to settle down on top of her again, he scooped her up in his arms. “We’re going to do this right.”
“It is right.” She believed that now with all her heart.
“Not quite.”
“Will you stop with the rules?”
“In a moment.”
She never had been able to make him do what she wanted him to do, she thought shakily. She wanted now…and he wanted the bedroom. Tara wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
He carried her to the bed in the other room and his mouth was sealed on hers again even as he lowered her to the mattress. This time when he came down on top of her, he slid her panties away with one hand. His palms swept up her belly to her breasts, beneath her bra, pushing it free. His mouth claimed her nipple, his tongue teasing, so slow, so excruciatingly lazy, and she arched into him. Craving, frantic with it.
“Does making love matter?” he murmured again, nuzzling.
“Yes!”
“Well, then.” And with that, he rose over her. She peeled his briefs free and slid her hands back up over his skin when they were gone. He found the center clasp of her bra and popped it free.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear. Then he found his way home for the holidays.
Chapter 15
At midnight, it snowed.
Tara had heard the forecast on the drive to New York and she knew the night was supposed to have been clear and cold. She stood in the kitchen in one of Fox’s shirts, watching fat flakes gather against the window there. She’d come to uncork more wine but instead she found herself clutching the bottle to her chest, mesmerized.
Maybe it was the work of angels.
It was a gift, she thought, from one of those she’d imagined floating past the bathroom glass earlier, the ones who—she was sure—had led her out of that pantry closet and into Fox Whittington’s arms. For this one night, she would believe in them.
She wished tomorrow would never come. She knew that talking to Acosta was an important step toward finding the Rose, but tonight, for these hours, she already had everything she’d ask the ruby if she ever found it. Her heart’s desire.
She was wanted. She was necessary to someone. And for this little while she could believe that whenever in her life she might need him, she could reach out a hand and Fox Whittington would be there.
She closed her eyes briefly and an image of her father’s face lit there, the way he had looked the one time she had seen him. She was no longer sure how much of that memory was real and how much of it her imagination had embellished over the last twenty-four years. But always, when she remembered him, it was with that straight and long black hair, with that crooked grin and those rakish dark eyes.
Aren’t you just pretty as a picture? I always knew it would be that way.
She remembered his words so clearly. He’d been kneeling in front of her as she’d sat on the park bench, swinging her legs. She’d been wearing red shorts. She remembered that part clearly because for the longest while she’d been unable to look at him. She’d kept her eyes trained down on her lap, on those red cotton shorts.
I’m your daddy.
She’d known. Somehow, from the very first moment she’d seen him approaching her and her nanny from across the park…she’d known, the way she knew her mommy loved her and that the sky was always blue unless it was going to rain.
You look like your mama, but you’ve got Cole eyes. I had to know. I just had to see you.
And then, she thought, then he had gone. He had walked away from her across the park just the same way he’d come to her, with an ambling stride that had no real purpose. And she’d waited every day of her life since then for him to come back.
Tara caught her breath as she watched the snow fall outside. Why had she ever thought he would stay with her? Because she’d been three. And when you were three, she reflected, you still believed in Santa Claus. Then you got to be five and you found out he was just a gimmick. That was the year Stephen Carmen had ripped away her Christmas dreams, dragging her down the stairs to make her watch her own mother lay out her Christmas toys. She’d shrieked and cried in protest. Her face white and angry, her mother had yelled at Stephen until he’d explained that Tara had wanted to come see and that he had only been trying to hold her back from learning the truth.
That night she’d known there was no Santa and she had believed it ever since. Until now.
“What is it, darlin’? Is something wrong?”
Fox’s voice broke into her reverie. It was easy yet it made something inside her jump. She turned to him. “My father never told me he would stay. All these years, I’ve blamed him. But…at least he didn’t lie.”
Her words squeezed at his heart. Not for what she had said, but for the fact that she had finally said it. She’d trusted him with that one small truth…and with another one so amazing it made him feel small for everything he’d demanded of her earlier.
He crossed the room to her and took the wine from her hands. He set it on the counter without taking his gaze from her face. Tara looked into his eyes and a quick shudder traipsed through her.
Of course, he’d know now, she thought. There’d been no way for her to hide it. All she could do was forestall the inevitable discussion of it.
“It’s snowing,” she said breathlessly. “Look. Isn’t that just perfect?”
Fox glanced at the snowflakes drifting down outside. He smiled because he knew she needed him to. “Tara. You should have told me.”
Tara lost her breath, then she pulled in air. “You would have taken the choice away from me. But it was my right to decide.”
“I don’t know what I would have done.”
“I’m old enough to know my own mind.”
His laugh was a little hoarse. “That’s the truth.”
“And I made my decision.”
“You certainly did.” Fox studied her face carefully in the dim glow of the stove light. Her chin had come up again as though she was ready to ward off a blow. She was pale except for bright spots of color high on her cheeks. That rosy blush, he decided, would be embarrassment this time, at least to some extent.
He’d been her first.
“I wish you had warned me,” he murmured, finding her mouth again with his own. “It was something of a shock.”
What did that mean? Tara wondered desperately. “You’re angry.”
“Did I just kiss you like I was angry?”
“I don’t know. I don’t honestly know what an angry man kisses like.”
His low laugh surprised her. Her own startled her even more. Then he kissed h
er again and the tension washed out of her. “Actually, I’m humbled.”
There was not another man in the world like this one, she thought. When he’d tackled her in that garden, she’d been blessed for however long he would stay. Like her father, Tara knew he had never made any promises, and she expected none. But if she forgave the one man then she could certainly give her heart to the other.
His hands were under the hem of the shirt she wore, moving up over her skin, and his kisses became fast and feverish. “How much did you want that wine?” he asked, his mouth at her throat now.
“Not much.”
“Good.” He scooped her up in his arms again and carried her back toward the bedroom.
“You’ve got to stop toting me around like a bag of laundry.”
“I don’t do this sort of thing with my laundry.”
She laughed, then gasped as he dropped her back on the bed and pulled the front of the shirt she wore away. Buttons spattered. Tara sucked in her breath. “So much for your slow Southern charm.”
“I came of age in Philadelphia.” His mouth found her nipple and he suckled. She arched into his touch and her hands sought him. She peeled away the gym shorts he’d pulled on to follow her into the kitchen and she wrapped her fingers around the hard, strong proof of how much he wanted her. The heat of him spread through her and she knew she’d never felt so right about anything, so good about anything, in her life.
She didn’t feel inept this time. She rolled into him until he had no choice but to fall over onto his back. She trailed hot kisses downward over his chest until his hands spasmed in her hair. She took him into her mouth and his voice left him on a groan.
It was a long time later when he pinned her back against the pillows again, when he swept down on her mouth with impossible greed. “About that first time.”
“I want you inside me again.”
“I’m getting to that part. Tara. Look at me. Give me your eyes.”
She did, falling into the blue of them.
“I would have gone ahead anyway. If you had told me ahead of time, I would have trusted you to know your own mind.”
It was a gift sweeter than the Christmas he’d given her. “I still do.”
“What?”
“Know my own mind.” Because he didn’t expect it she was able to push him onto his back again. This time she came over him and took him inside.
She was sore the next morning and that was a delight in itself.
Tara woke pretty much underneath him. One of his legs pinned her down at the hips. His arm was flung across her chest. She tried to ease out from beneath him and he stirred.
“Where are you going?” He tried to hold her.
“Coffee.”
“You know, that’s an addiction you’ve got going on there.” But he let her go. He knew better than to stand between her and her caffeine.
“A man who has wine buckets in his bathroom ought to have a coffeemaker, don’t you think?” She put her legs over the side of the bed.
“I also bought some instant last night. Just to be on the safe side.”
She almost purred with pleasure. Then her eyes narrowed. “You brought breakfast too, I’ll bet.”
“You’d be amazed at how many stores I found open last night.”
“You bought bacon and eggs.”
“Benedict. Eggs Benedict. That was what Liam Bradstoe was eating yesterday morning. It put the thought in my head.”
They’d never actually gotten around to eating last night, Tara realized. Which might explain why such a cholesterol-laden breakfast suddenly sounded so good. Either that, or he’d done something to her mind. “I’ll make the coffee if you cook.”
Fox had a sudden image of her own refrigerator the night he’d poked his nose in there. He had a disquieting thought. “You don’t make a habit of it, do you?”
“Cooking? Where did you ever get the delusional idea that I was a homebody?”
“Wishful thinking?”
“Wish again.”
If he did, he thought, he wouldn’t have asked for more than the way she tossed all that hair and a grin over her shoulder as she stood and walked away from him. He wouldn’t have asked for more than that long, lithe body bending to hook his gym shorts off the floor with a finger. And he definitely wouldn’t have asked for anything other than the way she backed out of the room wearing nothing more than a come-hither look.
What was she doing to him? He was gone on this woman, beyond crazy for her.
“Does this mean you’re making coffee naked?” he called when she had disappeared, shorts and all, into the hall.
“Find my ruby for me and we’ll talk about it.”
He hurried to dress. He could move quickly with the proper incentive.
Acosta’s jewelry store was called The Final Touch. They found it on East Fourth Street, closed up tight as a drum.
“He said two o’clock, right?” Tara asked nervously.
“Yes, Connie.”
“I can handle this. I really can. Just tell me again why we’re going through this charade.”
“Because anyone who knows anything about your Rose also knows the name of Tara Cole. And because I’ve got a strong gut instinct going on just now, telling me not to identify myself as a cop.”
“It may not matter if he doesn’t come to the door.” She leaned forward and rapped on the glass again.
The man who finally opened it was short. The top of his head only came to her chin. He wore a very black, handlebar mustache. His eyes were sharp and gray, as hard as diamond chips.
“I’m closed,” he said. “It’s Christmas. Stop banging at my door.”
“I’m Fox Whittington. This is my wife. Connie.”
Tara nodded fast. “I’m Connie.”
“Yeah? You don’t say. I thought maybe Connie was the dog.”
Belle chose that moment to stir in Tara’s arms. She lifted a lip and snarled. Tara clamped her hand down over her snout. “No, she’s Belle. My darling…Fox here, he gave her to me. She was a gift to me. Last night. For Christmas. But she’s…you know, ah, fractious sometimes. She doesn’t like strangers.”
Acosta looked at Fox. “She’s the nervous type.”
“She’s just high-strung,” Tara assured him.
“I meant you.”
Fox shook his head seriously. “No. Not when she decides she knows her own mind.”
Tara choked.
“And you want to buy her a ruby?” Acosta asked.
“Absolutely. I love her madly.” Fox felt his heart kick at the blithe words. “And she likes red.”
Acosta measured him with his eyes then he stepped back from the door. Tara zoomed inside straight to a long display case. “I don’t see anything here that I like.”
“Take your time, darlin’. Look things over. This man was nice enough to open up for us on Christmas.” He gave her a pointed look.
Tara looked at him blankly, then she nodded. A few minutes later, she shook her head again. “Everything here is so small.”
Fox shrugged at Acosta. “There’s a woman for you.”
“I want something big,” Tara said. “Big and red.”
“I don’t have anything like that readily available,” Acosta said. “But let’s go in the back and talk. If you’re not hellbent on laying your hands on it today, I might be able to find something for you.”
Tara’s heart kicked but she managed to pout. “But our anniversary is today.”
“Ah, darlin’, aren’t some things worth the wait?”
Tara felt a shiver scoot through her. “If something was very perfect, it would be worth waiting for.”
“Do tell,” he murmured.
She turned away quickly but he saw her face heat up. Fox grinned to himself.
“Come on in the back,” Acosta said again. “Let’s talk about this.”
They followed the little man to the rear of the store. There was a small sitting area beyond a door there. Fox saw two offices
adjacent to it. There was a cheap, green vinyl sofa in the center and two green-and-brown plaid chairs. A scarred coffee table sat in the middle of it all.
“Tell me exactly what it is you want,” Acosta said, sitting.
“Something memorable.” Fox took the chair across from the man. He tugged Tara’s hand hard, spilling her into his lap. Belle growled when she got jostled.
“Shut up,” they said to her simultaneously.
“So you want a ruby,” Acosta said. “Is that about it? Did you want it set?”
“That depends on how large it is,” Fox drawled. “A bauble would be nice.”
“How much are you willing to spend?”
“No more than four million.”
“Six million,” Tara said quickly. She’d offered Stephen four and a half before he’d been killed. If the Rose was moving along black market channels, she figured it would go for more.
Where she was going to get six million dollars, she had no idea. Would Uncle Charlie go that high? She’d work it out later. If this little man with the big mustache could lead her to it, she’d dig and borrow until she came up with the price.
Acosta looked between them. “Four or six, folks? Big difference.”
“Five,” Fox said.
“Six,” Tara said.
“Can we safely say five and a half?”
“That we could.” Fox shot a look at her that warned her to shut up.
The little man got up and went into one of the offices. He came back with a pad of paper. “Tell me where I can reach you. If I come up with anything, I’ll call.”
Fox began reciting an address she’d never heard of. Tara felt something pop inside her brain. The man would track down the Rose for them, would try to call them, and it would be a dead end! “I’ll be right back.” She stood from Fox’s lap.
“What are you up to, dear?” His eyes went wary.
“I need…” Her gaze fell on the office where Acosta had gone for the notepad. “A bathroom.”
“Back through that room there,” Acosta offered.