What Sean had been aiming for was a steady drunkenness to see him through to the New Year's party. No rollercoaster highs and lows, just a constant numbness to dull the pain.
He reached over to his nightstand and poured himself another glass of vodka.
He'd done pretty well, if he did say so. Even the splintering pain from his wrist seemed to float toward him from a point beyond himself.
If only he could do something about that one deep pain that not even Stoli could dull.
He took a long shuddering gulp.
Kelly.
What a pathetic old fool he was. He'd actually liked Maximilian Steel. Steel was the first real man he'd ever seen his daughter with before and the fact that he was rich was definitely a plus.
It would be nice to know his daughter's future would be secure.
He polished off the vodka then refilled the glass again.
Definitely a pathetic old fool.
Yesterday he'd gone in search of Cutty Sark as a break from vodka and he'd overheard Viktor and his cronies talking in the library in that bizarre melange of English and French that had become their common language.
They chattered like old women about Steel's New Year's Eve party and Sean almost expected to hear them talk about their latest frocks. He was about to turn and leave when Viktor's words caught and held him captive.
"There is cause to celebrate, gentlemen," said Viktor. "We no longer need crash Mr. Steel's soiree." His laugh was triumphant. "We have been formally invited."
"You mean our Mr. Ryan has," the man named Hawk spoke up. "Do not get our hopes up, Viktor."
"I said what I meant to say," Viktor declared. "I am in receipt of a handwritten invitation from Steel himself. He requests my presence along with Sean's at his annual party."
"Do you think he--"
"Of course he does. Steel is a smart man. He knows it is best to ally himself with the eventual winners. It would seem to me--"
Sean downed another gulp of vodka.
He hadn't waited to hear any more.
His daughter was twice-cursed: a father who'd sold his soul for gold and a lover who had no soul at all.
He'd tell her, that's what he'd do.
It wasn't as if he could lose her respect; that had been lost a long, long time ago.
On New Year's Eve, at that cursed party, he'd tell his daughter that the man she loved didn't deserve her.
He lay back against his pillows and inhaled the rest of his drink.
For the life of him he couldn't imagine why she'd ever believe him but, believe him or not, he had to try.
#
"It's the day before Christmas, Kelly. Do you intend to work me like Scrooge worked Marley?"
Kelly pushed her glasses atop her head and met Max's green-gold eyes. "You're the boss, Mr. Steel," she said with a stern look. "If you want to cut the session short with just seven days before the new year, that's entirely up to you."
"You're a tough taskmaster," he said, with that oddly all-American grin she'd come to love. "No time off for Yuletide cheer?"
She glanced at her watch. "It's only three o'clock. We could easily get in another two hours' work before it's time for dinner."
"Live dangerously," he said, pushing his chair away from the work table. "I think we can afford to turn our attention to more enjoyable pursuits."
Her laughter rippled through her as she closed her notebooks and capped her fountain pen. "I don't know about you, but I was having a splendid time."
"You enjoyed watching me struggle at the podium, didn't you?"
"Only when you blushed. Who would have thought a millionaire could blush?"
He wickedly recounted one of their evening swims at the lagoon--and its erotic aftermath.
"It would seem I'm not the only one capable of blushing."
"Unfair tactics."
"You didn't object at the time."
"I'm not objecting now," she said, sitting on his lap. "I just don't want that nosy driver of yours to know all our secrets."
"That nosy driver of mine is gone."
"He's what?!"
"Gone," said Max. "Even nosy drivers get to spend Christmas with their wives."
"He would have more than one."
"You know what I mean, Kelly. Ryder has gone home for the holidays."
"We're all alone here?"
"Except for the rest of the staff."
"The rest of the staff doesn't peek through keyholes."
"Don't you think you're being too hard on our Mr. O'Neal?"
"He's your Mr. O'Neal and I don't think you're hard enough on him."
"He's a wonderful driver, Kelly."
"He's a wonderful snoop, Max. One day you're going to regret giving that guy free rein around here."
"He doesn't have free rein."
She arched her brows in what she hoped was a look of wry disbelief. "The man has an office. What other chauffeur in the Western hemisphere has his own office?"
Max Steel would be one wicked poker player; his handsome face didn't give away a thing. "He has a lot of paperwork to do."
"Doing what? Counting turnpike receipts?"
"Why do you dislike him so much, Kelly? Is there something I should know?"
She sighed. There was no way to make a man as male as Max understand feminine intuition.
"He's watching everything we do, Max, and mark my words, one day you're going to find yourself plastered on the front page of the National Enquirer in a compromising position."
"Trust me, Kelly. Everything is under control."
Maybe it was, but it certainly couldn't hurt if she kept a watchful eye on the mysterious Mr. O'Neal when he returned to Tranquility Island two days from now.
Until then she intended to put everything else out of her mind and concentrate on making this the merriest Christmas ever for both her and Max.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Kelly." Max stood near the doorway to the main kitchen. "If you don't come out soon, Christmas Eve will be over."
"Another minute!" she called out. "Sit down on the couch and wait."
Grinning, he did as she commanded. The idea for a special Christmas Eve dinner had apparently struck her a few days ago and, unbeknownst to him, she'd instructed the kitchen staff to "...take a night off..." while she took over cooking duties. He could only imagine the havoc her directive had caused in the upper echelons of PAX. It must have engendered at least a score of memos and a few late-night frantic phone calls, one of which he hoped went to Ryder O'Neal.
Whatever it was she'd said to the kitchen staff had worked because at that very moment, at seven p.m. on Christmas Eve, she had the kitchen to herself.
Tomorrow afternoon the formal Christmas dinner was scheduled--goose with all the trimmings--and he was hard put to figure what other gastronomic treat she had in store for him.
The truth was he'd kill for a big medium rare hamburger with fries and a Pepsi but in the rarified atmosphere in which he walked these days, that was harder to find than truffles.
Kelly didn't exactly strike him as a Julia Child clone--but then he didn't exactly strike himself as your average operative so he decided to put stereotypes aside and wait.
And he waited.
And waited some more.
Finally at quarter to eight he pounded on the kitchen door.
"Go sit down!" she called back to him. "I'm ready."
He sat down on the couch once again, stomach rumbling with hunger.
"Close your eyes, Max."
"They're closed."
She rustled into the room.
"Smells great, Kelly."
Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.
Prime ribs.
A huge T-bone steak with a pound of mushrooms.
Filet mignon with--
"Open your eyes."
"Hamburgers?" Talk about wish fulfillment.
"Not just hamburgers. My special super-duper, eat-your-heart-out-Golden-Arches, bacon cheeseburger with t
he works."
"The works?"
She ticked the items off. "Onion, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, mustard, relish."
"Tums?"
"Won't need them. The onion rings and french fries should take care of any problem."
He plucked a golden brown fry from the basket and popped it into his mouth. "Delicious," he said, grabbing a handful. "Here I thought you were in there whipping up something out of Gourmet Magazine."
She grabbed herself an onion ring. "Who needs Gourmet? You must be up to your eyebrows in pate. I thought you might like to eat like a normal human being for a change."
"Would you believe me if I told you I'd been daydreaming about a quarter-pounder?"
She laughed as she sat down next to him. "No, I wouldn't."
"Then you don't really know me, Kelly Madison. I'm a man of simple tastes."
She laughed harder. "Really, Max? Men of simple tastes don't wear Rolexes and give their chauffeur a private office."
He devoured four onion rings in quick succession. "I hate pate," he said, between mouthfuls. "I hate sushi, nouvelle cuisine and any food that requires a five minute explanation from a maitre d."
She stopped laughing. A large golden fry dangled from her elegant fingers. "I hate food that looks prettier than I do. I hate flowers on my plate instead of in the centerpiece. I hate being introduced to every wine steward, waiter, and bus boy in the restaurant."
Max decided to go for broke. "I like beer." This was really laying his heart on the line. She met his eyes. "I like pepperoni pizza."
"Tacos with salsa."
"Hot dogs with sauerkraut and mustard."
He felt like Tom Jones in the famous dinner table scene. "Szechuan shrimp right from the paper carton."
"Bagels with cream cheese."
His pulse went crazy. This was definitely the woman of his dreams. "Fried eggs over easy with a stack of pancakes."
"Oh, God..." Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. "Max?"
"Yes?"
"Let's eat."
He couldn't have said it better.
#
After dinner Kelly and Max loaded their plates and glasses into the dishwasher then went back into the living room. A Douglas fir was centered near the window and boxes of brand new ornaments and tinsel and lights were stacked beneath it, waiting to be placed on the boughs. Max raised the central air conditioning up into the Arctic zone then lit a roaring fire in the hearth. If it weren't for the palm trees swaying beyond the window, she'd almost believe he could conjure up snow.
By midnight the tree was trimmed with glass ornaments and string after string of twinkling white lights and they settled down before the fire with cups of egg nog to enjoy their handiwork.
She couldn't remember a Christmas when she'd felt more peaceful, more filled with love than she did that night.
Once or twice Sean came into her thoughts but she resolutely pushed him aside. Where had he been, Christmas after Christmas, year after year, when she needed someone to love her?
She'd done her best for him time and again and her best had never been quite enough. In a way the trip to Fort Lauderdale had been a blessing in disguise. Sean hadn't even bothered to call her to apologize for wasting her time and that final act of neglect had turned her away from him in a way all his previous acts of neglect hadn't.
Sean Ryan had made many mistakes in his life but his daughter was through paying for them.
She taught Max a few French Christmas carols and when the clock on the mantel tolled twelve Max tilted her chin up and kissed her.
"Merry Christmas."
She kissed him back. "Merry Christmas."
The fire crackled and snapped, embers sparkling like the lights on the tree.
She leaned back in his arms so she could look at him. "What is Christmas in Brazil like?"
"It's a family time," he said, his voice low, "much like it is here. Nativity scenes everywhere. We exchange gifts on Christmas Eve."
"I went to school with a girl named Rosa Peretti. She asked me to spend the holidays with her one year when Sean was on another honeymoon. Her family exchanged gifts after midnight mass." The memory made her smile. "I loved it."
He stroked her hair. "No midnight mass here on Tranquility but we could exchange gifts now."
"Really?"
He laughed. "Really."
She leaped to her feet and picked the beautifully wrapped first edition book from under the tree. Her heart pounded wildly with anticipation as he retrieved the long narrow box she'd first seen at Palm Beach.
"You first." She thrust the package toward him, practically holding her breath as he ripped into the shiny red paper.
"Fitzgerald," he said. "A first edition, too." He looked somewhat puzzled and she chuckled.
"Turn to the bookmark then look halfway down the page. It will make sense then."
"'The rich are different...'" His rich baritone laughter filled the room. "They really are, aren't they?"
Her own laughter stopped. "'They'? Max, last time I looked you were one of them."
A shadow fell across his face as if a cloud had passed overhead. "Sometimes I forget."
How on earth could someone forget he was a millionaire? "With these accoutrements, that would seem difficult."
"It's a matter of perspective. I've found you can get used to anything." He cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed her deeply. "Thank you, Kelly."
"I could get used to this," she said lightly, trying to dance past the apprehension that threatened to darken her spirits. He didn't like the present. That must be the strange sensation she was picking up from him.
"Now open yours."
He handed her the present and she carefully unfolded the silvery paper then opened the hinged box.
"Oh my God, Max..." Her words floated out on a gasp of surprise. "I don't--I mean, I never..." Why try? She was too stunned to speak.
There on a bed of black velvet was a bracelet. Actually bracelet was a generic term that didn't quite cover the magnificence before her. This bracelet was an endless circle of diamonds whose fierce barbaric sparkle stole her breath.
"I can't," she said. "You shouldn't have--"
"I wanted to," he said, lifting the bracelet from the bed of velvet, "and you should."
He clasped it on her wrist where its brilliance dazzled her.
"Kind of silly with a t-shirt and jeans, isn't it?" she asked lightly, trying to regain her composure.
"Kind of wonderful with you."
"I've never owned anything so splendid before, Max."
"Then we're even." He met her eyes. "I never bought anything so splendid for anyone before."
She made a face. "You don't have to coddle my feelings, Max. I know you had a life before we met."
"Never anyone like you, Kelly." He lifted her wrist to his lips and placed a kiss against the spot where her pulse beat wildly. "Never before." His lips traveled lazily up her forearm to the warm spot at the bend of her elbow. "Never again."
She closed her eyes against the fierce wave of desire washing over her.
"There is one more thing." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a thin chain with a tiny gold charm dangling from the end of it.
"What on earth...?" It looked like a tiny hand giving a thumbs-up gesture.
"It was my mother's."He fastened it around her throat as he explained. The figa was one of the world's oldest amulets. It promised fertility and passion and good fortune and warded off envy and jealousy. "I promise nothing will harm you so long as you wear it."
He kissed the hollow in her throat then nestled the gold charm at that spot.
"I'll wear it until I die," she promised.
He touched it with his fingertip then laughed. "This gift does not require an addition to your insurance policy, Kelly."
"I love it," she said, her voice fierce.
"More than the bracelet?"
She nodded sheepishly. "I'm afraid so. The bracelet is
magnificent but this is special." She eyed him curiously. "You aren't crazy about The Great Gatsby, are you?"
He looked uncomfortable. "If it's the truth you're looking for, your other gift means even more to me than the book."
"Other gift?" Her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Max, but there was no other gift."
"The dinner," he said. "No woman ever did that for me."
"It was only hamburgers, Max," she demurred, immensely pleased nonetheless.
"It was wonderful."
"I'll be darned," she said, leaning back into his embrace. "The millionaire and the movie star's brat are simple folk, after all. Can you beat that?"
"I think I can," Max said. "I love you, Kelly."
"Another first?" she asked, her heart soaring.
"First, last and always."
"Ah, Max," she said softly. "You certainly have a way with words."
"And how do you feel?"
How vulnerable he looked, how defenseless.
What was the matter with him? How could he not know how she felt?
Didn't he see it in her eyes when she looked at him and hear it in her voice with each word she uttered?
"I love you," she said, her voice trembling over the beautiful Portuguese words. "I always have."
"Then show me, Kelly." He pressed her back against the floor cushions. "Show me how you feel."
Chapter Twenty-Six
For Max the worst part about being happy was knowing it couldn't last.
If he took all of the best days in his life and multiplied them a thousand-fold, it still didn't come close to the sheer joy he was blessed with that Christmas.
How had he lived so long and never suspected he had this incredible capacity for happiness?
How was he going to live without it when she was gone?
Good questions. Too bad he didn't have the answers to either one of them.
He and Kelly talked well into Christmas afternoon, exposing layer after layer of their hearts to one another. A time or two she caught him up on a name or a date and he'd tried to backtrack the best he could, blaming either the egg nog or the hour and he was almost disappointed when she believed him.
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