by Heidi Betts
“You must be Liam and Maeve.” Though she hadn’t met either of them yet, she’d heard enough to make an educated guess at their identities.
Brushing her hands nervously against the denim of her low-rise jeans, she moved forward and offered her hand. She aimed for Liam first, but he made no move to shake…and neither did Maeve when she made the attempt.
Ohhh-kay, Jillian thought, tucking her fingers into the back pockets of her pants instead. So much for a warm vampire welcome from Connor’s brother and sister.
“You’re the balloon blower Connor brought in to make us celebrate Christmas, huh?” Liam asked, hands on hips in as cocky a pose as she’d ever seen. “Sorry to disappoint you, A-pos, but hanging a few wreaths and piping carols through the manse isn’t going to turn us into the Cratchits.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with the shake of her head, wondering if the young man had taken a guess at her blood type…or knew in some eerie, possibly intrusive vamp way. “Your brother didn’t mention the two of you when he hired me. If you’d like to be involved in the preparations, I’d certainly love the help and input, but Connor only asked me to fix the place up and plan a traditional Christmas dinner for him.”
Not entirely true, but from the back-off vibes these two were giving off, as well as what Connor had told her about their rebellious streaks, she figured they would enjoy a good argument. And if she remembered anything from her own teenage years, it was that the more her parents had told her she had to do something or couldn’t do something, the more she’d wanted to do the exact opposite.
Better, Jillian thought, to ignore all the things they did to attract attention—the piercings, the tattoos, the questionable fashion sense…and the argumentative spirits.
At her announcement, Maeve’s face went slack and Liam’s brows knit.
Not wanting to lose the momentum she’d managed to build with them, Jillian added, “Come to think of it, if you want to join your brother for Christmas dinner…well, I’ll have to clear that with Connor first, of course, and then you’ll need to let me know in the next week or so because it will affect the size of the meal.” Also not entirely true, but they didn’t need to know that. “I hope that’s not too short notice.”
“You’re not gonna try to convince us to get all The Night Before Christmas with you?”
“Nope. You can be as Grinchy and Scrooged as you like. I’m just here to get the house ready for your brother’s Christmas.”
Maeve leaned close to her brother and whispered in his ear, “I thought you said she was going to try to make us help and go along with Connor’s stupid idea.”
Liam shrugged, but he looked annoyed that his carefully staged confrontation wasn’t going as planned.
“Actually, there is something you could help me with,” Jillian told them.
Liam’s mouth twisted and he shot his sister a smug I-told-you-so smirk.
Brushing past them, she started down the hall toward the front entrance, waving for them to follow. Her car was parked out front and she still hadn’t brought in all the boxes of decorations she’d brought along. Shrugging into her coat, she stepped outside, went around to the driver’s side door, and leaned in to pop the trunk.
To her surprise, the two kids were there to meet her. The two kids who weren’t really kids. They looked—and acted—so much like teenagers or young adults that she had to continually remind herself they were older than she was. Older than any other living, breathing human she knew, most likely. Maybe even older than dirt—literally—for all she knew.
And maybe that was part of the problem Connor was having with them. He was potentially older than dirt, too, but rather than embracing his immortality with an outlook of perpetual youth, he was serious and mature and very obviously an adult-adult in both appearance and state of mind.
Liam and Maeve, on the other hand, seemed to be milking their conditions for all they were worth. They looked young and knew they were never going to age another day, physically, so they acted even younger than they really were. Not only by staying out all night at parties and nightclubs or by their choice of clothing and hairstyles, but by acting out against their older, more solemn brother.
Connor wanted them to settle down.
They wanted to do everything but settle down.
And that sort of antagonism did not make for a cozy, conflict-free holiday. No wonder the Thanksgiving Connor told her about had been such an unmitigated disaster. No wonder he’d had to call in reinforcements.
The question now became whether or not she could pull this off. It wasn’t her job to change Liam and Maeve’s minds; Connor had said he would take care of them and bring them around to his way of thinking by Christmas. But she imagined even the attempt to do such a thing would simply end up adding to the level of holiday stress Connor was already experiencing, not lessen it. And it was her job to make sure things were as flawless and peaceful as possible for her client.
Leaning into the trunk, she lifted out a large, bulky cardboard box. “You wouldn’t mind carrying this inside, would you?” she asked Liam as she handed it over. “Be careful, it’s heavy.”
His eyes widened in surprise as the box hit him square in the chest, but just as she’d hoped, he took it—and added a small smirk to show that it wasn’t too heavy for him. Muscle boy and vampire extraordinaire.
She took out another, smaller box and passed it to Maeve, who was standing with her arms up, ready for what was coming now that her brother had been put to work.
Jillian grabbed the last one for herself and trailed behind the other two back into the house, wondering if she should say something to Connor about his intentions with these two. His brother and sister didn’t seem all that bad. A little mouthy, a little rebellious, maybe, but not bad. If they were, they wouldn’t have followed her out to her car when she’d asked them to. And when she’d handed them the boxes she needed carried, they’d have dropped them on the ground at her feet and told her to take a flying leap. Or worse.
Since she was still relatively insult free, she had to assume that Maeve and Liam tended to be more insulting than usual around their older brother just to get a rise out of him. Many of their exploits were probably more for show than anything else.
She hoped that was the case, anyway. Lord knew she was far from qualified to be a family counselor, especially when it came to a family of vampires. Dr. Phil for the Fanged, she was not. But from what little she’d seen so far, she liked Liam and Maeve and wanted to think the best of them, give them the benefit of the doubt.
And if they wouldn’t come around to celebrating Christmas the way Connor wanted them to, then maybe Connor should think about letting them go off to do their own thing while he invited other, more willing friends or family in to spend the holiday the way he preferred.
It was worth mentioning, at least. Now all she had to do was work up the courage to broach the subject when she wasn’t entirely comfortable being in the same room with him to begin with.
Then again, since she intended to approach him about other, much more intimate topics one of these days, perhaps a nice, cozy talk about his domestic situation would be a good icebreaker. Something along the lines of Your brother and sister don’t seem quite as rebellious as you led me to believe. Oh, and by the way, is there any chance you might like to rock my world before you climb into your coffin for the day?
Connor arrived home later than he would have liked. His habit was to put in long nights in an attempt to make up for certain things he couldn’t get done during the day. But now that Jillian was living under his roof, he found himself thinking about her, unable to concentrate. Sniffing the air for a hint of peaches and cream from anyone, anything else. Wanting to cut everything short and put off as much as he could until tomorrow or the next day so that he could hurry home and see her again.
Now. Tonight. Preferably in the same tight jeans and snug top she’d been wearing when he left.
And he had promised to help her hang the rest
of that garland, after all.
The minute he entered the house, through a rear entrance leading from the six-car garage at the back of the house, he knew something was different.
For one, there was music playing. Not the soft, classical music he sometimes piped through his office or library. Not the loud, ear-splitting junk Liam and Maeve played at full volume just to piss him off. Not even beautiful, traditional Christmas carols that would be appropriate to the season.
No, this was…Christmas music with a twist. For several long minutes, he stood, briefcase in hand, and simply listened, realizing that he was hearing holiday tunes that would be right up his brother and sister’s alley.
The final notes of “Christmas at Ground Zero” soon led into something that sounded entirely innocent but turned out to be about chipmunks roasting over an open fire.
Holy stakes on fire, he thought, not knowing whether to be amused or offended. Who on earth came up with this stuff? he wondered.
Since vulgar parodies were definitely not his idea of appropriate listening material, especially at Christmas, his first instinct was to find the radio or CD player responsible for spewing out such irreverent nonsense and turn it off immediately.
But then he heard voices. And laughter.
Laughter was definitely not something the walls of Drake Manor were used to—from him or anyone else. He almost didn’t know what to think…had he walked into the wrong stone mansion at the top of the wrong long, sloping drive? had his home been taken over by a happy, cheery Brady Bunch–like family?…but he did want to find its source.
After dropping off his briefcase in his office and shrugging out of his suit jacket, he wandered past the wide curved staircase to the other side of the house. The closer he came to the dining room, the louder the music and voices grew, so he knew he was headed in the right direction.
Inside, the long, bare, highly polished mahogany table was covered with Christmas paraphernalia. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it himself. And even more confusing to him, his brother and his sister were seated at the table with Jillian, all three of them smiling and laughing and enjoying themselves.
It had been so long since he’d seen anything but defiant scowls on either of his siblings’ faces that he was surprised to find they still had teeth other than fangs.
Any intention he might have had to demand they turn off their questionable choice of music disappeared as surprise and…appreciation?…replaced any initial annoyance he may have felt.
Liam and Maeve were actually laughing. They were home before sunup—apparently willingly—and they were sitting in a room with a woman they’d known less than a day, helping her to prepare decorations for a holiday they purported to despise, and they were laughing.
Connor wondered if this remarkable turn of events could be considered a Christmas miracle.
It was certainly a minor Drake family miracle.
He stood somewhat mystified in the doorway, not sure whether he should go in or slip quietly away. He definitely didn’t want to disturb whatever camaraderie was growing between his younger siblings and Jillian.
Before he could decide on a plan of action, however, Jillian raised her head and spotted him. The moment their gazes met, he felt a stab of heat bloom in his chest and head at warp speed down to le petit général. The rogue appendage didn’t offer a full salute, but it did stir inside his BVDs and consider standing at attention.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an instant, visceral response to a woman…unless it was the first time he’d seen this same woman standing in the foyer or sitting across from him in his study.
Oh, he’d enjoyed his fair share of lovers. And there was a faction of women in the world—also known as fang-bunnies—who considered banging a vampire a major coup. Not often, but occasionally he let himself be lured in by their overt sexuality and willingness to share a few minutes of fast, anonymous sex.
But Jillian was different. She wasn’t coolly sophisticated like the businesswomen he interacted with on a regular basis. Nor was she brainless, bubbly, or over eager.
If anything, she seemed almost nervous around him at times. Was she simply trying to keep a professional distance between them, or was it possible she was attracted to him and didn’t want him to know?
He liked that explanation best, and made a mental note to test the theory as soon as possible. And if she wasn’t secretly attracted to him…well, he’d just have to do his best to change her mind about that.
“Mr. Drake,” Jillian said, breaking into his wayward thoughts. Then she quickly corrected herself: “Connor.”
Liam and Maeve both twisted in his direction, their former happy, lighthearted expressions sliding into blank faces and dark, angry eyes.
Sigh. At least he knew they were capable of fun and enjoyment, just maybe not around him.
“Come on in,” Jillian invited, gesturing for him to take a seat at the long table.
There were several empty chairs at the far end, closest to the doorway where he was standing. But there was also one on Jillian’s immediate left, and he decided that would be a better spot for him to occupy.
Footsteps sounding on the hardwood floor, he crossed the room to sit between Jillian and Maeve, not entirely sure what they were doing or what he was supposed to do now that he’d joined them.
“We’re decorating wreaths,” Maeve provided, apparently taking pity on him.
Slanting a glance in her direction, he noted for the first time in a very long time that she wasn’t sneering or rolling her eyes at him.
“I want to hang them on all the doors in the mansion, but Maeve and Liam thought it might be fun to decorate a few of them differently from the others instead of having them all look exactly alike.”
Almost as though she was afraid he’d balk at such an idea, she rushed to add, “The ones downstairs and outside will all be the same and very traditional. But upstairs, I thought it might be nice to relax a little, especially with the ones for your brother’s and sister’s doors.”
Connor raised a brow, not because the idea of having non-uniform wreaths spanning the property bothered him, but because he’d never known his siblings to be agreeable about much of anything.
“You two are letting her put wreaths on the doors of your suites?” he asked, not bothering to mask the astonishment in his voice.
It took a moment to get a response, but finally Liam shrugged, head still down as he concentrated on the project in front of him. “She said we could decorate them however we wanted, so they won’t be completely bogus like the rest.”
Whether Liam’s accusatory comment was meant to rile him or not, Connor let it go. This was as close to family time as they’d spent in years, and closer to getting them to do anything holiday related than he’d ever expected to see.
“I think that’s great. Good idea, Jillian,” he said, sending her an approving smile. “Wish I’d thought of it. But then, I guess that’s why you’re the professional.”
She smiled somewhat reluctantly in return before ducking her head and going back to work on the wreath in front of her. She was stringing it with thin strands of red and gold ribbon, and given the glue gun slowly dripping hot wax on a plastic placemat at her side, it looked as though she would soon be adding small round ornaments in the same two colors.
He liked them; they were just the sort of thing he thought of when he imagined classic Christmas decorations. One more reason to be glad he’d heeded Angelina’s advice and hired an expert. Especially this particular expert.
“So what did you two find to decorate your wreaths?” he asked turning his attention—or part of his attention, at any rate—back to his siblings.
One corner of Liam’s mouth turned up. It was his Billy Idol impression, but this time the sneer seemed to be all show, without the usual cynicism behind it.
“Skulls and crossbones, and lots of black ribbon,” his brother announced proudly.
Looking closer, Connor could te
ll that the tiny plastic images he was seeing upside-down were indeed gruesome white skulls with bone-shaped x’s beneath. It suited Liam’s tastes to a T.
“And what about you?” Connor asked Maeve.
She tipped her wreath up to show him a circle of artificial green shrubbery dotted with red and pink hearts. Interspersed between the hearts were skulls and crossbones…but hers were pink and kind of cute instead of ugly and menacing.
Connor almost sighed. Even though they were more suitable to Valentine’s Day than Christmas, the little hearts in bright, festive colors had gotten his hopes up.
But he supposed he couldn’t have everything all at once. He had to consider what was taking place right now as progress. Both the fact that Liam and Maeve were sitting here, helping Jillian to decorate at all, and that they were allowing him to join them instead of getting up and storming off the minute he entered the room, most likely tossing creative epithets over their shoulders as they went.
“Very nice,” he told them. And he meant it. It might not be Santa Claus or Frosty the Snowman, but if this was their idea of Christmas and they were willing to celebrate with him in any way, then he supposed he should be grateful.
“I realize I’m late to the party, but is there anything I can do to help? Maybe a wreath I could take a bit of artistic license with for my office door?”
Three sets of eyes lifted and locked on him in incredulity.
“What?” he asked after a moment of dead silence. It wasn’t often that someone could make him squirm, but he was certainly feeling twitchy under their intense, joined stares filled with a mix of curiosity and awe.
“You…never do anything yourself,” Maeve put in, her voice low and small.
Connor wasn’t used to hearing his sister sound so meek…or to having Liam look at him as though a matching pair of Venus flytraps had just sprouted out of his ears.
She had a point, of course. He’d gotten used to having a large staff on hand. There were servants who catered to his every need and whim at home, and a staff who happily did his bidding at work.