by Sharon Page
Home . . . I want a home where love lives again.
Well, what would that matter if she didn’t live there, too?
Edgar sat at his desk, already writing out her paycheck when she entered his office the next morning. He wore his red, furtrimmed Santa outfit, with the hat angled jauntily over his brow. “I’m well aware you don’t need this money, Tess—because I asked Spec Penrose to find out about you the day you arrived,” he added with a catlike grin. “But I insist on paying you for the wonderful way you’ve spread Christmas joy to our orphans. Godspeed, Tess. We’re going to miss you terribly.”
Tess took the check and then gaped. “You can’t be serious—”
“My generosity comes with an ulterior motive. And more than a little magic.” He leaned on his desk, fixing her in his gaze. “I also know, of course, that you and Johnny have been very, very naughty. But it’s so nice to see both of you happy.”
“Are you sure about that?” she countered. “The minute Johnny learned I had money, he turned tail! He didn’t like it when I told him it was his problem, either.”
“Precisely why I brought you here, my dear. Remember that magic I mentioned in my ad?” Edgar’s grin flickered. His flawless face had an ageless, childlike appeal, and she still had no idea how old he was. “Never stop believing in the magic of Santa, Tess—the goodness that comes of giving and receiving. Trust me, my dear. Johnny will come back to you, and it’ll all work out. Always does.”
Johnny’s handsome face flashed before her: his playful, dusky smile . . . that body made to fit against hers . . . kisses that drove her over the edge. Oh, how she wanted to believe in Santa’s magic! But if she was to make her train, she couldn’t let Edgar talk her into any more visions of sugarplums. “Thank you again for all—”
“Before you go,” he said, nodding toward her check, “might we discuss a bit of business?”
14
“Merry Christmas, Warren! Thank you so much for fetching me at the station.”
“Thank you for filling me in on your adventures, Miss Tess. It’s so good to see you smiling again.” Henry’s former driver embraced her, his eyes shining. “I shall call upon the attorney immediately to initiate those dissolution proceedings on your behalf. After the way Mahaffey’s treated you and the Delaneys, it’ll be my pleasure to watch him squirm.”
Tess smiled sadly. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t have a contentious bone in your body.” The stalwart man glanced toward the house, which stood dark and silent in the gathering dusk. “Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can notify Margaret of your return.”
“Please.” Tess gripped his thick fingers between hers, imploring him to believe she was rational. Strong. “After the extraordinary suggestion Mr. Penney made, I have a lot to ponder—a whole new purpose. And it excites me!”
“I can see that. You’re sparkling like a diamond on the Colorado snow.”
She grinned, recalling those deep drifts and their blinding whiteness in the sunshine. “Have a wonderful day with your family tomorrow. I’ve enough here from the butcher and the bakery to last me for days, and I can’t wait to set my plans in motion.”
The old fellow bussed her temple fondly. “Henry would be so proud of you, Miss Tess. I’ll check back in a couple of days, then. Merry Christmas, and God bless you!”
“Oh, He has, Warren. He and Santa both have. Thank you again.”
She stood at the curb, waving until his carriage rolled out of sight. Then, shopping bags in each hand, she gazed at the threestory brick house that seemed to glisten as the twilight gathered around its gables. Home! How wonderful this place looked—and how totally different she felt since the day she’d sneaked out to avoid Reed Mahaffey’s courtship.
She relished the thought of quiet meals alone with time at her desk putting pen to paper, conjuring the magic Edgar Penney had challenged her to create. She could spend her days visiting orphanages all over the South with bags of his imaginative candy, watching those dear faces light up as Edgar’s confections and financial assistance brightened hundreds of little lives. Plenty of children right here in Memphis would benefit, too.
Tess stepped quickly toward the porch. She had a fire to light, and her stomach rumbled for the ham and pastries and fruit she’d bought, and—
That’s odd. Why would Margaret and George hang a new wreath on the door before they left?
Gazing at the fresh greenery, she noted its adornments of red, gold, and green . . . squares and globes wrapped in shiny paper, which stopped her heart. A sparkly red envelope was wedged into the center. What on earth could this mean?
She dropped her bags to read the message, written in the same calligraphic script that graced the Naughty or Nice game papers: It’s Christmas Eve, Tess. If you want a Naughty Santa to pay a visit, light a candle in your bedroom window. Be Nice and take off your clothes. Midnight.
A gust of wind whipped the note out of her hand and down the street before she could catch it. Her heart pounded. Had she really seen Johnny’s writing—heard his voice murmuring those provocative words—or was it wishful thinking? She looked around the yard, but except for the wreath and those sparkling candies, she had no proof of his presence.
After the way he snubbed you, why are you so shamefully eager to see him?
What if Reed bought a box of those candies in Denver and he’s trying to trap you?
You still have money—even more now, from Edgar—and Johnny despises that! Why do you think anything will be different? What’ll happen to your plans for all those orphans?
Tess had no answers. But the way her insides clenched, the way she gazed out every window of the house, hoping to catch a sign of him, spoke volumes, didn’t it?
Johnny returned at eleven forty-five, to stand in the shadow of the tall hedges. Even in the glow of the winter’s moon, Tess’s house looked warm and welcoming. Its brick and stone details, the symmetry of its walls and windows, appealed to him. He’d come to Memphis expecting to despise Henry Bennett’s overblown mansion, but its simplicity, its quiet solidity, had drawn him in by surprise. A peek in the windows had hooked him as surely as Edgar Penney’s peppermint opium. Mrs. Bennett’s palette of cocoa and cinnamon and sage felt as comfortable as a favorite armchair, while the understated furnishings bespoke a family who felt no need to flaunt their affluence. Clean and neat, solid yet soft.
It was a far cry from Francine DuPont’s overblown, opulent showpiece full of gilt and gewgaws. Tess lived in a home—a home—where a family had lived and loved every day until those dearest to her had departed. This morning he’d gazed into each lower-story room, steeped in sensations that had startled him at first. It was downright unsettling, how settled he felt as he beheld Tess’s belongings.
Why would she take me back? The question punched him in the gut, for he’d so stupidly assumed she was like other women with their wiles. All he had to show for his bluster—his rudeness to her—were trunks of useless, shattered glass . . . something akin to the way he felt about himself when he’d left Edgar Penney’s sugar-coated catacomb of a house. He’d told Tess that the candy master had enslaved Daphne and Blythe with his opium, yet he now felt like an addict who’d stepped out of a den and into daylight for the first time in months.
It’s Tess who makes you feel alive again. Whole, and worthy of that higher-minded work you aspire to.
Humility. Could he muster enough sincere humility to request a fresh start? A woman who’d invited dozens of little children to bask in her warmth—who felt such compassion for them as she handed out candy—deserved a man who allowed her light to shine without demanding center stage for himself.
And what good are your stained-glass designs without light to show them off? To make their true colors glow?
What a startling thought! If he could word such an idea into his plea for another chance, perhaps Tess Bennett would reconsider.
A tiny speck of light appeared in the
window above him. A candle! And then her face appeared in its glow as she searched the yard.
Johnny wanted to shout and sing. Tess had read his message! She would hear him out! He bolted toward the front door and then remembered his mission: He was a man wooing a woman, not some feckless adolescent racing to get laid. He sucked in the cool night air, giddily climbed the front steps yet fought the deep fear that she’d be naughty instead of nice. If Tess Bennett had any idea how much power she had over him . . .
As he reached for the doorbell, he didn’t want to consider the consequences of failing to impress her. Why the hell did you decorate this wreathe with candies from a sex game? If she thinks you only want her body, only came here to plunge into her—
The door flew open before his finger found the button. His heart shot up into his throat. By the glow of her candle, in her silky white peignoir, Tess resembled an angel. Serene and mysterious, she stood before him. Just watching. Waiting, with an expectant expression on her lovely face.
Tess bit back the “Merry Christmas!” she’d been ready to exclaim. Not a good idea to appear too eager, considering Johnny Gazara had so much explaining to do. The silence stretched between them. She ignored the chill of the night air, willing her body to remain absolutely still.
“Tess,” he finally murmured. He sounded strangely distressed. And very needy.
She nodded, watching him.
He licked his lips. His eyes roamed over her, lingering on nipples that ignored her order to remain calm and disinterested.
“I-I’ve behaved like the lowest kind of toad—”
“They say you have to kiss a lot of those to find your handsome prince.”
“And I’m so damn sorry for those awful things I said before I left Edgar’s, and—”
Tess pressed her lips together. In a deep scarlet shirt, and with his onyx eyes shining in the candle’s light, he glowed like an ember. Saint Nicholas, indeed—but not the kindly, bearded fellow children imagined. Oh, no—a saint was the furthest thing from her mind right now!
“If you’d give me another chance, I’d treat you like a queen, Tess,” he babbled. “I’ve been looking around Memphis these past few days for design work.”
Tess fought a mischievous grin. An idea blossomed, fullblown and beautiful. Had Edgar Penney planted it there, perhaps? He had that magical way about him.
“Well, well, well,” she murmured, gesturing for him to come in. “I happen to be looking for a new partner, because Edgar has donated a small fortune toward spreading his generosity—and expanding his candy business—into the South. But if my money upsets or offends you, Johnny—”
“I want you, Tess! Not your money,” he rasped. “You know that, I hope?”
Wasn’t that a refreshing admission? It sent visions of Reed Mahaffey racing from her recent memory, so all she had to contemplate was this handsome, repentant man with ebony hair and long, sensitive artist’s hands.
Johnny pushed his windblown hair back to focus on her, his face alight with a love so fierce it frightened her. “How many times have my words come back to haunt me these past few days—from that first time when you asked what I wanted for Christmas?” he recounted in a strained voice. “I wanted to be home—with you, Tess. Yet when any other man admired you—and why wouldn’t any man wish for you, under his tree?—I acted like such an ass!”
Tess’s lips quirked. “I like your ass, Johnny.”
“And why on God’s earth would I compare you to any other woman?” he continued urgently. “I got so damned—What?”
She laughed softly. “I like your ass. Even when you act like one.”
Johnny’s laugh billowed to fill the foyer as he reached for her. Then there were only his lips, moving around words she no longer heard for the pounding of her pulse, and then they were pressing into hers with an urgency that said all her Christmas wishes were about to come true.
Tess eased away, breathless from his kiss, yet needing to test her idea on him. No sense in pursuing this reunion if he refused to take part in her new dream. “Will you be my partner in this new business venture?” she heard herself asking. It seemed a miracle her mind could form coherent sentences, the way his gaze and scent aroused her. “I want to build a candy castle. A place for homeless children to live,” she gushed. “And inside, I see lollipop walls and candy cane gates and—”
“The way Edgar decorated his house?” Johnny queried with a quirk of his eyebrow.
“No, the way Johnny Gazara envisions it. But if you’d rather design cathedral windows and—”
“I’d rather rip that robe off you and make you holler my name until it echoes all over this house, Tess.”
Her mouth fell open. Her pulse thundered to that primal beat this man had ignited in her the first time they’d met . . . every time they’d come together. “Ah. Pleasure before business.”
“And love, pure and simple—and hot and complicated.” His eyes burned into hers as his fingertips coaxed the filmy robe from her shoulders. “And naked. Always naked.”
“Naughty or nice?”
“Nice and naughty, Tess.” He slipped his arms around her and stopped an inch short of kissing her. “Your candy castle idea intrigues me . . . because it’s perfect for you—and who else could possibly design a structure to match your imagination?” he teased. “So let’s do it! And meanwhile, what do you want for Christmas, little girl?”
Sheer joy filled her soul. And what this man made her want was something she realized she could have forever, if she said the word. “You?” she teased.
“What do you really want, Tess? Tell me in no uncertain terms.”
She giggled. This man had a way of making all the trimmings and trappings superfluous, didn’t he? “Take me upstairs, and then take me,” she murmured. She stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear, “Fuck me senseless, all night long.”
Johnny kissed her hard, crushing her close. “Now you’re talking!”
And as he carried her up the stairs, Tess knew they’d need no candy-wrapper instructions, no rules or props or anything but their naughty thoughts to guide them through nights of passion into years of love like this house had never known.
And wasn’t that nice?
STOLEN CHANCES
CHLOE HARRIS
1
Winston Matthews charged from the study wanting to punch something repeatedly and hard enough to break his hand. The old man could do whatever he damn well pleased. Winston didn’t need his money or want anything to do with his position or connections. But nobody, not even his bloody father, was going to tell him he could never see his mother and sister again.
His father had all but ruined him coming home to Belize Town for the Christmas holidays. At least now he didn’t need to wait for Twelfth Night to set sail. Perhaps he could leave as early as tomorrow. But then, his mother wasn’t feeling well, so like it or not, he’d have to swallow his pride and stay.
Winston resisted the urge to roar his frustration at the stuccoed ceiling. What would all their illustrious guests think?
After two long, deep breaths, he plastered on a smile and made his way downstairs to join all the frivolity at the Christmas Eve ball.
The string quintet was jingling a merry tune for a country dance when Winston entered. A few of the guests sat catching their breath or stood in clusters watching the dancers, his mother among them. As soon as she saw him, she excused herself and came toward him.
“Winston, my dear boy.” She proffered one hand in greeting, and Winston took it, wrapping it around his arm. The dark circles under her eyes were proof she didn’t feel as well as she let on. “I’m so glad you’re here. I understand you arrived early this afternoon?”
“Yes, but Father asked to see me right away. That’s why I couldn’t come to you sooner. I’m deeply sorry.”
Her thinned lips curled into a pale smile. “Don’t be. I know perfectly well he can be overbearing. But let’s not talk about it any longer. You look extremely well, Winsto
n. A little too tanned, but your”—Dolores Matthews paused and opened her fan, clearly searching for an innocuous enough word—“your lepidopterist studies keep you outside for long stretches of time, I suppose. How are your endeavors coming along?”
Winston fought not to smirk. “Mother, there’s no need to beat around the bush. I’ve been first mate on a merchant ship for half a year already. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Nor punishable by law.” Dolores gave a relieved nod.
“That, too, yes. Never mind that being privateer is sort of a family tradition.” His father had branched out, so to speak. He had known who to bribe and who to cheat or kill, or both, here in British Honduras, and he got a title and the post as governor-general in return. “But I turned my back on all that.” And all the blood and corruption his father dealt in.
“Thank goodness you did! The laws are horrible nowadays. I couldn’t bear the thought of you—”
“Let’s not talk about my wild youth any longer, shall we?”
“Your wild youth? I’ll say. You sound like you’re ready to settle down. Knowing that would infinitely please certain guests. Lady Louise Barnes, for instance, confided in me that she and her incessantly giggling daughter hoped to meet you tonight.” With a slight tilting of her head, Winston’s mother indicated where not to look right now. “Or Lady Georgiana Woodford—I suppose she’s in the next room at the buffet—has brought her two lovely daughters with her. They’re both out in society now, and Lady Woodford is trying very hard to land a son-in-law or two. Then there’s Lady Amelia Shutterford—”
“Mother, please. I do appreciate your efforts, but marriage is a port I seek to avoid for a while longer still.”
Staring into the crowd, Dolores sighed. “You might not want marriage, but your sister is certainly thinking along those lines.”