Red Letter Nights

by Alison Kent; Karen Anders; Jeanie London

  “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You’ve gained a business contact. I now have a date for tomorrow night.” He didn’t say anything about sharing her bed.

  She snorted. “That’s hardly taking yourself out of the equation. Not to mention you’re assuming I haven’t changed my mind about going out with you.”

  “Have you?”

  She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable with the idea of being your arm candy.”

  At that, he moved in, settling his hand at her nape and turning her to face him. “Arm candy I can get anywhere. You’re more to me than that.”

  She looked up, her long lashes lifting to reveal a challenge in her eyes. “What am I then? A business associate? A neighbor?”

  “You’re my lover.” He lowered his head, nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “The only woman in my life.”

  She parted her lips; he slipped his tongue between before she could speak. He couldn’t give her anything more. Not now. Not yet. But he could give her this. He could make certain she knew he wanted her.

  The kiss went on, a gentle, teasing intimacy that knocked him flat. She touched her tongue to his, brought up her hands to cup his face and hold him, whispering words too softly spoken for him to hear.

  He didn’t need to hear. He felt. The wall of his past breaking apart. The ice of his heart cracking. What he felt was more than wanting her in his bed or at his side. More than having her in his life.

  She tasted like he’d come home.

  “YOU HAVE NO IDEA how much I appreciate this.” Claire swiveled right then left, taking in her reflection in the bedroom’s full-length cheval mirror before catching Perry’s reflected gaze. “The dress is perfect.”

  “You’re welcome,” Perry said from where she sat cross-legged in the center of the bed. “It’s one of my favorite things, and I never get a chance to wear it seeing as how I don’t get invited to many swanky Christmas gigs.”

  “It’s not so swanky.”

  “Are you kidding? The Bourbon Orleans at Christmas? Think I could tag along? I can’t even imagine how the place must be decked out. It’s got to be absolutely gorgeous.”

  “No doubt,” Claire said, forcing a laugh. It was Friday night, and if she could’ve backed out of this particular gig, she would have done so in a heartbeat.

  Okay, she could have. She didn’t want to.

  The chance to schmooze with society’s movers and shakers didn’t fall into a girl’s lap every day. The contacts she could make might prove to be invaluable.

  Then there was the fact that she wasn’t ready to write Randy out of her life. Except for those few minutes yesterday in Luther’s office, all of their interaction had been one-on-one.

  It was time to see if he knew how to behave in public.

  She smoothed a hand over the front of Perry’s velvet dress the color of gold-tipped pine needles. It was a shade of green Claire never wore, but she had to admit it worked. The spaghetti straps holding up the bodice crisscrossed through tiny loops to leave her back bare.

  The only thing she wore beneath was a thong. “The back’s not cut too low, is it?”

  “Yes,” Perry assured her. “And that’s the point. Everyone will be so busy ogling your ass, they’ll never notice they’ve been pickpocketed until it’s too late.”

  Claire rolled her eyes, though her girlfriend wasn’t totally off the mark. Festive or not, tonight’s gala was still all about raising funds.

  And no matter his claim that she was the only woman in his life, Randy wanted her with him for reasons that were more about business than anything. Of that, she was certain.

  She had to be certain because, if she was wrong, she would never forgive herself for breaking off their fling. There was no way around it. She felt as if she’d been bought and paid for. She had to let him go.

  And she had to do it now before she fell any further in love.

  RANDY WAS on his way to let Claire know the limo had arrived when her front door opened. One of their neighbors—dark curly hair, gypsy look…Perry?—came out, passing him on the courtyard’s walkway in front of the Christmas tree.

  He nodded his head, frowned when she laughed as if keeping a secret, then returned his attention to the business at hand. At least he tried to. But when he glanced back toward Claire’s place, he couldn’t even remember his name.

  She stood in the doorway looking like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Her hair hung past her shoulders in huge bouncy curls he itched to get his hands on. Her dress was green with a festive gold glow that did amazing things to the skin it bared—and it bared a hell of a lot.

  “Wow,” he said when he walked up to her. It was the only word that worked. “You look amazing.”

  “You don’t look too shabby yourself,” she teased.

  He ignored the way the emotion in her voice didn’t reach her eyes and made a spinning motion with one finger. He hadn’t seen her since yesterday when they’d shared that kiss he would never forget. “Turn around. Remind me what I missed last night spending the night alone.”

  She spun, giving him a quick glimpse of her back before she faced him again. “Did you spend it at home? Or in that hospital room you call an office?”

  The woman knew him all too well. “About half and half. I would’ve come by, but it was late when I got here, and I knew you needed sleep.”

  She started to reach out, stroked the pendant hanging in the hollow of her throat instead. “And you got out of breakfast in bed for a second time.”

  “We can remedy that in the morning.” He’d reserved a room at the hotel holding the fund-raiser. He hadn’t mentioned it yet. He wanted to wait, to tell her first how much she’d come to mean to him in such a short time.

  He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, and was having a hell of a hard time—he was the only one it seemed—keeping his hands to himself. “The limo’s waiting. Are you ready?”

  She nodded, smiled. “Let me get my purse, and we can go.”

  She didn’t invite him in while she did. She simply grabbed her purse and a lacy wrap, locked her door and headed out, never once looking back to see if he followed.

  7

  THE NOISE was borderline deafening. The live jazz band, the dancing and clapping, the boisterous laughter that always accompanied free-flowing champagne.

  Claire had met more people than she’d ever be able to remember, and had her ass pinched too many times to count. Perry could keep her damn dress.

  Randy had been so courteous that Claire was struggling to deal with the guilt that came from treating him like a casual date. She’d decided early in the evening that doing so would be the only way she’d get through the night.

  When he’d come to pick her up, she’d wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. Never before had looking at a man left her searching for something to say. He was built to wear Armani, the tux defining him in the same way the fedora made Indiana Jones.

  Yesterday Randy had told her she was the only woman in his life, called her his lover, kissed her like he’d die without her—and done it all moments before instructing her to send him the bill for the Flatbacker consultation.

  It was a great big deflating reminder of how he bought his way through life. And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was here because of that very same reason. That he’d bought her for the night.

  “Hello, Ms. Claire. Hope you don’t mind if I borrow your corner. I’ve suffered fewer bruises being thrown from a bronc than I have fighting this crowd.”

  Claire looked over as Luther settled into the chair next to hers. “I decided sitting down was the best way to protect my, uh, assets.”

  Luther chuckled, a deep rumbling roar. He raised his champagne flute in a toast. “Here’s to the best dress I’ve seen in a hell of a lot of years. If I were younger, you can bet sitting here wouldn’t be about taking a load off.”

  A blush crept over her skin. And even
before she spoke, she knew she’d had just enough to drink to loosen her tongue. “Don’t tell me you’re holding my age against me.”

  “Hell, no. It’s my age that’s the problem. I can’t run as fast as I used to, and Randy’s still a scrapper. I make a move, the boy will beat me to a pulp.”

  Not if you offer him cash up front, she heard herself saying. Thankfully, she was the only one who heard it since it was all in her head.

  She handed her empty flute to a server on his way to the kitchen. “I’m thinking that by now Randy’s sorry he brought me along. I haven’t been the most attentive date.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s been cow-eyed all night. He’s gettin’ no business done. And parties are all about business for the boy.” Luther clucked his tongue. “’Bout time he got bit.”

  She was afraid to ask. “Bit?”

  “By the lovebug,” Luther said, so tickled he had a hard time swallowing the rest of his champagne.

  Love? Impossible. They’d known each other since Tuesday. Yes, they’d been engaged in balcony foreplay since he’d moved in next door two months ago. But love?

  She looked out into the crowd, searching for the largest gaggle of women she could find because that’s how it had been all night. While she’d been getting groped, Randy had been getting, well, groped.

  And because she’d been so caught up in keeping him at a nice safe emotional distance, she hadn’t once thought that he, too, might be hating the attention. If nothing else, she could offer him an escape from that.

  “Excuse me, Luther,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to brave the masses and see if I can save your nephew from the same.”

  As she walked away, she heard Luther laugh, a sound that had her smiling even after she hit a snag in the crowd and got hit from behind. Frowning, she glared over her shoulder and happened to catch Randy’s gaze.

  He stood a few yards away in the center of a bevy of beauties where the only business being conducted was the business of sex. Or so it seemed to Claire, watching one woman after another maul him.

  He might not be her man forever, and her earlier decision raised the question as to whether he could be her man at all. But doubts aside, the only thing that mattered was that he was definitely her man tonight.

  She headed for the circle of cleavage, stepped into the center and crooked one finger. Randy grabbed her wrist, dragged her across the ballroom, and out into a hallway used by the hotel’s staff.

  “What took you so long?” he asked, breathing hard and backing her into the wall.

  The fire in his eyes was enough to burn her. She blew out a quick choppy breath. “Sorry. I wasn’t wearing my rescue radar gear.”

  “You’re not wearing much of anything.”

  She snorted. “And I have the bruises to show for it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about untying your strings all night,” he said, nuzzling his face into her hair, his fingers plucking at the laces holding her dress in place.

  He felt so good. He shouldn’t feel this good. She hated this war fought between her body and her heart. “I thought you were here to conduct business.”

  “I am. I should be.” He pulled back, rested his forehead on hers. “I’m having a hell of a time concentrating.”

  “No wonder, the company you’re keeping.”

  He laughed, stepped into her body, pressing his full length against her. “You’ve got to be tired. I want to get out of here, take you some place quiet—”

  “What I’d really like is to go home.” He paused, then stiffened; she’d known he would. She placed a hand in the center of his chest, looked up into his eyes. “I’m not running out on you, Randy. It’s just that I’m exhausted.”

  He nodded. “I know. It’s been a crazy week.”

  Crazy was putting it mildly. “It’s been wonderful and nerve-racking, and I’m ready to either pull out my hair or sleep for three days straight.”

  He grew quiet, moving away and smiling down. “If you promise to do only the latter, I’ll walk you out and have the doorman call up the limo.”

  “I promise.” She’d hurt him. She hadn’t meant to. And she felt like crying, wishing for the uncomplicated days when she’d done no more than flirt with him from her balcony, wondering now if her heart would ever heal.

  CLAIRE WAS READY for the new year to get here. She was tired of all the holiday cheer, tired of waiting for Christmas to arrive. And after the whirlwind of this past weekend, she was just plain tired.

  Instead of going to bed after Friday night’s gala, she’d packed a bag, headed to the airport and flown out early Saturday morning. She’d been in desperate need of a day or two spent bonding with her best girlfriends before she went completely insane.

  Neither Alex nor Windy had been in town, but at least Claire had been able to spend time in Houston with Tess. Not that the two of them had managed to solve the Randy problem, but at least the margaritas had been good.

  There was no use denying that she’d fallen for him in a very big way. The “L” word came to mind, as did a future spent at his side. She’d sworn it was too soon.

  Tess had reminded her that it happened. “Love at first sight,” was an adage for a reason—it set forth a general truth that had gained credit through long use.

  Claire had stuck out her tongue and blown Tess a big fat raspberry. Tess, like any psychologist worth her weight, had clucked right back and flicked queso from the end of her spoon. After that, a full-fledged food fight ensued.

  Thank goodness they’d been in Tess’s kitchen rather than out on the town.

  Now, with her cab driver paid, Claire hoisted her overnighter onto her shoulder and headed down Court du Chaud’s alley toward the courtyard. The sun had set, and the Christmas trees lights blazed like an electric kaleidoscope.

  Bah, humbug pretty much summed up her lack of holiday spirit. But then she turned the key in her door and was hit smack in the face with the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. Sugar. Chocolate chip. Peanut butter. Oatmeal butter-scotch.

  Some little elf had been busy.

  Some little elf had to go.

  Unless, of course, she invited him to stay, damn waffler that she was.

  Heart in her throat, she tossed her purse and overnighter to the sofa and made her way to the kitchen where she careened to a stop. It wasn’t an elf after all.

  It was Santa…of a sort.

  Randy had obviously been baking for hours. Bowls filled the sink, flour dusted the floor. There had to be twelve dozen cookies cooling and stacked on racks. But it wasn’t the cookies that had her slack-jawed.

  It was the clothes he was wearing.

  Or rather, wasn’t wearing.

  She laced her hands on top of her head to keep her brain from exploding. “What in the world are you doing?”

  He didn’t even look up, simply glanced at the timer on her stove. “Waiting for you.”

  “You’re baking me out of house and home.” If she ate a fraction of the goodies, she’d gain ten pounds. “And you’re doing it naked.”

  He glanced down at his apron. The tasseled end of his Santa hat flopped forward. “I’m dressed.”

  The apron resembled a red Santa suit, and showed the jolly man’s gloved hands holding open a sack that was actually the apron’s front pocket. Scribbled across the pocket—one that just happened to cover Randy’s groin—were the words Caution: Creature Stirring.

  Claire read it and rolled her eyes. “I can see everything except what you’ve got in your pocket. I call that naked.”

  “It’s not naked. It’s…unencumbered.”

  Way too much information. “Swinging free and all that?”

  “No. Damn.” He tugged off the hat, tossed it to the breakfast nook table. It landed on top of a cookie-filled plate. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She came closer, reached for a just-baked cookie. Chocolate melted all over her fingers. She licked it away and asked, “Well?”

  He removed a baking sheet f
rom the oven, pulled off the hot mitts he was wearing, turned off the flame. “Here’s the deal, Claire. I wanted to come to you with nothing—”

  “So I see,” she said flippantly, trying to hide the mix of sheer terror and joy pressing in on her chest.

  He tried not to glare. “I wanted to show you I don’t need what money can buy. That I don’t need anything but you. I love you, Claire. It’s only been days. I know that.”

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  He took a deep breath. “But I also know that I’ve been waiting for you all of my life.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, though she doubted he heard her whisper.

  He came closer. He was big and warm and smelled like cookies. “I’m saying that I want you. It’s simple. I won’t take anything less than everything you have to give.”

  The rest of the cookie crumbled in her hand. “I won’t be a kept woman.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  Okay. Breathe, Claire. Breathe. “I won’t be your arm candy.”

  “I don’t want you to be.”

  He was too close. Close enough to hold her if she leaned his way. “I don’t want you to think you can buy me.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” he said, shaking his head.

  Like she believed that. “Really?”

  “Okay. Maybe once. For two seconds. Until I realized I’d rather trade in my Benz on a Camry and wear nothing but T-shirts and secondhand jeans than risk losing you.”

  “Oh, Randy. I love you. I really, truly do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him until her muscles began to ache. Even then she had a hard time letting go.

  Until…“Uh, Randy?”

  “Claire?”

  “That caution sign on your apron?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I feel the creature stirring.”

  At that, he laughed.

  And she fell completely and madly in love.

  DELIVER ME

  Karen Anders