High Heels and Holidays

Chapter Nine

"And so I took him there and he volunteered, they signed him up on the spot, and they've already put him to work," Maggie told Alex as she followed him out of the kitchen, carrying both their wineglasses. "So, you think that's fine? I think that's fine. I think it's terrific." I think I should shut up, stop babbling. I've been babbling since I figured out we're alone here. Completely alone here. "Alex?"

"I concur. I believe Sterling has found within him the true meaning of Christmas. Indeed, I find myself feeling quite humbled by his pure heart," he told her, holding out her chair for her. "And what is the name of this organization again, please?"

"Santas for Silver," she told him, looking down at her plate, at the perfectly prepared steak on her plate. "I never heard of it, to tell you the truth, but Socks had said he'd seen a storefront a couple of blocks away, so that's where we went. They don't ask for paper money, you understand. Just silver. Although, of course, there hasn't been any silver in our coins in a long time. It's just catchy—you know, Santas for Silver?"

Alex merely blinked at her, then offered her the basket containing thick slices of warm Italian bread.

Look at him, sitting there so calmly, looking so absolutely fabulous in the candlelight. Damn him, he had her needing to babble again. Did she look that good? Candlelight was flattering; she'd read that somewhere. Still, a little mascara and lipstick probably would have helped. "I've told you he's been issued a Santa suit, Alex? Well, he was. Red suit, white beard, big black patent leather belt, the whole nine yards. That's what he really wanted, although he calls himself Father Christmas instead of Santa Claus, which is really sweet, and everything he collects goes to charity. He's got the corner of Sixty-sixth and Central Park West—prime territory, I'd say, right across from Tavern on the Green." She shut her mouth with a snap and then opened it again to say, "I should eat, huh?"

Alex smiled. Looked so confident. So self-assured. So relaxed in his own skin. So we both know what's really happening here, don't we? He definitely was beginning to get on her nerves.

He'd shown up a while ago with the steaks, a prepared salad from Mario's, a long loaf of fresh Italian bread and two bottles of wine, deposited all of that in her kitchen, then went back to grab his ridiculous George Foreman grill. How does a woman turn down an invitation like that? Damn him.

He was fresh from his shower, his black hair still damp against the snow-white collar of the fine lawn shirt he wore open at the neck, the French cuffs of the full sleeves sans cuff links and unfolded so that they fell gracefully onto the backs of his tanned hands. The Regency Gentleman At His Leisure. It wasn't lace at collar and cuffs, of course, the way he'd relax at home in Regency England, but it was close, and he looked yummy. Edible. His black slacks had no pleats and rode slightly low on his narrow hips while they concealed most of the short black calfskin Eno Bruno dress boots he favored. He smelled faintly of Brut, which he insisted upon wearing even though Pierre of Fragrances By Pierre had given him a bushel basket full of sinfully expensive scents. She'd always liked the smell of Brut, even if you could buy it at Wal-Mart.

Maggie was also fresh from her shower, but she was wearing her faded blue Road Runner ("beep-beep!") nightshirt over a pair of shorts. She smelled of Johnson and Johnson baby oil, also available everywhere. She always coated her wet body with it before toweling off because it was an easy and quick moisturizer and it smelled good. Okay, and it was cheap; a leftover from her penny-pinching days. Her feet were bare.

Damn him.

As the grill heated, Alex had generously complimented her on her completed decorations, and then gone about the living room turning on the tree lights, the fairy lights. He'd lit several candles and turned off all the other lights, leaving the room glowing rather romantically. Damn him.

He'd opened one of the wine bottles, let the wine breathe, and then poured them each a glass, asking her about her afternoon as he inserted the steaks into the grill and turned to lean back against the counter and sip his wine as he looked at her over the rim.

Which had pretty much marked the moment when she'd begun to babble like a nervous virgin. Damn him.

"Ummm, perfect," she said now, around her first bite of medium-rare steak. "You really get some good ideas, Alex. So, what did you do this afternoon? Sterling told me you had something important to do."

Alex set down his wineglass. "Not really important. A bit of holiday shopping, my dear."

"Oh, goodie. What did you get me?"

"You'd have much better luck trying to pry that sort of information out of Sterling, which is why I plan to accomplish my shopping unaccompanied. Tell me more about this Santas for Silver, if you please. You did, of course, complete a Web search before allowing Sterling to join them?"

Maggie's fork clinked against the plate as she put it down with some force. So much for the romantic ambiance. "No, I didn't do a Web search. For crying out loud, Alex. They're Santas. They're collecting money on street corners. There are Santas all over Manhattan this time of year. You can't walk ten feet in any direction without bumping into a guy with a red suit and a bell. What's to search?"

"One of my Street Corner Orators and Players is stationed across from Tavern on the Green, if you'll recall. We have cultivated an extremely commendable reputation, and I wouldn't want it sullied by a supposed association with anything that is not entirely aboveboard."

"Oh. Right. Aboveboard. Like sweet little Mary Louise and her merry band of supposedly reformed felons. No, we certainly couldn't have that, could we?" She put her napkin on the table and got up, stomped over to her computer. "By all means, let's run a check on Santa."

Alex got to her before she could sit down at the desk. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her around so that they were just inches apart. "I'm sorry, sweetings. I was struggling for conversation, wasn't I, and succeeded only in putting my foot in it? We've been together for so long. It seems ridiculous to be nervous around each other, and yet I am feeling far from my usually confident self this evening."

"Yeah, join the club," Maggie mumbled, her hands having somehow found their way onto his chest, her palms flat against the soft material of his shirt, the firm muscle beneath. He was standing with his back to the Christmas tree, and the white lights seemed to make a halo around him. He was real, yet almost unreal. And warm to the touch. "That is, me, too." Wow, that was articulate. I are a writer, obviously.

"Something changed for us, between us, while we were in England, didn't it?"

"I don't know ... maybe." She looked up into his remarkable blue eyes beneath his fantastically sculpted brows, expecting to see his usual confidence and finding just a hint of uncertainty in their depths. Wow. He wasn't supposed to be uncertain, that was her job. He was supposed to be her hero, the man who knew everything, could be counted on for everything; brave, even fearless. "Alex ..."

"Yes, sweetings?"

"Don't do that," Maggie said, shutting her eyes. "Don't call me sweetings in that voice of yours—you know what voice I mean. That sexy drawl. And don't look at me like that. Don't try to seduce me." Her eyes shot open as a sudden thought hit her. "You are trying to seduce me, aren't you?"

His smile had her stomach doing a small flip.

"To descend somewhat into the vernacular, I believe I like the way you think, my dear."

Swallowing was becoming a problem. "Well, um, I'd rather you didn't. I think. But you do agree with me? Oh, God, did I just ask that? What a lousy love scene. Bernie would be blue-marking it all over the place."

Alex moved closer, gently insinuated his right thigh between her legs as he rested his hands on her hips. "Perhaps if we borrowed from an expert? 'For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.' "

"That's ... that's John Donne, isn't it? I had you quote him in The Case of the —okay, never mind," Maggie said.

"Shhh, sweetings ... and let me love ..."

Maggie watched, mesmerized, as Alex lowered his head to hers, her eyes closing when he captured her mouth with his own. I'm your huckleberry ...

She tried to protest. Really, she did. Even as she opened her mouth and Alex took sweet advantage of her new vulnerability to deepen their kiss. Even as her hands somehow found their way up and over his shoulders, to hold his head still as she broke the kiss, took a quick, deep breath as she looked deeply into his eyes, and then raised herself up on tiptoe to kiss him back.

Maggie felt his arms go around her, lifting her. "The door. Sterling," she managed to say as he rained kisses down the side of her throat.

"Taken care of," he whispered into her ear before nipping at her earlobe, lightly licking the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She buried her face against his shoulder as he carried her down the hall, toward her bedroom. "You did plan this, didn't you? I wasn't wrong. You planned to seduce me tonight, didn't you?"

They were inside her bedroom now, and Alex set her down on her feet, his arms loosely looped around her waist. "Among other things, yes. I will admit I had hopes."

"Other things? What other things?" Why couldn't she shut up?

He'd moved his hands now, hadn't he? Not a sudden move, but a very smooth and practiced one that ended with his palms lightly brushing the outsides of her breasts. Nothing too overt. Just a gentlemanly hint of what could be, if she were willing. "Do you really want to know, sweetings? Now?"

"Oh, hell, no," Maggie admitted truthfully, unable, as she would say of one of her Regency heroines in this situation, to summon a lie. And that was pretty much the last even remotely coherent thought she had for quite some time ...