The Twelve Dates of Christmas Page 6

  His pulse scrambled. He hadn’t kissed a woman in almost two years. And just touching the skin of Eloise’s back had set his hormones dancing. What would happen when their lips met?

  Fireworks probably.

  His pulse kicked up again. He hadn’t felt fireworks in forever.

  Longing, swift and sharp, rose up in him.

  He silenced it. They were only fake dating. Kissing took them to dangerous ground.

  Except he hadn’t kissed a woman in almost two years. Hadn’t felt alive in almost two years—

  He glanced back at Preston, who waved dramatically. “Go on! Camera’s waiting!”

  He caught Eloise’s gaze again. Need prickled his skin. Desire swelled. And he had to admit he wanted this. He wanted to feel alive again, if only for a few seconds. It was foolish. But it was also only a kiss. One kiss when he’d been so long deprived hardly seemed earth-shattering, and he could go back to being miserable after that. Plus, if he didn’t kiss her, he would ruin their charade.

  He bent his head and barely touched his mouth to hers. Soft, smooth lips met his. She tasted like peppermint and felt like heaven, and his head spun. Had he said this wouldn’t be earth-shattering? He’d been wrong.

  His mouth pressed against hers, and simple need bubbled like a witch’s brew in his gut. He knew he was flirting with disaster. But he couldn’t stop himself. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to simply lose himself in her. The softness, the sweetness he’d never found in another woman.

  One kiss. Then he would walk away.

  * * *

  When Ricky’s mouth shifted and he began to take, all the blood drained from Eloise’s body, then returned in a grand whoosh of warm tingles. He’d touched his mouth to hers softly at first, in a kiss that felt almost experimental. Then his hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, and he pulled her just a little bit closer, pressed his lips a little bit harder and she melted.

  She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Too many sensations bombarded her. The crisp scent of his aftershave. The power in the hands holding her shoulders. The softness of his mouth that pressed one second, then hesitated the next. He seemed to want this and fear it, and though she knew it was wrong, she opened her mouth and egged him on.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. Need crashed against need. The kiss deepened so fast, her knees might have buckled, but she wasn’t paying any attention. She longed for the feeling of his tongue gliding along her tongue, his chest pressed against hers, his hands holding her shoulders.

  He released her, and for two seconds they stared into each other’s eyes. Then the music blaring from the ballroom registered, along with the sound of Preston laughing.

  Standing by his bodyguard and studying the photo in the digital camera he said, “It’s a great pic. You look fantastic. Young lovers. I adore you. Now move along.”

  Ricky gave a fake laugh and said something inane to Preston before he guided her into the ballroom. Her dress swooshed against her legs silkily and the scents of pine and vanilla permeating the room seemed strong and vibrant, as if kissing her fake date had brought all of her senses to life.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out as a squeak. “Part of the deal.”

  But it wasn’t fine. They’d taken that kiss too far, and it had been a mistake. She liked this guy. He was a good person with something sad enough in his past that his friends’ wives called it a tragedy. They should keep their distance. Instead, they’d kissed and it had been amazing. Which was wrong. W...R...O...N...G. Because he didn’t like her and she was going to get hurt.

  They spent an uncomfortable half hour trying to make conversation as Ricky’s friends, the people who would join them at their table, arrived. Her nerves continued as they ate dinner, danced and left the ballroom early, Ricky explaining to Preston that he had to rise before dawn for conference calls Sunday morning.

  But in the limo on the way home, watching him sitting beside her, staring out the window, looking like a man lost, Eloise chastised herself. All night long, she’d held herself aloof, flummoxed by that kiss. This was a seriously unhappy guy and all he wanted was one nice Christmas, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about herself. Her reactions to him. Her stupid hormones.

  But that kiss had been one of the best of her life. If not the best. It was hard to stay objective after that.

  She shook her head. What was she doing? She’d finally found a way to put some meaning in her life. She couldn’t let one kiss distract her. Her back stiffened as she straightened on the limo seat. As God was her witness, she intended to give him what he really wanted. Christmas. A joyful, happy Christmas. No easing back into “the season,” as he’d said the night they made their deal. No fake date. She would be someone who really cared about him and who gave him joy.

  * * *

  Ricky walked her to her apartment door and for a crazy second he thought about kissing her good-night. He couldn’t get the mistletoe kiss out of his head. Or the expression of surprise on Eloise’s face. He wanted to kiss her just to see it again.

  What was he doing? He was too depressed, too wounded to bring a woman into his life.

  At her door, she smiled politely. “The party was fun.”

  He sniffed in derision. “Preston’s a freak.”

  “Or a guy who likes to have a good time.” She straightened his bow tie, smoothed her hands down his top coat collar. “Maybe we should work a little harder to have some fun?”

  He studied her face, her pretty blue eyes, warm pink mouth and sweet smile. She was serious. She wanted him to have fun.

  Syrupy warmth flooded his blood. A strange feeling tightened his chest, and although it took him a few seconds, he realized it was affection.

  He wasn’t just attracted to her. He was beginning to like her.

  But he knew that was wrong.

  He stepped back. “Or maybe we should just put in an appearance at these things and leave early all the time?”

  He turned and started down the stairs without waiting for Eloise to answer. No matter what happened at the rest of the parties, he wouldn’t kiss her again.

  * * *

  The next morning, he called to tell Eloise she only needed to wear jeans and a sweater to that night’s party, his fraternity reunion. The lilt of her voice tiptoed though him, reminding him of the kiss the day before, and he hung up as quickly as he could and lost himself in work.

  That was the best way to deal with feelings—remorse over Blake, unwanted curiosity about Eloise. Work was the way to forget and give himself some peace.

  When his phone rang a few hours later, he answered absently. “Yes?”

  Tucker Engle laughed. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

  Tossing his pen to his desk, Ricky leaned back. “No.” He laughed. “Sorry. How’s Kentucky?”

  “We’re knee-deep in sledding and hot cocoa.”

  Ricky smirked. It was hard to imagine workaholic Tucker spending five or six weeks in the country. “Bored?”

  “No. Actually, I’m enjoying it so much that I don’t want to leave, but I’ve had an emergency crop up and I need your help.”

  Ricky sat up. After everything Tucker had done for him, he’d love a chance to do a favor in return. “What can I do?”

  “I need to put in an appearance at a meeting for one of the companies I’m heavily invested in. I just need a presence. Somebody who can give my opinion.”

  “I’ll be happy to go. Tell me the address and the date.”

  “It’s today. I know it’s Saturday, so if you can’t go, it’s okay.”

  “No. I’m happy to do it.”

  Tucker covered the details with Ricky, who made a few notes, but only a few, because there wasn’t much for Ri
cky to do except make one brief statement.

  Still, Tucker’s reply showed he was grateful. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. If it runs long, I’ll just call Eloise and tell her we’ll be late for my frat reunion.”

  Even as he said it, Ricky realized his mistake.

  Tucker pounced. “So, you and Eloise hit it off on that ride home after the party?”

  He winced. “You could say that.”

  “Good. You’ve been down too long, and Eloise could use a little pick-me-up, too. She’s had some rough patches.”

  Ricky’s eyes narrowed. Pretty, sweet Eloise had had some rough patches? Just from the tone of Tucker’s voice, he could tell this was about more than her inability to get a job. He remembered the expression that flitted over her face when they’d talked about college. Obviously Tucker knew something Ricky didn’t.

  He opened his mouth to ask but couldn’t. It didn’t seem right or fair to ask questions about a woman who was only attending a few parties with him.

  He wasn’t supposed to care.

  He didn’t care.

  He didn’t need to know.

  But even an hour after Ricky hung up the phone, as he dressed to go to Tucker’s meeting, he couldn’t get that odd look in Eloise’s eyes out of his head. Curiosity overwhelmed him, so he typed her name into his computer’s search engine.

  * * *

  Late Saturday afternoon, Eloise began getting dressed. That evening’s party was Ricky’s informal fraternity reunion, held in a pub in midtown. When he’d called that morning, he’d told her to just wear jeans and a sweater.

  Still, knowing how men were about pride in front of fraternity brothers, and back to her mission of making sure he had a good time, Eloise dressed with care. She slid into an emerald green cashmere sweater that she’d been saving for a special occasion, fixed her hair in a long ponytail and applied just the right amount of makeup to look cheerful and festive.

  She would get this guy out of his misery if it killed her.

  He arrived, helped her into her parka and led her down the stairs.

  “This might be like hell week.”

  She laughed. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned putting in an appearance and leaving early encouraged her. “You think I can’t handle a roomful of men and their dates?”

  He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Some won’t have dates.”

  “Oh.”

  He started walking again, and she stood rooted to her spot. He had to be in his midthirties. The people he went to school with would be about the same age, but they wouldn’t have dates?

  What did that mean?

  When he reached the limo, Norman opened the door. Realizing she was standing in the lobby like a ninny, she scrambled to catch up. As soon as they were settled, Norman took off.

  “So you’re married.”

  Surprise kicked the air out of her lungs and made her forget all about the fact that some of his fraternity buddies wouldn’t have dates. “What?”

  He faced her, his eyes cool and direct. “You’re married. I found your marriage license through a quick internet search and didn’t find a divorce decree. Ergo, you’re married.”

  Her heart galloped. Her nerve endings jumped. Every ounce of blood fell to her feet as every possible answer she could give him winged through her brain. But none of them would work. Shock and anger collided to create a horrible sourness in the pit of her stomach.

  “For a guy who has his fair share of secrets, you’re certainly not shy about uncovering mine.”

  “Believe it or not, I searched your name because I felt bad for you. I could tell from how you avoided the topic of college that something had happened and I wanted to know what.”

  His voice was soft, honest, but tinged with a bit of hurt. And why not? He thought he was going out with a married woman.

  She sucked in a breath and said the words that didn’t just pinch her heart; they filled her with shame. “My husband died.”

  The expression of concern that came over his face was totally unexpected. “Your husband died?”

  She nodded.

  He sighed in obvious disgust with himself. “I’m sorry. I was just so flabbergasted to find the marriage license and no divorce degree that I didn’t look any further.” He shook his head. “You’re so young. I never in a million years thought to look for a death certificate.” He shook his head again. “I am so sorry.”

  “If it made you so angry to find the marriage license and no divorce decree, why didn’t you just call and cancel?” But before he could answer, she figured it out on her own, and she gasped. “You hoped I had an explanation.”

  “I need you. I need this charade. Plus, you’ve been nothing but a nice person around me.” He shrugged. “It was only fair that I give you a chance to explain.”

  Hope filled the black hole of shame that lived where her heart should have been. Laura Beth and Olivia accepted her, understood her. But she’d never had the courage to test another person’s feelings about her. She wasn’t supposed to care if Ricky Langley liked her. But it was suddenly, incomprehensibly important that he hear the story and understand.

  “I fell for a guy with tattoos and a motorcycle and ran off with him. Although we loved each other, getting married was a huge mistake. It took only two months before I realized we were in trouble. He sat at home or in his buddy’s garage, talking bikes and drinking beer all day.”

  His eyes sought hers, but he said nothing.

  Shame and fear shivered through her, but she trudged on.

  “I spent every day supporting him by waitressing.” She glanced down at her hands, then back up at him. “This story makes me sound like I quit loving him when he refused to support me, but the truth was I never stopped loving him. I just knew we’d made a mistake getting married. I was about to leave him—”

  “When he was killed on his bike and you were free.”

  A shard of pain sliced through her. For a guy who clearly hoped she’d redeem herself, he certainly was quick to find the dark cloud. “When he was diagnosed with cancer. I spent three months taking him to doctor’s appointments, helping him through chemo, cleaning up messes, offering words of hope. That’s when we started talking. It killed him that he couldn’t find work, so he masked his pain by pretending not to care that I had to support him. I reacted by getting angrier and angrier with a guy who was already hurting, filled with shame.” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Then he died, and I’ve spent the past years angry with myself.” She opened her eyes. “Feeling guilty. Feeling desperately wrong. I hadn’t left him, but I was about to and he would have died alone.”

  He studied her silently, then finally said, “I’m sorry.”

  This time she looked away. “It certainly wasn’t your fault.”

  “No. But I shouldn’t have probed into your private life.”

  The limo stopped. Norman opened the door and they stepped out.

  Memories followed her up the sidewalk and beneath the portico, tormenting her with the knowledge that she’d been immature and foolish. Not in marrying Wayne, but in almost leaving. True, she’d stayed and nursed him until he’d died. But if he’d visited the doctor one week later, she would have been gone. The man she’d loved would have died alone.

  When they walked into the pub, the noise of the crowd swelled over her, along with the scents of corned beef and cabbage. Ricky directed her to the room in the back, where round tables were partially filled with men his age. The pool table entertained six or eight tall, lean guys and two dartboards had the attention of another four or five.

  Only about seven women, dates of the guys laughing and talking, were there. More than twenty guys but only seven women. And three of them she recognized—Jennifer, Muriel and Binnie. In spite of
the trauma over telling her story, Eloise almost smiled. Ricky must have been in the geek fraternity.

  “Hey, it’s Ricky.”

  Everybody faced them. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall before he turned and took her coat. She swallowed. Nice shoulders and a solid chest filled his warm amber sweater to perfection. His jeans all but caressed his perfect butt.

  Before she could chastise herself for noticing, his mouth fell open slightly as his gaze rippled down her emerald green sweater to her tight jeans and tall black boots.

  With her story out and his fear that she was a liar alleviated, she smiled in question. He’d brought her to the party to continue the charade for his own benefit, but he knew her now. And the confidence she could muster as a fake date suddenly seemed all wrong. Now, she was herself. Eloise Cummings Vaughn—not just struggling working girl, but also widow. She needed a word, something from him, that let her know things between them were okay.

  He leaned in. “You look fantastic. But you always look fantastic. Thank you for doing this for me.”

  His warm breath tickled her ear. He smelled great. And his words told her what she needed to hear. They were back in good standing. She might be a real person to him now, but she was still a fake date.

  A tall, thin guy wearing a sweater with a Santa face plastered across the front strolled over. Handing Ricky a pool cue, he said, “You beat me four games straight last year. This year I intend to win.”

  Ricky took the stick but glanced at Eloise.

  This wasn’t her party. It was his. Plus, telling him about her past hadn’t changed her mission. If anything, it had strengthened it. She’d stayed too long in her self-pity. She’d lingered too long with her guilt. If the best way to get out was to help someone else, she would help him.

  She smiled. “Hey, go. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”

  She turned to walk over to the women, who had all gathered in a cluster but, on second thought, faced him. “Can I get you a beer?”

  He smiled. Really smiled.