One Christmas Night
A Capitol Chronicles Novella
By Shirley Hailstock
ISBN: 978-1-939214-14-0
Copyright: Shirley T. Hailstock
September 2014
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Shirley T. Hailstock PO Box 513, Plainsboro, NJ 08536-0513.
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Table of Contents
Other Books by Shirley Hailstock
Excerpt from The Christmas List
Elizabeth had vowed never to see James Hill again. Yet tonight, twelve days from Christmas, when her emotions were as raw as the wind whipping at her skirt, she found herself standing on his porch. Tiny white lights outlined the entire structure and she could see the tree, with its lights blinking, through the huge picture window. The scene couldn't have been better set up if Hallmark had photographed it for one of their Christmas cards. "How could I have been so stupid!" Of all the addresses to mix up, how could she have pulled his out instead of the one behind it? Why hadn't she thrown it out three years ago when she'd walked out of his life?
Elizabeth Gregory's finger punched the doorbell as if she wanted to push the Georgian colonial over with her index finger. Inside she heard the musical notes of St. Michael's permeate the chilling air. He hadn't changed that either, she thought. How often had she listened to that sound with a wide smile on her face? She shuddered pulling her red velvet cape closer around her, knowing the coldness gripping her had more to do with anticipation than temperature.
"He's not here," she muttered, pushing the bell a second time. She should be relieved that he wasn't home, but she had to get that package back and deliver it to the right address. "Come on, James," she ordered. "You've got to be here."
It was the Christmas season. The sudden memory of a previous Christmas burst in her brain. Where had they been? Curled up in front of the fire at his cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, only the two of them and a fake fur rug. Snow piled up to the windows outside, yet neither of them noticed or cared. Elizabeth shook herself. She forced the image of their naked bodies out of her mind. The firelight was too hypnotizing not to remember James highlighted against the red-gold glow of leaping flames.
In three years she expected her anger would have cooled, but she found the prospect of facing him as frightening as reaching for an exposed wire. Pressing her fingers against her temples, she closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. She didn't need a headache tonight.
Ringing the bell a third time, she knew her luck had run out. James wasn't home. Even Mrs. Andrews, his part-time housekeeper, would be with her own family by this time. She looked around the porch for the package. It wasn't there. Maybe the delivery hadn't been made. Silently she prayed for a tiny bit of luck. If James hadn't been home, the box could have been returned to the shop. Silently she prayed for the alternative to be true. It was worth a try.
Elizabeth turned to leave. She could phone Joanne, the temporary assistant she'd hired, from her car. Mary, her competent assistant, had wanted two weeks off at Christmas. Elizabeth thought she could handle the load while Mary took the much deserved time. Everything had gone well until today when she had pulled James Hill's address from the Rolodex instead of Jason Hillery and handed it to Joanne. The young college co-ed, away from home for the first time, was distressed over the mix-up, but didn't know the city well enough to find James's house, saving Elizabeth from facing a man she hadn't seen in three years. Few people could negotiate Rock Creek Park during daylight hours. After dark, the poor girl would never have found the house nestled among giant rhododendrons on Redwood Terrace. And the very important delivery would have no chance of reaching the correct address in time. Chantel Hartman-Lawrence had been adamant about it arriving on time. Elizabeth had assured her Invitation to Love had built a reputation on correct and prompt delivery. Now she was going to have to eat those words.
"Elizabeth!"
James Hill, his voice literally took her breath away. Elizabeth closed her eyes again as she gathered strength and pushed the pounding in her crown away. Squaring her shoulders she turned to face her former fiancé. He hadn't changed much, from what she could see of him silhouetted against the back light of the doorway. At thirty-seven, his hair had not a hint of grey. His face was strong, his skin tight across his features. He had a square jaw giving him a ruthless look until he smiled. Then any hint of severity disappeared. He was smiling now. Elizabeth's heart pounded in her ears. She stifled the urge to press her hands against her head. Her breath congealing in the crisp December air, looked like a jerky staccato. She hoped James didn't notice it. He filled the doorway, dressed in tennis shoes and a sweat suit. Even the bagginess of the outfit couldn't hide his powerfully built physique. She knew he exercised regularly. It appeared that even tonight, while most people were still frantically shopping in the area malls, he'd gone to the gym. James had always been calm and exacting. He'd probably finished his shopping, wrapped everything and stored them under the tree.
"I wasn't expecting you," he said, raising one eyebrow. "I just got in."
"It's nice to see you too," she said, her sarcasm undisguised as she swept passed him without an invitation. The house too, looked the same. A roaring fire in the huge fireplace that dominated the high ceilinged room made it warm and comfortable. Pine boughs scented the air. Entwined with the same white lights as decorated the outside, they arched from the mantle, the doorways and up the imposing stairwell, whose newel post was as large as her waist was around. Silent Night played softly from the sound system in the back room. Wires traveled through the walls to reach the speakers in the corners and bring music to each room. The house was beautiful, the kind Elizabeth often saw displayed in the holiday issue of Architectural Digest. The tree, it's lights flashing in the window, was perfect, so much so, it brought tears to her eyes. Quickly she blinked them away. She loved this old house. It had been built before the turn of the century and she'd imagined herself living here after she and James were married. They hadn't made it.
"Come in." He closed the door with a mock bow. Taking several steps into the room, he faced her.
Elizabeth turned to speak. James's nearness stopped her. She found her mouth too dry to utter a sound. In the brightness of the room, his tree-bark brown skin radiated health. He crossed his arms, evenly distributing his weight on his legs. The action drew Elizabeth's attention to his broad shoulders and strong biceps hidden under the grey sweat shirt with a faded insignia of the Howard University Athletic Department. She could almost feel herself wrapped in his embrace. He stood three inches over six feet and she had to tilt her head back to see his eyes. His strong square jaw could be harsh and demanding or tender and loving. The man exuded sex appeal. She nearly swayed toward him without the least invitation.
"Where is it?" Elizabeth asked, drawing on an inner strength she didn't recognize. She wanted to be out of here as soon as she could manage it. All he had to do was give her back the package and she'd be on he way.
"Where is what, sweetheart?"
"James, I don't have time to play games. It's Christmas time. I'm late for a party. Please give me the package and let me go. And don't call me sweetheart."
"My, you've changed, Elizabeth." She noticed him look her over. She fought the urge to gather the cape closer around her. It would show her fear and she didn't want James to know how weak he made her just by being in her presence.
"You've cut your hair. It was longer when we -- parted."
Elizabeth's head was splitting. Her attempts to ward off the pounding pain had failed. The day had been a disaster and she still had to attend the Hereford's party.
"I don't want to talk about my hair." It had been long enough to touch her shoulders. She wore it cut above her ears with wispy curls covering the top of her crown. "I want the box delivered here earlier tonight. It's been sent to the wrong address."
"I like it," James said, ignoring her demand. "It emphasizes your eyes."
He was making fun of her.
"I always said your eyes were your best feature."
He'd said lots of things and gullible Elizabeth had believed every one of them. But not tonight. Ignoring him she searched the room. The familiar white box with her logo on the side was no where to be seen. Leaving James, she went toward the library. Shoving the sliding mahogany doors aside she went into the dark room. The electric switch on the wall threw the room into brightness. Elizabeth blinked at the sudden stab of pain. Her hands immediately shaded her eyes until they became used to the light. The room was paneled with heavy tufted. leather sofas and floor to ceiling bookcases. James's antique desk dominated the room. In the daylight Elizabeth had expected the room would be dark, but the custom-made windows captured light and spread it around the room from all angles.
"Don't you want to take your coat off?" James followed her. He lifted the cape from her shoulders. Elizabeth swung around backing away from him. His fingers, through the thick piled fabric, had touched her as surely, as if she were naked.
"I see your fashion hasn't changed." He made a wide circle around her. Elizabeth forced herself to stand still. "You're still the best dressed woman on Capital Hill." Elizabeth held her breath. The fur-trimmed cape had been warm against the outside. Without it she wore a strapless gown with white fur adorning the straight line bodice and circular hem of her Christmas-red gown. Under James's glare Elizabeth's lungs didn't work. The air was stifling. He was tall and lithe, a predator, if she'd ever seen one. The urge to run was so strong she had to dig her heels into the Aubusson carpeting. "Of course, the ruby necklace would go with that dress much better than that gold chain."
Elizabeth stopped her hand from going to her neck. James had given her a ruby necklace for an engagement present. She had dutifully returned it directly after they broke up.
"James--"
"What's it been, Elizabeth -- three, four years?" he interrupted. "Can't we even have a drink before you rush out into the night?" James dropped her cape on the sofa and moved around her.
She moved away from the heat of him. "I don't want a drink, I'm driving." Did he really not know how long it had been? Why did that make her heart sink? How often did she think of him? When they'd parted, she'd thrown herself into Invitation of Love, using her business as a substitute for a broken relationship. Yet tonight, on some subliminal level she'd pulled his address and given it to Joanne. Did it have anything to do with Christmas? It had been another Christmas when she'd stormed out the door she'd swept through tonight. Then she spied the current copy of Black Enterprise on the coffee table separating two leather sofas before the imposing fireplace. A smile stole across her mouth.
"You've been gone a while, right?" she led him.
"Until recently my work meant I traveled a lot. Usually I spend Christmas in New York."
"You work there too?" Elizabeth knew the answers to all these questions.
"Not any more. I've been back in the District for several months."
She wasn't disconcerted. She would have been, except James's brother, Mark, made it a point to drop by at least once a month and give her regular updates. She supposed he did the same for his brother. But in case he didn't, James still knew a lot about her.
With deliberate slowness, Elizabeth crossed to the table. She bent forward, lifting the magazine with her face on the cover. The slick surface flapped up and down like bird wings as Elizabeth walked to where James stood. She held the book toward him. As he reached for it she let go. It dropped it at his feet.
They both looked down. The magazine lay open to a photo of her in the Oval Office. Next to her stood the President of the United States, a package of personalized invitations in his hand. Both smiled at the camera.
Her stare was level as he raised his eyes. She wanted to laugh at the small victory, but decided against it.
James bent down and picked up the magazine. He stared at the photograph for a long time before closing the booklet and returning it to the table. "It says you bargained with the President to allow a wedding and reception to take place in the Red Room. In exchanged you got the White House business. In the world of small business, you pulled off the coup of the century. Do you know how many people wish they were in your shoes?"
Elizabeth did know. In reality, her negotiations had been with the White House advisors. It was happenstance that had the President within earshot of her request. She hadn't needed the article in Black Enterprise to bring in business. Twenty-four hours after the contract with the White House was signed, she had more business from the Washington elite than she and Mary could handle. But she loved it. After the initial overwhelming deluge she'd taught Mary some of the handwriting techniques. Her assistant seem to excel with the Spenserian Penmanship. Together they were a team and Mary's Christmas present this year would be a full partnership in Invitation to Love.
"James, I can't stay here talking to you all night. I need to get that package to the right address and then go to Charles and Lidia's. Please give it to me." She dropped her head, the pounding was getting worse and soon she'd need to sit down. She didn't want to sit here. She wanted to be in her car speeding away from Rock Creek Park.
"You're going to a party alone." James's voice snapped her attention. "I thought you never went anywhere without an escort."
"Please, James." She held up her hands. "Let's not argue after so many years. Your address got mixed up with someone else's and a package was sent here. It really must get to the right man before eight o'clock."
"The right man?" His eyebrows rose. He approached her, watching her take a step back. Lifting her hand he checked her ring finger. "Is he your right man?"
Elizabeth snatched her hand away. "You have no right to ask that question."
"I'm the man with the package you want. That gives me a lot of rights." James walked to the bar in the corner and set two crystal goblets on the leather surface. He reached under the counter where Elizabeth knew there was a small refrigerator. He came up with two chilled bottles of Perrier water. Pouring them into the globes, he walked back to her. Elizabeth accepted one.
Taking a sip she hoped the cold water would help to cool her. "James, why don't you give me the package, and I'll be out of your life?"
"You're assuming I want you out of my life. We were friends -- once." He hesitated a moment. "Maybe I'd like to hear about you, what you've been doing in the past few years. Things that aren't covered in Black Enterprise." He gestured told the coffee table."
Elizabeth felt like she was being manipulated. "You know damn well how business is. As for my personal life, it's none of your concern. Now give me the box and let me go." She turned the glass up and drained it, then went to the bar and slammed the delicate crystal onto the leather top.
James lounged against the back of the tufted-leather sofa, apparently in no hurry to give her what she wanted. "Why are you doing this? Do I have to search for the box?"
"You could start in our bedroom," he grinned.
Elizabeth stopped short of gasping. "We don't have a bedroom." The implication that they never would rang clear in the air between them. She wouldn't go to his bedroom. In fact, she wouldn't go another step. Chantel Hartman-Lawrence could have been a valuable contact for her business, but Invitation to Love had survived other mishaps. She'd simply go to the address and explain to Mr. Hillery. She knew she'd have to confront Ms. Hartman-Lawrence, but Elizabeth would rather fight her than James.
"It's that way." He pointed to the door behind her.
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment. Then she grabbed her cape, swung it over her shoulders and headed for the door.
"Elizabeth!" He vaulted over the sofa and reached the door in front of her. "Don't leave in anger. You left that way the last time. We were friends."
"That was a long time ago, James."
"Don't you think we could be friends again?"
"No, I don't. Please move. I'm late."
His shoulders dropped. Elizabeth's defenses said relax, but she held them tight. This could be another of his games.
James sighed. "Wait here. I'll get the package."
He disappeared into the back of the house. She knew there was a great-room there with enough windows to let the sun warm it on cold wintry days. It too had a fireplace as did all the rooms. Three Christmases ago, the two of them had drunk a toast to a room full of friends on their impending marriage. Elizabeth didn't know what made her move, but she walked to the arched entrance. In the darkness, the glass walls vaulted to the sky. Another lighted Christmas tree had been set up here. It was in the same space it had occupied when she stood before it, James at her side, a smile on her face.
"Do you know where you're standing?" James whispered. He stood in front of her. She hadn't seen him. She'd been lost in the past. Looking up Elizabeth saw the ball of mistletoe hanging over her head. Moving her gaze back to James, she froze at the desire she saw in his eyes. She went to step back, but his arm encircled her waist and pulled her against him. "Merry Christmas," he murmured then lightly touched his lips to hers. Elizabeth felt a tremor run through her. James lifted his head enough to look in her eyes. Then his mouth came down on hers in a ravishing kiss.
Three years of misery and frustration melted away as James's arms slipped inside the cape and it pooled to the floor in a rug of red velvet and fur. Elizabeth's arms connected around his neck as desire swept through her. It felt good to be held, to press herself against him, feel his arms, the hard length of him and know he was solidly there, not the elusive substance of her dreams. She leaned into the kiss, her mouth open as James devoured the inner contours. Elizabeth didn't know how long they stood there, just that she didn't want the moment to end. James slid his mouth from hers.
"Are you the woman at the door?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Confused and disoriented Elizabeth frowned a moment. Then she realized the package contained an acrylic rose with a man's wedding band hooked onto one of the leaf petals. A hand engraved note inscribed with the message: Marry the woman at the door was included. She pushed herself away from him.
"No!" she nearly shouted.
He held the card stock rectangle of snow white paper in his hand. Elizabeth knew her handwriting without looking at it.
"You opened it." Snatching the note and the box, Elizabeth rushed from the room, through the front door and into her car. Her cape lay on the floor at James's feet. She refused to go back for it. She never planned to enter that house again. Or to see him. In less than half an hour she'd found herself back in his arms, as soft and pliable as candle wax.
The chilling air made her shudder. She jumped into the car, throwing the hated parcel on the seat and gunning the motor in her effort to put distance between herself and James Hill.
Just as she came out of the park, Elizabeth passed the stone slab bathed in white light. Welcome to Washington had been carved deeply on one side of the marble square while Welcome to Maryland adorned the other side. Traffic skittered around the circle, their drivers unaware of the turmoil taking place inside the white Corvette that turned toward downtown Washington. Elizabeth pulled the car to the soft shoulder and cut the engine. She slumped over the steering wheel and cursed herself.
How had she let that happen? How could she let James revive feelings she'd fought to bury these last three years. She pounded the steering wheel trying to keep the sensations he'd stirred from raging out of control.
***
James had no breath left after Elizabeth's hasty retreat. She was the last person he expected to find on his doorstep, wrapped like a present in a velvet coat trimmed in white fur. He remembered her with shoulder length hair; her eyes bright and dancing, a ready smile always present. Even in anger her dark champagne-colored skin glowed with health. Only her eyes betrayed her. He'd told her her eyes were her best feature. They were also her most revealing. At one point they were dark and mysterious while at other times they were open and full of hurt. He hated to think he'd been responsible for putting the hurt there.
Their names had been linked since childhood. He'd been in love with her since the fifth grade, and three years ago he thought he'd be married to her, but then Claire had come and everything between them had changed. Tonight when the package arrived, he'd been too afraid to think, too afraid to do more than let it sit on the counter. Then she was the woman standing at the door, he thought the world had tilted in his favor, but she was only there to retrieve it and deliver it to its rightful owner.
He picked up the velvet wrapper. The white fur was soft and feathery, the way her hair felt when he'd dig his fingers into it. He liked the way she looked now and the way her body knew the familiar contours of his.
Looking at the coat in his arms, he remembered another white fur and him wrapping her securely in it. Her brown eyes were huge and warm then, not like the cold ones that had looked at him tonight, but she still had the fire. The kiss had told him that and her fire burned for him, just as much as his burned for her.
"Damn!" he cursed. "Why did Claire have to pick that day to drop her bomb?"
James guided the Lexus into the flow of traffic on Sixteenth Street in Northwest Washington and headed toward downtown. His intention after the gym tonight had been to shower and turn in early. It had been a grueling week. Most industries, except retail, slowed down at this time of the year. Not the stock market. At the eleventh hour, everyone panicked buying and selling, pushing incomes into the new year or quickly investing in high risk stocks.
He been tired both physically and mentally, but after Elizabeth's unexpected appearance the thought of being alone between the cool sheets of the Lincoln-size bed, was unappealing. And as usual, thoughts of her forced all other women from his mind. Pulling out his tuxedo he changed his mind about attending Charles and Lidia Hereford's annual Christmas dance. He'd refused their invitations for the past three years, yet an hour ago Charles Hereford heartily laughed into the phone when he'd asked if it were too late to accept.
Caught by the light at Military Road he listened to the engine hum then turned right, heading toward Wisconsin Avenue and his parents' house. The Washington, D.C. license tag, reading MHH-MD, on the Mercedes parked in the driveway told him his brother, Dr. Mark Howard Hill, was here. With three additional parking places available at the Cathedral Avenue address, James blocked him in, a grin spreading across his face. Leaving the car he paused to study the red brick house next door -- Elizabeth's house. The "for sale" sign stood askew on the front lawn. No matter who bought it or how many families lived there, he'd always think of it as Elizabeth's house.
Pulling himself out of the past, he rang the doorbell of the house in which he'd grown up.
"James!" The look of surprise on Winton Hill's face quickly turned to joy as he faced his second son. "What are you doing here? I thought you were too tired for anything except an early night."
"I changed my mind," James said, following his father past the soft muted shades of the grey and mauve living room to the one beyond. They entered the family room-library where he'd practically grown up. As a family, this was the room they lived in. It was where he'd told his parents he and Elizabeth were getting married. Where Mark announced he'd been accepted into Meharry Medical College and where his mother, Opal, had told them she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. It was also the room in which he'd notified them of his impending arrest. Happiness and crisis surrounded the book-lined room. James supposed it was why he'd come to his parents' house.
"James, I'm glad you're coming with us." Opal Hill came into the room. Her gown was a glittering green as she lifted her cheek for his kiss. She rarely asked her sons for explanations. James's parents had instilled the values of right and wrong in their two sons. She accepted whatever they did as the right course of action at that time. Going to her husband, she reached up to fix his tie. Winton Hill lifted his chin and his wife tied a perfect bow. "You know Elizabeth is going to be there," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
"I saw her tonight."
Opal's hands stilled. Slowly she turned to face him, the room completely silent. Three pairs of eyes bore into him.
"Where?" Mark was the first to speak.
"She came by the house."
Opal took a step toward him. He could see a mother's concern in her eyes. At thirty-seven he knew he'd always be her little boy and she'd always try to prevent anyone from hurting him. He went to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and looking down at her. "I'm fine," he said by way of explanation. "It was merely a case of misdirected mail or I should say a misdirected package. Invitation to Love sent a package to me by mistake. She came to get it. That's all."
It sounded simple, even to his ears. As if the earth shattering kiss they shared hadn't occurred. As if her presence hadn't changed his conviction to forget her. Three years and he hadn't found another woman to take her place. Three years and all he ever did was remember Elizabeth, reliving the nightmare that had begun with Claire.
"How did she look?" Mark asked.
"I saw her a couple of weeks ago," his father said, relieving James of the need to tell them she looked better than cotton candy. He knew Mark saw Elizabeth regularly. "I bumped into her as I was leaving my office." Winton Hill was an economic advisor for the State Department. "We had lunch. She told me about her company. I'm proud of that young lady. She's really come a long way. It's too bad about that sister of hers. I'm amazed that two people growing up in the same house could be so different."
His mother concurred as James and Mark exchanged knowing glances. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between you two." She looked at James. "I'd have liked having her as a daughter-in-law."
"You know they call her "the impossible lady" on the hill," James's father told them.
"They discuss Elizabeth on the hill?"
"You know Washington gossip, James. And anyone who's set up a parachute drop over the restricted airspace of the White House, arranged a wedding reception in the Capitol Rotunda, erected a waterfall at Carter Barron and convinced the Buffalo Film Committee to allow a first time director to use the Wilcox Mansion, will be discussed on the hill. And then there's--"
"Enough." James put his hands up.
"We'd better be going," James's mother said. His father lifted her coat and helped her into it. Minutes later James's father drove competently through the streets of the District. Wisconsin Avenue passed by in a blur. James's thoughts were on Elizabeth. He knew her accomplishments without his father itemizing them and without Mark's reports. Impossible missions were her trademark. He'd had an impossible task of his own -- he'd tried to forget her. It was like forgetting he had a right hand...or a heart. Elizabeth made other peoples dreams come true. She had dreams too. James could only hope hers weren't impossible and he could convince her to try and make them come true.
***
The red and white gown slapped against Elizabeth's legs as she swirled to the music. The pounding in her head hadn't eased since she'd left James's house, although she had taken two ibuprofen tablets in the cold confines of her car. Kyle Gardner pulled her back into his arms, swirling her around as if she were a marionette. She'd been here an hour. One more and she could leave. Smiling at her partner, she followed his steps but felt no joy at the music. She had enjoyed dancing before Claire died. Now Christmas only brought painful memories. Yet she went through the motions of buying and wrapping gifts, attending parties and smiling bravely.
She and Claire used to have the best Christmases. Losing their parents when Elizabeth was only thirteen; Claire barely over legal age, had supported her, made sure they always had food and clothes, a small apartment and money to send her to college. Claire had taken care of her, made sure her Christmases were happy and she always had at least one present. She could almost hear Claire telling her that somehow they would "find" the money.
Then things had changed, all because of --
"James! James Hill!"
Elizabeth lost her footing at the excited call of his name. Stepping on Kyle's foot she looked toward the entrance. Lidia Hereford had just reached the three steps which separated the sunken ballroom from the entrance hallway. James's entire family stood in the archway. Lidia threw her arms around James's neck. Elizabeth stopped dancing and stared at the group near the door. Winton Hill, at fifty-seven had only a few grey hairs. He stood an inch shorter than James's six foot three inches. Elizabeth had no doubt what James would look like when he was his father's age. Opal, James's mother, a petite woman with a wide smile that twinkled in her dark eyes, smiled at her hostess. In her green sequined gown, she looked more like a mature fashion model than a physics professor, yet she commanded several classes a day in the Death Valley building at Howard University. Elizabeth had liked her since she'd tasted her sugar cookies the first Christmas her family had moved to the house on Cathedral Avenue. And Mark, despite his antics and constant reports on James, she liked him. A happy guy, building a reputation as a remarkable surgeon, Mark could charm his patients into getting well. They were a perfect family portrait framed by their love that seemed to protect them. Even Elizabeth could see it from her vantage point. A stone ached in her heart for her own lost family.
"Elizabeth?" Kyle tried to recapture her hand and resume the assault he passed off as dancing.
Elizabeth pushed him away. "Excuse me, Kyle." She offered no further explanation, just turned and searched for an escape route.
"What is he doing here?" Elizabeth fumed as she slipped into a darkened room. The tiny men inside her head with sledge hammers stepped up the pace. She sat down, holding her head. She wasn't going to make it another hour. She needed to find Charles and Lidia and make her excuses now. Waiting in the darkness, she hoped the pain would ease a bit. Minutes later she rose. By this time James and his family should no longer be standing by the door. She could get out without them seeing her, she hoped.
Opening the door to return to the ballroom, Elizabeth blinked at the light. She'd find Charles and Lidia and use her headache as an excuse to leave early. Shading her eyes, she walked into a solid mass. Instinctively her hands came out to support herself. Grabbing hold of the arms that reached out for her, she looked up and into James's dark brown eyes.
"There you are, Elizabeth. I've been looking for you." He spoke as if they were the best of friends and had only been parted for a short time. "Dance with me."
Elizabeth wasn't given time to refuse. James took her hand and started for the crowded dance floor. He threaded through the crowd until he reached the center then turned her into his arms. She wondered what he was up to. Before the dance ended, she knew they would be the talk of the town, but his arms around her felt good. For a moment her headache eased. She held herself stiffly, knowing if she relaxed, she'd melt into him. She wanted to melt, wanted to let him support her without conviction.
Her eyes closed a moment. James ran his hand up her back. She felt his fingers on her skin and warmth spread through her.
"Relax," he whispered in her ear. "It's a crowded floor and it's only a dance."
Elizabeth couldn't fight the pain anymore. She relaxed just to give her head comfort. James's arms criss-crossed her back and he held her close until the last chords of Phyllis Hyman's Somewhere in my Lifetime ended. Even then Elizabeth didn't move. James leaned back and looked at her contorted face.
"Dancing with me couldn't be that bad."
She tilted her head back. Pain shot up her crown. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. A moment later she whispered, "Migraine."
"Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here."
Elizabeth didn't remember saying goodnight or seeing any stares follow them as they left the ballroom. The cold stabbed her bare shoulders as James wrapped her in the rough wool of his overcoat and took her out into the December weather.
"Where are your keys?" he asked.
"My purse," Elizabeth answered clutching the small bag in her hands.
James pried it away, found the keys and opened the door. He pushed her into the passenger seat. Elizabeth recognized her car. As they drove along, it took a few minutes for the heat to reach her. Even then Elizabeth kept her eyes closed to the flash of oncoming headlights and passing street lamps.
"How long have you been having migraine headaches?" he asked. His voice was disembodied and distant.
"I don't know?" she murmured, her head pounding too much for her to try to think coherently. "Since...Claire..." she trailed off.
"Do you have any medicine?"
"I took it," she said, her head lolling back and forth. "After I left you."
James reached across, placing the back of his hand on her forehead. "Just relax," he told her. "Sleep."
The gentle rolling of the car over smooth road lulled her. After a while the light and darkness stopped mixing and only blessed darkness remained. The road became smoother and shifting. James cradled her against his shoulder and she fell asleep.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to bright sunlight. Disoriented she sat up in bed. A thick white satin comforter fell away from her like a cascading waterfall. She had on a pink night gown. Her own night gown. She hadn't worm it in years, and this wasn't her bedroom. "Oh my God!" she said aloud. She was in the guest room; James's guest room. Memory came back. She remembered the party, leaving with James and the blinding headache. It was gone now. Sleep usually took them away. Why hadn't James taken her home? Why did he bring her here? She looked at the gown again. Had he kept it all these years expecting her to return?
Surveying the room, done in shades of green and white, she found her dress and cape lying over a brass butler at the foot of the bed, the cape she'd left the previous night after her hasty exit. She paused unsure what to do next. She had to get out of there. She didn't want to see James, be near him, have anything the do with him. Just as she stuck her foot from beneath the coverlet the door opened. She pulled her foot back, instinctively raising the comforter to her chin.
"Good, you're awake," James's greeting sounded as if they were old friends who'd said goodnight only hours ago. He held a tray in his hands. Setting it across her lap, Elizabeth pushed her way up in the bed. She felt trapped. Her escape route had been blocked. Why did she sleep so long? Why hadn't she awakened, dressed and left?
"What do you want, James?" Elizabeth didn't beat around the bush. James cocked his head to one side as if he were contemplating an answer. She realized the open implication of her question, but refused to drop her gaze. "It's not like you to put up this show of masked enthusiasm unless you want something."
"I want you to eat your breakfast." He reached for the silver coffee pot and poured coffee into one of the two bone china cups.
"Did you cook this?" Elizabeth looked at the perfectly fried eggs, crisp bacon and buttered toast. A single red rose in a crystal bud vase stood next to the linen napkin.
"Mrs. Andrews is in the kitchen," he smiled.
"Was she here last night?" Elizabeth dropped her head to glance at the night gown. She wanted to know if he'd taken off her dress and put her in this night gown.
"No," James said, all playfulness gone from his voice. "It's not the first time I've dressed or undressed you." He raised an eyebrow. "I must say undressing you is more fun." He smiled that devastating smile that had first attracted her to him.
Elizabeth lifted her fork, covering her twitching lips. She liked the housekeeper and loved her cooking.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I had breakfast an hour ago." James pulled the Queen Anne chair from the antique desk and straddled it, careful of the delicate cup in his large hand. His casual jeans and white ski sweater didn't seem out of place across the century's old chair. "I'm willing to share yours." He reached for a slice of bacon. Elizabeth's fingers instinctively tapped his hand. They'd often done that in the past. The gesture wasn't thought out or conscious, it was just there and both of them knew it. She then picked up the bacon and offered it to him. He took it, carrying it to his mouth. Elizabeth couldn't help her gaze, drawn to his lips. They moved sensually as he chewed. She remembered them being on hers, the way they moved with such intimacy. Swallowing hard she dismissed the image.
Elizabeth poured a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar and drank, using the action to shadow the confusion she felt over her thoughts.
James stared at her. He still loved her. After three years, Elizabeth was the only woman he wanted in his life. She looked beautiful in the large bed. He imagined her in his bed. It was where he'd wanted to put her last night, not in this guest room. This morning would be quite different if she'd wakened to find herself wrapped in his arms. He knew that's where she'd be if he'd carried her to his room.
She finished her breakfast and a second cup of the Irish Cream coffee Mrs. Andrews brewed each time she came. James took the tray and set it on the desk. Coming back he sat on the satin cover next to her. Elizabeth quickly moved away from him. James noticed, but said nothing.
"You asked what I wanted?" he began.
Elizabeth's gaze was level. The question was in her eyes, but she said nothing.
"There are eleven days left before Christmas. On Christmas Eve I'm throwing a party. I want you to come."
"That's what this is about? You want me to come to a party?"
"It's more than that. I want you to come and enjoy yourself. Enjoy Christmas."
Elizabeth dropped her head. The riot of black curls were slightly straighter after sleeping on them, but they still made him want to slip his fingers in them.
"I know what it's been like for the past three years," he paused. "I know you go through the motions as the holidays approach, smile in all the right places, attend all the right affairs, but you're having a miserable time."
James had always been able to read her. She thought she had hidden her real feelings under the act of enjoying herself. She wanted to deny his words, but knew he could see through her lies too.
"In less than two weeks you expect me to learn to enjoy the season again?"
James noted she didn't deny his statement. "I hope so."
"Are you suggesting therapy?"
James stared at the window. "In a manner of speaking."
"Therapy takes years. What could eleven days accomplish, even if I agreed?"
"It could change your entire life." He held his breath, knowing how much he was counting on changing her life.
"Why should this matter to you?" she asked.
"It matters," he said quietly. "I never wanted to hurt you, Elizabeth. And I don't want to be responsible for you disliking this time of year or only remembering the accident and Claire's death whenever Christmas approaches."
"I see," she said. "This therapy is really for you? You feel guilty and you're transferring it to me."
His gaze came back to her. He hadn't thought of it like that, but in a way it was true. If he'd left Claire alone that night, she might still be alive. And he'd be in jail.
"I'm not transferring it to you, Elizabeth, but we're both involved in this and it's only fair that we try to work it out."
"Exactly what are you suggesting?"
James looked directly at her. "In the next eleven days, I want to two of us to do some Christmas things. Remember the holidays we had before Claire died. Let those be the ones that carry us from season to season."
Elizabeth threw the cover aside, preparing to get out of bed. "No," she said.
James quickly put his hands on either side of her, trapping her in the satin folds. She looked back at him. She was close enough to kiss, close enough for him to smell her unique scent, feel her warmth. His mind suddenly filled with memories of her. He wanted to touch her, pull her into his arms and take her pain away, but if he acted it would shatter any influence he had over getting her to agree to his plan.
Slowly he moved his hands and sat back on the bed. "Is this how you want to live the rest of your life; pretending you're happy and suffering through migraine headaches?"
Elizabeth turned completely away from him. Her shoulders slumped. James wanted to comfort her, but he did nothing. He hardly breathed.
"What did you have in mind?"
The Stanford Arms Apartments sat on Connecticut Avenue within striking distance of the Washington Hilton Hotel, where Ronald Reagan was shot during his presidency. Elizabeth occupied the corner apartment on the top floor of the pre-World War II building. The sand-colored brick structure looked stately and elegant in a neighborhood of stately and elegant apartment buildings. For all it's old world charm, Elizabeth's apartment had modern overstuffed sofas and carved cherry wood tables. Her kitchen was state of the art. The windows let in light and air and gave the place a feeling of openness. Living here was a far cry from the tiny two rooms she and Claire had occupied after their parents died, leaving them debt-ridden and mortgaged. The book cases were filled with books on handwriting, drawing, stenciling and calligraphy. One of the extra bedrooms had an easel she often used to dabble in painting. Yet not a single Christmas decoration could be found in the two-bedroom suite.
At the offices of Invitation to Love, Elizabeth had a fully decorated tree, complete with wrapped boxes and mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Here, she only had the memory of Claire and the agony of knowing that James had been part of her death. Here, she could let her pain be seen without the prying eyes of Washington.
Elizabeth lounged on the sofa wearing black stretch pants and a green beaded sweater that fell a couple of inches above her knees. Near her feet lay an open book she hadn't been able to read. Though she stared through the windows, her mind was eight miles away in a house nestled among the trees of Rock Creek Park. She'd agreed to James's plan before leaving this morning. He thought she was doing it to change her life and her view of the holiday season. How wrong he was. She was doing it to make his life miserable.
Three years ago he'd escaped. He'd gone to New York and stayed there, away from the memories, the streets and people who looked at her with pity in their eyes. Even Theresa, Claire's best friend, had left for London. She'd felt alone and wretched, wishing she could somehow make it all different. It seemed ironic that she should spend her life making other people's dreams come true. Maybe she was trying all the time to forget that she had dreams of her own and they would never come true. Either that, or to hide from her own heartache.
Elizabeth jumped suddenly as the doorbell rang. Her foot kicked the book to the floor. Why was she so uptight? Getting up she padded barefoot to the door. James's distorted features stared at her through the peep hole. Elizabeth took a calming breath and pulled the door open.
"Hi," he smiled as he brushed by her. Behind him he dragged a huge pine tree. The apartment doorman followed him, loaded down with bags and boxes.
"Merry Christmas, Miss Gregory," he said under his strain. "Where do you want these?"
Flustered, Elizabeth said, "Anywhere."
"I'll take them." James grabbed a few of the bags and dropped them on the floor. He took the boxes and made a pile on the end of the sofa. Then tipping the doorman, they were suddenly alone.
"What is all this?" Elizabeth asked, turning around amid the chaos.
"We've only got eleven days." He pulled off his sheepskin jacket, throwing it casually aside. Standing in front of her, he said, "We're going to decorate your tree. I hoped you hadn't gotten one yet."
He meant he knew she hadn't gotten one yet. Elizabeth didn't have a tree and didn't want one.
"While we arrange bulbs and tinsel I'm going to tell you all about the tradition," James ran on as Elizabeth stood unsure of what to say and do. "Where do you want it?"
"James, I don't want a tree. I spend so little time here," she paused. "There's one at the office and--"
"You don't live at the office. Here, this looks like a good spot." He stood in front of the large picture window that faced the Capitol Building and downtown Washington.
"It blocks the view," she said weakly. Elizabeth loved that view. It was why she'd agreed to the exorbitant rent several years ago when she'd first seen it.
James leaned the tree against the wall and came toward her. Involuntarily she stepped back. He stopped. "You want this to work, don't you?" His eyes were serious, probing into hers as if he could look into her soul. "Don't you believe in Christmas, anymore?"
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her dry throat to speak. His approach told her he was going to touch her. Aching need revved inside her. She knew if she felt his touch she'd lose all reason.
"Then let's try to have some fun with it. It's what Christmas is all about," James said.
He reached up and his finger tapped the dangling earring on her left ear. Sensation ran through Elizabeth. The brush of the gold against her skin was as warm as James's fingers. Her hand came up and stopped the movement.
"I'll try," she agreed.
"Good. Now where do you want the tree?"
Elizabeth told him to stand it in front of the window. While he positioned it for her approval, she watched him. She was still holding her ear. He'd always like to dangle the earrings she wore. There were times when she'd wait for him and he'd come up behind her and touch the earring or kiss her there. Heat would warm her ear and spread through her body, just as it was doing now.
James pulled a tree stand from one of the boxes. Bending down he quickly assembled it, humming O Tannenbaum while he worked.
"Why don't you put on some Christmas music?" James glanced over his shoulder.
"I don't have any."
He stopped his task and stood up. Elizabeth wished she were wearing shoes. She felt small next to his big frame. Stepping back she tripped on the book and nearly lost her balance. She bent down, picked up the romance novel and dropped it on the sofa.
"What happened to them?" James asked.
"I never...unpacked them after...when I moved here."
"Why are you lying," James accused. "You lived her before Claire died."
"All right, I packed them after she died. I didn't want to be reminded of Christmas. I hate it! I hate it!"
She turned away, her arms crossed in front of her in an effort to prevent herself from shaking. Elizabeth stood there for several moments. Finally, her breathing returned to normal. Taking a deep breath, she turned back. James had not moved.
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry Claire's dead," he said, softly. "I'm sorry I had any part in her death. I wish to God she'd never come into..." he stopped, leaving the thought incomplete. "In the past three years, Elizabeth, we've both been plagued by bad memories at Christmas. I want this year to be different."
Elizabeth suddenly felt guilty. Her goal had been to make him feel bad, yet she was the one who felt small, as if her actions were childish and petty. Giving her a cue he smiled.
Elizabeth tried but failed.
James stepped forward with a grin. "Smile," he said, then he took her waist. "You'd better smile," he warned. Seconds later his fingers squeezed inward, tickling her. "Come on," he warned.
Clamping her teeth together, Elizabeth tried to hold it in. She couldn't stop herself. Finally, the flood gates opened and she burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"Sto--opp," he cried, as she grabbed his hands and bent her knees, slipping to the floor. James followed her, laughing with her.
He stopped tickling her but she continued laughing. Only when she had no more breath left, could she get control on her near-hysteria.
"Feel better?"
She nodded wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
He pulled her up, immediately releasing contact. From one of the bags on the floor he pulled a CD and offered it to her. "Put this on."
Elizabeth took the cellophane wrapped package and went to the rack system in the corner. The disc contained a medley of Motown artist and a variety of Christmas songs. Gladys Knights's soulful rendition of O Holy Night filled the room.
"What's in the other bags?" she asked, returning to the center of the room.
"Open them," James told her absently. He'd finished the assembly and stood the tree in it. The room smelled pleasantly of pine.
Elizabeth loved surprises. The feeling of finding presents under the tree on Christmas morning gave her a rush. She found tinsel, tree lights, colored bulbs and garlands. Soon her living room was draped in colorful disarray.
When James was ready for the lights, Elizabeth found herself passing them back and forth as they draped the tree.
"I thought you were going to tell me all about Martin Luther and the tradition of decorating trees."
"Ah-ha," he said as if he were verbally flexing his muscles. "Many people attribute the tradition to Martin Luther. But long before the birth of Christ, people brought evergreens into their homes and decorated them. They held winter festivals and celebrated the winter solstice."
"Winter festivals?" Elizabeth glanced up from the box she'd opened. "Today we call them parties." She smiled at him. Her first unconscious action since he'd arrived. James smiled back as he stopped hanging glass icicles on the tree for the unguarded moment. Elizabeth unwrapped several Victorian bulbs and placed them on the tree.
"The festivals were thanks for a bountiful harvest and prayer that the next season would be plentiful." James returned to his story. "When Christianity became accepted, many people retained their winter rites, gradually changing them to honor Christ."
As James continued telling her about the tradition of Christmas trees, Elizabeth was mesmerized by the sound of his voice. A deep bass if he sang, the sound seemed to originate in low in his body and flow forward. She had forgotten how much she loved hearing him talk. Opening another box of decorations, they filled the open spaces with bulbs, icicles, and hallmark figures. When they got to the garland, the tree looked good enough for the cover of House Beautiful and James had reached the part of his story where the tradition came to the United States.
"The Hessians, German soldiers hired by the British to fight in the American Revolution, decorated trees during the holiday season and it caught on with the settlers."
"James," Elizabeth interrupted his story. "I know this part. I also know that President Franklin Pierce put up the first Christmas tree in the White House, that Calvin Coolidge lit the first outdoor tree and Eisenhower established the pageant of peace they hold on the Mall behind the White House."
"Good," James said. "That's the end of my story." He picked up the final unopened box. "How about putting the last decoration on?"
Elizabeth stared at the box. She knew it held an angel opening it. They always topped the tree with an angel. "That was Claire's job. She said the angel had been sent by our parent's to watch over us."
"I'm sure she'd want you to do it."
Elizabeth lifted the lid. She gasped when she saw the delicate Black doll, dressed in a white gown as sheer as gossamer. The box dropped to Elizabeth's feet as she lifted the angel, holding it as carefully as she would fine glass. Feathered wings extended from her back arching up like summer clouds. Black eyes looked deep into Elizabeth's.
James touched the tree top ornament, his hand brushing Elizabeth's. "Put it on," he whispered.
"I can't reach it," she said, her head slowly rising to look at him.
"I'll help you."
Before she could stop him, James lifted her from the carpeted floor and hoisted her to his shoulder. Vertigo claimed her momentarily. The floor looked miles away from where she sat.
"Put me down!" She grabbed his shoulder, nearly dropping the doll.
"In a minute. Put the angel on the tree."
James stepped forward, his hands holding her firmly. Elizabeth reached for the top branch unsure of her position. She felt as if she were going to fall. Quickly she stuck the angel on the extended branch.
"Put me down," she said when she'd secured the ornament.
James's hands slid up her torso to grasp her arms. He slid her down his body. Elizabeth pointed her toes as if she were a ballet dancer and he was practicing a lift. Heat scorched her bottom as it rolled over James's chest. Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her brain told her to get to the floor fast, yet another part of her body savored the hard strength of him, remembered the hours of love-making, his arms wrapped around her, filling her with warmth and security.
Elizabeth mentally shook herself, trying to get control of her rampaging emotions. An eon passed before her toes felt the thick carpet pile. James turned her in his arms. She faced him, her voice caught below the lump in her throat.
"What do we do next?" he asked.
Mrs. Andrews would have his head if she could see what he'd done to her kitchen. Bags of sugar lay strewn on the counter. An opened one had spilled onto the floor. There were enough grains under his feet to perform a soft shoe routine. The flour sack flopped over the moment he opened it, clouding the room and settling a powdery dust over everything. Chocolate sprinkles and rainbow toppers waited with red and green sugar crystals, bowls, spoons, a sifter, and half the spices from the supermarket shelf. James's previous excursions through the kitchen were to get to the barbecue pit in the backyard or to raid the refrigerator for fried chicken and cold milk in the middle of the night. He couldn't imagine baking Christmas cookies here. And why cookies?
When he'd asked Elizabeth what they should do next, baking was the last thing on his mind. From the look in her eyes, it wasn't her first thought either. Yet he had given her the option of picking the next Christmas tradition they should share. He couldn't back out of it now; even if he did hate cookies. He wondered if she remembered that and had chosen this as a punishment. He knew she agreed to his plan so she could turn the tables on him. Was this her way of doing it? It wasn't going to work. He loved her too much. Being in her company, even if she tried things he hated, was better than spending his days and nights without her.
His mother had made sugar cookies and they seemed to act like a homing device for Elizabeth whenever the oven was lit. Tonight he'd spend the evening with cookie dough on his hands letting Elizabeth instruct him on what to do with the sprinkles or any of the other items she'd had him buy. She'd given him a list of the things they'd need and he'd come from the grocery store with six bags of ingredients. He hoped he had enough.
Glancing at the clock, he knew Elizabeth would be here any moment. She'd always been prompt. He'd better at least get the sugar off the floor and the counter back to a presentable state.
The doorbell pealed before he finished. Hastily he dumped the grains into the trash. Then dropped the dust pan and broom into the closet and started for the door. At the archway where he'd kissed her he stopped. His heart was beating wildly. Taking a deep breath he waited a moment. He'd been nervous since hearing her voice on the other end of the phone this afternoon, when she'd itemized the things they'd need. After that there was no way he could concentrate on futures, the Dow Jones Index or whether the NASDAQ was up or down. His thoughts were on his beautiful, brown, baby.
The bell rang again, starling him from his reverie.
"Hi," she said with a smile.
It was the old smile. The one that did strange things to his heart. James couldn't do more than grin. The wind was blowing hard. Elizabeth was wrapped in a fur coat and hat. Only her face showed, framed by the dark fur. Her eyes were dancing and her mouth was red and kissable. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and indulge in the urge at the forefront of his mind. He stood back and let her in. Helping her with the heavy coat, he stood close enough to smell the sensuous scent that was hers alone. His body grew warm, a prelude to the familiar reaction he had whenever he thought of her. With her so close he'd have to be careful. Turning away, he took extra time hanging the coat in the closet.
"Did you get everything?" she asked.
"I found everything on the list."
"Good," she said. "Shall we begin?"
James took her arm as she turned toward the archway. Her eyes weren't just dancing, they were brilliant as if she had a secret and was dying to tell it. "Can't we have a drink first?"
"Of course."
Her smile was so radiant; James couldn't help but be suspicious. She'd been so reluctant to decorate the tree, now she seemed to have done a complete reversal. Something was not as it seemed.
He went into the great-room, Elizabeth following him. At the bar he watched her as he poured glasses of white wine. She pulled off the fur hat and used her fingers to pick the short curls. The act was so simple, yet fire alarms were going off inside James. He had to convince her how much he loved her, how much she loved him. He couldn't tell her everything she thought he'd done in the past was Claire's doing. He wanted her to trust him enough to know he would never have done anything to hurt her. Last night decorating the tree he felt he'd broken a little of the ice she had around her heart. Tonight he was going to have to turn the tables and let her know he knew where her ploy was going.
Elizabeth dropped down on the padded bar stool and took the glass James offered.
"You're especially happy tonight," he said. "Something happen?"
Elizabeth took a sip. She was bubbling over with happiness. Something wonderful must have happened to her.
"I got a release today," she paused.
James waited. "A release from what?" he asked after a long moment. He knew it had to be something spectacular. She had a client list that read like a Who's Who in Washington society, but Elizabeth was proud when she did something for people who had little power behind them.
"Not from what. For what." She grinned and took another sip. "The Department of Interior gave permission today for the air show I've been planning."
James came around the bar. "Tell me about it?"
"Three hundred hot air balloonist are going to fly children over the Mall area on the fourth of July. They'll take off and tour the monuments and Rock Creek Park, then land in RFK Stadium. The children will love it."
Elizabeth sat forward on the stool. Her body was poised with an excitement he hadn't seen in years. She glowed with the happiness reserved for children on Christmas morning.
"The balloonists are donating their time to help the Children's Fund." She stood up leaving her glass on the bar. "You'll love it, James. It's going to be a perfect day for a child."
James recognized Elizabeth's favorite charity. He also heard the excitement in her voice include him in her future plans. He wondered if she knew she'd done it, if it were an unconscious slip of the tongue or if she really wanted him in her life. He certainly hoped the latter was true. "What about the airport?"
"No planes in or out for three hours."
"Not even Air Force One?"
She grinned, coming toward him. "Not Air Force One, not the military, not United Airlines, not anybody."
"How long have you been working on this?"
"Months," she said her eyes rolling to the ceiling. "It feels like years, but it's been worth it. I hadn't expected to hear anything until well into the new year. Then today I get a call saying everything's been approved." She looked at him, her face glowing. "I can't tell you how good I feel." Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and spun around like a top. "Tomorrow night I get to announce it at the Fund's Christmas party."
"Congratulations," James said. Elizabeth's excitement reached him. He went to her and took her in his arms. He kissed her left ear where her earring dangled. Sensation flashed through him at the emotions that flared within him. "I'm almost afraid to ask how you did all this."
Elizabeth leaned back. "I don't know how I did it." Her arms reached around his neck and she pressed herself against him. "And I don't care. It's done and I'm ecstatic."
James couldn't stop his arms from holding her close. He buried his face in her neck as she hugged him, smelling her scent and kissing her soft brown skin.
Elizabeth suddenly changed in his arms. Her body grew still and stiff as wood. He knew she remembered where she was. The excitement of telling him about the children was gone. She was aware of him, the changes in his body and the heat gathering around them. He didn't move, didn't breathe. He knew he had to let whatever happened between them, be her decision. He knew what his would be, but Elizabeth couldn't be rushed or pushed into a relationship. He didn't even know if she was still in love with him. He only knew when he'd kissed her, she'd reacted.
Slowly she leaned back. James didn't prevent her from moving out of his arms if that was what she wanted. He hoped it wasn't. She stopped. He could feel her breath on his cheek. If he turned his head his lips would brush hers. The urge to move was stronger than he was. Leaning back he moved his head. Their breath mingled. His fingers reached into her soft hair. She angled her head toward him. "Thanks for sharing your news with me," he whispered. His lips took hers.
He wanted to take it slow, unhurried, tenderly, but his mouth touched hers and three years of hunger poured through him. His tongue found the sweet nectar of her mouth. Something inside Elizabeth snapped too. She melted in his arms and together they battled for primal supremacy. His hands caressed her, finding familiar places, hearing familiar sounds. Elizabeth was thinner than he remembered, but she was just as hot and just as drugging. She tortured him with her mouth, her touch, the way she felt in his arms, the way her legs brushed against his. He needed to stop this torture or soon he'd lift her and carry her to the room he thought they'd share three years ago. Yet his mouth continued to find and battle with hers.
Finally, Elizabeth slid her mouth from his. I love you, Elizabeth. The words reverberated so loudly in his head he was sure he'd spoken them. How had he lived these past three years without her. If he couldn't make her fall in love with him in the next nine days, how was he going to live the rest of his life? He'd grasp at the idea of trying to change her outlook on Christmas, but he really wanted her back in his life.
James's arms tightened around her. She didn't try to pull away. Her breath came in short gasps. James held her, trying to control his own raging emotions. Elizabeth's shoulders shook. At first, he thought she was having as much trouble gaining control as he was. Then he realized she was crying.
***
Elizabeth thought she could do this. She thought she could make James miserable. She knew better now. Her heart wasn't in it. Today when clearance came for the balloon show, she couldn't wait to tell him. He'd been the first person she'd thought of, not Mrs. McCaffrey who ran the Children's Fund or even Mary with whom she shared practically everything. She hadn't even thought of the children who'd be thrilled when they found out. Her only thoughts had been of James Hill. But how could they have been? How could she still want to run to him after what he'd done to Claire?
Nine more days. How was going to survive them? Nine days in James's company, trying to remember how he'd lied about Claire, drove her until she fled from him and lost her life in an accident he'd walked away from. She knew what her brain told her, but her heart ruled when James walked in the door. Her heart remembered the love not the pain. Tonight they should be making cookies, a project she'd chosen because she knew he'd never eat them. James loved chocolate cake with chocolate icing, and even though his mother made the best cookies Elizabeth had ever tasted, James was the only family member who didn't eat them. Elizabeth didn't want to make the cookies now. It was petty. James had come to her with a tree and all the trimmings. His purpose had been to help her, while hers was to make him feel bad. She couldn't do it. She had to go.
"James," she said, pulling herself out of his arms. "I don't feel much like baking cookies now. Do you mind if we do it another night?"
"Why don't we just talk for a while."
Elizabeth hesitated as if she were making a decision. Finally, she nodded and James led her to a sofa. At first, it was awkward, neither of them knew what to say.
"I -- I want to apologize," Elizabeth began.
"Apologize for what?"
"For the reason I agreed to your plan." She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. "I know you want to help me to deal with Claire's death. It was at Christmas and I seem to relive it every year." James waited. He didn't say a thing and Elizabeth found it difficult to read his thoughts.
"You wanted to make me pay for the way you felt, make me feel as sad as you do."
"You knew!" She stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I knew," he nodded. "If you hadn't tried to make any contact with me in the past three years, what else could be the reason for you suddenly agreeing to my company."
"I know you didn't really have anything to do with Claire's death. At the time I was so--"
"Why don't we try to forget it and begin again?"
Elizabeth smiled. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. "I'd like that," she said.
***
"Invitation to Love, may I help you." Elizabeth unconsciously lifted the receiver and spoke into it. For the week before Christmas, she was unusually busy. Washington society, where the pace ran non-stop twenty-four hours a day, where emergency crisis cropped up at least once a week, planned their parties well in advance and neither world crisis or war, seemed to interfere. Elizabeth had just finished the three hundredth calligraphic invitation for Mrs. Joy Carson's annual Valentine's Day Ball.
"Well, Little Lizzie, how have you been?"
Only one person in the world called her that. "Theresa!" Elizabeth yelled into the phone. "Where are you, London? or have you come home for the holidays?"
"I'm right here in the Capital City."
"Are you going to be here long? Will we get a chance to have lunch or dinner and talk over old times?"
Elizabeth hadn't seen Theresa since Claire died. She and her sister has been the closest of friends. Although Claire knew many people, she had few friends, but Theresa and she had been inseparable. Claire's death had hit Theresa hard and Elizabeth was sure it was part of the reason she accepted the position in England.
"I'll be here through the New Year, but I'm afraid between family and previous invitations, I don't have a free moment to myself. I will be at James's party so I'll see you there."
"I'll look forward to it."
Elizabeth replaced the receiver. She was smiling. A few days ago a call from Theresa would have brought the bad memories back to her, but today they didn't. Was this James's doing? Could his plan really work? She had enjoyed decorating the tree and spending the evening with him. The fire glowed against his skin with memories of their Christmas in the mountains. Happy thoughts of snowball fights and icicles hanging from the roof filled her mind, not the gruesome details of policeman Officer Robinson, she still remembered his name, coming to tell her Claire and James had been in an accident and Claire was dead. Not even noticing Claire's files when she pulled out her own stored Christmas decorations had put a damper on her night with James.
She looked forward to seeing Theresa and talking to her, even about Claire.
The small bell over the door rang and Elizabeth got up. The day was nearly over and Joanne had gone an hour ago. Elizabeth had to handle everything until she closed.
"Delivery," the uniformed Federal Express agent said. He handed Elizabeth a clip board and showed her where to sign.
Elizabeth scribbled her name on the electronic pad and the agent slipped the five large boxes from his hand truck.
"One more trip," he said. He left, returning moments later with another load of identical boxes.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said, her mind wondering about the delivery. She wasn't expecting anything, but at this time of year, she often received gifts from vendors; some of them elaborate and useless.
With a nod and a Merry Christmas, the Federal Express agent left. Elizabeth pulled the tape away from the first box and opened the lid. The unmistakable smell of sugar filled the air. Dropping the lid to the floor, she opened the first tin inside. She found sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies, cookies shaped like bells, decorated Christmas trees, all sorts and varieties of Christmas cookies. They were perfect. James couldn't have done this, she thought, biting into the sugar cookie. After she left him, he couldn't have spent the night making these cookies. She was sure in his world of buying and selling stocks and bonds, learning to bake wasn't on the top of his priority list. She took another bite. It was delicious.
Laughter bubbled up in her at the picture forming in her mind of James covered in white flour rolling out cookie dough and cutting Christmas shapes. The laughter went on until her eyes were smarting and she thought her sides would split.
"I'm glad you're getting such a kick out of this, especially since you didn't help at all."
James stood in the doorway. He closed the door and came into the room.
Elizabeth took a cookie and went toward him with it. She raised it to his mouth. He brushed her hand aside and caught her around the waist. "I'd much prefer you to cookies," he said before dropping his mouth to hers in a soul spinning kiss. "I suppose it was worth a lost night's sleep for the reward I get."
"Did you do this all by yourself?" Elizabeth pushed herself out of his arms and went back to the boxes.
"I tried. Do you know how many cookies you can make from a five pound bag of flour?"
Elizabeth looked up. "Dozens," she said.
"Twelve dozen," he told her.
Elizabeth stared at the cache on her floor. "How many cookies are in here?"
"At last count, that would have been about four o'clock this morning, there were twelve dozen of seven varieties with more in the oven and even more to go in."
Elizabeth laughed.
"This is not a laughing matter, woman," he said with mock annoyance. "I intend to see that you eat each and every crumb before the next sun rises in the sky."
Elizabeth tried to stop, but each time the picture of James stacking dozen after dozen of cookies into tins and boxes came into her mind, mirth overcame her. "If I'd known you'd be so good at cookies, I'd have suggested English Pudding Cake complete with charms." Elizabeth replaced the cover of the cookies and turned back to James.
"Somehow I don't think I'd like whatever the suggestion is you're making."
"You like tradition. You'd love them."
"Would I?" He raised an eyebrow.
Elizabeth had been waiting for him. It was time for her to close. Locking the front door, she walked about the shop turning off lights and preparing to leave. "There are several charms, a wishbone, horseshoe, thimble, coin, and a bell, each with a special meaning."
"The horseshoe or the wishbone could mean good luck and the coin good fortune, what do the others mean?"
"The horseshoe means good luck, the wishbone grants a wish, you're right, the coin does mean good fortune, the thimble blesses the owner and the bell signifies an upcoming wedding."
Elizabeth turned off the lights that illuminated the window displays. Only one light remained illuminated in the back of the counter.
"What do you do with these charms?"
"You bake them inside small cakes." She snapped off a counter light.
"I hope you tell people their in there."
"Oh, you do," she smiled.
"I guess we'll leave that tradition for next year," James said. The anticipation of a continued relationship after this season ended was not lost on Elizabeth. He was a silhouette in the darkened room. She couldn't see his features and hoped he could not see hers. Elizabeth pulled her coat from a small closet. James came to her and helped her into it. She felt his hands on her shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. Then he tapped her earring. Heat spiraled inside her and she wanted to step back into his embrace.
"What are you going to do with all these? You can't leave them here."
"I have the perfect place for them," Elizabeth said. Taking a tin from the box, she set it on the counter, then closed the crate. "Grab a box. We're going to load them in the van."
James did as she instructed and followed her to the back door. They quickly fill the inner space with the seven cases of cookies and climbed inside.
"Where are we going?" James asked when Elizabeth pulled onto P Street and headed East toward Dupont Circle.
"To visit the one person I know who can get rid of eighty-four dozen cookies in less than an hour."
"Mark," he said.
"Mark," she confirmed.
***
Elizabeth smiled at her reflection. Green sequins twinkled as she moved and a row of them tingled her knees as she walked. Around her neck was a single gold chain with a cluster of diamonds at the end of it forming a present. The cross ribbons were outlined in emeralds. Elizabeth remembered buying it the first year Invitation to Love made money. It had been impetuous and impractical, but she loved it.
In the past she'd have dreaded dressing to go to yet another Christmas party. Tonight she glowed as brightly as the first Christmas star. James was picking her up in a few minutes and her thoughts had run to him since she made the mistake of selecting his card from her Rolodex. It felt like ages ago. Yet it had only been five days. Five wonderful, smiling, happy, lovely days.
Again, she looked at the woman in the mirror. She couldn't help smiling. The doorbell rang. Elizabeth had given instruction at the desk to allow James to come right up. Opening the door a rush of emotion washed over her. James stood there looking better than any man had a right to. He stepped in the foyer and quickly kissed her cheek, a habit he'd taken to doing whenever he saw her. She had to admit she loved it, just as she loved all the things they did together.
"You look gorgeous," he said coming into the room. "I can see I'm going to have trouble getting a dance with you tonight."
"I'll make sure to add your name to my dance card at least once," she promised.
The tree they'd decorated blinked at intervals giving the room a festive look. The CD he'd left behind played in the background and a fire burned in the fireplace. Elizabeth had a sudden wish to stay home tonight; to ask James to forego the party and spend the evening wrapped in each other as they'd done countless times in the past.
She knew she couldn't. Tonight was her party. The one for the Children's Fund. A few Congressmen, hoping for re-election, would be there along with the entire staff of the Fund. She was one of their champion fund raisers and with the news she had to deliver tonight, delaying her appearance would be criminal.
"You look so good, I wish we could just stay here." James voiced her thoughts.
"I have to be there," she told him, glad he couldn't see the heat that poured into her face at his comment. "I have good news to tell them."
"I know. It's just that I'm jealous. I don't want to share you with anyone."
Elizabeth swallowed hard. Her eyes locked with his and they stared at each other, sharing a moment only lovers could understand.
"Where's your coat?" James took the embarrassment out of the moment. He helped her into the fur coat and turned her to face him, his hands on her arms. He didn't say anything, just stared at her with the strangest look in his eyes. She felt something change between them, but didn't know what it was or if it was good or bad.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
He was quiet for a long moment, then he shook his head. "Nothing."
They left then. Elizabeth sat in the warm luxury of the Lexus. James was silent. He'd been in a different mood when he came to the apartment, but in the space of a few minutes something had changed between them and she didn't know what.
She didn't get to find out at the party. From the moment they arrived at the Daughters of the American Revolution Hall Elizabeth was pulled from one person to another. She grabbed James's hand and kept near him, introducing him to people who pumped his hand and immediately tried to find out his position on fund raising.
After the dinner speeches began, Elizabeth made her announcement. When she left the podium, she was mobbed as if she were a rock star. James was pushed to the wall where he watched and waited. Elizabeth kept track of him as she talked to everyone. James hadn't been in the best mood when they arrived. He was probably bored and needed to get out of here. Elizabeth finally got out of the crowd. She grabbed two glasses of champagne and came up behind him.
"Excuse me," she said. "You look a little lost. Can I help?" She smiled hoping he wasn't angry and offered him a glass.
"Do I know you?" he asked continuing her joke. "Or are you trying to pick me up."
She cocked her head to the side. "I haven't picked anyone up in years, but you look like a reputable character. Are you going my way?"
"I'd love to go with you, but you see, I didn't come here alone."
"And your mother taught you to always see the girl to her door?"
His eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Do you know my mother?"
Elizabeth laughed. She hoped his mood was changing, that the man who entered her apartment tonight was coming back. Not the one who left.
"Would you like to dance?"
"I'd love to dance," she said.
In the main salon, James turned her into his arms and Elizabeth melted. She barely heard the sound of the band or the lounge singer. A music all her own played in her head. It felt good being in James's arms again. She felt as if her life had been suspended since he left three years ago, and she'd buried herself in work. Tonight work wasn't so important. Nothing was as important as the way she felt. The way James made her feel.
For hours, they danced, talked, smiled at other people and wondered if they were as happy as the two of them. Finally, it was time to leave. Elizabeth walked on air, humming softly to herself as they slipped into the elevator and ascended to the top floor of the Stanford Arms Apartments. James had his arm around her waist and she'd never been happier.
"I had a wonderful time," she said at her door. Elizabeth inserted the key and pushed inward. James followed her inside. She dropped the keys on the foyer table with her purse.
He grabbed her arms as she started to walk further into the apartment. "I think I'd better say goodnight."
Elizabeth frowned. She didn't want him to leave. "Don't you want a drink, some coffee, or something."
He stared at her. Elizabeth recognized the mood he'd had earlier, before they left. "Yes, Elizabeth," he said. "I would like something...but you don't drink it. And if I stay..." he left the phrase hanging. "Good night, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow."
He kissed her on the mouth. A kiss so tender Elizabeth thought she'd float away. Then he left her. The door clicked as he closed it. She stood there stunned, staring at the closed portal, wondering why he'd left her alone. How had she gotten to this point? They'd only shared five days together and not five whole days, only parts of them. Yet she'd changed. She'd hated James for years and in five days he'd changed her into a woman who wanted him desperately and when he could have had her, he left.
Why?
James turned over for the hundredth time. The clock on the night table read three o'clock. Why couldn't he sleep? Wasn't everything going as he planned? Elizabeth was falling in love with him. He could have stayed tonight, made love to her. God knows he wanted to. Why didn't he? And why did he feel like such a heel? He'd done nothing wrong. She was the woman he loved, the one he wanted to spend his life with, the one he needed to complete himself.
"Claire," he breathed with all the malice he could muster. Even from the grave she was between them. She'd always be between, unless he could get Elizabeth to understand what Claire had been trying to do. How she manipulated people to get what she wanted; how she used everyone -- himself, even Elizabeth, her loving sister. If it hadn't been for Theresa telling him Claire's plan, Elizabeth wouldn't have Invitation to Love. Claire would have seen to that.
Punching his pillow and flopping over on his stomach, James tried for a comfortable position and the inevitable coming of sleep -- both eluded him. Then he thought of Elizabeth. She had changed some in the last three years. Her appearance was markedly different, most due to the short hair cut. She was thinner and sadness seem to prevail over her. She smiled in all the right places and appeared at the right events, but behind her eyes was reserved sadness. In the last few days he'd seen some of it disappear. God, he hoped he was responsible for taking it away. He wanted it all gone. Not a trace of it left to hang over her. He wanted Elizabeth happy. After spending her life trailing Claire from one tenement to another she deserved a better life. Damn, she was there again -- Claire, between them.
He turned back over, his arm across his forehead as if he could ward off the memories. What was Elizabeth doing now, he wondered. Was she awake thinking of him. His body hardened at the thought. Now he wished he'd taken her up on her invitation to stay the night. She hardly knew she'd issued it, but it was clear to him.
Listening to the quiet, he willed his body to calm down. In the distance he heard a dog barking, the wind pushing at the windows and the faint hum of car engine. Kicking the covers aside, James turned the lamp switch on and got out of bed. Pushing his arms into the maroon velour robe, he belted it. He found his slippers and headed for the kitchen.
Leaving a messy kitchen for Mrs. Andrews two nights in a row would be uncharacteristic for him; just as not being able to sleep. Hot milk might help, but he hated it. He was after cold milk and cold chicken.
At the bottom of the steps, something caught his eye. Sticking in the mail slot was a white envelope. It hadn't been there when he'd come in. Mail was never delivered through the slot. He had a rural box at the edge of the property. The slot was merely decoration. The door hadn't been part of the original purchase. When he'd bought the house, a year before Elizabeth agreed to marry him, the entry door was the only thing he didn't like. During a business trip to Charleston he'd found an old building being demolished. He bought the Corinthian columned door and had it installed.
Grabbing the envelope, he recognized Elizabeth's precise handwriting. With all the styles of lettering she'd mastered, her own writing was almost straight up and down with no slant and an economy of flamboyancy. When had she delivered this? He'd left her at her apartment just after midnight. Suddenly he remembered the engine hum. Yanking the door open he scanned the area. She was there, near the curb.
"Elizabeth!"
She was almost in her car, but his shout drew her attention. James dropped the envelope and ran. She wasn't in the driveway, but had walked up from the street, some fifty yards away. Getting to her was the most important thing he'd ever done. She stood still, watching. He wasn't sure what had brought her here. He only knew he wasn't going to let her leave.
James's breath congealed in the cold air. His heart burst in his chest. He didn't ask why she'd come here. He didn't ask why he hadn't rang the bell. He took her in his arms and kissed her. The blowing wind, swirls of snow that threatened to turn into the Capital's first snow fall, didn't touch him. He had Elizabeth. Nothing else mattered. She shuttered against him. His lips grazed hers. He held the back of her head and ground his mouth into hers.
Elizabeth's arms went around his waist. She shifted, wedging herself against him. James's body tightened. Passion flared between them. His tongue swept into her mouth. He crushed her against him, knowing his strength could break her bones, yet feeling the weakness she caused in him. His hands moved over her, from her shoulder blades to her hips. James couldn't believe she was here; in his arms, returning his kiss. He was losing control. Her mouth was a seductive narcotic under his. He wanted her now!
Elizabeth returned his embrace with equal force and fervor. Moving her away from the car he slammed the door and led her toward the open doorway.
"What are you doing here?" he asked between kisses when they were inside and he held her against the closed door. He didn't give her time to answer. He took her mouth again, trading one hungry kiss for another. His hands wanted to explore every part of her body, but her coat inhibited him. Stepping back he found the fasteners and released them running his hands inside the fur and pulling her slender frame into contact with his.
Elizabeth's passion-filled eyes stared at him in the half light. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses. Between them hung the oldest unspoken language in human history. Desire had gnawed at him for days. He couldn't resist it any longer. She was here -- real, warm, soft, and filling his arms.
"Elizabeth," he groaned. "I'm so glad you came."
"I couldn't sleep," she told him, her body pressing into his.
He reached down, slipping his arm under her knees, and lifting her from the floor. With her head resting against his shoulder he mounted the wide staircase and entered the master suite.
Elizabeth hadn't been in this room in three years, yet she knew every inch of it. Maroon and green paisley drapes hung at the windows perfectly matching the rumpled comforter on the king-size bed. James held her close. She listened to his heart pounding strongly under her ear. He lowered her feet to the carpeted floor, keeping her close. She didn't move away from him. Her arms slid down his chest and she trembled at the sensation flowing through her body. She could feel the need pooling between her legs. Elizabeth told herself she had come to leave the letter; that it was a prank and James would get a good laugh out of it in the morning. She knew it was a lie. She wanted to find him. She wanted him to come to the door and see her. And she wanted to be here now. This is where she'd wanted to be for three years.
James's reentry into her life had shown her how much she'd missed him, enjoyed his smile, his playfulness. She wanted to forget the past; think only of the moment.
Her fingers inched to the opening of his robe. Fire burned her as she skimmed his chest, but she kept going. Holding her breath Elizabeth leaned forward and placed her open mouth in the V of his robe. She felt the tremor shake him. Strong hands grasped her arms. Smoothing her fingertips over his hot skin, she undid the tied knot. With one fingernail, she outlined his male breasts, then flattened her fingers and rubbed them across his nipples. Small numbs hardened under her tutelage. James's hands tightened like vises around her arms.
"Elizabeth." His voice, thick with emotion, shook.
He brushed through her hair, angling her head upward. His eyes, dark and smoldering, looked almost painful with need.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Elizabeth nodded.
Slowly his features blurred as he captured her mouth again. This time the kiss was slow, tender, passionate, the way their first kiss had been. Her arms circled his neck, her body liquefying, melting into him.
James had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Elizabeth. He told himself there was too much between them that needed to be cleared before they could go on with their lives. He told himself clearing the air was the honorable thing to do; stepping back and allowing his brain to lead him. But at that moment, Elizabeth rubbed herself against him. Rapturous spasms coursed through him and all thought left him, except the one that said this was the only woman in the world for him.
Bending down he kissed her ear where the earring brushed her skin. Soft, delicious sound, like purrs, came from her throat. He liked hearing her moans, hoped they would continue. His hands brushed up and down her back, cupping her round hips and pulling her closer to his own hard body. She gasped at the action. A smile touched his lips at the rapture he saw on her face. Then he kissed her lips, unable to resist the habit forming opia. Pushing her coat off her shoulders, he let it slide to the floor. Her sequined gown had been exchanged for a grey knit dress that hugged her curves. Finding the zipper at the back, he lowered it with restrained patience. Then peeled the dress away, revealing skin as smooth and clear as white wine.
When the dress joined her coat, Elizabeth stood in only a black teddy and stockings. Electricity suddenly snapped in the air, an obvious reaction to the furnace burning in his gut. His body, already erect and ready, was stabbed with a wave of desire so strong he was sure his control would erupt. Pushing her down, she sat on the side of the bed. Kneeling before her he unhooked her stockings, kissing the skin where the delicate nylon ended. Elizabeth's hands gently massaged his back. He felt his muscles contract at her touch. Intense emotions swept through him.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. Her skin was on fire. Wherever James touched her she thought she'd incinerate evaporate into a steaming gas. The torture he put her through was more than she could handle. Biting her lower lip she tried desperately not to scream, but she could hear the moan coming from her own throat. He removed her stockings with a slowness that knotted her stomach, then unable to continue at an unhurried pace, made quick work of the teddy. The light behind him bathed his skin in a healthy glow of burnished brown. His robe joined forces with her discarded clothes at the foot of the bed.
James joined her, pushing her back and uncoiling his body down the length of hers. She splayed her hands over his broad shoulders, feeling his muscles contract and relax under her palms. Quickly she raked her nails down his back. He arched against her. She reveled in the feel of his naked skin next to hers, hot like a scented oil.
He kissed her shoulder, his hands running over her length in slow motion. Elizabeth caught her breath, burying her face in his skin. His hands worked erotically over her, pausing to sample spots he seemed to like. When the pads of his thumbs grazed her breasts, she called his name. His mouth replaced the exquisite torture of his hands, suckling the wine-colored strawberries as if it had been made for this one task. Lingeringly he went on, tasting her body in minute detail. Elizabeth sunk her fingers into his shoulders. Her mouth opened without sound as she struggled to control the screams threatening to break forth.
"God," she prayed. "I don't think I can wait any longer."
With lightning speed James opened the bedside table and grabbed the foil pouch to protect them. Heat enveloped them as James leveled himself over her. Kneeing her legs apart, he entered her easily. Elizabeth let out a long breath, filled with three years of yearning. Emotion welled up inside her large enough to burst through her chest. His gentle movement took her by surprise as the intensity of feeling flooded her senses and threatened to overload.
"James," she moaned. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too, honey."
She didn't know how much he'd missed her, how many nights he'd dreamed of having her here in this room, in his bed, making love to her until she screamed. He wanted her to scream. Wanted her to call out his name in hungry desire. He wanted to possess her and be possessed by her. He kissed her again, grasping her supple buttocks and lifting her onto him. Her legs anchored behind him, giving him room. He sank deeper and deeper into her folds with each powerful stroke. His control has long since gone. Elizabeth did that to him, like no other woman ever had or ever could. With her he couldn't hold anything back. He gave and took as she did. Together they created the perfect match, a union that had no beginning and no end. With her he made love.
James didn't remember how good she could feel. He touched her everywhere, cradling, crushing, kissing, massaging, until a great tide gripped him. His rhythm increased, intensified as he cried her name over and over. He never thought he'd ever have this feeling again. Then it happened. Great bursts of electrified air imploded, carrying them into the mushroom cloud of magnificent pleasure.
She took his weight as the last after-shock ran through James and he collapsed onto her. They were both wet with perspiration and love. The room smelled sweet with the aftermath of their lovemaking. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. A smile curved her mouth as she closed her eyes, aware of every throbbing inch of his frame as it covered her, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His heart pounded against hers.
After a time, James slid to the sheet over to her. He gathered her close, kissed her eyes, her cheeks and her mouth as tenderly as if he were saying goodnight. Then silently they slept.
***
Dear James,
Your visit sparked good memories of Christmases past. It sent me to the storage room. While rummaging through old boxes of decorations, I found a card you sent to me several years ago. The cover had a reproduction of the scraggly handwriting of eight year old Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to the editor of The New York Sun. Inside was printed the famous editorial run by the paper on September 21, 1897.
You asked me if I believed in Christmas, and like Virginia's question, I'd like to answer it.
Yes, James, I believe there is a Christmas. Last night a group of children came caroling in front of the shop. Their tiny faces were stung by the cold, their eyes wide with innocence and wonder. My heart grew so large I thought I would cry. When they left I walked through Georgetown, looking in the store windows. The streets were crowded with shoppers. I watched them picking out gifts for loved ones, deciding whether something was right for Uncle Jim or Aunt Agnes. It was easy to pick out the faces of lovers, holding hands and walking through the cobblestoned streets as they both made and shared Christmas memories.
In each direction I looked, the windows were decorated with green and red for the coming holidays. In a small store close to M Street, I found a Black Santa mounted on his sleigh with the eight reindeer and a sack full of presents. I bought it. It's the first decoration I've bought in three years. The purchase made me smile, and a warmth filled my insides. Nothing has done that in a long time.
At home I dragged the Christmas decorations out of storage and into the living room where I went through them all. Christmas is a time of sharing, remembering old friends and making new ones. Rereading the cards and carefully unpacking the bulbs we'd stored showed me how much I missed the merry making Christmas brings. The years I've spent without a Christmas seem empty compared to the ones where family and friends shared the joy.
Happy Holidays
Elizabeth
James read the letter twice. In the wake of Elizabeth's unexpected arrival he'd forgotten about the it. It lay on the floor by the door, where he'd dropped it last night when he sprinted across the lawn. Taking it to the kitchen he read it a third time as coffee filled the pot and the aroma permeated the crisp air. He remembered last night. Elizabeth filled his arms and his world. He liked thinking of her sleeping upstairs. Sharing his bed and his life. He wanted to come to her each evening. Tell her his problems and share his happy moments. Had last night been the beginning of that?
"Good morning." Elizabeth's voice was husky.
James turned to find her leaning against the door. Her short curls were sleep-mussed and her eyes were only half open. The combination was so sexy his body hardened in response. She wore his green robe, its long sleeves and bulk dwarfing her.
"The coffee smells good."
He looked at the letter, then slowly brought his gaze back to her. She said nothing, but leveled herself away from the doorjamb and stood up straight. He went to her, folding her in his arms and kissing her left ear. It was enough for the moment. He wanted to, needed to be close to her. She'd been in the shower. He could smell the soap on her clean skin; skin his mouth found soft as morning dew. "Sleep well?" he asked.
She nodded, snuggling against him. James slipped his fingers into her short curls and angled her head upward. He brushed her lips with his.
"I got your letter," he said, his body growing harder against her.
Elizabeth leaned back smiling.
"Did you mean it?" he asked.
"You'll have to wait till Christmas and see if Santa leaves anything for you. Of course, you know he only leaves presents for good little boys." Sticking her finger in her mouth she asked in an imitation child's voice. "Have you been a good little boy?"
"I certainly hope so."
The blue background of the computer screen didn't hold James's attention. For two days he'd thought of nothing but Elizabeth and their night of love making. After she'd appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and after they made breakfast, they made love again. For a second time they duplicated the fire that burned within them and refused to be extinguished after three years of separation. They were both late getting to the office that morning. Since then he had done very little work. It was good the market was slow the last day or two or he'd have to fire himself.
With his jacket discarded and his sleeves already rolled up, he gave his full attention back to the screen. The price of Bristol-Myers Squibb stock had gone up in the amount of time he'd been day dreaming. He had several clients who would find that favorable if it held through the end of the year.
"Hey?"
James looked up. Theresa Simmons stood in the doorway. Her coat, as yellow as a summer sun, was splashed with arcs of bright red and purple. Theresa hadn't changed. Only she could use color as a statement. Fortunately for her, it worked.
"It's after five o'clock, the market's closed, but I knew I'd find you here." Her smile was as bright as her wardrobe. "When are you gonna get a life?"
"Theresa!" he called, getting up and rushing over to hug the six foot tall woman. "I didn't think I'd see you before the party."
"I should be at Blackie's," she told him, checking her watch. "I'm meeting Janis and Harry for dinner and then we're going to Ford's.
She mentioned her sister and brother-in-law as if they could wait. Theresa was forty-two and Janis was her personal Cupid. Without Theresa saying so, James knew there would be a surprise guest at dinner to round out the couples.
"When I saw the light," Theresa went on. "I stopped so I could tell you to close up shop and go home."
James laughed. "I'll be leaving soon and I do have a life." He thought of Elizabeth waiting for him. "Sit down a minute."
Theresa lowered herself into one of the leather-tufted chairs that stood before James's massive desk. James took a seat behind it.
"Anybody I know?"
He nodded, but offered nothing else. He tried to keep the smile off his face, but each time he thought of the dark-skinned woman he couldn't help it.
"Is it Elizabeth?"
He nodded again.
"Well why didn't you say so?" Her eyes were as large as gold coins. "It's about time. I thought after Claire's accident you two were doomed."
"Don't jump to conclusions," James cautioned. "I've only been back here a short time. After the funeral and the trade commission investigation--" He stopped, not wanting to think about the accusations made against him.
"We effectively covered that up," Theresa prompted, her voice softer and lower.
That they had, James thought, trying to keep the frown off his face. They'd reversed everything Claire had done and erased any record of it. They'd destroyed the forged power of attorney copy giving Claire the right to act as agent for Invitation to Love. James shivered at what she could have done with that and how Elizabeth would have been devastated to find her beloved sister had ruined her business.
"You went to London and I went to New York," he finished. "I came back a few months ago."
"And Elizabeth?"
"I've only seen her five or six times."
"Well, what is wrong with you, man? I've never seen a woman as in love as Elizabeth was with you."
James's mind flew to Elizabeth. He almost felt her naked body curled against his. Quickly he glanced at the small clock on the desk. In an hour, he'd pick her up. They were going Christmas shopping tonight.
"She's different, Theresa. She took Claire's death hard and she still hasn't recovered. She puts up a strong front and anyone who doesn't really know her can't tell how miserable she is underneath."
"So you're taking it slow?" Her expressive eyebrows raised.
"I'm trying," he told her. "Actually I feel partly responsible."
"How? It was an accident. You didn't drive your car into Claire's on purpose."
"I don't feel responsible for the accident, but for abandoning Elizabeth."
Theresa set her rather large purse on the floor and leaned forward in the chair. "Talk to me," she said.
James appreciated the way her agile mind could read more in conversation than the words expressed. He knew she was trustworthy. Never had she broken a confidence and if it hadn't been for her quick thinking he might well be in jail this very minute.
"Why did you accept that job in London?" he asked, apparently changing the subject. "It wasn't just the career move or being able to visit a foreign country. You had a perfectly good job here." He waved his arms about the room. Theresa had been the best broker he'd ever had. She had a knack for the market, could anticipate its changes with unerring accuracy. "Your salary was well above the norm. You had a score of friends and relatives and you lived comfortably." He stopped with a smile. "Despite Janis's tactics."
"I wanted to escape," Theresa said. "Claire was my best friend. I knew her better than anyone, except maybe Elizabeth. I brought her here, convinced you to give her a job and she betrayed us both. I thought leaving the city would help the wounds heal faster."
"So did I," James agreed. "I went to New York to manage the office there. The pace of this city is fast, but New York runs on tomorrow's schedule. I thought I could lose myself, forget the police interrogations and defending myself before the Securities and Exchange Commission," he paused. "We found an avenue for our pain and grief. Elizabeth remained here, alone. She had no other family and no one to call on, only the memories of her sister and her parents, all of whom had died and left her. Even her friends and her former fiancé had gone away."
"It doesn't matter that she lashed vile accusations at you. Said you were responsible for Claire's death and that she hoped you'd rot in jail."
"Claire had just died, leaving Elizabeth believing the lies she'd told her. Elizabeth's loyalties were divided. Her words were angry. I thought she'd get over them."
"And she hasn't," Theresa finished for him. "No wonder she's still mourning Claire."
"She's not exactly mourning. We have Mark to thank for that. He went to see her constantly. He'd drop by her shop to make sure everything was all right. He'd even send me letters and phone calls that always mentioned her. Finally, he called to say he couldn't go through another holiday seeing her acting instead of enjoying."
"So you came back?" Her voice held no censure, no incredulousness, not even wonder. It held understanding. James was glad Theresa had returned. He needed her as much as he needed Elizabeth.
For a long moment they were both silent. James thought of the girl he'd met the day she and Claire had moved next door to them. Everybody walked around her, carrying boxes and lamps, books and furniture. She looked lost and alone then too. James found out they'd told her she was too small to help. She sat in a lawn chair, her legs crossed Indian-style, a bowl of ice cream in her lap. He sat down and talked to her. After a few moments, she smiled and offered him her bowl. The ice cream had melted to a warm paste. He ate it anyway. He was sure that was the moment when he'd fallen in love with her. James wondered what Theresa was thinking. Glancing at the clock again, it was nearly time for him to go and Theresa was going to have to skip dinner or be late for the curtain at Ford's.
"I talked to her on the phone a couple of days ago," Theresa mentioned. "She sounded fine."
"She is fine," he told her. "She just needs some time."
"She's had time, James," Theresa said, dryly. "What she needs in love."
James watched his friend scrutinize him. He didn't attempt to hide his feelings.
"You're in love with her." It was a statement.
He nodded.
***
Invitation to Love sat on 30th Street in the Georgetown section of Northwest Washington between N and O Streets. Several blocks away the tourist traffic moved as a human sea that waved toward the Wisconsin Avenue thoroughfare as if it was a welcoming shore. Parking was nonexistent as it was all over the District of Columbia. Fortunately, Elizabeth had secured the lot next to her shop where a maximum of four cars could park at the same time. Getting in and out of the small spaces required the kind of maneuvering that Washington drivers had come to know and understand. Behind the main shop were two additional spaces. Elizabeth's white corvette, gleaming under the halogen security lights, occupied one of them. James pulled his car into the other one.
The building that housed Invitation of Love had once been a residence. Elizabeth had kept the basic outside structure, not wanting to destroy the neighborhood design of stately row houses by adding display windows. From the front the only designation of business was a prominent sign in the small yard etched in gold letters. Inside the building had been mostly kept in tact. A wall here and there had been removed or built to accommodate the need for work space. When she'd begun the hand written invitation business, she'd had to lived upstairs. Now she used it for storage.
Unfolding his large frame from the Lexus, James took the four steps to the back door two at a time. Opening the screen he knocked lightly. Moments later Elizabeth pulled the lace curtain aside and smiled when she saw him. Now that's what I came through this hot, dusty summer day to hear. A line from the Long Hot Summer ran through his head. It wasn't a hot summer day, but a blustery, wintry, cold one and he hadn't heard anything, but seen her smile and nearly dissolved.
"I brought you something," James said when she opened the door. He passed through it holding the paper bag up for her view.
"What is it?"
Elizabeth locked the door and pulled the bolt into place. She followed him back to her office that was crowded with paper samples, cases of pen tips, boxes of greeting cards and flowers. The smell of pine boughs permeated the air. James noticed the artificial tree sitting on her desk, the fireplace was lighted and mistletoe had been hung over the door. He didn't comment. Elizabeth grabbed his arm. "What's in the bag?" she asked.
James caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her quickly on the mouth. "Something you can't resist."
He let her take it from him when she reached for it. She tore it opened and grabbed the contents.
"Ice cream?" she questioned.
"It's butter pecan," he said as if that was an answer.
"Moving in day." The memory hit her like a thunderbolt. "You remember."
"I'll never forget."
"Do you want to eat it now?"
"We haven't had dinner and this will certainly ruin your appetite."
He imitated her mother. Elizabeth remembered her mother telling her that every time she found butter pecan ice cream in the grocery bag. Since they had often been in each other's houses she knew James had heard her mother say that a hundred times.
"If I suggested we wait until after the mall, would you agree?" she asked, in her best parent's voice.
"No," he smiled.
"Then you get some bowls while I put on my jeans." She headed toward the door leading to the stairs. She'd hung an extra change of clothes there this morning.
"I'd much rather help you."
Elizabeth paused in the doorway. She turned back to James. "That might not be a bad idea, but then we'd have to eat ice cream paste." Her smile was sly. She turned again.
"We've done it before," he called after her.
***
James pressed the accelerator as the car shot pass the legal speed limit on it's way to Tyson's Corner Mall. Elizabeth sat in the warm interior smiling to herself. She wondered why he'd thought of the ice cream. They had shared it many times as children. When she was five, and still believed in Santa Claus, James had dressed in a red suit with white fur and surprised her. They'd eaten the bowl of warm ice cream she insisted on putting out for Santa instead of the traditional cookies and milk. Elizabeth laughed out loud.
"What's funny?" James asked in the dark light of the car.
"I was remembering," she told him.
"Good memories I hope."
"It had to do with a ten year old boy who had no whiskers at all, but he dressed up in a red suit to please a little girl who believed in the wonders of Christmas."
James stomach knotted. He remembered doing that. In fact, after the Gregory's moved next door to his parents, in one way or another, their families had always spent Christmas together. He had spent Christmases with Elizabeth. If he sifted through his memories, he could uncover all kinds of pleasant times they had spent together, including the one winter in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They'd gone there on a whim, a quick ski trip a couple of days before the holiday. Then the snows came, stranding them. Christmas had dawned as the embers in the fire died and he and Elizabeth found their own method of spontaneous combustion.
Hitting the brake James swung the car onto the shoulder and threw the gearshift into park. Snapping the seat belts that anchored them to the bucket seats, he hauled Elizabeth over the center console and into his arms. His mouth found hers and seared it with an electrifying kiss. What had made her remember that? He'd nearly forgotten about that Christmas. Elizabeth's arms tightened around his neck as passion flared between them. The interior of the car felt like a blast furnace. Yet his mouth devoured hers with a need so necessary he thought he'd die without her.
Breathing rapidly he slid his mouth aside and kept her close to him. She smelled like a sweet flower. James tried to gather her closer, despite the barrier between them. What was he going to do when Christmas ended? Suppose Elizabeth decided she didn't want to see him after the holidays were over. She'd only made the deal with him for eleven days. On the twelfth day, she had no further reason to continue seeing him. Her memories would be in place. Her smile would be genuine. And Claire would still be dead. To Elizabeth, he would still be responsible. No matter what, he couldn't change that fact.
"James," Elizabeth called him out of his reverie. "We can't stay here on the highway." Then she turned her mouth back to his and all was lost. James brushed her smooth skin, cradling her to him. He kissed her as if this were the last time they'd ever be together, sliding his tongue into her open mouth and drinking abundantly from the well. He held her reverently, giving and taking, communicating with his senses, trying to let Elizabeth know she was the only person in the world for him. He wasn't aware how long they stayed together in the confines of the small space, just that he enjoyed holding her and he didn't how he'd survived when his eleven days ended.
Tyson Corner, Virginia's only distinction was that it was a sprawling developmental community created out of the wilderness of Northern Virginia about thirty miles outside of the nation's capital. It also contained one of the largest malls in the Eastern United States. The parking lot that ringed the two-story facility had appeared adequate when the mall opened twenty years ago. Then Christmas shoppers descended and finding an open space was like waiting for someone to die to get an apartment in New York.
James traveled up and down the rows of late model cars searching, following people who appeared to be leaving the crowded chaos created by three shopping days before Christmas.
"There's somebody leaving." Elizabeth pointed to a car. James turned in time to see the exhaust fly from the tailpipe of a silver-grey Toyota. Snapping his blinker and hitting the break in one fluid movement, he waited for the driver to vacate the space. Then he backed in and got out into the cold air. Each store appeared to out decorate the other in the number of Christmas items on the outside of the mall. The total picture turned the buildings into a green and red light show.
James slipped his arm around Elizabeth's waist and they walked toward the entrance door.
"Where should we go first?" Elizabeth asked as they edged through the throngs of people inside the door.
"Who's on the top of your list?"
"No one," she said. "I'm done."
"Done?" James stopped walking and turned around to face her.
"Mary is the only person I need to shop for. I ordered gifts for my clients," she smiled, but James saw it didn't reach her eyes. "Who's on the top of your list?"
He hesitated before deciding to let the remark go. "My mother and Mark," he said. "Let's find something for Mark first."
They proceeded through the crowds, slipping into and out of men's stores. Elizabeth lifted and replaced ties, shirts, pajamas, books, gold chains and bracelets. She appeared to get into the spirit, talking about the kind of person Mark was and what he was more apt to like and use. James was sure she put this kind of thought into her clients needs and that was why she was as successful as she was. Finally, they decided on a caricature print of a doctor with a huge needle in his hand and a frightened patient in the bed. Elizabeth borrowed a felt-tipped pen from the cashier, drew a name tag on the doctor's pocket and printed Mark's name there. James selected an art deco frame of black and white and they agreed to pick it up before leaving.
The rest of his list was settled in the same manner, with Elizabeth going into the attributes of the person before deciding on the perfect gift. The only remaining name was his mothers'. He and Elizabeth had traversed the mall twice without finding anything for her.
"So when did the tradition of giving Christmas presents arise?" she asked as they were jostled about.
"Why would I know that?" he asked. They had made their way to the center of the four-winged building. A display of Santa in a sleigh with his eight reindeer on a bed of white cotton that imitated snow had been set up in the center. The line of children was miraculously absent. It might be due to the late hour.
"Each time we do anything you tell me the history behind it. So far I've learned that winter festivals were designed to entice a fertile spring and developed into a celebration of the birth of Christ, that Christmas trees were brought to the United States by Hessian soldiers keeping their winter traditions, families hung mistletoe and kissed each other under it on Christmas morning, and that greeting cards were a way of saying hello to friends you hadn't seen in the past year. I thought gift giving was next."
"I don't know the history behind gift giving."
"Good," she smiled, taking his arm in intimate-lover fashion. "Something I can tell you. It started with the three kings, Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar, who came from the Arabia, Persia and India. They traveled over the desert to present gold, frankincense and myrrh to the Christ child. After that people made gifts and presented them to their family and friends at Christmas time. It wasn't until the industrial revolution that hand-made gifts gave way to factory produced goods."
They stopped, dodging a mother with a stroller. The child slept at an oddly bored angle. Overstuffed bags hung from the twin handles. Every other available space held packages and bags. The woman pushed it hard like a manual lawn mower on an uphill plane. James pulled Elizabeth close and they walked on. "Even if they aren't hand-made, a lot of thought goes into getting the right gift for the right person," Elizabeth continued.
James looked around. Even the harried expressions on some of the faces were tempered by a mask of goodwill.
"That's the part that makes the shopping fun." Elizabeth's light voice reached him.
James hoped she was having fun, that their trip was enjoyable and she wasn't thinking of being alone, with no family at this time of year. She'd only had to shop for one present. He hoped she included his family as hers since the spirit of Christmas was in the giving. Tonight he could see it. Elizabeth sparkled when she was caught in the spirit.
As they walked Elizabeth suddenly stopped in front a jewelry store. "You mother," she said. "She'd love that."
In the window sat a gold spider pin. The body was made of a huge diamond stone.
"A spider!" James frowned.
"Not that." She pointed to a statue in the corner. "That." It was of a jazz singer from the 20's. She wore a slick dress of blue that adhered to the curves of her body. Her ceramic skin was a creamed-coffee color. Her head was thrown back and her tight waves and curls cascaded to her shoulders. The details were soft not harsh or straight like other statues he'd seen. this one spoke to him as he knew it would speak to his mother. James felt she'd just finished a song. The statue was wonderful. His mother would love it. Again, Elizabeth had shown her ability to find exactly the right gift.
Elizabeth studied James as he talked to the clerk. A tall, thin woman of about fifty with soft blonde hair and beautiful hands that set off the store rings she wore. While James paid for the statue, which the clerk called Blues Singer, Elizabeth browsed, looking into the many glass cases. Rows of watches, birth stone rings and gold chains glittered under the display lights. Crystal bowls and clocks set in a glass case shone brightly against one wall. She stopped now and then to take a closer look then went on. Something caught her eye and she gasped.
The case held wedding bands and engagement rings. The ring she looked at had a set of geometric circles, seemingly designed by a drunk artist. The three levels were similar but unique in design and without end. They were crusted with small baguette-cut diamonds. The crowning stone must be at least six carats, she thought. It stood like a statue on a pedal of gold. Around it the circles were steps leading to an altar. It took her breath away.
"It is beautiful," the clerk who'd been helping James spoke to here. Elizabeth's absorption had been so complete she hadn't realized James's transaction had been complete and he was standing behind her. Suddenly she felt embarrassed, caught doing something she shouldn't. She muttered something to the clerk and turned to him.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded and they left. On the way out Elizabeth couldn't help glancing back at the display case. She couldn't see the ring, but its beauty was embedded in her brain.
The small bell over the door tinkled. The day had been slow and she'd been daydreaming about James. He filled her thoughts all the time these days. She came out of her reverie. Her body froze when she saw the man looking around the small shop. He wasn't wearing a uniform but with or without it Elizabeth recognized him. Officer Edward Robinson was the policeman who'd come to tell her James was in the hospital and Claire was dead. He was probably a detective by now, she thought. He was dressed in a jacket with the familiar Indian insignia of the Washington Redskins football team. In his hand, he held a baseball cap with the Jordan written on it.
She stood up straight, forcing a blank expression to her face. "Good morning," she said. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
He looked her directly in the face, but she saw no sign of recognition. "My wife sent me here," he paused. "We decided to have a little New Year's Eve Party and she wanted a special invitation." He looked a little embarrassed. "She said the President comes here."
Elizabeth heard that from a lot by people who'd never been to the shop before. "He doesn't come here."
"But he does get his invitations from you?" he probed.
"Some of them," she hedged. Often she got FBI agents in the shop trying to quietly investigate her. He didn't look like one of them.
He smiled as if he'd just made the arrest of the century. "Of course, we can't pay what he does, but we would like them to be special."
"Is this your first party?" she asked already knowing the answer. Newlyweds always wanted to have a party and they never planned it far enough in advance. It wasn't a problem for her. Usually they didn't want more than thirty invitations and the lettering they chose was simple, but even if she had to create a crest for each invitation the order could be completed in a couple of hours.
"We were married last June and Margaret, that's my wife, thought it would be fun to have some friends in to celebrate. We'll need about forty."
Elizabeth began her standard speech, pulling out catalogs of samples and inviting him to browse through them until he found something he liked. He took about twenty minutes to decide. As she wrote the order she noticed him studying her. He pick up one of her cards which sat on the counter and glanced from the scripted paper to her.
"You know, every since I came in I've been trying to place you."
Elizabeth looked up. His eyes were penetrating now as if he'd shed the clothes of the awkward husband and donned the uniform of an officer of the law. He glanced at the card again.
"You're Claire Gregory's sister, aren't you?"
She completed the order form and tore it from the pad. "Yes," she said, handing it to him. "I'm surprised you remember me. You only saw me once." Elizabeth knew her comment told him she recognized him too. The near lifting, almost a twitch, of one eyebrow signaled her she was right.
"I'm good with faces." He took the paper she offered.
Elizabeth heard the pride in his voice.
"Even if I wasn't, I'd remember Claire Gregory."
Elizabeth's chin started to lift. She forced it to stay level. "Why is that, Officer?"
"If that little scheme of hers had worked I know one prominent stock broker who'd be doing time."
Elizabeth gripped the counter as all the breath in her body threatened to leave it. What scheme? "You have it wrong. Claire is the one who'd be in jail."
"Not the way I see it, ma'am." He twirled the black cap in his hands. "I'm sorry," he turned to leave. At the door, he turned back. "Any chance I can pick those up tomorrow? I know it's a rush."
"They'll be ready after twelve," she said absently.
What did he mean James would be in jail? What scheme was he talking about? James had been the one. He was using insider information. Claire found out about it and threatened to take the information to the police. James had been called before the SEC to defend charges. Then he and Claire had been involved in the accident and the case against James had fallen apart.
Was he guilty? She was so sure when she first heard it, it couldn't be true. She trusted James. He would never do anything dishonest. Why would he need to? He was a partner in his firm, the youngest man to ever join the elite firm. James was intelligent and good at what he did. His clients had no cause for complaint over his handling of their accounts. How did he handle them, she wondered. Did he use information he had, insider information, illegal information, as Claire had accused? When she thought about it James had risen unusually fast. His partnership and his bank account moved with meteoric speed. Then the accident had killed Claire, while James hadn't even been admitted to the hospital. He was treated in Emergency and released. She'd been so angry. Vile words she'd flung at him. She called him a thief and a murderer. Later on she'd been sorry. She didn't mean most of what she said. He hadn't confirmed or denied anything. Why? What did that officer mean?
She had to know.
***
The accident had occurred past Embassy Row in the four thousand block of Massachusetts Avenue. It was four o'clock. Elizabeth's desk clock pinged out the hour. The police station's reporting office that handled the paper work would close before she could get there. She wasn't even sure they would have a copy of a three year old accident, but she had to try. Grabbing a directory, she located the number and placed a call. Her suspicions were true. The report had been archived. They could get her a copy in five working days, maybe more depending on the amount of people taking vacation at this time and there was a charge for the report. Elizabeth checked the calendar. Today was Thursday. If she counted today, she couldn't get it until after Christmas. She wanted it now. Keeping her annoyance out of her voice, she asked the clerk to please request it.
At four forty-five, she finished Officer Robinson's invitations and stacked them in a box fitted for their size. When the five o'clock chime sounded she locked the office door and got into her car. Claire had left some papers, files Elizabeth had put in storage. She'd noticed them a few days ago when she pulled the Christmas decorations out. There were two boxes simply labeled Claire's Files. They arrive the day she buried Claire. Elizabeth hadn't even looked at them. The doorman informed her of their arrival when she returned home after a soul-draining day. She asked him to have them put in storage and this is where they'd sat for three years. She'd never opened them. She'd told herself she'd open them later, but had never found the time. Tonight she couldn't put it off any longer. Whatever demons were inside the boxes it was time to face them.
By seven o'clock Elizabeth's apartment looked at if an explosion in a paper factory had occurred in her living room. She sat barefoot, still in her business suit, among the manila folders, computer paper and individual sheets of paper. Her mind told her this couldn't be true, but there it was in black and white. The charges against James for using insider information were false. This didn't make her feel any better. His crime was worse.
He had embezzled $650,000 and tried to frame Claire.
***
Where was she? James wondered. She should have been here an hour ago. He lifted his beer from the bar and checked his watch. Something happened. His heartbeat accelerated. Nothing happened. He contradicted himself. She's fine. Using a cellular phone, he dialed the number for Invitation to Love. On the second ring, the recording clicked in. He hung up. He'd already left two messages there. He dialed her apartment. Again, a machine answered. Draining the glass, he paid the bill and left. Something was definitely wrong.
His foot laid almost to the floor as the powerful car shot up Connecticut Avenue. He had swung by the shop. Everything was locked and secure and her car was missing from its standard parking place. Where could she be? What could have delayed her and why the hell didn't she call? Was she sick? Had she been in an accident? His imagination listed excuse after excuse for her standing him up. All the while he fought the thought that something could have happened to her. Not now, he told himself. They were getting close. He knew she was physically attracted to him. Lately he was sure she was beginning to fall in love with him. Nothing could happen to her now.
James cursed when he found no parking places near her building. Impatient to find her, he pulled in front of the apartment building and threw the car into park.
"Is she in?" he asked the doorman when he jumped out of the car. His voice held all the force of drill sergeant.
"Miss Gregory came in about five thirty."
James's knees nearly gave out with relief. "Did she leave again?" His tone was softer. He felt bad about barking at the man.
"No, sir."
James didn't wait for anything more. He pulled the glass door toward him and rushed inside.
"Mr. Hill, your car," the doorman called.
James flipped his keys over his shoulder. The man rushed sideways as he went for the outside pass. James continued into the waiting elevator. At Elizabeth's door, he knocked loudly and called her name. Anger was getting the better of him. She'd stood him up, not answered her phone and caused him undue stress. His heart felt tight in his chest and he was wet with perspiration at the adrenalin high she'd put him through.
She didn't reply.
"I know you're in there." He banged again. "Open this door."
***
The banging startled her. Elizabeth sat up, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She lowered her head to her knees and rocked. How could it be true? She'd denied it for three years, told herself the SEC was wrong, that James was the most honest man she'd ever met. He wouldn't embezzle money. Yet he'd done it. She looked at the damning paper as if it were a snake. It lay at her feet, poised, ready to strike. It was all there. Claire had kept the entire file of transactions he'd done. Then Claire died and James had somehow fudged the records. He'd walked away, his skin intact, absolved of all responsibility, while $650,000 and a woman's life had been lost.
"Elizabeth, please open this door." She heard him. His voice was lower, muffled through the thickness of the barrier between them. It no longer sounded angry. "I just want to make sure you're all right."
All right, she thought. That was a laugh. She didn't think she'd ever be all right again. To think she'd almost fallen in love with him again. After years of trying to forget what he looked like, how his arms felt around her, how good he smelled and tasted. In a week he'd erased all the ground she'd gained and placed her back in that vulnerable position she'd stood in three years ago. She wouldn't open the door. She didn't care what the neighbors thought of him banging on the steel door as if it were a barn.
She rocked back and forth. Tears rolled silently down her face. After twenty minutes he stopped. Then the phone began to ring. She knew it was him, knew he had a mobile unit in his car. She refused to answer. She sat rocking, staring into space, around her the floor was cluttered with flat daggers, knives that had stabbed at her sense of euphoria and ripped it to shreds.
Three years ago he'd sworn it wasn't true; that what she'd heard, what Claire had said wasn't the whole truth. Reaching over she picked up the paper. Here was the truth. A listing of funds transfers, dollar amounts, dates, times, and James's transaction identification code, as unique as a finger print, next to each one. The code was an anagram of their names with their wedding date embedded in it. It could only be James's. Claire had used the word MAJESTIC as her identification. It was the name of the apartment building where she lived. She said it was easy to remember and no one would guess what it was.
Elizabeth let the paper go. It floated on the warm air, cutting half moons as it settled at her feet. She stared at the it until it blurred before her eyes. Her head pounded with the beginning of a headache. She didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.
After a while she told herself to think straight. She needed to make decisions, decide what would happened now. She was going to have to break any ties with James. He was a liar, a thief and maybe a killer. She rejected the latter. Claire's accident had been just that, but the papers before her were another matter. In truth, she should send the files to the SEC. He deserved to go to jail for what he'd done. A fresh batch of tears rushed into her eyes. Elizabeth bowed her head and sobbed. Huge gobs of water ran over her knees, wetting her skirt. She held her head, trying to contain the pounding as more salt water rushed into her eyes.
She couldn't send him to jail. She realized it now. No matter what, she'd fallen hopelessly in love with him.
James hadn't slept all night. He paced the bedroom, replaying yesterday's events in his mind, trying to find the one thing he'd done or said to make Elizabeth react as she had. They'd spoken on the phone. She'd told him the day was going slow. She couldn't wait to leave and she would meet him for dinner at the Key Bridge Marriott right after she closed. Her voice had sounded glad to hear him. She'd been smiling. He could hear it through the clear wonders of fiber optic phone lines.
He'd sat in the bar waiting. The tiny white lights that twinkled in the ceiling year round gave the place the look of Christmas. He'd imagined Elizabeth there among the star-spangled night. What could have happened to make her refuse to talk to him, even acknowledge his presence at her door? If it hadn't been for her neighbors checking to see what the noise was about, he's still be there. Someone had to have come into the shop and upset her, but who? Theresa?
He'd talked to Theresa two days ago. She wouldn't have done it. She was the only person, other than himself, who knew the whole story about Claire and she would never hurt Elizabeth by telling her. Grabbing the phone James dialed her number.
"Did you talk to Elizabeth, yesterday?" he asked when a sleepy voice answered.
"James, is that you? Do you know what time it is?"
He took a deep, calming breath and checked the digital dial of the clock radio on the bedside table. It read five o'clock. Elizabeth was driving him out of his mind. "I'm sorry, Theresa."
"You've been up all night," she stated. "What's happened?"
"Have you spoken to Elizabeth?"
"No, why?"
"Something happened yesterday. I don't know what, but I can't get her on the phone and she refused to open the door for me at her apartment."
"Are you sure she was home?"
"Her car was parked in the garage and the doorman said she'd come in and not gone out again."
"Do you want me to--"
"No, don't do anything," he interrupted. "I'll find her and I'll find out what wrong."
He could hear Theresa's hesitation through the silence of the phone line. "Call me when you find her," she commanded.
"I will." He felt deflated as he replaced the instrument in its cradle.
Morning dawned with a light snow. The weathermen predicted a white Christmas. At eight-thirty James dialed Elizabeth's phone number again. He'd been calling her since seven. He was greeted by two rings and the incessant voice on the answering machine saying she was unable to come to the phone at this time. "Unable or unwilling," he muttered, slamming the receiver into place.
Unconsciously he paced the room. Nothing made sense. He needed to talk to her. There was no way he could solve this...this, what was this? Checking his watch, it was nearly time for her to open Invitation to Love. Taking the time to shower and dress he retraced his route from the night before. She'd already left her apartment when he got there. The shop also showed no activity. He sat next to the empty space where Elizabeth usually parked. Where would she go? When he was tense he usually went to the gym. When Elizabeth needed to be alone, where--. He stopped, his heart thudding against his chest. White flakes collected on the hood and in the angle created by the windshield wipers. When Elizabeth was upset there was only one place she'd go -- home.
James reversed out of the space and pointed the car toward Wisconsin Avenue. Snow in the District impeded traffic like it did no where else on earth. The cobblestone street was backed up with bumper-to-bumper cars. He crawled at the pace of turtle until he passed the library at R Street. Then the road widened and he raced along at a whopping fifteen miles an hour behind a line a cars whose drivers appeared to have all the time in world.
A drive that usually took ten minutes took over an hour. Finally, he turned onto Cathedral Avenue and raced toward his parent's house. The garage doors were closed and the driveway empty except for a layer of snow. The faint shadow of two sets of tires told him his parents had left long ago. Hopefully they had arrived at work before the crowds on Wisconsin Avenue brought traffic to a near stand still. He parked and got out. Scanning the neighborhood, he searched for any sign of Elizabeth. Then he saw her car. Snow covered it. She'd been here a long time.
Rejecting the entrance door to his parent's house, James jogged around to the back. Across the yard set a red-brick three-story colonial that Elizabeth and her family had lived in until she was thirteen. The house was empty now. The last family moved out a month ago. They had added a large pool. It was straight alone one side and staggered alone the other. A green covered closed it for the winter. The white snow nearly obliterated the green. Behind the pool a large collection of bushes flanked the back wall. In front of them set a white-painted garden swung. In this light the swing would have blended into the white surroundings created by the falling snow. Elizabeth's dark fur coat contrasted with it as she swung back and forth. Her eyes were fixed in front of her. James stopped when he saw her. He wondered how long she'd been there. Her face looked frozen. Her hands were inside her pockets and snow covered her boots to her ankles.
Quietly he approached. She didn't move. Even if she saw him in her peripheral vision, she gave no acknowledgment.
"Elizabeth," he called softly.
She didn't move. He wasn't sure she knew he was there.
"Elizabeth, we need to talk."
The swing squeaked as it moved; the only sound in the still morning. James stepped inside the swing and sat next to her. Her eyes were fixed, like a person lost in an inner world.
"You can't stay here. It's too cold." He was afraid to reach for her. She looked as if she'd shatter if he touched her. "Come on. We'll talk inside."
Elizabeth's head slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were as cold as the howling wind that gusted up and stirred the snow. She gave him a stare that would wither a man. He withstood it not knowing why it was directed at him.
"Did you do it?" Venom dripped from her lips.
"Do what?"
"Did you steal $650,000."
James's shoulders dropped. "Yes," he said.
***
Elizabeth had known if she stayed at the old house long enough James would remember. He had remembered the ice cream from moving in day. They'd grown up together, been engaged. He knew what she did when she was happy and that she always found her way to this house when she was sad. He'd found her here countless times after her parents died. Although it had been years since she needed the anchor of the red brick building, she had no other place to go. She couldn't stay in her apartment with Claire's files staring at her like open wounds. Here seemed the only place she could go, where memories made her smile and lightened her heart.
She'd seen James the moment he came around the patio, but didn't move. The wind didn't bother her, she was numb already and the coldness hadn't penetrated to her core until James uttered the monosyllable.
All night she'd told herself there had to be another explanation. No way was he capable of stealing that much money and blaming someone else for it. Yet each time she convinced herself of his honesty the hateful piece of paper would prove her wrong.
Elizabeth stood up and stepped out of swing. "Can you explain?" she asked.
He stared directly at her. His eyes were steady and without a hint of guilt. He shook his head.
"What did you do with the money?"
"I can't tell you."
"Three years ago you swore to me you'd done nothing wrong. Now you admit you're a thief." A chill caught her and she shivered.
"Elizabeth, I never lied to you."
"They both can't be true, James. Either you took the money or you didn't."
He stared at her but offered no explanation. Elizabeth felt frustrated. She wanted him to tell her something. Anything that would explain the transfer of funds to a personal account and they a sudden transfer out. She couldn't trace where it had gone; to a numbered account in Switzerland, to the private banks of the Cayman Islands, she didn't know.
"Say something!" she ordered, her body reeling in the wind.
"It's not possible for me to explain it, Elizabeth."
"Then you admit it. Everything Claire told me about you was true. You embezzled money and tried to blame her. She'd have gone to jail if she hadn't died."
"I wish I could explain...."
Elizabeth waited for him to continue. The wind died down and momentarily there was stillness. Between them accusation crackled like dry leaves, but neither offered reasonable cause to doubt the facts at hand. James said nothing, but maintained a steady gaze as if the airwaves between them would tell Elizabeth what she wanted to know. Frustrated she turned and walked away. Her booted heels clicked when she reached the pavement. James didn't follow or try to stop her. At the gate to the street, she looked over his shoulder. He'd turned his back. His shoulders had dropped and for the first time she actually thought he looked defeated.
She wanted to hate him, feel that he was getting everything he deserved. Yet the only feeling that surfaced was love, disappointment that this man, who had been given all the advantages of life, had succumbed to stealing.
Pulling the car door open, she slipped inside and started the engine. The windshield wipers spun across the collected snow, affording her enough visible space to see the road. She drove away, a fresh supply of tears washing down her face.
When she pulled into her parking space at Invitation to Loe, she saw Joanne's car. Thank goodness, she prayed. She could get the girl started and tell her about Officer Robinson's order, then go out. Joanne was very astute and observant, yet this morning she didn't mention that Elizabeth looked as if she'd been up all night, which in fact was the truth. She took her instructions and cheerily made coffee while Elizabeth slipped back through the door and into her car.
She knew it was a long shot. She expected the police department to tell her the same story they had on the phone the previous day, but she went there anyway. It was the Christmas season and maybe even a civil servant would take pity on someone who needed to see that accident report as badly as she did.
This wasn't the case. The bored looking overweight clerk was thirty-something, complaining of her feet and the cost of Christmas gifts when Elizabeth arrived. The woman poured her frustration onto Elizabeth, standing between her and what she wanted like a tank guarding the entrance to Fort Knox. Elizabeth controlled her temper and her need to scream at this woman. She spoke calmly, focusing on the report and not being drawn into discussion of any other subject. Getting no where, she finally she thanked the woman and turned to leave.
Upset at losing, she wasn't paying attention as she left the office. Outside the opaque glass door, she walked into someone. Looking up she found Office Robinson.
"Ms. Gregory, what are you doing here?"
What did telling him the truth matter, she thought. "I needed a report, but I didn't get it."
"Maybe I can help. Come into my office."
Elizabeth had been right. He was a detective now. She seated herself in front of the desk in a steel chair with a faded grey cushion. Stacks of files covered most of the desk's surface. On the floor were others. An empty coffee cup acted as a paperweight sitting on the top of one stacks. On the wall were several plaques for meritorious service and a photograph of him shaking hands with DC's mayor. Elizabeth's assessment of Detective Robinson softened a bit.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, taking the coffee cup and placing it on the one square inch of uncovered steel. "Coffee or tea is about all we have."
"Thank you, no," she said.
"All right, now what report did you want to see?"
"The one from the night my sister died. You were the officer who took the report."
"I was." His statement held no emotion, just a simple statement of fact.
"I never read the report. You told me what happened, but now I want to see it. The clerk in the records office said it usually takes a week, but with the holidays it would take more time."
Detective Robinson stood up. He went to a grey regulation file cabinet which he unlocked with a key from a large ring and opened the second drawer. Half way to the back he extracted a rather thin file and handed it to her.
"Take your time," he said. "I'll get us some coffee." He took the cup from the desk and left her alone.
Elizabeth held her surprise inside. Why would he still have this? she wondered. Was there something unusual about her sister's death? Were they still investigating it? Did they know about James?
Elizabeth read. Inside the covers of the manila colored folder were just the facts of the accident. There was nothing here to lead anyone to believe it belonged in a locked cabinet. The cars had been driving fast, above eighty according the force of the impact. The ground was dry but patches of ice had been present. The conclusion stated that Claire's car, Car Number One the report called it, had hit a patch of ice and the driver lost control. The car spun around and Car Number Two, James's, had struck it. The skid marks on the roadway showed Car Number Two tried to avoid collision, but the speed at which the drivers had been going left too little stopping room before impact. Blood-alcohol levels indicated the surviving driver had been sober. Autopsy reports showed Claire's levels at .03. Two additional times Elizabeth read the report. The then Officer Robinson had added a comment that the two cars were either racing or chasing each other, but in his opinion it was an accident and not a deliberate pursuit.
Sitting back Elizabeth let the report fall onto her lap. She exhaled on a long sigh. At least James was not guilty of causing Claire's death, but she had no clear picture of where they had been going and why they were traveling at such high speeds inside the District lines.
Detective Robinson came back. He held his ceramic cup with the shield of the DC Police Department etched in silver on the side in one hand and a tan colored paper cup in the other. He handed her the paper cup.
"You look like the cream-only type."
Elizabeth accepted the cup with a nod. He was right. The coffee was fresh with just the amount of cream she liked. "Thank you," she offered.
"Find anything interesting?"
She shook her head. "I didn't really expect to," she told him, holding back the information that she didn't really want to find anything damning about James, just something to tell her why he would resort to embezzlement. Why she thought it was related to the accident she didn't know. "I do have some questions."
"Shoot," he said with a nonchalant shrug. He slid into the worn leather chair behind the cluttered desk.
"There's nothing in this file to warrant it being in a locked cabinet, why hasn't it been archived with the rest of the records? Or is this case still open?"
Detective Robinson sipped the hot liquid before answering. Elizabeth thought it was a technique he'd mastered to slow down the pace or buy himself time when he was deciding how best to proceed.
"No case is ever closed if new evidence comes to light," he said. "The files in that cabinet," he pointed to it. "are my personal files. Every cop has them. Their the kind of files which report the facts, but down deep inside the officer knows there's something that's not finished. It's like getting up from a chess game just before you put the other fellows queen in check."
"You think there's more to the accident than is written here?"
"Not the accident."
"Then what?"
Detective Robinson came forward in his chair. He gave her a penetrating stare. Elizabeth withstood it, realizing he was again using a practiced technique.
"Are you sure you want to hear this? Most people who say they want to know everything have no idea what they're asking."
Elizabeth thought about that. Her pulse increased. She felt the pounding begin in her head and knew another headache was eminent. She'd loved Claire and James more than any other person on earth. The detective might know things Elizabeth would rather not hear, but in the last three years, she'd speculated and wondered. She'd refused to open Claire's files, living in the dark and refusing to see the truth. She wasn't doing that any longer. Weighing the difference between knowing and not knowing, she thought it was better to know, good or bad.
"I want to know," she told him.
He paused again, all the while staring straight at her. Elizabeth held it. He got up then and went to the cabinet. This time the folder he handed her was thick. Papers stuck out of the sides in a haphazard array. Elizabeth wedged the coffee cup onto the edge of the desk and accepted the file.
She read in silence. It was all here. The files in her apartment, copies of them were in this folder and more. James's bank account records were here. Transfers between several accounts showed deposits and withdrawals within days of each other. Large amounts were moved. Elizabeth calculated the amounts in her head. Everything time she did the number $650,000 popped up. Finally, she uncovered mortgage loan papers. Again, $650,000. James mortgaged his house. Why would he do that? Then she found the repayment of the business accounts, Christmas Eve three years ago, the day after Claire's funeral.
"I don't understand," Elizabeth said aloud. She talked to herself, but Detective Robinson didn't know that and answered.
"Neither do I," he said. "Why would a man take his own money, transfer it to his business in a group of small business accounts and within a three month period mortgage his house? Why would we find an account in Barbados with his name on it; an account with several deposits adding up to $650,000 that was opened and closed in the same three month period."
Something about the tone of his voice told Elizabeth he didn't believe the facts of the folder.
"You think this is a frame?"
"As perfect as if he'd sat and had the artist paint it."
Elizabeth hated to ask, but she'd resolved that she had to know the truth. The detective eluded to it yesterday in her shop. "Who do you think the artist was?"
She was subjected to the long stare again. Just as Elizabeth was about to scream at him the man answered her question. "Claire Gregory."
Elizabeth thought she had prepared herself for the answer, but hearing Claire's name made her head reel.
"Claire was my sister. I knew her, better than anybody. She wouldn't do this."
The detective sipped his coffee. It must be cold by now. Elizabeth looked at her cup. The powdered cream thickened on the top of the coffee leaving a circular pattern that fascinated her. She wanted to concentrate on the rings, but the detective broke into her thoughts.
"I can't prove any of this, but what I think happened is your sister got into you fiance's account and started transferring small accounts. She only used accounts that have no activity for over a year. No one would notice the amounts or the accounts for a while. By the time they did she'd be clean. All roads or should I say files would lead to James Hill. She covered herself, by setting up an account with his name on it. If anyone found out he'd be in the hot seat, she'd be uninvolved. The transfers took place during the early hours of the morning."
Elizabeth remembered the dates and times. "It's not unusual for stock brokers to work at odd hours. Like the British Empire the sun doesn't set on world markets. They're open twenty-four hours a day." She attempted a lightness she didn't feel.
"I thought of that, but Barbados is in the same time zone as we are. There would be no need to transfer funds at three o'clock in the morning."
"He could have been also transferring funds from Japanese investments and the Japanese stock exchange would be open and operating at that hour."
Before Elizabeth finished her explanation the detective was already shaking his head.
"We checked all transfers at that hour. Nothing else happened except the ones to the bank on Barbados."
"It didn't have to be Claire. There are other brokers with access to the office and computer code keys."
"That's where my story falls short. I can't link Claire Gregory with any of the transactions." He paused. "I checked everyone in that firm. They come up squeaky clean. James Hill is to be congratulated on his ability to amass so many honest people in one place."
"But..." she prompted.
"Your sister," he said matter-of-factly. "Claire Gregory has no record, no arrest, no convictions, but word on the street paints a blacker picture. She was a petty con artist. After her death we sealed her apartment."
"I remember." It was several days before Elizabeth was allowed inside.
"While we checked into her background we found a diary."
"What diary? I was never informed of a diary."
"It was more like an appointment book. Ms. Gregory had made notations in the margins. The notations led us to the real Claire Gregory."
Elizabeth didn't like the way he said that, but he held her tongue.
"For years she'd...appropriated funds from one mark or another." Elizabeth notice his hesitation. "I have a list of businessmen, some more prominent than others. None of them would go on record. They wanted the entire mess swept under the rug."
"I don't believe you."
"That's your right, Ms. Gregory." He didn't react to her outrage. He got up and for a third time went to the file cabinet. Opening the draw he extracted a single envelope and handed it her. "The amounts of money were small to the marks," he continued as if he'd just remembered his train of thought. "The embarrassment to their good names would be more detrimental than allowing her to get away with it. So they did."
He handed her the envelope.
Elizabeth accepted it. Staring at the unaddressed envelope she turned it over in her hand and looked up at the man in front of her.
"Is there anything else you're going to pull out of that cabinet at the strategic moment?" Her voice held annoyance. She didn't care. She was annoyed. Annoyed at Claire and all the damage she'd done. Even if what the detective said wasn't the complete picture of her sister, there was enough evidence there to create doubt in anyone's mind.
Elizabeth opened the envelope. All doubt disappeared. He'd held the trump card until last. Inside were two unused airline tickets. One to Barbados and another from Barbados to Grand Cayman Island. Claire's name was on each ticket.
"We didn't live well growing up," Elizabeth floundered, thrown by the tickets she held in her hand. "We rarely had enough money to pay the bills."
"But somehow it was always there; the tuition payments, money to send you on the trip abroad your junior year, a designer dress for homecoming parties--"
"Claire got that dress because the woman she was working for didn't want it. She told me." Elizabeth's voice rose.
"I'm sure she did. It was her settlement."
"You're lying."
"I told you most people don't want to hear the truth."
Elizabeth hung her head. He had to be wrong. "Claire wouldn't have done any of those things. Why would she want to frame James? He'd given her the job, let her have responsibility which she deserved. James told me Claire had a real flare for picking the right stocks."
"Your fiancé was just became another mark to her, but with him the money was big time. The carrot was too big to ignore. He covered up for her, just as all the others had done. I imagine his relationship with you had something to do with that."
Elizabeth dropped the tickets inside the folder and closed it. It lay heavy on her lap. The detective's last words made several pieces of the mystery she'd found in the files fall into place.
"He mortgaged his house to replace the money she'd averted. How he convinced the SEC he had nothing to do with insider trading and misuse of corporate funds is beyond me. But he did it." Elizabeth heard the unspoken respect in Detective Robinson's voice.
"You would have stopped it wouldn't you?" Elizabeth said, more as a statement than a question. "If the SEC had turned James over to the police you'd have used this file." Elizabeth tapped the heavy package lying on her legs.
He nodded. "Despite the way law enforcement is viewed by the general public, Ms. Gregory, we want justice done. In my opinion James Hill is a respectable businessman with his clients interest at heart. Prosecuting him for a crime he didn't commit would be abuse to the system I've vowed to protect and serve."
"So why do you still hold onto this file?"
"In my business, I've seen serpents rear their heads long after everyone thought them dead and buried. There's no statute of limitations on fraud. I keep it as a safeguard."
To the principles in which he believed, Elizabeth finished for him. She stood up. "Thank you, detective." One last time she looked at the file, then handed it to him. "Thanks for all your help."
Elizabeth left the office. The detective looked after her. Elizabeth didn't turn back, didn't see him resume his seat and write "closed" on the outside of the manila folder. She didn't know he walked to the grey cabinet and placed the file in the bottom draw where only seven other files resided, all with the word closed written on them in the detective's distinctive scrawl.
Her life had change irrevocably in the last half hour. James hadn't done anything wrong. Why had he let her believe he had? Why hadn't he explained that he had never stolen $650,000; that he'd been replacing money that Claire had--.
Elizabeth choked on the word.
"You just stood there, not saying a word and let her accuse you of a crime you didn't commit?"
James sat slumped in his chair listening to Theresa accuse him of being a fool. He was a fool. He wanted to tell Elizabeth the whole truth, but he couldn't. Mark had told him how sad she was, how Christmas upset her every year. When he'd seen her he only wanted her to be happy. His proposition for her to change her holidays from bad memories to good ones had been offered in earnest, yet he'd been the reason she would now forever view this time of year in the worse light. He felt helpless. What could he do?
He lifted a paper on his desk and stared at it, but saw none of the writing on it. He dropped it.
"What was I going to say?" he asked, more to himself than to Theresa.
"You could have told her the truth. Elizabeth is a big girl. She can take it."
Theresa's eyes were enormously expressive. Her words made his actions seem inadequate. James shrugged. "It was never my intention to prove my innocence or guilt to Elizabeth."
"Why not? You are in love with her, aren't you?" Theresa stood up and came around the desk. "Don't you know she can never fully trust you unless she knows the truth about you and Claire?"
"Yes," he said, answering both questions.
"Then why didn't you let her know about the money?"
"I suppose I would have told her last night if she'd opened the door, but this morning as she sat in that swing, I knew I couldn't tell her the truth. She was in mood to accept it."
"James."
Theresa's voice was more compassionate than he'd ever heard it. He looked up at her.
"It's time. Both of you have put your lives on hold for three years. All because of Claire's lies. It can't go on. Elizabeth has to be told."
He knew it was the truth. For three years he'd been miserable. The last seven days had been like heaven, then finally on the eighth day everything had fallen apart. He couldn't go on like this and he couldn't let this relationship end the way it had three years ago. This time he didn't have the SEC and the police waiting in the wings, looking at everything he'd done since he joined this firm. He didn't have his partners wondering about the truth of the accusations. This time more was at stake than going to jail. He'd gambled on giving the SEC only enough information to clear himself, keeping Claire's name out of it and with Theresa's help, they'd played a hand that won.
His life with Elizabeth was a much more important ante.
***
Elizabeth drove around in a daze. She needed time to think, put things in order, make some kind of sense out of the information she'd just read and heard. The crawl of the traffic didn't bother her, she had no particular destination in mind so going slow wasn't a problem. She did call Joanne to say she would be late, but her intention was to skip most of the day. Other than Detective Robinson picking up his invitations, there was nothing the young girl couldn't handle. Joanne told her she'd had two calls. One from James Hill, and the other from Theresa Simmons. Elizabeth promised to return the calls and rung off. Not yet, she thought. She wasn't ready to speak to James, but that time would come. She had to...to what? she asked herself -- apologize. She'd accused him of being a theft and he hadn't denied it, why? Yet she knew better now.
Why would he remain quiet, let the SEC rake him over the coals, look into every aspect of his company without a defense? It didn't make sense. Claire was the thief. She coughed at having to admit it. Deep down she'd always known, but time after time she'd told herself Claire was working hard to provide for them; the money she got whenever something important came up was legitimate income. Today, any blinders she'd had on had been ripped away by Detective Robinson and his "always open" file. Claire had used James's identification code. She'd transferred funds to the Barbados bank and James had found out. Why did he let Claire get away with it? Why hadn't he told her? Elizabeth knew why. She was the reason. James hadn't only been protecting his reputation, but hers as well. Any mention of Claire's involvement would have destroyed Invitation to Love. In a government town, the hint of scandal was enough to ruin a business. To have her name linked to the commission of a crime would kill her credibility.
Two hours later Claire found herself in the parking garage under James's office. His car set next to an elevator on the third sub-level. Parking in the first space she found, she got out. Her knees cracked, protesting the amount of time she'd remained in one position. Stretching she closed the door and headed for the elevator. A huge green arrow ran around the wall ending at the double doors. A laughing crowd exited the small room when the doors opened. Elizabeth heard the last man sing a line from Jingle Bells. It was nearly noon, most people would be leaving for lunch. The office would be empty. She acknowledged the small amount of luck.
James's secretary's desk was vacant when Elizabeth reached it. Strangely enough no one had stopped her. A few people gave her a curious glance, but she appeared to know where she was going. At his door she raised her hand to knock, but the sound of Theresa's voice stopped her.
She needed to speak to James alone. He'd protected her from the truth about her sister for three years. She wasn't sure what she'd say to him, but she needed to say it when they were alone. Using stationary on the desk, she wrote a quick note, found a confidential envelope and stuffed it inside. On the front she scrawled his name and as unobtrusively as she'd arrived, she left.
When James knocked on her door later that night she was as nervous as teenager awaiting the arrival of her first date. She busied herself since arriving home with straightening the apartment and practicing what she'd say. She'd lit the gas fireplace, plugged the tree in, made herself coffee and changed clothes three times. Elizabeth finally decided on a circle skirt of charcoal grey and a red sweater with a large collar. she hung god earrings, James often admired, in her ears. On her feet she wore her highest heels. At least his size wouldn't make her feel meek. Apologizing would be difficult enough.
She swallowed hard when she saw him. She took his overcoat and hung it in the hall closet. He wore a navy blue business suit although his tie was gone and his shirt collar was open.
Elizabeth hadn't given him any idea why she wanted to see him, but he'd come anyway. She smiled tentatively, glad last night hadn't made him too angry to return. The papers that had littered the floor twenty-four hours ago had been gathered and stacked into a neat pile.
"Can I get something to drink?"
"Do I smell coffee?"
Elizabeth nodded. "It's hazelnut," she said as she went to the kitchen.
She returned minutes later with a tray. Silently she poured the gourmet liquid and passed him a cup. They sat on opposite sides of the room facing each other.
"You must think my behavior a bit strange," she started. "I'd like to apologize."
"Elizabeth, what happened?" James leaned forward.
Elizabeth stared at the pile on the table next to her chair. She lifted the stack of papers and sat it on the coffee table between them.
"What is this?"
"It's evidence that proves you diverted $650,000 from your company's inactive accounts to a bank in Barbados."
Shock registered in his eyes. "Elizabeth, I can explain this--"
"I went to the police station today," she interrupted.
James sipped his coffee. Elizabeth remembered Detective Robinson and his technique of buying himself time. James's jaw set and the ruthless face stared at her.
"I wanted to review the accident report of the night Claire died."
James stiffened. His gazed bounced back and forth between the papers and her. "What did you find?"
"I ran into the officer who took the report. He's a detective now."
"You gave him these files?"
Elizabeth sipped her cream-only coffee. "No, I didn't."
The breath he let out was audible. She related the detective's story, leaving nothing out. James listened without interruption. When she finished she stood up and joined him on the opposite end of the sofa.
"Why didn't you tell me it was Claire? You let me believe you'd stolen money and tried to blame Claire for it, when all the time Claire was doing the stealing, framing you and you were covering for her."
"I wasn't covering for her, Elizabeth," he said. "I was covering for you. Theresa berated me for not letting you know the whole truth." He paused. "I knew how you felt about Claire. You thought she'd sacrificed everything for you when all the while she was doing everything in the world to hurt you."
"I don't understand."
James slid closer to her. "The night of the accident she came to the office. We'd had the annual Christmas party. Everyone had gone and I was about to leave when she showed up. She threatened to go to the police with lies. Tell them that I had embezzled money, sent it to a bank outside the United States. She had everything. It was all there in computer files, my identification code next to everything. On paper I was a thief."
Elizabeth listened without emotion.
"She'd taken $650,000 before I found out. That wasn't enough money for her. She want more. If I didn't give her another $500,000 she was going to tell you and the SEC all about the set up. I refused to be blackmailed. I knew if I paid her she'd have an axe to hold over me for the rest of my life. Claire was angry. She swore she'd go to the police, ruin me, no investor in his right mind would ever use my firm after she finished with me."
Elizabeth's breath caught. Claire was her sister, yet the woman he described was foreign to her.
"She wouldn't tell me where the files were hidden," he went on. "I wasn't even sure they really existed. She told so many lies, covering one set with another." James paused. "She said if anything happened to her, they would be delivered to the police. I was chasing her, hoping to stop her from getting to you when she hit the patch of ice and spun out of control. After that I waited, knowing every day the police would come and arrest me. With Theresa's help we managed to cover up the evidence Claire had falsified. Luckily the SEC believed us when we went before them and no one lost any money."
"But you did lose some clients."
"They've since returned with even greater investments."
"I'm sorry, James." Elizabeth dropped her head. James moved close enough to slip his arm around her shoulders.
"Don't be. You did nothing to be sorry about."
"I accused you of killing Claire, of--" He put his finger against her lips.
"Claire was an extremely bright woman. Like Theresa, she had an uncanny feel for the market. If she'd only held in the urge to get quick money I have no doubt she'd be a rich woman today."
Elizabeth let her head fall onto his shoulder. She knew he was right. Claire had so much going for her if she'd only channeled her energies in the right direction, but she was always for the here and now, living from day to day, never thinking of the future or whom she might hurt. Elizabeth could only say she'd protected her like a mother. She had given her a huge chunk of her life after their parents died. She supposed the need to use opportunity when it presented itself was Claire's method of survival. When it was no longer necessary, Claire couldn't stop.
"James?"
He drew her closer and wrapped his arm around her waist.
"Didn't you think I could have understood this three years ago? Is that why you protected me?"
"You didn't mention the files. The police never came with them. I thought Claire had lied about them too. She'd showed me a copy of the computer transfers, but if I had to I could have explained them. If she didn't really have any records everything would be fine for me, but you."
"Why me?"
"You were finally getting somewhere with Invitation to Love. The FBI or the secret service would certainly investigate you, Claire and me. If they found anything illegal there was no way you'd get the contracts you've secured."
"Detective Robinson had quite a lengthy file on Claire. I'm sure the FBI must have uncovered the same information."
"Probably, but Claire had never been arrested or convicted of anything. She'd had a string of affairs, but that's no crime. Once the SEC said I had done nothing wrong, you were in the clear."
Elizabeth lifted her head and leaned back to look at him. "I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry Claire put you through this."
"It's over now," he said. "She took your love of Christmas away and because of her it's been restored. Am I right?"
Elizabeth stared at the tree they'd decorated. She thought about the black Santa she'd bought in Georgetown. A wide smile split her face. "I think so."
With one finger James pulled her head back so she looked at him. His mouth touched hers and fire raged through her with the instance of a flash.
"There's one more thing," Elizabeth said before she lost all coherency.
"What's that?" James voice was hoarse.
Elizabeth moved out of his arms. She went to the papers and reached for the envelope on the top of the pile. She handed it to him.
James opened it and drew out the single piece of paper. "A check?"
Elizabeth stood before the fireplace. The heat behind her warmed her back. "Claire stole your money. You mortgaged your house to repay it."
"Elizabeth," he chuckled. "You're as honest as Claire was dishonest." Coming to her, he gathered her close and kissed her quickly. Then he stepped back and tore the check in half, dropping the pieces on the low table behind him.
"Why did you do that?"
"The money has already been repaid, Elizabeth. Theresa found the account and had it closed. The money was sent to a bank in the Cayman Islands, just as Claire had intended it but to a different account. Two years ago, when there was no threat, the account was closed and the mortgage repaid." He took a step toward her. Elizabeth saw the passion in his eyes. "Thank you for...everything."
He bent toward her, but Elizabeth moved. "James," she fidgeted with her hands. "I wouldn't blame you if you walked out the door and never came back."
"He didn't say anything. Elizabeth fidgeted more. Her nerves stretched.
"We haven't been very kind to you, Claire and I."
"Elizabeth," James smiled at her. "I left you once. For three miserable years I regretted it. Nothing, not even Claire, will drive me away again."
He stared at her for a moment. Elizabeth had never been more in love with anyone than she was at this moment. His hands slipped around her waist and pulled her toward him. The contact of body to body was electrifying. Her soft breast flattened against his chest as his mouth dropped to her left ear. Shimmers ran through her. Then his lips found hers. Elizabeth went easily into his arms. As James imprisoned her against him, she'd never felt more free. Suddenly there was no ghost between them, no cloud shadowing their love.
Elizabeth's mouth opened at his insistence. His tongue swept inside. Sensation made her weak as it spiraled through her. She arched toward him, clinging as the passion between them became tangible, fierce. James's hands roamed down her back, over her buttocks, and up again. The warmth of the fire behind her added to the fuel his hands made. Her stomach tightened as a gnawing hunger seized her.
"James," she moaned against his mouth.
"I know," he whispered. He turned her toward the bedroom.
"Here," Elizabeth said. "Before the fire."
With his arm around her waist, he pulled her against him. James stood next to her. The glow from the fire highlighted her short hair. He lifted the hem of angora sweater she wore. Quickly he pulled it over her head, grabbing her hands he ran his fingers down her arms. She shuddered under his touch. The sweater dropped to the floor. Her golden skin sent thrills through him each time he saw the smooth even tones that ran from her neck to her toes. He kissed her shoulders, listening to the soft gasps that came from her throat.
Unhooking her bra, the heaviness of her breasts spilled into his hands. Heat pooled in his groin and he felt himself grow hard against his pants. His hands caressed her. Breath caught in her throat. Rubbing his thumbs across berry colored peaks, he felt them pebble against his fingertips.
Elizabeth pushed the coat from his shoulders and undid the buttons on his shirt. She pressed her face against his skin. Heat shot through him as her hands spread over his chest and around his torso. He pushed her head back and kissed her. The kiss was long, slow and as hot as a summer in Washington. Candle wax could melt on the sidewalk and he was dissolving into her, losing the point where one body ended and another began.
They finished undressing as slow as they could manage which was with the speed of a quick-draw western hero bringing down his prey. James settled her to the floor and joined her there. He gathered her close to him, his hands stroking her back. Her lips brush his chest, her tongue tasting, lathing his nipples sending rapturous sensations through him. She arched toward him, her slender legs tangling with his. His skin was on fire and the tightening coil in his belly was about to reach its breaking point. Rolling Elizabeth onto her back, he lifted himself over her and sought the center of her core. The primal dance between them was wild, uncontrollable; a joining so singularly distinctive, no other couple in history could have ever experienced it in quite the same way. Then a soul shattering climax took them over the edge and they collapsed against each other in unbridled release.
***
Elizabeth stirred as James lifted her. Her body was cold since he'd moved her from the fire and his body. She curled her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. As he placed her on the bed she heard the clock in the foyer. It counted the hour. It was past midnight.
"It's Christmas Eve," she said. "Promise me something?"
He looked at her. In the half light of morning, she couldn't see his eyes. "Anything." A smile was in his voice.
"Can we do this every Christmas Eve?"
"I can only promise the next sixty or seventy Christmases. After that you're on your own."
Elizabeth ran her hand up his arm. His skin glowed in the back light coming from the living room. He was rock solid, dark as brandy and smooth as warm silk. "I love you, James Hill. I've been in love with you since we shared that first bowl of ice cream."
She sat up, hugging him too her; loving the feel of his skin.
"I love you too, Elizabeth; since the fifth grade when you had thick braids." His hand brushed through her hair.
"Even through all the mess Claire created, I knew somehow we'd live our lives together."
"That sounds an awful lot like a proposal, Elizabeth." James pressed his mouth against her. "Are you asking me to marry you?" Each word was uttered between kisses.
"You asked me the last time," she said, when his mouth lifted a moment. "I thought it was my turn."
She gasped as James's hands came around her. His thumbs drew circles along the sides of her breasts. Her blood boiled. Her head fell back, thrusting her breasts into his chest. God she felt good. He made her feel like this.
"Are you going to answer my question?" She could hardly speak for the sensations that rioted through her. His hands were heating her -- overheating her. In a moment, she was going to dissolve into a pool of chocolate.
"Yes, I'll marry you." James's mouth covered hers.
He pushed her back onto the bed and stretched his length over her. Then he began a long, slow mapping of her body. Elizabeth reached meltdown as James joined his body to hers. The invasion was wanted, needed. She didn't think she could survive without it. She closed around him, drawing him into her. The rhythmic love-dance began. Movement, as old as time, seized her. Together they waltzed, tangoed, jitterbugged and broke into a slow cha-cha. Elizabeth screamed at the pleasure that filled her. The kind of pleasure she only experienced with James. Her breath came hard, her heart hammered in her ears. James kissed her eyes and cheeks, rolling on his side and taking her with him, keeping them pulling joined.
Elizabeth's legs straddled him. Her insides were so full she thought she'd explode in the aftermath of their lovemaking. God, she felt lucky. She'd been given a precious second chance with the man I love. She'll never know what forces made her pull James's address by mistake eleven days ago, but she'd gave her thanks that she had done it and it had led her here, wrapped in his arms, happier than she's ever been.
For three years, he'd filled her dreams. Even her subconscious knew she wanted only him. Now he was real. Her imagination didn't have to conjure him up. He was here and they'd be together from now on.
"I love you, James," she told him.
"Shh," he whispered. "I thought I could wait until tomorrow, but it's already tomorrow."
He slipped off the bed.
"Where are you going?" Elizabeth sat up, grabbing his hand.
"I'll be right back." He kissed the back of her hand and dropped it.
Elizabeth pulled the sheet over her. The morning sun had begun to rise behind the Capitol Building. She stared at the cracked gold horizon. James came back. She watched his sure gait and he walked naked across the room. He had a great body and no need to feel self conscious about it. He sat on the bed and switched the lamp on. Elizabeth blinked at the sudden brightness.
"Merry Christmas," he said, offering her a small square box wrapped in colored paper and completely covered by a red ribbon.
The urge to rip the paper away and discover the contents was overwhelming, but she held it back. "Shouldn't we wait until Christmas?"
"I never could wait," he said. "It's why I wait until the end of the shopping season to buy gifts." He paused, pushing the box closer to her. "Go on, open it."
Elizabeth sat up in bed, trying to keep the sheet above her breasts. She pulled the ribbon free and used her fingernail to slit the paper. The box came from the jewelry store where they'd bought his mother's statue. Slowly Elizabeth opened the box. Inside was a small velvet ring box. She pulled it out as if it held the rarest jewel on earth. Lifting the top, she gasped. It was the ring. The stepping stones to the altar.
"How?" her voice was a hoarse whisper. "When?"
James took the box and pulled the ring out. "I went back the next morning and bought it." He lifted her left hand and slipped the ring over the knuckle of her third finger, left hand. The steps moved. They skittered around in a full arc then back again like the swinging of pendulum. Each layer rotated separately giving the effect of constant and never-ending movement.
"James, it's beautiful." The sheet slipped as she hugged him. She extended her hand over his shoulder, admiring the ring and the show it presented.
"There's a story behind it," he said.
Elizabeth pushed him back. Her eyebrows rose. "Another Christmas story?"
"This one is a marriage story." He climbed into bed next to her and pulled the sheet over them both. Holding her hand, he began, "The bottom two circles represent man and woman."
"Which one is man and which one is woman?" She looked at her finger, trying hard not to break into laughter.
James grinned and ignored her. "They actually represent man's or woman's search for their ideal mate. Each stone indicates the many seeds and many shores that life touches in its search. They glitter, sometimes blinding the owner."
"To the right man," she offered.
"Or the right woman." He took her hand. He tapped the top circle. "This step is the promise. The commitment that each makes to the other. These stones are angled upward. Light reflects off them creating a circle that encompasses the top stone, which is the joining of the two lives, forever, unending."
Tears misted in Elizabeth's eyes when he finished speaking. All joking and playfulness left her as he spoke. It was the most beautiful story she'd ever heard and one she'd vow to keep.
"James." Emotion filled her heart and her voice. "I promise to stand within the never-ending light, to join with you forever, to pledge my unending love as long as night blends into day and day blends into night."
Elizabeth positively glowed. She hadn't been this happy in years. She looked at the glittering ring on her left hand. She remembered her pledge to James and his to her. The diamond was only a symbol, but it was enduring, as enduring as their love. The geometric circles twisted back and forth with each movement of her hand. She knew she'd never look at it without thinking of the story James had told her.
Finally, the weight she'd carried so long regarding Claire and James was gone. He stood next to her, his arm around her waist, as he greeted his guests. He introduced everyone to her as if she held a place of honor.
Crowds formed in every room. Music played through the sound system. In the great-room couples danced on the temporary dance floor. Bursts of laughter came from the living room as someone said something funny. She could hear the faint sound of a Christmas carol from the direction of the music room. A couple sat on the fifth rung of the steps leading up to the bedrooms, engrossed only in each other.
Elizabeth knew how they felt. It's how she felt about James. Two day ago, on the anniversary of his Claire's accident, they had resolved their differences and James had made love to her through the night. Her stomach contracted, sensation pooled in her body at the memory. She smiled up at him and he kissed her on the cheek. Elizabeth directed her thoughts away from last night.
"Why don't we throw all these people out and spend the night alone?" he whispered in her ear.
"I'll take the living room, you do the great-room and the library," she agreed.
Together they laughed and joined the singing crowd in the music room. Mark was seated at the piano playing as he led the crowd singing It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. They joined in playing the perfect host and hostess for a few minutes before making sure everything was all right in the other rooms.
As Elizabeth passed the foyer on her way to the kitchen, the front door was opened again.
"Merry Christmas, Lizzie."
"Theresa!" Elizabeth rushed across the room to hug her friend. "I'm so glad to see you." Theresa gave her coat to the hired maid and hugged Elizabeth again. Her dress was Christmas red with a brilliant white sash around her thin waist. Long earrings danced from her ear lobes to her shoulders. She'd swept her hair all to one side and anchored it with a glittering comb.
"I hear you and James finally patched things up."
Elizabeth smiled. "I hear we have you to thank for part of it." Elizabeth raised her hand displaying the shining rock James placed there a couple of hours ago.
Theresa whistled. "James really wants people to know you're his. How many is that? Six-seven-eight?"
"Seven," Elizabeth said, giving her the number of carats in the crowning stone.
"It's beautiful, Lizzie. Congratulations." Elizabeth hugged her again.
"Thank you too, Theresa. James told me what you did to help him clear himself and keep Claire's name out of the mess she created. I owe you a lot."
"Cut it out," Theresa stopped her. "I did nothing you wouldn't have done. Now where is the bridegroom?"
James came through from the kitchen as if on cue. "Theresa," he called. "Did Elizabeth tell you our good news?"
"She didn't have to. The reflection off that stone," he pointed to Elizabeth's hand. "was bright enough to lead me here. Now I know how the wise men found baby Jesus."
James laughed and took both women by the arm. "Now that everyone is here, let's go make the announcement.
James gathered everyone in the great-room. Before the huge Christmas tree, he and Elizabeth took up positions like Christmas ornaments. The lights twinkled behind them, their friends stood in front. Mark and James's parent's stood to their right. The smile on Elizabeth's face was wide and happy. She couldn't ask for anything more to make her Christmas perfect. Then James gave it to her.
"My friends," he held a fluted champagne glass in his left hand. The noise in the room reduced to a low murmur. "My friends, I'd like you all to know." The room was absolutely quiet now. "As most of you know, Elizabeth and I have been engaged before."
Elizabeth smiled and the room laughed.
"However," he continued. "We both know a good thing when we find it. Yesterday we decided to..." he paused. "To try it again."
From the side of the room Mark yelled "yeah" and the room broke into applause. People rushed them, offering congratulations, asking if they'd set a date, kissing her and pumping James's hand.
The tempo of the party increased after James's announcement. Merry making went on into the early morning. Finally, they said goodnight to the last guest and collapsed on the sofa in the living room. Elizabeth slipped her feet free of her shoes and curled them under her. Party debris surrounded them on all sides, yet Elizabeth didn't notice it. She took James's arm and snuggled up to him, her head on his shoulder.
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
"Now who could that be?" James wondered.
"Probably somebody who left something," Elizabeth offered.
He bent toward her and dropped a kiss on her mouth before standing up. "I'll see who it is."
James grinned at the door. It was a delivery man. The envelope he passed him had the familiar Invitation to Love logo on it. He didn't have to ask Elizabeth how she got a man to come out this late on Christmas Eve -- correction it was now Christmas day. He tipped him handsomely and closed the door. Tearing open the letter, he found a buff colored card inside. The message Marry the woman at the door was printed in Elizabeth's precise handwriting. He smiled, turned and opened the door. There she stood.
"This time there is no address mix-up," she said. "I'm the woman at the door."
James grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his arms. The door shut behind them.
"Merry Christmas, Elizabeth."
"Merry Christmas, James."
He kissed her and Elizabeth knew from this Christmas to her last, as long as she shared them with James, her memories would always be happy.
THE END
1Shirley Hailstock, a bestselling, award-winning novelist, began her writing life as a lover of reading. She likes nothing better than to find a quiet corner where she can get lost in a book, explore new worlds and visit places she never expected to see. As an author, she can not only visit those places, but she can be the heroine of her own stories. The author of more than thirty-five novels and novellas, including her electronic editions, Shirley has received numerous awards, including the Borders Bestselling Romance Award and Romantic Times Magazine’s Career Achievement Award. Shirley’s books have appeared on Blackboard, Essence Magazine, Amazon.com and Library Journal Best Seller Lists. She is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She lives in New Jersey with her family.
Christmas is such a special time of year. I look forward to it and the warm memories that return as I travel home to see family and friends. Writing One Christmas Night enabled me to relive the traditions and the memories and revisit my childhood when the struggle of going to be that night before Santa was due was suspended for one day. Waking early and rushing to the twinkling tree to find my gifts among the elaborate array of toys and clothes, cooking festive meals, and reading A Christmas Carol or 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, singing carols, and decorating the tree can still bring a smile to my face, even in the heat of summer.
I hope you enjoyed James and Elizabeth's story and that this Christmas and all your Christmases will be filled with good thoughts and good memories.
Thank you for reading One Christmas Night! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book:
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Christmas is such a special time of year. I look forward to it and the warm memories that return as I travel home to see family and friends. Writing One Christmas Night enabled me to relive the traditions and the memories and revisit my childhood when the struggle of going to be that night before Santa was due was suspended for one day. Waking early and rushing to the twinkling tree to find my gifts among the elaborate array of toys and clothes, cooking festive meals, and reading A Christmas Carol or 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, singing carols, and decorating the tree can still bring a smile to my face, even in the heat of summer.
I hope you enjoyed James and Elizabeth's story and that this Christmas and all your Christmases will be filled with good thoughts and good memories.
I receive many letters from the women and men who read my books. Thank you for you generous comments and words of encouragement. I love reading your letters as much as I enjoy writing the books.
If you'd like to hear more about One Christmas Night, other books I've written, or upcoming releases, you can reach me at shirley.hailstock@comcast.net. I also have a newsletter that you can subscribe to by sending an e-mail to ShirleyHailstock-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Below you can find a link to other electronic books I’ve written. I hope you’ll try them.
Other Books by Shirley Hailstock Available at Smashwords:
Under the Sheets/White Diamonds - Boxed Set
Excerpt from The Christmas List
Alice Underwood
Christmas List 20. . .
1. Lose 10 pounds
2. Christmas dress with white fur
3. Diamond hair comb in the window of McClure’s Jewelry Store
4. Go to a fancy dress ball and dance with a handsome stranger.
5. Get my tennis academy running and profitable.
6.
Allie’s hand shook when she looked down at the year old paper. Her mouth went dry as she stared at the list she’d begun two years ago. Uncalled for emotions sailed into her like a fast moving train. Her free hand went to her heart, trying to control the sudden beating that she could feel all the way to her head.
The note’s title was clear, but the year had been obliterated by water damage. She didn’t need to see it. She knew exactly when she’d written it. It was during her before period. Before the accident. Before her world collided with a drunk driver. Before life as she knew it and the promising future her friends and family knew was hers, was snatched away in a blinding few seconds that crushed her life, limbs, and career into a space too small for a woman her size.
Balling the single sheet into golf-ball size, Allie tossed it toward the trash can – missing it by inches. She didn’t need to read it. She knew what it said. She also knew the list was moot. Allie wouldn’t get any of her Christmas wishes – not then or now.
“Allie, are you ready?” her sister called from the hall. Allie started taking a deep breath and snapping her attention to the present. From the sound of Melanie’s voice, Allie could tell she was half-way up the stairs.
“Just throwing out some trash,” Allie called. She glanced toward the trash can as if she could see her past.
Melanie pushed the door open and walked in without waiting for Allie to offer her entrance. She was immaculately dressed in black pants, a creamy soft cable-knit sweater and red knee-length boots. Not at all like Allie who wore a simple green dress with long sleeves. It was cinched at the waist by a silver belt whose loop was three dress sizes tighter than it had been a year ago. Allie wore support stockings and shoes with a one-inch heel. There was snow outside, but it had been cleared away leaving adequate paths that could keep her feet dry. Despite spending her entire life in Lighthouse, Maine, Allie did not like boots.
“What are you doing?” Melanie asked, looking around.
“Cleaning out some papers I don’t need anymore.” She wanted to say some old memories, but that would spark more conversation than she wanted to go into with her perceptive sister.
“Ready?”
Allie pushed her arms into her coat. “I am now.” She smiled even though she didn’t feel like it.
“It’s cold out, but it hasn’t snowed yet.”
New snow was predicted. Allie saw her sister glance at her shoes. The censure that she should have on the boots Melanie had bought her was there. She ignored it and started for the door.
“I’ll take this down for you,” Melanie said, lifting the nearly full trash can.
Allie gritted her teeth. After two years, she was capable of taking her own trash down the stairs, but Melanie thought she was helping. And Allie’s limp was almost gone. If she didn’t overdo or try to walk too fast, no one could tell she even had a limp.
Melanie took the trash basket to the kitchen and left it next to a larger one. The balled up list still lay on the floor of Allie’s bedroom. Neither of them noticed.
If you’d like to read the rest of this book, the link is below: