Angels at Christmas (18 page)

“Just call and tell me when your flight's coming in and I'll be there to pick you up, check in hand. We
do
want to sell this painting, don't we?”

Because she knew it was the right thing, Anne said, “Yes, we do.” Burton would probably never hear about her success, but that didn't matter. Anne Fletcher was an artist and an unusual one at that. She could support herself with what she made on her paintings.

R
oy caught himself whistling as he dressed for work Monday morning. He took a long look at himself in the mirror and saw something he hadn't seen in years.
Happiness
. It had sneaked up on him and could only be attributed to his relationship with Julie. He liked the way she made him feel, the way she challenged him and made him laugh. He liked her warmth and honesty. He'd discovered that he wanted to be with her more and more—all the time, in fact. And this had happened in only a few weeks. He often found himself impatient when they were apart, eager to be with her again. Suddenly he wanted—no, needed—to hear the sound of her voice.

Without further thought he picked up the phone.

Julie answered on the second ring.

“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Roy, it's six o'clock in the morning. I'm getting ready for school. What do you suppose I'm doing?”

“I was hoping you were thinking of me.” He straddled a kitchen chair, grabbing his coffee mug. The best Colombian coffee and conversation with Julie—not a bad way to start his day.

“I
was
thinking of you,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“I've got a game.”

“After the game?”

“I'd love to.”

His heart soared at her excitement. Then again, it could be an echo of his own joy. He shook his head. This was crazy. He knew better than to let himself be swayed by feelings, especially feelings for a woman. Hadn't he learned that by now? Yet here he was, falling head over heels for Julie and he was doing it with his eyes wide open. A rational voice in his mind urged him to resist before he made another costly mistake. But a louder and more persistent voice promised him Julie was different….

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Do we have to go anywhere?” she asked. “Dad's meeting some friends tonight. I can cook.”

“After teaching all day and coaching a soccer game, you won't feel like cooking. Let me take you out.”

“Nonsense. I'll start a stew in the Crock-Pot and it'll be ready when I get home from school.”

Roy hadn't had regular home-cooked meals since he was a teenager. His mother, no matter how busy she was, had insisted on dinners together as a family. More often than not, his father had business to attend to, but Roy had always eaten with his mother, at least until he left for college in Seattle.

“Unless you don't want stew? I just thought it was a great wintertime meal and—”

“Your stew's wonderful,” he assured her. She could serve dill pickles and he wouldn't have cared. All Roy wanted was to spend time with Julie. He had no idea where this was going and for the moment contented himself with the thrill of the ride.

They agreed to meet at her house at seven. Roy found
himself watching the clock all day. The morning seemed to crawl by, and his mind wasn't on his various meetings or the decisions he had to make. Even Ms. Johnson commented.

Roy brushed away her concern. He didn't admit it was Julie Wilcoff who occupied his thoughts, but he suspected Ms. Johnson had guessed as much.

That evening, at one minute to seven, Roy stood on Julie's front porch, clutching a bottle of excellent wine, and rang the doorbell. She answered immediately, her hair still wet from the shower. She'd combed it away from her face, and he noticed again how lovely she was, even without makeup. Her skin was smooth and healthy, her eyes bright, and her lips, with only the slightest color, looked as if they ached to be kissed. He knew
he
ached to kiss her. She wore slacks and a green sweater, and just seeing her turned his blood to steam. This was what he'd been fantasizing about all day, what he'd wanted from the moment he'd climbed out of bed that morning.

“You're right on time,” she said, reaching for his free hand. With a slight tug she brought him into the house.

Roy saw that he'd been standing on the porch like a schoolboy, simply staring at her. He knew he should wait before he kissed her, but he couldn't stop himself. He set the wine on a hallway table crowded with gloves and unopened mail and, without removing his coat, brought her into his arms.

Julie went to him willingly and when their lips met, it was the first time that day he'd felt completely relaxed. She melted against him and he felt the soft fullness of her breasts against his chest. His head swam. The sensation their kisses evoked in him nearly sent him over the edge.

After several minutes, Julie pulled her mouth from his. “I…I've got bread under the broiler.”

Only then did Roy smell the burning bread. He released her and, because his knees felt weak, walked into the living
room and sat down. Shrugging off his coat, he struggled to regain his equilibrium. A minute later, he carried his overcoat to the hall closet and collected the wine, which he placed on the coffee table.

Julie returned just as he sat down again. “Thankfully I picked up two loaves,” she said. Offering him a shy smile, she started to walk past him to the chair opposite his.

Roy grabbed her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “I want to talk.”

“All right.” Her dark eyes were solemn.

He drew her into his lap and resumed the kissing they'd begun in the hallway. Cradling her, he slipped his hand beneath her sweater and groaned as he encountered her breasts. His kisses turned greedy and urgent and—

A loud
ding
startled him and he broke off the kiss.

“That's the oven timer,” Julie explained, and gazed at him, her eyes warm. “Don't let it interrupt you.” She frowned playfully. “On the other hand, I don't want to burn my last loaf of bread.” She slid off his lap and hurried to the kitchen. “Hold that kiss—I mean thought,” she called over her shoulder.

Roy grinned when she came back and returned to her position on his lap. “I was serious about wanting to talk,” he said after a quick kiss.

“I can see that,” she teased.

“The problem is, you're way too tempting.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn't leave her lips. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I can't think when we're this close.”

“Would you like me to move?”

“No…yes.”

She slid off his lap a second time and sat on the sofa across from him.

“How long do you intend to live with your father?” he asked, leaning forward.

The question appeared to surprise her. “I…I was thinking of renting an apartment after the first of the year.”

“Don't,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? Dad needs to make his own life now and—”

“Move in with me.” He hadn't broached the subject with much finesse, but he saw no reason to wait.

Julie didn't answer and her silence unnerved him.

“I take it you're not looking for a roommate to share expenses,” she finally said in what was presumably an effort at humor.

“We both know what I'm asking.”

“Yes…well.” She took a breath and then slowly exhaled. “We…only met a few weeks ago.”

“We know how we feel—what we want.”

She lowered her gaze rather than confess the truth.

“Julie,” he said, “we're adults.”

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his, and he read her indecision. Hoping to persuade her, he stood up and crossed to the sofa, sitting beside her. Clasping Julie's hands, he brushed his mouth over hers. “We'd be good together,” he whispered.

“I think so, too.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

She shook her head.

“Come on,” he urged. “Tell me.”

“I'd hate to disappoint my father—I don't know how he'd feel about this.”

Roy wanted to remind her that she was thirty years old and fully capable of making decisions without consulting her father. In any event, based on what he knew of Dean Wilcoff, the man wouldn't stand in their way.

“I'm afraid he'd do something rash,” Julie said.

“Like what?” Roy couldn't imagine him doing any such thing. Dean was a sensible man. He wouldn't intrude on his
daughter's life. He'd accept whatever Julie wanted and keep his mouth shut—as he should.

“He wouldn't approve.”

“So?”

“So,” she continued, “I suspect he'd quit his job.”

“That decision is his, don't you think?”

“Yes,” she agreed after a lengthy pause. “But he needs this job and for more than the money. It's been wonderful for him, Roy. I'm so grateful you gave Dad a chance to feel productive again. It's been exactly what he needed.”

“Leave your father to me,” he told her. Roy would square the situation with Dean and make sure he had no objections.

Still Julie hesitated.

“You don't need to decide right this minute. Take a few days, think it over. I'm not going to withdraw the offer.”

A tremulous smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Roy was disappointed by her lack of excitement, although he wouldn't admit it. He'd hoped Julie would show as much enthusiasm for his idea as he felt himself.

Then it hit him. Naturally she was hesitant. She wanted it all, especially that ring on her finger, before she moved in with him.

“You want me to marry you first, don't you?”

“That's the way it's generally done,” she said. “So…yes, I guess I do.”

He appreciated her honesty and felt he couldn't be any less honest with her. “Sorry, Julie, it isn't going to happen. I'm not interested in marriage.”

She took the news easily enough.

“Fine,” she said, her voice just a bit unsteady. “But what
are
you offering me?”

Roy shrugged. “I'm offering you a place in my life and in my home. I'll be generous and attentive.” He couldn't
think of anything else she'd want. Although he hadn't spelled it out, he intended to give her all the things women craved. She could buy whatever she wanted: jewels, clothes, cars. It was up to her.

“I don't doubt that you'd be good to me.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“For how long?”

His patience was slipping. “You want guarantees?”

“Six weeks? Three months? A year?”

“How am I supposed to know? For however long the two of us last.” That should satisfy her. The way he felt just then, it could be a very long time, but she was right—maybe it wouldn't. Who could tell?

“You've done contracts with other businesses, haven't you?”

Roy had the feeling she was thinking out loud. “Yes—”

“You were ready to make a commitment to them, weren't you?”

“Yes—”

“But you aren't willing to make a commitment to me.”

Ah, he was beginning to understand. “I can break a contract for a price. Is that what you're talking about?”

“Are you suggesting payment?”

He should have wised up by now, but she'd had him fooled. Still, he didn't care. He was a man accustomed to paying for what he wanted. At the moment that was Julie, and he wanted her badly.

“Fine,” he said. “We can draw up a financial agreement.”

She pulled her hands free of his. “That wasn't what I meant. I don't think you realize how insulting that is, Roy.”

“Insulting? I thought it was what you wanted. Okay,” he said, doing his best to figure her out. “Just tell me what it would take—other than marrying you—to get you to move in with me.” He couldn't make it any plainer than that.
Aimee had moved in without a moment's hesitation. He couldn't understand why Julie needed all this discussion.

“I don't know…I want to think this through.” As if in a daze, she stood and walked slowly back to the kitchen.

Roy followed her. This night wasn't going the way he'd anticipated. He'd never been much good with relationships, and his experience with Aimee hadn't helped.

“What about love?” she asked, suddenly turning around.

Roy had come to detest the word. He didn't know what it was anymore. “Julie, you're searching for an excuse, and I'm not going to give it to you. You're looking for ways to talk yourself out of something we both want. This would be an agreement between two mature people who are strongly attracted to each other. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her? She'd be thrilled. She's been saying for a long time that I work too hard, and she's right. Knowing her, she'll kiss you on both cheeks and thank you.”