That Mistletoe Moment (14 page)

She chose the red discs and he went with yellow. He had big hands, and the playing grid was only six by six inches. The discs were tiny, and they slipped off his fingertips. They alternated turns, and she played hard. Riley bit down on her lip, all wide-eyed concentration. He paid more attention to her than the game. She had a sweet mouth. Full, gently curved. Kissable. The thought distracted him. So much so, he missed a turn or two.

She beat him twenty-one of twenty-two games.

He held up his hands in defeat.

She laughed out loud. Grinned from ear to ear. Crazy-happy at beating him. A game meant for ages six and up. He was thirty-five and she, thirty. They were on the older side of Connect Four.

Still, her delight touched him. Warmth spread from his gut to his chest. His smile came easily, and hers faded. She stared at him. A stare he now recognized as being either astonished or simply dazed.

Completely awed, she placed her hand over her heart, and slowly said, “Total transformation, Daniel Hayes. You're a handsome man, but when you smile, you're a lady-killer.”

CHAPTER 4

R
iley couldn't forget Daniel's smile. Fleeting and astonishing. His dimples flashed, deepened, and she forgot to breathe. She'd never seen a better-looking man in all her life. She felt a moment of sadness that he was so serious. A grin from the CEO, and world economic leaders and his own executives would see him as more than a financial genius. The lean hardness of his face had shown his character. His smile portrayed both charm and strength. A man of depth. He was so much more than a suit.

She took apart the game grid, scooped up the discs, and tucked Connect Four back into her envelope purse. To be played another day. A sharp knock on the apartment door, and Daniel rose to check on the arrival.

A flashlight swept the room. “Last pass of the night, Mr. Hayes,” George from Security said, sounding out of breath. “Climbing stairs has worn me out. I wanted to make sure everything was secure before I headed back to my station in the lobby.”

“We're fine,” Daniel assured him. “Can I make you a sandwich to go? How about an iced tea?”

The guard shook his head. “Thank you, no. My wife sent me to work with a grocery bag of food. She anticipated the snowstorm long before the weatherman.”

“How is—” Daniel's brow creased.

“Hannah, my better half?” George supplied.

“Yes, Hannah,” Daniel slowly repeated, as if storing her name in his memory.

“She retired from teaching, sir. Her days are filled with grandchildren and knitting. A neighborhood coffee klatch. Thank you for asking.”

“She's safe during the blizzard?”

“Hannah's staying with my oldest son and his family. My boy recently built a new home. Two fireplaces. The garage is stacked with wood. Everyone will be warm and out of harm's way.”

Daniel nodded, nothing more. His attempt at personal small talk was short, but obviously appreciated. George stood taller.

“I'll see you after the storm passes.” The guard quietly closed the door.

“He's a nice man. Conscientious,” Riley said once he was gone. “Climbing all those stairs had to be strenuous.”

Daniel mused, “George is known to take the stairs on occasion. Keeps him in shape, and he swears he beats the elevator when it stops on every floor.”

“His wife's name is Hannah.”

He came back to the couch, stood over her. “So he told us.”

“Because you asked him.”

“I was being . . . polite.”

“You showed interest. Most people love to talk about their families.”

He shrugged. “It's not a big deal.”

“It was to George.” Pause. “And to me.”

“Why you?” he asked.

“I like compassion in a man.”

“Don't read too much into our conversation.”

“You know his wife's name, and next time you can ask about his oldest son.”

His jaw tightened. “We'll be all business when I see him again. He'll be running Security and I'll be dealing with finances.”

“That's that.”

“It is what it is, Riley. The way it's always been. We work hard and smart, proving to the financial world that we're serious. We stretch ourselves. We don't let each other down.” He pinned her with a look. “Change can be confusing.”

“I think you're in a rut,” slipped out. She kicked herself for once again speaking so bluntly. It wasn't her place. Being confined with the man, playing games by candlelight, had skewed her perspective. He was powerful, influential. He'd hired her, he could just as easily fire her.

Regret prompted her apology. “Open mouth, insert foot.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and calmly said, “Twice you've apologized to me now.”

“You're keeping count?”

“I'm good with numbers.”

“Two is memorable.”

His expression was unreadable when he said, “You're too new to Global Financiers to understand our spectrum of personalities, and how each person settles into the company.”

“Like human puzzle pieces?”

“We fit.”

She wondered if there was a space open for her. Doubtful. A personal shopper was not a key player. She'd never take a seat in the boardroom. Too starched and stuffy. She might never make a friend. She would do her job. Stay out of everyone's way.

She unexpectedly yawned. Her day had been full, emotional, as she'd awaited Daniel's decision on who would win the role as his personal shopper. So few hours had passed since she'd presented him with the train set. Since he'd chosen her. Now they faced a night together on the thirtieth floor. Fatigue claimed her.

She placed her hands on either side of her thighs, gave a bounce on the sofa cushion. The couch was comfortable. She had no expectation that Daniel would give up the bedroom. Toss her a pillow and blanket, and she'd sleep tight. The sofa was long enough that she wouldn't get a crick in her neck from the armrest.

“You look tired,” Daniel observed.

She rubbed her eyes. “I'm fading fast.”

“Bed, then.”

Bed? “The sofa is fine.”

“You'd be more comfortable in the bedroom.”

“Where will you sleep?” she asked cautiously.

She met his gaze. Heat darkened his eyes. She flushed. The walls closed around them. Intimate and embracing. Awareness thickened the air. Unexpected. Unintentional. But tangible. He released a slow breath. She barely managed to draw air in. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. Her lips parted. Expectancy swelled amid the shadowed flames. A sudden longing lodged in her chest.

Unfamiliar territory. Two people riding out a snowstorm. Attraction tugged, awakening feelings and possibilities. She hadn't seen it coming. The sensation jarred and scared her.

He had graciously offered her his bed. His own sleeping arrangements, undecided. They'd shared a hot look. One that drew her nipples to points and dampened her panties.

He was equally affected, she noted. An erection was difficult to hide. He slid his hands into his pockets and made a discreet adjustment.

Candlelight flickered over his face. His expression appeared as confused as she felt. All because of a stare. They hadn't even touched.

Imaginary or not, she had a boyfriend. Andrew Reynolds was an implied prerequisite to her employment. A man not to be forgotten. She lowered her gaze, clasped her hands on her lap. Waited for the moment to pass and the air to clear.

“I'll take the couch,” he decided. “There's bedding in the closet. Plenty of pillows and comforters. The building temperature may drop, but not significantly.”

She lifted her gaze. “No shivers or chattering teeth?”

“I'll make sure you stay warm.”

His body heat reached her. Surrounded her. Embraced her. He held out his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. She bumped into his side. Sensed his strength. Felt protected. She slipped her hand free, and pulled back. He picked up two jar candles, passed her one. Then maintaining a platonic distance, she followed him to the bedroom.

He held the door for her, and she entered. She took two steps, and stopped. Holding up her candle, she squinted against the light. She made out a dresser with a mirror and a double bed. Unmade. She set her candle on the built-in shelf in the headboard. The room softened to a bedtime glow.

“The closet connects the bedroom and bathroom,” he told her. His trip into the closet produced a stack of bedding. He helped her make the bed. Man and woman. A silent closeness. Spreading and tucking cotton flannel sheets. Smoothing the goose down comforter. Plumping feather pillows. Her stomach tightened when their fingers brushed. Their heightened familiarity was as warm and comforting as a wool blanket. Their closeness felt uncanny.

The bed was soon made, and her stomach softened with appreciation. She stood aside as he collected his own bedding, tucked it under one arm, then turned toward the door. He still held his candle.

“There may be enough water pressure to wash your face and hands,” he cast back. “I wouldn't advise a shower. You'd end up soapy. There should be a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet. Feel free to use what you need.”

Her throat tightened at his kindness. “Thank you,” was barely audible.

“You may find me serious and harsh,” he said from the doorway. “In my own way, however conflicting with yours, I do look out for those in my employ. That includes you, Riley, on this blustery night.” One corner of his mouth curved. “A better day tomorrow. I'll cook you breakfast if the electricity's back on. Otherwise, it's dry cereal.” He left her.

She missed him the moment he closed the door. Their rapport had touched her deeply. It had come on so suddenly. An indescribable longing. She believed he felt it too. Maybe not as strongly as she did, but still, his gaze had shone with interest. Unimaginable as that seemed. He was somebody. She, a nobody.

Had it not been for the blizzard, they might never have spent any time together. Never gotten acquainted, beyond her purchasing his wardrobe and awaiting his approval.

She tamped down her feelings. Her position with him was personal shopper. Nothing more. She would school her features, detach. Downplay her emotions. The last thing she wanted was to get fired, one day into the job. Still, a small part of her anticipated seeing him the next morning.

With a quick trip to the bathroom, she freshened up to the best of her ability with the meager water supply. Returning, she let the candlelight play across the walls of his executive closet. The masculine look was carried out in hardwood floors and cedar paneling. Chrome bars with luxury wooden coat, suit, and pant hangers. Tall shoe trees and tie racks. Not a stitch of clothing remained. Vengeance by Judith Scissorhands. Because Daniel hadn't loved her.

Riley stepped from the closet and rounded the foot of the bed. Went to sit on the side. She slipped off her shoes and slid into bed. Fully clothed. She snuggled into the cocoon of flannel and goose down. She blew out the candle. She closed her eyes, and her breathing slowed. She slept deep. Ten hours straight.

* * *

A knock on her door had her blinking. She rubbed her eyes. Ran a hand down her face. She felt momentarily disoriented. Until the previous day came into focus. The blizzard. Daniel's office apartment, his bedroom. The warmth of the comforter against the cooling air. The electricity had yet to be restored, she realized. She faced dry cereal for breakfast.

She pushed up on one elbow, called, “Come in.”

Daniel cracked the door, and a crease of light shot across the bed. Morning followed him into the room. She glanced in the mirror atop the dresser next to the bed. Inwardly groaned. Sleep had not been kind to her. Bed head. A pillow crease on her cheek. Sleep in her eyes. Her lips were dry. Her knit sweater hung off one shoulder. She needed mouthwash and deodorant.

Daniel, on the other hand, had never looked more handsome. She liked his rolled-off-the-couch look. Sexy, and romantic. Stubble darkened his jaw. His shirt was untucked, but not wrinkled. He stood in sharply creased slacks and his socks. He rested one hip against the door frame. Sipped a bottle of water.

She wiggled her butt up the mattress, and the comforter fell across her thighs. She straightened the neckline on her sweater. Tugged down the hem that had snuck up beneath her bra. Then leaned against the headboard. Met his gaze.

“Good morning,” he initiated.

“How good is it?” she asked, referring to the weather.

“Snow is still falling, but less wind. I can see the skyline.”

She breathed a little easier. “Snow removal?”

“No snowplows or trucks that I can see.”

“Soon,” she said hopefully.

“I imagine the government center, banks, and most of downtown is shut down. Schools will be closed, too. Students will have a snow day.”

She grinned. “I loved those days. School buses were unable to run, but we could still go outside and sled, make snow angels, and build snowmen.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Pause. “My father always found a way to bring a tutor to the house when schools were closed.”

“No fun there.” She bit her lip for being so blunt.

He shrugged. “Education was important to my dad. He believed we should never stop learning. Even on a snow day.”

“I'm sure he had your best interests at heart.”

“He did,” was what he said. What she heard was, “
A day of play would've been nice, too
.”

She let it go. In her mind, learning was important. Experiencing life, equally so.

“Breakfast?” he offered.

“French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, bowl of fresh fruit.”

“Dry cereal.”

“Captain Crunch, Honey Nut Cheerios, Lucky Charms?”

“Muesli or Bran Flakes. Healthy.”

“Yum. Fiber.”

“No milk, but there's honey.”

Despite the scarcity of choices, she was hungry. “I'm in.”

She pushed back the comforter, sat on the edge of the bed, put on her saddle shoes. Stood and stretched until her back cracked. Her sweater rose with her arms, over her abdomen, closer to her satin B-cups. She remembered that she'd worn her lucky bra to the final interview. Sheer black satin demi-cups edged with lace. A super-sexy bra. It gave her confidence. She flashed him. Her face heated.

Daniel's gaze lowered to her breasts, and his own color heightened. He blew out a breath. His jaw tightening. A gentleman, he looked away.

She lowered her arms. Swallowed. Reached for her purse on the dresser, searched for a comb. “I'll be with you in a minute.” She kept her voice light. “Hair and teeth.”