Unwrapped (28 page)

Across the coffee table, Marian dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “That was nice while it lasted.”

“Now what?” Chris asked, drilling his fingers on the leather armrest. “Do we sit and stare at the ceiling?”

“You expect entertainment?” asked Sam.

Aidan grew thoughtful. “You could Christmas shop,” he suggested. “Find a gift for yourself. Compliments of Dutton’s.”

That was all Pamela Parker needed to hear. She shot off the couch like a rocket. “We can shop for free?”

“In moderation,” Aidan said, wondering if he’d opened a Pandora’s Box with the name
Dutton
on it.

“You’ve already chosen two dresses,” Sam reminded her.

“My plans are shot for Christmas Eve dinner. Instead I got stuck with tea sandwiches,” Pamela said. “I need something fancy for New Year’s Eve. I’m hoping for that special invitation to sparkle.” She smiled big at Chris, who grinned back.

A match had been made in the middle of a blizzard, Aidan realized. He wondered if he and Allie would be a couple when the sun again shone and the snow started to melt.

“Shop in twos or threes,” Aidan said. “Don’t wander around the store alone. It’s too dark. I don’t want anyone getting lost or hurt.”

“The buddy system works for me.” Chris pushed to his feet. He picked up a lantern off the coffee table, then let his gaze shift to Pamela’s chest. “I’ll go with Peaches.”

Aidan exhaled. Talk about bosom buddies.

“Let’s start in formal wear, then go to sporting apparel,” Pamela suggested. “I’ll help you pick out the perfect golf shirt.”

“If this is a free shopping spree, I’m looking at more than a shirt.” Chris took Pamela’s hand. His next words were meant to impress her. “Maybe a set of Majesty Prestigio clubs and the Damier Geante canvas golf bag.”

“Go slow, golf pro,” Sam said, raising his hand. “Callaway wouldn’t approve.”

Chris frowned. “Who’s Callaway?”

“Your most recent endorsement on the Tour,” Sam reminded him.

“How the hell would you know?” Chris demanded.

“I read an article in
Golf Forum
.”

“The
Forum
is the
National Inquirer
of golf.” Chris elbowed Pamela forward. “I’ve not signed with Callaway. Mind your own business.” He stormed off, Peaches in tow.

Warren looked at Sam, his expression serious. “It seems you know more about Chris Johnson than he knows about himself.”

“From what I know of the man, he’s a regular guy on the golf course,” said Sam. “Johnson appreciates his fans, supports numerous charities. He’s not pushy or a hot head.”

“Will the real Chris Johnson please stand up,” Allie said. And Aidan nodded.

“Good luck figuring the man out.” Warren went on to help Marian to her feet. They each took a lantern. “My wife and I are headed to crystal and fine china. She had her eye on a vase before the electricity failed.”

“Get the vase for her birthday along with separate gifts for yourselves,” Aidan invited.

“You’re good to us, son,” Marian said softly. “I’d hate to have the Duttons angry that you gave away store items.” She looked at her husband. “We’re happy to pay.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’d be pleased if you’d accept my holiday hospitality,” Aidan said. “Would you like assistance upstairs?”

“It’s only one floor up. We’re quite capable of the climb,” Marian assured him.

They moved off, arm-in-arm.

Sam waited until the Murphys were beyond earshot before saying, “I’m warning you, boss, Chris Johnson is bad news. The man’s a poser. I feel it in my bones. The Damier Geante is designed by Louis Vuitton. It’s a millionaire’s French fashion accessory on the green, not a touring professional’s golf bag. Chris would leave his competition speechless, and not in a good way.”

“Maybe he’s a psychological gamer,” Aidan said. “Most athletes depend on talent and skill to win, yet there are those who show off and psyche out their opposition with expensive gear. It’s like bringing a platinum-covered bazooka to a knife fight.”

“Or a buxom redhead to a poker game,” Sam added with a smirk. “She’d take the other players’ minds off their cards.”

Allie looked at Sam, asked, “You think Chris isn’t who he claims?”

“Callaway Golf would expect him to be a walking billboard for their gear,” Sam said. “There’s something about Chris that bothers me. The Chris Johnson on the circuit is gracious. The man with us now is full of himself.”

What Sam said made sense, Allie realized. Maybe the guard was onto something. “Why would Chris want to fool us?” she asked.

“He doesn’t appear smart enough for identity theft,” Sam said. “I’d say it’s all about being in the spotlight. Athletes get a lot of attention. He’s already attracted Pamela.”

“People shouldn’t pretend to be someone they’re not,” Allie said, meaning it. “It’s dishonest.”

She saw a muscle jerk in Aidan’s jaw, and wondered why he flinched. He grew uneasy, pushing forward on his chair, rubbing his palms down his thighs.

“I’m going to clean up, then check on Chris and Pamela.” Sam quickly stacked the china in the corrugated box. He held up the bag of ice. “It’s melting, but should remain cold for a couple more hours.”

Allie eased the Ziploc off her ankle. She wiggled her foot and judged its flexibility. Less swelling, little pain. “I’m better, thanks.”

“Take it slow,” Sam said, concerned. He then snagged a lantern and looked at Aidan. “My nose is to the ground—I’m tracking Johnson.”

“No confrontation or zapping him with the Taser,” Aidan warned.

The security guard patted his duty utility belt. “There’s always pepper spray.” He departed.

Only Allie and Aidan remained. She could barely see out the big window from where she sat. The snowfall was thick and blindingly white. Three lanterns cast light while the darkness hugged close. The generators sounded like pounding fists, fighting off the storm.

She turned, caught Aidan in profile. She liked looking at him when he wasn’t looking at her. She let her gaze wander over his mussed dark hair, the width of his forehead, the arch of his cheekbone, and the sexy curve of his mouth. She could picture him captured in a magazine ad for men’s cologne or, even better, ski apparel. He was that handsome.

She cleared her throat, said, “Sam’s certain Chris isn’t who he claims. Does that matter to you? A person pretending to be someone he’s not?”

He visibly hesitated. “Perhaps he has a reason.”

“What you see is what you get where I’m concerned.”

“I like what I see, when you stick around for me to see you,” Aidan said.

She understood. “We’re back to Frost Peak Lodge.”

“Can we discuss our night together?”

She nodded. “In due time, my opera cane first, our talk second.”

“No running away from me this time, promise?”

“I couldn’t hop far.”

Aidan handed her a lantern, then lifted and carried her down the stairs. The strength in his big body encompassed her. She tipped her head and breathed in against his neck. His scent was spicy citrus. She was fascinated by the pulse at the base of his throat, its beat rhythmically strong. She wanted nothing more than to climb into his shirt pocket and live beside his heart.

She turned slightly in his arms and assisted with the first floor emergency door. He pushed through, walked her to the jewelry counter. In the lantern light, the polished glass shone but the shelves were bare.

A few steps beyond jewelry, Opera Night came to life in a display of black top hats, satin capes, opera glasses, and ornate canes.

“Have you been to the opera?” she asked.

He nodded. “I recently attended opening night of
A Masked Ball
by Verdi.”

Allie had seen him naked, yet she could also picture him in a tux. He had a distinctive air about him. He’d be one gorgeous man, all formal and groomed.

She wondered whom he’d taken to the opera, no doubt someone special. Jealousy tugged at her heart. She knew so little about his personal life.

Aidan brushed his fingers across her brow, smoothing its crease. “Jealous?” he asked, reading her mind. “I like that, Allie, but don’t think so hard. My parents gave me the ticket to the opera. My mother supports the arts. It was a family night out.”

“Did you enjoy
A Masked Ball?
” She was curious. “I don’t know the story.”

“The king was in love with his best friend’s wife and she was in love with him,” he told her. “Desperate to end her ardor, she turns to a sorceress for help, but it’s too late. Their secret is out and the devastated husband takes revenge.”

Aidan shifted her weight, set her down, a slow slide of heat and awareness that lit her up like a string of Christmas tree lights. Friction sparked and popped all over her body as her soft flesh pressed up against his hard muscle.

Her nipples went taut, peaked, and heat licked up her thighs. She realized in that moment how much she’d missed him. When his mouth came dangerously close to hers, she parted her lips, hoping he would kiss her. He didn’t. Instead, he looked at her with a hunger that promised more than a kiss when the time was right.

Her knees were so weak she could barely stand. She held onto his arms and steadied herself. She didn’t want to let him go.

She stood on her right foot, bent her left leg like a flamingo. She didn’t want to put weight on her foot. Her ankle ached, but no longer throbbed.

“Pain tolerance?” he asked.

“Bearable,” she said. “Time has a way of healing everything.”

“So they say,” he said wryly. “It’s not always true.”

She’d never meant to hurt him.

She’d never meant for their time together to go beyond great sex. Yet it had. He’d been under her skin for three long years. The time was close upon her to open her heart and let Aidan in. Dealing with her insecurities was turning out to be more difficult than she’d ever imagined.

Trying to keep her nerves steady, Allie looked around. Even in the darkness, the scent of money prevailed. Aidan definitely worked high-end retail. If she lived in Chicago, she’d window shop Dutton’s, but wouldn’t enter the store. Its elegance made her feel poor.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked Aidan.

He was slow to answer. “Fifteen years.”

“You’re the first floor supervisor?”

He nodded.

“What’s your advancement? Second floor?”

He grinned at her. “I move around the store as needed. Supervisor is just a title.”

“How well do you know the Duttons?”

Again, he appeared indecisive. “They treat their staff like family.”

“This is a magnificent store . . .”

“But?” He heard the hesitation in her voice.

“It’s too expensive for my blood. I could barely afford the Snow Angels.” She sighed. “Do you ever run sales?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

“Your shoppers are loyal?”

“They fly in from all over the world.”

“You have job security, Aidan.”

“Same as you, Allie. When it snows, you teach skiing.”

She lowered her gaze, studied her ankle. “This is my moneymaking season. I hope I can return to the slopes.”

“Have you seen a doctor? Had X-rays?”

She heard his concern. And her heart warmed. “I’ll see a specialist after Christmas. I would have set up an appointment sooner, but I was in a hurry to get to Chicago to spend time with my sisters.”

“Instead of your sisters, you’re stuck at Dutton’s.”

“With you.” The words slipped out, soft and sincere.

She sucked in her breath. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d said. Her heart raced when she realized he seemed happy to hear them. The sudden seriousness of his expression took her by surprise as well as the intensity of his gaze.

He set the lantern on a shelf next to a pair of French opera glasses, then took to touching her, gently, possessively. Reassuringly. He cupped her chin, ran his thumb along her jaw line. He pressed into the plumpness of her lower lip and drew her close enough to kiss her. Yet still he held back.
Why?

He went on to slide his fingers down her neck to her throat. The tips came to a rest on her rapid pulse. Hunger darkened his eyes and her stomach fluttered. He wanted her, and she was sensitive to his need pressing hard against her belly. A familiar hardness that promised pleasure.

Anticipation thickened the air.

Silence hovered with indecision.

Aidan eased back and released her. “Your cane.” He pointed to a dozen opera canes, their handles looped over velvet hooks along the wall. “Take your pick.”

Allie took them in, all highly polished, some richly embellished with jewels. She moved through the display, running her fingertips over the handles. All were works of art from the blue marble, black pearl, diamond encrusted burgundy leather, to the scrimshaw lion. How could she possibly choose? Every one was out of her league.

“These are too pricey, Aidan,” she said. “A simple walking stick would do just fine.”

“No trees, no branches, no sticks,” he said. “Choose a cane or I’ll be forced to carry you.”

His carrying her was good; her self-sufficiency even better. While she appreciated his help, she wasn’t ready to depend on him. Trust took time.

“You’ve spoiled me long enough,” she said, then went back to debating the canes.

Aidan Dutton could spoil Allie Smith for a lifetime if she’d let him. Sometime a man just knew a woman was meant for him. Allie went way beyond an Aspen holiday affair.

That’s why he hadn’t kissed her when she’d looked up at him, her lips moist, her eyes wide. He didn’t want to get carried away until they’d hammered out all that was wrong between them. They had baggage.

He watched now as Allie tested each cane before coming to a decision. He smiled when she finally chose his favorite, the one with a crystal-cut rose handle and Lucite shaft. It was a woman’s cane, feminine, formal, yet durable, and would give her balance.

She wobbled in a small circle, smiled. “Let the fat lady sing.” She then moved slowly down the aisle, away from him.

Aidan watched her fade beyond the emergency lighting. He knew she wouldn’t be foolish enough to go far. More than anything, he wanted to discuss their past. Yet given her pleasure in the cane, he decided to let her roam the store at will.
His
store. He would save that confession for later.
Much
later.