Snowflake Kisses (8 page)

Nothing this special and beautiful—on all counts—should be damaged by anxiety and manipulation.

 

****

 

A double rotation on the Ferris wheel complete, and the party instantly classified a resounding success, Vanessa exited the capsule, following guests onto the pier. Jackson hung back with Peter to handle some final farewells and business chat, so Vanessa pulled her mobile out of her coat pocket and checked e-mail, and texts while strolling toward the peaceful hush of Jubilee Gardens.

Once curiosity was satisfied with regard to goings on in the cyber world, Vanessa tucked away her phone and looked up. Not far, alone at the edge of the park and nearly hidden in shadow stood Tamara McKenna.

Crying.

Though cloaked by a long wool coat, her feet shod in a fabulous pair of leather fashion boots, she seemed to tremble. Her arms were folded against her midsection. There was no choice or debate, really. Human compassion led Vanessa to the woman at once.

“Hello. Can I help you at all?”

Tamara gave a jerking start, swiping her eyes free of moisture. “I…I don't know…I…”

The woman was distraught. Why? What had happened between an uneventful conclusion to the party and now? Vanessa moved closer, resting an arm against hers. “You attended the Colby Intellilink party, yes? I was there as well. Are you OK?”

“Yes, I was there. I'm so sorry for making a spectacle of myself.”

“You're perfectly fine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Tamara's features were troubled and beseeching in a way even the quasi-darkness couldn't hide. “You might rent me a new life for the next several years.”

Vanessa laughed, wanting to engage her while at the same time remain extremely cautious. “There are days I wish I had that power, for myself and for others. What happened?”

“Nothing in particular and everything in general, I suppose. I'm miserable, and I'm ruining everything by being a fool, by being so consumed by hurt that I've become desperate.” Tamara sniffled, offered a watery smile. “Quite an answer, eh?”

“It's a good start. Care to have a chat?”

Tamara shivered and looked around. “Are you seriously tempted to initiate a drama session in the midst of a snowfall?”

“Why not? Perhaps you can abridge things here and there.” Vanessa walked them toward a group of benches facing the Thames, choosing one that rested just beyond the line of the paved walkway. The seat was covered by a light, glittery layer of snow which she dispatched with a few swipes of her gloved hand. “Let's sit a moment.” She didn't have long; Peter and Jackson would soon emerge from the reception office. After that, she and Jackson had agreed to a concluding snack and beverage at St. Stephen's Tavern just across the river. “I'm Vanessa Colby. You are?”

“Tamara McKenna.” Her eyes reflected surprise once Vanessa's name registered. “You're a Colby. Related to the family. I noticed you greeting people at the start of the party.”

Vanessa nodded, watching and praying that Tamara McKenna might redeem herself in some small way.

“I never had a chance to meet you formally, and I apologize for that.”

“Quite all right. Parties like this seem to pass before you have a chance to breathe, let alone connect with everyone in attendance. I'm Peter's sister and the daughter of the owner.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” A long, bitter wind cut through barren, chattering tree branches, causing snow to dance and drift. “And, you might be right about weather conditions not being conducive to getting acquainted.” Vanessa clicked open her jeweled clutch and extracted a business card. “Here's my contact information. Why don't we get together, soon, say for tea, or lunch? Let's get acquainted.”

“You're very kind to a blubbering stranger.”

“We've all been there. No worries at all. Plus, you're a friend to my family's firm, correct?”

Oblivious to the somewhat leading angle of that question, Tamara dabbed her eyes with a tissue she pulled from the pocket of her coat. She studied Vanessa's business card for a second. “You work at Harrods? A personal shopper? What fun.”

“Mmm. I get to spend other people's money on fabulous things for their wardrobes or their homes.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“Most days, but it has its moments.” She considered the attempted heist and fought a ghost-driven tremor. “Let's plan to meet soon. Please give me a ring.”

“I'd enjoy that very much. Thank you.”

Needing to conclude this unexpected meeting, Vanessa stood, offered a parting squeeze of Tamara's hand. “Call when you know you're available.”

Tamara didn't offer a business card in return, but that didn't mean much. After all, she was overwhelmed, and in her favor, she didn't seem eager to rage on about Jackson or his business dealings. Again, Vanessa's curiosity spiked then settled. After all, the next move, if embraced, had to come from Tamara.

At that point, what would be revealed—the storm of a woman scorned, or something deeper?

 

****

 

Vanessa claimed a window seat at St. Stephen's, relishing the warmth of the pub, the buzzy waves of conversation and laughter. Most of all, she relished the view. The Houses of Parliament were framed in the window.

“I can't remember a snowier Christmas season. The tourists will be delirious.”

Vanessa tossed the comment, unwinding her bright yellow scarf and draping it against the back of her chair. Jackson drew a chair close and she promptly leaned against him, absorbing his warmth and the pleasure of his presence.

“Speaking on behalf of said tourists, I have to agree with that assumption.” Jackson looked around. “This place is incredible.”

“There are lots of cozy nooks and crannies, which I love, and you're hardly a tourist. You're more like a business maestro.”

Jackson laughed at that and helped her slide free of her coat. “Well, thanks to you and Peter running interference, Tamara wasn't even an issue tonight. What a relief. The guests were well-tended and seemed to leave feeling quite spoiled.”

The issue of Tamara pricked at Vanessa's skin like pins, but she moved past the reaction. “I love coming to St. Stephens when Parliament's in session. It's fascinating, really.” She leaned toward him, gesturing toward the bar not far away. “When it's time for a vote, they sound a division bell, giving MP's precisely eight minutes to return to division lobby and cast their votes.”

“If these walls could talk, eh?”

“Indeed.”

Ever a proud Brit, Vanessa loved the way he soaked in the atmosphere. They placed orders for chamomile tea to warm away winter's chill along with a plate of potato wedges and smoked salmon tarts.

Jackson continued to study his surroundings, taking in framed portraits of Britain's more famous politicians before he observed, “I'm sorry Peter and Alexa couldn't join us. Seems they were eager to get home.”

“More like eager to get back to CC. As often as they say they crave adult companionship, Christopher Louis Colby has them wrapped around his little finger. It's adorable. I think it's wonderful the way they get on together, and spread that love to their baby. I go on at times, and I love to tease my brother, but truth is, I thoroughly enjoy watching the three of them together. It gives me hope.”

“Hope in the truest form of happily-ever-after.”

Vanessa's hands rested against the tabletop; Jackson wove his fingertips through hers and stared at the connection. Sadness, doubt, formed layers against his words and an intense longing struck home in Vanessa's spirit. A love like that shared by Peter and Alexa remained the dream of her heart, and Jackson captivated her, making the dream seem attainable.

At the same time, she knew she had to tread carefully around his battered heart. A quandary brewed as to what she should—or shouldn't—say about her introduction to Tamara. She was curious about what drove the woman, yes, but at the same time there were undiscovered layers to the woman which Vanessa refused to ignore. Uncovering those mysteries just might help Jackson move beyond his past and help Vanessa secure a clear pathway to his heart, not to mention help Tamara work through some obviously difficult issues.

While she pondered, they ate, and Vanessa warmed her hands around her tea mug. In the end, she opted to wait on telling Jackson about her meeting with Tamara. After all, nothing might come of it. Tamara might reject Vanessa's offer. No need to disturb the waters any further at this point. The meeting with Tamara had been nothing more than happenstance.

God-incidence, one might say.

“Are you still with me, Vannie?”

Jackson's summons roused her from her thoughts. They left the pub and Jackson attempted to hail a cab along increasingly empty streets. Fat, tumbling snowflakes continued to paint the world in purest white as a stilling hush built through the air. Traffic gradually quieted; fewer and fewer people strolled past.

“Is everything OK? You got really quiet in there.”

“Yes. Sorry. Afraid I drifted for a moment.”

“Perhaps I can bring you back to the here and now?”

Before she could answer, before she could blink or think or move, Jackson moved her to a quiet corner of the building, which was bathed by nothing but a black velvet night, buttery lamplight and a sparkling, twirling snowfall. He launched into a kiss so sweet, so evocatively soft and spontaneous it took her under before she ever knew what hit. Her surprised, pleasured exclamation cut the still air. Snowflakes danced all around, moist and soft, cooling her flushed skin, landing on her lashes, her cheeks, her hair. Oh, but he tasted delicious—lips tanged by spice, mouth moving reverent and smooth against hers, warm energy a flood that affirmed passion and stirred a love that shifted her entire axis.

“It's not 135 meters,” he murmured at last, “but certainly just as memorable.”

Breathless, her heart now sealed, Vanessa lifted a trembling hand to stroke the strong, square line of his chin. “Furthermore, what a lovely end to a perfect evening.”

She met his smoky gaze and his fingers worked tenderly through her hair. All the while, Vanessa tried hard to rebuke a sense of guilt and uncertainty about what was to come.

 

 

 

 

8

 

A few days later, Jackson sat behind monitor number four of the freshly installed master security console at Harrods. It was just after noon, and he couldn't believe what he saw on the screen overlooking The Tea Room, an eatery located on the second floor of the department store. Vanessa was being escorted to a small corner table—with Tamara at her side. Jackson leaned forward, peering ahead, his pulse pounding.

Yep. No mistake. Vanessa was about to break bread with Tamara McKenna.

Storm-driven heat swept in a flash-flood through his system. Jackson watched the maître d' settle the women and extend menus which they perused at once. Soon they unfolded napkins and appeared to carry on an amiable conversation. Grinding his teeth, issuing a low, rumbling growl, he circled his stiff neck and rolled away tight kinks with the press of his fingertips.

Had Tamara maneuvered her way into an introduction following the Christmas party? Was she moving in for some form of exploitative “Colby family” kill-shot with regard to his reputation and disrupt further work with the firm? In the face of Tamara's repeated threats, Jackson considered the idea a reasonable assumption.

The surveillance screen view lent him no comfort whatsoever. He quelled an urge to blast out of the tech-hub and discover precisely was going on. He forced steadiness and calm. That kind of reactionary response would only reap conflict and pain.

Coercing emotions into check, he waited until lunch concluded, deliberately focused on work. That didn't mean he'd ignore present developments. Jackson activated his phone and launched the text program, tapping a message to Vanessa's contact number.

When's your next break?

She answered quickly.
Not for few hours yet. I'm just back from lunch. Have a shopping appt in a few with an author I've loved for ages!

Can we catch up after? Need to c u

Sure. Everything OK?

Just need some help figuring things out. Text me when ur available.

Until he saw her face-to-face, it was the best answer Jackson could come up with.

****

Much as Vanessa normally enjoyed exploring duvets and pillows, high-end coffee machines and exquisite William Yeoward glassware, her present shopping expedition with best-selling author Jenna Cleveland left her struggling to maintain attention and enthusiasm. Instead, while wandering aisles of homewares, she replayed the lunch she had shared with Tamara.

“I want you to know, I enjoyed working with Colby Intellilink our company's IT expansion. The team took charge of the entire installation process and moved through each phase perfectly.”

The opening track of Tamara's conversation had been the last thing Vanessa expected. Trying not to appear guarded, she crossed her legs and smiled, easing back against her chair. “Brilliant. I'm so glad to hear it.”

Tamara's even gaze lifted from the menu. “I've passed along that recommendation to John Kensington of Kensi-Corp. I believe his firm is eager to do business with Colby.”

To keep from gaping, Vanessa lifted a water glass and sipped, refreshing her suddenly parched throat. What was going on here? “Endorsements like that are much appreciated. Colby operations in the United States are fairly new, but growing fast according to reports from my father and brother. Solid support from clients like you will help the cause greatly.”

Hazel eyes darkening, Tamara tucked her menu to the side of the table. “You came upon me in a most embarrassing state, Vanessa. You were so kind—and I feel a need to explain myself.”