Someday Soon (6 page)

“But I am.” Once more she fluttered her long lashes at him.

“Who would have guessed a woman so beautiful would possess such a wide streak of malice?”

“You shouldn’t have complained.”

“Complained?” He lightly pitched the compacted snowball in the air, catching it with one hand.

“About the Christmas tree,” she said. He noticed the way she was edging away from the tree and guessed she was planning to make a run for it.

“I never said a word,” he countered.

“Maybe not out loud, but you were mumbling a
number of times, and what you didn’t mumble you were thinking.”

He laughed, because she’d read him so accurately.

She pitched one last snowball at him, then turned and ran like a jackrabbit, ricocheting from one tree to the next and yelling at the top of her lungs.

The snowball missed him completely. He dropped the one he was holding and took out in a dead run after her. Her agility and speed amazed him, but she was no match for him. He reached her within seconds and grabbed her about the waist.

Laughing, they both went down in the snow. She lay sprawled atop him, but he quickly reversed their positions, pinning her beneath him. Her eyes had never been more clear. They sparkled with laughter and life. Her chest heaved as she smiled up at him.

“You deserve to have your face washed with snow,” he told her, holding her hands above her head. “And I’m just the man to do it.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a totally unconvincing lie. “I don’t know what came over me. You were cutting down the tree and muttering when all at once this voice inside me said you needed to be brought down a peg or two.”

With his free hand, Cain lifted a paw full of snow and held it above her face. “If you’re planning to talk me out of washing your face, you’d better come up with something more convincing than that.”

Laughing, she squirmed beneath him in a useless effort to escape. “It’ll never happen again,” she promised, then made the mistake of snickering.

“Until next time, you mean,” he told her sarcastically. She squirmed again, buckling under him. He sincerely
doubted that she knew the effect her movements had on him. Even through several layers of clothes, he could feel her body rubbing against his. His reaction to her was strong and immediate.

“Cain,” she pleaded.

“You owe me,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

Linette went still, her chest heaving, her eyes laughing. All at once the amusement drained out of her, and she gazed up at him and asked, “Wouldn’t a kiss do just as well?”

Louis St. Cyr wasn’t going home
for Christmas. A visit on New Year’s didn’t appeal to him, either. Why should he rush to the loving arms of his family? In Bayamon, the small Caribbean island his father ruled, he was known as “Sonny” or “Junior.” He was tired of fitting into the background of his father’s ambitions. Tired of living his life to suit his family.

In France he was his own man, and he didn’t need his mother’s pampering or his father’s tedious advice. He didn’t need the hassles that went along with being the son of a wealthy landowner turned politician.

His mother had pleaded with him to reconsider, and his father, the great and mighty leader, had threatened to cut off his hefty allowance. But Daddy wouldn’t, and Louis knew it.

After all, it was his father who’d insisted he attend the University of Paris at the Sorbonne, his own alma mater.
And to think that in the beginning, Louis had balked. He’d wanted to attend Harvard University in the United States, but that was a battle in a long list of battles he’d lost. But no more.

Moving away from his family was the best thing that had ever happened to Louis. He wasn’t giving his mother an excuse to drive him home just because she wanted him available for a silly Christmas party.

One small taste of freedom and Louis discovered the elixir to be habit forming. Daddy could push all the buttons he wanted, but Louie boy wasn’t responding.

Besides, he was in love. What red-blooded nineteen-year-old would turn down an invitation to spend two glorious weeks with a gorgeous blonde named Brigette? Not Louis.

The nymph had planted herself in his life and in his bed, and he had no intention of allowing her out of either. He might even marry Brigette, he decided. That would make his father sit up and take notice, especially since they’d long since chosen his bride for him.

Angelica was beautiful and the daughter of a longtime family friend, but Louis and Angelica had grown up together. Louis’s tastes were far more adventuresome these days. He couldn’t imagine Angelica doing the things in bed that Brigette had.

Louis lay on his back and studied the ceiling tiles. A slow, satisfied smile came to his lips. Brigette was asleep at his side, her blond hair spilled over the thick feather pillow. One shapely leg was sprawled atop a thin sheet, and she breathed softly, her breath gently teasing his ear.

All his life Louis had done what his family requested.
All his life he’d accepted that they knew what was best for him. Never again. He was his own man. How much of a man was something Brigette had taken great delight in proving to him.

Until he’d met his French mistress, his sexual experience had been limited. Brigette had taught him well, and he was a fast learner. In all the years he’d dated Angelica, the only thing she’d allowed him to do beyond a few chaste kisses was to taste her breasts. Then she’d acted as if she had done him a favor for which he should be eternally grateful.

Content, Louis reached for Brigette’s lush breast, filling his palm with its fullness. His thumb grazed the nipple, which pearled to a hard peak. She sighed softly and nestled closer, her pale skin a marked contrast to his own honey color.

A sound from the room below distracted him. Louis paused, wondering if the alley cat Brigette fed had somehow gotten into the house. He was about to investigate when his lover wrapped her long, slender leg around his and edged closer to his side. She nibbled his earlobe, stroking the fires of his newly awakened manhood. He was about to turn her on her backside and bury himself in her silken heat when the door flew open.

Sound exploded through the peaceful silence.

Louis’s heart nearly burst as two men dressed entirely in black burst into the room. Their faces were covered with camouflage paint. Twin submachine guns were aimed at him and Brigette.

Terror froze Louis’s throat muscles as he struggled upright. Brigette grabbed a sheet and held it against her bare breasts and screamed. Her cry was silenced by a
popping sound. Blood soaked through the sheet as the woman he loved toppled forward. Louis choked back a strangled cry of grief and horror.

Before he could react, or reach out to the beautiful French woman, he was dragged naked from the bed. Fighting as best he could, he kicked and shoved. Pain exploded against the side of his jaw as he was hit with the butt of the machine gun. Blood filled his mouth, and he gagged and spat out a broken tooth. The two men worked silently, binding his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?” he pleaded, first in French and then in English and German.

They didn’t answer.

“Please,” he begged as they dragged him down the stairs. Each man had hold of one elbow, and the top of his feet slapped noisily against the stairs. “My father will pay you anything you ask.”

The taller of the two men smiled. His teeth gleamed white, and his eyes filled with hate. Sick laughter broke the eerie silence. “Yes, we know.”

The infamous Christmas tree was decorated. Cain stood back to examine their efforts, then shook his head. It was the sorriest-looking tree he’d ever seen.

“What?” Linette asked defensively. They’d spent the better part of the afternoon stringing popcorn and cranberries. Patty and John’s two children, Mark and Philip, had constructed long paper chains out of strips of colored paper, chattering excitedly and generally eating him out of house and home.

The two boys had returned to their place, and Cain
and Linette were left alone once more. But Cain couldn’t stop studying the Christmas tree. No matter which way he looked at it, it was by far the ugliest thing he’d ever seen.

“The star’s crooked,” he announced, dragging a dining room chair across the living room carpet. Standing on the cushioned seat, he adjusted the aluminum star he’d cut from cardboard and covered with foil.

“There?” he asked, attempting to judge if he’d done any good. He glanced down at Linette. “Is it straight now?”

“It’s exactly right.” Linette sagged onto the chair and stretched out her legs. Her arms dangled over the sides. “It’s the most gorgeous tree I’ve ever seen,” she said with a sigh of appreciation.

Briefly Cain wondered if she was looking at the same tree he was.

“It would have been better if I’d remembered to buy ornaments.” Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to him how he intended to decorate a Christmas tree. Never having put up one before, he hadn’t given the matter a second thought.

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he recalled a Christmas when his mother had been alive. Cain couldn’t have been any more than three or four. He didn’t remember Santa Claus or opening gifts, or any of the traditional things usually associated with the holiday. What he did recall was the sound of his mother singing to him and the lights of the Christmas tree. Like a miser, he’d clung to that memory, one of a few that he had of his mother.

“I like the tree just the way it is,” Linette insisted.

A loud knock sounded against the door, and a moment later Patty stuck her head in from the kitchen. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No,” Cain assured her, and leaped down from the chair.

“Wow.” A grin brightened Patty’s pretty blue eyes. “That’s some tree.” Doing her best to disguise a smile, she held out a plate of decorated gingerbread men. “I figured you two deserved this for keeping my boys occupied.”

Cain helped himself to a cookie. Frankly, he’d enjoyed himself with those two hooligans. The boys had been a little in awe of him and eager to please. Cain had met the two Stamp children only once, a year or so earlier, and they’d stayed close to their mother’s skirts. He’d never thought much about kids. He wasn’t sure he knew how to act around them.

Linette hadn’t seemed to have a problem, so he’d followed her example. He talked to them as he would anyone, no matter what their age. Before he quite knew how it happened, he was sitting on the rug with them, stringing cranberries with a fat sewing needle.

“You’ve got a fine pair of boys,” Cain said.

“Thank you.” Patty smiled.

“How about some coffee?” Linette offered.

Patty nodded. “That sounds great.”

Linette poured coffee and carried the mugs into the living room on a tray. Cain took it from her and set it on the table.

“Actually…” Patty began, rubbing her palms together slowly, and Cain noticed the way her eyes refused to meet his. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“Sure,” Linette said automatically.

Cain knew better than to agree to anything without knowing what it was.

All three sat around the dining room table. Patty’s small hands cupped the coffee mug. “Every year on Christmas Eve, John dresses up in a Santa costume and delivers presents to the boys.”

Cain could tell what was coming.

“But Mark’s in first grade this year, and he told me he doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. He’s just a little boy, and he wants to believe. The thing is, he’ll recognize John. I don’t want to carry this Santa thing too far, but I hate to disappoint Philip. He’s only five, and he believes Santa’s coming Christmas Eve to bring him a train set and cowboy boots.”

“You want Cain to dress up like Santa?” Linette asked.

Patty turned wide, hope-filled eyes to Cain and nodded.

Cain raised both hands and shook his head. “I’m really sorry, Patty, but I’m no good at that sort of thing.”

“Sure you are,” Linette countered swiftly. “You were great with the boys earlier.”

Cain ignored her. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Once more it was Linette who protested. “All you need is a few ho-ho-ho’s every now and again. Anyone can do that.”

Cain cast her a look he hoped would silence her. After the death-defying search for the perfect Christmas tree, he should have known better.

“The costume probably won’t fit,” he suggested next. Heaven knew he was taller and bigger than John.

“It’s one size fits all,” Patty said a little sheepishly. “It
was a little big on John, so I imagine you’ll fit into it just fine.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Linette said confidently, as if this were a done deal.

Both women turned to him with a look that said if he were any kind of a man, he’d leap at the opportunity to do this one small thing. Cain wasn’t about to let a couple of women gang up on him. He refused to give in to the pressure. He had a well-established conscience, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize for not making a complete ass of himself dressed in a red suit.

“I’m sorry, Patty,” he said firmly, “but I’m not your man.”

Linette stepped back to examine Cain in the bright red suit and fake beard. “You’re so cute.”

Cain cursed under his breath and caught part of Santa’s whiskers between his lips. He spat out the fake hair. “No pictures.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” She’d batted her pretty eyes at him, and he was lost. Apparently there was no end to the ways he was willing to be made a fool for her. Even now he wasn’t quite sure how it’d happened.

One minute he’d declared there was no possible way he’d agree to dress up as Santa. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of a mirror with a pillow strapped to his belly.

What truly frightened him was the easy way in which Linette had gotten him from an out-of-the-question no and into this ridiculous-looking suit. What Tim Mallory and the others would say if they saw him didn’t bear thinking about.

Linette adjusted the wide black belt about his middle. “Your cheeks could use a little color.”

Cain knew better than to grumble, otherwise he was likely to get another mouthful of beard. He yanked the thing from his face. “You aren’t putting any of that stuff women stick on their faces on me.”

She gave him an indignant look. “I wasn’t going to suggest any such thing.”

“Good.” He released the beard, and the elastic snapped it back into place.

“You’re being a good sport about all this.”

Linette didn’t know the half of it. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and once he got over the shock of seeing himself, he figured he made a halfway decent-looking Santa.

Planting his hands on his belly, he practiced laughing jovially. Not bad, he decided. He tried again, laughing deeper this time.

“How’s that sound?” he asked Linette.

“Santa couldn’t do any better himself.”

Cain studied his reflection once more. Linette was right about the lack of color in his cheeks. He remembered hearing something about Santa’s face being bright. He pinched his cheeks hard enough to cause his eyes to water, but the red drained away as quickly as it came.

“I suppose we should go downstairs and wait for the signal,” Linette suggested.

Patty was supposed to turn on the porch light when they were ready for Cain’s appearance.

“All right,” he agreed.

Downstairs, Cain stopped to look at himself in the
mirror once more. “Linette,” he said seriously, “could you come here a moment?”

“Sure.”

He sat on the sofa and when she approached gripped her around the waist and brought her into his lap. She gave a small, startled cry, then laughed.

“And what is it you’d like for Christmas, little girl?” he asked, and for good measure added a couple of ho-ho-ho’s.

“It feels so good to laugh again, to celebrate life and not death. I can’t think of a thing I need more than what I already have.” Her eyes filled with such warmth and happiness that Cain was forced to look away.

He felt as if his well-ordered life were slowly beginning to come undone, not unlike the Christmas presents he’d soon be delivering. Soon it would be too late. It almost was now. He knew what it felt like to hold Linette, to taste her. To feel her silky-smooth skin beneath his fingertips. She was like a madness that had taken hold of his senses.

Neither spoke, and emotion thickened the air until it demanded all Cain’s effort to continue breathing. He marveled at the beauty of the woman in his lap. Her laughter was like music.

He’d kissed her twice now but had avoided anything more, promising himself he wouldn’t, couldn’t get physically involved with her. Despite his good intentions, he noticed the way her breasts tightened beneath the white silk blouse. Her nipples seemed to stab through the thin material like gold-embossed invitations.