Sweet Christmas Kisses (62 page)

Denise Annette Devine

Copyright © 2014 by:

Denise Annette Devine

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.

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To Kimberly Jo

Friday evening, December 18

“Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

Rock Henderson lounged against the doorway of Kimberly Jo Stratton’s condominium, wearing a killer grin, a bright red Santa hat and a sleek tuxedo. One hand gripped a bottle of champagne; the other displayed two crystal flutes dangling upside-down between his long, slim fingers.

“I’ve brought you a little gift.” He raised the bottle. “Vintage holiday cheer.”

The grandfather clock in the opposite corner of her dining room chimed nine times as Kim tightened the sash around her pink chenille bathrobe. Rock’s assistant had called at the last minute and said he would meet with her at four o’clock to discuss the war brewing between the residents of their condominium complex, but he never showed. By seven o’clock, she’d given up on him and changed into her pajamas and robe. How dare he drop by at this late hour, unapologetic, unconcerned about the situation and ready to party?

At her feet, a fawn Chihuahua with a white face yapped non-stop, jumping at her ankle like a wind-up toy. “Hush, Sasha,” she snapped at the small dog, worried that all the commotion would draw attention and expose her plan to other tenants on her floor.

“You’re five hours late, Henderson.” She grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him into her living room. “Did you get lost?” Her gaze swept pointedly over his formal attire as she quickly shut the door. “Or were you sidetracked by someone more glamorous than your lowly, working-class neighbor in 601E?”

Sasha looked up at Rock, let out a high-pitched yelp and dashed out of sight, her smooth tail curled between her legs.

He moved close, murmuring in Kim’s ear. “I had an emergency, but I’m here now.”

Rock Henderson, self-made millionaire and CEO of his own software design company, possessed the charm of a Hollywood heartthrob and the reputation of a ladies man who switched girlfriends as often as he changed the oil in his sports car.

“Come on, darlin’,” he coaxed in that deep, throaty purr she’d heard him use on other women in the building, “just hear me out before you chew me out.”

An emergency that required a tux? Yeah, right. A laughable excuse if she’d ever heard one. No way could she count on his cooperation if she couldn’t even trust him to keep his word. He held out the bottle to show her the label, but she ignored his ill-timed bribe for standing her up, instead glaring into his chocolate, deep-set eyes. “You’re drunk, Rock. Get on your private elevator and go home. And stop calling me darlin’!”

“I’m stone sober,” Rock muttered as he strode past her, giving her a wry, sideways glance. “And for the record, I did not pass up our meeting for a hot date. I’ve just spent a long and difficult day dealing with an issue that literally landed on my doorstep.”

He scanned her newly refurbished living room, illuminated only by the TV screen and twinkle lights on her Christmas tree. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. He collapsed his broad, six-foot frame onto a cream loveseat, stretched out his legs and toed off his patent leather dress shoes. “Ah-h-h...feels good.”

Kim followed him, ignoring the obvious compliment to flatter her into a good mood. They both knew her one-bedroom unit looked like a walk-in closet compared to the ballroom-sized penthouse he occupied on the twentieth floor. She folded her arms and stared down at him. “Look, Rock, if all you want is someone to drink with—”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute.” Dark brows arched over cocoa brown eyes as he set the champagne and flutes on the metal and glass coffee table. “You’re the one who pressed my assistant repeatedly for this meeting. I’m simply providing refreshments.” He pulled off his Santa hat and tossed it across the armrest of the loveseat. A thick lock of tousled black hair fell across his forehead. “What exactly do
you
want?”

Realizing she might actually have a chance to persuade him to accept her point of view, Kim sat on the opposite loveseat, picked up the TV remote and muted the sound of
Pillow Talk
. “I’d like to discuss what happened at the association meeting last week.”

“Lucky me,” he countered in a bored voice as he began peeling away the foil on the top of the bottle. “I’ve made it a rule to avoid those things. Most of the discussion is nothing but a complaint session. I have a corporation to run, clients to satisfy. It’s immaterial to me whose overnight guests are taking up too many parking spots or whether we plant red flowers or gold ones along the front of the building.”

If only...

The meeting last Wednesday nearly turned into an instant replay of a Jerry Springer episode, almost degrading to the point of chair throwing and a down-and-dirty brawl. Kim pushed the image of the emotionally charged crowd to the back of her mind as she edged closer to the coffee table separating her and Rock. “But you do understand the real issue in the latest controversy, don’t you?”

He crumbled the foil into a ball and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “With all the arguing going on everywhere I turn, I’d have to be an alien from Mars to be ignorant of this one.”

“Then tell me, which side are you on?” Her heart skipped a beat. She hoped he understood how much was riding on his opinion. How drastically things could change if he elected to support the opposing view. “Are you for or against changing the bylaws to prohibit pets in this building?”

“Don’t care either way.” He unwound the wire cage protecting the cork then pointed the bottle toward the ceiling. “Pardon the pun, dar—my dear, but I don’t have a dog in this fight.” His brows drew together in concentration as he gripped the cork between his thumb and fingers and gently pulled. It made a long, low hiss as pressure escaped. After a few moments, he eased the cork out, but no bubbly liquid gushed forth. Only a slight mist curled above the opening.

“Rock, the preliminary vote ended in a tie and no one will budge.” She leaned forward, placing her palms on the table. “Your vote could swing the decision either way.”

At a time when she expected him to be serious, he chose to grin. “What you’re really saying is that you want me to cast my vote in favor of the status quo so you can keep your mutt, right?”

A low growl unfurled under the Christmas tree followed by a succession of rapid snorts.

Rock glanced around in surprise. “What was
that
?”

“My dog and she isn’t a mutt,” Kim replied as Sasha glared at them from between two presents wrapped in red foil. “Here, Sasha.” She patted the empty cushion next to her and smacked her lips. “Come on, sweetie. Rock’s not going to hurt you.”

The pint-sized canine crept from the shadows with pointed, white-tipped ears laid back, her bulbous brown eyes focused on Rock as she cautiously approached the loveseat. A ridge of fawn hair spiked in protest along her spine. Multi-colored lights twinkling on the tree reflected a rainbow of hues against her white chest and finger-length legs. She jumped on the loveseat and settled on Kim’s lap with a snort, never taking her attention off the stranger sitting across from them.

“So that’s what all the fuss is about, huh? No offense, but it looks like a fat rat.” Grinning, Rock handed Kim a flute of champagne. His fingers grazed hers as the crystal changed hands. A sharp tingle sparked like a live wire up her arm and down her spine. Rock had that effect on women. All women, to be precise; but then, who could resist a tall, dark, handsome man who owned a penthouse on the Minneapolis riverfront and drove a red Jaguar?

She
could and she’d made up her mind a long time ago that she always would. Growing up, she’d watched her mother fall in and out of love with men like him—successful, high rollers who loved the chase, but didn’t know the meaning of commitment. The late Veronica Stratton would have schemed night and day to net a fish like Rock Henderson. Based upon her mother’s experience, Kim knew first hand that you didn’t catch a shark. The shark caught you and always left you deeply wounded. She’d rather swim alone than take that chance.

Sasha glanced back and forth, voicing her own opinion with an occasional “
R-r-r-ruff
.”

“This time it’s more than a mere fuss, believe me.” Kim slowly twirled the glass between her fingers. “If the association vote swings in favor of banning animals, a lot of residents will sell out and move, including me. The majority of pet owners have been here since this complex was built. We’re more than just friendly neighbors; we’ve become as close as family and I don’t want my family to split up. Some of our elderly residents depend upon their neighbors for help so they can continue to live independently. Who would they turn to if we left?”

Rock frowned as he filled his glass. “With all those units for sale at the same time, the value of everyone’s property is bound to decrease.”

“Including yours.” Kim sipped her champagne and waited for that little tidbit to sink in.

Rock looked her straight in the eye. “Perhaps there’s a way we can accommodate each other.”

She froze, suspending the flute midway to her lips as her suspicion grew. It always came down to sex, didn’t it? Men didn’t have anything else on their minds. “If you’re suggesting that I sleep with you as a tradeoff—”

“No, no.” He waved away the notion. “Just live with me for about a week. I need your help.”

What did he have in mind—a live-in maid with a little hanky-panky on the side? Did he really think she’d fall for that lie? Her disgust boiled over.

“Get out of my house, Rock Henderson!” She scooped up Sasha and jumped to her feet. The dog wriggled from her grasp and landed on the loveseat cushion, barking as it dived to the floor and raced out of sight. “This conversation is over.”

She tossed the last swallow of champagne into his face and stormed out of the room.

****

Rock snatched the silk handkerchief from his front pocket and mopped his chin before the sticky liquid dripped onto his jacket.

Huh...that went well.

A moment later, Kim’s bedroom door slammed, reminding him that he needed her in his bedroom. Tonight.

“Ah, c’mon, Kim,” he coaxed gently as he crossed the room and rapped his knuckle on the door. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m sorry if I made you upset.”

“Apology accepted,” she said, sounding tired, but deliberate. “Now, go home.”

“I’m not leaving until you come out and give me a chance to explain.” He tried the knob and found it locked. “Besides, there’s at least two more glasses of champagne left and I hate drinking alone.”

The tree lights suddenly flickered and went dark. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch that mutt with the cord between its teeth, pulling the plug out of the wall.

“Hey, you, stop that!” He walked over to the tree and knelt to rescue the dog, but snatched his hand back before the ungrateful little critter could sink a mouthful of pointy teeth into his thumb. “You keep chewing on that cord, Half-Pint, and I guarantee you’re going to turn into a grilled sausage, fully charred.”

Behind him, the bedroom door flew open and Kim rushed to his side, gasping in horror. “Let go of the cord, baby!” She pried the apparatus from Sasha’s mouth and snatched the dog into her arms. Without a word, she turned to head back into her boudoir, but Rock stepped in her path, nearly causing her to collide with his chest. The top of her head barely reached his chin and she couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred ten pounds soaking wet. Wrapped in all that pink fluff, she looked more like a ball of cotton candy than a tough-as-nails nurse practitioner.

She looked up, her gaze boring into his. “You’re blocking my way.”

“Just a minute.” He gripped his hands on his hips, unwilling to let her pass until he’d made his point. “I just saved your pooch from getting barbecued and that’s all you have to say?”

“You’re right,” she answered with a begrudging smile. “Thank you.” As she attempted to skirt around him, he cupped her elbow, steering her toward the living room.

“You’re welcome. Now, can we please start over?” Rock lowered his voice to a gentler tone. “You said you needed my help.” He gestured toward the twin loveseats. “Let’s sit down. I have a proposal to make and I promise I won’t bite, though I can’t say the same for your mutt...er, baby.”

As if it understood, the mangy little cur rolled back its top lip, silently showing him a set of sharp fangs.

Rock cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. After the day he’d endured, he could use a nice, stiff shot about now, but preferably not tetanus.