What Happens At Christmas (14 page)

Read What Happens At Christmas Online

Authors: Victoria Alexander

“Utter nonsense,” she said weakly.
“And I remember, when my lips pressed to yours, I wanted it to go on forever.”
“I don't. . . .”
“Oh, but I do.” Before she could protest, he pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, there was no response; then her mouth opened to his. He angled his mouth over hers and deepened the kiss. The lightest scent of violets surrounded him and the past engulfed him. She tasted as he remembered, the faintest hint of cinnamon, warm with a touch of brandy. And more, of chances lost and promises never made. Her arms slipped around him and she clung to him. And she tasted, as well, perhaps of hope and beginning anew. His heart beat faster and he knew everything he had denied was true.
And now, as then, she kissed him back.
At last he raised his head and smiled down at her. “Pity you don't remember.”
For a long moment, she stared up at him, desire and uncertainty in her eyes. Finally she smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, but I don't remember.”
Surprise and disbelief coursed through him. Surely, even she wasn't as good an actress as that. “Are you certain?”
She nodded reluctantly. “My apologies, but I'm quite certain.”
He released her and took a step back. “I don't believe you.”
“It was just a kiss, Grayson, nothing more than that.”
“Nothing?”
“Not that I can recall, which would seem to be an indication that it was not”—she winced—“significant.”
He studied her closely. “Not earth-shattering, then?”
“Apparently not.”
“Or life altering.”
“Don't be silly.” She shrugged. “It was just a kiss, not unlike any other kiss.”
“Not something you will remember for the rest of your days?”
“Not the first or the second.”
He studied her for a long moment; then he blew a relieved breath. She wasn't the only good actor here. “That is a relief.”
“ ‘A relief'?” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I would feel dreadful if you had been pining for me all these years because of a mere kiss.”
“ ‘Pining'?” Camille scoffed. “I have certainly not pined. I haven't given your kiss or you a second thought.”
“You did pale a bit when you first saw me.”
“Only because, as I had not heard from you for eleven years—
eleven years
—I thought surely you were dead. Understandably, I thought I was seeing a ghost.” Her eyes narrowed. “After all, when a man kisses you and makes the kind of declaration you made, then vanishes from your life without another word, one assumes he must be dead. Or perhaps”—her jaw tightened—“one simply hopes he is.”
He stared. “You wished me dead?”
“Oh, if you had been standing before me and I had a pistol in my hand, I probably wouldn't have shot you.” She thought for a moment. “Although there were moments when I would not have guaranteed your safety.”
“I left because I didn't think there was anything more to say.”
She stared in disbelief. “There was a great deal more to say.”
“Well, I am here now. Perhaps we can talk—”
“
Now
is entirely too late.” She glared at him. “Eleven years too late.”
“You said you didn't want to talk about the past.”
“I don't,” she snapped. “It's over and done with, and as it was not significant enough to discuss then, it's certainly not the least bit important now.” She turned on her heel, stepped back into her room, and then turned back. “I assume, now that you have kissed me again, not that this kiss was any more memorable than the last—”
“Certainly not for me.”
She ignored him. “Your curiosity has been satisfied.”
“Completely.”
“Then there shall not be a repeat of it.”
“You needn't worry on that score. I have no intention of kissing you ever again.”
“See that you don't.” She nodded, moved into her room and snapped the door sharply behind her.
Who did he think he was fooling? He had every intention of kissing her again. Over and over again, until she melted into a puddle at his feet. Or he melted into a puddle at hers.
It was past time to admit the truth, if only to himself. Gray had known from the moment he looked once more into her blue eyes that he wanted her as much now as he had eleven years ago. Nothing had changed.
Nothing had changed . . . but him. He was no longer that uncertain boy who had taken his broken heart and wounded pride and vanished from her life, determined to make something of himself. Eleven years of making his own way in the world and building his fortune had taught him much. He no longer took “no” for an answer. He had learned anything worth having in this world was worth fighting for. And he had learned to fight for what he wanted. And what he wanted now, what he'd always wanted was Camille. And she wanted him as well. She could deny all she wished, but she had kissed him back then and she had kissed him back tonight. And that told him all he needed to know.
He smiled and returned to his room. Win was right. He would have to win her friendship again before he could win her heart. Certainly, it would not be easy. Along with her friendship, he would have to earn her forgiveness. He had made a start of it, in the corridor, before he had kissed her. Afterward, well, she was an excellent actress. Regardless of what she had said, she had been as affected by that kiss as he had. And he had no doubt that she remembered their first kiss. Yes, indeed, it was a start.
The first thing he needed to do, as her friend, was save her from this prince, whom even her sister found suspicious. And save her from herself as well. He suspected she was already beginning to doubt her desire to marry Prince Perfect. Fanning that doubt would be tricky; he would have to be subtle, but surely it was not impossible. Especially if it became more and more difficult to carry off her farce. Oh, he wouldn't do anything overt. However, throwing a twist into the proceedings now and then, just to muck things up the tiniest bit, was not a bad idea. Admittedly, given the peculiarities of her actors, it was entirely possible they could manage to mess up this production without any help from him. Still, he would take advantage of any opportunity that came his way.
Besides, what play didn't benefit from a few unexpected twists?
 
Spice and heat and desire.
Of course she remembered how he had tasted eleven years ago. She remembered everything.
Camille leaned back against her closed door and struggled to regain her composure. Struggled to breathe.
She remembered how his heart had beat against hers even through the layers of clothing between them. She remembered the heat of his body, the excitement of being enfolded in his arms. She remembered how her blood had pounded through her veins, how her knees had seemed too weak to support her. She remembered the yearning that filled her for more, for him. And she remembered how she had never wanted it to end.
But of course it had. Damnable man. She pushed away from the door and paced the floor.
Why did he have to dwell on that long-ago kiss? Why did he have to bring all that back up? Why did he have to go on and on about everything he remembered? Why did he have to make her feel again all that she had put behind her? Why did he have to come back into her life?
And why did he have to kiss her now?
He had taken her as much by surprise now as he had then. Certainly, that long-ago kiss hadn't been her first. But it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She had felt that kiss down to her toes and into her soul. No, she hadn't forgotten anything.
And tonight?
She blew a long breath. She was no longer an inexperienced nineteen-year-old girl. She was thirty years of age, a widow, a woman who managed her own life. A woman who made her own choices. A woman who knew what she wanted.
And yet, when he had kissed her tonight, it was every bit as wonderful as it had been that first time. Even more perhaps, because she'd waited to be kissed like that again for eleven years. Her husband, dear man that he was, had never made her toes curl or her knees weak. No man ever had. Blasted, blasted man!
Once again, Grayson had appeared right when she intended to marry another man. Of course he hadn't said he loved her, but any fool could see it was entirely possible. It was, well, bothersome. It brought back all sorts of feelings she much preferred not to have. And only added to her doubt.
She'd been entirely too busy organizing her Christmas farce to pay any attention to the doubt nagging at the back of her mind about Nikolai. But tonight, when he had been right on the verge of declaring himself, she wanted nothing more than to stop him.
For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted a prince with a kingdom and a castle. She'd wanted to be a princess. Nikolai was certainly handsome and dashing and charming and really, well, perfect. But while the girl she once was wanted a prince, the woman she was now was beginning to think perhaps one should look for more in the man one would spend the rest of one's life with than the dreams spun from fairy stories. Besides, did one really want to spend the rest of one's days with a man who smiled and nodded quite as much as he did?
As much as she hated to admit it, and would never tell her sister, but Beryl was right about . . . love. Not that she didn't intend to love Nikolai one day. It hadn't seemed at all important at the beginning, but now, well, she was thirty years of age and it might be wiser to marry a man she already loved as opposed to one she planned to love. As she was not getting younger, it seemed rather foolish to waste time waiting to fall in love. There was, as well, always the possibility she would never love him at all. And while she did like him, did she wish to spend the rest of her days merely in like? Aside from anything else, shouldn't one feel more than a mere tickling when a man kissed her palm in a most seductive manner? Shouldn't that make her ache and yearn for more?
Still, she should kiss him properly before making any decision, even if she suspected she already had. One never knew really. Why, a proper kiss could change everything.
Regardless, the very least she could do was give Nikolai the kind of Christmas he expected. There was surely no need to reveal the truth about her family to him. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust him to keep it secret. It was a most amusing story, after all. But she certainly couldn't marry a man she couldn't trust.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Good Lord, she would be a laughingstock if this got out. She would never be able to hold her head up in society again. While Nikolai was a charming man, honorable and a decent sort, who knew what might happen if she rejected his advances or, worse, his proposal? Men who had been spurned were not the least bit rational and sought vengeance in all sorts of unpleasant ways. While much more like Beryl than Delilah in terms of propriety, she had made a considerable effort to make certain her reputation wasn't nearly as colorful as her twin's. But once it got out that she had orchestrated this massive deception—and then hadn't married the prince, after all—why, no one would believe it was she who had turned him down. She would not only be a joke, but a pathetic joke at that. Even worse, escapades like this tended to become legendary. The Brighton Incident would pale in significance. She would be in her dotage and would still no doubt hear whispers behind her back about the extreme and futile measures poor Lady Lydingham took to snare a prince.
Not if she could help it. Determination surged through her. She had gotten herself into this and she would get herself out. Nikolai could never learn the truth. They would continue on precisely as originally planned. After Christmas a monetary crisis would call Nikolai home to the Kingdom of Whateveritwas. She would make some excuse as to why she couldn't accompany him and then eventually write and gently tell him they would not suit. Of course, if he proposed, things would be a little more awkward. And he had very nearly done so tonight. Still, as much as she had started out with the express purpose of extracting a proposal, it surely wouldn't be all that difficult to keep him from proposing.

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