A Holiday to Remember (6 page)

Or who he spent it with, which was good because Juliet was back. Chase stopped by the market in town to pick up lunch supplies for the day and was trying to decide between plain chips and barbecued when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Boo,” she said into his ear.

Chase jerked around, only to drop the bag of cookies, three cans of soda, four candy bars and two sub sandwiches he’d been holding because he’d forgotten to get a basket.

“Such a geek,” Beth groaned, with her hand over her face.

“I think he’s cute,” Haley said.

“So did Juliet,” Chris told them.

She squatted down with him to help pick up the food.

“I’m here for the summer,” she said, standing up with the chips in one hand and a drink in the other. “My folks wanted me out of the city, away from my friends because they’re a bad influence.” Her tone was mocking. “Can you believe it?”

Clutching sandwiches, drinks and candy, Chase stared at her and believed it. Juliet had bleached her hair to a dry wheat color, cut it short and spiked it in all directions. Black makeup circles rimmed her eyes. Metal spikes on chains hung in her ears. She wore a tight black T-shirt, baggy black pants with chains hanging from the pockets, and black military boots.

He gulped. “Hi.”

Turning toward the checkout lanes, she grabbed another bag of chips from the shelf as she talked to him over her shoulder. “You can’t tell Charlie I’m here, though. My
grandmother knows who he is and my folks told her to make sure I didn’t see him or you ever again.”

“Why?” Chase paid for the supplies and grabbed the grocery bag, following Juliet outside.

“Because you kidnapped me at Christmas, of course.”

“Kidnapped you?” Who was this person? What had happened to the girl he’d met over the holidays?

She dropped onto the bench they’d occupied before. “Why else would I have disappeared?”

“Did you tell them we’d kidnapped you?”

“Not exactly.” Opening the chip bag, she avoided his eyes. “I just said you’d taken me to your house and kept me there, and that’s why I wasn’t at home when they looked for me.”

Chase muttered a swear word Charlie would have smacked him for. “They might have arrested us. They still could!”

“No, they won’t. I promised to let them know where I was at all times.”

“Like now? They know you’re in town?”

“Yes. I told them I was going to the library.”

“Oh.” Chase considered the prospect of spending the day inside with a book. Not possible. “Okay, well—”

Juliet hopped to her feet. “So where are we really going?”

That was when he knew she hadn’t changed at all.

A
FTER SPENDING HALF
the day outdoors in the cold, none of the girls stayed awake long enough to hear the end of the night’s installment. Jayne had heard all the words, but was so drowsy she couldn’t have said what they meant. With her eyes half-open, she saw Chris put more logs on the fire and arrange the blaze for a nice, even burn. He turned toward her and seemed to stare at her for a long time, but that could have been her dreamy state of
mind. At last his flashlight beam cut the shadows, then wandered into the hallway. He’d left his wet boots and socks by the outside door, so she couldn’t hear his footsteps.

She’d spent quite a bit of time this evening trying not to stare at his strong, well-built feet.

Sinking into sleep, Jayne found herself riding a bicycle up and down long, smooth hills. In the dream, she wasn’t even surprised to be on a bicycle; she recalled the story she’d been listening to and recognized the power of suggestion. Anyway, she was enjoying the ride, the wind in her face and the sense of physical effort without getting tired in the least.

The sensation of a threat came over her all at once, an awareness that she had to ride faster to escape something—someone?—dire. Breathing hard, she tried to increase her speed, but knew without a doubt she was losing ground. Underneath her weight, the bike wobbled and shook. Pieces started popping off and clattering to the asphalt roadway. Hot, moist breath seared the back of her neck. A hand gripped her shoulder just as the bicycle disintegrated. She jerked away and fell, with rocks tearing her skin as she slid across the pavement, then slammed to a stop. Struggling and sobbing, she sat up against the tree trunk, which became a wall at her back. And when she looked up, he was there—

Jayne gasped and woke up, halfway to her feet before she even realized her eyes were open.

In front of her, the fire in the hearth flickered gently, casting gold shadows on the sleeping girls spread across the carpet. At the windows, icy moonlight polished silver snow.

She took a few deep breaths, getting her bearings, then stepped carefully over arms and legs and feet on her way to the library door. A glass of juice, or even water, would help her settle down and go back to sleep.

Sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, she tried and failed to forget the dream. The symbolism wasn’t hard to decipher—Chris Hammond’s story, the accident that landed him at Hawkridge, even the menace she felt following her could be related to him.

The danger in her dream, however, hadn’t felt connected to the bike ride. It…no,
he
had come from outside, from elsewhere. And she didn’t know who he could be or why she had been so scared.

“Can’t sleep?”

Jayne jumped and sloshed orange juice on the table. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Chris Hammond took a glass from the cabinet, poured himself some milk and came to sit across from her at the table. “Me, neither.” That was, she supposed, the reply to his question and her comment.

He didn’t turn on a flashlight, but they didn’t need one. Moonlight reflected off snow poured through the window, brighter than electric lamps.

Even so, electricity filled the silence. Jayne tried a casual comment to diffuse the tension. “You must be tired, after playing in the snow all afternoon. On top of your accident.”

He rolled that left shoulder in backward circles, drawing her attention to the muscles underneath his sky-blue sweater. “The exercise was good—kept the ligaments and tendons from getting stiff.”

“If you say so.” She sounded like a prude, even to herself. “I think warm milk is supposed to help you sleep. I don’t know if cold works as well.”

“A full stomach is all I need, besides getting my brain to turn off. That’s the real problem. I can’t stop thinking.”

Despite the promptings of reason and common sense, she asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Propping his folded arms on the table, he leaned toward her. “Well, you see, I’ve come up with a plan that could prove or disprove your identity as Juliet Radcliffe.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“But you’re not an objective source.”

“And you are?”

“No. But if we both agreed—either you are or you aren’t—then the issue would be settled.”

“And just how do you intend to provoke that agreement?”

He didn’t move, but the intensity of his gaze on her face made her feel as if he’d gotten very close. “A good word choice, ‘provoke.’ My suggestion is this—let me spend thirty minutes seducing you.”

Jayne slapped her hands on the table. “What?”

“Or you can seduce me, if that works better for you.” He shrugged. “Either way, I think by the end of thirty minutes, we’ll know for sure whether or not you are my Juliet.”

Jayne laughed at him. “You’re not serious.”

He responded with a frown, and gradually her amusement died. “That’s ridiculous. Insane. Depraved,” she added, when he didn’t reply.

His eyes remained locked with hers, as if he could see the chaos of fear and excitement and desire churning her blood. Jayne broke the connection herself, got up from the chair and went to the window. Perhaps staring out at the frozen landscape would cool her down.

“I don’t think so.” She cleared her throat. “No.”

Chris came to stand beside her. “Why not?”

“Because there’s no reason to expect that…that approach would…work.” He was too close, too overwhelming. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her retreat. “I’m already certain of the outcome. I don’t need any…any proof.”

Now he chuckled. “Another interesting word. And I do need…proof.” His voice reminded her of a lion’s purr.

If he kept staring at her, she was just going to fall into him. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was—

He straightened up. “I’ve never forced a woman yet, and I don’t intend to start now.” On his way out, he stopped at the table to down the rest of his milk. “Good night.”

Let him go. Let him go. Let him go.

“On the other hand—” Jayne said, just as he reached the doorway.

Looking back at her over his shoulder, he lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She took a step, then another. “It’s possible…”

He turned to face her, arms folded over his chest. “Yes?”

“I mean, I know who I am, but maybe you would be convinced if we…if I
gave
you…proof.”

“Does that mean yes?” Somehow he moved to stand in front of her, looking down, his arms loose at his sides. Not relaxed, though. Neither of them was relaxed.

“Not…not thirty minutes. I don’t really think that’s necessary. Do you?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

His hands rose to cup her face, with his thumbs meeting at the point of her chin, his palms warm against her neck and his fingers spread over the back of her skull.

Like a chalice,
she thought.
A goblet of precious wine.

As she gazed into his face, he brought his mouth to hers and sipped at her lower lip, pulling gently until he barely touched the smooth inner flesh. A soft release, and then the same tasting of her upper lip, while her breathing quickened and her hands trembled. If he didn’t take a real, full, hard kiss soon, she would puddle at his feet.

And maybe he understood what she was thinking, or maybe that was his breathing she heard, like a man who had run a long, hard race. His hands didn’t move, but the kiss was there, all at once, the full press of his mouth on hers, the nip of his teeth behind those sensual, mobile lips. She wanted to cry with the beauty of being wanted. She wanted to feel this way forever.

And so she took hold of him, grabbed at his shoulders and
then wrapped her arms around his waist while he drank and drank from her mouth and she gave as much as he asked because she was filled, too. He took the one step required to layer her body under his, against the wall. His knee stayed right where he’d put it, so when his hands slid down her shoulder blades and her ribs and her spine, when he gripped her hips and pulled her tighter against him, the bulk of his thigh between hers was the sweetest force she’d ever known.

Without thought, she slipped her hands under the hem of his sweater, working her fingers over the rough waistband of his jeans to the glory of the smooth bare skin above. Breathless, she stroked up the incline of his back to those rawboned shoulders strung with lean, tense muscle.

His hands had wandered, as well, but with less success. “You have too many damn clothes on,” he growled, fumbling with sweater and shirt and slacks, while his mouth explored the arch of her neck, the curl of her ear, the angle of her jaw. “I can’t find you.”

But then his fingers seared her ribs, and she gasped.

“That’s better.” In a single rough motion he pushed the barrier of her bra up and away. His palms claimed her breasts and her knees buckled, leaving her held upright by the wall and the roll of his hips and his leg pushed hard against her.

The roughness didn’t matter. The lack of dignity, the desertion of principle and responsibility didn’t bother Jayne at all. She wanted this, as she had never wanted anything in her life. If he chose to take her against the wall, or lying on the cold, hard floor, she would let him. The pleasure would be worth any price she had to pay.

Her wandering hands found the loose waist of his jeans again, and dipped beneath. Chris jerked his head up with a quick breath, then groaned.

But in the next moment, he set his mouth against her temple and murmured, “Take it easy.” His body shifted and he withdrew his leg, allowing the fire between them to cool from flame to flicker. Rather than driving her to the next level, Chris was backing off. His hands slid to her sides, then to her hips, with her clothes again separating skin from skin. He didn’t actively take her hands off him, underneath the jeans. But she understood he expected it, and so she did.

Jayne couldn’t look at him, not after giving him so much power over her body. Leaning against the wall, she hoped her own legs would hold her upright. How embarrassing, to fall at his feet.

Dignity was back, she gathered. No doubt principle and responsibility would return in a moment.

She waited to speak until her voice would function and her lips could shape words. The tone was simply beyond her control. “Did you learn what you wanted to know?”

“I think so.”

She felt his gaze, and finally found the courage to meet it. The despair in his face caught her by surprise.

But she’d already given him more than she could afford. She wouldn’t give him her concern, as well. “So now we know.”

With every ounce of willpower she possessed, she managed to step around him and walk a straight line across the kitchen to the doorway. “Let’s make that the end of it.”

Then she walked across the hall into the women’s bathroom, where she ran water into the sink while she sat on the floor in the dark and cried.

C
HRIS DISCOVERED THAT
getting to sleep wasn’t any easier after making love with Jayne…Juliet…the woman who’d melted so sweetly in his arms, than before. He might as
well go roll around in the snow buck naked. That might cool his body off.

And he couldn’t even say he now knew the answer. He’d been sincere when he thought a few minutes of necking would reveal whether this was his Juliet or not. For twelve years he’d lived on memories—every kiss, every moment they’d spent learning and enjoying each other’s bodies. His palms still knew the arch of her ribs, the curves of her calves, the soft pillow of her breasts.

So how could he explain the differences, except to say that Jayne and Juliet were different women? Jayne’s hips were round, her bottom heart-shaped and firm, compared to Juliet’s slender form. Bony form, if the truth were told—though, of course, he never had. Would she have matured into this voluptuous woman, or retained her coltish figure?

Had those small, fragile breasts become firm and full? Once, he could count every bone in her spine. Had they been overlayed with flesh rounded perfectly to fit the curve of a man’s fingers?

Chris wanted to say no. Though he might look like a fool, he could hardly believe that these changes would have overtaken Juliet in the twelve years they’d been apart. Nature didn’t stray that far from the original pattern. Jayne Thomas and Juliet Radcliffe could be two different women.

But…her taste. He had kissed enough women in the years since to know that each possessed a unique flavor. Regardless of the meal, a recent drink or breath mints and chewing gum, every woman’s mouth was as different as she was from all others.

Jayne and Juliet tasted exactly the same. Like a Golden Delicious apple eaten from the tree on a sunny morning. Like mountain water pouring down granite rock, like the scent of pine trees and summer rain. Every good and decent moment of his life was contained in that flavor.

Jayne and Juliet were the same woman. He had no doubt.

The only reasonable explanation for Jayne’s lack of memory was amnesia. She had supplanted her missing memories with the grandmother, the house fire and whatever other details she imagined. He’d hoped recounting their past would bring back the truth she’d forgotten, but nothing had surfaced so far.

He would have to push her harder, with details she probably wouldn’t want revealed to the girls. At the same time, he would have to undermine the memories she did have, quizzing her about all the specifics she would recall if that actually was her life.

After tossing and turning on the hard, narrow mattress for what seemed like hours, Chris groaned and levered himself off the bed. With a blanket folded around his shoulders, he went to stare out the window at the snow. He was planning an assault on the structure of Jayne’s life without any kind of professional backup or advice. Was he risking her emotional health? Her sanity? Was the truth worth that much?

He wanted to find Juliet. Under these circumstances, would she want to be found?

Leaning his forehead against the cold glass, Chris closed his eyes.

God help him, he didn’t know the answer to that question.

I
N KEEPING WITH HER OWN
frame of mind, breakfast on the second morning of the blizzard started out grouchy. Jayne allowed the girls to sleep an extra hour, but even the early risers grumbled when she roused them. Excitement always ruled the first snow day. The second, when sore muscles and fatigue took over, usually came as a disappointment.

She didn’t suggest going outside and wasn’t surprised when none of the girls did, either. A morning of indoor ac
tivities might restore their good spirits and energy for an afternoon out in the cold.

Chris came into the kitchen after everyone else had started on their cereal and toast. Jayne could only hope her face wasn’t turning as dark red as her hair.

“We have oatmeal,” she told him, avoiding eye contact. “Or cold cereal, or toast. Pretty much the same as yesterday.”

“Warm sounds good.” He heaped oatmeal, brown sugar and milk into his bowl, then took his usual place at the head of the table. “So, I was wondering when you start decorating for Christmas around this place.”

A couple of girls audibly caught their breath, and all seven looked up from their breakfasts to stare at him. Jayne pulled in a deep breath of her own.

“We don’t really celebrate, um, Christmas,” she said, keeping her voice even. “It’s just too complicated.”

Chris raised both eyebrows over wide blue eyes. “Too complicated? What the he—”

She sent him a warning look.

He stopped and cleared his throat. “What does that mean?”

“I’m Jewish,” Beth volunteered around a bite of bagel with cream cheese. “My family does Hanukkah.”

“I’m a pagan.” Taryn lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I worship the Goddess and celebrate Yule.”

“Well, I want Christmas.” Selena clanked her mug on the table. “Just because I had to stay here doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate.”

“Me, too.” Monique never seemed to have a problem expressing her opinion. “I’ve been wondering where the decorations were. And I want some Christmas cookies. The sugar kind, with red and green icing.”

Yolanda put up her hands, signaling halt. “If you start put
ting up all that shepherds and babies and angel stuff, I’m staying in my room, I don’t care how cold it is. I won’t sit around with that Nativity crap.”

On Yolanda’s right, Selena jerked around to stare at her friend. “Don’t be so disrespectful. You’re talking about Jesus and Mary.”

“I’m talking about a bunch of—”

Jayne’s whistle brought the argument to a halt. “Calm down, all of you. I don’t want to hear another word until I ask someone to speak.”

She didn’t mention specific names, but as her gaze connected with Chris’s, she conveyed the message that her instructions included him, too.

After sixty full seconds of silence, she looked at the girls around the table, then at Chris. “As I said, it’s complicated. I don’t want anyone retreating to their room when we have no heat. I don’t like hurt feelings and outraged beliefs. So we don’t celebrate any of the December holidays, other than the dinner we have marking the end of the first term and the beginning of winter vacation. In the past, we have sometimes had a party to welcome the New Year.”

Selena opened her mouth to protest, but only a squeak emerged when Jayne shook her head.

“The kitchen needs to be cleaned up. Afterward, you should dress for a morning indoors. This afternoon you can play in the snow on campus. Any questions?”

Selena raised her hand. “But what about Christmas? It’s as wrong to prevent me from celebrating as it is to force someone else to join in. I want some Christmas.”

Monique said, “Me, too.” Haley nodded in vigorous agreement.

Jayne acknowledged Sarah’s request to speak. “I agree with Selena,” the senior said in her gentle tone. “I’ve loved my years
at Hawkridge, but I do miss how we used to decorate for the holidays. We still make a big deal out of Halloween, and May Day. But New Year’s Eve isn’t the same as Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s right.”

“But—”

Jayne sighed, and they quieted down. She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know an answer that will satisfy everyone. So I’m turning the problem over to the people most affected…the seven of you. Perhaps you all can work out a solution to this dilemma. Let me know what you decide.”

She gave them a single nod and left the kitchen. No noise followed her, no argument or protest or complaint.

Nothing but one troublesome male. Chris caught up with her as she walked down the hall. “Interesting maneuver you came up with.”

“A maneuver that wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t flung the cat among the pigeons.” She pulled open the door into the entry and let it swing behind her, not caring—much—if it hit him in the face.