Holiday Serenade, The (5 page)

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, blowing on her hot chocolate. “I know,” she finally replied, and then turned and walked away.

Dammit
, he thought, tapping his boot on the brick sidewalk as he waited for his drink. He took the time to compose himself. Reminded himself that pseudo–dating Abbie was like high–stakes poker. When he finally sat beside her on the chairs she’d found for them by the rink, he was more in command of himself. Like with a big pot, it was time to call her raise.

“So, I know you’ve objected to the poker babes, and we’ve had our differences about them.”

While other people squealed and laughed on the ice, she stayed quiet, staring straight ahead.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Her head turned inch by inch, her reluctance clear. Then he felt the familiar haymaker–pow of those liquid green eyes.

“I’m changing up my act. The poker babes are out.”

Those rosy lips he hadn’t kissed for five hundred and eight–five days parted in shock. “What?” Her voice was breathy—like when he’d licked chocolate off her skin.

“I told you I’d do whatever it takes to get you back. If this is a major stumbling block, then consider it gone.” He waved his hand as if banishing it. “Actually, I changed their job descriptions because I still need them to scout for me. Raven’s going to be my dog walker. I’ve told her to dress however she likes, even at the hotel. She’s even going to use her real name. It’s Jane. Can you imagine? Vixen—well, Elizabeth—will take over as my publicist or assistant or something. You know, without their beauty–pageant–grade wigs and makeup, they’re pretty normal looking. No one’s going to know the difference.”

While they were secretly together, he’d tried to tell her about Jane and Elizabeth and their real backgrounds, hoping it would reassure her, but she’d shut him down. He hadn’t pushed. He had no idea what she knew about their cover of working at Mac’s hotel.

“When did you get a dog?” she asked, her suspicion as clear as the stars shining overhead in the vast winter sky.

So, she still didn’t want to talk about his girls. Fine.

Another kid slid across the ice and started to wail, the sound so loud it was distracting.

“We’re discussing various breeds. It’ll need to be a crowd–pleasing little sucker,” he said, trying to tune the crying out, “but nothing too girly. And I’m not putting him in a man purse. That’s where I draw the line.”

“No toy poodles for you?” she asked, her voice icy.

This was not how he’d expected the conversation to go. He’d hoped she would embrace this idea. But just the mention of his poker babes had clearly bent her out of shape.

“I told you I was changing my act—all of it. I figured having an unusual dog might be entertaining. I can even dress it up.” God, he sounded like a total moron. “People love their dogs, right?”

She cringed, and he knew without asking that it wasn’t because another kid, a girl this time, had fallen on the ice. “I have this horrible image of you and your ‘unusual’ breed wearing matching snakeskin outfits.”

Hadn’t he had the same thought? He didn’t mind his poker babes wearing matching outfits, but he was a
man.
“Not in this lifetime.”

“Well, I guess it goes with the whole dogs–playing–poker motif,” she said sarcastically, and then sipped her hot chocolate.

Funny how her barbed jibes were just convincing him that this could be the G–rated kind of act that would reassure Abbie while still drawing in crowds. “Yep. Man, I love that drawing.” He’d bet the house she hated those paintings.

“Hmm,” was all she said.

He knew just what she was thinking:
We’re ill–suited beyond belief
. “Of course, I’d never ask you to put one in our house. I know it’s not your style. Now are you going to admit you love me and agree to marry me?”

Her hand slipped, and her drink spilled on her gloves. He hastily grabbed her cup, fearing she’d burned her fingers through the blue knitting.

“Put some snow on it,” he commanded.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, her hand trembling.

In that moment, he knew that none of it had changed her mind, not one bit. “Christ, Abbie, you’re killing me here.”

The chocolate–stained glove fell to her side when she pulled it off. He checked to make sure her hand wasn’t red. It wasn’t, thank God.

“Don’t change your act for me.”

His breath could be seen in the winter night when he blew it out. “I’m changing
everything
for you. My whole life. When is it going to be enough?”

Her absolute silence only pissed him off. Jane and Elizabeth had been right.

They weren’t the problem.

“Okay, Abbie,” he said, leaning closer, crowding her. “I called your bluff about the poker babes, and you show me you’ve got nothing. It’s not about them at all, is it? Then what is it? Even after being here for almost six months, you don’t believe I can be a good husband to you and stepdad to Dustin?”

“Let’s not talk about it here. We’re in public.” And she cast a meaningful look at the nearby ice skaters.

“Right, in public, where you didn’t want us to be when we were actually seeing each other. You’re not making sense.”

She stood, and her tight mouth reminded him of Mac when he was cornered at the poker table when the chips are down. “I’m through discussing this.”

He stood, both their cups in his hands, wishing he could drop them and reach for her. “Why? Because you say so? I told you I’m never leaving you again, and I meant it. I figure if we have to be like those two tortured cowboys in
Brokeback Mountain
—in love with each other but never together—I’ll live with it.”

A reluctant laugh popped out. “Rhett, those two were
gay.”

Maybe humor would humor her. Hah. “Huh… So that explains the fuss everyone made about that movie.” He bumped her playfully, but her body was as rigid as a candy cane. “Those poor guys couldn’t be together. We can, Abbie. Just say the words.”

Leaving him standing was an answer, he supposed. Just not one he liked. He let her stew all the way to the car. Her earlier happiness had vanished like Santa’s milk and cookies on Christmas Eve.

She dove inside the minute he unlocked the car. He had to juggle their drinks to open the door. When he sat beside her, he stuffed their cups into the holders in the middle console and turned to look at her.

“You can’t keep running like this. It’s time we got to the bottom of what’s holding you back. This clearly isn’t it.”

Even though she was mostly in shadow, the Christmas lights lining Main Street brightened the interior of the car, helping him make out her tense expression. “Please, Rhett. It’s Christmas.”

Shit. And he was taking away from her enjoyment. He hated that.

“Fine, but I still have your present, remember? Maybe then you’ll believe what we have is real.”

As he pulled away from the curb, he could only nod to the angel decorating the lantern, praying that it was true.

Chapter 5

T
he invitation Abbie received in the mail could easily have been sent by Martha Stewart herself. Whoever it was from certainly had class. The gold–leaf monogrammed Christmas tree inlay, surrounded by a swirl of silver snow, held an artful whimsy. There was no return address, and because the envelope was so gorgeous, she located her Waterford crystal letter opener and carefully slit the paper before removing the card. Her letter opener clattered to the desk as she started to read.

Rhett Butler Blaylock graciously requests
Your company at his Christmas Gala
On the nineteenth day of December in the year two thousand and thirteen
At eight o’clock in the ballroom of The Grand Mountain Hotel.
Holiday–themed costumes are encouraged.
To RSVP, please contact The Grand Mountain Hotel.

The invitation somehow ended up pressed against her beating heart. How could she have not known he was hosting a party in their hotel? She was usually part of the planning for events like this one, but no one had said a word to her.

She picked up her cell and called Mac, who was at Peggy’s tonight with Dustin. When he answered, she didn’t beat around the bush.

“Did you know Rhett was throwing at party at The Grand?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “He came to me with the stipulation that you couldn’t have anything to do with it. He’s the client, so I agreed to his terms. He wants you to enjoy yourself as a guest. I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it, but I also think he’s right. If you helped out with the planning, you’d spend the whole time fussing like a mother hen. You wouldn’t let yourself have fun.”

She paced in front of her desk as her mechanical Santa rang his bell in time with her steps. “Dammit, Mac. I don’t like this. This is one of my duties at the hotel.”

“I’m sure Karen will get along fine without you.”

Yeah, Karen would be fine. She had a great eye for detail, but he was missing the point. She shut Santa off. Right now, his incessant cheer was annoying the crap out of her.

“I don’t like being kept in the dark. Rhett had no right.”

“Well, if you feel that way, why don’t you go talk to him? He’s at his house tonight. I called him to see if he wanted to join us for dinner at Peg’s, but he declined. He sounded pretty low if you want to know the truth.”

Probably because his sacrifice of the poker babes hadn’t worked.

The tree in her office—one of several she’d scattered across the house—blinked white lights amidst golden and baby blue bows and smelled divine. Yes, it was Christmas, but this whole thing with Rhett was really starting to dilute her enjoyment. Plus, she felt guilty. She wasn’t sure why she was still holding back…so how could she explain it to him?

“Okay, let’s not talk about it,” she said, deciding it was pointless to continue this discussion with her brother. She knew he was becoming frustrated with her tenacity about Rhett. “How’s Dustin?”

“He’s fine. He and Keith are playing a Christmas video game with deranged Santas and serial–killer snowmen. It’s kinda fun. Abbie, go talk to Rhett. You’ll feel better.”

“Have fun,” she murmured and hung up.

The Christmas star she’d chosen for the tree in her office was dotted with gold sparkles. It was the one she’d purchased when she’d started working in Mac’s first hotel, a proud moment for her since it had taken her six years to finish college while raising Dustin at the same time. When she brought the ornament out each year, her hands—and some other interesting parts—always ended up covered in glitter, but she didn’t care. It was The Universal Law of Glitter, something you couldn’t help but learn volunteering at your kid’s school, helping with art projects

The star winked like it was trying to tell her something. She took a deep breath and reached for her inner calm.
Follow the star,
she heard from somewhere inside her.

The whole message thing was a little unnerving and confusing, so she stalked out of her office and grabbed her coat. She and Rhett needed to get something clear. Her job was important to her. Cutting her out of the party planning was disrespectful.

As she drove to his house, turning onto the road that spanned the ridge line above town, she took a moment to marvel at the beauty of Dare Valley. The holiday lights gave it a golden halo, like it was trapped inside a giant Christmas globe. The carpet of plush white snow that covered the valley made it look as though moonlight had broken through the earth’s core and was shining out. She took a moment to be grateful for being where she was, for this sense of rightness in her life when everything else seemed off.

She had avoided going to Rhett’s house because she didn’t want to be alone with him. Correction. She was afraid of what she might do if she
was
alone with him.

Just like he’d observed the other night, she still wanted him. That hadn’t changed.

The decorations on his house surprised her as her Subaru crunched its way down the drive. He’d put up Christmas lights, the white strings flickering on and off on the roof and in the bushes lining his front porch. An inflatable Santa swayed in the cold wind, looking as if he might have indulged in too much peppermint schnapps in his hot chocolate.

The front light flicked on as she left the car. She took a deep breath and walked toward the front door, taking note of the classy holiday wreath that was decked out with silver bells and pinecones. The door opened before she reached it. And there stood Rhett Butler Blaylock at home: another thermal long–sleeve shirt—black this time—defining every muscle in his upper body and a pair of well–worn jeans with a hole in the knee.

Again, his wardrobe had done a three–sixty since he’d returned to her. No more crazy fur coats or gallon–size cowboy hats. While he still wore leather, he’d tailored it back to jackets, which he could still make look sexy, as if he were some reformed bad boy. Which she supposed he was—for now.

“Abbie,” he said, a question in his voice.

Right, why had she come again? Her heart was rapping hard in her chest now, long–repressed pleasure receptors begging to be released from the cage she’d stuffed them in.

“Hi, Rhett,” she managed, taking careful steps in case there were any icy patches. “Can I come in?”

His eyes slid over her before settling on her face. Even if they weren’t physically involved, she still liked knowing he was attracted to her. She was glad she’d taken the time to change into black pants and boots and a snug black wool coat. Black had always set off her coloring well.

“This isn’t a social call, is it?” He made a sound, half laugh, half resignation. “You got your invitation in the mail and found out that I asked Mac to keep you out of the party planning.”

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

When he sighed, his breath could be seen from the warm glow of the yellow porch light. “Well, part of me had hoped you would show up here alone at some point because you wanted to see me, but… Okay, you might as well come in if you’re planning on dressing me down.”

With that piece of honesty resounding throughout her body, causing tremors everywhere, she crossed the threshold. The urge to look up and see if there was mistletoe got the better of her. She made a quick glance.