Once Upon a Christmas Eve (16 page)

She sought him back, her hands slipping over the roping muscles of his biceps and shoulders. He was beautiful to her, strong, so powerfully male. All that latent power made his restraint and his gentleness so much more overwhelming when he eased back to trail a path of slow burning fire down the side of her neck to the fullness of her exquisitely sensitive breasts.

She'd never known what it was to be touched so tenderly, or to need so badly to touch back as he encouraged her to caress and he caressed. To explore. Or simply to cling to him if that was what she wanted.

That was what she wanted most; the feel of his arms around her. Yet, after he enlisted her help stripping away the rest of their clothes and his hands started roaming over her body again, she wanted that, too.

He seemed to absorb her as he molded his hands to the shape of her ribs, her hips, the slight curve of her stomach.

“You're beautiful,” he told her, whispering the words in her ear as he stroked her long limbs and sensitive places.

She touched him back, emboldened by the caresses that made her feel as if she was somehow necessary to him. As essential as he was becoming to her, the raw hunger she tasted in him became her own. She just wasn't at all certain what she felt when his fingers moved to splay again over the gentle curve of her belly and he lifted his head to look into her eyes.

With the room in shadows, she could see little in his taut and tortured features. He didn't allow her any time to search. He found her mouth again, pressing her to him with such possession that she forgot everything but the need to let him know with her body what was far too soon to express with words.

With his control paper-thin, the feel of her seeking him was pushing him precariously close to the edge. Their breaths mingled, every intake of his own bringing hers inside him to seep into his cells. What had begun as a need to comfort had long since given way to the demanding need to possess.

Even with that need driving him, the functioning part of Max's brain slowed him down long enough to reach for the protection he'd pulled from his wallet. He resented that barrier separating him from her, wasn't even sure why he was using it. But the finer points of Tommi already being pregnant and the need to protect her weren't anything he would debate. Not when he ached for her so badly he could barely breathe.

There was no denying his need. Or her own when she reached for him. Aligning her infinitely softer curves to his hard angles and planes, fighting the more urgent demands of his body, he eased himself into her. With her arching to him, her heat surrounding him, the edges of what control he had began to fray. But it was only after he heard her whisper his name and felt her shatter that he let
go. The instant he did, his awareness narrowed to nothing but the woman punching holes in nearly every barrier he possessed, and the searing heat that evaporated conscious thought.

 

A shaft of pale light from the living room slanted near the foot of the bed, casting the room in shades of gray. The beat of rain against the window registered dimly in that cocooning twilight.

Tommi lay curled in his arms, her head tucked into his chest, her breathing slow and even. As Max turned his head toward the clock on her nightstand, he figured it was the storm that had wakened him.

The digits glowed 3:57 in neon green.

He hadn't intended to fall asleep. But then, he hadn't been prepared for the unfamiliar peace that had stolen over him after their breathing had quieted and they'd settled into each other's arms. That peace had lulled him with its strange contentment, luring him from any thought other than how good it was to simply hold her.

Peace was not what he felt now.

The realization that he'd complicated the hell out of their relationship had his mind up and fully functioning in the time it took him to swear at himself. So did the fact that he'd miss his flight if he didn't get himself out of there.

From the tension he could feel in Tommi's slender muscles, he knew she was now awake, too.

“Max?”

He'd told her yesterday morning he was going to Chicago. He just hadn't mentioned how early his flight was.

“We fell asleep,” he whispered. He brushed her hair back from her shoulder, touching his lips to her temple to forestall the disquiet he already sensed in her. “I have to
go.” Easing his arm from under her, defenses already at battle with self-reproach, he turned away. “I'm late.”

Bedding rustled as he swung his feet to the floor and snatched up his pants and briefs. When he'd shown up at her door last night, all he'd wanted was to make things a little easier for her. The last thing he wanted now was to bolt from her bed and leave her alone with whatever was going through her head.

Though he didn't have a lot of choice, it was probably better this way.

He swore again. He had two hours to get home, pack, run by the office and get to the airport. Less than that, actually. Early morning security could be a nightmare.

He had his pants zipped and was pulling his sweater over his head when he realized she was out of bed, too.

Her head popped through the neck of the sweater he had stripped from her last night. “What time does your plane leave?”

“Seven-ten. And I have to go by the office.”

“Oh, Max. You'll barely make it.”

“I'll do it somehow,” he said, tying his boots. “Come to the door with me so you can lock it.”

She'd barely pushed back her tangled hair and rounded the bed when he took her hand. The lights were still on in the living room. Tugging her with him, aware of her long bare legs, he led her to the chairs by the sofa and picked up his jacket from atop her packages. Noticing the manila envelope on the end table, he picked it up, too, and headed for the door.

She was right beside him.

“I'm sorry about this, Tommi.” A muscle in his jaw jerked as he cupped one side of her face with his palm. Almost unconsciously, her head moved toward his touch.

Thoughts of how trustingly she'd stepped into his arms
flooded back. He was in uncharted waters with this woman, going with a current that threatened to become an under-tow. Feeling distinctly threatened by that, he banished the memory as quickly as it had arisen.

Not totally sure what else he felt just then, certain only that guilt was involved, he closed his eyes on the uncertainty he could see in hers and brushed a kiss against her forehead.

“Make your call to your chef today. Then call me on my cell and let me know how the conversation went. If I don't answer, leave a message and I'll call you back.”

“I will. And, Max,” she said, curling her hand over his arm when he reached for the latch, “have a safe trip. Okay?”

He was anxious to go. Still, he hesitated long enough to murmur, “Sure,” and give her a little half smile before he opened the door.

Seconds later, he was gone.

A minute after that, with the wall clock indicating that it was time to get up, Tommi was trying hard to believe his apology had only been for having bolted from her bed—and not for the regret she could have sworn she'd seen in his eyes before he'd turned away.

T
he uncertainties Tommi had managed to escape last night were back with a vengeance. Plus one.

She was in love with her business partner.

Her only defense for that disturbing circumstance was that she had no defenses at all where Max was concerned. She hadn't even tried to raise any. At least, none that had counted. She had somewhat feebly tried to dismiss her attraction to him as hormones run amok, but even when it had started becoming clear that he didn't want or need anything more than the life he already had, she hadn't tried to protect herself. Nowhere along the line could she think of a single thing she'd done to not fall in love with him.

The recriminations echoed in her head as she measured and scooped, stirred and chopped. Worse, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked when he'd left. It didn't help the uncertainty gripping her that he hadn't really kissed her before he'd
gone. The brush of his lips on her forehead had felt horribly like a brush-off.

What did help was knowing that he wanted her to call after she'd talked to Kyle Madsen, the sous chef she so desperately wanted to hire. Thanks to her partnership with the man who'd thrown her already upended life a seriously disconcerting curve, she now had the means to do that.

Because she badly needed to focus on positives, as soon as the morning rush of regular customers who darted in for scones and lattes to go had eased, she was on the phone to the man she'd bonded with over béarnaise in sauce class. She and Kyle had hung out together so much in culinary school that people had assumed they were a couple, but he'd really been more like a brother to her. As for romance, it had been she who'd encouraged him to ask out the shy Tari Ling from breads and pastries. Six months later, she'd been Tari's maid of honor at their wedding.

Having worked through the details with Kyle, it was Tari she said goodbye to when she ended the call and walked out of her office to tell Alaina that she'd just hired a sous chef they were all going to love.

Since her staff had all endured her previous attempts to fill the position, her assurance had Alaina smiling—which temporarily took the woman's mind off the fact that her apparently opinionated and meddlesome mother had just announced her intention to come for Christmas.

Tommi knew that sort of dread. Her own mom wasn't what she'd call meddlesome, but she definitely had her opinions. Worse, she had a way of looking at Tommi that let her know without a single word that she'd disappointed her, let her down or otherwise not fulfilled her expectations.

Now that she had her business matters under control, she had few excuses to put off facing that disappointment. As Max had said, she'd feel better once she wasn't keeping
her situation from her family. What he hadn't mentioned was the logistics of getting from Point A to Point B. But the man was a professional negotiator. When she walked into her office to call him right after Alaina left, she decided she'd ask if he thought she'd have a better advantage breaking her news on Christmas at her mom's, or if she should arrange to be on her own turf.

She was torn either way.

Torn was pretty much how she felt as she punched out his number and took a deep breath. She knew there was a two-hour time difference between Seattle and Chicago, but she had no idea what his schedule was. Since he'd said to leave a message if he didn't answer, that was what she would do.

He answered on the third ring.

“Tommi,” he said, obviously having checked his caller ID. “Did you hire him?”

She wasn't sure which came as a greater relief. How quickly he'd answered or how normal his deep voice sounded to her.

Clutching the receiver a little more tightly, she sank to her desk chair. “He's starting in three weeks.”

“Hey, that's great.” The sounds of traffic filtered into her ear. The nearby honk of a horn, the distant sound of a siren. “I thought he wasn't available until February.”

“He wasn't. But he and Tari are anxious to get up here. He said they'd make it work.”

“I like his attitude. The sooner he starts, the better for you. It'll make the transition to twice as many customers after the expansion smoother, too. But you still need a relief cook.”

She told him she realized that. She also mentioned that Kyle thought the expansion a great idea and that he'd be a
huge help interviewing for extra staff. His wife was even interested in the position as part-time pastry chef.

“It's good to hear you talking bigger. And I'm glad you got him,” he told her, sounding as rushed as the noisy traffic around him. “It has to feel good to get that out of the way.

“Listen,” he continued, before she could say another word. “I'm going to have to go. I need to grab a cab.” He paused, apparently distracted. “I'll try to call you later.”

Disappointment made her hesitate. “Sure,” she said, forcing that quick letdown from her voice. “No problem.”

With a muffled “Okay, then,” the connection went dead.

He was obviously in a hurry. Probably preoccupied, too, she thought, as her disappointment sank deeper. She'd wanted to tell him that it did feel good to have finally hired Kyle. And that she wasn't thinking bigger, so much as she'd just been acknowledging the next step she had to take. She needed to think about the expansion in terms of one thing at a time. If she looked too closely at the big picture, she'd feel overwhelmed all over again by what she'd agreed to do with a baby on the way. But he could have talked her through that. He was good at talking her through things.

She hadn't had a chance to ask how his meetings were going, either.

On the positive side, he hadn't said anything to make her think he felt the regret she'd sensed in him before he walked out her door. But then, he hadn't ventured anywhere near what had happened between them. He'd stuck strictly to business.

Taking her cue from him, she went back to work herself, trying hard not to dwell on how confused he had her. Yet, that confusion only increased when Essie and Syd showed up at four o'clock for their usual early dinner.

When the weather was as rainy as it was now, her elderly neighbors would forego the exercise of walking around to her back door and call down so she or whichever of her staff was there could let them in the front.

They arrived talking about what a nice visit they'd had with Max. It seemed he'd buzzed their apartment at five o'clock yesterday, told them he was to meet her at six, but wanted to know if he could see them first.

Remembering him from the day they'd met him in her kitchen, they'd let him in out of curiosity as much as anything else, Essie admitted. But their curiosity had turned to surprise when he'd given them a new remote control for their television, the universal kind they could use so Syd wouldn't keep using the wrong one to change channels and switching them to the DVD.

Since Syd could never figure out how to get back to where he wanted to be, Max had spent nearly an hour programming, writing down instructions and explaining how to use the device, and suggested they put the other controls away.

Syd claimed himself eternally beholden for the useful little gadget.

As for Essie, she declared Max sweet on Tommi since he'd kept checking his watch so he wouldn't be late, and “such a nice man” for asking Syd how his letter-writing campaign against the area's condo conversions was going.

He had made their day. Their week, actually. They were still talking about him when they came down the next afternoon.

What he had done for them had been very kind—and considerate and thoughtful. And so like him, Tommi realized, because she was learning that he showed he cared about people in unexpected ways. She would have told him
that, too. The part about thinking him kind, considerate and thoughtful, anyway. But he hadn't called last evening as she'd hoped he would.

He didn't call that day, either.

Or the next.

 

Not daring to consider what his growing silence meant, Tommi made herself focus as best she could on preparations for the private dinner booked for the following evening. She wished it would stop raining so hard. As nasty as it was outside and with people occupied with shopping and other holiday demands and functions, the bistro had been unusually quiet that night. She needed to be busy. Busy was good. Busy meant she didn't have extra time to worry about why Max wasn't calling her back. But then, he hadn't said he would. He'd only said he'd “try.”

As she dusted flour from her hands and told herself to stop obsessing, Shelby poked her head into the kitchen and told her a gentleman wanted to see her.

“He said his name is Scott Layman. Do you want to see him in here, or out front?”

Tommi's first response was a quick frown of incomprehension as she picked up a towel to wipe her hands.

“Out front is fine,” she replied, unable to imagine what Scott was doing there. “Tell him I'll be right out.”

With a quick nod and a “Will do,” her waitress headed back into the bistro.

Walking up to the “out” door when it swung closed, Tommi peeked through its little window. Of the twelve customers she'd had that evening, only three remained. Of those, a gentleman who'd dined alone was thanking Shelby and preparing to leave. The couple at the corner table had just finished checking their bill and slid its folder to the edge of their table.

With a smile for the departing patron when she walked into the bistro herself, Tommi moved to the man at the wine bar.

Rainwater dripped from Scott Layman's red parka as he perused the specials on the chalkboard. He was an impressive man; tall, blond and built like a linebacker. As she'd remembered, he was also quick with a smile.

“Hey,” he said, turning as she approached. Without a blink, his glance made an expert sweep from the cap covering her hair, over her now barely camouflaging chef's jacket and bounced back up. “It's good to see you again, Tommi.”

“You, too,” she replied, torn between ignoring the way he'd just checked her out and trying to imagine why he was there. “Are you here for dinner?”

“I already ate. I wish I hadn't now,” he said, nodding toward the chalkboard propped at the end of the bar. “Beef bourguignonne is my all-time favorite.” He glanced around the nearly empty establishment, smiled at Shelby as she walked past him with the couple's bill. “I'll have a glass of wine, though…if you have time to have one with me,” he qualified. His smile broadened. “We can celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“I brought our partnership agreement for the bistro.” Looking as if he thought she'd be pleased, he opened the leather folder he'd set on the bar. Inside was a manila envelope that looked very much like the one Max had taken with him. “I was looking for something in Max's office a while ago and noticed that it wasn't signed yet. Sorry I haven't been around to get the deal sealed sooner, but we can get it done now.”

A distinctly uncomfortable feeling gripped Tommi as Shelby darted a glance toward them. The girl's curiosity moved to quick concern as she ran the couple's credit card
behind the bar. Concern and needless speculation were the very reasons Tommi hadn't wanted her staff to know she'd been looking to bring another party into the business until she could assure them that all would be well.

The man not only suffered a total lack of discretion, he apparently had no idea she wouldn't be working with him or his company. Max had obviously removed the agreement they'd signed from the envelope.

The professional in her refused to discuss business in front of customers or staff. Of equal concern was that Scott obviously felt he was doing the right thing by her.

“Why don't we go in the kitchen?”

“Whatever's best for you,” he said, picking up the portfolio. “This is a really great place,” he continued, enumerating what he saw as its charms as she led the way.

“I like the paintings out there. Good setup in here, too,” he concluded, as she stopped in the alcove outside her office. “Max was right. You have a lot of potential here.”

Considering his enthusiasm, she expected to find him looking around her tidy kitchen when she turned. Instead, he seemed far more interested in the double-breasted chef's coat running from her neck to just below her hips. Or, more specifically, imagining what she might look like without it.

Max had told him she was pregnant.

Knowing that the man eyeing her with such speculation possessed that knowledge made her decidedly uncomfortable.

With another dimension added to her unease, she scrambled for what she needed to say. “Thank you,” she murmured, buying herself time. “I'm pretty partial to all of it myself.”

She hated the position she found herself in. She hated even more that Max hadn't told Scott of the new
arrangement himself. Or at least, mentioned to her that he hadn't yet discussed the change with his partner. But then, talk of the partnership a few nights ago had been totally forgotten along about the time he'd pulled her into his arms.

“So, you want to sign this and give me a tour?”

His tone was as affable as his expression. Her own manner remained considerably more subdued.

“I feel really awkward, Scott.” She spoke the admission quietly, hoping her tone would encourage him to lower the heartier quality of his. “I'm not going into partnership with Layman & Callahan. I've signed a different agreement.”

Genuine confusion lowered his wide brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Some of your company's terms were more restrictive than I was comfortable with. Max wouldn't modify them because of his obligations to your company's investors,” she explained, certain this man would appreciate the protection of their clients' interests. “But he was kind enough to make those concessions as a private investor and offered to be my silent partner himself.