Sweet Christmas Kisses (38 page)

Since death of best friend, Conran Dark was not seen anywhere.

Joanna gasped. Death of best friend? She clicked onto the link, thankful that this article stemmed from one of the less lurid newspapers. They might even report the facts accurately.

On September 30, Conran Dark took his yacht out along the Pacific coast with his best friend Dimitri Wasronawitch, the much acclaimed TV entertainer. Their return coincided with the arrival of three tourist buses at the Santa Monica Yacht Harbor. 
When the fans recognized Dark, they rushed to him and elbowed Wasranowitch out of the way, pushing him into the water. Unable to swim, Wasranowitch went under. Dark pushed several fans aside to reach his friend, but found him too late to save him. The dunked fans have started a law suit, but the singer has gone into hiding.”

“Oh, my God.” Joanna pressed both hands against her mouth. “No wonder he behaved in such an odd way when I turned up on his doorstep.” She remembered the expression in his eyes as he had looked at the little dog that reminded him of Dimitri, a sadness too profound for words.

She continued to search the Internet until she found a picture of Dimitri, the clown. Then she laughed. Dimitri the human did not have tufts of hair on his ears, but she could see it. Something about the eyes, something about the way he tilted his head – it was there. How extraordinary. Maybe the puppy would help to heal Conran.

She yawned until she felt her head splitting in two. Time to go to bed. Joanna shivered as she switched off the computer. The house seemed empty and cold. Maybe Conran was right and it was time to get a new dog. But she couldn't buy one, just like she bought a packet of cookies. It had to be love, an intense connection from both sides. And while Dimitri liked her, he had clearly lost his puppy heart to that grumpy man.

Love.

Joanna frowned and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. What was it she felt when seeing Conran Dark? Was she impressed by his status as a celebrity, in spite of herself, in spite of all her protests? Or was it something different, something stronger, something that went deeper than the surface?

She shook her head. After the disaster with Hugh, she had dived into her work like a maniac, to stop herself from thinking, to stop herself from feeling lost and lonely. And she had vowed she'd never trust another man. Joanna looked out of the bull's-eye window of her bathroom and continued to brush her teeth with mechanical movements.
How clever of you to go back on that promise now, with a man who's anything but easy – and from Hollywood, no less. Makes total sense,
her inner voice mocked her. Joanna spit out the foam and rinsed her mouth.
Whatever happens, I'll be civil to him the next time I see him. That's the least he deserves. If I see him again, that is.

II

“I think you were so unfair to send me away from the room when Conran Dark was here. You wanted him all for yourself.” Bernice placed her hands onto her hips and pouted.

Joanna sighed. “I wanted him to have some peace. Even a blind man could tell he hated to be the center of all that attention.”

Bernice shrugged. “That's the flip side of being a celebrity. You can't have everything.”

Joanna frowned. The callous words hung between them. “Don't you think he has the right to be treated like a fellow human even if he is a celebrity?”

Bernice opened her eyes wide. “You sound as if we'd tried to cut off his hair.” Her eyes glistened with excitement as she leaned forward. “Though I wouldn't mind, if I got half the chance. Isn't he gorgeous? I just love his hair. It's so . . . manly.” She sighed, then perked up again. “Do you think I could sell a strand of his hair on the Internet? Gosh, I could probably get thousands of dollars for it. And . . . “

“Bernice.” Joanna's voice whipped out. “Have you gone crazy?”

Bernice reared back and laughed. “But it's Conran Dark. He's public property, more or less.” Her voice lowered in awe. “Gosh, Joanna, you have no idea how famous he is. I've seen him on TV, and once in a concert, and it was awesome, really, and I . . . “

Joanna shuddered. “Right.” Now she knew why Conran had behaved in such an outlandish way when she had showed up on his doorstep. What had he said? “These are not my clothes.” Maybe he thought she would sell them on the Internet or would drool over his old socks, wanting to sleep with her face huddled into them. Yikes. Suddenly, she saw Bernice in a different light. “Now, I understand why he feels haunted by his fans.”

“We just showed him how delighted we were to see him.” Bernice raised her hands. ”What's wrong with that?”

Joanna tried one more time. “I think he wants to be treated like a normal man.”

Bernice shrugged. “He's a genius. Normal rules don't apply for his kind. Besides, he gets plenty of money. I can imagine worse fates.”

Joanna gave up. “Pass me the disinfectant, please.”

III

Joanna bit into the sandwich she was having for tonight's dinner and leaned closer to her computer screen. She was at it again, like all the other foolish fans . . . checking the Internet to glean as much information about Conran Dark as possible. Embarrassing, really, but she couldn't help herself. She needed to know more about him. Today, she had learned that he had been married before, to a woman called Antonella. They had divorced five years ago, but the article did not go into any details. Antonella. The name sounded Italian. Would that make him hate all Italians? Hmm . .

The door bell rang, that it so say, the owl hooted. Sally had insisted on the hooting owl, saying it gave the house the final touch. Joanna had grinned and given in. She checked the clock on the wall. It was seven o'clock. Maybe it was Sally. Hadn't she said she might drop in later in the evening?

The owl hooted again, then a dog barked outside. A dog? It might be an emergency. Joanna jumped to her feet, hurried to the door, and opened it.

Before her stood the man she had been thinking about for the last forty-eight hours. In his arms, he cradled Dimitri who looked at her with lolling tongue and a happy grin.

Joanna swallowed. “Hi.” Did she look as delighted as she felt? She hoped not.

“I'm sorry to disturb you.” He sounded distraught. “But Dimitri has got something in his paw, and he whines every time he uses it.” He pressed his lips together. “Maybe I panicked a bit, but I didn't know what else to do.”

Her heart melted. “That's fine.” She opened her door wide. “Bring him in and put him onto the kitchen table.”

She watched as Conran walked into the house and looked around, taking in the gallery with the steep ladder leading up to the loft, the wood stove made of blackened metal to the left, the open kitchen to the right, and straight on, the small desk below the loft, with the blue light from the computer flickering on the wall.

The computer! Panic coursed through Joanna as she remembered the colorful site of Hollywood gossip on her screen. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to save something on my computer. I'll be right with you.” She rushed to her desk and shut down the betraying page. Had he seen which site she had been reading? Her face burned. She turned back to him with a nervous flutter in her stomach.

He stood rooted in the middle of the octagonal room, looking around with wide eyes. “This is an amazing house.”

“My friend Sally designed it at university as her final thesis. She won the National Architect Award for it, and afterward, the magazine Extraordinary Homes wanted her to build it.”

He looked surprised. “The magazine paid for it?”

“Yes, together with some other sponsors. Sally had to find a location, though, and that was how I came into it . . . this piece of land belonged to my mother.”

“So the land is yours and the house belongs to the magazine?”

“Well, no. It's mine, but there's a contract. I'm not allowed to change anything in the construction without prior notice, and I had to give them full rights to come and take pictures whenever they wanted. Those were the conditions.” Joanna took Dimitri from him and placed him onto the table. “They feature it quite regularly.”

He sounded horrified. “You mean you have camera teams in here?”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Sometimes, but never without prior notice.”

For some reason, she felt light and happy. She went to the front door, where she kept her outdoor-veterinarian-bag and took it back to the kitchen. She placed the bag onto a chair, opened it, then she turned to the dog. “Let me see what you have here, Dimitri.” She lifted the paw he held up at an awkward angle.

Dimitri whined and looked at her as if doubting her ability to help him.

“Hmm.” Joanna fished out a magnifying glass to take a closer look. She had bought it from a jeweler some years ago. It could be fixed on her forehead with a headband, so that she had both hands free to deal with finicky operations. She avoided to think how strange she looked with that contraption around her head. It seemed to be her destiny to always look her worst when dealing with a particular star. Looking through the magnifying glass, she checked the paw again. “There it is. It's a thorn, but so thin that you can hardly see it. Where did you get a thorn in all this snow, Dimitri?” She placed the paw with care back onto the table, pushed up the magnifying glass, and returned to her bag to get out the tweezers.

“I have no clue,” Conran said. “He suddenly started to limp, and I couldn't see anything. Will you have to operate on him?” He gave her a nervous look.

Joanna's heart warmed. For a man who didn't like dogs and didn't want to keep one, he acted quite out of character.
Good.

“An operation won't be necessary, I hope. I'll just take out the thorn with a pair of tweezers.”

“But will you be able to get it all out? It must be tiny if you can only see it with a magnifying lens.”

Joanna lifted Dimitri's paw again. “If the thorn should break in two, and a part should remain inside, that might give us some trouble. But let's hope we'll get it out in one piece.”

She lifted her head. “Will you hold him, please? Talk to him in a reassuring voice. I might hurt him a bit.” She picked up the tweezers.

Conran's hands held the small body of the puppy. His thumb stroked the fur in a soothing rhythm.

The tender move touched something inside her. Joanna swallowed and looked up. “I think you should put on a pair of gloves.”

He lifted his eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” she held his gaze, “you're a famous pianist and it could ruin your career if a scared dog decides to bite off a finger or two.”

Conran frowned. “Dimitri couldn't bite it off. He's not a lion.”

“True. But he might impair the use of some sinews.” She fished a pair of gloves from her bag and held them out to him. They had seen better days, but they were made of thick leather.

Conran sighed. “All right, all right.” He pulled them on, then continued to stroke the little dog who sniffed his fingers with interest.

Joanna forced herself to look away. The gloves were old and battered, but for some reason, they did not take reduce the sexy effect. What was wrong with her anyway?

One quick move, and the thin thorn slipped out of the paw.

Dimitri yelped.

“Good boy.” His voice sounded like molten chocolate.

Joanna wanted to fling herself into his arms and hear the same voice saying caressing things to her. She wanted to feel his hands on her, on her skin. She blinked. What on earth was happening to her?
You have a job to do.

She forced herself to focus and dropped some Betadine onto the small wound.

“Operation over.” She took off the magnifying lens and looked at Conran with a wide smile.

Their eyes locked.

Her mouth turned dry. She felt light-headed, as if all the blood in her head had gone elsewhere. To her heart, for example. It hammered against her ribcage like a steam-engine. She took a deep breath. “I still have some treats here, somewhere.” She took a step to the side, opened a cupboard and took out a doggy treat. She turned back, carefully avoiding his gaze, and gave the vanilla drops to Dimitri. “Here you are. You've been very brave.”

Dimitri gobbled them up and looked at her with a pleading gaze.

Joanna smiled. “Another one?” She held it out to him. As long as she didn't look into the blue eyes of his owner, she was safe. Conran filled the house in a way nobody ever had done. It made her nervous, and yet, she liked it.
What on earth is happening to me?

She took Dimitri from the table and placed him on the floor. He put his nose to the ground and started to sniff at everything, but when he did the first tentative move, she could tell that he already put weight again on the injured paw. Soon, the thorn would be a distant memory.

“Thank you.” Conran sounded relieved. “I shouldn't have barged in here, after the clinic had closed, but I was so worried.”

“That's fine.” Joanna kept her gaze on her bag as she disinfected everything and put it back. “Who gave you my address?”

“My uncle. I'm really sorry. I know it's not fair to disturb you in your private home, but . . . “ He pushed a finger between his neck and the collar of his checkered flannel shirt as if he was hot. His words petered out.

Of course.
To him, barging into someone's privacy was an unforgivable sin. No wonder he apologized as if he had tried to burn down her house. “Don't worry.” In her haste to make him feel less uncomfortable, she forgot her precaution and met his gaze. “I'm used to emergencies.”

His eyes widened. “You mean people rush into your house at all times of the night?”

She shrugged. “Well, usually they call and I go out to them. But it does happen, yes.”

He eyed her as if she was an interesting but repulsing insect. “You mean you have camera teams in your home at any given moment and even if they don't turn up, you have stray callers in the middle of the night?”

She grinned. “You make it sound as if this is the local bus station. It doesn't happen that often, I assure you. Besides, seven o'clock isn't the middle of the night.”
Even if it's pitch dark outside.