'Tis the Season (25 page)

“Well, go ahead and open it,” she suggested. “Get bummed out.”

He settled onto the sofa next to her, his weight causing the cushions to sink slightly, drawing her closer to him. The children's squeals and the whine of the toy cars zipping around the track sounded far away. They seemed even farther away when he lifted the two glasses, handed her one and tapped it with his. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured.

“Merry Christmas.” She sipped. The brandy was smooth and tart, sliding down her throat and leaving warmth in its wake. Her father hadn't taught her much about brandy, but she didn't need his expertise to know this was delicious. “Now, open your maracas.”

He lifted the box, held it as if about to shake it again
and then tore at the gift wrap. He didn't tatter it as mercilessly as his kids might have, but he wasn't exactly fastidious about getting the paper off the box. Once he'd accomplished that, he removed the lid and studied the contents. Although his smile remained, a line etched across his forehead. “What is it?”

He hated it. She'd aimed for whimsy, creativity, something he would never buy for himself or even think about. She had known she was taking a risk, but everything she did with Evan carried a risk, so this hadn't been much different.

“It's a clock,” she told him, trying to keep her tone positive. She eased the contraption out of the box so he could see it better. “See, this column marks the minutes. The small silver balls drop into the column, one per minute.” She pointed to the tube down which the balls were supposed to fall when the clock was plugged in. It was marked in increments of five. “Then, when there are sixty balls in the column, it empties and a bigger ball drops into the hours column.” She pointed to the wider tube, which was marked from one to twelve. “There are instructions on how to set it. The back is clear, so you can see the mechanism while it's working.” She rotated the contraption so he could view the back, which was constructed of clear plastic to display all the gears and levers and the motor.

“It's a clock?” He was still frowning slightly, but she detected an edge of excitement in his voice. “Let's get it running.” The instruction pamphlet in hand, he carried the clock to an outlet near the door and plugged it in. She heard repeated
thunks
as the balls dropped into place. “Wow! This is cool!” he exclaimed, a boyish eagerness
charging his voice. “This is the most amazing clock I've ever seen!”

“You like it?”

“It's great! Where in the world did you find it?”

“At a little specialty-gift shop I remembered from when I was a child.” She began to relax.

“This is really cool.” He turned the clock around so he could watch the gears turn and a wide screw rotate, lifting the minute balls up to the top of their tube. “I'm not going to get any work done ever again. I'm just going to stare at this all day.”

“I got it for you because I thought if there's anything you need, it's time.”

He left it on the floor, facing the couch, and rejoined her, his gaze lingering on his new toy. “I love it,” he murmured, scrutinizing it from that distance. He let out a hoot when another minute ball dropped down the tube. “The kids are going to want to play with it, but I won't let them. It's
mine
,” he said with exaggerated greediness. After a long moment—she wondered if he was waiting for the next ball to drop—he turned and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. “It's perfect,” he whispered.

The kiss? she wondered. Or the clock?

“I love it that you wanted to give me time,” he added, punctuating the statement with another brief kiss. “That clock comes pretty damned close.”

“It was the best I could do.”

“It's wonderful.” From across the room came the tap of a ball falling into place. His lips were so close to hers she could feel their movement as he grinned. “I wish I'd found something as wonderful for you, Fil, but I hope…” His voice trailed off as he turned from her and reached for the silver-wrapped box. His humor seemed to fade,
and she realized he was nervous about the gift he'd gotten for her. She vowed to herself that whatever it was, she would swear she loved it. Since it came from Evan, she
would
love it, no matter what.

The box was heavy. She rested it on her knees and meticulously lifted the taped corners. Unlike him and his children, she wasn't going to destroy the paper in her eagerness to get to the gift inside.

He leaned back into the upholstery, glancing at the clock when another ball rolled down the tube. She smoothed the folds of the paper and set it on the table, then studied the heavy white box. Taking a deep breath, she opened the lid and removed a layer of protective tissue. Below it was what appeared to be a crystal ball.

She suppressed the urge to laugh. Did he think that because she read cards she could divine the future in a crystal ball? Did he think she actually believed in the tarot and all that? If she did believe it, she wouldn't be here with him right now. Her cards had told her to play it safe and not get involved with him.

Yet sitting next to him on the sofa, their glasses of brandy side by side before them and the taste of his kiss still on her lips, she felt more involved with him than she'd ever felt with a man before. They hadn't known each other long, yet their lives had become intimately linked, and the hell with the tarot reading.

Cautiously, she lifted the crystal ball from the box—and realized it wasn't really a crystal ball. It was a sphere of crystal, all right, but suspended inside it was a silver crescent moon and three small, elegant silver stars. She gasped at its beauty.

He looked hopeful. “You like it?”

“Oh, yes.” She sighed, utterly transfixed. She would
take it back to New York with her and display it on her dinette table. No, on the shelf in front of the window, so what little sunlight seeped through the narrow glass would shine on it and make it shimmer.

No, she would keep it on her nightstand, so it would be the last thing she saw before she fell asleep, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.

A waxing moon. From Evan.

“It's wonderful,” she murmured, then set it carefully on the coffee table, freeing her hands so she could wrap her arms around him. The kiss she gave him was slower and deeper than the one he'd given her, but he didn't object. Quite the opposite—he opened his mouth to her, invited her in and then followed her back, his tongue dancing with hers, his mouth devouring hers. His hands moved restlessly through her hair, and when she brushed her teeth against his lower lip, he groaned and went still. Deliberately, he extricated his hands from her hair and leaned back. She saw his chest rise with each breath.

“I guess you like it, huh?” he joked, although he was hardly smiling.

“Not only because it's beautiful but because it's gloriously impractical. Maybe even more impractical than the clock.”

“I don't get to be impractical very often,” he admitted, sliding one hand down her arm until he could lace his fingers through hers. “I like being impractical with you.”

He kept her hand snugly in his as they lifted their glasses and drank. The tree sparkled. The clock dropped another ball. Filomena's gaze alighted on her moon and she smiled. Evan's shoulder felt solid against hers.

Impractical. Yes. Everything about this was impractical, and she savored it. What else was Christmas for, if
not to be impractical, to forget about the cold reality waiting outside the door and revel in the magic, believe in it, let it triumph for just this one night? What better way to celebrate Christmas than with a gift of time, time spent with a loved one, a night lit by an enchanted moon?

She wasn't sure how many balls dropped before their brandy was gone and they stirred from their companionable silence. Evan stretched and stood, his hand still clasping hers so he could pull her to her feet. Without a word, he led her out of the living room and down the hall to the den. “Bedtime, guys,” he announced.

“Daddy, you've just got to see one thing—” Billy began.

“Daddy, you should see how he made his car wiggle back and forth!” Gracie chimed in.

“Tomorrow,” Evan insisted. “You can show me tomorrow.”

“You don't have to go to work tomorrow?” Billy asked.

“Nope. The stores will be open, but I don't have to be there. So let's tidy up a bit and then it's upstairs time.”

They didn't protest too much about having to part temporarily with their new toys, although they did seem to spend longer than usual picking up their things and straightening out the room. When Gracie asked Filomena if she would read some of
Winnie-the-Pooh
to her, Filomena couldn't say no.

The evening rituals felt so normal to her, so familiar: bathing Gracie and then leaving her hairdressing to Evan. Sitting with Billy and discussing something profound and solemn. Tonight their conversation dealt with the logistics of Santa's visiting so many houses in one night.
“That's why Christmas always seems like the longest night of the year,” Billy reasoned. Then a few minutes in Gracie's room, where Filomena read the first chapter of
Winnie-the-Pooh
while Gracie clutched her Piglet doll and fought to keep her eyes open. By the time Filomena reached the end of the chapter, Gracie's eyelids had won the battle. Filomena tucked her blanket around her and tiptoed out of her room.

Evan was in Billy's room, talking about Billy's new skates. “This weekend,” he was promising, “I'll take both you kids to the rink and you can break them in, okay?”

“As long as I don't have to stay with Gracie. She goes too slow.”

“I'll skate with Gracie,” Evan promised, then glanced over his shoulder at Filomena, standing in the doorway. “Or maybe Fil will skate with her.”

She shouldn't let such suggestions invade her heart. She shouldn't allow herself to believe she was a part of this family.

“I don't mind skating slowly,” she said.

Evan kissed Billy's forehead, then backed out of the room, switching off the light. He closed the door and turned to face Filomena. His hair, as always, was adorably mussed. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his grin slightly crooked. Gazing at him, she felt a rush of emotion that wasn't quite like what she'd felt when she'd unwrapped the crystal moon, when he'd kissed her, when he'd said he liked being impractical with her. It was a combination of all those feelings and more, a soul-deep yearning to give in to the magic, just for this one magical night.

“Please don't go,” he whispered, and she understood
that he was thinking what she was thinking, feeling what she was feeling. Wanting what she was wanting.

She looped her arms around his neck and rose on tiptoe to kiss him. The only place she would go tonight was wherever Evan wanted to take her.

 

H
IS BEDROOM
was at the other end of the hall. It boasted a broad window overlooking the backyard, which was covered with a creamy layer of snow that glowed in the moonlight. Beyond the yard the forest that connected his house with hers stood dark and still, all shadow and silhouette.

Filomena had glimpsed his room once or twice but never been inside it. The children never went in there while she was baby-sitting, so she'd never had a reason to enter it.

She had a reason now, and her heart pounded in the knowledge of what that reason was. She'd thought about this moment for so long, dreamed of it, warned herself against it. She was no femme fatale, no love-'em-and-leave-'em vixen who took such things lightly. But Evan…

For one night with him, she would forget who she was and what her life was about.

He edged up behind her, sharing the view she was admiring. She felt his mouth touch the crown of her head. “I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” he confessed.

She spun around, both flattered and unnerved. “You did?”

He nodded. “That first time, when you came tramping out of the woods with Billy and Gracie and I didn't even know who you were.”

“Is that why you hired me?”

“God, no. Hiring you ruined everything. You were my kids' baby-sitter. How could I even think about making love to you?”

“Maybe you should have thought about it, anyway,” she teased. She'd certainly thought about it. Plenty of times.

“Making a pass at you, Fil…” He offered a lopsided, stunningly sexy grin. “I mean, it's not as if I'm some kind of smooth operator. I'm just an ordinary suburban dad.”

“Ordinary?” She laughed, letting her hands come to rest on his shoulders. “Evan, you are the most extraordinary man I've ever met.”

He kissed her then, a fierce, devouring kiss. Not the sort of kiss a smooth operator might give, but a kiss that communicated all his need, all his longing, the kiss of a man who had what he wanted and wasn't going to let it get away. He ran his hands along her back, as low as her hips and up again, his palms skimming the velvet of her jumper, his body radiating heat into her chest and hips as he drew her close. Then he broke from her and sighed. “Is there a zipper on this thing?” he asked.