A Bride For Christmas Page 9

  Ben, her heart screamed. Ben. I’m not ready to let you go.

  ‘He’s my husband,’ she whispered. ‘He’s in my heart. I thought you at least would know that.’

  Guy stood, gazing down at her in the silence.

  ‘I do know that.’

  ‘Then why…?’

  ‘You make me feel different.’

  ‘You make me feel different, too,’ she said, and she put her hand up to his face and cupped the curve of his jaw. The feeling she had then…it was indescribable. Say yes, her heart screamed. Say yes before he changes his mind.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘You must see it’s impossible.’

  ‘Why is it impossible?’

  ‘Henry…’

  ‘Henry would come with us,’ he said strongly, taking her hands in his, trying to make her see where his thoughts had taken him. ‘You can’t tell me he’s getting optimal medical treatment here. The world’s best doctors are in New York.’

  She stilled. ‘You’d take us both to New York?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But our home is here.’

  ‘I have a massive apartment in Manhattan. You can see the Statue of Liberty from-’

  ‘Our home is here.’ Her voice was flat, without inflexion, and suddenly desperately weary. ‘Do you think I could leave Lorna?’

  ‘Lorna has Jack.’

  ‘She does. And she has me. And she has Henry. We’re family, Guy.’

  ‘You don’t need family.’

  ‘At Christmas?’ she whispered. ‘You’re saying that two days before Christmas? That I don’t need a family?’

  ‘Hell, Jenny…’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, trying hard to be strong. ‘We hardly know each other.’

  ‘And yet you feel what I’m feeling.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Jenny,’ he said, and the hands holding her shoulders suddenly firmed. ‘You’re lying.’

  Of course she was lying. Whatever he was feeling she was feeling, too. Multiplied by about a thousand. He drew her into him, his lips met hers, and she felt…She felt…

  Heat.

  The word slammed in her mind as the sensation slammed through her. Heat. A conflagration that was all-consuming, starting from her lips and flooding through the rest of her. As if she was dry tinder and a match had been held to the all-too-ready fuel.

  She wanted him with every inch of her being. Her lips opened under his. She welcomed him with joy. Her hands came around his chest and tugged him closer.

  Guy.

  The kiss went on and on. Neither could stop it. Why should they?

  Guy had asked her to marry him. This man who was holding her, who was making her feel as if life itself could start now…

  Guy.

  He was her employer.

  The thought slammed into her mind and somehow it steadied her. The thought had her remembering that her feet were planted on Sandpiper Bay ground-and had to stay that way. Somehow she tugged back, and Guy gazed down at her in the moonlight, concerned.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart?’

  What right did he have to call her sweetheart? She loved it, she decided. But…she couldn’t.

  ‘Guy, leave it,’ she demanded, and he let her take a further step back. The fact that her body was screaming to remain in his hold had to be ignored. It must be.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘If you weren’t my boss I’d slap your face,’ she managed.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For taking liberties.’

  ‘You want to be kissed.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You do.’ He was teasing her with his eyes. He was smiling down at her. And there was such…love?

  She was imagining it. Love? No.

  She was married to Ben.

  ‘I still love Ben,’ she said, and tilted her chin.

  ‘Maybe I still love Christa. But it’s memories that we love, and memories make cold bedfellows.’

  ‘You want me in bed?’ She’d started to shake, and it wasn’t from cold. Bed with this man…Bed with Guy…

  ‘A man would have to be inhuman not to want you in his bed.’

  She could do it, she thought. She could just step forward into this man’s invitation and let her life be taken over.

  She could be Guy Carver’s wife.

  The thought scared her witless. She steadied, trying desperately to see his invitation for what it was.

  For some reason he wanted her. Well, maybe that wasn’t so strange. Because she wanted him, too.

  But he was a billionaire, and he lived in New York in a massive apartment. Henry would have the best doctors, and she…She…

  She’d be Guy Carver’s wife.

  It seemed so ridiculous that she almost laughed. Almost.

  ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t know Henry.’

  ‘I know that I want you.’

  ‘But I…’ She tilted her chin again and met his gaze, knowing what had to be said and knowing she had to say it. ‘Guy, I want family.’

  ‘I’m offering-’

  ‘Your name. Your millions. It’s a fantastic offer.’ She managed a rueful smile. ‘There’s probably thousands of women who’d jump at what you’re offering. And if I was alone maybe I could make a go of it. You’re saying we’re sexually attracted, and we definitely are, but that’s not enough to build a marriage. I’m Cinderella and you’re Prince Charming, but I have a feeling that marriage for Cinders had its downside.’

  ‘I’ve never heard any fairytale where they divorce,’ he said, startled, but she refused to smile.

  ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But being all alone in his castle, with everyone knowing she’d come from rags to riches…she’d have to be grateful for ever. And if she’d had a son, then that little boy might feel the same and resent it.’

  ‘You’re flying off at tangents,’ he said, half laughing, and she grimaced.

  ‘I am,’ she said softly. ‘But I’m thinking forward. You see, I must. I have a future, but it’s inextricably tied up with Henry’s future, and Lorna’s and Jack’s and this little town.’ Her chin tilted some more. ‘When I first came here I was needful,’ she told him. ‘This little town made me happy, and I’ll not walk away because you make me feel wonderful.’

  ‘I make you feel wonderful?’ he demanded, pouncing on her words, and she felt a stab of sudden anger.

  ‘Of course,’ she said scornfully. ‘But you’ve jumped in at the deep end. You’ve figured for some reason that you want me, and the easiest way to have me is to install me in Manhattan and have me in the pieces of time you have left over from the rest of your life.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  He couldn’t see?

  She had to be grown-up for the pair of them, she thought miserably. She had to be sensible. Her heart had to be ignored. She was a married woman with a son to care for. With responsibilities. With Christmas in two days and she hadn’t even made her mince pies.

  ‘If you don’t know then I can’t teach you,’ she said. She took a deep breath, leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. A feather kiss that was over before he could react. Then she stepped back and felt for the handle of her wagon door. She slid in, still looking at him.

  ‘Thank you for the proposal,’ she whispered. ‘It was…magic. But you’re my boss, Guy, and that’s the way it has to stay. Now I’m going home. To my family. I have Christmas to organise.’

  He’d made a proper hash of that.

  How could he go home to sleep? He couldn’t. So he made his way to the little beach where he and Jenny and Henry had swum only days before.

  Family.

  What was she asking him to do? Take Lorna and Jack as well as Henry back to New York with him?

  No. She wasn’t asking anything of him, he thought. She was simply looking at his offer in surprise and rejecting it out of hand.

  It wasn’t a ridiculous offer. H
e’d made it to no other woman but Christa.

  Christa would have been happy with what he was offering Jenny, he thought. He could have provided everything she’d needed. She would have been able to do whatever she’d wanted.

  Jenny wasn’t Christa.

  Christa had been easier. He’d known what Christa had wanted. She’d wanted what their parents wanted: prestige and money.

  He had that. He was offering it to Jenny, and she’d knocked it back. What else did he have to offer her?

  Nothing.

  So move on, he told himself. You offered to marry her because you felt sorry for her.

  Was that right?

  No. It was much more. He wanted Jenny in his bed.

  So it’s sympathy and sex. You can find sex elsewhere. She doesn’t want the sympathy. You’ve made your offer and it’s been rejected. So move on.

  Back to thinking of Jenny as an employee?

  She wasn’t the least like an employee.

  She was just…Jenny.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE next day was frantic. Barret and Anna and entourage arrived, and had to be taken through the arrangements. Then the arrangements had to be tweaked so bride and groom were happy, and those tweaks weren’t insubstantial. Guy, who’d worked with both Barret and Anna before, did the front work while Jenny stayed in the background.

  Last night might not have happened. She was briskly efficient and very, very capable.

  ‘There’s an extra bridesmaid? Get her here by two this afternoon and we’ll fit her out. We have half a ton of pink tulle, and our seamstresses are enjoying themselves.’

  ‘Anna doesn’t like the wedding cake? No, that’s okay. We’ll soak it in brandy and call it Christmas pudding for the party afterwards. I can get a couple of ladies onto sponge cakes now. Have her draw up details of decorations.’

  ‘Gifts for the bridesmaids? Pearls? Yes, it’s too late to get seven identical necklaces locally, but I can contact a jeweller in Sydney and have them couriered.’

  She reassured him every time he called her, and after every call he felt about ten years old and as if she was his schoolteacher.

  That was the tone she was taking, he thought. Cool, distant and bossy.

  She was also never there. Every time he found an opportunity to visit the shop she was somewhere else.

  ‘She hasn’t finished her Christmas shopping,’ one of the sewing ladies told him.

  The three women seemed to be having a wonderful time, sitting in the back room with a vat of coffee and half a ton of chocolate biscuits, their fingers flying. ‘I think she’s gone to find a present for Lorna.’

  ‘Hush!’ Guy turned to the shop’s entrance to see Jack pushing Lorna’s wheelchair inside. ‘I don’t like knowing my presents before Christmas Day,’ Lorna called. ‘So if you know, don’t tell. Guy, I’m pleased we found you.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ he said, and then thought maybe he shouldn’t be that blunt. Jenny obviously loved this woman. It was just…Lorna was part of the family thing that was threatening to engulf him.

  ‘I won’t hold you up,’ Lorna replied, her voice holding a hint of reproof. ‘And I’m not asking any favours, so you can stop looking like that. We just called to remind you that you’re doing the Santa run in your Ferrari tomorrow. You need to be at our place at nine. Henry’s really looking forward to it.’

  Hell, he’d forgotten. He’d also forgotten Henry’s face when he’d thought it might happen.

  But…

  Why not ignore a few buts here? he told himself. He could do this. It didn’t mean getting emotionally involved-or any more emotionally involved than he already was.

  Okay, he’d do it, and then he’d walk away. He’d moved his return flight to the day after Christmas. His escape route was organised.

  How could you ask a woman to marry you and then look forward to getting back to your own life?

  He was having an internal conversation, watched by Lorna and Jack and three seamstresses, but the conversation went on regardless.

  Easy, he told himself. I didn’t ask to join her life. I asked if she’d join mine.

  No wonder she refused you.

  ‘Fine,’ he managed, and if he sounded ungracious he couldn’t help himself. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Great,’ Jack said warmly. ‘We’ll hang up a stocking for you.’

  ‘A stocking?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ Lorna said. ‘Our Santa does the best stockings.’

  ‘He’s still coming for Christmas dinner?’

  ‘Of course he is. He promised. And he’s coming at nine for stockings. He’s cute,’ Lorna told her daughter-in-law. ‘He drives a wonderful car. Henry thinks he’s the ant’s pants.’

  ‘Guy Carver is not the ant’s pants. He is an American billionaire who happens to be my boss…’

  ‘I’m sewing him a stocking.’

  ‘Lorna, he can’t have a stocking.’

  ‘Everyone in the whole world needs a stocking. Now, what will Santa put in it?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHRISTMAS morning.

  Guy woke, as was his custom, at five a.m. There was nothing to do.

  There had to be something. One of the biggest celebrity weddings of the year was scheduled for five this afternoon.

  He lay and watched the weak rays of dawn flitter across his counterpane, mentally ticking off everything that had to be done.

  He’d made huge lists, and Jenny had delegated.

  Every person in the town seemed to have something to do. The normal sleeping-in-front-of-television end to Christmas Day was not going to happen in Sandpiper Bay. Jenny had hauled in every local, and a few tourists as well, and she’d given everyone a job.

  And the best thing was that nearly all of them were doing it for nothing.

  ‘Barret and Anna can pay,’ Guy had growled, when Jenny had told him.

  ‘Yes, but most of the town’s folk believe in Christmas.’

  ‘So what’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘They believe it’s wrong to work on Christmas Day. But if it’s for something like aiding the tsunami effort it’ll strike a chord. One of our local kids is working in the international aid effort and…’

  ‘You’re asking Barret and Anna to give a donation to charity?’

  ‘No. I’m asking Barret and Anna to pay a fair price for labour and then we’ll give it away.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe for you it doesn’t,’ she agreed. ‘But for us…it’s our way.’ She glared at him. ‘If you want to take our profits for yourself…’

  ‘Whoa,’ he told her. And then he thought, What sort of employer/employee relationship was this? She’d just given away his profits.

  But there had been no arguing, and now the whole town had jobs to do for the good of the tsunami relief effort. He could lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and think he should be back in New York.

  Why should he be back in New York? Christmases back home were simply an excuse for ostentation.

  He hated Christmas. Even before Christa had died he’d hated Christmas.

  Five a.m. Nothing to do until nine.

  He hated Christmas.

  Nine. He walked up the veranda steps, carrying expensive truffles and vintage wine. The screen door slammed open and a pyjama-clad urchin catapulted through, crutches tumbling as Henry toppled forward to hug his legs.

  A Labrador puppy came bouncing after him. The puppy reached Henry and Henry abandoned Guy. He sat down on the veranda and shoved his nose into the puppy’s soft fur.

  ‘This is Patsy,’ he told Guy, his voice muffled by puppy. ‘She was on my bed when I woke up, and she’s all mine, and I have to train her.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Guy said, feeling…emotional. That was the end of that resolution, then.

  ‘And there’s more.’ Small boy and pup looked up at him, eyes glistening with Christmas joy. ‘We’ve been waiting and waiting, and Santa’s been, and there’s stockings for
everyone. But Mummy says we can’t open them until you come.’

  ‘Come on in,’ Jenny said, and he raised his eyes from her son and smiled at Jenny.

  She was simply dressed in clean jeans and T-shirt-a T-shirt adorned with sequins carefully sewn on to make a picture of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

  She had two glowing Santa Clauses hanging from her ears.

  She was smiling. Who needed grinning Santa Clauses when there was a smile like this?

  ‘You’re overdressed,’ she told him. ‘A suit at nine on Christmas morning? Pyjamas are more the go.’

  ‘I don’t wear them,’ he told her, and she blushed. A great blush. It made him want to…

  Keep it impersonal, he told himself harshly.

  ‘Well, at least wear a Christmas hat,’ she said, and handed him a hat. Then, when he didn’t react, she took it back, reached up and placed it on his head. A red and white Santa hat.

  Forget the hat. She was so close. She smelled of pine needles and mince pies and…and Jenny.

  There was mistletoe over his head. He couldn’t see it but he was sure of it. The desire to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless was suddenly overwhelming.

  But Lorna was at the door, with Jack behind her, laughing and calling for them to come in.

  ‘It’s all very well for Henry,’ Jack complained, ‘he’s got his puppy. But every single one of my presents is still wrapped, and if we don’t get to these stockings soon I’m going to bust.’

  Comparisons of this Christmas to every other Christmas he’d known were ludicrous. As a child he remembered formal Christmas mornings, drinks with business acquaintances where children were seen and not heard. A ludicrously over-the-top lunch where he was the only child-he hated the food and he hated the waiting, the waiting…Then his parents would sleep off their lunch, and some time towards evening his mother would call him in and they’d open their gifts. They weren’t permitted to open them early as ‘the tree looks so much better with gifts under it, and we’ll keep that effect until all our guests have gone.’

  Whatever his gift was, it would have been exquisitely wrapped and he’d have to admire the wrapping.