Czytaj książkę: «Wicked Christmas Nights»

This one’s dedicated to the Blaze Babes.

It’s such a pleasure being one of you.

Merry Christmas!

1

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

WHEN LUCY FLEMING had been asked to photograph a corporate Christmas event, she’d envisioned tipsy assistants perched on the knees of grabby executives. Too much eggnog, naked backsides hitting the glass-topped copier, somebody throwing up in a desk drawer, hanky-panky in the janitor’s closet—in short, a typical high-end work party where people forgot they were professionals and played teenager-at-the-frat-party, building memories and reputations that would take an entire year to live down.

She’d been wrong. Completely wrong.

Elite Construction, who’d hired her a few days ago when their previous photographer had bailed on them, had chosen to go a different, and much more wholesome, route. They were hosting an afternoon event, a family party for all of their employees as well as important clients, and whoever they cared to bring along—including small children. Catered food, from caviar to corn dogs, appealed to every palate. There were presents beneath a huge tree, pretty decorations, music filled with jingling bells and lots of smiles. It was almost enough to give a non-Christmas person like herself a little holiday tingle.

Oh. Except for the fact that she was working with a very cranky Kris Kringle.

“If they think I’m staying late, they can bite me. I got paid for three hours, not a minute more.”

“We’re almost done,” she told the costumed man, whose bowl-full-of-jelly middle appeared homemade.

If only his nature were as true-to-character as his appearance. Though, she had to admit, right at this particular moment, his foul mood was understandable. He’d had to go dry his pants under a hand-dryer in the men’s room after one boy had gotten so excited he’d peed himself. And Santa.

To be fair, Santa wasn’t the only fraud around here this afternoon. Her own costume didn’t exactly suit her personality, either. She felt like an idiot in the old elf getup, a leftover from her college days. But the kids loved it. And a happy, relaxed kid made for an easy-to-shoot kid…and great pictures.

All in all, she’d have to say this event had been a great success. Both for Elite Construction—whose employees had to be among the happiest in the city today—and for herself. Since moving back to Chicago from New York ten months ago, she’d been trying to build her business up to the level of success she’d had back east. Things were getting better—much—but a quick infusion of cash for an easy afternoon’s work definitely helped.

Finally, after the last child in line had been seen to, Lucy eyed the chubby man in red. “I think that’s about it.” She glanced at a clock on the wall. “Five minutes to spare.”

“Damn good thing,” he said. “God, I hate kids.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open; she couldn’t help gawking. “Then why on earth do you do this?”

He pointed toward himself—his white hair, full beard, big belly. “What else am I gonna do, play the Easter bunny?”

Not unless he wanted to terrify every child on earth into swearing off candy. “Bet you can land a part in the stage version of The Nightmare Before Christmas,” she mumbled. He sure looked like the Oogie Boogie man. And was about as friendly.

Lucy turned to the children lingering around the edges of the area that had been set up as “Santa’s Workshop”—complete with fluffy fake snow, a throne and stuffed reindeer. Whoever had decorated for this party had really done a fantastic job. These kids had already had their turn on the big guy’s lap, but were still crowded around the crotchety St. Nick. “It’s time for Santa to get back to his workshop so he can finish getting ready for his big sleigh ride tomorrow night,” she announced. “Santa, do you want to say anything before you leave?”

Father Friggin’ Christmas grimaced and brushed cookie crumbs off his lap as he rose. “Be good or you won’t get nothin’,” he told them, adding a belly laugh to try to take the sting out of the words. His feigned heartiness fooled everyone under the age of ten, but certainly none of the adults. Waddling through the crowd toward the elevator, he didn’t stop to pat one youngster on the head, or tickle a single chin.

Jerk.

For her part, Lucy found the little ones in their party clothes and patent leather shoes irresistible. Sweet, happy, so filled with life and laughter and excitement. There was one boy who was so photogenic he ought to be on the cover of a magazine, and she was dying to talk to his parents about a formal sitting.

You’ve come a long way, baby.

A very long way. To think she’d once vowed to never take a Santa photo, equating kid portraiture with one of Dante’s circles of hell.

When she’d first set her sites on photography for her future, she’d argued with her brother over leaving Chicago to go to NYU to study. Then they’d argued when she’d decided to go from there to Europe, insisting she didn’t want to take baby’s-first-haircut pictures, dreaming instead of high fashion. Models and travel and exotic locations and French Vogue magazine covers.

She’d done all of that. Well, except for the magazine cover, though one of her shots had landed in a fashion week edition.

Yet, when all was said and done, she’d ended up finding her niche, her innermost talent and her satisfaction, back in the good old U.S. of A., working with children. It was, in this business, her claim to fame. Frankly, she was damn good at it. She’d made a name for herself in New York, her signature being the use of one color image in black and white shots. A toy, a piece of candy, a shirt or bandanna…something bright and sassy that demanded attention. Just like her photographs did.

Now she needed to drum up the same level of business in Chicago—which, despite her having been gone for so many years, was still her hometown. No, she’d never imagined moving back here, but when her brother, Sam, had gone through a messy divorce and seemed so lonely, she’d decided family came before anything else. She was all he had, and vice versa. So she’d returned.

Talk about changing your plans. Who’d have imagined it? Certainly not Lucy. And not her best friend from college, Kate, who still laughed about both her change in career path and in residence. Kate remembered Lucy’s home-and-kids-are-boring stance in the old days.

Kate. She needed to give the other woman a call. Lucy hadn’t seen her friend since she’d moved, though she and Kate kept in touch with frequent calls. Kate’s two children were the ones who’d really opened her mind to the wondrous possibilities of tiny faces and hands and smiles, and she wanted to make sure their Christmas presents had arrived in time.

Those gifts—and working this party in the ridiculous getup—were about the sum total of her Christmas activities this year. Her brother had to work the whole weekend, cops not getting every holiday off the way civilians did. And though she was now back near the Chicago suburb where she’d grown up, she no longer had any close friends here who might have invited her over.

Not that she would have gone. Lucy avoided Christmas like the plague, and had for years. She’d just as soon pretend the holiday wasn’t happening.

Most people would probably think that pathetic; Lucy found it a relief. Especially since the weatherman was saying a storm to rival the one at the start of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was on the way. It was supposed to roll in tonight and shut down the city with a couple of feet of the white stuff by Christmas morning. Sounded like an excellent time to be locked in her warm apartment with her Kindle and a bunch of chocolate and wine. Or chocolate wine—her new addiction.

Eyeing the gray sky through the expansive wall of windows, she began to pack up her gear. The party was winding down, only a dozen or so people remaining on this floor, which had been transformed from cubicles and meeting rooms to a holiday funland. She smiled at those nearest to her, then, seeing the glances at her silly hat, reached up to tug it off her head.

Before she could do it, however, she heard a voice. A deep, male voice—smooth and sexy, and so not Santa’s.

“I hear that you did a terrific job.”

Lucy didn’t respond, letting her brain process what she was hearing. Her whole body had stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her skin tightening into tiny goose bumps. Because that voice sounded familiar. Impossibly familiar.

It can’t be.

“It sounds like the kids had a great time.”

Unable to stop herself, she began to turn around, wondering if her ears—and all her other senses—were deceiving her. After all, six years was a long time, the mind could play tricks. What were the odds that she’d bump into him here? And today of all days. December 23. Six years exactly. Was that really possible?

One look—and the accompanying frantic thudding of her heart—and she knew her ears and brain were working just fine. Because it was him. Ross Marshall.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shocked, frozen, staring as intently as she was. “Lucy?”

She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him, wondering why the years had made him even more attractive than ever. It didn’t seem fair, or just. Not when she’d spent the past six years thinking he must have started losing that thick, golden-brown hair, or added a spare tire to that trim, muscular form or lost some of the sparkle from those green eyes.

Huh-uh.

The man was gorgeous. Truly, without-a-doubt, mouth-wateringly handsome, and every bit as hot as he’d been the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But he wasn’t that young, lean, hungry-looking guy anymore. Now he was all fully realized, powerful, strong—and devastatingly attractive—man.

She’d been twenty-two when they met, he two years older. And during the brief time they’d spent together, Ross had blown away all her preconceived notions of who she was, what she wanted and what she would do when the right guy came along.

He’d been her first lover.

They’d shared an amazing holiday season. But after that one Christmas, they had never seen each other again. Until now.

Well, doesn’t this just suck?

“Hello, Ross,” she murmured, wondering when her life had become a comedy movie. Because wasn’t this always the way those things opened? The plucky, unlucky-in-love heroine coming face-to-face with the one guy she’d never been able to forget while dressed in a ridiculous costume? It was right out of central casting 101—what else could she be wearing other than a short green dress with bells and holly on the collar, red-and-white striped hose, pointy-toed shoes and the dippy green hat with the droopy feather? The only thing that could make the scene more perfect was if she’d been draped across the grouchy Santa’s lap, trying to evade his gropey hands, when the handsome hero came up to rescue her.

He did rescue you once. Big time.

Her heart twisted, as it always did when she thought about that…The way Ross had been there for her in what could have been a horrible moment. Whatever had happened later—however much she resented him now—she would never forget that he’d been there to keep her from getting hurt.

But that had been a long time ago. She was no longer that girl and she no longer needed any man’s rescue.

“It’s really you,” he murmured.

“In the flesh.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“That makes two of us,” she admitted.

Her brain scrambled to find more words, to form thoughts or sentences. But she just couldn’t. If she’d woken up this morning to find her bed had floated up into the sky on a giant helium balloon, she couldn’t have been more surprised than she was right now.

Or more disturbed.

Because she wasn’t supposed to see him again. Wasn’t supposed to care again. Wasn’t supposed to even think of getting hurt by him again.

She’d played this scene once, and at exactly this time of year. No way was she ready for a repeat.

She knew all that, knew it down to her soul. So why, oh why, was her heart singing? Crazy expression that, but it was true. There was music in her head and brightness in her eyes and a smile fought to emerge on her lips.

Because it was Ross. The guy she’d met exactly six years ago today. The man she’d fallen crazy in love with.

At Christmastime.

2

Then

New York, December 23, 2005

HMM. DECISIONS, decisions.

Lucy honestly wasn’t sure what would be the best tool for the job. After all, it wasn’t every day she was faced with a project of this magnitude. As a photography student at NYU, she usually spent more time worrying about creating things rather than hacking them up.

Big knife? No, she might not get the right angle and could end up cutting herself.

Scissors? Probably not strong enough to cut through that.

Razor? She doubted her Venus was up to the task, and had no idea how to get one of those old-fashioned straightedged ones short of robbing a barber.

A chainsaw or a hatchet?

Probably overkill. And killing wasn’t the objective.

After all, she didn’t really want to kill Jude Zacharias. She just wanted to separate him from his favorite part of his cheating anatomy. AKA: the part he’d cheated with.

Lucy didn’t even realize she’d been mumbling aloud. Not until her best friend, Kate, who sat across from her in this trendy Manhattan coffee-and-book shop interjected, “You’re not going to cut off his dick, so stop fantasizing about it.”

Nobody immediately gasped at Kate’s words, so obviously they hadn’t been overheard. Not surprising—they were tucked in a back corner of the café. Plus, Beans & Books was crowded with shoppers frenzied by the realization that they only had one and a half shopping days left before Christmas. Each was listening only to the holiday countdown clock in his or her head.

“Have you stopped fantasizing about having sex with Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal at the same time?” she countered.

“Hey, that could actually happen,” Kate said with a smirk. “It’s at least possible. Unlike the chance that you, Miss Congeniality, would actually go all Bobbitt on a guy’s ass, even if he does totally deserve it.”

It wasn’t Jude’s ass she wanted to…Bobbit. She knew, however, that Kate was right. Lucy wasn’t the violent type, except in her fantasies. She might have fun playing a mental game of why-I-oughta but she knew nothing would come of it.

“Can’t I at least wallow and scheme for an hour?”

“Sure. But we should’ve done it over beer or tequila in a dive bar. Coffee in a crowded shop just doesn’t lend itself to wallowing and scheming.”

True. Especially now that this place was no longer the same quiet, cozy hangout she’d loved since coming to New York three and a half years ago. It had once been her favorite place to meet up with friends, do some homework, or just enjoy the silence amid the scent of freshly ground arabica beans.

Since a recent renovation, though, it had turned from a cute, off-the-beaten-track coffee bar into a crazed, credit-card magnet, filled with overpriced gift books, calendars and stationery. Driven city dwellers who excelled at multitasking were flocking to the place to kill two birds with one stone. They could buy a last minute gift for Great-Aunt Susie—a ridiculously overpriced coffee table book titled The Private Lives of Garden Gnomes, perhaps—while they waited for their Lite Pomegranate Vanilla Oolang Tea Lattes with whip.

Christmas had been reduced to expedience, kitsch and trendy drinks. Fortunately for her, she’d dropped out of the holiday a few years ago and had no intention of dropping back in.

“Face it, girlfriend, revenge just ain’t your style. You’re as violent as a Smurf.” Kate grinned. “Or one of Santa’s elves.”

“Not funny,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. “So not funny.”

Her friend knew how much she disliked the silly costume she had to wear for her “internship” with a local photographer. Intern? Ha. She was a ridiculously dressed unpaid Christmas elf wiping the drool off kids’ chins as they sat on Santa’s lap. What could be more sad to someone who dreamed of being a serious photographer? Someone who was leaving to study abroad in Paris next month, and hoped to go back there to live after graduation? Someone who planned to spend the next several years shooting her way across Europe, one still image at a time?

That girl shouldn’t care about Jude. That girl didn’t care about Jude.

But at this moment, Lucy didn’t feel like that girl. For all the violent fantasies, what this girl felt right now was hurt.

“You know, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out why I ever went out with him in the first place.” She swallowed, hard. “I should have known better.”

Kate’s smirk faded and she reached over to squeeze Lucy’s hand. Kate had been witness to what had been Lucy’s most humiliating moment ever. Said moment being when Lucy had let herself in to her boyfriend Jude’s apartment, to set up his big surprise birthday party that was scheduled for tonight.

Surprise! Your boyfriend is a lying, cheating asshat!

Jude had already gotten started on his birthday celebration. Contrary to his claim that he was going to “pop in” on his family for the day, Jude had apparently decided to stay in town and pop in on his neighbor’s vagina.

At least, that’s who Lucy thought had been kneeling in front of the sofa with Jude’s johnson in her mouth when she and Kate had walked into the apartment. She couldn’t be certain. They only saw the back of the bare-ass naked woman’s head—oh, plus her bare ass and, uh, the rest of her nether regions. Ew, ew, ew. She was still fighting the urge to thrust two coffee stirrers into her eyes to gouge out the image burned onto her retinas. If she’d ever had any doubt she was strictly hetero, her response to that sight would have removed it.

“Maybe I should ask Teddy to beat him up.”

Teddy, Kate’s boyfriend, was as broad as a table, and could snap Jude like a twig. There was just one problem. “He’s more of a pacifist than I am,” Lucy said with a smile, knowing Kate had intended to make her laugh. Teddy was the sweetest guy on the planet. “Besides, we both know Jude’s not worth the trouble.”

“No, he’s not.” Then Kate grinned. “I am glad you got off a couple of good zingers, though. I still can’t believe you asked him if the store was out of birthday candles and that’s why he’d found something else that needed to be blown.”

That, she had to admit, had been a pretty good line. It was a rare occurrence; the kind of one-liner she usually would have thought of hours later, when reliving the awful experience in her mind. Though, in this instance, since she was now feeling more sad than anything else, she might have been picturing herself asking him why he’d felt the need to be so deceitful.

If he’d told her it wasn’t working out and he wanted to see other people, would she have been devastated?

No. A little disappointed, probably, but not crushed.

But to be cheated on—and to walk in on it? That rankled.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to speak. I’da been busy ripping the extensions outta that ho’s head,” Kate added.

“She didn’t cheat on me, Jude did.” Then, curious, she asked, “How do you know they were extensions?”

“Honey, that carpet so didn’t match those drapes.”

Though a peal of laughter emerged from her mouth, Lucy also groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, wishing for a bleach eye-wash. “Don’t remind me!”

Funny that she could actually manage to laugh. Maybe that said a lot about where her feelings for Jude had really been. This girlfriend-gripe session wasn’t so much about Lucy’s broken heart as it was her disappointed expectations.

She’d really wanted Jude to be a nice guy. A good guy.

Face it, you just wanted someone in your life.

Maybe that was true. Seeing the former man-eater Kate so happy was inspiring. But her brother Sam’s recent engagement had also really affected her. Their tiny family unit—made even tinier when they’d been left alone in the world after the deaths of their parents—was going to change. Sam had found someone, he was forming a new family, one she’d always be welcome in but wasn’t actually a major part of.

She’d wanted something like that, too. Or at least the possibility of something like that, someday. Heck, maybe deep down she also just hadn’t wanted to haul her virginity along with her to Europe, and had been hoping she’d finally found the guy who would truly inspire her to shuck it.

Yes, that was probably why she’d let down her guard and gotten involved with Jude when she’d known he wasn’t the right one in the long run. Being totally honest, she knew she was more sad at the idea of losing the boyfriend than at losing the actual guy. Not to mention continuing to carry the virgin mantle around her neck.

“Well, at least you didn’t sleep with him!” said Kate, who’d had more lovers than Lucy had had birthdays.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, sipping her coffee, meaning it. Because being stuck with a hymen was better than having let somebody so rotten remove it.

Something inside her must have recognized that about him, and held her back. Deep down she’d known there was something wrong about the relationship, even though he’d gone out of his way to make it seem so very right.

Maybe Lucy really was the oldest living virgin in New York—kept that way throughout high school by her badass older brother’s reputation, and throughout college out of her own deep-rooted romantic streak. Whatever the reason, she’d waited this long. So, as much as she wanted to know what all the fuss was about, she hadn’t been about to leap into bed with Jude just because he’d said he liked her photography and opened the door for her when they went out, unlike most other college-aged dudes she knew.

Good thing. Because it had all been an act. The nice, patient, tender guy didn’t exist. Jude had put on that persona the way somebody else might don a Halloween costume, sliding into it to be the man she wanted, then taking it off—along with the rest of his clothes—when she wasn’t around. He shouldn’t be studying to be an attorney, an actor would be much more appropriate. God, could she have been any more gullible?

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she really had no business living on her own in New York or, worse, going off to Europe. Perhaps she was a lamb in the midst of wolves. She should’ve just stayed in the Chicago suburb where they’d grown up, gone to community college, done first-communion portraits at Sears, married a nice local guy and gotten to work on producing cousins for Sam’s future kids. At least then she wouldn’t be sitting here all sad at being cheated on by someone she’d hoped was Prince Charming.

“More like King Creeper,” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about Jude.”

Kate nodded, frowned and muttered, “Why are most men jerks? Other than Teddy, of course.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“There have to be other decent men out there, right?”

“Sam’s one,” Lucy admitted. “And my Dad sure was.”

“Mine is, too.” Kate frowned in thought. “Your father managed a car dealership, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And your brother, Sam, is a cop. My dad’s in sales, and Teddy’s a trucker. Hmm.”

“Your point being?”

Kate tapped the tip of her finger on her mouth. “Most of the guys you’ve dated have been like Jude. Rich, future attorneys, politicians, doctors…and dickheads, one and all.”

Lucy nodded, conceding the point.

“And that’s the type I dated, before I met Teddy.”

She started to get the picture. “Ahh.”

“So maybe you need to look for an everyday guy, who works hard for a living, hasn’t had everything handed to him.”

That sounded ideal. Unfortunately Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone like that. They sure didn’t seem to be on the campus of NYU.

“A guy who’s so hot he makes you stick to your chair when you watch his muscles bunch under his sweaty T-shirt as he works,” Kate said, sounding lost in thought. She was staring past Lucy, as if visualizing this blue collar studmuffin. “Who knows what to do with his hands, and has enough self-confidence that he doesn’t have to show off in front of a woman.”

Not used to Kate being so descriptive—but definitely liking the description—Lucy could only nod.

“Somebody like him.”

This time, Kate’s stare was pointed and her gaze speculative. Surprised, Lucy quickly turned to look over her shoulder, toward the front corner of the shop, and saw the him in question.

And oh, wow, what a him.

He was young—in his early twenties, probably, like her. But he didn’t look much like the guys she interacted with on a daily basis at school. He had on a pair of faded, worn jeans, that hung low on his very lean hips. They were tugged down even further by the work belt he wore over them, which was weighted with various tools. Powerful hammers, long screwdrivers, steely drills. All hard. Strong. Stiff.

Get your mind out of his toolbelt.

She did, shaking her head quickly to get her attention going in another direction. Of course, there wasn’t any other direction to go…he was hot any way you looked at it.

So she looked at it. Er, him.

Lucy lifted her gaze, taking in the whole tall, lean, powerful package. Though he wore the tools of the trade, he was not built like a brawny construction-worker type. Strong, yes, but with a youthful leanness—Hugh Jackman as Leopold, not as Wolverine.

Yum.

His entire body told tales of hard work An impressive set of abs rippled visibly beneath the sweat-tinged T-shirt. His broad chest and thickly muscled arms moved with almost poetic precision as he finished installing a new bookcase in the back corner of the shop.

He lifted one arm and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, which just emphasized the handsomeness of his face, seen only in profile. He had a strong, square jaw, a straight nose. High cheekbones emphasized the lightly stubbled hollows below, lending his lean face an air of youth and power.

His light brown hair was longish, a little shaggy, and he swept it back from his brow with an impatient hand. Seeing the strong hands in motion made Lucy let out a long, slow breath, and when he turned around and she beheld him from the back, she had to suck in another one. Oh, my, did the man know how to fill out a pair of jeans.

Apparently she wasn’t the only woman who’d noticed. What she’d taken for shopper’s distraction earlier she now realized had been female appreciation for the beautiful display of raw, powerful male in the corner. Every other woman in the place was either sneaking peeks or outright gaping.