Starstruck

His journalism degree had been his ticket out, and now he earned his keep by traveling the globe and writing about it for tourists. And with any luck, one day he’d supplement that income with royalties from the Max Dalton novels he was currently trying to sell.

He’d landed an agent with the first book, and she was about to begin pitching it to publishers. The entire process was nerve-wracking, and he was trying to bury the nervousness by burying himself in the second Max Dalton adventure. An adventure in which Max teamed up with another operative—a female—who may or may not be an ally, and who was most definitely a lover.

And who in his head was all Alyssa.

Chris still remembered the day she’d moved in. She’d been trying to drag a battered, butt-ugly recliner from her rental truck to her apartment. He’d offered either to help her carry it or torch it, her choice. She’d gawked at him for a long second, and at first he’d feared he’d gone too far. Then she’d collapsed into the recliner, bent over with peals of laughter. The chair was a gift from her father, she’d said. “He has terrible taste, and he never should have spent the money on the damn thing, but I love him.” She shrugged. “So it’ll get a place of honor in the living room.”

The next day, she’d knocked on his door, and invited him over to see how she’d “done up that hideous chair.” He’d walked inside, then breathed deeply of the smell of cinnamon and cloves that seemed to fill her apartment, a scent that now belonged entirely to Alyssa, prompting delicious thoughts of her at random times and locations. Especially now, during the holiday season.

As for the chair, it was tucked into a corner next to an absolutely hideous gold-plated floor lamp decorated with flying cupids. She’d hung a velvet painting of dogs playing poker behind the chair, and set off the entire area with a small gold shag rug that looked like a reject from an Austin Powers movie set. The corner was in utter contrast to the rest of the living room, with its soft lines and feminine colors.

“I’m calling it the corner of testosterone,” she said, and he could see her lips twitch with suppressed laughter.

“I think my testosterone is offended,” he’d said dryly. She’d stared for a moment, and then her laugh had burst forth. “Seriously, though, I like it.”

And that combination—that subtly sexy girl who was willing to be a little bit silly because she loved her dad—completely swept Chris off his feet.

Not that he’d told Alyssa that. Alyssa knew he was alive, of course, but she thought of him as a friend, not a flesh-and-blood man. A sad state of affairs for which he had no one to blame but himself.

At first, she’d been dating some guy—Bob, Bill, something—who had never been good enough for Alyssa. And Chris didn’t put the moves on attached women, no matter how sexy they were.

But even when that happy day had come and she’d kicked Bob to the curb, Chris still hadn’t made a move. Hadn’t even hinted how he felt.

She’d come to him, told him about the breakup, and suggested they watch something fast-paced and mindless on his big-screen television.

He couldn’t say no, of course, and though she’d seemed fascinated by the car chases and explosions, he’d spent the movie wondering how to tell the woman who’d become one of his best friends that he’d fallen hard and fast for her. And then, when the movie had ended, she’d smiled at him with sad eyes and reached for his hands. There’d been a window of opportunity right then. A single short window during which he could have done what Max Dalton would have so smoothly done—leaned in and kissed her. Told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted to be more than friends.

But while Chris might write Max Dalton, that didn’t mean he walked the walk. Especially not where women were concerned. A sad reality that was cemented when she’d said, “Thanks for letting me hang out with you. I really need a solid friend right now.”

He’d swallowed. Her words had felt much the way he imagined a knife to the heart felt like. Sharp and painful and totally deadly.

He knew then he had no chance with this woman. Not as a rebound guy. Not as anything.

It was, he’d thought, one hell of a crappy wake-up call.

Still, he needed to do something. More and more, she was on his mind. Creeping into his dreams. Into his books. Hell, Max Dalton was not a one-woman kind of guy. He got in, he got out, he did the job, and he blew shit up. He didn’t turn all gooey for a girl.

Except lately, he did. And Chris had a feeling that unless he got Alyssa out of his system, Max Dalton was going to turn into a one-woman man, and then where would Chris be? Probably writing a romance novel instead of the second testosterone-laden spy thriller he’d told his agent was in the works.

Max Dalton wouldn’t let thoughts of a woman torment him like that. He’d just sidle up to her, whisper in her ear and take her to bed.

A nice fantasy, but that’s all it was. A fantasy.

Chris wanted more. Warmth and reality and lazing around in bed with the paper on Sunday morning. Shoving jeans and T-shirts into backpacks and taking off for Paris on the spur of the moment. Hiking along a beach at sunset, especially a white-sand beach in some exotic location.

And damned if he didn’t want that with Alyssa.

Frustrated with himself, Chris got up from his desk and stretched, his eyes wandering to his door as he did so. He needed to get his ass in gear and start packing. He had to catch a flight first thing in the morning.

The phone rang, and though he considered ignoring it, he knew he had to answer. Technically, he was already on assignment, and if it was Greg, his editor at Tourist and Travel, then Chris really did have to take the call.

Caller ID showed only a New York area code, and he snatched it up, expecting Greg and instead hearing the harsh, cigarette-soaked voice of Lilian Ashbury, the powerhouse agent Chris still couldn’t believe he’d landed.

“How fast can you finish the second Max Dalton book and get me an outline for the third?” she asked without preamble.

“Happy holidays to you, too, Lil.”

“Bah humbug. It’s slush and ice up here, not a damn thing to be happy about.”

“Is that why you’re working on a Saturday?”

“I’m tireless in my efforts to represent you,” she said, deadpan. “I had lunch with Roger Eckhard,” she said, referring to a senior editor at Main Street Books, Chris’s dream publisher. “I pitched him the book, and he loves the concept. He’s leaving on the fifth to start the New Year with two weeks in Italy, and I want him to take both manuscripts and an outline for the third with him. We want him looking at this series like a franchise, and you as the next Ian Fleming. If he does, I think we can expect the kind of offer that will make you a very happy man.”

“I—”

“Just say ‘Thank you, Lil.’ And ‘No problem, Lil.’”

“No problem, Lil,” he said, fighting a grin. He’d make it work. No sense telling his agent that the proximity of his next door neighbor was keeping his head in a decidedly un-Max-like mode. But that was okay. Because he was about to go spend a week in New Mexico in a flashy, splashy resort. He’d shift between writing the article for Tourist and Travel and writing pages of Max Dalton’s next installment. He’d hole himself up in his hotel room, crank out the pages, and produce some fabulous shit.

With over six hundred miles between him and Alyssa, how hard could it be?

3

“GEORGE BAILEY, I’LL love you ’til the day I die.”

“Awww.” Alyssa sank down into her overstuffed sofa and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

Claire tossed a handful of popcorn at her. “The movie’s barely even started.”

“I know,” Alyssa said with a sniffle. “But I know what’s going to happen.” She sniffed again, then blew her nose. “It just gets me every time.

“And the alcohol’s probably not helping.”

“You’re the one who insisted on peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate.”

Alyssa couldn’t argue with that. And, hey, the libations had done their job. They’d both come home from the carriage ride in a funk. The original plan had been to pick out a handful of the many invitations they’d both received and go party-hopping, hoping they’d slide gracefully into the holiday spirit.

But after they’d climbed into Claire’s car, neither one had the energy, and they’d ended up at Alyssa’s apartment, trying to drown their depression in schnapps-laced hot chocolate and a hefty dose of Frank Capra.

“Why can’t we be like Mary Hatch and get a guy like George Bailey?” Alyssa asked.

Claire lifted a brow. “You don’t want a guy like George Bailey. He wants to travel and never has money to fix up his house.”

“It’s a movie, Claire,” Alyssa said, even though her friend was absolutely right.

“You want Sam Wainwright,” Claire said, exhibiting perfect understanding. “The hardcore businessman to George Bailey’s laid-back guy.”

“Alas, there are no Sam Wainwrights in Dallas.”

“Russell Starr,” Claire said, then sat back looking proud of herself.

“What about him?”

“Not two hours ago you told me he was your fantasy man.”

“So?”

“So do something about it.”

Alyssa gaped. “You are seriously crazy, you know that, right? We went out for drinks. One kiss—”

“An amazing kiss.”

“—but just a kiss,” Alyssa said. “It’s not a great romance, Claire.”

“Of course not, since you didn’t call him the next day and push for an actual date.”

No, Alyssa had to admit, she hadn’t. And that was something for which she was still kicking herself. He’d known about Bob, of course, and so she could totally justify in her mind why he hadn’t called her. She was taken. And it was that same reason that had prevented her from calling him. Considering she’d broken up with Bob only a few months later, perhaps she should have rethought that decision.

“You need to learn to go after what you want, Al,” Claire said, frowning as she concentrated on her words. Their mugs were filled with more mint than chocolate, and it was clearly going to their heads. “If there were sparks with Russell that night, you should go for it.”

“The only thing I’m going to go after right now is that partnership. If I don’t bring new business to the firm in the next couple of weeks, my chance takes a nosedive. I already know that Bayne is gunning for the slot to go to Roland. He wants a new partner with SEC experience. He figures that since Prescott’s specialty is mediation, that makes me extraneous.”

Although Alyssa had a number of clients for whom she did general litigation work, more and more she was taking on mediation jobs, setting herself up as an arbiter of disputes and trying to help the sides negotiate their way to a settlement and avoid the financial and emotional toll of a trial. She loved the work, believed in its value, and it irritated her that Roland got partner points simply because he focused on securities law.

Still, she couldn’t ignore reality, and if partnership at Prescott was off the table, that meant that she’d have to start looking for a new job, because she wasn’t about to stay at a firm that was a dead end. The idea of job-hunting gave her hives, and she took another sip of minty chocolate to dull the pain caused by the mere potential.

“Who says you can’t do both?” Claire said, lifting her brows. “A little business…a little pleasure…”

“Claire!”

“Don’t you at least owe it to yourself to try?”

“Fine. Maybe. I will concede that Russell Starr would be a great catch. But he’s taken. The man’s dating a United States senator’s daughter.”

“Not anymore.” Claire took a sip from her mug, her eyes dancing. When the mug came away, a chocolate mustache highlighted her upper lip. “Broke up last week. Your boy’s single.”

“Oh.” The schnapps in Alyssa’s stomach started doing a Riverdance kind of number. “You’re certain?” She didn’t really have to ask, though. As the daughter of a Texas state senator herself, Claire always had the political/social gossip at her fingertips.

“Interesting little tidbit, huh?”

Alyssa frowned, wondering if it even mattered. She had no idea how to go after a man like Russell. And while she enjoyed a fantasy as much as the next girl, the odds that he would come after her were slim. He was the kind of guy who dated celebrities and public figures. Not really in her league.

She took another sip and squinted at her friend, who was holding a finger out and looking downright serious. “What?” Alyssa asked.

Claire frowned, confused. “I was going to say something, but I can’t remember what. But it was profound. Trust me. Profound and brilliant, and if I could remember it right now, it would be the key—the absolute key—to both of us finding the perfect man and living happily ever after.”

“Christmas is only five days away. Can’t Santa just drop the happily-ever-after in our laps?”

“What would you tell him to drop?” Claire asked, sitting up straighter. “Seriously. Give me five things. Five things that would make this your most perfect Christmas ever.”

“Partnership. Locked in.”

“Boring much? Come on, give me something a little more interesting. This is the holidays. The season of parties and fine frockery.”

“Frockery?”

“You know. Dresses and stuff.”

“I am so cutting you off from the schnapps.”

“Just tell me. Come on. You know you want to. Come on,” Claire said, her voice low and urging, as though she was trying to coax a reluctant tabby cat into a carrier. “Come on. Tell Claire every little thing.”

“Fine! All right! Russell Starr,” Alyssa said. “Russell Starr would make it a perfect Christmas.” What the hell? This was fantasy, right? And he was gorgeous. He was stability and security personified. He was fun to be around. And he could land her a job-saving client.

“Better,” Claire said, setting her mug down before she sloshed more chocolate. “But I want more. Christmas isn’t just about getting the guy. What would make the holiday really perfect for you? Five things.”

Alyssa frowned, trying to think something up. But the truth was, everything else about the holiday was going along pretty well. “Good friends,” she said, aiming a winning smile at Claire. “How about you?”

Claire’s grin turned wicked. “Good friends.”

“Cheater. You stole that one from me. What else.”

“I haven’t got a clue. Can we drop the list down to two?”

“That depends,” Alyssa said magnanimously. “What’s the second?”

“The perfect guy.”

Alyssa tossed a pillow at her. “Didn’t I start out there?”

“So let’s do something about it. You need to call Russell.”

“I am calling, remember? Client. Partnership.”

“A date, Alyssa. You need to call him for a date.”

“I don’t know—”

“He kissed you. Trust me. The Russell ball is firmly in your court.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing,” Claire said firmly. “Santa’s elves don’t deliver men. You want a relationship, you have to go after it, balls to the wall.”

“That’s your plan, too?” Alyssa asked, wanting to deflect attention. “Who’s your guy? Joe? Or is he on your shit list?”

“He won’t be on that list anymore if he comes back to me, right?”

“Claire…” Alyssa couldn’t help it. She’d never liked Joe. Not something she could tell her best friend, though. Not when he and Claire had been so serious. And not when there was nothing specific for Alyssa to point to. He was just…something.

And something wasn’t sufficient to justify disclosure. Because the last thing Alyssa wanted was to confess to her friend that she didn’t care for her boyfriend, and then find out that Claire and Joe had gotten engaged.

“Then it’s settled,” Claire said firmly. “We have a plan.”

Alyssa shook her head. “I don’t think I can—”

“Yes,” Claire said firmly, “you can. Who’s the girl who told Bob she’d had enough?”

“I did,” Alyssa said, her stomach already twisting into knots. “But that was like making the decision to give my bicycle to Goodwill. You’re asking me to commit to buying a Rolls Royce.”

“You deserve a Rolls,” Claire said. “Why shouldn’t you have one? And you wouldn’t be buying it, anyway. Just test-driving. But how will you know until you go take it for a spin?”

“I think this analogy’s getting out of control.”

“Maybe,” Claire conceded. “But you have to work for your own happiness, and doesn’t that make sense even more during the Christmas season?”

“I do work for my own happiness,” Alyssa said. “Law school. Job. Really good paycheck.” Even as she said it, though, Alyssa knew that wasn’t enough. The working world wasn’t a safe place. Her mom had been a teacher for fifteen years when she’d gotten laid off without any warning at all. And lately Alyssa was getting calls from law-school friends who’d lost their jobs when the economy had done a number on their firms.

Besides, she didn’t want to be a single girl forever. Not even a single girl with a bank account. The one thing her parents had always had—even despite the fights about money—was love. Her dad may have been Mr. Irresponsible, but he loved her mom deeply and passionately, and her mom returned it in spades. Alyssa wanted that. Craved it. A home. A family.

She just didn’t want the drama that her mother had put up with, and she wanted to know that the mortgage would always get paid.

“You know I’m right,” Claire said, watching her shrewdly. “So let’s go out and get what we want. Take the bull by the horns. The man by the—”

“Claire!”

“Well, you know.”

Alyssa drew in a breath. She’d had a fabulous time with Russell that night they’d had drinks. They’d laughed and talked, and there’d been not a single awkward moment. And then it had all fizzled away.

Why on earth had she let it fizzle away?

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, taking a breath for courage. “It’s our holiday, our lives.”

“And our men.” Claire smiled, smug and determined. “We just have to make them realize it.” She reached for her mug, then held it up in a toast. “To making this the best holiday ever, and to starting the New Year with our men at our sides.”

Alyssa thought of Russell. Of the way he’d smiled at her when they were working on the fundraising campaign. The way his eyes had darkened when she’d drawn a maraschino cherry into her mouth. The way they’d laughed over nothing in particular.

And the way he’d kissed her ever-so-gentlemanly when he’d escorted her to the door that evening. And then she imagined his hands on her in a very not-so-gentleman-like way….

Yeah, she thought as she clinked her mug against Claire’s. I can drink to that.

ALYSSA STARED at the Web page. Russell wasn’t even in Dallas at the moment, which meant that not only was Claire’s Go-for-the-Guy plan not happening, but Alyssa’s own plan to meet with Russell and try to wrangle a new client for the firm had been shot all to hell.

Instead of being conveniently located downtown, Russell was in Santa Fe, at the gala opening of the Santa Fe Starr, an over-the-top, total luxury, full-service, five-star resort located about twenty miles outside of Santa Fe proper. According to the articles she’d found, the resort was absolutely state-of-the-art and the height of luxury. The guest list for the week surrounding Christmas Day was chock-full of the rich and famous, including a few Oscar nominees and Emmy-award winners. All proceeds from the first week went to Love without Boundaries, the charity that Alyssa knew Russell supported wholeheartedly.

“You have to go there,” Claire said.

“Are you crazy? It’s invitation only. It says so right there,” she added, pointing to the article.

“You have to go,” Claire repeated. “You have the entire week off, Alyssa. This is the perfect time. Besides, we just made a Christmas pledge. You can’t wait until after the season to follow through on a Christmas pledge.”

“I didn’t know the pledge would involve cross-country travel,” Alyssa said, thinking of the plane that would inevitably be involved.

“One state. New Mexico’s right next door.”

“Claire.” Alyssa injected a hint of warning into her voice.

“I’m serious. This is your chance.”

“What? To make a fool of myself?”

“To find out if there’s anything between you and Russell. He asked you out, remember? You should have followed through back then. You didn’t. But now you have a second chance. So don’t blow it.”

Alyssa licked her lips, unsure. Russell was perfect, and exactly the kind of man she knew she wanted. But still—

“It’s also your chance to nail partnership.”

Now that was Claire talking sense.

“That’s your cover for going to the resort,” Claire continued, as if Alyssa weren’t already on the same page. “The reason you tell Russell you came. To talk about what Starr Industries wants in its outside legal counsel. You need a new client, right? What better chance to line one up than when you’re looking all sexy and gorgeous in a black slinky dress?”

“And it makes sense to talk to him away from the office,” Alyssa said. “Remind him that we go way back. Maybe even grab a meal with him so that we can get more into the details of what Prescott and Bayne can offer than we could during a half-hour slot in his office with the next appointment scratching at the door.”

“All the experts say that if you want to land a client you first make them a friend.” Claire grinned. “Sounds to me like you’re well on the way with Russell.”

Alyssa shook her head. “But mixing business and pleasure. It could get awkward…”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Jumping the gun much? You don’t have the client or the boyfriend yet. Just go. See what happens. You owe it to yourself to follow up on this, and you damn well know it.”

Alyssa licked her lips. “I’m not sure if it’s crazy or brilliant.”

“Brilliant,” Claire confirmed, passing Alyssa the phone even as she picked up her own cell phone and pushed a speed-dial number. “Dial.”

Alyssa did, calling information first, and then getting patched through to the hotel’s front desk.

“I’m sorry. There simply are no rooms. The resort is in holiday previews, and the rooms not already booked by the public have been blocked off for the guests of the Gala Opening.”

“Oh! Right! Well, that’s me. I’m coming to the gala.”

Across the room, Claire lifted her brows.

“Name, please.”

Alyssa hesitated, wondering how she was going to pull this off. Since nothing came to mind, she said her real name and hoped she could fake it. “Chambers. Alyssa Chambers.”

There was tapping as the woman on the other end of the line checked a computer. “I’m sorry, Ms. Chambers. You don’t seem to be on the guest list. Perhaps you should contact the Starr corporate offices and see if there’s been an error?” Though the woman was perfectly polite, Alyssa could hear the accusation. Perhaps you should hang up now, you lying little twit. “Shall I connect you directly?”

“Yeah. That would be great. Oh.” She pretended that she’d just thought of something key. “Once we get the gala invitation thing straightened out, will I have a room? Or will I be back here with you, trying to find a place to sleep?”

“All the gala invitees have rooms preassigned.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Hold music hummed, and just as someone was picking up with “Starr Industries, how may I help you?” Alyssa hung up the phone.

Basically, she was screwed. No rooms at the hotel unless she was an invited guest, and no way to become an invited guest.

“Maybe you should call Russell and ask for a ticket?”

Alyssa gaped at Claire. “Are you nuts? Even if his secretary puts me through, how am I supposed to explain? ‘Gee, Russell, I want to invite myself to the gala so I can hit you up for your business?’”

“Not work,” Claire said. “Romance.”

“Like that’s much better. ‘Hey, Russell. I had such a great time having a drink with you that one night, please arrange me a room in Santa Fe.’ Um, no.”