A Dream Christmas

If he could smile now, it meant he could feel nothing, and she really wasn’t ever going to be able to break those locks.

“What are your thoughts now that you’ve stayed here?”

“I think I’ll be making an offer,” Luc said. “It’s definitely the perfect place for a romantic getaway, and I think I have the ability to grow the resort.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“I’ll submit my offer after Christmas,” Luc said. “For now, I need to get Amelia back to New York so she can spend time with her family.”

After making what felt to Amelia like very awkward goodbyes, they walked out. Their car was waiting for them, and as soon as she thought it was safe Amelia wrenched her hand from his and opened the car door, sat down inside and buckled up, refusing to look at him.

Luc rounded to the passenger side and got in, buckling up as the car pulled away from the hotel.

They rode in silence until the airport, where they exchanged short, necessary words about where the plane was and where the luggage should go.

Amelia managed to keep up the silence a couple of hours into the flight, her brain turning over the past twenty-four hours. Their kiss in the spa, making love with him for the first time, the fifth time. Realizing she loved him. Telling him she loved him.

It had changed her. She was utterly and completely changed and she was supposed to just go back to her life like it had been before.

No. That wasn’t happening. She was breaking up with Clint. And she was going to have to take action with Luc, too.

“I quit,” she said, the words leaving her mouth in a rush.

“What?” His response was sharp, shocked and very loud after the prolonged silence.

“I can’t work for you anymore.”

“You said none of this would be a problem,” he bit out. “You said you knew what this was.”

“Yes, and it changed. I didn’t mean to lie, but I guess I did. I don’t want to work for a man who was inside me, then looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe while he rejected my love.”

He made a short, incredulous sound.

“Neither do I want to be with a man who does those French … noises you do. It’s annoying. You’re annoying. I’m not making you coffee ever again. I’m going to eat every peppermint stir stick and scone on your plane and never make you coffee or fetch you a bagel again!”

She was breathing hard, adrenaline pouring through her. She was mad, she was hurt, but at least she was sure of this decision. And she didn’t care how it affected him. She didn’t care if it was upsetting or disappointing for him, not when it was right for her.

“You won’t have a job, and you won’t be able to pay your rent. And unless you are marrying Clint—” he said the other man’s name like it disgusted him “—then you’re going to have a bit of a rough awakening.”

“Don’t care. I have savings,” she said, tugging the peppermint stick from her latte and crunching the end. “I will be fine. Just fine. You on the other hand will have to find another assistant who doesn’t care that you’re a gigantic pain. So good luck with that.” She took another bite of the peppermint and chewed loudly.

“You’re being unreasonable. And emotional,” he ground out.

“News flash, that’s because I’m a human being. And humans are emotional. You, sir, are a robot. A cyborg, actually, because you’re part human, but robotic nonetheless!”

“Amelia …”

“Don’t talk to me. Unless you want to recant all the horrible crap you’ve said to me in the past eight hours.”

“I can’t.”

“Then shh. I’m drinking my latte and pondering a career folding leggings at a department store.”

She tucked her feet up under her and drank her latte, brooding for the rest of the flight while Luc worked with his head down.

When the plane landed, she stood. “I’m not going to ride with you,” she said. “After my bags come out, I’m going to the taxi line like a plebeian. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, jackass.” She turned to face the cargo area where the bags were being gathered and started humming.

Luc didn’t wait for his bags. He simply got into the waiting car. “Goodbye, Amelia,” he said.

“Bye,” she said, turning back to the plane, blinking back tears. She heard the car door close, and she folded her arms over her stomach to keep from folding in on herself.

When she got her bags, she started to drag them to the airport door, to the cabs, tears rolling down her cheeks. She drew in a shaky breath and started to sing. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.’” Her voice broke on the last word and she looked down, wiping a tear off her cheek. She swallowed hard. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”

CHAPTER NINE

HIS OFFICE HAD a disturbing lack of singing happening in it. And he didn’t like it at all. All of the things he’d relished prior to having Amelia in his life, and things he’d imagine he would enjoy again if she was ever gone, were just not enjoyable at all anymore.

At the moment, his office was just cold, dark and lacked coffee.

Sure, he could call someone up from another department and demand they make him a drink. And he could make his own. But it wouldn’t be the same. He’d taken for granted just how much he counted on her.

And it wasn’t just his office that felt empty. It was his chest. There was a gaping hole left behind by that woman and he had no idea what he was going to do to repair it. If he even wanted to.

Because if it could be fixed, it felt as if he would be dishonoring what they’d shared. And why should he care about that? Why should what they shared matter? She was one woman, one in a line of several. While not the legendary playboy his brother was, he’d had his share of lovers, and not one of them had affected him like this. Their breakups had always been amicable. Easy. And he’d felt fine afterward. He’d felt nothing, really.

Marie was the only one to make him feel anything, and that had been nothing like this.

That had been wounded pride. He’d been the laughingstock of society. Being left right before the wedding for his brother.

But it hadn’t been this. This had nothing to do with anyone but Amelia and himself.

He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of pain the thought brought on. Amelia and him. The ache was only for her, and yet the reasons he couldn’t be with her seemed to involve an army of other people.

He looked down at his desk, staring at the wood grain, one question playing through his mind.

Why?

Why did anyone else get a say in what he did? In what he could feel? Why was anything or anyone more important than what he felt than she was?

They shouldn’t be. And yet, there was too much in the way. Though part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was just in his own way.

Anger had always protected him. Anger at his father had kept him from caring too much when the old man had struck him, and had stopped it eventually, as he’d become a man and his father realized that Luc wasn’t to be trifled with.

Anger had protected him when Blaise had returned to France with a rage matching his own. It had kept him from wanting a reunion, when both of them were so full of resentment.

It had insulated him, driven him, after Marie.

But now it was keeping him from something he wanted. It was keeping him from Amelia. Keeping her from him.

As long as anger was the biggest emotion in him, he really couldn’t ever be worthy of her, and every reason he’d pushed her away would hold true.

But if he could change it … If he could change himself rather than just making excuses, then maybe …

She would always be too good for him. Too bright, too lovely and too damn chipper. But he was wallowing in the things of the past, embracing his anger because it was easy, and while his pride rebelled against that reality, it was the truth.

He pounded his fist on the desk, the only sound that had echoed in the room since he’d come in that morning.

He knew what his life would bring if he didn’t change. More of the same. Loneliness, a sense of quiet stability, the dull ache of rage and a strange sadness that pushed against his throat when he closed his eyes at night. Whether he was an investor or a real estate developer, if he was ever going to have a different life, changes would have to happen inside him, not just outside.

But if he chose Amelia, there would be no stability in the everyday. It would be too bright, too fuzzy and rarely quiet. It would be full of songs, and when he closed his eyes, she would be next to him. Warm and soft, smelling like peppermint and pine and being more than he’d ever hoped to deserve.

If he was going to hold Amelia, he had to let go of some things he’d been carrying for far too long.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through the numbers. This wasn’t one he had memorized, and that said a lot. Though, he had always kept it. And maybe that said a lot, too.

He dialed, not caring that it was ten at night in Paris. That wasn’t his problem. He was making amends and he would do it on his time.

“Hello?” A woman answered. American. His brother’s wife, Ella.

“Hello,” he said, knowing he sounded awkward and stilted. Hating that he cared at all.

“Who is this?”

“This is Luc,” he said. “We’ve never spoken. Em …”

“Blaise’s brother,” she said, sounding somewhat shell-shocked.

“Yes.”

“Are you calling for…. are you calling for him? That’s a stupid question. Who else would you be calling for? But then, why are you calling at all? You never have. Well, obviously you have. But never since I’ve been around.”

“I am calling because things have gotten to a point where it’s clear I owe him an apology.”

“You owe him one?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice rough.

“Hello?”

It was Blaise. He’d picked up another line.

“It’s me,” Luc said.

“So it is,” Blaise said, not sounding particularly friendly.

“I’ll just hang up,” Ella said.

“No,” Luc said. “Stay on, please. It will be easier. You’re a part of this, too, Ella. Because you’re family. I’m not good at this kind of thing. At being sincere and saying nice things. I don’t have a lot of practice.”

“I have more than I used to. I’m sorry,” Blaise said. “I want you to know that. I have wanted you to know that. I’ve wished you would take a call from me for a long time so I could say just that. She wasn’t the one for me, no matter how much I believed it. Even if she had been, what I did wouldn’t have been right.”

“It’s immaterial. You’ve apologized before. And I know … I know I said I forgave you. But that was a lie. I didn’t. I know you know that. I know my not talking to you showed how empty that statement of forgiveness was. I was angry. I’ve been angry. I don’t want to be anymore. I can’t be. Because I think I understand you now.”

“Do you?” Blaise asked.

“Yes. I met a woman. One that … no matter her circumstances I couldn’t turn away from. One that I knew was wrong for me to touch. But I did, anyway. Because sometimes … it’s bigger than you are.”

“I was just being vindictive at the time, I think, Luc. But I do know what you’re saying about love. That’s what I have with Ella. The feelings that surpass everything else. Common sense, common decency. Fear.”

“Yes,” Luc said. “That. But she deserves someone better than me. So I’m trying to be better.”

“Don’t just try,” Blaise said. “Do it. If you’ve found someone like that … nothing else matters.”

“You do. And Ella. I want to be in your lives. I want Amelia and I to be in your lives. First, I have to convince her that she should be with me. After I went to so much trouble to push her away.”

Blaise chuckled, a laugh that sounded so like his. Funny how that worked, as they’d spent so little time together. But the bond was stronger than time. And it was a bond he’d spent far too long trying to sever. No more.

“That sounds familiar. Just go admit you were wrong. They like that.”

He heard a feminine snort through the phone line. “Well, you are wrong. Most of the time.”

“Of course I am,” Blaise said, no sincerity in his tone at all. “And, as much as I’m enjoying the reunion, Luc, I think you have some more pressing matters to attend to.”

“For once,” Ella said, “my husband is not wrong.”

“I will call again,” Luc said.

“Hopefully with good news.”

Luc got off the phone with his brother and sat back in his chair. That was one step. One step in fixing the mess that was himself.

Blaise had talked about love. And Blaise was right. Luc loved Amelia. More than he’d ever loved another person, more than he loved himself.

And that was scary. Really scary. It was, he realized, exactly why he’d fought so hard to convince himself he couldn’t love her. Because the thought of being that exposed to her, of needing anyone that badly, was utterly terrifying.

But life without her would be worse than terrifying. It would be empty. Like his office. Like his chest.

He stood up. It was Christmas Eve, and that meant Amelia was at her parents’ house upstate. And soon, he would be, too.

AMELIA STIRRED THE POT of gravy quickly before taking it off the burner for a moment, letting the bubbles calm down.

She looked around the room. At the little country village her mother had put on the counter, a roll of batting beneath it, acting as snow. There was tinsel tacked around the perimeter of the room, and the warm smell of boiling potatoes and cranberries filled the air and made it humid.

She and her mother were getting as much precooking done as possible before the big day.

Christmas in her family’s historic home certainly didn’t have the glamour that flying around the country with Luc did, but it was a lot less painful, too. And less incredible. And less sexy. But then, her family would never let her go either. As days went, it had been an incredibly draining one.

First she’d lost Luc. Then she’d gone to Clint’s apartment and broken it off with him. They’d both cried. And it had been awful. And she’d held his hand and told him that neither of them would be happy living that way.

And he’d agreed, his hands trembling in hers.

And then she’d gone to her parents’ house and broken the news. Thankfully, her sisters weren’t there yet with their husbands and spate of children. They all spent Christmas morning in their own houses and converged on the family home in the afternoon, for more presents and food.

At least this way she’d been alone for the hard talk with her parents. Clint had given her permission to explain, as long as they didn’t tell his parents. Which he was going to do after the holidays. Ensuring tomorrow would be extremely awkward, since he and his family were coming for dinner.

Though, they’d both agreed they weren’t pretending to be a couple.

“Are you okay, Amelia?” her mother asked.

“I’m fine,” Amelia said, lying.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“It’s been a hard day.”

“I know. I’m so sorry about Clint. I really had no idea.”

“I should have,” Amelia grumbled.

Her mom threw up her hands. “I don’t want to know.”

“No, Mom, you probably don’t. Or hey, you even might. Since the truth is so very, very tame,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, thank you for understanding. And please, please, no hints to his parents tomorrow about why. That’s not exactly the thing you want to give your parents for Christmas.”

“No, no,” she said. “Though, I think things will be okay for him.”

“I hope so.”

“You aren’t mad at him?”

Amelia shrugged. “I’m upset that he wasted my time, but I sort of understand, too. And if I’m honest with myself, I wasted my time, too. I don’t think I ever really loved him, Mom, or I wouldn’t have been happy with the relationship we had. He definitely doesn’t deserve all the blame.”

“You sound too well-adjusted to look so sad.”

Amelia sighed. “The sad is another story. And one that probably doesn’t belong at Christmas dinner either.” She put the gravy back on, keeping her focus on it. The gravy, at least, provided purpose.

“Amelia!” her father shouted from the other room. “Someone at the door for you!”

“Who?” she shouted.

“I don’t know. Guy in a suit!” her dad called back.

Amelia frowned. “Stir the gravy,” she said, handing the whisk to her mother before walking out into the entryway.

She looked out the door and froze. On the step, in the suit, with snow falling behind him, was Luc.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“I … Yes.” She pulled a coat off the peg—her mother’s it turned out, something misshapen and not at all fashionable—and turned to look at her father. “I’ll just be a minute.” Or a second if all he was here to do was ask for her to come and make coffee again.

Oh, Lord, what if that was why he was here? Not for her at all, not really. But to ask her to take her job back on Christmas Eve because he didn’t know how to run his coffeemaker?

She stepped outside and closed the door, crossing her arms under her breasts, her lower lip quivering from the cold and the emotion building in her chest. “Okay, Chevalier, why are you here? I swear if you came all the way down here because you miss my coffee I will—”

“I do miss your coffee,” he said.

“Oh.” She tightened her hold on herself, the lip quivering intensifying. “Well, then, at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old lady, get off my lawn.”

“I miss your coffee. And your singing. And the way you whistle. I miss you talking to yourself. Your loud clothes, your shopping on your phone during business hours.”

“If you put that in my letter of recommendation no one would hire me,” she said, sniffling, blaming her running nose on the cold.

“Probably not. But I would. All over again.”

“Are you kidding me, Luc? This is what you’re here for? To beg me to come back and assist you because of my amazing coffee?”

“No. That’s not why I’m here. And I’m not finished. I also miss your smile. Your laughter. The way you make me laugh. The way you kiss …” He took a step toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I miss the way it feels to be inside you. How it feels to hold you. I hate myself for never having fallen asleep with you, and even more, I hate myself because when you told me you loved me I pushed you away. I had a chance to say the words back, to hold you to me as you said them, and I didn’t. I am a fool, and I will never forgive myself if I ruined my chances with you.”

“Oh,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek, the track left by the tear chilling her face in the cold night air.

“I love you, Amelia. And that scares me. So I figured I would protect myself by saying I couldn’t love. By believing I couldn’t love. Anger is safer,” he said, his voice rough. “And I was so walled in my anger I felt very little else. No pain or disappointment. But no joy either. And until you, no love. But what you said before you left … that it was always me, I think I’ve just realized that for me it was always you. Why else would I enjoy your singing? I hate singing,” he said. “I don’t like Christmas, or Christmas carols, and somehow you make me enjoy them. You make me like things I never thought I would. You make me like … life. You’re right, I’m a grumpy bastard, but you make me less of one.”

She laughed, letting her head fall back, before straightening and looking him in the eyes. “Well, that is quite a declaration.”

“It’s true,” he said. “I called Blaise. I made things right with him. Or, I at least started taking steps to make things right with him. Because you’ve done something to me. Changed me. Made me want more than just a protective coating of anger and a life that’s simply livable. You make me want everything. And if you can live with me, put up with me, love me, even though I don’t deserve it, I will do everything I can to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to do much, Luc,” she said.

“I don’t?”

“Just love me.”

“I do. Now and forever, I promise you.”

“You’re my very own Christmas miracle,” she said.

“And you’re mine.” He bent down and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, reveling in his touch. In the fact that they’d finally realized what they had, after spending four years in each other’s lives.

“You know this means we’re having a Christmas wedding next year,” she said.

“Did I propose?” he asked.

“Oh! Crap. That’s embarrassing,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”

“Well, I will now. Amelia, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she said. “Christmas wedding?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I think we’ll have to play a little ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.’”

He smiled and for the first time in her memory, he sang. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”

“‘Comfort and joy,’” she sang with him. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”

“Yes,” she said. “That is happening.”

“I would never even try to stop you.”

“You’re marrying this, Chevalier. Think you can handle it?”

“I intend to spend a lifetime trying.”

She laced her fingers through his and tugged him up the front step.

“What?” he asked.

“I think it’s time you met my family.”

“Are they like you?”

She nodded. “They are exactly like me.”

“Then it is a very good thing I love you.”

“For more than one reason, Mr. Chevalier. For more than one reason.”

* * * * *

A Diamond for Christmas

Joss Wood

To Tess, my own Christmas angel. Love you, Belle.

JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Fuelled by coffee, her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, Christmas is her favourite time of year, especially when it’s crazy with family and friends and ranges from refined to raucous! Joss lives in South Africa with her husband, children and their many pets. Visit her website at www.josswoodbooks.wordpress.com.

PROLOGUE

July …

WELL PLAYED, TEQUILA, well played.

It only took three margaritas to get her to drop her guard around James but, because she was Riley Taylor, when she messed up she messed up big. This time by hopping into bed with one of her oldest friends.

Her best friend’s brother.

And her boss.

Again.

In her defence, she doubted that few women between the ages of eighteen and eighty would say no when James Moreau crooked his finger at them, kissed them senseless and dragged them off to bed. But she knew better. It was all that witch Tequila’s fault, she decided—the cactus juice had definitely lowered her inhibitions and cancelled out a few brain cells.

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila … yes, James, more!

As the morning sunlight slipped in from behind the curtains, Riley, still lying on top of James—morning sex had her on top and her face was now pressed into his very broad shoulder—turned her head and met his fabulous green eyes. Oh, those eyes. They were the rich green of bottle glass and they held a whole lot of panic. A deep frown creased his forehead.

Riley knew that a puckered brow after many bouts of amazing sex spelt trouble. Then again, wasn’t that the perfect word to define the relationship she and James had? Trouble worked, she thought, as did difficult and complicated and … messy.

Yeah, messy worked really well.

Time to face the music …