A Dream Christmas

Wait, hold on … ‘What last-minute goodies?’

‘Oh, this and that.’

When Riley was vague that meant she was ducking the question. If she was ducking, then … Oh, dammit, Taylor.

‘Have they been paid for?’ James demanded, thinking of the skyrocketing costs of her windows. Riley waved his question away, which meant that the bill hadn’t come in yet. Hell. He thought about trying to explain the concept of a budget to her—again—but he didn’t have the energy.

‘We are blocking off the windows on Monday morning, we’ll work through Monday and Tuesday and reveal them on Wednesday night.’

‘Who’s the entertainer this year? Have you got permission to block off the street for those hours? Security?’

Riley closed her eyes in frustration. ‘James, I’ve been doing this for years. Lorelei Cranston, the Broadway star, is singing—’

‘I know who she is,’ James interrupted her.

‘The street will be closed off and the small stage will be erected on Wednesday afternoon. I’ve hired a ballet company to perform as well. There will be waiters circulating to dish out hot chocolate and cookies, your mum will drop the curtain. People will love it and tons of them will go into the store instead of buying online.’

‘You’re still over budget.’

‘But the cost to decorate the store windows is a fraction of what you would spend on a TV advertisement so suck it up. And I guess this will be another year that you won’t join the family when they come down to see what I’ve done.’

James frowned at the hint of hurt he heard in her voice. Was him being there important to her? Riley was so self-sufficient, so supremely confident about her art and designs that he never thought that she needed affirmation, especially from him.

Why would she care if he was there or not?

Damn, but she confused him. And because he didn’t like it and because he was a man, he chose to ignore what he didn’t understand. So he nodded at the list that she still held in her hand. ‘Okay, get the windows sorted then you can get cracking on that.’

Riley balled up the list in her fist and pitched it at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor. ‘I’ll do it … Mmm, never. Does that work for you?’

CHAPTER THREE

WHERE MORGAN MOREAU had her jewellery design studio on the top floor of her family’s building, Riley’s studio was in the basement, where she had ample space to build sets, paint backdrops and assemble mannequins and models. She had an office built into the back corner, as brightly decorated as her apartment in Tribeca. Colourful prints, a cherry-red wall, a lime desk.

She was an artist; colour was what she did. Who she was. She would wither up and die if she had to live in a stark-white apartment like James’s.

She loved her office, her basement, her cave, Riley thought, handing Morgan, who was curled up on her raspberry couch, a cup of coffee. How was she going to leave it?

‘I don’t want you to leave,’ Morgan said, echoing her thoughts, as she often did. Her bottom lip wobbled and Riley felt the corresponding tickle of emotion in the back of her throat. ‘I know I said that I understood but I don’t, not really.’

Riley sat down in her turquoise wingback chair and pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes I don’t either but I feel compelled to go, to shake things up a bit, to try something new.’

‘Is this about James—about what happened in July?’

‘I think it’s a culmination of the last decade of what’s happened between James and me. I hate that we are so estranged.’ She looked at Morgan and knew that she could be honest with her. ‘But there’s more … I miss you, miss the time you and I spent together. Before you met Noah again and I slept with James again, I had your time and company—’

‘Oh, Riley, I’m so sorry—’

Riley held up her hand. ‘Don’t, Morgs. I’m happy for you—nobody is more happy for you than me. But those nights we spent together, eating out, at home—when James and I were still talking—’

‘Bickering,’ Morgan interjected.

‘Whatever. Your company, his company, the time we spent together, fuelled me. Then you got engaged to Noah and now he’s your priority and James and I stopped talking altogether and … and I miss my life. I can’t go back so I need to go forward. We are all on different paths and this isn’t my place any more. I need to find my place and I think Cape Town might be it.’

‘Your place is with James,’ Morgan stated firmly. ‘It’s always been with him but he’s too much of a stubborn ass to admit it.’

Riley stared off into the distance. ‘It’s not all his fault, Morgs. I’m just as much to blame for this mess as he is; possibly more so. He asked me to give him—us a chance, but I went travelling instead.’

Morgan frowned. ‘You weren’t ready … you were so young … nineteen! ‘

‘I was scared! Scared of what I felt for him, scared of what he made me feel! My dad’s fear that he could hurt me fuelled my own fears—he was a rich guy and I was just a farm girl; he was older, sophisticated, I was just a passing fad for him, et cetera, et cetera—and I used his arguments as a reason to run. The truth was that I was too much of a coward and the timing has never been right again. I had my chance and I blew it to hell and back.’

‘Maybe you could—’

Riley reached over and grabbed Morgan’s hand, waiting for their eyes to connect. ‘Morgs, stop. I know you want to see James and me together, but if it was going to happen it would’ve happened by now. After he rejected me—us—in July I’ve let that idea go and you need to let it go too. It’s not going to be, honey.’

Morgan let out a long breath. ‘It’s against all the rules of the universe.’

Riley squeezed her hand, harder this time. “Let it go. Concentrate on your wedding and your own happiness; I will find mine in time.’

Morgan frowned in warning. ‘It had better be with some man I love and adore. And he’d better be hot!’

Nobody would be as hot as James but she could try. ‘In the meantime, I have to get my stunning windows up and James is insisting that I work until the last day of December.’

‘Control freak. Okay, so just clock in every morning and lie here and read or paint. Sneak out of the building and go shopping, skating, look at all the Christmas windows. New York at Christmastime is stunningly beautiful. Do what you normally do when you have some free time.’

‘I would if I could but His Highness wants me to work work. He has this list of things he wants me to take care of.’

Morgan cocked her head. ‘Like?’

‘Decorating his apartment, organising his Christmas cocktail party, finding my replacement.’ Riley folded her arms. ‘Well, I refuse to do it.’

Riley didn’t see the mischievous light that came into Morgan’s eyes, didn’t see the hope that flared within them. She was too busy feeling aggrieved to notice that Morgan had turned contemplative and … sneaky. ‘Well, if you do it time will go faster. The days will drag if you do nothing at all and you hate doing nothing.’

‘I have an apartment to pack up and I have a ticket to fly home on Christmas morning.’

Morgan looked horrified. ‘On Christmas morning? Noooo, Riley … why?’

‘What else am I going to be doing? My family is all in Botswana for Christmas this year.’

‘I hate the thought of you spending the happiest day of the year in the air.’

Actually, it was the best way to spend Christmas if you were single and your family had left your childhood home to spend the holidays in another country with their oldest son.

That was if she could, somehow, persuade James to let her go so that she could catch her flight.

‘You suck,’ Morgan said as she stood up. She leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Do what James asks. It will make the time fly and keep you busy and—’

Riley frowned at Morgan’s hesitation. ‘What?’ she demanded.

‘Well, you have given him a lot of grief over the years, Ri … with your overspending and your intransigence when it comes to your designs. No other CEO would’ve given you so much freedom, leeway. He’s been remarkably good, for a control freak, about allowing you to do your own thing. And you get paid well.’

Riley thought of her fat bank account and readily accepted that she could be a bit diva-ish when it came to her art. ‘So you think I should do this?’

Morgan shrugged. ‘It’s up to you but maybe it would be a way for the two of you to find your way back to … friendship.’ Morgan held up her hand at Riley’s expression. ‘Maybe your time has passed but you’ve known him all your life. Maybe you should try to be friends again, reclaim that at least.’

Riley folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust Morgan’s earnest expression. ‘You’re just trying to throw us together in the hope that we end up in bed again.’

Morgan’s eyes widened and she placed her hand on her heart in mock outrage. ‘You wound me.’

‘I wound you, my ass. Get out of my office, Moreau, and go and practice your manipulation skills on Noah.’

‘I don’t need to manipulate him; I just get naked.’ Morgan kissed Riley on the cheek.

Riley returned her hug. ‘Lucky you. I miss sex.’ She sighed.

Morgan patted her on the back. ‘Just get naked in front of James; I promise he’ll get the hint.’

Riley pushed Morgan through the door. ‘Out! Now!’

What part of ‘Let it go’ did Morgan not understand?

ACCORDING TO THE Moreau family, her Christmas windows were her best yet, Riley remembered as she walked through the lobby of the MI building, her feet dragging after the long, long day. The Christmas season, as far as Riley was concerned, had officially started and, instead of feeling the excited anticipation she always did, all she wanted to do was to fall flat down on her bed and sleep for a week.

Riley wound her scarf around her neck, pulled on a woollen cap and buttoned her coat, preparing to step into the frigid air outside. It was nearly midnight and they’d had a record crowd for the unveiling of her windows earlier. In between rotating her neck looking for James—who hadn’t been at the unveiling, again—she’d watched Lorelei sing her heart out. Hannah had been gracious and everyone had oohed and aahed over her displays. But now, at this late hour, the gawkers and guests were gone, the road had reopened and the stage had been removed. Riley, who had supervised the returning of the street and pavement to normal, was running on fresh air and emotion.

Holy smokes, it was cold, she thought as she stepped onto the pavement, hunching her shoulders. She should get home but instead she walked around the corner, heading towards the jewellery store, wanting to see her windows as the customers and tourists would—not as the artist but as the viewer. If she got a visceral punch, that flood of pleasure, then she’d know that she’d adequately translated the vision in her head.

But it wasn’t the windows, as spectacular as they were, that momentarily stopped her heart, that had her gasping for breath. It was the blond head in front of the first window, one hand on the glass pane, looking—really looking—at the old-fashioned turn-of-the-century Christmas scene she’d created in the first window. As she quietly approached him she could see his broad smile, his enjoyment of what she’d done.

She’d always thought that she needed James’s words of praise for her work but she didn’t, she realised; she just needed to see this look on his face. Just once.

‘Like it?’ she softly asked.

James’s head whipped around and his smile broadened when he saw her. ‘Like it? No. Love it, absolutely. It’s fantastic, Ri.’

Ri … something he hadn’t called her in far too long. James held out his bare hand and Riley placed hers in it and didn’t resist when he tugged her closer and tucked her under his arm. They both turned to look at the first display. ‘Why a display of Moreau family Christmases over the years?’

‘The interest in Morgan’s wedding, the continued interest in your family from the press and people in general.’ Riley laid her head on his shoulder, happy to rest there in the strength of his arms. Just for a moment and then she’d be strong again. ‘I read an account in Marie Moreau’s diary of the first Christmas she spent with Jasper in that tin shack at his first claim, just before he struck it big with that rich diamond pipe. They were dirt poor but it was a happy day. Her next Christmas—’ Morgan gestured to the window showing a lusciously dressed nineteenth-century couple and their smart friends sitting by a huge tree drinking champagne ‘—was very different. Very rich. Marie writes that Jasper gave her another whacking diamond and impregnated her that Christmas Eve. Apparently they did it in front of that tree …’

‘Hopefully, when all the guests were gone,’ James said, with a rumble of laughter in his voice. ‘Did she really write that down? With descriptions and all?’

Riley rolled her eyes at the hope in his voice. ‘There was nothing graphic in her description, you pervert. Anyway, that sparked the idea of doing a series of windows depicting how the Moreau family spent Christmas. Hannah gave me permission and allowed me to trawl through the photo albums.’

‘You actually asked permission? Amazing!’ James teased.

Riley gave him a shoulder bump as they moved to the next window. An animatronic version of a four-year-old James sitting in front of a tall Christmas tree at Bon Chance, a massive toy train in his lap. His baby sister, still in a nappy, sat next to him chewing a teething ring. ‘I remember that train.’

‘You were a pretty cute kid, Moreau. What happened?’ she quipped.

‘I’m still cute.’ He grinned with smug confidence.

James moved her to the next window—a Christmas spent at their house in Aspen, the snowcapped mountains an exact representation of the view from their steel and wood cabin. The scene was straight from her memory, her first Christmas abroad with the Moreaus at fifteen, when James had taught her to ski.

‘I owe you for all the hours you spent teaching me to ski when you could’ve been chasing those ski-bunnies.’

James waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Who said I didn’t chase the bunnies?’

The last window depicted the post-Christmas lunch dining table at Bon Chance, the one on the veranda where they normally ate their Christmas meal. It looked like a bomb had hit it—wine bottles and wrapping paper, a diamond necklace lying next to a plate, a glass vase full of rings. Place names—Hannah, Jedd, James, Morgan, Noah—lay on their sides or upside down and to the side a replica of the engaged couple, Morgan and Noah, stood in the corner overlooking the vines, his strong arms wrapped around her slight body, his dark brown head resting on her bright blonde one. Her delicate hand rested on his arm and a copy of Morgan’s exquisite engagement ring glinted in the artificial sunlight.

There was serenity and peace and happiness in the window, a sense that another offshoot of the Moreau clan was coming to fruition. James’s arm tightened around her waist as he stared at the window. ‘How did you recreate that old vine, the one that covers the veranda at Bon Chance?’

‘Trade secret,’ Riley replied, unable to stop the shiver that coursed through her at his touch. Neither was she able to stop the question she’d been dying to ask since she’d first seen him standing in front of the windows. ‘Why are you here, James? You’ve never come down here before, been with me—us—at the unveiling.’

‘I’m always here, Riley. Whenever you change the windows and every Christmas, I stand at the back of the crowds and a lot later in the evening, usually past midnight, I come down here and really look at your designs, looking for the tiny details that most people normally miss. The things that make it personal.’

Riley felt a warm glow in her stomach. ‘Like?’

James looked over the table and pointed. ‘That frame—the one half covered in gold wrapping paper? It’s the same frame as the sketch of my folks you gave them for Christmas last year. On the Christmas tree there’s always a gold ornament with your name on it … there it is, top right. Um … and somewhere in one of the windows is a mouse in a waistcoat and top hat—he’s appeared in every one of your six Christmas windows so far.’

Riley’s mouth dropped open. ‘I cannot believe that you noticed him. He’s tiny and my little secret.’

‘I saw him the first year, and the second and now I look for him. There he is—he’s peeking out from behind that wine bottle.’

‘I never thought that anyone would notice him,’ Riley said, still in shock.

‘Hell, yeah, I notice your work. I adore your work, even though I wish it didn’t cost so much or that you had a vague idea of sticking to a budget.’ James blew on his freezing fingers. ‘And that’s why there is no way I’m letting you walk away without a fight.’

Riley deflated like a popped balloon. Of course this was about her work; it had nothing to do with her. Stupid, stupid girl for thinking, if only for a moment, that there was a spark of something more there.

‘The temperature has dropped a couple of degrees. Let’s get home,’ James suggested.

‘I need a taxi,’ Riley agreed.

James tightened the scarf around her neck and pulled her woollen cap down over her ears before running an icy finger across her cheek. Riley tried to tell herself that it was the cold that made it hard for her to breathe but knew that it was the tenderness, the gentleness in his eyes. ‘It’s late; you’re cold and probably hungry. Come back to my place, get some food in you and crash there. It’s a five-minute walk versus a trek across town. And who knows how long it will take to get a cab.’

She shouldn’t—she really shouldn’t—but she grabbed on to his words as the best excuse she’d ever heard to spend a little time with him. It had been too long since she’d experienced anything but frustration and craziness with James and being with him like this reminded her of the boy she used to know, the friend she’d adored, so she allowed him to take her hand and lead her back to his home.

BACK IN HIS toasty-warm apartment, Riley whipped off her hat and shrugged out of her heavy coat. James took it and hung it on the coat rack. He reached out and ran his thumb across her cheek, wincing at her icy skin. ‘Let’s get you warm. Something hot to drink?’

‘Yes, please. Coffee with a belt of whisky?’ Riley looked hopeful as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and followed James to the massive kitchen.

Riley slid onto a kitchen stool and James tried not to notice how her denim jeans showed off her shapely butt. Or how her long-sleeved jade-green T-shirt made her eyes a deeper, darker grey. Or how the cold made her nipples …

Okay, so maybe inviting her back to his apartment in the dead of the night wasn’t the smartest idea he’d had all week. The urge to scoop her up and warm her up in a more basic biological way was shockingly strong.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Moreau.

He turned to face the coffee machine, willing his pants to subside. Damn, he was a basket case. ‘If you can get the whisky bottle from the drinks cabinet that would be great.’

Riley hopped off the stool, retrieved the bottle, handed it over and took her seat again, chin in her hand. ‘Look, about the windows …’

James cocked an eyebrow. ‘Another expense?’

‘Yeah. The—’

James held up a hand to stop her explaining. ‘Ri, it’s past midnight and I’m exhausted. The windows are fantastic and, as you pointed out the other night, the cost is a fraction of other media advertising and, right now, I simply don’t care. Okay?’

‘Sure.’

James took their cups to the counter where she sat and reached for the whisky, cracking the top and slugging in a healthy amount. ‘That being said, I do reserve the right to throw my toys when I see the bill.’

‘Fair enough.’ Riley took the cup he slid over to her, wrapped her hands around it and took an appreciative sip. ‘That’s fantastic, thanks.’

‘Shall we take this to the couch?’

Riley yawned as she took her cup and walked to the lounge area. She placed her cup on the table and took the seat next to the arm. James, inexplicably needing to be close to her, took the middle seat. They sat in companionable silence for a little while, looking out of the massive windows to the night view of Central Park and the bright buildings on either side of it framing the famous park.

‘You hungry?’ James asked, rolling his head against the back of the couch to look at her. Her eyes were shadowed in blue and she looked played out. ‘I’ve been crazy busy so I sent out a mercy call to Mariah and she sent over some homemade meals that I can reheat.’

Interest sparked in those incredible eyes. ‘Any curry?’

And there was another difference between Riley and the women he normally dated. No explanations needed about who was who. She knew that Mariah was his mum’s long-time housekeeper and Jackson was the family’s driver. She knew them and they knew her … adored her. Just like his parents did.

‘Yeah, there’s curry.’

Mariah made the best curry in the world and it was his, and Riley’s, favourite dish. They were the only ones who could eat it as hot as Mariah liked to make it and it had been a frequent topic of argument about who handled the heat better. Back when they still argued. James missed that. Then again, he missed lots of things about Riley.

‘No rice but there’s fresh bread in the bread bin—do you want to help yourself?’

Riley hopped to her feet. ‘Sure. Do you want some?’

‘I ate earlier.’

Ten minutes later, Riley was sitting cross-legged on the couch, food on her lap, dipping her bread into the juice of the curry and making appreciative noises. ‘So good, so good.’

He wished she was making those noises while tasting his body but watching her eat wasn’t a bad consolation prize.

‘For someone so small, you can pack it away,’ James commented, watching her lick a drip of sauce from the corner of her mouth with her tongue. It was the sexiest thing ever … ever.

‘Big metabolism. My mum is the same. So is Morgan, actually.’ Riley cleaned her plate with a piece of bread, popped it into her mouth and placed the plate on the coffee table. ‘Oh, God, I feel a million times better. Warm and full.’

Riley rested her head against the back of the couch and James could feel her eyes on his face. He turned his head and met her stare straight on. He realised that her eyes held a hundred shades of grey, from silver to lightning to thundercloud. He remembered that her breasts tasted like the sweet grapes grown at Bon Chance, that her ass was world quality. His sex stirred and then jumped to attention, all ready to rock and roll. The sex between them had been off-the-charts stupendous …

But it was much harder to admit that his attraction to her wasn’t only about sex; her laugh had the power to turn his day around, her smart-aleck comments and the irreverence she displayed towards him kept him grounded, and she had a super-fast mind behind her artsy exterior. Being with her made him feel like the bigger man, a better man.

‘You look exhausted,’ Riley said softly. ‘No, not just tired. You’re stressed and worried …’

He blinked as her words sank in. There were few people who could see past his tough-guy CEO facade and Riley slid right on through. He considered brushing her concern off but instead he told her the truth.

‘Yeah … I’m battling to get investors together for a diamond mine we want to open in Angola. There’s a strike looming at one of our biggest mines back home. Theft at a store in Hong Kong. I have to fire one of my right-hand people in security because he has a drug problem. Grant has gone home because his father isn’t well and I have to deal with someone temporary for the next month or so, which is always a pain. Grant takes care of the small stuff before it becomes big stuff.’

Riley tucked her toes under his thigh and the action was so natural that he wasn’t sure if she was even conscious she’d done it. ‘How can I help?’ she asked.