A Dream Christmas

James frowned at her. ‘You want to help? Me?’

Riley yawned and her eyes drooped. ‘Despite the fact that you can be a constant nagging pain in my … neck, you still are one of my oldest friends. Despite our craziness, I would do anything I could to make the shadows in your eyes go away.’ Her eyes narrowed and he realised that she was very conscious of what she was saying. ‘I’ll help you, not because you are forcing me to or because you have this stupid idea that I should work my notice; I’ll help you because …’

James held his breath, not having a cooking clue what she was about to say. ‘Because?’

Riley bit her lip. ‘Because you have been incredibly good to me as a boss. I realise that. But also because I don’t want to start a new life without us being friends. I don’t want to carry that baggage forward with me, James.’

Generous Riley, he thought. As a child she’d always been the one to share a sandwich, would give up her last sweet, anxious to please and happy to give. It was warming to know that she still had that inside her, that generosity, that warmth.

Riley yawned widely and wiggled down so that her head was resting on the arm of the white leather couch. James leaned across and pushed a strand of red hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Why don’t you just close your eyes for a sec, Ri?’

‘I should go home.’

‘Not tonight, honey.’

‘I’ll close my eyes for a little while and then I’ll call a taxi.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ James replied, knowing that she would be asleep in a minute and wouldn’t wake up before sunrise. If he could trust himself he’d pick her up and take her back to the spare bedroom but he knew that as soon as he had her in his arms she’d end up in his bed and then he wouldn’t be able to resist waking her up with a couple of strategically placed kisses. No, it was better if he left her exactly where she was. They’d made some progress tonight and if they carried on in this vein then maybe he could get her to talk about why she was leaving so that he could fight fire with fire, so he could fix this.

Leave her here, his brain insisted—she would be fine here for the night. The apartment was toasty-warm, but he grabbed a spare blanket and put it over her anyway before turning off the lights.

The thought of waking up to her, even if she wasn’t in the same bed, shouldn’t make him as happy as it did. But tonight he was too tired to care. He’d worry about it in the morning.

CHAPTER FOUR

RILEY SNUGGLED INTO the cushions of the couch, smelled coffee and shoved her hand out from under the blanket and wiggled her fingers. ‘Gimme.’

She felt James’s fingers on hers, positioning her hand to grip the cup and, still lying on her stomach, she pulled the cup to her lips and took a scalding sip. The heat burned her tongue but she didn’t care. After a couple more sips, she opened her eyes and saw a pair of muscular thighs covered by expensive material, a fine white pinstripe running through the deep grey fabric. Her eyes wandered up, past a rather pleasing bulge, up and over a hard stomach covered, sadly, in her opinion, by a white dress shirt and a solid black tie lay between those wonderful pecs.

‘You shouldn’t get dressed. Ever,’ she muttered, sipping again.

She heard his snort of laughter and when she opened her eyes again he was on his haunches in front of her, clean-shaven and smelling amazing.

‘You awake now, Taylor?’

‘Go away,’ Riley muttered, conscious that she probably had canyon-size creases in her face from the throw pillows.

James brushed her hair away from her face. ‘It’s time to get moving.’

‘What part of “go away” is difficult for you?’ Riley muttered, yanking the blanket over her head.

James pulled it away again. ‘I’m making omelettes. You want one?’

Riley opened one eye. ‘Maybe. Mozzarella and bacon?’

‘Maybe.’ James smiled as he stood up, taking the blanket with him. She was still warm and the couch, though horribly white, was super comfortable … she could just drift off—but James’s hand landing on her butt had her eyes flying open again.

‘I’m up! I’m up!’ she growled at him.

‘You never could wake up gracefully,’ James said, yanking her to her feet.

‘If you want chirpy then go and catch a budgie,’ Riley told him, taking her coffee, her bag, and staggering towards the hallway. She needed six more hours of sleep, a shower and a meal and then she would feel human.

She looked up at the transparent ceiling into the clear blue water of the lap pool directly above it. She could easily imagine watching James’s perfect body cutting through the water … and if he were swimming naked? She felt the hot rush wet in her panties and swallowed.

Well, hello, new fantasy …

Well, that was better than a bucket of cold water for jolting her awake.

SHE HAD A SHOWER and found a toothbrush still in its packaging in the bathroom cupboard. Not having spare underwear meant going commando but she was okay with that because the shower had made her feel on her way to human. She couldn’t do anything about the need to sleep some more but food would get her to about sixty per cent human.

She could work with that.

‘Morning again,’ James said as he slid an omelette and a fresh cup of coffee across the kitchen counter in her direction. He smiled at her and Riley felt that familiar whoosh in her stomach. Ah, she could get used to this … waking up to James, been woken up by him.

It would’ve happened by now, she reminded herself. Your time has passed so don’t think about what-ifs. Just don’t even go there.

Riley grabbed the cup and went straight to the fridge to dump some milk into it. James groaned when she added a teaspoon of sugar and stirred.

‘Dammit, hand-picked beans,’ James growled. ‘Voted best coffee in the world, picked by a family in Costa Rica. It does not need milk and sugar.’

‘You’re a coffee snob.’

‘You’re a coffee peasant,’ James retorted, sliding his omelette onto a plate before taking a stool at the counter. He waved his fork at her plate. ‘Eat.’ They ate in companionable silence until Riley pushed her empty plate away and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘So, about that list …’

‘The one you threw at my head?’ James lifted his cup of black coffee to his lips and raised his sandy brows.

‘Chest. And yes, that list. Make a new one,’ she said.

James frowned. ‘I’m not following you, Riley.’

‘Grant isn’t at work and I understand that he makes your life run smoothly so if there’s anything I can do to help you that doesn’t require typing and spreadsheeting … then I’ll give you a hand.’ Riley held up her hand when she saw that James was about to speak. ‘But then you allow me to leave on Christmas Eve and not at the end of the month—I have a ticket to fly home on the twenty-fifth.’

‘You’re flying on Christmas Day?’ James, like Morgan, was horrified. ‘Why?’

‘Because, unlike you, I don’t have access to a private jet.’

‘I’m flying out on Christmas Eve—why didn’t you ask me for a lift?’

‘Have I ever asked for a lift on the MI jet, James? I only sometimes accept offers.’ Riley waved the topic away. ‘Anyway, do we have a deal? You get an extra set of hands and I get out of the city a week early?’

James thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Riley slid off the stool, picked up their dirty plates and placed them in the dishwasher. ‘So, I remember the bullet point about a wedding present for Morgan and Noah and I can do your Christmas shopping for you. What else was there?’

‘The Christmas cocktail party.’

Ah, that Christmas cocktail party. Gorgeous women, slick men … She normally spent the evening dodging fast hands and bitchy women. And she always, always found an excuse to leave early, which had never been a problem since none of the Moreaus ever noticed.

‘Do you think you could stay at the party past eight-thirty this time?’ James asked her.

Riley wrinkled her nose. So busted. ‘It’s really not my scene,’ she admitted.

‘It’s not mine either. It’s a tradition that I took over from my mother and half the people invited are her cronies, not mine. I’d prefer to have a smaller, more intimate party with the people I actually like.’

Riley sent him a sharp look. ‘So do that then.’ She waved at the cavernous interior. ‘And do it here—it’s not like you don’t have the space.’

Riley could almost see the wheels turning in his head while he considered the pros and cons. After a minute, he nodded his head decisively. ‘Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll do the invites if you can do everything else, like the catering and the booze. Can you handle that?’

‘It’s not like it’s rocket science.’ Riley shrugged. ‘I just need to place the order for pizzas and beer and we’re set.’

‘Funny girl. It’ll still have to be black tie, up-market.’

Riley shrugged. ‘Okay. That’s three items on the list. What else? You said something about me looking for my replacement?’

Annoyance flickered across James’s face and Riley realised that, despite their truce, he was still not even remotely accepting her resignation. Then his annoyance disappeared and his lips twitched. ‘With regard to your replacement, I do have a couple of criteria of my own.’

Riley pursed her lips and folded her arms. ‘Pray tell.’

‘Someone who actually has a vague concept of a budget would be nice. Someone who doesn’t run their department like a diva, who takes direction and understands that I am the boss. Smoking-hot would be a real bonus.’

‘Let me guess … tall, stacked, blonde.’ Riley snorted her disdain. She rested her arms on the counter and looked at him. ‘Keep dreaming, sunshine. Besides, if you were honest you’d admit that you’ll be bored without me.’

‘I’ll be drinking a lot less antacid,’ James retorted.

Riley held up her hands at the bite in his voice. ‘Okay, let’s get off this subject because we’ll just end up fighting again. I really don’t want to fight with you. I meant what I said about us parting as friends.’

James placed his ankle on his knee and played with the laces on his shoe. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, sexy and very, very deliberate. ‘We’ve been lots of things, Riley, but we’ve never been proper friends. From the time you were nineteen there’s been far too much sexual attraction between us for us to just be friends.’

‘Well, we can try.’ Riley licked her top lip. Looking for inspiration for a subject change, she looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows and drank in the view of Central Park. The clouds were low over the city today and the occasional drop of icy drizzle hit the windowpane. ‘Damn, it looks cold out there.’

‘New York at Christmastime. I’m craving some African sun.’

Riley flashed him a relieved smile. ‘Me too. Ice cream on the beach.’

‘You go pink within the hour.’

‘I do but it’s a nice fantasy,’ Riley agreed as James stood up and stretched. ‘Oh, right … there was one other thing on your list that we haven’t discussed—this apartment.’

James looked around him and shrugged. ‘What’s there to discuss?’

‘It’s white. And you said that you wanted me to decorate it.’

‘It’s minimalistic and I was just trying to wind you up.’ James grabbed some folders off the dining table and shut down his iPad.

‘It looks like you’re living in a snowstorm!’ Riley protested. ‘It’s big but so impersonal. And we should do something about it before the Christmas party or else people are going to think you like living in a morgue.’

James shoved his laptop into his briefcase and looked at his watch. Bored with the subject, he shrugged. ‘So do something about it then.’

‘Okay, but what do you want?’

James looked at her and huffed his frustration. Decorating was not his forte. ‘How do I know? As long as I have a bed, an internet connection and the plasma in my bedroom I’m golden. You think I need colour, put colour. Just don’t go mad.’

‘James, you can’t just tell me to redecorate!’

Why were they still discussing this? ‘That’s what I did with the last decorator.’

‘And that’s how you ended up living in the Arctic!’ Riley tapped her finger against her lips. ‘Why don’t I do you a couple of mood boards?’

‘Yeah, okay.’ If she wanted to …

‘You don’t even know what a mood board is!’ Riley accused him on a low laugh. Okay, so busted.

‘A mood board is a board, obviously, where I give you an idea of what the room would look like—furniture, colours, art. I can do different colours, different styles and see which one grabs you.’

James nodded. He was a guy and he liked the ‘I see, I like’ method of decorating. ‘That would work …’

‘But then you would actually have to look at colour samples and at the mood boards—’ Riley picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite.

James stepped forward, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her fabulous eyes. Her mouth was unpainted and it took all his concentration to stay on the topic at hand because the urge to kiss her was so damn strong. ‘Riley, I don’t care. Just make it look less morguelike for the party and I’m good with that.’

‘Okay. You want to give me a budget on how much to spend?’ Riley asked, holding his wrist with one hand.

James burst out laughing. ‘You and a budget? You’re kidding, right?’

Riley lifted her nose and his laugh deepened. ‘That’s art—there should be no price on art. I’ll have you know that I am very careful about spending other people’s money.’

He couldn’t argue with that. In the twenty-plus years he’d known her, Riley had never, not once, taken advantage of Morgan, his parents or his wealth. In fact, they frequently had to bully her into accompanying them to their houses in Aspen and the south of France, to flying with them on the corporate jet.

He had a whole bunch of issues around Riley, most of which he didn’t want to analyse too deeply, but her being a gold-digger wasn’t one of them. Since he no longer trusted the concept of love, he might not be able to trust her—or any woman, even himself—with his heart, but he did trust her with his cash.

Riley slapped her hands on her hips and tossed her hair. ‘I can either pay for stuff and you can refund me, except that I suspect that I don’t have as big a credit limit on my card as you do on yours.’

He shook his head. ‘That’s too much like hard work. Just take one of mine.’ He reached for his wallet, yanked out the first card and held it out to Riley. ‘The code is eight, nine, double four. I’ve got to go.’

‘You can’t give me this card!’ Riley protested, her apple half eaten and forgotten in her hand. ‘James, this is one of those fancy cards with no limit. I could buy a friggin’ country with this card!’

James grinned. ‘Since I have mines in most countries, I don’t need the country itself so don’t bother. But buy my sister a kick-ass wedding present with it.’

‘His and hers yachts? His and hers Indian Ocean islands? His and hers super cars?’ Riley called after him as he walked towards the door. ‘James, please give me an idea of how much I can spend—this is crazy.’

James tossed her a grin over his shoulder. ‘I do that every year with the windows … and you’ve never managed to stick to it yet. So I’m not going to waste my breath.’

As he shut the door behind him, James heard the thud of the apple hitting the door roughly where his head had been.

He chuckled quietly. Riley had always had one hell of an arm.

Riley Taylor: I’ve asked you three times over the past week to look at the mood boards so that I can get to work on your apartment.

James Moreau: Too busy and important. ;-)

Riley Taylor: *Snort* Too uninterested is more like it. I’m running out of time; the Christmas party is next week. Maybe I should just go ahead and do it without your input.

James Moreau: Great idea, do that. Going on a two-day trip to see an operation in Mexico. Don’t go mad with colour.

Riley read the series of instant messages she and James had exchanged a few days ago and shoved her mobile in the back pocket of her jeans. If James didn’t like what she’d done with his place then she had the proof that he’d said that she could go ahead and do it her way.

He was due home any minute and she bit her lip, wondering what he’d think of the changes she’d made. The white couches were gone; she’d replaced them with deep brown leather sofas that suited James’s long frame and no-fuss personality. She’d scattered rich autumn-coloured Persian rugs on the floor and she’d found a stunningly rendered painting of a herd of African cattle which she knew James would love and she’d placed it above the fireplace.

The throw cushions echoed the coppers and gold in the carpets and the painting; the effect was African-inspired, bold and masculine and changed the whole feel of the room.

She’d gone a bit nuts in his bedroom as well, Riley thought. She’d taken one of her favourite photographs of Bon Chance—a black-and-white image of the vines, the stately house and the towering mountain behind it—and supersized the image, framing it in solid black. His white wingback chair remained but now had an azure-blue throw over it and the solid black bedding was broken up with azure and white cushions.

She’d be mortified if he hated it. Any of it. Riley glanced at her watch and went to stand at the windows, looking out on the faded light. Waiting for him to arrive was worse than waiting to find out whether people liked her window displays or not.

Far, far worse. This was his home …

‘God, Riley.’

Riley spun around, her heart in her throat. She hadn’t heard him arrive and there he stood, his normally inscrutable face openly surprised.

But was that a good surprised or a bad surprised? She couldn’t tell.

Every muscle in her body tensed as he dropped his small suitcase and laptop bag to the floor, pushing back his suit jacket to place his hands on his hips. ‘Like it, hate it?’ she eventually asked when he just stood there, saying nothing.

‘You constantly surprise me,’ James said. ‘I love it.’

Riley hauled in a much needed breath as pleasure skittered through her system. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I’m not just saying this but it’s what I would’ve chosen for myself, if I knew what to look for. It’s … amazing.’

James’s smile, open and honest, blew away her last doubts and she held out her hand to him. ‘Glad you like it but maybe you should see the bedroom before you say anything more.’

Immediately his warm fingers tangled with hers as she led him down the passageway. ‘As long as you have put a mirror on the ceiling and a whip on the wall, I’ll love it.’

She snorted. ‘Dream on. I did, however, take your plasma off the wall.’

His mouth fell open in shock and disappointment and Riley rolled her eyes. ‘You are so easy …’ She opened the door and motioned him inside. ‘The TV is still on the wall so don’t be too scared. You’ll get used to the pink in no time at all.’

More shock. So, so easy.

Riley watched his face again and while there was pleasure in his expression—she could see that he liked it—she knew that James didn’t care enough about the new bedding and colour scheme for him to wax eloquent about it. For all his wealth, he was a pretty down-to-earth guy.

She knew from Morgan that James never ever brought women back to his apartment, so his bedroom was just a place to sleep, it didn’t need to look fantastic. But at least he tried. ‘It’s nice … not so white. I like the black, those pillow things will just end up on the floor … oh, honey.’

Yeah, that was the reaction she wanted, the reaction she knew she’d get when he saw the photograph. She wasn’t the greatest photographer but it was another form of art and she’d explored it and that photograph was one of the best she’d ever taken … ‘That is seriously. I’m not sure what to say.’

‘It’s an early Christmas present … it is nice, isn’t it?’

‘It’s freakin’ fantastic.’ James finally took his eyes off the photograph and looked at her and the expression in his eyes had the potential to stop her heart. He was looking at her in a way that every woman should be looked at, just once in her life. As if the sun and moon and stars rose with her and only her.

James lifted his hands to cradle her face and he lowered his head to brush his lips across hers. ‘Thank you … for doing this. Thank you for the thought you put into this. Thank you for my early Christmas present.’

‘Pleasure,’ Riley said against his lips. She expected him to step away and then his lips covered hers in a kiss that shot electricity to her toes. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside and she was lost. She was vaguely aware that his hands left her face so that his arms could haul her closer to him and then she was pressed up and against him, his arm easily holding her against his hard, muscular frame. This was heaven, she thought, and hell. Heaven because there was nothing better than being kissed by James, hell because she knew they had to stop before they went too far.

They couldn’t sleep together again, she told herself. She wasn’t going to do that again. But she could just kiss him, just for a little while longer.

His stubble tickled as he touched his lips to her cheekbone, nibbled her jawbone. His fingers found her breast and through the material of her shirt he massaged her nipple and teased it into an excited peak. She felt her panties dampen and when he started fumbling with the buttons on her shirt she knew that she had to stop because if he kissed her one more time, if he touched her there she would be lost … again.

Riley pushed her hands against his chest. ‘James, stop.’

It took a couple more kisses and the zip of her jeans was down before James got the message. He glowered down at her. ‘We’re really stopping?’

‘Yes.’

He dropped an F-bomb into the heavy silence that followed her answer. ‘Why?’

Riley pulled up her zip and straightened her shirt. ‘Because we’re not doing this again. Because we’re not going to have another one-night stand. Because I’m slowly getting my friend back and I don’t want to lose him again! Because I’m leaving … Pick a reason, James. Any of them work.’

‘They all suck,’ James muttered, his eyes tightly closed. ‘If I don’t get sex soon I swear I am going to die.’

He was James Moreau—surely he got sex all the time? While the thought of him being with anyone else made her feel physically ill, she wasn’t stupid. James was a good-looking, rich, charming man who could get all the sex he wanted whenever he wanted it and she couldn’t imagine him abstaining for any length of time.

He opened his eyes to glare at her. ‘Do you know how long five months actually is when you’re not having sex?’

‘Um … five months?’

‘Far too bloody long.’

Then a bank-load of pennies dropped—five months was when they were last at Bon Chance together. ‘You haven’t had sex since … me?’

James held her eyes and nodded.

Well … hell.

Except that she wasn’t idiot enough to believe him. ‘According to the entertainment pages, I wouldn’t have thought so. Your social life has been as hectic as ever.’ Riley grimaced at her waspish tone.

‘You know better than to believe anything you read in the press, Riley. I haven’t had sex with anyone since you,’ he said, emphasising every word.

‘Liar,’ Riley whispered.

‘Truth.’

Not knowing what to think, she waved at his trousers. ‘When that subsides, you’ll thank me.’

‘Trust me, I won’t,’ James grumbled.

‘It’s for the best, James.’ Riley managed a small smile. ‘I’m glad you like what I’ve done with your place but I think I’m going to go now.’

As in right now … while my legs are still receiving messages from my brain.