All That Glitters

“Only at Christmas,” he corrected.

“It isn’t, just yet.”

He glanced at her. “Will you go home for Christmas?”

She was still for a minute. “I...don’t expect so. My mother goes to Europe with friends. I’ll save the money,” she said, amazed at how easily the lies poured from her mouth. “Besides, I have a lot of work to do, getting ready for the January showings!” she added with inspiration.

“Your dress is already in a showing state,” he said, curious. “Your other duties aren’t that hectic, surely.”

“Well, since I’m also doing repairs...”

“Repairs!” He stared at her. “Who said?”

“Miss...”

“...Raines.” He ground his teeth together. “Never mind. When you’re promoted I’ll specify that you do design work and accessories only.”

“I don’t mind hard work.”

“I mind when my employees are overworked. I’ll handle it.”

She started to argue, but thought better of it at the moment. It would be a relief not to have to struggle through the endless repair jobs, especially with a new job to learn.

He pulled up at her apartment building in the once-elegant area that was now middle-class, with a few trees lining the sidewalk. He turned off the engine, got out, ignoring her protests, and walked her to the front door.

“Got your key?” he asked.

She produced it and held it up. “Thank you for bringing me home,” she said.

He was looking around. “It brings back memories. I grew up a few blocks from here. Of course, my apartment building wasn’t this nice,” he added with a grin.

He looked younger when he smiled. She looked up, a long way up, to catch his gaze. He had the look of a brigand in that eye patch, she thought, like a hero out of a storybook.

“The highwayman...” she murmured without thinking.

“And Bess with her long, night-black hair.” He touched her short wavy hair wistfully. “Yours isn’t black, it’s like spun gold. And I don’t suppose you’d let it grow to your waist if I asked you. Not on such short acquaintance, anyway.”

She was surprised that he knew the poem, and its heroine.

“It isn’t well-known, you understand, but I have a romantic streak,” he mocked softly. He tugged at her hair gently so that she moved closer to him to ease the pressure. He smelled of expensive cologne and soap; a clean, attractive—very attractive—man. Her eyes fell involuntarily to his firm mouth. It was thin, the lower lip almost square and very sensuous. There was a faint shadow where he’d shaved, and his chin had a suggestion of a dimple. It was a firm, thrusting chin, arrogant like its owner.

“I want to kiss you, Ivory Keene,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t try, and you shouldn’t let me. I’m too old for you and you don’t want to get sidetracked from your road to fame.”

“If you say so,” she replied. “But it will be a great loss to my education if you don’t. I haven’t been kissed very much. And I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed by anyone who knew how. You do, don’t you?” she added seriously, searching his face. “You know all there is to know.”

His chest rose and fell heavily. He traced her lower lip and bent his head. Some things were inevitable, he thought as his mouth parted and pushed down over hers.

She tasted of rose petals. Her mouth was faintly tremulous, hesitant, unsure of itself.

He checked his instinctive move to deepen the kiss and brushed the side of her mouth as he lifted his head just a fraction.

“Are you afraid I might force you?” he whispered.

Her hands pressed flat against his white shirtfront, feeling warm, hard muscle and chest hair under the thin fabric. “No. But you should be afraid that I might force you,” she whispered back outrageously.

He met her smile with one of his own. “I’m impressed. You’re a better judge of character than I gave you credit for.” He bent again and nibbled softly at her upper lip. “Open your mouth a little,” he whispered, inhaling sharply when she complied. “That’s it.”

His lips came down again, caressing lightly. She could feel him smile as she did what he asked, rippling from the sensuality in the movement of his mouth, in the deep rumble of his voice.

A lean hand at her waist moved her lightly so that her body brushed against his while he teased her lips. She shivered and the deep, soft laughter became husky.

“You’re...dangerous,” she accused.

“Yes. I am.” He pulled her close and cupped her head in his hand while his mouth stopped teasing and became intensely serious.

She shook inside with a heat she’d never known. Her legs trembled where they came into contact with his. She heard his breath sigh out against her cheek and felt the firm movements of his mouth with shocked wonder at its expertness.

Her hand crushed his lapel while she tried to control her own body and found that she was too weak. She let him part her lips and moaned when she felt the tip of his tongue tracing just inside her lower lip. The provocation was unbearable. Her mouth opened, hungry for something it had never known, never before wanted, intensely aware of the throbbing ache he’d aroused in her.

And at that moment, when she was ready to plead for more, he jerked his head up and looked into her half-closed, dazed eyes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. She was an open book, and all the sexual pages were blank.

He forced himself to let her go very gently. He held her arms until she seemed steady on her feet.

“I’ll say good night,” he said softly.

She looked at him helplessly. It took precious seconds to pull her dreaming mind back into place. “It was a lovely party,” she said in an unfamiliar husky tone. “Thank you for inviting me, and for the ride home. And especially for the new job.”

“My pleasure.” He let her go, smiling with faint self-mockery at his own stupidity. He had no right to play games with her. His first impression, of stifled innocence, had been right on the money. She’d had a bad experience with men, but she didn’t need any sexual healing from him. He’d stepped out of line.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night. I’ll be in touch, about the show.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

He shrugged and went back down the steps to his car, taking them two at a time. He didn’t look back as he drove off, but Ivory watched him all the way out of sight.

“He’s probably a millionaire,” she reminded herself on the way up. “He drives a Jaguar and owns several companies. He’s almost forty and he has lots of girlfriends. So don’t lose your head.”

“You’re talking to yourself again, Ivory,” Mr. Johnson called from his open doorway as she went past.

She poked her head in, smiling as she watched his hands work skillfully on a wooden bird. “Very nice, Mr. Johnson. What’s that one for?”

“My granddaughter. It’s for Christmas.”

“She’ll love it.”

He chuckled. “Yes, she will. Have a good time tonight?”