His Christmas Fantasy

In his mind, he slid the straps of that red bra down her shoulders, his fingers dragging along the soft warmth of her skin. Where did her freckles end? What did her breasts look like without her bra? Prominent or small nipples? Rose-hued or darker, duskier? Was she a pubic waxing fanatic or was she more au naturel?

He didn’t need to be thinking about her naked, or it could be damn embarrassing when it was time to get out of the car or if she happened to glance over and down.

He spent a few minutes adjusting the settings, cleaning the lens, and then resolutely looked out the passenger window. On both sides of the divided highway, towering saguaro cactus dotted the arid brown landscape like green giants. “It is spectacular, isn’t it?”

“It must’ve been something to travel through here by stagecoach back in the day,” Giselle said, her voice low and reflective.

“Yeah. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter.”

“Very funny.” Amusement sparkled in her eyes and he knew a moment of intense satisfaction that he’d been responsible for putting it there.

Wind gusted through the canyon and buffeted the SUV. “And windy.”

“Obviously you’re not channeling the pioneering spirit.”

He grinned at her dry wit, one of the things he’d liked so much about her from the beginning. “’Fraid not.”

“So you had some ideas you wanted to bounce around on the article?”

He might’ve railroaded his way into this assignment, but they still needed to be on the same page with the article. When a writer and a photographer “spoke” at cross-purposes it resulted in substandard work. Sam didn’t do substandard.

He’d resolved as a kid that if people wanted to slap a label on him, he’d make damn sure that label was Excellence. He demanded it of himself and expected it from others, as well.

“So, the way I understand it from your outline, there’s an urban legend taking shape that couples who show up at this particular vortex on the third day after the winter solstice fall in love.”

“There’s a little more to it than that, but that’s the gist of it. You don’t actually have to be a couple. Singles apparently show up there,” she shrugged, “and sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Sounds like the power of suggestion to me. It’s hard to believe someone falls in love because of winter solstice at a Sedona vortex. That just seems like a lot of hocus-pocus, but I’ll still be glad to take photos.”

“So you don’t believe in magic?”

He leaned into the space between them, narrowing the distance. He caught another whiff of her perfume. If scents were translated to pictures, this one evoked a dark, erotic blend of swirls and curves in shades of ruby red and purple against a blanket of yellow-gold. Complex and evocative beneath the surface. It suited her. “Do you believe in magic?”

“I trust you’re a better photographer than you are interviewer.”

He chuckled. “Am I interviewing you?”

“If you were, you’d be doing a lousy job. You’re obviously biased.”

“And you’re hedging.” She was a crafty one, Giselle was. “Do you believe in magic?”

“I believe in forces of energywecan’t necessarily see.”

Forces of energy. Something stirred inside him, a resonance, an acknowledgement. “I take it that’s a yes. Have you ever experienced magic yourself?”

Her hands tightened on the wheel and he felt her hesitation, as if she might refuse to answer. She was right. He was a lousy interviewer. She tilted her chin up. “Maybe…once…I’m not sure, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

Gooseflesh prickled his skin and the first time he ever saw her came to mind, swiftly followed by that Christmas night two years ago. Forces of energy. That summed it up exactly.

He asked the question that had been bugging him ever since he’d skimmed Darren’s assignment notes. “Are you coming with a personal interest? Are you looking to fall in love?”

“It crossed my mind.” Her smile had an edge to it. “Who couldn’t use some help in their love life?”

That made him want to grind his teeth. “Come on. You’re writing this story, but you don’t really believe this, do you?”

“How are you so sure it’s not real?”

“It’s not an issue for me. I can take the photos all day long but it doesn’t mean I believe this magic nonsense.”

Before she could respond, a massive wind gust barreled through the canyon. One minute they were driving along in their lane and the next a trailer swaying behind a pickup in the lane beside them bounced off the SUV, metal screeching against metal, sending them spinning out of control.

4

“ARE YOU okay?” Sam’s voice came to her as if it were muffled by fog. “Giselle?” His urgent tone snapped her out of what must have been mild shock.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“I’m good.”

They sat on the shoulder of the road, the SUV’s motor still running, the vehicle upright but facing oncoming traffic. Adrenaline kicked in. Her heart pounded. Her hands shook. “What the hell just happened?”

Sam raked an unsteady hand through his hair. “The wind blew that trailer into us, they sideswiped us and kept going. Nice job of handling the car, by the way.”

Giselle laughed abruptly. “I didn’t handle anything. I just held on to the wheel and it was all a blur.”

“Exactly. We’d have rolled if you’d overreacted and tried to fight it.” He released his seat belt. “Sit tight. I’ll check out the damage to the vehicle. We may have to report it as a hit-and-run for the insurance to cover it.”

Sam opened his door and cold wind whistled into the car. Giselle tugged her down vest tighter about her while he climbed out and rounded the front of the vehicle. She powered down her window and stuck her head out into the bracing December air, expecting to see dents and scrapes along her side. Nothing. She blinked. Nothing marred the white paint along the entire driver’s side. Sam moved to stand beside her door.

“Am I missing something here?” She looked up at Sam. “Are you not seeing the same thing I’m not seeing?”

He dropped to his haunches and ran his hand lightly over the front panel and her door. “No dents. No scrapes. Not even a scratch.” He slowly stood up.

“But that trailer hit us…I heard it…felt it…how can…”

“I don’t know.” Sam skirted the vehicle again and climbed back in.

“That’s weird,” Giselle said before he even got the door closed.

Frown lines creased his forehead. “When we stopped one-eightying, my first thought was we were lucky to be upright and unhurt. I don’t know how there’s not even a mark on your door.”

A tingling rippled through her body and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood at attention. There was only one explanation as far as she was concerned. “Do you believe in magic now?”

“I’d mark it as luck,” Sam said. She wasn’t going to argue the point but…“I guess we keep going since there doesn’t appear to be any reason not to,” he continued. “You want me to drive?”

“No. I’m fine…” Her voice petered out as an eighteen-wheeler rumbled past and she realized they could’ve been sitting squarely in the path of an equally big, equally lethal truck when they stopped spinning. Six feet to the left and they’d have been…

She wasn’t fine. The aftermath of being behind the wheel while the vehicle spun in circles—it could have been one or twenty, she had no clue—set in and her hands began to shake so hard she couldn’t steady them. Sometimes owning the power was all in knowing when to hand it over. “No. I’m not fine, and yes, I think I’d like you to drive.”