Wicked Christmas Nights: It Happened One Christmas

Hmm. So maybe this wasn’t about some mystery project. Because the way she was blushing made him suspect she’d had something wicked on her mind.

More interesting by the minute.

“So, what is this big project?”

“Project?”

“Yeah. Your friend came over, told me you needed some advice on tools for a project you’re doing.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes for a second, then whispered, “I’m going to kill her.”

“Maybe that’s why she left—she needed a running start.”

“She left?”

“Yep. Right after she came to ask me to help you.”

Groaning, she shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“So, she was trying to set us up?”

“I think so.”

“What kind of friend does that?” he asked. “She doesn’t know me—what if I’m some kind of serial killer or panty thief?”

Her brow went up. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Either of those things?”

He grinned. “No on the first. I’ll take the fifth on the second until we get to know each other.” Certain he wanted that—to get to know her—he stuck out his hand. “I’m Ross.”

She eyed it, then reached out and shook. Her hand was small, soft. Fragile against his own. Having worked only with his hands for months, he knew he had calluses on top of blisters, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she was the one who held on for a moment, as if not wanting to let go.

Finally, though, she pulled away, murmuring, “Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You, too. Especially now that I know you’re not a serial killer.” She flashed a grin. “As for the other, remind me not to walk into Victoria’s Secret with you…wouldn’t want to get arrested as an accomplice.”

“What fun would there be in stealing brand-new panties?” Then, seeing her brow shoot up, he held up a hand. “Kidding. Believe me, stealing underwear isn’t my thing.”

“Helping mystery girls with mysterious projects is?”

“Uh-huh. Now, mysterious girl, back to the mysterious project.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Your friend made it up?”

She shifted her gaze, those long lashes lowering. “Not exactly. I was, um, wondering which tool to use to, uh, remove something. And she obviously thought it would be fun to bring you into my fantasies.” She gasped, staring him in the eye. “I mean, I wasn’t…it’s not that I was fantasizing about you!”

“Aww, I’m crushed.”

“If you knew the fantasy, you wouldn’t be,” she said, her tone droll.

“So why don’t you tell me?” he asked, only half-teasing. What did a beautiful young woman fantasize about? More importantly, who?

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, trust me on this, I definitely do.”

She studied him for a moment, eyeing him intently as if to see if he was serious. Then, apparently realizing he was, she came right out and told him.

3 (#ulink_52f19de3-7f40-5be4-bb2b-392bcc288420)

Now

Chicago, December 23, 2011

JUST BECAUSE ROSS Marshall hadn’t seen Lucy Fleming for six years did not mean he didn’t instantly recognize her. It did, however, mean his heart literally thudded in his chest and his brain seemed to flatline. The huge, open reception area of his office—decorated with lights and greenery—seemed to darken. It also appeared to shrink, squeezing in tight, crushing his ribs, making his head throb, sending him off-kilter. He couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

Well, maybe one. You cut your hair? He had the presence of mind to notice that the long, riotous curls that had once fallen well down her back had been tamed and shortened. Then everything just went blank.

She couldn’t be here, right? Could not possibly be here. This had to be a dream—he was still sleeping and she was visiting his nighttime fantasies, as she so often had over the years.

He couldn’t resist, needing to grab the moment before he woke up. He lifted a hand, put it on her shoulder, felt the solid, real person beneath the elf costume. She didn’t immediately pull away, and he leaned a little bit closer, breathing deeply, recognizing the scent that was uniquely Lucy. Not a perfume or a lotion or her shampoo. Just something distinctive and evocative that called to his memories, reminding him that she had been the one.

And he’d let her get away.

“You’re not dreaming,” she told him, her tone dry.

He dropped his hand and stepped back, needing to get his head back in the game. “Guess that means you’re not, either.”

“That thought did cross my mind,” she said, her big brown eyes inquisitive. “I certainly never expected to run into you, today of all days.”

He knew the day. Knew it well. Which just made the meeting all the more surreal. “Same here,” he mumbled.

They both fell silent. Lucy appeared as stunned as he was.

Well, why wouldn’t she be? They hadn’t laid eyes on each other in years. Despite what had happened between them, what they’d shared over that one amazing holiday season, not one word had been exchanged between them since mid-January, nearly six years ago. Not a card, not a phone call. No chance of bumping into each other since, the last he’d known, she had been bound for Europe.

But here she was. Not just in Chicago, but in his office.

His freaking office!

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his brain not catching up yet. It should be obvious. Lucy had been studying photography when they’d met. Besides which, she was carrying a camera bag. And was dressed as an elf.