The Christmas Present

She just stared at him—and the bike—warily. But then the wind picked up, blowing hard between the buildings and making her shiver all over again.

“Just swing your leg over the seat like I did,” he said.

“Um, sure. But…”

“But what?” He fought to keep the impatience out of his voice, but he was cold, tired and more than a little hungry, since he’d skipped both lunch and dinner to deal with center business. He knew his annoyance had leaked through when she stiffened.

“What do I do with my briefcase?” She held up the brown leather bag she was carrying.

“I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed it and started to shove it into the saddlebag of his bike, shocked at just how soft and supple the leather was. The thing had probably cost thousands of dollars—just one more thing to underscore the differences between them.

Not that he should care about those differences. Not that he did care about them, he told himself. He finished buckling the saddlebag and said, “Now climb on.”

Muttering beneath her breath—too low for him to hear what she was saying, which was probably a good thing—Vivian did as she was told. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, but eventually she managed to get herself situated behind him. He was proud of himself for not laughing.

“Now hang on,” he said, as he started the bike.

“To what?” she yelled over the sudden roar of the engine.

He did laugh then as he glanced behind him in disbelief. “To me!”

It was the last thing he said before he slipped the bike onto Ellis and sent it roaring into the night.

VIVIAN TIGHTENED HER ARMS around Rafael’s waist and tried not to scream as they sped through the nearly empty streets. It wasn’t easy, when every shift and shimmy of the bike had panic racing through her.

When Rafael laughed as he careened around a corner, barely slowing the motorcycle down, she knew with absolute certainty that she had indeed gone crazy. Why else would she have her arms wrapped around a man who despised her as they barreled through the night toward certain death?

Except it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected it to be. The smooth purr of the engine was kind of exciting, especially if she didn’t think about being completely unprotected in case of a crash. If she just focused on the wind whipping past her and the soft sway of their bodies as they rode through the night, it was almost relaxing. Even before she added in the strong, resilient warmth of Rafael’s back, which she was currently pressed against intimately.

It was amazing that a man with such a nasty disposition could have such a comforting way about him. She’d noticed it first when he’d saved her from Nacho and his friends, and then when he was calming down Diego. Now here it was again as they were pressed breast to back, inner thigh to hip.

He was like a furnace, the heat his body emanated absolutely amazing, especially since he didn’t have a jacket on. Yet somehow he managed to keep her warm throughout the wild ride, so warm that when they finally arrived at her apartment complex and she climbed off the bike, she somehow felt bereft without the contact.

It was stupid, ridiculous, yet something about being wrapped around Rafael had made her feel safer than she’d felt in a long time. Shocked and more than a little frightened of the feeling, she found her voice came out more abruptly than she would have liked.

“Thanks for the ride. And the rescue earlier. I appreciate it.” She took off the helmet and held it out to him.

He didn’t reach for it right away, instead choosing to pull his own helmet off and study her. His eyes gleamed black in the rosy glow of the streetlight, and for one long moment she was trapped. Caught. Unable to move or think or do anything but feel as his eyes swept leisurely over her from head to toe.

Her heart started to pound and her knees trembled—actually trembled—under the weight of his gaze. It was that small shake that jump-started her brain and had her backing away from him as panic skated down her spine.

She didn’t need this, didn’t want this—with any man. Certainly not with a man who despised her very existence.

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was low and gruff. “But bring your car when you come on Thursday. You can park around back where I keep my bike. It should be safe there.”

“Sure.” She looked over his shoulder, then down at the ground, anywhere but into those black-magic eyes that were somehow holding her in thrall. “Um, same time? Seven o’clock? That way, even if court runs late, I won’t be.”

“Sure. And, Vivian?” He paused and silence stretched between them, so long and tense that finally she had to look up. As their gazes collided, she realized it was what he’d been waiting for. “Thanks for helping Diego.”

Shock almost had her jaw dropping before she caught it. “I thought—”

His smile, when it came, was rueful. “I was wrong. I thought you were there to go through the motions, that you really didn’t care—”

“Of course I care!” The words burst from her. “Do you think I want to see that poor child go to jail for the rest of his life? For a crime he didn’t commit?”

“I know, I know.” Rafael held out a hand as if to soothe her, but stopped just short of touching her. Yet she could still feel him, though she didn’t know how. Or why. “That’s why I wanted to apologize. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for him. We both do.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.” She took off his jacket, surprised at how much she wanted to keep it, then pressed it into his hands.

He took it reluctantly, shoved it into his saddlebag after he’d returned her briefcase to her. Then he pinned her with a look so fierce her heart jumped in her chest.

“I don’t think so.” He pulled his helmet back over his head. “I think it’s you.”

He started the bike and roared away before she could come up with a suitable reply.

Head swimming, feet aching, Vivian stumbled into the lobby of her apartment building. Michael, the doorman, greeted her with a smile she returned. He rushed to call the elevator for her, as he always did when she came in late.

She rode up to the penthouse condominium her parents had bought her when she’d graduated from Harvard Law, summa cum laude. It had been a bribe to get her to come back to San Francisco, and one she hadn’t been able to resist, despite the numerous job offers she’d received from a variety of New York and Washington firms.

But San Francisco, with its turbulent ocean and temperamental weather, was home.

The second her apartment door closed behind her, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief. She had an addiction to expensive, high-heeled shoes, and normally her feet handled her little problem just fine. But after eighteen hours in the four-inch heels, even her steel arches were weeping.

Shrugging out of her suit jacket, she dropped it on the kitchen table on her way to the refrigerator. A little spurt of guilt raised its ugly head, but she shoved it down. The house didn’t need to be spotless all the time, no matter what her mother said; Vivian could hang the jacket up tomorrow.

Right now it was—she glanced at the clock in the breakfast nook—almost eleven-thirty and the turkey sandwich she’d gulped down for lunch between court sessions had long since worn off. She wanted a quick snack and about eight hours stretched out on her very comfortable bed. But tomorrow was Tuesday, and one of the two mornings a week she spent volunteering at a battered women’s shelter. She could cancel and try to get some extra sleep, but everything inside her rebelled at the thought.

They needed her. When she’d finally become an adult, she’d sworn she’d never turn her back on someone who needed her. Like Diego. That boy—

The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought, as she was haphazardly slapping a couple pieces of cheese between two slices of bread. She started to reach for it, but just didn’t have the energy to deal with anything else tonight, no matter how irresponsible that made her.

When the answering machine finally kicked on and her mother’s voice flooded the room, she was glad exhaustion had won out over conscience.

“Vivian, this is your mother. Are you really not there? It’s eleven o’clock. If you’re out, I hope it’s on a date and not with one of those women for the shelter. You know, the Winchester boy has been asking about you and I told him you were available. I think he might be calling, so be nice when he does. The Black-and-White Ball is coming up fast and I mentioned that you didn’t have an escort yet. Remember, I helped organize it again this year so I expect you to be there. No excuses.

“Also, I was calling to see if you had time to go Christmas shopping next Tuesday. I thought we’d make a day of it—brunch, shopping, maybe an afternoon at the spa. Your nails were looking so ragged the last time I saw you, and your hair could certainly use a little pick-me-up. And don’t give me any nonsense about work—I don’t think you’ve taken a day off in two years. Call me and let me know what time you would like to meet on Tuesday. I’ll be home tomorrow until eleven.”

The answering machine clicked off abruptly.

Vivian carried her sandwich into the family room, but instead of sinking onto the nearest available space, she went to stand near the long picture window that overlooked the nearly infinite Pacific.

Nothing like her mother to put things in perspective. Forget the women’s shelter—you should be on a date. Forget helping others—we should go shopping.

Shopping was her mom’s answer to everything, and it always had been. Bad day at school—let’s go to the mall. Break up with a boy—a new dress is just what you need. Your sister died—Nordstrom’s is having a sale. Let’s go.

Vivian fought the old bitterness that crept up, hating the way her mother could so easily cut her off at the knees. She reminded herself that her mother felt things in her own way, and that criticizing her daughter was how the woman showed her love. Dwelling on how Vivian wished things were different wasn’t going to do anything, Lillian Wentworth would always be exactly what she was.

Dispassionate, formal, unwilling to show emotion, which was exactly what she’d raised her daughters to be. Thank God the lessons hadn’t rubbed off, at least not on Vivian.