More to come, the last line said, then she’d signed her initials.
He liked the way she communicated—quick and to the point. But her handwriting surprised him with its large letters and lots of swoops and curves. It seemed…romantic.
The thought conjured up another image of Violet, nude on pink satin sheets, her hair unbound and fanned around her head, her pale breasts high and full, with puffy pink nipples, her legs long and slender. When his cock hardened, Dominick scoffed at his reaction. He’d had a lot of women in his bed, all of them fit and tan and physical. Violet Summerlin was about as far from his type as he could imagine. She didn’t smile easily, could never be described as bubbly or fun. As intriguing as it might be to try to bed her, she struck him as a lights-off-during-sex kind of girl.
He poured a cup of coffee, settled into a chair in the den and turned on a Hawks basketball game in the background. Over the next couple of hours he alternately read and checked the game score. Working through the material Vee had compiled, he mentally ticked off answers to some of his uppermost concerns. On the surface, Sunpiper looked like a good acquisition.
But things weren’t always what they seemed.
When he turned the page, he frowned at a pink polka-dot envelope that looked incongruous next to the rest of the printed research. Had something been inserted in the package by mistake?
On the outside of the envelope were some kind of doodled numbers and letters…or a code?
He withdrew the pages and unfolded them. From the salutation, he first thought it was a letter to Violet and he started to refold it. Then he recognized the handwriting as hers—the same large letters, the same whorls and loops—and his curiosity intensified.
Noting the date, he soon realized that it was a letter that Violet had written to herself when she was in college. A couple of lines into it, though, his eyebrows flew up. Violet had recorded her sexual fantasies? As he read her words about her uninspiring sexual experiences, he shook his head. College-age boys weren’t the most giving lovers.
But when he read the part where she questioned her own desirability, a pang of remorse barbed through him. These were the words of a lonely woman who felt overlooked and unloved. No wonder she downplayed her beauty—the more men ignored her, the more she probably wanted to be ignored. But in the letter she’d written, it was clear that she’d had hopes and dreams for her future that included exploring her sensuality.
I hope you’ve found someone who knows how to make sex exciting. I hope you’ve found a way out of yourself.
Dominick stood and walked back to the bar, the coffee forgotten as his need for a stiffer drink returned with a vengeance. His pulse pounded in his ears, sending adrenaline racing through his bloodstream. He’d been looking for a challenge and one had literally fallen into his lap.
He poured a vodka tonic and took a healthy gulp.
Quiet little Violet Summerlin with her tight ponytail secretly fantasized about exciting sex?
An energized smile lifted the corners of Dominick’s mouth. This changed everything.
3
Five days until Christmas
WHEN VIOLET’S ALARM went off the next morning, it jarred her from a deep and disturbing dream starring Dominick Burns. The details were foggy, but it had something to do with being dangled from a high place…naked…with him promising to catch her. Her subconscious had managed to take her phobia of heights, as well as her phobia of being attracted to Dominick, and combine them in the most torturous way. Her body still pulsed with adrenaline and desire. She hit the off button on her clock and groaned.
That darn letter had unleashed all kinds of errant thoughts—and she was attaching them to Dominick simply because of his proximity and the work she was doing for him. Not because she was attracted to Dominick. She wasn’t like all those women he dated; she was above the fray. They shared a professional relationship, which was way better than being one of his floozies.
A tremulous sigh escaped her heated body. Wasn’t it?
Knowing she’d feel better after a shower, she pulled herself out of bed to face the day. Except today, the soapy sponge seemed to have fingers—long, tanned fingers that caressed her body in places where no man had ever touched her—her shoulder blades…behind her knees…the arch of her foot. She tried to push Dominick from her mind, but her body was pent up from the words that she’d written long ago and refused to let go of the image. Finally, following her previous advice to Nan, she turned the water full blast on cold. The icy sluice made her gasp, but it effectively drove all illicit thoughts from her mind.
She turned off the water and used a towel to briskly dry and warm her skin. Then she tuned into a radio station of holiday golden oldies to listen to as she got ready for work. “I’ll be Home for Christmas” was her favorite Christmas song of all time. In her opinion, no one sang it like Doris Day, but any version would do. It never failed to make her feel all warm and tingly inside. This year the tune was especially poignant because her parents would be home for Christmas.
From now on, she’d direct all of her excess energy toward the magical holiday she would have with her family this year, not on Dominick Burns.
After Violet dressed, she double-checked the box of Christmas decorations she was taking with her when she had lunch with her mother today—yards and yards of tinsel, old-fashioned bubble lights for the tree and new buildings for a miniature village she and her Grammy had enjoyed adding to each year. She’d wanted to put up the tree weeks ago in the den where it always stood and could be seen from the street, but her mother had suggested that they wait until Christmas Eve—a new family tradition. Violet had agreed, although she missed popping over to enjoy her Grammy’s tree and bringing new ornaments to hang on it every few days leading up to Christmas. She was taking over decorations a little at a time so there wouldn’t be as much to transport Christmas Eve. On impulse, she added the gifts for her parents to the box. Maybe the gaily wrapped packages would persuade her mother to put up the tree early.
She idly wondered what Dominick Burns would do to celebrate the holidays. He’d never mentioned family and she’d never asked. Regardless, he didn’t seem like the type who would want a Norman Rockwell Christmas.
What do you want for Christmas, Vee?
As Violet locked the door to her condo, she banished the memory of his mischievous blue eyes from her mind. Then she lugged the box of decorations, the gifts, her coat and her purse downstairs to the Summerlin at Your Service office while stifling a yawn. At this rate, she’d never make it through the day. One thing was certain, she couldn’t afford to lose another precious night’s sleep to foolish dreams stirred up by a silly letter she’d written in college. After unlocking the front door and turning the sign to Open, she started the coffeepot, then walked into her office, on a mission.
The sooner the letter met the shredder, the better.
But when she glanced at the lone neat stack of manila folders on her desk, panic blipped in her chest. She’d asked Lillian to discard the remnants of her printed research for Dominick—everything on the desk except for the folders. What if the woman had found the letter and read it?
Her cheeks burned. If that was the case, she wasn’t sure she could face Lillian again. She flipped through the folders, but didn’t find the pink envelope containing the letter.
The bell on the front door sounded, along with a happy humming noise, signaling Lillian’s arrival. Violet walked out of her office and gave the woman a tentative smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Lillian returned, smiling wide as she hung up her coat and colorful scarf.
Violet bit into her lip, her nerves bundling tighter as her imagination spun out of control. She didn’t know Lillian very well. What if the woman had read her letter and gossiped about its contents? Violet had worked so hard to cultivate a professional reputation in the community.