Before she could do it, however, she heard a voice. A deep, male voice—smooth and sexy, and so not Santa’s.
“I hear that you did a terrific job.”
Lucy didn’t respond, letting her brain process what she was hearing. Her whole body had stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, her skin tightening into tiny goose bumps. Because that voice sounded familiar. Impossibly familiar.
It can’t be.
“It sounds like the kids had a great time.”
Unable to stop herself, she began to turn around, wondering if her ears—and all her other senses—were deceiving her. After all, six years was a long time, the mind could play tricks. What were the odds that she’d bump into him here? And today of all days. December 23. Six years exactly. Was that really possible?
One look—and the accompanying frantic thudding of her heart—and she knew her ears and brain were working just fine. Because it was him. Ross Marshall.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, shocked, frozen, staring as intently as she was. “Lucy?”
She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him, wondering why the years had made him even more attractive than ever. It didn’t seem fair, or just. Not when she’d spent the past six years thinking he must have started losing that thick, golden-brown hair, or added a spare tire to that trim, muscular form or lost some of the sparkle from those green eyes.
Huh-uh.
The man was gorgeous. Truly, without-a-doubt, mouth-wateringly handsome, and every bit as hot as he’d been the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But he wasn’t that young, lean, hungry-looking guy anymore. Now he was all fully realized, powerful, strong—and devastatingly attractive—man.
She’d been twenty-two when they met, he two years older. And during the brief time they’d spent together, Ross had blown away all her preconceived notions of who she was, what she wanted and what she would do when the right guy came along.
He’d been her first lover.
They’d shared an amazing holiday season. But after that one Christmas, they had never seen each other again. Until now.
Well, doesn’t this just suck?
“Hello, Ross,” she murmured, wondering when her life had become a comedy movie. Because wasn’t this always the way those things opened? The plucky, unlucky-in-love heroine coming face-to-face with the one guy she’d never been able to forget while dressed in a ridiculous costume? It was right out of central casting 101—what else could she be wearing other than a short green dress with bells and holly on the collar, red-and-white striped hose, pointy-toed shoes and the dippy green hat with the droopy feather? The only thing that could make the scene more perfect was if she’d been draped across the grouchy Santa’s lap, trying to evade his gropey hands, when the handsome hero came up to rescue her.
He did rescue you once. Big time.
Her heart twisted, as it always did when she thought about that…The way Ross had been there for her in what could have been a horrible moment. Whatever had happened later—however much she resented him now—she would never forget that he’d been there to keep her from getting hurt.
But that had been a long time ago. She was no longer that girl and she no longer needed any man’s rescue.
“It’s really you,” he murmured.
“In the flesh.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“That makes two of us,” she admitted.
Her brain scrambled to find more words, to form thoughts or sentences. But she just couldn’t. If she’d woken up this morning to find her bed had floated up into the sky on a giant helium balloon, she couldn’t have been more surprised than she was right now.
Or more disturbed.
Because she wasn’t supposed to see him again. Wasn’t supposed to care again. Wasn’t supposed to even think of getting hurt by him again.
She’d played this scene once, and at exactly this time of year. No way was she ready for a repeat.
She knew all that, knew it down to her soul. So why, oh why, was her heart singing? Crazy expression that, but it was true. There was music in her head and brightness in her eyes and a smile fought to emerge on her lips.
Because it was Ross. The guy she’d met exactly six years ago today. The man she’d fallen crazy in love with.
At Christmastime.
Then
New York, December 23, 2005
HMM. DECISIONS, decisions.
Lucy honestly wasn’t sure what would be the best tool for the job. After all, it wasn’t every day she was faced with a project of this magnitude. As a photography student at NYU, she usually spent more time worrying about creating things rather than hacking them up.
Big knife? No, she might not get the right angle and could end up cutting herself.
Scissors? Probably not strong enough to cut through that.
Razor? She doubted her Venus was up to the task, and had no idea how to get one of those old-fashioned straightedged ones short of robbing a barber.
A chainsaw or a hatchet?
Probably overkill. And killing wasn’t the objective.
After all, she didn’t really want to kill Jude Zacharias. She just wanted to separate him from his favorite part of his cheating anatomy. AKA: the part he’d cheated with.
Lucy didn’t even realize she’d been mumbling aloud. Not until her best friend, Kate, who sat across from her in this trendy Manhattan coffee-and-book shop interjected, “You’re not going to cut off his dick, so stop fantasizing about it.”
Nobody immediately gasped at Kate’s words, so obviously they hadn’t been overheard. Not surprising—they were tucked in a back corner of the café. Plus, Beans & Books was crowded with shoppers frenzied by the realization that they only had one and a half shopping days left before Christmas. Each was listening only to the holiday countdown clock in his or her head.
“Have you stopped fantasizing about having sex with Freddie Prinze Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal at the same time?” she countered.
“Hey, that could actually happen,” Kate said with a smirk. “It’s at least possible. Unlike the chance that you, Miss Congeniality, would actually go all Bobbitt on a guy’s ass, even if he does totally deserve it.”
It wasn’t Jude’s ass she wanted to…Bobbit. She knew, however, that Kate was right. Lucy wasn’t the violent type, except in her fantasies. She might have fun playing a mental game of why-I-oughta but she knew nothing would come of it.
“Can’t I at least wallow and scheme for an hour?”
“Sure. But we should’ve done it over beer or tequila in a dive bar. Coffee in a crowded shop just doesn’t lend itself to wallowing and scheming.”
True. Especially now that this place was no longer the same quiet, cozy hangout she’d loved since coming to New York three and a half years ago. It had once been her favorite place to meet up with friends, do some homework, or just enjoy the silence amid the scent of freshly ground arabica beans.
Since a recent renovation, though, it had turned from a cute, off-the-beaten-track coffee