She gripped his sleeves then, her fingers twisting into the fabric. “I’m mad at you,” she said, though her eyes were shining. “I really should make you sweat it out. I should make you wonder if you’ve ruined this irreparably.”
“Have I?”
She gave her head a tiny shake, and then he was kissing her with all the pent-up passion and love that he could no longer deny. That he no longer wanted to deny. Her arms slipped around his neck, her body melding to his as if it had been made to do so.
“I love you, Raj,” she said when he finally let her breathe again. “But I’m still mad at you.”
He laughed against her throat, his lips nuzzling the sweet skin of her neck. “I’ll look forward to letting you take your revenge against me. I’ll even let you tie me up if it pleases you.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Veronica awoke sleepily, the church bells in the Aliz City cathedral chiming 4:00 a.m. on Christmas Day. It was still dark out, and her body was languid, lazy. She stretched, a pleasurable ache between her thighs. The bed was empty except for her. She sat up, smiling at the long length of her robe sash that was still knotted to one bedpost. She’d tied him up all right. Tied him up and tortured him until he’d begged her to put him out of his misery.
Until she’d taken him in her mouth and sent him to heaven.
Oh, yes, she’d gotten her revenge. A very pleasurable revenge indeed.
She slipped from the bed and found her robe. It took her a minute to untie the sash, but she did, slipping it around her waist and knotting it loosely. Then she went in search of Raj, knowing instinctively that he hadn’t left her in the night.
She found him in the living room, sitting on the couch in the glow of the tree. He looked up when she approached, smiled that sexy smile she loved so much.
“I don’t think I’ve ever sat and just watched the lights before,” he said.
She knew he’d never really had an opportunity to do so in the past, and her heart hurt for the little boy he’d been. Moving from shelter to shelter and home to home. She sank beside him and curled up against his warm body. He slipped an arm around her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” she said, mesmerized by the twinkling lights. “But I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He laughed softly. “You gave me all I wanted,” he said. Then he kissed the top of her head. A small package appeared in front of her nose.
“What’s this?”
“I came prepared.”
“Now I really feel bad,” she said.
“Don’t.”
She sighed and untied the gold ribbon. Inside the red box was another box, nestled in tissue paper. A velvet box.
Her gaze flew to his. “Earrings,” she said. “You’ve bought me earrings. I’ll always treasure them.”
He laughed. “Open it, Veronica. Stop guessing.”
She did, her heart in her throat. It wasn’t a pair of earrings. Her eyes filled until the large, emerald-cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds was nothing more than a blur.
“You can say no,” he said. “I’d understand. Or you can say yes, and we’ll have a long engagement.”
She arched an eyebrow, sniffling. “Is the long engagement a condition?”
“No. I’m simply trying to give you a way out.”
She shook her head. “I knew you were far too pretty to be smart. Men can’t be gorgeous and brainy at the same time, you know.”
She felt the tension coiling in his body. “Are you saying yes?”
A single tear spilled down her cheek. “Is this what you really want?”
“Do you think I’d ask if it weren’t?”
“You didn’t ask,” she pointed out.
He smiled, and her heart squeezed with love. Then he slipped from the couch and got onto one knee. “I’m doing this right,” he said, “because I don’t ever want you to believe I didn’t want this. Veronica, will you marry me?”
Her heart filled to bursting. Home. This was home—this moment, this feeling. This man. “Yes,” she said simply.
Raj slipped the ring onto her finger. And then he made love to her on the Persian carpet in front of the Christmas tree.
There would never be, with the exception of their third child born on December 25 a few years hence, a more perfect gift than the one they shared on this particular Christmas.
Lynn Raye Harris
“MISS BLACK, you will accompany me this evening.”
Faith’s head snapped up. Her boss, Lorenzo D’Angeli, stood in the doorway to his office, looking every bit the arrogant Italian businessman in his custom suit and handmade loafers. Her heart skipped a beat as she contemplated his gorgeous face—all hard angles and sharp planes, deeply bronzed skin, and eyes as sharp and clear blue as a Georgia spring sky. It wasn’t the first time—and likely wouldn’t be the last—but it irritated her that she reacted that way.
She knew all about men like him. Arrogant, entitled and selfish—she had only to look at the way he treated the women who paraded in and out of his life with ruthless regularity to know it was the truth, in spite of the fact he’d only ever been courteous to her.
“The dress is formal,” he continued. “If you need clothing, take the afternoon off and charge your purchases to my account.”
Faith’s heart was skipping in earnest now. She’d often gone shopping for her boss in the six months she’d worked for him, purchasing silk ties or gold cuff links at his direction or picking up little gifts for whatever woman he was seeing at the time, but he’d never told her to shop for herself. It was, without question, unusual.
And perfectly impossible.
“I’m sorry, Mr. D’Angeli,” she said as politely as she could, “but I don’t believe I understand you.”
His stance didn’t soften an inch. “Miss Palmer is no longer going. I need a date.”
Faith stiffened. Of course. But stepping in because he’d had a fight with yet another woman he was sleeping with was not part of her job description.
“Mr. D’Angeli,” she began.
“Faith, I need you.”
Four words. Four words that somehow managed to stop the breath in her chest and send a tremor over her. Oh, why did she let him get to her? Why did the mere thought of parading around town on his arm make her feel weak when he was the last person she would ever want to be with?
She forced herself to think logically. He wasn’t saying he needed her. He needed the efficient PA at his side, ever ready to make calls or take notes or rearrange his schedule at a moment’s notice.
He did not need the woman. Lorenzo D’Angeli needed no woman, she reminded herself.
“It’s highly inappropriate, Mr. D’Angeli. I cannot go.”
“Faith, you are the only woman I can count on,” he said. “The only one who does not play games with