Читать книгу Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas - Jackie Braun, Christine Rimmer - Страница 13

WHEN they left the theater a few hours later, Eve was humming one of the musical’s more upbeat tunes.

“I take it you enjoyed the show,” Dawson said as they made their way to her Tahoe.

“I loved it.” She sighed. “Thank you again for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome. You know, that’s the third time I’ve seen Les Miz. The first two times were years ago when it was on Broadway.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head.

“You must love it.”

Actually, he hadn’t really cared for it in the past. Tonight, he had. Dawson credited Eve for that. She had a way of making him loosen up and let go. She’d laughed at the ribald antics of the Thénardiers and cried as Jean Valjean made his passionate plea to God to spare Marius’s life. At times, he’d found himself more interested in watching her than the stage.

“Do you own the soundtrack, too?” she asked, pulling him from his introspection.

“No.”

“You should have bought a copy tonight. I can lend you mine, if you’d like,” she offered.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. The music is outstanding, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not my style.”

“Oh?”

“I’m more a vintage rock fan. You know, pounding bass and wicked guitar riffs. Something to get the blood pumping.”

Eve smiled at him and he swallowed as the phrase took on a new meaning.

“Blood pumping, right.” She nodded as if in agreement, but shattered the illusion by adding, “Don’t forget men with seriously bad hairstyles wearing spandex and screaming out indecipherable lyrics at the tops of their lungs.”

She had a point about the bad hair and spandex. He tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat. “I can figure out the lyrics.”

When she tipped down her chin and arched her brows, he amended, “Most of the time.”

As they started walking again, Eve mused, “I once dreamed about a career on Broadway. My goal was to be cast as Belle in the stage production of Beauty and the Beast. I had all of the songs memorized, and I rehearsed them daily in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“So, you have a good singing voice?”

She shook her head. “I can’t carry a tune, which is pretty much what killed that choice of careers for me.”

Dawson chuckled. “I suppose that would nip things in the bud. How old were you at the time?”

“Eleven. My dad’s a musician.”

It was one of the few references she’d made to her family, he realized. He found he wanted to know more. “Really? What kind?”

“The wanna-be kind. He plays old-school rock,” she replied. There was an edge to her tone he hadn’t heard before.

“Hence your objection to the genre.”

She merely shrugged.

“So, you wanted to follow in your dad’s footsteps,” Dawson said.

Eve snorted indelicately. “Only if they led me right to him. He was away. A lot,” she added. “Actually, my goal was to become a major stage star, an unrivaled success. I wanted my name in lights, as the saying goes.”

It was pretty easy for Dawson to read between the lines. “You wanted your father’s attention.”

“Sure I did. Sometimes I still do. There’s nothing unusual about that. All kids want their parents’ attention,” she stated matter-of-factly, but he noted the stiff set to her shoulders, the furrow in her brow.

Yes, all children wanted their parents’ attention, but not all of them got it. Dawson had been lucky in that regard. He’d had it in spades. Still did, come to think of it. Eve? Apparently not.

They reached the Tahoe and she redirected the conversation. “So, what did you want to be when you were growing up?”

Dawson opened the driver’s door for her before heading around to the passenger side. Once seated, he replied, “Do you mean before I figured out that I didn’t look so good in long hair and spandex, or after I accepted the fact that the National Football League wasn’t going to come recruiting?”

Her lips twitched as she started the ignition. “Either-or. Surprise me.”

He scrubbed a hand over his chin, thinking. “Well, I pretty much always knew I’d go into the family business. It suited my personal interests, not to mention my academic strengths. I didn’t feel pressured to do it or anything.” Dawson leaned back in his seat, relaxing a little as he recalled the advice his father had given him just before he’d gone off to college. Do what makes you happy, son. Not what you think will make me happy. “My dad would have understood if I had chosen a different career. My grandfather would have been livid, but Dad … he would have understood.”

He smiled after saying it, feeling warm even though the Tahoe had yet to heat up.

“The two of you seem really close,” Eve noted.

“We are. Yes.” He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed to have been lost in nostalgia. Memories had been his nemesis for the past few years, proving so hurtful that he’d blocked out the good along with the bad.

Ahead, a traffic light turned red. After stopping, Eve turned to face him. “I know this is none of my business, but I’m going to ask anyway. If the two of you are so close, why are you estranged?”

The question left Dawson staggered. “We’re not estranged,” he said.

Eve’s gaze remained steady as she said, “Then why are you spending the holidays in Cabo rather than with your family here?”

I don’t have a family, he thought. Sheila, Isabelle, they were gone and he was alone. But he knew they weren’t the family to which Eve was referring. “It’s … complicated.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she replied. “Life tends to get that way from time to time for everyone. That’s especially true after a tragedy. But it sure seems like you’re punishing them.”

“You’re wrong. Way, way off base.” He shook his head vehemently as his throat seemed to close. Eve was mistaken in her assessment. If he was punishing anyone, it wasn’t his parents and sister. He was punishing himself.

“That’s the way it seems.”

“That’s because you don’t understand,” he said.

Nobody did. They hadn’t been trapped inside that crumpled-up car while emergency workers tried unsuccessfully to revive his wife. They hadn’t been the ones pleading with firefighters to hurry as they finally managed to free his daughter from her safety restraint in the mangled backseat.

In the Tahoe’s dimly lit interior her expression radiated sincerity when she invited, “Then help me understand, Dawson. Better yet, help them understand.”

“I …” But the words remained stubbornly lodged in his throat. The only ones to finally make it free were, “The traffic light is green.”

Eve parked the Tahoe in the circular drive in front of Dawson’s home. The rest of the ride from the theater had been accomplished in strained silence. She accepted the blame for that. She shouldn’t have pushed him so hard.

She wasn’t sure exactly why she’d done it, except that she’d hoped by talking about the accident he would finally see that it was just that—an accident. She wanted him to accept what everyone else knew. Dawson was as much a victim, a casualty, as his late wife and little daughter.

“Here we are,” she said. “I know I’ve already thanked you for the tickets, but I want to do so again. I had a nice time tonight, Dawson.”

“You’re welcome. I did, too.”

“I’m glad you’re still able to say that. I’m sorry about …” She waved a hand, opting not to plow that rocky ground a second time.

He caught her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Let’s forget about that, okay?”

Eve didn’t think forgetting was wise. Indeed, it was at the crux of his problem. But for the moment she agreed. No more pushing tonight. She smiled. “All right.”

Dawson had yet to release her hand. Though they both wore gloves, she swore she could feel the heat from his skin warming hers through two layers of lined leather.

His thumb began to rub the palm of her hand. She’d never considered her palm or any other place on her hand to be an erogenous zone. It turned out she was wrong. Way wrong.

Eve swallowed a moan and stammered, “S-so, should I walk you to your front door? I promised to be a gentleman, after all.”

“No need for that.”

The palm caress continued. “Mmm-kay,” she managed to say.

“If you walk me to my door, I’d only feel obligated to walk you back to your car afterward.” One side of his mouth lifted. “Can’t let you be the only gentleman.”

“Well, I guess I’d better stay here then. Otherwise it sounds like we could pass the entire night walking back and forth between my Tahoe and your front porch.”

“That would make for a long night.”

“Very long,” she agreed.

“And it’s cold outside.”

“Below freezing.” She shivered, though the reaction had less to do with Denver’s current temperature than the ministrations of his thumb.

“We’d have to move fast to stay warm,” he said. In contrast the smile he offered was slow, seductive.

“If we jogged, I suppose it could be considered aerobic exercise.”

“Exercise, hmm?” His thumb stopped moving and Dawson released her hand. Gaze steady, expression serious, he removed his gloves, tugging one finger free at a time. Anticipation hummed until he reached for her across the vehicle’s console. Big, warm hands framed her face, drew her forward.

“I can think of more interesting methods of increasing my heart rate while in the company of a beautiful woman,” he murmured just before kissing her.

Soft. That was Eve’s first thought. Though so much of the man was hard and uncompromising, his lips were soft, their pressure gentle. She thought he might end things as quickly as he had the night of the ball, leaving her to wonder and to want. He didn’t.

“Eve.” Dawson whispered her name as he changed the angle of their mouths.

His hands were in her hair now, fingers weaving through it. Slow? Soft? Nothing about the man’s demeanor fit these descriptions now. Urgent was the word that came to mind as he fumbled with the fat buttons of her wool coat. She shifted in her seat to improve his access, her elbow catching on the steering wheel. The horn blasted loudly, blowing a hole right through the intimacy of the moment. Romance took a backseat to reality.

Eve sucked in a breath as Dawson pulled away. Her body was sizzling, snapping like an exposed electrical wire. Had she ever been this turned on? A glance in Dawson’s direction had her swallowing the suggestive remark she’d been about to make. He was slumped back in his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Regrets.

She could see them as clearly as if they had been tattooed on his forehead, hear them even though he had yet to say a word. Eve closed her eyes, mentally kicked herself. To think for a moment she’d thought the only thing that had come between them during that passionate exchange had been the vehicle’s console and their layers of clothing.

“You’re not ready for … this. Are you?”

His laughter was brittle, bitter. “That’s not exactly the issue at the moment.”

“I’m not talking physically, Dawson.”

“No.” He swore, stared straight ahead and admitted, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, even as her own heart began to ache a bit.

“It’s not okay!” He cursed again, this time with more force, and turned to face her. She saw anger and frustration, neither of which was directed at her. “None of this is okay, Eve. None of it.”

His strident words seemed to echo in the vehicle. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue. After a long moment, he did. His tone was missing its angry edge. Now Dawson just sounded tired and a little lost when he told her, “Some people are able to just go with the flow. Not me. I had my life all figured out, you know? I made plans and then I followed through on them.”

“You’re talking about before the accident?”

“Yes. I made plans,” he said a second time.

Of course, he had. Dawson was the sort of man who needed to take charge, to be in control. But tragedy and grief wouldn’t follow orders. On the contrary. Once they were on the scene, they called the shots.

“It’s time to make new plans,” Eve said softly.

He faced her, his gaze glittering hard in the meager glow cast by the landscaping lights. “I did. After the accident I made new plans. I’ve been living my life according to them ever since.”

She swallowed. “And?”

“You seem to be botching them up, Eve.”

Her mouth fell open. Before she could ask what he meant by that potent statement, however, Dawson was opening the door and getting out of the Tahoe. He slammed it shut without another word.

It was several minutes after he disappeared inside the house before she felt steady enough to drive away.

The weekend proved long, as did the following week. Dawson had plenty of work to keep him busy and he finalized his plans for his trip to Cabo San Lucas. Eve called a couple times, but he made excuses not to speak with her.

You’re not ready for this, are you?

That damned question seemed to taunt him.

He was glad when Friday dawned. Another week down. Just two more to go until he boarded that plane and left everything familiar. Then he glanced out the window, saw the snow and cursed. The forecast had called for it, so the accumulation blanketing his lawn hardly came as a surprise. Even so, he didn’t like it. After showering and dressing in more casual clothes than he would wear to the office, he headed downstairs to his study. As he always did on days when the weather turned inclement, he would work from home.

As a child, he’d loved the white stuff and not just because if enough of it fell he got the day off from school. No, he’d loved playing in it, making forts out of it and packing it into balls for fights with his friends. Even as an adult he hadn’t minded it, though it often presented a headache during his commute to or from work.

What had turned him off completely to winter weather, of course, was the accident, which is why he’d opted to work from home this day.

It came as an absolute shock then when, halfway through the afternoon, his housekeeper tapped at his door to announce he had a guest.

“Eve Hawley is here,” Ingrid said.

Leather creaked as he settled back in his chair. He didn’t want to see her and yet he did.

“Send her in, please.”

She appeared in the doorway a moment later, smiling apologetically and looking lovely enough to snatch his breath away.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“That’s all right.” He rested his elbows on the desk blotter and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Did we have an appointment?” he asked.

“No. Actually, I wasn’t expecting to see you at all. I figured you would be at your office.”

Once his ego had absorbed the blow, he replied, “I decided to work from home today.”

“So I see.”

“What can I do for you, Eve?” he asked curtly.

He saw hurt flash in her dark eyes just before she blinked, and hated himself for it. This wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault.

“I have some gift ideas as well as some actual things that I purchased for family members. I was planning to leave them for you to look over.”

“Okay.”

At that single, sparse word, she backed up a step, nodding. None of the spunk she’d exhibited on her first visit to his home was evident when she said, “Well, I’ll just leave them with Ingrid. Thanks.”

She’d already turned and gone before Dawson managed to launch himself from his seat. He caught up with her in the front foyer just as she was pulling on her jacket.

“Eve, wait.”

She turned, a manufactured smile tilting up her lips. “Yes?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t go. Not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Angry.”

“I’m not angry. Why in the world would I be angry?” she asked, tossing the end of her scarf over one shoulder.

“Because I was being a jerk.”

She stopped in the process of pulling on her gloves. “Yes,” she agreed with a considering nod. “You were. A rude jerk to be precise.”

Dawson’s laughter was strained, even though the ice had been broken. “You don’t believe in cutting a guy any slack, do you?”

“To what purpose?”

He ran his tongue over the outside of his top teeth. “Okay, how about this? Do you have any plans for dinner?”

“Tonight?” she inquired.

The woman was definitely playing hardball.

“Yes, tonight.”

“Hmm. Let me think.” She tapped her lower lip with the tip of one gloved index finger. “Not exactly, although I did take a chicken breast out of the freezer to thaw.”

It was a bit of a blow to learn he could lose out to poultry. “I believe Ingrid is making a pork roast.”

“Ah, the other white meat,” she said, repeating the industry’s slogan.

“Yes. She’s a very good cook,” he added in the hopes of aiding his cause.

Eve eyed him stoically. “Is that an invitation, Dawson?” she asked.

“It is.”

“I see.”

She was silent for so long that he was forced to ask, “Does that mean you accept?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what else is on the menu,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure. Probably some sort of rice or potato dish and a vegetable. Maybe a salad. Do you have a preference? I can let Ingrid know and I’m sure she’ll try to accommodate it,” he offered.

“Actually, I meant in the way of conversation.”

“Oh.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Are you going to talk to me?”

“Of course I am,” he replied, somewhat indignant.

“I mean an actual conversation, Dawson. No chitchat about the weather or diatribes on the economy. I can get that watching the news while I eat Chinese takeout.”

He blew out a breath. “Good God, Eve. You’re a hard woman to please.”

She unzipped the quilted down jacket she wore and laid it over his arm. Her smile was purely female when she replied, “You don’t know the half of it.”