Читать книгу Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas - Jackie Braun, Christine Rimmer - Страница 14

SINCE they had some time to kill before dinner was served, Dawson suggested they sit in the great room where a fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth. Eve agreed and he helped her carry in the purchases she’d made.

In the past, he’d given Carole carte blanche to buy his family’s gifts. Afterward, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with them. Eve, of course, insisted on running everything past him.

“At the very least you should know what you bought so that when they thank you, you won’t appear baffled.”

“I’m never baffled,” he responded. Her brows rose fractionally as if to say, “Right.”

“Another one of your principles?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

As they sat on the sofa and went through the goods she’d brought with her, Dawson was impressed. The woman had a good eye. She’d pegged his mother’s taste perfectly with a specially designed amethyst ring that was surrounded by smaller stones. Tallulah was going to love it. He told Eve as much.

She smiled, looking pleased. “That was my thought, too. As for your dad, he was difficult. I went out on a limb with this since it cannot be returned, but since Clive seemed to be a real hockey fan, I thought he might appreciate it.”

She pulled a red game jersey from the bag that was on her lap.

“That’s Gordie Howe’s number,” Dawson said as he reached for it. “He was one of the all-time greats.”

“It’s a vintage National Hockey League sweater and it’s signed. I know the Wings aren’t your father’s favorite team, but the Avalanche wasn’t around back in the day.” Her tone turned wry. “I know this because I made a fool of myself in a sports memorabilia store downtown.”

Dawson chuckled. “Dad’s going to love it. He’ll argue, of course, that Ted Lindsay was actually the better player, but he’ll love it. Thank you.”

She rifled through another bag as he folded the jersey and set it aside.

“And here’s the Misty Stark purse I mentioned getting for your sister. I went with something medium-sized from the designer’s spring collection.”

“This spring?”

“I know someone who knows someone who owed that someone a really big favor.” She let out a sigh that was purely feminine. “Lisa’s going to love it.”

The handbag reminded Dawson of a pastel-colored sausage with handles. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said dryly.

“I’m still looking for something for your brother-in-law. Suggestions at this point would be appreciated. Christmas is only two weeks away.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” he replied.

“Maybe you could call your sister, pick her brain a little,” she suggested. “Or you could go to Sunday dinner this week and talk to her there.”

“I … I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She leaned forward then to pull a large and very heavy shopping bag across the Turkish rug. “And now for the coup de grâce.”

“What is it?”

“Take a peek.”

He felt a bit like a kid himself when he did. Inside was the gaming system Brian and Colton had been raving about the night of the ball.

“No way!” Dawson said on a startled laugh. “I know you said you could get this for the boys, but … How on earth did you manage it?”

“Trade secret.” She offered a cagey smile. “I can’t give you specifics, but I can assure you that no laws were broken.”

“The boys are going to love this.” He grinned at her. “You’re something else.”

Eve focused her attention back on the bag. “I also picked up a few age-appropriate games to go with it that I think they will enjoy.”

Of course she had. The woman was nothing if not thorough. “You think of everything.”

“It’s my job,” she said lightly. “Besides, after the chemistry set fiasco I felt you needed to really go all out to reestablish yourself as a ‘cool’ uncle.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and offered a sheepish, “Thanks.”

Though he’d known it all along, it hit him suddenly that he wouldn’t be there to watch the boys open this gift. He wouldn’t be there to see any of his family members open their gifts. Just as he hadn’t been at his parents’ house on Christmas Day last year or the year before or …

As if she’d read his mind, Eve said, “It’s a shame you won’t be in town to see the boys tear into this. They’re going to be so excited.”

While his family gathered around a decorated Douglas fir tree, joking, laughing and exchanging presents, he would be alone in Cabo, as far away from snow and holiday merriment as he could possibly manage. Dawson pictured himself sitting poolside at the condo he’d rented, a tall glass of something chilled and fortified in one hand to help blot out the memories.

Eve was watching him, apparently waiting for him to say something in response. He gave a negligent shrug. “I’ll catch up with them after the holidays.”

“Okay. Terrific.” She nodded. He didn’t trust her easy agreement and for good reason. “You can see them at a Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.”

“Eve—”

She cut him off by slapping her knee in exaggerated fashion. “Oh, wait, I forgot. You don’t go to Sunday dinners at your parents’ house any longer.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” he asked tightly. “I can assure you, there’s no need. I already do.”

Instead of apologizing, Eve said, “Good, then you understand exactly how your loved ones feel when you shut them out and stand them up not just on the holidays but on a regular basis throughout the year.”

On an oath, he launched to his feet. Irritation and guilt blended together, proving to be a volatile mix. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s not polite to poke around in people’s private affairs?” he snapped.

“No. She didn’t.” Eve stood as well. “My mother died of a drug overdose when I was eight.”

He blanched. “God. I … I’m sorry.”

“No.” She kneaded her forehead. “I’m sorry. I played that like a damned trump card and it was a lousy thing to do. But I’m not sorry for poking around in your private affairs, as you put it.”

“Why does this matter to you?” he demanded.

“Because … because it …” Her next words nipped his anger in the bud. “Because you matter to me, Dawson. Okay? You matter.”

“Eve.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable or unwilling to process the emotions her words evoked. Or maybe he was just too afraid. After all, it was hard to cling tightly to the past when a part of him wanted to start reaching for the future.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you that,” she said quietly. He opened his eyes in time to watch her swallow and cross her arms over her chest. The move struck him as defensive rather than defiant, especially when she added, “Unfortunately, I have a very bad habit of leading with my heart where men are concerned. Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, though the truth was that Eve mattered to him, too. Indeed, in a very short period of time, she’d managed to thoroughly shake up the status quo of Dawson’s otherwise rigidly ordered life. He still wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Don’t say anything. I prefer to do all the talking anyway.” She pushed the hair back from her face and expelled a deep breath. “As my bombshell of a moment ago should make perfectly clear to you, I don’t come from the kind of family you do. After my mother died, my father took off and I was shuttled around from one relative to another, all of whom made it plain that they disapproved of my dad, had been disappointed in my mother and didn’t have very high hopes that I’d amount to much.”

“Aw, Eve.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. That’s not the purpose behind my words. You’re lucky, Dawson. Very lucky to have people who care about you and who want to remain close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. I’ve accepted my family for what it is and my father for what he isn’t. He’s let grief and regrets rule and ruin his life. I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.” She blinked a couple of times in rapid succession and managed a smile. “Okay, that’s all I’m going to say on either subject.”

Dawson didn’t quite believe her. But before he could think of anything to say in response, Ingrid arrived in the doorway.

“Dinner is ready, Mr. Burke.”

Dawson’s formal dining room sported vaulted ceilings, a crystal chandelier and an oval cherry table that could comfortably accommodate a dozen guests. A gas fireplace and glowing candle centerpiece made the large room cozy. But it was the framed family portrait hanging over the mantel that made it personal.

Eve had never seen photographs of Dawson’s late wife and daughter, but even if he hadn’t been included in the shot, she would have known who the other two people were. In an odd way, she recognized them, even if she did not recognize the happy, relaxed man who was seated with them.

As Ingrid set out serving dishes heaped with enough steaming food to serve a small army, Eve discreetly studied the photograph. Sheila was blond-haired and blue-eyed with the delicate beauty of a porcelain doll. Isabelle was lovely, too. Eve glimpsed mischief in the little girl’s light eyes and a hint of her father’s stubbornness in her small jaw. She’d expected them to be beautiful and they were. But what truly surprised Eve was the odd connection she felt to Dawson’s loved ones and the disappointment that they would never meet.

The dinner conversation started out stilted and strained thanks to the emotionally charged discussion that had preceded it. She blamed herself for that. What had she been thinking, provoking the man and then essentially baring her soul to him?

No matter, the deed was done and she wouldn’t waste her time or energy regretting it now. Besides, she’d only spoken the truth. Dawson did matter to her. Eve hadn’t realized how much until the words had tumbled out.

Oh, well. She was who she was … though it seemed she never learned. No, she picked up stakes and started over, but she never learned.

She was fussing with her napkin when Dawson asked, “Would you care for some wine?”

Eve pushed her glass closer to his side of the table. “Yes, but just a little, please.”

Once he’d poured the chilled pinot grigio, dinner became a far more relaxed affair. It had nothing to do with the loosening effects of alcohol, but the fact that Dawson spilled his wine down the front of his shirt when he went to take a sip.

It was an accident, of that Eve was sure. He wasn’t the sort of man given to slapstick comedy, though he had loosened up considerably since their first meeting. Had that been a mere two weeks ago?

“I can’t believe I did that.” He dabbed at his shirt front with his napkin. “I’m rarely so clumsy.”

“It’s my fault,” Eve said.

He stopped wiping and glanced over at her. “How do you figure that?”

Face straight, she replied, “It’s the effect I have on men. They become blundering fools in my presence.”

Dawson snorted. And though he was smiling, he sounded somewhat serious when he replied, “You certainly do have an effect on me, Eve.”

Half an hour later, Eve pushed back from the table on a contented sigh. “I probably should have passed on that second helping of pork tenderloin, but it was too good.”

“Irresistible,” he agreed as he watched Eve dab her mouth with a linen napkin.

Heat curled inside her at the suggestive remark. Just over his right shoulder, Sheila and Isabelle smiled down at Eve from the portrait, dousing any flames before they could start. Just as well, she decided. Just as well.

During the meal, while they’d talked companionably, steering clear of weighty or emotionally complicated topics, the candles on the table had burned low and the sun had set outside. Though Eve had planned to leave as soon as good manners would allow once they’d finished eating, she glanced out the window and reevaluated.

“Let’s go for a walk, work off some of these calories,” she suggested instead.

“A walk? It’s snowing,” he said.

“Yes, I hear it does that in Denver. No need to worry. I won’t melt.” Her eyebrows arched. “Or are you afraid that you will?”

“It’s getting dark, Eve.”

Dawson’s home was surrounded by a private, almost parklike setting with mature trees and meandering paths. “The landscape lighting looks adequate for a leisurely stroll.”

“The paths haven’t been shoveled recently. A good three inches have fallen since the grounds crew went through last.”

She batted that excuse aside, too. “That’s all right. I’ve got boots.”

Of course, the boots in question were unlined and made of supple Italian leather with three-inch heels that hardly made them suitable for a hike—or even a stroll—in inclement weather, but she was willing to take her chances.

“I don’t know.”

Like a veteran poker player, Eve upped the ante. “I promise to protect you.”

But it was Dawson who called. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“Is that a threat?” she inquired.

He set aside his napkin and pushed back from the table. Gaze direct and challenging, he said, “There’s only one way to find out. Are you still game?”

“Please.” She snorted. “That question is insulting. I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

“I didn’t think you had.” One side of his mouth lifted, tugging her pulse rate right along with it. “I’ll just get our coats.”

Outside, the air was crisp. It stole Eve’s breath, making her glad for the scarf that she’d wound around her neck. She tucked her chin into it now.

“It’s lovely here,” she commented. And it was. Winter had wrought its magic, covering everything in a pristine layer of white that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

“The grounds were what attracted me to this property in the first place,” Dawson admitted.

“I can see why.”

“If you think it’s lovely now, you should see it in the spring or summer. The flowerbeds are incredible.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a green thumb.”

“Oh, it’s black, believe me. I know my limits, which is why I hired the services of a professional.”

She chuckled. “The economy loves people who know their limits since it helps create all sorts of job opportunities.”

“Like professional shoppers?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m glad to do my part for my country.” His voice grew soft. “I haven’t walked out here in the winter in … a long time.”

Eve figured she knew exactly how long, so she remained silent.

After a moment, he added, “I used to love the winter. I looked forward to the first snowfall.”

“Me, too.” She scuffed her foot along the walkway, ruffling the blanket of white, before bending down to scoop up a handful. “Snow made everything seem so clean, so perfect,” she said as she compacted the snow into a ball.

“And your life wasn’t perfect.”

“No. But whose is?” She shrugged off the melancholy of childhood memories and changed the subject. “You know, this is really good packing snow.”

“So I see. Are you thinking of making a snowman or something?”

“Or something.” When she smiled his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” she asked innocently.

He backed up a couple of steps. “You wouldn’t throw that thing at me.”

“And if I do?”

He folded his arms. “You do and you’ll be asking for trouble.”

“Dawson, Dawson,” Eve said, shaking her head. “What did I tell you about me and challenges?”

“That you never back—” The snowball hit him in the chest before he could finish. He gaped at her. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Eve bent down and scooped up a second handful. “Then this is going to come as a complete shock,” she said, tossing the snow right into his face.

Her laughter followed the ball’s flight path, but her mirth was short-lived. Dawson didn’t even pause to wipe it off before he launched himself in her direction. She feinted right to avoid him and managed to get a full ten feet up the path before he caught up with her, grabbing her around her waist. Eve skidded on the walk, betrayed by her boots. Both she and Dawson wound up going down. Snow cushioned her fall. Snow and man. Somehow she wound up partway on top of him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think I broke my heel.”

“Are you in pain?”

She laughed as she clarified, “The heel of my boot. It got caught on something. What are you doing, anyway? We were supposed to be having a snowball fight.”

“We still are.” And with that he brought up his snow-filled hand and rubbed it over her cheek. It wasn’t only the cold that had her shivering. Dawson had shifted so that he was now mostly on top of her.

“You know, when I was a kid I didn’t believe in taking any prisoners. But I’ve decided to make an exception in your case. You’re too pretty to annihilate.”

“So, I’m your prisoner.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” She pulled a considering face. “I guess this isn’t so bad.”

“That’s because the torture hasn’t begun yet.” His gaze was on her lips.

“Torture?” she repeated in a husky voice she barely recognized as her own. “What kind of torture?”

“This,” he whispered just before his mouth met hers.