Mistletoe Over Manhattan

8

Feel sexy. Mallory was still obsessing on the idea as she took the escalator up from the cosmetics level to the first floor. There she paused, thinking, making a plan. Until that magical moment she began to feel sexy inside, how was she going to make any headway with Carter? Maybe she needed a prop, just the way Carter needed that pen to worry between his fingers as if it were a cigarette. She walked slowly toward the front doors on Fifth Avenue, thinking what that prop might be, and remembered the mistletoe she'd admired on the Christmas floor at Bloomingdale's. Bergdorf's would surely have mistletoe, too.

Mallory found the elevators and went to the eighth floor, stepping out into another fantasy world of heavily decorated trees on which everything was for sale, trees and all. And there, hanging in a doorway, was a ball of mistletoe that was, if anything, bigger, greener-and more expensive-than the mistletoe at Bloomingdale's.

A few minutes later, she owned a ball of mistletoe. Seen from a different perspective, she owned something from Bergdorf's she'd actually paid for.

As soon as she stepped through the door of the suite, she discovered that she and Carter also owned a Christmas tree. It was a tiny, live tree in a beribboned terra-cotta pot, and someone had placed it on the small round table they could use for dining if they ever dined in. She assumed it was a special holiday courtesy of the St. Regis until she noticed the gift card.

"From a friend," it said. "May your Christmas wishes come true."

Probably one of Carter's women, she thought despondently. It smelled nice, though. Her mother's trees didn't smell at all. Nothing in her mother's house smelled of anything but bleach, ammonia or baking soda, the thrifty housewife's cleaning supplies. The Christmas tree, dutifully put up one week before Christmas and taken down on January 1, was, of course, fake.

She wondered what Maybelle would make of her mother's book. She'd know soon, because anything Maybelle thought was bound to come out of her mouth, and sooner rather than later.

With a sigh for what might have been, she lined up her new makeup on the marble counter in her bathroom and opened the mistletoe box. The ball of greenery came with its own little hanger, so she dragged a chair over to reach the archway that led to her bedroom door.

Then she hesitated, thought a minute, playing out the scene in her head. It would look too obvious if she backed him up toward her own bedroom door, so instead, she dragged the chair over to the arch that led to his bedroom door.

Who said she didn't need to travel with a tool kit? Newly grateful for her mother's wisdom, she went to work. It wasn't easy to install the hanger in the woodwork, and it was entirely possible the hotel would charge her for damages, but she reminded herself again that for the moment, money was no object.

It looked beautiful up there, and with the tree, the suite had taken on a wonderfully Christmassy air.

Now she could focus on the case until Carter came home. Assuming she could see through her eyelashes.

"Interest rates are falling, the after-tax spread between munis, corporates and treasuries is narrowing dramatically and I personally feel this trend is going to continue."

"Uh-huh," Carter said. He was having sweetbreads tonight at a downtown restaurant-Chanterelle-because Mallory's sweetbreads had looked good the night before. These were the best he'd ever eaten. Brie's conversation, on the other hand, was not lighting his fire.

"We're expecting some very attractive new offerings from municipalities across the country. Highly rated, Carter, and in your tax bracket-" she frowned with apparent concern "-you really should be thinking of investing in them."

"Uh-huh." He was starting to wonder, as he had with Athena, what had made him think Brie might be the woman he'd want to settle down with. She was gorgeous as well as dedicated to her job, and serious, which was a fine quality in a long-term woman. He just hadn't remembered quite how serious. He speared the last bite of sweetbread. They were just great, the high point of the evening.

"I could make a call to your broker in the morning," Brie said. "In fact, I'd really like to establish a relationship with your brokerage firm. All their clients ought to get on this bandwagon fast."

"Hardy and White," Carter said.

"What?"

"Hardy and White, my brokerage firm in Chicago. Take them, they're yours." If you'll let me go home. "If you won't get mad when I tell you I have to eat and run. The case is starting to heat up. My workday's not over yet."

"I thought you were just taking depositions." Her eyes narrowed a bit. He guessed that was why he'd put her on his list of wife prospects. She'd shown an interest in the law.

"We are," he said as the waiter cleared plates away and proffered dessert menus. "But the evidence has revealed certain ramifications, potentially ruinous ramifications, that-"

"I'll have the crème brûlée and an espresso," Brie said briskly to the waiter.

"Same here," Carter said in a hurry, because her mouth was already poised for her next attack.

"Who should I ask for when I call Hardy and White?"

"Dan Whitcomb," Carter said. "Now, these ramifications have to be addressed before we find ourselves in a crisis situation with no way back to-"

"I'm sure you can find a minute in the morning to pave the way for me with Dan Whitcomb," Brie said, scribbling on her organizer screen.

"I'll do it first thing," Carter assured her earnestly. For a single phone call he could buy his soul back and go home to find out what Mallory had been up to tonight.

It seemed a small price to pay.

Carter hadn't wanted to go to lunch with Phoebe Angell today, but she'd sort of cornered him. He hadn't enjoyed his date with Brie, either, but at least he'd had an excuse not to "pick up where we left off" with Phoebe, which was what she had suggested they do tonight. At her apartment. With take-out Chinese and a bottle of wine she described as "a big wine." Wasn't much doubt what she had in mind.

Both unsatisfactory events should have given him a chance to get Mallory and her secrets off his mind for a while, but they'd had just the opposite effect. She wasn't the same person he'd known in law school, and the change was upsetting. Chewing his lip, he stepped into the suite, where Mallory's eyelashes nearly knocked him back out. "Hi," he said, practically stammering. Sitting innocently at the desk working on her laptop, she batted those lashes once, twice. "Hi," she said. "Neither one of us seems to be much of a night owl."

"Not now, anyway. Pressures of work, stress…" He trailed off, fascinated by the smudgy line of blue-green under her eyes that he could see even through her lower lashes, which were just as stunning as the upper ones. Stunning in the sense that he felt stunned.

"Look on the table," she said next, making a few keystrokes. "Somebody sent you a Christmas tree."

He edged over to the tree and read the card. "I don't know who," he said. "Maybe somebody sent it to you." She had to know who sent it to her. One of the guys she'd been seeing, or worse, the one guy she'd gone out with all three nights they'd been in New York.

She seemed to be hesitating before she answered him, and when she did it wasn't a satisfactory, definitive answer at all. "Maybe," was all she said. "Anyway, we have a tree."

"Absolutely not," was what he'd been hoping she'd say.

"Merry Christmas," he said when he couldn't think of anything else. "I don't know about you, but my Christmas wish is to settle this case." And win your undying admiration and feel man enough to court you and woo you…

Again she wasn't saying anything, at least not very fast, so he edged back over to get another look at her eyelashes. "What are you working on?"

"I decided to do some research on porcelain caps."

"You don't need porcelain caps." Now he was nearly slobbering. In an effort to stop staring at her lashes-which were incredibly long and dark and curled up, so they cast spiky shadows on her cheeks in the most amazing way-he'd gotten a good look at the rest of her. She'd taken off the jacket she'd worn today, the one that matched her eyes, and now he was seeing her in those tight pants and the top she'd worn under it. You could almost but not quite see through it. He could almost but not quite see the shadow made by the curve of her breasts. Had she gone out with this guy, whoever he was, looking like she did now?

"Not caps for me," she said patiently. Swoop, swoop went her lashes. "How the plaintiff's witness could whiten her teeth to the color of her caps." Swoop, swoop.

"What did you find out?" He didn't give a damn. He just needed a distraction. "Nothing."

"That's good." He was hypnotized by the difference in her appearance. Every line of her face seemed more-dramatic, or something.

"No, Carter, it isn't good." She turned to face him, and her smile, a pinker, fuller smile than usual because her lower lip was pinker and fuller, had a patient look about it. "You must be tired. Maybe it's time for us to go to bed."

Oh, wow, do you really think so? You don't think we need to know each other better? Have a few kisses first? A romantic date or two?

Okay. If now is good for you, it's fine with me.

With a great deal of difficulty he pulled himself back from his Utopian dream. She hadn't meant go to bed together. She'd meant separately, she in her bed, he in his. Good thing he'd taken a second to think before he spoke.

She got up. "Of course, if you'd like to have a nightcap first, or some coffee…" She moved toward him. Instinctively he took a step back.

Her hair shone in the lamplight. It looked a little mussed, which worried him, because her hair was never mussed, but her lipstick was perfect, which reassured him. "Did we hear from Phoebe about the lineup for tomorrow?" What he really wanted to know was how long she'd been home.

"You just missed her call," Mallory said. She was moving her mouth differently, more slowly, shaping each word as she sent it through the slight smile that hovered around her mouth. "Supermom McGregor Ross got a baby-sitter so we're all set with our two witnesses." Her smile deepened. "Phoebe seemed disappointed not to find you here."

"In your imagination," Carter said. He hadn't dialed Phoebe's home phone number yet, and she'd mentioned his omission during lunch.

Mallory moved a little closer to him. "Not my imagination. You have a way about you."

He swallowed hard and backed up a step. She moved forward a step. They repeated this choreography a couple of times until he realized she'd nearly backed him up to his bedroom door. What was she doing? What was this all about?

She looked directly into his eyes. Her lips parted. "Look up," she said. "I've trapped you under the mistletoe."

"What mistle-" he got out, but the sudden pressure of Mallory's mouth cut off the word.

It was just a friendly kiss, a Christmas tradition, so why did it feel so hot? His entire being zinged with anticipation as he returned the kiss, still afraid to touch her without a sign that it was all right.

He felt her little gasp against his mouth. That was the sign he'd been waiting for. His blood went from room temperature to boiling in a second as he experienced a sudden vision of what she'd be like in bed. Shy at first, not, for once, taking the lead but not pretending to be unwilling either, and erupting under his touch into heat and flame, liquid gold pouring over him with burning intensity, coming fast and hard before he was inside her and after.

Sweat broke out on his forehead and his knees almost buckled as blood rushed to his rising erection. He placed a hand on each side of her face, held her there and let himself kiss her the way he'd been wanting to, deep and warm and hard. But he wanted more, the feel of her in his arms, and they went around her, his hands splayed across her back, crushing her breasts to his chest. Then he slid his hands down to her waist, pulling the delicious curves of her body into the hard tension of his.

Even that wasn't enough. He wanted to grasp that curvy little bottom, pull her tighter, but as his hands began sliding even farther down her spine, a voice said, "What the hell are you doing?"

It wasn't Mallory's voice, it was the voice inside his head. She hadn't asked for this much from him, just a playful kiss under the mistletoe. Reluctantly, one small step at a time, he made himself let go of her.

She was pink, flushed, her mouth bruised-looking, her eyes heavy-lidded as she gazed up at him. Did he imagine it, or had her lips clung to his until the last possible moment? He'd imagined it. Those had been his lips clinging to hers. It wouldn't be like Mallory to cling, to urge him not to stop.

"Wow," she said. Her voice was husky. "Kiss Phoebe Angell like that once and we won't have any trouble talking her into settling."

Slowly, painfully, his hands dropped to his sides. Was she teasing him or did she mean it? Until she said it, he'd been very close to throwing caution to the winds and breaking his vow to earn her trust before he went for her body. But she had just put his greatest fear into words, that he'd been chosen to take this case because Phoebe Angell was a woman and he was a man women desired.

He stepped back, away from the mistletoe, away from the gaze coming at him from eyes he'd once thought of as icy and now saw as more like the inside of a sauna. "That's not really how you want me to settle this case, is it?"

He couldn't read the expression on her face as she whispered, "No, it isn't."

"Well, good, because it's not the way I want to settle it, either." He backed away into his own room and closed the door with a definite and firm click. It would have been… sophomoric to slam it.

Once in bed, hot and bothered, frustrated as all get out, he had a thought. He'd gone out with Athena and Brie and neither one of them had tried to jump him. He'd even imagined that Mallory had wanted him to go on kissing her-and more-but he'd been wrong. In fact, she'd suggested that he put the moves on Phoebe Angell.

He could come to only two conclusions. First, she didn't want him for herself. She just wanted him to settle this case by any means at his disposal. Second, he didn't have to worry about turning off his charm because he'd already lost it. Twenty-nine years old and the testosterone leak had finally done its job. He'd run out.

No, he couldn't have run out, not as aroused as he was. He still had some left, just not enough to leak. If he was no longer a sex god-not the way he thought about himself, but the way many a woman had described him-and he wasn't smart enough to impress Mallory with his brains, then what the hell was he?

Of course, there was still, as Mallory had said, Phoebe Angell. She did seem to be under the spell of his charms.

The very thought made for a sadly sleepless night.

Mallory couldn't sleep. At last she got up, put on her packable, practical travel robe, which she suddenly hated, and tiptoed out into the sitting room. There was hot chocolate mix in the little kitchen. She'd make a cup, see if it put her to sleep.

From where she stood, she could see through the arch with the mistletoe over it, down the little jog straight to Carter's door. She couldn't resist. Her feet went toward that door. Carefully she placed her ear against it. From inside came the soft, rumbling snore she'd imagined in her fantasy of him, the snore that would vibrate her naked skin, puff against her ear, soft and comforting. A snore to sleep to.

The ache between her thighs grew almost unbearable. Now she was letting the door hold her up as she sank against it, wanting him with an intensity she didn't think she was capable of. The door opened and, with a shriek, she fell into his room.

The light went on. He sat up in bed, blinking sleepily. "Mallory?" he said, squinting at her.

"Uh, yes," Mallory quavered, scrambling up off the floor. "Gosh, I'm so sorry. I couldn't sleep, so I got up to make myself some cocoa, and I-"

He'snaked under that sheet.

And his room's a mess.

"And I tripped over the footstool, you know, the little one that sits in front of that beige velvet chair," she babbled on, making up the lie as she went along. "I was afraid it might have awakened you, so I listened at the door to make sure you were still asleep."

He was waking up now. She could tell. He was staring at her with the strangest look on his face even as he pulled the sheet a little farther up his chest.

It was probably her robe. He hated it even more than she did. And it didn't make her feel the least bit sexy.

"Then the door opened all by itself and I fell in and I'm so, so sorry, so go right back to sleep because it won't happen again."

There. She'd gotten out alive. Having humiliated herself again, she darted into her room, closed the door and just stood there a minute, shaking. One minute more and she'd have climbed into bed with him. Or cleaned up his room.

No, she would definitely have climbed into bed with him.

In fact, if she wanted to get anywhere with him, that that was what she would have to do. She'd discuss it with Maybelle tomorrow night.

That had been a near miss. Carter was still thinking about it as he stood in the shower the next morning trying to cool down. She'd been right there within reach-well, she'd been within reach plenty of times before, but this time he'd really had to fight to keep from dragging her into his bed. He'd been ready for her, hot and drowsy and drugged with desire that had been building so fast inside him he could hardly keep himself under control.

But she wouldn't have respected him for taking advantage of her, would she? She'd have been sorry she'd awakened him. After all, the whole episode had been due to happenstance. It's not like she'd wanted to fall into his room.

He growled, got out of the shower and toweled himself off. One more happenstance was going to break him. On top of that, today he would have to depose a woman whose baby girl had been sleeping peacefully in some kind of baby chair that was safely-safely, mind you-resting on the bathroom counter while she refreshed-refreshed, the brief said-her natural hair color. When she looked up into the mirror and saw her hair turning green she'd flung out her hands, and by the time she'd calmed down, her baby had green spots on her chest. A precious little baby girl, could have been a baby model, but couldn't because she had green spots on her chest.

Not anymore, of course. But back in April it had been a tragedy she didn't think the family would ever get over.

Bull.

There was so much he had to do at once. He had to settle this case, impress Mallory, make her want to make love with a man as smart and successful as he was.

What he had to do was make her think he was smart and successful, whether he settled the case or won it or neither. He dressed quickly before he chewed his lower lip off completely and went out into the sitting room.

As always, Mallory was already there, looking more rattled than she had yesterday morning when she couldn't find her credit card. She was wearing her black suit. He took another look. It wasn't her black suit, it was another, completely different black suit. It was possible she wasn't even wearing one of those tops she called shells, just the tight-fitting suit jacket and those skinny pants.

She was irresistible.

But he had to resist. He needed to distract himself. His eyes darted around the room. "Lose something else?" he said.

"No, no, well, I was looking for the card someone gave me, a hairdresser she knows here, because I'm going to need a cut if we're here much longer or I'll look like a throwback to the seventies, and I just wanted to be prepared, you know, make an appointment and then cancel if we go home before-"

She was tossing business cards like a madwoman.

Suddenly she scooped them all up again in her hand and said, "The truth is, I'm just so embarrassed about last night. I feel really stupid."

Carter had a brainstorm. For once in his life, he would behave like a true gentleman. "What happened last night?" he said, hoping the expression on his face was a puzzled one.

"You don't remember?" She stopped shuffling cards.

"Last night. Sure I remember last night. I came in, you were online doing a Google on porcelain caps, we got a tree and you kissed me under the mistletoe."

She blushed. "I was overcome with Christmas spirit. But after that, you don't remember anything after that?"

"Yeah, I remember after that."

She got even redder. "What do you remember?"

"Seven o'clock this morning."

She stared at him. "But you spoke to me."

"I always speak to you. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," she said, and her smile was faint but very pretty. "I guess we're ready to go down to breakfast."

While her eyelashes didn't look quite as long this morning, they were still a lot longer than they'd been yesterday and he didn't want to start obsessing on them or thinking about his near miss last night, so he got behind her and started herding her toward the door, not letting himself stare at her butt this time.

They were nearly out the door when he had another brainstorm. It would be a small thing, but it might ring one of her bells. After all, she'd brought home mistletoe to remind them of the season. "Uh-oh, forgot something," he said. "You go ahead. Get a table. I'll be on the next elevator," and he shoved her out the door and closed it.

It took him three minutes to find what he was looking for beneath the mound composed of every garment he'd put on and taken off since they arrived, and the only reason it was one mound was that the housekeeper had tried to restore some order to the room as well as cleaning it. But five minutes later the Christmas tree bore a single ornament, the one he'd bought at Bloomingdale's as his contribution to the grab bag at the office Christmas party. It was a huge hand-blown glass ball with gold and silver swirled around it. It dwarfed the tiny tree, but he thought it looked pretty nice. He hoped Mallory would notice it.

On the way to the elevator he saw a card lying on the floor of the hallway. Instinctively, he bent down to pick it up. And because he had to wait a couple of minutes for the elevator, he read it.

"M. Ewing. ImageMakers. A new you in-"

In no time flat?

The imagemaker could use a new ad agency. But then the concept sank in. Image. His image. The image he wanted to change. People like these tended to be quacks. He guessed some weren't. Important public figures paid big money for the services of imagemakers.

He'd never know if this one was legitimate or quack. He didn't need anybody to help him. He just needed to-

Or maybe he did. Need help. Wouldn't hurt to keep the card around. The elevator arrived. He put the card in his pocket and went downstairs to have breakfast with Mallory, and this morning he was going back to eggs. To hell with his heart. He needed all the energy he could get.