A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер
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Amazing!’ James teased.
Riley gave him a shoulder bump as they moved to the next window. An animatronic version of a four-year-old James sitting in front of a tall Christmas tree at Bon Chance, a massive toy train in his lap. His baby sister, still in a nappy, sat next to him chewing a teething ring. ‘I remember that train.’
‘You were a pretty cute kid, Moreau. What happened?’ she quipped.
‘I’m still cute.’ He grinned with smug confidence.
James moved her to the next window—a Christmas spent at their house in Aspen, the snowcapped mountains an exact representation of the view from their steel and wood cabin. The scene was straight from her memory, her first Christmas abroad with the Moreaus at fifteen, when James had taught her to ski.
‘I owe you for all the hours you spent teaching me to ski when you could’ve been chasing those ski-bunnies.’
James waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Who said I didn’t chase the bunnies?’
The last window depicted the post-Christmas lunch dining table at Bon Chance, the one on the veranda where they normally ate their Christmas meal. It looked like a bomb had hit it—wine bottles and wrapping paper, a diamond necklace lying next to a plate, a glass vase full of rings. Place names—Hannah, Jedd, James, Morgan, Noah—lay on their sides or upside down and to the side a replica of the engaged couple, Morgan and Noah, stood in the corner overlooking the vines, his strong arms wrapped around her slight body, his dark brown head resting on her bright blonde one. Her delicate hand rested on his arm and a copy of Morgan’s exquisite engagement ring glinted in the artificial sunlight.
There was serenity and peace and happiness in the window, a sense that another offshoot of the Moreau clan was coming to fruition. James’s arm tightened around her waist as he stared at the window. ‘How did you recreate that old vine, the one that covers the veranda at Bon Chance?’
‘Trade secret,’ Riley replied, unable to stop the shiver that coursed through her at his touch. Neither was she able to stop the question she’d been dying to ask since she’d first seen him standing in front of the windows. ‘Why are you here, James? You’ve never come down here before, been with me—us—at the unveiling.’
‘I’m always here, Riley. Whenever you change the windows and every Christmas, I stand at the back of the crowds and a lot later in the evening, usually past midnight, I come down here and really look at your designs, looking for the tiny details that most people normally miss. The things that make it personal.’
Riley felt a warm glow in her stomach. ‘Like?’
James looked over the table and pointed. ‘That frame—the one half covered in gold wrapping paper? It’s the same frame as the sketch of my folks you gave them for Christmas last year. On the Christmas tree there’s always a gold ornament with your name on it … there it is, top right. Um … and somewhere in one of the windows is a mouse in a waistcoat and top hat—he’s appeared in every one of your six Christmas windows so far.’
Riley’s mouth dropped open. ‘I cannot believe that you noticed him. He’s tiny and my little secret.’
‘I saw him the first year, and the second and now I look for him. There he is—he’s peeking out from behind that wine bottle.’
‘I never thought that anyone would notice him,’ Riley said, still in shock.
‘Hell, yeah, I notice your work. I adore your work, even though I wish it didn’t cost so much or that you had a vague idea of sticking to a budget.’ James blew on his freezing fingers. ‘And that’s why there is no way I’m letting you walk away without a fight.’
Riley deflated like a popped balloon. Of course this was about her work; it had nothing to do with her. Stupid, stupid girl for thinking, if only for a moment, that there was a spark of something more there.
‘The temperature has dropped a couple of degrees. Let’s get home,’ James suggested.
‘I need a taxi,’ Riley agreed.
James tightened the scarf around her neck and pulled her woollen cap down over her ears before running an icy finger across her cheek. Riley tried to tell herself that it was the cold that made it hard for her to breathe but knew that it was the tenderness, the gentleness in his eyes. ‘It’s late; you’re cold and probably hungry. Come back to my place, get some food in you and crash there. It’s a five-minute walk versus a trek across town. And who knows how long it will take to get a cab.’
She shouldn’t—she really shouldn’t—but she grabbed on to his words as the best excuse she’d ever heard to spend a little time with him. It had been too long since she’d experienced anything but frustration and craziness with James and being with him like this reminded her of the boy she used to know, the friend she’d adored, so she allowed him to take her hand and lead her back to his home.
BACK IN HIS toasty-warm apartment, Riley whipped off her hat and shrugged out of her heavy coat. James took it and hung it on the coat rack. He reached out and ran his thumb across her cheek, wincing at her icy skin. ‘Let’s get you warm. Something hot to drink?’
‘Yes, please. Coffee with a belt of whisky?’ Riley looked hopeful as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and followed James to the massive kitchen.
Riley slid onto a kitchen stool and James tried not to notice how her denim jeans showed off her shapely butt. Or how her long-sleeved jade-green T-shirt made her eyes a deeper, darker grey. Or how the cold made her nipples …
Okay, so maybe inviting her back to his apartment in the dead of the night wasn’t the smartest idea he’d had all week. The urge to scoop her up and warm her up in a more basic biological way was shockingly strong.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Moreau.
He turned to face the coffee machine, willing his pants to subside. Damn, he was a basket case. ‘If you can get the whisky bottle from the drinks cabinet that would be great.’
Riley hopped off the stool, retrieved the bottle, handed it over and took her seat again, chin in her hand. ‘Look, about the windows …’
James cocked an eyebrow. ‘Another expense?’
‘Yeah. The—’
James held up a hand to stop her explaining. ‘Ri, it’s past midnight and I’m exhausted. The windows are fantastic and, as you pointed out the other night, the cost is a fraction of other media advertising and, right now, I simply don’t care. Okay?’
‘Sure.’
James took their cups to the counter where she sat and reached for the whisky, cracking the top and slugging in a healthy amount. ‘That being said, I do reserve the right to throw my toys when I see the bill.’
‘Fair enough.’ Riley took the cup he slid over to her, wrapped her hands around it and took an appreciative sip. ‘That’s fantastic, thanks.’
‘Shall we take this to the couch?’
Riley yawned as she took her cup and walked to the lounge area. She placed her cup on the table and took the seat next to the arm. James, inexplicably needing to be close to her, took the middle seat. They sat in companionable silence for a little while, looking out of the massive windows to the night view of Central Park and the bright buildings on either side of it framing the famous park.
‘You hungry?’ James asked, rolling his head against the back of the couch to look at her. Her eyes were shadowed in blue and she looked played out. ‘I’ve been crazy busy so I sent out a mercy call to Mariah and she sent over some homemade meals that I can reheat.’
Interest sparked in those incredible eyes. ‘Any curry?’
And there was another difference between Riley and the women he normally dated. No explanations needed about who was who. She knew that Mariah was his mum’s long-time housekeeper and Jackson was the family’s driver.