Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas. Jackie Braun
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She waved a hand and then went on. “During dessert I heard Lisa say something to your mother about a Misty Stark dress she bought recently. I was thinking that a handbag from the designer’s new collection might be a winner.”
“She likes handbags,” he said. “She probably needs a walk-in closet just to accommodate the ones she has now.”
Eve smiled at him. “I knew I liked her.”
He folded his arms. “What is it with women and purses? How many do you need?”
“One to go with every outfit and to suit every mood. In other words, you can never have too many. Handbags are like shoes that way.”
“God, you sound like my wife.” The words were out and, judging from Eve’s stunned expression, he wasn’t going to be able to pretend he hadn’t said them.
Nor was he going to be able to change the subject, he realized, when she said, “Do you mean as in ex-wife?”
“No. As in late wife. She … she and my daughter died in a car accident.” He swallowed the bitter memories and absently rubbed a hand over the raised scar that was partially hidden in his hairline.
“My God, Dawson. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
She rested a hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze. He nodded stiffly to accept her condolences and then moved slightly, forcing her hand to drop.
“When did this happen?”
“Three years ago.” He cleared his throat. “Look, no offense, but this isn’t something I care to talk about. Mind if we change the subject?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
Even so, the remainder of the drive to her apartment was accomplished in silence.
* * *
Well, Eve thought, some things about the man—not to mention the interesting reactions he’d received all evening—finally made sense. But far from alleviating her curiosity, this new bit of information stoked it more.
Three years was a long time. But not when tragedy was involved. Tragedies changed people. Eve knew that firsthand. As young as she’d been at the time of her mother’s death, it had shaped her life. In a way, she’d lost both of her parents—her mother to an overdose, her father to the road. Her mother’s death had certainly changed her father.
How had tragedy changed Dawson? And she had little doubt it had, especially after meeting his family. What had he been like before the accident?
When they arrived at her apartment building, he walked her to her door. She expected that. He was a gentleman, and having met his mother, Eve knew good manners had been drilled into him.
“Tonight was very productive,” she said.
He was standing on the opposite side of the small elevator, studying her. “That was the purpose.”
“Yes. But I had a nice time anyway. You have a great family,” she told him.
His head jerked down in what resembled a nod. He said nothing.
They arrived at her door. Eve wasn’t sure what prompted the invitation, but she asked, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”
His jaw clenched. “It’s getting late.”
Because she felt foolish, she teased, “Worried that you’ll turn into a pumpkin?”
He snorted. “Worried that my driver might.”
“Jonas, right?” She’d forgotten about him.
“Right.”
She pulled the keys from her small clutch. “Well, I’d offer to invite Jonas in for a nightcap as well, but I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression about me.”
Dawson laughed at that remark. The sound was rusty but pleasing. “Since the first moment I met you, Eve, I’ve formed all sorts of impressions. I don’t think I’ve figured you out yet.” He sobered, leaned against the doorjamb and studied her in the hallway’s dim lighting. “You have a lot of layers.”
“If you compare me to an onion you’ll ruin what is otherwise a fairly interesting compliment.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling you like to keep me guessing?”
She batted her lashes. “Maybe because mystery is half of my allure.”
He straightened and she thought he might turn to leave. In fact, she swore he started to, but then he was closing the space between them.
In that brief moment as his mouth hovered just above hers, Dawson whispered, “Don’t sell yourself short.”
As kisses went this one shouldn’t have rocked Eve’s world. It was brief, close-mouthed and nearly perfunctory. Yet her knees felt weak afterward.
She credited Dawson’s expression for that. She’d seen the man nearly naked, but at the moment he was far more exposed. Emotions played over his face in rapid succession, so many that she could barely keep track of them. But a couple stood out. He definitely looked angry and he most certainly was turned on.
We’re even, she thought, as he stalked down the hall and she closed the door.
CHAPTER SIX
“YOU might have mentioned something to me about Dawson’s having lost his wife and child,” Eve said.
She was at Carole’s comfortable home just outside Denver, making good on the movie, wine and Chinese food night that she’d previously had to cancel. Carole’s leg was propped up on a pillow on the couch and an old Cary Grant movie was playing on the television, though neither one of them was watching it.
Between bites of sweet and sour pork Carole admitted, “I thought about it. In fact, I nearly did when you said he wanted you to come to the charity ball. But I wanted you to form your own impression of the man without being prejudiced by his tragic history.”
“Why?”
Carole shook her head. “We’ll get to that in a minute. First, I want to hear what you think about him, especially after spending an entire evening in his company.”
“You make it sound like it was a date,” Eve said dryly. “It was work.”
Her gaze slid away. Well, it had been mostly work. The big exception of course was the kiss he’d given her at her apartment door. While it had ended well before turning into anything remotely passionate, it had been on her mind ever since. Were Dawson a different sort of man, Eve might have thought that was his intent.
Keep her guessing …
Keep her wanting …
As it was, she doubted he’d meant to lock lips with her in the first place. Afterward, he’d barely managed to bid her a curt good-night before stalking away.
“Are you going to tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself?” Carole asked.
“No. I enjoyed myself.” It was easier to concentrate on the event rather than the man, so she said, “It was a first-rate affair. You wouldn’t believe the food that was served, or the dishes it was served on, for that matter. It was like being at a five-star restaurant. And the dessert? Sin on a plate.”
“Chocolate?” Carole asked.
“You got it.”
Carole made a humming sound, but then she was back to the subject at hand. “Okay, so tell me what you thought of the man.”
Eve poked through the white takeout carton with a pair of chopsticks, coming out with a peapod. “Let’s see. He can be incredibly overbearing and arrogant. Oh, and he definitely needs to be in control all of the time,” she added as she recalled their dance and the jolt it had given him when she’d taken the lead.