The Mistletoe Kiss - Part Three by Diane Burton

Part Three

Though dinner passed in a flurry of excitement, at least on Bethany’s and Flo’s part with George grinning happily, Sam watched Abby as she pasted a smile on her thinned lips. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Though she made a production out of moving the food around on her plate, he knew she’d eaten little.

When she started to get up, Bethany announced, “Mom, sit. You cooked. Grandma and I will clean up.”

“Me, too,” George added. “I’ll help, if you ladies don’t mind.”

As the others grabbed bowls and platters, Sam held up the bottle of wine to Abby. “There’s a little left. Would you like to finish it?”

She glanced around at the empty table. “Sure. I could use something stronger, though.”

“You aren’t pleased.” He poured the last of the wine into her glass.

“Surprised.” When her cell chirped, she pulled her phone out of her slacks’ pocket.

“I’ll get you a stronger drink.” As Sam scooted behind her, he glanced down at her phone.

George Watson checks out A-Okay. No worries for your mom. Report to follow via email. Merry Christmas! – Alex, O’Hara & Palzetti Investigators.

“What is that?” He pointed. “You had my dad investigated?”

“Shh.”

“Don’t you shush me.” Sam felt his blood pressure escalate. She’d sicced an investigator on his dad?

“Let’s go outside.” She rose and grabbed his hand. “Sam and I are going for a walk,” she called to those in the kitchen before hauling him to the front closet. “Please don’t make a scene.”

“Me? Make a scene? Why would you think that?”

When she rolled her eyes at him, he knew his sarcasm had gotten through. Bundled up in hats, gloves, coats, and boots, they headed outside. The snow had stopped and the sun, though low in the sky, made the trees sparkle. The fairy tale scene was lost on him.

“You had my dad investigated?” he repeated when they reached the sidewalk. He brushed aside a twinge of guilt.

“When I got home from the jail yesterday morning, all I knew about your dad was that he and my mother had been arrested and were spending Christmas in jail. At the time, I thought it was your father leading my mother astray.” As he sputtered at the unfair accusation, she added, “Note, I said thought he’d led her astray. I know better now. Anyway, I called my girlfriend Alex who is a PI. Can you blame me? I had to protect my mother. Father left her comfortably well off. For all I knew, your father could be a gold digger.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed. If she only knew. “Dad doesn’t look like much, but he’s pretty well off himself.”

More than well off. With several patents to his name and a smart attorney, Dad was a millionaire several times over. “I suppose I should tell you, I did the same.” Despite the cold, his ears burned.

They’d circled the block. At Sam’s announcement, she stopped in front of her mother’s house. “What do you mean you did the same? The same what?”

“When Dad started dating Flo, I had her investigated. Alex is quite thorough.”

“You what?” She stooped to retie the boot laces—although he couldn’t figure out why since they were going inside.

“You heard me. I hired Alex O’Hara. She does a good job.”

As Abby rose, she let loose a round, white ball. Smack into his chest.

“You know this means war.” With an evil laugh, Sam grabbed a handful of snow and packed it well. As he threw it, she dodged. The snowball clipped her shoulder.

“Bring it on.” She fired another ball and got his ear.

They flung a barrage of snowballs at each other. Finally, he lunged for her and brought her down. Her fall was well cushioned by the snow that had fallen two nights ago and that which had fallen since last night. “You will pay for that last one,” he said in a falsetto. “I plan to have children someday.”

She dumped a handful of cold stuff down the back of his collar. “Someday? You’d better hurry. Someday is about to pass you up. Ooh,” she shrieked as his handful of snow went down the V-neck of her holiday sweater.

With strength that surprised him, she managed to roll him over then sat astride him. “Did you say war? You ain’t seen nothing yet, mister.” With a girlish giggle, she rubbed a handful of snow in his face.

“What are you two doing?” Flo stood on the front porch, hands on her hips. “Get up before someone sees you acting like children. What will the neighbors say?”

Eyes twinkling, Abby scrambled to her feet then reached down to help him up. “Oh my, yes. What will the neighbors say?”

When he clasped her hand, he laughed softly. “Can’t have that.” He scooped her up in a fireman carry and headed for the backyard.

“You two behave yourselves,” Flo called out.

“You’d better let me down, Sam Watson, or you’ll be sorry.” She pounded on his back.

With all her struggling, her jacket had pulled up as well as her sweater, exposing a delicious strip of skin. He couldn’t resist. Using his teeth to remove a glove, he scooped some snow off her jacket and, oh so carefully, trailed it along that strip.

She shrieked and wiggled so much, he had to drop her . . . in a big snowbank. This time, he straddled her. “Uncle?”

“Never. Soldiers never give up. Or in. We never cry uncle. We make war.” While she protested, she gathered two hands full of snow.

Before she could throw it, he stretched out on top of her. “I’d rather kiss than make war.”

He lowered his head, making sure his lips hovered over hers. “What do you say? Kiss or war?”

Her eyes darkened, not in anger. In anticipation. She wanted that kiss. Thank God. He brushed his lips against hers. A deep sigh ran through her as she raised her arms to loop them around his neck. Oh, yeah. Her lips softened, drawing him in.

Something wet and cold was shoved down the back of his neck. With a yelp, he scrambled off her. She lay in the snow mound, laughing, as he shook off the snow.

“You are a menace,” He groused. “A sneaky menace.”

“Poor baby.” She got up. “Want some help?”

He checked her hands. “I’d rather have another kiss.” When she hesitated, he added, “Only a kiss, Abby.”

After hesitating for another moment, she said, “I’m not sure if I’m ready for more than that.”

“I can wait until you are.”

Looking out the kitchen window, George turned to Flo. “They’re kissing again.”

“Wonderful.” Flo leaned against him.

“Gross,” Bethany said. “They’re too old for that stuff.”

George and Flo just laughed. “Never too old.”

I hope you enjoyed The Mistletoe Kiss. For more stories that take place in the fictional town of Far Haven, Michigan, read The Case of the Bygone Brother (An Alex O'Hara novel) and The Case of the Fabulous Fiancé, both available at online retailers. Coming soon: The Case of the Meddling Mama.

Please return tomorrow for Barbara Edwards’ story, The Magic of Mistletoe.

The Mistletoe Kiss - Part Two by Diane Burton

Part Two

From his father’s stories, Sam Watson knew more about Abby Ten Eyck than she probably wanted. Intense, driven. Abby had inherited much from her conservative, workaholic father. Sam knew all about being driven. Though his ulcers had healed, he remembered the consequences of his former life. Other than her brief marriage against her father’s wishes, she’d toed the straight and narrow, running her gift shop as if it were a Fortune 500 company—the same approach she applied to cooking Christmas dinner. The woman rarely laughed. He’d hoped a quick kiss under the mistletoe would help her ease up, maybe even make her laugh. Instead, he’d made things worse.

“Do you feel your mother is betraying your father by loving mine?”

She started beneath his hands. He’d kept them on her shoulders when he wanted to wrap them around her. He’d never fallen so hard for a woman. Especially a woman he’d formally met yesterday. Or maybe learning about her from his dad and her mother over the past two months had drawn him in. Meeting her in person, wearing a sleepshirt over faded jeans and her bare feet stuffed into flannel-lined clogs, had clinched it. Or maybe it had been her wildly-tousled brown hair. Not the usual tightly-bound bun or French twist she wore at the store. Even today, she’d scraped back her hair into a clasp at the base of her neck.

“Not really. Father has been gone for over five years.” She turned beneath his hands to look up at him, surprise and sadness in her deep blue eyes that reminded him of Lake Michigan on a summer’s day. “Everything has happened too fast. She never told me she was dating. I guess she wasn’t playing bingo all those nights.” She ended with a bitter laugh.

Sam had to chuckle. “Nope. Unless ‘playing bingo’ is a euphemism for the horizontal mambo.”

“Oh, please.” She shivered. “That’s an image I could do without. Thanks for the coat. We should go in. You must be freezing, and I need to check on Christmas dinner or we’re all be going to Denny’s or the Chinese Buffet.”

“Hang on a minute.” He stopped her from opening the back door. “My father loves your mother very much. I’m glad he found someone who makes him happy. Mom’s Alzheimer’s took a lot out of him. Out of both of us.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sam captured her hand. “How would you? We hardly know each other. I’d like to remedy that.” He searched her gorgeous blue eyes.

When she jerked her hand away and averted his eyes, disappointment raced through him. He had a long way to go before she stopped being so skittish. Before she trusted him. Damn that ex-husband.

Warmth and cooking aromas greeted them as they went inside. At the stove, George turned from stirring something and raised his eyebrow at Sam. “Everything okay?”

“Abby needed some fresh air,” Sam said before she spoke. “She’s been working in the kitchen too long, while we were all goofing off.”

“Oh, Mom.” Bethany hugged her. “I’m sorry I didn’t come out and help you.”

When Flo chimed in, Abby snorted. “You all offered, but you know me. I like being in charge.”

And that was the crux of her problems. Sam knew exactly how that felt.

“Now, where are we?” Abby lifted lids on pots and gave the turkey—at least a twenty-five pounder—sitting on the counter next to the stove a long look. “I take it Tom is done?”

“Yep,” Bethany said. “The little thingee popped up right before the timer rang. Before you ask, ten minutes ago. I scooped out the stuffing, and Grandma started the potatoes. After Mr. Watson took out the turkey, he said it has to rest.”

“George, dear. You can call me George.”

The five of them in a one-butt kitchen kept running into each other. Still, they managed to bring all the food—enough for three times as many people—out to the formal dining room. A cheery red tablecloth covered with white lace held five place settings of Spode Christmas Tree dishes. Sam swallowed hard. His mother had the same set. He wondered if his dad had the same feeling of loss. Even though, physically Mom had been gone for four years, she’d mentally left them two years before that—the reason Alzheimer’s was called the long good-by.

As he set the large turkey-laden platter in the middle of the table, he glanced up at his dad. Unshed tears swam in his eyes. He remembered.

Sam had taken a step toward his dad, when Flo bustled out with a crystal cut-glass bowl of cranberry salad in one hand and a pale green fluffy one in her other. “George, please take this before I drop it.” She held out the glass bowl of green fluff. “Wait until you taste my Watergate Salad. It is so refreshing.”

“Watergate? As in Nixon’s Watergate?” George exclaimed, to which Flo replied, “Yes, silly. It’s a salad they serve there.”

“Coming through. Hot gravy. C’mon, Mom,” Bethany called over her shoulder. “We only need the rolls.”

Abby followed with a holiday towel-covered red basket. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Oh, my goodness.” George shook his head. “What a feast.”

A feast was right. So different from the last four Christmases when he and Dad grazed an assortment of appetizers all day rather than make a traditional meal. The holidays always hit them hard. Sam was surprised that Dad had accepted Flo’s invitation to dinner. He’d never accepted Aunt Grace’s invitations.

As soon as everyone sat, Flo insisted they hold hands for the blessing. Sam clasped Abby’s while she held George’s. Sam liked that she sat between them, as if she belonged in their family. If his dad had his way, she would. Soon.

“Heavenly Father, bless my loved ones gathered together at this table.” Flo gave George a big smile, before sharing it with the rest of them. “Two families about to become one. Bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Amen.”

Everyone echoed the “Amen.” For several moments, as the food was passed, nobody spoke. Then, Abby said, “Mother, what did you mean about two families becoming one?”

“Last night, George asked me to marry him.”

Please return tomorrow for Part Three.

The Mistletoe Kiss by Diane Burton

I was thrilled the Roses decided to use this first sentence for our stories. Last year, my story ended with a kiss under the mistletoe. Here’s what happened next.

Part One

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe. As she and Sam broke apart, Abby’s cheeks burned hotter than the steam-filled kitchen.

First Bethany gasped “Mo-ther!” with all the exasperation seventeen-year-olds could muster. Then Mother and her boyfriend—could you really call a seventy-year-old a boyfriend?—George showed up, both grinning widely.

George slapped Sam on the back. “Hehehe, son. Better watch out for those Ten Eyck women. Just ask me. Now get out of the way and let me have some fun.”

With a playful poke, George elbowed Sam out of the doorway and took his place. With a move straight out of a 1940’s flick, he dipped Mother over his arm and planted a steamy kiss on her. Abby hoped she hadn’t had that dopey look on her face when Sam finished their kiss.

“Go, Grandma!” Bethany cheered.

Abby fumed. It was okay for her grandmother to kiss under the mistletoe but not her mother? She would have words with her daughter when they got home. Strengthening her resolve, Abby repeated her vow not to let anything spoil their last Christmas in the home she’d grown up in.

Our last Christmas.

Damn. Tears gathered behind her eyelids. She had to get out of there before she embarrassed herself further. Ignoring her mother’s giggles, Bethany’s cheers, and George’s antics, Abby raced to the back door and yanked it open. Blessedly cool—make that cold—air hit her along with a spray of snow. She stepped out onto the wide back porch, pulling the door closed behind her. God, what a mess. And she didn’t mean the blizzard blanketing Far Haven and most of West Michigan. Starting last night, the winds howled off Lake Michigan. Though the winds had diminished that morning, the snow kept falling. At least ten inches, according to the weather report that morning. More by now, eight hours later.

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding in her grief. If she let the tears fall, they’d freeze on her cheeks. Tears for a house. How ridiculous. Grief for her childhood home? A tear escaped. With freezing fingers, she swiped at it.

For the past month, she’d tried to convince her mother not to sell the old Victorian in Far Haven’s historic district. Did her mother listen? Of course not. Did her mother ever listen to her? Yeah, right.

A blast of heat enveloped her. Someone had opened the door.

“Go back inside, Bethany. I’m fine.”

“Not Bethany.” The deep baritone rumbled behind her.

Sam Watson. The man she’d met at the jail when they’d come to rescue her mother and his father, neither of whom wanted rescuing. That’s when Abby discovered her mother had a boyfriend. And met his son, aka Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy, according to Bethany.

“Same message. Go back inside.” Abby didn’t bother to hide her displeasure at Sam’s presence.

A heavy coat landed on her shoulders. “Flo is worried about you. So is Bethany.”

Nobody called her mother Flo . . . until George and Sam came along. Father thought nicknames inappropriate. He certainly didn’t approve of her nickname. “If we wanted you to be called Abby, we would have named you that.”

“I’ll bet they’re worried. Mother is more anxious that dinner will burn.”

“I think the three of them will make sure it doesn’t. Dad isn’t too bad in the kitchen.” Sam kept his hands on her shoulders, on top of the coat, generating a different kind of heat. “Did I upset you with that kiss?”

Upset her? Hell, yes. She’d liked it. More than liked it. His kiss that started out playful had turned into something more intense and awakened long-buried wanting inside her. A longing that embarrassed her more than Bethany’s exasperation or George’s teasing. What had she been thinking to succumb to a kiss under the mistletoe? From a guy she’d met in the wee hours yesterday morning?

When she turned her head to tell him to leave her alone, she realized it wasn’t her coat around her shoulders. She should have known since it was so long the cuffs covered her hands. The rich leather felt buttery smooth against her cheek. Besides the smell of leather, she caught a hint of sandalwood and outdoors. Like a forest. Not pine but something—

“I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed the top of her shoulders. “Not for kissing you, which I liked very much. I embarrassed you. And for that I am sorry.”

“I should go back inside.”

His hands held her still. “It’s beautiful out here. The first time Flo invited me over, I fell in love with the gardens.” He scoffed. “Me. A condo guy. I didn’t realize how soothing a beautifully-designed garden could be.”

“Mother has a green thumb. That is such a cliché, but it’s true.”

Mother’s pride and joy had always been her flower beds. As a Master Gardener, she’d arranged the flowers so something bloomed from early spring to late fall. Although she had a lawn-mowing service, Mother never let anyone touch her garden. The new owners would probably destroy the garden. Too much work.

“I can’t believe she wants to sell this.” Abby waved her hand to include the backyard plus the huge garage. At one time, it had been a carriage house, large enough for two coaches and four horses to pull them. Now the garage held her mother’s red Mustang convertible, the outdoor furniture, and Father’s workshop, with room to spare.

“That bothers you. A lot.” He stated the obvious. “She’s starting a new life, with my father. I think that bothers you more.”

She nodded. “She kept saying the house and property were too much to keep up. I didn’t know about your father until the two of them were arrested.”

Sam laughed. The way he was holding her, back against his chest, she felt the rumble of his amusement vibrating behind her. She wished he would let her go. She didn’t like the feelings provoked by a man holding her. A man kissing here. Fifteen years of going without holding and kissing. Without longing for more.

Ferret Face had killed that part of her.

Please return tomorrow for Part Two.

Love in the Vault Part Four by Brenda Whiteside

Part Four

“Let me get your feet free.” Jack knelt in front of Eleanor, quickly releasing the rope from her ankles. When he stood, he offered his hand.

She pinched her lips and stood without his help, prancing away and around to the side of the table. When she pivoted in a huff, prepared to question his lack of bravado in the face of their impending doom, the sight of his relaxed stance and teasing expression froze her intentions.

Dove gray eyes regarded her, crinkled at the corners as if amused. His smile was a flirtation when his bottom lip twitched. Both hands were tucked in his pants pockets, his head tilted just so. She hadn’t noticed before that he was without his tie, and his jacket hung unbuttoned. Although covered in a shirt and jacket, his biceps bulged, challenging the restraint of material. The open shirt collar exposed his strong neck and a hint of a well-formed chest. She couldn’t stop herself from gazing down the line of shirt buttons and imagining tight abs beneath the pale green material.

He cleared his throat.

She startled.

“I like your hair like that, loose, and swaying around your shoulders when you walk.”

Her hand went involuntarily to push the tresses off her neck. The compliment left her speechless…but only momentarily. “I can’t believe you’re talking about my hair when we could be hours from suffocating in this tomb.”

“We’re fine. Maybe—”

“Fine?” She stomped within inches of him. Someone needed to take control of this disaster. “How the hell can you be so blasé about our situation? Why did you let that bozo escape and lock us in here? Why didn’t you—”

“I was going to say, maybe I should explain.” He’d taken her by the shoulders, and his thumbs resting on the bare skin where the dress ended below her collarbone did more to rob her of speech than his interruption. “All right?”

She stepped back from his seemingly innocent embrace, merely nodding.

A frown passed over his face. “I’m sorry.”

His touch had weakened her resolve, but she clung to the control her anger had lent. She waved a hand through the air. “Continue.”

 “I saw King kiss you. It struck me as odd. Not odd that he’d want to kiss you.” He shuffled his feet. “But what he was doing at the party, after having been fired. I wondered if there was something…between you. I didn’t think there could be. The man’s a dolt, and you’re…” He studied her face.

She hitched a small gasp. The anger fled in a whoosh. The goose bumps his words caused sent little jolts of fire from her shoulders to her toes. “What, Jack? What am I?”

“You’re so much more than he deserves.” He swallowed, inhaled deeply, and continued. “When I saw you in the elevator, the way you stood, your face, I thought something was wrong, and I had to follow. I took the stairs and reached the first floor before you did. When the elevator continued to the basement, I was certain something was wrong.”

The concern on his face furrowed his brow. She wanted to hug him, throw herself into his arms and bury her face in his chest.

“The stairs are at the other end of the basement from the elevator, and by the time I crept to within sight of you and King, you were headed into the vault with a gun at your back. That’s when I headed back upstairs.”

Like a shot of cold water the warm fuzzies were washed away, and she jerked. “You what?”

“I recognized the gun, Eleanor.”

“Oh, well, that makes it better. You just left me?” She stepped back, but he quickly closed the distance between them.

“It wasn’t real. The phony gun is the cigarette lighter from Clines’s desk. I recognized it right away.” He spread his arms, and she stepped into them as if drawn by a magnet. “You weren’t in any danger. Like I said, King’s a dolt. A thief, a jerk, and a dolt.”

“Oh.” Her heart pattered, her arms hung limp at her sides. What should she do with her arms? She’d only imagined being held by this man, and in her wildest dreams she always knew what to do with every part of her body. “But, if the gun was a fake, why didn’t you…” She glanced away. He could’ve immediately rescued her.

He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry if you were frightened. I’d heard enough of your sparring with King to know you were holding your own.”

“I was more concerned about getting locked in this vault.”

His caress along her chin ramped up the beats per minute of her heart.

“Is it so bad?” His hand returned to her waist.

She smiled, staring into his teasing gray eyes. Bringing her arms up, she tentatively encircled his shoulders.

“I went back up to alert Cline so he could get the cops rolling and intercept King before he made his getaway. He’s probably being handcuffed right now.”

“And you came back down…” She held her breath with her thought. He didn’t have to come back, to get locked in the vault with her.

“I went back up for another reason besides speaking to Cline. There was something I needed to get.” One hand fell from her and slipped into his jacket pocket. He smiled, winked, and lifted a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “I couldn’t let King’s kiss be the last you remember from tonight.” He held her closer. “I’ve wanted to do this for ages.” His lips touched hers then retreated, as if asking her permission.

Reaching, walking her fingertips up the back of his neck, she laced them together. His breath was moist, tinged with the scent of chocolate and brandy. “Just what are your intentions?”

“May I kiss you, Eleanor?”

“Oh, yes, Roman, Jack Roman.” 

I hope you enjoyed my contribution to Mistletoe Magic. For information and buy links for my books, check out my Website. Tomorrow, you'll be treated to another story of Mistletoe Magic from Rolynn Anderson. Have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Love in the Vault Part Three by Brenda Whiteside

Part Three

“That’s a good girl.” With one hand, Harold gripped Eleanor’s wrists while he pivoted enough to set the gun on the table. After wrapping her wrists in rope, he knelt in front of her and did the same with her ankles.

She held her breath as his hands manipulated her legs and feet, but he seemed intent solely on subduing her and getting back to the robbery.

“What you don’t know about is the part of the business Cline conducts on his own.” Harold stood next to the table surveying their tight surroundings.

The vault was the size of a roomy walk-in closet. The table could double for a freestanding butcher block in a kitchen. The L-shaped bench she sat on shared the walls with the door and the other wall to her right along with two ancient, wooden, filing cabinets. Cardboard boxes that looked as if they dated back as far as the filing cabinets and a three-foot-by-three-foot portrait of a man who looked like Mr. Cline occupied the wall to the left of the door. The fourth wall was shelving with various sizes of the type of metal boxes found in bank vaults.

Harold moved to the shelves. “The asshole is going to feel a pinch come Monday.” His remark seemed to be made to himself. He started pulling boxes, peeking inside, and either returning them or setting them on the wooden table. Three large and one smaller one met his approval.

Eleanor leaned against the wall with her shoulders, wiggled her fingers for circulation, and attempted to even her breathing. As Harold opened the first box and transferred banded currency to the canvas bag, she swore she heard a quiet swooshing noise. Straining her ears for any sounds outside the safe, she held her breath. Someone to rescue her? Foolish. A fantasy.

When her captor opened the second bank box and transferred more banded bills to his bag, she sat up straighter. The quiet gasp that escaped caught his attention.

“Oh, yes. I told you your boss has a lot more going than you or anyone else knows about.” He shoved the second container aside and emptied the third. “I left the fourth one full. And the one with the checks, of course. After all, he’ll need to make his deposit on Monday.” He laughed. “But the best is yet to come.” Lifting the small box in a movement to dump the contents into the canvas, he paused. “You should see this.” He removed what looked like several plastic sandwich bags and stepped in front of her. With his fingers spread, palms up, the bags made a jumbled display of sparkling glass pieces.

“Are those…?” She swallowed, mesmerized by the colors and sizes.

“Precious, aren’t they? Diamonds, rubies, emeralds.” He clutched them all together and whipped around, leaving her with her mouth gaping open. “Just a little side business to compliment the legal, respectable jewelry company left to him by dear old Dad.” He nodded at the portrait on the wall. “The beauty of this theft is it’ll go unreported. The money and checks I’ve left behind are considerable, certainly enough for the biggest month of the year. And this.” He thumped the side of the bag. “This is unrecorded, mostly illegal, and would expose Cline and possibly his more discreet customers.” He shrugged his shoulders, and grinned his once charming, but now smarmy, smile. “Looks like it might be tough to make the yacht payment this month.”

Eleanor’s mind reeled. Mr. Cline certainly wasn’t what he seemed.

Harold zipped the bag.

Panic rose in her throat.

He lifted the canvas bag with both hands. “A just severance and holiday bonus. Merry Christmas, Harold King.”

As she opened her mouth to beg him not to leave her in this tomb, something sounded outside the vault. She froze. Nothing. Maybe it was the pulse of fear pounding in her head. Harold didn’t seem to notice. There. Again. Not really a sound, but…intuition? Someone else’s presence.

“Drop the bag.” Jack Roman’s command sent her heart to her throat.

But Harold was quick. He let go the money and snatched the gun in a fluid movement, whirling to face Jack standing in the doorway. “Well, well, if it isn’t the brawn of the company, coming to save the day.” His face hardened. “Back off, Roman.”

The air left Eleanor’s lungs. She thought she might faint. Jack would win in an even confrontation, but not against a gun. Oh god, would Harold shoot him?

Jack flicked what looked like a wink. Really, Eleanor! Now is not the time for wishful thinking.

“I can’t let you walk away, can I, King?”

“You don’t have a choice, unless you’d like to see how handy I am with my equalizer.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider his options. “Let Eleanor go, and we’ll address the situation.”

“You always did have a good sense of humor, Roman.” He reached behind him and with effort hefted the canvas from the table, the gun not wavering from his co-worker’s chest. “Have a seat. You can cozy up to little miss sweet ass.” His knuckles whitened with the grip on the gun. “It’s not a request.” He dipped his aim to Jack’s crotch. “I don’t have any qualms about maiming you, if you don’t do as I say.”

Jack’s full lips quirked upward, as he lowered onto the bench beside her, coming into contact from shoulder to knee. “Are you okay?” His gaze followed the gun, but his quiet question floated over her.

“Yes.” She could’ve scooted away, given him room, but she relaxed with the weight of his warmth and strength against her.

“Hey, you two look good together. Too bad there isn’t any mistletoe overhead.” Harold snickered as he paused in the doorway. “Goodbye. And I do mean goodbye. Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He backed out, the gun disappearing last.

Eleanor tensed, waiting for Jack to make his lunge. Surely he’d stop Harold from locking them in the vault. There must be something he could do. Do something, Roman, Jack Roman!

The heavy whoosh of the door and then click of the lock caused every muscle in her body to collapse with defeat, and she slumped against the wall. “Oh, no,” she whimpered.

Jack’s arm slipped behind her. “Here. Sit forward a little. Let me get you untied.”

“What are we going to do?”

He pulled the rope from her hands.

“How can we possibly spend the whole weekend in here?” She massaged her wrists then wrung her fingers as she glanced around their prison. When he didn’t answer, she tipped her head to look into his face. The slight smile that usually undid her curved his mouth. First he makes no effort to overtake Harold, now all he can do is smile? Some brawn.

He pushed the hair from her face, his fingers gliding over her cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

A shaky breath and the tentacles of fear closing around her chest neutralized the electric sensation of what seemed like a caress. “Okay?” But she’d had enough for one day of so-called high powered executives fooling her. She flicked the hair from the other side of her face before he could repeat the action. Even in the presence of the most gorgeous man in the company, the tight space and an obvious lack of air tightened her throat with panic. And all he could do was coo and smile. Anger simmered.

Please join me tomorrow for the final episode.

Love in the Vault Part Two by Brenda Whiteside

Part Two

Eleanor gasped. Harold wasn’t looking for a quiet corner to pick up where they’d left off under the mistletoe. He wanted access to the vault.

A vision of being locked away in the mammoth safe for the weekend, no water, no food, and no bathroom, brought renewed trembling to her knees. Pretending to stumble was easy as she lurched forward and grabbed at a handle on the last cabinet. With her other hand, she clutched the edge of the metal drawers and whirled to face him, putting the corner of the cabinet between them. He wouldn’t just take the money and let her go. She’d be locked up until Mr. Cline came for the funds to make Monday’s deposit.

Unfortunately, Harold was right about one thing. She did always go home alone. Who would notice she’d left the party?

 “Please, please reconsider what you’re doing.”

“What do you think I’m doing, Eleanor with the sweet ass?” Pulling her away from the filing cabinet, he drew her close.

“Money.” She gulped. His grasp wasn’t exactly rough, more like the hunk taking possession of the bare-chested beauty on the cover of an old-fashioned romance novel. She always did find those covers revolting. “You’re…you are after the money, right?”

“Mmmm…yes, that’s what I’m after, but, maybe you’d like to share in the wealth. I’ve seen you looking at me—with less than pure thoughts.” His deep blue eyes were partially veiled by thick lashes. The effect, meant to be purely sensual, sent shivers of another variety.

Her neck burned hot while her mouth went dry.

“I could be your Santa, baby. Put a little something in your stockings? Actually, it would be anything but little.”

“Oh,” she gasped, sure her face now glowed with heat.

His laugh rumbled deep. “Joking, Eleanor. Although, under better circumstances I wouldn’t mind finding out how your sweet ass looks in a string bikini, you’re not a likely companion for an escape to a faraway beach somewhere with a suitcase full of stolen goods.”

“You’re not the least bit funny.” She tried for bravado, but was met with a smirk.

He released her, reached between the last two filing cabinets, and brought out a canvas bag the size of a small suitcase.

 “It won’t work. Two people are required to enter the code.” Maybe he didn’t know she could open the vault alone. “Let me go, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Any combination of you, Roman, and Cline right?” His sneer erased her hope for an out. “But there’s one bewitching hour a day when any one of you can unlock the door. You give me about as much credit as our asshole boss.” The gun jabbed hard, forcing her to turn and take the last few steps to the vault. “Okay, let’s get this business concluded. The magic hour is ticking away, and I have a plane waiting.”

 “Is a few thousand really worth the risk? You could go to prison for a very long time.”

“A few thousand?” The smirk on his face meant he knew more about the accounting than she hoped.

“Yes, you know most customers don’t deal in cash.” She continued her bluff, holding a glimmer of hope that he had only a vague idea of what the vault could hold in the company’s busiest month of the year.

“Nice try, babe. I’m guessing you don’t know the half of it.” He leaned his face close to her ear. “Fun and games are over. Open it. Now.” His growl sent shivers down her spine.

She had no idea what he meant, but the time had come to quit stalling. With a shaky hand, she tapped the code into the digital lock. The click, signaling the release, punched the quiet, stuffy air.

Harold pulled Eleanor inside the vault. “Have a seat, sweet ass.” He nudged her onto the L-shaped, leather bench to her right.

She collapsed into the corner, facing toward the far wall.

 “I think you’re going to enjoy the show. My guess is you haven’t spent much time in Cline’s safe.”

“You have?”

“Not physically. Although, I was privy to the original general outline for the company.” He set the canvas on the table in the center of the room, unbuckled the leather straps, and unzipped the bag. “Cline and I go way back. To college. He knew he’d take over the business from his father and run it differently than old dad. I was with him from the beginning. Then he got greedy. He decided he needed another man to be his second—someone who didn’t know as much about his roots.”

Roman, Jack Roman.

He withdrew two lengths of rope from the bag.

“Oh.” Tied up. Left in the vault. Oh god, she’d die. “Please, Harold. I won’t move. You don’t need to tie me up.”

“Put your hands behind your back.”

“Harold—”

He stuck the gun in her face. “I’m really serious here. If you’re lucky I won’t kill you, but how would you like a bullet somewhere that would incapacitate you. I can’t have you getting a sudden brave urge to stop me.” He brought his face close to hers. “I see a little hint of rebellion in those pretty hazel eyes of yours.”

Her heart hammered, and she swallowed deep. Wordlessly, she turned on the bench, hands behind her back.

Join me tomorrow for Part Three.

Found in Translation - Part 3 ~ by Leah St. James

Tessa looked from the FBI agent’s outstretched hand up into his expectant eyes. Dancing meant more close proximity with the man after she’d unwittingly asked him to sleep with her. Apparently she hadn’t scared him off. And if he danced anything like he kissed...

“Thank you. I’d love to dance.” She stood, smoothing  the skirt of the dress that she’d spent half a paycheck on. 

Before they made it from the alcove, he twirled her into his arms and in seconds navigated them into the midst of the swaying bodies on the dance floor. It was a waltz, of course, a scandalous dance at one time, at least according to the historical romances she devoured like crack to an addict.

She’d always wondered why, but no more. He held her with perfect decorum—if the length of a paperback could be decorous—but with each of the music’s downbeats, each swing into that wide, looping circle, those inches evaporated, and they touched, just a beat in time. But her heart thumped with each beat, and her lungs seemed to hold less and less oxygen. Moisture erupted along her forehead and at her temples, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.

“Thirsty?”

They were the first words he’d spoken, and he held her attention again in that predator’s gaze.

Her mind battled between the part of her that wanted to stay in that trance, in his arms that felt too good too soon, and the part of her that wanted to escape his intensity. She swallowed. “After this dance?”

His expression cleared, and he nodded. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed the distance between them had grown even slighter, so there were more of those touching beats amid the looping circles. More moments of breathlessness.

The song ended too soon, and he held on to her hand and led her toward the bar. She wouldn’t call his move dragging exactly, but she had to hurry her steps to match his pace. And if that warm clasp of his hand didn’t feel so good, she would have tugged it free.

Once there, he tipped his chin toward her. “What can I get you?”

“White wine spritzer, please?”

Another smile that made her insides go fuzzy flashed across his face. “Big drinker, are you?”

“I like to keep my wits about me, especially around an FBI agent.”

His eyebrows lifted as he handed her the drink. “We don’t bite.” He took a sip of his Coke, then added with a shrug, “usually.”

“Ha. You’re a funny guy.”  More heat swam through her body as she pondered whether the innuendo had been only in her head.  She couldn’t tell by his expression, so took another gulp for courage.

“Let’s get some food.”

Great. The man probably thought she was drunk after half a glass of diluted wine. He’d latched on to her free hand to tow her  to the buffet table, where savory aromas filled the airspace around it.

Her stomach grumbled, and she pulled her hand free to press it against her the offending body part as they strolled the length of the food tables. She was calculating calories when he paused next to her, his plate already full.

“Can’t decide?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Ah, an analytical woman, I see.”

She glanced up from her perusal to find his gaze was pinned on her again. “When it comes to food? Yes. You can only have so much. I like to make it count.”

“Like kisses or...otherwise...under the mistletoe?”

His mouth pursed, but then he grinned, like he’d just lost a battle of holding in his amusement. Game on.

“The way you rushed down the stairs, it looked like you were ready for some action.”

“Always am.”

Certain her skin had turned the color of over-ripe tomatoes, but still refusing to give in to whatever game he was playing, she gave him her shoulder and made her selections while he followed. Funny how she could already pick up on his particular scent, even within feet of dozens of savory foods.

Moments later, they were seated in another isolated alcove, alone. A candle at the center of the table flickered gold across his skin, and she reached for her spritzer.

 “So, tell me about yourself, Tessa—short for Contessa—Baxter.” He forked a bite of  ham into his mouth and chewed, eyes never leaving her face. “What’s  it like being a math professor? Deadly boring?”

“Boring? No! Not at all. Numbers have always fascinated me.” Calmer, she pinched off a piece of biscuit and popped it in her mouth. “Mmmm, that is so good. I haven’t had a good biscuit in...I don’t know when.”

His eyes flared a darker brown, and he seemed to be inches closer than he had been moments ago. “Tastes of home?”

She nodded and was about to dive her fork into the mound of sweet potato casserole when Matthew’s phone chirped.

“Excuse me,” he murmured as he pulled it from his pocket. He glanced at the screen and his eyebrows did a nose dive, then he stood. “You’ll need to come with me, Ms. Baxter.” The teasing lilt in his baritone had turned to something much darker.

“What?” She laughed. “Seriously, the whole sex invitation thing was a mistake. My French skills are not what I thought they were.”

“It’s nothing to do with your language skills, Ms. Baxter...or should I call you Epsilon?”

“Epsilon?”

Ignoring her, he snagged her wrists behind her back with his one hand and forced her forward, an arm around her back.  Her mind frozen, she forced her gaze forward and hoped it looked like a lover’s embrace rather than a perp-walk.

They paused when they reached the foyer. Around them conversations halted and people gasped.

“Matthew, what are you doing?” The handsome blond man with the sexy French accent appeared, frowning.

“You texted confirming the presence of Epsilon,” Matthew said.

 “Yes, we got her.” He gestured to his rear where a group of the liveried servants had a blonde woman subdued, face down on the floor.

Matthew turned another laser-like gaze on her and after a beat released her wrists. He pointed to her ankle. “Why did you tattoo an epsilon on your ankle?”

“My father was a math teacher. He called us epsilons...meaning we were small fry, diminutive. It was a nickname.  He’s the one who got me interested in math. He died. I wanted a remembrance of him.” Now that he’d released her, anger churned in the pit of her gut. “Why? What were you thinking?”

His face paled and he swallowed thickly, looking like he needed the nearest restroom. “I can explain.”

Before he could, Sammi rushed up, interrupting. “Did you see that? They just arrested some spy. Epsilon or something. Mom’s freaking out.”

“Oh really?” Tessa crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her captor. “You thought I was a spy? Because of a tattoo?!”

His mouth firmed into a tight line. “It was more than that.” He explained the alerts the embassy had received, the vague description of the suspect. “You fit what we knew. My humblest apologies.”

She snorted. “Get real. You don’t have a humble molecule in your body. You better have more than that or I’ll...” Her mind searched for a punishment that would fit his crime.

His lips relaxed, and that grin broke out on his face again. “You’ll try more of your French on me again?”

 “Oh! That was just rude, making fun of my lack of skills. At least I tried. Let’s see how well you’d do in a calculus competition.”

He lifted his hands, palms out.”You got me there.” Silence fell for a few moments.“Tell you what. In two weeks I’ll be back in New York. We’ll get together for some lessons. French, I mean.” The tease was back in his voice and her anger evaporated.

She tried to keep the sternness in her mouth, but couldn’t hold it. Her heart lightened,  lifting her lips into a grin. “I do need the practice. But I’m not sure I can wait. I wouldn't want to get myself in another compromising situation.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Tessa moved closer, braced her palms on his chest and nudged him backward several feet, then looked up to where the mistletoe hung directly overhead.

He glanced up, then met her gaze.

Her heart thundering, she said,  “Embrasse-moi?”

He smiled as he drew her closer. “Practice makes perfect.”

- The End -

I hope you've enjoyed Found in Translation. Please stop by tomorrow for the first part of Brenda Whiteside's story. I can't wait to read what she has in store for us!

Wishing you and yours a joyous holiday, and a safe, healthy and happy 2017!

Leah

www.leahstjames.com