it hung four stockings. A fire crackled in the grate.
A year before she had stood before the fire and promised to love, honor and cherish. They had been the easiest promises she had ever had to keep. Now this was her home.
Home. She took a deep breath to draw in the scents of pine and candles. It was so good to be home. Last-minute shoppers had crowded The Fun House until late in the afternoon. Now there was only family.
“Mama.” Freddie raced in, trailing a bright red ribbon. “You’re home.”
“I’m home.” Laughing, Natasha scooped her up to spin her around.
“We took Vera to the airport so she can spend Christmas with her sister, then we watched the planes. Daddy said when you got home we’d have dinner, then sing Christmas carols.”
“Daddy’s absolutely right.” Natasha draped the ribbon over Freddie’s shoulder. “What’s this?”
“I’m wrapping a present, all by myself. It’s for you.”
“For me? What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can. Watch.” She dropped onto the couch to run her fingers along Freddie’s ribs. “It’ll be easy,” she said as Freddie squealed and squirmed.
“Torturing the child again,” Spence commented from the doorway.
“Daddy!” Springing up, Freddie raced to him. “I didn’t tell.”
“I knew I could count on you, funny face. Look who woke up.” He bounced a baby on his hip.
“Here, Brandon.” Madly in love, Freddie passed up the ribbon so that he could play with it. “It’s pretty, just like you.”
At six months, young Brandon Kimball was chubby, rosy-cheeked and delighted with the world in general. He clutched the ribbon in one hand and reached for Freddie’s hair with the other.
Walking over, Natasha held out her arms. “Such a big boy,” she murmured as her son reached for her. Gathering him close, she pressed a kiss to his throat. “So beautiful.”
“He looks just like his mother.” Spence stroked a hand over Brandon’s thick, black curls. As if he approved of the statement, Brandon let out a gurgling laugh. When he wriggled, Natasha set him down to crawl on the rug.
“It’s his first Christmas.” Natasha watched him scoot over to torment one of the cats and saw Lucy dart under the sofa. She’s no fool, Natasha thought happily.
“And our second.” He turned Natasha into his arms. “Happy anniversary.”
Natasha kissed him once, then twice. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Not since I called you this afternoon.”
“Much too long ago.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “I love you. Thank you for the most wonderful year of my life.”
“You’re very welcome.” He glanced over her head only long enough to see that Freddie had prevented Brandon from pulling an ornament from a low branch. “But it’s only going to get better.”
“Do you promise?”
He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers again. “Absolutely.”
Freddie stopped crawling with Brandon to watch them. A baby brother had turned out to be nice, after all, but she was still holding out for that baby sister. She smiled as she saw her parents embrace.
Maybe next Christmas.
Luring a Lady
The Stanislaskis
Book Two
The Stanislaskis: an unforgettable family saga by #1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts
Nothing in Sydney Hayward’s background of wealth and privilege prepared her to take the helm of her family’s corporation, and her new responsibilities left no room for complications. Mikhail Stanislaski was definitely a complication. Earthy and entirely masculine, Mikhail came from a world utterly different from her own. But the way she felt when he put his strong, work-hardened hands on her was wreaking havoc with Sydney’s resolve.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER ONE
She wasn’t a patient woman. Delays and excuses were barely tolerated, and never tolerated well. Waiting—and she was waiting now—had her temper dropping degree by degree toward ice. With Sydney Hayward icy anger was a great deal more dangerous than boiling rage. One frigid glance, one frosty phrase could make the recipient quake. And she knew it.
Now she paced her new office, ten stories up in midtown Manhattan. She swept from corner to corner over the deep oatmeal-colored carpet. Everything was perfectly in place, papers, files, coordinated appointment and address books. Even her brass-and-ebony desk set was perfectly aligned, the pens and pencils marching in a straight row across the polished mahogany, the notepads carefully placed beside the phone.
Her appearance mirrored the meticulous precision and tasteful elegance of the office. Her crisp beige suit was all straight lines and starch, but didn’t disguise the fact that there was a great pair of legs striding across the carpet. With it she wore a single strand of pearls, earrings to match and a slim gold watch, all very discreet and exclusive. As a Hayward, she’d been raised to be both.
Her dark auburn hair was swept off her neck and secured with a gold clip. The pale freckles that went with the hair were nearly invisible after a light dusting of powder. Sydney felt they made her look too young and too vulnerable. At twenty-eight she had a face that reflected her breeding. High, slashing cheekbones, the strong, slightly pointed chin, the small straight nose. An aristocratic face, it was pale as porcelain, with a softly shaped mouth she knew could sulk too easily, and large smoky-blue eyes that people often mistook for guileless.
Sydney glanced at her watch again, let out a little hiss of breath, then marched over to her desk. Before she could pick up the phone, her intercom buzzed.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Hayward. There’s a man here who insists
