and Magic Children’s Theatre Company. And she made Tabby’s red cocktail dress. Tabby came over Thursday for a final fitting. “Wow,” she said, twirling in front of Lucy’s full-length mirror. “Is that really me?”
“It’s you and you are spectacular. Now stand up straight. That’s it.” Lucy marked the hem. “It’ll be ready tomorrow. You can pick it up after your shift at the diner.”
They went over to the Italian place to grab a bite to eat and Tabby insisted on paying the check. “You made me look fabulous. I can at least buy dinner.”
Friday morning Lucy hemmed Tabby’s dress and gave it a finishing press. She had lunch with Viviana, who made them turkey-pesto paninis and black-eyed-pea soup and then hardly touched either.
“Missin’ my Joseph today,” Viv said softly in that husky voice of hers, her beautiful dark eyes full of shadows. Her husband had died eighteen years ago in December. She and Joseph had owned two dry-cleaning stores, long since sold. “Missin’ my babies, too.” She had two daughters and six grandchildren. Two of the grandchildren were older than Lucy. Her eyes brightened a little. “I’ll be going to Shoshona’s for Christmas....” Shoshona was the older daughter. She lived in Chicago. Marleah lived in Denver. “You should go home for the holiday, sweet girl. Be with your family. We all need family at Christmas.”
Lucy could not deny she felt a little ache in her heart right then to go home to the big house in Carpinteria that Hannah would have all done up for the holidays, to be with them—Alice and Hannah and even her bossy big brother. She longed suddenly to ride Dammerlicht, a steady-natured, smart Hanoverian, her favorite in her brother’s fine stable of beautiful horses. She yearned to watch the sun set over the Pacific.
But no. She’d made her decision and she was sticking with it. “I’m spending my holiday right here in Manhattan, Viv. It’s my first year on my own.”
Viviana waved a heavily veined, beautifully manicured hand. “Pah. I’ve been on my own for almost twenty years now. My girls keep after me to move near one of them. They think I’m too old to be taking care of myself. But this is home. I love New York and I’m an independent soul. I keep busy and I’m happy with my life. But for Christmas, being alone sucks.”
An hour later, Viv gave her a plateful of sugar cookies and she returned to her apartment.
She got out one of her sketchbooks and sat in the corner chair in her bedroom. With the plate of cookies in reach, she got to work on some ideas she had for Alice’s wedding dress, which was to be totally Alice: dramatic and daring, with a very low back framed in lace, snugly fitted past the hips, flaring out to an ocean of lace and tulle.
An hour flew by. She sketched and munched cookies and the dress took shape. And then the buzzer downstairs rang. It was Tabby, running over on her break to pick up her dress. Lucy gave it to her, along with a couple of cookies. They chatted for a few minutes. Tabby grabbed her in a hug and was gone.
Lucy went back to work. About a half an hour later she glanced up and saw the moving haze of white out the window.
Snow.
Real snow this time, the flakes so thick and white, like a moving veil softly obscuring the buildings across the street. Perfect. Beautiful. Her first snowy Christmastime in all of her life.
If only Dami...
She cut off the thought. He wasn’t there. He wouldn’t be there. And she was going to be absolutely fine with that. She had a good life, damn it. A life that she’d fought for, a life in an exciting city where she was already making friends. A life that was just right for her. She didn’t need the Player Prince at her side to make it all complete.
Someone knocked at the door.
Lucy tossed her sketchbook on the bed. It had to be someone in the building—Ed, the super, or maybe Ed’s wife, Marie, or Viv. Anyone else would have to ring the buzzer downstairs first. To be on the safe side, she checked the peephole before pulling the door wide.
And her heart stopped dead in her chest at what she saw.
Dami.
Dami in New York. At her door.
Dami, looking like every woman’s dream man, tall and dark and so very sexy in that smooth and smoldering way he had—and not only that. So much more than that.
Dami, her friend, who always stepped up when she needed him. The person she most wanted to talk to, to laugh with, to share the snow out the window with, to hold hands with....
Dami.
Oh, God. Dami. For real.
Lucy whipped off the chain, yanked back the security bolt and flung the door wide.
The door swung back and Lucy flew at him, calling his name. “Dami!”
He opened his arms and she threw herself at him, jumping up, landing against him with a happy laugh, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She smelled of vanilla and apples and something else, something he’d missed way too much, something that was simply her. “Luce.” Her name escaped him in a strange rumble, surprising him with its rawness, sounding like hunger. Like not-so-carefully controlled desire.
Lucy was Lucy, all gushing, gleeful chatter. “Dami, Dami, Dami. I can’t believe you’re here. I wished and wished you might come. And poof, like a dream. Here you are. It’s snowing and it’s Christmas. And you came.”
“Luce.” Heat coiled in his belly, flared across his skin. He was all too aware of the press of her soft breasts to his chest, of those slim legs gripping around him....
And not only that. So much more. He drank in the sight of her, that glowing smile, the sparkle in her soft brown eyes.
Alive, that was it. Lucy was fully engaged, completely alive. Full of light, like her name. She pushed back every shadow, wiped out all cynicism. She made it impossible to be disinterested or disillusioned. She made everything fresh and new.
He should be ashamed, and he knew it, to have agreed to relieve her of her innocence in the first place. And then to have gone ahead and done just that.
And now to be showing up on her doorstep in the burning hope that maybe she would allow him to do it again.
And again.
She tipped her mouth up to him. “Dami...” Breathless. Hopeful. So damned sweet.
He couldn’t resist—and who was he fooling? No one. He had no intention of resisting.
He cradled the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her shining silky hair. “Luce.” He took her mouth.
She made a soft, yearning little sound as his tongue invaded the warmth and wetness beyond her lips. And then she tightened her arms and legs around him and kissed him back, with no coyness and no hesitation, with complete abandon.
He kissed her harder, deeper, needing the taste of her, needing to fill himself up with the sweetness of her.
And they couldn’t
